#hrothgar!reader

[argisthebulwark]

All Emotion Dripped Away

summary: skyrim men and their red flags <3 gn reader, no gendered terms or y/n used. feat: Brynjolf, Miraak, Vilkas, Farkas, Cicero, Mercer warnings: some unhealthy relationship dynamics.

Brynjolf's inability to commit is maddening. The worst part is that you understand exactly what led to him acting this way - losing Karliah and Gallus at such a young age, Mercer effectively ruining every positive moment they've shared, thinking that he's lost you. You can understand his aversion to committing himself to another person but the knowledge doesn't make it any easier to handle. "Must we put a label on it?" He groans, dragging your chair closer to his. He leans closer, lips only a few inches away - he knows exactly what he's doing. It's his most common maneuver - kiss you until you can hardly think, distracting you from anything deeper. "It's difficult to think with you so close." You breathe, attempting to resist his charm. "Aye, as you've said." "Don't you want more?" You ask, allowing his fingers to creep under your armor. "Why ruin a good thing?" His kiss is full of heat, a promise for more to come if you're willing to forget this conversation.

At first, Miraak's protectiveness was sweet. He accompanied you on missions far from home and fought at your side. Losing Mora's power had only caused him to become more focused on retaining the skills he had. Over time, it grew. You noticed him tagging along on shorter trips, soon finding that even a quick visit to a nearby village for supplies was a two person job. You'd faced dragons and giants, climbed High Hrothgar and aided in the resolution of a Civil War - yet it seemed you couldn't be trusted to walk a few miles from home. "I don't want to risk you, my love." He insists, falling into step at your side. "What if you were harmed? What if you're hurt and no one is there to aid you?" You don't like this almost childish way he seems to view you - once he'd doted on you, though now it almost seems as if he doesn't trust you to walk without some grievous injury befalling you. He's coddling you.

As an outsider, Vilkas had always appeared confident, headstrong, willing to tackle any problem. He's strong and intelligent and well spoken, of course he can handle things. As a partner, you've been surprised by his avoidance. When you were a recruit he had no trouble voicing your many faults, even as his Harbinger he's been critical - but not his partner. Those problems remain firmly within his own mind. You know he bottles them up, stewing on these emotions until he talks himself out of being upset, rationalizing everything. "If you don't tell me what it is you need, I cannot give it to you." You've pleaded with him, desperate to make this work. "I love you more than I can say - please, all I need is for you to talk to me." "There is nothing to talk about."

Farkas' recklessness had saved your ass on many occasions, but as his spouse it left you a nervous wreck. He'd often laugh off your worries before leaving for days, unable to communicate due to clearing out some bandit camp. His lack of self preservation reduced you to a mess of nerves, trying to work through it but unable to stop your eyes from wandering each time a door opened. "It's not a big deal." Farkas pouts, kneeling before you. His armor's all strapped into place and a pack of supplies hangs over one shoulder - he's about to leave again. Your heart kicks into overdrive, fingers shaking when they clasp the sides of his face. "I always come back safe, dear." He reminds you, that easy grin on his face. "Do you not trust me out there without you?" "I'd feel quite a bit better if I were at your side." You admit, staring pointedly at the sword slung across his back. "We do work well together." He agrees, a kiss planted on your cheek before he stands. "But you're the Harbinger, you have more important duties." Of course you did - your duties included paperwork and worrying, both of which were beginning to wear on your nerves.

You can't fault poor Cicero for his inexperience - he spent far too many years alone, no one but the Night Mother to keep him company. Isolation had changed him, left him lacking the knowledge many others took for granted. Of course you love him, you'd fallen head over heels for the fool and never looked back, but your relationship didn't come without it's own trials. He'd never learned the common things to do in a relationship; little things many couples did like dates were nonexistent and he had no clue how a normal relationship was paced. Falling for each other was easy, why hold back? Why not go all the way? It didn't help that his relationship with the other assassins was strained at best - some were friendly, others shut him out entirely. You were the only one he could turn to, the only one willing to share a meal and a laugh with your beloved Keeper. "Listener, will you teach poor Cicero how to love you?" He coos, gently combing the hair away from your face. Your first instinct is to refuse, to tell him that it's too much - but the peaceful smile melts your heart. "I want to love you the right way."

Often, you find yourself what Mercer likes more - being with you or keeping secrets from you. He omits things that don't even matter which only heightens your anxiety on the topic; if he's willing to lie about something as trivial as who went on what job or which client he's meeting with, what else could he be hiding from you? You tell yourself that it's nothing, just a survival trait he's picked up over the decades of leading the Thieves Guild, but it's impossible to ignore. He doesn't seem to enjoy the jealousy it incites within you but you can't quite puzzle out what he gets from it. In the end, it's easier to accept that he merely enjoys keeping secrets. Only the gods knew how long it had been since he'd last opened up to anyone and you were afraid that prying would make him snap shut the little window you've carved out in his heart.

[cinnabun-faerie]

FFXIV HCs & Reactions by Race/Job Masterlist

A/N: I figured I would make one for class/job that way I have a place to put them!

