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kckt88 · 5 months

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Gēlenka Zaldrīzes III.

Summary:

Events of Dynasty through Aemond's POV.

Warning(s): Grief, Worry, Anger, Threats of Violence, Mention of Child Loss, Mentions of Sex, Child Birth, Blood.

Word Count: 3100.

Author Note: A companion piece to Courtship/Wedding & Consummation/Bath Time/Arrival(s)/Mother & Father/Petitions & Final Tributes/The Hand, The King & The Dragon/Dragonstone/Blood & Cheese/A Time for Grief/ Rooks Rest & the Silver King/The Gullet/Taking of a City/Harrenhal and the Rivers/The Gods Eye/The Fallen Queen/New Beginnings/Ravenous/Don't Leave Me/Another Plane of Existence/Gēlenka Zaldrīzes I & Gēlenka Zaldrīzes II.

But can be read as a one-shot.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Aemond was staring at Vaera like she had three heads.

His sweet wife, who was heavy with their child, had just decided to inform him that she had beseeched the King for clemency on behalf of her bastard brother Jacaerys.

“He doesn’t deserve one single ounce of your kindness”.

“Nothing will ever change my love, not unless we are the ones who are willing to make those changes” whispered Vaera as she pressed her face against his chest.

“But he-“

“-Please Valzȳrys. My term is almost upon us, and I want to rejoice in the birth of our child, not spend it inciting another war” replied Vaera (Husband).

“Like the bastard could muster up anyone to support his cause” muttered Aemond rolling his eye.

“Cregan Stark would and with him the rest of the North would follow” whispered Vaera.

“Pfft, the Lord of Winterfell is of little concern to me”.

“He swore an oath to my mother, the Stark’s are honourable men” said Vaera quietly as she fiddled with a buckle on his tunic.

“I’ll introduce him to Vhagar, let’s see how honourable the northern dog is then”.

“Cregan Stark is of no concern, now that Jace has bent the knee” muttered Vaera.

“He what?” exclaimed Aemond.

“Aegon the younger and Viserys were offered in exchange”.

“Has my brother lost his wits” gasped Aemond.

“What other fate could have befallen the boys? They are but children, innocent of their parents crimes”.

“Children who will grown into men” whispered Aemond.

“Aegon also granted Jace possession of Dragonstone”.

“The ancestral seat of house Targaryen has the wine finally addled his brain?” asked Aemond.

“Jace needs somewhere to live, or would you rather have him here in the Red Keep?”

“I’d rather chew glass” quipped Aemond.

“Look, I know this isn’t ideal, but we must accept it” breathed Vaera.

“Why do I feel like there’s something else you need to tell me?”

“Jace has asked that the King legitimize Cregan Stark’s younger sister Sara-” said Vaera.

“-And the point of that is?” asked Aemond.

“Surely, you’ve heard the rumours my love. Sara Snow is currently with child”.

“Bastards producing more bastards. Not exactly the sort of palace gossip I keep up to date with. I couldn’t give one single shit about where your brother sticks his cock” said Aemond.

“Aegon wanted Jace to bend the knee and he has. He’s been made aware of the consequences if he dares to entertain even the briefest of notions about reclaiming the Iron Throne. Aegon and Viserys will be executed in front of him” replied Vaera.

“I still don’t like it. My brother should just execute the lot of them and be done with it”.

“I’m tired of all the death Aemond, I just want to be at peace with our children” said Vaera.

Aemond knew he was fighting a losing battle.

Deep down he wanted exactly what his wife wanted. The war had taken so much from them, and he just wanted to look to the future.

But before that could happen there was still much to be done.

Reconstituting the council had been an arduous task, but somehow Aegon had managed it. Of course, having two of the largest dragons in the world in his corner helped to move things along.

But Aegon ruffled a few feathers, when he named Aemond as Hand of the King, Vaera his Mistress of Laws and offered Jeyne Arryn a place on the council.

Of course his generosity with Jacaerys didn't go down to well either, there were those that believed Rhaenyra's last strong bastard should be cast to the winds and exiled across the narrow sea with his bastard wife and offspring. But Aegon was unmoved and many on the council chastised the King being too soft hearted.

Clearly Aegon wasn’t finished with his little revelations as he had refused point blank to take another wife and sire anymore children and he also casually announced to his entire council that he was naming Rhaegar as heir to the Iron Throne and betrothing him to his daughter Jaehaera.

He had planned on having an official ceremony, but that would have to wait as Vaera had begun her labours.

Aemond hated seeing his wife in pain.

It made his heartbreak to know there wasn’t anything he could do.

“I-I can’t do this,” cried Vaera.

“Yes, you can” exclaimed Aemond as he climbed onto the bed at sat behind Vaera.

“W-What are you doing?” muttered Vaera.

“Lean against me and take my hands” urged Aemond as he pulled Vaera between his open legs.

“A-Aemond” gasped Vaera.

“Now, you squeeze my hands as hard as you like” said Aemond.

Vaera was sweaty and exhausted, but she took a deep breath and as the next contraction ripped across her stomach, she pushed.

“FUCK!”

"Keep going my sweet you’re doing great" said Aemond.

"I'M GOING TO CUT YOUR COCK OFF!" screamed Vaera.

"Oh, my love, surely you don't mean that".

"I do. This is ALL your fault,” cried Vaera.

"Another push Princess"

“I swear if you say push one more time. I'll feed you too my Cannibal” snarled Vaera.

“The head is out Princess, but I need you to stop pushing. The cord is wrapped around the babe’s neck” exclaimed Maester Munkun.

“W-What” cried Vaera in alarm.

“It’s ok. Issa dōna ābrazȳrys. Just breathe” said Aemond (My sweet wife).

After a few moments, the Maester had managed to cut the cord from the babe’s neck and with a wet squelch the babe arrived.

But the room was silent.

“M-My babe?” asked Vaera her hands raised in expectation of receiving her babe.

“Just a moment” replied Maester Munkun as the babe was lifted off the bed.

“What’s happening?” yelled Vaera, her hands still grasping endlessly for her babe.

“Why is the babe not crying? What’s happening?” exclaimed Aemond.

“Aemond” sobbed Vaera, her entire body shaking.

But Aemond could only sit in silence as he watched the Maester try to save his newly born babe.

Vaera began wailing loudly in anguish, as the seconds passed.

Aemond’s heart was in his throat as the Maester did everything he could to stimulate the silent babe.

“No. Please. Don’t take my babe. Not again. I can’t lose another babe” sobbed Vaera.

Aemond buried his face in Vaera’s shoulder as he tried to stop the tears from flowing down his cheeks.

The wait was agony. His babe unmoving and lifeless in the arms of the Maester.

But then the sweetest sound in the world echoed around the room.

A loud shrieking cry.

“A daughter” declared the Maester.

Vaera all but snatched the crying babe away from Maester Munkun and sobbed.

“T-Thank you Maester” breathed Vaera, the tears streaming down her face.

“Your welcome Princess” replied Maester Munkun.

“S-She’s ok. Aemond, look” gasped Vaera.

Aemond let out a sob of relief as he gazed at his squalling daughter.

“My daughter. She’s ok. She’s alive. Thank the gods” gasped Aemond.

“She’s beautiful” cried Vaera as she stroked her daughter’s head.

“What shall we call her?” asked Aemond.

“Vharla” whispered Vaera.

“A-After my dragon?”

“I know how much Vhagar means too you and I wish to honour your old girl” replied Vaera.

Aemond’s heart burst with pride.

“So perfect” whispered Vaera.

“I’m so proud of you Issa prūmia” (my heart).

“I love you” muttered Vaera.

“-And I love you. My sweet perfect wife.” praised Aemond as he nuzzled Vaera’s neck.

“Would you like you hold your daughter?”

“Please” whispered Aemond as he manoeuvred himself away from Vaera and climbed off the bed.

Their daughter. They’d almost lost her. But she’s here. She’s safe.

Nestled in her father’s arms, Vharla had opened her eyes and Aemond’s heart stopped.

Those eyes. The colour of dark amethyst.

Exactly like her big brother’s.

She had Aemon’s eyes.

Their next babe, a boy named Caelan in honour of the Cannibal arrived in the world with relative ease, according to Aemond anyway.

As soon as he was delivered, the boy cried so loud that Aemond was sure the entire population of Kings Landing could hear him.

Caelan was such an easy babe, he slept and remained content as long as he was fed, warm and kept entertained.

He seemed to have developed a fascination with Rhaegar and would only sleep if his older brother was close by.

Which of course made Rhaegar feel special.

Vharla of course was indifferent and didn’t care for the drooling stinker she had to call brother.

Given they were so close in age, you’d think that they would get along, but sadly they didn’t as Vharla preferred to spend time with her grandmother most days.

Aegar’s birth however now that was eventful.

Vaera had gone beyond her term and there were some concerns expressed by the Maester’s over the health of both mother and babe, but Vaera remained steadfast in her view that the boy would simply come when he was ready.

Of course, doing things to help him along wasn’t an issue either as Aemond regularly found himself pressed against the bed as his wife rode him like a dragon.

Not that he minded at all, any excuse to stick his cock inside his wife was good enough for him.

On the day of Aegar’s birth, Vaera had been attending a council meeting with Aegon over some new tax laws that he wanted to implement. The other council members were not required to attend which in hindsight was probably a good thing.

Vaera had been experiencing pain on and off for most of the morning, but nothing seemed to progress, until of course she heard the splash of her water’s breaking and not even an hour later, Vaera was perched on the council table as she gave birth.

With no time to summon the Maester’s or midwives, Aegon had to be the one to support Vaera through the pain and ultimately help deliver the babe.

Upon his return from flying with Vhagar, Aemond was racing to the council chambers, to be greeted by the sounds of a crying babe.

Aemond would never forget the look on his older brother’s face as he leant against the wall, his hands shaking and his face much paler than usual.

Aegon admittedly saw more of Vaera that day than he ever wanted too.

But in the spirit of names, Vaera decided to honour her good brother, and named the babe Aegar.

Aegon was so unbelievably happy that he threw a celebration so grand that he was still recovering from the effects of the wine that he’d consumed almost a week later.

Maella was the next babe to be born, she didn’t cry at all. Not even when she was born, she was such a quite little thing, that Aemond often had to put his hand on her to make sure she was breathing.

Even though she was almost six name days older, Vharla had more of a positive opinion of her little sister, she didn't refer to her as drooling stinker which was quite positive.

Now she wasn’t the only girl, and it pleased her immensely.

Rhaegar as the oldest took it in his stride, another member of the family to love and cherish.

As much as he would join his father in his training sessions, he would also spend time with his mother and help take care of the newest babe.

He would spend hours sitting by Maella’s cradle, reading to her, and telling her about Aemon.

When Aemon had died, Rhaegar had only been two name days old, but he remembered his brother so vividly, that it was almost like he was still here.

Caelan of course followed Rhaegar everywhere, idolising his older brother and Aegar just liked to dig around in the gardens looking for bugs.

