#tes fic
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Fandom: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Relationship: Mathieu Bellamont/Lucien Lachance but in the "haha, I want to kill you so bad that I'll cut you open and crawl inside your skin" sort of way.
content warning: dissolution of the self, murder and the grief that accompanies it.
I just really love Mathieu Bellamont, okay? He gives me more excuses to write angst. Here I wanted to write a series of microfics that explore the tragic relationships he has with the people in his life, past and present
Preview:
Because at nine you saw his sickness in the flesh, an evil so mindless, so monstrous that your little voice couldn’t yet find the words to name it anything but death. Because death’s fist clenches much further than its arm can reach, and only in her absence did you learn her passing had killed the both of you, that beyond the artifice, beneath the skin, it was all blood and bone and borrowed time.
Remember the breeze? Remember its salt tang? Remember the snap of the sails in the harbor, the rolling rhythm of Wayrest’s waters, how sharp the first breath hit the back of our throats when we rose from the white-wash, hand in hand?
When we were together— alone together— we were perfect, could have stayed like that forever. Weren’t you happier too when it was just the two of us, you and I away from Father? If only you knew what I knew, that nothing else really mattered. Together, we were whole, Mother. Why did you have to bring us back to that house we knew was never a home?
— from the diary of Mathieu Bellamont
—
Because at nine you saw his sickness in the flesh, an evil so mindless, so monstrous that your little voice couldn’t yet find the words to name it anything but death. Because death’s fist clenches much further than its arm can reach, and only in her absence did you learn her passing had killed the both of you, that beyond the artifice, beneath the skin, it was all blood and bone and borrowed time. Ten thousand suns and ten thousand more to come— they rise, each one, like the weals left by biting gnats. As a boy, all your wounds too were circles, and sometimes you wonder, were there anything left of him, what shape would he have become?
The shadows pulse along the sanctuary wall— yours, a gnarl of limbs bent by the weight of accruing grief that as a boy frightened you so much you fell asleep with your eyes open. Hours you’d spend watching your silhouette warp in the receding light, convinced even your own body could betray you. And why shouldn’t it? Flesh deceived you once before, and your father’s blood beats within you still, a traitor’s poison. Hear it sloshing. Hear it straining, slow and viscous, stirred by some feat of necromantic magic keeping your corpse tethered to Nirn. Yes, though these eyes blink and this mouth moves, you hang beneath the surface of the skin. The hand in the puppet, the echo of an old command, yet there is no more man here than there is in a persistent haunting. Vellum thin, an islet of bruise in a blue spider web of veins. On your tongue, a ferrous taste. Were you a curse or were you never more than an afterthought of Arkay’s to begin with? See, it’s not so much death you’ve cheated as it’s life you’ve managed to escape, but men as small as you can do that when made up of empty space.
Your existence has been no more than an exercise in breathing as little as possible, taking only from Nirn what is needed to carry onward one more day. Consume too much of life, and you risk dissolving the formlessness you’ve cultured. Someone might notice, reach out and touch you, pull you off your liminal stage. Pray tell, what happens then? Do you precipitate? A deposition— can you turn the vapor back to crystal, form the memory of what was into the man who should have been? If someone called your name, could you answer sure and without wincing? Could you level a stare, gaze back into the eyes of the damned and living and see reflected there the shape of you, the quake of you? Could you risk it?
To go on knowing that maybe you weren’t drowned completely, that all this time you could have saved yourself if only you had reached, that when Arkay turned his back and let the dead wash up, blue and bloated, maybe your mother’s life wasn’t the one you’d been brought back to retrieve.
And are you both or are you neither when all that’s left of her is your face? No, no. Tell yourself she is not gone, merely going, and keep your grip tight even if it demands all of your strength, because wherever she is, there you are too. Remember that her heart beat once for the both of you, and though what you share now is not life, it is sacred, a bond more binding than your father’s blood. How could anyone else comprehend it? The others sleeping in the sanctuary, their body heat like a low grade fever, will never know you’re not their brother, already someone else’s son. And you’re a son as long as you remember that you are a part of her, the heart of her, that even before you came into this world, you were wanted, you were loved.
And if the boy you were was still here, would you recognize him? Would he, you, lying awake as you are now, dry eyes turned to the horizon’s beginning light? Imagine him somewhere on the water, trawled up and imploded, body misshapen, his smile split like an open coffin. Imagine him shadowless and shapeless, lying still and blistering with hope as he waits for the next of ten thousand suns for the day he’s made back into one.
Take comfort then in having been born again a ghost, for you do not look to the future. There is none.
#heeheehooo I have no shame. I am unstoppable#sonny writes#mathieu bellamont#tesblr#the elder scrolls oblivion#tes fic#the elder scrolls#the dark brotherhood
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“I’m sorry,” Drals said, his voice just above a whisper. “Yesterday, I… said some things. Things I didn’t mean, but… I think I wanted to be true.”
“Why would you want those things to be true?” Azandar turned to him, leaning his head against the opposite side of the window frame.
Drals sighed, mirroring him, no longer avoiding his eyes.
“It’s easier, isn’t it? When you know people don’t want to stick around. When you don’t have to look at yourself in the mirror and face the things you’ve done. It’s easier being a fuckup when you’re alone. Now I feel like I’ve got an audience.”
“Ah,” the corner of his mouth turned into a smile. “Introspection is a cruel mistress.”
“Never knew her, before I met you.”
a scene from my fic that I really wanted to try drawing. I just love them a lot :')
#yans art#elder scrolls online#tes fic#tesblr#azandar al cybiades#idk if i'm using the right tags for fic#its kinda weird bc i've been sitting on this for like a month now and it's gone thru sooo many changes#ive never edited a piece THAT much before#anyways look at my gay old men#dralvayn arano
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loathing you wasn't right
Teldryn Sero x F! Dragonborn! Reader
word count: 2118
triggers: none
"You're going back to Skyrim… without me?! Why?!"
"It's just…" she stared off, not wanting to meet Teldryn's upset eyes.
"... I didn't want to bring you home, to Skyrim, that is. I just wanted two lives, a Dragonborn for one, and a welcoming adventurous patron for the other. Which means-"
"You don't want me to ruin your perfect picture… what a load of crap. Fine. Go on then, go do your Skyrim things. Just know that I'll be exploring Tamriel on my own, and I won't be here when you get back."
___________________
Skip forward two weeks and Teldryn was still wasting away his days in the Retching Netch, hoping that maybe, just maybe she'd come back to him.
"Still moping over Y/n, I see," Geldis teased, placing a drink down in front of Teldryn, who sat at the bar for once, rather than the upper-level seating area.
"I paid for a drink, not a snide remark, Geldis."
"Just go out adventuring as you said. Get your mind off of her."
"And where should I be going? Hmm? The only way off this rock is to Skyrim, and I don't fancy running into her."
"Is it perhaps because you fancy her? You get it because-"
"I don't need this," Teldryn stood up, tossing Geldis some septims, grabbed his sujamma, and turned to leave the corner club.
"You can't run from your feelings, Teldryn!"
"Just watch me!”
He retorted, securing his chitin helmet back on his head before being met with the ashen atmosphere of Raven Rock.
Oh, how he loathed the place.
Sure, he had made it his home for countless years and had made many fond memories with the people, but he loathed it all the same.
Teldryn seemed to loathe many things.
He loathed the way she laughed and said his name.
He loathed the fact that she would hug him after a battle.
He loathed the way she stared in awe of their campfires.
And most importantly, he loathed the way his chest hurt when he thought of her.
“Damn her.”
It was like he couldn’t look around at the village in front of him, because all he saw were the memories bubbling up. He only stared ahead, trying to blot out any of his thoughts, and it came as no surprise to himself that he found himself pushing through the doors of her home.
