#@whenimaunicorn

[heathenarmyimagines]

Title: The Alliance

Summary: Princess (Y/N)'s hunt has finally come, and Ivar has more than a country to explore.

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

A/N: I know I haven't been uploading and I'm sorry, I've been working and this story in particular requires a LOT of research (like literally so much). That said please enjoy this chapter, remember if its bold that means it is spoken in the foreign language. This chapter does include a hunting scene so trigger warning if it applies.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Taglist:

The celebration of Princess (Y/N)’s homecoming was indeed an event that would be talked about in Tunisia for months, and the Norse travelers would never forget it. The beach, the dancing, the music, the food that was served was all breathtaking and bordering comfortably on the edge of overwhelming.

It was only when the feast was entirely eaten and the performers were physically unable to continue that everyone agreed to retreat to their own homes to rest.

Ivar found himself on the back of his father, he couldn’t fathom hauling his weight on his crutches after he had exhausted all his energy during the festivities. However; it seemed Ragnar had reserved just enough energy to help his youngest son to the palace.

He even carried Ivar’s crutches in his arms as Ivar clung to his back, and Ivar saw how his father’s grip on them left his knuckles pale white.

‘You do not like my crutches.’ he said, breaking the comfortable silence between the two of them as they lagged behind the royal party on the way back to the castle.

‘I do not like them.’ Ragnar confessed casually.

‘Why?’

‘You do not need them, Ivar; you move slower with them. I can tell it exhausts you and you break more bones by standing upright.’

‘I haven’t bro-’

‘You have.’ Ragnar interrupted the lie, his voice suddenly stern.

‘I am not your mother, I don’t need to see and hear you crying to know when you have pushed your body too far for its limitations. Every time I tried to hold you for the first year of your life I broke a bone in my rough handling.’

At his father’s confession Ivar was left speechless; how many times had his mother drunkenly rambled that as a babe Ivar cried whenever Ragnar picked him up? Of course Ivar had not known why he did this, he was too young, all he knew was his mother was telling the truth about it. Aslaug’s drunken complaining made up a large amount of Ivar’s childhood and sometimes her drunkenness made her dramatize the events but this was one of the few that never changed; Ragnar never spoke of it in front of him.

Not once in all his life.

‘Even the night I left you in the woods, it was your right ankle, it cracked as I tried to swaddle you. I hadn’t intended to leave you that night, I was just trying to hold you and I couldn’t do even that without hurting you.’ Ragnar continued.

‘You must not be used to the palm wine these Tunisians serve, mead has never made you drunk enough to tell me this before.’ Ivar tried weakly to joke.

He hadn’t been prepared to hear this, he had long ago come to accept that he would die without ever having had this conversation with his father.

‘I must not be.’ his father let out a humorless breath of laughter.

‘How do you know when I break a bone? Is it the blue in my eyes?’ Ivar asked.

‘No, son; it is not your eyes, it’s your nose.’

‘My nose?’

‘It scrunches up in a wince whenever a bone breaks, even as a baby before the cries could fall from your lips your nose would give you away. I also know because whenever I see you break a bone I feel it.’ his father confessed.

‘I feel the same sickness rise up in my throat, the same guilt. My guiltiness led me to abandon you, my guilt kept me from loving you. Guilt over how you were born, guilt that my impatience and disregard to your mother’s warning cost you your health.’

Ivar did not need any elaborations on what his father was referencing.

“His mother said he would be a monster.”

“Not even ten and already a killer.”

“There is something not human in him, I just know it.”

“She wasn’t even pregnant yet and she knew he’d be vile and twisted.”

“He even slithers around like the great serpent, he will bring Ragnarok to us all!”

Phrases like these were whispered around him all his life; his mother’s prophecy that if Ragnar had her too soon she would birth him a monster.

‘I do not blame you, or mother, I am not angry with you father. I never have been… I never could be. I-’ Ivar felt like he was physically choking on the words he was trying to say.

It was the first time he’d ever said them out loud before.

‘I love you Father, even if you broke my bones holding me I never wanted you to put me down.’ he said pressing his face into his father’s shoulder, and let Ragnar feel the tears soak into the fabric of his tunic.

‘You do not have to blame me, I will even allow you to be foolish enough to forgive me, but son, I will never forgive myself for the way I treated you. You and your brothers are one of the very few things that keep me in Midgard, and I do not deserve the love and respect you all show me. I have wronged you all, in unforgivable ways.’

‘I have never heard you admit to being wrong.’ Ivar said around the lump that had formed in his throat as he at last got a hold of his emotions.

‘Do not get used to it, it will never happen again and I will deny it if you tell any other living thing.’ his father said, his voice once again becoming lighthearted.

Their emotional conversation had ended, and he knew that neither he nor his father would ever mention it again. Not to each other or to anyone else.

Not even the Princess would hear of this, he would keep this moment selfishly to himself for the rest of his life.

A comfortable silence fell over the two men and lasted until they were finally in the palace, where Ragnar placed his son down and placed the crutches down, sending them a distasteful glance.

Ivar looked over at the others and saw that they were still raving over the festivities and their eagerness for sleep and he looked back to his father.

‘I know I do not need them, father, but I do want them. I want to stand tall among other men, I'm tired of looking up at those I know are beneath me.’ he whispered as he pulled himself up on his crutches.

‘I will not use them forever, I will improve them…and myself.’ he promised.

Ragnar sighed and placed a sudden, unexpected kiss on Ivar’s temple and whispered into his ear in confidence.

‘You will be a man to be feared one day, Ivar the Boneless. Your broken body will never be able to contain your mind and violence.’

With those last words Ragnar went back to the group and he along with Aslaug retired to their chambers.

His brothers and the Tunisians all quickly followed suit, and gave quick and polite goodbyes before going their own ways as well.

‘Let us also retire. I am absolutely exhausted.’ (Y/N) said and indeed she looked like her will alone was keeping her upright.

‘Yes, I’m sure that kind of dancing used up all your energy.’ Ivar agreed and soon they began their journey to their newly shared chamber.

‘I enjoyed dancing to your heart beat. It beats in alignment with my own.’ she remarked as they entered.

Inside they were met with their respective servants who must have brought in their things before joining the feast, as all their things were now properly in place in the chamber.

To Ivar’s surprise and delight the princess sent them both away.

Occasionally on the journey the princess would feel very affectionate and would like to undress Ivar herself; it was another thing he came to rely on while they shared space on the ship.

He would always eagerly offer to undress her in return, she would graciously accept and they would lie in each other’s arms as they slept through the night.

Tonight, however, she was more slow in removing his tunic than she usually did and he could tell by the distanced look in her eye as her hands moved that her mind was not truly in this moment.

‘I will not be at your side when you wake my love.’ she said as she discarded the clothing.

‘How long will your hunt last?’

‘As long as it takes, after the hunt is complete I will be taken to the Skinner's hut to fashion the cloak alone. Every three days a hunting party will be sent after me, if I were to forfeit, they would escort me back safely. In which case I will have failed, and we would not have the blessing of the Great and Many.’

‘Then we would not marry.’ Ivar concluded.

A pregnant silence set in over the two of them as they undressed and remained even as they lay in each other's arms.

‘Can I make a request for my cloak?’ Ivar said at last.

‘Of course.’

‘Something warm. I will want to wear it often and the weather back home is not as nice as this.’ he said with a smile.

He hoped she understood what he was saying between his words; prayed she understood that he had confidence she would succeed and they would marry.

Ivar only needed to meet her watering eyes to know she did understand him, and more than anything else she needed his confidence in her.

‘I’ve trained since the day Sven left with his party, and I am even bold enough to call myself a warrior, but I have never hunted alone.’ she confessed.

‘I had never known true combat until our Matrimonial Fight.’ Ivar returned.

He was surprised that she looked so surprised.

‘Are you trying to console me?’ the princess accused.

‘I am being truthful. Sure on occasion my brothers include me in a bit of roughhousing, or I may even initiate a scuffle but they are never actually aiming to overtake me. Our fights are never true.’ Ivar replied.

‘I knew when I fought with you there would be no holding back on your part, you fought me as an equal and you hit where it hurt.’

The princess’s accusing eyes softened before she hid her face in his chest.

‘I did apologize. ‘ she yawned sleepily.

‘Nothing to forgive, I loved it. I loved fighting you, watching how skilled you are, seeing that look in your eyes as you look for a new place to aim. And if you hunt as well as you fight I imagine I won’t be waiting a full week.’ Ivar encouraged.

Ivar whispered soft assurances and praises until he heard her soft snores, and even still he kept silently praising her, hoping that his Gods would hear his love for her and give her protection.

As he himself finally fell into slumber he even hoped the Great and Many would watch over her as well.

When Ivar woke up he had known (Y/N) wouldn’t be there, but he was still disappointed by her absence.

A small pebble was suddenly thrown into the room, noisily hitting the floor.

‘I am awake, Trya.’ Ivar sighed as he sat up to see his thrall entering the princess’s chamber holding a Tunisian shield.

‘My Prince, did you not sleep well? Should I call for the healers?’ the woman asked, the concern for his legs showing on her face.

‘My legs are no worse than I can handle, and my sleep was sound.’ he assured her as she began to dress him.

‘You have gotten used to her being there.’ Trya realized, but immediately she went red with embarrassment at her impulsive speaking.

‘I’m sorry Prince Ivar.’ she said quickly.

‘No need to apologize when you are right, if anything I should apologize in advance for my bad mood while she is away.’

‘If I may say, I think she will return sooner than you think and with a noble animal fur just for you. In the meantime there is a beautiful village to explore and such wonderful people to meet.’ Trya offered.

Ivar knew the old woman was simply trying to cheer him up, and she was even right; but he found little comfort in her words as he left the room on his crutches.

Just as he began to wonder where he should go without (Y/N) to guide him through the unfamiliar palace, one of her servants, Kya, rounded a corner and approached him.

‘Meal before.’ she mumbled in broken Norse.

‘We are in your homeland, no need to speak a foreign language for my sake.’ he said in perfect Derja.

The girl let out a sigh of relief and began speaking in her mother language.

‘It is time for first meal, I will take you to the great hall .’ she said, her tone very confident and proper in her own dialect, before leading him through the labyrinth of halls.

Ivar was led into a large room where both royal families were sitting on the floor in a circle, all of them eating some type of bread and dipping it into something steaming hot from their bowls.

‘Ivar you must try this porridge, their spices are so flavorful.’ Hvitserk said as Ivar lowered himself down as gracefully as he could.

‘I must agree, we will definitely be trading a great deal of spices in the near future.’ Ragnar agreed, his own bowl nearly empty before Ivar had even received his portion.

The flavor of the porridge was very strong and delicious, and the bread was more grainy than the bread back home.

‘It is delicious.’ Ivar complimented as he ate with a bit more vigor.

After all, he had a long journey on the ship and had drank far too much at the feast.

‘I’m sure if my future daughter in law were here she would be flattered.’ Aslaug said, surprising everyone.

‘(Y/N) made this meal?’ Ivar asked, truly questioning how his mother knew this.

His mother sat aside her now empty bowl and looked at him in earnest, as she always had. As if she hadn’t ignored him from the moment he decided to sail here.

‘I was unable to sleep through your father’s snoring so I had a servant show me around the palace. The princess was in the kitchens, helping the cooks as they prepared her rations and first meal. We had a talk.’ the Norse Queen answered.

Ivar sent a look to his brothers, who looked equally as stunned, even his father had wide eyes.

Every word she just said went against everything they knew about their mother. Aslaug was often so drunk she could sleep through the harshest winter storm, she despised watching thralls work, and in all their lives they had never seen her set foot in any kitchen.

It hadn’t been a convenient coincidence, Ivar was certain his mother had snuck out of bed in the wee hours to speak to (Y/N) privately before her departure.

However, if anyone was waiting on Aslaug to explain her conversation with the princess, they were disappointed when she went back to her wine in silence.

‘Well then, what will you all like to do today?’ King Akashi asked the Norse royals.

‘We would like to walk through your markets. Your daughter tells us it was her most important duty as a child. The concept is both foreign and intriguing to all of us, plus we are eager to see in person the beautiful kingdom that raised our new princess.’ Ragnar replied.

‘Excellent, I shall give them a tour.’ Prince Ayo beamed as he stood excitedly.

‘Sit down.’ the queen said in a quiet but stern tone, the kind that came only from mothers and queens; and considering that she was both, her tone was truly powerful.

The child prince sighed in his defeat and sat back down on the floor.

‘You are not old enough yet my son, and you are not far enough along in your studies to walk the village and converse with the people. Until then you will spend your day with your tutors.’ the king said, seeing the upset on his son’s face.

‘I will send a servant to escort you through the markets, she will meet you at the castle gate.’

‘If I may.’ Ivar spoke up, politely asking to speak directly to the royal family, something (Y/N) had informed him was considered extremely polite.

The queen looked at him with a raised eyebrow before nodding her approval.

‘As my father has said, we are all eager to see your markets and kingdom today, but may I join the young prince with his tutors tomorrow?’

Now the queen was downright studying him, her gaze alone making the cripple straighten up his posture.

‘You wish to study here?’ she asked.

‘I have a great thirst for knowledge, like our All Father Odin, who traded his eye for it. It seems I already traded my legs at birth.’Ivar smiled charmingly, making a humorous face at the prince, who let out a small breath of laughter.

The queen smiled, seemingly against her better judgment.

‘Yes you may join the lessons tomorrow, I will have Bintu accompany you both to the library together tomorrow. She seems to want to get acquainted with you better.’ Queen Aza agreed.

‘Are you close with Bintu as well?’ Sigurd asked.

‘Of course, I personally chose Bintu to protect my daughter. She was my closest friend as a girl, had I ever chosen to propose a Matrimonial Fight she would be my instructor.’

‘I must say, while there are so many fascinating customs in your country, the one that fascinates me the most is your approach to your inferiors.’ Aslaug confessed.

‘No no no. I have no inferiors, my Queen Sister. I am Queen and I am the highest authority, but there isn’t one subject in all my kingdom that is inferior to me. Do you know how most commoners address queens in this country?’ the Tunisian Queen questioned.

When none of the Norse answered she smiled to herself.

‘Queen Mother; that is how I am addressed by every single one of my subjects. Queen to show me their respect, and Mother to show their love. Of course now the title is more than fitting.’ she explained, rubbing the roundness of her belly.

‘I may not know you well, Queen Sister, but I feel that the title was well earned. For I have never seen so many happy commoners, and I have certainly never met a young woman more amazing than your daughter. Truly you are Queen Mother, if I may, I’d like to accompany you today. I have been a Queen almost as long as I have been a Mother, but I am not blind to my shortcomings. I would like to learn from you, Queen Aza.’ Aslaug requested, her eyes never leaving the other woman’s.

At this Ragnar had to cover his mouth to silence his own gasp; Ivar was happy they were already sitting on the floor, had they been in chairs he is certain his brothers would have all fallen out of them in shock.

Years and years, all their lives, they all sat watching their mother drink away her affections and love for anyone other than Ivar. They had stopped expecting her love before they had even gotten their armrings. They never in their wildest dreams thought she cared enough to notice their disappointment in her as a mother.

Ivar looked over at his brothers and surely enough each of them had different expressions of shock.

Ubbe looked as if he simply couldn’t process what he’d heard, Hvitserk had dropped the grainy bread into his nearly empty bowl, Sigurd was wide eyed and his face was becoming red.

‘I would love your company, Queen Aslaug. In fact, I am quite done with first meal. I will await you in the throne room. I will send for Kya to accompany the rest of you through the markets.’ Aza said before holding out her hand to her husband.

King Akashi, who had been silently eating the last of his own meal while observing his guest, set aside his empty bowl and helped the queen rise to her feet.

The Tunisians bid their farewells, instructed a servant girl to give them a tour of the markets and departed.

As soon as the retreating footsteps could no longer be heard all eyes fell on Queen Aslaug, who had met their eyes confidently.

‘Do not look so stunned, have you not all wished for a better mother? A better woman to sit beside your great father on the throne? As I have no intention of losing my status, I must improve; at least that is the advice I was given.’ she said in Norse.

‘Why did you seek her out? You have been spiteful to all of us since the fight; you ignored us all nearly completely since she suggested sailing here.’ Ubbe asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

The hint of accusation was still noticed by his mother.

‘I had no ill intention, my son, I only meant to see her before she left for her hunt. A servant led me to the kitchens and there she was gathering her rations, we spoke and she left.’

‘What did you say to her?’ Ivar asked, not bothering to hide his suspicion.

‘She spoke to me, and I saw what about her you love. She is intelligent, wise and almost annoyingly well spoken. Though she hasn’t seen one of your fits yet, Ivar, I’m sure she will be able to control even your rage.’

