#Iseult x Reader

[avalilsbfss]

‘Little princess’ ivar the boneless short

Domestic Ivar the boneless x wife!reader

Warnings: none.

Description: ivars “little princess’ wants to train so you help her out

you and ivar had 3 children together now. Uhtred age 10 and the twins Finan and Iselut age 7, and another one on to be born very soon. (or so the healers say.)

You were beginning to think that ivar was going to get you with child as many times as possible, just to prove he could.

Ivar took up training the boys, they were natural fighters already, they were skilled in there own ways just like him, but they just needed some tutoring to rein in there stubbornness and there egos that caused them to think they were better than each other.

every time they would train, iseult would sit close by, aimlessly picking at the threads and the seams of her dress or trying to build the confidence to ask to join. She didn’t know why she was frightened. She was her father ‘little princess’ who could do wrong, any harm done to her ivar would chuck the culprits into the water and hold their heads down until the bubbles stoped and then offer there corpse to the gods.

But in truth she was scared her brothers were going to embarrass her or she was going to embarrass herself infront of them.

you were a shield maiden for most of your life before you married ivar and you were a darn good fighter as well, you only stoped fighting when you got pregnant and ivar wanted to keep you safe. And iseult looked up to you.

you watched the boys train occasionally when you were bored of being confined to your chambers and you tried not to snicker as the boys fell sometimes, then your eye caught iseult, she was always sitting on on top of a barrel in the yard anxiously picking at the seams of her dress as she kept looking over to ivar and her brothers.

it broke your heart at her being nervous to ask to join, she was a good girl, shy, sweet but she had a temper like ivar and the rest of her family. she was just nervous and you wished ivar would notice that.

One day you had enough and walked over to her. “You know. If you want to join just ask them” you told her, making her jump.

“I-I can’t ask them, uhtred said I’m to small and won’t even be able to hold anything.” she pouted softly and glanced over to the pile of weapons in the yard.

“Uhtred also thinks he will grow up to marry a Valkyrie” you said matter of factly and iseult giggled. “Besides who said anything about a heavy weapon?” You asked her and she looked at you confused

You looked around and found a small bow and arrow on the table, you picked it up and gestured her to jump down.

She hopped down and you handed her the bow and slotted in the arrow for her. “Ok keep your hand here…and draw back to your cheek” you instructed and she did as you said.

You helped her position and aimed it at the barrel that was in the direction off ivar and the boys. “Ok…when You’re ready ok” you told her and she nodded nervously before letting go.

The arrow file past the ivar and the boys. Almost catching finan on the cheek as it hit the barrel.

And all the 3 boys turned to look at her and ivar let out a suprised laugh

Masterlist

[ravenofthefandoms]

The Path of the Bear

Word Count: 2690 (nice)

Pairing: Leofric x Reader

Characters: Leofric of Wessex, Uthred Ragnarson/Uthred of Bebbanburg (brief), Mildreth (brief), Iseult (mentioned), King Peredur (mentioned)

A/N: First TLK post! They gave us a sassy, badass warrior that is absurdly large and slightly too old for me and since that’s exactly my type, I had to write about him. I want to make this a series as well, but I’m gonna start my Beric request after this and then my modern!Aemond fic/series to be hopefully. Also also, there’s a Grenn x reader sitting in my drafts rn. FYI, in this one I use italics for thoughts, which is new for me, so tell me if you like it! Also, I mention Grian who is, according to my five minute on Google, a Celtic/pre-Christian goddess of the sun, and specifically the winter sun. Since reader is Iseult’s sister in this, I imagine she would be a pagan, just not a Danish one.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned. They belong to Bernard Cornwell and the producers of The Last Kingdom. I do not own any gifs used. They belong to their original creators.

The farmstead you had been camping near for the past few weeks was quiet. There was only one man who you ever saw near the house, and sometimes a woman was with him. Workers tended the fields and took care of the animals nearby, but they were always too busy with their daily chores to notice. You did not necessarily need to hide yourself well, typically just spending your days in the woods foraging or hunting if you could and your nights sleeping in the barn on the grounds. Once the workers all left for home after their day, the farmstead was empty save for the animals you roomed with.

It was not luxury and it was nothing like the life you grew up with. The life you had up until two months ago almost felt like a sweet dream. There was much of it you missed, like your sister and a day filled with nothing but chores and gossip. Then your sister left, married off to some king in Cornwalum for her skills as a gwarch. A mother’s gift, as your own mother called it. Something she inherited from her mother, who received it from her mother, and so on. Only you did not receive it. Your older sister, Iseult, did and she was quite powerful. Her bride price was very valuable, more valuable than you could have ever dreamed of bringing to your family. That did not stop your father’s efforts. It took two more years for him to find someone who would pay a good bride price for you. The day he told you that he found you a husband was the day you ran.

The bleating of the ewe drew you from your thoughts. A small smile formed on your lips as she stared at you, annoyed that you were laying in one of her favorite spots. You could not blame her. The hay was a nest, keeping you comfortable. “I can make room for you, but I will not move.”

Scooting over, you grinned and patted the ground next to you, as though she could understand your jest. Instead, the ewe seemed to glare at you before settling down in another little nest on the other side. Shaking your head, you settled back down into your little nest of hay before closing your eyes and drifting off into a dreamless sleep. 

                                                             —

You awoke early, as you have done everyday since you started sleeping in the barn. The workers woke early too, so you needed to leave the barn before any discovered you in your attempts to hold the sheep. 

The trek back into the forest was quick, your surroundings becoming easier for you to manuever. Your first stop was the brook that ran through the country side. The cold water helped to pull you from the last of your sleep, waking you completely. You wanted to bathe soon, but you had not followed the brook far enough to find a spot deep enough. Instead, you began to forage for food, checking the traps you had set, smiling to yourself when two of your traps had successfully captured two rabbits. Two was too much to eat for just one meal but it would be just fine if you cooked them both now. Starting a fire later would not be smart, the workers on their way home would be more likely to see it.

                                                            —

Night begins to fall, watching from a ridge as workers began to go home. Once they were all gone, you snuck your way into the barn quickly, the final rays of sunlight twinkling through the trees. The sheep and the cows were in their stalls, along with a few new horses. You looked through a crack in the wall towards the hut. There was light coming from the house, but you did not worry. Surely it was just the lord and his wife who lived here. 

It was easy to shrug it off as you made your way to a spot towards the back of the barn, where you could watch the doors with ease. As you tore into your rabbit, your mind drifted back to the last days you had with your sister. 

You had wept as your elder sister held you, learning that she was leaving soon, and you were not prepared for the separation. Though you were 18 years old at the time, she was the only one who took care of you, loved you. She was always so gentle with you and always understanding. When her gifts came to her, she became your family’s jewel. Your parents preened over her constantly, your mother nurturing your sister’s gift. The work paid off and your sister’s abilities were soon sought after. It was a long time before they were sold. During that time, your sister taught you what she could, more about healing and herbs than seeing. When she did go into the woods to see, you went with her. Silence was kept between you, but you helped her as much as you could.

The last thing she said to you will always ring through your ears. “We will meet again, sweet sister.” She tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “But you cannot marry, not who father chooses. You simply need follow the bear. He will bring you back to me.” You nodded through your sniffles, holding onto her as tightly as you could. Moonlight shone on the two of you, raven hair shimmering beneath it. 

Two years later and you still had not found the bear that was meant to lead you. Though you were also not entirely sure how a bear would take you to your sister. Nonetheless, you trusted her sight and would be ready to follow.

The creak of the barndoor snapped you from your reverie. A tall shadow appeared and you cursed, scrambling to a stall. The resting cow looked up at you, lowing  as you approached in a crouch. You held your breath, drawing the dagger that you had tied to your waist. “Who’s in here?” A deep voice called, the signature hiss of a sword drawn from its sheath following, “I saw you. Come back out.” You cursed again before swinging out again, taking a low stance with your blade.

The man was much closer than you expected, with a torch sitting in a sconce between you. The flickering light revealed the scarred, though quite handsome, face of a very tall man. “What are you doing here?” His blade was level, though he did not appear to be very worried.

“Sleeping. The sheep make good company.” He scoffed at your answer. “What are you doing here?” You straightened slightly from your stance, trying to relax the tension. It was quite obvious to you that this bear of a man would have no trouble disarming you, let alone killing you. But there was still a chance you could talk your way out of it.

“The same, by invitation of the lord of this farmstead. Don’t think I can say the same for you,” he stated. You answered only with a shrug. “If I put away my blade, you will as well.” It was not a question, but you nodded your agreement anyways. He began to sheath his sword and you rose, putting your own blade away. “Been here long? Seem to know the locals quite well.” He nodded to the barn animals who had returned to their resting.

Another shrug from you. “A few months. They cried when I tried to leave.” He chuckled at that, looking you up and down.

“What’s your name?” You turned to look at the ground where the rest of your rabbit laid, tossed in your panic to hide. A beat of silence as you picked it up, brushing the hay and dirt from it before taking another bite.

“So many questions. I thought Saxons were supposed to be Christians and gentlemen.” You held out the rabbit to him, a peace offering. Despite having already eaten himself, he accepted.

“I’m deciding if I should tell the lord that you are here. He is not happy, and I do not think you would wish to cross paths with him this night.” There was a small twinkle of mirth in his eyes despite the serious sound of his words.

“(Y/N). Of Cornwalum. You?” He raised a brow. A Briton was not something he had expected to see in Liscumb but here you stood. 

“Leofric of Wessex. Can’t save I’ve met a Briton before.” He tossed the rabbit back to you before moving to sit in what looked to be a decently comfortable pile of hay. “How’d you get out here?” 

You finished the last bit of rabbit before tossing it into one of the back corners of the barn. “I walked, mostly. Ran a little bit. Even got to ride a horse for a while. Though the horse and the running were on the same day.” He chuckled at the mischievous grin on your face. “What is a warrior of Wessex doing sleeping in his lord’s barn?”

Leofric’s eyes followed you as you paced slowly, more out of boredom than nerves. He couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to. Here you were, silver-tongued and beautiful, with full hips that were hugged by the pants you wore and alluring eyes that seemed to call to him from the very depths of his soul. For a man like Leofric, you were a sight to feast on. Though a God-fearing man, the ancient and arcane feeling that washed through him when he met your eyes had him questioning. “It’s my lord’s wedding night.” He smirked at you slightly. “I cannot say that I wish to be privy to it.” His eyes flicked back up after their southward expansion when you stopped, sights locking on each other. There was a beat of pregnant pause.

“Then do not worry, Leofric of Wessex. You shall have a silent night to rest.” A twinkle mirroring his own caused the great warrior’s heart to falter a moment. Though not entirely unfamiliar, the stutter was not something he had felt in quite a long time. With a final small smirk gracing your lips, you slipped into one of the nearby stalls where you were met with a small bleat of an ewe. “I told you, they missed me.” A soft chuckle was met to that.

“If you are to hold the sheep for warmth, then whom should I?” His flirtatious words made you grin, though he could not see it.

You responded without missing a beat. “The cow seemed lonely.” He gave another bark of laughter at this, and you couldn’t help the small laugh you let out. Laying down, you made yourself cozy in the bed of hay. Snow was falling that night, and a freezing wind blew through the cracks of the barn. A shiver ran through your body as you tucked your knees into your chest, another attempt to keep the warm in. After a while of silence, you were able to finally fall into blissful sleep.

                                                            —

Grian emerged from her slumber and the early rays of her light began to illuminate the sky. Your eyes fluttered open with a yawn following quickly. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes before rising quietly. Soft snores carried from the other side of the barn, affirming that the man from last night, Leofric, was still in the barn though sound asleep. With a final stretch, you stood and made your way out of the stall. Leofric leaned against the wall in the same place as last night, his head fallen to the side in his slumber. A soft giggle escaped your lips as you looked down at him. Such soft and small noises from a man so big were nothing short of amusing. 

Quickly and quietly, you slipped from the barn. The gray dawn of morning held the chill of the long winter night. Soon, you were free, traipsing through the woods as you began your day.

                                                            —

It wasn’t long after you left before Leofric woke. In fact, the soft knock of the barndoor closing was what roused him. It took a moment for him to truly wake, but when he did, he shot to his feet. Leofric took a few partially stumbling steps towards the door before yanking it open. To his dismay, you had disappeared before he could call out your name. The slight ache in his heart had nothing to do, he told himself, with the fact that you left before saying goodbye or anything else. 

With a sigh, he shut the barndoor again and leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes as he waited for the fog within his head to abate. One breath, two and then he righted himself. She would have been a good hump, he thought to himself almost forlornly. Deciding to give no further thought to it, he exited the barn and started for the hut where he hoped to find something to break his fast.

                                                            —

The day passed as any other, Grian warming the sky as much as she could. Her journey across the sky was unmarked yet unchanged, descending the same as it had ascended. As night fell, Leofric thanked Mildreth for the dinner in his hands, ready to make his quick escape to the barn. Pale dusk began to settle outside and, standing in the doorway, he could’ve sworn he saw a figure disappear near the barn. The air in the room was a bit… tense between Mildreth and Uhtred, but not in the way they had been when he yelled at her the day before. This was the tenseness of a wedding night, and Leofric had no intentions to find out if he was right.

“You do not wish to sleep in the house, Leofric?” Mildreth inquired politely.

“No, lady. The sheep will be missing me.” Uhtred snorted with laughter, eying his friend mischeivously. 

“Taking extra with you tonight, Leofric?” There was a gleam in Uthred’s gaze that reminded Leofric of why he had wanted to knock a tooth or two out of the arseling’s gleeful smile when they first met. “Worked extra hard today, I hope.”

Leofric glared at the arseling, tilting his head at the playful challenge. “Aye lord, I did. So hard, in fact, that I think I deserve this as well.” The taller man grabbed the horn of ale from Uthred’s hands before taking a long swig. “Well, I’ll bid you good night lady, arseling.” He gave them a curt nod before making his way to the barn.

Opening the door, he was pleasantly surprised to see you sitting across from where he had slept. “Missed the sheep?” he questioned teasingly.

“Aye. The one in the back, I’ve decided to call her Veldicca. She has been too great of company for anything else.” You were lying, of course. What you should have done was find somewhere else, gone anywhere else, but you didn’t. You came right back to this barn, and the reason for your return was now sitting across from you. 

Leofric chuckled as he stretched out his long legs in front of him. Grabbing one of the extra chunks of bread that he had taken at dinner, he tossed it to you. “Have you been thinking of me, Leofric of Wessex?” A shiver ran down his spine at the teasing tone of your voice. 

“Not at all.” Lie. You have haunted my thoughts all day. “I was extra hungry tonight, but I will be a gentleman and share my food with the lovely lady.” He gave you a small wink, which only made you return it with a small smirk.

You opened your mouth for a retort when the barndoor opened. Startled, the both of you jumped to your feet, hands flying to the pommels of weapons. “Leofric, I wanted to tell yo-...” Uthred stood in the doorframe, his words faltering mid-sentence when his eyes landed on you. A confused and somewhat concerned look graced his features, eyes flicking between you and Leofric. “Who is this?”

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Masterlist

The Last Kingdom - Sihtric

Most recently posted:

When Shadows Yield to Light – Uhtred x Sihtric x Finan – standing before Uhtred's doors and gathering courage to knock, Sihtric doesn't realise that what awaits him on the other side will change everything he thought he knew about loyalty, desire, and himself

Only you – plot? never heard of it. Sihtric and wife!reader just can't get enough of each other, breeding kink to some extent, pwp

Reunited Part 1, Part 2 , Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 – modern!Sihtric x reader It was supposed to be a short two week trip that turned into five long years apart, just because your best friend couldn't keep her mouth shut

Top 5 most read:

Indelicate proposal - SMUT 18+ an unexpected proposal leads to more unexpected actions as you discover the surprisingly soft core of the young warrior seeking your attention

Little Seer SMUT 18+ (Sihtric x reader x Finan) – as if being Skade's sister wasn't challenge enough, reader is faced with an impossible choice between two warriors, competing over her heart

Saved Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 SMUT 18+ – Reader is Uhtred’s sister and a skilled healer. She travels with her brother’s men and after the unsuccessful attempt on Uhtred’s life gets curious about the young prisoner, the sole Dane from the group of assailants that is left alive

Feeling you Part 1 SMUT, 18+, Part 2, Part 3 SMUT, 18+ – You thought you had left your days as an alehouse whore behind you until a handsome, young Dane crossed your path

Traitor SMUT 18+ – you thought you had been prepared for everything as you were sent to spy on Uhtred, until the moment you met a certain Danish warrior

Sihtric x female!reader (canon)

Lost – Fic request: After Rumcowa is attacked Sihtric searches for his family not knowing what has happened to them.

Prisoner Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 SMUT 18+ – Sihtric and Finan are sent to spy on Bebbanburg, but Sihtric gets distracted by an attractive widow and lands up caught and secured by the guards with no chances of escape.

Kidnapped Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 – Fic request: Sihtric's wife is being taken by Hestan and she gives birth to twins while she is with them. Then Hestan sees Uthred and threatens that he has Sihtrics family, but of course, Sihtric gets his family back.

Princess Part 1 SMUT 18+ – Fic request: could you write something about Sihtric rescuing a princess (Alfred's daughter) and they both falling in love for each other despite the princess is about to marry somebody else.

Good wife Part 2 SMUT 18+ – Five years later Princess returns to Winchester just to discover Sihtric hasn't kept his promise.

Freedom SMUT 18+ – Reader is a childhood friend of Sihtric, whom he liberates from the slavery after the fall of Dunholm. The life has not been easy on her since Sihtric left. It's a heavy and dark fic, mentioning mental illness, violence and attempted suicide.

Braiding hair – Fic request: Can I request a sihtric x reader fic where she doesn’t know how to braid, so sihtric teaches her. and when she’s good enough he lets her braid his hair for battle saying it would bring him luck

Grief – Fic request: can i ask for husband! Sihtric comforting his wife!reader after losing her best friend. and she obviously suffers from grief. she just wants to be held and told it’s okay to grieve and there’s no shame in hiding it

Sickness Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 – Fic request: Season four Sihtric, when the group are passing through the fields during that plague and the river. Reader is the lover of Sihtric and is sick. (..) The reader and Sihtric have what they think are their last moments before she is kidnapped along with Stiorra, Aelswith and Aethelstan...

The Witch Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 – Fic request: I was hoping you could write a one shot of Sihtric x Fem reader. Where the fem is like a healer very similar to Iseult in season 1. But this time reader is patching up our boy Sihtric. The reader is extremally worried for Sihtric.

Bebbanburg – Fic request: (..) Sihtric ffc that takes place when they are trying to get Bebbanburg back and they take him and Finan and chain them. While they are chained, Sihtric notices a girl also being chained in a corner and after the battle he rescues her

You are good SMUT, 18+ – You don't trust Sihtric, but when you start seeing him the way he really is, you just want to be a part of his world

The promise – for his own good you wrung a promise from Sihtric that left your both hearts bleeding - lot of angst and very little comfort

Caged bird SMUT 18+ – It had been only a week since the handsome Dane, strength and danger emanating from his every pore, had evaded your secluded life, turning it upside down in the blink of an eye. 

Yield to me SMUT 18+ – Fic request: you and Sihtric are sent to Bloodhair's camp to spy, and apparently there is more to discover than the secret plans of the Danes

Dream - Fic request inspired by the The Apparition by Sleep Token – Sihtric plagued by dreams of a woman from his past - angst, longing, some lowkey SMUT 18+ nothing explicit, use of she/her pronouns, happy ending 😉

Destiny is all - SMUT 18+ reading a book turns into a breathtaking adventure

Forever mine - mention of blood, injury, fluff, SMUT 18+ A young Dane awakens something long buried in you, but the truth threatens to shatter your stolen moments. Can love survive built on lies?

Fictober 2024: Broken Bonds, Feeling alive, Good boy, Lord of Dunholm

Dance with me - fluff, SMUT 18+, dancing 😅 It's Eostre – time to celebrate, to feast and honour the returning light after the long winter. And you just want to feel happy and dance...with a certain shy Danish warrior

Where the Heart Returns – SMUT 18+ after Rumcova setting. Sihtric plagued by guilt of leaving his family unprotected hurries to Winchester to make sure they are safe

Sihtric x female!reader (modern)

Strangers on the train SMUT 18+ – Fic request: I can imagine Sihtric and reader meeting by chance on a train. It could get fluffy and even hot and smutty.

Library romance – Fic request: May I request a modern Sihtric fic (nothing serious just some fluff) where Sihtric and reader are best friends and madly in love with each other, but afraid of confessing their feelings.

Date Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 – Fic request: I would like to request a full on fluffy modern!Sihtric fic, where he's desperately in love with reader and he takes her on their first date, and does everything he can to impress her

Until the death us parts (Assassin!Sihtric x Templar!reader) SMUT 18+ – Spying on Sihtric is one thing, but when the reader receives the order to eliminate the target, things get complicated.

Two broken pieces (sub!Sihtric x dom!reader) SMUT 18+ – plot? never heard of it, pure smut with some minor good old pole-dancer/whore meeting a successful businessman background story

Sihtric x OC

Captive (Sihtric x OC) Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 – Sihtric is sent to Heasten’s camp to spy and discovers the Danes have a captive – young Saxon girl he just can’t leave to her fate. My very first fan fic, please bear with me 😅

The Curse (Sihtric x Skade) SMUT 18+, angst – as Uhtred's path crosses with the mighty seer Skade, there is only one way to break the pattern of violence and only one man capable of doing it as the power of love appears stronger than the power of hate

The Wheel of Time - Masema

Masema x female!reader

Supper SMUT 18+ – Serving supper to a prophet. There is no plot, just pure SMUT 18+

Power SMUT 18+ – all your life you've been on the run, hiding the power within you, until you meet a warrior brave enough to claim you despite the trouble you are bringing

[axkirak]

Special : Phantom Thread│(Qimir x Reader)

Remark : This one-shot is a special chapter from The Curse of Cassandra series. I recommend reading the main series first before reading this one.

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings:  Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader)  [The Acolyte]

Content Rating : Mature 18+  Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

A/N : My mind’s still stuck on The Curse of Cassandra—I can’t move on, so I decided to write a special chapter LOL.

This one-shot is inspired by Movie Phantom Thread (2017) and the German folktale Tristan and Iseult, perfectly capturing Qimir and Reader’s toxic relationship—literally toxic, with actual toxin involved 😂

I originally planned a sweeter scene with Qimir caring for the reader during her pregnancy, but it felt too OOC for the dark tone of the series, so I made it a “love so intense it almost kills you” vibe (don’t worry, no one dies—just some playful activity, as couples do. 😏).Think of it as sweet revenge for what happened on Eiram.

Also, I realized my fic doesn’t delve into Qimir’s perspective much, so this chapter is all about his POV.

[Special I ] Phantom Thread

The beginnings of love are often effortless and swift, burning with passion. 

Yet sustaining a lasting, stable relationship is far more challenging—especially when both partners know each other's true nature so well, seeing both the qualities that attract and those that repel.

Sometimes, Qimir finds himself wondering where exactly he and you truly stand.

A tense silence fills the dining room as his gaze rests on you, seated across the wooden table. You offer a soft smile that feels strangely out of place, almost unsettling, considering how rarely you've looked him in the eye before. Most of the time, your demeanor is distant, as though lost in visions only you can see, speaking to him only when truly necessary, like when delivering a warning or sharing insights from what you've foreseen.

Even after Alia, their daughter, was born, the dynamic between you and Qimir remains unchanged. It hasn’t worsened, but it hasn’t grown any closer either.

Qimir understands that he can’t alter what is. He can’t make you open your heart or engage with him sincerely. Yet, coercion isn’t the answer—he’s already exerted enough control. Throughout your time together, he’s been the one in charge, while you simply complied and offered guidance. That was the arrangement set back on Eiram, and it continues even now.

But as time goes on, Qimir increasingly realizes that he’s never truly had control over you. You might appear to submit, but never willingly. Sometimes, you even show a quiet defiance in subtle ways, which he interprets as a form of retribution, rebellion—or perhaps even a kind of love, interwoven with resentment, a strange ritual in the flawed relationship between you both.

Strangely, he finds himself willing to accept it—for those rare moments you offer—a fleeting smile, a soft “I love you,” a kiss, an embrace. Even if it’s only temporary, even if it’s no more than a phantom.

Tonight, the dining table is filled with a variety of dishes you’ve prepared—herb soup, chicken sautéed with an unfamiliar ingredient, and other dishes unfamiliar to him. You explain they’re Fremen dishes, infused with spice.

Qimir does not favor spices, a fact you are well aware of.

He’s certain you’ve done it on purpose, with some intention in mind.

As if sensing his thoughts, you slide a single dish toward him—the only one without spice.

It’s Bocha.

You look at him expectantly, your once impassive gaze now bright with life, seemingly filled with affection—if it’s not just his imagination.

"I made this just for you," you say softly. “I thought you might need a break—a week of rest would do you good.”

It isn’t a suggestion, nor is it a command, but something he has no choice but to follow.

As he stares at the golden, crisp Bocha on his plate, an unpleasant memory resurfaces. You have made Bocha for him before, and his decision to eat it was his greatest mistake in years. Qimir did not expect that you had laced it with a sedative, in an attempt to escape him. He’d trusted you, and trusted himself too much, and the result was a painful betrayal.

But could he blame you for deceiving him when he himself had deceived you just as much?

“Do you trust me, my love?” you ask, as though you know exactly what’s on his mind.

Qimir meets your gaze, wanting to say 'no', but the words get stuck in his throat.

You know his weaknesses, his deepest desires, and you wield them against him. You call him “my love” in that soft, beguiling tone, gazing at him with warm, affectionate eyes. How could he possibly refuse?

He picks up the Bocha, his fingers pausing mid-motion. He doesn’t take a bite, his eyes fixed on your face. “Will you still be here when I wake up?” he asks, trying to mask the worry in his voice.

You shake your head in mild amusement before reaching out to take his hand. Your thumb begins tracing gentle circles in his palm—a gesture of comfort, perhaps even reassurance. "There's no sedative, Qimir," you assure him firmly. "And I could never leave you. You know that."

You’re telling the truth—about the fact that you cannot leave him and the absence of sedative in the boche.

Because he can smell and see it clearly: the boche is stuffed with Yellow Stainer[1]—a poisonous mushroom known to disrupt the digestive system, causing stomach pain, headaches, and nausea. It’s a torment that won’t kill him but is severe enough to leave him temporarily weak and vulnerable.

You prepared this just for him.

Qimir smiles, quiet admiration flickering in his heart.

Finally He’s met his true match—someone willing to bring him to his knees, not with weapons but with something far more powerful: love.

As Qimir takes a bite of the Bocha, savoring its intense flavor tinged with the sharp, inky bitterness of poisonous mushrooms, his thoughts drift to an ancient tale—Tristan and Iseult[2]. He once read it in the Jedi Temple’s library. For a fleeting moment, he envisions you as Iseult, standing before him with a chilling smile, offering Tristan—him—a goblet laced with poison as a reminder of their covenant of death.

Qimir closes his eyes and swallows the Bocha, unflinching, like Tristan drinking the poisoned goblet. Only later did Tristan discover it was not poison, but a love potion.

You watch Qimir intently, not blinking until he finishes every bite. Then, rising smoothly, you kneel beside him. Your lips brush softly against his rough cheek as you whisper words only he could ever understand:

"I want you flat on your back. Helpless, tender, open with only me to help. And then I want you strong again. You're not going to die. You might wish you're going to die, but you're not going to. You need to settle down a little"

Qimir chuckles softly, cupping your face with both hands. His voice is hoarse with fatigue as he pleads, “Kiss me, my girl, before I’m sick.”

Your smile grows, warm and faintly mischievous. Leaning closer, you kiss him passionately, deeply, just as he asked. Qimir pulls you closer, holding you tightly even as his body begins to weaken and sway. He knows it won’t be long before he collapses to the floor, writhing in agony, suffering that could last for days.

But for now, he wants to savor this brief sliver of happiness for as long as he can.

When the kiss finally ends, he rests his forehead against yours, savoring the quiet warmth that freezes time. He decides to speak the words he’s held in his heart for so long. “I love you.”

In this close proximity, your eyes reveal the depth of your feelings for him—feelings you’ve harbored for years. A blend of love and hate intertwined within you, reflected in a gaze he has never fully understood.

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice steady and calm, making it impossible to discern what truly lies behind it.

Qimir isn’t sure whether the bond between them is driven more by love or hate.

But he doesn’t mind, as long as you remain by his side and keep telling him you love him—whether it’s true or just a lie. It doesn’t matter.

Even if it means he must wretch and soon vomit from the Bocha, he accepts it willingly.

Footnotes:

[1] Yellow Stainer is a type of poisonous mushroom. It has a strong odor, similar to ink or iodine, and its effects are severe on the digestive system, causing nausea and vomiting when consumed.

[2] Tristan and Iseult is a famous medieval romance based on Celtic mythology. Tristan, a knight, is tasked with escorting Princess Iseult to marry his uncle, the king. The princess holds a personal grudge against Tristan, believing he killed her fiancé, so she gives him a poisoned drink. Unbeknownst to her, the poison is actually a love potion her mother had given her to use on the king. As a result, Tristan and Princess Iseult fall in love because of it, but their love ends tragically.

[witchezandwonderz]

The Hearts Reckoning- Part 2

Pairing: Alfred x Reader

As requested, please enjoy:) (sorry it is short!)

It had been two years. Two long and merciless years since the night Y/N had left Wessex in heartbreak-fueled anger, spurred by King Alfred, who, after their passionate affair, had told him that there was no possible way for them to be together—or at least, to continue their arrangement.

Y/N was captured four days into his journey to… well, nowhere and anywhere, by Danes who, for reasons unknown, kept him alive. He knew none of his captors and had no desire to; knowing them would change nothing. Now he spent his days being beaten, though the pain no longer registered. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d spoken, for he had no one to speak to. He tried to force his mind to go blank, to shut out memories of his past life, which only tore at his heart. But however hard he tried, his mind would drift, hoping, praying that Alfred might save him. In the early days of his capture, he had allowed himself to believe it—that somehow, some way, Alfred would find him.

But that hope faded as each miserable day and night ticked by. He realized that hope only made him feel worse and decided he would spend no more time harboring such delusions.

Meanwhile, Alfred had buried himself in his duties, tasks that offered a steady distraction from his own heartbreak. He thought of Y/N daily, worried about him, but he told himself Y/N was happier now, wherever he was, than he ever could have been in Wessex. Alfred knew better than to believe Y/N was truly safe, but he repeated this notion to console himself.

Alfred now had a son, whom he named Edward, though Y/N had no way of knowing this as he sat in captivity, wondering about Alfred’s life, wondering if he still thought of him, if it was easy for him to go on without him. Y/N was also unaware that Alfred had been forced to flee his home with his family, accompanied by Uhtred, Leofric, Iseult, and Hild—all dear friends of Uhtred’s. Despite everything, Alfred trusted Uhtred and chose to follow him. Though Uhtred held Alfred partially responsible for Young Ragnar and Guthrum’s attack on Winchester, he still offered to help the king’s family find refuge in the marshlands.

There, Iseult prepared tonics and remedies for Alfred, who was suffering from an ailment so private he couldn’t bring himself to speak of it. Yet Iseult seemed to sense it and quietly offered him relief.

Neither Alfred nor Y/N knew how close they truly were, for Y/N’s captors were Guthrum and Young Ragnar. One day, when the Danes were distracted with their own affairs, Y/N seized the moment and ran as fast as his legs could carry him, taking a sword and shield he had stolen in his escape. He didn’t dare look back. He ran for what felt like hours, though it was only twenty minutes, until he stumbled into a boggy landscape, the mud pulling at his feet. Exhausted, he squatted down, hands on his knees, and struggled to catch his breath. Once he’d steadied himself, he let out a strange, breathless laugh. He had finally escaped.

But just as he sat down in the mud, still laughing, he heard voices.

Damn.

Y/N’s pulse quickened, and he scrambled to find somewhere to hide, wedging himself into a dense thicket of grass. He strained to listen, heart pounding as he began to recognize a few of the voices. Then, another voice broke through, one he knew instantly: Alfred’s.

Y/N sighed bitterly, thinking, This would only happen to me.

In the next moment, a figure loomed over him—Uhtred, his face a blend of concern and wariness. He raised his sword slightly, motioning toward the others before looking back down at Y/N. “My lord, you might want to see this,” he called, his tone grave.

Alfred approached and froze, unable to believe what he saw. Y/N’s face, once so vibrant, was now mottled with fresh and fading bruises. Dark contusions marred his cheekbone and brow, and a dried line of blood traced his cracked lip. One eye was nearly swollen shut, but the other looked away, downcast, trying not to meet Alfred’s gaze. The sight tore at the king’s heart.

Alfred’s throat tightened, and anger mingled with sorrow. He knelt down, gently brushing his thumb over a bruise on Y/N’s cheek.

“Who did this to you?” he whispered, his voice raw, struggling to maintain composure. Y/N looked at him briefly, then pulled back.

“Danes,” Y/N muttered, struggling to keep his tears at bay and to resist the urge to reach for Alfred. Alfred’s response came swiftly.

“What Danes?” His eyes remained locked on Y/N. Y/N tried to recall through the fog of his memory.

“I remember the name… Ragnar,” he whispered. His words caused Alfred to look back at Uhtred, who regarded them both with sympathy. Alfred opened his mouth to say more but was interrupted by a beautiful young woman, Iseult, who approached and offered to tend to Y/N. Alfred nodded, insisting that she do so, and then sent Aelswith to escort the children to their quarters, asking Leofric to accompany her. Aelswith complied, though not without evident displeasure.

Once Y/N had received Iseult’s herbs, he felt a dull relief spread through him; the pain lingered, but the dizziness and nausea had lessened. Alfred sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. The silence between them was warm and comforting. Alfred reached out and took Y/N’s hand, their fingers intertwining instinctively.

For a moment, Alfred hesitated, studying the marks on Y/N’s face—the bruises, the cuts—reminders of his suffering. Beneath it all, though, he saw the man he loved. A tremor passed through him, a mix of relief and lingering fury. Unable to resist, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against Y/N’s, their breaths mingling in the narrow space between them.

Y/N looked up at him, his gaze softened, and closed his eyes, savoring the moment, the feeling of safety and closeness. For a brief instant, he forgot all the pain of the past two years.

After a while, Y/N broke the silence, clearing his throat. “You never came for me,” he said quietly. “I waited… but you never came.”

Alfred was taken aback. He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen, and he knew he should have searched for him.

A tear slipped from Alfred’s tired eyes as he replied, his voice filled with regret. “I am here now, my love.” His tone was soft, but a steely resolve crept into his gaze as he added, “And I will seek vengeance—I promise.”

[icarusignite]

Hey! I don't know if this is the proper format (still kind of new here) but I'm sending in this prompt for an Alfred × Reader fic. There's this idea for him that was stuck in my head a couple months ago. So…

It's set either S2 or S3 but it fits better in S3 or the break between 2 and 3. Alfred is really ill which isn't unusual for him, but this time he's taking a lot longer for him to heal and he's deteriorating more seriously than he normally would.

People in court start looking around for new healers and remedies. Alfred is also kind of desperate because he doesn't want to die before England is complete or Edward is ready to take over.

Reader, who is a healer, comes to court with the intention of helping Alfred. She's neither Dane nor Saxon, if you're comfortable with it she could be of Asian or African origin/descent (eg Father Benedict in S5). She's either Muslim or Christian, either way she's well read and a bit of a scholar (if you've seen Vikings: Valhalla S2, there's a female character that might ring a bell). She's also able to reassure him, like Iseult, that she's treating him with nature's bounty and nothing sinister.

Because she's a scholar (also maybe a Christian), Alfred is comfortable that she's not practicing witchcraft so this helps him accept her more easily. It also helps them bond and they become really close friends over the course of the months she spends treating him. They have fun banter and he's able to feel like Alfred, the man around her instead of King Alfred. Then he realizes that he has feelings for her.

At this point it could go any way really. Does Aelswith factor into it much or not? Does reader reciprocate his feelings or not? If she does, would she be comfortable giving into them and being a mistress? Is Aelswith even in the picture or is this a slight AU? Do they have a sad, happy or bittersweet ending? Idk

For extra spice, Reader could also be good friends with Uhtred or Finan which makes Alfred a little jealous but also sad because he thinks that she'd probably prefer the charming, handsome, potentially single, strapping man to whatever measly affection he could offer her.

Ideally, it would be fluff or smut but whatever you're comfortable writing is fine! Sorry if this is too long but I wanted to be as clear as possible 😅. I also understand if this is too much for a oneshot and you forego the idea entirely

Alfred the great x POC! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: Heyy, so sorry this took literally eons to finally write. Thank you for your lovely request and also thank u for your patience <3 Hope you enjoy what I've done with your idea, and dw this will have another part where I'll explore their chemistry more. I watched a bunch of Alfred edits to get in the mood and ngl I'm lowkey in love with him now lmfao. 

Disclaimer: there might be some (a lot) historical discrepancies because I didn't line up the dates exactly but I did find out that the Golden Age of Islam overlapped significantly with the dates that the last kingdom spans so the reader is a prominent scholar from Baghdad. Also, Aelswith is dead (I'm sorry T_T) cuz I don't love a cheating trope even when it is sort of historically accurate. So we have single dad Alfred lol. 

The only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you

Entering King Alfred's throne room, your senses were immediately awakened by the unfamiliar sights, sounds, and scents of Wessex. The room itself was a stark contrast to the opulent palaces and grand courts of Baghdad that you were accustomed to. The room was spacious, yet its decoration was surprisingly humble and simple, adorned with rough-hewn wooden beams and modest tapestries that depicted various scenes of English myths and prominent events. With a flash of triumph, you found that you recognized some of them from your studies of the English culture. A faint scent of burning wood from the hearth permeated the air with an earthy aroma.

You observed the nobles in attendance, or the ealdormen as they were called here, their attire markedly different from the splendid silks and jewels of Baghdad's court. Here, the people wore simpler garments made of sturdy wool and linen, in the dark colours of the earth as opposed to the the vibrant clothing the people of your home favoured.

Your gaze then turned to the throne itself. It was a robust wooden chair, its design austere yet imposing, lacking the grandeur of the magnificent thrones you had imagined English kings liked to occupy. King Alfred's regal figure atop the throne created a dignified presence. His clothing, matched the style of his ealdormen, long simple robes of a dull grey. The seat next to him was empty and you briefly wondered about his family. The chronicles you had read stated that a king's wife usually took her place beside him when he held court, but you did not know much of Alfred's wife.

Your fingers itched for your writing instruments, yearning to document all your observations and the happenings of the court. You seldom went anywhere without them, but now they remained tucked away in your satchel as you waited for the king to acknowledge your presence. You knew he had seen you enter, his eyes briefly meeting yours, even as he conversed with his ealdormen. Eventually, your thoughts began to wander and you couldn't help but reflect on the stark contrast between the scorching heat of Baghdad and the chilly bite of autumn in Wessex. your flowing linen tunic and trousers, so comfortable in the sweltering desert of your homeland, felt inadequate against the cold English air that seeped through the cracks in the stone walls.

You discreetly rubbed your tingling fingertips together, trying to generate some warmth, as the fire blazing at the hearth did little to banish the chill that had settled in your bones. Your longing for the warmth of the caliphate's sun was keenly felt in this unfamiliar and frigid environment.

Impatience welled up within you as you glanced around the chamber, noting the courtiers' stoic expressions and hushed conversations. The king's deliberations seemed to stretch on endlessly, and you found yourself yearning for the moment when you could finally present your credentials and seek the audience you had travelled so far to obtain.

King Alfred's voice finally called out your name, his voice echoing through the chamber.

"Esteemed lady, I welcome you to the court of Wessex."

The ealdormen, accustomed to the formalities of their court, were taken aback when you did not bow or curtsy as was expected. Instead, you offered a polite smile and tipped your head in a gesture of respect.

A murmur of surprise and disapproval rippled through the assembled courtiers. Some whispered that your behaviour was disrespectful, a breach of protocol. They exchanged curious glances, wondering how their king would react to this departure from tradition.

However, King Alfred took no offence. With a gracious nod, he signalled for you to speak.

"Thank you, your grace. It is an honour to be here."

Your accent was soft, lending your words a foreign intonation, and each syllable was carefully enunciated. You had spent months learning the language, and you weren't about to embarrass yourself now by messing up your pronunciation.

"I extend my deepest gratitude to you for undertaking such a long and arduous journey at my request. I hope the discomfort of the voyage did not prove too taxing."

"Your Majesty," you replied, "it was a journey of great honour for me, and I hope to make myself useful here."

King Alfred nodded appreciatively and then turned to a servant standing nearby.

"Please, ensure that the lady is provided with comfortable quarters and all the amenities she may require during your stay in Wessex."

The servant bowed in acknowledgment and stepped forward to escort you to your residence within the royal palace. You thanked the king once more for his hospitality and assistance before following the servant out of the chamber.

As you left the throne room, your observant nature couldn't help but take note of King Alfred's condition. Despite his attempt to appear at ease in his chair, you had perceived the subtle signs of discomfort. His favouring of his left side, indicating pain or injury to his right, and the unusually pallid complexion for an Englishman raised concerns in your scholarly mind. That was your purpose, after all, to try to diagnose and hopefully cure the ailing monarch.

Just when you were gone, the noblemen of King Alfred's court wasted no time in flocking around him, their curiosity piqued by the arrival of the enigmatic woman. They bombarded the king with questions and voiced their concerns about the unfamiliar customs you had displayed.

One nobleman, his voice dripping with skepticism, remarked, "Your Majesty, did you see that? She didn't bow or curtsy as she should have! It's as if she has no respect for you."

Another, eyeing your unusual attire and complexion, chimed in, "And her clothing, Your Grace! It's unlike anything I've ever seen in Wessex. She's clearly not from anywhere near England. What could she possibly want here?"

The murmurs of disapproval and suspicion spread among the courtiers, as they exchanged perplexed glances. To them, your arrival was an anomaly, and your behaviour had raised eyebrows and questions.

King Alfred, his countenance calm and measured, raised a hand to quell the growing unease.

"I understand your concerns, but there is nothing to worry about" he began, addressing their concerns. "The lady you have just met is a prominent figure from Baghdad. She has travelled from a distant land to be here and she is not here to defy our traditions or customs. She is a scholar seeking to further her studies in Wessex. Her journey to our land is a great honour, as it reflects the recognition of the importance of our own intellectual pursuits."

His tone left no room for further skepticism. He also did not mention the other reason you were there, as he did not wish to reveal the truth of his declining health. As the nobles filtered out of the room, somewhat still unsatisfied by his answer, Alfred couldn't help but remain still, his mind going over the recent developments. When he had first written to the Abbasid Caliphate to request that he be allowed to host a medical scholar at his court, he had to admit he was not expecting a woman, and certainly not one so beautiful.

The next day, Alfred summoned you to his private chambers for a consultation regarding his health. As you entered the room, he couldn't help but notice the change in your attire. Gone was the flowing linen tunic and trousers, replaced by a sturdier, more practical woollen English dress. The deep blue gauzy veil, however, was still draped around your head and flowed down your back.

The English clothing seemed to complement you, accentuating your elegance in a way that was both unexpected and captivating. The king, not for the first time, found himself admiring you, though he kept such thoughts to himself, mindful of the formal context of your meeting.

You, ever the professional scholar, maintained a polite and formal distance as you began your examination of the king. You inquired about his symptoms, listening attentively to his description of the pain and discomfort he had been experiencing. Your deep knowledge and keen medical insight were evident as you asked probing questions and conducted a thorough assessment.

After a careful evaluation, you began to discuss your observations and your initial diagnosis with the king. You explained your thoughts on the potential causes of his discomfort and suggested a course of treatment. King Alfred was grateful for your expertise, and couldn't help but be struck by your intellect. He had a thirst for knowledge himself and he appreciated the quality in others when he saw it. In you he recognized a passion for learning and documentation, one he held himself as well. After the medical examination, he extended an invitation to you to remain in his chambers and share a cup of tea. Initially hesitant, you eventually agreed, recognizing the value of the opportunity to engage in conversation with the English monarch.

Seated in the warmth of the chamber, Alfred began to share with you the rich history of England, its struggles, its triumphs, and its cultural tapestry. He spoke of the challenges of the Anglo-Saxon period, the battles against the Danes, and the enduring spirit of the English people. As he narrated the history of his land, Alfred couldn't help but notice how your eyes lit up with a deep fascination, even though you attempted to contain your enthusiasm. Your questions flowed naturally as you probed deeper into the history and culture of Wessex. You asked about the Anglo-Saxon kings, the legends and folklore, and the development of the English language.

You kept diligent notes in your little notebook, your hand swiftly capturing every detail of the conversation. Your keen intellect and insatiable thirst for knowledge were evident, and your genuine interest in Alfred's words warmed his heart. It had been quite a while since anyone had paid such rapt attention to what he was saying, and he found himself rejuvenated by your exchange.

As a lull settled over your conversation, Alfred's curiosity got the better of him. With a twinkle in his eye, he leaned forward and said, "My lady, I must admit, I'm quite curious about the contents of that notebook of yours. What sort of information have you been documenting to take back to your homeland?"

You smiled, your demeanour more relaxed than when you had first come in, "Your Majesty, you need not worry. I promise you, I haven't written that the English are fire-breathing trolls."

Alfred felt a grin tug at his lips, but he suppressed the urge, keeping his hands folded placidly over his stomach.

"Well, you know, if we English could breathe fire, we might have an easier time dealing with our enemies!"

"There is a trick that performers back home use, to give the illusion of breathing fire. The science behind it is quite fascinating. Perhaps I shall explain it to you sometime."

"Ah yes my lady, you have filled your book with our tales, but have yet to share yours. Do you have any secrets from the East that you'd like to share with us humble English folk?"

You couldn't help but smirk at his words, "I'm afraid some secrets are best left in the lands where they belong, your grace. We wouldn't want you to start brewing Persian tea incorrectly, now would we?"

"I doubt it can compete with our tried and trusted English tea."

"You only think that way because you haven't tried Persian tea yet. Trust me, once you have, there's no going back."

"I suppose you make a fair point! Although, I must admit, the thought of trying to decipher the intricacies of Arabic calligraphy is rather tempting."

You paused, your light-hearted nature urging you to make another joke but you strictly reminded yourself that you were in the presence of a king. It would do you no good to offend him with an ill-timed statement. You were already apprehensive about your earlier comment about the Persian tea, although you were grateful that he chose not to see it as a slight. As if sensing your hesitation, Alfred sat up in bed and leaned forward.

"You are free to speak my lady, do not hold yourself back on my account," he reassured with a wave of his hand.

Still, you settled for a polite smile, "I was just going to remark on the difficulty of calligraphy but I am certain that if anyone would be able to master it, it'd be you, Your Majesty."

A small furrow appeared between Alfred's brows as if that wasn't the answer he expected from you. He could see you pulling away, going back to your polite, almost cold professionalism. Eventually, he nodded thoughtfully at you.

"I would be ever so grateful if you could perhaps show me the technique someday, my lady."

You breathed a sigh of relief and nodded with a small smile.

"Now, about that notebook, if you would allow me to take a look?"

"Ah yes, of course," you handed over the small leatherbound journal to him quickly without further complaints. "But I must warn you, my handwriting isn't at its most legible."

Alfred accepted the notebook with a nod of appreciation. As he leafed through its pages, his eyes quickly fell upon your meticulously written notes. Your thoughts were inscribed in your native language and although he did not understand the words, your elegant looping script impressed him.

He raised an eyebrow and turned toward you expectantly, pointing toward a specific passage, "And what does this say right here?"

"It is a description of the English weather, your grace."

Alfred leaned closer, his finger tracing the inked lines on the page.

"Ah yes, English weather. It was raining when you first arrived, wasn't it? What do you think of our English rain then, my lady? I've heard it has a certain charm."

"Well, I believe your rain can be quite persuasive. It insists that one should stay indoors and read a good book."

Alfred's lips twitched again, fighting back a smile. It seemed that the new scholar shared his interests as well.

"A wise perspective, indeed. Perhaps our English rain is simply encouraging a literary lifestyle."

"Yes, your grace."

"My lady" he continued, a note of genuine admiration in his voice, "I must tell you, your handwriting is truly exquisite. Tell me, just how many languages have you learned."

You felt a blush creep into your cheeks at his compliment. There was something sincere in his eyes as he waited for your answer, looking at you like your accomplishments were the greatest thing in the world. You opened your mouth to respond but then a loud knock sounded on the door and a priest entered.

"Yes, Father Beocca," Alfred seemed irritated at the interruption.

Father Beocca's eyes glanced from you to the king, and despite the fact that you were sitting in a chair quite some distance away from him, you felt a strange flash of awkward embarrassment run through you.

"My king, Uhtred is here to see you," the priest finally stated.

Alfred sighed and turned toward you with an apologetic smile, "Shall we continue our conversation another time then, my lady? It seems that I am needed elsewhere."

"Yes, of course, your grace."

You quickly took your leave then, choosing to take one of your books and go read in the garden. You had just settled yourself into a comfortable nook when loud boisterous laughter caught your attention. Turning your gaze towards the source of the commotion, you spotted three men, two of whom were dressed in the attire of warriors. Their boisterous behaviour was evident as they playfully teased and shoved the third man, who was clad in robes that resembled those of Father Beocca. However, a leather breastplate adorned his monk's attire, hinting at a surprising duality of roles – priest and fighter.

The two warriors were engaged in a lively exchange with the monk, their laughter echoing through the garden. You couldn't help but smile as you watched the scene unfold. Their camaraderie and jesting reminded you of the Caliph's sons back home, when your father would take you to visit the palace.

One of the warriors, a bearded man with broad shoulders and a hearty laugh, clapped the monk on the back.

"Come now, Osferth," he said between chuckles, "surely your devotion to the Lord could use a bit of levity now and then."

The monk, Osferth, grinned in response, "Aye Finan, it is said that laughter is the best medicine, is it not?"

The other warrior, a lean and quick-witted fellow, joined in with a jest, "Well, if that's the case, Osferth, then Finan here will live to be a hundred and you shall die tomorrow!"

Osferth elbowed the tall man in the ribs, "Not before I knock some sense into you Sihtric."

Their jovial banter and good-natured teasing continued, creating a lively atmosphere in the serene garden. You couldn't help but be amused by their antics and the familiarity of their interactions, watching them for quite some time.

The trio of men eventually noticed your presence, and with their laughter dying down, they made their way over to you. As they approached, their expressions revealed a mixture of curiosity and surprise.

The broad-shouldered warrior, Finan, whose eyes twinkled with mischief, was the first to speak. "Well, what have we here?" he said with a grin. "A traveller from foreign shores, I presume?"

"Yes, I am from Baghdad, my lord."

The warrior, clearly taken with you, couldn't resist a flirtatious remark.

"Lady, I must say, you are a wondrous addition to our English garden."

You snorted at his attempt at flirtation.

Meanwhile, the monk with the leather breastplate maintained a more respectful demeanour.

"Greetings, lady, I am Osferth," he said with a nod. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. May I ask what brings you to our humble Wessex?"

You found the monk's polite curiosity quite refreshing.

"Greetings to you too, Osferth. I've come to further my studies here. Wessex has much to offer in terms of knowledge and history, and I hope to make the most of it."

"Well, my lady, if ever you wish to explore our English shores, I'd be delighted to be your guide," it was Finan who spoke again and you could not help but laugh at his words.

"Thank you, kind sir. Your offer is most gracious."

“Call me Finan, my lady.”

Your change continued as they asked more about you and your hometown and you asked about theirs. You found out that they were a band of warriors who followed some fellow named Uhtred, the very same Uhtred who was currently speaking to King Alfred. As the conversation flowed, you discovered that you enjoyed speaking with these men. Their witty banter and friendly demeanour made you feel at ease, despite the foreignness of your surroundings. You shared stories of your travels, your scholarly pursuits, and the cultural nuances of your homeland. The men, in turn, regaled you with tales of their own adventures.

As you continued to engage in playful banter with the warriors, you remained oblivious to the presence of King Alfred and Uhtred, who had ventured outside and were observing the lively exchange.

Eventually, with a confident stride, Uhtred made his way toward your group to make his introduction and Father Beocca approached the king with his concerns.

"Your Majesty," he began cautiously, "I must admit, I have reservations about entrusting your treatment to a foreigner, especially one from so distant a land. We must be cautious of witchcraft and unfamiliar practices."

King Alfred turned to Father Beocca, his expression thoughtful but resolute, "Father Beocca, I understand your concerns, but the lady is no ordinary foreigner. She hails from Baghdad, a city known for its innovative medical advancements and a center of learning in the Islamic world. She comes as one of their finest scholars, sent by the Caliph himself."

"I see, your grace."

"I have read extensively about the great Islamic civilization, and its contributions to science, medicine, and philosophy. I believe we have much to learn from her, not only about medicine but also about fostering understanding and collaboration between our cultures. They have succeeded in uniting several lands under one caliphate, so perhaps we might learn how we may unite England as well."

Father Beocca, though still cautious, nodded in understanding, "Your Majesty, I trust your judgment. It is my fervent hope that the lady's presence here will indeed lead to beneficial knowledge and that she will uphold the values of wisdom and compassion."

"Thank you, Father Beocca. Let us have faith in this unique opportunity for cultural exchange and enlightenment. Her presence is a bridge between worlds, and I believe it is a path toward a brighter future for Wessex."

Over the course of the next few months, you became familiar with the routines of the Wessex palace. King Alfred allowed you to shadow him throughout his day, believing that you could provide valuable insights into his own activities. It was a decision that would lead to a profound connection between the two of you.

Every day, you diligently prepared poultices and medications for the king’s ailments, and often you’d recite the recipe to him and explain the purpose of each herb and plant that went into it. He found that he trusted you completely but he was still comforted by your transparency and the efforts you took to explain things to him. Sometimes he would insist on accompanying you on walks and you would point out the various native English plants and their counterparts back home. You also documented the king's activities and observations in your notebook. At times, he would request to see your notebook, often just to admire the beauty of your script. He marvelled at the graceful lines of your writing, and the intricate calligraphy that adorned the pages.

Your interactions went beyond the formalities of your initial meeting. King Alfred, always eager to learn, would occasionally ask you to translate certain passages from your native language and over time, your bond grew stronger. King Alfred began to look forward to each day, eager to see your bright and colourful veil, a striking contrast to your plain English gowns. He would wonder which hue you would choose, and it became a delightful anticipation in his daily routine.

Your conversations transcended the realm of duty and scholarly pursuits. The two of you shared your favourite books, discussing the nuances of various works and debating the merits of different translations. Your insights challenged Alfred's own understanding, and he cherished these moments of intellectual stimulation.

As the days turned into weeks and then months, Alfred realized that you had become an important fixture in his life. your presence was a source of inspiration, a reminder of the power of knowledge, and a testament to the potential for understanding and collaboration between different cultures.

He found himself thinking of you when he was apart from you, reminiscing about how your eyes would dance with mirth as you argued with him about the inaccuracies of translated works, or how your laughter would fill the palace corridors. You had not only enriched his pursuit of knowledge but had also touched his heart, becoming a cherished friend and confidante in the process.

Alfred could still vividly recall the way you had looked at him with genuine wonder and appreciation when he had shown you his humble library. He knew that compared to the great libraries of Alexandria and Baghdad, his collection was modest, but you had delighted in it all the same. Your eyes, filled with curiosity and admiration, had swept over the numerous scrolls and manuscripts, taking in the wealth of knowledge contained within those walls.

In that moment, as you softly murmured your thanks, Alfred felt his breath catch. He was struck not only by the beauty of your physical presence but also by the grace with which you carried yourself and the genuine enthusiasm you displayed for learning. Your voice had a melodic quality that lingered in his memory. It was a voice that seemed to breathe life into the ancient texts that surrounded you and the king found himself quite enamoured with you. The two of you spent many a late night pouring over scrolls together, and although he always kept a respectful distance, Alfred found himself wanting to brush away the stray strands of hair that fell across your forehead, having escaped the tightly bound coil you usually kept your hair in.

Tonight was one such night as the dim light of the candle burned low, and after a lively discussion on herbal medicine, you had fallen asleep on one of the ancient manuscripts. Alfred, his mind still buzzing with the echoes of your conversation, fought against the pull of sleep. Instead, he watched you slumber, his heart filled with a mixture of admiration and tenderness.

In the soft candlelight of the library, you appeared even more enchanting. Your thick eyelashes brushed against your cheeks as you slept peacefully, your features serene. Your form rose and fell with each gentle breath, a rhythmic reminder of the tranquil cadence of sleep. Alfred couldn't help but be captivated by your beauty in this unburdened state. The play of shadows and light highlighted the delicate contours of your face, and the soft glow of the manuscripts around you lent an almost ethereal quality to the scene. You looked like a vision from a dream.

As he watched your slumber, a sudden, unexpected urge welled up within him. He was struck by the temptation to lean in and kiss you, but he quickly banished the traitorous thought. What an absurd thing for a king to do, to force his affections on a guest in his home. Especially when he had no way of knowing if you returned his feelings. He would have to content himself with the simple act of watching you sleep, his heart filled with a deep and unspoken longing.

He also found himself wondering if you were betrothed, for you couldn’t possibly be married and still be here. What man would not accompany you or let you out of his sight if you were his wife? Although you had discussed many things, you did not stray close to personal topics such as family. You were only a few years younger than him and surely you had to have someone in your life. And even if you didn’t, what could you possibly want with an ailing man like him when a woman as accomplished as you could have anyone in the world?

Such melancholy things plagued him as he eventually drifted asleep on the table across from you, his final thoughts fixating on what it might feel like to have your lips against his. 

[femalefemur]

wip wednesday + wip titles

thank you so much for the tag @glossysoap and @kyletogaz ily ily ily 💖💖💖

there's too many wips in my pile to put them all so here's a few that i want to work on this month.

18+ minors do not interact!

Amour et Folie - Gaz X Reader based on Tristan and Iseult.

A new sensation that plagued his dreams and whispered in his ear to take what was his, she was his and she always would be it told him. Love and madness were one in the same for him, there was no divide, no separation of the two, they consumed him equally and wholly and left no space for anything but. These emotions which had tangled and melded into one all consuming fire that burned within him would be his downfall. He knew it deep in his heart that it would be but he followed where it led him without a second thought for he lived with his heart and not his mind, he would follow his madness wherever it led him even if it led to his demise.

The Moss Beneath You - Wolf Shifter Johnny X Wood Nymph Reader.

He’d shifted as soon as his clothes had hit the ground and ran until he was deep in the woods, bounding after a bird that caught his eye as his maw split into a feral grin as he chased after it with a playful yip. The bird had flown out of his sight long ago when he heard your humming, it stopped him in his tracks and made his ear perk up as they swivelled in the direction of your voice. He quietly followed the humming until he was standing at the edge of the field and watching you with curiosity, he could see the top half of you sitting naked in the field of flowers, your bottom half obscured by the flowers which surrounded you. A wood nymph he thought to himself as he sat on his haunches and watched your fingers deftly weave the stems of the flowers together.

Hidden Veils - Ghost X Soap, Johnny conceals his identity and marries Simon in place of his sister.

“Not so bad? Yer marrying a man you’ve never even met, he could be a murderer for all you know! What if that’s what he does? Marries women and then takes them back to his home where he kills them” Johnny frowned and kicked her foot back, turning to face her. “This isn’t one of those stories you like to read so much Johnny, this is real life, he’s not going to kill me.” “You don’t know that! Besides you don’t even want to marry him” “So what? Doesn’t matter if I want to or not, at least he’ll provide for me” she let out a shaky breath and looked away from her brother, staring up at the stars that twinkled so brightly in the dark sky. “Aye but…but you don’t deserve to be married off to someone just because of that, you have so much you wanted to do, to see” his eyes bore into her, trying to memorise every detail of her face before she was married and he was deployed, who knows if they would ever meet again. “Well things don’t always go how we want them to, sometimes we have to give up our dreams and settle into another life,” she shrugged, blinking her tears away “sometimes our lives take a different direction than we thought they would, they twist and turn until they’re something unrecognisable, something we never dreamed of.”

no pressure tags 💖:

@solivagantingrebel @losersimonriley @forsaire @stellewriites

@forestshadow-wolf @eiraeths @evergreenfields

[artficlly]

update + news

hello hello!! i just wanted to drop this lil update + a lil bit of news. just wanted to say a big thank you because this blog just hit 100 followers omg!! it's crazy to think people actually want to read my ramblings so tysm for all the support!!

in other news it was my birthday recently!! i turned 22 and i wanted to have something ready as a late birthday post from me to you but this project has become a lot longer and detailed than i was expecting. It is going to be a short buckyxreader series i am going to release in one go.

i feel bad that i haven't updated lady of the ghosts in a min (face the music is on a temporary hiatus) so i wanted to just update and let you guys know that lady of the ghosts will be consistently updated again soon!

the birthday project is currently named the horselords of naraik (may be up for change) and is horselord!bucky x witch!reader - the plot follows bucky taking the reader for ransom (enemies to lovers wink wink), very angsty, very violent but i love where it is going. the horselords are vaguely inspired by the dothraki from game of thrones. the reader character draws inspo from characters like queen iseult from the last kingdom and a lot of the witchy women from the white queen/ the white princess tv series.

i have lots of plans for some other series i want to write (peaky blinders style marvel au, peter pan style marvel au etc) but i think i need to focus on finishing my other series before committing to those haha. anyway i hope you are all doing well and thank you for reading this ramble!!

[hecohansen31]

Hey guys!

First of all: HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!

Since it is indeed pride month, I’m going to do something special to celebrate it and I have already a few ideas, but I wanted to tell you that if you want to send a request for a LGBTQ+ fic I am here for it (I am always here for it, honestly and truly).

If you want for me to write a male insert in your fics, just let me know and I will.

Or if you want any female character alongside a female reader (I am always open for the female characters of the shows that I watch) (and also you can ask me genderbent version of male characters, in fact I do have a genderbent Ivar fic!)

I also will try my best to write for asexual or aromantic reader, alongside transexual and genderfluid, although I’ll put a huge disclaimer that it is my first time to ever do that, so please just be mindful and let me know what I can do to make my writing better.

This is obviously not going to last only for the month of June, but I just wanted to remind you that you can always come to me with this kind of request (just specifying please).

And now I’ll leave you alone, but just know that my requests are still open!

[sapphic-woes]

When I finish this fic y'all are literally gonna be like why.

[salems-crimes]

updated ; Jan. 24, 2O22

who I write for / what fandoms ;

i only do ‘x reader’ and I try not

to specify gender, however, I do

invision the reader as female.

bridgerton · anthony bridgerton,, benedict bridgerton,, simon basset

criminal minds · aaron hotchner,, derek morgan,, emily prentiss,, luke alves,, spencer reid

f.r.i.e.n.d.s · chandler bing,, monica geller,, joey tribbiani,, rachel green,, phoebe buffay

game of thrones · bronn,, daenerys targaryen,, jaime lannister,, melisandre,, oberyn martell,, robb stark,, tyrion lannister

harry potter · barty crouch jr,, bellatrix lestrange,, bill weasley,, draco malfoy,, fred weasley,, george weasley,, remus lupin,, sirius black

lucifer · lucifer,, dr. linda,, maze,, ella lopez

marvel · agatha harkness,, bucky barnes,, loki laufeyson,, natasha romanoff,, stephen strange,, steve rogers,, tony stark,, wanda maximoff,, yelena belova (platonic only for yelena)

ncis · jethro gibbs,, tony dinozzo,, ziva david,, jenny shepard,, abby sciuto

outer banks · jj maybank,, john b,, kie

outlander · dougal mackenzie,, jamie fraser,, murtagh fitzgibbons fraser

outsiders · dally winston,, darry curtis,, sodapop curtis

once upon a time · belle french,, charming,, cora,, jefferson,, killian jones,, mr. gold,, peter pan,, reigna mills,, zelena

peaky blinders · author shelby,, polly gray,, thomas shelby

supernatural · charlie bradbury,, crowley,, dean winchester,, gabriel,, rowena macleod,, sam winchester

the last kingdom · iseult,, ragnar the younger,, uhtred,, skade

the witcher · geralt of rivia,, jaskier,, yennefer of vengerberg,, triss merigold

the vampire diaries · bonnie bennett,, caroline forbes,, damon salvatore,, davina claire,, elijah mikaelson,, enzo st. john,, freya mikaelson,, hayley marshall,, katherine pierce,, kol mikaelson,, marcel gerard

twilight · carlisle cullen,, emmett cullen,, jasper hale,, rosalie hale

[saintchrollo]

“l’amour courtois” (chrollo x f!reader, university au, 2.1k, ao3)

@sealedrosewater​ requested student!reader and grad student ta!chrollo and fuck, i could not resist. just could not at all. enjoy a part one! (this is all just meet cute, teasing, academic love & flirting. also chrollo drives a motocycle. i dont know what else i can say to make you read this.)

The cool winds of February clung to each breeze as you made your way through campus to the literature building. The sun offset the chill, and had melted some of the snow on the sidewalks, though ice salt still stuck to wet patches. The literature building was one of the oldest buildings, and therefore was always far too good at keeping the modern heat inside it’s ancient walls. 

Like always, the building was hot as could be, and you quickly shed your scarf and gloves the moment you set foot inside. After putting them away in your tote, you headed to the top floor where the department had squirreled away all the teaching assistants. Your professor had insisted that there be meetings with the TAs to help flesh out the papers that would make up your final essay. 

Double checking that you were at the right room, you knocked lightly on the half open door. The clicking of keys stopped, and the classical music that had been playing softened until it was no more. 

“Come in,” Came the voice of the TA. 

Pushing open the door, you were immediately thankful that one of the windows was open, creating a much needed airflow. Your TA, Chrollo, sat at a relatively empty desk. It appeared that he was not planning on making the office a home at all. 

“Hi, Chrollo,” You say, entering the office. “Do you want me to close this?” You ask, gesturing to the door. 

“If you’d like,” Chrollo says, and you compromise by leaving it half open. 

It was no secret that most of your classmates found him very attractive. The snapchat group that was made your freshman year had been defunct for a few semesters, until everyone had found out about the new grad student. He had been nicknamed ‘Bandana’ by most people, since no one actually took the time to know his name. 

And now, here you were, sat in his little temporary office, about to pitch your essay idea to him. His jacket hung over the back of his chair, leather and worn, and sat back as you entered. His hands were folded slightly, resting casually right above his belt, a few decorative rings on his fingers. He has the hands of a clocksmith. 

After seating yourself and pulling up your extensive notes of ideas on your iPad, Chrollo's eyes widened slightly, perhaps in surprise. 

“Sorry, I just wrote down most of the things that came to mind,” You explain. The two of you spend ten minutes going through all of your ideas, quickly dismissing them when you realized you were actually interested in them enough to focus on them for the whole semester. 

“Okay, last but not least, and this one is my favorite,” You glance over at Chrollo, who has an expectant and amused look on his face. “I was really drawn to discussing how Béroul’s version of Tristan and Iseult and using King Arthur I could discuss how pre-Napoleonic literature contained free will as it came to love and perusal of desire, and that as humans we have always had wants and needs and desires.” 

After the pitch, you flit your eyes over, slightly nervous, to gauge Chrollo’s reaction. He seems to be deep in thought, looking at the page alongside you. 

“My one thing,” Chrollo says, and you brace yourself. “Napoleon is centuries after Tristan and Iseult, why would you use him as your defining timeline?” 

“Well, he’s a defining moment in French history, and I imagine if I’m focusing on courtly love and how it has to do with free will, I’ll also need to use Marie de France and Christine de Pizan, just to round it out and provide a woman’s perspective on the theme, but I could also use the Knight’s Tale from Canterbury Tales, which I know is on the reading list.” 

Chrollo’s face didn’t change from the thinking face he had on, intense and directly at the screen of your iPad. 

“Have you heard of the Knight in Panther’s Skin? You could probably use that instead of Canterbury Tales. It’s written by a Georgian poet, Rustaveli. Here.” Chrollo rolls his chair back, pulling out a pad of sticky notes and a pen from his bag, and scrawls down the information before handing it over to you. “If you prefer to read things not on screens, I can try to find you my copy. I’m sure it’s somewhere at home.”  

You accepted the sticky note with a grateful smile. “I’d actually really appreciate that.” Instinctively, you wanted to turn down the assistance, but you remind yourself that it’s okay to accept help, it’s okay to let people be kind to you, and, having Chrollo’s personal copy of a book filled you with a warm feeling inside. And, reading on your screens always made you tire faster, and you got distracted far too easily. 

The meeting came to a close, there was someone else waiting to meet with him, and Chrollo didn’t ‘want to keep you late for anything.’ How considerate. Gathering your things, you headed down to the library. You had class later and the homework due in two hours wasn’t going to start itself. 

As the due date approached, the days (and your meetings with Chrollo) were getting longer and longer. The weather was getting nicer, too, the birds were beginning to sing again, the squirrels were running amuck again, eagerly searching for fresh acorns. 

The windows to Chrollo’s office were open, and over the past few weeks books had slowly started to pile on the desk, various texts that appeared to be for other people’s essays. In the spring, Chrollo seemed slightly out of place among the warming temperatures, the pollen making his nose slightly red and the humidity making his skin glow. 

Having been done speaking about your essay and volleying back and forth small talk for a few minutes, you point casually to Chrollo’s bandana. “Can I ask?” 

Chrollo chuckles, a little self consciously. His fingers dip under the fabric, rubbing his forehead. “Only if you keep it a secret.”

“Oh, so it’s not a fashion choice?” You ask. 

“Well, it is. And I have a tattoo. It’s not very ...” He trails off. “Academically speaking, it’s very distracting.” 

You sat there for a moment, mouth slightly open. Slowly, you close it, remembering that you don’t want to catch flies. How cruel, even if you told people, no one would believe academic, attractive TA Chrollo would have a face tattoo. 

“I bet,” You agree. “Do you regret it?” 

A smile comes across his face, casual and a little bit nostalgic. “Not one bit.” 

Deciding to push your luck a bit, you ask, “Can I see?” 

His smile turned teasing. “If I showed you today, how would I know you’d come back next week to talk about your essay?” 

“As much as I enjoy it, these are mandatory for me to pass my class,” You remind Chrollo. While his face doesn’t quite change, there’s a murkiness in his eyes that appears. 

“I don’t think you need to worry about that, (Y/N),” Chrollo assures you, “You’re doing quite well.” His voice is serious and complete. Your parents really should have complimented you more growing up, given that the small assurance makes your stomach churn and butterflies swirl up into your ribs. 

Self consciously, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as you place your iPad back in your bag. “Oh, thank you. It would be nice if my grade got updated, so I could see the proof. Well, let me not keep you for any longer--”

“You’re my last appointment of the day, let me walk out with you,” Chrollo says, collecting his things. He grabs a motorcycle helmet out from under his desk and your eyes widen, drunk off the knowledge you were now in possession of. “Are you heading off campus?” 

With a pleased smile on your face, you watch the late spring weather outside of Chrollo’s window as he reads over the final draft of your essay. It’s your last meeting, finals start next week, you’re so close to graduating you can taste it. Chrollo hasn’t said anything, he hasn’t typed any comments on the side. Instead, he has a calm look on his face as he reads through the paragraphs. 

Eventually, he sets your iPad back on the desk, an impressed look on his face. “I don’t have any critiques. You could turn it in right now, honestly.” 

You smiled. “You think so?” 

Chrollo nodded. “Definitely. Maybe add a title page, actually. But that’s it. It’s a very good essay.” 

“All thanks to you.” 

“Please, you did most of the legwork. I simply sat here.” 

Was it just you or was the tiny office incredibly hot? “Oh, let me give you back your book, I brought it with me.” 

You pull his copy of The Knight in Panther’s Skin out, handing it to him. He takes it, adding it to a stack of books that was next to his laptop. 

“I appreciate it. Most people try to keep them,” Chrollo says as a thank you. 

Honestly, you had been planning in it, but the entire thing was well worn and highlighted throughout, little notes in the side. “It seemed like it was a favorite. All my books that look like that ... I would be very upset if someone stole one.” 

“Ah, how considerate of you,” Chrollo says, voice gentle as the breeze outside. He opens his mouth, as if to say something, but instead shakes his head slightly and wets his lips quickly. “Any post graduation plans?” 

Humming, you shake your head. “Not really. I have some pieces that are being published in June, but at the end of May I’ll start writing the, um, little horoscopes for the local newspaper, but other than that I’ll just be waitressing like normal.” 

Chrollo leans forwards in interest. “That doesn’t sound like ‘not really,’ (Y/N). It sounds like you have post graduation plans.”

Your face warms up. “I suppose so.” 

“Where do you work?” Chrollo asks. 

“At this little vegan bistro downtown.” 

Chrollo drums the pads of his fingers on his watch, thinking. “Are you vegan?” 

“What is this, twenty questions?” You ask. But you couldn’t even be mad at the questions, talking to Chrollo was as easy as the tides, and you couldn’t lie to yourself: you’d miss your weekly meetings with him. “But yes, I am. Dairy makes my skin break out really bad.” And puke, but you were not about to follow up your vegan statement with the fact you were lactose intolerant and actually followed the dietary restrictions. 

The two of you hold eye contact for a moment. 

“And I had cows growing up. I can’t just ... eat my friends,” You add, feeling a little self conscious. 

Chrollo’s eyes glance up and down, then to your hands, before back to your face. Poe would have a lot to say about his eyes. 

“How many questions have I asked?” Chrollo asks. 

You look up and to the right, trying to recount. “Not twenty.” 

Using his thumb, Chrollo mindlessly adjusts the large, silver ring on his middle finger. For all the hours you’d spent with Chrollo, this was the most nervous you had seen him. Honestly, you had never seen him nervous. 

“Something wrong?” You ask. 

“I don’t want to be a creep.” 

It feels like your entire brain stops. You’d read enough gas station romance novels, but you quickly swallow any assumptions. 

“Why would you be a creep?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. 

With a small chuckle, Chrollo straightens up a little. “If you’d let me, I’d like to take you out to dinner. After, of course, the next few days of testing.” 

You bite the inside of your lip to try and contain your smile, but are unsuccessful. “My last final is on Wednesday,” You say, “Give me your number.” 

Obviously pleased you hadn’t rejected him, Chrollo grabs a sticky note, starting to write down the digits. “Can I not have yours?” 

“I’ll text you when I’m done with my final,” You say, and Chrollo hands the sticky note off with a lazy smile. “And then you can take me out.” 

“I can’t wait,” Chrollo says, then stands with you. He crosses the room and opens the door. 

Standing in the doorway, there’s something horribly unscripted about it. You take a deep breath to try and squash the anxiety building in your chest, over nothing but a normal, human interaction. 

“Talk to you Wednesday,” You say. 

“Until then,” Chrollo confirms. The sparkle in his eyes hasn’t died out. 

You smile at him, and head out of the office and back outside. It smells like magnolias. Everything in your life feels in bloom for the first time in ages. 

part ii (coming soon) 

𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒛 𝒐𝒑𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒂

[bermudas]

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖔𝖞𝖟

back to the main masterlist.

lee sangyeon.

façade 

drabble | gender neutral reader, angst, fantasy, royalty au, arranged marriage

‘‘i don’t feel… whatever it is i’m supposed to feel for you, so let it go.”

kim younghoon. 

break your rules

oneshot | gender neutral reader, fluff, minimal angst, best friends to lovers, fake dating, high school au

fake dating your best friend is never ideal, falling in love with him even less so, but sometimes, it all works out for the best.

crimson clover

drabble | gender neutral reader, fluff, angst, fantasy au, royalty au, knight x royal, secret relationship, forbidden love, insp. “the great war” & tristan and iseult

an act of service is an act of love—in which younghoon has been in love with you for as long as he can remember, even before he became your knight 

lee juyeon.

crown of thorns; teaser

series | female reader, fantasy, suggestive, faerie au, royalty au, enemies to lovers, slow burn, insp. the cruel prince

faerieland is no place for mortals. having lived there your whole life, you should know this better than anyone. yet, despite your mortality, despite the cruel dispositions of the fae, you’re determined to win a place in the high court. and no one, not even a stubborn prince, is going to stand in your way.

kevin moon.

bitter/sweet

drabble | gender neutral reader, fluff, angst, royalty au, secret relationship, insp. the irregulars

“you know, i was thinking of kissing you, but now i’m not gonna.”

“well, i suppose i have to kiss you, then.”

choi chanhee.

under all this

drabble | gender neutral reader, fluff, minimal angst, best friends to lovers

“i’m not worthy of anybody’s love.” 

“that’s not true, you’re worthy of mine.”

kim sunwoo.

vanilla salt

oneshot | gender neutral reader, fluff, angst, friends to lovers, matchmaker au, high school au

the entire school thinks you’re in love with kim sunwoo, but only you and sunwoo seem to know that’s not the case. 

upcoming works.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Hey! Just wanted to say love your Sihtric fics. They literally give me life. As a new Last Kingdom fan (just started watching the show, on season 2 now). I was hoping you could write a one shot of Sihtric x Fem reader. Where the fem is like a healer very similar to Iseult in season 1. But this time reader is patching up our boy Sihtric. The reader is extremally worried for Sihtric. Hope this ask is okay. Thank you again!

The Witch

Part 1

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: Dear Anon, I'm so sorry it took me so long to write this. I loved the request, but unfortunately there were so many things in between. And lately I really struggle with writing, so I can tell you I have rewritten it at least five times and if I don't post it now, I will probably start all over again tomorrow. Sorry, I didn't manage to put all in a one shot, so this is Part 1.

Warnings: a bit of fluff and as per usual angst, but in delicate doses

Word Count: 3,4K

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie

If you want to be added to the tag list - write to me.

Sihtric's gaze repeatedly drifted toward the upper end of the grand hall, where Sigefrid and his brother Erik were seated. He tried to force himself to look away, just to find himself staring again as if pulled by an irresistible force. It was not the commanding presence of the two brothers that captivated him. No, it was you. 

The first time Sihtric had seen you was on the very first day of his arrival in Beamfleot. Deliberately, he guided his horse into a slow walk as he passed through the city gates, determined not to appear hasty or restless. He was supposed to look just like one among the numerous Danish warriors lured in by the boastful promises of wealth and vast lands, spread by Erik and Sigefrid. 

He paused at the stables, casually tossing the reins to a stable boy, and began to unfasten his saddlebag, taking in his surroundings with vigilant eyes, all the while sensing an unfamiliar presence, as if someone's gaze bore into him.

Sihtric turned around, finding no one behind him. His gaze shifted upward, scanning the city's encircling walls, counting the watchtowers and the spears positioned within them. It was precisely at that moment when he caught sight of you. You stood upon the ramparts, your attention firmly fixed on him, making no effort to conceal it. 

The sun danced through your unbraided hair, fluttering in the wind and what was meant to be a fleeting glance began to feel like an eternity for Sihtric, as he found himself unable to tear his eyes away. He was ensnared by the boundless depths of your dark, scrutinising eyes, as if they possessed the ability to peer into the recesses of his soul, reading his very thoughts. 

"Hey, you, lunkhead," a mocking voice snapped Sihtric's attention back to the present. "Barely arrived, and already fallen under the witch's spell?" 

A small group of warriors approached him, and Sihtric felt a slight flush of embarrassment as he chuckled nervously.

"What's it to you?" he retorted, raising an eyebrow.

"You know, the woman up there on the ramparts. The seer and Sigefrid's personal healer," one of the warriors grinned knowingly.

Sihtric shrugged, trying to play it cool. "I was just taking in the view. No harm in that, right?"

The warrior smirked. "Oh, there's harm, my friend. They say she can see right through a man's soul. Best be cautious with those lingering looks."

"I'll keep that in mind," Sihtric chuckled, feigning nonchalance, but as the group of warriors continued to jest and banter, he couldn't resist stealing one last glance in your direction, only to find the ramparts empty, with a few mocking ravens cawing at him. 

Sihtric didn’t expect to see you soon again, but there you sat, positioned to Sigefrid's right. Your slender fingers, adorned with golden rings, idly played with the ale mug before you, while your large and expressive eyes swept across the scene of feasting, drunken, and brawling warriors in the hall. In another corner of the hall, a more serious argument appeared to be escalating. Your voice cut through the commotion, addressing one of the warriors by name, and your firm and assertive gaze landed on the group. Instantly, their voices lowered, and the quarrel that had been unfolding came to a halt. It was as if you held a power over the gathering, a power that made Sihtric’s heart race and his palms grow sweaty. 

Each time your eyes wandered in his direction, Sihtric felt a shiver run down his spine and he hurriedly turned away, clutching his mug and engaging in forced conversation with a nearby companion, all in an effort to avoid accidentally locking eyes with your watchful and discerning gaze, just to find himself stealing secret glances a moment later.

No matter how hard Sihtric tried to clear his mind, your presence lingered like an indelible mark. Even as he finally sank into the bed assigned to him within one of the large barracks nestled along the city walls and closed his eyes, he found no escape from your haunting image in his dreams. It was a frenzied vision of a wild sprint through a dense forest.

"Come on, catch me if you can," your voice, soft and melodic, teased him, urging him in the direction of its origin. There you stood, leaning against a tree, a playful smile gracing your lips as you extended an inviting hand. He ran towards you, his breath heavy, not so much from the wild chase as from the electric anticipation coursing through his veins. Sihtric loomed over your fragile and gentle frame, trapping you between his body and the tree. Your lips half parted, so red, full and inciting lured him in with a soft moan, your fingers trailing up and down his chest. His hand tenderly caressed your cheek as he leaned closer, his heart pounding in his ears and his eyes widening in surprise as you dissolved into thin air just a moment before his lips could meet yours.

"Catch me, I'm here, I'm waiting," echoed again from a different direction, and the wild chase began anew.

Upon waking in the morning, Sihtric discovered himself drenched in sweat, his breath laboured, and his heart pounding, as though he had just completed an actual race. He cursed silently at his own foolishness, swearing never to venture near the grand hall in the evening to evade encountering you again. 

And during the day he even managed to focus on his direct tasks, he inspected the barracks, visited the camps outside the city gates and casually walked nearby the docs to get an overview of the ships and the crews on them, however, each time as the evening descended, there he sat, nestled in his preferred corner at the far end of the hall, his back against the wall, surreptitiously stealing glances at the beautiful witch, drawn to your every movement and word. 

Sihtric seethed with frustration at his own weakness, resenting the magnetic pull you had over him. At times, he couldn't help but wonder if you had really somehow bewitched him, making his attraction to you feel all the more maddening and cursed himself for not being able to get over this hopeless infatuation.

—----------------------------------------------

You had long been aware of the handsome, young, and bashful warrior whose gaze seemed perpetually drawn to you. It didn't escape your notice how his cheeks would flush with a rosy hue every time your eyes met his, and how he attempted to steal glances at you, convinced he was being discreet.

Your heart couldn't help but warm to the endearing way he watched you, the earnestness in his big, expressive eyes mirroring a genuine curiosity and fascination. It was as though he were a moth to your flame, his shyness only adding to his charm. You were used to men looking at you with desire, but the sweet, innocent adoration that radiated from the young warrior made your heart fill with an unexpected sympathy.

You found yourself secretly delighted by his persistent glances, amused by his attempts to hide his interest. There was something about this young and undeniably handsome Dane that piqued your curiosity in return.

While the whispers and rumours surrounding you had labelled you as a witch, you knew well that your abilities were far from magical; they were rooted in your sharp wit, ability to observe and listen and your keen reasoning and you couldn't help but take notice that the young warrior always seemed to keep to himself. Unlike the boisterous and rowdy men in the hall, he never engaged in quarrels or brawls, and you had never once seen him completely drunk. 

You were intelligent enough to put things together and after inquiring discreetly and listening carefully to the tales and whispers circulating among the warriors and local folks, you were certain that the enigmatic young man was a spy. The question remained who had sent him. The idea that Alfred, the Saxon king, would employ a Dane for such a task seemed improbable.

Then, like a bolt of lightning, it struck you – Uhtred, the infamous Dane killer. This must be it. You had heard countless stories about him, a Saxon and a Dane, steadfast in his devotion to the old gods despite the repulsion it elicited from his King, renowned as a formidable warrior and a nobleman whose lands harboured both Danes and Saxons, living together in peace.

Your curiosity knew no bounds as you contemplated the implications of this discovery.

You had vehemently opposed this ill-conceived plan and had attempted to dissuade Erik and Sigefrid from their reckless pursuit. Impulsive and driven by their unquenchable thirst for conquest, they often lacked the foresight to plan for the long term. They were warriors, not settlers. Meanwhile, you found yourself tired —tired by the ceaseless cycle of men waging war and longing for someone with the courage to forge peace.

The weariness ran deep, as you were exhausted of mending wounds that you knew would barely have a chance to heal before the next battle, the next the final blow, erased the lives of the very fools you were striving to save. You had grown weary of gazing into the hollow, despairing eyes of the widows and children who had followed their men in pursuit of the elusive promises of wealth and fertile land. You were a healer, and you longed for an end to the relentless cycle of violence.

Even as both Danes and the Saxon town folks referred to you as a witch, with the former showing respect and the latter reacting with fear, crossing themselves and spitting in your direction, you knew who you were and had no need for anyone else's approval.

For you, healing was not just a trade—it was your heritage, your calling, a legacy coursing through your veins. You had absorbed the knowledge from your mother, who had received it from her own mother, continuing a long line of wise and strong women passing down their carefully gathered wisdom from one generation to the next. It was a blessing and a burden you carried with equal measures of pride and devotion. And as a healer, you held within your heart a sacred dream of peace and prosperity for your people. In a world already burdened with pain and suffering, there was no room for the needless and futile wars incited by foolish, power-hungry men.

Just a few days prior, you had experienced a heartwarming surprise when a young Saxon girl had come to you under the cover of night, secretly seeking your aid for her little son. She had knocked on your door, her trepidation clear, fearing the judgement of others but driven by her desperation for help. You had not hesitated to assist her.

Today, while crossing the bustling marketplace, your paths had crossed again. Your gazes had locked for a brief moment, and in that instant, you knew that the boy was well. Your heart swelled with warmth as you witnessed the unmistakable joy shining in the young mother's eyes. It was moments like these that constituted the greatest reward, the very purpose of your existence—to apply your knowledge where it was needed most, to offer help to those in dire circumstances.

—-----------------------------------------

"Damn," Sihtric muttered under his breath as he withdrew his knife from the lifeless body, observing as it slowly slumped to the ground.

Wincing at the unusual ache that prodded at his consciousness, Sihtric instinctively reached for his right side, as though attempting to locate the source of the unpleasant, slightly burning sensation that was steadily intensifying. Something sticky and warm trickled through his fingers, prompting Sihtric to extend his hand for a closer look, his vision blurring as the burning sensation in his side abruptly erupted into a sharp, overwhelming pain.

Blood. So much blood. It dripped from his fingers and streamed down his arm. With a forceful grunt, he pressed his hand against the area where the pain was most intense, as if attempting to quell it, and leaned heavily against the wall.

He had carefully avoided all the quarrels and brawls in the city, but this time there hadn't been any other option; the robust, black-haired warrior with a scar marrying his left cheek had recognized him and attacked in rage without a single word of warning. 

Gasping for breath, Sihtric tightened his grip around the hilt of his knife as the world around him began to blur slowly.

"No, no, no... come on... get a hold of yourself," Sihtric muttered under his breath, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his vision.

With a resounding groan, he straightened and forced himself to move forward. Each step sent waves of pain through his body, nearly causing him to double over. Gritting his teeth, he continued to stumble through the deserted, narrow streets of Beamfleot, using the wooden walls of houses to support himself.

Where to? He was alone here, without a clan, without friends or a leader. There was no one who would be willing to help him. It wasn't a conscious decision, but rather a pure instinct that guided him toward a small house standing apart from the others, nestled under an ancient oak tree with its imposing wooden arms stretched protectively overhead. Some distant memory in his pain-addled mind had led him to choose this small house as his last refuge.

Shivering, cold sweat covering his forehead, Sihtric pressed on, forcing his trembling limbs to take another step and then another until there was no wall left to lean on.

"Come on, just one more step... You can do it, you're almost there," a loud groan escaped Sihtric's lips as his knees and hands collided with the unforgivingly hard ground. He lay there for a moment, still, listening to his laboured breaths and feeling his heart racing in his chest. He was too close to give up now. He wriggled back to his feet, took a few steps, slipped and fell again, his hands and knees bruised and aching. The small house loomed just before him, just a few strides away. Stretching out his arm, he dug his fingers into the muddy earth, his nails breaking against some hidden stones in the trampled ground as he forced himself back on his feet again.

Sihtric had always imagined that death would come swiftly, like a clean cut from a sharp blade. But now, it felt more like falling asleep after a long, exhausting day, with everything around him dissolving into a soft mist.  He had fallen again and his strength was slowly waning, as with one last effort, he propped himself up on his elbows and crawled the final few steps to reach the door.

—--------------------------------------------------

It was late, nearly midnight by the moon's position in the sky, and the fire in the hearth was on the verge of dying out. You added more wood to the fire and watched as the flames danced and licked at the fresh fuel, gradually regaining their strenght. Sleep was a luxury you couldn't afford at the moment. The ointment for treating wounds was running dangerously low, and it was just the right time to prepare the fever-reducing potion, it was a new moon - the perfect timing to achieve its best effect.

Your eyes roamed around the spacious room, taking in the herbs hanging on lines along the walls, then returned to the mugs, flasks, and pounders scattered across the table before you. This place had once belonged to a local healer who had fled as the Danes drew near. Being Sigefrid's personal seer had its advantages, as no one had dared to challenge your declaration of this house as your own. 

A peculiar sound at the door jolted you from your thoughts, instantly commanding your attention. It wasn't a customary knock, but rather a feeble scratching. Instinctively, your hand sought the dagger hanging from your waist. With a gentle but purposeful motion, you retrieved the small yet potent weapon, a faithful companion that had saved your life on more than one occasion. Cautiously, you approached the door and swung it open.

"What in the world..." you exclaimed, taken aback as your gaze fell upon the grimy, hunched figure of a young man—a Dane. He gasped for breath, his body trembling violently, his right hand pressed to his side, and blood seeping through his fingers. His face contorted with pain, his large, expressive eyes silently begging for help.

By the way his eyes periodically rolled back, it was evident that he was on the brink of losing consciousness.

"Hey, look at me." Kneeling down beside the young warrior, you firmly gripped his chin, locking your gaze with his. And then, in a sudden rush of recognition, you realised who he was—your sweet and bashful admirer, the young warrior, the very spy sent by Uhtred.

"You're going to be alright. You're in the right place. I will help you. Do you hear me? You are safe here," you assured him as he struggled to catch his breath. The Dane nodded, sucking for breath in short, shallow intervals.

"I need you to stay awake. Can you do it for me?" The young man's eyes began to roll back again. "No, no, no, stay with me, look at me," you hissed in frustration and pressed your finger onto the wound in his side. The Dane cried out, but his gaze cleared.

"What's your name?" you asked, not because you needed his name, but because you needed his focus.

"Sihtric," came a barely audible whisper from his lips.

"I'm sorry, Sihtric, but I need you to stay awake and make one last effort. I need you to summon all your strength and help me get you on your feet. Come on, I know you can do it. You are strong," you said, placing his left arm around your neck and wrapping yours around his waist. As you pulled, you didn't expect his lean body to be so heavy, but to your relief, he still had enough strength to follow your lead. With a loud groan, he managed to rise to his feet. 

"Good, you're doing very well. The hardest part is behind us now. Just a few more steps to that table over there. Can you see it? You can lean on me. I won't let you down, I promise. But you have to find the strength to move your legs. I can't carry you," you reassured him, tightening your grip on his waist as you both took a step towards the table. You could feel his body trembling from the effort, leaning heavily on you, his breaths growing even more uneven and sharp. However, he managed to stumble in the right direction.

"Good, just one more step, and we're there," you kept talking, trying to maintain his focus. And then, you reached the table, allowing him to slump down. You supported his head as it slowly descended onto the hard surface and quickly lifted his legs, placing them on the table.

"This is going to be a long night," you murmured to yourself, your hands already in motion as you hastily gathered your supplies and placed the kettle filled with water over the flames of the hearth.

Your experienced fingers deftly unfastened the belt, untied the laces, and carefully removed the armbands. Eventually, everything was loose enough to pull the thick and heavy armour from the young Dane's body. Cutting away the blood-soaked linen shirt that clung tightly to the wound, you gasped in astonishment as your gaze traced the well-built, muscular frame of the injured warrior, wincing in pain on your table.

His body was marked with scars. You recognized each one, having treated them countless times before, but it was rare to see so many of them in one place. There were the short, deep scars left by knives, the long, straight ones undoubtedly from a whip, some uneven burns, healed sword cuts, and a few from axes, identifiable by the deeper cuts in the centre that gradually faded at both ends. Each scar had a different colour, with some older ones slowly fading away and others more recent.

He was so young; you would wager he hadn't seen more than nineteen or maybe twenty summers. Yet, his body was like an open book to your skilled eyes, recounting a long tale of torment and pain. Too long for his young age.

"Drink this," you gently lifted his head and brought a small mug to his lips. "It will dull the pain."

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

[solinarimoon]

An Alehouse Lullaby

A/N - This is just a pure fluffy one-shot based on an idea I couldn’t get out of my head.  The song is The Parting Glass that has been covered by so many artists, but my favorite versions are by The Wailin’ Jennys and by Ed Sheeran. 

Warnings: None, this is super fluffy fluff.

Fandom: The Last Kingdom

Pairing: Maybe Finan/OC

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“A song! Sing us a song, Eawynn,” Finan boisterously called from the booth across the room.  His voice loud and happy. The crowd begins to join in for his request. 

It had become a regular occurrence. Anytime Uhtred and his crew were at the alehouse, there would be a call for a song. Bawdy tavern sing-a-longs and slow, sweet love songs. The crowds never really cared. They wanted to listen to Eawynn and forget their troubles.

The songs provided a sense of belonging and comradery for the townsfolk.  And especially for the warriors. 

“Alright, alright, you big Irish loudmouth,” Eawynn smiles while putting down her bar rag and finding an unoccupied bench to stand on.

Sihtric and Osferth are quick to stand and help Eawynn move the bench towards the corner so she can stand for all to see and hear her. 

“Now this is a new one, so don’t any of you drunken idiots try to join in,” Eawynn starts. 

“And this is especially for my men in the corner.” She states while inclining her head towards them. Uhtred, Finan, Osferth, and Sihtric. Her comment brings forth a round of whoops and shouts from the men in the corner but she settles them with a look and a smile. 

Taking a slow breath, Eawynn starts singing, her voice soft and low.

“Of all the money that ere I had,

I spent it in good company,” 

Eawynn raises her glass while beginning her song. Then returns her hand holding the glass to rest with the other against her abdomen. Her voice is smooth and sultry.  Like honey.  She allows her eyes to close.

“And all the harm that ere I done,

Alas it was to none but me,” 

and now Eawynn’s spell begins. 

The alehouse quiets down. The men listen to her low, sweet voice and let it take them to another place. 

“And all I’ve done, for want of wit,

To memory now, I can’t recall,

So fill to me, that parting glass

Goodnight and joy be with you all”

Osferth leans forward on his bench.  His arms rest on his knees and he places his chin in his hand.  An easy smile forms on his lips as he watches Eawynn.  Her song reminding him of other nights spent in the alehouse.  Surrounded by his friends.  His brothers.  The family he thought he would never have.

Eawynn’s melody continues on,

“Of all the comrades that ere I had,

They’re sorry for my going away,

And all the sweethearts that ere I had,

They’d wish me one more day to stay,”

Uhtred allowed his eyes to gaze towards an open window.  He thought of all the friends and lovers he’s lost in his life.  He thought of Leofric.  He thought of Iseult.  He thought Halig.  But mostly he thought of Gisela and how he longed to be able to feel her touch and share her laughter again.

“But since it falls, unto my lot,

That I should rise and you should not,

I’ll gently rise and softly call,

Goodnight and Joy be with you all,”

As she sings these lines, Eawynn opens her eyes to meet Sihtrics.  He has his back resting against his seat, head tilted back to rest on the wall.  Eawynn rarely sees the warrior so at ease as when he is listening to her sing.  Sihtric allows his eyes to slowly close as he listens to Eawynn’s words.

“A man may drink and not be drunk,

A man may fight and not be slain,

A man may court a pretty girl,”

And Eawynn shifts her eyes to meet the Irishman.  He is grinning and has his arms folded across his chest.  His smile at her words brings a smile to Eawynn’s own lips. As she sings her next line, he knows the words are meant for him.

“And perhaps be welcomed back again,”

And Eawynn then shifts her gaze to look to the other tavern guests.

“But since it has so ought to be,

By a time to rise and a time to fall,

Come fill to me the parting glass,

Goodnight and joy be with you all,

Goodnight and joy be with you all.”

The final lines roll off Eawynn's tongue and she bows her head.  

When she lifts it, her smile radiates as she brings her glass to toast the room.

Before she can take a sip of her ale,

Finan sweeps her off of her feet and brings her over to their table.

The spell has been broken and conversations begin amongst the other guests.  And Eawynn sits to have a drink with her friends.  These nights that are so easy and carefree mean the world to the warriors.  And Eawynn’s singing is what makes the alehouse feel like home.

Tags: @maggiescarborough @pokeasleepingsmaug  @nxrdist  @mystic-shadows42

Please let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist.  I have several ideas I’m planning to write including some Sihtric x OC or reader and Finan/OC or reader.  Thanks everyone!

[genshin-latte]

Izzy/Ize | They/She | 18 Y.O

@lucsangel for n$fw and yandere requests

I strictly only write character x readers. Don’t ask me to write character x character or oc x character.

Please specify the format of your request. Don’t write ‘can I have Diluc with s/o reader’ or ‘... reacting to’ Instead write ‘Diluc relationship hcs’ or ‘A scenario of Kaeya reacting to..’

Everything will be gender neutral unless relevant to the request, that said please still specify the gender of the reader. (Gn/f/m/etc)

Please specify the relationship of the reader with the characters. If the things above are not specified, I will do as I see fit.

I will not write mental disorders, extremities such as suicide, etc. I apologize, I’m afraid I don’t have the ability to write these themes at the moment.

I’m willing to write AUs. Crossovers are debatable, depending on your request.

Unless the format is written in ‘What I write’, it is for special events only. Requests such as Match ups, emoji prompts etc are not open unless I specifically write ‘Match ups open’ in my bio and such.

I have the right to refuse a request for any reason. I tend to get uninterested very easily, so I will not do all the request I get, I apologize in advance.

I’m doing this for fun! Let’s all simp (°▽°)

Scenarios

Ranging from 600-1000 words.

I will only do one character for scenarios, but specifying other characters as minor roles are fine.

Please be specific. Don’t ask for ‘date scenario’ instead write ‘dinner date scenario’ or ‘date at an amusement park’. That way I know where to start.

I will require one or two of the reader’s personality for this format.

Reminder that scenarios might take me longer to get done compared to the others.

Headcanons

Written in bulletpoints

A maximum of 5 characters per request.

Ideal type requests fall under this format by default.

Diluc

Kaeya

Venti

Razor

Barbara

Jean

Mona

Childe

Zhongli

Xiao

Xingqiu

Chongyun

Keqing

Scaramouche

Albedo

Kazuha

Thoma

Gorou

Kokomi

Itto

Writings - #Cup of Latte

Non-writings - #Brewing the latte

Struggles - #Izzy struggle tweets

Fanart - #Cake on the side

I drunk tweet abt Childe + Childe asks - #Childe propaganda

Genshin sona - #about iseult

N$fw - #Citrus.latte