#ivars heathen army

[therealcalicali]

Ivar the Boneless - Vikings

[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

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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.

[immortal-elements]

You know, having a niche favorite piece of history is all well and good until the folks at Ubisoft make an assassin's creed game that happens to perfectly coincide with that interest and now I get to make jokes like this

[ivarandersen]

I’ve started watching Vikings again! And getting the inspo to write that fic I started like… 5? 6 years ago? … You know, back when I had free time and I didn’t have to pay for health insurance T_T

(All my old tags are still queued up and ready post so that makes life easy lmaooooo>

[mads-weasley]

I'll Find You

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Shieldmaiden!Reader

Masterlist

A/N: enjoy!

Summary: Hvitserk is caught between both sides in the Battle for Kattegat. Torn between the woman he loves and his brother, he must make a choice.

Word Count: 3.2k

The Battle for Kattegat, the Battle of the Ragnarssons, raged across the misty field. The metallic smell of blood and harsh sounds of battle hung in the air: the clashing of swords and axes, battle cries, and screams of the wounded.

Who knew it would come to this?

Brother turning against brother, neighbor against neighbor. (Y/n) was caught in the middle, her heart torn between both sides. At one time, she'd promised to never leave his side, but when he jumped ship, he chose to leave her...to leave the people who loved him.

She remembered how his lip twitched as he stared back toward the shore. Toward Ivar. She'd reached for his arm, already anticipating his decision, but she was too late. Her fingers barely brushed his sleeve as he moved out of her reach. That was the day everything changed.

Even now, as she fought through the crowd of warriors, she unconsciously scanned the battlefield for his figure. A cry came from her right, and she turned to see another shieldmaiden with her axe on the way down. (Y/n) managed to lift her shield just in time, and the axe hit it with a loud crack, the impact sending painful shockwaves through her arm. With a grunt, she blocked another swipe and kicked the woman in the stomach before bringing her axe down into the shieldmaiden's neck with a bloody squelch.

(Y/n) readjusted her grip on the shield, wincing. It only took a moment for her to gather herself and sprint farther into the fray. She lost herself in the battle, and each slice of her axe sent a warm spray of blood across her face, the stray strands from her braid sticking to the substance.

Amid the battle, she saw him. He was a little ways ahead of her in front of the small river that separated Ivar and the rest of their forces from the fight. He fought like he always had, without restraint. (Y/n) had always called him her berserker because he truly was, but he never would admit it liked the nickname. There seemed to be two different men inside Hvitserk: the man on the battlefield and the man he was off. The latter, a highly observant and caring man she'd come to love.

She remembered the quiet moments they'd shared in England while fighting with the Great Heathen Army to avenge his father.

"Is England what you'd thought it would be?"

His lips tilted into a small lopsided smile, and he glanced over from where he sat beside her. "Not really. You?"

"I didn't know what to think," (y/n) sighed, looking back at the small river before them. "But it is beautiful."

The steady flow of the water filled the silence, and (y/n) felt peace for the first time in months. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, basking in the gentle sunlight that cascaded from the heavens. In all their time in England, the sun was not out often.

Feeling eyes on her, she glanced over at Hvitserk. Their gazes met for a moment before he quickly turned away, his cheeks reddening.

"I am glad you came with us, (y/n)," he admitted softly, his upper lip twitching out of habit.

(Y/n) slid closer and leaned into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. "I couldn't imagine staying in Kattegat while you were here fighting. If something happened to you, I-"

She trailed off as her throat tightened. The mere thought of his death...it was more than she could handle. Tearing his gaze away from the river, he gently cupped her cheek and turned her face toward him.

"The gods are not done with me yet, my love."

Making her way to him, (y/n) watched Hvitserk fight with the ferocity she'd seen since he first picked up a sword. The berserker in him had taken over. He effortlessly blocked the slashes of swords and axes of his enemies like it was all one big dance, and he knew the choreography.

(Y/n)'s focus was shattered when something collided with her side, sending her sprawling to the ground. Coughing, she pushed herself to her feet and turned her attention to the warrior who shed his shield in favor of dually wielding two axes. He swung one of the axes toward her head, and (y/n) barely had time to duck, feeling the blade whiz past her ear. She rolled to her feet and sidestepped the other axe aimed for her ribs.

With a grunt, she twisted her body and lifted her shield just in time to block the incoming blow. Her axe followed, and the man howled as it caught him in the arm, blood splattering across his face.

He staggered back with a snarl, but (y/n) didn’t let up. She closed the distance between them in two quick strides, knocking his remaining axe from his hand with a powerful swing, then brought her blade down on his shoulder. The man grunted in pain and dropped to his knees, unable to fight back any longer.

As he fell, (Y/n) turned, scanning the battlefield once more. Her heart skipped.

Hvitserk.

Her breath hitched as she watched him take a blow from an axe handle, sending him reeling backward and falling hard to the ground. Without hesitation, she surged forward. The world seemed to slow as she fought her way through the sea of warriors. Every instinct screamed at her to get to him, and her mind finished the sentence she hadn't dared to in England.

"If something happened to you, I...I would gladly follow you to Valhalla."

