#forest home skyrim

[mikatesmods]

Thistle's Lair

Shaman's hut for Skyrim LE

[kagrenacs]

Long awaited, here is the soil map of Skyrim using the Canadian System of Soil classification. Brief description of my conclusions under the cut:

Chernozem: Whiterun Hold is likely home to the majority of Skyrim’s Chernozems. The majority of biological carbon sequestering in grassland environments are below ground, within the root systems. Organic material- humus, builds up, causing the upper layers of the soil to take on a dark colour. Additionally, Solonetzic soils could be present, peppered throughout the hold if the parent material to the soil is salty enough.

Cryosols are formed in Skyrim’s far North and high alpine regions. The mean annual soil temperature being 0 degrees C, with permafrost conditions. Freeze-thaw cycles lead to permafrost at the soils surface, but also cryoturbation: soil movement arising from frost action.

Additionally in mountainous regions, you would find Regosols. Soils which develop on unstable landforms and have had little time to develop, such as mountain slopes, or river floodplains.

Gleysols occur across the landscape of Skyrim, but primarily in Hjaalmarch. Gleysols are commonly found in depressions or low-lying areas where water saturates the soil continuously, leading to a molted characteristic to the soil.

Organic soils would primarily be found in the water saturated soils of Hjaalmarch. These are wetland soils found in forested areas and are commonly known as peat, muck, bogs or fens.

Borrowing from the USDA soil taxonomy, Inceptisols are light colored soils with moderate alteration, occurring under cool and cold climates. These soils would be found in the Eastmarch caldera.

Luvisols are associated with forested landscapes overlying loamy glacial till, or on clayey lacustrine deposits. Lake Honrich dominates a large portion of the Rift, according to UESP, seemingly draining from the lake. I believe this to be the site of a melted glacier, the lake being meltwater. Clay sediments are associated with lakes because of their deposition, coarser sediments bordering the lake near the shore, and finer particles at the deepest reaches. Additionally, at the end of the Karth river, where sandy deposits would be deposited at Solitude, before the stream looses power further down the river, leaving only clay to be deposited.

Podzols are associated with igneous parent materials, coniferous vegetation and high acidity. Primarily they are found in Falkreath Hold and Southern Eastmarch.

Brunisols are an intermediate stage between Regosols (undeveloped soils), and Podzol or Luvisols. I believe with the unstable, mountainous landscape of the Reach, soils would remain still rather undeveloped. Brunisols would also be interspersed among the Luvisols.

[argisthebulwark]

Love's A Funny Thing

summary: assigning my favorite Skyrim men one of the five love languages. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used feat: Erandur, Miraak, Cicero, Brynjolf, Balimund, Erik the Slayer, Vilkas, Arnbjorn, Teldryn Sero, Farkas warnings: none

Words of Affirmation

Erandur wants nothing more than to express how deeply and all encompassing his love for you is. He loves you with each breath he draws, every day spent in your presence only strengthening your bond. The shimmering pink light of sunrises and easy breeze through a perfectly autumnal forest make his mind drift to you, often recounting the beauty he finds in the world and how it relates to you. With your hands clasped in his he admits his love for you, interrupted only by the tearful kisses you plant across his face. 

Miraak has spent lifetimes cultivating a vocabulary and puts it to good use. In languages long forgotten he whispers of his love to you, shaking the walls when his Thu’um aims to make it known to the entire world that he is yours. There is nothing but sheer adoration when he tells you how deeply your claws have sunk into his heart, how his soul spent centuries yearning for yours.  “I have wasted lifetimes searching for you, my beloved.” Miraak murmurs against your lips, voice low and velvety. “And I would face all the terror of the world again if it allowed me a few more moments in your arms.” 

Quality Time

Cicero could easily display his love with any of the love languages, even some secret bloody ones he's thought up too, but quality time means the most to him. It is most natural for him to show his love by sticking to your side - accompanying you on missions to ensure your safety and only sleeping when you’re pressed to one another, he shows you how deeply he cares by remaining with you. He wishes for nothing more than to make you laugh, to hear your voice and bask in the presence of his beloved Listener. 

Brynjolf has lost many people. There are so many friendships cut short and people he’s spent more time missing than knowing them. He makes a consistent effort to never lose time with you - after thinking Mercer snatched away another loved one, Brynjolf changes his ways. The endless nights spent working in the Cistern are replaced with a staunchly enforced time when the workday ends.  “You’re not my Guild Master anymore,” he interrupts when you hastily remember an unfinished task during dinner. “We’re home, love. I’m nothin’ but your husband here.”  He will not miss a moment with you. The days spent grieving you altered his view on work - nothing takes precedence over time with you. To him, nothing is worth losing time with his beloved. 

Gift Giving

Balimund may not have much extra time in his busy days but he always whittles out a moment for you. He often surprises you with practical gifts - perfectly balanced blades with intricate handles and jewelry intended to withstand the nastiest of spells. Each gift he gives was forged by his hands outside your home, an individual piece made just for you.  “It’s to ensure you make it back to me in one piece,” he says after strapping the beautiful dagger into a sheath at your side. His gifts are beautiful, crafted purely to show how much he adores you. 

Erik loves hunting for the perfect gift to give you - taking mental notes of what draws your eye when visiting shops, especially the items you put back after spotting the price. He knows how reluctant you are to purchase anything not deemed ‘essential’ but always finds time to slink back into the shop and buy whatever brought a smile to your face. He doesn’t care much for receiving gifts, pouring all the love he can into the specific things he can give to you. 

Acts of Service

Vilkas may have trouble with flowery words but he ensures that you know how deeply he cares. Even if his tone is harsh his intentions are good - if your footing is off or your swing is weak he could lose you. He takes on the role of Harbinger when it becomes too much for you to carry alone, offering help before you think to ask.  He cannot sit under the moonlight and tell you how his heart yearns for yours, but he will clean your wounds without hesitation. Vilkas will bandage you, will piece you back together with his own two hands without a second thought. He will wipe your tears and send your armor off to be repaired to show how deeply he cares for you. 

Arnbjorn would kill for you. Please give him an opportunity to kill for you. Although he cannot untangle the web of feelings in his mind and he isn’t one to shop for gifts he will show you in a heartbeat just how deeply he cares. He has loved and lost before - he does not intend to lose you. His blade is always ready should you ever need it, eyes and ears vigilant for any impending threat.  He is not a man of many words but you feel his love - there is love in the way he ensures your blades remain sharp and pack is fully stocked. Arnbjorn’s love is seen in the way he threatens anyone who dares to cross you and remains at your side during meetings, a silent threat to any who would harm you. The words are difficult for him to say but you know his love is there when he carries you off to bed after an especially hard day or slides you a drink without having to ask.

Physical Touch

Teldryn doesn’t think before pulling you out of danger. It is hardly a thought - his arm hooking in yours and tugging you closer, his body shielding you from danger. Even when his hands are bandaged and bleeding he checks you for injuries, fingers carefully skimming over every inch of skin in search of wounds. Your touch assures him that you are alive, that you are still with him.  His touch is a quiet comfort, an occurrence so common it becomes a natural extension of yourself. His thigh pressed to yours when you sit or the hand resting on your arm while you speak, an ever present reminder of his feelings for you. 

Farkas is ecstatic to find someone as physical as himself. From a young age he learned that Vilkas didn’t express emotions in the same manner but you understand him. You indulge his love of touch; excited hugs upon surviving an especially bloody battle or a friendly slap on the back after a drunken joke, a tender moment heightened by your hands roaming over one another. Farkas is in love with the way you react to him - the flush in your cheeks after he kisses you and the thoughtless way your hand reaches for his, the comforting swipe of your thumb over his hand when lost in thought. He simply has too much love for you to keep it all inside. 

[overwatchfics]

D.va with an Insomniac s/o

D.va is one of those people you envy bc all she has to do to sleep is starfish on her bed and pass out.

Though Hana does feel real bad when she'll wake up early and see you staring at the ceiling with a thousand yard stare.

Honestly, I think Hana can brew some killer sleepy time tea.

Absolutely PAMPERS you

"You are using my bunny onsie no ands, buts, or ifs cutie"

If she's streaming late and notices your lack of compliance to fall asleep, she'll end her stream early and set up some Skyrim and have you watch as she takes a relaxing night stroll through Hjaalmarch or plays through the Dawn Guard DLC. If Skyrim is too much she'll load some Stardew valley.

Will star fish on top of you to force you to lay down

No, she will not move.

She'll definitely give you a scalp massage as you two have pillow talk.

Hana loves pillow talk. She could go one about anything. The forest on the edge of her home, her travels with MEKA, conversations with various overwatch agents... she'll definitely put you to sleep with how many stories she has!

