#Arcane University

[spooky-donut-ghost-house]

Lucien: "That's NOT how fucking dialectics work, you stupid cuck! I didn't study Xarxes plus continental philosophy in general at The Arcane University for SEVEN FUCKING YEARS for some LOW LIFE KNOW IT ALL who's CLEARLY never fucking read Xarxes as he would KNOW that XARXES has NEVER FUCKING EVER use the terms “thesis, antithesis, synthesis” to start perpetuating these LIES at EVERY SINGLE FUCKING OPPORTUNITY! This isn't Xarxes, my friend, no, no, no. Thesis, antithesis, synthesis was thought up by Sotha Sil and it's clearly inferior to Xarxes' dialectical method of imminent critique. Yes, it's called imminent critique. And dialectics is only ONE PART of Xarxes' full method. Which again is called imminent critique which you would know if you had ACTUALLY BOTHERED TO READ XARXES, IT'S LITERALLY IN THE SCIENCE OF LOGIC, YOU DUMB FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! I honestly cannot believe the fucking arrogance to come out here, spouting that anti Xarxes garbage. Where did you get your fucking info on dialectics? Fucking Calcelmo? By The Divines, I cannot deal with this bullshit right now. I'm sorry, I'm leaving, I'm fucking leaving."

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Mannimarco, clearly livid: Have you no shame, Traven?

Hannibal Traven, equally mad: Well, of course! Yes. I am ashamed of YOU!

Oromis: *spits out wine* Oh DAMN!

[abby118]

(x)

[unironicallytes]

I said this in a server the other day but I'm doubling down in public

Oblivion Arcane University robes should go WAY harder. These are mages, they need to serve absolute cunt. Like imagine you get accepted into this prestigious university to learn magic and at your orientation they're all "here's your uniform robes!" and they hand you a potato sack. I would riot.

Also they should have a student store that you get a measly 10% off of overpriced Arcane U merch with your school ID. Raelius is repping his school with like the most expensive Arcane Eye™️ cloak brooch. It was like 70 septims for no good reason.

[doctor-disc0]

Actual conversation overheard at the Arcane University:

"Magister, I have something important to discuss with you."

"Bye!"

[wispstalk]

intermediate conjuration

prompt from the @nirnwrote discord server- 'who are you' from this list

The practice hall is the only pragmatic thing about the Arcane University; its walls are lined with targets and leather dummies instead of bookshelves and enchanted curiosities and splendid Ayleid tapestries. Unornamented flagstone floors with a few cushions scattered around, a shelf of basic restoratives for magical mishaps, and polished metal sconces with runes that will hold a magelight for hours. It feels more like an armory, or the common hall of a barracks. Aside from the gardens, it is the only place in this school where Tanis Irathi feels at home.

He came here thinking to rope one of the other apprentices into a practice duel; what is there to learn from casting fireballs at steel plates? He looks among the throng of chattering students for a likely opponent, until he catches sight of Anaht.

They often see each other in the Archives, but he had forgotten that she teaches from time to time. So this must be a class. She squints at him and waves an elegant enameled claw as if to shoo him away.

"This is a conjuration class," she says flatly.

He smiles and shrugs and pulls up one of the cushions to rest his bones. He’s not going anywhere. Only an hour ago he made his breakneck ride from Skingrad, apparently victorious, although the book he was sent after doesn’t exist.

Raminus was apologetic for the lie. In truth Tanis hadn’t minded all that much: the necromancers had hardly given him a fight and he is accustomed to taking orders. But he will allow the Mages’ Council to think their errands an imposition— so long as they keep showering him with expensive enchanted trinkets in reward for his dedication.

But the Master Mystic had told him he was now free of duties and could return to his studies, and he remembered that he had come here to do just that, so he probably ought to, even though he’s not exactly sure what to study. As Anaht calls her students to attention, he reckons this is as good a place for him as any.

“Welcome to Intermediate,” she says, delicately stressing the word, “Conjuration. Most of you have completed Master Traven’s prerequisite readings but I do not think a little review of the concepts would be out of line.”

He sneers at her; she glides smoothly into her lecture without acknowledging him. A quick scan of the room shows ten other students, all garbed alike, their sashes embroidered with the twin hands that mark the rank of Evoker. He shares their rank, but he won’t be caught dead in the sash or the secondhand robes— they’re itchy and mothball-scented and the cheap blue dye washes him out. His own robes are dark and dramatic, enchanted to augment his magicka reserves and cut in a crisp Altmeri style for ease of movement. Combat, riding, running like hell. The fabric doesn’t bunch around his scabbard and the sleeves aren’t as likely to catch fire.

Some of them throw surreptitious glances to where he lounges in the back of the room, apart from them. Who is this black-clad interloper, those eyes say, this pretender in our vaunted halls? He knows the whispers that trail after him: Raminus’s running dog, they say, he struts about armed like a common soldier, not a serious scholar at all. He lets it roll off. The ranks mean little to him. Better to be a dog on a long chain than spend his days in a crate. Squinting at yellowed pages ’til his eyes turn square.

