#dren writes

[kendrene]

"Can you ask me if it hurt when I fell from heaven?"

When Ava says it, half-leant out of her seat and tilted toward Beatrice, what she’s aiming for is smooth. What actually happens is that her elbow, precariously planted on the table in front of them, skids across a patch of unidentifiable liquid (it’s probably beer) and she tumbles straight out of the chair. Right at Beatrice’s feet.

“Uhm.” How is it possible for Beatrice to be this pretty from any and all angles? Is it a skill? Does it come naturally? Ava doesn’t know, but it shouldn’t be allowed. It shouldn’t even be legal. “Did it hurt now?”

“Oh my fucking God, do not encourage her.” A strong set of hands slides under her armpits and Ava is hoisted back onto her seat. “Worst. Pick. Up. Line. Ever.” Mary jabs a finger into her sternum as punctuation for each word. “Like, seriously. Do better.”

“Excuse me, that was a very good pick up line. The best pick up line that ever was.”

“Only if you want your audience’s ears to bleed.”

“Well, clearly, you’re not the target audience, are you?” Ava reaches for the bottle she’d been drinking from, but it’s already empty. She could up her game if Mary gave her pointers. She’s seen old videos of her with Shannon — how easily Mary could make her laugh. Their chemistry was off the fucking charts.

As for her and Beatrice — Ava has no clue where they stand. Sometimes it feels that they’re a spark away from deflagration in the best possible way, but then she’ll say or do something stupid and end up like a character in one of those old cartoons she and Diego were sometimes allowed to watch on VHS on Sunday mornings; lab coat burned to kingdom come and eyebrows singed right off.

“Did you say pick up line?” Beatrice interjects, and there’s an odd lilt to the words, as if something far too big to be contained got stuck inside her throat.

“Christ.” Mary rolls her eyes. “I can’t do this sober.”

“Do? Do what?”

“This— whatever you two have going on, that you’ve not been talking about.” Mary waves a hand in the empty space between them, but her eyes are scanning the bottles strewn all over the table for more booze. There’s probably some rule against drinking in a convent, and Ava is pretty certain Mother Superion would enforce it if she knew how the six of them have been spending their evening, but Mother Superion has been called away to help elect another Pope (do they ever run out of those?), and Camila — the only person with a lick of sense left in the group — forgot to bring any.

“What—” No mistake, this time. Beatrice is trying and failing to swallow. “What do you think we have going on?”

“Don’t ask me — ah!” Mary holds up an unopened bottle of vodka, triumphant. “Ask her.”

“Oh.” Lilith crows from the shadows. “This is going to be good.”

“This is going to be private.” A small riot breaks out at the announcement, but Mary rounds the others up with quick efficiency and herds them for the door. “Come on all of you. No, Camila, you can’t stay and watch. I don’t care about posterity.” Camila argues back something. “Ava can write her own damn warrior nun journal. Yasmine, quit staring or I’ll—”

The rest of the threat is lost down the hallway and it doesn’t take long for their steps to recede.

Everything is quiet. The late evening fills with unspoken undercurrents. There’s a thickness to the air that is not due to the lingering heat of summer. It presses down on them with the beloved weight of a favorite blanket wrapped around the body a bit too tight.

All of a sudden, Ava is stone cold sober. She really really really wishes Mary had left the bottle behind.

“Ava?”

Sounds are supposed to break a prolonged silence, but Bea’s voice, small against the vastness of the night, only enhances it. When Ava dares look, Bea is leaning forward, her cheeks suffused a lovely red as though she’s just sat down after a run. Only one of the overhead lights is still on, and they exist in its tight circle, the darkness beyond alive with the things Ava knows that she already should have said. “Ava, what did Mary mean? What — what does she think is between us?”

Bea wets her lips, and Ava’s gaze is instantly drawn to the motion. Something molten pulses outward from the halo, pooling in her gut. Lower, like the glimpse she inadvertently got of Bea’s tongue somehow directly interlaced with her nerve endings — open flame to tinder — and set everything alight.

She’s faced dozens of demons, held her own against a fallen angel hell bent on world dominion — she’s been to a whole different realm, goddammit — but she doesn’t have the guts to simply bridge the gap and kiss Beatrice again.  

With difficulty, Ava drops her eyes to where Bea’s hands are resting. They’re so familiar now. The callouses from training. The array of small scars across the knuckles where flesh has been torn and healed so many times it is pale, almost translucent, against the darker canvas of Beatrice’s sun-kissed skin. Reaching out, Ava takes Bea’s right hand in both of her own, traces from scar to scar with the tip of a finger as if drawing constellations. Under her touch, Beatrice is shaking badly, or maybe it is her.

She doesn’t think it matters.

“Ava?” Beatrice says her name the way she’s said it hundreds of other times. Sweetly, a bit uncertain. More than a little scared. Expectant.

Ava takes one big breath and —

“Iminlovewithyou.”

— she wants to kick herself.

First because she’s never meant to say it now. Second because she’s never meant to rush it out in such a way. Barebones. No preamble. She had given a much better speech when she’d said what she’d supposed where her goodbyes inside of Adriel’s inverted church. That moving line about the warrior nun duty, and Beatrice living her life, all tied neatly together with that final in the next that Ava had managed to force out despite the well of tears inside her. It was all very romantic in a tragic sort of way.

Shit. What if she can be romantic only when she’s dying? That would fucking suck.

But she can’t take it back now. The sentence just burst out of her in a single breath, the same way power blasts from her when she overexerts the halo. And Ava may have made a grab for Beatrice’s hand to have something to hold on to, but now Bea, too, is gripping her fingers tight, and they’re two ships caught in the same storm, fighting not to let the other slip away from sight.

“I love you.” Ava repeats, slower this time. “And I’ve loved you since the Vatican. I’ve loved you since before that, actually. Since I got my stupid foot stuck inside the stupid wall in Mother Superion’s stupid office and you talked me out of it.”

“Ava…”

“And that’s why I’m always acting like a fool. Otherwise I’d have to stop and self-analyze, you know? And then, I’d have to talk to you about it, and what if you don’t love me back? I mean, I know you do, friend-like, but if you didn’t love me love me I think I would be really sad and—” Her shoulders sag. “But I guess the cat is on the table now, uh? It’s okay if you don’t love me, by the way. Like I said, I’m just going to mope for a while but I’ll--”

“Ava, stop.”

“—  be okay, you don’t have to worry — oh.” Did Beatrice say stop? “Did you say, stop?”

Crap. Beatrice doesn’t want to hear more of her hastily crafted (held together by a hail mary, a safety pin and hope) love confession. Double crap. Beatrice is smiling, so bright and wide that it reaches all the way to her eyes, crinkling them at the edges.

“You’re smiling.” Ava points out, utterly invested in her role as captain obvious.

“Yes.”

“Is it a good thing?”

“I’d say.”

“Oh.” Beatrice gives her hand a gentle squeeze. “So this means—”

“That I feel the way you feel. And I guess I didn’t say where you could hear for pretty much the same reasons.”

“But you said it? Before, I mean?”

“Yes.” A cloud settles over Beatrice’s face, and Ava regrets asking. “After you went through the portal. It took a while for the others to get to me so I sat there and I said it, over and over.” Beatrice draws in a steadying breath that seems to go on forever. “I was hoping you could hear me.” Her smile returns, but tempered. “So, you see, you’re not the only fool around here.”

“I can hear it now.” Ava’s heart is thumping so hard and fast against her ribcage she wonders whether the halo will have to heal a bruise. “You know, if you wanted to say it.”

Beatrice closes her eyes. Opens them, and an army of Tarasks could march through the refectory this second, Ava would not give them the time of day.

“Ava Silva,” Beatrice begins, incredibly steady. “I’m in love with you, too.”

***

“So,” Beatrice asks her later, in what Ava is sure is the best interest of open and healthy communication. “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

“No.” Ava nuzzles into Bea’s naked shoulder, arm draped loosely around her waist. “Because you were already there to catch me.”

#in liquor veritas #dren writes #avatrice #warrior nun

[vosh-rakh]

Ku-vastei watched lazily as young Hla-eix and the Duke’s daughter, Derelayn, play-fought in the palace courtyard. Derelayn was bigger than Hla-eix, being a few years older, but Hla-eix kept pace with her. The clacks of their wooden toy swords clashing resonated throughout the empty space. Ku-vastei was proud of her daughter’s skill; she recognized several short blade maneuvers she had taught her herself.

Ku glanced at her wife lounging nearby, casually reading a book. Ku-vastei thought she must be very lucky to have such a lovely wife and daughter. (Being Hortator was a nice plus, too – at least when she had a moment to breathe like this.)

But the feeling was short-lived. A sudden jolt of pain spiked up her right hand, permanently encased in Wraithguard. With her left hand she reached for the glass of cold marshmerrow juice on the small table next to her, and took a mighty swig. No healing potion, but a decent analgesic. The pain slowly subsided in descending throbs until it was barely noticeable. She flexed her hand to make sure. A bit tight in the fingertips and crook of the thumb, but manageable. Watching the interlocking plates and joints shift, she had an idea.

“Girls!” she shouted across the courtyard. “Come here.”

Hla-eix and Derelayn dropped their swords and approached seated Ku-vastei.

“Yes, mama?” asked Hla-eix, expectant.

At the same time, Derelyan asked, “Yes, Hortator?” She seemed nervous, like she thought she was in trouble. And the fact that the girl still called Ku “Hortator” after all these years bothered her.

“Tell me,” Ku began, “What is on my right hand?”

The girls fell silent and thoughtful. After a moment, Derelayn offered, “Lord Vivec, Hortator?”

“No, Derry,” said Ku, patiently but without smiling. “Vivec is my left hand.”

Hla-eix lit up and suggested, “Oh! It’s Uncle Arry!”

“No, Eix,” said Ku again, shaking her head. “Aryon is my right hand, yes, but you’re not thinking literally enough.”

“Ohhh,” Hla-eix gasped, a long, drawn out sound. “You mean Wraithguard!”

“Yes, sweetheart,” said Ku, still not smiling. She raised her right hand, the back of Wraithguard facing the girls. “Eix, do you know what it does?”

“Yes, mama!” Hla-eix said, eager to show her knowledge. “It keeps you safe from the power of Sunder and Keening!”

“And what would happen if someone without Wraithguard on their hand attempted to wield Sunder or Keening?”

Hla-eix frowned and her voice became solemn. “They would die, mama.”

“Hm,” muttered Ku with a slight nod. With Wraithguard, she pulled Keening from its sheath on her hip. “This,” she said, brandishing the profane dagger, “is Keening, what laid low Dagoth Ur with its final sting to his heart.” (She was so used to the lie she had told Vivec after that fight that she told it everywhere – none but Azura could prove her wrong, and she didn’t seem interested.)

“Ah!” gasped Hla-eix, leaning in close.

“Wow!” added Derelayn, also leaning in. “It’s so pretty!”

“Don’t touch!” Ku warned suddenly, raising her voice. “You would die!”

The girls recoiled in fear from the blade, frightened by Ku’s volume.

“You mustn’t be careless with the profane tools,” admonished Ku. “One wrong move and –” She quickly tossed up Keening, catching it in her bare left hand.

“Mama, no!” cried Hla-eix, lunging forward to stop her mother’s apparent carelessness. Derelayn burst into tears immediately.

Ku-vastei pulled back Keening from Hla-eix’s reach, and burst into laughter. “You thought I was in danger!” She returned the dagger to its sheath. “It’s a neat trick I learned by accident once – the gauntlet protects my whole body!”

But now even Hla-eix was crying big, angry tears. From behind came a shout from Ashiri: “Ku-vastei! Stop frightening the children!”

“Oh, it was just a bit of fun, I didn’t mean to –”

“Girls, come to mommy. It’s okay, sweets. That’s right, come here and give me a big hug.”

Ku rolled her eyes. Kids these days. So sensitive.

#a little short (and posted at a weird time) #but w/e #tes #tesblr #my writing #morrowind #oc: ku-vastei #oc: hla-eix #oc: derelayn dren #oc: ashiri #argonian #dunmer #vivec

[mareenavee]

WIP WHENEVER! (Wednesday?!)

Hi, today is a bit of a write off day because it's spooky season and NY weather is telling me it's mid-July somehow.

I did manage a little writing :> And I'll be happy to share about ~300 words from two WIPS! But first, tags!

Tagging the amazing and wonderful: @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense, @thequeenofthewinter, @thana-topsy, @gilgamish, @archangelsunited, @wildhexe, @elfinismsarts, @throughtrialbyfire, @saltymaplesyrup, @snippetsrus, @rainpebble3, @kookaburra1701, @polypolymorph, @inquisition-dragonborn, @orfeoarte, @tallmatcha, @rhiannon1199, @expended-sleeper, @dirty-bosmer, @miraakulous-cloud-district, @nuwanders, @ladytanithia, @viss-and-pinegar, and @late-nite-scholar! Below the cut for shenanigans! WIP 1 has CW for creepy spooky season stuff and WIP 2 has CW for Neloth (yes) and his canon-typical racism (circa Nerevarine times in Morrowind.)

1) Spooky Collab pending a title with @thequeenofthewinter and @thana-topsy! Uldwin is his OC, and this is the downfall timeline. (: Writing is mine.

The ramp that led up to the mushroom tower was itself rotting through, stringy, toxic orange webs of slime mold eating away at the fungus. Lydia balanced precariously on the wooden support beams, cursing the weight of the daedric armor Uldwin had gifted her. Its enchantment sang to her, too—a whisper of some Bosmeri prayer. Like his voice, scratchy from use of the Thu’um. She swallowed hard against another wave of grief. This, perhaps, had been the last of his efforts to spare her whatever fate he’d willingly walked into.

The door to the tower swung open of its own accord, iron hinges rusted and knob caked with mud and grime. Then… Whatever it was had become aware of her presence. This did not bode well at all. She stepped through into the darkness, unable even to cast Candlelight to guide her way forward.

