#◈ — ic; farkas

[augment-techs]

[decidentia]

I’ve been bursting with muse, but unable to get a moment to focus on writing. Luckily, I have no plans tomorrow – zero, zilch, nada, nothing – for the approx. four hours between my shift finishing and my pottery class starting. I plan to be here, be queer, and finally get some ic content out. 😤

[austerulous]

◈   @oneiira said:   ❛ 🗑️ shro’ka to farkas!! ❜  // texting starters.

— 🗑️ A TEXT THAT WASN’T SENT.

[ text : furbaby ]   i wanna talk to you about somethings. nothin bad i promise. just scary. form for me anyway. yk im more puss than you. can you come over tonite?

After deleting the above, he instead sends:

[ text : furbaby ]   do you wanna come over tonite? im makin nachos. x

[daedriic]

❈ ❰❰ @austerulous ─ 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐀𝐒 // s.c. ❱❱

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ WELL, YOU'RE A TALL ONE, AREN'T YOU? ❞ He could be just what she needs to solve her current predicament. She'd come to Whiterun in disguise, passable as some dainty noblewoman; perfect for moving around in public without drawing unwanted attention. But it's a disguise that would be easily blown if she had to resort to violence. So why not have someone else handle that part for her? ❝ I could use some muscle. Care to help me with a little problem I'm having? I'll pay you well for your aid. ❞

[acuityfeed]

  “&– -Ugh- I was going to kill them. I have a gem to fill....” // @austerulous liked for a oneliner starter

[nooklingposting]

I personally think Farkas has a crush on the player. Everyone just sees him as an ice-brain, not smart enough, and have done his whole life. Even some of the newer companions can be heard talking back to him. But we don't.

It seems like we're special from the start, he's nicer to us than any of other the companions right from day one. We see a softer, friendlier side to Farkas (eg: 'I hope I didn't scare ya' being his first concern after being surrounded by enemies) - we never really hear him be so friendly to the other members (think the training conversation with Torvar), and that's why we fall for him.

I think he'd be shocked if we chose to marry him. Yeah he shoots his shot, but like I said, he's used to everyone seeing him as an oaf. Then here we are, the Harbinger, showing him the same kindness and emotional investment that he gave us in the beginning. He deserves it.

I just think he's neat.

[austerulous]

Eros. Hushed though it was, the name flashed on Farkas’ periphery. For a moment, he clung to it – but like any silvery, slippery thing, it did not remain within his thick-fingered grasp for long. It evaporated, escaping all recollection the moment that velvet voice tightened into a tone of stern indignation. It was a cold fury, razor-edged, delivered with absolute poise that was far from the lip-splitting punches thrown in Jorrvaskr.

A hundred was a great deal, Farkas knew, though he did not precisely understand the number’s weight and measure. His only point of comparison was the legendary Ysgramor and his Five Hundred Companions – but that was a hazy image in his mind’s eye, a great sea of faceless warriors. What was clear, even to Farkas’ unscholarly mind, was that a long line of his predecessors had been born squalling, blood-slick, and driven into their cradle of dirt in the time this seemingly ageless creature had been alive.

Farkas exhaled through his nose, emptying his lungs, rendering himself hollow in his defeat. A tongue was a blade, and his was dull. Although cowed, flayed by words, he offered no apology – instead he watched the vampire darkly, aware that they were now sealed inside the apothecary. Entombed, together.

“Bad bones. Bad joints.”

His lip curled wolfishly, revealing the pale glint of a canine. A bestial, instinctive response. When Farkas caught himself, he smoothed his expression into one that was more deadpan, less defiant. Being at the lower standing in his pack, he was well acquainted with compliance and contrition. This ancient man, with his perfumed countenance, likely thought of him as little more than a sulky, errant child.

“Knees, hips, shoulders, wrists. They’re worse in the cold, but ache even in summer. I’m tired of hurtin’ and poultices only go so far.”

Mirvon shambled off; though, his gangling legs served to only get him so far, allowing the nord's latter quip to grace veiled ears. A wince curled his features, his fingers, leather squelching as concern lapped eager at his thoughts.

"Eros won't like that," he murmured to himself, beelining for a room at the end of the stone-hugged wall. There he would lay low until beckoned back.

Indeed, did Erosandros bristle.

"You think yourself amusing, to slight my clinic. Yet, you have come here with intent, a hope, perhaps. Something that I ought alleviate or prevent. You are not a local, so I can only presume you came here with purpose; circumventing the healers that are stationed towards the front of the city heart is not an easy feat. You have heard of my skill, whether directly or in passing." A flourish of his hand, and the front door jittered and stiffened, frozen in place; shushing the danger of those who lurked just outside. Funny, how powerful creatures could see exposure as more threatening than one another. "Let me put things into perspective. How old are you, wolf? Late twenties? Maybe mid-thirties? I have lived a hundred of your lifetimes. I have been healing many of those years. Do not insult my integrity."

Olive hands flattened over the front of his black, double-breasted tailcoat, as though to soothe whatever hackles were raised by the comment.

"I reiterate: how may I help you today, sir?"

[mothzarellaman]

so a few days ago, i shared an image of miraak suddenly appearing near whiterun and beating a sabre cat to death.

this game, besides like. unofficial skyrim patch and a hair mod, is unmodded. he just did this.

but allow me to continue the tale through discord screenshots. A more proper retelling is below the read more.