Note: As of right now, I mostly write for Miqo'te!WoL & Viera!WoL, but I am not opposed to writing others. For jobs, I mostly write what I play, but again, I can try to write any! ^-^

Class

Hyur

x

Elezen

x

Lalafell

Thancred with a Lalafell s/o HCs

Miqo'te

Miqo'te!WoL & G'raha Tia getting into catnip for the first time

Miqo'te!WOL being affectionate (Emet-Selch, Erenville, Fandaniel, Hythlodaeus, G'raha Tia)

React to WoL being a Miqo'te (Emet-Selch, Hermes, Hythlodaeus)

Encouraging Miqo'te!WoL who is nervous to show their cat-like behavior (Aymeric, Estinien, Haurchefant, Urianger, Y'shtola)

Miqo'te WoL bunting them (Alisaie, Alphinaud, Estinien, Exarch, Post Reveal-G'raha Tia, Thancred, Urianger, Y'shtola)

Thancred & a Miqo'te HCs

Miqo'te!WoL who bunts & purrs subconsciously when they’re around (Ardbert, Artoirel, Erenville, Gaius)

G’raha with a Miqo’te WoL S/O

Whenever Miqo'te!WoL and Y'shtola sit together, their tails unconsciously wrap around the other’s

WoL loves petting the Miqo'te Scions’ ears (G'raha Tia, Y'shtola)

Miqo'te!WoL & G'raha Tia getting into catnip for the first time

Female Specific Reader

Scions Reaction: Pregnant-Miqo'te!WoL deciding to hide her child in Gridania with her tribe (Alphinaud, Krile, Tataru, Y'shtola) (Part 2 with Thancred)

Roegadyn

x

Au Ra

Reaction to an Au Ra!Reader curling up to them as Ishgard is so cold it makes them want to hibernate (Alphinaud, Aymeric, Haurchefant, Tataru)

Hrothgar

x

Viera

Scions thinking that Viera!WoL is in their 20s and finding out that they’re actually about a century older than that (Alisaie, Alphinaud, Estinien, G'raha Tia, Thancred, Urianger, Y'shtola)

Viera!WoL having their bunny tail (Erenville, Urianger, Zenos)

Scions thinking that Viera!WoL is in their 20s and finding out that they’re actually about a century older than that (Alisaie, Alphinaud, Estinien, G'raha Tia, Thancred, Urianger, Y'shtola)

Gaius who is fond of a Viera WoL

Job

Tank!WoL is reckless yet protective of their S/O (Alphinaud, Urianger)

Reaction: The first time they see the WoL switch from one class to another - each job bringing out a different personality (Alisaie, Alphinaud, Estinien, G'raha Tia, Thancred, Urianger, Y'shtola)

HC: Short-Healer!WoL deadlifting them & carrying them out of danger (Aymeric, Estinien, G'raha Tia, Haurchefant, Thancred, Urianger)

Dragoon

Reaction: Dragoon!WoL Getting possessed by Nidhogg instead of Estinien (Alphinaud, Aymeric, Cid, Edmont, Estinien, Thancred, Y'shtola)

Dragoon!WoL going off the theory of Alberic gave the them and Estinien actual dragon blood without their knowledge of what it was at the time

Bard

Bard!WoL performing music (Artoirel, Aymeric, Estinien, G'raha Tia, Haurchefant, Thancred, Urianger)

[everythingloveandanimated]

Question for Inheritance Cycle readers: (it’s a small detail) did Eragon ever release himself or get released from his promise to Orik that he would bring Hrothgar’s killer to justice?

… cause if he didn’t… his relationship with Murtagh is really going to take a dip, and Eragon’s gonna have a REALLY hard time getting out of that hole.

(Thought of putting these in tags then changed my mind) Eragon’s spot moves on Murtagh’s “Shit List: People I CANNOT Trust”

Yes, Murtagh knows he killed Hrothgar, a king and ally of the Varden, heck the king who let Murtagh live within his domain instead of having the son of Morzan be executed before sundown. Sooo… yeah. Way to repay that hospitality buddy.

Basically Murtagh wants Eragon to prove he’ll have his back against people who want to put a sword through him, or take a hammer to his head. He really doesn’t want to die, doesn’t want his enemies to have the ultimate victory over him. Doesn’t want his posthumous reputation or legacy to be like that of his father. Kinda hard to redeem himself if he’s dead.

[waratah-moon]

Adoring your content! Would love to see some modern streamer!eddie teaching reader how to game!

It's actually been ages since I've played any game, let alone Skyrim so bear with me. I can just imagine Eddie being one of those people who finds it hard to watch other people play a game he knows really well. Send in requests 💌 / masterlist

"No, babe, fire is obviously bad. It's going to kill you if you don't move out of the way!" Eddie winced as a chunk of your red health bar disappeared.

After spending way too long on the character creation screen, you'd finally pressed play on Skyrim. It had only taken months of begging and hassling from Eddie to get you to sit down and play something with him.

"Do you want me to-" Eddie tried to take the controller out of your hand but you moved away.

"If you want me to play it, you're going to have to let me play it."

"But-"

"Eddie," you warned, squinting at the screen as you dodged another dragon attack.

"But I can just get passed this bit for you."

"I'm a grown ass woman, I think I can manage to not die in the prologue of a video game that came out over ten years ago."

"Fine," he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

He watched as you played, trying his best to stop himself from snatching the controller out of your hands and playing his way. You finally got to the quest where you had to climb High Hrothgar.

"Just warning you now, there's a frost troll around here that's hard to kill."

