link!

https://discord.gg/trsKswnHta

I started writing a book when I was a Junior in high school, [REDACTED] years ago and, after years and years of working on it sporadically, I have finally completed it. I have read through it three times and found typos every time, so I am looking for other people to read it to help find typos.

This is your opportunity to read this novel for free before it becomes Big and Famous and costs $45 to buy but then has TV Shows and Movies made of it and becomes so over-saturated in the market that you will be able to buy 10 copies for a buck at the local thrift store.

Post below if you're interested. Don't post below if you're not. Unless you just want to leave snarky comments, in which case, I fully understand. Boobs and butts also welcome.

“Keep ke us. Lebzus êzhaa.” An exasperated sigh. “No, child. Focus! You cannot become distracted, even for a moment. Start again. Shûmlon.”

Trendil winced and shifted back to the Ready position, then did her best to keep the forms correct as her mother called them out.

It was tortuous - she could hear the distant music and laughter drifting from the city below. The New Life Festival had begun and, for once, her mother had promised she could go - but not until she got through her forms. It was all the nine-year-old girl could do not to drop the sword and bolt for the door.

She let that fantasy play out in her mind for a few seconds; it did not end well for her.

“Âj beewmeb. Bring your elbows in. There. That is enough for now.”

Trendil was already at the doorway by the time her mother finished her sentence. She bolted to the bath room, stripped out of her sweaty jâr, plunged into the water, and gave herself the most perfunctory of baths before splashing back out and racing to her room.

Ten minutes later, clad in her best (and, for that matter, only) dress, little more than a simple blue linen tunic, Trendil exited the doors of the shûyaa shî yee y̌êz for only the third time in her short life.

The city at the foot of the hill was alive with color and sound. Lanterns bobbed overhead, children darted between dancers, and the air was thick with the scent of honey cakes and spiced wine. Trendil paused, uncertain, watching the swirl of people. She had always wanted to come to one of the many festivals, but now that she was at one, she wasn’t sure what to do.

A voice beside her broke through her hesitation. “You look a little lost.”

Trendil turned to see a boy about her age, pale-skinned and blue-eyed—so different from the dark Redguards that filled the area. He wore simple clothes and a crooked smile.

“I… I’ve never been to one of these.”

The boy laughed. “First time for me too, at least here, but I’ve been watching since dawn. I’m Marcus. My father’s looking after the horses, so I get to wander.”

“Hello. I’m Trendil.”

Marcus motioned. “This way.” Then, as they began to walk, “Are you new in town?”

“Not…exactly. I live up there.” Trendil pointed at the hill and Marcus stopped as he gasped.

“You live in the school?!” His voice sounded shocked, and Trendil frowned.

“Yes? Why? Is that bad?”

He stared at her with wide awestruck eyes. “No! It’s… incredible! People say only the best get in. Some say it’s magic, or that you have to fight a bear to graduate. Is that true?”

Trendil laughed. “No bears. Just a lot of hard work and bruises.”

Marcus shook his head in wonder. “I never thought I’d meet someone from there. You must be amazing with a sword.”

She shrugged, a little embarrassed. “I’m still learning.”

He laughed again. “Well, you’re already braver than me. Come on, let me show you around. I’ve mapped out the best stalls.”

As they wandered together, Marcus pointing out the fire dancers (“Don’t stand too close unless you want your eyebrows singed”), the ring toss (Marcus won prizes on three separate tosses, which annoyed Trendil because she was unable to land a single one), and the wishing tree.

“Here, take this ribbon and make a wish while you tie it to one of the branches.” Marcus laughed and added, “I wished for snow, but I don’t think that one is going to come true.”

It had never occurred to Trendil to wish for anything – well, beyond little things, like being able to go to festivals – but this experience had provided her with the wish she hadn’t known she wanted. As she tied her ribbon, she wished for the one thing she lacked at the temple – a friend.

Next they tried honey cakes, and Marcus made a face. “Too sweet. My mother would say it’ll rot your teeth.”

Trendil grinned. “My mother would say they would slow me down and probably make me practice twice.”

