#ragnar;musings

[battledroidwrites]

all i could think about during paz’s sacrifice was what about ragnar

[nihoneshi]

continued from here - (repost) @hxuse-of-muses

-

Reading the full contents of the message sort of put Ragnar at a crossroads of sorts. For one, the message doesn't look malicious now that the full thing was there for the three of them to read, but, at the same time, his worst fears were made a reality--it was another one of them who did this, but even then--whoever did this has remorse and immense guilt, and it nods to someone behind even their own actions. There's a culprit and a true culprit at the same time--two, not one.

What hurt, however, was in the end, Halvor's mercy to not expose who was the culprit in the first place, but, they were never a violent-minded being, Halvor was a bit timid and introverted, busying themselves with their profession instead of being with everyone else. And then it made sense, Halvor was never in a mentally sound state, and whether or not whoever sent this knew was.. unknown at the current state of events.

Ragnar simply sighed.

[ This complications things even further. They speak as if they themselves are manipulated by an outside force--Blackmail, perhaps... ]

The end of the note sounds like if they didn't do this to Halvor, the Artisan's leader would be put into grave danger, or at least if they disobeyed whatever they were told. This truly complicates Ragnar's overall feelings about the situation.

While it was messed up for the betrayal to even happen in the first place, if they were being taunted with a fate worse than death if they didn't go out with it...? Ragnar looks over to Titan, trying to read their expression to any form of an answer, and unfortunately, he could read Cosmos' expression. Like they had an idea of who it could've been already.

[ I have an sickeningly odd feeling the two of you already know. ]

[smileflowcr]

Ragnar Landvik, 22 años físicamente, semi dios y gobernante del reino de hielo, montañas y auroras boreales, omega.

Han Jongsu, 22 años, estudiante de fotografía. stay away from him, please (verse humano)

[djarinsbeskar]

Hmm... it's the way Ragnar is so like Rhain that I can instantly see Medic becoming attached to him, especially after Paz's death.

[lordxbebbanburg]

Introducing Uhtred of Bebbanburg

Dane | Lord of Bebbanburg | Warrior |  Married to Alfred of Wessex

( ╳┊❝ Int: Uhtred of Bebbanburg ❞. ) ( ╳┊❝ Photo: Uhtred of Bebbanburg ❞. ) ( ╳┊❝ Musing: Uhtred of Bebbanburg ❞. ) ( ╳┊❝ Headcanon: Uhtred of Bebbanburg ❞. ) ( ╳┊❝ About: Uhtred of Bebbanburg ❞. ) ( ╳┊❝ Pairing: Uhtred & Alfred ❞. ) ( ╳┊❝ Pairing: Uhtred & Sihtric ❞. ) ( ╳┊❝ Pairing: Uhtred & Leofric ❞. ) ( ╳┊❝ Pairing: Uhtred & Finan ❞. )

[dangerous-realms]

🚸- They see their children //Ragnar

For this

Now Rhaghver may not be the father of the year for many reasons. But their still his hatchlings and he loves em, even if their criminals or dead he loves em.

So there are many reactions to seeing them in various stages. Including his dead ones.

Egg-

"Who's a cute egg? You're a cute egg!"

Man baby talks his not yet hatched children. He knows they can hear their papa's voice as the eggs wiggle in response to him talking to them. He loves to visit his egg bound children, fascinated by the little heart beats he hears within the confines of the hard shell that protects the life inside it.

Hatchlings-

"Heh, you're such a cute little thing."

The man loves seeing his children hatch, proud of the strength their little bodys have as they break out of their egg. Hearing their little crys as they awaken in a new world. Holding their small bodys as they grip one of his fingers and bring it to their mouth because their hungry and cold.

Crawlers and toddlers-

"Quit touching that. Put that down. No, you can't eat that. Get that out of your mouth."

His children are menaces at these ages, their curiosity of the world is boundless. Hence why he keeps an eye on them by bringing them into his office and using a capture spell to create a circular playpen to put them in. Though this is when their mother's aren't around, be it because they left him after laying the egg or just abandoned him to rear the kids on his own. But sometimes when they free roam under his watchful eye he has to step to make sure they don't eat stuff their not supposed to.

School age-

Oh thank the gods they can go to school now

The tired papa of many many children loves it when he can just send them off to school to learn, because at some point it becomes difficult to keep an eye on them and their younger siblings. He's proud when they say they make friends and get good grades. It also gives him time to himself and possibly a women if he doesn't have a partner at the time.

Preteens to fifteen year olds-

"Okay, what did you do now that I need to remedy somehow?"

His preteen and mid teen children tend to be very troublesome, often getting into shit and getting into fights with other kids as hormones run high. Probably because they think he has some high expectations of them since he's the emperor of the Daevelum Empire. And while he does have expectations for his children he doesn't make them so high that their impossible to reach. Just that they get good grades and don't die doing something stupid.

Eighteen and up-

They grow up to fast...

At the age of eighteen is when Rhaghver give his children money and a place to live so they can start their own journey of life. He'll miss them like all hell he knows it's important for then to spread their wings and leave the nest to start their own lives. Making names for themselves and starting their own family's.

Dead-

Ragnar does have dead children. Those children are ones who either died during battle or of natural causes as they don't have the longevity of an Evoline. He becomes really somber on the week he takes off to go and visit all their graves. He hates that he wasn't able to do anything to prevent it, it's not like he can extend their lifespan. He can't bring them back from the dead no matter how powerful his magic is. Though while he has accepted this fact, it does hurt to know the the children he watched grow up are now on the other side where he can't see them.

[klarolineashur1919]

Part 1

Meeting

Summary: Princess Alicent of Wessex daughter of Prince Aethelwulf and Judith meets Ivar the Boneless.

-

"Allie this is a bad idea" Alfred said trailing far behind his sister who was walking ahead of him.

"Aren't you curious of what they look like? If they have pointed teeth and horns on their heads?" Alicent giggled as she made her way to the dungeons.

"Theyre vikings not demons" Alfred said out of breath keeping up with her.

"Is there a difference?" She mused as they made their way around the corner in view of the guards of the vikings.

"Hello there" She addresses them sweetly with her hands behind her back with Alfred off to her side.

"My lady" The guards bowed their heads to her.

"My grandfather sent me. He asked to see the both of you it seemed very urgent, there are others to come soon to cover for you" Alicent said confidently that the guards believed her and she wasn't known to be a liar. They left her and the prince there.

"I can't believe that worked" Alfred whispered as Alicent slowly crept her hand to open the door. The door creeped open with her head popping around it and she was surprised with was she saw. It was an old man and a boy. She made eye contact with the old man and on instinct flinched back. Ivar scrunched his eyebrows looking at his father after the girl as Ragnar was holding in laughter. Alicent slowly peered her head out again.

The old man looked at her with curious eyes. This was Ragnar Lothbrok. Her grandfather told her many great stories of him while her father berated about him to her. She never knew what to believe. But the old man did not look like a demon nor some great heathen monster.

Then there was the boy that stared at her with the most beautiful blue eyes. She looked at him and couldn't help but scoff.

