fuckyeahyearning

[fuckyeahyearning]

Masterlist 🌿

🍋 = smut/NSFW

Assassin’s Creed

Ezio

NSFW Headcanons 🍋 Friendship Headcanons Childhood Friends to Lovers Headcanons Ezio’s Twin Sister Headcanons  Moonlight (Ezio x Reader pregnancy fluff)

Connor

NSFW Headcanons 🍋

Assorted Character Headcanons

How they cuddle <3

Date Everything!

Hector

Spa Days pt. 1 (Hector x F!reader) 🍋 Spa Days pt. 1 (Hector x GN!reader) 🍋

Dragon Age

Alistair 

Alistair Theirin dad headcanons (modern AU)

Misc. Characters

To Start Anew (F! Aeducan x Gorim Saelac)

Elder Scrolls: Oblivion

Vicente Valtieri

As I Lie in Wait (Vicente x F! Hero of Kvatch)

Harvest Moon

Griffin

Misc. Headcanons (Updated 7/27/19)

Fallout: New Vegas

Boone

Oblivious (Boone x Courior) 

Fallout 4

MacCready

A Cold Day in Hell (MacCready x Sole)

Mass Effect

Kaidan Alenko

Misc. Headcanons

Vikings

Floki

In the Eyes of the Gods (Ragnar x Floki)

[fuckyeahyearning]

Spa Days (GN Reader Version)

Hector Valentino Airnesto Condicionado x GN!Reader

Fluffy smut ahead! (18+)

WC: 1,628

You always knew that you would eventually have to return to work, regardless of whether you want to or not. Thankfully, Hector will always be there to hold you after a long day.

---

He had longed for you, for so impossibly long. 

The exquisite curve of your neck and the goosebumps that form there when the cold air hits your skin. The sweet tenderness of your lips… 

You are so unfathomably beautiful. 

Today you seemed to have had a particularly difficult day of work. It shattered his heart to see such tension in your shoulders, such weariness in your face. 

You were sprawled on your bed, exhausted, mindlessly scrolling when you heard the faucet turn from the half-opened door of your bathroom. Curious, you wandered in. 

Hector looked up and smiled at you from beside the slowly filling bathtub. 

“What’s all this?” you ask. 

His smile broadens and he gestures down to the water. You now noticed the sweet smelling bath salts swirling on the ceramic, slowly dissolving. 

“It’s for you, my love. You deserve to unwind after today. You deserve to be… pampered.”

��Oh, my sweet thing,” you say, moving to cup his stubbly cheeks in your hands. “I don’t deserve you.” 

Shock, quickly followed by fury, storms across his face. His hands fly up to grip your wrists. “Never say such things! That’s ludicrous!” But he softens again almost immediately. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to speak so crossly to you.” His grip on your wrists loosens, though he kept his fingers pressed gently to your pulse point. “I just can’t bear to hear you speak of yourself that way.” 

You press a light kiss to the tip of his nose in thanks. The intimacy of it leaves him flushed. 

“Ah..” he sighs, locking eyes with you for a mere moment before it becomes all too much. Sometimes it still feels like he should be loving you from a distance; like none of this is truly real. God, how he wants to breathe you in. 

“Well, I believe your bath is almost ready, mi vida.” 

Before you can move, Hector’s hands flit down to your shirt, his slender fingers nimbly releasing each button as they move down your abdomen. The shirt falls to the floor, forgotten, and his hands move to your waist. He drags his fingers across the skin of your back, making you flit your eyes closed and hum in pleasure at the sensation. You feel him press gentle kisses to your collarbone as he swiftly unclasps your bra. 

He pulls you into him, nestling his face in the crook of your neck. You enjoy the warmth of his flushed cheeks against your skin and releases you. 

After shedding the rest of your clothes, you step in the tub and sink into the irresistibly warm water with a contented sigh. You rest your neck on the folded towel Hector had already placed there for you and you relish in the knowledge that you are cared for. 

Hector cannot help but bask in your beauty. He languidly drags his eyes along the rosy hills and valleys of your body. The water is cloudy now from the lavender bath salts he had added, and he had to admit… seeing you undressed yet obscured from full view in the milkyness of the water- it somehow felt more filthy than simply seeing you bare. It took all of the strength in him to tear his gaze away for even a moment, nevermind long enough to give you some alone time. Like parting from his soul, he slinks away and eases the door shut. 

You’re not sure how much time passes (a few minutes, half an hour?) while you laze and doze in the tub, but you open one eye when you hear Hector creep back into the bathroom. He’s carrying a fluffy bathrobe you had never seen before. 

“Where did you get that?” you ask, grinning. Ah, to be the object of such thoughtfulness! 

Fhe

“I got it a few days ago, actually. The world seems to be bearing down on you so much these days, I want to give you what comfort I can.” He holds out a hand to you, gesturing for you to step out of the tub. “I want to take care of you,” he purrs. 

You rise and take his offered hand. As soon as your feet hit the floor he envelopes you in the robe. “It’s so warm!” you gasp, delighted. 

“Does it surprise you that I think of everything?” he asks, a glint in his eye. 

He takes your hand again and, pausing to pepper kisses across your knuckles, leads you into the bedroom. The dark room is illuminated by candlelight - where did he even get so many candles? It was almost unrecognizable. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to do all this…” you sigh.  

