#snow white the dragonborn

[lillxart]

Saw this meme going around and I HAD to do Taliesin with it XDD

Snow White loves teasing Tally by pushing hiiiiiiim~ >:3c

[lillxart]

Since I've been doing some Snow White oc asks I thought I'd do asks for Hi'rem!

!!!!!!

WARNING: MENTIONS OF RAPE AND NSFW

!!!!!!

Alone: Not well. As a Thalmor Lieutenant for around one hundred years the life that Hi'rem used to have has been sucked out of him. Now he's a bitter and sadistic imitation of himself. When he's alone all he can think about is hurting himself or hurting other people. He tries to stay around others to keep up the facade of himself, but he finds his fellow Thalmor more insufferable than himself.

Betrayal: You know, that's a good question! I'm not sure if Hi'rem ever had a personal betrayal before, or if adding one in his teenage years would give him any merit character wise. But in general terms, the ideals of the Thalmor Dominion have betrayed him and he never recovered.

Bound: Hi'rem was imprisoned and tortured during the Great War for a brief period of time. His bravado and love for his country got him through it though. His scars were all healed, but he wishes he kept them and has Snow White scar him up in their place.

Break: The thought of losing his drug Snow White will break him down mentally. Only Snow White, Lydia, and Argis have ever seen Hi'rem at that point and truly know who he is on the inside.

Desire: I think the one thing Hi'rem wants more in the world is to both die and live. Both desires he has without realizing them. He wants to live, to be happy, to feel joy and have hope. But at the same time he's so fed up and exhausted that he just wants to die.

Failure: His greatest failure would be going too heavily into spoiler territory I think, so I'll do a lighter failure. During the war his boyish eagerness to serve his country cost his best friend his life.

Fear: Looking in the mirror and seeing what he's become. Hi'rem is afraid of himself. He knows it, Snow White knows it, Lydia and Argis know it. When Hi'rem is confronted with himself he'll verbally and physically lash out. Maybe even murder.

Future: Hi'rem already gets the worst ending in my story :D

Ghost: His best friend dying used to haunt him to the point where he'd take drugs to avoid the feelings. But eventually they started causing hallucinations of him and night terrors, so now he doesn't feel anything in that regard. The guilt of accidentally killing his best friend has all but evaporated.

Guilt: Other than what was just mentioned above, Hi'rem occasionally feels guilty about how poorly he treats Snow White.

Hate: Hi'rem hates himself more than anything else, but he also deeply hates Teldryn Sero, Elenwen, and Ondolemar. He's had multiple fantasies of raping Elenwen and choking the life out of her. For spoiler reasons I won't get into. Hi'rem hates Teldryn Sero because he views the dark elf as a superior version of himself, a goal he can never reach, and the kind of elf Snow White deserves to be with unlike him. Hi'rem hates Ondolemar for similar reasons also related to Snow White. He doesn't think Ondolemar is a superior version of himself, but he is jealous that she fell in love with him. Even though he does many things to help nurture Snow White's relationship with Ondo, he's cursing it the whole way through.

Heartbreak: Take a WILD guess :D

Hide: Hi'rem often hides his true feelings, viewing them as unimportant. Plus he's worried his true emotions will screw up his relationships and get in the way of things. He'd much rather suppress how he feels.

Hunt: I wouldn't say my golden elf boi is hunted by anything.

Mask: Yes.

Midnight: Hi'rem sleeps like a log for a man wearing a facade half the time. Being fake is exhausting! Though there are occasions where he stays up, but that's mostly when he's either plotting to kill someone or he's with Snow White and basking in the afterglow of one of their 'sessions'~

Mistake: I'm not sure, actually!

Monster: Oh Hi'rem's a monster make no mistake.

Nightmare: Used to have nightmares about his best friend dying because of him. Now he just doesn't dream.

Pain: Hi'rem: "Tch tch tch~ Now that's between me and my little Snowkitten~"

Secret: For a long time Hi'rem didn't want others to know how psychopathic he was, not caring if any of his fellow Thalmor lived or died. But now he doesn't care.

Skin: He has no skin deformities, and the above explanations cover this I think for the most part. He takes out a lot of his self hatred and violent tendencies on Snow White though.

Torture: Snow White: "H--Heheh~ He tortures me sometimes~ >v<"

Hi'rem: "Hmmm~ Only if you're a good girl and ask me nicely~"

Wound: Worst physical wound was getting his back scorched by a fire blast (third degree burns). Currently, though, Snow White's been giving him some wonderfully nasty scratches with her claws.

@ladytanithia

Since you like hearing about oc stuff and to give you more bg on Hi'rem :>

oc asks: not-so-nice edition

alone: How does your OC deal with loneliness? Have they ever been completely alone before? How do they act when there's no one around to see them?

betrayal: Has your OC ever been betrayed by someone they thought they could trust? Has your OC ever betrayed someone who trusted them?

bound: Has your OC ever been imprisoned or captured? What happened? How did they get out? Did the experience leave any scars?

break: What would cause your OC to break down completely? What do they look like when that happens? Has anyone ever seen them at their lowest?

desire: What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire? Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?

failure: What's your OC's greatest failure? Have they been able to move past it? Does anyone else know about it?

fear: What is your OC's greatest fear? What do they do when confronted with it? Are they open with their fear, or do they hide it away?

future: What's the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it's a possibility?

ghost: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts?

guilt: What is your OC guilty about? How do they handle their guilt? Do they try to avoid guilt, or do they accept it?

hate: What does your OC hate? Why? How do they act towards the object of their hatred?

heartbreak: Have they ever had a relationship that ended badly? Experienced some other kind of heartbreak? What happened?

hide: What does your OC hide? Why do they hide it?

hunt: Who or what is your OC hunted by? A person, a feeling, a past mistake? Is your OC able to let their guard down, or are they constantly alert?

mask: Does your OC wear a mask, literally or figuratively? What goes on beneath it? Is there anyone in their life who gets to see who they are under the mask?

midnight: What keeps your OC up at night? Do they have nightmares? Fears? Anxieties? What do they do in the small hours of the morning when they should be sleeping?

mistake: What's the worst mistake your OC ever made? What led to them making it? Have they been able to fix it? How have they moved on?

monster: Is your OC monstrous in any way? Is there something that makes them monstrous? Are they aware of their own monstrosity? Do they accept it or reject it?

nightmare: What does your OC have nightmares about? How do they deal with their nightmares? Do they tell people, or keep it to themself?

pain: What's the worst pain your OC has ever felt? Do they have a high pain tolerance?

secret: What's one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them?

skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside them—a beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all?

torture: Has your OC ever been tortured? Would your OC ever torture someone else?

wound: How does your OC handle being wounded? Are their wounds mostly physical? Mental? Emotional? What's the worst wound your OC has ever experienced?