The large manor she had been given was dark and cold. She had left many of her belongings behind. And Teldryn would fondly stare at them, as he continued down into the main part of her home.
“You’re more than welcome to stay here with me, Teldryn.”
“You can’t actually mean that, Y/n.”
“No, I do. It’s too large to live in alone. There’s this room over here,” she grabbed his hand and pulled him over,” I would love it if it was yours.”
“Then I’ll stay. If that’s what you wish.”
Teldryn stared down at his hand clenching and unclenching it, before shaking his head and scolding himself for trying to remember how pleasant her hand felt in his-
“Just stop it! You’re Teldryn Sero! The best swordsman in Morrowind! You’re not some lovesick s’wit, so stop acting like one.”
It was a lame attempt at clearing his mind, but he accepted it all the same and made his way into the master bedroom. Her bedroom.
What a mistake.
Her room still smelled of her, the same smell that filled his nose as she would bury her face into his chest while hugging. And although every part of him told him to leave, he stayed.
He fell onto her bed, overwhelmed by the scent of her and the softness of the furs that covered her blanket.
“Y/n… why did you leave me..?”
He muttered, tearing the helmet back off of his face and tossing it far away from him.
He heard the shattering of glass, and he cringed.
“Damn it…”
He slowly brought himself to his feet and saw the shattered vase on her desk, and as he gathered the pieces, his eyes caught the scribbling of his name.
Teldryn Sero
He set the shards aside and opened the folded paper.
I have to leave Solstheim. I can’t stay any longer, I refuse to fall anymore in love with him. Teldryn Sero… such a grumpy elf… but that didn’t stop my foolish heart. Those crimson eyes have me swooning and I want to wake up to the rasp of his voice in the morning for hundreds of thousands of mornings. But he doesn’t deserve to deal with the life I lead. The constant never knowing if I’ll return again. The endless traveling and speaking to officials, not to mention the threat of the civil war… Teldryn deserves to follow someone, to love someone that’s not me.
I’ll suffer for a thousand years if it means that Teldryn is happy.
“Stupid… so stupid…”
That didn’t stop the shaking of his hands or the pounding of his heart.
It was astonishing to learn that she had felt the same all this time. For Teldryn, it was like time stood still. Everything he loathed about her wasn't quite what he thought.
He loved the way she laughed and said his name.
He loved the fact that she would hug him after a battle.
He loved the way she stared in awe of their campfires.
He loved her.
Teldryn wanted her to wake up in his arms and see that smile she wore after hearing his voice. He wanted morning kisses and slow dances in the kitchen. He wanted everything you would never think a mercenary would want, he wanted to be loved.
Teldryn's body seemed to drag itself out of her home and back to the docks, staring out at the grayed sky and the barren harbor.
He stared out at the abyss of sea separating him from her.
"The Northern Maiden is set to return today."
"Hmm?"
Teldryn turned to the voice of the Nordic docks worker.
"You look like a man who needs to be elsewhere."
"Well thank you for telling me what I look like, I truly appreciate it."
"I'm just trying to help-"
"And I don't need it. Please go run along, and do whatever it is you do," Teldryn retorted, snapping at the poor man.
The Nord quickly scampered away from the Dunmer.
"You know, you didn't have to scare the boy, Teldryn. He did give you the information you wanted." Spoke the familiar voice.
"...I didn’t recall needing your opinion, Geldis,” Teldryn called, turning around to face his only friend.
“Ah,” spoke the Dunmeri barkeep,” but you clearly need it. You’ve been falling apart for weeks. What changed and brought you here? Did you finally realize?”
“Realize what? There’s nothing to realize-”
“Teldryn Sero, you must be a s’wit if you haven’t realized it yet. You’re in love with the Dragonborn.”
Teldryn scoffed and turned away from him.
“You can’t even lie and say no. You’ve just gotten quiet for the first time in your life.”
“You haven’t known me nearly that long-”
“That doesn’t mean you’re not the grumpy mercenary that sat in my bar for months, boasting his skills. You’re not a quiet mer, Teldryn. Just admit it.”
“No, alright? She’s already gone, and she’s been gone. Realizing something so significant now will just… just make the pain in my chest worse.”
"...you'll never be better if you don't admit it. If you truly want to move on-"
"Ah, but there's a problem Geldis. I don't want to. I don't think I can. I've never loved a man or mer before in my 200 years of life…"
"So you're holding on. You're going to spend your dying breaths waiting for that girl to return…"
"I've never made the best decisions, Geldis, you know that. Just let me have this."
"Just promise yourself and me this, you'll tell her if you see her again. You'll tell her everything Teldryn.”
“I guess I can try.”
He huffed, trying to maintain his composure and arrogant demeanor, but by Azura, he should’ve known the mer could see through it.
“Teldryn.”
“Fine, I’ll do it. I’ll tell Y/n that I… that I-”
He faked a cough, trying to cover his tracks with a ‘damn ash’.
“You’re a sorry excuse for a Dunmer if you can’t say three words.”
“She isn’t here, so I don’t have to say a word.”
Teldryn walked down the pier, fully ignoring Geldis’s protests.
And now we’re back to being a lovesick s’wit, fantastic. At least I can catch the first boat out of here, now to just…
He once again threw back on his helmet and leaned against the stone building, deciding now was a good time to get his rest before boarding the ship. He had learned how to sleep standing upright after being a mercenary for quite a number of years. The man let out a sigh and settled into a comfortable position before drifting into a light sleep.
___________________
“Teldryn?”
Ah, her voice. What a cruel joke, can’t even dream in peace.
“Silly mer…”
He felt something brush against his jaw through the scarf.
“I’ll cut your hand off if you don’t put it down,” he muttered, not bothering to open his eyes.
“Well, it’s a good thing that wasn’t my hand then.”
Then the voice proceeded to do the same thing again, which quickly brought Teldryn out of any drowsiness he had.
“I already warned you-! Y/n?”
His voice softened when he recognized her, and he felt his face begin to warm in embarrassment.
“Hey… I’m back.”
“...Why?”
He watched her face shift into one of amusement to a bittersweet one.
“I missed you. It was a mistake to leave. I wasn’t expecting to find you here.”
“I never left…”
He muttered, turning his face away.
“I’m glad…” she slipped her hand into his, interlocking their fingers.
Teldryn looked down at their hands, and couldn’t quell the anxiety that came off of him in droves.
“I uh… I need to tell you something.”
“Of course, Teldryn. You can tell me anything.”
“So…” he sucked in a sharp breath.
“...I didn’t exactly know how to cope with you leaving. Hit the Netch every night, and tried to sleep the day away…”
She began to run her thumb across the back of his gloved hand.
“...and I just… had so much resentment for you. It took those two weeks for me to figure it out but… I’ve learned that I simply adore your smile…”
He took a short pause to catch the embarrassed smile that ghosted her lips.
“...that I enjoyed your hugs, that I found your facial expressions… pleasant.”
“Oh yeah?”
That stupid smile of hers had come back to stay, clearly amused by his awkwardness.
"I suppose I learned that I… love you."
"I love you too Teldryn."
It blew him away how she answered him immediately, this interesting shine in her eyes. It took him a moment to realize that they were tears.
"Don't cry," he mused, wiping the tears away from her face.
"I'm just so happy. I really thought I had lost you…"
"Never. I would have waited a thousand years for you, just to have this."
Teldryn brought her hand to his lips, brushing the scarf away, and placing a kiss to her knuckles.
"Really?" She smiled, still in tears, but clearly feeling better about the situation.
"Really."
"Can I ki-"
She put her hands up to the sides of his face.
"Please do," he muttered in response, pulling the chitin helmet off and dropping it.
Y/n pulled him down to meet her, lips connecting and sending chills down his spine, pleasantly surprised by the feelings he received, he smiled into the kiss.