As they watched a puppet show, Marcus leaned in. “I heard the sword school students can split arrows in flight. Is that true?”

Trendil nodded. “I’ve seen it done. I can’t do it yet.”

He looked at her with admiration. “You’re like a legend. I bet everyone here wishes they could train there.”

She shook her head. “Most days, I wish I could just come to the festivals.”

As the sun set, lanterns lit the square in gold and crimson. They found a quiet spot near the musicians, sharing stories—Trendil of sword forms and her mother’s lessons, Marcus of Skyrim’s snowy mountains and the dragons of legend.

When the festival ended, Marcus walked her back to the edge of the square. “Maybe next year, you’ll show me how to fight.”

Trendil laughed. “Maybe I will. And maybe you’ll show me how to win at ring toss.”

Marcus returned the laugh and they clasped hands. “Deal.”

As she climbed the path, a strange white cold dot landed on her, and she stopped and frowned as it dissipated into a drop of water. Moments later, more fell, and she looked around in wonder at the rarest thing of all in Hammerfell - a genuine snowfall. She laughed and looked back, although Marcus was already out of eyesight. Trendil's spirits rose as she continued up the path surrounded by wispy snowflakes. It seemed wishes could come true after all!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Honorhall Orphanage was not a place for celebrations. Its stone walls held in the cold as tightly as they held in the children, and Grelod the Kind’s idea of a holiday was letting the porridge burn a little less than usual. But even in such a place, the New Life Festival could not be entirely ignored.

Sloan woke to the sound of Mirren, the old nurse, bustling about with a rare energy. The children whispered that today, there might be sweet rolls—though no one truly believed it. Still, hope was a stubborn weed, and it grew even in the cracks of Honorhall’s courtyard.

After chores, the children were gathered in the common room. Grelod stood at the front, arms crossed, lips pursed.

“The New Life Festival is not an excuse for laziness,” she announced. “But you may have an extra hour before supper. Use it wisely.”

The children scattered, some to the drafty corners with scraps of paper and charcoal, others to the window to watch the city’s distant festivities. Sloan sat on her bed, clutching a small, worn doll—a gift from Mirren last year, patched and re-patched until it was more thread than cloth.

Mirren found Sloan there and pressed a tiny, hard sweet into her palm. “Don’t let Grelod see,” she whispered, her eyes soft. “Happy New Life, child.”

Sloan smiled, tucking the sweet into her mouth. It tasted of honey and hope, and for a moment, the orphanage felt almost warm.

As the other children huddled around the flickering candle stub that served as their New Life Festival “lantern,” Sloan felt a tug at her sleeve. She turned to find Aventus crouched beside her, eyes darting in all directions.

“Come here,” he whispered, nodding toward the shadowy corner behind the woodpile. Sloan followed, her heart thumping with the thrill of secrecy.

Aventus leaned in, voice barely more than a breath. “I’m getting out of here, Sloan. I can’t stay another year. Not with Grelod. Not with the way she—” He broke off, glancing at the others. “There is a window in the basement with a broken lock. I’m going to use it to get out.”

Sloan’s eyes widened. “You’re going to run away?”

He nodded, eyes fierce and determined. “Tonight, after lights out. I just need someone to keep watch. If you see anyone coming, knock on the wall by the kitchen. Three times. Can you do that?”

Sloan hesitated, the weight of the orphanage pressing down on her. But Aventus’ hope was contagious, and she found herself nodding. “I’ll do it. But where will you go?”

“Windhelm. My parents owned a house and it belongs to me, now. They said I was too young to live there by myself, but I’ll figure it out.”

Sloan squeezed his hand, a spark of hope flickering in her chest. “Be careful, Aventus.”

He squeezed back. “You too. And—thank you, Sloan. For believing in me. You are the only good thing about this place.”

As they slipped back to the others, the faint sound of laughter drifted in from the city beyond the orphanage walls. For the first time, the New Life Festival felt like it meant something: a chance, however small, for a new beginning.

