#I sound like a viking on low notes like??

[tigersharks]

Going from soprano to tenor is also crazy I got scared by how deep I can sing

[sanjoongie]

𐌕𐋅𐌄 𐌔𐋅𐌉𐌄𐌋𐌃 𐌌𐌀𐌉𐌃𐌄𐌍 𐌀𐌍𐌃 𐋅𐌄𐌓 𐌁𐌄𐌓𐌔𐌄𐌓𐌊𐌄𐌓

🐺Pairing: Berserker! San x Shield Maiden! Reader (f)

🛡Genre: smut, fluff

🐺Au: Historical Au, Viking Au, parent au

🛡Trope: established relationship (married)

🐺Word Count: 2,755

🛡Warnings: mentions of fighting, killing, blood, battle, {breast feeding}, lactation kink, breeding kink, breast play, knife play, fear kink, oral (f), penetrative sex without a barrier, pull out method, mentions of somnophilia, switch! san, switch! reader, mentions of masturbation

🐺Rated: 18+ MDNI

🛡Summary: when your husband comes back after the long raiding season, he continues his mission to keep you pregnant and away from the battlefield

🐺Author’s Note: this a self indulgent au that i have been dying to write but not finding any time to, so i decided to gift it to myself for my birthday 🥳

🛡Beta’s: @downtoamagicalland & @mejuii

"I'm home!" San bellows as he sweeps aside the sheepskin that covers the door to your home.

"Papa!" Four children's voices ring out.

You watch with amusement as your horde of children practically puppy-pile your husband in an attempt to greet him. 

San lets out his belly laugh, beyond happy. Your Viking husband places his double-handed axe against the wall and sweeps up your children, all four of them, in his arms and squeezes them until they protest. 

"I have missed you," He sighs, kissing them enthusiastically on top of their heads before letting them go.

"Papa, papa!" Your oldest, Sari, pipes up. "Mama is teaching me how to wield a sword and shield!"

San's eyes swipe towards you, grinning. "You're going to be a shield maiden like your mama?"

"I'm going to beat you one day!" Sari swears solemnly.

"I don't doubt it," San nods solemnly back.

A loud wail starts up and you cluck your tongue. “Not even five minutes after your father is home and you cause mischief?”

Your eldest boy, Taewoong, the second oldest child, looks expectedly at San while your second daughter Micha sobs.

“Son.” San takes both of Taewoong’s hands in his own. “Why would you harm your younger sister? She looks up to you to protect her.”

Taewoong shoots a look at you and then looks down at the way his father’s thumb swipes lovingly.

San sighs loudly. “Please take care of Micha. When I'm not here, you're the man of the house.”

Taewoong's lower lip juts out. “Papa!” He wails.

San looks bewildered at the sudden outburst and looks to you for help. 

“He didn't expect you to be gentle with him. I'd have given him a swat by now.”

San kisses the top of Taewoong's head and then begins to tickle Micha's ribs, eyes disappearing at the sound of her laughter, tears forgotten.

“Sari, take your brother and sister to bed now. I've got to greet your mother properly,” San orders.

The three run to their shared bed, quickly shedding their clothes until they were in their bedtime nightgowns. 

“Hello wife,” San says in a low voice. “And who is this piglet in a blanket?”

You twist your lips. “That is the newest baby you left in my stomach, Husband.”

San plucks the slumbering baby from your arms and coos at the round cheeks. “Hello, baby.”

“Will you name him now that he's been born and you're home?” You ask, waiting expectantly for his reaction to the good news.

“A boy?!” He grins. He rocks his new son as if he’s the most precious person in this world. “What’s your name, hmmm?”

“If you’ve any love for me, you’d name this one for a softer life,” You grumble.

“What about Hajoon? Perhaps he’ll take on your storytelling and be a bard or a poet!” San offers.

“Stories?” Sari pipes up from the bed. 

“Stories!” Micha echoes her older sister.

“Please?” Taewoong adds belatedly, knowing he’s already pushed enough this evening.

 San looks at you with wide eyes. You sigh and roll yours. “I always tell them stories before they sleep, you know this, you silly man.”

“My fierce shield maiden wife tells stories to our children?” San pretends to be ignorant.

“You must tell the tale of when you met Papa!” Sari insists.

“You’ve heard that more times than I care to count!’ You protest. “Surely you want a new tale now that Papa is here?”

Micha shakes her head. “No! Want stories about Papa!”

San gently slips the babe back to you. “I’ll tell the story. Mine’s much better.” 

He discards his furs and sits on the bed with his children, in simply his pants, bearing all his tattoos and scars. 

Hajoon shifts after being moved so much and he begins to whimper. “It’s okay, sweet boy,” you whisper. “Mama will feed you.”

San’s voice bounces off your walls as he launches into his version of how you two met.

“Papa was in a large battle, two major armies crashing together, it was glorious. So many men were sent to Valhalla by my axe. The battle lasted all day and all night and when the sun rose, I found myself surrounded by many other warriors still. My berserker blood rage had settled and I began to get tired and weary. Just as I felt my eyes drooping,” San pauses to roar and the children scream in delight. “I heard a battle cry and saw a Valkyrie descend from the heavens. She was heavenly, in both her beauty and her bloodlust. She carried two blades that she swung with accuracy and deadliness. She carved through many warriors until finally she appeared in front of me. I was caught in her spell and there was nothing I could do if she decided to finish me and carry me to Valhalla.”

“Mama,” Sari sends me a dirty look, as if to scold me for attempting to kill her Papa.

San laughs under his breath and then becomes serious again. “She pointed her swords at me and said, ‘you’ll become my husband’. I had no choice!”

Taewoong’s adorable face screws up in confusion. “If Mama is so good, why doesn’t she go on the raids?”

San’s eyes widen as he realizes he’s talked himself into a corner, so to speak. 

“Yes, Papa,” You say Papa as if it’s derogatory. “Tell them why Mama doesn’t fight anymore.”

San begins to pout, his signature way to speak when he knew suddenly the things weren’t going his way. “Your Mama needs to stay here with you! And protect you! What if someone came raiding here? No one is better to keep you safe than Mama.”

Micha’s lips begin to quiver at the realization that she and her siblings are in danger. San has to assure her that there is no need to be afraid and soon all the children are tucked firmly and off to slumberland.

“Papa duties complete,” San says with a proud smile.

“Good. The babe’s fallen asleep as well,” You murmur.

You place Hajoon in the sling that rocks him to sleep and tuck yourself back into your dress. Your eyes meet San’s when you catch him looking at you hungrily. 

“San,” You say his name in warning.

Your husband sweeps you up, carrying you in his capable arms and brings you to your bed, on the opposite side of the house. He keeps himself aloft over you, but his lower half pins you in place. 

“I missed you,” he whispers and then collapses his weight on you. 

His head is tucked in between your shoulder and head and you pat his head reassuringly. “I missed you too, husband.”

“The birth wasn’t too hard?” San wonders, rubbing his cheek against your skin. 

“It was fine, San,” You say, moving your hand down to his back to absentmindedly run your fingers along his spine.

For a moment, you trace his scars from memory. He was acquiring new ones that you hadn't witnessed and it sent a pang to your heart. You missed the days when you used to battle at San’s side and then fuck with the blood of your enemies still wet on your skin. 

“Would you have told our children the true reason I remain at home?” You can’t help but wonder.

San raises his head and you watch an unfamiliar emotion cross his eyes: fear. “I was convinced for the longest time that you would become jealous and think I had found another lover. I dreamt of you slitting my throat with a savage grin while I slept.”

“San, that’s absolutely ridiculous,” You deny. “First of all, if I was going to kill you, I would make sure that you were awake for it, especially if I thought you were cheating on me.”

San puts a finger to your lips to halt whatever you were going to say secondly. “But now it’s because I love our horde of children. But I love it even more when you’re heavy with child and I can just fuck you whenever I want. I love your body when you’re full with a child.”

“San,” you say his name hoarsely. Damn Viking man and his breeding kink. 

His eyes wander down your body to your chest and he cups one of your breasts. “Let me suckle from your breast, love,” he whispers naughtily.

“The babe needs that milk!” 

San smiles mischievously. “He can have the other breast. This one is mine.”

Your viking husband pulls the top of your dress down your arms, effectively both trapping your arms in place and spilling your breasts to him. One leaks with milk, where Hajoon had been feeding, and San moans quietly.

“San, the children!” You protest one more time.

“Shhhh,” San hushes you, “The babes don’t understand. Besides, if you’re quiet enough, they won’t wake.”

You whimper as San takes one breast into his mouth, tongue lapping at the tip, and then begins to suck to pull the milk from it. His blunt fingernail plays with the areola of the other, bringing it to a point as well. After months of being on your own, your back arches as the familiar touch of your husband practically burns into your skin.

“My poor wife,” San chuckles lowly. “You need the touch of your husband to bring you back to life?”

“Please, don’t stop,” You murmur and San doesn’t.

His treatment of your breasts, weighting them in his palm, and squeezing them softly, was almost akin to adoration. He was careful to not be rough, aware of just how sensitive you were now that you were fresh from a birth and breastfeeding. 

With your milk still on his lips, San continues to tease you verbally. “I bet you’re aching and wet for me, aren’t you, love of my life?”

Your thighs clench at his words. “I brought myself with my fingers a few times once you were gone. You know how gooey I am when I’m pregnant.”

San groans, his eyes rolling into the back of his head before he moves down your body, abandoning your breasts at the thought of your wet cunt. On his way down, he pays homage to every piece of skin he passes. Any scar or cellulite or stretch mark gets kisses as well. 

The way San makes love to your body would be the proof that your husband would never cheat on you. Then again, the way San makes love to your body would also be a key motivator to ensure he never did the same with anyone else. 

San peppers your mound and out lips with kisses, murmuring praise against your sensitive skin. “Daddy missed you,” escaping his lips once or twice.

You snicker under your breath which quickly turns into a breathy whine as San places a tender kiss right on your clit. Then his tongue delves into your folds, tracing your inner lips and tasting you. He takes his time, re-learning every crease and dip of your cunt. It’s equal parts coming back home and giving you what you missed.

Your core is aching as San tongues your hole, using it to stretch you a bit, but mostly to wind you up. Just when you think he’s going to climb back up your body and fill you up with his cock, he halts his progress to flick and circle your clit. You growl in frustration and dig your hand into his hair. 

“If you don’t fuck me right this second, I’m going to milk you for all your worth and they will have a husk of a man to send back out when raiding seasons starts again,” You threaten.

A flash of fear permeates San’s eyes. “Yes, wife,” he replies demurely.

You take the lead, flipping the two of you so that you are on top now. San’s hair briefly fans out above his head and his dark eyes take you in. 

“Take your pleasure from me, queen,” San says huskily.

You lift an eyebrow in question as you begin to rub your wet folds against San’s erect cock lying against his stomach. “Don’t you mean valkyrie?”

San’s eyes slid to the side as he witnesses you pull your knife from under the pillow he was on. His eyes widen and he holds himself still. “I’ll call you whatever you want, shield maiden. Take from me what you what, simply leave me alive another day to feel your sweet cunt wrapped around me.”

“This sweet cunt has given you more than enough babies, San,” You say in a low voice. You begin to move your hips only as the flat of your blade is brought against San’s throat. 

San’s Adam’s apple bobs deliciously in anxiousness. “If I keep you pregnant with my babies, you’ll stay off the battlefield. You terrify me, wife of mine. Your bloodlust makes me look like a fawn who does not know danger.”

You lean forward, still tilting your hips in leisure. “Are you saying you fear your wife? The mother of your children?”

“I fear the shield maiden who stole my heart and is just as capable of breaking open my rib cage and stealing it again,” San whispers. 

You felt your inner fire, your warrior’s soul, light up with those words. Your hips began to move with more vigor, a delighted grin opening your lips. “Good, that’s how I prefer you.”

San groans loudly, his eyes rolling into the back of his head with pleasure as you bounce more enthusiastically against his pelvis. He slaps his hand over his mouth, aware that now he might wake the children. His eyes are wide with worry as you continue to ride his pronounced hips. 

With your fervor activity, your short sword makes a line along San’s neck and his pupils blow out. Nothing like enacting the bloodlust during a fuck to get both of your blood going. 

“Dare you come inside me, husband?” You purr quietly. “With my sword against your neck so pretty like?”

San whines behind his hand at your words. You can feel his pelvis muscles flexing with each time your ass meets his hips, so that he can fuck you harder, or at least, give you more. 

Meanwhile, with each stroke of San’s girthy cock inside of you, you can feel your orgasm coming within your grasp. You withdraw your sword from San’s neck just in time as it hits. You arch your back, a silent cry releasing from your lips, your sought after climax finally ripping through you. It’s everything you had dreamed about while your husband had been raiding.

San, fast as lightning, flips you over before the vice grip of your pussy pushes him over the edge inside of you. He comes with his teeth dug into his bottom lip, fisting his cock and his seed spurts over your mound and your lower stomach. He pants as he continues to dirty your body, fist moving slower and slower as his high leaves him.

He grins, shoulders moving with each breath. “Now that was a welcome home fuck.”

You stand up to find the bowl you keep of water and a rag. Often you clean yourself up from the mess of the milk from your breasts so it’s no added labor to wash San’s cum from your body too. 

“You are a debased man, husband of mine,” You murmur under your breath.

“That’s why you married me!” San protests. 

“The breast milk is new,” You throw over your shoulder. 

San scratches the back of his head, still crouching on the bed, his legs under his body. “I love every part of you,” He admits, “Why not that too?”

Once you settle back into bed, San cleans himself up too and then settles behind you pulling your body flush with his. He nuzzles your shoulder and hums contently. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to make another baby with me?”

You sigh, still rolling your eyes at San’s antics. “Why don’t we play a game? If you can fuck me while I sleep without waking me, you can fill me up to your hearts content. And if I wake up then, you better be ready to finish with your mouth.”

You can practically hear the glee in San’s voice when he replies. “And that’s why I married you.”

And then he’s snoring like he doesn’t have a care in the world. You find yourself drifting off to sleep as well, feeling safe and happy in San’s arms.

[clovermarigold]

Daggers and Daffodils Chap.17

Dagur x Reader

In the time it took me to write this chapter I've gone through two separate chargers, since the one I shipped in broke withing the first half of the chapter. So that was disappointing.

But on another note, it's been a year since I posted the first few chapters! Thank you all for the support and interest in my cringy fanfic, and I apologize that in the span of a year I've only made this many chapters for Ya'll.                                   -Clover

Narrator POV

"Hiccup" Dagur greeted with a twisted smile. "I thought we could settle this like real Vikings" Hiccup said from atop Toothless. Dagur grit his teeth and quickly gripped the Skrill's ropes, "Me and my Skrill vs you and your night fury? I like those odds".  You yelled for him so stop as he pulled the reigns causing the Skrill to narrowly miss Hiccup. He swiftly dodged and flew away, making Dagur and the Skrill follow him.

A familiar roar graced your ears at Dagur's disappearance. With a smile you hauled towards the side of the ship, jumping onto Silver Tongue's back as in a fly by. "Good to see you boy" you chided, "did you miss me?". He huffed steam from his nose. A low growl eliminated from him as he caught a glimpse of Dagur, who was currently standing in a puddle of water as Hiccup goaded him. With a flash Dagur was launched into the water leaving the Skrill free to chase Hiccup.

Silver Tongue dove to catch up with Hiccup, and you were both flying side by side. "Thanks, it was getting really awkward in there". "I bet" Hiccup said, "But don't thank me yet" the two of you dodged a lightning bolt. "I'll lead the Skrill away, you get home". "I'm not leaving you alone with that thing!" you argued. "Don't worry, I'm not alone" he looked down at Toothless fondly who in turn gave a purr like agreement. Silver Tongue gave a sneeze to voice his disgust, "Allright then, seems like this one's ready to go home anyways. Stay safe" he nodded. You were just glad it was all finally over.

Some weeks later

...You don't tend to think of yourself as a superstitious person, as you don't believe in luck or curses. But this year has got you thinking. After all, how in Odins name is it possible for one singular person to be THIS unfortunate. Currently, you are hanging upside down by your feet. While training with Astrid and the others, Snotlout (not listening as always) had launched into Silver Tongue's side and sent the two of you crashing down, after he had already caused a chain reaction that launched a boulder towards Astrid. You sighed, closing your eyes as you contemplated your life choices. Your attention refocused as you felt the branch you were on bend and a familiar chuff sounded to your left. turning your head, you were met with Silver Tongue, comfortable in his usual sleeping position upside down. "You gonna help me or what?". He let out a light huff from his nostrils and opted to turn his head in a 180° away from you. Today was going to be a long day.

After the hassle of pulling both yourself and Silver Tongue out from the tree (him being a stubborn baby who was throwing a tantrum) you joined the others on the ground rushing to help the hurt Astrid. "Wh-what?" Astrid asked dazed and confused. "She has a possible slight concussion, but thankfully nothing seems broken. But she could have been seriously hurt" you said, giving Astrid a once over inspection. Despite your urging for her to sit and rest she used your side to help stand.

"You have no idea what you did?! Do you?!" Hiccup yelled at Snotlout.

"Yeah, Hookfang and I made the coolest trick shot ever".

"You almost got Astrid killed!".

"Oh, come on she's fine, look at her". Astrid was slightly curled clutching her left side which most likely took the blunt of the fall. "Yeah, no thanks to you" Astrid threw herself off of you and lunged at Snotlout, only barely being caught by Hiccup first.

Rushing over to the three you hoisted Astrid to her side and led her towards Stormfly so she could sit.

"Thats it I'm tired of this" Hiccup said.

"I'm tired of this!... What are you tired of?" Snotlout asked.

"You always have to do things your way. How can we rely on you if you don't do what we ask?" Hiccup reasoned, you and the others silently watching the conversation that was months overdue.

"So! What are you saying Hiccup" Snotlout taunted with his arms crossed.

"I'm saying until further notice, you're suspended from the academy". A gasp erupted from the others and Snotlout stood mouth agape for a second before falling back into his stubborn childish snark. "You can't ground me! You're not my dad!" he said puffing his chest out. Hiccup leaned in, apparently wanting all of the smoke, "oh yes I can".

"Boys!  Thats enough, we need to get Astrid home now" you interrupted their standoff. "Hmmf. Watch!" Snotlout yelled indignantly, mounting Hookfang and taking off. "Ground this dragon boy" he yelled as he flew away. "Um, am I wrong in thinking that grounding means staying on the ground? Cause that looks a lot like- ugh- skying" Tuffnut said flapping his hands.

"You didn't have to do that for me Hiccup" Astrid said. "If we can't count on him in practice, how can we possibly count on him the next time we run into Dagur".

"Easy" said Tuffnut, "We throw Y/N in the opposite direction, so Dagur follows her, and we can catch him by himself, then tell Snotlout that somewhere on one of Dagur's ships is his father's approval". You shot him a glare. "What, just being honest".

_______________________________________________

"Hello Mr. Nightfury, how are we doing today?" Dagur asked the picture against the wall. "Happy? Feeling Hiccupy good? It's just a big wuv fest over on Berk, isn't it?" Dagur continued to talk to the picture as his men stared awkwardly, too scared to interrupt one of his delusions fueled rants with inanimate objects.  

"Dagur" Savage called entering the room, "I have news regarding our latest dragon root tests". "What did you call me" Dagur's eyes narrowed dangerously on the thin man, promising death if he didn't backpedal immediately.  "R-right, sorry. Your derangedness".

"Ah, rolls right of the tongue, doesn't it?" his sarcastic smile returned. "Ugh, yes. Anyways, the test worked exactly as you thought it would, the wild dragons starve for it like, well, wild dragons".

"excellent" he laughed, "What shall we do next, so many options".  Savage thought for a moment, "What if we kept an eye on Berk for the right time to plant it".  Dagur fiddled with his axe deep in thought, "So simple, yet so, deranged. I like it! When the time is right, we will put my plan into motion and both the Nightfury and Y/N will finally be mine!". Dagur quickly broke into loud maniacal laughter before a thought entered his mind. "Oh, should I get Y/N some flowers" Savage and the rest of Dagur's men stood on edge, scared and surprised by yet another 180 in Dagur's mood. "Purple brings out her eyes, I'll get her a wreath".

"SAVAGE!" He screamed making the pathetic excuse of a Berserker scamper over quickly. "Make my love a wreath". "Right away your derangedness" He watched as Dagur exited the room, dying on the inside at the fact that he had absolutely no idea how to make one.

_______________________________________________

Today was academy cleaning day, Astrid was busy polishing Stormfly's saddle while the twins planned to expand theirs into Snotlout's. You on the other hand were busy reinforcing the beam on Silver Tongues pen due to his weight straining the wood when he slept hanging. Your attention was drawn to the sound of Hiccup and the twins. "No one is knocking down anything. I will talk to Snotlout when he comes back" Hiccup stormed out of the academy towards what you would guess was the house.

Cleaning has been rather therapeutic as of late, sure your bad luck was continuing it's streak this morning, but now you could relax and finally enjoy some peace and quie- "OW". You pressed the wrapped block of ice harder on Snotlouts head before rooting through your bag of herbs. A barely awake Snotlout had arrived with none other than Alvine the treacherous, who was currently standing trial in the great hall. "Any idea when he'll wake up?" Fishlegs asked. "Considering he was semi-conscious when he showed up, any damage should be minimal, but that leaves a large window for how long he'll be asleep. As if to mock you once again, the universe chose now to be when the idiot would open his mouth. "Ah! Big! Nasty!".

"Slow down," said Astrid "What's going on?".

"The island. There was a wrecked outcast ship, and Alvin was on it". "We know that already," said Astrid.

"No! That wasn't all, the Screaming Death, it was there". The rest of you exchanged glances.

"We need to tell Hiccup" You nodded.

Once you had told Hiccup about the approaching screaming death he had gone into protective overdrive and began to have you all run closed space drills withing the academy nonstop. With the exception of Snotlout who despite his protests was still under suspension. "You can't take away my dragon. Hookfang!" The sadness and desperation in his voice as he watched his dragon get locked in his pen made your heart twist. It wasn't as if he was the only one being locked up. All the others were too (minus toothless and Meatlug) but it left you disappointed in both Snotlout and your brother.

