#skyrim: so like. everyone is a man

[nejackdaw]

Thinking about Celann (when am I not?) Man drinks his respect women juice for 20+ years, steps foot in Skyrim, immediately gets culture shock. Wdym you don't respect women? Skill issue. Man wanted one (1) kid and he wanted a daughter. "Oh, but inheritance!" Yeah. To his single heiress. You're giving everything to his daughter or he's gonna haunt the shit out of you. "But women aren't equal to men!" What the fuck are you smoking

[racke7]

Huh. I actually managed to finish Divinity 2 for once.

[littledragondork]

@the-elder-polls sharing a doodle I did of my LDB twins, Brigitte and Micah here!! Not telling you which is which lol

They are both Dragonborn, but only Brigitte is technically the one prophesied to kill Alduin but the two of them do it together in the end. They are both technically non-binary but like to go by gendered pronouns (partially for my own sanity when writing them).

They are are also mixed race by being 1/4 Nord, 1/4 High elf, 1/4 Imperial and 1/4 Khajiit all wrapped up in a nice little Daedric bow!!! Because I just liked the idea of the chaos :3

I really liked the idea of them being Demi princes and the Daedric part of them reacting strangely to the Dragonborn part, so they are fairly unstable and prone to magical mishaps (think wild magic in dnd) but more like the Waabajack than anything else, since they are Sheogorath Demi princes. So sometimes their magic will misfire and transform either themselves or whoever they are targeting temporarily.

They’re my little freaks and I love them very much.

Instead of doing anything productive with my OCs I just drew them as Autism creatues and nothing else

I could be drawing or writing things about their lore and story but no.

[biggaybunny]

I know it's already been talked about a lot, but I'm still thinking about that "wouldn't disco elysium be better if it were about a girl in the alps looking for her neighbor's lost cat" (paraphrasing) post. Because I think part of the problem is that it comes from a lack of understanding of videogames as a storytelling medium.

Not saying that anyone misunderstands that videogames have a story, but that's different. The story in a videogame is usually understood as something that contextualizes the player's environment and options for interacting with that environment. Even if the story is not about you the player as directly as something like, say, skyrim, but is instead about a character like Leon Kennedy in Resident Evil or something, the contract between player and game is that the player will assume the role of Leon Kennedy for the duration of the story.

You are not Harry Du Bois! You are not meant to assume the role of Harry. You can like him and even empathize him, I'm not saying any of that is wrong. But your role is very close to that as any other voice in his head. Honestly if anything I feel like Volition represents the player the best. You're basically picking this wet threadbare gym sock of a man and going "fuck's sake, I guess this is what I've got to work with".

The game tries to point this out to you, too. You are not Harry. It is Harry doing these things, saying these things. These are Harry's decisions. What happens if you try too hard to be reasonable and conciliatory and nothing like a Rechavolian cop in a backwater town? You get called the "sorry cop" and mocked for it. If you try too hard to play according to your personal politics? Everyone comments on your weird overzealous and out-of-the-blue "feminism", or you wind up pestering the queer characters in the game with out-of-place and clumsy mentions of their sexuality. What happens if you try not to be inflammatory and opinionated? "Say one of the communist or fascist things or fuck off".

The game doesn't stop you because that wouldn't get the message across. It's a very good game. It is, in my opinion, very possibly the best example of videogames as a storytelling medium we've ever seen. And it's willing to show you just how out of place you'll be if you try to put yourself into the crocodile-leather shoes of Harry Du Bois. In fact it can do that and still tell you the rest of the story it's trying to tell, because the writers were that damn good at their job.

And yeah, the game's going to make you uncomfortable. Harry himself is going to make you uncomfortable. He's supposed to. It's like Trant says near the end, Harry is like a magnetic tape, pressed against the world, recording everything. Even the ugly bits. Maybe especially the ugly bits. But you can't just throw out the ugly bits.

Sometimes you've got to work with something imperfect. Alongside imperfect people. And you can still accomplish amazing things with imperfect people. It doesn't mean accepting their imperfections or ignoring them. It just means knowing what's important to prioritize, and understanding that a good deed done by a not so good person is still a good deed.

But to understand that, you need to be able to look at Harry and recognize him as separate from you even as you go through the story. He's your point of view because he's the protagonist, and you have control over the narrative to an extent because a videogame is not one-to-one comparable to other forms of media like movies or books. But it's still a story you are experiencing, not partaking in. I don't think that's going to be revolutionary for most people, but I also think that most videogames blur that line enough that not everyone's going to innately recognize the difference. I hope I've done a good enough job explaining what I'm getting at.

Besides, Harry would be way better at finding a neighbor's missing cat.

[whitegoldtower]

How the Skyrim NPCs Throw Hands:

Elenwen: grabs you by the hair and yanks you backwards. She’s gonna scalp you.

Ancano: starting off strong with an absolutely illegal backhanded slap. It does more psychological damage than physical damage but could 100% break your nose at the right angle.

Ondolemar: the ol wind up punch. He fully drops his stance and reels it back. Puts his whole pussy into it. Does a lot of damage.

Cicero: Can’t throw a punch to save his life but you know what he can throw? Knives. Just don’t tempt him to throw hands.

Serana: you won’t even see it coming and you won’t know what the fuck is happening until you’ve hit the floor like a sack of shit tied up in the middle.

Vingalmo: the most fantastic echo-chamber reverberating SLAP you’ve ever witnessed. Hits hard enough to knock you out, but the sound of it adds insult to injury.

Lydia: You hear the L4D hunter scream and see her launching herself across a table at someone. No holding back whatsoever, she’s an absolute animal.

Erandur: A gentle slap across the cheek. Hurts way more than being punched because of the disappointment in his expression and the knowledge that you’ve managed to upset the nicest man in Tamriel.

Maramal: fucking throws haymakers (I used to have this recording where I was getting married but everyone started fighting so I used the sexlab spells to try to get them to stop. It went wrong and one guy was viciously wanking as Maramal threw continuous haymakers at him, all while fire and shock spells were blasting around the temple. It was the funniest thing I’d ever seen and my wife was sat next to me absolutely scream laughing but I have unfortunately lost the recording, and it’s one of my biggest regrets to this day)

Teldryn Sero: Fast. Precise. Knocks all the air out of your body and keeps going. You’re gonna have broken ribs and possibly a rearranged face.

[paper-mario-wiki]

Shangri-La Frontier mid-season review

This is by far the best fake video game I've ever seen written in fiction.

Most MMO-centric isekai stories have trouble with providing accurate and realistic depictions of the complexities and minutia that give MMOs the allure they have. I've seen so much handwavey bullshit tacked onto fake-games that introduce unrealistically overlooked mechanics for reasons like giving the protag immense power just because they're the protag and the story is about them. A good example of this is another MMO Isekai airing this season, "A Playthrough of a Certain Dude's VRMMO Life", wherein the main character becomes extremely rich, powerful, and famous by episode 2 because he stumbled into a stealth archer playstyle, a build which apparently no human in that universe had ever conceived of before, and then making a fortune by selling basic potions to everyone after NPCs stopped selling them (another thing he was uniquely able to do because not a single other player had the forethought to spec into alchemy). These lesser, dime-a-dozen isekai add up to be boring fantasy strories with gaming elements clumsily put in so that the author can demonstrate how powerful the world's inhabitants are by showing their stat allocation screen instead of, say, explaining anything about what they do that's so uniquely powerful and how they figured it out. Ya know, stuff you'd hope to hear about from any competent story.

Shangri-La Frontier is a breath of fresh air for anyone who, like me, is sick of authors ignoring the things that actually make video games compelling in service of creating a stock-standard narratives in fantasy worlds because it allows them to get away with bullshit. I've always found it very convenient that many isekai narratives indulge in things like chattel slavery, because it's societally normal enough for the protag to purchase a beautiful, vulnerable girl to add to his harem (dont worry, she is always inexplicably in love with him no matter what because he's SUCH a kind master). And it never really seems to go anywhere. Because the Video Game Isekai, while an interesting premise in theory, is more often than not used exclusively as a means to simplify the structure of a world's power scaling to abide by an arbitrary set of omnipresent universal rules (e.g. what people who have never cared to look into game development think of video games). This anime, by comparison, is VERY clearly authored by someone who plays a LOT of games.