“Every year,” Anaht is saying, “I get a crop of students with heads full of silly ideas. Many skilled conjurers have befriended their conjurings, you might say. Put those notions aside. You are not skilled and they are only your allies so long as your bindings hold. They despise you for it. First and foremost you must be an iron-willed tyrant.”

One student raises a finger with a look that says she’s dying to argue. Anaht, unmoved, raises a staying hand.

The sound that comes from her gives Tanis a jolt. He jumps to his feet, joints loose and ready to spring. Her smooth deep voice is unlike a dremora’s growl but he recognizes the harsh words of her binding. He knows all too well what’s coming.

A shimmer of light resolves itself into a snarling scamp. A few appreciative oohs sound through the crowd until it hurls itself at Anaht— then stops short, as if choked by an invisible leash.

Tanis realizes he has reached across for the hilt of his sword. He lets it go.

“Iron-willed tyrant,” she repeats. A few nervous titters. The scamp slinks to heel, its shoulders hunched in obeisance and its eyes burning with hatred.

Anaht produces a bundle of scrolls on sheepskin palimpsest — they are economical, those Archivists — and raises them for all to see. “You will all pair off and use these scrolls to summon scamps of your own. Your object is simply to hold them in place with the strength of your combined wills. Do not let them run, do not let them flee back to Oblivion. Maintain your bindings until this magelight” — she casts a fat yellow orb into the air — “burns out.”

She slips among the pairs and passes out her scrolls. “If your focus slips it will try to kill you.” Her bejeweled tail twitches and chimes with a hint of amusement. “So attend closely. None of my students have died yet. Do not embarrass me.”

Tanis is the odd one out. Anaht crosses toward him, her scamp trotting along behind. “I have no scroll prepared for you, since you did not bother to register—”

He says, “You don’t think there are enough of those fucking things running around?”

“I am a conjuration expert. Since Traven took half my curriculum off the table, this is what I have.” She spreads her hands. “Are you only here to tell me what an irresponsible wizard I am for teaching such dangerous arts? During a crisis, no less? Spare me.”

“Those things are easy to kill,” he says with a wave of the hand, then glances at the scamp as if it might have taken offense. “It’s the big bastards I don’t like.”

He pulls aside his collar so she can see the ring of scars around his shoulder, the bite from a daedroth that had picked him up and thrown him into a death roll as if he weighed no more than a rag mop.

“Ah. A defensive approach to education. It is a wonder that Traven has not laid claim to you yet.” She throws a half-glance back at her students to make sure none of them are dying. “Nevertheless, he is the Master Conjurer and writes the prerequisites for conjuration study. I would advise you to read them before coming to my class. As flip as I may sound, it is indeed dangerous.”

He gives a dismissive wave and speaks a binding— or rather coughs it out in that harsh and alien tongue— and a dagger flashes into his hand. Anaht regards him with bright eyes, and he grins. After all the tumult in their long years of friendship, he does still enjoy earning her approval.

“Who are you, Tanis Irathi?” she says softly. "The longer you are here the more I wonder if I ever knew you at all."

The dagger vanishes with a flourish of his wrist. He tells her of the day he spent at the temple, bored out of his wits, conjuring daggers for hours in the courtyard until they came easily to his hand. He was thinking of the Mythic Dawn cultists that hunt him like jackals— how they’re fucked if he disarms them, how they leave themselves open for precious seconds while they draw their weapons from thin air. There had to be some advantage he wasn’t seeing.

He badgered the priest into teaching him. Martin was less than pleased, but all the same, he brought out the Daedric lexicon and told Tanis the way of speaking accursed blades into existence. He leaves the priest out; suspects he oughtn’t burden Anaht with Imperial secrets, oughtn’t shatter the illusion of escape he finds in the University.

“They’re fine weapons,” he concludes. “But I noticed I wasn’t getting the same one every time. I called up one that was everything I want in a knife: perfect balance, slim and sharp, good heft in the hand but light enough to be fast. Next time it was a bit heavier, a bit wider grip. So I spoke the binding again but I added: give me that hairsplitter back.” He conjures the dagger again and gives it a few slashes through the air. “So here she is. Hairsplitter. Every single time.”

Anaht’s nictitating membranes slide over her eyes in irritation at his theatrics, but her tone is pleased. “Yes. That is often a sticking point in Daedric conjuration— you are given whatever Oblivion sees fit to grant you, unless you learn the finer points of the language. Subtle inflections, much like Jel. You and your talent for tongues. Let me draw you up another scroll and—”

“No need.” He speaks the binding, exactly as she had. The words are ash and sulfur in his throat and something in his mind wrenches — he hears Anaht let out a parallel yelp of surprise — and all at once he is doubled over, nauseous and staring at the flagstone, while somehow also looking up at his own face.

