#ivar mood

[flare-queen]

Ivar the Boneless Vampire Moodboard attempt.

[judemathisdaily]

The scythe weighed heavily on Jude’s hands. He breathed in, long and slow.

Just a few feet away stood Ivar. His target. The very man he would lead to death.

Day 57: happy halloween everyone !!! Here’s a Halloween fic :]

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Finnish polka" - Ivar the Boneless x Reader

SUMMARY: After helping one of the northern Jarls, the Lothbrok brothers attend a celebratory feast. There, they're faced with a tradition of warriors catching flower crowns that belong to young women. How surprised Ivar is when you almost shove your crown into his hands.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.1k

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Ivar is tired.

Of course he's glad that Jarl Thorstein came out victorious. And that his brothers are fine. Still, he feels weary as the adrenaline leaves his body. His legs start to ache. Ivar downs the rest of his mead in hopes it makes him a little more deaf to his mood.

The upbeat, bright music fills his mind like an obsessive thought. His heart beats to the rhythm tapped by the feet of dancing women. They spin, jump and run around with flower crowns sitting atop their heads. How the wreaths remain immovable, he can't quite say.

Ivar is also angry.

As the local tradition entails, when the song ends, all the dancing young maidens will throw their flower crowns to the crowd. Whoever catches it, is believed to be the girl's lover chosen by the gods. However, whether the couple indulges and trusts gods' judgement is a different story. But if the wreath falls to the floor, the girl is said to remain unmarried for the next five years.

Ivar knows the chance of him somehow catching one of those is near zero. He's sitting quite far from the dancers. Even if he did catch it, he's disillusioned about the imminent dissatisfaction of the flower crown's ownert. Not only is he disabled in a way that almost entirely excludes him from fighting but he's also infamous for his ruthless nature and vengeful heart. Hardly a man who invokes desire. Still, some naive piece of him remains hopeful that maybe he's wrong. Maybe he can be terrible and loved all the same.

He shakes those weak delusions away from himself before they sour his mood further.

His piercing eyes have been following one of the dancers for the better part of the song when he catches himself. Her movements look effortless even when the musicians pick up the tempo. Clearly, she's done this dance one too many times to have any doubts about what she's doing. Joy beams from her in a way that makes her appear almost shining. The wreath on the top of her head is mostly green with white and red flowers. It makes Ivar think of the woods surrounding Kattegat; it makes him think of home.

Ivar leans toward Oddleif, one of the Jarl's men, who's sitting next to him.

"Who is she?"

Oddleif looks at Ivar out of the corner of his eye. He scoffs, takes a large sip of his drink and only then decides to answer:

"If you're thinking of catching her flower crown, don't." His blond braids dance slightly as he shakes his head. There's a hint of laughter hiding in the back of Oddleif's throat. "Half of the surviving army wants it."

"I have no care for flowers," Ivar lies through his teeth. "They have no use. They wilt and die and soon no one remembers them. I am simply curious about her."

"Her father is the blacksmith. You might have seen him in the battle, swinging that damned sledgehammer." Ivar silently nods. He remembers that man - tall as a pine tree and wider than a stable. The blacksmith invokes respect even when he's not decimating enemies like a troll equipped with a tree trunk. "He said once that he'll let any man marry his daughter but only if he can lift an anvil. Tried it once myself. Not that I had any success as you can imagine." Oddleif laughs bitterly and continues drinking. His eyes are glued to the dancers but Ivar knows that right now, the two of them are admiring the very same girl with a flower crown like a forest.

The melody continues to quicken. Despite being out of breath, you don't want it to end. Your feet ache but they do not falter nor do they stumble. It seems that their muscles know the dance better than your mind. There are a dozen girls dancing with you but you do not see them. Not really. They appear worlds away from you and the song of bagpipes and strings.

And then appears he.

A slouched, dark figure flies before your eyes as you're doing another pirouette. The man simply sits there, in the corner, but his presence is overwhelming. Or so you think. He does nothing and yet he tears his way into your microcosm of quick footwork, turns and lively polka.

You recognize him. Of course you do. Many whispers, equally frightened and amazed, have spoken of him. You have believed in all of them until the moment you met his gaze for that split second. Right then, somewhere between blinks and breaths, you renounce every gossip you've ever heard about him. A voice in the back of your head, a trickster or an oracle, nags at you to learn the truth yourself.

When the lively, fast melody comes to a stop, you find yourself shaken awake from the thoughts about Ivar the Boneless. The end of the song seems somewhat abrupt to you as you've been letting your fantasy run wild without paying much attention to what's going on around you. Dancing the last part purely by the memory of your muscles. The moment musicians stop playing, a small crowd begins to form in front of you. Men of different class, age and ancestry reach out their hands. Each one of them is more determined than the other to catch your wreath. They start to yell something but considering that the inside of the long hall is awfully loud anyway, you can't make out any words. Reading their lips, you can only tell when they're exclaiming different variations of your name.

They're only pushing towards you, shoving each other away. You keep taking steps backwards but the distance you create with each step is quickly shortened with the men calling out to you. You knew there would be many of them in front of you but never assumed that many. Instead of somewhat flattering, the siege is terrifying and imposing.

Looking for help or advice, just something that will ease your tension, you silently look around the long hall. Your gaze falls on the same slouched, dark figure. Strange peacefulness washes over you when his eyes meet yours.

The dim candlelight seems to bend around Ivar, making his corner appear darker than anywhere else in the long hall. He's simply sitting there. Maybe he's not interested? But the way he's staring at you shows nothing if not burning curiosity. The sons of Ragnar aren't know for their patience. No, they're said to take whatever they want the moment their desire sparks. Despite that, the youngest of them, and arguably the most famous, appears to be waiting. But for what exactly?

The fresh pine needles prick your skin. You furrow your eyebrows. Your gaze falls to the wreath and then comes back to Ivar. Could it be...?

It isn't much of a throw, really. You toss the flower crown towards him without looking anywhere else but into Ivar's eyes. Without as much as blinking, he catches the wreath with ease as though he has been prepared for that. Low murmurs hit your ears but quickly the sounds of disappointment fall silent as it's made clear who caught your wreath. Despite their initial determination, the men who had been reaching out to you suddenly disperse like fog does in the early morning. They knew better than to get under the skin of a Lothbrok. Especially that one.

"I believe this belongs to you."

Ivar is holding up the wreath. Despite his words, he makes no effort to offer it back to you. His eyes are bright and glistening, the corner of his mouth is tugged ever-so-slightly upwards. He appears amused.

At first, it was nice to finally sit down after dancing for what seemed to be hours on end. But now, when you're facing the consequences of your spur-of-the-moment decision, the tension sets in once more. This time, however, it doesn't feel threatening. In turn, the nervousness is somewhat welcome like the jittery state before a surprise is revealed.

"If I wanted to keep it, I wouldn't have thrown it," you answer in a light tone.

"And why should I keep it?"

The blue eyes study you for a moment. It's a strange feeling - you can't help but think that the longer you are in Ivar's presence, talking or not, he's reading your mind and soul. He stares at you in a way that tells you he already holds all the answers but wants you to confirm them.

"It's said to bring good luck." You shrug your shoulders. "Until the wreath wilts and dies, Freya and Freyr will look after you."

Ivar looks at the flower crown again. Only now, when he's holding it, does he realize that for a flower crown, there aren't many flowers. A few sandworts and poppies, yes, but the wreath is made mostly of evergreen plants. It might take weeks until the crown wilts.

The microcosm seems closed again. Now it's not you and the bagpipes but you and him. It's strange and it's new but it's not threatening. It's not the kind of presence a man of his infamy should have. Or perhaps you've simply fallen for his honey trap.

"Why did you throw it to me?" Ivar tries to make the question seem unimportant, just curiosity brought to light. But he can't quite convince himself that he doesn't care. There's a hint of something vulnerable and genuine when the words roll off his tongue. It's easy to miss like a dandelion clock carried away by a gust of wind.

You wish you knew the answer yourself.

"I don't know really," you say honestly. "Perhaps it was one of the gods that threw the flower crown for me." You make a pause. Ivar's face is unreadable. "Or perhaps I have no interest in urgent, desperate men."

Ivar chuckles. A deep shadow is covering part of his face, making him appear kind of sinister. For a moment, you question whether he's laughing with you or at you.

"And what exactly makes you think I'm not urgent or desperate?" he continues. You notice his smile is growing wider. That glint of amusement in his blue eyes has changed in mischief. "What if I'm worse than all of them? You surely know who I am."

"Of course I do, Ivar the Boneless," you drone the words. In a barely noticeable fashion, he clenches his jaw when you say his name. It makes him feel a strange, burning sensation in his stomach but Ivar is left unsure whether he likes it or detests. "The whispers of your ruthless character are unending."

"But you're not afraid?" he asks with both disbelief and suspicion. A girl with a flower crown doesn't necessarily strike him as fearless in any way. Or this whole strange situation is a little too good, too dream-like, for him to accept it at face-value.

Ivar's smile falters when your face takes on a confident, maybe even arrogant, expression. He's taken aback.

"I'm a woman of the North," you say while leaning towards him on the table. The distance between your faces shortnes. "The only person I fear is my own reflection."

The sudden closeness makes Ivar inhale sharply. The strong smell of pine needles fills his nostrils. For a moment, his imagination runs wild but it's not his fault - he has no grasp on it:

How those big eyes glistened in the semi-dark of the long hall as you were staring at him. Your smirk, somewhat challenging and beckoning him to push on. Then, the smell of conifer that shakes all senses awake. His fantasy leaves the northern snows and travelles to forests, to him brushing pine needles from your hair and your naked, flushes skin smelling of evergreen trees.

But quickly his shaken awake, to his utmost displeasure, by you:

"Well, if you don't want it, I suppose I should take it back, no?"

Your hand unsurely reaches out for the wreath in Ivar's hand. He's quick to pull his arm back.

"It's bad luck to take back gifts," he states plainly. In an act of nonchalance, Ivar is playing with the wreath, spinning it around his finger. "I should like to keep it."

Sometimes you come back to the night you've met the infamous Viking, when you're rendered sleepless while he's calmly breathing next to you, getting the rest he desperately needs. How funny all of it seems - that a flower crown in bloodied, merciless hands could lead to having a genuine crown on your head. Maybe you were right, after all, and it really was the hand of one of the gods that threw the wreath for you.

