#i had to put my face on the floor

[fooltofancy]

figuring out an injection schedule through clenched teeth and a haze of tears 'cause if my body's gonna fuck something up it's gonna do it at the least okay time possible

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Look, we thought pairing my LDB up with freaking Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced instead of Ulfric would be funny.

It wasn't. It was just sad.

ao3 | masterlist

As I told my dear sweet @elder-dragon-reposes, it's one thing for one of Ulfric's followers clear across Skyrim to get heart eyes for Ulfric's girlfriendsword arm, but it's another matter entirely if it's one of his generals. In his own city.

Yrsarald remembers the Dragonborn from when she came to call Ulfric to the Greybeards' council. He remembers that she was soft-spoken and adamant about the World-Eater. She's hopeful and compassionate, and that stands out to him, even if she is an elf.

Ulfric doesn't seem to mind her ancestry, so Yrsarald elects to ignore it untilunless it becomes a problem.

News comes that Alduin has been banished, and the Dragonborn is about Skyrim, helping people. It's . . . nice that the foreign half-elf seems to care so much for the well-being of Skyrim and her people. Yrsarald keeps tabs on her through the informants and spy networks. It's a matter of security if the Dragonborn turns traitor to Skyrim and helps the blasted Thalmor. Galmar isn't keeping up with it, so for Ulfric and the Stormcloaks' sake, Yrsarald is.

But all he hears are good things. She wins admiration everywhere she goes, but she doesn't belong anywhere. Balgruuf the Greater is trying to tie the Dragonborn to Whiterun, but she's as flighty as Kyne's winds. Somewhere in there, Yrsarald learns her name is Leara Ormand and she's from HIgh Rock. She grew up on magic and chivalry. She probably sees life as a fairy tale. He may disdain her for it.

But then she comes to Windhelm. They've had troubles of their own, being stretched between the care of the city and fighting a war. And she solves problems. He hears she's investigating the serial killer in town . . .

. . .then finds the Butcher, and she's hurt? Ulfric is concerned, but Yrsarald finds himself livid. He cannot see his Jarl's worry for his own shame that their hero came to help them, and all she got in return was a bleeding wound and permafrost on her skin.

Imagine being so in love with an otherwise mythic figure, a celebrity, that you can't see that your friend, your brother, is also in love with her. How can you see it when you aren't ready to admit your own feelings?

Leara is renting a room at Candlehearth when Yrsarald decides he needs to pay his respects to her. She is surprised when he meets her near dinner. He has never seen a woman so precisely featured before. She's not in armor (he's only seen her in silver plate); her hair is down (curling in blood rose vines) and she's bundled in a cornflower blue dress (it's loose to accommodate her bandages). He wants to sit down and talk to her, but he doesn't. He thanks her, though, and she smiles. He stops by the counter later to make sure Elda sends her a dessert .

"But don't bother her with who it's from." "Well if that's how you choose to show your appreciation."

Yrsarald buys Leara sweets after that. She doesn't know it's him. She knows it's someone who appreciates her service and feels bad about her getting hurt, but Elda won't crack. Drat the woman.

Leara wonders if Ulfric is gifting her the sweets. She wants to hope it's Ulfric. She wants their past to be past and for her to appreciate everything she continues to do not for him, but to his benefit; she wasn't drawn in by his smile or anything. Who else would it be if not him? Ralof? He's not in town. General Stone-Fist didn't seem too bothered about her.

Leara's still healing. She's not bedridden or anything, but she's not fit to go beyond the city gates where there are bandits and dragons and necromancers (oh my!), so she decides that visiting the court wizard might be a fruitful investment of her time. She shuffles off to the Palace of the Kings. She runs into Jorleif right off and, on telling him she'd like to visit the court wizard, he's ready to take her to Wuunferth because she's been to see him before, and after all, she is the Dragonborn.

And this is that delightful moment when fate can swing either way because if Ulfric shows up and offers to walk Leara, that's all she wrote. Yrsarald's lost his chance because now that soft smile from Candlehearth is directed at the Jarl, not him, and Yrsarald will never get it back.

But maybe, just maybe, if Yrsarald gets to Leara before Ulfric does, if he captures her attention in conversation, maybe she'll look at him.

For a general commanding troops, it's terribly hard to be brave before a woman.

He would ask her how she's healing from the attack, and Leara would sigh, tired with herself but patient in her speech, because she's healing but she feels like she's letting the people down. And the tips of her ears might turn pink (Yrsarald didn't know elf ears did that) because Leara didn't mean to be that candid and trouble him – but Yrsarald is tripping over himself to tell her that she's done more for Skyrim than anyone (why is his neck red?) and it's reasonable for her to convalesce after an injury.

"Rest and eat apple tarts." ". . . how did you know I was eating apple tarts?"

