#skooma answers

[the-skooma-den]

Wh– What happened????

oh darling im so sorry you have to find out this way

[chilei-the-hotsauce]

hAPPY NEW YEAR!

HAPPY NEEEEWWWWWWWWW YEAR!

NEW YEAR HAPPY!

HAPPY NEEEEEWWWWWWWWW YEAR!

MAY YOUR NEW YEAR BE HAPPY!

YOUR NEW YEAR IS HAPPY!

YES

YEAR IN WHICH THINE TRULY REACHETH THE TENDER AGE OF 20

i hope you're slaying

[atypicalacademic]

Oh and this one lol

🍟: What does your OC admit to be their guilty pleasure? What actually is their guilty pleasure?

What does your OC admit to be their guilty pleasure? What actually is their guilty pleasure?

Alsal doesn't feel guilty about any of their pleasures, and would say so. I don't really think they feel a lot of guilt from their actions or what they genuinely enjoy, as opposed to what they failed to do.

That said, I think they feel conflicted, sometimes, about how easily, how happily they wield the sanctions of their power. They like being a leader, that has never been a problem, but they don't want to be a tyrant. And sometimes it feels so heady, so dangerously easy.

[changelingsandothernonsense]

OC Fridays you say? @the-elder-polls Hello! Naturally that means I'm going to take some time to gush about Josh...because whilst he shares a name, vocation and sarcasm as the NPC found in Dragonborn, he's pretty much his own thing at this point. Teldryn Ensirhaddon-Sero is a Dunmer- naturally, though he is half Ashlander ( Erabenimsun) on his father's side whilst his mother grew up in Redoran lands though her family did not answer to a Great House until moving to Hlaalu lands in the late forth era. Not long after he was conceived his parents fled to Cyrodiil, where he spent the first four years of his life before his mother returned to Blacklight once his father disappeared on a smuggling job. (Born 3E 370- 57 at the start of Morrowind, 268 by the start of the Dragon Crisis). He was well educated, and speaks four languages- Dunmeris, Cyrodiilic, Aldmeris and modern Altmeris. He picks up Ashland and a secret fifth thing later on. He ends up getting mixed up in the Camonna Tong which is how he ends up in Cyrodiil where he is subsequently arrested (murder, arson, treason, more arson). He spends the next 33 years being moved about various prisons and work camps in the Heartland until he is deported back to Vvardenfell and given a strange package.

Josh does not believe that he's the Nerevarine- not in any meaningful sense. What he does think he is, is an Imperial puppet. Yes he technically fulfils the prophecy but there were tweaks made to his official records so that he could "fit it more". Namely in how he was stricken from his mother's family records upon their ascension to House Hlaalu. Yes he fits but he wonders if the destruction of his homeland was a part of the Emperor's plan. He knows for certain that he is not the reincarnation of Indoril Nerevar. What he is, is a descendent of the war lord who ended up being a good host once he slipped on that ring and it didn't give him a big enough aneurysm. Deep down, he thinks anyone could have done the job. He was just convenient. Teldryn drinks- a lot and the habit has gotten worse as he's gotten older. He'll go through stints of sobriety (usually when mourning) and ends them in even longer binges. He developed a taste for skooma when he was on one of those binges and has been trying to avoid the stuff ever since. He ends up getting hooked on Sleeping Tree Sap during the Dragon Crisis and the whole thing gets worse once Sydari (my Dragonborn) gets lost in Sovngarde. He's a pain in the ass. Some Art Some early Josh (3E 427)

Some post Corprus infection Josh (3E 428-29)

And jumping to pre Dragon-Crisis Josh - 4E 199.

[trickstarbrave]

a hotly debated topic in the elder scrolls because morrowind gives conflicting information purposefully:

did the tribunal murder indoril nerevar?

the tribunal says they didnt, but also seems to have a lot of guilt and resentment towards him. the ashlanders say he did, but they could be simply biased against them for replacing the good daedra in worship and cursing everyone.

i think the answer is yes, they did. and also no, they didn’t.

i think when the tribunal became divinity, they did not just get super cool powers. they became every possible version of themselves that ever existed and ever will exist, including versions of themselves they made. theyre an amalgamation, so much bigger than just a group of three mortals with linear histories and futures.

there is one timeline nerevar fell due to his injuries at red mountain. there is one where he’s killed by voryn dagoth. there is one the tribunal killed him.

gods shape reality, so in the end the reality we live in is shaped by what they say happened. except the tribunal are not the only gods--we also have dagoth ur and azura (and possibly the other good daedra lol) who shape reality. so it is kind of a dragon break type situation, except no dragons were actually broken. just a tug of war and constant rewriting of events over and over by multiple parties until the water is so muddied you cant see through it at all.

i think the tribunal remember killing nerevar. they also remember him simply dying from his injuries at red mountain. they also remember voyrn dagoth killing him. sotha sil remembers watching his friend die helplessly and he remembers skinning his face. and regardless, he remembers going against what nerevar said and achieving divinity, and regrets the comprehension of all of these things. vivec too can try to rewrite his own history as much as possible, undo his life being a gang leader and skooma dealer and sex worker, but he cant undo nerevar’s compassion and love for him. he can’t help but admit his guilt in a coded message. and i think almalexia too has regrets and guilt, but she has instead reacted with anger to try and cover them up. she thinks if she kills sotha sil and vivec and gets more power, she can overcome these emotions. she can forget about nerevar. she can stop feeling guilty, and become perfect.

but as the dwemer proved, even gods are fallible. and azura puts it best:

"What you have done here today is foul beyond measure and you will grow to regret it, for the lives of gods are not what mortals think and matters that weigh only years to mortals weigh on gods forever."

