#[ muninn verse: main ] i'm addicted to the fire

[sevencfswcrds]

@withoutawar​ asked:  looking deep into your lover's eyes, before dropping your gaze to their lips || MUNINN | Different kinds of kisses || ACCEPTING

They’re- explosive, Muninn can admit. They’ve both tempers, they’re both passionate and stubborn, neither willing to back down often. Still, they always find where they fit with one another again, even if it takes time, or they’d lashed out in word and feeling. 

This is a between-moment, the air still tense and still between them, after a clash but before the healing of it, and Muninn- 

She has always known when Steve’s eyes are on her, even when she isn’t watching. They’re a heat, a weight she knows like almost nothing else. 

And so it’s a little intentional, maybe, when she finally looks back to meet his gaze, the grey gone stormcloud-dark. He’s half a room away, but it feels as though it could be an ocean, and yet it feels like it could only be inches all in the same moment. Slowly, she tips her head to one side, not blinking- 

And then she drops her gaze lower, to lips gone red from his teeth worrying them, not bothering for subtlety. 

The tension between them is like the edge of a blade, and she’s always been one to play with fire. He’s gone still like stone, as she watches his mouth-sinks her one teeth into her lower lip as she does. 

And the air between them just about ignites. He moves with a preternatural grace, when he wants to, her supersoldier, and he’s across the room in a heartbeat. Muninn doesn’t so much as blink, but as his hand sinks into her hair, tugs her head back, she finally looks to meet his gaze, a grin, sharp and half to wild flickers onto her features. 

And then he’s kissing it off of her- brutal thing, bruising as his mouth slants over hers, and Muninn surges up, pulling at his grip to move closer, even as his other hand shifts to hold her jaw. He licks into her mouth like a man possessed, and the Seer hums, her nails digging into his hips as she holds him fast. 

Far more productive than the silent brooding, she thinks, and if she’s lucky, that will be her last thought for a while. 

[sevenswcrds]

@lcsthings liked for a starter and we’re both indecisive || GERALT OF RIVIA 

She is careful- has been careful, all of her irregularities and lack of humanity well-kept. 

But there is now a witcher involved- and that makes things complicated. 

Makes everything she’s doing suddenly edged in that much more secrecy. She is not something that can die, at the end of his swords-  But she does not want to end up at the other end of them, regardless. She has worked too damn hard. 

“- I imagine if you’ve been called upon, that the issues of this town have finally gotten to a point where the people cannot ignore them. Is it a Bruxa?”

[sevencfswcrds]

@lostsouldier​ asked:  smooch on the forehead for muninn || MUNINN || Memes || Accepting 

The aftermath of a fight- there’s ash on her skin and her blood is roaring, burning, hands shaking. 

She wants more. There’s a singing in her veins and her head, images that aren’t real behind her eyes. She has been a being of fate and war for too long, sometimes, it feels in this modern era. She’s too slow to change, maybe, for all that she loves peace in its’ way. Still and ever, the fights come, and then it’s a struggle to stop and silence the longing for more. More fight, flames, blood- she wants to keep going, she wants to rage like the storms that light the skies, she wants-

And then there are hands, hands she knows so well- one lands on her wrist, traces down and tangles his fingers with hers, while the other cups her chin- tilts her face up. Muninn knows these hands- one warm and calloused, a sniper, a warrior, the other cool metal, smooth like polished ice. 

She doesn’t open her eyes, nor resist even when it bares her throat. 

The Seer trusts these hands, more than even her own. 

A breath of her name, and then familiar lips to her temple. The kiss brings her breath back to her lungs, and she settles again, in her skin it feels like. One of her own hands lifts- settles over his heartbeat, as the other holds his, tight though without pain. 

The touch grounds her and brings her to the moment, out of the siren’s call and the bloodlust, out of the fight and battle mentality. A flutter of her lashes, and then grey eyes open again- 

Just grey. Not mirrored, not near to black with rage and the song of a fight. Storm grey, clear and calm- 

Focused on the moment. On him. 

“- Another?” she murmurs, tilting her face up towards his- and she feels more than she hears the huff of amusement, before he lays another kiss to the center of her forehead. Gentle. Lingering. 

Real, she thinks, gentled. Real, and vital.

