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miraakulous-cloud-district · 2 years

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TES summer fest day 8

So for day 8 of @tes-summer-fest, my prompt is: reunion (a sweet reunion with the coolest uncle, getting drunk, pet scribs and embarrassing childhood stories)

It’s been really fun and this experience, along with posting my writing for the first time ever has brought me so much confidence in my writing it’s crazy!

So, this is an excerpt from the first full chapter I’ve ever written from my fic (happens right after ldb arrives in Solstheim, at the beginning of the Dragonborn dlc)

Characters: Ravonna, Lucien, Rumarin, Inigo, Teldryn, Geldis Sadri, and very briefly Miraak

Word count: 1936

Sneak peek: “Oh, now that is a good song!” She quickly gets up from the counter after taking another generous swig. Slight regret makes its presence felt, because now she realizes that drinking so passionately before eating was not the wisest of ideas. She can feel her vision starting to blur from getting up too quickly. She expects to feel the cold floor, along with the awkwardness and shame of falling, but instead, she can feel a firm chest against her face and an arm around her waist, holding her in place. She quickly looks at her mug. Still intact, thank the Gods. But seeing her companions at the table, all looking at her with confusion and slight amusement, she realizes that the man is not, in fact, one of them. Her face starts to burn with embarrassment. She refuses to look up at him for a moment.

“Guys! Are you ok?”

***

The tavern is friendly. Ravonna is greeted with the smell of Sujamma, smoke and freshly baked braided bread. The sound of a lute and a drum, dancing with each other beautifully, completing each other, fills the room. She feels the eyes of the townsfolk on her as she goes down the steps and into the main area. She spots Lucien and Inigo at a table and starts walking towards them. The concern in their looks disappears entirely as she and Rumarin make their way there. Lucien gets up, and starts to walk towards them, almost tripping.

“Yeah. Told you.” Ravonna says and she goes straight to the bar.

“Welcome to the Retching Netch Cornerclub, home of the finest sujamma that will ever grace your lips." Says the man behind the counter.

“Just what I wanted to hear! Pour me one in the biggest mug you’ve got!” Ravonna feels her cheeks starting to hurt from smiling so much. She all but buries her face in that mug, realizing how thirsty she’d been. She allows herself to relax for a moment, closing her eyes and taking it all in. They’re in Solstheim. They’re safe. They’re in a tavern, a dunmer tavern. And it’s wonderful. All the good memories of hearing and telling tales, singing songs, cooking, drinking, coming home, they all come to her at once. Coming home. Blacklight. It wasn’t even home. Home is here. Home is everywhere she goes as long as she has peace of mind and her companions. Her dear companions, who have apparently relaxed as well. She can hear them. Lucien is talking with conviction about how the dunmer are making their sujamma, and he’s surprisingly very on point. He nailed the process down to the finest details. She can hear Rumarin cracking jokes in his sarcastic-but-affectionate tone. She can hear Inigo humming slowly to the melody that the bards are singing. The bards. The melody. The melody!! They’re singing the Red Mountain drinking song!

“Oh, now that is a good song!” She quickly gets up from the counter after taking another generous swig. Slight regret makes its presence felt, because now she realizes that drinking so passionately before eating was not the wisest of ideas. She can feel her vision starting to blur from getting up too quickly. She expects to feel the cold floor, along with the awkwardness and shame of falling, but instead, she can feel a firm chest against her face and an arm around her waist, holding her in place. She quickly looks at her mug. Still intact, thank the Gods. But seeing her companions at the table, all looking at her with confusion and slight amusement, she realizes that the man is not, in fact, one of them. Her face starts to burn with embarrassment. She refuses to look up at him for a moment.

“Well, I’ll be damned, miss. Haven’t seen this much excitement in this tavern before!” his voice rasp and weirdly melodious, with lots of inflections. He laughs, a loud, genuine laugh. And that’s when it hits her. Her eyes open wide as she freezes for a moment, taking this all in. It can’t possibly be him. Maybe she’s just too wishful, never losing her hope that he might be alive and that she would see him again one day. Small tears start forming at the corners of her eyes. Before she knows it, her other hand - the one that isn’t gripping tight on the Sujamma mug – is holding on to him for dear life, hugging him. ‘Please, be him', she thinks. There was only one way to find out.

