#chill out Ubbe

[self-shipping-doll13]

Gold-Embossed Dinner Plates

November Prompts

Wc: 3930

Tw: Slight NSFW

There was a wild lashing outdoors, the droplets bouncing off the pavement. It was 4:30pm when 4:30pm was a late Autumn evening, and no longer a Summer afternoon. Not taking joy in the needles of rain I’d be braving in my venture, I was zipping up my fleece to stave off the late chill when my co-worker pulled me aside.

Ubbe and I had spoken only a couple of times before. He was good for our customer base, since a few people sidled in to smile at him dreamily when they bought their expensive pastries.

“Someone told me you had a run in with my brother,” Ubbe began, and there was a wry twitch on his lip.

“Yes, I met him a couple of days ago,” I said mildly.

That the two men were related should not have come as a surprise. They had the same last name, the same blue eyes—but Ubbe’s had not such keen ferocity.

The memory rekindled a fire in my cheeks. Ubbe seemed to choose his words thoughtfully, examining my face. “…I think I should apologise on his behalf. He didn’t say anything to bother you? Ivar can be unpredictable—he does things without thinking.”

“No, no,” I replied with dismay. How conscientious of Ubbe, but I was eager to mollify any worries he had. What garbled version of the story had he heard? “Nothing bad went on,” I reassured him. “We just had a little awkward moment. I’m fine, don’t worry at all!”

“Ah,” he accepted this correction, distancing himself. “Then forget I said anything.” And he smiled so that he showed the whites of his eyes. I hurried home.

That was before I started actually dating his brother, and I was soon made aware of Ivar’s brusque attitude (which I grew to find charming) by his… unorthodox teaching methods. Evidently others were unaccustomed to his gentler side. But I certainly did not resent the fact that I received special treatment. It made me feel, well, special. Later he told me I was.

From Ivar’s now-and-again comments on his family I gleaned a few more things: he had a half brother named Björn who was travelling the Mediterranean. The middle child, Hvitserk, was a tattoo artist and lived in the city with his girlfriend Thora—fine work. In those quiet moments late at night, I trailed my fingers softly across the sable whorls of ink on his skin. Sigurd, one year older than Ivar, had estranged himself from certain members of his family a couple of years ago and was trying to eke out a living as a musician. As a rule, he and Ivar despised each other, and Ivar was not keen on my speaking to Sigurd anytime soon. Or ever.

Floki, a family friend and apparently Ivar’s old teacher, was the person Ivar was most nervous for me to meet, because he held him partially responsible for his interest in old Norse history. Floki actually lived near my own home, on the briny grey coast. He made boats—in fact, he made a whole lot of other things. So one day, I found myself in the heart of his workshop, in a modest dwelling by a quay. Intricate carvings lined the tall shelves, and the wood shavings Floki blew from a coffee table made clear he had a pretty spontaneous work ethic. His wife, Helga, was immensely doting and kind, though sad-eyed. Dunking biscuits in hot cocoa whilst in their sitting room, I listened to the waves break up against hulls of white painted ships. It was probably the most comfortable I’d felt around Ivar’s family.

Floki was not related to Ivar by blood, but with his eccentricities, he definitely fit into the archetype of a ‘fun uncle.” Secretly I thought he acted more like Ivar's father than his actual father, whom I’d once met briefly in the hall landing just as he was shrugging on his fur-lined coat. Ragnar hummed at me blankly like I was the new and easily shatterable vase, and then left to go on and do other things.

I got the feeling that maybe he’d left that landing a lot in the past.

Ragnar had been separated from his wife Aslaug, Ivar’s mother, for over a decade. Not legally perhaps, but in every way that mattered. As I’d first seen her after seeing Ragnar, she was stiff and distracted, and seemed to look through me rather than at me. Aslaug and I smiled politely in the vague direction of the other, but without any real engagement. She was tall, auburn-haired and intimidatingly beautiful, so I knew where Ivar got his good genes from.

The idea of a more substantial meeting would not come up until something like a week or two after that. It was during one of those nights, lonesome but for the two of us and fuelled by kisses and caffeine, where it was impossible to resist getting lost in each other. And we got pretty lost—two times, three times—lost so thoroughly I could barely recall any other words than his name, and the soreness he left behind was the sweetest thing. Panting, I lay curled up against him, sweaty and sticky and satisfied. My heart was pounding and our intermingled breathing was so loud, the scent of sex permeated the air. The city outside was alive with blaring car horns and the drunken shouts of Halloween revellers, floating in through the open window and into his apartment. I could’ve died right there and been content.

“A girl could really get used to this,” I mumbled.

Ivar was rubbing my hip. “Yeah?”

Gazing up at him affectionately, I propped my chin up on my knuckles as I stretched my legs and toes out. His eyes had that tired, sultry glazed over look.

“Sweetheart… Keep staring at me like that and I’m going to be tempted to have a go at you again.”

I grinned cheekily. “Hm, I wouldn’t stop you.”

My muscles were utterly relaxed—I was steadily growing drowsy and my lids were drooping. He planted a kiss on the top of my head, shifting under me.

“You want to sleep, don’t you?”

Yawning, I nodded. “Should go to the bathroom first…”

Basking in the afterglow, I hated to drag myself away from him, and it was tough to lift up and roll out of bed. Caressing me with slow, gentle motions, he held fast.

“Wait, listen,” Ivar said, nose still buried in my dishevelled hair. “I wanna talk to you about something.”

“Yeah?”

Ivar tucked a loose strand back. His Adam's apple bobbed slightly. “How would you like it if I asked you to come to dinner with me and my family this weekend?”

I blinked for a moment. This statement was spoken more like a question; lacking in his usual confidence. “Of course I’d go,” I told him, without really thinking.

“That was fast,” Ivar said hazily. “My mother wants to get to know you, this girl I keep talking about. And my older brothers are going to be there. Two of them.” He puffed air out of his nose, then looked at me seriously, with pleading eyes. “Do you mean it? You want to go?”

“Yes.” Propping myself up on my elbow, I trailed a line down his jaw, finding light stubble and coaxing him into a grin. “Did you really think I could say no to you?”

“Saturday.” Ivar told me, chasing my hand to kiss it like he always did. “And I’m looking forward to it.”

Humming, I pressed my lips to his and then got up, goosebumps rising on my arms in the cool evening air. We both had a lecture the next morning, with him in his usual role. It was a good thing I wore a turtleneck to hide the purple welts blooming on my throat.

Once I had more time to ruminate on my decision, I felt I was actually a bit concerned. If Ivar was antsy for me to be like Floki, I was nervous to properly acquaint myself with his mother. Questioning if I truly measured up was a daily occurrence—if just an internal one—and it did feel like a kind of yardstick was awaiting me.

Fiddling with the straighteners, I examined myself doubtfully in the mirror that Saturday. My exact fear could not be pinpointed—it was a cluster of little fears. I was anxious for his mother and I to get along, to not be found disappointing; too unattractive, too socially inept, too working class. Beyond this, I was just anxious, and slightly clammy with my makeup and my hair done up.

Aslaug met us both at the door, dazzling with perfectly straight white teeth. “Jasmine, welcome,” she held both my elbows gently. “Ivar’s told me so much about you.”

“And you,” I told her, smiling as graciously as I could as she brought her nose to my cheek in a fake air kiss. I tensed up a bit, not sure whether to reciprocate.

“Don’t scare her off,” Ivar smirked, arching a brow.

Aslaug threw him a mild glare, and I was struck by the facial similarity. “You will have to excuse my son, Ivar has no manners in this house,” she said gravely.

My lips twitched as I was startled into amusement. About the exact same time as he said: “She loves it.” I told her: “Oh, that’s never been a problem for me.”

After some gracious laughter, she turned to head back into the dining hall, he took my hand discreetly, the other flexing around the spiked handle of his crutch. “C’mon, It’s just this way,” Ivar whispered into my ear, and I nodded and trailed after him into the dining hall. Tired, I did not feel as adept at socialising as I did on recharged days. But I was glad that it seemed Aslaug had forgotten how our original meeting went, because that meant I could hopefully make a better impression.

At this point I’d been in their house a few times before, but tonight I was struck by how nice the place was. The house itself was located in a safe, well-groomed neighbourhood, filled up with doctors and big cars. Probably cleaned up for the guests’ arrival, too. I sat down in my chair, in awe of the gleaming silverware and finely embroidered tablecloth in rich hues of crimson and gold. Careful not to let any loose drops besmirch it, I poured a stream of gravy onto my food and passed the boat to Ivar, who drained it dry.

“This looks amazing,” exclaimed Thora. She seemed more comfortable with the new faces than I was.

“It’s one of our family’s favourite dishes,” replied Aslaug. She ate her meal delicately, and had refused the offering of the gravy boat. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“Thank you for having us,” I piped up, trying to meet her gaze directly. “You have a beautiful dining table.”

“Not at all. Please, make yourself at home.” Aslaug wore a green velvet dress, and ornaments tinkled at her wrist as she held the stem of her wine glass. “I hope the traffic coming down wasn’t a problem? Siggy’s been very troubled with it lately.”

“No, it was fine,” I said reflexively.

“How is Siggy?” Hvitserk asked, shovelling in piles of food into his mouth. Aslaug’s face turned awkward.

“Doing her best to cope with the changes,” she said in a gentle voice. “Living in an empty house when you’re not used to it can be difficult. She likes to fill up her time, so I take her with me to Pottery class. But from what I’m hearing, Thyri is doing well in America.”

Ivar was digging in by my side, wholly unaffected by the formal atmosphere. “That seat is empty.” He sent it a combative side-glance. “I thought I’d see Ubbe here.”

There were three vacancies. Untouched chairs made of high-backed mahogany. Myself and Thora’s were clearly the reserves, metallic and modern in design.

“Ubbe couldn’t make it,” explained Aslaug. “He’s been very busy lately. He works on Saturdays now.”

Ivar flashed one of his sinister false smiles. “Hm. It’s just been a while since I’ve last seen him, that’s all.”

Hvitserk cleared his throat. “Working two jobs… That’s Ubbe for you. He told me he’s saving up for the grand hotel booking.” I did always peg Ubbe as the type to not accept financial help. Hvitserk took a loud sip of his drink. “But you know, I think I agree with him. Margrethe deserves to be a happy bride.”

Thora looked to him curiously. “Margrethe?”

“Yeah, she’s his fiancé.”

Observing the pleasantries, I cut my meat, my knife and fork scraping loudly on ceramic. The dinner plate was embossed with gold—black borders engraved with delicate fleur de lis—and I felt like a slob for using it, though it was at Aslaug’s behest. It seemed more suited to filling tall glass display cases, like Fine China that was never eaten off of, but always treasured.

After a while, Ivar began disturbing the peace. “Listen to yourselves,” he said mockingly. “The food is going to go down my throat like nails if this is all we talk about the whole time. Mother, you’ve hardly said anything about yourself. How is the class?” He waved his fork.

Personally I couldn’t see how it could be anything but excessively delicious: with the golden-brown roasted potatoes, steaming green vegetables and slices of lamb drizzled with the gravy, it felt like Christmas.

I’d eaten a brussel sprout too quickly and a hot lump was struggling down my oesophagus as I listened in.

“Well,” Aslaug pressed a well-groomed hand to her chest like she had heartburn. Evidently with her favourite child, she had infinite patience. “It’s really not that exciting, it just gives me something to do. Helga’s much better at it than I am,” she said modestly.

“I’d love to hear about it,” I said. Though struggling with the brussel sprout pain, I was now enjoying thinking of swiftly spinning potter’s wheels. “It sounds interesting.”

“Yes, exactly,” said Ivar, endearingly invested.

Aslaug turned her piercing eyes on me, curious. Thora made sounds of enthusiasm, keeping a hand over her lips as she nodded and chewed her food.

I fired on. “Is it a hard hobby to keep up?”

“Not really,” she said, and after a moment went on: “Like most crafts, I suppose it takes practice. And time. I’ve been doing it for several years now.”

��Will you show us? I get pictures, but eh…” Ivar looked genuinely eager to see his mother’s work. I understand that they were always close, if sometimes at odds.

“Yeah,” said Hvitserk. “I haven’t seen any of them.”

For a moment she looked taken aback, and hesitated, as if deciding if it would be appropriate for her to leave her guests. “Excuse me, I’ll just go and find it.”

Aslaug’s heels echoed impressively on the oaken floorboards, which were polished to a fine sheen. We were now left without our hostess to wrangle us.

“So, Jasmine, are you in university?” Thora asked.

At this, I perked up. “Yes. English Literature, and I take a few other courses. And I guess you’re in too?”

“Mhm, I do Fine Art.”

“What’s it like? I’ve always been curious, but I don’t know anyone who majors in art. Not right now anyway.”

“Basically like how you’d expect. I spend a lot of time in a studio, I guess. A while ago I was nosing about in the city trying to find inspiration to help with my personal portfolio, and, well,” Thora rested her head briefly on Hvitserk’s shoulder. “That’s how I met this guy.”

“This guy? Ow.”

She laughed and told me, “Shared interests.”

Hvitserk laughed too, poking her with his fork in a way I deemed affectionate. “We’re in the same boat.” I smiled at them clumsily, unsure of how to phrase it.

Ivar made an amused noise. “Jasmine here has the dubious honour of minoring in Norse studies.” Not hesitating, he brushed his knuckles over my cheek. I knew he loved that course—didn’t love the people in it. “Very bright little student, aren’t you sweet?”

“I think I have an unfair advantage,” I said bashfully, finding his touch pleasing despite my embarrassment.

Ivar snorted with derision. “Not that you need it, what with a class average like that.” He stretched out in his high-backed chair, and then went back to eating.

His older sibling was looking between us with increasing awareness. Somehow the fact that I knew our relationship was inappropriate hadn’t been on my list of concerns until now. But it was probably good to rip the band-aid quickly, since I didn’t intend to let it stop me and obviously neither did Ivar.

“I’m happy for you,” Hvitserk said in an Ubbe-like way.

“Cheers,” Ivar said, grinning and raising his glass.

The tapping of high heels was heard once more as Aslaug strode back in. Ivar gulped down his drink.

“This one is very recent.” She was holding a mottled clay pot, vaguely shaped like an amphora, and she set it down gently on the table beside her plate. “I wanted to paint it first, but was thinking of maybe putting some flowers into it. Artificial ones, so they won’t wilt.”

Ivar squinted at it, leaning forward slightly. “You know, that looks just like the one we broke ten years ago.”

“No, it was longer ago than that,” said Hvitserk. Ivar’s head snapped back quickly to look at him. “Thirteen—fourteen. I was pushing you in the cart, hit that sharp turn by the living room. Happened there.”

“Oh, it was eternally a pain to clean up after you boys.” Aslaug sounded distantly cross, as if the memory still vexed her. “Shards everywhere, all over the floor.”

“I like the shape of it,” said Thora tactfully.

“It’s really pretty.” I also complimented, observing the pot with its smooth, shiny surface like a spotted seal’s hide.

“Beautiful shape, though it wasn’t very neat,” agreed Aslaug, stroking it. “But I’ll have this one done up more tastefully. Anyway, I’m distracting you all from eating.” She nonetheless seemed to be proud of her work, and to my eyes, was slightly flushed at the attention.

Loud chewing and plate scraping resumed. I chatted more with Thora, who was enduringly friendly, throughout most of the meal. Ivar and I would occasionally lean close to exchange furtive whispers as he pointed out things I hadn’t noticed before; the orange juice stain on the tablecloth, the slightly crooked painting, the peel of the wallpaper.

Our fingers would join together under the table. He also liked to flaunt them in full view, smirking pridefully. Something warm filled my belly, so I drank more water.

After eating, we all set up in the living room. This place was far cosier—not to disparage the rest of the house, which was tastefully furnished. But here, it was much easier to relax. One of those electric fire lights flamed red in the grate, and the settee was piled with tasselled suede cushions. Laughing, I sank into it, more interested in our steadily improving dialogue. Somewhere along the way, I accepted a taste of sherry and a slice of plated pavlova. The sugary sweetness of the crust melted on my tongue, and I let Ivar steal a green grape off of it. He popped it in his mouth.

Both a long time and no time at all had passed by the time we’d finished up. Aslaug pressed her fingers to her temple as if she had a migraine. Ivar urged her in a gentle voice to dismiss us, so when she smiled at us this time the skin of her eyes crinkled tenderly.

As a guest I followed Ivar through a doorway. The bedroom was cloaked in black-and-navy and held the fond air of being preserved for return migration. There by a tall oak wardrobe, I dropped a canvas bag that held a change of clothing and a toothbrush. I would’ve never realised it was half-past-twelve were it not for the glittering of a digital alarm clock on an end table.

Ivar found his chair by the desk and let his crutch fall by the wayside. “Sit here a minute.” He beckoned me to him, and I padded across the soft carpet. The heat of Ivar’s palms warmed my legs through denim. “There. That’s better… Being on me where you should be.”

“I feel like I could be silent for the rest of the night.” Sighing deeply, I threw both my arms around his neck.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Just means I get to talk more.”

“You would anyway,” I said, and before he could open his mouth to retort I blurted out a confession of sherry, “Do you think your mom likes me? I couldn’t tell.”

His double take alleviated my concern before he even opened his mouth “Of course. We got to talking earlier, mother said she was glad I found someone who’s nice and actually sensible… Which you are.” He snorted. “Put it this way, she has no reason to dislike you.”

“I was only… Unsure if I would be considered suitable.”

“Nonsense,” Ivar said. “She’s always on my case to get settled down. If anything, you’ve made her very happy.”

Bubbles of my silliness popped harmlessly, and in the dim lamplight I wondered if he knew how desperately I’d like to kiss him. “That’s good. I’m really glad.”

I toyed with the moon pendant on my necklace. She was peering through ash grey curtains, silvery rays bouncing off of laden bookshelves. Glossy hardbacks jumped out at me, and I hoped in the morning after a slice of buttered toast, I’d be able to slide one out curiously and ask after it, just a little. Warmed, we’d talk and laugh, spread out in a tangle of belongings on various soft surfaces, like we did in his apartment.

“Relax. You worry too much. And you don’t need to.” Ivar squeezed me. “My mother’s easy to please, not like me. With brothers like mine, it’s a necessity.”

She did appear to have a lot of patience. “I thought Hvitserk was alright,” I said, grinning behind my hand.

“Only because you don’t know him like I do. And you should know by now that my opinion is the only one that matters,” he finished haughtily.

I suspected this was not wholly true, but Ivar was very wilful. Even by relinquishing a book to me on that fateful day, he’d gotten his way.

The rush of desire to kiss him overwhelmed me now. By his noise of pleasant surprise, I could tell he really didn’t know of it, that I would have to communicate it very thoroughly to him. There In his arms I found a casual welcoming, precious for its thoughtlessness.

I knew then any rejection was self-imagined. So I eased, and thought of comfort. “It’s feeling stuffy in here. Mind if I open the window just a crack?”

Ivar stroked my knee, distracted. “Not by too much.”

It was a mild Autumn evening. Tugging at the curtains, I reached up and pressed the lever down. From the gap a light breeze floated in, carrying a hint of spice. The room was ground level, and in the back garden a lone tree threw itself up in a sprawl of limbs.

Embraces resumed with sighs on our lips. Twisted boughs shivered in the wind; in the dark the leaves gleamed yellow and green, like sly cat’s eyes.

Dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[imeanwhynotbruv]

Crossover problems 😭

Parent Evan “Buck” Buckley will break me!!

If you read my stuff you probably know I like doing alternate universes and crossovers.

But now I have the problem that every time I start a crossover I want to make another and half the time the universes don’t make sense 😭.

For example I have a GoT and Vikings crossover, that kind of makes sense bc like similar time setting, similar outfits…right?..right.

But when I was doing that I realised I wanted a crossover between Vikings and 9-1-1……I don’t even know.

I decided I wanted buck to have adopted a modern Hvitserk Sigurd and Ivar years ago but not told anyone bc he was estranged from his family.

(They were abandoned by their mother & for some reason they couldn’t find any of their family (+Ubbe & Bjorn are much older than them))

Then they lived in Denmark because he wanted the boys to grow up with their culture before he moved to LA and became a fighter when they were teens.

The 118 still think he’s a man whore but in reality he’s just always going home to see his boys.

Buck doesn’t tell them about his kids at first because he doesn’t know it he can trust them and doesn’t want to put his kids through that, but then it gets too late and would become awkward to just be like “hey btw I have like 3 sons”

Buck talks a bit about how he would parent in situations but the team just think he’s talking about the future.

Idk why but I love it 😭 like they go to Denmark every year on holiday and they celebrate the day they were officially adopted as a family holiday.

Buck is very protective but also like super chill?

Oooo and buck was so good with Chris bc he already had practice with Ivar?

I also love the idea of Ivar being picked on and school, getting into a fight, then haveing to have buck & Eddie called to the principals office only for everyone to point how how very in the wrong the other kid was 😫

And Bobby getting to basically be a grandfather to the boys?! My heart!❤️❤️

Abuela would totally just accept them too!!

Also I feel like the 118 would find out totally by accident? Or many buck didn’t quite realise they hadn’t figured it out so he’s so confused and their confusion when they meet his boys 😂

Omg and the Buckley parents didn’t know 😱

Crossovers will be the death of me Istg

(For people waiting for my other stuff to update! I haven’t forgotten I just want to make sure they’re good before I post them & I’ve been super busy lately 😭)

[teddyniffler]

Mercy in Defeat

Chapter 5

part 1

The nights were merging into the days as Wessex slowly got colder as the full chill of winter arrived. Thousands of miles away, snow had already settled over Kattegat weeks ago, blanketing the ground and all the homes in snow, this frozen land would suffer relentless snowfall until the spring arrived. Queen Ingrid had accepted the Yule Log into the halls of Kattegat where it would burn all winter long, the inhabitants of Kattegat had since retired to their homes, drunk and exhausted from the night’s revelling, fully embracing Yule and all the joys that came with it. This was the first Yule without any of the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok or any of their family present in Kattegat, yet their ghosts echoed in the hall. People would stop and pause, expecting to see Bjorn make an announcement, or look to see Hvitserk at a table eating, maybe for Ivar to come crawling out of a table, scaring whoever tried to sit down there to roaring cheering, the silence of the halls without music lamenting Sigurd’s absence. People would look to the door, sure Ubbe would walk through any moment with great news of faraway lands, but he never did, the brothers were all gone.

Queen Ingrid had announced Hvitserk had been killed by the Saxons, however they had no proof other than Ingrid’s word and no body to burn, however they didn’t have Ivar’s body either, the Saxons had ensured their hero would never return to his homelands. Queen Ingrid had forbidden any raid to England, under the reason it was for the safety of all men and women who remained from the battle, so few had returned and they needed every able fighter here, but some people whispered in secret that it was to make sure nobody could confirm that Hvitserk was still alive and bring him home, where he had more right to the throne. Those people knew Queen Ingrid had made sure her reign was secure under the pretense of safety. As such, it was a less rowdy Yule than normal, sure people still celebrated it, but it felt like a vital part was missing.

A cold wind blew up the snow into the air, it raged and howled over the rooftops and out to sea, snowflakes blowing on top of the frozen waters, blowing south into the sea and further south still, blowy slightly east until the storm hit more land, casting the whole of England and the Celtic lands into pure white winter scenes. Down in Wessex, the ground filled up with snow and the River Itchen froze, leaving its inhabitants sitting on the bank, digging their beaks into the hard ground for any insects to be found. The ducks watched as a few riders on horseback went by on night time patrol. Patrolling Wessex was a year round job, but only in warmer times did they have to worry about Viking invaders, this part was more about keeping a consistent presence in the area to remind any would-be lawbreaker that law enforcements were nearby. This night was particular cold, snow had been falling none stop since the early hours of the morning, a storm was hitting, one that brought snow and strong winds, it had settled on the floor surprisingly fast, already getting deep enough that the horses kicked up the snow as they cantered past. In the grounds of the Royal Villa, guards gathered closer to the fires for warmth, their feet going numb as they walked through the snow, they struggled to keep a path clearly between the villa grounds, as the snow was falling fast. They were all eager for the moment when their shifts ended and they could go home to their families. Christmas was just a few days away, a time for family and food, but until then, the guards had a busy day ahead of them, for it was a time the alms were given out to the poor from nearby settlements and villages. The dawn slowly arrived and King Alfred watched as the sun slowly made a weak attempt to climb the horizon, the whole of Wessex was white. He loved the snow, however he didn’t like how it made the winter even harsher. He pitied and felt for those who would die in the next days or weeks because of this cold, the old and the sick, he wished he could help them all, but that was impossible, but he could make their situation better by providing them with food.

He stretched out his left arm and held it over his head, before bringing it down, feeling the tightness still in the muscle, it was healing much better now, he didn’t need his sling anymore and he could hold his sword, but it was mostly for show.

If anybody cared to duel with him they would see how weakened his arm still was, he was all too aware of how fast the spring would come, and he needed all his strength back to protect his lands, he was also aware of the fact he still hadn’t won Hvitserk over to Christianity. He had done everything he could think of, he had shown him mercy and treat his wounds. He ensured Hvitserk was not alone when his grief overwhelmed him and he had the sisters tending to him with all the care they would give any other sick person. Alfred had even approached one of the sisters who he knew to be extra kind to ask her to hold Hvitserk’s hand if the pain was ever too much for him.

He had given his own medication to make Hvitserk more comfortable, and yet Alfred believed Hvitserk only seen them still as his captors.

Alfred could tell, during Witans, Hvitserk didn’t want to meet anybody’s eyes, he eyed the guards that were there for his own protection with apprehension if they moved.

He eyed food with caution as if expecting it to be poisoned. Alfred had often seen Hvitserk moving some mushrooms as far away from his other food as possible and didn’t eat anything they had touched. When Alfred had mentioned they were safe to eat, Hvitserk just stared at his plate with haunted eyes that had alarmed Alfred, however he didn’t wish to intrude upon Hvitserk’s behaviour.

He still cast dark looks and got very defensive if Alfred tried to bring up his brothers or family. Alfred had seen first-hand the way Hvitserk looked up at the window when a storm was going on, flashes of lightening and roaring thunder were like signs that only Hvitserk seemed to understand. Alfred was now as convinced as Elsewith that Hvitserk was hiding something he didn’t want them to know, certain topics would shut him down.

Nothing Alfred had done made Hvitserk anymore open to talking.

He imagined the other young man would hate him even more in a few days’ time when Alfred would tell him he must convert to Christianity or else be put to death. No matter how he imagined it, there was no gentle way he could tell Hvitserk what was going to happen to him. When the sun finally came up, it was hidden behind the storm clouds still battering Wessex with strong winds and so much snow.

For the first time, Hvitserk shivered.

His arm was outside the fur and the first thing he noticed was how cold the room felt, he tucked his arm in and waited for the warmth of the fur to fix the cold in his skin, it wasn’t this cold normally, he was sure it had grown colder in England in the last month, enough that he had noticed it felt more like winter as he knew it, but this morning felt different, the air was icy.

He opened his eyes and looked up to see if the fire was still burning, it was but the chill still hit him, he wondered why. He turned to look out the window but only seen grey sky, something was falling from the window, he sat up and crossed his legs as he kept watching and small grey movements flurried past, some hitting the window and melting on the glass. He had never seen that before at home, the windows didn’t have glass but he knew what the grey movement was, it came each year, each winter. He got up out of bed, he wanted to see if it really was what he thought it was…

His feet touched the cold floor, waking him instantly, he put his arms around his chest for warmth and walked to the window and looked out.