Which kept both Aemond and Vaera on their toes as more than once he tried to eat them.

Jaerys was the next babe too arrive, born in the middle of one of the worst storms that Kings Landing had ever seen.

Which of course Vaera attributed to his fearsome nature. Even on the day he was born, it always seemed like he had this perpetual scowl on his face that never seemed to go way unless he was with his grandmother.

He definitely had a soft spot for her, and he would often be found sitting beside her as she told him stories and taught him how to braid hair.

Alicent loved all her grandchildren, but she definitely had a soft spot for Jaerys.

Aemond and Vaera had believed Jaerys was their last babe, but after a nightly dragon flight, a ravenous husband and a lapse in memory over taking moontea, Vaera was with child again.

Aegon of course made sure his brother knew that the people of Kings Landing were raising their cups, in celebration of his virility and his wife’s fertility.

Aemond of course had to resist the urge to punch his brother in the face, after he told him.

As with the other births, Aemond naturally assumed this one would go just as well.

How wrong he was.

After Vaera had surprised him and birth another set of twins, she began to bleed heavily.

It began flowing out of her like a river, spilling in every direction.

The Maester’s worked frantically, trying to save her and whilst they were successful, Vaera had slipped into a coma.

For almost thirteen name days, Vaera had been a constant presence in his life, and to suddenly not have her there anymore, he felt lost.

As each day passed and Vaera still didn’t wake up, Aemond could feel himself slowly dying inside.

He was nothing without her. He needed her like he needed the air to breathe.

Aemond knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help it. He shut himself off and spent hours at Vaera’s bedside praying to any god that was listening.

“Please come back to me my love”.

Yet she remained unmoved, her chest rising up and down slowly. Her eyes firmly shut.

He was afraid that they would never open.

What would he tell their children?

How could he go on living if she didn’t make it?

A world without her didn’t make sense.

For three weeks, Vaera remained unresponsive.

The Maester’s had said that the longer she remained in such a state, she wasn’t likely to wake up.

Aemond despaired at the news.

He was going to lose her. His sweet wife. The love of his life. His twin flame.

At some point in the night, he’d laid on the bed next to her and pressed his face into the crook of her neck.

He begged her to come back. But still she slept, at some point he’d fallen asleep, his hand clasping hers.

Every night it was the same dream, and every morning it was the same nightmare.

But this night, something moved against his hand, and he jerked awake.

Aemond stared in shock as Vaera’s fingers were moving.

At first, he thought he was imagining it, but then Vaera’s eyes began to flutter.

“V-Vaera” exclaimed Aemond.

Is she waking up? That’s it my sweet. Come back to me. You can do it.

“Vaera. Issa dōna ābrazȳrys” gasped Aemond (My sweet wife).

“A-A-Ae-m-mond” stuttered Vaera as she finally opened her eyes.

“I’m here my love. I’m here” whispered Aemond.

After being in a coma for three weeks, it took Vaera some time to fully recover.

She told Aemond about her experience whilst she was in the coma, and it fascinated him to no end.

Especially when she told him that Rhaegar would become King just after his eighteenth name day.

The gods had certainly given Vaera a gift, and she had thanked them for it every day since.

It was a phenomenon that Aemond couldn’t even begin to understand or explain, but they had both decided to keep it between the two of them.

Especially when she told him of Aemon and Helaena.

Despite the circumstances, she had briefly held their precious first born in her arms once more and Aemond knew in his heart that it was his son and sweet sister that had sent Vaera back to him.

Even though Aemond protested wholeheartedly, Vaera resumed her place on the council as Mistress of Laws three moons after she’d woke from her coma.

Saeryna and Daenys were growing fast, and soon they would be reaching their first name day.

It took a little while for Vaera to fully bond with her twin daughters, but they eventually got the hang of it, and now they would crawl after their mother as fast as they could, giggling sweetly.

Aemond watched with a smile as his wife was surrounded by their children, this was everything she’d ever wanted.

During her childhood, she’d been so lonely and Vaera never wanted that for any of their children.

This was a family they’d created and none of their children would suffer as they did.

“Marry me” whispered Aemond.

“We’re already married” replied Vaera.

“In the tradition of our house. Let us bind our blood as our ancestors once did” said Aemond.

“Who’s going to marry us?” asked Vaera.

“I’ve asked Aegon, as anyone who can speak high Valyrian can wed us” said Aemond.

“Ser Criston and my mother will serve as witnesses” said Aemond.

“Where will the ceremony take place?”

“In front of Balerion’s skull. The children will also be in attendance” said Aemond.

“You seem to have given this some thought”.

“I’ve been thinking of it for a while” replied Aemond.

“In that case. I will marry you. Again” said Vaera softly.

“Hen lanoti ānogar, Va sȳndroti vaedroma, Mēro perzot gīhoti, Elēdroma āirza sīr, Izulī amapā perzi, Prumī lanti sēteksi, Hen jenȳ māzīlarion, Qēlossa ozundesi, Syndroro ono jēdo, Rȳ kīvia mazvestraksi”

(Blood of two, Joined as one, Ghostly flame and song of shadows, Two hearts as embers, Forged in fourteen fires, A future promised in glass, The stars stand witness, The vow spoken through time, Of darkness and light)

Aemond and Vaera each took turns in cutting the other’s lip with a dragon glass blade and marking each other’s forehead with the symbols of fire and blood.

Aemond cuts his hand and then offers the blade to Vaera who did the same.

As they face each other once more, both husband and wife join hands allowing their blood to flow into one another.

Once the vows are complete, they allowed their blood to mix with a kiss.

A loud booming roar echoed across the sky as Vhagar and Cannibal flew over the Red Keep, the other dragons soon join in and Kings Landing is alight with sounds of a dragons song, unlike anybody has ever heard before.

As they part, Vaera and Aemond gaze upon one another. All their children surrounding them.

“Will you love me Aemond, until the day I die?” asked Vaera.

“No. Much longer than that Vaera. Much longer” replied Aemond as he took his wife’s face in his hands and kissed her once more.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #aemond fic #aemond x original female character #aegon ii targaryen #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd fic #hotd aegon #aemond #aegon ii

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cateyesinlove · 1 year

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ACOTAR DAEMON AU!

IT IS HERE, ITS HERE, ITS HEREEEEEE, I am extremely excited to share with everyone this exciting project! I'll be sharing the individual characters and their daemons and a little about them

"The beast plopped into the chair, the wood groaning, and, in a flash of white light, turned into a golden-haired man. From behind the man came out a golden lioness, eyes a bright amber and graceful and intimidating."

"—another High Fae: red-haired and finely dressed in a tunic of muted silver. He, too, wore a mask. A small red fox was on his shoulders laying lazily there."

"Everything about the stranger radiated sensual grace and ease. High Fae, no doubt. His short black hair gleamed like his raven’s feathers, perch gracefully on his shoulders, a beautiful daemon, his pale skin, and blue eyes so deep they were violet, even in the firelight. They twinkled with amusement as he beheld me."

"I groaned as I braced my hands against the floor, readying myself to stand, but—the sight of my skin stopped me cold. It gleamed with a strange light, and my fingers seemed longer where I’d laid them flat on the marble. I pushed to my feet. I felt—felt strong, fast, and sleek. And— I could feel fur. Under my hand laid a gray wolf; Big, almost as big as Andreas had been when I took his life. The wolf opened its eyes and looked at me with bright, blue, and full-of-life eyes."

"Her bright, golden hair was tied back in a casual braid, and the turquoise of her clothes—fashioned like my own—offset her sun-kissed skin, making her practically glow in the morning light. “Hello, hello,” she chirped, her full lips parting in a dazzling smile as her rich brown eyes fixed on me, her daemon a small crow standing on her shoulder. “Feyre,” Rhys said smoothly, “meet my cousin, Morrigan. Mor, meet the lovely, charming, and open-minded Feyre.”

“You’re free,” Mor said tightly. “You’re free.” Not safe. Not protected. Free. She carried me beyond the garden, into the fields, up a hill, down it, and into—into a cave— Aster following and keeping guard with Sadek and making sure no one saw anything."

"Both of them were tall, their wings tucked in tight to powerful, muscled bodies covered in plated, dark leather that reminded me of the worn scales of some serpentine beast. Identical long swords were each strapped down the column of their spines—the blades beautiful in their simplicity. perch in one of their shoulders were each daemons, a bat, and a hawk."

"And maybe part of me remained mortal, because even though the short, delicate woman looked like High Fae … as Rhys had warned me, every instinct was roaring to run. To hide. She was several inches shorter than me, her chin-length black hair glossy and straight, her skin tan and smooth, and her face—pretty, bordering on plain—was bored, if not mildly irritated. But Amren’s eyes … Her silver eyes were unlike anything I’d ever seen. Around her neck seemed to be a dark-colored snake, black as night, observing me and Aester."

"Elain sucked in a breath, her fine-boned back rising, her wet nightgown nearly sheer. And as she rose from the ground onto her elbows, the gag in place, as she twisted to look at me— Nesta began roaring again as a small white owl came into existence flying above elain and finally landing on her shoulder, her pale skin started to glow. Her face had somehow become more beautiful—infinitely beautiful, and her ears … Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair."

"Nesta took a breath. And when I beheld my sister, with her somehow magnified beauty, her ears … When Nesta looked to me … Rage. Power. Cunning. Then it was gone, horror and shock crumpling her face, but she didn’t pause, didn’t halt. She was free—she was loose. She was on her feet, tripping over her slightly longer, leaner limbs, ripping the gag from her mouth — Nesta slammed into Lucien, grabbing Elain from his arms, and screamed at him as he fell back, “Get off her! " As Nesta slammed Lucien, a creature came into existence as it tackled Eletta, a huge cat-like creature, holding down the small and stunned fox."

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kellyvela · 2 years

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"Her maids were dressing her when Tyrion appeared, Podrick Payne in tow. "You look lovely, Sansa."- Sansa(ASOS IV). "Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely."- Jon(ADWD XI). Jon and Tyrion thinking Val and Sansa lovely. "Ser Loras," she finally managed, "you . . . you look so lovely."- Sansa(ASOS I). Loras a brown hair knight is lovely.

Oh, Anon,

You have no idea how I love that Jon passage!

"Did you follow me as well?" Jon reached to shoo the bird away but ended up stroking its feathers. The raven cocked its eye at him. "Snow," it muttered, bobbing its head knowingly. Then Ghost emerged from between two trees, with Val beside him. They look as though they belong together. Val was clad all in white; white woolen breeches tucked into high boots of bleached white leather, white bearskin cloak pinned at the shoulder with a carved weirwood face, white tunic with bone fastenings. Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely. —A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

"It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely."

A young beautiful girl, that everyone considers a princess, next to a direwolf???

You can bet Jon was remembering another beautiful girl, princess like, next to a direwolf, looking as though they belong together...

Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself. —A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

Oh, look! This is one of GRRM favorite miniatures:

Oh, and about Jon, Loras and their brown hair:

Jon and Loras are excellent horse riders (indispensable requirement to be a good jouster). Both Jon and Loras are sworn to celibate orders (Night’s Watch, Kingsguard). Jon’s father, Rhaegar Targaryen, wearing an armor adorned with rubies (red) gave Lyanna Stark a crown of winter roses (blue), while Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, wearing an armor adorned with sapphires (blue) gave Sansa Stark a (red) rose, unofficially crowning her as the Queen of Love and Beauty.

Margaery, who looks like Loras’s twin sister, is compared with Lyanna Stark. Jon Snow inherited the Stark look from his mother Lyanna. Hence we can say that Jon and Loras have similar looks. Jon and Loras also have a slender physique.

And lovely is a synonym of sweet, both meaning pleasant:

"Jon Snow?" she blurted out, surprised. "Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose." She had not thought of Jon in ages. He was only her half brother, but still . . . with Robb and Bran and Rickon dead, Jon Snow was the only brother that remained to her. I am a bastard too now, just like him. Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again. But of course that could never be. Alayne Stone had no brothers, baseborn or otherwise. —A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

Ahhh, how I love my romantic babies ❤️

#anon asks #jonsa

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lesetoilesfous · 1 year

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can i ask for more hawke/isabela hahaha...with this from the touching prompts? "falling asleep on the other’s shoulder " happy friday!!!

Just a short one but I hope you enjoy it, thank you for the prompt!

(If you’d like me to write you a da2 fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: HawkeBela

Characters: Marian Hawke, Isabela

Tags: Deeps Roads, Yearning, pre-relationship

Rating: Teen and Up

They’ve been in The Deep Roads for three weeks now, and Isabela still isn’t sure what in the demon-infested abscesses of the Maker-blighted Fade possessed her to agree to this. She is a woman built for fresh air and wide, salt-soaked blue horizons. She is absolutely not designed to be trapped into neverending bloody tunnels, cleaning darkspawn piss off her tunic and hoping it doesn’t somehow infect her.

On her shoulder, Hawke snores softly, her mouth half-open. Isabela pauses in her scrubbing to look down at her. In sleep, Marian looks almost gentle. Her pale skin is suited to these macabre surroundings, almost luminescent in the shadowed dark. Her long, thick eyelashes are brushstrokes of black ink, and her haphazard birds’ nest of hair is a pile of raven’s feathers, bending gently where she’s resting against Isabela’s shoulder.

It would be so easy to kill her now, Isabela muses. The rest of the camp is asleep - even Varric, ever watchful of his prized bird, possessive with the love of deep and certain friendship. The embers of the fire have burned low, smudging some long since forgotten dwarven flagstones. The dark smells acrid and sulfurous, creeping around them like something alive. Isabela could slip a knife into her belly and claim it was a hurlock. It would hardly be difficult to find one. All she had to do was toss a pebble and they’d come running. Such a shame, they caught her in the night, at least she didn’t feel any pain.

Protectively, Isabela’s fingers curl around Marian’s wiry arm. She’s like a child, like this. Hardly the one-woman tornado who had so easily and so routinely upended her life.

Something screeches in the distance, and Isabela tenses. On her shoulder, Hawke snorts a little, and a chuckle escapes Isabela like a butterfly, flying free of her lips without conscious thought. Bartrand and his mercenaries mutter and sniff farther off, and closer-by Varric half sleeps with measured, quiet, shallow breaths.

Hawke frowns a little as a lock of dark hair falls down her forehead, tickling at her eyelids. Her nose wrinkles, and her lips press shut. Isabela curls, and moves the offending cowlick, careful as a forger with a priceless Orlesian masterpiece. Her fingertips trail over Hawke’s warm, soft cheek. When she speaks, it’s barely a murmur, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

But Hawke doesn’t hear the meaning of the words, just the sound of her voice. A sleep-softened smile curls around her rose-pink lips, and she presses closer to Isabela, breathing her in with a deep, happy sigh. Isabela ferociously ignores the stabbing pain in her chest, and lets her. For a moment she just sits there, one arm around the strong shoulders of the woman she - of her friend, listening to the cricket’s chorus of their company snoring in the night, and the distant, terrible cacophony of howling monsters.

Then she turns her attention back to the stain on her tunic. There’s no way she’s going to get it out. Hawke mutters and nuzzles her cheek against Isabela’s shoulder. Isabela sighs, and puts down the wash-cloth. There’s no hope. She’s committed now.

#dadwc #hawkebela #hawke #isabela da2 #zenstrike #da2

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sapphireginger · 7 months

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Title: Peter & the Sunflower: Chapter #3 | 1900 - Autumn, Neverland

Pairing: Steter [Stiles + Peter]

Rating: Mature

Warning/Tags:

None

Summary:

“Pan! Come here. I want you to meet some people.” Pan tilted his head and joined Peter, turning to follow the boy’s gaze. He gaped at the three beings below them, sitting like royalty on the smooth obsidian rocks. “Sirens?” he whispered, shocked. “In a sense, yes. They prefer the term mermaids. However, they are just as deadly and much prettier.”

@steter-stackson-bingo

Card Number: 107

Square: Sirens Are Mermans

1900 — Autumn, Neverland

Pan fell in love with his new home. Neverland was beautiful and he relished in all the serenity. There were so many colors, such a glorious thing to see after hatching to find a barren ash colored wasteland instead of the meadow of helianthus it should’ve been.

He came to Neverland with nothing but after a week had more than he could ever possibly use. Peter offered to teach him how to make clothes if he wanted to. Pan was delighted to learn and now had one set of clothes for each day of the week. He still went barefoot but would now wear a small tunic made from one of Peter’s favorite tunics, a little belt to tie it made from leather and a tiny pair of pants made from the same material as Peter’s tights. His favorites to wear were the red tunic, black belt and black pants since they matched his wings. He also learned to make a small quilt for his feather bed. It was fun to learn, and he grew closer with Peter during that time.

A few months later, Peter led him to the Numquam Grotto, also known as the Never Grotto. It stole Pan’s breath, his amber eyes wide with awe and wonder. The moon was high and full in the sky as they whizzed through the cavernous space. With giggles like bells, Pan trailed his fingers and toes through the water, using some of his magic to flick water at Peter.

The Never Boy laughed and shot ahead before doubling back and letting out a crow. Pan blushed as his stomach flipped a little at the sound. The Never Boy sounded so joyous. The Sióg was starting to realize that he had formed an attachment to Peter. He wasn’t sure what to make of it but at the boy’s beckoning and giant grin, he pushed the thought off for now.

“Pan! Come here. I want you to meet some people.”

Pan tilted his head and joined Peter, turning to follow the boy’s gaze. He gaped at the three beings below them, sitting like royalty on the smooth obsidian rocks. “Sirens?” he whispered, shocked.

“In a sense, yes. They prefer the term mermaids. However, they are just as deadly and much prettier.”

“Oh. Well, I suppose they are pretty. The way they look I’m sure aided them in drawing people in. Then, the deadly part comes into play?” Pan flushed nervously as Peter’s eyes found his own. “They’re your friends?”

“Yep!” Peter said, popping the p. “But, they’re harmless to me and you, okay?”

Pan sent him a nervous smile. “Promise?”

Peter grinned and held out his pinky. “I promise.”

With a scrunched up nose, Pan wrapped his small pale hand around Peter’s pinkie and shook it. “Good.” They stared at each other for a bit, until a splash of water echoed around the cavern, drawing their attention.

“A dolphin!” Pan exclaimed in a breathless whisper of excitement, his wings shivering and fluttering. “It’s gorgeous.” His eyes were glued to the way the creature swam, like the goddess had taught her to dance along with the ocean’s rhythm. Pan was unaware of the admiring gaze of the Never Boy who never got tired of seeing the wonder on his friend’s face.

After the dolphin had disappeared again, Peter gently nudged the Sióg. “Wanna know their names?”

“Uh yes! Absolutely. Um. I mean assuming they don’t mind?”

“Not at all. So first the one there with blue shells and blue scales with hair like golden sun rays is named Nymeria but I call her Nym or Ria. Second is the raven haired woman there with emerald shells and emerald scales. Her name is Rhymise but I call her Rhys or Ry. Then, last but not least, the one there with lavender shells, lavender scales and hair like a dragon’s fire is Philomena but I call her Mena.”

“Woah,” Pan said softly. “I thought merfolk were super secret or at least isolated. How come they’re not?”

Peter glanced at Pan and then shrugged one shoulder, seemingly nonchalant but his cheeks pinked as he said, “There was a terrible hurricane one year, stretched from the water’s surface to the bottom of the ocean. They were the only ones to survive. I offered them a haven. Here they aren’t disturbed by anyone. Here they don’t have to be afraid.”

Pan’s heart began to race as he admired the blush on Peter’s cheeks, his wings shivering with pride. He had to push away the stray thought that had been plaguing his mind lately. He couldn’t push it away completely though and so, in his mind, only to himself he would agree that Peter would be the perfect maité for him, or for any Sióg really but such things were the things of dreams, not reality.

“Oh, fair maidens of Poseidon, I have returned. Where’s my hello, Nym, Rhys, and Mena?”

The three mermaids whipped their heads in Peter’s direction and trilled happily as they leapt into the water and swam toward them. “Hello, Peter!” they sang out, their teeth sharp, and deadly and yet hauntingly beautiful. “We missed you!”

Pan’s stomach clenched at the sight of utter adoration in their eyes but when he looked at Peter, sure he’d find the same adoration in his, he was shocked to find the Never Boy completely oblivious. In a way, Pan was glad, because if Peter recognized the look in their eyes, surely he’d recognize the same look in Pan’s eyes.

Unaware of his new friend’s internal struggles, Peter regaled the maids with tales of his adventures, and Pan found himself just as enraptured by them as the maids were.

When it came time to leave, Pan was speechless as the maids each offered him a small shell. It was their approval of him, and he tried not to get emotional when he promised he’d return to play soon.

Peter kept close to him that night, sensing his friend’s emotions and Pan was grateful for the closeness, but even more grateful that the Never Boy didn’t ask what was wrong.

As Peter slipped into dreamland, Pan, curled up in his meadowlark feather bed, remained awake. It was nearly impossible to fall asleep, for the emotional toll he experienced with the maids made his heart hurt too much to so easily greet the sandman.

When he had cradled those small shells and had met the gazes of the maids, Pan couldn’t help that he desperately missed his parents. So, confident that the Never Boy was finally asleep, Pan began to cry, the sound of snare drums echoing in the small house as he finally began to grieve. He wept for his parents, wept the hatchlings that never got to live, wept the helianthus blossoms that never bloomed, the flora, the fauna and the goddess herself, for all who were marked by the fire in the valley. Only then, after hours had passed and the sun began to rise, did Pan finally succumb to sleep.