So, I was deciding to walk across one side of Skyri

m to another, specifically in search of the Dragon Priest mask totem/holder thing. (I found it later but that's irrelevant) So I began the walk from the Serpent Stone to Falkreath. As I was walking, I saw someone fighting a sabre cat in the road. That someone? Miraak.

He's punching the poor thing to death, doing very little damage in the process because he's probably a limp noodle let's be real. It's unclear why he's here. And why he's punching the sabre cat. But he wins. And walks away.

So what do we do? We follow him. (We being me and Farkas). We cannot talk to him, pickpocket him, or damage him in any other way. No shouts, nothing. He is walking very pointedly along the road, to some unknown destination. Eventually, we see another sabre cat. And Miraak? Well, he locks in. Lightning goes flying as he kills it. No punches this time, just lightning. It's unclear why he didn't do this earlier. He is very aggressively shouting, to no effect. Farkas runs to help him.

Once its dead, he keeps walking. This continues for a while. Occasionally we find already dead goats. He loots them. I steal a goat leg from a corpse and he sadly walks away. I kill a goat for him. He throws a tantrum and jumps into the river. He emerges and he's normal again. We continue walking and eventually meet a group of revelers. They offer my Dragonborn (Pan) some alcohol. We say yes. Miraak? He doesn't say a word. He keeps walking. He fights a few bears. We have an immortal bodyguard, apparently.

Eventually, I realize we're heading towards Windhelm. So I wonder if he's trying to go back to Solstheim. Surely, he's going to go through Windhelm? No. He is not. He completely skips the bridge, and instead keeps walking, and eventually stops at the ice floes across from the Windhelm docks. He has not said a word.

if you read this far enjoy a screenshot and the meme it got compared to

[whitegoldtower]

Skyrim Characters and their vape flavours of choice (someone put me down)

Ondolemar: either pineapple ice lost mary or the orange gummy bear lost mary. Dude is a posh roadman with his rolex, military shave, flawless skincare and designer tracksuit

Ancano: juicy peach lost mary or strawberry ice lost mary. He’s girlypop but will hide his vape because he doesn’t want to be made fun of for having pink on his person. Even though he’d 100% rock the juicy couture velour outfit and main as princess peach in mariokart.

Elenwen: coconut melon elf bar. Girlie would rather be sipping pina coladas in Alinor’s top resorts and spas. Her nails match the colour of her vape. Alternatively, she’d get the mojito elf bar thinking it would taste like rum. Disappointed when it doesn’t.

Serana: maryjack kisses lost mary or cherry ice lost mary. No explanation needed.

Cicero: the disgustingly sweet flavours like the cotton candy ice (pure fucking sugar) or the immensely artificial blue razz / mr blue lost mary. As if the little guy needs any more sugar in his system.

Teldryn Sero: buys the really shit knock off lost marys, and only ever gets flavours like ‘spearmint’ or ‘cream tobacco’ 😩 can’t handle having anything that doesn’t hit his chest like a normal cigarette, and will constantly complain about how much he misses smoking.

Vingalmo: will deny that he vapes with every fibre of his being but will freak out when he loses his cranberry raspberry cherry elf bar in the coffin lining. If there’s fruity fog coming out of one of the coffins in Castle Volkihar, it’s not ‘atmospheric ambience’, it’s Vingalmo hotboxing his bed.

Garan Marethi: has a heavy duty non-disposable vape and only ever vapes one flavour because it’s the only one he can stand: vampire vape blood sukka.

Neloth: also has a heavy duty vape but has these horrific mystery flavours like “jungle juice” or “pinkman” or “unicorn shake” and each new flavour he puts in the tank (without replacing any of the coils) is a worse, more burnt, more artificial smelling mess than the last.

Farkas: if it doesn’t smell like he wants to eat it, he doesn’t want it. Only gets flavours like “banana milkshake”, “caramel waffle” or “red velvet cake”

[decidentia]

◈   @shellcrack  //  starter

Cutting through the resinous scent of pine needles, through the earthy notes of rotting mulch and fungus, came the reek of blood. Its coppery, metallic tang filled Farkas’ nose, strong enough to coat the back of his throat, to lie thick on his tongue. A red ribbon was what pulled him through the fringes of woodland, deeper into the forest’s feathered heart.

Mankind could not help but leave a mark. A desolation of tree stumps, like coarse stubble, greeted him as he approached the isolated homestead. Pens that had once housed livestock now guarded their remains. Putrid and bloated, the stiff-legged, round-bellied creatures lay in their own filth, oozing from every orifice. The cool light of Farkas’ pewter gaze traced the rims of crow-picked eye sockets, quick to focus on the door which hung open in dark promise. Blood formed a lacquer – so dark it was almost black – that drip-dried down the front steps, staining the grain and soaking into the pores of the wood.

This scene of humble domesticity had been the site of a slaughter. Farkas was no stranger to horror, but still he felt a kernel of dread sprout in his chest. Boots creaked and dove-tail joists whined as he mounted the steps, congealed pools crackling beneath his heavy footfall. Being both a monster and a monster of a man, he was too big for homely spaces; he was forced to duck his head to enter the cabin, the ruin inside reflected dully in his steel breastplate. Sparse furniture had been reduced to splintered kindling, and all was dusted by the ash and cinders that spewed from the cold fireplace. Shutters were closed, the only light that entered the space pushed in behind him, casting his shadow tall and broad.

