#Female Dovahkiin

[t0rturedangel]

╭ . . . a guide to becoming noticeable ੭

• ➛ LOVE INTERESTS ╰ notes :: creek is still canon in this.

DOVAHKIIN / NEW KID - ✮ • ━ " . . . "

STANLY MARSH - ✮ • ━ " I- listen I know I used to be an asshole but- "

KYLE BROFLOVSKI - ✮ • ━ " I never hated you or thought you were weird "

KENNETH MCCORMICK - ✮ • ━ " God- you can definitely punch the shit outta me babe "

LEOPOLD 'BUTTERS' STOTCH - ✮ • ━ " . . . Why'd they suddenly change attitudes to you? "

TWEEK TWEAK - ✮ • ━ " D-do you want some c-coffee? ACK- "

CRAIG TUCKER - ✮ • ━ " I guess, you're chill "

CLYDE DONOVAN - ✮ • ━ " Heyyyy !! pleasedonthurtme I think you're really cool ! "

SCOTT MALKINSON - ✮ • ━ " You won't leave us will you? "

WENDY TESTABURGER - ✮ • ━ " Awh girl! I'll totally help you ! "

TOLKIEN BLACK - ✮ • ━ " It's nice to be around someone who isn't loud and arrogant for once "

here's the masterlist

[globofhoney]

In my headcanon, I believe female dragonborns (no matter what the race)...

- is secretly a Jills and not really a Dov.

- is papa Akatosh's favourite. When you die, you go back to Akatosh and abandoned your mortal shell, will eventually get turned back into a Jills and stay with your sisters and father. Safe and sound in Aetherius while the drakes (Dov) stays in Tamriel, fight for dominance and act like tough shit.

- Believe it or not, in my HC, Akatosh treats his daughters, the Jills, nicely since they are quite duty oriented and well behave.

- Imagine seeing Alduin there in Aetherius as well and he remembers you, since you die and lose privileges of dragonborn, plus already turned into a jills, Alduin will now be your big bully despite him being in a time out.

- Don't worry, papa Akatosh will deal with him for you. Daddy loves all his children, he just have a softer spot when it comes to his cute little Jills.

[strigital]

the face of a man enjoying his early retirement

[3xm-draconic]

Bloodline of the Last Dragon.

Season 1/Episode 4: Working Night & Day.

Retrieving the dragon stone for Farengar would have to wait, Mattilda needed to find work and get enough money to pay for her father’s stay at the temple. The first line of work she did was for Farengar himself by delivering frost salts to the alchemist Arcadia, making a cool 300 septims after that job.

While she was in the market she was asked by a woman who runs the vegetable stall, Carlotta Valentia, to get a bard to stop hitting on her.

Mattilda had to punch the poor bard’s teeth in but that got the job across, that was another 200 gold earned, then while heading to the temple to visit her father she overheard a man in need of a hired muscle to get his family sword back.

The man, Armin, offered her 700 gold to get it back from some bandits in a cave not too far from Whiterun called White River Watch, with an offer like that Mattilda figured she could do it.

With the amount of gold she would be making from today by taking his quest she could finally stop sleeping on benches and under bridges.

Mattilda headed out of Whiterun and down to where the bandits lair was, it was a cave in the mountainside just overlooking the rapids, Mattilda knew she could not just fight her way through them all so she planned ahead and sacrificed a little gold to prep for this adventure.

She bought a small potion of invisibility and a spell book of muffleing, she cast it over her feet and drank the slightly sweet brew down, once invisible as the wind and silent as the a grave she crept through their camp.

The dark cave helped conceal her presence further from their sight, sticking to the shadows like glue. She managed to get into the main chamber but found there to be a problem…

There were too many bandits for her to sneak past, this is where an idea struck her.

Mattilda knew it would be loud and destructive but that’s what she was hoping for, she quickly summoned a fire atronach and then quickly snuck away as the bandits panicked and attacked it.

She finally made it onto the balcony where the bandit chief sat overlooking the tundra, from his body language Mattilda saw he was very drunk and had his eyes closed.

“EHY!” he gruffly snorted “hand me (hic) another ale would ya?” he mumbled, Mattilda reached over and handed him another bottle of ale and while he drank it she sneakily lifted the ring of keys he had off his belt.

She then snuck over to the chest behind him and found the sword Armin was looking for, it was a beautiful carved elven sword enchanted with flames. She also snached a few soulgems that sat at the bottom of the chest.

She took it and started to sneak back through the cave, just as she was on her way out she noticed her invisibility potion wareing off “damn it” she panicked and like a bat out of Oblivion she ran…

"You found it? I've been looking for that blade for months” Armin smiled as Matii handed him his sword “you took on all those bandits yourself? Thank you” he turned to her “here, my father had a favorite sword and shield technique, let me teach it to you, in honor of his memory."

Although Mattilda wielded a dagger and no shield she was still grateful for his lessons and for his reward of gold.

Mattilda then entered the Temple of Kynareth while visiting hours were still open. Her father lay on a bed in the temple, most of his body wrapped in bandages, he looked like one of those mummies you’d hear about from hammerfell.

“Matti!” he smiled “thank mara you are alright”, “how are you doing dad?”, he sat up and groaned “another 3 weeks they said, after that I’ll be healed enough to be out of here and good as new”, “I’ll see what I can do in the mean time to make more gold”, “no” he grumbled “no, Matti head to Falkreath and say with your uncle’s friends”. Mattilda sighed “but dad what about-”, “I got back in touch with him, he said he’ll be paying for me and he wants you to stay safe with a few of his friends, they have a safehouse there”.

Mattilda nodded “ok dad…” she debated on whether or not to tell him about the quest the Jarl sent her on but decided it would be better not to tell him.

She headed to The Bannered Mare to grab a hot meal and a room to sleep in before the trip to Falkreath when she noticed a commotion in the market.

“UNHAND CICERO! HE DID NOTHING WRONG!” cried a little jester in a red and black motley, “you are to be taken to jail until your bail can be paid off, Fool” the guard growled as he dragged the man towards Dragonsreach, “hey what’s going on?” Mattilda stopped the guard “why is this man to be taken to prison?”, the guard grumbled “he wouldn’t let us look inside the crate he was carrying but we’ll be finding that out soon enough”.

The jester, Cicero, whent absolutely unhinged “THAT’S MY MOTHER! YOU CAN’T DESECRATE HER LIKE THAT! STOP, STOP!” he wailed.

Mattilda looked at the poor little imperial man, he was absolutely sobbing and fighting like a wild skeever trapped in a box, “how much to pay his bail?” she looked at the guard, he stared at her “seriously? You want to help this fucking weirdo?” he mumbled, “how much?” was all she replied.

The guard sighed “250 gold”, “and how much for you and your boys to…leave his mother be?” she asked him sweetly, the guard eyed her “...call it another 200 and I’ll let this one slide pretty elfling” he hummed.

Cicero was let go and the guards walked away, he stared at Mattilda “you…helped poor Cicero?” he pondered curiously “why? he doesn't even know you?” he chirped, “it was the right thing to do, you were a person in need and a person in need is a friend indeed” she smiled.

“Names Mattilda Viddarson, you hungry Cicero? Would you like to grab dinner with me?” she offered, the jester’s frown turned into a happy grin “oooh yes thank you!” he squeaked.

Mattilda sat with Cicero beside the warm hearth, Saadia the barmaid got them both menus to look at, they both ordered something small and while Cicero ordered water Mattilda ordered a honningbrew mead. 

“So what brings you to Skyrim?” Mattilda turned to Cicero who was munching on grilled leeks and a baked salmon steak, “oh Cicero is bringing his mother to Falkreath, a new cript there so she can be safe” he replied through bites of leek.

“Oh coincidentally enough I’am heading to Falkreath to stay with some of my uncle’s friends” she nodded as she sipped her mead, Cicero sipped his tankered of water “OOOH!” he suddenly chipped happily “why don’t you come with Cicero? You can be like his bodyguard!” 