[strigital]

it's 5am i'm fucken exhausted from cramming and also very hangry. so here's some doodling of Nim, just having some precious me-time in the dead of night, in the thickest neck of the woods where no one, not even gods, will hear your screams 🐺

EDIT: added second pic because i'm still in the Awoo™ mood

[hedonisticramblings]

Snow White and the Seven Dwarves…

…but with a hunky himbo Dragonborn and seven Kobolds that are totally simps for the big dumb lug. Bonus points if he’s a Red Dragon child of Tiamat and his knight in shining armor is a femboy Paladin of Bahamut with a really big sword…

I need to get that started.

[lillxart]

The most beautiful place for Snow White are the swamps of Hjaalmarch. Obviously to us in game they don't look too impressive, but I'd imagine if each region was a lot bigger and got an overhaul they'd be quite beautiful. Going off the IDEA of what the marshes would be, Snow White would like them a lot! Glowflies at night, swamp pods, the bubbling blue water, so many trees to sit in and comfortable places to camp and do necromancy! As for dangerous places, congested areas like cities, especially cities with a lot of guards.

Snow White prefers to stay in Whiterun and Riften. She adores Whiterun's people and feels she has a duty to them as their Thane. She likes how crime ridden Riften in because she feels it's easy to find hiding spots and it's generally safer for her. If the guards are too busy dealing with the thieves guild they won't notice a witch. She avoids Dawnstar unless she has to be there. The Jarl's attitude on magic and how he'd definitely behead her if she was discovered scares her.

Snow White used to worship Molag Bal up to the day of her dedication to him, to which she was horrifically changed forever. She doesn't worship him now, but technically she worships almost all Aedra and Daedra. She recognizes the power they hold and respects them, often subservient to what they ask her unless they're manipulating her for nefarious purposes (like Molag Bal has). However, she prays to Kynareth, the one who gifted her the thu'um and seeks her guidance when she's lost.

Snow White doesn't care either way, all magic has risks. What she cares about are the steps you've taken to make sure it can be prevented next time.

She's a witch XD so yes, she can survive.

When she became the High Queen of skyrim she actively sought out to deal with the bandit problem, but as an adventurer she LOVES it! Free dead bodies everywhere for her experiments! And she can get PAID to deal with them! :DDD

Snow White doesn't exactly remember where her coven was located, so to her Skyrim has always and will always be her home.

Juniper berry jam.

Snow White will believe in anything until someone proves otherwise. She's childishly naive.

In terms of canon factions she's not a part of anything. But there is a fanon guild I made called 'Necromancer's Lair' based off a Nexus mod of the same name. It's for anyone affiliated with her coven, The Seventh Order. So in short, The Seventh Order and Necromancer's Lair.

Natural talent, it's what she was bred for. But when it comes to her experiments she has to work hard to create the spells she wants. Her favorite school of magic is Conjuration and Alteration.

No prejudices per say, just a fear of magic haters. Nords make her uncomfortable because of this.

Snow White's the Dragonborn, so she believes the legends. She has no views on the past Dragonborns. The voice is hers now.

Snow White had multiple mentors from her coven over the years for different things. Hunting, magic, reading and writing, even dance lessons.

This would take too long to fully explain so I'll give a short answer. She dislikes and fears no Daedra, and doesn't mind collecting artifacts. It's not her choice to, however, viewing herself ill fitting to be a champion because she's under Kyne and Akatosh now. Snow White views that consulting with the Daedra is fine as long as you FULLY UNDERSTAND the calculated risk, you can't screw around with them or THEY WILL TAKE ADVANTAGE OF YOU. This isn't because of her experience with Molag Bal, this is something her coven taught and drilled into everybody.

Snow White gets manipulated into becoming a Stormcloak, but looking back she would've supported The Empire. A civil war means nothing in the face of a Second Great War.

Snow White's memories of her family as her coven shift over the course of her story. In the end, her chosen friends are her true family.

Snow White used to kill all the time because it was just easier than reasoning with someone. But overtime she learned to show more mercy, but only for their own sake.

When Snow White expands Lakeview Manor into like a whole estate and has to pay people she gets better with money, but adventuring she goes through money like it's water. She'll raid three dungeons and be broke the next day.

Yes.

SKYRIM OC ASKS

I wanted to make a more in-depth and lore-building set of questions for people's Skyrim-specific OCs! This can be used as an ask game, or if you just want to answer them all without waiting for people to ask, have at it!

(Thanks to my good fandom buddies for all the suggestions!)

Which areas of Skyrim do they find most beautiful and most dangerous?

Which cities do they prefer to stay in and why? Which cities to they avoid at all costs?

What are their religious affiliations, and how does their worship (or lack thereof) affect their day-to-day life?

Do they believe the College of Winterhold caused the Great Collapse? If no, what is their theory?

Would they be able to live off the land if they were lost in the wilds of Skyrim? How skilled are they at foraging and hunting?

What is their opinion on Skyrim's "bandit problem"?

Do they regret journeying to Skyrim? Or, if they were born in Skyrim, do they wish they could leave?

What is their favorite kind of food that can only be found in Skyrim?

Do they believe in snow/sky whales?

Are they a part of any factions, guilds, or organizations?

If they are a magic user, what is their favorite school of magic? Do they have a natural talent for magic, or does it require diligence and study?

What are their prejudices? What groups have they come to think of as 'other'? Mages? Nords? Elves? Lollygaggers?

Do they believe the old nordic tales about the Dragonborn? If they are Dragonborn how has their experience differed?

Who is their mentor? Who do they go to most for lessons?

How do they feel about consorting with daedra? Do they collect their artifacts? Are there some they would never interact with vs. some they would consider calling upon?

What are their opinions on the civil war? Do they support a side or leave them to their own devices?