"A frost troll? If I can kill a dragon I sure as shit can kill a yeti."

You died. 7 times to be exact. Eddie tried his best to walk you through it, telling you exactly when to dodge and when to shoot it with fire.

"You do it, if you're so smart."

And he did. He didn't even kill it, just managed to sneak past it without it even noticing. "See? Easy."

"I hate you," you scowled, as he pressed a wet kiss your cheek.

[atrumvox]

Grendel is one of the most mysterious and terrifying figures in Anglo-Saxon literature, renowned for his crucial role in the epic poem "Beowulf." His story, characteristics, and narrative impact create an enduring shadow of terror and wonder that has captivated readers for centuries.

Origins and Characteristics of Grendel

Grendel is more than just a monster; he is a manifestation of pure evil, a creature cursed by his lineage. Descended from Cain, the first murderer in the Bible, Grendel is condemned to a life of exile and suffering, marked by a divine curse. This biblical origin not only condemns him to a life of isolation but also makes him a symbol of inherent sin and damnation. Grendel is described as a giant, monstrous being with superhuman strength and a deformed, terrifying appearance. His invulnerability to human weapons adds a supernatural element to his figure, making him appear invincible and even more menacing.

Imagine a dark night, the silence broken only by the sound of the wind and rustling leaves. Suddenly, from the murky marshes, Grendel emerges, driven by an unquenchable rage. Each step he takes towards Heorot, the grand mead hall of King Hrothgar, is a prelude to terror and destruction. Grendel is not just a physical monster but also a tangible representation of human fears and anxieties. His thirst for blood and hunger for human flesh make him a constant threat, a presence that cannot be ignored.

Grendel's Role in "Beowulf"

Grendel is the primary antagonist in the first part of "Beowulf," and his presence puts King Hrothgar’s kingdom to the test. Every night, the monster attacks Heorot, killing and devouring Hrothgar's warriors. This cycle of terror and death continues until Beowulf, a young Geatish hero, arrives to rid the kingdom of Grendel's curse.

The battle between Beowulf and Grendel is one of the most epic moments in the poem. Beowulf, aware of the monster’s invulnerability to weapons, decides to confront Grendel with his bare hands. It’s a raw and fierce struggle, where Beowulf's extraordinary strength clashes with Grendel's brutality. In the climax of the fight, Beowulf manages to tear off Grendel’s arm, inflicting a mortal wound. Grendel flees to his lair, where he succumbs to his injuries. This victory not only saves Hrothgar’s kingdom but also solidifies Beowulf’s reputation as a great hero.

Conclusion

Grendel is a complex and fascinating figure who embodies evil and fear in ancient Anglo-Saxon literature. His biblical origins, terrifying characteristics, and crucial role in the poem "Beowulf" make him an unforgettable character. Grendel represents the eternal struggle between good and evil, light and darkness, and the courage needed to face and overcome one's deepest fears. In this epic battle, Beowulf does not merely defeat a physical monster but also triumphs over the inner shadows that threaten the human soul.

[eliza-makepeace]

One thing that annoys me about paolini's writing is that he keeps telling instead of showing, and sometimes when he tells, what you see is actually the opposite of what he's trying to show.

I'm in the middle of my read of brisingr and when eragon has to go see orik, who's going to become the leader of his clan after hrothgars death, the narration keeps explicitly pointing out which characters are okay, which ones aren't, which ones are untrustworthy.... Instead of having them do stuff that makes the readers realize this without having to actually spell it out for us. The worst thing is that it kind of backfires at some points, because it feels like he's trying to convince you, but not showing why you should believe it.

Like, the elves (again, lmao). He keeps trying to convince the reader they're wise, and intelligent and whatever else, and either he doesn't actually have them be any of those things or, in trying to make them be them, he makes them insufferable.

Dude! Just show them do the things, and we'll make up our mind about it.

[akirakirxaa]

“get off them!” For Solus/Valeria?

[Prompt list here! Funny I got this one, I'd actually been playing with a kidnapping plot for their story cause despite my distaste for damsels in distress I also love the 'touch her and I'll kill you' trope so. In the interest of not being too long, Valeria has been kidnapped by some resistance fighters from Bozja who intended to torture her for military information. Due to themes of torture reader discretion advised. Enjoy!]

Valeria's whole world had narrowed down to pain, pain, pain. She'd given up counting the scrapes, cuts, bruises, and burns littering her skin. The night shift she'd been taken in was little more than tattered rags, stained by sweat, dirt, and blood. Though she was locked securely in a windowless room, she was also chained to the wall, shackles on her wrists keeping her upright on her tip toes when all she wanted to do was rest. Her right arm twinged with agony every time she tried to move it, so she tried to lift herself with just her other arm by the chains to keep weight off the right.

Her tormentor from the past several days, a huge hrothgar who's name she still didn't know, grabbed her by the throat, lifting her enough that she couldn't quite reach the floor. She scrabbled for the chain, trying to lift herself enough to breathe.

"I told you, I'm not involved with...military..." she rasped out. She'd lost count of how many times she'd told her captors that she didn't attend military meetings with her husband, she didn't know where their troops were stationed or battle strategies.

"Then there's no reason to keep you, is there?" he snarled at her, eyes full of disgust, and she knew he wasn't talking about letting her go home. She kicked out at him, but days of no food and limited water left her with little strength to fight him off.