Believe it or not, despite her shorter stature, Hana will and doesn't mind being a big spoon. She actually prefers it! It makes her feel like the protector.

Her legs tangle with yours, and you can feel fuzzy socks brush up against your leg as her arms weave themselves around your midsection.

She'll leave a cpuple kiss along your shoulders and neck before tucking her face into the crook of your neck murmuring about how she can't stay awake anymore.

[throughtrialbyfire]

𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 ♥

i'm a day late but i'm here!

tagged by the amazing @thequeenofthewinter @dirty-bosmer

tagging the fantastic @skyrim-forever @orfeoarte @hircines-hunter @oblivions-dawn @vivifriend

@saltymaplesyrup @viss-and-pinegar @aphocryphas @archangelsunited @changelingsandothernonsense and anyone who feels like joining in!!!! <3333

this is a first draft section of chapter 40 of Cycle of the Serpent. it features emeros thinking about a hunt he went on when he was younger, and some strange dreams he's been having… mild gore warning, but it's more abstract.

He was to kill an indrik. The hunt was a coming-of-age ceremony, one prevalent throughout Valenwood. Once taken with gazelles and other such beasts, the introduction of the indrik into the province from Alinor had created a peculiar problem with the creature, now deemed a pest. Some Bosmer had started farms of indrik, to butcher some calves and spare the rest, a good source of food throughout the northernmost parts of the province. He tracked it for almost a week. In his memory, he was with several other Bosmer, all on the same hunt, to work together, to build a connection to the Valenwood itself and to one another. The hunt lasted days, tracking the beast through the dense forests and humidity of the summer. They would take it down and take the hide, rolling it off like a tight glove, and decide what to do with the other parts. The meat, the organs, the bones, the sinew. He'd made good needles from those bones. Ones which he still used, many years later. He was deemed the best tracker of their group, and with his fathers hunting knife, he crept in pursuit of the wild beast. In his dreams, he was all alone, and the indrik was hunting him.

He'd run through the forests, thick with the natural growth of his home, the sound of hooves not far behind him, trampling the ground and pounding into his skull, the sound all around him now as he sped into any direction which could grant him a chance of survival, meager as it was. He'd come upon a house, and he'd slam open the door and bolt it shut and toe away, eyes wide in terror, the room filled with people he knew - faces, phantom-like, as though his mind didn't care conjure them up - and the voices of curiosity, questioning, why was he running, what from? Faces from his earliest memory, faces from recent, all taking up residence in the growing claustrophobia of the house whose walls threatened to fall in with the force of the indrik outside, pounding away at the door with its antlers, knowing that the one it sought stood there. The door would fall open, and the indrik would grin, and the dream would shift. Blood, in him, outside of him, endless stars, the wink and wax and wane of them. And fire, gods, the endless scorched forests and homes. This, all of this, had been his fault, from the very beginning. The house would not burn if he did not live there. The people would be alive if he had never been. Their faces, fractaled and incomprehensible yet unmistakable, stood in the doorway of a collapsing city and another starless ride through the sands and through the thick fields of another place and the faces shifted to blood on familiar, new faces, to hands reaching from dark waters, to nothingness. Emeros swallowed air as he awoke, the night not yet gone. Sticky with sweat and half-aware of his muddied surroundings, he fumbled for his blankets and tore them off. His throat burnt, hand rubbing against it, muscles beneath shifting as he swallowed down his awareness. Sleep talking, perhaps, the dryness quickly subsiding. He waited in the still, slow breaths through his nose, out through his lips, and again, until his heart could face the same understanding of safety that his mind was now clawing towards. He dressed quickly, seating himself at his desk, head in his hands.

He had not dreamt like this in quite some time. He could not recall what led his mind down this dark pathway, enough to influence the little peace he often got, but he found himself unable to put it aside. The indrik he'd hunted as a teenager, wiry and awkward in his gear compared to his peers, had been a quick kill. Yes, it had taken a few days, but when compared to what use they got out of it, then all had been more than worth the pursuit. Bones for tools, a skull they'd boiled into a stew the night they'd caught the beast, antlers into flutes and other instruments, sinew to thread… It had been routine, practically, and when the gaggle of youths returned a little haggard but with their kill, and showed their skills in taking it apart with the proper techniques and reverence, then they were deemed ready to take on the responsibilities that came with their age. It had never seen its death coming. But in his dream, the eyes took on an almost personal quality, as though borne by someone who wished him harm. Emeros ran his fingers through his thick, chestnut hair, scratching down at his neck and repeating the slow motions, before smoothing it all back with his palm and rising. There was no one to talk to at this hour, whatever hour it was, and the silence permeated the stone walls around him. He slid through the doorway of his dorm, darting his gaze left and right, the licking flames of the hearth and the utter stillness confirming that he was the only one awake, at least on this level. He pulled the door shut behind him and made his way to the kitchens, the sound of Bendt's snoring from his room nearby the only sound aside from the hearth. He could use a drink. Maybe two, if he were being honest with himself.

Emeros pulled one of the high bottles of wine from its shelf, clinking of glass together causing him to mutter curses under his breath, hand snagging the thin neck, wine sloshing around inside. He tugged a goblet from a table and popped the cork from the green bottle, seating himself to watch the flames. He still thought about that rakish boy, the canary-haired Altmer. He thought of him as he sipped his wine, and wondered bitterly how dire the situation in Whiterun must be, now that a Thalmor agent had been given a hand-written note to waltz right through the city gates and up to the Temple of Kynareth, all too close to the statue of Talos, and his zealot. The chill up his spine dusted over his shoulders and through his hair, and it wasn't from a wanton draft down the stairs. He sipped from the brass goblet and studied it in the light, the fine craftsmanship of it, the dents of a hammer which had worked away until the shape came into being. He twisted it in the crook of his thumb to watch the flames cling to the brass sides, the shadow always falling on his side. Another long drink of the wine served to help ease the nerves bundling up like fists in his mind. He poured the goblet full again, and examined the label more closely. Surilie Brothers. Figures, he snickered, that vineyard had a reach that many could only envy, though he had to wonder how. Emeros drank the last of his goblet in the silence, and placed the bottle back where it belonged, and moved to the dormitories. He stood, empty brass vessel in hand, outside the rooms of his friends. Wyndrelis' dorm was to his right, and Athenath's was to his left. He stood outside Athenath's door first, closest to the kitchens, and pressed his ear to the door. He could hear their breathing, punctuated by an occasional snore, then down into the quiet of good sleep. When he made his way to Wyndrelis' room, he twisted the knob, the Dunmer having admitted that he had a habit of not locking doors all the time. It moved, and he peered inside at the sleeping mage, the other in his typical, curled-up position on his side, face buried into the pillow. He shut the door and made his way back to his room, slipping into his chair and watching the faint light trickle in from under the entryway.

[kid-az]

Skyrim/Nords Headcanons (Very long)

Skyrim Headcanon 1: The coasts of the northern holds (Particularly Winterhold and Hjaalmarch) have a unique tradition in that clam and shellfish gatherers will strip most or all of their clothes and then smear themselves with the grease and oils of horkers and chub loons. By smearing themselves with horker grease, this not only traps heat within the gatherers bodies but also helps attract the small shellfish they harvest to feed their families or sell at the market.

Skyrim Headcanon 2: Those few farmers that live in Skyrim (Along with several Orsimer strongholds and Reachfolk tribes) have a complex trade system with the Giants, (Likewise for the Giants) with an equivalent exchange for whatever spiral-painted cows are sacrificed/gifted to the Giants. It is customary in Giant culture that the individual must grant the farmer that Cows weight in mammoth cheese or furs, that or they may stand guard and protect the farm during the night from wild animals.

Of course, this is just one example of the Giant and Nord trading system, and it is undeniably far more complex than that. For example, the Stormcloaks trade exchange with the Giants involves defending their mammoths from poachers. In exchange, several of the Giants are expected to help fight for the Stormcloak’s cause of an independent Skyrim. This exchange is kept so long as either party does what is expected of their duties.

Most small peoples/Giant relations often involve this trade and the duty of repaying that generosity, in whatever way they may be able to. Also, Giants do eat the Cows they are given.

Skyrim Headcanon 3: The Bards College within the Haafingar Hold actually had an extensive knowledge, history, and grasp in magic. Students learning from the college would learn spells that would allow them to pacify wildlife, boost the physical, mental, and spiritual abilities of friends & allies, and even counteract the effects of other spells and magic through their music. Indeed, even in the 4th Era where many Nords grew somewhat disgruntled by magic, the Bards College still continued on with its magical traditions, reasoning that the ability to counteract other magic with music would allow them to better fight the Thalmor.