She was the first to pull away, grinning like an idiot, but Teldryn knew he looked the same.
"Be mine?"
"I assumed we were already there, but absolutely."
"S'wit."
"You love me."
He rolled his eyes, failing to stop smiling as well.
"I simply adore you."
Teldryn watched as her face wore a soft smile and she seemed to lose her footing.
"Oh, you like that? You want more pleasant compliments?" Teldryn teased.
"Stop being mean."
"Never," he pressed a kiss to her forehead.
She gave a soft hum in response.
"Any jobs available? I'd love to bring my mercenary along."
"Well I heard the Skaals could use some help, though, it's far too cold for my liking."
"That sounds like a new adventure. Let's go!"
He quickly grabbed his helm as she dragged him by the hand.
And by Azura, did he love her more than anything.
#first fic i've posted on here!#i originally posted these on wattpad and now i wanna see how well they do on tumblr#skyrim#tes v#tes#teldryn sero#teldryn sero x reader#teldryn sero x dragonborn#the elder scrolls#elder scrolls skyrim#teldryn x reader#tes fic#martindeservedbetter#solstheim
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Drew this one in 2022 and I'm still incredibly happy with how the lighting ended up.
Veryn in the Imperial Prison at the start of my Morrowind fic.
The Imperial Prison ran deep, all the way down to the old Ayleid ruins below the City. His cell was below the lake, damp and cold even in summer. The lack of daylight ensured that Veryn was unsure how long he slept, but his exhaustion told him it was never enough. He tossed and turned, often waking himself up when he tried to move around and instead feeling the iron manacles dig into his wrists. They allowed his hands no more than a foot of slack, and had Daedric runes carved on the rim: an enchantment to cut him off from any magicka. Almost everyone could cast a few spells, but to Veryn, doing magic used to be as natural as breathing.
From Fear in a Handful of Dust, Chapter 1
Digital, Adobe Photoshop, Wacom Bamboo CTH-470, 2665x1808 px; 2022
#art#tesart#tes art#morrowind#imperial prison#oblivion#morichedraws#morichesfic#oc: veryn#tesblr#the elder scrolls#elder scrolls#tes#tes fic#tes fanart#tes oc
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Audhelm doesn’t remember his life before the Companions.
Some of his new shield-siblings are deliberately choosing not to remember, or at least he hasn’t yet won them over enough for them to share. Audhelm can guess at pieces of Athis’ past, the distrust a Dunmer must face so far from home. And he has a pretty good idea of what debts Torvar must owe, from the times he’s awoken in the morning to find Torvar only just falling into bed across the way, trailing a strong scent of mead.
For Audhelm, though, there are simply no clues he might let slip about his history. It is as if his mind had been smelted down completely, and the steel only reforged into its new shape when Aela and Njada Stone-arm found him.
He’d awoken in the snow north of Whiterun, confused, naked, and afraid, and the last all the more desperately so when a pack of wolves set on him out of nowhere. He’d thrown out an alteration spell purely by reflex and laid down a thick trail of spikes, which had slowed the pursuing pack enough that Aela and Njada had been able to pick them off one at a time.
Afterwards, they’d looked him over--Aela had politely kept her eyes on his face--and decided that, despite the unusual braids in his beard, he might as well be a kinsman, since he wasn’t obviously mer, beast, or Redguard. His lack of clothing had, inexplicably, been a factor in that conclusion.
He hadn’t remembered his name. Still doesn’t. Njada had come up with Audhelm as an ironic joke, since he lacked both. She’d thought it was funny, although she had to explain that “aud” was an old word for “wealth”; Aela had just frowned at her until he told them it was fine.
And then they’d fed and clothed him, and brought him home to Jorrvaskr.
Audhelm is grateful, of course. From everything he’s heard in the Hall and around Whiterun, he could easily have died a hundred times over, wandering the wilderness armed with barely remembered scraps of spells (not to mention the lack of clothing). He doesn’t mind paying his dues to the Companions, either, so long as it isn’t roughing up random citizens or finding some noble’s lost ring. Collecting pelts and rescuing people suits him just fine.
It’s only…
He would honestly much rather spend his days picking mushrooms.
Audhelm isn’t much of an alchemist, that’s for sure. Putting random flower petals or leaves in his mouth, determining the right proportions to mix and for how long--none of it appeals to him, although he knows enough not to poison himself. (He probably isn’t much of a baker, either, though Tilma wouldn’t let him near her oven to try anyway.) He just knows mushrooms: the safest kinds to eat, where to find them in shade and soil. It’s probably what he was doing before Aela and Njada found him.
And it’s what he’s doing when he stumbles across Taliesin.
#skyrim#gif#elder scrolls#audhelm#skyrim mods#tesblr#skyrim taliesin#skyrim fic#tes fic#wip#ifttt#writing fic again!
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WIP Wednesday <3
tagged by the amazing @saltymaplesyrup @skyrim-forever and @your-talos-is-problematic !!
tagging the incredible @thana-topsy @totally-not-deacon @viss-and-pinegar @dirty-bosmer @orfeoarte @changelingsandothernonsense @mareenavee @thequeenofthewinter @archangelsunited @gilgamish @wispstalk and anyone who wants to participate, consider yourself tagged!!
this week i bring a section of the rewritten chapter 9 of Cycle of the Serpent. i'm planning to do some final edits to chapter 8 and 9 both and update those in the fic, finish 10, and then do some tiny editing for consistency in the rest of the published chapters in the next couple of weeks. for now, have this! <3
Thick, impenetrable night slid through the cracks of the inns walls, cool air and occasional passes of torchlight from outside bringing slivers of light into the otherwise dim hall. In the rented upstairs room, the flickers from the hall found their way in, bathing it in a bronze hue. Sleep, the elusive beast, sometimes captured and sometimes wild and far away, had wrestled itself from Athenath's grasp minutes ago. So now, he lay there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the heavy wooden beams, the aged surfaces revealing previously unseen shapes as his mind tried making sense of the dark.
There were promises to keep, come tomorrow. Whispers from under the balcony flew up through the wooden floors, the conversations of some patrons up well into the night. The constant hiss of syllables against teeth, the sharp, whistle sounds of them, made the Altmer want to grab the pillow and shove it over their ears and clutch it until his hands forced themselves loose from aching. But he couldn't do that, and he definitely didn't want to wake his friends, so they lay there, chest tight at the agitation.
The shuffle of blankets rose up to end the quiet. Just Emeros, turning over in his sleep. They glanced to him and then returned to staring at the ceiling, brow knit, the sound of whispers softly fading. Finally. A sigh of relief had nearly left their mouth, but they stifled it, his focus again on the two Mer beside them. He didn't want to wake them. They'd both earned the rest. Athenath could hear Wyndrelis breathing, but aside from the rise and fall of his side when he did, he resembled more a corpse, entirely still and curled into himself. Emeros, meanwhile, had his forearm tucked under the pillow, his other arm around himself, blankets tight to his form.
The bronze light dimmed. A torch blown out. The night must be deep into itself, somewhere in the latest hours before morning would come and wake everyone up with its crowing. Athenath had blamed his sleeplessness on the whispering below the bed, but now, it was as though that had just been the catalyst, and now he was truly awake and alone, and unable to creep out of the bed if he even wanted to. At this rate, they'd look like a draugr in the morning, shambling up to Dragonsreach and barely forming the words to tell the Jarl of what happened to Helgen, what happened to them.
