#bandit the frill neck

[i-draws-dinosaurs]

do you have a favorite herbi and carni dinosaur? (specific genus or family group)

Favourite carnivorous dinosaur is easy, Sinosauropteryx prima!

It's been my favourite dinosaur of all time for ages, because it represents such an incredible leap forward in our scientific understanding of dinosaurs! It was the first dinosaur described with fossilised feathers (that wasn't considered basically a bird already)!

If that wasn't enough, years later it's one of the only extinct dinosaurs whose colours are almost entirely known! It was an earthy red-brown, with white stripes on its tail and a black "bandit mask" on its face. So, basically an Early Cretaceous red panda.

(art by Gabriel Ugueto)

As for herbivorous dinosaurs, I don't really have a definitive favourite. There's such a huge variety of them, but personally I am always very fond of ceratopsians and sauropods, which I think are just absolutely beautiful creatures.

Out of the ceratopsians I love the chasmosaurini, with their enormous frills and horns and such, and am specifically very fond of Anchiceratops for its apparently weirdly long neck.

But there's a bunch of ceratopsians that I really love, like Pentaceratops, Einiosaurus, Zuniceratops, Udanoceratops, and Styracosaurus.

As for sauropods, the ones I love to see the most are titanosaurs because I find their long upward-sloping backs and necks especially graceful, and it amazes me that The Largest Animals ever walk on land also held themselves with such poise and elegance.

(Dreadnoughtus by Mark Witton)

One thing I notice going through my list of favourite dinosaurs, is how few of them I've actually drawn! Aside from Anchiceratops the art here isn't mine, and it's weird that I haven't drawn much of these guys who I find so beautiful to look at!

Also, feel free to add on to this with your own favourite dinosaurs! Can be carnivores, herbivores, omnivores, whatever!

#paleontology #paleoart #dinosaurs #palaeoblr #sinosauropteryx #anchiceratops #dreadnoughtus

[gamerzylo]

Bandit: ...I'm gonna go fuck your wife now.

Mr. R: WHAT?! You are NOT ALLOWED to fuck my wife!

Bandit: *Walks away*

Mr. R: Bandit! Come back here right now! Bandit!

[Beat]

Mr. R: WHAT THE FUCK?!

#insanity au #Incorrect quotes #source: sa2 fandub #bandit the frill neck #mr. r the demon

[captain-barnes-writes]

Mafioso

Summary: Mob boss Bucky Barnes enjoys his vacation in Colombia in more ways than one.

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Latina

Warning: Language, mafia, maybe a little dark?, age gap, daddy kink (or should I say papi kink😏), unprotected sex. Smutttttt—18+

[one-shot with possibility of a second part...]

NOT PROOFREAD.

Word Count: 5.9k

The thick air under the Colombian night sky had made James Buchanan Barnes break out into a slight sweat. Trickles of perspiration stuck to his forehead and his perfectly combed hair was starting to falter under the South American hot breeze. There was something in the air that night, the air so warm it even made someone like him, someone of his stature, want to wear a pair of shorts and a tank top. He’d pushed aside those thoughts though and opted for a dark ensemble that for the first time in a long time didn’t include a suit. He put the choice on the weather, but knew it was a mere excuse to a much needed laxed relaxation--his muscular frame donned a fitted midnight blue polo and expensive black chinos. A pure gold chain with a thick round pendant hung from his neck. Despite the somewhat more relaxed clothing choice, it still spoke greatly for the person he was, for the power he bore in his hands. He was away from New York, away from his many enemies, yet despite that he couldn’t let his guard down even while in a beautiful place like Medellin, Colombia.

He was a mafioso. Leader of a renowned and feared mafia, James, or as many of his closest confidants called him Bucky, was powerful beyond measure. One of the most remarkable features of the feared man was the way his dark profession didn’t at all really relate to the way he looked. With sharp blue eyes and dull clementine lips, Bucky stood over six feet tall and oftentimes used his honeyed voice to get his way. It was a shrill contrast to the person he truly was with his enemies, or those he was not familiar with, a booming menace with toneless manners and gestures. A darkened soul.

More often than not, he would not be recognized or even thought to be a huge asset of organized crime. He was too handsome, too respectful and was a masked businessman to the public but a true bandit underneath. The way he looked and the way dressed so professionally and gallantly with perfectly tailored dark expensive suits and shiny black leather shoes was his greatest disguise. Unbeknownst to whoever that he carried a sharp blade and fully loaded gun with him at all times.

The work was tiresome, physically and emotionally draining. For a man who was so often toneless in the way he spoke of death, in the way he so often wished it and caused it on others, and emotionless with tragedies, he was still a person beneath all the darkness—all the guns and all the violence. Upon a tormenting year filled with too much bloodshed, he’d decided to take some much needed time for himself in a place where there’d been similar violence and crime to that which he was partially responsible for back in the states, but still felt like a secluded place away from absolutely everything. With his turf being monitored by those he trusted most, to some extent he felt free.

For Bucky, Colombia had felt like an excellent choice upon making it and planning the trip to the t a few weeks prior. It’d taken so long to arrange in order to leave things in place and to choose those who were best skilled for the arduous job that was keeping order to such an unbalanced thing that was the mafia. He’d lied about his whereabouts to many, not wanting to compromise everything he’d worked so hard for.

Now Bucky was in the city of Medellin—rich in culture, food and most importantly filled with women. It had barely been his first day and he’d already eyed far too many beautiful women with their dark features and alluring accents. It was nighttime, past 9 pm and he’d just taken a seat under an umbrella-ladden table with a few of his many bodyguards. They were brooding and menacing figures in dark attire. They were simply doing their job, but Bucky wished they’d take it down a notch especially in a bar where nobody knew who he was and what he stood for. Though he couldn’t say that to them because letting his guard down meant showing weakness and he couldn’t have that. Not now, not ever.

The vibrant graffiti art on the rustic building the restaurant and bar was situated at went so well with the multicolor knitted flag garland that stretched from one side to the other. The twinkling yellow lights illuminating the beautiful scene before him; people dancing, foreign and natives of the land. Hands joined at the hip, on the shoulders, bodies moving one way to the other and faces etched with a liberating kind of happiness. It was a fresh spectacle he hadn’t witnessed in far too long.

The country that had birthed magical realism and the rhythm and sound of cumbia was lit with shining bulbs and people whose bliss was of no comparison and it was slightly, just slightly, rubbing off on him when he found himself with a small smile. The people dancing before him were in their own little world as the unfamiliar music emanated moves from them that he knew he probably wouldn’t be able to replicate.

And then there was her. A gleaming light of a woman with tan skin that glowed underneath the superficial lighting. Her face seemed to be in such a deep concentration that didn’t seem to emanate from stress or from taking on a hard task, but at the simple task of dancing.  

She was the epitome of magic in his eyes—a Colombian who bore beauty so devastating it had dried his mouth. The tan skin, dark flowing tresses that reached her lower back and dusky inviting eyes. A charmeuse emerald green dress with a blood orange floral print design clung effortlessly to her body and much to his pleasure, the frill hem of the dress ended just above the middle of her smooth thighs. The radiant energy that emanated from her was more than Bucky could even imagine; she was more than he could even have imagined. Not that he had before. Compared to all the women he’d encountered during the last few hours he’d been on the foreign soil she took all the medals with her. She took absolutely everything and he wasn’t even near her, hadn’t even touched her, or felt the delicate skin of her neck or even felt the glossy lips that he felt desperate to take a hold of.

Her hips were shaking side to side, tips of her toes translating the music that she so deeply felt. Her bones were burning with the sound of her native music, the sound of Cumbia. Se me perdió la Cadenita’s tune playing in the background as the movements of her hips followed every beat far too perfectly.

She was dancing alone unlike the many people that surrounded the large dancefloor who had their partners. Many times, She found herself in this bar in the famous little plaza of Medellin. Frequented by locals and non-locals alike, it was always a party. The ambiance was a delicacy, the drinks were great and the music never missed.

Today, for the first time ever, she found herself arriving at the bar alone due to her friend ditching her for last-minute plans with her boyfriend. She understood, but still wanted to come out on her own for a much needed distraction because work had been hectic and her personal life was even worse. Drinks and a good sweat-inducing dance always did the trick. Just this time she’d have to dance with herself.

Or maybe not.

Y/N felt heavy cerulean eyes burning holes on her back. She’d peeked once or twice and was well aware of the handsome, well-dressed man sitting amongst a group of menacing looking men whom she could tell were most likely white. He was too, and while she wasn’t particularly attracted to white men, he was something else. Had a little kick, a little spice and how did she even know that? She didn’t, but the man was in Colombia so she’d deduced that he had good taste so far. Blue eyes, she’d noticed, short dark tendrils neatly combed and a trimmed beard. It wasn’t until she’d gotten lost in her own thoughts that her eyes lost sight of the alluring man and a flick of disappointment shot through her.

With a scoff, all her movements had come to a halt and she made her way to the bar area to get herself yet another drink. She’d had two so far and already felt the alcohol contents doing their godforsaken job, alleviating the stress from her shoulders,soothing her wracking brain and letting her have a form of tranquil fun. She wasn’t the best drinker and knew that two more drinks and she’d probably have blurry vision and slurred speech. Consumed in her own thoughts, she suddenly heard the bartender ask what she wished to order.

“Un mojito de aguardiente.” She responded.

“Yo tambien.” Me too. A voice chimed next to her. Strong and laced with a very thick accent that had almost made the words incoherent to any ear. It was the polo-clad man who’d been gawking at her from his table just a mere few minutes ago and now he was standing right next to her. He was so close, the skin of their arms were brushing against each other; she thought of how he felt so warm.

“Good choice.” She commented, eyes trailing up to meet his. An abyssal of blazing blue with a glint of mischief and many things she could not make of stared back at her. The crinkles at the end of his eyes came to shape as he offered her a small nod and smile. He was slightly taken aback at the way the English words slipped past the plumpness of her lips, slightly thick but still more than understandable. Far better than his Spanish.

“We both ordered the same thing so I think we both have great taste.” Bucky with all his influence and overwhelming power was overcome with a yearning for the woman beside him and felt as if he’d become prey to her. But he knew far too well that despite the confidence she so easily oozed and the way she had him almost salivating, she was the victim here. It would never be him.

When the bartender came back with both drinks, Bucky had immediately placed a one hundred dollar bill on his hand, paying for both drinks despite her protest, and told him to keep the change. The man’s face beamed and proceeded to thank him profusely to which he waved him off with nonchalance because to him a bill of such value was simple pocket change.

“You didn’t have to pay for me, really.” The woman pleaded, thick brows furrowed as she fumbled to get money from her purse. Bucky was amused as he placed his hand on her arm trying to stop her movements and at the sudden touch, her head snapped to look at him. It was then when her lips were agape with wide brown eyes that he thought she looked so young, and concluded that she was most likely in her early 20s. He became even more curious, pining to know little details about her.

“It was nothing. Just tell me your name, that’ll be enough.”