[aladaylessecondblog]

The Whore AU Pt. 2 - Araynys

Araynys

Uthol

Vemyn

Tureynul

Odros

Endus

Gilvoth

Voryn

nsft below cut. Slapping, degradation, oral

------------------------------

Araynys circled her slowly, looking her up and down. "They say you volunteered for the job, and from the look of you I can understand why."

Sadara said nothing.

"You look far too soft to dance as you used to. Was the work too much? Or were you simply that eager to spread your legs like the common whore you are?"

"If I was to sweat I wanted to get something from it," Sadara replied evenly. "I had an audience...they were the eager ones. I've been doing well."

"And yet despite this success, here you are. You must have been told what this would entail. No one VOLUNTEERS for this, yet here you are. Why?"

Silence.

"Answer me."

Still, silence. And then a sudden blow as Araynys slapped her across the face - waited for a second - and yelled, "ANSWER ME!"

"I..." Sadara said, with a shaking voice, "...heard the term 'king's ransom' used to describe the pay, and couldn't help myself."

Araynys laughed harshly. "I should've expected. Money is all a whore ever cares for. And what would you do with such riches? No - don't tell me. Skooma and Cyrodiilic brandy?"

Sadara rubbed at the red spot on her cheek a bit before answering. "I don't take skooma...and I hate Cyrodiilic brandy."

"Enhancements of the bodily sort?"

"I don't need such things."

"I'd say that you do. Look at you...narrow hips, small ass..."

Araynys gave a slap at the latter. It wasn't much more than a sting, which was perhaps why he did it again. She gave a slight yelp at the second one, and a slightly louder one at the third.

Then he moved back in front of her.

"And the breasts..."

"I've gotten compliments on them," Sadara said, "But I'm guessing they displease you too?"

"Everything about you displeases me, and yet you are what I can get. I suppose you think yourself a prize...well...I am here to remind you that you are anything but, you arrogant--"

He stopped short. There was a slight nod.

"Kneel."

There was the slightest of breezes, which lead to Sadara giving a shiver as she obeyed. "As you command, my lord."

The stone beneath her knees wasn't comfortable in the slightest, but she was smart enough to know that was the point.

"I think you were looking forward to this," Araynys said, lifting her chin to force her to look up at him, and slipping his fingers through her hair when she kept her eyes on him, "Weren't you? Dreaming of the foul things that would be done to you when you came to us?"

"Something like--" Sadara's words were cut off, when his grip tightened and her face was mashed into his thigh. "Gods, you don't give a woman time to THINK about her answers, do you?"

Her hands shifted.

"Oh, you ARE an impudent thing...I suppose you're trying to goad me into fucking you early, hmm? Perhaps you WANT t--"

That was when he spotted it, Sadara, with one hand between her legs.

Araynys laughed.

"You DO. You little slut, you just couldn't help yourself, could you?"

Sadara didn't respond - with words, anyway. She gave a soft moan as she stroked herself, and shook her head when Araynys asked the same question again.

"I don't think it was the gold that brought you here," Araynys went on, smug amusement sneaking into his tone, "Did you WANT to be treated like this?"

No answer. She seemed too focused on pleasure.

He had to remind her, then.

A tug back at her hair, forcing her to look up. There was the blush, and then the shame soon to follow, all over her face. "Answer, slut."

"Y-yes," Sadara stumbled on the words, "I did. I want it, I--"

"That's all I needed to hear." Another laugh, and with the grip of her hair he mashed her face against the bulge in his loincloth. "Since you're so eager for cock...get to work."

There was silence as she stripped him of the loincloth, and as she stroked him to full hardness. There was the tiniest smirk on Sadara's face as she slightly ran her tongue over the underside of his cock - a smirk that vanished the moment he thrust forward, as deeply as he could go. There was the sound of one gag, but after a second Araynys pulled back.

"Whatever power you think you hold over me with that tongue, it is nothing to what I hold over YOU. I can replicate anything you can do, and better, too - you are a hole, nothing more. You need to remember that."

Sadara's retort never came since he thrust forward once again, running over her tongue and breaching her throat almost instantly. While he gave her room to breathe, at no point did he completely withdraw.

"An amusing hole, certainly...not worth what they're paying you. How does it feel, to be the sacrificial lamb, hmm? To be sent into the house of demons and blight, made to serve our pleasure? Do you like it? Or are you already regretting it?"

A gag. He pulled back and then pushed forward again, sneering.

"Why did I bother asking? Look at you...just LOOK at you. Limply letting yourself be used with not even a trace of resistance. Pathetic, absolutely pathetic."

Sadara earned herself a swat to the side of the head when Araynys saw her reaching back between her legs.

"No. No, you aren't going to get any pleasure of your own, not tonight. Perhaps if you'd behaved, I'd have allowed it, but as it is..."

A grunt.

"But it HAS been a while...perhaps once I've used you a few more times, once you've shown yourself capable of good behavior..."

Several minutes of relative silence elapsed, broken only by the lewd slurps and grunts and occasional gags. Finally, after what felt like far too long, Araynys felt a leap in his gut.

"You are going to swallow, since you're such an eager whore," he said, "You understand?"

Sadara nodded as best she could with his cock half-buried in her mouth.

"You should be capable of that, at least, as foolish as you've been so far. A--" There was a hitch in his voice as her tongue swept upwards, and brought him nearly to the edge. "--damned woman--!"

A final tug of her hair, and a jerk in Araynys's body. As bliss surged through his body he spilled himself empty in her mouth. Sadara swallowed his seed eagerly, spilling not a drop, even as he withdrew and stepped back from her.

She wiped a lingering bit of saliva from her lips and shuddered, not looking up until Araynys pulled her to her feet and lead her down a side hallway she hadn't seen at first. The moment the door was closed behind them she was immediately pulled into a tight hug.

Another shuddered, and a sob. For her the skin contact was wonderful, even if Araynys wasn't as warm as he might have been.

