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mrsalwayswrite · 3 years ago

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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:

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underscorewriting · 2 years ago

Text

Fate | Part four

Ivar Ragnarsson x Reader

Warnings: none

1437 Words

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part five

The market was quiet, so was everything else these past weeks. Hvitserk and Ubbe checked up on her a few times, she felt the most comfortable with the oldest. "I told you many times before, Ubbe, I don't care that Ivar is marrying Freydis. I'm happy for him, he found love. It's difficult for people like us to find someone." She gave him a sad smile. "You don't seem very hap-" A girl walking up to them interrupted him. "Hello Ubbe, it's a nice day today isn't it. Oh, don't you want to introduce me to your friend?" The man took a deep breath, leaning against the booth.

"Freydis, this is y/n. Y/n is an old friend of us since we were little, she counts as family. I almost forgot, mother wanted me to invite you to feast with us tonight." The girl looked at Freydis and smiled kindly. "It's nice to meet you, Freydis." Turning back to Ubbe she grinned up at him. "Tell her I'll gladly join you, I haven't seen her in a while." Seeing Ivar walk up to them she excused herself and walked to the apples, taking a quick look at his eyes, seeing the dangerous blue in them, making her worry.

Freydis walked up to her, looking at an apple. "Ivars eyes are blue." The girl said quietly. "Excuse me?" Looking up she sighed. "Ivars eyes are blue." The girl looked at her like she was stupid and Y/N couldn't help but laugh. "The white in his eyes, it's blue. It means it's more possible that he will hurt himself or break his legs." Looking at Freydis she looked into her cold eyes. "Stay away from Ivar. I'm with his child." Another laugh escaped her as she shook her head, walking away not taking her serious. Ivar looked at his older brother as he overheard them. "How is she doing, Ubbe?" Worry settled in his voice.

His brother shook his head. "You don't deserve to know, Ivar." Ivars eyes clenched into a dangerous stare. "Stay away from her." A smirk played around Ubbes lips as he looked down. "You can't have them both, my dear brother." He turned to walk away, hearing Ivar swear under his breath. Ubbe wouldn't act on her, Ivar should know it, he saw her as a sister.

As she entered the great hall Aslaug smiled and got up, completely ignoring Freydis who was talking to her. "Oh dear! Look at you!" She smiled kindly at her and pointed to a take a seat next to Hvitserk, opposite of Ivar. "You've grown into such a beautiful woman, don't you think, Ivar?" Aslaug raised an eyebrow smirking at her son. Ubbe bit his lip trying not to laugh, but seeing Hvitserk with the same reaction made them both burst out in laughter. "Yes mother. She has." His jaw clenching as he saw his wife to be glare at him angrily.

A giggle escaped the girl as she shook her head. "I haven't seen you in a while, dear. I heard you've been taking care of your fathers business." Ivar looked up, now interested in what she's about to tell. "Yes I have, its been a busy couple of weeks before my father came back, but finishing his work and learning new things about wood and ship building every day made it bearable." The smile not once leaving her face as she explained a few things more in detail. "Your father must be very proud of you." A shy laugh escaped her as she blushed slightly looking down. "I hope so..." The boy opposite her noticed the angry look Freydis gave him and shot y/n a mocking glare. "It's isn't surprising that no one is interested in you, now that I won't even look at you. You're just as obsessed with wood as Floki." A mocking laugh leaving his lips, not noticing her jaw clench.

A small smirk on her lips as she leaned forward. "I take it you're as obsessed with changing women as Ragnar was then?" Her voice was quiet, not wanting to hear anyone else hear on the table. She wasn't angry at Ragnar, nor was she angry at Ivar but she felt like she needed to defend herself. She remembers Ragnar well, he was like an uncle to her and taught her alongside Floki how to fight and defend herself. His jaw clenched as his lip twisted up in a angry snarl. Standing up she wiped her hands on her dress smiling apologetic at Aslaug.

"I apologize, but I feel like it's my time to leave now. Thank you for inviting me." She gave her a small knowing smile and nodded. "It was my pleasure, my dear. Hvitserk why don't you accompany her on her way home?" The girl shook her head placing a soft hand on Hvitserks shoulder pushing him back into his seat. "I enjoy walking alone, but thank you." With a last bow she turned towards the door to leave. Ivar got up as well, his hand on his axe, still not being able to deal with the words she said.

Freydis noticed and smirked slightly, whispering up to him. "You're just going to let her talk to you like that? Talk to a god like that?" Ivars hand started shaking, he felt how weak his legs were but he still took another step, already feeling some pain in it. "Ivar, your eyes are blue. You're going to hurt yourself more than me." His eyes didn't leave her as he sat back down. His jaw clenching as he bit his tongue. She still impressed him with how much she knew him, with how even in a situation like that she looked out for him. It made him sick, because when he looked at Freydis he felt something, when he looked at her he still longed for something. His mind was twisted, but Freydis was the right choice, she was with his child.

Leaving made the tension in her body less, lost in her thoughts she didn't seem to notice what path she followed. Hearing twigs snap and owls cry made her realize where she was. The path her and Ivar walked before he left, before he even had his crutch. A small smile on her face as she walked into the meadow, the wild flowers still looking the same, even in this blistering cold. Her feet carried her into the middle of it as she finally sat down and leaned back. Comfortable silence. Everything about this place was calming to her as she laughed quietly, closing her eyes. The darkness giving her a comfort, the sleep soon taking over her.

It was dark, shadow figures danced around her as she looked around in panic. The voice of Freydis echoing in her ears. "I have to make sure you won't tell anyone, I can't risk it." Footsteps neared and then walked away again. "So it is mine? Not the cripples?" A man with an unfamiliar voice said, making the other girl laugh darkly. "Yes, but you see, it doesn't matter." A scream left the man and ripped the young girl out of her rest. Her body jerked up, her hair drenched in sweat. Worry settled in her stomach as she shivered. A sickness was already forming she could feel it, her mind was foggy and she felt dizzy. Getting up was a hard task for her as she held her forehead, walking how a slowly.

"Do you have any idea how worried your mother was?" Floki exclaimed as she neared their home. Her head still spinning as she clenched her eyes shut. "Father..." She barely reached him as her legs gave out, falling into his eyes as everything went black again. "Helga!" Helga was quick to come to his aid as Floki carried her into the house, laying her down on her bed as his wife wiped away the hair out of their daughters face. "We should let her rest, she was out in the cold almost all night, dear. We should both get some rest as well." Nodding they both were about to leave the room.

A soft whimper made them stop in their track. "Ivar...." Her voice was quiet and weak but filled with worry. Looking at each other they both knew they had to get the young prince first thing in the morning, needing to find out what had happened to their daughter. Floki walked back to her and kisses her forehead softly, covering her with some fur, before walking back to his wife as they both went to bed, worry still on their mind.

#ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar x reader #ivar imagine #ivar fluff #ivar the king #vikings #alex hogh #vikings fanfiction #alex hogh andersen x reader

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majesticwren · 2 years ago

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The Trickster’s Kiss ᚲ (Ivar/Angrboda/Hvitserk)

Summary: What if Angrboda, daughter of Floki and Helga, never died? She is gifted and cursed. She who walks the Earth guided and Inspired by the Trickster. Grown to become a gifted witch, a skilled warrior, a determined and loyal woman. She who takes guard over her loved one, her people and even the Gods. And in her life, made of choices, and war, and magic, and whispers, she is destined to always choose the side of a man she loves dearly, over her soulmate. As much as she would always choose Loki, over any other God. Behold! A tale about a War of heart, cultures and Gods. The events of this fanfic starts at S402 continuing to S602. It may contain flashbacks.

Words: 8.4k. Trigger Warnings: Violence, Blood, Weapon Use, Hate Speech, Jealousy, Mention of Sex, Ivar and Angrboda are their own Trigger Warnings, Implied Cheating (?). Gifs by: tagged. Divider by: @firefly-graphics .

Tags: @youbloodymadgenius @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged. ✨

Masterpost Playlist

Chapter 9 - Of Axe and Sword.

Angrboda could not say if sleeping for a few hours actually helped.

She woke up still pervaded by a sense of despair and fear knowing she didn’t have a direction or meaning. The now absolute knowledge of not knowing the reason why she walked Midgard crawled under her skin, making her feel uneasy.

The only thing she knew now was that she wasn't supposed to walk the Earth - or breathe its air, drink its water or eat its food.

She existed on borrowed time.

It was terrifying.

Angrboda used to think she was like a Pine tree, with its top watching over a forest and its roots deeply dug in the solid ground. Unmoved by anything, even the changing of the seasons. Standing tall and proud.

Though now, she only felt like a thin and dry leaf lost in the wind.

That change, the shift in her reality, the helplessness she felt in front of her situation, what has been taken away from her and the realisation she could do nothing to change any of it made her feel powerless and scared.

But she didn’t have much time to analyse her emotions before her feelings and body switched into survival mode. As her nerves and muscles fired up with the need to start running, her heart went quiet. Only one feeling was reigning over her, as her first emotional response every time she felt in a fight or flight situation.

Anger .

Although she was welcoming of it and even clutched around that feeling, trying her best not to drown in the void surrounding her, she knew it wasn’t an healthy response.

The fire that poured into her blood, was given by a survival instinct to react to a threat. Except there was no threat.

And even if Angrboda had great pride in thinking she had control over her emotions, she clearly failed. Her hold over the darker, thicker anger surrounding her was feeble. It made it dangerous .

Anger , in people like her , who grew with the roar of war seeded in their blood, easily became a thirst for violence .

Which was the main reason why as soon as Angrboda realised how badly her mood switched, she was more than eager to get as far away as possible from her parents - not willing to risk to put their safety or comfort in danger. Especially since being too close to her father meant he could have easily figured that something was off in her behaviour with only one look.

She would have appreciated spending some time in the forest on her own. But as soon as she remembered Ubbe's invitation to the brothers' training that evening, Angrboda was more than delighted.

She wouldn't have missed the opportunity to fight with purpose with strong opponents like the Sons of Ragnar.

It would have been perfect to unload her thirst for violence hiding behind the excuse of training. And hopefully, she would have been able to calm her spirit.

Angrboda didn't even think about the possibility of another shoe dropping. Again, she boldly thought she had everything under control, and that her choice could not be wrong .

So, Angrboda crossed the forest, this time on foot, moving quickly and swiftly between the trees.

The training range was closer to where she was, compared to Kattegat, hidden in the deep of the forest, on the side of the tall mountain that shielded the beach. It was just a few miles away from the boys hunting cabin and easily reachable from there by a path they usually took.

But it was only minutes away for Angrboda. Especially if she crossed the thick of the woods forgetting about the path.

She knew very well how to find her bearings and direction in those woods, her entire childhood was filled with lessons about how to orient and how to survive. Plus she was also fast and agile, able to run and climb, just as her father taught her.

Her main asset crossing the mountainside like she was doing, was that she was able to recognize the ground structure and where to expect safer walkways.

Of course, she was also guided by the fairies and the far, lost-in-time echoes of swords clashing. It was a relief to feel the energies surrounding her again.

After her visions and encounter with Loki, everything went silent, both the fairies and the songs that the wind brought.

But now, with the world lit by the pale and familiar glimmer of the fairies’ sparkles and the silence broke by the echoes of forgotten chants... Her powers felt stronger.

Angrboda reached her destination with a smile crossing her face. It wasn't to confuse with joy though; it was the smile a warrior would pull in front of a battle.

It was the smile of a hungry wolf .

Her lungs burned, well strained. That day, even more than usual after s run like that, pushing her physical boundaries, since she almost drowned only a few hours prior.

But Angrboda ignored it, as much as she was ignoring the weariness deeply rooted in her bones - her body was in need to rest, as much as her mind. But she thought she didn't have that luxury. Giving in was to give up.

Her pride quickly puffed her chest as she thought about it. It was not insignificant as survival. It was not as meaningless as the need for distraction. It was a fight against herself, and she was determined to win - even if there was no winner.

Finding the training range still deserted made her growl, unsatisfied.

The brothers could have done better.

Angrboda decided to climb on a tree and wait for them. She thought that would have been perfect to have an upper hand on the brothers.

Resting her head against the tree trunk, Angrboda lowered her hands on the branch she sat on and slowly caressed its bark. She closed her eyes and concentrated on that tree's energy flowing into her from the palms of her hands. She listened to that tree story, and to the surrounding forest story.

A tiny smile appeared on her lips, for the first time she found some calm thinking that would be a strong tree for Floki’s boats.

She found a moment of peace. It wasn't her own, of course, but the absorbed one of that old tree, which felt and was part of the growth of the forest. She didn’t care, she welcomed it letting herself close her eyes and breathe.

Soon the brothers came.

Angrboda felt their auras well before the air filled with their chattering and laughter.

Though they ceased to be just boys as soon as they entered the training lot.

There, they were young warriors with everything to prove, especially against each other.

They were all strong and fierce, with their specific weapons of choice and fighting styles.

Never like when they were training and fighting, was it clearer the intrinsic dynamics and bond.

Ubbe wanted to prove himself worthy, but he liked to lead the brothers in their training more. He would take pride in his younger siblings’ victories, strength and precision, as much as he would do for himself - with no exceptions. He would be competitive but have fun in a win or a loss against his brothers equally.

Hvitserk, more or less, followed his older brother in his ways of thinking about their training sessions.

Though Angrboda knew he would have the most fun and pride when fighting against Ivar - even more than against Ubbe. Because with Ivar, it was always a draw, no winner or loser, they were always equal in speed and strength and fighting tactic; which just made the two of them want to win even more.

Sigurd was proud, less interested in the other's achievements and more concerned about his own as if he was always trying to prove a point. He found fighting against Ubbe or Hvitserk fun. But it was different against Ivar. With Ivar it wasn't just training, it was more. Sigurd wanted to do anything in his power to prove himself stronger and smarter, better than the younger brother.

With every win Sigurd would have on Ivar he would excessively show off, and every loss would be taken too personally, leaving him always with a thirst for revenge.

Ivar fed into Sigurd's attitude perfectly, with his short temperament, stubbornness and ability to irritate him like no other.

Ivar was more challenged than the others but no one, not even Sigurd, ever dared to make him feel any different.

His constant need to prove himself superior, never giving up besides his disability, made him as strong as any other brother - as soon as he found himself at an advantage point that would be comfortable enough for him to fight.

Which was the reason why the training field was filled with stumps where he could sit and areas where Ivar could easily find access to weapons.

Ivar's biggest strength was his sharp and strategic mind. But often that wasn’t enough. He was stubborn and proud, wanting to be like the others in everything . Even training. Which meant through the years he pushed himself, ignoring the limits of the body he was caged in, and, furthermore, ignoring what everyone else always thought he should have done, which wasn't becoming a fighter.

Seeing him now proved all of them wrong.

He fought besides his pain and difficulties, since he was only a kid, like all his brothers.

How many times did his bones broke? Angrboda lost count. But it never really mattered.

And if the training between all the brothers was overall nothing more but a game - between Ivar and Sigurd it was always a proper fight .

Angrboda remained hidden on the tree for a while, enjoying the view.

She watched Ivar and Ubbe compete in archery, as Hvitserk and Sigurd fought with swords. Then Ivar broking their fight, and then Hvitserk taking the lead against the younger brother.

Both Ivar and Hvitserk wanted to prevail on one another, but as usual, it ended in a tie.

Then tension invaded the field when Sigurd and Ivar clashed with each other.

That was the moment she decided to nimbly jump down the tree and reveal her presence, breaking the sudden powerful electricity that flooded the field.

Angrboda inhaled all of their emotions, filling her lungs with the brothers' strengths and competitivity.

She caught all the brothers' attention once she approached.

"Hello, boys!" She chirped with a pleased smile printed on her lips.

Their surprise spiked through the air when they saw her, but every one of them seemed to have a different shade of that emotion, which transferred on different kinds of smiles on their faces - besides Sigurd, he just looked at her with his usual unbothered face.

Ubbe was genuinely glad to see her, and his surprise was welcoming.

Hvitserk's was not as easy to read, because his emotions exploded in every direction - from discomfort to guilt to relief to happiness to… Many others just shot all around like crazy sparks.

Ivar almost felt the same way, but his emotions were stained by a sly shadow. The darkness inside of him was well awake and vibrating that day.

And Sigurd... He was just not impressed, more contempt than anything else.

That day, though, Angrboda was there for the only, specific reason to fight. At that point, it was a matter of survival.

Unload her rage in a fight was her best option and she knew that the brothers would have given her exactly what she needed.

Angrboda pulled out her loyal axe, nodding towards all of them. Her green eyes glimmered and seem to move, like a field of grass moved by the wind. "So, who's first, uh?"

She called them out. Her sight danced on all of the Sons of Ragnar.

Sigurd didn't move, still too crossed with Ivar to engage with her - and he didn't like fighting with Angrboda, since he firmly believed she cheated every fight.

Ivar just sat that, just looking at her, clearly implying that she was supposed to be the one who moved closer if she wanted to fight him - his pride glimpsed in his blue eyes.

Ubbe stood back, with a smile on his face, just curious to see what would happen.

So, the only one left was Hvitserk, who firstly looked around to see his brothers' reaction, and just then stepped forward.

It was clear he didn't want to appear like he didn't have the guts to fight Angrboda. It was another thing to prove in front of the others and her. But also, a deep passion flooded his veins the closer he got, holding firmly on his sword.

Angrboda cut out his emotions, ignoring anything that could be distracting.

Even all her feelings for Hvitserk were now anger. Especially her feelings for him.

An amused smirk appeared on his lips, while he tipped his head to the side, looking at her.

Angrboda shook her shoulders – somewhere inside of her buzzed at that smirk, like an automatic answer to something she genuinely was weak to. But even that slowly slid into feeding her thirst for violence.

He nodded towards her signalling to begin. And Angrboda didn't need anything more to charge.

Even the fact that he gave his permission angered her.

Hvitserk was strong and quick on his feet. He was bound to become the strongest warrior between them all in his adulthood; a true berserker , Angrboda knew it, felt it already in the future echoes, that he would make his enemies tremble on their feet and kneel to his battle roar - but now, he was still green and tender.

They all were.

Besides, Angrboda was quicker. Her smaller size and minor brute force were balanced by a swiftness none of the brothers had.

Hvitserk and Angrboda's weapons clashed, while they danced around each other, with lunges, parries and quick attacks.

Soon their emotions seemed to burn both of them. Their fight wasn't training or a game anymore. It was personal. Made of denied passion, broken feelings, secrets, and misunderstandings.

The more relinquished feelings Angrboda felt, now standing so close, the more burned and fed into her anger. As much as Hvitserk's emotions were just fuel for her.

Their duel culminated in their final move. Hvitserk quickly took advantage of Angrboda's lowered defense and moved closer, invading her personal space. He grabbed her hair, pulling them to expose her neck, and pointed the blade of his sword to her throat.

Catching his breath, Hvitserk offered her a victorious smirk. His ambered eyes were bright and the warmth of his soul quickly devoured her.

But Angrboda met his grin, with an equally amused and satisfied one.