It was nothing.  At this, she became a little nervous. She couldn’t deny he was really easy on the eyes, even that was an understatement, he was as handsome as men came. With the crisp and costly clothes he wore along with the heavy gold chain that adorned his chest and not to mention the fact that he had just carelessly spent 100 dollars on two drinks that couldn’t have cost more than twenty. And the burly men clad in black who stood at the far back of the large bar just staring at them, at him, not letting him out of their sight as if their lives depended on the very man himself. It warned her that he was a man of money and even the way he carried himself spoke of the probable immense power he held.

With a voice that faltered, accent heavy she responded with her name.

“Y/N.” He tried it, weighed it on his tongue and savored it because it complemented her so well. Said it loud so she could hear him and she did, becoming just a tad flustered as she opened her mouth and closed it again. No sound coming out.

“Such a pretty name, darling.” His honeyed voice caused a flutter in her stomach, but she put it on the alcohol and not at the way the nickname sounded too good coming from him. She felt flushed, and at the sensation that her face had become hot she placed her drink down and put her cooled hands on her cheeks. It was embarrassing that she’d become such a mess in front of him and to try to distract him from this she asked for his name too.

“Bucky.” He replied.

“Never heard of that name before...maybe just because I’m from here, um but is it short for something?”

Just like she had paused earlier when he asked for her name, he became slightly agitated too. He took a large sip of the drink, the aguardiente was a tad powerful but the anise accents mixed with lemon and mint were comforting and gave way to a refreshing taste. He turned his face to look at her after a few seconds, having mulled over the meek possibility of the girl recognizing him, elbows propped on the wooden bar counter.

“It’s just a nickname.” He finally succumbed to the way her doe eyes waited for an answer, but he’d lied to her face. It was actually short for Buchanan. Instead he would give her his first name, a simple name. He wished so ardently that she’d be moaning it in no time.

“My name is James.”

“Oh.” Was all that came from the beauty beside him as she sipped her drink. She didn’t seem to hiss at the alcohol and he deduced that she probably drank it quite often.

“How old are you?” Bucky enquired after she’d grown silent, seemingly too interested in the drink that was more than halfway gone. She’d had such confidence earlier on the dance floor, with hips that weaved and swung to the rhythm of the music and her face expression had been so jaunty. Carefree and relaxed. Now in his presence she seemed quite shy. He wondered why she’d taken on this form now, he didn’t think of himself as being too pushy. At least not now because there was no need, she was compliant enough. He only showed that harsh edge when necessary.

“22.” She uttered. He’d been right, she was in her early 20s. God, she was so young and he was already pushing 40. The age should’ve had him walking away, but he wasn’t at the thought of being between her pretty thighs savoring her, tasting her. He wanted to teach her a few things only men his age knew. Taking one last sip of her drink before placing it on the counter. Her waves cascading down to her lower back slightly moved as she yet again twisted to gaze up at him with burnt sienna eyes. She was sensual without even meaning to and he felt his pants tightening.

She adjusted her feet, feeling a slight ache at standing with the bronze pumps and placed a hand on her hip. The plunging neckline of the dress was enticing him. Smooth skin peeking at the bright material that complemented her far too well as if it was made just for her. He himself had just finished his drink as well, placed it on the counter and moved to adjust his pants. The pressure was becoming uncomfortable. He’d moved his gaze away from her to look at his surroundings, a mere habit of his. It was then that her eyes trailed to his hands and that the sleek black object caught her eyes. She stared intently, feeling herself more agitated, and the black metal gleamed as if to alarm her. She let out a small gasp and averted her eyes to look anywhere else, but him

She was panicking at being in such close proximity to a deadly weapon. It was normal to carry a gun and sometimes it did seem as a necessity to ward off danger, but it didn’t ease the discomfort Y/N felt. She placed a hand on her chest while placing the other on the counter and taking a deep breath. She was having an internal battle, one side was chastising her for judging Bucky for the simple act of carrying a gun while the other side was pleading with her to get away.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” He whispered so softly in her ear suddenly. Hot breath fanning on her side of her face and goosebumps arising on her skin. She stuttered, not even coming up with a coherent thing to say. His hand found its way to hers, gripping it, and bringing it up to place his lips on it. His eyes ablaze that she felt them burning holes on her forcing her to yet again meet them.

“Come on, darling.” He hummed, waiting for a response. Her hand was still entwined with his but now he was just holding it at his side, not letting go. His other hand had fallen to the waistline of his dark chinos, the sleek object coming to view. Her breath hitched and she felt as if she was speechless. Had he done that on purpose? To show her that he had the upper hand and that she had no choice but to say yes.

In the most twisted way the one thing she was holding onto was the deep rasp and slowness of his voice and the mere invitation to leave with him had allowed a current of heat creep to her stomach, a pooling sensation in between her legs. She yet again put it on the alcohol because had she been completely sober she would’ve escaped already.

She blinked at him, words continuing to fail her. Bucky was growing impatient at the girl before him who seemed to be fighting with herself. He knew she’d seen the pistol hidden inside the waistband of his pants, but he didn’t even want to hurt her. Not like that anyway.

“It’s a gun, just for protection. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He defended.

She remained quiet and at the sound of no response, he let go of her hand and took hold of her face with both his hands. Gripping it, he brought his lips to hers in a forceful kiss. Her lips tasted like lemon and alcohol, so warm and soft he already felt addicted. She didn’t respond at first, her dainty hands coming up to grab the bottom of his arms to try to let go but it was no use because Bucky was far stronger. When his teeth lightly took hold of her bottom lip, she inadvertently let out a small moan. It was her first reaction and it had him wanting more. Groaning, he pulled away. Eyes filled with so much lust he thought it would seep out of him.

“Shit, come on.” His head turned to his men, signaling them it was time to go. She was going to come with him, she had to. He wanted her to grip the sheets of his bed tonight, bury her head in his pillows and moan his name. He gripped her hand again, dragging the girl through the exit of the bar. She wasn’t fighting, just struggling behind him with her bronze pumps.

In seconds, she was inside a sleek car with the engine revving and Bucky cruising through the Medellin streets. From her quietness, posture and the way her dainty hands fiddled on her lap Bucky deduced that she either didn’t do this often or at all.

In a haze, Y/N wondered what he did for a living. He had an expensive rental, donned tailored clothing of fine quality and had bodyguards for protection. They were trailing behind him in different cars, one in front and one at the back. With one hand on the steering wheel, Bucky rubbed soft circles on her thigh with the other . Her skin was smooth and it dawned on him than in no less than 5 minutes he’d get to have the woman next to him at his disposal. Completely naked and at his mercy. At the thought, he hardened.

“Touch me.” He commanded, voice laced with a yearning need it felt as if it was eating him alive.

“What?” Y/N sputtered, brown eyes growing wide. She wasn’t inexperienced, but this was a man far older than she’d ever been with. He seemed to be nearing his 40s with his fluffy locks already showing signs of graying. And she was still slightly scared that on the other side of his hip was a gun.

“Stop thinking about it. I said it’s not to hurt you.” He sounded slightly peeved, voice sounding a bit rough. He’d caught her eyeing his hip where his gun was. She nodded while taking a deep breath. She knew perfectly well what he wanted, her hands on him. With shaky hands, she began to unzip his pants and though he had groaned at the small action he stopped her with his hand.

“Just through the pants, baby. We’re almost at the hotel.” She blinked, pressing her hands to the prominent bulge on his black chinos. She began palming him through the thick fabric, feeling the ridges of his erection and she shameless bit her lip at the feel, at how big he felt. Through long lashes, she ogled at the man before her. Ruggedly handsome beyond words with a strong build she knew she’d be left aching. Even though she still felt remnants of uncertainty, she mostly felt a deep gust of excitement building within her.

Bucky’s mouth was watering at the actions of the young girl beside him, her small hand touching him in the most sensual way. And it felt like a huge step forward with her hands on him, but he also felt her lingering gaze. It prompted him to remove his hand from her thigh and accelerate on the roads he was not even familiar with but the need to get to his hotel was one of his top priorities. It was silent for the most part besides a few jagged groans that emanated from his chest at the way she was still touching him. It almost pained him to not be buried inside her yet. God, he just knew she'd be tight and sweet.

When they did arrive at the towering hotel building, he’d leaned over and wrapped her up in a sweltering kiss before he had her hand in his hand waltzing through the lobby and into the elevator. The tension was thick and he’d managed to get his hands on her waist pulling her closer to him. He knew better than to try anything on the elevator especially not with his bodyguards in tow.

With his key card already in hand, once in front of his suite, he hastily swiped it and dragged her inside. With a sigh of relief he pushed her against the door, shutting it. In a change of roles, she was the one grabbing at the collar of his polo and pulling him in her to crash their lips together. It was sexy in the nastiest way possible--mouths engulfing each other, him biting her lips, sucking on them and her fitting her tongue inside his mouth. It was sloppy and brought a wave of satisfaction, it just wasn’t enough.

With greedy hands he groped her ass, massaging the roundness through the soft charmeuse material of her dress before he lifted it up through her body forcing them to pull away in order to fully remove the dress. Once it had come off, he threw it in a heap on the floor and savored the girl in front of him. Lips swollen, cheeks flushed and her hair already in disarray she looked just about ready to take him. He could have just come at the sight of her with the pretty white lace set she sported. So tiny it barely covered anything.

“Look at you baby. You look so pretty, ready to take me huh?” He’d lifted her into his arms ushering her to wrap her tanned legs around him while his hands held the fullness of her bottom. She hated that he was fully dressed. She wanted to feel him against her, wanted to see the toned muscles of his torso and touch the bulge she’d had her hands just a few minutes prior, just this time without the thick material of his chinos.

She nodded at his question as a small yes fled from her lips when he brought their lips together again in another needy kiss. This time, he maneuvered through the large hotel room and finally dropped her on his bed. He’d stayed on his feet, removing his shirt and revealing his taut and strong chest.

“You look so good, Bucky” She hadn’t meant for her English to sound so thick, not only laced with a deep onset of lust but with complete delight at the sight of him. She blushed at the way she’d sounded, but he loved it. Loved the way his name fell from her swollen lips.

With a bite of his lip, he watched as her expression went from that of need to one filled with fear as he removed the gun from the waistband of his pants. The dark metal in his hand the only thing her eyes were focused on. He was amused at the innocence she carried. Even in a country like Colombia where crime and death rates were one of the highest back in the day because of people like him, she’d managed to keep that angelic essence. He admired her refusal to let go of it.

“I told you this is only for protection, baby. The only thing that’s gonna hurt you is this dick.” He was half joking, gun still gripped in his hand he walked around the side of the bed to place it on the white nightstand. It seemed as if even that wasn’t enough for her so with a roll of his deep blue eyes, he decided it was best he placed it inside the nightstand drawer. Sure, he had better access and more maneuver to reach for it if it was on top, but he wanted to fuck her so bad and wanted her to enjoy it not have a gun be the reason she couldn’t get wet over him.

She swallowed, a little more calm as she saw the weapon safely stored inside the drawer and offered him a timid smile. He chuckled at her newfound expression and felt the same yearning bubble up again. Desperate to feel her skin on him, he unbuckled his pants in a haste and threw them carelessly on the floor. If he wasn’t so damn hard to the point it pained him, he would’ve had her remove the pants with her small hands. Another time, he thought.

