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I want Badassery on a cracky scale. Does the DB punch dragons with his/her fists? Does DB ride dragons into town? Wrestle giants? Keep werewolves as pets?

Go with it, make it as stupid and/or Mary Sue as possible. I just want a good laugh.

I did not know how much I wanted to read about the dragon priests until I read this!

Thank you so much. You're an excellent writer, and this story was so hot but also very, very sweet. I love Orcs, and I adore the way you've written Ghorbash, which was so very perfect. Thank you Anon!

There's some serious lack of Aela love here. Please, I need some smut or fluff or both, whatever, with these two. I just love Aela so much, she's so hot and those silver eyes....

I don't really care for Dragonborn's race and I want female Dragonborn of course..... I just want a really good ol' femslash story with Aela!

Please. :(

Nathalia!anon is grateful for how she structured her Farkas story so she'll be able to help this OP's dreams come true. She is fairly certain she can handle doing both stories at once.

Little spitfire Breton sound good?

You tempt me so T.T I must get further along in my works so I can fill this.

(Other potentials, please do your anon-ly duty and fill this, since the odds of me being able to this in a timely fashion is slim to none.)

So, basically I second, and will probably do a fill in a few months.

And then Akatosh breathed life into a new babe, who grew into a bearded man over night.

He was called 'Chuck Norris.'

UNF.

Oh my. I find the idea of the Dragonborn going into a weird trance to be strangely hot. Especially if their follower freaks out...

"Remember: they are pussies. You're a badass. Remember that you are a fucking badass-- never use a weapon."

I want to do an Unarmed Badass Viking fill, but that's the single most unoriginal idea I've ever had, and I've had more than a few.

Inspired by a combination of many wonderful Ulfric prompts out there, but what I write seems to not quite fit perfectly any one in particular so…Self-prompt: An Imperial Dragonborn has sided with the Empire, but loses the battle of Solitude. She is a powerful enemy, even in defeat, and has many allies in Skyrim. Not to mention, Alduin yet lives. What is Ulfric to do with her? Angst, hatesex, and possible dubcon. Also a bit of altering canon events and timeline. Concrit welcome, please.

Title inspired by Eliot: “When death, the great reconciler, has come, it is never our tenderness that we repent of, but our severity.”

------
Ulfric lounged on the throne of the Blue Palace with the same indolent sprawl many were accustomed to see in the Palace of Kings. Yet despite his outward appearance of calm, he felt his heart beat against his chest in a rapid staccato of betraying excitement.

With Solitude won, the throne of Skyrim was as much as his. The Imperials, cloying to their Thalmor, would be pushed out of his land like the festering cyst they represented.

All but one.

She was his.

His hand clenched on the armrest of the throne, chipped nails scraping into wood in impatience as he waited for his men to bring her before him. He gingerly moved his mouth, feeling the sharp pain that receded to a dull throb only when he kept it still.

He had refused to allow his split lip and swollen jaw to be healed by any potion or spell.

She had marked him so, in the final moments of the battle before his men had claimed the city. Before he had called upon his long dormant Thu-um to send her sprawling to the blood-soaked ground, a look of startled surprise in her wide, green eyes.

He liked it, this reminder of her rebellion, as it was also a reminder of her defeat. He wanted her to see it, to be confronted with the evidence of her failed fury upon him.

He wanted her to look upon him and know that he had not forgotten, that she would pay the price for it.

He heard the approach of soldiers, and looked up to see a woman standing between them, head bowed, whether in humility or shyness he did not know, nor care. A mass of dark mahogany curls tumbled in disarray around her shoulders. She wore nothing except a threadbare tunic that barely reached her knees, old and full of mended stitchings, but seemingly clean. She was so small the top of her head barely reached the shoulders of his guards.

He did not know her, and was not concerned at whatever claim or grievance she brought before the throne. He knew the responsibilities of the city were his to govern in the immediate aftermath of the battle, but at the moment he could only growl in frustration, unhappy to be delayed from his desired purpose.

At the low rumbling of angry sound - at the very same moment when he noticed that her hands were bound behind her - the woman picked up her head, her sharp emerald eyes narrowed to glittering slits of hate and malice.