"If you value your life, I would suggest getting off her." For a moment, Valeria thought she was hallucinating, but as her captor turned to face the voice, she was able to look past to see Solus standing in the doorway, an entourage of soldiers behind him and face cold with murderous intent. The hrothgar squeezed his hand more tightly, and somewhere beyond the blood roaring in her ears she heard the distinct sound of a gunshot, and her tormentor collapsed. Before she could gasp for breath though, white fire lanced up her right arm as she fell limply against her chains, and she only distantly recognized the screech of agony that ripped from her own throat.

"Secure him on the airship. I'll deal with him personally when we've returned," Solus ordered coldly, glaring down at the hrothgar in disdain as the former torturer clutched at his bleeding knee and growled his pain through grit teeth. The emperor strode past him, smoothly stooping briefly to take the key from the man's hip, before attending to his injured wife.

"I'm sorry it took so long to find you," he murmured, just for her ears, as he braced her against himself, one hand keeping pressure on her back while his other worked to free her hands from their shackles. As he worked, she buried her face in his shoulder and no matter how much she wanted to act like she was fine, now that she was safe the sobs welled up and escaped without her permission.

Once she was free he carefully wrapped her in his coat, the warmth reminding her how cold the room was, a cold she'd become numb to when everything else was worse. Solus scooped her up in his arms and where she normally would protest that she could walk just fine thank you very much, now she clung to him like a lifeline, good hand gripping his shirt while she shrank into his coat, as if to hide from anyone that might see her in such a state. She was only vaguely aware of how badly she was shaking.

He murmured quiet assurances to her, paying little attention to the soldiers escorting them back to the airship, and in her state she didn't see the furious flames blazing in his eyes.

[windupnamazu]

smells like sardine spirit!

ffxivwrite2023 #07: noisome having an extremely offensive smell.

Lunya, @hqmillioncorn's Babycorn and Cherrypit, and @perrytheplatyborg's Himbo Hooters. A Realm Reborn, flowrverse (shitpost flavour). 1155wc. ⮞ A little deodorant would go a long way, but I'm not sure you'd remember what that is either.

It was a normal day in the Lavender Beds. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Babycorn Corn was eating mud.

Just last week, «flowr»'s FC hall finally finished construction after a gruelling week of its members running around gathering as much gil as they could. The very last of it came from Lunya, who apparently squeezed an Ul'dahn merchant so dry she came back with not just his gil but the clothes he was wearing that day and the rights to his nextborn child, the contract of which she promptly set on fire. While the house was fully built, what it wasn't was furnished, and with no kitchen to dig through the cupboards of and unwilling to swallow her pride and ask anyone for lunch, Babycorn did what she did best: improvising food.

"Thish mud's pretty tashty," she told her baby brother between mouthfuls of the wet dirt. Cherry babbled a giggle out as he slapped his oversized sleeves to the ground, splashing their midday meal onto his face. "But itsh kinda hot today, ishn't it?"

It was an impressive 32 degrees Celsius, of which the Eorzean equivalent is unknown to me, reader, and remarkably humid. It had rained that morning and left the Shroud quite muggy.

As the siblings alternated between rolling around in the mud and eating it they didn't notice the hulking figure stumbling up the hill towards the cottage, water and mud dripping from his form with each tired step as he searched for sanctuary. As he reached the gate he teetered and fell straight through it and into the middle of Babycorn and Cherrypit's lunch with a huge splash.

"So… hungry…" he moaned into the mud with a horribly deep rumble of his stomach.

Babycorn's pom nearly flew off her head in alarm, kept on her head simply because it was weighed down only by the layer of mud he splashed on her.

"MONSTER?!" she shrieked, diving for Cherry and whisking them both out of their puddle.

Snapping into consciousness, the so-called monster straightened up and looked around in a panic, mud dripping from pearly white fangs. "MONSTER? WHERE?" the monster shouted, only to be hit once more by the sheer heat of the day and how dehydrated and hungry he was. His head hit the mud once more with an exhausted groan.

"Babagaga," Cherry said wisely from the safety of his sister's arms.

"Oh, not a monster?" Babycorn wondered, poking the not-monster with the toe of her boot. "...Do you think it's edible?"

Moments later Lunya rounded the corner carrying a tower of cardboard boxes taller than Vertical Height herself, which she promptly dropped upon seeing Babycorn about to take a bite out of some stinky and unconscious stranger. She started caterwauling, sprinting towards them at an impressive speed for a girl wearing stiletto boots on wet grass for some reason.

"BABYCORN CORN," Lunya howled, shaking a fist in the air, "PUT THAT THING DOWN, YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE IT'S BEEN!"

"Party pooper," muttered Babycorn, blowing her bangs out of her eyes as she dropped the arm of what upon closer look was a sopping wet catman. No, not the Miqo'te kind, but a larger, fuzzier variety.

Lunya came to a screeching stop next to them. The mudcatthing was snoring away, blowing bubbles into the mud in a way that would have been comical if it wasn't ruining some perfectly good food. She grimaced at its filthy appearance and the bizarre smell radiating off him. "What's a Hrothgar doing in our yard? And why does he smell like he dove through a fish market's post-closing garbage processing center?!"