When she reached him, her legs nearly gave way. There he was, sprawling out in the dirt, his eyes wide as he gasped for air.

"Hvitserk!" she shouted, her voice cracking as she dropped to her knees beside him. She quickly turned him over, her hands shaking as she tried to pull him into a sitting position.

He continued to wheeze as he struggled to catch his breath. Hvitserk's gaze was unfocused, blinking as if he couldn’t make sense of the blurry figure in front of him.

"Breathe, Serk! Breathe!" She yelled, rubbing his cheeks gently. "Breathe!"

Little did she know he couldn't hear her. His mind replayed the events of the past year: England, jumping ship, his last conversation with Ivar.

"What do you fear most, dear brother?" Ivar asked. "The loss of thought or memory?

"My thoughts and memories seem to be the same. Every time I think, I always remember the day I jumped out of Ubbe's ship."

When I left her...it went unsaid.

Ivar shrugged, making a pushing motion with his hands. "But you didn't jump. The gods pushed you."

"Don't take it away from me," Hvitserk snarked. "I wasn't pushed. I decided to do it."

"Ah. And I think you still regret it."

Hvitserk paused, his mind wandering. "My only regret is that I don't have any children...and"

"(Y/n)?" Ivar chuckled and tilted his head, his lips quirking into a smirk. "You regret leaving her."

He did. More than anything. But he had to live with the consequences of his actions. "Yes," he said quietly, his gaze falling to the dirt.

Ivar's smirk turned sinister. "She will be there today. Are you willing to do what it takes?"

Hvitserk glanced up at him, his lip twitching as he tried to contain his anger. "What?"

"You heard me," he shrugged. "She chose her side, and you chose yours, poor Hvitserk. Will she hesitate to kill you?"

He didn't know, but Hvitserk did know that he could never raise a hand against her. If she felt differently, he would gladly let her strike him down.

The memory dissipated suddenly, and he became aware of himself once again. Something was holding his face, but the blur of his vision made it impossible to see exactly who.

Then he heard her voice. It was muffled, but unmistakably hers.

After a moment, he finally got control of his breathing and pulled sweet oxygen into his burning lungs. He blinked as his vision and hearing returned to normal. Her eyes were the first thing he saw.

(Y/n) leaned over him, her brows creased in concern as her voice became clear. "You have to get up! You're okay! You're okay!"

She glanced behind her and quickly disappeared from his view. He heard the familiar sound of clashing swords and iron meeting flesh.

'What is happening?' he thought. Then it hit him. The battle.

Hvitserk rolled over and pushed himself up, still gasping, and grabbed his sword and shield. Staggering to his feet, he found (y/n) battling one of her own warriors, who looked confused as to why she was defending the traitorous Ragnarsson. She kicked him in the chest and sent him flying to the ground with a thud. He wouldn't be a bother for a little while. Finally turning, (y/n)'s eyes met Hvitserk's, and relief flooded her body.

He was okay.

She barely had time to catch her breath before a new enemy charged toward her, forcing her to raise her shield. She blocked the blow, gritting her teeth as the impact jarred her shoulder. Hvitserk, now steady on his feet, roared and stepped forward, deflecting the warrior’s second strike with his axe.

Their eyes met again, just for a moment. The battle roared on around them, but between the chaos, it felt like the world had paused. Blood smeared both their faces, and their chests heaved with exertion, yet they stood there, staring at each other.

She still loved him. He could see it in her eyes as they looked upon him with a familiar softness.

Before either of them could say a word, another figure rushed toward (y/n), axe raised high. Hvitserk’s instincts kicked in, and without thinking, he lunged forward and knocked the assailant aside with his shield, sending the man crashing into the mud. He didn’t pause to finish the enemy off, and his attention snapped back to (y/n).

As the battle raged on, Hvitserk fought with every ounce of his strength, cutting down those who came too close to them. He knew she didn’t need saving and was capable of handling herself, but he couldn’t stop the fear that gripped him every time she was too close to death’s reach...too close to Ivar's reach.

He shoved a warrior aside with his shield just as another came for (y/n). She didn’t see him coming, but Hvitserk did, and he swung his axe in a wide arc, catching the man’s shoulder and sending him crashing to the ground.

(Y/n) glanced over her shoulder, her lips curling into something like a half-smile of thanks, but it didn’t last. She turned her attention back to the fight, but the brief moment made Hvitserk’s chest tighten. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he needed her to understand.

He was sorry, he still loved her, he still wanted a future with her...

Then, the horn sounded.

A sharp, unmistakable note. The retreat. Bjorn's forces were losing.

Ivar was winning.

But that wasn’t what shook Hvitserk to his core. It was the realization of what that meant for (y/n). If she didn’t leave now, Ivar would hunt her down the very moment the battle was over, just like he would do to Lagertha, Ubbe, Bjorn, and all the other leaders.

She wouldn’t survive.

His heart raced in his chest as he turned to her. She was scanning the battlefield, looking for her next warrior to fight, unaware of the danger closing in around her. He reached for her and grabbed her arm, his grip tightening as the horn's echo lingered in the air.

“You need to go,” he said, his voice raw.

(Y/n) shook her head in defiance. “I’m not leaving you, Hvitserk,” she replied, pulling her arm free of his grasp.

