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mischiefandmedicine · 14 days

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Very Full - Chapter 15: Shallow

Summary: Melara breaks things off with Loki.

Word Count: 2,758 words.

Chapter Warnings: Anger/angst, arguement.

Soundtrack Link

This Chapter's Music Inspiration:

Shallow sung by Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper

Very Full MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

A/N: Reminder that I do not own the rights to the lyrics.

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

Saoirse’s eyes darkened as she eyed her father. “Likely story, Loki. You always have an answer for everything and that’s what you said to her before dropping her off in the sickbay and disappearing again?”

“It’s what happened, daughter,” Loki said through clenched teeth.

Silence blanketed the father-daughter duo for a few moments before Saoirse dared to confront Loki again. “So tell me more, because I know that’s not the only argument you had just before she died?”

Loki’s eyes widened as he snapped his gaze to Saoirse, “You knew about that?”

“Of course, I knew,” Saoirse jabbed. “I heard her talking about it.”

“With who?” Loki shot back.

“Clint.”

“That…,” Loki stopped himself. If he were to continue to make progress toward his relationship with Saoirse, he would not be able to insult the man she thought of as a surrogate father. He looked up in the direction of his throne, seemingly cross with the universe and himself.

Saoirse raised an eyebrow, amused at the fact that Loki, the god of mischief and lies – or certainly the god of half-truths – had been rendered nearly speechless. “Listen, Loki,” she sighed heavily, shoulders adjusting before continuing. “I know Mom was everything to you. But really, what did you two argue about? It changed her…it changed everything.”

“I…,” he shrugged, “fucked up.”

***

At the very edge of existence, where time unfolds like an infinite tapestry, Loki, the erstwhile God of Mischief, now the weary steward of chronology, sat enshrouded in the vast silence of the void. The fabric of reality stretched before him, a complex weave of possibilities, each thread a life, a choice, a world. And there, amidst the myriad strands, one thread burned brighter than the rest – a golden arc that bore the essence of Melara and Saoirse.

This singular branch of time, suffused with the fierce light of their existence, grew rampant, unchecked by the usual cold decree of the Time Variance Authority. It was a living testament to the will of Melara, and it thrived, consuming the adjacent threads in a conflagration of potentiality. Each moment it spread, timelines vanished, snuffed out like candles in a tempest.

Surely, in the time before Loki had taken his throne, Melara might have been considered a threat to the Sacred Timeline. She would have been taken through the same portal, through the same halls he had once walked through with Mobius and Sylvie at his side. Melara would have been brought before someone like Judge Renslayer and would have been pruned before she had even met Loki that night in the bar.

Or, perhaps, if she had not met Loki, she would have been spared.

Loki, once the harbinger of fire and chaos himself, found his resolve tested as never before. He had reveled in the disorder of the multiverse, had danced in the dissonance of fractured realities. But this – this was anathema to him. For the branch that surged with destructive life was not just any sequence of events; it was the one that cradled his heart.

With hands that could conjure worlds and ruin them just as swiftly, he hovered over the expanse, the light of the branching timeline casting an otherworldly glow upon his features. His eyes, ancient and deep as the cosmos itself, reflected a storm of conflict. To intervene could mean salvation; it could also mean annihilation. The balance of the multiverse teetered on the brink of his will.

How easy it would have been to let it be, to watch as the fire that was Melara and Saoirse’s existence consumed all. Yet, within him, a battle raged – a war between the duty he had to the cosmos and the love that tied him to that perilous branch of time.

He recalled the words of Melara, her voice a melody that could quell the rage of stars. She had spoken of choice, of destiny, of the threads we weave with our actions. And Saoirse, his child, his legacy – she was the embodiment of that indomitable spirit.

To watch her timeline burn through existence was to watch her very essence claim the multiverse as its stage. Yet, the cost was too great, the risk too dire. The branching timeline was a pyre, and he, in his love and his fear, was the one to feed it or extinguish it.

Loki rose, his silhouette etched against the backdrop of time. With a gesture, a snap of the fingers, he could prune the branch, and reset the balance. But to do so would be to prune his heart, to cut away the part of himself that, against all his nature, had found something worth preserving.

The decision weighed upon him like the gaze of the Norns, the fates who spin and measure and cut the threads of life. In the silence that stretched like an eternity, he felt the weight of every life that hung in the balance, every timeline that flickered in the shadow of the one he cherished.

He turned away, a figure torn between worlds, his cloak a banner of his turmoil. “No more,” he whispered to the void, to the watchers unseen, to the daughter he so loved. “I will find another way.”

And with those words, he set himself upon a path that wound through the labyrinth of time, seeking a solution that would spare the branch, that would save the flame of Melara and Saoirse. For in his heart, a new resolve had kindled – a resolve to protect, to preserve, to love not in absence, but in the very face of the end of all things.

Thus, the god of stories, once feared and reviled, became the guardian of the most precious narrative of all – the story of a woman and her daughter, whose lives had become the center of his universe, the core of his very being. At that moment, at the precipice of time, Loki transcended his own legend and became something more – a father, a protector, a figure of myth who would defy fate itself for the ones he loved.

But it was there, beneath the ebon shroud of the cosmos, that Loki sat, towering above it all on his throne, the Asgardian god of mischief, etched against the endless void. He stayed silent in counsel with himself, his thoughts a torrent of celestial quagmire, when the fabric of reality quivered, pulling him away. It was Melara, her image flickering, a projection across the bounds of space and time, come to parley like the few times she had before.

“Loki!” her voice, a meld of defiance and desperation, pierced the silence that enveloped the end of all things.

He turned her way, his countenance a mix of dread and longing. “Melara, haven’t I warned you against this?” he asked, his voice bearing the horror of seeing her after their recent spat. “The strain it places upon you is too great; it nearly took both you and Saoirse from me the last time.”

Melara had requested more time with him, perhaps even projecting herself to be at the throne, because Loki often found himself occupied with fighting the branches of time he had to rescue from entanglement with hers. He wanted to protect Melara, instead, she felt that he had overreacted.

Here and now, Melara stood firm, her spectral form radiant and indignant. “I won’t be coddled like a child,” she retorted, her eyes blazing, rivaling the stars themselves. “Nor will I be swayed from seeking you out. My path is mine to choose, Loki, not yours to dictate.”

Their discourse was a tempest, a clash of wills as old as the stars that bore witness to their strife. Loki, with a wave of his hand, summoned the threads of time, displaying the singed skein that burned out of control as the result of Melara’s last visit. “Look! Look at the cost of your stubbornness,” he implored, “what it did to you and the strands of time.”

Loki’s eyes were glassy with the tears that formed thinking about how weak Melara had been during Saoirse’s birth. He thought of how he and Evelyn fought over what they should do to support Melara as she recovered – both from the encounter and finally the birth.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered. His visage now a canvas of torment, turned away. “You cannot comprehend the burden of my station here, ‘Lara. My charge is to the whole of existence, not solely to the desires of…”

“Your heart?” Melara interjected, her words cutting through his protestations. “Is it so burdensome to admit that your heart, too, yearns for the warmth of companionship?”

“It’s not that easy, love,” he pleaded.

“You hide behind the opulence of your station. You use this duty to the multiverse as a shield against the vulnerabilities of love and attachment. I thought we were past this!” she yelled.

Loki’s eyes widened, unsure of how to continue. “I have made so many sacrifices. For you, for us, for…Saoirse…but most of all for the greater good. You have no idea what I gave up to become the kind of god I needed to be.”

Melara’s projection wavered, the strain of her presence at the end of time manifesting as cracks upon her visage. “Then perhaps it is time I made my way without you,” she declared, her voice quivering with a potent mix of fury and sorrow. “If your burdens are so great, Loki, be unburdened by me.”

Loki reached out, his hand passing through her flickering form. “Melara, do not be rash,” he pleaded, the edge of panic in his voice.

But she was resolute. “No, Loki. I will seek my own destiny, one not overshadowed by your constant lamentations. I’ve been doing just fine without you anyway!”

And with that, she severed the connection, her image dissipating like mist at dawn. Loki stood alone once more, his heart a chasm from which no trickery could salvage him.

***

Saoirse’s voice rose, a tempest unleashed, as she confronted Loki, “And that was it?!” The words echoed with a palpable mix of shock and betrayal, her disbelief at how readily he had seemingly abandoned Melara.

Loki’s countenance remained a mask of calm indifference, a stark contrast to the maelstrom before him. “You know how your mother is…” he began, attempting to explain the unexplainable.

“Was, asshole!” Saoirse corrected fiercely, the past tense searing through the conversation like a blade. Her use of ‘was’ hammered home the reality of her loss.

Loki’s façade cracked, a flicker of pain in his eyes betraying his aloof demeanor. “Indeed, Melara possessed a spirit that defied containment. I thought granting her the solitude she sought would allow time for tempers to cool, for a reconciliation I desperately hoped for. Never did I think…” His voice faltered, the words dissolving into the silent void.

Saoirse’s anger did not abate. “Well, guess who was left to pick up the pieces?” she demanded.

Silence was Loki’s only retort, a heavy, tangible thing that settled between them.

“Me!” Saoirse declared with a venomous thrust, punctuating her solitary burden. Yet, after a moment’s reflection, her expression shifted, a wry smile playing upon her lips as she added, “Well, Clint too…”

The mention of Clint brought a subtle shift to the conversation as Saoirse told her side of the aftermath.

***

After the projection faded, Melara found herself alone, the silence of her quarters in the Avengers compound pressing against her. The ghost of Loki’s presence still lingered as she wrapped her arms around herself, as if to hold together the pieces of her broken heart. Though she and Loki had their differences – he a god, as he often reminded her, and she a mere mortal – and it certainly had not been the first time she thought she had washed her hands of Loki. This time felt different to her.