"You're just a boy" she came from behind the door unwary of the two, tilting her head at Ivar coyly. Ivar returned her gaze seeming insulted by her reaction of him.

"Allie come back" Alfred now popped his head from behind the door making Ragnar chuckle at the two. Alicent and Ivar didn't break eye contact. Both for different reasons. Alicent was analyzing him trying to find what was special about him. He was the son of Ragnar Lothbrok after all. But all she saw was a cripple who looked to be only a few years older than her.

"Why is she staring at me?" Ivar said in Norse, he was returning her gaze because he didn't like how she was looking at him. It wasn't pity which he was used to, or any negative emotion that he was used to. He couldn't figure out how she was looking at him, he didn't like it. And all he could think to do was stare her down.

Ragnar only chuckled at the situation as Alicent went closer and closer to Ivar like a moth to a flame. Alicent paused in front of him looking at him in a way that Ivar only could take as scrutinizing. As her eyes trailed over him slowly and throughly several times.

"Allie you shouldn't be so close to them" Alfred said standing by the door.

"What they seem harml-" Alicent went from giggling to screaming in seconds as she was dragged to the ground. Ivar in seconds had left where he was sitting to getting on top of Alicent pinning her to the ground. Her brother Alfred ran out of the room instantly to get help.

"Stupid girl-" Ivar's seething voice came to a halt, a blade quietly but quickly came to his throat.

Ivar felt a rush go through him as he stared down at her. Alicent's shaky hand stayed at his jugular, making her eyes linked with his for any sudden move. Ivar was impressed at the christian girl showing such fight but he knew it was a show. Her face was afraid so he pushed her, pressing his neck further against her blade. Her eyes widened and her brows creased but she didnt pull away the knife. Ivar smirked down at her as he got closer and closer to her for the blade to eventually break his skin. She thought he was mad while he thought she was absolutely...he didn't know. His body was reacting to her. It felt tense like he was restraining himself, she felt it too but out of fear that she had this mad boy's life in her hands.

His breath was uneven and so was hers mixing with his. His blood was starting to drip down her hand but he didn't notice.

"Please stop" She whispered in his language that he was caught off guard. She begging but not for herself. For him by the slight cut on his neck but it bleed quite enough. He didn't move though having her trapped under him. He realized he liked it, him starting to become very conscious of the body under him. A blush starting to creep on his face and by the way he started to look her, it made a move to hers.

"Well I see the children are getting acquainted" King Ecbert came in surveying the room making Ragnar chuckled being forgotten by them in the corner. Ecbert's eyes lingered on Ivar and Alicent but going to his old friend.

"Grandfather..get him off me" Alicent started to struggle but loosened her grip on the knife.

"Ivar" Ragnar gave out a firm hum making Ivar huff giving Alicent one brief unfinished nod before moving back to where he was sitting releasing her. Alicent quickly got up standing beside her grandfather.

"Well now..our guests have had a long journey, they must be hungry perhaps dinner should be in order" Alicent turned her head slowly towards King Ecbert with an expression on her face that made Ivar chuckle.

"Dinner?" Alicent in disbelief eying her grandfather.

"Yes you will fetch them later won't you?" King Ecbert said with a whimsy smile that made Alicent think he was joking but she knew he wasn't. She ended up stomping out finding Alfred outside grabbing him and dragging him away.

"I told you it was a bad idea" Alfred practically whined.

Alicent didn't care to look how a pair of blue eyes watched her leave. How a pair of blue eyes stayed at the door and brightened at the thought of seeing her again.

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine you are a younger sister to Uhtred Ragnarsson who is rescued by Osferth when a Viking nobleman decides to make Uhtred suffer by kidnapping you. The result? You and Osferth fall in love.

Warnings: long post// explicit smut // *fluff*

***

Your name is Y/N Uhtreddottir. You have been raised with little significance by your father within the four walls of Bebbanburg. Even so, your brother, who was baptized as Uhtred after your eldest brother died, always looked after you.

By the time your uncle usurped Uhtred’s inheritance, you had been swept away for a safe place by Father Beocca. In fact, you were fully raised at King Ælfred’s court, who started to plan a betrothal for you when Uhtred came to your life again and thought you deserved better.

Just like that you left the luxuries and comfort of the king’s religious court and started to spend some time within Uhtred’s own friends—although you found the Danes a bit wild for your liking, you got eventually used to their company.

So here you are, following Uhtred’s steps with his friends. You are already acquainted with Brida and Ragnar, treating them fondly. And it’s right in the midst of such people where you now meet a monk.

“Little sis”, says Uhtred arrogantly as usual. “Amidst our group, you might be pleased to know there is rather a Christian within us.”

You raise your eyebrows.

“Why, Uhtred, must you always reinforce the fact I was educated a Christian as if this was not my destiny? I thought you said yourself that destiny is all, didn’t you?”

Uhtred pulls a face at you.

“Well, Y/Nickname, you could have been raised better, but I must not complain since the Gods spared you and we are reunited. But either way I will ignore your mockeries for your own good.” Saying so he pulls a younger male next to his side and smiles. “This is our baby monk. Osferth, meet my sister, Y/N.”

You giggle softly at how he is addressed, but the moment he raises his eyes, looking shy—you are speechless. There is something so tender around him, so kind, so good….

Oh no.

“My lady”, Osferth mumbles, avoiding eye contact. “I am mostly pleased to meet you.”

“As am I”, you respond in the same tone, detesting how easily you seem transfixed by his presence, so ethereal to you. “Where do you come from, lord?”

“I am no lord, m’lady”, he protests in a whisper. “I am merely me.”

But Uhtred breaks the spell by intruding with a snort:

“Oh please! He is the natural son of Ælfred.”

You raise your eyes epically.

“Ælfred? What Ælfred?”

Uhtred folds his arms when looking at you.

“Who do you think am I talking about, sister dear? This is not a very common name, specially amongst the Danes.”

“Or the Saxons of the North”, muses Osferth.

“Aye”, Uhtred agrees. “That king, overly zealous if you ask my opinion, and I am not attributing any sobriquet that might twist his reputation, felt guilty for fornicating and as a result sent his son away.”

“Oh”, you frown. “That is cruel. I lament it profoundly, Osferth.”

“I don’t”, says Uhtred. “He’s useful to us, isn’t he?”

You cast an apologetic glance towards Osferth, as if you could transmit him how sorry you are for the rude manners of your brother. Osferth, however, merely chuckles low and says:

“It is the will of the Lord and it’s wonderful in our eyes.”

“And here we go with the Christian crap again”, says Brida. “I’m out.”

Before you start to plan a way to get yourself closer to Osferth, however, an unusual event comes to your path. In that same day, a group of danes decide to raid against your brother. Naturally, it is a surprise attack which means this has been planned and there might possibly be a traitor amongst the folk Uhtred surrounded himself to.

No matter. The damage is done. You are terrified: having been raised as a lady in waiting by the king’s wife you are no warrior. A damsel, you find yourself in the midst of strange adventures, specially when raptors take you from his sight.

Just like that you are gone, made unconscious—for these are dangerous lads, sworn enemies of Uhtred, to deal with—as you are knocked down. No harm is done to you.