The recognition was instant, he felt it hit him hard and mean, in his gut. And lower, heat curled in his loins, as if his body felt deeper kinship with her than his mind.

Her did know her, but not like this. He knew her in sweat-matted hair tightly braided against her scalp, on the rare occasion he had seen her without a helmet. He had thought it as black as pitch, always slicked with sweat and dirt and oils of travels. He had not known her to have quite so much of it, falling in thick, glossy waves past her shoulders.

He knew her in spattered, well-worn armor, also covered in blood and dirt. He did not know these lush curves exposed by the thin, clinging fabric, putting in the mind of man the desire to see such bounty exposed to gaze and roaming hand, to feel her ripe, soft heat cushion his own hardened weight.

But her eyes, these he did know. The deep green of emerald, framed by a thick fringe of dark lashes, flashing with familiar rebellion.

With disgust.

They narrowed at him now, as she caught him gaping like an untried boy.

Ulfric clenched his teeth against the curling, possessive heat in his belly, and addressed her. “Dragonborn. Skyrim belongs no longer to your people. Do you choose death, or disgraced exile with the rest of your kin?" He paused for a moment, before continuing. "Or do you submit to my rule over you? Decide quickly, I have much to attend to in the aftermath of this battle.”

One of the guards gave her an ungentle shove, and she stumbled forward before catching her feet. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin as she seemed to come to some sort of decision.

He watched her slow approach through heavy-lidded eyes. It would be a mistake to assume her movement meant that she had submitted. He knew she was only sizing him up, as she did any able opponent. He knew she had found him wanting in the past, and that thought brought another wave of anger to boil his blood.

She was full of haughty pride, and like him she fought fiercely for her beliefs. He expected rebellion from her.

And he wanted it.

His body itched for a fight. He could almost taste the coming battle like he could taste the bitter tang of his own blood in his mouth, from the torn flesh inside his cheek.

He belonged to Skyrim. Skyrim was his.

And now the Dragonborn was his.

Even if he had to force her, she would submit.

She did submit.

He could barely keep his mouth closed, his surprise was so complete – she moved ever closer and sank gracefully to her knees at his feet, between his sprawled legs, head again humbly bowed. Her hair fell forward to brush against his hand resting on his knee. He couldn’t resist taking one of the heavy curls between his blunt thumb and forefinger, marveling at its silky softness, wondering suddenly when she had been given the opportunity to wash herself.

He knew she had many friends in Skyrim. Allies in Solitude who would aid her. If he wanted to quench any additional rebellion to his cause, he would have to deal with her quickly.

His hand clenched around a fistful of her hair. She seemed to take no notice, but when she looked up at him from between his legs, he could see victory sparkling in her eyes.

He felt a brief flaring of confusion at her complete look of non-submission, as if she had won some great battle here.

And then his surprise gave way to anger and a howl of pain as she quickly turned her head and sank her teeth deep and hard into the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, the covering of his pants only a thin, useless barrier.

The guards quickly stepped forward to haul her back as he stood in fury. One made as if to strike her, and he felt another type of anger rise in his chest at the thought of someone else touching that which was his.

“No.” It was a sharp bark of sound, and the guard looked up, hesitant.

He answered the unspoken question in a soft mutter of sound, meant for their ears only. “She is mine to break. Muzzle that sharp mouth of hers, and bring her to my quarters.”

A scrap of cloth was shoved into her mouth and fastened tightly, and then her body was shoved into the room.

She barely suppressed a flinch as the door slammed shut behind her. She lifted her chin and faced the angry self-claimed High King. Even from across the room she could feel the heat of his barely repressed fury.

She should not have done such a childish thing. It was not worthy of her status and upbringing. Not worthy of the blood of the Dovah thrumming in her veins. Yet when it came to him, she could not seem to control herself.

As he bore down upon her, she thought upon her first memory of him - his eyes had been glinting with the same hate, the same seething pride evident in the wide set of his shoulders, but then it had been his voice muted by dank cloth.

She had known of him even before then. Two brothers she had lost to his rebel cause. Cassius, with the somber, brown-eyed gaze of their father. He had always been the more serious of her siblings, the eldest, with the weight of responsibility heavy on his broad shoulders. How she missed having him to turn to for advice, when she was troubled by difficult choices.