A massacre. Bodies pulled apart. Two – Farkas counted – identifying them by the ribcages that yawned open like bear traps, vomiting their innards. Maggots writhed ecstatic in gnawed flesh while their blue-sheen parents buzzed black and fat, rubbing their hands together in filthy glee, feasting on the splatters of gore that painted the vaulted ceiling. At the stink, he closed a hand over his nose and mouth, that cloying decay softened by the leather that covered his palm. No lives to save here, no murderer to apprehend, not even an unspoiled larder to raid. He turned as if to leave.

And then he heard it. The softest of whimpers, the rapid tick of a frantic heartbeat. Heaped in a corner, gore-flecked sheets heaved and mewled. Farkas thought of a she-cat’s nest, of the helplessness of newborn kittens, all milky breath and dandelion-fluff fur. Through the tangle of torn linen, he glimpsed birch-pale limbs and wild brown hair. The shroud slipped lower, revealing impossibly wide and round blue eyes, glassy in terror, red-rimmed from long-spent tears. A girl.

Farkas approached, looming over her before he thought to make himself small, to settle onto one knee. He reached out a gauntleted hand, proffering it to her as though she were a kicked stray, a hag-ridden mare.

“Easy, child.”

[austerulous]

◈   @ramblingsofamoonwatcher said:  

❛ It was another peaceful morning steeped in solitude, nestled in the deep loneliness of the woods. The air was stagnant with the pungent scent of pine sap, honeyed warmth cooked out of the bark by the summer sun.

There was birdsong, the rustling of the trees, the wooden creak of the old watch tower. Loudest of all was the heavy split of wood each time her axe cracked down upon it. She was dressed in uniform, khaki shorts that reached above her knees, tight around her muscled thighs and backside and cinched at her waist. Upon her feet were tall black hiking boots giving way to white socks, matching the colour of the plain tank top she wore. Her long ebony hair was pulled back in a loose braid, wisps glued to the sweat that beaded down her face.

The gradual crescendo of a quad engine broke through the peace of her morning, only once the machine was parked and the man had stepped off did she cease splitting wood. She slung her axe over her shoulder, wiping her drenched forehead with the back of her tattooed arm.

"Are you the one that they sent out to do the repairs?" She asked, approaching him with little expression upon her pallid face. "I wasn't exactly expecting you to come. A big storm is supposed to roll in late this afternoon, thought they were going to call you off. If the rain comes like they're saying you won't be able to get back to the park office on those trails."

Vibrant emeralds eyes took in the sight of the man. He seemed around her age, perhaps slightly older. He was tall, well muscled- made sense for a welder she supposed. What caught her attention most was his liquid silver eyes, she could not avert her gaze, holding contact to observe all those multifacets. ❜

A twist of the wrist, a turn of the key, killed the engine.  In the aftermath of the ATV’s deep, reverberating rumble, the world seemed impossibly quiet, silent save for the birdsong that drifted down from the pines – and the voice of the fire watcher.  Farkas couldn’t say what he had expected, only that she was not it.  Dressed in sweat that set her tattoos to shine, she made her approach as he dismounted the quad, standing shoulder to shoulder with her axe. Impressive, almost gothic in her beauty.

“The very one.  Name’s Farkas.  I’m with Skyforge Steelworks.”

Tapping the embroidered anvil logo on his polo shirt, he delivered his introduction in a largely flat affect, his voice low in his throat.  Nettle-coloured eyes dragged over him, before boring shamelessly into silver.  There was an intensity to her scrutiny that caught Farkas off-guard, that compelled him to keep talking, to look away.

“I guess they didn’t believe the forecast…”  His gaze tilted upwards, to where dappled sunlight poured like honey from above, its warmth baking into the browning pine needles that spread like carpet beneath their boots.  Civilisation dulled his preternatural senses, making them easier to ignore.  Here, far from the township, in this remote pocket of the forest, the storm’s distant approach felt undeniable.  Air, humid and heavy, pressed up against him with promise.  It made his clothes cling.

“I better get started then, huh?  Try to get back before the sky opens. Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll get the job done.”

[daedriic]

❈ ❰❰ @austerulous ─ 𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐀 // s.c. ❱❱

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ YOU WEAR THE NIGHT WELL. ❞ Many associate the shadows with thieves and assassins, forgetting that the hunters find just as much use in silence and darkness. ❝ Your quarry went west. It's probably reached the river by now. ❞ She'd seen the stag, a great best in its own right, rush through the bounds of the forest towards the plains. ❝ Something startled it. ❞

[bookishzelda]

Words I’ve Been Saving for a Rainy Day

Summary: The Dragonborn has managed to escape Cidhna Mines… and her most loyal follower is waiting for her with open arms. (Farkas x OC Dragonborn)

Word count: ~3300

Hurt/comfort but like mostly fluff

CW: brief mentions of injuries

A/N: Guys something about the Cidhna Mines questline captured my imagination. Being separated from my follower, talking to the other prisoners about why I have to get out, and seeing my friend run up to me as soon as I escape… I had to go in-depth. And the only way I know how to do that is by writing something completely self-indulgent. It also has lots of pining added in because that's truly all I do irl. Um anyway...

