#Argis

[mareenavee]

For the kiss prompt: Argis the Bulwark/Ondolemar 8. "...in secrecy."

Hi Topsy :> Here's these two adorable idiots for you. I really appreciate this prompt! It's been a joy to write!! (Exceedingly aro of me, but I did also use this as an excuse to get some worldbuilding for the main fic done lol. Thanks for inadvertently helping me make a major character decision for Ondolemar.) Now without further ado:

A Heavy Truth

(Follows Chapter 13 of The World on Our Shoulders & Contains Spoilers For That Story!)

Sixteen days.  

It had been sixteen days since Ondolemar had sent Argis with information for Sybille in the Blue Palace. The trip should have taken maybe a week at worst, especially with the funds he’d used for a carriage. What had happened?

Ondolemar looked around Vlindrel Hall, which was dark and depressing, especially in Argis’s absence. Everything was hewn of stone and decorated with garish Dwemer accents, brass gleaming wrong in the strange light of the overlarge fireplace. It was still cold. It was always cold when he was gone. Everywhere in Skyrim. He hated it here. Hated it. Why had he bought this sorry excuse for a house was beyond him. Expectations, likely. He’d gotten comfortable, even when all his furniture was made of rocks. Even when his only company were thralls and Nords. And now this.

He was letting his mind wander again, which wasn’t the best in dire situations. There had to be a reason. Talsgar hadn’t heard anything, nor Faendal, far flung as the both of them had been recently. Was he local then? Stuck somewhere? He sighed and paced the living room, running a hand along the dusty bookshelves that he’d purchased when he bought the house. Mahogany. Not boulders, like everything else. Even the Orcs who’d delivered them had struggled hefting the things up the cliff face this place had been carved into. It was a bit of a chore to walk up here after a full day’s work. He could have spent his coin better elsewhere.

He was doing it again. Thinking of anything else instead of the nagging thought that maybe something had gone more awry. He wouldn’t touch the edge of the fear, sharp as it felt. As much as the worry ached, he had to keep it together. He had to. Argis was one facet of the mission. Able to be trusted, and more than capable. More than. But if he had been lost…

Gods, no. No, he wouldn’t assume the worst now. Couldn’t. He braced against the bookshelf, swaying on his feet, feeling lightheaded as images bombarded him of rabid bears charging, or more dragons swooping down out of doomed skies. He blinked, and the emptiness of this Godsforsaken house did nothing to calm him. He straightened, pulling at his grey tunic, trying to feel grounded or real again. He undid his hair from the bun he’d tied it back in and shook it out with a sigh, silver-blond strands catching on the edges of his chewed nails. He was losing touch, obviously. How long had it been since he’d slept correctly? Too long. Empty beds were no longer as comfortable as they used to be, after all. -> Read the rest on AO3

[cottagemoridollynatural]

https://www.logic-immo.com/detail-vente-b4606fb3-561a-1c71-e5ca-7920fbab2973.htm?utm_source=email_ali&utm_medium=B2C_LI_Service_Email_EnvoiAlerteImmo&utm_campaign=65944197_20240702&utm_term=boutoncta

[un-local]

argis da bulwark

[postcard-from-the-past]

View of Argis, Bugey region of France

French vintage postcard

[fmasha-l]

Holy sht, I'm so dead

Blizzard in the Reach

Pairing:  Reader/Argis the Bulwark

Fandom: Skyrim/The Elder Scrolls

Rating:  Explicit

My Writing Commission Info |  Please consider tipping me on Ko-Fi!

Read on AO3

Summary: The Druadach Mountains of the Reach are known to be dangerous for travelers - not only for the presence of the Forsworn, bandits, and monsters, but also for vicious blizzards that have killed many a traveler. You had hoped to get through the mountain passes as quickly as possible, especially with a snowstorm coming in, but now it looks like you and Argis might be in store for a night spent together on the mountains.

Notes:   This started as part of a series of one-shots with Argis the Bulwark several years ago, back when I was writing for the kink meme still. Some of the one-shots have been lost to the Internet and to now-dead computers, some are still with me and in desperate need of re-working, but this one was always my favorite. I found it on an external hard drive recently, and thought I’d share it with the world - there’s really not enough Argis content. I know he doesn’t have a lot of dialogue, but he’s always been my favorite Housecarl and follower, and I always marry him in-game. If anyone would want to see any of the other Argis one-shots, let me know, and I can see what I can dig up and re-work! I’ve certainly got a little more time on my hands with this coronavirus thing. Hope everyone is staying healthy and happy, and most importantly, stay at home <3

                                        _____________________

“We need to make camp for the night, my Thane.”

You turn to face your Housecarl, Argis the Bulwark, and you immediately see obstinacy in the way his arms are folded across his broad chest, his feet spread in a wide stance. This obstinacy has served you well time and again, especially in the stubborn way he never gives up on you. He’s rushed back into battle after receiving grievous injuries, his only care in all of Tamriel protecting you. He’s sat up all night with you, waiting for you to explain what in Oblivion is bothering you. He’s carried you, as you lay dying in his arms, to whatever nearby town was available, on the slim chance he could find a healer skilled enough or a potion strong enough for you. Yes, you’re grateful for all that this man has done for you.

But that doesn’t mean he’s any less stubborn than he was on day one.

“We can still make it back to Markarth, and be home in Vlindrel Hall by morn,” you retort over your shoulder, anxious to keep moving. The Reach is howling with a snowstorm, and visibility on this face of the mountains is becoming terribly low. The accumulating snow and the slick rocks will only make traveling all the harder - you need to press on, not have a debate with one another.