_______________________________________________

Unknown to you, you were being watched by Dagur atop a hill. "Perfect, the dragons are locked up in the arena. Don't worry my love, we'll be back home soon enough" Dagur cooed as his spyglass singled on you exiting the pens. "By the time Hiccup and his dragon dunderheads get to them, it'll be too late" Dagur devolved into his trademark deranged laughter. "Wait!" Savage flinched at his volume. "Where is her wreath?" Savage swallowed thickly as he handed Dagur the crudely made circles of sticks and- flowers? They were likely from weeds. Cue a blowup from Dagur, "You idiot! You're supposed to trim the stems so there aren't any thorns! And what in Thor's name is this supposed to be?!" he pointed to the wilting leaves. Savage leapt to hide behind the dragon root crate as Dagur threw the wreath at him. His rage swapped for a cavalier dismissal as he turned away "I have to do everything myself. Figures".

_______________________________________________

That night you were awoken by the sound of the warning alarm. Scabbard was quick to crawl onto her spot on your shoulder but was met with hands lifting her back onto the bed. "Not tonight, Scabbard, you need to rest" after two long back-to-back trips between Outcast Island and Berk in a single day she was exhausted. She let out a small chirp of indignation before deciding that the crisp sheets and warm animal hides were too tempting to ignore. You, Hiccup, and Toothless rushed out from the house. Flying above the pens you saw the dragons attacking one another. "Dragon root" Hiccup exclaimed. Landing at the entrance you and the others gathered.

"Dagur put dragon root in the arena so the dragons would attack each other".

"Hiccup" Snotlout came running over, "Listen I need to tell you something".

"Snotlout, not now" Hiccup said.

"It's important I-" "I said not now! Fishlegs, this is all you. Toothless and I can't go in there because he'll be affected by the root. You and Meatlug have to get in there and get the root out, while the others distract their dragons".

At once the gate opened and each of you booked it towards your dragons. Silver Tongue however was nowhere in sight. You used your dragon call only to receive a loud screech from above. Silver Tongue was gripped onto the arena's chains looking at you with savage eyes. To add insult to injury he came down in a way that would leave you with nightmares for months. Instead of leaping down towards you, he opted to slowly scale down the chains while rotating his head in the complete opposite direction of his body, to make his head appear as if it were standing still, as steam puffed out from his nose, and his bloodshot eyes stared at you narrowed and unblinking.

"Silver Tongue, I'm gonna need you to snap out of it, and stop being this creepy right now!" he lounged at you bellowing a roar. As he chased you, you were barely able to avoid his fire by staying in the small pocket in the center of his fire ring. Once Meatlug and Fishlegs grabbed the root you ran as quickly as possible towards the gate. The gate suddenly began to close, and out of instinct you were just able to make it out by sliding on the ground.

"What the?" Fishlegs exclaimed, now trapped inside along with Ruff and Tuff. You, however, were met with two Berserkers trapping you against the gate. You drew your sword, grateful to see Hiccup and Toothless land behind them.

"Open that door right now or-" "Or what?" Dagur asked, a number of Berserkers surrounding you all with crossbows. Hiccup grit his teeth. "Dagur what do you want?".

"What I've always wanted, Y/N, and the Nightfury. Hand 'em over, and we leave peacefully that's your choice. Your dragon and your sister, or your friends". A smile broke out onto his face, "Isn't this exciting! What will be choose ladies and gentlemen?!" He looked to your friends who were beginning to struggle to fend off the dragons. "We can't keep this up much longer!" yelled Fishlegs.

"So, Hiccup. What's your answer". Before Hiccup could get a word in, your father answered for him. "The answer is, we run you through and open the gate ourselves", with a cry him and the other adult Vikings of Berk charged at the Berserkers. Using the distraction, you slammed the hilt of your sword into one of the Berserker's nose and swept the leg of the other.  With the two guarding the gate knocked out, when the gate opened the others were free to escape. However, when flying out with the dragon root, Fishlegs flew too close to the ground, resulting in him accidentally hitting Stoick and knocking him out cold. "Sorry chief!" He called. "Darn it Fishlegs!" you exclaimed running to your father's side. "This is what I get for being the only trained battle physician on Berk".

Dagur surveyed the battle which was no longer in his favor. Savage limped towards him, clutching his side "Our plan has failed, we must retreat". Rage pooled into his body causing him to clutch his head tightly in an effort to quiet his racing thoughts and give himself a cruel sense of comfort "I'M NOT LEAVING BERK EMPTY HANDED!". Looking around once more, some of his anger dissipated into sly joy, as he made out your figure over an incapacitated Stoick. A grin stretched across his face, "follow me" he called.

"My love" you heard the sickeningly sweet yet taunting voice of Dagur behind you. Swiftly you grabbed your sword and turned to face him. "Now now, let's not be hasty" he raised his hands in an attempt to calm you. Without a word you ran at him swinging your sword. Dagur let out a small yelp, genuinely taken aback that you were attacking him.

"This is a bit much, my love" he dodged your attacks with relative ease, before slipping behind you. He wrapped one hand around your sword, prying it from you in favor of intertwining your fingers. His other arm wrapped itself around your waist and other arm, pinning you against him in a sort of mock dance position. Having you up against him brought Dagur endless enjoyment as he forgot that the two of you were supposed to be fighting as he began to slowly sway you both.

"You kidnaped me and threatened my dragon, this is tame" distracted by the smell of your hair, Dagur was caught off guard when threw your head backwards, landing a hit directly into his nose. The arm around your left arm and waist released allowing you to pull yourself apart from him. However, when you tried to run to your fallen sword you were stopped by the firm hold of Dagur's still interlocked fingers. Looking back, you see that Dagur, though still gripping your hand is curled over gripping his face. A quiet almost squeakish laugh escapes him as he shakes his head slightly. Dagur looks up at you smiling like an idiot, his pupils are dilated and focused solely on you, and for a moment you almost thought they were shaped like hearts. As if the universe could already tell your heart rate was exploding (and not out of fear), a stream of blood fell from his nose, trailing over his lips. Despite the smell and taste of iron pooling in his nose and against his teeth Dagur ignored it. No, it didn't matter. What did matter was the absolute look of shock and flustered surprise painted on your face.

This moment, however, was interrupted by a number of Berserkers raising their swords towards Stoick and threatening you to comply. And Dagur watched as that shocked and dare, he says shy look on your face faded. Replaced with a look of rage and contempt. Despite every ounce of his being screaming at him to rip their heads off, his attention refocused. Not the time, not the place. That was ok though, soon he would be able to spend every moment staring at that awe filled face. But for now, he had to get you out of here.

"I suggest you listen to them, my love" your nose scrunched as you looked over to your dazed father with several swords pointed at him. "Fine" you said begrudgingly. Dagur's men tied up your father and took used the both of you as hostages.

"Nobody moves. We'll be leaving now. And if I see one dragon following us, rider or not, you're going to be looking for a new chief" His prideful and cocky grin hadn't left his face once as you escaped Berk without so much as a hand raised to stop him, neither did his hand around yours.

Yup, it's a fact now, you have terrible luck.

_______________________________________________

Thank you so much for reading! Take care!

[away-ward]

your #ask and answered 264, wasnt this a bit simolar argument that you had with an anon a while ago about aydin and alex loving to act like victim, always be blaming everyone but themselves, and even when they had the opportunity to fight for things they want, they just left? Like when willemmy was given a second chance at blackchurch, they were alway running towards each other, but aydinalex kept on being two stupid bitches who are embarrassed of their past yet wanted to drag willemmy down with them? I think it's an anon post or a post with anon Z, where they said they reread nightfall and talked about something like emmy made her own path or something? I remember that because it describes willemmy and aydinalex so well.

We can see will always running to emmy in blackchurch (even though he was alone or sometimes made alex tag along) and emmy too kept on running to will because she knew to fight for the only other thing or person she never fought or get to fight enough before because of her life (side note, recycled plot point again, alex was will's equal, but emmy is will's more, just like how the horsemen are michaels equal, but rika is his more. But again, pd's shit at execution), but aydinalex? They were always weak, always being near willemmy like fucking parasites. Even their wedding were decided by someone else. No fucking backbone at all, always waiting for someone else to get what they want. Cant believe theyre still together by 33/36 years old. Among the dn ships, i thought they were the first one to break up. They got no chemistry AT ALL. Aydin in blackchurch blaming will and manipulated emmy, alex putting emmy down and running away from her own problems and always tried to run to will because then she can hide. But by that time emmy appeared in front of will, so no way in hell there will be space for alex to project herself onto her mirror, will. Will would rather die than go back to his past that he was VERY EMBARRASSED ABOUT. That past that enabled him and who were the biggest part of that? Himself, damon and alex. But the text said alex's a viking? Sorry, aydin and alex got low standard fr.

Recycled story device, Sounds like damon when he said will was pure when will himself was no angel. And then was pissed because emmy looked down on them (which emmy was right to do so because even will agreed, alex was embarrassed with her actions, and even damon had to get better). Like i said, low standards. Alex calling emmy coward for not going after will, while she was squatting there in between willemmy like a dumbass, always busy being in everyone elses stories and bed? Like she couldve just gone to aydin, but for some prideful reason she didnt. Alex was a coward, and aydin was weak. They both destroyed themselves, kept on dragging everyone down with them, but love to paint themselves like theyre heroes of some sort in front of their friends. Emmy wasnt like this though, thank fucking god. Like imagine living like micah in a warzone and rory having to fight for justice for his murdered disabled twin sister only to find out their abuser alpha in blackchurch didnt even suffer as much as they did but liked to hurt them? Fuck off! I hate aydin fr.

like imagine being a homewrecker to someone's relationship, but still paint yourself as better? Only Alex palmer can pull off this narcissistic move fr. And rika's brain too is thick for believing her 100% and think she was innocent and pure. Only emmy called alex out, and when confronted with the ugly side of herself (because emmy made her felt like she touched the ground) she was being a bitch again. Fr, everyones fucking delusional here. Alexs delulu level is on par with Winter, Damon and Rika, no wonder they all get along. They all are just the kind that only wanna hear what they wanna hear. The type that cannot be advised yk. The annoying ones. I cant stand alex tbh, because what we get of her doesnt match the description of her, same with damon. In this aspect, damon admitted his faults, alex didnt. Both are delulu af. Anyway, i like your alex discourse but im so sick of looking at her name, nowadays, it made me not wanting to reread this series. Book 1, 2, 3, 3.5 were already a slog to get through, but god, with all this alex palmer bullshit, ughhhh. I'm trying to reread corrupt via audiobook but omg KO, i cannot for the life of me stand michaelrika in corrupt on a reread 🫠 ughhhhhh

I remember talking about it before – I think I may of gotten in some hot water with a few of the readers? But I could be thinking of another time. But I do think Alex and Aydin love the play the victim.

Like when willemmy was given a second chance at blackchurch, they were alway running towards each other,

I was actually just thinking this the other day. Even when other people were around, Will and Emmy were only really interested in engaging with each other. I realized, after Emmy appeared at Blackchurch, Will never touched another girl after that. And Emmy only ever wanted to deal with Will directedly. Of course, she’d go through the others and eventually developed a friendship with Micah and Rory, but most of the time, she was working towards Will and getting them out of there.

side note, recycled plot point again, alex was will's equal, but emmy is will's more, just like how the horsemen are michaels equal, but rika is his more. But again, pd's shit at execution

True. But I think this was supposed to be true for all of the girls. It’s hard to wrap my head around because I know that PD wants to elevate Alex because Rika is always so in awe of her, and Emmy can’t hate her because she’s…unhate-able or something? But she’s also no better than Will, who puts Emmy above himself. So…? I mean, two things can be true at once, but I don’t think that applies here. It’s weird.

They got no chemistry AT ALL.

Right?? I mean, we had to lose precious Willemmy time to a couple I didn’t care about and for all my complaining about that, we still didn’t really get to see what made Alex and Aydin, AlexAydin? They were only in half the book and yet I’m still confused as to why they’re supposed to matter. I didn’t see anything that made me swoon over them? They hardly interacted during a moment when they didn’t hate each other.

Will would rather die than go back to his past that he was VERY EMBARRASSED ABOUT.

This too. By the time Emmy and Alex were at Blackchurch, Will already hated who he had been and feared returning to that once he got back to Thunder Bay.

Himself, damon and alex. But the text said alex's a viking? Sorry, aydin and alex got low standard fr.

Side note: Alex wasn’t a Viking, but she was a siren? I mean, I know Aydin is trying to say she was strong and a warrior or something, but the way PD describes her ability to captivate people is more like a siren’s call.

Alex calling emmy coward for not going after will, while she was squatting there in between willemmy like a dumbass, always busy being in everyone elses stories and bed?

Absolutely. I couldn’t believe what I was reading when she was calling Emmy a coward. I was waiting for the “Pot, meet Kettle” bit because how blind do you have to be? Emmy was right to call them hypocrites.

 Emmy had a legit reason to want to avoid Will. Alex just didn’t want to be with a man who didn’t want her sleeping with other men, as if that’s not something most people want in relationships. Now, if she was someone who only wanted an open relationship, and he didn’t, that would be a reason not to pursue him. But that wasn’t the case, clearly.

only to find out their abuser alpha in blackchurch didnt even suffer as much as they did but liked to hurt them?

I never thought about what Micah and Rory would think of Aydin’s reasons for being in Blackchurch. I mean, Aydin didn’t grow up with the best parents, obviously, but his superiority complex would be hard to swallow when you realize it’s all because he wanted to marry a woman his father didn’t approve of.

because what we get of her doesnt match the description of her,

Yesss! Like, the concept of Alex is great. Seeing her on the page is so disappointing. Because she could have been great.

I really don’t think there’s anything else do be said about her. I don’t want to cross the line into hating on her just to hate on her. Like I said above and have said in other places, the concept of her is great. I’d much rather talk about ways she could have been improved, what we would have liked to see, than just complain about the same stuff over and over again.

Regarding your reread, I’ve never re-read the full series straight. I’m usually looking for something specific and end up reading portions or chucks. May I recommend reading in chronological order according to the flashbacks? It’s slightly easy with the timeline flashback, and it’s fun when Nightfall and Hideaway start to overlap. It really gives you insight into the characters as they go through that one night.

I didn’t like the audiobook narrators, so I can’t help you there.

Thank you for your message! I enjoyed reading your thoughts.

Hugs!

KO

[everydayarsonist]

Alvin doesn’t make himself known for most of the second movie. He stays hidden in the shadows, and is only mentioned by Eret as “Drago’s right-hand man.”

And then he comes out of the shadows. Drago and his Bewilderbeast have departed for Berk, and Hiccup and Valka kneel over Stoick’s corpse.

And then Alvin, still hidden in the shade, begins taunting them.

“You know, I was surprised when Drago mentioned the name Stoick the Vast, I was certainly surprised. But this was definitely quite like the one I knew. That soft fool wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice his life for his pathetic excuse for a son.”

Hiccup turns to face Alvin. “Who are you? What do you want?”

Alvin steps out into the sunlight. “I am but Alvin-the-Strong-but-Humble warrior. At least, that is what the Trappers know me as. I suppose you of all people deserve to know who I truly am, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock The Third. I am Alvin The Treacherous, Former chief of the Outcasts, the true heir of Grimbeard the Ghastly, and rightful king of the Wilderwest. There’s no harm in you knowing this, of course. Because you’ll be dead.”

Alvin says something in a low tone, with quite a lot of growling and whistling sounds, though they’re not particularly cohesive. Suddenly, a Monstrous Nightmare leaps out and attacks Valka, who barely dodges it. Alvin mutters something about extra-extendable claws before lunging out at Hiccup, who barely parries the surprise attack.

“You’re lying. I know Alvin the Treacherous. He’s a valuable ally, and he’s still the chief of the Outcasts.”

Note to self, Alvin thinks, kill that guy as soon as possible.

The fight continues on, but Hiccup is slowly losing.

“That fancy fire sword isn’t doing you any favors. As annoying as the Hiccup I knew was, at least he could put up a FIGHT!”

Alvin knocks Inferno out of Hiccup’s grasp into the snow, but before he can deliver the final blow, he’s struck by an arrow. The rest of the Hooligans are rapidly approaching. Alvin curses before commanding the Monstrous Nightmare to fly him away (though it simply carries him in its talons.)

Alvin yells out towards the Vikings as he retreats across the ocean. “We’ll meet again, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Thirrrd…”

His voice trails off.

becoming obsessed with a rest stop/stop resting-esque au where Alvin finds his way into the movieverse and wreaks unimpeded havoc

please tell us more

[rosiethedragongeek]

OK SO YOU MENTIONED THE GANG AS MEMBERS IN A MEDIEVAL FANTASY PARTY?not exactly the same, but I’ve been thinking about the gang as dnd classes! Note: I have multiple classes for some of the characters bcs I’m indecisive 💀, also because of the nature of the series itself, pretty much all of the protagonists fit the bill of the beastmaster ranger subclass (basically you get an animal bestie that you can fight with) but it’s boring to give ALL of them the same subclass (but assume they all have their dragons) this also got rly long, so I’m sorry abt that lol

Astrid: Fighter! Specifically the battle master subclass! Not only is she the best fighter out of the group, but she’s definitely one of the more tactically minded people there, which basically fits the battle master subclass to a T

Fishlegs: Wizard, Order of Scribes. These guys essentially have magic directly associated with their spell books and tomes, which reminds me a lot of his dragon spell cards and his over all knowledge of dragons

Hiccup: Ranger- Beastmaster, Artificer. OOOH BOY. This one was a bit difficult because I had so many potential options for him. I obviously had to go with beastmaster because that’s literally HIS class like it was created for him istg. Obviously all of the others have their dragons and have incredibly important bonds with them, but I would be remiss to not include this for him. Next was the artificer, that speaks for itself. His inventions are core parts of his character that i think fit him so well! ALTERNATIVELY: paladin: oath of redemption subclass, The oath of redemption refers to a paladin that believes that everyone can be redeemed and only uses violence as a last resort etc etc. which i think represents his character soooo well (note: upon reading this subclass for the first time I did say “wow that’s so hiccupcore”) but I think the artificer/ranger combo was a better fit so common sense won out 😔😔😔😔

Ruffnut: Rogue, Thief and/or arcane trickster! I think she canonically has the best thieving skills out of everyone there? Plus her acting and secret badass side remind me so much of literally every rogue character at a dnd table, plus with the arcane trickster subclass she’d be able to do her pranks with the added bonus of magic

Snotlout: fighter- champion, bard. Snotlout is one of the better fighters, but in comparison to Astrid’s more strategical thinking, he’s much more of a raw prowess kind of fighter. Coupled with his acting skills and charisma I think the bard/fighter multiclass would fit him well!

Tuffnut: Bard, college of valor. This one was done partially out of humor. I think the drama of the way he acts (creating pig Latin, sliced bread etc) reminds me so vividly of the high charisma low wisdom memes that cracked me up so much. The college of valor (a subclass dedicated to telling the stories of warriors) is essentially because of his and other Vikings tendencies to talk about dying a glorious death lol

Okay, so I don't actually know anything about dnd (this was very easy to follow though ty for explaining everything) but this all sounds so perfect for them??? It fits so well???

Like,,, Astrid and Fishlegs are perfect. Astrid's being focused around strategy and fighting and stuff and Fishlegs having the books/cards and stuff just like canon and stuff is just perfect.

Everything you listed for Hiccup is literally so Hiccup it's insane. I think you're definitely right the Beastmaster thing obviously fits them all, but if anyone gets it then it should probably be him.

Snotlout's is perfect it lines up so well i love him so much omg

And the twins are perfect. It's also perfect that they didn't just wind up with the same classes bc honestly they are so different (especially in rob/dob/rtte) and they fit both of them so WELL

I love this so much these are all so perfect omg

[opheliadawnwalker3]

The Watching

Author’s Note: This is for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor’s fic swap. I picked @sherrybaby14​ :) Hope you like it hun and Merry Christmas!!

Synopsis: Reader has been dating Thor for about a year and is celebrating her first Yuletide on Asgard. But she’s unprepared for certain traditions that are expected of her. Or that these traditions also involve Thor and his companions.

Contains: strong sexual content, cunnilinguous, penetration, threesome, voyeurism, some audience participation, fluffy holiday cheer

Wacchinsrinn- Old Norse means “The Watching”

*****************************************************************************************

You stand in the elaborately decorated banquet hall, carefully nursing another full goblet of Asgard’s famous honeyed wine. Thor had left you alone, mere moments before, no doubt to personally welcome his people to the Yule celebration. In the corner, several Asgardian citizens play musical instruments and the rest are either drunkenly dancing, feasting on delicious foods or laughing uproariously. Eager faces are painted with intricate symbols and there is much joy and carefree energy in the air. Normally, you’re not such a wall flower, but being surrounded by Thor’s fiercely lively people is a whole new experience for you. You had already witnessed the burning of the wooden Yule wreath earlier and had cheered with the others when it was sent hurtling down the hill and fell among the stars. In the corner of the vast hall stands the Yule tree, decorated not with the colored glass balls you were accustomed to, but small statues of previous kings and mythical creatures. After seeing the God of Thunder for over a year, you were overjoyed to hear him say that he wanted to finally bring you back to his world. His kingdom. 

It happened to be close to Christmas, but other than the typical mandatory bland office party and receiving a few Christmas cards, you really had no other plans. Why on Earth would you ever pass that up? The chance to not only see the place he grew up in, but to be among his people and culture. His friends and-

“Well, well...don’t we look fetching this evening?” A sly familiar voice utters behind you, erupting a subtle heat across the back of your neck. Turning, you see Loki, sharply donned with tailored green silks and a gray pelt clasped around his shoulders. Instead of his usual absurdly large golden horns, a delicate golden crown balances at his temple. 

You raise your goblet to him. “You clean up rather nicely yourself.”

Loki tilts his head, keen emerald eyes slowly trailing down your body and you could almost swear he could see right through the crimson silk of your gown. His lips curl into a devious smile and your heart flutters against your will. “Do enjoy the festivities...mind the honeyed wines. They are much stronger than the tepid liquors served on Midgard.”

You roll your eyes as you defiantly take another sip. You would be lying if you said, you weren’t already feeling buzzed. The warmth that spreads across your cheeks, that familiar light headed feeling. You would have to pace yourself. You can’t make a fool out of yourself at your first Asgardian Yuletide. And you were here with Thor for God’s sake. You didn’t want to humiliate him or yourself.