Lydia’s senses were assaulted by the stench of death—mildew and rot, must, pine, the uncomfortable sweetness of fermentation—not at all unlike the smell of Nordic tombs, long undisturbed. She brushed cobwebs away as she crept through the shadows. Dawnbreaker glowed, though its light seemed stifled in this place. Dread settled over her shoulders like a mantle. One step after another. It was all she could do, despite the fear. Despite how very much she wanted to turn and run. She knew she couldn’t. Uldwin didn’t. And now it fell to her to end this nightmare…and to bring him home.As Lydia took another step, something crunched audibly under her boot. A bone. No. She held back a scream as something screeched above her, the noise traveling through her skull like a jolt of Shock magic.

2) Light the Way which is pre-World. Backstory for Neloth and Teldryn, the Nerevarine (: And how they both ended up in the Twin Lamps.

“If I have your attention,” Im-Kilaya said after a particularly grating and reptilian-sounding throat-clearing, “we’ll need you both to help an injured once-shackled individual. His name is Tul, a fellow Saxhleel. Our Eyes have noted his injuries are beyond the help of what potions we have available.” He paused and turned to Sero, handing him a letter. “This, and he will need to be defended until you reach Sterdecan.”

“Do you expect trouble?” Sero asked, scanning the letter. Neloth glanced over his shoulder. It was written in some kind of cipher—it had to have been. Otherwise, it was an egregious misuse of parchment, describing in detail a few fictitious landmarks of Azura’s Coast. He watched as Sero folded up the letter again and tucked it behind the dark chitin plate of his armor.

“Yes, unfortunately. The farmhouse is becoming more visible than we’d like. It’s why this falls to you, Nerevarine. Protect Tul. I don’t know what waits out there in the dark, but the news brings me great discomfort.”

“Orvas has wind of us, doesn’t he?” Teldryn said after a moment. 

Im-Kilaya said nothing, and opted instead to grimace, hands tucked once again into the sleeves of his robes. Teldryn nodded; whatever silent conversation had just occurred between them seemed satisfactory enough.

Neloth knew that name. Duke Vedam’s younger brother, and, at least at one point, the more powerful of the two. There had been rumors about nefarious dealings, and a more recent loss of his position within House Hlaalu. Something Fyr had rattled on about, as he was wont to do, but Neloth hadn’t bothered to listen. He cursed himself for his lack of foresight. Not that Neloth was afraid per se, but what should have been a fairly simple task now seemed infinitely more complex than what he’d at first believed.

#MareenaWrites #Light the Way #Neloth #im-kilaya #orvas dren #tul #twin lamps #Friend's OCs #sorta <3 #Lich!Neloth #Lydia #Spooky Writing #WIP Whenever #WIP Wednesday #tes #tesblr #skyrim #skyrim fic #morrowind #morrowind fic #nerevarine #nerevarine teldryn #nerevarine teldryn sero #teldryn #teldryn sero #Dreyaln Uvelath #(unpictured) #elder scrolls #writblr #writeblr

[colderdrafts]

would they guard your drink?

Irwin: "Leave it to the most responsible coworker in town! 🫡" Will guard it well, you can trust him with this - uuunles he gets distracted by his song coming on, and forgets it on a table as He Must Dance. Remembers it when you get back, panics, apologizes and buys you a new one.

Amren: "Fine. Be quick." Holds a hand over it until you get back, scowling like usual to deter any potential scamps. No one will get anywhere near that fucking drink.

Dren: "Of course, I'll keep it safe." Just keeps a close eye on it like a normal person lmao

Morgan: ".. :) I'll take care of it!" And they will, nothing dangerous will happen to it. But they'll down it while you're gone, buy you a new one and take a sip of that too. Won't care if you notice. Now you can share spit, isn't that nice <3

#Colder writing #Character shenanigans #monster x reader #monster romance #Uv #Tga #about irwin #about dren #about amren #about morgan

[ervona]

they will eat your coat. of arms

#yes this is why i always write drens wearing a moth motif. it's their thing #iirc these are generated randomly from options on game start so i really lucked out with an iconic one

[nuxtamara]

Here it goes!

Something was wrong with tumblr the first few times I tried to post this so by the time it fixed itself I had already written a page xD

Edit: Currently at a goal of one page per day and by the end of the chapter I will be posting on here 😊

Ao3 and tumblr were two of the suggested posting platforms, but I figured since we‘ve started the conversation here, why not continue it here!

Edit in Feb: I’ve been sick since mid Jan… an end may be more in sight by now, probably. But I’m not even in my 4th week of recovery yet and I usually need around 6 for being mostly healthy again, so I’m still on creative hiatus for now. No it’s not long covid, I’ve been like this since I was younger. As soon as my body showed any signs of illness whatsoever (and even when not), people who raised me pumped me full of antibiotics and medicine so as to stop me from getting sick and many times to prevent me from getting sick. My immune system is probably a frail pebble in comparison to many other peoples’, but I’m surviving. I just wish I could sing again.

#yes this is how I would write when I was like 9 and I’m writing it like this because its the most fun to me #and yes I will still be posting it once I’ve written more #I find it easier to bring words onto physical pages #they flow nicer and feel better to me that way #in love with writing on physical surfaces #kisshu #ichigo #aoyama #kishigo #kisshu x ichigo x aoyama #polyamory #fanfiction #ichigo momomiya #masaya aoyama #dren #zoey #mark #tokyo mew mew #mew mew power

[daisychainsandbowties]

5, 9 and 13 for the fic asks? Hope you're having a wonderful day!

5. what's a fic idea you've had that you will never write?

i have so many fic idea swimming around in my head that i will definitely never have time to write but.

i do have a fighter pilot au (who am i kidding a Battlestar Galactica au) where Ava's an ace pilot sent out in an experimental ship to look for safe harbor after human civilization is decimated; only 50,000 living souls left alive out of billions. the first jump carries them into deep space.

Bea's is an expert navigator and astrobiologist, sent along with Ava to keep an eye on her, since Ava's famously reckless and spent basically every other night in the brig back on the Galactica. but Bea's also the science officer, tasked with seeking out habitable planets for an initial attempt at seeding human colonies as far from the ruins of civilization as possible. the idea would be to give them the ability to contact each other, but leave warnings about the Cylons, warnings to never go back.

they have a larger freighter-style ship capable of supporting them for... as long as it takes, complete with a lab (for Bea) and a starfighter (so that Ava can immediately destroy any Cylon scout ship that makes visual contact with them). they have equipment Bea can use to study any habitable planet they find, to set up shop on the surface for the several weeks it takes to fully bio-map and geologically assess the landscape. once they set down a beacon, hopefully the signal can reach the people working on the Dandelion Pods that Beatrice created - ships that can follow their trail and carry the 500 or so people needed for a viable population to the planets they've earmarked.

it ends up taking them far away from the fighting, Ava picking off one or two scouts who locate their signature before it fades out of sight. then it's her mechanical skills that help, fixing the ship as it breaks, setting up systems they didn't have the time to anticipate the need for.

just... quiet, and fathomless space. the two of them growing closer, Bea's initial wariness giving way to fondness, to something more. huddling for warmth when they have to all but power down the ship to avoid creating a heat signature when the Cylons scan into deep space for survivors.

they're the last hope for humanity, adrift out in the stars with Bea growing veggies in planter pots because "access to fresh food has been proven to promote psychological health" "sorry professor. i won't make fun of your beets ever again"

Ava buffing her fighter and Beatrice watching her check the weapons systems and paint new, lurid designs on the wings, hoping desperately that they never have to use it, that they're never found, (that they never have to go back).

9. Do you write every day? If you wrote today, share a sentence of what you've written?

yes i write every day unless i have bad pain or brain fog, but even if it's just a sentence i like to write Something because i couldn't for years & i'm trying to make up for lost time lmao.

a sentence:

"She sat with the paper bag of chocolates cupped in her palms and thought of how the vendor touched them all with his bare fingers, once or twice raising them to wipe at the sweat in his hair, and how the vents rattled, pumping recycled air into that deep space, little ribbons on the grilles to show everyone that the air was flowing, to warn them when it stopped."

13: How much planning do you do before writing?

i think about my WIPs when i'm out walking sometimes, but i never write anything down, believing foolishly that if a plot point or a scene or a line is good enough i'll remember it, or that when i sit down to write it'll reassert itself as a natural part of the narrative. aside from that, all i work with is a first line and a vague concept and i much prefer it that way.

#ty for the ask dren!! #ask meme #bsg au #(prayer circle for me to stay 200000000 feet away from writing it)

[equustenebris]

Writing Masterpost

I needed a new masterpost :> Check out my AO3!

As always: if y'all have any prompt ideas you'd like me to take a crack at, please feel free to send 'em my way! My inbox is always open. I'll take any active fandom listed below. (No guarantees I will be able to finish anything, but if my time permits I will most likely take a stab at it! :>)

If you'd like to leave a request.....

I typically like soft, fluffy things, domestic focus, and a focus on the personal relationships between characters but I'm open to trying other things too.

My favorite FNaF characters: the Daycare Attendant (Sun and Moon, though tbh I prefer Sun a little more :>), Gregory, Chica, Freddy

My favorite ESO characters: Revus Demnevanni, Tiras Tirethi, Narsis Dren

I'd also consider writing for: Tales from the Borderlands, Dragon Age: Inquisition

Five Nights at Freddy's: Security Breach

Typically fluffy drabbles, focused on the Daycare Attendant with a strong slant towards pre-virus cuteness. The reader occasionally makes an appearance; some drabbles may be reader x DCA.

The Very Noisy Night - Moon hated thunderstorms. They were loud, distracting, dangerous for electronics of all sorts. But he didn't hate them as much as Sun. And putting Sun down for a "nap" overnight during a vicious storm proves a lot more difficult than the Naptime Attendant anticipated.

Hanging by a Threat - The Daycare Attendant is injured and on strict prescribed rest while they await their ordered replacement parts. But as the human handlers -- and Moon -- quickly discover, it's hard to dim a bright Sun.

Trimming Day - The reader shares a somewhat intimate moment with the Daycare Attendant when they arrive at the daycare just in time for "trimming day."

To Fight the Early Morning Maudlin-ing - Not long after being moved from theater duty to the daycare, Sun is adjusting to his new role but finds himself missing their theater days. Moon offers a bit of comfort to his brother.

Elder Scrolls Online

Revus Demnevanni-focused, with appearances from Tiras Tirethi, Narsis Dren, and potentially the Vestige.

[WIP] That Tedious Delusion - After the events of Giving Up the Ghost, much to everyone's surprise, Tiras elects to go on another excursion with Revus. But as the euphoria of his near-death experience wears off and reality sets in, Tiras quickly begins to wonder just what in Oblivion he was thinking, letting Revus drag him all the way to Bangkorai. But as they're both about to discover, that's the least of his problems.

[WIP] The Maelmoth Mysterium - Revus Demnevanni has always had the worst luck. At the outset of a new expedition for the Council of House Telvanni, he arrives to find that his assistants are delayed and Tiras is sick, leaving him to gather his research by himself. But when he strikes off on his own, he finds out just how bad his luck really is when he runs across the famous Narsis Dren. [A retelling of The Maelmoth Mysterium quest.]

Duckverse

I'm no longer writing Duckverse stuff unfortunately for some personal reasons, but you can check out my masterpost here (featuring Italian comics-verse Gyro Gearloose, Mad Ducktor, Newton Gearloose, and/or Copernicus and Cartesius Gearloose. Most fics are Gyro/Mads.): Duckverse Writing Masterpost

#equus writes #five nights at freddy's #daycare attendant #daycare attendant fnaf #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf sundrop #fnaf moondrop #fnaf #fnaf security breach #revus demnevanni #tiras tirethi #elder scrolls online #elder scrolls #narsis dren #duckverse #gyro gearloose #mad ducktor #madro #newton gearloose #cartesius gearloose #copernicus gearloose

[dark-night-hero]

Hey so I found the little drabble you wrote about Morax sacrificing Y/n for the world? And it gave me this scene of a Y/n being forced to pick between him and the world, and they choose him? And it would hurt. And I'd like to see it written in your style of angst, if you ever write it at all, because i think it would be cool. have a good day/night heart🧡

: I know I'm very late but this gives me the idea of the prequel of the world > you of Morax|Zhongli imagine.

Imagine being in a situation where you have to sacrifice the world for your love one. What would you do? Would you choose to do the greater good for others or for yourself? The answer for you is quite obvious. It would be Morax over the world.

Imagine the Archon War leaving a mental toll on your mental health, constantly seeing your lover fighting, seeing him fight for his and your dear live as well as both of your people. But what leaves you the scar the most is seeing him get hurt, although he was powerful and fearsome, that doesn't mean that he does not escape close call encounter. At times like that, you have nothing to do but to watch there and stood in horror, thinking how much of a baggage were you that you cannot even fight side by side. Because even for a supreme being, you are weak.

Imagine it wasn't just the war that took a toll on you but also the mortals. You have seen people turning their back on their Gods, you have seen people revolts on their Gods, Gods who have done nothing but to protect them and some have lost their lives upon doing so. How fucking cruel and disgusting creatures were they. And how thankful you are that your people were different. That is why this thoughts and memories remained on the back of your mind.

Imagine, or so you thought as you day you have awoken up from a dream, drenched on cold sweat as your heart hammered on your chest. It was a dream- no a nightmare- no... It was a vision. It was a prophecy of your lovers death. Died and assassinated by his-your own people.

"Love?" It was your lover who seems to have been awake.

"Are you alright? You're dren-" You cut him off as you embraced him and he chuckles before turning your embrace, giving you a tap on the back for more comfort.

"Was it a bad dream?" He asked as pull you even more closer to him, taking you in his arms as you could only tighten your hold on him.