“Vaxei kuuda,” Anaht mutters— roughly, cocky son-of-a-bitch. A hand clutches his arm before the vertigo can lay him out on the floor. “Never mind what I said, you have not changed at all. Attend me closely: you are seeing through the scamp’s eyes as well as your own. My scrolls are designed to circumvent that. Experienced conjurers can shut it out with the mental discipline that they learn… from the prerequisite studies. You will have to make do with closing your eyes.”

It helps with the dizziness but only just. His eyelids are squeezed shut but he still sees, from a height of about three feet off the floor, his own swaying form and Anaht’s tail quivering with amusement. “I hate this,” he says.

“This is the least you deserve! You stole my scamp.”

He swallows, forcing his mind into a feat of triple acrobatics: conversation, holding his focus, trying to push out the intrusion of that creature’s awareness into his own. “What?”

“You spoke its true name. Exactly as I did,” she tuts, and says again, “You and your talent for tongues. I’m taking my scamp back.”

Another wrench. The strange double vision clears, resolves to blackness. He keeps his eyes screwed shut and takes slow breaths until the nausea fades and the rawness in his throat ebbs away.

“So you see,” Anaht concludes as he opens his eyes, “there is a point to the prerequisites.”

Saxhleel don’t laugh, not in the way he’s used to, but he knows the body language well enough to understand he’s never going to live this down. The scamp is cowering now, stealing looks between the two of them as it creeps to hide behind Anaht’s skirts.

All the other students are gaping at him, their own scamps banished back from whence they came. Save for one pair who is determinedly holding their binding in place, perhaps in hope their instructor will offer a scrap of praise for their relentless focus.

“The prerequisites. Xhu-xhu, deelith,” he mutters, and straightens his sweat-soaked robes.

“You won't weasel your way out of proper study with flattery,” she hisses. “You will come to private lessons on the second floor practice room, Middas evenings, at sundown.”

She claps him, a little too hard, on the shoulder, and turns to her students with a bright and cheerful posture. “Meet the newest member of your conjuration cohort. I do believe we have a savant on our hands, who is well-accustomed to the danger of the art, so you should all know my standards will raise accordingly.”

A few groans at this. The practicing pair of students both turn to shoot him scrutinizing glares, and the light between their hands wavers, and the scamp breaks free of its bonds. Screams erupt as it rampages through the practice room, chittering and flexing its claws after the fleeing mages, hurling fireballs that catch on their stupid dagged sleeves.

"Oh, put that away," Anaht says, and swats Tanis with her tail. "This is a conjuration class."

Tanis, throwing an exasperated look into Anaht’s smug one, sheathes his iron sword and calls up a dagger.

[melloween-candie]

Outlaw [P.1]

Vi x Fem Reader

Summary

What would you do if you had a chance to be in their world?… Y/n had just finished watching Arcane for the 5th time, and she couldn't help but cry all over again. Seeing her favorite characters fighting and torturing each other was just too painful for her. All she ever wanted was for Jinx to go back to being who she was and to stop Silco. She wanted to see Claggor and Vander live on, including Mylo! And most importantly, you wanted to save Vi and change Zaun for the better. So, what did God do? Hit you with a car and put you in the show :)

A/n - I published this story on my Wattpad before, but I never finished it. I really loved Arcane and this concept that I came up with, so I made a promise to myself that I WILL finish it at some point!

And That's what I plan on doing! ╰(*°▽°*)╯

Warning! Spoilers, Mention of a car crash

[GxG/Fanfic]

Word count: 558

Arcane Masterlist (Coming soon)

Random Masterlist

Fandom Masterlists

/"Talking"//Thinking//Muttering-Whispering/

***Narrator's Pov***

It is currently 9:28 pm. Y/n is sitting on her bed, rewatching her favorite show for the 5th time on her computer.

***Y/n's Pov***

-9:28 pm/bedroom-

No matter how many times I rewatch this show, I will never get over the fact that it ended like this! Leaving me wanting more!!!!

You lay on your bed sideways as the credits rolled in, ending the last episode of Arcane. You turned off your browser, leaving your computer at the homepage screen where you can see your beautiful wallpaper of Vi and the gang.

You started making circular motions with your index finger, touching your computer screen, circling Vi's face.

"If only I were in your world... with you and Powder... I would change things for the better." You mumbled, "Why can't life be like that? Why can't this be real?"

You sighed as you got up, getting ready for your night shift at your dead-end job.

Time skip!~

***Narrator's Pov***

You were currently behind a counter scanning food for a customer. 12:06 am... Only 3 hours left till you can leave.

***Y/n's Pov***

-12:06 am/Foodies' Groceries-

"And your total is... 52.50"

The customer handed you 55.00, and you did your job. Taking the money and giving them their change.

"Have a good night, sir." You said tiredly.

Time skip!~

***Narrator's Pov***

You were getting ready to leave as your coworker was getting ready for his shift.

Your coworker was also a fellow Arcane fan.