But a damsel in distress you are… and this is too much for some men to bear.

***

Osferth watches quietly as Uhtred, reasonably so, shows his discontent. He feels, rightly so, betrayed and is trying to find out the unfortunate person who attacked his honor.

However, leaving personal sentiments aside, his angst only grew intense when being told of your kidnapping.

Exasperated, he merged into despair. But Osferth, himself shaken to core, seems to find an atypical spirit of bravery when offering to pursuit you and bring you back alive, safe and sound.

“What are you saying?”, Uhtred asks him, perplexed. “Do you hear yourself, Osferth? Y/N was taken by someone who outwitted us.”

“Nothing is impossible for the follower of Christ Our Savior and Lord…”

“Oh please”, Brida meddles in with a heavy sigh. “Not that martyr crap again.”

“It is more than being martyred, lady”, Osferth insists anxiously. “Tis a quest upon which I must prove my worth. Give me this opportunity, sire. You shall not be disappointed.”

Uhtred is about to retort when Ragnar comes up with a better plan that pleases both sides. It is drawn such as this: the party will be divided in three; the first group of men is to lead the way as to attract the attention of their enemies, openly inviting them for a fight. This will open the pave so the other group takes their household and, as requested, Osferth has the lady rescued.

“Little wonder why people look up at you”, says Brida in awe.

“It is a good plan”, agrees Uhtred, reluctantly brought to reason. “But we must leave as soon as possible. I cannot tolerate…”

“Peace, brother. We must think before act. This plan will fail if we are imprudent”, says Ragnar.

And that is how it starts the plan to rescue Y/N Uhtreddottir.

***

You are located somewhere in Yorvic, locked up at a castle of rocks, praying every evening that no man touches you.

The Lord seems to be pleased with your piety, for your prayers are attended. This man, whom you suppose to be named Guthrid or something similar, is making sure that you remain untouched.

Since you are unable to speak Danish there is little you can do but to wait patiently, praying your brother rescues you soon. You decide to occupy yourself with prayers and sewing, watching from your prison window the day turn into night, appreciating, however, the few glimpses of freedom once you are brought to the river to clean yourself.

It is when suddenly this new routine suffers an immediate change. You are close to sleep in your old maid gown when you hear a strange noise—not one of the kind you’ve forced yourself to costume your ears—that promptly startles you.

Has their patience ran thin? Oh Lord.

But to your pleasant surprise it is a rescuer that comes to your sight, not otherwise.

“Osferth!”, you squeak when seeing him.

“Shh, lady. Silence is in our favor, come, come. We must not take long”, so he whispers.

You nod eagerly, prompted to do as he requests. Although embarrassed for leaving in an old, yellow-ish nightgown, there is no time to change robes as time is running out. One never knows how deep is the sleep of one’s captors, so it’s best not to take risk.

Soon, however, Osferth mounts in his dark horse and you ar right in front of him. You both don’t speak, holding your breaths for fear of being caught.

As he gallops fast and a noise is heard from a safe distance—indicating your escape has been discovered—, Osferth breaks the silence.

“My lady, your brother is avenging you”, his voice is husky like the wind, though soften than breeze. You smile to yourself. “Do forgive us for taking some time in rescuing you.”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways”, you answer him softly. “I am only content that my prayers were heard.”

Osferth smiles at you, pleased to find you a pious damsel. It is still dark, but you could capture the first rays of the dawn.

“Do you know where we are going?”, you ask him.

“To a safe place, lady. There is a lord nearby Kent, within the walls of Mercia, that owns a castle. He is loyal to Uhtred, so we can stay there. At least until all of us are reunited”, Osferth explains.

“I appreciate it. Many thanks for rescuing me, lord.”

“I was being only an instrument to Jesus our Lord”, he answers.

Too restless to stay quiet, the thread motivates your talkative side.

“Are you not afraid of the dark, lord?”

“Nay, lady, for I am familiar with this road”, says the man confidently. “It is the King’s road I tend to follow. Far more trustworthy than other’s.”

“We ought to be mindful of wayward men nearby…”, you muse uneasy.

Osferth smiles, always looking ahead of him.

“There is little need to be concerned, lady. I am not letting any harm to befall you.”

Somehow his words make your heart at ease. It takes no more than a few hours before you reach the castle Osferth told you about.

***

The landowner receives you well. Giving you fancy robes that belonged to his late wife, you now occupy her privy bedchambers. It is indeed a fanciful castle, exhibiting a kind of richness that you don’t remember seeing at the king’s court.

All the while you begin to settle, Osferth remains at your side. The aforementioned lord had informed Osferth and you that he should keep you two safe until Uhtred’s personal war ends.

You can tell it frustrates lord Osferth, much to your internal disappointment.

“Well, lord. As a good knight, you should better rest before taking another quest to come. Let me tend you so I shall return you the favor you bestowed upon me by rescuing me from such evil men.”

“Lady, I had no intention in offending you. Forgive me if it seemed so”, says he, suddenly shy. “To have you brought to this castle safe and sound is a divine task to which I praise Lord for delivering it with no risks for the both of us. I was merely wishing I could borrow your brother my sword and to him be useful.”

You smile at his gallant manners.

“Well, lord, there are plenty of manners a knight such as yourself can be useful. For now, however, it is most wise to rest your energies before your lordship is called upon duty once more.”

“The lady is prudent”, muses the landowner.

As promised, you start tending his needs. You sew new robes to Osferth, earning his admiration at your skills with a needle—and you blush delightedly when he replaces his old robes for the new ones you make for him—, you prepare his bath and make sure to pray next to his side.

When the two of you are not spending the company at the landowner’s side or parting of his feast, Osferth finds himself pleased to walk with you around the gardens.

Soon, time begins to grow the fruition of a seed planted months ago. You and Osferth start discovering common tastes that go beyond piety and knightly values.

One day, though, as he watches you dance with other ladies, the landowner chuckles and says, as he raises his goblet.

“Lord, if I had not known you any better, I’d say you are besotted.”

Osferth furrows his eyebrows, but mutters a not so convincing protest.

“Why, the lady seems to correspond your fondness. Life is too short to shield your heart with pride, boy. Go ahead and court her”, says he who attends by the name of H/N.

“Lord, I see I have little argument to resist reason. However, she is my lord’s sister. I could not…”

“Nonsense”, the other interrupts him. “I shall speak to Uhtred. Do not mind that.”

Osferth hesitates. But one more sip of his wine and one more glance you cast him, he is suddenly urged by professing his sentiments to you.

***

It is late night. Osferth hesitates as he accompanies you to your bedchambers. There is an awkward silence hanging between you two after you bubbled about the dancing of tonight’s feast.

“Lord”, you muse it after a while when you finally get to your door. “Was I impertinent? Please forgive me if…”

“Nay, lady”, he interrupts you, sounding more agitated than his usual self. “I.. This is not it. I… I wish…”

You pale. Your mind seems not to comprehend what’s happening.

“Have I offended you in any manner, Osferth?”

And suddenly, just like that, words slip out of his tongue.