[milkb0nny]

Hii, first of all it makes me so happy to see someone writing for Ivar in the year of our Lord 2025, and so well too you deserve more love!

I really enjoyed your works. Since requests look to be open could I ask for some fluffy headcanons about Ivar and his wife during feasts/celebrations? I’m a bit introverted and tend to keep to myself if that helps, but please do your thing and I look forward to anything you come up with!

Ivar with...

an introverted wife during a festive feast...

Pairing: Ivar x fem!reader

Note: I rarely get requests because the fandom is rather dying. I still notice a quiet presence of people enjoying Vikings and liking to read fanfics. I mean, I do too! So thank you so much for finding the courage to slide into my ask box! I included some dialogue perhaps it portrays my intention a little better??

Content: established relationships, fluff, wholesomeness, anxious reader, introverted reader

“Stop wringing your hands, love. They’ll start to bleed.”

⚜️ Ivar has a sharp eye, especially when it comes to you. He knows you so well and therefore observes you constantly. The second he sees you fidgeting nervously, avoiding eye contact, or hesitating to engage with others, he knows you’re not too uncomfortable. His observant nature means he can sense your unease even before you tell him.

“You’ll sit here, next to me. Let them try to bother you while I’m around.”

⚜️ Before the feast even begins, Ivar ensures that you’re seated in a way that keeps you away from the loudest, most boisterous individuals. He places you right next to him, acting as a physical and emotional barrier between you and the chaos. Sometimes you like to banter around with the women, and he doesn’t mind. But incase everything gets too much, you have a rather quiet space in the room.

“Look at Hvitserk. How many mugs do you think it’ll take before he dances on the table? My bet’s three.”

⚜️ Ivar isn’t known for being gentle with most people, but with you, he softens. Throughout the evening, he leans close to whisper jokes or biting comments about the crowd to distract you.

⚜️ Ivar’s way of lightening the mood often involves humor. He’ll joke about how everyone else was far more embarrassing than you anxiety could ever be. Perhaps that would make you less conscious about other people’s opinions.

“You’re doing fine, Krútt. They don’t deserve your attention anyway.”

⚜️ While Ivar isn’t overly touchy in public, he makes exceptions when you’re incredibly overwhelmed. His hand might rest protectively on your knee under the table, or he’ll brush his fingers along your arm to remind you that you’re not alone.

“Mind me telling you some tales? It’s far more entertaining than watching my wife blush so lovingly.”

⚜️ If anyone tries to draw too much attention to you, Ivar is quick to redirect it elsewhere. Whether it’s calling out Ubbe for something embarrassing or telling a story about himself, he ensures all eyes are off his wife.

⚜️ Ivar subtly pushes you to engage in ways that won’t overwhelm you. If someone offers you a drink or a kind word, he gently nudges you to respond. Your answer through a nod or a smile is often enough for him and the people around you.

“Come, let’s leave these fools to their noise. They won’t notice we’re gone.”

⚜️ If it becomes too much for you, Ivar doesn’t hesitate to make an early exit. He’d rather waive the feast than watch you suffer.

⚜️ Ivar’s mix of protective fierceness and surprising tenderness ensures that even in the bustling chaos of a feast, his introverted wife feels seen, supported, and loved. And that, is you.

[theinheriteddutchess]

A Life Long

Pairing: Ivar the boneless x reader

Summary: You have a talent for storytelling, it caught the young prince's attention. It means your life isn't yours anymore.

Word count: 2135

Warnings: implied non-con, possessive behavior, Ivar's entitlement

Notes: my first online Ivar story, 🥹 hope you'll like it

Masterlist

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

You watched as other girls laughed and flirted with the handsome boys around you. Watched as they got married and carried a babe or two on their hips.

You sighed inside of yourself and continued down the market and purchased fresh vegetables and fruit for the day. Mundane tasks to keep yourself busy. Excuses to go outside. Away from Ivar.

How your life could have turned differently. As a small child you enjoyed telling stories. Your parents had told you plenty, and you always begged the travellers for new tales. And so, you were the one to entertain the others at play, or at the long feasts in the Great Hall.

And then Prince Ivar heard you speak. You must’ve not been older than nine.

Surrounded by the other children, you had started your tale, building up to the most exciting part, as he pushed his way through, crawling to the front.

You continued without distraction, looking each child in the eyes as you wove your tale and captured all the attention. As soon as you were finished, they had clapped and begged for another story. You declined, telling them to wait for another time, and skipped over to your parents seeing if any sweets were left for your hungry belly.

It wasn’t until a few days later when a servant of the Queen appeared at your hut, requesting you come with them. Queen Aslaugh has asked you to distract her son from the pain coursing through him, his legs failing him again.

You had heard him scream when you were guided to his personal quarters. You had heard of his temper and you had been frightened. The Queen assured you you’d be unharmed. Ivar was in great pain and he had begged her to bring you to him to tell him a story. Anything to focus on than the agony he was experiencing.

He looked dreadful, and hissed and slapped the thralls as he growled and screamed, while they tried anything to relieve the cramping. He tried to calm down once he spotted you, but you hesitantly took a seat nearby, as his eyes focussed on you.

You hadn’t known what else to do or say so you started your story immediately, picking one full of adventure and scariness, in hopes it would lessen his suffering a bit.

It was the start of many visits to try and help him through his episodes. It seemed harmless, but one day Queen Aslaugh visited your parents. Her request quickly laid down for you to live in her household. You would be treated well, dressed as royalty, if only you would be Ivar’s playmate. Help him through his sicknesses, his moods, be his friend.

It’s not like your parents had wanted to give you up so easily, but they were just common people, and Aslaugh did not want to hear no. She would do anything for her youngest son.

Your mother urged you to be nice, while she packed a bag with a few of your belongings. Strong. Be careful. She warned you of the prince’s temper, and wanted you to be safe.

“He might bore of you. Princes are fickle, once you’ve told him all your stories, once he’s older, I’m sure he will release you. Do not worry, daughter. We will see each other.”

She was right, partially. You saw them at feasts, at market, or sometimes on free days, as rare as they might be. 

But Ivar did not tire of you.

Years went by, and he never stopped requesting your presence. At his sickbed, at his table, when he wished to go to market himself.

He still requested your stories, no matter how many times he had heard them, and seemed to favor them over any new ones you had gathered.

“I like to hear you speak,” he had told you often. Your voice was soothing to him. Your way of storytelling still captured his attention fully. People often praised you for it, but none seemed to be as enraptured as him.

In fact, there seemed to be resentment in his eyes whenever another complimented you, even if it was shared with pride.

But his attachment came with a price.

Sure, you were dressed in fine clothes, fed the best food, and being the favourite of a prince brought safety from unwanted attention. Aslaugh insisted on teaching you alongside Ivar, or perhaps he had been the one to insist on it.

However, you had no freedom to make new friends, or spend much time with those who were. You barely had time to spend alone as his request for your attention and presence became more often and longer.

You had shown interest in a boy before, and it had resulted in him being accused of stealing and being whipped. You were sure Ivar was behind it. It had made you dread your future even more.

Ivar had asked you to share his room soon after, but Queen Aslaugh had put a stop to it. 

It did not go over easily.

He had raged, insisted you were saver nearby, not your room so far from his. Would it not be simpler if you were at beck and call immediately?

She was not fooled. It might’ve been the only time she had told him no. You didn’t understand why she showed pity. Or perhaps she hoped he would choose a woman of higher status? Still, it seemed her decision protected you. She looked at you with worry in her eyes. Suddenly she seemed more present during the time spent with Ivar. Much to his annoyance.

“I am not a child,mother. We have managed without you so far.”

“Don't deny me time with my son,” she had smiled tensely. “Besides, I would like to hear the stories of our Gods again. And you speak so well.”

That was addressed to you, accompanied with a kind smile.

It had been soon after that she approached you privately.

“It seems Ivar wants to bed you.”

You gulped and did not know how to react. You had feared it, secretly, but had not wanted to truly accept it.

“Soon he's the age of marriage. And I wish him to be happy. But I know he can be hasty in his decisions, and I did not see you return his feelings.”

“I-” you stumbled to find words. “I had wished to return to my family.”

She clearly now pitied you. “I am sorry, for I love my son too dearly to cause him pain. I can’t return you, but I will try to give you the freedom to choose. If you do not wish to marry, you will have my protection.”

You did not know what she told him, but Ivar, though clearly agitated, did not treat you with contempt afterwards. He grumbled about it when he thought you were none the wiser what he was talking about, but you managed to get some answers. He had been told you were a free woman, and Aslaugh had brought you here for friendship, not as a bedmate.You were not a thrall and she wished you to be ready for marriage and your own family in your own time. He seemed to believe she had scolded him, and was under the impression he only wanted to lay with you. That the decision was his mother's, not yours.

When he played with your hair, as you sat comfortably near the window and hummed to yourself as you were mending some of your older dresses to gift to your sisters, he spoke softly. “Like you'd be a whore to me,” He tsked. “My mother thinks she knows all. You are more to me than that.”

His touch put you on edge, but he never lowered his hands, or forced you to touch him. Perhaps he had truly respected your friendship, as he did not ask you to join his room again. You hesitantly felt saver.

That did not mean he got any less possessive, however. You were still not to spend any time with a man, if you did not wish to antagonize him, or risk the poor man to be harmed.

You still were expected to sit next to him at feasts. He still asked for your stories.

And then the unfortunate day came when Queen Aslaugh was killed.

Perhaps you were supposed to be relieved, you had regained your freedom. Ivar was gone, in need to prove he was a man. Was in England with his father to raid and gain respect. And despite all her flaws, the Queen had been kind to you. She had treated you like family. Not like a daughter, no, but something close to it.

Before Lagertha had appeared, she had put her hands on your cheeks, observed you and sighed, resigned. “He needs you. I want you to look after him. You will be content.”

Words that haunted you.

When the sons finally returned things were tense. But Ragnar’s death needed to be avenged, and Ivar…there was a darkness in him that not had the chance to properly thrive before. He looked hardened, his contempt showing more and his dislike for his brothers growing.

Being away from him felt like breathing and yet, sadness took you over at all he had to suffer. You could not help the urge to comfort him whenever your eyes crossed.

He did not go to you, though. He was planning. He wanted revenge. You understood. You were in the way right now. His future only revolved around punishing those that hurt him.