And Marius, her twin. The youngest, born but a few moments after herself, though she never let him hear the end of it. He had been easy to laughter, always a teasing joke at the ready. Brash, more inclined to the pleasures of drink than the study of history and war, but he followed his brother to war nonetheless. To war and to death. Even now she felt the sting of crippling tears at his memory, the loss was still too recent, the pain too raw, and she blinked rapidly to stem their tide.

She had followed in the wake of her brothers, to this toughened land of mountain and steel, and she had thought to meet her death with the man who had been the cause of theirs, who had taken so much from her without even knowing.

Who at the time had refused to even spare her a glance.

But she had not died that day. She had lived on, haunted by her past, and so she fought, and honored the memory of her brothers.
She fought, and watched as good men gave their lives, the sweet warmth of youth shattered and gored on axe and sharpened steel.

But no, she did not simply watch, she took such life. And she wondered, in the dark of night, if parents other than hers went mad with the grief of it all, until their own wavering candles of life flickered and died.

And the hate grew with each passing moon. It ate at her, clawed from the inside like an insidious wound, spreading. Hate for herself, but she named it hate for him, and she took comfort from the easy lie.

He was almost upon her, invading her space, stealing the very air. She took several shallow breaths, expecting the familiar smell of blood and sweat and battle. But the unexpected smell of spice and mint made her nose twitch, and abruptly reminded her that she was not in familiar territory.

She had not thought it possible for him to advance any closer, but advance he did. If she took too deep a breath she would touch her chest to his. He was so close she could feel the deep rumble of vibration that was his voice, a snarl of sound and heat.

“That was a very foolish choice, Dragonborn. You seem to wish for death in the humility of your defeat. As a Nord, this I can understand. I felt much the same way, once. Long ago.”

She felt his large hand clench on her arm. The small movement was enough to move her flush against his chest. She had to crane her neck to look upon his face, so much taller did he stand over her. His nostrils flared, jaw clenched tight in whatever new frustration she had aroused.

“Or is it a different punishment you seek, instead of death? Oh yes, you will answer for the slaughter brought about by your own hands, but I can promise you this, Ysmir, you will find no atonement at mine.”

She shivered at his words, horrified to discover that he could recognize her own inner torment so well. She lifted her chin further to meet his eyes, but that proved to be a mistake. She felt the heat in his gaze clear to her toes, and behind it she saw something else – the same sharp cut of guilt that chiseled away at her own hardened soul.

Study your enemy well, daughter, as there you will find the truth about yourself. Know the enemy, and know yourself, and there you will find the key to victory.

The memory of her father’s wisdom brought with it a rush of shame, that she had not bothered to learn much of this particular enemy. She had been too consumed by hate and fury.

She was learning now, but perhaps too late.

Sounds good to me!
-OP

Yes please

The DB is a small woman (preferably Imperial) who has no qualms about bossing around men much bigger than her.
Farkas finds that he really likes this. Really likes it. I want smut and giggles galore (maybe Vilkas realises his brother likes her and teases him mercilessly)

BONUS if she gets him to masturbate in front of her.

If anyone decides to write this, I will love them forever!

Late OP is late. But Vilkas would be awesome :)

Aw, my smutty Muse thanks you from the bottom of her lemon-flavoured heart. I did the latest Erandur fill, if you wanna have a look at that. :)

I'm addicted to Vilkas fics ❤
Hope this gets filled!

Uh nope you should definitely do that.

This is an awesome beginning. Ulfric is such a powerful figure here, but the Dragonborn is, too. You write very well, I'm looking forward to reading the rest!

So OP has decided to fill her own prompt as the idea won't get out of her head. If a lovely nonnie has an idea for this prompt, please don't hesitate to fill as well!

Summary: When he finds himself infatuated with a Nord tavern girl, Ondolemar's snobbery becomes his greatest torture.