“It is my wish to espouse you, lady”, he whispers, lowering his eyes, though his hands are eagerly pursuing yours to hold. “I am unworthy of the greatest prize of world, which is your heart, but I dare to reclaim it. I promise you that although I have no significant surname, I…”

You barely have to think twice.

“Aye.”

Osferth could not believe his luck. His eyes, when raising again and meeting yours, go wide.

“What?”

“I take you as my husband, Osferth.”

His smile spreads before you throw your hands around his neck and press a soft kiss against his cheek. But right as you do, his face turns and you meet his lips instead.

You shiver at this first contact, but you do not shy away. Neither does Osferth.

***

This is more than a moment where the eyes speak words that no tongue can reach, for this is when two souls meet.

Osferth is as taken by you as you are taken by him. Beneath the glimpse of the moonlight that crosses through the courtins of your bedchambers, he is completely mesmerized as you lean closer to him, your fingers already unlacing his shirt.

"Don't, lady", he whispers, aching in desire as your delicate fingertips move from each muscle of his arms, shoulders and neck before slowly going below. "Let me do this first".

How he begs you moves with your body. You are patient as Osferth carefully places himself behind you, so he can enjoy a better view. You giggle as he intercalates soft kisses in your cheek and jaw with his fingers loosing your braided hair.

But every smirk dies the moment he holds your waist and kisses your neck, taking a long while in letting his tongue taste your skin.

"Lady", he humms, smirking when you start moaning softly; pleased to see you discovering these new sensations, Osferth is aroused in sharing such an experience with you. "Are you enjoying it?"

As he starts unlacing your nightgown, Osferth takes his time in denuding you. Had you turned your head in the slightest, you’d see his eyes shining with lust, devouring you just by admiring your y/c skin.

Yet, however aroused you too are, you are patient. As he slowly removes it, he now leans his chin over your right shoulder. Eyeing your full breasts, Osferth himself gets rigid in his pants.

“God, you are a gift from Heavens. Such a beauty…”, he whispers against your skin when he slowly moves his fingers from your hair to your neck, going to your arms before finally taking hold of each nipple.

“Osferth!”, you exclaim louder than you expected, head back against his shoulder as you experience such a great sensation, loving him with every bit of your flesh.

“Yes, my love”, he groans against your ear, finding almost unbearable to remain motionless when you are giving yourself to him like that. To feel your nipples hardening under his touch is already making his manhood ache. “Tell me… How do you find this of your liking?”

You arch lightly your back, rubbing one leg against the other due to the friction it gives you. Seeing it so, Osferth instinctly tosses away your gown, shushing your silent protests with a kiss before going back to your full breasts with his hands.

Yet now he moves another hand right to the between of your legs and seeing how soaked you are, both of you share a sloppy, moaning and lustful kiss.

He grins lightly at how impatient you are, trying to turn back at him so you can kiss him better and have him all over you. But Osferth is patient, nonetheless; he likes to take his time.

“Osferth…”, you whimper.

“Aye?”, he bites down your lip, smiling broadly at your reaction. “Say it, love. Come to me.”

You give up trying to turn at him, instead letting your body being under his control. As he inserts one and then two fingers in a slowly, but intensely move that makes you breathless… You soon arch your back, your legs are lifted almost out of control and you shake under his touch, much to his delight.

“Heavens!”, he groans, now kissing you fervently as he lays you down. “Perfection, Lady Y/N. Oh!”

“You are mine, and mine alone”, you vow, breathlessly, helping remove his pants and soon getting your hands at his manhood. “Please, Osferth. Please, let me feel you like you felt me.”

Before he could think twice, however, you are faster with your hands. It arouses you further to feel him with your delicate hands.. Never before had you held it.

“Let me help my lady”, he mumbles hotly, getting himself straight so he can show you how it’s done. Osferth smirks at your effort, pleased to see you enjoy taking it as much as he does when being taken. “Oh God.”

“Is it good?”, you ask him innocently, though there is no innocence in your eyes.

Osferth throws his head back at his pillow in response, his cut short breathing giving you a positive response. You feel yourself wet again as you please him, finding his manhood dripping wet as you make circular moves or when it’s throbbing under your delicate fingers.

You want him to come undone, and perhaps you are going on a similar fate. This is lust, a thought occurs you; the very type of lust the king’s wife would admonish you for. You would be a sinner, and a part of your conscience reprehends you for behaving in such a manner.

However, no thought ever reaches your heart the moment your name is out of your lips. No reason can argue it when he rolls his eyes, groaning under his breath. Nothing can dissociate you from the joy of making him feel the same climax he did to you.

You are still admiring the liquid that comes from his manhood when you are surprised by the urgency of his lips against yours. Suddenly he is all over you, your bodies are now linked as one.

“My lady”, he moans in between feverish kisses. “I have longed for you night and day”.

“As have I”, you admit it, holding him close against you. “I love you, Osferth.”

He stops a moment to contemplate the color that paints your eyes and smiles. His smile spreads when touching your face before wrapping his fingers around your curls. You blush at such an intimacy.

“I love you, Y/N. You are my lady”, he says firmly, leaning to kiss you slowly before the two of you lock hands and finally start making love.

***

By the time Uhtred had arrived, you and Osferth had secretly married—or perhaps not entirely secret since Lord H/N helped making all official, which included a grand feast.

Fearful, however, of how your brother would react to such news, you arrange an excuse to make a visit at a nearby convent. But the plan does not come out as any good as you wish for Uhtred comes sooner than planned.

“Sister dear! Y/nickname!”, he beams upon seeing you. “Riding a well a horse, I see. I almost thought you were running away from me”, he jests.

You blush, startled as you are when his thunderous voice comes to your ears. You dismount the horse and goes to greet him properly. In the end, you realize you have missed him too much to fear him.

Not from afar you reunite with Uhtred, Osferth is met by his friends in turn. It is all very gleeful, indeed, when father Breocca—always him—shares the news that Lady Y/N and Lord Osferth have been lawfully married before God.

“You did WHAT?!”

Uh-oh… Something is not going well, perhaps? Though most of Uhtred’s army is giggling like silly girls, he is too offended to join them. Giving you a look and then at Osferth, he seems to fail to understand what could you possibly have seen in the Baby Monk.

Brida, however, is not cutting any slack of his part. She sighs and says:

“Really now, Ragnarsson? How slow are you? It’s always been crystal clear that they have been attracted to each other. Must be the Christian vibe…”

“Not just that”, you protest shyly. “He is like the knight of the stories I’ve been told about. He is kind, generous, brave and good. He rescued me…”

Uhtred frowns at you, far from pleased. He then points his finger at Osferth, who barely blinks at his anger demonstration.

“You had only ONE job, Osferth!”

“Uhtred, let’s be reasonable…” father Breocca intervenes. “Isn’t it better that Lady Y/N is married to a man of your trust than let King Ælfred use her as his political pawn and thus marry her to some stranger lord?”

Uhtred is still frowning, but little by little every anxiety dies when he comes to reason. His face softens, but his shoulders remain tense when he admits, although unwillingly so:

“I see reason in your words, father. Very well. I give you two my blessing. But we must feast it in the right way.”