Because again, she was quicker than any of them.

While he was distracted thinking he won, she pointed her axe blade to his exposed abdomen and with her free hand, quickly pulled out her dagger, pointing its sharp blade on his chest, right between his ribs. If she had pushed it in his flesh, she would have pierced his heart.

In a real fight, a blade to the throat meant pretty much defeat and certain death. But Angrboda would have definitely brought him to Valhalla with her.

They both stood there, for a second, looking at each other, proudly smiling and catching their breaths.

For a moment, Hvitserk's light seemed to heal her and Angrboda forgot everything. Only for a moment, it was just them.

Her anger seemed to appease as if the beast that took control of her emotions was now retreating.

She knew that she was playing a dangerous game and that the root of everything was that she was supposed to be as far away from Hvitserk as possible.

Yet, she kept finding a way between his arms.

For a second, she even thought to unload everything she knew... To share with him and the other brothers her curse. To ask for help - desperately needing the support of those who she considered the closer people she had.

Her lips trembled under the need to speak up.

"I love you."

"Loki makes me do it."

"I can't be with you because-"

"My fate was to die many years ago. I wasn't supposed to be here. I wasn't supposed to have a role in your story."

"I'm lost."

Those thoughts invaded her mind and she almost picked one of those sentences to start her speech.

But then, that moment was brutally interrupted by a sudden slow clapping.

Angrboda gasped and gained control over her thoughts and emotions.

She stepped back, as did Hvitserk, and they both pulled space between each other, lowering their weapons.

The further away she would get from him the clearer her thoughts would become.

A sudden shot of fear run through her blood when she realized she almost did another dangerous mistake - like the one committed last night.

Her eyes quickly moved on the source of the noise, where she found Ivar .

He was offering a large proud grin. His eyes were filled with such a strange mischievous light, as if he was looking at pawns on a gameboard.

"You guys are so entertaining to watch fighting, you know?" None of them answered, but Ivar didn't seem to expect anything since he immediately continued."Angrboda, you need to work on your parry. Did you know that you keep exposing your left side?"

Ivar shook his head, tutting in disapproval and then continuing. "You expose your heart too much."

Angrboda frowned, looking at him, not really understanding where that conversation was going. But it was impossible to decipher the entwined combination of emotions that spiralled in his aura.

It was easier to imagine Ivar was just trying to take the piss or to ignite a reaction, more than actually trying to give a useful suggestion.

His eyes moved quickly on Hvitserk. Suddenly, the resentment that spiked in Ivar's emotions was so clear that seemed to punch Angrboda right in the stomach.

"I know why you ran away this morning."

Everyone's confusion was tangible - and Angrboda showed hers as she absorbed everyone else's.

He wasn't just taking the piss.

Ivar had that look on his face. The expression of someone who knew he just won, because he had an upper hand and projected himself so many steps forward than anyone else.

But the main question was why?

He knew why she ran away? How? Did Ubbe say anything? Or did Ivar just assumed that she panicked? How much was Ivar assuming? Or even, how much was he gambling on, not knowing but only pretending, just to get at whatever he was aiming for?

Angrboda understood he was specifically talking to her, even if he looked at Hvitserk for a moment when his attention went back on her, and his eyes filled with meaning.

"Did you know he fucked the slave girl this morning?"

"Ivar, shut up." Hvitserk barked between gritted teeth.

Everyone went quiet.

She was ready to tell Ivar the same, if only her empathy didn't offer her the truth.

The sudden guilt and anger waves that spilled from Hvitserk were proof enough that Ivar wasn't joking or lying.

And the sound of Angrboda's heart shattering in a million pieces racketed loud and clear, as the sudden roar of her rage. Her anger blazed wildly, and Angrboda lost all the control she tried so hard to maintain.

"What?" Her voice rumbled like thunder breaking through the forest, while her attention slowly moved from Ivar to Hvitserk.

She completely ignored the sudden satisfaction Ivar felt in the unravelling of that situation. And definitely, she ignored the possible reasons he could have to say something like that.

It wasn't the time to find out, not now because clearly her priorities were on something else. But definitely later on she made a point to make questions.

Angrboda knew he was well aware of what feelings he was playing with and what reactions his words could arise between her and Hvitserk.

But all of that didn't matter. Ivar's reasons, Hvitserk and Angrboda's feelings for each other, whatever was going on, or could never go on, between them, didn't matter.

Nothing mattered.

But that truth.

Every thought and emotion she had just burned away.

Her anger was for none other than Hvitserk.

"You did what?!"

She knew perfectly she wasn't justified in being angry or possessive over him.

He wasn't hers . And she wasn't entitled to be jealous of who he saw and spent time with. Even if it mattered sharing a bed.

Yet, she was . She was all of that and more.

Pure rage burned through her eyes, fed by pain, resentment, jealousy, disappointment, and by all the fears that had been enraging her from the beginning. It was all mixed up, in her little body, and all exploded towards Hvitserk.

A whirl of wind seemed to rise, around Angrboda and her eyes became darker and darker.

It would have been wise, to be scared of her.

She almost gave everything up for him just the night before. Their fate was moulded once again by Loki, who ripped away the possibility of them having a child, the more she spiralled out of control.

It didn't matter that Angrboda wasn't planning on becoming a mother, that wasn't the point of course.

She could still feel his lips on hers, and she could still taste his kiss on her tongue. His whispering voice demanding her to stay was branded in her brain.

But now, those memories were corrupted as soon as she realised he went with another woman the very next morning.

Her thirst for blood - his blood - grew.

It was a wave of primal anger. No human feeling, but the one of an animal.

Hvitserk's eyes immediately locked with hers, and he raised his hands trying to appease her. "Listen, I..."

"Shut up or I’ll cut your tongue off." Angrboda barked at him. She stepped closer, giving him a push, still holding her weapons in her hands. "You fucked another woman."

"You gave me your blessing, remember?!" Hvitserk pointed his finger at her, answering to her rage, with an equal, sudden feeling. But that just made Angrboda's eyes sparkle with such dimness. She growled at him, almost baring her teeth.

She didn't pay attention to the other brothers. At how Ubbe moved to do something and Sigurd stopped him. And how Ivar was enjoying the havoc he brought.

Angrboda didn't care that they were all just looking at them, being spectators of what was supposed to be a private argument.

"Not with a slave! A slave, Hvitserk!"

She would have been tremendously jealous regardless of the other girl's social position. Angrboda knew it perfectly.

The idea that the man she considered hers could go with another woman was tremendous. And the idea he could eventually love someone else was painful enough to make her wish to feel someone die under her bare hands, knowing it would have felt like a breath of fresh air.

Especially because she knew what kind of lover Hvitserk was. In every kiss, caress, and thrust he would give everything he had. And just the idea he would give himself to someone else was enough to make her want to rip her own heart out of her ribcage.

But she did come to terms with the idea that she needed to let him go, in order to give both of them a chance of a tolerable life; maybe even a decent one.

Though, that was before last night.

Because now, after that, she wasn't expecting to be stabbed in the back in such a way.

Especially with a slave .

She wanted, for Hvitserk, a companion worthy as she was. Not someone who didn't even have the right to freedom.

The problem wasn't even that. Angrboda didn’t hate slaves and didn’t want to feed that type of economy, like her parents tought her. But she needed a specific reason to be pissed off at the woman Hvitserk chose. At that was the most obvious one, and also the only information she had.

She didn't even need to concentrate, to know exactly which girl he had been with. Now that she knew she felt the traces of her pleasure lingering around Hvitserk.

The fact that it was Margrethe made it worse. Way worse. Because Angrboda didn't like her and the idea she touched and possessed what was hers sent her feral.

If she had a clearer mind, she would imagine that Margrethe was actually being smart, getting closer to the brothers. The faster way to freedom was clearly through their hearts.

But Margrethe chose the wrong brother.

And Angrboda wasn't in her right mind. Even blinded by jealousy that wasn't what tipped her off. She was still too shaken by her encounter with Loki.

Hvitserk didn't reply, as if he didn't have any words to give. But his guilt and his pride shouted loud enough.

Angrboda's eyes were so dark now. Her figure seemed to be surrounded by a thin, almost invisible shadow.

In her mind, formed an unconscious thought: she imagined him losing grip on his sword.

And then she wanted to see Hvitserk on the ground.

His sword actually fell and shortly after that, since he was distracted by his weapon slipping away, he lost balance. Maybe it was only because he pushed a foot backwards and didn't set his step properly.

Or maybe it was because she had wished it.

Angrboda followed him, taking advantage.

Like a frenzied beast, she climbed on his chest and threw a punch not caring about the pain that crossed her knuckles crushing against Hvitserk's jaw, but feasting on the fear and pain he felt instead.

And she wanted more. A devilish crazed took over her while all her emotions spiralled out of control.

Angrboda shouted to his face, no words, just pure anger, and resentment.

"You disgust me. Do you hear me?!"

"Angrboda-" Hvitserk tried to stop her, and as soon as his hands touched her, she moved hissing as if his palms just burned through her skin. "Do not fucking touch me. You lost that right."

Angrboda hit him again, this time, using the handle of her dagger, just to hurt him more.

And more.

She selfishly wanted more of his pain.

As she knew he was letting her. Hvitserk didn’t even try to fight back, indulging her anger and his own guilt.

A wild and fiery, dark fury gripped her heart. She wanted to give him the pain she was feeling.

Part of her knew it wasn't possible or necessary and that she needed to gain her control back. But it was easier to ignore her own thoughts.

Angrboda stupidly thought she had control earlier. And that simple training would do the trick to calm her.

She thought to distance herself from her parents to protect them, but never thought about the brothers safety.

All she needed was one of Ivar's pokes to become a beast not even she could recognize.

Angrboda lifted her axe in the air, ready to hit once more and the desperate panic that exploded in Hvitserk aura fed her thirst for chaos.

The more she would receive and absorb, the more she was hungry for blood.

That was the point one of the brothers intervened.

Angrboda plunged her axe, digging its blade deep in the ground just a centimetre away from Hvitserk's head howling like a beast, just a second before being heavily tackled away.

She didn't even recognize which brother scooped her up and forced her away from Hvitserk. But she still tried to fight to get away and go back to her prey.

A tiny rivulet of blood crossed her lips, falling from her nose.

She didn't even realize she was using her powers.

Was she?

It was a matter of fact, that Hvitserk didn’t even try to fight her.

"Angrboda that's enough!" Ubbe gave her a strong shake, bringing her to look at him.

And for a second she didn't recognise him.

That terrified her enough to make her stop moving.

The ice of his irises seemed to vaguely calm the fire that soared her soul.

She didn't try to fight him any longer. But she wasn't done.

Angrboda looked over his shoulder, straight to Hvitserk.

Her eyes were now of a clearer shade of green, but they still seemed to be stirred by flames.

As soon as Hvitserk's eyes crossed with hers, while he got back up helped by Sigurd, trying to control some of the blood that flooded his face with his sleeve, Angrboda spat on the floor.

"I hope she is the one." Angrboda's spiteful growl was a clear warning.

How much else could she suffer that day before snapping?

Or did she reach her breaking point already?

Ubbe aura seeped through her, detaching Angrboda's attention from Hvitserk enough to make her feel his awkwardness but sympathy towards her.

Even if he stepped forward and divided her from Hvitserk, he seemed to be angry at his brother too.

Angrboda tried her best to shut out his feelings, not interested in knowing his point of view.

She had to admit, though, that the further away she found herself from Hvitserk, the clearer her mind seemed to get. It was like if that barrier between her logical and wild side slowly lifted, letting her thoughts and feelings flow back together, like the meeting of tides.

Angrboda inhaled a deep breath finally visibly calming down, and Ubbe seemed to pick on that, loosening his hold over her.

Just when she thought she could try and put her thoughts back together, to analyse the damage she just caused - deserved or not nonetheless, a burst of laughter broke the tension.

It was driven by pure amusement and Angrboda didn't need to strain her abilities to know exactly who had those feelings - who was laughing, finding that whole situation funny. Ivar.

So, just when Angrboda thought she was gaining back control, a new shot of anger sent her blood on fire once again.

Quick like a lash of wind, she escaped from Ubbe's arms and charged. This time, her prey was Ivar.

For the first time in her life, Angrboda wanted him to shut up. Because for whatever reason he spoke up earlier, revealing Hvitserk's choices, she knew it wasn't for loyalty - but for his own entertainment.

No one moved to stop her, and Ivar just watched her come closer, proudly and boldly assuming she wouldn't have done anything to him.

And for the first time his way of being angered her even more.

Angrboda didn't indulge his expectation. She didn't stop or gave him just a threatening, angry speech. Not even a word slipped through her lips. She wiped the proud smile Ivar welcomed her with, with a slap.

The echoing smacking sound of her palm meeting his cheek broke in the training field - and everyone fell silent. Even the chanting of the wind.

Angrboda fixed her green eyes on Ivar and enjoyed watching him turn his head and lower his eyes. Even if just for a second - it was more than enough for her.

Angrboda's body vibrated in fury. She was still deeply shaken by her feelings and the darkness that took her hostage.

She thought it was time to leave. Disappear for a while. Maybe, after all, the forest hut was the only safe place she could have.

Maybe, it has been a mistake to leave in the first place.

She didn't say a word. Not to Ivar, or Hvitserk, or anyone.

She just turned on her heels, ready to march her way back in the deep of the forest and run away.

It wasn't safe for her to be around the brothers - especially for them .

She heard a heavy thud behind her, which Angrboda stupidly decided to ignore, thinking she already had enough for that day, but she couldn't ignore the sudden grip of a firm hand on her ankle.

The pull she received caught her off guard and took her balance.

Angrboda slipped and fell to the ground, with just a split second to see Ubbe taking a step towards her. It happened so quickly she didn't really have the time to think about anything.

She felt another pull, and then she found herself squeezed on the grass by Ivar's entire body weight. He crawled on her back, pressing her down.

"What is wrong with you?!" He snarled at her ear.

For a moment, she wondered if his concern was for her and her unnatural reactions, or if it was for himself and the position she took against him in front of all the brothers.

"No." Angrboda kicked and wiggled, trying her best to free herself from his hold. "What is wrong with you ?!"

"I was trying to make you a favour."

Angrboda jabbed him in the chest, and then again, on his side, doing her best to move him enough so she could free herself, but Ivar reacted quickly, and he was undoubtedly stronger than her.

He might not be able to walk, but dragging his weight around since he was a child gave him an immense brute force in his arms and torso.

So, Ivar moved, pinning himself on a hand as he lifted his torso and with his free hand grabbed her by a shoulder, making her turn on her back, not much caring about the fact that half of her body was still turned the other way.

Angrboda knew perfectly what to do to free herself. She could have kicked him, hard, in the legs - possibly aiming to do as much damage as she could. Or she could have stabbed him since she was still holding her dagger. But she wasn't so desperate. And she had enough grip over herself to control the thirst for violence that sent her crazy earlier.

Even if she chose not to hurt Ivar, she still tried to fight, punching and hitting whatever was reachable.

Until Ivar had enough of it and scooped her wrists in his hand, forcing her in a constraining hold with a grunt.

Ivar pushed her arms down, above her head, and squeezed on the thin bones of her wrists. The shot of discomfort that hold had on her made her lose grip on the weapon.

He leaned closer and looked at her. His stirred seas eyes were hypnotic. It was as if he was searching for something through her irises.

"Are you done?!" He grunted.

She didn't answer with words, but pulled her arms, trying to escape his grip.

Ivar just gave her a shake and kept looking through her eyes. The longer she lost herself in his eyes, the more her anger seemed to dissipate.

Which left room for her pain to grow and steal the show. It was almost as she forgot how much pain she felt. How much despair and fear her situation left her with. And now that her anger was slowly slipping away, like governed and calmed by Ivar, Angrboda was left there once again scared, small, and impotent.

Feeling so helpless and weak overwhelmed her and that pain just bursted, cracking her figure and soul.

Angrboda broke, lowering all her defences, and let Ivar see what anger hid until that point.

And she cried, like the lost child she was.

It was too much.

Not being able to love who she wanted.

Loki threats.

Death breathing on her neck.

The sense of betrayal she felt. And the guilt carried by losing control and actually hurting people.

Ivar let her free, sliding one arm under her back and pulling her in a hug. He even rocked her, quietly shushing her sobs.

Angrboda curled up against him, finding a refuge, in the warm nest his chest offered. She wasn't sure if her sudden feeling of temporary peace and safeness was because of that physical contact, or if it was Ivar himself.

But at that point, it seemed such a small detail not to matter.

Angrboda just cried. So lost in her moment, in her spiralling pain and fears, that she completely missed Ivar's look to his brothers and the smile he particularly reserved to Hvitserk; pure pride vibrated under his skin.

But she was far gone to perceive any of it, or the feelings of the audience surrounding her, for what it mattered.

Angrboda sat on the ground, overlooking the sea of grass of the vast irregular valley that divided the hunting cabin from Kattegat.

Her eyes moved around, absorbing the view and she inhaled the gentle wind, letting the fresh air cleanse her soul.

A fine layer of peace fell between her and all the brothers, after the chaos that exploded earlier in the training field. It was as if everyone was too tired and shaken to react in any other way but just accept what happened and move on.

She and Hvitserk didn’t speak again or even look at each other. They both made sure to stay as far away as possible from each other. Which was a wise and smart move.

Sigurd decided to stay by Hvitserk’s side, helping the brother recover and clean off the excess of blood – Hvitserk would still look beaten up, but at that point, it was a matter of damage control, before they found their way back to Kattegat and had some explaining to do.

Ubbe floated between them all, kind of trying and making sure everyone was ok and order was restored, ready to keep it that way.

As the protector he was, always trying to do the right thing, Ubbe decided to take the fall for Angrboda.

She watched him punch a tree, earlier, just to scar his knuckles enough so it would look like it was him, who hurt his brother in combat.

Because no one would have argued with them hurting each other. But if it came out that Angrboda was the one who lost her mind then she would have quickly found herself in a very difficult position.

And she would bet Aslaug would have resented her for hurting her son.

Angrboda sighed, lowering her head and squeezing herself between her shoulders. Those thoughts were enough to make her guilt crush her.

Let alone everything else that already broke her in the first place.

Ivar sat next to her, like a silent guardian.

He made sure not to leave her side since everything happened, but at least he let her have her peace.

More or less, all the brothers agreed not to let Angrboda alone after she lost her mind both in a violent uncontrollable rage and then with a sudden violent and uncontrollable burst of cries. For protection or supervision – it didn’t matter much which position they stood on.

She felt so empty, now.

Her momentarily peace didn’t feel like it would last. It didn’t even feel like calm itself. It was just lots of nothing flowing into her, while she maniacally tried to make sense out of everything, without managing to hold a grasp on any answer.

“Why, Ivar? Why did you say that, earlier?” She didn’t speak a word in so long, she didn’t even recognize her own voice.

Ivar remained quiet for a second. “You wouldn’t have wanted to know the truth?”

Angrboda shot him a look. “You think I don’t know how much you enjoyed stirring the pot? Please. Don’t pretend you were trying to be helpful.”