***Y/n's Pov***

-3:08 am/Foodies' employees only room-

"Hey, are we still up for L.O.L tomorrow night?"

"Huh? Oh yeah. Totally! But anyways, talk to you later."

"Have a safe night."

"You too!" You said as you left the grocery store. 

***Narrator's Pov***

You opened the door and started walking home. Your car was currently under repairs as it got hit by a tree two weeks ago. The cause was simple. You had a bad day, so you got a few drinks and got distracted. At least that deer was ok. 

***Y/n's Pov***

-3:15 am/Foodies' parking lot-

God, this sucks! It's late, freezing, and dark. My car is totaled, and my license's revoked. I'm tired, and I can't even call a cab. What's worst is that college midterms are coming up soon...

"UGH... sigh..."

You stopped at a long crosswalk. Looking both ways before you cross.

I wonder if it's too late for me to go back and ask Finny-

You turned to your right to see a blinding light coming your way...

BANG! 

***Narrator's Pov***

After that, you were flying across the road. Pain erupted from your body as you lay on the cold road. Blood pouring out of your body.

***Y/n's Pov***

-3:30 am/In the middle of the road-

Why is it so cold... What happened?

You saw your life flash before your eyes...

This can't be it... It can't be... season two of Arcane hasn't even came out yet...

A glowing man came out of the car that was in front of you...

"God?" You mumbled softly.

The glowing figure approached you quickly as your eyes continued to blur. The man seemed to be saying something, but you couldn't make out what he said. As your eyes slowly closed.

A/n - Honestly, I wasn't planning on posting this until I had a lot of fanfics for all the Gallagher family members in the shameless masterlist, however, that was taking longer than I planned. Also, I just wanted to post something.

Hope yall like it! I already have part 2 done I'm just not posting it until I get a good amount of fics for Shameless. So consider this a sneak peek lol. 🤭🫣

ALSO, HAPPY PRIDE MONTH! 🥳🎉(6/6/23)

(Sorry if it was cringe... lol I made this when I was like 13 😂😅)

[rainpebble3]

Stressed out Sunday

AKA SOS.

So, I’m feeling quite stressed, and feeling very sorry for myself, so I decided to jump back into my oldest fic, the one that started my monstruously huge stories. I can’t describe how happy I felt reading about my little brat, irritating her lecturer at the Arcane University. Seeing as I’m over 50k into book 3 of that series, I think I’ll share the one that started it all.

This story can be found on AO3 and is called:

The Flames of Justice

Before she was the Dragonborn, she was Ailith Copperwing. An overachieving mage with a talent for embarassing her teachers.

A moment of carelessness throws her into the Imperial City Prison at 15 years old and face to face with a savage, locked up for public disturbances and wild drunken behaviour. Torban Thrice-Banished believes he is untouchable and confesses to murder while clamping his bloody hands around Ailith's neck. Ailith is terrified and appalled that he can confess to hideous crimes knowing he'll be unpunished. With the loving support of her parents, Ailith begins her journey to find power and enough of it to finally get Thrice-Banished put behind bars for good.

As well as her parents, Ailith quickly forms bonds within the Fighter's Guild and with the mysterious Khajiit, Theranni. He is equally drawn to Ailith and pledges to help her hunt down the evasive bandit. With him fighting by her side, Ailith feels invincible. But is she?

Inspired by characters created in the Skyrim Romance Mod and Beyond Skyrim: Bruma. This is the story of my Dragonborn before she faces Alduin and meets Bishop.

Chapter 1: The First Arrest

The Arcane university was a beautiful and imposing building, it rose above the south side of the Imperial City and the energies of the hundreds of mages inside would hum over the city with any breeze. Officially it was known as the home of the Synod, however many still called it the arcane university. Students from all corners of the continent would flock there to improve their skills in relative peace. There were no age barriers and classes were organised by ability. The oldest current student being an Altmer of over a hundred years, and the youngest being a gifted Argonian at eleven.

Like some students of her age, Ailith had very little interest in her studies. Following on from the pressure from her mother, Ailith had been developing her magic skills since she was old enough to speak. Now at fifteen years old she was ahead of her class, even the teacher sometimes and she couldn't understand why she had to waste her time in these lessons. Especially as she was separated from her friends to enter this group. They were still in some lower level classes, while Ailith had been dragged into Advanced. She was on track to become a researcher or even a Master.

She looked around her classroom, there were several elves and a few humans, and from her perch at the back of the room Ailith studied them as they were hunched over parchment taking attentive notes from their teacher. Her own sheets were pristine and untouched. It wasn't even a proper lecture; they were just being given overviews of the main fields of study and why it was important to pick just one area. Ailith yawned loudly and smirked as her neighbour, an elderly Dunmer with spectacles, glared at her. She tapped the parchment and the Dunmer looked away with a quiet growl.