A loud clang sounds near you and your attention is momentarily drawn to Volstagg, one of Thor’s infamous Warrior’s Three, laughing boisterously as he picks up his dropped axe. No doubt, in the middle of a drunken retelling of old battle stories. 

Lips brush the shell of your ear and you automatically tense up. Your breath hitches as slender fingers ghost over your bare shoulders.

“I look forward, to seeing much more of you later.” Loki purrs huskily into your ear and you are rooted to the spot. His alluring voice holds dark promises. Your brows furrow in confusion and before you are able to ask just what he means by that, Thor’s voice cuts across the room. You look over to see him cross the room with jovial presence. His bright blue eyes crinkle with happiness at the sight of you.

Loki withdraws from you completely and you let out a sigh of relief. The wine...it must have been the wine. You would have to drink water to spread it out.

Seemingly unbothered at Loki’s closeness, Thor smiles warmly as he slips his arms around your waist and pulls you in for a kiss. You sigh, relishing the comforting feeling of his lips and presence as you pull him in closer. For the past year, Thor had been a beacon of light in your boring, mundane life. He would entertain you for hours with tales of his childhood, battles and stories about his time with the Avengers. He made you feel exciting just by being in his presence. Feel incredibly safe just by being in his strong embrace. He never left you wanting whether physically, mentally or emotionally. You only hoped you did the same for him. 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Thor’s deep voice rumbles against your mouth.

“I am. I just wish we could-”

“Ah there’s the lovely couple. Starting Wacchinsrinn a bit early are we not?” You recognize Fandral’s charming voice sounding next to you. You pull back from Thor slightly with a raised brow.

“Wacchinsrinn? What’s that?”

Before the smaller roguish blonde can answer you, Thor laughs and quickly begins to lead you away from the two men. Confused, you look back to see Fandral and Loki exchange knowing smiles.

“What on earth was that about?” You ask, setting your now empty goblet down on one of the long wooden tables. Funny, you hadn’t even remembered drinking it all.

“Just Fandral with one of his jokes. Pay the scoundrel no mind,” Thor replies playfully before spinning you around wildly among the other dancing patrons. You wish to press him further but a mixture of the otherworldly alcohol and contagious euphoria around you, causes your curiosity to melt away and you gather your skirts to join the dance. 

**********************************************************************************

About an hour later, Thor leads you down the hall by the hand. You stumble a bit and giggle with tipsy merriment as he turns the corner to open a pair of grand ornate doors. You tilt your head in confusion as you take in the lavish yet unfamiliar chambers within.

“Hey this isn’t the same room, you showed me earlier. This isn’t yours, right?”

“You’re right, Y/N. This is our room.”

“Ooo our room you say?” You tease as you take in your surroundings, Thor walking in behind you to shut the doors. Inside the chamber was a large king sized bed with a full canopy and intricately carved designs in the wood. The sheets were golden and there was a table set with trays of cheese and fruits and silver pitchers no doubt filled with mead and wine. But that wasn’t what caught your eye. You look back at Thor whose looking down at you with an expression you can’t quite decifer. 

“What’s with all the chairs pointed facing the bed? Kind of an unusual arrangement, isn’t it?”

“It’s for...Wacchinsrinn.”

“There’s that word again. What is it?”

Before Thor can respond, there is a low chuckle and suddenly Loki appears next to you.

“Oh dear, you haven’t told her. How irresponsible and devious of you, brother.”

“Hush, Loki.” Thor looks down at you and brings a massive hand to cup your face. “Please forgive me, Y/N. I didn’t want you to worry or feel pressured to do anything.”

“Although it is an Asgardian tradition. I don’t believe Y/N wants to be the cause of the King’s refusal to uphold a tradition maintained for thousands of years.”

“Not the time, Loki...”

“I disagree. I think it’s the perfect time...”

“No he’s right. I’m not going to stand in the way of you upholding your kingly duties. Whatever you need to do, I’ll support you.” You encourage, placing a hand on Thor’s arm.

“How touching, but your amorous participation is very much required.” Loki interjects with a dangerous smirk and Thor sighs, clearly conflicted. You look back and forth between the pair.

“My what participation?”

Before Loki could reply, Thor raises his hand in front of him.

“Loki, leave us.”

“Oh, I think not. This is all rather entertaining for me.”

“Leave now.” Thor’s tone is tense and clipped and you can’t help feeling a little nervous. What is going on? Why all the secrecy? And what exactly is expected of you?

“So tense, brother. Perhaps you should have her tend to you first and help get those bothersome...kinks out.”

Thor says, nothing, merely glares at Loki, before the latter sighs in reluctant surrender.

“Very well, I suppose I could check on the rest of the rabble and see if they are ready to bear witness.” And with that, Loki disappears, leaving you and Thor alone once more. You look up at the god and cross your arms.

“Thor just tell me. What’s the tradition?” Your eyes widen briefly when you think back to all of the those Viking and Pagan shows you watched in mild preparation for the Yule celebration.

“I won’t have to do an animal sacrifice will I?”

Thor smiles and shakes his head as he brushes his fingers along your jaw. “No animal sacrifices will be required of you, I promise.”

“Okay...then what is expected of me?”

Thor pauses for a moment in quiet contemplation, gathering his thoughts before he eventually sighs. “On Asgard, the act of coupling is a merry and happy occasion. Asgardians do not view such an act with such...modesty as on Midgard.”

You nod, following along and very curious as to where this is going.

“And so...the notion of sharing such a joyous act with others...is considered...a generous gift.”

You eyes widen slightly as the realization begins to wash over you. “And when you say sharing...you mean...??”

Thor gives you an embarrassed smile. “Those closest to us shall bear witness to our union.”

“So...your companions are just going to watch us?”

“If that is agreeable to you. It is not uncommon for them to join in should all participating consent.”

You chew on your bottom lip and cross your arms. “So that’s what everyone has been referring to all night.”

“Yes.”

You contemplate for a few moments more, weighing your options in your head. You should be appalled that your boyfriend just sprang this on you, royalty or not. But you just can’t find yourself to be angry. On the contrary...the idea is intriguing. You’d always been fascinated by the thought of voyeurism. Whether watching someone else or being watched yourself. But you’d never had the courage to explore it. There was even once an incident where Hawkeye accidentally walked into the room while you were riding Thor at Avengers Tower. Instead of being embarrassed...you only clenched tighter around Thor’s cock. Even felt a pang of disappointment when Hawkeye quickly left the room with amused apologies. Maybe this was your chance to finally explore one of your fantasies.

You finally look back up at Thor, his handsome face etched with worry and concern.

“Okay.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. I want to do this. For you, but mostly for me,” You admit, pressing a soft kiss against his lips. You see a flash of green in the corner of your eye and Loki appears next to you, holding two goblets full of wine. He gives you an impish smirk as he holds one out to you.

“How about a little more wine to take the edge off. Perhaps numb your defenses a bit,” Loki drawled as you eagerly accept the wine. A little liquid courage never hurt anyone. Thor watches you carefully as you take several large pulls of the sweet wine, embracing the numbing warmth that pools down your body.

“Are you sure about this ,Y/N?” Thor asks softly, his usual booming voice now quiet with uncertainty. 

You set your now empty goblet on the table next to you and give him a confident smile. Sure, you felt emboldened by the wine, but you also felt very eager for what lays ahead Thor reaches up to cup your jaw with both hands, his bright blue eyes melting any doubts you might have had.

“Because if you’re not, then damn the traditions. I will never ask you to do anything you’re not ready for. We can leave now, go back to Midgard and celebrate your traditional Christmas.”

You feel your heart swell with appreciation and adoration and you turn your head slightly to kiss his fingers. “You would do that for me?”

“Of course I will. You mean more to me that anything.”

“Then I want to do this. I’m happy to do it.”

Thor leans down to press his lips to yours once more in a sweet gentle kiss to which you eagerly reciprocate. Next to you, Loki chuckles as he takes a sip from his goblet.

“Not to break up this touching little moment, but the others are getting restless.”

Thor reluctantly pulls away, brushing your bottom lip with his thumb. 

“Then we shall not keep them waiting.”

 The potent alcohol flows within you, but something else pools within. Excitement and pure unadulterated desire. Loki chuckles and you feel his hands on your hips as he presses in close behind you. Surprised, you look up to Thor for guidance, but he merely stares at the pair of you with a calm unbothered expression.

“And will you allow any of the witnesses to enjoy her as well?” Loki insinuates, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I myself, am curious if she tastes as good as she looks.” Your breath hitches and your heart begins to pound harder at his carnal implications. 

Thor smirks and gestures down to you. “That is entirely up to you. If you desire another, then it shall be done.”

You let out a soft gasp, completely taken aback by this turn of events. But certainly not upset at the prospect. You would be lying to yourself if you never thought about how alluringly charming and attractive Loki is. So very different from your Thor, yet enticing all the same. When will you get another opportunity like this? 

“Yes...I...I want you both.”

“Very well, then let them all in and we’ll begin the Wacchinsrinn.”

Loki presses a brief kiss to your neck, before gracefully leaving the room. You feel your nerves beginning to flutter in your gut, battling against your arousal and the tension in the air from the possibilities.

Thor steps up to you and carefully traces his hand down your front. Your nipples harden through the thin silk and you lick your lips. 

“Who...who will be watching us?”

“The Warriors Three, Lady Sif, Loki and Heimdall will watch from the Rainbow Bridge since he cannot personally attend. But do not be nervous. You are perfection. This is a gift not only for my companions but us as well.”

You take a deep breath, heartbeat speeding up when you hear approaching footsteps and the large ornate doors open.

Fandral walks in first, his eyes drinking you in. “Ahh lovely, Y/N...you look ready for your first Wacchinsrinn. Tell me, has Thor prepared you properly? Because if not, I offer you my services. I’m told I’m quite talented in such matters.”

“Oh do settle down, Fandral. She has already chosen me to help...alleviate the tension. Do enjoy your seat, though.” Loki retorts playfully as he unclasps the fur from around his shoulders. 

Fandral winks at you as he gracefully drops in his seat. “Well I suppose that silver tongue has its uses after all.” 

The combination of alcohol, nerves, and your excitement for things to come, make your skin tingle with anticipation.

Lady Sif follows close behind, dressed elegantly in a fitted gown of midnight blue. Her usually tied up long hair, hangs down her back in loose curls. She takes her place in the middle seat and crosses her legs expectantly as she gives you a small encouraging smile. She gives a side eye to Volstagg, who decided to bring a large turkey leg to the ceremony, as he sits next to her.

“Honestly...must you eat even while we bear witness?”

Volstagg lets out a good humored laugh as he takes a bite of the roasted meat. “What is the point of enjoying such stimulating entertainment without filling my gullet? No point in doing things half way, I say.”

Hogun silently joins the group and crosses his arms, his stoic face betraying nothing. Thor stands tall and acknowledges all who are present.

“Now that we are all here, its time to begin. We thank those closest to us in sharing this moment. May this gift offer you many blessings and good omens on and off the battlefield.” 

“And what a gift it is,” Exclaims Fandral, holding up his own pint of mead.

“Hear, hear!” Volstagg agrees excitedly. Sif and Hogun remain silent, but their subtle expressions hold a keen interest.

The Warriors cheer and you can’t help but smile at the almost absurd nature of it all. 

“My desired and I shall drink from the cup and then proceed with Wacchinsrinn,” Thor exclaims as he holds out another goblet will only half full. The both of you drink from it and Loki takes the empty goblet away. Thor wastes no time undressing with unwavering confidence and leans down to capture your lips in a hungry kiss.

“It is time to be worshipped, like the goddess you are,” Thor purrs in a husky voice against your lips as his hands trail down your waist. His pretty words and deep tone makes your thighs clench together as your pussy throbs.

You feel Loki press in close behind you and he carefully pushes your hair off your neck. Their closeness is intoxicating. “But first you must bare yourself to us,” Loki whispers lowly in your ear as dexterous fingers make swift work of the clasps on your shoulders. The top slips down revealing your breasts and you gasp when Thor’s hands begin caressing with eager, calloused hands. Loki grips your hips as his mouth traces a tantalizing path up your neck.

Your fingers tangle in Thor’s blonde locks when he lowers himself to capture a pebbled nipple in his mouth. His mouth is hot and he licks and nibbles your breasts. You’re suddenly feeling very flushed, your skin scorching under their ministrations. 

You feel Loki’s teeth against your throat and he chuckles into your ear. “You should think yourself fortunate. Our great grandfather would often bend his women over the table in the banquet hall during Wacchinsrinn. For all of Asgard to see. This way is far more...intimate.” With that he grabs your chin and kisses you greedily.

After a few moments, the two men lead you to the bed. Thor sits down first and pulls you back between his spread legs. His cock full and hard against your back. His kisses you once more and you feel his hands slide up your thighs, taking the crimson silk of your skirts with it. You lean back against his thick muscled body and stare up at Loki, who remains at the foot of the bed fixed with an expectant sneer.

“Would you like Loki to taste you? Allow him to thoroughly ready your body for me?” Thor questions as his fingers reach your eager cunt beneath the silk. You moan, your hips raising slightly to feel every caress of his fingers. He chuckles arrogantly and you hear the lewd sounds of his fingers easily slipping inside you.

“Well...it seems she’s already quite ready. We may not need your services after all, Loki,” Thor exclaims playfully, displaying his fingertips already soaked in your arousal.

“That may be brother, though I should like to hear it from her lips that she does not desire my mouth on her delectable quim.” Loki replies as he slowly pulls the green tunic over his head with smug ease, revealing his pale yet toned upper body. Both men know you’re not saying no at this point. In fact, no, is the farthest thing from your mind.

You give him a mischievous grin as you beckon him with just the crook of your finger and Loki obliges, crawling up between your spread thighs with a dangerous smile. He looks as though he may just devour you whole. 

When his mouth meets your cunt, you immediately relax back against Thor, enjoying every sensation as Loki unravels you. His tongue glides along your slit with expert ease, rolling and flicking over your throbbing clit. Thor’s beard tickles your bare shoulder as he nips the skin and caresses your breasts. You felt trapped between the two brothers in the most heavenly way.

“How does she taste, Loki?” You hear Volstagg call out and your eyes snap open. You had almost forgotten you were being watched. You bite back a whine when Loki raises up slightly, your cunt already missing his mouth.

“Better than the finest of delicacies on Asgard. She truly is a delicious well of vanilla and honey.” Loki brags and your breath hitches when his lips immediately return to you, wrapping around your clit and gently sucking.

“I knew it. Pay up Fandral,” you hear Volstagg boast and Fandral sighs as he drops a few coins in his companions outstretched hand.

Beneath you, Thor undulates his hips into you and your cunt clenches tightly, wanting to be filled. 

“I can feel Heimdall’s ever watchful eyes upon us. He is thoroughly enjoying the sights as well. He wonders if you would like my cock deep inside you with my brother’s mouth still upon you.” Thor whispers softly into your ear as he pinches a nipple.

Between Loki’s adept mouth and Thor’s touches and carnal words, you can barely form words of your own. But you manage just the same.

“God yes. Please, Thor...” You mewl pathetically as your thighs twitch around Loki’s shoulders. His fingers massage and squeeze your spread thighs.

With that, Thor raises your hips and lines your soaked entrance with his tip. Loki raises his head slightly to follow your cunt. His piercing green eyes staring up hungrily at you. Being worshipped by these men...feeling several pairs of eyes on you at once...its all very intoxicating.

“Lower yourself upon me. Let me feel you clench desperately around me.” Thor commands softly against your temple, his hands gripping your hips and holding you above him. You nod eagerly and you sink down onto him completely. Your pussy is dripping and more than ready, yet Thor’s thick shaft still stretches you slightly and the pair of you moan loudly. Loki chuckles against your flesh, sending vibrations over your clit and making your cunt tighten around Thor.

“By the gods...your grip is always so exceptional. I could just feel you squeeze me all day, though I’d be fighting the urge to drive into you with everything I have.”

“Move her skirts. We would like to see too,” Lady Sif commands from her seat. You briefly raise your eyes to meet hers and her expression is heated and very much satisfied.

“As the lady commands,” Thor agrees as he rips the silk away, baring the rest of you to the room.

You mewl loudly as Loki begins to speed up his tongue, sucking at your clit a little harder. Your fingers reach up to tangle in his dark tresses as he brings your body closer and closer. Your hips roll atop Thor and you continue to mercilessly squeeze his cock sheathed inside you. That familiar icy hot numbing sensation spreads over you as your body climbs higher and higher towards the peak.

“She’s definitely close. Such a sweet thing, they’ve barely had to touch her,” Fandral observes smugly.

“True, but I still bet that she will last through the night.” Lady Sif replies with subtle arrogance.

“Ah, shall we bet on it then, Lady Sif?”

“You have nothing I want, Fandral.”

“How about if I polish your armor for a full moon?”

“What, and let you leave spots all over my-”

“Will you two stop your incessant blathering? She’s about to fall and I would like to enjoy it in its entirety,” Hogun finally quips in with a surprisingly gruff voice. 

You cry out as Loki’s mouth unravels you, causing your cunt to pulsate tightly around Thor. He grips you atop him as he hisses into your ear.

After a few more languid licks of your slit, Loki finally sits up from between your thighs and pulls you into a deep kiss. Your inner walls tighten around Thor yet again when you taste your own juices on Loki’s lips.

The room erupts in applause as the Warriors clap and cheer wholeheartedly.

“A good first round, I’d say!” Volstagg exclaimed as he slams his empty goblet upon the floor in celebration. 

“I agree. I think Y/N is fully warmed up now. We’re going to need much more wine and mead before we proceed forward.”

“And more bread!” Volstagg adds, tossing an empty turkey leg upon his plate.

“I wonder if Y/N, will allow Loki to continue to tend to her,” Lady Sif muses aloud.

At that, Loki finally pulls away from you, licking your bottom lip with an imperious smirk. “I will of course, perform as such, should she require it of me.”

Thor laughs, clamping a hand on Loki’s bare shoulder. “Well down, brother. But I should like you to sit this next one out for now. I wish to ravage her myself this time.”

“Such a bore...but I will concede for now.” Loki sighs snidely before lightly touching your jaw and leaving the bed. 

With Thor’s cock still buried inside you, you look up at him with an impish expression. “So, there’s more to Wacchinsrinn? We’re not finished yet?”

He brushes his lips against your temple as his hands tighten on your hips. “Oh no, my love. We go until you cannot go any longer. When you have had enough, then we will stop. But I know you and....I know you have several more hours in you.”

As he thrusts up into you again accompanied by the supportive cheers of his companians, you smile, truly feeling full filled for the first time in a long time.

From his post on the Rainbow Bridge, the ever watchful Heimdall smiles at the glorious sights before him.

Taglist: @sherrybaby14​ @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ @lucifers-trash-stash​ @cherienymphe​ @imanuglywombat​ @threeminutesoflife​ @charmed-asylum​ @thefangirllife​ @justagirlinafandomworld​ @queenoftheworldisdead​ @searchforanotherway​ @sapphirescrolls​ @hurricanerin​ @cockslut-padalecki​ @different-type-of-hell​ @darkandinvitingfics​ @buckybarnesplumwhore​ @oneoftheprettynerds​

[bjornswoman]

Arrows

Requested by none.

Author's note: Hey guys! Sorry for being inactive all this time. I had some really awful thimgs to manage, but now I am free to finish everything that I am preparing for you. This is a little something that I found and decided to finish and post tonight. I hope you enjoy it.

Oh and however wants to be in taglist write in the comments. Thanks.

Oh and something else, sorry for any mistakes. I will write them correct later. Thanks.

Pairing: Bjorn x Reader.

Genre: Drama, romance, sad, fluff.

Summary: Bjorn is in his deadbed and remembers you.

Warnings: Death, spoilers from season 6B.

Low key he prayed to the Gods to take him to Valhalla and free him from his terrible nightmares. He was hurt and it was too painful and the nightmares hurt him more. Your face was haunting him. You were coming in his sleep to take him. Sometimes he saw you even when he was awake. But you were dead. You had died a long time ago. His mind played dangerous games to him.

Bjorn knew that he was going to die. Nobody would survive this wound and there he was. The Gods had favored him, he had one last thing to do. To beat the Rus. After that he would go to Valhalla, next to his great father and mother and you. The woman he loved.

He relived your death back then. In Frankia, after Rollo's betrayal when his mother was injured. He couldn't save you. He was late.

You were a good fighter. Lagertha herself had trained you. You were one of her shieldmaidens at first. Then you met him and your relationship started. Everything moved fast and you married early, but this was great. You loved this man and he loved you back. You have even made plans for a future traveling to new lands together.

The worst and most painful thing was that he didn't meet your child. You died carrying it. He died along with you. It would be your last fight after this child come out to the world, but, apparently, the Gods had arranged something else for you. Maybe you kept him back. He was made for great and remarkable things. After all he was Bjorn Ironside, he had killed a bear only with his bare hand.

That day was one of the worst days in his life and after all this time he had lived a lot of days like that one.

That morning wasn't good and he knew it. Something bad was going to happen but nobody payed attention to it. You to beat that traitor Rollo and his Frankish army. You had seen how bad Bjorn and even Ragnar felt about this. Rollo shared their blood. They were family.

You were on board next to Bjorn. His eyes were on the sea and your on him. Like any other time you wanted to look at him before this, tell him that you love him and kiss him hard, like it was the last time. Maybe it was and it really was, but you didn't know it back there, only the Gods knew it. You had a bad feeling about it.

Bjorn's blue eyes made it to you and he moved his body closer to yours. You smiled slightly and he did the same. His hand, that wasn't holding his axe, travelled on your belly and caressed you softly. His eyes were still stuck on yours and yours on his. You didn't want this moment to end but it had to. Without more thinking you wrapped your hands around his huge, muscular body tightly. At least as tight as you could.

Inside his hands you felt safe and loved. You weren't afraid, as you should be. You tried not to be afraid, but something that day tried to make you feel like it.

You closed your eyes and smelled his scent. You loved it. You loved everything that had to do with him. Your husband. The person you lived the most in the whold world.

"Is everything alright?" He asked you when you pulled away. Obviously, he could sense that somethimg was wrong, but he didn't know what.

"Yes, my love." You answered and your hands caressed his arms softly. "It's just strange to fight Rollo again. He was one of us. He was family." You continued and his hand made it again on your belly. It was flat. You were only on the second month.