The princes all looked between each other, wondering if the others believed a word of this; even Ragnar had been studying his wife to see if there were any visible signs of deception.

‘Mother, she is going on a hunt, alone, I don’t even know what kind of animals they have here. I need you to tell me with conviction that you did not upset her before she left to do something so dangerous.’ he was pleading with his mother.

Aslaug stood from the floor and looked around at her family.

‘I do not know why I sought her out, I don’t know what I wanted to say to her. I know what she said to me. That she can see the weeds of hate growing in all of your eyes when you look my way. That your frowns deepen when I speak to you directly no matter what I say…and now I can see how right she was.’ Aslaug said with a truly hurt expression painting her face.

‘You think I would be so spiteful to try and sabotage her hunt Ivar? Even you? It seems I have been far worse a mother than I thought.’ she said, her voice beginning to shake as her eyes misted.

Before Ivar had a chance to let the guilt take hold of his heart fully his mother had turned and left the rest of them to their now unappealing bowls of porridge.

The room was quiet, everyone needed to digest more than the food; Aslaug’s words had left a bitter taste in their mouths.

‘Do you believe her?’ Hvitserk asked.

‘Of course not, she has been wretched since she birthed us, that doesn’t change after one talk.’ Sigurd dismissed with irritation.

‘She seemed upset, maybe she does regret the way she raised us.’ Ubbe said in her defense.

‘How could you think so, Ubbe? What raising did we get from her? It was while she was meant to be raising us that you and Hvitserk fell through ice and nearly died. In her “care” Bjorn lost his first daughter! The only time the truth comes out of her mouth is when she knows it will hurt.’ Sigurd spat angrily.

‘She is your mother, Sigurd. You owe her your life and respect.’ Ragnar said, a hint of a warning in his tone.

The circle was tense now, despite the fragility of their marriage Aslaug was still Ragnar’s wife and not many Viking men allow their wives to be insulted in their presence.

‘I had no say in who my mother was Father, did I? Even still you are right, I owe her respect…just as she owes us her love, but unfortunately for her I no longer want it.’ Sigurd replied just as stubborn as he had been as a child as he stood up.

‘I will wait at the gate for the escort.’ he said formally before leaving.

Ivar watched Sigurd in a mixture of annoyance and understanding, no one could deny that Sigurd had been the most hurt by Aslaug’s neglect growing up. He was always the one to interrupt their chess games to ask if they could have a walk all together, and he was always turned away.

‘I know your mother was…is a hard woman to understand and that it was hard growing up when I would sail away, but I know her. For better or worse I can read that woman’s heart like fresh carved runes, and I think she is being genuine. Now if you excuse me, I believe I need to have a private conversation with my son.’ Ragnar sighed tiredly before he followed Sigurd.

‘What do you think, Ivar?’ Ubbe asked his youngest brother.

‘I think…my betrothed did speak with her, and I think the conversation went more or less the same way she says it does. What I don’t know is if she is accepting that conversation as a friendly warning or a threat.’

‘You think she would sabotage (Y/N)’s hunt?’ Hvitserk asked in shock.

‘At first I will admit I did think her capable of it, but in my heart I know that isn’t like her. I know I should have no say in it seeing how she doted on me, but she has never gone out of her way to hurt any one of us. I don’t think she ever would.’ Ivar answered honestly.

‘He is right, Mother never cared enough to be cruel to us, sure she poured love onto Ivar, but Ivar is going to marry. Who will be there for her to pour on to? Ragnar?’ Ubbe said strategically, as if he were discussing a battle in a war room, not his own mother.

‘So she wants our love now that Ivar has his own woman.’ Hvitserk realized.

The room fell into one last long silence before Hvitserk noisily slurped down the very last of porridge in his bowl and stood up.

‘Well,I’m flattered to finally be worth her affections, however, what she does will have no true effect on me, but I will not discourage her efforts.’ The middle son declared before he too left.

‘What about you Ubbe? Do you still long for Mother’s love?’ Ivar asked.

‘You know, I remember the day we fell through the ice.’ Ubbe said, surprising Ivar.

Neither Ubbe or Hvitserk ever spoke about that terrible day, no matter how strategically he and Sigurd asked about it growing up; and they had asked quite often back then.

‘We had followed mother and Harbard, because why not, it was too cold for fishing obviously and we were too young to hunt back then. They went into a hut and we went to get a closer look but there was a noise…a calling so inviting and pleasant it carried us away.’

Ivar didn’t want to reply and pull his brother out of his sharing mood so he just listened and let Ubbe speak freely. He had never seen his eldest brother look so lost in his own mind while talking before, it seemed as if he was doing more than remembering. He was there all over again, a small boy out exploring with his brother on a winter's day.

‘It promised such fun and we were so excited we didn’t realize how far we had walked, but we did notice when the snowy grass became ice beneath our feet, but the call assured us and on we walked further out on the ice. Siggy, do you remember her?’ Ubbe asked.

‘Of course, Rollo’s wife.’ Ivar provided.

‘She was a kind woman to us, mother often left us in her care and she had seen us on the lake, she tried to call out for us but what was her small far away voice to a call only we could hear? A call that must have been from the Gods? She chased after us but it was too late, the ice cracked and the call stopped as soon as we fell into the freezing water.’

Ubbe seemed to not even see Ivar sitting across from him anymore, he was lost in the memory of coldness.

‘The water was so much colder than the ice had been, or at least that’s how it felt, cold all over my body, cold water in the lungs. In that cold do you know what I thought, Ivar?’

Ivar shook his head no, and waited eagerly for the answer.

‘I want my mother.’ Ubbe said softly, leaning in closer, as if this was his most precious secret.

‘I wanted to feel the warmth of her embrace and for her to whisper soothing words into my ear to assure me I would not be forced out of Midgard so soon. I even thought maybe she’d heard my silent cries and rescued us, but it was only Siggy pulling us out of the ice. Harbard was there, and she managed to give us to him before her own life was taken by that cold water. After Harbard had brought us to Mother she asked him to heal us and once he had she sent us off to bed for rest…without ever touching us.’

Ivar, who of course saw that his mother showed him more love than his brothers, was stunned by just how cold the woman had truly been to her other children.

As Ivar chewed over his rapid change in family dynamics his bride to be was walking vast dry hunting grounds.

She was brought some comfort in the fact she wasn’t in completely new territory. She had gone on at least a dozen hunts in this area. Of course those hunts had been with full hunting parties of at least ten.

Hunting in large groups was a common practice throughout the world because the simple fact was that there is power in numbers. More hunters mean more game can be caught, and the hunters had a stronger sense of security knowing that there would be more people able to watch their blind spots in case of predator attacks.

More than that, for (Y/N) at least, hunting in a group simply made the experience of hunting much more pleasant. She remembers talking with the others as they walked for hours to the waterhole where most game favored to drink and bathe.

Now she was alone and could not afford any such pleasantries. She had to keep her ears and eyes sharp, there was no one there to assist her in spotting anything that may be lying in wait.

Another benefit of hunting parties, she had come to understand quickly, was that it entailed more provisions. She had a large canteen of water that weighed heavily on her hip, but she knew it would be all she had until she reached the water hole.

And that was a half day’s journey and as heavy as it felt the canteen only had so much water inside. So she ignored the dryness of her mouth, resigned not to drink until the sun was fully in the sky.

Along with her water canteen she had a variety of tools and rope to make shelter, her father’s blade, an ax, twenty ready made arrows to go with the bow she carried by hand and a fortnight's worth of food in the pack she had on her back. One fortnight’s worth of food.

One fortnight worth of food.

One fortnight, that is two weeks.

Two weeks is fourteen days.

She repeated these things mentally every mile or so, she was determined to keep track of the time. If she allowed herself to lose her senses she could find herself out here alone with nothing to eat, no water and no choice but to wait for the rescue party.

No. Even if it did come to that she would refuse to return, and that would mean staying not only to hunt for a beast but also hunting to survive.

The thought of scavenging for berries in the dry lands was almost as discouraging as the thought of wasting arrows on smaller prey before finding her true target.

Whatever that target may be; she thought guiltily.

She had promised Ivar a grand cloak worthy of his Gods but she had no idea what that even meant yet alone what animal she would hunt. Luckily the water hole would be sure to have a variety of beasts to choose from.

After what she guessed had been four hours the sun was finally shining at its highest point in the sky. She took the canteen from her side and took a singular large swallow of cool water before closing it off again, but she held the container to her forehead to feel the coolness of the water inside.

It had to be at least noon now, that meant about six more hours until she was at the water hole, but that would mean arriving at by nightfall and that wasn’t wise. She would have to stop and make her shelter for the night.

A large cluster of boulders and a tiny cluster of palm oil trees in the distance told her she had in fact remembered the path from her previous hunts.

The rocks were where her hunting party usually sought shelter. The formation of the boulders created a sort of rocky valley and with wood and leaves from the trees a roof and walls can be fashioned.

(Y/N) took special care in looking around for any signs of a predator before she removed her pack and dug out some dried biltong and a piece of plantain bread.

She kept alert as she ate quickly, wanting to make sure she didn’t stay here long enough to be found by any thing, but she also wanted to savor the chewiness of the antelope meat, and the bread was so filling on her empty stomach it felt as warm as an embrace.

Once the last of the bread had been eaten (Y/N) picked up her pack again and continued on, still chewing the last bite of biltong, trying to extend the longevity of its flavor and the mere illusion of eating. After she had finally resigned to swallow the over chewed meat she again took a single drink from her canteen, this time only a sip as it was less about true thirst and more a desire to wash down her brief meal.

The further she walked the more she thought over her plans for when she reached the boulders.

First she would find the best spot in between the rocks that required the least amount of material to fortify. Then she would go and gather the wood and palm leaves to make the roofing and walls, after that she would go again to the trees for firewood to keep her warm once night fell.

She tried not to get too comfortable or confident but so far she was pleased with her progress. She had yet to come across so much as an antelope so far and if there were no prey animals near her that meant the chances of predators were much lower.

Of course that also meant if she did encounter a hungry meat eater it would probably be extremely eager to eat the first thing it found.

With that in mind she kept her grip firm on her bow as she pushed on.

It was when she was only about an hour away from her destination that she heard a rustling in the grass behind her that was too isolated and sudden to have been wind.

With an alarming quickness she pulled an arrow from her pack and raised her bow, aiming at the direction of the noise.

It was quiet again, but she was certain she’d heard something and she wasn’t going to turn around or move on until she found and killed whatever had made that sound.

She focused her gaze and scanned through the tall yellow grass for anything out of place. She kept a special look out for spots and stripes; this was big cat territory.

A final second of quiet passed before finally the grass rustled again, and this time she had seen exactly where the grass moved.

Without hesitation she released the arrow and several things seemed to happen all at once to her.

Of course things had happened one at a time, and they happened in this exact order.

First; the arrow flew like lightning into the tall grass, second; a loud pitiful roar cut through the air, and thirdly a lion had leapt out of its hiding place.

With no small amount of fear and an even larger amount of alarm the princess readied another arrow and began back stepping, she knew better than to turn her back to this beast.

Now that it was out of the tallest grass she could see it was a truly pathetic thing. Its mane was shaggy and matted, several scabby bald patches that had been licked raw from over grooming littered his back legs and it was so unsightly thin even in her panic she could see its protruding rib cage.

Her arrow stuck out of its left front leg in a vulgar way as it tried weakly to chase her down, but already her fear was subsiding.

Even as she backed away to put distance between her and the lion so that she could have a clear clean shot, (Y/N) could see that the arrow wasn’t the only thing slowing down her attacker.

Yes it limped on its injured front leg, but it made a huffing whimpering noise every time his right hind leg hit the ground. Clearly something had tussled with this frail thing before she had and it seemed that unknown creature had done her a great kindness.

Once she was confident in the distance between them she released the second arrow and watched it land true as it sunk into the lion's skull and the weak body fell into the dirt with a soft thud.

A final breath escaped its mouth and sent up a small cloud in the dry dirt it now laid lifelessly upon.

With the beast taken down she found herself breathing hard, her adrenaline still racing as she approached it.

Up close she could better inspect it to see if this had been it, if this could be THE beast.

However, no amount of optimism could allow her to overlook the matted shabby dark mane, the many bald patches she could see in the lion’s coat or the clearly visible bites they exposed.

No, this wouldn’t even be worth skinning, not for her husband's cloak, but still leaving it here was not an option, it would attract scavengers and most of those were pack animals. So she took out her ax and made quick work of dismembering the lion and then did her best to wrap the remains in the blanket she intended to sleep under.

It was too heavy to lift alone so she attached the sack to a rope and dragged it the rest of the way to the boulders. By the time she had reached her destination her legs and arms were more sore than they had ever been in all her years of training, but she didn't stop to rest.

Just as she had planned she found a small rectangular spot that was perfectly spaced between two boulders that stood twice as high as she did. There she sat the lion sack before she went to fetch the wood and palm leaves. The sun would be setting soon and she would not be out in the open with a fresh kill at her side when it happened.

She chopped and dragged long branches for one hour, then she fashioned two walls about one foot taller than herself using rope to tie the branches together, tying the leaves together to keep out the wind. She installed her walls by burying the branches in the dirt making sure they were firmly planted. The roof was easier to make since she had to leave a spot open for smoke to escape.

Finally, just as she had tied the last bit of rope securing the roof to the walls the sun was beginning to set. She made her final trip to the grove of trees for firewood and quickly returned to her newly built shelter.

Her fire was burning strong as the sun set, but she did not lay down, she sat beside the fire watching the flames as she thought one thing over and over.

What beast was worthy of Ivar the Boneless?

[kind-wolf]

Posting that while I'm at work?! That was torture!

Had to wait 5 hours to read it! 😭

‐ - - - - -

Hope wonders if he knows they’re not quite as charming as he thinks. 

Ha! 😂 Someone finally said it!

While I absolutely love Jack as a character, I can't imagine really finding him charming.

Anyway....

It was a perfectly written ending (beginning) to their story! Through all the chapters you managed to keep their characters/traits consistent. The pacing was impeccable!

A true delight!

I'm glad and grateful that you managed to finish this tale! And while it's sad that you don't have much time to write anymore, I hope life is good for you and you're contend.

Thank you! 💗

The Heart of Admiration - Conclusion

Coming in juuuuust under three years in the making, my epic OC collaboration with @acebreathesfire​ is finally complete and posted! it didn’t sit right, to leave this unfinished.

As my choice of photo may imply, this is an Explicit chapter. I am who I am, and my slow burns must culminate in all the details. Hope that doesn’t turn anyone off! There is more plot after the naughty bits, if you prefer to scroll to the end…

taglist: @kind-wolf​ @ladyhubris @summertimesadness101 @23orso @n3rdybird​ @bitchyikes​

Hope is fairly certain that Charles meant for her to follow. And the fire that his heavy look ignited in her core certainly is impelling her to rush after him, but she doesn’t let her feet move. If she enters that cabin with him now, after everything that’s been said, his touch still hot on her skin, there’s only one thing that can happen.

And that thing will be irreversible.

“Hope,” Jack calls across the table, interrupting her moment.

She turns to him, blinking, hoping any trace of moon-eyed girlishness has cleared before he can catch her throwing any more looks after their captain.

Read on

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

🫖

So the question is "if you had a tea party with the blorbos you write the most, how would it go?"

The answer is:

Adar would serve me with papers for emotional damage. 🫣

Erenyë would propose a three-way. 🥵

Thanks @whenimaunicorn for the ask 😜

[mylovelylittleobsessions]

WIP Wednesday mini-edition

For @lazyneonrabbitt & @whenimaunicorn , a behind the scenes look at an upcoming fic - Ainur With Filthy Souls

(It’s Sauron vs the Uruk kiddos, Home Alone style)

The kiddos have left Celebrimbor with a guardwarg that Sauron tries to tame. Unfortunately, this warg happens to be Eru’s Specialest Creature…

What Sauron says in Black Speech: I am your master now. You will obey my orders. Your fangs are my weapons to wield.

What RanRan hears: Blah blah blah chicken, blah blah tax evasion, blah blah blah Good Boy.

[theinheriteddutchess]

I hope this works, but this story Hold Me Down by @whenimaunicorn (ifinkufreaky on ao3) is amazing. I've reread it at least twice (and it's part of a series!)

It's a well written story of Sigrunn, daughter of king Harald, who has to stay in Kattegat at times in her life, where she befriends ivar (although it isn't as willingly) but eventually gets into a difficult relationship with him that leads to some suffering, some joy, but mostly confusion as she walks the road of handling a dominant and often violent Ivar and her own submissive nature, while trying to stay true to herself and not disappointing her father.

