#Viking/rus au
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A couple of my recent followers on their own blogs mentioned a viking au for bnha.. and my history nerd took over. Admittedly this is more Rus than norse, but the caftan looked better for his coat.
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I'm speechless. I am truly blessed with my friends. My friend Ru (@shonen-brainrot) reached out to the incredibly talented artist @blackberrylight1 asking if she would consider accepting a request for a Viking-themed Dabi. The artist agreed, and the final result is beyond stunning. I've received several exquisite sketches featuring Shoto, Dabi, and Endeavor in Viking-themed settings from my MHA Viking AU. I'm at a loss for words, completely surprised by the incredible work. I'm literally kicking my feet in joy, the artist captured my beloved characters perfectly in this unique setting! Grateful beyond words. Thank you! 🩷🩷🩷
#viking dabi#viking!au#viking!Dabi#viking shoto#viking!Shoto#earl!endeavour#endeavour#dabi#shoto todoroki#touya todoroki#enji todoroki#mha fanart#dabi fanart#endeavor fanart#shoto fanart#thank you ♥#bnha fanart#anime fanart
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MASTERLIST
╔═════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════╗
⟐VIKINGS
IVAR THE BONELESS
⟐ I'm here for you | Ivar The Boneless x Reader
Genre: Comfort / Angst Words: ± 1 800 Everyone can feel the weight of the last events on their shoulders. Mainly Ivar, but he won't be able to handle it if (y/n)'s also angry at him.
⟐ A poisoned mind | Ivar The Boneless x Reader
Genre: Comfort / Fluff Words: ± 2 000 (Y/n) can't help but to wonder whether Ivar really trusts them, what they don't know it's that everything is just a matter of insecurity.
⟐ I miss you (1/2) | Ivar The Boneless x Reader
Genre: Comfort / Fluff / Light angst Words: ± 4 400 You had always been Ivar's right hand, but something happened, so now you are in the hands of Prince Oleg. Oleg, however, brings you a little gift after one of his trips.
⟐ I miss you (2/2) | Ivar The Boneless x Reader
Genre: Comfort / Fluff / Light angst Words: ± 3 000 "Elhaz wasn’t my name, in the first place. It was for me what ‘Boneless’ is for Ivar, a title, one that was given to me by Ivar since, in his words, I’m his protection, the one who makes everything feel sacred, the safety. His safety. Eventually, it was all that really mattered, and turned into what some people call me. Does he remember it?"
⟐ Clean your mind | Ivar The Boneless x Male Reader | Ivar The Boneless x amab Reader
Genre: Smut / Comfort Words: ± 3 100 Kind of content: Fingering / Anal sex / Some praising You help Ivar clean his mind and let go of all the stress that bothers him lately.
⟐ Be patient | Ivar The Boneless x Male Reader | Ivar The Boneless x amab Reader
Genre: Smut Mordern! AU Words: ± 3 100 Kind of content: Toys / Anal sex / Edging Ivar needs to be taught a lesson.
⟐ Time and humility | Ivar The Boneless x Reader
Genre: Comfort / Fluff Words: ± 1 600 A curse leaded to Ivar being turned into a half-cat person, which he doesn't really knows how to deal with nor does his partner, but they figure it out despite how stubborn Ivar can be.
⟐ What's the fun in that? | Ivar The Boneless x Reader
Genre: Comfort / Light angst Words: ± 3 800 Ivar is captured by Oleg. (Y/n), the Rus army commander, is both interested and interesting.
⟐ A nice punishment | Ivar The Boneless x [gender neutral] Reader
Genre: Smut / Comfort Words: ± 2 100 Kind of content: Oral fixation / Nipple play Playing with his chest does get Ivar to shut up for a little. It feels way better than it should.
╚═════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════╝
You may find some of my works in AO3 with light alterations since I post there using an OC instead of reader. Except for that, my works aren't published anywhere else nor here under a different user. Let me know if you see something off.
#vikings#x reader#x male reader#x female reader#masterlist#ivar the boneless#ivar ragnarsson#ubbe lothbrok#ubbe ragnarsson#hvitserk#hvitserk lothbrok#ragnar lothbrok#imagine#oneshot#smut
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E2463 (1)
cette nuit c'est le matin cohors classica marine romaine débarquant surprenant non pas n'importe comment comme vulgaires vikings mais discipline ordre et stratégie mouvement encerclement regroupement redéploiement colonnes par deux dryopsophus aureus graciles grenouilles vertes et or lydie prunelle de leurs yeux nez aquilin 15 centimètres sans son cheveux courts auguste compagnon tête la première ses compagnes amazones voraces sur des proies plus grosses telles déesses païennes envahissantes aux frontières du littoral pas moins de quarante 4 lignes parallèles joyeuses cohortes traversant côté droit côté gauche sus aux baveuses viles limaces errantes sans foi ni toit premières lignes garde royale élite coquille sur le crane bouclier protecteur résistant aux pinces coupantes larges avenues ou simples ruelles chemins caniveaux rigodons rus mise en branle conquête terres nouvelles or et châteaux filles et mères à remplir fils frères aux mines pères au pal notre bien aimée valeureuse armée sang mêlé à prévoir seaux serpillières éponges à essorer c'est l'heure pas de pitié abeamus larmes cris effroi visqueuses sous la cendre la suite risque de s'arrêter là car nous sommes dans l'impossibilité de décrire en détails cette boucherie les mots nous manquent le temps d'en créer de neufs la réalité aura disparue doute sur les dates lieues faits réels qu'importe il a été convenu par le comité central des scriptors romains qu'on s'en moquerait de la véracité conteur resumere sic lyre ces grenouilles filles de lesbos suavement chaudes au cœur du réacteur danses suaves harpe kliné deux mètres vingt esquisses les guerrières en ordre de bataille centurie VI hastatus posterior hastati centurie II princeps prior principes centurie V princeps posterior principes centurie I pilus prior triarii centurie IV pilus posterior triariiles ennemis de mes ennemis les escargotsles crabes krabbes ceux des palétuviers sont les alliés pour ce coup rainettes fines gambettes qui gonflettes qui bouffeuses d'hélium qui ne se dégonflent pas à l'attaque depuis le temps à palabres stériles pas de quartiers régiments fantaisistes bond par ci bonds par les hautes herbes tous ensemble finit à croire au bœuf boulimique quelle est la différence entre une rainette et une grenouille où vivent les rainettes comment se reproduit la rainette comment se débarrasser des rainettes pourtant associés crabes mous crabes violonistes en filtrant la vase excrémentielle mets de choix cadavres occis crabes longs cigales est ce que les crabes savent nager leur carapace est elle démontable pinces coupantes pinces scie pinces noix tourteaux bâtards erreur de jeunesse fils filles esclaves d'une dalmatienne conquise aux araignées crabes bleu l'enragé le crabe vert véritable char d'assaut le royal le crabe fantôme le violet du cocotier le rouge l'étrange marche bernard l'hermite si humain se reproduit en attaquant une main perdue dix de trouvées citadelle assiégée formation la tortue squatteurs face aux grenouilles et les crabes ennemis séculaires
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would you let the local knight joust for you? I certainly would
#assassin's creed#assassins creed#eivor#modern au#rus valmod au#she works at a ren faire I love her dearly#this is just me living vicariously through characters because we don’t have ren faires where I live#she’s a fantasy knight at the ren faire and also is a living historian at a Viking settlement where she teaches ppl abt life back then#I have two modern aus and this is the nicer of the two
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i’ve been talking to @lavish-witchling about a historical jalim au which takes place during the early 11th century. it features kievan rus’ viking (jason) kolchek and al-andalusian salim bin othman. we have some ideas for this au, so i’ll definitely be drawing more of these two. anyways, enjoy this midnight rendezvous between two warriors~
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Pity
Author’s Notes | It was almost instantly that I thought about this idea. When I saw the plot, this story just unfolded in my mind. I hope you guys like it as much as I did! Congratulations once again, my dear @youbloodymadgenius for your first K of followers! May them become a thousand more! Universe | Vikings Pairing | Ivar x Reader Info | Viking Age AU, produced for @youbloddymadgenius 1K Challenge, prompt number 50. Words | 1989 ⁑ Warnings: Some cursing, mentions to murder and violence.
It was the third or fourth ball you were participating in after becoming engaged to your fiancé - an arrangement made by your family to tighten your allegiance towards prince Oleg and somehow a reward for the many years of loyalty to his crown: you would be married to his brand new ally and the soon-to-be re-crowned king of Kattegat, the nordic Ivar, the Boneless - someone you had grown to admire and fell in love with within his short time at the Rus palace in Kyiv.
You would be crowned queen by his side - to your father's major happiness - and would grant him the children his former wife wasn't able to give to him. If you were able, of course, to surpass his infinite jealousy and the marks her treason had left in your soon-to-be husband's mind.
It was something visible that Ivar had grown interested in you at the palace and you had been able to break up his barriers approaching him with your loyalty to his cause and comprehension of his actions: your family was loyal to prince Oleg, but you were loyal to yourself and you didn't hide your support to Ivar's intentions to get rid of Oleg's strings as soon as it was possible. Your family's loyalty to the Prophet was a ladder that conducted you towards the position you wanted beside Ivar, but it was it. If you had to put a knife through Oleg's neck for Ivar you would, and your fiancé loved to hear this coming out of your mouth with all the beautiful letters he said were music to his ears.
However, you would cease to be his singing bird as soon as your laugh could be heard by anyone else other than him. Even other women were considered threats in his eyes and to be isolated wasn't something you would accept just for him to feel safe in whatever insecurity he insisted to keep about your love.
Fights were inevitable, although the two of you had grown perfectly able to hide it from anyone else around as if you were the perfect couple, born to be with each other.
Yeah... His hand was quite the size of your neck and you had tested it already once - Something you swore would be the first and only time he would ever touch you like that. Something he promised would be the first and last time he would ever lose control like that.
Bless the soundproof walls of your room...
"I CAN'T TURN AROUND A SINGLE SECOND AND THERE ARE YOU, SMILING AT EVERYONE!"
You could understand the fear his people had of him: Ivar was really frightening when he was angry - and he was angry almost all the time. But you were never scared of the monsters under your bed and the last man who looked like a monster in front of you died by your own hands when you were younger and decided your honor worthed more than the life of that bandit. Maybe it was this what attracted him in you: as he was screaming, you were looking at him, standing, firm, strong even when his servants and slaves had fled in awe.
"So what? If I hear funny jokes, I'll laugh, Ivar. That's natural to any human being!" you answered, almost acid.
"Oh, then Hvitserk is the only one to tell funny jokes around, my dear?" he answered, finally putting out the jealousy behind all that angry rampant. "Cause you laugh whenever you're close to him! You're all smiles to Hvitserk! Are you growing fond of him too, my dearest bride?"
You rolled your eyes, causing him to grunt in fury - he just hated the way you wouldn't be affected by his greatness or afraid of his furious glares. Ivar loved how strong you were and hated it in the same proportion.
"You speak as if you didn't know what I did to be here by your side, into this room, hearing these stupidities," you sighed, frustrated, pouring some wine from his amphora into a cup for you and sipping the content.
"Did you really do it for me, Y/N?" he questioned, finally touching a sensitive topic that made you stop the cup you had on its way to your lips once again and place it at the table with a louder noise.
Your eyes became as fierce as his own and Ivar knew he'd gone too far. Yet, his eyes continued to look at yours, making his doubt genuine and causing your anger to boil up.
"Are you insinuating I'm a climber who just wanted to use you as a ladder to a crown, Ivar the Boneless?" you spat it with all the letters, causing him to cringe at the sound of those words so clearly said.
But you continued, defiant. Not a drop of fear mixed with the indignation into your eyes when you stood in front of him, facing the great Ivar, the Boneless, as if he was nothing but a boy speaking gossip of you through the town.
"Is this what you're saying, my king? That I fought my father's intention to have me married to one of Oleg's commanders, came into foreign lands to live with foreign people and among heathen customs, for nothing but the crown you can place on my head?"
Your voice sounded firm as you approached him. Your eyes diving enough into those pools of icy blue waters he had on his face to see his soul shrunk into them, hiding insecurity behind those dangerous words.
"Are you calling me a whore and saying I'll fuck your brother behind your back just because I smiled at him, Ivar?"
"Fucking stop it!" he finally blew up, moving bothered over his bed, frowning with tones of disappointment and frustration covering what was once pure anger in his expression. "I just... I just don't see what you saw in me!" he started, pouring what was truly bothering his heart. "You're a fierce woman, strong, gorgeous mare kissed by Freyja! What would you want with me, Y/N? You seem so relaxed among them... It seems so more natural to see you smiling beside him that..." Ivar paused.
But you knew it was hard for him to admit his fears and so, you gave him time and space, crossing your arms to look at him, waiting for his words.
You would give him time. But he would say it.
And he knew you wouldn't give up until he'd said all the letters so, Ivar sighed, defeated.
