Sonny || Necromancy enthusiast || Mathieu Bellamont apologist
my art || my writing || ao3 || crows
Fics:
The Illusionist — A young mage’s battle with cognitive dissonance leads to even more denial. And murder. Features Lucien Lachance appearing when he's least wanted (Oblivion novelization)
Slither and Writhe — A spoiled rich girl’s adventures in necromancy go horribly right (Skyrim shenanigans)
Beyond the Break — Mathieu Bellamont angst hour
Treacle — Scar-Tail escapes life as a Shadowscale (oneshot)
Fear, Primarily of Falling — Lucien's life with the newly mantled Prince of Madness is not going as he planned (oneshot)
Another Night in Bravil — Listener!Lucien Lachance/Sheogorath!HoK filth
Ground Me Down — Arch-mage!Raminus Polus/HoK Hurt/Comfort
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Not much to show because of artfight, so have some evil Nerevoryn that has been sitting unfinished in my folder for a hot minute. I HATE drawing Trueflame so that's still unfinished. It should probably be bigger but that will mess up the composition (which I am not a fan of right now). There is supposed to be a little army of ash creatures going to battle but they're not colored in so you can't really see them. That will probably even out the composition once they're done.
I'm also now realizing Nerevar is missing a pauldron haha. Whoops.
No pressure tagging: @caz-the-yarncromancer, @runathequiet, @goodwounded and anyone who wishes to participate. You can say I tagged you!!
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Tagged by and tagging: @dirty-bosmer @miliabyntite @thegrunkiest @the-radic0le @elavoria
Mild nsfw references, overall just mind control type stuff in this section.
Alright, Volkiwhore time before I decide against it. Here, Harkon is practicing vampire-to-vampire enthrallment. Zath is incredibly into it, because he has no idea how to handle his trauma and doesn't want to be in control of his own mind anymore. Vampires will do literally anything but go to therapy. These two are worse than LuZath.
Enthrallment lore doc is still in progress but the general vibes for context here are like... "Step 1: Use Vampire's Seduction; Step 2: Bite" as demonstrated in Dawnguard. But I imagine Step 1 is priming (mental invasion, hypnosis, etc, largely dependent on the one doing it), and Step 2 is setting (essentially anchoring the prepared spell in place by entering the veins). There's more nonsense in there, but importantly, if you prime an enthrallment beyond your capability (you're going deeper than what you can handle, you've put it into someone too naturally-resistant, etc) and try to set it, it won't stick. And if you really overdo it, it fucks up your blood magicka levels really badly. Just totally wipes you. Congrats you're at -400/400mp. Thus, common practice is to have weak-willed mortal thralls with shallow enthrallments slapped on, which act more like charm spells than full on mind-control. Because honestly, who has the time? What are you, some kind of lord in a secluded castle with nothing better to do but flex your cool powers? Don't be an idiot.
Anyways, spoiler alert, this doesn't actually go well for Harkon and he gets a nasty whiplash from it. If Zath had intention to do so, luring a poorly-weighted Vampire's Seduction for this purpose would be a great way to kill arrogant vampires ngl.
With his business delving for information on his advisors done, he sought pleasure in play and practice, honing his influence further before delivering the bite which would anchor it for a time.
"You've always been strange and twisted," Harkon remarked, gruff and low. His voice was surprisingly soft with no audience present. "I feel it. That yearning to give up your power. Why then, do you even have it in the first place?"
My lord did not intend for me to answer aloud. A sense of pressure increased on either side of my skull, then there was a sharp jolt of pain. I whimpered, plaintive. A shudder fled down the length of my spine and I went blessedly limp. The true depth of his breach was more spiritual than physical, but it still encouraged trickles of cold blood as his nails pierced my temples. All around and within, I felt the rumble of Harkon's chuckle as he uprooted answers like fistfuls of twisted briars. Yet it ebbed to an empty echo far too quickly. Gone was his laughter, returned was the weight of my own bodily feeling, and I longed for his presence once more. Above me, he exhaled and steadied himself.
"You didn't even earn it," he continued, as if unfazed by the effort. "Then, your sire must have done all the work for this boon, and was irresponsible to give it so freely. Is that why you want so badly to be consumed, wretch?"
Again, he didn't want me to respond. Instead - pressure, another jolt as his powers leapt across. I bared myself for him to dig around in my mind, and Void, it felt horrendous. Another noise went strained through my teeth. The thrill settled into my lower belly and coaxed my sexes easily to life.
"How disgusting. You only compare yourself to prey and that arouses you. It pleases you. You're no servant to the Lord of Schemes, but you certainly are a worm." I felt his influence seeping along the outside of my veins. If I could just muffle my rattling fiend further, let him in deeper …
An exhaled breath, a wave drawing back. Gone again.
"Please," I gasped. "Longer, please."
"I don't think you deserve it yet." He couldn't provide it, not at that depth. His reply painted that fact over with the pretense of choice instead of weakness, and I said nothing to doubt him.
@dirty-bosmer and @saltymaplesyrup tagged me for WIP Wednesday, so I am tagging @mareenavee @expended-sleeper @ser-i-vant and anyone else who would like to join in!