“Oh, ok. So, I like to be a bit dramatic sometimes – it doesn’t mean that I genuinely thought you shouldn’t know the truth.”

“I-” Did she? Or was it better to be ignorant? “How did you know, then?” Angrboda lowered her eyes, not sure she wanted the answer, yet questioning anyway.

“Because I saw them.”

“You saw them. Just casually?”

“Yes. As much as I saw Ubbe having sex with the slave girl first. I guess I was just in the right place at the right time.”

“With Ubbe-”

“Yep.”

Angrboda thanked the void that dug into her, because if her anger was still as tangible as before, she would have definitely lost her mind again.

Whatever Margrethe game was, and however smart it could seem, the thought she wasn’t even interested entirely, completely, just in Hvitserk made Angrboda want to break something. Possibly bones.

It was clear that Ivar chose his words and the truths to say carefully – not guided by a candid spirit and absolutely needing to say the truth. Possibly, with Ivar, it was the opposite. And she was too tired and too empty to be willing to investigate further on about why he knew who his brothers fucked.

Angrboda clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth. She didn’t answer any further. Her eyes just wandered on the valley in front of her, with her irises matching the colour of tall grass dancing with the wind.

“I know you’re close to Hvitserk – we all know. As much as I know you were with him last night.”

“And how would you know that?”

With her gasp and immediate defensive reaction, a smile crossed Ivar’s lips, while he gave her a look. “I assumed. And you just confirmed it. So yes, I thought you needed to know the truth.”

“I don’t think it was your place.”

“I don’t think it matters what’s my place, does it? And you know I do what I want anyway.”

Angrboda turned to him, shooting another glare. She wasn’t grateful, nor resented him. She was just unsettled. “I felt your pride and amusement, Ivar. I felt it towards my reaction. You were playing with me.”

He fell quiet and looked away. But his body language remained calm and relaxed.

Angrboda could feel his mind moving as his emotions form in his aura.

“I was angry at you because of how you left this morning. It pissed me off – and I am sure you know it did. I don’t like being cut out like that.”

“I had my reasons.”

Finally, some silence fell between them. It was awkward and surprisingly loud – but at least for a while, none of them said anything.

Of course, Angrboda's reasons to behave as she did earlier in the morning were valid.

Like Loki’s threat, knowing perfectly he would have stricken sooner or later. She needed to distance herself as much as she could from everyone. All just for a kiss and a resting hug with a man she wasn’t supposed to love.

Of course, she didn’t say anything about all of that. It was her burden to carry.

And the fact that Ivar ceased with his questions and assumptions for a while meant more to her than anyone would understand.

Ivar wasn’t the kind of person who would leave any advantage to anyone. He would take and take anything he could just to give him some sort of power over others. But he didn’t, now.

He left her space.

Angrboda sighed, freeing her lungs up of all their air and her mind of her thoughts.

She was glad he didn’t try to investigate any further, because he was too smart and would quickly think and dangerously risk to assume the right thing.

And her secrets with the Gods were not for anyone else to know.

If he guessed too close to know how things worked, then it was like she broke the sacred secret herself. And she would be held responsible.

After a few minutes, which felt like hours, Ivar broke the silence. Predictable. “I want to know one thing, though – do you love Hvitserk?”

Angrboda froze, thoughts and body.

Suddenly she became made of stone and a cold shiver crossed her back.

She didn’t even allow herself to think about the real answer and lied regardless because it was the only thing she could do. Afraid any other thought or answer would burn her alive. “ No .”

“No? Ok, I’ll accept it even if we both know it’s a load of horseshit.”

“What’s your point?” Angrboda snapped, turning towards Ivar.

It was to be expected to find him waiting for her with his usual annoying proud smile printed on his face. In his eyes glimpsed the usual sparkle of light that would mean he had a plan that was perfectly unravelling its events in front of him as he designed them. “I have a proposition for you.”

Angrboda just looked at him, waiting for Ivar to go on talking. He would have said what he had to anyway, regardless of her answer.

“I can offer you a way to get back at Hvitserk. If you still want vengeance for his disrespect, that is.”

Did she still want vengeance? Or was her violent outburst earlier enough to satisfy her and feed her guilt forever?

For some reason, the longer she looked at Ivar, and more his words seeded in her mind, the more she remembered the echoes of her anger towards Hvitserk.

“What way?”

“You could let me take you.”

Angrboda just sat there, looking at him. It took her a second to understand his words. And if his sentence could have some space for error, his look was unmistakable. His eyes burned with decision. But that was everything she could pick off his aura.

“ Take me . You want to take me.”

Angrboda broke in a nervous laugh, that slowly quieted down as soon as she realized how serious Ivar was about it.

He looked away, leaning his head backwards, letting the pale light of the sunset kiss his features.

“All my brothers went with a woman already. I didn’t. So, I want that experience too.” He spoke with softness and patience that seemed otherwise alien to his ways.

“You could have any woman you want. You are a Son of Ragnar.”

“Yes. But I want you . Did you ever take a moment to think about the reason why any of us didn't ever try to get on with you?”

“I didn’t pay attention.” It was the truth. She never cared. She never intended to have anyone's attention if not Hvitserk's, and she never looked for it from anyone else.

“Then you’re naïve. It’s because everyone thought you were Hvitserk’s.”

“I’m no one’s.”

“Precisely. How outrageous would it be, that I was the other one who had you, between my brothers. Uh? Can you imagine it?”

“Ivar-”

“I’ll be honest. I don’t want any simple woman, you know me, that wouldn’t be enough. But you. I would prove something. And you would prove something. Everyone’s happy.”

Angrboda remained silent, while his words moulded in her mind, making somehow sense.

He wasn’t wrong.

He could have any woman he wanted – and no woman would have ever said no to a Son of Ragnar because of the position they had in their society. But Angrboda wasn’t any woman, she had status, and all the brothers considered highly of her, clearly, or she wouldn’t stand where she is.

So she could understand where Ivar wanted to go with his plan and how much pride and respect – so to speak – he could gain.

But what about her?

Did she want to hurt Hvitserk so deeply?

Yes .

Was she that loyal to Ivar to do such a service?

Yes .

Part of her thought about the honour she would receive.

But would it be so great to cover the possible shame the other part of her could possibly feel?

Shame ? Of what ?

She was a free woman. A powerful woman. On the way to become a shieldmaiden. Her freedom stretched in every decision Angrboda could take. Even picking a lover.

And Ivar the Boneless, son of Ragnar Lothbrok, descendent of Odin, was a man strong enough and worth more than any, to be chosen for that purpose.

Angrboda's spirit was suddenly moved to look at him, pushed by a force she didn’t recognize.

He met her eyes, and while she studied his features, seeing him under a different perspective now, she wondered how far he actually intended to push himself.

What was going on in his mind?

She even thought to herself, in a deep and hidden side of her, what could be the taste of his lips? A fugitive thought that was negated as soon as she recognized it.

She knew how deeply rooted her feelings for any brother were. Even with their discrepancies. But she never saw any of them as a lover, besides Hvitserk.

She wouldn't have let any of them speak to her so bluntly like Ivar just did. But of course, he was her exception. As for many other things.

And what an honour to be offered his virginity . A gift from a man who wouldn’t bound for anyone.

The wind carried the howling of a wolf that sang to her ear. It felt lost in space and time, coming from any direction and from nowhere at the same time.

Somehow she knew it was no wolf, but Loki whispering to her.

So used to feel his warnings, she almost didn’t recognize the strength and confidence the God just offered her.

“If that is your wish. Then I will accept.”

Ivar moved quickly, taking her chin between his fingers. The hold of his gloved hand was rude as he forced her to look at him straight in the eye.

His eyes were so blue, so enchanting, moved by a determination that made her tremble.

“Tell me you want it.” His pride spiked in his soul.

He clearly didn’t want her to be docile and compliant, but to choose. To choose him .

And she knew he wanted to hear those words even if they didn’t mean what he wanted them to mean. But Angrboda obliged anyway. "I want you to take me."

Ivar answered her just with a smile that shined bright reflecting his ego, like his eyes.

Absorbing the wave of such a powerful feeling was overwhelming. She knew he would get absolutely drunk in it, basking into the idea of what he just obtained. Won , like a prize.

She wondered if that was his plan from the beginning. If that was what he aimed to do all along. Or if he was truly willing to give himself to her just to help.

Angrboda didn't have any way of knowing. Sometimes Ivar was too difficult to read, because his emotions could mean everything and nothing at the same time.

One thing was sure. Angrboda just felt like she made an unbreakable promise. An unchangeable choice which she felt in her blood and bones, could change everything.

She wondered if Loki would curse her for that as well.

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procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 3 years ago

Text

Floki’s Cabin

Prompt: “ just trust me. please. ”

You staggered down the muddy slopes that led to Floki’s old and abandoned cabin. With Hvitserk gone, there was nothing holding you back from leaving Kattegat. You were sure that you would be dead for being on Ivar’s side if you were just a little bit more known and important.

Instead, your unimportance had meant that you left Kattegat as soon as Björn entered it and occasionally sneaked in for news. You were by no means a shieldmaiden, but you knew the plants in the forest and had developed some skill at stealing. You weren’t proud of who you’d become, but you had no choice.

Now you’d heard that Hvitserk had been exiled from Kattegat, and you were determined to find him. You’d met the prince when Ivar had taken Kattegat and the two of you began talking when he was angry at his brother, sulking off somewhere in the city.

You, on the other hand, had used the nights to escape your family’s squabbles and fights. When your help wasn’t required in the house, you fled it.

With your family dead and you unwelcome in Kattegat, you had tried to wrack your brain on where Hvitserk would go upon exile and remembered about the boatmakers cabin he talked about sometimes.

You stumbled over a tree root for the second time and mud ruined your dress even more, but finally you could see the house he’d spoken of.

Finally, you stood at the door. It wasn’t locked, and the cabin seemed empty at first glance, but when you pushed it open, you saw Hvitserk huddled in a corner, dried blood on his face and tangled, matted hair sticking to his head.

“Hvitserk?” you asked into the dark. He didn’t respond, but you heard him shivering.

With a sigh, you tried to light a fire. After what seemed like an eternity, the kindling finally began to catch fire. You walked closer to Hvitserk, who shrank back.

“I’m not here to hurt you Hvitserk. You should come closer to the fire.” You explained. He nodded and moved closer. He flinched as your stomach growled because of hunger. It was pathetic. He was pathetic. So were you.

After making sure Hvitserk would neither burn the house down nor die from anything else, you settled down on the floor in the other corner of the house, trying to sleep.

…

The sun was only beginning to rise as you startled awake from another nightmare. As you glanced over, you saw that Hvitserk was either dead, asleep, or unconscious, whether it was from drugs or the bottle in his hands, you weren’t sure.

Carefully, you crept over to him and sighed in relief as you heard his uneven breaths. Then, you took the bottle from his hands, being met with no resistance. You went outside and threw the bottle into the forest, hoping he wouldn’t find it.

You trudged back inside, taking a bucket, and pulling the tub over the floor, ignoring the loud, scraping sound it made. Still, Hvitserk was asleep.

Bucket after bucket of ocean water was emptied into the tub and the sun rose continuously as Hvitserk slept and you changed into an old, frayed dress that you’d found in a chest. There was nothing to eat and though you had found a bow in the house, you didn’t know how to use it and doubted Hvitserk would be able to. No food then.

Shaking Hvitserk awake proved fruitless, so you tried to make the cabin more livable. You were sick of not having a roof over your head and even if Hvitserk didn’t want it, you’d use the cabin for yourself.

You sat on the singular fur you’d found, enjoying the fire that was finally burning, when Hvitserk woke up.

Your friend didn’t seem to notice you, instead he frantically began to search for the bottle you’d thrown out, before vomiting all over the floor.

“Good morning to you too.” You said, and he whipped his head around.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came here yesterday and made sure you didn’t freeze to death. You don remember do you?” you asked, and he shook his head. You sighed and picked up the remains of a cloth, beginning to clean up his vomit. He only stared at you.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“To take care of a friend. And because this is a good place to live.”

“You’re not living in Kattegat.” He said, narrowing his eyes.

“I don’t mind being alive, so no. You should get into the tub, Hvitserk, you need to clean yourself.”

“Ivar sent you to kill me.” He accused you. You whipped around, angry.

“He did not.”

Hvitserk grabbed ahold of your arm. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know. I came for you, not to kill you Hvitserk.”

“Liar!” he yelled.

“Look at you! You’re pathetic, just like me. I could’ve killed you while you were asleep, but instead I’m cleaning your vomit away. What kind of killer does that? My family is dead, and I had to leave Kattegat because I was friends with you. Surely you remember that!” you yelled.

More quietly, you added. “Just trust me. Please. I’m not here to hurt you. You’re my friend Hvitserk, my only friend and I need you to survive because I don’t know how to take care of myself in the wild or how to fight, and you need me to get better.”

Hvitserk sniffled, eyes red from alcohol. He was about to cry. You stood and offered him a hand. He eyed you, obviously wary, but eventually, he took ahold of your hand. You pulled him up and he stumbled into you.

“We can get through this, okay?” you said, looking at him, a hand on his shoulder. He nodded.

…

The house was significantly cleaner and warmer when Hvitserk pulled an old tunic over his head, finally not smelling like alcohol or vomit. He stared at you.

“I still don’t understand why you’re here.” He mumbled.

You took his face into your hands, ignoring the feelings you had for Hvitserk for a long time. “You’re my friend.” You repeated firmly.

When he kissed you, you wanted to enjoy the kiss and ignore all the shit around you, but you pushed him away.

“I don’t think you mean that Hvitserk.” You said sadly. He opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off. “You need to get better first. Then, maybe, if you still want me, you can kiss me again. But right now, I need you to get better, so we don’t die from hunger.”

He nodded and you handed him the bow. He raised an eyebrow, and put it back, taking your hand instead. That night, the meagre catch of fish and the few plants you’d gotten felt like the grandest feast you could imagine.

#Hvitserk #hvitserk x y/n #hvitserk x reader #alcohlism #prompts #vikings #bjorn #ivar

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popcorn1989 · 2 years ago

Text

7: You are the better Dad

Characters: Floki and Ragnar

Warning: Blood, Death, Murder, Mugging, Robbery

Words: 2148

Look here for the related short stories or for other stories: Here

Floki glanced over the longship's edge, having decided to follow Ragnar again. New lands, good booty and lots of gold, Ragnar promised his people. Floki had to build ten more boats for this voyage, he had no problem with that, but now Ragnar had 35 longships and Floki wondered for the first time, where Ragnar really wanted to go. That he didn't tell him, made him sad, but also curious. He looked away from the water and watched the fifteen men, including Ragnar. He was sitting on the prow looking out to sea, holding his ax and turning it now and then. Many men were busy rowing, others were taking a break.

Floki turned around briefly, so he could see the other longships. He was proud of himself, the new ships were just as fast as the others, he had built long ago. They only stood out from the fresh color. Floki had always built ships for Ragnar, but after the first ships, Ragnar brought him people who were interested to learn and help. "Floki" he startled when he heard his name and turned around, Ragnar stood in front of him and watched now also the other ships "Good work, as always" Floki smiled and wrapped the cloak more around his body. "525 man, Floki" - "Not enough if you're going to ambush a king" - "No, not a king, but he'll definitely make big eyes" - "Where are we going, Ragnar?"

Ragnar sighed, and a smile spread across his face. "You all are always so curious, even you Floki. Why can't you just follow your king without asking questions?” He hung the ax on his belt and sat down next to him. His piercing blue eyes met Floki briefly before Ragnar sniffed and reached for a leather pouch, that was stacked with others. Floki watched as he took out an apple and handed it to him, he took it. Floki bit into the apple, he hadn't eaten much in days, supplies were scarce when going on a long journey. He wanted to ask Ragnar again, but he acted first. "Have you heard of King James the Second?" Floki's eyes widened, and he looked at his friend and shook his head . "No," he said quietly.

"He's the King of the land," Ragnar said, biting off a large chunk of his apple and then looking back at Floki. "The country of Scotland, have you ever heard of it?" Floki thought for a moment, but then shook his head again. Ragnar grinned widely. "You'll see it for yourself soon, my friend," he said, patting his shoulder. "But I don't intend to attack the king, but a village with a monastery, Floki. You know how many treasures a monastery has.” Floki grinned and nodded, yes he didn't know why, but the monasteries had the best treasures. Flokis grinned and looking at Ragnar questioningly. "Why didn't you take your sons with you?"

Ragnar gave him a quick look before glancing up at the sky "The boys aren't ready yet" - "But Ragnar, the boys are at an age, where we've both been at sea" Ragnar threw the leftover apple into the sea and looked at Floki again "Perhaps you are right, my friend. But Ivar will never be ready for it” - “But, he's learned a lot” - “I said no” Ragnar's face froze, but only for a brief moment. "I know that Aslaug entrusted my son to you. That you should teach him." Floki looked at his feet and didn't know what to say to that. It was true that Floki should teach the little Ivar to be a real Viking. "You don't deny it" - "No, why should I" - "You know, that I wanted to get rid of him. I didn't want to give him a chance."

Floki nodded, anyone would have done it, and he couldn't be sure if he hadn't done it too. "You were and are a better father to him than I am" Floki slowly shook his head "No, I don't think so" Ragnar put a hand on his shoulder again "Be a good friend and father to him, Floki" He stood up and Floki saw at him "You are the better Dad" Floki wanted to say something again, but then someone shouted "LAND" Ragnar turned and ran to the bow of the ship, Floki got up too, he just had to see the land with his own eyes. Even from a distance he recognized the huge cliffs on which small houses stood, and a large monastery could be seen. Small white spots covered the green meadows, Floki knew they were sheep, but from afar they looked like big flowers. A big smile appeared on his face.

The closer they got with the ships, the more he could see. Most of the houses had thatched roofs, the monastery consisted of a medium-sized stone castle, larger than the ones they had previously robbed, how much gold must be hidden there. It seemed to him that these people did not expect an attack because they had neither fences nor walls. He didn't know how people could be so gullible. He estimates the number of people there to be around 300. They won't realize what's happening to them. However, they had to drive around the cliffs first to find land, and by then people might see them.

"Floki, what are you thinking," Ragnar yelled, looking up the rocky cliff. "It's perfect," Floki yelled at him. Ragnar looked at him and smiled widely, then nodded. But then Floki remembered something, he went to the bow. "We shouldn't use the horns, until we're on land and reach the village." Ragnar looked at him, he could clearly see Ragnar thinking about this. "And how do we tell our people that we are docking here?" Floki gave a short laugh. "Let me do it," he said, and walked back to the stern, shouting at the first ship, that was close. "No horns, we're going ashore here" the man nodded to him and also went to the stern and so the news spread like wildfire, most were surprised, but all knew what to do.