Tags: es:skyrim, char:Ondolemar, char:NFPC, race:Altmer, race:Nord, relationship:het, kink:obsession, kink:masturbation, kink:dub_con, kink:oral

Fire and Stone

She was everything a Nord woman was expected to be: confident, vivacious and buxom with wild red hair that you could spot from quite a distance. The men of Markarth certainly appreciated her typical Nord figure and were not afraid to make it known to her most nights. She mostly laughed it off, remaining good natured and friendly. She had never done anything spectacular and led a standard life working behind the bar in the Silver-Blood Inn. Yes, she was quite the normal Nord woman.

And Ondolemar was beginning to hate her.

He had first seen her when he had followed Ogmund inside the inn, hoping to overhear the man let slip his Talos worshipping. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before; a drunk suspect is always easier to incriminate. He slid inside and easily concealed himself in a shadowy corner. The inn was so busy, people were sitting on the steps leading up the rooms. While it made listening to Ogmund more difficult, Ondolemar was happy as it ensured there was no eyes on him while he settled himself. He had only been watching the man for a few minutes when a hand came into view, clearing the table in front of him of empty tankards. Ondolemar almost jumped. Almost.

"Can I get you anything, Justiciar?"

Her voice was rich and young and it drew his eyes up to her face. But he saw nothing unusual or note-worthy in her so he let his gaze drift away from her again. "Wine." Was all the answer he gave her.

She fetched it for him at a rather lazy pace, though he supposed it wasn't her fault. Many of the men stopped her, some demanding more ale while others just tried to woo her. But she plucked their arms from around her shoulders and carried on working with a smile. He continued watching Ogmund again as he sang along with another bard Ondolemar only knew by sight. Then she appeared in his eye line again. He noticed she took an odd route to him, a path that was indirect and kept mostly to the shadows. If she hadn't been a Nord, he would have thought that she was trying to aid him in remaining concealed but his Altmer mind insisted that it was far more likely that she simply didn't want to create any fuss in the inn.

She placed the goblet down in front of him and he handed her the coin without looking. She took it wordlessly and left him alone once more. He learnt nothing of Ogmund that night, only that he was even more of a useless drunkard than he had previously thought.

But a few nights later, he found himself there again. He had convinced himself that this really was the way to catch some Talos worshippers, even if they weren't Ogmund. She came over to him again, willing to serve him even though he was now convinced she knew why he was there. She brought him wine and left with the coin, not bothering him again. He found a few other men he suspected could be worshippers and that only led to him returning again a few nights later. And again. And again. And again.

The red-headed Nord female served him every night he went in there. He wondered if she worked every night and almost let himself pity her before realising that she was a Nord and he didn't care and that he also worked every night and day. And he certainly didn't pity himself. Now, she brought him his wine before he had even asked for it and he paid her the same amount each time. The more time he spent in there, the more he found he watched her rather than the patrons. At first, he thought that perhaps she was a Talos worshipper and that others gathered here to speak with her. He told himself that she might be the one who brought them all together.

Then he realised that wasn't true at all and he had always known it. So his next task was to find out what it was about her that kept him watching her, sure it would be something he could arrest her for.

Thanks to all you lovely nonnies for your encouraging comments! :)

A new (slightly longer) story will be coming to you in the not-so-distant future...once I stop feeling like I'm drowning in uni work!

Oh my, this is lovely. Ok maybe "lovely" isn't the right word for the content on this story... Delicious might suit it better :)

Yum...I just want to pour melted chocolate all over this and...and i might have gone too far again. But you get my meaning.

This good. Anon want more. Yes?

Meme Announcements!

Badass Dragonborn!

Re: A Warrior's Heart 2/

Re: F!DB/Ghorbash: "A Languid Afternoon" 4/4

F!Dragonborn/Aela

Re: Vilkas/F!DB

Re: F!DB/M!LI The Joy of Touch

Re: Badass Dragonborn!

Re: MiniFill: Lesson Learned

Re: DB and companions reaction to Word Walls.

Because someone was bound to bring it up

Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 1a/?

Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 1b/?

Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 2a/?

Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 2b/?

Re: Vilkas/F!DB

Re: Badass Dragonborn!

F!DB/Farkas

Re: F!DB/hubbie of choice

A!A here

Re: Vilkas/F!DB

Re: Because someone was bound to bring it up

Re: Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 2b/?

Ondolemar/F!NPC: Fire and Stone 1/?

EndraA!A here

Re: Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 2b/?