#i keep forgetting my own tags lo

[meet-the-courier]

“It won’t hurt. Much.”

[OOC: Hi my silly couriers!]

@the-jack-class

Brodie: "Worth every dollar I think. Hope that helped!"

[awlayt]

One piece men as house wreckers and how they ended up like that

Characters: Shanks,Rob lucci,Sabo,Doflamingo

Tags: Cheating,blowjob,degradation kink,praise kink,slight breeding kink, slight glove kink,afab!reader, hinted at threesome, Doflamingo part is a red flag ngl

Shanks

He can't help himself with how he picks his fuck buddies; he likes them young and pretty, and for some reason he finds himself enjoying the ones who are already in a relationship, serious or not. It's not something he should be proud of, but the thrill,the whole of wooing a pretty face in an unhappy marriage and tempting them into his arms with sweet talk and pleasure, is addicting to him at this point.

And what a pretty sight to see you on your knees while knowing damn well that your own man can't satisfy you like he does.

he have you between his thighs,your mouth filled with his cock as his hand grip tightly your hair to keep you from choking on his dick,he enjoys how teary your eyes gets as you try to adjust to his size in your mouth ,he let a little groan "ah... aren't you so eager, I bet you are wet from just sucking me off" he says with a little smirk ,he watches you squirm as to say yes,he chuckles softly "well ,the sooner you get me to cum down your pretty throat the sooner I get to fuck that little tight cunt of yours,so keep going "he says as his hand let go of your hair to stroke it gently,he watches you deep throat his girth like a champ (he taught you how to ,your husband didn't even bother to teach you the proper way of sucking a dick,how pathetic) he watches you moan as he cum down your throat with a husky groan leaving his lips "Swallow it like a good girl," he says with a little warning, and you nod as you swallow his cum. He smirks as he sees you still eagerly looking up at him. He looks so pleased with himself as he helps you sit on his thigh. "Well,come up,you want my dick? Then ride it. I want to see you bouncing on it till you earn a good fuck from me."

Rob Lucci

It started at a mission, really. He was supposed to seduce some married woman trying to get to her husband through her to get more information, and oh, it spiraled from there. It's something that fills his ego and pride,the fact that he can so easily just sweep anyone off their feet with a bit of sweet talk. Yeah, it makes his ego bigger than it was possibly before,and he can even offer a good rough fuck that would make anyone forget that they had a partner in the first place, and how sweetly they beg him every night for his attention and touch, and he always comply because there's nothing better than satisfying a desperate little thing.

He says his favorite part is when they let him come over the house and let him fuck them on the bed they share with the sad excuse of a husband. That's what really gets him going.

 

" Lucci..Lucci..Please more!" You moan as Lucci thrusts so deeply into your dripping folds as you lay on your bed. He has your right leg over his shoulder as he pounds into you so feverishly. His mouth is kissing your thigh. "You take me so well. Look at you, begging for more when you already have all of them. Such a cockwhore." He chuckles darkly as his hand traces your lips so tenderly. He continues thrusting his hips harder as he feels himself getting close. He wants to pull out before he hears you plead. "Don't pull out." You plead so desperately. "Please." You beg, and he raises an eyebrow. "You want me to cum inside?" He asks mockingly, and a smirk forms on his face when you nod. "Such a little slut. Of course you want. You want me to breed you, don't you? Your sad excuse is that your husband can't do that for you after all,you must feel so needy to be filled don't you?" He releases deep in you, causing you to arch your back on the bed with pleasure. Luci has a sadistic grin as he pulls away,and letting your leg drop on the bed,he manhandles you so easily as he turns you around, burying your face down the bed with your ass up for his viewing pleasure,he looks down at you with great hunger in his eyes as he says" I hope you are not tired (y/n), because I'm going to breed you like the bitch in heat you are"

Sabo

It started by accident, for sure. He had a drunken night with some pretty lady, and the next day she told him she was married and her husband was coming home, which basically put him in what a lot of people would call an uncomfortable situation,but it kind of left him wanting to do that again. The thrill of it is undeniably hot, and it excites him to no end. Such a thrill, and he can in fact deal with whoever confronts him. He got so many trying to, but all got too beaten up or scared to death when learning it was him fucking their wives,and that feeling really helped boost his ego. He even got himself into an open marriage with threesomes, fucking someone's wife while the husband watched. Those are truly his favorites.

"Ah, don't let a noise out, pretty slut. Come on, suck my fingers like you suck my dick. You can do better" Sabo mumbles as he has sucked on his gloved fingers while his hips are thrusting so deeply into you. You are pretty sure he bruised your cervix up by how harshly he is thrusting. He kisses your forehead as he watches you drool around his fingers. Your fucked dumb face looks so beautiful to him and He can't help but chuckle sadistically

He grins slightly as he glances to where your husband is sitting,with a camera recording everything, looking at you so hungrily. "I don't want you to miss her face when she cum because you are fantasizing about fucking her yourself" he says with a mocking voice, causing your husband to groan as he moves closer to film your face. You moan loudly as Sabo's free hand pinches your oversensitive clit. "Come on, darling, do it for us. I want you creaming around me. Maybe if you're good enough,you will get us both stuffing your pretty cunt by the end of the night."

Doflamingo

He really is just taking people's wives and husbands; he doesn't care if you're married or not. He would be using everything in his power to take the woman or man he got interested in, whether it was for a political reason, a reason to make his own life easier, or just because he felt like it. If he got interested in you on sight, he doesn't take rejection well at all, so you will be stuck with him. Your partner probably knows and is helpless about it. It really depends on his mood,and this man is moody. He has no real morals unless he pretends to have such ones as a way to amuse himself.

"Fufufufu...look at you trying to take all of me at once ,your cunt is begging for me to fill it,look at it, hugging me so tightly and creaming around me...such a pretty cunt" Doflamingo says with a little taunting tone as his cock is buried deep inside of you. You are trying your best not to cry at how big he feels inside of you. Even with all the preparation you've been doing the whole evening, it still hurts to have him so deeply in you like this.

Doflamingo thumb wipes the tears running down your cheek, or more like he smears them all over your cheek, to enjoy your teary face. "Shh, don't cry. You are taking me better than the last time. Almost fully, my sweet thing." He speaks to you like sweet honey,even though his words are nothing but taunting. If only he could come already so you can leave and go back home like you agreed would happen after this round ends. One more round, and you would be far away from his annoying self.

And suddenly he frowned as he heard your thoughts, or perhaps your face was zoning out, and he did not like your attention anywhere but on him. He thrust his hip hard-earned a loud scream from you as your cunt clenches around his thick grit. You can feel the air stuck in your lungs as you see him looking so pleased at your face.

Doflamingo was enjoying seeing you in pain, and you hated how turned on that made you feel. You arch your back in pleasure as he continues thrusting in and out of your sensitive hole, and you moan and call his name in hope he would finish already, but from his relaxed and devilish grin,you know he won't stop till you are fucked dumb and begging for more. One more round, and you will be done. That is what you will keep telling yourself.

I still hate shanks btw ✨💖

@luffyinlove ,,,I hope u think it's still good

[mysticstarlightduck]

OC In 3 Tag!

Let's go with some of the cast from Crash Stardom! for this one!!!

Tristan Mallory

Habits (Stay High) - Tove Lo, Rain Paris cover

I gotta stay high all the time

To keep you off my mind, ooh, ooh

High all the time

To keep you off my mind, ooh, ooh

Spend my days locked in a haze

Tryna forget you

I'll Be There For You - Walk The Earth

When the tears are rolling down

Like a river to the ocean

And there's no one else around

You won't question my devotion

Everybody needs somebody

And you got me

You know that I know that you know that

I'll be there for the highs and lows

Give you mine if your heart gets broke

By your side, when you're all alone

I will be there

When you're down, d-down on your luck

No ride home and you got too drunk

Two A.M. I'mma pick you up

I will be there, ay

I Hate Myself - Citizen Soldier

I wish that I had somebody to call when I am not okay

I wish that I had anyone who cared when I am in that place

I wish I could have a mental breakdown

Without turning my life into a ghost town

So many things I would change

But more than anything

I wish somebody loved me as much as I hate myself

I wish somebody listened as much as I go through hell

Noah Mallory

Death of A Hero - Alec Benjamin

He was doing lines or something in the bathroom

I barely recognized him at all

I saw him doing things you shouldn't do with all that power

I wish someone would have thrown him in the shower

I barely recognized him at all

That night I put my youth in a casket

And buried it inside of me

That night I saw through all the magic

Now I'm a witness to the death of a hero

I burned all the pictures in the attic

And threw away the magazines

That night I saw through all the magic

And now I'm a witness to the death of a hero

I tried to look away but you can't look away from a trainwreck

I'm Not Famous - AJR

You never heard of me

Or the weird shit I do and say

That's my favorite thing

That I'm not famous, no

And I'm never on TV

Throwing up on an LA street

Nobody judges me

Cause I'm not famous, no

Paparazzi is at an all time low

Paparazzi they don't care where I go

Brother - NeedToBreathe

Ramblers in the wilderness

We can't find what we need

We get a little restless from the searching

Get a little worn down in between

Like a bull chasing the matador

Is the man left to his own schemes

Everybody needs someone beside 'em

Shining like a lighthouse from the sea

Brother, let me be your shelter

Never leave you all alone

I can be the one you call

When you're low

Brother, let me be your fortress

When the night winds are driving on

Be the one to light the way

Bring you home

Beck Staudder

Nightmare - Avenged Sevenfold

Now your nightmare comes to life

Dragged you down below, down to the devil's show

To be his guest forever (peace of mind is less than never)

Hate to twist your mind, but God ain't on your side

An old acquaintance severed (burn the world your last endeavor)

Flesh is burning, you can smell it in the air

'Cause men like you have such an easy soul to steal (steal)

So stand in line while they ink numbers in your head

You're now a slave until the end of time here

Nothing stops the madness turning

Haunting, yearning, pull the trigger

2. Another Way Out - Hollywood Undead

I wish there was another way out

Voices won't go away, they stay for days and days

They say some awful things, ways to make you fade away

I don't think no one's home and we're just here alone

I better find you first before you find the phone

Better run, better run, better run, yeah, I'm coming after you

When you're sleeping at night, yeah, there's nothing you can do

There's no place you can hide 'cause I'm coming after you

I wish there was another way out for you

Wish there was another way out for you

I wish there was another way out

3. So Cold - Ben Cocks, Nikisha Reyes-Pile

Oh, you can't hear me cry

See my dreams all die

From where you're standing

On your own

It's so quiet here

And I feel so cold

This house no longer

Feels like home

[...]

You caused my heart to bleed and

You still owe me a reason

'Cause I can't figure out why

Why I'm alone and freezin'

While you're in the bed that she's in

And I'm just left alone to cry

My Taglist (-/+): @ray-writes-n-shit, @sarandipitywrites, @lassiesandiego, @smol-feralgremlin, @kaylinalexanderbooks,

@diabolical-blue @oh-no-another-idea

@cakeinthevoid, @clairelsonao3,

@thepeculiarbird

@the-golden-comet, @urnumber1star, @ominous-feychild, @anyablackwood, @amaiguri, @lyutenw @finickyfelix

@thecomfywriter, @the-letterbox-archives, @differentnighttale @wyked-ao3

@zinabug-writes

Let me know if you'd like to be added!

[moonlitkilljoy]

Lo and behold! i’ve finally finished making it, the promised list of Pacific Rim fic recs for anon :-) everyone thank @ihavenomoralsss for proofreading this for me!

There’s a good chance most people who've read any amount of newmann fanfiction will have read the first two on this list, as they’re found on the first and fifth pages of the newmann ship tag on ao3 when its sorted by most kudos descending– however i’ve included them anyway because they’re there for a very good reason (which is that they’re FANTASTIC). also, i've grouped all of the "pov outsider" fics together at the end of this post, as they pretty much make up one third of the list– which feels like it warrants it's own section. feel free to dm me or send me an ask to let me know of your thoughts about any of these (or just pacific rim in general!!)! without further ado, may i present to thou, 10 fantastic newmann fics

It’s All in the Hands of a Lazy Projector by patster223

“Hermann is cursed as a child so that he may never remember anyone he meets. Theoretically, this should make falling in love impossible, but then he meets (and meets and meets and meets) Newton Geiszler.”

~10k words, 1 chapter, rated T; exactly what the summary says, it’s an au in which hermann is cursed to forget everyone he meets, it centers around newt and hermanns interactions and how they manage to grow close despite this

if i had to choose a single favorite pacific rim fanfic it’d probably have to be this one. it’s gorgeously written and tackles some themes that hit very close to home for me, personally. i’ve struggled with memory loss for a very long time now, and this fic manages to encapsulate that experience through the lens of magical-realism in a way i’ve never seen captured in any context. i left a comment to that effect (under a pseudonym because i rarely log into ao3 on my phone) and the author’s response is something that still makes me emotional pretty much every time i look at it, “I wanted to imagine a world where memory still mattered, even if it wasn’t remembered. And now, years later, I think that it does. You and I and Hermann hold memory in our bodies and our minds, even if what’s being held isn’t an exact picture or description, but rather an emotion or a question. Memory still has to matter to those with memory loss, even if we end up experiencing it differently.” so, this is not only a recommendation for quality, but also from a very personal place— it’s a fic that addresses the concept of memory loss through a lens of comfort and hope, which it is so rarely seen through, and does it phenomenally. if anyone looking at this post were to read one fic and only one fic from this list i’d want it to be this one. it also characterizes newt and hermann very well and i love their dynamic in it, it’s PHENOMENAL

Letters From Berlin by spenshi

“Newton keeps in touch with his family when he's shipped off to the Shatterdome. Jacob and Illia send care packages to the K-Science Lab.”

~12k words, 1 chapter, rated T; once more, exactly what the summary says– newt sends letters to his family and they send him packages. eventually hermann starts sending them letters (+ emails) as well :]

i read this one most recently out of all the others so it’s the freshest in my memory :-) it’s extremely homely and heartwarming!! additionally, it includes some really fun and sweet interactions between newt’s family and hermann. OH! and, of course, some very fun characterization of newt’s family

Plausible Possibility by cissues / @cacaesthesia

“Newt and Hermann experience some odd post-drift effects.”

~1k words, 1 chapter, rated G; a little exploration of ghost-drift

short and sweet! absolutely fucking adorable too. plus, this contains some headcanons/a discussion of sexuality that i was delighted to find very relatable (as an aromantic person)

Red Patent by highseize

“It's been months since the ocean closed up. Nothing will take this from her now.”

~2k words, 1 chapter, rated G; a snapshot of what mako’s life looks like after the events of the movie ^^

a rare non-hermann-and-newt-centered fic on this list!! this one actually centers around mako :D it’s adorable and i love mako with my entire heart, especially this depiction of her

fool by kaijusalad

“Newton is going to die thinking no-one left on this Earth loves him. (Fool.) He can't have that.”

~6k words, 1 chapter, rated T; hermann believes that seeking out hannibal chau and drifting with a kaiju brain once more will kill newt, and acts accordingly

i LOVE the way this fic is formatted and written– the word choice and unique use of italics and parentheses is incredible and works so well. it describes every action and scene so gorgeously and it just. man. here’s a small except devoid of context that i think showcases this perfectly: “His words are hollow, anyway. They hang in the air, lies filled with helium, a new year's resolution, an 'I'll quit smoking'. (God is real in belief; maybe if he believes in them hard enough they'll come true, and isn't that something for a man who works in numbers to think?)”

One day from lonely by Raehimura

“Hermann is standing outside Newton Geiszler’s private quarters, bony ankles poking out from under too-short standard-issue sweatpants, his hair a wreck and his red-ringed eye still sore, with a lifetime of stolen memories in his head. What if Newt isn’t there? What if he’s sleeping? Or, worse, what if he is waiting on the other side of the door with his own stolen memories fresh on his mind? Above all he remembers, sudden and frighteningly clear: This is not what they do.”

~2.5k words, 1 chapter, rated G; another very interesting exploration of newt and hermann post-drift

i disagree a little bit with some of the characterization in this fic (particular, newt thinking hermann hates him. i think newt very well knows that hermann’s very fond of him) but it’s a great read nonetheless! the best word to describe it would probably be “cozy”

This is a Totally Normal Thing for Friends to Do by SolarMorrigan / @solarmorrigan

“Hermann and Newt don't talk about it (until they do)”

~21k words, 4 chapters, rated T; a fake dating au in which hermann’s dad nags him about not having found a partner yet and hermann panics, telling him that he actually does have a partner just to get him to asking about it, but it backfires when lars expresses interest in meeting him. newt offers to play the part of partner, hijinks and relationship progression ensue. this fic also has an explicit sequel, if that’s your kind of thing

THIS FIC IS SO FUCKING GOOD. there were multiple times where i reacted out loud to things that happened in the fic– most notably a series of “holy fucking shit”s while eating lunch with some friends. it’s adorable and includes some transmasc newt content :3 this fic also includes hermann snapping and standing up to his shithead dad and its GREAT. one of my absolute favorite pacrim fics ever, i can’t recommend it enough

POV OUTSIDER FICS:

HR Complaints by IDoNotBitMyThumbAtYou / @idonotbitemythumbatyou

“Manny Flores has been with the PPDC for nearly a decade by the time he’s transferred to Hong Kong. He just wants to do his job. And he’s good at it. But when he receives the 15th complaint from one Dr. Hermann Gottlieb in only three days, he finds his patience running thin. He wonders which of the two scientists would be more of a nightmare to cohabitate a working space with: Dr. Gottlieb - sender of endless petty complaints, or Dr. Geiszler, their hapless subject. (...)”

~3k words, 1 chapter, unrated (probably G or T); hermann and newt’s relationship through the eyes of someone reading the (non-serious) complaints that hermann sends to hr

i spent three uninterrupted hours looking for this fic to link it here and it was ABSOLUTELY worth it. this fic is so fun, and it uses my favorite trope of all time!! i’m an absolute sucker for “pov outsider” type fics <3 the characterization is phenomenal, i love the oc from whose pov we view the story, and some of the lines made me actually audibly laugh. definitely another one of my absolute favorites. i think i sent a screenshot of the first sentence from the following lines to virtually everyone i know: “After another few weeks of complaints (“Dr. Geiszler asked me if I have any tattoos.” “Dr. Geiszler made an offensive tweet alluding to my personal style. I have attached a link.” “Dr. Geiszler has named his invention ‘the milking machine.’”) And continued insistence that no disciplinary action be taken, Manny was starting to suspect that the latter was closer to the truth: these were the missives of someone deeply, inconveniently in love. Christ, Manny was half in love with the guy himself at this point.” this fic rocks, do yourself a solid and please read it

On The Outside by combeferrer

“Petra Gottlieb, Hermann's mother, watches the first PPDC press conference after the world is saved and notices her son, particularly his relationship with his fellow scientist.”

~1k words, 1 chapter, rated G; for the third and final time, exactly what the description says! newt and hermanns relationship through the eyes of hermann’s mother, who watches a press conference with her son– who she hasn’t really interacted with lately– in it

ANOTHER GREAT FIC!! I love this characterization of newt and hermann’s relationship, and i find the premise and extremely enticing in and of itself so i won’t be saying anything more here <3

Disconnect, Connect Again by cypress_tree / @cypress-tree

“Raising Newt Geiszler has never been easy. Seeing him fall in love can be harder. The development of Newt and Hermann's relationship, from Jacob Geiszler's point-of-view.”

~13.5k words, 4 chapters, rated T; newt and hermann’s relationship through the eyes of newt’s father, over the course of 12 years

LOVE LOVE LOVE this author’s take on newt’s family. it works so well and is very enjoyable to read about. i wish i could articulate how much and why exactly i love this fic in a better manner, but i can’t quite find the right word’s ^^; i’m just going to leave it at “i love it dearly and i adore it’s depiction/interpretation of newt and hermann’s history (and present + future!)”

thank you for reading!! have a lovely day/night ^^ <3

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| Wish These Snakes Were Your Arms ||

Matt Murdock x succubus!reader (and if you're into this ship check out Le Belle et le Bad Boy)

Tags/warnings: Matt's in a bad place, think season three but worse. Sexy whump/angst, biting, blood, sadomasochism, p in v. E 18+

Word count ~3700

A/n: I've been waiting to use this title from the lyrics of Kimdracula by Deftones, and the fic was inspired in part by the song Hypnotize by Sleep Token.

The pain is both a balm and penance for the pleasure he feels as her claw-like nails shred him open.

Blood leaks and drips like a maroon banner over his pale skin, a warning that he doesn't see but he can feel.