He climbed on top of her, expectant doe eyes staring back at him when his face prodded down at her. She reached her soft hands to touch his face and used it to pull his face towards hers. Lips meeting in a desperate kiss as if starved of human touch; so eager, so needy. His hands didn’t waste time exploring her body. They wanted to be everywhere at once, her breasts, her thighs and the sweet place between her thighs. For the time being, he’d stopped at the swell of her breasts, pushing down the thin lace cups and rubbing her perky brown nipples slowly. Fingers trailing on the smoothness of her areolas had turned to kneading. His lips had parted from hers and trailed down to the sensitive skin of her neck and made sure to take the skin between his lips. Sucking and biting at the skin until blood had risen leaving behind  deep purple marks that looked rather painful. She was a withering mess underneath him, soft little moans falling from her swollen lips and thighs widening.

She was so compliant especially when he’d patted her thigh and she’d opened up to him without a single word. His fingers had grasped at the thin lace material of her panties too roughly and it had ripped. Y/N yelped and he didn’t know what to make of her face expression whether it was anger or disappointment that had shown, but he promised her he’d buy her more. Expensive lace just for his pretty girl.

Without waiting for a response, 2 fingers had slowly delved into her cunt. Long fingers forming a slow and torturous rhythm that had her wanting more. If this was his way of making her talk then he was on right track as her little whines grew the more he kept the same pace

“Faster.” Y/N pleaded, hands grasping at the sheets below her. He felt himself gloat as her soft voice egged him on, finally voicing out her needs. He’d given in, fingers pumping in and out of her in briskness all while loving the little sinful moans that she gave out. Within seconds, his tongue had taken place of his fingers licking a long patch of her pretty pussy before he brought them back inside her. Her cunt was soaking wet with her juices and she was so damn sweet. His tongue was swirling against her clit, a move that had her body shuddering in the process. His fingers continued their pace inside her while his tongue drew long licks on her little petal, sucking and swirling that within seconds she’d gripped his hair tightly and came without warning. She’d come right on his fingers, room filling with the sound of her cries. When he withdrew his fingers, glistening and sticky with her unbelievably sweet nectar, he licked a long stripe against her before coming up for air. He looked wildly erotic—hair unruly and mouth wet with the fruits of her orgasm.

When Bucky climbed his way back on top of her, she was breathing so hard her chest was heaving up and down, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to her skin, meanwhile her eyes were fluttering in the aftermath of her orgasm.

“Open your mouth.” Bucky ordered, voice laced with desire as he stared at the mess of a girl. Her brown eyes fluttered open again and with a bite of her lip, she opened her lips wide for him. Almost immediately his fingers were inside her mouth. He wanted her to taste herself, to taste how delicious she was.

“You taste so fucking sweet, baby. You like it? Like the way you taste?” God, he sounded so sexy. She hadn’t expected him to be such a talker, but he was making her skin tingle with just the sound of his voice and with the things he spewed out during their sinful acts. She moaned with his fingers in her mouth and gave a slight shake of her head to let him know that yes, she tasted damn sweet but that she was sure he tasted even better. At this thought, she grabbed hold of his arm and pushed his fingers out. Taking charge for the first time that night, she pushed him on his back. His olive skin meeting the black silk of his sheets.

Mischievous burnt sienna eyes peered up at him as she removed his boxers causing the thick bulge to spring out. He was so big and thick in her hands, and she thought of how much discomfort the stretch would be just taking him.

She tried to focus on the task at hand, dainty hand wrapping around the thick shaft moving up and down. He was groaning above, husky and loud. It drove her hand to move faster against him, a line of precum already seeping from the swollen head. It was so enticing seeing the milky substance leaking from him that her head bowed and lips wrapped around the very tip. Tongue swirling against the tiny hole before she sucked it savoring the salty taste of him. She began to bob her head down the thickness of his cock, unable to take him all but making sure what she couldn’t take her hand would. He was just so damn big, she wanted to take him all but when he hit the back of her throat her eyes had watered and her throat hadn’t allowed more to fit in. But he seemed satisfied as his hand tangled itself in hair, urging her to keep the same momentum. Her red lips sucking him , coating him in her saliva. Almost too soon, he’d pulled her off him and pushed her on top of him. Swollen lips meeting in the middle, fervent and needy. She tasted like him but he didn’t care.

She wrapped her hand around his shaft again, pumping him once more before she lined up to her entrance. She pushed herself down slowly, taking him inside her warmth. It was an uncomfortable stretch, the dull ache clear on her face as she grimaced. She took her time, barely moving for a good few seconds before she felt his hands on her hips. Kneading the soft skin there, almost as if pleading for her to move. With the tips of her feet on both sides of him, she began a slow up and down movement. He watched as her pussy devoured his dick, disappearing inside her.

Her breathy moans, shaky feet and slow movements were driving him wild. He wanted to fuck her until she screamed. Bucky’s hips had began bucking up, fucking into her desperate to feel more of her tightness. It wasn’t long before he’d taken the reigns again and her body was shaking above him, helplessly taking the deep thrusts.

“Fuck, that’s my good girl. Your tight pussy can take this dick right, baby girl?”

“Si papi.” Bucky’s ears had perked up at the naughty words. She’d called him daddy in Spanish and it had his dick twitching inside her. He could just cum at the sound of that word.

“Shit, call me that again baby girl.” He pleaded, breathing loud as his thrusts continued to piston inside her before he came to a momentary pause. He pushed her body backwards, her back hitting the silk sheets with a small thud. He lined himself at her wet pussy and drove forward again, feeling her tightness engulf him.

“Fuck me papi. Fuck me hard.” She was driving him wild with her velvety voice and the vice grip her cunt had him in. He began with full rough thrusts, the sound of skin slapping filling the large hotel room. Her breasts were bouncing before him, gaining the attention of his lips and his mouth wrapped around her nipple before he gazed at her neck. Ladened with purple marks from his mouth, he wrapped his large hand around it. He’d taken her aback, eyes rolling as her breathing was slightly restricted. He was still fucking her to the brink of insanity and with the added pressure on her neck, she felt the familiar heat building within her stomach, balling up in a crazed manner. He pushed himself inside her with need, wanting her to break apart in front of him so he could follow suit with his own pent up orgasm.

“Oh shit, I’m cumming.” She yelped, voice hoarse with his grip on her neck. She was spasming underneath, tears rolling down her reddened cheeks as she felt the wave of ecstasy shake through her. Her cunt had tightened around his dick, still moving inside her, but the constriction had unexpectedly gotten him to the edge too. He felt himself come with hot spurts inside her, a loud groan slipping past his lips. His stomach shuddered, heaving heavily. He felt as if she’d milked him of all he had.

She grimaced when he pushed himself from her and collapsed beside her. She was spent, sore limbs and a terrible ache between her thighs she knew she’d be spending the night. There was no way she’d make it home without falling asleep. She turned to look at him, and he did too , sharing drained smiles. Noticing her eyes fluttering close, he pecked her lips softly, a stark difference from the roughness of their previous acts.

“I’ll take you to buy new panties tomorrow.” Was the last thing he said, before she succumbed to sleep.

oooooof, this took me hours to write but I felt so inspired. I watched the devil all the time and I, Tonya again (the mustache really does it for me honestly, he’s so hot)  and I was like lemme just write a mob bucky one-shot. 

Any tips or comments, lemme know. Hope you guys enjoy!

P.S. can someone please tell me they’re as disgustingly obsessed with Lee Bodecker as I am, I’m literally burning inside. The little pouch and the PEPSI CUP. OMFGGGGG

#Mob!Bucky #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfic #marvel fanfic #sebastian stan fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #smut #marvel fanfiction #fanfic rec #fanfic #bucky barnes smut #Sebastian Stan au #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #y/n #sebastian stan x you #James buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #Sebastian Stan fic #Bucky barnes Drabble #bucky barnes blurb #Sebastian Stan blurb #marvel fic #winter soldier #sebastian stan x reader

[simpingforthisonedeer]

Can I request prompt 63 from smut list C, Zora x Nebra please and thank you

Prompt 63; Smut List C: Sex toys

A/N: Yk, this is one of the best smut pieces I’ve written and I can’t believe it’s for a crack ship asjkdhalskjd. It’s 1170 words long omfg asjkdjsk @eme-eleff​ here you go ;)

Warnings: Girlboss, slight humiliation, overstimulation, and sex toy.

“Oh, you already finished your mission, dear?” Nebra asked as she clutched the small, discreet shopping bag in her hand tightly. She quickly closed her bedroom door shut behind her, eyes still trained on her boyfriend, who was lounging on her bed.

Zora sat up as he scoffed derisively. “Of course, I finished. Those meatheads who call themselves ‘bandits’ could even band together properly. It only took me a few minutes to capture and take them to the nearest jail. Dumbasses, all of them,” he shook his head. “Anyways,” his voice took a softer tone. “How was your day?” He asked as he threw an imperceptible look at the bag in her hand. 

Nebra attempted to hide it behind the frills of her skirt as she obfuscated.

“Ah, it was a normal day.”

Zora stood up and walked towards her languidly, nearly backing her up against the door.

“Oh, but I was so sure you had an exciting day.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she intoned as she pressed a hand against his chest, pushing him lightly so he doesn’t get too close and cocky.

He grinned wickedly.

“You didn’t think I wouldn’t notice my princess doing a poor job of hiding her prominent, Silva hair under a ‘modest’ cloak as she entered the shop where I buy my goodies?” He asked in a low voice as he brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “I had a lot of time after I finished my mission after all.”

Nebra slackened under his touch, knowing that it was useless to object. He knew where she had been.

“And my god, you spent a lot of time in there only to come out with a small bag.”

A furious blush rose to her cheeks.

“I was just browsing,” she defended herself quickly.

Zora drew her into a deep kiss which she returned with grace. Royalty like herself should never seem needy.

“I know, princess,” he chuckled as he pulled back. “So, what did you buy?” he asked curiously as he pulled on the wrist the little bag was hanging from.

Nebra didn’t answer. Instead, she wrapped a hand around the nape of his neck and pulled him back to her lips, this time more demandingly. This peasant dared to fluster her?

Zora hummed into their kiss as it grew more fervent and let himself be backed up and right as he fell backwards onto the bed, he slipped the bag off of her wrist with a mischievous grin and peered into it.

And out of all the things that crossed his mind, cuffs, leashes, even a riding crop, it was just a simple vibrator.

He looked up at her with mock-hurt, though his ego took an actual hit.

“Am I not good enough, princess?”

Nebra snatched it out of his hand with a sneer and crawled on top of him as she trailed her wet tongue up from his navel. His stomach rippled under her ministrations as his breath grew heavier.

When she reached his lips, she hovered a hair's breadth away as she whispered,

“Have I ever said you were?”

Zora exhaled sharply at the little sting of humiliation before she crashed her lips to his, invading his mouth with her tongue as her Mist Binding Threads crossed his wrists above his head, keeping him bound.