Lagertha set to improving Kattegat. You all worked hard. News was few and far between. You spend time with family, tightened friendship bonds. Lived life like any other. Unseen.

The day Ivar came back, it seemed like any other day. It was not.

The battle that followed seemed quickly done once his uncle joined. Ivar was King. Like he always wanted. 

A feast was given. You had expected it, but the servant giving you Ivar’s request - and had it ever been anything less than a demand?- of your presence in the Great Hall should not have come as a surprise, yet it still filled you with dread.

You were glad he was alive. You were even happy that he had chased Lagertha away, after she had so brutally killed Aslaugh. You still remembered the soffication his dominating presence gave you, however.

Yet, you had no choice.

As soon as you arrived you were guided to the throne.

And there he sat, like he had always belonged there.

He looked different. Older. His hair was longer and braided neatly. His posture was relaxed and proud. He seemed happy.

“Come. Sit,” he smiled at you, waving to the chair next to him.

You swallowed but obeyed, as you sat down on the chair meant for his Queen.

“You look tired,” he mentioned.

“I’ve been working hard,” You replied simply.

“Yes, Lagertha worked you hard. But you don’t have to worry about that anymore. You won’t have to work ever again. I will make sure of it.”

You didn’t know how to take thay, so you hummed, not keeping your eyes off of him. It was as if you had to keep watch of his every move. 

“I have missed you,” he suddenly confessed. “But I’m glad I’m back and you’ll never have to part from me again.”

As you worried.

“I know you were not allowed here, while that bitch took over, but you will have your room here of course. And everything you’ll ever wish for.”

You were supposed to be happy so you forced a small smile on your lips.

“I’m happy you’re well and alive, Pr - King Ivar,” you murmured. That, you did mean.

“Ivar, just Ivar for you,” he insisted. Then he offered you food. 

The whole night, it was a blur or drink, food and talk. Ivar watched the celebration from his seat, occasionally grabbing your hand to kiss it affectionately. You started being nervous and drank more than you normally would.

When you couldn't stay awake you requested to retreat. And as you were guided to your room, all you thought about was getting out of the fancy dress Ivar had gifted you, and sleeping until all your worries lessened.

As you fell into a light slumber, it seemed like hours had passed until you felt movement in your bed. You woke with a startle. Blinking to see in the darkness, you heard Ivar beside you speaking.

“Even if I had to wait for years, I always knew you were going to be mine. And now, finally, the time has come where nothing is stopping me.”

As his hands crawled over your skin, you realized you were never going to be free.

[inexplicifics]

Milena/Lambert(/Aiden), cuddles after a bad day?

Lambert comes stomping up the stairs, glowering blackly at everyone he sees. Bad enough that one of his experiments failed so dramatically; worse that someone saw; worst of all that the people who saw were Ivar and Leocadie, the only fucking Witchers whose opinions on alchemy he actually fucking respects. The ones he wants to respect him. And he fucked up an experiment so easy a child could manage it.

(Somewhere in the back of his mind, he does know that the experiment he ruined was complex and risky enough that most master alchemists would be wary of it, but rationality is not going to win the battle against bitter humiliation any time soon.)

He slams the door to his rooms open and then stops dead as Milena startles, jerking hard enough that her needle misses the fabric in her lap and stabs her finger instead. The sudden smell of blood where there shouldn’t be any - blood and pain, Milena’s pain - is enough to make Lambert want to go fling himself off a godsdamned tower.

He’s just fucking up everything he touches today, isn’t he?

“Lambert,” Milena says, setting her sewing aside and rising hastily to her feet. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Lambert bites out, eyes fixed on the drop of crimson welling at the tip of her pale finger. “I’ll just - go -”

Milena huffs and crosses the room in a few quick strides, reaching out her uninjured hand to cup his cheek. “My love,” she says softly, “if it were nothing you would not look like a thundercloud. Are you hurt?”

“Nothing but my pride,” Lambert admits. “You’re hurt, though, dammit -”

“A pinprick only,” Milena says, and lifts her injured finger to her mouth, licking the blood away to show him that the tiny wound has healed itself already. Lambert bows his head and presses an apologetic kiss to her finger, and honey overwhelms the scent of blood.

“My love,” Milena murmurs, and her hand slides from his cheek to the back of his neck, drawing him down until she can press her lips to his. He could resist, of course - her grip isn’t hard, the pull not strong enough to move a child who didn’t care to - but he’s not going to refuse her without a damn good reason, and being in a complete snit isn’t reason enough.

“What happened?” Milena asks softly as their lips part.

“Fucked up an experiment,” Lambert admits grudgingly. “In front of Leocadie and fucking Ivar.”

“Oh no,” Milena says, wincing. “How immensely frustrating.” She kisses him again, then takes his hand and leads him over to the chairs beside the fire. “Tell me about it - or you may brood, or I will talk of other things, if those would help.”

She sits down, and Lambert glances at his own chair and then on impulse sinks instead to his knees next to her, distantly glad of the thick rug, and rests his head against her leg.

“Oh, my love,” Milena says, and then thank gods doesn’t ask any more questions, just strokes her fingers through his hair in a slow, steady rhythm that he can match his breathing to.

Lambert closes his eyes and concentrates on the smell of roses that always surrounds her, of warm bread with honey rising around them thick enough to taste. On the thick pile of the rug beneath his knees and the soft wool of her dress against his cheek, and the way her fingernails scratch gently against his scalp. On the steady beating of her heart and the easy rhythm of her breath and the soft crackling of the fire.

Slowly, his black mood drains away.

“Thanks,” he mumbles at last.

“You’re welcome, my love,” Milena murmurs.

Lambert knows he should get up, but he’s comfortable and she smells contented, so he stays where he is for just a little longer, basking in her touch and the roses and honey scent of her love.

(Or HERE on AO3!)

[disasterofastory]

Relax (Ivar x Reader)

Relax Ivar x Reader Warnings: handjob

Summary: You help your husband relax.

You don't even bother with knocking. Every nerve in your body is on edge. Your heart is in your stomach, throbbing with worry and the need to see your husband. You can feel your insides turn. The door closes shut behind you with a loud thud. The walls shake for a second at the force. Both of them jump at the loud, sudden sound. Ivar's bright blue gaze lands on you with a raised brow. The thrall's eyes are wide and panicked. The pitcher with warm water is still in her hands. A few dark strands of her hair stick to her skin because of the steam that dominates the room. The air is heavy and suffocating with it. "I will help the King with his bath." Your voice is sharp and loud. You need a few deep breaths to check your feelings and change your tone. A gentle smile spreads across your face as you step next to the thrall to take the water from her. "Go to sleep," you tell her, making sure your tone is light and much nicer than before. She doesn't deserve to be at the end of your mood even though only worry, and tiredness makes you much more snappy than usual. "We all deserve some rest after this day." "Thank you, my Queen," she says before leaving.

Your attention wanders to Ivar, who still watches you without a word. New wounds and bruises decorate his skin. His dark hair is a mess of knots and braids. "How are you?" You ask him, pouring the still-warm water into the bath. "I'm fine," he replies. "It looks worse than it feels like." Putting down the pitcher, you grab a rag to soak it in the herb-smelling water before you kneel down next to him and start to wash away the dried blood and mud off his pale skin. His muscles jerk at your gentle touch before relaxing against the bathtub. A relieved sigh leaves his lips. "Did you kill him?" You ask after a few seconds. The satisfied smirk tells you the answer even before he forms it into words. "He will never bother us again." You nod. "I was worried." You knew the battle was inevitable, but when you saw the brightness in Ivar's eyes, you couldn't help but think of the worst all day. Seeing Ivar coming back through the gates of Kattegat was such a relief you almost fell onto your knees at the view of him. "I'm fine," he hums, grabbing your hand to kiss your palm. "I will always come back to you." "You can't know that," you argue. You watch the small droplets of water running down his broad shoulders. Your lips find the fresh bruise on his shoulder blade. Your fingers run up to his hair to get rid of the ruined braids. His head falls back against your touch.

"What's wrong?" You ask him after a while, washing out the soap from his hair. Your nostrils are filled with the smell of herbs you mixed together just for him. It always calms him down and puts him in a better mood. Well, almost always. "I don't know," he replies, fidgeting. The water ripples around him with every move. "My head... There is too much thing going on in my head." A smirk pulls on your lips as you adjust yourself at his side. Your head rests on your arm on the edge of the bathtub. Your other hand plays with the surface of the water. It's still warm. "I can help, my husband," you tell him. "If you want." You don't even wait for his answer. The pleading glint in the depth of his bright blue eyes is enough for your to move your hand to his chest. Pressing your hand against his chest, you feel his heart beating for long seconds. The thuds are strong and stubborn.

He is already half-hard when you reach down in the water. Your fingers curl around his shaft easily, and you can feel him twitch in your firm hold. A trembling breath leaves Ivar's lips. A smirk pulls on yours. The curve of his cock is familiar as you run your fist up and down his length a few times before releasing him to tease him a bit. He hisses at the feeling. Your finger smooths down on the underside of his erection until you reach his balls. "Y/N!" He groans out your name. His hoarse voice goes straight to your pussy, making your thighs clench for some friction. You keep your eyes on him the whole time. You still don't understand how a vicious man like Ivar can be so beautiful. His cheeks are dark pink, almost matching the shade of his lips. "You are so pretty," you state, and Ivar smirks through the bliss. "Squeeze me, wife." A moan follows his words when you do as he says. You palm him, curling your fingers around his shaft again to pump his length firmly. Your thumb traces the head of his cock, slipping up to the small hole. The grip of Ivar's hold on the edge of the bathtub is so tight you can almost hear the wood creaking. His chest moves up and down rapidly as he gulps down the air to bring it back into several moans and groans. "Kiss me," you order him, leaning closer to him. "Kiss me, husband." He doesn't even open his eyes when he brings his lips against yours. The movement is clumsy at first, with all teeth and tongue. Ivar is so deep in his own pleasure, he doesn't fight back when you start to dominate the kiss. You lick his lips, following the soft curve of his bottom lip and tangling your tongue with his into a fierce dance. Your free hand finds the back of his head, gripping his wet hair between your fingers. His groan is muffled and vibrates in your throat. Your pussy pulses and aches, meanwhile, Ivar gets closer and closer to his orgasm. You can read him like an open book, and when you are sure he is close to the edge, you make your hand move faster on his cock while pulling on his hair at the same time. His erection jerks in your hold as he cums with several shots.