Ailith ran her hands through her hair and frowned when her fingers tugged on some knots. There was also some hardening ink in her hair from a nap she took in the morning. The blackness made her hair look slightly charred at the tips. Ailith rubbed it between her fingers, watching the dry ink drift onto the perfectly white parchment. The shapes the ink fell into were far more interesting than this lecture. They looked remarkably similar to Daedric runes.

The room around her stank of troll fat after an alchemy accident the day before and it made Ailith's head pound. Her nose wrinkled in disgust and frustration as she looked to the unopenable windows. She resentfully noted that it was a beautiful day outside the cold stone walls of the University. She leaned back in her seat, feeling miserable while the teacher droned on about choosing a specialty within the schools of magic, it took everything she had not to roll her eyes. The Synod didn't care about preserving Mages health, they wanted to limit the power of their students and stop anyone from disrupting the status quo.

As the daughter of the University's Master of illusion, she was expected to simply follow in her mother's footsteps. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, when she was young her mother had recognised her early talents and encouraged her strengths in all schools of Magika, with plenty of focus on respecting her limits. She couldn't help but snort, illusion spells were so dull compared to the rush of manipulating the elements. Ailith used to love magic and learning, she began her university career as an enthusiastic and attentive student but when the other Masters would just assume that she would focus on illusion skills and make pompous comments at any interest she had in other schools, she felt like they were slamming her into a box. Every day Ailith felt herself hardening as she distanced from university life. The daily patronising discussions with teachers had crushed her love of magic, now she just didn't care.

She especially didn't care when she had to endure these lectures on specialising in a field of magic. Maybe if she could conjure a small flame atronach, they would let the class out early... Her fingers twirled gently over the parchment, absently tracing a summoning circle.

"Miss Copperwing! Are we boring you?" The irritating voice of her teacher broke into her fantasy as he slammed a book on the desk at the front, making everyone jump. She felt the rest of the class eyeing her, hoping to see her taken down a peg or two. Ailith knew they didn't like her... they hated that she was better than them. She also knew she was the youngest in the group by at least ten years which was hugely resented, and she loved showing off in class.

Ignoring her classmates, she smirked at the stuffy Altmer at the front of the classroom. She released a heavy sigh before answering him. "Just a bit, Mr Spellock..." she drawled. As an added insult, she began to chew on a ragged fingernail.

She could almost taste the disapproval from her classmates as it rippled towards her. They tutted and shook their heads. She didn't care, they were dull morons and she enjoyed watching her teacher squirm. Despite beings an arrogant ass and always talking down to her, he wasn't even a master of anything, he hadn't earned the right to teach anyone.

"Well," he frowned for a second. He ran a hand through his golden hair before smirking, "I suppose, to perhaps save us some time, you wouldn't mind explaining to the class what the consequences of magika burnout are?" The class stared silently between the two mages.

"Burnout, hmm..." Ailith picked at an invisible thread on her robes, sounding bored. She gnawed on her lip and sighed more dramatically than necessary. "I guess that would be when you spread yourself out over too many fields causing rapid fatigue, hindered recovery and impaired casting. It could cost your life if you get too carried away or potentially weaken your abilities permanently... Oh! And we have to mention caster's flu, that's a nasty... nasty consequence there." She finished by sucking a breath through her teeth.

Ailith's mother had explained this to her when she discovered her daughter aged ten surrounded by spellbooks from all of the magic schools and practising novice level spells from each of them. Ailith's smirk widened into a grin as Mr Spellock shook his head and took a moment to compose himself. He was getting quite annoyed with her, but now it was the time to put the cherry on top. She stood up and stretched. Everyone blinked at her curiously.

"However, being well versed in many schools could save your life. A good example of this, would be the spell Equilibrium, belonging to the Alteration school I believe," she directed this sarcastically to her teacher, needing no response as she knew damn well Equilibrium was part of the Alteration family of spells.

She rolled her sleeves up and extended a palm to show a vivid red glow that was beginning to flutter like weak flames, "Now I can use this to drain my own life force to fuel my magic," the red glow became brighter and crept up her arm. Ailith watched her classmates as they stared at the almost demonic redness. The effects of the spell were instant, she felt herself grow tired and her bones began aching as power was drawn from them. Looking around the room at her audience, she knew it was worth the weakness and pain to see them in awe of her. Her teacher was speechless, and his golden skin had developed a pink hue, maybe he was having a stroke...

"You can see as the glow moves up my arm, I'm growing weaker. It would be very easy to accidentally kill myself doing this, but..." she extended another palm to show a golden glow, "as I am pretty good with restoration," she winked, "if I have any healing spell cast then I will recover my lifeforce while still charging magika. Very useful in desperate situations." The golden glow began to spread up her other arm a bit more quickly, balancing the two spells.

Ailith grinned around the class, her classmates were muttering to each other, sounding impressed. She caught the eye of one of her bigger critics, Frida an elderly Nord who had run away to Cyrodiil to learn about the arcane arts. Ailith shot her an arrogant wink while the older woman's face crinkled.