As for instruments, members of the Bards College would use a large variety of them, whether it be the talharpa, the lyre, drums, the jaw’s harp, flutes, and musical horns. They’ve picked up a variety of other instruments and musical styles from around Tamriel as well, but they still mostly teach the traditional instruments used by the Nords. Folks from the Bards College also tattoo themselves with musical-themed tattoos, along with birds.

Skyrim Headcanon 4: Being a major hub for trade between Morrowind and Skyrim alike, the Rift has seen a small influx of creatures native to the former, in particular the Guar, (Due to their intellect, omnivorous diet, and the appeal of a giant lizard as a mount) a semi-giany (4 inch long) species of bee known as the Lightning Bees, (Make good honey for mead, but are aggressive and emit electric shocks through magic. Bards are needed to keep them docile) and the Kwama.

The Kwama in particular is a noted point of interest in the 4th era, as a third of all Kwama mining takes place within the Rift since the Red Mountain’s eruption, many members of House Hlaalu remaining in Skyrim after they lost their seat as a Great House. A breeding population of Silt Striders has also become established within the hold, snacking on the sweet leaves of the autumnal forests. They are a protected species within the Rift.

Although the members of House Hlaalu would become a house associated with the underworld and illegal dealings back in the home province, most of the members of the House in the Rift would be more honest Kwama miners and traders. Disturbed by their former compatriots openly and publicly turning to crime, these former House Hlaalu members would renounce their title, wishing to not be associated with the criminal underworld by proxy.

Skyrim Headcanon 5: Nords fucking love bees!!!

Okay, to be more specific they love bees due to their immense enjoyment of mead, so many of the southern holds would have many large bee farms. The northern holds (Or the rich) meanwhile create greenhouses to contain the bees and lots of flowers for them to pollinate and create honey out of. Riften is the unofficial capital of bee farming, as its pleasant environment compared to the rest of Skyrim allows for the largest and highest quality bee farms.

Of course, farming bees for honey isn’t their only use. For example, the Nords have quite a knack for snacking on the bees themselves, (Roasted) as they make a quick and energizing snack for both adults and children. The beeswax can be used to make candles and skin cream, the latter being of particular importance as Skyrim’s cold environment leads to dry skin. 

They’ll also use every part of a bee hive, such as bee pollen, propolis, and on occasion even royal jelly. The royal jelly is used to make particularly potent medications and can be distilled as a drink for the jarls and other high-status folk, even if it’s less sweet than honey.

Skyrim Headcanon 6: The Ice Tribes were strange, sapient constructs made of ice that suddenly appeared during the late 3rd Era, the only possible evidence to their appearance being several icebergs that drifted towards northern High Rock and Skyrim. Little is known about them other than the fact they wielded enchanted ice and snow in their battles against the peoples of Tamriel, and were also known to raise the dead as their personal servants in several different eyewitness reports.

They were invincible to all except for particularly strong soul-trapping spells, Daedric and Dwemer weapons, and certain glasses such as ebony, elven glass, and obsidian. Their undead servants meanwhile were extremely sensitive to heat, even among the fellow undead. Eventually, these strange beings would go extinct, unable to compete against the peoples of Tamriel and their superior magical knowledge.

In Skyrim, these beings were compared to the ancient ice demons that the Nord’s Atmoran ancestors historically fought against. Although notable for being called the Atmoran’s greatest opponents in the old tales, they were given no true name, only being nicknamed “The Others.”

Skyrim Headcanon 7: Eastmarch is a Hold famous for its extensive amounts of hot springs and geothermal activity, which the residents have made extensive use out of. Villagers would not take long, warm baths within the more modestly-heated springs, but they will also use these springs as a natural hotpot to steam/boil food, which saves on firewood and gives the food a rich taste. Minerals can also be harvested from the springs, though these are historically controlled harvests instituted by the Jarls in fear of the springs becoming destroyed or dried up.

Windhelm can credit its continued existence as one of Skyrim’s largest and oldest cities from these springs, as an extensive pipe system created during the 3rd Era allowed for the spring water to flow through, keeping the city warm and providing a constant and nearby supply of mineral-rich water for the inhabitants to use. Not all was well unfortunately, as the springs were historically used as a form of execution on criminals and Falmer slaves, their bodies boiled and then dissolved within the boiling pools of water. This practice has thankfully stopped.

Skyrim Headcanon 8: Historically, Nord culture emphasized the rite of adulthood through hunting. This came in the form of small groups of young Nordic men and women having to travel to the wilderness and work together to slaughter a large animal to bring back to their village/clan, either a bear or troll in most Holds. Usually, this small group of adolescent hunters is watched over by an adult warden, ready to jump in should the hunt end in disaster for them.

This practice waned during the 3rd Era, practiced only by Jarl successors or the High King’s inheritor. However, it would regrow in popularity due to the aftermath of the Great War and the nationalism of an Independent Skyrim, as well as the interest of the younger generation “going back to their roots” culturally. Ulfric’s commanders were chosen based on how well they led their comrades against bandits or Falmer.

Some of the Hold's adult rites involved hunting different animals, such as Hjaalmarch having the youth hunt a chaurus reaper or Winterhold’s rite of citizenship being given once a group managed to kill an ice wraith together. The Reach Once had its youth hunt Dwemer Anuminculi as an adult rite, which led to predictably disastrous results.

Skyrim Headcanon 9: Examples of Snow Elf architecture outside of the Chantry of Auri-El actually exist, but they are all underground! The Snow Elves alongside the Dwemer teleported most of their important buildings so that they wouldn’t get destroyed and repurposed by the Nords. As of today, these buildings are still utilized as places of worship or habitation by the modern Falmer, albeit the religion they worship is a little different, as they have included several Daedra (Most prominently Malacath) into their faith and sun worship has been abandoned entirely in favor of worshipping heat in general.

Skyrim Headcanon 10: Final and brief headcanon for Skyrim that being that Whiterun has a high werewolf population (Due to the Companions and the “lucky” few that got their specific strain of lycanthropy) but surprisingly few werewolf-related deaths. Because of this fact, Werewolves are given just a bit more respect and are given far less fear than in other regions, as many travelers and locals find themselves getting rescued from a wild animal or bandits by those blessed by Hircine.

[wardenofthecoast]

So I was already working on this, but I saw a post that made me want to finish it. It's a mix between a realistic climate map and the original map, though it was hard to make it anywhere closely accurate since 1) There are hundreds of different factors for any environment, including magic in this setting, 2) There isn't really an accurate height map of the entire landmass, 3) To keep it somewhat in game accurate involves stretching the rules a bit, tho sometimes i threw game logic out.

Also, I may have miscolored here or there.

Tropical Monsoon - This biome is across the southern coasts of Tamriel. While still heavily forested, there is a stark difference between the long dry period and heavy rain period, especially in southern Hammerfell, which does not get as heavy of a Monsoon period nor would it be forested, but it does bloom with vegetation during the summer months.

Tropical Moist Forest - This biome stretches across inner Cyrodill, most of Black Marsh, W Valenwood and NE Summerset. Perpetually warm and wet, with the highest biodiversity in all of Tamriel. Black Marsh would also be heavily inundated, with a lower canopy and denser forests. Cyrodiil would also have some marsh but more importantly have dozens of rivers and streams between its hilly terrain. Valenwood would def have the tallest (and oldest) trees still present, and Summerset, as an island, would have some unique animals (assuming the high elves are tight knit about invasives). Skyrim also has its own pocket of Moist Forest, but in reality its more a separate biome for just Mangroves like it would be in Black Marsh.

Tropical Dry Forest - This biome is heavily forested and always warm, but suffers from long dry periods without necessarily the heavy rains of monsoons. Cyrodiil, Valenwood, Morrowind and bits of other provinces have this biome. While less diverse, it would have a larger biomass and have more room for some of the larger animals that can't navigate the denser forests.

Grassland - This biome is present in Morrowind, Elsewyr, Summerset, Hammerfell, High Rock and Skyrim. Grasslands, both semi-arid and semi-humid, don't receive the rain necessary for forests but are home to large beasts like Mammoths and used for ranching. Hammerfell's grasslands are due to either coastal proximity or high altitude. Summerset's grasslands are due to the rainshadow effect from its mountains.

Temperate Forest - Mainly occurring at the feet of mountains where the temperature is cold enough and water is plentiful, only found in High Rock, Cyrodiil and Skyrim.

