gunnar-of-valhalla
Warrior of valhalla
F17 | the witcher | assassins creed | Eivor Wolfsmal | the wheel of time | Lord of the rings | marvel |
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Title: A Good Day
Pairing: m!Eivor x Reader
Rating: T
Summary: A good night needs the perfect day.
header pic by @jaegers-and-kaijus
THE MORNING AIR is warm and filled with birdsong. Eivor adjusts the weight of his axes and bow, pushing the sleeves of his tunic up above his elbows as he treks farther into the dense forest of Anglia. Crops had been sewn and in honor of the first harvest from new soil, he had called for a celebration. Now he hunts for the unfortunate beast who will be at the center of the table —boar or deer, either will be roasted on a spit and devoured.
Ahead is a small clearing and a spring of crisp water surrounded by stone and trickling out as a small stream. Mingled with the sound of water bubbling from the earth is a familiar voice humming a song —soft and sweet. Eivor nears the spring and kneels in the thicket, smiling to himself. So, this is where she ran off to so early, he thinks after having woke to an empty bed. He shifts, moving a branch and peers over the short rock wall.
Spread out on several of the rocks are yours and Eivor’s clothes, freshly mended and scrubbed after helping work in the fields and now drying in the summer sun. You could have returned all the garments to the reed-basket and returned to the settlement, but the cool water is inviting after a hard morning’s work. Stepping down into the pool, you let out a long sigh —leaning back against a smooth stone. Slipping from your shift, you set to washing it and leaving it to dry over a rock too.
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those witcher boys seem to be very close friends
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Marvel Studios presents: Loki of Asgard as pictures i’ve tagged as “mood”
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drunk!geralt
I’m hopelessly hung up on this repressed mess. I have no decent excuse.
Warnings: drinking, heavy drinking, nothing else, unless you dont like tickling?
Summary: Geralt is a cute little goofball when hes drunk and I will fight everyone over this. He. Is. A. Happy. Drunk.
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“One, two, three, four, five, six, uh… seven, eight… nine. No! Ten.” Geralt proudly counted out how many drinks he’d had for the night on his fingers. You’d only sat down at the bar two hours ago.
You just shook your head in amazement, raising your voice to be heard over the rather pitchy bard in the corner, “You forgot the one in front of you.”
His face lit up as if you’d just told him a salacious secret, “Eleven?”
“There it is.” you raised your own glass, only number four, in salute to his mathematical accomplishments.
He toasted you back and chugged the full mug before you could take a sip, “Let’s make it twelve!” he rumbled.
You frantically signaled to the bartender not to listen to him and grabbed his hand, “How about we drink water for a little bit?”
“Water in these parts tastes like clay. More alcohol.”
“Only if you go upstairs and drink some clay water.” You bargained. You knew as soon as you got him in the room he would forget about his next drink. Getting him there was the tricky part.
He flattened both hands on the table, leaning back and squinting his eyes at you, “No.”
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the water i’m wading in
notes: i’m in it now, lads. idk what *gestures at this whole post* this is, but it’s here i guess. this was supposed to be smut lol. probs a bit too soft for geralt but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i just really needed to get this out of my head. imma go scream into my hands ljsldfjsldf
title is from lykke li’s ‘i follow rivers’
rating: teen. fluff, but geralt still has a terrible mouth and also maybe a lil bit melancholy.
pairing: geralt x gender neutral reader
word count: 1.3k
a Witcher’s burden is heavy, and the world’s touch can be exhausting, but you will always let him rest.
He’s tired.
The exhaustion rolls off him like morning mist, soft and suffocating. Geralt drops his spaulders to the floor as you rise from your spot by the hearth.
You had thought you’d seen him as tired as he could get. Thought you’d seen it all - injured, energy depleted, a hunt gone wrong, a creature that was no monster slain without reason - but today, there is a weariness to him that is foreign, a skeleton sketch beneath his skin.
He is a statue come to life, living, breathing stone, hard-edged and heavy and achingly delicate. Statues shatter too, you know, are worn down by the world around them, eroded by existence.
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OH I actually got an idea so Eivor being a “lone-wolf” that’s another information I’ve read and the reader just LOOVES annoying him and shit gets heated-fluffy-and something i kinda love these kind of stuff 😤plz make eivor a lil bit “grumpy” but In a good way I just love grumpy boys 🙂AND THANK YOU💕✌️
Hi nonny, sorry this took so long, I hope you enjoy it! inspiration taken from wild convos with @jaegers-and-kaijus
EIVOR GLANCES OVER his shoulder and breathes out a heavy sigh. You’d given away your presence by stepping on a twig on the narrow trail and snapping it. Turning, he crosses his arms with pursed lips. “I told you to stay with the others at the settlement,” he chides as gently as he can, though annoyance still seeps into his tone.
Stopping in front of him, you put your hands on your hips and puff out your chest. “Stay here with the womenfolk, it’s dangerous out there,” you say, trying your best to imitate the timbre of Eivor’s voice. He hadn’t said those words per se, but it is what he had meant. It isn’t that Eivor doubts your prowess or skills, only that Anglia is still a foreign land with many secrets and dangers. The settlement had lost its kennel master and his pack of hounds to bears not even a fortnight ago.