"It's alright, Love. I'm here, it's just a dream."

Imagine the truth is that you love your people more than anything, you love them just right after Morax, your lover. That is why you decided not to pay attention to that vision. Because you knew more than anything that your people respect and worship him more than anything.

Imagine Morax should have seen the signs. The way you less and lesser interact with the people. The more you seems cautious of the way they view and talked about him. The way you stay up all night and seems to be lacking of sleep. The way the look of gentleness in your eyes seems to fade the more you look at the people you vow yourself to protect. The way you were slowly falling and experiencing signs of erosion.

"What did you just say, you low life piece of utter shit?" You glare at the man, wanting to snap off his neck if it wasn't for your lover holding you back from doing so.

"I- I was just telling the truth! It's not like Rex Lapis is all that great and might- hick!"

"It's not like I did not heard you the first time. What I'm tying to say it that, do you, know the consequence you have to face for saying such-"

"That's enough, (First name). I would like to apologise on behalf of my lover, they were just.."

Imagine becoming aware that you were losing yourself but it was already too late. All the sleepless nights, the visions that kept showing up and hunting you. The way the people in your vision- your prophecy doesn't even seem to mind that Morax have died. The way the people talks about him these days. The way your memories of the archon war and the people back in those days does not seem to think twice turning their back and raising their weapons on their own beloved Gods.

Imagine one day, you snap. Walking in the city with your fake persona. There comes the man who was just talking shit about Morax on the other day. And the nerve of this man to continue to convince you that he was in fact right, that the world is better off without the Archons, specifically Morax in it, the God of War. The one who seems to have killed the God he was formerly worshipping. The one who according to him should have died instead.

Imagine as his words went one ear to another, you smile at him before talking and convincing him to go on a remote area where no one could see the two of you and of course, bewitched by your beauty, how could he not come with you. Only to get himself killed not even a second the moment the two of you reach your promised location. And during those very moment, the way you look down at your blood stained hand. The way a smile crept up on your lips as a strange sense of satisfaction came into you.

"This is fun." You spoke looking at the bloody scene.

"This is what you get for assume you know better to turn your back against by beloved."

Imagine Morax becoming aware of the missing and killing of people within your land. But what raised his concerns the most is that you don't even seem to mind, but at least you were not going feral as you were quite some time now. So he brush it off and went to investigate only to find out that most of the people declared missing and dead were people who were talking bad about him. Most of those people were refugees of the wars and were formerly worshipping other Gods before him. Nevertheless it was still suspicious and wrong. You have always made it clear with him that people, mortals were fragile being, that is why you should protect them.

so Imagine the horror on Morax face once he have seen you, in the midst of the burning remote village, a bloody child in your hand, grabbing it on the neck as you held it up within your level, a smile on your face which become even more bright one you have seen him when it pained him even more than to see you this way. How could he have not notice this? You were always together, how could he have not notice you were slowly losing youself?

"Wha-" His voice cracked as his mind tried to came up hundreds if not thousand of reason why you have come into this conclusion.

"What- why are you doing this?"

"They were planning a rebellion Morax, how could I not let this slide?"

"No... no no no no no no no. My Love, what happened to you?"

"Huh? You're asking strange things Morax." Your eye twich as you drop the child on the ground without care.

"Let me handle this kind of things. There is no need for you to lift up a finger okay? I'll keep you safe so let's go home, okay? Thought I'll have to come back and clean up for the rest of them so their is nothing to harm you."

Imagine the moment you tried to walk towards him, you stopped at the way his iconic weapon, a pole arm appeared. Then a smile makes it's way on your lips as you clasp your bloody hand together.

"Oh Morax! I appreciate you trying to help but there is in no need of that-?"

Imagine the look of confusion in your face. The way his weapon was pointed at you, you tilt your head to the side, a look of confusion and hurt could be seen in your face. And then there was anger.

"I am doing this for YOU whaT GIVES YOU THE NERVE TO POINT YOUR WEAPON AT ME?" You screamed at him, sending glares on his way as he looks at you emotionless. As if all emotion of him were turned off.

"Doing this for me? Do you think that was enough reason to do this? To cause this?"

"They were trying to revolt against you! They were trying to kill you! Do you think I want this?! I kept having visions! I kept hearing voices! And every single damnn time they were trying to kill you! And you died! Living me alone! I could not handle that! So before everything of that come true, I'll kill them. I'll fucking get rid of them. So don't be mad at me okay? I'm doing this for you, for us." You smile sweetly at him.

Imagine Morax having a mental breakdown at those very moment. The way he was tightly holding his pole arm as you approached him with a sweet smile on your face and damn. How lovely you were in the midst of the burning town and the countless lives taken away by your very own hands.

Imagine him, one of the seven archons praying and begging at these very moment. Oh celestia. Not you, god fucking damn. Not you. This was just a dream, none of this was true. But damn, the way he felt someone, another child clinging on his feet, murmuring cries of help. He swallowed back a sob. Oh celestia, what could- what should he do?

Imagine the way his hand shake, the way he took a deep breath before leaving his chaotic mind behind. His hands were still shaking, but he held his firmly up on your direction. The way you start to emits black smoke as well as the cracks on your face says it was already too late to save you. And as much as it pained him, as much as it fucking kills him to kill you. He has to do it.

"So this is it for us?" You spoke across him.

"No one's going to hurt me, Love."

"My vision says different and you know my vision was never wrong." You chuckle as you did not stop coming at him.

"I know what you're thinking. I don't regret it." The more you approach him, the more his heart ached.

"If I am to make choices over and over again, I'll do the same thing. If it means turning thr world outside the down, if it means burning the world for you, I will, Morax."

Imagine the way his amber iris were shaken as you walked right into his weapon that was preventing you from approaching him. The way his weapon easily and smoothly pierced your chest as he held it firmly.

Imagine the way his mouth close and open, looking down to his weapon and onto you. He saw you smiling as you pull away from the blade of the pole arm, stumbling a couple of stepps backwards but still retaining your balance. He knows that smile, fuck. He knows that smile.

"Celestia. Perhaps, I have done things too far." You spoke as you look down at your bloody hand and chest.

Imagine the way Morax hold back a sob, the way his throat burns as he can't seem to find the right words to say to you. And at the very end, he could only lower his weapon as he utter the words he wanted you to know even after all of this.

"You know I love you, right?"

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2023°

: Hi, sorry if this takes too long to make. College seems to drain me out but I'm glad to answer this ask that I have been thinking for quite some time now.

#dark night hero #genshin impact #genshin imagines #ask #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact angst #genshin impact fanfic #genshin angst #angst #genshin zhongli #zhongli angst #genshin impact zhongli #zhongli #morax x reader #genshin impact morax #genshin morax #zhongli x reader

[remiratboi]

TW: CNC, Gun kink, Threat of Death, Fear kink, Gaslighting kink.

MINORS/CISHET DNI

Decided to try some longer form writing. Let me know what you think! If you like it, maybe I’ll write other things 🤷🏼

Contains: BDSM, cnc, fear kink, threat of death, bondage, gaslighting kink, gun kink, handjob, forced orgasm, mind break, ftm sub, NB dom, gender neutral, t4t, little bit of worship kink, praise, degradation, sort of choking

Language used: they, he, him, cunt, pussy, asshole, clit/(t)dick, clit/(t)cock, slut, pathetic, baby, good boy, my pet, partner, (i was specifically vague about the wording around what actions were being done to the clit/(t)cock or dick because then it’s applies to whatever you’d like to imagine or if you are maybe post surgery or using tools, etc.)

“Want to play Russian roulette?” Your partner says smoothly while running their fingertips down your naked back. You’re tied to the bed frame, on your stomach, legs and arms trapped in the harnesses you keep there. You yank your head up and try to look at them behind you. They are standing between your legs now, off the bed, where you can’t see them.

“Russian roulette?” You ask, confused. “Like, the gun game?”

You hear your partner moving around. “Yeah. But sexy.” They reply playfully.

Your throat gets thick at the way their voice sounds. “Oh, so like an empty gun?” You ask, lowering your head back to the pillow

You hear a few clicking noises you can’t place at first. Until the clicking stops after only 5 clicks, and is followed by the sound of a revolver spinning. “No, real Russian roulette” your partner responds and you whip your head back up.

You feel the bed sink slightly. Something cold and metallic presses up against your pussy. You make a choked garble as you instinctively yank on your bindings, and arch your back, trying to get away from the metal pushing into you.

“The only difference,” your partner continues casually, their voice dripping like warm chocolate “is that I’m not holding the gun against your head.”

The gun clicks.

You scream, your body spasming in a frantic, feral attempt to escape. You’re sobbing already, before you realize you’re still alive and unharmed. Your partner is slowly pushing the gun into your now dripping cunt.

“What the fuck!” You shout when you compose yourself a little bit. You pull, HARD on the wrist cuffs and try to get them off.

“What baby?” They purr, the trigger guard pressing into your clit/(t)dick now. The gun bottoms out in you, and they start pulling it back out at the same, agonizingly slow pace.

“Stop! Let me out!” You practically shout, the anger in you boiling now. You can’t believe they would do that, even as a joke. “Right now!” You pause the tugging and look over your shoulder expecting to see them pulling away from you.

They aren’t.

The gun clicks again.

Your vision blacks out for a second. You might have screamed, you don’t know. Your throat is dry and crackling. This time tears aren’t the thing that pulls you back. This time it’s your partner fucking you, hard and fast. With the gun.

A moan rips from your lips before you can stop it. You can hear how wet you are. The gun slides easily in and out of your soaked pussy. The trigger guard slamming into your clit with each downward thrust. The pain and pleasure pushes another moan out of you.

“I don’t think you really want me to let you out.” Your partner teases. They thrust in, extra hard that time. You exhale heavily at the force.

You start to whine back a response when the gun clicks again. And then again.

You repeat a combination of both previous reactions, black passes over your brain for a moment as you scream. The scream devolves into heaving sobs.

“Four” your partner states. Their voice sounding cold now. You open your eyes and realize the lamp that had been on, is now off. The room is pitch black. All you can think about, all you can feel, the only sensation as it takes over your mind is the gun, slamming now, in and out of your drenched, sloppy cunt.

You feel the edge starting to rise up in front of you. That slow pressure deep in the pit of you. You can feel it building. Rising up with each pound in and out. In and out. You’re screaming and crying and begging. Incoherent and desperate. You aren’t sure when you started moaning in between cries, but you are now.

The gun clicks.

You blackout fully this time. Just for one moment. The world stops. A split second later you’re back and your partner is laughing callously.

“Five.” They chuckle. “You slut! You wouldn’t believe how tight you got that time.” They slow down the pumping, but don’t stop. They start doing long slow pulls. All the way out, not even the tip in. Then all the way back in and grinding the trigger guard against your clit.

You’re moaning unabashedly now, tears and drool and snot running down your face, the pillow a mess. “Pl-“ you try to say, “please”

“Please what, baby?” Your partner feigns concern. “Do you want me to stop?” They ask. You whine and squirm in response. You honestly don’t know even know which you are answering with, yes or no.

“I’m not going to stop.” They state, the faked concern turning to cruelty. “I’m going to fuck you, with this loaded gun, until you cum all over it like the pathetic cockslut you are.” They slam the gun in and out two times, punctuating their sentence. Then they stop. You feel the guns weight change as its handle twists in you and the whole thing falls down and out of you onto the bed. The bed shifts. Your partner walks around to look down at you.

You imagine what you must look like. Tear stained, snot and saliva mixed in your hair. You think about how wet and messy your cunt is. How desperate you look. You feel like a pathetic cockslut. You look up at them in the darkness. Your eyes have adjusted apparently. They stand, illuminated by the moonlight from your bedroom window.

Even in this moment. In this terrible, terrifying, embarrassing moment. Even in this moment, they are radiance. You look up at them in awe. You feel a fresh rush of fluids in your already drenched pussy. Your chest tightens in symmetry as their jaw tightens, while they gaze out the window at the moon.

They turn to look back at you and lean down, eye to eye. Their beauty in this moment stuns and frightens you. The light filtering in from the window casts dark shadows at this angle.

“And while you’re cumming on this loaded gun that you begged me to take out of you.” They lean in close. You can feel their breath on your lips. Honey and spice. Sweet and dangerous. You can’t help but melt at their words, degrading as they were.

“I’m going to pull the trigger for number 6” they state. Their eyes locking yours. You try to look away but can’t.

The fear building in you now isn’t a screaming or crying or pleading type thing. It’s a cold, slow, ruthless frost, eating its way through your mind to your very soul. Devouring everything you’ve ever been, your life, your memories. This bone chilling fear.

Your partner chuckles darkly. “What a pretty look in your eyes.” They muse. “Ready?” They tease, cocking an eyebrow.

You squeeze your eyes shut and push your face into the pillow. You push down the desire to react, again. You let the frost burn away that anger. You focus only on one thing.

You can not cum.

No matter what you want, or feel or think, you cannot allow yourself to cum. Don’t think about the gun that’s now slowly starting to move in and out of your desperate cunt. Don’t think about the smooth honey-spice taste of your partners lips. Don’t think about their lips on your clit/(t)cock, or their eyes looking up at you from that position. Don’t think about anything.

Just. Don’t. Cum.

You feel their long, attentive fingers around your clit/(t)dick. The gun is thrusting in and out, quickly but long and deep. They turned the handle so the trigger guard digs into your asshole every time now instead. You honestly don’t mind it that much. The stimulation feels kind of nice there.

Focus

Your partners fingers play you like a well loved instrument. It’s only moments before your can feel the edge building again.

“No, no, nonono, noooooo” you try to beg but the “nos” quickly turn into coos.

“Come on, baby.” Your partner purrs again. “Don’t you want to cum? It would feel so good.” They goad.

“Please.” You whimper. The edge looms over you. The darkness and the gun, the trigger guard and their fingers are all you think about. All you can focus on.