He smiles when seeing how relieved you and Osferth are. Uhtred beams and puts the young man to a hug:

“As much I hate to be closely related to that moron king of your father, welcome to the family, Osferth! You better watch over Y/N properly…”

He chuckles quietly and gives you a loving glance, one of the kind that warms your heart.

Now in a merrier scenario, all is well that ends up well.

“I vowed before the Lord and…”, he adds hesitantly (much to Uhtred’s pride, though), “your gods too sir that I will love my dearest Y/N until the day I die.”

“Excellent news! Now let us rejoice and drink!”

Osferth and you are finally left aside as the Lord H/N welcomes your brother and his party. Now alone, you lead him to the gardens, enjoying the peace harmony you’ve accomplished.

“I am glad everything ended perfectly well. It is the will of the Lord and it’s marvelous before our eyes”, you whisper, now gently caressing your husband’s face the moment you two stop under a tree.

“Indeed it is. I am blessed for having you here with me and finally able to call you lady wife”, he smiles warmly at you.

Resting your head against his, with no words but a smile stamped on your face, you move his hand and place it over your belly. Osferth’s eyes go wide.

You two exchange glances as if you speak silently with no words. Then comes the giggling and the embrace.

“A family! Our family! I love you, my lady!” He professes it as he spins you around. “I love you mostly ardently!”

“As I love you with my body and soul”, you whisper back. “We are having our family at long last, my handsome lord husband.”

You are finally living your own fairytale and that is enough for the two of you…

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Vikings and their eras

Summary: what era would vikigns be in if they weren't in their own

Notes: I did a lot of text for this one, bc I loved thinking about this!! There are some pretty popular characters missing (Ragnar, Sigurd, Athelstan) where I just couldn’t imagine a certain era for them. Thank you so much for your request :)))))) Some of these eras aren’t wonderful or filled with positivity but that doesn’t mean these characters wouldn’t thrive.

tagged: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @leithdragon @demon-of-the-ancient-world @alicedopey, @ivarlover @levithestripper @batmandallyboy @akayxo09 @vrtualfairy (hmu to be added!)

based on this request | masterlist | requests are OPEN!

Lagertha

Lagertha would thrive well in times of crises and war (lmao). The black death, WW1 or 2, or long periods of war/famine/sickness is where Lagertha does well. Think about her what you will, but she brings people together, manages them, and takes care of them. She’s a natural leader, and a fighter, so she’s able to protect her community.

We’ve seen examples of this in the series, think during the sickness in Kattegat, or when she takes over and completely builds up Hedeby. People tend to trust her, and especially women look up to/feel safe around her. When disaster strikes, she would be able to save/take care of them.

Aslaug

I had to think about this for a really long time because I think that Aslaug fits so well into the era the show is set in, however, I finally decided on the 1920s. Even as a feminine woman in Viking Scandinavia, she had a lot of authority over herself and knew how to grow a business (Kattegat) when Hirst wasn’t feeling sexist.

In the 1920s, she’d live in a big city, maybe Berlin or New York, and she’d own some sort of speakeasy. I’d love to think that her speakeasy would be a place for the very few pagans of the city to meet up in secret, and she herself would still be a norse pagan, völva, etc. Also, she’d dip her toes into wild jewellery design (think Schiaparelli). Definitely someone who attracts artists and would be considered a muse.

Rollo

Middle Medieval Ages for sure. He thrives being a knight because he’s a manipulative little hoe that I can’t stand. Gets to do his performative heroism during tourneys and woo women only to leave them all alone.

Rollo is not a good person, esp. towards women. He constantly gets into trouble with the church and with fathers whose daughters he ‘dishonors’. Definitely needs a wife like Gisla to slap some sense into him. I think that eventually (mid forties) he’d start to mature. Also, having children would help him become a better person (I think they should have put that into a show).

Bjorn

Bjorn thrives well in the late 2000s to early 2010s, when travel blogs were on the rise. He’s one of the early influencers, and travels the world together with Halfdan. This only works bc cancel culture isn’t real yet. Bjorn would say some stupid shit and get hounded for it let’s be real. Nonetheless, there is always some rumour about him and Halfdan being a thing (they would be if they both didn’t constantly say ‘that’s gay’).

Alternatively, Bjorn might make a good colonizer (can I say that?), but it’s not like he isn’t that already.

Ubbe

Ubbe would thrive during the late medieval ages (defo not the Renaissance though). He’s the type of man who would enjoy the idea of the charming knight. I think Ubbe would definitely enjoy the idea of quests/saving damsels in distress/having the arranged-marriage-turned-lovestory (he’s a booktok girly tbh).

This doesn’t mean that all of this is totally pure. Ubbe gets some shit twisted in canon as well (ESPECIALLY concerning Margrethe). Maybe his first war was something crusade-like, and he went into it thinking of heroic acts and blabla and then got fucked up by battle and gore. Also has a religion and Madonna/whore complex problem.

Hvitserk

In the show, Hvitserk was always seeking sense/purpose while also struggling with balance, which is why I think he would thrive in the 1970s. This is THE era for protests and social change. Climate change, feminism and sexuality all became important topics. Going to protests would be able to give him a sense of change, and I think it would be liberating for him as well, to be able to free himself of his restraints by changing something.

I’ll go into communes a little more for Helga, but I think Hvitserk would thrive in an early commune a lot. He needs to have people around him taking care of his mental health, and this would be great for his mental health. Yes, therapy helps a lot of people, but I think if Hvitserk lived in our time, he would think that talk therapy is stupid, and completely close himself off to it. This guy just needs a lot of love, okay?

Also, he needs to smoke some 70s weed every once in a while.

Ivar

Just like Hvitserk, Ivar would thrive during the 1970s. However, this is for completely different reasons and also means that no one else gets to thrive. I chose the 1970s because it’s THE serial killer decade.

That honestly sounds terrible but we all know it’s true.

Ivar would be bitter about being discriminated/not being able to fully take part in society/not getting any women and that would turn him homicidal. He definitely overcomplicated his killings and does shitty bloodeagles to get some cool name but all he gets is like “the Viking killer” or something and he’s so mad about that he reveals himself on his deathbed to change his title. It doesn’t work.

Floki

Floki just wants to be where Helga is, but he would not thrive in the 2020s. I think he’d get in arguments with Helga about vaccinations. However, I want Floki to be in the 2010s/2020s with Helga. He definitely has some kind of hallucination-related mental illness at the least. I think that especially the season where he acted out against Helga (season 4?) shows that his mental health was making him harmful towards others and probably towards himself.

I can’t diagnose Floki, but I think we can all see that he might have some kind of bipolar disorder/mania disorder on top of a schizophrenia. He needs some kind of meds, and he needs someone to help him taking them.

Helga

This is very specific, but Helga would do AMAZING during the early era of Covid (like March 2020). Yes, she’s a very social person, but I do believe that Helga would be part of a quite isolated commune if she lived during modern times, and even during that time be isolated with Floki.

I would like to think that the commune could be self-sufficient and Helga just gets to go ham making banana bread and care packages. She thrives in this time where she doesn’t really have to go to work (even though she loves being a kindergartener too) and gets to take care of the people in her commune, and even further than that from the comfort of her own home.

