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khajiit-apologist · 3 months

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lifetime

word count: 1066

gorehain fic for gore's 1st birthday :)

Fic under the cut! So skip my cheese if you just want that, but...Gore means a lot to me. I downloaded him almost a year ago, and he led me to meet so many amazing friends. I told goredev (my buddy), that Gore opened the door and I stepped through. I stepped into a better chapter for myself. Because of a Skyrim mod? Yes!

So thank you Hayd for making Gore, but also being my friend. And thanks to all the friends that encouraged me to keep writing, and to keep going. I love you all, and I love YOU random reader. So please enjoy! <3

The wind rustled the leaves on the ground, the cool autumn air grazed Samhain’s face. She breathed in the crisp air. It was a surprisingly nice day. Gore began messing with their tent, quietly humming to himself. Meeko came up to Samhain with the stick he had been playing fetch with, she wrestled it from his mouth. Giggling all the while, before throwing it again. She looked at Gore, happiness swelling in her chest at the peace of the scene.

“Need anything?” Samhain leaned down to Gore.

“Not right now, you think the food’s almost done? I’m starving, blood.” He looked up at her. She couldn’t miss the way the corners of his mouth turned upwards when he saw her. Some days she swore her cheeks hurt from how often she smiled.

She walked over to the cooking pot, “About, from the looks of it.”

“Think it’s going to be a cold night?” Gore stood up and walked over.

“Not with our own portable hearth!” Her voice got louder in surprise when Meeko jumped up on her.

“Our? I thought he was mine!” He joked, crossing his arms.

Samhain pouted, “You're his favorite, anyone could see it. Lemme me be his favorite this once!” She grabbed the hound’s paws, pretending to dance. “Maybe you're jealous.”

“Yeah, yeah sure I am.” He couldn’t sound more sarcastic. He checked on the food, deciding it was done, and silently served it. Most nights they ate in silence, just enjoying the company of each other and nature. Gore occasionally sneaks bites to Meeko, trying to curry favor. Samhain noticed of course, but never said anything. Samhain looked over the trees, the sky was a beautiful array of colors. Gore noticed her looking up and did as well, seeing the splays of orange and red. Somehow mixing into a purple. “I’ll never get tired of it, or at least I hope I don’t.”

“There was so much I took for granted.” Her smile was solemn. “I didn’t even know.”

He looked at her, seeing the last bit of sunlight dance over her features. “We have so many sunsets, and sunrises to look forward to.” He lowered his voice, “I’m glad I get to see them with you.”

She looked at him too, “I’m glad I let you come with me.” It was partially a joke.

“What, you weren’t going to?” He tilted his head, raising a brow.

She chuckled, “No. I-” She looked at the ground instead, “I thought being free meant being alone. Besides I figured you’d leave on your own once you got on your feet. I always expected the worst.” She sighed.

“I get it. For what it’s worth, I didn’t expect to…fall in love. With you, with life, and myself. I don’t think I could ever repay you for that.” He looked at the same patch of dirt she did, “Thank you.” He whispered.

Her smile went from sad to happy as she looked at him, “No need to thank me. You helped me too, Gore.”

He shook his head, “Sure, what am I your knight in…well dull armor.” He looked over to his plate. “Maybe I should polish it.”

“Nothing like that.” She giggled, “We just helped each other. Like you said.”

“Right.” He got up and grabbed her bowl. “I have first watch.”

“You always do.”

He laughed, “I do.”

.•° ✿ °•.

She stared at the ceiling of the tent, thinking about what he had said. Did he really not know how much he helped her too? A thought popped in her head, prompting her to look for her journal. Sure enough. Samhain sat up, giving up on sleep. There was too much in her mind now to do so. Meeko instantly noticed, running over to the tent. Gore watched her open the tent flap, “Can't sleep?” He spoke quietly.

She pet the hound which had laid his head on her lap, smiling to herself, “No. I'm just excited.”

“For what?” Gore raised a brow.

“Tomorrow…” Her smile grew wider, “You probably don't remember, but it's the day we met. Or close enough.”

“Oh, I didn't realize. Has it really been that long?” He decided to sit in the tent with her, also petting the dog.