She was taken by surprise when Mr Spellock slammed another book on his desk. The librarian would be pissed if he damaged any of these tomes. Ailith tilted her head to peek at the spines of the books. They seemed to be ok.

"Enough! ENOUGH!" he yelled. Ailith closed her palms, ending the spells as she quirked an eyebrow at the irritated Altmer. "I can't stand another minute of this spectacle. I am the teacher here! Leave Miss Copperwing, and I will speak to your mother about this!" He raised his hand, pointing to the door. His hand trembled and glowed an ominous shade of orange.

Ailith blinked, playing the mother card was unexpected, and once she got over her shock, she snickered. "Let's see who speaks to her first, Spellock." Leaving her untouched parchment and inkless quill on the desk, Ailith strode out of the classroom without looking back.

She strode down the back stairwell, avoiding the teleportation stones used by most students. Ailith decided it was wise to avoid other mages for the time being. She left the university grounds, crossing the bridge into the city and entered the Arboretum. Dozens of citizens strolled the around the district, admiring the statues of the eight divines, however, no one paused at the young oak tree that replaced the old Talos statue. It was growing slowly in the centre of the Arboretum and almost completely concealed the cracked stones where Talos had stood. As she passed the tree, Ailith could see the shadows along the walls that were too dark to be anything other than Thalmor justiciars, ensuring that no one was stupid enough to openly worship Talos. They were using some form of concealment magic and they were almost invisible to non-magic users. Ailith glanced around and counted at least six shadowy figures spaced around the arboretum. She looked away from the walls, wanting to avoid being noticed by the Thalmor. This was the cost of peace and they just had to live with it. Ailith continued to walk around the arboretum towards the gate leading to the Arena district. Out of habit, Ailith paused at the statue of Julianos and pressed her hand on the cool marble.

Other mages passed the statue at the same time and also rested their palms on the statue, muttering their thanks to Julianos for his wisdom and their powers. Ailith ignored them and silently asked for help. She wanted to love magic again, but she didn't know how. Slowly, she dropped her hand and walked away. Ailith decided to visit the market district and maybe the bookshop could provide some inspiration.

It was shaping up to be a hot day, but that was hardly surprising for the middle of Sun's Height. As she felt the sun sink through her skin, it was warming her and restoring her energy. Showing off like that was more taxing than she would admit to anyone. When Ailith overexerted herself, she always felt chilled to her bones. Her boots thudded softly over the cobbles and she followed the sound of the busy marketplace. Her robes fluttered around her knees and she pulled the sleeves down over her hands to help warm up quicker. She arrived at the front door for the First Edition bookshop, but it was closed, according to a sign in the window the owner was away visiting family. Ailith tutted quietly and walked back towards the main marketplace.

She came to a stop and sat on a moss-covered wall to watch the people pass by. Ailith always marvelled at her home city, its strong stone walls bore many scars. The city had survived Daedric invasions and war, but the people of the city always endured. Their will to live kept the market busy and the people browsing stalls now were not too different from their ancestors who rebuilt their lives after the Oblivion crisis. Distracted from her earlier confrontation, Ailith smiled, she was always fascinated with people watching, each person was absorbed in their own world, barely aware of others around them.

The hum of activity quietened as a procession of people walked past. Ailith watched them as they passed through crowds of people. They strode past in their resplendent robes, ignoring the people around them and continued into the heart of the city. They must have been politicians, Ailith thought as they disappeared. Merchants and customers moved in the opposite direction, silently lost to their own thoughts and the flow of people began again. Ailith watched the people passing through, some were sombre and discussing their worries, and others were jovially chatting to their friends. The world outside may be shifting, but the market seemed to stay the same.

It had been many years since the last great war with the Thalmor and to Ailith, it seemed that the land was recovering nicely. There were whispers of rebellion in other provinces, but that seemed far away from her and these busy shoppers. She tipped her face towards the sun, enjoying her freedom and gently swung her feet, tapping her heels on the wall. She kept thoughts of the University away by humming tunelessly. There would be consequences for her behaviour later, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

Ailith pushed the hooded part of her robes down and shook out her dark hair. The heat from the sun provided healing warmth and Ailith was feeling better after her use of Equilibrium, she was certainly feeling recovered enough to try a new spell that she had been practising at home. She found it in a book from the library, called Telekinesis, it claimed to be more advanced but Ailith was confident she could cast it. She could use it to steal a book right out of Spellock's hands in their next class, she chuckled to herself.

Clearing her mind, she raised her palm and watched an orange light drift from her fingertips towards an apple in one of the vendor's barrels, it left a misty trail as it moved. As she concentrated, she watched the apple wiggle in the barrel. Feeling sweat dribble down her face, Ailith used her other palm to cast Equilibrium to give her magic a boost.