“My Thane,” he warns, his deep voice dark. You continue marching ahead. If that stubborn man would just cooperate - “My Thane,” he repeats, more firmly, and you stop in your tracks, irritated. He knows you long ago disregarded any illusions of rank between the two of you, and that, as equals, you don’t believe in issuing him orders. He also knows that his obstinacy is driving you insane at the moment, as it so often does, and that he’s only calling you by your title of Thane to hammer home his point. Moreover, the snowstorm is already picking up more speed, threatening a full blizzard, and he knows he’s right about it. All of it.

“Maybe they should have called you Argis the Bull-headed, not Bulwark,” you quip as you trudge through a snowdrift back to the man. For an instant, you think you see his scarred lips quirk up in a smile, but visibility is terribly low.

“You may call me whatever you wish,” he responds evenly, his face the epitome of calm.

Keep reading

[manualamadrugada]

I haven't seen anyone talk about what's going on in Córdoba

[porcelanitaa]

[fmasha-l]

"I play Bethesda games for the plots"

The plots:

old extra shots

[lara-kaminari]

An Argentinian pensioner stands up to Milei’s riot police even as they shoot at her. The scenes were part of the mass mobilizations yesterday. Football fan groups joined retirees for their weekly protest against Milei’s pension cuts, which have plunged the elderly into poverty.

[mareenavee]

From the OC asks, for Ondolemar:

What are their prejudices? What groups have they come to think of as 'other'? Mages? Nords? Elves? Lollygaggers?

ohohoho. I'll let Ondolemar answer this for himself because, even though Argis asked him not to, he's muttering under his breath.

(From this amazing game here.)

12. What are their prejudices? What groups have they come to think of as 'other'? Mages? Nords? Elves? Lollygaggers?

Argis chimes in from the background, "Love, don't say—" "—Nords." Argis sighs heavily, then goes off to make tea, because he'll definitely need it. Ondolemar watches him then turns back and grins. "Yes, I think I've been in Skyrim long enough now that it's no big secret that I know quite well how obviously other Nords are from basically everyone else. It's ridiculous. I mean it is their own country, and they are wont to just...do whatever it is they feel is appropriate, but I mean..." He pauses and drops his voice to a whisper. "...a war? Over Talos? Of all things, truly? You would think in this frozen rock of a place they'd be more cautious about absurd wastes of resourc—" Argis clears his throat. Ondolemar throws him a sheepish look as he is handed a mug of tea.

"Is this the tea Nyenna sent?" he asks.

"No, it's the stuff you stole from your mother's imports last we were in Solitude."

"Oh, yes, right, thank you, love." Ondolemar turns and quickly tucks a stark white strand of hair behind his ear. He lets the silence end up on the edge of uncomfortable and speaks only after he takes one more sip of tea. "Alright, alright. Fine. If not Nords, then... Well. Looking at me, and knowing who and what I am, this may come as a bit of a surprise." He crosses one ankle over the other knee and takes another sip of his tea. "But the other that is the real problem—and not a joke in the least—are the Thalmor." He pauses, fully expecting some kind of protest, but is met with yet more silence. "Right. Thalmor. The thralls. Like the guards outside my home. Like Mother." His face falls almost imperceptibly. "But then, knowing that, I suppose it makes it easier to understand why I must do what I've been doing, doesn't it?"

[milanesa42]

Así se siente usar tumblr cuando sos de argentina

[postcard-from-the-past]

View of Argis, Bugey region of France

French vintage postcard

[blueiscoool]

GABRIEL ARGY-ROUSSEAU 'Grosse Fleur' Ceiling Light, designed circa 1923

Pâte-de-verre, patinated metal, wrought-iron. Shade signed G. ARGY-ROUSSEAU and FRANCE.

[latinotiktok]

Cuentos de escritores latinoamericanos que me encantan y me generan una sensación absolutamente extraña al terminar de leerlos (si quieren agregar sus recomendaciones, son bienvenidos):

"Un hombre sin suerte" de Samanta Schweblin

"El almohadón de plumas" de Horacio Quiroga

"La fiesta ajena" de Liliana Heker

"Casa tomada" de Julio Cortázar

"Los ojos más verdes" de Liliana Colanzi

[zurde-machete]

CERRARON LA SECRETARÍA DE DERECHOS HUMANOS, EL CENTRO CULTURAL HAROLDO CONTI Y EL ARCHIVO DE LA MEMORIA

Le llegaron los telegramas de despido a todxs.

Pero lo más grave es que tienen secuestrado todo el trabajo, el archivo del CONADEP, todo. Es gravísimo lo que ocurre, y es absolutamente un estado de excepción de todas las normativas internacionales de protección de derechos humanos.

LAS ÓRDENES DE TODO ESTE PROCESO LAS RECIBEN DIRECTO DE LOS PABELLONES DE LESA DE EZEIZA Y MARCOS PAZ.

Quería compartir con ustedes lo que ocurre porque no sale en los medios y es necesario y muy importante que lo sepan todos.

Esto no es la dictadura, es como explica el filósofo Agamben un "ESTADO DE EXCEPCIÓN" en democracia, una dictadura blanda. Pero son ellos. Los mismos que esperaron 40 años y ahora volvieron.

Como insistía Rodolfo Walsh:

“Reproduzca esta información, hágala circular por los medios a su alcance: a mano, a máquina, a mimeógrafo, oralmente. Mande copias a sus amigos: nueve de cada diez las estarán esperando. Millones quieren ser informados. El terror se basa en la incomunicación. Rompa el aislamiento. Vuelva a sentir la satisfacción moral de un acto de libertad"

via gustavosantaolalla (instagram)

[mxxn-archive]

Anyone else tired of the AI trend. here's some real art guys