#ragnar's lambs

[supercasey]

“Curiosity killed the ca- star bunny.”

[grantairescurls]

drew this in ??? 2019? its redraw time!

[hereforreadandwrite]

Daughter of Ragnar

Masterlist

You never had the best relationship with your father: Ragnar Lodbrok. You didn't like the way he teased you, the way he talked, the way he acted. You found him boring and too noisy. You preferred the company of your mother: Lagertha. It was nicer as well as that of your brother: Bjorn, and your sister, Gyda. You were the eldest of the siblings and that wasn't very pleasant. You were their first child, the eldest of the legendary Ragnar Lothbrok. Everyone expected a lot from you. Especially after he returned from England and defeated Jarl Haraldson, becoming the Jarl of Kattegat himself. Bjorn and Gyda admired you, they loved seeing you train with your mother or your uncle Rollo. You rarely trained with Ragnar.

No, you didn't want to train with him.

You preferred to train with all the inhabitants of Kattegat than with him. You respected his fighting skills, but as a person, you hated him. This feeling was accentuated when Ragnar decided to leave with Bjorn, leaving Kattegat prey to the plague which took away your beloved sister. You had cried in Athelstan and Lagertha's arms, asking why Ragnar wasn't there during such an important moment. When your brother and your father came home, you avoided him as if he were carrying a new plague. You acted like he was dead in your eyes. It was his fault your sister died, it was his fault the plague hit Kattegat, it was his fault you were unhappy. But the breaking point was when this woman: Alsaug, arrived in Kattegat, pregnant to the eyeballs, with Ragnar's child. You understood it when you saw the surprised expression on your father's face.

He dared to deceive your mother.

There’s no way you’re going to let this affront go by.

Ragnar ordered to prepare a party for his guest and to your dismay, you were seated across from her. Facing Aslaug. She was disgusting. She acted as if this Kattegat belonged to her. As if she deserved to be with your father.

No.

The only woman who deserved to stand by Ragnar was Lagertha and no one else. And you were going to make him understand it.

"It's nice to meet you (Y/N). Your father told me a lot about you," Alsaug said, giving you a smile that was meant to be friendly.

You took a sip of your mead, deliberately ignoring her. You preferred to focus your attention on your younger brother who was as uncomfortable as you. Ragnar looked at you, nervously stroking the lamb he held in his arms.

"You are truly a pretty young woman. Your father kept praising me of your beauty and intelligence," she continued, taking a bite of her meal. “I loved that we took the time to talk.”

You got up from your seat, going around the table to stand next to this whore. You brought your hand to her necklace, examining the jewelry.

"This necklace belonged to my grandmother, then my mother before me. It's very valuable," she said, smiling at you.

"Oh yes?"

“Yes, mother was Brynhildr, the shield warrior.”

“I see, so this gem is very precious.”

“Yes, he is.”

“Okay.”

With a sharp jerk, you tore the necklace from Aslaug's neck, she looked at you surprised while you said that you would take good care of it. You put the necklace on, face down on the wood of the table, rubbing it as you returned to your chair. Ragnar shook his head slightly seeing you torturing her like this. You dipped your fingers in the sauce before coating the collar with it. You apologized for this clumsiness before dipping it into the jug of mead. All while looking into her eyes.

And this was all just the beginning.

One morning, you took advantage of Aslaug going to the market to go to her room and steal all of her things to give them to the pigs. You loved seeing her panicked and angry expression when she realized what had happened.

“(Y/N),” Lagertha called. "It has to stop."

"What are you talking about?" you asked without taking your attention away from your loom.

"Aslaug's things ended up in the pig pen. I know it's you."

"So what? If this whore is going to rule our house, she must pay the consequences," you say, pulling the scratched and deformed necklace out of your pocket. "I was thinking of giving it back to her. Two pigs ate it before shitting it. As a token of friendship. You see, I'm nice."

Lagertha sighed and returned to her loom. If there was one thing Lagertha knew about you, it was that you were as stubborn as Ragnar. No, you were Ragnar and that was something you never accepted.

Another evening arrived and this time Aslaug had decided to prepare a feast. Supposedly as a thank you. When the dishes were placed on the table, you left your seat, drawing your sword. You looked into Aslaug's eyes, pushing the feast across the floor with a deafening noise, attracting the attention of all the guests. Aslaug's smile faded as you leaned on the edge of the table, eyeing her with a blasé look.

“Sweetling,” Ragnar began, sighing and reaching for his mug of mead. "Why did you do that? You wasted food, you know."

"You'll just have to feed them to the pigs. They'll be nice and fat because of that," you said without taking your eyes off Aslaug. "I'm just showing our guest how things are done here, what happens when an unwanted insect shows up. It's crushed unceremoniously, no matter how hard that insect tries. That's what you got me always learned, father."

"Yes. Yes, that's what I taught you," he said, finishing his mug of mead.

“Good, and now this bug has to clean everything up.”

“A beg you pardon?” Aslaug asked, looking at you annoyed.

"You heard me right. You are the one who prepared this meal. You are the one who cleans and without the help of your maids. You are a big girl, Aslaug. Show us all, how a princess cleans . Is a princess capable of getting her hands dirty?"

"I am pregnant."

“And you think that stops other women from working?” you asked, giggling and going to take a seat on the invite seat. “Clean up.”

“I have no orders to receive from you,” Aslaug said through her teeth.

"Do you think so? You are not at home here. You have no title here. You are just one woman among many others. And the women here, they all worked. A capricious princess does not "Are you a capricious princess, Aslaug? It seems so, from your reaction. I mean… I'm sure you're the kind of woman who would sacrifice her child for a little bit. comfort, don't you? Who even tells us that you are the daughter of Brynhildr, the warrior with the shield, and Sigurd, the Dragon slayer? And to stop you, this necklace does not proves nothing at all."