Snow. So much snow.

His spirits lifted in seconds, this reminded him of home. He could almost feel the snow crushing under his feet, the softness of the ground. From his room he could see a small garden down below, there was a bare tree standing along a small path, there was never anybody from the Villa walking down there, no servants or aids. He had once seen Alfred walking by a few days ago, but now it was just a guard walking by, he supposed it was a private garden for the royal family, he didn’t even know where the entrance was that lead out there.

He wanted to go out there, see the snow, just feel it again, it was the only thing that felt familiar to him here.

He looked up at the sky, it was very dull out there, the villa looked so bright covered by the snow, he couldn’t help but admit to himself that here looked better in snow than Kattegat ever did, the snow in Kattegat was always walked on, turning it grey and muddy within hours after all the footfall, but here it remained untouched and fluffy.

He turned and walked to the chest at the foot of his bed and sat down, he paused and glanced up on the wall.

The Christ god was up there as normal, however right now he was covered up with a shirt. Each night Hvitserk covered him up so he couldn’t watch Hvitserk sleep. Each morning Hvitserk uncovered him before the servants came in to clean the room. He opened the chest and looked at all the clothing inside, loads of Saxon clothing. Picking out a blue top, its sleeves came down to his wrists, it looked the warmest, he pulled out some pants, trying to find the ones lined with fleece and warm socks, he was grateful that Saxon clothing was so finely made, they kept him warmer than the lose tunics and rough garments that were stitched together back home. He got back to his feet and sat on his bed, he reached up and pulled his top down from dead nailed god and dropped it over the chest, the servants must be confused over his behaviour as each day the top would be there for them to put away. He got dressed, still being sure not to look at his wounds. At least four months had passed now, he wasn’t entirely sure the exact time, but late summer had turned into autumn which was now winter. His wounds were now free of dressings, the wounds had all closed but all that meant to Hvitserk was now they were in full view of him, he wasn’t ready to see the scars that surely covered his back, chest and legs. He pulled the shirt over his head and covered his scars from view. He did the same with his pants, but used the lower part of his night clothing to keep his legs covered. He was glad the sisters or the servants didn’t have to dress him anymore, he felt more in control of himself being able to do something so small as dress or wash himself. He pulled on his socks and shoes, then he did the one little thing that brought him so much joy.

He walked to the door of his room, now absent of any guard standing there to keep him in his room, he reached out for the handle and walked out.

Naturally the guards outside his room were still there, but he had soon learned guards were outside all personal chambers and important rooms, but these two also followed him around as he moved around the villa. They were his personal guards who stayed with him to make sure he didn’t anything he shouldn’t.

The first time King Alfred told him he could leave his room on his own felt like some sort of trap. Hvitserk lingered on his bed, unsure if he had understood the English being spoken to him, then he slowly tested it by limping to the door, the guards had still been in his room back then but they made no effort to stop him. He opened the door slowly, trying to keep both guards in view, the second guards watched his movements and they moved when he walked out. He had frozen on the spot watching them, but they didn’t do anything to him, so he had limped down the hall with his guard escort behind him. He returned to this room shortly later as he didn’t know where to go. Slowly, he had gone further from his room, over the last two weeks he had explored the Villa, even had gone outside for some air.

Now however he had somewhere to go. He didn’t limp no more, his legs fully supported him again, he was maybe a little slower than he had been, the larger wound on his left side was still troubling him slightly if he leaned on it, it was taking longer than the others to heal, it had closed but it still itched like mad. He walked down the hallway and paused, sometimes Alfred or Elsewith would be around here, he didn’t know if he liked to walk with them or without them. With and he had somebody by his side whenever he felt uneasy walking past any of the villa’s residences being followed by his guards, he still got the odd look but it was happening less over time, however being with Alfred or Elsewith was sometimes awkward, he never knew what to say other than ‘Good Morning’ and walked the rest of the way in silence that only grew more awkwardly by the second. Neither of them was here today so he continued along on his own, watching the snow still falling at the windows. He walked past a man carrying scrolls, another guard going the other way and the odd servant. He didn’t know how he fit into everyday villa life, but it was starting to feel almost familiar now. That worried him a little.

He came to a door and paused for a second, the door was open of course because he was expected. He went inside, the guards remained out in the corridor.

“Good morning Hvitserk” Alfred said by the fire, warming his hands “You may want to put on a coat if you are going into the yard today, it is very bitter out there”

“Good morning, I seen” Hvitserk said back, he walked to the table and sat down in a seat in the middle, they were other seats at either side of the table but he knew those were for the king and queen, he didn’t understand why they had such firm rules about seating, his mother and father had a top table back at home, but they only sat there for official banquets, normal meals they sat where they wanted, sometimes his brothers would sit before the hearth, or sit on the many furs around the hall. Ivar often sat at the head of the table as it suited his condition. Here everything was so serious, Hvitserk couldn’t imagine any child of Alfred’s being allowed to throw food at the table, he smiled as he remembered how Ubbe once threw food at their mother when she proposed marriage and children to him. Before Hvitserk, the table was laden with breakfast, slices of meat, cheese, bread and so many different fruits that Hvitserk didn’t know them all. He glanced up at Alfred who was adding more logs to the fire, his back was slightly to the table. There was another formality here that Hvitserk didn’t understand either, everybody had to be present and seated before any food could be taken. Glancing again at Alfred, using his fast reflexes Hvitserk carefully reached out and grabbed a few squares of cheese and placed them quickly into his mouth before Alfred could notice.

Alfred was satisfied the fire would now be hot enough, he turned and caught Hvitserk’s eyes looking at him, there was a weird look on his face, almost sheepish, Alfred also noticed there was something different about his cheeks, they were slightly rounder than normal, as if…

‘I do have eyes Hvitserk’ he thought to himself, rather amused. He also elected to ignore Hvitserk chewing slightly on whatever he had snuck into his mouth.

He left the fire and went to join Hvitserk at the table, Hvitserk was pouring himself a fruit based drink, it had taken Alfred some time to convince him it wasn’t alcoholic, he had the idea that Hvitserk had never seen anything like it before, but also judging by Hvitserk’s curious reaction to most of the food here, they was a lot of things Hvitserk had never eaten before.

“Where is Elsewith?” Hvitserk asked casually, trying to not look at the door for her. He found their ways really odd compared to how his people did things. Why would just one person not being there should stop them all eating.

“I wish to show you something today” Alfred told him, as Hvitserk continued to eye up the food before him.

“What is it?” Hvitserk asked, as he did Elsewith came in.

“A tradition of winter time” Alfred asked, noticing Hvitserk’s eyes on the food.

“Hello” She said warmly enough, taking her seat at the other end of the table where she always sat and always will sit. Alfred and Hvitserk returned her greeting, now they could finally eat.

The rules of freedom in the royal villa were simple. Don’t try to escape, don’t attack anybody or destroy anything, and do not leave the royal courtyard. Don’t follow these rules and, well Hvitserk had noticed the beams of wood out in the main courtyard the Saxons used for hangings the day they brought him here and Alfred had made it very clear to him what would happen if he ever tried anything.

After breakfast, Alfred bid them goodbye as he had other matters to attend too that morning. Hvitserk knew Elsewith was with her son, he had only seen Prince Edward once before, he didn’t even know Alfred had a child until he was sitting with Alfred in his personal room, the King trying to get him to open up about his past, which Hvitserk refused to do, and Elsewith had come in with a small boy in her arms. She kept the young prince away from Hvitserk naturally, couldn’t trust the Pagan not to kill the heir to the Wessex and Mercia throne. He may eat the child or bath in his blood, as Pagans do. One thing Saxons had in common with Vikings however, it seemed a nurse always looked after the young children of the royals. If he ever had a child, he would break that pattern.

Hvitserk went back to his room, his personal guards following. He was going to get his coat, it wasn’t exactly his coat though. He opened the chest by his bed and took out the coat and looked at it. He didn’t recognise the fur, it wasn’t wolf or marmot for sure, it was unbelievable soft to the touch and when it got wet, it didn’t mat like his furs in the past. It was all black with uttermost care taken with the designs and fastenings. The snake patterned embroidered in gold threads standing out on the chest. When he wore this, he felt absolutely unsure of himself and self-conscious because it was Alfred’s coat. It brought home the reality of one day he would be a king himself and he was anything but a king.

Alfred had brought it to Hvitserk to wear when he had noticed Hvitserk went outside in the cold wearing just his shirt, he explained he had others when Hvitserk hesitated. Hvitserk pulled his arms through and brought both sides together before closing the ties together and the buckles. This coat alone would have cost more than anything his mother paid for all four furs his brothers and he wore. Wearing the coat was like being hugged by heat itself, he could feel his body heat getting trapped and reflected back into him, everything about this coat was well made and yet it felt weird for him to wear this, knowing Alfred used to wear it. The Saxon king was turning Hvitserk more Saxon by the day.

Moments later, Hvitserk left the room, his guards followed behind him as he played around with the sleeves. He walked into the main part of the villa and down a small set of steps, coming to the side entrance to the villa, the doors were closed right now to keep the heat inside, but as Hvitserk neared, the guards opened the door to let him outside. He stood blinking in the brightness of the snow, everything was white and fluffy still, a few footsteps lined the ground, but fresh snow was falling fast. His breath was visible when he breathed and the familiar crunch of snow filled his ears and the soft feeling of snow shifting under him as he walked.

The chill bit into his face, making him feel more awake in a long time, he would never take the snow for granted every again. The royal courtyard had a tall wall all around it, it looked like it would be a nice place to sit in summer, but right now it was frozen, statues of people lingered here and there, he knew these were the Roman gods, Alfred had told him once the villa was made by the Romans, he stopped and looked at the Roman goddess of love, half her head was missing, Alfred had spoken quietly to Hvitserk once about who each of these statues were, it kind of amused Hvitserk to hear a Christian getting all secretive about Pagan gods. The Roman bathhouse entrance was here too, Hvitserk liked it in there, he had been allowed to use it just a few times once his wounds had healed enough to allow it, before then the physician would never allow the risk of infection with the number of wounds he had. To have a hot bath in an area big enough to swim in was amazing, he always loved swimming in the water in summer back in Kattegat.

He moved on, the courtyard was big enough that he could stretch his legs outside in the fresh air, he looked back at his guards, wondering if it were too cold for them, but they kept their faces professional and blank at all times so he could never tell. He walked around the edge of the wall, there was one of the villa’s aids out, walking Alfred’s own personal hunting dogs, Alfred had a handful of them, they and the others of their kind brought in much of the game Wessex ate, he had seen Alfred’s dogs out sometimes when they were being walked in the courtyard, they were friendly to humans but not to the animals they hunted. One of them was walking close to where Hvitserk walked, it was walking slowly as if it couldn’t feel the cold, sniffing the ground all the while. It sniffed at the air as Hvitserk walked near.

“Hello boy” he said naturally in Norse without thinking but the dog couldn’t understand him. “Hello” he said again, but in English this time and the dog wagged its tail. He reached out and stroked its ears. He had never seen a dog like this before he came to England, the dogs back home were very different. The guards behind him must be throwing him dark looks, keeping them out in the cold while he stroked a dog, but Hvitserk missed little things like this. He moved on when his feet started going numb with cold, the dog followed a few steps before leaving him.

He couldn’t tell where the villa ended and were the rest of the town started, stone buildings stretched on far beyond where he was allowed to walk. What clearly were churches stretched far into the distance, all under a pure white sky, the wind blowing into his cheeks as snow flew into his eyes. He brought his left arm up to cover his eyes as he came to the front entrance of the villa, he stopped.

The gates to the main courtyard were open, from there the main courtyard reached the gates to outside and freedom. He didn’t see the gates open often, when he was outside normally, they were kept firmly close, the guards on duty would watch from above in their tower to make sure he didn’t do anything.

The main doors to the villa were wide open, something was going on out there in the main courtyard, he could hear more noise than a normal market day, Hvitserk wondered what, but he felt like he shouldn’t go anywhere near those gates, he didn’t want to die over a misunderstanding.

It was then he noticed King Alfred standing by the villa doors. He was wearing a coat quite similar to the one Hvitserk had on now, his short dark hair blowing slightly in the wind. Hvitserk’s own hair was tied back in a style acceptable to the Saxons, two ties tying it back at two levels. He missed his intricate braids and twists, but at least it wasn’t as plan as the sisters did it. As he watched, Alfred’s hair kept blowing into his eyes. Hvitserk had wondered if he was growing it longer again, he had only really seen Alfred with short hair, but he remembered how he wore it long years ago when they first seen each other. Hvitserk cautiously walked over to him, keeping close to the villa so it didn’t look like he was trying to make a run.

“What is going on out there?” Hvitserk asked Alfred. He glanced through the gate at the little courtyard he could see from this angle.

“This is what I wanted to show you” Alfred said “Come with me”

Alfred led the way to the gates to the main courtyard, but stopped just near the entrance to the larger courtyard.

“When you eventually rule in East Anglia, you should show your subjects goodwill, they rely on you as king to rule them correctly, by being fair and honourable, and also to keep them safe, from any attack, but also from things out of their control. The winter brings death, it’s inevitable, the old and the sick are at risk each year, their families take care of them and pray that the Lord spares their loved ones, but for the poor or the people most in need of food, maybe their village’s crop failed or misfortune hit their grain, the deaths that would result from this can be prevented by handing out Alms” “Arms?” Hvitserk asked in confusion, sure he didn’t hear correctly.

“Yes, as a charity” Alfred said. “Alms are given out in those small sacks by the sisters of the holy church, to those most desperately in their need. So far Wessex, East Anglia and Mercia all give and receive alms under my ordership. Elsewith has been trying to speak with her distant family up in Northumbria to start Alms, but so far they’ve had some misgivings, they just don’t have the resources, but sadly my kingdom is too large to also help up there. It is my duty both as a King and a Christian to make sure nobody starves, we must all play our parts, give what little we can, if we are fortunate enough.” Hvitserk eyed the small sacks with apprehension, he didn’t know much of any of the Christian rituals but this one was rather extreme.

[mrsalwayswrite]

The Predator (Ivar x Reader)

Summary: Ivar has always admired you from afar, a true shieldmaiden that would even make the Valkyries jealous of your skills. But when the chance comes for him to speak to you, to finally push past his fears and insecurities….death stalks in the shadows waiting for its moment to attack.

This is my contribution to the @vikingsbigbang2022!

The idea for this fic was actually from a request/conversation I had with @childishhoe eons ago. I hope you like it!

Also, I want to give a huge shout out to my collaborating artists: @quantumlocked310 & @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog y'all have been amazing in this process. Thank you!

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Playlist by @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog (added at the end)

Thud.

Releasing the tension from the drawstring of his bow, Ivar peered down the field towards the target at the end. The corners of his lips turned up in the faintest idea of a smile. The arrow had landed in the dead center of the clumsily drawn target. Just like the past nine other arrows, scattered amongst the various targets drawn on stumps or bales of hay.

"Have I mentioned yet how frightfully accurate you are?"

Ivar glanced at Ubbe, who stood next to him with a proud smile on his face. "You did yesterday."

"Hmmm….seems like you were blessed by the gods."

"I'd rather have my legs." Ivar mumbled, his good mood immediately soured.

Ubbe squeezed his shoulder but thankfully kept any words behind his teeth. Seeing that Ivar was out of arrows, the elder brother walked down to the end of the archery range to retrieve Ivar's arrows again.

The dark-haired Ragnarsson absent-mindedly watched Ubbe pluck the arrows from the targets, pleased that his brother knew to keep the pitying looks or comments to himself. Everyone had gotten better about hiding their pity but Ivar could still see it….could feel it taint the air….and it made his blood boil. It made him want to thrust his dagger into someone's chest and rip their still-beating heart out, to paint himself in the blood of those who dare pity him, to hear their petrified screams….to remind them all that he was more than his useless legs.

That someday the whole world would know the name of Ivar the Boneless….

….and they would fear him.

But for now, he temporarily suppressed his homicidal tendencies. His mother chastised him enough when he verbalized all the ways he would love to torture Sigurd. Not that it stopped him. He just hated seeing that disappointed look on her beautiful face. Or the swat to the back of his head from Floki. That did not mean he did not have plans though….for the future.

The sounds of others in the practice yard drifted around him like a chilling breeze. His jaw tightened fractionally. The two Ragnarssons were off at the furthest corner of the archery range, no one else around them. Several of those that stood around or practiced with axes and swords called out greetings to Ubbe when the two brothers passed. But no one came to join them, to practice archery or just talk….because of Ivar.

That easy comradery, that acceptance, that respect from his fellow Vikings, was something he never experienced. They thought him worthless, useless….just a cripple.

They kept their distance. Never were they outright rude to his face, because everyone knew Ivar's temper and violent tendencies would warrant him to inflict pain on them, but they never tried to join him or whichever brother was babysitting him for the day.

So he watched and observed. Only in the dead of night when he was alone, did his imagination create fantasies of being able to join the other warriors. To be recognized and wanted. To be respected. To be liked.

For now, he would accept their fear.

A cheer rang out through the practice yard. "Hvitserk! Hvitserk!" Several voices chanted his name like they were summoning him forth.

While sitting on his stump, Ivar turned to see his flaxen-haired brother stepping into the center of the sparring area, a sword in one hand and an axe in the other. His smug smile could be witnessed even from where Ivar sat, as those watching cheered him on with enthusiasm.

The youngest Ragnarsson wondered who was stupid enough to try and fight his brother. He begrudgingly admitted that all of his brothers were fierce warriors in their own right, a trait surely gifted through the blood of their father and being descendants of Odin the All-Father.

Yet neither the father that abandoned them nor the one-eyed god in Valhalla ever answered Ivar's whispered prayers and silent cries.

In the sparring area, a new cheer arose as Hvitserk's opponent stepped into the circle. Carrying a sword and shield, you rolled your shoulders, preparing for the spar. The chant of your name filled the air, like those around could not help but be in awe of you. For it was the air of confidence surrounding you that made people magnetized to you.

And Ivar was no exception.

Your name flowed from his lips in a reverent murmur as his vivid, blue eyes refused to look away. You were perfection in every way. Your movements were fluid like a dancer's and calculated like a strategist's. Every year that passed, you continuously grew in beauty, a kind that should not be known in the mortal realm. People flocked to you, both to win your affections and bask in your presence. Your skills with a blade were already legendary. Many claimed one day that you might surpass Lagertha herself with your sword skill. You were confident and strong, poised and regal. A valkyrie amongst mortals that were blessed just to be in your presence.

The sporadic times Ivar and you interacted in passing, usually around his brothers, you never ignored or awkwardly stared at him like other women. As if they were unsure what to do around him since he did not have working legs or they feared he would randomly stab them. But not you. Instead, your gorgeous eyes would meet his, a smile on your lips, as you greeted him like he was worth your time.

On occasion, you would ask him a superficial question and it was all Ivar could do to remember how to speak. Then to his further astonishment, you would actually listen and respond. The few conversations you bestowed upon him were typically short-lived, for his brothers were always around and would steal your attention away or you would have to leave to fulfill your duties.

Yet in those moments, Ivar swore his heart stopped and he could grow wings and fly.

His brothers teased him about his crush on you, how he would go starry-eyed and barely able to speak in your presence. In retaliation, he would just remind them that whenever they made advances towards you, you would quite clearly make your feelings known - usually with a dagger against their balls. Not that it stopped their flirting.

Ivar knew of a few bets going around, trying to see who would be the first brought to your bed here in Kattegat. Yet so far, no one had won.

The riotous cheering resumed in the sparring area as Hvitserk and you began circling one another. In a blink, Hvitserk advanced, swinging his sword and axe only for them to repeatedly bounce off your shield. The two of you sparred for several more minutes, taking turns in attempts to land a hit or make the other stumble. Finally both of you stepped away, chests heaving and grins on their faces. Hvitserk said something that had everyone nearby laughing as he winked at you.

Ivar's hand tightened on the bow in his lap.

You shook your head with a smirk. Then you glided forward with an effortless grace and initiated the sparring this time.

"I heard she trained under Lagertha for a few years before coming here." Ubbe stated, coming up to Ivar's side with the arrows in hand, even as he watched the fight. "That's why she's so good."

Ivar grunted. "I hope she makes Hvitty eat dirt."

"She probably will."

This time something in you had shifted. No longer were you fighting on equal terms with Hvitserk. Oh no….it became obvious you had been toying with him this whole time.

In frustrated retaliation, Hvitserk's hits began to get more wild, his blocks more sloppy. Yet you continued to dance around him, taking each hit and easily returning your own that he barely managed to escape. Once you managed to knock him onto his back, but with a quick roll, Hvitserk was up and charging at you again.

Finally, with a clearly well-practiced and almost unbelievable move, you slipped under his guard. Using his momentum against him, you feigned a spin and snuck a leg out to swipe at him, effectively tripping him. Before he could do more than raise his face from the dirt beneath him, you had one foot on his back and your sword tip at the nap of his neck.

Ivar sworn he had never seen a more beautiful and erotic sight in his entire life.

After a moment, you allowed Hvitserk up, clasping forearms after with smiles still on your faces as those around cheered or swapped coins based on their betting. Moving away, you settled back to lean against a railing, happily accepting the water from someone next to you. With your sleeve, you wiped the sweat from your brow before taking a sip. One of the shieldmaidens at your other side muttered something that made you laugh, shaking your head before you playfully shoved her.

A smile tugged on his lips in answer to your own laughter. But it died a swift death when he noticed the many other pairs of eyes watching you. Some of those looks were nothing short of hungry.

"You should say something to her."

Ivar shifted his icy glare to his elder brother. "What are you talking about?"

Ubbe shrugged. "It's obvious you like her….don't deny it. The death glares you give the others are enough to confirm it. So, you should tell her. Who knows? Maybe she feels the same."

Ivar scoffed, even as his heart pounded in his chest like a drum at the mere thought of you returning even a smidgen of his affection. "No. She's too nice to say it to my face. But she has no interest in any of you, why would she be interested in the cripple then?"

"Ivar, it's not…."

"Shut up. I'm done talking about this. Let's go find our idiot brothers. I'm tired of waiting around for them." Ivar slid down the trunk and began using his hands to crawl back towards the Great Hall. He could faintly hear Ubbe mutter something under his breath as he picked up Ivar's abandoned bow and arrows, used to have to carry things for the youngest Ragnarsson.

Before he got too far, Ivar could not help himself as he turned to look over his shoulder one last time at you. Leaning against the railing, you watched the next sparring match with a small smile on your face, looking beautiful and happy.

With that image in his mind, Ivar continued to crawl away, each drag of his lower body haunted by the eyes he knew would be following his movement like he was some rabid beast in need of being put down for the safety of all.

But the worst part was the knowledge that someone as perfect as you would never look twice at him in desire. He was a snake, meant to crawl on the ground, and you….you were a Valkyrie meant to rise above everyone and dwell with the gods.

*****

His vibrant eyes peered down over the edge of the short cliff, cloaked by the bushes he looked through. Lying here, with his belly on the ground, no one ever saw him. He knew from experience, enough times spent tracking various people to see what he could observe, or witnessing his brothers and their various paramours. He knew no one looked towards the ground for the eyes they could feel watching them. Never thinking about the danger that lurked at their feet.

This revelation was both the shadow of truth he veiled himself in and the chain that kept him prisoner.

Now though, he was thankful for a very different reason that he had honed his skills of stealthily tracking and following someone without their knowledge. Quiet and sly as a serpent in the underbrush, he carefully moved closer, crawling forward on his elbows.

It was the muffled crying from below that twisted the knife in his heart and kept him hostage on the precipice.

Amongst the raised roots of an ancient-looking tree, almost hidden by the natural alcove between the tree and the sharp slope of the short cliff, you leaned against the trunk of the tree. Your face was buried in your hands, weapons laying discarded just within reach. Your stifled cries mixed with the sound of the nearby gentle stream, creating a conflicting symphony of peace and heartbreak.

It was not pity that filled him as he gazed down at you. No, he knew pity and loathed it. He would never place such a revolting emotion onto you. What filled him instead was….sympathy. For he knew what it felt like to purposefully draw away from others, to hide oneself away from the world, and only then be able to shed the restricting mask and release the pent-up pain without fear of others' judgements.

Almost a fortnight had passed since he had begun following you, trailing behind as you left Kattegat and ventured into the surrounding forest and to your safe haven. At first, it had been curiosity that caused him to track your journey. Only to be shocked when he discovered you in the hidden dell, taking your clothes off and bathing in the shallow stream, softly singing to yourself the whole time. His mind shut down, unable to comprehend what his eyes bore witness to. You appeared as an apparition, something not meant for mortal eyes. A vision that the gods guarded jealously. The image of you was immediately seared into his brain, never to be forgotten for however long he lived. For gazing upon you, was the epitome of divine beauty, both inside and out. A goddess that was meant to be worshipped for all eternity.

After seeing you bathing for the first time, Ivar spent the rest of the day in a haze. Nothing could draw him out of his reverie. It was as if you had cursed him, only able to think about you, to remember you in all your glory.

The next time he saw you, he was sharpening an axe at the blacksmith's. You walked by, but not without greeting him first with a call of his name and a mesmerizing smile. He was lucky that you continued on your way because he barely caught himself from slicing his hand open in his gawking and encouraging his tongue back into his mouth after accidentally swallowing it. He was certain that if you had caught him spying, you would have confronted him about it. When you did not say anything, nor in the days after, all he could guess was you were unaware of his observation.

So whenever he saw you heading for the forest alone….he followed.

In his mind, he reassured himself it was for your own protection. Of course, he knew the skill you possessed to fight and defend yourself. It was a favorite pastime of his to watch you knock over-confident, cocky men flat on their asses. Especially the ones that hoped to gain certain favors from you.

Yet he noticed that when you were alone in the quiet, hidden dell, you let your guard down in more ways than one. You looked at peace with your eyes closed and face lifted towards the sun like an exotic flower. Your faithful weapons were set aside and seemingly forgotten about while you were here. It was in this place you sought solace from your companions and the tasks and responsibilities heaped upon your shoulders.

He vowed to stand guard so your face would never have to shed that look of serenity, causing you to appear ethereal.

Now though, he trailed behind you to provide comfort and companionship. Even if he was not right next to you physically. He silently hoped somehow you could feel his presence and know that you were not alone. That you did not have to grieve alone.

It had been four days since the news of your mother's tragic and unexpected death had reached Kattegat's shores. Every day you accepted the condolences with a genuine smile and continued to train and spend time with your companions like normal. It was when you ventured here, into your safe haven, that your pain finally spilled out onto the ground. Staining the earth around you with your grief and tears. Tainting the air with your heartbreak.

And Ivar kept to the shadows, watching, waiting, making sure no one disturbed you.

Today, your weeping was not all-consuming, but still enough for Ivar's hands to itch in some misguided attempt to comfort you. Once the outpouring of your grief ceased, you wiped the tear tracks from your cheeks with the sleeve of your tunic. Only the gurgling stream and the bird calls filled the air.

With a weary sigh, you stood up and stretched. Ivar could not help the way his gaze slid over your perfect body, touching as much of you with his eyes as he could. For never would you allow him to touch you with his dirty hands. You were too perfect and he was….he was beneath you in every way.

Ivar prepared to slither back and hide as you ascended up the slope of the cliff and make your way back to Kattegat. A dance the two of you had done for the fortnight now that Ivar had been watching over you. Even if you were unaware of the dance you participated in.