“Everything alright, miss?” he says, and still, she can’t bring herself to look at him. Afraid that it’s just her sick imagination.

“Teldryn?” is all that she can say.

“How do you know-”

And that’s all the confirmation she needs to look up.

“By Azura! Ravonna?”

“Hi.” She says, her voice barely a whisper as a few tears fall down her cheeks.

“Gods, I thought you were...” he can’t even continue the sentence. Right now, he’s too busy hugging and squeezing the life out of her.

“Not yet” she laughs and hugs him just as tightly.

“Oh, how much you’ve grown” he says, breaking the hug to look at her. “Look at you! A beautiful, strong nord woman indeed, just as I predicted.” He laughs again, and he is a bit surprised by the excitement in her eyes. She looks tired, yes, but that may also be the black and red makeup combination that she wears almost all the time.

“Thank you. I missed you so much!”

“Likewise. How have you been?”

“Busy.” She pauses for a second, not knowing where to even start.

“Well, we have all night.” He said with a soft smile.

“Everything all right?” Lucien asks, as if he knew this was his cue.

“Yes! Everything’s great. Lucien, this is Teldryn. “You must meet my companions.” She says, getting excited once again.

“Oh! So you know each other.”

“Oh, you have no idea! I know this one ever since she was but a baby. Loudest damned baby I’ve ever seen. But, she was as loud as she was adorable.”

“Teldryn’s my dad’s brother.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, sir!” he says, shaking his hand. Fascinated and excited to finally meet someone from Ravonna’s past.

“No need to call me sir, boy!” he says, fondly looking at this thin, short, and eager young man.

“Sorry, sir -I mean Teldryn!”

“I like him” he says, turning to Ravonna.

“I’m quite fond of him, too. He’s been with me the longest. Come on, let’s meet the others.”

He instantly knows what kind of a person Lucien is. Teldryn has always been good at reading people. And this gentle, kind looking fellow? He’s absolutely perfect to be in Ravonna’s crew. He knows Lucien has been there for her in her hardest moments, calming her down and reminding her not to be too harsh on herself. He can see it in the way they look at each other that they’ve both seen the other at their worst and at their best. He knows Ravonna would protect him at all costs, and he knows Lucien would do anything to keep Ravonna calm and never let her vengeful side get the best of her. This little guy is the heart and soul of the company.

By the time he got to the table, Rumarin had already dragged a chair for him. And then they drank, ate, and drank some more. They talked so much that Teldryn stopped feeling like a stranger to them. It was getting especially interesting when he started telling them all about Ravonna’s embarrassing, but funny past. It was all so good, that Ravonna starts to feel a bit guilty. She is the dragonborn, for Gods’ sake! Bound by destiny to save everyone from the World-Eater. And now there’s this mysterious Miraak guy who controls the minds of the people on Solstheim and wants her dead. He started a cult and hunted her down, in fact, cultists could come in at any moment and attack. And despite all this, she is having the time of her life, drinking her 6th Sujamma bottle and reminiscing about how she conjured her first flame atronach and managed to burn a whole ash yam garden, and then she used illusion spells to make it seem like nothing happened.

“What?! I can’t believe that worked.” Says Rumarin, impressed.

“It did, for about two days. The lady thought the whole city was haunted when she tried to pick up the ghost-ash yams!”

“I still cannot believe you did that. Although it wasn’t the most righteous thing to do, I was so damned proud. That – that was the moment I knew you had become a better mage than I.” Teldryn says.

“What was I supposed to do? You know Unille is crazy! If she found out it was me, she would have... I don’t know turned me into a scrib or something.”

“Riiight...except she didn’t do any magic.”

“She would have paid some wizard to do it. I just know it.”

“Speaking of scribs...” Teldryn says, a very amused tone in his voice tells Ravonna all she needs to know.

“No! Absolutely not. You’re not telling them the story with the scrib!”

“What story?”

“I wanna hear the one with the scrib!”

“This is about to get interesting!”