It's warm and wet but then so is she, delicate, raging and addictive even as he's being torn apart. He could stop, sure… but he won't, it's what he thinks he needs, it's punishment for his sins and he wants to receive it all. It hurts, and he's getting off on it.

I bleed only for myself.

He faintly hears you mocking him with his own words. He's halfway broken but you need to break him all the way before he can rise up again.

"You're lost, Matthew."

"Not when I'm with you." He claims desperately, the words falling over your skin like rain as he pants against your neck. He needs this, he needs this…

"I can't give you what you need, you have to find it yourself."

"You are what I need, just… make me forget."

His muscles ripple under your bloody hands every time he moves against you.

"You know it doesn't last, you need something real to live for. Find your faith."

"Stop talking." He hisses, his fingers digging harder into the meat of your thigh and dragging you closer. "You're not my fucking priest."

You almost laugh then. "Aren't I, Matthew? Don't you unburden yourself with me, don't I forgive your sins?"

He whines as you roll your hips up taking him even deeper inside you. He always feels so good.

"This is the last time." You tell him, lips trailing across the top of his scratched shoulder as he ruts into you.

Teeth puncture the skin and rip a tortured and perverse groan from his throat. You feel him throb inside you moving faster, holding onto you more tightly, urging you to keep going as the blood flows.

You sigh. "This isn't fun for me anymore."

"No… no no, I need this, I need you- fuck!"

'You've made me your whore."

He lifts his head at that as you lick across the wound, almost stopping fucking you but you know he won't. "W-what? No, I lo-"

You don't let him say it, smothering the meaningless words with your kiss. His own blood spreads over his tongue and you hope it reminds him of what you are, what he is supposed to be.

He tenses, still driving relentlessly towards whatever it is he thinks will fix him and for all your words you let it happen.

"God. Do it again." He spits. "More."

You flip him easily, pinning him to the bed and scoring fresh red marks over his chest as you ride him. He winces, reaching up to grip around the base of your neck, his eyes fluttering shut, so near the edge.

You grab his hand and wrench it away, pinning both wrists above his head as you lunge for the other side of his neck and bite down. The crimson banner unfurls, he can see it this time. He cums instantly as you split his skin again, grunting loud with the flood of pleasure and pain, moaning, jerking and spilling violently as your teeth are still embedded in him.

You eventually release, sitting up and swiping your tongue over your bloody lips.

A single tear rolls down over his cheek.

He tries to pull you into his arms, to hold you more for his comfort than yours, but you climb off him.

The silence is heavy as you carefully clean his wounds, your eyes scanning over the many scars that already marr his skin. Another couple won't make much difference. You know he's strong enough, but does he?

"You have to be the person Hell's Kitchen needs, not this."

Hunched over with his head in his hands at the side of the bed, you hear him sob.

"Get up, Matty."

He hears you, and echoes of Stick. His father's voice.

Get. Up.

Matt tags: @saintmurd0ck @mindidjarin @castlesnchurches @peterman-spideyparker @pastafossa @mattmurdocksscars @mattmurdockspainkink @marvelswh0re @munsonownsmyass

.

.

Hi! If you enjoy my fics please consider reblogging, it means that others get to enjoy them too! I also love to hear if there's anything in particular you liked, please comment! Thank you so much for reading 💕

@hellskitchenswhore @pedrito-friskito @sweetieswiftie @briefcasejuice @shedaresthedevil @freshabogados @e-dubbc11 @father4giveme @idrinkcoffeeandobsess @imperfxctly-me @stress--relief @murnsondock @stupidthoughtsinwriting @whistle1whistle @tea-and-wine @emiemiemiii @imherefordeanandbones @m0nster-fucker @creatingjana @echos-muses @lazyxsquirrel

[loose-and-goose]

Porque No Los Dos?

Musings on Persephone and Her Girlbossification for Classicstober2023

I think I first learned about the Homeric Hymn to Demeter in elementary school, but even then, it was all about Persephone and Hades.

This was a fourth or fifth grade reader, so the story naturally had to be boiled down 'til the very marrow was sucked from its bones, but even then, I can't remember any mention of Demeter. Despite the myth bearing her name and largely being about her, Demeter was already removed from the narrative back in the early 2000s.

When I consider this, I feel that I can't genuinely pin the blame on current writers. After all, the Renaissance artists were more obsessed with depicting the “rape” of Persephone than the grief of her mother, so this current situation has been long in the making. But I do think that I am not mistaken to couple her subsequent transformation into a modern feminist icon with my contemporaries.

Apparently, I first took issue with this back in 2018. When I look through the archives of my blog, I see some cute HadesxPersephone art, modernizations, etc, and according to my tags I really love them. But then in 2018, I encountered a post saying:

“Hey, you know the original myth of Persephone when she was still Core/Kora and instead of being kidnapped, she willingly went down into the Underworld and decided that she liked it there/wanted to do good there? I need a copy of it.”

This post was then reblogged with an added rebuttal, clarifying that this “original myth” does not exist. Since then, I've encountered at least three other posts with thousands of notes that either outright claim that “originally”, Persephone was not kidnapped, or that actually, there are “pre-patriarchal” versions of most Greek myths, which we are purposely kept from reading in order to maintain the status quo (patriarchy).

These claims are never supplemented with any classical sources, and they always, always, have thousands of notes.

I want to preface this by saying that I don't think there's anything wrong with modernizing or retelling these myths. That's how we keep them living, keep them relevant. I still enjoy a funny rendition of Hades and Persephone that characterizes Hades as the wife-guy of all time.

No, I think my issue is with the desire to concoct a revisionist history to justify it.

I guess the question is, “So what if Persephone was kidnapped?” Regardless of how she and Hades met, the outcome is the same: Hades turns out to be a good husband who loves and respects his wife.

What I'm getting at is this: why does acknowledging Persephone's background somehow make her less respectable? Why does she have to willingly go to the underworld? Why does she have to hate her mother and run away? Why do you need this version of her story to exist, when it simply doesn't?

Persephone is a young girl. It's in her name. She is the prototype, the stereotype, she is the stand in for every young girl of her time. She represents their realities, she represents what could happen to them in a moment's notice. She embodies a very real fear for girls and maybe even more so for (let's not forget the name of the hymn again) mothers.

What am I trying to say? Let me see if I can figure it out. I don't think I'm saying anything new. I just saw that today's theme was Persephone and when I think of Persephone, this is what I always think of.

She is a goddess in her own right. Beloved by her husband. Given power by her husband. I think she is what many a young girl in ancient times hoped to become someday, whenever the seemingly unavoidable happened: A woman who was valued as an equal in her home, even in a greater world where she was not.

I think we shouldn't have to change Persephone's truth in order to find value in her. And we shouldn't have to fabricate an alternate timeline where Greece was a matriarachal society and Persephone hit her mother with the, “No mom, I'm giving up on your dream.” before sashaying a way into the underworld to justify her value.

Write what you want to write. I can't stop you, won't stop you, don't want to stop you. But as Madeline Miller's new book is on its way, I can only hope that maybe someone, someone, will find it in themselves to acknowledge that Persephone and Hades' shitty start doesn't disqualify her from being meaningful. Inasmuch as there is power in saying “actually, Persephone only did what she wanted to do”, there is also power in saying, “Persephone didn't always get to choose, but her situation did not spell out her end. It got better. Spring will come again”.

[shellibisshe]

— otp song tags

tagged by @corvosattano @blissfulalchemist @poisonedtruth @shallow-gravy @leviiackrman @nightbloodraelle @chuckhansen @shegetsburned @marivenah and @nuclearstorms to post 5-10 ship songs! i did this awhile ago (here) for some other ships

tagging  @jackiesarch @risingsh0t @loriane-elmuerto @florbelles @roofgeese @lizzywizzy @confidentandgood @indorilnerevarine @denerims @arklay @unholymilf @shadowglens  @queennymeria @kingsroad  @adelaidedrubman  @purplehairsecretlair @minaharkers @dickytwister @derelictheretic @girlbosselrond and anyone else! sorry for any double tags

valentine | laufey

I still feel a shock through every bone / when I hear an "I love you" / 'cause now I've got someone to lose

wish that you were here | florence + the machine

and I never minded being on my own / then something broke in me and I wanted to go home / to be where you are

amtrak | los retros

will we ever find / a way to make our time last forever? / because I begin to miss you

sweet nothing | taylor swift

I find myself running home to your sweet nothings / outside, they're push and shoving / you're in the kitchen humming / all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

tell me it's okay | paramore

tell me it's okay to be happy now, because I'm happy now / tell me it's okay to be happy now, my life is finally leveling out, so

glitch | taylor swift

I was supposed to sweat you out / in search of glorious happenings of happenstance on someone else's playground

take a chance with me | niki

I can hear your heart from across the room / pulsin' through my veins, I know you need this too / lie to me all you please / I can see right through / see right through

caught | florence + the machine

and I'm caught / I forget all that I've been taught / I can't keep calm, I can't keep still / pulled apart against my will

satellite | harry styles

spinning out, waiting for ya to pull me in / I can see you're lonely down there / don't you know that I am right here?

don't you worry | oh wonder

and in the morning, you adored me 'til the sun went down / and then I knew you were the one I couldn't live without / if I'm honest, it felt like love

I'm not calling you a liar | florence + the machine

I'm not calling you a liar / just don't lie to me I'm not calling you a thief / just don't steal from me / I'm not calling you a ghost / just stop haunting me

'tis the damn season | taylor swift

to leave the warmest bed I've ever known / we could call it even / even though I'm leavin' / and I'll be yours for the weekend / 'tis the damn season

the gold | phoebe bridgers, manchester orchestra

couldn't really love you anymore / you've become my ceiling / I don't think I love you anymore / that gold mine changed you / you don't have to hold me anymore / our cave's collapsing

i will | mitski

'cause all I ever wanted is here / all I ever wanted / all I want is / always you / it's always you

renegade | big red machine, taylor swift

you fire off missiles 'cause you hate yourself / but do you know you're demolishing me? / and then you squeeze my hand as I'm about to leave

[psychewritesbs]

Chapter 209: Offering to the Unknown--Chapter’s title + Haikyu!! + This is a chick, right? + Sukuna is a distraction + Takaba + Megumi’s confidence

Holy shit guys! Happy JJK-Sunday! Except the chapter dropped on King’s Day (my last name “is” De los Reyes), January 6th, so I’m late but wtv. Hope you ate some Rosca de Reyes por que la rellenan con cajeta chingada madre, yo quiero mi rosca original y sin cajeta!!! and that you had a great holiday season with the fam if you celebrate. 

A few random thoughts beneath the cut...

The chapter’s title

The implications are so juicy. What is this unknown?

The Culling Game is a ritual itself, so there’s this sense that everything is leading up to awakening or invoking some powerful force. 

I’ve been wondering if and when “God” is going to come into the picture.

Haikyu!!’s Kōrai Hoshiumi

Makes you wonder if Gege likes Haikyu!! 

This is a chick, right?

She’s hot. 

I get the feeling we’re going to see more of her.

Sukuna is a distraction

Not Ura Ume looking totally creepy about feeling pleased to have found a bath that will satisfy daddy Lord Sukuna.

But like... this whole Ura Ume + Kenny alliance, not only is it obvs that Kenny is keeping Ura Ume in the dark about his plans... 

Let’s not forget what Sukuna is to Kenny: a distraction to set off at just the right time.

Unless setting it off was back during Shibuya? Or even just the fact that he awakened is the distraction? Idk... to whomever reads this... thoughts?

Takaba

Quick flashback for context...

Dude... like... I'd love to see a poetic-justice type of ending for JJK from Gege because he’s so damn good at “poetic justice”. But... if by the end of JJK Takaba is the one who ends up saving the day because of his Cursed Technique, I will seriously simp Gege more than I do now.

Takaba is just... ridiculous in the best way possible.

And the whole irony of his character is fantastic because his jokes are SO BAD within the JJK world, but I get the sense that his bad jokes are meant to be funny to the audience BECAUSE they are so damn bad. So there’s this interesting breaking of the 4th wall with Takaba.

What’s more, if Takaba can own that he makes bad jokes and that’s what’s funny about him... he could become one of the most powerful sorcerers if only because he has a solid sense of self identity.

in a story like JJK where the strongest sorcerers have a solid sense of identity... Takaba owning that he is 70% unfunny and only 30% funny could be the most powerful weapon ever in the most ironical way possible.

I fucking love him.

Even Megumi is like...

Which brings me to...

Megumi’s confidence

This panel screams “I am confident that I can kick their asses”.

But Megumi’s confidence and sense of self has always been hit or miss. And as of the arc following Shibuya, it feels like he’s grown into his skills to the point where he can feel overly confident that he can accomplish what he sets out to do.

But this makes me wonder what Gege is going to throw at Megumi because he appears to have reached a plateau where things come easy to him because of his current mastery of his Cursed Technique... this could be a problem because the sense of self is dynamic, not static.

I think that for a lot of the Megumi stans like myself who identify with him, one of the reasons we identify with him is his journey of growth.

There’s this awesome post I reblogged (but like good luck finding it even if I tagged it) where op writes about Megumi and “gifted child syndrome” that I felt hit spot on on why those of us who love Megumi because of his arc relate to him so much. 

When you’re a “gifted child” everything comes easy. School, work, everything. The problem is that when everything comes easy, you never learn the value of struggle. So when you’re presented with a struggle it’s easy to give up or feel overwhelmed. 

With Megumi, something about the way he’s written feels very personal. I could be wrong but I wonder if he represents Gege’s own reluctance to own his power. So in a sense, Gege “powers up” when Megumi “powers up” because in JJK powering up is about becoming secure in one’s sense of self.

Seriously, Megumi feels like an exercise in Active Imagination, a Psychological tool used in Jungian analysis to encourage thinking beyond one’s sense of self.

I swear Megumi has felt like a Masterclass in Jungian Psychology from the moment I started watching JJK, and the more I see him grow and develop and HOW he grows and develops, the more I am convinced that this is the case.

This brings me to the idea of #Dark Megumi because fandom is super split on this idea. Some love it (like me), and some absolutely hate the idea.

To each their own.

To me. The idea of Megumi loosing his sense of self to his darker instincts and selfishness is a catalyst for his growth and character development. We still don’t know if this is where Gege is taking his character arc, but when I see his behavior, it sure feels like it. Especially when the definition of power in JJK is “overwhelming sense of self” and Megumi has been working on defining his sense of self this whole time.

It’s not like I think he’s going to become a maniacal villain like Mexico’s most iconic villainess.

Except Megumi would scoff at you in Nihongo.

I don’t have words for it just yet and I’ve been trying to write about it for about a month or two. All I can say right now is that there’s something interesting that happens to sorcerers as they reach the pinnacle of their sense of self: They either become like Sukuna or they become like Gojo.

It’s not even about how crazy they are. 

It’s about how they see the world and the actions they take as a result. 

As ma 🍒 likes to remind me, “let’s wait and see what happens to make a judgement...” 

Happy JJK-Sunday if you’ve made it this far ♥️!

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

@dremiru thank u, i introspected and concluded taking a break and drinking water would be a good thing actually

tagging: if you see this try it, it is tumblr tradition. also @imawake-butatwhatcost, @ratstuckinamarble, @violetren, @sixerry, @mysral, @the-emerald-wyrm, @celinedgd, @silksinging, @eulaliafluffboll, @venn364, @rwby-owns-my-life, @sunshine-tattoo, @demiun, @laulink, poking u poking u dont be me and forget to drink anything for 24+ hours

Last song -> Lugia’s Song (The Legend Comes To Life) EPIC VERSION cover by Anthony Lo Re on repeat, possibly for days

Currently reading -> rereading the Dungeons and Dragons Player Handbook, trying to figure out how to make level 1 Druids actually fun so someone will actually play one without demanding to skip levels (aka: every other spellcaster gets a cool feat at lvl 1 and druidic is the most useless language ever angry face angry face knife emoji)

Currently watching -> Mentour Pilot over on youtube, for calm and non-dramatized breakdowns (heh) of commercial plane emergencies and how to keep them from happening again maybe.

Current obsession: Willow 2022, even though I have not watched it. (it looks silly i love silly) (the idea of grumpy tired grandpa willow makes me happy) (my fixation on lady knight/princess ships is never ending and this one is KISS CANON) (TWICE!!)   

[feminexisting]

At First Bite by Ruth Ames

I bought this book within the last few years (last three, maybe?), when the local thrift store put it out as part of their Halloween items. Ever since I was young, I had wanted to read and own the Poison Apple books, so this was quite gratifying for me when I bought it. The price tag on the cover shows that I bought it for $.49.

The premise is that twelve-year-old Ashlee Lambert is moving from New York City to Los Angeles so that her mother can star in a reality TV show. If that big move weren't enough, Ashlee also has something else to worry about: being a vampire. And if *that* weren't enough, she also has to deal with The Dark Ones, vampires who feast on human blood, rather than small animal blood or blood substitute, who have recently appeared in Los Angeles. Ashlee's main worry for the majority of the book, however, is adjusting to her life in the warm climate (much harder on her vampiric nerves), and, more importantly, becoming just as popular at her new school as she was back in New York. But, when her first day goes poorly following a series of mishaps (a horrific sunburn, turning into a bat on accident, the janitor at school getting attacked by a bat and having his blood sucked), she finds herself growing closer to an outcast, Sasha, and her twin brother, Marc. Ashlee joins the theater committee as their wardrobe manager, just in time for their play, At First Bite (a story about a vampire falling in love with a human and turning her into a vampire as well), to start. However, things keep going wrong. A surfer at the beach is attacked, and then Paige, the resident popular girl at school and the lead in the play, is attacked as well. Ashlee decides to take matters into her own hands and find out who The Dark One attacking the people near her are so that she can save the play, save her school, and, most importantly, become popular. (And then, in a twist nobody saw coming, Ashlee realizes that being popular actually isn't that important and also that she has new friends that she likes more than the popular kids.)

This book... has been holding me back for several months now. I had started reading it back in October 2023, but then I became so busy, first with Halloween decorating and then with stomach issues, that I never finished it. I didn't want to start a new book before finishing this one, and I didn't have the time to, either, because of how busy I was because of the holiday season. That brought me into the new year. Still, though, I didn't read it, because I had a not-great impression of the book from what little I had, and began dreading reading it. Still, though, in February I picked it back up, determined to finish it, so that I could read books again and catch up on my book reading for this year. And then I kept forgetting about it. Until today, April 23, 2024, when I decided to read it because my internet went out and I didn't know how to reset the router (new router different from the old one I knew how to reset). And now, here I am, three or four hours later, having finished reading the book all in one sitting. And, good lord, I am *so* glad it's over. Not that the book was bad; it was a very middling book, cliched and largely uninspired, though I don't mind it too much; but because I finally finished my book and it's not longer hanging over my head, preventing me from moving forward and reading other books, especially ones that I've actually eagerly been wanting to read.

Anyway, what to say about the story... well, as I said, it was largely uninspired, not that that's a surprise. From both the Poison Apple and Candy Apple books, written for tweens in the early 2010s, it's exactly what I would expect. I didn't go into this book expecting anything groundbreaking, and I was not surprised when I received barely anything new or interesting. Although this is a criticism of the book, it's not a meanspirited one; truly, it is of little consequence or matter. I expected little, I received little, I was not let down.

Ashlee, the main character, was largely insufferable throughout most of the book. She was a popular girl who seemed to care very little about her "friends" and who was very egotistical, focusing mostly on what she cared about and what affected her and caring very little for anything else. Her obsession with becoming popular and her disregard for the people around her, especially her friends back in New York, and for Paige, the popular girl whom Ashlee explicitly mentions she wants to replace in the popularity hierarchy, was grating. Her desire to replace Paige was especially so, considering how blatantly she talked about it. I don't think Ashlee is a bad person, but I think she certainly was not raised correctly considering that was her attitude.

Sasha was charming, although she was quite one-note. Again, I didn't expect much from this book, so I was hardly surprised with as much, but it was still kind of sad. Still, though, she was a voice of reason on occasion, and her self confidence, while unrealistic for a tween in the early 2010s, was a nice change from Ashlee's egotism.

Eve and Mallory were Ashlee's friends in New York. I feel... a certain way about them. I don't know how to explain it. See, Ashlee spoke of them as if she looked down on them and possibly didn't even care about them, yet she was still hurt that they hardly ever messaged her back after she left. Which, yes, that's sad. Friendships ending is always sad. But... I didn't really feel bad for her, either. It seemed to me, though the book tried to deny it, that Ashlee really only saw them as pawns. I was honestly happy for Eve and Mal when they didn't reply to Ashlee and seemed to not really care. Although I have to assume that they'll probably one day just find a new queen bee to follow after, I was happy for them that they were free of Ashlee in the meantime.

