#𝖋𝖚𝖈𝖐𝖊𝖉𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖓 ; a multimuse primarily featuring personal lore and muses, as well as my own take on skyrim characters and other fandoms alike. nsfw is featured on this blog due to the nature of these fandoms. mun is 25+. mutuals only and selective following.
Note: I don’t mind if you are picky with my muses, not every muse will entice. I will notice though if you only favor my male muses and while I appreciate the enthusiasm, they are not solely here to be shipped.
don't be gross ( homophobic, transphobic, racist, antisemitic, ableist, pedophilic, someone who fetishizes someone for their race. ) basic rp rules apply, but please don't be rude or mean. that kinda negativity im not into. keep the drama to yourself, im just here to write. if you wanna be friends that's great and we can, but i don't wanna be pulled into any kind of drama.
this blog is heavily nsfw. when i say heavily i do mean it literally. it touches on uncomfortable topics for most, drug abuse, murder, cannibalism (mentioned not written out), sexual conduct, sacrilegious topics and or behavior, cosmic monsters verses human monster. its not for the faint at heart. i wont write rape, incest, dd/lg, or anything gross like that. if you write that, stay away. thank you. i also wont write smut on tumblr. if we are close enough and have developed a stable friendship / plotting / chemistry, we can write it on discord.
im simple. easy as that, i used to write real flowery prose and such -- but i cant seem to do it anymore. my writing has shifted more into a novel format rather than a Shakespeare play. if you write that way awesome, i love to see it and read it. i just cant do it. that being said i don't expect you to match my length, writing style, or anything like that. i do have vision issues so i usually don't use icons or heavy formatting to my text.
shipping is fun. its cool and great and i love it. im not afraid to admit ships are one of the fun aspects of rp-ing. i enjoy all forms of connections, romance, platonic, hateship, etc. i just like chemistry is all. its easier that way yknow? so please don't force anything on me. i don't consider memes sent force shipping its testing the waters. if you have an idea or see anyone that strikes your interest just let me know and we can chemistry test. easy as that.
i love ocs. i love some canon characters, but im skeptical of some fandoms. forgive me if i don't follow you for my own comfort. if i followed you first though that means im interested in writing. i try to keep my list pretty slim, so if we follow each other and i send memes with no real response or there isn't any pulse on the other end of our plotting i'll unfollow. i just don't see the point in following someone if we aren't going to actually try to write together.
that's the end gang. hope those rules weren't too harsh, i don't see the point in kinda beating around the bush. im pretty sporadic and this is a low activity blog; i work and have a family im pretty dedicated too. any questions please shoot them my way. psd credits go to ; poohsources
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i love talking headcanons over ships with partners. even if it’s something that may never happen, i just love the discussion of the ship regardless. literally talking for hours in cap locks over two muses you care for so much is amazing. and it makes you feel good knowing your partner is as dedicated as you are and thinks about your two muses in different situations too.
I’m debating on being more aesthetic cause I love edits, but ya bitches eye sight ain’t what it was whooooow like I’d love to do edits and banners etc and etc but dude my eyes said you see sumthin’ cause I don’t.
We shouldn’t talk about how Ciona, a princess and future queen of the North East kingdom was so self aware at her age to understand she was not fit to lead. That she yearned to live and learn and travel; that watching her father and how ruling made him weary and faulted lead to her decision that she would reject the throne. How she followed the tail ends of rumors and hushed whispers until she found solid evidence of her half brother Tulle. Who was well over and beyond into mortal men territory and she would seek him out. Would go to extreme lengths to find him and bring him back to take her place. She puts forth all her energy into this idea and dream of freedom — and is successful in returning him to their kingdom …. Only to have brought Tulle and Caal and his party, who Tulle elected after also declining the throne and was challenged by the king himself and had to kill him there after winning. Ciona went through all that just to ensure she could fulfill her own desires and not be trapped in a palace of gold. The girl gets what she wants babes ….and I love her tbh
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oh my god there are so many books to read and instruments to learn and languages to speak and poems to write and oranges to eat and ideologies to study and songs to sing and films to watch and people to kiss and
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okay please reblog this if you are happy to write lengthy threads with long, complicated plots and multiple non-player characters, whilst driving the plot forward on a mutually-responsible, mutually-beneficial basis, sometimes winged and sometimes not, using the “yes and” technique to build a story
@mvrigny said: you can't be that crazy. - yonathan
There in his black gaze is a humorless gleam, something dead and cold and stiff. It settles itself upon the witch with a steady hold before slowly slipping away to focus on the task at hand. He cared not to be involved, he rather rot among the desolate ruins beneath the catacombs where several of his fellow brethren lay. Alas he was here. Demetri had given direct orders, ones Yonathan debated on following but found it best to follow through with to allow himself some peace once the task was over. His exploits had been discussed apparently when he was not present. Seemed whomever had spoken of him had put in some form of haste not to converse too much with the witch eater; but that never bothered him. Silence was his preferred method of socializing.
A rebuttal is given in response to her own questions and assumptions that he rewarded with deafening silence. The desire to elaborate on his own life little to no interest to him. Precaution was always given before hand when someone was to work along side him, Demetri and Vicktor ensured that for the sake of whomever was doomed to be in his company. His jaw sets as his eyes once more slowly rise to peer at the woman standing a few feet away, the expression she wears a similar one he’d seen before. Brows rise in just a similar pace, head cocking to one side as he felt his tongue run against his sharp teeth.
“ Six hundred.” It is a simple enough answer. Words deep like abysmal waters they reverberate throughout the room. The blade in his grasp carefully being set down upon the table before he lets his hands rest in plain view. “ I’ve killed six hundred witches and warlocks alike. “ Another beat before he looks to the knife with a fondness that rarely ever graces his angular features, “ I have lost count how many mortal men I have killed. “ An animal like quality Yonthan possessed that many of the others lacked, was his hunger. The drive to continue until his own legs would no longer see fit to serve him and even then he would find other means to acquire the effect or out come he desired.