Outside, the world celebrated with music and lanterns. Inside, Sloan and the others celebrated with whispers and wishes, their own quiet New Life Festival, as bright as any lantern in the night.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The city of Rihad sparkled under the winter sun, its whitewashed walls and red-tiled roofs dusted with a rare, gentle snow. The air was alive with the scents of sweet cakes, spiced cider, and roasting chestnuts, and everywhere she looked, ribbons and lanterns fluttered in the breeze.

Seven-year-old Aithne clung to her mother’s hand, her other mittened fist wrapped around a warm honey bun her father had bought from a smiling vendor. Her unruly dark hair was braided with ribbons of blue and gold, and nearly behaved for once; only a few strays had so far managed to slip the bonds of the ribbons.

Aithne’s father, tall and broad-shouldered, lifted her up onto his shoulders so she could see above the crowd. “What do you want to do first, little sailor?” he asked, his voice rumbling with gentle amusement.

Aithne pointed at the great olive tree in the center of the square, its branches heavy with fluttering wishes. “Can we do the wishing tree?”

Her mother smiled. “Of course, darling. But remember, wishes are powerful things. Choose with care.”

When they got there, her father set her down and handed her a slip of parchment and a charcoal stick. “What will you wish for, Aithne?”

Aithne thought for a long moment, her tongue poking out in concentration. “I want to see the world,” she said at last, writing in careful, looping letters: “I wish for adventure, and to see the world beyond the harbor.”

Her father knelt beside her as she tied her wish to a low branch. “That’s a fine wish, my girl,” he said, his hand warm on her shoulder. “The world is wide and well worth exploring.”

Aithne looked up at him, her eyes shining. “Will you take me on your ship one day, Papa?”

He grinned. “One day soon, I promise. But only if you promise to help me swab the deck.”

Aithne giggled. “I’ll be the best deckhand ever!”

Her mother laughed and ruffled her hair. “Just don’t bring home any sea monsters, all right?”

“I’ll try, Mama. But if I do, I’ll make sure they’re friendly.”

As dusk fell, the family joined the circle of dancers around the bonfire. Her mother laughed as her father spun her in a clumsy but joyful circle, and Aithne’s cheeks flushed with happiness. They sang the old festival songs together, their voices mingling with the music and the crackle of the fire.

Later, as fireworks burst in the sky and the city glowed with lantern light, Aithne sat between her parents on the steps of their home, her head resting on her mother’s lap. Her father wrapped a warm cloak around them both and pointed out the constellations above the harbor.

“Remember this night, Aithne,” her mother whispered, stroking her hair. “No matter where you go, or how far you travel, remember the old adage because it is true: there is no place like home.”

Aithne closed her eyes as the sounds of the festival faded into the hush of the sea, and dreamed of ships and distant shores while basking in the warmth of her family—her first and truest adventure.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christmas at the Fraser house was always a big deal. My mom would start playing carols the day after Thanksgiving and my dad would grumble about the electric bill as the house lit up like a runway for lost reindeer. My brother and I would count down the days with a paper chain, each link torn off with increasing anticipation (and, let’s be honest, a little bit of sibling rivalry over who got to do the honors each morning).

In 1994, the year I was eight, what I really wanted was a Dance and Twirl Barbie. I saw one with dark skin in a toy catalogue, the first time I had ever seen a Barbie that looked sort of like me (I never thought about it at the time, but I wonder if I caused a fight when I was born, since my skin is so much darker than the rest of my family’s. My father has to have assumed my mother had an affair. In retrospect, this is probably why we all had Ancestry tests done).

What I was absolutely certain I was getting was socks. Not just any socks—thick, itchy, “practical” socks, the kind my mom always said I needed for winter. I had VERY SPECIFICALLY asked Santa for the Barbie, but the pile of presents under the tree looked suspiciously sock-shaped.

Christmas morning, my little brother was already bouncing on my bed before the sun was up. “Sian! Sian! Santa came!” he yelled, tugging at my arm.

Now, I loved Christmas as much as any child, but getting up before the sun has never been in my wheelhouse of joys. “Five more minutes,” I groaned, but he was relentless (and freakishly strong – the little bastard literally pulled me out of bed). Soon, the whole family was gathered in the living room, where even the tree lights blinked sleepily.