“Yep! I didn't have anything planned. Just well…can I be mushy?” She looked at him shyly. “I was thinking about what you said, or rather what you didn’t.”

“When aren't you?” He joked, trying not to seem nervous, not sure where this was going.

“I'm proud of you, and proud to have met you. I'm glad I found you in that bear trap.” She laughed.

He looked away, not really expecting it. He actually knew she meant it, “Do you think I've changed?”

She nodded, realizing he wasn't looking at her she spoke instead, “You've told me that you're just one mortal man. An ant in the big picture, but Gore?” She reached out a hand to make him look at her, “I know I helped you, that I'm partially why you do better. Of course it was you who took the steps, I just opened the door. But what I'm trying to say is, thank you. For every step I helped you take, you helped me make two.”

He furrowed his brow slightly, his eyes went soft. “Sam…”

“You kept me moving. I had something to fight for.” She exhaled, “We have something to fight for. We fight so that one day we'll have peace. Together we live. How could I not be thankful? How could I not love you?” She straightened her back, “So, thank you, Gore.”

He smiled at her, “I know if you said all that to me a year ago I wouldn't have believed you. Now I know better.” He ran his hand down Meeko until he found her hand, “Thank you for being patient.”

“I could say the same for you.” She moved her hand to intertwine her fingers with his, “Of course you’ve changed. You’ve grown.” She leaned in, “One day we won’t have fleeting moments of respite, but rather it’ll be our new normal. I promise you.”

He took a deep breath, a part of him didn’t want to believe it. However, the way she spoke, and the look in her eyes soothed his racing heart. “Who cares about watch? I have my family all here.”

“I love you too.”

#gore skyrim #oc samhain #skyrim oc #the elder scrolls #gorehain #HAPPY BIRTHDAY GORE!!!!

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firapolemos05 · 4 months

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The Web and the Lamp

@whumpuary AO3

Prompt 5

Can't move

CW: home invasion, attempted kidnapping, sibling whump, implied past child abuse, past matricide, implied cult childhood, magical immobilization, forced haircut, restraints, gags, threats to a loved one, verbal abuse, burns, blood magic, horror, insects, spiders, whumper turned whumpee

OCs: Bellkiira (he/him), Inithra (she/her), Twilight (they/he), Samhain (she/her)

In hindsight, Bellkiira should’ve noticed something was wrong the moment he stepped into the dark house. Twilight usually left a lamp on in the front room for him when he got home before sunrise.

But he's a creature of the dark. It's no trouble for his vision to transition to grayscale and for the wooden furnishings of his home to come into view. Mud walls decorated with Bellkiira’s paintings. Shelves filled with Twilight’s terracotta pottery. The ability had spared him from many jabbed hips and stubbed toes.

He hangs his cloak on the bronze stand by the entryway and glances over to the arched doorway that leads to his partner's workshop. The curtains are drawn closed, the space beyond dark, so they haven't awakened early to work on a project.

Bellkiira’s plan was to go whip up some breakfast. Twilight had recently restocked their reserves of black-eye peas and koose seemed to be one of few things unaffected by the drow’s curse of culinary disasterness.

Plus it never got old to see his partner's face light up with delight whenever he made them food.

That was his plan.

Bellkiira is halfway towards the kitchen when the floor turns red and his body just stops.

He-

His body isn't listening to him. His muscles refuse to move. Apprehension pools into his stomach.

‘The fuck is happening?’

He can't move.

In his peripheral vision, he could just barely catch the dull red edge of a glowing magic circle beneath his feet.

A glyph.

Someone had broken into his house and trapped it with a Glyph of Warding spell. The fact that its effect appeared to be an inconvenient but harmless stored Hold spell rather than a destructive explosive did nothing to quell Bellkiira’s growing anxiety.

Is Twilight okay?

Did whoever set this spell hurt them?

He would call to the tabaxi, hopefully asleep safe in bed, but the spell had locked his jaw and tongue in place.

‘No, no, don't panic.’ The spell would only last a minute. As soon as it released him, he'll be able to go check on his partner. It'll be fine. This was probably some prank by one of the lyceum students. Some of the more mischievous teenagers had a habit of pestering him whenever their schoolwork brought them to the archives. He'll be able to move again in a minute. Everything will be-

“You haven't changed at all, brother. Still so foolishly naive.”