"You did very, very well," he said gently, "Yes. Very well, better than I've had in a long time. You were everything I needed you to be."

Sadara clung to him, listening quietly to the words of praise, glorying in the soft caresses that followed. She didn't do this sort of thing often, but to have someone do it so RIGHT...she thought she wouldn't mind if it could be like this every time.

"Thank you," she finally said.

"Do you need anything?"

"Water," Sadara replied, "You were salty, and swallowing always dries my mouth out."

"Whatever you need." He finally let go, and stepped back.

A half-hour elapsed. Sadara ate, drank, and redressed, finally coming back to herself.

When Araynys offered to let her sleep there, with him beside her, she took him up on the offer.

(One down, seven to go, she thought before she fell asleep. She hoped Uthol and his little master/slave request would be as good as this had been.)

[skyrim-forever]

Yo Eve, my darling, give me a moon for the fall themed asks. Share all your secrets with me. <3

Hello Winter my queen <3 I would be glad to answer this!

🌙 moon: do any of your OCs have dark backstories or secrets they’re trying to keep?

This is going to be for Theodora as she is by far my most fleshed out oc.

Oh boy, so to start, Theo's parents were a pirate, her father Ricardo Viticius and a noblewoman Kassandra Ves. Her mom ended up running away with her dad when they fell in love, getting disowned from her family and breaking off her semi-arranged marriage. Her father had spent his life before meeting her as thief and eventually becoming a pirate, particularly raided slavers ships along the Coast of Morrowind and Black Marsh.

Theo was born off the coast of Senchal in 4E 177 26 Last Seed. Around two years later her mom goes overboard during a storm in Abeacan Sea. Theo does not remember anything about her and she finds even talking about her uncomfortable. Other women who try to be mother-figures to her cause her to lash out at them.

Ricardo never fully recovers but he is determined to be a parent as he never knew his own father. He decides to move permanently back to Anvil, the city he grew up in. Since the war destroyed the city, the East Empire Company has invested and made the city sort of a company town. Ricardo sees how their greed harms the city and how only the higher level officials have any measure of a good life; this causes him to focus his criminal enterprise against them. So Theo grows up with the backdrop of crime war. A lot of her youth was spent learning to fight and prepping to take over her father's work. Although some would say this was no life for a child, she thinks very highly of her dad. He kept her away from the very dangerous stuff, but he respected her and taught her many things about all of Tamriel due to his extensive travels.

Things come to ahead when mercenaries hired by the company head succeed in killing him, her uncle Elo Man-llu (uncle Elo is highkey my fav, iconic dunmer), and many of the crew. Theo is around 14 when this happens and she chooses to live with her friend Phy in Valenwood as they are very close and she's visited her often. They stay there until 18 when they leave for the Imperial City to try to make money and get revenge on the man who killed her family. Due to her father's criminal past (as well as him being a Great War draft dodger :P), her inheritance is seized by the Empire. She joins the Thieves Guild and becomes an Arena fighter in an attempt to gain fortune. Eventually she joins the Legion in Skyrim due to a bargain. The Empire gets the Dragonborn's service in exchange for clearing her father's name and her inheritance.

From ages 16-27, she heavily copes using alcohol, sex, fighting, and occasionally drugs (though that's more of Phy's thing). Most of it is coping with losing her father and uncle, the two people she looked up to the most, but there is also a lot of coping with the fact she's never had a mother and much of her childhood was surrounded by violence and tension. It's sort of a numbing the pain problem. She also has a tendency towards men who are terrible which include, but aren't limited to; a skooma smuggler, a Morag Tong assassin, and a married local official who funds her arena career! This gets a bit better once she starts doing Dragonborn duties mostly because she has less time to self-destruct. Originally she ran from it, only after the events of Dawnguard does she accept it and allow it to give her purpose. Though the newfound fame and expectations become difficult.

And the biggets secret she is trying to keep is orginally that she's sleeping with a Thalmor agent, and then that she's in love with said agent :P

Sorry for writing you a novel! Thank you so much for asking this question! There's a lot of thought put into her that I don't get to explore in fic because the Ondolemar brainworms haha. I just like them so much together you know :P

[ashvampire]

cw; violence, death

At twilight, a number of councillors, merchants and guards had been summoned deep beneath Kogoruhn, into one of its many halls. They were given no explanation as to why, just that it was important and vital that they came.

It was a spacious hall, lit by mage-lights which drifted idly above. They only lit the entrance of the hall, the rest of it was shrouded in darkness.

They entered the hall one by one. Some recognised each other as they came in, and a sense of dread began to hang in the air. They remained silent, not daring to talk. There were guards in and outside of the hall, watching them all closely. As more people came in, the greater that dread grew.

Once all were inside, the doors were closed and then locked by guards. They began to speak then, demanding to know why they’d been brought there. As they raised their voices and searched for answers, the guards suddenly moved. They wrestled and held them down, binding their wrists and putting magicka-restricting enchantments on them.

Once all of them were bound, the mage-lights moved, revealing the rest of the room.

Someone laid on the floor ahead, beaten bloody and unconscious. His truths had spilled like his blood, and he had purposefully been left lying there, where the others could see him. So they knew that they had been caught; that their secrets were now known.

Dagoth Voryn stood in front of them all, holding his hands behind his back to hide their trembling. He kept his face expressionless, a mask he’d learnt to wear in his adolescents. He couldn’t quite keep the fear and guilt out of his eyes, but he held his head high and tried to make himself look confident.

The guards stood behind the captives, making sure no one tried to escape. Each one had been chosen by Voryn. They were the ones he trusted the most; some he had grown up knowing, others had connections to his uncle. He had few he could trust, and he wasn’t even certain the guards he had chosen wouldn’t betray him. There was only one he trusted not to tattle, though he was not a guard, nor of House Dagoth, but a stranger from the mainland. An outsider. He stood next to Voryn, his chitin boots slick with red.