He shut his eyes tight. Gods, they didn't want to think about that day. But it still found a way to invade their thoughts, even when they were making all the effort in the world to go back to sleep. Their mind ignored every attempt to shove the fires aside, Athenath's arms wrapping tight around their middle as he stubbornly tried to push his mind to something else. What about the nights in Anvil, walking the salt-scented paths through town? And the dares to go up and knock on the old haunted mansion? What about the laughter of their old friends, and the house they grew up in? What about the shopkeep with the strange necklace, and the strangers in town in their black coats, and…
Athenath's eyes shot open. The dark was still the dark. The same thing he'd closed off. But now, it seemed to wrap around them, tighter than they could bear. They fixed their gaze on the ceiling and thought of poems he'd memorized on the road with troubadours from High Rock, or the songs that they'd thought about writing down and quickly forgot, or the bards who sent them on this damn journey in the first place, but none of it replaced the sinking feeling in his stomach, like he was desperately clinging to a broken raft far out to sea.
"What are you doing up?" Emeros whispered. He didn't need to open his eyes. He knew from jokes shared at the campfire that Athenath never slept on their back, and here they were, and he could feel the way the blankets laid over them and how different it was from when they were truly well asleep. Athenath shot their gaze to him, brow knit.
"Just can't fall back asleep," they whispered back. Emeros cracked an eye open, face half-buried in his pillow, hair tousled along his neck. He pushed a hand through the front strands, a couple small noises leaving his throat as though he were returning to the waking world by force.
"Tomorrow, I fear, is going to be dreadfully long. Don't keep yourself awake, or you'll regret it."
"It's not-" Athenath inhaled, held it, and exhaled, "I'm not. I know."
"Then what's the problem?"
"I woke up, couldn't fall back asleep, and now I'm just… Up. When I wish I wasn't."
A long pause. Emeros sucked his inner cheek between his teeth on one side, then repeated to the other. "Did you have a nightmare?"
"No," Athenath blinked curiously at the Bosmer, "did you?"
The alchemist rolled slowly over onto his back, palm draping over his eyes, other hand still firmly beneath the pillow. He inhaled, moved his hand down his face, before his arm came to rest over his middle. "I suppose one could say that fire has never been my favorite thing." The bard didn't reply, laying there, watching him as well as they could. He sucked in his cheek, then exhaled, peering at Athenath out the corner of his eye and the smallest turn of his head. "It'll be morning before you know it. Try not to keep yourself awake." The smallest fringe of concern at the edge of his words caught the Altmer off-guard, who only continued to watch him quietly. Emeros' gaze shifted. "You too, Wyndrelis. I know you're listening in."
Wyndrelis snorted. "How did you guess?"
At this, Emeros merely grinned, rolled over, and said, "I saw you move."
#skyrim fic#tes fic#tes v#ficblr#tesblr#fanfic#fanfiction#wip wednesday#my writing#oc ; athenath#oc ; emeros#oc ; wyndrelis#cycle of the serpent#bishop.txt
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It's WIP Whenever Time Again!
Hi. So Wednesday arrived ridiculously fast, didn't it?
I've been tagged for this by the amazing @saltymaplesyrup, @oblivions-dawn and @thequeenofthewinter! Thanks for reminding me what day it was, I was completely unaware LOL
Tagging the fantastic @paraparadigm, @thana-topsy, @changelingsandothernonsense, @snippetsrus, @wildhexe, @elfinismsarts, @nuwanders, @miraakulous-cloud-district, @throughtrialbyfire, @expended-sleeper, @kookaburra1701, @archangelsunited, @dirty-bosmer, @viss-and-pinegar, @ladytanithia, @polypolymorph, @gilgamish, @tallmatcha, @rainpebble3, @late-nite-scholar, @greyborn2 and YOU -- yes, I know I haven't caught all of you in my tags, but I do wanna hear from you, so feel free to tag me back!
I have been BUSY lately with tons of prompts and some ask answers in prose and so I have a smattering of WIP fragments from different projects. SOME are gonna be sequel and/or spoiler territory for World. I'll mark them! Below the cut! THERE IS A LOT. 845 words or so, total.
1) In the Woods Somewhere
- a ghost story told about an alternate version of Valenwood where the Wild Hunt went horribly wrong. 145 words.
They tower over all around them, monsters ever shifting from creature to terror and back again, mindless in their fury. All antler, exposed bone, sharp fangs and strips of rotting flesh held together with vines and thorns. If the pallid light of the bioluminescent fungi hits their talons just right, it might look like ebony daggers. But these? They are far sharper, designed to rend flesh from bone—to leave you as nothing but fertilizer for the soil in which new, gnarled trees might grow. There is no care—only malice, forms twisted by violence and starvation. In the darkness, all you can see is the red of their eyes which never leave you as you wander. They stalk through the night as if all living things are prey—as if all that remain in their realm have been deemed the enemy.
And they do not hunt alone.
2) By The Break of Dawn
- A collab with @thequeenofthewinter and, for the art side of things, @thana-topsy (: Spooky, Doomed World sort of chaos. 182 words.
[Lydia] struck in the opening Uldwin had given her. She threw all of her fury behind the one movement she’d have time for. That which gave her the strength to drive her sword through his spine was not Aedric in origin, but she would take it, if it meant ending Uldwin’s suffering. She could almost hear Meridia cackle as the holy fire erupted from Dawnbreaker, enveloping his corpse. The stench of dry, burning flesh seared her nostrils and made her eyes water worse. Tears trailed through the ashes and dirt on her face as that which once had been Uldwin collapsed onto the floor at her feet. She withdrew Dawnbreaker with a sickening crunch which turned her stomach. The icy light where his eyes should have been blinked out. It was just as it had always been when fighting draugr.
Uldwin had been more than a draugr, though. He was her brother, in all ways that mattered. Neloth had taken him from her, and now it was time to pay for his crimes. Lydia would not let him escape her ire again.
3) And I'd Like To Say You're Never on My Mind
- a fragment in Athis's POV, and is a SPOILER for World. 135 words.
“But you’d already made your choice long before.”
Amazing how easy it was to weaponize words. These, too, cut him as he spoke. He watched as she struggled and failed to hold back more tears. She could have just said instead of leaving him alone in what had once been their home to pace nervously, imagining the million ways she could’ve died. He felt hollow, but resisted once again the urge to wrap her in his arms. She didn’t need another chance. He’d given too many, and lost too much of himself in the process.
Nyenna did, at least, have the courtesy to nod. She swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry, Athis. I didn’t mean—”
“—you did. You did mean it. Because you always had a choice. And each time you chose anyone else but me.”
4) Untitled Sequel
- Teldryn's POV observing his daughter, Eris Sero, after being away from her for three years. Spoilers for World and the Sequel itself. 183 words.
“Ata!” she said with her usual bright smile. Her voice was slightly deeper than the last time he’d seen her, with more of a Winterhold brogue than he’d ever get used to. She regarded him briefly with her one good eye, its vermilion color brought out by the wine red of her mage's robes, then turned her dark eye to him. The grin faltered for a second, and then she reasserted it, shaking her head as if to dislodge a thought. Unnerving, whenever that happened. She dropped her bag there by the railing and rushed to him.
“Hla’sil,” he sighed, and enveloped her in his arms. She’d braided back her white hair, but, just like her mother’s, curls always escaped. He flattened out the shock of black strands that tended to fall into her face and kissed the top of her head. She’d only just turned twenty eight. What was that in human years? Gods, but time didn’t make any sense and passed like the flowing of a river. Ninteen, or there about. Too young for this kind of chaos. She’d always been.
5) Untitled Sequel
- Eris's POV on another character, Nammu, technically not an OC. (: Spoilers, major spoilers, for this sequel. 200 words.
The Vision this time didn’t really match the ascetic monk sitting cross-legged before her now, but that didn’t matter much. She knew there was something other about him, even though he pretended to be just another Ashlander wanderer. He had magic, though, and, as Alma would say, the more of that, the better. Ata, she knew, would wholeheartedly disagree. In fact, her mere suggestion of Nammu meeting Ata back at the inn in New Balmora would likely cause problems. She just had a feeling about it, coming from the same place as the memories earlier. Weird.