With his mind spiraling, Bellkiira had not noticed the other presence in the room before the voice spoke from directly behind him.

He couldn't see her.

He didn't need to.

He knew that voice anywhere.

Only the spell's hold on his body prevents Bellkiira from flinging himself across the room. Away from her. Away from the sister he'd never thought he'd see again. It doesn't stop his heart from vaulting into his throat.

‘How the fuck did she find me?!’

How didn't he see her in the room? Why is she here?

Hands grab his wrists, wrenching them behind his back while Bellkiira was helpless to resist. Helpless to act on the fear freezing his blood. He feels the cold bite of metal through his gloves as a pair of manacles fasten in place. His mind comes to a quick conclusion.

Inithra isn't killing him. She means to take him alive. She's bringing him back to that city.

“The High Priestess has ordered your arrest. You have been found guilty of desertion, treason, heresy, and murder. I hope you've gained some semblance of a brain to comprehend the consequences of such crimes.”

There's only one reason Lod'tynan Orbbs'cress would demand the return of a traitor.

His tongue is still. He still can't speak. Can't yell for help. Can't protest as Inithra removes his grimoire from his belt, his spell components and various tool kits.

He can't go back there. Not again. Not after what they did to him last time. What they would've done had his mother not believed he could be re-educated. That had not been a mercy. Bellkiira had magic now. He had grown stronger. Lady Samhain had given him the ability to take his freedom. He would use it now. Just as soon as he could fucking break free from this godsdamn spell.

Something cold and hard clamps over his mouth, and Bellkiira’s panic skyrockets as he recognizes the distinct toxic metallic odor of lead.

“Don't get any ideas,” Inithra hisses into his ear, securing the straps of the gag at the back of his neck. “You disgrace yourself, letting your soul be tainted by magic of a lesser-” Even the sudden pause in her words is enough to frighten him, and when she yanks too hard on his braid, his stomach drops.

‘No. No, don't.’

The disdain in her next words is palatable. “You dare mock our traditions? Braids are a mark of the strong and the loyal. You are neither.” There's the sharp shing of a knife being unsheathed. “The likes of you are not worthy to wear it.”

‘Your name may not mean something nice in your language, but I know a bit of the Elven spoken here on the surface. Bellkiira means strong gems, and you're certainly the strongest gem I know.’

Twilight had said those words to him once. When Bellkiira opened up about everything, revealing to them every scar of his past both physical and emotional. Those words had made his heart flutter.

Inithra was wrong.

He was not about to let her take away the symbol of his freedom. His final ‘fuck you!’ to the so-called family who hurt him, to the society that deemed his purpose was to serve.

It was a merciful moment for the spell to break.

Without hesitation, he lurches forward, and the pain of the pull on his hair is worth breaking from his sister's grip. In moments he's crossed the room, stumbling to keep his balance, then whirls around to finally face his would-be kidnapper.

The space before him is empty.

Where-?

He can hear Inithra's footsteps approaching but she's nowhere in sight. An invisibility spell? Divine mages usually didn't have that in their repertoire.

The young drow turns heel and runs. His heart yearns to fight her but he can't, not like this. Not while restrained and without magic. So he books it to the front door. To go get help and get Inithra out of his home.

Only he's left reeling back and falling on his ass, a scream clawing up his throat at the giant fucking spider perched on a web across the entryway. Its beady eyes bore into him and the terror is consuming. Foregoes all rational thought and overrides it with the sole impulse to flee.

“Seems you've yet to grow out of this childish fear of yours as well.”

The urge to spite her is almost enough to break him out. But not enough. He's scrambling away like a wounded crab attempting to evade a hungry gull and in his panic forgets the gag over his mouth.

His lips barely work through the incantation of a spell before he realizes his mistake. The faint hum of magic cuts off and the metal on his face and around his wrists warm until they're searing. The howl of pain is muffled against the gag but the stench of burning flesh hits his nose with full potency.

A cold pressure snakes through his body. From the tips of his fingers, up his arms, into his torso, and down his legs, overtaking him with a strange stiffness that stills his writhing. Bellkiira mentally screams in frustration as he finds himself unable to move again.