#teen wolf #steter bang 2023 #steter big bang 2023 #steter big bang #steter bang #steter #fae stiles stilinski #never boy peter hale #steter stackson bingo #prompt: sirens are mermans #reincarnation #neverland #peter pan fusion #temporary character death #temporary amnesia

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a-completely-normal-writer · 2 years

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Characters Aesthetic Tag

Thank you enchant @enchanted-lightning-aes for tagging me!!

I will do this for Enya (cause I hardly ever talk about her)

colors ;

red / orange / yellow / green / blue / purple / pink / brown / black / white / grey / silver / gold / bronze / metallic / matte / royal blue / forest green / blood red / navy blue / cream / mint green / neons / pastels / jewel tones

body ;

claws / long fingers / fangs / teeth / wings / tails / lips / bare feet / freckles / bruises / scars / scratches / wounds / burns / spikes / feathers / webs / fur / eyes / hands / heart / blood / sweat / tears / animalistic / thin / lithe / chubby / curvy / short / tall / average height / muscular / piercings / tattoos / body modifications

weapons ;

fists / sword / dagger / knives / spear / bow / crossbow / hammer / shield / poison / gun / axe / throwing weapons / whip / pepper spray / tasers / canon / catapult / slingshot / explosives / nunchaku / mace / staff / shadows / wand / magic / magical item / non-magical powers / stone / teeth / nails / fear

materials ;

gold / silver / platinum / titanium / diamonds / pearls / rubies / sapphires / emeralds / amethyst / iron / rust / steel / pyrite / glass / wood / porcelain / paper / wool / fur / lace / leather / silk / velvet / denim / linen / cotton / charcoal / clay / stone / asphalt / brick / marble / dust / glitter / blood / dirt / mud / smoke / ash / shadow / rubber / synthetics

animals ;

lions / wolves / eagles / owls / bears / boars / falcons / hawks / swans / snakes / turtles / ducks / bugs / spiders / crickets / sparrows / whales / dolphins / fish / sharks / horses / cats / dogs / rabbits / mantises / crows / ravens / mice / rats / lizards / foxes / peacocks / livestock / werewolves / unicorns / pegasi / dragons / gryphons/phoenix

food & drink ;

sugar / salt / candy / bubblegum / wine / champagne / hard liquor / beer / coffee / tea / milk / spices / herbs / apples / oranges / lemons / cherries / strawberries / watermelons / berries / bread / vegetables / meats / fish / ambrosia / pies / cakes / desserts / vanilla / chocolate / honey / cream / caramel / nuts / cinnamon / hamburgers / burritos / pizza / french fries

hobbies ;

music / art / theater / gardening / woodworking / smithing / sculpting / painting / sketching / fighting / riding / reading / writing / composing / cooking / sewing / training / dancing / acting / singing / martial arts / self-defense / sports / technology / cameras / video games / movies / comics / cds / vinyls / cassettes / piano / strings / guitar / harmonica / harp / woodwinds / brass / percussion / gambling / chess / biking / climbing / running / exploring / hunting / caregiving

style ;

lingerie / leotard / cape / dress / tunic / vest / dress shirt / sweater / boots / heels / leggings / trousers / jeans / skirt / earrings / necklace / choker / bracelet / ring / pendant / hat / crown / circlet / helmet / scarf / brocade / cloaks / corsets / doublet / armor / bracers / belt / sash / fur coat / leather jacket / duster / trench coat / hood / gloves / socks / stockings / mask / cowls / braces / wristwatch / pocket-watch / glasses / sunglasses / contacts / makeup / blindfold / eye-patch / uniform

misc ;

balloons / bubbles / cityscape / light / dark / candles / war / peace / greed / wealth / power / clocks / photographs / mirrors / pets / journals / madness / sanity / sadness / happiness / optimism / pessimism / nihilism / kindness / loneliness / family / friends / allies / followers / enemies / smoking / drugs / love / revenge / living / dead / undead / immortal / heartless

#character aesthetic tag #tag games #nia does games

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band-geek-727 · 2 years

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Miyako Inoe Aesthetic

BOLD any which apply to your muse! Remember to **REPOST! **Feel free to add to the list!

[ **are the ones I added ]

[ COLORS ] red. brown. orange. yellow. green. blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold. grey. lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal grey. forest green. apple red. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green.

[ ELEMENTS ] fire. ice. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. fog. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops.

[ BODY ] claws. long fingers. fangs. teeth. wings. tails. lips. bare feet. freckles. bruises. canine. scars. scratches. wounds. burns. spikes. feathers. webs. eyes. hands. sweat. tears. feline. chubby. curvy. short. tall. normal height. muscular. piercing. tattoos. big ears. shell. trans. hunched/bent. **horns.

[ WEAPONS ] fists. sword. dagger. spear. arrow. hammer. shield. poison. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers. machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staffs. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. mud. torpedoes. **shurikens.

[ MATERIALS ] gold. silver. platinum. titanium. diamonds. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. metal. iron. rust. steel. glass. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. lace. leather. silk. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. marble. dust. glitter. blood. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. synthetics. crystals.

[ NATURE ] grass. leaves. trees. bark. roses. daisies. tulips. lavender. petals. thorns. seeds. hay. sand. rocks. roots. flowers. ocean. river. meadow. forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rainforest. caves. underwater. coral reef. beach. waves. space. clouds. mountains. underground.

[ ANIMALS ] lions. wolves. bears. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. swans. snakes. turtles. ducks. bugs. spiders. birds. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. bunnies. praying mantises. crows. ravens. mice. lizards. werewolves. unicorns. pegasus. dragons. rats. monsters. parasites. tigers. foxes. bats. armadillos. pinnipeds. goats.

[ FOODS/DRINKS ] sugar. salt. candy. bubblegum. wine. champagne. hard liquor. beer. coffee. tea. spices. herbs. apple. orange. lemon. cherry. strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish. pies. desserts. chocolate. cream. caramel. berries. nuts. cinnamon. burgers. burritos. pizza. ambrosia. cookies. home-cooked meal.

[ HOBBIES ] music. art. watercolors. gardening. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching. fighting. writing. composing. cooking. sewing. training. dancing. acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. electronics. technology. cameras. video cameras. video games. computer. phone. movies. theater. libraries. books. magazines. cds. records. vinyls. cassettes. piano. violin. guitar. electronic guitar. bass guitar. harmonica. harp. woodwinds. brass. bells. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. motorcycle riding. eating. climbing. running. puzzles. studying. automobiles.

[ STYLE ] lingerie. armor. cape. dress. tunic. vest. shirt. boots. heels. leggings. trousers. jeans. skirt. jewelry. earrings. necklace. bracelet. ring. pendant. hat. crown. circlet. helmet. scarf. brocade. cloaks. corsets. doublet. chest plate. gorget. bracers. belt. sash. coat. jacket. hood. gloves. socks. masks. costume. ruffle collar. cowls. braces. watches. glasses. sunglasses. visor. eye contacts. makeup. hoodie. sweater. necktie.

[ MISC ] balloons. bubbles. cityscape. light. dark. candles. war. peace. money. power. percussion. clocks. photos. mirrors. pets. kisses. diary. fairy lights. madness. sanity. sadness. happiness. optimism. pessimism. loneliness. fear. family. friends. assistants. co-workers. enemies. loyalty. deception. smoking. drugs. kindness. love. hugs. criminal. lawful. jealousy. medicine. **honesty.

#miyako inoue #digimon headcanons

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gcrdy · 21 days

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bold any which apply to your muse & feel free to add to the list! **remember to repost, don’t reblog.

Tagged by I took it Tagging Whoever wants to do it

[ colors ] brown. orange. yellow. green. sky blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. blue. silver. gold. grey. lilac. metallic. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal grey. forest green. apple red. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green.

[ elements ] fire. ice. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. dewdrops.

[ body ] claws. long fingers. fangs. teeth. wings. tails. lips. bare feet. freckles. bruises. canine. scars. scratches. wounds. burns. spikes. feathers. webs. eyes. hands. sweat. tears. feline. chubby. curvy. thin. short. tall. muscular. toned. lean. piercing. tattoos. scales.

[ weapons ] fists. sword. spear. arrow. hammer. shield. poison. guns. axes. whips. knives. pepper sprays. tasers. machine guns. slingshots. staffs. wands. magical items. magic. rocks. mud balls. legs. sniper rifle. machete. words.

[ materials ] gold. silver. platinum. titanium. diamonds. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. iron. rust. steel. glass. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. lace. leather. silk. velvet. denim. satin. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. dust. glitter. dirt. mud. ash. rubber. synthetics.

[ nature ] grass. leaves. trees. bark. roses. daisies. tulips. lavender. petals. thorns. seeds. hay. sand. rocks. roots. flowers. ocean. river. meadow. forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rainforest. caves. underwater. coral reef. beach. waves. clouds. mountains.

[ animals ] lions. wolves. tigers. otters. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. foxes. swans. snakes. turtles. ducks. bugs. spiders. birds. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. bunnies. crows. ravens. mice. lizards. unicorns. pegasi. dragons. rats. jaguars. bats. rays. peacocks. hummingbirds. hyenas. coyotes.

[ foods/drinks ] sugar. salt. sour. candy. bubblegum. wine. champagne. hard liquor. beer. coffee. tea. spices. herbs. apple. orange. lemon. cherry. strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish. pies. desserts. chocolate. cream. caramel. berries. nuts. cinnamon. burgers. burritos. pizza. ambrosia. bread. grapefruit. vanilla. mint.

[ hobbies ] music. art. watercolours. gardening. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching. fighting. writing. composing. cooking. sewing. training. dancing. reading. acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. electronics. technology. cameras. video cameras. video games. computer. phone. movies. theatre. libraries. magazines. cds. records. cassettes. piano. violin. guitar. harmonica. harp. woodwinds. brass. bells. playing cards. poker. chess. dice. motorcycle riding. driving. eating. traveling. climbing. running.

[ style ] lingerie. armor. cape. dress. tunic. vest. shirt. boots. heels. sandals. flats. leggings. trousers. jeans. skirt. jewelry. earrings. necklace. bracelet. rings. pendant. hat. crown. circlet. helmet. scarf. brocade. cloaks. corsets. doublet. chest plate. bracers. belt. sash. coat. jacket. hood. gloves. socks. masks. cowls. braces. watches. glasses. sunglasses. visor. makeup. red lipstick. tactical gear.

[ misc ] balloons. bubbles. cityscape. light. dark. candles. war. peace. money. power. percussion. clocks. photos. leadership. mirrors. pets. kisses. diary. fairy. madness. sanity. sadness. happiness. optimism. pessimism. loneliness. family. friends. subordinates. assistants. co-workers. enemies. loyalty. smoking. drugs. kindness. love. manipulation. hugs. smiles.

#(Analyzed and Hypothesized) Headcanons

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stardivingsea · 2 years

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Character Aesthetics tag!

