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A/N this is just a snippet that came to me just now, but it's set in my Galmar/Rozenn fic'verse. Question for Mods: Since this is the fourth story I've done in this 'verse, should I get a series tag?

Tags: het, f!db, breton, galmar stone fist, gen, fluff

*-*-*

"Ugh," Rozenn grunted, shifting her too-heavy pack, filled with all manner of Dwarven trinkets, from one shoulder to the other. She smiled weakly, despite her discomfort, for she knew she was but a short walk from Windhelm, home and her husband.

She didn't mind parting from him, because she knew they would be together again soon enough (or not soon enough, but bearably soon) but seeing the adventurer Katria's broken body in Arkngthamz and knowing that the Nord had died, unmissed and unmourned in the depths of Skyrim, had rattled Rozenn more than she cared to admit. She wanted Galmar; to hold him, and feel his arms wrap about her and squeeze the breath from her lungs.

She took a deep breath of the chilly air and watched it puff out in a cloud of steam, settled her too-heavy pack once more and set off, walking slowly towards Windhelm's Stables. Once she passed the stables she knew she would be almost home.

She snorted, thinking that if she had told herself a year ago that Galmar Stone-Fist would be the reason she wanted to drop a pack full of priceless (but pricey) dwemer artifacts and run home happy she would have laughed and laughed. And yet... There was always something honourable about him, something admirable underneath the gruff, blunt, almost cold-hearted Nord warrior. And how she loved him... She could not count all the ways he made her happy, how she hoped *she* made *him* happy in return.

Finally she crossed the massive stone bridge and was at the City Gate. She smiled, resettled her pack (vowing next time to wear her Thieves' Guild armour with all those extra pockets) and headed into Windhelm. She paused at the corner near the Hall of the Dead. Hjerim was that way, but, at this hour Galmar would be in the Palace of the Kings. She debated going to the house and dropping her pack off for Calder to sort through, but all Rozenn wanted, was to see Galmar and a bed, not necessarily in that order.

She opened the Palace door quietly. Jorlief was sitting at the table, and she could hear Ulfric's voice and Galmar's rumbling response in the War Room. She dropped her pack beside a startled Jorlief and all but sprinted towards her husband.

"...I'd follow you into the depths of Oblivion, you know that," Galmar was saying as he felt something warm crash into him from behind, arms wrapping tightly around his waist.

"Ulfric, do me a favour and stay the fuck away from Oblivion. Because I'm damned well NOT going in there after my husband," Rozenn said as she clambered up her husband's body to embrace him properly.

"If you insist, General Stormblade," Ulfric said, inclining his head graciously.

"Ulfric," Galmar said between kissing his wife. "Out."

Ulfric raised his brows. "Are you ordering me out of my own War Room, Galmar?"

"Catches on quickly, doesn't he?" Galmar asked Rozenn, while peeling her out of her armour.

"Mm-hmmm," she replied. "Oh, Galmar, I missed you so!"

Ulfric was too dignified to scurry or retreat, but he departed the room as hastily as his dignity would allow. He had no wish to see his top generals ravish one another!

Just been busy trying to live life and play the thieves guild quest line (finally).

Um yeah. Ill get on that!

*snickers*

I can't decide if my favorite part is Rozenn telling Ulfric to stay the fact out of Oblivion, or Ulfric treating that like a serious request. Well, ok, I can't decide on my second favorite part, because the best part is Galmar kicking Ulfric out of his own war room and walking out with as much dignity as he can muster. Sometimes a true Nord does have to back down, Ulfric. FLEE FOR YOUR LIFE!

Honestly, as a queer person who does "citrusy" (lol) things in real life as well as writing about them, I thought it was not too bad at all!