I’m going to die

Is the last thought you have before the wall breaks in front of you and you’re screaming.

“Six.” Your partner growls.

The gun clicks for the 6th time.

You’re cumming and screaming and crying. Your body is writhing on the bed. You can’t feel anything but you can also feel everything. You don’t know what’s real and what isn’t. Your pussy spasms violently as another wave crests over you. Your partners fingers still working your clit/(t)cock. You feel alive. You feel dead.

“Good boy.” You hear and cling to that one spot of reality. It’s your anchor. You heard them. That was real. That was alive. That was living.

Your throat was raw, and another sob ripped through it. “Please.” You said, broken up into heaves. You start feeling real again.

You’re dazed and half conscious as your partner undoes the bindings holding you in place. You curl up into a tight ball. They shuffle around, doing something for a few moments before crawling into the bed next to you. They hum lightly while draping a light, soft blanket over the both of you.

“You did so good for me, baby.” They coo gently. Their arms wrap around you, pulling you tight against their warm body. You barely flinch as they unroll you and push you to face away from them.

A moment later you’re tight against their body, half conscious, your head resting on their right arm, their left draped around you in front of them. They whisper sweet praise in your ear.

“There were never any bullets in the gun?” You ask dreamily.

“No, love.” They respond, nuzzling their face into your neck, giving you soft kisses and nips.

Their left hand makes its way down to your swollen, sore clit/(t)dick. You buck against them, the sensation overwhelming. They bring their right forearm up against your throat, holding you in place.

“Please.” You beg, their grip stopping you from moving more than a few inches. Their fingers dance along with you as you squirm.

“I want to make you feel good.” Their honey-spice breath washing against your ear and cheek. “You were such a good boy and I want to reward my pet when he’s a good boy.”

You can’t help but moan and grind back against his fingers.

Good boy

My pet

Their fingers speed up and soon you’re writhing against their body, their arm still locked around your throat. Your clit/(t)cock throbbing and begging for release.

“Cum for me, my pet.” They say in a way that makes it feel like they are asking for the most beautiful jewel they had ever seen. “Be my good boy.”

And fireworks.

#gun kink #ftm cnc #ftm sex #ftm nsft #ftm switch #ftm ns/fw #nb daddy #nb nsft #nblnb nsft #nblm nsft #t4t nblnb #nb dom #nblm #t4t bottom #t4t nsft #free use nsft #free use cnc #cnc fr33use #fr33use #ftm t4t #gun k!nk #fear kink #fear k!nk #queer bd/sm #queer nsft #t4t ns/fw #t4t sub #t4t kink #cnc k!nk #cnc free use

[kendrene]

Ava rubs sweat out of her eyes with the heel of a hand.

The weather forecast had projected a lovely 25 degrees celsius for the day, but they’ve been walking for what feels like hours, and the breeze from the lake doesn’t reach this deep in the woods. It’s stifling among the trees, and still, and hot as Adriel’s armpit. Ew.

“Where is it that we’re going again?”

“You’ll see.”

Beatrice lobs the reply over one shoulder without breaking step. She’s still somehow keeping to the same ground-eating pace she’d set for them earlier that morning, unfazed by the heat and the gradient of the trail, looking like she could walk on till dusk. Ava wouldn’t put it past her.

“Please…” Her calves are burning, and the muscles in her thighs scream with every step. “Can we not… stop… for a minute?” Forever?

“It’s close by.” Beatrice turns to face her, but continues walking, so that now she’s walking backwards up a forested hill while Ava feels like dying. “I promise.”

“I don’t know if I believe you.” Ava pants, scrambling after her. “You said it wasn’t far at the trailhead, and we’ve been climbing for years.”

“Actually we’ve been on the trail for—” Beatrice tilts her head back, peering at a gap between secular firs and the smear of clear sky there. “— two and a half hours.”

“How do you—” A sudden wind picks up, shaking through the trees, and Ava is blinded by a spear of sunlight. The sun’s position. Of fucking course.

“Do you guys have nun scouts in the OCS or something? Where did you learn that sort of thing?”

“No. And the Girl Scouts. I was… My parents made me join as soon as it was feasible. The names change, but Girl Scouts operate everywhere. They thought it would be an easy way for me to make friends.”

“Made you?” Ava frowns. “That doesn’t sound like fun.”

“It was one of the few things that I liked growing up, actually. It gave me a sense of structure. Direction. Of… family, I guess.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A strange sort of silence falls between them, awkward and quiet and sad. Ava kicks at a loose rock, sends it tumbling into some bushes, and thinks really hard on the best way to break it.

“Hey, Bea?”

“Yeah?”

“Are we there yet?”

Beatrice groans.

*** Their destination, once they get to it, is very disappointing.

“This is it?” Ava meanders to the center of the clearing, gestures. “I expected, I don’t know, something.”

“Like what?”

Bea sets her rucksack on the ground, and starts pulling out equipment.

“I don’t know! An alpine peak? A waterfall? Treasure?”

“Well, we got knives, protein bars and a water bottle. Sorry but—” Bea upends the rucksack, now empty, and shakes it. “No treasure.”

“We got— Wait, are we going to train?”

“Yes.”

“You made me walk two hours out of town to train.”

“Also yes.”

“But we could have done that by the lake!”

Beatrice shakes her head.

“No. Not for what I have in mind today. Having you run on water is a risk we had to take, but this? We can’t chance some tourist walking by.”

Okay. Bea’s making it sound cool. Ava admits she’s intrigued.

“Alrighty then. What are you doing?”

“Well, we know you can phase through stationary objects. I want you to try and see whether you can focus enough to replicate that through a moving one.” Something catches the light in Bea’s hands and when Ava looks down she’s holding a knife.

“Uhm. You want me to try and phase through one of your knives? Edgy.”

“Ah ah.” A flick of the wrist and the knife vanishes behind Bea’s back. Ava claps. She can’t help herself; it always looks like magic. “No, we’re not using live weapons.”

“Then what?” There’s rocks on the ground Beatrice could throw, although between being hit by a rock and stabbed by a knife, Ava’s not sure what she’d pick.

“We’re gonna use these.” Bea holds up what look like several colored sticks, roughly shaped like actual throwing knives. “They’re rubber, so even if they hit you it shouldn’t hurt too much.”

Shouldn’t? Too much?

“Gee, thanks.”

“Come on,” Bea moves to face her. “If you make it by the end of the day, we can have ice cream for dinner.”

“I’ll eat my way through your tips.” Ava grins, the ache of the hike forgotten at the prospect. “I’m so gonna get it first try. Just watch.”

*** She doesn’t get it first try.

Or second.

Or tenth.

“I think we should call it a day.” Beatrice says, after the piece of neon pink rubber has bounced off of Ava’s chest again. The sun is well past its zenith, and the sky has acquired the burnished hue of afternoon. “We can try again later this week.” Ava pouts. “I’ll still get you ice cream, if you’d like.”

“Really?” Ava grabs the water bottle Bea is holding out to her, and drains about half of it in one gulp. “Even if this was a complete failure?”

“It wasn’t. You did dodge a few of the knives.”

True.

They gather up their stuff quickly, shadows stretching blue across the grass, and Ava is scanning the ground for any stray projectiles when Bea calls out.

“Ava!” She yells from the edge of the clearing. “Look sharp.”

Something suspiciously bright flies towards her, hits her squarely on the nose. Hard.

“Ow!”

“Oh God, oh no.” Bea is by her side in a flash, an arm around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry, I thought if I tried catching you by surprise maybe the Halo…”

“My nose.” Ava has both hands cupped around it, and it’s throbbing something fierce. “I think it’s broken.”

“Let me see.” Bea grabs her chin, ever so gently, and with her free hand pulls hers away. “Yeah,” she admits, brows knitting in worry. “It looks broken.” As though to confirm the prognosis, the Halo burns in Ava’s back, sharp and blistering. In the middle of her face, a bone reknits itself, cartilage snaps into place. Ava winces.

“I’m so so sorry.” Bea has let her go, and is pawing through the rucksack for something to clean her face with. “We’re never doing this again. I should have known, it was such a stupid idea. I don’t know why I thought—” She stammers on, so fast that the words pile on top of one another, and Ava has a hard time keeping up.

Ava’s hand bears down on both of Beatrice’s, stilling them. She grins at her through the blood.

“It’s okay.” She scrunches her nose, experimentally. “I’m okay, see? No harm done.”

“But—”

“No buts. It wasn’t a stupid idea. We will take another stab at it, just like you said.”

“Ava.” Beatrice says her name pointedly, voice stuck between fond and exasperated.

“What? That was a really good pun. My sense of humor—”

“—is a cut below the rest.”

“Ouch.” Ava presses a hand to her heart, faux dramatic. “That hurts more than the broken nose.”

“Doubt it.”

Neither of them can stop smiling on the way home.

#warrior nun #avatrice #dren writes #a lil drama with fake knives

[vosh-rakh]

means and ends

author’s note: every character in here, aside from my ocs ku-vastei and llethym, and the made-up amiliah dren, is a canon character in-game, even down to the nameless “npcs”. i did a lot of research for this fic lol. some of them have different positions/roles than they do in game, mostly owing to the passing of time and intervening events, as well as some artistic liberty. i’ve been working on this fic for a long time, and it’s quite a bit longer than my usual work, but i’m very proud of it, and i hope you enjoy it as well!

- - - - -

“I hope you see the problem here, Mistress Darvasa.”

The Adebaal Egg Mine is dimly lit by glowing egg-sacs, which cast a grave light on Ku-vastei’s face. The new master of Tel Branora, Darvasa Vedas, is glad for her flowing robes, and the slight breeze passing through the tunnels, that her quivering before the Archmagister is not visible. An Argonian wearing a slave bracer tends to a nearby kwama worker, pretending not to listen.

“Yes, well, Archmagister, you see…” began Darvasa, “we had purchased them before the ban had gone into effect, so we had thought -”

“Do not lie to me, Darvasa,” whispered Ku-vastei, her voice like the steel in her hand. “I’ve seen the deeds of sale. Besides, the ban on slavery was retroactive. It is also emancipatory.” The nearby Argonian slave perks their head up slightly, unable to hide their curiosity. 

Darvasa is no longer sure she can hide her shaking. “Yes, yes, of course, Archmagister, but we needed workers for the mine, as you well know it is a major source of income for the tower, and not long before Therana’s untimely death somebody freed the slaves who had been working here previously, so we needed -”

“Yes, I know,” says Ku-vastei. She leans back a little and places her free hand on her hip. “I was the one who freed them.”

The enslaved Argonian can’t help but turn their head towards the free Argonian, and completely forgets about the kwama worker. But their attention is stolen again when the worker headbutts them.

Darvasa’s jaw dropped. “Before the ban went into effect?”

“The ban retroactively justifies my actions.”

Darvasa’s eyes close. “What shall I do, then, Archmagister?”

“Either free the slaves, or hire them as hirelings to the House and pay them fairly for their labor. I care not which, but the latter would likely benefit you in the long run.” Darvasa opens her eyes, and can barely see Ku-vastei’s lips move in the darkness; she appears as a scaled statue, leaning on an ancient spear, meting out divine judgment upon the mortals of House Telvanni.

“But…” Darvasa begins, but quickly changes her tune. “Yes, Archmagister, of course. I will hire them to the House.”

“Ensure they are treated as any other member of the House, Darvasa. And if this happens again, know that I will kill you.”

“Yes, Archmagister,” Darvasa says, bowing too low in presumed deference. 

“One more thing,” says Ku-vastei as she turns to leave. “Where did you purchase these slaves?”

Darvasa straightens into a stiff line. “Oh, please don’t make me say,” she begs. “They said they’d kill me if I did.”

“I’ll kill you if you don’t.” The Archmagister swings her spear in a small circle as she turns back, pointing it nonchalantly at Darvasa from a distance. But the physical threat isn’t necessary - the words themselves drip with such authority that the young Mistress can’t help but fear them.

Darvasa bites her lip and nearly collapses from how her legs shake. “Yes…yes, Archmagister. I bought them from…”

-

“Tel Aruhn?” Aryon asks as he and the Archmagister retreat to Tel Uvirith. “That’s impossible. We took care of the market there personally.”

Ku nods, remembering the bloodshed as a vivid red pinpoint in the recent past. “She wouldn’t say anything more.” She wipes ash from her eyes, kicked up from her shuffling through the dunes. “Apparently she had nothing to do with the purchase directly. We’ll have to investigate further.”

“You’ve shown unusual…restraint, in dealing with this so far, Archmagister.” Aryon walks ahead of Ku-vastei, proceeding backwards as he studies her face. His fierce brow furrows over his fire-red eyes. “You haven’t killed anyone yet.”

Ku smiles faintly. “We can’t be a House of murderers forever, Aryon. One of these days we’ll resolve most of our issues peacefully.”

Aryon grins, but there’s a concerned note to his voice when he asks, “Am I speaking to the true Hortator? Ku-vastei, bringer of fire and war?”

“In the times before slavery, Black Marsh operated similarly. War was an import from Resdayn.”

“I’m not sure history supports that claim,” Aryon says, returning to his place alongside Ku-vastei. “War is an integral facet of all cultures.”

“Regardless, perhaps it needn’t be.”

“Ever the idealist, Archmagister.” Aryon pats Ku-vastei on the back, but she doesn’t recoil from the touch. Strange future, she thinks, in which an elf - any elf - can touch my back without losing their hand. 

-

When they arrive at Tel Uvirith, they are greeted by the Erabenimsun scouts who delivered Ku-vastei’s guest. 

“Ilmeni Dren,” says Ku-vastei, bowing her head slightly. She glances at the Erabenimsun, who depart for their camp.