Frida blinked hard in the sunlight that seemed to burn her eyes. She had already grown accustomed to the dim lantern-light of Cidhna Mines, even though she could only have been trapped inside for a few days.

She took in a deep breath of the cool, open air. The dirty smell of the city and the faint rotting odor was preferable to the thick atmosphere of dust, death, and unwashed bodies that permeated the mines, inescapable and almost tangible. The clean air with which she greedily filled her lungs nearly brought tears to her eyes.

Madonach and her fellow escapees ran ahead of her, weapons drawn, locked in battle with Thonar and the guards. For once, Frida didn’t join the fray, instead leaning against the stone wall, her newly-returned pack of belongings dangling from her arm. Her body still cried out in pain from her fight with the guards before she had been beaten down and dragged off to the mines; the flowering bruises on her midsection where they had repeatedly kicked her while she was down, the shoulder that she had had to force back into place, and the several barely healed wounds from their swords. In this moment, her bloodlust had been replaced by pure exhaustion. She didn’t want to fight—she just wanted to get back to Breezehome and forget about all of this. But how could she get back to Whiterun? She had made her way to Markarth in a drunken stupor, completely unaware of her actions. She could only hope there was a stable near the city with a carriage to rent. And more importantly, where had Farkas gone? Hopefully back to Jorrvaskr, since the city was so dangerous, especially for a friend of a perceived criminal.

Farkas.

The raven-haired man was the one person who never left her mind while she was fighting for her life in Cidhna Mines. She needed to get back to the other Companions, of course, and Lydia, and her other friends. They had all resided in her mind when she had to summon motivation to escape. But Farkas, her sweet, strong shield-brother, was constantly on her mind, the one person she just had to see again. While she lay sleepless on the hard ground, his gruff voice echoed in her mind, reminding her why she had to get out. She needed so badly to see him again—to receive assurance that he was safe. She needed to feel his calloused hand on hers, hear the rumble of his voice, lose herself in his ice-blue eyes….

“Frida!”

Her head snapped in the direction of the voice, her heart soaring when she saw her shield-brother sprinting toward her. “Farkas?” she breathed, dropping her precious bag.

When he reached her, Farkas wrapped her in an embrace. Immediately her bruised ribs screamed in pain, and she took in a sharp breath. “Ow, ow, ow, ow.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Farkas immediately loosened his grip on her, still keeping her in a gentler embrace. “I’m so sorry. I just… I’m so glad to see you again.” He pulled away, resting his large hands on her shoulders to look at her. Frida’s heartbeat sped up as his intense gaze met hers.  “I… I swear I spent so long trying to find a way to get you out, but I couldn’t; and I was about to go get the other Companions so we could bust you out but, uh… u-um, I’m glad you’re okay.” He trailed off and shifted his gaze as his mind seemed to catch up with his emotions.

Frida smiled at his sudden shyness. “Don’t worry. Thank you, Farkas, but I’m okay.” She lifted a hand to rest on his jawline. “I’m okay.” Her heart pounded hard in her chest as his ice-blue eyes stayed fixed on hers, the wild concern in them almost intense enough to knock her backwards. Damn. Only one person in all of Tamriel was capable of rendering the Dragonborn into such a vulnerable state. The most powerful woman in Skyrim… brought to her knees by a simple but handsome warrior.

Farkas leaned his cheek into her palm, then inclined his head to slowly look her up and down. She suddenly felt exposed before him. Her roughspun tunic and ragged pants felt too thin and revealing to stand up to his careful scrutiny. She escaped his gaze by wrapping her arms around him and pulling herself against his chest. His metal armor was cold against her skin. This was the first time she had ever embraced him—in all their travels together and all the time they had spent together in Jorrvaskr, they had never touched each other in such a way. Not that Frida didn’t think about it—she did, more often than she would admit to anyone. At night, as she laid in bed wishing the beast blood didn’t fend off rest, or in the middle of a long trek across the tundra when her mind began to wander. She would imagine a moment just like this, his hot breath ruffling her hair, his rough hands pressing softly against her back, his wolfish smell of leather and sweat.

It felt good. It felt right.

“Frida,” Farkas said in a low voice, as if he was worried that he would frighten her. “Um… I know you’re the Harbinger and you give the orders, but….” He pulled away and looked back into her eyes. “Come on. You and I are getting out of here. Let’s get you back to Jorrvaskr.”

For once she didn’t protest, the fatigue in her mind only letting her say, “Okay.”

Farkas hoisted her bag onto his shoulder, then moved to her side and held her close to him, letting her lean her weight on him as they walked. There were a lot of steps—by the time they reached the front gates of the city, her legs were trembling. Even as the pain rippled through her body, she couldn’t help but glance down at his hand pressed firmly against her waist.

By Talos, she was finally in the arms of the man she admired, and all it took was a near-death experience and a life sentence.

When they had finally, finally made it out of the city, and Frida had flashed a middle finger at two different guards, Farkas released his protective hold on her, opting instead to place his hand on her shoulder. “Look, a cart,” he said, pointing. They approached the carriage, and the driver looked down at them.

“Need a lift?” he asked.