“You know why you’re here,” Voryn said, forcing himself to speak loud and clear, keeping the tremble out of his voice. He didn’t look at any of the captives before him in the eye. He knew some of them; some he’d even known since he was a child.

“You would betray the empire?!” one of them yelled, both fear and anger in her voice. Voryn dared to look at her; she was a Chimer woman, someone Voryn remembered attending numerous council meetings. He now knew her as an informant of the Nordic Empire.

“You betrayed your own people!” the mer beside Voryn growled, pointing his dagger at her.

The woman gave a look of disbelief. “What choice did I have?! We can’t win against the Nords!” She looked to Voryn pleadingly. “Don’t do this, serjo! They’ll destroy House Dagoth! Surely you realise this?!”

Voryn’s nails dug into the palms of his hands. He was well aware of what would come. He knew he wasn’t ready for war. In truth, he wanted to bury his head in the sand, as his father and brother had done before him. But House Dagoth was already starting to crumble, all of its wealth being handed over to the empire, and surrounded by enemies inland and out at sea. It was easier to hide, and pretend that everything was fine. To look away when villages were overrun by Dwemer or pirates, and as his council was slowly replaced by informants of the empire.

It was the outsider by Voryn’s side that had convinced him to look. Not only look, but do something. He had whispered promises of glory and power in his ears, his breath smelling of skooma and his hands pressed against Voryn’s chest. Somewhere in that fervour, Voryn had agreed to all this.

He shook himself out of his thoughts, and looked to the outsider, searching for approval. Their eyes met, and there was an unspoken understanding between them.

“Nerevar;” Voryn said with hesitance, and gestured to the people before him.

The outsider nodded, an eagerness in his eyes that Voryn chose to ignore. He started with the one already on the floor, flipping him over onto his back and slitting his throat with one fast motion. Then he turned, and some of the captives tried to flee. They were held in place by the guards, none succeeding in breaking free.

Voryn forced himself to watch as Nerevar stalked towards them, his glass dagger gleaming in the pale mage-light. He went to the woman who’d spoken first, standing in front of her in silence. The woman didn’t speak or move, her betrayal turned to fear. Voryn felt his tremors grow worse, and his mask was slipping. He wanted to tell Nerevar to stop, but his jaw seemed locked in place. Even his eyes refused to move, even though he wanted desperately to look away.

Nerevar lunged, plunging the dagger into the woman’s stomach and cutting upwards. There was screaming, and gagging. Nerevar stabbed his blade between her rips, and the woman shuddered and slumped, taking a few raspy breaths before she went silent.

The others died in a similar manner, and Voryn was still frozen where he was, watching each death with wide eyes. After the last one took their final breath, Voryn dismissed the guards, trying to muster his confidence again. He failed, his voice trembling as he told them to leave.

Nerevar cleaned his dagger on one of the dead’s robes, and then approached Voryn. There were specks of blood on his face.

“I hate you,” Voryn said under his breath. “I knew most of those people.” Nerevar walked right up to him, so close they could feel each other’s breath.

“I hate you,” Nerevar replied, eyes narrowed. “You’re the one who made me kill them.”

Voryn’s hands seemed to move on their own accord, cupping Nerevar’s face. He leaned forwards and gently kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll need you to kill for me again, if we are to fight this war,” he whispered. He tasted blood.

“Only if you do the same for me.”

[themegachessatron]

A Review of my time in Skyrim's Prisons (Featuring some followers): The Chill

This is the (much delayed due to work) eighth part of my Skyrim Prison Review series. In this post I explore The Chill, the only thing in Winterhold other than the College of Winterhold to hold any significance whatsoever as this jail contains much do discuss.

First arriving in the prison and we are greeted with what I can only assume to be a claustrophobe's worst nightmare. The guards had thrown the entire squad into a single tiny cell. Space to move around was effectively non-existent for us. I imagine a singular convict would fare better, but not by much. Also worth considering is our surroundings. We were tossed into a frozen cavern in the middle of nowhere and locked in a sharp metal box. Needless to say the Winterhold judiciary were making their attitudes to prison life clear. They wanted convicts to suffer.

Shuffling myself through the rag-tag squad to better observe the cell interior we see a single bed roll and lantern for illumination. This all aligns perfectly with how Winterhold want their prisoners to leave review scores of one Ancient Frost Atronach out of ten Ancient Frost Atronachs and not even risk stealing from Winterhold because of how badly they'd be treated. Needless to say there was a LOT of debate in the team as to who would receive bed roll privileges and who would have to huddle to each other for warmth. As can be expected from a squad comprised of a drunkard, a donkey, a recovering Skooma addict, a barely housetrained Reikling and a Skyrim Tumblr Sexy Man, yelling eventually evolved into its stage two form: Violence. Just before proper conflict could be instigated though I noticed something.

I still had my equipment on me. At no point did any of the authorities strip me of my gear and as such there would be no prisoner belongings chest in this prison. This can be interpreted in one of two ways. Either the guards that brought me here are largely incompetent and simply forgot to remove my belongings (which seems unlikely given the complete lack of a prisoner belonging chest) or the way I personally interpreted it which was "These guards have the biggest kahoonies in the entire country". They are SO confident in their defences that they don't even bother taking away prisoners' gear. They think even with it all convicts can't escape.

Now it is worth noting that not having their things stolen is nothing new for my companions. I am unsure as to why every hold lets them keep their gear while I lose mine, but I suspect that the answer is very complicated, personalised and more than likely involves Slaughterfish in some capacity. This aside, thanks to our shared equipment not being stolen, picking the adept lock on our cell before any blood was drawn proved simple.