“Archmagister,” replies Ilmeni, who had been examining the fungal walls of the tower. She wipes her hands of the external dirt and turns to curtsy in the Imperial way. “Your reputation precedes you, both as Hortator and Ku-vastei, muthsera.” She says Ku’s name with a curious lilt, not quite the bizarre intonation of an elf attempting to speak Jel, but not quite the natural pronunciation of a born-speaker. It seems to suggest something beyond mere familiarity, but Ku-vastei can’t fathom what.

“As does yours, ‘lighter of the Twin Lamps.’ I hope we can work together to free Telvanni, and hopefully one day all of Morrowind, of the curse of slavery.”

“We’ll see, muthsera,” says Ilmeni, before turning to Aryon. Strange. That same hidden meaning. Oh well, Ku-vastei figures. I’ll discover it eventually. “And you are, muthsera?”

Aryon extends a soft, gloved hand. “Master Aryon of House Telvanni, oftentime companion to Ku-vastei. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Dren.”

“Oh, dispose of the pleasantries, would you?” Ilmeni smiles warmly, taking Aryon’s hand. “Nobody’s called me ‘Lady’ Dren in years. You can just call me Ilmeni.” She flashes a glance at Ku-vastei. “Or beeko, if it suits you.”

“Not so fast,” says Ku-vastei, returning a wry smile as she leans heavily on the Spear of Bitter Mercy. But hearing the Jel word disarms her slightly. She doesn’t feel the need to be quite so reticent around this particular Hlaalu.

“I understand not all is well in House Telvanni,” Ilmeni observes, taking a careful step back to lean against the wall of the tower.

“Yes. Why I’ve summoned you,” Ku says. “Not only has someone purchased slaves, but someone has been selling them, too.”

“Have you any suspects?”

“The buyer has been identified, and dealt with.”

“Dealt with?” Ilmeni narrows her eyes and crosses her arms. When Ku first met her, she wore commoner’s clothes, but she seems to have elected to dress for the occasion of meeting the head of a House, wearing a spotless blue robe.

“She’s still alive, if that’s what you’re asking,” chimes in Aryon before Ku can react. “She’ll be freeing the slaves soon, if she hasn’t already.” Aryon seems to understand the mystery behind Ilmeni’s attitude whereas Ku-vastei does not. She’ll have to ask him about it if they get a spare moment, away from the Hlaalu.

Ilmeni sighs. “And the sellers?”

“Someone in Tel Aruhn,” Ku-vastei grumbles. “The old slavemistress is dead, as are her compatriots. So we’re not sure.”

“Dead?” Ilmeni asks.

“Yes. I killed them.” Suddenly, it dawns on Ku-vastei, and she smiles wickedly wide, her reptilian face almost snarling. “Is that a problem?”

Ilmeni looks down and shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. “That is the way of the Telvanni,” she says, then, under her breath, “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“It is our way,” Ku says, not hearing quite what Ilmeni said but guessing the meaning, “and we’ll be sticking with it, for now. Just think of it like the Tong.”

Ilmeni looks up glumly. “I still don’t approve of the Camonna, no matter how reformed it may be under our new Grandmaster.”

“I meant the Morag,” says Ku-vastei. “I am Grandmaster of that order, after all. I know about honorable killing.”

Ilmeni gasps. “I thought Eno Hlaalu was Grandmaster?”

“Eno retired.”

Ilmeni steps forward. “Do you mean you -”

“No.” Ku raises a hand to stop the Dren’s advance. “He retired.”

“Oh.”

Aryon pinches the bridge of his nose. This is going to be a long day.

-

They teleport into Wolverine Hall’s courtyard with a crack as the air makes way for their presence. Aryon and Ku stomach it well, but Ilmeni wavers for a moment, then politely asks for a bucket. A nearby guard politely obliges. Aryon and Ku politely ignore her retching.

They walk slowly through Sadrith Mora, Ilmeni gawking at the mushroom homes, and at great Tel Naga. Some of the town’s residents give reverent bows to Ku-vastei, while others hide behind doors. As they pass near the Gateway Inn, they overhear an argument coming from the adjacent marketplace:

“I need these potions now!” exclaims a Dunmer, a mainlander from his lack of the coarse Vvardenfell accent. 

Elegal, a Bosmeri trader Ku-vastei recognizes from her time spent in the city, smiles patiently and plants his hands on his table, his shoulders tightly bunched together. “Sera, I simply do not have any. You should have planned ahead.”

“But…I must have this potion! I have to see Master Neloth!” the Dunmer repeats, gesticulating wildly, exasperated.

“You could try the alchemist. Or apothecary. Or healer.” Elegal steps from behind his table and walks around to his irate customer. “I’ll even show you to one of them, if you’re lost.”

The mainlander quickly steps towards Elegal, shouting louder. “They won’t deal with me! Without your damn ‘Hospitality Papers’ that your Thrice-damned ‘Prefect’ won’t give me!”

Elegal smiles thinly. “Perhaps old Angaredhel doesn’t think you worthy of our hospitality,” he says, looking up at the Dunmer.

“You n’wah!” The Dunmer winds up his arm to sock Elegal in the face -

But something catches his wrist. A scaled hand firmly wraps itself around his cuff, keeping him from landing his blow.

“Oh,” he yells, spinning around, “and who is this animal laying hands on me - Oh.” He stops when he sees Ku-vastei, in her robes of Archmagister station, still holding onto his wrist. “Oh, by the Three.” He sways for a moment before his legs give way and he falls to his knees. “Please forgive me, Archmagister, I had no idea - I never meant to cause any trouble, I just needed to…” He stops his pleading, closes his eyes, and awaits his judgment, his hand still caught by Ku-vastei.

But something is gently placed into it, and his fingers pushed to wrap around it. He opens his teary eyes and looks blurrily up at Ku-vastei. “Archmagister?”

“Rising Force potion. Made it myself,” she says. “Apologize to this man, and then go do your business with Neloth.”

The Dunmer swears by every saint he can remember, thanking Ku-vastei and apologizing profusely to Elegal. Then he awkwardly walks away towards Tel Naga.

Aryon smiles, but Ilmeni wrinkles her face. “Not quite the Archmagister - nor Hortator - I’d heard tales of,” she whispers to him.

“She can be a gracious leader when she wants to be,” Aryon replies. “What kind did you expect?”

“I expect,” she said, quickly finishing her thought before Ku-vastei returns, “that we will find out today.”

-

Ku-vastei, Aryon, and Ilmeni pass through the circular gate at the Gateway Inn and proceed to the docks, where they charter a ship to cross the clear blue waters to Tel Aruhn. When they arrive, they are greeted warmly by Magister Endase Avel and a small entourage of her subjects, come to see the Archmagister of House Telvanni.

“Welcome, muthsera!” exclaims Endase, her yellow, red, and golden robes exquisite in the bright sun of the Zafirbel Bay. “It is a pleasure to have you here at Tel Aruhn, Archmagister Ku-vastei.” She spreads her arms wide with entreaty, then reaches out a hand. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

Ku-vastei says nothing, but glowers at the new Magister. Aryon picks up the slack: “We’re here for an inspection, Endase. To ensure that this tower is complying with the ban.”

Endase smiles. “Yes, yes, of course, Aryon. And you are?” She gestures vaguely towards Ilmeni. 

Ilmeni opens her mouth to speak, but she stops after Ku-vastei shakes her head. So she simply says, “An associate of the Archmagister’s.”

Endase tilts her head curiously, but doesn’t prod further. “Very well.” She points in the direction the former site of the slave market. “I shall lead the way. You may inspect the underground, as well. I assure you everything is very above-board here at Tel Aruhn.”

As soon as Endase turns her back, Ilmeni wrinkles her face and leans in to Ku-vastei’s ear. “Don’t trust her. She’s a snake.”

Ku laughs quietly. “How would you know?”

“Plenty of people like that in House Hlaalu. Not hard to spot if you know what to look for.”

-

The inspection is spotless. No signs of slaver activity, not a single bracer to be found. There are even some Argonians and Khajiit in the honest employ of the tower. Ku-vastei seems satisfied. Aryon wears a patient smile throughout. But Ilmeni keeps her arms loosely crossed the entire time.

When all is said and done, Endase asks, “Could I trouble you with tea? You must be dehydrated after your long journey.”

Ku-vastei almost accepts the offer, but a subtle glance from Aryon persuades her not to. “No thank you,” she replies. “I have other business I must attend to here. Privately,” she quickly adds.

“Of course,” says Endase, whose painted face is marred by a slight frown. “Don’t let me keep you.” Then she casts a spell, and flies to her tower. The crowd disperses somewhat.

Ku-vastei turns towards her companions. “Well?”

Aryon says nothing, and turns towards Ilmeni. She shakes her head. “It must be offsite somewhere.” She looks around, as though she’d be able to see a hidden slave market at a glance. “Ask some of the locals. Especially the beastfolk. They might be more open to answering your questions.”

Ku-vastei’s eyes scan the scattering throng. Tel Aruhn is a diverse place, home to many different peoples, but few beyond tower-servants seem to be beastfolk. But she catches a pair of eyes unmoving, making direct eye-contact. Slitted eyes. She begins to push her way through the bodies, making her way to them.

She finds a smiling Khajiit, tiger-striped and -maned, his arms wide open. “Ah, yes, S’Bakha has been expecting you,” he purrs.

“Expecting me?” Ku-vastei does not yet take up his offer of a hug.

“Well, this one knows exactly what you are here for. It is not difficult to guess. S’Bakha was a slave once, you know. S’Bakha worked hard all the time, and for what? Nothing at all. So now that S’Bakha has dropped his bracer, he rests. He lays around and lounges until his belly rumbles, and then he finds a tasty fish to eat out of these bountiful waters. It is good to be lazy, S’Bakha thinks.” 

(These waters are far from bountiful, Ku-vastei mentally notes, being filled with mostly-inedible slaughterfish, but allows the Khajiit to tell his lie as he sees fit.) 

“That is good to hear,” says Ku-vastei when S’Bakha takes a moment to breathe, smiling. “But please get to the point.”

“Of course, Ku-vastei,” S’Bakha grants, dipping into a brief bow. “The point is that while laying around all day, people forget S’Bakha is there. Or they think him asleep. And they speak as if he is not there. Many secrets they speak, and S’Bakha hears them all.”

“And pray tell, what secret do you have for us,” Aryon asks, “and what will it cost us?”

S’Bakha turns to the newly arrived Aryon, and shakes his head furiously. “Wise you are, elf, to question S’Bakha’s motives. But S’Bakha asks nothing in return for his generous offer of help.”

He pauses for a moment, and Ku-vastei is about to prompt him again when he continues, leaning in to whisper: “S’Bakha’s secret for you is this. They are kept and sold at a place they call Nammu along the mainland coast to the west of here. Tell none S’Bakha sent you, or he will surely be killed.”

Ku-vastei rubs her chin in contemplation, her tail swishing leisurely from side to side, brushing against Aryon and Ilmeni’s ankles. “Oh,” she begins after some time, “I don’t think that will be a problem. Because you’re coming with us.”

“Eh?” S’Bakha spits, his fur pricking up and his own tail setting straight. “You know S’Bakha can’t swim like you Argonians, right? Not even like a dark elf. Not very…smooth.”

“Oh, that won’t be an issue,” Ku-vastei says with a wicked smile.

-

S’Bakha had expected she meant they’d be taking a boat. Instead they walk on the water like sainted thaumaturges, and S’Bakha takes each step tenderly, like each one might fall through the taut surface of the sea. But Ku-vastei and Aryon, confident in their spellwork, stride across like it was a well-worn road. Even Ilmeni has played with water-walking potions in her youth, and is accustomed to the feeling. 

S’Bakha begins to wish he’d kept his mouth shut.

They stop at a couple of islands along the way to renew their spells and rest, taking shade against the midday sun under Emperor Parasols. S’Bakha frets with his tail, at times cradling it like a newborn. 

“Worried, S’Bakha?” asks Ku-vastei, watching him intently.

“Yes, actually,” answers S’Bakha. “S’Bakha imagines it is quite difficult to laze about with his guts scattered around him.”

“You’ll be fine. Everyone who might come after you will be taken care of,” Ku-vastei says, while Ilmeni frowns at this phrasing, “before day’s end.” 

“That is,” Ilmeni adds, “assuming you’ve told us the truth.”

Ku-vastei glances wearily at Ilmeni. “I’m sure he has, of course.” Her eyes glide over to meet S’Bakha’s, who shies away from the contact. “Haven’t you, S’Bakha?”

“Of course,” S’Bakha quavers. But he remains silent the rest of the way.

-

They come to the mainland coast just as their most recent spells wear off, and S’Bakha says, “Here.” 

“Here” is a small pool of water, disconnected from the sea, interspersed with large stones breaking the surface. There is a small cliff on the far side, but its face is sheer. There is no apparent entrance.

“S’Bakha,” Ku-vastei says, “What are we looking for?”

“S’Bakha doesn’t know,” he says. “It should be here.”

“Well, it’s not.” Ku grips her spear tightly in her claws.

Ilmeni stands to the side and looks around. “Hm,” she whispers, and she takes a cautious step towards one of the stones in the pool. Her foot lands firmly on its surface, not sinking at all. So she steps towards the next, and the next, until she finds herself at the cliff face. Ku-vastei is busy arguing with S’Bakha, but Aryon notices Ilmeni’s stunts and places a hand on Ku’s shoulder. She spins around on him, nearly poking him with her spear, but he simply points towards Ilmeni, who is now running her hands along the cliff’s surface, searching for something.

“Is there anything there?” Aryon calls out. “Some button perhaps?”

“Not that I can find,” Ilmeni returns. “But it looks like there should be something here.”

“S’Bakha told you so!” the Khajiit exclaims, earning him a scathing glance from Ku-vastei.

“‘Should’ doesn’t mean that there is, Ilmeni,” Ku notes.

“Perhaps there’s some kind of illusion, or enchantment upon the rocks,” Aryon says. “Endase is a skilled enchantress, after all.”

