#finding ancano

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

New crackship idea: Jolinar x Ancano

Nin, I love the way you think.

Truly the most hilarious of all possible Jolinar ships.

[throughtrialbyfire]

dropping some skyrim character headcanons - physical affection edition <3 gender neutral, tried to make them as relationship ambiguous as possible.

-brynjolf - early on, he's not very receptive to touch. a pat on the shoulder, that usual, hard-handed kind that he gives anyone he's friends with, is pretty much all you'll get at first. but once he warms up to you, you can expect a big shoulder-hug and a ruffle of the hair, no matter the relationship you two share. -cicero - clingy. clingy clingy clingy CLINGY. he LOVES affection. oh, the moment you show that you're receptive to his attempts at affection, he just melts. whether it's grabbing your shoulders to make you dance a little bit with him, grasping your hand, full on sprinting to you to give you a hug when you get back to the sanctuary, he's all for it, because it means you're there. it means that you've accepted him, and to him, any bit of acceptance from the listener can make him into a doting fool. -serana - extremely shy at first. she's uncomfortable with people in general, but after a while of traveling together, getting to know you, she begins to warm up. it may only be brushing your hands against one anothers or her head on your shoulder or standing close to one another for a long time, but she does enjoy your presence, and wants you to know she's here, through thick and thin. -gelebor - by auri-el he's touch-starved. he'll never admit it out loud, but he does miss even the smallest gestures of affection. he, like serana, is also excruciatingly shy. but he does try to make the effort to reach out first, whether it be the tiniest squeeze of your hand to reassure you when things get rough, or the gentlest press of his palm on your upper back. once he's assured you're comfortable with it, there's little to stop him from sitting with you by a warm fire, shoulder-to-shoulder, just enjoying the fact there's another living being beside him. -nazir - you know how some people will ask you to do things for/with them as an excuse to spend time together? yeah thats nazir. whether it be asking you to help him put together a particularly strong poison, sort coin for a job, help chop something up for a new recipe he's working on, or write down/work out a contract for the brotherhood, he's using this as a chance to spend time with you. and if it winds up with the two of you brushing hands, sitting close together, him guiding your hand on something, then that's how it is. if you're comfortable with it, he will wrap an arm around your shoulder casually or lean against you, just to be near you. -ancano - haha, good luck <3 it takes a lot to get near him, as he keeps everyone about ten feet away at all times. however, once you do manage to break through that icy exterior… well, he'll say he doesn't like physical affection, that he finds someone playing with his hair demeaning, that oh, he absolutely abhors someone putting their arms around him and burying their face in his chest, but… we all know otherwise. he will pretend to hate it, he will whine and grumble and sigh dramatically the entire time, but he'll also do this while melting into your touch and allowing himself the first bit of comfort he's felt in a very long time. -miraak - he's not very big on affection for a while after getting out of apocrypha. it's been thousands of years, he's kind of forgotten what it's like for another living thing to touch him, to actually want to be near him. but after spending enough time together, he'll find himself sleeping closer to you for warmth at night and then thinking about it the next day. it kind of hits all at once, how much he does miss feeling another person near him. so, once you two are comfortable around one another, he'll probably give you an awkward side hug or sit with his shoulder to yours. the small things, but they mean a lot.

[goopysoup]

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..someone will ache for your soul..

In which you find your soulmate

featuring: farkas, vilkas, mercer frey, brynjolf, cicero, ancano, serana

[all are gender neutral, but there is a mention of being called ‘pretty’] [this took me almost three hours 💀 I don’t like most of them:(]

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farkas

He could smell them from a mile away.

That’s weird, let’s start again, shall we? Farkas swung his sword at the giant, fighting the urge to turn and run towards the sweet smell approaching. The beast inside him begged— pleaded— for him to go and engulf himself inside that smell, to cover himself in it, whatever it was.

That’s when he saw them. They aimed a bow, a steel arrow shooting through the air and into the giants eye, making it roar out before Aela ultimately got the last hit and killed the giant on the farm. Farkas couldn’t keep his eyes off them, the smell was coming from them. He watched as Aela spoke to them, not even registering what she was saying as he watched this person— the most perfect thing he’d ever seen.

Later, he’d seen them at Jorrvaskr, watching them enter and sneak downstairs. Were they joining?

“Farkas!” He’d heard Skjor’s voice shout from Aela’s room, “did you call me?” He asks as he smells that sweet smell again, his eyes locking on theirs. He barely heard what Aela was saying to him, “uh— new blood? Oh, hello. I’m Farkas. Come, follow me.”

He’d spoken to Kodlak later that night, asking him what in oblivion that sweet smell coming from them was and why was it just coming from them?

Kodlak laughs, forgetting that Farkas could be a bit dense at times, “she’s your mate,” he says as he pats him on the back a little harshly, “your soulmate, in other words.”

His soulmate..

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vilkas

He’d had their stupid name imprinted on his wrist since he was just a pup, a name he’d never heard of in all his years. Vilkas had begun to doubt that his soulmate even lived in Tamriel, in Skyrim, how unlucky was he? First, his lycanthropy, now his soulmate was nowhere to be seen? Nobody knew of someone with such a name?

It was a normal day as any, Vilkas sat at the small table with Kodlak, the two of them wondering if there truly would ever be a way for them to be rid of the beast. The beat haunted Kodlak, he knew that, the old man wanted to get into Sovngarde as any true nord would. But the beast prevented that, he would end up in Hircine’s land hunting for the rest of eternity.