Paige... I honestly feel quite neutral about Paige. But not as neutral as I feel for Ashlee. See, Paige honestly had the possibility to be quite interesting. She's domineering and headstrong, rude and obnoxious. She's like the evolution of Ashlee, something that our main character will eventually become if she continued on the path she had set herself on. But then... she was attacked by a vampire. She was found by Ashlee, and in that moment it seemed, to me, at least, that she trusted Ashlee. That she felt *safe* with Ashlee. A girl who, up to that moment, she had ridiculed and derided. And then the vampire who attacked her swooped in and tended to her, and she passed out. I don't know, I just felt... bad for her. She was tragic in that moment. She felt like she could've been the final girl of a horror movie. And then, later, after her hospitalization ended, she went to the play, the one which she had to miss because of the attack, and she watched it. And, shockingly, she complimented the girl who replaced her in her assigned role AND she complimented Ashlee's wardrobe choices. It honestly felt like she would be able to improve, to turn around after this. She invited Ashlee and Sasha (who took her part in the play) to hang out afterwards, and I think this would've been the perfect moment for the five (these three girls, plus Carmen and Wendy, Paige's versions of Eve and Mallory) to become friends and to mutually help each other. But... Ashlee turns her down. And this in itself would be alright, really. Paige had been rude to Ashlee and her friends almost the entire book, so it's completely understandable why one might not like to hang out with her. But then Ashlee goes on to think to herself how Paige (and Carmen and Wendy) will *never* change or get better. And then, immediately afterwards, Eve and Mallory text Ashlee, and Ashlee's tune changes immediately, from thinking only a few moments before about how her New York friends meant almost nothing to her because they had seemingly stopped caring for her, to saying how they would always be important to her and close to her. And I just... hate that. I hate how the author decided to end the book by saying that this young girl will never improve, despite the fact that she had made great strides by complimenting Ashlee and Sasha, and despite the fact that she very well could have become a better person following some introspection after her attack. I hate that Wendy, who showed she had true grit and drive when she immediately volunteered to take over Sasha's old role as stage manager, was said that she would never get better. I hate that Carmen, who complimented Ashlee's costume choices, was said that she would never get better. I hate that these three girls were a clear parallel to Ashlee and her friends, but because they're the antagonists they're never allowed to be more than they are. I don't know. I know I'm thinking too hard about it, but that just feels like a weird lesson to be taught.

Anyway, there was a fun Easter egg in the book. The Dark One who was attacking the students, the theater director, was named Mr. Harker. Harker is, of course, a direct reference to the character Johnathan Harker, Dracula's estate agent and one of the protagonists of the book Dracula. There was then another much smaller Easter egg later in the book, when a doctor was interviewed by a newspaper about the recent attacks happening around town, and his name was revealed to be Dr. Cullen Meyer, a clear reference to the Cullens, the vampire family from the Twilight novels, and Stephanie Meyer, the writer of said novels.

Speaking of Mr. Harker, I find him somewhat interesting, almost solely based on something he said. See, I had guessed he was the bad guy probably about a quarter or a third of a way into the book, both because it added up and because mostly he was such an Easter egg because of his name that frankly I couldn't believe he wouldn't be important in some way (though I briefly felt the same way about Dr. Cullen Meyer and that belief was not rewarded). But even at that point I really wasn't interested. No, it wasn't until the end of the book, after Harker had been captured, that I was interested in him. He explained that he had been led astray by the other Dark Ones when they recruited him and mentioned that he had never wanted to attack so often, and that he certainly never planned to attack children, but that he couldn't help himself, because the hunger was too great. And to top all of it off, it seemed as though he was truly remorseful and sorry. He also mentioned prior to all of this hoping to be a second mentor to Ashlee, and though the implication was that he was hoping to turn her into a Dark One, too, it struck me how sincere he was throughout the entire affair. When he mentioned the line about the hunger being too great, I felt bad for him. I didn't blame him, then, not when he had been corrupted and could no longer control himself. Though the book said that only bad people could become corrupted (a lesson which is problematic in and of itself), I didn't believe that was the case. I think anybody could become corrupted, both because that makes more sense and also because it makes it more tragic and interesting. A beloved teacher was led astray and taught the dark ways and can no longer control himself even around the students who he cared so greatly about, but a shadow of that care still remains when he hopes to become a mentor to his vampiric student. I know of the connection between sex and vampirism, and I know that his wanting to mentor her was basically a declaration of pedophilia and the intent to corrupt her, and frankly that in itself is an interesting angle to view it from (and an angle in which it is especially important to say that *anyone* can be a Dark One and that there is no specific type of person who is intrinsically evil, but I digress), but I prefer the one I was envisioning, with him being unable to stop himself. Though, of course, the two can coexist together. His exit from the story, for all of this, was rather anticlimactic, though. They say the Vampire Council will deal with him properly for all of his attacks, but the only punishment that we truly hear of is that he is being made to "admit" to the school that he brought a pet bat to school which got loose and attacked people, and that, in turn, would result in his being fired. Which... is stupid? I mean, beyond the humiliation aspect of it (which I'm not entirely sure is justified, frankly), I also just don't understand why they couldn't have had him resign/quit effective immediately. The result would've been the same in the end, minus the humiliation aspect. But that still begs the question of what exactly the Council will do to punish him for attacking humans. The Vampire Chronicles makes me think that being left out in the sun to die is the only proper punishment for breaking the rules, but beyond the fact that the sun doesn't kill vampires in this book, there's also the fact that the book shies away from death quite obviously, even mentioning that even The Dark Ones don't kill their victims. So, what will his punishment be? Being locked up forever? Being starved? The Dark Ones get sick without human blood, so can they ever be freed from their human-blood-desire, or will they always be desiring it? Is it an addiction metaphor? And if so, is there some sort of blood rehab they can go to, or are they always cursed to never get better and always be the same? And if that's the case, what's even the point? Is that even a better fate than death at that point? I don't know. Mr. Harker was a character that really wasn't that interesting, but whose

(I hit text limit block on the previous paragraph so I had to start a new one) lines and actions make me think more about the world within the story and which make me pity him. He's not interesting, but he's still interesting. The story as told from his point of view would be interesting, I think.

Although the book is, again, overall inspired, I think there were some interesting parts overall. The worldbuilding is the most consistently interesting one, I think. Sanga!, the blood-replacement drink, Vampire Councils, vampirism being both an affliction that can be given to humans *and* a genetic affliction which can skip multiple generations before reappearing in the bloodline, vampires receiving their powers at the age of 12, there being a vampire side of the internet which vampires can do vampire-specific things, like order Sanga! from, the fact that human blood is seemingly addictive but that animal blood isn't, and how some vampires seem to prefer animal blood to Sanga!... these are all interesting details. I think there were characters other than the main character that were also quite interesting, like Mr. Harker and Paige. But, for these notedly good things, I think the book itself was a miss. I think the author had a lot of good things they could've done with it, and had a lot of things they could've chosen from, and ignored all of it. I think a book (or, more honestly, a chapter) from Paige's point of view, focusing on how her outlook on life has changed following being attacked, could have been good. I think a book (yes, book), following Mr. Harker after being corrupted and going from there, through the events of this book, to whatever happens after this, would have been interesting. But, I also think that, in the case of the former, the author probably wouldn't have done a good job of writing it, and in the case of the latter, the book genre itself would've been too limiting. I think the book was good for a read, but I think just by virtue of my not being a twelve year old it was destined to always fail by me.

It was an okay book. I probably wouldn't read it again, but I *will* keep it because my younger self would want to. 2, maybe 2.5.

My bookmark for this book was a to-do list with knitting projects that I had planned to make for Christmas.

[justimajin]

check in tag!

tagged by: @ggukkieland (hello!! I was tagged in this probably centuries ago and never got to complete it :’) but thank you for checking in on me, I’m back now and doing great! 🥰)

1. Why did you choose this URL?

For a couple of very simple reasons: #1 - it had to do something with writing. #2 - it had to do something with Jin. #3 - if it wasn’t punny somehow, then what’s even the point? 😂

But yeah, hope my readers can just imajin while they’re reading my stories~

2. Any side blogs? If you have them, name them and why you have them.

I do have a couple! 

@imaji-reads → this one is for my fanfic recommendations. I also have this page over here with some recs if anyone is looking for more reading material. 

@imaji-writes → this one is for any helpful writing advice I come across. As much as I love writing, I’m not an expert and always like to work towards improving, so keeping this blog around helps me alot! 

Aside for those two, I have a third blog I keep around for any funny/aesthetic posts I come across that aren’t BTS related. I’m part of a lot of fandoms, so I tend to fangirl on this blog a lot 🤭

3. How long have you been on Tumblr?

February 2018! Although I didn’t start writing and officially posting until July-August.   

4. Do you have a queue tag?

I don’t have a specific queue tag for regular reblogs, but for my stories I’ll keep tags like ‘[insert story title] queued reblog’. This just helps to keep things organized and also allows me to check that I’ve reblogged my story a couple of times, because there’s moments where I can just forget 😅

5. Why did you start your blog?

I started my blog after being in the BTS fandom for a while and staying as a silent reader between 2016-2018. But in that time, I was so surprised with the different types of fanfics I came across and how good all of them were. This led me into thinking that it would be so much fun to create some of my own stories and share them as well. 

Lo and behold! I created justimajin in February of 2018. Although I created my blog at that time, I was going through some struggles (mainly medical issues) and was very close to deleting the blog in July-August. But I thought I would really regret not posting a single story so I tried my best and posted at least one of them (long story short, looks like I ended up staying after that 🤗)

6. Why did you choose your icon?

Because I wholeheartedly believe in purple hair Jin supremacy. 

7. Why did you choose your header?

The guys are laughing and smiling in it and it’s just so precious☺️ 

8. What’s your post with the most notes?

Probably my masterlist which is at roughly 1.4k. As for my stories now....I discovered the first part of A Lone Wolf’s Howl is at 1.2k notes?! 😳😳😳 Like how?!?

I guess werewolf! Jungkook really is a deal maker....

9. How many mutuals do you have?

I have a couple, but I not too sure of the exact number since they’re hidden and finding them is kind of tough. 

10. How many followers to you have?

Enough to start up a free hugs service. 

11. How many people do you follow?

Very few, but it’s a whole mix of different content creaters. 

12. Have you ever made a shitpost?

Nope. 

13.  How often do you use Tumblr in a day?

I try to check in daily (key word: try) but sometimes I just get too busy and have to quickly catch-up. 

14. Did you fight/have an argument with another blog once? Who won?

Oh damn 😳 I don’t really make a thing to square-up with somebody but if an argument were to break out, it would be me telling them they’re amazing and them refusing to acknowledge the truth. 

15. How do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts?

Eh, I can see the point in them but people can make their own choices. 

16. Do you like tag games!

Of course! But I can be a potato sometimes and answer them super late 😔

17. Do you like ask games?

Yes, I do! 

18. Which one of your mutuals do you think is Tumblr famous?

Eh...famous is interesting word choice. Do I think they’re all incredible individuals and those that create are fantastic in what they do? 100% yes. Does famous kind of make them sound like celebrities when they’re really just people vibing/doing what they love....?

You get the point. 

19. Do I have a crush on a mutual?

@army-author - I absolutely adore her fics and they’re all so comforting <3 Written on our Veins and Gamomania are amongst my favourites and they’re listed on my fic recommendations for those that want to check them out! 

Also special shout-out to @ggukkiereads ​whose fic recommending skills are top tier and the blog is always a go to when I’m looking for something to read 🥰

20. Tags? - only if you want 😊

Oof, it’s been a while since I’ve been back here but if any my readers want to do it and tag me, I’d be glad to check them out!👀

[c0smiccom3t]

Ryonna Tag team racing quotes part 2!

Missions [Costume] - "Could you get one for me too? If i wanna show off im a master of stealth business, i want to look like i am that, too!" - "Yeah i'm sure it won't be too big when you put in on, sir." - "AGAIN, BRAT-ICOOT?!" - "This is getting us nowhere. Sir, perhaps would it be better if i went to fetched those things myself?" - "Oh-kay..." - "JUST GET ON WITH IT, OR YOU'RE GONNA SAY HI TO STARGAZER, TOO!" - "Finally." - "Yeah, keep it for yourself, you deserved it." [Mission 1] - "Yeah, could you? That'd really pay off and your sister would be impressed, if you ask me." - "Good luck! ...and make it quick." - "Master, calm down!! Maybe he just needed some clues to where that set is! ...Please hurry before he has another tantrum, he skipped his beauty sleep today." [nervous laugh] - "Yeah, you don't want to be known as 'the worst big brother in the world' now, do you?" - "We told you, brat-icoot, just BRING THAT GEAR!" - "Congrats, you played yourself. Hope you enjoy your demise! See you on the race track! Heheheheh, sucker." [Mission 2] - "Dont you mean 'weapon of mass de-- OW!" - "Okay, okay, you're right, sir!" - "That'd be so helpful, indeed! ...No pun intended, by the way. Now get moving!" - "Yeah, come back to us once you did get those crystals, bucko!" - "Yeah. Things take time. But honestly, you got to hurry. so get a move on!" - "These gamers are such a predictable bother nowadays, it's exhausting really." - "See you there, brat-icoot. C'mon m'lord, let's show him!" [When Cortex is interacting with Crash] - "Sir, he doesn't play with train tra--... F-forget what I said." - "Ooo-hohohoho! This is gonna be fun to watch, sorry brat-icoot.... not!" - "Oh and please. be careful with that. I heard wood chippers are a little... Spiky." *deep giggles* - "Not as good as when i hit the gym though. I got THAT superstrenght, baby! ...Though the actual egocentrist here is my boss, anyway." - "Yes, now how about you get lo-- I mean... explore around and have a good time?" - "I'm telling you sir, maybe you should get your mind off him with a nice, delicious churro-- OH HI BRAT-ICOOT, WHATS UP!" - "Get lost twerp, we're busy!" - "Yeah, it's best served cold too. Or is it served hot...? Whatever." - "Ugh, you Brat-icoots are so annoying... Just let us have some peace, for my boss' sake!" [When interacting with Crash] "What do you want, Brat-icoot? Im trying to reflect on my life's mistakes here." "You may ask... How did I become Cortex's racing partner...? Well uh.. It's a funny story. But i think it was after i asked you if i could join you since i didn't have a car and Von Clutch says I 'Can't drive vell'. The nerve!" "God, i hate my life-- Oh, Crash! Didn't see you there! Now get lost before I PUNT YOU!" "I wish Dingodile was in this game... Ooh! Maybe he's in the crowd?? I bet he loves the way i roll..." [sighs dreamily] "Huh? ...AGHH!! FORGET WHAT I SAID, BRAT-ICOOT!" "Yes sir, i got it, foot massage at half-past thirty right after dinner, and bedtime storytime at 9 o'clock sharp, noted. Later." [Hungs up the phone and then Notices crash infront of her] "Uhh... You heard nothing. I was just having a chitchat on the phone." "Crash, I know i'm not supposed to say this. But thank god my boss isn't here so... Keep this between us for a minute before he finds out..." [Inhale] "He sucks his thumb in his sleep and apparently when stressed he uses my tail as a security blankie while HE STILL HAS HIS OWN IN HIS POCKET! Even though sometimes it's in the wash... There, just keep this between us. And his snoring, UGH! Okay... I said too much. Go on with your little tralala trip now." "Don't mind me, i'm just getting churros for me, Nina, N. Gin and the boss. You know just because i'm a villain, that doesn't mean i dont share my food with my coworker, godchild and partner in crime." "Oh Crash, I need your help. Boss left his stuffed bear in those gears. Mind getting it for me before he goes on a tantrum during bedtime?" "Go away before i punch you through your skull, brat-icoot. I'm really busy here."

[anulithots]

Thank you @dancinginsepia for the tag!

----

I don't think you'll forget me.

I imagine you wouldn't, you loved me too much, so much. All of yourself went into keeping that tiny being alive and happy and letting them have the best life they could.

I don't think I've done that justice. I doubt I ever will. I hope you do forget me, at the end of it all. I hope that whatever little wonders I've found seep into this grand expanse of life and the child that you knew, and all the mistakes therein, fade into the nothingness of all those forgotten.

But I don't think you'll forget me. I wish you would.

Because I hope you remember me as a patchwork of little traits. How I laughed too easy and too loud at absolutely everything. How I got overly excited over plants and books and things I could never tell you. How I learned and read about things both imagined and pretending to be real, because they were the objects of my love that I could not express to you.

And I loved stuffed animals, and I carried them with me everywhere. And I carried them because I needed hugs and touches and to expel the constant buildup of everything. The wonders would swirl in my head and I needed to write them down, I needed to read about it and think about it and sort it all out just for the fun of it because I would implode. I'm always teetering on the precipice of imploding. That is why, I suppose, that I found wonders in the world without human-made words, in the world composed of human-made words.

And I find the most comfort on the ground, seeing all who tower above me, trees and light and clouds and rain and I feel the most comfort when I rest my head upon a tree trunk and I sit beneath it and for a moment the world is quiet.

And that I was inside so so much and it pulled the stitches that held me together because the outside held a place where I felt myself and where every background and foreground and everything in-between was filled with songs and chirps and the stories of those who didn't use words and I was meant to decipher and see and analyze and listen too much and too little and inside that left me to everything and nothing at all. To never start and never finish and never do as much as anyone else and to be behind in the crowd and find my own pockets they could never understand... but that doesn't mean much, in the world of words, does it?

... My favorite time of day is the night. When the stars are out and when even the chirps of cicadas stop for a little while. It's so quiet that you think you've entered a story where nothing happens, that a single moment between moments had caught and extended on an on for eternity and I needed that so much. I can't be the one who wakes with the sun, my world is that of darkness, of connections upon chaos, tales from the unknown.

I wish you would forget me. I wish you would forget those traits bound within a flesh thing that was not them but was theirs. I wish you could understand, I wish I had the words to convey, that I am a patchwork, a collection of everything and anything, unbound by anything other than the desire to be that one you could love, that could deserve your love, and it ate me alive.

I tried to master the art of crying quietly, of screaming with no sound, thinking so loud that the words stick. I tried to keep it inside, but lo and behold, it clung on each other into a ball of stinging and static. I called it the dam at the base of neck. Built from rocks, some excess stacked above it, somehow the exact place where I started to choke on everything.

I never told you, so there is nothing to forget.

I see myself as a collection, different people, different characters, different experiences and wonders and things that contradict and things that combine all woven together in some forgotten blanket deep in the closet. (get it?). There is no place where I end and no place where I begin. There is nothing I can describe as myself. So there is nothing for you to remember.

I wonder who I am in your head. I wonder who you are in your life, as the main character of your story. Myself - the majority of my collection and the threads that make my actions make sense, is on the inside of flesh and bone, and no number of words could describe it, so it will be lost, I suppose.

Are you the same? Do you also have the majority of all the underlying threads and wonders and fears and flaws on the inside, and what I see is only the impression of you, but not you yourself.

I never understood your mind, how it works, how it remembers, how it sees. I tried once, twice, a few million times, to understand. I worked on something different, I think, than you, something a little to the left that branched out in all the ways that were unfamiliar, unlabeled, never to be put into words.

Because I spoke. I spoke for so long that the dust settled on ancient souls before I finished. And my words still never grasped at the wonders I found, I don't think they ever will, but I hope it's the wonders that you remember.

And my words became more flowery, more abstract, further, quieter, I don't think you could ever understand. I don't think I have the strength to explain it. How I see the world and how I've translated humanity to be something I can play with, think about, explore and pick apart. How absolutely strange it all is. How it's nothing and everything and raindrops caught in spiderwebs. How I can never tell you, and how I wish I could, but you do not have the same collection. I cannot speak to you in the way I speak to myself. I wish I could. But I cannot. So, I do not talk to you anymore in the ways I once did. You may never read my stories or hear my innermost thoughts because I hid them in words and scattered them to the wind.

I've dissolved into something that is nonsensical and strange, and it is the most wonderous thing in existence. Perhaps it is existence itself. Perhaps it would be, existence itself, if I were not bound by feelings and sensations that I could never describe, never tell you. For it was not 'sad' or 'scared' or 'anxious'. It was energies and feelings and sensations that I needed all the words in the world to describe, and even so I've made such a shorthand for the things I can never explain, that my own head - if you could see it, if I ever wanted you to - would be in a language unspoken, wordless at times, too many words most of the time. Constantly running and churning and exploring and tearing apart and stitching together.

I hope when I'm gone that all the love you gave me is returned to you, a return of what I could not give to you in life.

