#tonight has tired me out :

[softquietsteadylove]

Hii love, how are you doing?

I had this little idea for the Mermaid Au:

What if gil and thena have been out all day and when they are heading back home, thena is too tired to keep using her legs and just colapses getting her tail back on so gil has to carry her all the way home. She is a little embarrassed about it but gil being the perfect boyfriend that he is comforts her and takes care of her.

Have a good day!! 🩷🤍

"Angelfish?"

Thena startled, catching her eyes drooping again. They'd had a wonderful day out, meeting Sersi for lunch, going to the mall with her to shop for clothes, then going to the market to get more fun things, like food. It was a fun day but she couldn't say she wasn't exhausted.

"Hey," Gil said more softly, turning to her and stopping despite the many, many bags in his hands. "You okay?"

She smiled at him, flashing her teeth, "of course!"

Gil smiled at her too, although his eyes dashed down just for a second. "Put those away, sweetie. We're almost home."

Thena ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth. Her fangs were poking out. She was losing her careful touch. "It was fun--being out with Sersi."

If Gil thought her behaviour was odd he kept it to himself. He shifted the bags so he could hold her hand. "It was, huh?"

"She found quite a lot of treasures," Thena denoted, glancing down at the many bags Gil was carrying. Sersi had insisted he carry them all.

"Yeah, Sersi's always wanted a sister to go out and do girl stuff with, like shopping and getting her hair done," Gil chuckled. "Even if I offered, she didn't wanna go shopping with her big brother. Not the same, y'know?"

She didn't. But Thena smiled; there did seem to be an interesting mentality to the activity of 'shopping', much like pack hunting. There was a bond, a pack mentality of a shared goal and a group satisfaction when treasure was found.

"Are you okay?" he asked her again, even leaning slightly to look into her eyes despite their difference in height. "She didn't tire you out?"

She had, but she wouldn't trade the fun they'd had for it. "No! Hunting with Sersi was quite enjoyable. It felt like when Kari and I would go looking for pearls."

Gil always enjoyed when she used imagery from her life back home. "I guess it would be like that."

They lapsed into silence again. Thena yawned, getting a taste of the salty air as they got closer to the water. She longed to slither into bed with Gil and have him massage the spot where her gills would be.

"Angelfish?...Thena!"

She blinked, wobbling on her feet and drifting into him.

Gil reacted, dropping any bags not dangling from his wrist and steadying her against him. "Sweetheart, are you okay?"

She tried to reply, but she just blinked, feeling tongue-tied. She tried to get her feet under her again but she kept stumbling. "Gil?"

"Okay, okay, it's okay," he whispered as he brought them down lower. His head swivelled around until he gathered the bags and pulled her tighter. "Just a sec, Angelfish, it's okay."

Thena clung to him as he awkwardly shuffled them away from the sidewalk and onto the grass by a bench. They were lucky that they had parked Titania closer to the less used docks. Her eyes bulged, "Gil!"

"I know, sweetie, I know," he whispered to her, kissing her temple as he got her seated on the bench.

Thena gripped the back of it, watching her legs come together and scales erupt down the length of them again. Her tail reformed in front of her very eyes. It was a newfound, human reflex, but her hands went to tug at the hem of her dress (not that it mattered now).

Gil got her tail situated, as well as their many bags as he sat down next to her. He placed his hand on the shimmering scales of her tail, "you okay?"

Thena stared at her fins, blushing terribly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he grinned, but that wasn't helping. He ran his palm over her scales, "you've had a long day. Maybe your body felt your feet hurting and your tail decided to take over."

Thena grumbled within her throat. She touched a hand to her neck--her gills were emerging, too. "I understand the word 'humiliating' better, now."

Gil leaned over, kissing her cheek. "Come on, it's not that bad."

She gave him a look, flopping her tail limply as it was laid over his lap. If they were at home cuddling this would be one thing, but they were out in broad daylight.