“We need-“ Farkas began before Frida cut him off.

“Excuse me, I still have some of my dignity left.” She took a step away from Farkas. “We’d like to… whoa…” Her head spun and she staggered backwards into Farkas’ waiting arms. “…Um—hire your carriage.”

“Of course. Where to?” the driver asked.

“Whiterun.”

“20 septims.”

Frida reached for her bag on Farkas’s other arm, but he held her back as he produced a handful of coins from his own money pouch. Frida glared at him as he handed them to the driver.

“Climb aboard,” said the driver.

Farkas guided her around to the back of the cart. “All right, come on,” he said. Before Frida was aware of what was happening, one of his arms had caught behind her knees, sweeping her off her feet so she was draped bridal-style across his arms. She yelped in surprise, but he just chuckled, a low noise that began deep in his chest like the purr of a saber cat. He carefully climbed into the back of the carriage, carrying her effortlessly.

Frida couldn’t help but glance up at his face. It was so close to hers, close enough for his long hair to brush against her cheek, tickling her skin. His face was set in stone as he focused on carrying her as delicately as if she were made of glass. She saw his eyes flick down at her, then straight ahead again.

He set her down gently on the carriage seat and sat down across from her. She heard the flick of the reins and the carriage began moving.

Taking them home.

Frida reached for her bag and withdrew a loaf of bread. She took a huge bite and closed her eyes in ecstasy. It had been days since she had eaten anything that tasted this good. She took a few more ravenous bites before rummaging around in her bag again to pull out a red apple. She bit into it greedily, willing the sweetness to restore her energy.

Farkas watched her with a smile. Frida held out the remainder of the loaf of bread. “You want some?”

“No, thanks. You need your strength.”

Frida shrugged and tossed her apple core over the side of the cart. She laid down on her side and stretched across the seat. The wood was rough under her cheek. They rode in silence for a few minutes, listening to the rumble of the stone path under the wheels.

Frida broke the silence. “Thank you, Farkas.”

He looked at her, puzzled. “For what?”

“For waiting for me. Making sure I wasn’t alone when I got out.” She shifted her gaze to the floor, hoping it would remove the feeling of vulnerability.

“Don’t be stupid,” he scoffed, making her chuckle. “Of course I waited for you. Frida, I would go to all ends of Tamriel with you. Remember our oath when you became a Companion? ‘I’ll stand at your back, that the world might never overtake us.’ I mean that, sister.”

Frida’s heart fluttered in her chest. Yes, she remembered. Of course she did. She had replayed his words in her head every day since she had first been accepted into the group. It was a script that they were made to say for every new member, of course, but that evening as she lay in her new bed, she had let herself imagine him whispering them to her, just her.

“And you’re sure you’re all right?” he asked, interrupting her reverie.

“Yes, Farkas. You don’t have to worry.”

“What about the other prisoners? Those men who were in there with you, they never…?” he trailed off, but his eyes held a certain fear that she rarely had the opportunity to see.

“No,” she said firmly. Although the men who she had shared the space with had been deprived of female companionship for months or even years, most of their energy had been so drained and their bodies so broken from the hard labor that they posed no threat to Frida. At least nothing that she wasn’t able to fix with a few precise blows from her fist. “No, nothing happened.” She saw his eyes narrow with doubt, studying her face intently to find any sign that she was lying. She smiled softly. “I promise. I was stronger than them, even with my injuries. Do you even know me, Farkas? I fought them if they even looked wrong in my direction.”

A corner of his mouth turned up. “I know, I know, you can take care of yourself. Thank the Nine that no one hurt you. I just… I do worry about you, Frida. I know you don’t see it, but when we’re walking through the city, I see the way the men look at you. You’re a pretty lady, and I can tell exactly what they’re thinking.”

Frida grinned, her cheek rubbing against the rough wood. “You think I’m pretty?” she asked teasingly.

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head, sister. The point is… I care about you. Probably more than you know. I know you’re strong enough to look after yourself, but, well….” His eyes shifted away, and Frida swore she saw the ghost of a blush creep over his face. “You mean more to me than I have the words to say. Knowing you were in trouble and there was no way I could help you… it tore me to pieces inside. I couldn’t think of anything but seeing you again, safe with me. And it wasn’t just then. I’m always worried for you. I do my best to protect you, and I want to always be there for you.” His eyes closed. “I’m sorry, I’m not good with words.”

“No,” Frida breathed, hardly audible over the pounding of blood in her ears. “No, I think you’ve said it plenty well.” She always knew, of course, that Farkas cared for her; as did Vilkas and Aela and all of the Companions. It was just part of being in the group. But there was a shyness in his voice, a defenselessness in the way he carefully chose his words, that made her stomach flutter. It brought to mind all the sleepless nights they had shared together, sitting across from each other by a campfire, sharing stories of their past battles and laughing until the sun showed its face once more. The feasts they had attended in Jorrvaskr, where she would glance at him across the table only to see his eyes darting away. The battles they had fought, two against ten, each of them throwing themselves in harm’s way to deflect the enemy from the other. All that time her admiration for him had only grown… had he always felt the same?

She took a deep breath. “I… I feel the same way, Farkas. I want to be there to protect you. I want to be by your side. I always have.” She sat up slowly, gripping her tunic to hide the fact that her hands had begun to tremble. She swallowed, wishing that she was facing a blood dragon instead of confessing her feelings to her shield-brother.