Just as you reached your hand out to grab your weapons, laying on a nearby stone, you froze.

Your head slowly, cautiously, hesitantly, turned to the right. Your body was still bent with your hand outstretched, as if the weapons lay forgotten in that moment. Your eyes were glued to the trees across the shallow stream. Tension sung a melody throughout your body as you carefully straightened from your crouch. The sword now gripped in your hand like a lifeline.

Fear and concern kept his fierce gaze locked on you and on the trees, wondering what you saw, desperate to know what had you so on edge.

Then Ivar saw it….

….and a shiver of terror trickled down his spine.

Moving silently and with an unnaturally, graceful prowl, the wolf stepped out from behind the trees across the small stream. Flaming red like the fires of Muspelheim colored its eyes. An inky, black coat covered its body, appearing to absorb the filtering sunlight like a black hole. Fangs emerged from its snout, as long as Ivar's dagger and twice as sharp. The wolf easily stood as tall as a horse, yet its presence conveyed more. As if it's massive body still struggled to contain all of it.

Ivar gaped. For he knew before him had to be a spawn of Fenrir, sent to Midgard for nothing less than to wallow in carnage, to drink the blood of all it devoured and to create chaos with each of its powerful footfalls.

And at the moment, it's destructive gaze was set on you.

It's lips curled back in a snarl. The growl that left it's throat could make mountains shake in terror. Nature itself silenced to give way to the creature that commanded attention and awe-inspiring horror. Then one massive paw lifted, proceeding another, bringing it a step closer in it's prowl. Those burning eyes never left you the whole time.

At its step closer, you swiftly shifted your stance, hands gripping your sword with a death-like grip. From where he hid, Ivar could see the tremors of trepidation careening through your body. Yet even in your terror, you refused to go down without a fight. Even in the face of what was certainly death itself, you stood your ground. Denying it from taking your soul easily.

In that moment, Ivar knew what he had to do. Never had he been so certain of his actions. It felt like Odin himself placed a hand on his shoulder in guidance and reassurance. Viciously, he shoved down the fear and dread clawing at his limbs. He refused to watch you fight alone. He refused to let you die. Not you, his Valkyrie, his goddess.

With a guttural warcry, he shoved himself forward. Half crawling, half falling down the cliff's slope, he finally touched the mossy ground and crawled his way over to where you stood, ready to defend yourself from the monstrous creature.

Your eyes met his for a fleeting moment, wide with determination and dread, but you made no further move.

Wordlessly, he passed you, crawling until he was between you and the stream. The wolf remained on the other side of the stream, watching with a malicious glint in it's gaze. Then it took another powerful step closer. The water from the stream caressing its front paws, only to retreat as if nature itself feared the creature.

From just behind him, you softly whispered his name but he did not turn his head, never removing his gaze from the wolf.

Piercing, blue eyes locked with burning, red eyes.

Ivar reached back and unsheathed the dagger he kept strapped to his thigh. A gift from Floki. With iron in hand, Ivar unleashed his own furious growl.

"Come on! Don't you know who I am?" He yelled at the creature, born of darkness and fire. He smacked his chest with the flat of his dagger. "I am Ivar the Boneless! You can't kill me! Now come on!"

The air crackled like lightning and thunder covered the sky, even though no clouds could be seen in the vast, blue sky. Time ceased, the Norns pausing their eternal spinning to bare witness. A life thread would be cut today. Ivar refused to let it be yours.

The spawn of Fenrir released a howl that seemed to shake the very ground they stood on. The trees quaked and trembled. The water swirled under the sheer force of it's howl.

A righteous fury arose like a storm within Ivar. Tremendous waves that would break ships crashed and roiled just under his skin.

"What are you waiting for? I laugh at death!" Ivar taunted. "Come on! I shall kill you today!"

Red eyes remained locked with blue eyes.

A terrifying snarl escaped past the confines of it's mouth. It lifted a paw, ready to place it in the water, ready to cross and bring forth the destruction it was bred for.

Then it stopped.

A sneer played on the face of the youngest Ragnarsson. He knew that even if the creature killed him, Odin would happily welcome him into Valhalla. For what greater honor would there be but to fight a monster the gods themselves feared and to win. Even if it ushered in his own death. What did he need to fear with the knowledge of Valhalla waiting for him.

He only hoped to spare you from the dangerous touch of death. It was not yet time for you to return to the gods.

Suddenly, the wolf dropped it's paw back to the mossy ground. Lowering it's head slightly, those furious eyes remained fixated on Ivar. Lips curled back in a silent snarl.

Then as if a spell had been broken, it took a step back in retreat.

And then another.

And another.

Slowly, it slicked back into the covering of the surrounding forest. Red eyes never leaving the blue eyes that gazed after it in confusion. It's black coat blended into the shadows of the forest. Just as silently as it arrived, destruction promised with each step, it disappeared.

Neither Ivar or you moved for several minutes. Tension and adrenaline hummed through your veins as you both waited for the monsterous wolf to return. In those minutes, time itself restarted once more. Nature reemerged from where it had hid. The singing of birds filled the air and the quiet gurgles of the stream coaxed a resemblance of peace again. Even the sunlight streamed down warmer and brighter than before.

"Ivar, are you alright?" You asked, once you must have deemed it safe to move. With your sword still in hand, you dropped onto your knees next to him.

Taking a deep breath like he had been underwater for too long, he shifted his body around to sit on his ass. In the movement, he accidently brought himself closer to you. His heart faltered when he realized the proximity he unintentionally created. Your breath fanned across his face as you stared wide-eyed at him. It took an embarrassingly long moment for his brain to remember your question and not get lost in your alluring eyes and intoxicating presence.

"Uh, I'm….I'm fine….and you?"

"I…." You shook your head then turned your face to look in the direction the wolf disappeared to. "What was that?"

"I don't know. Do you think it's gone?"

"I hope so."

He blinked as he stared at the expanse of trees across the stream. How could a creature like that just appear then disappear? What had drawn it forth? Would it come for Kattegat next? Should he tell his mother about this? Did they need to prepare Kattegat for a war with this enemy of the gods themselves?

Feeling eyes on him, he turned back, startled to find you staring at him. "What?"

"It….it was you….you scared it away."

"What?" He accidently barked in surprise.

You huffed, still kneeling next to him. "Ivar, think about it. Something like that. A creature like that!" You gestured in the direction the wolf had been. "The only reason it would back down would be if it met a bigger predator than itself."

His mind froze. Refusing to decipher your statement. Unable to believe the words coming from your mouth and their meaning. His insecurities battled with the unknown truth now spoken aloud.

A gentle hand cupped the side of his face, causing his heart to soar under your touch, forcing his eyes to meet yours. Something swirled and danced in your eyes, threatening to drag him under and drown him. As long as you continued to behold him like this, to touch him like this, he would readily drown in you.

Your thumb stroked his cheekbone as you whispered, something akin to admiration in your tone. "I think…. I think we have all underestimated you, Ivar the Boneless."

Words tangled up in knots on his tongue. An embarrassing warmth colored his cheeks as he flushed under your praise. For the briefest of moments, he wondered if he had somehow died and this was Valhalla.

"You are made to do great things. Even Fenrir cannot stop you from your destiny it would seem." You stared into his eyes, searching, seeking, finding, reevaluating. Then you ever so slowly drew closer. With the softest of caresses, you pressed your lips against his cheek for a moment before drawing back. "Thank you….for coming to my aid….for defending me. I won't ever forget it."

Air was no longer needed to breathe. Gravity no longer tethered him to the ground. For all Ivar knew, he could float amongst the clouds now.

A sweet giggle brought him out of his inner revelry, along with the feeling of your hand gently caressing his face on its way down to land back in your lap. He immediately missed the sensation of your touch and wished he had the words to ask you to return it.

Smiling, you smoothly glided to your feet. After one last look towards where death had stood not long ago, you glanced back down at your companion. "Come on, Prince Ivar. We should be getting back before the sun sets."

He nodded his agreement. Although, truthfully, he wished to linger in your presence, this intimate, comfortable moment that you found yourselves in. To maybe find the courage to ask you to allow him to touch you, to caress your face or hold your hand, even for just a brief second. Instead, he watched you wander over and grab your sword's sheath from the ground where it had previously laid. Skillfully, you slipped your sword into its sheath and then onto your hip. Lastly, you tucked a dagger back into your boot and one up your sleeve before turning around to face him.

"Besides, after this, I feel like you've earned the right to travel by my side instead of following me and then hiding in those bushes above. I can't imagine it's comfortable." You teased with a wink.

A blush returned to stain his cheeks at being caught. It did nothing to stop his heart from soaring at the notion that you would not reject his presence in the future. That maybe it would just be the two of you again in your safe haven. On second thought, he might suggest a new location for you to find solace after this….encounter.

He watched you scurry up the slope nimbly. Once at the top, you turned around to wait for him with a smile on your face. A beautiful, beaming smile….for him. His heart thudded in his chest as he gazed back at you.

Carefully, he slipped the dagger back into his sheath on his thigh and prepared the grueling climb up the side of the cliff. But knowing you waited at the top for him, it was worth it.

On instinct, Ivar turned to look towards the spot where the wolf had been. Nothing remained that showed of the creature that had stood there only minutes ago. Almost as it was a mirage instead of flesh and blood. A bloodthirsty grin spread over his lips as he thought about the words you said. How it was him that caused the wolf to back down. How it was him that the beast recognized as the greater predator.

With that in mind, he turned to follow you up the slope.

Even with his useless legs, even with his insecurities and faults, even with the doubt and pity spewed upon him daily that made his blood boil in rage….even with all of that, he was still the apex predator.

Maybe the blessing of Odin had not abandoned him after all.

Tag List: Vikings (all):

@youbloodymadgenius @pomegranates-and-blood @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @geekandbooknerd @adrille88 @quantumlocked310

Ivar:

@breezykpop

[lokifromvalhalla]

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.

Suggested by @bragisrunes"I would love to see your take on cat ivar! smut or fluff!!!"

Took some of Bragi's story as inspo, absolutely lovely, go check his story about cat Ivar!

Not proofread! Sorry for any mistakes!

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

The unfortunate cross of ways between Ivar and that witch resulted in this curse we have no idea how to solve, but we were taught to wait, at least. You need two thinks thing; the first all things devours: birds, beasts, trees, flowers; gnaws iron, bites steel; grinds hard stones to meal; slays king, ruins town, and beats high mountain down; the second if you think you have it, you probably don't; if you have it, you probably won't know it—she had said with a spine-chilling chuckle before shooting a glare at Ivar and walking away. It wasn’t until we went back to the Great Hall that we noticed that Ivar wasn’t quite the same as when he had left his house, this time counting on the company of a tail and cat ears.

At first, it was just Ubbe and I staring at Ivar while trying to process what was happening and figure out what to do with it while Ivar sat there confused, only to be alarmed by Sigurd once he walked into the room and snorted at the moment his eyes fell on Ivar, and that’s when chaos ensued, intensified by Hvitserk also getting himself into the situation.

That was a couple of days ago. Now, we’re just making sure to keep Ivar inside the Hall and as hidden from the people as possible—under Aslaug’s orders—whilst we try to figure out a way to get him back to normal, though there’s no trace of the witch anywhere. It’s almost as if she vanished. Either way, we’re stuck with dealing with a grumpy Ivar until all of this is over. Well, either grumpy or extremely playful since he gets bored very easily; sometimes he will just show up in the corner of the room under bed covers, observing us as some sort of ghost, and start giggling as soon as someone jumps startled after noticing his presence. I would hate it if it weren’t so adorable—and maybe I spoil him more than I should, whatever Ubbe says.

Now is another one of these times; I could hear the characteristic sound of Ivar dragging himself down the hall under the sound of indistinct chatter and people walking, and soon the figure settles down by the corner of the room.

For a moment, I cogitate pretending to get scared, but I save myself time and also the inconvenience. “I’m nowhere near done yet.” The coins make a muffled sound that cuts through the room when I push them down the wooden table to a small pile.

Ivar whines, huffing as he pulls the cover over his head for a moment. “You don’t need to do those, anyways.”

“It’s not like that.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not here for free, even if I’m a great friend of the family.”

“Even mother told you to get that idea off your head already!” He clicks his tongue, his ears shifting under the cover. “Can’t you do that tomorrow or anything? I’m sure no one will mind!”

“Ivar, the things won’t buy themselves!” I scoff, taking the coins in hand to shove them inside the small bag. “And you won’t survive a night without that tea that soothes the pain, you know that!” I shoot a glare at him before I can start sorting out the other objects I got for trading to make sure Hvitserk didn’t forget to get me anything this time.

“Can’t you send Ubbe to do that?”

“You know he’s busy with the newcomers.”

“Hvitserk?”

“Training.”

“Uuh, fuck... Sigurd?” His voice is quiet and small. It almost makes my heart ache a little since the fact he’s suggesting Sigurd, resorting to the last means...

I sigh. “Hedeby with your mother.”

“No!” He groans, voice growing louder. “That means you’ll need to go out! And I’ll be here alone forever! Is this what you want, (y/n)? You want to put me under all this suffering?”

Gods, poor baby—okay, I’m being partly sarcastic, part of me still wants to cuddle him all day long. I make sure everything is in order before I get up and move to crouch down next to him, wrapping my arms around Ivar. “You know I’ll give you all the love when I come back, stop being dramatic. You’re even the reason I’m leaving, you dumbass, you’re aware only your brothers and I know the stuff to get at the market.”

Ivar hums in defeat, resting his head against my shoulder. “You’ll be spending the night with me,” he whispers.

“Of course.” I smile softly, and let my hand slip under the covers to scratch a spot behind his ears, earning myself the quiet rumbling sound of his purring that’s soon interrupted as he quietly curses, tapping my forearm a couple of times at the same moment he hears footsteps down the hall, though no one ever walks in. I chuckle, pressing a kiss to his nose. “Be good while I’m away.”

His eyes meet mine for a short moment before they’re falling to the ground and he slowly nods as the light red tone takes over his cheeks.

Even if most of what Ivar does when following me around the city when I have to do my duties is to distract me for most of the time—not like I’m completely against it, especially given the times when he’ll look at me with that crafty smirk, minutes before pulling me to a quiet corner so we can kiss until his lips are all swollen and mine tingle—, I do miss his presence a lot. It’s not as fun to walk around without anyone to talk to or someone poking my calf every two seconds so I will check something out. Of course I’m able to do everything faster, but I weirdly feel more tired than usual when I’m done. Damn witch.

The hall’s empty as it usually is at the end of the afternoon, in a great contrast to its state late at night when everyone is here for supper. A sigh escapes my lips as I let the things I brought back on top of the table and motion for a thrall to put everything away. My breath is still a little out of pace when I carefully walk into Ivar’s bedroom, making sure I’m not too noisy in case he’s asleep again—it’s nowhere easy to identify whether the figure hidden under the blanket with its swinging tail out is awake or not.

A long sigh finally escapes my nose as I take a seat on the bed, about to move to start untying my shoes when fingers digging into my sides have me jumping and screaming as my heartbeat bangs in my ears, but I’m soon grounded with the sound of giggling.

“Fuck!” I click my tongue, shaking my head, but Ivar just laughs louder, and as much as I want to join him and laugh along, I limit myself to only pressing my lips together in a gentle smile so he won’t grow so smug. “Very funny, love, very funny!”

“You should’ve seen your face!”

I roll my eyes, slapping his arm lightly. “Fuck off, hm?” I finally bend down to untie my laces and get my shoes off, and it doesn’t take long before my vest is growing loose, and I glance back at Ivar, who tugs the strings of my vest undone then scoots away to give me some room on the bed. My vest meets the ground with a heavy thud, and I finally allow myself to feel some peace as I cuddle close to Ivar, also slipping under the furs. “So? How were things while I was away?”

Ivar sighs as he rests his head against my shoulder, raising his eyebrows a little. “Boring, of course.”

“Yeah, same for me,” I hum, but soon brush away the thoughts that almost gave me headaches earlier today. One of Ivar’s strands falls on his eyes, so I try to brush it away only for him to move away from the touch and he has my knuckle between his teeth before I can notice. Fuck. The complaint I was about to groan, however, dies at my lips at the moment I notice how he’s more of chewing down on my knuckle lightly instead of biting, much like the kittens that I had found at the forest would do. Sometimes I wonder if Asa and Hali still take care of them, something I would ask Bjorn about if he showed up as often as he promises to.

A sigh escapes my lips as I raise an eyebrow at Ivar and he seems to be brought to reality by it, his eyes meeting mine while he pauses for a moment only to sink his teeth into my finger actually hard this time.

“Ivar!” I hiss, pulling my hand away with a glare that doesn’t do anything much aside from snatching another chuckle from him; I shake my hand a little until the pain is reduced to a soft throbbing and sigh, sitting up on the bed. “I’m going to sleep in the guest room if you continue like that!”

“No!” Ivar cries out with a groan, and I roll my eyes, shaking my head as I pull him close and tight so he won’t mess around again so easily. He’s still grumbling quietly when snuggling closer, pressing his face to my neck as his hand rests on my chest, drawing patterns against it absentmindedly.

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Vikings characters + how they'd react to finding Accidental Time Traveler crying somewhere and not knowing why

based on this request, but the title says it all | Masterlist

in this imagine, Ragnar, Lagertha, Bjorn, Ubbe, Hvitserk, Ivar, Gisla and Alfred will be finding you crying

Ragnar

the first time you break down, it's after a few months of being in kattegat after being taken from lindisfarne with athelstan

ragnar almost doesn't notice, too caught up with his own issues

finds you sniffling in a corner of the great hall

you're not only missing home, it's also Lagertha and Bjorn, but most of all, Gyda

you're wiping away tears, getting up, promising him to get back to training with rollo, but he stops you gently

"what's wrong? are you alright?"

no, you're not fucking okay, so you just burst out in tears

ragnar freezes for a sec, and then he'll be hugging you tightly, because honestly

he needs it too

not the best to talk to, but one of the best to hug

Lagertha

it's been years in the past, you rarely even think about 'home' anymore

so you're chilling in hedeby, talking astrid out of her horrific haircut, but today just isn't your day

everthing's going wrong, from stubbing your toe to getting cut by a new shieldmaiden

the dam breaks when a trader from the silk road wanders into Lagertha's hall with 'chocolate'

only, it's not really chocolate. not yours at least.

it's not sweet enough, not creamy enough, and you didn't expect it to be, but that day, you just silently get up from the table and leave

lagertha follows you a bit later, and when she finds you crying over a piece of chocolate, she's confused, but she doesn't question it

also hugs you very tightly, before asking you what's wrong

listens to you, does her best to comfort you and babies you for the rest of the night

very sweet

Bjorn

we're going with young bjorn (porunn era, but they're friends)

he's practically bouncing up to you because he wanted to show you something, and almost doesn't notice you crying

you don't hear him either, bc he's very quiet

but he just stands like this 🧍 for a solid ten seconds, before turning on his heel

finds you food, and then sits down with you to talk it through

tries his best to understand

very blunt in his manner, but he only wants to help

makes you laugh

porunn comes from training and joins in, and with the two of them, you feel much better after

Ubbe

i love this man's manners to death, and i just know that he wouldn't disappoint

sits down with you, pulls you into a hug (if you're okay with that) and lets you talk

amazing listener

tries to distract you

him and hvitserk take you into the mountains around kattegat, bc they know how much you love the wide open nature from that time

ends up making you feel even more welcome and loved

but i guess that's just our king ubbe

Hvitserk

ahhh, this man is so *unintelligible noises*

chaotic, even more than young bjorn

assumes that someone broke your heart first, and asks you who he has to fight

that cracks you up a bit

very confused, so he asks ivar, who isn't very helpful

"they're so sad, i don't know what to do. I don't even know why they're sad." and ivar will just go "aren't you the charmer? as long as you don't subject them to poetry, you'll be fine."

yeah, but 50% of his charm are his skills (or so he believes)

picks flowers and gives them to you by just... jutting them out in front of him awkwardly

too abd he's a prince and you're from the city

the flowers end up giving you a slight rash, but nothing helga can't fix

lets you talk during 'recovery' and feeds you his fave food

very smooth with it

Ivar

yikes

assuming he likes you, he'll try

"what are you sad about? isn't kattegat beautiful?"

you try to tell him why you're sad, and he just does a very condescending snort

but because it's you, he'll sit down next to you

does some self-important talk that cloaks his actually wise advice

no hugs

well, maybe one stiff side hug

when someone walks in on you two talking, he barks at them to get out

treats you to a day out, just the two of you

ends up giving great advice

Gisla

gisla has a professional distance to everyone, since she's a princess

but you're so annoyingly nice

sees you, leaves wordlessly, has people preapre fine food

invites you to take dinner with her

talks to you about everything

ends up scooting to the seat next to you

tight hug

at some point, her kids walk in, and one of them makes themself comfortable on your lap

the two of you talk a little more

keeps an eye on you, to make sure you're okay

[golddaggers]

wreck my plans (hey, that's my man)

pairings: hvitserk x reader, dad!hvitserk x daughter!ofc

warnings: nsfw! so +18. nothing too wild, he gets a bit jealous, semi-public touching, sex, oral sex. loads of cursing.

a/n: so i am going through a phase. look. i don't know. bear with me. to the people who still read the shit i write, thank you soooooo v much. and yeah, this blog is officially a mess. there's also more ubbe coming so welp, my viking fever is getting intense. you also can read this story on my ao3 profile :)

word count: 4,3k+

Ever since you met him, green has become your favourite colour. You could spend days and days just staring at those eyes, that shimmered with amusement whenever he caught you looking. Today, however, the roles had been reversed, it had been yours shining because he wouldn’t stop scrutinising the littlest movement you made. Attuned to the smallest of details.

Ivar had put together a celebration for his wedding. Several pitchers of ale and mead, roasted meat, fish and lamb, whichever one might prefer, with cooked potatoes and fresh herbs. Endless chunks of black bread, cheese, and honey. Not even five hundred men could’ve been able to topple down this banquet. You had a hunch your brother-in-law hoped Thor would visit him, it was the only thing that could explain why he put the cooks under the strain of providing so much food.

The invited people cheered him on. They spoke in loud voices, between the contagious fits of laughter, above the glee music that brought couples to the centre of the room, dancing. You’d been invited to twice. The first had been by Ubbe. Your best friend never drifted too far away from you, more so when you were with child, he’d orbit around you to make sure you were okay, well-fed and pleased. Hvitserk himself wasn’t this protective of you, and he was obnoxious to a fault, his hands always finding their way to rest on the soft round of your stretched stomach. You danced, Ubbe leaning in to whisper in your ear that you looked so lovely his brother had been rendered unable to fight the inevitable pull of you, his sight unwavering towards you. The second one, however, had put your husband in a sour mood. He didn’t like Leif one bit, it made him queasy that you had been pursued by him.

As soon as the song was over, Hvitserk rose to a stand, making his way to you, not even bothering that he’d stumbled some people in the crowded trail to where you were. His hand found the dip in your waist, pulling you back so you were flush up against him. Though you couldn’t look at it, you knew his semblance had been a warning. You search for his hand, twinning it with yours, and offer Leif a measured, polite smile, then walk away, Hvitserk threading behind you as a lost child.

You find your baby girl sitting next to her uncle. Little Hildi was the light of Ivar’s eyes, you had never seen him beam before she was born. He was yet to have his children, though you felt no one would take the soft spot your girl had carved in his heart. All the love he hadn’t given to his brother, he was sure to give his niece. It also meant she was taken care of, so you could slip away with your husband without probing looks from others, lost in the faces of the mass. When the festivities were over, Ivar would take her back to their home.

You intend to take him back to your house, drop to your knees and show him that there’s no other man that you would ever do this for. Hvitserk, on the other hand, seems to have other plans swimming in his mind when he stops in his tracks as soon as you’re out. The chilled breeze of early spring makes you shudder, but when he touches you, you feel warm everywhere. Tingling, shaking with anticipation.

“Think it’s cute?” His voice dips low as he pins you to a wooden wall. He’s brought you to a narrow alleyway, not at all secluded, though the night’s darkness forbids others from seeing who are the lovers lost to their passions there.

“What?”

“Making me jealous,” He points out, his hips tight on yours. “Do you think it’s cute?”

“‘M not trying to make you jealous, my love,” The hard touch of his cock against you makes a whimper slip out. “Never. I’m yours.”

“Fuck yeah you’re mine,” The green becomes a slim ring around the dilated pupils. “Don’t and won’t share you with anyone. Mine.”

It’s a sound akin to a wolf growling that he lets slip. He begins to lift your skirt, the hot, feverish skin exposed prickles, and your lips part in a tremulous gasp. You knew what he was going to do, you also knew you should stop him. Then he fell to his knees, glancing up at you while he kissed your inner ankle. It’s a view that you can’t resist. Hvitserk, when he wants, can always get away with his biddings.

He pushes down the short, linen braies you had on, balling it up to shove deep in his pocket. The cool gush of air makes you gasp, which, on its account, makes him smile. Proud of himself. He’s a big teaser. He loves to see how much he can delay his skilled touches until you beg. Until you’re whimpering him to please do something.

His cheek mashes against your thigh, it forces your legs to drift so he can fit in the snug between them. The soft rubbing of his hands is the only grounding you can get as your mind starts to spin with how close he is. Hvitserk bites a patch of tender flesh before grunting, your cunt on display for him to do as he pleased. Even in the wavering light, he could catch the gleam of your slick pooled at where you thrummed overcome with desire.

The pad of his thumb finds its way to your clit in one fleeting touch. You groan in frustration, rolling your hips towards him, beseeching. His concealed laugh fans warm air all over you, a broken cry filling the night’s silence in reply.

“I should take you right here,” He muses, a quick nip on the flesh of your inner thigh. “So anyone who wanders by knows who you belong to.”

“Serk…” The sound is so pitiful you can see a gleam of compassion on his face, but you know better than to think he would be so pliant. “Everyone knows I’m yours. And everyone knows you’re mine.”

He scoffs then rises to a stand, and his full height makes you feel small. Your skirt falls back to its original place, rustling as it slides down your legs. His sudden draw-back leaves an uncomfortable aftertaste, you feel the emotion bubble at the bottom of your throat. The second pregnancy has left you even more emotive, always bursting at the seams.

Hvitserk runs his knuckles along with your cheekbone. It was crystal clear that the welling tears had got through him. He never knows just how to act when you are upset, so he just looks at you, a silent offer of his unspoken care. You aren’t sad or angry at him, but you haven't been able to keep yourself in check, which you do often for his sake.

You lean into him, on your tippy-toes to wrap your arms around his neck. His gentle embraces feel like the first breeze of summer, warm and with the hope to bloom.

The way back home is quiet. No one meanders the cobblestoned streets, no houses seem to have inhabitants. Ivar made a point to invite everyone, so they’d see him wed the love of his life. You remember what it feels like, to be so in love you want the whole world to witness it. To savour, to envy. When you married Hvitserk, a good few years ago, now, you felt the same. An urge to let all the others be assured that this man was yours, that this love, his love, was worth screaming about.

His hand is looped with yours, as he leads the way up a narrow path that leads to the front door of your home. It was built a little far-off from the city, surrounded by bright green grass that threaded with geraniums during spring, and it's hidden amidst tall trees. Wild animals often roam about, your cooks drove insane with them ruining the backyard garden with the fresh spices they use to prepare supper. You wouldn’t have liked to live anywhere but.