Melara took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with the effort of trying to dispel the turmoil within. She was tired of fighting, of trying to bridge the gap between her world and Loki’s. She needed something to anchor her, something real and tangible. That’s when the distant strumming of a guitar reached her, drawing her out of her room.

Clint Barton sat in the common room, his fingers coaxing a melody from the strings. Melara approached, drawn to the comfort of the familiar sound.

He looked up, his eyes kind and knowing. “Everything alright, Melara?” he asked, his voice the embodiment of solace.

She shook her head, the turmoil within her begging for release. “Loki and I…we had a…disagreement,” she confessed, the words heavy on her tongue.

Clint patted the seat beside him, an invitation. “Want to talk about it?”

Melara sat, the proximity to Clint and his music calming her frayed spirit. “He’s so far away, Clint. Not just in distance, but in understanding. He’s lost in his duty, and I…I can’t compete. How could I ask him to give up such an important task?” Her voice faltered, the pain of the argument still raw.

Clint listened, his presence a silent strength as she poured out her heart. When she finished, he simply strummed a few chords before speaking. “Loki’s always been a hard read, even when he was in my head. But he’s not the only one with a story to tell, Melara. You’ve got your own, and it’s worth singing about. I’ve heard your songs.”

Encouraged by his words, Melara smiled. “Hey, I recognize this song.”

Clint returned the smile, picking the strings gently, the tones echoing off the stark concrete like a concert hall. He fell silent as he played the opening chords to a song that Melara knew well. What surprised her the most was when Clint opened his mouth to sing:

Tell me something, girl. Are you happy in this modern world? Or do you need more? Is there something that you’re searching for? I’m falling. In all the good times I find myself, Longing for change, And in the bad times, I fear myself.

Clint’s eyes sparkled as he seemingly reflected on the years past when he truly did fear himself, the darkness that had followed during the blip when he had lost his family. He knew the pain Melara felt in Loki’s absence. He also knew how Saoirse longed for her father to be more present. As he played, he turned his head as if to tell Melara to join.

Tell me something, boy. Aren’t you tired tryin’ to fill that void? Or do you need more? Ain’t it hard keepin’ it so hardcore? I’m falling. In all the good times I find myself, Longing for a change. And in the bad times, I fear myself.

The music was a testament to her resolve, to the path she would forge on her own terms. She sat up taller, stretching her arms and fingers wide, singing to the heavens above, hoping that Loki could still hear her voice.

I’m off the deep end, watch as I dive in, I’ll never meet the ground. Crash through the surface, where they can’t hurt us, We’re far from the shallow now.

Their harmonies echoed off the walls sweetly as they leaned into each other, bittersweet smiles.

In the sha-ha, sha-hallow, In the sha-ha, sha-la-la-la-low In the sha-ha, sha-hallow We're far from the shallow now.

As the last note faded, Melara felt a sense of clarity. She leaned closer, her forehead meeting his. “Thank you, Clint,” she whispered, a smile gracing her lips despite the tears that lingered in her eyes. Between friends, this tender moment left Melara aching for Loki. Clint pulled away from her, nodding knowingly. “Anytime, Melara. You and Saoirse, you’re family.”

She rose, feeling the weight of her encounter with Loki still upon her shoulders, but tempered now by the support of her friend. “I think I’ll go see Saoirse,” she murmured, her spirit lifted by the prospect.

Clint watched her go, his guitar cradled in his lap. In the chords and the quiet, he had offered solace, and in doing so, had reaffirmed the bonds that held their unlikely family together.

***

“She never knew that I had watched her singing with Clint. I ran back to my room and pretended that I had been asleep. And mom tucked me in, kissing my forehead for the last time at the compound…” With the last word, Saoirse’s angst fell away, giving way to tears that pooled in her glowing eyes as she thought of the events leading to her mother’s death.

---

Taglist: @mischief2sarawr

#loki masterlist #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki marvel #loki #loki series #loki x reader #tva loki

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blaubrise · 4 months

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Next Spring.

Marseille, a place where people say a good mother will be born here. A place where you can hear a ring of Ia Bonne Mère's old bell every morning. A place where you can hear the least terns sing along with the waves. Marseille, a place where people say love will last after a long road from Bordeaux. Dazzling city who can't shine brighter then it love, Paris.

Humming sound woke me up, sighing when I looked out at the window.

The dimming sunshine augurs the day will come to the end, leaving the golden sky with clouds full of twilight dust. The bluish flush above this lively sphere leisurely fading into an afterglow. The alluring azure waiting for the coming of the evening, whispering their sorrow under the halcyon of the heaven. Breeze of dusk turned grey along with the clock pointing at the five, harbingering the night will come.

"Saoirse, the snow will fall tonight. Come downstairs and open your first December gift."

Saoirse Primrose. When the first rose blooms in spring like a freedom, you'll fall in love with me. That's what my mom told me about my name. Sometimes when I see a bluebell, my heart aches. I know my mom will name my little brother after it. Because freedom and gratitude always comes together, sadly it is never happen to _us._

"Here come my dearest Irse. Happy snow day, dear. You are pretty, as always."

"Happy snow day, aunty Marry. Thank you for the gift."

My hands are full with four boxes. All the maids always greet me with their best wishes every time I walk. My cheeks went numb by giving my biggest smile whenever people give me their blessing. Just in view steps, I could reach my lovely bedroom. I could feel my legs couldn't stand longer than this, my spine benumbed.

"Happy snow day, Irse." Bucket of yellow roses and bluebell and Little Women under the ribbon. Lotus, cedar moss and apple scents blended with jasmine, mimosa and a little bit of citrus scent. Soft voice, beautiful white hands and blue ribbon. Waiting patiently for me to take her gifts.

Bailee Kalilinoe.

"You still use this musky apple white floral perfume?"

"It's aquatic floral, Saoirse."

Her alluring smile with the sound of the waves and hum of lovely music downstairs are turning this snowdrop tradition into an engaging night. I'm; Saoirse Primrose, escaping her luscious gaze with roses in my cheeks bone and flashes a smile while entering my bedroom. My heart races when I heard the sound of footsteps following me.

"Who invites you?"

"A lady with her blushing cheeks."

Our laugh becomes one, while I put all the gifts from my parents and her parents on the wood floor of my bedroom. And walk to keep the only gift with flowers on my davenport. I open my window, let the cold breeze blows, the soft snow falls on the roses and bluebells under the moonlight.

I look back at my Paris, she sits on my settees with her hands holding on one red rose. She shines, even in the darkest place. "Who gives red flower on snow day? Do they mean bloody curses of heartbreak or amorous love?" Besides happiness, yellow means jealousy. And, I'm the yellow flower.

"Would you like to dance with me? And tear the petals of this red rose. I prefer yellow."

"I'm not dancing in Marseille. Not in the city where you will marry a boy who doesn't even know where your heart belongs and what is your favorite flower ..." the thorn of those red rose thorns me, "... except you, a warm sea and sunset."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ. . .

Sunset and a sea with the waves turning cold.

I use my black gown, gloves and black heels, sit on the rock with an envelope and three flowers. The sky turned red, I couldn't find her presence. _They_ hold her, also hold where my happiness is. In this life, their words are a dagger with two blades. Wherever they swing it, it kills both sides.

I smile, I found the answer when the dusk comes to meet me. It's time to go. I bring the other envelope with me. Left the black one with one yellow rose, bluebell, and one red rose. I'm turning it back to Bailee.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ. . .

"How cruel you could be? You took my wedding day as your funeral. You won't meet me on Christmas night. You left me with my last gifts for you and make it your last gifts, Irse." Bailee looking at the wooden door where she usually meets Saoirse. A room full of their memories, all the laugh, the tears, the love and the heartbreak. They will be locked forasmuch as the owner of the room will never come back.

Bailee hands bleeding from all the thorns of roses, and so her heart.

"Saoirse, we were so beautiful we were so tragic," she whispers.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ. . .

Writing for Bailee Kalilinoe,

Bai, I never see you coming. No matter how hard I turn my eyes blind and let my heart become numb. You never come, Bailee. Does dancing mean nothing to you now? What a pity greetings from this rosie girl.

Bailee, when you open this envelope it means we are not dancing on the warm sea. We are dancing with tears and I'm far away from home. When you read this, you belong to someone else now. When you read this, I let know that I let you go.

Go along with their dreams, not ours. Go along with a boy who maybe one day learns what flower you like but also learns that the flower is no longer blooming. Go along with little you who might become a beautiful girl like her mom.

Bailee Kalilinoe, my Paris.

Let me take a piece of your heart with me so it could keep me warm under this cold sea on this snowy day. Let me keep the story of Paris and this lonely city with me so you don't need to tell them. Let me go, Bailee.

No matter how many blessings I got last night, they couldn't help me to keep us. No matter how far we run away, there is no place for us. No matter how hard you are looking for me this morning, you won't meet me on the next spring.

But I promise, you can meet me on the first spring in our next life. You can meet me in the field full of roses.

Written by Saoirse Primrose.

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oblivionsdream · 2 years

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I have a serious problem where I give super minor characters in my stories complex backstories that I get far too invested in but have no relevancy to the plot.

#My favorite might be Saoirse and Ilya #Or maybe the Harbinger’s leaders #Jinn was never supposed to be as relevant as she is- just a minor antagonistic force #but I fell in love with her and she’s too big of a character to be sidelined #might delete this later #it’s late and I’m rambling

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highwayphantoms · 2 years

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the moment I saw the package waiting for me, i’m not gonna lie, i was very !!!!!!!. apologies to my brother, who was uh, the nearest human at the time. 😂

This was my gift for the @masseffectholidaycheer, sent by @tarysande!

THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE IT. The scarf is gorgeous and soft, perfect for this bitterly cold weather we’re having over here on the east coast of the US. And the card you wrote! 😭 thank you <3 ngl definitely had a SENPAI NOTICED ME moment while I was reading it.

mmmm maple syrup. delicious.

thank you thank you thank you <3 I’ve had a long week and this was just what I needed as a pick-me-up. 🥰🥰🥰

#jay speaks #holiday harbinger #holiday harbinger 2021/2022 #tarysande #my cat is playing with a hair tie and it's very distracting #saoirse why #where did you even find that

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into-the-daniverse · 3 years

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9 for the pirates from the horror asks pls 💞

Thank you Kani 💖💖💖

9. What role/archetype would your oc fulfill in a horror movie?

Horror Themed OC Asks!

Meredith is definitely the Skeptic, and also the Final Girl! She may not believe in the demon chasing her down a hallway but she sure as hell isn’t going to let it kill her, at the very least she’s burning the house down with them both inside.

Saoirse is (if not the Killer themself) the Old Person/Harbinger figure who is trying to warn the group about the possible danger ahead. They don’t get killed though, and they’re always in the background of shots just watching the group do stupid things with a smile on their face.

Rodrigo is the Pawn/Bad GirlTM. Whatever happened was most definitely his fault, and he either ends up as the first one killed because of it, or somewhere in the middle, only because Jacqui protects him. He may end up surviving out of sheer dumb luck by tripping the killer or something.

Jacqui is the Scholar. He puts all the pieces of the puzzle together and solves the mystery, or hot-wires a car to get out. If he played his cards right he could also be a Final GirlTM, but he’s too considerate in the end and will sacrifice himself so the rest of the group can escape.

#ask tag #atypicalacademic #horror oc asks #dani's pirates #meredith #saoirse #rodrigo #jacqui

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starrylantern · 3 years

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tag list for personal reference !!

characters aries knightly --> [ terrible and awe inspiring ] xavier tibon --> [ impenetrable. impervious. indestructible. ] alicia lovet --> [ soft. sensitive. easy to shatter. ] roselynn serafino --> [ a tender sort of curiosity ] rapunzel (ri) --> [ femme fatale ] adora de'rege --> [ bramble rose ] caelyn de'rege --> [ cold but beautiful ] shalbriri --> [ immortal memories ] nami --> [ the sea is cruel ] arabella --> [ monstrous beauty ] hero --> [ pure stardust ] ranger --> [ with teeth and claws. ] gypsy lovette --> [ bring on the night ] ena regis --> [ call me king ] elise buffon --> [ youth is a dream ] project 94 | codename: alice --> [ retribution. indignation ] yzebel --> [ i am divine. ] chiharu --> [ seething. blooming. ] kalistratos --> [ guts & glory ] haruko --> [ to be the sun ] tsukiko --> [ tender is the night ] akan --> [ seduce & destroy ] leander --> [ a proud look ] lilith --> [ a thousand dreams ] kavya bhattacaryya --> [ i am mine. nobody can have me. ] enya von brandt (sandraudiga) --> [ fire. time. fire. ] gabriel lockwood (tyr) --> [ made of war. ] guenevere serafino (freya) --> [ touch me and you'll burn ] desdemona malo --> [ cruel beauty ] sage --> [ wisdom is key ] sybil --> [ the golden ones ] puppy --> [ stay curious ] genovena de'rege --> [ kiss the earth ] ilsa de'rege --> [ harbinger of nightmares ] karma de'rege --> [ divine justice ] mina de'rege --> [ luxuria ] oleisia de'rege --> [ song of the forest ] quitere de'rege --> [ mental darkness ] sterling de'rege --> [ to valhalla i ride ] ualda de'rege --> [ a soft heart ] winola de'rege --> [ thorny brambles ] yvette de'rege --> [ creating chaos ] kyouka enatsu --> [ ひとこわくて ] nala asante --> [ kind heart fierce mind brave spirit ] veronica (vero) --> [ i will destroy myself ] kiyoteru enatsu --> [ keep it real ] kestra valro --> [ keep it runnin' ] cyril jamal el-sayed (cj) --> [ still down to earth ] matthew leonides (maddie) --> [ sellin' dreams ] isaiah banks (banks) --> [ ain't nothin' devilish ] kaiser valro --> [ cold and calculating ] abel leonides --> [ our own devices ] genesis leonides --> [ saccharine ] khalil el-sayed --> [ a calm storm ] azrael banks --> [ steady hands. steady heart. ] ezra griffith --> [ gentle sin ] catriona griffith (kitty) --> [ poppet ] aoife griffith, née Ó Gríofa --> [ a fairy hand in hand ] elijah griffith --> [ concilio et labore ] valeria fujimura -- tba. antheia dickenson --> tba. pythia --> tba. cressida reign --> tba. oberon reign --> tba.

group tags fyra (aries, xavier, alicia) --> [ in the tale of conquest and lies ] de'rege sisters --> [ dance with your demons but do not let them lead ] de'rege sisters - hearts (adora, mina, ualda) --> [ darling your looks can kill ] de'rege sisters - diamonds (caelyn, karma, sterling) --> [ the truth is what i make it ] de'rege sisters - clovers (genovena, oleisia, ualda) --> [ the woods are lovely; dark and deep. ] de'rege sisters - spades (ilsa, quitere, yvette) --> [ you have witchcraft in your lips ] project: wonderland (alice, yzebel, chiharu) --> [ it's time to walk the road of freedom ] the shadow beasts (shalbriri, akan, leander) --> [ what is death but an old belonging ] the frjal (enya, gabriel, guenvere) --> [ there is thunder in our hearts ] diabolic records (kiyo, maddie, banks, cj, kestra) --> [ i put my faith in these lyrics ] house of griffith (ezra, elijah) --> [ si vis pacem para bellum ]

ship tags shalbriri x etienne --> [ it does not steal the light. it unveils the beauty of the dark ] aries x alice --> [ to have her is to have the stars ] haruko x tsukiko --> [ 好きになってもいいですか？ ] akan x leander --> [ i hate that i want you ] leander x alice --> [ his love roared louder than her demons ] leander x vero --> [ i will no longer let you control me ] kyouka x saoirse --> [ stay close to people who feel like sunshine ] kiyo x veil --> [ all the ways you get me high ] ezra x theophania --> [ heartstopping. breathtaking ] adora x kiyo --> [ trust you ] abel x akihiko --> [ tba. ] cressida x matthias -- [ tba. ]

worldbuilding landscape --> [ the earth has music for those who listen ] creatures --> [ do not fear the thing before you ] settings --> [ your story shapes the world ] culture --> [ in the heart and soul of the people ] voxinous --> [ a great rebellion ] religion --> [ what we think we become ]

misc writing --> [ the truths we cannot speak ] inspiration --> [ imaginatio ] music --> [ the shorthand of emotion ] character inspiration --> [ beauty is a light in the heart ] uncategorized aesthetic --> [ concerned with beauty ] painting inspiration --> [ unveil the beauty of the dark ] portraits --> [ a window to the soul ]

character tropes witches --> [ the spell has begun] queens --> [ a warrior. a champion. a fighter. a queen ] gods --> [ of gods and men ]

#for reference

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ivisite · 5 years

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DRAGONBORN 30 DAY CHALLENGE

Day 7 - Relationships

Sexual orientation:

Straight

Did your character marry? If so, who is their spouse?:

Eventually she does, but not until she’s at least 54. Brynjolf, after years of the two just being lovers, finally gets too old to crouch around the sewers and takes a knee for her, much to her playful picking. He’d be about 60, I’d guess.

“You know lass, Ragnar is doing so well with the guild, I suppose I could step back a bit if you’d fancy some company in my golden years…” Brynjolf said, trailing off a bit all while a playful smile dared to tug at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh aye? Took you long enough, you old codger. Finally feeling a day over 25, are you?” Saoirse cooed back, keeping to brushing out a matted bit of fur on the old family dog. She smiled, too, but did well to have her back to him so he wouldn’t see the joy that twinkled in her eyes. Across the way, leaning against the sturdy fence post now, the now-greying red-head chuckled heartily. Gods, how he loved her. “To say the least, Saoirse. I might dare say I feel…26 now.” He chirped. “You’ve gotten used to a belly full of mead and crawling into a warm bed with me at night, is all this is~” Saoirse said, finally standing to turn to him, leaving the old mutt to bask in the warm sun near the cow pen.

“You have done well to seduce an old man, lass. So what do you say, hm? Would you marry an old crook?” His eyes stayed pointed at hers, staring deeply into the dark blue seas that had always haunted him since he first met her as a younger, more naive man.

“Why…I don’t know Bryn, seems rather sudden. And the farm…” She playfully cooed, opting to dusting off her shirt and glancing around the property.

His brows furrowed in concern. “Now lass, I just asked a very serious question. A man deserves an answer and-” He started to whine, the green of his eyes reflecting what was left of the one fiery red in his hair. “-Oh you old codger!~ Stop your whining, of course I’ll marry you.”

How well do they get along with their spouse?:

It evolves as they do, so to speak but they always have a bit of a playful rivalry/cheeky sort of energy about them, regardless of the years.

Upon being acquainted, when Saoirse is 20 and he’s likely 26, at least, the two have a whirlwind of a “relationship” while she runs around with the guild, initially. Constant cheekiness, not being able to keep their hands off the other for too long- they’re quite the matching set, two peas in a grass pod, so to speak. Their youthfulness has a heavy hand in it all and that also goes for the naivety of it all. They’re both far too smart for their own good and both end up falling far too hard, far too fast and in gets out of hand until they both get scared and start to shut off, in a sense? He starts stealing from her and she eventually finds out and runs off with his things and a bunch of the guilds’ job trinkets/money as a result. Young love, am I right?