Nebra pulled back with a smirk, satisfied with the way her lover flushed red all the way down to his chest, a thin sheen of sweat covering him in the most delicious way. He tried to rile her up and look where that got him.

She ground down on his erection teasingly, drawing a groan out of him, before she slid down so she could be at face-level with his crotch. Nebra hooked her thumbs into the waistband of his leather pants and pushed them down. She licked her lips at his straining bulge and small, wet patch of precum and blew on it lightly, watching him twitch. She then took out the new, wand-shaped vibrator from it’s bag and held her thumb lightly over the button.

Nebra met Zora’s gaze and relished in the way his beautiful, blue eyes widened when he realized what she planned to do.

“And besides, I didn’t say it was for me, did I?” She turned it on. “How presumptuous of you,” she crooned before she pressed the wand against the base of his clothed shaft.

He let out a choked gasp and his legs quivered as he desperately held back from reacting so wantonly.

Nebra slowly dragged it up to the tip of his cock and drew small circles around his slit. At this point, Zora was biting down on his lips so hard he was bleeding. He won’t give her the satisfaction.

She moved the wand slightly down to the little bump under the tip and pressed firmly against it with a cheshire grin.

And just like that, he arched his back off of the bed with a muffled groan as his cock throbbed with a pulsating orgasm and Nebra watched in delight as a puddle of cum leaked through his underwear, but she wasn’t quite finished.

Zora lifted his head and looked down at her, sweat dripping down his brow.

“Nebra? W-What are you doing?” he breathed heavily and began squirming away from the vibrating wand.

She pouted mockingly.

“But you haven’t made a single noise yet. You know how much I like to hear you.”

Oh, Zora knew that very well, but he didn’t want to cater to her ego. But his hips kept bucking up into the wand by themselves and his brain slowly began filling with the overwhelming buzzing sensation stemming from his cock and he quickly let go of his inhibitions.

He first let out a whimper, and then he lost control of his legs as they began flailing.

“Princess, please,” he finally moaned. “Please, I’m begging you.”

“It’s okay,” Nebra cooed. “I know you can cum again.”

As if given permission, his eyes rolled back into his head as a second wave of an orgasm washed over him, more cum dribbling through his sticky briefs.

She grinned in satisfaction and finally turned the vibrator off and unbound him as she crawled back up and settled down beside him. She wiped the beads of sweat off of his face as she whispered praises. Nebra nudged his face into the crook of her neck as he caught his breath and lightly kissed his hair.

“Are you okay?” she murmured as he began to calm down. Zora hummed contentedly in response.

A few moments later, he pulled back from her embrace and took the wand laying next to them and inspected it closely.

“Since you’re tired, I’ll clean it—”

Nebra’s arms were pinned beside her head in a flash, interrupting her mid-sentence as Zora loomed over her. He released a dark, breathy chuckle at her shocked look.

“Not so fast,” he whispered. “It’s my turn now to make you scream.”

#zora x nebra #zora ideale #nebra silva #black clover #request #Dora x Nebraska #askdjhaskldjlas #black clover fanfiction #spicy

[the-writings-of-kaos]

Humans, the pets: pt 5

Abduction log: Pirates

------

“ “surrender your vessel in the name of captain grim’latashock, or face our plasma.” 

The transmission ended abruptly as the pirate ship boarded the ship belonging to the woolly bison, Their reptilian claws clicking along the metal floor as they came to the command room. 

Reptilian pirate: “Bow to the captain Grim, or you’ll eat plasma bolt.”

The two woolly bison bowed, as the reptilian captain entered the command room. Captain grim looked about the command room, before turning towards the trembling woolly bison.

Captain grim: “Where is it?”

Hequ’lutik: “W-where is what?”

The captain growled as they spoke: “The ship pet that made this masterpiece!”

Captain grim showed the two a data slate, on it was the first art piece that little being made. The adorably crude lines that twisted and turned into a beautiful masterpiece.

Hequ’lutik: “I-I swear I don’t know, if they were on this ship I swear on my life that I would tell you!”

The reptilian captain grumbled, before he barked an order to the thirty other crew men surrounding the Wooly bison.

Captain grim: “search the ship, and if our ship scanners have malfunctioned I want all the cargo abourd to be transported onto the Grey Eclipse. Am I clear?”

Crew: “Yes sir, we will get to work immediately.”

The crew men left the command room, the echoes of opened doors and broken locks filled the hallways as the pirates searched the ship. The captain turned back to the still trembling Wooly bison. And spoke.

Captain grim: “if I find this ‘little being’, I will be slicing your organs myself. Don’t forget it.”

———

The purple lights and loud sirens had stopped, he uncovered his ears to see the door to his room had opened, standing there was what couldn’t be anything but a space iguana. Wearing bandit gear. and holding a plasma gun.

“Hello you ugly reptile, tell me. Where have you placed the ‘kind’ Wooly bison, who feed me?”

The pirate had the equivalent of a reptilian lost in a cute over load, plastered on their face. Too lost in appearance of what must be unthinkably cute. Of course, ‘little being’ took great offence to this.

“Fine then, I shall use my fists to ask you.”

———

He had found it! Surely after the captain sees how competint he is, he will receive a promotion! But it was just so cute, I can see why captain would desire such a creature. They are simply the most adorable, little being I have ever laid my eyes o...

A moment later, crewmen gaff’crola found his head on the floor. Without his body. The little being waddled past the headless body, of the once soon to be promoted crewman. Much to the surprise of the reptilian pirates, little being waddled over to them harmlessly. It was almost as if the little creature wanted to give them an embrace, as it approached. They quickly met the same fate as private gaff, their heads rolling on the metal floor as little being waddled past adorably. How cute...

———

“Three little reptiles chased a human, one was met and lost its head. Two were hugged, and slugged to bugs. Time for the boss, blood be shed. Four little reptiles put to rest.”

He hummed an improvised tune, as he smashed the unsuspecting lizards skulls against the floor. They each dawned that same expression when they saw him, the expression one wears when met with something adorably cute. This, however, only fueled his determination to kill them. At least the wooly bison hadn’t been unfunctional at his sight, or been pirates. Bandits... no pirates. Space pirates. Yeah, space pirates. So he walked towards the command room to find the pirate captain, or chief, whatever he was in space. Who cares what grammar he used.

As he rounded the corner, he was confronted with another lizard pair. This time these two aimed their rifles at him, then they hissed. It reminded him of the gardener snakes back in Ontario, still though these guys weren’t much stronger. As he walked up to them he held out his arms, like he had with the last pair. They held out their arms the same, suspecting to receive a hug only to be slugged in the jaw and find their heads rolling away from their bodies. It carried on like this, boring...

———

An odd tapping was coming from the door, captain grim walked over and opened it. Much to his surprise, ‘little being’ was standing there. And they were adorable, the little fluffy hair on the top of its head frilled around adorably. And the soft squishy skin it had was just so cute, even the protective layering it had was soft and adorable.

After a moment little being outstretched its arms, it looked to be unmistakably asking for an embrace. This adorable little being was asking him for an embrace, SO CUTE!

Captain grim: “You, you’re just so unbelievably adorable! Yes you are, yes you are! Yes yes, come here. Let captain grim give you a hug.”

Little being looked confused, but they waddled over and gave captain grim a hug. Not but a moment later, a loud snapping sound silenced the command room. As captain grim fell to the ground, their head turned in an unnatural position. Little being fell to the ground, Hequ’lutik yelped in fear of them hurting themselves. Before the reality that little being had just saved them, silenced her.

———

Hequ’lutik and a Kafr’litik, couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Little being somehow got out of their room, and snuck past thirty reptilian pirates. Just to give the reptilian captain an embrace, and then a broken neck. Hequ’lutik was the first to speak.

Hequ’lutik: “w-what just happened?”

Kafr’litik: “it seems that little being, defeated the pirates.”

Hequ’lutik: “b-but How? They are so small, and adorable, how did they kill their captain?”

Kafr’litik: “see for yourself, he gave the captain an embrace. And then they twisted the captains neck and killed them. I have to say, that’s an amazing hunting strategy.”

Hequ’lutik: “hunting strategy?”

Kafr’litik: “Well Yeah, how else do you explain it knew that captain grim was bad. It followed its instincts, seems it must be just as adorable on its home planet to have developed such a strategy.”

Hequ’lutik: “did... does this mean it probably killed the other crewmen? Are we safe?”

Kafr’litik: “I wouldn’t be sure, it might have just killed the ones it came in contact with. Best we leave now, and send the little being out to get the rest.”

Kafr’itik stood up, pressing a button on the console and detaching the pirate ship. Before activating the hyperdrive engine, and leaving the confused ship behind.

Meanwhile, Hequ’lutik was shakily trying to command a very confused little being to go get the other pirates. After awhile, it left the command room after the loud clicking of the reptilians could be heard. The brief awws of admiration of little being before loud snaps and blunt blows could be heard.

———

Abduction log: I’m a guard dog, with a 100% kill rate

—————

As always, credits to my fellow authors and prompters. Thank you all and hope you enjoyed

#humans are space australians #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #humans are adorable #humans are space oddities #humans the pets

[kissmymongoose]

Having a lovely time on skyrim. I gave my two adopted kids an elvish dagger each. Theyre cute. Ill be keeping an eye out for ebony so i can make then each an ebony dagger. Theyll look super bad ass with them lol. I also have matching yellow dresses for them, but theres another one similar to the yellow, with the lacy frill around the neck. Im gonna give one the yellow, and the other the other with the lace. I wish there was more of a variety of clothes for the kids. Also a variety of toys. All ive found so far was a doll for them. I was hoping to find like a wooden horse or some shit.

I waited around and decided to get the conjure flame atronach and i havent done any magicka like that this run. I think my best bet is to hunt near whiterun with the atronach. Level my conjuration up a bit, then move on to bandits and such. That, or go exploring bandit camps and easy dungeons. Gotta go into the middens at some point and i want to bring everything ill need for the atronach forge. Gotta get me that storm atronach.

[bardstune]

@ashenhaiir​ - liked a useless ooc post so gets a thing.

   Despite appearances Dandelion had grown up as a Noble in the royal house of Lettenhove as Julian Alfred Pankratz raised primarily by his godfather, his Uncle, when his own father had lost his mind from the death of his mother. Dandelion adored his father, had decent memories, though he had not loved the training's that came with being of their blood. Noble, Lord, Young Master--they were all titles he was familiar with that carried heavy weights primarily attached with whippings and cane whops. He could walk before he could talk, speak properly before he could spell his name, and though most of it had turned out useful in the end the one skill Dandelion learned that he rarely ever used--was fencing. 

   All Nobles could, to some degree, wield a sword. Most of them carried one, typically for show, but you had to also know the proper way to wield it so to not look like an idiot. Dandelion was no exception. He took to fencing like a new born deer attempting to walk, had the scars to prove it, and hated it just as much as all the other lessons shoved down his throat especially when this one proved much more painful to learn. 

   He honestly had never thought it would become necessary in his life. 