Mattilda pondered “I don’t know…I’ve never really been in combat”, Cicero shrugged “that’s ok Cicero will fight beside you if we run into trouble, just consider the free ride to Falkreath a thankyou for helping Cicero” he smiled.

When booking a room Mattilda and Cicero found themselves in a bit of a pickle, there was only one room available…with only one bed.

“Cicero will sleep on the floor since you booked the room and bought dinner” he said as he got out his bedroll from his dark leather backpack, “oh, no Cicero I can’t let you sleep on the floor you deserve to sleep on the bed too, you’ve had a long journey in Skyrim” Mattilda said as she adjusted her bedroll to act like a wall between them on the bed “go ahead and sleep next to me, I wouldn’t mind”.

They curled up in bed rather awkwardly together, sleeping back-to-back, Cicero fell asleep almost immediately but Mattilda had trouble falling asleep…

This is the first time she is sharing a bed with someone…

This is the first time she has slept with a man beside her…

Mattilda’s heart started to race…thoughts started to creep in…lewd thoughts.

She pushed them from her mind, she can’t be thinking that right now, she can’t be thinking of THAT right now…she had other things to worry about.

She would have to adjust to life in Falkreath, without her dad for the next 3 weeks and then…what would they do after that? Their finances are gone, their home is gone and everything is…gone…

She still wanted to join the college…maybe she didn’t have to buy everything she needed for her studies…whilst adventuring you can find all kinds of magical things…like the soul gems she got from the chest with Armin’s Sword. 

She felt Cicero roll over in his sleep mumbling something about getting his mother some flowers, she couldn’t help but smile at that. Then Cicero breached the makeshift wall of bedrolls and snuggled her…he was a sleep-snuggler.

“Oh for fucks-” Mattilda had to restrain herself from laughing, it was kinda funny, kinda cute and kinda terrifying. She looked at him as he nuzzled himself into the crook of her neck and wrapped himself around her, his soft little snoring and murmuring the only sounds in the room besides the rain from outside.

She laid back and tried to get some sleep.

.

(The next morning…)

.

“Cicero is so sorry, he didn’t mean to do that last night, oh bother and befuddle” the little imperial man profusely and awkwardly apologize, Mattilda just laughed “it’s ok, I didn’t mind, honestly it was rather cute…” she paused and gawked at herself for what she had just said.

Now both of them were blushing in awkward silence as they left their room, a rather big mistake as now a bar patron, a woman named Uthgerd, looked at her with sly eyes and gave her a cheeky nod.

Cicero took notice and his face turned a mix of colors, he paled in awkwardness then redened in both embarrassment and anger “WE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!” he shouted, Mattilda pulled her hood further over her embarrassed face as bar patrons started to snicker…

“Uh hu, shure” Uthgerd chuckled and sipped her ale, laughing a little as the two hurriedly made their way out of the bar.

“Oh. My. Gods” Mattilda mumbled, snickering under her breath “oh my gods…” she repeated, “...sorry…” Cicero looked down at his pointy shoes “Cicero ment not to embarrass you fair Mattilda”, Mattilda burst out into a chores of laughter. Honks, snorts and wheezes made up her loud bellowing cackle “oh my gods, that was so fucking funny” she wheezed “you just screaming WE DID’NT DO ANYTHING! From out of nowhere…” she gave a snort of embarrassed but mirthful laughter “oh by gods I’ve never seen something so funny”.

“You are not mad at Cicero?”, “hmm? Oh no” she chuckled “it’s embarrassing but it’s also really damn funny” she laughed “I’am not mad” she assured him.

They arrived at the stables and retrieved the cart containing the coffin of Cicero’s mother, it was larger than a normal coffin and kinda freaked Mattilda out with how large and heavy it was “just how is he gonna get that thing into a crypt?” she pondered.

They passed though Riverwood, stopping only to refill their waterskins and for Cicero to pick up some alchemy ingredients. 

“Hmm what did you get?” She asked him as they rode along the cobbled mountain road, “oh just some troll fat, pine resin, beeswax, juniper oil and some aloe vera leaves” he shrugged, Mattilda blinked “I don’t know any potions you could make with those”, Cicero hummed and hawed “well…um…”. 

“Although by the ingredients you listed your making some kind of skin ointment, my mother worked as a priestess of Arkay and from the sound of it, it’s nearly identical to a recipe for burial oils” Mattilda turned to him “funny thing, my mother use to make and sell the ointment as a beauty product, she’d mix in different fragrances and scents and colors”, Cicero grinned awkwardly “oh yes that’s what Cicero dose too, he makes ointments and perfumes to make extra gold when not performing” he chuckled.

“Oh, would you like some of my mother’s recipes? She’d probably want somebody who’d enjoy making beauty products having them, I never really could get into making them myself after she…” she trailed off, Cicero looked away but then comfortingly put a hand to her shoulder “sure, Cicero would love them”.

They got about halfway to Falkreath when it became too dark and foggy to see and thus too dangerous to travel through the mountains, they found a nice safe spot a little ways away from the road and made camp.

Cicero pitched up the tents while Mattilda made dinner, after camp was made they both settled down for a nice meal under the stars.

Mattilda got out a large cook pot full of fresh water and broke a few chunks of her instant dried broth mix into it, her mother called it something funny bouillon was it? It was part chicken and part beef. 

She then diced up garlic and onions with her dagger and added them to a separate skillet to be sauted with a smidgen of butter she had saved in a jar, after caramelizing the garlic onions she added them to the bubbling broth. 

To the remnants of butter she added a small amount of flour and a few mugfulls of broth to create a slurry of sorts to thicken the soup, a roux is what her mother called it.

Next she roughly chopped up a few carrots, she then added a nirnroot finely minced, a few strips of dried horker jerky, added a splash of Blackbrier mead for its darker taste and added her special ingredient, a few shreds of cheese. To top off the soup she added a few dashes of salt and pepper.

“Food’s done!” she happily turned to Cicero who was feeding his horse a few apples, “OOH smells good, what did you make?” he pondered as he skipped towards her, “potage le magnifique” she replied as she handed him a bowl.

He took a bite and his eyes bulged “WOW!” he gasped “this is amazing!” he turned to her with a curious gleam in his big hazel-amber eyes “where did you learn to cook like that?”, “my mother” she said bittersweetly “she had a way with cooking that I dare say rivals The Gourmet themselves”.

They turned in for the night and tucked into their tents, Mattilda taking first watch…

.

.

[a-morningstar-120]

Me, your Writer doesn’t actually know what she’s doing.

Eheheh. My mum hasn’t checked on me today.

A Chance Meeting

Ch1

Words, 723

Harry Potter books/Tes crossover

Pure crack

[theworldwonder]

These two will be the death of me🤤🤤

PEEP KAIDAN IN THE BACKGROUND 👀👀

[pyrettawychwiggin]

Songstress of Skyrim (Mhari Freysri's Character Sheet - 1)

Disclaimer: This fanfiction contains characters and references to Skyrim. The only character I own is the protagonist, Mhari Freysri. The world surrounding the subject of Skyrim (including its characters) are the property of Bethesda. This fanfiction contains a LOT of spoilers regarding Skyrim and it's DLCs; and is based off of my first playthrough of the game; so this is your warning. This character sheet was written at the point where 'Songstress of Skyrim' begins, and this character is subject to change and grow throughout her story.

Name: Mhari Freysri

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Race: Breton; born and raised just north of Northpoint (High Rock)

Height: 5'7"

Weight: 150 lbs

Preferred Weapons: low-level magic (flame and ice spells), bow and arrow

Favourite Foods: Vegetable soup, potatoes and wine

(Mhari's image was created in Doll Divine's 'Huldrefolk Maker' game - you can make your own here!)