She felt the apple rise and watched the orange light wrap around it, quickly she retracted the spell in time to stop Equilibrium draining her completely. The apple landed in her hand with a beautiful thud, and she blinked through her dizziness. She sniffed deeply, it was crisp and smelled sweeter than any she'd had before. She bit into it with smug satisfaction. She was mastering advanced spells like a fish learning to swim, even if it didn't bring her the same joy as it had done previously.

"Stop right there!" a deep voice yelled from near the vendor she stole from.

Ailith's smile dropped, "Ah, shit..." She really should have made sure no one was watching, normally the Bosmer who ran this stall was too busy flirting with the Nord who owned the weapons one. Didn't guards have better things to do than hover around the market?

The guard reached her spot on the wall and towered over her, his hand resting menacingly on the hilt of his sword. The sun struck his over polished armour and it blinded Ailith. She rubbed her eyes as he stepped closer.

"Break the law on my watch, will you?! You better have enough gold to pay for that!"

Ailith glared at this pathetic man on his power trip.

"Oh yes, here's the one whole gold coin for the damn apple," Ailith spat, unable to control her temper. She angrily reached into her coin purse for some money to appease the guard. She was furious at herself for getting caught, and pissed at him for just existing... The guard glared at her as he took the money from her hand. He did a double take and added a vicious smirk to his nasty face.

"You're Gregory Copperwing's daughter, aren't you? He's a good man, honourable..." Ailith froze as he spoke, she was so used to disappointing her mum that she barely cared, but dad was another story... She watched him warily and let her hand slowly drop to the wall. She didn't like where this was going.

"... I wonder how he would feel about having to bail his daughter out of jail..."

Ailith went white as the guard finished, "You have no cause to arrest me, I paid for the goods," she spluttered, horrified at the turn of events.

"True, but you were incredibly disrespectful to a member of the Imperial Watch... I think you need to come with me." He extended an arm, inviting her to stand.

Ailith considered arguing, but she could see the guard's smug grin, practically daring her to make a comment. She sagged, her face flaming with shame as the market had all but stopped to watch her get arrested, over an apple. She stood quietly and left the cursed apple on the wall. As she let the guard bind her wrists, painfully tight, she kept her head high. Before being dragged off to the cells Ailith scanned the market for any familiar faces from her father's guild. There was no one. Her eyes burned but she wouldn't cry, she wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction.

The asshole took the longest route to the prison, hoping that plenty of people would see and report back to her father that Ailith had been arrested, it was certainly hot gossip. The daughter of two highly respected citizens in the city getting arrested. She was mortified and relieved in equal measure. If word got back to her father quickly, he could bail her out sooner. Her mother wouldn't hear about this until much later. She'd be locked in her study and Ailith knew she would never come down to the cells.

[kaycartoons]

I know the animation industry has been going through a serious rough patch in the past 10 years. I just hope the medium and the artists making it can get the respect they deserve someday soon. So I wanna take a moment to spread a reminder of the powerful emotional scenes we've gotten from animation in the past 10 years.

[bajoop-sheeb]

Meditation by Yoong Bae

[awakefor48hours]

Sequel to this

[ID: the Gotta Be One of My Favorite meme, an image of a man standing in front of a car, looking to his left, and holding his folded hands up to his chest.

The top of the image has text that's been edited to say "Shout out to physically affectionate m/f platonic friendship fr 🤞🏿" And the bottom text says "Gotta be one of my favorite genders."

Throughout the meme are 11 images include:

Marceline kissing Finn from Adventure Time

Brett hugging Reagan in Inside Job

Erza hugging Gray from Fairy Tail

Katara and Zuko hugging from Avatar the Last Airbender

Maka touching Soul's chest from Soul Eater

Luz pointing at Gus from The Owl House

Vi hugging Ekko from Arcane

Zack hugging Carmen from Carmen Sandiego

Raven hugging Robin from Teen Titans 2003

Lapis flying with Steven from Steven Universe

/End of ID]

[greatsweet98]

🏳️‍🌈 ✧༝┉˚*❋Happy Pride Month 2024!!❋*˚┉༝✧ 🏳️‍⚧️

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Mannimarco, on trial at the Arcane University: Mages of the jury, I stand here, accused of the heinous crime of raising the dead — but I ask of you, didn’t I do it with a little bit of swag?

[strayconstellation]

"i need someone who can match my freak"

my freak:

[izze-art]

posting on tumblr again for the new year!!

today i give my Princess Caitlyn and Sir Vi AU!! I just love them in this setting so much and giving Caitlyn pretty hanfus gives me so much joy 😭💕💕

[wispstalk]

taboo

“Explain to me,” Tanis says, watching the ghost of his ancestor swoop and howl through the practice room, “how this doesn’t count as necromancy.”

Anaht’s nictitating membranes slide over her eyes in exasperation. “You do not want to get into this with me.”

“Don’t tell me what I want to get into,” he insists, and releases his focus, letting the restive shade return to the other side of the veil. “Say I’m attacked— bandits on the road, say, and say I kill the first one and make him get up and defend me against his fellow rogues and blaggards. That’s beyond the pale, and if I’m caught Traven throws me out on my ass.”