"Your plan worked, they didn't see us coming and thanks to your plan not to use the horns, they're all going about their daily lives. How many horns do we have?” Ragner asked when they had approached the village, they were all lying in the grass and watching the people, they were talking, in a funny language. Children played, old people sit on benches and watched the women's. "35 horns, if we use them at the same time, most of them will get scared or flee," said Floki, watching a monk come out of the monastery, he was wearing a white cloak, his brown hair was combed back neatly, he had one straight nose and blue eyes bright in the sun He was athletically built Floki looked at Ragnar in disgust "Do you think, we shouldn't use them?" - "These are not warriors, Ragnar, it will be an easy game. Like the very first time"

Ragnar grinned evilly. "Let's scare people a bit, maybe they surrender and most of them willingly give us their gold." Floki nodded as he looked back at the monk, he was talking to a woman and running his fingers through her hair making a Christian sign before she disappeared again, the monk looking after her, very pleased. "Your decision, Ragnar," he said, his goal already in sight. Ragnar raised his hand and as he pointed it to the ground, the people who had a horn got up and blew into it, Floki being one of them. Floki saw the priest look up startled, his gaze met Floki's and Floki was happy at the startled sight. He let go of the horn, but it didn't fall, he had it slung around his shoulders with a leather rope, and he was grinning at the monk.

Ragnar stood up and raised his hand once more, his grin evil and full of greed, as he lowered his arm again, the 525 Vikings ran and killed anyone who stood in their way. Floki ran too, he ran as fast as his feet could carry him, ax held high, in passing he had to slay a man standing in his way, but Floki followed the fleeing monk, who ran into the monastery, however he couldn't close the door, Floki ran full force against the door and opened it. The monk fell hard to the ground, Floki grinned evilly at him. He stood in the doorway, making sure no one could close it, and was soon joined by Ragnar.He enters the monastery and whistles "Look at that, Floki," he said and turned to him, he spread his arms and started to laugh.

"Have you seen anything like this before?" Floki shook his head, there was adornment on the walls of the monastery and statues everywhere, even made of gold. The monk, still lying on the floor, had crawled against the wall and was now looking from Ragnar to Floki and back. Floki noticed that even his robe had gold thread embroidered on it. "God will judge you, barbarians," he said, grasping the cross that hung around his neck. "God will punish you, for your sins." Ragnar looked at him and crouched in front of him. "You know, I heard everything, I'm not afraid of your god," he said, looking at Floki, who was walking towards him, holding the ax over his head. "No, no, no, Floki, wait a minute." Ragnar said and looked at the monk.

"Tell me, my friend, why do you speak our language?" he asked as his men stormed the monastery. Floki looked at the monk, inside he was angry, another monk? He hoped Ragnar wouldn't do it again. "We learn it here, we learn the language of other countries in order to bring our God closer to them." Floki gave a short laugh and raised the ax again, but Ragnar raised his hand. "What is your name, my friend?" - "I am not your friend, you are barbarians, people who do not honor the name of our God" - "I once knew a monk, he was one of my best friends and taught me a lot” Ragnar gave Floki a stony look. He couldn't hide his anger anymore. "I don't believe you and neither will Jesus Christ, you devil" the monk said, his blue eyes shifting from Floki to Ragnar. The monk pressed his lips together. "God will protect me," he spoke again, out of breath.

Floki was now pacing behind Ragnar, he didn't know why Ragnar was so keen to talk to this monk, you could clearly hear how crazy they all were. "God always has a hand over us, you can't do anything to us," he continued and Floki could hardly contain himself, he gave a short laugh. "You'll be fine, I promise, what's your name?" The monk looked at Floki before looking back at Ragnar. "My name is Chris Fulton, and as long as I live, I will tell you that..." Ragnar's face spurted blood as Floki's ax split the monk's head in half. Ragnar wiped the blood from his face, stood up, pulled the ax out of the young monk's head and held it out to Floki. Floki took a deep breath as he took her. "You're not into monks, are you, Floki?" said Ragnar turned and disappeared into the monastery.

Floki twisted his face into an angry mask, looked back at the monk, he could see his brain. He will never think and say such stupid things again – he thought to himself before he left the monastery. Outside lay the bodies of men, women and children, nobody had surrendered, some women were tied up by the Vikings and taken to the ships, they are sold on as slaves. Floki didn't feel like it anymore, he slowly walked with the men who had made booty to the ships and waited there for the others and Ragnar.

It was getting dark by the time the last men reached the ships. Floki was standing by a boat, one foot on it, carving on a piece of wood, he had waited so long that a small horse's head had formed. "Here Floki," Ragnar said and patted his upper arm "Take this and give it to your son" Floki took a gold chain from Ragnar's hand "I don't have a son" he said in amazement and looked at Ragnar, his blue eyes even shone in the dark . "I mean Ivar, give it to Ivar," he said, jumping into the longship. "That was fat loot. Stow everything on the ships, and then we'll sail home" he shouted. Floki twirled the necklace in his finger and grinned at the thought of Ivar, he had never considered him as his son, but with Ragnar's approval, the thought stuck in his head.

End

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thyshadowwriter · 3 years ago

Text

Lost & Found. Chapter 3.

Ivar Ragnarsson x oc.

Summary: being rescued by Helga in one of the raids and reluctantly tolerated by Floki, a young girl finds herself amidst a strange place with strange people, but if adapting to the cultural shock wasn't hard enough, catching the attention of the volatile and beloved son of the Queen would soon prove to be the ultimate proving. That is if she realizes just how much being around prince Ivar is walking on thin ice.

Author's note: family dynamics and fluff.

Tagging: @youbloodymadgenius

Understandment is hard when you can't speak to each other, but gestures may reach further than words.

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A few weeks after they returned, Floki's home had fallen into a strangely peaceful routine.

Floki would do his work, busy with Bjorn's request, while Helga would teach Revna their language for hours a day, every day, their voices being background noise for him.

Helga was radiant with joy. She loved taking care of Revna, spending a lot of time combing the long hair and doing beautiful and intricate braids while talking to her, to which Revna would sometimes reply and even if they couldn't understand each other an odd sort of dialogue would emerge.

While this arrangement made Floki uneasy, he could be thankful for his wife's happiness, she hasn't been happy in a long time. Even if happiness was a passing moment, it hurt him that Helga carried so much sorrow, most of which, if not all, he knew to be his fault.

Now, Revna was sitting on the chair shaking her leg and looking down, Floki occasionally looked at her and he didn't need to understand her words to understand her lately. She wasn't allowed outside yet and that was getting to her.

Helga came with a bowl of stew for Revna and tried to hand it to her.

"Here, I brought you food." Helga said to Revna.

She looked at the food then turned her head away to the floor and continued shaking her leg.

"You need to eat to get better, please." Helga tried to reason with her.

Revna answered with a small grunt, resting her head on her hand.

"What is it, my dear? You were doing so well." Helga said to her stroking her hair.

The girl didn’t answer, but Floki did it for her:

"She's bored, Helga. I think she wants to go out."

The realization dawned on Helga, making her smile kindly to the girl, carefully caressing her head. Poor thing, she had every right to be bored, but Helga wanted her to get stronger before facing the city.

Helga sat behind Revna and cupped her face, making the girl look at her. She spoke softly, trying to make her understand:

"I know you're bored, but you need to get strong before I show you Kattegat" she gestured to the door "I'll show you everywhere, but please, keep eating well and get better."

The girl studied her face for a while, then gave her a pout but accepted the food. She ate slowly and in small portions, an empty stare in her eyes.

That was good, Helga thought, that was great. She begged the gods for another child and they gave her one, a beautiful girl that she had already fallen in love with and would do everything in her power to protect.

Not long after, the door swung open and Ivar came into their room, dragging himself until he was inside and on his usual spot like that was his second home, which has been since the day his mother brought him there.

"Hello, Floki. Hello Helga." Ivar greeted them.

"Ivar." Floki greeted him back, spotting right away the faux innocent smile the young prince had whenever he was up to be a pain in someone’s ass.

Ivar turned his attention to the girl, who was eating and either uncaring or ignoring his presence.

"Revna." He said her name with a slight pitch to his voice and squinting at her. He had her name memorized from the odd fit it made for her, but mainly it was for the fact she slapped his hand. No one in their right mind would dare to do it, and no one that ever as much as said something wrong to Ivar got to live much longer, let alone someone stupid enough to try their luck against him, those he took delight in dealing with. Though to Revna, he probably was just a harmless cripple. Ignorance is bliss, he thought.

Revna, apparently taken back from her thoughts, looked at him. Her dark eyes gazing upon him with a spark of curiosity and interest. She had memorized his face after his first visit, how could she not? The complete stranger with very blue eyes, pale skin and a fingertips rough and calloused like the ones found on peasants, slaves or warriors. This complete stranger that touched her like it was normal or acceptable, the nerve!

The voice in her mind screamed: ‘Was it normal to him?’, “Is this normal these strange people I’m living with?’, ‘Was that how he acted around outsiders?’, ‘What am I even doing here?’, ‘What will they do to me?’ Questions, questions, they came and went in circles for all these days.

But she put a stop to them for now, like it or not, for good or ill, he was the only other sight she had other than the couple, she could indulge in a quick distraction from the walls of the home she was living in that were starting to feel smaller by each day.

"Ivar." She said, looking straight at him, trying to pronounce what she inferred to be his name as best as she could. Adding a pitch to her pronunciation, just like he did, just because she could.

His eyes widened and he tilted his head to the side, stare fixed on her and her every minimal movement. He was sincerely surprised that she actually spoke directly at him.

His name on her lips was carried by a foreign accent, it sounded different, almost like it belonged to someone else, but her gaze on him, with expectancy in her eyes and a hint of pride on the corners of her lips turned slightly upward left no doubt she indeed meant him.

Ivar heard her before, annoyed and agitated at his first visit, so he hoped to have the same effect, but now that she spoke camly, trying to pronounce his name correctly and seemingly proud of herself for it, she threw him off balance. He had expected the annoyance she had from before, he expected her disgust at him as she wasn't pleased with his touch, why would she want the hands of a cripple on her? He even expected fear from her, but he didn't expect to hear his name slow and soft on her lips, he didn’t expect to hear her trying to reach out for him and how his own name would sound so foreign coming from her lips.

He wanted her to say it again, wanted to hear the strange way his name sounded from her, but he didn’t know how to demand it, so he nodded at her, not really knowing what to say, not that it would matter. She probably wouldn’t understand him anyway.

Revna smiled proudly to herself, a beautiful smile, if he had to say anything, he mimicked her smile shyly, though he quickly felt self conscious under her gaze and looked away, trying to find somewhere other than her eyes to look at, but nothing seemed to quite hold his attention.

Ivar felt as Revna looked away from him and continued to eat, he glanced a few times at her, the shy smile he held gone as she paid him no further attention. He noticed, however, how her legs began shaking in a slow, lazy rhythm. A stream of thoughts began in his mind: ‘Is she playing with me?’, ‘Is she bothered by my presence?’, ‘Does she pity me?’, a frown forming on his face with each thought.

He turned his attention to Helga, who was distracted with the girl's hair:

"I haven't seen her around yet. Why? When are you going to show her off?” he made a pause before adding the last part venomously “Unless she is to be a house slave."

"She's no slave, Ivar. We're adopting her." Helga corrected him, a tad annoyed at the slave mention.

"Then why haven't I seen her outside, hm? If she's to live here as a free woman, then she needs to know her way around."

"It's too soon yet. She doesn't speak our language."

"It’s not too soon, it’s been weeks! And if all the problem is that she doesn’t speak our language, then it’s another reason to do it. She'll learn much faster by experience."

"I'll take her out when she's ready." Helga answered a bit tense. She didn't want to go into detail of why she was so careful but she also didn’t want to lie to Ivar, who by the frown seemed to be growing angry.

"She seems ready enough." He said pointing to her legs.

Revna stopped shaking her legs, staring at Ivar wide eyed and lips slightly parted as she just took the spoon from her mouth. She arched an eyebrow looking lost as a puppy in the forest. Good, Ivar thought. Revna then looked confused from him to Helga, who caressed her face reassuringly.

"So, why don't you take her outside?" Ivar insisted.

Helga couldn't find an answer to stop Ivar's questioning and looked to her husband for help. Floki seemed entertained, holding a smile of his own, but as soon as he felt his wife’s eyes on him and her silent plea he intervened.

"Since when do you care about things that don't involve you?" Asked Floki.

"What?" Ivar countered astonished, "What do you mean by it? Of course it involves me. I was in this home before her, I have a say in whether she can stay or not."

"Is that so?” Floki said amused, “In this case what your mighty self has to say?"

Without missing a beat and with a self assured tone that didn’t transpired his shyness just a moment ago, he answered:

"I say this girl better adapt to our ways else she brings the wrath of the gods down on us..."

"The gods love her, Ivar. They gave her to me." Helga interrupted him. She realized the mistake as soon as the words left her mouth.

"How can you be so sure?" He inquired, renewed curiosity in his eyes.

"I just know it."

"If you say..." he eyed her suspiciously, before continuing to Floki, "...I say she better learn manners. No one should dare to hit a prince and go off unscathed."

Floki chuckled from his spot then said:

"You deserved that one. You could have used some other way of introducing yourself rather than touching someone you’ve never seen before and is not here as a slave. However, I thank the gods for letting me witness your face that day."

"You old fool..."

"Ivar. Be patient with her." Helga said to Ivar softly. She was very aware of how badly he took insults, even when none existed.

"I am patient,” he countered, “but the girl needs manners."

"Ivar..." Called Floki.

Ivar sighed before continuing:

"However, I am willing to forgive her for you,” he said looking at Helga “and an apology from the girl, once she learns how to speak our language, of course."

"Ivar, she's just a child, give her some time, I'm sure she'll adapt." Said Helga, looking at Ivar while she tied the end of one of the braids on Revna's hair.

Ivar lived with them long enough to see she truly wanted that girl to be part of their lives. He had seen the glimpses of sadness throughout his upbringing, the lost gaze Helga had when she thought no one was looking, the unsettling feeling that lurked under the surface when she saw mothers with their newborn babies. Perhaps the surprise wasn't that she took a girl to raise, but that she took that long to do it.

But he loathed the idea that in Floki’s home would live someone that would regard him in the same way the rest of Kattegat did, an outsider to add insult to injury.

"If you say, I'll try to tolerate her. If at least she can pretend to not be annoyed whenever I’m here.” Ivar said as he pointed to Revna.

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what about her shaking her legs was irritating him. If it was the repetitive pattern, the slow rhythm, the proximity of her feet to him, or what was to him, a clear display of her displeasure with his presence. Though why would she have smiled at him with that beautiful smile if she was annoyed by him?

‘She’s playing you’, His own mind answered the question.

Both Helga and Floki looked to each other confused as to what he meant, Floki being the one that asked:

"What do you mean by that? She doesn’t even know who you are to be annoyed at you."

He pointed to Revna’s legs, this time the girl didn’t even bother to look at him and continued eating as if there wasn’t an annoyed young man pointing at her for no reason at all. Which bothered Ivar even more.

Floki couldn’t help but laugh. It was like he was a naughty child again that got all pouty and angry until he got things his way. At least he didn’t scream anymore. Not as frequently at least. His boy was maturing.

"She's bored, Ivar. Been like that for a few days, it has nothing to do with you." Floki made a point to emphasize the last part.

Ivar stared at Floki speechless. His eyes open wide, darting from Floki to the surroundings as his lips parted, which pretty much told the boatbuilder that the young prince hadn’t considered a possibility that didn’t involve him. He then rolled his head before asking:

"Then what have you been doing with her all this time?"

"We’ve been taking care of her, Ivar. Teaching and getting her used to us before she faces the others." Answered Helga.

Ivar pondered her words for a while, then agreed with her.

"What does she do in her spare time?"

Floki was quick to answer that one:

"Snoops around the house, messes up my tools… Oh, she also has a fondness for magic tricks, they make her happy like a child."

"Really?”

“Yes. I’ve done a few for her and it never fails to get her attention.”

“That’s childish.”

“She is a child, Ivar. It’s no surprise at all.”

Ivar looked like he just realized what Floki said to him. Turning his attention back to Revna as she looked around the house with that same little pout on her lips. He had of course noticed she was young when he first saw her and when he touched her face. Younger than him, in fact. Skin too soft and face still with some roundess to it, but he didn’t stop to consider what that would mean. Of course she would be like that being so young and housebound, he knew the feeling all too well from the days and days and more days he had to be inside his home because he was too sick to go out without serious risk of breaking his bones.

Looking to Helga, who hadn’t got her hands away from Revna, he knew that was her doing. ‘Why won’t she let the girl out? She’s not crippled.’ was what he thought. He knew it was her because she had the same look his mother had when she would smother him with her love as if he was still a baby and not let him do anything food himself, which only got worse when his eyes would turn blue. He loved his mother more than anyone and anything else, but he hated feeling useless.

Maybe that was what Revna felt. He was strangely relieved to not be the reason for her annoyance. At least not this time.

Then a silly idea crossed his mind. He reached for a pouch of leather he carried and took a coin from it, he then got a bit closer to Revna and touched her foot. The girl gasped startled but relaxed when she looked down at Ivar, who expectantly tried to measure her reactions to him. She tilted her head and arched her eyebrow inquisitively at him, which coupled with the cute pout on her lips made for an adorable sight. He beckoned her to come closer to him.

“Go on, my dear.” Said Helga to Revna as she looked to Helga for permission.

Revna got off of the chair and sat on the floor close to Ivar, close enough to be within arm’s reach, but not close enough to accidentally brush her legs against his, she then rested her hands on her lap and looked at him with curiosity. He studied her expression carefully, searching for the all too familiar signs of pity and disgust but found none of those. Even though he noticed she kept a distance, he was pleased she sat near him.

He then showed her the coin, playing with it between his fingers deftly, she giggled, trying to follow the coin with her eyes and relaxing a bit from her position. He then halted his movements, holding the coin between his index and middle finger, Revna froze in her position as soon as he stopped and looked from the coin to his very blue eyes. There it was, that beautiful smile together with an innocent shine in her eyes.

He then put the coin flat against the palm of his hand, closing both of them into fists and bringing them close to his lips, he didn’t take his eyes off her, enjoying her full attention as she looked from his fists to his eyes. He blew air against his fists and slowly opened them, showing her the palms of his hands, the coin nowhere she could see.

Revna looked at him, giggling happily with a wide smile, a smile Ivar found to be quite beautiful and contagious, making him smile himself, although more reservedly. When she calmed down and silence fell between them, they were looking at each other’s eyes, hers filled with joy and his with pride for being the reason for it.

He soon felt self conscious again and looked away.

#ivar x reader #ivar ragnarsson x reader #vikings fanfiction #ivar x oc

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imnotusedtobeingloved · 3 years ago

Text

A/B/C/D/E/F/G/H/I/J/K/L/M/N/O/P/Q/R/S/T/U/V/W/X/Y/Z

FROM THE CHARACTER ALPHABET WITH IVAR RAGNARSSON.

REQUESTED BY: @witch-of-letters

A - affection (how affectionate are they? what do they enjoy?)

At first? Not at all.

The only person he is used to getting affection from is Aslaug, so naturally you might earn a few sceptical looks from him if you try to get close.