Farkas gave a small smile. “It’s more than that. The way I feel for you is stronger than just as a shield-sister. I… I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re strong and brave and smart and selfless and… beautiful.” His skin had taken on a full blush now. “Frida, when you were away from me, I realized… I love you.”

Frida’s breath caught in her throat. He loved her. All this time she had spent convinced that he thought of her only as a friend, while she wished he was holding her, and he felt the same way. All the moments that they had shared together that she secretly treasured, he had kept in his own heart. “I know it’s more, Farkas.” She swallowed hard. “I know because I feel it, too. I have for a long time. You’re the kindest person I’ve met on my journey. You’re my most faithful companion. I’m so grateful that our paths have crossed, because I admire you, so, so much, more than I can ever say. And I do—I-I love you.”

His face split into a grin. “Really?”

She smiled, relief washing over her after finally uncovering her affections. “Really.”

Farkas pushed himself off the bench and knelt at her feet. Reaching for her clasped hands on her lap, he enveloped them in his own. His pale eyes locked onto hers, and without breaking her gaze, he pressed her hands tenderly to his lips. Frida’s heart raced. This couldn’t be real. One hour ago she was still in a labor prison; now the man she had feelings for was anointing her with kisses. She almost couldn’t process it.

“My hands are dirty,” she blurted out. It was a stupid thing to say, of course, but she suddenly felt self-conscious.

Again he gave that chuckle that she loved so much. “Doesn’t matter,” he said before pressing another kiss to the back of her hand. The contact shot through her veins like a shock spell, making her heart palpitate and her skin tingle. Now that her skin was against his, she never wanted to break away. Maybe they could stay here forever.

She reached down to cup his cheek, running her fingers over his stubble.  “Gods, you’re so handsome.”

His skin took on an even brighter shade of pink and his pretty eyes shifted away from hers, clearly trying to fight off a pleased smile. Frida couldn’t help but smirk at how flustered he became at her praise. She had wanted to tell him that for so long. Now that their feelings were out in the open, she intended to say it as much as she could.

Farkas mimicked her, bringing up a hand to rest on her cheek. His hand was rough and calloused, but Frida had never felt anything more heavenly. “How long?” he whispered.

She smiled, a little embarrassed. “Since Dustman’s Cairn,” she confessed. “When you fought off all the Silver Hand and protected me. And when you shoved me out of harm’s way, and you were so apologetic after. You were so strong and I… well, I couldn’t help but be attracted to you.” She turned her head to touch a soft kiss to his palm. “But my feelings have grown ever since then. That was infatuation. This is something different. Bigger.”

He smirked, bringing his hand back down to clasp hers. “Dustman’s Cairn, huh? That feels like ages ago. All this time, and you never said anything to me?” She nodded silently, with no real defense. He smirked. “You really are a fascinating woman.”

“And what about you?” she asked. “How long have you felt this way?”

His brow furrowed thoughtfully. “Well… to tell you the truth, I was attracted to you from the moment I first saw you. When we first found you outside of Pelagia Farm, I knew you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on. I always felt a little nervous around you, even though you were new blood. There was just something special about you.” He scratched the back of his neck. “But it was one normal evening in Jorrvaskr when I realized I had real feelings for you. I doubt you even remember it. You and Ria had just come back from a job. Your face and your clothes were stained with fresh blood, and you had this giant wound on your arm that Aela fussed over—but you had this massive grin on your face. You kept talking about how the battle made you feel so alive and you couldn’t wait for your next job. And you had a huge new sword that you had found and you wanted to show it to everyone who would look at it. That’s what made me realize how special you are. It was sudden and unexpected, but I felt like I really saw your spirit that evening.” He rubbed his hands over hers. “That was only a few months ago. It feels like I’ve loved you my whole life.”

He released her hands, but his warmth remained on her skin. Gods, it had only taken her a few minutes to grow accustomed to his touch, and now her body longed for it when it was gone. She wondered if he knew how powerful he was over her.

Farkas pushed himself up and sat beside her on the bench. He took her chin in his hand, and she felt the same jolt of electricity. His eyes locked with her own once more before his lips met hers, stealing the breath from her lungs. His kiss was soft and gentle, but the touch of his lips sent the  blood pounding through her veins. Her eyes fluttered closed and her hands wandered to his shoulders, the cold armor presenting a sharp contrast to the heat of her flushed skin. This was everything she wanted. This very moment was what she had envisioned for so long.

He broke away just enough for her to gasp for air. His fingers traced over her cheek, memorizing every scar and scratch. “I could never believe the Dragonborn would love me,” he whispered. “But I swear to you. I will always watch over you. I will always be here for you.”

He sealed his promise by bringing her in for another kiss. There was a hunger behind it, a primal, desperate desire, and with a sigh, Frida surrendered to it completely.

[decidentia]

TO: Clementine. SUBJECT: I'm sorry?? hi clem thats ok. i dont mind. you gave me the old rizz and run haha. i was thinkin about it for the of the day. happy you like my tiktoks. and my arms. ;) sorry for the bad writin. im dyslexic. whatsapp be better if you wanna chat somtime. i use voice note. farkas

@austerulous (FARKAS) : 💌. / send “💌” to receive a letter / email from my muse .