I have two main criticisms, which I'm offering only since you said they'd be appreciated. Firstly, paragraphs. It was all rather run-together, which spoiled the flow of the story a little. Try to start a new paragraph whenever there's a new subject, and around speech. Something like this:

Brynjolf sat himself at the bar in the Ragged Flagon and swiftly was served a pint by Vekel. Instead of chugging it down in his normal fashion after a tedious job, he merely stared at the contents pondering about his latest job with Reno. The Breton made his head spin and him wanting in way he had felt only with women before. His long brown hair was just perfect for tugging on and his eyes, one green and the other yellow. He had a ramrod straight nose and his lips were inviting. Broad shoulders, perfect for another to grab and his well built arms that could hold anybody against the wall to ravish them. Reno was perfect in Brynjolf's mind, even his hands were perfect as they had brushed briefly together, warm and calloused.

Just as Brynjolf's mind went to wander more forbidden areas a tankard of mead was dumped upon him. Blinking, sputtering and cursing profusely he turned to find Delvin and Vex snickering as they called out to him, "Oi, Bryn, we've been trying to get your attention for some time now, thinking about lover boy?"

Whistles and catcalls echoed around the room as various people began to call out bets. "Ten septims says Brynjolf will die before telling Reno about his love!"

"Twenty that they'll fuck on the bar," another called out.

Brynjolf, at this time weary of the bets and teasing made his way to Cistern to clean himself of the sticky med that Delvin and Vex dumped on him.

The Cistern was quite shockingly was quiet, no on was about and he quickly stripped off his armor and dumped it onto his bed uncermoniusly before going to the edge to clean himself. A cough made him turn and he saw none other than Reno, leaning against the Mercer's desk. Casually he spoke out to him, "You can continue, it's not like I enjoy the view."

Brynjolf reddened at his words and pulled his armor on before joining Reno at his position on the desk.

Before Brynjolf could comprehend what had happened though, Reno's lips were on his. A tongue snaked its way into his mouth before he finally reciprocated. Reno pulled back with a smirk before shoving the Nord on to the desk and clambering on top of him and his tongue attached himself to Brynjolf's neck. The Nord's hands fumbled with the buckles on Reno's armor before he pushed the cuirass back and tumbling to the floor. Brynjolf grinned with his small victory but he quickly realized that Reno had not only discarded himself of the armor but was now working on the fastening to Brynjolf's trousers before yanking them down entirely. Brynjolf bit down a strangled as warm, wet heat engulfed him. "Ugh, Reno, mmph."

Reno then looked up, smirking at the man's blissed out face before he hesitantly moved his hand to tease the other man's entrance. Reno pulled off and murmured,"Is this all right?"

"Gods yes Reno, b-but we should move to the bed, Mercer-"

"Doesn't need to know." He pulled Brynjolf up for a kiss just as a finger entered, followed shortly by another and then one more. "Positive?" Reno questioned.

Brynjolf replied with a low moan before yanking Reno's trousers down and pressing them together making the Breton slip in. Moans intertwined as bodies moved in sync, both simultaneously reaching a crescendo before crashing down.

As they came down from the foggy haze, Brynjolf said, "Next time, we're doing it against the wall."

"I'll drink to that."

Eventually, they redressed and parted their separate ways. Only minutes later did Mercer reappear and upon seeing the milky white fluid on his desk he boomed out, "Who had sex on my desk?!"

Brynjolf grinned and thought to himself, "Maybe instead of the wall, we can do it in Mercer's bed..."

The second thing was lube. Lube, lube, LUBE! It doesn't matter what you use, but something oily or slippery needs to be applied before any fingers go into buttholes. Try pushing your own finger into your own arse - it won't go in very easily, and that's despite the positive feedback you get from both the finger and arse belonging to the same person. Let alone three belonging to another person, unless the person being fucked is very, very experienced. (Which in this case, Brynjolf isn't because you've written him as never having been with a man before).

Anyway. For a first attempt, that was fun to read. Sort out your paragraphs and apply your lube, and you're good to go :)

Omg omg omg ouo This OP loves this pairing something fierce, and feels like a special snowflake that you, lovely A!A, replied to my prompt with this.