As long as we are doing dnd characters, this is for Vel, my paladin/warlock.

colors ;

body ;

weapons ;

fists / sword / dagger / knives / spear / bow / crossbow / hammer / shield / poison / gun / axe / throwing weapons / whip / pepper spray / tasers / cannon / catapult / slingshot / explosives / nunchaku / mace / staff / shadows / wand / magic / magical item / non-magical powers / stone / teeth / nails / fear

materials ;

gold / silver / platinum / titanium / diamonds / pearls / rubies / sapphires / emeralds / amethyst / iron / rust / steel / pyrite / glass / wood / porcelain / paper / wool / fur / lace / leather / silk / velvet / denim / linen / cotton/ charcoal / clay / stone / asphalt / brick / marble / dust / glitter / blood / dirt / mud / smoke / ash / shadow / rubber / synthetics

animals ;

food & drink ;

hobbies ;

style ;

lingerie / leotard / cape / dress / tunic / vest / dress shirt / sweater / boots / heels / leggings / trousers / jeans / skirt / earrings / necklace / choker / bracelet / ring / pendant / hat / crown / circlet / helmet / scarf / brocade / cloaks / corsets / doublet / armor / bracers / belt / sash / fur coat / leather jacket / duster / trench coat / hood / gloves / socks / stockings / mask / cowl / bracers / wristwatch / pocket-watch / glasses / sunglasses / contacts / makeup / blindfold / eye-patch / uniform

misc ;

I was tagged by @sevenpocketsofstarlight and I will not be tagging anyone else, but if you want to do this for an oc , feel free :)

#ocs #character game #anyway

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lathalea · 2 years

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The White Raven 1/9

Hello, my wonderful readers! Remember me? I'm (sort of) back! I've been trying to fight a writer's block and since the Valentine's Day is coming soon, let me treat you to a love story straight from the Middle Earth.

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Rating: T (E later on) Author's notes: This is the story of Thorin Oakenshield's quest to find the White Raven, a mysterious creature of legends only few were fortunate enough to see. This is the story of love stronger than time, destiny, and laws of gods and mortals alike. You can find this fic on AO3.

Special thanks to @legolasbadass for all your help and discussions and @linasofia for your unwavering support. Love you guys! (Feel free to check their stories here and on AO3, these two are really talented, you won't regret it!)

Khuzdul: Kaminzabdûna - Yavanna Kheled-zâram - the lake of Mirrormere

The White Raven Chapter 1: The Legend

“Uncle?” A chubby dwarfling crawled up on Thorin’s lap, joining his little brother.

“What is it, Fili?” Thorin ruffled the boy’s wheat-colored hair, careful not to wake up Kili who snored quietly against his tunic.

“Is the White Raven only a legend?”

This innocent question made the king in exile freeze for a heartbeat.

“Why are you asking?” He made his voice sound casual. Lighthearted.

Fili looked around and whispered, “I saw a white raven today when I went out with Amad.”

“Have you?” Thorin lowered his voice. Perhaps it simply was a child’s imagination. Fili was an inventive lad after all.

“It sat on a branch on that big oak on the way to the market, but when I went to see it up close, it just flew off!” The boy gesticulated lively. “Are you certain that it was a raven?”

“I’m not a little pebble like Kili, Uncle! I know a raven when I see one!” Fili protested. “It just looked weird, because it had white feathers.” His little brother sighed in his sleep and shifted, making Thorin wrap his arm around him tighter as he pondered Fili’s words. Was it truly possible after so many years?

“You were lucky then,” Thorin spoke carefully, “There are many stories about the White Raven and all of them say that it shows itself only to a few.”

“Stories? Please, Uncle, I want to hear all about the White Raven!” Fili pulled on his sleeve.

“White Waven!” Exclaimed Kili, suddenly awake.

“Very well,” Thorin said, unable to stifle a smile at their enthusiasm. This was the topic he himself had been passionate about and researched through the years. Even though his findings had not brought him any closer to the truth he craved, there was an urge inside him to speak of it, as if this simple act could make it more substantial. More real.

Thorin’s gaze travelled towards the flames dancing in the hearth as he chose his words with care.

“Legends say that the White Raven is a clever and powerful bird. Our priests teach us that it is the sacred bird of Mahal, the symbol of his wisdom. Some say that it is sent by Kaminzabdûna herself to protect its kin and that one is born in every generation. Others claim that it is one of the great wizards, an immortal who became tired of his human form and changed his shape to roam the earth and watch over the world. And there are others who believe that it is simply a regular bird born without colouring in its feathers.”

“And what do you think, uncle?” Fili looked at him, wide-eyed.

It took Thorin a moment before he could form a fitting response.

“Every Dwarf should find the answer to this question by themselves. The old stories tell us that a White Raven led Durin the Deathless to Kheled-zâram and then accompanied him to Khazad-dûm. A White Raven sat on Durin III’s shoulder when he received his ring, one of the Seven, the ring of kings that my grandfather and father wore. And it was a White Raven that croaked three times mere moments before Durin VI was taken into the Halls of Waiting.”

“Croak! Croak! Croak!” Added Kili waving his rattle for greater effect.

“Very good, Kili, three times!” Thorin smiled at the bright-eyed pebble.

“So… the raven I saw… was it the same White Raven that Durin met? Or was it a completely different raven?” Fili furrowed his brow just like Dis sometimes did.

“I wish I knew, Fili. I suspect that no one truly knows.”

“What about you, uncle? Have you ever seen the White Raven yourself?”

His nephew’s question caught Thorin off-guard. He opened his mouth, not finding the right words.

“The White Raven…” he started, only to be interrupted by his sister.

“Fili, Kili, are you pestering your uncle for new stories again? You know that he is tired after a long day in the forge.” “But mummy…” Fili groaned.

“It is alright, Dis,” Thorin turned to her.

“It is past their bedtime,” she shook her head and took Kili from her brother’s lap. “Let’s get you both to sleep, my little warriors.”

Thorin barely heard the boys protesting. His gaze was once again drawn to the flames in the hearth, their light reflecting in his eyes.

***

He could not remember when he saw the White Raven for the first time. Among his earliest memories was an image of a large raven with silver-white feathers watching him from a distance whenever Thorin left the Mountain. Later, when the young prince hunted in the woods or visited Ravenhill, he would sometimes catch a glimpse of this bird of extraordinary beauty. Every time it happened, he would leave some nuts or a quail egg for the raven as a treat. On one occasion the White Raven approached Thorin and slowly took the treat from his hand, careful not to touch the prince. When the bird tilted its head, one of its eyes rested on his face, both black and iridescent, like a precious opal, and Thorin felt himself drawn to the glints that danced within it. He did not know how long he stared into its bottomless depth, but when the raven suddenly flapped its wings and flew off, the prince became certain of one thing. He would never speak of this meeting to anyone.

On the day Smaug attacked Erebor, it was ravens’ croaking that alarmed him about the dragon’s presence. Thorin liked to think that it was the White Raven attempting to warn the Dwarves, even though he never determined where the croaking had come from.

Almost fifty years had to pass until he saw the White Raven again.

***

The orc shrieked at the top of his lungs and fell on the snow-covered ground with a wound gaping in his chest. Thorin did not have the time to check whether the foul creature was dead; he had to pursue the last two of his companions. Their tracks led him into the forest. A barely visible black trail of orc blood on the frosty ground confirmed his suspicions: Dis’s arrow had found its target. Now he had to catch up with his foes and make sure they never left the woods. Whoever sent out those warriors must have known that a large dwarven caravan with women and children was passing through these lands, dangerously close to the orc stronghold.

Thorin followed the trail until just before sunset. Loud rustling beyond the evergreen bushes nearby made him stop in his tracks. There was something large ahead. An animal? He had no way of telling. Slowly he approached the source of this sound, holding his sword at the ready when he heard a croak of a raven and fluttering of wings. Surprising. Thorin did not know that ravens lived in those parts. He had not seen one in ages.

As quietly as he could, he moved the leafless branches that obscured his view to the side and almost gasped. The orcs he was chasing were engaged in a fight with a large bird, its wings silver-white. The White Raven. His White Raven. He was not certain how he knew it, he simply felt it to be true.

The opponents were fighting fiercely. One of the orcs had thrown a net over the raven, limiting its movements, but the bird was not giving up, clawing at the enemy. An arrow was sticking out of the shoulder of the second orc and yet he did everything he could to reach the thrashing raven with his dark blade. The bird’s movements were swift; Its robust beak and sharp claws often hit their mark, making the orcs howl in pain or throw insults at it. But Thorin saw the blood that stained the raven’s feathers red and noticed how the bird frantically flapped its wings. The heavy net was dragging the creature down and soon the raven would be on the ground. Trapped. Helpless.

Thorin acted instinctively.

With a war cry, he ran towards the orcs with his sword, Deathless, in his hand. When he crossed his blade with his enemies, Thorin realised that he faced two dangerous warriors, even though at least one of them was wounded. The fight was not easy: both orcs were taller than him and had a wider reach, but as long as Thorin was fighting them, the White Raven had a chance to escape.

Attack. Parry. Feint. Blades meeting once, twice, thrice, and again; the sharp metal singing in the air.

Attack. Attack. Parry. Snow falling down in the last light of the day.

Lunge. Feint. Attack. Putrid black blood painting the snow black as the first orc lay spread on the ground.

Parry. Parry. Step back. Parry.

And then a heavy blow landed on his chest.

The fall knocked the air out of Thorin’s lungs and for a moment he was unable to move. The remaining orc lunged at him, but Thorin was faster. Relieved that his brigantine held, he rolled away and launched a counterattack, thrusting his sword upwards, into the orc’s side, a thumb’s width behind the edge of his breastplate.

The silence that fell after his last opponent perished mingled with the shroud of the night that fell upon the forest, as if refusing to witness more blood being spilled. Thorin’s eyes adjusted to darkness quickly as he turned around, trying to find any signs of the White Raven.

The only thing he noticed was an irregular, pale shape on the snowy ground. There was something unusual about it. He quickly approached it, trying to ignore the bitter taste of unease on his tongue. The shape was not moving. Only after he crouched by it did he realize what it was: instead of a raven entangled in the orc net, a Dwarf-like figure lay beside him, facing the ground, their bare back partially covered by long, silver-white hair.

Thorin was staring at a completely unclad woman.

To be continued...

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author-morgan · 3 years

Note

Hello, dear! Best wishes to you, I hope you are doing well. If you take any requests about m!Eivor, could you please write the story about how he saw in his dream (or Valka trip) a reader and fell inlove with them, but then met them in real life? A bit of magic never disturbs. ;D Thank you, I love your writing!

here you are! hope you enjoy and apologies for the wait! guest appearance by Havi!

m!Eivor x fem!Reader

IT IS A rare thing when King of the Æsir comes to Fensalir of his own volition —leaving behind the golden hall and his score of warriors. He walks at the edge of the water through the tall grasses with Huginn resting on his shoulder and Muninn flying overhead. His gaze lingers ahead to a figure clothed in white, picking flowers and herbs. Frigg —a smile pulls at his lips— my queen. Huginn leaps into the sky when he pushes back his dark hood, stepping closer to where his heart and troubled mind have led him.