“But I did,” he says, looking back at you. “Just as I have to eat, drink, to breathe air. I see you tired and in pain and I am implored to act. It’s not a choice.” 

“Even so,” he smiles, “this is still what I would choose to do.” 

Your heart flutters, dances, leaps out of your chest as you follow him to the bed, and for a moment you’re grateful to the dim lighting for concealing your spreading blush. 

“Lie down for me,” he coos. 

You assent and make yourself comfortable on the bed, with Hector sitting next to your feet. A beat passes and he produces a tube of lotion and spreads it onto his hands. He rubs the cream into the skin of your legs and feet attentively, making gentle circular motions with his thumbs. He kneads into your pliable flesh diligently, utterly absorbed in the task at hand. 

You are exquisite. His hands reach your thighs and he shivers at the joy of it. His movements slow here, where he knows is sensitive. He grips the underside of your thigh and swings your leg over his shoulder, wrapping his arms around it as if it were precious. His stubble prickles your skin as he plants kissing along your calf, knee, and thigh as he hunches forward toward you. He places a final kiss at the junction of your hip and pelvis. 

He rests his head on your lower stomach, looking up at you through his thick, dark lashes. The candlelight is caught flickering in his brown eyes, turning them golden with his craving for you. 

“Turn over, my dove,” he said firmly, “and leave the robe behind.” Not commanding, but in a way that conveys his confidence in your pliability. It conjures a fluttering somewhere in the depths of you. 

You flip over and settle back in, resting your head on your folded arms. Hector is on you again in moments, spreading the lotion on the small of your back. He works upwards applying just enough pressure to draw quiet, happy moans from you. He savors every noise as he feels the muscles beneath him loosen and relax. 

You are enveloped in his warmth; in his devotion to you. Thoughts of anything as trivial as work are lightyears away from you. 

Hector’s hands wander down your back, your ass, your legs….. 

Before your mind can make sense of what’s happening his fingers have found themselves between your legs,. His breath is hot against your ear as his fingers first probe and then spread you open.

“My sweet, sweet, thing…” he rasps. “Please relax for me.” 

You can’t stop the strangled noise that escapes you when he plunges his fingers into you. 

He hums into your ear in satisfaction. His lubed fingers slide deliciously deep into you. Lazily at first, so he can watch you wiggle and squirm when you inevitably long for more friction. But you never need to ask him for something twice. 

He takes his time with you, probing and exploring you with patience. Before long, his movements quicken to please you. His slender fingers pump into you and curl ever so slightly, pressing against your fleshy walls. His left hand reaches down to grip you before pulling you backwards, deeper onto his fingers. “You are always a sight to behold, but it is simply magnificent to see you so weak from my fingers….” he sighs, and you whimper. “To say nothing of how warm you are; it’s heavenly.” 

More squeaks escape you as you as he quickens his pace. 

You feel his snicker more than you hear it. “You like hearing how lovely you feel, don’t you? Well, you know me… You know it is my heart’s desire to indulge you,” 

He slows for a moment, pulling almost completely out of you and you whine in protest. “Oh, I know…” he whispers darkly, his lips pressed to your earlobe. “I just wanted to hear those sweet little utterances of yours…” 

You buck your hips backwards onto his fingers and he laughs in surprise, though he hastens again to match your speed. The squelching noise his soaked hands make is obscene. 

“I’m sorry, that was cruel of me, wasn’t it? I just can’t help myself when you sound so…saccharine. That’s it, my love, release your frustrations. Unwind in my hands.” 

The heat of his breath, the adoration in his voice, the lingering lavender-like smell of his dedication to you all bring you so much closer to release. He must feel your muscles tightening and hips bucking because he quickly presses his plush lips to your skin and mutters, “You’ll come for me, won’t you? Please, my love, I know you can.” 

With one last keen half-burried in your pillow, you clench once more around his fingers and the sweltering coiling in you finally snaps. You come undone in the palm of his hands, crying out and scratching at your sheets. 

His tongue reaches out to trace the curve of your ear and he says, “I hope you feel as unburdened as you sound, my love…” 

[fuckyeahyearning]

[fuckyeahyearning]

Spa Days (Fem Reader Version)

Hector Valentino Airnesto Condicionado x F!Reader

Fluffy smut ahead! (18+)

WC: 1,627

You always knew that you would eventually have to return to work, regardless of whether you want to or not. Thankfully, Hector will always be there to hold you after a long day.

He had longed for you, for so impossibly long. 

The exquisite curve of your neck and the goosebumps that form there when the cold air hits your skin. The sweet tenderness of your lips… 

You are so unfathomably beautiful. 

Today you seemed to have had a particularly difficult day of work. It shattered his heart to see such tension in your shoulders, such weariness in your face. 

You were sprawled on your bed, exhausted, mindlessly scrolling when you heard the faucet turn from the half-opened door of your bathroom. Curious, you wandered in. 

Hector looked up and smiled at you from beside the slowly filling bathtub. 

“What’s all this?” you ask. 

His smile broadens and he gestures down to the water. You now noticed the sweet smelling bath salts swirling on the ceramic, slowly dissolving. 

“It’s for you, my love. You deserve to unwind after today. You deserve to be… pampered .”

“Oh, my sweet thing,” you say, moving to cup his stubbly cheeks in your hands. “I don’t deserve you.” 