And series tag, yes.

Sorry for the late reply! OP loved this little snippet just the same though :3 the fact that I even got a fill just makes my day.

I've written a story which is inspired by the idea What is it actually like for the Dragonborn, the first time they shout "FUS" and watch someone stumble backward? But it's only based on that one part of the prompt, and because I lost this link between starting to write it and finishing, it focuses more on the Dragonborn absorbing his first dragon soul and what that was like. Would you like me to post it here? The whole thing is several thousand words.

I squee with joy at this post!

Go for it!

«Yvonne Renard, the Dragonborn, Savior of Skyrim and Alduin’s Bane. Tribune of the Imperial Legion. Thane of Whiterun Hold, Haafingar and the Rift. Step forward.»

The woman bowed her head and obeyed without a word, gracefully approaching the throne. Her armor had been replaced by a lovely dress made of green silk and white fur, her brown hair combed in a long, elaborate braid. Siddgeir took his time to admire her naked shoulders, clean face and well-shaped body.

«Your place in this court is more than deserved, my friend» he solemnly said. «You are a valuable asset to this Hold, to its people and to me.» Especially to me. «For this reasons, and for the great deeds you’ve accomplished in the name of our beloved land, by my right as Jarl I name you Thane of Falkreath.»

Nenya started to clap her hands, and soon all the notable citizens gathered in the Longhouse for the ceremony were applauding too, the sound growing louder and louder. All but one. The Old Idiot, also known as the former Jarl Dengeir of Stuhn and uncle of Siddgeir himself, chose to stand still with his arms crossed on the chest and didn’t even pretend to smile.

The Jarl raised his arms and the applause slowly began to fade.

«Congratulations, Yvonne. I’ll soon notify my guards of your new title. Wouldn’t want them to think you’re part of the common rabble, now.»

He laughed, and the others laughed with him. A wave of his hand and Helvard offered the Dragonborn the ritual gift, one of the best enchanted swords in the entire Hold.

«I also grant you this weapon from my armory to serve as your badge of office. The Blade of Falkreath. I seem to understand you like ebony, am I correct?»

The woman took the sword, unsheathed it and carefully cut the air in front of her to test it. One time. Two times. Then she smiled and nodded.

«That is a fine gift, my lord, thank you. I promise I’ll take good care of it.»

Without even the slightest invitation she reached him in front of the whole court, bowed, then knelt at his feet. Siddgeir winced. He could see the back of her neck, her braid, the curve of her spine under the dress, and couldn’t help but staring at her when she kissed his boots. He knew all the formal and informal protocols, and none of them involved something like that.

As if it wasn’t enough, the Dragonborn went on.

«From now on you have officially my loyalty and my friendship. I swear to protect your people, support your Hold and satisfy your needs as best as I can.»

Her voice echoed in the large room and in Siddgeir’s mind as well, and he felt the adrenaline rushing through his entire body. He had the Dragonborn, a beautiful woman and famous hero, literally at his feet, ready to do everything he wanted. It felt great.

«Stand» he said calmly, even if the whole situation had him incredibly aroused. «Is there anything else you would like to say before I declare the end of the ceremony?»

Yvonne blushed a little. His loins were burning like fire, but he forced himself to smile.

«Nothing in particular» she answered. «May we speak in private, my Jarl? There are other… matters I’d like to discuss.»

«Of course, Thane.»

He glanced at Nenya and she immediately started to dismiss the guests, but it took longer than usual to send them away. Many of the notable citizens wanted to compliment the Dragonborn for her new title, others simply wanted to talk to him. Siddgeir sat back in his throne and dismissed everyone with an annoyed wave of his hand. When finally everyone but his Housecarl was gone he raised his eyebrows and snorted in Helvard’s direction.

«Didn’t you hear your Thane, you idiot? She wants to speak in private.» A raised hand stopped everything he was thinking to say. «No. Just… just go.»