"Can you help me out?" He asks after a few minutes. His breath is still rapid. "I'm not done with you yet."

[keoni-chan]

Tia: "So...how's work? How close are you to becoming our next mayor?"

Ivar: "It's the literal worst! Mayor DeLuna is having marriage trouble, so she's been in a foul mood all summer. And Luna went on maternity leave, and had her honeymoon right after that. So all the work comes on my plate. I thought this would be a great opportunity to showcase my skills. But she doesn't even seem to notice me."

[weirdthoughtsandideas]

Guess what I bought!!

Dags för lite liveblogging av boken 👏🏼

Let’s begin!

DET STÅR I ETT GAMMALT AVTAL ATT TIDNINGEN SOM MÅNS DELAR UT SKA PUNKTLIGT VARA PÅ GREVEHOLM VARJE MORGON OCH ”ALLT VAR BETALT I FÖRSKOTT”… Staffan och Jean ba betalade allt med magiska spökkrafter

HAHAHHA NÄÄÄ

Herregud

”Så nu kan ingen i hela Sverige se på tv för att du går runt och tänker på romarriket? Bra jobbat pappa!” Killed me

Ok jag visste inte att tjuvarna kallades ”Ful-Birger” och ”Skit i förgasarn” men det gör det underhållande

Omg prinsessan Dioda har ett eget kapitel bara kallat ”D.” och man får höra hennes inre monolog…

HON ANVÄNDER SINA MAGISKA KRAFTER FÖR ATT LOCKA TILL SIG IVAR OCH ASTRID OCH FÅ DEM HYRA SLOTTET

Mmm middag i mikrovågsugn <3

”Jag har bra mörkerseende. Man får det om man äter mycket blåbär”

Ivar är mycket mer rädd än vad julkalendern får honom att verka. Han behåller masken bra.

Jag börjar mer och mer ha en headcanon att Lillan har autism

”Spöken är bara vanliga människor. Fast döda.”

Lillan är så kaotisk älskar henne

Måns tilltalas som ”tönten” när Melitta pratar med honom lmao

Älskar sättet de försvenskar engelska ord

HAHAHA JAG GLÖMDE ATT LILLAN SNOTT VOLTMETER FRÅN KEMISALEN (i julkalendern hade hennes kompis bara randomly det så jag glömde att de ändrade detta här)

Mood

”Om hon (Lillan) upptäckte något som hon blev riktigt intresserad av så glömde hon bort allt annat” 💜

Yeah! Det var nog allt för idag! Läser vidare sen!

[bilbotargaryen]

Uppsala

Read it on AO3

Words: 8247

Summary: After nine years, the time had come for Björn to return to Uppsala, and with him he took his brothers to see the temple for the first time.

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Human and Animal Sacrifices, Blood

Note: First time Cross-Posting - Pls let me know if you want to be tagged in the future when I post Vikings-related stories. For now @errruvande come get your little treat :D

Enjoy!

Another nine years had passed. The path was to be treaded once more. Björn had organized it faithfully. All the baggage lay prepared on the back of nine horses. Only the essentials, for the gods would provide once they would arrive. The temple of Uppsala, Björn could still picture it clearly. It would be his third time to see it, but much had happened in the past few years and for the first time, he would see it without either of his parents. His father had disappeared eight years ago and his mother was busy in Hedeby, but his heart was not too heavy for he still had the boys to keep him company.

All his brothers had agreed to come. Ubbe stood ready beside him, waiting for the company to fill. Hvitserk joined them presently and tapped Ubbe on the arm. Björn excused the both of them with a nod. The path to the temple was a treacherous one. Wagons could not be used for the difficult terrain that lay between Kattegat and the holy site. The youngest of the boys, Ivar, had to be carried in a wooden chair mounted on wooden poles, but Björn had seen them carry him that way for hours and was not worried.

He waited for a few more moments before he jumping onto a platform for everyone to see him. Heads turned and voices faded as they took notice. A deep satisfaction spread through Björn and a spark of hope flared up as his eyes wandered over the heads of the gathered. Not many would tread the path today he noted and his father did not appear to be hiding among them. The spark died out.

“People of Kattegat!”, Björn shouted over the market square, “Today we have gathered here to once more walk the path and behold the holy temple of Uppsala with our very own eyes. Today and in the days to come, we will honor our gods! We will celebrate the gifts and favors they bestowed on us! May the gods protect us as we go and receive the sacrifices we bring in their name! All hail the gods!” “All hail!”, echoed the crowd. Björn counted about two dozen people before he jumped back down. He had also spotted his brothers and headed for them next: “I will have to lead the people. You will go last.” “Why?”, Ivar asked, lunging comfortably in his chair. “Because you’re not fast enough to keep up”, Björn gave him a playful slap on the cheek and went off.

“Nonsense”, Ivar huffed as they watched Björn hurry away. “Shut up, Ivar”, Sigurd stood before him next to Ubbe, each holding one of the rods. “What is it, brother?”, Ivar turned his full attention to him, “Tired already?” Neither Sigurd nor the others answered anything. Slowly, the people started to move. They formed a convoy and headed along the Main Road out of Kattegat. The boys let even the horses pass before joining the train.

Five days went by. They walked from dawn to dusk. Sometimes going straight eastward towards their destination, sometimes they had to stray to navigate terrain that was too steep for either horses or men, but they managed to never detour too far off course. Along the way other travelers joined them. Floki and Helga were the first, but they kept to themselves as they often did now. Björn led his people well and their trust in him made him proud. His brothers often fell back, but never lost the end of the train. While Ivar was in as best a mood one can be, the others struggled more and more and especially Sigurd did rarely hold back voicing his complaints. Ubbe had to remind him time and time again that it was no use. Hvitserk, carrying the back of the chair alone, had neither time nor breath to say much of anything.

Finally, just as the sun was about to set, they came to a clearing at the edge of a cliff. A huge waterfall rushed down on the opposite site of the cleft. Through countless treetops they caught the first glimpse of the golden-roofed temple of Uppsala. Björn stopped to gaze at it with reverence. It didn’t matter that he had seen it before, it will always be a sight that touches his heart. “Only a few hours now”, Björn said to the men behind him, “We won’t set up camp today before we have reached its gate!” Gladly, the men spread the word. It reached the boys before they came themselves to the edge. The sun was now almost gone but the last light of day still shimmered on the roof, making it look even more out of this world.

“It’s magic”, Ivar gasped, “The gods await us.” Sigurd snorted. Ubbe was speechless and couldn’t take his eyes off the temple. Hvitserk shifted his weight from one leg to the other, trying to get a better view. It was their first time to visit after all. As the last rays disappeared and the world was cloaked in darkness, they hurried on to catch up with the end of the train.

Two hours later, they approached the gate. All of their people had passed already and on the hills beyond countless flames flickered and danced in the darkness, lighting up the foundations of the temple which towered above them. The gate appeared to be a simple archway at first but the closer they got, and the more light fell on it, they could see intricate symbols and signs carved into the wood. Several stairs made of tree trunks marked the climb to the entrance of the temple. Out of the shadows stepped Björn: “Welcome, brothers.” His voice was low and mysterious or perhaps it only appeared so to them, for the whole place seemed that way. “Where is camp?”, asked Ubbe, but Björn didn’t answer. He tipped his head and walked away. The boys followed him without another question.

They arrived at the topmost hill where their people were just getting started on setting it up. Björn pointed to a large tent that had already been prepared. Ubbe patted Sigurd on the chest, and with a groan he took over the second pole, while the other hurried after Björn, who was already making his way down the slope to the other side of the camp. “Will you not stay with us?”, he asked him. Björn shook his head: “I will stay at the other end of camp.” “Why?”, Ubbe did not quite understand, “We appear split that way.” “No”, Björn stopped suddenly and looked at him hard, “We look united, guarding our people on both sides.” Ubbe gave it a thought, then nodded. “Rest now”, Björn ordered, “We’ll visit the temple tomorrow.” He left him standing, soon disappearing beneath the shadows of the huge trees that stretched their branches far and wide above their heads.

As Ubbe returned to their tent, he could already hear the trouble. “Have you lost your minds?”, he had raised his voice as he cast aside the fabric of the entrance. The shouting match ceased. “It’s Ivar, he wants us to carry him to the temple”, Sigurd blurted out, his head red with rage. “Ivar”, Ubbe said calmly, “We will visit the temple tomorrow. With Björn and all the others.” “But I want to see the temple now”, Ivar complained, “What did we come all this way for to now waste our time at it’s feet?” Ubbe shot a glance to Hvitserk who sat in the corner eating dry meat and rolling his eyes. “We need to rest”, Ubbe said, “We will stay here for three days! You will have more than enough time to visit the temple.” Ivar’s face hardened, spasmed in rage at his brother’s words. With a jerk he threw himself to the ground and crawled past him out of the tent. “Idiot”, Sigurd commented and shrugged as Ubbe shot him a hard look. “When do we meet?”, Hvitserk asked in between bites, “Tomorrow, I mean.” “He didn’t say”, Ubbe sighed, “At dawn, I presume.”

The night went by slowly. All about them was a din. People singing, drums being beaten, laughter, shouts and moans. But good things always had to end and so it did once again. With the first rays of the sun, Uppsala returned to it’s eerie silence.

The boys had slept soundly. None of them had had any energy or desire to take part in the festivities in the past night. This night would be different. Hvitserk was up first, jumping excitedly through the tent, before Ubbe made him head outside into the cool, thin air. He was giddy, impatient about what the day may bring. Ubbe at first wanted to get back to bed, but as he saw day breaking through the slit of the tent entrance, he decided to get dressed after all. He noted Ivar sleeping in his makeshift bed and left both him and Sigurd where they were as he headed outside.

He found Björn beside Hvitserk. “They will take and prepare the horses for tomorrow”, Björn repeated as Ubbe joined them, “And we will have to choose one of our own.” “Has it not been decided yet?”, Hvitserk was chewing another slice of dried meat. “Not yet”, Björn shook his head, “But there are volunteers.” “Nefstein and Hafgrim”, Ubbe said. “You know them?”, Björn wondered. “Only briefly”, Ubbe kicked a small rock down the slope, “They’ve talked to mother about it before we left.” Björn nodded: “We will decide later. First, we eat. Then, we visit the temple. I trust Ivar couldn’t wait?” They shrugged. Björn sighed: “I will find you when I’m ready.” Björn left them again.