Do they have family? Who doe they consider to be family?

What is their stance on taking a life? Do they kill without a second thought, in the name of a god or daedra, or do they adhere to pacifism?

How are they with money? Do they hoard, or do they spend until their pockets are empty and they have to find work again? Have they saved for any houses?

Can they read?

[ghastlyspriggan]

This is Mag.

Although born into a stronghold, her father isn't the chief. Her mother, one of the chief's many wives, had an affair with a man of vampire royalty. As such, her vampiric half blocks her from inheriting the gifts Malacath blessed her stronghold with (superhuman warrior skills). However, her vampiric royal blood allows her to harness the advanced magical abilities she inherited from her father.

When Mag was born, and her nature laid bare for all to see even as a newborn baby, she and her mother were exiled from the stronghold. Mag's mother raised her as a nomad, too scared to seek shelter from her vampire lover.

Mag wants nothing more than to make her mother proud. She's aware of her half blood status and is ambivalent about it. While she wishes to be a powerful and skilled warrior so she can protect her mother with honor, she finds comfort in the magic that comes so easily to her. She practices and trains herself in its use the best way she can on her own.

Her mother loves her completely and is not repulsed by her vampiric nature, even when Mag needs to feed (she prefers to feed on the animals she hunts but it's like forcing a cat to be vegan; she doesn't get everything she needs from animal blood). Her mother helps her find suitable people to feed from (altmer blood is the most powerful and nutritious blood for her)(spoiler, it's because her father is an altmer).

What Mag's mother is unaware of is that the vampire she had an affair with had genuine feelings for her and has no idea why she fled. He searches for her but is unable to find her.

Eventually, when Mag is a young adult (early 20s) she journeys to find her abandoned father. Her mother had nothing but kind things to say about him and how he treated her when she was growing up and she finally convinced her to tell her where she met him.

It's a very heart wrenching journey and meeting and maybe I'll spare some time to write it in the coming months 🤍

bonus child and teen Mag, a volatile gremlin:

just pretend the chibi mag has pointed ears lolol

[nientedenada]

Five Skyrim Lore Facts You May Not Know!

And unlike some of the clickbait videos on Youtube, these ones are absolutely true. Let me address some of the most common lore confusions I regularly see. As a Listicle, because why not? (It's easier than writing out long lore posts.)

The Blades never served the Mede Empire. Martin was the last Emperor they served. They then devoted themselves to looking for a new Dragonborn and working against the Thalmor. Titus Mede I created a new organization called the Penitus Oculatus, which handled all intelligence and security for the Mede Dynasty. The Penitus Oculatus has been the official Imperial organization for more than 175 years, while the Blades have been an independent force. It makes the Mede decision to outlaw the Blades a lot easier to understand if you know they weren't their employees at all. The Blades were loose cannons they couldn't control.

Ysgramor didn't destroy the snow elves. The stories about Ysgramor say he and his 500 Companions showed up in Skyrim, killed or sent the snow elves into exile, took all of Skyrim, and then wandered over to pick fights with the neighbours. In reality, the Falmer weren't completely driven from Skyrim till the reign of King Harald, thirteen generations after Ysgramor. In the interim, there was a whole Dragon cult and war, culminating with Alduin being flung through the time wound. It's a long period. The real Ysgramor definitely clashed with his snow-elf neighbours but he's accumulated the stories of hundreds of years around his mythic name.

The Companions haven't been a Nord-only organization for a very long time. You might think that a bunch of warriors venerating the legacy of Ysgramor and his Companion would be Nord only, and that was probably true way back in the First Era. But by the end of the First Era, the Companions had boasted both a Redguard and Elf (Altmer or Bosmer) Harbinger. Cirroc and Henantier are some of the most famous Harbingers in the history of the Companions. We're in the Fourth Era now, so if you're playing a non-Nord, you're following in a long tradition by joining the companions. (As is Athis.)

The Imperial Legion didn't win back most of Cyrodiil in the Great War. People often ask why Titus Mede II agreed to the harsh peace of the White-Gold Concordat after his army had destroyed the Dominion army in Cyrodiil and taken back the Imperial City. But that's not what really happened. The Legion destroyed "the main army". Other Aldmeri armies are mentioned in Cyrodiil. After Red Ring, the Dominion still occupied Anvil, Skingrad, Bravil, and Leyawiin. "The Great War" doesn't say that any of these cities were liberated. Put those territories together and you'll realize the Empire never got back its coastline or the Niben river. Titus Mede made his deal while the Dominion still occupied half of Cyrodiil. Maybe he could have won if he'd pushed on, but his decision is a lot easier to understand with this context.

The Bretons Don't Worship Talos. This is one of my favourite lore bits to explain. Talos is not a god in TES II, Daggerfall, though he is a historical figure, Tiber Septim. He's only introduced as a god in Morrowind. So, a lot of people assume that he's been retconned into the Breton religion, like he was into the Nord/Imperial religions. This is not true. In both Morrowind and Skyrim, the book Varieties of Faith in the Empire does not list Talos/Ysmir as part of the Breton pantheon. They worship the Eight (and sometimes Y'ffre, Magnus, and Phynaster), as they always have. Tiber Septim is an important historical figure whom some Bretons regard as one of their own, but he isn't an official god. I love this tidbit because it makes the White-Gold Concordat absolutely brilliant. One remaining province, Skyrim, gets all upset while High Rock wouldn't care. Cyrodiil is presumably somewhere in the middle. It's a perfect way to drive a wedge among the provinces. (Hammerfell's left the Empire, but for the record, they don't worship Talos either.)

[argisthebulwark]

TES Summer Fest Day One: Breath/Forbidden

summary: Despite a relationship with Miraak being forbidden by the Greybeards, the Last Dragonborn cannot seem to keep away from him. f!reader/Miraak, no gendered pronouns or y/n used. warnings: explicit sexual content - minors should not read or engage with this post. consensual choking, light hurt/comfort, a dash of rejection sensitivity if u squint. @tes-summer-fest TES Summerfest Masterlist

"We can't keep doing this."

Miraak's words are panted into the sweaty skin of your neck, punctuated by a strangled whimper as your hips buck against his. Hungry hands betray his words when they claw at your back in complete desperation for more contact.