Because I saw you as stories. I see the world as a story. And you and everyone else, both imagined and pretending to be real, I picked apart and analyzed and loved loved loved all the pieces. How you crave the validation and attention and love and use humor to get there. How you have this happy ending you crave and wanted and sacrificed a lot to get there and you don't have it and yet you still try. How you can see emotions and feelings and not get affected by them whatsoever, how you can let them come and go with a simple thought. How you could make poetry on the spot. How your sleeping patterns are like mine and we were companions, youngest sibling, for countless nights, drinking tea and talking about everything with and without words. How you laugh with little gargles and love the rules a little too much. How you love classical music (it rubbed off on me, we should talk about it together.) and are comfortable as yourself. How you did everything as you should and you still don't have the ending you were promised, your regrets and your vices and your 'flaws' and goals and everything that makes you tick, that makes the world tick, that makes everything and everyone and every wonderous thing tick.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

But my thoughts latch onto the static way too easily.

So you should forget me.

.... this got waaay too long.

Tagging - @fire-but-ashes-too @batzyx @mylee-sketches @forthesanityofstorytellers @briarborealisocs @awleeofficial @moonluringfrost @holdmyteaplease @yesireadbooks @alhyastarain @osbob-the-existent @sm-writes-chaos @gummybugg @the-stray-storyteller

Please don't forget me. I lived. I had billions of thoughts and hundreds of dreams. I listened to songs so many times that the lyrics are imprinted into my brain. I've wondered what I'll become. I have no idea what I'll become.

But please don't forget me.

We look up at the same sky. We might read the same poetry. We might hum the same tune to ourselves as we remember the ones who begged to not be forgotten.

Please remember me. I shiver when I'm cold and I gulp down cold water when I'm hot. I sing until my mum tells me to shut up, and I laugh until the next joke, then laugh again. I read books like I breathe air, I run when I want to run, and when I don't, I walk and watch every leaf as it crushed beneath me. I've given hugs and been hugged and I've felt so loved and I've felt so hated. I've witnessed humanity, and inhumanity. Both are shocking. Both are wild and desperate. I've been hopeful and hateful and I've screamed to the sea on an empty beach. I'll remember that feeling forever. I've danced badly and told lies and I've wished for life to accept me as I accept it. I haven't died yet, so immortality is next to me. I've seen death and fear and I've noticed how courage is kind, and kindness is rarer than a first edition of an old book my grandparents might have heard of. I have courage anyway. I've written and shared so many thoughts, but I have so many more. I'm going to do so much more.

Please don't forget me. Please remember me.

I'm scared of fate. I'm scared of hopelessness.

No one will ever know the version of myself that I know.

But the version you know...don't forget her.

Please don't forget me.

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

This is a new game. Reblog with things you've done that you don't want to be forgotten.

[thewildmother]

“And so I was thinking about it and I thought that I should tell you.. I stayed the night because you were all sad and alone and I felt bad for you.”

CAROLINE FORBES & MATT DONOVAN The Vampire Diaries (S01E09)

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Sami’s Fic Stash

Dröttning

Warnings: graphic mentions of blood, gore, mutilation, mentions of non-con, kidnap, war, death, Ivar. Harald is also a warning. 18+. There are some gaps in this 😲 it’s unfinished 🤣 also strong religious views in this.

Pairing: Ivar x English Princess!Reader (past Heahmund x F!Reader.) and Hvitserk.

Word Count: 21k+

Tagging: @adrille88 @istorkyou

You stumbled through the woods, your foot catching on a root so you fell face first. One of the Northmen picked you up by your bindings, he was tall with darker hair braided down his back. He spat something at you in Old Norse dragging a terrified whimper from you. Your face ached where it had struck the ground, no doubt the blood was mingling with the tears already wetting your skin. The sound of your father’s cries echoed in the murky wood as the chariot dragged him over the rough ground. He was going to die, you knew he was as soon as he took Ragnar from King Ecbert. You had pleaded, begged for him to listen to your sister when she warned about the Northman reaching the shores of England but your father was a stubborn man and had refused to listen to you or Judith. And now, it was his undoing.

The chariot stopped and they hauled your father upright, his feet slipping on the mud as the rain pattered down on the wet ground. A chill seeped through your dress as you recognised the woodland around you. The dip in the clearing drew your gaze and instantly you were dragged back to the death of the Viking. You had hated every second, seeing him tortured and locked in a cage like an animal but your father, King Ælle had made you stand there at watch. The big Northman, the one with lighter hair tied down his back, grabbed the front of the King’s tunic, shouting in his face. You knew who these men were, they were Ragnar’s sons and they terrified you. Dragging your father down the rain sodden slope you hoped they would forget you were there but the one charged with keeping an eye on you shoved at your shoulder. The mud was thick, clinging to your shoes wishing you were wearing your boots. Your dress was ruined, not that you cared really, it just felt uncomfortable. Torn at the seams down your leg, mud permeating the hem and weighing you down, the rain dripping down your back made you wish you were in anything else right now.

The brothers surrounded the pit, the larger one stamping hard on the wooden trap doors and the others all looked at each other. You shied to the side when the younger one crawled past you, dragging his legs with him as they opened the wooden door revealing an empty pit. You could hear them talking, snatches of words you recognised but not much. Your father stared at them, still hoping to buy his way out of this no doubt. Sniffing you wiped the wetness off your nose trying to believe that he wouldn’t offer you up so they would leave him alone.

“How much gold and silver do you want to spare my life? Name your price! Anything!” You jangled the shackles on your wrists hoping to draw his attention so he could beg for your life too but he didn’t even look in your direction, so set on saving his own skin he’d clearly forgotten you were tangled up in this mess as well. The Viking on the floor spoke, his face twisted with hatred and hope died inside your chest. There was no way out, you were going to die in these forsaken woods at the hands of these filthy heathens.

The Viking with the black face approached the King, his face like a cloud as he forced your father to his knees.

“I’ve been told your god is a carpenter,” he spoke softly and fluently but nothing could disguise the venom in his voice. “And guess what? So am I.” The one that had been by your side suddenly grabbed the back of your neck, your pulse throbbed as he dragged you forward forcing you into the mud next to your father. He gestured to you and it looked like he was asking what to do with you. The cripple turned, his eyes a stormy blue in the dark light and they were fixed on you. He came close, looking you over like you were cattle, just an object that he was deciding whether to keep or not. You tried not to flinch when he reached for your face, his bare fingers digging into your sore cheeks pulling your face around so he could have a good look at you. He said something and the others shifted, a deep rumble of amusement sounded from them. You hated not knowing what they were saying so you did the only thing you could, you spat in his face. You expected the slap, working your jaw to try and ease the pain as it blossomed under your skin.

“Kristinn Hóra!” He shouted at you, wiping the blood tinged spit off his cheek. Your father wasn’t even watching, offering no comfort as he mourned for his life in the mud of the woodland floor.

“Father!” You were grabbed at the elbow and lifted to your feet. “Father!”

“Enough!” The Viking with the black face approached, making you stumble into the chest of the one who had a hold on your arm.

With a firm shove from the Northman you slammed into the trunk of the nearest tree and he hauled your tied hands up above your head. The shackles were unforgiving against your skin and you felt it was an insult to be bound by English iron. He pulled the rope tight, making you rest on the balls of your feet. Instantly your arms began to go numb but there was nothing you could do except helplessly watch and weep.

Darkness descended and soon you were all seeing via firelight. Torches and fire pits lit the clearing, your father was spread against a fallen tree his cries ringing out as they nailed his hands mercilessly to the wood. Tears streaked down your face but not a sound left you, soon you were going to be the only Saxon surviving and you were sure the Northman were going to deal with you next. The atmosphere as it weaved between the trees made the hairs on your tired body stand on end. You tried to shut out the awful yells the King made but he wouldn’t stop, almost as if he thought shouting would get him out of this. The brothers stood around him creating an inner circle. The crippled one looked over his shoulder, an evil grin spreading across his face before he crawled his way over to you. His hands grabbed your clothes as he heaved himself up your body. Your wrists screamed in protest at the extra weight he applied to your bonds and desperately you closed your eyes hoping to block him out. The pain was unbearable, the feel of his hot breath covered your skin and you wanted nothing more than to kick him away.

“You will watch,” he spat, grabbing your face so you had no choice but to look into his turbulent gaze, the smell of his leather bracer clogged your nose. “You took our father from us,” he carried on in broken English. “And now, we will take yours.” His touch slithered back down your body, his teeth bright against the dirt on his face as he continued to smirk at you until he returned to the tree stump. Other Vikings were placed in a semi circle around them all watching intently as if they knew what was going to happen.

The tall one approached your father, ripping the back off his tunic in a single pull, from where you were tied you could see everything. A red hot blade was pulled from the flames and all the Vikings leaned in with anticipation. Your father cried out in pain, the sound of searing flesh reached your ears followed by a smell that had you gagging. It was dragged down your fathers spine, the skin almost breaking gratefully apart to create a welt down his back. You couldn’t look away watching in horror as they peeled the very skin off your fathers back.

Everything about you itched with fear and a heaviness for the life you had once lived rested on your soul.

Your lips moved, whispering words out into the void as you begged for forgiveness. Your body cried out to be saved but even now you knew no one was listening. The God you had once looked up to you and trusted with your life was nowhere to be found. Your tears tasted bitter on the corners of your mouth, continuing to spit out words in desperation yet you knew they did nothing to serve you.

As you watched them butcher your father your eyes were drawn to the youngest Ragnarsson. He slipped off the wooden stump, his gaze locked with the Kings and he crept forward. You knew what he was doing and it made you sick to your stomach. A gleeful smile twisted his features when your father finally stopped crying out, the life in his body visibly draining away. Nausea rippled through your own body making it clench your twisted stomach so that it emptied, the sound of your fathers ribs cracking would be a noise you’d have nightmares about for years. Blood made the ground even more slick, it had splashed up onto the brothers faces yet they did nothing to wipe it away. Standing and silently watching as the biggest extracted the entirety of his revenge on the King.

You must have blacked out, the next thing you knew it was daylight, pain eviscerated the muscles in your arms and you fell unceremoniously to the floor. Your eyes fluttered open only to be faced with the sight of your dead father strung up before you. He looked like an Angel with his skin spread out and you sniggered knowing that was one thing your father could never be. Were you next? You didn’t care, your body was broken and bruised if anything death would be a release right now.

—

It was peaceful, the mist hung low over the water of the river. Silence clung to every particle only dispersing when the oars broke the surface of the water, a soft sound that relaxed you. If you closed your eyes you imagined you were on an English boat, gliding through the stillness on a crisp morning. But when you felt movement beside you that illusion was shattered. You had no idea why but the youngest son, Ivar, had taken to being at your side. He watched you all the time, his piercing gaze boring right down into your soul. To your relief the other Vikings left you alone but from what you could gather they were concentrating on getting to Wessex to kill King Ecbert. Out of habit you said a quick prayer hoping your sister and her children had at least made it from the villa but it went unnoticed.

You had given up weeping, tears did not serve you, they just attracted attention and you were hoping to eventually slip through the cracks. While they were busy with the ransacking of Wessex you hoped to escape, maybe you’d die but maybe you’d make it.

You picked at the wood on the side of the boat, catching your nail and pulling. This tiny sensation was all that kept you from spiralling into nothingness, the pain started as you applied more pressure and you felt a sick sense of satisfaction. Hissing you gave it a final push, the nail finally splintered, ripping a chunk off and blood welled up from the wound. Instantly hands were on you, his body covered yours as he responded to your noise.

“What did you do that for, huh?” His English had improved rapidly and it shocked you a little that this heathen seemed fairly intelligent. He lifted your finger to his mouth but you snatched it back watching the amusement play around his mouth. He grabbed your hand, this time applying enough pressure to make you cry out drawing the attention of the Viking that stood next to you both. This was his brother Hvitserk. Closing your eyes and turning away you had no choice but to let Ivar take your finger in his mouth. His tongue was warm as he licked the wound, repulsion curling all your insides into one another at the sensation. His spit dribbled down your wrist and finally you struggled enough so he released you, wiping his chin and grinning at you.

“Careful now dröttning. Don’t want to get sick.”

“Ivar.” The other brother, Ubbe stepped up beside you looking over the edge of the boat. “We’re here.” You felt your heart thump a little harder in your chest as they all started to move, the boat jolted as it grounded itself against the embankment. They jumped off the edge of the boat, the first thing they did was take you ashore. A pole was shoved into the ground and you were tied against it, your arms wrenched behind your back so no matter how you stood it wasn’t comfortable. All you could do now was observe. They unloaded quickly and efficiently, the camp only taking hours to take shape, Ivar sat on a seat near you overseeing the unloading of his chariot and horse. You tried to ignore a Northman that was staring at you, his head tilted slightly to the side. He had tattoos across his face and a long single braid down his back. His clothes were slightly different telling you he was of higher standing than most of the others and he had a sword. His boots squelched in the mud as he approached, which Ivar noticed almost immediately.

“Harald,” he called. “What do you think of my dröttning?” Your knowledge of their language was getting better, the need to understand drove you to listen and learn.

“What are you going to do with her Ivar?” He reached out and flicked the damage material of your clothes, his eyes raking over your exposed skin with a hungry look. “Is she for entertainment?” Ivar’s expression hardened slightly even though it never changed. His eyes seemed to darken in colour, the quick movement of his lips against his teeth was all that gave away how much he disliked the question.

“I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with her,” his tone was light and dismissive as he turned away to watch some Vikings chop wood. “I’m sure I’ll come up with something. In the meantime, she is not to be harmed.” You both watched as he crawled away and you relaxed in your bindings. From what you’d seen the Ragnarsson’s words held power here and you were sure this, Harald would listen. You hoped anyway.

—

Once the encampment was erected fully you were moved, dragged away from the river's edge and dumped near a shelter where food was being served. Your hands were bound but they were in front of you for a change so you took the opportunity to roll your shoulders trying to ease the ache that plagued them. The brothers were all sitting down wrapped in cloaks and warm furs, feasting on the freshly caught wildlife. The smell of the wild stag they were cooking over the fire made your stomach growl loudly and you watched intently as they all ate with gusto. Hvitserk leaned forward, deftly slicing off a chunk of meat. To your surprise he got up and approached you, crouching down he held it out to you yet still you hesitated. Glancing up at him he smiled a little, offering you the meat again. Your hands were filthy, covered in the mud from the ground and it coated the food as soon as you took it but you didn’t care. It was delicious, your teeth tearing into the softness of the meat, the juices dripping off your chin and he gave a little chuckle.

He moved back to sit with the rest and you concentrated on what Ivar was saying. It seemed he was insulting your fellow Englishmen with Björn disagreeing at every turn.

“I can only see what my eyes tell me Björn and what I see is frightened people running before us. I see their spineless God running away from our Gods.” You hated how you automatically agreed with him. Where was your God? It seemed he had abandoned your people in the face of these many Gods that the Heathens worshipped. How could you compete? One never faired well against the many. The argument continued as they dismissed their youngest brother but you had the feeling this Viking was not to be underestimated.

Being the youngest daughter of King Ælle you were mainly left to your own devices until he found someone for you to marry and take you away. You took it upon yourself to learn to read and write, your cousin Mannel had given you secret sparring lessons and you observed interactions between men. Hiding in the shadows and mainly going unnoticed you knew far more than your father ever believed. You had watched the dynamic between the brothers for over a week now, Björn and Ubbe being the eldest were the calmer ones. Trying to keep their brothers from fighting and yet they all would argue with Ivar, telling him he knows nothing at the first chance they had. Ivar may be the youngest like you but you saw in him a rebellious nature that you could relate to. If you hadn’t been born worlds apart you’d have possibly got on rather well. The name Ragnar pulled you back, all the brothers were staring at each other with almost undisguised hatred and you mentally kicked yourself for not listening.

“So this was what the grunting of the little pigs was all about,” a tall Viking chastised. As one they turned to look at Floki, you hid a small smirk and leaned against your pole. It seemed no matter where you were from, family was a problem.

—

The days blended together in a blur of misery and mud. You felt cold all the time, tied to this pole with nowhere to shelter against the rain. Not once did you complain, the brothers kept an eye on you but really it was only Hvitserk who seemed to care about keeping you fed and watered. You had spied King Harald a few times watching you but he didn’t approach you, much to your relief. Keeping yourself tucked into a ball not many people paid you much attention. Thinking you couldn’t understand what they were saying you were privy to all the information that was brought to the Ragnarssons. Listening closely as reports came in of a Saxon army, Æthelwulf leading the charge from the gates of Wessex. If he defeated the Vikings you would be saved and returned to your dreary life in Northumbria. You weren’t sure what was better, slowly dying here in the mud or slowly dying behind the scenes of the royal throne in Northumbria.

“Floki let me take her,” you looked up to see Helga. One of the few women you observed not to be a shieldmaiden, she had a teenager under her arm. A girl with long flowing dark hair who looked like her soul had died. Her eyes held no life, clearly a shell of who she once was. “She will get sick.”

“Alright take her. But make sure she doesn’t get away,” he hissed before stalking off. Your rope was placed in her hands meaning you had no choice but to follow her. She took you and the younger girl a little way from encampment and stepped towards the river.

“Wash,” she said in Anglo-Saxon, pointing at you. “Wash.” You didn’t even remove your clothes, stepping into the water you gasped at the chill but you did shed yourself of as much mud as possible. Dragging your fingers as best as you could through your hair you ducked down under the water. The rope tugged and you broke the surface wishing you could have stayed under there and slipped away unnoticed. Helga pulled you back to the bank, her kohl rimmed eyes were slightly wide as she watched you. “Come on, let’s dry you and give you some clean clothes.” By the time you got to her little hut you were shivering uncontrollably, even your feet felt numb and she pushed you towards the fire pit in the middle. She removed the rope and you let her strip your clothes off, her hands pausing when she saw your scars. Carefully she traced the outline on your side. “Where did you get this?” You didn’t respond, staring deep into the glow of the fire as you remembered. The echoes of pain licked at you causing you to shiver and not with the cold. Helga wrapped you in a thick fur and forced you to the ground. All the while the young girl just stared into space and you wondered if that was going to be you soon, soulless and devoid of life. A cup of some steaming mead was shoved in your hands and you guzzled it quickly, snuggling down as you finally began to dry off and warm up.

Helga approached you with a dress, gesturing for you to stand up. Her eyes were drawn to the silver cross that dangled around your neck and she reached for it. Turning it over in the firelight she held it up before your face.

“This cannot save you.” She furrowed her brow and sighed like she was disappointed in you. Letting it fall back against your skin, she lifted the dress and you shed the fur to slip into the coarse clothing she put on you.

“Helga!” A trickle of dread weaved its way down your spine at the sound of his sing-song voice. The thud of his hands on the ground followed by the drag of his legs. He heaved himself inside, pulling his legs round with a grunt. “Was she good?” He asked brightly.

“Yes, but she wears this,” she told him, grabbing the cross out from under the collar of the dress. To your surprise he grinned leaning forward slightly he squinted at the silver cross.

“So? We know she’s a Christian,” his accent made the word almost spit out of him. “Soon she will see that her God is nothing compared to ours.” You felt Helga press a pair of boots against your leg, the hide was supple in your hands and you gratefully put them on. The fur you had dried in was placed around your shoulders and you clutched at the edges fearful that someone might take it from you. “Come dröttning. Let’s go and find your kin.” You looked back at Helga but she was already focussed on the girl who’s name you didn’t even know so you had no choice but to follow Ivar.

You watched him pull himself up into his chariot, standing awkwardly to the side you waited. Your gaze lifted, seeing the weapons on Ivar’s belt and a reckless scenario played out before you of a daring escape after killing the Northman. Twisting your hands together you let out a soft breath, watching it mist before you in the cold air. Ivar sat in his seat, a knowing look on his face as his hands rested casually on the pommel, the reins loose in his grip.

“Get up,” he demanded in Saxon.

“Where are we going?” It was the first time you’d really spoken out loud in days and your throat felt scratchy. You asked even though you knew Judith's husband Prince Æthelwulf had raised an army to counter the Vikings but you weren’t sure it was enough. The Northmen certainly weren’t worried.

“We are going to find your brother by marriage,” he said softly, leaning forward slightly. “Now get up,” he told you, inclining his head to the chariot. You took a step back only to thump into the chest of Ubbe. His hands wedged under your armpits and lifted you forcefully into the chariot to stand next to Ivar.

“You’ve stayed alive this long,” he murmured looking up at you. His blue eyes flicked to Ivar before he stepped away, knocking his hand on the side of the chariot. Ivar shook the reins jolting his horse into motion and you held tightly onto the wooden side, spreading your legs automatically to balance yourself.