Ubbe and Hvitserk watched him go, then turned to the temple. It was the biggest building they had ever seen. Six of its nine roofs surpassed the tree crowns and its peak pierced the clouds, slicing them as they rushed by over their heads. The gold flared up whenever the sun peaked through. “Maybe he’s right”, Hvitserk mumbled, “It must be magic.” Ubbe patted his younger brother on the back and as their eyes met, they shared a smile. “Maybe it is”, he said, “Let’s wake the others.”

They broke their fast with dried meat and the bread and cheese the temple had provided. Ivar was telling them of his visit last night, of the black and white priests and the tall wooden statues. Hvitserk and Ubbe listened more or less eagerly, Sigurd pretended not to hear a single word, focusing solely on his food. “Sigurd”, Ivar’s voice was sharp, “Aren’t you excited to meet our gods?” He looked at him expectantly, slowly falling into a knowing smile. “I am”, Sigurd said. “Oh, really?”, Ivar sounded genuinely surprised, “How…unexpected.” Sigurd looked to Hvitserk who looked back completely unmoved, Ubbe wasn’t even listening. He dropped his cup and left the tent upset. “Can you not leave him alone? We are here to celebrate, not to fight”, Ubbe said without looking up. “What?”, Ivar said, “It is clear for everyone to see that he would rather be anywhere else than here. Should I ignore it like you do? Like Björn does? No! I will not. It is not the way!” “We came here-“ “I do not care that we came here together”, Ivar barked, “I won’t visit the temple with faithless pretenders.” “So, you will go with Floki?”, Ubbe asked. Ivar’s answer was an icy look and him leaving the tent as well. “Leaves us”, Hvitserk commented and lifted his cup. They toasted and washed down their breakfast with a good cup of mead.

Björn, Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd headed to the temple an hour later with a few others of their people. On the porch of the marvelous building stood several of the previously described priests. They were bald and pale, clad in white robes, their faces adorned with black paint. Around some of their necks hung a black chain, presumably a sign of their standing. Everything about the temple was carved into intricate patterns of snakes or ranks. As they stepped inside they could hardly believe their eyes.

Björn left them to their own devices as he had set his mind on visiting Odin. Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd remained in the entrance for a time, taking in all the wonders they saw. The temple was completely made of wood, but gold was glittering everywhere they looked. Set into the carvings, adorning the ends of the wooden rods holding the hanging braziers and some of the ceiling shimmered through the beams, making it look like the sky itself was made of gold. In the middle of the hall stood a huge wooden figure, two others in niches next to it and a fourth was enthroned at the end. Sun beams fell through cracks and crevices and enlightened the room alongside countless candles and braziers. Even Sigurd was in awe.

Finally, they stepped forward and joined the line leading up to a singular priest, holding a bowl. With a brush he sprinkled blood onto each who stepped before him, hailing the gods and their gifts. Sigurd spotted Ivar and Floki right away and pointed it out to the others with a scowl. They shrugged.

“Hail to the Aesir and the Vanir. Hail to the gods and goddesses. Hail to Odin, Thor and Freyr. Hail to Vali, Sif and Heimdall”, he sprinkled Sigurd first, who closed his eyes before he had even dipped the brush into the blood. “Hail to Balder, Bragi and Eir. Hail to Freyja, Loki and Frigg”, Hvitserk was next, not even flinching when the blood drops hit his skin. “Hail to Njord, Ran and Tyr. Hail to Odin’s spear and Thor’s hammer. Hail to the mighty fecund earth. All hail”, Ubbe was last and blinked as he was sprinkled. “All hail”, they echoed.

Now they went further into the temple and beheld the figures. Freyr stood in the middle, by his side Freyja and Thor. The figure in the back, behind a small pond, resembled Odin. They all knew the stories, they did not need guidance to find their way. They split.

Ubbe turned to Thor, ignoring the observing eyes of Floki and Ivar who were nearby. He reached forward to touch the wooden hammer of the statue. He felt the connection immediately and breathed deeply into it. “Thor, Protector, lend me your strength to guard my family and my home, to do as I can to keep us together and out of harm’s way. I bring you many gifts and all the sacrifices I make, I make in your honor”, he whispered and looked up into the carved eyes of the figure. They remained still, unmoved by his words.

Sigurd approached the small pond. A few stones made the passage to the statue possible, but Björn had already gone that way. His eyes were closed, his forehead touched the wood as his hand pressed hard against the rough surface. “Grant me wisdom, Allfather, show me the path forward. Where do I tread, where does it lead me? Shall I remain or is it my fate to go?”, he squeezed his eyes together, “Accept the sacrifices we do in your honor, receive the blood we spill in your name!” Sigurd watched him, feeling detached. He felt a sense of familiarity, but nothing more than that. He wondered how he was supposed to feel.

Hvitserk looked up in deep veneration to the image of Freyja, he placed both his hands on her and then his forehead too: “All hail Freyja.” He breathed deeply before he whispered on: “I wish to find love in this world. A sense of belonging, a connection, a family. By the sacrifices and gifts I bestow upon you, guide my way. Grant me this wish and I shall honor and praise your name forever and ever.”

Ivar sat beside Floki, both looking up at the grim face of Thor, clutching his hammer tightly. Then Ivar’s eyes shifted and he looked up to Floki. He was deep in thought, rubbing his chin, smearing a droplet of blood all over it. “Do you think he is protecting him?” “Always”, the answer came without hesitation, “Thor looks over all of us and protects every single one of us, if they know it or not.” “Does he know when he’ll come back?” “No, no, no, no, no”, Floki giggled, then grew stern, “Only the Allfather knows that…But I know that he will. He will be back. He always is.”

The sun was at its highest point when they left the temple. They headed back to the tents for a short meal before they all met to decide on their volunteer. The four of them sat in a circle around a small fire in the midst of the tent of the boys. “Who do you think should it be?”, asked Hvitserk. “Doesn’t matter who dies”, Sigurd grumbled. “I think it does”, Björn was appalled, “It’s a great honor.” “I think it should be Hafgrim”, Ubbe said, “He’s a great warrior grown old. No means to farm, no family.” “So he wouldn’t be missed”, Sigurd mumbled. Hvitserk chuckled: “Yeah, Hafgrim would make a great sacrifice.” “I think it should be Nefstein”, Ivar attempted to hurl the entrance fabric aside but struggled until a firm hand held it for him to pass. Floki gave the group a nod, then left as soon as Ivar had gotten inside. “And why is that?”, Björn asked. “He is younger, stronger, has more to loose”, Ivar grinned, “What could be more worthy a sacrifice than such a man, huh?” His eyes found Sigurd’s once more, but beyond a scowl he refrained from comment.

They gathered in Björn’s tent for the decision. It was bigger than that of the boys’, the tent of a leader. Most people had already arrived. In front of the crowd stood two men. Björn passed in between the two of them and took a stance at the front. His brothers remained in the back of the tent.

“Hafgrim!”, the older of the two straightened up. He had Grey hair and an elaborately braided beard. His face was disfigured by a huge scar crossing over the back of his nose. He was old, but his broad shoulders told of a youth he spent proudly fighting and raiding. “Nefstein!”, the younger had brown hair, openly trailing over his shoulders. His face was fresh, only a few stubbles were to be seen. His body appeared strong, yet lithe. He too straightened up as he heard his name. “We have gathered to decide which one of you will be honored tomorrow to join our gods in feast and feats!”, Björn announced in celebration. The crowd cheered. All, except Sigurd. Björn nodded to Hafgrim.

With a booming voice he turned to face them: “I have lived a life of many deeds, good and bad, big and small. I always knew, that one day, I will offer myself to the gods and goddesses and not only see great honor in my sacrifice but also duty. I was born for this and so, allow me dear people, to die for it!” A roar sprang through the tent. He was well liked and his intentions seemed to be long known among them. Björn nodded to Nefstein.

He turned more calmly and bowed to Hafgrim as he did who mirrored the friendly gesture: “I have not come here to steal from such an honorable man without good reason. I would gladly stand back and let him take this honor, but I am not here for myself. My family has gone through a bad time. Deaths, Curses…You can all remember my dear sister Asta, a girl of thirteen, when she disappeared last summer, never to be seen again.” A low murmur rumbled through the crowd. “I do not seek your pity, nor your well wishes! All I seek is the favor of the gods. And to do so, dear people of Kattegat, I ask you to allow me to take this honor in Hafgrim’s stead. Hafgrim, I ask you to forgive me!” Silence. Björn observed the crowd closely, some faces were stern, others puzzled or concerned. Sigurd seemed heavily distraught and after a few moments of shuffling his weight from one leg to the other, he left the tent.

Then, Hafgrim closed the distance between him and Nefstein, took the other’s head into his hands and put their foreheads together. “I forgive you”, he said, “And I wish you and your family all the favor the gods can muster.” He stepped back and announced with a roar: “I withdraw my lot, for now. May my time come in nine years today!” The crowd cheered and Björn went to hug and congratulate Nefstein who stood bedazzled and couldn’t quite grasp his luck yet.

Hvitserk was the first to leave the tent. He was a bit worried about Sigurd who had been behaving strangely all day, or rather, more strangely than usual. He looked around for him but couldn’t find him anywhere. He was about to head back into the tent when he heard a noise. Then he saw the rock scuttling down the hill. He went around the tent and saw Sigurd sitting on the top of the hill beside it. As he approached, Sigurd lifted his head and seemed annoyed: “What do you want? Berate me, too?” “No”, Hvitserk shook his head and sat down next to him, “I also thought it would be Hafgrim.” “But you don’t find the choice unfair?” Hvitserk frowned and gave it a thought but shook his head: “It’s his choice.” “It’s a stupid choice”, Sigurd hissed, “It will improve nothing, only bring more misery to that family.” “You don’t know that”, Hvitserk said. “I do”, Sigurd laughed dryly and hurled another rock down the slope, “The gods have never been listening to me. Why should they listen to him?” Hvitserk shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe it is his fate”, Hvitserk did not know what else to say. Sigurd snorted.

The tent began to empty. The people went back to their tents to spend time with their loved ones. Nefstein would do so for the last time. It made Sigurd feel sick. Ubbe found them quickly but turned and left them to their own. He headed back to the temple with Björn. Ivar did not even bother to look for them.