Fandom: Warframe
Rating: Explicit
Category: M/M
Genre: first time
Summary: After reading @agoddamn's incredible story sublimation, I started thinking about what falling in love with Loid would look like from Albrecht's POV. This fic is the result. It also became a place for me to explore and develop various headcanons I've had about what life was like in the turbo-eugenicist pre-Void era Orokin Empire.
Thin ribbons of white-blue smoke rose from the golden censers hanging from chains that disappeared into the dark vaults of the ceiling. A trio of Timoleon’s hetairai, their only costume diaphanous lambrequins trailing behind their graceful limbs and far too many jingling bells, held the attention of most of Timoleon’s guests. For Albrecht, the sound of the accompanist’s shawzin, the whirl of bodies and fabric, and the smells of the food mingling with the incense and perfumes of the other guests was overwhelming.
Timoleon lounged next to him on the stibadium cushions; at least the Censor’s mindless prattle had ceased while observing his dancers perform. Albrecht spared a moment to wish that he had not accepted Timoleon’s invitation for hunting and convivia at his palace. He shot a jealous look across the floor where a hetaira was doing something anatomically improbable; Xephe was lounging on her more humble with Timoleon’s Prime Archimedean and another lower courtier, smiling at the pretty serving-girl pouring her wine. No one would notice if she chose to eat and drink her fill, and then leave when it suited her, but Albrecht was trapped by propriety—it would be a serious slight against Timoleon for Albrecht to leave early.
A weight pushed down on his legs, and he looked over his shoulder to see who was so bold. Kalymos was perched with her forelegs upon the cushions at his feet, one paw resting on his thigh, entreating him for attention. She did not wait for him to reach out and pat the upholstery beside him before she hopped up and made herself comfortable, squeezing between himself and Timoleon, resting her head against him and purring when he scratched behind her ears.
“Lord Entrati—” Timoleon’s reedy voice was audible under the racket the dancers were making with their bells, but only just. “The master of my kennels has prepared a most luxurious accommodation for your animal, one befitting such a fine beast. She has sworn to sleep in the same cell to ensure no harm befalls—”
“That is unnecessary, Censor.” Albrecht smiled and plucked a morsel of desert skate meat from the serving plate. Kalymos snatched it from his fingertips immediately before craning her neck towards the platter, nose twitching furiously. “I do not mind her presence.”
Caught a tag from @dirty-bosmer @kauchenoe @chiqita @heavy-metal-dick @helloskitty99 @nerevarbean @blue-dartwing @luciolafantastic @hircines-hunter this week and @honeybeebunny111 @flycasual @runathequiet @neloths-tea @theflowergrrl @sulphuricgrin @theoneandonlysemla last week(tagging you all right back xx)
I'm still having the blues after finishing my GTA-girl pinup earlier this week (can anyone else relate after you finish something and you start to question what's the meaning of life? lol) and trying to return to this recovery-prompt piece of Brynjolf I started couple weeks back now. I think I got little too ambitious with all the versions I want to do and it burned me out haha
It's still in quite rough shape rn (so is Brynjolf ehehehehe) but hopefully I start to trust the process soon again
I also started a new 'Dream' writing-prompt already for @tes-season-unending-fest of my two idiots living suspiciously ordinary, almost perfect life in their little lakehouse in Falkreath (Tho I haven't finished the previous one yet ahah, oh noo another unfinished writing.) Have some of that under the cut.
Words: 540ish (slightly suggestive)
Shiala's toes curled as her feet hanged by the edge of her little dock by the lake Iilinalta. Brynjolf had built it for her few summers back, when he was so eager to show her he was good for more than just larceny. Was it a little wonky? Maybe, but it gave character, he convinced to himself mostly, when Shiala had began to giggle, when the some gaps between the boards were almost comically uneven.
She leaned on the rail, her lap covered under a light blanket made from silt strider-silk. A glass of wine and a book she had began to read, but clearly abandoned shortly after. She looked like she was at peace, Brynjolf almost felt sorry for interrupting her.
The evening sun warmed his face as he walked towards her. The wood creaked beneath his weight, giving away his presence. As he got close enough he leaned to her, smelling her hair that left a scent of lavender trailing in the air. His favourite. He kissed the back or her head softly.
“A septim for your thoughts.” Brynjolf's nose nudged to the nape of her neck as he seated himself next to her.
Shiala's eyes found their way to rest to his lips for a moment, before leaning into him and stealing a kiss. Her lips were as soft as ever, a hint of Shadowbanish wine lingered from them. “Thought about the time me first met.” She said to him, a wicked smile tugging on her face.
“It was a good night for a thief, robbing an unknown, arrogant lass.”
“I meant the first time.”
“Oh. That was a great night too.” His smile was coy. “You made many orphans happy that night, myself included.” He paused for a moment again, twirling her hair around his finger. “I'm glad you found me again.”
“Mm. I am too.”
“Precious little killer.” Brynjolf held his face close to her after their lips departed, his eyes mapped the small freckles of her face. Her nose wasn't powdered, her lashes fluttered in their naturally pale shade against the rays of the dawning sun — how could she hate them so to always hide them under a layer of pigment? She always said the same thing — people stared her enough already.