"He's whole, Y/N. My brothers are all whole and don't come to me with these eyes rolling once again!" he reprehended you before you could really do what he complained you would. "Hvitserk is a gorgeous man who I've seen attracting more women into his bed than lambs into his stomach! The bastard can lure any woman he wants into his sheets!"
"But not me," you affirmed, categoric.
"It's not what I'm saying!" Ivar complained again, annoyed by the interruption. "Look at them! They're all perfect. Hvitserk is perfect. I'm the broken thing my father's seed produced when he was already full of the many children the gods had promised him," he mourned.
However, instead of allowing him to dive into his grief as his mother used to do, or proceed to spoil his ego as Freydis would do to heal his pain with her sweet little lies, you approached him, caressing his face, turning his insecure blues towards your firm gaze.
"You can't see yourself, can you?" you asked, making his fear become confusion into his blues.
Ivar wasn't used to your way to deal with his self-indulgence yet.
"Oh, pity for him, the broken child of Ragnar Loðbrók," you pretended to cry for a moment, just to light the fire of his anger in the back of his eyes once again before continuing your speech, not letting him try to answer your words. "Cut the bullshit, Ivar! You're a man, like all the others. You grew from a boy, like all the others. Hvitserk may be 'whole' as you said, but he has his flaws and I can see them. He's funny and charming indeed, but his charm doesn't mislead me from the womanizer I can see in his actions nor from the drunken rag he becomes whenever the ball comes to an end. Ubbe could be whole as well, and what did he use his perfect legs for? To flee, like a good coward, from the consequences of his own stupidity, hiding somewhere in Kattegat to lick his mother's murderer's shoes and follow his older brother like a dog instead of a man! Sigurd was whole as well. It didn't prevent him from taking an ax to his chest and who among the two of you is alive, uh?" you asked, increasing the confusion into Ivar's eyes.
How could you be so sure of his value?
How could you be so determined to be with him? By his side?
But there was no mistake in your words, no weakness in your voice. Your words were being poured from your heart and he could see that in your eyes.
"They may be whole, Ivar. You're broken indeed. You can look at your broken legs and cry like a pitiful baby, mourning the gods' will to put the biggest burden over your shoulders. Or you can look at yourself and see that even with this burden over them, you dragged yourself when anyone believed you would even move. You stood when they said you would never walk. You became a leader when they believed you would become a corpse among the children who die at their first Winter."
"But Y/N," he started, this time sounding like that boy you could always see deep inside his eyes. "I'm..."
"You're the boy who lived," you said, cutting his sentence and holding his chin up. "You're the boy who survived, Ivar! They may be whole, but it just proves that with half of what they have you did the double of what they do! Or maybe more! Now stop mourning and stand by my side, husband! Cause I may laugh at them, but it is for you I'll be moaning and it will be your name echoing in my voice in bliss."
"Y/N..." he tried one last time.
Probably, Ivar would start again with that conversation about his supposed impotence. You didn't even let him start, touching your fingers over his lips.
"I'm not a slave whore you had to share with your brothers. Nor a filthy bitch who decided to mislead you with lies and treason, my dear. If you couldn't do it with them, then I'll show you by my side, you can. There is nothing you can't do in this life, Ivar. Your very presence in this room is proof enough of what I'm saying. They told you would never reach your first year... And here you are, leading them all, over their heads. You're more than your self-pity will let you see. But don't worry, my love. I'm here to open your horizons."
You smiled at him, so full of your words.
Ivar still couldn't believe what you were saying. But you were so sure that he couldn't really doubt your convictions.
"Now put a smile on your face and come with me, love," you said, smiling. "If you don't want me laughing at their jokes, then stand by my side and make me laugh by yourself. And stop with this jealousy, Ivar. I'm yours, my love. I chose you. You better be ready to bear my presence for a long time..."
His lips curved although he was trying to hide that smile. And you knew by Ivar's giggle that the arguing was over. He was your man and you were his woman. And no charming prince around would change this.
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Tagged ones:
|| @bluearchersstuff || @ivarswickedqueen || @directionlessbuthappy || @akamaiden || @bang-kim-bap || @cris101071 || @elysias-temple || @alicedopey || @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla || @lol-haha-joke || @readsalot73 || @rekdreams247 || @naaladareia || @laketaj24 || @therealcalicali || @grungyblonde || @arses21434 || @honestsycrets || @2thequietone4 || @blackspiritshake || @vikingsbifrost || @wallabieswisher || @lyanna-the-giantsbane || @chinduda || @isthat-tyra98 || @xinyourdreamsx || @thiahilmarsdottir || @queenbeeta || @winchesterwife27 || @gold-dragon-slayer || @mzliterarydreamer || @youbloodymadgenius || @marvelouuse || @tgrrose || @lif3snotouttogetyou || @lordsexmachine || @deathbyarabbit || @ietss || @thorins-queen-of-erebor || @didiintheblog || @h-e-a-v-y-l-e-a-t-h-e-r || @heavenly1927 || @alexhandersenx || @alexisshoto || @letsloveimagines || @astrape-the-weatherwitch || @destynelseclipsa || @charming-merlin || @violetidk ||
Want to be tagged? Ask me!
#history vikings#imagine vikings#ivar#ivar the boneless#ivar ragnarsson#ivar x reader#ivar’s heathen army#sister wives#shot
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Masterlist
Not Today- Ongoing
Summary: When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.
Series: Vikings
Pairing: Ivar x Original Female Character (Princess Aethelind)
Rating: T
Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, major character death
Ghost Queen- Complete
Summary: Ivar believed he killed Freydis in Kattegat, but fate seemed to have other plans for the Viking King and his wife. She survived, and sought refuge far in the North, where she is captured by the Kievian Rus, and offered sanctuary and a new identity- in exchange for information, and the marriage of a Norse Queen to Prince Oleg. (AU where Freydis really is Katya)
Series: Vikings
Pairing: Ivar x Freydis, Ivar x Katia
Rating: T
Warnings: Mentions of abuse, implications of sex
Can You Imagine?- Ongoing
Summary: Freydis was dead. At least, when she’d lost consciousness, she’d been sure she was. But now she has woken up in a cold, sterile environment, one she is certain is not Valhalla, and the world as she once knew it has changed. People now have strange abilities, some of them, and people they call ‘scientists’ are trying to give them to her. The bigger issue, though, is the fact they have also woken the very man who killed her. Ivar the Boneless lives again as well, in the same way Freydis does, and if they want to survive... she may have to learn to trust him again.
Series: Vikings
Pairing: Ivar x Freydis
Rating: M
Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence
One Swallow Can Make A Summer- Ongoing
Summary: The world is at war, and none will be left unchanged in its wake. Downton Abbey is now a convalescent home where wounded officers are sent to recover, and Sergeant Thomas Barrow couldn’t be more satisfied with his position in running it. But with the arrival of a kind new maid, the downstairs dynamic shifts, and Thomas finds himself in the middle of a strange situation, which only grows stranger as the war goes on. With the answers he seeks hidden in the Abbey’s past, inaccessible to Thomas alone, and danger lurking around any corner, he’ll have to learn to trust his instincts and his allies before it’s too late.
Series: Downton Abbey
Pairing: Thomas Barrow & OFC (Sylvia Sharpe) (Platonic)
Rating: T
Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, PTSD, smoking, anxiety and panic attacks
In the Blood- Complete
Summary: Thomas Barrow has gone missing, and the Crawleys have gotten worried about him. As such, they've hired investigator Richard Ellis to find him, but what he finds will challenge the way he views the world. Still, maybe he won't end up being too upset by that.
Pairing: Thomas Barrow x Richard Ellis
Rating: T
Warnings: Mild violence
#ivar the boneless#vikings#ivar ragnarsson#alex hogh andersen#history channel vikings#ivar's heathen army#ivar#vikings history#ivar x oc#not today#ghost queen#can you imagine?#masterlist#ivar x katia#ivar x freydis#ivar x katya#downton abbey#thomas barrow#thomas barrow & oc#one swallow can make a summer#robert james collier#in the blood#thomas barrow x richard ellis#richard ellis
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Maybe We Meet Again
My Masterlist
In Another Life (prequel to this)
Pairing: Ivar/Reader
Summary: The first part (of two) of the sequel of In Another Life, set in a Modern!AU.
Word Count: 2.9k
Warnings: Mentions of death, descriptions of violence and death, major character death (past), nothing else I can think of.
A/N: Hi, idk what you guys were expecting when it came to the follow up for In Another Life, but I hope you like this. Thank you so much for your support in that work and all the others, none of this would be possible without you guys keeping me sane motivated. Love ya.
Taglist: @1950schick @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927
Ivar’s gaze is focused on his phone, awaiting his brother’s answer to finally know how much longer will it be before he gets to the café, but something makes him lift his gaze, looking out the window.
He sees you looking positively overwhelmed on a street corner, eyes squinting at a sign, trying to read the name of the street.
Ivar doesn’t know what it is that makes him adjust the crutch in his left arm and stand up to approach you. He doesn’t know, but he doesn’t deny the pull, the whisper that if he doesn’t at least learn your name he will regret it.
“Do you need help?” He asks as pleasantly as he is able to, and based by the grateful smile you offer, even if twinged with embarrassment, he isn’t quite the mannerless grump his brothers make him out to be.
“Is it that obvious?” You huff a laugh at yourself, and continue, “I’m trying to find…”
Your eyes lower to your phone, and with an adorable frown in your nose, you give up on whatever it is you must say, and just show him the screen. The name of the university is familiar, but you are very much lost, it seems, for it is almost on the other side of town.
He tells you that, and tries not smiling at the expression on your face. Gods, you are cute.
“You are not from here.” He states, and you shake your head.
“Here on a scholarship, I’m going to be an assistant investigator in…” Your words die again, as you seemingly try to remember the name of the place you are supposed to be at. But you shake yourself out of that soon enough, and offer a smile, “I’m Y/N.”
The name makes something in him react, awaken. For a moment he tries to remember why, to understand, but it feels like trying to run in a dream, in feels strange and hopeless and out of his reach.
Before you can think him too strange, he tells you his name, and desperately tries thinking of something to say in the awkward silence that follows.
He finds himself asking if you have time for a coffee, motioning absently to the shop behind him, and by some turn of his luck, you say yes.
Ivar finds out soon enough that it is incredibly easy to get you to talk. It works for him, he doesn’t always know what to say, and he knows to most people he seems cold.
But you, you are warm and alive and expressive, and soon enough you are moving your hands excitedly, speaking of finally being granted the opportunity to assist in a dig on a ship burial site. Ivar frowns, and interrupts you with a mumble of your name, still not over the strange thrill that goes over him when sounds out the syllables.
“There’s no sea nearby, how w-…”
“A ship burial doesn’t mean one at sea,” You interrupt softly, eyes shining. After a breath, where it seems your smile trembles on your lips, you add, “Things are not as literal as you think they are, Ivar.”
He tries returning the smile, but his lips part and his breath stutters out.
Why does it feel like he’s forgetting something?
He shakes himself out of it, and leans forward on the table, resting his elbows on it and looking into your eyes.
“So, why all this? Why chase a love story all the way to Bække?”
You shrug your shoulders, a smile that Ivar tries not finding devastatingly adorable playing on your lips, “I don’t like secrets.”
“I don’t think they are keeping it particularly from you.”
“Still. I…it’s a story no one else knows, something that can change how we see the world.” Your eyes are shining in a sort of wonder, of excitement, he has never seen before.
Still, because he cannot help it, he reminds you, “How we see one man.”
“A man that changed the world,” You argue without hesitation, gesturing with your hands as you continue, “Strip away the atrocity, the cruelty, the…otherworldliness of those who are remembered as monsters, and the tale we tell changes, the world changes.
You place your hand over the worn book he saw you carrying, that when he asked you told it was your favorite copy of historical and archaeological records detailing the last years of the Golden Age for Vikings, your eyes fiery as they meet his,
“All we have to remember him by is the legend, the war stories, the chaos he sowed and the death that followed. Even his grave is one of magic, of superstition.”
“But not this one you are working on.”
“Not this one. If I can prove that she was his wife…” A breathed laugh leaves your lips, and Ivar clings to the sound. You bite your lip before insisting, “I just need her name to be the right one.”
“The right one?”
You shrug your shoulders, moving both hands so they are wrapped around your cup of coffee, though your fingers are anxiously tapping at the plastic covering. “His last breath was a whisper of a name. It may not mean anything, but it’s the one lead I have. He may have been a monster, but…he died with a name on his lips.”
“The name of his wife.”
You correct with a shake of your head, “Presumed wife, Rus records only speak of a shieldmaiden that was found dead in his room, before he tore the Rus apart from the inside. Sentimentality makes you think he was avenging her. Logic, on the other hand…”
When your words die with a gesture of your hand, Ivar finishes for you,
“Makes you realize he killed her.”
You nod, a twitch of sadness, a shine of grief in your eyes, before you shake your head at yourself with a sigh.