Arid and Semi-Arid Desert - Putting these two biomes together because this post is getting long enough. Found in three provinces, mainly occuring due to the rainshadow effect from the mountains and being far enough into the interior. Morrowind's arid desert is unique because it comes from Volcanic ash which is so dense it somehow stops vegetation from growing unless its mushrooms but you make that a biome not me.

Montage Forest and Alpine Tundra - The mountains of Tamriel, tho not all of them have this climate, mainly the large mountains found in the northern half and mainly in Skyrim. While Dawnstar isn't shown to be as mountainous as Winterhold or Solitude, shut up. It most likely wouldn't be as drench in snow as it would be year round, but also IDK if seasonality is canon in TES so assume the snows from a freak weather event ala El Nino.

[skyrim-said-that]

do you have. mod recs. i need more mods and am having trouble finding ones which are not asscentric. my computer is shared i cant have ass mods.

ok i have a bit of time to do this, ill go alphabetically, but keep in mind that obviously most mods require SKSE and each have their own dependencys 

and also that i play legendary edition so i have all the DLCs (Even tho i haven't played them rly). also they like. are allegedly all compatable because my game does still work, but if they fuck up yours uh. my bad. im also omitting a bunch that like. i have them but really they dont make the list

also i have a lot of food mods, dont ask why because i dont have the answer. green highlighted mods are my favs

About Horses

Makes horses look like real horses. my inner horsegirl shines on

A Skyrim Kiss - Smooch that fictional character!

A Skyrim Waltz - Dance with them too!

Ur gonna need FNIS for these two

Babettes Feast - Improved Cooking

Adds a bunch of different immersive recipes to the game, i really like this sort of mod when im playing with hunger/thirst mods

Bandolier - Bags and Pouches

this is such a good mod if youre a huge packrat. adds a bunch of craftable wearable storage options like belts and stuff that up your carryweight!

Better Vanilla Hair - Mesh replacement

Just a visual mod that smooths out the blockyness of the hair, without changing it too much. it still like. fits in the game

Beards - Beard texture overhaul

Bosmeri Cuisine - Meat Based Recipies

adds a bunch of recipes inspired by the Green Pact lore, stuff thats completely carnivorous like fried eggs, pemmican and more

Books of Skyrim

Adds a bookstore in solitude so you can hoard more books

Breezehome - Fully Upgradable

I love this mod, it makes it so you can majorly upgrade breezehome with more floors, a whole blacksmith setup, bathroom, and a ton more!

Combine Potions

Corners of skyrim - More structures

i love mods like this, it just adds like different little cabins and shit all around for u to find when youre exploring

Cooking Expanded

Common Clothes

Adds craftable regular clothes for playing dressup

Daedric Shrines -  Sanguine

Adds a sexy man to my life

Flying Crows

Female Mannequins

Footprints - Adds npc/player/animal prints in the snow

Helgen Reborn - Rebuilding the hold

i have a thing for building mods, i love them. i dont know why but its so fun its like playing home improvement sim. but in skyrim. this one has a really fun questline too, its really fun and well written!

Ineed - Food, water and sleep

i mean, self explanatory again but adds a system for needs. I like that its really adjustable so if you find it harsh you can tone it down.

Immersive Armours

Self explanitory but also a really great mod! very immersive armors that look great!

Immersive Citizens - Ai Overhaul

Its like if the npcs actually were functional

Immersive Weapons

see above but for weapons!

Lanterns of Skyrim

ok technically i have the old version of this but im sure its the same, it adds a bunch of lanterns on the paths all around skyrim

Left Hand Rings

Lovely Hairstyles - Immersive hair

Marriage Mod - To have and to hold

this one updates the weddings so theyre a little more in depth as well as adds the options for multiple marriages. also adds a few quests!

Marks of Beauty - Freckles moles and more!

Racemenu - Player creation overhaul

I feel like most people have this one but if you love character creation this is the one, its so good and you can fuck with EVERYTHING

Relationship Dialogue Overhaul

Guys i really like this one, it adds a TON of dialogue for your spouses , followers, etc and they're all just ripped from existing dialogue so they don't sound out of place or anything! i love it

Sweet Mother - Night mother improvement

Sounds of skyrim - complete edition

i love these mods they basically overhaul the ambient sounds all over the game, i especially love how real they make the forests feel!

Scars of Time - a Landmark mod

more structures and landmarks across skyrim. im a whore for this stuff

Wintersun - Faiths of Skyrim

SUCH a good mod. adds a whole bunch of shrines for the different faiths in tes lore, as well as different benefits for choosing them. its so cool like i cant explain it

[the-elder-polls]

Which areas of Skyrim do they find most beautiful and most dangerous?

Which cities do they prefer to stay in and why? Which cities to they avoid at all costs?

Which areas of Skyrim do they find most beautiful and most dangerous?

ved enjoys the falkreath area the most. he enjoys how deeply forested it is and just how green it is. his home is just outside of the village of falkreath (lakeview manor) for this reason!

as for the most dangerous, the area around markarth. he is not fond of the reachmen attacking him or the wildlife attacking him or the falmer attacking him or the dwemer machines attacking him or the daedra attacking him. so. yknow.

Which cities do they prefer to stay in and why? Which cities to they avoid at all costs?

you'd be hard pressed to get him to stay in a city at all. he isn't short for funds, he just often doesn't fit in the beds and finds them uncomfortable because of that. he usually camps. if he has to choose one though, riften. he thinks it's a shithole but he likes the atmosphere. reminds him of home.

he avoids markarth because. markarth.

[honourablejester]

I’m reading back over my subterranean fantasy/D&D setting of Osh Derrinalina, the Land of the Lightless Sea, and you know what? It still makes me really happy. It’s a whole bunch of city states, island nations and fungal hinterlands focused around an 80 mile long, 40 mile wide abyssal sea 6 miles down under the surface of the world, and it makes me happy.

Some highlights:

The oldest people to call the sea home are a race of midnight black translucent bioluminescent abyssal merfolk that were inspired rather strongly by black dragonfish (Idiacanthus atlanticus), because I just really wanted some terrifying abyssal mermaids who are actually quite friendly. Also the image of a subterranean pitch black sea where bioluminescent mermaids live and trade.

The second oldest people are a race of pale bioluminescent spider people who powerfully believe in community, because if I’m making a subterranean setting, by god I’m getting all the mileage I can out of bioluminescence.

There’s also a tribe of pale goblins from the island of death that tattoo themselves with phosphorescent fungal ink from a vast, possibly sentient pit into the realm of the dead. They’re also pretty chill guys.

Half the sea is fed from a vast fungal forest on a shelf around the cavern, at the center of which stands a vast and sacred mound of bat poop that provides 90% of the fertiliser and protein for the nations of the Lightless Sea, and the price for killing one of the sacred bats is death in half the cavern. This is because I watched a David Attenborough documentary one time about cave ecology that featured something similar, and it’s the sort of image that sticks with you.

The main cities of the sea are Ysea, the city of black stone and bioluminescent spider silk that is the primary home of the spider people and the main trade hub of the region, Durgenrath, a clifftop dwarven trade port further down the sea, Muarra, the unfathomably ancient merfolk capital that covers 50 square miles of the sea floor near Ysea, and Tchorit, the glowing crystal stalactite city on the ceiling.

Ysea and Muarra started trading thousands of years ago when the abyssal mermaids came to the black stone shore to trade, and the spider people went underwater in return in diving bells made of their luminescent silk, because I was inspired by the diving bell spider, and it’s such a fantastic fucking image. Pale spider people being towed into the black depths in webs of luminescent silk by translucent abyssal mermaids. I wanted it. I wanted it so bad.

Tchorit is an industrial hub city and was made by ceiling gnomes who call themselves Starbuilders and who are currently in what is essentially a religious cold war with the merfolk over bringing light, in the form of crystal luminescence, to the sacred darkness of the Lightless Sea.

They are also in a cold war with the ancient shadow dragon of the northern wilderness of the sea over the same issue.

The gnomes have made a lot of enemies and are basically the most contentious inhabitants here, in other words.

They are allied with the dwarves. And with the crystal elementals who taught them how to grow luminous crystal cities in the first place. So there’s that.

There’s a secret path somewhere above the cavern roof that leads back to the crystal home caverns of said elementals, and it is ferociously defended. If you haven’t seen pictures of real life crystal caves, you’re in for such a treat. No subterranean fantasy setting would be complete without whole caverns full of vast white crystals, so I made them glowing crystals, because yes, we’re still getting all possible mileage out of subterranean luminescence.

The dwarves have a much less secret, though no less defended, passage from Durgenrath through the stone to Durgendelf, a dwarven city in its own cave that is famous for its artificial suns, because I really, really, really liked that element of Blackreach in Skyrim. Durgendelf has six massive artificial suns, and Durgendelf dwarves are famous farmers and gardeners as much as miners and tunnellers. So they also have a happy friendship with the mushroom people of Derrinalina’s fungal shelf.