Looking outside my cell I can plainly see where the confidence of the Winterhold Guard derives from. Instead of sending good men to freeze to death guarding pickpickets that also freeze to death, they hired out Frost Atronachs from the College nearby. This proved to be a very effective source of fear, muscle and worry in convicts, so much so that I temporarily deployed the Super Special Dragonborn Information Vision (S.S.DIV) that every Dragonborn has to keep track of my health, magicka and stamina (It's a dragonborn thing, look it up). The atronach was patrolling a small area with only three cells including ours and some barrels inside. Given how small I imagine the life expectancy for Chill inmates is thanks to the cold, I suppose it makes sense to not bother decorating. Once we had properly stepped outside of our cell, the Atronach got to work immediately and began an offensive on our group.

No points for guessing how it went.

A small incline to the right of the cell we were put into let out of the prison, where we were greeted with both a sharp realisation and, surprisingly, a welcome party.

Three additional Frost Atronachs ambushed us the second we stepped out of The Chill, as well as a lone Horker which appeared to be there just to feel included. This troublesome trio posed a triple threat to our squad and even managed a decent hit on me in the ensuing battle, though once again through the power of friendship, magic and Jordan we pulled through (at the cost of Teldryn's Flame Atronach).

It was following the defeat of the Atronachs that we came to a realisation. We were not in the city of Winterhold. We were not even CLOSE to the city of Winterhold. We were, as the less eloquently spoken would say, in the middle of fucking nowhere. We were dragged onto a tiny island in the middle of the ocean in freezing weather (heavy armour and all) by the guards and simply left to die. This goes beyond simple prisoner negligence or torture for military/political information. They were actively trying to kill us because I punched a single guardsman once and immediately surrendered. That is... a very commendable attitude. These guards are even more no-nonsense than the Windhelm Guards and this further supports my arguments about the aforementioned kahoonies.

In conclusion, this was easily the best prison I have seen so far. It fully commits to its cold attitude to prisoning with zero compromise, makes effective use of powerful Frost Atronachs to save on manpower, is incredibly cost efficient in terms of cell upkeep and manages to keep convicts out of the city streets better than any other hold capital by simply imprisoning them several miles away from the city itself in a sub-zero climate that would kill most escapees alone. This facility is beyond exceptional.

Final Score: Ten Ancient Frost Atronachs out of Ten Ancient Frost Atronachs

Thank you for reading this review. I hope that the conclusion to this saga arrives with a smaller gap than the last two did. This is especially important since I've saved by far the biggest for last.

"No one escapes Cidhna Mine"? Yeah right.

[the-skooma-den]

whats a good elder scrolls game, eso n skyrim are pretty trash imnhaao (in my not humble at all opinion)

Well I hate to say it dude but if you don't like the 2 biggest games in the series it may not be the series for you

[nuwanders]

i hope you recover soon!! ♥️ sending you well wishes for your health and comfort

i have been rereading king and lionheart and if you’d like to share, what do you think were some of raydrins thoughts during chapter 11 seven thousand steps :) i love seeing her perspective both on him and high hrothgar.. how she carefully chooses her answer about her past.. and the description of the voice…

much love frances i hope you get lots of rest!!

@creaking-skull

hello jay! thank you so much for the well-wishes 🥺 i'm back home now and so far feeling mostly okay <3

this is a really great question! i had to go back and reread a little to refresh my own memory. in short i think raydrin's thoughts at this point in the story are a little all over the place, but he is trying desperately hard NOT to think about (a) mathyas and (b) skooma, and supporting jórunn is his way of distracting himself from those two things.

he is repressing a lot, definitely. so much has happened and a lot of it is surreal, so instead of trying to come to terms with it, he is just. saving it for later i suppose? like with mathyas, i don't think he has yet come to fully grasp that mathyas is gone. it's the type of thing that would hit him at odd times only to escape him moments later. skooma withdrawal i think would have him feeling jittery, ill at ease, paranoid etc. then of course there is his shame and embarrassment at having been "found out" by both cassathra and mathyas.

so all of that is going on at the subconscious level, or at least raydrin is trying to keep it there. consciously, i think he is focusing on practicalities; navigation, guiding jórunn, tending to their needs on the road. if this chapter had been written from his perspective, i maybe would have kept it deliberately light on introspection, to kind of show that he is not allowing himself to dwell on anything.

then, of course, there is jórunn herself. raydrin has always liked her i think, but he is only now properly interacting with her for the first time. i think he pities her, in part (wrongly) because of her disability, but mostly because of the burden she has been saddled with. he is questioning his own abilities, wondering whether she might have been better off paired with someone else. and i think part of him is (guiltily) grateful that it's her who's the dragonborn and not him; in pitying her for her fate, he can make himself feel better about his own problems.

ty again for the ask !! very flattered to hear that ur rereading k&l 🥺this has def motivated me to keep chipping away at the next chapter (when im feeling a little better at least) !

[chilei-the-hotsauce]

ALL the artist ask game questions. ALL OF THEM-

omg yes hold up

1. uuh krita, fire alpaca (i used to use fire alpaca but not after getting csp)

2. left? i think? i can draw all directions (-ish) (it wont be good but i can)

3. none?? idk bro i have bad memory (or maybe i suppress them idk)

4. anything from canon media. like i love you boo but why. also clothes and poses

5. i post very little of my art actually lmao whoops. very busy lately but might start posting art again if i remember

6. my hyperfixation at the time. or well, me. also art tutorials i see on pinterest, though that's a bit more conscious i think

7. SCULPTING TRADITIONAL PAINTING GRAFFITI all so cool amazing wow

8. there's so many that i cant even remember jesus christ-

9. everything is keysmashes. i do not name my layers. i am satan

10. mm i actually like drawing shirts i think?