“The night the world ended.” You quote with a smile that trembles on your lips.
____
If someone were to ask him how life turned out this way, how he got to be here with you and have you love him and let him love you back, Ivar wouldn’t know how to answer.
He’s told you before that maybe it is Fate, that maybe, just maybe, you two were meant to be. Each time he speaks of it, you smile softly, usually shaking your head or kissing him to shut him up, but he sees the tremble in your smile, the curiosity in your gaze, the wondering.
Regardless of how he got here, he for once refuses to overthink this, refuses to let himself be twisted into knots by his own thoughts.
So, because he finds himself missing you -because he wants to, because he can, because he asked you to move in and you said yes- Ivar goes in search of you.
He finds you on the couch, your eyes closed and breathing deep even if your laptop is still open on the coffee table, expecting you to continue work you probably fell asleep doing.
More than a year you’ve dedicated to this dig of yours, this investigation. More than a year, you’ve A part of him torments him with thoughts that you may look elsewhere -both when it comes to a home and when it comes to him- when it is done, but he tries not dwelling much on it.
He whispers an endearment as he presses a kiss right under your ear, a gesture and softness a year ago he never would have believed himself capable of.
“C’mon, wake up, Princess. I can’t exactly carry you to bed.”
“There’s a…bed right here,” You make a vague gesture to the tiny space you leave for him to apparently sleep in, “And there’s a me, and a you.”
Ivar tries replying with a whisper of your name, but Gods, you have him wrapped around your pinky, and your smile stops whatever he was going to insist with.
With a sigh, he sits on the small space you leave, and discards the crutch on the floor at his side. Trying to move you so he can lay down and have you rest on his chest, he once again meets resistance.
“No, no, no,” You mutter sleepily, and stiffen so he can’t maneuver you. “I’m comfy. You leave me be, Lothbrok.”
Our arms lift weakly, inviting him to lay partially over you with his head on your chest. It is inviting, especially with the promise of your fingers running through his hair.
So, he desists and settles in place, pressing a kiss to the center over your heart and laying his head on your chest, his arms going underneath you and wrapped tightly around you.
Ivar closes his eyes, and he can hear it beating under his ear, can hear its rhythm as if he could know it by memory.
He turns his head, and presses another kiss to the skin over your heart.
What he wouldn’t do for that heartbeat.
____
You wake him in the early morning whispering excitedly about the chance to finally go to the site, and insisting that he has to come with you.
“It’s her.” You whisper, and your smile is fucking blinding. When he apparently dwells too long on the warmth of that smile, you insist with an excited pitter-patter of your feet that he gets up.
He does, and gets in the car with you, around curses about the cold that you giggle at, an annoyed furrow in his brow you kiss away, and grumbles about how far away it is that you soothe away with soft kisses.
You get ahead of him when you walk towards the stones embedded on the ground you said are in the shape of a ship, and Ivar limps behind you as you approach the biggest of the stones.
Your hair flows everywhere in the wind, and your arms are wrapped tightly around yourself to ward off the cold.
“The one thing that made him human is here,” You say, and he watches as your left hand raises as if to press your palm against the old stone, before you stop yourself. “The one proof that he wasn’t a…a monster. Just a man.
You chuckle, but it is bitter, sorrowful, pained; and your gaze lowers to the ground.
“Or…he was, until he killed her.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that, to that look in your eyes, to that pressure he feels deep in his chest. So, Ivar grabs on tighter to his crutch and moves closer to the pillar.
“‘She will return victorious’.” Ivar reads slowly, feeling a pit of dread at the base of his stomach, like he’s at the edge of a cliff and about to fall, like he knows what it feels to have the world end, like…like he-…
Those that followed him, those that chose their Viking roots over Oleg’s Christian ways, stay quite a distance away, they know better than to approach.
Ivar doesn’t know how much time he has spent sitting on this cold grass engraving with shaking hands the words he tries remembering how to spell.
He knows he’s lost a lot of blood, can feel it, sticky and colder by the minute, pooling underneath him. The one blow that managed to land on him, he wishes he could remember who it was, how it happened.
He doesn’t remember much of what happened between your lips breathing a last kiss over his and the light dying in Oleg’s eyes as his body surrendered to the torture.
Even his hand is bleeding, Ivar notices. He remembers faintly of holding on to a small statue when he was told his father died, he remembers the feel of it breaking the skin.
He could die here, he knows.
If he doesn’t let them approach him, if he doesn’t let them stop the bleeding, he will die here, tired and worn and alone, under a pool of his own blood before a monument of his worst mistakes.
He can close his eyes and he can still feel the fathom touch of your hand on his cheek, can still taste the warmth of your smile pressed against his own lips, can still see your gaze filled with love and the promise of forever.
He can still hear your voice, soft and gentle, the whispered hope that maybe Valhalla is another chance to meet again, that maybe in another life there’s hope for…hope.
He finishes the last of the letters, and he sways forward, brow resting against cold stone.
It would be easy, he gathers, to close his eyes and give in to the lull of the memory of your voice, your touch.
But he refuses to.
Because he can also feel your hand giving one last caress before you sentence you both to die, can still taste the tears in your lips as you promise only death will stop you against his own, can still see your dead eyes staring back up at him, his knife deep in your heart.
And so Ivar drops the blooded iron tool before the words he will pray to his very last breath are true: She will return victorious.
He vowed once he would make the world remember him, but the world ended the night he put a knife through your heart. The world -his world- ended, and he finds with cruel clarity that he wants them all to know what it feels.
He will still be the most famous Viking who has ever lived. He will make them all suffer and pay and die. And they will remember the pain and death and chaos. And he will be a legend, if only one they will whisper in fear for the rest of time, if only the legend of a monster in a man’s skin.
Ivar crawls away from the boat made of stone, certain many will try to stop him, even more will try to kill him. Certain they will fail.
They can’t kill him, don’t they know who he is?
“Are you okay?” Your hand on his back, touch making him realize how quickly his breaths are coming out of him. Bu the can’t-…he can’t get his breathing back under control, he can’t…
He moves back, away from the stone -the monument, the grave- and his hand doesn’t grip correctly at the crutch on his side. Almost all his life with these things, he’s never failed to use them, they work as an extension of him by now.
And he realizes with dawning horror he wasn’t reaching for the forearm crutch he’s used to, he was expecting to find a rougher one, wooden and metal and…Gods, he can feel the pain of those iron braces, he can feel the pressure of the bones that try to break under unfitting contraptions.
He cannot keep the scream from leaving his lips when they set the bone back into place, the pressure building from the inside of his leg and the pain threatening to pull him under.
He feels faintly of your hand on his face, trying to help him feel anything other than pain; hears choppily of your voice by his ear, trying to drown out the beat of his own heart.
He can’t tell how much time passes, all he knows is that your touch and your voice prove to be the only thing keeping him conscious.
“I hate those things.” You mutter sometime in the night, and he opens bleary eyes to watch you gritting your teeth at the iron braces that lie somewhere on his left.
“Necessary.” The word leaves him in a gasp, and is all he can say. Still, the Gods would sooner sew his mouth shut for him to refuse arguing.
You have the look of wanting to argue, he knows it, he knows that fire like he knows himself; but you say nothing.
The fire is a different one, but still scalds, when you press your hand over his chest.
He hears you say his name, or…or he thinks he does, and when he looks at you, your eyes are the same. And…how didn’t he know?
His lips form the shape of your name, but he only rasps out grief, horror, regret, his regret.
Your expression falls, your eyes fill with tears. He knows that look, that shine of devastation in your eyes.
You look at him and he sees it written in your eyes, the plea that he doesn’t ask you to make this choice.
But he cannot go on while the threat of them taking you away from him looms over him. Either he loses you for good now, or they do.
A part of him dreads your answer, and another is already certain what your choice will be.
“I’ll stay,” You sentence, and it feels like breathing for the first time in a century, when he fills grateful lungs with air. “Out of love for you, not for the world you want to build.”
But he cannot keep the coldness of his voice, he cannot keep the venom from his lips. Because even if your choice was to stay, he wants to punish you for even thinking about leaving him behind.
“A world where you happen to be one of the most powerful women. Convenient, isn’t it?”
But even as ice cuts and bruises and breaks the skin, your smile is warm.
“I choose this world not for power, but because I cannot fathom a world without you in it.”
“You remember.” Is all you whisper. And he recognizes that expression in your face too, all he knew was the feeling behind it once. You have the look of someone whose world just ended.
____
Sooooo, what do you think? I’m sorry there isn’t much fluff, I’m not good at it. And I’m sorry it ends in a cliffhanger, that isn’t nice, but the last part (which takes place from the Reader’s perspective) will hopefully come soon.
Thank you so much for reading, I would love to know your thoughts on this one!! Love you!!
Maybe Death Gives Up On Us (sequel to this)
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Historical au for 911?
I wanted to think of an uncommon time period in which to set our FireFam. So, as much as I love the regency and golden age pirates, I will leave that to the others.
9-1-1 Viking Age AU
Bobby - Hrodebert
Athena - Dana
Hen - Adebowale
Chimney - Jie
Buck - Jack
Eddie - Bermundo
Maddie - Magdalene
Michael - Mikha'el
The 900s CE was a time of exploration in what is now Northern Europe. Traders and warriors known as Vikings travelled the Atlantic, settling and conquering areas from Northern Africa, to Eastern Canada, to Kievan Rus to Greenland. There was nowhere these travelers wouldn’t go, so long as their ships could carry them.
Captain Hrodebert has traveled all his life, helping those in need of saving. Having been stripped of his title of Earl, he sought refuge aboard a ship called the Angelina, eventually taking over as leader of the vessel. His crew became his family, and his second chance at a life with meaning.
Aboard the Angelina with him were Jie, who left his home in the east at a young age to seek fame and fortune (but found he enjoyed a quieter life with mild adventure), and Ade, a healer from Northern Africa who longed to do the most good for the most people. The three of them - along with the rest of the crew - sailed from port to port, trading medicine and aide for supplies, and telling stories of their adventures in any tavern that would serve them.
At one of their stops, they picked up Jack, the loveable rogue with a good heart in his chest to make up for the thick head on his shoulders. It took time and training, but his desire for adventure no longer outweighs his need to help others.
Bermundo was a cavalry knight, wounded in battle against the Christian invasion of Córdoba, and declared useless by his family. His wife abandoned him with a son, so the two of them set off to find a new home. Together, they found the Angelina and created their own family.
Hrodebert met Dana and Mikha’el at a tavern one night, two mercenaries looking for their next job. At first, it was a relationship of convenience - to have guaranteed protection wherever they went - but over time, it became a relationship of something much stronger.
Jack found his sister Magdalene stowed away one night and brought her on as their navigator until she could put a sword through her husband’s gut. She stayed afterwards, at first out of necessity, and then out of love for her brother and for the man who let her love again.
The Angelina is a ship for second chances. For people from all walks of life to come and find a home - to do some good in the world.
Prompt Me with AUs
#911 fox#911 on fox#bobby nash#athena grant#hen wilson#chimney han#evan buckley#eddie diaz#michael grant#maddie buckley#viking au#au#alternate universe#cj writes things#history#vikings#renecdote#cj answers things#prompts
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Auftragsarbeit : Tunika aus 100% Schurwolle mit Rabenfibel der Vendelzeit ⚔️ #thoridsgewandschneiderei #vikingclothing #gewandung #vikingtunic #vikings #handmade #etsy #pagansofinstagram #pagan #vikingsofinstagram #heathen #heathensofinstagram #norse #vikingcostume #slavic #huginnandmuninn #vikingreenactment #larp #norsemythology #reenactment #livinghistory #norseman #historyvikings #rusviking #rus #vikingage #vikingmen #vikingstyle #vikinglife #vikingcrafts (hier: Petersberg, Rheinland-Pfalz, Germany) https://www.instagram.com/p/CRLOnRiDN1a/?utm_medium=tumblr
#thoridsgewandschneiderei#vikingclothing#gewandung#vikingtunic#vikings#handmade#etsy#pagansofinstagram#pagan#vikingsofinstagram#heathen#heathensofinstagram#norse#vikingcostume#slavic#huginnandmuninn#vikingreenactment#larp#norsemythology#reenactment#livinghistory#norseman#historyvikings#rusviking#rus#vikingage#vikingmen#vikingstyle#vikinglife#vikingcrafts
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My fanfic list!
Find all these and more on @keziha-writes and my AO3
Multi chapter fics:
Coffee college and Skeleton Roomies
Xreader, Reverse harem with Sans and Papyrus from UT, UF, US, SF
CCASR FIC LIST
On hiatus from this one at the moment. ^^:
Storm of a hunt
A Sf!Papyrus X reader set in the underground.
SOH Fic list
Hiatus.... on this one as well sorry
~~~~~~~~~~~
One shots by character
Red (UF! sans):
What's bugging ya.