Presents flew. Wrapping paper everywhere. My brother got a remote-control car and immediately crashed it into the wall. Mom got a new mug that said “World’s Best Mom (According to This Mug)” and Dad got a tie he pretended to love.

I opened my first present: socks. Of course.

“Try them on!” Mom said, grinning.

I forced a smile. “They’re…very warm.”

There were a few more gifts—mittens, a scarf, a book about volcanoes (which was actually pretty cool). And, finally, my Barbie! Except I ended up with the Hispanic version of My First Barbie, not the one I had asked for. I still loved her but in the back of my mind, I wondered how Santa could have made such a mistake. It was the first moment where some doubt about Santa’s existence began to percolate somewhere in the recesses of my head. (Of course, the reason I got Hispanic Barbie instead of Black Dancing Barbie was because it was the closest thing my parents could find at the mall – Amazon was still a few years away from the ubiquitous monster it eventually became.)

As we started cleaning up the wrapping paper, Dad frowned. “Wait, what’s that behind the tree?”

It was another box, wrapped in shiny green paper with a gold bow, that we had somehow neglected to notice. The tag read, simply, “To Sian, from S.”

Dad looked at Mom. “Did you put that there?”

She shook her head. “No, I thought you did.”

I frowned at both because, of course they hadn’t put it there – it was quite obvious where it had come from. I pointed at the S. “It’s from Santa!”

They both looked at each other, then at me. “Well, go on, open it,” Dad said.

I knelt by the tree and tore off the paper. Inside was a plush dragon—deep purple, with golden wings and a goofy, lopsided grin. Its eyes sparkled in the lights, and when I hugged it, it let out a tiny roar.

“It’s a dragon!” I squealed.

My brother’s eyes went wide. “Cool! Does it breathe fire?”

I squeezed its belly. The dragon roared again, a little louder this time.

I hugged the dragon tight. “Her name is Pyra,” I announced. “She’s going to guard my room.”

That night, with Pyra tucked under one arm and Hispanic Barbie under the other, I dreamed of the two together, with Barbie riding Pyra into battle while wearing itchy but warm socks that protected her feet from foggy dream foes.

This is just to inform you that, should something happen here at LL, like the failed move to a different server a few years ago, and my stories are lost, I have started to post them at Archive of Our Own, so if you can't find them here, they will (hopefully) be there.

JFraser - Works | Archive of Our Own

thanks!

Thanks, as always, for reading.

Just like last year, I have a deadline coming up at the end of December and need to focus my attention on that project. Therefore I shall be taking another short hiatus. I have stories written up until Sept 16, so there will still be content for a few more weeks. I look forward to continuing the Shae sisters' story in the new year.

thanks, as always, for your comments and support. I would have dropped the whole thing long ago without them.

The latest stupid update to Skyrim has borked my game. I tried the thing that pushes it back to the previous version but that just led to immediate crashing. So I have uninstalled the game and, given the amount of time it takes to set up all the mods and stuff, it is unlikely I'll install it again any time soon.

What does this mean for the stories? Well, it means they will be less and less based on what is actually in the game and more and more on whatever stuff I think up. This will mostly affect Sian's story since that is the most purely-playthrough one and, as I'm sure you've noticed, I have already taken many liberties with Elder Scrolls canon, but watch for this to go completely away from whatever you might feel is "official" lore. Hell, maybe I'll take this opportunity to go back through and turn these into a standalone story, not just loose Skyrim fanfic.

I have resumed writing but I have much less time than before so the schedule will be a relative trickle.

I'm aiming for one chapter a week, total, every Thursday morning around midnight Pacific time (3am-ish Eastern, 8am-ish GMT).

thank you for your patience and your interest in my work.  

I was working 300 miles from home in a completely different state and only got to visit my family on weekends until the pandemic forced the company to move to a work from home model. It didn't take them long to make working from home permanent for our entire project team, which meant I could spend actual time with my family. It was fantastic!

That continued into 2021 and remained a bright spot but, beginning in May, life became chaotic.

It began with the first of two system go-lives, which meant a month of long shifts and little sleep.