As expected, your servants aren’t there when Hvitserk swings the door open. It’s dark, the candles are long blown out. Once inside, however, you feel a pleasant balmy air shroud you, so the fireplace must’ve been fed new logs, its screaming orange flames a source of light for you to take in the smooth features your husband now donned. He pushed you down in a soft, caring motion.

You struggle to find a comfortable seat. Each day, it seemed, your baby grew bigger, your tummy a pointy thing that made it hard to sleep, stand too long on your feet, or even breathe in a normal fashion. It always seemed like you ran a marathon. He bends to kiss the crown of your head, then disappears into the darkness.

Only the gentle creep of dying wood filled the room. You stretch your hands to gather some heat, the tips of your fingers tingling as blood comes rushing to warm them up. Your cheeks sting, too. The warmth seems to wake the sleeping dragon that rests within, your baby moving around, stretching and kicking. You can’t bite back the smile while you touch your stomach, in hopes that the soft shushing would put the boy at ease.

Hildi was always the quiet babe. Even when she was born, she did not cry, not until the midwife slapped her tiny tush. You could see him embedded in the last fibre of her being. They were both good at playing people, using their sharp tongues to sneak out of harsh punishments, too smart for their own sake. She was her father’s daughter in every sense.

It softened you out to see him so devoted to her. You thought, when you were told you had a healthy baby girl, he’d slight her. His green eyes, that you saw each time she looked at you, had glistened in genuine happiness. Hvitserk was enamoured by Hildi, taken by her in a way you didn’t think he’d be. Part of you wondered, now that you were so certain you’d be giving him a son, that he would dismiss his firstborn to regard his first boy.

“Is everything okay, my sweetness?” His voice is pinch lower, hushed as he sits beside you. There’s a puzzling hint that scrunches his face. “You seem lost in thoughts.”

“Do you love Hildi?”

“More than anything.”

“More than me?” You bite the tip of your tongue so as not to smile.

“She’s my princess, my baby girl, I love her more than anything in the world,” Hvitserk leans closer, nestling his face between the soft plush of your breasts. “But I love her momma more.”

“Will you love this boy more than you love you love her?”

His chin rests at your collar when he looks up at you, confused, “What?”

“I just… I don’t want her to feel neglected. She adores you, you know,” Your fingers slid to the end of his braids, tugging at the rubber bands that keep them in place. “I know it’s important to have sons, but I want her to be seen, too.”

Hvitserk straightens up, taken aback by your abrupt confession. You feel his lips on yours not too long after. It’s not harsh or passionate. It’s gentle and soft, like the forehead kisses he gives her each time she leaves for a riding lesson with her uncle. All the love you feel for him boils in your blood. It makes you want to scream out loud. Your love is a body of water that would flood an entire city.

You press your forehead to his, “What was that for?”

“Sometimes I think you’re not real,” He discloses in a little voice, but you feel the weight of the words he’s speaking. “I wonder if this life I now have is not some figment of my imagination to safeguard me from the rotten reality I must be in.”

“My love,” A soft plea for him to dismiss those thoughts almost tumbles out, but before you have the chance, he quiets you with a finger.

“I love our house, coming home to a screaming Hildi that will hang on one of my legs like the nasty little monkey that she is and coming home to you, to kiss you, to kiss your pregnant belly. I don’t care if the babies you give me are boys or girls. All of this is more than I think I deserve.”

“Hvitserk,” You call for him, your mouths meeting in a desperate kiss. You’re not used to having him be so open about what he feels, it suits him. “You deserve so much more. You should know you settled for me because you could have any woman your heart would desire-”

“I don’t want anyone else,” It’s an even, pure statement. His eyes flicker with earnest. “You should know, though, that Ivar taking a liking to you has made it possible for me to keep you.”

“I have to disagree… Ivar could hate me, and still, he couldn’t take you away from me. I’d tear anyone apart before they take you from me.”

The timid light bounces on the mischievous smile he’s got all over his face. Hvitserk helps you to a stand, your back facing him. It was his favourite mundane activity, undressing you. Each delicate button was undone, his aptitude far exacerbated for a man such as him. You had seen him fight, seen him wield weapons as thick as one’s thigh. The first time he stripped you, you couldn’t stop your mouth from hanging open. Stunned that he had such a mastery.

Each layer is unbound until you’re standing naked. He kisses the crook of your neck, then up to the shell of your ear, where he tells you how gorgeous you look. Your nipples, enlarged and darkened, are hard, too sensitive when he twists them, his mouth busy scraping each available patch of skin. The sounds you make echo across the empty room.

That’s a sight you could never get accustomed to, him, on his knees, wielding his strongest weapon, those hungry eyes, at you. Hvitserk had cornered you against a wall, parting your legs so he’d have a taste. Not the first taste today. He had to have you before leaving the house to tend to his daily tasks. His index finger runs down your cunt, bullying the snug entrance, not quite sliding it in, a taunting that brought a hefty weight to the bottom of your tummy.

He brings his finger to his mouth, sucking the tip. His delight hum does things to your body, it’s a hoarse, untamed noise that pulls out a frustrated groan. Hvitserk repeats this sequence of hellish steps until tears roll down your cheeks, too distressed to have him touch you. Not fading touches, no, you wanted the ones that would be certain to undo the budding knots coiling inside you.

The primal sound he makes when the back of your knee is set on the curve of his shoulder, and his tongue gets all the free room to do whatever he finds suitable, turns you into a weak stew. A pathetic, meek thing that’s been held up by the iron grip of his hands that steady the undulating of your hips. Hvitserk takes and takes and takes, like a man who’s known hunger would eat.

All the while he’s looking right up at you, devouring you in more ways than one. You rest your palm over his own, a quiet request for him to hold it while you let go. He complies, the warm meshing of fingers releases a wave of tenderness that envelops you. Even at his most distraught times, never once had you felt like he didn’t care for you. It was what made you fall in love with him, this unspoken bubble of sincere affection that would will into stillness the fiercest ocean.

His honey words reach your ears, hushed while he’s still busy between your thighs, lips wrapped around you in a salacious kiss. You were dangling from his lips, such as mead that trickles down the barrels after being poured into a cup. A thin thread that each assault of his soft tongue tore it further, unravelling. The pleasure was just a puff away, numbing the edges of your head until it snapped.

Hvitserk holds you through the trembling of limbs, the sputtered curses. His murmurs only spur you further, your hands shaking as you try to hold on to something. A tower built so high that when it toppled down, it shook the grounds, that’s what it felt like. Each time, it seemed, he cemented it higher, so when it crumbled, you’d be stuck in a haze.

You don’t acknowledge him taking you to the room, so soon after he kisses the jut of your stomach, whispering words to the unborn babe. He lies you on the bed, cradled in furs to protect you from the cold, then moves away. His laugh fills the room when you whine, like a child being denied staying up a little later. But being apart from him was lonely, regardless of whether it was miles or steps. You always longed for his skin against yours.

When he joins you, he no longer bears the heavy coatings, all bare for the touching, that you can’t help but do. His fingers trail down your back, a kiss pressed to your forehead as he scoops you closer to lie your head on his chest.

“Want you to take me, my love,” You ask, your hand splayed across his chest. “I can, now. And I want you to.”

The air shifts when he chuckles, it’s almost dismissive. In one quick swivel, however, he’s hovering above you, settled between your thighs. You feel him, so hard, so wanting. Hvitserk finds your lips with his first, biting down on the tender flesh, the tip of his nose bumping against yours.

“I love you,” He says in a serene, serious tone. “Love you so fucking much, you know that?”

“I love you, too, honey,” You tug at the hairs in the nape of his neck. “You should hurry up. Who knows when Ivar will bring Hildi back? He could be on his way.”

“Got myself an insatiable woman,” It’s only a half-joke, though you still laugh. “I’m sorry, for earlier.”

“You don’t have to worry, Hvitserk son of Ragnar Lothbrok,” His eyes gleamed with playfulness. “I’m fucking yours. Now show it to me just how much you want to claim me.”

He bites a tender spot below your ear, one hand going between your bodies so he can finger you and smear your slick around. Only when he’s satisfied with the mewling noises you’re making, do you feel him fist himself. Once, twice, then the fat head of his cock teases the snug heat of your entrance, breaching you at a slow, torturous pace.

Your legs are spread apart so you can take him, so deep into you it’s like he’s rooted. Both stay in a quiet moment of stillness, relishing the soft surrender that making love feels like. His face is hidden in the crook of your neck, his feather touches lighting up a fire within, your sweat-slick skin aching, so responsive to him. To the coarse fingers squeezing, to the small puddle of brownish hairs on his chest scraping yours. Every detail drove you insane.

By the time he moves, it’s measured, stagnant. It’s atypical, your husband can become a different being in the throes of passion, what with the slaps, the foul, dirty names he calls you, and with how hard he gives it to you. Making love is quite a rarity, which makes you appreciate it even further. Though his regular satiates the hunger in both your bones, this, it’s beyond the alluring satisfaction a high can give, it’s a connection. You like when he allows himself to peel away the hard shell he shrinks into every day.

Hvitserk kisses your cheek, then your temple, your forehead, your nose, your lips. His snaps grow harder, though just as deliberate, a hot wave of pleasure hitting you each time his hips meet yours, the friction enough to turn your brain into mush. Gods, how was it fair that this man could be so good at this? He had spoiled you for others. Spoiled you good.

His hips stutter.

“Gods, you feel so fucking amazing,” He groans into your ear, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh they held. “Mine. All fucking mine.”

“Yours, my love,” You clutch a handful of his hair, pulling him up for a breathless kiss. “I’m so… so…”

“I know, baby doll,” His grunt breaks a dam inside, the building pressure tighter and tighter.

He does it before you. Scorching hot spurts of spend, like he’s trying to put another baby inside you before the other even comes out. Hvitserk bites one of your nipples, moaning your name over and over. Perhaps it was when you fell. Wrung up to the breaking point until you split, a bone-crunching fall that had the loudest moans spilling past your lips.

Your toes curled, your heels dug into the back of his thighs. It’s a fire that licks your body, that rattles, shakes, then turns all muscles into lead, falling limp beneath him. An exhausted chuckle fills the short space between you, and your husband inclines to search your mouth in a feverish press of lips. You close your eyes for a beat, savouring how close he is, how your bodies are mended together.

It’s a while before he rolls to your side, his hand finding yours in the mess of sheets. Both of you enjoy a quietude that only a lover can provide to the other. You love his presence so very much that just this, lying side by side, it’s enough. You are not greedy, this life, regardless of how little he thinks it is, it’s more than you could have wished for. He brings you to the warmth of his arms, where you remain until the first raps on the door.

How much time had slipped away, you had no clue, but when he stood, pulling on linen breeches and a woollen tunic, you realised that could only be your daughter being brought back home. The missing piece to your happy family. While he disappeared to fetch her, you force yourself to stand up so you’d be dressed by the time she comes to you.

“Momma, momma!” Her childish little squeals warm your heart. “Uncle Ivar says I’m not just getting a little brother, but also a cousin, isn’t that wonderful?”

Hildi runs to wrap her arms around your hips, her chubby tiny face pressed to the round of your belly. Hvitserk rests against the threshold, arms crossed over his chest and a beaming smile on his face. You could taste on the tip of your tongue how happy he was, how accomplished he felt to have built this life with you.

“Yeah, cricket, yes, it is.”

“Papa says I can sleep with you tonight?”

“Did he, now?” You look at him, his face turning sheepish.

Wearing that look, he’s once more the boy you fell in love with, back when you were a bit older than your daughter is now. A boy that’s up to no good. Gods, if you’d known. That one day, when you joined a playful sword fight with him, that he’d be the one, you would never have let him slip away from your fingers. Sometimes, when there’s nothing else but the eerie silence of your thoughts, you regret the lost time. You could’ve held him. Could’ve protected him from the hurt he went through.

You'd break your heart in two if it means he'll be happy.

“Can I, momma?” She pushes, her chin resting on your stomach. “Please? Asa sleeps with Uncle Ubbe and Aunt Torvi all the time, she told me!”

“Of course you can,” You pinch one of her cheeks. "First you need to take off those feast clothes."

You mean to start removing her garments, but you are stopped before you get the chance to even touch her silver kransen. Hvitserk lifts her into his arms, her legs dangling as she settles on his hip, and he takes her to her bedroom. You smile at the gesture, your hand falling to yet again quell the restless growing babe. He’d woken again, moving around as if feasting inside your womb.

The room has dipped a degree colder, you shrink within the thin chemise you have on, though you dismissed it as quick as it rattled your body. It’s come to your attention the mess you’ve made, pillows and furs and linen sheets sprawled, tossed to the ground. You groan when dropping to your knees to pick them up, returning them to their original place.

Hildi is half-asleep on his lap when your husband returns. Her small fist clings to the collar of his tunic, her green eyes fluttering between closed and opened. Hvitserk nestles her between the bundle of covers, then he moves to you. Your arms wrap around his waist, his around your shoulders. Inside his hug, you get to hear the even heartbeat.

“See?” He says in a hushed whisper.

“What, elskr?”

“Whenever I’m with you, I always feel calm,” Your hand splays over his chest, and he rests his own above yours. “My heart never beats faster, never slower, always even. You’re my calmness after the wildest of storms.”

“You already married me, Serk, why are you wooing me like this?”

“‘M not wooing you,” His chuckle raises goosebumps all across your skin. “I’m making sure you know that you’re everything I need.”

You pull his hand to the swell of your left breast, “You’re my calmness, too.”

He moulds your body against him when you’re back to bed, comfortable under the heavy blankets. And this, sleeping cradled between his arms, watching your daughter sleep in such peace, it’s your definition of happiness.

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Shatter Me

Werewolf!Hvitserk x Werewolf!Reader

Masterlist

A/N: This is such a fierce slow burn 🤣 thank you @acrossthesestars for betaing this beast. Part 3 of @clydesducktape Moon in May Event.

Warnings: mention of dead bodies, limbs, gore I guess, tension, memories, new characters introduced, the brothers being brothers, wolf changes. 18+

Word Count: 8.3k+

Tagging: @kaybee87 @a-bang-for-your-bucky @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @strangunddurm (if you’d like adding or removing let me know!)

The front door slammed behind you, shaking the frame with the force of your push and you heard the voices from the other room dwindle to nothing. Ragnar called your name but you ignored him as you took the stairs two at a time. You were in the house, what more did he want? Pausing by your bedroom, you heard Halfdan begin to make his way up the stairs when he was stopped by a panting Hvitserk.

“I wouldn’t. Just leave her alone,” he gasped.

“I want to check on her Hvitserk, nothing more.”

“Trust me." You could imagine him doubled over in a pair of joggers that were kept out in the shed for emergencies. “She’s in a mood. She just power walked all the way here and didn’t even break a sweat. I’m worn out.” Halfdan slapped Hvitserk’s bare shoulder and you heard the smile in his voice.

“So it’s you that grew soft, not her.”

“She didn’t change?” You heard Floki’s voice, calm but still inquisitive.

“She refused. I tried,” Hvitserk huffed.

“Who would want to run with you anyway, huh?” You smirked a tiny bit at Ivar’s comment. His cane thumped loudly on the wooden floorboards as he made his way to his room. “Now she’s home and I’m going to bed.” Softly you closed your door as the rest of the pack determined who was staying up to keep watch. To keep you safe.

Throwing yourself onto the covers, you buried your face into the pillow. You wish you’d never opened your big mouth, but only time would tell if you were right or not.

The morning was cool, dew clung to every surface, wetting the soles of your feet as you stepped outside. The dawn was banishing the night and you scented the air. Aside from your coffee, you could smell Ubbe and Björn a bit farther out. You couldn’t stand still, a restlessness had taken over your body, agitating your limbs and you knew why. You wanted to run. Your wolf was asking to be released, she knew she was home and safe and she wanted to be set free.

“Fine, fine!” You muttered, putting your half empty coffee cup down and removing your hoodie. Slipping off your joggers, you dived behind a bush but nothing happened. Quickly shedding the rest of your clothes you awkwardly crouched on the cold ground. “Come on!” You could feel your wolf but you struggled to connect with her, to reach across the void and touch her soft fur. Closing your eyes, you concentrated, imagining what you looked like when you were her. Your eyes bright green, your downy fur rippling in the breeze, paws the size of dishes…

Eventually your back arched as pain lanced through your body. Throwing your head back you felt your teeth grow unnaturally fast, your ribs broke and moved with earth shattering pops and cracks. Your fingers shortened, the bones themselves changing shape as whatever magic you were connected to threaded purposefully through your body. Your spine elongated, fur sprouted over your skin, feeling each pinprick as it rolled in waves over your form. Your legs snapped, your knees forming the other way and you snarled, followed by a yelp as the pain reached a peak before melting away like it had never happened.

You were huge and powerful in this form. The pads of your paws dug into the soft ground as you sprinted from a standstill towards the trees. The wind rippled through your fur, brushing you with chilled, welcoming fingers. You turned, movement racing toward you from the shadow of the trees and you feinted, only to sink your teeth into Ubbe’s neck. His wolf yipped in surprise as you both rolled on the grass from his momentum. You stopped, your forelegs over his body and your jaws held onto him for a second with a warning snarl before releasing him. You tried to go back to running but he barked at you, his eyes wide as he waved his tail high in the air. Rolling your eyes in a very un-wolflike gesture, you shook your head only for him to yip loudly at you again.

Lifting your nose to the breeze when it shifted, you sneezed at the awful smell and even Ubbe stopped mucking around. You let loose a deep howl - a howl to say you’d found something. Ubbe stayed close, protectively watching your back as you searched for the source of the smell. The smell of death.

It took an hour to follow the scent on the changing breeze, but the closer you got, the heavier the dread became. The smell was thick and cloying, sweet and rancid at the same time. You tried to breathe through your mouth but that was just as bad, the dense odor filling your senses. Ubbe started to gag, his lips pulled back from his teeth as he made a loud noise from the back of his throat. You heard a braying howl, but you couldn’t respond, the idea of sucking in a deep breath now made you want to be sick.

You saw the hand poking out from under some leaves, your ears pricking forward and then flicking side to side as you listened. There wasn’t anyone else out here and Ubbe was wearily watching a few paces away, a quiet whine of warning escaping his mouth. Trying to ignore the acrid stench of death, you sniffed deeply against the ground. Picking apart the scents in your mind, you could tell other animals had come to investigate. The musky scent of another wolf was weak and the particular aroma wouldn’t click with anything in your memory. Cautiously you approached, your hackles on end and you snarled deeply in your chest when you saw it was a young girl. She was half buried in the earth and from what you could see, she was mid change. Her eyes open and glassy as she stared at the ever brightening sky, bones twisted unnaturally. Her jaw looked broken and half her teeth were clearly wolf fangs. Trotting back over to Ubbe, feeling sick to your stomach, all you could do was wait.

Soon Ragnar, Harald and Floki arrived in human form. Hvitserk, Björn and Halfdan joined quickly in wolf form. Hvitserk was beside you in an instant, his protective nature out in full force as he nearly knocked you off your paws. Snapping angrily, your teeth flashed in the light and he dropped to his belly. Ragnar growled at you both, his eyes completely violet, and you put your teeth away. Tentatively, he reached for your broad, wedge shaped head, his fingers resting just between your lowered ears as you gazed up at him.

“Well done, hunulv,” he mumbled. “Go back to the house and wait for us there. All of you.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Turning tail, you ran. The others crowded you, their shoulders bumping yours as they surrounded you, keeping you in the middle. Björn was the largest, his pale fur and golden eyes cutting an impressive figure as he led the way back to the house. Hvitserk and Halfdan were either side of you while Ubbe covered you all from behind. You were getting tired and the run was long. The brothers set a steady pace but you were unused to running for so long in this form. Your front paw gave way and you ungracefully planted your snout in the ground. A chorus of amused yips ripped into the quiet air. Snapping peevishly, you limped back across the grass, Hvitserk using his warm body to hold you up as you made your way up the stone steps to the kitchen.

“No wolves in the house, huh? Have you forgotten the rules?” Ivar yelled from the doorway. “Go sleep it off somewhere else, yndling.” You eyed him for a moment, knowing how easy it would be to make him unsteady on his legs. But as soon as the thought formed, you let it go. Ivar wasn’t below tussling with a tired wolf on the ground and he’d probably win anyway. With a sigh you collapsed just to the side of the door, exhaustion making your eyes close. A body settled down next to you, panting heavily from the run as he watched out for danger and you knew Hvitserk wasn’t going to leave your side no matter what. You felt the others gather around and you sighed in their comforting scents. Snuggling down in the mass of fur and heaving breaths, you felt the happiest you had since you left.

The first thing you became aware of was your hunger.

You were human, your curling toes and reaching fingers told you that. Groaning, you snuggled deeply into the embrace of someone warm, pressing your face into their firm chest and listening to their accelerated heart rate.

For a moment, it felt like the last 18 months hadn’t happened and you were back here where you belonged. His chest rose against you, lips trailing delicately over your hairline as he breathed you in. Smiling to yourself you curled further into him, enjoying the heat of his body along yours. Excitement blossomed in your chest at the way his soft lips ghosted down the side of your face. Tilting your head back you could sense his lips hovering over yours, such a tender action that had you wanting to reach those last few millimetres and taste him.

But your stomach rumbled loudly and it seemed to slap some sense into you. Snatching back your naked limbs, you forced your eyes open and clutched at the blanket that had been draped over you both.

“Ubbe put it over you,” Hvitserk said as he rolled onto his back, staring up at the blue sky and watching wisps of clouds pass over. He lay with one hand behind his head, his other resting on his bare chest, and you settled back down. The stone floor wasn’t uncomfortable, you’d slept on worse. Slowly, he turned to look at you, his gaze earnest and you could see he was doing everything possible not to frighten you away. Your breath hitched in your throat, the familiar sensation of desire curled up from your gut and you just hoped he couldn’t smell it on you.

“Where is everyone?” You whispered.

“Downstairs,” he replied quietly. His pupils blew wide as the scent of your arousal clouded his senses and he swore. His hand fisted tightly on his chest. “I’m trying here. but you’re drowning me, min elskede.” He sounded strained. Even with the usual softness he always spoke with, you could hear the need behind his words. You wouldn’t admit it, but right now all you wanted was him and it confused you. Your feelings for Nick, the tense joy you felt from being home mixed with your unfinished feelings for Hvitserk that all still gathered inside you.

“Then stop breathing,” you snarled weakly. Snatching the blanket off him, you walked byinside and grabbed a sandwich off the table before retreating upstairs to get changed.

You always hated going down into the basement. It was where Ragnar kept the cage that you’d spent the first of your days as a werewolf.

You could hear Ragnar speaking and he sounded pissed. You forced yourself down the stairs to see that the whole pack had gathered. Ubbe and Björn stood with their arms crossed and matching miserable faces as Ragnar tore them a new one. How did they not notice someone dumping a dead body on our lands? What were they doing all night? He didn’t even give them a chance to answer as he paced slowly before them, his body portraying exactly how angry he was with jerky hand movements. Hvitserk glanced at you, but he looked just as angry at his brothers as Ragnar did. Harald stood watching the oldest Lothbrok boys be put in their place, a not so kind smirk lighting up his face. Ivar sat on the table, picking at his nail, having no interest in what was happening while Halfdan, Sigurd and Floki were whispering in the corner. Halfdan beckoned you over and you pulled away from Hvitserk to join them.

“What did you smell?” Floki asked, his voice hushed.

“A wolf had been there, but no scent that I recognised. It was weak. And the body was still half buried, she’d been in the ground a few days at least.”

“Similar to the last one,” Sigurd whispered. Frowning you glanced at him, his green eyes narrowing slightly. “What?”

“The last one was buried too? So someone is coming onto our land and burying these bodies and letting them surface a few days later when their scent is weak.” Shaking your head you tapped the corner of your mouth. “This is too well planned for an útlagi.”

“I have to agree,” Floki sighed.

“Werewolves have survived for centuries without female wolves, what’s the fascination now?” You pondered aloud, glancing up to find all their eyes on you. Sigurd’s uneven gaze slid to his brother over your shoulder and you knew the answer, but Ragnar broke up your little gathering.

“What can you tell me, hunulv?”

“Not a lot,” you confessed. “But I do think a meeting with this new pack should happen sooner rather than later.” Ragnar nodded, swiping a hand over his face and dragging at his bottom lip.

“Harald, Halfdan, Björn, Sigurd and Ivar stay here. I’ll take Hvitserk, Ubbe and Floki with me. Are you all right to come? Maybe you can smell something familiar.” Nodding, you nibbled at your bottom lip, casting a worried glance at Floki, but he just smiled encouragingly at you. It had been ages since you’d been embroiled in anything like this and you were worried about being the weak link within the group.

“Shit,” you hissed, pulling your phone from your pocket and frowning at the empty screen. Nothing. Not a single phone call or text from Nick. “I have to make a quick phone call,” you mumbled. Racing up the stairs you dialed his phone only to get voicemail. Bursting into the sunshine outside you tried again. “Come on, Nick.” Voicemail. This wasn’t right, something in your gut told you this was very wrong. Turning on your heel, you slammed into Hvitserk as he exited the front door, his hands flying to catch you but your senses shattered at the close scent of him. The richness of his wolf still clinging to him after this morning, mixed with the freshness of the soil and the lushness of woodland. Reeling from walking into him, you held onto his forearms, your phone pressing heavily into your palm.

“Nick isn’t picking up his phone. It’s past 10am Hvitserk and I haven’t heard from him.”

“He’s probably in a grump because you weren’t there when he woke up,” he reassured you, but you shook your head and ignored the bitterness that laced Hvitserk’s tone.

“No, that doesn’t sound like Nick. He’d blow up my phone first, find out where I was…” Moving away, you dialed again but it went straight to voicemail. You gazed at Hvitserk with pleading eyes and he sighed, exhaling through his nose just as Ragnar emerged.

“What’s wrong?”

“Can we swing by the hotel in town first? I need to check on Nick.” You hated the whine in your voice as you begged your alpha for permission. “He’s not answering and I feel like something is wrong. Ragnar, please?” You heard the way his teeth slid over themselves, but still he managed to give you a forced smile.

“Make sure he’s ok and we’ll meet you at the edge of our property. Hvitserk…” You were already moving, your faithful shadow jumping up beside you in the truck as you turned the key. Gravel kicked up under the wide tires as you sped away but you didn’t care. All you could think about was Nick and seeing him with your own two eyes.

Approaching the door of the hotel you paused, throwing a hand out to stop Hvitserk. Sniffing the air, you could smell yours and Hvitserk's faded trail from last night. And someone else's. Turning on the spot, you tried to get your bearings but the car park had been driven through and walked over too much this morning.

“I can smell Nick, but I don’t know if it’s from yesterday or if he followed us last night.”

“Let’s go and ask him shall we?” Looking up you saw his room window was still open from where you’d jumped out and a dark sense of foreboding settled over you. Entering the hotel through the back door you heard the kitchens were in full swing, the smell of breakfast still being cooked covered nearly everything else. Hvitserk was right behind you going up the stairs, his hands either side of you as though he could protect you. Listening against the room door you heard nothing.

“Don’t…!” Hvitserk tried to stop you, but you shoved the door open, bursting into the room.

“Nick?” The covers on the bed were tusselled, clothes discarded on the floor, his suitcase open on the chair. You walked into the bathroom only to find that empty. “Damn. Fuck.” Hvitserk stood by the desk, his fingertips holding down the piece of paper you’d written on yesterday, your message clearly on display.

“He’s not here,” he stated stiffly.