Ravonna frowns at her companions, who have never been more excited. It’s like they thrive off of her embarrassment, but they think it’s so endearing, and she kind of knows that. So she just settles for an eyeroll and orders another round of Sujamma.

“She was about 18 at the time. And for some reason, she was still afraid of scribs!” Teldryn said with laughter bubbling up in his throat.

“It wasn't fear, they are disgusting!”

“Anyway, she had gone to take a shower, and met a very nice-looking scrib out there, if you ask me. He was a big boy.”

“He had NO PLACE in the women's washroom!” she said, defensive, but smiling nonetheless and her companions started laughing.

“Fair enough. So she screams her lungs out, takes the entire shower curtain with her to cover herself and comes in running and splashing water from her hair everywhere. Safe to say that every client was startled. Some amused, others terrified. She all but climbed on her father, urging him to go and deal with it. Even though she was becoming a pretty powerful mage, if you ask me.”

“I didn't wish to kill him. He was disgusting, yes, but that doesn't mean he deserved to die.”

“And it's a good thing she didn't kill him. As it turns out, he was some mercenary's pet. Apparently, they are very loving animals!”

“Who the fuck keeps a scrib as a fucking pet? I tell you, it’s just this guy and he even gave him a name! I can’t even bring myself to say his name…”

“Well I don’t give a fuck. His name was Mikael, if I recall correctly.”

“Fucking Mikael! Ravonna says full of spite.”

“Wait the scrib had a name?” asks Lucien, wondering how has he never thought about scribs as pets before.

“Yeah! I remember the scrib, but I sure as Oblivion don't remember the mercenary!” Ravonna says as everyone laughs.

Hours pass, but it feels like mere minutes, and they all know they have to get to bed. Teldryn’s been told about the whole situation, and he still can’t believe that Ravonna is the Dragonborn. Pride mixed with worry fills up his soul, but her whole attitude about it puts him at ease. Oh, she’s always had this way of going through life, never taking it too seriously and straight up refusing to think too much about things. For this, he’s always admired her. So he goes back to his usual room hopeful. Her words still resonating: ‘I just have this feeling that everything will be fine. We’ll deal with it.’

Ravonna feels her head spinning as she drops down on her bed, giggling. Yep, Netch leather beds. Feels like childhood. As she shifts under the covers and blows out the burning candle on the nightstand, she feels her heavy eyelids closing. It’s been a day, lots of emotions and a bit too much Sujamma, maybe. Falling asleep should be as easy as saying ‘Miraak’, right?

Right. But unfortunately, just as she falls asleep, she can hear it. His voice, loud and deep in her head.

“Here in my shrine

Here in my temple…”

#tesfest22 #writing #solstheim #my writing #my oc #oc: ravonna #lucien flavius #inigo #rumarin #miraak #teldryn sero #prompt: reunion #dragonborn dlc #skyrim #if anyone gets the what we do in the shadows reference just know that you are the coolest person ever

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argisthebulwark · 1 month

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Nothing Left For Me, I Am Pleading

summary: The fallout after you learn he's cheated on you. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Vilkas, Miraak, Farkas, Brynjolf, Cicero warnings: angsty hurt/no comfort. cheating in an established relationship. swearing. reference to sexual acts, nothing explicit. masterlist