Physical Description

Mhari is a Breton female in her late teens with blue-green eyes and long auburn hair. She has very pale skin for a Breton due to her Nord ancestry on her mother's side. She bears modest curves but is not as toned as a typical warrior in Skyrim as she has not seen much combat outside of hunting for food and defending herself from smaller creatures such as mudcrabs and small frostbite spiders. She has a coin-sized birthmark in the rough shape of a bird in flight on the back of her right shoulder, which she is somewhat self-conscious of, and prefers to keep it hidden when possible. Her daily clothing consists of a blue and copper tavern dress, and a copper and moonstone circlet that she is almost never seen without. She is self-conscious of her forehead, thinking it to be too wide; and so she chooses to wear a circlet whenever possible. At the hip of of her skirt, she wears two strands of beads attached to a braided leather belt, that are varied in design from metal to wood to clay, and are mostly handcrafted by her, or were given to her throughout her young life. One bead in particular she carved in honour of her mother. She wears this at all times on the left side of her body.

General Description

Mhari was born in a small homestead on the outskirts of Northpoint in High Rock, and was raised by her father who was a hunter, farmer of crops, and journeyman blacksmith. Her mother died after falling ill only months after Mhari was born. She has two older sisters who are slowly learning to take over the work of their homestead as their father ages. She has a positive relationship with her family, and although her father was hesitant when she showed interest in travelling to Skyrim to become a bard, her sisters helped to convince him to allow her to pursue her dream.

Mhari is relatively reserved, naïve, and kind-hearted. It is her hope to receive training from the experts at the Bard's College in Solitude so that she may pursue her love of music and storytelling and spread it throughout Tamriel. She also takes a great interest in healing alchemy and healing magic, though she has almost no experience in either. She is not accustomed to battle outside of hunting game and defense against smaller creatures, but she has not fought anything larger than a small frostbite spider or a mudcrab. When she does fight, she has honed what skill she has to focus on long to mid-range attacks, preferring to keep as much distance between she and her enemy as possible. Unnecessary loss of life weighs on her, and she only seeks to kill when she feels all other options have been exhausted. In fact, she prefers to use her flame spells to apply massive heat to her blades so as to cauterize wounds meant to disable only, to avoid killing an enemy unnecessarily. As a result, her elemental magic is relatively weak, and more often used for cooking and alchemy than for combat.

She is a very skilled archer, but she prefers to hunt on her own and has no intention of using her skills for war-based combat. She is familiar with the use of the spear, sword and shield, but her physical strength is quite lacking and most warriors would easily be able to overpower her as she is.

[x-bluefire-heart-x]

Hello! I have a question, will there be a sequel to Dragon Age x Skyrim? I wonder how the story will end! I will look forward to continuing! Thank you in advance for the answer!💜

Hey there! Thanks for the message! I am so glad you like it! ☺💜

Yes, it's going to be a long story and updates are slow. I have I think four chapters posted at the moment which are linked on my masterlist which is pinned in my blog. I thought I have linked all the chapters to all the parts, so sorry about that. I will work on doing that at some stage.

I am working on the next chapter.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dark Knowledge: Part Three

Miraak x Hermaeus Mora x Female Dragonborn Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings: body horror, tentacle sex, dubcon, power imbalance

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Part Three of Dark Knowledge

Hermaeus Mora gains a secret. You make your escape.

Part Two // Part Four

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // dark knowledge masterlist

“Now, Dovahkiin. I would like that secret.”

Knowledge for knowledge.

That is what you promised Hermaeus Mora. A deal was made, and you must follow through.

“What sort of secret?” you whisper, leaning back as if you could escape the Daedric Prince. The four tentacles that hold you up in the air vibrate as you shift your weight away from Hermaeus Mora.

“Are you allowing me the choice?” He sounds amused, and you distinctly dislike it.

“No,” you reply, knowing that giving him the decision to select which memory to take is an unthinkable option. “I will make the choice.”

Hermaeus Mora hums softly, his tentacles tightening around your limbs. You’re perhaps a few feet off the ground at most. With these tentacles around your limbs, Mora holds you close to eye-level. In this humanoid form, Mora is tall, almost seven feet.

It is such a strange thing to see a god attempt to be human in any capacity. What was twisting around in Mora’s mind that made him take this form? Why did he believe this would ease your discomfort?

“Then it is your choice,” he replies. “And I will savor whatever you wish to reveal to me.” Mora’s voice is a subtle purr. It is a tone you might hear from a lover’s lips. Is the Daedric Prince taunting you on purpose?

As if human, Mora breathes deep, the inhalation loud. But there is no exhalation, and there is no warm breath against your skin. His form expands. Ripples slightly as if in pleasure. Revulsion blooms in your chest and creeps out into your limbs.

From over his shoulders come four slim tentacles. They slide over Hermaeus Mora and reach out for you. There is no possibility of your escape, and you watch as they move closer, the tips wiggling and stretching. Then they are on you, sliding everywhere.

“Those that follow me and bend to my will do not find my intrusions painful. But since you have yet to know my true influence, I will make sure there is none.”

“How will you do that?” You don’t recognize your own voice. It is soft. Nearly inaudible.

Hermaeus Mora does not tell you with a word but with a touch.

His hand lifts, hovering just above the fabric that separates him from your left breast. The singular eye in the center of his head is focused on that spot. The Prince of Fate hesitates for a moment before closing the distance.

There is nothing human about this touch.

Hermaeus Mora squints, as if thinking, and then his movement changes to that of what would happen if this were a mortal movement. He cups your breast softly, lightly squeezing before his thumb brushes over the nipple through the fabric.

An unknown urge, an eldritch pleasure, stirs in your core. The feeling is strange, and so at odds with what your mind is thinking. Your brain is a fire of revulsion and interest. It is intrigued and yet mortified that you are at his mercy.

One of the four tentacles slithers over and around his arm, accompanying the movement of his hand. Together, they form an unearthly dance of hand and tentacle seeking to draw pleasure from you. At first, the sensation is so odd that you don’t respond at all. But slowly, almost as if not realizing the change, your core begins to warm, and you sense a wetness between your legs.

A second tentacle appears, and it moves toward your other breast. It joins in the dance, and soon you begin to surrender, pieces of you fracturing like fragments of shattered stone. The second tentacle curls around the nipple, lightly tugging as the very tip swishes back and forth. The thin fabric draped over your body does nothing to dampen the sensation.

The two remaining tentacles delve downward, first wrapping around your calves, then venturing upward over your thighs and to the space between them. Hermaeus Mora’s hand draws away from your breast even as his tentacles remain.

“I have witnessed and recorded the mortal forms of mating,” says Mora slowly. “I have yet to put any of that knowledge to use until now.”

The two tentacles slide further up your thighs, and then branch outward, coming together between you and Hermaeus Mora’s bodies. Together, they sink down down down until the joined limbs press against your entrance.

“Look at me, Dovahkiin.”

Hermaeus Mora’s command is a blow. It is sharp as steel. There is no room for refusal. You are in his realm, and his voice holds authority here.

You glance away from the tentacles to his singular eye. While there is no mouth or nose or cheekbones to show his emotions, you still sense that he’s smiling somehow. That Hermaeus Mora is grinning with pleasure at his control over you.

Something wet brushes against your clit. It is not his horrid hand and you do not need to look to know that it is but another tentacle. Yet another appendage exploring your body. This one suctions against your clit, using its naturally, wet flesh to rotate back and forth, creating a vortex of motion that quickly pulls you to the brink of an orgasm.

The stuttering breath from your lungs earn you a deep, rumbling chuckle from Mora. It simmers, and then filters out, his shoulders heaving slightly as if the Daedric Lord is prideful of his actions.

“How does this feel?” he asks. There is a detachedness to his tone, as if he’s observing you like an experiment. But that is what you are after all. You are not the Dragonborn in Hermaeus Mora’s realm but a tool for him to hoard. There is no such thing as freewill or choices with him.

Everything is a game.

Everything is a trap.

“Your touch repulses me,” you reply, making sure your tone is biting.

“Oh. No.” Hermaeus Mora chuckles. “You cannot lie to me in my own realm, Dovahkiin. I see all. I know all.”

“Then you already know how I feel. Why ask?”

