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ehlnofay · 29 days

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Pax should have said no.

Damn it all, they should have said no. Should have said go to hell and fucked off back – stop contacting me, sort out your own shit – but they didn’t, fuck knows why, and now they’re stuck here.

(They know why. They know exactly why; absolutely anything would be better than fucking off back to Cyrodiil. What’s for them there?)

But there’s nothing worth staying for here either, and now she’s crammed in between strangers on a long table, everyone dressed in fabrics she’s never seen with dyes so saturated they seem almost gory, eating stuff that isn’t food and talking loud enough to make her want to hurl a glass into the wall. It’s bizarre. The woman next to her, ruddy-faced and bald, wears a headpiece that shines like the sun the Isles doesn’t have; the other side is taken up by a stranger in a bone-white porcelain mask who has not moved but to swill the wine around in their glass. There’s scarcely room for Pax’s chair. It all feels like such a baffling pantomime of aristocracy (she's known the real thing well enough – feasts and toasts and luxurious gifts she had no use for, and if she doesn’t stop thinking about it she actually will throw a glass), bright colours and rich settings and a god taking offerings at the head of the table.

At least, Pax thinks, no-one tries to talk to him; they’re too busy fawning over their lord. Which is probably to be expected; but it all feels so strange, so unsettling, the way they all lean in towards it like flowers turning to face the sun, like seaweed dragged at by the inescapable pull of the tides. They grow towards it through the cracks in the air, matter moving toward the inevitable centre, as if they can imagine nothing more than this.

(Even more unsettling is the way it responds in kind, listening attentively to anyone who speaks to it, leaning in as though to kiss them, as though to swallow them whole. All hell, why did Pax agree to this? Why did they come?)

(They should have told it to fuck off. Should have said no way, I don’t want to help you, don’t want to get involved in anything you’d need my help for. I don’t owe you anything. I don’t need anything from you. I don’t want anything to do with you. I’m done.)

(Pax is done. Pax is sick to death of all this shit; doesn’t want to deal with this, the vaguely described problems of a god that picks people apart like it’s unravelling a thick yarn shawl. Doesn’t want to deal with anything like this. He’s had his fill of gods.)

(Why is he still fucking here? Why did he agree to this? This is no better than eating in that weird fucking inn in town. This is no better than –)

(That’s a lie. It’s a bit better than Cyrodiil. Just as much a shithole, but it pulls the rug out from under him often enough that he doesn’t have time to think too much.)

“Not hungry?” says a prowling voice, coiling catlike into the plaits in their hair, and Pax jumps enough to jostle the masked bastard sitting ramrod straight next to him.

He looks up.

At the empty placemat across from him sits a figure veiled in gossamer, glittering in the glow of the lit-up lichen on the distant throne; the fabric of its endless shawls pulls apart at the ends, peeling away from itself, shedding patches like iridescent insect wings every time it shifts. If Pax squints, they can see through it to the grand marbled wall behind.

She glances back at the chair at the head of the table, where something lounges, eyes dripping gold, intricately carved cane laid across its knees; its too-many fingers are laced with the hand of a man whose gown blooms floral. Flatly, she says, “What the fuck?”

“Aren’t you hungry?” Sheogorath asks, pouting; she can hear it laughing down the other end of the table. “It’s a proper feast. We pulled out all the stops.”

Pax shifts their eyes away to peer down at their plate. “You have served me worms,” she says. She flicks the dish with a fingernail. “In jelly. With flowers.”

“Larva, actually,” Sheogorath replies. It’s still at the other end of the table. It doesn’t seem eager to explain this. When it smiles, the gossamer falls away; its whole face splits in half.

It’s all so fucking stupid. Pax takes a deep breath – in through the nose, ignore all the odd spiced smells, and out – and does not yell at it, or try to hit it, because she’s gotten herself into a situation where that’s not really an option, because she’s a fucking idiot. Why didn’t she just say no?

(She knows why.)

The Mad God’s teeth flash bright as the ornate silver cutlery. Its chair scrapes back from the table. “It melts in your mouth,” it tells her, eyes glittering, “but I won’t make you try it. Walk with me?”