Every piece of logic used to drive the plot forward, so far, is congruent to a real-world example of video game conventions, and I'm not just talking about levelling up and selling monster parts. Story elements that I've rarely (if ever) seen explored in other isekai are ever-present and genuinely clever and amusingly introduced. My favorite example of this so far has been the way the protagonist has been able to go head to head with so many overlevelled foes in the first 9 episodes. The story of course makes note of how good of a gamer Sanraku (our hero) is, but much like in real life games, being super duper good at dodging attacks doesn't really make up for a 70 level gap in items and learned skills. For that reason, he gets his ass whooped more often than he actually outsmarts others (so far he hasn't beaten a single player in pvp). So how is he getting out of these situations without dying so frequently? Simple: he got access to a later area too early relative to his level (sequence break) and got access to a high level follower NPC that's been carrying him. This is something he acknowledges directly several times, specifically using words like "Emul has been hard-carrying me for a while." This, to me, is extraordinarily meaningful. That's something you can exploit in Skyrim, man. That's REALISTIC CHEESE STRATS. The excitement and wonder I find in this show doesn't come from watching the protag do something unexpected, but by watching him do something that I would think to do.

This knowledge the author has demonstrated regarding modern gaming culture extends further into the actual realistic nature of game design and community. The story exists in a reality where full-dive VRMMOs are the be-all-end-all of gaming, and given the prohibitively expensive nature of developing and designing expansive, immersive worlds, most games are pretty shit. It's been hinted at so far that this is due to a monopolistic megacorp which is one of the only entities rich and powerful enough to make a good game (the game in question being the one that shares the title of the anime), but so far the strife of the characters have been pretty centralized to the happenings of the game world and its politics. By the way, lets talk about the game world's player base politics, which I'm also quite pleased with. It exists in the form of guilds and clans who struggle for power not by participating in seemingly random pvp with other powerful players to see who is the most epic and badass warrior (again, like many contemporary isekai typically opt for), but by gaining actual realistic support from a fictional playerbase with realistic desires and playstyles. Some guilds are interested in lore, some gather for alliance and boss raids, some for things like animal husbandry, and (naturally) at least one is dedicated to trolling and PKing. Each of these factions, through the very little that we've seen of them so far, communicate on forums and only know as much as is reasonable for them to know. The only reason they give a shit about the protagonist at all is because he gained access to a high-level unique scenario quest that they want information on how to access, and the only reason word of that got out in the first place was because someone posted a screenshot of him with a unique NPC onto a forum, asking about it as "where can i find this pet summon, its super cute!" That's real. That's video games, baby.

I like this show a lot so far. I like that it cares about video games, but I also like its writing. I like the main character and how hes less of an ultra badass super cool guy, and more of an earnest challenge-run lets player. Like, a lot of his dialogue straight up sounds strikingly similar to Japanese youtubers. And he's naturally always quick to point out inconsistencies in the game world's logic. I ALSO really like his community of pals from a janky old fighting game, and I ADORE the girl from his school who has a crush on him and also just so happens to be an exceptionally high level player from a top clan, and how she had to spend 9 episodes working up the courage to send him a friend request. I love that so, so much, dude.

I highly recommend this show if you're into a single thing I've mentioned. The animation is great. The world is beautiful. The character design is immaculate. And I'm looking forward to watching it continue.

[handsomeamoeba]

WRONG.

Try again.

Actually let's get into this. As someone who loves a great many fantasy RPGs including BG3, Skyrim, and Dragon Age, let me explain what BG3 gets that Skyrim misses, in my opinion.

And this is the big one: the characters in BG3 feel like real fucking people. They have backstories, demonstrable feelings about the events and the other characters, they react to the things you do and they develop as people as you further your relationships. Even minor NPCs often feel fleshed out with distinct personalities and opinions. Hell, going out of my way to cast Speak to Animals is usually rewarded with at least one charming remark. I have never given even a little bit of a shit about 99% of Bethesda NPCs. I usually choose to travel without a companion rather than with unless I need a pack mule to carry my stuff, because their primary function seems to be to get in my way, set off traps, or attract aggro. I can't remember most characters' names unless I'm actively playing. I'm more likely to casually murder people in Skyrim than I am in BG3 or DA because Bethesda hasn't really made any of their NPCs feel like real people, and consequentially I feel no guilt. By comparison I tried to do an evil run of DA:O and gave up the instant I had to kill Wynne (the grandmotherly spirit healer) when she refused to let me go through with my plans, because I hated doing it. Lydia will watch me gut an innocent man and do NOTHING because she has no life, existence, or personality outside of me, the player. This extends to romances, obviously. While optional in all the games, most people will pursue a romance path in BG3 or DA for the additional character arcs it brings to the characters, the emotional nuances they unlock. In Skyrim romance is a box you tick of tasks to complete. In fact, once you marry them, most marriage candidates personalities change *completely* because all spouses have the same few stock dialog lines. That is, if they had a personality to begin with (again, see Lydia). You know how everyone wants to romance unromanceable characters in Bethesda games? Like Brynjolf in Skyrim, or Nick Valentine in FO4? It's because Bethesda actually bothered to give them stories and opinions.

Honestly, this extends to the player character themselves. To a certain extent every player character is a blank slate, but in BG3 and DA it at least feels possible to develop a feeling about who that character is and what they would or would not say or do. I've tried to do that with the Dragonborn and rarely feel strong feelings about them or have strong opinions about what kind of person they are. The only one I've made who I have much of an idea about is my wood elf Parafina, who is Chaotic Evil. Which again is an option I only pick because no one in Skyrim feels real.

The stakes also feel more real in BG3, more personal. Obviously there's the central quest involving the tadpoles, but more than that, it is about a credible threat to your world and the people and communities in it and the people you love. There are tons of reasons to invest yourself emotionally in the narrative. I have never, ever completed the main storyline in Skyrim nor picked a side in Skyrim's civil war. Why would it? Basically nothing happens if I choose not to. Furthermore, if you're not playing as a Nord (which I usually don't), why would you care about Skyrim as a place? You are a faceless, voiceless (pun intended) outsider who gets microaggressed at every turn being asked to choose between two different flavors of fascist. Also dragons are back but like... listen, I don't care? They get pretty easy to pick off at a certain point, it's like swatting flies, they're just a nuisance on the way to my daily errands. And isn't that such a common story? Don't you know so many people who don't really bother with the main storylines of Skyrim? Yeah it's one of the bestselling games of all time but I feel like the fact that most people don't really care about its narrative should be a sign of failure. We all know it's mostly maintained its popularity due to the modding community.

Ultimately both games have rich worlds which reward exploration with little secrets and environmental storytelling. But BG3 feels more "meaningful" because they give me reasons to care about what happens. The writers worked hard to give the game emotional resonance. So I come to the two games for different experiences. I go to BG3 to engage with an interesting story. I go to Skyrim for the quick serotonin hit of completing tasks and hoarding items.

[feelinungry]

and i will always, always, be defending the "plot-holes" that are not actually plot-holes at all. i've seen people on facebook complain so many times about the ending of the game - about the siege of talmberg to be more exact.

"just attack it", "just take it down", "why doesn't divish just do it", "ohh his wife he can't even fuck! nobody gives a damn", "henry doesn't even really care for radzig at this point" etc.

and i have to go back to that one solitary thing this game literally cannot exist without: love. it's the main aspect, it's the pillars the story stands on, it's everything.

medieval movies and books like to picture the old times ala skyrim: "my son was very young when he died. but he did so while doing his duty. he fell for skyrim! he fell for the empire! i do not mourn for i am proud!"