You threw the damaged necklace at Aslaug's feet. You were delighted to see his face turn red with anger, his fists clenched. Would it be inappropriate for you if you could get her to lay a hand on you? If you did, all of Kattegat would hate her. But your mother asked you to come back and sit down and let the slaves take care of the cleaning. You sighed, returning to sit next to Ragnar, letting the guest of honor sit next to your brother.

“Sweetling, let our guest sit in the place of honor.”

"This woman has an honor? After all, this woman opened her legs to a married man," you said loudly enough for the entire longhouse to hear your words. "If she did it once, it's quite possible she did it with other men. Who knows whose child she's carrying."

At the end of her nerves, Aslaug left the longhouse, returning to her chambers. You smiled, happy to see her leave. But Lagertha got up from her seat to approach you. She grabbed your arm, forcing you to follow her to her room. She was angry.

"What are you playing at?! Do you realize you're humiliating us?! You're humiliating your father's guest!"

"Ragnar should have thought of that before he let that whore stay here. He should have thought of that before he fucked her! Ragnar has humiliated you for too long and he continues! I protect your place as a wife. I know what that woman has in mind! She just wants to take your place, so I am honored to show her how it works here.

"I don't need your protection. I need you to calm down! This has to stop (Y/N)! You've humiliated Aslaug enough. She's a princess!"

"Nothing tells us that it's true. Nothing tells us that the child she is carrying is indeed Ragnar's," you said, looking at your mother. "She doesn't deserve to be called by her name. She doesn't deserve my respect."

"So when will all this finally end? When will she be gone?"

"Yes, and I'm trying to do it like you. Ragnar is too cowardly to do anything. Not me."

You walked past your mother, leaving her room to lock yourself in yours. You locked the door, laying down on your bed, frustrated with the whole situation.

Why did Ragnar have to lift this woman?

Why did this woman decide to come here?

Why didn't your mother do anything to make this wayward princess go away?

But you couldn't help but feel guilty. Not for Aslaug, but for your mother. Lagertha was at her worst because of this unwanted guest and you were adding to it.

For Lagertha's sake, you decided to leave Aslaug alone.

You went about your business, ignoring her existence as well as that of her enormous belly. Lagertha and Ragnar were relieved to see that you had stopped attacking Aslaug. They could finally breathe. Until Ragnar, completely drunk, proposed to Lagertha and Aslaug a threesome, for the sake of the children.

It was too much humiliation for your mother.

This stupidity of Ragnar's was too much stupidity for you.

That evening, you and Lagertha packed your things with Bjorn's help, but Torstein spoke with your brother, telling him he had a choice to make. Either go with you and Lagertha, or stay with Ragnar, where he belonged. Apparently, Torstein had managed to convince him to stay in Kattegat. You hugged Bjorn close to you, whispering in his ear that he was the one to make a decision and that the others could go fuck themselves with the fact that he was Ragnar's son.

Ragnar was the only one at fault in this story and Bjorn didn't have to pay the price of losing his mother to a spoiled princess.

After that, you followed Lagertha to an unknown destination. According to your mother, an old friend owed her a favor. Kattegat was no longer in sight when Ragnar arrived, on horseback. He had made his mount run as fast as he could to catch up with you. Ragnar stood in the way, preventing your horse from continuing forward.

“Are you really going to abandon me?!��� he exclaimed, dismounting to get closer to Lagertha. “Without even saying a word to me?”

"You insulted and humiliated me in public. I have no choice but to leave you and divorce you," Lagertha replied bitterly.

"I don't want you to go. Nor our daughter."

"It's fate."

You observed the scene without saying anything when you saw Ragnar looking towards the small bridge. You and your mother looked in that same direction to see Bjorn coming running. The boy looked sternly at his father, announcing that he had changed his mind and was leaving with you and Lagertha.

It was the first time you saw Ragnar so devastated.

But that wasn't surprising. Because of his stupidity, he had just lost his family. Ragnar hugged Bjorn, kissing him one last time and asking him to take care of you and your mother. He helped Bjorn into the cart, telling him to watch over you and your mother. You helped Bjorn onto your lap to save space when you felt your Ragnar grab your hand. You turned your attention to him, he looked at you with so much sadness.

"(Y/N)… even if you hate me… even if… I no longer mean anything to you… if you have the slightest problem. I will always be there for you, you can always count on my protection. You are my daughter… I love you…"

“We're going,” Lagertha announced.

Ragnar let go of your hand as the cart started moving again. Ragnar stood there, helpless, watching his family abandon him because of him.

[peanutbutter-doodles]

Let's Dance, Then 18+ Mdni

Characters : Paul Stanley, Velvet Von ragnar.

Pairing : Stardemon/Vonstar

Wc: 10K

⚠️ Contains: Porn with Plot, Meet n Fuck, Gangbang, Masturbation, oral sex, face fucking, vaginal sex, Vaginal fingering, fisting, anal sex, Demon fucking, Deal with the devil, Makeouts, Cum inflation, spanking, smacking, Demon Cocks, Cloning/Shadows, degradation, dirty talk, fondling, Cream Pie, knotting, use of a unholy object, Markings, Monster fucking, nudity, religious themes, Ambiguous/open ending, priests, dumbification, darkish themes, Cum play, Aftercare, Holes gaping. Ask to tag! oh and the full nelson!

Summary: ‘’What if…i…’’ He murmured, swallowing. 

Taking a deep breath.

‘’Want it, somewhere where only you could see it?’’