—

The army was like a snake, weaving its way through the countryside in a long line. The brothers walked around the chariot like a personal guard, Björn walking next to Ivar’s horse near the front. Hvitserk was beside you wrapped in his cloak and furs, no one spoke until the sound of a galloping horse made everyone look up.

“Stop!” Yelled Björn, bringing the company to a halt as the rider approached. You tried to look puzzled even disinterested when the rider told them the Saxon army was less than a days ride away. The scout said the army was large but Björn didn’t even comment, just saying they were going to camp here and tomorrow face Æthelwulf in battle. Ivar watched his brothers for a moment as the horns blasted through the trees of the woodland alerting the rest of the army to what was happening.

“You can make camp. I want to take a look at where we are going to fight.” They turned as one at Ivar’s words.

“What are you talking about?” Asked Ubbe.

“They will expect us to fight in a certain way,” Ivar explained. “Why should we do that?” It took all of your control not to show your surprise at his words. If the Vikings changed from well known tactics the Prince didn’t stand a chance. “Why don’t we plan to fight in a different way and surprise them?” Hvitserk stepped closer followed by Björn who looked thoroughly annoyed that Ivar had even suggested something out of the ordinary.

“Our warriors won’t understand what’s happening. We fight in a shieldwall, that’s how we fight,” Hvitserk said.

“But we have a bigger army now. And they have a bigger army now, Hvitserk. We cannot fight in the same way.” You didn’t move, your hands curling over the edge of the chariot as you intently listened, you agreed with Ivar, smashing two armies together with such vast numbers could mean the battle lasted for days not to mention the number of casualties.

“It’s too late to change now,” Sigurd spoke up and instantly everything about Ivar changed, his posture tensed, the tone of his voice grew deeper and you could sense the dislike they had for each other.

“Who are you to say that? Shut your mouth,” he scolded, squaring his shoulders slightly.

“We are brothers,” interrupted Björn. “Together.” He looked at them all before sighing slightly. “Why do you want to change the tactics?” He asked Ivar.

“Do you want to win, brother?” You could see the youngest Ragnarsson was trying not to lose his temper as he attempted to get Björn on side, if he did that the rest would follow without question. “Come with me Björn,” he pleaded softly. “Let’s investigate the battlefield. Perhaps instead of the narrow and small place we should stretch the battle over a large area. Many miles, and use the landscape. Ditches, hills, woods…” he paused. Ubbe looked at Björn, a passive expression on his face, Hvitserk nodded slightly as though admitting to himself that Ivar’s idea was worth investigating. Björn pondered in quiet for a moment, exchanging a look with Ubbe before he spoke.

“If it works, then it is a good plan. If it doesn’t, then it is a bad plan.” You refrained from smirking at the big Vikings logic. Yes, Ivar was definitely the smartest out of them.

“What do you say, dröttning?” Suddenly all their gazes were on you but you refused to feel flustered at the direct attention.

“About what?” You asked quickly, pretending you had no idea what they’d been saying. Hvitserk laughed out loud running a hand over his chin, his hazel eyes dancing with amusement. Ivar smirked, uncrossing his arms so he could turn to look at you next to him.

“I may be a cripple but I am not stupid.” You opened your mouth to protest and claim all innocence but Björn was already mounting a horse, the other brothers backing up to give him and Ivar room.

“What are you waiting for?” He called, kicking the horse in the sides and charging off. Ivar studied your features for a few more seconds as though he could see right through you. Maybe he could.

—

You knew this countryside, where Ivar had chosen to meet Æthelwulf in battle, was a place you would have picked as well. The Saxons would approach from the bottom of the hill, making them expend energy before the battle had even started but that was Ivar’s plan all along. Not to meet them head on in combat, but to drive Æthelwulf insane by toying with him, to lead him into a choice that Ivar predicted he would take. They mainly ignored you as they discussed battle tactics, wondering why, if Ivar suspected you knew more Norse than you let on, was he letting you hear all of this? Maybe he was that cocksure in your inability to escape.

“Good plan dröttning?” With a soft sigh you looked over the hillocks, the grassy clumps filling the steep decline from where you were standing. There was a woodland at the bottom all murky and dark with thick foliage. A deep ditch ran along the tree line, something horses could barely leap without breaking a leg. Drizzle settled on your skin and the fur around your shoulders sagged slightly in the fine wetness.

“I don’t know what the plan is,” you told him. Björn huffed, reining his horse round to gallop back to the Northman army. You expected Ivar to follow but he didn’t, his armour began to glisten in the dying light of the day as the drizzle collected on the surface.

“I know you think we are stupid. Some of us are,” he moved abruptly, barely giving you time to flinch as the blade of his knife was pressed against the side of your neck. His other hand grabbed the front of your clothes pulling you closer to him. “But I am not.”

“Forgive me Hlaford Ivar! I-I did not mean to cause offence!”

“What is this word…Hlaford?” He inquired, his eyes flitting over your face.

“It is a title you are worthy of,” you whispered. The knife moved up to stroke along your cheek and you saw he had a scar on his own, if you lived long enough maybe you’d hear how he received such a wound. He released you as though bored, throwing you against the side of the chariot making you hiss in surprise.

“You will come to battle tomorrow,” he sniffed, wiping the moisture that had collected on his nose. “I want to see Prince Æthelwulf look into your eyes and know he cannot save you.” Slapping the reins his horse responded but you frowned.

“You want me at the battle?”

“You are no stranger to a battle you were with your father. Why? I thought you Saxon women hid in your halls cowering behind your fake God.”

“It’s true. But I am not like other Saxon women,” you told him bristling slightly as his perception, your hand lifting out of habit to brush the hidden cross on your chest only to drop as soon as you’d done it.

“That I already know.” He snapped the reins and his horse broke into a canter shutting down the conversation.

—

Back with the army you were trussed up by Hvitserk, his hazel eyes were kinder than his brothers and he seemed more gentle but he was still a Viking and you’d seen him fight against your own soldiers. He adjusted the fur on your shoulders, pulling it more around you quickly making eye contact before he exited the makeshift hut you were in. Looking around you saw a bed, some chairs and a small table set with some plates of food. It wasn't much but you wondered who was going to be staying in here with you. At least you were out of the weather, and there was grass underfoot rather than slick mud. Sliding down to sit you tried to get as comfortable as you could, ignoring the food that was just out of your reach. Light streamed in when the flap was shoved to the side revealing the last person you expected to see.

King Harald stalked towards you with dark intent clouding his eyes and you opened your mouth to scream. The sound was muffled by his hand over your face, lifting you effortlessly with the other and ramming you against the pole you were tied to.

“It’s unfair for Ivar to keep you all to himself,” he growled in your ear as you squirmed against him. You pleaded but it fell on deaf ears, jamming your thighs together but still he lifted your dress and forced them apart. You heaved your body to try and dislodge him but all he did was chuckle softly against your cheek. “Such pretty squealing.” As you squeezed your eyes shut, tears were forced to fall down your face, the muscles in your thighs screaming at the invasion as he ran his hand higher to your groin. If you could shove him away, make him stumble you could have got the leverage to kick him or head butt him in the nose, anything to dislodge him. His breath was panting against your face, his body suffocating yours when he pressed in closer, the ridges of his leather armour cutting into you.

“Did Ivar give you permission, King Harald?” Your eyes flew open to see Björn holding up a knife as though inspecting the edge of the blade. To your relief Harald withdrew his hand, straightening up slightly and you wasted no time in throwing your head forward. Your forehead connected forcefully with his nose making him cry out and stumble back. He went to step towards you in anger but Björn grabbed his arm, halting him. “I wouldn’t.” He warned.

“What does he want with some spoilt girl anyway?” Exclaimed Harald. “What’s the point of her if we can’t fuck her?”

“He thinks the Saxons will bargain for her or something. So she is to remain unharmed,” Björn told him.

“I wasn’t going to ruin her completely. Since when did we start taking orders from Ivar?” Björn glared at the shorter man for a moment before answering.

“Come, let us drink and I will tell you what we have planned for tomorrow.” To your relief they left and you flopped back to the floor allowing yourself to take a deep breath. Emotion gathered in your chest but you refused to let it out, pursing your lips together to stop them quivering. You highly doubted Æthelwulf would even consider bargaining for your life, you were the youngest of 4 what use were you to the line of succession? Hanging your head low your thoughts went again to what would happen to you once the Vikings found out you were a useless prisoner. Hopefully they killed you quickly but you doubted it.

You must have dozed because the next thing you knew Ivar was sitting in front of you, a plate of food on his strapped legs as he watched you with curiosity.

“Ah, she wakes.” Your shoulders ached and your body was tired from being uncomfortable not to mention the pain in your stomach from being hungry. You tried not to look at his plate but the bread looked delicious, the meat although cold would still taste fantastic. You looked away trying not to show interest but your stomach growled loudly and Ivar smirked. “Hungry?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

“I could eat,” you replied. He shuffled closer until his shoulder brushed against yours.

“Open,” he coaxed you softly, holding a piece of bread in his fingers.

“If you just bring my hands…” your words died when he grabbed your chin.

“I said, open.” His fingers dug into your face, forcing your jaw to open enough to shove the bread past your teeth with his thumb. “There. Wasn’t hard was it?” He spoke with a gleeful tone which you tried not to glare at him for. “Open,” he demanded again and this time you complied. He slipped the meat into your mouth, trailing a finger over your lip, his eyes watching your face intently. “Good girl,” he breathed. You let him feed you, ignoring the little touches he gave your lips, your chin, your cheeks. His eyes never left you save to dip down to the plate and back up to you as he placed more food in your mouth. Next he offered you some mead, the liquid spilling past your lips but you didn’t care, it was the most satisfied you’d felt since they had captured you. Licking your lips you let out a hmm of contentment.

To your surprise he untied you from the pole but the rope remained around your wrists, your hands were almost numb and dried blood marking the bindings from your struggle earlier.

“Get on the bed.” You didn’t even question it, stumbling as best as you could onto the fur laden cot and laying down snuggling your face into the hides. Ivar forcefully turned you over and fear made you rigid as he yanked your hands up attaching them to the base of the cot so you were stretched out beneath him. Ivar smirked at your lips clenched together, the rapid rise of your chest and the blank expression on your face as you glared at him. Daring him to try it with you. “Go to sleep dröttning.” He lay down next to you, his armour digging into your side as he draped an arm over your stomach but soon his breathing was even enough for you to relax. You studied him in the dying firelight, his hair was growing out from a shorter cut and you found yourself wondering how soft it was.

Because of who you were and your station you should not have any experience of being this close to a man, but you did. A holy man no less, but you had accepted his advances without a care in the world. You had a reckless streak, a sense of contemptment for your position in this world. You did everything someone of your standing shouldn’t do but you had slipped under your fathers notice plenty of times.

Ivar shifted, tucking himself impossibly closer to you and you tensed a little out of reflex. This was probably one of the most dangerous Northman you’d ever encountered and he was currently using you as a pillow. A weakness you could play on, his unspoken need for reassurance, comfort, maybe even love. He was, after all, human.

—

Your seat on the chariot was uncomfortable. Ivar sat you on the bar in front of his own seat, his hands holding the reins either side of you as you raced through the countryside. Your hands were bound but you’d managed to plead your way out of a gag, not that Ivar cared. As far as he was concerned you weren’t getting close enough to the Saxons to say anything anyway. The wooden bar jarred your coccyx as the chariot ran over the uneven ground, you leaned forward slightly hoping to relieve the pressure.

You crested the hill, Ivar pulling his horse to a stop and looked down the line of the army. It spread all the way across the top of the hill, flags snapping in the brisk breeze. You could see the Saxons at the bottom with their own banners tugging on the flag poles, Æthelwulf was there on his mount. You had no particular feelings towards your sister’s husband, only having met him a couple of times when the courts mingled.

You expected your heart to melt with homesickness, you thought seeing him would have you scrabbling over the edge of the chariot in desperation. But none of that happened. A cool indifference seemed to settle on your shoulders, even when the Prince saw you, recognition dawning on his bearded face as he yelled instructions, no doubt for your rescue. One you weren’t sure you wanted. The drums silenced and a hush settled over the field as the two sides sized each other up. It was a habit to want a weapon in your hand, staring at this many soldiers made you jittery even if they were your kin.

Ivar pulled gently on his reins, the horse turning away with the rest of the heathens but you kept your eyes trained on Æthelwulf until it felt like your back was breaking. The blare of a horn broke the grey stillness and you finally dragged your attention to your hands. The blood on the rope now brown with age, your wrists still raw and split but it was a pain you were used to a pain you were willing to put up with.

The trees swallowed up the army, the mist and murkiness of the English countryside offering you cover to sneak behind Æthelwulf’s forces. And so the game began. From where you were with Ivar in the trees you heard the arrows fly, the shouts of the Saxons, the orders from the Prince as his men fell around him. Their defence was meagre at best, a mild attempt of protection at a foe they couldn’t see. Ivar’s plan was working. The positioning was perfect, his foresight unparalleled and you had no doubt the rest of his tactics were going to work. You waited for it, the heaviness of your heart, the disappointment at your lack of rescue but still, it did not come.

The sounds stopped. Ivar leaned forward in the quiet, his breath warm on the back of your neck as he wrapped a hand around your throat.

“You see dröttning?” He whispered. “No one can save you.” His fingers tightened possessively around the front of your throat, his face almost pressed against the side of your own. The closeness reminded you of being in his bed and the fear died down to just a shimmer over your skin. You had no doubt this man could end you and think nothing of it but also…he’d kept you alive.

He released you, gesturing to Floki and the Vikings began to move to the top of the hill once more. The big Viking was winded, leaning heavily on the chariot as Ivar rested nonchalantly in his seat. You heard the yells, saw the Saxons charging up the hill once more, the ground slick with sticky mud, churned up by hooves and feet alike.

“Mmmmm, four blasts,” Ivar told Floki.

“If you say so,” he gasped lifting the massive horn and blowing four deep rumbles across the field.

—

I moved on from this bit 😅 a huge chunk is missing.

—

You watched as one of Ivar’s men approached with a slave girl. You looked her up and down as she walked forward, trailing a hand across the back of Ivar’s chair. Her dress was simple, a deep red colour that made her blondeness stand out against it. She was pretty and instantly captured Ivar’s attention much to your annoyance.

“Slave,” his voice rung out in the church, echoing back to you slightly and you thought how much nicer it sounded in here than a priests voice chanting useless words to his congregation. “You know who I am?”

“Of course,” her voice had a melodic quality making it pleasing to listen to. “You are Ivar,” she stated simply. Turning on your heel the sound reverberated in the almost empty hall and Ivar cast a quick glance at you but her attention never wavered from him.

“Ivar,” he sounded almost disappointed at the lack of the rest of his name. His head tilted forward watching her come towards him and you allowed yourself a quick smirk. “Is that it?”

“No. Ivar the Boneless.”

“You don’t…seem afraid of me.” You trailed your hand over the gilded curve of his seat again, daring to brush the ends of his hair as you glared at the slave. She smiled, creating a heat to prickle under your skin.

“No.”

“We are expecting to be attacked by the Saxons, they have a large army outside of these walls. We must ask the Gods for help. We must offer them a sacrifice.” The chair creaked loudly as he leaned forward, the aged wood protesting from the movement. He crossed his arms and you carried on walking, your dress raking quietly along the floor. “Would you be willing to offer yourself as a sacrifice?”

“I will do anything you ask me to do,” she replied confidently. You studied the stone wall almost hating yourself for needing to turn around as the blood rushes past your ears. Ivar slumped back in the seat spreading his arms resting them on the arms of the chair.

“Then take off your clothes.”

“Is that really necessary?” The words slipped from you as you turned on your heel again but Ivar held up a hand to silence you, never taking his eyes off the slave. To your dismay she began to remove her dress, slipping the shoulders over her slim figure to let it pool at her feet. You looked away, wanting to march from this place but you also knew that where Ivar was you had to be. It was the condition of you being allowed to roam free, if that’s what you could call it.

“Come closer,” you recognised the tone of Ivar’s voice, the coaxing playfulness he used when he wanted his own way. Clutching your hands together you dug your fingernails into your skin, concentrating on the pain and not what was happening in front of you. Refusing to recognise the burning feeling in your chest that intensified with each step the slave girl took. She stopped at the first step clearly not wanting to overstep her boundaries but you saw the self satisfied look on her face that Ivar the Boneless himself was admiring her naked form. “Kiss me,” your heart jumped at the sound of his plea. The whispered words, still loud enough to echo against the stone pillars and you grit your teeth trying to erase them from your mind. Finally your body found the motor function to move as she mounted his lap. Turning slightly you headed to the burning candles on the altar, carefully dancing your fingers among the flames in an effort to burn away what was happening behind you. The sound of Ivar’s sigh had your stomach clenching with jealousy, a nauseating feeling crept up the back of your throat and you coughed lightly.

“I-I don’t understand,” he breathed.

“I know you’re a cripple, Boneless. But let me tell you something. Your deformity means that the Gods favour you, especially. I’ve always known that. I’ve always looked for people who are born different. Because that’s the true sign. You are a very special person. Nobody else here is like you.” You sneaked a look over your shoulder to see she was still seated on his lap like a tavern whore. She leaned forward to speak into his ear but her eyes were trained on you. “You are destined for great things.” Your gaze narrowed. How dare she come and throw herself at him like this, filling his head with nonsense. You still had much to learn about the Norse Gods but you were going to learn from people like Floki and not listen to the poison that dripped from this slave.

“You are free to go,” Ivar finally said. Your hand came down onto the altar knocking a candle over to splatter onto the floor.

“Do you not want me to…?”

“No, no you don't understand. You’re a free woman now.” Lifting your eyes up to the ceiling, you questioned his state of mind at this moment. She was the perfect candidate for a sacrifice and although the practice was new to you, this wouldn’t have been someone you missed. “Leave.” She walked away, grabbing her dress and sauntering down to the door where the guards waited.

“She would have been perfect,” you commented dryly, picking wax off the hem of your dress and trying to appear indifferent.

“What makes you say that?” He asked, turning to regard you with a furrowed brow.

“She was willing, isn’t that what you…we look for?”

“Then we shall just find someone else,” he said matter-of-factly. He leaned over the arm of the chair, that evil knowing sneer slithering across his face. “Were you jealous dröttning?” You scoffed loudly while still looking at the weave of your own garment even though your eyes were out of focus.

“Of a slave girl?”

“Of a free woman,” he reminded you slowly. “I could take her for my wife if I so wished.”

“You can do whatever you like. You are Ivar the Boneless,” you replied, forcing all emotion out of your voice. He eyed you for a moment before changing the subject completely.

“I heard King Æthelwulf arrived with his wife and sons to increase the numbers of these warrior priests.”

“The Knights Templar,” you whispered, ignoring the way he just slipped in the mention of your family.

“You need a set band of warriors to fight on behalf of your god?” He asked in disbelief. “The arrogance, he must be a great god indeed!” He reached for his spiked cane, lifting himself off the chair using the arm to steady himself. You chose not to respond, was it arrogant? Where was your god? He let the Vikings into his sacred halls, defiling everything without any repercussions. The scream from the priest as Ivar poured the gold into his mouth still lingered at the edge of your thoughts. The way Hvitserk butchered the nun at the back of the church after he’d had his way with her still turned your stomach. His blood stained face would haunt your nightmares for months and you were grateful Ivar hadn’t seen fit to treat you in such a way.

You tried not to be affected, you desperately tried not to see because you needed to survive. Ivar seemed to show an interest in you for now and you couldn’t let his interest run out. You knew if that day came, it was the day your life ended.

—

You sat at the table as Ivar ate, staring hard at your plate. You tried to ignore the Viking sitting on your right. Hvitserk sighed with frustration as he looked at his brother swigging out of his cup before he spoke. His arm settled on the table and you involuntarily jerked away from him causing Ivar to stop his brother mid sentence.

“What’s the matter with you?” He asked incredulously.

“I’m just not hungry,” you breathed.

“No, eat. You’re going to need it.”

“Ivar, would you listen to me?” Hvitserk seemed utterly oblivious to your fear of him. You don’t know why it had unsettled you so much, you saw Björn blood eagle your father, you witnessed Ivar’s sharp battle tactics and the whole army’s ruthlessness. But Hvitserk…the one brother you were beginning to like because he brought you food and blankets. Because he seemed more mellow than the rest had shocked you to your very centre. You weren’t an innocent wallflower by any stretch of the imagination, your hands had been coated with blood more than once, animal and human. Your cousin had prepared you as well as he could for battle, he told you the horrors of war but he didn’t mention that.

You listened as Ivar taunted Hvitserk, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes as your heart raced frantically. Angry Hvitserk was not something you could deal with today, flinching when he slammed his cup down and left to a chorus of laughter.