"Quiet down - you'll get us caught." You grumble and leave a biting kiss to the delicious muscle of his chest. He's plucking your robes from your form so easily, a movement he's perfected over the dozens of visits. Each time you slip through the monastery's hefty stone doors you vow that this will be the last time, yet your resolve crumbles the moment his lips are on you.

"You're the one begging me to fuck you." Miraak's taunt sends that familiar tangle of annoyance and arousal pounding through your body, egged on by his hips grinding into yours. "'Hurry, Miraak - want you so bad.' Always in such a rush." He tsks, though the first thrust of his cock steals whatever barb you'd intended to throw his way. "Gods, I've missed you."

Each movement is rushed - there is no time for softness. Miraak's hips snap into yours and drive his cock deeper into your cunt, every sense overwhelmed by him. His whispered encouragements drown out the peaceful shiver of wind through old trees and your nose fills with his scent - old books and fancy ink. He balances you there, back pressed to the chilly stone of High Hrothgar's intimidating staircase and front melting completely into his body. Snow crunches under his boots but the chill cannot reach you, not when your breath is mingling and sweaty skin sticks together.

His name escapes your lips, a broken whisper and plead for more he instantly understands. Each frenzied thrust of his hips adds to the delicious arousal pooling deep in your gut but it isn't enough - your brain is too fried to summon the words but of course he just knows. Calloused fingers dance up your chest and along your clavicle, leaving a trail of goosebumps everywhere he traces before they close around your throat. It's just enough to make your eyes roll back, spine shivering as white hot need steals through your mind.

"Yes," you keen, head tilting back in a silent demand for more. Never in your life have you felt like this; your Thu'um a constant reminder that you are unlike everyone else in your life until you met him. The same power resonates behind each word he speaks, only he can make you feel somewhat normal. Miraak's fingers add just enough pressure to make you a tad lightheaded, each breath coming out as raspy praise.

"You look so lovely like this, my dragon." He murmurs with surprising tenderness. From under lidded eyes you catch sight of his expression; cheeks flushed and pupils blow wide, his pretty lips parted and dark eyes shimmering with unabashed adoration. Only in these moments is he so unguarded to let you see that he wants you as badly as you want him. For a few minutes when he drives you dangerously close to orgasming you want to throw it all away - the Greybeards, the prophecy, Skyrim and it's impossible civil war that's been dropped at your feet - none of it means anything compared to the way Miraak gazes at you.

"Cum for me, my heart." Miraak's low voice rumbles through your chest and it's all you need. Your exhausted mind shuts down when his fingers squeeze just a tad more, cock buried deep in you against that perfect spot that leaves you seeing stars when you come undone for him. His lips find yours and he's swallowing the needy, wanton sounds that will surely give away your location but you can't be bothered to care. All you can think about is the toes curling in your boots and each muscle in your tired body contacting just from his touch, that knot of arousal finally exploding as he finds his release.

On unsteady feet you balance between your sworn enemy and the old temple you've accepted as your home. Your hazy mind is puzzled by his presence - usually in this moment he is drawing his robes closed once more and making a hasty exit. Yet he remains, arms lowering to cradle you closer and surprisingly tender kisses placed along your jaw.

"You alright?" You clear your throat, though cannot refuse the allure of wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Compared to your almost seamlessly timed orgasms only moments ago the way his nose nuzzles into your throat feels dangerously intimate.

"My dragon." He murmurs the pet name, hot breath fanning across the sensitive skin of your shoulder. "I cannot keep doing this."

Tears prick at your eyes as a flood of rejection sweeps away the usual contentment of his presence. Suddenly feeling too cold you begin to withdraw from him, struggling to speak around that fucking knot in your throat.

"Oh." You clear your throat again, trying to right yourself despite the mess of your robes. You can feel the marks of his teeth over your skin, spotting the tracks of your nails down his chest in the watery moonlight but they suddenly seem to be mocking you.

"Can you?" There's a hidden question under his words that you cannot discern. Despite the way he kneels, dark eyes pleading with you to understand you can't meet his gaze. You feel too vulnerable, too open.

"No, I suppose not." You gulp, shaky fingers trying to retie your robes. A flare of anger flashes through what feels terribly like grief when you swat away Miraak's attempts to aid you - you do not need his help moments after stomaching his rejection.

"How do we move on from here?" His thumb traces down your cheek, warm palm cupping your face in another silent plead for eye contact.

"If you no longer wish to continue this, you have no reason to visit here." Your tone is clipped, severe. It sounds harsh in your own ears when you struggle with the sash at your waist but it's all you can do to keep from crying in front of him.

"My dragon - what in the world do you mean?"

"You can't keep doing this." You sniffle back your tears, finally glaring up at him. There's still color in his cheeks though those eyes seem shocked. "Then why are you still here?"

"I cannot keep seeing you only in the middle of the night." Miraak crowds close to you again, that velvety smooth voice making your heart race. Blessedly ungloved hands cup your face and his nose brushing against yours feels almost like love. "I cannot withstand these lonely days of pretending that I do not care for you."

"You care for me?" It seems so childish to ask of the man minutes after he was inside of you but your conversation has never been this candid. Taunts and flirty banter have been your only means of communication, this depth is new.

"I crave more of you." He murmurs against your lips. "All of you."

"It is forbidden."

"Yet, despite all the rules - my feelings for you persist."

[lillxart]

An Orc named Primrose, made her when I was 12. I wasn't making Skyrim ocs then so I never bothered to bring her into my universe. But maybe I will now? Who knows.

At first it was Ralof because as a lil' 12 year old I had never played an open world game like Skyrim before (I had only played story driven linear games or COD) so I was scared and very much alone. Since Ralof was the first one I saw in game I latched onto him.

Once I realized I could break narrative I did it before to make things easier. Now I just do it on and off when I feel like it since I have different ways of enjoying the game depending on playthrough.

We love our old men and Paartysnax. Seriously, I do love the whole concept of the Greybeards and I wish we could've done more training and stuff with them in game. I especially wanted more dialogue with GILF Paarthurnax since having a dragon we can actually talk to in TES universe is seriously sick as heck. And despite what I think most people believe they aren't pacifists. They just don't think using the thu'um for war and bloodshed is honoring to the Gods, and instead honoring the destructive and selfish nature of man. Yeah they don't wanna have a hand in Skyrim's politics, but does anybody want to deal with all that?