[sevencfswcrds]

@lostsouldier​ asked:  ❝  come put your head in my lap and tell me something new. “ || MUNINN || Memes || Accepting 

His voice cuts through the cacophony in her head, and she starts somewhat, a subtle jerk in her frame that he wouldn’t miss, as attuned to her as he is, but others may not notice, may write off. 

Grey eyes lift, from the book she’s been writing in, to meet his- and Muninn bites her lip, before closing her eyes, and shaking herself- 

And then she sets the book down, before drawing herself up and sinking down beside him. The movements lack her usual grace- she’s tired and it shows, she’s distracted, mind everywhere, and everywhen. 

But she’s choosing to focus on him, as she so often does, and she drops, head in his lap. One hand shifts, and she takes his, before tugging it down and towards her hair. For Muninn- Bucky playing with her hair is grounding. Soothing. 

“Something new?” she murmurs, voice a soft rasp. “- At any given time, in this world, there are at least two thousand storms active and raging through the skies.” Storms are one of her aspects, though not as known as her visions and not as heavy as her madness. 

Storms are hers, as poetry is. 

“Usually the majority of them are thunderstorms.”

[sevencfswcrds]

@goodsouldier​ liked the startercall 

This era is moving about so damned wildly that-  Perhaps Muninn hasn’t been paying attention to the things that she should have been.  Perhaps she’d lost track of some things very important to her- but this war was monstrous in ways that turned even a god’s stomach. 

Still, she thinks she can be forgiven missing out on some clearly, intensely vital changes that had occurred- because across the field from where she’d just driven a bolt of lightning through an enemy truck and the occupants- 

“I- weren’t you smaller, when last I saw you?” Muninn asks, blood-spattered and a little dumbstruck.

[sevenswcrds]

@feardrawn​ 

“Winter’s bones and graveyard winds, but here you are bereft of both. Is there something I can help you with?”

[sevenswcrds]

@goodsouldier​ asked:  “ i’m gonna take that as a compliment.” || Muninn || V’s Askbox Deep Dive || Accepting

“Well, that’s one way of looking at it,” it’s not said meanly, though, and entirely ruined by her rolling her eyes in an attempt not to laugh. 

“You’re a tenacious thing, I will give you that. And it’s... Admirable. In its’ way. There- now you have an actual compliment. Maybe two, depending on your interpretation. But regardless- art museum. You promised.”

[sevenswcrds]

@runaljod​ asked:  “  you’re safe with me. you can let go. breathe. ” || Muninn || V’s Askbox Is A Mess || Accepting!

She cannot. 

She cannot, she cannot, she cannot. She is- she is safe, that is undeniable. For all of her paranoia, all of her fears or mistrust, all of her visions and Sight-  She knows. Muninn has always known, that she is safe, with Magni. He is kin, no matter what or how- he is her family- and he and his siblings are perhaps some of the only family with which she does not strife or struggle. 

But she is the elder, here- if not by very much. She is supposed to be the strong one to support him as he has grown, she is not supposed to fall apart- he should not have to pick up her pieces- 

broken mirror shards, scattered across the ground, blood on the pieces, fire in each reflection, and scream and scream- 

She isn’t looking at him- she isn’t looking at anything, silver gaze gone wide and entirely unfocused, as everything knots and tangles in her head, the words only she hears bouncing around her skull so harshly it hurts. 

There’s that- ichor, godsblood, slowly dripping from her eyes like tears, but she staggers a step away, air trapped in her lungs. 

“I can’t,” she chokes, but it’s weak, the words broken and raw. “I can’t- shattered, light fallen, ash in the air- you should not have to- I can’t-” She can’t breathe, she can’t breathe.

Is it his blood? His blood, that she Sees without seeing? 

Her legs buckle, and she hits the ground hard, hands coming up to cover her mouth. She is shaking apart before his eyes, the episodes of her youth that she had fought like hell to hide from- him, from Modi, from Thrud. 

Their kin is not nearly so untouchable as the front she has presented throughout their lives. 

“I don’t know what’s real.”

[sevenswcrds]

@goodsouldier​ asked:  [ TILT ]:     the sender gently tilts the receiver’s chin up so that they can check to see if they’re okay. || MUNINN || V’s Newest Askbox Deep Dive || Accepting

It takes a lot to actually hurt her in a way that sticks. Magic, usually, or enchantments- curses and the like. Hit her hard enough and she’ll break for a moment or longer, stab with just the right sort of metal and it’ll take longer than 30 minutes to heal. 

