#i love emyr and it warms my heart that you love him too

[the-kingshound]

This is 'missing-my-siblings-hours' . So, here you go, Emyr's (Tried my best not to be ooc) (Which I think I am, and I'm sincerely sorry) if MC and Saraah really succeed in bringing him to Camelot:

When Emyr woke up, he didn't expected to have sliced cucumbers along his face, nor did he expect to seeing his older and younger brothers whisking some sort of a gooey mix, while excitedly muttering how much skin care they'd get to work on him after all these years.

And so, when Ghaven walked up to him and applying the mixture on him, Emyr did what others mostly seen on him. He doesn't move at all, too numb to fight back even within a dream that feels like long ago.

Until Saraah, with his own beauty mask still on, eyes stand out among the sliced cucumbers and awkward little braids that somehow reminds Emyr of the one MC used to do with his eyes, look at him with a blank expression, poked his daydreams.

"...Are you seriously thinking you're still just dreaming, my dearest brother who keeps him away from us?"

Saraah's always managed to poke on others nerves, and they're never been easy to get it away.

Instantly, Emyr crawls out his bed, pushing away both his brothers as he flings himself to the nearest window and opens it.

And that's when he knew there's no way back now.

Emyr looks down along the window. He watches as his oldest sister, Adrei, keeps tight hold of Mordred, the only young child he can think so living with the Queen, and there's Radel, his youngest brother, who seems to be in better and healthier states as before, given how he can heard the latter go out his way teaching flowers to their little nephew.

But what holds most is when he saw — the one and last of them all, the youngest one, his little sister who's been trying to get hold of him, who's still reach out despite his distance — appears among the garden.

Emyr always know she'd been beautiful. But nothing can't stop him from worrying back when Adrei's letters come through about her going on battlefields. He'd remember what's like back then for him, his mind goes through those eyes resembling of the purest pearl that always soothe him, when he's still young, and could get a firm hold of his little sibling in his arms.

Ghaven weren't surprised at all. When Emyr's stunned. They kept silence as Saraah sneaks back up to Emyr and offer painful but nonetheless comforting touches, "Yeah, yeah, I know too." His next words, though, ouch. "After all these times... Can't belive we're all together again, huh? Except for Osi—— OCEANA! I mean that boring kingdom in the old mermaid tale! OCEANA! Emyr, stop hitting me! Ah! Ouch!"

If isn't the fact Emyr's still too timid (they'd change it, given now where they are) to even commit a murder, Ghavem would've step in to stop them from a supposedly crime scene. Still, they moves up between both their brothers, and cast away Saraah who's now running off to join in the rest in garden.

He didn't spoke anything. Waiting patiently for Emyr.

"I... H-how did... Is the King——" How did I got here? Is the King aware of this? "W-What will... I can't... They'd got... Of me... S..." What will happen to them? What will happen to you and Saraah? I can't be here! They'd get me! You'd get killed because of me! Sent me back! "I... I... Ah——..."

Emyr crumbles at last. Luckily, Ghaven's there to make sure their knees wouldn't hurt much as they catch him as they gradually fall to the ground. Ah, Adrei'd lecture them on this, definitely. Being too harsh on the joke.

"To answer your questions." They pulls him up back to the bed and throws up every warm blankets from the one mother hen knight closed to their little one. "MC'd been plotting to get you here since the last time we all met. Ironically, your... former house, got some issues."

Emyr don't need to hear anymore to know what's been going around. So he decided to do the thing he's been good at. He closes his eyes, nodding off soundly in his found peace as Ghaven lights up a few candles.

Osia can screw off. Emyr thinks. She can't do no harm to him now that he's faraway than she'll ever think.

A-And... He'd like to hug everyone when he's awake.

(Sorry for grammatic mistakes =+

Aww omg that's so adorable... bestest of ways to start my day❤ Thank you so much for sending it, anon, I actually think Emyr was quite in character! Having all the siblings together is very nostalgic and makes me want to hurry and get them all to Camelot...

[dubiousduskwight]

Day 1: Steer

When he was a kid and things had been better, Rorogino’s mother had made a point of telling bedtime stories to he and his siblings in that fraction of years when they were young enough to demand and be enthralled by such moments. She never told them anything of Sharlayan origin; after the first few attempts, the attitude among the Papagino family was that stories should be about more than excelling at schoolwork and certainly shouldn’t require footnotes. Instead, they settled on the kind of insomnia-inducing Gridanian beditme story about clever boys and girls coming upon wildlings and witches in the woods. Though menaced by dark magics and a dangerous forest, quick wits let them bargain with their foes and good hearts let them get what they wanted while skirting the consequences and reach their happy ending.

At the time, he’d loved those stories. Twenty years, one expulsion, and two major changes in life circumstances later, and he was now of the opinion that the kids in those tales were a pack of worthless ingrates.