His lips pressed into a tight line, and he shook his head. “You have to. Ivar won’t let you live. He’ll come for you, for all of you.”

Hvitserk’s chest tightened. Blood smeared across her face, but the fire in her eyes was unmistakable. He knew her. He knew how stubborn and fierce she was. But he also knew what Ivar would do.

"Ivar will hunt you down. He'll kill you without hesitation. He won't care that you're..." his voice faltered. "He won't care what you mean to me."

Her eyes softened at the admission, and for a moment, the noise of the battlefield around them faded away. She reached for his cheek, brushing away the dirt and blood. “And you’ll stay with him?”

Hvitserk closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into her touch. He wanted so badly to walk away with her, to take her far from this madness. But the pull of his brother, of the bond they shared...even with all the brokenness...he couldn't let it go.

“I don’t have a choice,” he admitted. “He’s my brother. If I don’t stand with him, I’ll lose more than I already have.”

(Y/n) swallowed hard, blinking away the sting of tears. “You’ll lose me, too,” she said gently.

His eyes opened, meeting hers with a conflicted gaze. “I lost you the day I jumped ship,” he murmured. “And it’s haunted me every moment since. But I have to see this through...I can’t leave him.”

A small, sad smile tugged at her lips as her hand fell from his face. She could see the pain etched into his features. “I know,” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. "You're being torn apart. I can see it in your eyes."

Her words broke something in him. He dropped his forehead to hers, his breath shuddering. “My love,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

(Y/n) closed her eyes, savoring the closeness she'd longed for for months. She cupped his face again with her free hand, her thumb brushing against the roughness of his cheek. “I know,” she said softly. “I know you are.”

The horn sounded again, louder this time. A reminder that their moment was slipping away.

“Stay alive, my love,” he whispered, his lips brushing her skin lightly as the words left his mouth. “Stay alive. Please.”

(Y/n) couldn't speak as emotion washed over her.

“Now go,” he repeated, pulling back just enough to look at her. “Please.”

Her lips trembled, but she nodded. “Promise me that you’ll find your way back to me someday.”

Hvitserk's lip twitched...a ghost of the smile she remembered. “I’ll find you.”

With one last lingering look, (y/n) stepped back, her hand sliding from his face. “I’ll see you again,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears threatening to fall.

Hvitserk nodded, his eyes never leaving her. “Go,” he urged.

And then, with one last look, she turned and ran. Hvitserk watched until she disappeared into the chaos, and his heart broke a little more with every step she took away from him. Only then did he turn his focus back on the battle, gripping his axe tightly. With a loud roar, he charged the nearest enemy.

The berserker was back.

6 Months Later

The battle was over. Ivar had been defeated at last.

Hvitserk stood beside Bjorn and King Herald in the square as King Olaf stood before them, a blue flag in his hand.

"Here's to the new year of all our lives, Bjorn Ironside," he announced, handing the flag to the eldest Ragnarsson.

Hvitserk couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. It was finally over. After all the time he spent with Ivar, he could finally have peace, he finally got his home back. The people of Kattegat would no longer have a cruel dictator ruling over them.

A commotion rippled through the onlookers as figures emerged from the edges of the square, and Hvitserk’s heart skipped when he saw them...Ubbe, Torvi, and…her.

(Y/n).

For a moment, Hvitserk froze. His heart thudded against his chest, and he felt an overwhelming rush of relief. There she was...alive. After everything. His breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure what to do at first. So much had happened, and in the chaos of battle and their long separation, he hadn’t allowed himself to fully imagine this moment. He watched as she took a few tentative steps forward.

Then, as if something within him finally snapped, Hvitserk took a breath, his eyes locked onto hers, and he quickly walked toward her. When they were mere feet apart, Hvitserk’s resolve faltered. He didn’t wait any longer. His arms went around her instinctively, and he lifted her off her feet.

He felt the warmth of her against him, the familiar weight of her body, and everything else fell away. For that brief moment, there was nothing but her...alive, in his arms. His breath came in a rush, his chest tight with emotion as he held her there, not caring about the stares of those around him, not caring about anything but the overwhelming sense of relief that surged through him.

"I found you," Hvitserk whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking slightly as the words escaped him. It was the promise he'd made when they'd parted on the battlefield months before.

(Y/n)’s arms wrapped around his neck and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her touch was the thing he didn’t even realize he needed. After everything he had been through, the battles, the loss, the guilt, her touch was the only thing that made everything feel still...like he could breathe again.

Slowly, he lowered her back to the ground, his hands lingering on her arms, almost afraid to let go. But she wasn’t waiting for him to speak. Her warm hands came up to his face, her fingers brushing over his bloody jaw, and she smiled softly, the tears in her eyes making his heart beat impossibly faster.

"I think I'm the one that found you," she smirked, tearily gazing up at him.

A breathy laugh left his lips as he opened his mouth to speak, but the words failed him. What could he say? Everything felt too small to capture what he was feeling in this moment.

"I—" he started, his voice low and rough. But before he could finish, he closed the space between them. His lips brushed hers softly at first, gentle and lingering. The kiss was tentative as if they were both savoring the moment, tasting the reunion. Hvitserk’s fingers lightly cupped her face, gently tracing the curve of her jaw.