"Beats me," huffed Babycorn, already uninterested since she wasn't allowed to eat the guy.

"He doesn't seem injured," Lunya said contemplatively. "Just… stinky." With a whirl of her pointer finger a hose came flying around the corner of the house followed by bottles of dog shampoo and conditioner. "If he has to lie unconscious in our yard he should at least have the decency to smell nice while doing it."

Babycorn hissed at the hose as it passed by, which Lunya thought was a nice bit of character development from the last time she had to bring the hose out and Babycorn tried to bite it. Setting the nozzle to 'angle', Lunya hit the Hrothgar with a blast of water.

"BWHHHHBWHWHBBRHHBWHWW," the Hrothgar spat, sitting upright in confusion as he was assaulted with each of the settings on Lunya's latest beloved acquisition from the Gridanian garden centre while she looked for the best one.

"Oh, you're alive!" Lunya said cheerily. "Cherry, do you wanna soap him up?"

"Sop, sop!" Cherry agreed. Or maybe he was saying soup. That was a bit more concerning. Either way, he took one of the floating bottles of dog shampoo and handed it to Babycorn, who uncapped it, handed it back to him, and took four steps back. There was no way she was going to get forcibly given a bath today, no sir!

Cherry promptly dumped half the bottle onto the Hrothgar's knee.

"Would you mind getting out of the mud for me?" Lunya asked the Hrothgar, who was only getting increasingly more confused by this bizarre turn of events. "It's kind of making the whole point of this moot."

"Uh, okay?" the Hrothgar said, and he got up and walked over to a clean patch of grass dripping dog shampoo and mud and water with Lunya and Cherrypit following behind.

"So, what's your story?" Lunya asked conversationally as she rinsed him down and revealed he was, in fact, really a Hrothgar. "Got drunk at the Mirror Planks and fell overboard and washed up here? Alcohol abuse is bad, you know. You got a name?"

"Ba!" echoed Cherry.

The Hrothgar stammered. "H… H… Something with an H…Hem… Him…?"

"Bo," Cherry said with a satisfied nod.

"Himbo?" Lunya wrinkled her nose. "Weird name. I mean, I guess we have a Vertical and a B'ig and a Babycorn, so it's not really that weird in the grand scheme of things—"

"My name is not weird!" Babycorn cried, stomping her boot in the mud and splashing more of it up her leg. "Your name is weird!"

"And you're getting a bath next," Lunya threatened, turning and pointing the hose at her. Babycorn screamed.

"I don't, um, really remember anything," 'Himbo' admitted over Babycorn's furious shrieks that no, no, no, you can't clean me! Na na na na na! I hope you trip and slide on a soap bar!!! "Who I am or where I came from or, uh, why I'm being given a bath. I just know that I'm hungry."

"Well, we can fix that last part, at least," said Lunya. "You wouldn't be the first amnesiac we've taken into our fold. How do burgers sound?"

"What's a burger?"

"Lunya," Babycorn gritted out from behind the tree she was now hiding behind, "this is dire."

[theravenpiper]

Real Names in Fantasy

One problem with real world names in fantasy is that they often carry associations that you do not intend, and even contradict what you hope to portray. That can take some readers right out of the story. Just look at Robert E. Howard or, more recently, Sarah J. Maas.

Another problem is that they reflect poorly on the writer. They look lazy. Even worse, for those who know the origins of the real world names, it looks like the writer thinks readers are too ignorant to see the borrowing.

You can probably get away with exotic common names, like Justin or Damian, that are not associated with any well-known art. But names like Guinevere or Hrothgar? Best to avoid them except in a deliberate parody.

[inkveined]

❝ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒊𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒊 𝒂𝒎 𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒔. ❞

hello! i’m ciel/vil/saint, i’m 23 and i am a wolship/npcwol enthusiast. i am also an aymeric de borel and elezen enjoyer first, human second. i’ve noticed tumblr is lacking in ffxiv x reader content so i’ve decided to help remedy that! i will write for gender neutral and fem readers only, just about any race for the wol with the exception of hrothgar and lalafell, and kink except for scat, emeto, futa, furry/anthro (omegaverse is okay). if unsure of a kink, ask! characters i write for can be found here. i ask that minors do not interact with any of my works— including those of a sfw nature. this is just for personal comfort.

my ffxiv masterlist can be found here.

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄: CLOSED !!

📨 𝐈𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐗: 3

📝 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓: ishgardian trio and the moment they fell for the wol, ishgardian trio morning routines, haurchefant x gn!wol angst (ft. aymeric x gn!wol)

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 — do not plagiarize, repost, use my writing for AI, or translate my works without permission.

[argisthebulwark]

TES Summer Fest Day One: Breath/Forbidden

summary: Despite a relationship with Miraak being forbidden by the Greybeards, the Last Dragonborn cannot seem to keep away from him. f!reader/Miraak, no gendered pronouns or y/n used. warnings: explicit sexual content - minors should not read or engage with this post. consensual choking, light hurt/comfort, a dash of rejection sensitivity if u squint. @tes-summer-fest TES Summerfest Masterlist

"We can't keep doing this."

Miraak's words are panted into the sweaty skin of your neck, punctuated by a strangled whimper as your hips buck against his. Hungry hands betray his words when they claw at your back in complete desperation for more contact.

