˚ ༘♥︎·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

Utterly soul devouring; eternally yearning. 18+

[mythicswan]

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ . . . Twenty-Something, Multi-Fandom writer with a love for the macabre, the midnight sky, the colours black and bloody, and middle-aged men and women . . . She/Her; 18+ Content; Requests: Open.

— ❛ Tell me, darling. What are your desires? ❜

Rules.

Masterlist.

[mythicswan]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Rules.

— I do write adult content — minors, please be aware of this and be wary when reading through my blog, check my post as I will always state if my post is 18+ or not!

— I write for an array of different characters; just remember that those characters with a lack of content will appear more OOC because of this.

— I do accept requests.

— I write regardless of gender and sexuality, I aim to write a Gender Neutral reader for each of the posts, unless stated otherwise - check my warnings before reading, and I wish to never offend anyone!

— I am willing to write topics that will require a trigger warning, as long as it doesn't violate basic morals. [rape and abuse, for example ]

— Once again, I will always put such TW's in the warnings section.

— I will not respond right away, but I will get to it in time.

— Fandoms: GOT, AKOTSK, OUAT, DEXTER, JJK, BNHA, & more . . .

Have fun, be imaginative, and send in cool requests.

[mythicswan]

Madame. Sir. Your honor. Beautiful person. You got me hooked on your Regina Mills x Reader. Dammit you got me yearning for more! Lol. Thank you for sharing such wonderful fic. Have an amazing day/night! 🙆🏻‍♀️ please continue your awesome fic when you got the chance thank you!

Hello, love! Thank you so so much. 🌷 part two shall be out soon, I’ve been busy so I haven’t had much time to put my head down and continue with the plot—especially since I’m lowkey making it up as I go along with a basic idea of what I want to happen.

Anyway, enough of me rambling, I am starting to slowly write the second part. I’m shocked I’ve received as much likes as I have, tbh. I thought the fandom was completely dead on here.

[mythicswan]

REGINA MILLS. 1/?

Content: Regina Mills x Reader; female reader; modern world setting; Storybrooke is still cursed; teacher!Reader; yearner!Reader—lowkey; implied history between the two—if you squint.

Authors Note: I saw the lack of love for this beautiful woman and as I continue to miss her dearly, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands. I plan on turning this into a series, not sure how long... But I fear cramming this idea I have into one post seems a tad optimistic. Also, just a quick reminder that this doesn’t follow the canon timeline religiously.

──── Storybrooke, Maine.

The sleepy town of Storybrooke slowly hummed to life as the sun peaked through the thickets that guarded the town, your bones aching as you shifted around the small cottage as if by mantra.

The same morning every morning, the same day every day; everything the same. That’s what it felt like, anyway.

You wake, eat, greet your neighbours, work, go to Granny’s Diner on Saturday’s, and do your groceries on the Sunday—some days you switch it up just for some ‘variety’. Maybe you’ll even grab a warm drink in the morning from Granny’s Diner because you deserve a treat, but even that becomes a sad routine.

Your cottage is cosy, fashionable in your eyes and a soft blue on the outside; the garden lined up with fresh flowers that sleep in the winter and bloom when the sun appears once more; the great tree that sheds its leaves every autumn adorned with a bench underneath it where you take yourself to read or sometimes to simply breathe in the morning air on slower days; from the softness of the covers of your bed to the light that breaks into your windows between sheer curtains, you find yourself wanting more.

You had everything, of course. Life was boring but it was good. Stable, structured, safe.

It was Sunday, which meant it was time to leave the comfort of your cottage and venture into town, where you’d find yourself in the grocery shop again. Your list was now a mental one, rehearsed to perfection. The basket filling up with each mental ticking off the list, you even decided to treat yourself with a sweet treat, why not?

“Vanilla or chocolate?” A voice approached you, pulling you out of your melancholia; eyes staring at the cinnamon rolls.

Where the voice resided stood the Mayor.

Hair of dark silk pooling around the curve of her neck which was kissed by a necklace, hugged between the valley of her breasts. You generally wouldn’t have noticed such a thing, but with the satin purple of her shirt which allowed a sight of the lace underneath it didn’t exactly leave much to the imagination.

You realised in that moment that you hadn’t ever looked at her up close, not like this.

“I—” you stumbled on your words, eyes suddenly darting from the parting of her red lips that adorned the scar that bled into her skin and then to her eyes—dark, watching, familiar.

“Chocolate.” Like her eyes, you thought, but shook away the thoughts.

She hummed, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth for a few moments before nodding, “chocolate it is.” She smiled for a second, familiar, then it disappeared.

“Are you going to buy those cinnamon rolls, or are you just going to stare at them?” She asked, humour lingered in her tone as her eyes playfully watch you.

“Well, I, I…” You let out an awkward laugh. “I got lost in my own thoughts, if I’m being honest.”

