#ivar and lofn

[axelsagewrites]

Contains: GoT ♡ HotD ♡ HP ♡ Mauraders ♡ Ted Lasso ♡ Vikings Tv

Warnings/Guides

【P】Platonic【P】 🆇Smut 18+🆇

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Game of Thrones Masterlist Here

Robb, Jon, Theon, Ramsay, Sansa, Ned, Thoros, Beric, Sandor and more

House of the Dragon Masterlist Here

Aemond, Aegon, Jace, Luke, Daemon, Rhaenyra, Cregan, Heleana and more

♡ Roy Kent ♡

🆇Locker room🆇 p1 - Apologise p2

Bus buddy

Charity

🆇What's That?🆇

Future Mrs Gramma

♡ Jamie Tartt ♡

Prick

Please stay

The Bet

🆇Phone Call🆇

Famous

♡ Jan Maas ♡

Buttercup

Sweet As You

♡ Multiple ♡

🆇Decide🆇 - Jamie and Roy

♡ Felix Catton ♡

Who is that?

🆇Good Boy🆇

Period Pains

Dating Felix Headcannons

Best Gift Ever

Asking out the shy girl

♡ Michael Gavey ♡

Crunchy

♡ George Weasley ♡

The Deal

♡ James Potter ♡

Heroic deed

Misunderstandings

🆇Switching Positions🆇

♡ Sirius Black ♡

🆇Teasing 🆇

♡Remus Lupin♡

🆇Forbidden Forrest 🆇

♡ Ivar the Boneless ♡

🆇Does He Treat You Well🆇

Truth or Dare

🆇Does it hurt🆇

♡ Ragnar ♡

🆇Pet🆇

♡ Bjorn ♡

🆇Captured🆇

♡ Halfdan ♡

Favourite Days

Lofn

♡ Ubbe ♡

Meet me where we met

♡ Multiple ♡

Time Traveller Series (Ivar, Bjorn, Hviserk, Ubbe, Sigurd)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Thanks for any support I appreciate it all xoxo Sage

Dividers from here and here from @saradika

Fandom dividers made on Canva

[lavender-romancer]

Vikings Masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Ivar Ragnarsson

Marrying

♡ Ivar has been in love with you for as long as he remembers but now…you’re marrying Ubbe

Winter

Names For Ivar's Lover

♡ What the names Ivar gives you mean.

♡ CW: suicide mentions, conflict

♡ You wanted to be his again, not owned by him but a part of him. But it had been so long since you’d felt close to Ivar that it felt out of reach as he descended into rage filled madness

Limitations and Anxieties

♡ Ivar loves you and you both want to have sex but, he’s convinced he can’t

Ivar stands you up

♡ Modern AU

♡ You thought you were giving a chance for a classmate to show they could be a better person than they had previously represented themselves as but Ivar disappointed you again

Ivar Annoying you at School

♡ Modern AU

♡ You were already havinga bad day and doubted that Ragnarsson would make it any better, he disagrees

Wedding Ceremony

♡ You and Ivar are finally getting married, Ragnar is officiating and you both couldn’t be happier

Bruised

♡ Ivar loves war more than you

Lost Him

♡ Ivar x OC

♡ Ivar and Ingrid have been married for a number of years now, their family grows and so does their love but what would she do without him?

Lofn

♡ You and Ivar have been together for a few years and something had always been missing, you suddenly felt as if that could be solved when you made a discovery on a walk together

We Fixed Each Other, and Now We're Broken Again

♡

I'm a Proud Pagan

♡ your life with Ivar and his family during Jul

one two

♡ You grew up in England, but your parents were vikings, you always kept the gods in your heart, when you get taken back to Kattegat by vikings, Ivar and Hvitserk both take an intrest in you

English by Birth, Viking at Heart

♡ retired

one two three four

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Ubbe Ragnarsson

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Love You

♡ You’re married to Ubbe but Ivar keeps trying to make you his

Hurt

♡ Much to Ubbe's horror, you get hurt in battle

Hvitserk Ragnarsson

You're Cold. No I'm Not

♡ Hvitserk has been frustrating you for a while and now he wouldn’t let you come on a raid

We Could Be

♡ Modern AU

♡ You’d never considered yourself to have crushes but everything Hvitserk did in school and out of it made you feel something

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

English by Birth, Viking at Heart

♡ retired

♡ You grew up in England, but your parents were Vikings, and you always kept the gods in your heart, when you get taken back to Kattegat by Vikings, Ivar, and Hvitserk both take an interest in you

one two three four

Bjorn Ironside

Sandy Hair and Mud Face

♡ You’d known Bjorn since you were a child but a few years later when you travel to Kattegat some old nicknames come back to taunt you

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Daughter of a King Wife of a Prince

♡ retired

♡ As the daughter of King Ecbert, you were often ignored and put to the side because you weren’t the heir but when some powerful Norsemen show up all changes

one two three

Ragnar Lothbrok

Loss

♡ You and Ragnar have trouble with a pregnancy

I Love You

♡ Ragnar x Athelstan

♡ Ragnar's secret is revealed to Athelstan

Lies

♡ retired

♡ You always knew you were different, but you still thought you were Ragnar’s daughter

one two

[inforapound]

Vikings Series Masterlist

Ease The Dawn - Complete     

(Ivar x Aethelswith,  Words - 72,000)

Emboite - Complete  

(Modern Ivar x Sarah,   Words - 24,200)

The Devil Inside - ongoing

(Ivar and Reader - Words - ongoing)

Boundless - Complete   

(Harald x Safira,   Words - 20,400)

Bloodmoon - Complete    

(Ivar x Lofn,  Words - 16,450)

The Boatbuilder -  Hiatus

 (Floki x Gabriella,  Words - 2,855)

The Shimmering - Hiatus  

(Ivar x OFC,   Words - 2,900)

The Virgin Queen - Hiatus   

(Ivar x Gael,  Words - 1,100)

[uncomfortable-writers]

Lofn’s Blessing 3 (Ivar x Reader)

(Gif credit to owner)

Fandom: Vikings

Character: Ivar the Boneless

Persona: Christian!Female

Word Count: 672

A/N - A little shorter than the others, still trying to figure out what direction to take this in, I hope y’all enjoy though! <3

Read Part One and Two here!

Tag List:  @nataliehasgrace​ @oh-captain-rum @poisonous00 @imcreepininyourheartbabe @runningxriver @littlekitten8590 @ivartheblessed

It was late in the evening. The candles in the room glowed softly filling the room with an oddly calming atmosphere, it was the most relaxed you’d felt since you’d arrived in Kattegat, although that wasn’t going to last long.

You’d just finished saying your nightly prayers, still kneeling on the floor by your bed there was a single, booming knock at the door. It confused you since you weren’t expecting visitors, nor should anyone be visiting at such an hour. The person on the other side of the door didn’t wait for instruction to come in; just as you stood up Ivar entered the room, that same blank expression on his face which quickly wiped away as he watched you stand.

“What were you doing?”, he asked relaxing onto the door frame, looking quizzical and accusing. “Saying my nightly prayers, your grace”, you answered, respectfully bowing your head. You awkwardly played with the bottom of your white nightgown, feeling slightly embarrassed at the lack of clothing in front of the Lothbrok. Ivar’s lip curled up in a disgusted sneer, he looked at the floor and spat, “We do not worship false gods here (Y/N), you will stop that at once and-”, meeting your eyes once again his blue ones forced feelings of unease and fear into your thoughts, “-and if you embarrass me again in front of my people you will regret it”.

“I did not mean to offend you, my lord. I was tired and I needed to rest”, you watched as Ivar hobbled over to you, you were sure your heartbeat and the sound of his crutches meeting the floor were the loudest things in the room. Close up the young king was even more impressively terrifying: his pale skin accentuated his ravishingly good features, like his dark, prominent brows which added to the menacing expression he held now. He stopped a few feet away from you. A toothy grin showed off his pearly, white teeth. You knew he was tall but only now did you understand how tall he truly was as he towered over you. “Of course you didn’t, little one”, Ivar said casually, stretching out a hand to touch a strand of your (H/C), hair, you repressed the urge to flinch away from him, “But next time there will be consequences”.

Letting silence fall in the room Ivar looked into your eyes. He was enjoying revelling in how uncomfortable he was making you.

“I understand King Ivar”, your eyes dropped to the floor in inadvertent submission. Although this pleased him, he wasn’t done terrorising you. He needed to drive his point home. Raising his hand he pretended to inspect his fingers, “The servant girl you brought with you, what is her name?”.

Your heartbeat stuttered in your chest, you’d heard whispers back in England about how cruel the young king could be, but you weren’t sure to what extent you believed it, “Rose, my lord”. Ivar’s eyes flickered between his hands and to your face, a mocking smile formed on his face, “It would be a terrible shame if something were to happen to Rose, wouldn’t you agree?”,  he raised an eyebrow conveying his silent threat which was received loud and clear. Your stomach churned from the increased anxiety and you choked back bile, “It would be King Ivar”.

Ivar could tell you understood by how pale your face had turned, he knew he couldn’t punish you for you weren’t legally his yet. Satisfied that the message was received Ivar started to move towards the door, “I’m glad you agree, Rose is lucky to have someone like you”. You just wanted Ivar out of your room but he stopped in the doorway.

Tilting his head over his shoulder he spoke with what appeared at surface level to be a genuine smile, although you were starting to get the gist that all was not as it seemed with the man, “I hope you rest well, I will see you in the morning for breakfast. Welcome to, Kattegat”.

[therealcalicali]

Lofn bless Ivar and YN 🥺

[theheathenqueendickubus-blog]

Hello! I just found your page and it's amazing!!! I have a question and I wondered if you could help me. I'm reading a fanfic called Ivar and Lofn but the writer stopped the story and left it. I'm looking for a good fanfic story with Ivar of course having love interest and more smutty stuff! I would appreciate it!

Hey! Thank you! So, I haven’t been on here in a loooong time, so there’s no doubt i’ve missed out on heaps of amazing fanfics, but some off the top of my head that I had been reading a few months back that I enjoyed include: The Saga of the Slave Queen by @burntmythroatskullingmytea , ANYTHING by @whenimaunicorn via her goldmine AO3 page ifinkufreaky  (if you want to read pure, amazing and reaaal good smut), and stories I haven’t read all the way yet (YET, i’m real intrigued though on finishing them, she’s an amazing writer) but seem to be shared favourites among the sisters in the fandom are @ivartheboneme ‘s Efterfest and Keeping promises . @ceridwenofwales also is an amazing writer and has lots of goodies on her AO3 page of the same name. There are really too many to list and i’ve missed out on so much lately but that should keep you happy for now. Also, shameless self promotion, but i’m working on an Ivar/OC story called Redamancy  that SHOULD be getting more chapters in the near future. Okay, that’s all, thanks for the ask! x

[inforapound]

Bloodmoon Chapter 9 - End

Thanks so much for reading. This is the final chapter for Ivar and Lofn. May they live happily ever after. 