Shock, quickly followed by fury, storms across his face. His hands fly up to grip your wrists. “ Never say such things! That’s ludicrous!” But he softens again almost immediately. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to speak so crossly to you.” His grip on your wrists loosens, though he kept his fingers pressed gently to your pulse point. “I just can’t bear to hear you speak of yourself that way.” 

You press a light kiss to the tip of his nose in thanks. The intimacy of it leaves him flushed. 

“Ah..” he sighs, locking eyes with you for a mere moment before it becomes all too much. Sometimes it still feels like he should be loving you from a distance; like none of this is truly real. God, how he wants to breathe you in. 

“Well, I believe your bath is almost ready, mi vida .” 

Before you can move, Hector’s hands flit down to your shirt, his slender fingers nimbly releasing each button as they move down your abdomen. The shirt falls to the floor, forgotten, and his hands move to your waist. He drags his fingers across the skin of your back, making you flit your eyes closed and hum in pleasure at the sensation. You feel him press gentle kisses to your collarbone as he swiftly unclasps your bra. 

He pulls you into him, nestling his face in the crook of your neck. You enjoy the warmth of his flushed cheeks against your skin and releases you. 

After shedding the rest of your clothes, you step in the tub and sink into the irresistibly warm water with a contented sigh. You rest your neck on the folded towel Hector had already placed there for you and you relish in the knowledge that you are cared for. 

Hector cannot help but bask in your beauty. He languidly drags his eyes along the rosy hills and valleys of your body. The water is cloudy now from the lavender bath salts he had added, and he had to admit… seeing you undressed yet obscured from full view in the milkyness of the water- it somehow felt more filthy than simply seeing you bare. It took all of the strength in him to tear his gaze away for even a moment, never mind long enough to give you some alone time. Like parting from his soul, he slinks away and eases the door shut. 

You’re not sure how much time passes (a few minutes, half an hour?) while you laze and doze in the tub, but you open one eye when you hear Hector creep back into the bathroom. He’s carrying a fluffy bathrobe you had never seen before. 

“Where did you get that?” you ask, grinning. Ah, to be the object of such thoughtfulness! 

“I got it a few days ago, actually. The world seems to be bearing down on you so much these days, I want to give you what comfort I can.” He holds out a hand to you, gesturing for you to step out of the tub. “I want to take care of you,” he purrs. 

You rise and take his offered hand. As soon as your feet hit the floor he envelopes you in the robe. “It’s so warm!” you gasp, delighted. 

“Does it surprise you that I think of everything?” he asks, a glint in his eye. 

He takes your hand again and, pausing to pepper kisses across your knuckles, leads you into the bedroom. The dark room is illuminated by candlelight - where did he even get so many candles? It was almost unrecognizable. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to do all this…” you sigh.  

“But I did,” he says, looking back at you. “Just as I have to eat, drink, to breathe air. I see you tired and in pain and I am implored to act. It’s not a choice.” 

“Even so,” he smiles, “this is still what I would choose to do.” 

Your heart flutters, dances, leaps out of your chest as you follow him to the bed, and for a moment you’re grateful to the dim lighting for concealing your spreading blush. 

“Lie down for me,” he coos. 

You assent and make yourself comfortable on the bed, with Hector sitting next to your feet. A beat passes and he produces a tube of lotion and spreads it onto his hands. He rubs the cream into the skin of your legs and feet attentively, making gentle circular motions with his thumbs. He kneads into your pliable flesh diligently, utterly absorbed in the task at hand. 

You are exquisite. His hands reach your thighs and he shivers at the joy of it. His movements slow here, where he knows is sensitive. He grips the underside of your thigh and swings your leg over his shoulder, wrapping his arms around it as if it were precious. His stubble prickles your skin as he plants kissing along your calf, knee, and thigh as he hunches forward toward you. He places a final kiss at the junction of your hip and pelvis. 

He rests his head on your lower stomach, looking up at you through his thick, dark lashes. The candlelight is caught flickering in his brown eyes, turning them golden with his craving for you. 

“Turn over, my dove,” he said firmly, “and leave the robe behind.” Not commanding, but in a way that conveys his confidence in your pliability. It conjures a fluttering somewhere in the depths of you. 

You flip over and settle back in, resting your head on your folded arms. Hector is on you again in moments, spreading the lotion on the small of your back. He works upwards applying just enough pressure to draw quiet, happy moans from you. He savors every noise as he feels the muscles beneath him loosen and relax. 

You are enveloped in his warmth; in his devotion to you. Thoughts of anything as trivial as work are lightyears away from you. 

Hector’s hands wander down your back, your ass, your legs….. 

Before your mind can make sense of what’s happening his fingers have found themselves between your legs,. His breath is hot against your ear as his fingers first probe and then spread you open.

“My sweet, sweet, thing…” he rasps. “Please relax for me.” 

You can’t stop the strangled noise that escapes you when he plunges his fingers into you. 

He hums into your ear in satisfaction.

 “You’re already so wet.” 

His fingers slide deliciously deep into you. Lazily at first, so he can watch you wiggle and squirm when you inevitably long for more friction. But you never need to ask him for something twice. 

Soon his movements quicken to please you. His slender fingers pump into you and curl ever so slightly, pressing against your fleshy walls. His left hand reaches down to cup your sex before dragging his fingers back down to rub loving circles around your clit. “You are always a sight to behold, but it is simply magnificent to see you on my fingers like this,” he sighs, and you whimper. “To say nothing of how warm you are; it’s heavenly.” 