Ku-vastei tilts her head in acknowledgement, and runs her claws in front of her eyes, leaving behind a pale purple glow which slowly dissipates.

When she can see again, plain as day, she sees a door embedded in the rock.

Ku-vastei treads the stepping stones towards the door, meeting Ilmeni there. She tries the doorknob, but can’t find it. “Yes,” she says, “an enchantment. Not an illusion.” She starts to rummage through her bag.

“Do you have a solution for this in there?” Ilmeni asks. 

“Sometimes,” Ku begins, pulling out various items, “a sloppy enchantment can be undone by a spell similar to soul trapping. I’ve done it once or twice to even the odds in battle against troublesome belts and rings.” Finally she retrieves a soul gem, its azure surface almost completely transparent. “Ah. This should do. You may want to step back.”

Ilmeni complies, stepping out towards the edge of the pool. Ku-vastei first taps the soul gem on the surface of the hidden door, mutters something Daedric, then steps back, soul gem raised in the air; it seems like an incredible effort, like the wall is pulling against her arm. Violet flecks suspended in paler light are ripped from the cliff face and absorbed into the soul gem, revealing piece-by-piece the door hidden beneath, until all is laid bare, and the soul gem glows with a milky lilac light.

“Some enchantress this Endase is,” Ku-vastei snickers.

“So shall we take care of this?” Aryon asks, having crossed himself to the other side of the pool by the door.

“S’Bakha is not going in there,” the Khajiit says, waving his hands in negation. “The leader is a battlemage, called Galmis Dren, who is dark in the craft, and -”

“Galmis?” Ilmeni interrupts. “No, you are not ‘taking care of’ my cousin.” She remembers back to when she heard Orvas was killed by the fledgeling Hortator, and remembers how she imagined what it would be like if it had been her father, instead. 

She steps forward to confront Ku-vastei and repeats, “No, you are not killing Galmis, like you did to his father. You can arrest him, like a civilized person.”

“Your ‘cousin’?” Ku-vastei observes with a smug smile. “Does slavery run in the family, then?”

Ilmeni says nothing, holding her ground as she steps towards Ku-vastei again, only inches between their faces.

 “Ah,” says Aryon. “The late Orvas’ eldest son. A high-ranking member of the Camonna Tong, if memory serves.”

“This killing is the way of your people, Ilmeni,” Ku-vastei says, ignoring Aryon and placing a hand between herself and Ilmeni. “He chose his fate.”

Ilmeni stares furiously into Ku-vastei’s eyes for a long time, but finds no relief. So, her eyes wet from the strain of not blinking, she turns her head away.

“Since you two will be staying behind, we’ll need to make sure you’re well protected,” Ku-vastei says, smiling at her easy victory. “Aryon, your Helper will do the trick.”

Aryon nods and extends his right hand. His glove glows yellow for a moment, and then suddenly, in a cloud of xanthous smoke, a trio of atronachs appear, representing each Daedric element. “Protect Ilmeni and S’Bakha, please,” he asks of the three, who each wordlessly bow to the best of their forms’ ability.

“Do not follow us or try to interfere in any way,” Ku-vastei says as she holds the doorknob, glancing at Ilmeni, “or I’ll kill you too.”

“Ku.” Aryon rests a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs it off. “Let’s just get going.”

-

The cavern is dark, dimly lit by the rare sight of a torch ensconced on the stone walls. Ku-vastei takes the lead, Aryon following soon behind. 

Not far down the initial corridor, their footsteps bring attention to them. “Hello?” calls a woman’s voice. “Mistress Endase? Here for your inspection so soon? I thought it wasn’t for another…”

The two delvers reach the bottom of a decline, revealing themselves to the Redguard. She yells something in what Ku vaguely recognizes as Yoku and draws her sword. Ku springs forward, launching herself at her attacker. The Redguard slashes at Ku, but only ends up cutting her robes and clattering against the fine Orcish maille hidden beneath. Her jaw drops in shock at this reckless defense, and Ku uses the opportunity to pierce her throat from between her teeth.

There’s another defender, a Dunmer archer on a raised platform to the right, who seems to have been caught off guard practicing her archery on a stuffed target. She yells something in Yoku, her accent poor even to Ku’s untrained ear, and draws her bow, pointing her arrow at Ku-vastei. But Ku-vastei ducks nimbly to the side and avoids the shot. The Dunmer reaches for another arrow, but can’t find one in her quiver. She runs to the target to retrieve more, but Aryon flings a fireball at her before she makes it halfway there. She stumbles, sways backwards, then falls forward against the practice target.

There’s a bridge from the raised platform that connects to another tunnel on the right, but Ku-vastei is more interested in the tunnel directly ahead of them. “Split up?” she asks Aryon. He nods, and begins climbing the stairs to take on the rightward passage.

Ku-vastei plods forward through the tunnel, quickly meeting another defender. He’s unarmored and armed with only a pitiful dagger, and she’s able to dispatch him with a swift thrust from a distance. She continues on before reaching a massive chamber, with a ceiling so high Ku-vastei can’t see it in the darkness. From the center of a small lake rises a massive pillar, wrapped around with stairs towards a platform near the top. 

“Come and get me,” a voice calls out from the spire, “you n’wah!”

Ku-vastei obliges the request, sprinting to the top of the tower. She’s nearly out of breath when she arrives, and sees a man who can only be Galmis Dren, his face obscured by a Dwemer helm. He’s holding a Khajiit slave by the collar over the edge of the platform. He wags his free finger. “Think long and hard about approaching me, n’wah,” he says, and Ku-vastei can hear the wicked smile calling out from beneath the helmet.

Ku-vastei stops in her tracks for a moment, calculating. 

She marches ahead anyway.

“Bad idea,” Galmis tuts, and lets go of the Khajiit, who falls screaming towards the water below.

Then Ku-vastei runs towards Galmis. He begins to cast some spell, but it misses as Ku-vastei runs past him, and leaps from the ledge into the darkness.

She dives, trying to catch up, but sees the terror on the Khajiit’s face as she plummets and falls beneath the surface of the water. Soon after Ku-vastei breaks the surface herself, and beelines her way to the bottom, where the Khajiit’s slave bracer has weighed her down. She wraps her arms around her frail furry body and starts to kick her way up to the surface.

Once she arrives, she swims over to the platform where she first entered the chamber, and lays the Khajiit on her side, letting her cough up water from her lungs. Finally, the Khajiit finds the energy to speak: “Thank you, muthsera.”

“Are you alright?” asks Ku-vastei.

“Yes, this one will be fine,” she says, before coughing up another bit of water.

Satisfied, Ku-vastei runs back up the tower, but does not find Galmis. She takes the short way back down and swims back to the platform where the Khajiit is. By this time, Aryon has arrived, accompanied by a small gaggle of assorted slaves. 

“Aryon,” she begins, her entire body burning from the running and climbing, “Did you see him leave?”

“No,” Aryon says simply, tending to one of the slaves. “But I could have missed him.”

Then they both look at each other as Ku-vastei says, “Ilmeni.”

They run to the exit of Nammu, the slaves barely able to catch up, the Khajiit who nearly drowned supported by a couple of her fellows. But when they finally get outside, they find S’Bakha, the three atronachs, and Ilmeni, who sits against the cliff face with her hands covering her eyes, unscathed.

“Dammit,” Ku-vastei says. “He must have teleported.”

“Where to?” Ilmeni asks, sounding somewhat relieved as she stands up.

“Wolverine Hall, if he Divine Interventioned. Perhaps Vos if Almsivi.”

“Or,” Aryon notes, “he could have Recalled to a preestablished Mark.”

“We’ll never find him,” Ku-vastei says, banging the butt of her spear on the rock below, startling the slaves. She sighs and scratches her chin. “Did you at least find the key?”

“Yes,” says Aryon. “One of the others had it.” He hands it to Ku-vastei. “I think you should do the honors.”

As Ku-vastei begins to unlock each slave’s bracers, she mentions, “I need to speak with Llethym. He needs to explain why the Camonna Tong are bringing slaves to my House.”

“I suspect I should speak with the Grandmaster as well,” Ilmeni adds.

Aryon nods. “I’ll get in contact with your Mouth, Ku-vastei. He can arrange the meeting.”

-

“Fast” Eddie Theman, Ku-vastei’s Mouth, does indeed arrange an audience with Grandmaster Llethym Hlaarothan of House Hlaalu rather swiftly. After dealing with Endase and getting the tear in her robe mended, Ku-vastei meets him at his office in the Hlaalu Canton of Vivec.

She knocks on the door, and is welcomed in. There are two seats arrayed before a grand desk, behind which sits the Grandmaster. He’s a thin mer, who Ku-vastei knows is capable of a lot of second-story work and assorted illegality, as how else could he have reached his position in the House? Perhaps the Duke Vedam Dren thinks him a noble figure, but even nobles can be deceived. Possibly flattered by Bug Musk, or some enchantment, or simple Illusion magic. None of these are beneath Llethym Hlaarothan’s moral standards.

In House Telvanni, you tend to just kill off anyone who gets in your way. And that suits Ku-vastei just fine.

“Welcome, welcome!” bellows Llethym, startling his other guest, already sitting in one of the seats. She turns to see who has arrived, and -

“Ku-vastei!” Ilmeni Dren shouts, her face wrinkling in displeasure as she turns her head back slightly towards Llethym, but never breaking eye-contact with Ku. “This was supposed to be a private meeting, Grandmaster.”

“Nice to see you, too,” Ku-vastei says, smiling. 

“Well,” says Llethym, smiling sheepishly, “I thought I’d knock two racers out with one stone.”

“I’m ever so glad you took our wishes into consideration,” remarked Ku-vastei.

“Plus,” Llethym adds, “I hear you two aren’t on the best of terms.”

“Says who?” say Ilmeni and Ku as one.

Llethym clasps his fingers over his desk. “I’m not one to reveal sources, of course.”

Curse Eddie, thinks Ku-vastei, and Aryon too.

“Listen,” begs Ilmeni, “I don’t think there will be any sort of ‘reconciliation’ between us. She tried to kill my cousin.”

“Ah. Galmis Dren, of course,” Llethym says, stroking his stubbly goatee, his eyes wandering. “Firstborn of Orvas Dren. And of the late Amiliah Dren. A charming woman,” he says, not elaborating.

“A wicked aunt,” Ilmeni mutters. “And a long dead one too, thank the Three.”

“Listen to you,” notes Ku-vastei, “wishing ill upon the dead.”

“At least I’m not a murderer.”

“You of all people should know what it takes to end slavery. Or were you too soft? What did your ‘Twin Lamps’ ever truly accomplish?”

“Much,” Ilmeni says, rising from her chair. “And it’s enough. Nobody had to die for it.”

“Slaves have had to die for it. And it is never enough, not until every slave is free.” Ku-vastei’s fingers twitch at her sides, tempting magic.

“You would start a war over this, like you did before,” says Ilmeni, her voice rising. “You know the Dres would never give in peacefully. And the Indoril would support their rights. It would be Vvardenfell against the mainland, and you won’t stop until any who oppose you are dead. Even after the terrible losses of the Arnesian War, you would do it all again, just to satisfy your bloodlust.”

Yellow sparks begin to apparate at Ku’s fingertips, her claws wreathed in golden flames. Llethym notices where Ilmeni does not, and says, “Now, now. Let’s be civilized here. Enough quarreling.”

Suddenly, there’s a loud crash on the door behind Ku-vastei. Then another, and a shout. Ku-vastei wisely takes a few steps back. Then another bang, and the door comes flying towards Ku-vastei, who catches it impaled on a summoned spear, catching on its kagouti-wings.

Behind that door is Galmis Dren, eschewing his usual robes for full battle armor, his full helm for his indignant face, and his axe for hands full of furious fire. Ku-vastei slides the door off her bound weapon so that she can see. “You again,” she says with a dramatic sigh. But her eyes are alight, and her entire body taut with energy. She jumps forward to strike, but even her conjured Daedric spear can’t penetrate his dense armor, scraping harmlessly to the side. 

Galmis smirks. “You ruined my entire operation, n’wah,” he says, raising his flaming hands for the assault, “and you killed my father. And now, you die.”

Ku-vastei wishes she’d kept the door. She reaches out a hand with a ward, but she’s never been much good at Alteration. It’s a feeble aegis, and as soon as the blaze hits its violet surface, it begins to show cracks. She pours all of her remaining magicka into the shield, but it’s not enough. It explodes into a thousand scintillating shards, and the force of the blast pushes her back onto the floor, unconscious, sending her spear flying across the room.

Galmis steps forward, standing over Ku’s disarmed form, and prepares to land the coup de grace -

“Wait!” Ilmeni cries, reaching out towards Galmis. But to her surprise, Llethym is already up and standing next to him, placing his hand on Galmis’s Dwemeri pauldron.

“Son,” he says, “that’s enough.”

“Who are you calling son, ‘Grandmaster’?” Galmis tries to wedge a hand between him and Llethym, but seems to struggle in the armor. “I have no father. Not anymore.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Galmis,” says Llethym, his angular face turned unusually soft. “I’m sure you’re aware of the old rumors. That your mother Amiliah wasn’t always faithful to your father.”

“Lies,” Galmis says, still focused intently on Ku-vastei. “Nothing more.”

“They weren’t. You see, long ago, but not long before you were born, I met a charming woman. She didn’t call herself Amiliah Dren, but I knew -”

“Shut up!” Galmis cries. “This isn’t about you.”

“- I knew that she was Orvas Dren’s wife. Our love was brief, yet long enough to -”

Galmis turns towards Llethym’s masterfully paternal visage. “That’s not possible,” he says, his face contorted in rage and grief. “I know who my father is.”

“Did you never wonder why he hated you so? Why he treated you as least among his children, even though you were firstborn?”

Gears turn behind Galmis’s eyes, and his expression softens somewhat. “That’s not…no. I refuse to believe this!”