Yes and no. It's a mixed bag and depends on how I feel. When I'm not playing on PC and not using console commands to spawn in money dungeon crawling goes from "Something I do for fun" to "Something I need to do to survive" and there are times where I have to endlessly dungeon crawl for money then very slowly walk half way across the map for hours because the carriage driver is glitched and doesn't let me travel back to Riften so sell all my stolen goods for the theives guild questline--*currently doing that in AE* BUT other times I can go through tons of dungeons and not feel like that, mostly like I said though it's on PC where I can alter my carry weight XD (haven't exploited any of those enchanting glitches yet).

Probably Dragonsbridge. No LoreTM reason, I just think it's cool.

Favorite Jarl is papa Balgruuf the ballin' because of his dialogue and because as a 12 year old I latched onto any nice character because I was scared and alone XD Now as an adult I think he's objectively a good Jarl. Least favorite is Jarl Skald. He's literally just there. There's nothing special about him, nothing really unique, he's just an angry old Nord. In fact do ya'll even know who he is off the top of your head?

I liked the Dark Brotherhood Questline a lot and I wish it was longer and we had more NPC characters added in the Dawnstar Sanctuary. Maybe personal questlines we could do for the surviving members since obvi asking that for ALL the base DB assassins would be too much XD The ability to recruit would've been nice too.

The main questline. We needed more Alduin, maybe even a conversation with him, more Greybeards, and the gravity of Alduin's return needed to be more apparent. I think there needed to be just places in Skyrim that existed solely to be destroyed by the dragons. No quests, just strictly vanilla NPCS that died and buildings that got burned down because of the dragon attacks. Yeah maybe it's considered toothless and lazy to just plop in certain areas in your game that exist just for that purpose but this is Bethesda we're talking about XD so, in the end something would've been better than nothing.

I have a very love hate relationship with Miraak on Adept Mode Skyrim. It took me 12 tries to defeat him. But ignoring self imposed difficulty, my favorite villian is Miraak and my least favorite is Ancano. I wish we got more to his questline, the cultists, and more reward after defeating him. It's an amazing concept to speak to the first dragonborn, and the aesthetic of the DLC was on POINT. Ancano is my least favorite because yes of course plot twist IT WAS THE THALMOR ALL ALONG but while the COW questline is one of my favorites I will admit it's too fast XD and Ancano being a villian would've been so much better if we just had more dialogue with him or had the ability to built rapport with him over time. Like maybe in the COW questline we had an obligated fetch quest with him and by the end of it he like insults and says smth like 'I suppose you have your uses'. From that point on there are other optional quests we can do for him that are menial so we can build a better attachment. When he tries to kill us in the end maybe there's a moment where he considers sparing us for the final fight but then we continue to fight him and blah blah blah we kill the evil Thalmor. ALL THAT TO SAY, COW and Ancano not utilized, typical evil Thalmor villian, so he's my least favorite.

It's ok, like most things I wish it was better utilized. I very much enjoy getting the chance to engage in the politics of Skyrim since I find things like that fun and interesting.

Very cool bois. Wish there were more books or maybe even journals on them in game we could read. Fair mini-bosses.

No not really. In Snow White's situation at that point in her story she's been used and manipulated so much she can't enjoy finally 'saving the world' because honestly it might've been better if Alduin just ate it. She's the hero of the age, and has much more work to do before Skyrim is truly safe.

Skyrim Saturday Ask Game

hey everyone! since its saturday, i decided to throw together some skyrim asks! go wild, i can't wait to see how ppl respond to these <3

Helgen - Who was your first Skyrim character? Do you still make anything with them/play as them now?

Riverwood - Hadvar or Ralof? Why?

Whiterun - Do you tend to do Bleak Falls Barrow before or after meeting with Farengar?

Ivarstead - How do you feel about the Greybeards and Paarthurnax?

Morthal - Do you enjoy exploring dungeons and ruins? Why or why not?

Kynesgrove - What's your favorite non-major city/town/settlement?

Solitude - Who's your favorite Jarl? Who's your least favorite? Why these?

Riften - What's your favorite guild? How do you feel about their questline?

Markarth - If you could rewrite one questline in Skyrim, which would it be?

Blackreach - What's your favorite enemy in the game? What's your least favorite? Why?

Throat of the World - How do you feel about "Season Unending"?

Skuldafn - How do you feel about dragon priests?

Sovngarde - How would your Last Dragonborn celebrate after the battle with Alduin, or would they celebrate at all?

[lillxart]

I made another meme image with Nebarra and Talieisn -w- This time Snow White got in on the fun! 0w0

Poor Nebarra! XD Drinking his feelings away like always -p-

Also that gold piece on Snow's thumb is both Taliesin's earring and also her thumb ring, close together they look like one piece of jewelry but they're separate pieces my B XDD

P.S Taliesin's opinion on Snow's fit Dynamite? (Tallyboy looks fine in anything he wears)

[ehlnofay]

Summerfest Day 1 - BREATH

The Dragonborn knows how to hold her sword, but Lydia insists on showing her, anyway.

She’s finicky about the placement of her fingers, hands laid parallel on the long hilt, and when she lifts it she grunts, shifting her shoulders. “It’s been a while since I’ve used one of these,” she says, and holds it up, pointing at nothing. “I never liked two-handers.”

She talks more, since their first fruitless attempt at climbing the mountain, and since the Dragonborn came back from the second; she tells her when she should talk, too. When she wants an answer she says so. It’s helpful. She makes more suggestions, which is also helpful; especially now, navigating slowly up to Hjaalmarch through a web of roads as tangled and difficult to track as veins; Lydia marks out the paths, keeps them moving, stops them when it’s time to stop so they don’t forget to sleep. The Dragonborn would forget. She likes walking, the simple repetitive rhythm of it, but it gets her stuck, sometimes; it always takes someone else pointing it out to remember that her legs are aching.