There's a problem and you can't hide it from your boyfriend. ( X reader)
Kerfluffle
A weird one, where you take the Pov of a street cat being taken in by Red. (Reader is a cat)
Sweetheart we gotta talk
Red has something to tell you.... (x reader)
Night night Sweetheart
Trouble sleeping? Don't worry Red's here to help. (X reader)
Yet another Uf sans x reader
Some self indulgent comfort, (X reader, on their period)
Stay awake
Seems the 3 of you are wide awake, until Red helps your baby to sleep. (X reader) self-indulgent
Some more comfort
Another comfort fic (X reader)
Edge (UF! Paps):
"I like your laugh."
Blueberry (US! Sans):
"RUN! YOU SAID YOU'D WORK OUT WITH ME!"
The title explains all. A friend or romantic fic its up to you. (X reader? Or platonic)
Stretch (US Paps):
None yet feel free to request him though.
Sans (OG):
His voice.
You just really like listening to his voice after a long day. (X reader)
Black (SF Sans):
A Queen or the commoner. pt 1 pt 2
(royal au) His adoptive parents want him to wed the heir to the throne, but his soul belongs to a kind hearted commoner. (reader x Black)
"Who hurt you"
"Everyone thinks I should stay away from you because your dangerous."
Rus (SF! Pap):
More of a cinnamon tea kinda guy.
Commission fic for Ziz. Rus pretends he likes coffee so he can pick up his brothers (who is banned from said coffee shop order and meets the lovely Laurel. (Ziz's OC Laurel x Rus)
Axe (HT Sans):
None yet feel free to request one though.
Crooks (HT Papyrus):
"I saved you a piece."
Through the ages series
A series that takes you through the history of my au with your favorite skelly's.
Vikings age:
The Medics Quest
Ziz x HT Sans
Ziz belongs to a tribe of healers, Sans and his brother to a warrior tribe. But the brothers are only transport for the sick and injured... how do they get roped into something like this?
Medival and the war:
Our secret little cabin
Edge x reader
Post monster vs human war. You promised to meet your love once he returned from war no matter how the war ended, you don't know why he hasn't come back yet but wait you must do non the less.
Future:
Bow and the crew of Starglider Nine
Bow x Pluto
The crew of starglider nine, Pluto, Sans and Axe, follow an SOS signal and find a human, Bow drifting in space.
Skelly choose a date
I'm still doing these it's just taking a while to do the ones I got. Feel free to still send some tho ^^; (all are X reader!) choose your own here.
Red (UF sans):
Spring, Mountain picnic!
Summer nights walk!
A Winters wander to Grillby's!
Summer, sunset meander!
Edge, (UF Papyrus):
A picnic and Autumn antics in the rain.
Sans (UT):
Autumn coffee
Papyrus (UT):
Autumn walk
Stretch (US Papyrus):
A Spring nights walk
Blue(US Sans):
A spring picnic with a chance of rain
Rus(SF Papyrus):
A moonlit walk in an autumn woods
Blackberry (SF sans):
Winter coffee with Black
Axe (ht sans):
Fall, thunder and food
Extra characters:
Autumn date with Coffee (FSG Papyrus) at the park
Choose a path games.
Caught Red handed!!
Yandere Uf Sans choose your path story. What you see in that alley way on your way home in the dead of night shocks you to your core, chills you to the bone and makes you question everything you think you know about your skeleton friend... what you do next will determine whether you die, just survive or you live to see the light of day. Play if you dare.
Nebula space station adventures!
A series of one shots in space! With adventures uwu
Request your own here.
Prosthetics and Plants- Red x reader
That's all for now, I hope tis still up to date XDD and hope you found something you liked.
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At Hel’s Edge - A Multi-chapter, Viking Loki AU - Complete.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/14940284/chapters/34615787
I realized I forgot to put a link here ages ago when I finished this. Of well.
“There were many stories about Bredg’s mother Verða, that famed and curse’d she whose very name meant ‘a thing that must be dealt with.’
The ones her son knew to be true were few enough. That she had been a slave - brought home by the king after visiting the settlement in Armorica - with filthy black hair and snarling teeth was known by all. It was said she was wild, and ugly, with big features and a cruel, oft cursing, mouth, but that she had a clever, ravenous cunt that the king - having taken her to bed when the queen was too great with child to be meddled with - was unable to free himself from once he had been drawn within her power.
The king had her bathed and her hair deloused. He had her draped her in linen and gold and let her laugh at the golden and red haired maidens who wanted to be his second wife.
The other slaves went in fear of her, knowing she would relieve her spite upon them - biting and punching for the mostly imagined slights she endured, her long, thin arms holding surprising strength. Once, when an assassin had breached the hall while everyone slept she had woken and, after watching him slit the throats of the lazy guards who had fallen asleep, she took the king’s spear from the wall and threw it with the might of a giantess, impaling him to the wall, and then painted runes around his dying body with his blood, cursing those who sent him.
The king gave her arm rings that he might have given one of his jarls, because he said she was fiercer than any of them. She would take the mead cups from hands of his feasting warriors, getting drunk on their wine and like them would pull pretty girls onto her lap and kiss them until they swooned and fought for her favor.
She refused to tell anyone, even the king, where she had come from before she had been captured. Or what her true name was.
One time she said she was from the dark forests past the lands of the Rus. Another from Hibernia, from the lands of the Tuatha de Danann under the hills where time stopped and started at the will of their gods. Still another story had her from the Maghrib, where she had been born to a surviving Vandal, one those whose empire had been overrun by Byzantium, and one of those Berbers who had killed the Byzantines in their turn.
It was said she was actually a troll wife, using dark magic to look mortal and deceive their king to some unknowable end.
It was known that only the queen was exempt from her malice, having been a legendary shield-maid in her youth and a powerful fjǫlkunnig afterwards. The queen had even made herself a cloak of white bear fur and eaten the raw heart of an elk killed by her magic, and was welcome in the hut of the oldest vǫlva, who was gifted in prophecy.
Verða respected the queen alone, and so when she was dying after having birthed Bredg, she called for her.
“Would you have me save you?” the queen asked, giving her a sip of watered ale for strength.
“No, dróttning . Death frees me. From your man’s pawing hands, from the stink of the mead hall and the fucking cold. Take my child. Raise him with your Soren. Let them be brothers and then I can go into the many-colored lands with no fear. You are a better mother than I would have been to him.”
She turned her head and looked at Bredg, his eyes the color of her true home, his hair a black mass of curls, and kissed him with the only tenderness anyone had seen from her. At the same moment a great log within the firepit cracked, and she laughed. “My gods are far from here, so let your fire god, the strange one, Loki, be my child’s patron.”
“You should not wish it so. Loki would torment even those he loves.”
“Just like all men,” she answered, dying.
The queen gathered the babe up, wrapped in the blanket that had covered his mother, and carried him to her chambers.
Years passed. The slave’s son was raised beside the queen’s, to love each other, to fight each other, the golden bear cub and the black wolf pup, brothers in all ways.
They came to their majority in time, the king ready to step aside for his and the queen’s son, knowing that his other child, more clever and subtle, would ever speak wisdom to his brother, who was often in need of cooler council.
All admired and sometimes feared the king’s sons, Soren the Golden with his strong arm and ready laugh, and his brother Bredg the Black, with his sly gaze and keen-edged tongue, were as inseparable as day and night, one ever following the other.
Soren, mountain shouldered and ocean-eyed, was beloved of the warriors and shield-maids, armed with an axe and boar spear he could knock forth a turtled warband by his strength alone, though he was much skilled in arms and could, when his patience could be found, be a leader without equal.
Bredg, kestrel swift and leaf-eyed, was beloved of the wise folk and those who were wise enough to desire peace. But when battle came few were braver, as he moved like the wind itself, speeding past enemies who were cut and dying before they knew that they had been touched by his gutting knife.
The night before Soren was to take his father’s seat at the head of the meadhall, they drank with their comrades and boasts were made. Of feats on the battlefield, and at feast, and in the bedchamber. Only Bredg kept his own council, drinking moderately and speaking little, neither of which was his wont.
He had since rising had a feeling of ill-omen and so remained sober that he might watch over his brother.
Soren drank deeply and boasted long into the night.
Of how his arm was touched by Thor and struck as hard as the god’s lightning.
Of how his brow had been kissed by Freya, and so he was gifted with her beauty and her battle-wisdom.
Of how his will was fashioned by Odin, and so was strong enough to rule even the fierce and independent North men.
And on and on, thanking all of the gods for their gifts to him.
Save one.
As any child who has heard a story at an old lady’s knee knows, you must never forget just one. And if you do forget just one, it should never be Loki.
When Bredg warned his brother, as they walked through the velvet darkness, that he had forgotten the God of Mischief, the Lie-smith, whose favor all men will need some day, Soren clapped him on the back.
“Thank him for me, brother. He is your patron, after all.”
Sighing, the king’s black haired son knew that he must try and protect his brother, even if he was a fool.
So that night Bredg stood in the kitchens, where the hearth is Loki’s altar and where the wise house-woman thanks Him for unburned bread and properly cooked meat, and poured mead and claimed his brother’s gift for winning maidens to his bed came from Loki, whispering clever seductions into his ear, but the Jotunn god, Odin’s blood brother, would not be appeased by these words.
The next morning, Soren woke, raving and tearing at his flesh, an invisible fire tormenting him. He would calm for a time, long enough to drink water and eat a few bites of food before falling back into madness. Only his mother’s hand on his forehead and the force of her seidr would allow him rest.
The queen sat on the edge of his bed and sang to him as she had when he was a babe until he calmed and slept. Then she called for her other child and walked with him outside of the hall, but not straying far, should she be needed.
“Bredg, you must go to the vǫlva and ask her to beseech Loki and find what will offer Him comfort in His wrath, to spare your brother, or I think he will die a madman.”
“Mother, will she speak with me?”
“For my sake she will. Do whatever she asks.”
The vǫlva lived in a hut near the forest, far from the hall and the farms of the other folk, for they feared her and they bored her. The floor was clean, her few furnishing well-kept, a pot of soup boiled on the fire, and her garden was neatly weeded and flourished in the early summer light. All as would be expected from any aged widow of good standing.
But from the ceiling hung the cleaned and rune-carved bones of a hundred animals, from the vole to the boar to man. When Bredg entered the breeze that followed him rustled them, so they made sounds of like flutes and chimes.
“I know why you are here, son of two mothers. To save your brother. Why would you wish to, when if he is mad you might be King?” The woman’s gown was covered in the beaded necklaces of a thousand tributes from the warriors who had come to her for luck and blessings before going Viking and had returned with gifts of gratitude and fear. Her face was covered in wrinkles, each speaking of her knowing years.
“I do not wish to be King. It is better to control the one who sits at the head of the meadhall than to be that one. I love my brother, but he lacks wisdom and I would rule through him rather than in his place.”
“You are honest for one who is loved by the God of Lies.”
“No. But I am wise enough to know who deserves my truth.”
She laughed, and offered him water. “You are to go raiding soon.”
“My father has called off the raid to Hibernia, since my brother cannot lead the party.”
“No. You will go and lead. There is monastery of females near the coast, with fat farms and lazy farmers around it. When you take it there will be a girl there with fiery hair, which marks her as Loki’s own. You will take her to the rock where He was bound and shed her blood there, that He might be comforted in His wrath at your brother. Her blood will soothe the venom of the viper that drips onto His face when His wife must empty Her bowl.”
Such a sacrifice, such a request, was harsh even for one such as Loki.
Bredg frowned, “There are red-haired girls aplenty here. I could shed the blood of a hundred in the time it would take me to go to Hibernia and drag her all the way to His rock. Surely the blood of one maiden is as red and as sweet as that of any other.”
“But He wants the Hibernian girl,” she said, as if speaking to a dim child.
Nóirin was weeding Sister Agnes’s secondary herb garden, hidden in the trees when the Northmen came.
She had been cursing the holy sister for an hour as she worked in the dark, her fingers stinging as she brushed thistles and then burning as the oils from some of the healing plants found their way into her wounds. But the nun had insisted that the weeding must be done under the light of the full moon due to the delicate and efficacious nature of the herbs.
Which was bollocks as far as Nóirin was concerned. Some business from one of the massive Latin books the Sisters kept. She liked to read them herself, Sister Constantia having taught her the language of the old Romans just like she was one of the proper Novices and not just a servant taken in for charity’s sake, but most of them were filled with learned nonsense when it came to farming. Stuff written by men who had never turned their hand in the dirt.
Still, she couldn’t complain. Sister Agnes had decided that Nóirin would be her assistant since none of the current group of Novices had any aptitude with medicine, so her work was less strenuous than many of the other servants. No working the fields or washing the endless reams of linen the holy woman dirtied, she never mucked the pigs and only had to scrub the floors in the infirmary and the herbarium. And listen to the Prioress’s urging her to take orders.