11. music. fun fact i listened to paranoia on loop for over a week. thats what brain rot does to a man

12. uuuh hhand

13. i really dont know. every thing is my thing. every creator is admirable in their own way. love everyone. commit crime

14. death? eldritch horrors? blood? rot and corruption? yeag the good shit

15. my room. at school also because im studying animation and game design

16. making. sprite sheets. for 2d game.

17. i usually have a tea nearby but i always forget it. i kinda drink it halfway when it's still warm, then forget about it and then when i go back for it it's cold so i just chug it all and go get a new one

18. uuh i'd say like? 10? im very gentle and loving with my stuff uwu

19. no. i do not. ok but maybe like. cloth idk.

20. hands. idk bro i drew them so much at one point out of spite i just kinda got good at it and now i just wing it and it looks good and doesnt require much thought. and if it requires thought it's in a funky position but then i just wrangle my own hands a little, inspect it, and then continue to draw

21. lineless, painting-esque, thick lines, realistic, sketchy... yeah good shit

22. nah man i just go straight for the laptop

23. uuh sometimes

24. im satan i dont use references often. but when i do? yeah i think

25. i havent been told so idk

26. i. dont really intend anything on purpose? so when someone interprets something wild i just kinda go "yeaah sure! idk either!"

27. Dno. straight for the art. might doodle thine truly if im not in a hurry

28. nah, but i'd like to! i've made art for two 2D games in the past year and now there's a 3D one in the making. im charged with making the 3D model for our main villain thing and boy is it pain

29. bold of you to assume anything doesnt inspire me artistically (he doesnt know)

30. thats a great question i have no idea 👍

[scales-like-ash]

My new Sona, the Cyberpunk Argonian Scales-Like-Ash :3

The Lore (cause I'm a TES Nerd, don't worry a TL:DR is at the bottom):

Scales-Like-Ash, then known as Reezal-Tei in Jel, is born 2E 554 in the vulcanic wasteland of Stonefalls to the secluded and nomadic Ash-Walker Tribe. The small Tribe with the black scales and white tribal markings, use their nomadic ways to hide from the Great Houses and Slavers of Morrowind.

Ash trained from a hatchling with bows, knives and magic, with the goal to protect his tribe from nearby threats. He's always been an curious, a knowledge thirsty but also adventurous type, with the latter not rarely getting him into trouble.

In 2E 572 his Tribe was attacked by deserted and fleeing Akaviri forces, after their defeat in Stonefalls, on their way back to Akavir. Most of the tribe was wiped out in the blink of an eye, with a few remaining survivors scattered in the wind.

Devistated by the loss of his family and friends, Ash pleadged his service as Arcanist to Hermaeus Mora, the deadric prince of knowledge, in order to gain knowledge and experience to prevent and help other Tribes affected from similar fates across Morrowind and Blackmarsh. In that time he also stopped using his Jel Name and became Scales-Like-Ash.

After years of traveling Tamriel, helping, questing and serving Mora in his quest for knowledge, the Three Banner War started in 2E 280 and calling Argonians, Dunmer and Nords to arms, forming the Ebonheart Pact. Knowing the other Alliances are a threat to every Saxhleel and their way of live in Pact Territory, Ash followed the call and joined the forces.

Three Years of fighting to gain control over Cyrodiil, fate struck in a way no-one anticipated. In the Battle for an Elder Scroll at Arrius Keep, west of the Imperial City, Ash managed to grab one of the mythical scrolls, a lightning spell from an Altmer battlemage, missed the Saxhleel and accidentally hit the scroll, resulting in an magical explosion.

After a bright flash and ear shattering thunder, the Argonian and Scroll were gone, leaving nothing but a smoking hole in the ground.

Bruised, battered, with ringing ears and only tatters of what used to be his tribal armor, Ash awoke in something, that looked like a warehouse but... somewhat off... Everywhere was metal, something like bricks, light in tubes and somehow no wood in sight. His first thought was he's in a dwemer ruin but he knew that there are no Dwemer ruins in Cyrodiil besides that the metal wasn't the usual bronze and no steaming pipes in sight. "Kaoc'... What happened...?"

After gathering his bearings he stumbled out of the weird warehouse only to find a completely different Tamriel. Towers of Stone and metal reaching towards the clouds, scraping the sky. Metal boxes replacing horses. Sirens bleating in the distance. Rancid and foul smells fill the air.

Almost vomiting from the sensory overload he spots a young khajiit woman standing near a railing observing the road.

"E-excuse me... What... Is this place?" Ash asked with shacking voice "Hrrrm? Well this is the Imperial City, silly lizard, too much skooma last night, yes? This one's been there." answered the khajiit with a slight giggle. "No... This can't be... I... Tell me, what year is it?" "So much of that stuff that you even forgot the year? By S'rendarr you lightweights", with a sigh she said, "It's the 17th of Rains Hand in the Year 634 of the 10th Era..."

A shock of realization went through Ash... The explosion didn't simply relocated him, it sent him into the far future. Into an dystopian futuristic Tamriel...

So that's the Lore so far :D

Thanks for reading my Lore and everyone else who doesn't want to read this wall of text or deal with my atrocious english (I don't blame you) the TL:DR of the story is

Magic Explosion sent lizard into a far dystopian future

[vestige-nan]

The Thorn in my Side, the Pebble in my Shoe: Ch 9

Summary: The main quest line in Mannimarco’s perspective, except that he falls chaotically in love with the vestige just as much as he chaotically hates them.

Fun stuff: Small violent imagery warning, it gets a little gory in Manni’s head.  As always, vestige is gender neutral and physical features are not described.