‘’Only me? She chuckled, menacingly. ‘’You don't want anyone to know, don’t you? If i’m understanding correctly, that is…’’

‘’yes..Mistress.’’ He said, Velvet’s cock beated. ‘’But it’s not for the reason, you might think…Lady Von…’’

‘’Then, what is the reason? Hmm? What is the reason you came and trespassed my room at such an hour? It would have alerted the sheep that one of the lambs had left the coo and trampled onto territory that’s unable to be crossed unless…..

They lock eyes with each other.

‘’Your the one, who’s been following me…’’

READTHERESTONAO3 - Have some tissues and a cross, cause oh boy...

it's hotter than hell!

Tagging: @angelbambisworld @elrohare @2hotintheshade @vinniesasslicker1 @genesstankycodpiece @starry-eyed-never-satisfied @speckster @sagii24 @sluttery-withoutshame @tanookikiss and anyone else who reads this!

I always held back when i write and i've been feeling more pent up than usual, so for this...i didn't hold back on this...so be warned...

the gloves are off on this one, as well if your interested in seeing the Kiss Masterlist - Link

I hope you enjoy this, You sinners!

oh and comments plus reblogs are deeply apprieciated!

Love, Butters ^V^

[je-suis-problematique]

Our Tavs so far:

Val (Valeryan) — Our very first Tav. They're an AFAB nonbinary half-elf half-drow from the Underdark, technically a rape child since their elf mother was enslaved by their drow father. They escaped the Underdark and fashioned themself a life as a ranger, sticking to the wilderness and avoiding civilization whenever possible. They get along with animals better than they ever got along with people and they behave much like a cornered animal themself, having no idea how to go on about acting normal during human interactions. They are paired with both Astarion and Wyll.

Ragnar Curran — A human paladin with a soldier's background. Not much thought went into Ragnar honestly, we simply wanted a male paladin to pair with Shadowheart but some Prime Bullshit™ happened during his playthrough that fleshed his character out a little more, in our perception of him at least. He is a hardened veteran with a soft side and a strong moral compass, which is ironic considering he accidentally ended up becoming an Oathbreaker, but he will do what must be done even if it contradicts his own personal wants and needs. As mentioned before he is paired with Shadowheart but he also yearns for Gale, believe it or not. That magical moment they shared together stirred something in Ragnar.

Mara Kilani — A Lolth-sworn female drow cleric whose main tactic for getting out of sticky situations is to bully her way out and if THAT doesn't work, fight to the death. Seriously, Mara is not known for her kindness or empathy, which I'm pretty sure she lacks, and her intimidation proficiency proved useful more than once. She'll help people only if she has something to gain from it and she will say the meanest things, not even TRYING to comfort whoever it is she's talking to that's upset. Survival of the fittest is the name of the game and the weak get devoured by the strong, that's all she's ever known. And still.... After a while of traveling with the others she learned to soften up, at least sometimes. Despite that though she chose to complete ceremorphosis and become illithid, partnering up with the Emperor. She slept with Lae'zel and flirted with Wyll but ultimately ended up being paired up with Minthara.

Vesemir Amastacia — A high half-elf bard who is hanging to life by a thread, literally. He lived a privileged life in the Upper City of Baldur's Gate but ultimately escaped it to pursue a career in music. He got into all sorts of trouble and even died once, but was brought back to life by @rjshepherd's OC Lamb due to the circumstances of his death being hilarious. He is chaos incarnate, fucking his way in and out of various situations, making questionable life choices, going into battle high on drugs, casting Fireball in spaces that aren't big enough to accommodate the sheer destructiveness of the spell and even licking dead spiders, not to mention getting some allies killed "on accident". All in all though he has a heart of gold beneath the careless bravado he puts on and he truly does love those he grew close to, namely Lamb and Astarion (the latter of whom he is dating).... Even if he plays with their blood pressure like a yo-yo on a daily basis.

Mikhail Talfen — A male Asmodean tiefling sorcerer who is the greenest flag to ever walk the grounds of Faerûn. He is part of the Society of Brilliance, studying sociology and psychology, and earns his living from basically being a clinical psychotherapist for those who seek his help. He is quite knowledgeable in alchemy as well so medications? He's got those too. When we created Mikhail we wanted a character who could help everyone else get their shit together and that's how Mikhail happened. He is kind, compassionate, empathetic, protective, and we gave him the buff body type so you know he gives great hugs too. His story is still largely incomplete but we know that he's paired with Gale (even though Lae'zel had her eyes on him) but his pre-tadpole boyfriend was Omeluum.

Cahir Dilossz — Another largely incomplete story but Cahir is a male Seldarine drow rogue and a Bhaalspawn, as in, he is our Dark Urge character. His story incorporates elements from the game series Dishonored, meaning there is a Void and an Outsider and Cahir is Void-touched (basically the Outsider laying claim to Bhaal's precious son) and accompanied by a Void-born version of @rjshepherd's Lamb because both of us subscribe to the multiverse theory. The general gist of it is that the Void is collapsing so to prevent it from being swallowed by the Shadowfell the Outsider sent Cahir on a mission to retrieve the Crown of Karsus and deliver it to Raphael, whom the Outsider made a deal with. Raphael gets the Crown, Raphael uses its power to restabilize the Void – simple, right? Only not really because the Outsider never gives Cahir any clear details and only speaks in vague riddles and Cahir gets kidnapped by mind flayers to boot. Lamb's whole role in this is to ensure Cahir doesn't stray from the Outsider's plan and does, in fact, deliver the Crown to Raphael, essentially babysitting the murder slut and steering him in the right direction. The main pairing for Cahir is Raphael, but he might end up romancing one of the companions as well, not sure who yet.