"Don't thing about him, he betrayed us. He killed our own people. He burned out our settlement." He remembered angry and you caressed him again, trying to relaxe him. Before you start saying anything his lips pressed on yours in a passionate, hungry kiss. You needed this kiss. "You stay close to me in the battle." He said for hundredth time that day and you rolled your eyes. He was acting like you were a baby. "Don't roll your eyes at me (Y/N). I don't want you or our child to get harmed. So do this." He said again and you looked at him frustrated. You could take care of you. You were shieldmaiden for a lomg time.

"I am not a baby, you know." You said and he smiled, instead of getting angry, like you thought at first. His body was now pressed on yours and his hot breath fell on your face in a way that you hated. That bastard knew too well what he was doing. If there wasn't a battle about to start, you wouldn't resist laying with him, but that would happen later, or that was what both of you wanted to believe.

After these conversation everything happened really fast. Ragnar and Rollo fought each other and Vikings fought with Frankish. Your face was bloody along with your blade and clothes. You had listened to Bjorn and stayed next to him in battle.

But things got complicated when Lagertha was about to go help Ragnar and she got injured. Bjorn run to his mother and you kept fighting with some soldier.

"Retreat!" He yelled and you looked at him, holding his mother in his hands. He stepped in a ship and you tried to do tge same. Ragnar had got in and you were behind him. Bjorn extended him hand to help you and then it happened.

A soldier stabbed you from behind in your belly. Bjorn yelled. The soldier took the sword out of your body and you couldn't help but fall in the ship. Bjorn's hand wrapped around your body. You were hurting and hot tears were streamimg down your eyes. Bjorn was in shock. He was pressing your wound and tried to help his mother too.

"My baby..." You sighed crying. Even if you survived, that was impossible, your baby wouldn't.

"We will fix it, (Y/N)! Just don't close your eyes! Stay with me (Y/N)! Stay with me, my love!" He yelled but it was too late, you looked at him one last time and then at the sky. That was it you were dead. "No! Nooo!! Stay with me! You can't die! You can't leave me..." He broke at the end. You were dead and nothing could change that. His beloved with and his unborn child were both dead.

After that he buried you and continued his life. His mind was running to you. He even came and talk to you, when he wanted to take him mind off of things. When his father died, he came to you. When his mother died, he did the same. He even came before his battle with the Rus.

"I think that we will see each other soon, my love." Was what he had said. "My time has come." He continued and he left.

Now, after his injury, you were there. You saw you every single night. He relived the pain of seeing you dying inside his hands in that ship. When he didn't see you dying, he saw you talkimg to him, waiting to take him.

"Who is that woman that you are calling?" Erik the red dared to ask him. "Who is (Y/N)?" He asked again and in the sound of your name his heart started beating a little faster inside his chest.

"She was my wife. She is dead." He managed to answer. People knew about his lovefor his first wife, you. They just didn't know who you were.

He knew that he had to defeat the Rus. Then he would go to Valhalla. You would reunite. He just had to do one last thing. Bjorn gained all the power that had left inside his body and stood in front of the Rus and his traitor brothers, Ivar and Hvitserk.

All of them thought that he was dead, that all this was a trick. One of them wanted to prove it. He shot him once.

Bjorn remembered your first encounter. You were on the forest and fired arrows on the trees angrily. You weren't really good at it, but you kept doing it. Your step mother had managed to enrage you again with her stupid words. He had been there for training with his arrows as well.

You shot an arrow and it landed on the tree behind him, after it cut his arm.

"I'm really sorry." You said running to him. You knew who he was. He was the earl's wife's son, his name was Bjorn. You knew him, you had seen his before and you had heard the girls talkimg about him.

His hand took the arrow out of the tree and his blue eyes examined it. Then he looked at you.

"Did you just shoot me?" He asked and you couldn't say if he sounded angry, or playful. "Is that your way of getting a guys attention?" He asked playfully this time and you smiled.

You took your arrow from his hands and looked back at his eyes.

"I guess it wasn't, but now that you mentioned it. I have to find more arrows like this." You said in the same tone of voice and left him alone.

A second arrow made it on his body and he remembered your first kiss.

After your first encounter, you met again and became friends, close friends, but then the worst thing happened. You fell for him.

It was one of those boring feasts. Bjorn was getting the attention of a lot of girls and that amazed him. That only made you angrier. That night you caught him kissing one lady outside a barn. You felt your heart breaking and many pieces and you left from there, trying to avoid your tears.

For the next week you avoided him and he got enrage. One day he spotted you on the woods and trapped you between him and a tree demanding an explanation about your strange behavior.

"Let me go! I don't have to tell you anything!" You yelled but he didn't let you go. He was stronger and taller than you, so it was difficult for you free yourself from him. "Why don't you go to that girl for thag night?" You said before you could control your mouth.

After your words a mischievous grin formed on his face.

"You are jealous, that's it." He stated and befkre you could deny it, he continued talking. "Don't try to convince me that you aren't. I know you." He continued.

"I am not jealous of her." You said angrily and his grin only got wider. He knew the truth and you knew it, as well. The truth that you had fallen for him.

"Then why did it bother you so much that I kissed her?" He asked leaning his head closer to yours. It was the like the air that morning was gettimg hotter with each little movement he did.

"I-I....." You tried to say but nothing came out of your mouth. It was like you had forgotten how to form proper words.

"I will tell you the reason, (Y/N)." He said and came even closer to you. So close that you could sense his heart to yours. Your own heart was about to be ripped off your chest and you were sure that he knew. "You have fallen for me the way I have fallen for you." He continued and before you could argue with him, he pulled even closer and pressed his lips on yours.

You didn't know that you needed that kiss so much. His lips was the best thing you had ever feel. They were soft and sweet.

A third arrow landed on his chest and he reminded your death, again. The worst thing he had even lived along with his mother's funeral.

He was coming to you. Just one more movement. Before he do it you appeared to him and smiled.

"Do it, my love, and then come with me." You said softly and he gained his strength for once more, the last time. He pulled the sword out and raised it, for the others to come and beat the enemy. Everyone had gathered to beat them. They followed him. The king of kings. Kimg Bjorn Iromside.

He was now with you after a very big amount of time. You were in Valhalla, in Odin's Hall, surrounded by everyone you knew.

[jadelynlace]

Ink Drinker / Modern Vikings AU [Ivar x F!Reader], Chapter 6

catch up here!

synopsis: Ivar was only meant to be a friend with benefits, but he caught feelings for his older brother’s best friend, and co-worker: you.

pairing: Ivar x F!Reader

***content warning [PLEASE READ]: this chapter has the after effect of the trauma call, and too many emotions. surgical mentions and medical terminology are in this chapter as well. anything in italics indicates a flash back.

author’s note: I’m so sorry.

 ~

“Floki, why can I be left alone?” Ivar asked.

“Because the last time you were left alone you ended up with fifty thousand milligrams of pain killers in your stomach. Now, come here—do you know this?” Floki replied with his fingers taping the photo copied image.

“I drew that.” Ivar said back.

“Yes, you did. Where do you want it?”

“What do you mean?” 

“You hate your body so much why don’t you cover it in something you like?” 

*

It is sixteen hours that Ivar is in surgery. His world is dark, nothing but, with pierces of noises that he can recall. But trying to decipher them only makes the surroundings dull, caked in black and muffled with a buzz of an unruly bee hive. There are pokes of pain, he remembers the green light, and he remembers the pot hole he swerved to miss. He doesn’t remember how fast he was driving and the second he was over the yellow line made no difference for the sudden beast of a truck to find him. 

Everything below Ivar’s powdered knee caps are reattached. Grueling hours on the table while he’s sewed back together like a monster. Enough time for Hvitserk to get clothes, to get you clothes, to pack a bag for his brother per your request. Even in the presence of clean laundry you can’t take your blues off yet—they’re holding you proper because you just saw Ivar that morning. You two made love in the low morning light, filled with ecstasy, his seed and then he made you eggs with extra hot sauce and hugged you tightly you were sure you stopped breathing. He told you to be safe, baby, like he did at the dawn of each shift and that he would call you when his last appointment was finished, and on his way back from shopping for supplies for the parlor and that you two would make lunch plans. In his speed, his haste to make sure he didn’t miss you before the two tone song of death would sing in the radios, he instead, became the reason it did.  

Your chief shows up when you tell him the nature of the emergency. Pulling additional personnel on for overtime and they take the rig out of service and from your hands. Words don’t spare any differences and although he offers you a hug, when you take it he slips you a piece of paper. 

“Remember the job you’re doing. And the change you’re making.” He whispers in your ear and you look at the folded sheet. It’s a photocopy of a poorly drawn fire truck with an even worse sketched stick figure, and you had scribbled it when you were five. Back when you met chief for the first time because now you hold the same badge number your father once did. 

“If I give you your Dad’s old badge number, are you going to act like a jack ass like him?”

“I can’t make any promises chief.”

“I have a partner in mind for you, you’ll like him. He’s a good kid. A good medic.”

“This good kid got a name?”

“Yeah, Hvitserk. I’ll introduce the two of you.”

This is the call that shapes you as a medic, as a provider, and changes how you see things. This is the call that sends a new person out into the street, whether Ivar lives or not. This is the call that forever holds terror in your heart because he was laying in the back of your ambulance, and that was the one spot you never wanted him to occupy. 

Aslaug walks through the doors and she’s already two tissues deep into a soggy mess. Hugging Hvitserk and hugging you and you wish you were meeting this woman for the first time under any other circumstance. Floki thanks you and you don’t quite know why, even though the words fall heavily and un-calming, he still thanks you. And when the surgeon returns before the four of you, you’re the only one that doesn’t stand. But he calls your name because you know him, he was lab staff that tested you for your certifications and he told you that you’ll make a damn good medic one day. 

“Remember what I said on the day of your exam?” He asks and you nod, puzzled and impatient looks on the other faces. “You are a damn good medic—you both are.” He adds, eyes jumping from yours to your partners. “And it shows on this call, of all of them.” Hvitserk’s shoulder nudges you and you only nudge him back, perhaps little too hard in your delirious state. “Essentially what we did, was replant the lower portion of each leg. Now, given the extent of his injuries and how his body handles such, I don’t have a clear cut answer for you on his overall mobility. He may need to have screws implanted, he may need prosthetics. He’s going to be in the ICU for the next 48 hours for constant monitoring. We’ll have him sedated so his body can focus on what’s at stake. He’ll need physical therapy for a long time, and he’ll likely be disabled for the rest of his life, given again, how his body handles this. It’ll be a long road. But, like I said—you two are damn good medics and that is the one reason his legs were able to be saved. I will let you know when he’s moved to the ICU.”

You look back at your partner and his face is as blank as yours; influx of emotions just ready to dive from the void but your minds are still churning, still processing all of what boomed from the doctor’s mouth. Ivar’s chance at returning to a normal life was resting in your hands and you two gave the best damn efforts and they worked. The countless hours of dissection, wondering if you’re cut out for this career, these responsibilities, hours of trauma and blood and vomit all fizzle away because you now know that you are. And it just took Ivar to prove it.

When your eyes open again there’s a sharp pierce in your temple, scrunching eyes together and slowly moving, your head rises from Floki’s shoulder and the lights in the ICU have dimmed in the late hour. Impressions stood between his nostrils, falling like petals over his cheekbones, bleeding through split brows and pink flowers through the depths of his neck. His chest sinking and fainting with time, there was a moment of deafening silence when you are looking at his body; seemingly so small under the contraptions. The depths of earth, and the worst hell was seeing him lay on this cot. He’s only sedated now, even though Ivar looked of death, he was still alive under the harvest of wires. The words of how “we’re doing all that we can” do not bring any more comfort, they just take Ivar like a wave rapidly back out to sea. And now you understand how your patients, and their families feel when you speak the same phrases to them. The clinical assessments do not stop a rigorous schedule, motoring for the possible failure. The room is kept warm, and every so often when you will yourself to peek in, you can see the sheen of sweat that’s over Ivar’s forehead, dancing across his chest under the stickers, the monitors. The capillary refill on his toes show promise, and when the nurse says that to her doctor, you find yourself attempting the same motions on your thumb nail. Pressing the pink away and making room for the white, and then in a quick release, the pink swarms back. The ultra sound machines reminds you of the new equipment in your rig as it assess arterial blood flow every hour.

IV bags drip, slow and agonize and the change of wrappings, dressings and cleaning of both the limbs and Ivar himself collect. You spend hours watching the fluid levels sink, his eyes flutter, his fingers in his hand dance and you grow cold because you just want to hold him. To lock him in a steel tower and to constantly remind him how strong he is, because you know the longest road will not come from learning to walk. It will come from Ivar trying to find that he is worthy to live on.

Blackness had retired across your cheeks, wrapping a veil of makeup that melted into battle scars and you could not move if your body depended on it. Aslaug sits next to you; she takes her time wiping the makeup off from under your eyes, the soiled mascara and she’s humming to you. She had been telling you how when Ivar was young, she would sing to him and it would calm him down. How she sang to him in the hospital after he tried to overdose, tubes pumping his stomach as she blamed herself for such wrong doing. How Hvitserk blamed himself because he gave no one a warning cry. And how she’s singing to Ivar now, even though he can’t hear it, because it comforts the three of you as a whole. 

When your eyes follow the nurse into the room, you can hear her say something to Ivar and you watch his head turn in confusion. Grogginess and a fog on his brain as she talks to him like it’s a normal conversation; wishing him a good morning, how the weather looks promising for a beautiful day and you wish you had that level of bed side manner. You never get the promising parts of the journey; you get the patients that are coding and in a rush to the life saving team in the hospital. You love the ones who tell you their entire live’s story in the back of the rig on the way to the emergency room, sharing details and calming your mind with how simple, and yet how different every walk of life is. The nurse says something about you, about Hvitserk and Aslaug and Floki, out and waiting and ready to see him when he’s fit. You wave through the glass and there’s the tease of a smirk on Ivar’s face, even in his slightly sedated state. A dastardly, bastard smirk and his hand lifts off the bed slightly, wiggling his fingers back to you. The tears start up again, pounding a sledge hammer through your skull after all of the unruly pressure and messes of crying as your body tries to go numb.

“Where’s my mom?” You hear Ivar say in a voice that muted slightly as the nurse stands in the door way to exit. “Can I see my mom?” And the nurse nods. Aslaug stands and kisses your hair line as she walks into the vicinity, Ivar watching her and you need to back up, you need to walk away from the room, this hall way and this battle. A faint wheeze goes through your chest and Floki catches it first before Hvitserk has a chance to lift his head and open his eyes.

“Let’s walk, dear,” Floki says and his voice is not authoritative but it still demands you to comply as he loops an arm around your shoulder. “Walking can help to clear the mind.” It’s your first time outside in almost three days, and the sunlight burns you like you had been its victim on a sand covered shoreline for one too many hours. The hospital grounds are manicured, they’re neat and arranged with an abundance of flowers and colors in the open air but everything to you still feels so dull and lifeless, pointless and hopeless and walking only churns your thoughts to double, triple in size like a snow ball rolling down a hill. 

You’re finally allowed in to see Ivar and you approach slowly, like touching him will seer you suddenly, stain you with a unremovable pattern and you’ll forever be reminded. His blue eyes are dull and groggy when they open, the nasal cannula wrapping his face and your eyes dance over the scurf collecting on his jaw, and the faint bruising, cuts and scrapes on his skin.

“Hey baby,” His voice rasps and you kneel by the bed, tears already on their journeys to streak your tried skin and Ivar’s needle poked, IV covered arm comes to wipe what he can reach. “You were there, weren’t you?” And you can only nod, eyes still damp and you relish in the touch he gives you only if it’s for a second. “You saved my life, baby,” Ivar finally adds and that makes the whimper start again, the choke of a sob in your throat and he tries to quiet you, slithering a quick noise from his lips and you rest your head against the bed, his hand still on your hair. 

“I drove the ambulance over a hundred miles an hour,” You finally say and they’re the first words you can use to process the trauma you two had lived through together.

“That’s my girl,” Ivar smiles, speaking with a voice that sounds like sandpaper.

“I love you Ivar—no matter what happens, I love you so much,”

“I love you too, Y/N,” Ivar says and his voice is weaker now and he needs rest. “Kiss me before you go?” He says with eyes scanning your face, and you can’t deny that now. Pressing your lips softly against his, your hands cupping his cheek and you hope it’s not the last kiss you’ll ever get from him. “I’m not going anywhere, baby,” Ivar tells you. “I’m afraid. But I’m not going anywhere,” You nod as he speaks, a forehead against his for a second and his hand is still trying to reach on you where he can. This is the man that would pull the tubes and the wires from his chest if he could, if that would make him get closer to you. “You’re stuck with me,” And there’s a faint snicker after his words, weak and drowned out from the normal tone but you’ll take it after not hearing his voice for three days.

“I’m stuck with you,” You say back with a small smile. But it still doesn’t bring enough hope.

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[viking-raider]

Salt in Our Wounds - Chapter III

Summary-> Things continue to grow more complicated for you with your charge. In more than one way. But there are some bright spots.

Pairing-> Gus March-Phillipps/Reader

Word Count-> 6.5k

Chapters-> I II

Warnings-> PG: Language, Deception, References to WWII

Inspiration-> Since my favorite demon, @littlefreya, asked so nicely. The one and only Chaos Major, Gus March-Phillipps.

Author’s Note-> I hope you enjoy! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> Dragon_Dweller

With Edmund back at his own home, your father asleep in his chair and the dinner dishes washed, then put away, you rubbed at your face, finally feeling the exhaustion of the day bear down on you. Your muscles were sore and you had a throbbing headache behind your eyes.

But your day wasn't quite over yet.

You filled a glass with water and brought it downstairs, in the off chance your guest woke up in the night, thirsty. The lanterns had been turned down low and the electric light had been turned off, in the cellar room, you thought nothing of it as you entered. Until you noticed the camp bed was empty.

“Oh-” You gasped, eyes wide with surprise, when you felt a warm and strong palm close around your mouth, muffling the startled scream you let out, the glass of water slipping from your fingers and shattering on the hard packed, dirt floor, splashing over your slippers.

“Calm yourself.” A deep, British accent rumbled low in your ear, whiskers tickling your skin. “I'm not going to hurt you. But you are going to answer my questions.” He said, pulling you backwards with him as he moved towards the cellar door, listening for any noise from the house upstairs, before pulling the door closed. “I'm going to remove my hand.”

“Don't make me regret it, love.”

Gulping thickly, stomach twisted in sick knots, you nodded in reply. He slowly removed his hand, in preparation of you crying out for help, but you were too frightened to make a peep. Nodding his head, he moved around you, gingerly holding a hand to his wound.

“Where am I?” He asked, piercing you with his stunning blue eyes. “Come now.” He cooed, when you continued to gawk at him, reaching up with his free hand to gently pinch your chin between his thumb and fingers, the corner of his mouth twitching with a smile.

“You're in the village of Saint-Thurney.” You blurted out, biting the inside of your cheek. “Just off the coast of the English Channel.”

“We're still in France?” He asked, his brows drawing together.

“Ye-yes.” You stuttered, blinking at him.

“You don't sound French.” He said, a light of deep suspicion filling his eyes as he regarded you more closely.

“Well, that's because I'm not.” You replied, frowning back at him. “My family and I moved here for a quieter life, before all this war nonsense broke out.” You explained, watching the beads of sweat on his forehead begin to drip down the edge of his nose. “You need to sit down, before you pass out.” You told him, reaching up to close your hand around the wrist of the hand he still held your chin with.

“I'm fine.” He dismissed you, despite becoming a bit pale.

“No, you're not.” You snapped at him, concerned. “You've been shot and washed ashore, with a fever.” You scolded him, pulling his hand away from your face and attempted to tug him over to the bed, but couldn't budge his large frame.

“Why are you helping me?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at you. “I could be the enemy, a collaborator, or at the least a sympathizer. For all you know, that's why I was shot.”

You looked him over, studying him. “You could be.” You nodded, though your gut still felt he wasn't. “But what I do know is you're injured and sick. I can't let you go untended for it.”

“You're a strange woman.” He chuckled, smirking at you.

“And you're a strange man that washed up on my beach.” You countered, cocking a brow at him.

“I'm Gus.” He offered his name, feeling a small measure of trust in you.

“It's been eventful, Gus.” You replied, then offered your own name to him. “Please, you're pale and sweating quite profusely. I don't want you to pass out.” You begged him, motioning to the bed.

Gus lifted an amused eyebrow at you for a second, before humoring you and sitting down in the chair. “How far is your little town from Dieppe?” He asked, grimacing at the discomfort.

“I'm not all that sure. All I know is we're north of it.” You replied, shaking your head. “Um, give me a moment.” You said, turning to go back upstairs, but Gus's hand shot out to grab your wrist, halting you. “I'm just going upstairs to grab one of the maps my father has in the sitting room. He's been tracking some of the German's movements.”

“Has he now?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “My father was a soldier in the Great War, for the British Empire. It cost him dearly, so I would kindly ask you to wipe that assumption off your face.” You hissed at him, not liking the glint in Gus's orbs.

“My apologies, my lady.” He replied, tipping his head forward. “I meant no offense.” He tried to assure you, letting go of your wrist.

Silently going out, you crept up the stairs, wincing as the ancient wood steps creaked beneath your tiptoes. The flames in the fireplace were just high enough to keep the sitting room warm, while only casting a strong enough glow you could just see the outline of everything to navigate by. Your father sat slumped in his armchair, stocking feet propped up on an ottoman and his blanket tucked around his softly pudgy middle.

You couldn't stop the sweet smile that pulled on your lips as you stopped a short distance from him, listening to his rough snores, the flickering flames catching on the glass of his glasses. Reaching out, you slowly and gently removed them from his face, folding and tucking them into the front pocket of his pajamas; where he could find them in the morning. Turning your attention back to your task, you made your way over to the roll top desk your father kept his maps in, rifling through them for one that wasn't marked up with the battle fronts and supply lines. You knew your father would inquire as to where it was, if you took one of those.

Finding a new map, rolled up and held closed with an elastic band, you slowly pulled it out of the stack, shooting a look over your shoulder as your father snorted in his sleep suddenly, but didn't stir. Letting out a sigh and closing the desk, you scurried out of the sitting room, pausing momentarily to grab your broom and dustpan to sweep up the shards of the glass you had dropped.