Nevertheless he quickly learns how pleasant the attention of someone else can be, but tries to be subtle about it. He wouldn’t want to tell you upfront that he enjoys having you close or that he likes your touch, because he fears the rejection that might come with it.

In time, he would alert you with a little nudge here and there whenever he requires your tenderness.

Slowly but surely Ivar would get more daring, trying to innitiate the soft touches himself. If you don’t pull back, he’ll get more sure of himself and as soon as it is clear to him that you are serious about him, you’ll be the only person in Kattegat to recieve affectionate touches from Ivar without any deadly concequences.

What he loves most is either having his head placed on your chest or stomach, feeling you breathe and with your hands in his hair, or laying on the side, with you wrapped around his back.

B - bodypart (what’s their favorite bodypart on their partner and them?)

His arms.

His arms have been a replacement for his legs for all his life. Since he has to crawl everywhere until he has his crutches, they are well built and knowing that you love being wrapped inside them, makes Ivar love them even more.

Your legs.

He likes your legs because they are what he cannot have. He likes them because his are so flawed, and yet you choose to love them anyways. And he likes them due to their shape, the softness of your skin and how they look when you move around.

C - commitment (how quick are they to commit?)

Not that quick.

Ivar is reluctant, to say the least.

He needs to be 100% sure that you are commited to him, before he will make any kind of promises to you. It would be a long process full of selfdoubt, selfdeprication and fear of betrayal.

Ivar would also visit the seer and ask about a future with you by his side. The seers answers would be, as always, very vague (if he says something at all).

In addition to all those troubles, his brothers are in the midst of it. Ubbe and Hvitserk might be the only positive voices of reason at times (apart from Aslaug), while Bjorn would not really concern himself with it. Sigurd on the other hand would throw salt at Ivars mental wounds, saying you were only with him out of pity.

So the viking has no real option but to rely on you reassurance and your loving words. You’d probably have to spend months proving that you are serious about him, because he has been hurt and rediculed so many times before, but in the end it’s all worth it.

Once Ivar chooses to fully commit to you, he’s there to stay.

D - dates (what would dates with them look like? what would they plan?)

Ivar is usually not that much of a planner when it comes to dates.

Normally he is content with finding a secluded place to spend time with you, away from the crowds and far, far away from his relatives.

But if, for any reason, a special occassion should arise, he would definetely ask his brothers for help as much as he hates it.

He would send Hvitserk to distract you with requests and tasks all day, while Ubbe helps him set everything up in a little cabin in the woods. Ivar would ask Aslaug to have some thralls bring plates of food as well.

E - experience (how many relationships have they had before?)

Close to nothing, really.

Ivar did not have any experience with real love and he was very sceptical of it.

The few kisses and cuddles he may have had, have all come from the thralls his family owns.

Apart from that, he has not been interested in anybody, other than finding some attractive on the outside. Too often he had to find out the hard way that the insides of people where much more ugly than the exterior.

So in response to that Ivar mainly focused on his training and on becoming a better viking, until you came along.

F - family (do they want to start a family?)

Ivar would love to start a family.

At first, he is actually astounded that you’d bring it up.

For a long time, he could’ve never imagined someone wanting to have a family with him. To have a child with him (no matter if it’s your own or adopted). So when you suggest it, he is mindblown for a second, before he cups your face, telling you that it is what he longed for all along.

He would be ecstatic upon the idea of having an heir. Or two. Or more. But at least one is fair.

For him, it feels like everything is finally falling into the right place.

G - generosity (do they give their partner a lot of presents? if so, what?)

Exceptionally generous.

And you don’t even have to ask for them.

Ivar brings tons of goods and riches home from every raid, where you can pick whatever you like. He makes sure to safe the best pieces for you and keeps an eye out for suvenirs he knows you might love.

Should you require anything else Ivar has enough resources to get you everything you want from the market. Since Aslaugs rule in Ragnars absence, Kattegat has also transformed into an important trading center, will all kinds of diverse products.

Ivar sees to it, that you have anything you could possible require, even in his absence.

He spoils you, not gonna lie.

H - heaven (how would they react if they lost their partner?)

Ivar would never recover from the loss.

After everything that happened to his family, all the betrayals and the lies and the fights, you were the one thing to keep him going. You had been there for him everytime, no matter how hard it was. No matter how dangerous it got, no matter how exhausted you were.

But now?

There was nothing.

No one.

And no way to bring you back.

One of the things that scares Ivar most is how numb everything feels. There was nobody to be angry at. Nobody to blame, except for the illness that took you away. And against something like that, not even Ivar the Boneless could seek revenge.

He should have known when you confessed you love, that you were just another thing he had to lose. First it was his father, then his mother, then Helga and Floki and now... there was nothing left of him.

Still your face, your smell, you presence would follow him everywhere he goes.

And he’d beg you to haunt him.

I - i love you (who says the three magic words first and why?)

It depends.

The only way Ivar would say it first is if he is frantic. Either in a screaming match, or when you are close to leaving him.

When neither of those are likely though, this viking would most definetely wait until you’ve said it first. For a long time he does not even dare to hope that you will. He is still a cripple after all, no amout of love could ever change that and he fears the day you realize it. Ivar is so used to rejection that he tells himself it wouldn’t hurt if you left. But deep down he knows it would. That’s why he always hesitates in the very last second, drawing back.

He leaves the first ‘i love you’ to you. But when it comes, you’ve never seen him smile that big. He can’t believe his luck. Can’t believe that you truly choose him over anyone else.

Ivar will rarely outright tell you that he loves you and only chooses particular moments for it.

But that just makes it all the more special.

J - journey (how did they first meet their partner?)

Unfortunately, you met Ivar while his men were preparing for a raid.

You stumbled upon their camp and he questioned you, demanding informations. This way he could gather when the best time for an attack might be. But not only that. You captured his interest in a way he would not have expected.

There was something in the way you spoke and the way you carried yourself that made him hesitate. He supposed that was what it must have felt like for his father with that unlucky priest Floki killed in the end. But then again, in time, he discovered it wasn’t quite the same. There was something more that drew him to you, apart from curiosity.

And he intended to find out what exactly it was.

Who knows after all?

Maybe it was fate.

K - kisses (what are their kisses like?)

Ivars kisses are desperate.

Desperate for warmth, desperate for acceptance, desperate for belonging.

He puts his emotions into every kiss and there is no such thing as ‘just a peck’ with him. Ivar likes to feel needed. He likes showing you how much he loves you, rather than expressing it with words.

He’s also not ashamed to kiss you in front of an audience, frankly he does not care who sees it, because you’re the only one that counts (but he will stop should it make you uncomfortable). He does not fear that it might make him seem weak, that thought is pretty ridiculous to him.

If anything, he’s even more proud to be the one you want.

L - love language (what’s their love language?)

Ivars love language is physical touch closely followed by words of affirmation.

Ivar feels loved the most if he recieves physical touch. He senses that most people around him are too intimidated to get close, or are simply put off by his condition. As a result of that, he rarely gets affectionate touches or attention, which he craves dearly. Even more so since Aslaug is dead and Floki and Helga are both gone. It’s important to Ivar that his partner makes him feel appreciated this way, even if it’s just a hand on his arm at the table, or your fingers laced with his. Every little touch counts.

The second best way to make him happy is through words of affirmation. Words have great meaning to Ivar, so beware of saying anything hurtful to him, for it might stay with him for a lifetime. In time you may notice that especially Ragnars last words “happiness means nothing” are stuck in Ivars head. Words impact him greatly, and you may have to undo some of the damage others have caused in his mind, with a few well-placed strikes. Ivar will appreciate it if you reassure him of your love with the right words at the right time.

M - memory (what’s their favorite memory of the relationship?)

The morning after the first night spend together.

Back then he had no idea how it happened or how you did it.

You were still snoring next to him when he came to realize he didn’t just like you. He loved you. And while you moved around, hugging the fur close to your chest a thousand emotions had swirled in his head. He was confused, surprised and completely thrown aback about what you did to him. About how you made his heart beat faster and his limbs tingle with the need to draw you closer. He watched, until the sun tickled your skin, rousing you from your sleep and when you opened your eyes to look at him with that smile... you knocked the breath out of his lungs.

Whenever he thinks back to that morning now, you catch him with an absent-minded smile on his lips.

N - newborn (how would they react to expecting a child? how would they deal with the pregnancy?)

Ivar would be shocked.

First of all, he would question if the child is truly his, as it seemed impossible before. He wouldn’t have thought that he would ever get the chance to have an heir. So, once you’ve settled his doubts, he would be the proudest father-to-be in all of Kattegat.

But also the most anxious.

He heavily questions his ability to raise a child. Even he knows his father was not a really good example to look up to when it comes to raising children, or to being a husband.

So he seeks the not really helpful advice of his brothers, who all seem to go in completely different directions when it comes to kids. Hvitserk is clearly letting his nephews and nieces walk all over him, while Ubbe is acting like an overprotective hen. Bjorn seems deadset on training them and sending them out in the wild. And Sigurd? Ivar is not quite sure the man is a grown-up himself.

In conclusion: they all started fighting amost themselves while Ivar watched the mess unfold.

Clearly, his mother Aslaug would have been a much better option.

But if she is no longer around, Ivar will instead turn to Floki and Helga where he finally finds some words of wisdom and support.

Without a doubt the woman carrying his child will be protected at all times. This is a literal miracle to him and he would be devastated if anything went wrong with the mother, or the child.

Other than that Ivar finds great joy in the pregnancy. He loves seeing the mother grow with his child and he would be truly proud of his child for carrying on his legacy. Ivar’s love grows during this incredible months, even during all the moods and cravings.

Both, the mother and the baby will be incredibly spoiled.

O - oasis (what’s their favorite place to spent time?)

The pier.

He enjoys the location, especially on warm summer days.

He has many memories stored in his mind, of sitting out on the docks. It’s a place where he can clear his head and it also gives him an overview of everything that is happening around him.

Ivar also likes the calm view of the ocean, even though he’s terrified of the sea. He likes to imagine all the lands that await him on the next raid. The atmosphere helps him to resume his strategies and to gather his thoughts.

It helps him to visualize the terrain the next war will be fought on and the techniques his enemies might use.

You will find him there often, sitting and staring out to the sea until the sun fades away.

P - petnames (what petname would they give their partner?)

“My love.”

The words tasted absolutely ridiculous on his tongue, when he first said them. Almost pathetic. That is also what he threw at your head, when you first said it, but not in anger. It was... something else. Some thing you had to figure out first.

The way he put you off was so reluctant, that it didn’t fit. He liked it. You knew he did. And he knew you knew he did. And he hated it.

This, in turn, made you use the petname whenever you could, with a smirk on your face. Eventually he not only gave in, but started using it himself.

The first time he did you probably spit out your drink in shock tbh.

He’d grumble out of embarassement, until you’d reassure him. When he knows for sure that you actually love it, it’s settled.

It would become a habit.

Q - quiet (what do undisturbed moments look like?)

Peaceful.

In quiet moments Ivar can take a breath and let go of all that troubles him.

He likes taking you down to the beach on those rare days, lying next to you in the sand and relaxing for hours. In those moments all the fights, the wars and the arguments truly fade away. Sometimes they might creep into his mind, which you scold him for when he shares those thoughs absent-mindedly.

Apart from that, it is in those quiet times that you can truly find joy in the company of each other. There don’t need to be many words or actions to keep you happy, just the two of you alone will do.

R - rivals (how do they handle jealousy?)

Not too well.

If there is anyone making advances towards you, Ivar will be the first one to notice. Probably even before you.

He knows very well that you would not appreciate a bloodbath. And further than that, there are political figures that are better kept alive during those stressful times of war. So, no matter how much it bugs him, he would keep still for the time being, trusting you to tell them off (but you may notice the tick of his jaw, or the whitened knuckles when his fingers clench around the armrests of his chair).

If you don’t notice, Ivar will be sure to inform you and ask you to do something about it. He doesn’t voice his concerns about it very clearly, but he is afraid of you leaving him for another.

Though, should a situation get critical, even after you have made clear that Ivar is the one for you, you can be sure that Ivar wont let it slide.

Even if he has to make it look like an accident.

S - song (what song is a reminder of them?)

OCEAN EYES - BILLIE EILISH

I've been watchin' you for some time

Can't stop starin' at those ocean eyes

Burning cities and napalm skies

Fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes

Your ocean eyes

No fair

You really know how to make me cry

When you gimme those ocean eyes

I'm scared

I've never fallen from quite this high

Fallin' into your ocean eyes

Those ocean eyes

I've been walkin' through a world gone blind

Can't stop thinkin' of your diamond mind

Careful creature made friends with time

He left her lonely with a diamond mind

And those ocean eyes

No fair

You really know how to make me cry

When you gimme those ocean eyes

I'm scared

I've never fallen from quite this high

Fallin' into your ocean eyes

Those ocean eyes

Da, da-da, da-da

Da-da-da, da, da

Da, da, da, da, da-da-da-da

No fair

You really know how to make me cry

When you gimme those ocean eyes

I'm scared

I've never fallen from quite this high

Fallin' into your ocean eyes

Those ocean eyes

T - token (what kind of object would be the proof of their love? a ring? a necklace? something completely different?)

Ivar can, as a prince and as a king, buy you anything you want.

So he goes a completely different way.

He would try and make you something himself. Something that wouldn’t bother you during the day while tending to your tasks, but also something that would show everyone around you that you are taken.

And something that would remind you of him.

Ivar has noticed you fiddle with the pendant of his necklace often enough.

The viking takes is upon himself to make a twin to the mjolnir hanging from his throat. He would spend ages drawing out the form and details of the hammer, making sure everything looks perfect. He would also use much more expensive material than his own was made of and would insert fitting gemstones if possible.

Ivar works through days and nights to complete his work and smiles like a child when he can finally hand it to you.

It would turn out so beautiful that you would never want to take it off.

U - unique (why did they choose their partner? what first attracted them?)

The thing that first drew him to you was your personality.

Ivar likes looking at pretty features and bodies, yes. But in a way, doesn’t everyone?

Physical attributes don’t mean that much to him. That he may find a body pleasing to look at has nothing to do with feelings. It is more about an aesthitic. About a facade.

What really interests him is your behavior and your mannerisms. How you talk and behave when nobody sees you and how you move when the great hall is filled with people.

Ivar is first attracted to you because of your habits and your character. The unique tells when he catches you lying, or the characteristic twitch of your mouth, when Bjorn shares a story around the dinner table.

V - vulnerable (how vulnerable do they allow themselves to get?)

He is a tough nut to crack.

Ivar is not the type to be vulnerable around others.

He is not always proud of it when he loses his temper, but he absolutely hates it when he has to cry. Not particularily because he sees it as a weakness, but because he despises the whole feeling of it. He hates the helplessness that settles in and the pityful looks everyone carries on their faces when tears are shed.

He does not like to cry in front of you, even when you are close. You will often have to force him to lean on you and let you comfort him. At the beginning he dislikes doing so, but quickly notices that it helps.

He starts to appreciate your help and your knowledge when you assist him to get his mind back on track and give him a perspective he might not have thought of (though there is rarely a way he does not come up with).

X - xfactor (what’s one of their special talents they try to impress with?)

His mind.

While his brothers might be honest in saying that they consider him their equal despite his disability (which he is already sceptical of), Ivar is very aware that that does not count for everyone else around him.

Not even for you.

So he tries to impress you with what he does best. Ivar is intelligent and an incredible strategist on all fields. He will use his smarts and his witt to catch you attention (and maybe even aks you for advice, even though he already has the perfect solution).

Y - yin & yang (how does having their partner around change their behavior?)

It changes quite a bit.

Ivar becomes calmer when you’re around. More patient and less heated. Apart from that he puts great value on your opinions, even of you are not familiar with all of his strategies.

The times of war are stressful even on a bright mind such as his. It makes him agitated when you’re parted and he trends to get nervous when he can’t keep an eye on you.

Since what happened to his mother while he was not around, he fears that the same fate might come for you if he is not on guard at all times. That, in turn gets him easily frustrated when you can’t join him where he is going.

Needless to say, his men are glad when you are present.

Ivar becomes more relaxed, witty and even pleasant at times as soon as you are near.

Z- zen (how calm are they during arguments?)

Not very calm, even though he tries to keep his cool.

He tends to let his frustrations out, wether that be through screaming or trashing something.

This viking does not hold back.

And we all know Ivar is already intimidating enough when he is not in a bad mood.

But usually, all of that doesn’t happen around you. Between the both of you arguments rarely arise. You are pretty much on the same page and definetely act as a team.

Though, of course, it can’t be that easy all the time. When an argument between the two of you arises Ivat tries to reason with you. The man is used to things going his way, so it might be quite a struggle to go against him at first. He tends to get louder, as a way to emphasize his reasoning, but will quickly try to shut it down if you tell him that it upsets you.

He’ll try to explain his situation and get a grip on your view at the same time, until you reach an agreement both of you are happy with, which he does not do with anyone but you.

#ivar x reader #ivar imagine #vikings imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar vikings #ivar fluff #ivar ragnarsson #ivar x you

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teeninpanic · 3 years ago

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Five Brothers (2)

requested from @profoundtyrantharmony

tagged: @heavenly1927 (if you want to get tagged make sure to comment down below)

summary: Ragnar, Floki, Aslaug, Lagertha and the Ragnarsons got teleported into the 21th century to y/n’s backyard. (the morning after)

A quick thank you for all of you that reblogged the first chapter, liked it, commented and followed. I was really trying to get the best of me, so the chapter could be enjoyable, and seeing people actually like it felt good. So thank you so much and I know people already told me to not worry about my grammar mistakes but I know I will mess up something so… sorry about that😗

You never woke this early. The sun was barely up and It was cold. If you would be alone at home, you probably would just stay in bed but as you turned around Hvitserk and Ubbe wasn’t at your floor anymore and you heard strange voices from down stairs. Then yellings, and arguments. You got up as fast as you could, throw some more warmer clothes on yourself, then you got down stairs. They were at your backyard around fire. They set fire at your backyard while you were asleep!

‘What the hell are you guys doing?’ you asked stepping outside.

‘Finally awake!’ Floki got happy ‘It was getting cold’ he looked at the fire

‘especially in your room’ Ubbe said with a proud smirk on his face ‘we wanted to cook as well but there isn’t any animals that we can hunt’ you almost screamed. they wanted to hunt.

‘There is meat at the fridge’ you said

‘you mean that thing?’ Floki pointed at the fridge and you nodded ‘Oh’ they all said except Ivar

‘I told you.’ He said to Floki

‘You bloody genius sometimes you should just stay quiet with your cripple ass’ Floki said it back and you couldn’t tell if they just started an argument or they are just messing around with each other.

‘You never told us your name.’ Bjorn said.

‘Y/n’ you smiled

‘beautiful name’ Ubbe smiled back.

‘What kind of position are you in?’ Ragnar asked. ‘I see you have kind of everything that you need. Are you a queen? a princess?’ Your dad used to call you princess when you were little but no, you were just a normal, typical human.

‘I am none of those things.’ you shook your head.

‘This world is so much different then ours is’ Lagertha said.