When she comes back around after finally deciding to tie up loose ends and go do the dragonborn stuff, she decides to go to Riften and try to work off her debt. Immediately, the two have their guards up, bickering and arguing often to the point that Delvin has to step in to get them to stop. It’s rocky at the beginning, the two having to learn to open up again and have to discover each other again through various jobs Delvin insists they go on together (he ships it-). They break down eventually after bickering to the point that they kiss and then go get really drunk and open up to one another. After that, and around the time the Goldenglow Estate job lines up is when Bryn starts to see her differently. She’s matured and is the freakin’ dragonborn, that’s cool and he starts to grow an unprecedented respect for her. While the guild is in shambles and she’s probably going to almost die fighting Alduin eventually, they are comforting figures for each other. They’re still cheeky and playful, but more maturely now.

When they’re old gits, they’re the ultimate old couple goals? Like it goes from him sneaking into her room in the night and romancing her and checking in on their son for years, to him getting spoiled and sleeping in all day and whining about it being cold. Real cute, real spicy.

Do they have any kids?:

While Saoirse has 2 children, the two are only half-siblings but the eldest, Ragnar is Brynjolf’s. Once she returns to the companions after saving the world and repaying the guild (by saving it, they’re welcome), she finishes where she left off at in the Companions plot, taking out the Silver-hand and curing Kodlak and etc, eventually becoming Harbinger and all doing so while unknowingly pregnant. Everyone assumes it’s Farkas’ considering that her and Farkas as Shield Bros with Benefits™ but Ragnar comes out with red hair (like his father) and blue eyes like Saoirse. Farkas sort of steps up and helps her raise him (And the two accidentally have a son together, whoops) but they aren’t ever more than platonic with some benefits? He respects her for saving himself and his brother and with the two being shield-siblings, he just steps up to help out being a “Father” figure to both kids, despite only being the youngest’s actual father.

If so, how do they feel about their kids?:

Brynjolf, being fond of children anyways, was overwhelmed but happy? I’d imagine he low key knew it might happen before he sent her back to Whiterun, but didn’t invest much in the thought until she showed up a few months later with a red headed baby that had his nose. He loves the little lad and always looks forward to Saoirse bringing him to Riften while she “shops” and asks her “old friend” if he minds watching Ragnar for a bit. Ragnar takes an immediate interest in Bryn, of course and the two are rather close despite the distance. Ragnar even runs off once he’s 17 or so on his own adventure to “find himself” and goes and looks for work in Riften on his mothers’ advice and lands himself as his fathers’ second in command in the guild.

Best friend:

Ria, for sure, but Athis and Farkas are up there, too. When she’s away from Whiterun, however, she leans more towards Iona and Niruin. Ria is her bestie, though.

Follower (or followers):

Iona, the Honeyside housecarl. She refuses to stay in the sewers once she goes back to Riften and takes time out of her week to become Thane just so she can by Honeyside. Iona comes with it, of course and the two become bros. Iona is rather protective of Saoirse and if any thieves guild members come to honeyside, she watches them like a hawk and keeps a really close eye on Brynjolf, in particular- almost amusingly so.

Role models:

She doesn’t have one? As she journey’s, she decides that she wants to be the type of person her younger self could look up to and tries to be her own role model. She thinks it best to better yourself for yourself rather than to be like someone else. Now granted, she’s no hero but she takes her morally light gray, chaotic neutral energy and makes herself the best Saoirse she can be.

Who else would you say your character gets along with? Or doesn’t?:

She’s not fond of the Black-Briars, Maven in particular. She knows a powerful woman when she sees one and the two often dance around with words whenever they have to talk.

She really likes the Khajiit Caravans, too. All of them, Khajiits in general, to be honest. She grew up with a caravan and really appreciates the race as a whole. She might even offer to go sale their wares in cities if she has the time and they aren’t camped too far out.

WOOt let me stop before I ramble anywAYS heres my child and her cheeky eventual husband. Things I learned include: making old people look old is hard and hair graying is hard to color but also LOOK AT THAT BACKGROUND!!! I drew that, I’m so proud ; u ;

#saoirse : oc #skyrim oc #tes oc #brynjolf #thieves guild #farkas #character creation #dragonborn challenge #female dragonborn #digital art

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valiant-portabella-pirkko · 1 year

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new computer new art program let’s go

#my art #Harbinger Saoirse #Portabella Pirkko #just an assorted doodle sheet #proof that i do in fact still draw (sometimes)#working on warming myself up #to tackle some of the vsartparty screens i snagged #the designs for Oblivion and the Vinetwister will probably change 2000 more times #i'm not throwing this into the fandom tags it's too messy wheeze #also a mech scarlet gets to appear because i know at least 1 person likes her HFHHFF #terrible little messy poltergeist that eats all your jade power and calls you a bitch #(and sometimes takes over cities for fun don't worry about it)#i think my favorite part of this is the hand tho...#is it perfect? no #is it the best clawed hand i've drawn yet? yes #it could be either corrupted Scarlet or the Vinetwister take your pick #(they're basically the same thing anyway)

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mischiefandmedicine · 8 days

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Very Full - Chapter 16: The Night We Met

Summary: Melara returns home and reflects on her life.

Word Count: 3,244 words.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, sadness, talk of pain.

Soundtrack Link

This Chapter's Music Inspiration:

The Night We Met by Lord Huron

Very Full MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

A/N: Reminder that I do not own the rights to the lyrics. Yes, I connect the story a lot to songs. I enjoy the idea of a life soundtrack.

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

In the shadowed corners of the Avengers compound, amidst the hum of ceaseless vigilance, there lingered a softer, more human melody. It was in these hallowed halls that Saoirse, young and wide-eyed, watched her Melara grapple with an existence that was at once both radiant and ravaging. Even at her tender age, Saoirse sensed the undercurrent of sorrow that threaded through her mother’s days, a silent partner to the chronic pain that never quite receded into the background. And her argument with Loki only seemed to make matters worse.

Melara, whose spirit was as vibrant as the music she conjured from the depths of her being, carried her affliction with a grace that belied the tears Saoirse often caught glistening in her eyes. The pain, a cruel tax levied upon her mother’s every breath, seemed to fuel a creative fire that blazed through the notes and lyrics of her songs. To the world, Melara’s music had soared, a phoenix rising with wings unfurled from the ashes of her suffering, gaining adoration and acclaim as it climbed the charts.

Yet, for Saoirse, the music was a double-edged sword. It was the lullaby that had rocked her to sleep, the anthem of her childhood. But it was also the siren song that heralded the slow unraveling of her mother. Melara’s melodies were spun from the threads of her agony, and they shimmered with a beauty that was heartrending. The more Melara’s fame grew, the more her songs resonated with souls across the globe, the heavier the toll it seemed to take on her.

Saoirse, though only seven, bore the heavy mantle of the silent observer from the comfort of their space within the compound. She had neither the words nor the means to articulate the helplessness that gnawed at her small heart. She could only watch, her violet eyes a mirror to the torment and triumph that warred within her mother.

The days melded one into the other, each marked by Melara’s fierce determination to rise to the demands of her flourishing career despite her condition. Her mother would smile, would perform, would shine under the spotlight – only to return to their quarters with a pallor that makeup no longer concealed and a weariness that sleep could not cure. Saoirse would listen to the soft sobs that escaped from behind the bathroom door, the sound muffled by the rush of water and the walls that stood between them. Occasionally, Saoirse could swear she even heard her father’s name escape from her mother’s lips in her sleep, a fever dream she had every night, no matter how good the day.

Saoirse understood, in her own way, that her mother was fighting a battle that went beyond the physical. Melara was striving to leave a legacy, to carve out a piece of eternity through her art, perhaps to defy the impermanence that her illness whispered of in the dark hours.

Yet, for all her mother’s strength, there was an ever-present shadow that lurked behind the smiles and the curtain calls – a specter that grew bolder with each passing day. It was a shadow that Saoirse, young as she was, recognized as the harbinger of loss. Try as she might, Saoirse’s magic was not strong enough to summon her own father to rescue her mother from the torment.

The compound, with its heroes and its healers, became the stage upon which Melara’s dual life played out. And in the midst of it all was Clint, the quiet sentinel who watched over both mother and daughter. His presence was a constant, a reminder of the life that continued beyond the confines of fame and pain.

In those days, the compound was more than a refuge; it was a witness to the cost of greatness to the price of a mother’s love, and to the silent understanding of a child who saw too much too soon. It was a place where Saoirse learned the language of unshed tears and unspoken fears, where she came to understand the resonance of her mother’s music, and where she first glimpsed the inexorable approach of an ending that seemed written in the stars.

In the wake of her tempestuous farewell to Loki, Melara found herself adrift in the quiet aftermath, her emotions as raw as an open wound. The Avengers compound, once a bastion of strength and solace, now echoed with the hollow remnants of her shattered connection. It was there, following a shared song with Clint, whose empathetic ear and gentle strumming offered a semblance of peace amidst the silent chorus of her own heartbreak.

But the respite was fleeting. The next day, the call to return home to Wisconsin, to the roots and the reality of her life before the grandeur of stages and the acclaim of crowds, loomed over her. It was a homecoming tinged with disquiet, a journey back to the origins of her dreams, now colored by the fatigue that clung to her like a shadow. She would return to the place where she met Loki, the place where Saoirse was born, and above all, the place where she had fallen in love with the disjointed family that they had created.

The flight back to Wisconsin, though, was a quiet affair, Melara’s gaze often drifting to the clouds beyond the window of their private jet, lost in the thoughts she could not voice. Saoirse, ever perceptive, nestled close to her mother, sensing the unease that vibrated through her. With a tenderness that reversed their roles, Melara soothed her daughter, her gentle caresses and whispered assurances painting a veneer of normalcy over the canvas of her anxiety as Saoirse laid her head in Melara’s lap.

Evelyn, the matriarch whose wisdom and love had shaped Melara into the force of nature she was, awaited them at the airport. Her keen eyes, missed nothing, noting the telltale signs of her daughter’s weariness. With Saoirse in tow, she offered a warm embrace, her words for her granddaughter laced with a knowing that spoke volumes.

“She looks tired, doesn’t she?” Evelyn whispered to Saoirse, careful to keep her observations from reaching Melara’s ears. It was a dance they had perfected over time, a way to acknowledge the struggle without adding to its weight.

