#the ballad of the boiling sun and the death wolf

[summer-time]

For anyone following me for the next update on my fic "The Ballad of the Boiling Sun and the Death Wolf", sadly my computer crashed this afternoon. I don't know why, but tomorrow I will go to someone hoping they can fix it.

I dearly hope they can: I'm not in any financial shape to replace it. And hope that I've not lost everything on it: not only the next chapter that was nearly completed (more than 12k) but also all my uni stuff.

I want to cry.

[deliahscrush2003]

IAN MOONE in The Ballad of the Boiling Sun and the Death Wolf. - Commission for @summer-time

Here is my commission of @summer-time's OC, Ian Moone in "The Ballad of the Boiling Sun and the Death Wolf", a Game of Thrones fic which is part of the series Biography of an Angel.

@summer-time has been one of my most dearest and most loyal supporters of my OCs and my concept arts from way back last year when I started showcasing my designs on this blog.

Thank you so much for your consistent support my dear, @summer-time. I was escatic when you asked me to draw Ian again and I hope that I will get more chances to do so in the future.

I hope I did the Angel of Death justice ❤️

If anyone is interested about my OC Comissions, please check out the post! I am always open to collaborating on your OCs!

[[ If you want to learn more about Ian Moone, check her out at @summer-time ]]

[likeshipsonthesea]

hi could you do "but you don’t know the hell you put me through; to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you" for the geraskier prompts? also i really love your writing! thanks :D

from this list, thank you so much for the prompt! anyone else who would like to send one in, feel free! trying to get into writing the witcher fic but turns out it took me 4 years to get comfortable writing cp! characters and i Am Lost. still, i think this turned out p good and i hope y’all like it :)

from Hozier’s “To Be Alone” geraskier for “but you don’t know the hell you put me through; to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you” i used inspo from the whole song, not just the one lyric, but yeah. it fits i think

warning for some mild blood, gore, & violence (typical to the show)

           The worst part, in Geralt’s opinion, of walking back into town covered in the remnants of a ghoul’s last meal isn’t the stench of half-digested rotting flesh, the itch of blood drying against his skin and beginning to flake off, or the too-bright light of the sun unmarred by a canopy of trees. The worst part is most definitely the roaring chatter of voices, whispers sharp and breathy, gasps pinpricks against the back of his neck.

           A ghoul shouldn’t have made him this “touchy,” as Jaskier liked to call it, but, Geralt allows himself, it was not just a ghoul.

           “Not that the scent of death isn’t a lovely complement to your usual brood, but must you always bathe in the innards of your monsters once you slay them?”

           Geralt rumbles, stepping towards Jaskier’s voice. He can’t see him through his blinking, through the crowd, but he can hear his heartbeat louder than the townspeople now that he’s announced himself and Geralt can focus on him.

           Jaskier pushes through the crowd in a moment or two, frowning deeply at Geralt. The sight of Jaskier sends a shudder through Geralt. Fucking ghouls, Geralt growls.

           “No need for dramatics,” Jaskier says, taking Roach’s reins from Geralt. “Your coin is waiting in the inn and there’s bathwater being boiled as we speak.”

           Geralt stares at Jaskier, his own head tilted down to block out the sun. Jaskier’s turned his attention to Roach, petting down her nose, murmuring something like, “Darling girl,” under his breath. Geralt clenches his hands tightly, shakes them. Jaskier looks up and frowns again.

           “I’ll see to it that Roach is cared for,” Jaskier says. He smirks in his charming way, something that should be irksome but somehow – isn’t. “Go collect your spoils, Geralt.”

           Geralt.

           The sorcerer’s magic must have been waiting for a very long time, biding its time, building. It had accounted for nearly every detail, every crinkle of smile, every lilt in his voice, every casual touch, except for that, except for how Jaskier said his name. Jaskier could be annoyed with him, enraged with him, pleading or teasing or charming, but every time he spoke Geralt’s name – not Butcher, or White Wolf, or Witcher – every time, his heartbeat aligned with the syllables and his lips twitched, not necessarily up or down, just – acknowledgement.