“You shouldn’t anger him like that,” you whispered.

“What? Not allowed to torment my own brother?” Ivar continued to eat the meat off the bone, his attention on you now his entertainment had gone. Settling back in his chair he had some of his mead and wiped his face giving a little satisfied gasp. “What has happened? Hvitserk, did he hurt you?”

“No,” you frowned. You put your arms around yourself suddenly feeling very cold. Ivar cast a glance down the hall, dragging his tongue over the front of his teeth as he tried to figure out what had happened. “Then why are you so frightened of him?”

“Tell me about the gods,” you blurted.

“Why? What good would knowledge of our gods be for a Kristinn like you?” He sneered the word at you, making your skin crawl. Your fingers fumbled blindly for the chain around your neck, wrenching it so the silver cut into your flesh, breaking from the force of your pull. Raising your gaze to meet Ivar’s, you slammed the cross onto the table. He sat up slightly rolling his shoulder before he reached for the offending piece of jewellery.

“I don’t want it anymore. I have forsaken him the way he has forsaken me.” Sadness welled inside you and for a second it felt like you were going to break but you stayed strong. Curling your fingers into your dress as Ivar picked up the chain, dangling the still warm cross between you both.

“This is all you have left,” he told you even though you already knew.

“I don’t. Want it.” It took all your composure not to flinch when he tossed it over his shoulder, flinging the cross into the mud and filth that lined the floor of what was once a house of god. His eyes studied you closely looking for any sign of weakness, waiting to pounce and exploit it as much as he could. But you didn’t give him the satisfaction and he grinned lazily, settling back into his chair as he picked up his knife.

“What do you want to know?”

—

You’d been confined to your room for a few days slowly going crazy and finding yourself missing the company of Ivar and even Hvitserk. Although his face covered in blood still haunted your nightmares, his smile and soft voice sometimes entered your dreams. Staring out of the window you could see activity down in the streets and you wondered if the Vikings ever stopped. They constantly seemed busy, always doing or building something.

You turned as your door opened to reveal Ivar standing there, his blue eyes resting on you by the window, that knife swinging from his fingers as usual. A cocky lopsided grin turned up the corner of his mouth.

“Come on,” he said as though he’s been waiting for you this whole time. You almost charged after him so grateful to see someone other than the thrall who never spoke when she delivered your food.

“Where are we going?” You asked, desperate to have some form of conversation even if it was with your captor.

“I want to show you something,” he replied. He led you to the very edge where an abandoned building made of stone stood. He paused outside leaning forcefully on his cane as you peered through the open door. “Go,” he ordered you gesturing inside. All your nerves seemed to come alight as you stepped over the threshold hoping you weren’t going to be brutally murdered. The entryway was small but it soon opened up into a wide area and in the middle was a large bath. Ivar’s cane rang out loudly in this space but your gaze was drawn to the mosaics, running your hands over the smooth tile and rough grout not even sure what the picture was trying to tell you. On the other side Ivar lowered himself onto a seat, seeming content to watch your fingers dance over the different colours on the wall. Next you crouched by the water, dipping your fingertips just below the water line. It was warm, deliciously warm. Curling your hand into a fist you stood, wishing you could slip in and wash the grime from your body and you wondered if Ivar brought you here to tease you.

“Are you going to get in?” Sharply you looked up, noticing the table was laden with food and a flagon mead.

“In here?” You pointed at the water by your feet and Ivar smirked.

“If you want I can have you locked back up…” he made to get up but your voice echoed loudly in protest. He sat back down and you let the noise of your shout diminish before speaking again.

“No, I—I would like to get in.” He waved a hand dismissively and poured himself a drink. You didn’t care that he was here, you didn’t care that he could see you, so needy you were for the touch of warm water over your skin you stripped immediately. Trailing your hands through the water you sighed, ducking down to feel the caress just under your chin. The water was glorious, smooth and soft, warm and comforting so much so that a soft groan left you that bounced off the walls. You wet your hair, dragging your hands through it, releasing knots and shedding yourself of weeks of dirt. So lost in enjoying yourself you didn’t see someone else enter until he spoke.

“You not getting in brother?” Hvitserk was already half undressed when you saw him standing at the edge looking over at Ivar. You retreated to the far corner keeping yourself covered by the murky water trying to look anywhere else but Hvitserk as he pulled off his boots and leather britches. He laughed, making a show of splashing as he stepped into the pool before hunkering down like you were with a rough moan of satisfaction. “The water is perfect. How did you find this place?” He rested his arms on the side, back to you as he spoke to Ivar and your eyes were drawn to the dark lines on his skin.

“I look Hvitserk, I take an interest. I don’t intend on leaving this place so why not make myself at home.” Ivar stabbed a piece of fruit, his icy gaze sliding to you but you didn’t see. Captivated by the marking on Hvitserk’s arm and shoulder you didn’t realise you’d crept closer until you heard how quiet it was. Looking up you saw the older of the two watching you with those hazel eyes and a half smile.

“Like it?” He asked, peering over his own shoulder. “Want a closer look?” He turned to face you but you were already moving, the water sloshing around with each movement and all you could think about was getting out. Their gazes burned into your skin as you hurriedly slipped the dress back over your now soaking body, ringing your hair out so it splashed onto the side.

“Can I go?” You asked Ivar, barely bringing yourself to look at him in the eye as he lazed comfortably in his chair.

“Vik!” He called and a guard appeared from outside. “Take her back to her room.” He grabbed your arm like you were going to run away but you just accepted it, you’d seen what they did to people who fought back.

—

You didn’t sleep that night. Maybe it was the impending battle, you had no idea what was going to happen. With a sigh you got off the bed, thankful that Ivar had let you have some privacy. Your hand instantly went to the vacant spot on your chest, the lack of your cross a burning reminder of what you’d said to Ivar. For a fleeting moment you wondered if you should retrieve the cross but then you thought, why should I? You owed him nothing. The god had abandoned you and now you needed to find a way to survive without him. Padding over to the window you looked at the plumes of smoke that rose into the moonlit sky, soon the fires would be out and then the battle would commence.

“I had this made for you.” You looked up from eating your breakfast in the dullness of the early dawn. Ivar stood by the bed you had tossed and turned in all night as a slave girl stepped around him holding what looked like armour. Standing and running you hand over the leather you gazed up at him in surprise.

“Ivar…”

“You are to stay with me at all times,” he demanded. “Wouldn’t want you to ruin what I have planned,” he spoke with a self satisfied smirk, his custom made dagger swirling round his finger as he leaned on his crutch. “Get ready.” He swiftly cast his blue eyes over you before leaving. The slave got to work straight away encasing you in the armour. It covered your torso and arms, chainmail hung from the shoulders where the lamellar didn’t reach and supple leather fingerless gloves were slipped over your hands. You tested your range of movement and found it didn’t hinder you at all, made perfectly for your shape and size.

You were led outside where you saw Ivar and Hvitserk overseeing the army disappearing underground. Hvitserk turned as you approached his hazel roamed appreciatively over you for a moment before judging his brother. Your eyes were drawn to the small belt and hilt in Ivar’s hand daring to hope that would finally see fit to give you a weapon. To your disappointment he passed it to Hvitserk.

“This is clever,” you murmured. Instantly you knew what he had done, the boats had been moved, the fires burned, the place ransacked and empty to give the illusion that the Vikings had left when in fact they hadn’t at all.

“I knew you’d appreciate it dröttning.” You flinched when you felt Hvitserk’s hands around your waist, the belt pulling taught and you jolted slightly trying to fight the rising bile that crept up the back of your throat. “Use the seax only if you need to,” Ivar tossed at you as you delicately ran your hand over the hilt. “I do not want to see it aimed in my direction.” He looked up at the sky squinting as the sun finally began to crest over the horizon. “Let us go.” You were the last ones down into the sewers, the smell made you cough and your eyes water but you obediently followed Ivar with Hvitserk right on your heels. Now, you waited.

It felt hours when finally the rumble of feet sounded overhead and you gasped as Hvitserk grabbed you. One hand pressed over your mouth and the other around your waist, pinning your arms to your sides. You knew better than the fight, refusing to let the fear overtake you but still your insides trembled and your skin sweated.

Shouts of joy sounded from above, the Saxons thought they had won, they thought the Vikings had abandoned their stronghold and again you found yourself admiring Ivar’s tactical prowess. He motioned for the ladders to go up and that’s when carnage was unleashed. The Saxons were unprepared, caught unaware as the Vikings spilled from the grates in the ground. Screams from citizens that had returned as well as from seasoned soldiers filled the air and the slaughter began. Ivar was lifted from the grate and you were roughly hauled up after him, Hvitserk pushing past you to clear the way for his brother. Your heart was pounding, there was fighting everywhere, noises shattered against your ears and you stumbled on the bodies of Saxons and Vikings alike. Ivar threw his knives with an ease and precision that almost defied humanity, hitting his intended targets and you watched the Saxon soldiers drop like stones with his blades in their eyes.

You heard a shout, your name.

“Æthelwulf!” You couldn’t see him no matter how frantically you looked. Strong hands wrapped around your wrist and Ivar’s guards dragged you into the parapet, up the stone steps and breaking out into the daylight. The battle lay before you, Knights and soldiers fighting side by side against the Vikings but you could already see the Northmen had the advantage. Ivar watched with cold calculating eyes and a sneer splitting his lips, the knife never stopped swirling around his finger. Your breath caught when a man rode into the courtyard, you recognised him instantly, his voice rose above the clammer of battle as he directed the Saxons, but from your vantage point you saw the futility of his direction.

“Spears!” Bellowed Ivar and almost half the Saxons dropped with wooden shafts buried through their bodies. You watched with horror as Heahmund used his horse as a weapon, trampling over a woman that had tried to face him until archers took out the beast so it threw the Bishop onto the ground.

Ivar was watching with strong interest and suddenly he shouted for the fighting to cease much to your surprise. Heahmund grabbed his sword, swinging the mighty blade like it wasn’t made of steel, his eyes wide with fear as he glanced up at you both. Recognition dawned in his eyes when he saw you, encased in Viking armour and standing next to Ivar the Boneless himself, anything but a prisoner.

“Give him my horse.” Ivar yelled down, his knife emphasising his words as he pointed. “Give him my horse.” He repeated, Heahmund fell to his knees, leaning heavily on his sword and you saw him begin to pray. Won't do you any good, you wanted to tell him. “He is too great a warrior to fight on foot!” The sound of hooves made the crowd part and Ivar’s horse was ridden in. Your chest felt tight as you watched the blood drenched Bishop lift his sword to his lips, but you knew Ivar’s intention wasn’t to kill him. If it was, he'd have done it already. Oh no, Ivar was intrigued by him and when Ivar was intrigued you were in luck.

Heahmund laughed as he looked round at the heathens watching him with death in their eyes, lifting his sword he performed a mock bow of thanks to Ivar who returned the gesture with a smug air. The grin was wiped from Ivar’s expression as Heahmund mounted the horse and everyone looked up to Ivar and you. He sliced his knife through the air, baring his teeth when he did and your stomach dropped as the cacophony of noise rose once more.

Very quickly not a Saxon was left breathing save the bishop and he was dragged from the horse to be held at the point of his own sword. Ivar moved and automatically you followed, noticing the way he huffed in pain today. The slowness of his steps and the way he relied on his cane. It would have been so easy for you to trip him, to watch him fall down the steps but the body heat of Ivar’s guard at your back told you it was an action you wouldn’t survive.

You followed Ivar as if tied on a string, obedient little Princess and her heathen Prince. You watched Heahmund’s face as Ivar took the hilt of his sword, lifting it and admiring the blood drenched blade. He tapped it against the bishop's armour and Heahmund shouted loudly, making you flinch. Hatred and rage filled his voice, his eyes never leaving Ivar’s face as the Viking sneered with amusement.

“Christian,” spat Ivar, baring his teeth as a couple of the Vikings laughed and he motioned for the bishop to be dragged away. The sound of your name had the blood thrumming right to your finger tips, a tingle of adrenaline when his eyes met yours desperately seeking out an ally.

“He calls to you,” stated Ivar, the sword hanging loosely from his grip. You had nothing to say, even if you wanted to, no words could escape the tightness of your throat. “He knows you.” Swallowing you struggled to make yourself relax.

“I am a Princess of Northumbria. Everyone knows me,” you finally managed to breathe out. The sounds of skirmishes reached your ears as the Saxons were driven yet again from the streets of York and you followed behind Ivar as he surveyed the success of his great army. Passing under an arch you paused, you could see his face staring sightlessly up at the sky, his eyes wide in perpetual horror. Mannel. Your cousin. The one who taught you how to fight and survive not only the courts but war. Although some days they felt the same.

“What is it?” You stirred from your reverie, ignoring the sadness that rose up in your chest threatening to consume you there and then. Ivar came to a stop beside you, his cane shoving the body of a Viking to the side revealing more of Mannel’s mangled body. You allowed yourself a silent gasp, a slight parting of your lips but nothing else betrayed how you were feeling. “He your kin?” Ivar asked, his cane now pushing Mannel’s face to the side and you quickly tore your gaze away.

“No. I thought I recognised him but I do not.”

“Maybe you are looking for the body of a lover, hmm?” He sneered. You managed to drag your brow down and shoot him a hot look of distaste. You didn’t even dignify him with an answer as he continued to grin wolfishly at you. Stepping over more bodies you moved away, trying not to think what you were stepping in as each footfall squelched hideously. You heard Ivar grunt and the splintering of bone behind you but you daren’t look back, knowing you’d see Ivar’s spiked cane in your beloved cousin's face. You felt rage that Judith had pulled him into this but you also knew Mannel was not one to turn away from a fight.

—

Moonlight streamed through your window, bodies still littered the streets and the smell of it all made you want to gag so you let the memories claim you, to take you away for just a moment.

“Your Grace.” You kneeled before him, the cushion soft under your knees and the hood hid your face.

“Princess.” His voice sent a shiver through your body and instantly you tried to banish these thoughts from your mind. “Will you take mass from my hands?”

“Yes,” you almost gasped. Gazing up as he recited the passage in Latin, a direct blessing from god and all you could think about was the blessing his body could give yours. You opened your mouth obediently to take the bread, noticing the lingering way he pressed the bread onto your waiting tongue. His fingers, just for the briefest moment brushing your lips. Next he offered the wine. His intense eyes locked with yours as you drank, feeling exposed and vulnerable in your kneeling position. He helped you up, his hands gripping yours tightly like he didn’t want to let you go. You don’t even remember leaving the chapel and ending up in his chambers. His body pushing deeply into yours like no man had ever before. He made you feel things you didn’t know you could, his body lithe and strong against your own as he showed you that there was pleasure in this world….god given pleasure.

—

The next morning you made your way to the cathedral that Ivar had commandeered as his personal meeting place. Food littered the tables and you assumed he sent out hunters last night.

“There she is,” said Hvitserk softly. He reclined back in his seat, cocking his leg against the table looking every bit the prince that he was. “Ivar said you were a good girl. He said you can ask whatever you want and I have to grant it. Within reason.” He added quickly. Whatever I want. Heahmund.

“I wish to talk to Bishop Heahmund.” You noticed Vikings taking an interest as your voice rang out loudly, their heads swivelling round, looking over your armour. Your hair had been braided by a thrall this morning and you knew you looked every inch the Viking shieldmaiden. Minus a weapon, save the seax.

“I do not know…” started Hvitserk but he was interrupted.

“It’s fine Hvitserk.” Ivar limped into view. He looked tired and you wondered if he got any sleep at all last night. “His Grace has been asking after our dröttning, she can go see him.” So Ivar had spoken to him, that’s why he looked so tired. Your hands twisted and you waited expectantly for someone to take you but no one moved. Ivar lowered himself into a chair, his face contorting in pain with a soft grunt. When he looked up his eyes blazed with fury that both you and Hvitserk were watching him. “What are you waiting for?” He snarled. Hvitserk jumped up like he’d been burnt by his chair, snatching his cup and downing whatever was in there before beckoning you to follow.

You were led down, the stone steps slippery with grime, water dripped somewhere echoing through the darkness only to be accompanied by the rattling of chains. You tried not to wrinkle your nose in distaste and be one of those members of royalty but it really was filthy down here. Hvitserk pushed you past the guard stationed by the heavy wooden door and you bit back a curse not befitting your station. Truthfully you didn’t want to anger him but he seemed oblivious to the new way you looked at him now.

“He’s in there.” The door creaked ominously on its large hinges and you purposely shut it behind you, yet neither of the Northmen protested. A shard of light angled in from above, it highlighted the metal pole he was chained to. His shadow was stretched, reaching your feet where you had stopped. He looked up with those blue/green eyes that reminded you of a stormy day and watched you wearily as you approached him. A thick chain was attached to a collar around his neck and chains bound his hands and ankles so he had no choice but to kneel. Such was the irony of Ivar.

“Your Grace,” your voice was soft and everything this place wasn’t. His lips parted at the sound like a spell had been broken over him and he was just cresting awake from the effects.

“Princess,” even here and now his voice made you shiver. “How?” You heard the unspoken questions even if he didn’t utter the words. How were you alive? How were you not bound? How had you survived Ivar the Boneless?

“I was captured at the same time as my father,” you started. “He tried to bargain for his own life.” But not mine. “God spared neither of us that day.” You moved to the side, skirting round the light that bathed the bishop.

“I prayed for you.” You had to refrain from scoffing, knowing he expected you to thank him for such a gesture.

“And for yourself in the meantime?” You managed to bite at him. “Because if praying is what this—,” you gestured around you both. “—gets us then I don’t want it.” Walking behind him you saw him bow his head in exhaustion or from the weight of your words you had no idea.

“The Lord will provide…” with a hiss of rage you were before him, yanking his head up by his chin to glare into those eyes you knew so well.

“Don’t feed me that nonsense.” Pity filled his gaze as anger threaded through you. “God abandoned me. My spirit broke. I called and I called but I was not saved.” You released him with a shove, the chains tinkling from the movement.

“He has a plan for us. A path that we must walk to understand his intent.”

“No,” you said firmly, turning away from him. “And don’t tell me I have lost my way because my path has never been clearer. Maybe…” your eyes trailed over the stone pillar trying to say the words that burned on your soul. “Maybe my lack of faith is my punishment.”

“It is a test,” he told you. Closing your eyes you imagined you both back at his cathedral, golden sunlight streaming through the large windows and warming you both.

“Then it is one I have already failed,” it weighed on you. The emptiness from the hole that your faith and belief had left, the dark yawning chasm within you was the heaviest thing you’d ever carried.

“Let me help you,” he said softly and now you did laugh, huffing from you to echo in the stone chamber.

“Are you really in a position to help me, Your Grace?”

“We came here for you.” Frustration began to edge his tone and the corner of your lips turned up, the warrior bishop was still in there after all.

“Not entirely. Æthelwulf came to extract revenge for King Ecbert, maybe Ælle,” you shrugged. “I am but the youngest Princess I shall not be missed. I have no doubt once Ivar is done with me I will cease to exist.” He watched you pace before him assessing your behaviour, your resignation and defeat clearly trying to find out a way to help you both. “Who enlisted Mannel?” You asked suddenly.

“Did he…?”

“He did not leave the walls of this city.” Heahmund closed his eyes, the whisper of a prayer on his lips and you found yourself sneering. “Pretty words won’t help him now.”

“It is my faith, I believe even if you do not anymore!” He strained against the iron, his neck cording from the force of his yell. Crouching down to his level you laced your hands together, leaning your elbows on your knees. Cocking your head you observed him realising that he had no sway over you, not anymore.

“I was young when we met, Heahmund. You words used to invoke passion and fire inside me, now all I am filled with is darkness and ash.” His eyes widened. “I have changed since the Northmen took me, they are showing me a new path. One I am willing to walk.”

“No! You cannot let them blind you with their lies. Their gods are not true! Pagans and heathens, liars and murders!” He spat as you stood, taking time to adjust your tunic letting him get a good look at the armour you were encased in. Turning to your shoulder you moved the chainmail, it was a pointless motion but it told him of your disdain, your dismissal of his useless words. “You belong here, more than you know. You are Anglo-Saxon royalty, born and raised to rule.”

“Maybe I was born to rule elsewhere.” Looking back you saw the rage etched on his features. “You and I both know I would never see the throne in Northumbria. It’s why you chose me that day. The youngest, the most naive, the most…pliant.” He had the minor decency to look ashamed as memories of your twisted forms came to his mind. “I let you, but you stole something from me that day and maybe you're the reason I’m now in this damnation.” A shuffle behind the door made you listen for a moment and you had not a single doubt that Ivar was listening. “I forsake him.” Heahmund looked physically pained at your loud declaration. “You should do the same because he has clearly forsaken you.” You went to leave but he called your name.