“ I am indeed that crazy. If only because -- “ a twisted mutation of a smile strings across his lips, handsome and cruel with fangs that gleam a ghostly white. “ I am always starving. “
There were ten dragons born of Isval who survived the culling, her true children she allowed to hide and rest while the dawn of man and elf took place. Borghal is the eldest, Atash is the second eldest, Ju’Nas is the third born, Me’Sovhal is the fourth, Lhorak was the fifth, Taverash was the sixth, O’Bargost was the seventh, Dema was the eighth, Vetighal was the ninth, and Sunam was the tenth.
The remaining seven are still hidden across the continents set in stone, buried beneath cities, and hidden within caverns and deep beneath the sea. They have not awoken to Borghal’s call after their mother Isval presents him with a vision of their imprisonment under a unnamed magick who pretends to be mortal. Borghal wishes to aid in the prevention of this and the destruction of his own family. Its why they join up along side Caaldic and the few others teaming against The Seventh Son ( the church which was founded under their cousin Omiveer, the third born of Mormont who survived the first culling. He was later made in to be a god to men because he provided them protection and magick.).
** Also, let it be known that these dragons have children of their own. Elven, Mortal, Orc, and Sea women who devoted themselves to the worship of The Ten allowed themselves to go through a magickal practice which merged their own race with that of a dragon creating = dragon blood. Children who bear wings like their mothers and fathers. HOWEVER, many died in the second war (Vicktor’s war with the gates crumbling) leaving only about two handfuls alive and in hiding or stationED on the isles for their own protection.
Borghal ; has two children remaining.
Atash ; chose never to have any children.
Ju’Nas ; has four remaining.
Me’Sovhal ; lost all his children to the war (there were 5).
Lhorak ; has one remaining.
Taverash ; never had children.
O’Bargost ; ate two of his own children leaving one remaining.
Dema ; has six remaining (they are who lead the worship upon the isles to their dragon parents).
Vetighal ; lost all her children. (there were two).
Sunam ; has but four children alive.
AND all of these children went on to have their own children and pass on these genes. There are several lineages upon the Mist Isles that are tied into the Dragons blood lines. Many don’t bear wings anymore, but a few are born that do.
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Jaws work as large teeth gnash into the whale that had been plucked from the sea itself, the heat searing each piece of cool flesh with every bite that is taken. The sun glimmers in the distance and with it a sense of calm has taken hold of the isle itself. His first meal in ages and he could still recall the last thing to pass his lips before he settled into the now vacant rock face within the capital of the city. A whole existence had been built around him and with one whisper of his mothers tongue did it all come burning through his mind and awaken him. Even as he burst free of the stone and crumpled many homes and possibly several mortals, he could not find himself but soon surrounded by wide eyes and out stretched hands. Murmurs of praise and some shouts in conviction that he could only recall being given to his mother and her sisters, fell on his taloned feet.
Borghal had wasted no time in leaving the scene, the former home he remembered now a place overrun with mortals and other beings that bared some vague resemblance to the ones he once knew. His call to his siblings went unanswered and despite the urgency to share what his mother had given him, the very vision one to turn even his blood cold; he desired to fill his stomach with something other than dust. He’d soared and dipped and spun wishing if only he could be a young scale again, but the days had been vast and long and they were since passed. A grumble can be heard in his throat as he tears once more at his meal, the sudden scent in his nostrils daring black smoke to erupt from them as his large head raises and looks to the west of the island.
Something silver and quick moves just beyond his following and with a begrudged expression a claw rests more firmly over his food. Should it be one of his ever late siblings he would tear their head off is they dared to steal a meal from him, but something about that smell that was so familiar yet strangely foreign had him pausing. Blood staining his jaws as his large head waited peering over the whale, the muscles in his back haunches coiling up in case he needed to launch himself.
@starlyht liked for a starter ; for mal ; Borghal!
Timber’s sway under the shift of his wings. The prairie he chose to rest on is warmed from the morning dawn, his tail swipes back and forth in some form of delight. Ages had passed since he’d basked in the suns light and felt his mothers breeze upon his scales. His head rests atop a mound the daisies pulling to and fro with each deep breath that slipped through his nostril. Despite the circumstances for his awakening and the sudden eruption that had been caused; Borghal had found a moment of peace. He’d called the moment he’d awoken to his brothers and sisters, in dire need of their council for what their mother had shown him. Yet only silence had answered him for the time, and even if he wouldn’t divulge in such trivial feelings he did feel the emptiness on the other side of that call. Were the others even alive? Or had they been chipped away at and turned into decoration for mortals on the mainland?
Never did it matter, at least not for the moment. His neck cranes his large head up toward the sky gazing fondly at the burning sun. Smoke coils from his nostrils as he shifts to lay flatter on his own stomach, his grand wing span being elongated slowly with a pleasant stretch before spread wide across the grassy plains. A heavy sigh flattens most of the flowers sprouting from the ground around him, a stretch of his large maw allows fresh air to reside in his dust coated lungs. He could feel the tremor in the earth as hooves thunder across each stone and blade of grass, the break in the far distant tree line exposes the small herd of Neramorts. A creature he could vaguely remember being much large when he was younger, but now they barely stood to half the side of the tree trunk their wide black eyes catching sight of him before scurrying off.
Yet among the throng there is one creature unmoving, idle beside the timbers trunk and watching. A foul expression darkens over his old features as he turns to look away; large form wishing to resist the urge to vault from his resting and seize the sky where he could hide from prying eyes.