“Here.” You held out the rolled up map to Gus, returning to the cellar and finding him still sitting where you left him.

“Thank you.” He nodded, taking it.

Nodding back, you set the dust pan down on the floor and set about sweeping up your mess, while Gus removed the elastic band and spread the map out on the table, turning up the oil lamp that was beside it. Squinting at the small print names of towns, villages and cities along the coast, in search of the seaport of Dieppe in the Normandy region of Northern France. Tapping his index finger against it, he traced his other pointer finger up until he found Saint-Thurney, in the region of Hauts-de-France, letting out a growling hum as he did.

“Did you find it?” You asked, bent as you corralled the broken glass pieces into the metal dust pan.

“Aye, I did.” Gus replied, pushing his jaw forward, lips pursed in agitation. “We're eighty-four kilometers north of it.”

“Is that where you were injured?” You asked, standing back up, clapping your hands together to dust them off. “Off the coast of Dieppe?”

Gus's eyes shot up to you, guarded and suspicious.

“I found you washed ashore. So, unless you were shot, then driven eighty some kilometers from Dieppe and dumped on our beach, which is awfully out of the way to get rid of someone. Wartime or no. You had to either be near the Channel when it happened or already in the Channel.”

The suspicion in his eyes slowly melted into a look of impressed understanding. “You're very smart and forward, for a young lady.” He chuckled, smirking at you, but his gaze was still guarded as he twisted the end of his mustache.

“I was primarily raised by my father and brother, mostly my brother. So, my lady-like manners aren't as refined as they should be.” You confessed, though there was no apology in your voice or expression. “And I'm not quite a young lady, either.”

“I surely doubt you're not an old maid.” Gus remarked, cocking a brow as his eyes moved over you. “You can't be more than-” He pressed his lips together. “Twenty-six.”

“Flattery.” You giggled, a warmth blooming in your cheeks. “And you are trying to change the subject.”

Gus's smirk turned smug and devilish. “Quite.” He nodded, his brow twitching slightly. “I was injured in Dieppe. The circumstances are--” He paused, rubbing sweaty temples for a moment. “Fuzzy.”

“Are you in pain?” You asked, frowning at him, concerned by the pale flush to his face and the sweat still dripping down his face.

“I am.”

You grabbed the cloth from where it laid on the camp bed and used it to gently dab at his forehead and the sides of his neck. “You should lay back down, Gus.” You cooed at him, brushing a damp curl off his forehead. “I can get one of the morphine tablets Dr. Tremblay left for you.” You said, motioning to the tawny-colored bottle on the table.

Sitting quietly for a long time, Gus finally nodded and moved over to the bed, groaning and hissing as the movement pulled on his wound and stitches. You half covered him, before heading back upstairs for a fresh glass of water.

“Here.” You said quietly, handing over the water and took one of the round, white tablets out of the medicine bottle.

“Thank you.” He nodded at you, popping it in his mouth and chugging down most of the water.

“Are you hungry at all?” You inquired, biting your lip. “I have some food left over from dinner.” You told him, turning your upper body towards the door. “It's not much, but it's something on your stomach.”

“No, thanks.” Gus answered, letting his eyes fall shut. “I don't have an appetite just now.”

“All right.” You nodded, biting your lip. “I'll let you rest then. I'll come and see you in the morning.” You assured him, moving towards the door.

“Thank you.” Gus called out to you. “For what you're doing.” He elaborated, as you paused. “Most people during these times would have just left me to die or alerted the authorities. Let alone take me into their home, called a doctor and tended to me.”

You smiled, chuckling softly, before quipping. “Well, I believe we've established I'm no ordinary woman.”

“True enough.” He snorted back, feeling the drowsiness of the morphine start to seep into his body.

“Good night.” You bid him.

“Night.” Gus mumbled back, dozing off.

Upon waking the next morning, you laid in bed for a long while, listening to the distant rush of waves crashing on the shore and excited calls of birds. The day before felt surreal and part of you wondered if the events had actually happened. Had you truly found a wounded man washed up on your favorite beach, during wartime? Did you and your brother honestly sneak him into your home, so you could try and save him?

“Did we?” You asked the streaks of sunlight coming through the window beside your bed.

There was a knock on your door, breaking you free of your thoughts.

“Yes?” You called out, rubbing at your face and sitting up.

“Are you decent?” Edmund's voice called back.

Sighing, reality crashing back around you. “One moment!” You scurried out of bed and grabbed your robe off the back of the chair, securing it on, before you opened the door for your brother. “Good morning.” You greeted him.

“He is awake.” He replied under his breath.

“Oh yes, he is awake.” You nodded, biting your lip, remembering your interaction with Gus the night before. “He woke up a couple of hours after dinner.” You explained to Edmund.

“Why didn't you come and get me!” He hissed, glancing over his shoulder, towards the stairs, worried your father would hear.

“I—it honestly hadn't occurred to me at the moment, Edmund.” You told him, biting your lip.

“Didn't occur to you! He could have harmed you and Pops!” He scolded you, eye twitching with pent up anger. “I could have come over this morning to your dead-”

“Edmund, calm yourself.” You cut him off, watching the vein in his temple start to bulge. “He didn't harm me. He didn't even leave the cellar. What he did was startle me, when I found him out of the cot. Beyond that, he was quite courteous. Secretive and strange, but nothing but a gentleman.” You assured your brother. “I'm guessing you went down to look at him?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Yeah, I did. Found him sitting up, staring at a map.”

“Oh, the stubbornness of men!” You huffed, shoving Edmund away from your door and closing it, rushing to get dressed. “I'll get breakfast going, if you want any. I'm sure Willa hasn't bothered, since it's not noon yet and she's not graced the living.” You said, coming back out in a whirlwind, Edmund still standing in the hallway.

“Just wait for me in the kitchen.”

“I'm not leaving you alone with that man.” Edmund huffed at you, close on your heels as you went downstairs.

“Good morning, Papa!” You sang out, the sound of the radio reaching you from the sitting room, your father listening intently to it.

“Morning, Peanut!” He replied, not looking up at you.

Smiling, you turned and went downstairs, into the cellar. “Good morning, Gus.” You smirked at his hunched back, a hint of sarcasm in your eyes.

“Morning.” Gus replied, leaning back in his chair to regard you. “Has my nurse come to pester me?” He asked, chuckling, amused at the glint of your glare.

“I have.” You nodded, reaching out and brushing the stray curl aside to rest your hand on his forehead, feeling the heat in his skin. “You're not as warm as you were last night.” You commented, letting your hand drop. “So, your fever is dropping. But I still need to give you the shot Dr. Tremblay ordered yesterday.”

“Right.” Gus nodded, curling his fingers around the hem of his shirt, to pull it off.

“Mm-mm.” You hummed at him, shaking your head.

“What?” He frowned at you.

“Thigh.” You smirked at him, grabbing the antibiotic vial and syringe that Tremblay left behind for you.

“Explains why I don't have any trousers on.” Gus snorted, his blue eyes catching Edmund's, which were ablaze with protective suspicion. “Your bodyguard.” He asked, a sharp edge of wit in his voice.

“Brothers are like that.” You smiled, moving in front of Gus.

“So, not your husband then.” He inquired, meeting your eye.

“Ew.” You giggled, shaking your head, tugging up one side of his boxers. “No offense, Edmund.” You added, biting your lip as you gently pinched the thick muscle at the top of his thigh.

“None taken, Peanut.” Edmund replied, scowling at Gus.

“Why don't you go upstairs, Captain?” You suggested to Edmund, carefully injecting the needle. “We're all right down here.” You said, biting your lip in concentration as you pushed the plunger down.

Edmund lingered for a minute, before turning on his boot heels and storming back upstairs, making a ruckus as he did.

“I'm sorry about him.” You said to Gus, removing the needle and setting it aside. “It's just that he's very protective.”

“And I'm just some strange man, that washed ashore on your beach, that's now holed up in your basement.” Gus chuckled, nodding his head in understanding, but frowned at you. “You called him, Captain. But he's not in the military, is he?”

You drew a deep breath, held it for a second with a thoughtful look on your face, before sighing. “No, Edmund isn't. He tried to join the military when the war broke out, but they turned him away.” You explained to him, your heart sore for your brother.

Edmund was loyal, steadfast and capable. He was quite patriotic as well, for the home you had come from and the home you had made in France. Even when he couldn't serve for them on the front lines, or even behind the lines. You wished with all your heart Edmund could march in those neat lines, in a snappy uniform, to officially hold the rank of Captain. Knowing the void it filled in him. But due to an unfortunate medical condition, no branch of the military would have him, in even a desk job.

“Why wouldn't they take him?” Gus asked, frowning with confusion. “He looks more than able.” He commented, having seen Edmund's lean and muscular body.

“Oh yes, bodily he is. Mentally as well.” You agreed, fussing with the fabric of your skirt. “But it's his eyes that are the issue.” You licked your lips and looked up at Gus. “He has an eye condition, Retinitis Pigmentosa. It causes you to lose your vision over time. It starts with your night vision, then your peripheral vision, before you go blind completely.”

“Currently, Eddie has no night vision to speak of and his side vision is becoming blurry. So, he's kept his trade as a carpenter.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Gus said, his eyes soft on you. “Can I ask why you call him Captain?”

You giggled quietly, a fond memory coming to mind. “Our father was a Major, in the Great War, and had a good many metals for it.” You explained to him, a distant look in your eye. “Among other things.” You mumbled, quietly. “Edmund loved his memorabilia as a child and would wear them all the time, showing them off to anybody and everybody that would look and listen to how our father got them.” You laughed, smiling. “Our father had given Edmund one of his patches, the one that had once identified him as a Captain.” You paused, biting your lip and furrowing your brow.

“Mother left when I was five and Edmund was fifteen. I don't remember much of that day, other than my father being in one of his fits and Edmund sending me next door for a while. When he came back to get me, he told me it was just going to be us now. But not to worry, he was the Captain of the house and he'd make sure everything would be all right.”

“You took to calling him Captain, as a nickname.” Gus grinned, understanding and touched.

“Mmhm.” You nodded, somber. “We refer to our father as Major, from time to time as well.”

“Well, that'll make things awkward, while I'm your guest.” Gus laughed, smirking at you.

“Why's that?” You frowned at him.

Gus sighed, his face turning to an expression of seriousness. “I'm a Major in the British Army.” He confessed to you, flexing his fingers.

“So, you are on our side.” You replied, the corners of your lips twitching with relief to know you were right about him.

“What side would that be?” He asked, his eyes squinting slightly.

“Well, we're not holding you hostage, Major. We're hiding you from the German patrol in our village, that has already almost caught us with you once, to start with.” You told him, bluntly. “While tending to your wound.” You said, pointing to the hole in his shirt. “So, we're on your side. Which is just unfortunately occupied.”

“There's a German patrol post here?” Gus asked, tensing.

“Yes. An annoying one at that.”

“Annoying how?”

“It was a very small patrol, when they first gained control of France. Perhaps fifteen of them.” You explained, shrugging your shoulders. “But three months ago, half of the main German Patrol moved from Rue to here. You can fit Saint-Thurney in part of Rue. We don't know why they've moved. It's been kept hushed and with that hush an increase in their patrols around town. It was a miracle I found you on the beach before they did.”

“It would seem so.” Gus nodded, troubled.

“Do you recall anything of your ordeal?” You asked, frowning at him. “How you got injured? Or into the water?”

Gus carded a hand through his nest of curls, shaking his head. “The last thing I recall was being with my men in Dieppe. Everything after that is still fuzzy and dark.”

“Perhaps you were ambushed?” You bit your lip, knowing you were reaching.

“It's possible.” He sighed, before shrugging his shoulders. “I'm sure it'll come back to me.”

“I'm sure it will.” You answered, offering him a soft smile. “Until then, I should head back upstairs and start breakfast.” You sighed, moving towards the door. “Would you like some coffee or tea?” You offered, politely.

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.” Gus replied, with a kind tilt of his head.

“Coming right down.” You smirked, scurrying back upstairs.

“Are you all right?” Edmund asked as you entered the kitchen.

“I'm fine, Eddie.” You sighed, shaking your head at him. “You don't have anything to worry about with him. He's ever the gentleman you are.” You told him, opening the pantry door and removing your apron off the hook, tying it around you. “Did you go down to the store and get the supplies, like I asked last night?”

“Yes.” Edmund grunted, fetching the small crate from by the door. “Remi added a bit more tea leaves. Said, he knows how much you love your cuppas.” He informed you, setting the crate on the kitchen counter.

“What a sweetheart.” You giggled, plucking the brown paper bag of loose tea leaves out of the supplies and dropped it beside the stove, before digging through for the coffee grounds. “We need--” You tilted your head back, cocking a brow at your father for a second, before looking at Edmund. “To get our guest, some clothing.”

“Clothes.” Edmund snapped at you, brows creasing so deeply, they almost touched.

“Well, his shirt has a hole in it.” You scolded your brother, eyes rolling. “And you can tell by looking at them, that they're not clothing anyone from around here would wear.”

“Who's going to see him?” He argued further.

“What if the Patrol does one of their searches?” You countered, giving him a smug look.

“That's what the hidden door and the damn shelves are for, Peanut!” He huffed at you. “To hide him, so if the Patrol comes searching the houses, they won't find him.”

“Still, it's rude, Edmund.” You huffed, filling your tea pot and putting it on the stove to boil. “He can't stay down there in filthy clothing.”

Edmund rubbed his face. “Fine.” He sighed, giving in. “I'll find him something to wear. If it'll make you so happy.”

“It will.” You answered, smirking at him. “It's only the polite thing to do, and you know it.”

“Of course, my dear sister.” He huffed, playfully rolling his eyes at you, before kissing your cheek. “I'll be back for breakfast. I made a call to Duprée for some lumber, to start building our guest's paradise downstairs.”

“All right, it should be done by then.” You nodded, patting him gently on the chest.

Gus sipped at the coffee you had kindly brewed for him. You had even brought him a few books from the bookcases in the sitting room, so he had something to occupy his time, other than staring at the map. He looked at the covers of Gulliver's Travels, the Great Gatsby, the Pickwick Papers and Of Mice and Men, before picking up the latter. Thumbing it open to the first page, he rested back in his seat, finding it more comfortable than the camp bed to recline in.

He hadn't gotten far into the chapter, before hearing footsteps coming back down the basement stairs and cast a glance through the half open cellar door, catching sight of Edmund coming down, with several boards on his shoulder. Gus folded the corner of his page and set the book aside, pushing himself up with a muffled groan.

“Do you want some help with that?” He asked, stopping short of the stairs.

“Nope.” Edmund replied, reaching the bottom. “I'm more than positive, if you look at these boards sideways, my sister will come down here and beat the both of us.” He said, his voice humorless, but Gus laughed anyway.

“I'm sure you're right.” He smirked, glancing up the stairs, hearing the bumps and clinks coming from the kitchen. “She's a gentle, but firm, nurse.”

“That she is.” Your brother agreed, setting the boards down to one side of the room and shrugging his shoulders. “My father and I made sure she had her manners, but she never let anyone boss or bully her around.” He said, glancing at Gus for a moment.

“That's good.” Gus replied, catching Edmund's eye. “People can be quite harsh in this world. Especially to young ladies.”

Edmund nodded, then went back upstairs for the rest of the wood and his tools. He also brought down a bag. “My sister insisted on me bringing you these.” He said, setting the bag beside Gus, who was seated back in his chair, having returned to his book and cooling cup of coffee.

Frowning and resting the book on his knee, Gus reached into the bag, grabbing the first thing inside. He pulled out a teal colored cable knit jumper. “Oh.” He cooed, brows going up as he nodded.

“That's very kind. Thank you.”

“Mmhm.” Edmund grunted, leaving him to change and get back to his work.

Gus stood, closing the cellar door the rest of the way, and shed his tattered shirt, replacing it for the jumper, the wool rough on his skin. He rummaged through the bag, finding fresh underwear, pants, socks and shoes. Even a pair of pajamas! He stripped and put on the clean clothes and felt a sight better for it. His old shirt and boxers still smelled of the sea and made his skin itch.

A knock sounded on the door, as he was pulling on the socks and boots.

“Come!”

“Oh!” You started, but smiled at him. “I see my brother managed to do what I asked of him.” You said, a plate of food balanced in one hand.

“He did.” Gus nodded, smirking up at you. “Thank you. It was kind of you to think of it.”

“Of course.” You replied shyly, eyes darting away for a second. “I brought you breakfast.” You quickly recovered, holding the plate out to him, then removed utensils from the pocket of your apron. “Do you need a refill on your coffee?”

“It could use a warming up.” He picked his cup up and turned it over to your awaiting hand.

“Back in a snap.” You chirped. “Are you ready for your breakfast, Edmund?” You asked, on the way to the kitchen, pausing to watch him pull a pencil from behind his ear and strike a mark on a board he was measuring, on two saw-horses.

“Just bring me down a plate.” Edmund answered, too distracted to look up at you as he adjusted his measuring tape. “I have a lot of work to do.”

“All right.” You nodded, knowing that set in his shoulders.

Going back to the kitchen, you pour Gus's cold coffee down the sink, pull a cup down for Edmund, then turn towards the percolator that rested on the counter. Removing the lid, you pulled out the metal coffee basket and carried it out to the small garden you had, just like Edmund and Willa, where you tapped the damp, used coffee grounds into your compost bin.

The percolator set up for a fresh pot of coffee, you grabbed one of the plates sitting on the kitchen table to portion out the eggs, toast and sausage on it. You missed having a fruit with your breakfast, but with supplies what they were and being rationed, fresh produce were spares. But, the marmalades you were able to get periodically helped dull the longing.

For a little while, at least.

“Papa, do you want marmalade or butter on your toast?” You called out, plucking his piece of blackened toast out of the toaster oven, just how he liked it.

It was the same with his meat as well. Mael would have his steak, pork chops and every other type of meat blacker than shoe polish. You hadn't understood why, when you began cooking for your family. But Edmund had explained it to you one night, after your father complained three times his lamp chop wasn't done enough, though you were beginning to worry there would be nothing left of it, by the time you did get it where he liked it. Apparently, growing up his mother could never properly cook meat, either under-cooking it or burning it to a crisp.

“Do we have any marmalade left?” He called back.

“We do!” You replied, opening the refrigerator, to pull out the two small, glass jars of Rose's marmalade. “We have a tiny bit of the Strawberry left and Remi sent over some Ginger this morning.” You informed him, reading the label.

“I'll have Ginger then, Peanut.”

Nodding, you put the Strawberry back and muscled open the Ginger, spreading it over his toast and getting some on your fingers as you worked it to the edges. Giving a couple of your fingers a cheeky lick, humming at the sweet, but warm and spicy stickiness on them, you brought your father's food over to him, kissing the top of his balding head.

“Any movement on the Eastern Front, Major?” You inquired, cocking your head at the map he had spread out on a folding table he set up in front of his chair.

He had been listening to the radio about current movements, or mostly lack thereof, on the bloody fighting between the Axis powers and Soviet Union. His map was marked with different colored pencils and he had some sort of symbol system set up for himself to follow, that you hadn't fully figured out. What you did know was the Red and Black lines were the Russians and their Allies. Blue and Green were the Axis. The Skulls, you learned very early on, were the dead zones, where neither side gained or lost any ground, no matter what they did. Crosses were some of the heaviest casualties, and Arrows were meant to show any movement either side managed to make. But there were several others you and Edmund just couldn't make heads or tails out of.

Neither of you wished to ask either, in fear it might cause him to go into a tirade. So, simple questions were always the best.

“None, Peanut.” Mael replied, as he leaned forward with a red pencil and added a new Cross somewhere on the Northern edge of the Front, making your stomach sink.

You swallowed the hard lump in your throat. “I'm glad to hear it.” You rasped, squeezing his shoulder, before numbly returning to the kitchen, putting your plate back into the cabinet, appetite ruined.

“Dinner was delicious.” Gus commented, wiping up the remnants of the stew you had simmered throughout the day with his last bite of bread, popping it into his mouth with a complimentary moan.

“I'm glad you think so.” You smiled, holding your hand out for his bowl. “Um...” You floundered for a moment, pivoting on your hips as you glanced around. “I put clean towels in the bathroom upstairs, if you'd like to go up and take a shower. Edmund is back home with his wife. My father is asleep and it's almost curfew for the village.”

“I would greatly appreciate some time under the hot spray of a showerhead.” He replied, looking up at you, his eyes soft.

“It's all yours then.” You nodded, moving towards the door. “When you're ready for it.”

“I'll be up presently.” He cooed, standing gingerly, grabbing the pajamas that you and Edmund had supplied him.

Tossing the garments over his shoulder, Gus headed upstairs, mindful not to make boards creak as little as possible. Popping his head out the basement door, he saw your father dozing in his armchair, chin resting on his chest with his glasses balanced perilously on the tip of his nose. He heard a clink and moved forward a step, discovering you at the sink, washing his bowl and spoon.

“Is that a mouse, I hear?” You teased, glancing at him with a smirk.

“More the size of a rat.” Gus jested back, standing beside the kitchen table.

You giggled aloud for a second, before you covered it and looked over at your father. “I'll show you upstairs to the bathroom.” You said, drying your hands and motioned to the stairs. “How's your wound feeling?” You asked, following him up, glancing at the spot of his back where you knew his stitches were.

“Sore.” He sighed, pausing at the top to look at you. “That doctor makes a tight stitch.” He quipped, turning to follow you down the hallway.

“Better a tight stitch than a gaping wound.” You joked back, pushing open one of the doors and stepping aside for him.

“True enough, my darling.” Gus smirked, meeting your eye for a long moment, seeing the shy, sheepishness creep into your eyes and your bottom lip get caught between your teeth.”Thank you for the use of your restroom.”

“Of course.” You nodded, glancing away from him, then scurried back downstairs.

You pulled a clean fitted sheet and pillowcase out of a cabinet, the aroma of the laundry soap on the fabric greeting your nose as you hugged them to your chest. Edmund had managed to complete a more suitable and sturdy bed for Gus on his day of work, bringing over the mattress from his and Willa's guest room to top it. So, while Gus allowed himself the comforting luxury of washing up and getting ready for bed, you went down and dressed it for him. Sure the feeling of clean clothes on clean skin would help him get an extra good night's sleep.