Had Inithra cast another Hold-?

There's a chilling sensation of heaviness, then a pulling, and without his consent his body sits up. And stands. And walks. Something pulls on his limbs, forcing muscle and sinew to move against their owner's will. It hurts. Almost like his blood vessels are attempting to bulge through his skin.

As if the vessels themselves had become puppet strings.

The pulling stops just as unseen fingers curl around his neck.

“Enough of this juvenile rebellion. You are returning with me and you will take whatever punishment the High Priestess has deemed fit with whatever dignity you can trudge from this gutter.”

He can't speak so he lets his eyes do the talking for him. Glaring into the dark hoping she sees the hatred. Contrary to what she may think, he isn't stupid. He knows exactly how this works. The only spell she would know that would teleport them directly back requires all passengers to be willing. Like hell is he just going to let her drag him back there to die-.

“That devil cat is quite fond of you.”

‘No!’

“Does he know what you did?”

‘You leave them alone, you bitch!’

“I suspect you wouldn't want to see him harmed.”

Hot tears prick at the back of his eyes and Bellkiira hates how quickly he breaks. He should’ve known she would stoop low enough to resort to threats. Those words are all that is needed to ring all the fight from him.

‘I'm sorry, Twi.’

He won't even get to say goodbye.

He's not expecting the slap, and the sharp pain striking his cheek makes him feel like a child again. Weak and small and scared. The force knocks him to the ground and he can't stop the tears from spilling over. And he can't stop the sobs when the knife returns and slices off his treasured braid.

“Figures you would cry for another surface scum,” Inithra sneers with distaste, tossing the hair aside like it's a piece of trash. “Honestly, you should be grateful I'm not killing you here, as much as I wish to. After everything you've done, you don't deserve to mourn him. Not after you made me mourn Mother.”

That mother of theirs did not deserve to be mourned.

She could not stop him from mourning. Twilight would be the only one he would cry over. His only regret.

A dim glow washes over the room, returning color to Bellkiira’s vision, and his sister's form materializes before him. He almost feels satisfaction seeing her sunken cheeks and the dark circles under her eyes. Well, one eye actually, the one not concealed by an eyepatch.

That had been his fault as well.

The sudden presence of light seems to startle her, the realization of not being hidden anymore. At the end of the room a flame rises from an oil lamp. Not even a second later, a vase shatters against her head and terracotta fragments rain across the floor.

Inithra falls hard and whatever force she'd been controlling to puppet her brother falters.

“Kiir!”

Relief and dread meet like two crashing trains. Relief of rescue. Dread of Twilight rushing into the room towards him and right into danger.

Strong arms embrace Bellkiira and maneuver him away from the fallen woman. Twilight takes one look at his face, stricken with tears, burned by the lead gag, his too short hair, and their eyes blow wide with horror. Their hands make quick work of the straps around his head and the awful thing is thrown to the floor.

“Is she your-?”

Bellkiira flexes the ache out of his jaw, wincing as the move pulls on burned skin. “Yes,” he confirms.

Inithra staggers to her feet, blood oozing from her head wound a stark contrast against her braided white hair (oh how he’d envied her growing up). A red eye piercing daggers.

The tabaxi tightens their protective hold, the gravity of the situation dawning. And if Inithra was as intelligent as she held herself, she'd see that her brother was equally ready to defend his partner.

“You will submit or you will regret it.”

That gag is finally off. There's two particular words he's been waiting to tell her.

“Fuck you!”

Her eye twitches. “I won't repeat myself again, Trael'yul.”

It's the first time she calls him by name and it isn't even the right one.

Trael'yul.

He would've taken centuries of imprisonment if it meant he'd never have to hear that name again. It wasn't his, never was. Not when the last high priestess he'd known spoke it as she sentenced him to death. Not when his mother first bestowed it to him the day of his centennial.

Trael'yul.

Obedient prize.

Something Bellkiira ensured he would never become, with his mother's death and his escape.

“That's not my fucking name.”

His sister scoffs. “Of course you would abandon the name mother gave you. You always were a disrespectful brat.”