           Geralt nods, jerky, and turns towards the inn. Magic powerful enough to trick a Witcher, and yet Jaskier was still unmatchable.

           The inn’s owner seems grateful for Geralt’s services, if not his scent, and hands over the coin with little fanfare. The room he directs Geralt to holds a bath with steam rising from its surface. Geralt removes his armor, then his clothes, and sinks into the water with a deep sigh.

           If he closes his eyes, he can imagine he’s still within the magic’s grasp. Geralt assumes the spell was meant to trap one within their own paradise, or something to that end, so of course Geralt’s had included a bath.

           “Is it a Witcher thing or a you thing?” the fake Jaskier had asked, voice close, just behind Geralt’s head. Geralt had rumbled a questioning noise and the mirage had continued. “Your fondness for baths. Is that the Path, or just you?”

           Geralt had growled. Jaskier had laughed.

           “Just you, then.”

           Geralt hadn’t responded, but Jaskier hadn’t seemed to need confirmation. The water had remained hot, scalding, through the long moments of silence, as Geralt had laid with his eyes closed, listening to Jaskier’s heartbeat. Then, without warning, Jaskier’s hands had fallen into Geralt’s hair.

           “What a mess you make of this glorious mane,” Jaskier had sighed, deft fingers careful as they untangled knots. Geralt had hummed, leaned back into the touch. When all the knots were gone, Jaskier ran his fingers through Geralt’s hair, pressing into his scalp, tender. With a soft tug, he’d brought Geralt’s head back against the lip of the tub, eyes closed, neck exposed.

           “Do my eyes deceive me,” Jaskier had whispered, teasing, “or is a relaxed Witcher sitting before me?”

           Geralt growled, but he hadn’t moved.

           Jaskier’s voice suddenly became nearer, above. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” he’d murmured, just before his lips came down on Geralt’s forehead. Geralt had inhaled, sharp, but hadn’t moved. Lips drifted down, pressing over one eyelid, then the other.

           Geralt remembers that it hurt. The softness. Against the delicate skin of his eyelids, Jaskier had pressed with the barest of pressures, lips curved into a smile. Dangerous, Geralt had thought. To be held as a soft thing, even fleetingly, would cut him deeper than any monster he could encounter.

           Geralt’s slow heart had begun to tap. One of Jaskier’s hands released from Geralt’s hair, sliding down his chest to rest over the thump. “It’s alright, Geralt,” Jaskier had said, sweet, against Geralt’s ear, and Geralt’s heart had begun to slow.

           Jaskier’s lips hadn’t twitched.

           “Well, you didn’t waste much time,” Jaskier says, laughing, as he enters their shared room. Geralt opens his eyes. He watches Jaskier move about, settling, undoing the buttons of his doublet in the steamed heat. His hands move quickly, practiced, and the smooth roll of his shoulders as he shrugs out of the garment steals Geralt’s breath.

           Jaskier, oblivious, takes his seat on the bed, facing Geralt. His eyes, expectant, settle on Geralt, and he must stifle the shudder growing under his skin.

           “You promised details,” Jaskier says, pointing accusatorily. “I was a very good bard and stayed back as requested. So be the noble man I know you are and hold up your end of the deal.”

           Geralt huffs. Noble.

           Jaskier throws his hands up. “You were gone for a whole day more than expected, there must be something interesting that occurred.”

           Geralt returns his gaze for some moments, Jaskier unwavering. Geralt looks away. “There was a mage.”

           Jaskier sits up straighter. “Someone we know?”

           Geralt shakes his head. “Long dead.”

           Jaskier deflates mildly. “Oh.”

           “Ghoul meant to make a meal of the corpse. I tracked it to the mage’s home.”

           “A single ghoul?” The skepticism is tart in Jaskier’s tone.

           “The ghoul was simple.” Geralt looks back at Jaskier, his pursed frown. “The magic… less so.”