“You’re asking too much,” Emyr said. Rorogino wasn’t looking at him, focused on comparing the small cameo portrait he held in one hand and sketching out its likeness across canvas with a cheap piece of charcoal in the other, but he could hear the quiver in the man’s voice, and guessed that his hands trembled in his lap. It wasn’t fear in Emyr’s tone, he was certain of that.

“I’m asking exactly what I said I’d ask, what we agreed on, what you paid for.” He squinted at the cameo, taking in the details of a handsome-looking elezen, with strong ears, sharp nose, and a warm and friendly expression, even with a set mouth, that one didn’t often see in miniature. Granted, his chin was a bit on the absent side, but perhaps the artist had missed a detail somewhere. He was somebody that almost certainly wouldn’t be seen anywhere near Emyr’s scraggly ass in any other circumstance. “Do you want it or not?” “I do!” Emyr looked up from his hands in protest, trying to catch Rorogino’s gaze. “But I can’t even get close enough to converse, most days, just a few scant words, and he’s always got his staff, they’re watching – I don’t think I can get it, Gino, not this time.”

Heaving a heavy and deep sigh, Rorogino put his charcoal away, set the cameo where it would fit on the tiny stand that he kept near his canvas, and rubbed his broad forehead. He swivelled in his stool, which gave a loud squeak in protest, and looked up at Emyr, scrutinizing him with bright blue eyes. There wasn’t much worthwhile about the man except his net worth: His father had done well in copper speculation and landed them comfortably in the middle tier of the Monetarists, and Emyr was content to live on the family wealth and waste it to the best of his ability. His hands shook, his eyes were constantly bloodshot, his voice had a quality not unlike that of a frightened shrew, and his chin and cheeks seemed scarred from a disease in his youth. Fortunately, his personality was repellent to compensate. Rorogino had no doubt he would do well in an unhappy marriage in his distant future, and wished he could deal with that version of Emyr instead of this one.

Nevertheless, this was the version that had paid him half up-front, as prompted, and he would very much like to have the other half in his possession, thank you very much. Aetherially-conductive paints were expensive in the best of times.

“Tell me about his eyes.” The prompt made Emyr blink in surprise, his eyes shining and watery enough to drop a tear.

“What?”

“His eyes, tell me about them. The cameo’s too small,” He lied, “And all I can see are a couple of black dots.”

“Yes, well. They’re a sort of a brown, but not so dark as that. Leaning into amber.” As Emyr spoke, Rorogino watched the man’s hands where they lay in his lap, trembling. “They’re warm,” he said. “Like the rest of his face. And kind. When he told me ‘mind the stairs’ in the ballroom, it felt like my minding them was the only thing that mattered to him. And when he asked for a glass of water?” The trembling had stilled. “The way they squinted around the edges, little wrinkles in the skin like he is wiser than his age. I wish I could show you, Gino.” “Thanks, but I get the picture. I can work out the rest. Now.” Placing his hands on his knees, Gino kept looking straight ahead, only tilting his eyes upwards. “You want those eyes looking at you and nobody else? That’s what you want, right? That’s what you asked for when you came here. That still true?” “Yes,” There was that quiver in his voice again – not fear, but a desperation, that he might not be desired.

“Then get me his godsdamned eyelash. Pigment won’t make itself. And don’t come back until you do.” With another horrible squeak, Rorogino turned back to his canvas. Emyr could see himself out, and, seeing him rise from his chair out of the corner of his eye, was satisfied that he’d do so.

He picked up the cameo again, squinting at the expression in the elezen’s face. Emyr had certainly gotten the color right, but they didn’t seem so warm to Gino. Then again, he’d said the same thing about the last two commissions as well. He was always after warmth. One of these days, one of these men would actually have it.

“Ingrates,” he muttered to himself, thinking back to the old stories. They always got their boon from people like Gino with clever wits and good hearts. One of these days, he thought, he might get a patron with either quality.

[kim-monsterlings]

Emyr - M Selkie x F Human (Reader) // SFW Monster Match

Monster match for @noodlenerd101​​ with ask here <3

Matches under the read more!

Content: SFW/Lime; mutual pining, intimate embraces (cuddling), slight nudity, kissing (+ cheek and forehead), closer cuddling, sickness (reader has a cold - headache and fever), use of endearments “sweetheart” and “love”, caretaker trope, cuddling, fluff, light kissing, fading out

Masterlist // Monster Match Info + Masterlist // My Ko-Fi

Headcanon

Goosebumps rising at the ghosting hand of the wind hardly compared to tremors from a gesture as simple as a wave from the water.

Dim sunlight shone against the selkie's falling pelt, though you came for the man emerging; his modesty covered enough by the thick fur, yet too many times you had lost yourself in marvelling at the muscle of wide thighs tensing, or the slither of hair darkening along his chest.