"Okay, it's not ideal," he amended, still smiling though. He continued to admire her scales, petting her tail the way she'd seen people pet cats or dogs. She flicked the end of it. "I like seeing your tail."

Her blush wasn't getting any better. "You can't flatter the problem away."

"Maybe not," he shrugged. "So I have to carry you home, so what?"

It was embarrassing, that was what--like being a guppy and injuring your fin and having to one-sidedly paddle home.

"What if someone sees?" she mumbled, pulling her cardigan tighter around herself.

"Maybe they'll just think I'm carrying home my lovely girlfriend," Gil suggested so easily. It was a far cry from the man terrified of letting her walk around in public just a year ago. "My mate, I guess. And she's got on such a pretty, sparkly dress."

Thena sighed, letting him adjust his hold on her and scoot her more into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck instinctively. "Will people believe that?"

"Does it matter?"

Thena let him pile some of the bags in her lap and grasp the rest. Then he picked her up, carrying her tail the way he would her bent legs and behind her back. At least she wasn't slipping out of his grasp.

"Here we go," Gil grunted as he adjusted her weight and the load of their bounty. "Ready?"

Thena declined to answer, choosing to bury her face in the side of his neck. The bounce of his chest against her told her he was still finding this all rather humorous.

"Y'know, the first time I held you to get you out of the water," he began during their short but significantly slower trip back to the beach. "I thought 'wow, she's so light'. And then I realised how tight I had to hold you and, uh, I tried not to think about the rest."

"Hm," she mused, still preferring the refuge of hiding herself away.

"You were warmer than I thought you would be," he continued, regardless of her embarrassment. "Holding your tail is harder than holding onto legs. But it's not like it's totally unstructured either."

"Is that so?" she asked mostly just to say something. She eyed her tail, uselessly flopping over the edge of his arm.

"I can't carry you on my back like this, but we have a name for this method."

"For what?" she lifted her head to look at him. He had that grin on his face that he got when he was about to teach her something about human life.

"Holding someone--carrying them like this," he indicated, bouncing her a little despite the crinkling of the bags. "It's called the bridal carry."

"What's that?"

Gilgamesh looked at her, his eyes soft and warm. "It's for, uh, mates. It's not that only mates do this, but the original name for it means...something pretty significant."

She still didn't understand what he was really talking about. But he had that look on his face that made her insides feel like a school of minnows. She blinked a few times, resisting the urge to clamp down on his neck and declare him hers. Humans didn't do that kind of thing to lay claim to their mates.

"What I'm saying is I'm happy to carry you, Angelfish," he clarified, continuing down the hill. The beach came into view, "we're almost there."

She kept her thoughts to herself. Gil was right, they were mates. She had no reason to find him helping her so terrible. She would do the same for him if he were injured. She opted not to sink her teeth into his shoulder; humans had more gentle ways of affection.

Gil smiled as she pressed her lips to his cheek and the faint rumble of her purring started. "I've got you, Angelfish."

He had her for all her life, if only he knew.

[thetriangletattoo]

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[theloveinc]

[whispers-of-masser]

Dragon's Tongue

✧ Nebarra x human!LDB, ft. Xelzaz & Khash ✧ Fluff, minor angst; 1300+ words ♫ "You And I (Stripped)" - PVRIS ✒ Something short n sweet today, I'm feeling soft

Nebarra was loath to admit it to himself, and he'd die before ever saying it aloud, but the Rift really was beautiful. Nothing compared to Alinor, to be sure, but... all the gold reminded him of home. And when he passed by a small, isolated farm, he could almost see himself on its porch, see his brother leaning against the door.

The illusions were younger, happier versions of themselves. So much more innocent, faces bright with naivety, eyes shining with plans for the future.

And then he'd gone to war.