"oh, i loved my father more than anything. but he is gone now. that is life."

it is. but. hear me out. people back then - were actually just like people now. we break down when we lose someone we adore, cherish, love, protect. no matter how stoic we may be, we don't take it lightly, do we?

so, if you think about it, is it a plot-hole, when divish refuses to attack his castle because

it's his home and he loves it

his wife is in there

his friend is also in there?

robard would not attack if it were divish in there. radzig would not attack if it were henry in there. hans would not attack if it were hanush in there. istvan would not attack if it were erik in there. captain bernard would not attack if it were hans in there.

it all comes back to love. and wanting people you care about safe.

martin running back to certain death because his wife is in the village when the cumans attack.

both parents worrying about nothing but their beloved son even while they are being brutally murdered.

everyone on talmberg willing to lock henry up just to keep him away from skalitz (for reasons yet unknown).

theresa making a last stand for someone just as lost as her.

the understanding he's met with when henry comes and admits his failure to radzig, the fact that he went against direct order. (nothing, absolutely nothing else but radzig being in debt to martin, or radzig being someone close to henry, could explain the understanding, the acceptance, and the outcome of the whole situation. how do you think henry - who is just a young man, not a hero, not a dragonborn, not a chosen one - would get away with all this?)

henry backed out of the night raid on talmberg because hans was wounded and wouldn't survive long enough for the mission to succeed.

hans (in one of the outcomes) carried him out on his back, saving his fat ass. no time for glory, no time for saving the hostages when it's suddenly your best friend who is on the ground and bleeding out. he might have succeeded with the mission. yet he didn't hesitate when suddenly it was him who was put in the shoes of those who just wanted to keep their loved ones safe. it was stephanie for divish (he approved the raid). it was radzig for henry (he was the one who went first and most willingly). and it was henry for hans (who immediately backed out on henry's behalf). all those actions were based on love.

would you attack talmberg, knowing there was someone you loved? someone you wanted to know better, someone you wanted to learn how to love, someone who could have been much closer if he only tried? someone you only just met?

the whole story starts with love, continues with love, ends with love. it is everywhere you look and you don't even have to romance anyone to see it, to feel it. it is in the npcs' lives, it's the motivation behind so many actions. it's in henry's decisions. in your decisions.

because, don't you just love this game?

[dare-to-dm]

Oh man, I'm so excited for Oblivion Remaster! That was the first video game I was ever unhealthily obsessed with.

I haven't looked at any of the officially released information, so I don't know what kind of remaster it's going to be. Hopefully it's not just one of those remasters that just slap new textures over the old graphics and calls it a day. After all, I can still play my original copy of Oblivion quite conveniently due to backwards compatibility, and while the graphics are dated, they aren't bad enough to really mar the experience. Here is my fantasy wishlist of updates:

Improved combat. I just want things to handle a little better than they used to, closer to how they are in Skyrim.

Make friendly fire more difficult. One of my biggest heartaches in Oblivion would be accidentally killing like 5 friendly allies in any given large scale battle because they would wander within a mile of my sword. And then everyone in the world calling me a murderer and having to trudge to all the nine shrines for forgiveness only for it to happen again almost immediately.

Improvements to the property owning experience would also be nice. Skyrim did a pretty good job on that.

Maybe not having everything in the world level with you. It gets a little tiring when you're in the late game, and every goblin is a Goblin Warlord and every bandit is decked out in glass armor.

An option to inject the soundtrack directly into my veins

Things I don't want to change:

The horrible voice acting

The frankly bonkers dialogue that a lot of NPCs have

Omnipotent guards who know everything you do no matter where you are (unless you crouch)

The disposition wheel. A lot of people hated this mechanic, but I like it (and also find it hilarious that like 80% of guards are really into being coerced)

The alchemy system. I like how it's done in Oblivion better than Skyrim because you can make potions everywhere if you carry the right equipment. It's very convenient and occasionally silly (for example, you can be in the middle of the ocean and brew up a potion of water breathing if you need).

[moomine]

come with me | jesper the guard

author's note: psa! this is total self-indulgence... the jesper the guard follower mod/skyrim guard tales literally have me giggling and kicking my feet (cover image credit)

summary: (jespertheguard x dragonborn!reader) (she/her pronouns) After the reader discovers she's the Dragonborn she bonds with Jesper, a Whiterun guard that understands her. The Dragonborn returns to Whiterun after a long time of adventuring and convinces him to leave the city and come with her.

word count: 1,627

warnings: mentions of blood/bloodshed, trauma very briefly explored (mostly fluff here)! all characters are 18+

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

As of late, Jesper’s watchful eye felt less and less inquisitive and more so on the side of admiration. Underneath the protective sheath of his helmet, the young guard watched as you walked throughout Whiterun in awe. Upon your initial arrival, he was unsure of you. Who wouldn’t have been off-put by a young woman —dressed in ill-fitting Imperial armor, covered in scrapes and bruises, approaching the city gates with a dire look in her eyes? Better yet, someone who claimed she had information about the dragon attack on Helgen.

Within a short period of time, your name began to carry weight around Whiterun, and the word of the last Dragonborn consumed the entirety of Skyrim. Everyone, man and beast alike, sang praise of the rise of a new hero. Nobody saw you as the woman you truly were, a woman thrusted into a life of adventure and risk without much experience with either. Other than Jesper.

He was used to being overlooked, and when he was noticed it was typically at his own expense. The rest of the Whiterun guard took pleasure in tormenting him. Most of the time they were harmless pranks, just enough to make poor Jesper uncomfortable and his comrades laugh. His experiences outside of the city walls were vastly different. Maybe it was because Jesper took the time to get to know you before you absorbed that dragon’s soul, and the first cry of the Greybeards in centuries could be heard. Maybe because he took great concern at the sight of your disheveled appearance and the obvious shellshock in your eyes when he first saw you. Whatever it may have been, Jesper saw you as more than a hero. He saw you as the woman you were before your legendary quest began.

It had been a number of days since Jesper had seen your return to Whiterun, and his normal anxiety seemed to grow astronomically with each sun that set. When he finally saw you enter the Bannered Mare, seemingly unscathed but clearly exhausted, he felt a weight immediately lift from his shoulders. He watched from afar as you approached Hulda, handed her a fist full of gold, and took a chilly bottle of mead into your gloved hand. He felt his heart begin to race as you turned around and looked about the room, scanning the crowd of merry men and women chatting amongst themselves and listening to the sound of Mikael’s famously sweet lute. As your eyes met his masked face, he felt a smile spread along his lips without his knowledge. It was like an impulse. The second you saw him he felt lighter, felt seen. Somehow you always knew it was him.

You approached, armor clanging against itself as you walked, and nodded to the empty seat across from him with that tired smile of yours. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,�� Jesper said, almost too quickly, and sat up straight.

You didn’t hesitate, dropping your heavy satchel to the floor as you sunk into the rather uncomfortable chair. A long, drawn out sigh blew through your lips. The wooden chair creaked beneath you, warping from the weight of your armor. By your reaction, Jesper would have thought that was the most comfortable chair you had ever had the pleasure to sit in. Realistically, he realized that might have been the first time you sat in a chair at all in days. Ashen logs crackled as the fire ate away at their bark flesh, filling the inn with warmth and the haunting smell of smoke. It had been several months since what happened in Helgen, but you were still tense around fire and smoke.

“You must have had quite the adventure,” he remarked with an amused voice.

“You could say that.” You sighed, popping the cork from your mead before taking a long gulp of the crisp ale. “How’s Whiterun been treating you?”

Jesper grimaced under his helmet. “You really want to hear about how I’ve been? I’m worried I’d bore you to death if I told you.”

“You could never bore me. You have no idea how much I miss the simple life.”

By your expression alone, Jesper could tell you were being genuine. You looked as though you needed to hear about something other than dragons and bloodshed for once.

“They won’t let me take gate duty anymore,” he paused, turning his attention to the wooden sword sheathed at his hip. “And I’m not allowed to carry a blade either.”

Your brows furrowed instantaneously, and you sat up in your chair. “What? Why?” you asked, your gaze piercing and angry.

Jesper felt a shiver go down his spine. “I let a thief into the city. So, now I’m stuck with tavern watch. Making sure drunkards don’t break out into fist fights or harass the barmaids, and all that.”

“As if there aren’t already thieves in this city. That’s outrageous. I’ll talk to the Jarl, we’ll sort this out. I promise-”

“Don’t…” His voice was weak, quiet. “I prefer this. The other guards don’t bother me here, and Hulda’s letting me rent the attic room. It’s better this way.” His eyes fell almost shamefully back to the toy he was burdened with.

“Why do you stay here?” you asked bluntly.

“What do you mean?” he responded, taken aback by your question.

“Why stay in Whiterun? You deserve so much more than this, Jesper. You’re capable of so much more.” You placed an assertive hand on the table, an offering. An understanding. “I’m leaving tomorrow. Come with me.”