The first part focuses on the beginning of her relationship with ivar as kids and as a young woman navigating her own desires and the expectation put upon her, while also trying to deal with an insisting ivar, who has a hold on her she doesn't understand.

(Please mind the trigger and warnings. This story involves violence and d/s behavior that are not suited for a healthy, loving relationship in reality. As it is, it is a fiction. Therefore if it's something you might like I suggest you read it because I thought it wouldn't be my thing and the author is so good at building the story I really love it. The amount of detail really makes you feel like you are inside the story and it is so intriguing and beautifully made.)

[valar-did-me-wrong]

Another Expanse fan omg, it's a good day!!🫶🏽🫂

And oooooooo I'm loving this continuation.. both options you present are great but I'm liking the Dwarves as Mars more!!

Numenorians are kind of connected to elves via Elros, so we can put them as Earthers.. but maybe on Luna! And then as you said Dwarves can be MCR & Uruk as Belters is just 👩🏽‍🍳💋

This can be such an interesting AU, @whenimaunicorn we are definitely aiming at giving you a WIP now :3

A fellow Expanse lover!!! That's the series that started my fic writing career!

Adar as a Belter oh man don't get my mind started down this track I don't need more WIPs

My friend, my beltalowda!! 🫂🫂🫂🫶🏽🫶🏽

I LOVE love The Expanse!! Like I call it the best show to ever exist in human history it's THAT much of my favourite!

(The books are in my to read list & I've heard they are equally as good if not better!!)

And yes I fully believe Uruk are very Belter-coded & vice versa.. I can almost see Adar as a Belter captain!! ;)

And maybe that's why I just love Adar so much because I was very affected by the Belters & their stories in Expanse; I LOVED Drummer like air in that show!

Fun fact: Drummer also gave me a sort of Awakening™ just like Sam!Adar so yeah, definitely more parallels in my book xDxD

Also OMG you wrote Expanse fanfics!!! Do you have those fics in AO3?? Because I'd LOVEEEE to read them if they're published ❤️‍🔥

Btw this is a sign from the universe that maybe just maybe you need this Belter Adar WIP :3 :3 ;)

[heathenarmyimagines]

Title: The One He Chose

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Summary: After all this time has Ivar finally caught his wife's trail?

Taglist: @ubbesgirl, @shewolf2000, @tis-itheapplepie, @atequila, @demoncrypt1066, @greennightspider, @badbitsh13, @fireismysaftey, @minarawr, @laketaj24, @hvitserksgirl, @blahblahcookiesdoma, @fabulous-peasent, @sforsammmmmi, @minmiin1d, @courtrae89, @letsloveimagines, @tomarisela, @titty-teetee, @beyond-the-ashes@elenawrit, @mblaqgi, @whenimaunicorn, @chuflisworld, @mystruggledlife, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @syreni-dea, @trashqueenbitch, @alykatv, @mbaku-babygirl, @perfectus-in-morte, @beyond-the-ashes, @neeadinghugs, @readsalot73, @triumphantreturnofpies, @anarchy-is-coming, @tephi101, @alicedopey, @ivarslittlebadgirl, @jtrstp, @nejijjeoroo, @charlylama, @ivartheblessed, @captstefanbrandt, @fabulouschrissi, @ivarsrideordie, @3x5gurl, @the-writer-appreciation-blog, @lolabee9, @captainfoxy22, @young-ugly-god, @im5ftbutmythroat66, @bribyyy, @irishhiggins, @cadetomlinson, @keclleon101, @slutforragnarssons, @ltkeke, @meeeeeeeeeps, @lille-kanin, @opalscarab, @ssraven7, @ivarandersen, @concretewaywardangel, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @sharon-is-tired, @cadetomlinson, @mystruggledlife, @chuflisworld, @justmarissa97, @lol-haha-joke, @weirdly-randomly-awesome, @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanim, @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers, @alexa040004, @buckythetinman , @burntmythroatskullingmytea,@jorunnravenslayer, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @buffy-the-vampire-blogger, @arses21434, @ltkeke, @captainfoxy22, @chinduda @letsshamelessqueen-m @my-soul-is-the-moon @we-are-transcendent

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Anyone working under the delusion that Ivar would accept the fact that his wife had escaped him eventually learned that would not be the case.

His men had stopped their violent search of Kattegat, just as he had promised Bjorn, but he was still searching for her.

Even as the months went on to become nearly a full year.

(Y/N) had been missing for ten months, one week and four days, Ivar was keeping count of his lonely nights. Despite how the people talked he had not let Freydis warm his bed in his wife’s absence.

Instead he spent most of his days and nights in his war room, looking over all the maps of other cities and villages that Kattegat traded with the most. He was furious at the fact that there had been no news from any of his informants, and his relationship with his brothers did little to comfort him.

Bjorn was, as he expected, furious at his sending off warriors to such vital trading cities. He had shouted himself nearly blue when he’d arrived at Ivar’s estate; of course he let the King do his whining and even allowed him to smash his war table in his tantrum, because to him none of it mattered.

His ships had sailed, his warriors deployed and there was nothing to be done about it; not by Bjorn or even himself. Hvitserk, like he always had, chose to remain neutral in the argument. Ubbe was clearly on Bjorn’s side, but unlike Bjorn, Ubbe seemed to understand why he had acted so hastily even if he disapproved of the actions.

Currently Ubbe was the only one of his brothers who had friendly conversations with him, and Ivar would never be able to express how much he appreciated the company in these hard months.

‘Still no news?’ Ubbe asked as they both sat on the beach and watched a merchant ship approach.

‘Nearly a hundred spies and no good news.’ Ivar sighed.

‘No good news?’ the eldest questioned.

‘My spies reported at last that they had a difficult time keeping track of (Y/N) in my time away, she would leave town alone around midday…and would not return home until nearly sunset.’ Ivar confessed, laying back in the sand and covering his eyes.

Ubbe felt his heart begin to beat faster, but he was not sure how much information Ivar truly had on the subject they were discussing.

‘You think she had an affair?’

‘I do not know, that is what tortures me brother. Not knowing things has always angered me, and now it seems I know less than ever. I don’t know if she was unfaithful, I don’t know where she is; all I know is she isn’t here.’

Ubbe had such conflicting feelings battling in his chest as he watched a few easy to miss tears roll down his brother's face. He was relieved to not have been discovered as (Y/N)’s lover, but still he was upset to see his brother in pain and know he was at least partially responsible for it.

‘If you think she was unfaithful why continue the search? Let go of your devotions and remarry, you have no obligations to her.’

'Why would I ever think such a thing?' Ivar asked, his anger visibly raising.

‘I will not let go, Ubbe.’ Ivar said as he sat back up and wiped his eyes with the back of his hands.

‘Not of her, not my marriage and not my anger. I will find her and she will answer every question I have.’

‘But what if you don’t find her? So far it has been nearly a year and you have had no progression in your search. It pains me to see you destroying yourself and your reputation for one woman you can replace so easily.’

Ivar looked over at his brother incredulously.

‘She can’t be replaced, not by Freydis or any woman in this world. She feared me Ubbe, do you understand that? From the day we stepped into that insignificant Christian kingdom, she looked at an army and still she feared me the most out of them.’

‘Ivar, every woman you have spoken to fears you. It would be impossible to find a woman in Kattegat you did not terrify.’

‘I know that, but how many of them would be brave enough to marry someone as vicious as me? How many would make that sacrifice? She could have stayed quiet and let any of those women be dragged away, but she stepped forward. Those Christian men offered her up like a lamb for sacrifice and still she wanted them to live, and was even smart enough to know how to play my mind games.’ Ivar explained.

‘How could I replace a woman like that, a woman that brave, who fears a filthy cripple like me?’

Ubbe sighed and stood up, looking out at the sea and saw that the ship was nearly at the docks, but he decided he could offer his younger brother some advice.

‘You shouldn’t want her to fear you, Ivar. How can anyone love what they fear?’

Ivar looked taken aback, as if he’d never considered not terrifying his wife, but instead of responding he turned his focus over to the ship crew that was unloading the boat.

‘I don’t see how he thought he was secretive?’ one of the men said casually as he helped to dock the ship.

‘He’s young, he’s never smuggled a damn thing and it shows,’

Ivar’s ears perked up upon hearing this conversation and he quickly called the two merchants over; abandoning his own chat with Ubbe.

The two men looked over at the princes curiously; as they had not been aware of the chaotic search for the Christian nun that had occurred while they were at sea.

‘Prince Ivar, Prince Ubbe.’ one of them greeted and the other nodded in agreement.

‘I’m happy that the Gods brought you all back to us, I would like to treat your crew to a small feast on my estate in the next fortnight.’ Ivar said cheerily.

Ubbe quickly understood the game Ivar was playing and he decided he wanted no part in it at all.

He bid his brother a less than polite goodbye and left the two men to Ivar’s manipulation.

A feast for a simple unimportant ship crew was unheard of, especially a feast given by a prince. It would have been considered a great sign of disrespect to decline his hospitality.

The two men thanked Ivar for his unwarranted kindness and went to let the others know that they would all, along with their families, be expected at the youngest Prince’s estate.

Ivar watched the ship crew discuss their surprising treat and he pulled himself up onto his crutches and began to walk back to the markets.

As he limped along his way he subtly motioned for one of his spies, a thrall working outside of the butcher’s stand, to walk along side him.

Obediently the man followed the wordless order and matched Ivar’s pace.

‘Everyone under my purse is to watch the men on the merchant ship that just docked. Every man is to be followed for the next fortnight. I will expect daily reports if anyone fails to report even one hour of their actions I will have them hung.’ Ivar said strictly not looking at the man at all.

As he had wished, his warning went a long way in getting the results he wanted. He received reports in the crewmens’ every action, he’d even gotten reports describing their trips into the woods to relieve themselves.

Still no news of his wife or of what the two men suspected a crew mate of smuggling, but Ivar was sure that this was the right ship.

He had discovered the ship had sailed off the morning after (Y/N) had vanished.

Ivar tasked his thralls with preparing for the feast and he was impressed with how well they had performed.

By the night his feast was set to happen he had large tables sat outside under a cloudless starlit sky and there were heaps of fine dishes and mead as well as wine from England.

The crewmen were all in awe of the extravagant show of hospitality and everyone gave him their thanks in person.

Ivar mingled among them and was pleased that the news of his wife's disappearance had become common knowledge to all of the men.

‘May I speak with you Prince Ivar?’ one of the men asked as he approached the high table.

Ivar was quick to recognize the man as one of the men he’d spoken to on the beach.

‘Of course come with me.’

With a great amount of control Ivar calmly led the man into his home away from the festivities.

‘What would you like to discuss?’ the prince asked.

‘Forgive my intruding, but I have heard of your wife’s disappearance, and I- I think I have some information to give.’ I asked.

This was what Ivar had planned; to give the crew such a grand feast that at least one man would be grateful enough to betray one another.

‘Please, I would owe you an unimaginable debt if you could help me find my wife.’ Ivar said cunningly.

‘I can’t be sure if it was your wife, all I know is that Amund had someone in that crate. We more experienced in smuggling saw him speaking with it, sliding his rations into it even.’ the old man said.

‘A crate?’ Ivar asked.

‘Yes, big crate, it could easily fit one person, maybe even two.’

‘Two?’ Ivar said, feeling his grip on his crutch tighten in his anger.

She’d had an affair and ran off with some nobody; she’d decided weeks locked in a crate with another man was better than the rest of her life with him.

‘You said this man’s name was…?’ Ivar questioned, struggling to keep his anger hidden.

‘Amund, strong boy; he went ahead of the rest of us and the first thing off the boat was the crate.’

Ivar took in all this information, trying to piece together what all this implied and he determined he needed more to work with.

‘Tell me, what happened after the merchandise was unloaded. Did he hide the crate?’

‘No, the crate was in the assigned room when we all brought in the rest, still nailed shut too. The Earl granted us his hospitality to rest after our journey.’

Again Ivar was silent, trying very hard to picture in his mind what could have happened. If (Y/N) was in the crate and this Amund was the one responsible for getting her out why did he leave it sealed?

‘Big enough for two…’ he mused, thinking that if there was a man strong enough inside with her he could break out of the crate with her then she could have escaped with him.

‘Was this crate ever damaged, or moved?’ he asked the crewman.’

‘No, at least not to my knowledge, but the journey had been harder on my body than usual in my advanced age. When the Earl offered us rest I rested, but I did hear rumors.’ the man continued.

‘Rumors?’

‘The merchants spoke of one of our crewmen walking into the Great Hall carrying an unconscious woman. I never saw her, but she was the topic of much gossip while we restocked the ship.’

‘Did anyone on your ship see this woman, even a glimpse of her?’

‘I can not say with certainty, I can only say that Amund smuggled someone out of Kattegat.’

The anger for the old man’s lack of knowledge was red hot and only cooled by his relief of finally having a lead.

Thank you for telling what you could, please enjoy the feast with your family. It is a celebration in the honor of you and all traders like you, what would our world look like without brave men like you all.’ the prince complimented as he dismissed the man.

As soon as the man was out of earshot Freydis, silent as death, immerged from the shadows of the dim lit room.

‘Spread the word, I want this man, Amund identified, and followed. He shouldn’t be able to sneeze without me knowing when and where.’ Ivar ordered, his voice much harder than it had been mere seconds ago.

‘For how long?’

‘As long as it takes for him to let down his guard and let the information slip.’

While Ivar’s spies began to focus on Amund, all the way in Denmark, (Y/N) was adapted into her new life.

In the first week of her new life as a thrall she quickly realized two things.

The first was that the life of a nun and the life of a thrall was eerily similar in many regards. An older, more hardened and experienced woman would assign tasks to her and then would judge if the task was completed correctly and met her standards. If she did well she would be given another, often more challenging task, but if it did not meet Hilda’s standards there was punishment.

It was a rare occasion when (Y/N) was on the receiving end of Hilda’s wrath, which was why her punishments always seemed so harsh in comparison to the other girls.

The second thing was that, even despite the hatred the head thrall clearly had for her, she greatly preferred the life of a thrall over the life she had fled from.

Sure the shed the thralls all shared was cold and hardly much of a shelter at all but she slept fine knowing she wouldn’t wake up to Ivar’s rage.

And even better she found other Christians among the women she now shared status with.

It felt as if she had been welcomed into a new church, even if it had only been a small circle consisting of three women of various ages.

There was Kendra, the youngest being only around nineteen who had been captured and sold from York. Dawn was in her mid thirties and was a cook, she had never said where she was from originally, just that she had been only thirteen when she became the old cook’s apprentice. Finally there was Megan who was closer to (Y/N)’s age being twenty four, she was originally from Essex.

After two years of hiding her faith from her tyrannical husband, praying amongst others was euphoric. Holding hands in prayer was what she looked forward to most when she awoke at first light.

Every morning she would be awakened by Hilda whacking a wooden stick against the walls of the shed from outside before the doors of the shed were thrown open.

‘Get up! Work to be done!’ she boomed unnecessarily.

It was common knowledge that anyone still laying down by the time the doors opened would not only be promptly hit with the stick but they also would get no first meal.

The term meal was used loosely, it was only gr Rx bone broth and uncooked crops or, if they were so lucky, scraps from feasts.

Today’s meal was bone broth and carrots, after receiving her portion (Y/N) went to the corner with her small group and they shared a brief prayer over your meal before eating quickly.

‘What is your chore list today Kendra?’ she asked the youngest.

‘Caring for the Earl’s stock.’ was the answer she was given.

‘Be sure you give the chickens enough, the last few we’ve cooked were more feathers than meat.’ Dawn sighed.

‘I will be…preparing for a visitor.’ Megan said quietly, hardly touching her small meal.

At this all of them went silent.

Megan was often used as a cleaning girl around the great hall, but on the rare occasion that the Earl had important company she was a bed warmer.

It was a truly horrible fate for any woman but it seemed to be an especially cruel task for a Christian.

Every night before Hilda came in to order everyone to sleep they all joined hands in a silent prayer, but even still it was obvious Megan only prayed for God’s mercy and forgiveness.

(Y/N) reached out and took Megan’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

‘God knows your heart and he knows your mind and spirit. He knows what sins you choose to commit and he knows the sins done against you. He will always forgive your sins and in time he will punish those who have sinned you.’ she encouraged.

Megan held onto the hand that she had been offered. Of course all the women of this small congregation were close, but Megan had such a strong connection and admiration for (Y/N).

The lie that Amund had told the Earl was widely believed and widely discussed in the markets. Meaning it was well known that (Y/N) was a runaway bed warmer herself.