“Believe it or not,” Llethym says, placing a delicate hand on Galmis’s face, “you are my son. Have you never looked at yourself? How little you favor your ‘father’?”

Ilmeni, so enraptured by the scene playing out before her, notices something minute that few others would have. She notices a gesture behind Llethym’s back, a half-closed hand and then a pointing. Old Hlaalu sign-speak. Her father had taught her as a child. She closes her eyes, contemplating what he was asking her to do. But then she glances at Ku-vastei, lying on the ground unconscious, and knows she has to.

She slowly raises her right hand towards Galmis’s face, and lets loose a gout of bright blue flame.

He screams immediately, pulling back from Llethym and clutching his incinerated face. He starts to cast wildly, blindly, charring the walls and ceiling, but misses Ilmeni and Llethym entirely. His screaming slowly fades into pained croaking as he collapses to the ground, writhing in agony as he chokes on the smoke of his own flesh. Finally, silence falls, and all that remains of his face is a blackened skull, smoldering azure.

Llethym attends to Ku-vastei, helping her to stand as Ilmeni falls to her knees. She feels wetness on her face, and reaches up with her hand to discover her eyes as the source. Llethym explains to a shell-shocked Ku what had just happened, and Ku thanks the two of them for saving her life. But Ilmeni doesn’t reply, staring into the far distance over her shoulder and trying very hard not to look at Galmis.

Llethym approaches her, kneels beside her, and places a hand on her shoulder. “You did the right thing, Ilmeni,” he soothes. “He was going to kill Ku-vastei, and probably you and I, if you didn’t intervene.”

“I didn’t know you knew magic,” Ku-vastei says, keeping her distance.

“My family is blessed by Azura,” Ilmeni says. “Skips a generation. Landed on mine. And his.” She glances towards Galmis, but quickly averts her eyes and looks up at Llethym. “How did you know?”

“I wasn’t lying to Galmis,” Llethym says. “I am the boy’s father. So I know a thing or two about the Drens.”

“Don’t you feel any remorse at all?” she asks, incredulous. “You just had me kill your son.”

“I never knew him as my son,” Llethym says simply. “Why should I have some special attachment to him?”

Ilmeni looks at Ku-vastei, who shrugs. “You’re both the same,” she says, “aren’t you? Or is that kind of callousness just what it takes to lead?”

“In a sense,” Ku answers.

“But we still care for the people we serve,” Llethym adds. “Enough even to kill for them.”

Ilmeni shakes her head, but begins to understand anyway, and wishes she didn’t.

“Ku-vastei,” says Llethym, “if you please. Tell an Ordinator there’s been an incident in my office, and that we have a corpse that needs removing.” Ku-vastei nods and leaves the room. The Grandmaster returns to his seat at his desk, and sips his tea. “Stinks to high-heaven in here.”

#tes #tesblr #oc: ku-vastei #oc: hlaalu llethym hlaarothan #my writing #telvanni #hlaalu #ilmeni dren #master aryon #i doubt any of these other characters have populated tags lol #even those are a crap shoot #morrowind #argonian #dunmer #khajiit

[colderdrafts]

How about the reader teaching the Driders how to kiss?- on the mouth.

*Kiss on the cheek for you* You are an amazing writer and I look forward to more of your writing.

You get a lil cheek kiss back thank u <3

Ooooh that's a neat idea. This got a little away from me (as things tend to do..) Whoops. I wanted to explore how both the spoods would react to a sorta similar experience, and had a lot of fun with how they respond differently. Anyhoo, class in session? I guess? Enjoy!

Tw for suggestive content (as one can imagine)

It's rare for Dren to venture outside the cave for any reason other than to get supplies. But, ever observant, he's taken note of your stir crazy and subtly spending longer and longer outside whenever you go to catch some sunlight.

So he's strapped the basket sheltering his young to his abdomen and gone with you for a little outing, for no other reason than to look at the changing leaves in the forest, some fresh air, and enjoying spending time with you.

You ask him about the surroundings, and he eagerly puts his odd collection of knowledge to good use when indulging you. You can always name and recognize at least three new species of plants whenever he does this. It may not be useful knowledge to you, but it is endearing watching Dren excitedly talk about things, loosening up a little around you.

You enjoy his company underneath the extensive forest canopy, sunlight filtering through the leaves and a brisk, cold wind. You pull you cloak a little closer and step to Dren's side for warmth as you walk, idly chatting along the way.

The peace is broken when the sound of other people speaking reach your senses. Dren stops moving to look for the source, suddenly going quiet again. The path ahead splits, and further away you see another group of common-folk slowly coming toward the path you're currently on.

You glance up at your companion. He stares at the strangers approaching with eyes narrowed, like he's trying to figure out how to diffuse a ticking time bomb. You know he's sensing for a shift of vibrations in the air, considering if he should be on guard or not.

You sigh, knowing his anxiety is already running ragged. You don't want what was supposed to be a fun shared experience triggering his overprotective instincts, but the way his dark lower body changes its stance like prepping for an impact tells you it already has. His paranoia still gets the best of him at times.

"We're just gonna pass them by," you offer quietly, running a hand over the sensitive black hairs on his front leg. He seemingly snaps out of it, and focuses on you instead. "Just like at the marketplace. Easy as pie. Who'd stop us, right?"

Dren nods, calming himself at your words and starts walking again, following your lead. Though you notice he steps a little heavier than usually. Surprising, considering he can be completely soundless if he wants to remain undetected, but it may be for the benefit of the common-folk you're about to cross paths with.

Less incentive to act on surprise if they hear him coming.

And they do, the group practically stops dead in their tracks at your approach, conversations cut short, several eyes staring - a family of five, it seems, three adults and two adolescents. They're a group of some sort of humanoid canines.

You push forward, however. If you stop too, you're admitting it's a standoff. You've learned to play it off casually. Dren stays close enough so you can feel the weight of his presence right behind you.

"Good afternoon," you offer politely as you get closer, an unspoken ask for peace.

"G'afternoon," one of the adults reply, silently agreeing to it.

Most of the group turn to keep on their way, though one of them stops to look you over. Something about their stance makes you glance at them once more.

The spear they carry on their back tells you they're not just any common-folk. The way they carefully watch you puts you a little on edge. Dren notices too, and you can literally feel the dangerous shift in his energy as someone who's clearly a hunter shows just a little too much interest in you.

The family hurries past, waiting further down the road, as Dren calmly steps to your front, one leg blocking you from view. You glance under his abdomen, and the legs carrying his young clutch the side of the basket, as if subtly preparing to tear it from himself. He's readying in case he has to quickly hand them to you.

"Leave us be," Dren says, voice steady and sure, though you note his claws gripping at the ground. "There will be no conflict if you do not make it one."

"I intend not to," the hunter replies cautiously, arms out in a placating gesture. Unarmed. They return their attention to you. "Sentry. Are you alright?"

Dren can't hide a subtle hiss when the hunter addresses you, and you put a hand on his waist to calm him. You frown. Why would a hunter of all people show concern for you?

"I'm fine. Leave us alone," you reply shortly.

The hunter watches you for an uncomfortably long moment, though glances at Dren and wisely decides not to push it. They turn, and go to follow the rest of their group.

You turn as well, silently grabbing Dren's hand to pull him with you.

"Blue moons, they're nasty up close," one of them breathes when they think you're out of earshot.

"Poor thing," another whispers. "They're always completely brainwashed."

You quickly send a rough glare back in their direction, though it seems the group is focusing on moving on, and they don't catch it. You ignore them instead, and gently nudge Dren to keep moving, praying he didn't hear that.

His very stoic silence proves that, unfortunately, he did.

Once you've covered some ground, and sure you're alone again, you gently pull at Dren's arms to make him turn towards you and lean down. He's avoiding your eye and fidgeting.

"Hey, don't listen to them," you assert, gently moving a stray black hair from his face, hand resting on his furred shoulder. "You know they just don't get it, and they're not interested to learn. That's on them."

"But their words are always on us," he growls, uncomfortably stepping in place. He looks at you, sighs, and softly leans into your hands, resting his forehead against yours. "But not to worry, I'm not listening to them. I'm not sad. I'm angry."

"And you have every right to be," you agree, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "They're being extremely rude for no reason. I'm sorry to drag you out here and then this happens of all things. Let's just get back."

You go to pull away, but Dren puts a palm on your face to stop you, staring at you curiously. You peer back, a little confused. His anger has seemingly all but evaporated all of a sudden.

"What was that?" he inquires, chittering quietly.

"What was what?"

He tilts his head at you. "You put your mouth on my face."

Oh. You did, didn't you?

Wait, is this the first time you've kissed him? You didn't even think about it. It just came so naturally in the situation to reassure him, enjoying his proximity, indulging his warmth -

"Shit, dude, I'm so sorry," you realize in horror. If he doesn't even know what a kiss is- "I should have asked -"

"No, no, it's alright," Dren says quickly. He keeps his hand on your chin, not letting you look away. His gaze softens. "Actually - could you do it again?"

You feel a flutter in your stomach. "Again - give you a kiss?"

"If that's what it was, yes," he says, a small smile playing on his lips. "The gesture seems regular to you? If you want, I'd like to try it again."

His vicinity and complete earnestness is not doing wonders for you at the moment. Neither is the direct fixation in his eyes, like he's just daring you to look anywhere else. He's drawing you in again, as effortlessly as ever. You wonder if he even knows he does this.

You swallow a lump in your throat. Does he realize how awkward this is? Perhaps he just doesn't care. Ever patient, he just watches you think things through.

But you do perhaps want to kiss him again. Just to give it a try? It couldn't hurt to show him the ropes, could it?

"Okay - but I'm going to do it a little differently this time, if that's alright?" you ask. "If I do this, I want to do it right."

Dren nods, intrigued. "Go ahead."

Your heart start hammering as you reach the back of his head to slowly guide him to you, leaning in and gently brushing your lips across his. You can feel him tensing a little, fingers ghosting over your neck and chin, unsure where to put them. He's angling himself to better accommodate your movements. Even though you're taking the lead, he's trying his best to be careful.

Christ, has Dren always been this soft and warm? You know he can be, but this is like experiencing him again. You recognize the gentle energy within him calmly reaching for you, and you melt into him in a completely new way.

You can feel something sharp on your lip, his pointed teeth and mandibles brushing across your lips and face as he leans in further, looking for more - but the little stings don't matter. You know for sure that any danger he possesses would never be a danger to you. You carefully move your lips against his, and he copies you, eager to learn this new skill, his warmth completely engulfing you like a soft blanket of trust.

When you finally pull away again he's seemingly breathless, and so are you. You only notice now he's completely curled both his pedipalps and legs around yours, pressing close up against you like a lifeline. A deep, guttural purr escapes him as he stares, obsidian eyes sizing you up like a starved man going for seconds. The sound lights a fire in your stomach, your heart leaping out your throat as your face burns.

"Woah dude, not in front of the kids," you blurt, borderline hoarse.

Dren blinks, the spell officially broken, and bumps his face into your shoulder, howling with laughter.

"No, fuck - ugh," you groan at your own lack of filter for ruining the heated moment. "I'm so sorry," you laugh, holding onto him to hide your face.

Dren pulls you to him and lifts you off the ground effortlessly, losing himself in the moment to hold you close. You steady yourself with arms around his shoulders to keep balanced at the rapid movement.

Dren's laugh settles as he rests his face in the crook of your neck, breathing deeply.

"I've not laughed like this in my life before you came around," he says, softly nudging you. "Please never apologize for that."

"I'll apologize for not handling this well," you argue, running your fingers over the back of his head. "I really think you should be able to enjoy a kiss, especially if it's the first time you're doing it."

Dren pulls back to look at you fondly, supporting your weight with his front legs.

"I did enjoy it. Very much," he chuckles, pressing his face against your cheek. "Perhaps I just need to learn to contain myself, should you ever wish to do this again."

************************************************************************

It's been a quiet day today, taking a break at an idyllic lakeside deep in the forest. Morgan has their mind set on a small town they've never seen and you're prepping to spend the night in this little safe spot underneath the stars before you reach it tomorrow.

You've finished starting a fire and settled back when Morgan suddenly sneaks up behind you, pressing their face against your cheek and chittering. You let out a not so dignified sound at the startle.

"What?" you grumble at them, waving their hair out of your face. "Don't you have a task to do?"

"You should pay more attention to your surroundings," Morgan purrs, eyeing you. "You must be tired. Good thing the pod is all finished and ready for sleeping. I just need you now."

"Don't hold your breath," you mutter, and look up to the canopy above.

Indeed it seems the webbing they've spun to accommodate you both for the night is finished, expertly secured and up high, spreading out over multiple trees. They did all of this this surprisingly quick. The strong, silky strings glint slightly in the dwindling sunlight, looking rather impressive, you reluctantly admit.

Morgan is nothing if not efficient. And so, so eerily quiet when they want to be. You hardly noticed as they worked right above you.

They watch you admire their construction, obviously pleased with themself. You avoid their eyes by looking into the flames in front of you.

"I'll take your deafening silence as approval," Morgan teases. They lie down next to you, flat on their torso, resting their head in their hands, abdomen stretching behind them.

"Also, I found something when moving about. I thought you might like it," they add, holding out a clenched hand to you, something hidden in their palm.

You eye them cautiously, assessing their nonchalant expression and easy smile as they eagerly watch you right back. Gingerly, you put you palm out to accept the offer.

They unfurl their clawed fingers, dropping a small soft object in your hand. It's some sort of flower head with blueish-white petals, stretching almost like small tendrils.

"These are good for insomnia," Morgan explains softly at your confused expression. "You've been having trouble sleeping lately, and they grow a lot around here. If you want, I'll show you how to make use of them."

That's - oddly considerate. Well, in many ways, they are. Your thriving and consequent survival means theirs as well, after all.