   When Dandelion traveled alone he stuck to the main roads, kept a dagger in his boot and typically ended up with others. He went from one town to the next, performed, and stayed for as long as he could milking the tavern goers. He’d stayed to long in the previous town, ran into a bit of trouble and ended up abandoning the inn in the middle of the night. Dark, off road, he ended up miss stepping and ending up in the wrong place. Where Geralt just happened to be. 

   It was hard to say exactly what happened, Dandelion didn’t exactly get a good view especially in the dark. If he had to guess Geralt appeared to be hunting a creature that only appeared at night, it gave him a good fight and the right after he was cornered by a hoard of soldiers or bandits, it was to dark to tell. What he could tell though was that it appeared Geralt was losing which was alarming enough. Was he actually injured? Poisoned? Did poison work on a Witcher? He really didn’t have much longer to think on it before that dear Witcher lost his head. 

   He spotted Geralt’s discarded sword, just at the base of the hill he was on, and Dandelion moved. He slid quietly down the hillside, sure Geralt heard him considering the Witchers advanced hearing but thankfully the enemies didn’t. His fingers curled around the hilt of the sword, the weight awkward in his hand and definitely not a Sabre. It was to heavy for him, to off balance, but he managed to get it comfortable enough in his right hand without feeling like his wrist would collapse under the weight. Just how strong was Geralt? 

   As the attacker swung for his friends neck Dandelion stepped forward, left arm tucked behind his back, and caught the weapon with defensive swing. The clash nearly knocked the blade from his hand, the weight of the sword twisting uncomfortably as he attempted to control the blade. At least it wasn’t silver, he was sure Geralt’s other sword was even heavier. 

   ❝ The fuck ‘er you? ❞

   Eloquent as always, how deeply he missed terrible barbaric conversations with the muck of the universe that destiny shit upon.   ❝ Dandelion. ❞   He doesn’t smile, doesn’t even so much as glance at their face, he simply steps over Geralt’s legs and stands before his friend. The name however, as well known as his other, does garner a reaction.    

   ❝ The fuckin’ bard? ❞   He laughs, as if Dandelion’s name or occupation is a joke he’s not entirely sure. Either way he’s offended and his hand tightens on the sword.   ❝ Look at this ‘in boy’s. Fuckin’ bard wieldin’ a sword. Dressed in frills. ❞

   They are not frills, not that he’s going to waste his breath explaining his bardic clothing to imbecilic. Besides, he likes this outfit, it’s one of his best and Dandelion had a performance booked in the next town over that required his best clothes.   ❝ Excuse me if you’re quite done please take your leave. ❞   The laughter stops and he gets a look of disbelief to which Dandelion just blinks at them. He’s very aware of Geralt behind him right now, not having moved despite the chatter meaning he was probably not alright. 

   Or stunned. He actually hopes the other is stunned because that would make him worry less. 

   It would also make the Ballad he was going to write from this far more interesting. 

   The man in front of him swings his sword and Dandelion’s face twists a bit in pain as he deflects it again. Geralt needed lighters swords! The hand behind his back closes into a fists, squeezing tightly to distract from the pain. He twists to avoid another attack, the barbaric mans blade sliding against the one he borrowed. Dandelion twists the sword, spinning the other mans around and then yanks quickly to disarm the weapon from the stranger. He ducks a punch, swings the blade up and feels it rip easily through the mans clothing and skin. They let out a bone chilling screech, the sound cutting through his very core with a shiver and falls to the ground. As they clutch their chest, a useful action considering how deep it is, Dandelion turns to the others. 

   Stunned, terrified, they look at him with wide eyes and mouths agape. One of them mutters ‘a bard just did that!’ as another nods rapidly. Then like the cowards they are they flee, leaving their leader on the ground as he starts to still from blood loss and approaching death. Dandelion turns toward Geralt, swings the sword down and splattering the blood across the ground. The hand clenched behind his back slowly loosens and he reaches it up, stretching his fingers as he fixes his hat upon his head proper. 

   ❝ Well, ❞   he starts, relaxing his fingers on the hilt of the sword until it slides from his numb fingers.   ❝ Allow us to never do that again, Geralt. ❞   The sword clatters to the ground noisily and Dandelion looks to his friend properly.   ❝ The ballad I shall write of this tale will be sung through all the lands my friend! ❞

#♭♮ ┅ ⌜𝑀𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒶 𝒷𝒶𝓇𝒹⌟ ╳ MAIN VERSE. #ashenhaiir

[the-writing-kestrel-blog]

An Argonian Adoption

This is a series of vignettes about the life of an Argonian warrior and his unlikely adoption of a small human child. I wrote this as a reaction to the bizarre way Skyrim’s children approach the Dragonborn in the game. It started out as a one-off gag and evolved into a 7500 words story, because I suck at brevity. If you like Skyrim, stories about culture shock, or bipedal talking lizards, read on! Warning: some violence and gore, but mostly humor and fluff. 1. In Which Our Hero Encounters a Most Strange Creature

“Will you be my father?”

The Argonian stopped abruptly at those words. Turning slowly, not willing to believe what he was hearing, he brought his baleful, reptilian gaze to bear upon a small, grimy, wretched human girl-hatchling.

She had the usual human features – bizarrely flat face, protruding nose, gigantic flaps for ears (not unlike the mammoths he encountered out on the plain). Her hair was long, and it was obvious some attempt had been made to keep it in check, but to an Argonian all hair looked strange and slightly repugnant.

“What did you ask me, human child?” The Argonian hissed, incredulous.

“Will you be my father?” The question was more plaintive this time. The little thing dug the toe of her ragged shoe in the dirt as she averted her eyes. “Please?”

The Argonian had a name that could not be pronounced without a prehensile tongue and a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth, but in the common Imperial tongue it was roughly translated as “Runs-On-Water”. Even among his own people he was considered to be independent and aloof, and here in Skyrim among the tiresome Nords he was ever more so.

His answer was as could be expected.

“No.”

He turned abruptly and walked away. A few steps later, he looked back over his shoulder, his gill-slits itching slightly as they did when he was being followed. To his shock, the little girl was following him!

“What do you want, human child?”

“Why are you wearing that armour in town?” The girl asked.

The Argonian stared at her. The mismatch of steel plate and chainmail he currently wore was spattered generously with dried blood and gore, the leather straps dried and brittle from the heat of dragon-fire. “What?”

“Your armour! Why do you wear it in town? Do you not have any clothes?”

The Argonian shrugged (a human movement he had grudgingly grown to like for its expressiveness). “No point in going anywhere without armour in this vile country.” Runs-on-Water muttered.

“...Ok,” the girl replied. “Can I have a septim? I want to buy some bread. I haven't eaten in days. Please?”

The Argonian hissed in annoyance and reached for his purse with a clawed hand. “If I give you five septims, will you go away and leave me alone?”

“Yes, sir!”

Runs-on-Water counted out the septims, placed them in the girl's hand, and leaned his reptilian head towards her until he was inches from her face. “Now. Leave.”

The girl squealed and scampered off. Runs-on-Water snorted and turned away. One of the guards was scowling at him. He made a gesture with his claw that implied the Nord's entire clutch were honourless bastards, but the cultureless human didn't understand.

Runs-on-Water stalked away, in a fouler mood than usual, heading to the armourer to get his armour cleaned and repaired.

* * *

“Will you be my father?”

The Argonian whirled on the small human child. It was the second time she had snuck up on him in three days. This time, he'd just arrived back in town, hauling a huge bag of charred dragon bones over one shoulder. He was in a foul mood again – lugging hundreds of pounds of dragon bone down from the mountains did that to a lizard – and was in no mood for the child's games.

“Listen, tiny human hatchling. Look at me! What do you see?”

The girl looked up at him – Runs-on-Water knew what filled her gaze. A mottled green and brown reptilian face, eyes the colour of old blood, a half open maw filled with teeth, and a frill of spines protruding from the back of his head and neck.

The girl smiled sunnily at him. “The nice Argonian that gives me money for food every time he comes to town, and fights dragons and bandits and trolls to keep us all safe!”

Runs-on-Water was speechless. He fought dragons because the Hist-forsaken things seemed to stalk him wherever he went these days, and he killed bandits mostly for loot and because they were an inconvenience to him as he went from town to town. He didn't remember killing any trolls lately, but he killed a lot of things and it was possible he was just forgetting.

This impudent hatchling seemed to think he was doing this for her benefit!

“I am an Argonian warrior of Black Marsh. I am descended from Wades-through-Blood, who delved into the Oblivion Gates to fight the Daedra in their own lands. He was descended from Steps-In-Excrement, who defeated Dagoth Ur at the heart of Red Mountain in Morrowind. Why do you think I am your father?”

The little girl laughed! She laughed right in his face!

“I don't think you ARE my father, I want you to BE my father!” She said. “That's why I like you. You're so silly.”

Runs-on-Water, smelling strongly of fire, dragon's blood, and the reek of the road, was at a loss.

“My parents are dead,” The girl went on, oblivious. She went on tearfully. “My mama died not too long ago... My uncle and aunt took over our farm, but they said I wasn't good for anything, so they threw me out. So I have nowhere to go. I was able to beg for a while to get by but...people have stopped giving me money, or even food. You're the only one who helps anymore...so I thought....maybe, since you're the only one that cared...”

The girl looked up at him. She'd deflated during her story, going from a sunny child stating her fate matter-of-factly to a desperate, despairing orphan. Her thin, fragile mask had crumpled right in front of his eyes. Even for Runs-on-Water, who had trouble reading human expressions, it was obvious that the girl was barely keeping things together.

“Your Aunt and Uncle...” The Argonian warrior said.

“Yes?”

“They are honourless scum. To turn away a clutch-mate's spawn in need is a vile sin. In Black Marsh we would have gutted them and hung them from the highest branches of the Hist Trees, as atonement for their dishonour.”

The girl shuffled uncomfortably. “That's...nice?”

“Yes,” Runs-on-Water said. “It is an appropriate fate for those of that ilk. You backwards savages do nothing about such behaviour. It makes me want to vent my poison gland.” The Argonian shook his head. “I must deal with some merchants. When I have sold my goods, I will give you some money for food.” “Oh, would you? Thank you so much!”

Runs-on-Water showed his teeth. “Do not thank me. I do only what is just. Perhaps you barbarians can learn how to be truly civilized, if I but set the example.”

Later that evening, he sent the girl on her way with a coin purse filled with 20 septims. He watched the girl go. Her name was Lucia (what strange names these humans had!) and she told him she was nine years old. He thought back to when he was her age. Climbing trees with his brothers and sisters in the Hist swamp, hunting alligators with spears and poison, taunting slaughterfish. Good, clean Argonian fun, watched over by the dozens of Argonians that lived in his village. No Argonian hatchling ever begged, or went hungry. Not while the Hist spoke their guidance in every reptilian ear. Not when the bonds of clutch and nest held strong.

Skyrim was truly a wretched place. He would have to do something about it.

* * *

2. In which Severio Pelagio Receives Many Compliments on his Fine Property

Severio Pelagio awoke to the sound of someone rummaging around downstairs. A thrill of fear went through him – he grabbed the cudgel he kept by his bedside, scrambled out of bed, and crept downstairs to confront the thief. He might get murdered, or worse, robbed, but he couldn't just sleep upstairs while he let some scummy criminal (probably a Khaajit!) take all his hard-won gold!