That was followed by the hospitalization and subsequent death of my mother followed only a month or so later by the unexpected news of the death of my wayward 26 year old son.

Then came a second go-live followed by the selling of our house and a 2400ish miles (3900ish km) move across the country, complete with living in a hotel for a month.

All this to say that it's been a hell of a year but the worst seems to be over and I should be able to get back to writing soon. I can't wait to find out where the stories of Sian, Trendil, Sloan, and Aithne go.

thanks for reading!

ahem. anyway. just so you know - starting tonight (technically tomorrow very very early morning), the stories resume.

well, they actually resumed a couple weeks ago. but i've written a bunch more so you're guaranteed a chapter a week through august at minimum. except 8/4 - still working on that one. but mostly guaranteed!

Thank you for taking an interest in my stories. I'll try not to take breaks that last for years this time.

A Gathering Storm - Ripped from earth and dragged to a crazy land filled with homicidal maniacs, dragons, slavers, and a certain REALLY annoying Daedra, Sian Elizabeth Fraser is forced to accept her role as the linchpin of her age, when all she wanted was to become a pharmacist.

Destiny's Bright Edge - Aithne is a sailor on an Imperial warship transporting prisoners when it hits an iceberg and capsizes, leaving only Aithne and one of the prisoners - a fearsome orc known as Borkul the Beast - as survivors. Things go downhill quickly from there.

In Shadow's Wake - Sloan has, at long last, aged out of the Honorhall Orphanage and no longer must toil under the cruel Grelod the Kind. The bad news is that she has nowhere else to go. Penniless and homeless, she finds herself in desperate straits...and also in the foyer of the Vixen, Riften's most upscale brothel. 

Dispossessed - Trendil is on the verge of a happy life - newly married to her childhood sweetheart with whom she was about to start a lucrative business. Then, disaster - her love is killed by a group of Imperial soldiers, leaving Trendil alone...and bent on revenge.

Making of a Mod: Simple Slavery - By popular* request, this is the story of the origins of one of LoversLab's (and, dare I say, Skyrim's) most important, groundbreaking, life-changing... *checks notes* ...oh, wait, that's something else. This is just the story of how Simple Slavery came to be and how it got to where it is. Well, not now because two other people have held the keys since I last had it. So this is the story of how Simple Slavery came to be and how it got to where it was on May 17th, 2018. Except it was before that because I had really stopped working on it before I posted the semi-retirement statement. But somewhere around that time.

* by "popular," I, of course, mean one person asked for it

This blog has become rather convoluted. I had not planned on having three different stories all at the same time (plus the modding background, just for fun), so I went into this entirely unplanned. So much is probably obvious.

Therefore I'm going to do a little housekeeping. By which I mean, I'm going to create separate blogs for each of these stories and repost them. This will give me a chance to put things in order instead of having to muck about with links at the bottom of the pages, clean up some of the writing, especially the short-shrifted first few chapters of Sian's story, and, perhaps, gather a few new readers who might be intimidated by a title that says "Part 34" but would be willing to jump into the stories at the ground floor.

So, please accept my apologies for the upcoming series of posts which will be repeats of previous chapters (although updated, so they might be worth reading again.  ). I will get back to Aithne's story very soon. The next chapter is being difficult but it is nearly done. I will also continue Sian and Sloan's stories, when the time is right. And I'll finish the story of Simple Slavery to boot.

I appreciate every one of you.

~ jfraser

So, my first observation is that this blog, and most of the others on this site, are in direct violation of the disclaimer we had to agree to in order to make a blog. It read, in part, this:

You agree, through your use of this service, that you will not use this Blog system to post any material which is knowingly false and/or defamatory, inaccurate, abusive, vulgar, hateful, harassing, obscene, profane, sexually oriented, threatening, invasive of a person's privacy, or otherwise violative of any law.

The irony of the "sexually oriented" phrase on a site for which the central mod is called "Sexlab" makes my giggle. Although not literally.

Now that I've written this, I've forgotten what inspired me to make a blog in the first place. Ah well. Since I'm not yet in violation of the ground rules for these blogs, I'll fix that with this picture. Source: Imgur's nsfw section: