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ealdormanink · 6 months ago

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Can you write one with Ivar? ❤️

Reader is daughter of King Harald and shes friends and in love with Ivar and she has to marry one of the Ragnarssons and they all want her and she ofc chooses Ivar and he cant believe it.

Written in the Stars

Ivar the boneless x female reader!

A/N: thank you for this request! I hope you like it!!

King Harald's fleet's sails cast long shadows over Kattegat's iron-grey waters. Y/N's fingers traced the wooden railing of her father's ship, her eyes fixed on the approaching shoreline. The familiar silhouettes of the great hall and the busy docks stirred memories that made her heart flutter against her ribs.

The salty breeze carried whispers of past winters spent poring over maps by candlelight, of shared laughter echoing through empty halls when everyone else had retired, of piercing blue eyes that saw her - truly saw her - for who she was.

"The winds have favored us." Harald's voice broke through the symphony of creaking wood and splashing waves. Y/N's fingers stilled on the railing, though she couldn't quite suppress the way her lips curved upward.

Through the morning mist, familiar figures emerged on the docks. There, among his brothers, sat Ivar in his chariot. Even from this distance, the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down her spine. Their eyes met across the narrowing stretch of water, and five years of friendship hung in the space between them.

The ship's bow cut through the last few meters of fjord. As they docked, Ubbe's voice carried across the harbor, "Welcome to Kattegat, King Harald." His eyes lingered on Y/N, calculating and considering in a way that made her spine stiffen.

Hvitserk stepped forward, extending his hand to help her onto the dock. "Princess Y/N." His smile was warm, practiced. "The gods have blessed us with your return."

The wooden planks creaked under her boots as she accepted his assistance, but her attention was drawn to the subtle shift in Ivar's posture, the way his knuckles whitened around the edge of his chariot.

"The journey must have been tiring." Ivar's voice cut through the pleasantries like a blade through silk. His eyes hadn't left her face since she'd first appeared on deck. "Perhaps the princess would prefer to rest before tonight's festivities."

"Always so concerned, brother." Sigurd's words dripped with mockery. "Or perhaps you're simply eager to monopolize her time, as usual?"

Y/N's fingers unconsciously found the silver pendant at her throat - a gift from Ivar, carved with runes they'd deciphered together during one of their many late-night conversations. Those nights when they'd abandon the noise of the great hall, finding solace in ancient sagas and battle strategies that only they seemed to understand.

The great hall buzzed with activity as servants prepared for the evening's feast. Y/N's chambers overlooked the main square, where memories lingered in every corner. Her fingers traced the windowsill where, years ago, she'd first found Ivar alone, poring over his father's old maps.

"Your form is wrong." The echo of her younger self's voice played in her mind. She'd corrected his interpretation of the English coastline that day, earning not his usual sharp retort, but a look of genuine surprise. That was the first time he'd smiled at her - really smiled.

A knock at the door pulled her from the memory. Astrid, one of the servants, entered with fresh water.

"The sons of Ragnar are asking after you, Princess." Astrid's eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement. "All of them."

The weight of unspoken words hung in the air. Everyone knew why Harald had brought his daughter to Kattegat this time. Alliances needed to be strengthened, and marriage was the surest way.

Y/N's feet carried her to the courtyard, where she found Ubbe first. He stood tall, every inch the eldest brother, watching the training grounds with calculated interest.

"You've grown more beautiful since we last met." His voice was diplomatic, measured. He stepped closer, close enough for her to see the political ambition in his eyes. "A union between us would bring great strength to both our people."

Before she could respond, Hvitserk appeared, twirling a knife between his fingers. "Brother, you sound like you're negotiating a trade deal." His easy smile didn't quite mask the hunger in his gaze. "Our princess deserves poetry, not politics."

Y/N's eyes drifted past them both, landing on the familiar figure by the weapons rack. Ivar sat cleaning his axe - the same one she'd helped him choose three winters ago. His movements were precise, following the pattern she'd shown him: three strokes down, one across, just as her mother had taught her.

"Still pining after the cripple?" Sigurd's voice slithered from behind her. "You could have any of us, yet you waste your time with him."

The familiar surge of protective anger rose in her chest, but before she could speak, Ivar's axe embedded itself in the post beside Sigurd's head.

"Your aim is improving," Y/N said, the words falling naturally from her lips, an old joke between them. "Though you're still pulling slightly to the left."

"Perhaps I need another lesson." Ivar's eyes met hers, and for a moment, they were back in that first winter, when she'd spent hours helping him adjust his throwing technique, never once mentioning his legs, focusing only on his strength.

The feast hall glowed with firelight, casting dancing shadows across faces both familiar and strange. Y/N sat at the high table, her father's words still ringing in her ears: "You must choose one of Ragnar's sons before the next full moon."

Her eyes drifted across the hall, watching the brothers in turn. Ubbe stood among the warriors, every gesture calculated to display his leadership. Hvitserk charmed a group of shield-maidens, though his gaze kept finding its way back to her. Sigurd strummed his oud, his song carrying notes of barely concealed mockery.

And Ivar... Ivar sat in his usual corner, away from the crowds, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup. The same spot where they'd spent countless evenings discussing everything from battle tactics to the gods themselves.

"Do you remember," his voice caught her off guard as she approached his table, drawn to him as always, "the night you taught me about the stars?"

How could she forget? They'd stayed up until dawn, her finger pointing out constellations while he told her the stories behind each one. She'd never told him that she'd already known them all - she'd just wanted to hear his voice, to see the way his eyes lit up when he spoke of the gods.

"You were a terrible student," she teased, sliding onto the bench beside him. The familiar scent of leather and metal wrapped around her like an old blanket. "You kept making up new constellations."

"And you kept believing them." His smile, rare and genuine, made her heart stutter. "Until you realized I was describing shapes that looked like Sigurd falling off a horse."

A comfortable silence fell between them, filled with years of shared moments and unspoken words. Around them, the feast continued, but they existed in their own world, just as they always had.

"They're all watching you," Ivar said finally, his voice tight. "My brothers. They all want you."

"Let them watch." Her fingers found the edge of the table, inches from his. "They don't see me the way you do."

"And how do I see you?" His question came out barely above a whisper, vulnerable in a way only she was allowed to witness.

"Like I'm more than just Harald's daughter. Like I'm..." She paused, remembering all the times he'd challenged her mind, valued her opinions, trusted her judgment. "Like I'm me."

The firelight caught the silver of his arm ring - the one she'd helped him forge two summers ago, their fingers working the metal together as she'd steadied his hand.

The moment of choice arrived with the rising moon. The great hall fell silent as Y/N stood before the assembled crowd, her father's expectant gaze heavy upon her shoulders. Four brothers stood before her, four possible futures stretched out like paths in the darkness.

Ubbe stepped forward first, ever the diplomat. "Choose wisely, Princess. The future of our peoples rests upon this decision." His words echoed against the wooden walls, practiced and perfect.

Hvitserk offered her a playful wink. "Choose with your heart, not your head." His charm sparkled like sunlight on water, beautiful but fleeting.

Sigurd simply smirked, his fingers still wrapped around his oud. "Though some choices," his eyes flickered to Ivar, "might be less... conventional than others."

And Ivar... Ivar remained still, his eyes fixed on the ground. She could read the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped his crutch - a gesture she'd learned meant he was preparing himself for disappointment.

Y/N's feet carried her forward, past Ubbe's calculated smile, past Hvitserk's outstretched hand, past Sigurd's mocking gaze. She stopped before Ivar, close enough to see the subtle tremor in his hands.

"I choose Ivar Ragnarsson," her voice rang clear through the hall. "I choose the man who saw me as an equal before he saw me as a princess."

Ivar's head snapped up, disbelief warring with hope in his ice-blue eyes. "You can't," he whispered, for her ears alone. "You deserve someone who can-"

"I deserve someone who challenges my mind," she cut him off, her hand finding his cheek. "Someone who values my thoughts as much as my title. Someone who taught me to read the stars, even while making up constellations to make me laugh."

The hall erupted in murmurs, but Y/N heard only the sharp intake of Ivar's breath. His free hand found hers, trembling slightly.

"You've always been my choice," she continued, soft enough that only he could hear. "Since that first day when you argued with me about the English coastline. Since every night we spent planning battles and reading sagas. Since every moment you saw me for who I am, not who I was born to be."

"But I'm-" he started.

"You're Ivar," she said simply. "My Ivar. The only one who's ever matched me, challenged me, understood me. The only one I could ever choose."

Slowly, like dawn breaking over the horizon, a smile spread across Ivar's face - not his usual smirk, but the real smile she'd come to treasure. His fingers tightened around hers, and in that moment, they were back in every shared laugh, every quiet conversation, every silent understanding that had led them here.

"The gods themselves couldn't have given me a greater gift," he whispered, and Y/N saw in his eyes the same truth she'd known all along - that some choices are made long before they're spoken aloud, written in the stars they'd watched together all those nights ago.

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless #oneshot #ragnar lothbrok #vikings #vikings x reader #x reader #halfdan the black #the last kingdom #finan #romance

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great-and-small · 1 year ago

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I know not everyone grows up near a coast or shoreline but when I was little I feel like it was such a formative activity to walk alongside the ocean and return stranded sea creatures into the water. A kid can learn so much from finding something like a horseshoe crab, this indescribably ancient creation that is so vastly different from them (a curious little primate), and realizing that this bizarre creeping thing upturned in the sand is in need of their help. It’s an incredible exercise in showing immediate compassion to those that need help, even if they are strange or unsettling. Building those empathy and curiosity muscles at the same time. I legitimately think my mom showing four year old me how to carry a horseshoe crab back to the water helped shape who I am as a person.

#animals #horseshoe crab #children #this may not be very relatable idk #have been thinking about childhood a lot since my sister had a baby!

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riddlesrizzler · 1 month ago

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Kiss me on the mouth, and love me like a sailor

summary:“I’d rather drown in you than live safe and hollow without you.” characters: sailor! mattheo. siren! reader warnings: mentions of drownings word count: 2.8k a/n: fourth week of festival of aus! i was originally going to write for a knight and princess but this has been lingering in my mind forever!

The cove curled inward like a secret kept too long, cradled by crumbling cliffs that bore the scars of wind and tide. It was a place the maps forgot, where time breathed slower and the sea spoke in lullabies and laments. Salt hung heavy in the air, spun into lace by the breeze that threaded through seagrass and the gnarled fingers of driftwood.

Here, the morning rose in watercolor-peach and periwinkle bleeding into the silver foam as waves pressed tender kisses to the shore. The sand was cool, soft with memory, scattered with shells that shimmered like forgotten coins from a sunken kingdom.

Gulls cried overhead, not out of hunger, but as though bearing witness to something sacred. The world beyond the cliffs blurred like a half-remembered dream, and in the hush between wave and wind, it was easy to believe that the cove itself was alive-ancient and watching, waiting for the next soul to wander in and listen.

Mattheo Riddle knew the cove like he knew the sound of his own breath-quiet, constant, edged with something unspoken. He had sailed these waters since boyhood, his hands calloused by rope and salt, his skin sun-kissed and wind-marked. The sea had raised him, rough and tender, and the cove had always been her gentlest offering.

His boat-a slender, timeworn thing named Nox-cut through the dawn-lit water with reverence, as if it, too, understood the holiness of the place. Sails furled like the wings of a resting bird, he let the tide guide him into the hush of the inlet, where the world fell away and memory rose to the surface like foam on a swell.

He dropped anchor in the shallows, boots echoing softly on the deck, eyes scanning the familiar curve of shoreline. The cove had not changed. Not truly. The stones still whispered beneath the waves. The air still tasted like brine and old magic. But each visit felt different, as though the cove greeted him not as a place, but as a presence-shifting, waiting, watching.

Mattheo stepped ashore, and the moment his feet touched the sand, a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding slipped free. He belonged here, more than he had ever belonged anywhere else. Even the ghosts seemed to nod in recognition.

He ran his fingers along the jagged edge of a rock, where moss grew in thin, delicate veins. “You remember me,” he murmured, not to the rock, but to the cove itself. “Don’t you?”

And the waves, as always, answered.

He waited along the shore, boots half-buried in the wet, cold sand, his coat caught in the breath of the sea breeze. The tide crept inward like a secret spilling itself, inch by inch, wrapping around his ankles in cool ribbons. Mattheo didn’t move. He never did, not when he came here for this.

The cove shimmered with stillness, the kind that came just before something began-or returned.

He told himself he shouldn't be here. Not again. Not after last time. Not after the way the song had wrapped around his ribs and tugged, not after the way he'd staggered back to the Nox hollow-eyed and trembling, her voice still echoing in the salt of his blood.

But reason had never had much of a voice in this place. The cove silenced logic, softened resolve, and turned longing into a current too strong to swim against.

He knew what he was waiting for.

Not a what, but a who.

A presence stitched into the water like silk threads through seaweed. A shadow beneath the foam. A voice that haunted the deep and curled itself inside his bones. She never came quickly. No-she liked to take her time, as if savoring the way anticipation made him unravel.

And he let it.

Because no matter how far he sailed, how many ports he docked in, or how many skies he slept beneath, this place, she, always called him home. Not with words, but with that quiet, aching pull-an invisible hook lodged somewhere behind his sternum.

He sat down in the sand, elbows on his knees, eyes cast toward the horizon where the sea melted into sky.

“She’ll come,” he whispered, half to the waves, half to himself.

The moon had climbed higher now, pale and watchful, its reflection stretched long across the cove’s still waters. It glowed with that same soft, silver fire that had lit the sky the night he first saw her-the night everything changed.

Mattheo’s gaze fixed on it, and time slipped. The present thinned, giving way to memory like the tide pulling back to reveal what was buried beneath.

He had been younger then-reckless, curious, still believing he could outpace whatever haunted him. The sea had been calm, but the air strange, charged with a hush that pressed against his skin like breath on the back of his neck. He’d anchored in the cove for shelter, unaware that something was waiting beneath the lull of the waves.

He hadn’t meant to go into the water.

But something had drawn him, something soft and sorrowful, almost human, yet not. It sang to him in tones too ancient for language, tugging gently at the frayed corners of his soul. And so he’d gone-boots discarded, shirt clinging damp to his back, wading until the water lapped at his chest and the world behind him fell away.

That was when he saw her.

At first, just a shimmer beneath the surface-light bending wrong, as though the sea itself had opened its eye. Then hair like kelp and silk, trailing behind a face too lovely to be safe. Eyes deeper than the ocean’s darkest trench, glowing faintly, mournfully, knowingly.

She hadn't spoken.

She hadn't needed to.

Her song had already wound around his heart, tethering him with invisible thread, soft as a promise, sharp as a blade.

He remembered how the moonlight had caught on her skin, turning her into something ethereal, something unholy. He remembered the sudden, sharp ache in his chest-not fear, not even desire, but something older. Recognition, maybe. Or fate.

That was the night he stopped belonging to the world above the waves.

Back on the shore now, Mattheo blinked, breath catching as the memory faded into the crash and hush of the tide. The moon had not moved. It still hung there-silent, round, complicit.

“She remembers too,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, thick with salt and sleepless nights.

And out past the breakers, something moved.

The water stilled.

No breeze stirred. No gulls cried. Even the waves seemed to hesitate, as if the sea itself were holding its breath.

Then, she rose.

Not all at onc-never all at once. First the shimmer, like moonlight caught in the tide. Then the curve of a shoulder, pale and glistening, breaking the surface as if the ocean reluctantly let her go. Her hair fanned out around her, dark as kelp, threaded with salt and secrets. The shadows clung to her, soft and reverent, as she stepped onto the shallows without sound, the water barely rippling at her touch.

Her eyes found him in the dark.

“Mattheo,” she said, his name like a sigh the sea had been holding in for too long.

His heart surged, every beat a storm tide.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her voice quiet-firm, but laced with something tender, something breaking.

He stood, slow and steady, like any sudden movement might make her vanish. “I know,” he said. “But I can’t stay away.”

She looked at him then, truly looked-like she was trying to memorize the shape of him, or maybe find something in his face that could save them both.

“That’s the problem,” she whispered, moving towards him, as far as the ocean would let her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Mattheo swallowed hard, salt sharp on his tongue. “Then don’t.”

Her expression faltered. “It’s not that simple.”

She reached out, fingertips hovering just above his, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his skin. But she didn’t touch him. She never did.

“I’m not human like you,” she said. “Not entirely. I was made to lure, to ruin. And you… you make me forget that. You make me want to remember what it’s like to be something else.”

The waves curled around her ankles like they were trying to pull her back.

“But you do remember,” he said. “When you’re here. With me.”

She closed her eyes, and for a moment, Mattheo thought he saw a tear slide down her cheek-but it could’ve been seawater, it always could’ve been seawater.

“That’s why it’s dangerous.”

The wind returned in a hush, brushing past them like it, too, didn’t want to interrupt. The sea lapped gently at the shore, a soft, rhythmic pulse beneath their silence.

Mattheo stepped forward, slow, steady, his voice raw. “You think I’m lying.”

Her gaze dropped. “I know you are.”

“I’m not.”

She shook her head, just once, but it carried the weight of a thousand tides. “You’re human. You feel things in bursts-flares of light that burn out just as quickly. You don’t love me. You’re enchanted. Entranced. You don’t know the difference.”

“I do,” he said, more fiercely than he meant to. “I know it when I’m sailing in silence and I still hear your voice. I know it when I wake up in a crowded harbor and reach for you like a fool. I know it when I look at the sea and it doesn’t feel like freedom anymore-it feels like you.”

Her lip trembled, but she turned away, as if the shape of his words was too much to bear.

“You think I don’t know what you are,” he said, softer now, stepping into the foam where she stood. “But I do. I know the stories. The songs. I know how sirens end. But I also know what I feel when I look at you-and it’s not fear.”

“You should be afraid.”

“I’m not.”

Her breath hitched. “You will be.”

“I’d rather drown in you than live safe and hollow without you.”

She looked up at him then, eyes wide, luminous, full of something old and aching. “Why would you say that?” she whispered. “Why would you say something like that to me?”

“Because it’s true.”

Her hands fisted at her sides. “You say you love me-but I can feel your heartbeat. I can feel the way it rushes when I’m near. It’s not steady. It’s not safe. It’s not love.”

He stepped closer, inches from her now. “Then tell me what it is,” he said. “Tell me what else would make me come back here, again and again, knowing it could be the end of me. Tell me what else would make the sea feel empty unless you’re in it.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. The tide lapped at her tail, a slow, silver breath between them.

And then-quietly, almost brokenly-she said, “Don’t make me hope.”

She pushed herself back, as if his closeness might unravel her completely. The moonlight caught on her skin like silver fire, but her eyes were darker now-wide, wild, and wounded.

“Even if I wanted to,” she said, voice barely more than breath, “you’re human. And I’m…” She paused, swallowed hard. “I’m a siren. We could never be.”

Mattheo was quiet for a long moment, watching her. Watching the way her hands trembled, the way she kept her chin lifted like a shield, the way her voice cracked around the edges of truth. She wasn’t just pushing him away.

She was scared.

Scared because she felt it too.

That changed everything.

“No,” he said, gently. “Not ‘could never be.’ Just… afraid to be.”

She flinched like he’d struck her, and that’s when he knew.

He took a breath, slow and sure, and reached for the buttons of his coat. “You want proof?” he asked, voice low, steady, the kind of calm that only came in the eye of a storm.

“What are you doing?” she asked, the pitch of her voice rising like the tide.

He didn’t answer. His coat fell first, then his shirt, left to the sand like old armor. The cool night wind kissed his bare skin, but he didn’t stop. His boots followed, then his trousers, until he stood at the water’s edge clothed in nothing but moonlight and the look in his eyes-a look that said I choose this. I choose you.

She took a shaky step back. “Mattheo, don’t.”

He stepped into the water.

Every inch he waded deeper, the sea welcomed him, slow and cold, until it hugged his ribs and whispered up his spine. He moved toward her, not like a man chasing something wild, but like someone offering himself to it completely.

“I don’t care what you are,” he said, the water curling just below his shoulders now. “Siren, myth, storm-I don’t care. I love you. And if that means walking into the sea every night for the rest of my life, I will.”

She shook her head, but tears slipped down her cheek-—undeniably hers, not the sea’s. “Why would you do this?”

He paused then, chest rising and falling with the rhythm of the tide, and said the only thing that mattered:

“Because I think you love me, too.”

She didn’t answer-not with words.

But her expression shattered.

And then, slowly, beautifully, she sank beneath the water.

Mattheo froze-until a hand, soft and sure, reached up through the surface.

She was waiting for him.

The water stilled around him as her hand broke the surface-pale, glistening, fingers outstretched. For a moment, Mattheo just stared at it. Her hand looked so human, so gentle. But he knew it wasn’t.

Nothing about her was ordinary.

And yet, everything about her felt right.

He took her hand.

The moment his fingers closed around hers, the sea shifted-welcoming, not wild. A sudden warmth pulsed through the cold, like the water itself recognized their bond. And then, she pulled.

Not violently. Not to drown. It was a beckoning, a surrender-his and hers.

He let go of breath, let the air leave his lungs as she drew him beneath the surface. The sea swallowed him whole, the moonlight fracturing above like shattered glass.

She was there, inches from him. Eyes wide and endless. Hair like ink spilling through water. Her hands found his shoulders, sliding up the curve of his neck, anchoring him as though she feared he’d drift away if she didn’t hold tight.

And then, clear as a bell in the deep hush of the ocean, she spoke.

He didn’t understand how-it wasn’t through ears or sound, but through thought, through soul, like her words had always existed inside him.

"Kiss me on the mouth, sailor."

His heart surged. He didn’t hesitate.

Their lips met like a current-soft at first, reverent. Then deeper. The world fell away. Time stilled. Her mouth tasted like salt and sorrow, like longing and eternity, like the answer to every question he hadn’t dared to ask.

She held him close as the water danced around them, glowing faintly with their magic. His hands slid around her waist, pulling her to him like he was afraid she’d vanish. But she didn’t. She stayed. She kissed him like she meant to stay forever.

And for one perfect moment, under the sea, under the spell of something older than stars-

-they both forgot how to be afraid.

The kiss broke like a wave.

Softly. Slowly. A breath parting from a body. A flame dimming in a storm.

Mattheo kept his eyes closed for a moment longer, letting the memory cling to his lips, letting her presence linger in the space between heartbeats. The warmth of her hands still ghosted over his skin, her touch like silk spun from moonlight and tide.

But when he opened his eyes- She was gone.

Only the sea remained.

Dark and endless. Empty.

The water was colder now. Deeper. The glow that had shimmered around them had faded into shadow. No trace of her. No ripple, no silhouette, not even a glimmer beneath the surface.

Just the slow, steady pain of silence.

He turned in a slow circle, searching the vast blue-black void, lungs burning, heart heavier than the ocean pressing in on all sides. He wanted to scream, but the sea would only drink the sound like it always did.

She’d vanished. Again.

Stolen away by the very water she’d come from. Just like that night beneath the same moon, just like every time before.

But this time, she’d let him in. This time, she kissed him. This time… she felt it too.

He kicked toward the surface, breaking into the open air with a gasp, chest heaving, eyes scanning the empty cove. The moon still hung there-unbothered, unknowing. The tide whispered at the shore like nothing had happened.

Mattheo pulled himself onto the sand, the water falling away from his body in sheets. He lay there, soaked and shivering, staring up at the stars as if they might tell him where she went.

She had kissed him.

And she had left.

But she always did.

And still-he would wait.

Because the sea had her, But his heart did, too.

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solarlyls · 4 months ago

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𝒲𝓪𝓲𝔱𝗂𝗇𝖌 𝚛𝖔ᵒ𝓶 𝔦𝒹𝑒α𝓼 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

𝒫ixie ℋollow 𝒲r

⟡— Stroll through a forest where giant flowers sway gently and towering mushrooms cast soft shadows. Rest in the heart of an old oak tree, and spin beneath a sky scattered with endless stars, their glow that stretches across the quiet night.

To step into the reality you desire, take a handful of pixie dust, let it slip between your fingers, and as you scatter it over yourself, and think of your destination. The path will open.

𝒜bandoned 𝒞astle 𝒲r

⟡— Walk through the gleaming white marble halls of your castle, or dip your toes in the waves along the shoreline. Dance through the corridors, whether alone or with a companion.

To enter the reality you want, find one of the locked doors, unlock it with a special key, and step through.

ℳermaids 𝒢rove 𝒲r

⟡— The mermaid’s grove, where sparkling freshwater shimmers and the morning sunlight kisses your skin as you pause for a moment of peace, or dive in for a swim if you’d like. Swim beneath the surface, exploring the depths at your own pace.

To enter the place you seek, choose one of the many lilypads, whisper a wish into the breeze, and let it guide you.

ℳusical 𝒯heater 𝒲r

⟡— The grand red velvet curtains rise, revealing a stage set just for you, waiting for your story to unfold. Sing, act, and step into the role of your dr self in this waiting room, taking a break in the dressing rooms or mingling with others between scenes.

Recreate a moment, a memory, a glimpse of the world you long for. And when the final bow is taken and the curtains close—you’ll find yourself in it.

𝒢arden 𝒲r

⟡— A maze, a garden, a hidden sanctuary. Wander through paths lined with blooming flowers and willow trees, or let the warmth of the nearby lake embrace you. If you’re feeling bold, step into the maze, its winding paths that shift with every turn.

Somewhere within, the right path awaits. Find it, and it will lead you to the reality you wait for.

𝒩ature ℬurrow 𝒲r

⟡— A hidden neighborhood nestled in nature, where cozy houses are all connected, their walls woven with vines and their doors open through small burrowed tunnels. Step through one, and you’ll find yourself in another home, another story, another moment.

But tread carefully, because some of these burrows don’t just lead next door. Some lead to an entirely different reality.

𝒲ater 𝒫alace 𝒲r

⟡— A palace where the floors ripple beneath your feet, made entirely of shimmering water. Some rooms hold glassy pools, inviting you to swim and drift in the waters of your royal home.

But be mindful, some of these pools are more than they seem. Step into the right one, and it will carry you into another reality.

𝒢olden ℋour ℱorest 𝒲r

⟡— A calm, inviting forest bathed in the endless glow of golden hour. Willow trees sway gently, their long branches brushing against lakes sprinkled with drifting petals. The air hums with the soft rustle of leaves and the distant calls of unseen creatures.

Linger too long in the shade of an ancient tree, step into a sunbeam at just the right moment, and you may find yourself somewhere entirely new.

𝒯reetop ℋouse 𝒲r

⟡— Houses nestled high in the trees, connected by sturdy ropes that let you wander from home to home, suspended above the ground. Swing from the branches, dangle in the open air, and drop into the safety of woven nets below.

But be mindful of the height, if you fall too far and if you let go with just a little too much belief, you might slip through more than just the air and find yourself into a new reality.

𝒜lice ℐn 𝒲onderland 𝒯eaparty 𝒲r

⟡— A whimsical tea party in a wonderland of your own making, where all your favorite people and creatures gather around a table filled with endless treats. Laughter fills up the air as you dance, sing, and share stories between sips of tea and bites of delicate pastries. Wander through the twisting maze, or step onto the giant chessboard and become a piece in the game.

But choose your tea wisely, one brewed with reality petal herb carries more than just flavor. With a single sip, you’ll find yourself slipping into the reality of your desire.

#waiting room dr #waiting room #shift #shifting diary #shifting motivation #shifting community #shiftblr #shiftingrealities #shifting blog #shifting consciousness #reality shifting #shifters #shifting antis dni #wr #wr dr #solarlyls #im posting this withoufht checking my mistakes so i apologize for any of them 💔

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paropamisus · 4 months ago

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Currently letting the brainworms roam free in my mind as I present the following idea. Hear me out on Forgotten Sea Deity! König and witch! Reader. (This is my first post guys I have no idea what I'm doing. English isn't my first language so sorry in advance if nothing makes sense) Witch!Reader accidentally messing up big time, maybe it was making a deal with the wrong person or witch-finders finally caught up with her. The point is, she's on the run. Now finding herself cooped up in a small sea-side shack that her foremothers left behind as the little witch scoured through ancient texts. Desperate for anything to get her out of there. That's when she comes across some half torn, leather bound book in some ancient language Reader barely understands. But the witch seems to get the message. Something about a sea spirit capable of reversing one's doomed fate for a price. With little left to lose, she resolved to go through with it. A minor sea spirit hardly seemed like a threat, and if it meant escaping her pursuers, the risk was well worth it. Turns out Reader should've really done some revision on the ancient language, but she only realises her translation error once the Spirit reveals itself to her amidst her rushed summoning ritual cast on the shoreline. Only this isn't some spirit at all.

Towering above her, emerging from the depths like something ancient and forgotten, was no mere spirit.

It was a god.

Wearing a tattered cloth over his face and a presence so overwhelming it had the Witch considering running back to the Witchhunters instead. Cue to Forgotten Sea Deity! König looming over Reader, who would've been infuriated at his slumber being disturbed, if it wasn't for the wide-eyed witch nervously clutching one of his lost books to her chest. What little followers he did have were long gone and the solitude was honestly getting to him. A wife would do nicely.

#call of duty #konig call of duty #konig x reader #konig x you #x reader #new to tumblr #first post #konig cod #yandere konig #yandere cod

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officialnostradamus · 1 month ago

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Tomorrow

Rook is always fascinated by Emmrich’s hands. It’s mesmerizing to watch him teach, the way he emphasises his words with an elegant flick of the wrist, to watch him perform an intricate spell as though leading a grand orchestra. The bands of gold adorning his long fingers has Rook sharp, a magpie attracted to the gleam, taking in every motion as he leafs through the pages of an ancient tome.

In the dining hall, they’re biting their lip as his palm cradles the shape of an apple and he exhibits his grace with knuckles curled around a paring knife. In Rivain, Rook is easily distracted by him, from the way the tendons flex in the back of his hand as they have to scale the steep shoreline down the delicate wave as he shoos away a persistent sand fly. In the Necropolis, they’re shameless, hawkish and hungry, as he traces the rune carved into one of the great doors, bringing the ward to life, effortless power. It’s Dock Town where Rook looses their grip. Emmrich buries his fingers in a merchant’s offering of plush fabric. Smooth silk gives beneath his hand and Rook actually groans. The look of surprise on Emmrich’s face has Rook grinning as they drag him into the nearest alley. It’s not truly secluded, life goes on around them, but they’ve lost their friends to the swell of the market and Rook is breathless, eager.

“Rook, are you-”

“Touch me,” they plead. “Or I think I’ll go insane.” There’s a moment where Emmrich hesitates, he glances, briefly, at their surroundings and weighs his options. It isn’t the time, it isn’t the place, everything is simply off. Then he looks back at Rook and understanding passes between them, shared longing, as if Emmrich has been just as desperate.

“Forgive me, my dear,” he murmurs, “for how I’ve made you wait.” His beautiful hands slide around Rook’s waist, pushing beneath their robes until it’s skin to skin and Rook curves into the shield of his body, grateful. The way his grip tightens on Rook is intoxicating. Perfect, how his fingers dig in just enough to dimple their flesh, to feel his touch against their bones.

“Sometimes I’m jealous of the things you touch,” Rook lets the admission slip, grasping the broad lapels of his jacket. Emmrich’s hands have slipped up their back now and it smooths the gnawing edges of their want. “Silly, you know? I just always want your hands on me.” Emmrich is a romantic. Rook is enthralled by the fact that he smiles and presses his lips to Rook’s forehead and his touch lingers, seeming to count each of Rook’s ribs.

“Would it soothe you to know my hands have never felt anything as fine as you?” He asks and Rook isn’t sure about the word giggle, but it’s got to be close. “That touching you is one of life’s greatest joys?”

“I’d definitely call you a flatterer,” they counter.

“It isn’t flattery to state a simple truth.” It’s Emmrich’s turn to grin. The corners of his eyes crinkle and Rook can’t help noticing the lines that mark years of joy, and the charming mole on the bridge of his nose. Maybe it’s more than his hands Rook can’t get enough of and they are caught off guard the sudden, overwhelming weight of their affection. Struck by their own simple truth.

“Okay,” they agree, “then I’m soothed. As long as you never stop.”

“Never stop?” Emmrich asks, less question, more uncertainty at Rook’s quick acquiescence. They’re too taken to stop and Emmrich’s hands are still on them and they take his face in their own.

“Yeah,” they say and they never meant to ask for forever in a Dock Town alley. Then again, no one means to fall. “Today, tomorrow, the next - never stop touching me.” Emmrich is quiet and Rook swallows the abrupt well of emotion, of nerves, because the way Emmrich is looking at them is indescribable. Then those incredible hands are pulling them higher, and Emmrich’s mouth is as warm and wonderful as ever.

“Today, tomorrow, and the next,” he answers finally, and his voice is almost as tight as Rook’s, “and for as many tomorrows as you wish.”

#didn't know where I was going when I started #still not sure?#tbh y'all got me in my feels with some stuff earlier #have some fluff #that seems to be my job #and I'm okay with it #its so late omg #love you goodnight #dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #emmrook #emmrich volkarin #dragon age fanfiction #fanfic #rook #emmrich x rook #veilguard rook #dragon age emmrich

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