It wasn’t long before an unfamiliar person walked into the halls of Jorrvaskr, heading down towards the two men. Their conversation was cut short, “I’d like to join the companions,” their voice was nice, I stark contrast to the armour and weapons they had on their body.

“Would you, now? Here, let me have a look at you? Hmm. Yes, perhaps. A certain strength of spirit.” Kodlak spoke, making Vilkas furrow his eyebrows.

“Master, you’re not truly considering accepting them?” He asks, making Kodlak give him a subtly pointed look, explaining they had empty beds for people with a fire in their hearts, “Apologies. But, perhaps this isn’t the time. I’ve never even heard of this outsider.”

The person sheepishly looks to Vilkas before they state their name. He freezes for a moment before he looks at them, Kodlak letting out a hearty laugh, making the person look at him with confusion.

“Vilkas, take them out to the yard and see what they can do.” Kodlak says before the person looks between Vilkas and Kodlak for a moment.

Oh gods..

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mercer frey

He’d known they were his soulmate from the moment he’d met them. Mercer saw the tattoo imprinted onto their forearm before they pulled their sleeve back down, he wasn’t stupid. But he’d never said anything, never gave them the hint he wanted them as much as they wanted him, not with the plans he had against the guild.

He’d let his guard down, it was so unlike him to bring any of his walls down but they made him. It was their fault, wasn’t it? He reaches over, his hand brushing against their cheek as they both stood outside in the backyard of his home, concealed under the stars, slone with no one watching them.

“I know,” they say suddenly, he furrows his eyebrows, “know what?” He asks in return, slipping his hand down to their neck, cradling it. He could choke them and end the misery of having him as their soulmate.

The grasp his wrist, carefully sliding down his sleeve to show the matching tattoo. His face hardens, pulling away as he covers the tattoo with his sleeve again, “it means nothing.”

He didn’t entirely mean those words, he yearned for them in secret, but he wouldn’t let his walls come down again. They didn’t need to get involved in his dirty work, he didn’t even want them in the guild anymore. It was to protect them.

“Leave, don’t come back, you understand?”

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brynjolf

The Dragonborn walks into Riften for the first time, almost laughing at how scared the guard outside had been when he realised they knew there was no tax. They make their was through the town, they liked the atmosphere even if they couldn’t see the colour of anything, it was better than dealing with the whole Alduin thing, anyways.

“Never done an honest day’s work in your life for all that coin you’re carrying, eh?” Brynjolf’s voice sounds out quietly as he approaches the famous Dragonborn. Who didn’t know of them, being clad in such armour and that weapon? They didn’t hide it.

“I’m sorry, what?” They ask, looking up at the man before a myriad of colours struck their vision within seconds, overwhelming them. Their head ached at the sight before they finally got used to it and looked around, not noticing the look that Brynjolf was giving them, admiring.

“I’m saying you’ve got the coin, love, but you didn’t earn a septim of it honestly, I can tell,” Brynjolf says once their eyes move back to him, crossing his arms with an expression that matches flirtation.

“How could you possibly know that?” The Dragonborn asks, almost bewildered as they finally get a good look of him, he was handsome, effortlessly charming. It was almost.. irritating? No, that’s not the word, “wait— my wealth is none of your business.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, love. Wealth is my business. Maybe you’d like a taste?” They’d gone through with the plan, stealing what’s-his-face’s ring and planting it on the other who’s-his-name successfully.

“Looks like I chose the right person for the job. And here you go.. your payment, as promised,” Brynjolf hands them the payment he’d promised his soulmate. He couldn’t wait to get them into the guild, to live a life with them— even if the life was illegal.

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cicero

Poor Cicero hadn’t even gotten the chance to speak to the pretty assassin that had walked into the sanctuary the day he’d brought his dear mother. Sweet, sweet Night Mother. He was such a good Keeper, wasn’t he? Why wouldn’t she just speak to him! No, he must be calm, that’s what sweet mother would want, isn’t it?

He spoke to the Night Mother now, they were alone, sweet solitude with the sweet Night Mother, “Have you.. have you spoken to anyone? No.. no, of course not. I do the talking, the stalking, the seeing and the saying!” He continued for a while, rambling to the mother.

Suddenly, he opens her coffin, gasping with confusing and repulse. Here, the pretty assassin was in the coffin with the Night Mother!

“What? What treachery! Defiler! Debased and defiler! You have violated the sanctity of the Night Mother’s coffin! Explain yourself! Speak, worm!”

The pretty assassin’s eyes seemed to widen at his words, he couldn’t tell if it was because of his words or tone, but he didn’t care, “The Night Mother spoke to me! She said, ‘I am the one.’” Now, it was Cicero’s turn to widen his eyes. Those words! The words! His words! The ones on his arm, the ones his soulmate would say! His Listener!

Good luck with this one, dear Listener..

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ancano

Ancano had noticed them as soon as they’d walked through those gates. Another new apprentice, how bothersome. Still, he continued his conversation with Mirabelle, quickly growing more irritated by the treatment she was giving him.

The new apprentice was guided away by Mirabelle, leaving Ancano to his thoughts. It was odd, he felt drawn to them, though he didn’t know nor care why. He had business to attend to.

The apprentice was in the Hall of Elements with Tolfdir, the two of them watching the mysterious orb they’d found in Saarthal. Clearly, this mage was more troublesome than Ancano had thought. The Psijic Order was asking for them. So, Ancano had inturruped the two of them, gaining a temper tantrum from Tolfdir. It was only when they were alone that the elf had noticed a familiar scratch on the side of the apprentice’s neck- one that matched the one that had appeared on his not but a few hours before.