Astrid

This woman thrives where no one else does, and that is toxic 2020s twitter. All she does is tweet, get cancelled, tweet, get popular, repeat. She’s so so annoying and bullies a bunch of people who don’t deserve to be bullied. Is most definitely blocked by trump, hailey Bieber and the Kardashians at least.

Makes a living by selling feetpics.

Ecbert

Ecbert thrives in the 1980s. Now. Hear me out. Ecbert in neon Zumba clothes. There, that’s my reason.

I’m just kidding, there’s more. I’m not old enough to fully understand most of the decades I’m talking about in here but the 1980s, it seems, were this extremely colorful and wild decade. Literally everywhere, color just kind of seemed to explode, and I think Ecbert would thrive in this kind of chaotic atmosphere.

(are there people in their forties or older on this post that can verify?)

Aelswith

I’m really sad that we didn’t go into Aelswith more in the show, but I firmly believe that Aelswith would make an amazing Sufragette. Thinking back to her time on the show, she was always very firm in standing her ground, more so than Judith or even Lagertha in some ways (especially in the sense that she was SO YOUNG). She directed and strengthened Alfred, and I think during season 6, she used a beartrap to defend her baby?

Anyway, I imagine her as a rich/aristocratic lady in London who definitely steers the household while Alfred brings the money in (he likes art) and she decides that, if she puts in the work in the house, she should be able to decide over the country that house is in as well.

[castbracelet240]

Lucy recovering from her fight with Ragnar

I hate how the wings came out but oh well. Maybe I’ll redraw it at some point.

oh yeah she’s a Bekinite but not a muse. lady’s already a half dragon that can use magic

[dangerous-realms]

"Heh~. I don't have that problem. My species has venom that acts as an aphrodisiac and venom that works like a numbing agent and turns any pain into plesure~."

"Great this prick is here... best keep away from him Laila he might eat you."

Azura whispers to the goat demon as if she's not hiding out of her father's sight. She was not interested in knowing her father's size today or ever.

@shatteredminds​ asked: 

Oh no the father of Azura has something to say

“Are you saying your a foot taller then me yet you only have ten inches of dick~?” _____________________________________________________________

“Hey, i’m happy with my size! And if by chance there’s a woman out there it isn’t big enough for, i can still put in work with my tongue. Besides, too big and it’d cause most women too much pain to deal with it and turn them off.”

[author-morgan]

i see your requests are open!! can you do something sweet with Harald? (and Halfdan if you’re comfortable with polyamory!)

Of courseeeee. Here is some Harald fluff (with a pinch of bittersweetness and angst). I was going to have this be polyamorous (bc those two come as a pair more often than naught in my fics lbr lol), but once I got started it just turned into something more Harald-centric. Hope you don't mind! (I went a little overboard for him again) Harald Finehair x fem!Reader

HALFDAN THE BLACK is the first to enter Tamdrup’s great hall upon returning from a successful raiding season. The doors swing open wide, and those gathered for the tribunal part, making way for the victorious. Rising from the seat of power, you go to him with open arms, smiling. “I see you brought my husband back,” you muse, watching Harald enter the hall at last, surrounded by a score of rowdy warriors and overjoyed denizens—rightfully so, they have returned with riches and have lost fewer than a dozen warriors during the raids.

“I fear what you would do if I didn’t,” Halfdan laughs, tossing down a heavy coin purse on the table before taking you into his arms.

“It is always good to see you again,” you smile, kissing your marriage-brother’s cheek. He is inclined to agree. After long days at sea and many weeks away, it is good to be greeted by a fair and familiar face such as yours. Halfdan clasps your shoulder as he steps around you, pouring himself a cup of mead—leaving you to his brother. “Harald,” you greet, and the hall falls silent as he approaches you.

His breath catches as he beholds you, standing before him regal as ever with a gifted silver circlet resting upon your brow. His wife. His queen. His heart. It is as though the rest of the world falls away when he stops before you, rough hands cradling your face with the gentlest of touches. “By all the gods” —he strokes his thumbs over your cheeks— “you’re even more beautiful than I remember.”

Harald’s kiss is slow and soft—save for the familiar scratch of his beard against your cheek and jaw—and speaks of the months of longing to return to your loving arms. You kiss him like you’ve done a thousand times before, falling into the rhythm as though you never parted. Your fingers comb through his beard as you part, foreheads resting together, but then your smile widens as you wrap your arms around him, holding him tight. “I’ve missed you,” you breathe. But now he’ll be yours again until the next raiding season comes.

THE WHEEL OF time does not slow, and the harvest season fades into winter and then to the first buds of spring. Nigh all the Vestfold gathered in Tamdrup tonight for the feast to celebrate sowing the first seeds of the new crop and seasoning the turned soil with sacred blood. But that is not the only reason the jarls and fighting men have come all this way. In the coming weeks, Harald, Halfdan, and anyone else willing to sail will make their way to Frankia to raid Paris with Ragnar Lothbrok. Festivities last long into the night, but Harald comes to you soon after you take leave.

He draws lines over the length of your spine as you lay with him, head pillowed on his chest, listening to the slow rhythmic beat of his heat, bare legs entwined, but then you twist in his arms and lean up to kiss him—featherlight and sweet as the mead still on his breath—fingertips following the blue-black scrollwork of his tattoos. Then he tilts his head back, letting you trace the curving lines on his neck and down to the ones on his chest—only your touch could ever make him tremble.

“Paris?” You repeat, following one of the silver scars on his ribs with your fingertips. He’s spoken of the city to the south and of Ragnar Lothbrok before, but with the night’s feast, it became official. Come the spring, he would prepare his ships and set sail to join the farmer-turned-king on his second venture to Frankia.

“Yes,” Harald says, his voice a low rasp. He sees it in your eyes, a flicker of hope that maybe this time you will sail with him and his brother—that you will be able to visit the distant lands so many speak of—but now is not the time for you to venture into the unknown. Your life is not something he can risk so easily and carelessly. Harald curls his hand around yours, then kisses the center of your palm and holds your hand close to his chest. “I need you here, my heart,” he tells you, but you already know that.

“I’ll plan a feast and a sacrifice before you and Halfdan depart,” you tell him—it is what any good queen and wife would do to see her husband and people return safe and with victory. And then he takes your lips and your breath, holding you close. You sigh into his mouth, letting his tongue brush yours, fingers slipping back into his unbound hair. His kiss is reverent, and you cannot help but miss the cracked softness of his lips against yours when he parts, but it is only so he can hold you in his arms.

TEN DAYS AFTER Harald Finehair first sets sail to Kattegat, his brother and the remainder of the fleet are ready to follow. The last of the barrels and crates are being rolled and loaded into the longships when you arrive on the docks to bid everyone farewell and good fortune on their journeys. Six hundred men and shieldmaidens from the Vestfold have gathered over the last two moons, all to leave on this day to join Ragnar Lothbrok in his endeavors—but Tamdrup will feel empty without their presence. Though, there is already a newfound hollowness in the wake of Harald’s departure.