A sound left her mouth, akin to a laugh but yet still not a laugh at all; fond as it was, anyhow, to your surprise as you recall the opinions across town often whispered about the Mayor.

“I will leave you to your thoughts then,” she paused for a moment, her dark eyes glittering under the florescent lights of the shop, “thank you, y/n.”

She knows your name?

“For what?” You asked, dumbfounded, stupidity found in your tone as you looked her way, reminding her of a confused puppy.

The corner of her lip twitched upwards for a second as she gestured towards the chocolate cake in her hand, “oh! Right.” You flushed, attempting to ignore the heat that rose in your cheeks without consent.

Three days had passed since and you wondered if Mayor Mills was satisfied with your choice in chocolate over vanilla; reminding you of the warmth of her eyes. It was silly, really. Childish, even. The prospect of still thinking of the infamous Mayor was truly childish. You excused it as seeing a different face, new faces always prickle the imagination. It causes you to imagine what their life is like, if they prefer mornings over nights, if they truly love their job, if they prefer coffee over tea, and how sweet they like it. It was rarer still to find a different face that is a gorgeous as hers, though you hesitated to admit that part.

Besides, it's not like you were possibly going to see her again. Not in the aisle of the small towns grocery shop or the line at Granny's Diner, and even if you did, you would only smile and bid her a good day. Most likely, you wouldn't speak at all.

"Earth to y/n." Mary Margaret chirped, her voice as melodic and soft as usual. Her mug cupped around her hands, now evidently lukewarm, reminding you of your own drink-disregarded and patiently waiting for attention.

Taking a quick sip, you hummed out as you formulated words that made sense, mainly words that didn't make you look completely insane. The idea of uttering, 'oh I met the Mayor for the first time on Sunday and for some reason she has completely taken over my mind, is that normal?' because no, it is not normal.

Instead you decided to say, "the new marking scheme for the tests are really annoying me, it's difficult for no reason at all." Which wasn't exactly a lie, the new marking scheme was irritating, but not enough to make you stare into space for however long you did. You just hoped that Mary Margaret believed you.

"Yeah, I know." She rolled her eyes, a hint of a laugh on her tongue as she greatly agreed. "I think they like to make our jobs harder, as if we don't have enough to do as it is."

"Maybe we should go over it all after work?" You suggested, hoping that Mary Margaret is up to it; anything to break their endless routine. "Granny's?"

"Sure thing." She nodded, smiling almost as relieved as you. “I could do with a different setting, even the loft is sick of seeing me.”

[mythicswan]

I have a fic idea… hear me out! I am currently replaying The Forgotten City (an amazing game, btw) while knee deep in my GOT universe fixation (again, thanks to AKOTSK) andddd have thought of an idea, me thinks.

Ser Duncan the Tall x Reader: you find yourself trapped in an alternate universe; from our world to Westeros; where you find yourself living the same few days over and over again leading up to the demise of Ser Duncan the Tall during the trial of seven. To find your way back home, you must find a way to save Ser Duncan from his early grave.

[ this plot doesn’t follow the book/shows timeline, clearly, and it would be twisted for the plot, but the setting and bare bones of the shows plot remains ]

[mythicswan]

I have some… ideas… allow me to share.

— Aerion Targaryen x Reader: you, a nobody, captures the attention of the cruel dragon; he burns for you and yet, he doesn’t necessarily understand the meaning behind it all.

— Lyonel Baratheon x Reader: after a chance of a new life, you strip yourself of your title and family name, you masquerade as a commoner, only to end up in Lord Baratheon’s tent; after one too many drinks and the undivided attention of the Lord himself, you find yourself in his bed the morning after with a headache and Lyonel Baratheon finds himself, completely besotted.

[mythicswan]

HARALD SIGURDSSON.

Content — arranged marriage; friends to lovers; reader is from England, and uses the term 'Dear God', therefore she is christian; female!reader, use of she/her pronouns; 2nd person; reader doesn't want marriage; she also kind of dislikes Harald at first; Harald is very sweet ♡; very fluffy!

Authors Note — this account is dead, and I want to write random characters that I like—so, here I am. I'm missing my man, Harald, so let's get at it. . .

— time has changed us both

You barely realised the tide as it struck its ever so subtle changed—your marriage to Harald Sigurdsson was born purely of necessity. If you told the former version of yourself—the you before he, before the marriage—you would have laughed, and loudly, at that.

The now King of Norway stood mightier than ever, but you remember him those years ago when you first laid uneasy eyes upon the Viking as he trudged around England as if he owned the place; it was laughable, really.

Your opinion shifted between fear, to annoyance, to begrudging likability as you grew fond of his cocky remarks, silver-tongue, and not forgetting his unrelenting ambition.

Differences aside, the Prince became a friend to you. Nothing more, nothing less. . .