‘Must be.’ you looked down to your clock just to make sure how much time do you have before work and you had 5 hours. Felt good to have time but also you got thinking and worried of what could they do to your house while you are gone. Like they just put fire outside because they were cold. ‘ I will have to go to work and you guys are going to be alone while I am away’ you said with a little shaky voice.

‘We don’t need somebody to watch over us. We are grown man and women.’ Ragnar said but that didn’t made you panic less.

How could you explain everything to them? They didn’t know what is a fridge, THEY PUT OUT FIRE AND WANTED TO HUNT! Maybe they don’t destroy your house while you are gone but for some reason you got scared of the other people around you just like your neighbors or the old lady who likes to walk her dog at the morning. What if they leave and hurt somebody? What world or time did they come from? You looked at them and started thinking. They were at their same clothes and their face was muddy. They look just like warriors that your father used to tell stories about.

‘I have rules’ You just came up whit it, but sure. ‘Don’t leave the house’

‘what you gonna keep us here like we are in cages?’ Ubbe laughed.

‘Ubbe!’ His mother made him quite.

‘We won’t’ Bjorn said.

‘ and what should we do while you are gone?’ Ivar asked and you didn’t know. You didn’t know what could be possibly interesting for them.

‘Well. I’m not sure but… I have a few books’ you just felt embarrassed ‘I have board games’ you felt more embarrassed ‘I have a radio and…’ you didn’t have anything.

‘Do you have a hammer?’ Floki asked.

‘uh yeah. I do.’ You got surprised by the question. ‘Whyy do you need that?’

‘I’m gonna make a boat!’ he said and everybody signed. ‘my boat, that will sail us away! We can go back home, to Kattegat! I can’t wait to smell the wind again.’ He was so into the idea, I could see him reliving a memory in his head.

‘A boat could not fit in here’ Sigurd said.

‘Trust me I make it work’ he said and you panicked.

And then time passed and you found yourself explaining 9 adults every little thing in the world that was normal to you, but absolute new to them. They got to know electricity which was very hard for them to understand but at the end they did. You explained that there are stores now, where we buy food but we don’t hunt anymore and If someone wants to, they have to have a license to it. And then you showed them an old phone and wrote down your phone number so they can call you when they need you. And the funniest part was showing them a tv. They all got scared and started asking questions that you think only dogs and cats would think of such as like “How did they get in there?” or if someone walked away from the camera “why is the person gone? why did he got gone?”

It was pretty funny.

‘Do you guys know what size clothes do you wear?’ you asked because you felt bad that they wore the same clothes all day. But they didn’t know.

You thought maybe after work or in one of your day off’s you could take them to a thrift store to buy themselves clothes. And the constant thoughts about getting them home didn’t leave your head for a minute as well, but it was hard to think of something because they came with magic, with miracle. There was no reason. There was nothing just a thunder and then, them. You got yourself into something pretty serious, crazy and weird. You don’t even know why do you still try to help them. You could just send them away and live without all of this but you can’t. You can’t just send them away. You can’t do it.

to be continued…

(In the next chapter I will be writing in one of the brothers pov so please tell me who’s pov should I do. Bjorn,Ubbe,Sigurd,Hvtserk or Ivar? The 3. chapter will be about 9 vikings trying to not be bored at home💀stay tuned)

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doctorwhoandfairytaillover · 4 years ago

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Part 1 - Vikings: Una Flor

Summary: When someone returns from a journey, one would expect for them to return with trinkets and gifts from the journey. Apparently, Ragnar didn’t get the message and instead returned with a foreign flower his family wasn’t expecting.

Pairings: Ragnar x reader (platonic), Ragnarssons x reader (romantic)

A/N: I would love to know what y’all thought of the first part to this new series. It will definitely be a little different from my previous work, but I’m excited to share it.

---------------------------

All waited anxiously for the arrival of the men that after several months, had returned with whatever treasures they had taken from the raids. Amongst those in the crowd the sons of Ragnar; Bjorn, Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, and Ivar along with Queen Aslaug waited patiently for the man to dock ship. It did not take long for the men aboard the ship to make their way to their loved ones amidst the cheers of celebration of another successful plunder.

The royal family were pleased to spot Ragnar as he made his way to his family, a proud and accomplished look to his face. He greeted his family with a jovial wave, walking toward them with his cloak loosely wrapped around his shoulders.

His family greeted him with various forms of Welcome back, and Ragnar looked to Ivar, as the boy stared at his father with a furrowed brow.

“Is there someone underneath your cloak?” Ivar asked in bewilderment.

Ragnar chuckled as he pulled away his arm from himself and the cloak opened to reveal a younger woman nestled beside him, drawn close to him against the bitter cold as her own cloak was wrapped over her to hide most of her from sight.

“Come my sweet (Y/N), introduce yourself” he said.

Hesitantly, she pulled away the hood of her cloak and revealed her youthful features to Ragnar’s family as she nervously looked at them. She fidgeted where she stood, shivering from the cold and tightly holding onto her own cloak to stay warm.

“Tu familia?” she asked timidly, turning to him in confusion.

At his nod, her eyes widened in glee as she smiled widely and turned to them, leaving his side as she reached his son’s. Without another word, she grabbed Bjorn’s hands and kissed him on both cheeks.

“Un placer” she whispered in embarrassment as her cheeks reddened, reaching toward Ubbe and doing the same to all the brothers who merely watched her in fascination. After greeting them, she stood before Queen Aslaug and smiled despite not receiving one in turn. Taking the Queen’s hand in her own as she kneeled and pressed the back of the Queen’s hand to her forehead.

Afterward with a nervous giggle, she returned to Ragnar’s side as she wrapped her arms around his waist as he pressed a kiss to her cheek in pride.

“This is (Y/N), a girl I paid for in a place known as Iberia and I have brought her to be a bride” he said.

His son’s and wife bristled in anger but before they could protest, he said “So boys which one of you would be willing to make her your wife?” ----------------------------

Seated at the head table, (Y/N) was placed between Sigurd and Ivar as she stared wide eyed at the abundance of food lain before her very eyes. Seeing her apprehension, Sigurd placed a few things on her plate as she stared at him with her eyes glittering in excitement. Queen Aslaug watched the interactions of her son and the young girl that was apparently “bought” and turned to her husband.

“How is it that you came to find this girl?” she asked taking sips of her mead.

“We were caught in a massive storm that veered us greatly off course, it lasted for several days and it seemed that we would never see it calming at last the rains calmed and the wind had blown us to a coastal village” he said. “The locals were kind and many offered their homes as we intended on fixing many of the damages our boats had received. Floki and I were brought to the home of the richest man but also the most miserly.”

“Why would you say that?” Bjorn asked, having been listening in to his father.

“The man had eight children and whenever he set any of them out to trade or buy, he had each of them line up and have them mention the price and many other things to him before making sure they hadn’t spent more than what he thought necessary. The poor girl was treated worse than her brothers, the majority of my stay I had the assumption she was his slave with all that he expected of her.”

“Is that how you bought the girl?” asked Hvitserk. “Thinking she was the slave?”

“Oh no, I had stumbled into her room as she was changing and her brothers were quick to go to their old man. From what little I understood of their language, they claimed I had shamed them and needed to pay for her and take her with me. In his fit of rage, the man grabbed her long hair and cut it off at the ears as punishment apparently.”

All looked to the girl that was happily munching away at her food with stuffed cheeks, stopping mid-chew when she felt their stares. Sheepishly she swallowed and timidly smiled when she looked to them. As previously mentioned by Ragnar, (Y/N) had her (h/c) hair messily cut and near her jaw.

“Of course, in the time that she has been with us, her hair has grown some but it was much shorter. But I argued for some time with the man that I hadn’t shamed them, but eventually I agreed to take the girl and during the trip came to care for her as a daughter. It is on the voyage with some difficulty she told me about herself, and she revealed that her mother was a princess to a tribe of warriors that was kidnapped. I figured that she could be a wife for one you boys and provide an alliance of this group if one of you can somehow catch her eye and find the location of these warriors.”

The boys scoffed, they assumed it would be a simple task as (Y/N) seemed to be naïve to the advances of men and could be swayed to like them, but their interest was certainly peaked that she was a grandchild to a group of warriors.

With a smirk, Ragnar took a sip from his chalice.

“One more thing, (Y/N) is still learning our language. She understands some phrases and can say some things, but she is at a lost for the most part” he chuckled. “I will give you all an introduction and leave it to all of you.”

A sharp whistle and (Y/N) quickly got out of her seat to stand beside Ragnar. He cleared his throat and spoke thickly, “Te presento a mi familia. As visto a mi esposa Aslaug.” (I present to you my family, you have seen my wife Aslaug)

“Ella es muy bella” (Y/N) said sweetly. (She is very beautiful)

Ragnar then pointed to Bjorn, “El es mi hijo mayor Bjorn. El es un gran guerrero.” (This is my eldest son Bjorn, he is a great warrior)

She stuck closer to Ragnar,“No me sorprende con su estatura.” (It doesn’t surprise me with his stature)

“Este es mi hijo Ubbe, un hombre sabio” (This is my son Ubbe, a wise man)

“El parece mucho como usted Ragnar” (He looks a lot like you Ragnar)

“A lado de el esta mi otro hijo, Hvitserk. A el le encanta mucho la comida.” (Beside him is my other son, Hvitserk. He loves food a lot)

“Oh! Seguramente el le gustaría platillos de mi pueblo.” (Oh! Surely he will like the dishes of my village)

“Del lado tuyo es mi hijo Sigurd, el sabe como tocar el oud” (Beside you is my son Sigurd, he knows how to play the oud.)

“Me encantaría escuchar cuando el toca” (I would love to hear when he plays)

“Y finalmente este es mi hijo Ivar un muchacho listo.” (And finally is my son Ivar, a clever boy)

“Ivar?”she gasped in excitement and realization. “El es como mi hermano Ivan.” (He is like my brother Ivan)

“My name is Ivar, not Ivan” the boy scoffed as he took a drink from his cup.

She scrunched her face in annoyance, clearly trying to find the right words to explain what she was trying to say and called out to Floki. The man in question looked to the girl as she pointed to Ivar in frustration.

Once again she said, “Ivan.”

The man giggled and sat beside Ivar.

“She knows your name Ivar” Floki laughed, “But she has a younger brother whose name is Ivan.”

“Well what does that boy have to do with her saying his name when she sees me?” Ivar asked.

“Because Ivan happens to be exactly like you Ivar, a little boy with broken legs. Only difference between you two is that Ivan has a sunny disposition” Floki giggled.

“Well would you look at that Ivar, she only sees you as nothing but another little boy that should be pitied” Sigurd sneered. “Looks like we can count you out.”

Ivar scowled at his brother but said nothing.

“No entiendo, que están diciendo Floki?” (I don’t understand, what are they saying Floki?)

“No te preocupes, solo son tonterías de muchachos” Floki said. (Don’t worry it is merely boyish foolishness)

She turned to Sigurd and Hvitserk, gesturing with her hands “You play and you dance, yes?”

“Are you asking if I can play?” Sigurd asked.

Instantly the girls face lit up as she nodded excitedly, once again gesturing him playing on the oud. Taken by her sweet nature, Sigurd stood to play his oud as she had requested and instantly (Y/N) stood up from her seat taking Hvitserk by the hand to dance. In comparison to her light and quick steps, Hvitserk stumbled to keep up with her as she danced in a way that none of the Ragnarssons had seen before. She was not shy to fix Hvitserk’s movements and laughing when he would stumble, not out of mockery but in excitement that he was learning.

“I am going to cut in and see if I can do better, I’m sure that the dance isn’t as hard as Hvitserk makes it out to be” Ubbe said as he took his younger brother’s place.

Both Bjorn and Ivar looked on at their brothers make fools of themselves as they struggled to figure out the quick steps of the girls dance, attempting with the little she knew of their language and gestures as to how they would communicate with each other.

“You don’t truly think one of us will marry the girl, do you father?” Bjorn asked seriously.

“I fully expect it Bjorn, it doesn’t matter who wins her heart but I intend for that girl to marry into our family even if it means forcing one of you” Ragnar said taking a long drink from his cup. “None of you might realize it yet, but that girl is more special than any of you know.”

With that, Ragnar said no more and Ivar was staring intently at the girl wondering what could be so special about this foreign flower that his father would want one of them to marry her.

Tag List (Open)

@heavenly1927, @princesscornbread, @fairyofvoid

@ivarthebloodyking, @shit-i-say-shit-i-think

@youbloodymadgenius, @youbleed-justtoknow-yourealive,

@leahh19, @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch

(If I forgot to tag you or you would like to be tagged, please let me know)

#vikings fanfic #vikings x reader #ragnar x reader #ragnarssons x reader #bjorn x reader #ubbe x reader #hvitserk x reader #sigurd x reader #sigurd snake in the eye x reader #ivar x reader #x reader #x reader insert #una flor #una flor series

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lazypeachsoul · 4 years ago

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IVAR RAGRARSSON'S CHARACTER ALPHABET.

first time posting vikings content and i'm so happy! this is just me warming up for the ivar request i'm posting next week. I hope you like it! You can find the alphabet masterpost HERE if you want to request more for other characters. thank you @imnotusedtobeingloved for creating it!🌼

P.S. there's no kind of warning. I put it under a read more because it's quite long and I don't want to clog the tags.

Masterlist

You can be added to my taglist through THIS LINK

C- commitment (how quick are they to commit?)

Ivar would expect commitment from his partner from the beginning, even when he does not reciprocate that commitment. I don't think Ivar wouldn't emotionally commit, he would just keep trying to flirt with other women.

We all know about Ivar's constant need of proving himself. So even if he loved his partner to death, he would still try to equate himself to Hvitserk or Ubbe and their conquests.

He would probably fully commit after his partner gives him a wake up call. And after a screaming match and a few threats of leaving he would realize how wrong he was (although he would never admit it outloud).

And he would realize that even if he looked up to Ragnar for everything, looking up at him for a relationship was not a good idea. And instead he should look up to Floki and Helga.

I- i love you (who says the three magic words first and why?)

He would. Probably in that screaming match I mentioned earlier. Although a highly emotional person Ivar does not like to express them. So in the middle of the screaming match he would probably just shout it angrily.

"You can't leave!" Ivar shouted so loud probably all of Kattegat heard their fight. "Where are you going? You've got nothing!"

With a huff he could see them pacing the floor and one more he wished he could do the same, it seemed to be a good way of letting off frustrationgs.

"Anywhere, Ivar! Anywhere" Was the answer and now he was the one huffing. It was a stupid answer. "As long as I don't have to see you I'll be fine."

"Don't be stupid, you would die without my protection. The world is not sunshine and flowers once you leave Kattegat."

Ivar's sarcastic tone, although not uncommon, was the thing that seemed to break them. He could see the look on their face change and the pacing stopped.

"Why do you even want me here if you think me so stupid?" Their voice was soft and eerily calm, making Ivar worry.

"Because I love you." The worlds left his mouth before he could control them and the silence settled in the once noisy room. "And i don't you are stupid."

M- memory (what's their favourite memory of the relationship?)

His favourite moments come either from celebrations or moments alone. Or what was even better, a celebration alone together.

He remembers with special fondness the moments spent together after he returned from an especially long raid. While goodbyes were bitter and sad, welcome backs are full of relief and love. He remembers the moment his eyes allowed him to see the figures standing in the shore from his boat. Remembers his heart skipping a beat when he recognized a figure fighting their way to the front of the group.

Getting out of the boat was never easy but as soon as he stood on the dock and came face to face with his person nothing else really mattered. The rest of the people, the noises around the shore, even the treasure were forgotten.

Staggering forward, land sickness not helping his cause, he landed himself in his lovers arms. "I missed you"

N- newborn (how would they react to expecting a child? how would they deal with the pregnancy?)

He would be surprised, proud and terrified. Wich is a mix that is never good when it comes to Ivar. He would doubt it was true, then he would doubt if it's really their child and finally he would doubt his capacity to be a father. All within a few days.

After talking with Hvitserk (which wasn't really helpful) and a long time to overthink the situation, he would go back as if nothing really happened. And as much as his partner would want to be angry, they wouldn't be able to resist his puppy dog eyes.

After the rocky start he would actually really enjoy the pregnancy. Seeing his love glow and grow as time passes would make him fall in love even more. He would remind everybody how he would have an heir to carry out his legacy.

He would be curious to the changes, sometimes too curious not knowing when to shut his mouth. Like when he would talk about the weight gain or the mood swings. And for a moment he imagined if that's how the people he lashed out at felt.

#ivar x reader #ivar imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #vikings imagine #vikings x reader #vikings #character alphabet #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar ragnarsson imagine #ivar ragnarsson fanfiction #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless fanfiction

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jadelynlace · 2 years ago

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i’ve been blowing up your page with requests, i apologize if it’s too much! just ignore if you don’t want to answer, but i would love to see some baby shower hc’s? mainly with just the family and floki, what the gifts are, who got them, the whole 9 yards if you’re willing!

This took some thought because I never really thought of the baby shower in too much detail. At least not as much as I did for the gender reveal. And it got long.

I have thought about the first birthday party and gifts—because you know Ivar plans this thing like it’s your wedding. And as much as you love this man, you’re slightly peeved because you can’t believe it’s been a whole year since you welcomed your baby. But I digress, a post for another time.

For the baby shower, I do think it’s small. Close family and friends. But, Ivar has a decent size clientele, who all know how much this man wants to be a father, so there’s no shortage of things sent to the house. The fire department gets funny—sending the raunchiest baby onesies they can find (slightly tipped off by your husband), and Ivar really looks forward to getting the mail each day. Your chief takes a step back and delivers a present for you and Ivar himself, and for some reason to be given a sketch book by a man who is basically in the same relationship as what Floki is to him—it just makes Ivar tear up a bit and feel very seen and appreciated. He’s more excited than he thought he’d be to put the plastic firefighter hat on his baby.

We already know Ragnar writes a check. In a card that’s bought and just signed. Ivar has to set it down and walk outside so he doesn’t have a full on meltdown, and you find him sitting by the garden and you come and sit on his lap.

“He’s never going to understand,” Ivar says softly.

“Then don’t let him,” You say back, purposely moving Ivar’s hands to rest on your bump. “His loss, not yours,” And that makes Ivar sigh slightly.

Ivar deposits the check and plans to use it on the first vacation he can take as a family of three. Where he fully intends to come back as a soon to be family of four. He keeps that a secret, though.

Aslaug gets clothes. Oh, every day she asks Ivar what he thinks about “this outfit”. Especially if this baby is the first Lothbrok baby girl. They’re set until the baby starts school with how many clothes Aslaug gets.

Now, one thing about Thora is that she’s really into interior design. It’s her saving grace as a nurse and working the long hours she does. Hvitserk likes to watch the cooking channels, Thora likes the design ones. It’s a constant battle. And after you and Ivar pick out the furniture you both want—and after Floki builds something to match a piece (more on that shortly)—Thora starts shopping for things to pull the whole room together. And anything organizational; having things neatly set up makes Ivar pitch a tent.