           Jaskier’s brow wrinkled. “Magic? How was there any magic left with the man dead for so long?”

           Geralt sighs. “Spells can outlive their casters, given the right conditions.”

           “So you were hit by a spell?” The alarm arises quickly, tainting the air with a metal taste. “We must get the healer or—or the town’s mage, what if it’s still in effect, what if—”

           “Jaskier.” Jaskier ceases his rambling, if not his panic. “The spell took effect, but it has passed.”

           “What was it? Did it – hurt?”

           “It created a dream. Of what I want most.”

           Jaskier’s eyebrows dance, his expression lightening. “I thought Witchers wanted for nothing,” he says, teasing.

           Geralt returns his gaze to the wall. Of all the things he wants for and refuses to name – good ale, good food, treats for Roach, silence, a regular bath, money – he knows not why the magic chose Jaskier. He tries not to be self-aware, if he can help it, but the answer looms on the edge of his mind and he refuses to look at it long enough to let it materialize.

           To end the dream, once he’d realized what it was, he had tried to wake himself up, with pain and shock. He ran about the fake room looking for items to prick himself with, the fake Jaskier following, worried. “Sit down, Geralt,” it kept saying. “Relax, please.”

           “You’re not real,” Geralt had growled, stabbing himself with a shard of broken mirror. He hadn’t dreamed himself a sword, otherwise he would’ve tried that.

           “Of course I’m real, Geralt, really, stop with this ridiculousness,” the mirage had said, and Geralt had been so – angry. With the mage, the magic, with himself, and he’d turned and slit the throat of the pleading dream, and he’d woken on the floor of a room, a dead ghoul and a dead mage flanking him either side.

           Danger looms on the edge of his awareness. The dream, for all its lies, had felt as real as anything, the blood warm on his hands, the wide shock in Jaskier’s eyes as he’d gasped, sound ringing in Geralt’s ears.

           He waits, now, for Jaskier to ask, prepares himself for stoicism. He will not tell Jaskier. He will not describe this for a ballad to be sung for drunken humans looking for bravery and heartbreak, vicarious. He will be silent, as he should have been before.

           “A mage certainly makes things interesting,” Jaskier says, humming. He drums his fingertips against his lips. “I could use something upbeat. It’s been so cold as of late, people need something to dance to.” He stands from the bed to retrieve his lute and begins to strum some notes, humming to himself.

           Geralt watches, silent. He slows his breathing until the only thoughts remaining in his mind are of the heat that remains in the bath and Jaskier’s soft singing. He sinks deeper into the water, closing his eyes. He allows himself one more thought before drifting far enough for silence to enclose his mind. This, he thinks, this is good.

[summer-time]

! UPDATE !

The 14 chapter of "The Ballad of the Boiling Sun and the Death Wolf" is up!

[summer-time]

OSWC2022 - DAY SIXTEEN: Familiar

Fandoms: Game of Thrones / ASOIAF Pairings: Ian Moone and Ned Stark Tags: this is an out-take of my fic "The Ballad of the Boiling Sun and the Death Wolf". Here, Ian took place of his daughter Alyanna Snow after a head wound.

It was a snowy morning, the sun barely warmer at that hour and often covered up by the grey clouds in the sky; the path, going into the heart of the Godswood, was cleared of the night snow, but still, some ice remained, making the soil slippery. Ned took careful steps, a few birds singing softly: he was going to make his morning prayers, and then he would start his day with a family breaking his fast with the sausages Robb had talked about the day before.

When he reached the Heart Tree, Ned was surprised to see his oldest daughter observing the Gods' face, red streaks of tears running peacefully down the tree. And unlike him with his warm cloak, Ian had on barely a dress that could be called one.

"Ian!" - Ned called, nearly scandalized by the improper clothing and fearful about how Ian could catch a cold fever if she remained outside without warmer clothes. The girl turned around, slightly smiling at him, before gesturing at something in the trees: with a little cry, Horus landed on her shoulder, coming from a branch of a near tree.