Yrsarald coughs (he did not mean to tell her that). Leara is staring at him. They're at Wuunferth's quarters. She blinks at him before thanking him for guiding her through the palace. Then she's gone, and Yrsarald is kicking himself for being an idiot.

He's smitten.

Soon (too soon) Leara has healed from her injury and she's at the palace again, but this time she's offering to help Ulfric negotiate a permanent peace between both sides. Ulfric's seen Leara at the table, he knows what she can do. Galmar is more skeptical, but when Ulfric looks to Yrsarald for his opinion (and Leara's too-blue winter deep eyes follow) he says to let her have at it.

Leara needs to be brought up on the Stormcloaks holdings and Ulfric says he'll help her, but then Galmar needs him for something else and Yrsarald (does NOTdoes) jumps at the chance to help the Dragonborn. She's attentive and quiet, and asks the right questions about supplies and movements. And Yrsarald realizes as he's talking to her that Leara has been in a war before.

"Were you in the Great War?"

The stiffening of her shoulders is almost imperceptible. He'd have missed it if he weren't watching her so intently.

"Yes."

Her reply is measured. She does not lie.

"Legion?"

Because everyone was in the Legion then. Back when it fought for Skyrim. He wouldn't fault her if she was . . . why is her face sour? Her mouth is pinched.

"It doesn't matter–" "It does."

Why does it matter? He wonders, why is he pressing?

Her eyes are wide. So wide and too-blue.

Leara looks ill.

And then he knows.

He knew from the beginning she couldn't be trusted. She was an elf. All elves scurried back to the Thalmor in the end. She was here for that blasted Thalmor "ambassador" – she would betray Ulfric and the sons of Skyrim to their deaths!

There's a breathless scream.

Yrsarald doesn't realize until then that he has her on the ground. She's so small and too precisely featured. Her eyes are too blue. She's a traitor, a liar, a fraud–

The Dragonborn does not care for Skyrim.

"Yrsarald, please–"

Yrsarald growls.

Why is she crying? Doesn't she realize what she's doing to Skyrim? – Done to him? All this time and Yrsarald realizes he let Leara lure him into a fairy tale, only for her to shatter it with frigid reality when he thinks, when he thinks . . .

He might love her.

But elves can't love.

"You will rue the day you stepped foot in Skyrim, elf!"

She's sobbing. If she were really a true Dragonborn, she'd try and Shout him off, but Yrsarald wonders if she lied about that, too. High Elf illusions.

"Yrsa–" "What's going–?!"

Then Yrsarald is yanked back forcibly. Galmar is there. And Ralof. And Ulfric.

Ulfric is on the floor with her. Kneeling beside her as she gasps and tears turn her white gold face into wet porcelain. Kneeling beside her as if the elf wasn't going to sell Ulfric and everything they'd worked for to the Thalmor!

Yrsarald strains against Galmar and Ralof. He grits his teeth.

"She's Thalmor!"

Galmar stills. Ralof pales. Ulfric's head is bowed. She isn't making any noise but she struggles to breathe and it's tearing Yrsarald apart and enraging him all at once.

"I know."

And with those words, Yrsarald questions everything he ever knew about Ulfric Stormcloak. Ulfric knew she was a Thalmor spy? Was he coming to stop her – but . . .

Then Ulfric is lifting Leara from the ground, helping her to her feet, and it's too gentle for a King about to arrest an enemy.

Her hands are grasping Ulfric's arm, her eyes wide. Ulfric's face is drawn.

"We will discuss this later."

And he walks out with her. And the elf is free. And Yrsarald doesn't understand.

And then Galmar speaks:

"What in Oblivion did you do?!"

Yrsarald . . . doesn't know anymore.

What he learns later is more than he could stomach. Leara was a member of the Thalmor and she was a member of the Blades before that, and during the war, she smuggled information from the Dominion to the Blades intelligence networks and then defected while smuggling Ulfric Stormcloak from captivity.

He's nauseous when Ralof tells him this. Respectful Ralof – save this time there's steel in his eyes and disdain in his voice.

Yrsarald realizes he deserves that.

Later, when she finds him at Candlehearth, drinking his weight in ale, he realizes he does not deserve the understanding and forgiveness and the self-loathing in her face.

"I know why you did what you did. I can't fault you for it, not when I could've sold your Jarl and cause out to the Dominion. But I–"

Leara's eyes trail off.

"I'm sorry."

He chokes out the words. Her eyes slip back. She was far away.

"I think it's for the best if we're not alone together anymore."

Then she's gone.

Yrsarald buys another round.

The next day, Galmar says Ulfric wants him in the Pale. Far away from the Dragonborn goes unspoken between them.

Yrsarald goes. Ulfric's face is hard when he bids Yrsarald goodbye. The Jarl is not as easily forgiving as the Dragonborn.