Hvitserk’s present is food. Hear me out: he makes a month worth of things to freeze, and reheat for the first weeks you’re home with the baby. Ivar does take his time to make things he knows you’re going to want to eat—both to replenish and to help you feel better during the fourth trimester. And he does a crazy amount of research (shocking, I know) on foods that help with milk production. This is also his excuse to make an ungodly amount of oatmeal cookies. And on top of food, Hvitserk gets a whole bunch of canning jars so you can make baby food when they’re older. And by that, he means he can make baby food when they’re older.

Ubbe has three children of his own. He planned to give hand-me-downs until Torvi threatened him. His initial plan then was to get a few toys that sing, make music, the whole nine yards. But that’s basically writing his own death certificate, so he lets Torvi take full control of this. And he’s glad he did because she makes a sweet little gift basket, full of postpartum stuff for you and the baby. Ubbe feels very proud to have just signed his name on the fucking card.

Sigurd may be a dick 99% of the time, but he knows how much Ivar’s wanted this. And, he couldn’t find it in himself to be a jerk. So, he sets his sights on things the baby will be able to use when they’re a bit older, and gets a lot of separate craft supplies for Ivar and his kiddo to use. Along with things Ivar can use to make art surrounding the baby; like for the footprints to turn into keepsakes. It’s likely one of the most thoughtful gifts Sigurd has gotten him, and tells him to not get used to it.

Floki, as you read, hand builds a crib. And he doesn’t tell Ivar he’s putting it together until after they have furniture delivered. And there’s no crib to be found. Not on the receipt, or on the charge to his card. Ivar lets that slip in a conversation and Floki goes “Give it a week” (since the baby shower is in two days) and then adds: “Sometimes things get lost and show up a few days later.” Ivar reluctantly believes him and is glad he did. But still has no clue how Floki fucked with the order. This starts the chapter of Floki building things for Ivar’s children.

Helga (and she’s the only one who gets away with this), does gift two shirts that both Phoenix and Apollo wore as babies. And she asks Ivar if he recognizes them (since Ivar is their God Father and was the regular babysitter), and Ivar has to take a moment after he goes “Stoooooop” because it’s a trip down memory lane and now he gets to carry that on with his baby.

Phoenix and Apollo both make crafts that Ivar proudly hangs in the nursery.

Bjorn also writes a check. But he actually has the decency to show up with it at the shower. He was invited, and Ivar didn’t really think he’d show up. Not only did he show up, he brought his two boys (who everyone has only barely seen through photos) and their mother. He claimed they’re trying to “work things out”. The other four brothers secretly started a bet to see how long that would last. Bjorn oldest boy who is just shy of thirteen, reminds you of Ivar. He’s sweet and gentle and doesn’t care to play with the other kids. He asks you a lot of questions about the baby, and how the baby feels. And then asks you a lot of questions about your job. Ever so shyly he asks if the baby kicks, and you let him feel it on your abdomen and the little man smiles so widely. And then he asks his Uncle Ivar if he can show him some of his drawings. And you know right then and there that this kid is walking the same path Ivar did as a child. Ivar sends him home with one of his blank sketchbooks and a very strong message of “Don’t let anyone take that hobby away from you.”

Aiden. Oh, Aiden. Aiden and his scared-of-commitment-and-even-more-scared-of-babies-because-they’re-fragile-like-glass. He knows Ivar is just over the moon for this, and he’s pretty capable of getting hyped up too. I think Aiden’s best offer is moral support; not in the means of child care but more like “I’ll grocery shop for you” kind-of way. He’s put in charge of Ink Drinker while Ivar’s on paternity leave, and that peace of mind is more than enough for Ivar (who is kind of a control freak now that he owns the business). Aiden does buy a few things off of the registry; and starts to bring both you and Ivar coffee on his way to the shop. And it has nothing to do with the fact that he lives on the same street as a coffee shop, and you two live on the same block as Ink Drinker. And he can walk. It also has nothing to with the fact that he likes to see how Ivar looks post-baby. With sideburns and tired (but happy) eyes, and a dad bod. Especially the dad bod. Bonus points if Ivar answers the door shirtless. Aiden’s crush on that man will never wither.

God, now I’m back on my Dad!Ivar shit.

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quantumlocked310 · 3 years ago

Text

Summon Up Remembrance

@deans-ch-ch-cherrypie. Cherrypie. My friend. My OG. My Vikings Mom. My shared braincell about everything Hvitty. You encouraged me to put myself out there and talk to people. You’ve given me some of my best ideas. You’re an amazing human who works so hard both in fandom and irl. I’m so happy I took the plunge and wrote you Bjornekram so we could start up this wonderful friendship. Congratulations on your 500 followers! Every single one is well-deserved.

So! In order to celebrate our love, I’ve tortured myself and Hvitty with this story inspired by The Little Match Girl. I’d say “Enjoy!,” but I have a feeling that’s not the right word...

Summary: What if Ivar hadn’t found Hvitserk in that cold forest in time?

Warnings: not a happy time, depression, graphic descriptions of violence, major character death, loss, despair, drug use, oral sex female receiving

Note: Title from Shakespeare’s Sonnet 30

Don’t forget to tap the moodboard to see it in its highest quality!

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He’d used his last coin to buy the matches. Everything else had already been spent on the sweet release the mushrooms and drink provided him. His greatest triumph bled into his deepest failure when Bjorn sentenced him to live in the frozen forest. He knew it would not be long. His half-brother had given him painful and terrible mercy. Already he could no longer feel his toes, and his hair was stiff with ice.

His first match is useless. Scraped against the frozen rocks he huddles behind for some semblance of shelter. He knows he’s going to die, but he’d like to have a last taste of heat before he goes. Even the memory of the bright burning flames of his execution can no longer keep the shivering at bay. The cold and wet sticks he’d gathered couldn’t catch, even with the pine needles he’d found to shove under the bundle.

He is resigned to no fire and no hope. Only four matches to keep him company. The last vestiges of drink and drugs are leaving his body aching and freezing; his hands have barely enough movement to strike the next match. He watches this one burn. Its tiny flame dancing merrily along the wood. In its flickering he sees a better time; his favorite feast.

He’d been younger then, and happier. Not yet burdened with a legacy and revenge. The feast fires had kept him warm inside the packed great hall, and his belly had been full of food and satisfied with drink. It was the night he learned a woman might prefer his mouth over his other parts, and he’d been fascinated. The thrall he’d danced with had taken him aside and shared in his body, and shown him things other women hadn’t yet taught him. Their copulation was in a side room; their sounds of pleasure hidden by the noise in the hall. He remembers the delicious wet heat of her body against his tongue, and the way she whimpered and begged so sweetly for him.

The match goes out and Hvitserk is thrust out of the memory. He grows melancholy as he remembers the thrall was killed by horse hoof to the head when she was cleaning the stables one day. A horrible accident.

He scrambles for the next match. Wanting to leave this new remembrance aside and see something joyful once more. The next match strike flares bright in front of his eyes and he hears the clang of axes on swords. His best battle. He’d felt invincible that day. Bobbing and weaving in between English soldiers. Feeling the thunk of his axe as he buries it in the flesh of his enemies. The sweet and terrible smell of blood and guts and fresh mud. Hearing screams and battle cries around him as the Vikings cut a swath through the English forces. Getting to fight alongside his brothers, and seeing the prideful look in Ubbe’s face when he swoops in at the last moment to save his older brother from danger. Ubbe.

The match goes out, and the cold rushes into Hvitserk’s head. His despair is palpable. Ubbe could not let him die as he’d wished for on that fiery spit. But Ubbe let him walk into this cold and certain death demanded by Bjorn.

His saddened breath rattles his chest, and he feels the exhaustion in his bones; the wet snow seeping further and further into his clothing to numb his skin. The stinging tears falling from his red-rimmed eyes freeze to his cheeks, and he is barely able to lift a hand to strike the match. The tears fall faster as he stares into the flickering orange and gold to find a moment of peace.

They’re all there. Ivar, Ubbe, Sigurd, and Hvitserk. The four of them that beautiful spring day, together in the forest trading blows of the sword and the axe. Even their verbal sparring brings a smile to his disheveled face. He remembers going toe to toe with Sigurd, and being equally matched with Ivar. The rush of adrenaline in the fight is a distant comfort, and he dwells again upon youth; how young they all were. Naive and furious; untouched by the horrors that awaited them.

The match goes out and shivers wrack Hvitserk’s body. He sobs and shakes as he memorializes the family he will never see again.

Desire floods his system. The desire he’s always had to escape, to be someone he is not, to chase the dreams he had but could never fulfill. He weeps for his brothers, his mother, and his father. The most torturous thoughts follow, and he mourns and cries for himself. For the person he will never be. For the women he loved, and the children he never gave them.

This is his last one. The last chance to see his loved ones again. To see his brothers happy and together and alive again. Perhaps he will catch a glimpse of Thora or Margrette in this last memory. He draws strength from this small hope.

His breaths rattle and he lights the match. In the tiny flame it is his mother. How tall she felt when he was a child. She is loving peering down at his small frame as he plays with a wooden horse from Floki. Her smile is radiant as she talks to him. Asking him about the horse and the world inside his mind. Her tone is warm and loving, and it floods his body with a final burst of heat.

The match goes out and Hvitserk’s hand falls. In front of him his mother hasn’t left. Standing there like she was in his memory, with a gentle, proud smile on her regal face. She raises her hand, palm up, open and beckoning him. He rises and falls deeply into his mother’s embrace, clutching at her silken robes that catch the salty tears still falling down his face.

“Come, my son. You have done well. We must go to meet your father and brother.” Aslaug wraps her arms around her beautiful boy and holds him close. She feels his sorrow and his perfect joy as their souls connect and ascend.

Some hours later the stomping of boots and the rattle of wheels can be heard in the forest. Ivar looks to his side, observing the landscape around him, and his eyes are drawn to a cluster of rocks. They’re not at all interesting he thinks, but a strong winter wind whips past his face, and the rocks flutter in the wind. No, not the rocks. The hood of the person hunched behind them.

Ivar calls for a halt and carefully climbs down from his rig. He doesn’t know why, but he knows he has to see who it is for himself. His heart is pounding, and his instincts are screaming, and when he rounds the cluster he sees why.

The body is Hvitserk.

White hot rage floods his body, and Ivar lets out a primal scream. His sorrow and pain released in one powerful sound. Tears flood his eyes and freeze on his cheeks. He gestures to the closest soldiers to help carry his brother. They can barely lift him; Hvitserk has frozen in place, but Ivar is determined to give his brother the Viking funeral he deserves.

Ivar cries and mourns, and swears that he will seek revenge on his brothers in Kattegat who shoved one of their own into the wild to die. They did not even allow his fearsome brother the warrior’s death he deserved. What Ivar misses in his incandescent rage is the sweet smile on Hvitserk’s frozen face. Ivar should be celebrating, because as he was not in life Hvitserk is euphoric in his death; together with those he loved and lost once again. The image of rapturous bliss frozen forever in time on the face of his mortal body.

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If you want to read other stuff I write here’s my masterlist!

Taglist: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @punkrocknpearls @solinarimoon @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @southernbe @vikingstrash

Photos are not mine they are from Pinterest.

#cherrypie’s500 #hvitserk #hvitserk lothbrok #hvitserk ragnarsson #the little match girl #vikings rewrite #it's a sad one folks #I would say i'm sorry but I actually kind of love this

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pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years ago

Text

Atfǫr (Ivar’s PoV)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Atfǫr: method, execution (law), attack (Old Norse)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: Ivar’s perspective of what’s happening on Strepshire. Stretches over chapter 33 till 35-ish (chapter 35 picks up a lil bit after the end of this one)

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Mentions and descriptions of death, war, and wounds.

A/N: Friendly reminder, so that you’re not caught off guard later, that in this universe Sigurd is alive, living in Bamburgh (Northumbria) married to Blaeja.

Long before Ragnar took him to England and Alfred taught Ivar to play chess, Ivar learned to play hnefa-tafl with Floki.

Ivar remembers, as if it were yesterday that he was spending time with him and not years since Floki had left them; how with the laugh that was uniquely his Floki would taunt him about his wrong moves, and when Ivar would get angry and refuse to play anymore, the boatbuilder would still set the pieces back on the board.

Sometimes it took days, sometimes it took hours, but Ivar always dragged himself back to that chair and called for Floki to join him for another match. Without fail, he was there, sitting across from him with that glint in his eye and taunting him to make his next move.

He remembers those days, and Helga’s quiet laugh as she passed by Floki, her hand over his back and her kohl-lined eyes on the board. And he remembers the first time he won was because of Helga.

It was some years before his father returned, and Ivar remembers the bubbling anger inside him at how Floki had managed to outsmart him for days on end when playing hnefa-tafl. He remembers Helga kneeling next to him so she could be on level with the table, and he remembers her hand over one of the pieces.

“Floki always gives up half of his defenders in the beginning,” She told him, a smile that, like all her smiles were, had a sadness to it. “Even he is predictable, Ivar. Everyone is.”

And she was right. Floki’s moves were predictable in hnefa-tafl, and Alfred’s moves were predictable in chess. And Stithulf’s moves are predictable in war.

And it is easy, at least for him, to see pieces on a board, even now.

It feels strangely reminiscent of the time they faced Aethelwulf, taunting the Saxons with only the presence of the army. It certainly feels the same to Ubbe, it seems, who by the third time they almost taunt Stithulf into attacking grunts a breath and tells him it is easy to do this all day when you’re sitting on a chariot, brother.

Still, they make enough time to let the few men they send inside settle and prepare the tunnels to wait for Stithulf, and when tomorrow comes they will make him face them while pretending not to know of the tunnels he will send his best through.

There’s familiarity in the way Ivar and Ubbe lay on the grass near the camp and overlook the city just like they did before York, only this time Hvitserk isn’t with them, only this time so many things have changed that it is almost as if they aren’t the same men.

“Hvitserk did good in finding about those tunnels.” Ubbe comments, and all Ivar offers in response is a grunt.

“They won’t be able to ambush us, but we still need to try to keep the Arabs inside that city,” He tells him, “Fighting them in open fields gives them a victory.”

“That is not something you’d have learned in Dublin.” His brother intones, and Ivar rolls his eyes, turning to lay on his back on the grass.

After a breath, Ubbe does the same, and they lay side by side looking up at the darkening skies.

“Of course I listen to her. Unlike you, I intend to keep my wife with me.”

He ignores the jab at him, only sighs.

After a few breaths of silence, his brother asks, “How is she, by the way? I haven’t seen her in…months?”

“Weeks.”

“Still.”

“She’s…” Ivar shrugs, and at the lack of words offers, “She threatened me to keep me from reaching Valhalla for as long as she has breath if I don’t return.”

Ubbe laughs, but still asks, “Do you think she can do that?”

“I don’t intend to find out.” He sentences, before sitting up and grabbing his bound legs to move them behind him and crawl back to camp.

At his back, Ubbe clears his throat.

“I am happy for you. Proud of you,” His brother tells him. Ivar stays silent, he doesn’t really know what to say to that. Ubbe chuckles, “You…you chose well, Ivar.”

“Better than you, certainly.” He taunts, but his smile is something less cutting than it should be, less mocking than he intended, as he returns to camp.

Late that night, when the few men they sent ahead have already set up within Strepshire, when the tunnels Hvitserk learned about are already theirs and await the Saxons’ ambush through them; Ivar lingers by the map of the city and its surroundings that his brother managed to find before he was to leave Kattegat.

He hears the steps he knows by memory now, and doesn’t turn to acknowledge Ubbe as he walks in. The older man takes a seat nearby, a horn of mead in his hand.

“There’s enough of an opening by now. We can send our men in during the night, wait within the walls.” Ubbe offers, but Ivar doesn’t hesitate to shake his head.

“You have to be careful, Ivar,” Floki tells him, holding the piece he took like a trophy between them. He narrows his eyes, but the man continues, “The fort will hurt you -and me- once the game starts. You can easily be trapped and cornered inside the walls.”

“No, we fight on open fields. The Arabs are going to be in those tunnels, we can take care of the Saxons outside the walls.” He orders, and for once Ubbe doesn’t argue.

“If those mercenaries join him outside the walls…”

“We will know. They stick out.” Ivar tells him, the conversation so similar to how they planned to defend Dublin from those foreigners of strange weapons and stranger tactics.

“I will take the flank. They will count on them to unbalance us, right? Well, I have fought them before, I can lead my men against them.”

Ivar doesn’t take his eyes off the map, but he does betray a mocking smile,

“Look at you, brother, taking advice from a Greek witch.”

Ubbe lets out a huff of laughter, and it is in that small moment of quiet, in that small and private moment past all the pride and the jealousy, that Ivar admits, only to himself of course, that he has missed his brother, missed what he thought lost when he almost killed Sigurd.

____

Ubbe pushed his men to cover the opening in the city’s walls, keeping the Arab mercenaries trapped inside and at the mercy of the long and thin streets, easily ambushed with each wave they send in.

And on the open fields outside Strepshire, the Saxon army takes heavy losses, and Ivar watches raptly as the armies clash. Pieces on a board, but so much more entertaining to watch.

He sees the commander call for retreat across half a battlefield.

Alfred’s eyes lift to meet his for barely a moment, and he retreats his hand from hovering over the knight and grabs his King, moving him away and closer to the Queen. And Ivar doesn’t know much of this game the Saxons play yet, but he knows when the most important piece retreats, he has won. It is only a matter of time now.

Ivar knows it is Stithulf. He would recognize the man anywhere. Both his death and his life haunt Ivar more than he would ever admit.

It is the man that threatened his kingdom, the man that tried killing him and his brothers, the man that his wife vowed revenge against. More than almost anything, he wants him dead.

Yet he is also the man that, just by breathing, keeps you with him.

The Saxon lives in a state between dead and alive as much as you do, as much as Ivar does, it seems.

“I want that one,” He tells his men, eyes on the Christian that at the sound of his voice turns to meet his eyes. Ivar smiles, his voice a hoarse yell when he orders, “And I want him alive!”

And something familiar shines in the Saxon’s eyes. Fear.

And Ivar wonders who it is Stithulf fears, truly. If it is him, or you.

And it fills Ivar with a strange sort of thrill, to imagine that his wife, the woman that looks at him -and only him- with softness and warmth and what he could fool himself into believing is love, is the woman that across a sea, with nothing but the implication of her wrath, manages to make a man like Stithulf fear.

You’re smiling down at him, a smile that reminds him of that first time he saw you, of blood dripping down your lips and the war cry of a Valkyrie, “What a pair we make, then. The Viking King and the Greek witch.”

They don’t need Stithulf to retreat, and he signals his men to let them go and cower. They will strike again soon, and even if they can get far enough, they will meet again.

Now settled comfortable inside the city, Ivar walks the narrow streets, still littered with injured or dead men, towards the dilapidated building where he was told they kept Stithulf, trying to ignore the building pain in his legs at forcing himself to wear the braces for too long now.

They keep Stithulf in a darkened room, hands and legs bound with rope and arms tied to a wooden pillar at his back. Ivar takes a seat in front of him, toying with the crutch as he observes the older man.