Jesper’s face softened as he looked back to you, although you couldn’t see it. “I shouldn’t… I-I mean I can’t. I have a responsibility here. My life is here, in Whiterun. If I go now I’ll be letting everyone down. My family, my brothers and sisters in arms, the Jarl, maybe even you. I can’t just give up because some of the men tease me.”

“They aren’t just teasing you, Jesper. They’re cruel.” Your tone was stern but not harsh. It held a softness you saved just for him, for the rare moments where the two of you could talk. Truly talk. “Come with me. We could go to Solitude, you could join the Bard’s College.”

Your honesty was hard for him to digest, getting stuck in his throat as he tried to swallow the bitter truth. There was little left for him in Whiterun, other than his career and barely notable status. What little he had to his name was either already on his person or overhead, tucked away in that small attic room he had come to call home. Beneath his helm, Jesper’s eyes wandered away from the intensity on your face and toward the fire as it popped, cinders rising from the flames like torchbugs in the night. Your hands tensed, fingers curling into your palms to form fists, as you suppressed a flinch.

“You remembered that?” he asked earnestly, his gaze still fixed on the flickering flames ahead.

A sweet smile crept onto your face as you leaned closer, resting your elbows on top of the table now. “How could I forget? It’s your dream, isn’t it?”

“That’s all it is,” he mumbled. “Just a dream.”

“Don’t you see? We could make it a reality. You can make it a reality,” you said gently.

“I don’t know. They’ll consider me a deserter, you know? I’ll never be allowed within the city walls again.” The discouragement in his tone was starting to become disappointingly familiar to you.

You reached across the table and placed a kindly hand on his shoulder. “You, my friend, are fortunate enough to know the Thane of Whiterun, remember? It pays off to have friends in high places, huh?” 

There was truth to what you were saying, but it was clear to Jesper that you were trying to ease his worries through humor. Since your arrival, he finally had a bit of influence in the city. Although, it was worthless without you physically there to back him up.

Silence fell over the two of you as you stared at one another. Mikael plucked the strings of his lute softly and the commotion of story-telling and conversation echoed throughout the room. Jesper weighed his options, grateful that the conflicted look that surely took over his face was hidden behind the veil of his helmet. After a long moment, he finally nodded, seeming far more sure of himself than before.

“Yeah, okay. If… if you’re certain, then I’ll come with you.” His voice was higher, more excited than before.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything,” you replied. 

Your face was lit up like the nearby fire, spreading warmth to Jesper’s cheeks as they flushed. Almost reluctantly, you peeled your eyes away from his face as you took one last swig from your bottle. The chair beneath you croaked as you pushed it back, scratching against the stone below. You came to your feet swiftly, despite how clearly fatigued you were. Jesper couldn’t help but frown as he watched you stand.

“Where are you going? The… the night’s still young,” he questioned. He didn’t want the night to end, to stop talking to you.

You smiled tenderly as you looked down at him. “I’m exhausted. I don’t think I’ve had a proper night's sleep in days.” You bent over, grabbing your satchel and the rest of your equipment. “I expect to see you by the stables at sunrise. It’s a long ride to Solitude.”

“I’ll be there!” Jesper replied eagerly, watching as you walked away with a gleam in his eyes. You turned to him one last time with an affectionate smile, then closed the door to your room. “I promise,” he mumbled.

[dirty-bosmer]

TES Crushes

Which NPCs in TES (all games included!) do you crush on, and why? They don't have to be marriage candidates (in vanilla), just people you find yourself blushing around. Hell, it could be a Deadric Prince if that's what you're into. Name them and say what about them you find appealing! Then feel free to tag a friend or two!

Tagged by @babyblueetbaemonster @theoneandonlysemla Thank you <3

Tagging: @ladytanithia @unironicallytes @gilgamish @kookaburra1701 @saltymaplesyrup @rustyram035 @darcxaosit @moriche @pocket-vvardvark @heavy-metal-dick @alma-amentet @pyre-of-pages @guardianlizard

Borrowing some of Julia's number scheme cause it's nice organization :)

#1: Characters I crushed on during my first ever playthrough as a wee lass:

Methredhel: 10 year old me spent countless hours watching her sleep in that huntsman vest/bralett outfit XD

M'raaj-Dar: Young me was so predictable. Some character is mean to me? Gotta make sure I fall in love with them and do everything in my power to get them to like me. Then he apologized to me right before the purification and I knew I was done for. After the purification, I hoisted his body onto a bed in the living quarters and surrounded him with flowers lol

Enilroth: That one stable boy in Anvil who places the last of Mathieu Bellamont's fake dead-drops out for you. I thought he was so normal looking in a game where everyone looked like they were melting.

Cutter: I just thought she was pretty.

Relmyna Verenim: Being a crazy mad scientist devoted to your passions is hawt.

#2: Characters I crush on now:

The Ordinators in Morrowind. It's the ten packs a day ash-choked voice.

Dagoth Ur. He invaded my dreams with a wedding ceremony. I'm pretty sure we've moved past the prosaic love confession. We are now bounded in our blood.

Nazir: He will always be Skyrim's Sexyman to me <3

Astrid: I'm a simple gal. I see a woman who does fucked up things being torn to shreds by the fandom, I 👀

Arquen: Same as above. She’s a baddie to me and I don’t care about the rumor where she ate Lucien’s entrails, that just makes her weirder and sexier 💕

Raminus Polus: He's smart and gives you a fancy necklace and tells you that you're doing a good job, like what else do I need really?

Mathieu Bellamont: the only man I will ever call baby girl. Love a revenge arc. Love a twisted obsession. I genuinely dgaf that he single-handedly wrecked the Dark Brotherhood, maybe the Black Hand should not have been so trigger happy and eager for self-destruction!

Lucien Lachance: Despite the hundreds of thousands of words I've written about him, my feelings for Lucien are kind of complicated 😅 I don’t dislike him, but at some point while writing my fic I realized I gaslit myself into believing he was hotter than he is lol Upon replay, I was like 'man this dude is such a scrub I have to write him to be as creepy and dripless as possible,' which like... I'm still into lol I just feel like a fake fan for it.

Ondolemar: Unique, kissable lips, him degrading me in public only to whip out that, 'there are so few pleasures in life as fine as your company' once he realized he wanted me, oooooh girl

Razum-Dar: I wanted him SO BADLY during the Aldmeri Dominion quests.

#3 Characters I actually married in game:

Nels Llendo: Had a mod to make it possible for my Morrowind playthrough. He killed all the cliff racer for me :)

Jenassa: She might be the only character I ever married on my main LDB's save, and it was actually so devastating because all she would do was stand in the foyer of Proudspire Manor with no clothes on, asking about kids we never had. Look how the glitches massacred my girl :(

Derkeethus: I married him on my Arch-mage save but only on PC because he too was glitched and every time I told him to go home he would run away!!!

#4: Characters I’m only crushing on because of Fics I read

@theoneandonlysemla's Ancano and Faralda I'm so weak for horribly, toxic elves. Yes, abuse your power! Make everyone around you miserable!

@sylvienerevarine's Roggi Knot-Beard. Had no idea who this man was until Sophrine rolled into his life, and from then on I was smitten. Wholesome, sexy, husband of the year <3

@skyrim-forever's Aicantar. Scholarly, bashful mage nerd <3 I actually always thought Aicantar was a cutie and had considered marrying him on one playthrough because even with cheat codes, a lot of the Altmer characters don't have voice lines for marriage. Aicantar's voice made him a suitable candidate.

#5 Characters that have made me 👀 but in an way that makes me embarrassed

The Spider Daedra from Oblivion. I was obsessed with her rack LMAO

Dremora: something about unintelligible, guttural screams and fiery eyes, I think...

Molag Bal. I also blame this one on @theoneandonlysemla

[nejackdaw]

Now That You've Lost Tomorrow (is yesterday still a friend?)

4.2k words of the Celann backstory in my head

Under the cut for length; not NSFW. Also leave my Jimminy Cricket ass alone, I was thinking about Disney narrators when I started this lmao. It wasn't supposed to be an actual piece send help

Ahem. (Tw animal death) (tw gore) [Minor edits made 8/28/24 and 12/27/24 (spelling)]

Born in the Northmoor of Breton High Rock, Celann aged to be a fine man. With a lively, happy home, he was a handsome, good natured jokester with a penchant for bringing smiles wherever he went. Be it through mischief at home, exaggerated peacocking (resulting in clumsy accidents) in front of his beloved fiancee, charitable work through the town, or the song on his lips, he was an easygoing presence that had endeared himself to the people around him. Life was good and grand: he had an easy, do nothing guard job in a happy little town to bring in coin, plans to settle down and start a family, and wanted for nothing between it all. But things started to change when his elder sister prepared to set off on her apprenticeship–dark winds blew in that he, that none of them, would ever recover from.