Pairing - Ivar x Lofn       Words - 800

Warnings - none

Three long years had passed with many battles fought and won under the leadership of the triumphant and ruthless king of Kattegat. Trade agreements had been struck with various kingdoms within and outside the borders of Norway, and broad expansion and fortification were underway to wall in the booming city.

Numerous Viking settlements had taken root across the water along the English countryside along with many fruitful crusades further north to a land known as Ireland. King Ivar had much to celebrate, with unparalleled power and every imaginable luxury at his fingertips.

To the people of Kattegat, their king was brutal, cunning, and to be feared. Unrelenting in his drive for prosperity and fame, he was not considered to be sympathetic or fair but he was a victorious ruler.

To Hvitserk, his younger brother seemed overwrought with a need to busy his agitated mind, fill some deep emptiness within. When speaking with him, Hvitserk found him distant, preoccupied with his thoughts, his laugh always sounding shallow. Any expression of happiness never lasted with Ivar, never lit his face or his bright blue eyes. His short temperedness and cruelty appeared to be growing and there was a sadness that lingered in the space around him.

Each night, once the hall cleared and his close men continued to drink, he would slip out in the direction of the docks on his so-called rounds. Hvitserk was the wiser and knew Ivar only left to trudge down to the water and stare out into the night sky. He was well aware that a part of Ivar's heart had flown away many years prior.

This night was no different as Ivar moved slowly out the hall doors and into the cool evening air, the darkness thinned by the bright moonlight.

"With countless guards on patrol, why does the King leave each night?" asked a visiting interpreter sitting at the long table filled with drunken men.

"Ah, Ivar is a scrupulous man," Hvitserk replied. "He trusts few and needs to know what is happening in his kingdom. He is....a compulsive and mindful king."

"I see that," the man nodded in agreement, running his hands down his long goatee.

Looking into his cup, Hvitserk raised his eyebrows and sighed. "And... he has some strange notions about the moon."

The man scrunched forehead, waiting for Hvitserk to continue.

"He is waiting for an omen. A sign."

"From the Gods?"

"Something like that," Hvitserk chuckled, taking a drink from his cup. "Waiting for the moon to shine red like a burning ember and fill the sea with the blood of his enemies."

"Ah," the man replied with understanding. "The King is waiting for a bloodmoon."

Hvitserk eyes widened. "A what?"

"A bloodmoon. The stories say, every few years, the Gods harness the magic of the sun. It is a violent measure and leaches the sun's power into the universe leaving the moon ablaze with fire. The reflection on the water looks very much like blood. They say it is also a night when the veil between earth and the heavens thin and the Gods travel freely taking on whatever form they choose."

"So, the Gods could be among us and we would not even know?" Hvitserk smirked, looking skeptical.

"Yes and apparently, it was on such a night that Loki was born. He has been known to travel on the nights of the bloodmoon. Visiting, keeping busy with his perverse trickery."

"Loki's arrogance would certainly have him present as a powerful warrior. Unstoppable on the battlefield. Perhaps even a giant like his parents. That should be easy to spot."

"Loki? No." the man scoffed. "He despises arrogance. Hates the power-hungry. It must clash with his own self-admiration. Loki wants power only for himself." The interpreter shook his head with amusement. Picking up his cup of ale, he took a deep swig. "With his sick sense of jest, it is said, he likes to present as the fairer sex. Often beautiful and with the wings of an angel."

—

Standing ridged on the soft sand of the harbour's shore, Ivar looked up toward the heavens. Breathless, with wide eyes and a racing heart, he stared at the burnt colour of the immense red moon. The crimson glow shone down on the rippling ocean, rolling and reflecting red like blood with the drifting ocean debris looking like gore floating on the surface.

Through the eery silence, a swish and flap of air sounded from behind, jolting his attention and fanning his hair and the back of his neck with a burst of wind. Squeezing his crutch in his hand, he closed his eyes, and whispered, "Lofn."

@tephi101​​​ @naaladareia​​​ @youbloodymadgenius​​​ @lol-haha-joke​​​ @geekandbooknerd​​​ @thelastemzy​​​ @captstefanbrandt​​​ @readsalot73​​ @heavenly1927​ @whenimaunicorn​

[inforapound]

Bloodmoon Chapter 7

A/N -  Sorry about the delay. I wrote it last night and decided to post it to keep up my momentum. Thanks so much for reading. 

Warnings - Violence

Pairing - Ivar and Lofn

Previous chapter - Chapter 6

The thundering of his heart and ragged breath rang in his ears like a macabre chorus. The sharp clashes of weapons cut through the daze that swamped his mind after his body was slammed to the ground. He sunk his sharp front teeth into his tongue looking for a focus as he fought the lulling desire to succumb to darkness. It would be so easy to exhale and give in to the peace of sleep or death, offering him a chance at rest. The metallic taste in his mouth helped steady his senses, coating his teeth red like the blood in his eyes, making his bright blues look wild.

Lifting his head, he cried out as he saw his chariot tipped over on its side. His white horse, now smeared with mud, thrashed on the ground with an unnaturally angled leg. Somewhere in the distance, his brothers were fighting on the far side of the clearing. They now had an advantage and were overpowering the dwindling army.

Adrenaline coursed through Ivar's veins as he rolled from his side onto his back and stared up at the pale blue sky. Blinking, his thoughts connected as the sound of Lofn's voice speared through his mind,

Ivar! Move!

Sucking in air, he withdrew the picks from his belt and twisted his torso, driving them into the ground and began crawling back to his overturned cart. Dragging himself, and deaf to the screams coming from his own mouth, he moved in the opposite direction of a line of Saxon soldiers stocking up the hill toward him. Green tunics covered by chain mail armour, swords and bows pointing, they marched determined to deliver retribution to the crippled heathen who had unleashed such violence against their king and country.

Pulling himself to sit, Ivar slammed his back against the wooden cart, snarling as the iron helmets appeared over the crest of the hill. Licking his lips with flared nostrils, he clanged his picks together.

They cannot hurt you Ivar! Lofn's voice floated again through his mind.

Tipping his head to the sky, he screamed into the air causing the line of green to hesitate. They eyed him tentatively as he continued to shriek and threaten, goading them in a language they could not understand.

The first of their arrows were released, flying toward the heavens, curving gently back toward the earth; Ivar, their target, watched from below. All at once, the arrows stopped, halted frozen, mid-flight, in perfect formation as if the points had sunk deep into some imperceivable wall, they hung suspended in the sky. A flicker in the air, felt more than seen, pulsed above them like a silent flare of flash-less lightening. The arrows instantly dropped, point down and plunged into the soft ground just feet from the soldiers standing arm to arm.

The mocking, maniacal laughter of Ivar snapped the wide-eyed Saxons back from their confusion. Both fear and shock skewed their expressions as they stared at Ivar's jeering face. More than half of the men stepped backward; some turning fully to retreat but all were startled, snapping to look up to the sky as a shadow flashed overhead. The sun's ray flickered as a dark-winged woman soared above the overturned chariot and the youngest son of Ragnar. Horror struck the soldiers as their minds fought to identify a sight their brains could not understand.

Lofn's ear-splitting shriek ripped through the air and their gloved hands flew up to the cover their ears, the high pitch sound tearing through their senses. Weapons were dropped as most fell to their knees, still clutching their heads, trying to block out the noise. With her mouth wide in a scream, her powerful wings beat in short bursts lowering her to hover just above Ivar. Veering forward, her dark feathered wings, snapped the air, driving her straight toward the Saxons.

Like a breaking wave, a spray of blood misted the air, as her dagger sliced straight through the line of stunned soldiers. Those, who had stepped back were spared and turned to run, others stumbled, falling frantically to the ground.

Circling the top of the hill, Lofn's nearly black eyes focussed on her fleeing targets and she dove toward the ground, hitting one straight on, knocking him backward and crashing into the ground. With a sharp hiss from her snarled lips, she grabbed the point on the soldiers' helmet, tipping his head back and sunk her teeth into the man's windpipe. Growling, she thrashed side to side, like a lion stripping a bone.

The hollers of rushed voices broke her frenzy and she tore her teeth free. Releasing the lifeless body, she stood and turned to face a stunned Ubbe and Bjorn, their eyes scanning her berserk, unhinged appearance. Not caring about the bloody gore coating her mouth and dripping down her throat, she barked orders for them to take Ivar to safety. Confounded, they silently nodded running passed her to Ivar, who sat mesmerized against the chariot. As if spellbound, his blue eyes shon, staying focused on her as he was loaded over the shoulder of his eldest brother. Keeping her eyes locked with his, she could no longer hold her emotions, and tears filled her ebony eyes, streaking down her blood-smeared face.

"Lofn!" he screamed still slung over Bjorn's shoulder. "Come with...!" his voice fell silent as he watched her turn and run away from them.

Leaping into the air, her wings caught lift and she coasted just above the ground until she slammed into the back of another retreating soldier. The faint cry of the struggling man was snuffed as Ivar watched her rip the man's head free from his body. Moving into the trees on his brother's back, Ivar lost sight of her as she dropped the head and turned toward another soldier who was screaming and running for his life.

MASTERLIST

 @flowers-in-your-hayr​ @tephi101​ @naaladareia​ @medievalfangirl​ @yanii-the-hippie​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @lol-haha-joke​ @geekandbooknerd​ @whenimaunicorn​ @fangirl-nonsense​ @thelastemzy​ @captstefanbrandt​ @readsalot73​

[inforapound]

Bloodmoon  Chapter 6

A/N -  Thank you so much for reading. I am grateful for your comments. My eye is hassling me again so I apologize if my editing is less than perfect. 

Warnings -  Sexual content (oral sex), historically inaccurate swearing. 

Pairing - Ivar and Lofn

The feast, the night before they sailed, was a frenetic affair, the hall, more packed than it had ever been. The room was stifling from the sheer number of bodies moving about, voices roaring loudly from the excitement and free-flowing ale. The congregation of warriors, leaders, kings, and jarls mixed tentatively, all in attendance, only, for the shared purpose of avenging Ragnar. All understanding, soon after, the unspoken truce would fade and many would again face the other behind battle lines as foe.

On this night, like many others, Ivar could not keep his eyes from Lofn. Scanning the room, his eyes compulsively returned to her, watching the way her expression would shift as she surveyed the commotion. It had been nearly two weeks since the incident at supper; his violent outburst and ridiculous contrived display with Margrethe. Two weeks since Lofn had smirked while being choked goading on his fury on. Her raspy words that day still played in his mind and likely would a thousand times more. Their meaning no clearer now than then.

Ivar wanted, desperately, to speak with her, like those first days they spent up in the hills talking like true companions. After the third cup of mead, his eyes were even less subtle, lingering longer and slow to divert when she would glance over.