Gods be damned, this apprentice was his soulmate, “I need you to come with me immediately. Let’s go.”

For now, he wouldn’t say anything about it, this apprentice seemed to be too oblivious. Or, at least, that’s what they pretended to be with that stupid little smile on their lips.

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serana

Being trapped in a tomb for gods know how long wasn’t something Serana entirely enjoyed. I mean, who would? It was dark and cold, dreary and cramped, far too undeserving of even a vampire such as her. She just had to remember, she was doing this for her father and he would come back for her, right?

She hadn’t woken up until she was almost fallen on the floor, but her quick instincts helped her to keep balance. She was free, her father had come back..—

Glancing up, she noticed a person standing there watching with a small amused smile, obviously the one that had rescued her from the dreary space she was just in, obviously not a vampire. Obviously not her father. She was sure her father would’ve come to get his daughter, so who was this? Though, as their eyes met, a shockwave shot through her, the feeling of being alive again was strong, flooding her veins and undead heart. This was her soulmate, she’d waiting thousands of years for this, but why was she so reluctant now? Reluctant to go with them- to trust them, but a part deep inside her knew this was right, she could get used to it. She could get used to them.

“Who are you?” Serana asks, finally having gained her composure. She looks this person up and down, analysing anything and everything she can see. It was clear they were a vampire hunter. Great.

“Who were you expecting?” They ask, almost amused as they watch the pretty vampire, crossing their arms in a similar way Serana was.

“Not my soulmate, that’s for sure.”

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[theoneandonlysemla]

2024 Wrap up

Rules: it’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought to the world in 2024. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

I got tagged by: @dirty-bosmer @sanza-17

@pocket-vvardvark @thequeenofthewinter

uh and maybe others, but honestly I don't remember anymore.

I don't know if you've already done one (as it seems the brain does not function so well?) but if you like, do it :) @sheirukitriesfandom @vanilleeistee @did3lphis

@skyrim-forever @ladytanithia @hircines-hunter

OKAY!!!!

This was a great year for writing for me with a wordcount of over 300k in the end. That's like three whole books and that's insane! Also I really found my way into this so lovely community of freaks and you welcomed me here so sweet. Found my fellow insane people and that's great! But I also made massive improvements in drawing this year. Thinking of how I started digitally drawing in late November of 2023 and thought "Ahhhhhh this will never work", well... I don't like to say it but practicing works. Shocking, I know.

And what are my favorites this year?

Dealings with Daedra: I finished Part 1 and started Part 2 this year - my first fantasy fic, yay! I'm feral for my whole gang of OC's in there and hope you peeps are too! I don't think that 2025 will be the year where I wrap up this entire thing, because Part 2 grows and grows and grows... Will there be a Part 3? Maybe.

A Tale of Hunt: Ancano and Faralda? ANCANO AND FARALDA!!! Started out as a 3am headcanon and now we're here with the dirt that has evolved out of this. Sometimes I pity Ancano for what I'm doing to him and will go on doing in 2025 and then I think "Nah, he deserves his own cum in his mouth. And other men's cum. And sore knees." Stupid little pebble man.

A Taste of Death: My outlet for being a nasty bitch and delving into horror with my favorite necromancer. My knowledge and special interest about disturbing media has a use, woohoo! This one I will wrap up in 2025, I mean, I need to before Nevri and Morotar find a special someone in the course of Dealings with Daedra 2 👀

This painting of Daddy Dagoth (accidentally hot) I'm still working on redoing this damn neck thing but uuuugh, I don't understand Gold. It's so complicated :( Also I plan to put like a millions beads on that one and ugh. That's a lot.

Split Tongue Teldryn Teldryn with body mods is one of my favorite things to think about and you may remember that one snippet I gave how this specific mod comes into use 🤭

[firefly-factory]

Astra

I finally (mostly) finished this drawing of Astra!!!

The reason I say "mostly" finished is because I think I'll keep adding to the library over time! I originally had it all beige and undefined, but then thought it would be fun to actually draw in fics I've read recently.

Special thanks to @changelingsandothernonsense (author of Sleepers Awake) and @skyrim-forever (author of We Will Find a Way and The Book of Love) for letting me add your stories into my art. I really love y'all's work and can't wait to read more <3

~

A little bit of character lore for Astra:

One thing that I almost forgot in the earlier draft of this painting was Astra's war paint.

Astra's mother, Elowyn, was a Priestess of Mara, and had a symbol of Mara tattooed on her forehead. After Elowyn's death, Astra started to wear war paint in imitation and honor of her mother.

Although she doesn't tend to tell people, another reason why she began wearing her war paint was because it made her look less like her father, Ancano.

She met him for the first time when he delivered the news of Elowyn's death, and it was jarring to hear such horrible news from a stranger that looked just like her.

She hasn't gotten the marks tattooed for a few reasons. The first is that her mother's tattoo was done as part of her initiation into the Temple, and Astra doesn't want to accidentally disrespect something her mother held sacred. The second is that she's come to like the ritual of daily applying the warpaint like makeup. Even in the most hectic of days, it gives her a moment to sit and be still for a moment.

[ego-osbourne]

What are the masq goobers favourite activities?

Ego likes to perform! They’re a bard at heart, so they’re drawn to anything involving an audience. This can be playing an instrument, singing, acting, brawling, etc etc. Their mask gives them great comfort in knowing that they will only be judged for their skill and actions when performing, not by who they were born as.