Pharo Hyperion — Oh boy.... If you thought CAHIR'S story was a clusterfuck, get ready for this one. Pharo is a simple human male like Ragnar, most likely a fighter in class, and he is a world-renowned monster hunter and mage killer. What makes his story a fucking shitshow is that he isn't from Faerûn at all but rather some parallel universe where everything is modernized, computerized, and Final Fantasy-ized. There's hacking, there's guns, there's fucking flat screens everywhere, you get the picture. The main villain here is this guy named Tarantino who's this super powerful mage who is able to travel between worlds at will INCLUDING all their dimensions. He's a serial killer and an absolute menace to society Pharo's been hunting for years due to some personal vendetta he has against Tarantino, and just when he thinks he's got Tarantino cornered? Bam. Tarantino throws Pharo's ass into Faerûn, Pharo gets kidnapped by mind flayers, Pharo gets tadpoled, and then Pharo gets spat out into the wild with no idea how to survive without his gear, with no way to reach his contacts on his homeworld, and no way to know what Tarantino is up to next. Moreover, there's this stupid sexy tiefling named Rolan who's making him feel all funny. What a predicament indeed.

[Lazarus Sarkis — Lazarus isn't a Tav per se but I thought he'd be worth mentioning since his story is closely tied to Pharo's: Lazarus is a male Lolth-sworn drow artificer who is also a liberated vampire spawn. In Pharo's universe, which implements modern machinery and gunsmithing, Lazarus is an expert craftsman specializing in crafting and upkeeping various firearms and ammo types for Pharo to use. Lazarus chose to stick with Pharo after the latter killed Lazarus' vampire Master, aiding Pharo in whatever way he needed. The two became close friends and, unsurprisingly, Lazarus found a way to follow Pharo to Faerûn after Tarantino banished him there. Lazarus offered his help to the camp while Pharo traveled with them and even became involved with Astarion, bonding with him over their shared affliction.]

Lux Wilk — Lux is actually not the main character of this particular story or rather not the only one. Lux is the twin brother of Nox, both are male and belong to the lupine race which is the closest race in DnD lore that we found to adequately describe what they are, which is essentially just humans with wolf qualities (ears, tails, fangs, and in the brothers' case, also claws). Since the lupines are mostly nomadic in nature we imagined them – or at least the brothers' pack specifically – originating somewhere close to Elturel, even if they weren't part of the city proper. Perhaps they set up some sort of settlement nearby or simply functioned as passing merchants and mercs the Elturelians became familiar with/grew fond of. There is a lot I can say about Lux's relationship with Nox but I'll keep it at that it was tense at best, hostile at worst, and that it was very complicated. After Elturel fell, Lux became separated from his people and was swallowed up by Avernus, unable to find his way back out. He was picked up by a devil named Gazgan who kept him as a pet right until the nautiloid incident, where similar to Karlach, Lux used its breach into Avernus as an opportunity to escape and got tadpoled in the process. Lux's function as Tav is also very similar to Mara's where he is NOT a Dark Urge character but he is undeniably NOT a good person, which absolutely ENRAGES Nox whenever he sees his brother get praised for literally anything (like saving the tieflings for example) because only Nox knows that Lux's compassion is purely performative and always a means to an end. We aren't sure who Lux was paired with during his travels with the tadpole group.

[Nox Wilk — Nox was always treated as second best to his brother Lux because unlike Lux, who batted his eyelashes and always said please and thank you, Nox was a troublemaker who had a major issue with authority since he was a young pup. He bit, he scratched, he destroyed property, he pissed on etiquette and ignored direct orders. While Lux was glorified as the perfect child Nox was always asked why he couldn't be more like Lux, and it infuriated Nox because only he knew that Lux was merely putting on a show to get what he wants and didn't give a rat's ass about anybody's feelings except his own while Nox deeply, DEEPLY cared. After the fall of Elturel Nox ended up escaping with the rest of the refugees, thinking it best that Lux was taken by the Hells. He honestly hoped Lux would never be seen again but after the bastard popped up at the druid grove Nox was beyond furious. He tried to plead with Zevlor not to trust Lux, he even tried to attack Lux and be rid of him with his own bare hands but a part of him couldn't go through with it.... A part of him missed and cared for his psychopath of a brother. So as bitter as Nox was, he couldn't kill him. As bitter as he was, Nox wanted to help. He hoped that maybe his brother can change, now that it was just the two of them. And thus, shenanigans ensue. Nox is romantically involved with Zevlor in this one.]

[honestsycrets]

A New Bond

❛ pairing | Alpha!Ragnar x Omega!Reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | Reader’s old mate has died, throwing her body into a tailspin when the bonding mark dissipates. Not the best… time… on a boat.

❛  warnings | abo dynamics, sex on a boat, nsfw

❛ sy’s notes | fulfilling sex on a boat + alpha request. Gif not mine.

The falling mist with the collapse and rise of waves reminds you to keep strong.

You’re crumpled against the wall of the ship. The woolen hood of your head hangs in your face, each side tugged as if to obscure your looks from the men clustered about the ship. They slept, for now, unable to smell the changes in your body. It’s not taken over yet. As if instinctual, however, the heat seeps between your legs.

“If you keep up like that,” a voice assures you, “you’ll be bred by the entirety of the ship.���

You look around the wet floorboards, seeking out the voice who speaks to you. A young man, probably in his thirties, looks down at you with an eager smile. Ragnar Lothbrok, the earl. He offers out his hand to you to take. The men shift, great hulking bodies breathing with excitement. They would wake in hunger with predatory gazes that would not leave yours. Their bodies would pump adrenaline and there would be an alpha fight.