“Your venom is not nearly as deadly as you believe it to be,” comes his reply. You feel scolded, and that only makes you angry.

Your hands curl into fists. “Let me give you my secret and be done with this.”

Hermaeus Mora retreats slightly. The inky, watery flesh of his humanoid form ripples like the waters beyond this tower. But it is momentary. Quick. Like a pebble plopped into a still pool. It all returns to normal.

“You entered my realm. You came to me. You sought knowledge. Fate brought you here, and fate is what brings us together now.”

There is another light twist of the tentacle around your clit. This one pulls forth a moan from between your lips. It is unbidden, and completely surprising. It happens again, and that is when the two joined tentacles begin to push in.

The intrusion is not painful. It is actually pleasant and your body surrenders to it, feeding into the gentle, pulsing sway of them inside you. The tentacle at your clit works in tandem, the three appendages working you right back over the edge.

As you squirm, and writhe, the tentacles holding onto your limbs shift. They lift you a bit higher, and then you’re tipping slightly, legs brought upward, only to bend at the knees and be pushed toward your chest.

You’re being presenting and it is both demeaning and luscious.

Hermaeus Mora brings you closer, and then his arms are around your body, his head dipping in an act that seems far too intimate.

“I’ll have that secret now.”

Mora is right. There is no pain. The tentacles moving between your legs keeps all your focus there, even as he draws you closer to his body. You’re nearly pressed up against him. One of his arms slides up your back to wrap around your throat.

Sprouting from his head, little tentacles come rushing forward. They break over your face and meander toward your nose, mouth, and ears. You try to scream but only manage to choke around them as they enter your mouth.

“Relax,” coos Hermaeus Mora. “Let me in. Bask in my presence.”

The tentacles playing with your clit brushes over you in a way that has your body seizing. This flattens the barrier, and Mora’s connection to your mind is instantaneous.

It is a dull explosion. Bright. Loud. Yet also incredibly calm. He moves through your memory, and you can feel it, as if the tentacles are sliding over, around, and in your brain. It is awful, and yet it feels like nothing at all.

Your lips begin to form words, words that tell him that it is your choice. That the memory you pick is one that you select. He is not to grab and pull whatever he likes.

But Hermaeus Mora does not listen to mortal wishes. He shifts through everything, and then you sense the halt—the collective pause.

“What is this?” His tone is cautious but curious. At first, you’re unsure of what Mora is seeing, but as he accesses the memory, it all becomes clear.

“So…that is what the Greybeards hoard atop their mountain. How…selfish of them.”

Shredded wings, missing teeth, and aged dragon scales flare in your mind. You glimpse the eyes of immortality and power. Hermaeus Mora sees it all too, and he clings to this memory, not allowing it to slip away.

Around the image of Paarthrnax there is dullness, one that intensifies into bright white until you’re completely thrust from your own head and back into Apocrypha.

“Your memory is…delicious.” The word curls in the air as if Mora is savoring it like a fine meal.

All the tentacles have retreated from you other than the four that originally held you. “You said a secret. That is not a secret.”

“But it is, Dovahkiin. It is a secret you keep. And now it is a secret I know.”

“But I told you I would give you one.”

“And so you did,” he says simply.

Your lips curl back, showing your teeth. Hermaeus Mora seems unbothered by the whole affair, continuing like he doesn’t care about your display of anger.

“I see why Miraak’s devotees were after you. They sought to kill you, which is such a shame since Miraak only wants you brought to him.”

Your feral snarl ebbs slightly. “He—what?”

Slowly, the tentacles bring you back to the floor. They retreat suddenly, disappearing into Mora’s form.

Hermaeus Mora’s dark laugh swirls around you like his tentacles. “As a guest in my realm, you are under my protection.” The humanoid shape he molded himself into starts to melt. He begins to lean to the right, the shine of his body rippling like boiling water. The liquification of body and tentacle is horrid. Putrid. Even the eye molts.

You stumble backward, falling on your ass as Hermaeus Mora becomes liquid.

As if there are cracks in the floor, he starts to seep into the stone, disappearing into the rock before there is nothing left of him.

You don’t move. Every inch of you is cold and alert, completely startled by his sudden dissolving.

“Dovahkiin,” comes Mora’s voice and it is everywhere. “No harm will befall you. I will see to it that Miraak does not find you while you haunt my halls.”

Two Seekers drift into the small place, their hands outstretched instructing for you to follow them. You don’t want to go. This place is starting to worm its way inside you. Already, you feel Mora’s alluring pull.

Perhaps it’s because he dug around in your head. Or, worse, the Prince of Fate made you into a whimpering mess that gave in. The very thought is embarrassing, and shame rises in your stomach. You are no one’s property. You belong only to yourself.

And the words are a lie.

You peel yourself off the ground, and the Seekers float into position, one in front and one behind. When you enter the main room where Mora’s most loyal followers work, they do not even look up at you.

Did they hear you in there moaning for their god? Shame creeps in again, and you purposefully stare at the back of the Seeker in front of you. You’re returned to your cage, and you do not want to crawl inside. Now that you’re on the outside looking in, you are not a guest in Hermaeus Mora’s halls but a pet. A plaything. Something he can chew up and spit out once he’s drained you of your memories.

What will happen to you then?

Instead of resisting, you crawl back in, curling up in a tight ball. You keep your back to the cage door, gaze focused on the wall in front of you. The cage is built into it, the metal bars imbedded in the wall.

A plan begins to take shape in your mind. Slowly, you reach out, your fingers brushing at the wall. It is not as hard you first believed it to be. It’s not stone or rock but something slightly fleshy.

With the right Shout, could you rip a hole in the wall? If you manage that, where would it lead you to? Empty air? Another room? Would Hermaeus Mora know your intent before you did it and come to stop you?

Is he even capable of that?

You’re not entirely sure, and you certainly do not wish to dwell in this cage until he calls on you again. You refuse to be his puppet. The answers you sought when you entered Apocrypha are unimportant now. Miraak’s temple is heavily guarded, but you’ll take the risk infiltrating it rather than trying to seek out knowledge in Mora’s halls.

Breaking through will create noise, and you don’t even know if your Thu’um has returned to you. Hermaeus Mora did not take it away, but he did manage to silence it for a time. When does that expire? Can he reset the clock once it’s up?

Running your tongue over your teeth, you consider your options, and settle on a quiet Shout.

“Feim,” you speak into the air.

You’re pushed into the ethereal form, and though it is temporary and lasts for only a handful of seconds, your Thu’um is back.

Shifting until you’re facing the wall, you sit up enough that you’re not crammed into the small space. You scoot across the stone until your back presses against the bars. Steadying your breathing, you inhale, and then release an unrelenting force of power.

“Fus Ro Dah!”

The force of your Voice batters against the soft wall. Some of it gives, but most of it bounces back and smashes into you. The back of your head bangs against the bars and you slide to the floor, clutching your head, groaning. Through parted fingers, you glance at the wall.

It’s still standing.

You laugh and it sounds like drowning.

This is mad. This is insane. Crazy.

Is Hermaeus Mora’s control finally taking hold? Did his tentacles that moved inside you slip a bit of his influence into your body. He grew no appendage like a mortal man, nor did he finish like they do.

But Mora is a god. He is not bound to the laws that the races of Tamriel are held to.

Your spread out on your hands and knees, shifting your body across the floor like a Mudcrab until you reach the wall of your enclosure. Running your fingers along it, you test the portion of the wall where your Thu’um made contact. It gives a bit, and you flex your palm, pressing.

Some of that fleshy wall gives, until a small portion of it falls away. It isn’t large, and not big enough to put your hand through. Using your nails, you start to scratch and pull at the material, more of it falling away. The texture is almost gelatinous, and as the hole grows bigger, you’re able to stare into it.

Through the hole you glimpse towering spires and connecting bridges. You shift position, glimpsing the murky water below. A lone tentacle breaches the surface, slithering up from the depths, squirming around in the air as if seeking something. Maybe is senses you, and this is Mora’s way of silently instructing you to cease.