Erandur likes to care for and style his and others’ hair! I have a headcanon that one of Mara’s symbols is long flowing hair as a sign of good parenthood. Being able to do a child’s hair is a well-meaning gesture from parent to kid, so her followers keep their hair long and groomed to prove that if they can care for their own locks, they can certainly do the same for a child. Erandur likes to get creative and colorful with his!

Serana (yes that’s her, I’ve put her in the netch leather hood) likes to collect shinies! She’s always been a collector, and since her entombment, she has found her old collections of shinies to be long gone. So, she’s picking up the hobby again upon joining the Masq!

Miraak likes to sing! Singing is a great way to temper one’s Thu’um without Shouting, and “dragon choirs”—literally a group of dragons getting together to sing—is heard commonly throughout Skyrim upon distant mountaintops. Miraak feels especially called to join their song.

Sanguine likes gardening! Even though he can simply wave his hand and have plants grow at his will, he much prefers to aid the natural process and hone his botany skill. He finds it very relaxing, being able to be a positive force in something’s life.

Ancano likes to draw! It became a hobby and skill of his from a very young age, and keeps many art journals where he recreates locations he’s visited or doodles people he’s met. He’s got a semi-realistic art style and was often commissioned by his father for new drawings.

And Rakell likes chicken husbandry! Chickens are his all-time favorite animal. When he was with Iren, they used to have a flock of their own that they’d farm and Rakell would find himself very entertained by these birds. I’m still debating on giving him chickens during TDI’s events, but either way he will either love on them constantly or desperately talk about wanting chickens during their travels.

[skyrim-forever]

Moodboard for @theoneandonlysemla for her wonderfully awful and messy Ancano/Faralda which you can find here: A Tale of Hunt

I absolutely recommended, he's so terrible and I especially enjoy seeing him become more and more pathetic overtime <3

I hope I did them justice <3

[everybodyknows-everybodydies]

miralda, the cartographer

the cartographer: a crossroads, exploration

“Left or right?”

The gelid walls of the lower Midden, rimed and somehow still wet as they are, seem to swallow sound where they should instead echo back. Likely it is some fault of the carpet of cobwebs, catching whispers just as well as whatever unfortunate small prey find themselves here. The creak of ice and a distant drip-drip are harder to place in one’s surroundings, softened so. Despite all this and the quiet skittering from elsewhere, the way they’ve come has been relatively unimpeded. She could almost think the path cleared in advance.

The master wizard looks at her again, expectant, and Faralda says aloud, “You’ve seemed perfectly capable of charting the course thus far. I am, in fact, still unclear why you’ve brought me along at all.”

“Well, you make a decent torch,” says the master wizard lightly, and turns left.

Something twitches in her brow. She measures her steps shorter, so as not to outpace her. “I see. Have you been wasting in administrative work so long you’ve forgotten how to cast a magelight?”

In answer, a flick of black-gloved fingers puts a ball of frozen light overhead, silvering the webbing matted along the floor and ceiling as brightly as the argent shot through her dark hair. “Satisfactory?”

“Unsurprising.” The master wizard glances back with a start. Faralda ducks under a long strand of cobweb dangling from the ceiling, one arm overhead to keep it from catching. “You brought me along for a job you do yourself anyway.”

The master wizard halts abruptly, stands like a very short spire amid a sea of spiderwebs. It is, though, finally, Mirabelle’s wry sliver-smile that casts her way when she says, “Are you suggesting I have trouble delegating?”

“What did the Psijic really want?” She shifts her jaw, does not move to brush the thin white thread from Mirabelle’s shoulder despite the thought thrumming down her arm into her fingertips. “To have us traipse through the Midden in the dark? In search of—?”

“I didn’t leave it that dim,” objects Mirabelle. Then her mouth sets, thin and grim, and she holds up a hand, steeled eyes caught on something on the floor.

Faralda looks down. A perfect heelprint, disturbing the spiders’ work, stiff and sharp and not from the sort of boot any of theirs would wear. Understanding, she takes a step in the direction it points, and finds another half a print just under the length of her own stride.

The path, it seems, has indeed been cleared in advance.

“I will hope,” the master wizard murmurs, “that no Psijic advised our pioneer to pay a visit to the Augur as well.” She straightens herself, braced for whatever they may find ahead. “‘Your efforts should be directed toward dealing with the aftermath.’ That is what the Psijic had to say. He could not, or would not, say the aftermath of what. And the unfortunate thing about aftermath is that it comes—after.”

“That is generally the case, yes,” Faralda says, voice lowered to match hers. “Helpful of him.” Vague but urgent, just as he had seemed at the gate—the Psijic had materialized, seemingly to his own surprise as much as hers, halfway up the incline to the gatehouse, and busied himself straightening his fine yellow robes.

He had not bothered to introduce himself. He had not needed to, in truth. I believe one of my colleagues, he had said instead, to interrupt her interrogatory inhale, spoke with one of your colleagues? And she had thought of their archivist, one thumb pressed to the worried corner of her own mouth in thought, telling her, There was something—someone else, there, in Saarthal—

With her magelight caught again in her palm, the master wizard studies the distance between the prints. “It is Ancano that’s always putting himself where he’ll look taller when you come by, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t noticed such a thing.”

“Haven’t you? Hm.” She cups her other hand around the light. “Onward, then.”

Toward, optimistically, somewhat more auspicious augury, and not a prowling Thalmor or three. Regardless, Faralda takes a breath, readies a precautionary ember at the tip of her tongue. “I see now. I’m not a torch; I’m a ruler.”