“Maybe I just wanted a real mother who actually gave a damn about me! Maybe I was just sick and tired of being treated like a slave!”

“That's your damn purpose! As is for all others like you. That is where Lolth has placed you.”

“That fucking spider bitch doesn't give a shit about you! Any of you!” Bellkiira snarls, finally letting forth years worth of contempt and anger. “She's driving you all to ruin! Using you all to feed her own power. Did you know Lod'tynan Orbbs'cress is the only city of the Underdark still under her influence? All the rest have freed themselves and are way better off without her.”

Inithra's face twists and he could really see the resemblance to their mother. She even had the same way of raising her hand before going to slap him.

Twilight moves between them, becoming a defensive shield. “Don't you dare.”

For the first time, Inithra addresses them directly. “What do you think you can do, cat? When I can manipulate the blood in your bodies. Perhaps I should make you strike him and teach him his place.”

They tense up with that threat. “Maybe I can't beat you,” they begin, and Bellkiira’s heart soars with pride when they pull a familiar orange maple leaf from their pocket, “but she can.”

‘Oh you brilliant moon.’

With a clench of their fist, the leaf crumbles in Twilight’s hand.

And before Inithra can make some condescending comment - questioning what a mere leaf could do - all three of them feel the pulse of energy that emanates. The flame in the oil lamp burns higher. The shadows around them grow, climbing further up the walls.

And begin to dance.

A breeze coming from nowhere flutters the curtains and rustles their hair. It carries an old graveyard scent of soil and stone. The oil lamp flame burns too high yet the temperature in the room chills to the point Bellkiira can feel goosebumps forming on his arms.

The dancing shadows grow faces.

Glowing eyes and glowing smiles.

Inithra backs away. “What in Lolth’s name-?”

Laughter.

Eerie high-pitched cackling.

The shadows fill the house with a cacophony, taunting gazes turning Inithra into the title character of a dark comedy.

The flames flicker out. A moment of silence. And when they relight seconds later, the air is swarming. Beetles, locusts, moths, and bugs galore. The buzz of countless flying insects joins in with the shadows’ guffaw. They descend upon the threat.

Twilight presses themself into Bellkiira’s side, their tail curling around him in fear as the dark cloud of writhing wings engulfs Inithra. The two spectators can only assume the alarmed scream comes from the drow woman. Her arms thrash and flail against chitinous bodies, the mass so thick not even her face is visible. Her arachnid familiar doesn't last long against the merciless bites, and with a dying hiss, it disappears in a puff of mist, no longer able to hold material form.

Bellkiira touches his head to Twilight’s, the one gesture of reassurance he's able to make with his arms still bound. Nothing of this horror show would harm them, but the frightened tabaxi certainly hadn't expected such a display from their rescuer. They weren't as used to his patron’s mannerisms as he was.

Amidst the laughter and buzzing, a voice sings.

“Come critters and geists, Come scitter and stamp. The moth has caught A spider in her lamp.”

An arm reaches out of the dark and grasps onto Inithra's. The swarm retreats for a moment, and her violet skin is stained red with blood and bites and stings. She stumbles on her feet, chest heaving to gulp down air not filled with insects. The eyepatch had been torn away, revealing the scarred mess of flesh that had once been her right eye.

Now only a single left eye can glance up to the being towering over her. Large black and yellow wings, dark compound eyes with glowing yellow pinpoints that pierce down through her, the large chitinous arm that dwarfs her own and three others that hold aloft a skeletal scythe, the tip of its blade pricking the bottom of her chin.

“You!” Inithra hisses, recognition in her one eye that morphs into fury.

It's only their second meeting, but one does not simply forget an encounter with Lady Samhain, Reaper of the Harvest Diablerie, second of the Autumn Court.

Especially when said first encounter turned your entire life upside down.

“You think you can come steal away my little chrysanthemum? Allow your goddess to claim one under my protection? Oh I don't think so, little spider.”

The mass of shadows repeating that final line casts a haunting echo.

Despite her crooked smile, glowing like the carved gourds they light up for the Vigil, Bellkiira notes it's been a long time since he's seen his patron so angry. The last time, his plea had sent that scythe slicing through his mother's throat.

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