When he reached the main floor, he shouted into the darkness. “Who's there? I'll have you know I'm armed, and I have no problems killing a man if I need to! Show yourself, thief!”

A deeper shadow loomed out of the darkness. Severio could just make out the gleam of steel armour, and the red glow of demonic eyes.

Severio whimpered.

“This is a lovely house,” hissed a reptilian voice.

“What?” Severio stammered. “...what?”

“This house is lovely,” the voice repeated, with an odd emphasis on the s. “And you also have a lovely farm, yes? Inherited from your sister, who died tragically not so long ago?”

“Uh...” Severio had expected the thief to flee, or strike him, not compliment him on his real estate investments. “Uh, yes. Both...lovely.”

“It would be a great shame if this house were to burn to the ground. It would be a great shame if the farm were to burn to the ground as well. It would be a great shame if the fields were sown with powdered dragon bone so nothing would ever grow there again. Is this not so?”

“Are you threatening me?” Severio asked, incredulous.

“A great shame,” the reptilian continued, looming even closer, “If someone were to break into your house in the middle of the night, gut you, and hang you from a tree to atone for your dishonour. Yes?”

“Yes! No!” Severio gasped. “What do you want?”

“Your niece. When she comes of age, this farm will be hers. You will make writings that tell everyone it will be so, witnessed by the Jarl. You will care for this farm until such time as she takes it over. Then, when she does, you will leave Whiterun and never return. If you do not do this, I believe a great many shameful things will happen here. Yes?”

“Yes!”

“Then we are understanding each other.”

The reptilian shadow seemed to simply melt into the darkness, and Severio was alone.

He wondered if he could rouse a scribe and a lawyer at this time of night.

* * *

3. In Which Whiterun Learns a Lesson in Argonian Manners

A week later, Runs-on-Water wandered into Whiterun. As usual, the residents gave him a wide, respectful berth. He had done a great many odd jobs, bounties, and other tasks involving violence-for-gold around the city, and so while he wasn't loved, he was granted an amount of honour that most Argonians in Skyrim couldn't dream of.

Runs-on-Water was sure that the armour and the massive two-handed sword helped somewhat.

Lucia, as usual, wove her way through the crowds and towards him. “Hello! Kill any dragons today?”

“No, not today. Only a pack of wolves, four bandits, and a troll.” Runs-on-Water hefted the sack over his shoulder, full of bloody trophies.

“Awesome!” She chirped. The girl had lost the waifish, hungry look in just the past week. Runs-on-Water suppressed an uncharacteristic warm feeling at that knowledge – his septims were feeding the girl well, it seemed.

“You are eating well?” He asked.

“Yes, sir! And I still have plenty hidden away, just in case. I think I have enough to eat for a week!”

Runs-on-Water felt a pang of sadness. The poor girl looked on such a meagre existence as a gift. It was not right.

He made a snap decision.

“Come with me,” He said.

“Okay!”

After selling the wolf pelts (for half price – the massive sword-cuts into the hides hadn't helped in that regard) and the weapons and armour of the unfortunate bandits, he turned towards Dragonsreach, occupying the highest pinnacle of Whiterun.

“Are you going to see the Jarl?” Lucia asked excitedly.

“Yes,” Runs-on-Water replied.

“Can I come?”

“Yes. It is necessary.”

The girl squealed in excitement. “I've never been in Dragonsreach before!”

When the Argonian stalked into the main hall at Dragonsreach, the men and women seated at the heavy wooden tables in the torchlit lower hall looked up. It was a diverse group – men and women in armour, some in rich clothes, and a few in the thick robes of mages and wizards. They quickly lost interest, returning to their rich meals and plentiful mead. The dimly-lit stone keep saw it's fair share of the armoured lizard in his comings and goings – he worked often for the Jarl and others in Dragonsreach, and he was nearly a fixture there.

For his part, Runs-on-Water ignored the humans (for the most part, they all looked the same to him) and headed up the steps to the throne to speak to the Jarl.

Jarl Balgruuf was sprawled in his throne, bored, while two of his pin-headed advisors jousted verbally in front of him, as if for his amusement. His head of security, Irileth. fully armoured and hand on her sword, glowered from nearby. She and the Argonian exchanged nods: Runs-on-Water respected the Dunmer woman, but had no use for the rest of Balgruuf's sycophants. For her part, Irileth did not seem to have the usual prejudice Dark Elves had for Argonians. Runs-on-Water returned the favour.

Runs-on-Water stepped unceremoniously between the two arguing advisors and stared down at the idle Jarl.

“Yes, Dragonborn? What do you need?” He asked. This was what Runs-on-Water liked about the Jarl – he didn't stand on ceremony when things needed to be done.

“I wish to buy a house,” he said.

The Jarl frowned. “Oh? I suppose something can be arranged. Speak with my steward-”

“I wish to buy a house now,” Runs-on-Water said, and dropped a heavy sack of gold at the Jarl's feet. “Your steward is a weasel, and I do not like him. He may handle the money, but we will not have words together.”

“Dragonborn, you have done much for Whiterun, but I must demand courtesy-”

“I would also like to make a statement. I would like your scribes to make words that repeat my statement, so that all in Whiterun may read the words of the Dragonborn. Honourable Jarl, you know I do not make many requests, so I ask that you grant this to me.”

The Jarl narrowed his eyes, then summoned a scribe with a flick of his hand. “I will grant this to you, Dragonborn, as a token of my respect. But do not push me further.”

���Thank you, but I promise nothing,” Runs-on-Water said, then turned to the scribe. “Do you speak Argonian?”

“No,” the skinny, robed man squeaked, quaking under the Dragonborn's gaze.

“This will make things difficult. So much lost in translation. No matter. I will get the point across. Make my words here on that paper. I, Runs-on-Water, Dragonborn, descendent of Wades-through-Blood, descendent of Steps-in-Excrement, lay a charge on the people of Whiterun: You are all honourless scum, of the lowest kind imaginable. You reek of vile sin.”

The hall fell silent. The Jarl's mouth hung open in shock.

“You live in plenty while hatchlings roam the street, hungry and without shelter. You break the covenant of the Clutch and the Nest and do not even have the decency to feel shame. Not even the most wretched of my people, in the depths of skooma addiction, would fall to such a level.

“I, Runs-on-Water, must teach you decency. With Jarl Balgruuf as my witness, let it be known that from this day, the young orphan Lucia of Whiterun, who was left to beg and starve on the streets, is my hatchling. She is blood of my blood, clutch of my clutch, and whoever speaks against this will face my wrath. Any harm that comes to her will be repaid tenfold. Any who gainsay me on this will be gutted and hung on the nearest tree in atonement for their dishonour.”

Somewhere in the hall, a spoon fell with a dull thunk. All else was silence.

“Read that back, scribe,”

In a quivering voice, the scribe repeated the proclamation back, word for word. Runs-on-Water nodded. “Thank you, Jarl, for indulging me.”

The Jarl just nodded dumbly.

Runs-on-Water turned to Lucia, who stood stock still, her eyes wide. “Well, hatchling?”

The girl broke into a wide smile and jumped into the air, throwing her arms around the Argonian's neck. “Papa!” She yelled, then, muffled in his shoulder. “Ow. You're spikier than I thought you'd be.”

Runs-on-Water patted her gingerly on the back. “I am sorry, Hatchling. It is my nature.”

Finally, in the silence of the hall, the steward spoke up. “As to the house you wish to purchase...did you, by any chance, want some furnishings with that?”

Runs-on-Water glared at the steward. “I shall furnish it myself, weasel.”

Perhaps predictably, no-one gainsayed him.

4.In Which The Dragonborn Dabbles in Crafting

“Can I come see yet, Papa?”

“Patience, hatchling!” Runs-on-Water hissed in exasperation. “I am nearly done.”

Runs-on-Water found himself seized with a strange giddiness. The house he had purchased was dusty, drafty, and filled with cobwebs and insects. With minimal prodding and a few veiled threats, he had extracted some work from some of the locals, and the place was much cleaner now, if a bit empty of furnishings. In his many years on the road, he had slept in ditches, caves, tents and ruins. Now he had a house, and some deep part of his reptilian soul was nudging him to make it a home.

His hatchling's voice, muffled through the door, was continually pulling him from his reverie.

Finally, he was done. It had been exhausting work – he would sun himself on the roof this afternoon and try and regain his energy. He beamed down at the results of his labours. He felt a welling of surprising feelings – a familial warmth, love, and pride, so different from his usual inveterate grouchiness.

It was disturbingly pleasant.

“Come, hatchling! You may see your room now!”

“Hooray!” she said, and rushed through the door, a wide smile on her face that quickly shifted and turned to confusion. “Oh. Uh. Wow.”

The walls of the room were covered in vines, and long, snaking branches covered in moss and old-man's-beard.  The earthen floor had been covered with almost a full inch of leaf litter and loam, and squished noticeably. Through a window partially obscured by vines, dim yellow sunlight filtered through to splash against a large flat stone in one corner of the room. In the opposite corner was what looked like a massive tangle of branches, grasses and vines, but on closer inspection it was more like a woven mattress, with a large depression in the middle.

Lucia looked up at her Argonian Papa. He was grinning down at her, his forked tongue flickering with pride. “I know it is not a proper nest,” he said, “There are no Hist trees outside of Black Marsh, and the soil here is thin, with no clay, so I could not construct a pond. But the nest is woven in the traditional manner, very comfortable. And the stone soaks up the sun well – you need not worry that your blood will cool with this stone in the room!” He leaned closer. “What do you think?”

Lucia looked around the room, back her Papa, then walked slowly over to sit on the edge of the nest. The intricate weaving was deceiving. What looked thorny and frightening was actually a soft, warm place of safety, a refuge from the world.

She looked back up at her new Papa. He was beginning to look anxious, twiddling his claws nervously.

She sighed and sank back into the nest with a smile. “It's perfect.”

Runs-on-Water's gills flared and the scales around his eyes flushed red. He was suffused with a warm glow. “I am glad you like it, Hatchling!”

5. In Which Lucia Learns to Always Read the Label

Runs-on-Water returned from the smith with a spring in his step. It had been a long day – two dragons had attacked him at once earlier in the day, and while the first one died with an arrow in it's eye, the second had taken much tedious hacking with his greatsword before expiring. He was looking forward to getting home, and seeing the Hatchling.

Much had changed in the past weeks. His nesting instincts had kicked in with a vengeance, and while he still wandered far and wide, he was now anxious to return to Whiterun in a way that he hadn't been before. He felt like he should be worried about going soft, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He opened the door to Breezehome and set his burden down next to the door. “Hatchling, I am back!”

Usually Lucia came running as soon as he was through the door. But today all he could hear was an out of tune humming from the hatchling's nest. “Hatchling? Is something wrong?”

Runs-on-Water approached the door, opening it slowly, and put his head in.

“Hatchling, are you- BY THE HIST!”