“Clearly. Do you think he went into town or…” you walked to the bed and sniffed. “No, no no.” Ducking down you trailed your nose along the covers.

“Found something?”

“I—,” inhaling deeper you growled. “I need to change for this.”

“I’ll wait outside.” Without another word he left, closing the door softly behind him.

“Ok…ok.” You’d only changed an hour or so ago. Changing again, so close together, was a risk for you. You shut the window before stripping, placing your clothes neatly in the bathroom before you knelt down on the cold floor. “I can do this…I’ve got this,” you whispered. But nothing happened. Your wolf was quiet, resting after the exertion of this morning. “Please. I need you.” Delving deep inside, you dredged up what you so desperately needed.

Panic erupted on your chest, stealing your breath with a rough gasp.

He’s gone. Nick's gone. Someone took him. They took him.

Your mind went into overdrive, images of Nick dead somewhere on Lothbrok land had your heart ricocheting in your chest and the wolf came alive. The change, fueled by the panic you’d been keeping locked away, raced over your body. You felt the pain much more keenly than you did this morning, manifesting in your throat as a rippling snarl. Eventually it was over but the exhaustion you felt was awful, bogging down your entire body and you stumbled on all four feet. But the world came alive at the end of your nose; Hvitserk’s intoxicating scent was so strong you tried to exhale it back out as a hacking sneeze. Moving past the door you buried your nose in the covers, smelling Nick and yourself faintly. If the stupid window hadn’t been open the scents would be stronger unless…he really did leave last night.

Snuffling loudly, you heaved your front legs up onto the bed, smelling the patch that had grabbed your interest as a human. It was faint but it was there. It matched the trail by the hotel backdoor and the memory of that wolf watching you yesterday rose to the surface. His short hair and silver flashing eyes had you growling. Dropping back to the floor you released your tired wolf, slumping onto your side once the change was done. The door opened but your eyes were so heavy you could barely keep them open.

“I got you, elskede. I got you.”

Jolting awake, the water around you sloshed wildly and you clutched the side of the bath. You were still in the hotel room, your clothes neatly stacked where you’d left them. Relaxing slightly you caught the sound of Hvitserk in the other room, but it was the smell of food that had you groaning. You heard him scoff a little laugh and imagined the way he smirked at the sound of you, licking the corner of his mouth because his tongue was always out of his mouth like the animal he was. A cup of coffee appeared around the doorframe.

“Can I bring this in?” He asked.

“How long was I asleep for? Shouldn’t we be meeting Ragnar?”

“About 20 minutes, I rang him. They’re waiting for us.”

“Shit. Shit.” Hauling yourself from the warm water you grabbed a towel and snatched the coffee. You dried off and quickly redressed, still doing up your jeans as you walked into the bedroom.

“Eat this. You’re no good to us if you drop from hunger.” Shovelling food into your mouth, you jigged on the spot at how good it tasted. Sausages, bacon, scrambled egg. You didn’t care how you looked as you tore into it all. “Still don’t like tomatoes,” Hvitserk observed quietly.

“Why you bothered to even put it on the plate astounds me,” you muttered. “What did you do anyway? Raid the kitchen?”

“I told them my newly pregnant wife was a monster and she needed whatever they had left over. The chef couldn’t have been helpful enough.”

“Wow. You’re an ass.”

“You've called me worse,” he grumbled as he looked out of the window. Looking around, you saw Hvitserk had packed Nick’s things and the suitcase stood by the door ready to go. Checking your phone you saw there was still nothing from him.

“Someone’s taken him, Hvitserk.” Your voice dipped with emotion. This was the last thing you’d ever wanted, to drag Nick or anyone else into your hideous, hidden world.

“I’m sorry, min skat. It looks that way.” His matter of fact attitude made you dump the plate down with a clatter. You felt your anger rising, ready to thunder from your body.

“You don’t sound sorry!” You snapped, showing your teeth in your distress. Hvitserk turned to watch you dab tears from your lashes as you glared furiously at him. “I suppose this is what you wanted, for him to disappear!” A sob chased your words. As much as you tried to find the fault with Hvitserk, you knew it sat with you alone. “Oh god, oh god! What if he’s dead? What am I going to tell his family?”

“Hey! Stop this!” Hvitserk’s hands were firm on your shoulders and he gave you a small shake. “We don’t know for sure…”

“You’d like that though. You’d like it if he was just no more...”

“No!” He snarled, his eyes glowed for a moment as his fingers pressed into your skin. “You are hurting and I would never wish that on you. Elskede,” his expression grew pained. “If he…I will do whatever I can to bring him back to you in one piece.” You could hear the effort it took him to say those words to you. Gently untangling yourself and wiping your face, you finally gathered yourself together.

“We should go. We’ve got a pack to meet.”

You spent the whole journey trying not to think the worst, but all you could see was Nick somewhere dark not knowing what was happening, blaming you. You knew you were wrong for taking it out on Hvitserk but in your mind all of this led to him anyway. The world blurred past you, a smattering of trees and fields as you moved closer to the unknown. You tried all your old tricks, but nothing calmed you down and you were dragged into a spiral of what had happened the last time you faced the unknown.

“Oh, wow. You live here?” You gasped as the house came into view. Hvitserk pulled the truck to a stop in the driveway and stared up at the huge building.

“Grew up here, me and my brothers.” Tugging at your sleeve, you grimaced nervously. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve never met anyone's parents before,” you whispered, finishing with a nervous laugh. “Stupid, isn’t it?” Hvitserk leaned towards you, his hand cupping your chin and stealing your attention.

“Ragnar is going to love you, trust me. We could do with a woman around the house.” Resting your forehead against his, you sighed quietly.

“Ok. I’m ready.” The grin that broke out across his face was one of pure joy and he pressed a swift kiss to your lips. His hand was warm in your grip. It was something you'd noticed early on. Hvitserk always seemed so much warmer than you, like your own personal space heater.

The stone steps that led to the house were worn and the bushes that stood proudly either side of the door were cut into the shape of wolf heads. You reached out to toy with the lush green leaves.

“Ubbe is the artistic one,” Hvitserk breathed into your ear as he watched you admire them.

“I’ve seen you’re a decent painter,” you told him coyly and he smiled at your reaction. His hand curled over your cheek as he kissed you, a soft moan falling from his mouth as though he couldn’t help himself. The front door swung open and you gasped at the sight of a huge carved wooden wolf in the hallway.

“Told you Ubbe was the creative one.”

“He made this?” You asked in disbelief as you crossed over the threshold. Your eyes were wide as you stepped up to the carving, barely seeing the other pictures that lined the walls or the rounded, sweeping staircase.

“Took him a few weeks,” Hvitserk murmured as he came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your neck. “You smell divine, kæreste.”

“Pretty sure I still smell like you,” your whisper almost seemed to echo in the wide foyer and Hvitserk tensed slightly against you.

“Sit in here,” he said, guiding you to a large room with a plush sofa and a desk. There were a couple of armchairs scattered near the fireplace and large old style windows lined the outer walls. “I’ll get us some drinks and see if I can find Ragnar.” He kissed your forehead and pulled the door shut behind him, leaving you alone in the silent room.

You tried to rid yourself of the nervous butterflies by walking around the space, eyeing one large painting of a dark woodland where it was all shadows and moonlight. Trailing your fingers along the edge of the desk, you paused to look at the sizable hunting knife that was displayed proudly on a stand, sheathed in leather. You wondered how sharp it was and nearly picked it up when the door opened behind you.

Turning on the spot, you gulped down a breath as you were pinned in place with an intense pair of blue eyes. He seemed totally taken aback by the fact you were there and he tried to hide it with a forced grin.

“Hello,” he said with uncertainty, his hand still resting on the door handle. He glanced around the room and to your amusement he even looked behind the door.

“Hi.” You pushed out a rushed introduction, assuming this was Ragnar. His smile was big, but it didn’t reach his eyes and he approached you almost cautiously. As soon as his rough hand met yours, the heat of his skin was noticeable and you wondered how him and Hvitserk weren’t permanently sweating.

“I’m going to assume one of my sons brought you. Where is Hvitserk?” Your eyes widened. You hadn't realized Hvitserk had spoken about you to his family yet.

“Oh! He went to find you. I didn’t…he told me he hadn’t told anyone just yet.” Ragnar exhaled in a short burst through his nose, the strained smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and he shook his head slightly.

“He didn’t.”

“I’m sorry this is such a surprise,” you mumbled, twisting your hands together. All you had to do was make Ragnar like you and you were even failing at that. “I’m no good at this,” you confessed. “I’ve never met anyone's parents before.” Suddenly it felt like Ragnar was scrutinising you, his blue gaze a fierce shadow as it raked over you before he ushered you to a seat. His smile was hitched back up, but still there was something in his demeanour that put you on edge.

“Relax, let me check on Hvitserk and the refreshments.” You let out a measured breath, tapping your leg. Your nerves seemed to double as soon as he left the room. Considering Hvitserk had told you all about his family and how large it was, the house was eerily quiet and you wondered where everyone was.

A loud thump startled you, followed by a soft dragging sound and you leapt from the chair with your back against the wall. It was stupid and irrational but you felt like your nerves were on fire as you stood there, alone in that office. The door swung open to reveal a younger man, his storm blue eyes no less devastating than Ragnar’s. He had leg braces on and his hair was longer than Hvitserk’s, cascading over his shoulder as he turned to face you. Immediately, his face split into a wicked grin, his nose flared for a second and he slumped towards you with the cane holding him up.

“Who might you be, huh?” He demanded, his icy blue eyes not sparing any part of you as he looked you up and down. “You smell like my brother.” Frowning at the odd comment you swallowed. This must be Ivar. You said your name, aware of the tightness in your hands as you clutched them together. He opened his mouth to reply, but his head swiveled towards the door. Anger flared across his features at the sight of a huge wolf-like dog nosing its way through the door. You smiled. You loved animals and the bigger the dog the better.

“Is he friendly?” You asked, but Ivar didn’t take his eyes off the animal.

“Overly so.”

“Hey big guy!” You breathed, crouching down as the dog slinked towards you. His eyes were a rich orange colour, something you’d never really seen in a dog before. Reaching out, you ran your hands through his thick fur. The dark brown colouring was broken up with flecks of grey and he sighed as you stroked the large wedge shaped head. “Oh you’re gorgeous aren’t you?”

“Don’t give him an ego boost,” Ivar muttered. Moving your hand to scratch under his chin, you smiled at the way his bright eyes rolled. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and his tail thumped against the wooden desk. Looking up, you spotted Ragnar entering the room, his expression furious as he stared at the dog. Slowly he put down the tray of cups, holding out a hand he beckoned to you.

“Come away from him,” he uttered softly but your joyful smile dipped at his tone.

“I thought he was friendly?” You cast a glance at Ivar who wouldn’t take his eyes off the massive dog.

“Sometimes aggressively friendly,” Ragnar muttered as he inched towards you. “Just come away from him, please.” Giving the dog one last scratch under the chin, you stood. Before anyone could react the dog pulled his lips back, teeth clamped down on your hand and you screeched at the sensation. Ivar swore loudly, but it was Ragnar who moved. He grabbed the dog around the neck and hauled it up with a show of impressive strength, matching the rumbling snarls the dog was emitting. Backing away, you stumbled into Ivar’s arms. He grabbed your wrist and held up your hand that was bleeding profusely.

“Don’t hurt him!” You shouted. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have gone near him!”

“You’re a fucking idiot, Hvitserk. Look at what you have done.” Ragnar forced the dog to face you, his forelegs still off the ground and his mouth pulled back in an aggressive snarl. But his eyes were brimming with an intelligence you hadn’t noticed before. Swooning slightly, you sagged in Ivar’s grasp.

“Must be shock,” you mumbled. Ivar managed to steer you into the armchair one handed. He held up your hand and glanced gravely at Ragnar.

“There’s no coming back from this,” he stated.

“It’s just a bite. I’ll be fine,” you tried to say but your mouth felt thick. Your tongue was heavy as it tingled in your mouth, your lips felt like rubber and breathing was becoming difficult. “I don’t understand. What’s happening?” You desperately wanted to form words but they just came out as a groan. Nothing in your body would respond and your eyes began to close. The last thing you heard was the soft whine that emitted from the dog as he tried to fight his way to you.

Breaking from your reverie, you saw a house appear before you. It was nowhere near as impressive as your pack house. This one was more modern, with a large lawn that led to the edges of the woodland your pack owned. They really were pushing it with Ragnar, settling right on the border. Stepping out of the truck, you took a deep breath, but it was like a cacophony of noise at the end of your nose. It would take you a while to pick apart those scents, or your wolf form to get a more accurate feel. This house was busy.

Looking around, you noticed the out buildings set away from the house. The driveway swept from the front of the house and led right to the doors, but they didn’t look like garages. You barely noticed Hvitserk crowding behind you, his head moving from side to side as he assessed for any threats. Ragnar was at the front of the group and you fanned out on either side of him as the door opened. You and Hvitserk stood on your alpha’s right with Ubbe and Floki on his left.

Lifting your nose subtly into the breeze, you caught a sniff of something familiar, but it was covered by a multitude of other complicated scents and you growled softly in frustration, not noticing the other alpha had come out to greet you all.

“Welcome! We have been expecting you for some time!” He announced with arms spread wide and a friendly grin. His grey eyes looked over the group before they came to settle on you. At first you tried to ignore him, but he was walking towards you like he was in a trance. Hvitserk pressed in beside you, his warning snarls loud enough for everyone to hear as they stormed from his chest. At the last second Ragnar subtly stepped in the other alphas path, covering you with one half of his body.

“I’m not sure I could hold my son back from killing you if you got any closer, Ecbert.”

“Forgive me. But she is a miracle, is she not?” He covered his bearded chin with praying hands. “I had no idea she was mated already. Please! Come in!”

Mated? The term made your insides curl up, but you couldn’t tell if it was in annoyance or something more comforting.

“Sit. Make yourselves comfortable. You are safe here.” Ragnar sat himself down on the available sofa with Floki beside him while you, Ubbe and Hvitserk chose to stand. Glancing at Hvitserk, you could see he was stressed. Anger was etched all over his face and his arms were crossed in his traditional aggravated stance.

The three of you tensed and looked toward the door as it opened to reveal a young man with shoulder length dark hair and startling green-grey eyes that darted over the gathering.

“I’m sorry, grandfather. I didn’t realise we had company.” You hated the way his voice seemed to blanket over the group in a pleasing way. He spoke so clearly and his accent interested you more than it should.

“Alfred, my dear boy, this is Ragnar from the pack on our border. With Floki,” Ecbert pointed at you all individually, narrowing his eyes as he revealed he knew who all of you were. “Ubbe and Hvitserk, some of Ragnar’s sons." His eyes landed in your, lingering. "And Hvitserk’s mate.” You thought Alfred’s head was going to fall off his shoulders at the mention of you. His eyes grew wide as he looked back at Ecbert in disbelief.

“So it’s true?” Rolling your eyes, you attempted to look uninterested.

“I think we need to discuss the proximity of our packs rather than my son’s recklessness,” Ragnar stated as he sat forward, his hands coming together.

“We apologise if it seems we are muscling in. But houses that meet a pack's needs are hard to find. Are they not?” Ecbert replied with a bland smile. Reaching forward, Ragnar took an apple off the coffee table and began to shift it from hand to hand.

“We have had some unfortunate events arise on our land since you arrived.”

Ecbert shook his head and leaned back into the cushions, crossing his legs and spreading his arms along the back of the sofa.

“I read about that on the news. Such a tragic affair. I hope not too much attention was brought to your door?” Ubbe scoffed quietly and scratched his chin. You were already overstimulated and the loud rasp of his beard against his fingers almost made you growl in annoyance.

“No. And we managed to move the second body before humans stumbled upon it,” Floki spoke up.

“Another one?” Ecbert did a good job of seeming surprised, his eyebrows shooting up and his brow wrinkled. “Do you have any idea who is doing such a barbaric thing?”

“Not yet,” Ragnar sighed. “But we are close.” Staring at a point on the far wall, you tried to concentrate, listening for anyone else in the house or a scent that you recognised, but your senses came back with nothing.

“Well, my son and his sons are at your disposal if you need any help at all. I’d rather we band together and figure this out to save us all being discovered.” As he spoke you were aware of his gaze falling on you once again. “How did you do it?” Ragnar turned to look at you, his expression unreadable and you knew he didn’t want to discuss it with you in the room. He never did.

“She’s the strongest person I know,” he said softly. “Her sheer will alone kept her alive. And the desire to teach my son a lesson.” Ecbert chuckled, slapping his knee at the joke but he wasn’t done with the current topic.

“Do you think the strays are trying to achieve what you have? Wolves so desperate for a mate that is their equal?”

“We keep a close eye on the útlagis,” Floki said. “And none of them in this area have been near our land.”

“Interesting,” Ecbert murmured. “Alfred? Where is your father?”

“Out running, grandfather.”

“Hmmm. Maybe introductions should wait until next time.” The alphas stood up in unison, with Floki copying the movement. The dismissal from the older alpha was evident. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Ragnar. Maybe next time we could have a meeting with everyone. I’d love to hear the story on how you managed to have so many sons.” Ragnar took his hand and clapped him on the shoulder as they moved towards the hallway. Still you tried to smell something, hold onto shred of useful information, but nothing was sticking.

“Definitely a story to be told around a fire.”

“Yes I can imagine!” Exclaimed Ecbert. “May I?” It took you a second to register he was talking to you, his hand reaching out tentatively for yours. Hvitserk growled, a deep rumble that reverberated through your body as his chest puffed out into your back, but you gave a curt nod when Ragnar gestured it was ok.

“You’re exquisite, my dear.” It took all your control not to cringe when his facial hair tickled the top of your hand, his warm breath brushing over your skin as he scented you deeply. “Heavenly. We shall meet again.” Hvitserk pretty much barrelled you out of the front door, his hands possessive as he marched you to the truck, but you didn’t fight him. Something about the way Ecbert looked at you had you seeking comfort. The way he watched you was predatory, he knew far more than he let on and you worried about what it meant for your pack.

The others were waiting in the kitchen. Ivar was sitting on the table while Björn paced along the length of the room. Harald stood when you all entered and you assumed Halfdan and Sigurd were on patrol.

“Well?” Harald demanded in that gruff voice of his.

“He seems perfectly nice,” Ragnar said with a shrug. “But I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”

“Find anything?” Björn addressed you, still restlessly pacing.

“He mentioned his son and two grandsons but the scents in that property hint to a pack far larger than he let on. None I recognised, but it was difficult as they all overlapped one another. There are two outbuildings just off the main part of the driveway, they looked newly built.”

“Definitely something shady is going on with them and their interest in us,” Ubbe uttered to no one in particular.

“Me,” you said firmly. “You mean their interest in me.”

“Of course they would have interest in you.” The whole group turned to look at Ivar as he leaned comfortably on his cane. “Look at you. One of a kind, the only she-wolf in the world. Maybe someone spotted you in the city.”

“Impossible,” you growled.

“Can you be sure?” Ivar cast a sly glance at Hvitserk as he spoke. “Prancing around with that human, flaunting yourself out in the open…”

“Enough, Ivar.” Hvitserk stepped forward, his voice deceptively soft, but you could see he was itching to take some frustration out on someone.

“Should have kept her on a tighter chain hmmm, Hvitserk.”

Ragnar watched his sons wearily. At first, all Hvitserk did was nod at his boots. A hand rested casually on his hip while the other swiped over his face and into his hair. You were about to release the breath you were holding when Hvitserk exploded into action, but Ivar was ready. They met with a roar, the pair of them falling over the other side of the table, the air filled with deep snarls and growls as they grappled for the upper hand.

The pack watched. Ivar was the superior fighter in this form, especially on the floor, but Hvitserk had rage adding weight to his fight. You didn’t think anyone was going to intervene as Ragnar nonchalantly regarded the contents of the fridge, a hand running up his chest when he sighed. Ubbe was watching his brothers intently. Harald tutted and moved over to the window when he saw his brother sprinting across the lawn. Floki leaned against the wall, arms and legs crossed in a relaxed posture but Björn was the one to reach down and grab each of his brothers by the scruff of the neck.

Hvitserk’s ruffled hair was all over his face, the glow of his wolf shone from his eyes as he bared his teeth at Ivar.

“You will not talk about her like that!” He demanded, the wolf evident in his voice.

“I fucking talk about who I want, how I want,” snapped Ivar. “She brought this whole fucking mess upon us because she didn’t stay in the pack house!”

“You don’t know that!” Snarled Hvitserk, twisting in Björn’s grip.

“Oh, enough!” Björn gave them both a shake. “It doesn’t matter who or what started this. What matters is we finish it, as a pack.” He forcefully planted Ivar on a chair, ignoring the baleful glare his youngest brother gave him. He kept hold of Hvitserk until he’d dragged him round the other side of the table and shoved him away. You all looked up as Halfdan slammed through the door. His chest was heaving from the run and he leaned heavily on the door frame.

“We found something.” The icy fingers of dread tickled their way down your spine and you knew whatever they’d found wasn’t good. Ubbe piggy backed Ivar so he didn’t miss out as the whole group filtered round the side of the house. Halfdan led you all down the driveway and a little off the road, his face grave.

“We don’t know whose it is but it smells…human.” The first thing you scented was blood. The iron tang laced the air and guided you right to the spot where the hand had been dumped.

At first you didn’t register that someone had dumped a human hand on your home turf. Or that it smelled like Nick until Hvitserk was trying to pull you away from it. Snatching your arm free from his grasp you walked forward in a daze. The Nick's scent grew stronger. Closing your eyes, you could almost imagine he was right there, whispering comforting words and holding you tight. The last few months had been tough between you, but it hadn’t always been like that. Nick had been the one to save you from yourself, he had stopped your destructive tendencies after leaving the pack and he didn’t even know he was doing it. But now Nick was being torn to pieces. It was your fault and you couldn’t save him.

A scream erupted from your chest. The sound ripped through your body, your wolf rising to answer the call of your distress, to be the stronger half and carry the weight of your wounds. Falling to all fours you couldn’t hear anything; not Ragnar trying to talk you out of the change as he crouched beside you, not Hvitserk as he rubbed your back trying to keep you sane. All you could see was the hand, pale and lifeless on the ground, tossed out here like rubbish. All you could think about was Nick in pain, suffering because of you. This was your fault.

You couldn’t have stopped the change, even if you wanted to. Your wolf burst forth in such a rush that the pain barely had time to register. As soon as the change had finished you stepped free of your torn clothes. Sniffing around the site, you could smell Nick and another scent, this one familiar because you’d just experienced it at the hotel. Snarling deep in your chest, you started to follow the trail but Ragnar’s sharp voice cut through the fog of your mind and you stopped to glance at him.

“Not today, hunulv.” Licking your teeth, a rough growl sounded in your throat as you tried to swallow it down. You’d never wanted to challenge Ragnar before, but today you were burning to disobey orders and hunt down the people who had Nick. He was still crouched on the ground, a slight smirk playing on his lips and his blue eyes danced at your dulled down reaction. “Move this. We need to be smart.” He got up with a weary sigh. “Take her home Hvitserk.” You felt his fingers tighten on the back of your neck, tugging you slightly in the direction of the pack house but you stayed facing the breeze. Letting the smells of the woodland flow over you, so much knowledge raced through your mind as you sorted the scents into plants, animals, predators, prey, enemies. Reluctantly, you allowed Hvitserk to lead you back, his hand never leaving your fur and for the first time since you’d been bitten, you didn’t fight him touching you in this form. As you approached the pack house he finally moved ahead, pulling some clothes from the stash next to the door.

“I can only find Ubbe’s…” you let out a huff as you collapsed on the floor. You didn’t care about being seen as the wolf melted away from you, letting your body go back to its original form with no fight whatsoever. Staring up at the sky you could feel the numbness spread through your body, the way you detached from this day as a whole. You didn’t want to remember finding the body, or realising Nick was gone. You didn’t want to believe you’d been on enemy pack territory and you couldn’t face the fact that they were possibly the ones who had Nick. You were a curse, your very existence was all wrong and so you tainted everything you touched.

Hvitserk wrapped you in a blanket and picked you up in one fluid movement. Your fist curled into the fabric of his shirt but you couldn't feel it. You felt like you were staring at someone’s else’s hand and he was carrying a stranger up the stairs to your room. This was your bed but it wasn’t, the curtains he pulled across to block out the rest of the day were yours, but they weren’t. Tears tracked down your face but they didn’t leak from your eyes. Hvitserk’s soft, comforting voice was absorbed by someone else’s ears because you couldn’t hear what he was saying as he crouched before you. His nature coloured gaze cast slowly over your still features as you focused on a point over his shoulder. His thumb swiped your cheek but you didn’t feel the tenderness in his gesture. You didn’t want this happening to you anymore, hoping maybe if you detached enough you’d cease to exist.

“Min søde,” he whispered, brushing some strands of hair back from your face. “I’m sorry.”

[artemiseamoon]

The Chaos of Desire

Ubbe x F reader

Words:1,745

⚠️warnings: some steamy vibes, mentions of attacks in a nearby town, cult vibes

After lighting the last candle, your eyes move over the dangling glass crystals on the candelabra. Since coming here, this quaint house has become a place you visit frequently.

It wasn’t a church, the townspeople made that very clear. It was a place of divinity, of connection, a place to commune with spirit and gods.

Belief. It was a heavy word these days. You didn’t know what you believed in anymore. But, you knew lighting a candle and sitting here for a while felt comforting, it provided you with some sense of ease.

You set out on a journey 38 days ago. You needed a change of scenery, a change of pace. Aside from seeing the world, you hoped to finally write that book. The one that's lived in your mind for years. The one that produced endless notes waiting to be combined into some kind of form.

While seeking the perfect place to write, you stumbled upon this place. It was strange, isolated, unique with the most beautiful woods you've ever seen in its backyard. Maybe, while staying in this little town a while longer, your book would finally come to life.

Closing your eyes, you wish for creativity, for inspiration. The sound of oncoming footsteps breaks your concentration. Opening your eyes, you glance over your shoulder and watch as Ubbe walks down the aisle.

You didn’t know much about Ubbe. Even after your previous interactions, he was still a stranger. From what you gathered, he came from a famous family and made this town his home many years ago. If this place had a ruler, a King, Ubbe was it.

Upon arrival, you were strongly encouraged to meet with him. During your sit down, Ubbe asked you a series of questions, and though you tried to deny it, it felt like a vetting process. There was a free-spiritedness about this town, which you love, but the thought of what this place really could be never left your mind. Still, you found yourself enchanted. Something about this place was magnetic.

You also appreciated how pagan it was. This town felt like you stepped into a time machine. It was easy to forget you were actually in the modern era. It seemed like the perfect place for a writer to write.

Ubbe stands beside you, his demeanor calm and in control as usual. Despite how chill Ubbe was, something electric brewed under the surface, like magnetic waves that drew everyone to him, including you. It was much more than his looks; he was obviously handsome. There was something more, something mysterious.

“I hope you’ve found your muse.”

His voice is smooth, low, almost a whisper. It washes over you, awakening all your senses. You feel his clear blue eyes burning into you, but don’t dare to look.

Ubbe's eyes rendered you spellbound, and simply by standing so close he already made your breath quicken. You couldn’t look at him, not yet.

You clasp your hands in front of you and focus your gaze on the flames. Beads of sweat rise on your skin, you find yourself desperate for a breeze. Hyper focusing on your breath, you try to calm your racing pulse.