It was an adjustment for everyone with Jehanne recently absent; she'd been gone only a week, but the absence of fabric scraps and 'come look at this for me's, the messily kept tomes and quills that dripped ink, the prospect of not hearing another "you're being ridiculous, it's been weeks! Come join us for dinner!" and her high pitched, victorious cackles as she raced away, knowing she'd magically cleared up everyone's schedules by asking–she'd only been gone a week, but it felt an awfully lot longer than that. Celann kept up with his guard work in her absence and Charlotte, ever interested in his sister's seamstress and design work, had taken up the hobby when she wasn't keeping the ledger at Garnier's, insisting someone had to be leaving fabric in a house somewhere in Jehanne's absence–to balance things out, obviously, as all good magic is supposed to be.

Time passed this way for another week or so as everyone tried to reassure themselves that everything was fine; it was a large change, but they'd known for months, and they'll settle into this new normal soon and everything would be fine. But suddenly news came whispering through the streets of strange shadows passing by windows at night, shadows with no one to cast them, and soon enough the guards were being asked to look out for missing pets, small cats and birds that must have gotten loose.

Small cats and birds that were found far from their homes and butchered, torn apart but not eaten.

An uneasiness settled over the town as more and more of the creatures turned up, and "killer" was on everyone's lips. After a few weeks of disappearances and gory resurfaces, they began tapering off until they stopped entirely. Like any predator: from small prey to large–the guards instructed woodsmen and hunters, trappers and fur traders to keep an eye out in the woods for anything that didn't look like an animal had gotten to it first. It took only two days after the order was given for a horrified hunter to return with news of a torn, gaunt elk carcass, black with rot around the edges of the worst wounds. Next it was a boar, then a doe–then nothing once again.

Celann was tasked with joining patrols, increased in the wake of the animal attacks until investigators, who so far had found no leads towards what everyone assumed to be a fledgling serial killer, could find some hint as to what had been happening. Everyone waited anxiously for the inevitable first victim.

It came only a month after the shadow appeared.

Following loud, panicked shouts, Celann stumbled into an alleyway to find something hardly recognizable as human. It was pale, even for a corpse, and gaunt like the beasts had been–ripped apart and stained black at the edges, wounds rotting prematurely. He covered his mouth and looked away as he desperately fought against the thick, burning bile at the back of his throat, side stepping into a puddle of dried blood to let a more senior guard pass by.

When everything had been documented, after the corpse had been covered and the area sealed off–more for the townspeople's sake than the scene's–and they were given permission to leave, Celann headed immediately to the blacksmith, grateful for the harsh, painful way the smell and smoke of the forge cleaned the blood and rot from his lungs. He left with three sturdy daggers, weapons he grimly pressed into his family's hands as he made them swear to carry it with them. The protests died on all their lips when they saw the fear in his eyes, each taking it with the same gravity Celann presented it with and solemnly promising they would.

After only three days, there was another disappearance; another corpse, butchered and rotting unnaturally. He'd never possessed the same gift for magic most of his people did, but Celann knew enough–knew to fear the third and what it would bring, because there was no way this terror was only a man and threes were either a blessing or a curse. In the end, it was both.

When he stumbled on the third victim, it hardly occured to him that the man had anything at all to do with the last horrifying, supernatural month. He wasn't torn open like everything before, the ground wasn't coated in blood and viscera. He looked almost like someone who'd been lucky and gone in his sleep somehow–but when Celann knelt down to check if he was alive, he startled to see familiar jewelry and recognized the gaunt corpse of the book seller from around the block. His wedding band sat at an angle around a finger too small for the old, tarnished metal, and when Celann reached for his wrist to get a better look he touched something slimy and cold.

He distantly registered someone from the patrol calling out his name as he stared down at the red on his fingers, a steadily growing urge filling him with every beat of his heart to smear it off on the rough stones beneath him until his own blood ran hot and quick and erased the feeling forever. He clenched his fist instead–looked over at the boots beside him and pretended he hadn't just terrified himself as a second guard knelt with him to inspect the body.

It was Simon who found the most important thing the body had to tell them; Celann was busy wiping the blood off on his trousers and trying to get his mind working right again. A frantic tap on his shoulder got his attention and he looked up into Simon's wide, terrified eyes before slowly turning his head to see what he'd found. The gloved hand gripping the corpse's jaw slowly retreated, shaking, and Celann looked down to see two frighteningly neat holes at the side of the neck.

They shared a long, quiet look before Celann reached out again for the merchant's hand, praying desperately he didn't dig his fingers into disgustingly smooth, exposed flesh again as he avoided gripping the wrist to turn it around. Torn and bloodied, but the black edges were smaller this time. Cleaner, neater, less noticable.

They raced away burdened with news of a vampire preying on the town, searching desperately for the commander and whatever investigators they could find.

/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/

The city was placed under curfew immediately after the news arrived, and patrols were focused for the dark and evening hours. Everyone was required inside and with at least one companion; a vampire could easily overpower a pair, but the hope was that, with no lone targets, it would resent the effort it would take to target anyone else. Guards were similarly paired and ordered not to stray from one another–the only souls out in the night needed to be vigilant. Celann thought about the daggers he'd bought his family, thought about Charlotte taking Jehanne's room at home without him there in the night to share their bed. He wondered what good those knives would be, what good his sword would do him, if the beast got insistent.

Heavy tension hung over the town for weeks after the news arrived. Curtains were drawn and lights were left burning outside as people hoped the creature would pass them by. Every sound was investigated.

After a week, after two, after a month… there was nothing. No pets, no woodland beasts, no disappearances.

The dread started to lighten as time passed, and after four weeks of no new attacks, the townsfolk had, to a degree, returned to life as normal. They were still sure to make it home before night properly fell, still kept a light on, but as the days went by there seemed to be a collective feeling that it had all been a nightmare, some trick of Vaermina.

Celann noted three absences with every pass through the town.

Nightmares didn't claim lives, and he worried at how quickly everyone let themselves believe any danger had passed. The bookshop was closed for a week, what with the owner being dead; he and Lotte liked to buy each other occasional gifts from there, and the darkness in the windows–always warmly lit and welcoming before–never failed to stir a sense of dread in him.

But then a second month was passing without any sort of attack, patrols returned to normal, and even Celann let himself relax. With how often the beast had attacked before, there was no way it would sit and wait for months. The town had been on alert and anything it would have hunted locked inside, but even the forests nearby had been spared. It had surely moved on at this point to easier prey, or either fled in order to avoid detection, he reasoned.

That reasoning was why he accepted the promotion offered to him: an easy, quiet job out at the watchtower, not too far from town and coming with a pay increase; he'd be replacing someone who quit, understandably, in light of the vampire attacks while they had been happening. The new station was a bit of a trek from the gates, at the edge of the forest, but the road was usually quiet enough and the pay was enticing so he agreed. Fresh air, new faces–it sounded like a nice change of scenery, anyway.

It took a few mornings–early, dark, quiet–to adjust to all the rustling, and Perrette teased him for it, but they got on well and she explained their duties simply and easily. They arrive at midnight and they're relieved around breakfast, and spend their downtime chatting or pretending they weren't falling back asleep. Celann never bothered her when she did, and she returned the favor when he was half asleep, half awake, never quite able to properly sleep in the tower.

It was early, a week or so after he'd started, and he was tired; he'd been resting with his head pillowed on his arms at his desk, lost in that dark, semi conscious haze. There wasn't anyone out at this hour, with the moon still so high, and he paid no mind when he hadn't heard Perrette for what should have been a suspiciously long time. She was probably playing cards and he was just resting, after all, not falling asleep like his coworker did. If anything popped up they could handle it.

Just resting is why one eye opened blearily at a sound outside, a sound Celann had only half heard and had already forgotten by the time he was looking at candlelit paperwork. He kept it open a bit longer, listening for any other sounds, then let his eyes close again, shifting in his seat to get comfortable. Nothing, just the dark and the quiet–but as the seconds passed something settled heavy in his chest, had suspicion creeping into his head, and he sat up to look around.