"Fuck it," he whispered under his breath. "You look gorgeous," he blurted from his seat at the end of the table.

"What did you say?" squinting, she leaned forward tilting her head to hear over the chaos.

Turning their heads to listen, Hvitserk and Ubbe looked, both sitting across from Lofn at the table just for family.

Ivar's eyes shot to his brothers'. Clearing his throat loudly, he looked again at Lofn. "You look nervous."

Straightening, she pressed her lips together, confused by his words. "I do?" she asked, but quickly shifted her eyes away, peering over to the rowdy dance floor, distracted by a man, down on his knees with his face up the front of a woman's skirt.

Ivar's face dropped as he looked at Lofn's indifference and he glanced back to Hvitserk, who was watching him, shaking his head with a grin.

"Fool," he mouthed silently at Ivar.

"I have had enough of this," Lofn looked between the brothers. "People keep knocking into me." Shrugging her shoulders, she motioned behind, indicating her wings. Moving her feet around the end of the bench, she stood.

"I will walk you back to your room," Ivar rushed, reaching for his crutch and pushing himself up to stand.

"No," Lofn replied, softening her face at Ivar's wounded expression. Reaching out she grabbed his arm just above the elbow. "I know where my room is. Enjoy this night," she squeezed harder. "It is as much for the sons of Ragnar as it is for him."

Settling back into his chair, he sunk deep into the seat, failing, horribly, at concealing his disappointment. Lurching to a stop, she swiveled on her heel and walked back to stand behind Ivar. Leaning down she brought her lips to his ear and whispered,

"Save me a seat on the boat."

—

"Lofn," a deep voice called out from behind her; warriors and thralls rushed about the dock, racing to finish loading and readying the ships. Turning, she was met with the jovial smile and bright eyes of the handsome King Harald. Raising her eyebrows, she indicated he had her attention.

"Sail with us." Letting go of the hoisting rope, he raised his arm in welcome, one of his boots casually resting on the side rail of the boat. "Come experience the company of a king. True royalty," he chuckled loudly, looking beyond her to the Lothbrok boys waiting on their ship. Whooping and whistling sounded from behind Harald, his own warriors enjoying his bravado.

"Thank you for the gracious invitation, King Harald," she bowed her head subtlety, "but I sail with Ivar." Nodding again, she turned back to the boat, stepping up on the edge before softly flapping her wings, slowing her landing on the deck of the ship. Moving past a beaming Ivar, she ruffled his hair with her fingers. Unable to contain his glee, his expression broke, his grin stretching the width of his face.

Chucking again, Harald shook his head, "Young Ivar, you have captured quite the woman. My attention is always drawn to the troublesome ones. You be careful." His deep laughter rang out again.

Steadying his face, Ivar became serious as he looked back at Harald, rolling his jaw out of habit.

"What is with him?" Hvitserk looked down at Ivar from where he stood beside. "He is either always drunk or thinks he is the world's most charming man."

"Are you talking about him or yourself," Ivar replied flatly, not taking his eyes off the King.

—

The journey was underway, the eighty-one war ships sailed in a loose formation. The wind was soft, and the waves were calm as the ores dipped and lifted in uniform.

Few words were exchanged between the young prince and the dark angel as they sat close, side by side, both gazing out across the grey sea. The silence felt comfortable and their senses were awake, both acutely aware of how near the other sat. Sliding her hand on the bench, she lifted her pinkie finger resting it over his.  Watching, out of the corner of her eye, as his body flinched but never looking away from the line of the horizon.

"Ivar," she tipped her forehead toward him. "When the fighting begins, you must not be concerned with where I am. Do you understand?"

Running his tongue over his bottom lip, he glanced at her before looking again across the water.

"Okay?" she pressed.

Nodding, he remained quiet, his mind ticking away.

"I am going to rest. The fighting will begin before we make camp," she whispered.

Pulling her hand away, she stood, adjusting her skirt and made her way to the far side of the boat. Pulling her wings together, she crawled in between a large wooden crate and the side of the boat.

—

Even in her near-sleep state, where the nonsensical images of dreams began to form, Lofn could hear his dragging. It stopped in line with her boots sticking out from her thick, long dress. Without opening her eyes, she scooted back, pressing her wings flat against the wooden crate, and patted the deck boards beside her. Ivar made his way in, crawling close and dropping onto his side to face her. He lay motionless, like a statue, as if any disturbance might cause her to throw him out.

"You are holding your breath," she mumbled, not opening her eyes.

"I am not," he replied defensively, scanning the features of her face; her light skin and dark brows, long black lashes and pale pink lips.

"You are so beautiful," he let out his breath slowly.

Peaking out one eye, she saw his eyes skipping around her face, his bottom lip pinched between his teeth. Opening both eyes, she stared back, focussing on the black pupils of his brilliant eyes. Leaning forward, she pressed her mouth to the corner of his, then pulled back to gauge his reaction.

Nothing....he continued to simply look at her.

"Did you like that?" she asked in a quiet voice.

He nodded.

Her forehead lifted in question.

He cleared his throat lightly, "I am afraid you will stop if I move."

Smiling, she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his again, shifting slightly, he pressed back.

Sliding closer, their chest nearly touching, she reached up and wrapped her hand around the back of his head. A shaky sigh escaped him when she nudged her nose to his, signaling him to open for her. Parting his lips, she slipped her tongue inside, sweeping it across and swirling it against his. A loud whimper escaped him as their lips moved more passionately, his arm sliding across her ribs, grabbing hold of her side. Squeezing, he pulled her forward, hugging her against him, his mouth and tongue beginning to take the lead.

Feeling his building response, she pulled back, "You can touch me."

He pressed his forehead to hers. "Where?"

"Anywhere," she smiled. Closing his eyes, he seemed to savour the feeling of her eyelashes sweeping against his. "Everywhere," she added, smiling further.

As if slicing a sack of grain, his desire spilled,  and he groaned loudly, slamming his mouth back to hers. Grabbing her chest, he kneaded her flesh through the dark fabric and dropped his mouth to her throat, sucking hard and yanking open the neck of her dress. Exposing one of her breasts, he hesitated to look at her pale pink nipple, standing perfectly hard. Delving toward it, he sucked and laved it wildly, shifting onto an elbow to yank her other breast free.

Tensing, he suddenly stopped and snapped his wide eyes up to hers; his forehead creased with concern.

"Too much?" he asked in an uncertain voice, looking as if he had been caught stealing.

Shaking her head, leaned forward and began kissing him just below his ear.

"How are you such a good kisser?" she whispered against his skin.

"Am I?" He pulled back to look at her. "A good kisser?"

"Stop talking," she breathed, covering his mouth with hers again, thwarting his smirk that was beginning to form.

Laying back down, she watched him grab and suck each breast, letting go only to rub the skin of his face across them. Heat grew quickly, causing her to push her hips forward, hoping to remind him there were other parts of her to worship. Pushing her to roll onto her back, he slid his body over hers, resting his weight on his forearms.

"Are your wings okay?"

Nodding, she peppered small kisses across his jaw before gently tugging his lower lip with her teeth. Sweeping his hand over her stomach and around the side of her hip, his face hovered over hers as if waiting for permission. It came in the form of her grinding her pelvis up to him and he reached down, quickly synching up the fabric of her dress and settling between her legs. Lifting her knees, she slid her boots up to rest flat on the deck and dropped her legs open, granting him further access. His hand found the warm skin of her inner thigh and he cursed under his breath and she tilted up and kissed him again, gasping against his mouth as his fingers found her core.

"Gods!" he groaned. "You are so wet!"

"For you." She murmured into his ear. "It is all for you."

Slipping his fingers up and down her dripping slit, he growled as she began to rock her hips in time.

Bringing his mouth to her ear, his body stilled. "Tell me what to do."

"Taste me," she uttered back.

Pulling away, he shimmied down her body and she planted both boots on the deck of the ship again, spreading her knees and hastily pulling her dress further up, exposing her sex to a waiting Ivar. Fixated, he stared, frozen.

"Yes, Ivar," she said in a reassuring tone. "This is happening."

Resting on his elbows, his eyes flitted up to hers before he wrapped one arm around her leg, grabbing her hip with the other. Yanking her closer, he shot her another glance.

"Open it with your fingers and run your tongue along the little ripple of skin at the top."

Looking down, he squinted at the detail and reached his hand around her hip, spreading her lips with his thumb and finger before swiping his tongue over her special spot.

Air rushed from her mouth and she arched her back, "Exactly."

His eyes flashed wide before plunging his tongue deep into her entrance and back up to her clit, over and over and over. Tipping her face up to the sky, she arched her back, pushing her breasts into the air, and whimpered loudly, unable to stop from rocking against his ravenous mouth. Peering up above her small black mound, he watched as she squeezed her breasts, gently pinching and tugging her small pink nipples.

"Gods Lofn!" he growled against her slick, not stopping his relentless tongue.

"What is this smell?" he exclaimed. "Its so fucking good!"

Snorting out laughter, she pushed onto her elbows and watched him lap and suck the tender skin of her core.

"It is my cunt Ivar," she giggled. "Put two fingers in it."

With bright eyes, he brought a hand up, probing and pushing into her entrance with two thick, calloused fingers. Tipping her head back, her long dark hair pooled below as she moaned loudly, shuddering as his fingers pumped in and out.

"You are so beautiful, Lofn," he mumbled, his blue eyes watching her parted mouth gape with her cries.

"I want more!" he shouted.

"Shhh," she hushed, snapping her head up to look at him.

"I do not care who hears us," he glared back. "Let them watch."

"Come to me," she leaned on one elbow, extending her hand to him. Quickly crawling up between her legs, she closed her eyes savouring the feeling of his weight pressing her down.

Kissing him hard, she licked and sucked her juices from his face, their hungry moans mixing between their open mouths and breathy, darting tongues.

"Open your pants," she whispered between kisses. "Rub your cock on my wetness."

The movements of his lips slowed until he was entirely still. Closing his eyes, he dropped his chin to his chest, inhaling deeply.

"Ivar?" reaching up, she cupped his face. Looking back to her, doubt had darkened his strong features; he looked ashamed.

"No, no, no, Ivar, listen," she mewed. "You will not fail with me."

His eyes met hers and she nodded reassuringly.

"What are talking about?" he snapped, his body tensing.

Furrowing his brows, he pulled himself from her arms and shuffled down her body.

"It will not be like it was with that slave," she rushed.

Pushing his jaw forward, his nostrils flared with anger. "You know nothing," he spat, narrowing his eyes.

Narrowing her own, her face flushed hot. "Do you think I was going to let you lie with that slave? That whore?" she hissed.

"Let me?" his head shot back.

Shaking his head, he pulled himself around and crawled away, ignoring her calls of his name.

—

Fuming, he stared out toward the surrounding vessels as they cut through the water; the oarsman working the timbers. Attempting to himself from the rush of anger and shame, he squinted into the distance, impossibly trying to identify the passengers on the closest ships.