“Although your mother left you here and we have taken you in as a charitable service, you are a bright girl, Nóirin. Not like the other servants, you could actually accomplish something with your life if you were to take orders. I could even see you starting your own monastery, if you could get your head out of the clouds for more than an hour at a time,” the elegant woman said, offering a complement as an insult and an insult as a complement.
“Rather not,” she had answered, offering no more explanation to turning down a flattering offer. She also appreciated that the Prioress had not mentioned the honor of offering her life to the glory of Christ in her offer. It was one thing to turn down earthly glory, but even though Nóirin’s people followed the old ways it didn’t do to insult any of the gods. Especially the one who insisted He was alone up there.
The Prioress had been right about her thoughts being in the clouds. Or, rather, they were simply far from the cloister. Nóirin once dreamt of life in a village, as a wife and mother.
She dreamt of it once .
And then laughed herself silly.
What she wanted, truly wanted, was simply to go! To be free of the Sisters, of the other servants who resented her favorite status and then also were proud that one of them was considered special, of the Novices who hated her for being little more than a slave and yet speaking Latin with hardly an accent and yet wanted her to be their friend because they were all lonely little girls. Free of the coast and sound of the sea that taunted her with its stories of seeing the world.
To wander in the mountains.
To see cities, proper cities, like Rome or Constantinople.
To take a boat upon a great river and watch the world she passed.
She cut her finger on her spade.
“Fucking garden!” She stood, sucking the wound, and when she was upright the alarm bell in the tower tolled.
Raiders.
Leaving the basket of herbs, tucking her knife back into her boot, she ran back to the cloister, fleet and sure as a long eared hare, her earth-brown braid a flag behind her.
Bredg’s men were wild and eager. He had chosen his raiding party for their wits as much as for their strong arms, but no man who went a-Viking was cool-headed. Save Bredg himself.
“Remember,” he shouted above the roil of the sea as they approached the shore, “take what you will - gold, food, slaves, but -”
“Any red-haired girls are to be brought to you!” Half of the men called.
“Untouched!” The rest finished and all laughed.
“Don’t worry, Jarl Bredg, no one will take the auðr you’ve claimed, especially as you have said you will take no other plunder. Hel’s tits, we’ll find you more red maids than even your cock will know what to do with!” said Thorvald, Soren’s closest sword-brother, who alone knew why their leader sought such a girl but played ignorance.
The boats glided upon the land with no more sound than a goose’s wing on the air, and they were on the farthest outlying farms before a signal could be raised.
There were no red haired girls there. Ravens aplenty, brown haired farm maids, even a golden young wife, but none kissed with fire.
But Bredg knew she wouldn’t be found amongst the sheep, she would be in the shelter of their god’s women.
When the fires were seen the bells sounded and he knew they had to reach the convent before they could shut their gates. The foolish women would leave them open for the peasants to run to for as long as they could and now it was a race through the fields and the thin forest to reach it first.
His men and the few shield maids who raided with them moved through the forest wolf-like and fast, prey scented and hungered for. Bredg saw them trample a garden of healing herbs. Someone had been there that night, a basket of fresh cut plants perfumed the air.
The screams of the slower Hibernians sounded as the surest footed of his men reached the clearing where the monastery stood. They would be in.
All was on fire when Bredg arrived, the air filled with soot and the smell of blood and fear and rage.
He had eyes only for the girl. She had to be here.
“There are no girls here!” Thovald’s hoarse voice found him as he searched the chapel, filled with aging nuns who prayed to their Roman god and pretended that the Northmen were not there, under the stern eye of their Prioress.
“What?” Bredg was tired and filled with fear for his brother. The farmers in the courtyard had put up a fight, more than was expected.
“No girls, only these holy hags. They must have had another way out and sent the maidens through it to spare them.”
“Find it!”
The cave was but ten yards from the tunnel that they had followed out of the cloister, but Nóirin could lead the novaites no farther. The Northmen were everywhere, searching for them.
For rape.
For slaves.
She had done her part, as had been instilled into her over and over by Sister Agnes should this happen, that she was to take the girls - Novices, servants, the younger nuns - and lead them to safety, no matter what else should happen. Because she was the cleverest, and the bravest.
Nóirin felt neither now, though she had been proud as anything when she had been given the important task. Should the Northmen come.
Now they were trapped, in a cave that felt smaller by the moment, that would sure be found by the Northern devils so loudly were some of the girls breathing. The leader of the Vikings, the looking like very devil himself, black-haired and tall as an ancient tree, looking more to be a Gael than one of the raiders, was driving them in their heathen tongue.
It was like he could smell they were near.
The girls huddled close to her, trying to not sob, afraid in the dark, all holding torches they could not light, all wanting her to do something that would save them. The littlest, Grania who was the cook’s child, clutched her hand and buried her face in Nóirin’s skirt.
They were so close to the path that would lead them to safety, if the Northmen would only look away.
They needed a distraction.
Nóirin fiddled with a piece of flint like it was a holy bead and prayed for an idea. Even a mad one. Which was the kind that came to her. With a hasty beseeching of Brigid, saint of the springtime or the goddess of fire, she wasn’t sure which she whispered to Dione, the oldest and steadiest of the novices.
“You have to take them up the path. Keep them quiet and safe,” she whispered as she started to unhook her apron.
“And where will you be then?” the girl answered, furious, anxious, and wisely quiet.
“Out there, making a spectacle of myself,” she answered, and then added, “see if there is any pitch on one of those dark torches, then.”
“What for?”
It takes a great deal to distract men hunting for girls.
But one girl can do it.
If she is mad.
And brave.
And shouting like a bean sí.
And naked,
And her hair is on fire.
The girl ran from what looked to be nowhere straight through the mass of Bredg’s raiders, screaming loud enough to wake the dead in Ran’s hall, her long legs carrying her past the stunned men, who jumped back from the fiery rope of hair that followed her.
Bredg gave a harsh laugh and tackled her, hard enough to drive the wind from her as they rolled in the dirt, and she struggled like a wildcat but had the strength of a kitten in her scrawny body, and no idea how to fight. Straddling her, the burning braid of her long, long hair wrapped about his fist, he leaned in and said in her ear, low and sneering, in priestly Latin, “If you come quiet then I won’t tell my men where you’ve got the other’s hiding.”
She glared at him, her eyes lit with by fire from her hair, her lips set in a growl. He could see the defiance in her eye die.
She nodded.
One swing of his seax severed her braid, which he threw into the trees so he could no longer see her, and cursed his God for a bastard.”
Find the rest at AO3!
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Magnus Chase and the Obligatory Hogwarts AU Ch16
Yes, we're here! I've been waiting forward to this part since I started this story. So, with no further ado, I present to you the Triwizard Tournament!
The rest of their sixth year had gone by relatively well. Halfborn managed to get the N.E.W.T.S he needed to get into the Wizarding University he needed, as did Percy and Annabeth. They threw a big party to celebrate it before the two Americans had to fly back and let’s just say Halfborn took full advantage of the fact he could legally drink.
Sam had been doing research on how she could get permission to bring Amir to the Triwizard Tournament for the best part of the second semester. She hadn’t yet told Amir since she didn’t want to get his hopes up for nothing but Alex promised her that they could just sneak him in if they didn’t get permission. Apparently the plan included fake mustaches and a bad accent.
And speaking of Alex, her relationship with Magnus had been… weird. They were still friends, sure, and you wouldn’t notice something was wrong even if you knew both of them well. They hang out and joked together and spent entire nights awake binge-watching something from Netflix, but there were always those moments when they remembered of the crush they had – still had - on the other and had to remind themselves nothing would come of it and they should just move on already.
At times, they would get their hopes up for a moment. Holding eye-contact for a moment too long, hands brushing a bit too much, a joking ‘I love you’ and then squashing that hope down again. Friends do those things too, it doesn’t mean anything, they thought to themselves.
Summer went by in a flash, or maybe it just seemed like that to them. They met in front of King’s Cross and sat together in a compartment, telling each other what they did during summer. Being back on the Hogwarts Express felt different this time. Maybe it was because the last time they were in one of its compartments they were squeezed tightly next to each other in order to fit eight people inside whereas now they were only five. Or maybe it was because they knew this was going to be the last time they got to ride the Hogwarts Express at the start of the school year. They were seventh years now- by next autumn they will have graduated.
“It feels weird to think this is the last time, huh?” T.J said at one point. “By next year we’ll be officially adults.”
“Now you made me feel old,” Alex said sheepishly, but no one missed the melancholy tone in her voice. None of them other than Magnus knew all the details, but it didn’t take much to understand Alex’s time at Hogwarts were the happiest years of her life so far. Hogwarts had been her home for four years and the first place where she ever felt like she was accepted. It honestly scared her to think she would never come back after this year. I suppose this is what normal kids feel like when they have to move out of their parents’ house for the first time.
“I don’t feel like an adult,” Magnus said. “I can hardly grow a beard or drive and I have no clue what I’m supposed to do with my life.”
Everybody but Sam – who knew for years she wanted to be a pilot- nodded in an ‘I feel you’ kind of way.
“You tell me,” Mallory sighed. “Halfborn had been talking to me about different universities and courses and whatnot he was interested in for years and I was just like ‘I guess I want to finish school?’”
“Yeah, for all our jokes about how he’s an actual Viking, Halfborn has his life together better than any of us, save for Sam,” T.J said.
“I don’t have my life together that well,” Sam said, more because of embarrassment for being left out of the conversation than anything else. And it was true! Like, yesterday she had stayed up later than she was supposed to and she didn’t know a thing about cooking (ironic considering Amir’s family owned a restaurant).
Sam was met with ‘are you shitting me’ looks by every one of their friends. “Sam,” Alex said slowly, “you are already engaged with a boy you’ve been in love with for years and you’ve already applied for a bunch of piloting schools. You’ll probably be accepted by all of them, to be honest.”
Sam said nothing because Alex was right (although she doubted they would all accept her. At least one would turn her down due to her religion despite her great qualifications.)
“Okay, enough with worrying about our future, guys!” Mallory said, standing up from her seat. “This is our last year! Let’s make sure we enjoy it! We’ll go out with a bang!”
The redhead threw her arms in the air and her friends were quick to follow. Alex run out of the compartment quickly and came back with arms filled with chocolate frogs and a bunch of other sweets. The group hollered and hooted and soon candy wrappers littered the floor as they sang horrible Top 40s songs (and musicals because Percy and Alex had bonded over their shared love for Hamilton and other musicals, which meant that Alex was singing ‘Big Fun’ from ‘Heathers’ at the top of her lungs).
They arrived at Hogwarts after T.J and Alex (with some helps from the others) had managed to sing though the entire first act of “In the Heights” (and wow, Magnus never knew he found Alex speaking Spanish hot, but damn).
The opening feast went on like always for the most part. And ‘for the most part’ because Headmaster Odin announced that the Triwizard tournament would take place in their school this year. The student went crazy over the announcement, obviously, especially those over 17 who could try out their luck and see if they would be chosen as Champion.
And so that was the standart topic of conversation for the first weeks of school. ‘Which house will the Champion be from?’, ‘Who do you think will be Champion?’ and ‘Who will you take to the Yule Ball?’ were the most common questions between students and eve some teachers asked them (read: Professor Jack).
And so the time passed by and October finally arrived. The 30th came and the students were unable to think of anything but the arrival of the two schools that evening. It became almost unbearable for the teachers, the constant murmur in the back of their classes. Some completely gave up on teaching and just talked with their students (again, Professor Jack, who told them about the beautiful French woman he dated once and the handsome Bulgarian man he charmed with his talents).
The moment the afternoon classes were over the students sprinted down to the Big Lake to watch the two other schools arrive. The students’ excited talking created a cacophony that sounded like constant buzzing. The younger students were the ones more excited, or more obviously excited. The seventh years might not be bouncing up and down and squealing, but they wanted to.
“Hey, look!” a tiny first year yelled, pointing up at the sky. Everybody turned to look where she was pointing to see a pastel blue carriage being dragged across the sky. As the carriage got closer and closer it got bigger and bigger and what at first looked like a typical carriage ended up being as a two-deck bus on steroids. The students quickly moved aside to make room for the vehicle to land.
As the carriage landed and the winged horses that pulled it along came to a halt, Alex turned to Magnus. “It must be really hard to find parking space for that thing.” The joke was so random it made Magnus crack up, despite effectively ruing the otherwise magical moment.
As the doors of the blue carriage opened, a tall, elegant man walked out with robes as blue as sapphires and gray streaks of hair at his temples. He was followed by a rather big group of students, all dressed in blue. The boys looked like they could all easily get the role of the pretty boy in a bad high school chick flick, wearing a sky blue blazer with details in darker blue and perfectly ironed blue pants. The girls could have easily passed as Veelas, moving gracefully in a way that made you wonder whether they actually had Veela blood. They wore the same blazers as the boys with a blue skirt that reached their knees and fluttered with their every step.
The students were arranged by year, the first years at the back and the seventh years at the front. A boy walked near the front, shoulders pushed back and head held high proudly. The light color of his uniform made his dark skin stand out and black curls peaked out from under his hat.