“I cut myself to ribbons that day. I bled for what I did to you.” Your feet carried on moving.

“What a lot of good it did you.” Wrenching the door open with a screech of iron you saw Ivar, his blue eyes blazing even in the darkness. Not even waiting for him to say anything you left, Hvitserk close behind as you darted back up the stone steps and bursting into the grey sunlight once more.

Your breath felt like it was trapped still in the cell with Heahmund and you swayed alarmingly. Hvitserk quickly put his arms around you to steady you, murmuring quietly in Norse as you struggled to get yourself under control. Finally you managed to shrug him off, nausea twisting your stomach and he lifted his hands off you. Leaning heavily against the wall you grounded yourself to the roughness under your fingertips, the murky sunshine holding barely any warmth today only the promise of rain. Hvitserk stood near you, resting his hand easily against the pommel of his sword as he looked at the people passing by with a watchful eye. Because you were Ivar’s. You knew you were breaking free from the confines of being his prisoner and becoming something…else. The words replayed in your mind; maybe I was born to rule elsewhere… Maybe you were. It intrigued you, this new found desire for power. Possibly shadowing Ivar for this long had given you a glimpse of something you missed from your previous life. Because you couldn’t go back, not to the confines of court and stiffness of Anglo-Saxon society. You’d always rebelled against it, hating every moment, every stitch of clothing, every word that was said. No, you didn’t want to go back.

—

You stood behind Ivar as he lounged on the bench, Hvitserk next to him drinking from a goblet, the tangy sweetness of communion wine made your nose wrinkle. White Hair, the tallest of Ivar’s men approached and Ivar gestured for him to speak.

“The Saxon army or what remains of it,” his eyes slid briefly to you but you kept your expression neutral. “Has abandoned their camp and left.” Left. Æthelwolf was gone, Alfred and Æthelred…Judith. Gone. You weren’t surprised, the defeat they suffered was catastrophic and if they assumed Heahmund was dead…

White Hair cast one more weary look at you as Ivar waved him away. Hvitserk smirked, the goblet hanging from his fingers as he swayed it slightly down the side of his chair.

“If you want to, we can pursue them and destroy them,” your eyes fell out of focus at Ivar’s words. The flames blended together the longer you stared only to snap up and fix on Hvitserk when he spoke.

“I think we have more important things to do,” he said softly. He looked up at you briefly before continuing with Ivar. “We must look to Kattegat. What if Ubbe kills Lagertha or persuades her to crown him king? The loss of our homebase would be a devastating blow.” You’d forgotten about Ubbe, it felt like a lifetime ago you were standing on that embankment watching him leave. Seeing Hvitserk make his choice between brothers, the relief in your chest when he jumped ship knowing that he wouldn't leave you alone with Ivar.

The bench creaked as Ivar faced his brother full on, his expression intense as he listened and you watched the exchange curiously.

“We need to sort things out,” Hvitserk continued. “We must kill Ubbe and Lagertha. And you must be crowned King of Kattegat, before Björn returns.” King. If Ivar was crowned King it would be a step closer to what you wanted. Hvitserk sat back in his chair drinking deeply as he waited for his suggestion to take hold. Ivar shook his head a gleeful smile stretching across his face and you knew already he agreed.

“You are making more and more sense my brother! Good man.” Hvitserk preened smugly at his brother's praise and you felt like rolling your eyes and telling them to pay each other on the back for their ingenious idea. “I remember also that King Harald had an ambition of invading Kattegat.” Your blood ran icy at the mention of his name. You were pleased to see the back of him after Wessex hoping you’d never have to see those facial tattoos or that braid ever again. “In the short term, we should make an alliance and work with him.” You shifted beside Ivar’s bench once again drawing Hvitserk’s attention to you. You didn’t know if anyone else knew what had happened that day, or if anyone else saw the hungry look that clouded Harald’s eyes whenever he set his sights on you. Your thoughts scattered as Ivar carried on speaking. “This time we will truly quit York, though leaving a big enough garrison to keep it safe until our return. Hmm?” You watched the way he fiddled with his blade, knowing the devastation he could cause with such a small weapon.

“And what of our prisoner…prisoners?” Hvitserk corrected himself, casually putting his feet up and running his hazel gaze over you at the same time. You almost forgot what he did in the church when they entered York for the first time. Almost. “This bishop and our princess?”

“Well,” Ivar looked up at you, his crystal blue eyes locking with yours and a sense of dread infiltrated your chest at his light tone. “What do you propose?”

“He seems like an important man, we could offer him back to the Saxons for a great ransom.”

“Or we could crucify him. That would be fun,” Ivar sniggered darkly and you clasped your hands together trying to ignore how sweaty your palms were. “But what of our dröttning?”

“Oh,” Hvitserk leaned back in his chair, tilting it onto just its back legs as he looked you over. “She’s too pretty to be crucified. Especially in our armour.”

“What would you like to do?” Ivar tilted his head to the side and you knew you had to play the game. Smiling slightly you leaned on the back of the bench hopefully exuding confidence you didn’t feel.

“I would like to stay with you. I want to see Kattegat with my own eyes.” Bravely you brushed some imaginary dirt off Ivar’s shoulder, just an excuse to touch him. “I want to see where you grew up and learn more about you, Hlaford Ivar.”

“Huh…” he ran his tongue over the inside of his mouth studying your face for a just moment before he swung himself round, swiping an apple he stood up. “Come dröttning mínn.” Hvitserk’s eyebrows would have disappeared if they rose any higher, hiding his expression in his golden goblet. You wanted to ask him what it meant but you didn’t have time.

Dutifully you followed him, aware of the distrustful eyes that tracked your every movement. Down and down you went, the repetitive thud of Ivar’s cane on the stone was soon accompanied by the dripping water. Why had he brought you down here? So you could witness him kill Heahmund? See if you’d intervene? You eye caught the redness in his hand and you wondered if he was going to feed the bishop. More likely eat it himself in front of the bishop.

You were let in, the door closing behind you and Ivar made a show of settling down to the side of Heahmund. The crunch of his teeth breaking the skin of the fruit echoed loudly and you grimaced in the shadows.

“Blessed is he who walked not in the counsel of the ungodly…” Now you did roll your eyes. Pacing away from the bishop as he droned on, uttering words that he thought might save him, preserve him maybe? Flaunt his Christian faith in the face of an unbeliever. Did he think Ivar would prostrate himself onto the muddy floor and beg to worship the god who forsakes his followers? You sniggered at the thought not aware of how it carried clearly against the stone.

Ivar let the bishop spout his nonsense, munching his apple loudly as he listened with an amused expression on his face. He laughed a little which you appreciated, gently trailing your hand across the loose ends of his hair as you touched the armour near the back of his neck. He looked up and smiled, chewing on the last of the apple before he dumped the core in front of the bishop. You were aware of Heahmund watching you but refused to even acknowledge him, only having eyes for Ivar as he dusted his hands off.

“You call me a heathen, but to me I am godly. I live by the gods.”

“There is only one god!” Snapped Heahmund and you couldn’t stop the dry laugh that left you.

“Then where is he?” You couldn’t help yourself, forcing the question out between gritted teeth.

“I have seen other gods. I have seen Odin, the Allfather with my own eyes.” Ivar’s words made you sigh and again you walked past him not able to resist touching him. A man who had seen a god. Ivar watched you from the corner of his eye as you stepped past him before looking knowingly at Heahmund, tilting his head.

“They are the devil's work.” Ivar laughed and you with him. “He conjures up demons and fallen angels to beguile us and lead us into evil.” Heahmund looked for you in desperation. “You know this!” He hissed but all you did was crouch next to Ivar knowing the bishop couldn’t look at you without seeing the man he called a heathen.

“What is evil? Huh?” Asked Ivar his voice full of simple naivety, a tone you had come to recognise that he used when toying with someone. Heahmund looked at the ground and for a moment you didn’t think he was going to reply.

“Answer him,” you pressed. You needed him to say it.

“The slaughter of the innocent.” You bristled and instantly Ivar had a comeback already falling from his mouth.

“You slaughter when it suits you.”

“He who chooses to be heathen is not innocent!” Your eyes bored into Heahmund’s as his words hung heavily between you all.

“Do you hear that dröttning? You are not innocent,” Ivar murmured to you. His face was inches from yours, his breath still smelling of the apple he’d just eaten. Heahmund held your gaze almost silently pleading with you.

“I can show you the ways of god, it could reawaken that side of you,” he whispered your name but you didn’t want to hear it. “I can bring you to salvation. And to eternal life.” You stood, resting a hand on Ivar’s shoulder, surprise making your breath hitch when he put his hand over yours. You felt the laughter course through him, his shoulders shaking until the chuckle erupted from him and he laughed in the bishop's face.

“Do you know who I am?” His fingers tightened around yours when Heahmund looked away.

“Of course. You are Ivar, son of Ragnar Lothbrok and many there are, who fear you.” His grip didn’t let you go, almost pulling you closer as he rested back against your legs.

“But not you?” He asked Heahmund who replied almost instantly.

“No.”

“You should.” Your words echoed around you all, heavy and damning. Heahmund slowly cast his gaze over you, all pleading helplessness gone from his expression.

“I fear no man. No matter how wicked,” he stated. You felt the inhale from Ivar as he breathed in ready to retaliate.

“People tell stories about other people. People they don’t know. Have never met. And yet, they still curse them and tell lies about them. Isn’t that true?”

“Yes. People tell lies about our saviour.”

“The saviour that saves no one?” You asked with a shrug enjoying the pain that contorted your once lover's face.

“He saved you from that fire,” the bishop threw at you.

“No! Mannel saved me from that fire!!” You snarled wanting to move forward but the weight of Ivar stopped you, his fingers now almost holding you even tighter. “Mannel my beloved cousin! Mannel who never made it out of this city! Who lies dead in the mud!” You clamped your teeth together, suddenly realising what you just said as the pain radiated up your arm.

“Ah lies,” said Ivar softly. “They get everywhere and maybe people tell lies about me.” You had lied to Ivar and now he knew it, now he had reason to question your motives and ask where your loyalty really lay.

“I wouldn’t know,” Heahmund said steadily. Carefully you tried to extract your hand but Ivar would not release you.

“I will give you the chance to find out. You are coming on a journey with us. That would be fun, wouldn’t it, dröttning?” The way how he wrapped his accent around the name he had given you spoke of danger and you tried to stop the tremor from encompassing your entire body. “Come, we have much to discuss.” Although he was grinning, Ivar's eyes held no mirth and your heart skipped a few beats, trepidation making sweat run under the collar of your armour. As soon as he released your hand you snatched it to your chest following him out of the chamber.

“I am already on a journey!” Called Heahmund.

“Aren’t we all.” Ivar sang back. Your gaze lingered on Heahmund and he read the fear in your eyes, his chains jangling in a futile effort to reach you. No help was coming, only you could save yourself.

Everything was too bright as you both surfaced. Maybe you could run for it? A quick glance told you that it wasn't possible there were eyes on every single movement you made. Each breath was short and ragged, like your chest couldn’t expand. He led you back to the cathedral, his hand clutching you and hauling you with brute strength through the door. The momentum carried you through, knocking into chairs and finally a table, spilling the contents as it toppled. The Vikings all rose as one ready to watch the exchange between Ivar and his Saxon prisoner.

“Everybody OUT!” Ivar bellowed. “OUT!” You arched your back, trying not to whine at the pain that lanced down your spine as he advanced slowly. Fury rippled across his face, his tongue pressing on his lower lip and you knew he was going to kill you.

“You lied to me,” his voice slightly raspy from his bellow. “You told me he was no one to you.”

“He was my cousin. I did not think it was of importance!” You wanted to crawl away, hide in a corner or run and never look back except you were trapped as he bore down on you. His hand grabbed the front of your armour, hooking into the armhole so he could bring you up to his face. “I’m sorry!”

“What else have you lied to me about huh?”

“N-nothing!” You stuttered.

“You silver tongued snake!” He flung you to the side with what seemed like inhuman strength, another table falling as you barrelling into it. Pain blossomed against your side and you knew already you had at least one broken rib. Your breath wheezed and you tried to scramble away from him, closing your eyes and hoping the blow came swiftly.

“Ivar! What are you doing?” Hvitserk. You’d never been so happy to hear his voice as he crouched down beside you.

“She lied to us brother. She is a LIAR!” Ivar pointed at you with his knife and fear told you to draw yours but instinct told you no.

“Put it down, she is no threat to us.” Ivar stamped his cane against the floor but he made no move to stop Hvitserk picking you up from the debris.

“If you believe that then you deal with her.” His rage filled glare ran over you and he sniffed dismissively. “She’s your responsibility until we get to Vestfold. If she survives the journey.” He turned sharply and made his way back out.

“Where are you hurt?”

“Here,” you breathed. You didn’t have it in you to even voice a protest when he stripped your armour back to look at your side.

“Come on. Let’s get you looked at. Lean on me, I’ve got you.” He spoke softly and it calmed you, leaning into him as he led you out to see a healer. You tried not to think about the weeks you were about to spend on a ship, a confined space with Ivar, Hvitserk and Heahmund.

—

In the weeks it took you to sail from England to Vestfold you were confined to a longboat with the Ragnarssons and Heahmund. You could go days without talking, the pain in your ribs from Ivar’s temper a constant reminder that you lied to him. Hvitserk tended to you, sitting by you and being a shield against any men who wanted to approach. Having a woman prisoner on board that they couldn’t touch was a novelty. You felt eyes on you all the time, watching, waiting and biding their time.

It was night time, the moonlight filtered through the clouds, reflecting off the calm sea. The sound of the water lapping at the hull sung a tranquil song that had your head bobbing with drowsiness in your little corner. Hvitserk was asleep a few feet away and Ivar was at the other end of the boat near where Heahmund was tied up. You didn’t sleep during the night, choosing to stay awake until Hvitserk had awoken but you were just so exhausted, the furs warm and inviting you allowed yourself to drift off to sleep.

Something woke you, a pressure on your ankle and you frowned. Opening your eyes you expected to see daylight and Vikings moving about the boat but instead it was as black as when you closed your eyes. You went to snuggle down again when movement over your body made you stiffen, reacting blindly you went to cry out but the hand was already sealing off your screams. You tried to thrash, to reach Hvitserk but he was too far away and already the Viking had pinned you down in the darkness. His breath was hot and reeking over your face, your eyes rolled in pure fear but no matter what you did you couldn’t dislodge him.

Memories of being tied to the pole back in Repton with Harald’s filthy hands all over your body and the feeling of helplessness rolled over you once more. Stupid, so stupid falling asleep! You didn’t stop fighting, still looking for a way to free yourself but he just snickered lightly at your futile attempts. Weeks from lack of exercise and training was showing.

“So feisty,” he breathed. “I’m going to enjoy taking you.” No! NO! Your efforts doubled but still he managed to lift up your tunic to pull down your leather breeches. Sheer terror seized your brain as his body covered yours, the bare skin of his legs brushing against you had sobs rising in your chest. Closing your eyes tightly you screamed one last time.

The pressure was lifted off your body and you saw the glint of a sword in the moonlight. The Viking that had been about to rape you had his hands up, his head pulled back by Hvitserk was almost snarling his face as he yanked on his hair.

“What do you think you are doing?” Hvitserk asked him in a dangerously low tone.

“I wanted her. She wanted me.” It took every ounce of control not to fire yourself at him and claw his eyes out at his blatant lie.

“Oh no, I don’t think that was the case at all.” A voice said as Ivar crawled his way down to your end of the boat. The others were waking up now, their attention being drawn to what was happening.

“I will slit your throat,” threatened Hvitserk, tightening his hold and bringing the sword up higher.

“Stay your hand brother.” The whole boat was awake now, a collective breath held in everyone’s chests as they waited for Ivar to swing his legs round. He looked gleefully between you and Hvitserk, settling his hands on his legs before he spoke. “Do you want Arne, dröttning?” Arne. Now you knew his name. The only response you could give was to spit fiercely in the Vikings direction and Ivar tutted loudly. “I think, Arne, that she doesn’t want you.” Ivar pulled one of his blades free and began to clean a nail with it as though he was bored of the interaction already.

“Ivar?” You could see Hvitserk’s fingers flex on the hilt of his sword as though he was holding himself back from killing the man in his grip. Ivar sighed loudly, rolling his shoulders and his jaw worked furiously. You jumped slightly when he stretched towards you, holding out his knife. Your heart thumped and the question you wanted to ask was right on the top of your tongue. “Take it,” he encouraged. “Do what you want to him.” You snatched the knife, your own seax had been taken as soon as you were on board with Ivar claiming he didn’t want you stabbing people in their sleep. Thoughts raced through your mind, some didn’t stick but your creativity ran wild as your gaze locked with Ivar’s.

“Anything I want?” You asked, watching the wicked grin that spread over his face. It was a test, Ivar wanted to see what you would do for revenge and you weren’t going to disappoint. You stood so everyone on the boat could see you holding the knife. Stepping towards the man who had you weeping for your life just moments ago you felt the shift in power. Hvitserk kept his eyes trained on Arne, his fingers still entwined roughly in his braids, blood seeped from a slight cut in his neck and you grinned. You grabbed his chin, forcing him to look directly into your eyes, gritting your teeth you slashed the blade along both cheeks in quick succession. The wet cut of his flesh carried over the still waters and you heard Arne’s sharp inhale but he didn’t cry out. Dipping your shaking fingers into his blood you did what you had seen many do before battle and trailed your wet fingers down your face, painting yourself with his blood. Arne’s eyes widened in fear and you heard Ivar snigger.

“Can I kill him now?” Snarled Hvitserk but Ivar held up a hand.

“No. She is not done yet.” No you weren’t. You dropped into a crouch, running the knife down his chest feeling immense satisfaction when his chest heaved nervously. You tapped his navel, your eyes continuing down to where his leather ties were still undone exposing his most vulnerable parts. You looked over your shoulder at Ivar as he watched you intently, a slight tilt of his head and flash of his teeth in a smirk told you not to stop.

Your hand lashed out, grabbing Arne tightly and making him lurch back into Hvitserk’s legs who didn’t give any ground at all.

“No! Please…I won’t go near her again!”

“Maybe,” started Ivar in his playful tone. “You should not have gone near her in the first place.” Placing the knife against your knuckles right under his balls you heard him whimper. His eyes closed tightly and his body trembled as you let him feel the coolness of the blade before contracting your muscles and slicing upwards in one swift stroke. Blood spattered over your face, coating your hands instantly but it was his scream that shattered your mind. He tapered off into a sobbing mess when Hvitserk finally released him, dumping him on the bottom of the boat. You heard a rich laugh behind you, it rose from Ivar loudly, carrying across to the other boats as you all floated over the calm sea. He clapped his hands together and you stood up, stepping backwards out of the blood pool to seeped over the wood and tossing what you were holding over the side. “Good girl,” his blue eyes watched you carefully, the blade still gripped tightly in your hand. “Throw him overboard Hvitserk to join his balls, he’s staining the wood. Come dröttning.” You watched as Hvitserk grabbed the bleeding man and without a second thought and tossed him with a splash into the sea. You could hear him, pleading weakly to be let back on board so you shut him out. Stepping carefully as you followed Ivar to the front of the boat aware of how the others refused to meet your gaze. How they shrank away from your presence when you passed them, blood still dripping from your hands.

You knew why he did it, not only did it assert Ivar’s command that you must not be touched but it gave you some semblance of power in the eyes of his army. You weren’t to be messed with and Ivar wanted them to know that, even if you deferred to him. You cowed to no one else. Hvitserk was right behind you, forever your guard and shadow but you didn't think you’d need him anymore.

—

Sunlight streamed down on you as you sat at the front of the boat, the breeze wafted past you and the land on the horizon got closer and closer. You hadn’t washed Arne’s blood off your face or hands; you wanted the Northmen to look at you and remember what had happened, what you were capable of. You wanted King Harald to ask what happened. Hvitserk stood to the side and you felt his gaze on you every now and again but you ignored him just wanting to get off this boat and onto solid ground. Horns sounded announcing your arrival and you waited for the nerves but they didn’t come. The last time Harald saw you were trussed up to a pole, now you were strides away from that person, that prisoner that he remembered and you wanted to look him in the eye. Glancing back you saw Heahmund, his head dipping onto his chest, his lips cracked and dry from the lack of water. Without a word you made a move towards him not caring how it looked as you scooped up some of the last remaining fresh water. The boats were about to dock anyway and everything would be replenished.

“Heahmund,” you whispered. “Water.”