“Please,” Mirabelle admonishes. The shadows of her fingers round her magelight flicker across her cheeks, make them look hollower than they are; stark contrast even as she continues with her solemn expression never faltering, “You are at least a yardstick.”

[wellthebardsdead]

Evalien: *walking up to the collage of winterhold* Caryalind potion, marigold, Taliesin, hood up.

Marigold: what? Why?

Evalien: Ancano.

Marigold: …What?

Taliesin: Ancano?! Here?!

Evalien: no in morrowind, yes he’s here! *points ahead to the high elf in front of the main doors*

Marigold: shit- *pulls his hood up and covers his face with his cowl*

Taliesin: *does the same* you know him flower?

Marigold: he’s my- was, my fiancé, before I disappeared.

Caryalind: *pops an invisibility potion and downs it* ugh yep still gross. I thought he was based in Markarth still-

Marigold: evidentially not…

Flynt: *places his hand to his sword and moves in front of him smelling Ancanos scent and recognising it from the embassy* hmm…

Kaidan: *nods to inigo and steps up beside Evalien to act as her bodyguard* hands on blades.

Inigo: yes brother.

Evalien: *walks up to the doors ignoring Ancano as she waits for the Breton woman to finish reprimanding him*

Mirabelle: We’re done her- oh hello. A new student? Welcome to the collage of winterhold.

Evalien: not a student. I require access to the arcanum… and is, there a little dunmer named Wyrm here? I have a package for him.

Mirabelle: Little Pearl? Oh yes you’ll find him in the arcanum. Just through the doors and to your right. I take it, it’s important given your heavily armed guards?

Evalien: thank you, and yes. It’s of high importance.

Ancano: Anything of high importance coming through these doors must be reported to the thalmor.

Evalien: *turns to face him as her mask opens showing her purple skin and other dwemer characteristics* go hug a land mine.

[twistytwine]

I’m ngl as much as I love the characters of the college of Winterhold I kind of wish Savos Aren was the villain and Ancano wasn’t. Like Savos Aren’s backstory feels perfect for a tragic antagonist and Ancano to me doesn’t,,,have much depth to him? I like headcanons of the Thalmor finding him annoying af and marking him as an outcast, but unfortunately none of that is confirmed canon. Ancano just feels evil because he’s Thalmor, not because of anything else deeper than that. Would be nice if he were still a racist dick but was genuinely trying to make the college better while Savos (whatever his motives would be) was the villain of the questline

[sparda-ly]

Hi, I saw your requests are open, so she's taking my chances to hopefully get something. Could I hopefully get j'zargo, arcano, and miraak when their jealous, please?

(jealous) j'zargo, ancano, miraak x reader

note: hey there! sure! i hope this isn't so bad and cringe, especially j'zargo's part, he's a very difficult character to write!

warnings: none

j'zargo

j'zargo being a khajit definitely helps him sense a lot of things

whether it's danger, fire, breaths, or simple whispers, he is quick to notice when something is wrong

but this time it was a little different

j'zargo was in the hall of attainment when he noticed you talking to odmund

he suddenely could hear his hearbeat quickening and words getting messed up

he felt something in his chest looking at you two getting along a little too well for his comfort

j'zargo makes everything a competition, however he wasn't looking forward to this one, which is really suprising

coming up to both of you, he listens for a bit and decides to join the conversation

"j'zargo doesn't find you amusing ogmund, if you spend so much time trying to steal j'zargo's y/n, you might as well give up on your dream involving becoming a nord mage"

he takes your hands with his and leaves the hall, leading to the quaters

"j'zargo doesn't like you talking to ogmund. he doesn't trust him"

"he's just an acquaintance, he helps me with my spells. no need to be jealous"

he huffs and responds with "you don't need him. j'zargo can teach you anything you'd like"

you just smile and nod appreciatively, thankful for such an amazing husband

ancano

when ancano is jealous, he always overuses the punishments he can give away as an "advisor"

if he so much as sees someone looking at you for too long, he just knows the perfect way to make them regret it

he gets jealous very quickly, probably because under that confident and arrogant mask is an insecure man

you were talking with one of the new students the other day, some random guy, when you noticed he was blushing and blabbering nonsense

you of course didn't think a lot about it, you're used to it plus you are loyal to a very strict altmer

it was fine at first, just small talk but then the "touching" started

arcano appeared next to you in a second, grabbing that guys robes, looking at him in disgust

"what your filthy hands apprentice, or you might lose them soon"

let's just say that you never saw the guy again.

miraak

to be honest, miraak doesn't get jealous often

he knows he is powerful and could just destroy anyone that ever wanted to ruin things between you two

he feels more threatened by himself, he understands his actions are often questionable and rash

however there are situations where he feels at least a bit of jealousy, you won't ever hear him admit it though

if anyone sticks around you for too long, follows you all the time and tries to steal your attention

miraak notices it immediately.

one single glare and the person instantly understands, giving up hope for any interaction with you for a long ass time

you don't really see any of these situations happening, miraak knows how to be slick and also he doesn't want you to be concerned about such little unimportant things

when you notice that some servants are missing, you begin to question him where did they dissapear to?

he feeds you some lie and carries on like nothing ever happened

the less you know, the better you sleep at night

[whitegoldtower]

NPCs if you tickle them:

Ancano: is extremely ticklish and will smack you across the head with a book before you can even touch him. If you sneak attack him, though, he will let out a very undignified shriek, drop whatever is in his hands and give you an absolute earful.