More squeaks escape you as you clamp tighter around his fingers. 

You feel his snicker more than you hear it. “You like hearing how lovely you feel, don’t you? Well, you know me… You know it is my heart’s desire to indulge you,” 

He slows for a moment, pulling almost completely out of you and you whine in protest. “Oh, I know…I know...” he whispers darkly, his lips pressed to your earlobe. “I just wanted to hear those sweet little utterances of yours…” 

You buck your hips backwards onto his fingers and he laughs in surprise, though he quickens again to match your speed. The squelching noise his soaked hands make is obscene. 

“I’m sorry, that was cruel of me, wasn’t it? I just can’t help myself when you sound so… saccharine . That’s it, my love, release your frustrations. Unwind in my hands.” 

The heat of his breath, the adoration in his voice, the lingering lavender-like smell of his dedication to you all bring you so much closer to release. He must feel your muscles tightening and hips bucking because he quickly presses his plush lips to your skin and mutters, “You’ll come for me, won’t you? Please, my love, I know you can.” 

With one last keen half-buried in your pillow, you clench once more around his fingers and the sweltering coiling in your pussy finally snaps. You come undone in the palm of his hands, crying out and scratching at your sheets. 

His tongue reaches out to trace the curve of your ear and he says, “I hope you feel as unburdened as you sound, my love…”

I've never written smut before, I hope it's not absolute ass

[fuckyeahyearning]

My writing style has evolved a lot now that I’m an adult and this sort of shit is exactly why I changed my blog name lmao

In the Eyes of the Gods

Ragnar x Floki

wc: 439

Light angst

By all of the gods in their power and cruelty, he loved that man. He loved him and his stupid fucking smirk. 

Floki could scarcely remember how long he’d loved his blue eyes. How long he had thought, secretly, in that deepest most private place in his soul, that they were the color of glaciers, and they were beautiful. 

The ropes that bite into his wrists had become so common to him that they felt no sharper than the brush of a branch; even so, the skin there lay raw and bleeding. 

And even still, in his half awake dreaming he sees Ragnar there, his hands cupping Floki’s cheeks. His lips impossibly pink for a man’s. He sees the sheer and mighty sight of him. 

He dreams of them both as younger men - no more than boys, really - in fields of spring wildflowers. They lay there in clovers staring at the sprawling sky above them. 

“What do you see, Ragnar?” 

He smiles. 

“I see us. We are like kings, Floki. Great adventurers.” 

He points to an oblong shape in the clouds. “You see? That is the table in the great hall where they speak our names and tell our stories.”

Floki sees Odin. 

He cannot explain it, not even to himself. But he is there with his thirst for wisdom and his own pale eye. And in his verglas iris he sees his own fate reflected back to him - his love, scorned. Discarded. 

His heart, abandoned. 

From the moment he saw Aethelstan, he hated him. 

Floki always saw that his devotion to his false god was strong. It was rooted into the depths of his very being. No cry of Odin’s name could be loud enough to drown the truth written upon that Christian’s heart. 

And despite this, Ragnar chose to love him. 

He chose Aethelstan’s eyes. His hands, his strength, his essence. 

Floki screamed his prayers into the echoing silence of his cave and his tears crashed upon Freja’s name like bitter waves upon a rocky shore. But her fingers had already worked his heart like clay and he knew that his love for Ragnar was more than the love of a brother. 

And so, it is written. 

His rival lies dead in a christian ditch. And his love spits his name. 

“I would slice my own throat if I knew it would slake your thirst,” he thought. 

Or, did he?

Here, alone in his cave, he never knew what he may or may not have said out loud. 

“Here, you leave me. And I know now that I will always be alone in my need for you.” 

[fuckyeahyearning]

Blog name change!

Wisteriawritings —> fuckyeahyearning

This is, in all honesty, because I shared my blog with people IRL in the past but now I want to post more often and write more (quite honestly freaky) shit.

I’m undecided on what to do about my AO3 acct. I’m considering making a second account just for spicy stuff but I’m also thinking of archiving my OG account and just use the new one for all future writings. We shall see.

[fuckyeahyearning]

As I Lie in Wait

Vicente Valtieri x F!Hero of Kvatch

wc: 916

tw: mentions of blood & biting, nothing too graphic

I hate that she broke me.

I hate that after all this time, someone made me feel alive again. It’s not that I don’t relish in my own death; I have come to love the marbling of my skin. But I know in the charred depths of my soul that I will never do right by her.

Her cheeks still flush red when she’s embarrassed. Her eyelids still flutter as she sleeps. Her heart still beats, free and strong. Sometimes, when my hand lingers somewhere warm and soft on her body, my fingers tingle from the heat of it and I am reminded that I have nothing to offer her but a cold, dead caress.

She once asked me if there was a cure for vampirism.

Does she wish I were alive in the intoxicatingly sanguine way that she is? It seems that she laughs so much more easily than I. I wonder if this is simply a consequence of her youth or if I, fossil that I am, have lost more than just my humanity and tolerance for sunlight over the years. When I first lost my life, I felt a fear greater than anything I had ever felt before. My body, which once thrummed with breath and with life, fell silent. My ears rang with it. The sensation of touching yourself only to find that you are far, far more cold than any living man should ever be… it is a shock.