It was for this reason that Megan looked at (Y/N) such wonder and great respect. In her unknowing eyes (Y/N) had done the impossible; escaped a lifetime of being nothing but a common whore for Pagans.

‘Hurry up you dogs! There's work to be done and if even one task isn’t completed then no one eats tonight!’ Hilda’s voice boomed.

Realizing that she hadn’t been focusing on her already cooling broth (Y/N) quickly drank the remaining liquid in the wooden bowl and stuck her carrots into her skirts.

Hopefully she would get a moment to sneak away and eat them before nightfall, if not then she would give it away to a beggar.

They all arose and set out to their assigned work locations.

Hilda sent a glare of pure malice at (Y/N) as she passed her on the way out of the shed.

‘If I hear so much as a word against you from the healers I’ll have you flogged.’ the old haggish woman warned.

‘Yes Hilda.’ (Y/N) replied, the air of respect and responsibility in her tone before she went on.

She had been assigned as a healer’s apprentice due to her telling the Earl she had some experience in that field of work.

Her days were spent gathering herbs and roots, mixing and brewing, occasionally there will be a person who is injured or falls so ill they need physical care and when that happens she would be the one to give them care. She would clean them, try to close up or disinfect their wounds and feed them remedies.

Today when she entered the healer’s hut she was met with the now familiar scent of living rotting flesh.

‘Girl.’ the healer, an old ragged woman named Skadi, called to her from the table where she was laying out her supplies.

‘Who is it?’ the thrall asked as she approached.

‘One of the Earl’s blacksmiths; got his foolish self cut and didn’t think to clean the sore.’

‘Infection, can it be treated?’

‘No, but he’ll survive.’ Skadi said sadly as she placed her necessary materials on a tray.

There were ropes to tie off the blood flow and restrain him, a leather strap to keep the man from biting off or swallowing his tongue, and a red hot ax in order to both remove the limb and cauterize the wound.

You hated doing this but it was necessary, the hut stunk with infection but it didn’t smell of death quite yet.

The man was older, maybe forty but clearly he’d lived a hard life to reach that age. He was quiet but his chest was heaving as if he had been fighting for each breath. His eyes were screwed shut and his head was turned away from his rotting hand.

It truly was disgusting to see a hand that mangled. The wound was still open, but no longer bleeding leaving an open gash caked in blackened blood and crusted puss.

She went about tying him down, making sure to be extra precise when restraining the arm that would soon be handless.

This was how she spent her days, in the hut with the sick and injured. It was a far cry from her old life in Kattegat. She was no longer a prince’s wife that was tended to by a full staff of thralls. Now she was herself thrall and she was called upon to do hard, truly hard, work and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Leaving the hut for the day (Y/N) found herself exhausted but hopeful that the man would be ok once he was rested.

As she made her way back to the shed she chomped on the carrots she had stored away from breakfast, thankful to have them at least in case someone really didn’t finish their chores and no one was given dinner tonight.

It was as she finished her last carrot that something compelled her to look over at the beach as she neared the shed.

There was a ship, of course there was a ship at the beach; where else would a ship be if not at sea. That wasn’t what made her stop in her tracks, it was undoubtedly a Kattegat ship.

By no means was (Y/N) an expert on such things but after two years she could single out Floki’s handiwork from any other boat builder.

Those sails, the dragon figurehead…that was not a merchant ship.

With her heart racing she hurried into the shed and huddled into the corner where she slept, but she did not lay down.

She just sat with her hands fiddling with the threads of her skirts, as she thought back to the morning conversation she’d had.

A visitor, an important enough visitor to be offered a bed warmer.

How had she not thought to ask who this visitor was? She prayed with all her heart that it wasn’t Ivar, but there was no way to be sure.

No, Ivar couldn’t know which boat you snuck onto, even if he did he wouldn’t just devote himself to hunting you.

At least not personally.

Ivar was a prince of a wealthy kingdom, as well as a respected warlord in his own right. What man would dare to disobey him if he ordered them to find you.

Everything was hitting her all at once.

She would have to leave tonight…run until she made it to the next town.

With what? No food, supplies or weapons to protect yourself? This wasn’t like the cold journey to Floki’s that last night. This would be a three day trip by foot. Not to mention it was no longer winter. It was spring and roads would be busy and therefore dangerous. A woman in rags traveling alone was little more than an invitation for a rapist on his way.

It wasn’t ideal by any means but it was either risk the dangers of the road or stay and be turned over to Ivar by whatever man Ivar had sent after her.

‘(Y/N), you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’ Kendra said as she sat beside her.

‘Not to be dramatic, but it feels as if I have.’

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

Weird request. I want a comfort fic snippet specifically about zombie Adar. Subtle and poignant is fine. If you have it in you on this darkest of days.

okay @whenimaunicorn ask and ye shall receive (and thank you for successfully getting me to concentrate on something artistic and distracting on this darkest of days.)

so you asked for "zombie adar comfort fic" so i'm giving you... a missing scene from "sister golden hair" from Zombie Adar's POV where he is kinda heart-eyes over Mirdania and her hair, and tries his best to comfort her.

He's not super great at it, though. On account of he is, in fact, a Zombie.

Gold. That is what he follows. Golden hair, like afternoon sun. Streaming out behind her, lifted by wind, the same wind that he feels, icy cold upon his face. It steadies his step, having something to follow. But she is fast. She evades. Among the trees, it had been easy. There had been one clear path, and she had taken it. But now there are too many. Streets that intersect and curve. Tall buildings that obscure the way ahead. Dead bodies to step over. He loses her. He stumbles. Unsteady. Yet still he walks. Lumbers. Searches. He sniffs for traces of her scent. Light and sweet, like a glade of flowers. He had memorized it in the forest, when she had rested against him. He had been content to lie there, like a stone fringed by fragrant columbines. The forest had been quiet. Peaceful. Nothing to do but watch the fluttering leaves and the shifting sun. He could have stayed. Something tells him he was meant to stay. But she had gone. And he had followed. … He finds her scent near an open courtyard and follows it into one of the buildings. There are stairs that wind and he struggles. Lifting legs. Climbing up. Then there is a scream. It fills him with cold. It steals his breath—like stepping outside to snow and ice. His limbs remember a cold like that. The sound changes. It shatters into a cry. Many pieces. Many tears. He thinks of wetness on his neck. Mournful noises. Little phantom hands that had clawed, noses that had nuzzled against his chest. He remembers holding. Young ones. Sometimes older ones, too. After battles. After births. Always too many tears. He reaches the top of the stairs. He sees golden hair waiting, and something inside him lifts... ...then it falls, as she lets out another sob. The sound is a snare. It pulls him toward her. A word comes to him as he draws near. A word that means falling tears and shaking shoulders and quivering lips. Sad. She is sad. She cries out again, and he can feel the place in his own chest where his own sobs are stored. But he cannot make the sound himself. Instead, he reaches for her. To comfort. To help. He catches a few strands of her hair. It feels soft beneath his fingers. She sways and falls and he is not fast enough to stop her. … The cause of her sorrow is a body, riddled with arrows, raised high on a pole and pinned against a column. In its face, there is suffering. Death’s ugly stain. The familiarity of it stirs something inside him. His hands know what to do. How to handle the body. How to prepare it for burning. Flames, into darkness. … She cries out in her sleep. It jerks him from the stupor that had settled over his limbs. Another sad cry. Another pain sprearing his chest. As he moves toward her, he hears her teeth chatter. The curse of cold. He knows it well. He had wandered long in a frozen wasteland. Many had followed him. Their sharp teeth had rattled through the long, moonless nights, and there had been little to cover them. He searches. He finds. A cloth—soft and thick and warm. Something to shield her from the sting of cold. In the center of the darkened room, he kneels and drapes the covering over her. Beneath the moonlight, her hair is a different color. Until the first light of dawn, he lingers by her side, under the spell of its silvery sheen.

ANYWAY, I HOPE IF YOU'RE SAD, ZOMBIE ADAR COMES TO YOU AND COVERS YOU GENTLY WITH A WARM BLANKET.

also, bonus track that's just too perfect for Them:

[gingeragenda]

You heard it here first, I’m a mad smut genius

@whenimaunicorn I was badly writers blocked this week and Chapter 3 of Curse of the Moriandor revived me. You rock

Freed - all chapters in one

Part 4 of Dream a Little Dream of Me (Your Worst Nightmare) 🔞

Just as she had felt the strange and disturbing bond running between herself and Adar on the night he kissed her, and been nearly overcome with it when she held a knife to his throat for the second time, she felt it thrumming between them now. Adar seemed determined not to acknowledge any of this as she sat at his table, as he spoke of the Crown and the Rings and Halbrand. It was quite unbearable in any number of ways. 

He may be right about the combined power being enough, but the crown has proven insufficient once already and can she guarantee that Elrond will deliver Nenya? She sees she must take control of the situation and so rather than letting him depart she tells him, “Yes, Halbrand is Sauron, He’s in Eregion to craft Rings that will allow him to dominate my kind. And yours.”

“Every kind in Middle Earth.”

“But he will not attempt escape until his task is complete. And that gives us momentary advantage.”

“Us?”

“Unlock me.”

As he leans in close to remove the manacle, the thin bond between them flares and she thinks again on the taunting narrative she had endured while caged. She does not know what to believe. She is almost certain Sauron has indeed taken Adar as a lover in the past, but how can she broach this? The notion of a much needed alliance still hangs in the balance and what if she is wrong? She might have to let her fëa slip away out of sheer embarrassment if she makes such a suggestion and it turns out to be yet another of Sauron’s deceptions. She takes a deep breath: 

“You and he. For many years. You were… together”. 

“Yes”

“As fellow servants of Morgoth? Or…” she swallows, unsure of her wording, but determined nevertheless. She breaks the heavy silence between them with a barely whispered “together as you and I almost…” Her cheeks colour at the question but now the question is out she is flooded with relief. He is clearly discomforted by what she asks, and yet she sees a yearning in his eyes. Perhaps he is as tempted as her by the prospect of confessing all to someone who understands what it is to fall so completely under the spell of Sauron.

Perhaps an admission of her own would loosen his tongue. “The time I spent with him was but a blink of the eye by comparison, and that was all it took for him to worm his way into my mind. He has left something in me, not just a puncture, but something running through it, a thread made of burning desire. You know of what I speak. Did this sordid abomination originate with Sauron?” 

He seems far away as he speaks, “No this was Morgoth’s doing. He was determined to create new life. When he made the Moriondor not all of us responded the same to his… treatments. Most of the others were content to fulfil their role once he had worked his corruption into their flesh. I refused to breed with unwilling captives and so he placed this curse upon me, to be beholden to an irresistible urge to mate.” 

“You are able to resist though, you have proven this to me.”

“That is only how it was at first. To my eternal shame.” 

She sees how heavily the guilt weighs on him, but there is more she needs to understand, “What changed?”

“His servant took an interest in me.”

“Sauron. What did he do?”

“I am no sorcerer, to this day I know not how he did this thing, only that the unmoored desire was bound to him alone.”

“I do not understand. What is the benefit to him?”

Adar does not know how to answer. He feels no certainty any more regarding Sauron’s intentions, and cannot fathom how to even begin to recount everything that passed between the two of them. Would Galadriel think him insane if he tried to explain that the fearsome dark lord is simply a needy, selfish bitch eternally bereft of cock? Is it more or less absurd to articulate his fear that there is some entirely unseen threat connected to it all, that Sauron has somehow devised a way to take control of all Middle Earth via sex magic? Is it too unbearable an humiliation to confess that he was so enamoured with the beautiful Maia that at the time he genuinely believed Sauron wanted to help, to ease his suffering? That he believed the bond would allow him children, of his own, to keep and raise. Children of their own, to love. 

Instead he presses on with his tale. “When I used the crown to slay him, I thought I had been freed completely. For centuries I was unburdened, but then Halbrand was brought before me as a prisoner. I believe he used this encounter to reignite the spell. As I say, workings of this nature are beyond my ken.”

“You did not recognise him at Tirharad? You are sure it was not awakened when we - I - when you were taken captive?”

“I am certain, I felt nothing until that day in Mordor. Then it was if a fog fell over my mind and the longer we spoke the greater a hold he had over me. He lay his head at my feet in submission and I almost - but I released him. I had him and I let him go.”

She knows it is hypocritical to take umbrage at Adar’s failure to contain the enemy when he had opportunity, but cannot keep her voice entirely free from irritation, “Clearly that was not the end of it, what then?”

“He started visiting my dreams instead.”

“What happened in these dreams?”

Adar will not meet her eyes, and Galadriel is once again struck by the urgency of their situation. Sauron’s tale may have been intended to taunt and frustrate her, but it had also allowed her to investigate the veins of Morgoth’s magic that ran between them. Adar may not understand anything of the sorcery that works within him but she does; she can feel the possibility of bending this power to their advantage. She cannot afford his coyness when they have work to do. This is motivation enough to overcome her own reticence on the subject, and it all falls firm and fast from her lips:

“You have no need to hide from me. He has visited me also, there have been no visions since we parted ways, but a voice has whispered in my ear. He has told me what you were to each other. So there can be no misunderstanding between us, I will be plain; he has been most detailed in the physical nature of your relationship and I have come to believe that the act itself is key in the manipulation of this magic. He has lent some part of it to me, you know this, you have felt it. I believe it was to aid in his efforts to seduce me before he bade me become his Queen. I can transfer it back to you, I can teach you how to take hold of it and mould it yourself. Look at how desperate he is to draw people to him; even as he craves dominion over the world he wants to rule with someone at his side. You have tried to slay him once and still he reaches out to you. Let me help you turn this thing into something to be wielded against him. Then you and I. Uruk. You and I will eradicate all trace of Sauron from this world.”

He had watched her in rapt silence, and she thought she saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes at the notion of finding a redeeming purpose for the curse upon him. 

“What do you require me?”

“We must join our bodies together so that I may first ascertain how to manipulate the spell. It may take some time and… multiple attempts.”

“No.”

“No?” She thought that they understood each other, that he saw the necessity in mastering whatever weapon they had at their disposal.

“It will not work. You have just acknowledged that he has a hole into both our minds, and he is drawn in by our desire so he can turn it to his own perverted ends. He will see what you are about and you will have no chance to experiment before he puts a stop to it.”

“Then it will be your task to hold his full attention. I will do my work and you will ensure he cannot possibly think of anything else. You have experience of his preferences, what will captivate him? What will keep his eye fixed on you alone?”

“No matter what we do, I fear he will seek to feel it through you, your body.”

“What makes you say this?” A vague feeling of offence bubbles up in her chest, is he suggesting it is impossible Sauron would wish to ravish her, that she is an unworthy lover compared to Adar? 

“I have experience of his preferences,” he echoes dryly, he pauses then, a hint of the earlier reluctance creeping over his face, “and his last visit was different, he came not as himself but as you.”

Her face heats at the thought, surprised how much she wants to know what Adar chose to do with her body. The anger she feels at Sauron choosing to wear her like some wedding night lingerie does little to diminish her arousal. But she must not allow herself to be sidetracked.

“Adar please, you know him better than any that walk this earth, surely you can think of something more tempting for him than to be treated like a bitch in heat?”

She does not recall having heard him laugh before and it is rather disquieting. The wretched timbre of his voice is worse as he shares the conclusion he has come to. “He loves the power he wields over me, I betrayed him and he wishes to see me suffer, if he sees I am in torment, overtaken by the urge to mate, I think that would entice him.”

“You believe he would choose to taunt you as you raped me?” She hopes she has misinterpreted Adar’s meaning. 

“Lady Galadriel, I have neither the time nor the heart to tell you of the foul tortures Sauron has devised, and even I do not know the whole of what has been wreaked upon him. He is twisted beyond reckoning. So if you trust my knowledge of him as you claim, you must accept my judgment that this is the only sure way to keep him focused on my mind.”

She is determined to proceed, even though his words chill her. There is no other choice and they must negotiate the terms of this particular alliance with haste. “We shall make it a game then, a show. He has mocked my presumed innocence enough that he will not be suspicious if I resist. You will understand that I go into this willingly and that you must not stop until I have transferred every shred of this magic back to you.” She does trust Adar’s judgment in this: there will be a limited window to get this done before Sauron gleans their plans. They must not fail. “Whatever you need to do, I shall weather it.”

“We shall see,” he says softly, eyes drifting down across her body. His demeanour is shifting, easing, the wariness he has shown throughout the most intense dinner engagement Galadriel has ever endured dissipating. She is momentarily startled by his scornful tone as he stalks up to her asking, “Is there anything else you need, for your witchcraft?” But then remembers her role and is pleased he is committing to his own. She shakes her head mutely as she stares up at him.

“Good.”