He'd lost... so much of himself, in the deserts of Hammerfell. They had scorched and burned him inside and out, slowly bleeding him dry with every comrade he saw fall. And all that, for what? For all the Altmer's supposed superiority, the campaign had failed on all fronts – Hammerfell's walls and people defied them, and Cyrodiil remained in power, weakened but still unbroken.

How could the Thalmor still strut about, arrogant to Aetherius and back, when they had failed so miserably? How could they look at the faces of the families whose children and lovers they'd sent to die and only tell them they'd "served their purpose"?

Nebarra couldn't.

He couldn't face them at all. Not even through pen and paper, leagues away from ever having to look them in the eyes, ever having to see the pain and loss in their gaze.

Where the Thalmor were heartless, he was a coward.

And he didn't know which was worse.

~~~

Night fell, and you called the group to halt, to make camp until dawn. Nebarra set up the tent as you argued with Xelzaz, trying to convince him that no, he shouldn't summon a flame atronach and then kill it for its fire salts, no matter how good it would make dinner taste. Khash merely looked on, muching on some clover she'd picked up somewhere.

At last though, you got Xelzaz to relent, though he asked you to gather some herbs in exchange, listing off the plants he wanted you to find.

"Ah... and take Nebarra with you."

The elf froze. Turned slowly towards the lizard. Demanded, "What? Why?"

"Two eyes are better than one," he shrugged, "and that much safer, as well. We don't know what's out there, and I'm pretty sure we passed a necromantic altar on our way here."

At that, you groaned, head rolling back like a teenager who'd just been told to do their chores. "Gods, not another one. Why do we always seem to run into those?"

"Luck of the Dragonborn? Anyway, off with you now – I have to get set up. Let's see, in whose pack did I leave my cooking pot...? Khash! Come help me with this!"

And just like that he walked off, leaving you and Nebarra alone by the campfire. A chuckle escaped you, and he glanced over to see you shaking your head. "I'm surprised he didn't tell us to hold hands, too, so we don't lose each other in the dark."

"Yeah, I'm not holding your hand," Nebarra snarked. And it was true. Absolutely true. Totally, one-hundred percent true.

"Oh wow, Nebs, that one almost hurt." Your soft laugh seemed to echo in his ears, his mind. "Come on, let's go – I don't suppose you heard any of the plants he wants?"

Blue and yellow mountain flowers, to restore and fortify. Purple for rejuvenation, and to give to Khash. Scaly pholiota for fiber and strengthening. Wild gourds and dragon's togue for flavour.

He snorted from behind his helm. "That would require paying attention to him."

"Should have known," you sighed. "Alright, listen up before I forget: blue, yellow, and purple mountain flowers, scaly pholiota, and dragon's tongue. And be careful with the purple mountain flowers, they're gifts for Khash. Oh, he also wants some wild gourds. Got it?"

"...Yeah, yeah. Let's just get going."

He definitely hadn't feigned ignorance just to hear your voice some more. Definitely not.

~~~

"Ah, back at last! Perfect," Xelzaz said, stirring something in a pot over the fire. "Now I can get the real meal started."

"Then what's this?" Nebarra demanded as Xelzaz handed him a bowl, in exchange for the plants the Altmer carried. Even through his gauntlets he could feel its warmth, and a rich, savory scent drifted up through the slits of his helmet.

"Something amazing, from the smell," you sighed, and Nebarra didn't have to look to know you were drooling.

"Just a little sometime to hold you over," the Argonian demurred, handing you a bowl as well. "Thought I'd experiment with some of the flora I've gathered thus far."

That gave Nebarra pause. "Wait – experiment? That's settled, I'm not eating this."

"If you don't want it–"

Your words were drowned out by Khash's eager shout of, "I'll eat it! I'll take your bowl!" She rushed over to him, red eyes trained on the food.

"Khash, you had your share," Xelzaz chided. "Any more and you won't have room for the rest of dinner."

"Yes, I will! I have room for anything you make."

"She's got a point," you laughed, and Nebarra slowly, wordlessly handed her the bowl.