You find Halfdan amongst the chaos, checking the yellow-red shields secured on the side of one of the ships. “Halfdan,” you call, and he turns on heel to face you with a half-bow—nigh teasing in nature, but you are, after all, his queen. Before he can stand upright, you reach out and rest your hands on his cheeks, and he bends a little farther, accepting the kiss you bestow upon his brow. “Be safe,” you tell him, hands moving to clasp his. “Look after your brother.”

Halfdan squeezes your hands. “You know I will,” he assures you. That is something you’ll never have to worry about—the bonds of blood and brotherhood run deep. You nod, and he steps back down into the longship. At your hest, they will set sail for glory and, if the gods deem it so, Valhalla.

One of your attendants hastens to the dock, stepping forward to present the gift commissioned from the blacksmith and jeweler—it's meant to be a surprise in celebration of another year of marriage, but alas, such care and detail took longer than expected. It’s a necklace of bronze and silver with a pendant shaped into the likeness of Mjölnir clasped in the mouths of two silver dragonheads on a chain of alternating links. “It was not finished before Harald left,” you explain, placing the necklace in Halfdan’s palm. “Give it to him, please.” Halfdan nods. “And all my love.”

RESOUNDING HORNS ANNOUNCE the return of Harald Finehair’s fleet in the dark hours of the evening. You rise from bed and make haste to the docks—handmaids following close behind with slippers and a cloak, but decorum is the least of your concerns. So few have returned, you think, counting the dwindling number of ships gathered compared to how many set off. The first wave departs one of the docked ships, and there is no air of triumph in those who press past you—eager to return to home and hearth and for solid ground beneath their feet. “Harald!” You call as he steps from the longship and onto the dock.

But he does not embrace you as he normally would after such a long voyage, and the spark in his stormy blue eyes is faded. It is only when you see who the men are carrying off the ship on a crude stretcher do you understand the cause of your husband’s sullen mood. “Halfdan,” you breathe, looking between him and Harald. You step to your marriage-brother and lift the pelt of fur covering his torso, grimacing—the wound at his shoulder is a festered, blackish mess, and the sweat on his brow in the first chill of winter speaks of the fever that’s set in during the return voyage.

You turn to one of your handmaids. “Call on Mjöll,” you instruct, “quickly.” The years have seen you clean and bind both Harald and Halfdan’s wounds, but this is far beyond your skill, and an herbalist will be needed to call Halfdan back from the cusp of the next life. The girl nods and sets off to the healer’s hut. Looking back at the stretcher-bearers, you point up the way to the great hall. “Take him to the great hall.” In such a state, Halfdan will need several pairs of watchful eyes.

Dark shadows cast from torchlight and iron braziers shroud Harald’s expression—he does not understand how it is you can stand with so much equanimity when faced with such loss. Harald steps to you, and his shoulders fall, then wordless, he slumps into your arms, resting his forehead on your shoulder—another weight you must bear—hands twisting into the fabric of your pale linen shift. You smooth your hand over his back, following the length of his braid-bound hair. “I thank the gods you have returned to me, my love,” you breathe, unwilling to let him part just yet.

Mjöll works to prepare a cataplasm of moss and herbs into the hours of the night, and you kneel at the prepared pallet of fur and pillows, placing a cool, damp rag upon Halfdan’s brow. There is little else you can do for your marriage brother besides trust the herbalist’s remedies, pray to the gods, and hope they are merciful. Mjöll nods for you to leave and tend to your husband. She and her apprentice will care for Halfdan.

He is pacing the length of the foot of the bed when you enter your shared chambers—hands flexing into fists at his side. You step into Harald’s path, hands going to the ties and buckles of his leathern armor. “If the High One truly sought Halfdan’s company,” you tell him, setting aside his vambraces before turning back, “he would already be feasting in the Halls of the Slain.”

To Harald, it is poor consolation but consolation all the same. And deep down, he knows you are right. Shrugging off his worn and stained tunic, he goes to the washbasin and splashes water on his face and chest, scrubbing away a mix of sweat and salt spray, and blood too. Harald returns to sit at your side on the bed—he stares ahead at the flickering flames of tallow candles. “What happened?” You finally dare ask.

“The magic of Ragnar Lothbrok failed,” he tells you. The lingering taste of defeat is bitter on his tongue—the gods had forsaken them on that river, had forsaken Ragnar. As it happened to be, he was just like any other man. “We were humiliated and pushed out of Frankia with nothing to show for it.” He does not remember the last time he returned to Tamdrup, to you, with nothing to show for his travels. It will take time for the Vestfold to recover from such a defeat.

You touch his cheek, fingers combing through his unkempt beard, drawing his gaze to you. “You live, as does your brother.” The rancor in his expression falters, his jaw unclenching, and he leans into you—his nose just barely bumping against yours. Yes, he and Halfdan escaped with their lives. That is more than can be said for many who embarked on the journey to Paris. Ragnar Lothbrok may have lost the favor of the gods, but they still smiled upon Harald and his brother. “That is enough for me,” you say, softly. He kisses you then, and you meld against him with a sigh and a slight smile that he can feel on your lips.

HE SITS ON his throne—slouched to the side and staring into the abyss, twisting his shark-tooth crown in his hands. Your king has returned, yet still, it is only you shouldering the weight of the kingdom. You stop at the dais and extend your hand toward him. “Walk with me.” It is not a request. Harald rises and follows.

The path through the forest is well-worn, both into the Earth and memory. It carves a winding route through the forest and up bare rock to a promontory overlooking Tamdrup and the mouth of the fjord—a place you frequent to look for sails on the horizon when the men are away, a place where Harald promised he would marry you one day what now feels like a lifetime ago.

But the morning fog has yet to lift from the land, just as the fog of bitterness in the aftermath of what happened in Paris has yet to lift from your husband and king. There has been no feast to honor the memory of those lost since his return several days ago and no promise or mention of what comes next for the Vestfold. It is as though he is lost in despair, mourning his brother already despite the day-by-day recovery—just yesterday, Halfdan’s fever broke.

You sit atop one of the boulders there on the promontory. There’s space enough for him to join you, but, for a moment, he lingers and stares. In the morning the light and mist, you seem like one of the winged women—ethereal. A sight that makes his heart twist and ache given the dark thoughts and mood which have taken hold of him since returning to Tamdrup.

Harald sits next to you and hangs his head, letting his hand rest on your thigh—a gentle weight and warmth. “I fear I have not been a good husband,” he confesses. It is never an easy thing for a prideful man to admit weakness and accept his faults, less so for a king. But the failed siege, his brother’s injury, and the long months spent away from you, from home, have been a heavy weight on his heart.

It does not feel right, leaving you time and time again, each longer than the last, to rule over his lands and care for his people—duties which are his. But you rule so fairly, and his people love you for it. “I have left you too often,” he breathes, a new softness and the tremble of guilt in his voice. “And I have left you to carry a burden meant to be shouldered by two backs” —his hand runs across your shoulders, down your spine— “not one.”

You never expected being wife to a king—being a queen—would be easy. Least of all, the wife of an ambitious man with dreams of uniting Norway under a single crown. Harald Finehair is vikingr. To deny him that would be to deny his true self, and even on the loneliest and coldest of nights, you could and would never ask him to be anything other than who he is—the man you love.