Yet, there is hope.

There is no deep drop or immediate fall. You glimpse bars. Black metal like your cage? At least, that is what it appears to be. You can’t reach it to find out, but it does look to be the same. You claw at the wall again, this time with renewed energy.

More of the fleshy material falls into the cell or outward. The hole grows larger as you pull more of it away. The smile that spreads across your face is a feral one. From behind you, beyond the archway that leads into the room holding your cage, comes the distinct screech of the Seekers. They heard your Thu’um, and you are running out of time.

With renewed vigor, you rip and tear, not caring is you split nail or skin. All of that can heal. Your freedom is the most important thing.

The screeching becomes louder, striking down to your heart, sending your limbs into an agitated, frantic spin as you try to make your escape route wider.

A hurling, rippling force of air slams into your back. It shoves you forward against the wall. When you make contact, it bends outward. Another rippling force of air follows the next. The wall gives a bit more.

You turn your head toward the room. Two Seekers float just beyond the bars, their face mandibles flaring with agitation. Their hands extended outward, and you put all your pressure against the crumbling wall.

Together, they release another wave, and you grin in victory.

The wall gives. You fall backward.

And roll out into the curved embrace of those black metal bars.

There is a peace for a few seconds. And that metal shifts, revealing not bars but tentacles. Sudden horror of the implication flows into you like a thunderstorm. The tentacles wiggle. Bend outward. Unfurl.

There is only air. A hover before the descent.

Then you’re falling.

Fast—so fast it seems impossible—toward the inky water below.

Part Two // Part Four

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @singleteapot @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @wrathofcats

[furorem-yandere]

What would the night routine with a yan!Alduin and a female Dovahkiin? What do they do to settle down? How would they sleep together? Also, I love your writing!🥰

I’m so sorry I never got to this before you deactivated TToTT.... I hope you still find this sometime!!!

“Are you almost done, dii lokaal?”

You look up sleepily from you place in the hot spring.  Ebony scales gleam at you from the dark as your master awaits you from your shared nest.  Red eyes flash unblinkingly as he stares shamelessly at your body, mostly hidden by the steam and water.  “I am winding down.  Do you not wish my comfort and rest?” you ask calmly, finding your words a bit slurred.  Your muscles have long since unwound from their tight spools, and you now linger only out of indulgence.

“I wish you to rest with me,” he demands.

You know better than to disobey a direct order.

You sigh and slowly haul yourself out of the spring, drying yourself with the cloth nearby before wrapping yourself simply in dry robes.  You had already eaten, having cooked the prey brought to you (despite the dragon’s irritation with the fact you couldn’t simply eat it raw and insisted on cooking your food) and now that you had finished your bath, there was only rest to be had.

The World Eater raised his head and unfurled his long body slightly.  His tail swept back and he raised the wing closest to you, raising his head to watch you properly get into the mossy nest, dragging blankets and comforts with you.

“At last,” the beast grumbled to himself.  “You will not take so long next time”.

You chuffed in amusement. “I will not?”

A single cinder glared down from above.  “You will not.  Zu’u saraan nau nid joor”.  Smoke plumed from his nostrils as his scaled lips drew back in an irate sneer.  “I wait on no mortal”.

“I saw it more so as you pampering me, my lord.  I would not suspect you of waiting,” you offer, getting particular about your pillows, settling them against his scaled hide so you would not be awoken by something pressing uncomfortably to you.  “I am always grateful for your patience with spoiling me”.

A second plume has you coughing and your eyes burning as his head lowers to your face.  “Is this what the joor refer to as sarcasm?”

“Perhaps”.

“It is much less funny than I have been told”.

You smile and settle down, wrapping your furs and blankets around you snugly as the great black dragon curls his head under his wing and next to you.  An eye the size of a tea saucer stares at you, the only illumination under the curtain of his great wing, blotting out the moonlight.  In your greatly relaxed state, you stare and reach your hand out to stroke the fine scales under his eye and cheek.  You know he will not slumber; he has no need to, and will watch you, unblinking, for all the hours you are most vulnerable.  You have long had to make peace with this arrangement.

“Laag,” the World Eater commands.  Unbidden, your eyelids grow even heavier.  “Hi engein wah zey”.

[t0rturedangel]

╭ . . . a guide to becoming noticeable ੭

• ➛ PART ONE

Why is it that its always the last period of the day that it seems like time has slowed down? That's the question you were thinking as you watched the hands of the clock tick their way around, your eyes slowly blinking as you weren't able to process anything the teacher was waffiling on about, instead calculating how long it will take until the end of the dreadful lesson though it was proven to be difficult as you were on the edge of falling asleep.

and just when you least expected it, God answered your prayers and the bell rung causing all chaos to rein over the classroom, each student within scrambling to get their stuff into their bags and run out of the room. Luckily, you had packed your stuff away early so you had a chance to be one of the first to leave instead of being pressed against all the other people in the door frame.

Leaving everyone in that room behind you took a breath of air, looking around noting that the hallways were filled with, thankfully, not that many people only 3 to 6 crowds of friend groups standing around chatting about their plans for after school, ignoring them and their side glares you maneuvered you way to your locker where two familiar people stood, one happily talking and the other listening silently.

" Hey guys " you greeted, smiling at the two as their heads turned. The shorter of the pair's eyes and smile widened, he rushed forward and wrapped his arms around you squeezing you, practically crushing you while rambling on about how much he's happy to see you as if you hadn't seen him less than 2 hours ago, BUTTERS'S looks defiantly deceive how strong he actually is, since the boy is so much stronger than people give him for, you swear he could easily pick up ERIC CARTMAN but that's up for debate. " BUTTERS! SHIT- YOU'RE CRUSHING ME " you gasped slapping his back, begging for freedom from his grip but it seemed that your pleading fell onto deaf ears as his grip didn't loosen but rather became even stronger causing you to struggle against him even more.

You swear you were about to pass out due to lack of oxygen if it were not for the other person, DOVAHKIIN , to pull the blonde away from you causing a frown to form on his face which almost -almost- made you want to let butters latch onto you again but thankfully you only lost oxygen and not your logic too. " Thanks Dovah- Butter's you almost killed me via asphyxiation " Dovahkiin nodded at your thanks to them and patted both your and Butter's shoulders not uttering a word, like usual. The popular kid seemed to never want to talk to anyone, they couldn't even be bribed into it- you know from first hand experience and it seemed that even though they were extremely popular with everyone- due to an old stupid game they played with all the 'popular' kids at this school back when they first moved in called 'The stick of Truth'- they always choose to hang around you, Butter's and Scott which you appreciated since they're chill- one of the chillest but maybe its because they never fucking talked.

" Where's SCOTT? " You asked, tilting your head " Oh yeah! I forgot to tell you- Scott's at the Principles office for walking out of the lesson " " Thats like the fifth time he's done this " you groaned, its true Scott was trying to get a reputation of being a 'bad boy' so he could fit in with the popular kids since he hated being one of the 'outcasts' but that didnt mean he hated you guys he just didnt like being bullied. Speaking of Scott, you heard his desperate pleas for help and another voice screaming a him to quote ' Get your ass back here you lispy bastard '

Immediately Scott was seen running away from a very pissed of STAN MARSH, the school's star quarter back, screaming apologies- causing havoc in the hall. Within practical seconds, Scott was behind you, shaking- Stan glaring at both of you. " Move, reject. " Stan demanded calling you by the stupid nickname you've gain by most of the kids at the school, his fists shaking as his blood boiled, your lack of response was weird, weather it was because of fear, or literally anything else you didn't say anything and you didn't even look at him causing the boy Infront of you to grow even more pissed, his anger now directed to you, Scott shook stepping away from behind you to Dovah and Butters, knowing the Stan will probably want to fight you he didn't want to get into the cross fire. Now you and the black haired teen were having a stare down (it was more like Stan was glaring daggers at you while you looked down to the floor). As much as Stan wanted to punch you for not moving he didn't, maybe it was because one of his best friend's Dovah was there but it's not like you'll ever know, before turning back he shoved you which obviously made you stumble back and fall due to your stupid choice of letting your guard down. " Ow! " You yelped landing on your ass, everyone around you (excluding your friends and Stan) let out quiet giggles or pitiful comments at your misfortune. Looking up you registered that the marsh kid was gone, most likely at his girlfriend's, Wendy's, side the two of them always on a 'on and off' relationship.