The above-mentioned shadow dragon has a very friendly relationship with the above-mentioned cheerful death island goblins, and regularly goes on religious pilgrimages to the island’s temple town to pay his respects to the impossibly deep dry well into death at the centre of the island.

This pit into death is one of two in the Lightless Sea, though the other is underwater. The merfolk commend their dead to the Fathomless Delve, a gaping underwater chasm with an upcurrent that only allows the merfolk dead to actually sink. The merfolk believe that this upcurrent is where all the waters of the sea originate.

The gnomes, on the other hand, believe that the waters of the sea come from the massive fucking waterfall that pours from the ceiling above the northern half of the Lightless Sea, all the way down from the seas on the surface miles above. This titanic waterfall is slowly but surely tearing through the ceiling on that half of the cavern, and has eaten a massive pit in the sea floor below it as well.

It is also possibly the origin of Zarathea, the Lightless Sea’s legendary albino (or possibly undead) dragon turtle that drifts around the wild, black, uninhabited northern half of the Lightless Sea, occasionally pretending to be a rocky island to fatally surprise sailors. One of the theories is that Zarathea fell through the waterfall from the surface seas as a baby dragon turtle. Or, given how weird it is, possibly it’s a native of the Lightless Sea. Nobody knows, and the shadow dragon at the very least would very much like to.

The massive waterfall, if it does finally collapse the ceiling on the northern half of the sea and dump the entire contents of its higher reservoir into the sea at once, could well cause a massive tidal wave that would destroy everything closer to the sea’s surface than Durgenrath. The gnomes, despite living on the ceiling, are extremely worried about this. The spider people and death goblins, despite living directly on the shore, are not. Whether that’s blind optimism or they know something the gnomes don’t is anyone’s guess.

I said the Lightless Sea is 80 miles long, but the northernmost reaches of it haven’t actually been discovered yet by anyone from the southern end of the cavern, so the exact extent of the northern shore isn’t actually known. And the sea floor on that end of the cavern goes deep, and stays going deep, a vast sloping descent to the north. There could be just about anything down there.

I had so much fun with this setting. Also, worldbuilders note: watch nature documentaries. And history documentaries. Just history and nature and geology and science and archaeology in general. There’s some really cool and inspiring shit in them. Our world is really weird and really cool, and I promise you that a lot of fantasy worlds are nearly boring by comparison. Pick one really weird little thing, bat dung, or spider diving bells, or bioluminescence, and build some funky societies around them, it’s so much fun.

I am still so proud of this setting. I love it.

[thana-topsy]

[Seventeen]

Part two of my Ralof/Hadvar quickburn. Read part one here!

-------

Hadvar hated Helgen. 

Not because the people were unpleasant or it was an ugly town. In fact, Helgen was nearly as picturesque as Riverwood. It sat nestled in the center of Falkreath Hold behind tall, fortified walls, close enough to the Throat of the World that Hadvar never felt too far from home, but deep enough into the massive pine forests that venturing there always felt like a journey. 

No, Hadvar hated Helgen because anytime he and Ralof visited, Ralof would always abandon him for Ingrid. 

It was in Hadvar’s opinion—a well-informed opinion at that, seeing as he was Ralof’s best friend and knew him better than anyone else in Skyrim—that Ingrid was a terrible match. Holding a conversation with her was like holding water in a leaky bucket. Hadvar had tried talking to her, tried to get along with her, for Ralof’s sake. But it was useless. She had about as much depth as a mud puddle. Plus, she wasn’t even a promising shield maiden. He’d always thought Ralof would find himself a woman fit to be his equal—someone courageous and true, strong in battle, with finely-honed wit and a spine of Skyforge steel. But instead he was fixated on Ingrid. 

She giggled at even his worst jokes while leaning forward onto her knees, the dip of her neckline exposing the cleft of her soft, ample breasts. Hadvar would always avert his eyes. Ralof did not. Her father was the innkeeper, and she’d sneak them bottles of mead from his collection. She was good for that at least. 

And thus, as with almost every trip to Helgen these days, Hadvar found himself alone, a bottle of mead as his sole companion and sorry consolation prize. Just before sunset he climbed atop one of the guard towers, finding the post empty. He trudged over to the edge and leaned against the stone wall, gazing down at the town’s inhabitants. The market stalls in front of the main keep were closing down for the evening, vendors rolling up their wares and shuttering their stands. Life continued on with or without him, and in that moment he felt profoundly unimportant.    

Hadvar turned away and slid down the wall to sit on the ground, pulling the cork from the mead bottle with his teeth and spitting it out. The act made him feel like a hardened bandit. He took a long pull, grimacing at the sweet burn it produced just behind his sternum, and smacked his lips. He wondered what Ralof was up to? Probably had his hands up Ingrid’s skirt by now…

“Oi, no loitering milk-drinker!” came a gruff voice from the stairs and Hadvar jumped, eyes going wide as he jerked to look.

It was Ralof, ascending the stairs with a shit-eating grin and a bottle of mead tucked beneath his arm. 

“You should have seen your face!” he laughed. 

Hadvar’s heart thudded like a war drum against his ribcage and he scowled. “What are you doing up here? Where’s Ingrid?” 

Ralof waved a hand, wrinkling his nose as he walked over. “Bah, her father is making her help out at the inn tonight. I think he’s onto us…”

“He didn’t catch you two—”

“Nooo. I’d be a dead man walking, are you kidding?” He let out a knowing laugh before lowering himself to sit down next to Hadvar. Their shoulders brushed as he shifted to pull the mead from beneath his arm. “What are you doing up here?”

“I was bored,” Hadvar said. He took a bitter pull from his mead. “I don’t know why you drag me to Helgen with you when you always end up running off to get your hilt polished.”  

“You sound jealous,” Ralof said with a smirk. “Don’t worry, my friend. We’ll find you a nice girl. I think Ingrid’s got a friend—” 

“I don’t want a nice girl,” Hadvar spat with a scowl, hunching over to rest his forearms against his knees. His ruddy brown hair curtained around his face.

Ralof paused for a moment, seeming thoughtful. He twisted the cork from his own mead bottle before taking a quick drink. “A… nice guy then?” he offered, sounding unsure. 

“What!?” Hadvar sat up so fast he sloshed mead onto his pants. “No! That’s not what I meant!” He could feel heat pooling in his cheeks, his ears so hot he was sure they’d sprout flames. 

Ralof raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. 

Hadvar let out a frustrated growl. “What I mean is… I just—” He exhaled sharply, letting his head fall back against the stone wall to look up at the sky. The sun was beginning to fade, leaving a soft cloudless gradient of pale blue and yellow. “I just miss the way things used to be, is all. There’s all this talk of—of another war and…” He groaned, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hands before taking another swig of mead. 

“If there is another war, then we fight,” said Ralof. 

Hadvar looked at him out of the corner of his eye, then down the neck of his mead bottle. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple.” Ralof shrugged and took another swig. “If the Empire wants to lick the boots of the golden elves, they’re welcome to do so. But they don’t get to drag Skyrim into their mess. And they don’t get to rip our gods from our hands.”

Hadvar continued to look into his mead bottle, rolling the neck between his palms. “...I just don’t think it’s that simple,” he said finally. 

“This topic is going to ruin my buzz,” Ralof declared. 

Hadvar scowled. “What do you want to talk about, then?” 

“Nothing.” 

So they sat in silence, each sipping their mead intermittently. Someone down on the street below let out a bellowing laugh, the large wooden gates creaked open and closed as caravans left the fort, the night time summer insects began to whirr in the treetops. 

“Y’know,” Ralof said after the silence had stretched on for an appropriate amount of time. “Sven told me that he plans to start courting Camilla.” He let out a snort. “That skeever-brain with a sharp girl like her.” He nudged Hadvar’s shoulder with his own. “She’d do better with someone like you. Y’know… You and your honeyed words.”

Hadvar made a noise of disbelief. “Honeyed words?” 

“Aye. You’d make a proper bard, I think.”

“That mead must be poisoned. It’s turned your brain to troll fat.” 

Ralof laughed. “This is some of the best mead around. Be grateful.” He reached over to clink the neck of his bottle against Hadvar’s. “Skol.”

“Skol,” Harvard repeated automatically, his tone flat.

“Eyes to the sky, Hadvar,” Ralof said after a beat. “We’re not fighting today, right?”

“...I s’pose not.”

“Then we leave those worries for the future.” 