There are wagons, Lydia says, that they could buy seats on, to take them at least part of the way. They saw some in Ivarstead. But she says they are expensive, and the Dragonborn is still a little sceptical of wagons. (It would feel strange, she thinks, to move without moving, to be moved – it’s hard to remember if it did feel strange, at the beginning, because everything before the cool, damp press of the block and the burning eyes of the dragon is ill-defined. Fuzzy, like the fabric of her cloak. And how would they know where it was moving them to?) So, mostly, they walk. They make tents every afternoon. They build a fire. The Dragonborn bruised her thumb red-purple when she tried to strike the spark-steel, but she likes collecting sticks. And sometimes, when there’s time and light, Lydia says they should practise swords. They have fought together almost twice; running from the troll with snow-white hands, and another dragon. The second dragon. They killed that dragon, together, so the practise feels superfluous. But they do it.

(First Lydia suggested they practise fighting, but the Dragonborn doesn’t know any way to hit someone with a blade without hurting them, so they stopped doing that quickly.)

The Dragonborn tips her head so it’s level with the slant of the blade in Lydia’s hands, and she remembers to ask, “Why?”

“They’re heavy,” Lydia says simply; she sketches out a few smooth cutting motions through empty air and shifts how she holds her shoulders again. “Feels – I don’t know, unwieldy. I like having more precision. Irileth always uses a side-sword.” She twists her arms, neat and fast, so she’s holding the sword above her head, steady-straight, parallel with the ground. There is sweat on her neck. Also on her clothes, but they’ve been wearing armour for most of the day, and they always sweat in their armour. She asks, “Why do you like it?”

Lydia’s sword is a self-contained thing; the length only of her arm, shiny, keen. The Dragonborn has never even tried to use a blade like that; even in the blurry beginning, she remembers – the little boy with his bin of pale-wood weaponry, warned away from her bedside. He let her have first pick. She chose the biggest one. She knocked him down.

It felt only sensible, to choose the biggest one. The sword she has now was taken from the tomb, with the stone; the stone was what she was there for, and she had to take something, because she’d won. The sword was long and dark and heavy, blunted with time, rimed with frost at the places where the metal joined. It was big. It would make her big. The weight of it, strapped into the frog on her back, presses her into the earth. It makes it easier to walk.

“It’s strong,” the Dragonborn says, after a moment’s pause.

“Maybe one of the better close-range weapons,” Lydia agrees, “if you’re fighting dragons.” She brings it down, careful, and offers the end of the hilt in the Dragonborn’s vague direction. “But I think it would be better if you knew how to hold it.”

The Dragonborn knows how to hold it. She takes the sword from Lydia’s hands, the grip gritty and grounding against her bare palms. In the very edge of their clearing’s pocket of sky, the sun is setting; it winks a line down the blade.

“Turn your foot out,” Lydia says, businesslike. “Your right foot. And keep your back straight – you’re bearing all the weight with your arms, and your shoulders are locking.”

The Dragonborn says, sunset-slow, “I know how to hold it.”

“But you were sore,” Lydia says, “after –” the dragon. She still talks about the dragon as if she is surprised by it. “It will be easier on your muscles, this way, and you’ll be less likely to do yourself an injury. The sword is strong – which means it’s strong enough to pull your elbows out of place.” She pauses. “Or something. I’m not a medic.”

“You’re a housecarl,” the Dragonborn agrees, pulling her back up straight, and Lydia smiles with small, straight teeth.

After she shows the Dragonborn how to stand – carefully nudging her limbs into the right angles and adjusting the slant of her white-knuckled fingers on the hilt – she starts talking about stances. This is harder, because there’s nothing to aim at. It feels strange, readying a sword at empty air. “You don’t want to do this for too long,” Lydia says, after talking for some time about things like longpoint and plough guard, “it will tire your arms. But it’s good to have some basic forms to fall back on.” The Dragonborn keeps the tip of the sword pointed at empty air; Lydia says, “Remember to breathe, Thane. You’re getting stiff.”

The Dragonborn breathes, and lowers the sword, and says, “They told me that on the mountain.”

“To breathe?” Lydia asks, wiping a hand across her cheek. “That makes sense. Maybe Shouting and swordplay have something in common.”

(They have, the Dragonborn thinks, quite a lot in common.)

(Talking is hard. She doesn’t often remember to do it, and when she does it comes sluggish, formulating slowly in her head and taking several seconds to get out through her mouth. But Speaking feels different. It isn’t any easier. The words don’t come any faster. But when they do, they slot into place; they feel right, where ordinary words only ever feel like an approximation. When she Speaks she is inevitable.)

(When she fights, she is inevitable. She is clumsy; she forgets to pay attention to where her feet are going; she overbalances or moves too forcefully or forgets the rhythm of it halfway through a motion, and all of this is true in battle, too, but she feels steadier all the same. Anchored somewhere at the base of her throat. Anchored in the weight of her arms. It doesn’t matter if she moves too forcefully because she is trying to break things anyway; it doesn’t matter if she missteps because she can catch herself, or get back up again when she falls. She only has to keep going until it’s done, and that is the easiest thing in the world.)

“Yes,” the Dragonborn echoes, “maybe,” and she breathes again, air dew-damp and orange-lit in her lungs.

[yanderesbeloveddarling]

the dragonborn at the hands of alduin continuation of this. bad things happen bingo: I have you now, my pretty

the dragonborn in alduin's nest. a trophy. the world already belongs to him, and now there's no hope for a savior.

he looks over to his kingdom of horrors from the top of the world, the fallen warriors littering the white snow in piles, even those of dragons that crossed him. that dared to question him.

he curls his tail around you, almost like a hug, his dominating stare focused on you. the tip of his tail snakes up to your face, gently caressing your cheek. it's hard to get used to it, even after giving up on fighting back.

"it is sealed." his voice booms. "the world is mine. so are you."

you say nothing. there's no question, no desire for your input.

the tail pushes against your stomach as if to taunt you, pushing you against his large body. it slowly lowers down between your legs, gaze intently watching you while it rubs against your sensitive spot.

you can't keep your voice down. he doesn't care about your pleasure, though, as much as he enjoys knowing it humiliates you. the intrusion is soon— then sudden, hard and unforgiving. a muffled scream is pulled out through your gritted jaw. all you can do is feel the ground under your hands, claw at it so you don't dare to start a fight you won't win. it's all your under control. as long as you take it, you will survive. as long as you take it, so will the world.