But she’s not immune to pain, either. She feels everything to a degree that’s near to insanity, or she feels nothing at all, and has always been as such. The rebar through her shoulder and the glass embedded in her stomach had definitely thrown her for the better part of a minute- add in the shell that had sent her through a wall and, well, she’s had better days. 

The hand on her chin still draws her back into her body, brings clarity back to eyes that had been staring at nothing, and Muninn looks up, hazy grey meeting worried blue. She can’t help it- her expression softens, more than she’d like it to. She doesn’t seem to have a poker face, when it comes to this man. She hates it. She doesn’t hate it. 

“I’m fine,” she murmurs, rolling the formerly wounded shoulder- range of motion is perfect. She won’t even scar. “Promise. Just took me by surprise.” It’s been a long time since she’s lost the upper hand in a high-stress situation- but still. 

She shifts, presses her cheek into his palm for a moment, before pulling away. “Promise,” she says again, raising her arms and stretching out her spine, eyes falling closed. “I’m just annoyed. I liked this shirt.” 

[sevenswcrds]

@treacherovs​ asked: love’s like watching someone die || MUNINN || V’s Askbox Deep Dive || Accepting

“... Not quite,” the seer says as she pauses in the relentless writing across her own skin- her shoulder, at the moment, neck tipping back to meet the gaze of the wolf so loved and so volatile. Even now, in a state that can only be described as frenzied, the movements are graceful, and there’s a strange quiet calm to her gaze. 

Muninn hums, then, and closes her eyes. She has loved- many, over her centuries, moving through time as skillfully as a dancer.  She’s had her heart broken- she’s broken far more. 

“Love’s like dying. A hundred, thousand times, drowning in it. Your heart aches, your lungs burn- but every time you look at them, you breathe again. And you can’t imagine doing anything else. It’s the safest thing you’ve ever known.. And the most dangerous thing you ever will know. Nothing is quite as deadly as it. Especially not to things like us.” A huffing laugh. 

“More gods have died for love than have died to anything else.”

[sevenswcrds]

@lcsthings​ liked for a starter and were both indecisive || DREAM 

“- Is there a name you would prefer I use, oh Endless, or is just Dream suiting?” It is- indescribably rare, that she is not the eldest being in the room- and there’s a hungry curiosity in her eyes as she watches the other. 

“Forgive my ignorance; one such as me is incapable of dreaming at all- so I know only flickers of you.”

[sevenswcrds]

@lcsthings​ liked for a starter and we’re both indecisive. || LADY AMALTHEA

The- energy of the other is nothing short of ethereal- divine, without immortality, it burns like a star, and Muninn finds she cannot look away, brows furrowing. 

She herself is a far thing from mortal- and here within these stone walls, Muninn burns like a wildfire. The other-  Interesting, and she more or less drifts to appear by the other woman, head tilting slowly to one side. 

“You must be the lady Amalthea of whom I’ve heard so much. You look to be born of the mists themselves,” she muses, soft rasping voice pitched to only just carry. There’s a smile on her lips, before she lifts her gaze to the other, one brow arching. 

“Mist ought not to be trapped by stone. Would you like to walk with me?”

[sevenswcrds]

@incogniiita​ asked:  five times shared:  ( five times the receiver shared something (either a material or feelings or secrets!) with the sender ) || Rasa || FIVE TIMES drabbles || Accepting

It starts with, of all things, a book. Well-  Really, of all things, it starts that Rasa actually gives him a book. Dragons are so notorious- for their hoards, the things they collect and guard jealously. 

How they do not give people things; how they do not allow people to take things. 

And while it’s not the original copy of the book that she has hidden; the book she gives him is still hers- she says something she doesn’t even remember, a snarled half-joke about how perhaps this book will teach him better than his preconceived notions of what a dragon is. 

He makes a comment about her not getting it back for a while- and before Rasa can even think better of it-  “It’s for you. Keep it.” A pause- she’s said far too much, shown too much, and she’s just quite literally given him a dictionary on dragon behavior. Rapidly a scoff, and she rolls her eyes- like it’s nothing, like even now she doesn’t want to grab the book back and vanish to her den. 

“Besides. It’s a copy. You’ll get some use out of it.”