His lips twitch upward, threatening to turn his frown into a poor smile. “It’ll be like old times,” Eivor remarks, motioning for you to come along with him. It will feel like old times, before the wars between chieftains to choose a true king and unify Norway. Too many of your people had died for the cause and when Eivor would not submit to King Harald’s reign, he took his people to safety —to Anglia.
“Here,” Eivor murmurs his warm breath tickling your neck, hand resting on your bent draw arm, “lower this arm.” He presses down, eyes still narrowed on the deer grazing in a small forest clearing —a fine meal to bring back to the village. “Release,” he says. You let the arrow go, sucking in a large gulp of air as it whistled through the crisp air. A soft thunk is followed by a louder thud when the deer collapses. Eivor had felt his heart stop when you looked back at him with a bright smile. The thought of one of your first hunts together brings a faint smile to his lips, though he does not let you see.
Old times you muse with a smile, trodding alongside him. Eivor had always been one to keep to himself, but that did not detract from his ability to be a leader among men —strong and just. A leader who would fight his own battles and lay down his life if need be, but he was always trying to prove something —to himself and others. Eivor has nothing to prove to you, though. He is among your oldest friends and besides Sýnin, you are one of his only confidants. You can think fondly on old times, but you are excited to learn what this new life holds.
“Why’d you really follow me?” Eivor asks, his prior annoyance turned to mirth. In truth, he is glad to have your company —the burden of leadership among other duties has kept the two of you apart for many days. You give a small shrug, playing off the knot twisting in your stomach and heart as indifference. Eivor holds his arm out, stopping you in your tracks and raises a finger to his lips.
The forest is dark and deep and silent. You glance up at the canopy searching for Sýnin, but the raven is not to be found. Eivor reaches behind his back, freeing one of his axes and your reach of the hilt of the blade on your belt —nervous.
“Stay close,” he whispers, inching farther into the wilderness. He stops again after several steps. Now the silence is replaced with a low rumble —growling. A dark shadow moves in the underbrush. The black wolf bolts from its cover, teeth bared and jaws snapping. Neither of you notices the second, larger beast until it latches onto Eivor’s back. Sending them both rolling through the thicket in a blur of grey fur and brown leather —out of sight into a gully.
The black wolf surges, swiping its massive paw across your leg —claws sinking into your thigh. You scream at the burst of searing pain, slashing at the beast until the point of your blade sinks into its side. It rears back with a high-pitched yelp. You step back, foot catching on an upturned root. Just as you begin falling, the wolf leaps.
Eivor pulls himself from the gully and glances around. When he sees both you and beast unmoving, his heart seizes. He pushes the wolf’s corpse aside and kneels, laying his hand against your bloody cheek. “Damn you,” he curses, shaking his head even as you smile at him. At first glance, most of the blood belongs to the wolf, but Eivor notices the ripped fabric at your thigh and frowns. “You should have listened,” he tells you, inspecting the three long, bloody tears in your skin.
“When have I ever?” You counter, laughing as he slips his arms around your shoulders and beneath your knees lifting and cradling you against his chest. “I can still walk, you know,” you tease. Eivor rolls his clear blue eyes, unable to hide the smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He’ll take this as an excuse to keep you close.
ANOTHER KETTLE OF water hangs over the fire for a bath. Eivor kneels in front of you, wet cloth in hand. Solveig had already collected your tattered britches to patch —besides a night shift and wool dress they were the only pair you had for now. He wipes away the dirt and blood, pleased to find the wounds were not deep —stitching or burning would not be needed, just a good cleaning and fresh binding. Eivor’s rough but gentle hands linger longer than needed.
He rises from the ground, tossing the dirtied cloth into the washbasin before fetching the kettle of steaming water and dumping it into the wooden tub. Eivor motions to the hot bath and averts her gaze until he hears the sloshing of water followed by a soft, content sigh.
“Eivor,” you call, twisting around to see him looking at the scratches on his back —his tunic and jerkin hanging over the back of a chair. He makes a low rumble of acknowledgment, quickly glancing over his shoulder. A flush of color is on your cheeks, though you can blame it on the water and steam. “There’s enough room for two,” you tell him, motioning around at the tub. He hesitates but gives in to his heart’s desire.
Water sloshes over the wooden sides when he slips into the tub, sitting in front of you, knees brushing together with yours. You lean toward him —scrubbing away the dried blood from a scratch on his shoulder. He shifts, straightening his legs, and draws you to him by the waist. Every time you’ve ever been this close to him, your heart skips several beats. He’s a good man, a good leader, my closest friend you think, and I love him. You drop the sponge and take his face into your hands, fingers deftly combing through his beard and tracing the scar on his cheek. “Eivor,” you murmur, “I have something to tell you.”
Eivor strokes your cheek with the back of his hand, fingers trailing over your neck and back into your hair. A soft smile on his lips lights up a twinkle in his eyes —softer than even a summer sky. “So do I,” he admits, feeling a fool for not acting on his heart’s wishes sooner. Eivor had tried convincing himself he was better off alone, but he is stronger with you.