Saoirse, nestled against her grandmother, merely nodded looking up at her, her young heart aching with the understanding that her mother’s vibrancy was dimming, the flame that had once burned so brightly now flickering uncertainly.

The return to Wisconsin was bittersweet. Melara’s smile, as she breathed in the familiar air, was genuine, but it was a joy tempered by the knowledge of what – and who – she had left behind. In her mother’s house, surrounded by the artifacts of her past, including the one picture anyone had of her with Loki and Saoirse, Melara seemed to walk the line between gratitude for her roots and the restlessness of a soul that had tasted the stars.

As night fell, Melara tucked Saoirse into bed, her voice soft and soothing as she sang Saoirse’s Asgardian lullaby for what seemed like the millionth time. It remained a part of their bedtime routine as a mother’s promise to her child that, no matter the storms that raged, her love would remain an unshakable fortress.

Evelyn watched from the doorway, her heart heavy with the silent knowledge that her daughter was battling more than just the exhaustion of travel and the demands of fame. There was a deeper weariness in Melara’s eyes, one that spoke of battles fought in the depths of her soul, of love lost and the relentless march of time.

As Melara kissed Saoirse goodnight, her touch lingered, a silent prayer that the dawn would bring renewed strength and clarity. And in the quiet of the house, as the echoes of Melara’s lullaby faded into the night, the three generations of strong women found solace in the shared sanctuary of family, a bond that time, distance, and even the gods themselves could not sever.

Melara and Evelyn retreated from the sanctity of Saoirse’s room, heading for the living room that was steeped in the soft glow of evening. They settled into the well-worn couch, an island in the midst of family photos and mementos of a life rich with memories. Evelyn’s gaze, filled with the weight of unspoken concern, found her daughter’s weary face.

“Love, you’re pushing yourself too hard,” Evelyn began, the words wrapped in the warmth of maternal care, yet firm with the insistence of one who knows the toll of overextension. “As a widow who raised two kids by herself, I can tell when someone is overdoing it. Why not stay here for a while after the concert? The compound isn’t going anywhere.”

Melara’s laugh was a shadow of its usual mirth, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of a cushion. The layers of makeup did little to mask the tell-tale signs of fatigue that her mother’s keen eyes so easily discerned. “Mom, I’m fine,” she lied, a practiced smile dancing on her lips. But Evelyn was not to be dissuaded.

“I can see it, Melara. The way you move, the hollowness in your eyes. Something’s not right, and I think you know it too,” Evelyn pressed, her voice a tender yet unyielding force. “Do those fancy Avengers doctors even know what they’re doing?”

The dam within Melara cracked, her defenses waning in the face of her mother’s astute observation. She could not fight with her mother. “I’ve been feeling drained, mom. The pain is never-ending now and even sleep has become a stranger to me,” she confessed, the veneer of strength crumbling.

Evelyn reached out, her hand enveloping Melara’s. “Singing shouldn’t be a crutch, love. It’s your gift, but it should not be done at the expense of your health.”

Melara’s eyes, so often a wellspring of determination, now glistened with the sheen of vulnerability. “It’s the only thing besides Saoirse that’s keeping me going. If not for the music, I’d have nothing to counter this…this endless ache.”

They sat in silence, the generational divide bridged by a shared understanding of suffering and the solace found in art. Evelyn, her heart heavy with a mother’s love, sought the words that might anchor her daughter to the shores of rest and recovery.

“Think of it this way: you need to be with family. We can take care of you too, Melara. Let Saoirse spend time with her cousins, let her feel the roots that ground us all. The world can wait, but this,” Evelyn gestured to the walls that contained the essence of their family, “this is where you can heal.”

The conviction in her mother’s voice was the balm Melara hadn’t known she needed. It was a permission of sorts, an affirmation that stepping back from the limelight was not a retreat but a necessary respite. After moments that stretched like lifelines, Melara nodded, acquiescing to the wisdom her mother offered.

“Alright, Mom. We’ll stay a while,” she agreed, her voice a murmur that carried the weight of her world.

Evelyn pulled her into an embrace, one that spoke of homecoming and the quiet strength that the bonds of family provided. Melara allowed herself to be held, to be comforted in the arms that had always been her sanctuary.

As the night deepened around them, the two women remained in the living room, their conversation a delicate dance of hope and healing. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Melara allowed herself to imagine a life not dictated by the demands of burgeoning powers, but by the simple rhythms of home.

With the stillness of Evelyn’s Wisconsin home, under the watchful gaze of family history, Melara and Evelyn forged a new understanding, an agreement that anchored Melara to the present, to the promise of days filled with familial love and the gentle respite of her mother’s house. It was a promise of tomorrow, a vow to face the uncertainties not alone, but with the strength of generations that flowed through their veins.

After much talking, the comforting words and the warmth of the embrace from her mother, Melara excused herself under the pretext of needing fresh air, but the truth was, she sought solitude with the night. The porch, bathed in the soft glow of the moon, became her refuge, the guitar her only companion as she settled into the wicker chair that had known many such nights.

Her fingers strayed over the strings, a familiar song bubbling to the surface, one that spoke of love, loss, and the bitter sweetness in between – a song that Loki had once said captured the essence of the stars. As she began to play, the melody filled the silent expanse around her, the notes a poignant echo of the life she had built and the love that still lingered in the recesses of her heart.

I am not the only traveler, Who has not repaid his debt. I’ve been searching for a trail to follow again, Take me back to the night we met. And then I can tell myself, What the hell am I supposed to do? And then I can tell myself, Not to ride along with you. I had all and then most of you, Some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met. Haunted by the ghost of you, Oh, take me back to the night we met. When the night was full of terrors, And your eyes were filled with tears. When you had not touched me yet, Oh, take me back to the night we met. I had all and then most of you, Some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met. Haunted by the ghost of you, Oh, take me back to the night we met. But as the song progressed to the last notes, thinking of Loki and their epic story, a sudden sharp twang cut through the melody. Melara paused, looking down in the dim light to see a string snapped, its frayed end the result of the tension that had built unnoticed. A wry teary smile touched her lips – the guitar had its limits, it seemed. Her fingers brushed against the broken string, and she flinched; the metal was unexpectedly hot to the touch, as though her own inner turmoil had transferred to the instrument.

The broken string, the heat from her touch – they were more than just physical occurrences. They were metaphors for her life, for the path she had walked upon, where the fire within her threatened to consume not just her own peace but also the things, and the people she cherished. She was losing control.

A wave of emotions crashed over her, the memories of Loki’s face against the backdrop of stars upon his throne, the sound of his voice, their last conversation – it all rushed back with a vengeance. The song she played, once a calm to her soul, now felt like a dirge for something she feared was slipping away. The heat from her fingers, a cruel reminder of her condition, and the fire that burned within her – sometimes a beacon, sometimes an uncontrollable inferno.

With a sigh, she set the guitar aside, the silence more fitting company to her thoughts. She wrapped her arms around herself, the night air cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the warmth that still radiated from her fingertips. In the quiet of the night, with the broken guitar string a tangible representation of her fractured reality, Melara looked up at the sky, allowing herself to grieve – for what was and what could no longer be.

In the stillness of the night in her hometown, on the porch of the house where she had grown up, Melara made a silent vow. A vow to fight, to hold on, not just for Saoirse or for the music that defined her, but for herself. Because even with a broken string, the song was not over; the melody remained, waiting to be reborn from the ashes of the moment.

As she rose to return inside, the porch seemed to hold her for a moment longer, the night whispering its own silent song of resilience. Tomorrow, she would face her mother, her daughter, and the world. But tonight, she faced herself, her own heart, and the haunting melody of a love that refused to be quelled by distance, duty, or the ravages of time.

***

Loki, his features softened by the cosmic dimness that surrounded them, turned towards Saoirse, a question in his eyes, mirroring the brightness of the stars above. “Why,” he began, his voice carrying the stories he wished to tell of Melara, “did you find yourself drawn to the shadows, listening in on your mother’s solitary moments?”

Saoirse, reflecting the resilience she had inherited, met his gaze with an unflinching honesty. “The shadows were where the unspoken truths lay hidden,” she replied, her voice steady. “In the light, Mom was invincible, the star that outshone the darkness. But in the shadows, she was human, vulnerable. I needed to understand her, all of her, not just the brilliant façade she showed the world.”

Loki considered her words, a flicker of understanding crossing his features. “And what did you find in those shadows, daughter?” he asked, the title ‘daughter’ hanging between them like a bridge over the vast chasm of time they had lost.

“I found strength, even in her tears,” Saoirse said. “I found that the same fire that burned in her music burned in her spirit – it hurt her, but it also made her Melara Grace Brandt…my mother. I eavesdropped not to uncover secrets, but to know her heart. To hear the lullabies of her soul that weren’t captured in her songs.”

Loki’s expression softened, the mask of the god slipping to reveal the father beneath. “You carry her fire,” he observed, the pride evident in his tone. “And her heart. You are as much a part of her story as she is of yours.”

Saoirse nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the bond they shared through Melara. “Her music was her legacy, but her struggles, her quiet moments, they were her gifts to me. They taught me that even stars feel the cold of space, that even the brightest light can falter. I needed to see her humanity to accept my own.”

The god of mischief, known for his silver tongue and grand tales, found himself at a loss for words, once again, at the hands of his beloved daughter. In his daughter’s revelations, he saw the reflection of Melara’s essence, the very things that had drawn him to her in the cosmic dance of their lives.

“Then you have seen what many fail to see in a lifetime,” Loki finally said, his voice carrying a reverence that was rare and true. “You have witnessed the entirety of a person, the light, and the shadows, and loved them all the same. I hope that someday you will see the same in me.”