Sharp pain blossoms around her arm as the pointed fingertips of his gauntlet dig into her, he swings her round and pushes her against the edge of the table. He sweeps some dishes onto the ground then bends her face down onto the empty surface, metal spikes now resting firm against the small of her back. A jolt of panic runs through her as his bared hand tears at her breeches, pulling them down around her thighs, exposing her cheeks to the cold air. The pressure of the table edge and the friction of the bunched fabric tease at her centre with barely enough pressure and she realises that she has lost all focus on the task at hand. She steadies her mind, channels her body’s pulsing need and starts to weave it into the edges of the dark thread within her. 

———

Adar’s whole body sings at the skin on skin contact as he runs his hand across her bare backside. He does not need to feign the desire to take her, but knows he must work to be convincing in both outward savagery and inner shame when the enemy comes knocking. He squeezes the cheek, thumb stroking towards its seam, making her gasp at first, then blurt out “Please don’t, you mustn’t”!

His reaction is instinctive, he is determined to carry out his part in her scheme, but her words cut into the urge that drives him on and he is briefly frozen by his warring mind and body. 

And then Sauron is upon him. 

———

Galadriel feels him freeze in response to her charade and tries to push back against him in an act of simultaneous reassurance, encouragement and self-pleasure. Fortunately, after a moment he resumes, this time running his fingers lower down, trying to push between her legs but hampered by her rucked clothing. He wrenches them down and off along with her boots, then kicks apart her freed legs. She scrambles to push herself up from the table, but he reaches under her arms to rip open her doublet, pulling it back over her shoulders and leaving her hands tangled together behind her back. She bucks her hips trying to ease the insistent ache between her legs by grinding against the edge and he must take it as further resistance for his gauntlet grips her waist as his other hand comes down in a stinging smack to her backside. 

“Stay. Still.”

She whimpers in response his terse command, but obeys. She cannot turn her head enough to see, but she hears a rustle of clothing and hears him groan in relief and then she feels the blunt head of him nudge at her wet folds. The shock of the sensation has her reflexively flinching away what small distance she can. Another slap, harder than the first has her crying out, as do the two that follow. 

“I said be still, Elf,” he growls, then forces his full length inside her as she shrieks at the stretch and burn of it, pushed up onto tiptoes so that her swollen nub presses against the table below. She fixes on the perfect pleasure pain of it and folds it into her sorcery. 

———

Sauron’s murmurings are just as he expected: in turn mocking, faux-scandalised, spiteful and lewdly encouraging. But with Galadriel there to anchor him, he is able to let them wash over him and concentrate on giving her what she needs to succeed in their task. And if that means he must fuck a beautiful Elf into his dining table then that will just be the latest in a long line of sacrifices Adar has had to make in his quest to rid Middle Earth of the Dark Lord. 

———

Despite the rough wood beneath her cheek, Galadriel feels like she is floating on waves of bliss as his cock drives into her again and again, stretched up onto tiptoes by the force of him, wringing pleasure from places within her she did not even know existed. It builds and builds and then she is almost there; she counterbalances her efforts, drawing in her climax and propelling her share of the spell into Adar. The proximity of triumph and the sweetness of their union is intoxicating and without forethought she is calling out to him to him for more. 

———

The aggravating commentary within his head comes to a sudden halt as Galadriel’s voice rings out in undeniable pleasure, “Yes, Adar, please, harder!” and his fledgling hope falters. 

“You know, dear heart, you did leave me rather unsatisfied after my last visit. It only seems fair that I should get to finish my little adventure as Galadriel and it sounds like you’ve overcome her reservations about you most effectively. I think I might go and see things from her point of view.”

Adar panics, fighting and failing to keep giving Galadriel what she begs for while groping for an idea to keep Sauron preoccupied and out of her mind. He speaks aloud so that she will be on guard, and in the hope of appealing to his flair for the dramatic. “Have you become so soft in your old age that you do not know how to use her as I do? Is the once great Commander of Angband at a loss now when greeted a captive Elf?”

He stares intently at where their bodies are joined, willing Sauron to be as enthralled by the sight as he is. He watches himself slowly withdraw from her spread cunt, until they are linked only by a glistening thread of moisture. It breaks as he moves around to grasp her by the hair forcing her to look into his eyes, hoping that she will understand the necessity of his actions. 

———

She is livid to have been thwarted at the last moment, but sees all is not lost. Adar seems to be managing to improvise in the face of the enemy’s assaults and Galadriel knows as long as they continue she will be able to bring everything to a satisfactory conclusion. He leans in, threatening, grip tightening in her hair as he reprimands her, “You and your kind have harmed both of us greatly, not to mention my children. Do you really think I would ally myself with you? You will never allow us a place in this world, believing yourselves so superior and us unworthy. How self-righteous do feel right now? Instead of dropping dead from ravishment like a proper Elf, here you are pleading to be defiled furth… WHAT? He roars, derailed by a voice only he can hear. 

He swallows hard, then rasps, “He wants you to know he would bring you back if you tried it.”

A thrill of terror runs through her, but she is resolute, and will keep to her word and weather whatever is to come. She is not expecting him to free her hands from where they are still bound by her own clothing, but he does, then tells her, “Remove the rest”. He watches impassively as she awkwardly rights herself so she can strip herself completely bare. “Now undress me, slave.”

———

While she works diligently at various fastenings, Adar is able to focus on selling his plan to Sauron. He is buoyed by Galadriel’s confidence in him; he does know him better than anyone and instead of shying away from the memories he will hone them into a weapon. 

“I think you have been feeling nostalgic of late, my love. I know I said some unkind things when you brought us to your old chamber, I was angry, I apologise. You must know that each night since I have regretted it. We had many good times there, did we not?”

“Yes.” The admission is reluctant and Adar call tell he is pouting, so tempts him further.

“I remember you telling me of how you and He would slake your wrath, and lust, when a particular prisoner caught your eye… how the best part was making them like it, witnessing their shame.”

“Yes…” now intrigued rather than petulant. 

“She is very obnoxious even by Elvish standards, let us teach her a lesson, together.”

“Very well.” 

———

Galadriel kneels before Adar, naked save for his gauntlet. As she looks up at pale skin that has been broken and remade in immeasurable ways, she recalls a phrase, All the more appealing for its degradation. She tries to focus her gaze on his stern face, softened by the strands of inky black hair that fall around it. It seems easier than acknowledging the hard cock at eye level, still sticky with her own juices. She marvels that it all fit inside her. She wishes she were still bent over and filled with it rather than stewing in anticipation on the floor, and glances back over to the table, wistfully. 

At first she cannot decipher the abrupt sensation of something striking her cheek, then realises with indignation he has slapped her with his cock, which he is now slowly stroking with his bare hand. 

“Pay attention.” Cold metal digs into her jaw as he forces her head up, “Open,” he commands, spiked thumb grazing across her lips. She obeys and then the head of his cock is pushing into her mouth, laying heavy on her tongue.

“Suck, Elf. Do it well and your punishment may not be as harsh.” 

She tries her best to seal her lips around him and position her tongue in such a way that she can carry out his instruction, but it is an unfamiliar stretch and she splutters around it, making sloppy wet noises until she finally settles into a manageable rhythm. He starts to thrust back and forth in her mouth, his movements punctuated by harsh pants, and a phantom sensation of being entered assails her cunt. She redoubles her efforts, flattening her tongue to allow more of him in, but when his gauntlet tightens around her jaw and he rams in too deep she chokes and coughs and slaps at any part of him she can reach until until he yanks her head up off him. 

Her Elven hearing just discerns a hissed, “…will not tell her she’s a better swordswoman than sword-swallower.” Then she is being hauled up by the scruff of the neck and shoved backwards onto Adar’s bed. He claps a manacle shut over one of her wrists, with none of the gentle care he showed earlier by the dining chair, then pulls both arms up above her head, looping the chain around the headboard, securing her other hand. Bound and helpless, she feels more exposed than ever to his gaze, and tries to press her legs tightly shut in a pointless gesture of modesty, but he will not allow it. Large hands envelop her knees and force them wide so all her most intimate parts are displayed before him. Ever since he pulled out of her against the table, her body has been crying out to be filled again and having him kneel between her legs, splaying her open, drives her need to a fever pitch and she knows she must have more. 

“Please.” She softly begs. 

He bends her knees up to her chest, then settles close against her body, she thinks he will grant her plea, and braces for another breath-taking intrusion, but instead he simply rests himself between her legs, hard length teasing over her swollen nub and brushing against her folds, balls grazing her backside. 

“You are in no position to be asking favours, my lady,” he taps his cock against her, a few times, making her whimper. “But you did ask nicely,” and he shifts enough to line himself up with her sopping entrance and slides inside, but only gives her a few teasing thrusts before her moans shift from pleasure to disappointment, and he is gone from her once more. 

“I hope you enjoyed that. The next time I fuck you I will not be using your cunt.” Galadriel has little chance to ponder the implications of that statement before all her attention is drawn to Adar pushing his face between her legs, lips pressed against her aching nub. He starts to tongue at her, almost gently at first but as she starts quivering and pushing back against him with tiny, involuntary spasms, he speeds up, tongue flicking wetly over her pearl, dipping into the soft, damp folds of her cunt and pushing inside, unhindered. Two fingers soon follow, and she grinds down onto them as much as her restraints will allow, needing them deeper. He takes them away instead, holding them up so she can see how drenched they are, before bowing his head back down to lick at her some more. His slicked fingers rub not at her folds now, instead brushing against the puckered hole behind. The tip of one finger breaches her and she bucks away from it in shock but this just grinds her harder against his face and as she writhes in pursuit of release, she inadvertently drives his finger deeper, sending burning pleasure through her. 

“Please I’m so close,” she hopes he will grasp her true meaning while Sauron will only hear evidence of her successful debasement. 

Adar removes both his mouth and hands from her body, and moves to collect a vial of viscous fluid which he lays on the bed before releasing her hands and ordering, “turn over.” She lays flat on her stomach, but he pulls her up by her hips so her face is pressed into the furs, knees apart and inserts a pillow under her, “Because it pleases me to have her displayed so,” he murmurs. Out loud he tells her, “You will enjoy this, Elf, and will know you are no better than I when you are begging me to keep you as my whore.” Her cheeks are pulled apart by cold metal and warm flesh; he commands, “touch yourself,” and then he is lapping at the crease between her buttocks and then over her hole, soft at first, but before long the tip of his tongue is jabbing into her, opening her up, the wet, unthinkable stretch of it making her cry out for more. She manages to wriggle one hand between the cushion and her body, fingers seeking out the place that would bring her most satisfaction, moving in time with the slick muscle inside her. His mouth disappears and is replaced with two oiled fingers pushing past muscle, burning her, as they are forced deeper than his tongue was able to reach. 

She strokes herself faster as he adds a third, growing impatient in her desire to complete her spell. If Adar senses her need, or is merely driven to tend his own she does not know, but she finds herself whimpering at the loss of his fingers, but a moment later lets out a wail of agonised ecstasy as they are replaced with his cock.

“That’s right, let me hear how much you love this.” 

Combined with the fluttering of her fingers against her centre, his every thrust has her crying louder. Her pleasure seems to spur him on and as his large hands circle her waist, urging their bodies together it feels as if he grows even larger and harder within her. She is so very close, all her sorcery aligned; tears spring in her eyes as she prepares to heave all traces of Morgoth back into Adar and with one last desperate tug at her swollen nub she is coming in long hard waves and screaming in victorious rapture. 

———

Galadriel clenches around him as she peaks, and he feels a surge of dark energy wash over his body as he follows her over the edge, emptying into her in great pulses that have him panting and groaning with the exquisite sensation of sating his body in another after what feels like an eternity. 

The sound of earnest applause rings through his mind, “I had my doubts, but I’m impressed, I think you’ve made her cry even. I am glad you invited me to experience this through you, that really was quite cathartic. I sincerely hope we will be reunited in the flesh forthwith.”

Adar sincerely hopes that their exchange will come to an end forthwith, “You do recall I have killed you once…” 

“You’ve tried.”

“…already and I am about to bring down a legion of Uruk upon your head?”

“How could I forget.” 

And with that, he is, mercifully, gone. 

Adar withdraws from Galadriel as carefully as he is able, feeling a deep satisfaction at the seed that drips from her when he is all the way out. It is replaced by a flash of shame as she rolls off the cushion, hissing and wincing at her own movements, but as she lays back to stare glazed at the roof, he sees her whole face is alight with an elated grin. 

“Did you feel it? We did it, I have given it to you, I am freed!”

Adar lays down next to her, on his side so he can continue to regard her gleeful expression. 

“And you did not mind the manner of the - freeing?”

She turns to face him, eyes still glittering with delight, “I don’t think I would want to go horse-riding right now, but no, I would not say I minded.”

“I am sorry for the nature of how this has come about and some parts of how it transpired but I cannot regret having been with you this way, Alatáriel.” 

“I am not sorry for any of it, and neither should you be, Sauron is to blame for this, and do not forget, this is but the first stage in assuring his destruction.”

[bleedingout4you]

Through Time and Fading Memory - Part 4

Gif Credit: anderdidnotdeservethis

This is a the fourth chapter to a h/c fic for Allanon. You can also read it here on AO3.

Fandom: The Shannara Chronicles (TV show), Pairing: Allanon x Pyria, Rating: Mature

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Summary: Allanon faces off with his long time enemy, the Warlock Lord, knowing in his heart that he won’t survive this stand off. Memories of his past come unbidden into his mind. He can’t help but remember the many times that he’s stood against evil, but he also remembers the times he spent with the woman that he loved.

In This Chapter: Allanon finally wakes to find himself gravely injured and the druid table broken beyond repair, but in the company of a elvin woman he knew from the past. Pyria realizes their supplies are running out, and Allanon isn't getting any better. Unknown to them a curious woman is seeking the source of a magical disturbance and an ancient evil has been awakened.

 Present Time

Pain… a dull ache that slowly became sharper as Allanon attempted to open his eyes. He could feel the warm trickle of blood running down over his face. He couldn’t be sure how much damage he’d received after being crushed against the wall.

All he wanted to do was close his eyes and let the pain consume him, but he knew he wasn’t done here yet. He winced at the pain that flared up in his side when he tried to move. For a moment, he thought he’d opened his eyes and saw the familiar, worn Druid cave. Everything seemed so familiar. “Pyria……” He whispered under his breath, almost expecting her to run to his side……

 Many Years Ago

Pyria stood at the entrance of the cave basking in the sunlight for a few moments. She was trying to maintain her sense of sanity, but she could feel herself slipping. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since they had ended up in this cave. It felt like a lifetime, but she knew it had only been slightly over two days.

They were running dangerously low on food and she wasn’t sure how long she could survive off the land before she would have to venture out further in search of help. She glanced over her shoulder at Allanon. He was her true worry in this. His fever hadn’t broken yet and the wound on his shoulder was still a frightful red. She’d observed that the blackish tinted skin had slowly started spreading outward and it frightened her. If she couldn’t stop it, it could kill him.

She crossed her arms and bit her lower lip. She’d spent the past hours running down to the river and back up to the cave. Only once had she heard any signs of life, and her hopes of it being her brother were dashed. It had been a pair of humans that were walking up the worn trail with large packs on their backs. The last thing she needed to do was tangle with humans, so few of them were hospitable to elves.

Pyria walked back to Allanon and sat beside him, watching him sleep. She supposed that she should be happy that she was able to get him to drink. She’d managed to mash up some herbs and plants she found and cook them into a broth, slipping it in with his water, so at least he had something in his stomach. But how long could someone really live like this?

She rubbed her face with her hands and thought about the man she’d spent time with in the library. She could recall his stern expression and the rare smiles that would escape, making her heart flutter. She had wished he would smile more back then. Now, she wouldn’t mind if he started lecturing her or calling her princess again, she just wanted him to wake up. Resting the back of her hand on his cheek, she still felt the same feverish heat as before.

He shifted beneath her touch and made a muffled sound that she couldn’t tell if it was words, or maybe just another groan. “Allanon? Allanon, can you hear me?” She sighed in disappointment as there appeared to be no change.

She’d been putting off changing all of his bandages, but with the feverish sweating, it had become necessary. She started with the easiest one first, gently unwrapping the bandages covering his forehead. She set to work cleaning the wound and bandaging it up again. She’d been fairly attentive to the burns throughout the day, since if the damaged skin was allowed to harden too much, any movement would cause the skin to crack open, but a quick trip over with the salve once again never hurt.

Her hands worked over his skin as she carefully rubbed the salve in. Moving him about was more difficult than before. His whole body would twitch at times and sometimes it felt like he was reacting to her touch and waking up, but it was just the fever state causing him to move around. She spread the salve down his arm and he shifted again, trying to move his arm away from her, a soft whimper escaping his lips. “Please try to hold still.” She sighed, wiping her forehead clear of her own sweat with the back of her hand.