He draws in a deep breath and so do you. “I love you,” you both say at the same time. For a moment it doesn’t feel real, but warmth and elation fill your heart and his. Eivor tilts his chin up as you bend forward, pressing your lips to his. One of his arms wraps around your waist, bringing you flush against him —his beard tickling your cheek. The break lasts only a moment and when Eivor’s lips brush against yours for a second time, you can feel his smile.
You lay your head on his shoulder, following the outline of the dark tattoo on his chest —a serpent consuming its tail— while he hums, fingers running up and down your spine. “Skatt mitt,” he breathes when the water grows tepid, he still needs to bind your leg. Eivor wraps his arms around you, rising from the bath and places you on a chair by the hearth, moving to gather a clean strip of linen. With a fresh bandage, he wraps the two of you in a roughspun blanket before the fire. It had always felt right when he wrapped you in his arms, but now it feels like home.
“I want every day to be like this,” you tell him, leaning farther into his chest.
He laughs softly, kissing your temple —arms tightening around you. “As long as there aren’t wolves every day,” he mutters, earning a chuckle from you too. This Eivor thinks this is a good life.
@withered-poppies @ananriel @britishhotassassin
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Today’s aesthetic: Tumblr blogs where the username is a reference to one fandom, the owner’s avatar is a character from a second, unrelated fandom, their incredibly overdesigned theme is based on a third fandom, and none of their recent posts have anything to do with any of them.
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It’s penned out neat and proper — when isn’t it? Another thank-you letter from Haytham. A wax-stamped token of his gratitude that’s soon to join the other dozens bound together with twine in your desk drawer. It’s a sweet, if not formally fussy, tangible reminder of his care and consideration for you.
But upon opening this letter, something seems decidedly different.
My dearest friend,
I should hope the heading of this letter does not ill-fit its closing.
Since the beginnings of our companionship, I have been able to call upon you time and time again. And with unerring and unflinching sentiments you have responded. I have not often had someone quite like you in my life – someone I trust to a degree that almost frightens. During my most trying times you have been a pillar of indestructible reliability, and I can only hope I have been something similar for you.
Constantly, my thoughts wander to our time spent together. Had my mind afforded me reprieve from you for even one evening this letter may not have arrived, may not have existed.
Your friendship with me is more than I have ever expected and it kindles a heat within me. Much as I have tried to smother these flames or reason them away, they burn on. What is left in me is a charred fragility I’ve not come to know. If this is love then I am a fool to present it so poorly.
I only know that I have an insatiable want for more. To be more to you. More than your pillar, someone closer than a friend. To be the one in your life you would call your own.
I wish to become your home, that we may hold each other steady and need never feel unstable. I would have you know my heart as well as I know yours, that we feel our deepest connections even continents apart.
With the tenth quill resharpened and hundredth crumbled parchment I ask you to offer me relief from this vexation.
Do you return these affections, friend that I may one day call lover?
With a heart growing impossibly fonder,
Haytham E. Kenway
Decidedly different, indeed.
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Eivor: right so the universe is all centred around this giant fucking interdimensional space tree, and Earth is at one of its roots, and it grows up through all these other realms with like giants and shit in them, and the gods live in the two at the top
Alexios: fuck uhh the gods live on that hill right over there lol
based on this post
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if eivor isn't a himbo i'm throwing hands
the muscle mass vs brain ratio better be so unbalanced he thinks assassins are some kind of fruit
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HELP A BLACK WOMAN PAY FOR SCHOOL 🥺
Hi Hi! I’m raising tuition money for my junior year of college! Any little bit helps since I’ve been furloughed from my primary job due to COVID-19! please SHARE SHARE SHARE (and donate if you can :))
https://www.gofundme.com/f/w3dhkg-tuition-money?utm_medium=email&utm_source=product&utm_campaign=p_email%2B3201-24hr-reminder-v5
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Through Time to You: Masterpost
Chapter 1: You Know What They Say About History Repeating Itself
Chapter 2: Salty Waters
Chapter 3: That Ship Has Sailed A Long Time Ago
Chapter 4: There May Be Trouble Ahead
Chapter 5: Invitations And Rejections
Chapter 6: Something Found, Something Lost Part 1
Chapter 7: Something Found, Something Lost Part 2
Chapter 8: In With The New
Chapter 9: Let’s Play
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In need of healing Masterlist
Pairings: Geralt of Rivia x Reader
Summary: Being in love with a witcher is not easy, especially when comparing yourself to a beautiful sorceress.
A/N: This is an ongoing series that I’ve yet to decide how many chapters it’ll have. The taglist is open.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
…
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ICE made a decision to order all international students whose universities are online to leave the country or risk facing immigration consequences and getting deported which essentially means that students will have to decide between leaving the US or risk their health. many countries don’t even have their borders open and some people may not even have places to go so please sign this petition which requests that international students get the option to finish their degrees and remain in the USA
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Úlfur Minn Masterlist
Total Word Count: 13,137
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Alternate Ending
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Just a reminder that Kaz Brekker has dimples.
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