One of the many benefits of lichdom included sleep, at least not in access, was not a necessity for me. Though even when I was alive, I had cast a spell here and there to bend my physical limitations and wave off timewasting slumber. That fool, Trechtus, worried that the prolonged sleep deprivation—even by magical means—might have a negative effect on my psyche. But there was always so much work to be done, experiments to perform, ancient lore to study, unsuspecting victims to murder and then raise.

However, this didn't mean I couldn't sleep. Just that I didn't need to often and for much less time than a lowly mortal. But while sleep was more of a recreational pastime, dreams very rarely came to me. This, I assumed, had less to do with my status as a lich and more to do with Vaermina not wishing to catch the attention of Molag Bal.

As such, my confusion was appropriate when I woke up with a start from my dream. Details didn't slip from my mind, nor did I scramble to rack my brain for specificities. I remembered it wholly, vividly, and its' palpability sent chills dancing down my spine as I sat in my bed.

I sat on the throne in an empty hall of cold harbor. Only one other living being (if you could call them living) was in the hall with me. The vestige, flush with exhaustion and trepidation, gripped their weapon with spent desperation, their breath heavy and their legs trembling. Bones, rotten flesh, and all manner of decay littered the floor around them. I didn't carry the same exhaustion as they had. If anything, I was more bored than spent as I crossed my legs.

"Do you surrender?" I asked, inspecting my nails with passing disinterest.

The vestige swallowed and attempted to slow their breathing. I could see how their eyes wavered with uncertainty. They had resisted so fiercely before, but now, surrounded by fallen enemies and not having landed a single scratch on me, I could tell they were no longer so sure.

However, no answer was not good enough for me. I wanted an admission of defeat.

"Very well," I yawned with a flick of my wrist, and in a black swirl of flesh and bone from the vestige's fallen enemies, a great flesh atronach crawled from the remains and the mort. It let out a horrifying roar, its' whole face unhinging to bellow, and—as if they could take no more—the vestige collapsed to their knees, their weapon dropping beside them and the hands falling to the rot beneath them.

"I surrender!" Their voice was hoarse with exhaustion and stretched with desperation. They kept their head lowered, as if they couldn't bear to look me in the eyes as they succumbed to my power. "I surrender..."

A thrill of pleasure traveled my veins like lightning. What lovely words that would sound even better in a tortured chorus of agony.

I waved my hand and—to my delight—the vestige flinched when the atronach collapsed into blood, bones, and death. The vestige's breath left their quivering lips in relief, but the tension remained in their shoulders as I uncrossed my legs and stood. Step by step, I descended my throne, treading unconcerned through the carnage. When I reached the vestige, their form trembling in anxious anticipation, I circled their kneeling form as I inspected them. Their eyes unable to meet mine, the sweat of exertion trailing down their neck, their chest rising and falling in steady acceleration under my scrutiny.

To have the object of my ire in front of me so was sweeter than moonsugar and more intoxicating than skooma.

As I rounded about them, I straightened my back in a poise to feign indifference, "Again."

The vestige stuttered only for a moment, "I surrender."

"Again."

"I surrender!" Their desperation seeped into their voice.

I inspected my nails, "To whom?"

"To you! I surrender—" The vestige inhaled sharply, finally gaining the courage to meet my eyes, and I was filled with a familiar hunger to bask in that gaze. "Please, King of Worms, have mercy—!"

I couldn't help but laugh, "You level my armies, steal my chancellor, attempt to foil my plans, and you have the audacity to beg my mercy?"

The vestige opened their mouth, as if scouring their mind for an answer to respond, but ultimately could not speak.

"Are you too weak from my risen forces to respond?" I mocked as I knelt to their level. "Pathetic."

The rotten blood and flesh oozed between the vestige's tightened grasp against the floor as they looked away in shame, their brow knotted and their eyes cast down. I couldn't stop myself from grabbing their jaw and pulling their gaze back on me.

"Do not." My voice echoed in the hall, louder than I willed. "Look away from me."

The vestige's eyes flitted through a medley of emotions, each more tantalizing than the last. Visceral fear. Broken will. Reluctant obedience. And somehow, despite the thrill of seeing the vestige defeated and submitted, it was their look of captivation that filled my head with delirium. Eyes so trained on me, mesmerized by my presence—my power, that they couldn't pull away if they wanted. Attention entranced with deep, fervid interest restrained by tentative fear, the vestige was mine.

They were mine, and they did not have the will to oppose that.

What an exciting thought! The vestige, the unabashed nuisance in my machinations; the single obstacle between me and godhood, was mine! Mine to own, mine to maim, mine to torture, mine to kill, mine to resurrect, mine to mold, mine to command, mine to use— They were mine.

I suddenly became very aware of my hand holding their jaw. The warmth of their skin was radiant against my cold, lifeless fingertips. How strange it was that a soulless being could be filled with so much warmth, and that they could smell so sweet in a room full of corpses, and that they could look so tempting after being so irritating.

I loosened my grip to just a few fingers tilting their chin up, and they did not dare turn away from me. I forced my voice to soften, a voice I used often in my calculative manipulations, "I must admit, no being in Tamriel has bested as many of my forces as you have."

Their throat bobbed as they swallowed.

"Nor have any slayed foes as powerful as you have. Are you proud of this?" My eyes twinkled in a patronizing glimmer, "Be honest."

The vestige bit their lower lip, "Yes."

My eyes were drawn to their lips, "You should be. You will make a valuable tool..." My fingers lightly traveled along their neck, gliding to across their collarbone. "After I take you apart and reassemble you."

The vestige was shaking under my touch and I could feel their pulse quicken. I would enjoy draining the blood from their body, slowly, and making them watch as I replaced it with venom... But I enjoyed the warmth I could feel from their blush much more. "I— Please, King of Worms, there... there must be something I can do for your mercy? Anything!"