Finally, she reached the two injuries she wasn’t fond of. One was impossible to get to at this angle and the other was just in a bad place. She glanced worriedly up at Allanon, hoping that he wouldn’t wake up for this bit. She carefully pulled the cloak up over his backside and held it in place just below his hip. She quickly set to work patching up the torn skin on the inside of his hip in a clumsy way as she struggled to hold the cloak in place at the same time.

She then dipped her fingers back into the salve and started applying it to his lower back, down over the burns on his hip and right on over his backside. She tried not to think about how firm his rump felt beneath her hand and told herself to just hurry up.

Pyria realized that she might have errored treating the burns first. Her salve had made his skin both slippery and sticky at the same time. She needed to roll him onto his stomach to treat his leg, and she almost lost her grip a few times. By the time she got him on his stomach, she was frustrated and a little exhausted.

Her hands were shaking as she unwrapped his leg. She could tell that he’d managed to pull on the stitching and wondered if what she’d been able to do with his leg had really been enough. The gash was jagged and deep, and it wasn’t as simple of a fix as she’d hoped. She wiped away the fresh blood and cleaned it up as best as she could.  

She tied the bandage back on, making sure it wasn’t too tight, bracing herself for what was to come. She needed to roll him back over onto his side, and that was going to prove difficult. She rested one hand on his hip and the other on his side and pulled backward. Her hands slipped about halfway there and the cloak that was covering him slipped off. She scrambled to catch the cloak and hold it in place. He rocked forward and she heaved him back onto his left side. He released a long groaning sound and she winced, figuring she must have hurt him.

She moved to adjust his legs to keep the injured one free of pressure, but the moment she released the cloak it slipped down again. “Stop it.” She grumbled at the piece of fabric, trying to pull it back up. She realized that when she’d rolled him forward that the cloak had become tucked under his hip, giving her far too little cloak left to cover him up again.

Pyria choked back several words that she wanted to use and rocked him back a little further, tugging at the cloak, trying to free it. She almost had it when he over balanced back in her direction. She quickly put her hand on his ass to catch him from rolling back too far.

Allanon’s whole body shuddered and he shifted considerably. She hesitated before doing anything else and glanced up hoping he wouldn’t try to adjust himself. She saw him flex his burned hand and wince, then those beautiful brown eyes blinked open with another sigh of pain.

Her first reaction to call his name failed when she realized the state she was in. One hand holding a cloak stretched tautly over his front and another hand planted squarely on his ass. She found herself frozen in place, hoping that perhaps he would drift off again if she didn’t do anything else to upset him.

Allanon wasn’t sure what he was aware of first. The searing pain in his shoulder or the stabbing pain in his ribs. Perhaps it was the feeling that he was on a boat, being rocked about, tossed to and fro on the waves. He’d breathed in dirt earlier, which had tickled his nose and caused him to be aware of the thumping headache that he had.

He kind of wished he could just drift off again into a blissful state of sleep. He attempted to move his arm and it felt stiff, as if it were made of wood, so he curled his hand into a fist just to reassure himself that it was still working. He winced as the skin stretched tight, feeling the tingling pain that accompanied burns caused by magic.

Opening his eyes, he winced a little at the sight of the light filtering into the cave. He didn’t know where he was at first and part of him didn’t understand why he wasn’t on the table. He struggled to keep his eyes open, even the simple act of breathing brought on a fresh wave of pain. He could just make out the Druid table through his blurred vision and saw it arched up in the center where the crack ran through it.

The memory of what had happened crashed down on him. He gasped for air again as he struggled to look around for the shadow he’d battled. He pushed his left arm under him, lifting himself barely up off the ground. He suddenly felt her presence, and glanced down at the girl kneeling behind him.

The movement made his head swim and she turned into multiple figures before melting back into one person. Her hair was in a sloppy ponytail and many strands had broken free, her mouth hung slightly open as if she was in shock, or perhaps worried. He narrowed his eyes trying to keep her in focus. He knew her. “Pyria?”

She looked like he’d slapped her across the face. Her mouth opened wider as if she wanted to say something, but no words came out.

He felt himself start shivering again. He looked down at himself and saw the burns spiraling down his body, and then he slowly became aware that he was completely exposed from the back, a spot of warmth on his right cheek. His eyes slowly drifted from her face to where her hand was placed. “What…..what are you doing?”

“N….not what you think I’m doing.” Pyria’s words were shaky and she tugged fiercely at the cloak, almost knocking him onto his back. The cloak broke free and she tossed it over the top of him, so it at least covered him from the waist down.

Allanon felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. It was an emotion that he wasn’t used to feeling. Sure, he’d been alone so long that social awkwardness was something that he stumbled into a lot, but it never bothered him like this. He reached down, grabbing the cloak, holding it over himself. He tried to scoot away from her, but the effort made his vision go foggy and he slumped back down onto his back, gasping for air as the pain of his back touching the ground hit him.

“Hey, hey.” Pyria moved next to him. “You need to roll onto your side.” She told him. “Your back is badly burned.”

Allanon heaved himself to his side and felt the blanket slipping off to one side again. He reached for it, but Pyria was faster. She tucked the blanket up around his shoulders and all he could do was shiver. He looked back up at the woman that was fussing with the edges of the blanket. So much about her reminded him of that young girl in the library, yet she’d aged into something different, something more. Her hands moved with experience and her eyes were no longer as soft, there was steel behind them.

She moved to the fire that had dwindled and started building it up again. She looked back over her shoulder at him and he quickly looked away, feeling a blush cross over his face. “I’m surprised you actually recognized me after all these years. Unlike you, I aged.”

Allanon propped himself up on his left elbow again wincing at the stabbing pain in his ribs and the deep ache in his leg. He found himself short of breath again, a groan escaping his lips as he tried to adjust himself better.

“Careful, you have a severe cut on the back of your thigh.” Pyria informed him, tossing her hair out of her face. “Which was what I was treating when you came to.” She was quick to add in that last part.

He knew he was badly hurt and he could see the salve covering his burns, but he also knew that meant she’d probably seen him completely naked more than once. His face felt like it was on fire, and he couldn’t tell if it was because he was feverish or mortified.

“Are you alright?” Pyria lifted an eyebrow as she watched him. “You seem more flushed than usual.” She leaned forward to brush her hand over his cheek and he reflexively flinched back from her. She pulled her hand back, looking a little hurt. She cleared her throat and picked up a bowl. “Since you’re awake you should eat something.”

Food was the last thing on Allanon’s mind. He pushed himself up into a half sitting position and she was at his side in a flash. “What are you doing!” She demanded. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I’m just…… just sitting up.” Allanon felt strangely uncomfortable with her being so close to him when the only thing that covered him was a cloak, yet oddly enough there was some comfort in not being alone. “What is wrong with my shoulder?”

“I think it’s infected.” Pyria admitted quietly. “I’ve tried to treat it but it keeps getting worse.”

He closed his eyes and remembered the feel of the steel blade sliding through his shoulder. He swayed a little and her hands slipped about his shoulders. “Please lay down again. I’ll adjust the makeshift pillow so that you can sit up more if you would like.”

Allanon felt some of his discomfort melt away with her gentle touch, her hands felt cool against his heated skin and he relaxed a little. “The sword was cursed.” He told her as she carefully pushed him back down and adjusted the pile of clothes beneath him so he was somewhat propped up.

“Cursed? What does that mean?” Pyria looked down at him, worry in her eyes.

“Dark magic sometimes…..” He gasped as the pain of the injuries rocked his body. Pyria blurred into multiples of herself. “Poisoned.” He drew in a ragged breath trying to balance himself again, he was burning, but he still felt so cold. He began to shiver again and it rattled him to his core.

Pyria picked up a bowl of warm soup and moved next to him. “Please try to drink this, it should help. What can we do about the poison? How do I cure it?”

Allanon looked past her, his eyes resting on the cracked table. The truth was that he wasn’t sure what to do with an injury inflicted by dark magic without the Druid sleep.

She followed his gaze and sighed. “Oh.” She moved the bowl closer to his lips. “You still need to eat, Allanon.”

Allanon made the attempt to drink a bit of the soup. He moved his right hand up to balance the bowl, wincing at the pain in his burned fingers. The warmth felt good in his stomach and he took another sip. That was a mistake. His stomach cramped up and he pushed the bowl away.

“Can’t you do more?” Pyria asked worriedly.

“No.” Allanon was certain that he couldn’t, he slumped back down and noticed that he’d rested his head on her lap. It was startlingly inappropriate, but his head felt so heavy he wasn’t sure if he could move again. “How long…… how long have we been here?”

“A couple days.” Pyria answered him. It was enough to exhaust a lot of their main supplies. She’d dug through his pack in hopes that he had more rations, and she’d found a few books that weren’t helpful and bag of strangely colored stones.

He could feel the burning sensation in his shoulder spreading out over his body and threatening to drown him. He struggled against falling asleep. “Thank you.” He voice came out shaky and quieter than he intended.

“You don’t have to thank me.” Pyria brushed her hand through his hair, gently pulling it back from his forehead. He felt her place a cool, damp cloth against the side of his cheek. “I trained myself as a healer so that I could help people in need. I didn’t think that would include you at the time.”

He closed his eyes relaxing even more under her touch. He recalled the last time he’d seen her and the look of hurt in her eyes when he’d tried to leave without saying goodbye. “Pyria, I…I’m….” He forced his eyes open again and struggled to take a breath. “Are you……” He couldn’t seem to make sense of words anymore. He tried to build a sentence in his mind, but everything seemed backwards. Darkness closed in on his vision as he fought to stay awake. He could hear Pyria calling his name, but it sounded like a distant echo. He released a long sigh and gave into the burning pain, slipping back into unconsciousness.

“Allanon? Allanon!” Pyria resisted the urge to shake his shoulder. She looked up at the ceiling of the cave trying to tell herself that his falling asleep was natural, but she couldn’t help but feel a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She looked back down at him, looking over the part of his face that she could see. His eyes were closed again, but she could see the muscles in his face twitch every now and then. She knew he must be in so much pain. He hadn’t said that he was, but she had seen it on his face and hear it in the small gasps of pain.

She poured some more water onto the towel and carefully touched the back of her hand to his cheek again. His fever was getting worse. She ran a shaky hand through her hair, he couldn’t go on much longer like this. The fever needed to break, but as long as the cut on his shoulder became worse it would persist.

Allanon was violently shivering again, and he started to groan in between his shallow breaths. His brows knitted together and she could see all the pain on his face that he’d been trying so hard to hide while he was awake.

“Shh, shh.” She hummed under her breath and ran her hand through his hair. She knew that right now she couldn’t do anything more for him medically, but she refused to leave his side. If he was truly going to die, she didn’t want him to die alone. “No, don’t you dare think like that.” She reprimanded herself.

Allanon shifted beneath her touch, relaxing into the steady motion of her hand. His body was still racked with shivers, but he seemed to be somewhat eased by her touch.

Pyria started humming a childhood song that she’d heard Ashala sing to her son. She couldn’t be sure if he could even hear it, but it broke the stillness of the room. She felt his left hand brush against her hand that was resting by her side. She gently wrapped her fingers around his, and was almost surprised when his hand closed around hers. She wondered what he would think if he was awake enough to know he was holding her hand. She froze in mid hum at the sound of a branch breaking just outside the cave.

She listened, holding her breath and straining her ears to pick up some form of sound. The sound of falling footsteps was faint, but she could hear them getting closer. She didn’t want to leave Allanon, but what if the cloaked man was coming back.

Pyria instinctively leaned down and planted a kiss on his cheek, surprising herself. She told herself that it was simply a comforting gesture and that there was nothing more behind it. “I’ll be right back.” She carefully moved away from him, making sure he was comfortable and sprang to her feet. She grabbed her sword and moved toward the cave entrance. She knew she didn’t stand a chance against the Warlock Lord if it truly was him, but she knew she would die trying to save Allanon.  

Elena walked along the Crest hiking trail. She hadn’t been out hiking for many years, and she was beginning to remember just how much she loved it. Being surrounded by nature and free of the noise of the city was refreshing. She adjusted her backpack, which carried various home remedies and crystals to ward off evil spirits. She couldn’t be sure whether the source of the magic had been good or evil.

She’d been hiking all afternoon and she was beginning to feel a little hungry. She was considering if she should find a spot to sit down and eat her packed sandwich, when her phone rang. Looking down at the screen, she saw that it was her little brother.

She smiled fondly with a light sigh. “On lunch break?” She answered, tossing her silver hair out of her face. “Do you not have anything better to do than to call your sister?”

“I’m just checking in.” He laughed on the other side of the phone. “Our weekly phone conversation, remember?”

“Yes of course.” Elena and her brother had agreed to a weekly call after he’d moved a city away. Since she’d been living on her own after her husband had passed eight years ago, she’d always looked forward to the call. “I just figured that you wouldn’t call this week since you’ve already done so.”

“Doesn’t change anything.” Thomas sounded like he was reciting a contract. “Extenuating circumstances don’t interfere with our weekly session.” The two laughed together and there was a moment of silence. “Are you out of breath?”

She realized that he could hear her panting through the line. “Ah, yes. I decided it was time for some exercise, so I’m hiking.” She chewed her lower lip wondering if her brother would guess what she was up to.

“Let me guess. You went to the State Park.” Thomas sounded more tired than annoyed. “Elena, you could have waited for me.”

“I’m sorry Thomas, but I don’t need a babysitter. I am your older sister after all.” She paused mid step in the center of the path. She could almost feel the traces of magic lingering in the air. “And I couldn’t wait that long.” Her voice was distracted and her brother picked up on that.

“What do you see? Where are you?”

“Leaving the Crest trail.” Elena moved off the trail, her heart pounding in excitement. She hadn’t felt this excited in many years. Her eyes scanned the surrounding area and she spotted strange boot prints and a small path worn through the grass.

She looked up ahead of her and spotted the entrance to a cave. “I think I found the source!” She moved forward, struggling to catch her breath. She could feel her knees protesting and knew that she would regret this much action tomorrow.

“Elena, you need to be careful.” Thomas warned her, his voice was filled with worry, but he need not fret so much. She could be careful.

She approached the cave entrance, and when she was only a few feet away, a woman leapt from the cave, with a battle cry and a sword pointed at her chest. Elena released a scream of surprise and the phone flipped from her fingers and into the dirt.

“Wait!” Elena lifted her hands into the air above her head. She wanted to say something along the lines of ‘don’t kill me!’, but she found herself unable to put more words together. The woman across from her seemed to be in an equal state of shock. Her hazel eyes were wide in surprise and confusion. She must have been expecting someone, but it certainly wasn’t Elena.

The two of them seemed to be locked in some sort of stare down, both sizing each other up. She looked at the sword pointed at her heart. The steel blade was glinting in the sun and it looked sharp. The clothing the woman choose to wear was just as confusing. They seemed modern, but there was a layer of light armor over everything, and the way it was fashioned was oddly vintage looking.

“You should go.” The strange woman took a step toward her, letting the tip of her sword brush against Elena’s shirt. “Leave this place and don’t come back.”

Her voice was stern and commanding. Despite the messy ponytail, Elena believed that this woman was used to giving orders and being listened to. “I’m sorry. I can’t.” She watched as the woman’s eyes narrowed at her refusal. “I believe that I’ve been drawn here by magic.”

The woman looked more agitated and slightly caught off guard. “Whatever you believe, you must leave. Now.” A strand of her long brown hair blew across her face and she quickly tucked it behind a pointed ear.

Elena stared at the pointed ear in surprise, and began to consider the possibility that the woman before her wasn’t human.

The woman noticed her look and sighed. “Yes, I’m an elf. I take it we don’t frequent these woods.” She gestured to the path Elena had come up. “You can take your prejudice with you.”

“Are you really an elf?” Elena questioned her. “Fascinating.”

“Fascinating?” The woman glared at her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Elves are not thought to exist, and I would have my misgivings if it weren’t for the surge of magic I felt earlier.” Her gray-blue eyes searched the face of the younger woman. “Tell me, were you the source of the magic?”

The woman looked back at her, the confusion growing in her expression. She glanced to her right as if trying to recall something, and then back to Elena. “What year is it?”

“2036.” Elena answered her. She watched as a look of surprise washed over the woman’s face, and to her relief the sword lowered.

“Elena!” The phone crackled from the dirt. “I will call the police if you don’t answer me!”

“Do you mind?” Elena pointed to the phone, and the woman seemed nervous but shook her head. She bent over and picked up the phone placing it to her ear slowly. “Thomas.”