They sat in silence for a bit longer, their shoulders pressed together, and Hadvar leaned against Ralof more than was probably necessary. After another moment, Ralof rolled forward onto his feet and pushed to stand. 

“Come!” he declared. “Enough moping.”

“Where are we going?” 

“Back to the inn!” Ralof reached a hand down. “Away from all this gloom.”

“Just leave me up here,” Hadvar said, ignoring Ralof’s outstretched hand. “I’ll just ruin the mood.” 

Ralof sighed loudly, then reached down and grabbed one of Hadvar’s wrists. “Up, damn you. Enough of all this.” 

Despite everything, Hadvar let himself be pulled to his feet. The two of them descended the tower together and headed back towards the inn. The front door had been propped open to let the fresh summer air into the longhouse, the sounds of a jaunty tune filtering out into the street along with rhythmic clapping and singing of the patrons. Ralof threw an arm around Hadvar’s shoulder, beginning to sing along as they stepped up onto the front porch. Hadvar couldn’t help but smirk, looping an arm around Ralof’s waist. 

“You sound like a dying cow when you sing.” 

Ralof made a rude, wet noise directly into Hadvar’s ear, and Hadvar shoved his friend away with a laugh, wiping the saliva off with the palm of his hand.

“We can’t all have the gifts of Dibella, y’know,” Ralof argued, rosy-cheeked. “She should have given you a pair of tits to go with that singing voice of yours.”

Hadvar gave him a rough shove but smiled. “You’d like that, I bet.” 

Ralof downed the rest of his mead and threw the empty bottle over the side of the porch before shoulder checking Hadvar so hard he slammed back against the side of the building, knocking the air from his lungs. 

“You oaf!” he wheezed. “Watch—” 

Ralof was directly in front of him, pushing right up into his space, his hands twisting the front of Hadvar’s shirt. Neither of them moved, barely a breath apart. Hadvar’s heart pounded so loud he felt it in the soles of his feet. Ralof was looking at him, his gaze unsteady with drink, blue eyes twinkling with the flicker of torch light. Then he smiled, fierce as a saber cat, and planted a firm kiss on Hadvar’s lips. 

Hadvar sucked in a breath through his nose, his eyes going wide. Impossible, he thought. And before he could think further, it was over, and Ralof was pulling away, still smiling. He swaggered away like a pleased tomcat, jerking a hand over his shoulder to beckon Hadvar after him. 

“You coming inside or not?” 

Hadvar’s entire body buzzed with arousal and confusion, his chest threatening to split open with the ache of it all and his pants tightening in an unwanted and embarrassing way. Ralof disappeared into the inn, leaving Hadvar alone. He reached his hand up to trace his lips, numb with disbelief. Had he…? Did he feel…?

Hadvar stumbled into the inn after him and then the night went on as if nothing had happened. The bard continued to play, the patrons continued to sing. Ingrid eventually found her way into Ralof’s lap, and Hadvar got drunk enough to lead the entire room in a call and response of “Come Now Ysmir”. He caught Ralof’s eye in the middle of a verse. He was staring at him from overtop Ingrid’s shoulder, his expression raw, transfixed, as if nobody else in the room existed. 

Hadvar smiled and continued to sing.

[argisthebulwark]

Severed Ties Part Two: Why You Came Back

summary: Time heals all wounds and somehow, you will find your way back to each other. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. Part One: Why You Left feat: Brynjolf, Miraak, Erandur, Teldryn, Vilkas, Farkas, Rune, Arnbjorn warnings: none, bit longer than usual.

Between all your duties and missing Brynjolf, it took time to find a comfortable rhythm. There was no escaping each other even after you put an end to your romantic involvement, only breaks coming in the form of jobs halfway across Skyrim. Through everything you worked together to get the Guild back on its feet. You entrusted Brynjolf solely with its care when Nocturnal came calling, reminding you that the Skeleton Key’s rightful place was in her temple.  The Twilight Sepulcher drained your body and soul. Exhaustion sapped at your strength when you shuffled out, unsure how you were going to get back to the inn. Riften was another beast entirely. Chilly fingers shook at the prospect of your bed being so far away, ready to risk it all for a short nap in the forest.  Brynjolf was planted a few paces away, hood thrown back and worry in his eyes. Your heart stopped at the sight. You’d never seen him so far from Riften. He took one cautious step as if you were a wounded animal, like you'd bolt if he came too close.  Collapsing into his arms felt like home. Strong arms carried you when your muscles failed, tears springing into your eyes when he tucked you safely into his chest. You gulped back the words you hadn’t said in ages when he buried his nose in his hair, turning to carry you home. He'd left all duties behind to be there for you when you needed him most. “I promise, love. Nothing’s gettin’ in the way of you and I again. Sorry it took me so long.”

Tales of Miraak’s reign of terror over Solstheim slowed, the island calming and hesitantly returning to its normal life. It had been years since you’d left Apocrypha and you could only hope that he’d found the answers he’d wanted so badly or at least some form of peace. The last memory of him still pained you but you’d never forget it - robes wrinkled where he crouched over the ancient desk, eyes wild and fingers stained with dark ink.  Being back on Nirn was a blessing and a curse. You had settled quite easily into your life but there was a constant nagging need to hear every rumor about him, to keep up to date on what he was doing. Your home was comfortable but quiet, interrupted by a harsh knock on your door.  Seeing him again stopped your heart. His eyes were wide, blessedly free from the mania you’d come to know. The mask and gloves were gone, robes traded for simple armor. There he stood, the man who had forgotten you suddenly standing on your doorstep, that lovely voice saying words you’d craved to hear.  “I gave it all up. I gave up everything to stand here and ask you for another chance and I’d do it again in a heartbeat, My Dragon.” 

You didn’t recognize him in such normal, simple clothes. Erandur, who lived in robes befitting a priest and Mara’s regalia, took the empty seat across from you in the tavern. His fingers quivered when he offered you a hand, hope bright in his eyes when he introduced himself.  “I had to come over here, I couldn’t stop staring. You’re stunning.” His attempt to sound nonchalant sent a nervous giggle bubbling out of you. “Can we put the past behind us and start over?” “Start over?” You didn’t release his hand and he didn't pull away, heart swelling when you saw his smile. All else was forgotten when you felt Erandur’s tattooed fingers climbing up your wrist.  “I am just a man who very badly wants to kiss someone he saw across the crowded tavern. Nothing more.” 

A compromise. That’s what he’d proposed. Teldryn sat at your table, eyes sparkling when he took in the house you’d built. It was far from the bustling cities, trees insulating you from the noise of nearby farms. After parting from Teldryn it had become a safe haven from the rest of the world. You’d never admit that building it with your own hands was fueled mostly by spite.  He’d come with apologies and offers mingled together in a practiced speech. Some time at home, some on the road, all of it spent together. It was unsettling how easily you trusted him again after all the time spent apart. His helmet rested on the table when Teldryn met your eyes and for the first time he looked unsure of what to say. His mouth opened, closing again and you caught a glimpse of that annoyed furrow between his brows you’d missed. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to settle down in one place, but I could get used to this slow life with you. For a while.”

Loving Vilkas was easy, you’d never truly stopped. Learning to be gentle with one another was difficult. You struggled to learn how to look past your relationship and see Vilkas as more than your partner, acknowledging his role in the Companions. He worked on seeing you as more than his Harbinger, viewing you as his partner once again. It was a slow process - taking breaks and setting boundaries, but he was worth it.  During the day you worked, creating healthier avenues for conversation. At night you were partners, nothing more. No work talk was allowed between dinner and breakfast. In those evenings you found one another again, softening and loving each other as you had so long ago.  “Remind me, Harbinger. Am I permitted to kiss you during working hours? Are we allowed to sit this close, or are you worried I’ll distract you?”

Breezehome had been yours before Farkas entered your life. It was your refuge during the evenings when you couldn’t bear Jorrvaskr’s halls or the memories they held. A cool breeze whipped through your hair when you walked home, masking his footsteps until he appeared at your side. Neither one of you said a word when he took your hand, falling in step with you and allowing you to guide him to your doorstep.  It didn’t happen all at once. Rather, it was small changes that slowly altered your life. It took work for Farkas to summon the confidence to live for himself, extracting his sense of self worth from the Companions. You reminded him that it was a balance, leaving wasn’t permanent. Dinners were often spent in Jorrvaskr before retreating to the peace of your home.  “I didn’t think I was anything more than a fighter. Didn’t think anyone would want me to be more.”