When they pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers. "I love you," he murmured. "I'm never leaving you again."

(Y/n) smiled through the tears, her fingers brushing the blood on his face as she leaned in again, this time with more confidence.

"Good," she whispered against his lips.

She then fully pressed her lips to his, and this time, Hvitserk didn’t hesitate. His hands slid down her back, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss. There was a heat to it now, the emotions spilling out in the press of their lips.

When they broke apart again, Hvitserk’s breath was a little uneven. His eyes locked on hers as he gently touched her cheek. "Marry me."

She nodded immediately, tugging him down towards her with a wide smile. "Yes."

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[barbucomedie]

Silver Coin from Winchester, England dated between 875 - 885 on display at Winchester Catherdral, England

This coin was excavated in the Cathedral Close and bears the head of Alfred the Great with the inscription +ÆLFREDREXSA+ which translates to Alfred, King of the Saxons. From 871 to 886 Alfred was King of the West Saxons, the Kingdom of Wessex. During this time of Alfred's reign the Vikings under Guthrum, later King of East Anglia (879 - 890?), Ivar the Boneless, Halfdan Ragnarson, Ubba and Bagsecg formed the Great Heathen Army and invaded much of England.

Photographs taken by myself 2023

[verecunda]

I know we all love our St Sebastianification of Celebrimbor, for obvious gay reasons, but I'm going to throw this out as something more closely connected to Tolkien's own field of obsession:

St Edmund the Martyr

fwiw, I don't think we really have to go looking for historical/mythological parallels in every single thing Tolkien put down in his books (man had an imagination of his own), but he was your certified nut for all things Old English, so it's quite fun when you notice something that seems to resonate. :)

Edmund (d. AD 869) was King of East Anglia. Unlike St Sebastian, who was martyred during an imperial purge of Christians, Edmund died at the hands of an invading army. This was the time of the Great Heathen Army, a great Viking coalition that made war in Britain from 865, and in some versions Edmund died at the hands of the (in?)famous Viking king Ivar the Boneless. First Ivar sent him a message, demanding his submission, as well as all his treasure and heirlooms. (A bit like Sauron attacking Eregion in pursuit of the Three Rings and having his army ransack the House of the Mírdain in search of the Three Rings?)

Needless to say, Edmund refused these terms and Ivar attacked. Rather than flee, the King resolved to stand firm and face the attackers, not unlike Celebrimbor meeting the Mordor hordes alone at the door of his house. According to the most well-known version of his death, first he was tortured with whips and rods, but when that failed to break his spirit, they shot him through with arrows (or spears) "as if it was a game, until he was entirely covered with their missiles, like the bristles of a hedgehog."

The Vikings didn't use Edmund's body as a war-banner, but they did desecrate it by cutting off the head and hiding it in a bramble thicket, so he could not be buried properly. But, so the story goes, a friendly wolf guarded the head from being gobbled up by any other woodland scavengers, until it could be recovered by his people and buried along with the body. (Which has absolutely nothing to do with Celebrimbor; it's just a good story. Old saints' lives are the best.) Many miracles soon became attributed to the murdered king, and his shrine was moved from its original burial place to the town which is now called Bury St Edmund's. He was venerated as one of England's patron saints until St George was given the role in the later Middle Ages.

[honestsycrets]

Thank you for the thoughts! It’s a rather old piece with choices I may have changed today, but holds a special place in my heart.

Irreplaceable

Finished

Irreplaceable: King Ivar spends much of his time with his first wife: neglecting his second wife, the mother of his children. Eventually, it catches up to him when a foreign King Sverri invades his lands. A/N: Photos are not mine, collage is. Second picture was a fan art made by  @salimahbicharara-comun

A/N: Please see my FAQ if you have any questions. It is under “Miscellaneous”

Warnings:

Polygyny, adultery, multiple character death, child death, depression, fighting, verbal arguments, physical arguments, an incidence of rape, jealousy, dysfunctional family life, mute child.

Prologue ✔️

Part I: Ivar’s First Sight

Part II: Decisions

Part III: An Equal Partnership

Part IV: What I Care About

Part V: New Beginnings

Part VI: A Mistake

Part VII: Who Was He?

Part VIII: Sickness

Part IX: Spoken Words

Part X: A Curse

Part XI: Only a Womb

Part XII: A Daughter?

Part XIII: Apologize

Part XIV: Much Worse…

Part XV: He Has Your Eyes

Part XVI: My Mother’s Choice!

Part XVII: Strange Shores

Part XVIII: Failure

Part XIX: What I Really Want

Part XX: After My Mother

Part XXI: Heat

Chapters ✔️

Chapter I: The Right One

Chapter II: His Fiery Son

Chapter III: I Always Have

Chapter IV: Not Anymore

Chapter V: More Than a Womb

Chapter VI: Stolen Virginity

Chapter VII: All of You 

Chapter VIII: Guiltless Pleasure

Chapter IX: A Wager

Chapter X: I’m Glad It Was You

Chapter XI: His Only Queen

Chapter XII: Seven

Chapter XIII: Bound

Chapter XIV: At Least It Was You

Chapter XV: Use Him

Chapter XVI: Irreplaceable

Miscellaneous

1k Celebration!