“Havi,” you greet, having foreseen his arrival and the reason for it. Rising from the patch of white blooms —Baldr’s brow, you named them, after your beloved son— you brush the dirt from your hands and smooth down the front of your white gown. He stands before you as few have seen him, vulnerable and seeking guidance for a storm brews in the depths of his mind. The clouds gather, shadowing his clear blue gaze and giving him the countenance of a man walking the path to self-destruction. It is a look you do not like to see in any man, especially your husband.

He does not explain his coming —long has the giant, Vafþrúðnir, dwelled in your husband’s mind for no other reason save the claim he is the wisest being in the nine realms. Taking Havi’s hand, you lead him to a bench at the edge of the fen-water, thinking of ways to dissuade him from a needless battle of strength or wit. You peer up at him from beneath your lashes, thumb running across his knuckles. “You are ever wise, husband–” Havi’s lips kink into a half-smile at the praise though it falters a moment later as you continue “–but Vafþrúðnir is the all the wiser.”

Two ravens with dark feathers shining like an oil slick in the pale sun come to perch —Huginn sits proudly on Havi’s shoulder, Muninn on yours. If it is only concern Havi has for the movement and dealings of the mighty Jötunn, then his ravens would suffice, but the look he wears is not one of mere concern. Muninn croaks at your ear as though he agrees with your thoughts. You reach up, stroking the feathers of Muninn’s underbelly. “Send Huginn or Muninn in your stead,” you supplicate, watching the crooked smile creep up onto his lips.

“Sweet Frigg,” Havi says, bemused by what he considers your concern, “you doubt me still.”

“Only because you do not see what is more than ten steps ahead of you until you arrive,” you admonish. Havi is wise in his own right, though at times, his temper tried to outweigh wisdom and reason. “You have your doubts,” you tell him with a soft smile, no other knew Havi as you did —sometimes he wonders if you know him better than he knows himself, and oft times the answer is yes, “else you would not visit my dwellings.” He looks away, shaking his head with a soft smile, unable to deny his wife and queen knew him well. You raise your hand to his scarred cheek, bringing his gaze back to you. “Go, dear Havi,” you breathe, “yet know I will not soothe your wounded pride.”

He rises from the bench, and you follow —both ravens leaping back into the watercolor sky. “When has my queen ever done so?” Havi steps closer, his rough hands cradling your face. You tilt your chin up, accepting a kiss as payment for your counsel.

THE GOD OF Thunder and your step-son comes to Fensalir asking you to tend his father. Havi has been distraught for days after visiting with the Nornir, and Thor believes his beloved step-mother and queen are the only balm for such distress. You go to him in the twilight hours, finding him sitting atop the world with a distant and troubled look. He pays no mind to your approach, save moving to the left on his great throne to make room for you to sit. “What ails your mind, dear Havi?” You ask, sitting at his side —fingertips following the scar on his cheek, brushing through his close-cropped golden beard now tinged with the first kiss of silver.

Havi turns his head, looking upon you in despair, but there is something else in his solemn gaze too —defeat. He pulls your hand from his cheek, thumb stroking the back of your palm. “Have you foreseen what the Nornir have?”

Thor had not dispelled the reason behind the storm brewing within his father, but upon his question, you know what is troubling him —for the doom of the Æsir has plagued your thoughts and waking dreams. Though perhaps a worse fate lay ahead should you beget what visions fate had bestowed upon you. Havi is not one to accept his foretold ruin without first attempting to thwart the threads of fate. Information could be a dangerous thing. The difference between poison and medicine often lay within the dose. Sighing softly, you slip your hand free of his gentle grasp.

“I cannot reveal what I have seen, nor am I privy what others have foreseen.” You lay your hand on his scarred cheek, bringing his gaze to you. The spark in your eyes gives him hope and eases his mind. Sweet Frigg, he thinks, ever the cure for my madness, my rock in a tempestuous sea. Havi covers your hand with his and leans toward you. The rough hair of his beard tickling your cheek before his lips brush against yours. “Have faith,” you breathe upon parting, resting your forehead against his. “Ragnarök shall not be our end.” It is a promise.

“EIVOR!” WALLACE CRIES, helping his sister bring an injured woman into the longhouse of Ravensthorpe on a stormy night. He rouses from sleep and hastily puts on his tunic, greeting the hunters while rubbing his heavy eyes as they adjust to the dying firelight from the cook-fire and braziers. Eivor does not expect to see a woman supported between the siblings —head lolled forward with blood dripping from her arm and side. It takes him a moment to spur into action, but he takes Petra’s place and leads the injured woman to his chambers, helping her to the straw-and-rag stuffed mattress.

Kneeling, he brushes aside the hair clinging her to face and freezes, eyes wide. “Frigg.” He breathes the name without a second thought and feels his heart clench. This woman is but a stranger, and yet a part of him has always known her. He is sure of it. Eivor presses his hand against the gash at her side and looks over his shoulder to Petra. It will take more than a cautery iron to heal this affliction. “Find Valka,” he tells the huntress. She nods, bolting from the longhouse as Wallace brings a basin of water and torn pieces of an old tunic.

Valka comes with her poultices and cordials, kneeling bedside. As soon as she looks between Eivor and the injured woman, the Seer knows. Eivor Wolfsmal may be attempting to escape one knot in the tangled threads of fate, but he cannot run from them all. A bloody hour passes, but when the Seer takes her leave, she tells Eivor the woman will live, for the gods have smiled upon her, just as they smiled upon him.

GROANING, YOU BEGIN to wake with a pang of hunger and thirst —the dull throbbing in your ribs is only a distant pain. The bed beneath you is soft, the wool and pelt blankets warm. The scent of cloudberries and honey linger in the air, reminders of a home no longer standing and a place you frequent in dreams. A rough hand curls around your wrist, jarring you into alertness, suddenly aware of the unfamiliar surroundings and the man sitting bedside in a disheveled tunic with partially unbound golden hair, hardly awake in the morning hours. “Havi?” You whisper. His is a face you know well —from his kind blue gaze to the scar on his cheek and the curve in a once-broken nose.

He stares at you. He knows you. Eivor knows the curve of your lips, the gleam in your eyes, even the whisper of your voice. Sweet Frigg, his mind murmurs again and a strange feeling of relief overcomes him —as though a lifetime search has finally come to a close. “Eivor,” he corrects, ripping himself from the dream. Petra told him how they found you in the forest, stumbling away from the largest wolf either hunter ever seen. “They say you fended off a wolf on your own.” Spoken like that, it sounds a heroic deed —you left the beast for dead near a ravine, but the wolf had almost done the same to you. “What were you doing out in such a storm?” He asks, raising a tired brow.

“Searching–” you sit up with a groan, holding onto your linen-bound side “–for home.” One of his hands covers yours, the other pressing against your lower back. Beholding Eivor, though, you realize your search has ended —you do not know him, but the feeling in your gut and the lightness of your heart in his presence tells you this is home. Dear Havi. Dreams and fate have led you here for a purpose.

Eyes darting over Eivor’s features, you smile, offering your name. He repeats it, lips kinked. Your name is just as sweet on his lips as Frigg’s, if not sweeter. A moment passes, the silence hanging in the early morning air broken by the low croak of a raven perched in the rafters above your resting bed. Eivor glances up at Sýnin —the raven can sense something too. “You can stay here,” he notes, softly and without hesitance. “Ravensthorpe can be your home.”

The generous offer makes your heart clench and brings tears welling up in your eyes. He smiles, and now you are certain your searches have finally ended. You pull your hand away from your side and Eivor’s hand, lifting it to his scarred cheek as you’ve done hundreds of times in dreams. Unwittingly, he leans into the touch —he’s done this before, and he recognizes the gentle caress of your thumb as it runs over the jagged scar. Eivor sighs —all of this and you are familiar.

Driven by memory, he rises to his knees, seeking your lips with his own. The tickle of his beard on your jaw and cheek is a warning, but you do not shy away —you’ve known him for a hundred lifetimes, and this is only a reunion. Eivor’s lips move against yours, both his arms loosely sliding around your waist. You smile against his lips, fingers combing through his golden beard. There are no sparks, for there is already a deep flame kindled between you both —one that cannot be extinguished in this life or the next. The threads of fate come together, and two halves are made whole.

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hongism · 3 years

Text

the little things - k. yeosang

↣ pairing: yeosang x reader; mentioned poly ot8 x reader ↣ genre: sfw, fluff, slight angst, fantasy au, witch ateez au ↣ wc: 2.5k ↣ summary: as it turns out, even you have a breaking point. yeosang is there to pick up the pieces as you fall apart. ↣ warnings: a lil language, talks of stress and anxiety

If there’s anything for you to pride yourself on, it would typically be your ability to handle any amount of work handed your way. Your shop is not the only one in the area – plenty of people have a need for herbalists and alchemists these days – but that doesn’t keep you from being busy nonetheless. This time of year is the most busy for you. Between holiday orders and people who get sick when the colder weather strikes, you find it quite reasonable to say that you are drowning in your work.

As such, it pulls you away from the coven and your eight lovers more and more with each passing day. It isn’t that you don’t want to see them or that you are attempting to push them out of your life; simply put, you are busy, even if San refuses to believe that each time he comes to visit. Your mood, which is already sour as it is, has been considerably worse today thanks to a visit from said familiar this morning. Not because of anything he did, however; no, you only have yourself to blame for being in such a bad mood because when he fluttered in through the window and shifted on your kitchen counter, he just so happened to shed a few feathers on the floor. Something that isn’t typically a big deal. Something that happens regularly. Something even Seonghwa, a damn hearth witch, doesn’t mind.

Yet apparently, this morning was the straw that broke the camel’s back (it’s you, you’re the camel), and you snapped at San so quickly that the familiar stumbled backward and hit his hand on the knife you left out on the counter. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the man retreated back into his raven form and flew straight out the window before you could even offer to help clean the wound and apologize.

So yeah, today has been an absolute shitshow from start to finish, but you have so many orders on your plate that you can’t even spare two seconds to cry from the pressure of it all. Even midway through the afternoon, you are still laboring over all the concoctions and potions that you have to make despite having worked for well over nine hours already. Half of these orders are not even due until next week, and it would be perfectly reasonable for you to space them out or schedule them differently, but your stomach is in knots at the mere thought of waiting to start them any longer.

You don’t hear the door creak open moments later, too engrossed in the steaming cauldron on your countertop. When there is a whoosh of air and a sudden burst of magic in your entryway, you snap into action, whirling to face the intruder with a metal ladle in hand.