Though something in the back of your mind tells you not to let Morgan give you something that'll leave you even more defenseless in your sleep. There's, after all, a very good reason you've not been sleeping well lately. And it might have to do with sharing your sleeping space with an incredibly dangerous predator.

No matter how much their proximity calms you immensely.

As if sensing your train of thought, Morgan leans into your side, resting a head on your shoulder. You can practically feel the anxiety flee your body like it's scared of them.

"Just let me know," they hum at your silence. "I wish you'd just let me help you instead, though. I could lull you to sleep pretty easily."

You lean your head against theirs heavily. "So why haven't you?"

"Because I want you, to want me, to do it," they shrug, absentmindedly running a hand over your arm. "But I understand I can't right now. My sentry doesn't trust me at all. So, for now, let's keep this as a backup if your insomnia gets worse, hm?"

This is honestly surprising. For all their unpleasantness, Morgan at least seems somewhat genuine when it comes to taking care of your health. You can't trust them, but you can at least trust their consistency in being hellbent on keeping you alive. This little gesture is just further proof of that. You sure don't feel like you owe them anything, because you don't. But perhaps you can throw them a bone for this one. If you're stuck together anyway, might as well reward good behavior.

"Thank you," you sigh, absentmindedly pressing a small kiss to the top of their head still resting on your shoulder. They smell faintly of grass and sweat. "I'll keep it in mind."

Morgan slowly pulls away from said shoulder in favor of staring into you, an inch away from your face. You recoil at the startling change as their red eyes zero in on you.

"What was that, sentry?" they ask curiously, lowly, tilting their head. You can feel their breath, their energy fluttering against you.

And it only now occurs to you what you just did without thinking. What possible consequences could it have giving Morgan that type of affection? And after all this work, being so careful to not indulge them. Foolish.

"Nothing," you brush it off quickly, turning to grab a stick to stoke the fire unnecessarily.

Morgan keep hovering close, and you feel their hand curl softly around your shoulder. You don't need to look to know they've got that obnoxiously knowing expression on their face. They get it whenever you try to hide something, your fluster never failing to be extremely amusing to them.

"Nothing? Then why are you so embarrassed?" they tease, nudging your side.

"It was a little kiss," you snark, resisting the urge to glower at them. You don't want to look at that face again. "I think you know that very well."

"Kiss," they repeat, tasting the word and casually trailing their fingers over your neck. You shiver. "I don't think I do. Care to explain it to me? It's very soft. I like it."

Their hands settle over your chin, gently turning you to face their humored staring. You can't tell if they truly don't know, or if they're just enjoying watching you squirm with this. They seem relaxed, and you can feel its infectious energy traveling through you as well. An attempt at reassurance.

They do genuinely seem intrigued, however. And this wouldn't be the first time you've had to explain a certain social etiquette to them. They're well versed in most things from watching others, obviously a fast learner with a keen memory and ability to mimic - but sometimes, certain things like this has just somehow escaped them. A life of pure, cold solitude could do that, supposedly.

But do you really have to explain this to them? They look at you expectantly as if you do.

"Fine," you cave, mentally preparing for the havoc you're about to cause. "Kissing is a way to show affection. You've got a lot a sensitive nerves in the lips, and just pressing them against someone feels nice. I didn't really think about it right now, so you shouldn't either."

Morgan doesn't say anything for a bit, considering your words. Then they simply grasp your chin, briskly lean in, and press their lips against your forehead. They're being careful, analyzing the situation and the best approach like always. Regardless, your breath gets caught in your throat.

You can feel the fangs of their mandibles scraping across your skin, a faint but very stark reminder of the paralyzing venom that runs through them. It makes you freeze in place, gripping at their wrists on instinct, unsure if it's a search for safety or an act of silent plea.

Morgan hums lowly at your reaction, sensing unease and attempting to calm it by gently brushing their hands over your skin, like smoothing out tension. Oddly enough, it works. It always does. You relax a little bit, like any nervousness has just been deftly removed. Reassured, Morgan pulls away again.

"You're right. It does feel nice," they whisper, tilting your head up to meet their eye again, searching your face. "You did it first. So why are you suddenly so agitated?"

There's no point in lying to them point blank like this. The annoying arachnid can all but smell it. "Your fangs," you reply simply.

They blink. Then they chuckle fondly, cupping your chin and brushing a thumb over your cheek. "Sentry, even if I could pierce your skin on accident, nothing would happen without me wanting it to. If anyone gets to feel my venom it will always, always, be because it's on purpose."

You look them in the eye, trying to ignore the subtle way their voice curls around your senses. "And that's why you did it that one time?"

They give you a look like you're being silly and lean in again, forehead against yours, legs curling around your space. "Only on purpose, and when necessary. Unpleasant, but harmless. You know I'd never hurt you."

You hesitate. "Do I?"

"I have been trying to show you," Morgan offers with a sigh. They frown, thinking for a bit. "But if my kind of affection doesn't work, perhaps your kind will? Are there other ways you'd do this?"

You get a mental image of Morgan's lips on yours and your face flushes. You can tell if it's by disgust or need, and the contrast makes you squeamish. You know Morgan has honed in on an idea from the way their smile stretches. Crap.

"There is, isn't there?" they purr.

You just nod an affirmative. You can't even pull back. Do you even want to? There's just the red of their eyes in your mind, and their palms on your cheeks.

Morgan keeps the suffocating closeness, smiling as they lock your focus on them completely. "Show me."

Their face barely an inch from yours, they patiently wait for you to do the rest. They want you to come to them. And you do. You just can't help yourself.

You brush your lips against theirs, careful and soft, their low pleased chittering filling the space. Seems they like it. Encouraged, you lean further into them, drawn by their warmth and reassurance, reaching your hands up to rest against their chest. You can feel them smile through the kiss, and they angle themself to reach you a little better.

You pull back briefly for air, and Morgan follows you, pushing forward and seeking you out again like they're scared you'll vanish if they don't. Something curls around your hips and pulls you closer, you recognize the familiar strong grip of their pedipalps, and their arms slowly wrapping around your torso. Your feet leave the ground as they simply lift you up to meet them better without having to lean down. They lean into you with a contended sigh. Seems they really like this.

"Again," they whisper in your ear, almost sounding giddy. "Let me get it right."

Their lips are on yours again, soft but a little more insisting. As promised their fangs don't pierce your skin, but the prickling impression of danger mixed with the pure endorphin rush from this new sensation you can share with them sends a fire through your system. You can't help but fall back into them, their warmth encompassing both of you in an entirely new intoxicating way. They're a fast learner indeed.

You try to break off for air, and Morgan smiles at you, all fangs and intense staring, their chittering purr almost making your tremble.

"Don't run from me," they hum softly, their breath on your lips. "Trust me."

Their legs settle under you to help support your weight, and you completely relax into them. It's like you're floating. The only thing on your mind is Morgan. They're everywhere around you, against you, within you, pulling at the little connection lodged to your core.

Carefully you poke your tongue out, and perhaps that was a mistake, you're just giving them ideas, but it's just so nice to be in their arms, it always is. They hum, and gently grip the back of your head and push their tongue out against yours in turn. It's warm, so warm, and you just let it in your mouth to explore, messy and experimental. A low growl escapes them at the feeling, and they lean further in, seeking out the taste of you like a moth to a flame.

It seems Morgan doesn't even need the venom to paralyze you. They kiss you like they're prepared to swallow you whole.

#colderwriting #UV #uv oneshot #have some drider kisses #monster x reader #monster romance #x reader #drider x reader #thanks for the prompt! #also to you who sent the other morgan prompt I'm working on it as well <3 it took me a while to figure out how I wanted to do it

[hyperionwitch-art]

Have you ever shared what your TES toons look like in-game?

I have not! I have many, many assorted playthroughs floating around in my 20 year history with TES (oh god) but I seem to either rarely take screenshots of characters orrrr the playthroughs are long gone.

That said, I have been dabbling in a recent re-playthrough of Morrowind to do research for writing Tev/Dren's story (maybe this time I'll actually get to Tribunal lol), so I DO have a screenshot of Tev! Not super exciting, but I DID make a custom face texture for her.

(I guess this is also a good time to mention I made her house as a mod for this playthrough too--here are some screenshots, if that's your thing! :P https://imgur.com/a/gtXVm6u)

#elder scrolls #morrowind #tevrani #gonna throw this in the masterpost because it's got tev and The House #(god the HoL brainrot I really wanted to put house in blue text) #anyway I saw this ask and was like #hmmmm let's see lamsi and anaia's morrowind playthroughs are long gone on my xbox in the early 00s #saynar nelanis and tsabhijira are in skyrim and I don't have it installed rn #and actually I think I did a tev playthrough in skyrim but...same deal #my lamsi oblivion playthrough is on a dead laptop #annnnd I never played as dren! #or evanil or qasna or garluk or bennum or binds-her-neck or morgayne or #but that's like so much more context than anybody needs #so in the tags it goes #ask

[drowsy-fantasy]

Drowsyfantasy’s Year In Review: Writing

Warning - all stories are NSFT unless otherwise indicated!

Starting the year off strong (only the bravest need apply), we have Ovamancy, a kink prompt by our beloved egg mutual, @thalwhore- with our gratitude - published in January. 

February brings A Cure for Nightmares, a gift fic with the Hero of Kvatch bringing a little comfort to Martin Septim. Yes, I do manage to get the name of the game into the body of the text. 

You can clearly see my March obsession with Vannimarco, with several fics being published in quick succession. Despite it being one of my only non-explicit fics, I really feel like Distraction is my favourite. @caliblorn is fully to blame. 

April brought the stand-alone Beach Episode of an ongoing story published on either side of it. Because every story needs a beach episode. Especially one with multiple possible gender options. 

Spring brings crack fic, and this May was no different. Narsis Dren and the Virile Vestige doesn’t have a lot of hits, but it brings a lot of laughs. 

This Is A Story I Once Heard didn’t begin publishing in June, but the latest chapter was published then (and I really have to go back and finish it, since I have the rest of the story already mapped out…) 

With a now-infamous post about swapped-roles AU of Mannimarco and Vanus as its inspiration, A Crownless King was published in July. Thanks, @mannimarcoiscool!

August was a busy month, with not only Elder Scrolls fic, but the first forays into Baldur’s Gate 3 with an alternate scene of the wildly popular Dark Urge character, Dirge. 

What followed in September was nothing short of an obsession. Several more BG3 fics in a wide variety of prompts, the most popular - and strangest - serving to be Acts of Worship, involving the player-character Tav and a 9-foot tall spider. If you know, you know.

October was the final month for publishing in 2023 (barring a sudden desperate need to write in the next week) with the surprise hit Something Close to Steel, starring fan-favourite character Dammon opposite the reader (Tav once more). This one I am DEFINITELY finishing soon - I swear!

Edit: As a bonus series, I'd like to recommend the work @orfeoarte and I did together on TES Summerfest 23. We worked really hard on these, and each chapter has fantastic art he drew and posted on his tumblr!

Some neat statistics, all added in 2023: 

84 subscriptions 

42,377 words

12,580 hits

180 bookmarks

37 comment threads

1,015 kudos

77 user subscriptions 

Thank you all for a thoroughly awesome 2023 and I’ll see you next year!

#year in review #AO3 #fanfiction

[mareenavee]

For the ask game :D

54. What’s your favorite part about the fanfiction writing process?

35. What is one essential thing to remember when writing a villain?

16. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them? ( 👀👀 at this one. No idea how you whip up so many ideas but more power to you LOL may they keep coming)

Hello <3 I haven't actually answered an ASK in forever, but I love these!! AH. Thank you.

54. What’s your favorite part about the fanfiction writing process?

My absolute favorite part is the ability to slightly twist canon and provide readers (and myself) with new takes on ✨weird magic shit.✨ Hehe. I really love when I can read TES like a text (which it kind of is), find a strange detail and absolutely go wild with it. I like writing on the rails for World, too, for the most part, but I'm really enjoying the bits I get to make up, like new pieces of dungeons, or worldbuilding that isn't touched on in the source material. It's a ton of fun.

35. What is one essential thing to remember when writing a villain?

@paraparadigm teaches us this best with Undnar, but the best kinds of villains believe wholeheartedly that what they are doing is the best way to proceed to get to their goals. That they are, without a doubt, wholly correct in their approach because to them, there is no other way. There is such a super fine line between a hero and a villain -- it should be that if you flip perspectives and hop into the villain's head, the HERO of the original story or POV looks like the villain from there. Evil for the sake of evil is hard to get right -- Evil because of really high stakes for that character is also difficult but I find it to be more satisfying to read and to write. :>

16. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?

HEHE <3 I just stunlocked myself and @archangelsunited with the answer. I have 41 WIPS at the moment. BUT to be fair, I am participating in a prompt challenge or two, and more than half come from prompts and are mostly being collected as a crow might collect shiny things.

It's tough to narrow down a favorite 1 new WIP I'd like to talk about...but I can speak on one that's not related to the main fic's universe, and that's The Bitter, Bitter End.

It came up from some brainstorming sessions on Skywind and ultimately we didn't go in this particular direction because of...oof so many reasons...but I still LOVED the concept and, since I do write fanfic, I can twist it even further.

The quote might sound familiar to other Morrowind Fans. It will be a doomed Morrowind where the incarnate dies, but that's background as to why the world is as bleak as it is in that one. The main focus will be a political snakepit and the narrative will center around two slimy POVS: Nevena Ules and Orvas Dren. Or rather. Nevena/Orvas. It will end with what happens with the fact that Dren has linked up with the 6th house and nobody is around to stop the spiral of destruction. This links up super well with the villain question above. How does one build a story around two villainous POVs? I think it'll be a really fun challenge.

#AskMareena #The Bitter Bitter End #Nevena Ules #Orvas Dren #Nevena Ules/Orvas Dren #Ask Game #fanficblr #tes #tesblr #elder scrolls #morrowind #morrowind fic #skywind #skyrim #skyrim fic