Vilkas' fingers are uncharacteristically chilly when they grab your arm. Your stomach churns at the contact - mere hours had passed since they'd touched someone else. "Don't go." You see every muscle in his body tense - does he anticipate you lashing out at him? Your anger is far too cold for that, a detached hatred that drowns out any love you've felt for him. "Give me one good reason to stay." You sniff, glaring up at the man you've loved so deeply that it hurt. Your heart is shredding in your chest but you refuse to show him. After last night, he does not deserve to see you hurt. You will grant him no opportunity to comfort you. "I thought of you the whole time." "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" You seethe, wrenching your arm from his grasp. "How kind of you to remember me while fucking some stranger at the tavern." "Please." His voice is caught in his throat when he steps closer, hand still reaching uselessly toward you. "I - we just lost Kodlak. He's the closest thing I've ever had to a parent and I felt so fucking lost. I didn't know what to do with myself." His nose wrinkles and you know he's fighting back tears. Strangely, you feel no urge to comfort him - all you want is to escape this damned room. "I was there." You curse your voice for wobbling. "Farkas was there. Our friends were right there - we were all there grieving Kodlak. Together." "I know." He mumbles, sucking in a shaky breath. "I should have talked to you - I don't know why I did that. Nothing makes sense." "You should talk to someone, maybe your brother." You press your lips into a tight line, clamping down the sob tearing at your throat. "I hope you can figure things out, Vilkas." You do hope that he can figure things out. Grief is messy but when you turn away from him, there's a sense of finality to it. You clench your fists to stop their shaking and before you can take that first step away from Vilkas, his voice stops you dead in your tracks. "Can we try again someday?" His voice is so defeated, as if he already knows your answer. Why did he bother asking? "I know that Kodlak meant a lot to you." You squeeze your eyes shut against those damned tears. "But I can never forgive this." "I understand." Vilkas sniffs and you're glad you turned away. The sight of him crying could break you. "I'll always love you, though." You can't think of a response that doesn't break your heart.

"It meant nothing, Mal Dov." You smack away Miraak's hand - you know he wants to caress your face, to calm your nerves as he has so many times before. You can hardly think past her fucking voice ringing through your head. "After that, my hopes of being named High Priestess don't seem so far-fetched. Our lord truly is blessed, isn't he? Well, I suppose you know that better than anyone." She'd bumped into you like it was a silly little mistake, dragon mask pulled aside to display the messy state of her lipstick. The thought of what she'd done for Miraak - the thought of him with anyone else, it makes you sick. "Nothing?" You spit the word back at him. You hate that look on his face, the tears gathering in his eyes. He has the audacity to make you feel like the hurtful one. "In my time, it was quite common to maintain a concubine -" "Oh, fuck you!" Angry tears spill down your cheeks, that hot ball of rage fueled with every word that passes his lips. "You would burn Tamriel if another man dared to kiss me, yet you expect me to be alright with some priestess getting on her knees for you?" "My beloved, please allow me to explain." Miraak reaches for you once more, an offer that feels so loaded. You know that if you take his hand he will whisper sweet apologies in your ear and promises that he will spend the rest of his unnatural life with you. He will tell you that a passing moment with a priestess means nothing compared to an eternity at your side. "No." You reject, gulping past the knot in your throat. Drying your tears you turn, hands shaking when they clench at your sides. "No explanation will undo your actions."

Sunlight bursts over the horizon, bright and cheerful. Farkas' snores echo across the hall as your weary eyes wander toward the window to watch. Your throat is raw from swallowing those ugly sobs and your cheeks are stained with war paint and tears. Clutching your knees to your chest you wait, stuffed into the same chair you've been seated in for hours. When the doors creak open your heart leaps into your throat. You've practiced the speech over and over, memorizing the words and praying that you won't stumble but it's all gone when you see her. The woman is half dressed when she scurries through Jorrvaskr, offering you a kind smile when she spots you. "Sorry if we kept you up." Her voice holds no malice - you're certain that she's interpreted you as a disgruntled housemate. "Can you point me toward the exit?" Your voice ceases to function, merely pointing her toward the front doors. Uncertain of how much time passes you remain there, knees tucked to your chest scrambling for the words you'd planned out so carefully. "Gods, it's bright." Farkas' rich voice causes a fresh wave of tears. Through blurry vision you watch him emerge from the living quarters, one hand shading his eyes from the sun. "My love - what day is it? I thought you weren't back until Middas?" "The assignment was easy." You gulp, hating the way he kneels right in front of you. His thumb traces through the mess of war paint on your face and you suck in a deep breath. "Everyone acted so strange when I returned. I thought perhaps it was because I was a bit early - they were all fairly drunk." "We drank far too much last." Farkas moans, still scrubbing at your cheek. "I can hardly remember anything past dinner." "When Aela tried to stop me from going to bed I knew something was wrong." "My beloved -" "I saw you." You sob, shoving at his bare chest when he attempts to hold you. Your heart is cracking deep in your chest, fat tears spilling down your cheeks but you can't let him piece you back together. "I heard you, Farkas -" "It was a drunken mistake. Please," rough hands cup your face but you're shaking your head. You can't see him through the tears but you know he's crying too. "Please don't leave me." "I can't stop seeing it." You hiccup, curling deeper into the chair. "I can't even look at you."