Nothing. Just the dark and the quiet. He slowly stood from his chair and breathed deep, waking himself up as he glanced around the inside of the watchtower. Perrette wasn't at the window, there was no humming or the sound of cards, like he'd expected. The deck was, however, still out on the windowsill, game partially through, and when he moved closer he spotted a few that had blown outside. A familiar dread settled over him as he looked down at them, caught in flower stems and other growth that kept them from blowing farther away.

The moon was still high. Perrette was not here. She was not with the cards she carried in a little box as a gift from her lover, hand drawn with curling letters on the back. It was quiet. It was… unnaturally still, Celann realized. He stared out through the window at the road as his hand moved to the hilt of his sword. He listened. Something moved in the undergrowth behind the station and he quietly crept his way to the–open–back door.

A black hare greeted him at the threshold, a bloody, mangled carcass with its white ribs exposed to the moonlight. The smell of rot hit him and his face twisted; his sword scraped against the sheath as he drew it.

Vampire.

Celann didn't know where Perrette was, what had happened to her, but he doubted the beast would leave a display if it wasn't waiting. It hadn't left. He stared out into the woods and swallowed, listening and hearing nothing. Nothing. His heart beat a terrified rhythm behind his ribs as he stepped outside, stepping carefully over the carcass and into the night, heading hesitantly for the woodline.

He'd hardly stepped through, heel snapping dead leaves and trampling plants–sound, something BURSTING forward, a scream–

He managed to put an arm between them, elbow digging into their chest, pain, hot, claws and yellow eyes. His heel slid back in the dirt as the creature strained against him, screaming and snarling and gnashing bloody teeth inches from his face. The hot smell of blood and decay hit him in the face and suddenly there was a fist in his hair, pulling painfully and jerking his head to the side–it vanished as soon as it appeared and Celann watched the vampire stumble back, face twisted in betrayal.

His own twisted to mirror it as he stared at the disfigured visage of his sister.

Jehanne.

She was clutching one of her hands as if injured, and he noticed a small, circular brand pressed into the heel of her palm. The shape of his earring, a small piece of silver resting by his jaw.

Those two moments stretched into forever then minutes suddenly blurred–claws, pain, BEGGING, being thrown, his shoulders slamming into a tree.

Celann blinked blood from his eyes and raised himself onto a shaking arm, catching his breath as he reached for his sword. He noticed she'd torn through his sleeves; the cloth was dark and sticky with blood, and he could feel the edge of his mouth throbbing, the skin around his lips torn open with a nasty downward swing of her claws. Jehanne was pacing agitatedly, glaring down at him and spitting to herself as he pushed himself to sit in the undergrowth. His head was throbbing dizzyingly, shoulders on fire from the impact, and he could feel something hot and wet snaking its way through the short hairs at the back of his neck.

Celann staggered to his feet, leaning against the tree for support, and let out a shuddering breath as he held his sword in front of him. Trying to evaluate.

She wasn't uninjured herself, not that it did him any good; he'd mangled one of her wrists and she'd still thrown him like a doll. He'd cut and sliced and stabbed and she was standing all the same, and they shared a mutual look of despair. Some mix of emotions flashed across her face, faintly illuminated by what moonlight breached the canopy, bright eyes wide as her lips were parting and she was clawing at her face, fangs glistening, then– "But we're family!" she wailed

The world went quiet.

Realization hit him, then. Cold blood. The world became the woman in front of him. He couldn't let her leave. Horror. Couldn't let her live. Agony. She'd kill them all. Kill her first.

He wondered how many times his sister must have crept past their windows, how many nights she must have watched him from the forest. Family. She'd kill him if it meant turning him, kill them all if he couldn't stop her.

Jehanne took a step forward and spread her arms invitingly, one wrist hanging at a sickening angle. Another step when he didn't immediately move, a sweet smile on her face, then lunged–steel and blood and pain and screams. He couldn't hesitate, couldn't go easy anymore. Blood flew from his blade as he drove it into her heart–vampires need to be stabbed in the heart–once, twice, a third time. He staggered back and tensed, waiting for her to somehow still be moving, dizzy with blood loss and buzzing with adrenaline.

He distantly watched her head slump against the ground, face half pressed into the dirt; glowing yellow eyes went dim and returned to a familiar brown. He watched, paradoxically, as she regained some color, despite being dead. Dead. He looked at glassy eyes and felt far away. Trees and green growth and blood splatters came back into view, but it was someone else's view, someone else's eyes. They laughed, whoever it was, desperate and manic, and dropped his sword as he stared at his sister's corpse. Something was screaming about it, somewhere inside him, but it was far away and muffled, a mile away.

Celann stumbled on suddenly weak legs towards the nearest tree and let himself collapse to the ground against it, staring at her face until it blurred. Everything blended together, and all he knew was that he was cold. He distantly remembered he was bleeding, but the thought vanished almost instantly into the gentle fog that was clouding his mind. He shivered, he thinks, and then thinks nothing else as he sits on the forest floor beneath the moon for hours.

He doesn't register Perrette stumbling out of the watchtower, only partially realizing she was yelling at him at all, even as she knelt beside him. He came back to himself when someone was snapping incessantly in his face, when irritation managed to stir him into some faint awareness. Simon was kneeling in front of him, eyes wide with fear as he gestured at the people around him. They descended upon him, quiet and gentle as they hauled him to his feet, and as he was half dragged, half helped back to town, all Celann really noticed was that it was morning. The sky was a pale, misty yellow–sunrise. Morning. The night was over. The night was over but he would live with what happened in the dark forever.

/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/

He had nightmares every time he managed to fall asleep, shepherded into the temple to be healed and watched over. Breathing was difficult and he assumed he was dying; he was only a little concerned at how okay with that he was. A stranger visited him on the third day after the Incident and the priestesses allowed her to feed him something from a vial, some liquid miracle that ended the worst of the night terrors and let him breathe easy.

There had been a newly made vampire den nearby, she explained when he woke again, and Jehanne had likely been taken the day she stepped out onto the road. Her voice was factual as she informed the temple they'd all been taken care of, but there was sympathy on her face as she looked down at the shadows under his half vacant eyes. She hunted vampires–and other daedra–she'd said as she left; there was something he didn't like in her tone, something knowing, as she closed the door behind her and told him she'd be staying in town for a month or two.

He was sent back home later that afternoon, back to he and Charlotte's house, but everything felt… strange. He felt like he was intruding on his own space, in his own house, in his own bed. Lotte was being patient, but the pain in her eyes when she looked at him sent a spike through his heart. Blood. Breaking bones. He supposed he deserved it after what he'd done, though even he could tell she very genuinely didn't think less of him for it. But she handled him gently and he missed her smiles, missed making her laugh. That solemn look didn't belong in her eyes.

His parents visited twice, to make sure he was healing alright, but there was a distance between them that had never been there. They'd raised Jehanne for 26 years, their daughter, you killed our daughter, what kind of man kills his own sister? It was never said, of course, but he could see it in the tension on their faces and the stiff way they held themselves near him.

They declined both times to stay for dinner.

Celann couldn't move on. His family thought he was a murderer, his fiancee was no longer living with the man she'd gotten engaged to. Something in bim broke when he thought about it, that they were supposed to be married in a few months. He'd been over the moon about it, wouldn't stop talking about it to anyone who listened, even if they weren't really, but the hush that had fallen over the house as Charlotte gave him the space he'd started needing felt like an ill omen.

Two months passed of feeling like an outsider in his own life and he was saying goodbye to her. She refused to break off their engagement, said he felt guilty and was being stupid, and as he tried to promise not to darken her door again she told him for better or for worse came before the wedding vows and if he didn't at least write to her on his trip with this mystery woman she'd find him and drag him back home like a runaway boy.

It… hadn't been what he'd planned on. He hadn't planned on returning or writing at all, had planned on removing himself entirely, no longer the man she'd intended to marry and pained at how she was caring for him. He hadn't told her about meeting the woman from the temple, either–but people talked and Lotte was good at listening, and he wasn't as surprised as he could have been. He had mixed feelings about the indefinite engagement, but if it was what she wanted he'd let her have it, like she was letting him leave because he needed to. They looked after each other like that.