As evening approached the air was filled with song and music again. Laughter and stories and old jokes joined it and soon all were either drunk or high or both. As the sun sank and the moon rose, the people grew more excited and less burdened by thought and worry. Clothes were a rare sight to be seen around the temple of Uppsala that night.

Hvitserk spent it in the arms of two women among a group of people he had never seen before and would never see again. His cup was never empty and one of the men introduced him to a drug that increased the joys of life tenfolds. Ubbe intended to keep an eye on him, but was soon distracted himself. Sigurd played his lute until his fingers hurt, gathering a merry group of people around him wherever he went. Ivar spent the night with Floki and Helga, mesmerized by the stories they were telling in turn, watching first as the fires around them sprang to life and then as the night drew to a close.

None of them had slept, but all were ready when they were called. Björn was still drunk when he lead his people to the square, but he carried himself well and proud. The priest was already waiting for them at the table. Others of his order steamed the square with herbs that made everyone present dizzy with delight.

The priest repeated the salutation to the gods and called for them to join them. Hvitserk did not get one word, but he believed this must be what he was doing. First, nine chickens’ throats were slit, then nine sheeps’ and nine goats’, followed by nine dogs’. Next, the nine horses they brought were drained. One after the other were lead before the priest and nine times the sacrificial knife was dyed red. The blood flowed through drains to a big tub where later all guests could take their fill for their fields and hearths and homes.

Last came the human sacrifices. Nine men, some old, some young, were led forward. One after the other, they undressed and lay down on the table. No screams were heard, nor begs, nor even a whimper. All went in the honor bestowed on them. Last came Nefstein, holding his head high he bowed one last time to Hafgrim, then to Björn, then to the priest. He undressed and lay down on the bloody table. There was no hesitation, no fear, no resistance. He smiled as the priest pressed the knife to his skin.

Neither of the brothers lifted their eyes off the noble sacrifice. Even Sigurd withstood the urge to look away. It was only right to grant him this, in hopes that his family would find peace in the time to come.

The human blood had been collected separately and now, one by one, they were sprinkled once more. It was still warm as they received their blessings to a powerful chanting of the priests, accompanied by drums of different forms and sizes.

After the sacrifices were over, the day returned to a quiet mood. Everyone seemed to be deep in thought. Some more hopeful than the other.

Sigurd was back in the temple. He stood once more before the figure of Odin and after a deep breath he stepped forward over the stones to face it.

“Hail Odin”, he murmured barely audible, “I wish I could understand why you’re choosing all others over me. I wish I could understand your ways. But I have not come to ask something for myself. I’ve learned long ago, that it’s no use. You rather answer all of Ivar’s cruel demands before you listen to one of mine. But, maybe, you do hear one of another: Let Nefstein’s family prosper and flourish. He has given his all, and perhaps Asta has already done so, too. Grant them your wisdom, your strength and your protection. A great sacrifice was held in your name today…” He raised his hand and placed it on the statue, but it was cold and he felt nothing.

He repeated similar words to all other statues in the hopes that Nefstein’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain. But he himself struggled to believe anything else.

Hvitserk and Ubbe were already elsewhere with their thoughts, walking among the trees towards the waterfall they had spotted the day they arrived. They could already hear it’s water masses thunder down the stony cliff into the dale below. “How close do you think we can get?”, asked Hvitserk with an excited giggle. “Avoid the wet stones and we should know”, Ubbe went ahead and pushed out of a bush to reveal the fall’s full glory. “Aaaah”, he had to scream to be heard, “It’s mighty!” “It is!”, Hvitserk leaned forward to see where the water disappeared to, Ubbe grabbed him instinctively by the shoulder and Hvitserk grabbed his wrist in turn. “It’s falling a long way!”, Hvitserk yelled, “But there is a basin a few feet below!” “We cannot reach it! It’s too steep!”, Ubbe judged and indeed, the rocks below him receded so that the edge formed an overhang. Still, his fingertips were itching for the challenge.

He crouched down to inspect the ledge further. As Hvitserk did the same he grabbed his knee: “Wait until I say so!” He found the rock to be dry and easy to grip, and the more he examined it, the more he concluded that the overhang was only short and the wall soon became a comfortable climbing angle. He took a breath and turned to descent. “Watch your feet!”, Hvitserk screamed and looked a bit worried as he watched his brother search for the right foothold. However, the worry soon turned into impatience as he saw how well his brother managed the climb. “What do you say?”, he yelled. “Wait!”, was Ubbe’s answer, but it was barely audible over the noisy waters.

Ubbe jumped the last few feet down and landed onto an almost plain platform with a small basin of water which was fed by the huge fall that not long after tumbled down further into the depths of the forest below. Ubbe didn’t even try to shout. He knew his brother was staring at him for a sign, so he simply gave it. Hvitserk did not wait another moment and got immediately to it. After he managed the overhang the climb turned into a trifle and he soon joined Ubbe beside the basin. “Care for a plunge?”, Ubbe grinned as Hvitserk did at his suggestion. They lost their clothes and carefully slipped into the pool of water, making sure to always keep to the edge were the drift was the weakest.

They did not care to speak. It was too loud for it anyways. They simply enjoyed each other’s company and the fun feeling of the water around their bodies.

They left before the sun started to set. Neither wanted to know how hard that climb was in the dark. They dressed and dried themselves as best they could and then went up once more. The overhang was vicious, but both managed. Hvitserk offered Ubbe his hand to pull him up, but was turned down as the other strained hard to pull himself over the edge back onto the plain. Hvitserk laughed heartily and gave him a pat on the chest when he finally lay safely on the grass. “You’re getting old!” “Shut your trap!”

Björn spent the afternoon with Hafgrim and some other town folk, listening to their plights and wishes. He wasn’t the King and he always made sure to stress it, but the people had nowhere else to go and no one else to address. Aslaug didn’t bother to answer anything else but crimes and his father…he had never wondered more about where he was and what he was doing than here. And others did, too. The night before he had heard many such questions. “Where’s Ragnar?” “Where is he?” “Do you think he’s dead?” “He cannot be dead, can he?” He wondered many of them himself.

He also learned more about Nefstein’s family. His mother had accompanied him here and had supported him in his choice. His father had gone mad and hurled himself into the sea this spring, two of his brothers had died from the fever last year, his sister had disappeared. Now only his mother and a son remained. The boy had ceased to speak three months ago. Björn did not know how to help them, but he promised to keep looking for Asta, however little hope remained.

After sundown the brothers met again. They ate together, as it was custom. “Where were you, Ivar?”, asked Björn, “After the sacrifice, you disappeared.” “I did”, was all Ivar said. “Were you with Floki?”, Sigurd had no patience for his nature. Ivar cackled: “Maybe. Only the gods know, Sigurd.” Hvitserk and Ubbe exchanged glances and decided mutually not to tell anyone about their adventure either.

The night passed like the other, but this time they spent half of it asleep. As they did the next day.

When they woke it was already past midday. The hills surrounding the temple were even quieter than in previous days. Around it still hung the drained bodies of the animals and further off was a pile of ashes. All that remained from the humans.

This day was a slow day. A lot of the other families were already departing and saying their farewells. The people of Kattegat were in less of a rush. Some packed, most rested in preparation for the long journey home, starting the next day. Hvitserk was already feeling quite invigorated. After he had eaten, he tried to convince Ubbe to go swimming again, but Ubbe had something else on his mind. He went to find Björn. Ivar was soon off, too. Still not revealing to anyone what he was up to.

With Ubbe gone and Björn not around at all, Sigurd and Hvitserk bent their minds on mischief and decided to find out what Ivar was up to and potentially ruining whatever it was.

They found him easily and took great care to remain undetected as they followed him. It was no surprise to either of them when Floki suddenly appeared from behind an oak tree. He was giggling as Ivar approached. Neither could understand what they were saying, but they saw how they headed off together. Hvitserk and Sigurd shared a look, a grin and made for the next cover.

Ubbe could hear Björn speaking long before he had reached his tent. He appeared to be angry. “…just now?”, he heard as he entered it. Riled up Björn turned to him and for a moment Ubbe feared he was about to get slapped, but Björn just waved him in and continued to rant. “What stopped you to come to me the moment you realized they were gone? Huh? What made you stay and wait? Did you think the goods grew legs and just ran off to return in the morning? Huh? Or did you take them? Did you hide them for yourself?”, Björn paced the room in all his agitation. “No, no, I would never, why would I deprave us all of them?” “I don’t know? You tell me! Why did you wait, Gilli? Why?” A horrible silence of suspense and anger came to be. “I was asleep”, it was as if someone shattered glass into a thousand pieces. “Asleep!?”, Björn yelled, then repeated it quietly in despair, “Asleep…” “What is missing?”, Ubbe ventured to ask. “Tell him, Gilli”, he waved for the man kneeling on the floor to speak. He turned to Ubbe: “The provisions.” “All of them?” The man nodded.

Ubbe swayed at the invisible blow, but quickly regained composure. “Since when?” “It must have happened in the night”, he said, “In the evening it was still all were it ought to be.” “Then they couldn’t have come far!”, Ubbe turned to Björn, “Let us look for it! There is no way we cannot track those thieves down.” Björn looked at him strangely, then he turned to the man who he grabbed by the collar back to his feet: “If we haven’t got him already…” “I would never steal from you, I promise! I promise!” “Keep him confined and let us look for the traces of another!”, Ubbe tried again and pulled his brother’s attention back to him. Finally, Björn nodded. “Hurry”, he said, “We cannot wait. We have to set off for Kattegat first thing in the morning.” Ubbe nodded and left the tent.

Ivar and Floki had stopped and settled down among three huge oak trees. There were stones laid out on the floor to sit on. They were talking, but neither Hvitserk nor Sigurd were close enough to hear any of what was being said. They waited until they were sure, that Ivar and Floki were deep in conversation before Hvitserk gave the nod to advance further. They ran with bent legs and backs how far they dared and hid behind a smaller tree just a few feet away from the pair.

“…will see”, Floki giggled, “The gods will provide. Or not.” Now they both laughed. “What do you think he’ll do if they don’t?”, Ivar asked, “You think we’ll still leave?” “He’ll have to”, Floki said, “Aslaug did not allow a long stay. She’s too scared for you.” Ivar scoffed: “She does not need to worry about me. I wish to stay.” “Yes, me too. But we should not outstay our welcome. The sacrifice is done, the feast is finished, all wanderers need to turn home eventually”, Floki said, “Even the Allfather.” “Even Ragnar.” “Even him.”