Another lift of his hand came, paired with a wide smile, and you burrowed deeper into the blanket never warm enough for you. This blossoming relationship coaxed you back to the coast nearly each day, though you would never come in the warmer seasons - too crowded, too hot.

Only after an accumulation of weeks of Emyr rising from the shallows did you beckon him over. Really, he began it; first a nod with once shorter hair, now shaggy with stubble gracing his soft jaw, then a light wave. The day you tentatively lifted the small tub containing fresh cake had been far too late, and after a day ending by leaning against one another for warmth, it felt like you were already close friends.

Emyr preferred the sea to land, elaborating his loathing of humans through tales of stolen pelts. Those stories twisted you deep and with every visit, you began to turn away, until the selkie nudged you and whispered, "I trust you."

He crouched low onto one leg, lips ghosting your forehead. So naturally, you averted your eyes as he slipped from pelt to a sweater and loose trousers before he curled you into his warm chest.

"How's my favourite girl?"

"She's good." His calloused palm ran against your nape. "How's my favourite selkie?"

"Depends. Did you bring the other one?"

For all his time in water, Emyr favoured you above all. When your freshly baked gifts amounted to more than a whole cake, he offered you a tiny toy, a plush of almost the same shimmering silver as his pelt.

You always carried it with you so it smelled of the coast; of him.

"You're still my favourite, Emyr."

Dimples curled into rough cheeks before the conversation drifted from the light teasing, for which you were grateful. With how vivid he was, his voice a low rasp over the wind, his presence overwhelmed you.

Until mid-sentence, when a weight draped over your shoulders.

"Looked cold," he murmured, returning to the quiet recounting of how the scar carved deep into his stomach marked him.

Offered with nothing but kindness, you still couldn't accept it. His fingers curled to yours when you snatched his hand and swallowed, wind suddenly harsh on your face. "I shouldn't wear this."

"Sweetheart, it only turns me into a seal."

You didn't smile - couldn't, too uncomfortable, weakened by the extreme trust of him resting his pelt over you.

"You were shivering."

"It's too much." Too snug, easing against your softer curves like it would to Emyr, and your chest ached. "Too intimate."

Those sweet dimples never fell. "I'm okay with that."

You could blame it on the dimples for tempting you when your lips softened against one. Had the sand opened up beneath you, it would've been a mercy for the lull in conversation.

Warm knuckles dragged over your cheek. "Oh."

One syllable, and your heart fell.

"I really thought it'd be me," he whispered. "May I kiss you? Properly?"

His kiss was all encompassing, buried beneath his pelt. Large hands cradled your cheeks as you curled yours to his soft arms. His thigh pressed between yours as he ushered you against the blanket, laying together.

You never felt cold with Emyr cuddling you.

Drabble

In hating warmer seasons and returning to cold shores on storming days came a natural consequence. Fog darkened your mind with wisps aching at your temples, your head weighed down by the curse of a cold culminating after days spent too long shivering.

Cuddled against you was your substitute selkie. The sheen of its fur lessened after your love and you tucked it even closer for its sea-salt scent at the stinging headache throbbing. Even had the fur not faded, the pelt carefully tucked over you that morning when you woke near delirium shone somehow brighter.

Emery claimed his pelt called to you - some old tie fostered by his offering it.

Your last words before a bout of unconsciousness had been near tears, a gentle touch stroking over your cheeks. "This isn't fair."

"I know," Emyr sighed. He left you with water, tissues and extra blankets (knowing you would always choose his pelt) before leaving for medicine. As kind as he was in turning on your favourite films, they faded to background noise.

Some cruel twist of fate had you falling sick after bundling into his wide arms, wearing far more layers than him, yet you were ill. Selkies were, evidently, a little more resistant to cold.

"There's my girl. How are you doing?"

Gentle whispers brushed to your forehead before he was gone again - so soon you nearly believed him to be a hallucination, before the cushions dipped at your thigh. Two tablets pressed to your lips with water. Emyr tucked his hand under his pelt to your leg with a soft smile.

Worse than the cold itself was the fleeting fever. Suddenly burning only to shiver the next minute, the compromise was having his fur close to your chin and over your toes.

"I'm burning," you whimpered. "Check my temperature again, please?"

"I'm sorry, love."

Even hot as you were, the touch of his palm to your forehead made you shiver. You guided it to your lips and closed your eyes, content more with him close than the painkillers soon to help.

"Do you promise you can't catch this?" He traced the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone and you peeked up. "Promise me."

"It wouldn't be your fault. You take care of me so often. It's my turn."

With protesting verbally - there had been enough quiet refusals already, concerned for his health - you strained against the cushions to meet the scruff on his jaw. Emyr relented when you ushered him close and offered a soft kiss.

"You're the best medicine there is." Then, quieter; "Stay?"

You were almost asleep when he hummed, promising to stay until you sent him away.