"I'll go keep watch," he grumbled, turning away.

"Oh, don't be like that! Nebarra!" When he didn't respond, you sighed, calling after him, "Alright, go sulk! I'll make sure Xelzaz doesn't poison your share, though you kind of deserve it!"

His back still towards you, Nebarra raised his hand in a rude gesture, and your laughter rang through the night.

Some thirty minutes later, he heard footsteps approaching; he didn't need to turn to know it was you. Your tread was distinct from the others, weighted with determination and confidence, whereas Xelzaz's was soft and steady, and Khash's light and hesitant.

"Here. Eat." Despite the short words, your tone was gentle, and Nebarra looked over to see you holding a plate out towards him, laden with a slab of meat and wild berries to the side. "It's delicious, and unpoisoned."

"How would you know?" he sniffed, catching a whiff of the food in the process. It... did smell amazing. "Did you try it?"

"I did, actually. Stole some of your steak when Xelzaz wasn't looking. And since I'm still standing here pestering you, I guess that means it's clean."

Nebarra paused, eyes training on your face. Half of it was wreathed in shadow, only the gleam of your eyes visible; the other half was illuminated by the campfire, revealing the soft smile you wore.

You... had a nice smile.

And before he could stop himself, he mumbled, "You're not... pestering me."

Surprise flickered in your gaze – surprise, and something else. Something he told himself he didn't recognise, refused to recognise.

After a moment, you said softly, "That's... good to hear, then. Because I have something else for you, too." Reaching down with your free hand, you pulled something from your belt and held it out before him. "I saved one, 'cause it reminded me of you."

Nebarra stared. There, held gently between your fingers, was a dragon's tongue flower, petals open wide and colours vibrant in full bloom. "This... reminded you of me?"

"It's gold. Just like you."

"...You really do have trouble with your eyesight, don't you? These are orange."

"Eh, close enough." You shrugged, the smile never leaving your face.

Slowly, Nebarra reached out and, ignoring the plate of food, took the flower carefully, delicately from your grasp, cradling it in his palm. "...Am I supposed to say thank you?"

"You just did." As he raised a brow from the shadows of his helm, you set the plate on a nearby rock and tapped the gauntlet that held the flower. "You accepted it."

He couldn't deny it. "Think you got me all figured out then, huh?"

Something in your smile shifted, your gaze flickering. "No. Not yet, anyways. But... I think I'd like to." And with that, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving him alone in the dark, stunned.

And that night, as he sat in the shadows of the campfire, he stared at the flower for a long, long time.

[daydadahlias]

you can't reclaim a word that's never been used against you

[princeofhags]

i just finished reading about iraestra so wand of twilight for her as well!

Wand of Twilight. Iraestra conjures a spirit from the land of the dead to speak to them.

FANTASY PROMPTS | @foxboyclit

Smoke floods the altar in fragrant plumes, the familiar taste of myrrh coating the back of Iraestra's throat uncomfortably. Her steps, purposefully measured and slow, sound monstrous in the cavernous wings of the ceremonial chamber. The peace is further broken by the occasional murmur of an invocation or rustling cloth. There has been no order given for silence, but the trepidation hanging heavy in the air as the incense enforces the command. They all wait in the lurch of a breathless hush, an animal instinct to a known threat. Still, so that the hunter is not enthralled by your fleeing. Anticipation before the blow.

Does their visitor scent the fear he instills in the air, like a hound? Does the chorus of thrumming hearts beckon to him like the call of war drums? Bodies, so many bodies for him to open and bleed.

Itaestra does not doubt that he often relishes it. Bhaalspawn are such curious, depraved half-beasts.

Prince of the Blood. A self-given title, perhaps, but she has heard the reverence Bhaal's faithful pour at his feet like wine libations. Their honored guest is heir to a butcher's legacy. She thinks him little more than a glorified killer draped in the dressings of grandeur.