Sigurd nudged Hvitserk in the side who had previously attempted to look past the tree trunk. “What were they talking about?”, Sigurd whispered. “What?”, Hvitserk mumbled back. “Why do they ask if we’re leaving or not?” “I don’t know.” “They’re planning something!”, Sigurd gridded his teeth together and jumped away before Hvitserk could grab him.

Floki spotted him immediately, Ivar turned to look at him: “Brother!” “What are you two up to?”, asked Sigurd aggressively, “We’ve heard you! What are you hiding?” Unwilling, Hvitserk emerged from behind the tree as well. Floki giggled. Ivar grinned: “Wouldn’t you like to know? Why don’t you go search then?” “You will tell us now! Or we go and tell Björn!” “Then go and tell him. We have nothing to say”, Ivar shook his head and turned away from Sigurd, ignoring his presence while he and Floki shared a smile.

Sigurd growled and ran off. Hvitserk followed him.

Ubbe had looked for his brothers in their tent and around camp, but couldn’t find a sign of them. After some time, he decided to take a look on his own at the place where the supplies had been stored prior to the incident. The tent was indeed empty. They hadn’t brought much, as they knew they would have to carry everything back themselves, but enough to travel without any delay. He knelt down and examined the ground. The grass was flat were the sacks had been, but he quickly realized that the grass around the exit was disturbed. Something had been dragged through, something heavy. Or was it someone? He had seen the traces his brother left behind countless times and he thought he could read them here. But why would his brother be behind this theft? What drove him to this end? How did he manage it? Ubbe immediately guessed that it was Floki who must have helped him carry the sacks. Where did they place them?

The traces ended outside of the tent. Apparently they had at least thought about removing them there. Ubbe sighed and looked around. They had only had the afternoon to prepare and the time the guard slept. It must be hid around the temple somewhere, he figured. Just then he spotted Sigurd and Hvitserk, both hurrying down the slope. “Sigurd! Hvitserk!”, he yelled and caught their attention. They came over in confusion. Hvitserk jumped forward, pulled the tent fabric aside and gasped in horror. “I knew it!”, Sigurd shouted, “I knew it! They’re behind it! I told you!” “Floki and Ivar?”, asked Ubbe with a frown. “Yes!”, Sigurd exclaimed, “We just caught them talking about it. We should have pressed them harder, Hvitserk!” “They won’t say another word about this”, Hvitserk grumbled, “You heard them. They said the gods would provide or not.” “Of course”, Ubbe wiped his face with both his hands and sighed once more, “Can you still lead me to them? Maybe I’ll have better luck finding something out.” “I don’t think so”, Hvitserk murmured. “We should tell Björn first!”, Sigurd insisted. “No”, Ubbe declined, “He knows. We’re to fix this.” Hvitserk blew up his cheeks in despair and rested his fists on his hip. Sigurd felt pretty overwhelmed for a moment, but shook his head back to the task at hand. He nodded into the direction they had just come from and the three of them set off.

When they arrived at the stones below the oaks they found the two thieves gone. “Of course”, Sigurd kicked at a pebble and sent it flying, “Idiots!” “Hey!”, Ubbe took another look at the ground, but saw no signs, “Floki must have carried him.” Hvitserk walked past the trees and found a small path leading down a thin plain of land carved into the hillside. “They must have taken this path”, he announced, “But I still think it has no use hunting them. We should look for the supplies instead.” “And where would you look? Where would these two maniacs hide them?” “They said…what did they say?”, Ubbe had picked up a stick and played with it as he stared into the thin air, thinking. “That the gods would provide or not”, Sigurd scoffed, “They’re nuts.” “Maybe they put it into the temple somewhere? Beneath the floorboards?”, Ubbe wondered. “Is anyone else looking for them? Or is it really just us?”, Hvitserk wanted to know, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other before starting to walk in circles. “I don’t know”, Ubbe shrugged, then mumbled, spinning the stick, “The gods will provide…” “This is ridiculous!”, Sigurd walked off, leaving his brothers alone beneath the oaks.

On his way back to camp he kicked at anything that was loose on the ground. No stone or stick was safe. He was angry, already knowing that whatever would happen his brother would not be punished. “It was just a silly little game, Sigurd”, he mimicked Ivar, “You don’t need to get all upset about it, Sigurd.” He grunted as he sent a bigger stone over the logs that led up to the temple doors. The stone slid past the hanging animals, down the slope towards the pile of ash. “Idiots”, he stopped in the middle of the path to think. He sighed. There was no point in sulking, he had to help his brothers to fix this however impossible and useless it turned out to be. He headed up to the temple to speak to the priests.

None were on the porch, so he had to enter the temple once more. There stood a single priest in front of the statue of Freyr, still holding a bowl and a brush.

“Hail to the Aesir and the Vanir. Hail to the gods and goddesses. Hail-“ “Excuse me, I’m not-“, the priest rose his voice to drown out Sigurd’s and did so successfully. “To Odin, Thor and Freyr. Hail to Vali, Sif and Heimdall. Hail to Balder, Bragi and Eir. Hail to Freyja, Loki and Frigg. Hail to Njord, Ran and Tyr. Hail to Odin’s spear and Thor’s hammer. Hail to the mighty fecund earth. All hail”, Sigurd had been sprinkled with blood three times. “All hail”, he mumbled, “I just wanted to-“ “I saw you yesterday, child, and the day before”, the priest appeared to be unmoved by whatever attempt Sigurd launched to pull him off his path, “I see your struggle and your plight. Trust in the gods, trust in their judgment, they will provide.” “It’s about-“ “Go now, child, let them guide you, trust their will and their power. They will provide.” “Or not”, he murmured so quietly only he could hear it, then he walked on and examined the floor closely, testing the planks every now and then. Nothing.

When he left the temple, he ran into Ubbe and Hvitserk. “Did you find anything?”, asked Hvitserk and Sigurd shook his head. “And the priest?”, asked Ubbe. “Impossible to talk to”, Sigurd laughed hollowly, “He says the gods will provide.” The other two groaned and turned their backs on the temple. “Could it be possible that-“ “No”, Ubbe interrupted Hvitserk decisively, “I do not believe they would ever help with such a deed.” “Then where do we look for it next? It could be anywhere”, Sigurd complained and started walking down the stairs. “I wonder how long they’ll leave the animals like that”, Hvitserk asked as he followed him. Ubbe turned this way and that, wondering whether he should separate from the group, but in the end followed as well. “They’ll burn them eventually, like they did the humans…What is that?”, Ubbe started to trot as he had spotted a peculiar line on the ground, “Something rolled through here.”

He crouched down at a thin line and touched the soft, dusty material it had parted: “Ashes.” His brothers had joined him. “Must have been the rock I kicked down here earlier”, Sigurd said and spread the ashes with his foot, not quite grasping yet what his older brother meant to have discovered by it. “After the sacrifice…”, Hvitserk began, starring at the pile of ashes. “The gods will provide!”, Ubbe jumped up, then stopped himself, “No, they wouldn’t.” “Apparently they would”, Sigurd kicked at the ashes, understanding now, “And they did!” Ubbe sighed looking at the pile: “It’s certainly not big enough to hide all those sacks.” “Hail to the mighty fecund earth?”, Sigurd wondered out loud. “All hail”, Hvitserk bounced and smiled wide, slapping Ubbe on the back and ran off, “I’ll get us a shovel!”

Björn watched Hvitserk as he dug up the earth where the pile of ashes had once rested. He did not have to dig long. Soon he raised sack after sack from the depths to the surface where Ubbe and Sigurd in turn took them off him. “Where’s Ivar?”, Björn inquired calmly. “With Floki”, Ubbe said. “And where is Floki?”, Björn was annoyed by this kind of nonsense. “Only the gods know”, they picked up the giggle immediately and while Hvitserk kept digging and Ubbe and Sigurd remained standing by the hole, Björn could no longer contain his rage. He marched in the direction in which he thought he had heard it.

“Floki!”, he yelled, and sure enough, the tall, slender figure emerged from the trees. Björn threw his arms up in question. Behind Floki came crawling his youngest brother Ivar, looking up at him like a triumphant toddler. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”, he cried out. “We congratulate you”, fluted Floki, “You have proven that you are faithful after all. The gods heard you and they provided.” “So you think?”, Björn couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “So he knows, brother”, Ivar lectured.

They had come face to face now and Björn did not hesitate. He slapped Floki without a warning, without even the bat of an eye, right across the face. Floki did not utter a single sound, but Ivar’s grin disappeared in an instant. Björn’s upper lip was twitching, waiting for Floki to look back up at him. When he did he only dared so for a moment. With downcast eyes and a beaten face he awaited his judgment. “This is not the end”, Björn growled, then his gaze sank to look down to Ivar, “Your mother will hear of this.” He didn’t wait for further explanations or excuses. He simply turned and left. His face was a grim sight to behold the rest of the day. A sight his brothers did not have to suffer.

After they had safely retrieved the provisions for their journey homeward, they spent the day by themselves. Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd wandered the forest together and sat at the edge beside the waterfall to watch the sundown when it came.

Ivar was left to his own devices, while Floki withdrew himself into the care of Helga. He visited the temple once again and sat down at the edge of Odin’s pond. He looked up to the grim figure, feeling as if it looked down upon him. The longer he looked, the angrier he got. Finally, he crawled off, and disappeared into his shared tent.

They did not speak to him. He was used to it. It has happened before, it would pass again. After they had finished eating, they soon went to bed to rest before they took on the long and strenuous journey home. Ivar went to bed with a smile. He knew mother would not punish him and if she heard of their deed, she would grant Floki nothing but praise and protection.

His smile died when he thought about how their trial had failed. Sigurd was not a true believer, he thought, gnawing the inside of his cheek, without Ubbe and Hvitserk he would never have found it. His eyes traveled into the direction where his brother must be lying. He deserved no praise, he tasted blood, only the gods deserve it, all of it! He did not sleep a second that night.

Sigurd did neither. Was it really him that found it? It can’t be true. Ubbe had spotted the traces! He just kicked a rock. The gods do not listen to him, they never do, they never did. Why now? Why here? His thoughts ran in unstoppable circles.