“I’m sorry,” you take his hand and stand. Your legs are limp like a wet cloth beneath the deep blue skirt. “I forgot… how it was to begin to go in heat. My body has suppressed them without a fertile mate.”

He traces a fading bond mark on your neck. His large fingertips ghost over the mark, dull and near faded.

“You’re Tostig’s wife.”

You nod, forced. “I was. I came with him to… see him off.”

To Valhalla.

Ragnar guides you to where he sat with his son. The blond-haired, soft-eyed boy was fast asleep. “I can help you.”

“You can?” you repeat after, The ship rocks among soft waves. Ran’s hunger is sated. Ragnar’s is not. He trails behind you. You turn your head and deny the urge to follow him around when he takes slow, purposeful steps behind you. He follows your waist with a finger, snapping off of you.

“I can fill you,” he leans in, making a small noise to catch your attention. “Your body craves it, doesn’t it? The seed.”

Stupidly, you lean your head against him. You can smell him, blood from the fight, sweat from a long day of commanding this ship and in a way, you can almost taste him under your tongue despite never having a taste before.

“That’s all I need.” It feels good when you touch him. When he touches you, dragging his fingers around your waist. Your heavy skirts, his hot touch. Or, perhaps it isn’t his touch that is hot, but rather your need for it. He squeezes yards of wool, tugging it up higher and higher. His palm flattens over your cunt.

“I know it is. I could give it to you,” Ragnar dips his head into your hair, whispering the words. His voice holds a certain twinkling quality as if his lips pull into a cocky smile. Ragnar alternates you to hold the ridge of the rocking boat, loosening the ties on his pants. The other men manning the shift whisper among one another. Whore, they say.

“The fat one steals barrels of ale,” Ragnar whispers into your ear, placing small and heated kisses along your neck. “The other dances in the dress of a woman during festivals.”

He presses against you. His firm girth grinds over your ass, rubbing you to the excitement with gentle, gliding thrusts of his hips.

“Does that make me any less of a whore?” You ask him. His hand shifts to squeeze the underside of your ass. You feel him prodding your hole, teasing you with small glides his dick against your dripping cunt. Ragnar hums a pleasing note, gliding fingers against your lips.

“I’ve never heard a man enjoying a whore complaining of one.”

For that, you smile, leaning back into a hand that drifts up to your mouth. His thumb flicks against your lip, delving inside your warm mouth. Your lips form a suction around his thumb, suckling him. Ragnar grunts in approval and drags his thumb out, plipping off your lip.

The tip of Ragnar’s prodding cock meets with your hole, pushing deep. You suckle in a breath as he’s ensconsed, knocking into your womb. Tostig, gone with the gods. It was time to let him go. The lulling of the boat leaves you nodding, tightening on the hand on your hip. Ragnar feels you tighten at his rash entrance.

“Let go,” Ragnar says. “Let go.”

Let it happen.

Your hand wanders, traveling up his firm forearms that box you in. He keeps you on his cock, a smooth thrust that deepens into your cunt. His thrusts deepen richly but he moves slow enough that you might savour each motion of his hips. Each glide is a treat he so graciously gives you, slipping between velvety tight walls. Your slick lubricates his movement, quick shallow thrusts outlined by a deep one that leaves you stuttering for something to anchor you, praying that the waves won’t pick up on this rocking boat.

Then you feel him swell-- and god, the omega in you jolts as if you could escape it. Ragnar yanks you back, bottoming himself in comfortably so that he knows your cunt is locked, here. There’s no way you could leave. Not without being bred. It’s as overwhelming as it was the first time you had sex, as if you’re being deliciously pried open by him. A deep, alpha snarl wakes Bjorn and multiple others.

You bare your neck to the side in submission allowing for Ragnar to bite and nip at your neck, not quite leaving a bond mark, but enough that the others might realize who Ragnar was biting. For the time being, as Ragnar sprayed your walls with his cum, you were his. Everyone on the boat would know it. By the time you got home with their lips moving, all of Kattegat would know it too.

The girl looking for a new bond? That was Ragnar’s girl, he would be sure of it.

@supernaturalvikingwhore @generic-fangirl @unassumingviking @babypink224221 @multi-fandom-fanfiction @beautifully-quixotic @tomarisela @alicedopey @candyheartsandcigarettes @majikpyrohades @p8tn0lish @naaladareia @allvikingsfanfic @bat-fam-blob @vikingwolfsworld23 @notyouaveragegirl @ladywolf44005

[lisinfleur]

Our Christmas

The Request: A fiction for Ragnar or Harald with the prompt: “I made you this scarf.” - “What for?” - “A Kiss.”- or, giving a scarf to a boy just to have the excuse to pull them in with it for kissies! Author’s Notes | It was just me or this is a super fluffy way to get a free kiss?? Universe | Vikings Pairing | Ragnar x Reader Info | Modern AU, prompts designed by @honestsycrets​ for 2019’s Holiday Event Words | 1121 ⁑ Warnings: None

Four... Five years?

You couldn't really remember.

Since you've met Ragnar, all your Christmas nights were populated by his sons, his family, their laughs, jokes, happiness... The table was full of food and all the boys around. Then, all their girlfriends as well! Björn's wife - of the year? - and his children, Ragnar's first grandsons... Ragnar was always surrounded by a huge flow of people and emotions around him every year and you were in love with this, of course.

You longed for that time of the year to decorate your house and fill it with gifts, candies, games... And memories. Many beautiful and wholesome memories that would warm you for the whole winter.