“There, all ready for him.” You grinned, fluffing his pillowcase, then went back up to finish your other chores, before it was time for you to go off to bed. “Shoot.” You snapped, finding your father's chair empty and darted upstairs, to find him.

You reached the top of the stairs as your father came out of his room and Gus was exiting the bathroom in the gray striped pajamas, a towel draped around his neck. Your father caught sight of you first, seeing the wild and startled look in your eyes, his grayed brows wrinkling with confusion for a half-second, until he finally noticed Gus, who stood frozen in the bathroom doorway.

“Who in God's name is this man!” Mael snapped, his coffee-colored eyes hardening with alert outrage.

“He's-!” You floundered, head whipping between the two men. “He's—um..”

“I work for your son.” Gus answered calmly, his eyes giving you a quick look of knowing, instilling you with a burst of encouragement.

“Yes, Papa.” You nodded at Gus, your head slowly turning to your father, still bobbing. “He's helping Edmund build the shelves downstairs and with the repairs around the house.” You elaborated to him, smirking. “He's from the next village over though, and the curfew was set before he could head back home. So, Eddie and I suggested he stay here. He was just showering before heading off to bed.”

Mael squinted at Gus, his jaw moving gently side to side as he chewed on his lip.

“Papa, you should be off to bed.” You cooed at him, softly, resting your hand on his arm. “It's late.” You hoped to guide him back downstairs to his chair and get Gus out of his sight, at least until you talked to Edmund in the morning. “How do hotcakes sound for breakfast tomorrow?” You hummed, glancing back at Gus, who winked at you.

“Good, I suppose, Peanut.” Your father answered, only semi-distracted away from the stranger he found in his home.

“All right.” You smiled, tucking his blanket around him and lifting his legs to slide the ottoman under his feet. “I'll have some toasty and buttery, hot cakes for you, in the morning.” You whispered, kissing his forehead and watching him fall asleep, then rushed back upstairs. “I am so sorry, Gus! I didn't expect him to get up. He usually calls for me, if he wants something from his room.” You apologized, wringing your hands.

“No, no!” Gus shook his head, reaching out and grasping your hands. “This is your home and you have nothing to be sorry for. I'm sorry, I've thrown you and your family into such disarray.”

“It's all right.” You gulped, feeling the heavy warmth of his rough hands against your skin. “These are chaotic times, we're in.” You told him, heart fluttering. “We should get to bed, by the way. Tomorrow comes early.”

“Indeed it does.” He agreed, his skin tingling. “Especially, for the help.” He joked, lightly.

You chuckled back, dropping your eyes to the hallway runner. “I'll have to let Edmund in on that bit of information, when he comes over and before our father gets a hold of him.” You said, imagining how that conversation was going to go.

“Well, I'll wish you a good night.” Gus said, dropping his hands from yours, but inclined his head forward. “Peanut.” He added, with a playful wink, then excused himself.

Your cheeks blazed as you stood in the hallway, the heat of Gus's touch still lingering on your skin and the ring of him calling you by your nickname in your ears. It took a long moment for you to recover enough to resume your tasks and go to bed.

[lisinfleur]

Bedtime Secrets

The request:

Author’s Notes | I love sweet requests like this for our sweet prince. He deserves some happiness after all. Universe | Vikings Pairing | Ivar x Reader Info | Viking Age AU, requested by anon for 5CW Ivar II, posted for HTGI Event. Words | 1146 ⁑ Warnings: None

From the beginning, you thought that marriage would be a disaster. Not that he wasn't a blessed man, nor you had anything against his condition - as some would meanly say. But you could see he wasn't exactly planning to get married when your father brought the idea to the table where your fate was sealed beside king Ivar the Boneless from Kattegat.

"A pledge of allegiance and long bond," your father said. What better way to tell a king you trust him than offering him your best and bigger treasure?

Definitely not what you wanted for your life. Like all the other women of your age, you wanted to find somebody to love.

You weren't unaware of your condition: as a landlord's daughter, you knew your marriage would much probably be arranged to grant your people's best life, but you asked the gods many times that your marriage would come to join you to a man that would, at least, allow you to reach his heart.

How would you reach anything inside those cold and sharp blue eyes your father delivered you to?

Your marriage was poorly consummated the night it happened. Ivar was an occupied man. Tired from hanging with the Earls, Kings, and other guests of your marriage - which was absolutely bigger than you ever thought your party would be - he touched you a single time.

Nothing but seal the union the ring on your finger had represented.

But the gods decided to send him a message - or strike him right in the middle of his face: You fell pregnant with a single touch of his body. His seed grew roots in your womb from that single moment the two of you shared and then, you saw it change in his eyes.

He didn't become the most loving of the husbands, but his blues weren't that cold for you anymore.

As your father told you, Ivar was a man of his faith, and the idea of having a marriage visibly blessed by the gods was enough to warm his heart towards you.

You were spoiled and covered with the best through your whole pregnancy. You had servants all over you. Anything would stop to tend for your needs.

You never had really tried to approach your husband, afraid he would reject your feelings or make you feel silly for being so emotional. But his reaction to your pregnancy was changing it into you.

And when you gave birth to a beautiful little girl, your walls were completely crumbled by Ivar's teary eyes.

Watching your husband holding your little girl in his arms was the most tender moment you ever saw in your life. His kisses to her forehead, his words whispered to her ears, every single detail of him crushed the fear of your heart by showing he was so much more than his fame would speak about him.

He was ruthless in battle, but his hands were tender to touch your little girl's blankets. He could be a monster to his enemies, but he was the warm embrace your daughter would sleep so easily in.

Little every day, you discovered your husband was as much a loving man as he was a fierce warrior.

Perhaps your dreams became true before you could really notice.

Perhaps there was a chance for you to reach that man's heart.

Not the ruthless king, nor the fearless warrior, but the loving father you watched sitting beside your little one's crib, telling her stories, waving his hands, and making sounds just to get more giggles from your baby girl.

You'd been attracted by the growls in his voice and your baby's loud giggles. And your eyes watched as he told her stories from the gods, playing with his hands your daughter tried to reach for a while. Then the stories became calmer as the little one laid down, watching Ivar's movements from inside her crib.

Soon, he was whispering a low song. And you watched as your little girl embraced her blanket, falling asleep peacefully at the sound of his voice.

Ivar stayed there for a long while, caressing your little girl's face. His rough fingers marked by swords and daggers were so gentle when touching her face. His face, usually so hard, was so tranquil. And his eyes were placid lakes instead of those sharp blades of ice you remember seeing the first time you've seen each other.

Maybe there was space for you there. Perhaps your fear to approach was keeping you from reaching your dreams in his arms.

You dared.

Your steps entered the room slowly, and you sat beside Ivar, catching his eyes almost immediately.

His gentle touch reached your face. His fingers caressed your chin, sliding as you leaned your face into his warm palm.

"My beautiful wife," he mumbled.

Sweet words you had never heard from him, maybe because you never approached enough to hear him speak.

"You came into my life unwarned. I even thought it was a mistake to bring such a delicate treasure into my mess. But look how silly and wrong I was."

Your eyes found his. To your major surprise, his eyes were full of love, his touches were full of tenderness, and you saw yourself leaning into his arms, laying your head against his chest, feeling as Ivar embraced you warmly.

"You're my gift from the gods. And you brought joy into my life. I couldn't be more grateful."

You lifted your face and gently placed your lips over his, kissing him slowly, receiving a tender answer you never thought you would ever get from him so freely.

Smiling was almost inevitable.

"My loving husband," you mumbled. "I'm the lucky woman the gods chose to be by your side. I'm the one who's grateful over everything."

Your eyes watched his lips curling in a beautiful scene you'd seen so few times since you'd known each other.

Ivar was smiling at you, almost like a shy boy, flattered by your words.

"You're so humble, my queen. And it just makes you shine more in my eyes. Come," he said, getting up and holding you by the hand. "Let us close the hall and retire for this day. I wanna spoil my queen tonight and maybe make our joy even bigger, who knows?"

He was clearly saying he wanted to be with you.

To produce more children, which were the joy of his life.

Your heart filled with happiness, and it was your time to smile at him.

"Then may the gods bless me tonight, husband, so I can bring you more joy than you ever thought you could have."

You would remember to thank the gods for your blessings. Ivar was everything you could ever want and, in the end, your dreams couldn't really show you how good would it be to be loved like you were.

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[jinmukangwrites]

@damianwayneweek Day 3 (6-15): “That wasn’t supposed to happen” | Reconciling with Tim | Autistic!Damian

Note: at this point, this is just "Damian cries and Dick hugs him" week. Someone send help. I love these two so much.

Warnings: angst and tears and Damian being a ball of separation anxiety.

---

The smell of sea salt mixed with the pollution of Gotham's coast is almost close to nauseating. If Damian hadn't already been feeling anxious and sick to his stomach, he would definitely be now.

And the thing is, he doesn't even know why.

It's been this way all night. It started before tonight, even. He's convinced himself it's probably something he had for lunch, but even a child would know that's a weak grasping of straws. No one ever gets sick from the food made in the Wayne Manor, not when Alfred is there to cook it.

But he tells himself it's because of that anyways. He feels sick to his stomach because the lettuce in his sandwich must have been old. Not for any other reason. And certainly not because his father has been off-world for the past month and Richard is once again holding the mantle of Batman while he's away.

"What do you say about heading home early?" Richard asks from where he stands besides Damian. The word home grates on Damians nerves for reasons that he... cannot bring himself to comprehend.

Damian nods his head, not saying anything. It's been a quiet night in Gotham anyways. His nerves feel fried from the constant anxiety pressing in his chest and he's sure the moment he gets to his bed he'll pass out.

Or at least stare blankly at the ceiling until he does.

The ride back to the manor is silent between Damian and Richard. Almost a month ago, it used to be loud with banter whenever he and Richard had a minute to themselves. They'd get back at the manor and Alfred would be there to pester them into taking care of themselves. Cassandra and Duke would enter and leave as they wished with the occasional appearances of Timothy and Jason. The only time they had to themselves was inside the batmobile, as there's not much private banter you can have while defending the streets either.

But it's silent now. Damian's chest and stomach hurts and no words seem to want to come to his throat, but he's not usually the one to start the conversations anyways. Something is keeping Richard silent as well. The thought that, for whatever reason, Richard doesn't want to talk to him makes his anxiety spike just the same as the thought of conversation.

It feels like the second they pull into the cave Damian's jumping out of the car and stalking towards the changing rooms. Alfred let's him stride past, lifting an eyebrow as he does, but he doesn't stop him. Alfred simply walks over towards Richard and offers him a cup of tea from the metal tray he's been holding.

Damian can hear the low rumble of words beginning to be exchanged between the two, but he's already too far away to make sense of them. He doesn't care to listen anyways. He just wants to get dressed and go to bed without anyone talking to him.

Without anyone asking him what's wrong. They must notice something is wrong, right? What would he say if they do ask? No. No one knows anything is wrong. Because nothing is wrong. Everything is okay.

He dresses into a clean pair of pajamas that feel fresh from the dryer and heads straight towards the exit of the batcave, not sparing Richard or Alfred a glance as he does so.

Everything is okay. He ate something bad for lunch.

That's all.

He manages to get all the way to his bedroom without running into anyone. Cassandra and Duke must be busy tonight, and he can't think of any reason why Timothy and Jason would be here at this hour of night. It's not surprising he didn't run into anyone. Why does he almost wish he had?

He shakes his head and closes the door behind him. Whatever is making him feel this way, it will go away if he rests. He's sure of it.

Wordlessly and single-mindedly, he removes the decorative pillows from his bed and pulls down the sheets. In a few practiced and fluid movements, he's under the covers and glaring at the ceiling, his stomach clenching.

There's glow in the dark stars above him, made of plastic and held to the ceiling with fun-tak. His eyes drift to a bigger glowing figure, it's circular and there's swirling patterns that mimic the global storm of Jupiter's surface. Another has two rings, like the planet in Treasure Planet.

Richard put them up the second month after Damian first came here. Damian had expressed... desires... to study and learn how kids who weren't raised in the League of Assassins lived. Glow in the dark stars was something Richard very much enjoyed getting off of Amazon that night, saying they were all the craze when he was younger. Every friend he visited had them in their bedrooms. His own childhood bedroom still has some old and dim ones hanging on the ceiling from when he convinced his father to get him some.

He didn't understand the appeal of them then. Nor does he now. Perhaps it's something to do with children in Gotham never seeing the actual stars because of the light pollution. All he knows is that in the desert he grew up in... these fake green plastic decorations do not compare to the galaxy he used to see as if the only thing separating him from the universe was a single pane of glass.

He turns away from the fake stars, closing his eyes, before they open again to glare now at his bookshelf, filled to the brim with books of all kinds and Cheese Viking figurines. There's a collectable coin there too, one Richard accidentally won way back when he decided to buy a mystery box from some website. It turned out to be pretty rare. He gave it to Damian and Damian got curious enough to look up the game.

It's his favorite game now. Because Richard found him a random gold coin.

Richard. His stomach clenches. Why won't it stop hurting? He has no reason to be this anxious.

No reason at all.

There's a soft knock on his door. Damian shifts so he's holding himself up on his elbows, watching as the door opens to reveal none other than Richard. His hair looks damp from a shower, which makes Damian wonder how long he's been glaring at random things in his room. He's dressed in an old Gotham Knight's tee-shirt with mustard stains around the right breast. Damian went to a game with him when he was wearing that shirt. He accidentally got shoved into Richard in the crowd, looking for their seats, when Richard was holding a hotdog. It got all over him, but the mustard is the only thing that persisted multiple rounds in the washer.

"Dami? You up?" Richard asks. Damian reaches over and turns on the dim lamp by his bedside.

Richard's eyes settle on him, and he smiles. It looks strained though.

That festering, lingering anxiety spikes.

"What is it?" He asks.

Richard walks into the room, then sits down on the side of Damian's bed. Damian bends his knees to allow room for him. He brings his pillow in front of his body and hugs it.

"Did I do something wrong?"

The question shocks Damian, as he didn't mean to ask it. It seems to startle Richard as well, because he goes stock still and looks at Damian with wide eyes.

It shocks them both, but it must be the reason if a bad lunch isn't.

Then, Richard breaks into soft laughter, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was about to ask the same thing, actually," he says, once the laughter dies down.

Damian frowns. Has Richard done anything wrong?

No. The answer is immediate. Richard hasn't done a single thing wrong. He's been nothing but his usual annoying and loud and pushy and kind and loving self since his father left and he came to keep the suit warm.

It almost feels like the beginning all over again. Waking up in the morning and smelling sweetened mocha instead of straight black coffee. Sketching in the afternoons by the fireplace in the family room and being interrupted by Richard barging in with a portable speaker, blasting the newest trending pop song. Going to bed with a goodnight hug. Bandaids snuck into Alfred's first aid supply that have cartoon and Disney characters designs. He's wearing a Frozen 2 bandaid now, on his knee.

If his father hadn't left with the rest of the Justice League, the band-aid would be a normal tan color and the day would be close to silent and alone.

It's feeling normal again, he realizes with horror. Because whatever mood Richard brings into the manor isn't normal. Normal is Bruce Wayne silently checking up on him throughout the day and calmly helping him with homework and giving tips on sketching techniques. Normal is leaning against the strong shoulder of his father as he tests those tips while his father reads a book, the only sounds to interrupt them being the ticking clock on the wall and the crackling of the fire.

Normal is... Normal isn't...

It's not this. He likes the time he spends with his father. He enjoys the wordless love and reassuring squeezes to his shoulder.

Normal isn't the loudness and silliness of Richard's affection.

And just like that, he finally knows what's wrong.

It feels the same as it used to be. Back when they thought his father was dead. Back when Richard seemed to be the only trusted adult in his life, and the daily interactions he had with him almost promised to be infinite.

And then they found out his father was still alive, just stuck in time. With the help of Timothy and others... They managed to bring him back.

And.

And.

And Richard left.

And Damian was left.

And.

And that wasn't supposed to happen. Was it?

He hasn't allowed himself to think about much. It was something neither of them had acknowledged or mentioned. Richard once said he considered adopting Damian if his father was dead. Damian didn't stop himself from taking comfort in that.

And it feels like history is repeating itself. His father is away. Richard is Batman.

However, now Damian knows that the second his father returns, Richard will be packing his bags and leaving. This isn't normal. He can't get used to this again. He loves his father. But Richard...

It hurt enough the first time, watching him go.

And it will happen all over again. He'll get comfortable with Richard and his daily hugs and laughter, and then he'll be gone.

Separation anxiety. He has separation anxiety.

"Oh buddy," Richard coos, wrapping his arms around Damian and bringing him to his lap to hold him better.

He's crying. Tears are running down his face and it's stupid, because he knows that when Richard leaves again, it won't be like he'll never see him again.

But he's crying, and it hurts. Hurts more than if he had eaten something bad. He clutches to the pillow between them and let's the tears fall.

"Tell me what's wrong," Richard soothes, probably the only person in the entire universe to not freak out when he cries. Probably the only person in the entire universe Damian would allow himself to cry like this to. "What can I do to help?"

"It's stupid," Damian says, through it's through a hiccupping sob, which makes it sound very not stupid to someone like Richard. He sniffs and rubs his eyes on the pillow, forcing his breathing to go normal and to stop crying. "It's nothing. Father will come back, and- and you'll go back to Blüdhaven, and everything will be normal again."

Richard stills, then sighs. "So it's about that," he says softly. Of course he immediately knows what Damian means. He tightens his hold on Damian. "You know when your dad comes back, nothing will change between us, right? Even if we're on the opposite side of the world."

"I don't want to be on the opposite side of the world," Damian snaps, shoving himself away from Richard and glaring. "I want- I don't-" he presses his face into his pillow and groans.

Dick is silent, then he shifts closer and wraps his arm around Damian's shoulder gently. "I know. I don't either. But... it's just the way things have to be. You know this. Just like you know that... that if you ever really want to, I can clean out my guest room."

Damian shakes his head, his feelings feeling so all over the place and raw. "I just- when father came back, I didn't expect you to just leave. I don't want to choose. I-"

"I know," Richard whispers. "I know. I love Bruce. He's my dad too. But, you know us. If I move back in, we'll be at each other's throats. I'm a grown man now, Dami. I have to be on my own. He's... Protective. He still sees me as seventeen years old. And he's your father. You should be with him."

Damian sniffs. He doesn't nod. He doesn't shake his head. Agree nor disagree.

Simply understands.

It's just the way things are.

He stays silent as Richard continues. "And you know that I'll always be there for you, if you need me. I'll drop everything for you. Just say the word. I'll be running, even if I'm on the other side of the world."

Now Damian nods. Let's the cotton of his pillowcase soak up his silent tears.

He doesn't feel much better, but he doesn't feel so awful anymore either. He supposes that's the best it will get in this situation.

So he just sits there until his head begins to dip with exhaustion and Richard pulls him in so he's laying against his shoulder. His eyelids droop, and they stay there, together, like they used to.

It's scary to allow himself to become attached to things, but he can never help himself with Richard.

The best that he can do is enjoy it while it lasts, and make the most of it.

Richard will be gone when father comes home, but for now he's here, and he's warm, and he's solid.

Damian falls asleep, and Richard doesn't leave that night.

[solinarimoon]

Little Sea - Part I

AN: This is my first time writing outside of The Last Kingdom fandom, but I originally joined tumblr to find Hvitserk content.  So I hope my writing for him does it justice.  This is for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie Congratulations on your milestone love!   This story is a Vikings/TLK crossover but Sihtric is basically placed into the Vikings universe.  I know in our heads these two belong in the same universe, so enjoy.  My prompt was a reimagining of The Little Mermaid fairytale. The story got too long so I am breaking it into two parts.  Sjór means sea in Old Norse, at least according to one website I found. I have more notes at the end of part two.

Warnings: Angst, unrequited love, suicidal imagery/implications, Vikings canon Ivar cruelty

My Masterlist

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She swam, racing the currents in the sea.  The water’s hazy depths constantly shifted and mottled in a swirling dance.  Hues of blue and green mixed with inky darkness but faded to the rays of the sun’s light filtering through from the surface.  

The cold temperatures below the fathoms began to warm as Alba swam towards the surface.  Swishing her fins, she felt the drag of the water as she climbed higher until slowing and ultimately stopping herself just before breaching the surface.

His face stared down at her above the water.  His lips spoke words that she could not hear.  His face was calm and serene. Happy.

The only sound was the rushing tumult of waves breaking, crashing upon rocks at the base of a cliff.  

Alba flicked her tail trying in vain to break through the surface.  She wanted nothing more than to rise above the water and envelop Hvitserk in her arms.