The elegant Argonian’s tail swishes impatiently. “Those are the rules, yes.”

“But dredging up my pissed-off card out of the ash is fine, and conjuring daedra— daedra, when they’re running thick as rabbits in the countryside— that’s all well and good.”

“Odd for you to be beating the moral drum,” Anaht says finely, “when I happen to know from Proctor Renault that you put your cohort to shame during the conjuration exams. A flame atronach, no less, while the rest of them were nearly bursting blood vessels just to call up a scamp.”

“Morals?” Tanis blinks. “Who the fuck said anything about morals? I’m a lout with a sword who does what I’m bid. It’s just that I can’t make heads nor tails of how you wizards think.”

Anaht relaxes then. “You will find,” she says, sweeping an arm for him to follow her out of the room, “that if there is a single thing that all wizards think, it is that we agree on nothing.”

In the Archives they find Tar-Meena, harried, drawing one claw down a list of requisitions, muttering to herself. “I need the key to the incinerator,” Anaht announces to the Master Archivist.

Tar-Meena throws Tanis a dubious glance, and speaks to Anaht in Jel, unaware that Tanis can parse it. “You are taking that one? Raminus’s hunter?”

“He was my hunter first,” Anaht sniffs, "and like any good hunter he knows when to be quiet."

With a skeptical lift of the brow ridge, Tar-Meena hands over a jangling ring of keys and returns to her work. Anaht leads him through the darkness and hush of the stacks, all the way to the end of the maze of shelves, to an unassuming heavy door.

More crammed bookshelves, to no one’s surprise. Sealed off from the carefully-controlled environment of the stacks, there is a window letting in the afternoon light, and a large round table scattered with a half-finished card game, books and papers, a mug of cold coffee dregs. It seems this vault of forbidden knowledge serves as a sort of employee break room.

No fires to be found, though, not so much as a reedlight. Like the stacks, this room is only to be lit by spell, with polished steel sconces on the wall to reflect the mage-glow.

“Why’s it called the incinerator?” he asks, drawing his reading glasses from his pocket.

“Yes, Arch-Mage,” Anaht says, taking a posture of mock obeisance. “We've found another treatise on the Black Arts, and we'll throw it straight in the fires.”

Tanis laughs. On the shelf before him, a veritable buffet of taboo: Necromancer’s Moon, Pathway to Lichdom. A journal purported to be authored by the Wolf Queen Potema. Even a title written in Dunmeris, On the Veneration and Summoning of Ancestor Guardians. The very spell he’d just opened his palm and offered his blood to learn.

And, tacked to one corner of the shelving timbers, a small folio: The Black Arts on Trial, by Arch-Mage Hannibal Traven.

“In the interest of being even-handed. A little joke among the scrivs,” Anaht says by way of explanation, then nudges him aside with her hip. “Now move, you big oaf, and let me look for something.”

He takes the folio with him and settles down at the table. The contents of this inflammatory writ are oft-bandied on the University grounds, but he’s never gotten around to reading it, what with all the... everything else.

While he reads, Anaht waltzes around the room, her tail jewelry jangling, occasionally plucking a book like a choice pear and stacking it on her arm.

“This gra-Kogg makes a lot of sense,” he says, holding a finger to mark his place. “Actually think her arguments were better than this other fella’s, but Traven’s conclusion doesn't consider her at all. Why include the debate, then?”

“Keep reading.” Anaht does not look back, but the tip of her tail shakes with mild amusement.

“Oh,” he says, squinting down at the afterword. “Reckon I ought to have seen that coming.”

“These will get you started.” Anaht drops her books to the table with a heavy thump, and delicately pats the top of the stack. Tanis grumbles; there has to be a dozen of them, and he’s already up to his ears in daedric research and restoration clinicals.

She perches lightly in the chair to his left. “Yes, Master gra-Kogg was a necromancer,” she says, and folds her jeweled claws beneath her chin. “But?”

“But,” he sighs, now seeing the point of that menacing bookpile, “that doesn’t make her wrong. Raminus has me running all over Cyrodiil flushing them out of their dens, but I don’t know a damn thing about how to fight them. Can’t interrupt their casting, can’t tell what they’re calling up, don’t know what they’re after.”

“If you insist on being Traven's hunting dog, I will not have you go forth unprepared.” She taps the silvery-thin scar on the side of his neck, the one he’d earned while ambushed in Wellspring Grove, collecting wood for his mage’s staff. “So long as Traven invites the necromancers' wrath, we archivists will maintain this bulwark against them.”

“Oh, I'm sure it's all very noble."

She ignores the barb, tucking the books in her striped haversack and foisting it on him to carry. “Now come. Let us go to the King and Queen. You owe me dinner.”

Tanis follows her out the door. "What for?"

She swats at him with her tail. “You think I do all this tutoring for free?”