TO: Farkas. SUBJECT: I'm sorry?? HI. I don't know if you remember me from the other day. My name's Clementine and we met in front of the library where I work. ( I got your email from your account. I know it's there on purpose, but is that okay?? I'm so sorry if it's not! ) Anyway, I feel like I explained myself horribly. OBVIOUSLY I watch your videos if I'm a fan, but I don't want you to think I'm objectifying you or anything, because that totally isn't the case and I just think it's really neat that you can chop wood in one go. That's some talent! Anyway, keep chopping away. You're doing great, wooooo! Sincerely, Clem.

[coffee-at-daybreak]

burning | vilkas x reader

this is very enemies to lovers-esque, i find that trope fitting for vilkas. there is some mild steam thrown in but nothing too suggestive. im just very sick and sleepless rn so i had to crank something out to keep me sane :} hope you guys like it!

"You got lucky this time," you say as you finally finish wrapping the gauze around Farkas's hand. "That sword could have cut much deeper."

"Yeah, well, it's a good thing we've got you on standby," he responds gruffly, flexing his palm. The dusky white bandage sits firmly against his skin. He gives you a wide grin. "Thank you, Harbinger."

You nod. "You're welcome. Just... don't make it a habit, yeah?"

Farkas chuckles. "Course. I'll be more careful. See you." He turns and heads back to the training field outside of Jorrvaskr, where he joins Ria's side as they watch Athis and Torvar engage in a practice sparring session. The approaching dusk is bringing a chill to the air, yet the Companions continue their training like nothing.

As you gather the materials you were just using to patch up Farkas's hand, you feel a tingling sensation crawling along your scalp. Someone's glare is practically digging daggers into your skin. You turn around to make your way back into the building, and you lock eyes with Vilkas, who stands next to the door with his back leaning against the wall and his arms folded across his chest.

His gaze reminds you of being hit with an ice spike spell: shards of piercing, pale blue striking right through you and leaving you momentarily breathless. You break eye contact, but the prickling feeling of his eyes on you follows you even when you slip through the door and into the building.

You head for one of the shelves in the corner to put away the bandages and anti-infection salves you used. You hear footsteps coming in behind you.

"How'd he hurt himself this time?" Vilkas asks.

You peer at him over your shoulder. His gaze is averted, pretending to adjust the rug on the floor with his boot. Not so glare-y now, is he?

"It was a sword, from his spar session with Njada." You step away from the shelf and brush past him as you head for the staircase leading into the living quarters below. "She's getting better. She gave him a pretty nasty cut this time."

Vilkas scoffs. "Didn't look nasty enough to need you there working on him for that long."

You stop in your tracks and whip around. This time, his eyes flick up to meet yours. The tingling sensation returns to your skin, except now, it spreads beyond just your head, running down your spine.

"Excuse me?" You cross your arms. "He was hurt, and I knew how to patch it up quick."

"Yes, so does Tilma," Vilkas protests, referring to the elderly servant who is often around tending to the Companions. He tilts his head, eyeing you intently. "Yet you always seem eager to step up first."

Heat floods the tips of your ears. "I'm the Harbinger. Part of my job is looking after the others."

"Yes, yes, I'm not denying that." The Nord waves his hand loosely. "Just pointing it out. This is the third time this has happened, you know?"

You snort. "What, you're keeping track now?" You narrow your eyes. "Hang on. You're jealous."

The eye roll you get in return is equal parts infuriating and attractive. "Please. Don't be childish," he mutters.

You ignore him and play the dangerous game of poking him further. "You know you can get yourself hurt around me, too." You crack a super sweet, super fake smile. "If you ask nicely, I might patch you up."

"I would rather bleed out and die, thank you."

You shake your head, looking away in exasperation. That has to be the cause for your heart rate rising and your temperature climbing. He is exasperating.

"I'm just looking out for him," Vilkas speaks up. When you glance at him, you realize he has stepped closer. You stare back at his storm-colored eyes, as intimidating as they are. "I don't want him making the mistake of getting tangled up with you."

You almost laugh at that, and bite your lip to keep from smiling. Vilkas's eyes dart down for just a second before meeting your own. You try to pretend like that gesture doesn't make your heart skitter.

"Give him some credit, he's smarter than that," you say. "He's just a friend. Not that you know what that is, you ray of sunshine, you."

His jaw clenches, and you watch the muscles of his neck flex as he swallows. Whatever insult he had ready, he thought better of it. A rush of victory swells in your chest.

But you see a flicker of something in his eyes, and there's a sinking sensation in your belly. Amongst the hard, icy emotions of that glare, there's something much softer. Something vulnerable, something you can't pinpoint but you recognize all the same, because it's something you've felt as well.

This is how it's been for a long time, too damn long. You hide behind your quips and your insults because you're afraid to face reality. The heavy, heart-wrenching reality that you have feelings for each other. To everyone else, it looks like you hate each other, when really, you hate how much you love each other.

"It's hard to be a ray of sunshine when you're a godsforsaken pain in my ass," Vilkas growls, and takes another step closer.

You should step back, you should. But the proximity of his body near yours traps you in place, and eventually, draws you in. You dare to lean closer.