However, no memory of those was better than Ragnar's embrace to warm you. And despite you loved the Christmas mornings with his sons joking and Hvitserk trying to sneak away from everyone with the whole tray of french toasts without being noticed - failing every year, naturally - to wake up into your husband's arms and have a calm morning by his side, exchanging caresses and making longer the warmth of your bed sounded delicious. And you would have this chance for the first time in years...

This year, all of them were out.

Björn's new wife, Gunnhild, invited him and his children with Torvi and Ubbe to go to her family's house. And Hvitserk went with Thora as well. Sigurd had Blaeja's father and mother to visit this year since her sister Judith had just given birth to a new child and they wanted to know their nephew. Ivar would spend his Christmas in Freydis house this year - and he was planning a marriage proposal! A huge event for them...

For the first time in forever, you would have your house for you and Ragnar alone at the Christmas night and so, the things you bought were focused only on the preferences of your husband for the Christmas table: Ragnar's favorite sweets, his favorite meat, and garnishes he liked. You ensured to have some of your favorite treats as well. And decorated the house a little simpler than all the previous years. It was delicious: the work ended up quite earlier and gave you the time you wanted to finish the gift you had prepared for Ragnar this night.

He had gone out to buy the gifts for everyone - the packages would be in your Christmas tree like every year, but the boys would come in visits after the new year to pick the gifts and see the two of you. And you received him with a sweet hug when he arrived.

The dinner was ready earlier and you could even put some tranquil music from you and Ragnar's favorite, creating a warm ambient for the two of you to enjoy the eggnog you made: not two recipes, like every year, but just your favorite to share with him this time.

The two of you danced together, saw family videos, played together, laughed together... And it was so good! You never thought a Christmas party for two could be so delicious to enjoy!

To keep the surprising feeling for the gifts, Ragnar thought it would be fun to hide your gifts through the house, creating a fun game of searching that ended up in your room when you found the last piece of a trail of gifts for you that started with a new kit of suitcases, passed through Summer clothes you couldn't understand in the middle of the winter and ended in an envelope with tickets for a trip he had planned for you and him to spend the new year in warm places, once again together just the two of you.

"Now I'm feeling shy about my gift..." you said, as Ragnar smiled at you.

"Come on... It doesn't matter what you did: it will be special because it's you, love," he said, caressing your face. "Now... What it is? I know you have been working on something for me. Something made of those lines you tangle together," he joked making you laugh of his silliness.

Ragnar could never understand how the knots of your tricot were able to put themselves together in the beautiful pieces you were used to producing. "Witchery!" he would always say whenever you finished a new piece.

You had bought him some other things, but you came with the beautiful piece you made this time: a colored scarf you showed him proudly. A simple piece... But a part of a bigger surprise you prepared for that night.

“I made you this scarf," you smiled, almost malicious, observing his innocence looking at the piece. "It's longer than the ones you have... For a special reason."

“What for?” he asked, looking at you with that delicious curiosity in his eyes, making your malicious smile even bigger when you threw the scarf around his neck, pulling his body closer to yours by the piece.

“A kiss," you mumbled against his lips, causing Ragnar to start to understand your intentions with that gift. "Or maybe..."

You swirled your body away from his hands, sliding the scarf to tie his wrists together with the scarf, swirling around him as if he was your prize.

"... Something more than a kiss," you suggested against his lips, walking back to his back, tying the tip of the scarf to the headboard of the bed as he was giggling not really seeing what you were doing.

"It seems my little girl wants to behave like a bad bad girl this Christmas night, am I wrong?" Ragnar smiled, as you walked back into his sight, biting your lower lip.

"Maybe," you smiled. "Or maybe I saw my daddy watching some lingerie catalogs and bought one of his favorite red pieces for this Christmas night..." you said, pulling down the strap of your dress to show him the lace of your brand new bloody-red bra just to have him growling that way you loved so hard.

But when he walked forward, you stepped back, giggling when he looked at you with his wide blue eyes surprised by noticing he was tied to the bed.

"Bad bad girl!" he said, and you smiled.

"Catch me if you can, daddy... I wanna play hide and seek... If daddy can find me, then... It will be Merry Christmas!" you giggled, leaving the room, looking back just to see Ragnar's wolf stare looking at you as his fingers were moving to get himself loose.

Laughing, you started running away from him, knowing that fireplace in your living room wouldn't be necessary to warm the house when he was able to get rid of your loosen knots on that scarf...

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[trivialbob]

178 miles

This morning I rode to Nelson, WI. As I started the temperature was 45°F, which I actually like. Under my Aerostich suit I wear a heated jacket. My Yamaha’s hand grips are heated too.

From the Twin Cities I cross into Wisconsin at Prescott, where the St. Croix and Mississippi Rivers meet. From there it’s south on US 35 which is also known as The Great River Road. It goes down the west side of Lake Pepin. A little south of Nelson I cross back into Minnesota and come up highway 61 (God said to Abraham...). I pass through Wabasha, Lake City (birthplace of water skiing), and Red Wing on my return north. Those are all fun cities.

I crossed the Big River. It isn’t. Then I crossed the Rush River. It didn’t appear to be in any hurry.

The leaves weren’t as colorful as I’d hoped. But the ride was enjoyable. My destination was the Nelson Creamery. The first time I was here was about 10 years ago. I was running the Wisconsin-Minnesota Ragnar race with several Minnesota Tumblrs. Hi Heather and Melinda! Oh never mind, you guys left Tumblr :(

When in Wisconsin I like to buy local cheese, beer, and beef sticks. I skipped  beer today but got beef sticks and cheese. I also got a small package of lamb summer sausage. It’s very tasty but way too salty for me.

By the time I got to Red Wing the temperature was breaking into the 60s. I turned off the heated gear and enjoyed the wind.