He hadn’t noticed, though he realizes now he should have guessed, that Stithulf was not only scarred by his last encounter with you, but blinded. His eye is white and unseeing, surrounded by still-pink scar tissue.

Ivar leans closer to the Saxon, who keeps a defiant eye on his.

“That plan of yours, how is it going?”

“I’m not Bishop Heahmund, I won’t entertain your ramblings, heathen.”

That does make him smile. The fool thinks he gives nothing away by offering resistance, when he actually shows his hand more than he ever could with an open stance.

Ivar leans back with a downward curve of his mouth, “I am willing to entertain yours. So, tell me, why do all this?” He motions with his free hand all around him, “You had to know you’d lose.”

“Why did you and your brothers gather your Great Army and marched on England? Why did your wife vow to take my soul with her to her Hell?”

“Revenge? Not very Christian of you.”

“The seat of power of my home is occupied by Vikings, the last of my King’s blood was abducted by a son of Ragnar,” Stithulf’s eyes hold a certainty, a fire, that almost surprises Ivar. “Revenge is all I have left.”

“Bamburgh is not occupied, it is legally my brother’s. And your princess’ marriage to Sigurd was the work of Ecbert, no…abduction.”

The Christian laughs bitterly, mocking, “Ah, and your wife is willingly staying by your side? Tell yourself all the lies you wish, heathen, we both know the tale is other.”

“And what is this tale?”

“That none of you beasts, you…sons of Ragnar, can hold on to anything. Not land, not love, not each other.”

But you do not care to be called a beast, a monster, do you? One such as you knows better than to expect love, I suppose.

The anger starts in his chest, an old blend of too many things that it is easier to name wrath, and Ivar feels his nose furrow in a snarl, his teeth gritting together.

With the anger comes the restlessness, the need to make the pain and the anger take form, the desire to hurt back.

And he gathers, out of all the things you’ve forgiven, you could certainly forgive him for killing Stithulf instead of bringing him to you alive, couldn’t you?

For a few moments he lingers on it, he lets himself be lulled by the siren song of silencing the iron-willed Saxon once and for all. To silence his voice and all the others that agree with him.

But your voice is clear in his head as if it were being spoken by you again, as if you were sitting across from him and looking into his eyes and whispering, while he still lives, I have reasons to stay here.

And he stays frozen, lingering on the realization that bound and helpless lies the man that he promised you as a gift, that the one thing keeping you in Kattegat could be dead soon, that the promise could be fulfilled and you could be gone before winter is over. And so Ivar stays there, frozen for too long trying to think of all the possible outcomes, as if this were but yet another battle, but finding himself unable to think of anything other than a life without you in it.

Gone is the woman that had an axe to her neck and still asked if she should be impressed, and pleading eyes search his, “You cannot do this, you cannot expect me to-…don’t put chains on me.”

The answer was always there, wasn’t it? Even if you say you can’t choose, the choice has already been made.

You turn to face him, steeled resolve shining in your gaze, arrogance in your posture, “You won’t be the first man to try to chain me. My very blood makes me belong to them. Athens, and Sparta, Greece; it’ll summon me to return sooner or later.”

It was never even a choice, was it? You were always going to belong to them, you were always going to love and need and choose them.

A deep breath, and you meet your gaze, a resigned sort of strength making you give him your answer, that is as unwavering as your voice, “I would leave.”

He stays frozen, for so long it seems, that even Stithulf grows bored of the silence.

“I assume you’ll be taking me with you to your home?”

“It won’t do you any good to assume anything.” Ivar tells him, curving his mouth downwards in a nonchalant grimace, trying to dispel the thoughts from his head, trying to focus on the present.

The older man only keeps his eyes on the nothingness ahead, as if he can see a ghost in his mind’s eye.

A ghost that with a knife in her hand and his neck within reach chose to scar him, a ghost that with a smile talked in a foreign tongue and promised him suffering and death.

“She made you promise her my head, didn’t she? And you agreed,” Stithulf chuckles, and he almost sounds proud, “Too smart for her own good, that witch. And too beautiful for ours.”

Ivar doesn’t bother hiding his disgust, toys with the idea of blinding Stithulf’s remaining eye. What was that story you told him? Walk the Underworld blind, deaf, and dumb, so that all the dead know…

Instead, he mocks, “Are you going to sit there and talk about my wife?”

“Well, I am sitting here with nowhere to go, and you aren’t talking about anything.”

“I thought you weren’t to entertain my ramblings.”

Stithulf only shrugs as well as he can with bound arms, keeping his one good eye on Ivar.

“Plans change.”

“Ah, like your plans involving your Bishop. You sent him to die to Kattegat’s border.” Ivar tells him, eyeing him from the corner of his eye as he pours himself a drink.

“Leofric? It was his choice, a choice he made once he was no longer needed. He is-…” Stithulf stops himself, considering his choice of words, and looks at Ivar inquisitively. All he offers in response is a small smile and the lift of his eyebrows over the rim of his cup. The Saxon amends, “…was a man of God, he lived by Christian teachings, he died for the Lord and so he shall be-…”

Ivar decides to ignore the rest of his words, rolling his eyes and letting his head follow the movement. For a man that claims to not be anything like Heahmund, Stithulf seems to love the sound of his own voice as much as the other man did.

But there were things Leofric said before dying that Ivar still needs answers to.

“Your Bishop, he said something about dead men breathing.” Ivar interrupts, eyeing Stithulf carefully, looking for any give in his expression.

The Saxon only stares at him, impassively, “Are you one to fear ghosts, heathen?”

He looks into his eyes, both blinded and piercing, and he doesn’t see a man. But he doesn’t see a piece on a board.

He sees a dying fire, he sees a choked flame, he sees an ending. He sees the last flickering light that’s keeping Ivar from the darkness.

And he cannot let it go out, not yet.

Even though Ivar will deny it until Valhalla calls to him, it is infuriatingly easy for you to get him to grant you whatever you wish.

You need only look at him and offer a soft and secret smile, or a touch of your hand on his arm, or a whisper of his name, and he is pathetically gone, ready to grant you whatever it will be that could keep you happy, safe.

You asked him without words to know where the place you were in was located on a map, long before he knew your name, in some old hut in Aneridge. And as if the Gods themselves moved his hand, he pointed to the location of the small town, growing a little warm at the sight of the softness in grateful eyes that looked up at him.

You ask silently for his attention with your chin resting on his shoulder, with your fingers skimming over his arm, with your hand on his. And, lovesick fool he is, he answers each of those summonses without thinking twice about it; turning to you and meeting your gaze.

And he likes to think -no, no, he knows, because he knows you, because…he knows- that in the last kiss you shared while it was still just the two of you, before the people set watchful eyes on you and the titles laid heavy on your heads; you asked him for the same thing he asks the Gods: for more time.

And so he leans forward, holding onto a knife, one of a set of five of which one still is kept safe by you.

Ivar’s eyes look into Stithulf’s grey one, and he watches the Christian squirm and groan as he retraces with the knife the scar you gave him, drawing blood and pain.

As he restarts the count, he breathes life to the dying embers.

“Run,” He tells him, the next movement of the bloodied knife cutting the rope that binds Stithulf’s legs, but not the one on his wrists. “We will meet again.”

And when the sun rises and the men wake up, they will hear him demand to know where the Christian has gone to, maybe they will even see him punish some undeserving fool.

And he will ignore Ubbe’s knowing stare, and he will set sail home and lie through his teeth, and live in this borrowed time a while longer.

Just this winter. Just one winter with you, and he’ll readily face spring and whatever it brings then.

____

Ivar never really saw love. Or experienced it. He doesn’t really know what it is like to love, or be loved, other than his mother, and Floki, maybe.

But he never witnessed it either, and that’s what he dwells on as the ships approach the docks. For a lifetime of watching, of being witness to how other men achieved the things he once believed he never could achieve himself; Ivar never really saw love.

His father was never there, and even when he was, it wasn’t love what kept him and Aslaug married. It was a quiet respect, a strange rivalry kept at bay by something other than themselves.

He hasn’t seen Sigurd in years, but even before it all fell apart, Ivar knew it wasn’t love what he and Blaeja had. It was companionship, a blend of resignation and relief at how out of all the possible outcomes, they happened to be bound to one another.

Floki did love Helga, he knows that, and he knows Helga loved him. But it was so drowned by the quiet sorrow, the way Helga would look at Floki, and it was so jarringly painful, the way Floki would look at his wife.

And Ivar still remembers the edge in that Greek’s voice as he called your name, he still remembers the look in your face as he died in your arms. But in quiet nights you’ve told him that was never love, that was illusion and guilt.

So, he doesn’t really know what love looks like, or what it is.

He doesn’t really know if the way your eyes have a strange shine to them and you smile despite yourself as you meet his gaze from the docks is love.

But he wants it to be.

And he understands the poor fool that believed every lie you told him, including that you loved him. Because you do not need speak a word other than his name, and Ivar is willing to close his eyes and pretend what you said were words of love.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, and grow angry at himself for still craving useless things, like softness, like love.

You are standing in front of him, wide smile and the faint shine of tears in your eyes, and he realizes in the quiet that you bring that he has had this small voice whispering that it would all turn out to be a mirage all this time.

Because this is real, because this is his; Ivar’s hand is certain on the back of your head, and he brings you to him and claims your mouth.

There’s a soft sound against his lips that sends a thrill of warmth down his spine, and your hands are warm against him as your mouth moves against his own, as you surrender to his kiss.

In the warmth you bring he realizes there truly was a part of him that believed that when he returned everything that had changed before he left would turn out to be nothing but a dream.

Your hands are on his chest, and your eyes focus on them for a few moments before you lift your gaze up to him.

“I missed you, Ivar.” You tell him, quietly, easily. You say it in a breath, as if it is simple. And it is simple, he gathers, though it doesn’t feel like simple in the way his chest pulls tight at the words.

He leans down and kisses you again, seals those words against his own lips, finds a way to make the promise they whisper more than words. And he kisses you -or you kiss him, he doesn’t think he minds the difference- until your lips are bearing the mark of him, and your breaths are labored.

You blink, dazedly, as if awakening from a dream, and it feels Ivar with pride to be able to disarm you, at least partly.

“How many…how many injured?” You ask, for the first time looking around you, “Your brother, is he…?”

“He’s well,” He tells you, and searches your eyes before adding, “Stithulf still lives.”

And Ivar may not know what love looks like, but he does know what relief looks like. And that surely shines in your eyes at his words.

____ ____ ____

Hope you liked it, thank you so much for reading!!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss @itsmysticalmystery @revolution-starter @chibisgotovalhalla @the-a-word-2214 @fae-sedai @crazybunnyladysworld @funmadnessandbadassvikings (won’t met me tag you bb)

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar #νοσταλγία masterlist

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thyshadowwriter · 3 years ago

Text

Lost & Found. Chapter 2.

Ivar Ragnarsson x oc.

Summary: being rescued by Helga in one of the raids and reluctantly tolerated by Floki, a young girl finds herself amidst a strange place with strange people, but if adapting to the cultural shock wasn't hard enough, catching the attention of the volatile and beloved son of the Queen would soon prove to be the ultimate proving. That if she realizes just how much being around prince Ivar is walking on thin ice.

Author's note: I took some liberties with the timeline.

Tagging: @youbloodymadgenius

An awkward introduction takes place as Ivar visits Floki unannounced.

----------------

The girl, now Revna, made no opposition to her new name, which in a small amount, made Floki proud in himself, and although Helga wasn't very thrilled, she let Floki have that one. Maybe, with time and understanding, Revna would open up more about herself, or so she hoped.

She was curious about her surroundings, looking around and apparently trying to memorize all of it. But as she tried to move one of the heavy pots, the pain made her gasp and clutch to her side.

Helga rushed to her and guided her to sit on a chair, trying to soothe her.

"You have to be careful, you need to heal."

Revna nodded. Floki took their belongings inside and closed the door. He walked to them and crouched to Revna's level. He showed the palm of his hands to her and pointed to where her wound was, he needed to see if she hurt herself more. Once she regained her breath she looked from his hands to his face and nodded for him.

He uncovered her wound and examined it carefully. It would leave a mark, but it at least it didn't get worse.

"You should be more careful, Revna. It is healing well, the gods favored you." Floki said to her as he covered the wound again.

Looking to Revna's and Helga's dark eyes an idea crossed his mind. Floki quickly raised and began searching the house.

"Floki, what is it?"

"She needs to learn or language, Helga. She cannot live here and not understand us."

"What are you doing Floki?"

He didn't answer her and continued searching until he found a box that caught his attention.

"Here. I knew I had kept it somewhere."

He walked back to them and handed Revna the box.

She looked to the box and frowned then looked to Floki and raised both eyebrows.

"Go on. Open it." Said Floki, urging her to it.

She opened it and inside were a bunch of symbols carved and painted in wood. She picked one to examine it closely, as if by looking they could mean something.

"You can start teaching her with those." Floki said to Helga.

Helga smiled back to her husband, a silent thank you for his help.

Revna took them out of the box and put them on her lap, leaving the box to her side, now completely taken by curiosity, going attentively from one to the next. Helga took some of the runes from her lap, thinking of the lessons she would teach her. It would be just like teaching a newborn their first word, that she knew how to do.

Floki was happy with himself, if he could help Helga in her mad endeavor, he would, gods know she put up with his. As long as the girl learned to respect and acknowledge their gods and their way of life, he could tolerate her. He could try, for Helga.

Floki went to his table and began sorting his tools for his next work, while Helga began teaching Revna the runes and their voices filled the house while he started his work.

A few hours passed like this when the sound of the door being open broke the spell. It was Ivar, who came to visit them, as he would do occasionally.

The gods were testing him, there could be no other way.

Usually, Floki wouldn't mind Ivar's visits, a part of him missed when he was a kid, his home wasn't as empty with Ivar around, but right now, he would rather Ivar didn't show up so soon. He would prefer the girl had more time to get used to them before the inevitable introductions had to be made.

But life was never easy, he could only pray to the gods and hope for the best.

Ivar dragged himself inside and closed the door behind him.

"Hello, Floki. Helga."

"Ivar." Floki said.

"Hello, Ivar." Helga greeted him back.

Helga's hand left the runes she held to the side and she began playing with the girl long locks, while Revna's attention left the runes and went to young man dragging himself on the ground. Floki looked to the girl trying to gauge her thoughts, but her face was unreadable to him.

He could only hope it would be the same to Ivar. He knew very well how Ivar reacted to people who looked to him wrong.

Of course Ivar's attention went straight to Revna. He looked her up and down before asking.

"So... Who is this?"

"We named her Revna." Answered Helga proudly.

"And you brought her back? She'll make a good slave, I'm sure." There was malice in his voice, something that Revna seemed to grasp even if she couldn't understand his words. Her face fell a bit and she pursed her lips together, looking at Ivar with full distrust.

But before either of them would do or say anything else, Helga was quick to correct Ivar.

"She's not a slave. We are adopting her. She's my child."

Ivar looked to Floki with the most shocked expression that ever painted his face, his eyes wide open and his lips parted, like for once in his life he was without words and without a guess of what to do. Were it any other situation, Floki would have laughed, that was a look he never imagined on Ivar, but he too was just as lost, so he just looked to the window as if he could remove himself from the room.

Ivar looked to Helga, who was either oblivious or downright ignoring their confusion and instead was attentively combing and braiding the girl's long dark locks.

"Ah... Well, let's see." Ivar said, the he pushed himself closer to the girl.

He reached his hand to touch her face. He wanted to have a better look at her, in part out of curiosity and in a greater part to assure himself that she was in fact there to be adopted and not some of Floki's scheming.

Or maybe Either Floki or Helga had finally lost their minds, could very much be.

But Revna didn't take his gesture very well and got startled, trying to get far from Ivar but finding herself trapped between his hand and the back of the chair.

Helga held her down by the shoulders and tried to defuse the situation before she injured herself further and Ivar became angry at her.

"Shh, it's alright. Don't be afraid." Helga said to her repeatedly.

"I won't hurt you." Ivar tried to reassure.

But Revna argued something to Helga that neither of them could understand, but if her face and tone were any clue, she didn't sound very pleased.

Ivar cocked his head to the side narrowing his eyes at Revna.

"It's alright, my child. He won't hurt you. It's alright. You don't have to be afraid." Helga tried to calm her down.

Revna said something else but Helga repeated herself, gently patting the girl's head.

"I won't hurt you, alright? I just want to see you." Ivar said to her.

She looked at Ivar then back to Helga who nodded to her with a smile. Revna pursed her lips together again, inhaled deeply until her lungs were full of air and sighed audibly, resting her hands on her lap and turned her attention back to Ivar, nodding to him and allowing him to touch her face, though her eyes started at him like she would throw him in a pyre if she could.

Ivar was pleased to have his way and gave Revna a lopsided smile. He couldn't possibly take seriously the young girl's annoyance and instead was nothing short of amused by the indignant look she gave him.

So Ivar touched her face, trying his best to not make sudden movements and startle her again. She didn't flinch from his touch, but he could feel her muscles tense under his fingertips. He took his time to feel her cheek, the shape of her jaw and her forehead. Her skin was soft and her features delicate, still a tad round but he guessed that would change once she got older.

He could feel her dark eyes looking at his every movement, possibly trying to gauge whether ot not he would hurt her, if he had to guess. Her cheeks became red as he continued to touch her face and her gaze held a curiosity under the poorly hidden grievance.

Ivar then touched her hair, the girl had a dense hair that looked somewhat wild with its dark and shiny waves and curls. Her hair felt soft on his fingers, he took the lock closer to her face and curled it around his finger, then released it.

"See? It wasn't so bad. I said I wouldn't hurt you." Ivar said as he looked back to Revna.

Helga and Floki heaved a sigh of relief. Helga touched Revna's hair again and continued to braid it.

Revna parted her lips as if she wanted to say something to him, but the reminder she couldn't hit her and she rolled her eyes annoyed and sighed, tapping her foot against the floor.

Ivar chuckled at that. He then looked to her lap and saw what he remembered to be the runes Floki used to teach him years ago. He reached out to pick one of them but before he could notice, his hand was slapped away soundly by Revna.

Floki, Helga and Ivar all froze at their positions, looking wide eyed and with parted lips at Revna. Ivar's hand still in the air, Helga's hands on Revna's hair.

Ivar locked his stare on Revna, his clear blue eyes wide open looking at her in complete disbelief.

They stood like that until Floki broke the silence with a laughter that all the surroundings must have heard. He hit the table with a fist and leaned forward trying to catch his breath, his pale face becoming red and his eyes watering a bit.

Ivar moved a bit away from Revna and turned to look at Floki, who was trying to catch his breath, Helga took the runes from Revna's lap and put them away, guiding the girl away from the room.

Once they left, Ivar had his attention all on Floki.

"What are you laughing of, you old fool?"

"Someone finally gave you a lesson. Who would have guessed it would be a child?"

#ivar x reader #ivar ragnarsson x reader #helga x reader #floki x reader #vikings fanfiction

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