The figure still sits at the head of the table, snatching something from someone’s plate, always, always laughing. Its limbs sprawl like tentacles, like the silken threads of a tapestry, to encompass the whole room. The dinner guests stare as though bewitched, bedevilled, beguiled. Not one of them is looking at Pax. If he were to drop dead with his face in the food his corpse would not be discovered until sunrise.

Pax sniffs and shoves his chair back from the table. He lets Sheogorath (the second Sheogorath – but it must be, what else could it be?) lead him through a narrow door into some winding hallway, the walls lined and rimed with ornate coloured-glass windows. (It’s so much quieter. Still as garishly bright, but Pax is getting the sense that that is inescapable, here; the clothes they wear, as crumpled and covered in travelling-grime as ever and startlingly out of place against the odd jagged finery of the dinner party, seem unimaginably dull in comparison. Everything seems unimaginably dull in comparison.) Outside the windows, they can catch glimpses of the city – its winding, lamp-lit streets, the jumbled mess of its architecture, the sky arcing above it like a child’s attempt at watercolours. Pax wants to smash it, tear it down.

There’s no sun here, but still it’s night. The sky has shifted to purple and black.

“Isn’t it nice?” says their companion; when they look back, it’s nothing more than a shifting impression in the stained-glass window, a series of hairline cracks. It still manages, somehow, to smile at them.

It’s not. The sky is a shadow and the flamboyance of the palace is scraping at their spine. “Sure,” Pax says flatly. When she flexes her fingers, the bruising staining the base knuckle of her thumb aches.

Sheogorath looks at her – an ancient man leaning on a stick, a flickering painting, a bloody corpse, a little girl in velvet-red skirts, a breath. In its mercurial shifting she catches the flowery blossom of the man at the table’s collar, an unpleasant glimpse of her own braided hair, the smell of sulphur. It tips its head. She can’t focus on it anywhere but for the eyes.

“You don’t like my dinner parties,” it announces, as though it’s a revelation, a tragedy; its body crumbles like sea cliffs slowly eroded by the ways. It’s annoying – bloody obnoxious, and incomprehensible, and kind of weird that it noticed, that it would even care. (She’s never liked dinner parties. Nobody ever commented on it before.)

I’ve had well enough of them, Pax could say, or no, I don’t like you, but it’s the fucking Mad God, Daedric Prince of – Pax doesn’t even know what, he’s never known much about this shit, only that it’s well worth avoiding. Prince of the mad and the missing and the foolish, of breaking and breaking and putting yourself back together backwards. She should have said no, but she didn’t, and who knows what would happen if she went back on that now?

It's slinking closer. All that stay static enough to make out are eyes and teeth.

“Pax, yes?” it says, soft-voiced – a hand lands on his arm, small and dry and shivering, the skin as thing as a mouldering leaf. “You have no obligations here. If you want to be on your own, be on your own. We’ve plenty of space for it.”

Pax’s eyes narrow. He does not jerk away from it.

In the light of the coloured sky, the coloured windows, its face is phantasmagorical. “If you don’t want to be here,” it continues – still so skin-pricklingly gentle – “then your hand will not be forced. I’ll speed your way home if you wish.”

They can’t help but twitch at that. It’s setting their teeth on edge. (It’s lying – has to be. After its ages of coaxing them in, meting out information, not telling them where they were until they were on its doorstep, it would not give them the chance to leave.) Rough, still covered in road-grime, Pax asks, “Why should I believe you?”

(None of them have ever given them the chance to leave.)

Sheogorath, a figure of hollow skin and bone, inclines its head. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Pax,” it says. Its eyes are wide and bulging, whites on full display like a frightened horse; it grins again. “Others might. But we’re not a monolith. We’re not even especially similar.”

Pax bites down on the flat edge of their tongue. “That doesn’t mean anything to me.”

The light coming in through the windows flickers. The Mad God turns to meet it.

“I’m the youngest,” it says, its voice glittering like mist on the air. “Did you know that? I don’t remember the world without you in it.” Its form spasms, volatile, wings and limbs and eyes like a snail’s on stalks sprouting and choking and subsiding back into its mass. “I’m closer to you than any. I understand, almost.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Pax repeats. She’s gritting her teeth, tonguing at her gums where two are missing. Are two devil-gods not enough to deal with for a lifetime? Is there really going to be more of this now, too?