When I got home I took a nice nap. Nothing I can complain about today.

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Queendom

Pairing: Lagertha x Aslaug

Summary: They’ve both loved and they’ve both lost

Notes: first songfic, not sure if I did this right. Feedback is appreciated. Thank you to @078111 for making this absolutely gorgeous moodboard only for me and getting on tumblr bc of me

Tagged: @alicedopey; @goldentailedmermaids​​ (i think you were the one who suggested the Queendom songfic a LONG time ago...)

Lagertha looked on as her shieldmaidens train. Almost all of the warriors in her earldom were women, but she liked it that way. Young, arrogant earls tended to underestimate her and that was their downfall. But her warriors were fair, merciful even if they were Vikings. Women knew what life meant.

 The underdogs are my lions The silent ones are my choir The women will be my soldiers With the weight of life on their shoulders

Sometimes, Lagertha felt like these women she trained were her daughters. That she had to take care of them, to compensate for her failed protection of Gyda. They were never enough to fill the hole her daughter had left, but they filled her heart with joy. She gave them protection as their earl and in turn, they gave her a purpose. A way to fill her life with joy and worry.

 Drink until you've had enough I'll drink from your hands I will be your warrior I will be your lamb

 ***

 The throne next to her was empty. It had been since Ragnar left. Aslaug should’ve felt sad when she heard her husband disappeared, but instead, she felt cold relief.

And then, her relief turned into something else. In the beginning, she would toss and turn at night, afraid that someone would come and claim her lands and her life. Until she remembered her conversation with Siggy. Siggy was long dead, but her words had stuck with Aslaug.

 They became her way to press her claim to the kingdom of Kattegat. Her kingdom.

 'Til queendom come 'Til queendom come My queendom come My queendom come

Ragnar had made Kattegat a kingdom, but it was her that made Kattegat powerful, influential. Everyone always saw her for her beauty, but they forgot that Ragnar loved her for her wit.

 They saw her hair, shining like gold and a fisher’s net wrapped around her slender figure.

 They didn’t see her cunning.

 Ragnar conquered Kattegat and made it his kingdom, but Aslaug built Kattegat anew, watching it swallow the mountains and forests. She rested at night, lonely, but knowing that all this was hers.

 The sea waves are my evening gown And the sun on my head is my crown I made this queendom on my own And all the mountains are my throne

 It would be Ivar’s after she died. Aslaug knew that her youngest son was hungry for power, but that made him Viking. She could ignore his anger when she watched him make his way in life. For years, Aslaug had fought for Ivar, giving him everything she had.

 Like Lagertha had said, she wasn’t a shieldmaiden, but she was still brave. In her own way.

 When Ivar was king, he would give her his love and that would be enough. Then, he would take care of her.

 Drink until you've had enough I'll drink from your hands I will be your warrior I will be your lamb

 It was time for Lagertha to visit Kattegat again. She needed to know if Bjorn was all right, but also, she wanted to see what had become of the place she’d once called home. Lagertha knew that Aslaug ruled Kattegat, and not her son, but Aslaug took her duty seriously. She was responsible and Lagertha could not hate her for it.

 'Til queendom come 'Til queendom come My queendom come My queendom come

  Even though Aslaug had her own kingdom now, there was a coldness in her. Ivar provided her some warmth, but she longed to bask in the sun that love would provide. Real love.

 It was times like these when Aslaug began to doubt herself. When she began to doubt her if she’d ever been more to Ragnar than an end to his means and if Harbard had actually cared for her. He’d stripped her soul bare and then left. It made Aslaug angry beyond reasoning.

 To her uncertainty, a reoccurring dream had manifested itself in her head. A raven and a dog, hunting together despite their uncertainties and differences. They had their pups, but one day, a cat intervened.

 Somehow, the raven accepted the cat and the dog searched for a new territory. The cat and the raven had a number of animal children. A wolf, a raven, a hare, and a serpent.

 Aslaug wasn’t sure what that meant, and it was only the beginning of the dream. One day, the raven flew away, overcoming its broken wing and the cat was left alone to rule over the other, lower animals.

 When the animals began to tear each other apart, the dog returned. There, Aslaug saw two paths, one where the cat was ripped apart by the dog and his pup and one where the cat and the dog stayed together, ruling the other animals despite their differences and perceived inferiorities.

 I hunt the grounds for empathy And hate the way it hides from me With care and thirst I have become

 What neither woman knew was that they had similar dreams and similar feelings. Lagertha dreamt such things too, of dogs and cats and all the other animals. But she also dreamt of a hunt. Lagertha dreamt she was hunting, but she wasn’t sure what she was hunting for. She knew it was hiding and she knew she needed it. Desperately.

 Even during her waking time, Lagertha knew she would to anything to obtain such prey.

 ***

 Aslaug stood at the shores of Kattegat. She had fled the great hall for some quiet, the soft breeze caressing her face like an old lover.

 There would be a feast tonight, to welcome Earl Ingstad. She hadn’t talked to her visitor yet, but Aslaug knew that Lagertha would be a good guest. One that she wouldn’t have to fear being usurped from.

 She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she didn’t notice the other woman had joined her on the beach.

 Lagertha was sitting behind her, a sword at her side and her shield resting in the sand. Aslaug turned slightly. Lagertha gave her a warm smile, one of those that Aslaug secretly adored. Though Lagertha was fierce, there was no denying that she was gentle too, at least in Aslaug’s eyes.

 While Aslaug had been sought after for her undeniable beauty, Lagertha attracted men and women alike through her fierce demeanor and bravery. But that wasn’t what drew Aslaug to her.