“Yeosang,” you sigh, equal parts exasperated and relieved. The blond stands before you with a gentle smile painting his sharp features, and those cat-like eyes blink several times in your direction, pupils relaxing back into their natural feline slits. Honestly, you should be more confused about the hybrid’s appearance in your home. It is rare for him to leave the premises of the coven’s cottage, and even rarer for him to do so alone, but you push that thought to the back of your mind in favor of returning to your work.

“That’s all the attention you’re gonna give me?” Yeosang quips as you turn away from him. Another sigh slips from your lips without you intending it to, and you have to bite down hard on your tongue to keep from snapping back at him. “Y/n…”

“I’m busy, Yeosang.” Tone flat and biting, not even the sharp pressure of your teeth can keep you from spatting the words over your shoulder. “These orders won’t finish themselves.”

“We’re worried about you, angel.” Yeosang’s presence pushes closer to the kitchen but he doesn’t step any further than that, eyes trailing over your hunched form from the doorframe.

“Yeah, well, save the lecture for later.”

“I’m not here to lecture you.” If you were to glance at Yeosang now, you are certain that you would see his delicate cat ears twitching with annoyance just from his tone of voice. “You know Seonghwa or Hongjoong would be here if that were the case.”

“Surprised they aren’t here given what happened with San this morning.”

“They – just like the rest of us – know that you have a lot going on right now. We can’t fault you for being stressed.”

“You could fault me for being a bitch,” you scoff, dropping your ladle back into the cauldron and stirring its contents to busy yourself.

“I would never claim you to be something you’re not.”

The words are sickeningly sweet – far too sweet compared to what you deserve to hear at the moment. Part of you wishes he would just be cruel and tear into you so that you could actually cry and get the building emotions out of your system.

“So what? You’re just here to distract me from my work and say you’re worried about me?” This time, you actually do see Yeosang’s ears twitch in annoyance because you shift to look over to where he’s standing. He doesn’t let the emotion shine in his eyes though, biting it back in favor of smiling at you.

“Yes.” He folds his lithe arms over his chest and levels you with a determined stare. “That is precisely what I am trying to do.” A step closer. “Is that a problem, Y/n?” Another step towards you. “I can stand here and pester you until you get frustrated enough to kick me out, or—” he paused beside your counter now, slipping around it so that he can be directly across from you “—you can admit that you need a break.”

Your fingers tighten around the handle of your ladle, and it’s certainly leaving the indentations of the metal on your palm but you don’t let up for a second. Yeosang’s gaze searches yours, begging and pleading for some sort of give on your part. You are nothing if not stubborn though, and you absolutely refuse to give in that easily. He’ll have to try harder than that to get you to break. Yeosang seems to realize that in less than a second because he dips around the side of the counter to join you where you’re standing now. You pay him little to no attention this time.

Then, as you are in the midst of reaching for an empty vial, a hand darts out to snatch the vial out of your grasp. You open your mouth to snap at Yeosang for disturbing your work yet again, but he doesn’t give you the opportunity to because he darts behind your back and snakes a hand forward to take the ladle from you as well. It leaves you completely helpless: stuck in the cage that is Yeosang’s arms as he brings them around your shoulders and begins to do your job for you. The heat of his breath is rushing down the back of your neck, the feel of his arms around you is suffocating in its warmth, and the mere gesture of watching him pour the potion into the empty vial nearly causes you to break.

Yeosang hums as he works, a gentle and soft tune that he sings to Wooyoung when trying to get him to fall asleep or to Hongjoong when the man is overworking himself as usual or even to Jongho during their afternoon naps on the couch. Now he gives it to you, humming directly in the shell of your ear as he peaks over your shoulder to make sure he doesn’t spill a drop of the mixture.

“How many do you need filled?” He asks once the first tube is full and sealed with a small cork. You are so overwhelmed in that moment that you can’t even find it in you to respond. Yeosang barely has time to react and set the ladle and vial down safely before you’re reeling on him and shoving your face into his chest. The air leaves his lungs in a huff, then the small clatter of him releasing the ladle into the cauldron resounds behind you. You can’t see a thing past the soft cotton of his tunic.

“S-Shit,” you mutter. The tears are already welling you against your will, and your throat seems to be closing in on itself. Yeosang drapes his arms over your back without needing an explanation, letting you push him back until his tailbone hits the counter behind him. He settles against it without complaint though and tucks his arms further around you until every single one of your senses is completely full of him. He smells of fresh lilacs and lavender, clothes soft on your skin, hands warm in your hair. He doesn’t even need to say a word for you to shatter completely. Within the next two seconds, you are sobbing into his chest, well past your breaking point in terms of stress and anxiety.

This is a first for Yeosang, even if it seems to be something regular for you. When it comes to comfort, Hongjoong or Seonghwa are the first to be at your side to ease your concerns and worries. Yunho after that, then maybe Mingi. But never Yeosang. That just isn’t the type of relationship the two of you share. The dynamics among all of you are different but the same, all ending in a place called love. And even if this is not something Yeosang typically does for you, you feel the love and warmth in it nonetheless.

His hold on you doesn’t let up for a second, and he simply lets you cry against his body for quite some time before he adjusts your position and pulls you away from the kitchen. You pay no attention to where he’s taking you, only that he guiding you away from work, but the intensity of your sobs would keep you from working anyway. All you can do is let him tug you along until you feel him drag you down to the couch, pulling your body over his and tucking you under his arms once more.

“Just let it all out, angel,” he murmurs, lips dancing over the column of your neck. “I’m here, you don’t have to suffer alone.”

“I-It’s just so much,” you sob. The waterworks are already out and ready to play, but you were hesitant to open up about the causes of your stress until Yeosang whispered those words that seemed to give you permission.

“I know it is, love. You have so much on your plate. So much to deal with.”

“It’s too – too much. I c-can’t do it all.”

“You can, Y/n. You can do it. You know why?” Yeosang shifts his head up a bit to press a warm kiss to your temple. “You always handle everything with such grace and determination. You work so hard and get so little in return, but I promise you – Y/n, I promise you that your efforts do not go unnoticed. It may feel like you are doing this all for nothing, but it will all pay off in the end. Your hard work will pay off.”

“It doesn’t feel like it will. I feel like I’m not good enough, not smart enough, not talented enough… I just f-feel like I’m not enough.”

Yeosang pulls back upon hearing those words, hands reaching up to cradle your face and look you in the eye. His gaze is absolutely unreadable, and you don’t have it in you to make an effort to figure out what emotion he is harboring there. His words do more than enough to explain it to you.

“No matter what you do, what paths you travel down, what choices you make in life, you are enough. You are smart enough, talented enough, good enough. You are capable and powerful in so many ways, even if you can’t see it yourself. And you always have at least one person at your back, cheering you on and rooting for you when you can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel any longer. Because no matter what, you deserve to feel like you’re enough. Everyone deserves that, and I know you can see that in others yet when it comes to yourself, you feel like it’s selfish to give yourself that much. It’s not selfish or egotistical or wrong to let yourself be enough. The work… it might be a lot now, it might be hard now, it might be stressful now. That doesn’t mean it will always be this way though. It will get better in time, and you will come out of this stronger than before, stronger than ever. I know this is true because I know your determination and drive to be good at everything you do. Sometimes we have days where we can’t even get out of bed because we’re so overwhelmed by everything. And even if you have those days, it doesn’t mean that you are any less than what you are. And what you are is enough.”

Your tears are spilling over the fingers that trace over your cheeks in softly-traced patterns. Your lip is wet with the tears, and you are quite positive that you look an absolute mess and a wreck, but Yeosang doesn’t seem to mind one bit. It’s with a gentle, barely-there pressure that he lands a kiss on your lips. Merely a gesture meant to provide more physical comfort, but you bask in it still, sinking your mouth deeper atop his until your tongues entangle in his mouth. You only part when you are completely out of breath and unable to stay connected any longer. Rather than pulling you down for another kiss, Yeosang simply pushes your head back down to his chest and lets you rest there as cries continue to leave you.

And he continues to smile at you. Coaxes tear after tear out of your body, and his humming resumes. He presses his hand to your hair without a care in the world about the way your tears soak through his shirt. The humming blossoms into sweetly sung words, ones that push warmth and comfort through your whole body.

“When it’s overwhelming, hold on tight. I’ll be here, don’t forget it ‘cause in life sometimes we need a helping hand. You’ll be alright. Just take it slow. One day at a time.”

...

a/n: kira i know you already finished school but i wrote this with you in mind bc i know how stressful these past few days have been for you bc of the end of the semester :c @felixity i love u!!! and for everyone who is having a hard or stressful time because of school! hang in there! you’ve got this! im rooting for you and wishing the best for you <3 take care of yourselves and i hope this little fic can provide some comfort for you 💗

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shaheenarnitipsyart · 3 years

Text

Whirling Birds

This is the 10th time (what, seriously!?) joining @flashfictionfridayofficial ! Thank you again for the creative theme! This story might be a bit difficult to understand so here is the context. Two characters met in the past, then they meet again in the present. It’s a sort of reincarnation story basically, and it sets in Camden Market in London, the place I love. And I just want to say big thanks to FFF team and those who have read my stories. it means a lot to me! Hope you enjoy.

Word Count: 1019

T/W: nightmare, flashback

Ray (He/Him): warrior (past), student & part-time worker at bakery (present)

Hrafn(They/Them): mage (past), kid in early teenage (present)

This nightmare again... Ray woke up in tears in the middle of the night. Despite the chilly autumn air slipping into the bedroom, he was sweating heavily from head to toe. He tried to take a deep breath and calm himself down. He looked at his arms and hands carefully. No wound, no cut, just smooth as always. Usually, the beginning of the nightmare faded away as he woke up. But he remembered the very last part vividly.

In the dream, he was equipped with heavy armour and carrying an empty scabbard. His chainmail was torn apart, and he could see the blood-stained sleeves of the tunic. He was on his knees, unable to move at all. His own body felt so heavy and alien to him. The world flared up, and the roaring wind deafened his ears. Among the fire and turbulence, he could hear screams and battle cries. The end is near, he thought. The end of what, though? His own life, or the world itself? He didn't care about it anymore. His mind was about to go blank. Then something fell on him at lightning speed. At first, he thought it was a shower of black arrows. He shut his eyes firmly. However, the stinging pain he expected never came. Instead, something like mist embraced him tenderly. He could feel that all of his wounds were healing by the soft touch of feathers. Feathers? What!? He opened his eyes in surprise and found a pale face with shining dark eyes just a few inches away from his own. That person's raven-black hair was blowing in the hot gust. They reached out to him and shielded him from the heat and blast with their thick black mantle. 'It's alright, hold on to me close.' They whispered. Their voice was so subtle, yet it echoed like a choir's hymns in Ray's head. He leaned forward and grabbed the wings, which were a mantle a moment ago. The pale face smiled gently. Oh, why your smile made me so sad? Oh no, no, I know what is going to happen. I must not let my hands go, I MUST NOT! Not this time! His chest felt so tight, and tears started rolling down his dusty face. But the winged person broke the eye contact and looked up. Then they uttered some words he could not understand. A sudden strong blast nearly blew him away, but he clung to the person with all his strength left in him. Then calmness washed over him. He slowly opened his eyes again. The fierce fire was all gone, so was the burning heat. He was in the middle of the whirling dark feathers - the eye of the black cyclone, where everything was unbelievably quiet and still. And he looked at a beautiful, yet fragile smile slowly collapsed in the air. No, no, no!! As the wind calmed down, the face completely faded away. Ray could hear his fellow warriors approaching in haste, shouting in joy. 'Everything was restored! Even the burnt forest! And look my wounds, it completely healed!' 'Mine, too! Oh my, my lost horse is coming back to me!' But Ray could not stand up. He knew that winged person saved him, and cleansed the blood-soaked battlefield by using their own source of life. He just knew it.