Lucia was curled up in her nest, grinning manically with wide eyes, arms wrapped tight around a ball of squirming, hissing brown fur. The giant brown rat – a skeever, the locals called them – was obviously nearly exhausted, but it wasn't giving up anytime soon.

“Papa, you're home!” giggled Lucia. “I caught a Unicorn! It tried to sneak in through the back door but I lassoed it with twisty words and some vines and I caught it and now it's mine! It's mane smells like rainbows!”

Runs-on-Water took one look at her dilated pupils the manic grin, and began casting about the room. His fears were confirmed a moment later – an empty vial lay on the floor. The Argonian picked  it up gingerly – it was completely empty, not a drop left.

He rushed over to Lucia, yanked the raging skeever from her grip, and grabbed her face gently in a clawed hand. The skeever, hissing madly, scurried from the room.

“My unicorn!” Lucia shouted.

“Silence, hatchling!” Runs-on-Water snapped. “What have you done?”

Lucia went from laughing one moment to weeping inconsolably the next. “I slipped on the stairs and hurt myself, so I got a healing potion from the cupboard. I was only going to take a sip, but it tasted so nice, and i felt like I was flying...I'm sorry Papa!”

“Hatchling, that was not a healing potion. That was sap of the Hist! It is for Argonians, so that we may hear the whispers of the the Hist trees when we are far from the Old Country. It is very dangerous for humans! Tell, me quickly, am I your enemy?”

“No! You're my Papa!” she shouted tearfully.

“Good, good. Now, do you feel an overwhelming desire to murder anyone?”

“Of course not! Well, except for Braith. I hate her guts.” Lucia mused.

“Ah, yes. The bully. Those feelings are normal and healthy. But do not murder her. That would bring the attention of the guards.” Runs-on-Water leaned back with a sigh. It appeared the Hist sap was not having a bad effect on the child, though the Argonian couldn't understand why. Hist sap usually drove humans into a blind, murderous, hallucinogenic rage. In Lucia's case, it simply made her wish to cuddle giant rats.

“The effects of the sap will wear off soon,” Runs-on-Water told Lucia. “Until then, I will stay with you. Do not trust your senses. For example, you did not catch a unicorn, that was a skeever.”

“A skeever?”

“Yes. It is now somewhere in the house.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

The Argonian and the human child sat in the nest for some time. After a while, her racing heart calmed, her eyes returned to normal, and her manic smile faded.

“Ugh. Papa, I feel awful,” Lucia moaned.

“This is an important lesson: do not drink your Papa's Hist-sap. It will do strange things to your mind. Humans cannot hear the whispers of the Hist, so there is no point.”

“But I did hear the whispers, Papa!” Lucia insisted from his lap.

Runs-on-Water's breath caught in his throat. His gills slammed shut. This was impossible! “What?” he whispered.

“The whispers! I heard them! At first it just sounded like branches moving in the wind, but later there were words! They spoke to me!” She insisted.

“...what did they say?” Runs-on-Water whispered urgently. He had to know if this was a true Hist-Sending.

“They said to tell you that you had done the right thing coming to Skyrim. That you were fulfilling the will of the Hist, and that your ancestors would be proud of you.”

Runs-on-Water swallowed painfully. “...and?”

“And they said not to be sad, but that you would never see Black Marsh again.”

Runs-on-Water bowed his head, taking deep breaths. He had known it, had felt it from his gills to the tip of his tail, on the day that he left, but he had not allowed himself to believe it. He would never see the marshes of Argonia again. He would never feel the caress of the humid air of the deep swamps. He swallowed a harsh sob, deep in his chest.

“They said that you would have to carry the Marsh with you, in your heart,” Lucia continued. “What does that mean, Papa?”

Runs-on-Water looked down at his hatchling, his blood-red eyes meeting her deep brown ones. This should not be possible. Only an Argonian should be able to hear the whispers. Only an Argonian should be able to drink of the Hist and keep their sanity.

But then, what had he said? Blood of his blood, clutch of his clutch. Was she not his hatchling now? Did that not make her an Argonian in all but flesh?

“I will teach you what it means to carry the Marsh with you, as it was taught to me when I was a hatchling. It will take...many years. A lifetime. It will be very difficult,” he said. “But we will do it together, hatchling, and that will make all the difference.

6. In Which Runs-on-Water Has the Talk with his Hatchling

The question came one night at dinner time, during a simple feast of venison stew and fresh bread (found in a nearby cave, as was usual).

“Papa, what were your parents like?” Runs-on-Water’s chest swelled, and the gill slits on his neck flared with pride. “My mother was a mighty warrior, with scales like steel, teeth like daggers and eyes that burned in the night-swamp. All three of my fathers were near to her equal in combat, and caught her eye with their skill with the spear and their cunning in battle, as well as the iridescence of their neck scales, aha! Their clutch was a bold one, and they are in my mind often.”

“Papa, did you say you have THREE fathers?” The human hatchling’s brow was furrowed – Runs-on-Water had learned that this meant that her brain was overheating. “How…how does that even work?”

Runs-on-Water chuckled. “Aha, I am always forgetting that your human females take only one mate! It is different in the Old Country, of course. In Argonia, our females prove their worthiness to spawn by deeds of might and cunning, and earn the right to choose mates from among the males. When the spawning season is nigh, the female and her males go into the Hist-swamps together…” The small child listened, eyes slowly widening, as Runs-on-Water explained, in unrelenting, graphic detail the breeding rites of the people of Argonia.

When he was done, Runs-on-Water beamed down at his adopted daughter. “It is a process both beautiful and majestic, yes?”

The child had a pale look about her – Runs-on-Water suspected her throat sacs were malfunctioning – he hoped she would grow out of it. “So…that’s where baby Argonians come from?”

“Hatchlings, yes!”

The girl blinked. “Do…do humans, um… make babies in the same way?”

Runs-on-Water waved a clawed hand absently. “I know little of human mating rituals- It is all so dramatic and strange. How can a worthy female be satisfied with a single drake, or worse yet, produce an acceptable brood of eggs if she has not tested his strength in open combat? But I assume that the ‘making babies’ itself is similar. Except that humans do it in the bedroom, under the covers, and they are obliged to feel shame after the fact.” The Argonian hissed his disapproval.

The girl-child took some time to digest this before speaking.

“Papa?”

“Yes, hatchling?”

“I think I want to be a nun.”

The Argonian was puzzled. Human children were strange creatures with strange minds.  Runs-on-Water reached down and patted her on the shoulder. “I am sure you will succeed at whatever you put your mind to, hatchling.”

7. In Which Some Stormcloaks Are Exposed to Argonian Culture

Runs-on-Water stared down at the crudely-scrawled note in his claws, his heart cold with rage, his tail flicking violently in agitation. He read the note again.

The note was as brief as it was infuriating.

DRAGONBORN – WE HAVE RESCUED THE CHILD LUCIA FROM YOUR IMPRISONMENT. NO MORE WILL YOU CORRUPT HER WITH YOUR FILTHY ARGONIAN WAYS. WHEN THE STORMCLOAKS ARE VICTORIOUS ALL YOUR KIND WILL BE CAST OUT FROM SKYRIM OR PUT TO THE SWORD. IF YOU WISH YOUR END TO COME MORE QUICKLY, COME TO BROKENFANG CAVE AND FIND US. LONG LIVE ULFRIC STORMCLOAK, TRUE KING OF SKYRIM!

He crumpled the note viciously in a clawed hand. His eyes narrowed to slits, and his tail thrashed. He turned to his Housecarl where she sat on a chair, breathing raggedly.

“I am sorry, my lord,” Lydia muttered. Her black hair was matted with blood, and her severe features were strained in agony. “There were at least six of them.”

“You did well, Housecarl, to slay two of them” Runs-on-Water said, suppressing his anger. “No one could have done better.”

“You could have,” she whispered. “I should have died before I let them take her.”

“No. You are both still alive, and that is good. And the Stormcloaks are as good as dead,” Runs-on-Water hissed.

“My lord, it is a trap! You cannot go alone! Go to the Jarl, take some guards with you!” Lydia insisted, trying to rise before collapsing back into the chair in agony, her face gone suddenly white as a sheet.

“Yes, it is a trap,” Runs-on-Water agreed. “One that I look forward to springing...on them.”

* * *

“My Papa's going to kiiiillll you, my Papa's going to kiiiilll you!”

Agarmir, the Stormcloak leader growled. “Vilhelm, shut her up!” He snapped to one of his men.

The bearded brute he had spoken to threw up his hands. “Every time I try and gag her, she bites my fingers! I think I might be getting an infection.”

Agarmir spun to where the girl sat, tied securely to a chair. She smiled up at him in an unsettling way. “My father is going to gut you, and hang you from the highest branch of the tallest tree to atone for your dishonour,” She said matter-of-factly.

“You better shut your mouth, girl, or I will do it for you!” He shouted. “When that filthy lizard you call 'Papa' comes here, like the idiot he is, we're going to butcher him like an animal. One day, you'll understand. We're doing this for your own good. For Skyrim's own good!”

Lucia made a show of looking around. “YOU GUYS are going to butcher MY Papa? Have you met him? He's the Dragonborn! He kills dragons and eats their souls! For fun!”

“Even a mighty warrior can be overcome by ambush,” Agarmir said, but he could see Villhelm shifting uncomfortably out of the corner of his eye. “And what are you fidgeting about?”

“Well...the girl has a point, boss.”

Agarmir turned away from the infuriating moron and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Villhelm, relax. The entire cave is a web of interconnected traps. We have sharpened stakes, rock falls, flamethrowers, pressure plates that shoot little darts. And there are four of us, all with enchanted weapons, waiting in ambush!”

“But boss...*sklrch gurgle gurgle*”

“Don't interrupt me Villhelm! This 'Dragonborn' is just a filthy Argonian, and no match for a true Nord, much less four of them!” Agarmir pounded his fist into his open hand. “We will kill the Dragonborn. You'll see. He's not so tough.”

Agarmir braced himself for more of Villhelm's stupidity. But to his surprise, none was forthcoming. “Villhelm?” Slowly, Agarmir turned, a feeling of dread overcoming him.

Two things were immediately clear to Agarmir upon turning around. One: Villhelm would never say anything stupid ever again. A man had to have an intact throat to speak, after all. And two: The Dragonborn was a sneaky bastard, and was apparently a master at evading traps.

He knew this because Runs-on-Water was standing over Villhelm's slowly-cooling corpse, covered in the blood of the other Stormcloaks, holding an Ebony Greatsword in his hands.

His eyes burned with rage.

“I don't suppose you'd be open to negotiating the girl's release?” Agarmir asked hopefully.

To Agarmir's shock, the Argonian appeared to think about it. “I think...no. I have a reputation to uphold. I must show Whiterun that I am a lizard of my word.”

Agarmir raised his battle-axe. In the end, he supposed, the Argonian was being very reasonable. A man's word was his bond, after all.

* * *

When Runs-on-Water climbed down from the Gildergreen Tree at the centre of Whiterun, the Jarl and his entourage were waiting for him. The Jarl was tapping his foot impatiently, and had a thunderous look on his face.