The fear and the panic began to rise instead.  And without warning, Alba felt her terror intensify as her tail had been replaced with two legs.  Hvitserk’s face grew farther and farther away while she sank back below the dark depths.

~~~~~~~~

Alba woke with a start, sitting up in her bed and breathing heavily.  Her hands clung to the furs draped across her, pulling them aside to reveal two legs and feet.  The sight still seemed surreal to her. 

This was not the first night she had awoken from this dream.  It was occurring more and more often as she felt the pull to return to the sea.  Return home.  And as she watched Hvitserk continue to move further and further away from her.

Slowly, the young woman stood from her bed steadying herself as her legs wavered like someone returning to shore after living on a ship for weeks.  She draped a cowl of furs around herself and pushed aside the door leading from her small hut on to the beach.

Only a few paces brought Alba up to the water’s edge.  The waves lapped over her toes and Alba breathed easier.  Salty spray drifted across the cove where the waves were always harsh and ragged against the cliffs to the north.

Alba trained her eyes on the grey horizon, watching as the mist began to fade and the shadows melted away.  She breathed in the taste of the ocean’s air and for a moment felt content.

But that moment was broken when she noticed a set of forlorn footsteps approaching her.

“I knew you would be up and on the beach already.”

His voice was low and groggy as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders with a gentle squeeze.  Alba wondered if he had seen his own bed that night.  

“I wish I could help you find whatever you are looking for on the water, little Sjór.”

Alba turned her face ever so slightly to question him with a silent gaze.  And to see his braids looking disheveled. And a small bruise just under his jaw. 

“When we met, it was not unlike this,” Hvitserk paused when Alba turned her face towards him fully, furrowing her brow in confusion.  “I mean it was very different because I still have no idea how a half drowned young woman came to be lying between the rocks on the north edge of the cove, covered by nothing but a ragged boat sail,” his lips had pursed slightly trying to ward of the smirk Alba knew he was fighting.  Shuffling his feet in the sand and clearing his throat, he continued, “so it was different but you also still had that look I see so often. The one you had moments ago. Like you’ve lost something. And you’re waiting for it to return to you.”

Alba turned her eyes back to gaze across the water before dropping her face to the sand with a huff.  “Looking for your voice, perhaps?”

Alba looked up with her mouth dropped open in shock to see the young man grinning fully while she pushed him lightly away. Hvitserk let out a true laugh before wrapping his arm once more around Alba’s shoulder. Comfortable and brotherly. 

Scuffing a bare foot in the sand, Alba moved away from his side and began ambling down the beach knowing Hvitserk would follow. 

It was no use trying to hold that one sided conversation again. Part of the enchantment prevented her from revealing the truth about where she came from, about what she was…is…would be once more.  So even if they played a crude pantomime game, she still could not reveal if his guess were to be correct. 

Her time on land was almost spent. Her time with him would come to an end. Alba knew in her heart that Hvitserk was not in love with her.  And the binding nature of the enchantment would not bend. No matter how much love she felt for him. Or how much she had become endeared to him. That was not the problem. He did love her. But it was not true love. Not for him.  So she would return to the sea, but not today.

Alba sighed, straightened her shoulders and raised her head, breaking herself from her thoughts. 

She turned to look at Hvitserk walking alongside her, scuffing his boots beside her bare feet. Gently, Alba reached out her hand and tapped his neck where she’d noticed the small bruise. 

Hvitserk met her eyes with a mischievous smile. 

“Oh that, there? That is nothing, little Sjór.  Only a slight bite I received from one of the forest trolls while I was searching for mushrooms.” 

The pair laughed at his jest, her silently and him with gentle chuckles before he continued, sincerity beginning to lace its way into his words. 

“I was with Thora last night.”

Alba arched an eyebrow at him. 

“Yes, again.” Hvitserk chuckled lightheartedly. He missed Alba’s eyebrows relax and the smile on her face fall as she listened to him talk about the new woman.  

~~~~~~~~~~

Alba woke to the sound of rain pelting the thatch roof of her small cottage. Sleepily, she opened her eyes just as a streak of lightning illuminated the sky. She had seen the flash through the leaking cracks of her shutters. 

Several moments later the booming echo of Thor’s hammer against the clouds brought a slight curve to her mouth.  A rain storm was dangerous on the water. Perilous. But under the water, Alba and her sisters had been fond of watching the crash and roll of the tumultuous waves. The lightning scattering crystalline lights across the surface of the water. A beautiful orchestra of light and movement. 

A rain storm did not startle her. A rain storm felt like home.  Alba nestled further down into her furs, feeling their weight and warmth bringing her back to sleep. 

Except this thunderous booming continued on far longer than any true thunderclap. And it was now accompanied by a muffled voice. 

Hvitserk. 

No one else ever came to her door. Barely another soul knew she even existed or much less where she dwelled.

Alba opened the door to a torrent of rain blocked only by Hvitserk’s tall frame. 

For a moment, they stood staring at one another, the rain continuing to sleet down on them.

In the dark, Alba could barely make out the features of his face.  She searched his face, her eyes questioning.  But only for a moment before Alba grabbed his arm, ushering him inside and closing the door.  

In two strides, Alba moved across the room to gather up the furs from her bed and drape them across Hvitserk’s shoulders then settling him down on the short bench next to her cookfire.  Alba stoked up the flames from the low burning embers before turning on her knees to look at him. 

Beads of rainwater still tracked down the strands of his hair that had come free from his braids and he had made no move to wipe the dampness from his face.

He met her eyes as he spoke, “It’s Ivar,” he stated simply.

Alba shuffled closer to him and placed her hand on his arm, atop the furs.

“He is sending me as his messenger to King Olaf. In Norway,” Hvitserk paused to turn his head.  He clasped his hands together while bringing them up to rest against his mouth.  He was staring off towards the other side of the room.  His next words were muffled against his fist.

“I don’t know what my brother thinks he is going to do,” he chuckled then continued, “my brother the god king.”

Alba starred while Hvitserk worked through whatever thoughts were raging in his mind.  Increasingly in the past weeks, Hvitserk’s worry over his brother’s rule in Kattegat had grown.  Though he did not often openly criticize Ivar, it was clear to Alba that he carried many burdens for his younger brother. Burdens that left him questioning his path and his fate. And questioning the path his brother was forging.  

The young woman scooted herself closer to him and placed her palm against his cheek, lightly pulling his face back to meet hers. 

She saw the torment and frustration in his brow. It was mirrored on her own face.  She opened her mouth but could only huff and furrow her brow more. Sighing, Alba looked around the room, searching for everything and nothing before finally settling her eyes back onto him. 

“Even if you had words, little Sjór, there are none you could speak that would save me.”

At this, Alba felt her face shift from frustration to concern, her eyes frantically searching his face for more answers. 

“I must do as Ivar bids. And I leave you behind to deal with Ivar’s tyranny. His madness.” Hvitserk dropped his head into his hands, continuing to talk. His words came more easily now as his emotions boiled over. “And my love, Thora. I leave her behind but she does not have the anonymity you do to protect her. I fear for her. I fear what Ivar may do to her while I am away.”

Hvitserk hung his head and sighed heavily.  Alba felt her chest stutter as she realized she was holding back tears.  He truly did love Thora.  And Alba could not help herself from liking the young woman as well.  

Hvitserk had brought Thora to the beach to meet her one day.  And though it made her heart ache, Alba could not deny that she saw the love that was blooming there.  From the casual way that she saw their bodys lean into one another to the way Hvitserk watched Thora when she did not know he was watching.  While Alba was watching him.  That night, she had cried silent tears alone on the beach, while the ocean’s mist cried with her.  And the ache in her chest now was the same.

Trying her best to quell the sobs threatening to escape her lungs, Alba shifted herself once more to sit beside him on the bench.  Gently, she cradled him in her arms and stroked back the strands of his hair, now drying by the heat from the fire.  Hvitserk hugged her knees and closed his eyes for a moment, taking comfort from the care and love in Alba’s touch.  

“I will miss you while I am away.  I know you enjoy your solitude. But if you can, keep an eye out for my Thora. Ivar has made comments. Said things that make me fear she may be a target for his frustration.  She sees how dangerous Ivar has become. It threatens him.”

The more Hvitserk continued on, the more Alba’s heart continued to tear. Her prince's concern and worry was for another.  He was in love with another.  She let out a silent sob, but laying in her lap, Hvitserk felt the jolt of her body. The pain she could no longer hold back. 

Sitting up, he questioned, “What is it, Sjór?”

Alba closed her eyes and felt the tears cascade down her face as she shook her head.  

Hvitserk took her face in his hands, turning his body so that he straddled the bench. The furs around his shoulders dropped to the ground, forgotten.  

“Hey, hey look at me?”

Alba opened her eyes to see concern etched across his features.  Silently cursing her tears, she pushed his hands away and stood, wrapping her arms around herself and stepping away towards the door.  He was tormented enough and did not need to add her pain to his. A pain that she could not explain to him. 

“Sjór, I….” He started, standing to face her and grabbing her arms, firm but gentle.  His words fell silent as he watched the tears continue to track down her cheeks. 

Huffing in frustration, Alba wiped the tears away. The two stood silent except for Alba’s shaky breaths for several moments. 

Finally, Alba brought her fist up to thump against her chest. Over her heart. Gathering her courage, she took her fist, relaxing her fingers and placed her hand over Hvitserk’s own heart. And then brought her head to rest against her hand, feeling his breath and the questions in his stance. 

Taking a step back and removing her hand to wipe another stray tear, Alba met his eye. With more force she took her fist to thump against his chest. In the same spot, over his heart. 

Looking down to her hand, Alba tapped her fist against him once more then brought her hand up and pointed a single finger towards her window.  Towards Thora, towards his love. 

She watched as Hivitserk’s brow, a deep line of confusion, slowly relaxed.  A look of realization spread across his face. 

To then be replaced by something more unbearable. 

Pity. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Bare feet found their way along the soft mosses and lichen carpeting the ground up the paths surrounding the northern side of the cove.  Alba stepped slow and deliberate, feeling the air growing cooler.  The spray of the mist off the sea left salty pin pricks of water glistening across her bare arms.  

Low in the distance, the rumble of thunder rolled.  As she crested the height of the cliffs, Alba found the crash of the waves joining in the thrum of the oncoming storm.  The energy in the air was mounting.  Mirroring Alba’s rising anguish. 

Thora was dead.  A cruel and horrifying death.

Ivar was rampaging.  His madness was building and unstable.  

And Hvitserk.  Her sweet Hvitserk was gone.  If Ivar was to be believed...If what he said was true, he was lost.  Dead at the orders of King Olaf.

Alba fell to her knees at the cliff's edge.  Her hands gripped tight onto the sharp rock’s edge.  The rough surface painful and grating at the pads of her fingers.  She clung to the edge.  Her eyes staring down at the waves below.  The maelstrom of the waves calling to her.  To end her suffering.  End the anguish and pain.  

Alba stood, the wind whipping her dress as the rain began, drops gently splattering across the terrain.  The young woman looked up towards the clouds and closed her eyes, feeling tears spill over across her cheeks.  

Silently, Alba let the anguish wash over her.  Knowing he was lost.  And the sea was calling her to return.

Alba’s time on legs would soon be done.  She had not found her love returned.  And she could not stay.  The pull of the sea was calling to her stronger and stronger.  Her sisters called to her to return to them. 

Slowly, she dropped her face back down to the tumult below and took a step forward.

“Don’t!”

The voice stopped her movements.  The roll of thunder boomed again. Several tense moments passed before Alba heard the voice again.

“Please don’t.”

The voice was deep and soothing.  But Alba could sense something else behind the words.  Panic.  Desperation.

Weakly, she turned to face the nameless voice, her head turning back to look across her shoulder.  The rain was cascading in steady rivulets now.  Mingling with the tears staining Alba’s face.  Her dress had quickly become sodden and clung to her skin.

When her eyes came to the tree line, she saw him.

He was tall.  Dark.  His hair plastered to the sides of his face from the rain.  Hands raised to indicate he was no threat to her.

Slowly, tentatively the man stepped forward to stand beside her before he spoke again.

Alba’s eyes tracked his movements.  

When he was close enough to touch her, he spoke once more.

“Please.  Do not succumb to it.”

When Alba did nothing but stare, the man continued, “To your grief.  Please.”

It was the please that caught her.  The gentleness and the kindness in his eyes as he pleaded with her.

His arms caught her as she collapsed atop the cliff, allowing the despair to wash over her.

The man held her while she cried, silent sobs that shook her to her core.  Her fingers twisting and clinging to the folds of his shirt.  His arms steady and firm around her shoulders as he cradled her. He held her until she stilled while the rains continued their lament.  And when she was half asleep, ruined with exhaustion he carried her back down the path.  

He settled her down underneath his own roof, beside a comfortable fire to dry her clothes and hair.

The man handed her a small bowl full of warm broth.  

“Go ahead,” he coaxed, “you must get dry and eat.  You do not want to catch cold. And then you should sleep.”

