#skyrim ldb

[asylumpixie]

My ldb oc

comms artist：achiluu

[nighting-crow]

fuck you, Crow has the tes equivalent to a service dog. It's a husky named Jigsaw

Jigsaw also helps Khash and Gabrielle. And the others if they need it. But Jigsaw is Crow's.

[aspendruid]

Gael the Feeble, devourer of dragons and wearer of stuff that doesn’t really match

my addiction to layers……..

[tracalopsitte]

my first time using moho 🥰 i used an old doodle of my dragonborn as reference! og drawing:

[casimar-andrethi]

Night Terrors.

[Part One.]

"You killed me."

Gnarled, wrinkly hands curl around Cas' throat. The soft flesh has none of the scarring or muscle he'd built up over the years. He's torn between relief that he's back to who he was and horror at the anger in the other's face.

Varen.

No.

"No," Cas manages. "No, I—I didn't. I didn't want to. Please."

"You did. Liar. I should have left you in Molag Bal's prison all those years ago!"

Distantly, he remembers the kind face of the Prophet. His solemn intensity. He'd never treat Cas like this. Right?

History may not remember your sacrifice, but those present here will never forget it. How correct he was.

"No," Cas repeats, more firmly now. "No. Someone had to die that day. I did what I had to do, and that's that! Get out of my head!"

"Ohh, but it was me you chose, little moth. Sai Sahan practically begged you to let him die as a warrior. Lyris was exhausted by life. Don't you feel how they felt now? Would you want someone to spare you as you are?" The Prophet sneers, his grip tightening. Cas felt his vision blur at the edges as chipped nails dug into his skin. "You killed me, and abandoned them. You claimed to care, and yet you let all of us suffer so you could gain power. And for what? You have no soul. You're a monster, just as much as Molag Bal is."

Little moth.

The Prophet never referred to him as an insect, moth or not.

"You. Kill me by your own hand, you coward," Cas hisses out, his pointed ears lowering aggressively.

"Clever one." He doesn't change, of course. He knows exactly what buttons to press to get through Cas, to cut him right to the bone. "You have no control here. I own you. I always have. Akatosh's little scheme won't last long, your soul will return to its rightful owner, dragon-blood or not."

"I'm not scared of you!"

"You've always been scared."

Cas feels, more than sees, something appearing beside him. He reaches out blindly, and curls his fingers around it—Varen's staff. A sense of victory fills his chest, and he jerks his arm to hit the false Prophet's skull.

The hands around his throat vanish. The staff twists. Wiggles in his grip. A serpent, pure black with milky, sightless eyes, lets out a hiss and lunges for Cas' arm, fangs sinking into his wrist. Cas can't help it—he screams, flames searing through his blood.

"Just get out of my sight, Casimar," a bitter voice snaps, smacking him across the cheek. He'd dropped a glass of water he'd fetched for his mother. He hadn't meant to, honest. He was scared. He was always so scared. "Don't you see you've done enough? She wouldn't even be sick if it weren't for you!"

Cas flinches away from his father's quick temper and stinging hands, slinking away to where he can watch the man kneel to pick up the broken shards of glass. His throat tightens as the man's finger snags on an edge, eliciting a hiss of pain. No matter what, I always manage to get someone hurt.

He fled to his room and began quickly tidying the space. Surely he could at least manage to keep something under control for Father. Casimar had heard the reasons and knew that Father was right, he was at fault. That his birth had weakened Mother and she'd never quite recovered.

He couldn't remember if he'd ever seen the gentle affection that Father had directed at him, instead of Mother.

He knelt beside his bed that night, praying fervently, yet quietly, to the Tribunal. He begged for them to heal his mother. To take his life and give it to her, instead of the other way around. The last time his father had caught Casimar praying to the Tribunal, he'd been beat so hard that he could barely trek to his lessons the next day. Mother was an Ashlander, after all, and her beliefs were to be honored in their home. The false gods were just as much at fault as Casimar was.

Cas did not believe that. It was one of few things he didn't believe his Father about.

Cas couldn't remember Mother being angry with the Tribunal. She had married Father, after all. He was of House Redoran! In Vivec City! The Tribunal were his gods too.

He got up once his prayers were finished, then crept out of his room. Inching to the door of Mother's room, he saw her on the bed, and his father asleep on the chair. She smiled, and motioned for him to be closer.

He approached, and crawled up onto the sheets. "Little ash hopper," she murmured affectionately. "It's okay. Mistakes happen. Your father's just... sad. He doesn't know where to put all the hurt he feels."

"I think Father hates me," Cas whispered, leaning into her touch when her arm lifted, cupping his face with her palm. Her skin was cool and dry.

"No," Mother replied firmly. "He doesn't hate you. You're his boy. His baby. He's just stressed. You're such a strong little one. So formidable. You'll do great things."

"I just want him to be kind," Cas admitted, and he felt horror at the feel of tears on his face. Mother wiped them away with a gentle thumb. "I didn't mean to make you sick."

"I know," she soothed, tutting. "I know. He knows that too. Give him time."

He never had time.

Cas jolts awake in his bed, fingers fisting in the sheets. He's still choking, still drowning in the weight of it all—

No. He spits out the chunk of leather he'd begun to sleep with to avoid disturbing the housecarl, Calder, with his nighttime screaming. His breath claws its way out of him in jagged gasps. Cas leans forward, drawing his knees to his chest and resting his forearms over them to bury his face in the makeshift space. Slow breaths. In and out. One hand instinctively reaches for Varen's staff beside his bed, thumb tracing the worn wood, reminding himself that he is real and so is this.

Molag Bal can't hurt him. No, that's wrong—he simply won't. Because Casimar Andrethi is still a useful weapon, an amusing toy.

How long until that changes?

[solar-nightengale]

I was gonna wait until I finished his ref before letting him breach containment of my folders but ahh well!!

Holding up my LDB baby Vivild to the world!! (another little sketch below the cut ft. his three adopted children just because)

[honeybeebunny111]

When alliance becomes friendship :3

(I’m a sucker for LDB x Miraak content of any kind. For my LDB OC and him, they end up doing the whole enemies to unlikely allies to friends to lovers shit so yeah :3 )

Mad ramblings and lil details below lol:

OKAY SO-I’ve seen a lot of different visual interpretations of what he looks like and I LOVE all of them so muchhhh. I think for mine (for drawing / writing purposes) I just get this image of a boastful, pompous, sharp, vain man (both pre Apocrypha and post Apocrypha). In my writing and drawings, the idea of this literal ancient man looking like this cracks me up and makes room for so many goofy interactions with people back in Tamriel lol.

I definitely think being in Apocrypha would have physical effects for sure, but I kinda headcannon their escape from it would sort of rid the sort of thing? Like being away from there and out of Hermaeus Mora’s grasp and influence would remedy so much LOL.

Anyways, I’m weak for ancient golden masked men in TES sighhbhbhhhshshs

[heyhoneyfox]

Here's some proper art of Wisteria. His voice line sucks ass because it's 2 a.m. Same goes for anything else sub par you may notice.

For context he heard a single "wergh!" from J'zargo, which means he's gotta eliminate their entire bloodline, which is very normal and healthy I assure you

Also, if you're wondering what he has equipped:

- dragonscale armor (full set excluding helmet)

- dragonbone war axe

- elemental blast

And you can't see it but he's DEFINITELY wearing the ring of Namira so he can eat the people he kills, as wood elves do.