— years prior

Sat upon the stump, your nails etched into the rings of the tree, the sound of Harald's soft breath calming the atmosphere as the sun rose—you knew that this would be wrong in the eyes of your parents, especially your father.

It would ruin your chances of a marriage. . .It wasn't lady-like for you to skip off into the woods with a man. A Viking Prince, no less.

But Harald was your friend, despite your angst since meeting him—you didn't mind his presence anymore, and in moments like these, they were bliss as you shared the silent view of the world awakening.

"I heard of your father's wishes for you, y/n." His voice crackled the peace you inhabited in that moment, then replaced with a clipping anxiety that caused you to dig yours nails into the hardness of the stumped tree.

His eyes, deep with a likeness to honey, watched you closely—almost as if he were attempting to read your mind. But he knew; you didn't wish to marry. You wanted freedom.

He clicked his tongue upon your silent reply of a quirked brow and a pouty lip, "I understand your anguish, I do."

He didn't, though. He was a man. A man from a land that came with different expectations and ways of life, and a history of freedom by its very definition. Actually, scratch that, no man would be able to understand the fear that a woman endures and even the slightest mentioning of marriage. You abhorred the word, it's meaning and it's grisly reality.

"I do not wish for that future for myself. . ." You began, your eyes remained fixed upon the horizon. "I yearn for something more beyond marriage because of a must."

"Mhm." He nodded, thoughtfully. "You could grow to love the person, or at least admire them for what they are?"

His words didn't reassure you in the slightest—in fact, it only confirmed them. You truly were doomed, weren't you?

"We are friends, yes?" He asked.

"Yes?" You looked his way, you tone almost quizzical as he began to laugh a little. "What is your point, Harald?"

"Would you not marry me, I am not a stranger." It sounded almost like a suggestion, but his smile said otherwise as another laugh slipped between his lips.

Your eyes rolled, "Dear God, please, never speak that aloud again. It will give me nightmares." You laughed a little, but you meant it.

The thought of marrying the likes of Harald Sigurdsson sounded almost humorous, one big joke. He would love his axe and title more than his wife, and he would love his wife only when he would bed her.

Yes, you were friends. But, you were still aware of him as a man, and you knew to stay away from that sector of male. Better lonely than with a bruised ego and too many kids to count.

"I am not so bad, y/n. At least pretend to have faith in me." He said, his eyes true, but his smile remained still across hardened features.

"Have you ever been in love?" You asked, suddenly.

His head snapped your way, and a furrow of his brow appeared before he cleared his throat, "No. I don't believe I have."

— present day.

He left soon after, watching you as the boat drew away and towards his next destination, and you watched him, only with a different frame of mind. You were glad to have known his friendship because beyond all of the bravado and his famous grin, he was a kind man. A good one.

You just never suspected that one day, he would become your husband.

The King of Norway wished for a wife, a partner to cherish forever, to create a life with. That person was you. . .For convenience, of course.

You were on the brink of being forced into a marriage, and he needed the stability on his throne. Two birds, one stone, right?

At first, your marriage was nothing more than what you two were before: friends.

You watched each sunrise together, laughed at silly jokes, waved him off as he set out on his next adventure, you welcomed him home with a warm hug and pleasant smile, you made his house a home and soon you provided him with beautiful children.

It all evolved so quickly that the marriage felt right.

His hand across your stomach as he felt the rolling of your child's fists, "He will be a fine warrior."

"And who is the say that they are a he?" You questioned, smiling gently.

"I said so, that is why." He grinned, his eyes twinkling before pressing a hearty kiss against your forehead.

His arms would snake around your waist as you hummed along to a song you hadn't heard in years, your hands working against the table as you kneaded the dough.

"Get off, Harald, I'm busy." You resisted, but your smile said otherwise as you leaned against the comfort of his warmth.

His smirk pressed against the edge of your neck, "Have I ever told you how much I love your neck?"

"Yes. Every night." Your face stretched into a wide smile, giggling as he pressed ticklish kisses against your skin.

Before you knew it, you were awaiting for his return, your arms wide open for him to engulf you into his sea-ridden cold, to warm him and listen to his stories as your limbs tangle as one in between the furs of your bed, your fingers playing with his curls of amber.

You wanted him around you, near you, with you.

As you sat together, your fingers line the rings of the stump, a nostalgia wavered across you with a force.

"Do you remember us here?" He asked. "A lot has happened since."

You nodded, wordlessly as you thought. A lot did happen. You couldn't even attempt to wrap your head around it, the former you truly would have laughed at you now.

"Time has changed us both." You stated, and you felt naked in that moment—almost like you were admitting how wrong you were.

"It has," Harald whispered, his eyes on the sun as it peaked over the trees. "I now know what it's like to be in love."

His gaze of honey and sweetness watched your features as you watched his with just as much intent.

"And I wish to never lose it. . .To lose you." He murmured, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. "I love you, my queen, forever and forevermore."