Butters stood by your side after making sure Stanley was far away, a saddened look on his face a hand out for you to grab, which you did and easily stood up. " Thanks butters, fuck that hurt " you groaned " I had a pen in my back pocket, so I think I stabbed my cheeks, they're like one of the bests part of me " Scott pulled a grossed out face, Butters's worry grew and Dovah . . . well, Dovah stared at you mentally agreeing with you " Ew [ Name ] ! Don't say that! " "Shut up Scott! It's your fault this happened " you snapped back, flipping the boy off and as much as you wanted to fight him you knew that it wouldn't be the best idea so you just began to walk off, Butters and Dovah quickly joining your side leaving a very pissy Scott behind, who trailed slowly behind complaining how 'you could've moved' and that he would've been able to 'out run Stan' making you laugh " Nice joke Scott " you wiped a fake tear from your eye " I wasn't joking ! " " Uh huh as if your slow ass could ever out run Stan " " I could! I did it just a few minutes ago! " " Barely! He was like centimetres away from grabbing you and beating you to a bloody pulp "

The two of you kept squabbling as you neared the exit of the school's building. " Uhm hey fellas I gotta go now! If I don't get back home soon my parents will ground me! " Giving you three a smile he turned around and left, two out of the three of you returning the smile. " And then there were three " you shoved your hands into the pockets of your trousers " more like two, I need a go too ya know " " Yes yes, bye bye Scott we won't miss you " you blinked at him innocently " Fuck you " and with that Scott was gone.

Now that you were left alone with Dovah as company all of your attention was on them " Sorry I wasn't talking much to you Dovah, Scott was there. " No response no reaction from them and yet you could perfectly understand their emotions and what they wanted to 'tell' you " Awh, thanks, now. " You turned your head to the direction of the car park " Let's go home " with a nod the two of you were off to go find your car. Quiet a long time ago the both of you had saved enough and pulled through to buy a pretty decent car, it was rather modern and relatively fast so in your guys' eyes it was perfect.

As soon as you found your car you got in, both in you respective seats yours being the passenger seat and Dovah's being the divers, for the life of you you never knew why they were obsessed with being the driver, every time you asked or even suggested the idea of you driving they simple shook their head and clutched onto the car keeps protectively- it wasn't like you were a bad driver, you passed your car test or whatever its called with flying colours! You sighed as you sat comfortably in your seat, well as comfortable as you can get when the sting of a pen stabbing your butt was still there.

" Come on Dovah, start the car let's get home yeah? " You asked, putting you seatbelt on but when you didn't hear the car start you looked over to meet their face " Dovah? " They gave you a look " what is it Dovah? " Pulling out their phone they showed you a tweet Wendy posted a few days ago about a party " uh- Dovah Why'd you - " looking away from the phone to Dovah you were caught of guard by his puppy dog eyes " Dovah. Dovah no. " You narrowed your eyes trying not to be tempted by the desperate look in his eyes " Dovah stop. " He, in fact, did not stop " Dova- " 'please' he mouthed intensifying his puppy dog eyes to the point where it would seem out right criminal to say no

" Fine. Will that make you happy " he nodded seeming to be happy though his face very clearly didn't show it, patting your shoulder before turning back to start the car, that was stupid- you would've said yes even without the puppy eyes since you loved to party. You shook your head, pulling your own phone out, staring at the tweet 'next friday' huh? That's three day away. You turned your phone off and stared ahead, watching all the cars fall behind us as Dovahkiin drove at a life sentence type of speed, he always drove quickly even though you've (multiple times) reprimanded him for it he never stopped and never seemed to get in trouble for it, he had a way of getting out of trouble really easily it was scary.

Making it to your house was the quickest trip ever, it was almost seconds. Before getting out you smiled at your friend, thanking him for the ride he'd given you and walked to the front of your house, sighing as you got ready to open the door and fall asleep on the couch.

Three days until the party.

[totally-not-deacon]

Chapters: 9/12 Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Nebarra (Elder Scrolls)/Original Female Character(s), Nebarra (Elder Scrolls)/Dragonborn, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Nebarra (Elder Scrolls) Characters: Nebarra (Elder Scrolls), Lucien Flavius, Inigo the Brave (Elder Scrolls), Xelzaz (Elder Scrolls), Other Character Tags to Be Added, Bosmer Dovahkiin | Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls) Summary: Marasa was just here to make coin, not friends. Of course, nothing in her life had ever gone according to plan. How else would she find herself out in the ass-end of the Empire, doing jobs for the same people she’d happily have put in the ground thirty years ago? In the forests of Falkreath, a chance encounter with a kindred spirit turned her life on its head. Now she found herself being dragged, kicking and screaming, into something far bigger than she ever could have imagined - all the while learning the past doesn’t always like to stay that way. At least this time, she wouldn’t be alone if it all fell apart.

🎉🎉🎉 GUESS WHO'S BACK BABY, AND BRINGIN' THE SMUT!!! 🎉🎉🎉

I finally had the time to finish this one, and so now I gift it to y'all.

Enjoy, ya filthy animals.

[skyrim-forever]

In the Arms of Gods

A/N: Omg new fic from Eve??? It's only been 6 MONTHS... oopsies, but I've been really inspired lately and finally wanted to try my hand at a series. This story will take place during the events of the Dragonborn questline and have Dragonborn/Teldryn Sero. Let me know your thoughts!

Prologue (753 words) by dovah_queen Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Teldryn Sero Characters: Geldis Sadri Additional Tags: Nerevarine Teldryn Sero, Dragonborn DLC (Elder Scrolls), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Crisis of Faith, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Other Additional Tags to Be Added Series: Part 1 of In the Arms of Gods Summary: Anya Warstorm was a true daughter a Skyrim. Defeating Alduin, leading the Stormcloaks to victory, and a bard to boot; she was set to go down in history. Though the fight with Alduin may not have taken her life -permanently, but after being dead for a few minutes and faced with an eternity of nothingness; her faith in the Divines is shaken. Fresh off assassinating her High King, Anya runs away to Solstheim. Eager to find out who this Miraak is and hopeful for answers on what it means to be Dovahkiin; she ends up finding the answers she really needs in unlikely ally…

[3xm-draconic]

Bloodline of the Last Dragon.

Season 1/Episode 7: The Return.

Cicero sat in a field of nightshade with Mattilda, just the two of them in a meadow of the violet blossoms, he knew he needed to tell her…but he didn’t want to.

He wanted to keep her, she was his special friend…his companion…

He didn’t want to lose her or see her get hurt.  

But…

“Hey Cicero?…” she turned to him, he nearly jumped at her voice. It had been so dreadfully quiet, “oh yes dearest Mattilda?” He turned to her looking into her silvery eyes…sweet Sithis he had grown to adore the shimmering color of her eyes, bright like a well burnished blade.

“I…have something to confess to you”, “oh?...well…Cicero dose too” he sighed, better to get it over with…

She turned to him with a slight awkward and shy grin on her face, “Cicero…” she softly said, her voice was as lovely to him as cool rain on a hot summer night “your special to me…” she hummed sweetly “and I wanted to ask you if…perhaps…you’d like…to be my boyfriend?”

The words came before Cicero had time to process them…

“YES” he shouted.

Only then did he realize he’d dug himself into a deeper hole…

.

(Falkreath Sanctuary)

.

Cicero sat in his room dreading bringing Mattilda into the brotherhood, she wouldn’t like it here, she would hate it and she would grow to hate him…

But…wait…

He remembered something…a loophole…

She was part of the Thieves Guild, he remembered Astrid and the Guild have an alliance worked out…that means if she found out about him…he wouldn’t technically have to force her to join the brotherhood.