Commissioned Art: Sverri 

Other Fics Related

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FAQ

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Ivar’s Children

As adults

Sverri’s Prologue

Helm of Awe

[ladynightshade30]

Updates

So, I am a little over halfway done with my first round of edits for Ramon and Isolda. Hopefully, I can finish this round of edits by the end of next week. Then I am going to move on to the next round. Goodie!

Hopefully, I will have it ready for Beta readers by September and an official publishing release next year. I am still working on Chrysalis and Whips my BDSM, slow burn romance. Another story idea I have is called Lemon Seas and is a Little Mermaid retelling featuring Mersharks and Merorcas instead of the traditional mermaids/mermen.

I still have ideas for Ivar/Eadwulf, which I hope to start working on again as soon as things settle down in regards to Ramon and Isolda.

Ivar/Eadwulf stories being worked on Stone by Stone - Ivar and Eadwulf are in an arranged marriage but perfection is a good deal off and they must build their love stone by stone. My Heart's Lighter Soul - Ivar and Eadwulf are soul mates. I really don't have much of an idea on where to go with it other than that. King Takes Queen - While the Great Heathen Army savages the land Ivar falls for the captive Princess Eadwulf, the younger sister of Biship Heahmund.

[vaire-gwir]

Vikings ask what would have happend if sigurd killed ivar instead

I find it very hard to imagine that, I don't think Sigurd would be smart enough to find a way to kill Ivar.

But, hypothetically speaking, I'd say that there would be no more Great Heathen Army raiding England. Also, Sigurd would have never tried to take over Kattegat, he would have been perfectly fine with the way things were. He never seemed to be particularly upset about the murder of his mother, so he would not seek revenge.

Ivar had a clever mind and the recklessness necessary to lead an army. Achieving something, winning battles, conquering cities, facing the English army...Sigurd has none of those abilities. There's no way he would have been able to take leadership and keep it for so long!

Yeah, you can tell I never liked Sigurd much

Thanks for the ask anon <3 I appreciate it!

[therealcalicali]

Ivar the Boneless - Vikings

[rhearoyces]

tell me everything about asa 😍

it's been so long since i thought about her so this will be kind of patchy, but:

asa is ragnar and lagertha's first child, the elder twin sister of bjorn. she's a very religious person, fascinated by stories of both the norse gods, from her parents and floki, and of the christian god, from athelstan. she and her sister gyda are very close, and she similarly forms a close friendship with athelstan.

when the plague strikes kattegat, she becomes badly ill, and has a vision from odin, offering her the ability to tell the future if she is willing to make a sacrifice. asa agrees, her fever breaks, and she wakes up to discover she is blind in one eye and that gyda is dead. while most people believe that the sacrifice was just her eye, mirroring odin's own sacrifice, asa wonders if gyda's death was also part of it. over the course of the next few months she begins to recieve visions of the future, though she struggles to understand what they mean.

after lagertha and ragnar divorce, asa elects to stay with her father, believing that kattegat is where the gods wish for her to be.

while asa is never close to aslaug, they do bond over prophecy, with aslaug teaching her how to decipher the meaning of her visions and how to call on foretellings by herself. asa is, however, a devoted older sister to aslaug's sons, especially sigurd, partially due to his snake-in-the-eye being the same side as her blind eye. after aslaug fails to react to siggy's death, sigurd instead turns to asa, who takes him in and raises him. she tries to calm the feud between ivar and sigurd, foreseeing that it will come to a dangerous end, but is unsuccessful. her close relationship with sigurd strains her relationship with ivar, who believes that she is always taking sigurd's side.

due in part to her disability, asa never strongly pursued fighting and raiding, as her family members did. her first raid was with bjorn in the mediterranean, who convices her to come by reminding her that is would be useful to have a seer on a voyage in to new territory. she's happy to reunite with rollo, and foretells of his descendants' future kingship. she is the first to recognise odin when her comes to inform them of ragnar's death.

asa goes to england along side the great heathen army, truly taking on her position as priestess. when they find ragnar's body she performs long overdue burial rites for him, and she makes sacrifices to the gods before and after the major battles that they fight. she also claims aella's daughter blaeja as her slave to protect her from harm.

when ivar and sigurd get into their fight, it goes one of three ways i haven't decided which yet help. either ivar kills sigurd like in canon, sigurd is injured but not killed thanks to asa's intervention, or, argueably the spiciest, asa sees the axe coming, putting herself inbetween it and sigurd, and being badly injured herself.

after that i haven't planned out much for her because the later seasons drove me kind of insane.

[aressida]

My entry: The True Legacy of my forebears - Unraveling some facts from myths. Pt 2. - Aressida. 20.9.24.

I was standing here, tracing the bloodlines from both my mother’s and father’s sides, uncovering the rich tapestry of my ancestry.

I first discovered my Viking roots last April, tracing them back to the 9th century. It all began with the legendary figures of Ragnar and Aslaug. From there, I found Ivar and his son, which led me to the beginnings of the Montgomery Clan.