"Quiet down - you'll get us caught." You grumble and leave a biting kiss to the delicious muscle of his chest. He's plucking your robes from your form so easily, a movement he's perfected over the dozens of visits. Each time you slip through the monastery's hefty stone doors you vow that this will be the last time, yet your resolve crumbles the moment his lips are on you.

"You're the one begging me to fuck you." Miraak's taunt sends that familiar tangle of annoyance and arousal pounding through your body, egged on by his hips grinding into yours. "'Hurry, Miraak - want you so bad.' Always in such a rush." He tsks, though the first thrust of his cock steals whatever barb you'd intended to throw his way. "Gods, I've missed you."

Each movement is rushed - there is no time for softness. Miraak's hips snap into yours and drive his cock deeper into your cunt, every sense overwhelmed by him. His whispered encouragements drown out the peaceful shiver of wind through old trees and your nose fills with his scent - old books and fancy ink. He balances you there, back pressed to the chilly stone of High Hrothgar's intimidating staircase and front melting completely into his body. Snow crunches under his boots but the chill cannot reach you, not when your breath is mingling and sweaty skin sticks together.

His name escapes your lips, a broken whisper and plead for more he instantly understands. Each frenzied thrust of his hips adds to the delicious arousal pooling deep in your gut but it isn't enough - your brain is too fried to summon the words but of course he just knows. Calloused fingers dance up your chest and along your clavicle, leaving a trail of goosebumps everywhere he traces before they close around your throat. It's just enough to make your eyes roll back, spine shivering as white hot need steals through your mind.

"Yes," you keen, head tilting back in a silent demand for more. Never in your life have you felt like this; your Thu'um a constant reminder that you are unlike everyone else in your life until you met him. The same power resonates behind each word he speaks, only he can make you feel somewhat normal. Miraak's fingers add just enough pressure to make you a tad lightheaded, each breath coming out as raspy praise.

"You look so lovely like this, my dragon." He murmurs with surprising tenderness. From under lidded eyes you catch sight of his expression; cheeks flushed and pupils blow wide, his pretty lips parted and dark eyes shimmering with unabashed adoration. Only in these moments is he so unguarded to let you see that he wants you as badly as you want him. For a few minutes when he drives you dangerously close to orgasming you want to throw it all away - the Greybeards, the prophecy, Skyrim and it's impossible civil war that's been dropped at your feet - none of it means anything compared to the way Miraak gazes at you.

"Cum for me, my heart." Miraak's low voice rumbles through your chest and it's all you need. Your exhausted mind shuts down when his fingers squeeze just a tad more, cock buried deep in you against that perfect spot that leaves you seeing stars when you come undone for him. His lips find yours and he's swallowing the needy, wanton sounds that will surely give away your location but you can't be bothered to care. All you can think about is the toes curling in your boots and each muscle in your tired body contacting just from his touch, that knot of arousal finally exploding as he finds his release.

On unsteady feet you balance between your sworn enemy and the old temple you've accepted as your home. Your hazy mind is puzzled by his presence - usually in this moment he is drawing his robes closed once more and making a hasty exit. Yet he remains, arms lowering to cradle you closer and surprisingly tender kisses placed along your jaw.

"You alright?" You clear your throat, though cannot refuse the allure of wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Compared to your almost seamlessly timed orgasms only moments ago the way his nose nuzzles into your throat feels dangerously intimate.

"My dragon." He murmurs the pet name, hot breath fanning across the sensitive skin of your shoulder. "I cannot keep doing this."

Tears prick at your eyes as a flood of rejection sweeps away the usual contentment of his presence. Suddenly feeling too cold you begin to withdraw from him, struggling to speak around that fucking knot in your throat.

"Oh." You clear your throat again, trying to right yourself despite the mess of your robes. You can feel the marks of his teeth over your skin, spotting the tracks of your nails down his chest in the watery moonlight but they suddenly seem to be mocking you.

"Can you?" There's a hidden question under his words that you cannot discern. Despite the way he kneels, dark eyes pleading with you to understand you can't meet his gaze. You feel too vulnerable, too open.

"No, I suppose not." You gulp, shaky fingers trying to retie your robes. A flare of anger flashes through what feels terribly like grief when you swat away Miraak's attempts to aid you - you do not need his help moments after stomaching his rejection.

"How do we move on from here?" His thumb traces down your cheek, warm palm cupping your face in another silent plead for eye contact.

"If you no longer wish to continue this, you have no reason to visit here." Your tone is clipped, severe. It sounds harsh in your own ears when you struggle with the sash at your waist but it's all you can do to keep from crying in front of him.

"My dragon - what in the world do you mean?"

"You can't keep doing this." You sniffle back your tears, finally glaring up at him. There's still color in his cheeks though those eyes seem shocked. "Then why are you still here?"

"I cannot keep seeing you only in the middle of the night." Miraak crowds close to you again, that velvety smooth voice making your heart race. Blessedly ungloved hands cup your face and his nose brushing against yours feels almost like love. "I cannot withstand these lonely days of pretending that I do not care for you."

"You care for me?" It seems so childish to ask of the man minutes after he was inside of you but your conversation has never been this candid. Taunts and flirty banter have been your only means of communication, this depth is new.

"I crave more of you." He murmurs against your lips. "All of you."

"It is forbidden."

"Yet, despite all the rules - my feelings for you persist."