Rolling through the air like smoke, the voice says, “It will.”

Pax presses purple-green knuckles to her mouth. Her teeth dig into the soft meat of her lip.

Sheogorath turns to face her, hair moving as though blown by the wind, as though tugged by the tides. It sighs. “You don’t believe me,” it says. Its tongue pokes through its teeth. “That’s perfectly fine. Clever, even. But if you want to leave, all you need to do is tell me so.” It pauses, then; the train of its strange, gnarled crown shifts over its shoulders when it moves its head. “Or just leave. The door is still open.”

“You’d be fine with me just leaving,” Pax rasps around his knuckle, “after weeks of not leaving me alone?”

(Of begging him to come, poorly-hidden agitation giving way to blatant franticness, half-swallowing the fear that choked its face in every mirror it spoke to him through. Of begging him still, after he got here, after he met it – begging in a roundabout manner, casual as anything, its every motion reeking of fear. Its abject terror when he turned to leave. You’ve come this far. Why not hear an old man out? Pax told it that it wasn’t an old man, that he didn’t give a shit either way, and it slid through a child, a monster, a sulphur-burned body coughing blood, his own shuddering form in armour he hasn’t seen in months, and it said please.)

(Regained its composure, its gentleman’s face, immediately afterward. But it – the Mad God, unknowable, inconsolable – said please. Pax still doesn’t know what to do with that.)

The Mad God, now, shrugs. Taps at the hairline cracks in the stained glass windows. “I’d prefer you didn’t,” it says, one pair of hands braiding something intricate into its beard. The hand on the glass slips down. “I told you. I do need a champion.”

“And I told you,” Pax bites, something aching and ugly surging in their gut, “not to call me that again.”

A smile, bloody-mouthed and beaming. “But we will abide,” says Sheogorath, and digs its fingers into the cracks of the stone. One brick slides loose, mortar dug up under its nails. It offers it up.

Pax licks their teeth and takes it.

The brick shivers, momentarily – crumbles, in their hand, like sand slithering through their fingers, and left in their palm is a hardy slip of bone. Spiked and sprawling, carved with intricate patterns; it arranges itself around an oval of empty space, the perfect size for four sharp-knuckled fingers.

“You can always leave,” the Mad God tells them, and for a moment it does look so very young and strangely, staggeringly hopeful. “But give it a chance. I think you could love the Isles, if you choose to.”

#for context - in my version of events sheogorath's recruitment of the HoK is a lot more active #it needs someone who can fulfill the metaphysical niche of the hero. it needs someone experienced enough that they might not even die tryin #and it needs someone desperate enough to take the deal #pax is fifteen years old has alienated everything that maybe could have been a support system and is grieving very badly.#perfect mantling material!!#so sheogorath pursued them very specifically and was very judicious about what they revealed when. which is why pax already has some kind o #relationship with it here - they've interacted before - in that for weeks pax's reflection has been constantly begging them to 'visit'#writing the interactions of these guys is a lot of fun because there is always so much sheogorath is keeping from pax. it is #extremely strategic in how it presents itself #and pax falls for it hook line and sinker. though we can't really blame them #it's hard to outsmart something that's in your head #and at this point pax is pretty much made up of their worst impulses #which sheogorath cannot and does not help with #see: this piece #“I would NEVER make you do something you don't want to do <3 if you'd like to go back to your miserable self-destructive hellscape that's #YOUR CHOICE. but wouldn't it be more fun to be regular destructive here... i made you brass knuckles... 🥺“#im obsessed with them #the elder scrolls #tesblr #tes #my writing #fay writes #oc tag #pax #oblivion #shivering isles #the shivering isles

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crazysnor1ax · 21 days

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TOOK THIS PIC AFTER BATHING THESE FELLAS TODAY AND REALIZED I NEVER SHOWED YOU GUYS UPPY’S BROTHER. Meet Hopskotch!