Saoirse, with the wisdom of one who has been beyond the veil of illusion, simply nodded. They sat together, father and daughter, united in their understanding of the woman who had changed their worlds forever. In the silence, filled with the music of the cosmos, they found solidarity, a moment of peace in the tumultuous narrative of their lives. For they both knew what came next.

---

Taglist: @mischief2sarawr

#loki masterlist #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki marvel #loki #loki series #loki x reader #tva loki

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valiant-portabella-pirkko · 8 months

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been thinking a lot lately about the Regrowth AU Squad's skyscales thanks to SotO, so here's some bits about each of these critters because why not.

COMMANDER PIRKKO'S SKYSCALE: LARIMAR

- most of Pirkko's various mounts were previously branded creatures that have since been liberated in a risky fashion; she and Aurene worked together to brand over them with the prismatic dragon's influence, replacing Kralkatorrik's bond with their own. her skyscale, Larimar, is no exception. his egg was caught in a brandstorm before Gorrik retrieved it from Dragonfall, tainting it with the crystal dragon's influence before he was even born-- and when it finally hatched after Kralkatorrik's death, he was sickly and weak. the asura didn't believe he would even survive hatching, let alone long after.

- but Aurene's brand was enough to mend the tiny creature in a last-ditch attempt to save him, allowing the hatchling to recover and eventually grow into the Commander's sturdy and loyal companion under her care. due to the prismatic branding, Larimar always knows when Pirkko needs him-- and has even been known to aid Caithe as well at times. when the Commander is out in battle, the young skyscale often circles nearby to search out stranded or wounded soldiers and civilians to evacuate. his bold and selfless nature is often said to remind people of the Commander herself. some medics like to 'tip' the skyscale for its services by giving him a magic-enhanced snack, like a handful of bloodstone dust or a couple diflourite crystals.

CEARA'S SKYSCALE: FOXGLOVE

- Ceara's skyscale was obtained at about the same time; one of the other hatchlings that Gorrik was raising didn't... quite mesh with the others. for one thing, she had fur and feathers, suggesting a pretty significant genetic difference. for another, she really, really didn't like him, frequently nipping and tending to avoid the other hatchlings. at a loss, he and Taimi finally (RELUCTANTLY) called in the other magic and dragon expert... and it didn't take long before Ceara had it sorted out. as it turned out, the hatchling had a very, very good memory, and didn't like the tracker that Gorrik had implanted in her leg; the magical tracking signature was irritating the skyscale's ability to detect energy. so, she promptly removed it, then gave the moody critter a snack of bloodstone-infused meat as a peace offering.

- trouble is... then she wouldn't stop following Ceara, but still hated basically everyone else. so Ceara agreed to keep the skyscale and raise it herself, naming her fluffy little menace 'Foxglove.' she's quite a handful, mostly due to being WAY too smart for her own good. she can't keep Fox out of the pantry and has long since given up trying. she has calmed down over the years though, and may even let strangers pet her these days if they provide an 'offering' first. (she's maybe even more prideful than her partner and that's saying a lot)

SAOIRSE'S SKYSCALE: NIGHTSHADE

- the Harbinger of Oblivion wouldn't find her own skyscale partner until much, much later, during the events of Secrets of the Obscure. she would be the one to obtain an abandoned egg at the Astral Ward, helping to raise the newborn creature and eventually teach it to fly. they bonded quickly as it would happen, Saoirse's softer side coming out as she comforted a small, nervous little creature that had been abandoned in his nest. they knew the pair were meant to be when he started sneaking out of the skyscale hatchery just to follow her around-- even marching fearlessly right into danger.

- Nightshade's fiercely protective nature didn't take long to show itself; his first fireball was in defense of his new partner, spat at a sky-chak that was getting just a bit too testy. Saoirse may not have needed the backup, but appreciated her new friend's efforts nonetheless... neither can stand aside when the people they care for are in danger. even if the skyscale's flames weren't strong enough to do much yet, she could recognize the fiery nature beginning to kindle within; he was a creature after her own heart, for better and for worse.

#GW2 #Guild Wars 2 #soto spoilers #GW2 soto #my posts #Regrowth AU #it took me much longer than is reasonable to make this #(i've been messing with this post for like 2 weeks. help)#IT'S NOT EVEN THAT LONG...#most of that time was just that i kept redoing the screens tho #since i am very indecisive and kept changing the dang dyes #i am roughly 95% sure these will be their final iterations #secrets of the obscure #GW2 spoilers #just tagging all of that for the last bit because of the SotO story tie-in stuff + Wizard's Tower screenshot wheeze

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valiant-portabella-pirkko · 1 year

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Timey’s Great Big Pinned Post of Everything

[ she/her | writer/artist | 28 | IGN (NA) Timey.6853 ]

just another friendly local aro-ace salad enthusiast

Hi yes hello, welcome to Timey’s Guild Wars 2 blog where I post about Guild Wars 2 and basically nothing else. Expect a lot of salads, a lot of Living World 1, and especially a lot of Scarlet Briar. Sometimes I draw or write things, too. Mostly I just yell my meta commentary of questionable sanity into the void, though. Y’know how it is. Scarlet stole my last remaining brain cell and adamantly refuses to give it back.

I’m always happy to chatter with folks! Feel free to drop by anytime; I can be a little slow to respond at times, but I really love exchanging theories and ideas and hearing about obscure or interesting details people have found! Give me ALL of the lore. Tell me about your favorite characters. Ramble about OCs. For real, I love to hear all the things okay; don’t worry about being mutuals, either!

DISCLAIMER: This isn’t a place for bigotry, drama, or rudeness though; nobody’s got time for that. Play nice and be respectful, that’s all I ask.

With that out of the way, I’ll include some helpful navigation links and summaries of my various AU projects below the cut! Feel free to take a peek if you want. I’ll gradually add more stuff over time, too.

The Handy Dandy List of Links

My Posts

Reblogs

My Art

My Fics

Regrowth AU

Portabella Pirkko - Tag

Harbinger Saoirse - Tag

“Lost But Not Forgotten”

“A Garden of Memories”

Flourish AU

Ceara the Defiant - Tag

Tideturners AU

The Sidewinder - Page | Tag

Grand High Sovereign Ruju - Tag

1: “Red Alert”

Timey’s AU Collection, in Summary

Regrowth AU: What Would You Do For a Second Chance?

Even Elder Dragons have limits. And as it happens, a being whose power relies on life has no hold on the realm of the dead. In the Domain of the Lost, a spirit awakens for the first time in many years. For a time, she spends her penance leading those that her actions sent to their graves too early-- but that would never be enough to satisfy Scarlet Briar. It’s too slow. Too tedious... Too boring. And she isn’t prepared to spend all of eternity tending to spirits who hate her for choices she never would have made of her own volition.

So when a stranger reaches through the Mists seeking her guidance and her power in a new alliance, Scarlet accepts-- and finds her spirit anchored to a rather unconventional ex-mordrem revenant. But the world has changed a great deal in her absence, and thanks to their new goal... It’s about to change a whole lot more. They’re both going to make quite sure of that.

Tyria isn’t the only thing that’s going to change, though. Ceara hasn’t been herself in a long, long time... And now, without the dragon’s influence crushing her sense of self, she’s finally free to rediscover the person she should have been. Maybe there’s still time to reclaim her legacy after all.

If she can avoid almost destroying the world (again), that is...

Flourish AU: What If One Choice Could Change the World?

Sometimes all it takes is a few words in the right place at the right time... A moment of solidarity that by all rights, never should have happened. But the Dream works in mysterious ways, and as echoes rippled across the Mists from distant worlds, it learned of a different future and an unexpected outcome. All it took was a single, subtle nudge to set the ball rolling, and so it did.

On that fateful day in the Grove, Caithe never would have thought to ask the inquisitive sylvari what she was working on. But, just this once, the Dream did.

Curiosity was repaid in kind. A repaired healing device was left in the infirmary, its Secondborn donator unspoken but well-known. Beginning to recognize the value of Ceara’s peculiar research, others began to quietly peek at the budding scientist as she worked. And while she might never have been a social butterfly, the acceptance warmed her heart of ice into something far softer. She didn’t have to choose between her dream and the Dream. And even if she left the Grove far behind... Perhaps she didn’t have to cut it off entirely.

And that was all she’d ever truly needed; the opportunity of choice.

Ceara never left the Dream, not entirely. She listened to its advice, following when it suited her and forging a unique path all her own. She became not an engineer, but a thief, following in the footsteps of her new mentor. When Saoirse needed her advice, she was still in the Grove to provide it. The world changed, slowly but surely, one altered life at a time.

The Dream’s grand design came to pass. Three champions would rise like stars, facing the dragons together. Heart, Mind, and Soul... Pirkko, Ceara, and Saoirse, from the Priory, Whispers, and Vigil. A bold new future awaited-- a future where the horrors of Scarlet’s Alliance would never be known, for there had never even been a Scarlet Briar to lead it.

But the greater their success, the lusher their world...

And the higher the flames would burn when it all ignited.

Tideturners AU: What Happens When There is No Hero?

Mai Trin wasn’t born to be a hero. That was supposed to be Ruju’s job. He was the one who would become the Commander, leading unlikely alliances to victory time and time again to save his world from the draconic plight. He was strong, and relentless, and brave, and intelligent. He was always meant to be a leader.

But his heart was just as cold and dead as the biomechanical minions he commanded in battle, and the future he would create was not a kind one.

He was invited aboard Scarlet’s Alliance, but this would prove a deadly error; Commander Ruju made no differentiation between a willing dragon minion and a rebelling one. Scarlet Briar was claimed by his blade in the dead of night, and the rest were left with a brutal choice: fall in line, or share her fate. Mai, realizing this was no longer the alliance she had once believed in, took her Aetherblades and fled into the Mists.

But the Grand High Sovereign’s rampage did not end. He blazed a devastating trail of bloodshed across the Tyrian continent, wiping away all that dared stand in his path. With every fallen foe, his army only continued to grow. Dragons were crushed by brute force, and magic poured into the increasingly unstable fabric of reality. With every passing day there was less left to save.