A gregarious chuckle caused him to look back over his shoulder. It was Bjorn.... the tower of dense meat. He was chatting with Lofn, laughing as if she had imparted the wittiest comment of his life. Clenching his teeth, he scowled, returning his gaze to the steady swells of the sea. Working to ignore them, he spun the smooth handle of his ax around and around in his hand. Snapping his head back over to look, he stared at her, watching as she moved her hands wildly telling her tale. He scoffed again but she did not notice.

Unable to calm his mind, he was on his belly, dragging himself toward her, before he realized it.

"Lofn," he hissed. "Lofn," he repeated louder, glancing at the men on either side.

Turning from Bjorn, she stepped away, looking down at his angry, hurt eyes.

"What are you doing?" he snapped. "Why are you humiliating yourself in front of warriors you hope to have believe in you? It is very pathetic."

"How am I doing that?"

"Drooling over my Bjorn like a dog in heat. You might as well drag your ass on the ground and leave your scent."

"As you do?" she jabbed back. Closing her eyes, she inhaled through her nose and shook her head before looking back down to Ivar, "Do not get pissy with me. You are the one who pushed me away."

"I demand to know what you meant. I demand it." Breathing deeply, he attempted to hush his voice. "You were not there. How could you have possibly prevented me...." he jutted his chin forward, indicating the act he could not bring himself to say.

"Are you sure about that?" she cocked her head to one side.

Squinting, he grunted, irritated, and not understanding.

"You think you were alone all those nights?" she continued. "Feeling rejected by the world. Writhing in pain. Even floating through the cold, black water?" Her head shot back. "What Ivar, you magically learned to swim while knocked out?" She laughed, shaking her head. "Do you think you are not where you need to be? You are so blind," she spat. "Anger, rage, loss, they are not your only friends." She pointed at him. "I am here for you, Ivar. You!" she shouted. "Not Ragnar. I am here to be with you. But the genius that you are, squeezes the life out of every offering."

He grimaced, overwhelmed by her words, unable to decipher their meaning.

"Shut your mouth!" he roared. "You are a freak! A mistake of the Gods. I would never want someone like you. They should have let you die in your mother's womb, trapped in that ring of fire."

Lowering her chin, Lofn's eyes bore into him.

"I may be a freak, but in this moment, I am still a woman who..."

"Freak!" He shouted over her.

"Fuck you, Ivar."

"You wish, Lofn," he lifted his chin arrogantly.

"Good luck with the next slave" she clucked her tongue.

Screaming into the air, he grabbed his ax and whipped it toward her. Leaping up, her wings lifted her clear of the blade that whacked into the deck, embedding deeply into the wood where she had been standing. Ivar's eyes shot wide.

Screaming back, she dropped to stand on the wooden floor, her lungs heaving with wild breath as she shook her head in disbelief. Turning away, she grabbed the ropes at the side of the boat and stepped up, balancing on the railing. Looking back over her shoulder at Ivar once last time, she leaped from the ship. Soaring above the water, she beat her wings hard, climbing higher and higher into the sky. Flying above the ship, she circled, gazing down to an irate Ivar, screaming up at her, and throwing his arms into the air. Diving toward him with her wings tucked back, she tipped up, whizzing over his head, her black wings pumping the air, sounding like a cracking whip, with her long black locks, fluttering in the wind behind. Ivar's frantic eyes tracked her swift movements as she angled off and flapped away. Climbing in elevation, her body grew smaller as she flew further into the distance.

Ivar's calls quieted and his furious face settled, his brows pinching with worry. Pulling himself faster than he had ever moved, he crossed the deck of the ship, heaving himself up to rest on the edge. With a panicked face, he watched his dark angel fly further into the distance until the tiny black dot that she was disappeared into nothing. She was gone.

MASTERLIST

@flowers-in-your-hayr @tephi101 @naaladareia @youbloodymadgenius @medievalfangirl @yanii-the-hippie @lol-haha-joke @geekandbooknerd @whenimaunicorn @fangirl-nonsense @thelastemzy @captstefanbrandt @readsalot73

[inforapound]

Bloodmoon Chapter 3

A/N -  A story about Ivar and an angel. This is a short chapter. Thank you so much for reading. 

Warnings - Violence, explicit sexual content, the historically inaccurate use of the ‘F’ word, Ivar acting like a child. 

They stood just beyond the open doors of the great hall, the bustling main street of Kattegat beyond. The mid-morning glare caused Lofn to squint and shield her eyes with her hand as she adjusted from the windowless hall and dimly lit bedroom. Stepping forward, she sucked air in between her clenched teeth and tilted her face up, stretching her broad wings out to either side. Her open wings, at least the width of a tall man, flapped softly creating funnels of dust that swirled up from the sandy ground. People stopped and gawked, pointed and murmured. Word of the winged girl's arrival with a gift for the queen had spread quickly, days ago, across the entire city. Gasps could be heard as the town folk stopped, taking in the sight with their own eyes.

Scowling, Lofn took a step back, ready to retreat into the hall, away from the attention of the crowd beginning to gather.

"This always happens when I leave the hall," Ivar announced loudly in a dramatic tone.

Darting her eyes nervously to him, she again scanned the gathered people, not at all impressed with his sarcasm.

"Back to what you were doing," Ivar commanded. "Now!" he roared, his wicked expression turning his features hard. "Follow me to the shore. We will not be bothered there."

Nodding in agreement, she followed Ivar down the gentle slope toward the water. Relieved at the slow pace as the tight muscles in her back and shoulders adjusted from lack of use.

Standing at the edge of the water, the frothy waves lapped at the smooth sand just beyond her laced boots. The cool wind picked up wisps of her long black hair and the fresh air, moving through the feathers of her wings, felt glorious. Her eyes were set on the line of the horizon barely visible at the mouth of the inlet, boarded, on either side, by imposing hillside.

"Tell me everything you told my mother and then summon Hel." Ivar stood behind her, off to one side.

"I cannot swim," she replied softly, her voice sounding as distant.

Looking down to the sand, he stared at the tops of his warped leather boots, unsure whether to repeat his demand.

"I should not gripe... I can fly and I feel free when souring high above the world."

"You feel like you are free?" Ivar scoffed. "How is it possible that a massager of the Gods does not feel free at all times? You were chosen by Odin."

"Ask your thralls working in your hall if they feel free?" she replied, turning to look at him. "If they feel privileged because they were chosen by royalty." Looking back to the sea, she could feel Ivar's glare on her back.

His jaw clenched and he adjusted his crutch under his arm, more out of habit than need.

"I work for the Gods, yes. I follow their orders. But...." Breathing out, she shook her head. "You of all people should understand what it is to be considered special but reminded, every single day, just how different you are."

"When will you summon Hel?" Ivar barked, not wanting to hear another word and not accustomed to being spoken to in such a way.

"Dream on little prince," she called back over her shoulder. "It does not work that way."

"So, you break promises?" he growled, his face contorting.

"I promised you nothing!" she spat, continuing to give him her back.

"This is the angel sent by the gods."

A deep voice cut through the tension. Spinning in its direction, Lofn watched a tall, broad-shouldered warrior make his way across the sand stopping beside them. He was a bear of a man with one long flaxen braid, a pleasant face, and inquisitive blue eyes.

"Bjorn," she whispered loud enough for Ivar to snap his head toward her.

Scanning her wings up and down, Bjorn's mouth parted in disbelief. He shook his head as if not trusting his eyes.

"I should not be surprised that you know my name," he tilted his head to one side, squinting from the sun. "You must know so much that we do not." He glanced over to Ivar. "Has my baby brother been gracious and welcoming?"

Reaching out, Bjorn grabbed Ivar's shoulder, giving it a rough shake. A chunk of Ivar's slicked back hair fell forward across his forehead. Jerking his shoulder away from Bjorn's large hand, he quickly ran his palm over the top of his head, smoothing back his dark hair.

"Quite welcoming," Lofn's eyes locked with Ivar's.

"How should I address you?" Bjorn asked with a subtle smile, taking a step closer.

"Lofn!" Ivar interjected loudly. "Her name is Lofn."

Turning to Ivar, Bjorn shot him an annoyed look. "Thank you... Ivar." Looking back to Lofn, his eyes squinted at her chest. "You are bleeding." Taking another step, he bent forward, inspecting the wet stain below her shoulder on her dark linen dress.

"Your mother is Lagertha. The shieldmaiden," Lofn said in a quiet tone as if she had not heard him.

"Yes," Bjorn's eyes lifted to hers as he straightened. "Do you know her?"

Lofn pressed her lips together. "I know of her. She plays a role in the future of Kattegat."

Ivar's posture flinched at her words.

"I would love to hear more about this. Let me walk you back to the hall so your wound can be checked."

Trudging forward, Ivar stopped with a huff and raised an arm between Bjorn and Lofn, scowling at his brother.

"I will take her back to the hall, thank you, Bjorn. Run along. I am sure Torvi, your latest wife, is wondering where you are."

"Okay, Ivar." Bjorn rolled his eyes, before bowing his head to Lofn. Turning, he started back across the sand toward the hall, still shaking his head at his brother's send-off.

"What did you mean by that?" Ivar snapped, swiveling to look at Lofn. "About Lagertha?"

Lofn lunged forward, her face stopping so close their noses nearly touched.

"Do not question me!" she snapped. "I should have left you at the bottom of the ocean. I would not be stuck in this dust pit of a city with a hole in my chest."

Ivar's head shot back; his forehead pinched at her words.

"Now, be a good boy and fuck off," she spat.

Stepping to the side, she brushed past him, a thick wall of feathers slamming into his face. Not turning back, she moved across the sand, heading toward the slope to the great hall.

Scanning the surroundings for observers, Ivar cleared his throat and quickly smoothed back his mussed hair. Adjusting his crutch, he stepped forward, shuffling across the loose sand, trailing as fast as he was able, behind the messenger of the Gods.

MASTERLIST

@naaladareia @youbloodymadgenius @flowers-in-your-hayr @medievalfangirl @yanii-the-hippie @fangirl-nonsense @readsalot73 @tephi101 @geekandbooknerd @lol-haha-joke @dreamlesswonder86 @thelastemzy @captstefanbrandt 

[inforapound]

Bloodmoon Chapter 5

A/N -  A story about Ivar and an angel. My editing is less than perfect tonight, sorry. Thank you so much for reading and for the lovely messages this week.

Warnings - If anyone treats you like Ivar acts in this chapter, please call the police. Also, I think, next chapter, they either need to kill each other or get it on.  

The following evening the hall was empty except for the family who sat at the head table. Everyone was in their place but the youngest Lothbrok who was yet to appear. Lofn’s eyes continued to flick over to the empty wooden chair that sat next at the end of the table.

The tone was somewhat jovial. Jugs of ale had been shared as they waited for the platters of food to be brought out and placed down the centre of the long table. Beaming from the head seat, Aslaug continued to smile at Lofn, obviously, still relishing in the glory of receiving a true gift from the gods.