Nammu stretched as he stood, leaning on a plain wooden staff. Unenchanted. Uncle Neloth would have tutted, calling it a wasted resource, but he was not here now. Nothing on Nammu was actually enchanted at all, come to think of it. Not the plain brown cloak, or the simple linen clothes, nor the dust covered boots. Not even the two lacquered wooden amulets he wore around his neck, one each with the Daedric symbols Ayem and Seht burned into them respectively. Maybe he meant to enchant them eventually. They looked more like mementos, to be perfectly honest, but she was not about to pry.
#MareenaWrites#a whole fucking ton#yes she does#The World on Our Shoulders#Dragonborn and Far-Star Marked#Skyrim#Skyrim fic#elder scrolls#elder scrolls fic#morrowind#morrowind fic#tes#tes fic#tesblr#fanficblr#wip wednesday#wip whenever#writblr#writeblr#Athis#Teldryn#Teldryn Sero#Nerevarine#Nerevarine Teldryn#Nerevarine Teldryn Sero#Nyenna#Eris#Eris Sero#Nammu
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A Very Polite Welcome to Our Honoured Guests
Elenwen: The people of Tamriel have many misconceptions about the Aldmeri Dominion, so we'll answer some of the questions you may have. I am Elenwen, First Emissary to Skyrim, and I am so looking forward to getting to know you tonight.
The mer over in the corner - yes, the one with the glass of brandy - is the Commander of the Justiciars in Skyrim, Ondolemar. He's come all the way up here from his base of operations in Markarth. We know there is a great deal of interest in the Justiciars, and Commander Ondolemar can give a more immediate viewpoint on their activities than can I. Between the two of us, we should be able to answer your questions.
Please help yourself to some of the refreshments. We've spared no expense in our preparations for this soiree. Commander?
Ondolemar: Thank you, Madame Ambassador. You all have been granted a great honour, to be guests of the Thalmor. Do try not to shame yourself with particularly idiotic questions. My Justiciars are standing by to remove any uncouth guests . . . or perhaps, I should say, the most uncouth guests. This is Skyrim after all.
_________
Five years ago, I hosted an AMA on the r/teslore, answering questions as Elenwen and Ondolemar. Afterwards, I got the permission of the questioners to compile the roleplay on AO3.
This tumblr will repost the original roleplay, and then Elenwen and Ondolemar can consider new questions.
You can read the original reddit thread here or the more organized version on A03.
Particular thanks to kerbalspaceexplorer who gave me the idea for this AMA lore format and graciously encouraged me to use it without feeling guilty of stealing their idea.
I found the AMA an excellent format for presenting and elaborating views of the lore. In this case, Elenwen is presenting the diplomatic face of the Dominion, and Ondolemar the more frank concerns of a Justiciar tasked with stamping out heresy.
The portrayal of Ondolemar and Elenwen in this AMA is not necessarily part of the "canon" of my other fics, though I've become very fond of "Just Wants To Talk Theology with People When He's Drinking" Ondolemar.
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READ ON AO3
✦ Onmund x Original Breton Character
✦ Farkas x Female Nord Dragonborn
✦ Rated: M (for safety)
✦ Mentions of abuse, found family and magical academy shenanigans.
Despite the rising tension in Skyrim, the College of Winterhold still plays host to a series of magical adventures, more so with the arrival of its newest Nord apprentice, Onmund. But he soon learns that his call to the college wasn’t to answer his destiny, but that of the Dragonborn’s as well.
Fluff, fun and a little bit of angst. Canon can and will be bent.
Welp, I was gone for a while, but I'm back now. Between depression, burnout and a life changing bit of news, I'm ready to start posting more regularly again, starting with this beast of a fanfic.
I'm mostly editing for clarity and a few lines that bothered me here and there. Thanks for sticking with me, folks!
#skyrim fic#tes fic#skyrim#onmund#the elder scrolls#crossed by magnus#memai draws a thing#memai writes a thing
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Erthor meets a levitating alchemist…
#old short i finished up .. it’s just you and me in this romantic cave.. and seven ghouls#erthor#galenariel#tes fic
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Ever so slowly I chip away at The Illusionist. However, I've been facing major Grand Finale paralysis, so in an attempt to get any words on the page, I've created another Lucien/Silencer monstrosity.
Category: F/M
Fandom: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Relationship: Lucien Lachance/Silencer|HoK|Sheogorath
Summary: You, a pious servant. You, a man of faith. If Sithis asks for blood, you let a pint and nothing less, and you will die in this position, bringing glory to His name. After all, apart from Him, you are nothing.
Then again, a part of Him, you are nothing still.
#Basically I put this man and his faith through the meat grinder#oblivion fic#tes fic#tesblr#dark brotherhood#lucien lachance#tes oblivion#queue#sonny writes
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To the Horrors I've Known and Loved
A story about change, parallels, and never being able to go home.
(Read on AO3. updates most Mondays. Warning for body horror themes, minor character death, fantasy weed smoking)
To the Horrors I've Known and Loved:
I often asked myself, if I could tell you one thing now, what would it be? The answer's changed a lot, over the years.
Once there was a time where I cursed you. You took everything from me, and it made me so, so angry. I wanted to hurt you as you'd hurt me.
For a long time, I feared you. I was alone. I built walls for fear you might find me. And, oh, did I have a lot of time to build those walls into a bloody fortress. A prison of my own making.
Now… I'm not so sure. Grief is an odd thing. It sneaks up on you. Did you grieve for me that day? Or was I simply an obstacle in your path?
I thought I had done grieving long ago. But looking at you now, I realise I had been mourning something else entirely. An object, an idea, a place I could never see again. Some nebulous concept I wonder if I even really had in the first place.
I suppose what I'm trying to say is… even after everything that's happened, everything you did, everything I had to do; I forgive you. I do. Because I could have done the same. It would have been so easy. If anything, I should thank you. If you hadn't broken me, I would have ended up just like you.
I look at you and I'm looking in a mirror. I see now that you and I are the same. The difference is in the fucking details.
#yans writes#elder scrolls online#tes fic#dralvayn arano#azandar al cybiades#leramil the wise#shelreni baro#figured i should just make an official post for this#since i somehow wrote 10k words in 2 weeks (WHICH IS A LOT FOR ME IM USUALLY SLOW)#something about drals has just possessed me and made it really easy to put words on a page#anyways it follows the necrom story and azandar's quests loosely but i changed some stuff#for narrative purposes#also i decided I should just post weekly bc i'm finishing these way too fast and i don't wanna spam#but also if i have to slow down in the future i will probably have a backlog which will be nice#drals/azandar
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WIP Wednesday - Tides to Carry Us Home
Tagged by wonderful, talented friends: @mareenavee , @thequeenofthewinter, @rainpebble3, @kookaburra1701, @dirty-bosmer , and @throughtrialbyfire! Thank you all :D! I'm glad to say I actually have a snip for today?
Tagging: @tallmatcha @thana-topsy @changelingsandothernonsense and @paraparadigm anyone else who would like to join in <3
This is from Chapter 7, which I am currently editing right now for publishing :D!
if you can get through kaidan's cornball dad jokes, there's a fullmetal alchemist reference in here somewhere i promise
High on the mountain slopes, Markarth’s Drakeside was the terrace of the city that lorded over the lower half of the city. Its avenues had already been inhabited for a thousand years, and of course, a few thousand more didn’t stop anyone from exacting rent over them. The stone estates had remained unblemished by the years and unremarkable in the eyes of city’s inhabitants, something that Kaidan would never quite get used to.