I laughed again. "I haven't even began your torture and you're already trying to bargain with me? How charmingly naïve..." I grasped their chin once more and they gasped at my abrupt movement. "Don't worry. You will have plenty to do once I am done with you."

With a snap of my fingers with my other hand, chains of magicka snapped around the vestige's wrist. A new and exhilarating panic swept over the vestige as they tried to pull from the chains in vain. The dread in their eyes as they looked at me made me dizzy and I was overwhelmed with the desire hold their heart in my hands; to feel the pulse of their heart quicken between my fingers and to see the horror in the vestige's eyes as I bring it to my lips to take a bite. I wanted to simultaneously hold the vestige so full of life, feeling their warm hand against my cheek and to bathe in their boiling blood, singing as I let their marrow sink into my skin. I wanted to swallow their cries in a kiss and lick the blood from their wounds and I wanted the vestige to love and hate every moment of it.

There would be plenty of time to indulge my madness later.

"Please! King of Worms, you don't have to hurt me! I'll do what you want!" The vestige cried, their voice taut with terror and their hands pulling at the chains.

"Oh, I believe you." I held the vestige's face in my hands and relished the captivation that never left the vestige's gaze. Even in their terror they couldn't resist me. "I want to hurt you."

With the vestige mine and their expression consumed with dread and panic, I pulled their face to me, pressing my cold lips against their warm ones, reveling in the taste of victory and the vestige's tongue. I could feel the vestige heat up beneath my hands, their warm blood a charming tell. I pulled away just as quickly, my smile as bewitching as the chains.

"Do try to last long." I cooed, "I don't want to fix your broken mind more times than I need to."

I downed three stamina potions in succession just to give me the energy to deal with whatever deranged dream Vaermina and Sheogorath must've crafted together as a sick daedric joke (surprisingly less violent than most daedric jokes go).

I leaned against my desk with one hand and rubbed my temple with the other, groaning low and exasperated. It was almost the perfect dream, and I would have even thanked the lesser daedric prince for what I would've assumed would be a glimpse into the future, save for the end.

How insulting! Degrading! To think I would lower myself so—so—low! As to kiss, or even to think about—!

I heard the vestige stir in their sleep through their visage and my head snapped to it. I watched them, holding the breath I don't take, with furious disgust. Then, the end of my dream began replaying in my mind and I could feel my face turning orange at the thought.

"Disgusting!" I said, not to anyone in particularly, but mostly to the vestige. I went to close the visage with a wave of my hand, but stopped when the vestige began to stir again.

Were they having a nightmare? Were they having the same nightmare?

My face burned brighter.

My eyes were melded to the visage as the vestige's brow furrowed and their breath quickened. Something cracked underneath the pressure of my grip but I didn't care enough to notice what it was. The vestige looked troubled by their nightmare, maybe even pained. Would they hate it? Would they be disgusted by it like I was? Would they wake up with fear? Glancing at every shadow with nervousness? What if they woke up flushed and unsure? What if they liked it? What if they sought out the mundus stones—sought out me? They did say I was pretty.

The vestige's lips parted and the ending of my dream replayed and replayed and replayed; the taste of their lips, the trepidation in their eyes, their breath on my skin, their warm blood beneath my cold cold hands.

"Hey, you alright?" Some young breton shook them awake, pulling me from my own personal oblivion. The vestige inhaled softly as they woke, turning to the man, slightly disoriented. "Looked like you were having a nightmare."

I ground my teeth. Did he wake them up before they reached the end of the dream? I couldn't tell if I was relieved or furious.

The vestige groaned, rubbing their neck. "Yeah, I was... It was really weird..."

I furrowed my brow. "Weird"? What did they mean by "weird"? "Weird" as in "I was disturbed by the intimate nature of the dream and I don't want to be tortured" or as in "I was intrigued by the intimate nature of the dream but I don't want to tell this breton that out of bashfulness"?

"I know this is going to sound insane but..." The vestige sat up, stretching, and I was too transfixed with how their bones popped. "There were dragons all over Elsweyr!"

I blanked.

"Dragons?" The breton man laughed, "Come on!"

"No, really!" They asserted, "And one of them was good!"

I waved the visage off, evaporating it from existence. I downed another stamina potion while wishing I had picked up a bottle of sylph-mead somewhere. I didn't care if the vestige was bedding Molag Bal himself, a few days not having to listen to the ramblings of that halfwit vestige would do me well.

In the meantime, sending a legion of undead after Vaermina's cult seemed appropriate.

[changelingsandothernonsense]

For the cute ship, please answer for the weirdest ship that has ever crossed your mind at any point in time: 🧸 and 💌 if you could be so kind, thank you.

I once wrote about the Nerevarine and Sanguine as a short-lived (90 year) thing. Sanguine was legitimately interested in capturing Azura's neglected Champion. Unfortunately, he started to become a bit of a wet blanket and the Daedric Prince tired of him after almost a century of debauchery in the Alik'r. Having said that... 🧸 | which one is the little spoon & which is the big spoon

Sanguine doesn't do aftercare, he also doesn't take Joshi's preferences into account. Josh is a toy, a shiny toy that makes Azura angry and that's the whole point. "Look what I can do with your favourite mortal". Josh is a lonely spoon in this dynamic. It's also something he's painfully used to. 💌 | a love note from one to the other

If Sanguine was to leave Josh a note, it would mention his voracious appetite. That he's missed in Revelry. Parties aren't as fun when he's not feeling it. Just because Skooma fucked up his brain a bit doesn't mean they can't have fun anymore. Instead he lures Josh into a drinking game that involves fucking a hagraven. (No one knows if he actually did). It was a busy, Daedra filled month.

[hummingbird-hunter]

[There is a knock on a door of the elevator]

[There is no-one manning the Elevator to answer. Lachlan is brewing skooma in a dragon's lair and Time is... somewhere. Not sure]