The loud clearing of a throat at the entrance to the hall drew everyone’s attention to Ivar standing, leaning on his crutch. A pale and uneasy looking Margrethe waited behind. Obnoxiously preening, Ivar made his way toward the table, grinning at no one in particular and without looking up, Margrethe followed close behind. Pulling back his chair, Ivar stood at the end of the table, scanning each person, his eyes lingering on Lofn for just an instant.

“Good evening family.”

He spoke in a loud, formal tone as if addressing a full hall of people. Ubbe shot Hvitserk a questioning glance only to have it answered with rolled eyes and a quick shrug of the shoulders. Sigurd took a drink from his cup, his eyes never leaving Margrethe’s downcast face. The guarded smile on Aslaug’s face conveyed her uncertainty with the grandeur of her beloved son and Lofn stared at Ivar, pointedly. With pressed lips and dull eyes, she was already sick of his theatrics, realizing she still had the meal to endure.

Dropping down into his chair, he flicked his head toward Margrethe who quickly dragged a chair over from a nearby table. Sitting cautiously beside Ivar, she looked down at her clutched hands, resting on her lap. Holding his hand out to Margrethe, Ivar’s smile grew syrupy sweet but faltered when she did not notice causing him to jerk his waiting hand and snap his fingers to draw her attention. Glancing up, she jolted forward, taking his hand; her eyes were wide, and her bottom lip was pinched white between her teeth. She looked terrified. Bringing their held hands down to rest on the arm of his chair, Ivar’s honeyed grin returned as he sat smugly, surveying those around the table.

Frowning, a look of concern crossed Ubbe’s face as he again glanced at Hvitserk before looking to Sigurd searching for an explanation.

“Anyway…” Sigurd said, bringing the attention back to his end of the table. “Lofn, are you feeling strong? You will be ready for the journey in two weeks time?”

“I am not in pain. My mobility is still a bit tight flying on the down-beat, but I will be ready,” Lofn nodded gently, grateful for the diversion.

Sighing loudly, Ivar rolled his eyes, again, becoming the focus of attention. With a pensive face, Aslaug continued to eye her youngest from across the table.

“I have quite an appetite this evening. Where is our meal?” Ivar said loudly, dramatically scanning the room. “Margrethe?” he spoke not looking over to her, “be a dove and feed me some berries.”

Fluttering her lids, confusion flashed across her face.

“Now!” Ivar barked, his chin motioned toward the plate of fruit on the table. Pulling her hand from his, she picked up a bunch of blackberries, lifting the dangling bunch toward his face. He snapped his head in her direction. “Not like that. One at a time, you fool.”

Swallowing, she mumbled a shaky apology and began plucking the berries from the stem placing them on the plate in front of him. Opening his mouth expectantly, she slowly grabbed two from the plate, carefully bringing them to his mouth and popping them inside, one at a time. Smiling, he chewed obnoxiously, the skin of the berries darkening his teeth.

Hvitserk looked baffled. Sigurd looked utterly disgusted and Ubbe was out of patience. Lofn bit the inside of her cheek in hopes it would steady her amusement and prevent her from laughing outwardly right in his idiotic face. Shifting on the bench, she lifted her wings to adjust, ruffling them lightly before settling them back behind her shoulders. She could not stop herself from leering sideways at him but he continued to look everywhere and at everyone but her.

“Lofn?” he spoke loudly, clearing his throat, looking up toward the rafters of the hall. “I did not realize you would be joining us for a family supper. Were you out today, flapping around?”

An exasperated scoff at the other end of the table turned all heads back to Sigurd.

‘Ivar,” Sigurd sneered. “You know exactly where she was today. You loitered in the hall for hours this afternoon.” Aslaug reached forward, placing her hand on Sigurd’s arm. Whipping his arm back from his mother’s touch, he looked straight at Lofn. “Walked past your door likely a dozen times.”

Ivar clenched his teeth and Sigurd sunk into his chair with chuffed expression, finishing off his cup of ale in one long drink.

Narrowing his eyes, Ivar glanced at Lofn. “What were you doing in there for half the day? I heard voices. Who was with you?” He blinked rapidly, his aloofness becoming brittle.

“I cannot imagine you would care who I was with. Were you not with your thrall?” Lofn dipped her head toward Margrethe. “You two look so in love.”

Ivar’s expression dropped and Margrethe's eyes flashed wide. Every person at the table could see the poor girl was holding her breath.

“Mother,” Ivar whined. “I think we have a right to know who our guest is conniving with under our roof. Do we not?” he lifted his chin arrogantly.

“It is not our place to question a messenger from the Gods.” Aslaug eyed him sternly.

“Sure, mother,” he breathed, slumping against one armrest of his chair.

Lofn turned to address Aslaug, “I was sending a message home. I was speaking with a raven at the window.”

Aslaug smiled, her nostrils still flared. “Please Lofn, no one is questioning you, dear.”

Ivar snorted loudly. “Why would Odin need a message from you? Is he not omnipresent? He needs what? An update? Ridiculous,” he grabbed Margrethe’s hand, causing her to startle, and pulled it to his face, kissing her knuckles; her already pale face was now void entirely of colour.

Lofn’s head snapped toward him. “I am warning you not to speak so casually about the All Father.”

Rolling his eyes, he took another drink from his cup. “Or what? What will you do about it?”

“Easy,” Ubbe chinned in, shooting Ivar a look of warning.

“Ivar!” Aslaug scolded. “It is an honour having Lofn here with us. A true honour. She will help avenge Ragnar.”

“Yes, mother,” his tone was sarcastic. “She will be invaluable when we battle the Saxons.” He brought his cup to his lips. “As long as they are not equipped with burlaps sacks,” he chuckled into his drink.

“Brave words for a man who cannot stand to fight.” Lofn quipped, picking up her cup and lifting it in the air toward him. “What do the legends say about those who wage war on their bellies? Oh, that’s right, there are none.” Smirking, she turned holding her drink up to those around the table. “Skol.” Chugging the remaining ale in her cup, everyone watched with eyes frozen wide and rigid in their seats.

Ivar slammed his cup down on the table causing mead to splash and plates to bounce with a clatter. Leaning forward, he glared furiously at her, his hands planted on the table in front of him.

Scowling, Lofn stared right into his eyes, and leaned in his direction, “I hope….”

In a flash, Ivar’s hand shot forward, grabbing her by the throat, his lips were pulled back in a snarl and his fingers squeezing. Her eyes flashed wide as her mouth fell open and her hands flew up, clasping onto his wrists. Soundlessly, she struggled to take a breath.

“Ivar, no!” screamed Aslaug, shooting out of her chair. Hvitserk and Ubbe, already ahead, rounded the table and grabbed Ivar by his arm and shoulders. With wild eyes, Ivar’s face was locked in rage, his breath rushed in and out of his flared nostrils and spittle shot through his gritted teeth. With dark eyes, his gaze held on her open, gaping mouth, wide and unable to scream. He looked crazed, mesmerized, as the colour in her pale face turned red, and the veins in her clutched neck puffed with her blood. Snarling, his lips pulled back further showing his long, sharp teeth.

Squinting at him, she slowly closed her mouth, her expression easing and the faintest hint of a distorted smile lifted her lips. Starling, Ivar blinked, his hand loosening its grip as he saw a glimmer of mischief flash in her dark, narrowed eyes. Releasing his hand, he grunted, slamming himself back in his chair, and Hvitserk reached down to hold him in place.

Bringing her hands to her throat, she hacked violently, keeping her watering eyes on Ivar as Aslaug knelt beside her, rubbing her back and sweeping aside her long black hair. Filling a cup with water, Ubbe crouched between Ivar and Lofn, offering her the drink.

Taking the cup, she sipped but instantly spurted the water out onto the table and coughed roughly; the contracted muscles in her bruised throat unable to swallow. Wincing as she cleared her throat, she continued to stare at a dazed-looking Ivar, who sat perfectly still, panting, working to catch his breath.

“Well done, Ivar,” her gravelly voice, rasped out. “Show them who you are.” Bringing her finger up, she tapped her temple. “This is only the start, my love.”

@flowers-in-your-hayr  @naaladareia @whenimaunicorn @lol-haha-joke@tephi101 @youbloodymadgenius @yanii-the-hippie @lol-haha-joke @fangirl-nonsense @thelastemzy @captstefanbrandt @readsalot73 @geekandbooknerd

[inforapound]

Bloodmoon Chapter 4

A/N -  This chapter is really not where I want it to be. Some of you know I am having problems with my sight. I feel if I don’t just get this posted, my enthusiasm will fizzle altogether. Moodboard by @flowers-in-your-hayr .

Warnings - Violence, explicit sexual content, the historically inaccurate use of the ‘F’ word, Ivar acting like a brat.

Lofn hated being treated differently. Worse, she despised those around her behaving as if she was the same. Welcoming her, smiling, keeping their eyes from wandering to the large black appendages jetting out from her back and towering above of her head. As if they were not there.

She did not feel that around the Lothbrok’s breakfast table though. No one knew how to act or what to say. The atmosphere was tense. Awkward. Sideways glances were exchanged and Ivar’s eyes moved frenetically from person to person, always settling back on her. Sigurd appeared to want to be anywhere but there, Ubbe observed Ivar, observing Lofn and Hvitserk simply ate while Aslaug was already into the mead.

“Lofn, are you comfortable in your room?” Aslaug asked from the end of the table, breaking the strange silence.

“I am, thank you,” Lofn replied looking back to the thick porridge and bowl of apple sauce before her. To allow room for her wings, she sat alone on one long side, the boys across and Ivar at the other end, closest to her. She could feel his eyes on her, constantly.

“How is your pain dear?” Aslaug continued.

Opening her mouth to answer, Ivar cut her off.

“The bed is too small for her. She does not fit.” Lifting his knife from his plate, he pointed toward her wings. “Because of those.”

Closing her eyes, Lofn exhaled wearily before looking back to Aslaug. “I am fine my Queen, truly.”

With a flat smile, Aslaug nodded, her eyes skipping back and forth between Lofn and her youngest son.

“I will be out today,” Lofn spoke up, clearing her throat. “Just…letting you know.”

“Of course, “Aslaug nodded, looking across to Ivar, who began to scowl.

Cocking his head, he stared at Lofn, interrogating her with just his eyes. Ignoring him entirely, she dipped a spoon full of porridge into her apple sauce before taking a bite. With a pinched face, his eyes followed her repetitive movements, dipping her spoon into each bowl before taking a mouth full.

“Lofn, would you like me to accompany you?” Ubbe cut in over the sounds of forks and spoons on plates. “I am quite sure you are capable of going unattended, but I can offer you a ride wherever you are going. With me on horseback or I can arrange for you to ride your own?”