She’s gone dizzy with fright, standing atop the roof, and Rasa has her eyes squeezed tightly closed, as she stands there- and then sinks to sit. 

A voidling- here of all places, and it had gone for Victor- a source of magic, a source of power, for it. Killing it had been- instinct, and she was viciously glad that she’d torn it to pieces-  And then she’d realized she was in a human form. On a roof. 

“- I don’t like heights when I don’t have scales,” she croaks from a throat gone sore from the fire tearing through it, before she can think better than to stop herself from saying it. 

But he needs to know- she wasn’t afraid of that fight. She wasn’t afraid that she’d fought for him.  Rasa had said from the start, it was her choice. All of it was her choice. Blindly, she reaches out until she finds his hand- and then she’s got it in a deathgrip, eyes not opening for a moment. 

“I really. I really don’t like heights when I don’t have my wings.”

No one knew that. No one has ever known that. 

But she shares it with him like it’s easy. 

Because- because maybe it is. Easy.

With him. 

It’s a steady thing that they have- at least it is now. After all of the ridiculous emotions and outbursts it took to even get here. 

She hasn’t been as open with Victor with anyone else in all of her lifetime, if she can even truly be considered living- maybe, maybe not. But it’s-  Steady. 

She makes a humming noise, as he seems just to devolve further into the book while sitting across from her. There’s a tilt of his brow- no further response, and truly she has to try like hell to suppress a laugh. A shake of her head- but then she’s moving- and suddenly, in those rare moments she has of boldness, Rasa is up against Victor’s side and under his arm, gaze flicking to find where his is on the page. 

- Words in draconic. He’s looking at the words in her native tongue- specifically curses and titles, and she makes another hum. 

“Rasa- there, that one. It means a void, or a shadow. This is the book I took my name from.” A pause, and then she looks up at him- much closer than they usually are to one another, her nose almost brushing his as he looks back. 

Those green eyes blink, and then she settles more firmly, into this spot she’s chosen. “Pick a word- I’ll help you with the pronunciations. You’ll never exactly- have the right accent. Wrong vocal chords. But if you could speak it, it would probably... Come in handy. If we’re going to keep... Being around one another, like this.”

She wants to. 

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” is the first thing she says, before she steals his hand in hers, and then begins to put something around his wrist- head ducking low enough that her dark brown hair hides- what she’s doing, exactly. 

Another thing that both... Does, and does not go against every instinct in her head. But this time, the dragon half of her head is all but purring as she pulls back- leaving the opal-and-leather cuff on Victor’s wrist, affixed by a set of lacing on the underside of his wrist. There’s a dull humming, in the crystal- enchantment, magic meant to-  Protect. Bring comfort. 

“... For you,” she says then, stiffly, before she takes several rapid steps back- and then out the door entirely, feeling her face start burning. 

Gift giving. She’s progressed to actual gift-giving. 

Hopefully he hasn’t reached that chapter of the book. 

“... I know I’ve said it before,” she says, not looking at him as they sit in the grass. They’re - in a place she’s taken them, this time. A forest, near enough to one of her dens that she has some- relaxed quality to her that’s almost never present. 

It’s beautiful, and cold- the night sky above them lit with every color imaginable. Home, she’d said briefly, once she’d gotten them both here. 

“... But I do really- you matter a lot. To me,” she says, staring up at the sky- and then finally at him, with those cat-pupiled green eyes. Her lips twist, for a moment, rueful. 

“... I didn’t think I’d ever find that kind of feeling again,” Rasa admits, then, softer. “But you’ve kind of been a surprise from the first moment, haven’t you?” A movement- and then she kisses him- a soft thing, with little pressure. Just a moment, a heartbeat in which she makes the emotion- as clearly known as she can. 

And then she’s rising- offering her hand to him to get him up as well. “There’s still... I wanna show you more. If you’d let me.”

[sevenswcrds]

@norsecreated​ asked:  “ i don’t need a break! i need to keep going until i get this right! “ [ VALI ] || Munnin || V’s Meme Tag || Accepting

He’s a stubborn one. She sees so much of that stubbornness, and flickers through memory to faces she hasn’t seen in centuries, to people she hasn’t spoken to in ages and yet beyond. 

But they’ve been at this for hours, the magic flickering through his fingers and then sputtering out like a guttered flame. The wind is no help to him, as they stand on the cliffside, but it isn’t meant to be. 