[richardmtrask1]

Read short stories by Richard M. Trask!!!

Grendel, the fearsome monster from the epic poem Beowulf, is a character deeply rooted in mythology and literature. He is depicted as a descendant of the biblical Cain, cursed and exiled from society, forever condemned to a life of darkness and violence. Grendel's portrayal symbolizes the forces of chaos, destruction, and the eternal struggle between good and evil.

In Beowulf, Grendel is described as a grotesque creature, haunting the mead hall of King Hrothgar, known as Heorot. He is driven by a deep-seated rage and jealousy towards the joy and camaraderie that he witnesses within the hall. Night after night, He terrorizes the warriors, gruesomely slaughtering them in their sleep, leaving a trail of bloodshed and despair in his wake.

However, Grendel is not merely a mindless monster. He possesses a complex and tormented psyche. He is portrayed as a creature isolated from society, despised and rejected by humans. His isolation fuels his anger and bitterness, leading him to seek solace in violence and destruction. Grendel's character thus explores themes of alienation, existential angst, and the inherent darkness that can reside within the human condition.

Grendel's encounters with the hero Beowulf form the centerpiece of the epic poetry. Beowulf, a mighty warrior, travels from Geatland to defeat the monster and protect King Hrothgar's people. Their epic battles highlight the contrasting forces of good and evil. Grendel, despite his strength and ferocity, is ultimately defeated by Beowulf's unwavering bravery and physical prowess. The poem suggests that even the most formidable evil can be overcome through courage and righteousness.

What makes Grendel a compelling character is his ability to evoke sympathy and provoke deeper philosophical questions. He represents the darkness that exists within all individuals and raises existential queries about the nature of evil, the purpose of existence, and the limits of human morality. Grendel's perspective challenges the readers' assumptions and invites them to reflect on the complexities of the human condition.

Grendel's legacy extends beyond Beowulf. His character has inspired numerous adaptations and reinterpretations in modern literature, art, and film. Authors and artists continue to explore the psychological depths of Grendel's torment, offering different perspectives on his motivations and the meaning behind his actions.

In conclusion, Grendel is a captivating character in the epic poem Beowulf. He embodies the forces of chaos and darkness, symbolizing the eternal struggle between good and evil. Through his complex nature and existential angst, It challenges readers to delve into profound philosophical questions and contemplate the depths of human morality. His character's enduring popularity testifies to the enduring allure of ancient myths and their ability to resonate with audiences across centuries.

Richard M. Trask’s A telling experience include short stories about a train, a cat and the Twilight Zone in real. 

[finalfantasyxivwritings]

If you’re accepting them, could I get some headcanons about Urianger in a relationship with a hrothgar!wol?

Urianger is a tall man—it’s not that hard to be, considering he is an elezen. They are quite tall when compared to a lot of other races save for a few who are equal or taller yet; hrothgars happen to be one of them. So if the warrior of light happens to be a hrothgar, they would be of the very few members of the Scions who might need to look down when speaking to Urianger. This might not seem like an unusual detail—perhaps not even something worth noticing in most cases. But for a warrior of light who happens to *also* be Urianger’s romantic partner, this bit of information becomes a bit more developed, even if it might take a little while to notice.

It’s so easy to leave Urianger flustered when he has to peer up at you. Though the man can be a bounty of words beyond measure, all it takes is reaching your hand into his hair and tilting his head back for each and every word to be entirely useless. You don’t even have to kiss him! Just the notion, mayhap even the reminder that he is matched or more in terms of height alone…perhaps it is a form of comfort to him. It’s not often that Urianger is allowed to feel small, emotionally or otherwise.

Being a member of the Scions—and a long-standing one at that—can leave anyone feeling alone and without support in some respect. Urianger especially has been put in a position of solitude many times over. So maybe that’s why his cheeks flush and his words go soft whenever you curl a claw beneath his chin and turn his lips up to yours.

Whenever he is taking the time to read, the urge to lay your head upon his lap may be strong, near-impossible to ignore. Whenever you do find yourself happily napping across the man’s legs, he’s one to idly start running his hands through your hair and fur alike in gentle shapes and symbols you never have the mind to think about. If Urianger is particularly enthralled in whatever he is currently reading, he’ll even start playing with your ears; tracing around the shell and feeling them flick softly against his palms. Perhaps the sensation grounds him, or perhaps he simply likes the excuse of having both partner and Oversized Cat(tm) to keep him warm.

That said, Urianger can and WILL use you for heat whenever the two of you share a bed. The man almost always runs terribly cold, and the fact is only made worse by the fact that he tends to favor aesthetics than function for his outfits. There have been plenty of times that you had woken in the middle of the night to find the man completely cuddled into you, limbs and all, and perhaps even then still shivering from a slight chill in the night air. Nothing another blanket and an extra-warm bed-partner can’t fix!

If you want to hear him go completely frazzled, just bridal-carry him. Offer Urianger absolutely no warning whatsoever; just pluck the man off the ground and listen as he suddenly loses the ability to form proper words entirely… while being very careful in not asking you to put him down.