When Alba stared at him questioningly, he added, “You have nothing to fear from me. I am called Sihtric.”

~~~~~~~~~~~ To be continued in part II

Tagging my usuals.  Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my taglist.

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[nitannichionne]

If He Was Your Fan, Chapter 59: Prerogatives (A Henry Cavill Fanfic)

Chapter 59: Prerogatives (Henry POV)

CHAPTER 59: Prerogatives

NOTE: Thanks for your support and input, especially last chapter!

(Henry POV)

I lay in bed, looking at her. I made it priority to wear her out last night:

“Aaahhhhh!” she screamed as I drove her hips up and down an my cock. She gripped my shoulders, her head falling back riding out the previous orgasm. “I can’t—”

“You can,” I growled, turning her under me. My tongue snaked to her mouth, moistening her dried lips and the insides of her mouth. I went down on her again and she let out a whimper. We both moaned as we felt her passion flow again. “Ah, that’s it.” Her hips raised off the bed and I crawled between her legs, nibbling her torso on the way back up, and aligned my hips with hers again. I rubbed my meatus against her slit, kissing her neck.

She gave a kitten cry as my tongue surged inside her mouth, my cock thrusting into her at the same time. The sound struck the base of my neck and lit a path down my spine, making me ache to pound her again. How I loved hearing that sound, feeling her body become pliant in my arms but feeling her fingertips rake my back deliciously as her sex pulsed and pulled me, her eyes half open as if under a spell…my spell. Doesn’t she know what that does to me?

I sigh, blinking back to present. I am trying get it. She wants to establish her own identity in this new life here in the U.K. She didn’t see it coming, and she wants to try to start anew, get her bearings, as it were. I understand.

But I DON’T understand why she has to do it this way. I am being selfish, and I know it, but I barely care, I think as I lick my lips watching her. Yet I do care about her and how she feels, and I am going along with this. Did I sweep her off her feet? I must have not done a good job. She seemed stable the whole time we were together in all three film sites.

I hate games. Is that what this is? It’s hard for me to believe that. Our relationship started so differently from most. Our whole history is different from most. And I have never ever had a woman be so understanding of my quirks, like my gaming and such. She seemed fine when I went to work, didn’t even show a bit of insecurity until…until I put it there…damn, am I still paying for that?

And I gave her my ring! How can she question everything when she is wearing my crest on her finger? She had to know I was working up to popping the question. I looked down at the one she gave me. She thought it wasn’t good enough. How can she think that?

“Henry?”

I look at her. I’d been quiet too long.

She looks dejected. “Can we just…go outside awhile?”

I swallow hard. “Yeah, in a bit.”

“Oh, okay,” she nods, but she looks like she’s going to cry. “I’ll take Luna out. You bring Kal, alright?”

“Yeah.”

She gets Luna’s harness, and she, thinking she is part dog, trots over to be leashed. I can’t help but smile at that. “Okay, then.”

The second she’s alone, I get on my phone. I see all these numbers I’d conveniently blocked out—actresses and such, women I could call up. I slowed at Emma’s.

I call up my brother. I can’t believe I’m calling him. As the line rings, I realize how serious I am about her and how much I want to truly understand and not lose her.

“Hold on,” he says. “Let me get this right. She wants to not move in with you yet?”

“No.”

“Oh, she might be a proper lady, Henry.”

I roll my eyes at that. “She is.”

“No, you know what I mean,” he chastises. “She wants to establish her own status.”

“She wears my ring.”

“A ring, or the ring?”

“The ring.”

“Well, Good Lord, Henry, the horse is out of the barn!” he is quiet for a moment. “Did you ask her? Does she know what that ring means?”

“No.”

“Henry!”

“Good Lord, you sound like Mum.”

“No, she’d probably hit you in the back of the head with a paper,” he mutters.

“You’re not helping.”

“She loves you, and she wants to make a name for herself before you change it. She wants to be sure it isn’t proximity but really a desire to be together. She wants other people to at least have reason to feel that way too. Good enough?”

I sigh. “Good enough.”

“I kind of like her already.”

“She’s American.”

He lets out a low whistle. “Told Mum?”

“Met Mum online.”

“Well, well, well,” he teases. “When are the rest of us going to meet her?”

“Soon.”

“Good man,” he encourages. “Remember, it’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind—”

“--And a man’s prerogative to change it back,” I finish with my brother. We have a laugh. Mum always hated that quote.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.” I hang up and look at Kal. “Well, I guess that’s that, Kal. Let’s go.”

We join her and Luna outside. She looks worried. I can’t help but soften. She wants my understanding.

“So, tell me about this place at Stella’s,” I exhale.

“It’s in Brixton, not far from you,” she says hopefully, her eyes widening. “It’s a studio.”

“Small?”

“I don’t know, but it’s furnished and I can still afford it even with the pet fees.”

I look at the stars in the sky, the Northern Lights beginning to fade. For the first time I hold to the fact that they are still there. I take a deep breath. “I can help you settle in.”

“You will?” Painful relief crosses her features as she leans into me.

I drag her to my side. “If this is what you need, pet, but I want you to know that ring means something to certain parts of society.”

She is quiet for a moment, and swallows hard, looking at the ring on her finger. “Should I give this back—”

“No,” I say flatly. “And you can take my ring off my cold dead hand!” I earn a laugh from her. I gather her close. “I don’t fully agree, my love, but if this is what you need—” I was cut off by her pulling me down for a kiss. It was tender and vulnerable, tasting of tears.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

We look at the skies. “They are fading.”

“They’re still there,” she whispers with a shrug. “They’ll be back. We’ll be back.”

“We should camp next time.”

“No plumbing?” Her eyes widen. “No thank you.”

i couldn't help but laugh at that, and honestly I couldn't agree more. We finished our playtime with Luna and Kal and head inside. We ate all of our leftovers and curled in bed that night, warming each other. Snow and rain had fallen in the time we were here, only to melt and warm again. “Brixton.”

“Yes, Brixton,” she whispers. “It’s not Group A, but I can afford it and Stella says it’s nice. I know it’s not the most desirable area.”

It dawns on me that she is afraid of London, really afraid of it-the society.

may be in middle middle and you are upper, and I know that I think your line was Baronet but now Gentry, and that I am…well, essentially, no one to that, but…”

“I assure you, it’s not as strict as you think.” I look into her eyes and see real fear.

“Well, your father is in finance, so he still has the status, your brothers are in professions that adheres to the same—”

“And I’m an actor, love.”

“Line and wealth, Henry.”

I chilled at her words. She was truly afraid of not being considered good enough. And what’s more, she really thought I cared. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she whispers, framing my face in her hands. “but what of James Bond? What of the Knighthood?”

I laugh, albeit nervously. “Knighthood?” I pull her on top of me. “Stop it.”

“What?”

“Do you really care about all that?”

“I guess the real question is, do you?”

The question hung in the air. “If it comes, it comes, darling.”

“And if the door is closed without consideration?”

“If I do great works that improve or enrich over time, I can be considered.” I tell her.

“Like Durrell?”

“Among other things.”

“I want to be an asset to you—”

“You already are,” I pull her down and squeeze her for a hug. “Good God, woman.” I pull her back, looking at her. “You are beautiful and brilliant with a heart bigger than the skies we’re under. That’s why I love you.” I slap her arse. “This bum doesn’t hurt, either.”

“You’re so bad!” she playfully slaps my chest, making me laugh.

I take a deep breath. “I will back you, whatever you do, pet. I see you need this now.” But in my eyes it was far from necessary.

“Thank you,” she whispers in my ear, hugging me. “thank you for understanding this.”

I hug her close. I hug her as if she is all I have. I hate that she feels this way, though there may be some truth to it, but it will be so subtle that she shouldn’t notice. Smart as she is, I should have known she would. But I have never felt like this before. I get the feeling she hasn’t either. It means something-we mean something…

@mistress-of-ward @nuggsmum @messyinsomnimaniac @jencanbeyouryengeralt @sweetdreamsofgelato @mary-ann84 @omgkatinka @the-soot-sprite @viking-raider @keanureevesisbae @henryobsessed @summersong69 @sunshine96love @michelehansel @thelastsock @tumblnewby @tenaciousneckpartypainter @rn7rocks @daydreamin83 @ruthoakenshield @musicartmayheminmyheart @kaatelyynn-blog-blog@forallthebrokenheartedthings @alphacancrii @liquorlaughslove @designerwriterchic @tamychm @nikkilynn303 @circesgirl1 @xoxohannahlee @pixie88@fckdeusername @maan24 @kaatelyyynn​ @october505​ @absentmindr​ @introvertedmouse​ @sassy-pelican @griscka75

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Κόρη (νοσταλγία deleted chapter)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Κόρη (kórē): young woman, maiden. Also means young bride, or wife. It is also Persephone’s name before her abduction. (Ancient Greek)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: This takes place between Chapter 43 and right before Chapter 44, at the beginning of the spring. Centers mainly around the life left behind, the road not taken so to speak.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: The usual, mentions of sacrifices (human and animal)

A/N: I really like this chapter, and I wasn’t sure if it I should leave it as a main chapter of the story or not, but decided against it since it doesn’t really move the plot forward much. But yeah, also a lil announcement/thingy at the end notes of this chapter. Hope you enjoy!

I took one of Ivar’s lines from the show for his dialogue in this chapter. It’s from 5x19, and it was so unbearably ominous that I had to include it 😉 

Also, Maqluba is a middle eastern dish. I haven’t tried it myself, but it looks so good. I wanted it to be Quzi, an Iranian dish, which I have had and it’s so fucking good, but the word for Quzi is from Ottoman Turkish, where Maqluba is Arabic and the dish is even recorded in early medieval books.

Before you know it, before you are ready if you are honest, winter passes you by, retreats at the unescapable return of spring.

You won’t pretend you will miss the unbearably cold mornings and nights, the biting winds, or the unrelenting advance of Demeter’s grief that makes most of your plants -even the ones you’ve kept indoors- wither and die.

But there is a part of you, a part of you that will never truly go away, that is Greek before anything else; and the very blood running through your veins reminds you that with spring comes change.

This morning, you sit by one of the windows as the sun starts to rise, focused on the gentle work of your hands on the small sapling that stubbornly starts to revive and persist past the passing winter frost. You find yourself torn between hoping all the change spring will bring is the life it will return to the plants you keep around you, is the lessened pain for the man you love now that the cold isn’t so biting; and craving more, craving the change you know spring is capable of while knowing you have something -someone- to hold on to, craving to be a witness to the extent of Kore’s influence on a land as cold as this.

Then again, much has changed already and it didn’t need spring to do so.

At the sound of rattling chains your attention drifts away from the small plant in your hands, and you turn to watch your husband as he gets out of bed, eyes lazily following the by-now familiar movements.

Tonight a feast to honor the return of spring is to be held, which means the day will be thankfully more calmer as the celebrations are readied, and few people dare bother either of you.

With a familiar kind of hunger pooling low in your belly as you watch the traces of ink on his chest and shoulders move with the movement of his body, you consider luring Ivar into staying here with you a while longer to make the most of out of a slow morning; but you know he intends to go overlook the strengthening of the walls surrounding the town, and is too stubborn to let you convince him not to.

A part of you lingers more than usual on his insistence to make Kattegat safer as the army readies to follow him once again into England to continue their wars and battles; but you have a feeling you know the reason why, and you won’t fight him on this.

You will have to meet with the merchants from Kufa later today, since they are to depart back to their homeland soon and Qasim, the leader of the group, promised you -much to Ivar’s irrational anger- a gift to show his gratitude for welcoming him and his associates into your kingdom and allowing them to trade here for the winter.

Hvitserk has tried to make you promise that if it is maqluba like they offered you near the Yule celebrations you will share it with him, but you have agreed to no such thing so you will try your best to hide it from him; which means you have to get there early.

Slowly, you mournfully let go of the idea of a slow day.

“If I asked a favor from you…” You start slowly, making Ivar turn around to look at you with a small furrow between his brows.

“I would ask for something in return.” He retorts anyways, not a moment of hesitation. He lifts himself onto the small seat by the foot of your bed, attention on putting on the braces of his legs.

“Of course you would. Could you make sure Hvitserk doesn’t know I’m meeting with the merchants from Kufa today?”

His eyes narrow as he recalls, “Ah. Your gift.”

“Our gift, my love.” You try with a smile, but Ivar doesn’t buy it.

Granted, the man pointedly claimed the gift was meant for the Greek queen, and that didn’t sit right with your husband. None of what the Abbasid man does sits well with Ivar nowadays, hasn’t since he gifted you inscribed silk a couple of months into winter, but even before that most likely, and it just became apparent once Qasim made such a gesture.

“You have people to talk to today, don’t you?” Ivar asks, and when you turn to look at him, he is petulantly avoiding your gaze, pretending to be focused on adjusting the braces of his legs as you shrug on the warm dress.

“I do,” You reply slowly, because you know where this is going. Still, you continue, “We ought to secure a deal with Qasim so he and the others return before next wint-…”

Ivar lifts a finger to you, “Ah, but you have to be the one to strike the deal, do you not?”

“He will ask less from me, you know that.”

“Yes, I know that,” He bites out, looking away with gritted teeth. An angry breath through his nose, and he offers, “I don’t like him.”

“That is incredibly unexpected,” You deadpan, offering a wide smile when he glares at you. Walking closer, you explain, “I speak their tongue, and I am familiar, so he has a soft spot for me and he has coin to spare. That is all there is.”

“Hm,” Is all the response he offers, more of a grunt than an answer really. With a small sound of exertion Ivar stands up, motioning you closer and expertly tightening the laces of your dress. Because he lingers with his hands on you after, you linger as well, your back to his chest and your head seamlessly lolling to the side when Ivar leans to trail kisses up the side of your neck. When he reaches your ear, he promises, quietly even if fiercely, “I am not jealous of that man.”

A foolish smile curves at your lips, and your hand settles over his on your stomach, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Of course you are not,” You sentence, the taunt clear in your voice, “It would be foolish, irrational even, for you to thi-…ah!”

Ivar’s teeth closing down on your earlobe stop your words with a gasp and a laugh.

“Don’t mock me.” He warns, but you hear the smile on his voice.

“I am not,” You promise, turning around in his arms and meeting his disbelieving glare. Your hand settling on his chest, you concede, “Perhaps a little bit, but it is foolish to think any man compares to you in my eyes. You know this, yes?”

The quirk of his lips is a little arrogant, a little proud, and you are filled with warmth at the sight.

Still, Ivar accepts your request with a gesture of his hand, and walks closer, leaning down to kiss you goodbye. Brow against yours he lingers in the same moment you do, in the shared breath, in the quiet and the warmth of that short instant.

Moving to press another kiss to the crown of your head, Ivar whispers against your skin, “Make sure he returns with a wife next winter, so he leaves mine alone, hm?”

____

“My people,” Ivar starts, drawing attention to himself and, indirectly, to you. You have gotten used to it, though, and with your eyes only for him where he sits on the throne by your side, you can ignore all the other eyes on you. “Spring is coming. The earth renews itself, that which was dead becomes alive again. Everything changes.”

Spring in Kattegat. It still feels like such a surreal thing, to be allowed to spend the rest of your days here.

Ivar speaks to them of the battles to come, of their imminent return to England where they will face against the Saxon that tried taking Dublin from them, of Stithulf’s inevitable defeat.

There’s a strange shine in his eyes, a mix of pride and joy that carries an undercurrent of uncertainty that you know the reason for by now, when the people cheer at his words, raising horns of mead and toasting in his name.

These people have known me since my birth, he told you once, decades-old resentment making his voice grave, even if I’m king now, they all see less than a man in me.

You were never one to keep quiet, but the words you might be able to offer when it’s just the two of you are not the ones you can offer here and now.

You remember the night before Ivar was to leave Kattegat for the first time, in what feels like another lifetime, when you confessed with bitter words how the Greeks loved you but rarely respected you, and spoke of hidden resentment you held towards your own people by admitting you had to fight twice as hard than Narses to achieve recognition for the same deed.

You stop yourself, stealing a glance at the Viking that still keeps unwavering interest in the words that leave your lips. You shake your head, and reach for the cup the thrall refilled a few moments ago.

“It does not matter. Most of the free Attics are dead somewhere near Aneridge, the rest will perish when winter comes. It doesn’t matter.”

The King touches his own cup with yours, and you eye him carefully, wary of what the outburst might mean for you, but Ivar only smirks.

“If you say so.”

And so now you do the same, your cup touching his lightly, and when Ivar turns his eyes to you, you offer a quiet murmur of their word for a toast, a word that so rarely leaves your lips.

The night progresses and you find yourself, even after all this time, endlessly fascinated by the customs of these people, and their approach to the change of seasons. To us spring means war, Freydis told you once, and as Ivar and his brothers boast and rejoice at the prospect of tasting battle and warfare again, you find her words to be truer than you ever thought they truly were.

____

You quietly slip away from the still ongoing feast, and wandering steps take you outside, through a pathway outside of what used to be your rooms when you were first brought to Kattegat.

The steps you take are familiar ones, and you come to a stand by the small platform on the back of the longhouse, leaning your weight against the railing and taking a deep breath of the chilled air of the night.

The Hiereia motions for you to kneel, and you do so with your hands folded over your lap, but you refuse to bow your head. She notices, of course she does, but says nothing. You could swear she smiles.

They drag the man forward, and dazed and compliant he moves until his body stands above you. You look into his eyes as they draw the blade, and you don’t look away as his throat is slit, only closing your eyes when the blood falls over you.

It is warm as it pours erratically over you, coating your hair and face, and a lot of the white dress they made you wear, with the mark of death.

Your own blood rushes in your ears, and you finally open your eyes when the pour of the sacrifice’s blood slows and stops. The weight of the wreath of pomegranate branches and wildflowers on your head feels like a crown made of iron for a fleeting moment.

Another girl approaches, lowering to the ground on her knees just as you, and opens her palm to offer seven seeds of a pomegranate. You take them between shaking fingers, but don’t hesitate to bring them to your lips.

The sacrifice’s blood still stains your lips, and as you taste the fruit so many said is a symbol of temptation, you cannot help but think maybe they tasted it wrong when they forgot the coppery taste of blood to accompany it.

“Rise, Hiereia.”

You do, suddenly feeling like you stand much taller than you did before. Suddenly feeling stronger, suddenly feeling safer. Powerful.

The elder meets your eyes and smiles, smiles wide enough the corner of her eyes crinkle, and breathes a laugh, walking forward to embrace you.

She makes no note of the blood that stains your body and your face, but you do. You lick your lips, finding yourself almost resenting the lingering sweetness of the pomegranate.

You don’t realize your eyes have fallen closed until the familiar sound of Ivar’s crutch and his uneven steps reach your ears, making you blink past the memories, and look back up at the stars.

It is almost instinctual, the way you move your hand to seek the inevitable touch of his when he too leans on the railing before you, shoulder to shoulder.

His fingers are warm, and rough to the touch, and exquisitely familiar.

“The stars are familiar,” You tell him, without taking your eyes from the dark skies above. “When the stars are like this, when the world is like this…it is time of the Thesmophoria, back in Greece.”

“You told me about it,” He recalls, thumb absently running back and forth over your cold fingers, trying to bring warmth back to you. You don’t fail to notice he hasn’t asked you to return inside. Perhaps he knows you as well as you know him. “Mostly you told me about how you couldn’t tell me about it.”

“Men aren’t allowed to know of the Mysteries,” You explain, and your smile only grows at the indignant huff he lets out. “Besides, Viking, you do not follow my Gods.”

“Hm, but I should know about them, since I married a Greek witch.” He teases back, smiling at the indignant roll of your eyes.

By all the Gods, how you wish you could tell him. How you wish you could somehow make real, if only by voice alone, what those festivals were like, what the procession through the Sacred Way felt like and what each stop entailed, what bittersweet kind of joy sparked in the hearts of all those who participated when the procession celebrated Iambe, or what the bread made from the first fruits tasted like after the fast.

You wish you could at least tell him of the night of the Pannychis, and how it was one of the only times in Greece when you truly felt unburdened, when you truly felt at home, surrounded by music and joy and allowed to forget the repression and violence of the Empire that ruled over you all.

To Ivar you have told things you have never dared tell a soul, to Ivar you have admitted things that fill you with shame and regret; and it was one of the truer things you have said when you promised you were yourself with him more so than you could ever be with any other. And that is why at the tip of a stubborn and wine-loosened tongue there’s the whisper of what the epopteia showed you, there’s the retelling of that vision that was not the first nor the last but that will forever be the most important one.

But you know you can’t. You made your vows that night, and the aporrheta will remain unsaid, unrepeated. You will keep them guarded, sacred, as you swore to do.

You were one of the last Hiereiai initiated before Eleusis went up in flames taking you and many others with it, and now that many of the elders perished in England and the rest most likely followed in these past months; as you stand here and now in colder, harsher lands, so far from what in another life would have been your home, you cannot help but feel a grief, a loss, that you hadn’t expected. Because with her back turned to Greece may stand the last Hiereia of the Dread Gods.

“I fear…I fear I might be the last,” You admit quietly, barely heard above the biting wind. “I fear the secrets, the…everything that once made my home, my Gods, will be lost when I am gone.”

You know, realistically, that you aren’t the last Hiereia in all of Greece. There will be Hiereiai until the last of Greece, even if circumstances make it so that they never celebrate not one more festival.

But what you linger on, what you cannot ignore, is the part of you that tells you that you should have been Hiereia until the last of you.

Then again, you were. You were their Hiereia until the flames consumed you like they did your mother, you were their Hiereia until they made an Anassa out of you, you were their Hiereia until your death. And it isn’t cruel to demand to be yourself in the life after, is it?

“Then tell me about them,” Ivar replies, as if it is that simple. “You won’t be the last one to remember then, hm?”

“You are Viking, Ivar.” You repeat, a tad livelier, and a smile once again curving at foolish lips as you turn to look at him.

“Our children will be Viking,” He argues without missing a beat, but making your heart skip one. You feel your expression tremble, even though it isn’t by any means the first time Ivar and you have spoken of the future and what that means now that you have chosen to stay. In these passing months you have caught yourself imagining what a family of your own would be like as often as you find Ivar’s thoughts lingering on the same thing, thoughts that you hear about in the quiet of night with his voice rumbling on his chest where you lay, thoughts that are shared with you in the tentative approaches to happiness of a man that for too long believed it impossible. But it feels different now, it feels…more real. Ivar continues, but you don’t miss the way his pale eyes search yours a tad more intently now, as if he too is threading on unknown ground, betting on unmentioned hopes. “But you will tell them of your ways, will you not?”

There is not a breath of hesitation within you, and with too many familiar voices promising if we name things, we make them real, with the cadence of all your ghosts, you find certainty, you find hope.

“I will,” You tell him, but the emotion is embarrassingly clear in the break of your voice. After a breath, you lick your lips and try pretending you aren’t made anew by a conversation so simple as this one. Tone lighter, you quip, “But I will not tell you. You cannot hear about the aporrheta.”

Ivar’s shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath, as if he were holding it, and he asks, “What can I hear about then, hm?”

You search his eyes, get lost in them, are found in them maybe; and…you know him well enough by now to know what he means when he asks such things.

A sigh, and pressing a little closer to his warmth, you look back at the familiar stars.

You talk of home, you talk of the way the temple looked when your mother was alive to keep it safe and cared for, you talk of the bustling markets on the days before the festivals, you talk of the first rites you participated in after your initiation.

You talk until your voice starts to falter, until you lick dry lips and realize you taste nothing but the rose wine you’ve been sipping the whole night, the taste of nostalgia long gone, gone while you tried holding onto it, a last remnant of a world that never existed in the first place.

____ ____ ____

Look at Ivar being a mature partner and all at the end, encouraging her to talk about the place/people she misses. Growth lol

Thank you for reading, hope you liked it!

One last thing:

As you could see, this chapter skipped over a bunch of time, most of winter really, and of course, Chapter 44 starts with the spring. I have an Ivar’s PoV planned (hopefully it will be out this time next week) that goes over a little bit of the winter, mainly the Yule celebrations. But here’s the thing: if there’s anything (and I mean anything) you wanna ask or see about these months that went by, come to my askbox and request! I would love to just get my Nostalgia writing motor going with something like that! They may end up as little snippets, as chapter-length stuff, or as straight up answers, or smth. But yeah, whatever you wanna see/ask, come talk to me!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax  @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss @itsmysticalmystery @revolution-starter​ @the-a-word-2214  @fae-sedai @crazybunnyladysworld   @funmadnessandbadassvikings @stupiddarkkside @aprilivar @msrawog

[waiting4inspiration]

Tell Them (Ivar x Reader)

Summary: Ivar hasn’t seen you since you broke his heart, and seeing you again brings back painful memories. For you and for him. 

Warnings: angst (yall know I couldn’t resist), strong language, mentions of spying, heartbreaking, mentions of death, shorter than normal but I did write this when I was in hospital so... enjoy the heartache, Grammarly ain't working again...

Word Count: 2,011

A/n:  This was written for the lovely @saldelys​ and her One Year Celebration. My prompt is in bold ❤

Vikings Masterlist

He watches you walk behind the King on the other side of the banquet table before taking a seat beside him, an unreadable look on your face and the finest clothing Ivar’s ever seen you wear. It’s beyond anything he could have offered you even if he is the King of Kattegat. 

Wordlessly, you lift your gaze up to Ivar and he hopes to see that glimmer he had grown to love. A stupid mistake. Yet, your gaze is as cold as a frozen fjord and your lips don’t even move to give him a small, apologetic smile. 

It’s not until the King places his hand on the back of your neck, tightly gripping it as he chuckles. “I’m sure you remember my espionage, (Y/n),” the King speaks, holding onto your neck like a holding onto the collar of a dog. “Which is why you don’t have to explain why you are here, King Ivar. I already know.”

This old King sitting beside you, his hand slipping away from your neck knows that Ivar is here to bargain with an alliance and it’s all because of you. It’s because you told him. 

Knowing that makes Ivar’s eyes turn back to you, a dark look in them as if he wishes you would be struck down by Thor right now. You drop your head to avoid the gaze, but your lip and reach out to the cup of wine set out for you. “I understand you two have gotten close during her stay in your kingdom,” the old King speaks, hitting a nerve and making you tremble as you swallow a mouthful of wine. 

“Stop it,” you whisper, rolling the rim of the cup against your lower lip as if to hide that you were the one that spoke. 

Ivar rests his elbows on the table as he leans closer, laces his fingers together and narrows his eyes at you. “No, please. Why don’t you tell everyone in the room about what happened between us, (Y/n)?” Ivar hisses, making you flinch as you slowly look up at him, tentative and silently begging him not to do this. “I’m sure they would love to know everything.”

You slam your hands on the table, shaking it and making the cup you had placed close to the edge to fall and the wine in it stains the lower part of your skirt. You don’t care, you have plenty of beautiful dresses like this. “My heart broke that day just as much as yours did, Ivar,” you snap back, making him try to force down the smirk growing on his face.

This is why he did the exact opposite of what he was advised to do by his mother when he was still young. This is why he fell in love with you. 

He chuckles, drops his hands and rests his hands on the table as he licks his lower lip. “I didn’t think you have a heart,” he bites back, the room now having gone so silent you can hear a pin drop as everyone watches the interaction between you and Ivar. 

You stand back up straight and coldly glare at him, not smiling, not blinking. It’s like Ivar’s looking at a completely different person. “And yet, people would say the same thing about you,” you reply, wanting to have the last word but also to hurt him like he hurt you with his comment a few seconds ago. 

Then, you turn, whisper a faint apology to the King and storm out of the hall, hands clenching at your sides as you mutter to yourself. 

With the door being slammed behind you, the feast that will not have a positive outcome for Ivar continues as if nothing had happened. The old King sitting in the throne doesn’t even bother trying to reignite the bargain Ivar had come here for and it leaves Ivar in a dangerous place. 

Seeing you again after you had left - and broke his heart in the process - he’s caught in a wave of memories. He tries to block out those memories all this time, tried to be stronger but it was all for naught the moment he saw you walking into this fucking hall, in that fucking dress, looking like the fucking queen he wanted to make you. 

The memory of seeing you for the first time is enough to make him push himself off his seat, crutch in hand and turn to walk away without giving any excuse. And why should he? It is no one’s concern why he is upset. 

He doesn’t walk through the hallways like he normally would. No, he digs his crutch as deep into the ground as he can, takes as big and angry steps as he can, anything to get his mind off of the one memory that has decided to haunt him now. 

He thought you were a thrall. Most of the men in the room thought that and one of them tried their luck on you. When Ivar watched you effortlessly push the man to the ground, keeping him there with a foot on his throat, he was captured by you right away. 

And Aslaug had died recently, so something inside him wanted some kind of womanly comfort. So, he called you over when you let the man go with a warning and he made the mistake of letting you into his heart. 

Ivar slams the door of the chambers he will share with his brothers, walks a bit into the room before he stops and wipes his hand over his face. “Ivar.” Hearing your voice, timid and soft as how it would be when you would comfort him after he confesses everything makes his head snap towards the sound where he finds you sitting on the edge of one of the beds. 

“What do you want, (Y/n)? What more could you possibly want from me after everything you’ve done?” he snaps, turning his body towards you as you slowly stand with your hands folded in front of you. 

You always had a sense of regality to you, always carried yourself tall and proud after Ivar taught you how to be self-confident. He changed you into the woman you are now, and you have a feeling he regrets that. “You make as if I murdered your entire family and took away everything you ever loved,” you say, your voice not breaking, wavering or showing any kind of weakness. 

He chuckles darkly at how he remembers how strong of a queen he thought you would be. All he had to do was you to be his wife. “You did take away everything I ever loved,” he sneers, walking toward you when you stop. “When you broke my heart by disappearing, leaving nothing but a note to confess everything. You did even have the courage to tell it straight to my face,” he says, now standing close to you, his face close to yours that hangs slightly so you don’t have to look in his eyes. 

“If you want to call me a coward, Ivar, just do it,” you whisper, lifting your head to look up at him, showing him that there are tears in your eyes. “I’m not as strong as I appear to be. Like I said, my heart broke just as much as yours when I found out I had to come back home and give my report of everything I’ve learned about Kattegat, about your army. About you-”

“And I suppose you did just that.”

You shake your head, making his roll his eyes and move away from you. “I couldn’t tell them that I fell in love with you. I would have been killed. I couldn’t tell them that your weakness isn’t your legs but your heart,” you begin, turning as he starts to walk away from you. “I couldn’t tell them that Ivar the Boneless can in fact feel something other than anger and rage. I couldn’t tell them that when you laugh, it’s as if the Gods have cleared the sky to make the sun shine brightly.” He freezes, grips onto his crutch tightly as he glances down to the ground. 

“I couldn’t tell them that you’re just as an amazing lover as you are a strategist. I couldn’t tell them that you are not always strong and that you have times when you’re weak and only open yourself up to those close to you, those you trust,” you carry on, slowly walking forward as your hands fall to yours sides. “I couldn’t tell them that you loved me and that you would be weak when I left you otherwise they would have attacked you.”

You could go on about all the other things you couldn’t tell those that sent you to find out everything about Ivar and his kingdom, but you think for now, this will do. 

Ivar breathes heavily, his back facing you and his head hanging low. He shakes his head, making you stop in your tracks and pray to the Gods that he will forgive you, but you know that’s not likely to happen. “Do you remember what you told me when I told you about my mother’s death? The promise you made to me when I...was weak in front of you?” he questions, your heart sinking in your chest and your gaze dropping to the ground as you breathe out a shaky breath. 

You hoped he wouldn’t bring this up. Back at that precise time, you hadn’t fallen in love with him yet. Everything was still an act and you had to say what he wanted to hear so that he would trust you and open up to you even more. “Do you remember?” he asks again, this time more forceful and full of rage. 

Even though you know he can’t see it, you nod your head and quickly lift your hand to wipe away a tear. “I promised I would always be there for you,” you whisper, your heart breaking even more at your own words. 

An empty promise. One that was fated to destroy every connection with Ivar once it left your mouth. 

“I remember years ago, someone told me I should take caution when it comes to love,” Ivar speaks as he turns around to face you again, tears lining his eyes making it hard for you to hold his gaze. “You know who that was?”

You nod. You know well enough that it was Aslaug that told him that. His mother was worried that after she passed, no one would be there to guard his heart as she had done. So, she gave him that warning. But you know as well that the warning wasn’t in his mind as he mourned his mother’s death. That’s what made things easy to get close to him. 

“Tell them everything you kept secret. Tell them how weak I was. I am ready from anything they throw at me,” he sneers, walking towards you and he glares down coldly at you. “You breaking my heart has made me invincible. I will never love again because of you,” he grunts, his lips close to your ear before he moves to walk away. 

You keep your composure, close your eyes to keep your tears at bay as you listen to him walking away and toward the door. It isn’t until you hear it open and close that you let a sob escape your lips and fall to the ground as you lift a hand to hide your face as tears stream down your cheeks. 

When you were learning how to be a spy, the first thing they taught you was not to fall in love with your target. But when it came to Ivar, things were different. One mentor told you that although those are words of wisdom - not to fall in love - that sometimes the heart wants what the heart wants. 

But what does a broken heart do when it’s already broken the heart of the one it wants?

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