“Yes, Jarl?” Runs-on-Water asked innocently.

“Is this all really necessary?”  Balgruuf ground out.

“I did warn everyone,” Runs-on-Water pointed out. “We even wrote it down. There was a decree.”

The Jarl sputtered. “Yes...but...we're in the middle of town!”

“Yes. Very visible. Now everyone can see that I mean what I say.”

The Jarl's mouth hung open in shock. “The children will see!”

“I had not thought of that,” Runs-on-Water acknowledged. “You are right. It will be very educational.”

Indeed, a small crowd of children had gathered around the Gildergreen tree already. They were starting to throw rocks and rotten fruit at what was hanging from the highest branches.

“This is the Gildergreen! This tree is sacred!”

Runs-on-Water nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Yes! It is very convenient that such a sacred tree was ready to claw. It will have to stand in for the Hist trees of my homeland. The Priestess of Kynareth was very understanding.” The Dragonborn leaned closer to the Jarl. “She owed me a little favour, if you must know.”

The Jarl looked at the blood-spattered Dragonborn, and then up at the hanging bodies of the Stormcloaks that had kidnapped his daughter. One of them was wearing a sign around his neck, written in blood:

I TOLD YOU SO

The Jarl sighed. “Just...take them down before they start to smell, alright?”

Runs-on-Water beamed at the Jarl. “You are a most wise and just ruler, Jarl! Thank you!”

The Jarl turned away, saying nothing, and headed back up to Dragonsreach. When he got there, he was going to drink a whole barrel of mead.

8. In Which Hatchlings Grow Up Too Quickly

Runs-on-Water stood on the hilltop, looking out over the small crowd of people gathered in the small glade below. There were not many people here...it was a mix of mostly Nords and Bretons, with a salting of other humans, khaajit, argonians and elves scattered throughout. There had been much grumbling when Runs-on-Water had insisted that the wedding of his adopted daughter would be a small affair. He had flatly refused to invite the Jarls of Skyrim, with the exception of the long-suffering Jarl Balgruuf, and even his entourage had been limited to a few people.

Runs-on-Water had been in Skyrim for nearly a decade, and at last, a kind of peace had settled over the land. The land was still lousy with bandits, but the civil war was over, the dragons were gone, and people were getting back to their everyday lives. He was famous  throughout the province, throughout the Empire, even, and though it had been years since his most well-known deeds, he was still a popular figure. If his scales had dulled slightly, and his eyes were not so sharp, none of the multitude who knew his face were the wiser.

It would be a strange human ceremony. Lucia had desired a traditional Breton wedding, and Runs-on-Water had yielded gracefully to her request. It was her day, after all, and he had looked at it with a sense of excitement and growing dread.

And now, Runs-on-Water was feeling reflective.

“I have killed many men and mer,” Runs-on-Water spoke into the cool evening.

“Errr...” Lars Battleborn, looking distinctly uncomfortable in his fine, imported silk clothing, stood just behind the Dragonborn. Almost everyone was a little nervous around Runs-on-Water, except Lucia. And if you were summoned to a dark hilltop, an hour before you were to marry his cherished daughter, you would be very nervous indeed.

“Hundreds, probably. Maybe thousands. Who can keep track?” Runs-on-Water continued.

Lars decided that silence was the best course.

Runs-on-Water spun abruptly, causing Lars to startle and make a distressingly unmanly squeaking sound. “I'm sorry, sir!”

“For what?” Runs-on-Water asked, then waved his hand dismissively. “Never mind. I was just trying to explain....I am not...perhaps...a good person.”

Lars found himself nodding before he managed to stop himself.

“I have done my best to raise Lucia. But I have taught her the ways of Black Marsh, and perhaps...perhaps in that, I failed her. This is not Black Marsh...this is Skyrim,” Runs-on-Water shook his head. “If I have done wrong, it is too late to undo. The Hist will judge me, as they judge all Argonians.”

“Lucia is...well, she is very fond of you,” Lars ventured carefully. “I...well I think she's quite happy with how she was raised.”

Runs-on-Water nodded absently.

“And...well, to be quite frank with you, sir, I don't think I've ever seen a Breton woman handle a battle-axe like she can. Why, she puts every Nord woman I know to shame!” He continued. “You should be very proud.”

Runs-on-Water glanced over at Lars. He'd lost the soft cheeks of his youth, and had taken after his father in terms of his height and broad shoulders, but he'd retained his lank brown hair and the eyes of a kicked puppy. No one would guess that the man was a terror on the battlefield. Runs-on-Water wouldn't have believed it, had he not seen Lucia sparring with the boy.

That, at least, had been somewhat in the Argonian tradition. She had challenged (and defeated) Lars in battle, and then immediately afterwords had helped him to his feet and 'asked him out', as the humans called it. She had been mortified when Runs-on-Water had urged her to simply drag the boy out into the nearest swamp and get started on some grandlizards, and insisted on a more conventional courtship.

“I am very proud,” Runs-on-Water said. “Lucia is the only clutch I will ever have. She is no less my daughter than if I had hatched her myself.”

“Yes sir,” Lars answered. “No one doubts that.”

“I have seen to that,” Runs-on-Water said wryly.

“Papa! Papa, are you up here!” Lucia's voice echoed up the hill.

“Here, hatchling!” Runs-on-Water called back. Lars, he noted, looked very relieved to hear his fiance's voice.

Lucia trudged up the hill, holding the green and gold skirt of her wedding dress out of the way as she ascended. The dress was traditional, for the most part, but the pattern had required some modification. For one, Lucia was a little more well-muscled than many young brides, and for another thing, she had needed to be sure she could strap her battle-axe to her back without causing unsightly ruffles. She had grown tall, and strong, but she had kept her sunny smile and laughing eyes.

To Runs-on-Water, she would always be his hatchling.

“Has father been threatening you, Lars my love?” Lucia asked, laughter in her voice.

“No. No! We've just been talking...” Lars replied. “It's been...something.”

“Well, if you're getting along so well, perhaps you would like to marry each other? Or can Lars come down this hill and get married to me after all?”

Lars turned red, and tried to stammer out an apology. Lucia shooed him away. “Go on down, you lump! You have to wait for me at the altar, remember! I'll be down in a moment.”

Lars stuttered out his goodbyes, and headed down the hill at speed, relief evident in every step.

“Humans are strange,” Runs-on-Water mused, when he was out of earshot.

“Yes, they are. We are, I mean,” Lucia replied.

The Dragonborn was silent for a moment, before speaking. “Hatchling, I know things have not been easy for you...”

“Oh, hush, Papa!” Lucia said. “Because of you, I had an unconventional childhood. I was raised by a lizard-man from the darkest swamps on the continent who killed dragons and trolls and Hist knows what else for fun and profit. I've been swinging a battle-axe since I was thirteen. I'm the only human alive who can get by in Argonian, the only one that can hear the whispers of the Hist, and the only daughter of the Dragonborn. I'm not saying it hasn't been...hard, at times. But I wouldn't have it any other way. Would you?”

“No. Well, I could have done with a few less dragons. That became tedious after a while.”

Lucia clapped her father on the shoulder, and then was surprised when he lurched forward and wrapped her in a tight hug. She settled in and hugged him back.

“I worry that I will lose you now,” Runs-on-Water, the Scourge of stormcloaks, Dragon-killer, master of a hundred Shouts, whispered his wretchedness to his only daughter. “You are all that is good in me.”

“Papa,” she whispered back. “No matter what happens, I am blood of your blood, clutch of your clutch, and I will carry the Marsh in my heart.” At this she paused, as if debating whether to continue. “As will my children.” She said meaningfully.

Runs-on-Water drew back, a toothy smile touching his muzzle. “Are you preparing to spawn already?”

Lucia nearly choked at that. “What? No. Well...not immediately. But, maybe...a little sooner than planned. We may have, er, a little bit of a surprise in eight months or so.”

Runs-on-Water beamed. The look on his face reminded Lucia of the day he had built her the little nest in her room. “This is wonderful news!”

“Don't tell anyone else!” she implored, flushing slightly. “The Battle-Borns are a little...traditional about that sort of thing.”

“I will say nothing,” Runs-on-Water agreed.

There was a small, awkward silence. Lucia broke it. “Well, are you ready to escort me down into the glade?”

“It would be my honour, hatchling,” Runs-on-Water said.

As he escorted his daughter, blood of his blood, clutch of his clutch, down to her future husband, Runs-on-Water at last felt at peace. The will of the Hist had been made clear to him at last. He could never return to Black Marsh. But here, with Lucia, he had managed to create a little Black Marsh of his own.

And together, they would carry the Marsh with them in their hearts.

#skyrim #fanfic #fantasy #thewritingkestrel fiction #argonian #humor #i'm sorry #not really sorry #argonians4lyfe

[mysticaltidalwavedaze-blog]

Add Down Down Jacket Top Reviews

A funnel collar adds warmth to this lustrous Add Down puffer jacket. Zips close the placket and 2 pockets. Interior cords cinch the hem. Long sleeves. Lined. Fabric: Technical weave. Shell: 100% polyamide. Fill: 100% down. Wash cold or dry clean. Imported, China. Measurements Length: 22in / 56cm, from shoulder Measurements from size 40

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[gamerzylo]

Title: Rescue Chapter 6: Out of the Hospital

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22218064/chapters/54385651

#sympathetic deceit #deceit sanders #insanity au #tales au #bandit the frill neck #andy sanders #the troublemakers #zylo writes stuff

[gamerzylo]

Title: Rescue Chapter 4: The Hospital|The Palace

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22218064/chapters/53719366

#insanity au #deceit sanders #bandit the frill neck #Gifre Sanders #shadow Thomas #Zylo writes stuff

[gamerzylo]

Title: Rescue Chapter 3: Roman vs. Bandit

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22218064/chapters/53440624

#insanity au #tales au #roman sanders #thomas sanders #shadow Thomas #gifre sanders #Jackal the Treasure Hunter #bandit the frill neck #mr. r the demon #zylo writes stuff

[gamerzylo]

Title: Rescue

Rating: T (May change)

Summary: What should have been a simple request for help turned into a much bigger issue. With the others captured by an unknown enemy, it's up to Thomas and a few capable friends left behind to mount a rescue mission before things go from bad to worse.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22218064/chapters/53049064

After an extended break, the newest entry is finally here. :D

#insanity au #thomas sanders #jackal the treasure hunter #gifre sanders #pranks sanders #missy sanders #shadow Thomas #bandit the frill neck #zylo writes stuff

[gamerzylo]

Bandit: Let me drive.

Jackal: No, you're drunk.

Bandit: You always get to drive!

Jackal: Cause I'm the sheriff, asshole!

#Incorrect quotes #source: gremlins #insanity au #jackal the treasure hunter #bandit the frill neck

[gamerzylo]

Gonna try and draw Bandit this weekend. Never drew a frill lizard before, anthro or otherwise.

#insanity au #bandit the frill neck

[gamerzylo]

Very small update: Really liking the name Bandit for the frill necked demon character in my WIP.

#Insanity au #bandit the frill neck