Perrette, on her part, when he found her at breakfast, immediately told him through a mouthful of jam and toast where the woman from the temple was before standing and pulling him into a hug. She pressed a small wooden box and a dagger into his hands before wishing him well and telling him to hurry, because the stranger had been packing her things last she saw and getting ready to leave.

It turns out she had left, hours ago, but Celann found her waiting expectantly outside the gate just off the road. She was sitting with her own breakfast with a second placement set up for him, and he once again didn't like the knowing look in her eyes as he sat down. She explained, eventually, that she was with the Vigil of Stendarr, and had been sent with two others to investigate rumors of vampires in the area. Jehanne had been an opportune victim, out alone on the road so early in the morning; the vampire had been trying to start a clan and needed bodies to fill the seats.

He'd almost been one of them. It was a matter of hours, apparently.

Again, she assured him they were all dead and asked if he intended to join her and her companions on the road–if he had seen what chaos and danger creatures like vampires pose and wanted to take up arms against them. He didn't answer, and she didn't demand he give one; they ate together in silence again and she didn't comment on the way he'd glance back at the gate every now and then. The guard on duty would give a little wave each time, a sad look on his face, and so Celann looked less and less until he didn't look again at all. He was leaving, after all; something deep in him was different, had shaken him out of the life he'd had, and he was moving on. There wasn't room for whatever he was in the space he'd made for himself anymore.

A few nights later he would untie the ribbon around that little box Perrette had given him, far away from town, and open it to find a clumsily hand drawn set of cards with little messages penned in her handwriting on the back. He turned the fool around to see a scribbled portrait of himself amongst the scrawled decoration; the back of every queen was a rough sketch of Charlotte. He put them gently back in the box, retied the ribbon, and ignored the look Freyja gave him as he slipped it back into his bag.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, again, without a body next to him.

"For those who cherish memories of loved ones, their compassion often conceals the beast. Our compassion compels us to destroy it."

[qiu-yan]

blueberry man

consider the following (depressing) series of events:

[modern au]

jiang cheng has a discord account with the username @/blueberry_man. (notably not grape, even though his favorite color is purple, because he wore a purple shirt once in middle school and wei wuxian clowned on him for it for a full year). 

one day, jiang cheng borrows wei wuxian's computer for a school project, when he notices that wei wuxian is working on a personal project. from what jiang cheng can tell, it is a custom skyrim mod, which is to be a gift for another person. notably, the mod includes some hidden files which, when unearthed and opened with the correct access code, confess wei wuxian's romantic intentions towards the gift recipient. 

the custom mod is labeled as to be gifted to one @/blue_berry_man.

jiang cheng returns the computer without saying anything. he doesn't know how to feel about this. on one hand, he had never viewed wei wuxian in that light, nor did he ever think that wei wuxian had viewed him in that light. but, on the other hand, jiang cheng has always wanted wei wuxian to stay by his side. even if he did not mean it in a romantic sense, jiang cheng has always thought of wei wuxian as his person, in a way that no one else quite was. 

and one of jiang cheng's biggest fears was that wei wuxian did not feel the same. that, while wei wuxian was jiang cheng's best friend, jiang cheng was not wei wuxian's best friend in the same sense; that, one day, wei wuxian would get bored of jiang cheng (who was never enough, who was always lacking, who, in the end, had always been too desperate and yet not enough for another to want) and find someone else instead.

but, if wei wuxian was in love with jiang cheng, then didn't that solve everything? then his and wei wuxian's relationship would be solidified. then it would be given social weight and legitimacy - in other words, meaning. then, what was currently only a nebulous friendship that could be dissolved at any moment by wei wuxian losing interest would instead become tangible, and wei wuxian would stay.

jiang cheng did not say anything. nor did his interactions with wei wuxian change. but, as time went on, he came to like the idea of receiving that custom mod from wei wuxian more and more. one day, he realized that what he had found on wei wuxian's computer that day had in fact made him incredibly happy. 

then, one day, jiang cheng was assigned to a group project for one of his classes. one of his teammates was lan wangji, who jiang cheng remembered as the teacher's pet classmate who wei wuxian had not been able to shut up about during the previous semester. since it was the only messaging platform everyone already had installed, jiang cheng's group decided to communicate via discord.

so jiang cheng added everyone on discord. lan wangji's discord username was @\blue_berry_man.

so wei wuxian's custom mod wasn't for jiang cheng after all. instead, all along, it had been for lan wangji - this @\blue_berry_man, instead of jiang cheng's @\blueberry_man.

jiang cheng tried to not let it bother him. after all, it wasn't like he was in love with wei wuxian or anything. nonetheless, as he stared at lan wangji's username on his computer, jiang cheng felt a sharp sting pricking at the corners of his eyes.

[truth-01001001-liar]

Wip Wednesday :)))

tagged by @labskeever like two weeks ago and by @sulphuricgrin and @moriche! Thank y'all so much for thinkin' of me!!

Tagging (with no pressure ofc): @moriche, @labskeever, @changelingsandothernonsense, @sulphuricgrin, @wispstalk, @skyrim-forever, @heavy-metal-dick, @saltymaplesyrup and anyone else who wants to participate. I wish I had a list of everyone who was okay being tagged, but alas I do not so this is just my best guess.

No art wips at this particular moment, because i've been working on the first part of my skyrim fic. Which I've barely scratched the surface of, but regardless I've been having a blast writing it. I did my best to match the format in this post to the way I have it actually written, but I have no idea what tumblr will do across the board with that formatting-- here's hoping it doesn't get botched too much, though. :D (edit: nope formatting did not work oops)

As a note: it is a fanfic shaped like a poem.. it will be that way for the entire fic because I think it's fun. This is, in part, a warning.. because I know that's probably not everyone's cup of tea :)

There are 2 pieces to the writing here- it starts as a dream just btw.

(alsooo content warning for blood?- not much but there's a mention of it.)

CHAPTER 1: UNBOUND

I.

I said I.

I breathe. I dream.

My eyes crusty in the foggy cold My dreaming death

muddled and marred

by the truth

of my silence.

Only breathless birdsong and the weighty nothingness of the morning to greet me.

I am surrounded by Skyrim’s towering mountainscapes; the pensive brows of Kyne.

They threw me into their prison cart- deemed me unworthy with merely a glance.

Unworthy of breath. My breath; My fearful weapon; My muse; My voice I use to exhale yet they only hear Her

as chaos.

My hum-drumming heart-hope falls silent in their wake,

because they lie and lie and say

The breath from their lips must continue.

yet

Mine? unworthy.

And so mouth-bound hands-tied I lay on the lap of our province’s short and fuming warlord… and wonder: Where do they deem to take that which they outlaw, and call nothing?

That is me.

I…

I am the nothing they fear. Yet…

I…

I am just me. And they will never unmake me. So:

I.

I said I. And I breathe. And I will never be nothing. And I Make. Me.

THE ENDING OF THESE WORDS is the ending of a dream, and this woman’s slumber is broken by the lurch of a– cart. The cart: quake-making on the cobbled road catches

C R A C K and a tumble-thunk as her teeth hit the wooden bench.

AWAKE

“Hey you,” says the man next to her. The concern in his voice– apparent. And yet. Her fall, silly-seeming, had dug into his guts and brought with it hissing laughter.

She rights herself. Brows knitted breath heavy blood now beading on her broken lips.

She wipes the crusted drool and wetness of an open wound off on her shoulder. Struggling

in vain

to appear dignified.

Her blood red eyes come up to meet his.

“-You’re finally awake,” He chuckles.

She pretends to unhear him.

[crumkitty]

A/N: HI GUYS I cant believe I’m doing this, I haven’t written in for so long, but ima try my best 🐱 About!!:This is a Cicero X Listener! this is kinda like a slow burn with lots of yapping, so get ur reading glasses on 😭🙏

BTW! the white is the slow burn, and the pink is NSFW! for the people who just wanna get freaky😛 Warnings!!: NSFW, talk about death, bleeding

Cicero and his Skibidy

The Dragonbron, The listener, how many more names where you going to be taking!? Being both the Dragonborn and Listener was a stressful-- to say the least. You had to worry about Alduin, pleasing everyone in skyrim and worrying if you where enough for all of her. And joining the Dark Brotherhood wasn't any help with this stress AT ALL. you constantly got contracts from Nazir and Astrid, and now the Night Mother. it was all simply to much to bare. You needed a.. Distraction. somthing that could get your mind off your duitys even if it was just for a single moment.