“Ubbe,” Ivar leaned forward, his bright eyes glaring at his brother. “Are you blind or just stupid?” Throwing his gloved hand up, he stopped. “Do not answer. Both,” he quipped. “She has wings. The girl has wings. She does not require a ride from you.” Leaning back in his chair, he kept his eyes on Ubbe.

“Relax Ivar,” Ubbe replied in a calm voice, scrunching his forehead at his brother’s behaviour.

“Actually,” glimpsing at Ivar, Lofn looked across at Ubbe. “I would prefer a ride. I have not lifted my full weight in the air since….” Her head motioned back to Ivar. “I want to go into the hills above the city. Work on getting my strength back.”

“I will take you,” Ivar blurted, straightening, his hand squeezed the armrest of this chair. Looking up to the far end of the table, “Mother!” he called.

Scoffing loudly, Sigurd shook his head, averting his eyes from those around the table. Hvitserk paused, a spoonful of dagmal halfway to his mouth.

Scanning her eyes between her sons, Aslaug lifted her brow. “Ivar will take Lofn in his chariot.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lofn could see Ivar’s posture soften and he bought his cup to his mouth, looking smug.

“He knows those hills better than anyone and…” Ubbe rolled his eyes. “and…” Aslaug continued, shooting Ubbe a look of warning, “it is the least he can do.”

Opening her mouth to speak, Lofn hesitated, looking back down to her half-eaten breakfast. Feeling confronted, she lifted her cup and took a drink.

“I will have the kitchen slaves prepare a basket with food and ale,” Aslaug smiled, leaning back in her chair, taking a deep drink from her cup.

Glancing up to Ivar, Lofn nearly choked at the size of his priggish grin.

Ivar’s eyes flashed at Lofn before he looked back to Aslaug. “Thank you, Mother. That sounds delightful.”

—

The ride into the hills was, in fact, a true delight for Ivar. A black-haired, ebony feathered beauty stood behind him, arms wrapped around his waist holding tight. His right hand was holding the reigns and his left squeezing hers for assurance that she would not fall as he purposely hit every divot on the path. The sun was shining, the wildflowers dusting the air with a sweet smell and Ivar had a genuine smile. Lofn was scowling, grimacing, as the wind whipped her long hair into her eyes. Flaring her nostrils, she gasped for breath, feeling as though she might suffocate, asphyxiate, on the sandalwood, or some similar body oil that Ivar had obviously, generously, applied before their departure. Sticking out her tongue, she coughed at its strength. What a prince charming she thought, rolling her eyes at the truth of their situation. Ivar, utterly ignorant of her plans for him.

Letting go of his waste and pulling free from his grasp, Lofn braced, holding the sides of the chariot as Ivar slowed to a stop. Swiveling, he opened his mouth to speak but stopped seeing that she was already off and making her way through the long grass toward a large boulder overlooking the harbour.

Lowering himself to sit at the back of the chariot, he dropped his legs off the end and watched. Climbing onto the rock, she stretched her arms out to either side, wincing at the pain in her chest. Unfolding her broad wings, she opened and stretched them wide on either side, lifting her pale face to the warm sun, and closing her eyes. At such an angle, Ivar could not tell whether she was rigid with pain or savouring the feeling of the sun’s warmth against her skin.

Pumping her wings in fast, downward strokes, her feet lifted from the rock and she drifted slowly down to the grass below. Her large black wings, looking like a sail catching the wind. Over and over and over Lofn repeated this simple exercise, climbing to the top of the boulder and floating to the ground.

Observing every detail of her wings and movements, he could not seem to pull his eyes from her pretty face and pitch-black hair. How her lips pressed together in concentration and the way her dress fitted her body, showing the lines of her figure. Scrunching his brow, he was surprised at her perseverance when it was obvious by her expression she was hurting.

Whistling to her, her head whipped back, looking over her shoulder to Ivar holding the basket up in one hand. Nodding, she straightened and smoothed the skirt of her dress before walking over, clearly exhausted as her hand clutched her sore shoulder.

“I am ready to return to the hall,” she announced, running her hand up and down her tender arm.

“I have not yet asked you any questions." Lowering his chin, he shot her an annoyed look. “I want to know what you did that day? Making everyone still, like they were made of stone.”

“I do not have to answer your questions,” she scoffed.

Sighing loudly, he dropped down from the chariot to the grass and pulled his legs to one side. “Sit and eat. I will bring you back here tomorrow. You can answer me then.”

She was too tired to object or appreciate the sight of Ivar unfolding a large linen cloth from the basket. Carefully he unpacked and placed bread and cheese and meat down with two cups and a corked jug of ale.

“I am not interested in eating,”

Stopping, he looked up, “You do not want to disappoint my mother by ignoring this lunch she organized.” Cocking his head to one side, he raised his brow in questions. “Or, do you?”

With a glare, she pulled her wings tight behind her and lowered to the grass to sit. Again her fingers worked to pull and smooth the long fabric of her dress.

“You are fidgeting,” Ivar said flatly as he hastily poured mead into a cup and held it out to her.

“I will never be comfortable in a dress.” Grabbing the drink, she drank quickly, nearly emptying it.

They ate in silence; Ivar watching her closely as she looked everywhere else, settling her sights on a still raven perched high on a ledge above them.

Finishing her food and cup of ale, she fluttered her lashes at him. “Satisfied?”

“Until tomorrow..," he replied.  "I am meeting with the heads of the arriving armies after first meal. I will bring you up following.

Lofn did not respond.

“Yes?” he pressed.

Nodding, she looked down at the small blue wildflower she twirled between her fingers.

“We will talk then.”

She glanced back up to him but said nothing.  

The following day proved like the first. The third and fourth too. The rocks got larger and soon Lofn was not only lowering herself down but flying up to ledges and cliffs with only moderate discomfort. At some point on day five, Ivar realized, Lofn’s prickly defense softened after a length of time when he had not probed her for answers. On day eight, she even smiled while flying high in the air, soaring above the tops of the trees. Keeping her arms at her sides and looking straight ahead, she dove down toward the earth, tilting up within feet of the lake and running her fingers across the surface. Water sprayed up, fanning on either side, sparkling as it caught the sunlight. She was ecstatic. Giggling as she zipped over Ivar who whipped his head in every direction, beaming, as he tracked her sharp movements and agile form. He was mesmerized.

That afternoon, the atmosphere felt different. There was a lightness, a playfulness that had never been present. They were having fun.

Sitting on the top of the boulder, Lofn watched the trading ships make their way into the bay and Ivar sat below, leaning casually against the rock, legs stretched straight with his eyes closed, savouring both the day and her company.

“Lofn?”

“Ivar?”

“Can I touch your wings?” Turning, he looked up to her, squinting from the sun which sat high above. The brightness shining behind illuminated the line around her dark wings and shadowed face. The brightness was suddenly shielded allowing him to open his eyes fully and look at her. Her left wing was peaked high, shading him from the direct light. It was not a large smile, but Ivar could see her lips lift with amusement.

“What is so funny?” he asked chuckling softly.

“No one has ever asked me that before.”

Sliding off the rock, she turned to face him and knelt beside his outstretched legs. Lifting her wings, she leaned forward and expanded them in his direction, bringing the tips together. The end feathers touched the rounded sides of the large boulder, creating a soft, feathered chambre around him. Her expression sobered, fascinated watching Ivar’s reaction. His lips were parted and his eyes were wide as he scanned the dark feathers of the enclosure. Studying the layers and layers of soft black that shone iridescent in the sunlight; a purple and blue sheen edged the dark ebony of each individual feather. Looking back to her face, their eyes locked and he let out a shaky breath, noticing the skin of her face. Even it was luminous in the direct sun, shining like it had been dusted with shavings of brilliant quartz. Bringing his hand up, he lightly ran his rough finger down her refined cheek before dropping it further to skim over the inside of her wing. He smiled, feeling how the soft cover concealed the seemingly flexible bones beneath.

“It is beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes shooting back to hers as he cleared his throat. A flash of unease flitting across his face. “Do you tire from holding them open like this?” he asked, steadying his voice.

“Not particularly. It is hard to describe.” She looked down to his hand now resting on his thigh. “I suppose it would be similar to expanding long webbed fingers. The bones are flexible but strong.”

Pulled her wings back to her sides, she ruffled them, before folding them back to rest behind her.

“Who sent you Lofn?” He asked, his voice relaxed.

“You are too intelligent for that question,” she blinked, watching his expression still as his mind connected his thoughts.

“Odin,” he uttered looking down at his crossed legs. “To avenge my father.” He brought his eyes back up to hers.

“To help the true heir avenge him, yes,” she nodded subtly.

“That is me," he said, his voice now strange; a mixture of surprise and defense.

“Well, it is not Sigurd,” she looked up, eyeing the black raven still resting high above.

Lost in thought, Ivar lowered his eyes, watching her fingers softly comb through the dry grass.

“Are you a Valkyrie?” he looked up.

Shaking her head, she tucked the loose wisps of hair behind her ear. “And never will be.”

“This is a disappointment?” his forehead scrunched in question.

“To be a Valkyrie is a great honour.  A powerful destiny.” She paused licking her lower lip. “My mother was Svala, was one of the most famous Valkyries of all.”

Listening to her every word, Ivar's eyes stayed focussed on her pale lips as she spoke.

“She was banished by Odin for killing a magical shieldmaiden named Unn. Unn was favoured,” Lofn chuckled,  but her face showed her sorrow. “It was said that Thor was in love with her. But Unn killed my father Helgi, a mortal, in battle. So…. my mother killed her. Drove a sword right through her chest and then removed both her heart and her head in order to stop her magic. For good.” Exhaling loudly, she looked down to the grass between her fingers. “Thor was enraged, and I was in my mother’s womb when it happened.” She looked back up, locking eyes with him. “I never met my father," she shook her head softly. "To smooth Thor’s anger, the All Father banished my mother to the top of one of the highest mountains. She was forced to live out her life within a burning round of fire. I was taken away right after being born and raised by other angels in service. I never knew my parents, either of them.”

Ivar listened, studying her face and emotion around her eyes.

“The blood of my banished mother that pumps in my veins prevents me from becoming Valkyrie. Ever. I will never be given that power and wisdom. Never be able to sour above the battlefields, choosing who is ready and who is not. Who is worthy and who is not.” She smiled sadly.

“How do I know you are not something else?” he asked quietly, playfulness back in his eyes. “To fool me?” he smiled. “Secretly choosing to end my life.” His smile widened, showing his perfect, straight teeth.

She could not help but smile in return. “Have you heard me whisper your name in your ear?”

“No.”

Lowering her chin, she eyed him from under her brow. “Then I have chosen you for nothing.”

—

The sun continued to shift in the sky, dampening the light in the clearing.

“It is late,” Lofn uttered glancing up at the fading sun.