“I’ve written a few pages, it’s a start.” You reply, listening to yourself to make sure your voice sounds normal.

Ubbe gently touches your shoulder, “I’ve come to assure you of your safety here. I’m sure you’ve heard about the attacks.”

“I have,” you glance at him briefly, then back at the candles, “I’ve been hearing the stories in the tavern. It is alarming.” You look at his hand, still on your arm, then at Ubbe. You see something flicker in his eyes as your breath catches in your throat.

Everything moves in slow motion. You watch Ubbe raise his hand to your face, he gently brushes your cheek, “do not fear. I’ve caught the perpetrator. Tomorrow night there will be a ritual to the gods. You should come.”

He removes his hand and offers a small smile before turning away from you.

A ritual

Your thoughts speed up as you think about Ubbe’s words. You turn to ask him more questions and find yourself alone again. You didn’t even hear the door open and close.

Later that night sleep is hard to capture. You toss and turn as your mind continues to spin, you think of the what-ifs and scenes from movies you’ve seen play in your mind. Would this be a beautiful ancient ritual, or would it be the stuff of nightmares?

You open your eyes and stare up at the ceiling. Sighing, you turn your head to the side and watch as the curtains dance in the breeze. A warmth suddenly flushes over your entire body, your pulse quickens.

It must be the temperature in the room, you say to yourself. You kick the sheets off and jump out of bed. Using your phone as a light, you check the thermometer, the temperature remains unchanged from before.

After putting your phone back on the side table, you go to the window and open it fully. A cool breeze kisses your skin. You moan with relief and linger by the window a little longer. The air feels good on your face, your neck, your chest.

The relief is short-lived as heat rises in your body again. Then you hear Ubbe’s voice, your name a whisper in the wind. Opening your eyes, you scan the room then look out the window again. You're alone. No one is outside.

Bringing your hand to your forehead, you take a step back and scan the darkroom once more. Confusion mixes with arousal as you feel his voice on your skin, awakening the deepest parts of you. Possessing you.

You return to bed and pull the covers up to your hips and try to relax. You can’t. You lick your lips and the moment you close your eyes a vision flashes in your mind.

Dusk….haze…woods. You feel yourself there, bare feet against the leaves and grass. You feel a presence. Overwhelmed by the force behind you, you turn slowly and find only trees, at first.

A shadow moves from behind the trees. A figure appears, a wolf. At first, you feel great fear and take a step back. The wolf sits and a calmness washes over you. Making eye contact with the creature, all fear washes away and you want to be near it, you have to be near it.

You take a step closer to it, another, another until you stand before it, starting down as it looks up at you. Hesitant, you extend your hand and cautiously bring it to the spot between the wolf's ears.

First, you touch the soft fur with just your fingertips. The wolf leans into your touch. A smile grows on your lips as you use your whole hand and caress the spot again.

Sitting, you caress the wolf's ears as it lays on the ground before you. The longer you sit here, the more connected you feel to the wolf. Each time you make eye contact, the more familiar it feels. You’ve seen these eyes before…this look…

“Who are you?” You ask,

The wolf sits up and nuzzles the side of your face. Smiling, you caress its fur again.

“I think we know each other. Don’t we?”

The eyes almost seem more human than animal. You find yourself getting lost in them, like diving deep into the blue sea. As you start to ask another question, the vision fades. You drift off to sleep.

…

The next day is filled with anxiousness as you wait for the night to come. The town was abuzz with anticipation as they prepared for the night. From your balcony, you could see the townspeople bringing food to the great hall and others rolling supplies out to the wooded area.

Midday you distract yourself by returning to your computer. You spend some time with your notes and work on the timeline of events. Though you manage to get a little writing done, you remain distracted. The vision of the wolf returns to your mind and so does the heat, the same heat that overtook you the night before.

At moonrise, you hear a procession led by drummers in the street. Running to the balcony, you look out and watch as the parade grows, people leaving their homes and joining in.

You notice something else, most people have their faces painted and everyone is dressed in a way you’ve never seen before. Modern clothing was all replaced by robes and attire akin to ancestral wear.

Needing to see this up close and feed your growing curiosity, you gather your jacket and head outside to join the crowd.

…

2 hours later

With bated breath, your eyes fix on Ubbe as he descends the altar stairs. You can’t believe what you’ve just seen. Was it real? Was this hallucination? Are you in bed or really standing in the middle of the woods, the night illuminated by lit torches?

Standing completely still, you watch as Ubbe walks through the crowd and stops in front of you.

“Do you feel that?” A devilishly smooth grin animates his lips as his blue eyes rise to the sky, “the joy of the gods.”

Exhaling, you continue to stare at him, unable to look away. You felt something, like the land was buzzing, the trees singing, the air electric. Was it the gods? You couldn’t say, you weren’t sure.

The current in the air makes its way to your feet, up to your legs, your torso, through your arms. You feel your body sway slightly in place. Before realizing it, you reach out and grab Ubbe for balance.

You observe your hand, the one gripping his left shoulder. The soft fur of his cape tingles against your palm. Your eyes move to his bare chest and the thin symbols tattooed down his torso.

Ubbe’s eyes smolder with intensity, you feel your own widen as everything around you fades to the background. The music, the talking, leaving only you and Ubbe. Your knees tremble, your body temperature continues to rise.

“He’s chosen you.” You hear a woman say somewhere behind you.

“Your eyes…” you breathe, losing yourself further.

Ubbe leans in close, tilting his head to the side as he studies you. Just as you’re about to continue your thought, Ubbe presses a finger against your lips.

To be continued… (in May 💕)

Tags? Ask below.

More Ubbe

More Vikings

[prepare4trouble]

Vikings fanfic - Displaced 22

The masterpost is here, if you need to catch up (and considering how long it's been, you might need to!)

Synopsis: When Ivar and Sigurd wake up to find that they have switched bodies, they need to work together to resolve the situation. If, of course, it is even possible…

Displaced tags:  @lisinfleur @thefightingdragon @youbloodymadgenius @dini73 @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @adrille88 @purplehairedbitchh

Sigurd woke up to a darkness so complete that for a moment he found himself disoriented. No light at all appeared to enter the small hunting cabin where he and his brothers lay sleeping together on the floor.

He remained completely still for a moment, staring up at the darkness above his head. Something had woken him, but he did not know what it was. If it had been a sound, it was gone; the night was silent now, save for the quiet whistling of the wind around the wooden walls of the cabin. There was no sound from the horses tethered not far away, no birdsong to indicate the coming sunrise, and nothing from his brothers either, not even Hvitserk’s usual gentle snoring.

He waited for now, reluctant to move if he did not have to. He was reasonably comfortable at the moment, still caught in the moments between sleep and waking where the aches and pains that plagued him during the day had not yet started. If he were to move, he might wake them from their slumber.

The sleeping arrangements were not quite so luxurious as his own bed in his private bedroom at home, but the floor where they slept side by side was covered with thick pelt to make it soft, while blankets and furs piled on top kept him more than warm enough despite the chill in the night air. He liked sleeping close to his brothers; he always had. It made him feel safe.

Well, with the exception of Ivar, of course, but their current situation protected him, as did the fact that Ubbe insisted that he and Hvitserk sleep between their two younger brothers to be sure that there were no… incidents during the night.

Sigurd interlaced his fingers and created a cradle for his head as he continued to stare up at the darkness above him. He made an effort to pay attention to the world around him as, slowly, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He still had no idea what might have woken him.

It was probably just Ivar’s body then, doing what it did. He had found that as Ivar, sleep did not come as easily as it used to. Even when it did come, he would often wake far too early in the morning or, like now, in the middle of the night.

Frustrated, he closed his eyes and tried to allow himself to drift back off to sleep.

Unsurprisingly, it did not happen.

He sighed quietly to himself. At home, he might have got up and found something to do, either until he grew tired again, or until the others woke up and the day began. Depending on the time of day, if there would be nobody around to hear him, he might have picked up his oud and quietly plucked the strings, picking out a tune. Failing that, he might have gone to find an early breakfast or, as he had done once or twice since Ivar had spent the day playing against him, he might have set up the tafl board and considered the moves that he might make.

If he was feeling particularly rebellious, he might even have plucked up the courage to do what he knew Ivar did, and crept into the throne room to sit in his father’s chair.

Here at the cabin, he could do none of that. He could barely even move, for fear of waking his brothers who slept soundly alongside him. But he knew that he must, because he could not stand the thought of laying there still and silent until his brothers chose to wake up.

Slowly and carefully, he placed his arms by his sides and pushed himself up into a sitting position. He blinked and turned his head slowly, looking around the cabin at the shadows and willing his eyes to further adjust to the darkness. It worked, just. At least he could tell from the shapes on the ground where his brothers lay.

It occurred to him now that something was unexpected. As he inhaled through his nose, he could detect smoke in the air. It was faint, barely noticeable at first, but now that it had drawn his attention he couldn’t help but be aware of it; he could barely believe that he hadn’t noticed it before. Somewhere, somewhere not far away, there was a fire.

Now that he was paying attention, underneath the sound of the wind, he could detect the crackling of burning wood. Worry began to stir vaguely in the pit of his stomach. Earlier that night, he had cooked a meal for himself and his brothers over a small campfire, and as the night had drawn out, they had sat around the fire, warming themselves as they had talked long into the night.

By the time they had gone inside, the fire had burned down to embers, and Ubbe had thoroughly doused them with water and smothered them with dirt before they had turned in for the night. An unattended fire was dangerous, even hot embers could catch again, and only an idiot would leave a fire unattended. It could burn down the countryside, and the cabin along with it.

With his eyes better adjusted now to the darkness, he peered around the room in the small amount of moonlight that penetrated the cabin through the cracks in the wooden door. To his left, he could see Ubbe. His older brother lay on his side, his face toward Sigurd, with one arm bent underneath his head to support it as he slept. Next to him, Hvitserk lay on his back, his mouth slightly open, breathing audibly, but not, for the moment at least, snoring. Next to him, the place where Ivar had been laying earlier that night was empty.

Sigurd blinked, then squinted at the empty space where Ivar should have been. He turned his head to look around the rest of the cabin, as though he might find his brother hiding somewhere in the small space but, unsurprisingly, he was nowhere to be seen. Sigurd felt himself relax slightly, coming to the only logical conclusion; there was no uncontrolled fire burning outside. Instead, Ivar had woken before him, gone outside, and lit the campfire again, for warmth.

With both of his brothers sleeping between them, serving as a human barrier to keep them apart, it was not surprising that Ivar had managed to creep outside without him noticing. Plus, Ivar had the advantage of a working pair of legs. Sigurd doubted that he would be able to get outside quite so stealthily, but he was willing to give it a try.

Slowly and carefully, he lifted the heavy furs that covered him and quietly placed them to one side. He was instantly hit by the chill of the night air, a reminder that it was spring, but not yet summer, and that the night was still long. He shivered, then placed his palms on the furs that padded the floor beneath him, and began to edge slowly forward. His legs moved easily, his feet sliding silently down the thick fur. He found himself holding his breath as he moved, careful not to wake his brothers.

When he had put a small amount of distance between them, he carefully manoeuvred himself to turn around, placing him in a position where he would be able to crawl toward the door. Taking care not to make too much noise, or to accidentally brush against Ubbe’s legs, he moved himself toward the door, pushed it open, and crawled out into the night.

The light of the half moon and the stars cast a silvery sheen over the landscape. The night was cloudless and he shivered in the cold, thinking of the warm blankets and furs that he had left behind him in the cabin. Briefly, he considered returning to bed, but dismissed the idea. There was a time when he would have rather lay awake in bed alone for hours waiting for the morning, than spend time with Ivar. There had been a time when he would rather do almost anything than spend time with Ivar, but that time was gone.

His brother had lit the fire again in the same place that they had sat together earlier that night, just outside of the small, fenced off area outside the cabin. He sat on a log, his back to the cabin, facing the fire. It appeared to have been burning for some time, and although small flames still lapped at the glowing embers, it looked as though they would soon fade away again. Ivar must have been out there for some time.

Ivar held his hands raised to the fire with palms outward toward the heat. He pulled them back to rub them together, then leaned forward slightly, bringing his whole body a little closer to the warmth.

With his back to the cabin, it was clear that Ivar hadn’t noticed him yet. Sigurd reached out to the pile of firewood stored by the cabin door, picked up a large piece with both hands, then crawled awkwardly on his elbows toward Ivar, and the fire.

He could feel the heat as he approached. It grew warmer the closer he came, but the dying embers were not enough to counter the chill of the night. Ivar appeared not to notice him as he crept closer, and Sigurd moved as quietly as he could, secretly enjoying the fact that his approach was not noticed. The ground was wet, either with dew or -- less likely -- rainfall as they had slept, and he could feel it soaking into his front and the forearms of his tunic where they touched the ground as he moved.

That was another disadvantage of being Ivar, he supposed, and sent a silent thanks to the gods that they hadn’t chosen to do this to him in the winter. Even if nothing changed before then, he would at least have had enough time to get used to things before the first snow began to fall…

Ivar sighed deeply. And raised his hands toward the fire again

Sigurd positioned himself behind his brother. He put down the piece of firewood on the floor, and manoeuvred himself into a sitting position so that he could reach his brother’s shoulder, then gently tapped him twice. He ducked instantly out of the way before Ivar had the chance to react, dropping back down to the ground and rolling out of the way of his brother’s fists.

Ivar leapt to his feet and turned around in one quick, fluid movement. With shock and anger on his face, he scanned the area before him, but missed Sigurd laying on the ground in the low light and flickering shadows cast by the fire. Until, that was, Sigurd laughed. Ivar locked eyes on him immediately and fixed him with an irritated glare. “What are you doing?” he asked in an angry hiss.

It was a good question, actually, and the honest answer was, he had no idea. Only two weeks earlier he would never have even dreamed of sneaking up and surprising his brother like that. Or if he had thought of it, it would have been with the intention of starting a fight, and in that case he would have made sure that Ubbe was close by before he even attempted it, because he would have wanted somebody there who could pull them apart if he needed to.

Apparently, over the course of the past week or so, something fundamental had changed between them, and he wasn’t sure exactly what that meant.

Rather than dwell on that thought for now, he sat up and shrugged. Now that he had realised he wasn’t under attack, Ivar had calmed a little. Sigurd sat up and shrugged. “Sorry, when I realised you hadn’t heard me, I couldn’t resist,” he told him, safe in the knowledge that Ivar wasn’t going to hit him. Well, probably wasn’t, anyway. He picked up the piece of firewood that he had carried over from the pile, and offered it to Ivar. “Peace offering,” he said, by way of an explanation. “The fire looked a little low.”

Ivar looked at it for a moment, as though trying to decide whether he was being tricked somehow, then reached out, grabbed it, and tossed it into the flames. He nodded something that looked vaguely like thanks, then sat back down and raised his hand to the flames again.

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” Sigurd asked him. He moved carefully into a position where he could lift himself up onto the log, taking care not to get too close to the fire as he did. He pressed both palms into the rough bark, and sat next to his brother.

Ivar turned to him with an incredulous look on his face. “Sitting by the fire,” he said. “What does it look like?”

Sigurd rolled his eyes. He raised his own hands to the flames too, and shivered despite the warmth as his body adjusted to the change of temperature.

“You’re wet,” Ivar pointed out, waving a hand to the dew-soaked front of Sigurd’s tunic and sleeves.

Sigurd looked down and realised why he felt so cold. He had known that he was a little damp from the dew on the ground, but it was worse than he had realised. He was almost dripping wet, and he could feel the dampness soaking into his back now too, where he had rolled out of the way of Ivar’s fists.

He shivered again, then shrugged. “It’ll dry.”

Ivar snorted and shook his head. “Yes, I suppose it probably will. But will that be before or after you freeze to death, hm? If I had known you didn’t mind being soaked to the skin, I would have let Ubbe and Hvitserk throw you in the lake, like they wanted to.” He got to his feet, grabbed a large discarded woollen blanket that he had presumably brought outside with him, and draped it around Sigurd’s shoulders. “You should go back inside and get changed,” he said. “But I know you will not, so at the very least, please don’t make me watch my own body freeze.”

Sigurd laughed and edged a little closer to the fire. “I am sure you are exaggerating,” he said. Anyway, even if he did go back inside to change, he would get almost as wet again if he returned.

Ivar shrugged as though uninterested, but reached across and pulled the blanket a little further up Sigurd’s back. “Of course, if you did freeze, it would serve you right for sneaking up on me,” he said.

Sigurd shook his head. “How many times have you done exactly the same thing?”

“None.” Ivar frowned as though baffled by the question.

“None?” Sigurd stared at him in disbelief. “Ivar, you are always creeping around, listening in on things that people are saying, watching what we are doing. Everybody knows it. We all check to make sure you are not there whenever we do anything that we don’t want people to see. You have even boasted about doing it, so why are you pretending now that…”

“Yes,” Ivar agreed, interrupting before he was finished. “I do all of that, you are right. But to do exactly what you did?” he shook his head. “Unlike you, / am not stupid enough to creep up and tap somebody on the shoulder in the middle of the night. You do know that I could have killed you, don’t you?”

“With what exactly?” Sigurd shook his head. “Your bare hands? You don’t have any weapons. Or do you think you are strong enough to kill me with a single punch? I seem to remember you complaining about how weak my body was, not so long ago.”

Ivar scowled. He opened his mouth as though he intended to argue, then closed it again and frowned thoughtfully. “You have no strength in your arms, so I stand by that,” he said.

Sigurd raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, well,” he pulled the blanket a little tighter around his shoulders. “At least you can stand.”

Ivar turned to look at him, half his face illuminated by the light of the fire and the other almost in darkness. He frowned, examining Sigurd’s expression closely, as though he was trying to decide how badly he had messed up. “No…” he began, then shook his head, “I didn’t mean…”

Sigurd decided to take pity on his brother. He shook his head and smiled “Relax, Ivar, I was only messing with you. And it would take a little more than a badly chosen word to upset me, anyway.” Now, at least. Maybe in the beginning it would have been different.

Ivar’s hesitancy turned into an angry scowl to cover his embarrassment. “Well, you could have fooled me,” he said. “I have seen you cry over the most trivial of things in the past, after all.”

“What do you mean I ‘could have’ fooled you? I did fool you, Ivar.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Ivar insisted.

Sigurd shrugged. It was an argument that neither of them would win, and he didn’t particularly want to try. Instead, he steered the conversation back on topic. “That body has plenty of strength, anyway,” he said. “You said I was weak the day we first switched, and I think you were probably forgetting that most people don’t need to use their arms to drag their entire weight after them along the ground.”

Ivar gave a small shrug of one shoulder and a nod, as though conceding the point.

“It makes sense for you to have thought that, though,” Sigurd added. “There are things that I was around about too, about you.”

“Most people never get the chance to try on somebody else’s life,” Ivar said, “so I suppose it is normal not to have anything to compare your own experiences too.”

That was true. Sigurd wondered what would happen if other people did get that chance. He thought they might all get on a lot better. “You know,” he said. “If you wanted to build up some more muscles in my arms, there would be nothing stopping you.”

“Of course there would be something stopping me,” Ivar told him, matter of factly. “Do you think I want to build up your strength? That might give you the chance to overpower me when we return to our own bodies.” He shook his head. “I don’t think so. No, instead I should probably concentrate on making you as weak as possible.”

Sigurd’s smile wavered slightly. Ivar might have been joking, but he couldn’t tell.

“But of course, you wouldn’t care even if I did do that, would you?” Ivar added with a shrug. “Because you have decided to assume that you will never be in this body again.”

Sigurd shook his head. That wasn’t what he had said, and it definitely wasn’t what he believed, yet Ivar persisted in claiming that it was. He couldn’t decide whether Ivar knew the truth, but was deliberately acting as though he had misunderstood, or whether he genuinely didn’t understand.

“When we get home, you should go and speak to Floki,” Sigurd told him. “He will explain it far better than me.”

Ivar shrugged. “I will speak to Floki,” he said, “but not for that. I suspect he told you something similar to what he said to me. Anyway, I am not sure that I want to understand it any better. I told you, I think you are crazy.”

Sigurd sighed. That was only because Ivar didn’t understand. He wasn’t crazy; he was the one that was making sense. He knew that the only way he could stay sane was to do what he was doing, and accept the situation.

Only… what if he was wrong? What if Ivar was right, and he really had lost his mind. Perhaps every time he spoke of acceptance, he was tempting the gods to make it permanent? If he had gone mad, how would he know? After all, what insane person ever believed that they were insane? To them, it was always the rest of the world that didn’t make any sense.

He gave Ivar a small smile and shrugged. “Maybe I am.”

Ivar frowned, taken aback, as though he hadn’t expected that. He looked at him through narrowed eyes, assessing him, seeming to take in every detail. “So, you admit it?” he asked.

“No, of course not. I just…” Sigurd began, instinctively denying, then stopped and shrugged again. “Maybe. I don’t know. But this whole situation is crazy, Ivar, so why shouldn’t I embrace it?”

“Because…” Ivar said, then stopped. He sighed, reached for one of the braids Sigurd had done for him a few days earlier and began to fidget with the end of it. “I think this must be easier for you,” he said.

Sigurd stared at him. It had to be a joke of some kind, but he couldn’t figure it out. He shook his head. “Easier for me? Now who is the crazy one?”

“Still you.”

He was probably right. Sigurd found that he didn’t particularly care. “The thing you said before,” he said, “about trying to make me weak so I can’t overpower you…”

“It was a joke,” Ivar told him. “Not a particularly good one, but I wasn’t actually serious.”

“I know. But still, if -- when -- we do switch back, do you really think that we will go back to fighting the way we used to?”

Sigurd couldn't imagine it, somehow. It felt as though the events of the past weeks had changed him, and in more than the obvious way. He no longer felt the same about Ivar; ever since his younger brother had come into the world, Sigurd had carried a resentment with him. Now, it was gone. He had thought that Ivar might feel the same way. Now, joke or not, he was beginning to think that perhaps he had been wrong.

Ivar looked at him thoughtfully. He reached for a long, sturdy stick that lay on the ground by the fire, and used it to jab at the embers that smouldered underneath the newer firewood. Sparks flew upward, carried on the hot air, and blew away in the wind. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It wasn’t too long ago that I would have said the two of us would never sit and talk like this, but we have done it so many times now that I am starting to think I would miss it if we were to stop.”

Sigurd understood what he meant. Perhaps Floki was right; Maybe the gods had in their own way, banged their heads together and locked them in a room until they became friends. Against all reason, the thought made him smile.

“What?” Ivar asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. I was just thinking about the gods. Maybe they did have our best interests in mind when they did this, after all.”

Ivar scowled. “You don’t think they were just messing with us for fun, then?”

“I don’t know. We’ll probably never know. Maybe it was both. Either way, I think I’m glad they did it.”

Ivar looked at him with genuine surprise, as though he didn’t know what to make of that. “Glad? So now you are not only willing to learn to live with it, you are happy about it? You have decided that you like being a cripple then?”

Sigurd stared into the fire as the flames slowly devoured the firewood, and listened to the crackle as it burned. Of course he didn’t like it. He hated it. He hated the stares in town as people passed, but he hated the people that didn’t stare, too; the ones that looked away as though they couldn’t bear to see him. He hated the pity that he caught from time to time in the eyes of everyone around him. Everyone. Sometimes, even his brothers. The only people he had never seen it from were Ivar and Floki.

“You already know the answer to that,” he said after a moment.

“I thought I did.” Ivar told him. He gave the fire another poke with the stick. “I know what you said, but then you act as though you really would be okay if this lasted forever. I couldn’t do that, I couldn’t even pretend that. You have adapted to this far better than I think I would have in your place.”

“You are in my place, Ivar. That’s the whole problem.”

Ivar rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. I’m almost impressed with you.”

Sigurd frowned. He continued to stare into the fire, trying to decide how that should make him feel. If anybody but Ivar had said it, he might have been angry. As it was Ivar… “I thought you told me that people who were impressed were annoying,” he said.

“They are,” Ivar agreed with a shrug. “But I’m your younger brother. I’m supposed to be annoying.”

Sigurd felt a grin spread unexpectedly across his face. Ivar had a point there. Even if, technically, he was not younger right now. “Good point,” he told him.

Ivar smiled back, then poked at the fire again, chipping away some of the charred black wood to reveal red underneath.

“You shouldn’t be impressed, anyway,” Sigurd added. “You’re the one that taught me everything I needed to know. I don’t like it, but I could get used to the things that I can’t do anymore. It is the pain that will eventually wear me down.”

“You can’t have one without the other,” Ivar told him with a shrug.

“You make it sound like I actually want one of them,” Sigurd told him.

Ivar shrugged.

“I don’t, by the way,” Sigurd added, just to be clear. “But…”

Ivar paused his incessant disturbing of the fire and turned to look at him again. “But?” he repeated.

“But the longer I think about it, the more I start to wonder if things are better this way. I think it might make more sense for me to be you, and you to be me.”

Ivar didn’t react. He remained unmoving, not taking his eyes off Sigurd. For a moment, Sigurd wondered whether he had heard him. Perhaps he just didn’t understand. That was okay; Sigurd didn’t really understand either. It occurred to him that he might have just made a terrible mistake. If the gods really were watching, an admission like that might have been just what they wanted; a reason to leave things as they were. The thought should scare him, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The more he thought about it, the more sense it seemed to make. Perhaps somebody had made a mistake when Ivar had been given his weak bones, his broken body, and his ambition to be a warrior. Perhaps that mistake was now being corrected.

“So, you’re not planning to explain what you are talking about, then?” Ivar asked him.

He shook his head. “It was just a stupid thought. Forget it.”

“No, I don’t think I will forget it. Tell me what you meant by that.”

Sigurd sighed. “It’s just…” he began, then paused to think. He didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say. “All I have ever really wanted from life was to play music and find somebody to fall in love with,” he said. “But you… you want to be a viking.”

“Oh, so, you are saying that I am more of a man than you.” Ivar said. He gave a half-smile as he spoke, but kept his tone serious. “I already know that, though I did not expect you to admit it.”

“You are not more of a…” Sigurd began with a scowl, then stopped. He refused to take the bait. Not this time. “There is more than one way to be a man, Ivar. All I am saying is, I thought for a while that the gods did this to punish me, or maybe just because they thought it was funny. Now, I’m wondering whether they did it to give us both what we wanted.”

“Because you want to be a cr…”

“A skald, Ivar. I want to be a skald.”

It wasn’t his only ambition of course. He had always assumed that he would fight one day too, that he would travel to other lands and raid, and if the gods favoured him, return a rich man, but that was secondary to his desire to play music, to sing songs and pass on stories.

Ivar frowned.

“And I can still do that like this. It might even be easier, in a way, because people will be more likely to accept that a cripple wouldn’t want to go raiding. Maybe they would just let me be. And for you, now you will be able to do all the things that you wanted, without having to worry that your bones will let you down.”

Ivar scowled. “I don’t just ‘want to’, I will be a viking, Sigurd. I keep telling you this and you all just nod along, but none of you ever really believed me, did you?”

Honestly, no. And his experiences over the past few weeks had done little to change his mind, though he had developed a new appreciation for how determined his younger brother must be to achieve his goal. “I do believe you,” he lied. “But you have to admit, it will be easier this way.”

“I don’t want it to be easy,” Ivar told him.

That figured. His brother wasn’t exactly known for choosing the easy path. “Do you really want it to be difficult though?”