[lillxart]

Oh my… A hunger curled in Snow White’s gut. Seeing such a beautiful maiming. The imperfections now settling in her face causing Lorkir’s mind to go haywire with lust. How the dragon witch could take this girl, break her, and build her back up again. How she could train her to be the most enchanting prize in all of the Grim, a death knight–or perhaps a death priest; worthy of ten–maybe twenty men. How Lorkir could teach this girl to use this blindness of hers to the advantage in battle. Open up a new world of possibility. In all her conventional unattractiveness to others make her one of the most coveted and gorgeous women any man or Mer has ever seen.

Lorkir wanted this girl’s soul.

(Last paragraph technically XDD)

RULES: post the last line of whatever you're writing (fic, original, whatever you want!)

Tagged by my friend @dirty-bosmer

Tagging @gwilin-stay-winnin @skyrim-forever @thana-topsy @thequeenofthewinter

Kinda have to put the last paragraph so there's a smidge of context:

“Well, not today, of course, sadly. I have another errand to run when I leave here, and I have to prepare for the mission Farkas gave me. So, our lesson will have to be brief, I’m afraid.” She gave him a crooked, regretful smile, and he inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

[freetobeeyouandme]

Chapter 12: This Is The Part Where Someone Gets Stabbed In the Back and We All Act Shocked

...actually that title is a lie. The stabbing happens in the front, but either way there is violence and so, what bliss. Will has a vision, Mike makes a bold move, and the party is no closer to fighting One because, shocker, there is more to the story.

Tags: M, Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Fantasy AU, Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Horror, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn

Summary:

Mike Wheeler hates High School, so when he almost dies and falls through a portal to another world, he’s not going to complain. Especially not when that world does not only have swords and magic but seems to work exactly according to the rules of his favorite tabletop role-playing game. But his euphoria might be short lived because the party of adventurers he falls in with turns out to be the target of an evil god and the fate of the world might rest on their shoulders. So, exactly like his games of D&D. Except the wanna-be Paladin soon realizes that being a hero is much harder in real life than it is in-game. - Or, Mike gets isekai’d into a world where D&D is real.

An excerpt and taglist below the cut:

Excerpt:

There is a small, rational part of Mike’s brain that knows that people sometimes wake up and get out of bed in the middle of the night. He has gotten up to get a drink before and then again later because the drink had finished circling through his system. There is no reason, really, why the same principle shouldn’t also apply to dragonborn Clerics living in a fantasy world, and for all he knows Will has simply stepped out to relieve himself.

And yet the first thing Mike feels on seeing Will gone is panic. He wants to say that it is because Will hadn’t even wanted to get up for breakfast yesterday, but his sleep foggy brain doesn’t think about that later, when it’s already too late. For now he opens his eyes, finds the sleeping bag beside him deserted, and bolts upright as the realization that something is wrong wakes him up worse than chugging a whole six pack of cokes would have. He brings his blanket up around him to protect him from the cold – and sees the fire pit has puttered out. The reason for that is the third thing he notices: Someone has left the door to the barn open as they went out, and the wind whipping inside has blown out the flames. The reason he can see all of that in the first place is that it’s not the middle of the night. Sunlight streams through the open door, making the snowflakes that drift and collect in a solid pile around it glitter white and gold. It also lights up the soundly sleeping shapes of his friends around him, some buried under blankets and cozied up to each other as their unconscious bodies react to the shift in temperature but none yet rested enough to properly react to the danger. However long they had decided to go last night, the practice had wiped them out good: No one seemed to have stayed up for watch, which spoke favorably for the trust they had built as a team but also would have left them wide open to an attack. Especially since the snow dizzying around the entrance does so in lazy whirls more so than the storm that had raged when they went to bed.

It’s good news for their journey and gives Mike some hope that when he finds their wayward Cleric it won’t be frozen into a Will-cicle.

Mike pulls on his boots as quietly as he can, secures his blanket around his shoulders and tip toes out into the freezing waste beyond. The snowstorm has abated more than he anticipated, leaving the surrounding fields and woods clearly visible, as is the destruction One’s descent up the mountain had wrought on them. In the advancing flurry of the storm they hadn’t been able to see the black tendrils that sneak up their trunks, boring into and under the bark and leaving the pines look half dead. The farmhouse to his right doesn’t look much better, the wooden slats that make up the building rotted and caving under the weight of the snow. Mike has barely set a foot outside when the groaning of the building catches his attention, and he watches in horror as the roof over the front porch caves in, sealing off the entrance. He whirls on the barn with his heart beating an even faster staccato in his throat, but at least the side building has managed to avoid the worst of it. The dead remains of vines reach like the grasping fingers of the dead up the side of the building, but at least the structure looks intact.

It still doesn’t mean they should dawdle for much longer now that the skies are clear again.

He tears his eyes away from the building, surveying the rest of the clearing that farm occupies for a clue to where Will could have gone, and finds him at the far edge of it, a dark and still figure. Mike approaches carefully, not wanting to startle his friend, but Will doesn’t so much as twitch, even when he should be able to hear the snow crunching under Mike’s feet. His gaze is fixed on something in the far distance, far above the line of trees, but either dragonborn vision is better than that of humans or Will isn’t fully awake, because Mike can’t find whatever he is looking at. Considering the way his hands hang limply at his side and his shoulders slump, the latter seems more likely. And when Mike rounds him, he finds that Will’s eyes are indeed fixed on nothing: They’re rolled so far back into his head that only the whites are showing, and not even the cold wind rustling his thin tunic seems to be enough to snap Will back to reality.

Unofficial Tag List (aka you interacted with my posts about this fic, please tell me if you want me to not tag you in the future (or want to be added)): @smalltownwheeler @wheelerpilled @wrong-energy @foodiewithdahoodie @doggozzy @gardenfairie @beelikesbirds @beverlysclown @yickarus @sourdough-el @hessolivagant @hesquietoday @oldfashionedmorphine @total-serene560 @bylersrise @hawkinsunderground @generalstorecashier @snixx @camel-casing @bylersbear01 @turningsoft @casatoan @maru-chu @mid13s @goldentrunks @bunnybylerfangirl @willbyersenthusiast @letterstomichelangelo @drowninginideas @fluffyfangirl @artsyna @absolutelynotyouidiot @bymarara @unknowmiau @are-you-reddie @elherself134 @longtallglasses @kennahjune @easilyentertained99 @bylerschapter @eli-being-silly @bylerina

[ladytanithia]

Writing WIP Wednesday (3/20/24)

More Miranja/Snow White silliness. May be a tad NSFW, so I'll put a cut, even though it's short.