Standing, she stretched her injured shoulder, her wings relaxed at her back. Nodding, Ivar’s eyes lingered on her face before he rolled onto his front and crawled to the chariot. Pulling himself up, he stood turning to watch Lofn approach, the picnic basket hanging from one of her arms. Taking the basket from her outstretched hand, Ivar offered his other to help her in. Clutching his hand, she hopped into the chariot, losing her footing as Ivar yanked her forward. Hitting her chest against his, he wrapped his arm tight around her waist and slammed his mouth to hers. His eyes were closed, and his lips pressed hard. Pulling her head back, she brought her hand up and slapped him, cracking her palm across his cheek. Stunned, he blinked, his arm dropping from her waist and Lofn watched his face morph from shock, to shame before his brows pinched and his eyes came alive with anger.

With her breath held, Lofn took a step back just as Ivar slammed the butt of his hand into her chest. Knocking the wind from her lungs, she fell backward, tumbling from the chariot onto the hard ground. A muffled cry escaped her mouth as she rolled onto her sore side, painfully pulling her wings out from under her. She gasped loudly, unable to inhale, feeling as though she could not take a breath.

“You appear healed,” he sneered. “You need no ride from me,” Turning away, he roared at his horse to go, snapping the leather reigns.

Heated pricked the skin of Lofn’s neck and cheeks as the muscles in her chest eased, allowing her to take a shallow breath. Scowling, she gritted her teeth and watched the back of Ivar’s head disappear as he made his way down the rough path. A shrill kaaw caused her to snap her head up, shooting the black raven an enraged glare.

“Do not scold me,” she shouted. “This will work! He is destined for the crown.” Coughing roughly, she cleared her throat and spat into the grass. “I will make it so,” she muttered, as she looked toward the empty path.

@flowers-in-your-hayr @naaladareia @youbloodymadgenius @medievalfangirl @yanii-the-hippie @tephi101 @lol-haha-joke @fangirl-nonsense @thelastemzy @captstefanbrandt @whenimaunicorn @readsalot73 @geekandbooknerd

[inforapound]

Bloodmoon Series

Pairing - Ivar and Lofn

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6 

Chapter 7

Chapter 8 

Chapter 9

[inforapound]

Bloodmoon Chapter 2

A/N - A story about Ivar and an angel. Thank you for reading. 

Warnings - Violence, sexual content, the historically inaccurate use of the ‘F’ word:)

Without even opening her eyes, she could feel the heaviness in the air. There was a lack of reverberation, telling her there was another person there... watching her. Opening her eyes to the solid wall, Lofn new it was Ivar, sitting somewhere beyond view, raking his eyes up and down her folded wings. She could sense, by the tiny transparent hair on the back of her neck, that he wanted, desperately, to reach forward and run his hands along her black feathers.

"Four nights I have been in this room and the healer is still more interested in prodding my wings than changing my dressings. Do not tell me, you too, have no restraint." Shifting her head, she glanced over her shoulder toward a wide-eyed Ivar. His brilliant blues cutting through the dim light of the room.

"I have never been accused of showing restraint," he replied. Opening his mouth again, he hesitated, a flicker passing through his expression.

Feeling exposed with a stranger at her back, she pushed her elbows into the mattress to turn and face him, wincing as she adjusted, pulling her wings flush to the wall.

"You are being a bad girl. The healer said you are not a compliant patient."

His voice was raspier than she expected. Smug, with a slight cynical tone and smooth cadence.

"I should have held my tongue until after she cut out my stitches. The old hag does not have a delicate touch.

"Are you in pain?" Ivar asked sounding surprisingly sincere. But looking up at his face, she saw no hint of shame or regret for putting his arrow in her.

"As much from lying cramped in this bed than the other." She motioned with her head indicating her shoulder. "Are you here to apologize?"

"No!" he scoffed, his eyes darting around the room before he narrowed his focus on her again. "Why would I apologize? I returned from hunting to find someone like you," he jerked his head, eyes dropping to her partially concealed wings, "above my mother...wielding a knife." Air rushed through his nostrils. "I thought you were taking her to her death."

"If I was, your bow would not have stopped me," she said flatly. Glancing down to her front, she pulled the sheet up to cover her chest, suddenly aware she was in only a thin shift. "So, no apology," she sighed.

Clearing his throat, he shifted in his chair. "I may have overreacted. I am feeling fine now." Lifting his chin, he fluttered his eyelids, arrogance, she noted his obvious defense.

"I need to get out of here," she looked back to him. "I need room to stretch. I cannot be confined and folded up like this."

"Will you tell me why you are here if I help you?"

"I need to move!" she rushed, her eyes widening in frustration "I need to use my wings. Your shot has unquestionably affected my strength and I need to know the extent of this injury."

Saying nothing, he studied the visible parts of her wings.

"Are you going to help me? I would prefer not to run into any of your guards."

Eyes fixed on her, he remained silent, continuing to scan her features.

"Ivar!" she called. "Do you know what the Gods do with flightless angels?"

His eyes grew wide and he sat upright in his chair. "So, what Mother said about you is correct... Lofn?" his voice hung on her name. "What you told her yesterday? You were sent by Odin to avenge Ragnar." His voice dropped to a quiet tone, "As he truly was a descendant."

"That is for the adults to discuss... Ivar," she chimed back, looking toward the ceiling.

"Pffft," he rolled his eyes. "You cannot be any older than me," he sneered.

"You might be surprised," she raised her eyebrows, a slight smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"Does it hurt to lie on those....things?" he jerked his head toward her, not able to call them what they were.

"Does it hurt you to lie in bed and sleep on an arm?"

"Sometimes..." he responded obviously unsure of the appropriate answer.

"Exactly. So, can you get me out of here?"

"No!" Leaning forward, he pointed his finger at her, his face becoming stern. "You are going to tell me everything or you can stay in here and rot for all I care."

Bringing her hands up, she rubbed her temples. "For the love of Hel."

Stilling, he bent forward resting his elbows on the tops of his metal braces. "You know Hel?"

Lofn peaked out from under her hand. "Would you like to meet her?"

"Very much."

"Hmmm, okay. We must find some open land then. She is.... a big woman."

Nodding, Ivar adjusted to stand.

Wincing, she shimmied to the edge of the bed, the delicate bones at her back, covered with dense feathers, flexed behind her. Clutching the sheet to her chest, she pushed her hand down onto the bed to sit upright, sucking in air and squeezing her eyes closed. A sharp, tearing burn ripped through the side of her shoulder, shooting up her neck causing her to cry out.

Jolting forward, Ivar offered his hand. Wearing a worn, open fingered glove, she noticed the width of his broad palm and the thickness of his callused fingers. Glancing up to his impatient face, she slowly reached forward taking his outstretched hand. With a grunt she dropped her legs off the side of the bed, her bare toes touching the wide plank floor.

"Yes?" he nodded.

"Seeing stars," she hesitated, squinting her eyes.

Without dropping her hand, he pushed on the table beside him to stand, offering his other hand as well. Clutching both, she exhaled quickly and stood. Her eyes were in line with his throat and she tensed realizing how close they were.

"I will need a moment to dress," she murmured softly, cringing in discomfort as she spread her wings a little, ruffling her feathers. Ivar's expression fell as he watched her lift and adjust them in a quick succession of small flaps.

"They sound like the wings of a bird" he uttered quietly, his eyes were round and his mouth slightly parted.

Smirking in response, she flashed him a look that asked what he thought they would sound like. Clenching his jaw at her mock, he dropped her hands so fast it caused her to stumble forward, smacking her face into his solid chest. He let out a jeering laugh and she straightened, crossing her arms over the sheer fabric to hide her chest.

"I was not accustomed to walking even before you shot me," she spat. "Do you mind?" her dark eyes narrowed at him.

"You do not walk where you are from?" he jabbed back.

Her face became stern. "Not... exactly." Lifting her chin, she shot him a look of warning, signaling there would be no answer to his next question.

Through squinted eyes, she studied his smooth face; his square jaw and soft lips. He had Thich dark hair and a broad brow over brilliant coloured eyes. Despite himself, he was... attractive, she had to admit to herself, if not a little effeminate. She liked it though and wondered how such a ruthless warrior could have so little facial hair. Clearing her throat, she dropped her gaze to the silver hammer worn on a leather string against his tunic. Instinctively, Ivar stepped back and cleared his throat, glancing around the small room.

"I need to change," she looked toward the hook on the wall where her recently washed dress hung and lifted her brow expectantly. As if winning a small scrimmage, she smiled as he turned to collect the dress, handing it over. Snatching it from his hand, she looked at him pointedly, giving no thanks and he nosily plunked down onto the chair to wait.

She lifted her brow at him, "Can you...perhaps....?"

"Oh," he rolled his eyes with a huff ad awkwardly attempted to stand, falling back onto the chair with a clatter of metal before making it upright. "I will get a slave."

"No!" she rushed, looking down to the floor, tightening her arms across her chest. "Please, no slaves. No more strangers looking at my body."

Ivar stilled; his face became serious.

"I can dress myself," she continued staring at the floorboards. "You can help with the ties at my back. I will not be able to..." she stiffly lifted the arm on her injured side, making her point.

"Maybe, just... turn around," she glanced up to him, suddenly looking shy.

Nodding, he pressed his lips together and turned to face the wall.

With a rustle of feathers, a sharp intake of breath and a few grunts of pain, she uttered, "Okay."

Ivar turned to see her standing with her dress gaping loosely and her wings stretched wide, the left wing resting lower than the other. The ties had been looped but her dress hung open below her left breast and behind each shoulder.

Frozen, Ivar stared, until she jerked her head with impatience, urging him on. Slowly stepping closer, he reached for the tie looped high on her left side. His eyes darted up to the side of her face as the dry skin on his hand caught the fabric and the tips of his fingers skimmed over her lean body. As he tied the string in a careful knot, she looked over her shoulder locking eyes with him. Blinking rapidly, he lowered his gaze and tied the remaining knots.

Facing him again, she could not help notice his frown and the way he was pinching his lower lips between his teeth.

"What?" she whispered, looking down and running her hands over to smooth the skirt of her dress.

"You are as lean as a slave," he remarked. "I could feel your ribs. Do they not feed you?"

Closing her eyes, she breathed out a long sigh. "You are so annoying."

Straightening, he adjusted on his crutch. "Do I need to groom your messy hair too?" his voice was now snide.

Saying nothing, she continued to look at him from under her dark lashes.

Shifting his braces, he shuffled uncomfortably. "Is there something else you need?" he spat.

"Yes, for there not to be a hole in my chest."

Ivar clenched his teeth and shook his head. "I did not have to come and miss out on training with my brothers."

"I should thank you then?"

"No need, you are most welcome," he chirped, grinning obnoxiously and giving a small bow before grabbing the handle and pulling open the door.  Stocking ahead of her as they moved down the corridor, he called back over his shoulder. "I have a feeling, I am going to curse the day I met you."

Rolling her eyes, she made her way behind, holding the wall to help steady her feet. Smiling, she uttered under her breath, "You have no idea."