Mai Trin wasn’t born to be a hero. She never would have chosen that role for herself-- and whether that was what she became would be debated by many. But she was meant to be a leader, and if Ruju would not be the one her Tyria needed, she was the only one left who could. Alliances were forged, civilians were evacuated, and a mask was donned; she was no longer Mai Trin. She was the Sidewinder, and their hidden Turnabout deep in the Mists would offer a second chance to those who had nowhere else left to go. As the years passed, it became the stuff of legend, a tale of hope and renewal even in the face of impossible odds.

Their world is long-gone now, nothing but haunted memories in the minds of those precious few who escaped alive. But the Tideturners remain, one last refuge against a Commander who decided the world wasn’t worth saving. He won’t save them, so they’ll save themselves instead.

“We're the Tideturners, and we won’t be washed away.”

#pinned post #my posts #hi. it took me like 2 years to finally make this.#i am definitely a fully functional tumblr blog.

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valiant-portabella-pirkko · 3 years

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> Saoirse, Harbinger of Oblivion

"If annihilation is the jungle dragon's only alternative... I will do what I must. I will free our kind of this nightmare, at any cost."

There was a time when young Saoirse held bright hopes for the future. She pursued her Wyld Hunt bravely, facing the horrors of the Nightmare Court to protect all that she held dear. In those times, everything seemed so simple. Follow the Dream, defeat evil, go home and enjoy the satisfaction of her victory.

Until one day she returned not as a victor, but the sole survivor.

Saoirse did what she could to save them, but by the time she had recovered enough to invade the Court's inner sanctum, it was already too late. She faced not only the Courtiers who slaughtered her team, but the broken, converted remnants of those few comrades who lived. If there was a hell, the sylvari was certain it must be something like this.

That night, she made graves in memory of all the warm, bright souls the Court had so mercilessly snuffed out. The next morning she left the Grove, never to return.

The Dream had led her not to happiness, but unimaginable pain.

Joining the Soundless, Saoirse spent years learning to silence the call that continued to whisper in her mind. She left it all behind, and while part of her would always care for those who remained, she did not envy them. No, all she felt for the denizens of the Grove now was a keen sense of pity.

Someday they would learn the same lesson, she knew.

But, that lesson came far sooner than anyone anticipated.

The world shuddered as a long-forgotten Elder Dragon awoke in the jungle, and its call resounded throughout every blade of grass, every towering tree, every leaf soaking up the afternoon sun. Without the Dream's protection, Saoirse was defenseless. Her studies were cut short as it carved its way deep into her mind, whispering without words. Mordremoth knew her fears, her pain, her regrets.

Under its wings, she would never experience such agony again.

Yet, in a rare moment of cosmic mercy, she did not reach her destination. Pact soldiers successfully detained her in the Silverwastes, keeping her there until the threat had passed. And as the dragon fell at last, she was left with naught but the shadow of fear; a new terror, deeper than the losses she had already endured.

Never before had Saoirse felt so little control over her fate.

And yet, it gave her a terrible power. The jungle dragon's corruption left a mark deep within her very soul. She felt in tune with the world in a way she had not before, the flow of magic as visible to her as a roaring river. Saoirse understood it, drawing upon this gift that had come from such dark roots.

She knew what she must do to feel safe once more.

Saoirse would find an ally who she knew must understand.

The sylvari began to travel, researching the magic and mystery of the Mists. If some old battle-worn charr could call upon the spirits of the great beyond, why couldn't she? Her trail led to the Shiverpeaks; Sons of Svanir had been using Mist portals to summon constructs for ages.

The Revenant took their research, by coercion or force or both. Those who opposed her vanished into the snowstorms, never to be heard from again. She was like a force of nature, unstoppable and remorseless. Slowly, her notes grew, and her work finally began.

Runes shimmered in the snow on that fateful night.

And as she called into the Mists... She received her answer.

Now they travel the world together, new plans for a new world set into motion. Saoirse, desperate for a barrier to protect her people from the remaining dragons... And the spirit of Scarlet Briar, eager for a quick penance to skip out on her eternal punishment.

Together, they're going to change the world.

For better... Or for worse.

#Guild Wars 2 #GW2 #sylvari #OCs #Regrowth AU #screenshots #it's antivillain hours #personality type: militant #as they say... the road to hell is paved with good intentions.#she's definitely a fun one to explore...#i'd place her as an antagonist who genuinely believes she's doing the right thing #she's not nice by any means... but well-meaning in her own way.#Freedom... at any cost.#:)

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ivisite · 4 years

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DRAGONBORN 30 DAY CHALLENGE

Day 11 - The Werewolves of Jorrvaskr

Did they join the Companions?:

“Yes” and then Yes, for real. When she first stumbled upon the trio outside of Whiterun taking on a giant, she was mostly just concerned with Farkas being a “healthy brute” and that’s about it. She saw the scene from a distance and shot an arrow into the back of it’s neck, finishing it off and making her way over. Rather than acknowledging the trio, however, she just started picking through the Giant’s things, only to be disappointed when it was a bust. She was approached by Aela, and was complimented on her archery skills and was told to stop by Jorravskr afterwards. She just kind of nodded at the idea and gave Ria a few blue mountain flowers, telling her to chew on them to heal up those scratches she’d received. Fast Forward to meeting Balgruuf and fighting a dragon (she had the tablet on her already because the promise of a shipment’s worth of gold is more enticing than dragons). She was this “Dragonborn” thing and likely word would get around all of Skyrim eventually and she needed a spot to hide more so than ever. The moment her eyes locked onto the “danger” shadowmark outside of Jorravskr, she knew what she had to do. So yes, she does join the ranks of the other whelps, but at first only does so to hide out there. After spending time with them a doing a few jobs, she starts to actually bond with a few of them and thus becomes inspired to try and change herself. It’s a slow process but she at least takes baby steps. It’s hard to fit in at first, but she slowly starts to warm up to the foreign lifestyle. About half way into the plot-line, she starts to have nightmares and the guilt of her past begins to plague her to the point that she decides she needs to go confront her past and the Greybeards. She promises Vilkas and Kodlak that she’ll come back a better person, one more fit to take on the title of an actual Companion but doesn’t say what she’s off to do besides answering the Greybeards.

If yes…

How did they react to learning they were all werewolves?:

Oh she’s most certainly shocked. After her childhood incident, she’s vehemently against lycanthropy and is glad to learn that some of the Circle are, too. As a result, she doesn’t bond with Aela or Skjor much, and tends to lean more towards the brothers and Kodlak. When she returns from her adventuring (with gifts in hand and ready to help them fight off the Silver-Hand) she picks up where she left off (unknowingly pregnant whoops) and goes about taking out the Silver-Hand and helping Vilkas avenge Kodlak (and fighting the whole way there about how that isn’t what the old man would have wanted) and even curing the twins afterwards. Her and Aela remain distant, however.

How did they react to becoming a werewolf themselves?:

This is where I changed the canon, just a bit. She refuses the blood, cursing the idea and reinstating her belief that it’s a curse and a far too terrible a power for a mortal to have. Before Aela and Skjor can rebuttle, she continues by saying that she’ll help them take out the Silver-Hand still, but will do so WITHOUT the beast blood to show them that there’s more ways to be powerful.

Did they ever cure themselves?:

Never taking the blood for herself, she does make it a personal mission to cure the twins after curing Kodlak in his death. Farkas was the first to ask for help (which she was happy to go along with) but eventually Vilkas asks, too, after putting his pride aside. Despite the differences, it would be a respect-building moment for herself and Vilkas whereas Farkas would remind her that he swore to stand by her side and that he meant it, minus all the mushy stuff.

Fighting for honour’s a good living. Do they agree?:

At first, no. She thinks of the group as over-hyped sell-swords but after spending time with them she starts to see them in a different light. Slowly, but surely, she starts to see the bits of honor through all the dust and fighting and finds the idea alluring. She’s never considered herself a good or honorable person but being among the Companions makes her crave for that sort of glory and respect.

Will they lead the Companions to glory as Harbinger?:

Another moment in which I changed the canon, but only because Saoirse wouldn’t make a good Harbinger. Instead, once Kodlak passed it on to her, she would make her first bit of “Advice” to be that Vilkas will be carrying the title from now on, saying that despite him being such a grump, he’s more suited and has come along way since avenging Kodlak. He’d start to refuse but she’d insist. The two switch roles, essentially, and she’d take a spot in the Circle (replacing Skjor) and he would remain in the Circle but as the Harbinger (replacing Kodlak). She’s better suited as a Circle member, and would probably be a Master Stealth trainer, using her stealthy thief skill set as a way to teach new whelps how to be better hunters. She’d keep her past a secret from them though, of course and would also keep her lover boy a secret, too. She leaves the thieving behind her but some flames are hard to put out ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Finally I’m on time but I have to hurry and get to work before I’m late OTL enjoy, tomorrow i’ll try to keep up with the “on time” thing It’s funny i had this prompt today after being asked a question about the same thing yesterday by a lovely anon <3 I’d like to explore her time with the companions more soon, so hopefully I can doodle or write some stuff <3

#female dragonborn #dragonborn challenge #saoirse : oc #digital art #skyrim oc #tes oc #character creation #the companions #vilkas #farkas #ria

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ivisite · 4 years

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For the drabble meme, 33 with Anruin?

Anruin is petty with a capital “P” and I’m all about that.

#33. “I saw you staring at each other, I just wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage.”

It wasn’t often that Anruin managed to successfully read his map well enough to make it to his destination and it was even more rare for him to stumble upon something worth writing about. Besides studying half-diligently at the two colleges of Skyrim, the small Bosmer found himself enthralled with his own personal journey. He wanted nothing more than to become the greatest bard and with his Mer blood giving him a few extra years to hold over the common man, he was happy to say he had plenty of time to accomplish said feat.