[hurtlikeawarehouse]

My Anglo-Saxon is incredibly poor/rusty these days, but I think Éomer meaning something like 'horse-famed' fits very well into Old English poetic hero naming conventions. But also, 'horse-boundary' would cognate with Merry's name in multiple ways - relevant for Merry becoming a vassal or international representative of The Mark (an epithet for Rohan which again cognates with both Merry's name and Éomer's, and denotes the country's boundaries) under Éomer's kingship. In addition to merely the phonological cognate of the 'translation' from Westron as 'Merry':

the final element in 'Kalimac' (Merry's name in Westron) still cognates with both 'Mark' and the abandoned (by JRRT) 'translation' of Merry's surname as 'Marchbuck'.

'March' here meaning 'the march along the border', as in 'Westmarch', and connected to 'The Mark'.

'mǣre' meaning 'excellent' or 'famous' cognates with 'Merry' (and Westron 'Kali') meaning 'jolly' inasmuch as denoting celebration (cf. English 'celebrity').

'Marchbuck' was abandoned in favour of 'Brandybuck' in order to cognate with the Brandywine River, the regional boundary for which the Brandybucks/Marchbucks were renamed (from Oldbuck), which also both connotes celebratory libations, and cognates with the original Sindarin 'Baranduin'.

It may be worth noting for readers with rhotic accents that Tolkien's own accent would have seen 'Mark' pronounced /mɑ:k/ and thus the '-mac' element of 'Kalimac' may be more closely related to it than otherwise apparent.

According to Tolkien Gateway, 'Meriadoc' is a Welsh name meaning 'great lord', with 'mawr' arguably cognating with the Anglo-Saxon 'mǣre'. (My Welsh is even worse than my Anglo-Saxon.)

For me, perhaps somewhat simplistically, the appearance of Meduseld recalls Heorot, and the first element of Hrothgar's name meaning 'famous' seems to jibe well with Éomer's name being at least vaguely similar, especially with the figures of the Fellowship appearing to this ambiguously Germanic border nation as heroes to rid them of an enchanted enemy recently plaguing the land.

What I'm really saying is that I think 'Éomer' being a pun that means 'I am excellent' but also 'horse-famed' and 'horse-boundary' at once (and even 'horse-(fem)horse') would not have been lost on JRRT, and was likely quite intentional. Similarly, Éowyn's name absolutely does mean 'horse-girl', as it cognates with both the Anglo-Saxon 'cwen' and perhaps more importantly the Sindarin '-wen' (cf. Arwen). Though I will concede the second element of Éowyn's name may also mean 'hope' or 'joy'; in The Cottage Of Lost Play, an early draft of the legendarium, JRRT used '-wine' to mean 'friend' in the name of Ælfwine, so Éowyn could even suggest 'friend of horses'.

Help I’ve hit Rohan and it’s like watching Fullmetal Alchemist in English… this is our military dictator, firstname King… everyone else is named after a WWII fighter jet but don’t worry about it… only this experience is packed in alongside some of the most beautiful, lifechanging prose you’ve ever seen in your life. Again not unlike. Fullmetal Alchemist.

[moorishflower]

Beowulf says "your borderline-suicidal warrior culture is self defeating and your noble last stand has ultimately doomed your people to slavery and exile" and then expects the reader to feel remotely normal afterwards. I think about it every time someone does something unwisely sacrificial in a movie.

hey let's talk about how Heorot was besieged by Grendel for twelve years before Beowulf even heard about Hrothgar's plight

and how the mead-hall is specifically said to be standing EMPTY by the end of those twelve years, and people have just been. abandoning ship.

hey while we're at it we can also talk about how in the final battle against the dragon, the Geats' response to Beowulf's death isn't "aw dang, our rad king is dead" it's "our rad king is dead and now there is no one to defend us from invaders"

lotta stuff in here about the inherent failure of the noble class to be able to defend the common people.

[thefreelanceangel]

Describe the place where they sleep!

With five people in the polycule and two children in the house--not to mention one very, very fat and very, very spoiled cat--it's logical to have an Extremely Large Bed for the master bedroom.

An Alaska King is 9'x9' -- the Catte House bed is about 10'x10' and takes up fully half of the room.

With one Hrothgar and two miqo'te regularly sharing the bed (including up to two children and one Fat Fuck Cat) it requires a LOT of room for everyone to be able to spread out comfortably and sleep in isolation if that's what they prefer. C'allie is a sprawler, so it saves Targur and Lulu some trouble if they can scoot to one side and let her limbs flap around without hitting them.

Cuddling, of course, is easily done and a large bed means everyone can shuffle around to cuddle up against whomever they want.

The bed also often holds at least one other husband--usually Thrav, but also Zale on regular intervals--so it needs enough space to let those feeling amorous shift over and give those who are tired space to sleep. (Or lure them into participating.) And, of course, Dumpling needs to be able to move around to find his own specific isolated spot to sleep.

At least until someone is just about to wake up, in which case Dumpling immediately relocates himself and all of his girth directly onto their bladder.

A bookcase forms most of the headboard because C'allie is a voracious reader who stocks a wide variety of books for her spouses' enjoyment. Targur is slowly becoming more comfortable with reading and writing, so he's got a section all for himself. The horrible romance novels that Zale and Thrav both enjoy are readily available, as well as a few sex manuals C'allie likes to put ratings in.

Windows, other furnishings and coloring of the room are all subject to change depending on C'allie's most recent financial windfall and remodeling urges. Which is why the bed is the main feature -- it's the one thing that never changes.