My exploration took me further back to Olaf the White, a notable Viking leader known for his conquests in Ireland and the Hebrides, and his wife Aud, whose lineage ties into the saga of Norse exploration.

I eventually traced my ancestry all the way back to Ketil and Kari Fornjotur, a legendary figure said to be one of the first settlers in Iceland.

My roots run deep through Norwegian, Icelandic, Scottish, and Finnish lines, alongside connections to the Laxdaela Saga, Eyrbyggja Saga, Eirik the Red’s Saga, and Landnamabok, all of which are rich with tales of exploration, conflict, and the resilience of the Norse spirit.

When I think of Lagertha, like in the TV series Vikings, I see her as a prominent figure in the Saga of Ragnar Lodbrok. She is portrayed as a fierce shieldmaiden and devoted wife of Ragnar. I did adore her spirit. However, her historical existence is a matter of debate among scholars. While some suggest she may have been inspired by real women warriors from Viking culture, no concrete evidence confirms she was an actual person. So, while Lagertha embodies the indomitable spirit of Viking warriors, I cannot definitively claim she existed in history.

I am also diving deeper into Ivar, who frequently appears in The Tale of Ragnar's Sons and The Saga of Ragnar Lodbrok. From what I have gathered, he is depicted as highly intelligent and strategic, compensating for any limitations he faced. I see how his saga reveals a complex character, highlighting his cunning, cruelty, and strong leadership in Viking warfare. Ivar was known for leading the Great Heathen Army in England, where he played a pivotal role in the Viking conquests. That’s what I know so far.

I also traced some of my bloodlines back to Cornwall, where the Cornish miners lived, and Devon, particularly tied to the early Celtic people and the Kingdom of Dumnonia.

Dumnonia is sometimes associated with Arthurian legend and ancient Celtic royalty, even linking to Switzerland. The history of Cornwall and Devon was shaped by their resistance to Anglo-Saxon invasions, the spread of Christianity, and connections to broader Celtic and Viking cultures.

On my maternal side, the legendary Vikings primarily focused their activities in Northumbria and East Anglia, while my paternal side appears rooted in the southwest of England, where Cornwall and Devon were not part of the main Norse-controlled territories. From what I have learned so far, it seems unlikely there were close familial ties between the Norse and Celts on both sides of my ancestry. Though they interacted through trade, raids, and cultural exchanges, their connections often leaned more toward adversarial or distant.

There are some genealogical roadblocks I am facing, and I am still searching for connections further back in my family line. This means I will need to explore more resources to uncover more information.

I only began discovering these connections earlier this year, and it is been a journey filled with chaos and determination to carve out the time for this exploration. Each new piece of history I uncover adds depth to my understanding of who I am and where I come from.

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

-> next for pt.3 will be about the connections between the Nazis and the Freemasonry. (My great-grandfather was a master craft 33rd degree. Yikes!) <-

[ancestorsalive]

“In 918, Æthelflaed, Lady of the Mercians died … just as the northern city of York was about to surrender to her, after a half-century of viking rule.

Rægnald of the Ui Imair moved fast to fill the power vacuum in York. He’s a descendant of Ivar, one of the leaders of the Great Heathen Army that attacked England in the 860s.

This Ivar died as king of Dublin, but his descendants - the Ui Imair, or O’Ivars - then spent the rest of the 9th-Century - and the first half of the 10th - fighting over York with the descendants of Alfred the Great.

If Rægnald came from Ireland in 918 and landed on the Solway Firth, his route to York took him along Stanegate - literally the "Stone Road", the paved Roman road that linked Carlisle and Corbridge.

The photo shows the only Roman milestone still in its original position on the Stanegate Roman road. This passed under the walls of Vindolanda fort on Hadrian’s wall, and was already centuries old when Rægnald and his army passed by in the early 10th Century.

At Corbridge, Rægnald was intercepted by a Northumbrian army, one of its leaders being a certain Uhtred of Bamburgh. Rægnald brushed them aside, occupied “the land of Uhtred and his brothers” (according to a Northumbrian chronicle) and took control of York.

It would take nine more years before the city returned to English rule.”

- Source: The Early Middle Ages on FB

- Photo by Pete Savin

[voxmortuus]

Consideration

Okay... so after much consideration on leaving and coming back... I've chosen to come back... I want to focus on a few fandoms... Peaky Blinders, The Boys, and Hannibal... and MAYBE Dracula Hemlock Grove Vikings, and Stranger Things... Maybe I'll take a few requests... kinda get me going....

[honestsycrets]

Neglection [Ivar x Healer!Reader, Past!Hvitserk x Reader]

❛ pairing | ivar x reader, past!hvitserk x reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | touched with eir's healing powers, it's your custom to care for the great heathen army. ivar doesn't appreciate the order you care for others in.

❛ tags | NSFW, non-graphic mention of ivar's wound, healer!reader, blind!reader, religious references, past!hvitserk x reader, heavily jealous!ivar, jealousy.

❛ sy’s notes | forgive the looseness of this piece, i'm attempting to complete random freewrites to get into producing more works.

Stubborn, that was how you would define Ivar. Even if he was one of the commanders of the Great Heathen Army, he was also as stubborn as a mule. Pain, he claimed, was one of his deepest allies. He was surrounded by it from birth. 