Each day felt like a new opportunity for growth. You watched Rune from a distance hoping that he would make peace with his past. You didn’t want him to give up but it was too painful to love someone who lived entirely in the mysteries of what could have been, as if you were only allowed to love part of him.  Luckily, Delvin and Vex had an endless catalogue of tasks that no one else wanted to complete. Jobs in other holds, jewelry to be stolen in Whiterun and planted on some poor sap in Solitude, the occasional trip to confer with the Dark Brotherhood. All the travel was good for your mind, allowing you time to think through everything far from him. Falling into your cot you stared up at the Cistern’s ceiling. Watery light from the early morning sun reminded you that you’d stayed up all night again. It had been difficult to sleep with Rune cramped into your tiny bed but without him the space felt too empty. His footsteps were silent when he knelt beside your bed, his warm hand on your shoulder the only warning that he was there.  “I’ll never give up, not entirely. But it isn’t worth losing you over. Just give me some time, please don’t forget about me.”

Arnbjorn consumed your every thought. Despite your best efforts to appear cool and indifferent you couldn’t take another moment. It was fairly easy to avoid him during the day, but every evening you struggled to not look at him through dinner. After all the others had left in search of bed or prepping for their assignment you found yourself alone with him, a few drinks deep and blood heating under the weight of his gaze. Too drunk to be embarrassed by the stumbling way you explained how badly you wanted to be loved by him again, how deeply you wanted him to love you. You didn’t want to be a replacement for the love he’d lost. Cheeks burning and tears spilling you gasped out the least graceful declaration of love and how much you missed him.  Your name on his lips had never sounded better. Soothing kisses and careful hands sufficed when words failed. You knew he wasn’t comfortable vocalizing softer emotions. Arnbjorn’s lips were on your forehead, fists balled into his armor when you dragged him closer.  “Just need you to trust me, okay? It’s only you. My past is my past, no changin’ it. I just need some time but I promise it’s only you.”

[throughtrialbyfire]

“Cycle of the Serpent”

Chapter 24 - Fort Hraggstad

prev. chapter | index

preview:

  Fort Hraggstad, once an outpost meant to fortify the roads against bandits and their throngs, had been reduced to an outcropping of stone clinging to the cliffsides of Haafingar Hold with bone-frail fingers. The roads, congealed with mud and snow to create a slush that pervaded the pathways towards the fortress, sucked at the bottom of the trios boots like the tendrils of Hermorah beneath the seas maddening waves.    Wyndrelis drew in a breath and crept silently behind his companions. The mountain air, familiar and thin, eased itself into his lungs. His home town had been deep into the mountains of Cheydinhal county, where the lush green gave way to thick stone and craggy cliffs, northern flowers of Skyrim familiar in their shapes. He sent a quick glance to Athenath, who seemed to be struggling against the trudge up the paths from their huffed murmurs and subtle puckering of their chin, the smallest indicator of a pout, much to the stifled amusement of the Dunmer. Then, he made the slow shift of his eyes to Emeros, the grave intensity of his amber gaze outmatched by the slow, cautious pace he took in his stride. The Bosmer knew the sort of work they were getting into, whose hands they were dirtying theirs for. And by his posture and his subdued scowl, his aim was to get this over with and pretend the work was not for Tullius, but for his companions, and solely them.   The sun rose like a draugr from a coffin, the waves of the sea anxious paces along the cliffs and marshy shorelines. Quick meals had in the inn and supplies packed, the three elves barely shed a word as they got ready. The journey would take roughly half the day, at least. Wyndrelis observed the grave looks on his friends faces and wondered how they would fare when they approached the fort. None of them thought themselves ready to do this, truth be told. He certainly didn't. But choice wasn't a luxury they could afford. And when Emeros outlined the quickest route to and from the fort, Wyndrelis merely peered down at the paper and gave approving nods, while Athenath tucked their tambourine inside the chest at the end of the bed, along with any other items the elves may want to leave behind for now.   They'd begun the hike up the ancient pathways early that morning, when uneasy clouds ghosted the growing blue of the skies. The waters tossed up the carcasses of albatross birds shot down by practicing Imperial archers, and the mudcrabs fed off the rotted remains. The stretch of road the group had elected to take wound them along slick and well-worn stone paths, each flinching at the sound of wildlife out of sight, keenly aware of the attention of any living creatures in this part of Haafingar. They were far and away from any help, no guards to save them should they be cornered by a pack of wolves on the mountainside. The forests thickened with pines, swaying on their rakish centers in ways that made Wyndrelis uneasy. The mage pushed his glasses up his nose, his breath creating clouds of fog that warmed his face as he walked through them, white irises skimming the landscape. Emeros clutched the map, nails digging into its papery surface.   The Dunmer fanned his fingers between lengths of his raven-dark hair, pushing the feathery strands against the winds that tousled it around the back of his neck, tickling the skin. He cursed quietly, but knew it was no use. Here, the wind was a perpetual thing, only cut by the rail-thin trees pushing up through the snow like needles through an incision.    He grimaced. Scrunched his nose.

{ read on ao3 }

[nemenalya]

Beast; Day 1 of @tes-summer-fest In the wooded heart of Skyrim, it is ill-advised for a lone child to travel too far, for the devious and the divine lurk inseparably entwined, waiting to cast their snares. 

In Atmora of old, there were no children left by the end. By the end of the end, neither were the woods. 

Year by year, season by season, the world got smaller; the storms surrendering a little less land from howling snow and lashing branches. Those who had neither foresight nor good fortune to be taken by the woodsman soon found themselves staring down the endless ocean, herded by creeping glacial giants. The fey ones, the woodwalkers, the spirits‘ playthings and companions, all penned in on the piers their mellower counterparts had long since set forth from. Ushered onto boats jauntily bobbing on the torrential currents, the last woods of Atmora creaking underfoot.

With ice nipping at their heels they were forced onto the vast expanse, unwell and seething under the hands of the oarsmen. Unwashed bodies smelling putrid in and under furs, meat rancid where there was any to be had. The crisp smell of the shore a distant memory before the tang fermenting slickly on the planks. 

Skyrim is stuffy, claustrophobic with its many peoples dispersed through the land, inhabitants old and new and newer still the silent raving sentinels of Atmora. Sweltering coasts and swamps and woods all carved up in a fever, parcelled out and jealously guarded. Tumorous sproutings of towns and villages all over, people domesticating themselves in one last betrayal of their frozen home. 

A veritable cacophony to senses weaned on glacial waters; honed on ritual hunts. People talking incessantly and clamouring and shouting the very earth into submission. Cages within cages. There’s a lord over them all now, by his own admission and ambition. He summons the mighty, the furious insane. Even among the last feral hermits his invitation is passed, there’s talk of accepting. 

The eastern lands sound cruder still than this drab shadow of mighty Atmora, heaps of foreign novelty. Many slink away from the fires, the settlements, called back out by blood. The wolf pelted earth breaker is among them– they won‘t be some scrawny king‘s lap dog.

Skyrim is divvied up, and yet there is enough wilderness to swallow them whole. Where there isn’t, the less reclusive Atmorans take it back, boasting and clamouring. Little farms and homesteads, almost Nord themselves now. The fey and the woodwalkers return to their pacing, territories vast like feral beasts. Not even time will make them band together. 

The wolf roams the lands deep south beyond the pearlescent lake that even with the spring thaws does not gleam quite as bright as their glacial home. They run from the clamour and cloying until harsh mountains cut their path. For a while it is peaceful, and ever restless they endeavour to keep it thus with claws and teeth.

They have no word of their people who with conquering swords and shouts never returned from the east, but the Nords spread like a disease. One year people settle on the lake, then further deep where snaking mountain passes meet a pleasant rushing stream. The last children of Atmora wish more to run than to fight, and the wolf sheds not their pelt to scream their protests unto land and sky. Wordless, out of sight, they surrender the ground. 

The ever receding depths of the forest –crushed now by sullen hands not gleaming sheets of ice– remain a sanctuary not intruded upon, warnings of one too far line crossed written in blood and pain. Atmora’s lost children live long lives, but even they might not outlast the torrential unbroken tide of just a few trees more below the axe. 

Instead they live long enough to be found. The dun pup, hapless and toothless, anointing them with blackberry sup alike enough to blood.They let the boy name them 'Mara'. They let the boy call them 'she'. The boy speaks with hands more than words, and she learns fast like remembering a hazy half-dream, teaching him the language of beasts in trade.

The seasons slow for them, curled up on a bed of rust coloured needles in a yew grove, sharing jam and pies as rain platters overhead and the trees weep red blood. Warm summer storms pass over them unminded, turning the stone slippery and the loamy hillsides navigable, until they run cold and sleety, mist rolling down the forested mountain slopes. 