—

You followed Ivar’s dragging footsteps, he was suffering from sitting on the boat for weeks on end and suddenly wearing his heavy iron supports again was a weight he shouldn’t be struggling through. But he did, so he didn’t appear weak like so many thought he was. You saw his pain, you saw him. It flowed from his gaze even as he sneered with fake joy at the man sitting on the throne to your left, the man with a crown on his head who watched with knowing eyes as you approached. On the other throne sat a woman, at first glance she looked like she belonged. Regal and watchful but when you looked closer she was a shell. Her blue eyes were stunning, her dark hair impeccably set, the dress she wore was arranged perfectly but she was there in person and not in spirit.

“Ivar and Hvitserk Ragnarsson. Why did you not return to Kattegat?” His voice made you want to shiver but you managed to banish the feeling, refusing to show weakness yourself.

“You don’t need to be a seer to know that Ubbe and I fell out.” His voice was light, breathless from the strain of walking and you subconsciously moved closer to him drawing the gaze of King Harald as you did. “We disagreed about many things. But in the end Hvitserk agreed with me and Ubbe sailed alone to Kattegat and that is why we are here.”

“Good choice,” Harald looked you up and down with nothing short of contempt marking his features. “A good choice.” You saw Ivar’s attention flick to the woman, his look of astonishment quickly covered with a smug look. “Surely you both remember Astrid. She’s my queen now.” She looked coolly at the brothers and you disguised your shock at them knowing each other, this was their life you had been dragged into. It was all new to you. Queen Astrid gave a little smile when Harald said her name but it didn’t reach her eyes. Ivar smiled, you could see the tension in his neck and you daren’t turn around to gauge Hvitserk’s reaction.

“I am happy for both of you,” his tone left much to be desired and you honestly couldn’t tell if he was actually happy or not for this union.

“Oh thank you. Ivar.” The way she pushed his name out of her had you bristling just behind Ivar’s shoulder. His fingers curled on his cane, the creak of his leather loud in the hall as he kept hold of Astrid’s glare.

“So,” it took all of your willpower to drag your attention off the Queen and back to the King, your gaze hot with hatred for them both. “Do I understand that you and your warriors will support me when I attack Kattegat?” Ivar let out a huff of amusement at the change of pace, pointing at Harald he answered.

“Straight to it, I like it. Yes we will.” You nearly jumped when Hvitserk spoke behind you, perched on the table no doubt next to a plate of food.

“But only if Ivar is made King.” Ivar turned to glare at his brother and you looked over as well, not sure where Hvitserk suddenly got this bout of confidence from as he stared right back at his youngest brother.

“You know that I have my own plans for that kingdom.” You kept your gaze on Hvitserk and he grinned lazily with a small shrug and you turned your attention back to Ivar who was trying to placate Harald.

“Of course, of course. And that is why we are here. What—,” he paused to look round at Hvitserk again, his expression unreadable. “I think my dear brother is trying to say is that, in the long term, what is to stop you from ruling Kattegat when I am dead and gone, hmm?” Your heart dropped at those flippant words. You knew why he was saying it, to draw Harald in with the promise of having the land he so desperately wanted but still it didn’t make it any easier and you… “How long can that be? I’m not a healthy person. I’m a cripple.” You controlled your breathing through your nose hoping you weren’t flaring your nostrils too much. Harald hadn’t looked at you in a while and you wanted to get through this meeting unnoticed. The tension was fraught and if you had a knife you could have cut the air with it.

“But your brother Hvitserk…”

“All that matters,” Ivar said loudly, cutting across Harald. “To the both of us, is to reclaim the kingdom that was torn from us by that murderous bitch Lagertha.” Ivar kept his tone light but at the mention of this, Lagertha you saw Astrid come alive. Her expression barely changed but observing people in court since you were very young meant you saw things other people possibly didn’t. She gave a tiny almost discernible shake of her head at his words and you cocked your head as her gaze slid to you. “We want to be in an alliance with you. To make that happen. And soon.” You could feel Ivar had Harald’s interest, his persuasive tone, the lightness of his manner as Ivar edged the king right to where he wanted him. And still you held Astrid’s gaze over your prince's shoulder until your cockiness evaporated at Harald’s next words.

“I hear you had an extra prisoner as well as your princess.”

“Ah,” Ivar exclaimed with a smile, putting his arm behind you and bringing you two paces forward. “You remember my dröttning?” From his sneer of course he remembered you, shame bruising wasn’t permanent.

“I can’t believe she’s still alive,” he told Ivar with a rough chuckle.

“Oh, we had our…moments,” he murmured almost intimately as he looked at you. “But she performed admirably when she castrated one of my men for going near her.” Silence. Except for Hvitserk shifting slightly on the wooden table you could have heard a needle drop. Harald cleared his throat, his eyes raking over you as he noticed the blood that stained you. Settling far back into the throne and you swore he paled slightly but the intent in his eyes didn’t change, you could feel his throbbing dislike for you from where you stood.

“What are you going to do with her or are you just going to let her loose on your men like a guard dog?” Ivar ran his tongue over his teeth beside you, bowing his head as he smirked.

“I would choose your words carefully, maybe she is exactly that. My guard dog, with a score to settle.” The threat hung unspoken between them but it told Harald that Ivar knew of his handsy indiscretion back at Repton.

“What of your other prisoner?” Ivar’s hand dropped and you carefully stepped back, moving over slightly to be nearer Hvitserk who stood up from the table and rested a foot on the bench, his hand never straying far from the pommel of his sword. “I have heard of this man,” Harald continued. “Where is he?” Jutting your chin out you tried not to look concerned knowing the state that Heahmund was in, you were worried for him.

“Bring the Christian,” demanded Ivar loudly and turned to face the doors. You didn’t, instead you observed the King and Queen as they craned their necks to see this latest acquisition of Ivar’s like he was a pack animal. The clink of his chains made your heart flutter but you didn’t show outwardly the effect it had on you. Heahmund however was nearly nowhere as composed as you were, his eyes were wide, his muscles tense and you could see he was surreptitiously fighting the men that brought him in by leaning back into their hold.

“On his knees,” sang Ivar. Nothing could stop the wince furrowing your brow as Heahmund was slammed onto the wooden floor, his hands going out to catch him with more rattles from his chains. “Bishop Heahmund,” Ivar introduced him as though he was providing a prize stallion to King Harald. The bishop straightened, yanking on his tunic in disgust as he levelled his gaze at Harald. Astrid lost interest quickly but the King sized him up before leaning back in his chair and gesturing lazily.

“What’s the point of him? Why don’t you just kill him?” You weren’t even aware you moved until Hvitserk put out a hand that pressed through your armour against your stomach. No other movement was made and thankfully no one seemed to notice. Your heart thudded in your veins but you managed to rein yourself in as Hvitserk slid his hand down your armour and let it drop away to hang loosely at his side.

“Because he is a great warrior. I’ve seen how he fights with my own eyes and I…admire great warriors.” Your eyes flickered up to meet his striking blue ones as he shuffled around Heahmund and you knew he was talking about you as well.

“He will fight for us?” Harald asked curiously.

“Maybe,” teased Ivar. “If he doesn’t want to get crucified!” As their mingled laughter rose you felt cold dread trickle down your spine. Memories of your father being strung up in a cross shape threatened to haunt you and again you shuffled closer to Hvitserk letting your arm just brush alongside his for a moment. You almost jumped out of your skin when Heahmund spoke. Ivar grabbed his hair in a tight fist, yanking his head back so he stopped the flow of words.

“No, let him speak,” encouraged Harald.

—

“I will see that some space is made for you. Heahmund and your…princess can go in the hut.” Panic blazed through your body and automatically you looked helplessly at Hvitserk. If you were away from them even for a moment anything could happen and you were in Harald’s territory.

“Wait…” Hvitserk started but it was Ivar’s voice that settled everything.

“She stays with me.” Even Hvitserk frowned at his brother but Harald smiled broadly.

“Are you sure?” He asked slyly.

“I don’t want my guard dog being bitten by any of yours,” Ivar snapped, jerking his head to the side in annoyance. “Come,” was all he needed to say to have you falling obediently to his side Hvitserk right behind you.

“If she takes up too much room she can share with the priest!” Harald called down the hall and you let yourself imagine stabbing him in the face.

“Ivar you said she was my responsibility…” Hvitserk was saying, coming to stop before his brother.

“Yes, until we reached Vestfold and unless my eyes are deceiving me brother we are here.”

“You don’t want—,” Hvitserk started but Ivar interrupted him again.

“She stays with me.” You shifted nervously to the side at the deep rolling anger in Ivar’s voice. He was tired and his legs were hurting, not that he’d ever voice that. Hvitserk looked almost apologetic as he backed away, his hazel eyes locking with yours for a moment before he got lost in the crowd.

—

Darkness fell on Vestfold but not the inky blackness that devoured the horizon at sea. A darkness of dancing shadows and untrustworthy whispers skirted around as you followed Ivar to the great hall. The feast was in full swing, music played, men were drunk, food littered every surface and your stomach rumbled slightly at the sounds and smells that encapsulated you.

“Ivar!” Roared King Harald, mead sloshing out of his horn as he stood. “Princess,” he said with less gusto and a mocking tone followed by an insulting bow that had your hands balling at your sides. “I see you’re still escaping the shackles.” A rumble of laughter swelled from everyone that was listening except Hvitserk who was hunched over his plate. “A priest and a princess. Quite a collection you’ve got going on. Who’s next?” Asked Harald loudly. Ivar gestured for you to sit opposite Hvitserk who finally raised his gaze to meet yours.

“Maybe I’ll add a King to my collection,” Ivar replied, easing himself onto the bench next to you. Harald’s expression dropped for a second before he hitched the smile back up.

“Maybe you will! Skål!” A mingled roar of Skål answered him and they all drank heavily as you carefully took some food from the table and put it on your plate. “Eat, drink. Make merry,” he told you both. You tried to ignore the feel of his eyes on you as an unsettled weariness crept over your skin and you wondered if you were more in danger here than you were on the boat.

—

You were so tired, your eyes drooping as the festivities continued. The warmth of the braziers licked at your tired body but you knew you had to keep yourself awake. Ivar was across the hall talking with Harald and for a moment a spark of panic ignited in your chest at being alone when a familiar presence covered your side. Hvitserk swung his leg over the bench, he reeked of mead and cooked venison. His braids were slightly loose and he had a stupid grin on his face as he leaned back against the wall.

“He is keeping an eye on you, don’t worry,” he told you in that soft tone.

“Who is?” You asked frowning slightly.

“Ivar.” You watched your captor for a moment and sure enough as he took a sip of drink his gaze slid to you, noting the people near you before turning his attention back to King Harald.

—

Another huge chunk is missed here.

—

You recognised her instantly, the way her blonde hair shone brightly against her red dress. Stepping to the side you heard her talking to Ivar, telling him she lived alone and was unmarried. The feeling rose in your chest once again like acid, that this slave girl could create a wedge between you and Ivar. That she could cost you the throne of Kattegat? You didn’t leave your family, your country, your kingdom, to be usurped by a slave. This was your birthright, it flowed in your very veins the right to rule, to be a Queen.

“I never forgot what you told me,” Ivar said, lifting the cup to his lips.

“You are a very special person, Ivar.” She smirked slightly looking down at his hands.

“It is still hard for me to believe that,” he confessed. “All my life has been a struggle. A war against myself.” You despised how open he was being with her, laying himself out there to a stranger he barely knew. Not wanting to hear anymore you swept into his chamber.

“I heard a yell I came to check on you…oh forgive me King Ivar. I didn’t realise you were entertaining.” Cocking an eyebrow you made no move to leave and she rose from her chair.

“It was nice talking with you King Ivar,” keeping her head bowed she slunk past you and back out into the great hall.

“Are you alright?” You asked, eyeing the supports on his legs.

“Yes. Won’t you have a drink with me?” You took her seat wondering what you were going to do about this slave.

—

Leaning close to him, your hand on his shoulder you whispered in his ear.

“I must retire. Too much mead maybe.” He laughed clearly having had plenty of mead himself.

“Make yourself comfortable in my bed,” he offered. His blue eyes tracing the lines of your face before turning back to look out at the feast. “I don’t think I will sleep tonight.” Bowing your head you dipped into his chambers, shedding your dress and laying it out. Finding a cloak you wrapped it around you pulling the hood up you slipped out into the night. You found her almost instantly, most people had gone to bed and the streets were empty. You wasted no time in grabbing her from behind, muffling her screams with your hand as you dragged her into the shadows. She fought you, clawing at your hand and kicking with her feet but she was no fighter, you easily overpowered her forcing her face down to the ground.

“I won’t let you take him from me,” you snarled into her ear, pressing the knife you had taken from Ivar into her throat.

“Ivar will see what you have done. He will kill you for this.” Wrenching her head back she was helpless as you pulled on the blonde tresses.

“You are a slave,” you spat.

“He freed me! You know nothing about us!” Suddenly she started to laugh, a breathy chuckle through her strained neck. “You want to rule,” she wheezed. “He will not pick you, a prisoner of war.” She tried to turn and look at you. “He doesn’t want you, some Saxon bitch or he would have chosen you already. He wants a Viking woman,” her eyes fluttered when you pulled harder, almost ripping the golden hair out by the roots.

“I am more woman than he could ever want.”

“He doesn’t want you…” she breathed again. The words whispered in your mind, clawing at your thoughts and dragging your doubts forward. What if she was right? She couldn’t be, Ivar needed a peer full woman by his side and you were determined to prove just how powerful you could be. The rage flared in your limbs and with a quick motion you sliced her throat open. Jumping back you released her as she gurgled loudly trying to stem the flow of blood that poured from the wound. It stained her dress an even deeper shade, her skin turning paler in the moonlight. You backed away, hurriedly wiping the blade on your cloak knowing you had to return before Ivar realised you were gone. It didn’t take long for her to stop moving, a last breath expelling in a hurry from her body. Wasting no time you grabbed the back of her dress and hauled her round the back of the huts, ducking down when two guards walked past on their rounds. Your heart was thudding wildly but you could see the pig pen just round the corner, if you could get her in there she would be gone for good. You looked up, making sure the guards had moved on, moving swiftly you shoved her through a gap in the wooden fence relieved to hear the snuffling of the pigs as they came to investigate.

“Don’t waste any,” you whispered. Getting back to Ivar’s chamber was easy, washing yourself in the bowl and disposing of the water quickly and quietly before you allowed yourself to slip between the furs of his bed.

—

Another massive bit of the story is missing here, continue at your own risk 😅.

—

“I love you.” His words wrapped around you like an embrace and you wanted to go to him, regardless of the guards either side of you. Lifting your chin defiantly he waited for you to return the sentiment which you felt bursting from you. It burned inside your chest like a white hot flame, searing up your throat to spill from your eyes as tears.

“You will have to see me again to get my reply,” your voice stronger than you thought possible. His blue eyes flashed in the firelight, the telltale sneer of anger and amusement tugging at his lips as his head bowed. Please Ivar. You almost begged out loud for him to touch you, to trail his fingers down your throat like he used to.

“I’m not sure that will be possible, dröttning mínn.” You detected the hint of sadness in his voice, if he truly loved you he’d take you with him surely? Shrugging the hold of the guards off your arms he held out a hand to stop them from pulling you back.

“King Ivar we must leave!” One hissed as the sound of fighting got closer. Björn was coming, he was coming to claim what was rightfully his. His icy eyes watched you wearily as you approached, warring with yourself in this very moment as you clocked the dagger on his belt. Your heart pounded. The blood rushed past your ears and it sounded like the sea against the hull of a longboat. He had taken you worlds away from where you originated, showed you sights your title and lineage would never have allowed you to see. He had let you live. But now, he was leaving.

“Ivar,” you whispered, drawing closer. His eyes fluttered closed as your breath ghosted over his face, completely trusting you in this moment. Pressing your cheek against his you felt him tense as the noise increased, both guards turning to face the threat of certain death and you chose that moment to act. Pulling his knife free with your right hand, reversing it in a swift movement as you plunged it into his neck. He let out a surprised cry that had the crack widening in your heart, blood spurted forcefully from the wound, landing on your face and trickling down your neck and running onto the fabric of your dress. Now the tears spilled, your lips parting in distress at what you had done as he sagged against you. The guards bolted, leaving through the secret back door you had used more than once.

You fell with Ivar, holding your gasping King to you as he bled into your embrace.

“I’m sorry my love,” you sobbed. His blood pooled in the fabric of your dress, warm and slick as it stained your skin. His face became pale, his lips trying to form words as he gazed up helplessly at you. Leaning down, you finally heard what he was whispering.

“You are worthy to be Viking, dröttning mínn.” His hand slacked against his neck as he sighed and you screamed. Loud and piercing just as the doors opened and Björn strode in covered in mud and blood. You looked up through the tears of hatred for yourself and your desperation to hold onto power.

“Please spare me,” you whispered through the shattering of your soul as you cradled Ivar to you. “I am with child.”

[pastafossa]

The Red Thread: Chapter 105

With how busy I was last week with driving up to visit the new house, I also forgot to post about that chapter, so if you’re looking for Chapter 104 from last week, you can find that here! As for this week’s chapter (also just one this time) where we finally tell Karen and Foggy about Los Angeles, here we go!

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Chapter Summary:

It would still hurt, opening up about this again so soon. Even if you hadn’t already done this, revisiting these painful memories was never pleasant. But at least this time… Matt could hold you through it.

“Fuck it.” You rubbed at your eyes, settling in. “Let’s do this. Let’s talk about Los Angeles. And then… we’ll see what happens.”

Wordcount:  4,978

Warnings for this chapter: discussions of human experimentation, trauma, treatment of mutants/enhanced by society. We touch on some heavy stuff here so take care my loves.

Read me on AO3 cause my author’s a wordy bitch

Tag list for The Church Of Saint Murdock (which I keep forgetting to update with all the new people! So sorry, gonna try to get to that this week, I swear!) below the cut!

To be added to the taglist, click here): @thenerdlordparade @nurisiliel @psychedelic-star @weeb-verine @acrabbybish @nostalgicslumbers @shadows-echoes @the-bluest-hour @tashas-cauldron-of-tomato-soup @coolhairdocroissantpickle @andthewishingwell​@juniebugg. @starry-ocean-floor.@strawb3rrydr3ss​@bohemianrhapsody86​@moonyinthestars​ @thequeenofthefallen @elementec​ @phantomkindalikejaiden​@greatmoonchild​ @lov3vivian​ @mackycat11​ @ownerofthehighground​ @melodicmel​ @vx-vexedvixen​ @bellamy-barnes​ @junipermurdock​ @claire-of-asgard​ @tripletstephaniescp​ @fanfictionreblogs​ @smemento @coldwetbasementnoodles @fuckingcams @pantaeudaimonia @janesofia7​ @catsnow14​@navs-bhat​ @hopplessdreamer​ @onemarvelouscleric @fulloffeels​ @belladonichaze39 @theheartshaker​ @lady-loves-a-lot​ @somanyyumypeoplejustletmehave1​ @janesofia7​ @aquamarinerose​ @youcandalekmyballs​ @shen-hongzi​ @pastamomma​ @lykaiosmedia​ @glxwingrxse​ @inaretuza​ @scorpiowidow @theoneonly-huntress​ @elizabeth-or-lily​ @untraveled-road​ @lavenderluna10​ @shoppingcartlover69 @v-b-b​ @marvels-mistress @milkteahour​ @night0spark​ @saphfamdom @sillydowneyboat​ @tongueofcat​ @the-wayward-daughter​ @caswinchester2000​ @weaselsbleach​ @wickedhours @ghost-panic @worldssidechick @sad-sapphic @lassini @goldustwomun @dilfs-own-mylife @catholicdaredevil @karltoshaw @deadinside505 @hagdailyprophet @riddikulus394 @blogbykate @deepknightclod @kelly-n-russell @steadygoopangelhairdo @peter-parkers-gf @conrzd @tagehaya @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @bookfrog242 @torresbarnes @slightlypossessed @strcwberri @lorosette @sambucky8 @stuffikindalike @peter-maximoff-enthusiast @cryinnlightninn @catholicdaredevil @fayereed15 @hunnybunimdun @the-rambling-nerd @serendipityrogers @mgriff @hldnford @littlesongbird18 @mlqcool @aaetherr69 @myrrh-dock @killersandmonkeys @falcvns @firehart9 @glowstick-lesbian @myguiltypleasures21 @mandoowhorian @mintchipstyles @perseephony @garrusvkarian @c4psicle @shitpost-kaley @angeliteskies @blushingpink @knightofthieves @odette-moon @what-the-hell @mollyw03 @milf-lover01 @cal-ifornication @straykid1507 @meromelo @alpineandwhiskey @letmeinplease