“I knew what was expected of me” —you card your fingers through his beard, the first tinges of silver beginning to appear, and he can find nothing but underserved doting affection in your soft gaze— “of you, when we married.” Harald covers your hand with his own, the rough pads of his fingers pressing into your palm as his hand curls around yours, a sigh on his lips. “And I happily said yes, remember?” 

He remembers the day you married well—the crown of spring wildflowers you wore, the blood-tinged kiss after exchanging rings, the bridal race with Halfdan and your cousins tripping over one another to get to the mead hall first. It is still the happiest day of his life—tied with every other day the gods let him wake up beside you.  

Shifting, you lean your forehead against his and gently slip your hand free from his. “You will always have my love and support, wherever you may be.” Harald closes his eyes and curls his hand around the back of your neck, thumb stroking the soft skin beneath your ear. And you press your hand against the center of his chest—feeling the outline of the Mjölnir necklace under your palm. “And I will be here or at your side,” you tell him, a soft whisper dancing over his lips, “wherever you need me to be.” And now he’s certain—you are too good to him.

[Harald-Halfdan taglist: @ahotmesswithprivilege / @alicedopey / @certifiedlittleshit / @charming-merlin / @elluvians / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @gearhead66 / @gossamarnie / @hc-geralt-23 / @hereforreadandwrite / @moonlightsspirit / @morganamayne / @mrsragnarlodbrok / @n0sferatus / @naaladareia / @queenyalo / @rigshak / @savagemickey03 / @xinyourdreamsx / @yalos-writing ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Murder Bro taglist, or any other taglist, just let me know with this Google Form! if I missed you, I am sorry! but make sure to mention it in the replies or fill out the linked Google Form!

[nihoneshi]

"This means Nothing to me. It's just Reality. You're only gonna see, What I want you to see. And when it's said and done Mercy, There will be none It's never to become For you are not the One. "

[helreginn]

Hey! I know this seems random, but I’ve been looking for people to rp vikings and I’m Norse, have you found many people? I would make a blog for a Viking character if I knew there were people out there. Let me know, thanks! - ooc.

@mcu-pep

Hope you don't mind me posting this publicly. I myself am in search of people. I even resurrected @theroleplayingedda (a masterlist of rpers) in hopes of finding people with limited success. But I did find as many active (this year, at least) blogs in my followers and in the tags that I could. So I figured I'd put this here in case others were having trouble too.

Really hope you guys do not mind me tagging you like this... If not, lemme know and I'll remove you. :)

@nykrose Nyk, the Näcken.

@valkxrie Brunnhilde, the Valkyrie

@varldsormr Jormungandr, the world serpent

@eddapoetic Havar, a fun fusion of many trickster deities

@starwrittenfates Sigyn, too many monikers. IDK, man.

@astridnorddottir Astrid, a valkyrie

@wildserkr Victor Halvorsen, a berserkr

@gulldrengur Baldr

@brknmnds Ivar, Sigurd and Hvitserk of Vikings as well as Angrboða and Jörmungandr

@arcanigenum Loke and Ull, the gods

@yggdrasilushxrt Dvalinn, one of the four deer of Yggdrasil

@savstaroth Thor, the god and a couple of OCs that might fit the descriptor idk like Ida Fjalarsdóttir, a witch

@mistressesandmastersofmythos Odin, Hel and Freyja, gods

@cryptiique Angrboda, Atreus (loki), Heimdall and Freyr (Of God of War canon sorta)

@storiedhistories SO many God of War muses.

@tessastormrp Baldr, Freyr, Harald Finehair, Loki, Tyr, Ubbe (GETS HIS VERY OWN TRIGGER WARNING!) Ragnarson and Sihtric of TLK

@all-that-is-gold-is-now-gone So many Vikings and Vikings: Valhalla and The Last Kingdom muses!

@entangledmuses Lagertha, Anma and Katia of Vikings. Eadith from TLK and lots of ocs with Viking and TLK verses!

@eclipsecrowned Fenrir, Freyja, Hel (Listen. LISTEN, Kadian's Hel is the BEST Hel. I DO make the rules), Hnoss, Laufey, Odin, Sigyn and Utgard-Loki

@belcvednanna Nanna

@melodicwitchlight Kiwi Hel (XD), Aslaug, Thorunn, Floki, Siggy,

@moonhoundman Hati, son of Fenrir

@berserkerofrealms Garmr, Hel hound

@paracosmms Angrboda, mother of Jormungandr, Hel and Fenrir

@bebbanburged Uhtred of the last kingdom

@sigynthevictorious Sigyn mother of Narfi and Vali

@bruadcr Þrúðr Þórradóttir, Sif, Ullr Lokison, Sigyn & Jormungandr

@runaljod Magni & Móði Þórsson, Fenrisúlfr, Þór, Loki, Frœyjɑ, Angrboða, Óðinn, Jörð and Loki

@mystiokinesis Bergfinnr Thrymrson

@kingoftheravens Loki, Fenrir, Jormungandr, Hel, Angrboda, Hati and Skoll

@deficd Ragnar Lodbrok, Hilda Ragnarsdottir, Gyda Ragnarsdottir, Sindre Ísleifsson, Solveig Ísleifsdottir, Valka

@crowsandmurder Bjorn Ironside, Ragnar Lothbrok

@alldaddy Odin

@kissofthemuses Freyja, Sigyn,

@heartsdefine Sigyn

[crowsandmurder]

for a mobile user, wanting to send a meme, can you post your muse list?

Sure! Carrd is available on mobile and I'll link it here but I'll list too:

My Carrd

Here is a complete list, as well. The bolded ones are the ones I am open to writing, at the moment. They're just the ones I can probably easily whip something up for or a meme reply, with the way my brain is processing.

Any on my carrd, I am open to be messaged about and we can plot. My mind just is only open to anyone

ALEX KAREV. grey's anatomy

ALFRED THE GREAT. vikings

AVERY BARKLEY. nashville

BJORN IRONSIDE. vikings

DAEMON TARGARYEN. house of the dragon 

DAVID SILVER. beverly hills 90210 

DR. DEREK SHEPHERD. grey's anatomy

HARRY POTTER. harry potter

JACKSON AVERY. grey's anatomy

JAMES POTTER. harry potter

JESSE ST. JAMES. Glee.

LOUIS XIV. versailles

LUCKY SPENCER. General Hospital

DR. MARK SLOAN. grey's anatomy 

NATHAN SCOTT. one tree hill

OBI-WAN KENOBI. star wars

RAGNAR LOTHBROK. vikings

ZACK MORRIS. saved by the bell

Full carrd: https://crowsandmurder.carrd.co/

[stheresya]

I love seeing alyssa sutherland characterized as aslaug because it's like looking at a real life pre-raphaelite muse. just.. everything about her: her sharp face, her height (she's taller than ragnar!), her languid manner. all these coming together to give her that ethereal allure that belongs to a distant past. it's honestly a shame that alyssa didn't do more period pieces set in ancient or medieval times nor played any old immortal creature, she's certainly built for it.