All of this history in these stones, the people passed it by as if it were common timber and clay, and not the work of a genius people capable of creating buildings that could last with mountains bearing down on them. Vlindrel was the one of these buildings, tucked away into the mountainside. It belonged to one of the few inconspicuous neighborhoods of Drakeside, facing away from the rest of the city to the foundries far below, and that knocked down the rent to something manageable for someone born outside the aristocracy, but they would rub shoulders with the lower-ranking nobles living within the city.
Perfect for someone of Felix’s trade. Alchemy allured in a way that magic couldn’t— An elixir wasn’t an exploding ball of fire, a spear of ice, or a bloodthirsty daedra. It was milder. Material. Certain, one could say. That garnered a reputation of trust that couldn’t be done by a mage living outside a jarl’s court. To Nords, the alchemist was of their world, someone who used the natural elements from the earth and melded them into something useful and good. Felix used this reputation to a fantastic degree, getting contract after contract from the nobles in the city, but sometimes, it got him a little too invested in his work, as Kaidan had found the larder was empty that morning. A bit odd for someone like Felix. Like his laboratory, he always kept his larder stocked.
“Just a walk about the gardens. Get some sunlight,” Kaidan said from the study’s door frame, as he dared to go no further. References thick as bricks were, at first, methodically and carefully stacked on the floor, as if to form a perimeter of gilded rexine and leather. But the further one went within, the neat stacks joined piles of loose paper, and crumpled notes too precious to lose.
Every remotely flat surface had been covered, save for the single spot on the floor where Felix sat with knees pulled to his chest as he, with a angry twist of his hand, unbound another pamphlet.
“I’ll be fine in here. I’ve almost found the cipher for it.” Gutted, the papers dropped onto the floor. Felix sorted through it, muttering under his breath. He looked even smaller in the room he had effectively turned upside down, all in search of a scrap of paper no longer than his thumb.
Felix slapped a stack of papers together and set them down in one pile, then turned the next pile and started his search all over again. On first glance, they were some horrifically sappy love poems. Other papers were letters back home to relatives that Felix did not have, or details on how to conduct certain chirurgical operations, accompanied by past experiences. Some embellished, and others definitely not, written to the finest, most grisly details.
“You’ve been looking for it for three days.”
“I’ll be in here for another week or two if I have to decode all of these again. Maybe longer.”
“Why do you write your notes in code again?”
“Job security.” Squinting, Felix adjusted the spectacles, leaving a smudge of dust on his nose. His fingertips were black with the dirt and dust.
“Maybe taking a break will give you new ideas on where to find the cipher?” Kaidan suggested.
“I just got started?”
“You’ve been in here since this morning.”
“Really? I…” He glanced back at where the water-clock sat at desk, but the poor contraption had been buried long ago among the reference tomes.
“… Lost the time?” offered Kaidan.
Felix snorted. “That’s awful.” But he did laugh. Kaidan counted that a victory.
“And we can also go by that one stall you like.”
“With the pita and fried fish?”
“I’m buying,” Kaidan confirmed. Felix patted his knees where he sat, balled up on the floor, but it didn’t take long for him to make up his mind. His appetite, as per usual, won out. Throwing on an overcoat and doublet, Felix joined him in Markarth’s late afternoon.
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cw; violence, death
At twilight, a number of councillors, merchants and guards had been summoned deep beneath Kogoruhn, into one of its many halls. They were given no explanation as to why, just that it was important and vital that they came.
It was a spacious hall, lit by mage-lights which drifted idly above. They only lit the entrance of the hall, the rest of it was shrouded in darkness.
They entered the hall one by one. Some recognised each other as they came in, and a sense of dread began to hang in the air. They remained silent, not daring to talk. There were guards in and outside of the hall, watching them all closely. As more people came in, the greater that dread grew.
Once all were inside, the doors were closed and then locked by guards. They began to speak then, demanding to know why they’d been brought there. As they raised their voices and searched for answers, the guards suddenly moved. They wrestled and held them down, binding their wrists and putting magicka-restricting enchantments on them.
Once all of them were bound, the mage-lights moved, revealing the rest of the room.
Someone laid on the floor ahead, beaten bloody and unconscious. His truths had spilled like his blood, and he had purposefully been left lying there, where the others could see him. So they knew that they had been caught; that their secrets were now known.
Dagoth Voryn stood in front of them all, holding his hands behind his back to hide their trembling. He kept his face expressionless, a mask he’d learnt to wear in his adolescents. He couldn’t quite keep the fear and guilt out of his eyes, but he held his head high and tried to make himself look confident.
The guards stood behind the captives, making sure no one tried to escape. Each one had been chosen by Voryn. They were the ones he trusted the most; some he had grown up knowing, others had connections to his uncle. He had few he could trust, and he wasn’t even certain the guards he had chosen wouldn’t betray him. There was only one he trusted not to tattle, though he was not a guard, nor of House Dagoth, but a stranger from the mainland. An outsider. He stood next to Voryn, his chitin boots slick with red.
“You know why you’re here,” Voryn said, forcing himself to speak loud and clear, keeping the tremble out of his voice. He didn’t look at any of the captives before him in the eye. He knew some of them; some he’d even known since he was a child.
“You would betray the empire?!” one of them yelled, both fear and anger in her voice. Voryn dared to look at her; she was a Chimer woman, someone Voryn remembered attending numerous council meetings. He now knew her as an informant of the Nordic Empire.
“You betrayed your own people!” the mer beside Voryn growled, pointing his dagger at her.
The woman gave a look of disbelief. “What choice did I have?! We can’t win against the Nords!” She looked to Voryn pleadingly. “Don’t do this, serjo! They’ll destroy House Dagoth! Surely you realise this?!”
Voryn’s nails dug into the palms of his hands. He was well aware of what would come. He knew he wasn’t ready for war. In truth, he wanted to bury his head in the sand, as his father and brother had done before him. But House Dagoth was already starting to crumble, all of its wealth being handed over to the empire, and surrounded by enemies inland and out at sea. It was easier to hide, and pretend that everything was fine. To look away when villages were overrun by Dwemer or pirates, and as his council was slowly replaced by informants of the empire.
It was the outsider by Voryn’s side that had convinced him to look. Not only look, but do something. He had whispered promises of glory and power in his ears, his breath smelling of skooma and his hands pressed against Voryn’s chest. Somewhere in that fervour, Voryn had agreed to all this.
He shook himself out of his thoughts, and looked to the outsider, searching for approval. Their eyes met, and there was an unspoken understanding between them.
“Nerevar;” Voryn said with hesitance, and gestured to the people before him.
The outsider nodded, an eagerness in his eyes that Voryn chose to ignore. He started with the one already on the floor, flipping him over onto his back and slitting his throat with one fast motion. Then he turned, and some of the captives tried to flee. They were held in place by the guards, none succeeding in breaking free.
Voryn forced himself to watch as Nerevar stalked towards them, his glass dagger gleaming in the pale mage-light. He went to the woman who’d spoken first, standing in front of her in silence. The woman didn’t speak or move, her betrayal turned to fear. Voryn felt his tremors grow worse, and his mask was slipping. He wanted to tell Nerevar to stop, but his jaw seemed locked in place. Even his eyes refused to move, even though he wanted desperately to look away.
Nerevar lunged, plunging the dagger into the woman’s stomach and cutting upwards. There was screaming, and gagging. Nerevar stabbed his blade between her rips, and the woman shuddered and slumped, taking a few raspy breaths before she went silent.
The others died in a similar manner, and Voryn was still frozen where he was, watching each death with wide eyes. After the last one took their final breath, Voryn dismissed the guards, trying to muster his confidence again. He failed, his voice trembling as he told them to leave.
Nerevar cleaned his dagger on one of the dead’s robes, and then approached Voryn. There were specks of blood on his face.
“I hate you,” Voryn said under his breath. “I knew most of those people.” Nerevar walked right up to him, so close they could feel each other’s breath.