#went to BaB a while back with a friend wanting to pick a new friend on a whim and I ended up choosing the frog :3 #I understand the hype behind him now-Hopskotch is my frog son and I love him and would die for him #I got him the keroppi outfit too 🥺#him and Uppy are best friends and brothers do NOT separate them #speaklax #uppy #hopskotch #<HE GETS A TAG NOW TOO #plushblr #plushies #build a bear #bab #build a bear frog #werewolf #lycanthrope

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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 8 months

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Comte Drama CD Translations, Track Seven: "To You Who Are So Lovely" - Ending

I'm not a professional yada yada yada, these are just my rough transcriptions of each track in the CD because I need fodder for my simping.

This one reads a bit like a love letter left for MC, it's another sweet one:

…Indeed, the sand in the hourglass has fallen. It appears my day with you is over. (I'M DISTRAUGHT TOO DW BEAUTIFUL) In this way, every moment trickles into another ceaselessly…yes, forever. Even now as I say it, the word “forever” drives a painful wedge in my heart. I often wonder at the essence, the weight that word carries--so often spoken with admiration and yearning by humankind.

I think this is the first time in my life I ever went "philosopher (affectionate)" 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 I could listen to him all day [contented sigh]

I know very well…just how heartbreaking it is. I was shaken by that never-ending, pathless darkness…until you gave me the hope of “now.” A vampire who lives forever, and a woman who lives a finite life, hoping for a better tomorrow. I’m not sure what will become of my love for you that sprouted at the boundary between “forever” and “now.” …But I promise you this. I will never let you go. When I give you eternal love… Let’s spend that time together.

Man the way I act up when I hear fictional man say "I will never let you go" [INSERT LOUD BARKING] it's a promise, Abel 🥺💜

It may turn out to be a bumpy road…but, don’t worry. We’ll take every step of the way hand-in-hand. When I get lost…you’re so kind and strong It makes me sure that if we do ever get lost, we’ll worry about it together, and find answers together. Like a waltz, let’s take each other’s hands…and live together.

Okay all my usual court jester energy aside, I really am so fond of this motif throughout his stories. This idea that being in a relationship is about being there for each other, about promising the other will never be alone. I guess they really just embody what marriage is at its best, for me? Like not necessarily that there's only one way to be married, but that it should be about helping each other and caring about each other? Building a life and sharing that happiness, an enduring love that grows the more two people are together.

Holding hands and dancing, I'm so...

And one day, I’m sure I will… …I’m sure that I’ll turn you into a vampire. At that time, let’s live together forever. From the moment I met you that day, in Paris of the 21st century…it felt like the frozen hands on the clock of my life began to move. I was determined that I would never fall in love with a human again. I was moved by your pure and single-minded thoughts, and I wanted your love. A year later, ten years later, one hundred years of accumulating this “now” I’ve received from you… In the far distant future, I want to see you beside me. I found you in eternity…I love you, and I will dedicate my pureblood life to your fate--

If y'all need me I will be wasting away, ty--

"In the far distant future, I want to see you beside me." I WANT THAT TOO, GORGEOUS

Man the way my brain is just so: the only kind of man I want is one that can go "I wanted your love 🥺👉👈" and "I wanted her blood to run down my mouth." AT THE SAME TIME

It's about the multi-faceted yearning 🤌🏼

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp comte #ikevamp mc #he is the sweetest????? wtf #i swear if i saw a letter like this left for me i would probably actually die of cuteness #the way he's just so '🥺👉👈tg?'#and im just resisting every urge to TACKLE him like 'YES OF COURSE TG FOREVER'#aight but fr comte and mc are def that couple that exchanges love letters unironically #not like every day but once in a while when they're Really Feeling It #am i mushy and ridiculous? probably #but i am cringe and i am free #i cant hear you over the sound of me clutching comte's letter to my chest like some kind of Austen protagonist #okay but why do i see leo being nosy just to get a rise out of him and rooting through comte's drawers #and nearly finds them #but comte grabs him by the scruff of the neck and throws him out #no cigarillos for our boy for a week bad kitty (poor leonardo)#the letters were subsequently concealed in an ornate box he hid in [location censored]#brain: hol'up. no he'd leave all the mushy letters out just to fk with leo but the raunchy ones are def going in the special box #me: my god...psychological warfare...#comte: emotional vulnerability gives him hives; it's equivalent to watching a person with lactose intolerance eat ice cream on purpose #me: KJHLGHJFDSJHFJADHLGDHFJKSGLHJK #honestly idc what mc says watching these two squabble is legit the best full time job out there #comte propaganda #fangdad propaganda #baguettosaurus

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wickedhawtwexler · 5 days

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yeah it's important to create a character who's flawed but likeable, realistic, interesting, dynamic, etc. but the most important part of creating a character is asking yourself: will the people of www.tumblr.com go insane about them?