I was alone in the Ashlands when I first drank from a mortal. I had been bitten three days earlier, and for three days I languished in feverish pain. When I emerged, I stumbled upon a poacher. He was nectar.

His body dropped to the dust at my feet. I felt a shiver of cold air. When I looked down, I saw the stream of blood that dripped down my fingers almost to my elbow. The warped and red stars reflected back at me in accusation. I had taken a life, they sang. A soul can never be shaped by mortal hands- it is the priceless essence of being. You will be damned for the theft of it. But look at the color of it, remember the sweetness of it. The cosmic secrets that must be revealed in seconds before death. You can see starbursts of their psyche burning itself out as the light leaves them. It is saccharine.

Our Mother herself had discovered this terrible truth long before I did. I do not hear her voice like Lachance. I hear the scratching little mutterings of a coward. What if I cure myself of the condition that led to that discovery, at the consequence of that very beauty is ripped from my understanding?

To weigh the loss of her against the loss of myself - I’d shatter my own heart.

I can never be free. Even now, after all that has happened, I can hear her laughter through the walls. It is bright and beautiful and I rage at the fact that someone else has been bestowed the privilege of hearing it. In my mind, I see her head thrown back in delight. As an afterthought she bares her neck to Antionette paying no mind to the vulnerability woven into the motion. Her skin is so soft there. I taste the sweetness of it as I drag my lips across her throat. I want to open my mouth, rest my tongue on the pulsing point of her jugular, and sink my teeth into the ripe flesh there. I want to bestow my own gift as an offering to her natural-born divinity.

And I desperately want her to say no.

I want her to stay warm, alive. I want her to get wrinkles and gray hairs and walk in the light of the sun. And yet I dream of her sprawled in fresh, dew kissed grass and awash in moonlight. She lies with me as ages pass before us, always new and always the same. She never fades.

Three nights ago she completed my final job for her. Though I quite enjoyed hearing her recount it - the depths of Moiterre’s cowardice were nearly comical - I felt like I was losing something precious. Not her, as she will haunt these halls for many years to come. But my position, as it were.

As her mentor, there is a natural partition. It doesn’t matter how beautiful and brilliant - how ethereal and absolutely enchanting she is. She is galvanic. I could never love my own protege, I would not allow myself to. I find liaisons of that nature to be a despicable violation of one’s own station. It brings not only dishonor on yourself, but on the subordinate as well. I am not a pathetic man.

Now that she is no longer my charge there are oceans of sentiment pouring from me. It spills out of me like waves crashing violently onto the rocky shore, leaving streaky pearls of seafoam behind. I offered a star pupil the dark embrace of everlasting life. Now, the woman I have fallen - irrevocably - in love with, has come to collect her prize.

I promised her that I would come to her in the night to press upon her the morbid kiss of my being. I promised that at the moment of her choosing, I would drink deeply from the fountain of her youth.

I think tonight she will inquire after her prize; and I am terrified of what I might say.

[fuckyeahyearning]

Should I just submit to the demons in me and write Oblivion fanfic? Is now my time to finally shine?

[fuckyeahyearning]

In the Eyes of the Gods

Ragnar x Floki

wc: 439

Light angst

By all of the gods in their power and cruelty, he loved that man. He loved him and his stupid fucking smirk. 

Floki could scarcely remember how long he’d loved his blue eyes. How long he had thought, secretly, in that deepest most private place in his soul, that they were the color of glaciers, and they were beautiful. 

The ropes that bite into his wrists had become so common to him that they felt no sharper than the brush of a branch; even so, the skin there lay raw and bleeding. 

And even still, in his half awake dreaming he sees Ragnar there, his hands cupping Floki’s cheeks. His lips impossibly pink for a man’s. He sees the sheer and mighty sight of him. 

He dreams of them both as younger men - no more than boys, really - in fields of spring wildflowers. They lay there in clovers staring at the sprawling sky above them. 

“What do you see, Ragnar?” 

He smiles. 

“I see us. We are like kings, Floki. Great adventurers.” 

He points to an oblong shape in the clouds. “You see? That is the table in the great hall where they speak our names and tell our stories.”

Floki sees Odin. 

He cannot explain it, not even to himself. But he is there with his thirst for wisdom and his own pale eye. And in his verglas iris he sees his own fate reflected back to him - his love, scorned. Discarded. 

His heart, abandoned. 

From the moment he saw Aethelstan, he hated him. 

Floki always saw that his devotion to his false god was strong. It was rooted into the depths of his very being. No cry of Odin’s name could be loud enough to drown the truth written upon that Christian’s heart. 

And despite this, Ragnar chose to love him. 

He chose Aethelstan’s eyes. His hands, his strength, his essence. 

Floki screamed his prayers into the echoing silence of his cave and his tears crashed upon Freja’s name like bitter waves upon a rocky shore. But her fingers had already worked his heart like clay and he knew that his love for Ragnar was more than the love of a brother. 

And so, it is written. 

His rival lies dead in a christian ditch. And his love spits his name. 

“I would slice my own throat if I knew it would slake your thirst,” he thought. 

Or, did he?

Here, alone in his cave, he never knew what he may or may not have said out loud. 

“Here, you leave me. And I know now that I will always be alone in my need for you.” 