That, he could understand. He himself didn't want to part his eyes off from her.
She was his everything now.
Though it was nearly the end of the Last Seed, the water of Lake Iilinalta held some warmth. Shiala's feet barely touched the surface.
“Dinner's nearly done.” Brynjolf ‘ hand brushed over Shiala's, that rested by her side on top of a book. “Though looking at you, I'm much more interested in dessert right now.”
Her fingers twitched under his touch. “Mmh,” her voice lowers into a whisper, “Shall we get right to it, then?”
“Impatient lass.” The heat creeped up Brynjolf's neck all the way to his ears. “Come here.”
He let his arm wrap around her and pulled her closer to him. Trails of kisses began from her neck, continuing to her chest that exposed itself beautifully from her dress. Impatiently, he scooped her legs to lay on his lap, before picking her up and holding her close to him in his embrace.
Passing tag along @friend-of-giants @umbracirrus @skyrim-forever @skyrimhusbandmaterial @ashblind @sugarysins @silly-little-diary @juliette-has-a-pencil @dark-brotherhoe @oblivions-dawn @donemer no pressure, just a pat on the head and running away xx
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Still plodding along with the clothing of Skyrim stuff. I started with Whiterun but have been bouncing around a bit to different holds. I've draw a few bodies so I can just copy them for the other holds and add hair/clothes/accessories paper doll-style.
No fandom stuff today 😔 depression kicked my ass over the weekend, so i haven't really written anything since publishing a chapter. And I finished Lilli art yesterday.
So have bird stickers I'm still working on. :) I need to do baby versions.
not tagging anyone since I don't have fandom stuff. but feel free to use it as an open tag to anyone that sees this!
I think it’s been about 3 weeks since I participated? Anyway, for cross stitching, I’m getting close to the end of another row, although this pic won’t reflect it completely because I only took it last time Dagoth was out of the frame lol
It’s all just dark colours now, and then it’ll be time to work on his body again. Yippee
Also picked up drawing, so I have some lineart for what I’m working on for @tes-season-unending-fest
Forgive Voryn, he doesn’t have his nails on yet. He barely put his hair on in time for this post 🤣
Also I was going for the Nerevarine being all ‘hell nah dude’ or startled that ash zombie leapt forward out of the crowd to act all reverent, but I’m not sure if it translated. Oh well lol
Thank you @dirty-bosmer for the tag! Passing along with no pressure at all to @skyrim-forever @theoneandonlysemla @friend-of-giants @truth-01001001-liar @neloths-tea @chiqita @sulphuricgrin @hircines-hunter @umbracirrus @cresu @caz-the-yarncromancer @nerevarbean @flycasual @goodwounded @juliette-has-a-pencil @darkcimba @luciolafantastic @runathequiet @aspendruid @paula-arrts @kauchenoe @rothvantes @tobianidiot
Hi hello, it’s me. I’ve been dead the last couple of days because I’m traveling without an internet connection. I’ll be back to my regularly scheduled crazy in about a week and a half-ish. I’m in the jungleeeeeeee. I’ll should have a somewhat more stable internet connection starting tomorrow so I can at least see what everyone is doing and such.
I don’t have any writing because it’s hard to do where I am, but I did see a bunch of people (particularly in the TES community) draw their OCs as the GTA VI girl and that looked fun so I’m giving it a try. (It’s sketch phase at the moment and I have a few things to fix, but it’s going. Someday I also have to put a background in here….) I’ll probably paint over all these lines later as well as I have been. Anyway…
@dirty-bosmer @hircines-hunter @theoneandonlysemla @reaver-of-kirkwall @softeasun @mareenavee @oblivions-dawn and anyone else who has something. It might take me a bit to get there, but I’m alive.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Idek how long it's been since I last posted one of these, but I'm finally feeling settled after all the life changes. Returning to old hobbies at long last :))
Tagging you all back for this week + @wispstalk @zupergoddess @justafoxhound @kookaburra1701 @thequeenofthewinter @gilgamish @dark-brotherhoe @ladytanithia
Back on my Lucien/Nim crack-fic bullshit:
In his heart, Lucien knows such softness has no place in the Dark Brotherhood, but he can’t bring himself to leave despite her transgressions, despite her weakness. And he resents her for it, that she can walk away when he will be repairing what they unmade for the rest of his days.
Here they are, fighting the same battle against loss, desperate to preserve the last gangrenous limb. Together, they cling to what the grave has already claimed. Proof that no one truly buries their family in the ground. They carry them on their back, in their chest, forever.
At night, Lucien lies awake beside Nimileth, clutching the fleeting warmth of her body. His heart beat slows as the heat of the day wanes, and he wonders how long the memory of a person, of a feeling, could substitute for the pulse of the real thing. Fear and anger overwhelm him, dragging his addled mind to exhaustion, and it’s moments like these where he swears he hears a voice— her voice or something not unlike her voice— clear and cold as a night breeze.
“Listener,” it says, “your family is ruined. Your family is dead, and you are too.”