MASTERLIST

@naaladareia @youbloodymadgenius @flowers-in-your-hayr @flowers-in-your-hayr @medievalfangirl @yanii-the-hippie @fangirl-nonsense @readsalot73 @whenimaunicorn @tephi101 @geekandbooknerd @lol-haha-joke @dreamlesswonder86 @thelastemzy @captstefanbrandt @whenimaunicorn

[uncomfortable-writers]

Lofn’s Blessing (Ivar x Reader)

(Gif credit to owner)

Fandom: Vikings

Character: Ivar the Boneless

Persona: Christian!Female

Word Count: 998

A/N - For this fic, (Y/N) will be a Christian. I kinda wanna make it a multi-series but idk, lemme know your thoughts? This is also my first time writing for Ivar so if he feels OOC or anything pls forgive me xoxo <3

Lofn - The Goddess of Forbidden Love, any that is forbidden, frowned upon by society, or disliked by families. She draws lovers together in addition to protecting them from others.

You felt sick to your stomach. The utter disgust at being placed on a boat and taken from your homeland to areas unknown was a horrible feeling. It caused a whole range of resentment to blossom in your mind; firstly at your father. He was a king who ruled over a reasonably large area in England and in order for safety from pillages, he’d offered you up in heartbeat. And sadly that offer had been accepted. The greatest resentment you felt was for your husband to be - a filthy heathen. How could your father trade you away like cattle to a bunch of uncultured brutes? You doubted they’d honour the alliance anyway but your protests fell on deaf ears. 

“We’re here my lady”, said your most trustworthy handmaiden, Rose. Not only was she a great helper, but a fantastic adviser and your best friend, thankfully your father had allowed you to bring her along, “Wear this my lady otherwise you’ll freeze”, she offered you a remorseful smile along with an extra fur coat. Rose saw the hesitation on your features, “Perhaps that would be for the best”, you answered. She tutted, shaking her head she draped the fur around your shoulders, “Without you here they’d surely kill me, I’ve got to keep you alive for my own sake”, she joked, making you smirk a little. “I knew there was a reason you liked me Rose”. She never had time to answer though as the boat docked in the station, the men who were accompanying you started to lead you off.

You were surprised when you saw that there wasn’t a big crowd waiting to welcome you, “Typical”, you muttered snidely to Rose as you walked gracefully, your head held high, “I see the heathens really do have no culture”. 

Rose bit her lip to stop a broad smile from developing on her face, “Behave (Y/N)”. A young man started to approach you and your ensemble, his light brown hair was pulled back into brilliant braids. You noticed there was sparse facial hair dashed across his features. Although you thought him to be quite handsome, you kept your compose as after all he was a Viking.

“Greetings Princess (Y/N), I am Prince Hvitserk. Welcome to Kattegat”, his smile was so wide that you couldn’t help reciprocating it as if it were contagious. You curtsied politely, holding up your skirts and bowing your head, “Greetings Prince Hvitserk, thank you for welcoming me. I am surprised you know my language”, you answered, rising up. You noticed that the young prince now wore a smirk, you tilted your head but didn’t ask questions. “We learnt it from our raids”, he stated, “Follow me, Ivar is waiting”. 

With this he turned on his heel, leaving you to trail behind him. 

Smoothly picking your skirts up once again you followed after Hvitserk, trying your best to stay collected as now the people of Kattegat were watching you as you made your way to the Great Hall. Each step became harder like there was a growing weight inside each of your legs, you could feel the increasing anxiety becoming more and more present the closer you got. 

Subtly you reached out and brushed Rose’s hand, sending her a worried glance. Rose smiled at you, giving you an encouraging nod although it did little to sate your nerves. Hvitserk was the first to enter the hall: the doors were opened for him and the heat from inside hit you like the warmth from a baker’s oven. You continued to follow Hvitserk and you couldn’t of been a few feet inside when he stopped, causing you to stop also. You watched as, (what you assumed were servants women), reached out and took the furs from his shoulders, they did the same for you.

“Ivar!”, Hvitserk suddenly called out heartily, “Your princess has arrived!”. The prince then turned to you and gestured for you to move forward.

Reluctantly you followed his instructions. You carried yourself like you would’ve back home as if you were walking in your father’s court. Your head was held high, your long (H/C) neatly framed your face, you crossed your hands and delicately held them in front of you as you coolly walked towards the young man sat on a throne, the seat next to him was vacant.

The first thing you noticed was his icy blue eyes that seemed to shine in the dully lit room. You could feel the cold coming from behind them, it was abundantly evident in his stare as he watched you approach. A blank expression was written on his face as he sat proudly in his throne, his hair was darker than his brother’s and shorter, but the braids were just as beautiful. You couldn’t deny it, he was wonderfully attractive, although this thought caused revulsion and you had to hold back an involuntary shiver. Clearly there was Pagan magic at work here, you reasoned. You noticed that he wore strange metal plates on his legs, but now was not the time to question as you were finally close to him. 

“My King”, you spoke clearly, greeting him with the same curtsy you’d offered Hvitserk, “I am Princess (Y/N) of England”. This seemed to amuse him as an unsettling grin took form on his face, “Welcome to Kattegat, Princess (Y/N)”, he repeated as if he were testing out the new name. You would never admit it, but somewhere deep down, you liked the way he made it sound. “We don’t do...that here”, he gestured to your curtsy, “Although maybe we should”. You smiled politely at him and that was all you offered, you were far too afraid to indulge him in conversation.

“I am King Ivar the Boneless, I hope you find your stay here enjoyable Christian”.

[uncomfortable-writers]

Lofn’s Blessing - 2 (Ivar x Reader)

(Gif credit to owner)

Fandom: Vikings

Character: Ivar the Boneless

Persona: Christian!Female

Word Count: 1,052

A/N - Not quite sure where I plan on taking this series but I have a vague idea! If you wanna be tagged just let me know! Love y’all xoxo <3

Read Part One here!

Tag list: @nataliehasgrace, @oh-captain-rum, @poisonous00, @imcreepininyourheartbabe

Ivar swished the yellow ale around in the horn he was holding, a sombre look plastered on his face, his head was resting in his other hand as he thought deeply. His blue eyes stared ahead at the full Great Hall with an empty gaze; his older brother, Ubbe, who was sat near Ivar’s throne eating noticed this. Taking one last bite out of a piece of chicken, he called out to the youngest Lothbrok with a smile, “Are you not happy brother? She is quite a beautiful thing”.

Upon hearing Ubbe’s voice, Ivar was pulled from his thoughts. He chose his words carefully, “While (Y/N) is pleasing to look at...she is still Christian”, Ivar sneered taking a gulp of the bitter liquid. It was like saying the word had burnt him for a foul look furrowed his brows, “The only thing I have to be happy about is the rewards that this marriage will surely bring me”. Hvitserk, who had been listening in, laughed at this, “Surely a marriage to a pretty Christian is better than a marriage to an ugly one Ivar, it’ll make consummation much easier”. Ubbe gave a laugh and shook his head at Hvitserk. Typical of his brother to think with what was between his legs than rather about the bigger picture, Ivar thought. “Perhaps you are right brother, but I am not concerned with that”, Ivar replied.

The loud noises of the Great Hall soon filled the empty silence that had ensued, Ivar went back to pondering his next move and his plans with the land he was soon to inherit when he noticed something wasn’t quite right.

Looking around he motioned for the nearest thrall to come over, “Girl, where is my wife?”, he asked. After greeting Ivar you had asked to be dismissed in order to ready yourself for the evening meal, however that was over an hour ago and you had yet to make a reappearance. He didn’t let the thrall answer, “Fetch me her now”.

Meanwhile, the room you were given was almost as big as your one back in England and although it was filled with your belongings, (which had been neatly placed around the room), you couldn’t feel more out of place if you tried. It didn’t feel right being here and you doubted you’d ever settle in.

“I won’t do it Rose”, you huffed, dropping onto the bed and pouting, “I can’t do it”. Your dark-haired handmaiden quickly came to your side. Copying your actions she sat down next to you, placing a hand on your knee she squeezed it in support , “I know you do not my lady, but you must do it for your father, for England”. This soured your mood even further, “To Hell with my father!”, you spat viciously, “He can burn along with these heathens”. Rose gasped, “You mustn’t say things like that (Y/N)! It’s blasphemous and who knows what they’d do to you if they heard you!”. You shrugged your shoulders, “It would seem God is already punishing me”.

Rose sighed, she couldn’t argue with that point. Still she tried to find the brighter side of the situation, “Ivar is a fearsome leader, he is wealthy and is renowned. He will be able to protect you. You will live lavishly”. You considered her words, “I suppose that is true”. A mischievous smirk graced her face as she picked up your hand, “And you have to admit there is something roguishly handsome about him, his eyes alone are gorgeous, imagine the children you will produce!”. A giggle left your lips, you swatted her away, “And you scold me for being blasphemous? He is still a Viking, Rose. He is a Pagan who worships false gods. I will never accept him as my husband”.

She was unable to reply as a knock sounded on the door, a few seconds went by before it opened to reveal the thrall girl. “King Ivar requests your presence in the Great Hall”, she announced.

“Tell Ivar that I do not feel well so I have decided to retire to my chambers for the evening”, you responded coldly watching as a worried expression took over the servant’s face. She stammered, “I must insist, Princess (Y/N). Ivar will be displeased if you do not fulfil his request”.”Then let him be displeased, you are dismissed”. Rose shot you a look that you knew all too well, you were going to have to listen to a lecture later. The servant girl opened her mouth to speak again but you cut her off, “I said you are dismissed”. The thrall nodded her head and closed the door as she left your room.

You stood up from the bed and walked towards the dressing table, you started to take off your jewellery. 

“You shouldn’t of done that my lady, it’s not too late to go”, Rose automatically came to you. “I’m tired, we have journeyed far and I do not wish to entertain these men anymore today. Help me with my dress please”, you motioned to the lace on your back which held the fabric together. Rose sighed, “Yes but things are different here”, she reminded you, “You must do as your husband says”.

Shaking your head at her, you rebuked, “But he is not my husband yet and besides Rose, I’m sure he will understand”.

Ivar the Boneless did in fact not understand.

“What do you mean she said no?”, Ivar seethed quietly holding the thrall’s arm in an iron grip. “S-She said s-she does not f-feel well”, she winced timidly as Ivar brought his face closer to hers. His anger was evident to his older brothers who were watching the scene play out until Hvitserk decided it was time to step in, “Ivar let the girl go. Let your wife rest, I’m sure her day has been long and tiring”.

The King snapped his gaze to his brothers, nostrils flaring he released the thrall, “Get out of my sight”, he hissed. His mood was entirely soured. He bitterly thought about you and your disobedience: Ivar was used to getting his own way, being told no was something that didn’t sit right with him, something that just wouldn’t do and he was planning on making that known to you.