Ray made a cup of coffee and grabbed his longboard. Skateboarding was the best way to reset his tangled mind. 'Ok, I still got half an hour till I gotta head out to work. All good!' The sky was clear, and the rising sun was turning the horizon gold. Ray worked at a local bakery, so he had to get up very early sometimes. But that meant he could finish work in the early afternoon. A visit to the nearby street market after work was one of his favourite things to do. He loved the hustle and bustle of the street market and the smell of exotic street foods. 'But I guess I'm gonna go to the canal today.' He murmured to himself. There was a charming canal running through the market area, and there were many colourful canal boats moored alongside the waterfront walk. After work, he walked down the path leading to the canal with his longboard in one arm and a bag of freshly baked bread in the other. And then, he saw a strange graffiti on the brick wall by the canal. It was a chalk art of hundreds of whirling birds. As he traced the silhouette of the birds with his eyes, he reached a skinny figure at the edge of the brick wall. A boy, or a girl, he couldn't tell. But their raven black hair looked somewhat familiar. Without realising, he approached the young artist who was mindlessly standing in front of their drawing. 'Hey, you got such a talent! This graffiti is amazing. You drew it all by yourself?' They looked at him, totally caught off guard. They widened their eyes. Whoa, what beautiful eyes this kid has! But their eyes give an impression that they belong to a much older person for some reason... He thought. But before the raven-haired kid answered, some cyclists shouted at them from behind. 'Oy! Watch out, get out of our way!' Ray managed to catch the raven-haired kid in his arms and jumped aside, narrowly avoiding the passing cyclists. Both of them fell to the ground. 'Geez, damn rude cyclists! Did you get hurt? Are you OK?' Ray looked at the pale face, just a few inches away from his own. Their eyes met. He felt like being hit by a thunderbolt. He pulled them closer as if they might vanish otherwise. 'Have we met before...?' Then Ray realised how silly it sounded. But the raven-haired kid gently smiled in return. 'I can smell something nice!' They suddenly said as they hopped up. 'Oh, yes! That's my lunch. Hey, why don't you have some freshly baked baguettes? It's my treat!' Ray asked, and the kid smiled again. Hand in hand, they started walking towards the bright side.

#fff113 #flash fic friday #reincarnation #middle ages #camden #regents canal #hrafn #nightmare #kind of happy ending

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eivorsjawline · 3 years

Text

This story takes place in modern times, starring you. By a simple mistake, you venture into a land unknown and a time before your own. Though frightened, a certain tall husky blonde comforts you through the storm raging inside your body. Once you feel more grounded, the bed you seem to be sharing with her becomes more comfortable and you drift off.

Chapter 1: Wolf-Kissed

Readers POV

I remember when i first peered into Norse mythology and the immediate connection i felt with it. Part of me felt like I was lost in time. I couldn’t survive a day the way people once did yet the thought always intrigued me. It intrigued me so much I even had a bracelet engraved with my favorite Norse goddess, “Freyja” made for me. It was made of leather, just covering my wrist and the material the engrave was on made of Jade.

It was all for fun when i thought out the plans to travel here so far away from home. I had seen many things and been to many places, but there was nothing quite like Stonehenge.

Something attracted me to the stones and the closer I stepped to them, a feeling of deep desire surged through my body, as if I just so happened to be in the right place at the right time. Finally, I passed through the stones and looked as they hovered over me.

Suddenly, time stopped. Everything felt different but everything looked the same. The last thing I remember is passing out and the world as i knew it went blank.

The only world i've known, and the world i'm not sure if i'll ever get to see again.

Hardly able to open my eyes, I was greeted by a sudden warmth. Fur linings on an unfamiliar bed, and the subtle crackling sound of a fire pit nearby; a warm light fogging over my cloudy eyes as I slowly began to open them.

“You’re finally awake.” A husky woman’s voice said and my eyes were suddenly wide open.

To my surprise I saw a broad woman with a blonde medium length braid hovering over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed, dressed in a fur shoulder drape with long layers underneath. She looked as if she were ready for war. I could make out a large scar across her left check. Sitting down in a chair next to my bed some distance away, her piercing blue eyes looked at me almost as if concerned.

I sat up quickly in bed, pulling the bedding to my shoulders.

“Where am I? Who are you?” I asked with hesitance, intimidated by the change of scenery and the large woman sitting in front of me.

“I should be asking who you are! I found you just outside of my camp passed out and dressed in strange clothing.”

A sudden rush of color came across my face. I remembered the modern gray shirt and blue jeans I was wearing when I made the transition. Did I really travel back in time? Could this all be just a dream? Then, I realized the clothes I once wore were replaced by a long sleeved tan tunic.

“Then... how am i wearing this?” I said.

The woman chuckled at me.

“When I found you, you were filthy from getting soaked in the rain. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable but, it would feel wrong if i just left you like that.”

Eivors POV:

Who is this woman? She speaks in a strange dialect, nothing like the saxons and must come from a strange land. The only thing that sticks out to me is the engraving on her bracelet. The same engraving Valka prophesied to me before. If she comes from far away, why would she have one of our goddesses names on her bracelet? The bracelet is the main reason I helped her in the first place.

“A far away stranger will come to you with a symbol of love, for you are bound by souls only separated by time.”

I remember when Valka asked me to stop by because she had something important she wanted to talk to me about. I tried to never think about love too much, and to especially never dwell on it. What could have been or what couldn't. I had my fair share of love misfortunes. With a lifestyle like mine, there's no time to focus on things like that. Right?

Poor thing, she looks terrified. There is something about her that's so different from anyone I have ever met. Finding her in such a vulnerable state isn't the only thing that intrigues me about this mysterious girl. It's not everyday you can lay your eyes on someone so attractive. Even her skin shines differently than anyone I have ever laid eyes on.

My mind wanders back to when i was changing her clothes, having to untie and undo odd buttons. The way her skin had formed goosebumps and the hairs on her arms stood up from the cold, having to refrain myself from looking too hard at certain places on her body.

When I brought her in, Randvi didn't understand exactly why I would help a complete stranger. Although she questioned it and very clearly didn't agree with me, at the end of the day it's my decision to make as Jarl. I know Randvi still struggles with her feelings for me and is just cautious with who I bring into the settlement.

“Thank you… thank you for helping me and bringing me in. Im so confused and i'm not too sure where i am.” The strange girl says to me, looking like she wants to cry but is trying to stay strong.

Snapping back to reality, the realization hits me that she truly has no idea where she is or what happened to her.

“What's your name? Where are you from? You must remember something from before.” I pry at her.

Readers POV

“My name is [y/n], I could never forget that. I can't remember where I came from or how I ended up here but maybe, with some time I can figure it out.”

I was lying through my teeth. But, I knew I couldn't just tell her the truth. No one would believe me if I told them. If this was gonna be my home for a while, I needed to at least give the impression that I was sane.

Her eyes kept lingering on my bracelet. Then, I realized where I was and how far back I had gone. Everything was beginning to make sense. I didn't know how to explain it, but i had to come up with something quick.

“I see you keep looking at my bracelet… it was given to me. It's a gift.” I said, shifting my eyes to the other side of the room.

“Fair enough,” the blonde peered at me up and down.

“I think you need more rest. Something will come to you when you wake up. You have some explaining to do, it seems.”

She stood up and blew out a few candles surrounding the bed. Her feet shuffled across the wood floor to the other side of me. Letting out a big yawn, she sat on the bed beside me facing the wall and tossed some of her armor and weaponry on the ground. Finally, she turned around to explain herself.

“There were no extra beds so, I hope temporarily sharing my bed won't be too bad. I can arrange a room for you eventually. This all happened at the very last minute.”

I could tell she wasn't trying to make me uncomfortable. As bad as the situation was, it could have been a lot worse if she had not found me. I could tell she knew that as well.

“I never got your name…” I said wearily.

She stretched her legs out on the bed and turned to face towards me, head resting on her hand and the other pulling the fur covers over herself.

“My name is Eivor, of the Raven Clan.” She said with another yawn.

I watched as she rested her head on the feather pillows, not wasting any time to fall asleep. I listened as her breaths became longer and slower. For such an intimidating woman she looked so peaceful when sleeping.

My mind began to race, why would she help me? Could I ever be accepted here? Knowing I had a sleepless night ahead of me, I turned over and tried to doze off anyway. I had never felt so alone and lost before. A tear escaped my eye and I quickly threw my hand over my mouth to cover any noise, not wanting to disturb Eivor. Just when I thought I could get away with it i heard the covers shuffling beside me.

A hand grazed my shoulder, leading me to turn around and see Eivor looking at me with a worrisome face.

“I know you're scared, but you’ll figure out what happened. Perhaps I can even help you and we can figure it out together. As long as i'm here you won't have to go through this alone. I hope that can bring you some comfort. Go ahead cry it out but please, try to get some rest afterwards,” she told me in a whisper.

Something in her words lifted a weight from my shoulders.

Then, i totally fucking lost it.

Sitting up in bed I cupped my face with my hands letting all my tears flow freely. I felt a warm embrace coming from the side of me. It was Eivor enveloping my sides. Her hands were slightly rough and I could feel all of the scars on the palms of her hands. She grasped gently onto my arms and I could make out a faint scent of vanilla and alcohol. I laid my head on her chest and the warmth coming off her body seemed to calm me down.

It was nice to feel someone there with me, knowing they were real and in the flesh. My tears began to dry after a while of crying. Eivor didn't seem annoyed with me keeping her up, even if she was clearly exhausted.

“I feel better now.” I managed to speak some words once I caught my breath.

“There you go, everythings gonna be okay. Until you can find your way back home… maybe this can be your home for a little while.” Eivor said to me.

“Thank you. I'll try to get some sleep now. I'm sorry for-“ Before I could say another word, Eivor stopped me.

“Don't apologize for that.” She still had a hold on me.

We laid down together and she never let go of me, keeping one hand on the side of me.

“Goodnight, [y/n]”

“Goodnight…” I mumbled back at her.

My eyes began to grow heavy and I started to finally doze off.

#assasins creed #ac valhalla #fan fiction #time travel #female eivor #fem eivor #eivor #eivor x reader #gaming

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