None of it but her herself, is meant to be a help. This isn’t easy- it’s hard, it’s brutal, and exhausting, and she sees the toll it’s taking in the tremors of his voice, the breaking fury beneath the way he tries to hold it steady. 

“For all your stubborn faith and talent, it is beyond even you to get it in one day,” she says- reaching to catch his wrist in her deceptively light grip before he can shape the runes again. 

That grip tightens, just a little- gentle, still, but a warning to heed. “And I would be betraying your father if I let you burn yourself alive in the trying of it. Peace, little wolf. You need a rest.” A pause. 

“I need a rest,” quieter. “I cannot teach you if the fragments shake apart too much, and I am fading from here and finding myself in memories the longer the wind blows, the wind blows, the wind blows.” She doesn’t release him- backs a step to tug him along, back to the doors hidden in stone. 

“A rest. And then you will get it right.”

[sevenswcrds]

@norsecreated​ asked:  There's a different kind of unease in his form. Features failing in keeping light and wicked -- instead conflict arises. Head tilts, observing intently if this was some kind of cruel joke. But knowing that silver gaze, it was not. He blinks once, then twice as lips part. Silver tongue for once turning to lead. It is a long moment before words spill : " ... Seeker -- Dear seeker -- " His words cut short, almost desperate to keep his voice from cracking with the tightening of his throat, taking a few cautious steps forward. A hand raising as if to reach out but pauses. " You know that I do not belong to anyone -- but I am your trickster ... And chaos is a language we know fluently. I am the restless bird on your shoulder -- the unending winds of storms -- the flames of destruction that consumes with no bounds ... " There's a pause, for once his breath shuddering as brows up tilt with surprising worry. Chin dipping as his eyes now look through his brows. " We are both of chaos ... And so beautifully entwined within it ... You have me in your threads you weave, chaos seeker. From the moment we met in the maze of forests, you always have." 

(U KNOW EXACTLY WHO THIS IS FROM AND WHO IT'S FOR -- for the lost memory meme WEEPS I'M SO FUCKING EMO OHMGYOD) 

MY MUSE FORGETS YOURS || ACCEPTING

Fragmented, shining and scattered. Points of light that once formed a reflection- cracked and broken, multiple perspectives and possibilities, but all broken apart now into a shape totally new- and totally foreign. Those silver-grey eyes don’t hold the luminescence of a mirror that says she is Seeing and not seeing- but they look upon him with a total lack of recognition. 

The words draw that gaze back to him, cold and too-quiet, with an utter lack of anything, even the mischievous light that seems so intrinsic to her. Even without that calculating edge she’s held since the first moment they met. 

He reaches to touch her, but stops, and she listens; and listens, to words that hit somewhere aching and hollow in her chest. Her heart, she thinks idly. It’s a distant thing; not something that echoes loudly, not something that she feels keenly. 

But the cold ache of it is still felt. Still recognized as real, in the moment. 

“... Something in me,” she says finally, quiet and without inflection. “Knows you. I know your voice, even if I don’t know you, don’t know you, don’t know you.” A pause, and she presses her eyes closed for a moment, chin lowering as she breathes. 

“- If you are my Trickster, and I am your Seeker, I think for the moment it’s time for me to... Seek. Memories woven into the past because- the Seeker before you is just the mirror frame. All the shards are lost.” Not forever. Not for always. 

But she knows him. Muninn feels that much, knows that much. 

“... I don’t know you. But I know you.”

[sevenswcrds]

@treacherovs​ asked :  ( savior ) how can you trust me? || V’s Meme Tag || Accepting

The prophet looks to the she-wolf, and cocks her head to one side, considering it. The question is a loaded one, but not an unworthy one. 

Muninn is infamous in how rarely and barely she trusts in anyone. So her- relationship, whatever it is, with Skoll, is... Unusual. Confusing, to those looking in from the outside. 

So the Seer reaches, quietly, and takes Skoll’s hand, turning it in her own as though she’s studying it. No answer comes, for a long time; to the point that perhaps Muninn won’t give one at all. 

“Because the destruction you cause matches the chaos I do. And because I See you, I See you, I See you. You are not my enemy. You’re the wolf. I’m the raven. We were always meant to find something, in one another. Just the what is left to be known.”