#one day i'm gonna self-publish my insane sci-fi novel series and y'all are going to go crazy over my main characters. we have:#1. telekinetic middle aged woman who is a menace. she is just so pathetic. her self-loathing is off the charts. i would die for her #2. evil lesbian scientist. she's consumed by ambition and it's so sexy. she & her gf have a bit of a macbeth/lady macbeth thing going on #3. wife guy with no wife. half his personality is just worshipping all the cool interesting female characters he interacts with #there are some really cool side characters too including:#mc 1's unofficially adopted autistic daughter who has one of my favorite arcs in the whole series #3 separate female antagonists who are just. so awful. i love them.#mc 3's work bestie/romantic interest who's seems like a stereotypical pinterest mom but is also a badass fbi agent #a group of underground agents called the crayola gang. all their pseudonyms are colors. crimson maize azure emerald etc.#ugh i just love this story so much. i'm so excited to be writing it again 🥺❤️#i wrote 2500 words yesterday & i'm on track to write about the same today 😤#m.txt

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nmtltlz · 1 month

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“What? I’m agreeing with you!”

#one piece #op nami #one piece usopp #mem doodles :)#i love them sm i think theyre gooby #would you die for me 🥺🥺#LMAO NO

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 2 months

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i am so lost and insane for an angsty idea of navigating poly!stsg where you join their established rl!!!!! i love your poly fics so much and it's given me these bedtime daydreams!!!

the insecurities and doubt and fear and sadness you might feel from never having a bond strong enough between urself and them and the angst and tension it can create because u feel like ur never enough for satosugu oh gosh and the sadness they might feel if you leave or distance urself from them and idk how to verbalize my thoughts but i hope you feel the energy i am trying to show🥺🥺🥺

ANON!!!! I DO!!!!!!! I DO SEE THE VISION!!!!!!!!

wahhhhh this is a common daydream of mine too…….. stsg have such a unique bond and i don’t think you could really replicate it :((( but at the same time i think that for the relationship to work, they’d have to see you as an equal!!!! this is just a pet peeve of mine but i rlly Cannot Stand poly stsg fics where they see reader as being beneath them… first of all they would Never second of all!!! they should all be in love. and they should all respect each other more than anything. it’s just a matter of realizing that you’re special to them in your own way, and that it’s in no way lesser than what they feel for each other!!!! but obviously the road there might be kind of tough…..

and gosh, they would definitely be heartbroken if you distanced yourself from them!!! :((( they just don’t understand what they did wrong and you don’t know how to open up about it…. i think they’d eventually corner you and kinda force you to do so (cue lots of crying and their desperate attempts at soothing you) and after that it’d feel a lot easier. if you’re precious to them then i don’t think there’s anything they wouldn’t do to understand you properly!!! and love you properly. they’re sweethearts and i love them <3333

#they’re both so extremely tender at heart and i’ll die on that hill #can u tell i absolutely hate objectification and degradation in jjk fics …. my beloatheds #the Tropes not the Writers ofc!!#it just sucks that the poly stsg tag is 90% pure smut …. so much of which . includes stsg looking Down on reader or being generally toxic 😭#that’s just been bugging me recently phdkdj. sorry anon!!!! but yeah the hurt/comfort potential here is so appealing to me 🥺#i think they would try soso hard to understand you and hear you out #but on reader’s side they’d have to understand that stsg’s dynamic is very special and not something that can be imitated #the three of you love each other more than anything and that’s enough <333 #but i can see stsg neglecting you on accident and feeling absolutely Awful when you tell them through tears #and after that they do so much better <3 esp after growing older!!! husbands!stsg are the perfect men actually #ALSO ANONNNN tysm for reading my stsg fics 🥺 or. Fic technically. i’ll definitely write more soon!!#ty for sending this in <333 #ask tag ✩

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