Bards of old simply spoke tales they’d heard from others but Anruin was determined to do the opposite. Based strictly on rumors he picked up while coaxing about local Inns, he managed to catch wind of a new figure emerging- or two, rather. One such figure was the Last Dragonborn, a Nord woman with hair as fiery as the souls of the dragons she captured and the other was a mysterious hooded figure that few had ever actually seen, a harbinger of thieves and larceny that guards whined about in the days after the it was supposedly spotted in the area. Amused by the notion but bribed to say otherwise, Anruin knew far too much about any given person anyways but in particular he knew quite a bit about the newest soon-to-be hero of old.

“Can’t you guys get some incense? Just because it is a sewer doesn’t mean it has to smell like it- and it’s far too humid, too. Humidity isn’t good for singing..” Anruin rambled, walking about the infamous Ragged Flagon that everyone spoke ill of.

At the counter, the owner of said makeshift bar wiped down tankards with an annoyed flair. He was a surprisingly decent looking man, all considering where he set up shop and his so-called lady friend wasn’t too bad on the eyes either. Both, however, watched the Bosmer parade about with the last of their nerves ticking away.

“Woof Elf, I’ll ask again, what do you want? Shouldn’t you be prancing around an Inn or something?” Tonilia rather pointedly asked. She was a Redguard, Anruin presumed and had a tough demeanor about her. Pretty enough but perhaps too domineering, Anruin could see why her little friend the bar keep might like her so much. Docile by contrast, the barkeep was a good balance to her more assertive nature.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping with your actual lover instead of literally everyone else?” Anruin coolly snapped back, taking out his journal and scribbling something down.

Both the barkeep and Tonilia’s mouth fell agape. The rabble that lived in the sewers weren’t exactly posh and well-mannered but for some stranger to waltz down on his merry way to gods know where just to bother them was infuriating in both both and practice.

“Why you dirty little bast-” The Redguard woman started to say, cut short by a rather loud throat being cleared.

“Can someone please be so kind as to tell me where all my workers are? I’d really appreciate it.”

The man in question was of average height but made up for any short-comings in the area by his gruff voice and permanent look of annoyance that chiseled itself onto his face. The man haphazardly glanced between the three other people in the Flagon only to shake his head and take a seat at a table off to the side. Grumbling about needing something to drink, the man motioned his hand at the barkeep.

“And what in Oblivion do you want, elf?” He spat, looking to Anruin rather hatefully.

“A hearty drink with warm company, of course. Why else would I have come to such a lovely establishment with such inviting patrons?” Anruin cooed back, smiling at the irritated knitting of the man’s brow.

“If you must know, though, I’m looking for Saoirse. Had a gut feeling she might be around here when not dragonborn-ing.” The wood elf said slyly. In truth, he knew all too well of Skyrim’s rising hero. She wasn’t much of one from what he could see, at least not based on the great, bulky heroes of the past and had a bit of a dark side to her that she bribed him with gold and food to not tell anyone about.

“Oh, well then, that makes two of us.” The grump of a man retorted, rolling his eyes as he drank from his tankard.

“Ah, Mercer! Delvin and Vex are out on jobs with a few of the other stagglers from the Cistern. Brynjolf and Saoirse are probably killing each other or something. Delvin sent them on another job together.“

From his spot behind the bar, Vekel must have seen a lot of thing and for that Anruin could respect. Barkeeps and Bards knew everything about everyone that walked by them and were dangerous in their own right. Either type could twist a rumor just a bit and have the whole hold gossiping for weeks on end.

"As long as the job gets finished first, what’s it matter afterwards.” Mercer grumbled again.

It grew quiet in the small tavern after that, an odd but welcoming atmosphere if you squinted and tried really hard to find it. Persistent, Anruin took a seat at a table that was situated on what he called the dock, for lack of better words. If she were out on a job, she would have to come back eventually and he had a million things to ask as soon as she did.

Despite popping up at a bad time during a dragon attacking a nearby settlement, Anruin and Saoirse managed to get along rather well. She wasn’t pompous or haughty like he imagined someone with her title would be and seemed to put up with his presence on most occasions. Perhaps only because he was so insistent on the friendship, the two and whomever happened to be following her around at the time were quite the gaggle to behold.

After what seemed like hours, the Flagon was greeted to the oncoming hum of what sounded like people screeching in the ratways coming towards the entrance of the tavern. While Vekel seemed amused by it, muttering something about his end of a bet going well, Mercer groaned and rubbed his temples.

“You bloody bastard! How dae you except me to be able to read your damned mind?! Ruddy haired son-of-a bi-"

”-Look who’s calling the kettle full, you ruddy haired wench! When Mercer heres about this, he’s going to kill me and I’m going to push you in front like a human shield!“

Bickering as they walked into the tavern, Saoirse and another red head that Anruin couldn’t help but give a second glance towards made their way over to the seating area. They hadn’t noticed the other patrons just yet but they made good time in grabbing their alcohols of choice and taking seats as far away from each other as possible. Saoirse found herself sitting at the bar and her accomplice sat pretty with the grump from earlier. As quickly as the storm rolled in, it seemingly settled as soon as they had a drink in hand and back to one another.

Anruin watched the two for a moment before taking a seat next to his favorite muse, nudging her playfully in hopes of striking up a conversation while the men across the way talked business in hushed voices. Others started pouring into the tavern soon afterwards, as well, filling the seats and talking loudly while chasing what was left of daylight with various meads and wine. It was oddly comforting, Anruin noted, despite the general ambience leaving something to be desired. He was a muscian and a story-teller at heart and a bustling tavern was where he belonged.

As brazen as he might have seemed, Anruin could read a room in seconds flat. Despite the rumblings of several different conversations and boisterous laughter here and there, he couldn’t help but notice a stale bit of air sitting stagnant overhead. The other red head from earlier seemed to have lightened up once a few drinks settled on his stomach, carrying on with a balding man, a hateful looking blonde and this Mercer fellow from earlier. In contrast, Saoirse was uncharacteristically quiet, even having moved down a few seats from the Bosmer after muttering about not being in the mood.

It was absolutely tantalizing. Like a moth to a flame, Anruin took out his journal again, placing it on the counter along with a quill and ink bottle much to the barkeep’s amusement. There was always something to make a song out of and if the dragonborn had some sort of edge to her, he was about to write every observation on the matter down in his notes. The song of the era would need to be detailed and Anruin was more than happy to include this odd moment of stagnant tension in the hero’s journey in the song.

Not paying mind, he managed to draw a few curious onlookers attention towards him. Another Bosmer of the more cliche archer sort took a seat nearby while a dark haired man with a nicer disposition than the others sat on the otherside of Anruin. Both were quiet as they watched the bard scribble but couldn’t help but interrupt after a while passed.

"What’re you writing, kinsman?” The other Bosmer asked, peering over Anruin’s shoulder while the darker haired male squinted to read the pages.

Anruin loved attention, so when it was given he was to engage, though kept a certain watchfulness about him so not to miss anymore note worthy things. Smiling, he put his quill down and dusted off the corner of the page he was writing on.

“It’s a song. I’m trying to write about our dragonborn over here but she’s too busy moping about to get anything noteworthy out of.” He playfully chimed, pushing the journal into better view for his onlookers.

They seemed intrigued by the notion if not amused as they both skimmed the pages. Strangers they might have been but patrons never-the-less. If they wanted to hear a story Anruin would gladly oblige. While the pair quietly muttered and read through the pages of notes, Anruin let himself study the room. Nothing really changed since his last glance around but from the corner of his eye he did manage to catch a glimpse of something worth taking a moment to ponder on.

From across the way at the table full of important looking members amongst the rabble, Anruin watched as the red headed man gazed at Saoirse when he thought no one was looking. He would let his eyes linger on her for no more than a moment before flickering them back to his own company but wouldn’t let himself go too long without looking her way again. His expression was neutral as far as Anruin could tell from his peripheral vision but the gazes were intense. He wasn’t the target, but he could almost feel the weight of it pass over his shoulders en route to the woman nestled at the edge of the bar.

“Curious…” He thought to himself before turning his attention to Saoirse down a ways from him. She sat quietly at the edge, tinkering with a fork while her bottle of mead sat sparsely touched.

She, too, seemed to notice the weight and made quick to let her own eyes wander towards the other red head from time to time. It was another hard read but Anruin could feel the weight of her gaze passing over him just as much, if not more so than the red headed male’s. They seemed to dance around each other, glancing in perfectly timed intervals so not to catch one another and Anruin found it rather amusing. It was as though they were bickering still, taking non-verbal shots at one another before passively looking away to await the other’s response.

Picking up his quill and dipping it in ink after several moments of watching the two, Anruin raised his brows nonchalantly and let a coy smile make its way across his lips. His notes were rather bland as of late, mostly based on rumors and the odd sighting but in this instance he decided to toss a bit of grease on the fire. Fingers popped and legs crossed just so, Anruin cleared his throat and caught the attention of the tavern. Pleased with spotlight, he chuckled and looked between the red heads on either side of the room.

“I saw you two staring at each other, I just wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage. Care to elaborate or should I just write down that it’s both? That would make for a good line in my song….” He cooed.

Horror struck the faces of both people that had been singled out and every pair of eyes in the tavern began to waver between the two. Anruin, however, couldn’t help but chortle at his feat as he dipped his quill in the nearby ink well. With both red heads at a loss for words by the sudden call out, Anruin shook his shoulders happily and began writing.

"Oh good, it’s both then. The plot thickens and the tension rises! This is going to be the best song ever….”

Anruin is the messiest ho in all of Tamriel and I couldn’t be more proud.

#oc ask #anruin : oc #bosmer #anruin needs a squad of other messy ho's #they could have a black book with everyone in Skyrim written in it with juicy gossip #solitude #skyrim oc

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