“There’s so much blue I think I’ll throw up,” Magnus whispered at Alex. He honestly felt a bit nauseous at seeing so much of the color, no matter how attractive the students were.
“I’m more concerned about those ridiculous hats,” Alex whispered back. “Who thought those things were a good idea?”
“The same guy who thought we should have big black pointy hats,” T.J piped in.
The tall man, the headmaster of the school apparently, walked up to Odin and the two men shook hands.
“Gilbert, it’s good to see you,” the Hogwarts headmaster said with a smile, pronouncing Gilbert like Jill-bare.
“Likewise, mon ami.” The man- Gilbert- spoke in a soft, mellow tone that made Alex think he’d be great at telling kids bedtime stories. “Has Durmstrang arrived yet?” Gilbert’s accent was almost unnoticeable, except for when a word had an ‘r’ in it.
“They should show up any minute-“ The Headmaster was cut off by an explosion of water from the Big Lake. A large ship burst out of the water, spraying the watching students with water. The ship looked like what you would imagine a pirate ship like, made entirely of wood, with large masts and billowing sails that looked completely dry despite being just underwater. The figurehead at the prow of the large vessel was a sculptured dragon, its large wings plastered over the sides of the ship’s hull and its eyes two gleaming red rubies.
The ship pulled closer to the shore and a wooden bridge was lowered. The first to exit was a tall woman with broad shoulders and almost white blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her eyes were gray and sharp like a blade and there were deep lines around them. The students of Hogwarts were instantly met with the realization that she was one of those teachers that you don’t want to piss off or you’ll be damned to hell.
Alex stared at the woman with large, shocked eyes. Of course she would be here! He scolded himself for not figuring this out sooner and his blood run cold in his veins as he realized something else. Oh, please don’t let her be here, please don’t let her be here.
“Alex?” Magnus asked, concern lacing his voice. His hand hovered in the air next to him, hesitant if he should touch Alex’s shoulder or not. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, yeah I’m-“
The ‘I’m fine’ Alex would have said got cut in his throat as his eyes fell on a tall girl with auburn hair. She held her chin up high and as the students of Durmstrang got off the boat she looked at everyone with an expression as if she was above all of them. Her blood red robes made her white skin seem almost translucent. Her legs, strong from Quidditch, where clad the isothermal leggings that were part of the Durmstrang girl uniform. The fur coat hanging off her shoulder looked like the skin of a bear and Alex had no doubt in his mind she could easily kill a bear.
“Alex?” Magnus followed Alex’s eyes to the Durmstrang girl. He didn’t understand why confident Alex was left looking at the girl with frightened eyes until he remembered what Alex hat told him back in the Room of Requirement last year. “Is she…?”
Alex clearly understood what Magnus was asking because he nodded. “Y-Yeah.”
Anger flared up in the Hufflepuff and he got some very un-Hufflepuff like thoughts regarding that girl.
“Alex, are you alright?” Mallory asked concerned, laying a hand on her roommate’s shoulder.
“Who’s that girl?” Sam asked, having noticed the way with which Alex was staring at the girl.
“She’s a cow that hurt Alex,” Magnus said simply, voice as cold as the weather back at Durmstrang.
The rest of their group didn’t seem to need any more information because they were instantly glaring daggers at the back of the Durmstrang girl.
The Durmstrang students walked behind their Headmistress as she came to meet Odin.
“Odin, Gilbert, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” she said as they shook hands, her accent heavy when she spoke.
“Same here, dear Sonia,” Gilbert said as he kissed her cheeks in greeting.
The auburn haired girl was scanning the crowds of Hogwarts and Beauxbatons students with eyes like a hawk. She gave off the impression she was sure she would get picked for Champion and was searching the crowd of students for her competition. As her eyes flew over the students she suddenly froze when she saw a certain green haired Slytherin. For a moment, she looked just as surprised Alex, then her astonishment was wiped away by a wicked smile that spread across her face.
“Hello,” she mouthed at Alex and waved at him, her fingers wiggling.
A soft gasp was heard from Alex and Sam was quick to step in front of her brother and glare at the girl along with T.J. Mallory flicked a peace sign at the girl, which didn’t mean something as innocent as that for the Irish. Magnus flashed her a similar rude expression with absolutely no regret.
“Let’s kill her,” T.J said. The others nodded and kept glaring at the girl’s back.
“I know where we can hide the body,” Mallory said.
A nice, warm ball of feelings rose in Alex’s chest when he saw his friends try and defend him like that. Maybe he should be more concerned his friends were prepared to commit murder and kill a girl then didn’t even know the name of, but after seeing Helga again so suddenly it made him feel safe.
The three schools were lead inside the Hall of the Slain for dinner. The small tables that littered the room where students from all different houses could sit were now removed. In their place were the long House tables from the entrance feast along with two extra tables, one for each of the visiting schools. The group of friends had to split up despite how much they didn’t want to.
“If she tries anything, give me a signal and I’ll shower her in gravy and chicken bones,” T.J told Alex right before he went to sit at the Ravenclaw table. The unusual response managed to put a small smile on Alex’s face.
Magnus felt bad leaving Alex alone after that girl that had hurt him so much arrived and obviously recognized Alex, even though a part of him knew Alex could easily give her hell. Still, he couldn’t help but worry, though Sam and Mallory standing by Alex’s sides like his own personal body guards helped him calm down.
Once everyone was seated in their tables and the chatter in the Hall had calmed down, Headmaster Odin stood up.
“I believe I’m talking for all students in Hogwarts when I say we are all very happy to have the students and Headmasters of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and Durmstrang Institute here with us tonight.”
We could do with one less student, Magnus couldn’t help at thinking, eyeing the Durmstrang girl with undisguised dislike.
“As you all know very well, our fellow magical schools that are grassing us with their presence today,” Magnus huffed and rolled his eyes, glaring at the girl again, “are here because of the Triwizard Tournament, which our school will host this year.”
“Now, I’m sure you’re all very curious as to who will be the Champions that will represent each school,” Headmaster Odin continued. “Those wishing to bring honor to their school and represent it as a Champion must be seventeen or older. Anyone younger will not be permited to enter their name.”
Headmaster Gilbert stood up and continued from where Headmaster Odin had left off. “Those of age wishing to enter as Champion must write their name and their school clearly on a piece of parchment.”
Headmistress Sonia stood up and picked up from where her fellow wizard left off. “The potential Champions will have from the end of tonight’s dinner until the start of tomorrow’s feast to enter their name in the Goblet of Fire.”
As if on cue, a large chest that had been placed in front of the teacher’s table burst open. Blue flames erupted from inside, making every students in the Hall gasp in surprise. Once the flames calmed down, a beautifully sculptured goblet was seen hovering of the chest. Covered in gold, only the students sitting the closest to the teacher’s table were able to make out the scenes depicted on it. The valuable stones set about an inch under it lid gleamed in the lights of the Hall. Flames burned inside it, the bright fire dancing dazzlingly.
The entire Hall applauded loudly, amazed by the sight they just witnessed. Dinner was served once the students finally calmed down. Food from each different country served. Throughout the entire dinner students were asking each other if they would enter their names in the Goblet of Fire or who they thought would be picked.
///////////////
Magnus, Alex, T.J, Mallory and Sam were huddled together near the entrance of the Hall of the Slain. They had arranged to meet there before breakfast to enter their names.
“So who will go first?” Mallory asked, holding her own piece of parchment between her fingers.
“Can I?” T.J asked enthusiastically. Given his love for Quidditch, he had been hyped about the Triwizard tournament since the get go. He was a hundred percent ready to support whoever the Hogwarts Champion was, even if it wasn’t him.
“Go ahead.”
T.J walked to the Goblet of Fire confidently and let his parchment fall in the fire. The fire spiked up, turning momentarily blue before changing back to its warm orange.
One by one, they all put their names in the Goblet. Magnus felt self-conscious as he put in his. He knew very well there was no chance he’d be chosen and being seen entering his name by all these people made him feel awkward, even though he knew everyone over seventeen would be entering as well and only three of them would be chosen from all schools.
All of his friends seemed like better options than him, though if he had to bet on whom, his money would either go to Sam or Alex. Those siblings could kick some serious ass.
The flames were blue again as Alex was entering her name when that girl showed up. She was no longer wearing her fur coat but her heavy boots clicked against the stone hallway.
“Well, if it isn’t Alexander. How nice seeing you here, how are you?” The girl’s accent wasn’t nearly as thick as the one of her Headmistress but it was still very obviously there. Despite her words being kind, there was a very obvious tone in her voice that let anyone within earshot understand she meant them in the least kind way possible. She might as well have said “How are you? I hope you’re dying”.
Alex went pale when she saw the girl standing behind her, hips cocked to the side and a smug expression of her face. “Go away, Helga,” Alex said sharply and tried to leave. She had absolutely no interest in talking to Helga again – she’d left her behind when she left Durmstrang and her parents’ house and had made a happier life for herself at Hogwarts. Helga had no right coming back in her life and messing things up.
“My, is that how you speak to your old best friend?” Helga spoke in a mock hurt voice, pouting at Alex like she hadn’t made her last months in Durmstrang hell on earth. She dropped the innocent tone when she went on talking. “Now I can see why you never had any friends at school. It surprises me you have any here. Well,” she laughed, a sound that should have sounded nice but instead sounded like nails scratching a chalkboard, “it surprises me that you are even here. I was expecting to see you in some freakshow, not Hogwarts of all places.”
Alex felt herself get angrier and angrier. Her fingers and her joints were tingling with energy and she wanted nothing else but to punch Helga in the face and break her pretty little nose. She took a deep breath through her nose and willed herself to calm down. Helga wanted her to react and she wouldn’t give her the joy of knowing she got under her skin. “I told you to go away. I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Aw, don’t be like that. I just wanted to enter as Champion and see the competition.” Alex clenched her fists, trying not to do something she would regret. That stupid cow has the nerve to act like she’s the victim here. “But,” Helga kept going, “if all Hogwarts has to offer is people like you and terrorists, I’m pretty sure it’ll be an easy win for me.”
Gasps were heard and Sam went pale. If Alex was mad before she was furious now. How dare she talk like that about Sam? Sam, who had treated her like family and made her realize the word could mean something other than pain, Sam who was brave and selfless and ambitious and an absolute queen. Helga wasn’t good enough to clean the mud off Sam’s shoes. Your problem’s with me bitch, leave Sam out of it.
“What makes you think you’ll even be Champion?” Alex snapped at Helga, her voice as sharp as a knife.
Helga laughed. “You and I both know I’m one of the best students in Durmstrang and the Quidditch team’s best player. Who do you think would be Champion?”
“Hopefully not Bitch MacBitchson,” Magnus snarled under his breath. Or it was supposed to be under his breath but he said it loudly and everybody heard him. Including the bitch in question, who stared at him with the most offended expression Magnus had ever seen.
She quickly composed herself before speaking, her attention now a hundred percent on Magnus. “And who are you?”
“I’m Magnus Chase,” he said confidently. He was so angry at this girl for what she had done to Alex and how she was talking to her and his friends right now that he didn’t pay any attention to the fact there were students gathered around them watching what was happening. “I’m Alex’s friend and if you’re really that confident you’ll be Champion then just put your bloody name in the Goblet and leave because I think seeing a Troll in person is scaring some of the younger students.”
As per teenage fashion, the crowd of students broke out into a loud chorus of “Ohhhhh!” Helga was red in the face, obviously furious. Magnus felt so proud of himself as he watched her walk up to the Goblet with her nose held high, ignoring the cacophony the students were creating. She dropped her name in the fire and turned around, walking straight into Alex and knocking her off her feet as she made her way to the Hall of the Slain.
“I’ll see you and your little friends later, Alexander,” she said to Alex over her shoulder, a smirk on her lips.
A hand was offered to Alex. “Are you okay?” the person asked in a distinctively French accent and Alex recognized him as the tall boy from Beauxbatons with the crazy curls (he wasn’t wearing the stupid hat any more, thank goodness).
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” But even as she said that, Alex was glaring daggers, knives, swords and every other sharp object at Helga’s back. “Thank you.”
“It’s okay. I didn’t see everything, but that was really rude of her. If she wants to be a Champion she shouldn’t act like that.” The boy seemed to realize how angry he sounded and he quickly apologized. “Sorry for that.”
“Raphael!” A boy with dirty blonde hair stood by the entrance to the Hall of the Slain and waved at Raphael. “Come on!”
“J’arrive, Louis!” Raphael called out to the other boy. “I hope I’ll see you around,” he told Alex before putting his name in the Goblet and running to the other boy. They intertwined their fingers and walked into the Hall of the Slain.
“You know what I said about killing her?” T.J said. “I take it back. Let’s torture her, it’ll make the suffering last longer.”
The groups of friends chose to ignore T.J’s violent suggestion and simply nodded. They were already making lists of potential punishments.
