ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
:: DRAGØNFLIGHT, ᛋᛅᚴᛅ ᚾᚢ. ⅩⅪ.
The skald named it fate's whisper;
the old gods called it wyrd.
SEND RAVEN TO @HEILLBERGBOT.
Whose name shall be carved beside
mine upon the runestone? 🔝
Forwarded from Morthen : Awakening After The Static.
On a warm night, Morthen’s Eunchae and Heisenbërg Ni-ki ended up at their usual spot again, like they always do when the day gets too long. Nothing fancy—just the same table, the same food they barely touched because they were too busy talking. They went on about their day, complaining a little, laughing more, cutting each other off mid-sentence like it was normal. Somehow hours passed and neither of them noticed, like time just… didn’t bother them there.
They had their own way of talking—little words, half sentences, things no one else would understand. Sometimes it wasn’t even words at all, just the way their eyes met, or how their hands brushed without pulling away. It wasn’t loud or dramatic, just something gentle sitting between them, growing without either of them pointing it out. And somehow, in that small space, it felt like more than enough.
They had their own way of talking—little words, half sentences, things no one else would understand. Sometimes it wasn’t even words at all, just the way their eyes met, or how their hands brushed without pulling away. It wasn’t loud or dramatic, just something gentle sitting between them, growing without either of them pointing it out. And somehow, in that small space, it felt like more than enough.