But it still ment he had to tell the others about her…

…

The rest of the brotherhood had settled down to dinner together when Cicero appeared before them, “well looked what the cat dragged in” Astrid mumbled.

“Finally having dinner with the rest of us?” Nazir eyed him “I’am shocked”, “oh be nice” Festus grumbled “here have a plate” he tried to offer the keeper a plate of roasted venison with apple jam but Cicero politely declined it.

“Cicero has something to tell you all” he took a shaky breath “Cicero…has…been seeing someone”

Astrid immediately leapt from the table and stuck a knife to his throat “I KNEW YOU WERE A TRAITOR!” she hissed, “Astrid wait!” Babbett cried “let him finish, it’s not what you think”, “Babbs?...you knew?” she stared in disbelief at the unchild, “he told me to keep it a secret” she shrugged.

Astrid let him up “Alright Fool…what is your secret?” she hissed venomously at him…

Cicero was quiet at first “...Cicero…has been seeing this girl…she likes Cicero and Cicero likes her…”, “well that's complete bullshit” Arnbjorn grumbled. “ARN!” Babbett snapped, “there ain't no way in the void there is ANYONE who would romantically wanna be involved with him” Arnbjorn shrugged, Veezara nodded “your story is a little hard to believe”.

Cicero balled his fists in anger “CICERO WILL PROVE TO YOU HE HAS A GIRLFRIEND! HE’LL BRING HER OVER TO THE TAVERN TO MEET YOU TOMORROW!” he snapped.

Arnbjorn laughed “the day you have a girlfriend is the day Night Mother chooses a listener!”

Cicero began to laugh hysterically “GOOD!” he howled

.

(The next day)

.

Mattilda was overjoyed to be meeting some of Cicero’s folks! 

She had used some of her saved up gold to go all out on beauty supplies so she could look her best, gotta make a good first impression after all.

“It looks like a soup” Mattilda said as she fished a flower out of the bubbly bath, it had a little milk and tea in it too, “a soup that will do wonders dear, afterall we don’t want you smelling like a barn” Kit’Tay chuckled as she unceremoniously tossed her into the bath.

She then poured soap onto her hair and viciously started to scrub it into Mattilda’s scalp “OW!” she yelped and pulled away from her, “oh quit being a big baby, pain is beauty”, “if pain is beauty then I’d rather stay ugly” she groaned. 

Kit’Tay then took clay, charcoal, salt, a little honey and butter. 

She mixed it in a bowl and into a paste, she then took a hard scrubbing brush and proceeded to scrub the paste into Mattilda’s skin like she was trying to scrub grease off a pan.

After what felt like hours of this torture the bath had finnaly finished.

Mau’Mau then applied makeup to her face, using delicate hands she enhanced Mattilda’s face by lining her eyes in black and shadowing them with deep browns and golds to accentuate the silvery–blue of her eyes, her lips were then painted a soft red and her cheeks blushed.

Lastly was the dress.

Mau had it specially shipped from Radiant Raiment in Solitude, a slim black dress that hugged the curves and accentuated the bust. When Mattilda slipped it on she felt…fierce.

She had always hidden her appearance…now…she was showing it off. 

“So just who is this mystery man?” Mau’Mau asked her, “Cicero, his name is Cicero”, Mau paused a dreadful look on her face “short imperial man, red hair?...jester?” she gawked, “yeah…how do you?” Mattilda pondered.

“Sugarbean…be careful…he…is part of the dark brotherhood”.

A cold sweat ran down her spine.

“Cicero? An assassin?” she scoffed “you're joking”, Mau shook her head “Astrid told us of a new arrival, he fits the bill to a T” she purred sadly.

Mattilda started to laugh.

“well…I guess I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets”.

.

(At the Dead Man’s Drink)

.

Arnbjorn, Nazir and Vizarra were sent to see about Cicero’s “girlfriend”...

“50 septimes he just pulled our legs” Veezara yawned and sipped his mead, “100 septims says he hired some poor woman to pretend to be his girlfriend” Arnbjorn snickered. 

Cicero stood outside the tavern while the others waited inside, the moment he saw Mattilda his heart skipped a beat, she looked so…beautiful…especially dressed in black.

Nazir looked over and nearly spat out his mead “GUYS” he said as he tapped Arnbjron’s shoulder, Veezara and Arnbjorn looked over and their jaws dropped…

Cicero walked in with a cute little thing in a black dress, she was short and built a little like an acrobat but with very powerful and long legs, she was…an elf?...of some sort, a brunette with pale skin and big blue eyes.

She was laughing with him and not in a forced way…she…genuinely…seemed to be enjoying his company, “well I’’l be…” Nazir gasped, “there is no way he landed that, just look at her” Veezara murmured, “welp we're about to find out” Arnbjorn grinned.

“Matti these are Cicero’s half brothers and his family friend: Nazir, Arnbjorn and Veezara” he introduced her, “hi she excitedly beamed, I’am Mattilda Vid-” before she could finish introducing herself Arnbjorn stopped her.

“So Mattilda, what’s your line of work?”, “oh…well…I’am currently more of an adventurer right now but I use to be an alchemist in Helgen” she answered rather awkwardly, Arnbjorn nodded “uh huh…tell me”  he got close to her enough to whisper “and you can be honest, how much is Cicero paying you to be his pretend girlfriend?”

Mattilda gawked “what?!” she gasped, “oh come on” Arnbjorn muttered loud enough for Cicero to hear “did you really think we’d fall for this little joke of yours?” he turned to Cicero, “honestly where'd you find a pretty thing like this? Certainly not in whore houses here-” as soon as those words left his lips he was sent backwards by a powerfuck kick to the face, one strong enough to make him skid across the floor for a few feet.

Veezara and Nazir spat out their mead and gawked in utter shock at what had happened, Cicero grabbed Mattilda and desperately tried to pull her away.

Arnbjorn got up and glared at her…

“How dare you” she hissed “I am no cheap whore and how dare you for insulting Cicero” she growled, “you just signed your death warrant girly” Arnbjorn snarled, Mattilda smirked, showing off her bosmeri fangs “just ask Maven Blackbrier about the name Viddarson, then we’ll see who’s death warrant is signed” she leaned in “and tell Astrid I said hi”.

Chills ran down Arnbjorn’s spine…

Who was this chick?

Mattilda took Cicero’s hand and led him out of the tavern.

“What did you mean by that?” he looked at her, she smiled at him “you don’t need to worry about your family coming after me is all” she chirped, “what how?” he scrambled for words, “I know” is all she replied be for looking into his deep hazel-amber eyes and asking him one simple question.

“Mau and Kit are away “visiting friends” in Riften…would you like to share a bottle of wine with me beside the hearth at my house?”, Cicero pondered, if he was going to spend one last night with Matti before all Oblivion broke loose it would be tonight.

“Cicero would love too” he chirped.

.

(Falkreath Sanctuary)

.

“Viddarson” Astrid said the name with a twinge of fear in her breath, “I know but what does it mean?” Arnbjorn asked her, “it means, darling husband of mine…THAT YOU FUCKED UP” she screeched.

“Viddarson is Maven’s personal guy, her PERSONAL guy. If she wants something made to look like a message or an accident she sends us or any other guild member…if she wants somebody GONE OFF THE MAP or their name sullied into poverty she sends Viddarson” Astrid hissed “you just insulted the daughter, no excuse me, the niece of Skyrim’s FUCKING BOOGYMAN”.

Astrid grabbed Arnbjorn’s face and bright it to hers “you are going to apologize to her or so help me Sithis…”, “Astrid I thought we were Skyrim’s boogymen?” he pondered, Astrid sucked in a deep breath “listen to me, Viddarson makes us look like a bunch of weirdos in black pajamas…he is not to be FUCKED with…and nither is his family”.

“now…GO APOLOGIZE!” she snapped.

.

(next morning)

.