Ondolemar: Is mildly ticklish, but hides it well. He forces himself to stand still and asks you if you’re done yet. If you catch him off guard, he will turn around with a face like thunder until he realises it’s you.

Vingalmo: isn’t ticklish at all. Takes your hands, places them back in your lap and tells you not to touch what you can’t afford. Or, he takes it as flirtation and tickles you back with a purr and a wink.

Serana: jumps and slaps your arm with quite a bit of force. She does see the funny side of it, though, and asks if your arm is ok.

Babette: do you want to lose your fingers? It might be tempting to see the eternal child and go “tickle wickle!!” but I’d strongly advise against it. Nobody knows whether she is actually ticklish or not because nobody gets away with it.

Lydia: Isn’t ticklish, is just confused. Unless you tickle the front of her neck, then you’re going to find her fist in your face. Don’t put your hands near her face, she really doesn’t like it.

J’Zargo: touch his belly, you die. Touch him in general, you die. However, provided that you’re good friends, if you get his sides or back, he will ask you to scritch a little. Tickle him under the chin and he will start purring. He might even dribble a bit and then be horribly embarrassed about it.

Cicero: will piss himself. And I mean that literally. Don’t tickle the poor man, he can’t handle it.

[throughtrialbyfire]

𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 ♥

hi! it's been far too long since ive done this, but classes have been kicking my ass. next semester is my last at this college, so i'm trying to get as much done as possible <3

thank you to the lovely @captain-of-silvenar for tagging me, and to everyone who has been tagging me in my absence!!

tagging @orfeoarte @thequeenofthewinter @archangelsunited @viss-and-pinegar and whoever wants to do this and hasnt been tagged!!

this week, i bring the rough draft of the rewritten first chapter of An Inner Sanctity. ancano wakes up to find himself in an unfamiliar setting with intense pain he can't find a source for… and someone else in the cabin with him.

The room was dark. Lit only by a hearth, or some other fire. He could almost hear it crackle, if not for the shooting, electric pain digging into him like a hot knife. It ran in wild arcs from his lower spine, up through his shoulders and down through the legs, into his head until it pounded. He strangled a cry mid-way from his mouth and choked on air, face balled tight in an effort to shut it off, but that only served to intensify the tension in his head. He laid back on the pillow, coated in a new layer of cold sweat, lungs ragged in their attempts to keep any air in them. He tried to move, kicking his legs like stubborn carts laden with ore, but they were too heavy to move under the quilts and his own exhaustion. The pain dulled, first a slow glimmer of softening, then it dissipated into thudding behind his eyes. His ears pounded with blood rushing through them, his muscles heavy and uncomfortable. It was as though he had been speared through with a burning iron blade, but as he lifted his shaking hands to his face and touched the skin beneath, he could not feel anything out of the ordinary. His features were a bit sharper, perhaps. And the thin, oily coat of sweat didn't help any matters, either. He couldn't tell where he was, nor why the room was dim, nor why the quilts were there. Was he asleep? How long had he been asleep? The last thing he'd seen is that wave of… What was it, was that magicka? Not like anything he'd ever seen before. But it had slammed into him, knocking him back towards a wall, and a force had shocked through him to his core, and then…

A door opened near where he lay. Ancano shut his eyes. He slowed his breathing as the trudge of footsteps drew closer, a bowl sloshing with water. The guise of sleep would afford him enough time to take them by surprise, to shove them aside and paralyze them before he made his escape. Then, he'd run to the Thalmor Embassy and let them know what had happened at that dreadful College, barring a few details, of course. After all, it was only natural that the one to wield such an artifact such as the Eye should want to keep it for himself, is it not? A warm, wet washcloth swept over the ridge of his brow, the hand who held it moving in slow, gentle motions. He could feel their fingers as they gripped the cloth, and brought it down to his cheeks, over his eyes, and around his mouth. It took all of his strength not to protest the sensation, but he remained still and quiet as a corpse, and allowed the motions to fall over him. The cloth set aside somewhere, the same hand dipped something into the water, before he felt bristles moving through his hair. The motions were careful, pushing back the front of the lengths with the wet brush, ensuring that the one who held it did not harm him. Strange, was he perhaps in the care of a Dominion medic? Is that, by some miracle, where he'd wound up? The brush set aside on a wooden surface - to Ancano's chagrin, as he had enjoyed the little bit of comfort the brushing sensation provided - the mysterious hand returned, moving the cloth down his neck, and around his chest. They moved it along the ridges of his collar bone, and when he opportunity struck, he lurched out his hand like a snake's mouth to prey, eyes shot open as he got a bleary, unclear look at the figure. "Explain to me who you are, and what you are doing, or you will be missing a hand very shortly," he sneered in a hoarse voice, the threat taking the figure by surprise. As he began to register the figure before him, recognition came through the sound of their own voice, the person shoving against his hand on their wrist.

"Let me go, damn it! I'm just trying to help you!" Their protests came out more surprised than scared, and at that moment Ancano got a clear look at the individual before him. He loosened his grip, watching the Mer rub their wrist and pout a little, their dark hair falling over their shoulders in curls. His eyes widened involuntarily as he looked up at them, brow knit in confusion. The last memory that he had of this figure was that of them trying to kill him. "Athenath?" He uttered, throat unusually dry. The Altmer turned their attention to him, giving a nervy grin as he continued to massage his wrist. They then let the hand fall to their lap, looking over Ancano curiously. "Yes, and I'm gonna assume you've always had good grip strength." He frowned. Attempting to push himself up onto his elbows, another crack of pain whipped through his lower spine and into his extremities. Whatever noise he must have made, it was enough to make Athenath flinch, before they began to lower him back into the bed. "Hey, don't do that, not yet," they chided as Ancano's lips ran with haggard breaths, "you're not… well. I mean, I don't think you're sick, but you're definitely injured, though Lydia said she can't find any signs of physical injury. I can't, either, besides some cuts and bruises from… Well, you shouldn't worry too much."