[fuckyeahyearning]

Halsin is SO….

[fuckyeahyearning]

Perhaps could I request the bg3 companions going through Tav's sketchbook and finding that it's riddled with drawings of each companion, but especially them. Maybe it's the early stages of a romance or smthn?

I’ve been slowly spinning this around in my head, yessss

Gale

At first, Gale thinks journal is a book you’ve left for him. He’s not really one to go through your personal belongings after all. But upon opening the journal and finding swaths of drawings of your party and him, he’s thrown a little off kilter

He returns it to you immediately (read as: he fights with himself for a good ten minutes to stop looking at the sketches of himself and return the book to you) but asks you about your hobby

Listens very intently to however much you’re willing to tell him. Gale would ask, “are those me? or do you know some other roguishly handsome wizard with a penchant for fancy robes?”

He’s trying Very Hard to downplay his feelings about the whole matter. He’s not used to being the admired one…but he’s certainly not complaining

Shadowheart

As she hopes everyone will respect her need for privacy, Shadowheart strives to do the same for others. Despite many opportunities to peak at your journal, she resists and eventually asks you about it directly, but with no pressure

shy!Tav, nervously showing off the sketches and trying to gloss over how many of these drawings are of Shadowheart - after a deep breath, Shadowheart ignores the blush rising on her skin and asks about some of the other drawings

Confident!Tav, flipping through the sketches and happily showing off the images of Shadowheart especially - Shadowheart flusters, sputters out a near incomprehensible jumble of words and rushes off

Either way, the moment lives Rent Free(tm) in her head and she hopes you’ll show her the journal again

Astarion

STUNNED. like, almost drops your sketch in surprise bc wait. Holy shit. Is that him??

recovers smoothly, plays down the way his adrenaline has spiked

It does not matter how good the portraits of him are, sketches or fully finished drawings, he is Memorizing those pages

If you draw him with any soft expression, he’ll point out that image to you and be like “I think you’ve messed up on that particular reaction, dear” (that’s how he looks at you, shh don’t tell him)

Wyll

He spots you watching him one day as he’s training, your eyes flipping between him and the journal in front of you. Eventually he gives in and wanders over, inquiring about what you’re up to

when you show him the spread, sketches of him doing swordplay (and a few close headshots) - Wyll is both very impressed and very flustered

He compliments your skills, though jokingly questions the subject of your drawings. Certainly someone else would make a more attractive drawing, he says, gesturing vaguely to his mismatched eyes and newly acquired horns

Is surprised by the fierce frown you give him, the disapproval in your voice at his suggestion. You’re drawing him for a reason. Thoroughly chastised and a little embarrassed, Wyll thanks you (he doesn’t elaborate beyond that but you get the idea)

Karlach

Karlach is too afraid to touch anything that seems even vaguely flammable, but she’s seen you scribbling into your journal on many an occasion. Eventually her curiosity gets the better of her and she asks you about it

If you’re hesitant to show her, she’ll back off…but kind of pout like a little kid. Not in an attempt to make you feel bad but just bc that’s who she is. If and when you decide to show her the sketches, she’s super hyped

Jaw on the floor. She’s not got the patience or skills for drawing, not really, but your talent blows her away. And then she sees the drawings of her and she’s like - mouth open, heart eyes

jokes about how you’ve drawn her, with a huge grin on her face the whole time “how long have you been staring at my thighs to get the drawing this accurate? should I get a new outfit for your next page?”

Lae’zel

She’s never really cared much for her appearance - don’t get me wrong, she thinks she looks great but she’s never really been the one to stare at her reflection or anything

But Lae’zel sees herself in your sketches, drawings of her in softer states, in relaxation, and shes…surprised

Part of her bristles - she’s a strong warrior on a mission, she doesn’t need you seeing her as soft. But a different part of her…eases. Relaxes. You see her as an individual worth affection.

Lae’zel wouldn’t comment much about the drawings, but she would ask to sit and watch you draw, if it wouldn’t bother you. Your skilled hands, the way your brow furrows as you draw. Yes. She likes that.

Halsin

At first, Halsin is simply impressed by your talents. Artistry has always been something he’s enjoyed, no matter the form, so he’s happy to get to see your work

When he comes across the pages devoted to him, he’s thrown off a little. He’s used to being admired, if we’re being honest. As long as he’s lived and as many people he’s been with, it happens. But he’s not used to…this. Being part of the art but without any expectation of him.

Traces a finger over the lines of his face - somehow you’ve captured a look that makes him seem so…heroic. Is that how you see him? Warmth feels his chest and he goes to seek you out

You don’t get much of an answer, when you ask why he’s scooped you and paying you extra attention, nuzzling his face into your hair

[fuckyeahyearning]

I wanna write BG3 content, who’s down? 👀

[fuckyeahyearning]

To Start Anew

Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins

Ship: F!Aeducan x Gorim

Warnings: None

Genre: Angst

WC: 1933

Blurb: After the ultimate betrayal, Terra Aeducan has been exiled to the deep roads. Through extraordinary circumstances, she fights her way to the surface and becomes Thedas’s last hope against the coming blight. However, during her journey she must deal with painful truths about her family, her life back in Orzammar, and what her future may be.