“I hate you,” Nerevar replied, eyes narrowed. “You’re the one who made me kill them.”
Voryn’s hands seemed to move on their own accord, cupping Nerevar’s face. He leaned forwards and gently kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll need you to kill for me again, if we are to fight this war,” he whispered. He tasted blood.
“Only if you do the same for me.”
#they are horrid (affectionate)#i have lots of thoughts about their relationship. i could write 1000 words about it#my work#morrowind#voryn dagoth#house dagoth#nerevar#indoril nerevar#tes fic#tes#cw death#cw violence#nerevoryn#idk if this really counts as nerevoryn but it is to me
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AO3 Twenty Questions
tagged by @ladytanithia. a big thank you, as always!
tagging @inkoherentwriting, @azures-grace and YOU, dear reader
(copy/paste for the questions below the cut)
1 – How many works do you have on AO3?
Four, not counting the work I published as a reference list for my OCs.
2 – What's your total AO3 word count?
84,627
3 – What fandoms do you write for?
Just TES:Skyrim for the moment. Sadly, I haven't been able to play any of the other games just yet.
4 – What are your top five fics by kudos?
I'm dying for Among the Many Lost Souls to surpass Sought and Found. It was my first venture into longform writing and it shows. Bleh.
5 – Do you respond to comments?
Almost always. If I don't respond, it's usually because I tried my darndest and couldn't think of a constructive or meaningful response.
6 – What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
The one I'm writing right now :3c (Among the Many Lost Souls). I'm putting Gwilin through the wringer and then I'm gonna hang him out to dry.
7 – What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
Sought and Found, I suppose.
8 – Do you get hate on fics?
No, I don't. I lowkey wish I did. Firstly, because haters can be remarkably perceptive, and, secondly, because I am as interested in what makes someone scrunch up their nose or click away from my fic as I am about hearing people's thoughts on what was well-executed about them. I think my stuff is too niche to really draw a lot of negative attention (right now, at least).
9 – Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
Always, my man! I consider it my moral duty to make my characters fuck nasty. Why? BECAUSE IT'S HOT DUHHH
10 – Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?
People who write crossovers scare me so bad. I can barely limp my way through having to structure a plot around already-existing lore and making sure everything that happens in the story is congruent with in-universe rules, meanwhile there are people out there writing Skyrim x The Walking Dead crossovers. It's cocobananas.
11 – Have you ever had a fic stolen?
Not as far as I know. I don't really give a fuck if people steal my shit. Fighting with someone over authorship of a work that is principally riding on the coattails of an existing IP, which can't even be monetized, mind you, feels like a real 'race to the bottom' situation to me. I'm well aware of the quality of my work and I'm proud to have the drive to constantly better my skills. That's all that matters.
12 – Have you ever had a fic translated?
Nope. Though I did start translating Sought and Found into Spanish, I dropped it when I started writing Among the Many Lost Souls. In any case, I would be so, so touched if someone decided to translate a fic of mine.
13 – Have you ever co-written a fic?
Also nope. Never tried collaborative writing outside of an academic setting. Totally open to it, though!
14 – What's your all-time favorite ship?
Uh, I'm not real big on shipping existing characters. I mostly just think about my OCs, or my friend's OCs, with each other. Aside from Gwilin x [pretty much every other NPC in Skyrim], I think thoughts about @abstractredd's guys, Hedgrod and Athrar, quite often.
15 – What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?
Fic-related WIP? Just one. I wanted to write another romance fic (like Sought and Found) featuring a netch farmer who's a cowboy-type character. Sexy Dunmer with a southwestern accent. Brokeback Mountain: Morrowind Edition. You get the picture.
I might still finish it, but I'm reluctant to even touch it because I haven't played Morrowind, and would have to do a real deep-dive into everything related to Dunmer in TES lore to write it. I know a lot already, but I never feel like I know enough, y'know?
16 – What are your writing strengths?
I've been told I'm good at setting a scene and painting a picture. This is, I think, a new ability I acquired in the past year or so. I've also been told my smut-writing abilities are pretty good, which is always nice to hear :) If I had to list what I consider to be my own strengths, I'd add that I've gotten a lot better at cutting the fat out of my writing (especially from dialogue tags and in describing facial expressions and body language).
17 – What are your writing weaknesses?
Dialogue is a bitch a half for me to write. It's probably the thing I most obsessively tweak before publishing. I think my dialogue tends to fall short.
Pacing is another issue. I often criticize, in other fic author's works, that they present an interesting image or idea and then leave me hungry because they don't elaborate on it, but I am the biggest culprit of this if I don't constantly remind myself that, yes, people want to hear more about this or that. They want you to mystify it, justify it, make it sexy, make it like a puzzle for them to solve. You can't just leave it cut-and-dry, much as my autism compels to do because "It's quite literally saying the same thing". Like, that's great, bestie, but you have to elaborate! Say the same thing just make it sound cooler than it is!
18 – Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?
This is cool. I don't mind busting out Google Translate to enjoy a fic. That mouse-hovering feature that lets you add alternative text to a fic on ao3 is super useful for this sort of thing.
19 – First fandom you wrote for?
My first, and only other, fandom: My Little Pony. I was 12.
20 – Favorite fic you've written?
I love them all for different reasons, BUT Among the Many Souls has blood and sex and drama in it, so yeah. It's in the lead.
1 – How many works do you have on AO3?
2 – What's your total AO3 word count?
3 – What fandoms do you write for?
4 – What are your top five fics by kudos?
5 – Do you respond to comments?
6 – What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
7 – What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
8 – Do you get hate on fics?
9 – Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
10 – Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?
11 – Have you ever had a fic stolen?
12 – Have you ever had a fic translated?
13 – Have you ever co-written a fic?
14 – What's your all-time favorite ship?
15 – What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?
16 – What are your writing strengths?
17 – What are your writing weaknesses?
18 – Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?
19 – First fandom you wrote for?
20 – Favorite fic you've written?
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𝑾𝑰𝑷 𝑾𝒆𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒅𝒂𝒚!! ♥
wow! i'm on time this week!!
thank you to the lovely @dirty-bosmer @your-talos-is-problematic and @skyrim-forever for the tags!!
tagging the amazing @archangelsunited @orfeoarte @thana-topsy @gilgamish @saltymaplesyrup @thequeenofthewinter @viss-and-pinegar and @changelingsandothernonsense !
this week i'm cheating a little and posting a large portion of the (now published) rewrite of chapter 4 from Cycle of the Serpent! i've posted up to chapter 6's rewrites thus far, and should have 7 and 8 rewritten and updated soon. this chapter features the trio heading to Bleak Falls Barrow, from Emeros' point of view <3
The road twisted narrowly from the bridge, angled and sloping, lined with strange stones. Some appeared intentionally arranged and stuck in their ways, watching the young elves through every crack in their worn surfaces. Some were more incidental, shrugging off the weather. Some appeared to be severed off from old pillars, smoothed by the many years gone by and wondering where their extra heights had gone. Emeros kept an eye on the greenery, on the land that gradually grew more and more distant, the town that faded from view as the three marched up the pathway.
The gradual drop in temperature intensified itself the further they got from Riverwood, the dusting of snow that cropped up at the tops of new and unfamiliar trees still preserved this far into Last Seed, and by the looks of the powdery texture, had fallen not too long ago. The pathway in its drastic angles took on more danger, as ice collected at the bases of the evergreens. Meticulous with their footing, the three carried themselves up the path to the barrow, careful to examine each stone they pressed their boots against.