"Good morning, Lord Eddard." - she always called him that. No Lord Stark, like Alyanna did when in public, or Father when in private. Only Lord Eddard, no more. And Ned could understand that, but it still pained him, even after a month passed by her return to Winterfell. "Aren't you cold? Here, let me give you my cloak." - Ian accepted his cape without responding, only an amused expression on her face.

"You do realize I don't feel much the cold, do you?" "This doesn't mean you shouldn't wear warm clothes." - he muttered, smiling a little when she snorted at his words. Even her bird shrieked, sounding as amused as its mistress: Ned pointedly tried to ignore the flashing grey color in the bird's yellow eyes, a sign that part of Ian's mind was still dormant in the bird.

Ian was a cold creature, efficient like her bonded animal. Alyanna was dead, but this stranger could be her daughter too.

[summer-time]

Sorry to seem rude, but will you be updating The Ballad of the Boiling Sun and the Death Wolf

Hello dear!

I will absolutely finish The Ballad, and I intend to return to post semi regularly from late September/starting October (give or take some days) for all my other stories.

I know the story went on hiatus for a long time, and I'm sorry for it, but unfortunately real life problems + university are my number one priority (I WISH I could write all day sigh).

Thank you for reading it!

[summer-time]

I really don't know what to say.

I never would have imagined that someday one of my work would reach so many people, to be so accepted and loved.

Writing for me is an escape from real life, a way to lose stress, and be creative. I love writing, I always have. When I challenged myself into write in English five years ago, it was hard: I couldn't find words, I couldn't write a sentence without enormous mistakes, my wording never seem to be good enough. I refuse to post anything until I was at least a little bit confident, and even now I know I have much to learn and to improve.

So thank you, all of you. "The Ballad of the Boiling Sun and the Death Wolf" is now my most popular work, and it is because of you. Who took time to read my chapters, left kudos, comments and bookmarks.

Thank you 💖

And to celebrate more than 10000 hits, I will post some picrew arts I have for Ian in the following week, with a short description of what I would write for them. It will be fun and my inbox is always open for you!

[summer-time]

Thank you darling for the tag @deliahscrush2003 😘

Favourite colour: orange, baby!

Currently reading: the HP series "Of a Linear Circle" by the amazing @flamethrower (who I can't tag idk whyyyy)

Last song: "What you know" by Two Door Cinema Club

Last series: ANDOR (IT'S SOOO GOOD!)

Last movie: Moonage Daydream (not my type of film, but I appreciate it nonetheless)

Sweet/spicy/savoury: savoury

Currently working on: the next chapter of my fic "The Ballad of the Boiling Sun and the Death Wolf"

Tagging: @tired-reader-writer @irishgodfucker and whoever wants to join!

[summer-time]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you’ve written, then pass on to at least five other writers (◠‿◠✿) (if you feel like it!!)

Hi dear! My favourite fics are in this order - at least for now lol:

The Ballad of the Boiling Sun and the Death Wolf

The Ballad of Ian of the Snow

A War is Coming

Searching for warmth (in blood and fur alike)

Suggestion

[summer-time]

WIP Tag Game

Rules: Post all the WIPs currently in your drive. Send me an ask about something that interests you and I’ll tell you something about it!  

Thank you @deliahscrush2003 my love!

No pressure tag: @galacticgraffiti @rayshippouuchiha and everybody that want to join!

Searching for warmth (in blood and fur alike)

The Ballad of the Boiling Sun and the Death Wolf

The Crumbs AU

[summer-time]

hello my darling, can i get a “next” for the writer ask game? 🌞

Hello my dear, thank you for the ask!

"Ian? Are you ready?" - the muffled voice of Lord Eddard, coming behind the wooden door, broke through her mind, and the girl hurried to finish the last touches on her face. Fine white powder on her cheeks, a little dark pink paint on her lips, and the last pins to keep her rebel hair in check.

From the next chapter of my fic: "The Ballad of the Boiling Sun and the Death Wolf".