////////////////
The day went by as slow as a snail for every student at Hogwarts, but finally the time had arrived when they would learn who would be Champions. The students poured into the great Hall, for once immediately sitting at their tables. The food of the Halloween feast was served and students eat in between talking among themselves lively. The air was filled with chattering as the last friendly dares were made about who would represent each school.
As dinner was finishing, Headmaster Odin stood up from his seat. He hit his Goblet with his spoon and a loud, crisp sound was made, amplified by magic. Everybody stopped talking at once and turned to look at him.
“My dear students,” he began, “I am sure you are all excited to learn who will be the three brave fellows to represent each of our schools in the Triwizard Tournament.” The Hall burst into applause as everybody showed the Headmaster their agreement. Odin smiled before continuing. “I assume you would prefer get to the point, as you youngsters say, so let’s see who have been chosen by the Goblet of Fire. I’m curious to find out myself.”
Applause filled the Hall once more, accompanied by howls and even cat-whistles. The chest with the Goblet of Fire was levitated on top of the small stage set in front of the teacher’s table. Headmaster Gilbert stepped forward. He took the Goblet in his hands and held it steadily.
“Beauxbatons Academy of Magic!” He bellowed in a clear voice. The Goblet’s small orange flames burst to the ceiling, turning into a vibrant, almost blinding blue. A single piece of parchment floated inside the fire, not one corner of it scorched by the heat.
As the fire quelled, the paper floated gently onto Headmaster Gilbert’s hand. The entire Hall was watching him with bated breath as he unfolded the paper and read the name it had written on it plain and clear.
“Raphael Beaumont!”
The clapping inside the Hall of the Slain sounded like a thunderstorm as Raphael, the tall boy with the dark eyes that helped up Alex yesterday stood up. The applause only increased the closer he got to the stage, his school being by far the loudest. He made his way to the stage with his shoulders pushed back and eyes looking straight ahead, but he was obviously overthinking it – he walked like a person who put too much thought into every step and he clearly felt the eyes of everyone in the room on his back.
Raphael stood next to his Headmaster as Headmistress Sonia stepped forward. She took the Goblet in her strong hands and with the boldness and certainty of a commander howled, “Durmstrang Institute!”
Flames exploded out of the Goblet once more, tall and mesmerizing. The only thing that was heard in the dining hall as the piece of parchment floated down to her hands were quiet whispers. Unfolding the parchment with steady hands, she read in a booming voice.
“Helga Leifsson!”
Applause filled the Hall once more, but Alex and his friends refused to take any part in it. Helga stood up and walked to the stage with the air of certainty and elegance of a model, not once faltering in her step or looking scared, nose held high.
“Whoever is chosen from Hogwarts better kick her ass,” Alex grumbled, stabbing his meat with his spoon and imagining he was digging the piece of cutlery into Helga’s flesh.
Last but not least, Headmaster Odin stepped forward and cupped the Goblet in his hands, old and wrinkled head steady with years’ worth of experience. In a voice so loud you would have never thought he was capable of making, he shouted, “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy!”
The flames raged high and powerful, showering the students in their dazzling light. The piece of parchment floated inside the flames like one of the paper boats Magnus and his mum would make and put in a lake. The parchment drifted down to Odin’s hands and he unfolded it carefully. He read loud and clear, leaving no one in the room a doubt about the name he uttered.
“Magnus Chase!”
Magnus suddenly felt like he was underwater. He knew there was sound, he knew the other students were clapping for him to get up and go join the Champions on the stage, but it all felt like it was happening too far away. It wasn’t really him, the Goblet couldn’t have picked out his name out of all these talented people. Yet even as he thought all that, as much as he couldn’t believe, people from his table were already pushing him to get up.
He somehow found himself on his feet, moving in a daze towards the stage. He wished he was walking as confidently as Raphael or at least as elegantly as that cow Helga, but he knew he must have looked pathetic next to them.
As the metaphorical water from his ear cleaned, the sound of applause didn’t seem to come from miles away. He realized it was his four friends who were cheering and clapping the loudest, edging him on by chanting his name like Mallory (“Magnus! Magnus! Magnus!”) or saying kind of inappropriate things like T.J (Kick their asses, Magnus! @#$% them!).
His eyes drifted to Alex, who might have been the single loudest person in the entire room. He had one leg up on the table, trying to climb on it but being held back by Sam, who was shouting for him just as loudly. One of Alex’s hands was cupped around his mouth as a megaphone and his other fist was pumping in the air as he yelled combinations of Mallory’s and T.J’s encouragements.
“Go get ‘em, Magnus! Woo hoo!” He yelled passionately, scaring a few of the other Slytherins.
Magnus smiled to himself as he made the last few steps to the stage, now walking with his head held high in pride.
Each Headmaster took their Champion by the hand and raised their joined hands in the air as Odin made the final announcement of the night.
“My dear students, I present to you the Triwizard Tournament Champions!”
�Y��K
Have I told you I love writing shit-talking? Because I do. Get ready, because I have quite a few things prepared for you >:3
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I posted 684 times in 2021
43 posts created (6%)
641 posts reblogged (94%)
For every post I created, I reblogged 14.9 posts.
I added 187 tags in 2021
#feedback reblog - 47 posts
#fic feedback - 47 posts
#i love my mutuals - 22 posts
#vikings - 13 posts
#birthday - 11 posts
#mutuals love - 10 posts
#i love my mutuals - 10 posts
#get to know me - 9 posts
#answered asks - 9 posts
#getting to know me - 9 posts
Longest Tag: 56 characters
#therealcalicali 5000 follower celebreation and thank you
My Top Posts in 2021
#5
A Warrior’s Beauty
gif credits @honestsycrets
Fandom: Vikings
Pairing: Hvitserk x Amma
Genre: Romance, Fluff, Smut, Angsty, Canon AU
Words: 1407 (still not a drabble, I’m a lost cause)
Warnings: (Light) self-depreciation, smut
Summary: Amma is feeling self-conscious, Hvitserk helps in his own special way.
A/N: Yay, I managed to write and to post something. I hope you will like it, @lol-haha-joke
Amma watched Hvitserk and Ivar interact with Prince Dir after Oleg’s funerals. She smiled. The two brothers seemed to getting along quite fine now. Hvitserk was not a shadow anymore but a real man. Somehow, the same brother who had destroyed him had managed to bring him back to life. He finally found his place and she could not be happier about it.
Her smile suddenly faltered as Katya and a pair of gorgeous Rus women approached the brothers and their new ally. Ivar’s attention was immediately set on Katya as Hvitserk was surrounded by the two other women. Amma watched him eying them up and down with his infamous salacious grin. Something yanked at her heart, she turned her eyes away from the scene and took the decision to go back to her chamber.
Nobody would notice her departure. There was no shieldmaiden in this Christian land where people kept watching her as if she was a rarity or an atrocity. Amma did not feel like she belonged but the moment Hvitserk took her in his care, she was aware that there would be no welcome back in Kattegat. She had sided with the traitors.
Once in her chamber, she took off her clothes and got ready for the night. Hvitserk barged in just as she was about to go to bed.
Amma froze for an instant, then asked nonchalantly, “Is there a problem?”
“Is there a problem?” He repeated, a little bit lost. “You’re the one who left with no warning.”
“I felt tired and I didn’t want to bother you.” Amma answered, taking a nonchalant tone again. The way she averted his eyes told him another story though.
“Is this about those women?”
Amma blushed. “You have the right to do anything you want. Just because we fucked once or twice…”
“Once or twice?” He chuckled as he pulled her against him. “We’ve been going at it like rabbits for a while now.”
Amma’s cheeks reddened even more, she slapped his chest playfully for good measure but he was right. The moment she was on her feet after this awful arrow had almost killed her, Hvitserk had not left her side. He had showed his intentions as clearly as he always could and it was not very long before they fell in the same bed…and had sex on a regular basis.
Nonetheless, she knew how insatiable Hvitserk was and those Rus women were a real sight to the eye.
“I’d understand if you wanted to have a taste of the Christian women.” She said matter-of-factly but still refused to meet his eyes. “I mean, they look so beautiful.”
“And you’re not?” Hvitserk tilted his head to the side. “Amma?”
She nervously played with the fabric of his tunic before granting him with an answer. “I…I have scars and burns and…they look so perfect and untouched, unaltered.”
“I have scars too and you still think I’m the hottest Viking, right?”
She did not raise her head but he could almost perceive the ghost of a smile on her face before he felt her punch his stomach. “Of course, idiot. It’s just…not the same for women.”
Feeling her utter lack of confidence, Hvitserk just pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head gently. His hands ran up and down on her back until he grew bold and let them wander a little bit lower. Amma knew he was trying to comfort her in his own personal way. After all, this Ragnarsson had never been good with words. She raised her head to meet his eyes, full of lust but also a little bit of concern. He cared, she realized. No matter how he showed it, he cared and that was the only important thing.
Their lips crashed and they took off their clothes frantically before tumbling on the bed.
Hvisterk’s lips traveled down her body, nipping and biting lightly, until he reached her womanhood. She felt his fingers playing with the thatch of hair down there before slipping two of his digits inside.
Amma’s head fell backwards on the pillow and she let out a loud moan. It spurred him on, the movements of his fingers quickened as his thumb toyed with her clit swiftly. The shieldmaiden was panting now as the pressure on her lower belly got stronger.
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52 notes • Posted 2021-08-02 02:01:08 GMT
#4
Romancing Harald Finehair
Fandom: Vikings
Pairing: Harald x Reader
Genre: Modern AU, Angst, Fluff
Warnings: None
Words number: 1480 (yep, still don’t know how to write a drabble)
Summary: Harald does not believe he is worth it, you prove him wrong.
A/N: Here is your second request, love. @gearhead66
Harald was a man of many words. No matter the situation, he knew how to charm people with his words. This was one of the many reasons why you had fallen for him. You, the little flower girl that he met one day after you had delivered some floral arrangements for his company. He charmed you instantly. You had a date, two dates, three dates, and now one year later, the two of you were living together.
Now one year later, Harald was quite – unusually quiet. He still smiled, laughed, kissed you, cuddled you, made love to you but something was amiss. You knew he was convinced he was not the right one for you since that dreadful visit to your parents.
They were not known for their tolerance and understanding so you had tried your best to postpone the day Harald would meet them. You knew what type of comment they could say and how badly they could act. But when they invited you both for Christmas to celebrate with the whole family, there was no way you could have refused. Harald had felt humbled that your parents seemed so eager to meet him and he could not wait to celebrate this family holiday with your folks since he had not real family left except for his younger brother who was often away on a trip.
So, you went. Sadly, everything happened as you had foreseen it. Their judgmental faces when they saw how older than you he looked, the widening of their eyes when they heard his name, their fake sweet voices when they talked to him or their “not so subtle” jokes about his age. You were not certain Harald noticed any of it but if he did, he did not mention it – which was frankly even more noble of him.
Still, you were annoyed and had to confront them about their behavior. You did not need to do it though, because they cornered you in the kitchen as Harald and you were ready to leave a few da ys later.
“Honey, he is really charming but do you really think he’s the one for you?”
“And why wouldn’t he be, mother?” You raised your chin and crossed your arms on your chest defiantly.
“He is nearly 15 years older than you, honey. Isn’t it a bit too much?”
“Stop ‘honey’ me.” You rolled your eyes. “I don’t care about our age gap. He is sweet, smart, caring and I love him. Besides, it’s not like I’m 18. I’m in my thirties so there is nothing wrong.”
“He is Harald Finehair.” Your mother hissed through her teeth. “Nothing good can come of this. If you want an older man so bad, why don’t you choose someone like Ragnar Lothbrok? At least, this one did something with his life.”
You could feel your blood boiling in your veins and were about to reply when someone coughed behind you.
Harald.
“We’d better leave if we don’t want to get stuck in traffic.”
Your parents had the decency to look a little bit uneasy but you were mortified.
During your way back home, Harald chatted with you as if nothing had happened but it was clear he had been hurt by your parents’ words and that he did not want to talk about it.
Since then, he had been slightly off. It pained your immensely and you decided to show him you loved him and that he was the one for you in spite of what your parents thought.
So, on this Friday night, you had prepared his favorite dish and put one your sexiest black dress – the one he loved so much, ready to woo him as he deserved to be.
When he came back from work, you were nervous wreck but you hid your trembling hands behind your back and welcomed him with a tender kiss on the lips. Harald looked around the room with a questioning gaze.
“What are we celebrating?” He asked, eying upside down with a smirk.
You shrugged your shoulders, trying to act nonchalant. “Do we need a reason?”
Harald watched you closely as if he was hoping to read some answer on your face but he found none. “I guess not.”
“Great! Now go and get ready for dinner.”
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56 notes • Posted 2021-03-08 02:01:20 GMT
#3
The Wallflower
Gorgeous moodboard made by the talented @naaladareia Thanks babe !