"I would have raised him better than that." Karliah's hand pats your shoulder. "The Brynjolf I knew would never do that." "He did." Your voice sounds scratchy and far away. Whether it's from rage or the alcohol you aren't certain. You're lying flat on the bar, Vekel's infinite patience saving you from the floor as the world tilts and dips around you. "I have some friends in the Brotherhood." Delvin pipes up from somewhere far away. You aren't sure if you're laughing or sobbing at his comment, noises and tears slipping out of you. "Want me to kill 'im?" "I could kill him for you." Vex offers and you bury your head in your arms. You feel sick - you'd hoped that too many drinks would rid that image from your brain but it persists. His lips on her skin, her fingers in his hair, the sound of her sighing his name. "There you are." His voice still sends shivers down your spine. You bury your face in your arms, mind still stuck on the way his hand wrapped around someone else's waist. "I've been lookin' for you -" "To what?" Vex snaps. "Looking to do some more damage?" "Love, gimme a chance." "Get away from me." "C'mon, I know it was fucked up but we were together for years. I told her I'm with you, that we had to stop before things went too far -" "I said get away from me." You whirl toward him, the world spinning and your stomach flipping dangerously with the motion. Warm hands are there to steady you, Brynjolf's familiar scent filling your nostrils as your bleary eyes struggle to focus on him. "Talk to me, love. Just for a bit, yeah?" "We are done." You stare up at him, hating the way his eyes still make your heart flutter. "I'm taking some time off -" "Don't say that. Think of the Guild - we need you, I need you." "You should've thought of the fucking Guild!" You sob, hands smacking against his chest. "You should've thought about me! You don't get to do this, you don't get to make this my fault." "I know sweetheart, trust me I know it's my fault." "You should probably leave for now, Bryn." Karliah taps his shoulder when you devolve into a mess of sobs. His hands slip from your face and gods help you, after everything you hate to feel it. "Give it time." "I'll be here, love. Whenever you're ready I'll be here waitin' for you."

"I'm sorry." Cicero snivels, falling into your lap. "Cicero's so sorry, Listener - please don't leave me, don't leave your awful Keeper." The indecision is paralyzing; so badly you want to comfort him, to comb through the mess of his hair and wipe at his face until he's calmed down but you cannot. You can't stop thinking about the dreamy look on his face after someone else's lips touched his. "Please, Listener." He gasps, fingers screwed up in the front of your armor. You can't bring yourself to rebuff him but do not have the capacity to soothe him. "Please, Cicero is so sorry - they were helping with Mother's rituals and so kind to me, so sweet helping with prayers and honeyed words." He hiccups, a sob breaking up his explanations. You want nothing more than to forgive him, to wipe at his tears and tell your beloved that everything will be alright, but find those words too difficult. "Was I not enough?" Your voice breaks, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. The flood of emotions is too much all at once when Cicero buries his face in your shoulder. God it hurts - you've known hurt but nothing like this, betrayal that cuts down to the bone. "You're everything!" He howls, both your bodies shaking with the weight of his sobs. "Terrible, awful Keeper - I don't deserve that title, the Listener deserves someone much better." "Calm down." You urge, unable to resist rubbing a hand down his back. The sensation of his body curling into yours is so familiar but there is no warmth, no love in the way he clings to you - only guilt. His voice is torn as he mumbles your title over and over, apologies mingled in as he professes his guilt. "Love you, Listener. Love you, love you, love you..." he trails off, wet kisses placed along your throat. "Silly Cicero made a horrible mistake but oh, how I love you." "You know I love you." You choke on the words, shocked at how hard it is to say. You do love Cicero, you always will. "But my beloved -" "Don't, Listener - please, your Keeper begs you." He sniffles, breaths finally evening out. "Don't leave poor Cicero. Anything, I'll do anything, just don't leave." "I don't think we can get past this." His arms tighten around your middle, tears streaming down your face as the raw pain pounds through your body with each beat of your wretched heart. "You know I love you, my Cicero, but I don't think there is any mending this." You sit there, clutching Cicero to your chest and crying until your lungs threaten to give out. You are both painfully aware that as soon as you let each other go that is the end. When he slides from your lap he will no longer be your Cicero, you will simply be two Brotherhood members who cannot look each other in the eyes. So you hold him, allowing him to cry into your armor and shedding endless tears over the love you've both lost.