They sing at the stars and moons overhead, drifting lazily together in snow or mellowing summer heat. Around them the birds sing and the streams gurgle, and she hears the earth itself hum a contented lullaby. They roam between the village and the lake, smelling and tasting and running. He gets overwhelmed, and sometimes so does she, seeing this land through fresh eyes. 

She hunts them game, the boy perched silently on her shoulders. With him, she never hunts down the woodcutters and mushroom gatherers and intruders into her woods. She doubts he‘d mind, but her pup has to grow his own fangs before they can truly feast. He picks berries from between the brambles, staring silently as hands dart cleverly between the thorns that would cut her muzzle. They catch fish in nimble claws and marvel at the gleam of sun on scales. 

The townsfolk grow weary of them, their urge to roam a distant memory. Even she can bury her bitter longing for home now. For a while. 

One crisp spring, the boy leaves. She follows him to the edge of the mountains eternally draped in ice, where her woods break on sheer rocks. She knows he knows she’s there, an unspoken offer like all between them. Still, she dislikes the mountain, the dragon, and she will not abandon the wilderness she has carved herself in this overflowing land. He looks back once, hesitates too long, places a precious sweet before the steep incline of the mountain pass.  

He leaves. She stays. The seasons stumble on. 

Time is a vague notion, when not measured by the inexorable creep of ice. She tastes the change in the air, startled over a bloody meal. The earth sings of their approach, humming in delight at the dizzy of one and one, coarse crude notes intertwined into a simple haunting harmony. Soft vibrations of the forest floor, crunching of mud and leaf, the smell of furs and foreign lands and ferns snapping underfoot. Yet in her heart she knows. 

It is inadvisable for a child to travel alone in the deepest woods of Skyrim. But the pups have travelled far further and stranger, never alone. And they have grown up.

[keldjinfae]

WIP Whenever

I was tagged by @dear-massacre... um... a week ago? More? Less? The point is, I was tagged to share a snippet from a WIP, and for the first time this year, I actually have something to share. This is from the first part of what is going to be a stupidly long series that fuses Teen Wolf with Skyrim, Life in a Northern Town. Even just posting this, I'm already reformating parts of it in my head, so that should give an idea of how very much "in-progress" it is:

The village of Falkreath was known for its graveyard. Rather than an actual Hall of the Dead where the deceased citizens of Falkreath Hold were entombed, as was the custom in most parts of Skyrim, they instead joined the ranks of a large, sprawling cemetery. The resident priest of Arkay oversaw their burials and otherwise kept to his nearby home, where he held rites for the god of life and death, and led mourners in services for their departed loved ones.

Outside of the small hold capitol, the cemetery was nearly <i>all</i> that Falkreath was known for. The Pine Forest had legends of its own, and the old magic of the woods was often enough to spur wary travelers past the unassuming road leading to the village in their haste to break through the trees before nightfall. Those who were brave (or avaricious) enough to shrug off superstition and remain found that the villagers had long embraced its reputation, and that death had inevitably settled into their way of life.

From the innkeeper at Dead Man’s Drink to the alchemists selling poultices and poisons at Grave Concoctions, Falkreath’s citizens were well-practiced in attracting the business of the morbidly curious. Just like they were similarly adept at drawing their attention <i>away</i> from the mages who placed the wards on the graves that made sure the dead remained restful, or the men who dug the graves in the first place. Death may have been the village’s tourist trap, but the actual trappings of death were bad for business.

Which meant having to slip out of the house just before dawn and stumbling down to the cemetery, still half-asleep, if Stiles wanted to catch up to Isaac before he was finished. The sounds of his trek across one side of town to the other were exaggerated by the slumbering stillness of the early morning, from the sharp crack of the door's creaking hinges as it closed behind him, to the crunching of grass and dirt beneath his feet, made crisp by the frost that had settled overnight. In less than an hour’s time, the sun would warm the earth just enough to clear away the frost, but a thick fog would rise up in its place, looming over most of the hold like a burial shroud until nearly nightfall.

Stiles moved quickly through the dark without a need for carrying a torch or casting Candlelight, able to find his way as the stars were gradually washed out of the sky. He’d only made it about halfway to his destination before he started to regret not throwing on more clothes despite his haste to leave without waking his father, curling his hands together and blowing into already-stinging fingers to warm them before tucking them under his armpits. He kept his arms folded tightly over his chest as he passed by the beginning of the long, stone wall dividing the cemetery from the rest of the village, and it wasn’t much longer after that he was able to make out the faint, flickering glow of a lantern in the distance.

Isaac Lahey was tall even for a Nord, his head and arms still popping up above the ground every few seconds while he drove a shovel into the frozen earth.

[kae-luna]

🌃//Writeblr Intro//🌃

Hello! Welcome to my corner of the internet. I am Kae Luna. You can call me Kae or Luna. I am pretty new to Writeblr, so please bear with me.

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(Banner made with canva)

🌊About My Writing🌊

✨Genres: sci-fi, fantasy, supernatural, action, drama, psychological, LGBTQIA+

✨Subgenres: dystopian, cyberpunk, biopunk, solarpunk, post-apocalyptic

✨Common themes: diversity, anti-capitalism, female empowerment

Links🌐

Since I like both anime art and storytelling, I'm planning to make light novels. Some of them may be short stories, standalone novels, or series. :3 Going to put some of them on Wattpad and Tapas.

I try to balance unique settings with complex characters.

🌊About Me🌊

I've been writing and drawing since I was little. And before I could write, I would tell my mother my story and she'd write it down for me. I've always had a crazy imagination. When I was a tween, I got into anime and manga, so I learned how to draw in that art style.

I am 25, queer-romantic asexual, and feminine-presenting nonbinary. I identify as both a girl and a demi-boy. You can refer to me as she/her, he/him, or they/them. I don't mind. I'm also white and have ADHD, dyspraxia, anxiety, and depression that prevents me from getting a "real" job.

I'm pretty shy and anxious, but once you get to know me, I may say some weird stuff and dad jokes. I'm a big nerd and simp as well.

I am also a Vtuber, but made this alt identity since I didn't think my work would fit that persona.

🌊About My Blog🌊

Here I am going to post about my WIP stories and some of my art. I will also reblog others' art and writing. Many aesthetics, fandoms, and other stuff may be reblogged as well with tags if it inspires my work.

Here I hope to find more creators to connect with and find some epic creations. Feel free to message me if you'd like, though I am kinda shy. :3

I am okay with:

✨Asks

✨Tag games

✨DMs. I'm happy to make friends. :3

🌊My Likes & Favorites🌊

✨Aesthetics/genres: vaporwave, cyberpunk, pastel, eco punk, nature, grunge, post-apocalyptic, solarpunk, steampunk, fantasy, LGBTQIA2S+

✨Movies: Alita: Battle Angel, Ultraviolet, Aeon Flux, Spider-Man 2, Howl's Moving Castle, Black Panther, The Matrix

✨Shows: Doctor Who, Stranger Things, Umbrella Academy, The Witcher

✨Anime: Death Note, Attack on Titan, Jojo's Bizarre Adventure

✨Games: Skyrim, Baldur's Gate 3, The Sims 4, Minecraft, Fallout

✨Cartoons: Aeon Flux, Batman The Animated Series

🌊WIP(s)🌊

Ultra Drive - Intro Post | Directory Post

Links: Wattpad | Tapas (coming soon)

✨Genre(s): sci-fi, cyberpunk, action, drama, psychological, dystopian

✨CWs: government stuff, pandemic mention, gore probably at some point

When AlexiKa was a child, her world was changed forever when her family was forced to immigrate to the imperial city of Venicula after the Ebony Plague - caused by mysterious eumalyptus spores - infected her home town. Now a young adult, she works as a courier (and secretly an anti-corporation activist). When going on a delivery, she accidentally uncovers dark secrets and ends up infected with the same Ebony Plague that haunted her hometown as a child. But when she survives the illness and instead develops superhuman abilities, she joins a mutant resistance group to fight against the Veniculan Empire, the Gaia Corporation, and other mutants with immoral goals.

Adventures in Alsteria - Intro Post (coming soon!)

Links: N/A

✨Genre(s): fantasy, comedy, slice of life, action, adventure, LGBTQIA+

✨CWs: None ATM? Violence probably?

A trans femboy wood elf named Nel finds the homeland of his people - the rain forests of Falinor - and goes on an adventure to form a guild of adventurers! Still kind of in the vibes stage I guess, but I have some ideas formed for lore and characters. :> Something more cute and lighthearted for me to write in contrast to Ultra Drive.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't have much that I can share at the moment due to much of my writing being lost (school assignments or lost on old computers) or attached to other identities. I also had a looong writer's/art block.