He sneered. "Don't worry, I won't," he replied, words dripping thickly with sarcasm. The other Altmer rolled their dark eyes, and while Ancano had known they'd spoken, and he'd returned his own words, it was as though all sound came from across a corner, down a hall, somewhere out of touch. All he saw was his own pulse-spot-spattered vision, and the gleaming of the hearth reflected in the surface of the water that they'd been using moments prior. He had never known that he could get this thirsty. His tongue laid as dry and sharp in his mouth as a chunk of sandstone, all thoughts focused there. It would be pathetic to ask for water, to beg like a dog, but he found he did not have to, as Athenath pulled over a silver pitcher and poured him a glass. They set it aside, and with as much care as he could muster, began to shift Ancano to sit against the pillows. He winced and gagged on the pain, but the other took his time, and Ancano swore in that moment he almost heard reassurances, words meant to soothe so bitter and mocking in this light. When it was all over, however, he was seated, with the pillows against his back, resting on the headboard of what must have been a makeshift bed, as it was too hard to be a bed used regularly, and too lumpy to be one he was expected to sleep on for much longer. Well, he certainly hoped so, for if he had to sleep on this mattress any more nights, he might burn the entire place down with everyone but himself inside.

[virginianmetrofaerie]

ondolemar headcanons bc again WE ARE LACKING

please bear with me i am a; autistic and b; obsessed with grumpy bald men. Some NSFW and Romance headcanons but nothing too explicit.

Not exactly middle aged, but not some sweet young thing either. If we're going off the idea that a 200 year old Altmer is elderly, then Ondolemar would probably be in the 75-85 year old range; the human equivalent of about 34-38. Not afraid of growing older, as in his eyes, age and wisdom is something to be respected and desired rather than feared and lamented.

Most definitely a little inbred. His bloodline is long, respected, and as pure as it gets (mostly thanks to getting a couple cousins together every now and then).

I saw something on a tes forum discussing how the Thalmor most likely occupied the majority of the Noble upper echelon in the Summerset Isles. This would be the case for Ondolemar, his father being a high-ranking Thalmor officer, and the same as his father before him.

Being the blueprint of racial purity and male attractiveness in Altmer society, Ondolemar is likely very popular with the ladies. Most definitely has a girl somewhere in every port across the Empire. However...

There has been significant pressure from his family to marry and produce an heir to carry on his family's name (especially going off the canon idea that Altmer only produce 1-2 children per couple). However, it is also an idea that Ondolemar has been putting off. He finds himself quickly bored and annoyed by any women that cross his path and desires someone that will challenge him. Frankly, he wants a woman that he can court and chase and put effort into wooing over, rather than it being the other way around.

Cares less than he actually shows about the intermixing of races across Tamriel, though is very adamant on Elven Supremacy (however, does have fascination and respect for Argonians and Khajiit). However, he will not touch a woman who is not another Altmer, unlike some of his other Thalmor colleagues such as Ancano who has most definitely had a cheeky roll in the hay with an Imperial or Dunmer woman.

A great enjoyer of sex, and is quite good at it too. Most likely going a little nuts in Markarth as the only other Altmer there are his two blokes™ as well as Calcemo and Aicantar.

Very wealthy, both generationally and through his own efforts. Doesn't flaunt his wealth, but definitely enjoys the finer things in life; expensive imported wine, high quality leather, fine art, exotic food... the list goes on. One thing he noted about Skyrim was the lack of industries supporting such exuberant wealth; in Summerset, most individuals, even the middle class, were wealthy to a degree, thus most of the industry advertised luxury and premium items. If anything, the humbleness of life in Skyrim impressed him (after he got over his initial repulsion).

I headcanon that he does own property in Skyrim; though he has an office in Understone Keep for the purpose of investigating Talos Worship in Markarth, he has been provided an abode nearby by the Embassy. He also would own private property in a more Imperial city, such as Solitude, as a means to get away when he is given some time off.

Very religious, and takes his job rather seriously, though is absolutely sick of it, and sick of Elenwen.

Skyrim had not been his first post, yet his most recent and his least desired. He had been stationed in Summerset, Elsewyr, Valenwood, and very briefly in Cyrodil Previously. Elsewyr had been his favorite; he enjoyed the culture of Khajiit as well as the tropical weather.

[theoneandonlysemla]

Playlists Post

Hi there, I've been putting my writing playlists into Spotify and thought "hey, why not share them for readers"? Maybe you people will like the vibes :P (I will most certainly expand when I find new songs that fit)

Dealings with Daedra:

A Tale of Hunt:

A Taste of Death:

[thana-topsy]

35

Ancano X Savos Aren? 👀

EXCELLENT suggestion. Thank you for this one.

---

Ancano x Savos Aren "A kiss to gain something." (1077 words)

“I’m sorry, but the answer is still no.” 

Ancano lifted a brow as he took a sip of wine, gazing half-lidded over the brim of his cup. He dabbed his lips on the back of his glove and offered a delicate shrug in response. “I understand, Arch-Mage. My apologies for… haranguing you.”