After a small breakfast, the boys packed up their tent while Ivar sat on his chair facing the temple, awaiting their departure. He wondered one last time at the magic of the gods that housed in their golden-roofed abode.

After simmering with anger and disappointment the day before, Björn was relieved and in a good mood that day. He met his brothers with a spring in his step only Hvitserk shared. Ubbe was also looking forward to returning home. He worried about the safety and well-being of their mother. Sigurd couldn’t wait to leave this place either.

They all had their assigned packs to carry and not long after dawn they set off into the woods. Björn led on, the people of Kattegat followed and at the rear went Ubbe, Sigurd and Hvitserk, carrying Ivar in his wooden chair. They took one last look at the temple of Uppsala, some longer some shorter. And then they set off. Home.

[compact-turtle]

AGGGHHHH IVAR IS BBG

Please I beg you. We need more info on him I just wanna give him a big huge hug this man has been through enough AHHHH your writing is very good

Ivar is so bbg omg!! Totally would enjoy a hug from you <3

--------

Charsima stat: Maxed out. 

-Owns a huge book of jokes. Memorizes at least half of them just so he has something to tell you. Jokes are not funny. Terribly cheesy and corny.

-Loves his comrades who are his found family deeply. He’s cultivated such a deep bond with them. 

-Perfect listener. Will sit there and listen to you tell him about all your thoughts. Also enjoy gossiping with you.

“The nurse who works second shifts tried to get with the Head surgeon. But everyone knows the Surgeon is married.” 

“That is so shady of her. Does the wife know?” 

-A secret love of Sanrio characters. (especially loves Pompompurin.) 

-Anime nerd. A huge fan of Neon Genesis Evangelion and Inuyasha. Has a small figurine of Shinji in the chair doing his iconic pose. 

-Ivar’s love language is spending time together. It doesn���t matter if it’s watching shows or going on dates. Only thing that matters is if you’re with him. 

-May or may not have a copy of your apartment key. Don’t worry though! He only has it in case you lose yours. (At least that’s what he tells himself) 

-Has also visited your apartment when you aren’t home. He’ll clean up, do dishes and organize your fridge for when come home. You don’t ever seem to notice due to how exhausted you are after work.

-He really enjoys eating whatever you make him. It could be the nastiest burnt and not seasoned food but he'd love it in the end,

-Very observant when it comes to you. He notices when your mood changes, and if something in your routine is off. Try to fix whatever the problem is. 

-Easily jealous. Doesn’t like when other men hang around you. Immediately switches his outgoing persona to asshole #1 to anyone else who’s interested in you. 

-If anyone else ever tries to harass you, Ivar will convince his boys to jump the person. He’ll corner the dude and beat them until they learn their lesson. 

-Ivar if anyone bothers you: 

[flare-queen]

Just some Mafia AU, Queen Lagertha with her obedient hitman Ivar, sultry dangerous romance.

[thyshadowwriter]

hiii can i req ubbe getting jealous (in a cute way) when you are giving attention to someone else? like with pouts and stuff... thank uuu ♡

A/n: Thank you! We love fluff (and a bit of jealousy) in this house Not me writing something completely different at first lol

Being married to Ubbe was like living a dream. He was absolutely gorgeous, easily the most handsome man you ever saw, but that was just a part of him; He always treated you with love and care, completely unbothered to show his affection in public and perhaps a bit too comfortable.

If you had to point out a flaw, it would be his jealousy. It was not very pronounced, but it at times showed its head, even if he was lovely about it. It puzzled the mind as to why Ubbe would think he had any reason to be jealous, but he did. You never actively tried to stoke his jealousy, but it happened nonetheless.

Kattegat was in a festive mood, summer arrived and the celebrations were at their peak. People were happy, and there was plenty to be distracted. So you left Ubbe to his brothers and their pet peeves and went to catch up with your friends, hearing their stories and gossip, not really paying attention to whatever else was going on. Normally you would talk for a while with others then go back to Ubbe, but the conversation was actually fun and being away from the Ragnarssons drama was good too.

You looked around and met with your husband's gaze. He was with his brothers, who were on their own antics, but he paid them no mind, he was interested in you and gestured for you to come over. You smiled at him, but continued where you were. You still wanted to stay with your group a while more.

A while turned into an hour and Ubbe came to you, though you didn’t see where from. For a man his size, he sure knew how to be quiet as a cat and your friends seemed as surprised and mildly scared. His presence alone silenced your friends, even though he didn’t even bother looking at them.

“Come sit with me?”

“Soon, my love. I want to talk with my friends a little longer.”

He said nothing, gave an annoyed look to your friends and walked away to his seat. 

One of your friends asked you, looking just a little paler than before:

“Does your husband not like us?”

“What? No! It’s just his brothers.”

They didn't seem very convinced, but you continued talking nonetheless. For how long you didn't know but at some point one of your friends pointed out the prince's less then entertained expression.

When you looked at Ubbe you instantly noticed his mood was sour. His head was thrown back and he was staring directly at you with tight lips and wide eyes, nursing his mug of ale but not actually drinking any of it. For such an outstanding warrior, he sure had a flair for the drama and it was clear he was not enjoying being ignored.

The only thing that made him look away with a roll of his eyes was something Ivar said to Sigurd that apparently was outrageous enough to make him drink his ale in one gulp and shut both of them up. Usually, Ubbe would be more patient with his brothers, but when he was jealous, his patience was notably short.

You excused yourself from your friends and went to your husband, who turned his full attention to you.

“Ubbe.”

He tilted his head, looking at you accusatory with those clear blue eyes that never hid what he was feeling. His lips were shut tight, he was annoyed, but it was hard to take him seriously when his annoyance made his lips unintentionally make a pout that you couldn’t help but lean down to kiss it away.

He welcomed the light kiss, but was still very much annoyed.

“You remember you have a husband.”

“Don’t be like that. I was just talking with my friends.”

“I know. For the entire day. I thought you might spend the entire night with them as well.”

“Oh, no. That I wanted to spend with you alone.”

The thought didn’t fail to better his mood, making him smile and the corner of his eyes crinkle a bit.

“Are you mad at me?” You asked him.

Ubbe, instead of answering, put his mug on the table and reached his hand to you. You took his hand and he pulled you close, for a kiss you though, but before your face could be close to his, he picked you up and sat you on his lap, holding you in place with a tight grip in one hand and taking his mug back with the other. Back to his serene expression like he made no effort at all, resting his hand on your lap.

“I can’t be mad at you. I can be mad at your friends.”

[covet-lovett]

Ummm actually it’s Ivar (not me getting so defensive it breaks my anxiety that’s a mood) remember? YOU STOLE HIS BELLY BUTTON FROM ME

heehee I assumed. I just had JUST drawn a guy surrounded by vines so it was fresh on the brain.

HIS BELLY BUTTON WAS A DELICIOUS SNACK

[envicd]

@signcfthetiimes os & ivar

"You're late." Oswald grumbles as he finishes off his, well - he's lost track on how many beers he's on. He wasn't plastered just yet, but he was working towards it. Os sets down the empty glass, turning his body so he can face ivar. He glares as his friend in silence for a brief moment, tilting his head to the side in confusion. "Gross, why do you look like you're in a good mood."

[vuldak-juneau]

@heroic-ignus Location: The journey to Hrimthur's Outpost

(tw: violence) Each step further into the wasteland was agony. The miles and days had piled up, but so too had the promises. Little aside from callouses and frost-bitten extremities had materialized as rewards. That was until the long-whispered about village materialized before their eyes.

Rest was welcomed, and the collective held breath was finally released. Hands were made busy with preparing beds for resting, hunters were dispatched to find meat, and gatherers for what other provisions there were to be found. Even Juneau, perpetually pessimistic, found her mood slightly lifted and her surly attitude a bit more welcome to chip in for the benefit of others. 

Juneau had been tasked with preparing a space for the horses, and that solitary work suited her fine. She spread the hay as evenly as she could, and perhaps fed them a bit more grain than was prudent, but they had earned it after all. Her back had begun to ache from the manual labor of refreshing the stalls and wielding the heavy pitchfork. A breathless sigh escaped her as she pulled the thick sleeve of her coat across her forehead.

And then—somehow immediately amongst the throng of refugees—she saw his face. Ivar. Whatever happened between the moment she first laid eyes on him and meeting him toe to toe was beyond her. Rage and shock had blacked out her senses, and then next thing she knew she was throttling him. 

Pitchfork in hand, she grappled him to the ground and relished in the fact that her newfound strength allowed her to best him. Juneau was determined now to demonstrate her superiority in every way, to return his favor of demonstrating how little he had needed her but sending a clear message that she needed him even less. Ivar struggled, and his panicked eyes found no reprieve or tool to aid him in his plight. Instead, he only saw the jackal’s smile materialize on Juneau’s face hovering above his own.

He was fighting as hard as he could, and the unyielding, violent urges that drove Juneau’s decision making process spurred her on. She pinned him, one foot pinning down each of his arms with her full weight. Juneau needed him to understand how futile escaping his fate would be, he would receive the same lack of mercy he showed her a month prior—none. Her breath was ragged with elated anticipation as she gripped the pitchfork in both of her hands and strained her back to lift it above her head. 

The movements were swift and secure as she brought the rusted points of the pitchfork down with the whole of her might. He screamed and the sound of it could have made her laugh. Perhaps there was a time and a place for small mercies, for rather than piercing him through the neck, she pinned him to the frozen floor of the village path between the lethal prongs of the tool and slowly lowered her face toward his. She felt her mouth opening, the flesh of her cheeks lengthening until the sinew tugged at itself to the snapping point, her gaping maw opening wider than the hinge of a human jaw would permit. The razor-sharp jowls of a wolf threatened to raze through his neck and swallow him whole, but when the beast of Juneau took in that anticipatory breath before the kill all it loosed in her was a scream.

The woman jolted upright into the frigid, dark air in a chaotic, sudden lurch. Juneau panted and clutched at herself, finding that she was still very much human in form. The flickering light of a near-dead fire reminded her that they had not arrived anywhere except another bend in the winding mountain pass, another false summit, another unkept promise of respite. She swallowed hard and pawed at her cheek finding it dry—it was too cold to allow for the materialization of tears, not that she was weak enough to cry. Not for that fucker. The beating of her heart began to right itself again, slowing back to its normal rate in increments and she glanced around hoping that her decision to sleep as far away from the others had granted her the privacy it was intended for.