Fandom: Vikings
Pairing: Hvitserk x Plus-size reader
Genre: Modern AU, Drama, Angst, Romance
Words: 1742
Warnings: Angst, some self-depreciation (barely)
Summary: The only thing you wish for is to dance...
A/N: Here is my contribution to @youbloodymadgenius 1k Celebration. I’ll let you find out which famous line I picked up, it would spoil the plot. This might turn into a multipart series, depends if you like this one or not.
Your boss was a flirt. Well, one of them was, to be exact. When every employee of the food company you were working for had learnt that two young Danish men had bought the firm from your very American boss, brows were raised. What would they make of it?
Two years later, it turned out they had drastically changed it and made it one of the most famous brands of Danish food in the United States. Those different brothers seemed to complete each other and formed an effective duet.
Ivar was very professional, blunt, harsh sometimes but his mind was swirling with ideas and he knew how to deal with all the competitors his company could cross path with.
Hvitserk was…quite the opposite. He was the cook so he was very creative and more easy-going, funny, smiling and very friendly. Sometimes, he was even too friendly; you reminded yourself as you heard a fit of giggles coming from your other female colleagues on the other side of the room where Hvitserk was probably telling one of his silly stories or praising the women with endless compliments.
It would be a lie to pretend that he was not very charming but contrary to most of your colleagues, you did not take the praises coming out of his mouth very seriously. It was just in his nature to flirt with every girl he met and that also included an older and heavier woman like you. In your mind, Hvitserk could not date a woman like you but rather a perfect looking woman who would shine next to him. It was perfectly fine. Your curves were not everyone’s cup of tea but you did not mind because they were yours and you loved them – well, more like learned to love them.
“So…what did you decide to do for your reunion this weekend?”
Your brows furrowed at your closest colleague’s question and your eyes looked away from Hvitserk. “What do you mean? I already told you I was going.”
“Not that.” Lisa scoffed. “Did you find someone to go with?”
“I did not look for anybody. I’m going alone.”
“You can’t do that.” She replied in a categorical tone. “This would be highly humiliating.”
Lisa was known for being overdramatic over many things so you were not surprised she was reacting this way.
“I was single at the time, you know.” You tried to reason patiently with her. “So, it won’t be a surprise for them if that still is the case fifteen years later.”
Her eyes widened. “You are kidding, right?” She exclaimed a little bit too loud for your liking. “You have to…okay, you know what? I will help you find someone. In fact, I think my brother is free this weekend. I can ask him, he wouldn’t mind.”
“No, thank you.” You had already met the man. He was nice and handsome but not very discreet, just like his sister. “Besides, I don’t like the blind date thing.”
Lisa leaned forwards and whispered, “Pay someone then…” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
Right. Paying for a man to play your date, way to boost your ego. You knew Lisa meant well but the more she kept suggesting things, the more humiliated you felt. “No.”
She looked at you as if you were too stubborn for your own good. “You know, having a date means you would be able to dance…”
You sighed. She clearly knew which weak spot to strike on. “Lisa…”
“Good morning, ladies!”
The two of you startled at Hvitserk’s voice. “What’s the topic today?”
“Convincing Y/N to bring a date to her high school reunion.” Lisa answered without thinking. She instantly mouthed an “I’m sorry” as Hvitserk looked at you questioningly.
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58 notes • Posted 2021-03-26 01:00:47 GMT
#2
A New Kind of Adventure
(gif credits to @cobalt-owl)
Fandom: Vikings
Genre: Romance, light angst
Pairing: Halfdan X Reader
Words number: 1045
Warning: none
Summary: Halfdan has gone raiding and exploring while you are waiting for him at home, pregnant.
A/N: This was requested by my sweet @gearhead66. Enjoy !
“You are sure you will be alright?” Your husband asked, his chestnut eyes boring into yours as he was trying to get the answer in them.
“Yes, of course.”
The boats were ready, Bjorn was eagerly waiting and your husband had been bouncing for days about their plans. What else could you do or say?
“Goodbye, Halfdan the Black. May the Gods be with you.”
“May the Gods be with you and our little one.” He replied, tenderly stroking your swollen belly.
You smiled up at him. The two of the you exchanged a kiss before he stopped on the boat and left for his new exciting adventure.
A comforting hand squeezed your shoulder, you turned your head on the side and met the worried eyes of your brother-in-law, King Harald Finehair.
Weeks later, he was giving you that same worried stare as he was about to leave you for the night.
“You are sure you will be alright?”
A smiled crossed your lips when you realized he pronounced the exact same words that his brother had said to you before his departure. They were so different and yet so alike in so many ways.
“Yes, I am. You don’t have to worry, Harald. I have everything I need and I can take care of myself. Besides, I am not alone.” You added, gesturing towards the thralls fussing in the room.
“You would be safer with us.” Us being he, his wife and their three children.
There was a reason Halfdan and you had chosen to live on your own and not with the royal couple, as they had offered. Family was a blessing but also a curse and your couple needed some intimacy. So, you had found a little cabin not too far away where you could live and go whenever you felt like it. And you strongly felt like going there right now.
“I am a shield maiden, Harald. I know how to fight.”
“You are a heavily pregnant shieldmaiden.” He retorted.
You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Harald, please…”
“Fine.” He answered in a heavy sigh. I will leave two guards here though and please send your thralls to warn me if anything happens.”
You simply nodded to show your consent. Harald left, half-satisfied.
You knew he was worried, he had been from the moment Halfdan had left. In fact, he did not understand why his brother had chosen to leave and go raiding instead of staying with his wife.
Assuring that it had not bothered you to see Halfdan leaving would have been a lie. Of course, you would have loved for him to stay next to you during the whole pregnancy and hold your child the moment he was born…but Halfdan loved raiding and discovering new places. He was always looking for some new adventure. You knew this before marrying him and you could not ask him to choose. You loved him too much for that.
The baby kicked and you winced. It was getting more and more active every day so all the more exhausting.
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103 notes • Posted 2021-01-18 01:00:46 GMT
#1
Dreams, Dreams, Dreams
Fandom: Vikings
Pairing: Ivar x plus-size reader
Genre: Modern AU, Smut, Romance
Words: 3034
Warnings: Smut, oral (giving and receiving), self-depreciation
Summary: Working with Ivar has triggered something in your mind, especially at night.
A/N: This was supposed to be posted for @flowers-in-your-hayr ‘s birthday but is now my contribution to her 650 followers celebration. (Moodboard is her own creation) Enjoy !
“Mr Ragnarsson, I…”
“Ivar, call me Ivar.”
It seemed accurate, since he was balls deep inside you.
“Ivar”. You were painting. “I’m going to come.”
Your words made him thrust deeper into you. “Then come, Y/N. Come on my cock.”
His hips were snapping madly. He was close to his release as well. You could tell by the way his brows were tightly knit or his mouth was making this sexy pout you liked so much.
You raised your hips to meet his, he viciously grabbed your thigh and dived even deeper into you, touching your cervix in the most delicious way. A scream fell from your lips.
Eyes wide opened, you woke up in your bed. Sweat was dripping down your bed. Letting out a frustrated sigh, you rolled on the side to check your alarm and your eyes widened even more when you realized you had overslept again. Fifteen minutes was not much but it was still a lack of fifteen minutes in your morning routine before going to work.
You jumped out of bed and into the shower. The hot water helped your muscles relax. Those dreams were driving you crazy.
They had begun a few weeks ago when you were assigned to work with Ivar Ragnarsson on a very important contract. Since you spoke many languages fluently, the Ragnarssons considered you as one of the most valuable employees in their firm. When Bjorn had offered you to work alongside his little brother, you were flattered. Scared, but flattered. After all, Ivar had grown quite a reputation and the last thing you wanted was to end up like his personal punching ball.
Yet, working with him had revealed itself to be quite an adventure – and not in a bad way. Ivar was witty and passionate. He was sometimes treating you like an assistant, especially in front of his brothers but he was bearable most of the time.
The real problem were those dreams that had been haunting you during your sleep for a while now. Of course, they were mostly about sex: him taking you on your bed, in his office, against the wall, in his car…
The first time it happened you had laughed, figuring it was just a fantasy. He was quite a sight, after all. Second and third times were annoying. Then, it took place once or twice a week…and it started affecting the way you were behaving at work. A mere glance his way and you instantly became an awkward mess. Ivar would mostly get irritated, which made the situation worse and he ended up looking at you as if you had grown two heads.
If only you could make them stop but the more you wished for your crazy mind to leave you alone at night, the more you dreamt about him. So much that you had to admit to yourself you were falling for your boss. A boss who, according to flawless creatures he took to his bed, would certainly not glance at you for one second. You and your curves, you and your fat….no, definitely not his type you thought as you straightened your blouse over your wide hips a few minutes later before leaving for work.
Ivar was not there yet when you arrived at the office. You almost ran to the conference room in order to get everything ready for the presentation. It had to be perfect or he would throw a fit. Every brother would start yelling at the others and you would be blamed by Ivar in the end.
“Everything ready?”
You jumped, hearing Ivar’s voice and turned your eyes towards him. He was nonchalantly leaning against the doorframe.
“Yes”, you let out in a whisper.
His eyes scanned the room to check how you had everything settled. “You did well.”
“Thanks.” You squeaked nervously.
Ivar chuckled at your reaction. A shiver rand down your spine. “Don’t be nervous, everything will be fine. We worked hard on this.”
If only he knew what you were really nervous about…
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168 notes • Posted 2021-03-19 01:00:59 GMT
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Sweet Revenge
Author’s Notes | It’s a small drabble. But I think you guys will like it. Universe | Vikings Pairing | No pair Info | Viking Age AU, fixing plot AU, a gift for @inforapound, @honestsycrets, @therealcalicali and @ghvsts Words | 746 ⁑ Warnings: Religious conflicts.
Deep vengeance is the daughter of deep silence.
He couldn't remember where did he'd heard that sentence before. But it hammered his head through the whole bunch of long and tedious years he spent beside those meek sheep of their Lord, feeling the weight of their wool over his fur to hide the wolf who had sat among them, bleating for so long.
But the King of the fools was now dead, sadly with no heirs to succeed him - since his queen was awfully taken into the Lord's grace along with their only child in a terrible accident with her chariot not far from the day her King was called up to follow her.
Hvitserk had to admit he threw up twice thinking of how hideous was the idea of planning something so demonic. But it wasn't hard to loosen the reins of those horses when he stopped to think about his fatherless nephew or niece he would probably never know, growing in Rus' lands with nothing but stories of his brother's greatness. The child his little brother longed for so long and didn't live to have a chance to go back and see growing.
He had to admit it was hard to stand beside those meek sheep and keep himself awake for days and days into that stupid church hearing the unintelligible Latin of those priests that would never stop talking unless it was time for them to say "Amen" to whatever they had spoken before the pause. The memories of conquering York with his brother were an excellent relief for his mind who spent whole ceremonies building up scenes where he would just unsheath his sword and kill as many as he could inside that cursed place screaming Odin's name and chanting words of sacrifice to his true gods for his brother's delight.
It took long years of his life smiling at them, gathering their trust, conquering their hearts until the very moment came. After Alfred's disease took his life, the testament of the King was read: the statement of his name as Alfred's personal choice of heir.
With a smile on his face, Hvitserk walked towards the coronation covered with a red mantle that prevented anyone from seeing beyond the velvet tissue enclosed around his body. Not until the crown was placed over his head and the chant was echoing all over the place.
"Long live the king!"
His smile became bigger. The meek tone of the sheep disappeared entirely and once again, the wolf stood tall, looking down to the ones he had misled for so many years.
They would now become his feast... A well-deserved feast after so many years of waiting.
The doors of the church were open to the Danes he had invited personally for his coronation - of course, an invitation unknown for the Christian court that was present at the moment.
Under the surprised eyes of the Christian Earls and bishops, Hvitserk opened his red mantle, showing up his old Viking armor under the heavy tissue, sitting on Alfred's throne with the imposing presence he could only remember from his little brother...
His little crippled brother who could put that beautiful tone of fear over the Christians' faces he was now enjoying to see spreading as the Danes through the whole place.
"Don't stop," he said, crossing his legs in a careless way.
His smile reassembling his little brother's ironic smiles he would use so much when he was victorious over everyone else.
Was it what Ivar was used to feel?
It was good... Oh, so good!
"What were you saying? Long live the King... Long live the King," he sung, moving his hands.
Almost forcing the crowd to keep the beautiful chant as the sheep was now understanding they were surrounded and lost.
Their God wouldn't protect them now.
Nobody would save them now.
The Christian lands were his now...
One day, brother, it will all be ours. As far as the eye can see, all ours.
What about King Harald?
King Harald is most likely to have his days numbered...
Hvitserk remembered his little brother's smile.
It was all his now.
As far as the eye could see.
And hail Ivar, the Boneless, who had taught him how to outsmart.
Hvitserk's smile became bigger.
That night, his brother would be toasting and laughing at his victory from his deserved Valhalla, for his vengeance was done and the golden doors would be finally open for him.
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