They sat opposite each other in Savos Aren’s quarters, a bottle of Firebrand wine between them (Ancano’s gift), barely touched. Aren wore a look of pinched suspicion, which Ancano supposed was fair. He hadn’t really made an attempt at being pleasant thus far, but supposed after two months living at this wretched college that he might as well make an attempt to forge a connection. At least superficially. 

More than connection, however, he wanted access to Saarthal.

“You have to understand it from my perspective,” Aren continued, gazing curiously into his own wine cup. It’s not poisoned, Ancano wanted to say. “We already walk a delicate tightrope with the locals. Allowing a Thalmor agent to enter a revered Nordic crypt—especially considering the history of said crypt—it would shine unwanted attention on the College. We are neutral in this conflict, and many might see it as–”

“I might remind you that the Thalmor are also neutral in this conflict, Arch-Mage. Our presence in Skyrim, as with any other country under the Empire’s rule, is simply to enforce order and aid in upholding the agreements of the Concordat. I might also add that I am not a Justiciar. I am not here to root out Talos worship, though it is my duty to report it.” He paused, taking another sip of wine, letting his words linger. “But it is not my main concern. My role here is to act as an advisor and ambassador to you, Arch-Mage. And staying abreast of the College’s curriculum, including all relevant expeditions, is my concern.”

At long last, Aren took a sip of his own wine. He made a pleased noise, then picked up the bottle to inspect the label. “Quite nice.”

Ancano nodded, tilting his cup in Aren’s direction in silent cheers.

Aren sat back in his chair with a sigh, pushing the hood from his head. His long, black hair was streaked gray and pulled back into a low tail. His features were severe, even for a dark elf: high cheekbones and hollow cheeks, his deep red eyes slitted like a fox. The point of his beard only served to make his face appear far too long and narrow. Ancano always found the dark elves to have an unnatural, uncanny appearance to them—Daedra-cursed through and through—and rarely did he find himself in such close quarters with one. He couldn’t help but stare. 

“You were a student at this college once, correct?” Ancano asked. 

“Yes,” Aren answered, his nervousness returning. 

“What was your area of study?” 

He seemed to relax marginally. “Oh, well, I had a variety of projects in my time. This was close to a century ago, mind you, but–”

And he was off, jabbering away about various lines of research and artifact recovery. No wonder he’d initiated the Saarthal expedition. Savos Aren seemed particularly fascinated with what basically amounted to grave robbing. Ancano smiled into his wine. 

“What’s so funny?” Aren asked. 

“Funny? No no, you mistake me. I simply find your… enthusiasm to be charming.” 

An indigo flush crept up Aren’s neck and darkened his cheeks. He took a sip of his own wine and averted his fox-like eyes. 

Ancano made a mental note of the reaction. “Please continue,” he urged. “And let me–” He reached forward to lift the wine bottle, motioning for Aren to hold out his cup to be refilled. 

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Arch-Mage.” 

He listened patiently as the Dunmer continued to ramble, Aren's shoulders becoming looser, his gesticulations more enthusiastic. Ancano continued to fill Aren’s wine cup when it ran low.

“And I just feel it; a mage’s intuition, if you will. There’s a missing piece to the puzzle in Saarthal. Why would our ancient brethren risk it all otherwise? The Nords dug too deep, I say. They found something that they shouldn’t have. Something worth fighting for. I just know it.”

Ancano’s entire body blazed with victory, satisfaction curling in the pit of his stomach. He hid his excitement behind a placid smile. “You’ve dared to do what many have not. And for that, I commend you. I have no doubt your efforts will prove to be most fruitful.”

“I appreciate you saying so,” said Aren. “And thank you for the wine. It’s been most delicious.”

“Of course.” Ancano rose to his feet, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck. “I believe I must retire for the evening. It’s grown late.” 

Aren got to his feet as well. “Ah, I’ve rambled on for so long. My apologies.”

“No need to apologize. I inquired, after all.”

Aren’s gaze was slightly unfocused—dulled from the wine and lulled by the companionable conversation—yet his gaze lingered on Ancano’s face for a moment too long. “If–” he began, then seemed to second guess himself. 

Ancano relaxed his posture, crossing his hands patiently in front of his waist, waiting. 

“I might accompany you to Saarthal, if you’d still like. Though the excavation has only just begun, I can show you our progress. If–” He gestured to Ancano’s robes. “–only if you promise to wear something a little less… flashy.” 

Ancano laughed, and to his own surprise it was a more genuine laugh than he intended. He cleared his throat and regained his composure. “I believe that’s a fair request.” 

Final play. Are you so sure of yourself? 

Yes, he answered his own query. 

Ancano was young by Altmeri standards, but he had grown up among politicians and kinsmen, breast-fed on the social dalliances of subterfuge and subtle manipulation. He knew the signs. He knew the game. 

Aren smiled a little too genuinely, and Ancano offered a slight bow in return, crossing his hands behind his back. 

“I would be honored, Arch-Mage.” Then, stepping forward, he leaned into Aren’s space, tilting his head to place a soft kiss against the dark elf’s cheek. 

Aren sucked in a breath, but otherwise remained stock still as Ancano’s lips lingered. 

Then, Acano stepped away with another bow, passing the gesture off as Altmeri formalities. “I eagerly await your invitation.”

“Very good,” Aren said distantly. 

Ancano’s smile felt razor-sharp on his lips. “And I’ll make sure to dress for the occasion.”