Iraestra does not cower or draw back from him, but there is still an instinctual unease at the thought of a Bhaalspawn being familiar with her. The Dread Lord’s wicked heirs do not know friends, only warm bodies to bite with steel. The world to them is already dead, merely waiting to be torn asunder to show its truest color: the crimson of fresh spilt blood.

A hedonistic dogma. She holds her tongue due to the respect granted to Bhaal by her own unholy master.

She observes the preparations for the ritual with only half an eye, attention commanded by the ophidian silhouette haunting the edge of the room. What a disquieting picture he paints. His height causes him to loom terribly, heads and shoulders above the flock of mortal meat. He need not even draw his weapon to kill half the room should he wish it. Each finger is tipped with a talon that catches the candlelight with each of his clenching hand. When he had spoken, his teeth had stood out vividly against the stone-black gleam of his scales. The dried gore on his scales embrace him as intimately as any lover.

The wicked length of a barbed tail flickers in what may be a sign of agitation in his people, or merely a quirk of the extra limb. His attention is riveted on the altar. She half expects it to catch aflame.

She attempts not to concern herself with his growing impatience. Any fool can cast a spell to converse with the departed; a Myrkulite only does so at the behest of another and the blessings of the Bone Lord. She will not disregard the tenants of her faith even for this Prince.

"You're eager," she observes. The dragonborn has not left the corpse's side since it was brought to her. Curious. He must be thoroughly invested in the secrets it would spill. "It was good that you preserved the jaw. A wasted trip had you not," she stops by the head, only the breadth of a few steps between her and the Prince.

At that, he finally regards her. Even in his initial instructions he had been short with her. "What of a tongue?

"Is this a theoretical or practical query?" Short of the patience to wait for an answer, Iraestra snaps at one of the attendants. "Bone Talker, check the mouth."

Questing fingers find only half of the appendage still intact. If removed before death, exsanguination is as likely a cause as any.

"It will do," she decides. "I am ready to begin." Her attendants step back as one.

The body has been prepared as best they can given its mangled state. This man, who can be no older than twenty, bares the marks of a slow death. The skull, partially caved, rests unevenly on the cloth. He does not even look peaceful now, as the victims of violence rarely do.

She steps forward, hands rising from her sides. Iraestra readies herself to speak the ancient words.

"Alone," the Prince's clipped voice rings out clearly. Not a request. Demand.

Iraestra hisses her frustration. Better vexation, than dread. She knows the vestments of anger well, slips into them like a second skin. Her mouth twists, her shoulders draw tight. Her hands are half-formed claws in the air. She hears the pound of her own heart in her ears.

What is so important that it cannot be witnessed by the others? What is to be done with her, who will attend to the questioning herself?

"Mistress?" Every cowled head in the room turns to look at her. They hear the call for her death as vividly as she. One of the fools is brave enough to step towards her, as if they could truly do anything to intervene. She admires them for their stupidity.

The Prince watches her, well aware of what he asks for. Trust or faith or maybe both. Clearly, he is looking for a reaction. Will she falter, will she balk? Could he make a bouquet of the stench of her unease? He regards her with a snake's stare, eyes cold licks of fire. He does not blink.

If he thinks he can subdue her so easily, then he is sorely mistaken. She is drow. She is Oblodra. Her own mother's hands were the first to ever try to take her life. He will find no easy marks here today. Let him slake his thirsts elsewhere. There are other, weaker creatures for him to gorge himself on.

"Leave us," Iraestra does not take her eyes from the Prince. She does not speak or move again until the door clicks shut behind the last attendant. How awfully similar it sounds to the closing stone of a tomb.

She rounds on him, irritation clear. "Why did you ask for me?"

The Prince is the first to look away, back to her hands and then the body. Iraestra does not feel like she has won anything of merit. It is impossible to tell if he is pleased. "The Banite confides in you. I thought to do the same."

He does not give a name, nor does she ask for it. She wonders at what the Prince knows of her talks with the other Chosen.