“Ivar,” you trilled, coming into the great church where Ivar set up his base. “Ivar-- are you here?” 

You tiptoed past sleeping comrades holding the bottom of your skirts, prancing over a viking’s sleeping body, egged on by the nagging urge to chase your injured commander. His rich scent filled your nostrils: blood and breaks, smoke and honey. His slight huffs of pain, slight as they were, led you to this room.

“Commander?” 

“Hush,” came the snapping reply. “My brothers are sleeping.” 

Your foot bumped against cold stone steps. “Where are you?” 

“You’re close.” 

The night was always a trying time for finding the right man. Ivar’s thick candle, flickering in the moonlight, casted little light by which you could guide yourself through the large room. You climbed over the heavy steps by sliding your feet slowly over the stone floor. Then, bumped into another body. 

“Ivar?” 

There was no answer. You bend at the knees and casted your fingers over the crumpled body on the floor. It wasn’t right-- no, his sides were too narrow. His hair in long braids. And when he moaned, your ears were full with a gruff but inviting voice. “Prince Hvitserk,” you mumbled.

“Yes, Prince Hvitserk,” Ivar chided. “You always loved Hvitserk.” 

You left his side with the assumption that Ubbe would be sleeping close by. Wherever Hvitserk was, Ubbe was. You knew that. Bjorn wouldn’t be in this room-- he was keeping watch tonight. “I don’t choose who to heal first, Ivar. The goddesses do.” 

“You can lie better than that.” 

“Please don’t mock me, Ivar. I just want you to be safe--” 

“Safe?” He hummed. “I’m not interested in being ‘safe’, my sweet.” 

Sweet, you flushed. You hoped that the bright light wouldn’t illuminate your cheeks, flush with embarrassment. Then again, you would never know. “You’re blushing, hm, do you like that?” 

“That’s enough. Just come to me.” 

“Why should I? If memory is escaping you,” he bit out. His voice clear, filling your ears with dizzying certainty. He really was close. “I was shot in the thigh. Find me yourself.”

Seconds later, your knees collided with a great wooden chair. Then betrayed you. You fell forward and caught yourself by slamming your hand down on a firm, but fleshy surface “Gods!” he shouted. 

“By Eir!” you snapped back, hands flailing to find the proper wooden surface. “My Ivar, I’m--” 

“Sorry, yes, I know. Congratulations, you’ve found me. Now get on with it.” 

“On-- on with it?”

“Did you not come here to heal it?” he asked. In the hazy field of your vision, you knew he was scrutinizing you. You ran your hand over your long skirt, smoothing it down. Whatever he was staring at, be it your thick braid over your shoulder or the dry blood caked over your hands from a long day of work, you weren’t sure. “Or are those magical hands only for Hvitserk?” 

“Why do you insist on Hvitserk?” 

His head, angled toward his brother, snapped to you. “Given how much time you spend with him--” 

His body tensed. Your fingers ghosted the scratchy fabric of his pants, still splattered with blood, and you realized he too hadn’t washed down. You hovered over the wound, the place where his scent originated from. 

“I do not.” 

“You only serve him breakfast and dinner,” he spat to the side again, stiffening as you moved up to loosen his belt. His hand snapped to your wrist, grip crushing the bone. You lifted your head to him, coming close enough that you could make something out of the face you once knew.

“Don’t do that.” 

“I need a clear working area. It isn’t as if I can see your…” you snaked your hand away from his grip to try and loosen his pants again. He snapped his head one way, then another, watching as you kneeled between his legs. He remained silent as you slid his pants down his thin legs to his ankles. 

 “You’ve seen Hvitserk’s,” he huffed under his breath. 

“How many times do I need to tell you? I’ve not been with him. For years,” you searched through your bag for the right essentials. Yes, another healer had cleaned the area on your request-- but it wasn’t done to your liking. The cloth was loose, the area unpurified. “I don’t even remember what he felt like.” You mumbled.

Ivar’s lips parted with a slight smack. He was wordless for an instant, his head shifting to face his brother. “He was that… immemorable?” 

The air was thick. He, curious. You, exhausted. Ivar’s large arms turned one over another. He twitched his thick muscular thighs as if to urge a response from you. Your hand came over his firm muscles to keep him in place. 

“We were so young. Ubbe was training him,” you said, cleaning the area with a soaked cloth. When you bumped into him, the wound oozed. Your lips pursed and you would blow soft air over his thigh which caused his muscles to tighten. “Besides, I don’t remember much from before Eir took my sight, Ivar. Only the small memories we shared.” 

“But not the dick,” he laughed. Your fingertips swatted the side of his thigh. 

In your mortar, you mixed a mixture of herbs that he only recognized from his mother’s witchery cabinet to soothe his aches. Your lips moved in the strangest of prayers, sanctifying the blend to aid in his healing and pain. Then you slathered it on his thigh, tingles ripping through his thigh to his spine. He wasn’t sure if the mixture or your lips healed the soreness, sweeping over his thigh with a soft kiss. He trembled. 

“You have nothing to be anxious about.” 

“Hm?” 