Cicero awoke next to Mattilda in her bed…with nothing on except his jester hat.

He lovingly gazed at her sleeping form beside him, her little soft snoring and the way her body was curled up next to him reminded him of a bunny rabbit, he cuddled her not wanting this moment to end…not wanting what was to happen…happen…

He wanted her to live.

A knock at the door awoke her from her slumber and Cicero cursed whoever it was, Mattilda looked at the naked jester in her bed…and at her own nude form. She giggled, “I…hope I wasn’t too…well…” she embarrassedly looked at Cicero “it was my first time”, Cicero chuckled and kissed her “it was Cicero’s too, he loved it”.

The knock came more vigorously this time.

“JUST A MOMENT” Mattilda called, “you better get out of here in case it’s Mau or Kit”, “but what if it’s Arnbjorn?” he worried, “like I said you don’t need to worry about that, now come on your clothes are around here somewhere” she chuckled.

Cicero left through the back door when he bumped into Arnbjorn, “look before you go crazy I’am not here to hurt her…I’am here to apologize to her”, “oh…well good serves you right for what you did”.

Mattilda got on her robes and opened the door, there before her was…

“DAD!” she shouted happily as she hugged him tightly.

.

.

[aladaylessecondblog]

So in my Skyrim fanfic the Dragonborn gets this letter from the Archmage of the College of Winterhold. Says he's got a friend who's "slightly less than alive" and wants the man escorted to the face sculptor in Riften as he's heard the woman has started working on the undead. Promises a great reward if she does the mission, even if the face sculptor turns out not to be working on the undead.

So the Dragonborn goes to Winterhold because big reward, and the guy she's escorting has his face wrapped up in bandages like some sort of Dunmer version of Joshua Graham except only one eye is exposed. And he's a vampire, she can tell that from the one eye she can see.

(Spoiler: It's Dagoth Ur, and the Archmage is the Nerevarine who you may have seen on my page already from the art I commissioned, but neither of these facts are obvious.)

(Fun additional spoiler for fun future chapters: Her mother's an Ashlander and booooooooy is Ashlander mama gonna have a lot to complain about when she sees her daughter again)

I linked it elsewhere but this post is getting more attention so here's the link for those of you who are interested

Faal Hah Wuld (9718 words) by Aladayle Chapters: 7/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Elder Scrolls Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Dunmer Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Dagoth Ur Characters: Female Dunmer Dovahkiin | Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls), Thorald Gray-Mane, Nord Nerevarine (Elder Scrolls), Dagoth Ur Additional Tags: Post-Skyrim Main Quest, Daedra (Elder Scrolls), The Dragonborn is ADHD, The Author Also Has ADHD, Skyrim Special Edition, Skooma (Elder Scrolls), Skooma is Meth, Thalmor Being Assholes (Elder Scrolls), The Author Is Overly Ambitious, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind References Series: Part 3 of After Destiny Summary: My mother called me Sadrith, because I was born in a mushroom cave. The khajiit caravan we traveled with called me Bishu Aydith, what they told me meant little dreamer, for the grand dreams I was always having. Dragons, flight, empirical wars… Something is wrong with me. Something that makes everything take more to do. Something that scrambles my mind, that gives me wild creativity but takes my ability to do much with it. Something that only skooma seems to help. As my mother once said - Akatosh blessed me with the soul and blood of a dragon, and Sheogorath cursed me, that I may not turn into Tiber Septim. I have defeated Alduin, though as is my mind's wont, I have no idea what to do next. But perhaps with help, I could figure it out.

[gortrash]

Been working on a basic height chart for all my TES characters, so here are my dysfunctional babies (and here’s to hoping tumblr doesn’t kill the image quality, but if it does, just click on it to see it better.)

From left to right, we have Ilyavanthra, Evelynn, Morganne, Delilah, Taka-Xil and Jacken.

More info on these guys under the cut!

Ilyavanthra Atyreni is my resident villain, a Thalmor superior who thinks she’s god and refuses to acknowledge the Divines out of spite— which won’t go down well with the rest of the Thalmor, but that’s fine, she’s got big plans for them along with the rest of the world. The pivotal point for her was when she went missing, lost her legs under mysterious circumstances, came back wrong, refused to elaborate. After that she began frantically planning some kind of ultimate design and built new legs as proof of her efficiency. She’s positively obsessed with the Dwemer, their ideologies and methods and studied them for a large part of her life. At some point she was married to Evelynn, but their relationship is… difficult. All in all, giant scary lesbian Altmer with religious trauma and one hell of a god complex about to make it everyone else’s problem.

Evelynn is my favourite child, she’s my Bosmer Vestige and has lived for a very long time after the events of ESO, in which she has spent the years going from outright saving the day to falling into the background and preferring to work on the preservation of Tamriel from behind the scenes, as she knows no other purpose. Super complicated bisexual disaster love life, let me tell you about it, sheesh. She’s been around to help put down Mannimarco whenever he pops up, but has been running from Molag Bal and the looming feeling of impending doom he carries— little does she know she’s in a rat trap. Because of her extended life, her mind has far outgrown her body and by the time the fourth era rolls around, she’s less than all there, susceptible to any forced that would wish to control her (she’s also the character I put through the Vicn Trilogy, because putting her back in Coldharbour sounded like the worlds sickest joke.) I love female characters who have been put through extreme tribulations and come out of it little bit off the rails RAHHH!!

Morganne is my Imperial Dragonborn who remembers absolutely nothing prior to the carriage ride except her name. She fulfils her destiny in not only slaying Alduin but also taking up the role of Konahrik, which only strengthens her power as Dovahkiin. But what does it mean about you if you managed to destroy the destroyer of worlds? Does that not make you just as, if not more, dangerous? Perhaps. She’s still young and pretty naive but by god, is she as stubborn as a dragon should be, and keeps doing impulsive dumb shit she gets in trouble with everyone for. She refuses to kill Paarthurnax, who she ends up considering her father figure, refuses to kill any more dragons considering it ‘kinslaying’, as well as arguing that she believes Odahviing and Durnehviir to be her most loyal brothers, and instead of killing him at the summit of Apocrypha, releases Miraak and keeps him on a leash. They hate each other’s guts (code for they are deeply in love and cannot resist one another but both won’t make the first move out of pride)

That tiny lass is Delilah, a Breton with big dreams of being a sorceress but unfortunately also sucks at magic. See that staff she’s holding? She doesn’t know how to use it aside from thwacking people. She does however have a mass aptitude for Restoration locked away, she just has to figure out how to harness it, because without control, her emotions dictate her powers in miraculous ways, even resulting in resurrecting the dead. See that big fella beside her? He’s proof of that. Also, don’t let her baby face fool you. She’ll bite your ankles and she has a thing for monster boys.

The big fella in question is named Taka-Xil, and oh boy, does he run on pure spite. He’s not had a very good start to life, despite being born under the Hist, he seemingly had no connection to it whatsoever and couldn’t properly read the social cues of his kin or fully understand them. For that reason, he was deemed soulless, and no matter how much sap he consumed he couldn’t connect to the Hist— the amount he drank only made his scales much tougher, his tongue golden and his height drastically taller than by Argonian standards. So he runs off to join the Dark Brotherhood and developed a great deal of reverence for Sithis. He becomes Listener and lets out all that steam on contracts, until he meets Delilah, who teaches him that being soft is just as important as being strong. She’s the only one he sees any light in and he adores her. Big gruff guy soft for sunshine girl plus dramatic height difference trope here.

Lastly, we have my most experimental OC, the wonderfully unhinged Jacken Archanymia, the very last Cyrodiilic bird person. He’s been alive all these years due to a curse bestowed upon him by Peryite, and has since dedicated his life to creating the cure to everything. Yes, everything. Beginning with his own terrible affliction. He’s a brilliant alchemist and doctor, and regardless of how spooky his attire is and how… rotten he is beneath it, he’s very charming and animated, and does his very best to act gentlemanly. Just don’t get too close or you might get sick. That mask is more for your protection than his.