[summer-time]

👀 Sneak peek 👀

Little spoiler for "The Ballad of the Boiling Sun and the Death Wolf"

He suppressed an irritated sigh: he wanted this circus to be over so they could move on and finally eat.

His eyes landed near the Stark's table, where the Lord Stark and his daughters were quietly talking. For a brief moment his gaze wandered over the pretty little redhead, a cute child in a sweet light grey gown; then he watched the bastard girl, wondering why on all that was holy Stark decided to take her with him.

She was somehow nice to look at, hair pulled over in a simple tight braid with a deep dove grey gown. He examined her face, first scowling lightly at the ugly scar on her left eye, then freezing when her iced eyes landed on him.

He felt a shiver going down his spine, the room suddenly freezing. He couldn't breath. And then, as the cold bite left his body without anyone realising something was wrong, his eyes widened at the sign of her wide smirk.

Guess who? 😏

[summer-time]

OC ASKS: Has Ian Moone ever been in love? If not, will she ever fall in love?

Ian has fallen in love, yes!

It doesn't happen often: she likes to keep people both close to her heart and away from it, but sometimes people happen to infiltrate under her skin, under her defenses, and catch her heart.

Ian recognizes almost immediately when she starts to gravitate around that particular person, for she wants to spend time with them, to be seen as Ian and not Azrael - she wants them to love her as the girl under the Angel.

It would be tortuous, and she likely will fight herself to hide and suppress her emotions. She knows it will be for nothing (because when she gives her loyalty, the girl is loyal no matter what), and Ian can feel the future pain of them leaving her like everybody else - independently if she dies first or they will.

But she is so alone, always roaming along with the Universes, and so she let herself fall in love because it's nice when she is taken care of: Ian likes when someone sees her under all her armor and thick skin.

Her first lover is Prince Moran Martell - from my fic "The Ballad of the Boiling Sun and the Death Wolf" - and, guys, it's a love story, yes, but is also a tragedy in the making.

[summer-time]

OC ASKS: How do you think Ian would react to a love confession?

Oh boy.

If the person isn't a friend/one person Ian knows -->

the girl is not interested in prolonging the agony: she will bluntly tell you that no, she is not interested and that she is sorry for causing pain. Stop. Then - if she can - Ian will try to avoid that person, because she doesn't want to rub her presence in their face.

If the person is a friend but Ian doesn't reciprocate -->

Eh, Ian doesn't like this scenario. She will discuss things over, to understand if this is a simple crush or something deeper. But Ian can't change how she feels, and she will tell them, explaining that she is sorry, so sorry, but she doesn't feel the same and she probably never will.

She will ask to that person what they want to do: she will back off immediately if they don't want to see her anymore (it would hurt to lose the friendship but better than to see them dead. Much better).

If Ian has the same feelings -->

This is difficult, because Ian already lost so much! She fears losing more and more people, fears watching them dying in front of her. But she can't help, she is human (she always be human, no matter the Universe) and so she form connections. And she can fall in love.

She will panic at first, not understanding how and when and why - but she will straight out her feelings in a matter of a week or two. And then panic again, because Helloooo how do I talk?? No hablas English here only some kind of mixed languages??? (Poor Ian, she can speak nearly 9 languages and she mix them all the time when nervous)

And if there is a confession, she will go on full denial. Oh yes, the first thing in Ian's mind is denial because how can someone fall for her? She is a walking disaster.

There will be a deep need of reassurance from the other person that yes, Ian is worth falling in love with, and they will love her even at her darkest.

Ah, this is a scene I can't wait to write for my fic "The Ballad of the Boiling Sun and the Death Wolf" 😏 angst all the way baby!

[summer-time]

For personal health reason, the updates for the fics "The Ballad of the Boiling Sun and the Death Wolf" & "Searching for warmth (in blood and fur alike)" will be delayed.

The new chapters will be up as soon as possible.

[summer-time]

The new chapter of "The Ballad of the Boiling Sun and the Death Wolf" is up!