The man hesitated for a second, but then changed his mind, turned around and walked away, disappearing in another room.

«So… alone at last.»

Yvonne was standing smirking in front of the throne, the Blade of Falkreath at her side. Her cheeks were flushed, her braid a little messy now, her chest rising and falling with every breath. And she was in his power. She was his. The thought was enough to make him shift uneasily on the throne, more than aware of the sudden stiffening between his legs.

«Ah. Yes. W-what did you want to talk about?»

«The property you promised me. I heard I’m not the only one asking for it.» But she was wary now, and her smile was gone. «Is everything alright?»

«Sure. And yes, the land, I remember. I’ll tell Nenya to…»

«My Jarl.»

She came closer, her eyes focused on the bulge in his breeches. He didn’t care much about her anger, anyway. She was his Thane, was she not? She was compelled to forget that little… accident, if so he commanded. But when he studied her face searching for irritation or repulsion all he could see was mild interest.

«I’ll tell Nenya to try and talk the others down» he continued. She ignored him.

«You could have told me» she simply said, and now she was too close, her breasts exactly in front of his eyes. She wasn’t talking about the land anymore. «I’m serious. I swore an oath to please you, and if something bothers you I’d like to know it, so I can help you.»

His skin was on fire, his erection pressing hard against the breeches. How dared she tease him like that? Did she think he would not punish her? Siddgeir of Falkreath was not amused.

«Then please me» he blurted out. He grabbed her right hand and forced it down on his groin, making her jump in surprise. «Do it.»

***

Yes, I'm still alive! I've already written the last part, so I'll probably post it soon.

Ow ow OW, this is seriously brutal and it isn't even graphic, I go with the Legion in probably 7 of 10 playthroughs and I still want to save him and hold him and promise that everything's going to be all right, don't listen to her you brave beautiful man. That ending - GAH. And that's meant to be a compliment.

ROFL - the first time my Dunmer Dovahkiin heard his buddy Belrand holler the "head on my wall" line (think it was at a bandit - ewww!) I figure he got hit he was laughing so hard.

Definitely seconded.

LOL - you sure old Sanguine wasn't involved with that one? My Dovahkiin's grandsire seems to recall a spell called "Stark Reality..."

Filling this. Filling this soon.

Two normally-hostile characters become trapped in a cave/ruin/mine. Neither of them believe they'll get out alive-- perhaps the roof is slowly caving in, etc.

Just want some angsty putting-aside-their-differences fill. I need feels today. Possibly smut, though that's optional. Any race, any faction (thought possibly a stormcloak and imperial getting trapped together? Ralof and Hadvar? Galmar and Rikke? OCs?) Just two enemies who put aside their differences and call a truce, so they don't have to die alone *_* make me cry nonnies!

She looks down at him, eyes skimming over his body, purposefully skirting away from the long pink scar across his belly. The one she caused. If only she'd been fast enough.
"This is all your fault, you know." As if she doesn't already feel guilty enough.
"Then why don't you punish me for it!?" The words are out before she can stop them and she clamps a hand over her mouth, praying to the Divines that he didn't hear.
The slowly spreading grin on his face tells her that he had, indeed, heard and she blanches at the thought of being bent over his knee like an errant child.

A!A here, so glad you enjoyed this!

RUN ULFRIC! RUN LIKE THE WIND!

Oh, I'm so glad you liked this! Rozenn and Galmar are very dear to my heart, and I'm glad you like them, too :)

You are the nicest snowflake!

OP here:
Just read it.. Very good! I would like to see more smut in the sequel but I like the story very much.. The ending leads up nicely to a more sexual-based sequel so it'd be great if you could fill :)
Thanks!

How has this not been filled yet?? Such an excellent prompt!

Yes please!

Woah. The best fill I've ever read..! Well done!

I love the idea of using a paralysis spell in sex here..! Very inventive and extremely sexy!!!

Meme Announcements!

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