Tagged by the lovely @thequeenofthewinter

Tagging @dirty-bosmer @gwilin-stay-winnin @lillxart @skyrim-forever

Without further ado....

She spasmed ticklishly as Miranja’s fingertips grazed lightly down

her sides to her hips, and the brunette’s moist tongue left a cool, wet trail down the center of her abdomen. She spasmed again, giggling, as Miranja circled her navel with her tongue.

Miranja smiled, realizing that Snow (consciously or not) was accepting the magic she was sending. The smaller woman’s body was already more relaxed, in spite of the ticklishness. Miranja’s legs were still on either side of Snow’s legs, and now she kneed her milky thighs apart as she settled on her knees in between and kissed and licked the hollows of her hip bones. She pulled back laughing as Snow jerked and erupted into a fit of laughter.

“Where aren’t you ticklish?” Miranja grinned, shaking her head.

“Ummm…”

“That was a rhetorical question.” And before Snow could speak a word, Miranja planted her open lips firmly on Snow’s lower belly and blew. Hard. If the fog hadn’t begun to settle already, the sound might have carried all the way to Falkreath, along with the screaming laughter of her hapless victim.

[captain-of-silvenar]

Secret or Golden

Day 2 of @tes-summer-fest

Late to the party, but I had a vivid image in my head for this prompt and needed to write it out.

No beta, wrote this in 30 minutes, but I needed to get this out. Enjoy!

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

For all Teldyrn’s gripes about Riften, the natural sights were a sight for sore eyes.

After living decades upon decades in ashfilled wastelands, craggy cliffsides, or snow covered plains it was nice to settle down somewhere with an abundance of green. Not to mention the lakeside home with a personal dock.

It was about sunset, and the sun was sparkling perfectly off Lake Honrich. All around the area were birch trees with their beautiful stark white trunks and glittering orange leaves waving in the wind. The last of the fishing boats were coming to shore, muffled and distant cries of orders as people rushed to get back home. Teldryn throught the nearby fishery would cast this place in a terrible stench but the wind was blowing just right and blowing it far away from this perfect sight.

He couldn’t say that this was his own piece of Aetherius unfortunately. No, that belonged to his patron that was just coming out of the house with a towel over her head.

Freshly bathed and finally dressed in something casual, Yera plopped down on the chair next to him and scrubbed at her hair to get the last of the water out.

“You’ve got a nice place here, boss,” he commented to her. “Can see why you were rushing us to get back here.”

“Mostly that, yeah,” she responded under the towel. “The other half of it is if I don’t come back home every so often, Brynjolf sends every padfoot in the country looking for me begging me to come back. Like a mother hen that one but the sentiment is nice.”

That was another part of his boss he wasn’t expecting. Being Dragonborn was shocking enough, but also being head of a guild of thieves threw a wrench in his image of her. Teldryn didn’t have the highest opinions on thieves and cheats; compared to his life as a mercenary and living a particularly bloody lifestyle it seemed tame and cowardly to sneak away and steal your living.

He still didn’t understand it completely, but what he did understand was that these were her people and they had her back. Just the same that Yera made the effort to come back to homebase and take care of home before being whisked away onto another adventure. They seemed like… ‘nice’ enough people. Teldyrn walked away with all his armor and gold intact after the first meet-and-greet.

These were thoughts for another time. What was more important was he was going to bunk up with his boss in her fancy lakeside house for free. And his own furnished room with a feather mattress! Luxury of the highest order in his opinion.

“What are the next plans, if any?” he asked her.

“I’ve got Guild business to work on, but otherwise I feel like we deserve a break after all that nonsense on Solstheim,” Yera answered. “You’re welcome to anything in the house, within reason, and to any plans you’d like to make. I think you especially deserve it after what I dragged you through.”

“If you ever need help saving another island from an ancient dragon priest bent on taking over Nirn and steal your own soul for power, I need a bigger pay bonus to do it again.”

Yera scoffed at him and threw the towel resting on her head in his general direction. He swatted it out of the air with a laugh that caught halfway in his throat when he looked at her.

Caught in the tangled locks of her hair was the sun. Light caught in her white hair, reflecting it like spun gold.

Her eyes, half lidded against the sun, similarly caught the light and for the barest of moments he thought he could see gold in those eyes.

Teldryn had seen Yera in many different forms; ranging from a wandering stranger into the Retching Netch, to a towering warrior over a freshly burning dragon, to a frightening stillness while recovering in a tent after her final fight.

Never had he seen her quite as relaxed and calm as she was now.

It was a phenomenal sight.

One he had to shake himself out of neigh immediately after that thought.

They fell into a silent lull after, appreciating the ambient sound of the lake and nature around them. The songbirds singing their evening calls, beckoning flockmates to their roosts to sleep the evening away. An occasional fish leaping out of the water, splashing water into liquid gold in the fading sun’s light. 

Teldryn dreamed of retiring to a place like this. Away from the ash and trauma of his homeland to somewhere free of such scars. Somewhere fresh and alive at every turn. The idea of one day finally hanging up his sword and never needing to pull it down again was a goal somewhere in the far, far, far future.

And as he dreamed of how much gold he needed to live that dream, his eyes kept drifting toward his companion. In the final rays of light, the sky was cast in a myriad of pinks and oranges and reds. The birch trees with their orange leaves made for a brilliant background as he gazed once more at the golden visage of his friend, catching the sun with her very being.

For a single moment, he wanted to reach out and run his fingers through her hair. To touch that glimmering gold just once.

Then the moment was lost, the sound of a door opening and closing in the house.

“That must be Lydia back from the market,” Yera said, standing up from the chair. “I’ll head inside and get started on dinner. You’re welcome to stay out here as long as you want.”

“I’ll… stay out here a bit longer,” Teldryn answered back. “I won’t be long.”

With a nod, Yera turned and re-entered her home, calling out to Lydia before the door shut behind her.

Alone on the porch once more, Teldryn finally took the moment to hunch over and cradle his face in his hands.

‘You’re a professional,’ he thought to himself. ‘You can’t be thinking about your boss like this.’

But he couldn’t get the image out of his head of a relaxed Yera. Sitting quietly on a porch in her home, the wind fluttering her hair, and gold in her eyes.