They had only just arrived in Denerim. Terra Aeducan, with Alistair, Morrigan, and an affectionate Mabari in tow, had come in search of Andraste’s ashes. The hunt for allies against the oncoming blight had hardly begun, yet they were all bone tired. It was the exhaustion that led her to believe that she was imagining things. That Gorim’s sweet, warm voice was only in her mind. Even so, the sound pulled her towards the center of town, like a chain wrapped around her middle was dragging her forwards.

“Are you alright?” Alistair asked, seeing the color had drained from her face.

“I just… I’m going to step away for a bit. I’ll meet you at the inn, yeah?”

Alistair nodded, though reluctantly. Alistair was tooth-rottingly sweet and Terra tried to summon the best smile she could to set him at ease and send him away. He was becoming a quick and dear friend to her, and she didn’t want him to see her in what seemed to be a lapse in sanity.

“Dwarven crafts!”

There it was again. Terra, her spine now stiff as stone, hurried away and through the bustling streets, following the voice. Dwarven crafts? It could be anyone though. Any number of low-born Orzammar men who left for the surface could be in town. It wasn’t uncommon, and neither was the accent. It probably wasn’t him, wouldn’t be him, couldn’t be him. She rounded the corner and in the square she saw him

Terra’s hands tremored. Words like “I missed you,” “I found you,” and “thank the fucking stone,” all caught in her throat. Her hands grasped at it desperately, trying to free them. Because there he was. Just a few yards away stood her best friend and the man she loved: Gorim.

She tried to call out his name, but only pitiful, strangled noises escaped her lips. But he saw her. His face – it was tanner now; it had finally seen the sun – lit up in shock, disbelief, joy. All the things she felt were reflected back to her. Her throat was still sealed shut, but her feet started moving. Suddenly she was running, running faster than she had ever run, straight into arms that opened wide at the sight of her. Solid, strong arms that knew the curve and the shape of her body so well. Arms that slid into their place so easily, it was like slipping on a pair of gloves. For the first time since she left Orzammar, her feet felt firmly planted on the ground. She was finally rooted to the earth the way she used to be, and the sky wasn’t threatening to swallow her whole anymore.

For a few blissful seconds, the Blight was far away, and Bhelen never betrayed her. With tearful eyes, Gorim studied her face with an intensity that felt like he was boring into her soul. He looked as if he were taking inventory of her features, ensuring that each one was accounted for and just as he remembered them. “I knew you would make it out. I never stopped believing,” he said softly. Suddenly his face changed, lighting up as if he were remembering something.

“I have something for you.” He bent down to a chest that lay under the table. After a few moments of rummaging, he produced a letter. “Before I left for the surface, King Endrin sent me with this. We both hoped against hope that I would find you up here.”

Terra’s heart, which was already pounding, somehow beat even harder at these words. “Father? How is he?” The thought of seeing her father again filled her with so much joy and longing she could hardly stand it. She felt like her heart was swelling so large it was pressing against her ribs.

“Oh, my lady…I’m so sorry,” Gorim said, in a voice so sad and soft it sent bolts of fear down Terra’s spine. But she knew what those words meant. The pressure in her chest deepened and sunk to reach down into her stomach too. She felt faint.

“If a man can die of a broken heart… King Endrin did.”

“But what happened to him?” She asked, trying to hold back the tears. Gorim hesitated, but Terra’s hard look of pain and determination gave him the permission he needed to part with the grisly details. “After Trian’s death-…no, murder, Endrin was stricken with too much grief and confusion to see that Bhelan had constructed it all. It didn’t take long for him to find his mind again, but by then it was already too late. You were already locked in the deep roads. That’s why it all happened so quickly. That bastard Bhelen knew he had to dispose of you before the shock of it all wore off.” Gorim looked at his feet and took a long, shaky breath before continuing. “It was like he just… wasted away. He couldn’t go on living, like he was a ghost.”

Terra squeezed his hand. She focused on that feeling; homed in on the way he callouses rubbed against the palm of her hand. It was the only tangible thing keeping her anchored to reality. Gorim looked at her for a reassurance that she wanted him to continue. She nodded grimly. She was sick to her stomach, but she had to know the whole story. It was her duty as a daughter and as an Aeducan.

“When he called me to him, just before I left… the room stank of decay. It was as if he had already been long dead. He was already a corpse, just waiting for his time to return to the stone. All he could talk about was you.” His other hand took hold of her shoulder, steadying her. She hadn’t even realized she was swaying. “Terra, he sent me with more than just a letter.”

Gorim fished in his pocket and took out a worn velvet purse. Among the coins glinted a chunk of golden metal. Terra blinked her tears away and saw that no, it wasn’t a nugget. It was the Aeducan signet ring. Trian’s ring.

He gently placed it in her hand and folded it into a fist.

“He loved you, Terra. That nug-fucker Bhelen, he’s not a real Aeducan. You’re the true last heir, and your father knew it. You deserve this, and no one else. He made that much clear.”

The ring felt heavy in her hand, like she held all of Orzammar in her palm. In a way, she supposed, she did. But she felt that she could bear it as long as Gorim held her other hand.

“I’m just so glad I found you. Thank the stone, thank the stone…” Terra drew herself closer to him, ready to step back into his embrace and find his lips. But a look she couldn’t quite decipher crossed his face, and he took a step back.