Emeros had been in various ruins for any number of purposes over the years. He'd adventured into Ayleid ruins in his earliest days in Cyrodiil, never leaving the first chamber if he could help it, collecting samples of the mosses and fungi that grew within. Sometimes, he'd find an interesting vine, or a plant he hadn't recognized from the surface world. He'd take great pains to preserve them until he could examine them safely, testing new potions and properties, inspiration his guide in every experiment. If he combined this amount of imported trama root with this amount of the unidentified fungi, placed it in an already known potion recipe, how would it change the effects? Would it create something to heal, or to harm?
What new concoctions could he make with the native flora of Skyrim? And maybe, if luck was on his side, would he find something previously unknown in this ancient place?
The trio trudged onward, the wind whipping at their faces, brushing flakes of snow like tiny spears against their skin. The cold was one factor all of them wished they'd prepared more thoroughly for, but if they were going to explore this place and bring back the claw, then they had to keep going. Day had long since crest the mountains, rising above them in a lustrous sheen of blue, light bleaching the landscape before them a harsh, eye-pulsing white.
As they turned their eyes to the top of the mountain, a strange stone tower came into view. Weathered by the ages and capped with snow, the sight alone sent shivers through the Bosmer. Emeros hissed for the others to get down, snagging the other two by their tunics, hidden behind a massive stone. When Wyndrelis was about to quietly protest, Emeros pressed a finger to his own lips and then gestured to the tower. The other two Mer looked.
A figure marched the slim, dreadful bridge from the tower to the mountain, back and forth at an easy pace. Bandits. And they'd almost walked right into their line of sight.
"What do we do?" Athenath asked in a hushed tone, partially unsheathing their newly acquired sword. Wyndrelis pressed his spine to the rock they huddled behind, with the spare, occasional glance to the figure.
"Emeros, you have a bow. Can you use it?" Wyndrelis asked in a hush, Emeros already nocking an arrow.
"I've been hunting in Valenwood since my childhood," he answered, taking aim. He shut one eye, lined up his shot, and stilled his breaths.
"Not yet!"
Emeros startled at Athenath's hard whisper, grip on the arrow tighter. He slid it forward, letting the string go slack. He cursed under his breath as he turned to Athenath, brow quirked and eyes narrow. The Altmer pressed palms to the sides of Emeros' head, and as the alchemist was about to protest, his eyes landed on a detail he'd missed.
Up the incline, pacing back and forth before them, a bandit that no one else had seen.
Two targets, then.
He looked to his companions, then to the bandit. This would come down to timing, by his own analysis. If he took one out without the other noticing at first, it would give him a few seconds to get another arrow and put the last one down. Then, they could safely traverse the mountainside. He gave Athenath one last look, this time the slightest gleam of a grin on his lip, not daring to speak too much. He knelt in the snow, nocked his arrow, and waited.
When the bandit at the fortress had their back turned, he fired. This arrow pierced through a weak spot in the incline-bandit's armor, injuring them, stunning for a moment before Emeros got another arrow through their neck. He shifted his attentions to the fortress-bandit, who dashed to the crumpled body of their companion. He fired, and this shot went clean through the torso, spearing the upper chest, likely a lung, if he guessed from here.
"I think that's all of them." Wyndrelis rose from behind the stone, wiping the snow from his trousers as he grabbed his belongings. The three rushed to the bodies, and as they confirmed that the bandits were dead, Athenath began to rifle through the pockets of the corpses. Emeros sputtered protests, but as the Altmer produced some gold, some new arrows, and a set of leather gauntlets, he found himself complaining much less. They handed the leather gauntlets to Emeros, then stood and stretched.
Wyndrelis thought something over for a moment. Then, he knelt, slowly undoing the fastens and buckles of the much warmer-looking armor the bandits wore.
"What in Oblivion are you doing?" Emeros hissed, Wyndrelis looking up at the other momentarily before returning to his task. Athenath joined in, helping Wyndrelis lift the fur-lined piece from the first body before they descended on the second.
"It's not like they need it, and we can't run around looking like soldiers forever," Athenath retorted.
Wyndrelis agreed, pulling the first set of armor to himself. He shifted his gaze to Athenath, brow knit. "Tell me, why did he get the gauntlets?"
Athenath shrugged as they looked up to Emeros momentarily, before handing over a soul gem they'd dug out of a bandits pack Dunmer, who tucked it into his pocket. "Archers usually need them, right? Something about the string?"
Emeros gave a small, apprehensive nod, and even though his features were marred with the shock of the pair descending upon the dead like carrion birds, he figured that they had a point. It wasn't like any of them could afford to buy armor right now, and none of them needed to run around dressed as Imperial soldiers in potentially-hostile land.
He donned the gauntlets. The leather fit well over his fingers, and most importantly, they were warm. The other two bundled up fur and leather armors, before they stepped into the tower, nudging their steps with extra caution over the frail bridge. Rifling through drawers gave them more gold and a place to toss the Imperial armor without much worry. They'd have to hurry, though. Taking too much time here meant that they were both wasting time they could be using to get in and out of the barrow, and meant that it gave the bandits more time to come find them, and the bodies of their compatriots.
Once Athenath and Wyndrelis had donned the bandit armor - "Well, you didn't seem to want it," Wyndrelis shuffled the explanation awkwardly out - the three inched back to the stability of the mountain, the wind whipping furiously around them. The steep pathway lead further upwards, to the enormous stone arches and sharp angles of the ancient ruins. Stairs slick with ice rose up to a gigantic platform, the air thick with worry. Something innate gnawed at Emeros, the warnings of old friends from northern High Rock not to head into similar structures rumored to line the furthest reaches of the province murmuring in the back of his mind. He shook them away. This was not the same. This was something he'd said he'd do, and he would bloody do it.
"We should be on our guard. Two bandits means there's probably more, and if we're not careful, we'll walk right into a trap."
"Or another ambush." Wyndrelis joked dryly. Emeros rolled his eyes, but still, he laughed.
"Or another ambush." He repeated, grinning.
The dark, snow-covered stone gathered in points towards the sky. They made a calculated approach, the three in a line as they focused on any potential movement from the structure. When bandits emerged from the shadows of the ancient, high-arched ruins, the caution came in handy. One of them fired arrows down at the three, barking at them to leave with their lives or they'd gut them like a purse. Athenath flinched and dodged the barrage, Wyndrelis holding up a ward, magicka pouring into his fingertips, collected in arching light. He pushed forward, Emeros using the ward's cover as a shield to fire his own arrows behind. This time, it took several shots, moving as he fired at a simultaneously moving target. He cursed and hissed as he fired at the figure until he saw them kneel, then another, then down.
A second bandit charged with a war axe, Wyndrelis using his other hand to fire a bolt of lightning that struck through the middle, jarring the bandit enough to give Athenath an opening. The Altmer charged, bashing the hilt of their sword into the back of the bandits head, hoping they'd only knocked them out.
The final bandit rushed Emeros, nearly swiping their blade into him. The Bosmer ducked down by an inch, bringing his own sword from its hilt and striking them through the chest, pushing it as deep as he could muster in the moment. The armor gave way as the bandit struggled to block, a fight that lasted mere seconds and ended just as quickly. The three caught their breaths, snow now pelting down at them from the pale clouds above their heads. Whatever world they'd just ambled into gave them one hell of a welcome.
Better than the one they'd all received at the border, Emeros thought as he tugged his cowl tighter, thefurious winds knocking the fabric off his head every time he attempted to right it. Grumbling, he left it around his neck as a scarf, and trudged up the final stairs to the doorway of Bleak Falls Barrow.
Adrenaline throttled their veins. The Mer looked between one another. Then, Emeros slowly pushed open the door to the barrow, into the dim chamber that would seal their decision. No going back from here, the decision decreed. No turning back.
#tesblr#wip wednesday#skyrim#the elder scrolls#tes fic#skyrim fic#tes v fanfic#bishop.txt#writeblr#ficblr#cycle of the serpent#oc ; emeros#oc ; wyndrelis#oc ; athenath#my writing
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