"Well, I would stop, if it wasn't oddly entertaining," you murmur. "You are easy to rile up."

"You haven't seen me truly riled up."

The eye contact is searing your skin and blood, yet you don't dare break it. The voice in your mind is now screaming at you - back away, push him away, just move.

But there is also a voice telling you to grab him, to pull into him, to surrender. It takes all the effort in the world to resist.

"Not yet, maybe," you jab. "How do I get there? Do I have to patch up more muscular men?"

"Shut up," he warns, a hiss through his teeth.

"Or should I head to the inn and-"

You don't even get to finish your incessant babbling before his hand reaches for the back of your neck. You don't flinch - in fact, you let him pull you in and crash his lips against your own.

It's exactly as you imagined it, which embarrassingly, you did a lot. It's rough and firm and electrifying. His breath is hot as it mingles with your own, his stubble scraping the skin around your mouth. Your hands subconsciously claw at his torso, pulling him as close as you can, until you feel his chest against your own, drawing in the same heavy breaths that you are. His free hand grasps your hip, and your breath hitches briefly before he is plunging back in with a kiss so hard that his teeth skim over your bottom lip.

There is that hot, searing fire you always feel around him, coursing through your entire being. Burning hatred, burning desire. No difference right now, just one overwhelming inferno.

Muffled voices and laughter approach the doors a few feet away from you. Just as quickly as it happened, Vilkas lets you go. He steps back in two long strides just as the door opens.

Ria was busy giggling at something Torvar said, but she is quick to notice the tension in the room. "Woah. What's going on?" She looks between you and Vilkas. "You two look like you're about to kill each other."

You can't come up with a reasonable response, not when you're still trying to catch your breath, when your lips are still tingling with sparks and your mind is still in a white-hot daze. All you can do for a second is foolishly stare at Vilkas.

He glares back at you. Icy eyes that don't cool you down, but only make you feel warmer.

"Just a mild disagreement," he says, looking to Ria with surprising calm. Then he looks back at you. "But we'll settle it later."

Then he turns and walks away, like nothing happened. You almost huff out a breath of awe.

The other Companions pile in, chattering excitedly and ready to start preparing for dinner. You finally manage to move, your legs still feeling a little unsteady, but you try to help the others anyway, and try to keep hating him, even though now you think you love him more than ever.

[umbracirrus]

Snippet Sunday!

So, @hircines-hunter tagged me in a snippet sunday post before, and yeah, I think I can do that :3 Done quite a bit of writing over the past few days for anyone but Elyse who is who I'm wanting to write for right now😭

Here's a bit of chapter 3, possibly chapter 4 of Tempest!

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Brynjolf, I'm alive. Somehow. A dragon attacked Helgen when I was scoping the town out… I would have been done for if not for a soldier seeing me alive in the rubble, apparently. I'm not in the best way at the moment. Burns and broken bones. Currently in the Temple of Kynareth in Whiterun, the priestess here has been tending to my injuries. I don't think I'll be in a state suitable for travel for a while. I'll be staying in Whiterun for the foreseeable future. I am sorry to ask this of you, but could you send me the belongings which I had intended to collect from Riften? I desperately need clothes. My own clothes specifically. I appreciate that I've been given some spare clothes from the temple to wear… but they smell terrible. And don't fit. Don't forget the armour either… you know the one. I've got the blade with me still, thankfully. Take care of yourself and the guild. You'll do great as the boss, Bryn. T.

Thorne had felt almost hesitant handing that letter over to the courier alongside a small bag of coin which Danica had kindly given to her after she had mentioned wanting to send a letter to her family. The priestess didn't need to know that the 'family' which she was talking about was the Thieves Guild. And thanks to her decision to distance herself from them… well, they weren't really her family now anyway.

All that she could do now was wait for a response, ideally with her belongings accompanying it, and hang around Whiterun. Danica had told her not to venture too far from the temple, just in case her injuries were to flare up any, so she had settled on sitting on a bench under the tree just outside the temple, picking flowers from around the bench and fiddling with their petals. It did, admittedly, frustrate her that she could hear a preacher of Talos crying out from nearby, but she did her best to try and ignore it by instead focussing on the sound of flowing water.

After a short while of hanging around there, she suddenly snapped to attention when she heard her name being called out, and frantically glanced around until she noticed Farkas descending the stairs leading to Jorrvaskr in the company of another man… who didn't half look similar to him. A brother or something?

"Thorne! It's good to see that you're out of the temple," Farkas grinned as he made his way over to her, grabbing the wrist of the other man in the process. "How are you doing? Injuries any better?"

"I… I'm okay, yes. Still some problems and pain, but… I'm getting better," she responded, noticing how the man in his company was now giving her a scowl. He really didn't seem friendly in the slightest. "Who is…?"

"Oh! This is my twin, Vilkas," he stated, giving Vilkas a playful nudge with his elbow. "Don't mind him. He isn't too friendly with anyone until you get to know him."

Vilkas made a quiet grunt noise as he shook his head. "We've got a job to do, Ice Brain. Come on."

Farkas frowned, then let out a sigh as Vilkas started walking away without another word. "Sorry about him. We'll chat again when I'm back, yeah?" He began to walk away, trying to keep pace with his brother. "And do consider what I mentioned the other day about joining us when you're feeling better!"