“My lady, there’s something else I should tell you. I’ve, well… I’ve found a life on the surface. A blacksmith’s daughter; we’re expecting our first. She’s… she’s lovely and…” Gorim trailed off, not knowing how to continue.

The world seemed to go still around her. Her heart, which had been thumping loudly in her ears just moments before, fell quiet. A few seconds passed, but they felt like centuries.

“I don’t understand…” Terra’s voice quivered, and she hated herself for it. “You said you’ve been waiting for me.”

Gorim’s face flushed red and he looked down at his feet. “I have been, of course. But… well…” Gorim stammered, his shoulders slumped. Terra thought that he looked almost like a scolded child caught stealing sweets before supper. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it. He had been in Denerim for how long? Two months now, maybe? And he still hasn’t come up with a good explanation as to how he tripped and fell into a smith’s girl, all while claiming to ‘know she had made it out’.

He mustered the courage to meet her gaze again and flushed an even deeper red. He had always been able to tell what she was thinking, as if her very mind was binded to his own. She could feel his shame radiating off of him like a sickness. He knew he had done wrong. He knew that as a knight, he had acted shamefully. And she knew it too. Some dark corner of her soul felt gratified in this, gleeful in his self-loathing. She felt the anger rising.

“So let me make sure I understand,” she began, her words already dripping in venom. “You know, or hoped, or believed or what have you, that I was alive on the surface. And you, as my second, sworn to serve and protect me until death, fucked me and whispered sweet nothings to me in Orzammar. But when you’re separated from me for two months – oh, less than that actually, since she’s already knocked up – you decided to live it up with the first surfacer you see?”

Gorim’s eyes filled with tears. “It wasn’t like that,” he said firmly, but she could hear the tremble in his voice.

“Then what was it like?”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, but I didn’t jump in bed with a surfacer. I searched for you Gorim.”

“My lady… We never could have been together. You know that.”

All of a sudden she understood, and the tears she had been holding back came slipping across her face. It didn’t matter what happened, or what he believed. Gorim was an outcast, a surfacer. Je was stripped of his caste his family name. But Terra? To him, she was still Lady Aeducan, and she always would be. Even if they had stayed in Orzammar, if Bhelen had never betrayed them, he would still think himself beneath her. He might have loved her perhaps, but he would have walked away eventually. He could never see himself as more than her second.

She realized she had been squeezing the signet ring in her hand. She relaxed her fist and saw her house crest bored into her palm like a brand. Gorim watched her as she first tried it on her ring finger and then settled with slipping it on her thumb. Trian’s hands had been bigger than hers.

Gorim reached out to comfort her, but drew back, unsure of himself. “My lady, if I had known you were alive…”

Terra glanced back up at him scornfully. “Either you did, or you didn’t.”

He reared back as if he had been struck, but he knew he deserved it. She saw no trace of resentment in his eyes. She looked at him for a hard moment and her anger fizzled out, leaving her with nothing but a cold hollow in her stomach and the crushing weight of her loneliness. Gorim’s cheeks were wet from silent tears.

“I hope I’ll have time to meet her soon,” Terra said.

“I’d like that. My door is always open to you.”

“I love you, Gorim. I hope you’re happy,” she confessed. Her heart gave one last weak tug at what had been between them.

“The same for you.”

She immediately recognized that he had not confirmed his happiness, and Gorim saw it in her face. Before he could say anything else, she turned away to rejoin her group.

Terra glanced up at the sky, vast and unending above her. Her family crest rested upon her finger and its weight, though heavy, was a comfort to her. She had a blight to end, and she didn’t need Gorim to do it.  

[fuckyeahyearning]

Alistair x Aeducan moodboard

[fuckyeahyearning]

Ya girl is back

After having writer’s block for the majority of my college career so far, I want to spend my upcoming summer getting back into writing. And for me, the easiest place to start is fanfiction. I have some pieces in the works that I’ll be posting soon. Unfortunately I’m going to keep requests closed for now because I just don’t have the creative juices needed to write anything that I’m not 100% passionate or excited about. Here’s a short list of ideas I have or projects I’m actively working on

F Aeducan!Gorim angsty one shot

Finally going to finish Cold Day in Hell

Lavellan/Solas angst. I’m considering making a short series about my main Lavellan and the history I’ve made for her. I’d need to write it before DA4 drops though lol.

Harvest Moon Griffin/Clair age gap + mild angst (we have a theme going here)

RF Kyle/Yue fluff

If any of these interest you then stick around! I’ll be updating soon! Hopefully I’ll have the first one finished tonight.

[fuckyeahyearning]

Kaidan Alenko Misc. Headcanons

His favorite animals are rabbits

He likes orange flavored candy

Secretly thinks his scars are kind of sexy

He can make a killer omelet

Kaidan can speak a little french! He’s not fluent but can usually get broad points across and order at a restaurant without his translator. 

His favorite holiday is Easter. He loves sweets and he honestly thinks bunnies are cute as fuck.

+ Romanced Shepard

After a particularly “strenuous” night together, Kaidan likes to make Shepard breakfast the next morning. 

It’s incredibly hard for Shepard to say no to his puppy dog eyes. Actually, it’s hard for anyone to.

When he has migraines from his implant, thinking of the good times he’s had with Shepard soothes him and helps him take his mind off the pain

[fuckyeahyearning]

Assassin’s Creed Challenge: [5/7] outfits – Edward’s ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) outfit