"And what if his confidence is misplaced?" A theoretical. Her loyalty is not often brought into question. It is rare that she pledges it at all.

"Then I will kill you," the Prince simply states.

She laughs. That intention is only the natural conclusion of the dance. There is no greater aim for those of his depraved bent. "So you say. Did you not plan to do so already?"

His head tilts in a particularly reptilian gesture. His glittering eyes have found the pulse in her throat, her bare wrists. She cares not for his study. It feels too much like a physical caress, high beneath dress and robe. One hunger is not too different from another, and she supposes they may be frighteningly the same for him. Both indulgences of the flesh, in the end. "Do not tempt me. Your blood would spill sweetly on this floor."

Iraestra sneers. "Cast your fetid gaze elsewhere, brute. You will not find easy prey in me."

He chuckles darkly. "Of that I am sure. I would savor the challenge as much as anything else."

"I was under the impression that there were more pressing matters at hand, given your early insistence on haste."

"Time can always be afforded for pleasure, sorceress. Consider the feel of silk on the skin. The burst of fruit between teeth and the rush of the juice down your chin, the clench of a lover tight around you as they sob your name. That final, shuddering breath that flutters out of the throat at death. Do you not feel the drum of the heart in your own chest? Do you not wish to dance to it? If you are so indifferent to it, I could show you how to listen to it once more. To feel it." How reverently he speaks, as if he is at the shrine of his own father-god. His lids have nearly closed in rapture.

There's smoke in the dragonborn's mouth and anticipation in his words, thick enough to choke on. He whispers with the tongue of a snake, words dripping from the depravities he utters.

As mad as his sister, the shape-changer, Iraestra decides with disdain. The seed of Bhaal is truly cursed with madness, complete and true. It was preferable when he was barely acknowledging her presence despite demanding it in the first place.

"You have nothing that I desire." Were she younger, still a fool turned by a pretty face, she may have once allowed herself to be seduced by the offer. She ignores the answering hook of arousal low in her gut, focusing once more on the misshapen head on the pillow. Reminds herself of whose hands exactly have crushed it. There is much to do before she is ready for the grave. "Now, if you will allow me to get on with this, we may be each rid of the other before long."

“A pity that you deny yourself,” but he nods. “Perform your rites. Regretfully, I cannot linger for long.” 

Iraestra does not regret that. She is exhausted and enthralled by him in equal measure. Let this be the first and last time she suffers his company. 

She begins her prayer to the dead. 

[miodiodavinci]

the burnout is real lads . . . . .

[silverselfshippingchaos]

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[mars-ipan]

steroids have decided the two emotions for tonight are Gamer Rage and Deep Yearning Sadness

[euthymiya]

Omg I had that alhaitham fic reblog queued from like 2 weeks ago and forgot about it completely LOL but anyway happy 4 months to that project. And what perfect timing too bc I’m finally breaking out of writers block with a new haitham project 💪😼

[curiosity-killed]

my sister’s new Pride tradition is apparently pressuring me to come out to our parents which is frustrating not only because it’s shitty behavior but

a) I did come out to our mom. Years ago. She told me I was going to die miserable and alone and no one would ever love me.

b) I came out to my sister the same night and she responded in the exact same way

and she both has completely overwritten this in her memory and continued to be sort of a shitty ✨ally✨ about it by being like “oh well asexuality is really hard to understand” and “if you told mom you were dating girls I think she’d be fine with it”

and like. I’m not a lesbian, I’m not bisexual, I’m not dating girls, I’m not dating guys, I am just, still, fucking ace.

[thekidsarentalright]

getting poor sleep rly will have you turning into an evil villain like i feel like i need to go steal the moon or smthin

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!! <33

[theo4eve]

This might be the origin of my newfound ed

[itsbrucey]

Need to cement myself as the Darryl Wilson mutual otherwise it'll all have been for nothing

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Second day of running off of coffee and spite only