“What happened!?”

“No need to shout.” Elena spoke calmly. “I wasn’t watching where I was going and bumped into another hiker.” She felt bad about lying to her brother. They were so close that there were virtually no secrets between them. There was silence on the other line. “Look I’m going to turn back, my knees are bothering me. I’ll text you when I get home?”

“Alright. Be careful.”

“I will.” She hung up and tucked the phone into her pocket. The elf had slumped against the cave wall, looking more lost than anything else. “My name is Elena.” She extended a hand to the elf. “I’m sorry for startling you.”

“Pyria Elle……” She stopped and slipped the sword into her belt. “It’s Pyria.” She took her hand, giving her a firm handshake. “It would appear that I’ve somehow come back in time.”

“Back in time.” Elena wondered what had happened in the world that reset them back to using swords, but in the very least the clothing choices made sense. “Do you know how you managed this?”

“No.” Pyria looked exhausted. “I didn’t cause the magic that you felt earlier.” She looked back into the cave. “He did.”

Elena moved to enter the cave and caught Pyria tensing up out of the corner of her eye. “May I go inside?” She asked her, not wanting to end up at the sharp end of a blade again.

Pyria was watching her with an intense gaze. It was clear that she didn’t fully trust her, but she also seemed fairly desperate. She finally consented with a nod and led her into the cave.

The feeling of powerful magic sent goosebumps up and down Elena’s arms. She could sometimes feel the tingle of magic in the tips of her fingers when she handled rare crystals, but never this powerful. She brushed her hand over the cracked table in awe. “What is this place?”

“It’s a Druid cave.” Pyria answered, watching her expression closely.

She moved past the table and caught sight of a man on the floor. She could feel powerful magic radiating off of him, but it was tainted with a strain of something dark that made her want to recoil away. She slipped her backpack off her shoulders and dropped to her knees beside the man.

She spotted the strange lines carved into his skin along his head and neck where the bandages didn’t cover him. She’d never seen markings like this before, but somehow they almost felt familiar to her. “Who is he?”

Pyria sat down across from her and took his hand between her own. “He is a Druid.” She answered quietly.

Elena could feel the dark energy swirling up from him, and could almost see it in the air as if it was smoke. “He’s been touched by dark magic.” She unzipped her backpack and began sorting through her cures. She pulled out a plain looking purple crystal and some herbs.

“What are you doing?” Pyria clung to the man’s hand. “How did you know?”

“Sometimes I feel the presence of magic.” Elena told her. “Hand me that bowl.” Pyria handed her the bowl that was sitting next to the fire pit. “I’ve never felt anything this strongly before.” She explained, as she dropped the crystal and herbs into the bowl. She fished a round rock from her pack that had symbols carved into it, and used it to crush everthing up together.

She poured some water from her water bottle into the bowl and the liquid turned a light gray. “I need to apply this to the affected area.” She could see the surprise on the elf’s face.

“There’s a horrible gash on his right shoulder that doesn’t appear to be a normal wound.” Pyria looked both hopeful and skeptical at the same time.

She pulled the cloak down over his shoulder, and carefully untied the bandages.

“Be careful.” Pyria didn’t seem to be comfortable with her touching the Druid, but something had to be done.

Elena pulled back the bandages and looked over the dark injury. She’d never seen the effects dark magic could have on someone and it wasn’t something that she hoped to see again. She slowly applied the liquid to his wound and though the water was cold, steam curled up at the contact.

Every muscle in the Druid’s body tensed at once, he cried out and Pyria clung to his hand with a look of desperation. “What did you do!”

“It’s burning out the negative energy.” Elena told her firmly. She balanced herself just behind his shoulder so that she could prevent him from tossing himself back. His whole body was shaking in agony, and a fresh stream of blood started flowing from the wound. The blood was a dark, blackish color.

She heard Pyria gasp and looked up from her work. The walls were glowing with a bright orange, red light. She could see the patterns of runes running up and down the walls that she hadn’t seen earlier. She wondered if she’d truly stepped into another world when she’d entered the cave, and as much as she wanted to just become lost in the moment, she knew she had to finish the work set before her. “Give me a rag.”  

Pyria quickly snatched up a rag and handed it to her.

She gently wiped up the blackish blood and cleaned the wound. As she worked, the Druid slowly began to relax as the dark color started to recede from the skin around the wound. She worked until the black colored blood was gone and the wound returned to a normal light pink coloring. “Would you hand me some bandages?”

“How did you do that?” Pyria asked as she fumbled about with the bandages, managing to hand her some.

Elena slowly began wrapping his shoulder and offered her a small smile. “I work in magical cures.” She answered her.

“Are you a type of Druid yourself?” Pyria asked her. “I didn’t think Druids existed in these times, but you seem to understand magic.”

“No, no.” Elena shook her head. “I’m not a Druid, and I don’t completely understand magic. But I understand the influence that magic can have and how certain things react together, but I wouldn’t call that an understanding of magic.” She finished binding his shoulder and looked at the burns that ran down his right arm. “These were not caused by flames.”

“We didn’t come here alone.” Pyria confessed. “There was another man with us. He caused the injuries you see here.” She bit her lower lip. “I don’t know where he went to now. The burns are much worse on his back."

Elena could sense that the other man in question was dangerous, and staying here was a bad idea. “I should assess his other injuries.” She didn’t wait for permission as she quickly removed the cloak that Pyria had covered him with, pulling it down to his waist. The Druid was well built and she could see more runes flowing down over his shoulders and back. She drew her fingers over the intricate patterns taking it all in, wondering how far down they went. No wonder the elf seemed so protective of him. He was very easy on the eyes despite the burns that covered his skin.

Pyria could feel Allanon’s grip on her hand loosening. He still held on to her, but it wasn’t like before, when she’d thought that the very bones in her hand were going to be crushed. She watched as Elena looked over his back and felt a bit agitated by the way she was clearly admiring how his runes flowed down the back of his body. It was a stupid feeling really. Why should she care?

“You created a salve for these?” Elena looked up at Pyria with a hint of admiration in her soft eyes.

“Yes, I did.” Pyria felt a rush of pride, but kept it contained. She was proud of what she had done for Allanon, but at the end of the day she couldn’t cure the infection and without this human he might have died. That thought alone was making her upset. She should be feeling grateful, but for one reason or another that wasn’t the emotion stirring up inside of her. “There’s also a really bad cut on his leg…”

Before she could explain more, the rest of the cloak was already off, Elena had taken the edge of the cloak and swept it off him completely, exposing him once again.

Pyria quickly looked at the side of the cave wall, breathing in a sharp breath. She slowly dared a look out the corner of her eye and saw that Elena was smiling to herself in an amused way as she started looking over the leg injury.

A blush covered Pyria’s face, trying not to look as flustered as she felt. Elena was clearly not bothered at all by completely exposing a stranger, and she seemed to think it was amusing that it disturbed the elf.

The smile slipped from Elena’s face and Pyria felt a twinge of worry deep in the pit of her stomach. “Is everything alright?”

“His leg bled through the bandages.” Elena’s fingers moved quickly, working the bandage free. Pyria watched her work quickly, but carefully. The joints in Elena’s fingers were thicker and beginning to curve, dictating a life of heavy use. The way they curved reminded her of an old elf woman that made jewelry back at home. She felt both homesick and foolish for being so possessive at the same time. She watched as Elena peeled back the bandage and winced at how bloody the wrappings were.

“Can we roll him onto his stomach?” Elena asked her.

“Yes of course.” She helped Elena gently roll Allanon on to his stomach, feeling somewhat relieved that he at least wouldn’t be exposed in front anymore. That feeling disappeared at the sight of the gash on his leg. All the stitching she’d done had completely torn free. “I was worried that might happen.”

Elena chewed on her lower lip surveying the damage. “Pyria, do you have a knife with you?”

“Excuse me, what?” Pyria placed her hand protectively over the hilt of the knife poking out of the top of her boot. Her mind raced as she tried to determine why she’d ask for that. Was she going to cut free the remaining stitches. "I can remove the broken stitching." She offered.

Elena gave her a patient look and Pyria felt like she was being treated like a child. “Fine, you keep hold of the knife, but after you remove the stitches I need you to heat the end. We need to cauterize the wound. It’s our best bet to seal the injury.” The older woman informed her.

Pyria was slightly annoyed by the whole situation. She should be grateful for the help, but instead she was just upset that she didn’t think of this. She told herself that she had never really treated a major injury before, and this woman probably had years of experience, but it didn’t help much. She moved down to Allanon's leg and assisted Elena with removing the stitches.

After the wound was clear of stitching she held the freshly cleaned knife over the fire, waiting for it to heat up. She kept glancing back at Elena and felt yet another flash of annoyance that the woman seemed to have returned to admiring the rune pattern on Allanon’s back while she waited. She found her own eyes wandering back down over his back and to the curve of his ass and quickly looked back down at the knife, hoping that Elena hadn't caught her looking.

It seemed to take a life time before the knife glowed cherry red at the tip, and her fingers felt as if they too were blistering from the heat. “It’s ready.” The woman held her hands out to receive the blade and Pyria hesitated for a moment. She didn’t believe the woman would attempt to kill her. If that was her intention she would have tried something already, but handing her a weapon still made her uncomfortable. “Here.” She sighed and handed the knife to her.

“Hold him down as best as you can, dear.” Elena carefully positioned the knife over his leg. “I have a feeling he won’t be unconscious for long.”

Pyria tried to ignore the term of endearment. She was thirty years old and a royal, no one used such terms with her anymore, but she managed to hold back the comment and simply nod. She moved up to Allanon’s left side and rested her hands on the back of his shoulder. “You’re going to be fine, this will only hurt for a moment.” She tried to reassure him as Elena straddled his legs, lowering the heated knife onto the back of his leg.

Pyria winced at the sound of the steel touching his skin, it hissed loudly and smell the burning flesh filled the air. Almost directly after the contact against his skin, Allanon’s entire body jolted. His dark eyes flew open in surprise, and he gasped attempting to scramble up to his knees.

“Hold him down!” Elena shouted nearly being pitched off the man herself.

Pyria leaned her full weight onto his shoulder, trying to pin the much larger man to the ground. “Calm down, we have to cauterize the wound on your leg!” She shouted, clinging to his shoulder. She wasn’t sure how much he would actually be able to understand. He’d just woken up and she could only imagine the pain he was in. It quickly became clear that just holding down his shoulder wasn't good enough. She pushed herself up onto his back, trying to force his hips back to the ground. Her body pressed down against him as she tried to keep him from moving. She'd been so close to the man, but this was a new level. She tried not to think about how close they were right now.

The air seemed to finally reach his lungs, and he managed something that sounded between a shout and a groan. Pyria reached down and grabbed his hand. “Just hold on to me, alright. Squeeze my hand if it makes you feel better.” She couldn’t stand to see the Druid looking this powerless. He’d always seemed so invincible, but these last few days had shown her that he was anything but.

Allanon looked back into her eyes, his own glistening with fear and tears of pain. He closed his eyes and his hand tightened around hers in a death grip that made her flinch again. He bit down into his lower lip hard enough that blood was soon trickling down his chin.

She really did hate watching him hurt himself. She wanted to tell him that it was alright to scream through the pain, instead of trying to hold it all in. He didn’t need to be strong for them. She held her tongue though, knowing that speaking with him was pointless right now.

“There.” Elena moved off of his legs and picked up a spare piece of cloth dipping it in water and laying it over his leg.

Pyria rubbed her free hand over his shoulder. “She’s done. It’s over.” She told Allanon. “Can I get you anything?” She slipped off his back and glanced down at him with a frown. The clasp on the front of her tunic had dug into his back, rupturing several of the blisters that covered his skin. The guilt about the cut resurfaced again. She kept trying to help him, but somehow she kept hurting him instead.

Allanon’s breathing was still coming rapidly, but he released his lower lip. He tried to take in a shaky breath and opened his eyes again. He looked up at Pyria curiously. “Who is she?”

Allanon could hear Pyria trying to explain who the strange woman was, but he was having problems understanding the words she was saying. Everything was just blurring together in his mind. The pain he was feeling was still extremely intense. He could feel the relief of no longer being burned, but the burn itself brought on a new wave of pain.

He could feel the blood from his bitten lip dripping off his chin and wiped the back of his good hand across his mouth. It caused his weight to be shifted to the support of his right shoulder and he braced himself for a fresh wave of pain. He did feel some pain in the movement, but it wasn’t like the pain he’d been feeling earlier. He realized the burning sensation in his shoulder had dissipated to a dull ache. The feel of a normal injury and not an infected one.

He looked down at his hand that had moved back to clinging to Pyria’s. He hadn’t even noticed he’d reached for her again. He knew he should let go, but just holding her hand was comforting. It almost felt like he was clinging to some sort of life force that kept pulling him back from the edge. He didn’t want to let go.

“…..And Elena managed to stop the infection….” Pyria’s soft voice faded in and out.

“Elena?” Allanon didn’t remember an Elena, but that must be the name of the person Pyria had mentioned earlier. He looked at the ground before him and pushed himself back to his left side, reluctantly letting go of Pyria’s hand to push himself up. The fever that caused his vision to blur had ebbed and he found it easier to move, but not without its share of pain.

“Don’t try to sit up.” A gray haired woman was fussing with some bandages, and he guessed she must be Elena. “Do you want to make all of our hard work for naught?”

Allanon froze as he noticed that this time he was fully exposed. His whole body curled in on itself. The burns on his back screamed from the sharp movement and his leg throbbed with an intense wave of pain, but he curled himself up enough to cover himself with his right hand. His entire face was flushed, and he hoped neither of them knew that his fever had broken.

Pyria respectfully averted her eyes and handed him the balled up cloak. Elena wasn’t so gracious. “Excuse me, young sir.” She crossed her arms giving him a disapproving look. “I said not to move.” She worriedly tried to get a look at his leg.

Allanon pulled away from her, tucking the cloak around his waist. The effort left him short of breath and in a world of pain. He choked down a sound of discomfort and tried not to let the pain show on his face. “I was….”

“Yes, we were aware.” Elena said patiently. “As soon as your wounds were taken care of we were going to cover you again, dear.”

“I’m sorry, Allanon.” Pyria rested her hand on his shoulder just lightly touching him, almost hesitantly as if she was scared he’d pull away.

He didn’t pull back, but he was intensely aware of every piece of skin that touched hers. He blamed it on his current horror. He kept himself mostly upright, not wanting to lie back down or show weakness in front of this strange woman. He tried to reach out to her mentally, but he was too tired to read her thoughts. He could sense the magic inside of her. It was locked deep inside and not very powerful, but it was there.

He looked down at his bandaged shoulder. He couldn’t feel the dark magic anymore and he glanced up at Elena. “Who are you?”

“Just a woman. Now, may I continue bandaging up your leg? It would help if you laid back down on your stomach.” Elena told him softly.

He knew the cloak would have to be pulled up for that and he didn’t want that to happen again, but the position he was half sitting in hurt his leg badly. He slowly lay back down on his stomach, folding his arms below his chin. He could feel her pull up the cloak and closed his eyes trying not to think about how exposed and weak he felt.

Allanon wasn’t the type of person to feel helpless, and he rarely was. In this moment, he felt like he was at the world’s mercy, injured and naked. He tried to fight the self-conscious feeling of embarrassment. He felt a pair of hands on his back and looked over his shoulder.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Pyria blushed brightly. “I was just applying some salve. You damaged your back moving around so quickly.”

“I wasn’t startled.” Allanon lied. The places that her hands touched felt good. The salve was cool on his stinging back. “You can keep going if you like. I don’t mind.” He closed his eyes again as she moved her hands lightly over his skin. The cooling sensation was nice, but paired with the steady movement of her hands, it relaxed him and calmed his pain.

He looked up as the cloak was pulled back down over him. He felt a sudden sharp stinging on his mid-back. He took in a quick breath, his back arching reflexively.

“Sorry, sorry.” Pyria’s voice was riddled with worry. “There’s just a bad spot where I had to hold you down.”

“It’s fine.” Allanon sighed. “You don’t have to apologize for anything, Princess.” He felt her stop moving and waited for the sounds of protest. Instead, his ears rang with the sound of laughter. He wasn’t actually sure if he’d heard her laugh before, but he knew he wanted to hear it again. “I’m surprised you’re not angry.”

“Honestly, I’m just happy you’re awake and talking again.” Pyria sounded happy. He could almost see the smile as she spoke the words. She patted his back and moved away. “There. I think you should stay on your stomach for a little while if that’s comfortable.”

Allanon glanced at her. When he saw her earlier she looked worried and pale, but now he could see that some of the color had returned to her face. The setting sun’s rays where shining in the cave behind her and it made it look as if she was glowing. “Thank you.”