Ivar didn’t reply. Instead, he sank into silence and looked at the fire again. Sigurd, too, stared into the flames. As he did, the burning wood made a loud cracking sound that broke the silence of the night and released a flurry of tiny sparks that were carried away on the current of hot air. Sigurd turned to look at his brother. “Ivar, are you okay?”

Ivar glanced back at him and scowled. “Me? Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? Everything is going to be so easy for me now, apparently.”

Sigurd sighed. He had known he was making a mistake as he had said it, but it was too late to stop himself. “I’m sorry, forget I said anything,” he said. “Apart from that, though, are you okay? Until I showed up, you were sitting out here alone in the middle of the night, staring at the fire.”

Ivar shrugged. “Well, it would be a little too far to go, if I wanted to sneak into the hall and sit in father’s throne this time, wouldn’t it? This seemed like the next best option, and definitely better than laying awake in the cabin staring at the ceiling and listening to my brothers snore.”

He had to admit, Ivar was probably right about that. After all, that was more or less why he had come out here too.

“What about you, anyway? You ask if I’m okay, but you are also out here in the middle of the night.”

“I’m not the one who was here by himself. I came out here to see what you were doing,” Sigurd told him.

Ivar shrugged dismissively. “And now you have seen it,” he said. “So tell me, how has the trip been for you? I mean, you insisted on coming out here to the cabin; has it been as much fun as you thought it was going to be?”

There was an implication in Ivar’s tone, he thought he was right. He thought that Sigurd would have realised by now, sitting by the fire in the middle of the night, shivering as the dew that had soaked into his clothing dried slowly, that he had made a mistake.

Ivar was wrong. The journey there had been difficult; the movement of his horse had jarred the already aching bones of his legs, and he had not liked the feeling of not being in control as Ubbe had led him, their horses tethered together. But being at the cabin had been fine. Good, even, despite all of Ivar’s warnings, and despite the fact that he had spent most of the trip watching his brothers do all the things that he usually liked to do. He shrugged. “Yes. It’s been great, actually.”

Ivar pursed his lips and looked unconvinced. “Well, I suppose you were right about one thing at least,” he said. “Being here is better than sitting around at home.”

Of course he had been right about that. Sigurd smiled to himself. “And I finally got to see you run,” he said.

“What?” A confused frown. “No you didn’t. When?”

“When Hvitserk chased after you with that fish!” Sigurd told him, with a wide grin. “It was only for about three steps, before you fell headfirst in the water, but it still counts.”

Ivar shook his head. He scowled. “No it doesn’t. That doesn’t count at all. I wasn’t running, I was trying not to fall. My… your… legs just moved faster to try to keep up with my head and stay upright.”

Sigurd laughed again at the awkward explanation. “Well, they failed spectacularly,” he told him.

“Well, they are your useless legs,” Ivar told him. “So you probably shouldn’t laugh too hard.”

Sigurd didn’t care. Still laughing, he shook his head. “Ivar, you of all people can hardly call somebody else’s legs ‘useless’. Anyway, they did exactly what I would have done, if I’d been able; they tripped you over in the water.”

Ivar’s scowl deepened, but Sigurd got the impression that it was deliberate, an attempt to disguise the smile he could see behind his eyes.

“At least nobody tried to make you swim, though,” Sigurd added. “You might still have got soaked, but there’s that, at least.”

“I would rather have stayed dry,” Ivar told him. “Standing in the water was fine, but falling in face-first was…” he stopped, and for a moment he looked almost afraid, as though he was re-living the moment and hating every second of it.

“You weren’t going to drown, you idiot. It was shallow water, you could just get up again. And even if for some reason you couldn’t, Hvitserk was right there.”

Ivar nodded. “I know, but still, next time I will stay on dry land.”

Sigurd rolled his eyes. “You always want to stay on dry land,” he told him. “How do you ever think you can be a viking if you are afraid of the water? You do know you would have to travel by boat, right?”

“I am not afraid of the water,” Ivar told him. “I never said that.”

Hadn’t he? Sigurd was sure that he had. He thought back to their conversation before their trip here, but he could not remember exactly what Ivar had said. Whatever words he had chosen, they had left Sigurd with the definite feeling that his brother feared the water. He might have held back from saying the word, but there had been a look in Ivar’s eyes as they had spoken. 

“I’m not,” Ivar insisted again, at Sigurd’s silence. “I can’t swim, that is true, but I think If I were on a boat I would be fine.”

“If?” Sigurd frowned. “What do you mean if you were on a boat? All those years hanging around with Floki, how is it that you have never been on a boat before?”

“Of course I have been on a boat,” Ivar assured him, then shrugged. “But I have never sailed on one. I imagine that will be a little different. Don’t you?”

He had him there. Sigurd had never sailed either. He shrugged noncommittally. “You should ask Floki to take you on a trip,” he suggested. “You should probably check you are able to sail without throwing up from fear before you board a boat to cross the seas and go raiding. 

Ivar shook his head defiantly. “There is no need. I am sure that when the time comes, I will be fine. I am a son of Ragnar Lothbrok, I am more than capable of travelling by boat.”

Sigurd hoped so. He imagined it would be pretty embarrassing if not. “Yeah? Why do you look so uncertain, then?” he asked.

“Well,” Ivar said, then cringed slightly. “It probably has something to do with the fact that you are right. I am afraid of the water.”

Sigurd hesitated for a moment, then laughed, not mocking Ivar’s admission, simply taken by surprise by it. That Ivar feared the water had never been in doubt, but the last thing he had expected was for his brother to actually admit it. He shook his head, moved the blanket from around his shoulders to free up an arm, then punched Ivar lightly on the shoulder.

“Don’t tell Ubbe or Hvitserk,” Ivar told him.

Sigurd nodded in agreement, and it occurred to him that not only had Ivar shared his fear, he had shared it with him of all people. It felt strange to think that he was his brother’s confidante, and he felt the sudden urge to share something in return; to even the score. “You know, I don’t like the water very much either,” he admitted. Not like Ivar, of course. The lake was fine, and he was a strong swimmer — or he had used to be, anyway — but the tales he had heard of the open sea; days of sailing between you and the land… “I heard that out there in the middle of the ocean in a storm, you get waves that break over the side of the boat and capsize it miles from land. Out there, it wouldn’t matter whether you could swim or not; if you went in, you wouldn’t come out again.”

Ivar swallowed and licked his lips nervously. “Thank you,” he said. “That is very helpful.”

Sigurd grinned guiltily. He honestly hadn’t said it to make things worse. “Well, that’s what older brothers are for,” he told him.

“You are not the older brother at the moment,” Ivar reminded him, echoing Sigurd’s unvoiced thought from earlier.

He wasn’t wrong, of course. “That’s what annoying younger brothers are for,” Sigurd corrected himself without missing a beat.

Ivar rolled his eyes, then glanced over at the horizon. The sun was beginning to rise, a line of blue tinged with gold and red where the sky met the land, growing deeper and darker until it faded into blackness still above them.

A feeling of exhaustion washed over Sigurd as he turned all of his attention to the sunrise and, sitting together by the warmth of the fire, the two of them watched the beginning of a new day.

(next)

[fig-newtons-official]

Somewhere In America Final

1 2 3

Summoning: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @youbloodymadgenius @hashimily

It’s finally done!!! I genuinely loved writing this series and I am going to have to blend these two universes again in the future.

———————————————————————

Shadow nodded as imperceptibly as he could at Freya’s quiet command to wait until she signaled him to run. He hastily returned to the brothers, his heart pounding as he prepared himself to have to run or fight for his life.

Hvisterk’s face was a mask as his eyes followed Shadow. Meanwhile, Ivar was scowling at the grass in front of him, occasionally glancing up at Wednesday’s misty, unearthly form. His jaw was clenched, as if he were using all of his strength to keep from speaking out of turn. He was most likely growing antsy.

Wednesday eyeballed everyone, his face revealing nothing as he stated, “We may as well get this over with. I can tell that the decay is taking its toll on the sons of Ragnar, and what a sorrowful sight it is.”

As Hvitserk helped his brother up to his feet, Shadow couldn’t help but notice that red rings had formed around his eyes and that his irises were growing cloudy, like Ivar’s. Soon he’d be coughing up maggots like his brother. Like Laura.

In turn, Ivar looked grotesque as his blue eyes gleamed from bloated, grey skin. He reeked of decay. When his lip curled in exertion, Shadow shuddered a bit when he saw that the dead man’s gums had turned black. Ivar didn’t have much longer before the rot consumed what was left of his body.

Shadow thought that he should have felt relieved that his captor was growing weak, but he just felt sick. Something was wrong here. Something was missing. They were being used. They were being tricked, they had to be. Where were the other dead men? There had to be more. Why was it that only Hvitserk and Ivar that had come for him? How could Valhalla just disappear? It didn’t add up. Nothing did.

Something was missing…

Once Ivar was standing, Hvitserk turned to Shadow, his eyes widened slightly. He was unsure, as well. At least he’d offer Shadow a merciful death if Freya couldn’t get him away from Ivar in time.

Ivar suddenly spoke with a chilling, forced calm, “Where are the rest of my brothers?” He slowly craned his neck to glower at Wednesday.

So Hvitserk’s desperate words from moments ago had gotten to him after all. But would it be enough?

Wednesday’s brows crinkled in confusion, “M’boy, they’re wandering this world in the same state as you are. You got to the prize first. Now you get to bring everyone home.”

Ivar’s scowl deepened, his eyes darkening, making him look even less human, “Ubbe was an even better hunter than both Hvisterk and I combined. My strength was always in strategy; it’s hard to become a good hunter when you can’t walk unassisted. So I ask you now, Allfather: how did we possibly beat him to the traitorous son of Odin?”

Wednesday mouth formed a tight line as he contemplated Ivar’s accusatory words. Eventually, he let out a sorrowful sigh, “I didn’t want to tell you this, for I feared that it would hinder your progress. But since you insist, I must regrettably inform you that Ubbe has already succumbed to the decay. Sigurd followed soon after. Bjorn is close as well.”

Ivar snapped, “You’re lying.”

Wednesday bowed his head in a pantomime of grief, “I wish I was. He was a good man, and a good warrior. He would’ve served us well in Ragnarok.”

Abruptly, Ivar lurched forward as more night crawlers wriggled in his lungs. The sound he made was gutteral and sickening, causing Shadow’s stomach to turn violently. Freya clapped a hand over her mouth, her face turning into an odd green hue. Hvitserk darted forward and held his brother by the shoulders just in time to keep the dead Viking from pitching onto the ground.

Ivar turned his head and wretched right in Wednesday’s direction. The bundle of maggots that flew onto the ground seemed just as distressed as Shadow and Freya were as they squirmed frantically on the ground. Wednesday watched the disgusting creatures wriggle about with no expression.

Unexpectedly, Ivar began to laugh. The laughter was cruel, his smile edged with malice as he met Wednesday’s eyes. He looked like the devil in the flesh. Hvitserk hurriedly said something to him in Norse. It sounded like he was warning his brother, but either Ivar didn’t appear to hear it or he didn’t care.

His furious, cloudy blue eyes locked with Shadow’s. The dead man’s grin widened into an animalistic snarl as his rage grew.

Ivar growled, “We’ve been played for fools.”

Shadow swallowed and stared grimly at Wednesday, “This was all for him. The only ones missing from Valhalla are you two.”

Ivar threw his head back and laughed again. Hvitserk’s face slowly morphed into a bewildered scowl. Freya turned and screeched so loudly that Shadow was certain that her fury would echo for miles, “GRIMNIR!”

Wednesday’s eyes closed, his head hanging in defeat. For a moment, the shadows flickered, as if Wednesday we’re going to fade into the wind like he was nothing but smoke.

Hvitserk held Ivar back as the other dead man suddenly tried to lunge in Wednesday’s direction. Ivar quaked with rage as he shouted, “I prayed to you! My whole life! I worshipped you! I did everything in my life for you! To prove that I was worthy of you! And you did this to me?! To us?!”

Hvitserk struggled to keep Ivar in place as he choked out, “Ivar, please! You can’t-”

“What was going to happen after we did this?” Ivar roared as he fought to get past his brother, “Were you just going to leave us here as you go free and whole again? Just let the worms and the flies eat us from the inside out?!”

Wednesday offered Ivar a nasty smile, “Now, now, Boneless. You know full well that you would have done the same had you been in my position. As you just declared to everyone within earshot, you did worship me, after all. You learned your ways from the stories about me that your mother recited to you before she put you to sleep. You’re cunning and ruthless because of me. You’re famous because of me.”

Ivar cackled bitterly, his fight stopping for a moment as he retorted, “And now we’ll die together, Allfather.”

He spat the term ‘Allfather’ like a curse, followed by another bitter cackle. He patted Hvitserk on the shoulder affectionately and let himself fall to ground, gazing up at the dusk with that sardonic, hateful mockery of a smile still crossing his lips.

Hvitserk’s eyes went desperately to Freya, “We can still go back, right? Can we get back to Valhalla before…” He put a hand to his heart. Shadow tried not to imagine the sensation of wriggling worms in his heart. He failed and shuddered, also hoping that Freya had an answer. He tried not to let his mind wander about how Laura would have experienced the same horrors within her own dead body.

She let out a shaky breath as she breathed, “I’ll try. I’ll try my damndest to make this right.”

Shadow blurted out, “Backstage. Can we get to Valhalla by going backstage?”

She shrugged helplessly, “I’m not sure. I haven’t tried in millennia. I have been tied up with trying to move on. Getting my research out there.” She looked Shadow dead in the eye as she continued grimly, “It’s as you said, Shadow, America is no place for gods.”

Shadow shook his head quickly, “We have to try. I went somewhere once before, it might’ve been Valhalla, but I’m not certain. I don’t know Asgard. Hell, it’s a miracle that I even know what Asgard is. I can tell Ivar doesn’t have much time left. We have to try something.”

Shadow glanced at Wednesday. The old man was uncharacteristically silent, giving Shadow the forlorn look of defeat. This had been his last hope of returning. Despite everything that had happened, Shadow still didn’t know how he felt about losing Wednesday again. All he knew for sure was that he wanted to get him and the dead men where they belonged, which was far away from him.

Shadow’s eyes flitted back to Freya’s as he huffed out, “We have to try.”

Freya nodded towards the World Tree and began to stroll towards it, her lips pressed into a tight, stressed line. Shadow did something he never thought he would do and offered a hand to help Ivar up. Ivar raised an eye brow, equally surprised by this gesture. He smirked wryly at Shadow and allowed the big man to pull him up.

When Ivar was steadily on his crutches, they followed Freya together. Meanwhile, Wednesday clicked his tongue and ruefully said to no one in particular, “I’ll just stay here, I suppose.”

Ivar’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. He kept moving forward. Hvisterk spared a hostile glance over his shoulder at the old, dying god. Shadow didn’t want to look back. Not ever again.

As they approached, he watched Freya raise her long, elegant index finger to her mouth and bite down. She turned to the tree and began to trace ruins with her bleeding finger, her lips moving quickly with no sound coming out. Her eyes were burning with concentration.

“How did you know?” Ivar inquired quietly, his voice tinged in bitterness. “How did you know that he was playing us?”

“Maybe in your time, Wednesday was a god worth worshipping. Nowadays, he’s been reduced to little more than a con man.” Shadow replied ruefully. “Stunts like these are just kind of his thing.”

Hvitserk gave him a strange look, “Yet you still don’t want to let him go.”

Was it that obvious? Hvitserk may have been goofy, but he definitely was perceptive. Shadow conceded with a slow nod.

“Don’t ask me why. I can’t explain it myself.” He whispered.

Though none of them could see it, the corners of Wednesday’s lips quirked slightly, so subtly that most people would miss the change in expression. Even fewer would be unable to interpret what it meant.

Freya walked towards the World Tree and was promptly swallowed by its bark. Shadow was far past the point of questioning these things and followed her, finding himself under a blanket of stars. Stars that normally could only be seen from the most remote places on Earth.

“We must be quick.” Freya announced.

No one questioned her. They followed her wordlessly. In the distance, Shadow could see the strange metal spider that he and Wednesday had encountered during one of the instances that they’d gone Backstage together. He dared not go near it. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Hvitserk glancing at the mechanical spider curiously.

He uttered to the dead man, “Trust me. You don’t want to know what that is.”

———————————————————————

They wandered until they found a strange door sitting, not connected to anything. It was the shape of a teardrop, carved with the image of a great tree. It’s handle looked like the hilt of a decorative sword.

By this point, Shadow’s migraine had come back with a vengeance. He was nauseous and his left eye was throbbing as if it had just been punched.

Freya guided them through the door, her eyes searching Shadow in concern. He’d definitely been back there for too long.

The door lead to the largest dining room that Shadow had ever seen. Rows of sturdy, long oak tables stretched as far as the eye could see, covered in food that looked absolutely heavenly. There room was filled with loud conversation amongst the warriors seated at the table, who ranged from ancient to more modern. Shadow spied what appeared to be some soldiers wearing what appeared to be uniforms from the first World War laughing with Vikings as if they were old friends. A Zimbabwean soldier spilled mead on himself and the Samurai seated next to him. The Samurai merely playfully clapped his friend on the arm and the pair pretended to argue as they cleaned it up. The hall appeared to be endless, bathed in the golden glow of warm candle light. A Great Hall indeed.

Freya quietly explained, “Since the Viking age ended, we’ve had to outsource. This Hall is now shared by any warrior that is willing and capable of defend the world in the final battle for the world, regardless if they are Viking or otherwise.”

Shadow turned to face her and was instantly stunned. She stood even taller now, her eyes and hair glowing bright gold, her angular face seemingly sculpted from the finest marble. Yet at the same time, he saw a great falcon whose wings stretched across the room as well as a large, proud boar with golden whiskers. All of these images of the incredible goddess flowed together as one.

Ivar’s crutches thudded behind them both, one of them purposefully tapping against Shadow’s calf. Thankfully, he was careful to avoid using the pointy end in his pursuit to be a nuisance.

Ivar snidely said, “Yes, it’s lovely to be back, truly. But alas, I’m still feeling rather dead.”

Hvitserk followed behind him and nodded gravely, “I also don’t feel any different.”

The each incarnation of the goddess rolled her eyes, then waved her hand towards the tables, “Drink the mead. Outside, if you please. Otherwise, you are cleaning it up.”

As Hvitserk walked past to grab one of what appeared to be thousands of bottles of mead for himself and his brother, Shadow heard him whisper, “Clean what up?”

To which, Ivar made a face and shrugged a shoulder.

Shadow thought about telling them what happens when the Dead have rot expelled from their bodies, but the a devious part of him decided that it would be more fitting to allow them be surprised. Let them be the ones on the ground feeling like shit, for once.

As the pair stalked out, Shadow and Freya stood by the door, gazing quietly at the warriors feasting and joking together. They stood so quietly that it was uncomfortable.

Shadow finally thought of something to break the silence, recalling something she had said to Wednesday, “So, you… you’re a researcher?”

She seemed equally relieved to have that silence be broken. “Yes. Yes, I am. I am looking into the tumor suppressor, PTEN and the possibility of reactivating it as a form of cancer treatment. It’s coming along.”

Naturally, Shadow wasn’t familiar with her field of study, so all he could contribute to the conversation was, “Wow. That’s… that’s great. Wow. Where are you doing this?”

The boar, falcon, and woman replied, “University of Michigan at Ann Arbor.”

“Oh wow.” Shadow cringed internally, realizing that he was saying ‘wow’ far too much. “I mean, that’s a nice school. That’s really good.”

“Yes, I like it.”

The door suddenly swung open again and smacked against the wall. Hvisterk stumbled in, his skin, hair and eyes lit from within by a healthy glow. Shadow hasn’t realized how young her was until he was the dead man free of the rot that had plagued him. I’m addition with looking like a baby, Hvitserk looked troubled, wiping water from his eyes with a finger.

Shadow already knew what unpleasantness Hvitserk had just endured to get his liveliness back, but was about to ask the young Viking what had happened anyway when Ivar appeared in the doorway behind his brother and snarled, “Worms. Out of every orifice!”

Shadow grimaced, not wanting to imagine what that had been like. However, at the same time, he couldn’t feel too bad for the man that had been entirely too eager to kill him.

The incarnations of Freya all appeared to smirk at the same time, “That would be why I told you to go outside.”

Ivar shook his head and huffed in response. He looked like he wanted to keep arguing, but had thought better of it. He also looked young. Young and pretty in a way that was completely incongruous with the bitter, violent man that lay under the skin.

A golden wing waved gently between Shadow and the pair of Vikings. She announced, “Time to say your goodbyes, gentlemen. Shadow needs to go back home.”

Hvisterk immediately flung himself towards Shadow and pulled the larger man into a hearty embrace. Shadow reciprocated, whispering into Hvitserk’s ear, “Thanks for not letting your brother kill me.”

Hvitserk clapped Shadow on the back and chuckled, “No problem.”

He then unexpectedly kissed Shadow on the cheek and sauntered off. And did he just wink?

Shadow looked at Ivar in confusion. The only comment Ivar had on his brother’s surprising show of affection was, “I have no intentions of kissing you.”

“Good.”

“I suppose I should thank you for getting us back here. You have my sincerest gratitude.” Ivar spoke as if offering Shadow anything other than biting sarcasm was the hardest thing in the world for him to do.

Shadow nodded deeply.

“That being said, I should possibly also apologize for wanting to torture you to death. So… I’m sorry. I guess.”

This was one of the worst apologies that Shadow had ever heard, but truthfully, he was surprised that he even got one.

He put a hand on Ivar’s shoulder gently and said, “All is forgiven.”

Ivar nodded once, his intense blue eyes scanning Shadow’s face.

Shadow patted the Viking in the shoulder once as he continued, “Ivar, I hope I never see you again.”

Ivar’s familiar mocking grin spread across his face as he laughed and pivoted to join his brethren.

Now, all that was left was for Shadow to return home and find some way to sell that house that felt so empty. It was time to move on.

[we-are-only-halfway-home93]

Come and Lay the Roses 32- Tell Me, I'm Your Baby- [Ivar x OC]

Summary: Ivar is enraged. Ecbert informs Aaline of his plans.

Characters: Ivar x OC, Bjorn x Torvi, Ubbe x Margrethe, Hvitserk x Thora, Sigurd x OC, Ragnar, Lagertha

Warnings: arranged marriage, violence, sex, torture, language, mentions of rape/sexual assault

Ch. 31

A/N: Ya'll! I just finished my first year of Grad School and let me tell ya, it is no joke! Anyway, now that I've got more time on my hands, I hope to update more frequently. Thank you so much for sticking with me.

“Little girl, stop waiting for someone to come and rescue you. You are on your own.”

~ Josephin August

Ivar sneered down at his brother, Hvitserk’s face steadily turning purple. Björn tugged on his arm and he released. Hvitserk dropped down to the ground, gasping, his hand rubbing his abused throat. Ivar stowed his blade and turned to his oldest brother. 

Björn nodded once and adjusted the sleeves of his jacket. “We suspect it was Ecbert.” He said. Ivar narrowed his eyes and looked over Björn’s shoulder to Ragnar. His father stood and buttoned the front of his jacket, stepping around his desk and toward his sons. 

“At Sigurd’s funeral, Ecbert made some veiled threats. It’s part of the reason why I had guards with the women at all times. I did not think he would act so quickly,” He stopped in front of Ivar and gazed into his son's tormented eyes. 

“Or so rashly.” He took a deep breath, collecting himself. “My son,” He settled his hands on Ivar’s shoulders, meeting his eyes. “My son, everyone will always underestimate you.” Ivar tightened his jaw. Ragnar tightened his hands, pulling Ivar close, their noses touching. “Make them pay for it.” The corners of Ivar’s mouth twitched. “I release you, Ivar.” 

His father’s words held more weight than just a dismissal. Ivar ducked his head and turned swiftly on his heel, leaving the office. Ragnar’s words incited a rage in Ivar that would not be quenched until his wife was returned. He didn’t dare think of other possibilities. 

He stormed out of the office and passed the women crying by the staircase. Torvi called his name but he ignored her, retreating into the dining room where he knew he would get the most satisfaction. 

Ragnar did not flinch when the crash of porcelain echoed throughout the house. Ivar’s roars of rage filled the house and Hvitserk flinched from his place on the floor. 

“Hvitserk,” The man looked up from his position on the floor. “Stand up, son.” Hvitserk swallowed thickly, wincing before he stood. He did not accept the hand that Ubbe put out to him. Ragnar turned to his remaining sons and straightened. 

“We know that someone within our organization informed Ecbert of Aaline’s importance. We find them, we find her.

“Björn,” The man himself stepped forward and looked at Ragnar with expectant eyes. “Search through Ecbert’s holdings, find a place that would be suitable for him to keep her. 

“Hvitserk, Ubbe, you will comb through our personnel. Find someone who would benefit from our demise. Find my rat.”

.

Aaline turned her head at the sound of the door opening. 

It had only been a few hours since she woke up. She had curled up in the corner of the bed, her knees tucked to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. She was cold, clothed only in the summer dress she’d been wearing before her abduction. The room she was being kept in was dark and damp with a chill that enveloped the room. 

Ecbert slipped inside and smiled tightly, closing the door. She curled further in on herself and glared at him as he stood by the door. His hands were in his pockets and he stared at her. 

“I’m sorry that your accommodations are…lacking,” Ecbert said, gesturing around the room. Aaline narrowed her eyes. “It’s nothing personal really. See,” He shuffles his feet and moves around the room, pacing. “I made a deal with Aelle.”

She watches him as he slowly moves about the room, staying along its edge. “I want the land that Ragnar has taken from previous Saxons. I couldn’t even hope to get it without Aelle’s help and, as luck would have it, Aelle needed my help to free his brother.” 

Ecbert smiled and looked over at Aaline. She didn’t move. “As unfortunate as it was that Aethelwulf was killed, it didn’t change our arrangement. Aelle though developed a desire to see Ragnar dead, more specifically, your husband.”

Aaline tensed and shifted slightly against the wall. Ecbert nodded. “So now, you see, Aelle needed revenge, and, what better revenge than to abduct someone that Ragnar loves. 

“Now, his love for his sons is unmatched, that’s true but his soft spot for his daughters-in-law is well known. It was easy then to decide to take a woman and not a man. Which woman though, became the bigger question.

“Now, the lovely Torvi is the wife of Ragnar’s firstborn, his first daughter-in-law. She would make an impact, that’s for sure. But Björn is the oldest, the wisest amongst the brothers. He’d be most likely to thwart our plans.

“Margrethe is quite beautiful but she is a bit unreliable. She’s also not a favorite amongst her own people so what is there to suggest that she wouldn’t just be left to die.

“We thought seriously about Thora. She is smart, loyal, loved. Hvitserk can be quite cruel when he wants to be. But then again, we thought we could do better. 

“It was Ivar that clinched the decision for us. See, he’s the most brutal of Ragnar’s sons. The most vicious. Ragnar’s been trying to keep a leash on him for years. In fact, your marriage was designed for exactly that purpose. To keep a leash on an already volatile man. 

“Imagine everyone’s surprise when he went and actually fell in love with you.” Ecbert snorted and shook his head in disbelief. Aaline turned away, refusing to look at him. 

“So we decided that you were the best candidate. You, with your callous disregard for life beyond your sphere of influence. Who’s married to the most dangerous of Ragnar’s sons. See, we know that Ragnar allows Ivar to do mostly whatever he wants. He has very little if any control over his youngest son. 