"Oh listener!", that jesters voice rung through your bedroom. your perked your head up, looking to the doorway, finding Cicero with a grin on his face.

"you seem stressed! let sweet Cicero help!", he spoke, lifting a foot to step into your room.

"no! leave, i need time to think", You shouted out without thinking. The jester froze, but reluctently left you. You turned back to the fire, your mind was a mess, whirring around. you didn't understand it anymore. Soon enough, you had yet another annoying contract. but when you came back to report to Astrid, the Lizard was bleeding.

Cicero went bezerk, trying to kill Astrid. you couldn't help but put the blame on yourself, "maybe if I didn't snap, It wouldnt have brought him to this breaking point.". You ended up finding him in the Dawnstar Sanctuary. He cowered before you, blood pouring from his stomach. he was a mad man.

Cicero wheezed, gasping for breath. "You caught me! I surrender..", he laughed weakly.

"time to die, tratior!", you yelled back to him, unsheathing your sword.

"traitor? Me? silly assassin. so confused, so confused.. and they say im mad!", He continued with a gasp for breath, clutching onto his wound, "If im a tratior, so are you! have you not heard the maiden's voice? are you not the listener?", he questioned. Anger seeped into his tone as he sat up, that grin still on is face. even in the face of death, this jester is still.. grinning, has he no idea of what could happen to him? what could happen by your hand?

you left. going back to the Sanctuary, telling Astrid he is dead. everything after this went by a blur. nothing but that jester in your mind, was he still alive? would he attack again? You killed the emperor, Astrid died by your hand, and now you where the leader and listener of the Dark Brotherhood. Nothing made sense anymore. you sat in you masterbedroom, head in your hands when you heard Cicero's voice.

"Oh listener..", He hummed, "Cicero is back. what? you think i'd be grateful that you saved my life?! NO! Cicero wants to be Listener, Cicero deserves to be Listener!", He yelled. You stood up quickly, trying to unsheath your sword, but he got to you first, pinning you against the wall. You let out a yelp, looking into those dark brown eyes of his as he held his Ebony Dagger across your neck, that same insaine grin spread across his face. but he paused.

Cicero laughed, resting his head against your shoulder. "You should see the look on your face! Cicero was just kidding, oh great and powerful listener..", he breathed into your ear, his gaze becoming.. darker. You looked at him through the corner of your eye, watching him trace his blade down your neck and to your collerbone, a smirk on his lips. "My sweet listener.. Cicero.. finds himself captivated by you, by how you whimper to his touch", He hushed against your ear, warm breath tickling your neck. he pressed against you, the bulge in his pants growing more prominant. You found yourself unable to push him away, to be honest.. this was the exact thing you needed to get your mind off your duties.

"Your naughty", You spoke back, that siren gaze of yours peirceing into Cicero's own lustful gaze. your pushed your hips against his, Cicero whimpering. he pressed his forehead into your's, dropping hus dagger aside. Instead of him holding that evil grin, you held your own, now leaning more into Cicero, your breath becoming ragged. but Cicero placed a finger on your lips, standing up, glaring down at you.

"Imagine us, my listener. The Keeper and His Listener... Cicero likes this thought, and the sound of it.. turns him on", He giggled, now leaning in and claiming your lips as his. He moaned into the kiss, clutching your body close, his hands reaching down to your ass and grabbing it tightly, his bulge throbbing against your thighs. You shut your eyes, between every kiss taking a gasp of air before his tounge could plunge back into your mouth, swirling and dancing with your own. you pressed your hips against his harshly, causing him to let out a soft moan. he broke the kiss, his gaze filled with nothing but a primal instinct to take you, to love his listener.

"come on..", you taunted teasingly, reaching a hand down to his bulge, gently grasping and feeling, Cicero's own breath leaving him. "Just fuck me already. make me forget all the bad, all the good. I want to be seeing stars.", You begged, Cicero growling with need and roughly lifting up your shirt, revealing your beautiful chest to his gaze. his eyes widened and he couldnt help but lean in, taking one hardened peak into his mouth. looking up to you with dark brown eyes, he swirled his tongue aroun the peak, his eyes shutting as he nipped lightly against you, your body jolting slightly with pleasure.

"Oh.. my listener likes that, do they?", He whispered against your skin, now kneeling on his knees, kissing down your belly to your belt, he tugged at it. with a mocking look of innocents, he undid your belt, tossing it aside and pulling down your pants to his hungry gaze. he bit his bottom lip and couldn't tear his eyes away from your dripping arousal.

"Your amazing.", He breathed against heated skin. hesitantly, he stuck his tongue out, sliding between slick folds, a moan leaving his lips as he savored your salty sweet taste, causing you to shudder with pleasure, your hand instinctively reaching out to tangle fingers in his bright red hair. "you taste amazing too.." he added. he shut his eyes, taking that throbbing pearl into his mouth. he suckled, and flicked his tongue against it with need, a need to please his listener. he lapped and lapped at you for hours until you where nothing but a quivering soaked mess, your body left limp in his own. he moved to your bed, rocking you in his arms.

"Hush my sweet.. Cicero is here, to care and love you.", he whispered to you, pressing his lips that your release coated, to your brow.

"But after you have pleased poor aching Cicero..", He grinned once more as he looked down to you... what have you gotten yourself into?

Idk if I’ll do a pt 2 only if u guys are freaky deeky 🤤

[cator99]

I had a dream that I was a medieval crossdresser looking for a gf and I attended some event where dudes on horses try to stab each other while everyone gets really drunk and after the show I was watching this skinny short haired woman who was in charge of tending to the horses in their stables do something idk but it was her job anyways I ended up following her into the stable and she was like Sir you can't be in here and I apologized before explaining that I was secretly a woman and was just looking for some company and blah blah i was hitting on her yeah, and she was like, thats quite presumptuous, how do you know what sort of company I'd prefer? And I told her bluntly that, well, she was a horse girl, it seemed a safe bet. She brought me up a classic stone spiral staircase- the whole thing was very skyrim but tbh i have no other frame of reference for this genre- that led to a part of the building that was her bedoom, and we were just talking, whatever, we hung out drinking for an hour when suddenly her mom came in and I had nowhere to hide but simply crouched in a very dark corner and hoped she wouldn't notice as she stood in the doorway talking to the woman, but god she just kept talking, on and on, something about some knight that needed to speak to her, and her mother hoped to have her married off the the guy, as soon as possible, because the woman can't just keep being a stable worker forever, she needs to be a proper wife, soon, before it's too late! The mom seemed to look at me directly at multiple points and I was like wow she must have terrible eyesight and then after what felt like an hour listening to her berate the woman for her frigid nature and unwillingness to procreate the mom finally said that she can't keep wasting her efforts on pointless endeavors like this and she needs to find a real man instead of... "you know". I kept sitting there crouched in the dark but I knew she knew and I suppose this wasn't the first time. When the mother finally left, I stood up and looked out the window, where I watched the mother walk out into the driveway, get into her parked SUV, turn it on, and just sit there, waiting for the woman to get ready and go with her to see this man. I looked back at the woman and as I did so I realized the room was no longer made of stone, and candle-lit, suddenly it was just a normal modern room, with lamps and drywall with shitty peeling paint and a dresser with cheap jewelry on it, and the woman was no longer in some medieval getup, but was instead getting ready to put on a suit so she could go and humor another one of her mother's sad attempts. "She pays my rent right now," the woman said, "and I know she knows I'm not going to, well, you know..... that's just not happening. But, if it makes her feel better, I'll go. And when I come back, I hope you'll still be here." I watched her get on the suit and wondered why she bothered at all, why she expected me to stay when she couldn't bother to just leave with me instead. And maybe I was being impatient or less than understanding, but I thought it was unfair to me, maybe even to her mom, shit even to the man if you care, to everyone involved, but most especially to herself that she bother doing this. "If i cant say no then at least I'll go in a suit." What a waste of a good suit, I thought. Surely you can say no at this point in your life, I told her. Surely, she can't keep wasting her efforts on pointless endeavors like this. But, she was intent on doing so, and to leave me sitting there in the dark corner, waiting. And I did.