Pyria twisted a strand of hair around her finger and looked down at the cave floor. She cleared her throat and turned to Elena. “You need to thank her too.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Elena had gotten to her feet and was looking toward the cave entrance. “You can thank me once you’re safely at my apartment.”

“A what?” Pyria asked her.

“Where I live. It isn’t safe for you here. If that man returns, your friend will be at risk for greater injury.” Elena reached into her pack and pulled out her sandwich. “I have some food in case you’re hungry.”

Pyria nodded and took the sandwich in her hands. She turned over the odd piece of food in confusion, but smiled up at Elena gratefully. “How are we going to move Allanon?”

Allanon understood the concern. His leg was badly injured. He didn’t know how badly yet, because neither of the women had told him, but if the pain was an indicator he supposed he was grateful that he didn’t break it. “I can walk.”

“You might be able to.” Elena gave him a look filled with pity. “But it won’t be easy. That cut is almost bone deep. We’ll have to move very slowly and you should keep all of your weight off of it if you can.” She slipped her backpack back on. “Either way, you can’t just go on a hike without clothes.”

She turned to Pyria and addressed her. “I’m going home to get him something to wear and fresh supplies. I’ll come back for you tomorrow, and then we can get the two of you home.”

“If you think that it will work, then I’m in.” Pyria nodded firmly. “Will you be alright on your own?”

“I’ll be just fine.” Elena smiled softly. “I’m not fragile you know.” She stepped back from the two of them. “I will be back tomorrow. Until I get back...” She pointed a finger at Allanon. “Don’t move too much. You need to save your energy for tomorrow.” 

Brona sat in front of the fire that he’d built up. He’d just drawn healing runes in the sand around him and closed his eyes, tilting his head back. He could feel the steady pulse of earth energy running up from the ground into his body. He could sense the ley lines that ran through the forest. This place was blessed with them.

He smiled to himself as he felt the presence of the dark ley lines, hiding just beneath the glow of the others. He was caught by surprise at how strong the dark magic was when he tapped into its power. His body stiffened as a vision flashed before his eyes.

He was suddenly flying through the woods, following a strange path to a pile of boulders that were covered with moss. No, they weren’t boulders, but some sort of rubble that had to have been a building at some point. A hidden door glowed bright red and swung open.

A pair of recessed, glowing red eyes looked at him out of the darkness. He felt waves of dark magic crashing over him. Release me!

His vision snapped back to the ground in front of the fire that was now dying. His mouth curled up into a smile. When he’d crashed into this world, he’d awoken something, and now it was calling to him. He rose to his feet and looked up at the darkening sky. “So be it, hell beast.” He spoke to the shadows around him. “I will release you, and become your master.” 

[therealvikingstrash]

Uh-oh! I did it again 😂 So, here are my fic rec's no one asked for! This time I included WIPs as well 💕

I will put "(WIP)" behind unfinished fics, those who are finished do not have any addition. (Here's the first rec list I made) The pictures used for my header are partly from @underragingwaves and pinterest.

The links will take you to the AO3 version(except for two), because I think we all should give more credit there- as much as I love people engaging on tumblr, leaving kudos and comments on AO3 as well is not a hardship and most authors will give you the chance to comment as a guest. A little PSA: Kudos can always be left as a guest and are much appreciated! 💕

Rec list:

In This Life by @author-morgan - T - Halfdan/f!Reader - 1,562 words

I really like the clean writing style and how Halfdan was granted someone who loved him. That was something that kind of bugged me in the show and even though it's bittersweet, I will just accept this as canon!

Summary: If not in this life, then you will be reunited in the next to the joyous resounding of Valhalla’s horns.

A Day at the Lake by @prepare4trouble - G - Ragnarssons - 2,728 words

Slice of life kinda fic that I enjoyed a lot. For its shortness, it makes up with character insights and shenanigans. A lot of love for that!

Summary: Just the brothers hanging out together at the lake, before Ragnar came back and everything fell apart.

homeland, heartland by @underragingwaves - E - Ubbe/OFC - 41,555 words (WIP)

Those who don't read it are missing out big time! We get wonderfully written in-character Ubbe, Hvitserk- and I can only assume since I enjoy this fic slowly- Ivar. Very sweet nods to Aslaug are continuing to get me emotional. There are original characters that will suck you into their little world, make you care for them and of course: MERMAIDS. Do I have to say more?

Summary: Ubbe encounters a mermaid on his journey home from England. The deal he strikes with her has far-reaching consequences for the future of Kattegat, while the Great Army’s motions may be impeded by the Sea Empire’s meddling. As Ubbe attempts to build bridges, he may come to find that there is no way to stay neutral when trouble washes over him..

A New Life by @adrille88 - M - Hvitserk/OFC - 5,664 words (WIP)

One of the WIPs I will wait patiently for their continuation and until then enjoy what is already available to read! I love post-canon stories and how Hvitserk is followed on his new life journey in here.

Summary: Hvitserk was left in England feeling lost and unsure following the Battle of Edington. How he adjusted to his life in England and found his destiny there. (Contains spoilers for series finale!)

Stupid Games by @serasvictoria - E - Hvitserk/Reader/Ubbe - 29,133 words (WIP)

Everyone who knows me, is aware of my little obsession with love triangles or flat out polyamory relationships with Hvitserk and Ubbe. This right here? Scratches that itch really nicely!

Summary: When you were growing up you used to live next to the Lothbroks, but you eventually moved away and haven't seen them since. A wedding brings you back to town and during a bachelorette party you run into the brothers again.

Denmark and Danishes by @quantumlocked310 - G/E - Hvitserk/Reader - 5,042 words

This one is something very sweet and very hot. That I think this author is talented are not news. Loved this one to bits! I linked the series, so you can have an overview, the summary belongs to the first of two fics.

Summary: You're a new resident in Denmark, and this is your first time heading to work in the morning. Maybe the coffee shop around the corner will be your new regular spot. The cute barista certainly hopes so.

Lust by @grimeundglow - E - Hvitserk/Reader, Ivar/Reader - 7,943 words

If you like when it hurts, but also are a sucker for forbidden love, dig in! This one made my heart go out for Hvitserk, gave me the urge to knock sense into Ivar, but managed to make me coo at the end. It also has nome guest appearances of Helga and Floki! I really like how all of them are in-character.

Summary: Hvitserk liberates a farmer’s daughter from her quiet life in Northumbria, only to have his younger brother take a keen interest in her.

Before Love Came to Kill Us by @ritual-unions-gotme - T - Ubbe/OFC - 7,387 words

So, I have a confession to make: I'm a sucker for Soulmate AUs and here they see color for the first time when they meet their soulmate. And how heartbreaking is it, to find them and then have no chance to be with them? This one hurts in all the right places!

Summary: SOULMATE AU - Senta is dutifully waiting until the day she meets her soulmate, the day her world will explode in a burst of color, unfortunately the gods have given her the one mate she cannot have.

Aftermath by @whenimaunicorn - E - dark!Ubbe/Reader - 2,861 words

This, this right here is delicious, Ubbe smut and I fucking love it. Gimme pagan King Ubbe, I'll be a happy lil idiot!

Summary: Ubbe stayed in East Anglia and took over the Danes as pagan king. (PWP and Spoilers for the series final)

Midsummer by @niishiki - T - Ivar & Sigurd centric - 7,316 words

Another slice of life fic, modern setting and beautifully written. It explores the dynamic of Sigurd and Ivar's relationship, but also has a little bit of Hvitserk, Ubbe and Bjorn in it. Really loved it!

Summary: A traumatic childhood experience comes back to the surface when Ivar vanishes from a party under Sigurd's supervision.

Two Shieldmaidens by @artemiseamoon - T - Gunnhild/Reader - 517 words

A sweet little drabble that made me go all 'Aww' with my fav Gunnhild! We love us some wlw rep! (Story link will lead you to the tumblr post, since it's only available there)

Summary: Gunnhild's birthday party was a success and you reminisce over the events of last night while cleaning up...

My daughter, my girl by @pomegranates-and-blood - G - Lagertha & Gyda - 2,300 words

I cannot describe how this fic had me in my feels. I do love Gyda, but I never liked Lagertha- this fic though? It makes you like her and grief with her. And we always need more female rep in this fandom! (This fic is only on tumblr, so the link will take you there)

Summary: Lagertha thinks back on her years and her losses as her life nears its end. A retake on her choice of burying her sword in 6x01 with Lagertha as Demeter and Gyda as Persephone.

-

Don't forget to let the authors know you enjoyed their story's, you are never annoying as reader/commenter! 💕

[gauntletgirlie]

You’re welcome @whenimaunicorn. This makes me absurdly happy 😂

Any one else want to

those ears, or is it just me?

GIF from Tenor

[serasvictoria]

Just dropping by to let you know I was thinking about Stupid Games the other day and it brought me more serotonin than I've had in a week, thank you and bless you for bringing that story into the world, no matter how long it takes you to update or even if you don't end up finishing. It's still out there making people happy!!

Such a nice thing to say and definitely something that I needed ❤️

I had this really dumb idea in my head about wanting to finish two requests first (which I still haven’t quite finished and one of them is getting close to 12k in words now 😅) before posting the next chapter and then I got a bit busy with the Vikings Big Bang and now here we are. I will say that the next chapter will definitely go up in the next couple weeks so stay tuned!

And thanks again for the kind message 🥰

[cptnbvcks]

Ok but, what if Din doesn't even know he has a big dick...? Cuz like, is not like Mandalorian recruits are comparing their shit in the locker room or anything

OMFlI ST EN…. i wrote all this out and it got Too Long and Not Very Detailed and i had to stop so here’s a half baked near-fic length drabble about mando having some big meat enjoy

- imagine it’s finally time. you two have been dancing around each other like two peacocks, stewing in mutual pining ever since you joined him on the razor crest. space is lonely and this ship is cramped and it finally gets to the point where if you don’t do something about this elephant in the room one of you might actually go feral. 

- so he has you, finally, sitting up on your elbows ontop of his hastily thrown cloak on the floor of the ship with clothes ripped open and your tits spilling out from the vicious tear he’s made through the thin tunic’s neckline. you can feel him watching you, and you can hear him undressing himself because you’re useless without your sight. and you want to see but he’s set the deal in concrete — blindfolds or complete darkness. he could fuck you with the armor on, but it seems a little too formal for the occasion. so blindfolds it was. 

- you reach to touch him. to touch any part of him. you want to keep feeling the warmth of his skin everywhere. he’s so warm; warmer than the beskar, softer too. he grabs your hand and guides your blind path and you realize he’s closer than you expected, nuder that you expected. 

- your mouth goes dry as he presses your hands over his chest and you feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat. you spread your fingers, testing his skin like you’re amazed it even exists. 

- “it’s alright,” he reassures, his voice dragging low in his throat and you shiver at the clarity. every octave hits your ears and you can imagine his mouth now as he speaks, “touch me, it’s okay.” 

- you think it’s a little crazy at the fact that that’s what makes you blush. not the fact that you’re laying here, tits out and one thin scrap of fabric away from being totally naked, unable to see if he’s looking at your face or your chest. but the jagged vulnerability of his voice, the falter in the usual authoritativeness of it — it makes you blush.

- your hands slip lower and you can hear the way he inhales deep. his chest is smooth and you follow the soft lines of his muscles until your fingertips begin to encounter a soft trail of coarse hairs. his breath falters and you’re almost struck by the sudden awareness of how different his breathing sounds without the warp of the helmet’s modulator. 

- your own breaths start to fall in tandem and his hand is still around your wrist and you didn’t realize you had hesitated until his voice breaks in the darkness again, “it’s okay.” is he convincing you, or himself? you’re not very sure because it’s his hand that takes the lead and guides your touch where he needs it. 

- maybe you’re just imagining things now; making stuff up in your head because you can’t see what you’re doing. but how could your mind be playing tricks on you when you can feel the thickness of his shaft pressing beskar-hard against your palm as he wraps your fingers around him. he’s heavy in your hand and you can only just barely feel the tip of your longest finger against the tip of your thumb. by the maker, there’s no way.

- your jaw hangs loose and the mandalorian takes that as an invitation to lean forward and kiss your upper lip, sighing softly into your mouth as though he hasn’t just put the thickest cock of your life in your hands. 

- your brow furrows behind the blindfold and you let out a soft disbelieving noise and now you really wonder if you’re going crazy when he starts guiding your hand along his length, tightening your grip as he slowly herds you down onto your back. he spreads you beneath him with your legs spread against his thighs and suddenly your cunt feels really fucking vulnerable right about now.

- your heart hammers hard in your chest and you count the seconds until your fingers finally feel the soft ridge of his cock’s head, already leaking pre-cum into your palm as the bounty hunter thrusts eagerly into your touch. holy fucking shit. where does he think he’s putting that?

- “m-mando—” you really want to lie to yourself that everything’s fine. that you’re just exaggerating in your head because you can’t fucking see. but when he pushes your hand back down on the bed and for just a second you’re lost in the dark without his guidance.

- then you feel the head of his cock. thick and smooth and it jolts you back to your senses when it catches against your clit. he groans and he’s pushing down, guiding himself where he needs to be, and you can’t fucking see and he’s hardly got the tip of his dick in you and—

- holy fuck.

- “wait— wait, mando—” 

- he stops immediately and you hear the tension in his voice as your walls squeeze around the first inch of his cock. his head is low against your shoulder as he breaths raggedly, swallowing around the dryness in his throat, “wh-whats wrong?”

- “i-i need more. i’m not ready yet. you won’t—” 

- your words disintegrate when he pulls back out, his cock brushing up against your clit again and your thighs try to squeeze shut around his waist. he cups a hand over your pussy, slipping two fingers in with ease and you can hear the wet sound of his fingers as he works them into you until you squirm. 

- you think you’re stalling for time and you think he knows it too. 

- “you’re wet enough. why the hesitation?” 

- his voice is strung out, gravelly the way it always was when he woke in the mornings, and fuck his voice is foreign but the words are so familiar when he speaks them. his thumb’s pressing fast circles into that aching bundle of nerves and his fingers curl and you know he feels you get even wetter. you know he’s watching you from somewhere above; you can feel his exhales on your cheek. 

- “too big—” you half wheeze out, “maker, you barely fit in my hand.” 

- “you have very small hands.” 

- you know that was supposed to be a joke and maybe you would have laughed if you weren’t seriously concerned that your hands were totally average sized and his cock wasn’t. 

- you open your mouth to retort something while you still have the brain function to, granted his fingers are pulling every coherent thought out of your head. a small thought ebbs in the back of your head; low simmer and quietly urgent and you reach for the tail end of that thought before mando can finger fuck it right out of your head. 

- his words. there was something… humble about it. what man in this edge of the galaxy would combat a woman telling him his cock was too big to fit? 

- “wait,” your hand is on his chest and you feel his nipple beneath your palm, “has—has no one ever told you that?”

- his fingers still inside of you and you wonder if you hit a cord somehow. it didn’t feel like you had stoked his pride but rather hit something a little more vulnerable. “can we talk about this later?” 

- you bite your lip and wonder what could be hiding behind his defensiveness. 

- you slip your hand back down his chest again, familiar with the path now as you reach down and grab his cock again, pulling him to you as he takes the hint and slides his fingers out of your heat. he touches your hip and you feel the wet smear of your own juices against your skin. he’s right — you were wet enough. 

- you guide him back to you, “fine,” you concede, “but— slow. go slow.” 

part 2 if u care: talking to mando about his big dick issues while getting deep dicked

[pig-wings]

I know you have Amos headcanons, please lay some of the most mundane ones on us

I love mundane headcanons! Here we go:

He keeps up semi-regular correspondence with Anna. She sends him books that he rarely reads.

He set up a hydroponic rig for Alex to plant some herbs and veggies for cooking. Alex isn’t a very good gardener, though, so Amos fixes things behind his back.

Amos and Naomi are the card-sharks on the Roci and are forbidden from playing on the same team any time the crew plays a team card game.

[geeky-introvert]

Thanks for the tag @melodymunson 🥰

INFJ - Advocate ( took time but was interesting )

Jerry Seinfeld Tigger Athelstan - Vikings Sherlock Holmes

Tagging: @supernaturalvikingwhore @lordsexmachine @robot-horde @oddsnendsfanfics @whenimaunicorn

I got tagged in this like over a week ago but I’m forgetful af! Post 4 characters with your mbti that you relate to most 🩷 thanks for the tag @kermitthehag!

INFP

Tagging some cuties that might find this fun

@eddywoww @bewilderedbunny @mantorokk-writes @latenightsimping @stretchedoutonthegrass