You lifted his thigh, drawing the bandage in sturdy loops around his thigh. Then, securing it in place, removed his musty pants and boots. It took a moment to locate his other pants. Ivar took them and drew them on, clicking his tongue against the roof of his tongue to urge you on. “I don’t want to be his.”

“Then whose?” 

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you were aware of what he was about to say. Though you couldn’t see, you could feel. Feel the intensity of Ivar’s presence, his eyes following you around camp, his endless neediness. His hand shot out and snatched the cords of your dress. You knew you shouldn’t have worn his dress to deal with Ivar. There was no way to unpeel his strong grip from your cords by will alone. 

“Be mine.” 

There were certain things that you knew the gods wanted. Healing of their finest warriors, the mitigation of pain, and hard workers. Your eyes, glazed as they were, served only to be a liability. To a man like Ivar-- your hands connected with his naked shoulders. His muscles enticed you-- far-- far too well. It had been years since you last had a man. Perhaps, in part, due to Ivar’s consistent scowls and glares.

“I can’t, I-- I swore to Eir,” you murmured. Though the words came of your lips, they did not convince you. You traveled his sturdy shoulders to his neck, then his jaw-- peppered with stubble. God, he knew what the sensation did to you with waves of excitement dancing over your skin. You weren’t convincing anyone.

“What does she care? Does she demand some silly Christian oath?” 

“No, but I--” He grasped your backside, pulling up the skirts over your knees. Then, jerked you onto the throne with legs on either side of his own. His voice softened into a soft honey-like hum, rivaling the soft slick that gathered between your legs. “Let me convince you otherwise, hm?” 

“Hvitserk is here.”  

“Forget him.” Ivar coursed his hand underneath your skirts. It was frustrating how often he could not listen. You could tell Ivar that the sky was blue and he’d debate you! With his calloused fingers guiding there way to the junction of your legs and pelvis, you knew there was nothing that you could tell him. No, nothing that you wanted to tell him, that would change this. Even with your complaining, you longed for the attention. It had been years.

Ivar inhaled air as he brushed your vulva, dancing his thumb across your neglected lips. He slid between the slit, parting your lips with ginger care. It was nearly embarrassing how easy it was for Ivar, running the pad of his thumb up and down. “See? You want me.” 

You wracked your mind for the last time this had happened. The last time a man had his eye on you-- oh, but you remembered, the night you lost your vision. Hvitserk-- whose kind heart soothed your grief-- warmed your body to comfort you. As you traced the memory, the ache of his absence panged strangely in your heart. Oh, how easy a man’s heart was to sway.

“Focus on me,” Ivar sank his fingers into your warm cunt. Your hips shifted in response, flush against his chest, breasts in his face. Your body tensed around his fingers to keep him in place. Ivar wasn’t the sort of man to be held back. Not by a pathetic cry, no. He was guided by the things he was passionate about. “Good--” 

“Please, Ivar, I’ve not--” he curled his fingers, massaging your walls as you hadn’t in years. It was warm, wonderful. His other hand came to your front, massaging a soft spot that only one other had. He rolled in the softest of rhythms, circling purposefully slow. Then quick. The pleasure bloomed-- the ugliest of flowers that you told yourself you wouldn’t have again. That you would devote yourself to Eir, swear off all thoughts of lust and love. All at once, Ivar stopped. He drew his fingers back from massaging your soaked walls and flicked your clit with a soft laugh. 

“So?” 

“No,” you lowered your hips, yipping as you settled against the bulge between Ivar’s legs. “I should-- I should go.” 

“Then go.” 

You didn’t move. No, your hands were knit to Ivar’s shoulders like thread and cloth.

"That is what I thought." You felt frozen in place even as he pulled himself free of his pants and fondled his shaft. The tip of his cock eased along your lips: forward, backward, and forward again. 

“If you stay,” Ivar breathed, slapping his cock against your mound. His breath was warm against your chest, urging you to slide your chest against his. Oh, you knew you were doomed. The memory of sex was all too enticing. Your body clenched, aching at the memory of how it felt. “I won’t let you go.” 

And though he said that, you reached between your legs and lined the warm head of his cock with your aching hole. He snapped your hips down an instant later, his wide grin widening with every bit of his cock that filled your core. Your fingers cringed on his shoulders as he seated himself comfortably in your cunt. Your lips parted, shaking loose noises that you knew would wake up his brothers. 

“Hush,” he leaned in, rocking his hips despite the pain wracking up his thigh. Your hips shifted, rolling down along his cock alone. He didn’t even have to move, no, you were too happy to do this on your own. His thumb found your nub again, spazzing along the little button as you rode him. You missed how it felt: how his warm words filled your soul with bliss, and his dick filled the places you didn’t know needed to be filled. It was what Ivar did-- with his voice, as desirable and silky as honey. 

It ruptured a hole straight through you. Blossoming low in your belly, the pleasure ripped through your cunt. Your body clamped on his, working his orgasm free. He seized your chin, aiming it toward him. And though your unseeing eyes could only see the shadows of his face, your mind was scarred by the memory of his haughty eyes and the bob and weave of his head. You didn't need to see to know what he was about to say next. “You’re mine.” 

You were wrong for this. But it was too late to take it back.