“You, though, you have a unique control over him. He loves you. Actually loves you so your abduction will have a unique effect on him, to say the least. He’ll be like a rabid dog. Ragnar will either be forced to meet with me or put Ivar down. In either case, Ragnar will be weak. It’s the perfect opportunity for us to strike. 

“My dear, I truly must thank you.” Ecbert moved toward her, his steps echoing off the empty walls. “Without you, Ivar wouldn’t have a weakness. Ragnar has always had a soft spot for his youngest son. He did try to kill him after all. He just can’t help himself.”

Ecbert grinned down at Aaline, his shadow long against the emptiness of the room. Aaline turned her head to look at him, her eyes bright. A slow smile started to form on her face and her shoulders shook. Her laughter grew as it overcame her, taking up the room and echoing off the walls. 

Unnerved, Ecbert stood up, his smile gone from his face. Aaline quieted, her laughter subsiding as she pulled herself together. “I’m sorry but if you think Ragnar will just meet with you, you’re clearly stupider than you look.” 

The slap he delivered to her face reverberated through the room. Aaline just flexed her jaw and spat the blood onto the floor at his feet, her grin still taking up the entirety of her face. “If you think Ragnar controlled him before, you are sorely mistaken.”

Ecbert straightened. “You think Ragnar is so desperate that he’ll come to you?” She laughed again, her head thrown back against the wall. 

“He’ll come for you. He won’t stop until you and all you love is dead.”

Her laughter echoed around the room as Ecbert stormed away, slamming the door behind him.

@dreamlesswonder @youbloodymadgenius @inforapound @bcarolinablr @funmadnessandbadassvikings @jay-bel @feyraarcheron @londongal2810 @khiraeth @didiintheblog @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @kingniazx @revolution-starter @0hsappho @love-all-things-writing

[trollishly]

Valkyrie Pt. 5 • Ivar X Reader

A girl shows up bloody and beaten to Kattegat. The Queen and her sons take an interest in the girl, especially Ivar.

Warnings: Gore, Swearing, Mentions of sex, Angst, Anything you'd expect from Vikings

The harsh chilled wind of Kattegate’s forest whipped the the thick furs that laid upon her shoulders. The forest seemed to be alive, as the trees whined and creaked as the gusts only became stronger. Her breathing became heavier as she quickened her pace towards her desired destination, ambitious for what she seeked.

Her eyes light up as they finally fell upon the individual, though she couldn't help but shiver as her feet finally met the front of their seated position. 

“The Queen...“ Slightly bowed the being, words slurring from their twisted lips. “Ancient One,” Quipped Aslaug as she tucked her gown to kneel before him, “you know why I am here, we’ve spoken of this matter before.“ Rushed the Queen in a desperate manner. The Seer let an exasperated grunt, his grotesque tongue running along his lips in thought. “The girl from your vision, you speak of her, you’ve spoken to her.” Hummed the cloak individual, while Aslaug only nodded hoping for him to continue.  

"Well what is it that is troubling you my Queen?" Aslaug rolled her eyes slightly, "I wish to know if my visions are once again correct, or am I mistaken and she is actually a threat to my kingdom?"

"You ask difficult questions, always questioning." He grinned, "However, I shall give you comfort by saying that what you see, is in fact true my Queen." Aslaug let out a breath of relief she hadn't known she was holding, refraining from smiling, which she found herself doing more often as of late. "The gods have blessed us with a great gift..." Croaked the Seer, "A Valkyrie." Spoke the two in unison.

•••

Soft knocks echoed throughout the quaint room, and with nobody acknowledging it, a hush voice followed. "I'm coming in." Spoke Ubbe as he push the door open which dragged along the uneven floor.

There laid Frode, in bed and struggling to inhale evenly. His glazed over eyes drifting to look at the intruder. Ubbe watched as the boy clench his hand firmer around the one that laid upon his, the hand belonging to non other than his sister.

Y/n was slouched against Frode's bed, half her weight on her knees and the other on the edge of the bed. She looked as if she hadn't slept for days, which was half of the truth. If it weren't for Y/n's recent episodes of passing out, she would've been up like usual, her sleep schedule being far from healthy.

"Is she asleep?" Asked Ubbe, stepping further into the room. Frode tried to speak in denial, however, he found himself unable to speak, his voice caught in his throat as another fit of coughs erupted from him. With Frode at a loss, he was not able to warn Ubbe as he reached out to shake his sister awake. Y/n flinched harshly from his touch, rolling away from him and onto her feet. They both stood still, however, Y/n seemed to be on guard due to his presence. Ubbe tilted his head, trying to catch the girl's gaze, but she seemingly refused, not wanting him to see her at her weakest, as her eyes were red and puffy from her night's worth of crying over her brother.

"Sorry to disturb, but my mother asked me to invite you to come eat with us." Ubbe simply said, "I would of sent a thrall, but it seems you've scared them all half to death." Chuckled the man as he refrained from coming any closer.

"No, but thank you." Replied Y/n, turning to tend to her little brother once more. Frode quickly grasped his sister wrist and pulled a pleading face at her. "Y/n, you were never one to deny food, please go. I promise I will be fine." Comforted Frode as he begun to push Y/n away. "You need fresh air, you shouldn't be near me. I am not well," he paused briefly by taking a breath as he tried not to cough, "with you still being injured, it could become deadly if you were to stay near me and get sick." Finished the boy, relieved to see that his persuasion was beginning to work as his sister's frown lessened.

"He'll be fed and watched yes?" Questioned Y/n as she turned to face Ubbe. He nodded reassuring her, "A thrall will tend to your brother's every need."

Y/n began to debate in her head, not for long though, as her thoughts were interrupted by a loud growl that came from her stomach. "Okay." Agreed Y/n begrudgingly, as she came to pushed the hair from Frode's face before leaving the room with Ubbe following closely behind.

•••

"Uh- pardon?" Stuttered Ubbe shaking himself from his trance. Y/n spoke up and repeated herself, "I said, the Queen is very generous. All of you are, you could have left my brother and I to die." Expressed Y/n as she kept her head facing fowards as she walked alongside the prince.

Ubbe blinked down at the girl, inspecting her appearance, which he did more often than he'd like to admit, especially in the little time he was in her presence. "You should thank the Queen, yourself." He said, looking away when he caught himself staring. "She knows something we don't- a-and I trust her enough to follow her blindly. Not only because she is my mother, but because I believe she is fit as ruler." Spoke Ubbe, his tone indicating he said more than what he intended to.

Y/n's forehead creased slightly at the mention of his mother's knowledge of the unknown, but let him be, by keeping silent as they finally made it to the hall.

Bickering could be heard from a table of cluttering cutlery, a whine drawing the attention of Y/n. "Mother. Tell them to stop tormenting me." Mischievously spoke, who Y/n now knew as Ivar, as he held a hand of a thrall, who sat rigid beside him. His head was lolled to the side as he looked pleadingly towards his mother with a pout.

Ubbe walked ahead of the girl, a snort coming from him due to his little brother's banter. This causing everyone's eyes to not only land on Ubbe, but Y/n as well. Ubbe eyed a seat from across the room, rounding the table and sitting besides Hvitserk, who's eyes kept flickering between Ivar and Y/n curiously, as he continued to shove food into his mouth.

At the speed of which Thor would strike his hammer, Ivar shuffled in his seat, removing Margrethe's hand from his lips and dismissing her with just a wave of his arm. Y/n stood quietly, unsure with what to do with herself, before realizing something that could have been crucial.

"My Queen." Announced Y/n as she bowed her head in respect, looking at her through the thick of her lashes. "Morning Y/n. I am pleased to see that you've joined us once more. Please, take a seat beside me." She said, gesturing to a spot in between herself and Sigurd. As Y/n approached, the Queen gave Margrethe a narrowed side glance, "Get our guest a chair." She stated firmly, causing the thrall to panick as she left her spot beside Ivar and walking towards the nearest chair. Both her and Y/n reached for the chair, clutching it at the same time.

"Please, there is no need." Y/n said gently, lifting the chair from Margrethe's grasp and placing it in its spot. The slave just stepped back and scanned Y/n's form before looking away in a submissive manner.

As Y/n took a seat, the Queen continued their discussion before Ivar had been interrupted. "Now Ubbe, when will you have children?" Asked the Aslaug as she gestured to him with a napkin in hand. He grinned, "I probably already have!" He joked causing the others boys to break out in laughter as he pick at his food to throw it towards his mother. "No I'm serious, each and everyone of you should have a woman by now, even married." Spoke the Queen genuinely, as she looked to each of her boys. All of them eyed each other before shrugging without a care and focusing back onto their food. The Queen pinched the bridge of her nose as she shook her head, turning to face her attention to Y/n.

"It seems my boys are far too immature to have a wife, let alone children, don't you think Y/n?" Smiled Aslaug at the girl, which made the boys pause in their gluttony. Y/n found herself a little caught off guard, as she was never the one to get romantically involve, spending most of her time training or raising her brother.

"I don't believe my opinion would have much value my Queen." Began Y/n as she kept her attention solely on Aslaug, "But since they are the King and Queen's children, heirs are expected from them..." Aslaug seemed pleased with Y/n's answer as her lips quirked slightly, "Hmm, and do you have a husband, or lover, for that matter?"

Y/n cringe internally, knowing what Frode would say to the Queen if he had the opportunity. "I don-" However, Aslaug cut her short. "I'm speaking nonsense aren't I? Of course you would. You are a very beautiful young woman, and a shield maiden I assume?" Rambled the Queen which seemed suspiciously intentional. Y/n's mouth was left agape momentarily before she quickly closed it, "Yes, I am a shield maiden my Queen." She said keeping her answer curt.

Hvitserk began giggling cheekily, as he watched the way Ivar strained himself by pressing his palms against the bench. Pushing his torso upwards as he leaned on the table, in hopes of getting a better view of his mother and Y/n as they conversed. Sigurd scowled at his little brother's enamored behavior. Still upset at his earlier possessiveness of Margrethe, especially after she had confided in him the night before.

"As I was saying, you don't need to love the woman to breed with them." Explained the Queen, making Y/n bow down to eat her soup as she try her hardest to block out the conversation; one that she had already deemed as a personal family matter. As Aslaug continued to chatter, Y/n's eyes scan the room as she spooned the food into her mouth, making accidental eye contact with Hvitserk as he copied her actions. He grinned at her as the soup messily dribble down his chin, until an aggressive voice broke his playful staring.

"What is wrong with you?" Quipped Ivar as he now leaned further onto the table staring daggers at Sigurd, "Nothing is wrong with me," spat Sigurd making Hvitserk and Y/n glanced at each other, with Hvitserk widening his eyes at her humorously. "I just wanted to know if she has love anyone except Harbard..." Silence followed making Y/n sit up uncomfortable, "You remember Harbard don't you?" Sigurd continued sparing everyone a glance but his mother.

Ubbe sat stoney still and so did Hvitserk, but Ivar pushed on, with his arms now crossed loosely, "Of course she has loved another," he stated to Sigurd while nodding. "She has always loved me... isn't that right mother?" He urged while smiling at his mother, his eyes briefly catching Y/n's, who was sat just behind Aslaug from his position. However, the Oueen didn't speak and just nodded as she swallowed her drink discreetly.

Y/n's eyebrows raised at Aslaug's reaction, wondering as for why the Queen wasn't being more reassuring to her son, "She just pities you Ivar, just like the rest of us. Y/n probably feels sorry for you too, especially when you look at her with so much desperation." Ivar flinched at Sigurd's words, anger and embarrassment building within him. "and sometimes, we wish mother had left you to the wolves." He smoothly said, as if it weren't something completely vile. Y/n couldn't comprehend how someone could be so cruel, mainly to their family.

"Sigurd!" Demanded the Queen, with Ivar continuing to glare at his brother trying to sort his feelings internally, "What?" Was all he replied with, before resuming his breakfast.

Y/n found herself wanting to put Sigurd in his place, but refrained from doing so as nothing but consequences would come from it. A drag of a chair turn Y/n's attention back to Ivar, as he was now standing tall at the end of the table. This caused Sigurd to haphazardly throw his spoon onto the table, scoffing at Ivar's display.

Ivar began scooting from his seat, supporting his weight briefly on his mother's chair, with her cooing at him to calm his temper. Her attempts went unnoticed as he continued, with his left hand wavering, before it had finally landed on the back of Y/n's chair. Ivar and the girl gazed at each other, with her turning within her seat to make room for the young prince. Ivar was now hesitant, mainly now that he was the closest he had yet been to Y/n, not helping himself as he caught of whiff of her aroma that furthermore attracted him to her. Ivar's forearm gently grazed Y/n's hair as he pulled himself from one chair to another, as he heard Sigurd still taunting him.

"Come on Boneless!" He teased as he stood from his chair now that Ivar was near. Everyone was now standing, Y/n situating herself just behind Ivar. Bowls and utensils fell to the floor as Sigurd pulled a chair from underneath Ivar making him collapse with a painful sounding thud. Y/n reach down to help him, but pause as Hvitserk gestured to her not to from the corner of her eye.

Ivar's frustrated huffs filled the room, his nostrils flaring as he forcefully began to drag himself towards his target. Sigurd's harmful jabs continued, with the Queen now walking up towards Ivar and passing Y/n, who couldn't help but stand and watch how this would play out.

Sigurd seemed to grow tired of this little game, quickly turning and pushing the doors of the hall open, making the bright light bleach the room with a stark white wash, highlighting Ivar's enraged features.

Ivar chased Sigurd out of the room causing a loud scream to rip from his throat, with the Queen attempting to hold him back.

•••

End of part 5.

•••

Notes: Thank you all so much for 50 followers! Had to finish and post part 5 today for you all!

Tags: @youbloodymadgenius, @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog, @midnightmystic

Ask to be tagged!

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Vikings + Gn!Thor

A/N: Since this is a Gn!Thor story, I wanted to take some inspo from the multiverse in the mcu.

Tags: @alicedopey, @bragisrunes

A little backstory: In this, the gn!reader is basically from a parallel universe where Thor grew up genderneutral. They still fell in love with Jane, but here, they can shapeshift their appearance to match the way they wanna present at that moment of the day. Jane is very bisexual and muscly.

Gn!Thor is trying to find an anniversary gift for Jane that is ~different~ and ~special~ bc she deserves it and finds a necklace with glowing stones. Perfect, they think, and then they touch it and are thrown back in time.

Masterlist | based on this request | requests are OPEN!

Ragnar

Skeptical, of course

He also doesn’t know if he even believes in the gods (or just gods)

Accepts your gender identity quicker than the fact that you are from Asgard and can control thunder (even if you show him)

Eventually, you’ll become good friends

Not worthy lmao

Lagertha

She knows what to do when gods come to her hearth

Welcomes you and lets you in

Listens to your stories over the best beef stew you’ll ever have in your life

Takes a quick liking to you and shows you around

Worthy if we ignore everything past season 4b and her sleeping with Rollo (not slutshaming here, it's just the lying about it for me)

Aslaug

She knows you’ll come to Kattegat before you know you’ll come to Kattegat

Has a room prepared and everything

Sits down with you and has the kids leave you alone if you want, but she’ll be so happy if you answer all their questions and let them attempt to lift the hammer

Ofc she’s okay with your identity, she’s a völva ffs

In the running for worthy, pulls a Steve Rogers

Bjorn

I am not a Bjorn apologist

Does not realize who you are even if you grilled him with lightning

Gender outside binary bad, how fuck?

You better take your immortal patience with you

Not worthy, he abandoned his daughter and several of his wives

Ubbe

Gender neutral? That’s a new thing he should tell Hvitserk about

You’re a god? Cool, now help him find his stepchildren

Chill, as always. Supportive, as always

Does not go around shouting out who you are

You will feel safe, and that is a threat

Worthy if he reevaluates the Margrethe-situation and takes care of her even though she might be a lil cray cray

Hvitserk

I don’t think Hvitserk is cis tbh

Idk, he gives me questions gender on a Thursday afternoon vibes

Maybe genderfluid?

You can shoot lightning bolts? Can you grill steak to perfection with that power?

Absolutely worthy, and you can try to fight me on this. His addiction does not make him any lesser, and that’s on fucking canon. The worthiest person out there

Sigurd

Gender neutral? He also fucks with that

Wow look at you making the aslaugssons reevaluate their gender

Is chill with you being a god, but won’t make a big deal about it

Doesn’t want to lift the hammer to see if he’s worthy

He’s struggled with proving himself for long enough

Ivar

Does not understand your gender at first and when he does, he shrugs and says ‘well, that just sounds like Hvitserk’

Obsessed with the fact that you’re Thor, but more bc

Lightning = viking time atom bomb

Not worthy, and does not care

Well, maybe worthy after season 6

Floki

Absolutely understands your identity

And that you’re a god

Knows immediately, in fact

He might make you feel a little uncomfortable

Once he gets used to you, he’ll calm down

Also not worthy for obvious (escalates every fight) reasons

[pieces-by-me]

A Dream of His Own

Well hello there.....agian, im not dead im just not really here. Which is something I don't like either. And im sick of not just sitting myself before my laptop and writing more just because im too lazy. Because as I have found out again today I can still write. A friend of mine and I did a little writing challenge of our own. One where we would both write a little piece between 500-1000 words and we both have to use three words. And because I like this little thing here I wanted to share it with all you lovely people! So I hope you still read my stuff and you enjoy it too! 

Words: 852

Summary: The inner monolog of a troubled soul.

Warning: mention of character death, but nothing big

In the middle of the forrest, surrounded by nothing except trees and moss, he felt save. It was quiet here, serene. No worries, no decisions to be made, nothing. Just him and the sound of birds that were sometimes floating through the branches. The ridiculousness that this was his first moment of peace in weeks did not go over his head. Hvitserk was glad for the break he'd gotten. Being constantly pestered by his brothers gave the second oldest son a headache that didn't seem to go away. Not until he found this little creek.

The fire before him did little to warm him up, though it did not bother him. He was used to the cold winters of Kattegat so this slight chill was a nice reminder of his home. Two months, almost three, were the Son's of Ragnar now in this shitty land called England. With nothing to prove anymore, for they avenged their fathers brutal murder. So what will they do now?

Ubbe wants to turn into a farmer. Fulfilling their fathers dream, as he says. But is it really what Ragnar wanted? Or was that also just a ploy for one of his games? His older brother was stubborn to take him with him, so far as to not even ask him if it was something he wanted as well. Calling to a dog to follow him like Ubbe always did. But wasn't Hvitserk at fault too for always following without question? The loyal little dog to his owner.

Björn is not even here anymore. The second he got the chance he left England to raid and find new land. Not even asking his beloved brothers if one wanted to come with him. Hvitserk sailed with him once, he would never forget the thrill of new lands, new foods, new faces. But was he angry that his oldest brother didn't want him to come with him again? You could never really get anything out of Björn and his plans. That was something he and their father had all to well in common.

And Ivar, the one that killed his brother Sigurd, what the hel did he want? The cripple that can't walk. The brain that comes up with strategies so powerful humans fall into his traps like stupid mice. He want's to become the greatest Viking there ever was. The most feared, the most looked up to, the most adored, the best Viking possible. Could he become all that? A boy that can't even fight properly? Sure he bested his brothers in many things, things they usually don't want to admit but to be a Viking you can't only use your brain. You have to use your legs as well. Legs Ivar doesn't really have. Well maybe he would become all that, who knows? The patg he is heading on now sure seems like it.

But what did Hvitserk want? He didn't want to follow his brother Ubbe tomorrow. Didn't want to be a dog anymore. He didn't want to go with Björn either. Otherwise he sure would have found a way on his ship. So did he want to follow his baby brother Ivar? Follow him in the unknown direction to a place and a land neither of them knew? And if he did, would he become another dog just for a different brother?

He longed for a dream. Something that could fuel him. Spur him in the directions he wanted to go to. Make his whole life goal that one dream. Something his other brothers seem to have found long ago. Why hasn't he found that? Wasn't he also a Son of Ragnar? Shouldn't he have a dream? Nothing he accomplished was by his own making. He always followed. Always obeyed someone else. Maybe he longed for something to prove his own worth. But how would he find it?

Looking up at the dark night sky he saw nothing but stars. Twinkling down upon the confused man as if they felt nothing but pity for him. His mother told him of the power of the stars. Of the gods that resided in them. And if he had one wish he would wish for an answer to his troubles.

But the only one that could help him with this was himself. And the stars knew that too. So heaving a sigh he picked up more hands full of dead leaves and fueled the fire a bit more. Diminishing the light of the stars he could no longer see due to the light that the fire now emitted. Take that. He thought with a small smirk draped over his lips. The stars can't be that powerful if a bit of fire can turn them out.

And so he sat by the fire a little longer. Thinking over and over about what he should do. Not coming up with an answer. But at least he found this creek. This little place of peace just or himself. He could sit here a little longer, away from his brothers and trouble. Waiting out a little more before he had to return.

_________________________________

as always feedback is appreciated and I hope you have an awesome day/night ✨

Tagging: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​ @xbellaxcarolinax​

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Vantalaður Ást

Ivar Lothbrok x F!Reader

Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13

A/N: IT’S HERE! Not quite sure what kicked me off but it’s here and some more chapters to follow. I even thought of an ending. Check me the fuck out 💁🏻‍♀️ thank you to @acrossthesestars for being beta!

Warnings: Hospitals, carries on from the last chapter, overdose mention, mentions of procedures, nothing is accurate I don’t work there. Expect feels.

Word Count: 1324 (next chapters will be longer.)

Tagging: @ivarisms @majesticwren @a-bang-for-your-bucky @youbloodymadgenius @kaybee87 @punkrocknpearls @istorkyou @smears-and-spots @bulmabhadie @southernbe @ironynoticony

You don’t even remember the trip to the hospital. A haze had settled over your mind as Ubbe cleaned you up in a small bathroom, murmuring softly all the while. You let him run the paper towels over your arms, wiping your neck and face so gently and carefully. Next he stripped your top, removing his shirt and wrapping it round your shoulders. You barely noticed the chill as it kissed your skin, the warmth of Ubbe’s shirt like a fresh hug as he did the buttons up. Guiding you back to the waiting room he made sure you were sat down, staring into your eyes for a moment, searching for something - some sign, before beginning to pace along the chairs. His fingers jumped along the back of the empty seats clearly trying to keep his hands busy now he was done cleaning you as best as he could.

A deep voice made your gaze flicker to your left, but it was the only response you could give when Björn grabbed your hands. Crouched on the floor in front of you, his blue eyes pleading, he asked you what happened. But you couldn’t speak. He looked helplessly up at Ubbe who clearly filled him in with the little information he knew. They gestured to you but all you were seeing was Hvitserk on the bed. All you could feel was his clammy skin under your hands.

Ivar… It was the only sound to shatter through the barrier of your fear and grief. The thump of his cane was a sound your mind could pick out anywhere. Your gaze rose, locking with his instantly. Nothing could stop him from getting to you, not the group of people he firmly cursed out of his way, or his brothers when they tried to talk to him first. Your eyes closed when he sat next to you and every bad feeling between you was forgotten as his arm wrapped around you and pulled your face tightly into his chest. Lifting a hand you fisted it into his coat, letting it ground you and the rush of everything finally hit you at once.

“Where is Hvitserk?” You heard him spit at Ubbe and you let out a mournful groan into his chest, twisting further into him. The ache of what you had seen was too much, you couldn’t lose your best friend, not now. The echoes of your screams sounded in your mind, mingled with the sobs you suddenly unleashed into Ivar’s coat, blocking out the bustle of the hospital around you.

“Kat’s working today,” you heard Björn say. “I haven’t heard from her so I have no idea….what to do,” he finished helplessly. You were so wrapped up in seeking comfort from Ivar that you didn’t hear them move away and try to find someone for an update. Soon your sobs became hiccups and you relaxed into his side, letting him hold you up.

Your sore eyes watched the people in the waiting room. Most of them looked bored; one man was napping, a woman flipping through a magazine, a little girl sat next to her with long auburn hair and wide eyes as she studied you and Ivar. You felt him shift beside you, withdrawing his arm and you sat up with a little sigh, your back was beginning to ache anyway. Glancing around, you saw Björn and Ubbe standing by a coffee machine when the girl sniggered a little, drawing your attention back to her. She was looking at Ivar, trying not to smile as she watched his hands.

He firmly planted a coin in the flat of his hand, letting her see it. He wrinkled his brow in a silent question and she nodded, glancing up at her mum who wasn’t paying attention at all. His fingers closed around the coin one by one, never taking his eyes off her face until he’d balled his hand into a fist. Slowly he blew on his hand, drifting his other one over it slightly. The girl watched him fiercely for any deception, and so did you. His lips parted in a cocky half smile when his fist began to open, she craned her neck hoping to see the coin only to find it was gone. He splayed his hands and a huff of satisfaction left him as he revealed his palm was empty, showing his hands from all angles.

“How did you do that?” You asked, pulling his smug gaze to you.

“When you can’t walk for most of your childhood you become good with your hands,” he joked, dragging his hand across your eye line. You swatted it out of the way, a tiny smile tipping the corner of your mouth. Tenderly he grabbed your chin, his gaze drifting over your features almost lazily. “Hvitserk will be alright,” he murmured. There was so much you wanted to say to him in that moment. The words rose up your throat to fill your mouth, but still you couldn’t say anything. Your memories blurred, the sound of your screaming for Hvitserk blended with Ivar kicking you out of his apartment and the only reaction you could give was more tears, dripping silently down your cheeks only to be stopped by Ivar’s thumb, his clear eyes softening as he traced the line of your features.

“Has there been an update?” You looked up sharply to see Sigurd standing next to you. Ivar’s soft expression hardened just at the sight of his brother.

“What took you so long?” He asked haughtily, casting a suspicious eye over the curly haired Lothbrok.

“Well someone had to close up the workshop,” he snapped. You shifted closer to Ivar when Sigurd threw himself into a seat next to you, rubbing his face wearily and running his fingers through his half braided hair. The tension was palpable. Gone was the Ivar who had just entertained a child, replaced by someone who was seething. His hands leaned heavily on his metal cane and you wished one of the others would come over and break the atmosphere.

The double doors opened and your legs moved. Kat appeared, her eyes seeking out Björn as you all converged on her.

“He’s alive,” she told you all with a watery smile. “He is currently stable and in the ICU but…” she trailed off her eyes darting around the brothers as they circled her. “His heart stopped twice, he had to have his stomach pumped and he’s now in a coma on life support.” You felt the floor drop from beneath you, Sigurd being the closest to support you when your knees sagged. Ubbe cut through the group, sliding his arm under yours to pick you up. Gratefully you leaned into him as the others bombarded Kat with questions which she tried to answer as best she could.

“When can I see him?” You asked, creating a hush over the group.

“Go home, get some sleep. I’ll ring you.”

“Isn’t your shift over soon?” Rumbled Björn.

“It is, but I’ll stay with Hvitserk.” You wanted to cry but your body had nothing left to give. You felt dried up, empty, just a hollow husk as Ubbe led you away. Part of you wanted to protest, to rage that you were being taken away from Hvitserk when he needed you the most but you had no strength to fight.

Sitting in the back of the car you automatically took the middle seat, Ivar’s blue eyes noticing but he didn’t say a word about the empty seat beside you. Tentatively he slipped a hand alongside yours, his fingers working through the gaps of your own and you gratefully clutched him tightly. Closing your eyes you lean into him, barely registering the kiss he pressed against the crown of your head.

You concentrated on a single phrase from Kat: He’s alive. Right now it was the only bit of good news you had.