#writing #skyrim x reader #x reader fanfic #angst #vilkas #miraak #farkas #brynjolf #cicero

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bougainvillea-and-saltwater · 4 months

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WIP Wednesday! (insert meme: it's been 84 years...)

Hello! I think I've neglected these beautiful WIP tag games as of late, so I took the chance, after being tagged by the lovelies @bostoniangirl21 and @miraakulous-cloud-district (thank you both so much!🧡), to share a bit of CH20 of The Priest and the Dragoness (I'm seriously thinking of changing the title of my fic, so if someone wants to give me their opinion about this Cursed Thought™, I'll gladly take it!). Also, the beloved @miraakulous-cloud-district had the idea of making this WIP combo with a picrew of ocs! I'm so excited to share! 😍

Tonight, in that dream, she does not see the precious faces of her dear mother and father she always recognized even if she never knew them or touched them or kissed them in the waking world, nor does she hear the rough but heartwarming voice of her wise old wolf, Kodlak Whitemane. She does not dream of Vilkas and Farkas’ affectionate fraternal teasing, the tender motherly sternness of Aela, nor does she blend her youthful voice with Whiterun’s liveliness during the New Life Festival, in its songs, dances, feasts, in Magnus’ slow return to Nirn. She sees neither the darkness, the shackles, the rot of Northwatch Keep, nor even senses Caranthir’s breath chilling the back of her neck. Sometimes, Jia dreams of herself as a dragon. She falls to her weak, human knees, weeps and screams without voice, only to feel her spine crack lengthwise and then split in half like the shell of an egg, as the acrid stench of seething, ripped-out flesh engulfs her like a firestorm, dominates her from head to toe. And then, she sees her two blood-leaking wings spreading through her shadow, and she takes flight, and she brings debris and death. But tonight, in that dream, she is not a fire-breathing, blood-raining wyrm. In that dream, she is a bird, a swallow, and behind her soft, feathery wings, she knows a delicate shaft of the warmest, most pristine sunlight dovetails with her close behind, creating technicolor colorings upon her lustrous plumage; and from beneath her small-boned body, she sows springs and summers, meadows and groves, all with a single wingstroke. In that dream, she flies towards a colossal tree. Though suddenly her flight grows swift, erratic, hopeless, so much as one would wonder how a swallow’s flickering little heart can withstand this kind of fear and despair. For this tree that she hunts with time’s passing, is not for nesting and is barren of verdure or fruit in spite of the spring-bearer’s sight; this is an unearthly shade of dark, black wood, of twisting, writhing branches as if they are coming to life, haunted, rotten to the roots and even beyond those, like— Like a hanged man’s tree. “Sleep,” Miraak tells her, when she startles awake, in a whisper drawn out of the loveliest lullaby, as though he is, too, tethered between reality and a dream, his caressing fingers blindly running up and down her back. “It was just a dream.” They are never just dreams, the words her brain pushes to speak aloud, but her eyes close again, and she’s plunging into a vision that she may not remember come morning.

Now for the lovely picrew!

OH but of course I would make not only Jia but her Miraak too, what do you mean... 😇

I'm tagging some people with the hope I'm not bothering them, so absolutely no pressure for this! Still, it'd be wonderful to see your creations, whichever they are! 🥰 @blossom-adventures, @sothas, @prettytamagnii, @illumiera, @kiir-do-faal-rahhe, @thequeenofthewinter, @ruskycreations

#look. i'm in my “hunger games” era #so 'the hanged man's tree' line is a reference to the song “the hanging tree” sung by katniss and lucy gray in their respective movies...👀#miraak #oc: jia #the priest and the dragoness #otp: twin flames #my writing #tesblr

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