Yrsarald is in the Pale when, a month later, news comes that the Dragonborn is handling an armistice in Whiterun. Skyrim divided. What was she thinking? She's thinking for Skyrim, Yrsarald realizes. That's all she's thought about this entire time.

It's a year before he returns to the Eastern capital of Windhelm, and only then, it's because the High King is getting married.

Yrsarald sees her. He doesn't stay long after that.

After all, Ulfric would protect her. Had protected her. Even from Yrsarald.

He could live with that.

[void-botanist]

Thade Adventures: Parkour

OCs: Thade Orech-Pabat, Caladea Ores-Pabat, and Pirianus Orech-Pabat

Words: 500

Content warnings: heights, getting kinda made fun of in front of your crush

Taglist: @vacantgodling

“Do you think it’s possible to parkour all the way down to the ground floor from here?” Thade said, leaning against the railing at the edge of the open space that cut all the way down to said ground floor.

“Maybe,” Caladea said, barely looking up from her phone.

He grinned.  “You think I should try?”

She looked up for real.  “No, you can’t parkour.”

“I can totally parkour,” he said, pushing himself up on his arms so that his hips rested against the top of the railing.  He brought one sandaled foot up between his hands—he wasn’t going to go further than crouching on the rail, because he couldn’t parkour, but his foot slipped out from under him and his arms betrayed him and he found himself bent double over the railing, clinging to the slats, his feet barely skimming the carpet.  The fourth floor suddenly looked very high up.  

“Okay, I take it back,” he said.  “Can you help me?”  If he’d been with anyone but Caladea, they probably would have left him there to think about his actions for a while, but she came over right away to haul him back up by his pants waistband.  Which would have worked if he hadn’t chosen this moment to be wearing sweatpants.  Instead of helping, she just pulled down his pants, and he suspected also his boxer briefs.

“Oh no, I’m sorry,” she said like it was an accident, but she was also giggling.  

“Callie, you better not be filming this.”

“I’m not.”  Giggle giggle.  She must be, because she certainly wasn’t helping him.  He kicked his legs a little bit and felt a cold rush of fear as he shifted forward on the rail.  Well, this was fine.  He could just work his way back up the slats with his hands, and he would eventually slide back onto the floor.  It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be faster.  He’d hardly started when he felt familiar rough-edged hands on his hips and he was ungraciously pulled back upright.  As his blood stopped pooling in his head, he beheld Pirianus standing there, frowning as always.  That is, until Caladea showed him something on her phone, and he cracked a tiny blue-edged smile.

“Thanks,” Thade said with zero gratitude, pulling up his stupid sweatpants.  Before he could escape these two chucklefucks, though, Caladea turned her phone on him, and he was met with a photo of himself stranded over the rail, his panicked face looking through the slats, and his hairy asscrack surrounded by ironic hearts and sparkles.  Across the top was the word PARKOUR flanked with party poppers and flames.

“Great, thank you,” he said with a fake smile.  It should have been funny.  He should have been laughing—he could take a joke at his expense any day of the week—but instead he felt his cheeks burning.  “I’ll get that put on my calling cards.”  

He didn’t look at her or Pirianus as he walked away.

[the-nameless-wacky-inventor]

I think the thing with dove is she does sound a lot like the new “””edgy”””” pop tiktok weird sound that billie kicked off but she actually makes it sound really fucking good.

[rosesncarnations]

Taking the train home early

Friend’s sibling’s cat Ron

[nettlestingsoup]

kard was SO FUN but honestly people need to be FAR more mindful of their phones at gigs. i get that you want to film for friends or for memories or whatever other reason, but every time a song starts and a hundred phones go up it makes it REMARKABLY difficult to actually see the stage.

[seventh-district]

I'm probably far from the first person to say this, but you can't tell me that this song doesn't just scream Aventurine, c'mon.

[disneydatass]

Reblog this and put in the tags a movie you’ll never forget watching for the first time

✨positive reasons only✨

[enigma-absolute]

…

[shinyvibrava]

Additional fun things about working a hotel front desk: if you're rude to me I'm putting you in the Shitty Room

[pregablin]

I dreamt that the Swedish police had a piss k!nk, probably not far from the truth...

[blujayonthewing]

I think about that time aubree got a casual hookup a lot I think largely because it was a time something nice happened to her with no downsides

[musical-chick-13]

Somebody tell me. That I can’t quit. And that I have an obligation. And that I made a promise. To do this. And that I can’t just. Not do it because I’m scared. Of public singing. Please tell me. I have to do it. Please.

[mer-se]

Prima facie round two. 5/17 🎭🤍

[m0e-ru]

if you do want my extra thoughts on godhood early or want the same enrichment as i did please please please read neil gaiman’s the sandman or play the god of war norse reboot duology. with me 💜

[kaidabakugou]

i am a creature of the night at heart bc early mornings are a whole ass struggle for me