 Aslaug had fallen for Ragnar because of that.

 No, Aslaug was drawn to the soft smiles and gentle hands, wise words of encouragement and Lagertha’s sense of justice and honor. Her ability to stand on her own feet, something that Aslaug had to fight for for a long time.

 Abruptly, Lagertha stood and strolled towards her, admiring the sea quietly before speaking. “I’ve had the strangest dreams.” She said calmly.

 Aslaug turned to look at her, pieces falling into place.

 “And I.” she agreed. When Lagertha looked at her, Aslaug felt like the sun shone a little brighter and forgotten feelings began to thaw her heart.

 A courage that was quite unlike her began to flow in Aslaug’s heart. Gingerly, she stepped forward, carefully tilting the shorter woman’s face towards her to kiss her.

 Greedily, Lagertha pulled Aslaug towards her, causing both of them to stumble and fall in the sand. Lagertha smiled and Aslaug began to chuckle as she sat up, sand in her lap. She felt light, giddy, careless, and free.

 Lagertha reached forward, more gently this time, to kiss Aslaug again. Aslaug melted into the other woman’s touch, forgetting the world around her, forgetting that she was a queen and not some young girl with nothing better on her mind.

 When they broke apart, Aslaug felt dizzy and light-headed, her lips slightly swollen. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, only that she wanted to stay on the beach forever.

 Aslaug touched her forehead to Lagertha’s, closing her eyes.

 “Stay.” She whispered, “My kingdom would be your home too.”

 Slowly, Lagertha’s breathing evened out. Then, the shieldmaiden nodded. “I’ll stay. I’ll be your warrior and help you defend Kattegat.”

 It was more than Aslaug had asked for and less than what she knew Lagertha would do. For her, only for her.

  You have a home in my queendom You have a home in my queendom You have a place in my queendom You have a home

[supercasey]

How the crown bearers got their crowns… Aslaug found hers while exploring the mountains, Hakeem accepted it in a trade for some of his potions, Coriander caught hers and strong armed it into a deal, and Ragnar was rescued by it in their last moments.

[underragingwaves]

This is a mid-4x10 ‘missing scene’ between Frankia and the timeskip, of sorts, which serves as a small window into Ragnar’s disappearance. It also serves as a way to introduce Thora long before she encounters Hvitserk on the docks in 5B, as she admitted in canon that her family was already around in Ragnar’s time. I found myself wanting to give Thora more in the way of backstory, which this piece allowed!

I wrote this fic as a part of @mercurygray’s great Blind Dates OC Fest, which basically is “write a short story that introduces a new character to an existing fandom and establishes them as a leading person worth paying attention to”. There are bonus points for playing them opposite a character you don’t usually write, haha, so my choice for Ragnar checks out beautifully! 

And now, I would very much like you all to meet Thora’s mother... 

leavetaking

There is something to be said for a loss.

Granted, she had wanted the old dog to live a little while longer. He’d been good the way all dogs are, watchful but prone to getting underfoot, and there had been strong pups twice. He’d stumbled into the sheep pen on midday the day before yesterday, then flopped down amid the fleece they had already gathered at that hour to breathe his last amid the warmth. It had been a fine death, even when Thora had squalled about it for a moment and Gunnar’s eyes had stormed with something wild at the sight.

Svala hopes it will be the last loss of the summer, even though one of her ewes is favoring her right leg and a neighbor’s cat has not been seen in five days. Losses somehow seem better in winter, though the ice makes too much work out of digging a grave for burial. It’s easier in a darker time, when one can explain the loss through cold and less forgiving weather, though she is careful not to let her children know such things yet. They do not yet need to learn that the shortening days mean a good deal of fear, no matter how strong a harvest has been.

She thinks she might teach Thora such, this coming winter, and the thought constricts her lungs enough to affect the next breath. Svala shuts her eyes as air escapes her in a shudder. Her belly flutters in response, like bubbles of air rising upon the water’s surface, and her breath steadies before the last ripple fades. She will birth a child, perhaps two if this feeling in her belly proves right, and more lambs have survived spring than in the years before. Perhaps winter will still be kind enough to allow her to teach Thora the loom-weave that keeps everything warm, though her daughter’s skillful tablet-weave would make her more suited to learning how to dye the wool for decorative bands instead.

Svala’s eyes open to the sight of a decision that must be made at this hour. She cannot contain her frown, nor the swift way in which she rises to her feet. Her hands are at her knife and scissors before the figure in front of her becomes a vaguely familiar one.

She draws herself up to her full height. Lifts her chin. “Can I help you?”

The man doesn’t startle. She spots a smile, slow with disuse, then a glint of something that warms his icy eyes. He carries no braid or hair save his beard, though his head is marked with faded blue swirls that lend him a warrior’s stature better than the stoop of his shoulders can. Svala’s nose wrinkles when the wind carries a sickly stench amid the scents of leather and fur woven around his garments.

“Are you Svala?” His diction is as slow as the smile that has yet to curve around his mouth in full. There’s a swooping rise to her name as he speaks it, as though the bird she is named for can be set free with the lilt of his tongue. “The weaver whose work is admired in all of Norway?”

Svala allows herself a laugh, throaty and dismissive, as her hands drop away from her weapons. “That is my name, yes,” she affirms, “though I will not speak of the admiration of all of Norway.” Such way, after all, lie pride and downfall that her mother and grandmother had sternly warned about. She tilts her head in contemplation of the man before her. “I am not surprised that my name has reached Kattegat, however, and your ears soon after.”

His flinch is barely there, but it is enough. She almost laughs at the sight. Almost asks him if he truly thinks he is beyond recognition, here, though she has only ever seen him from a distance. She knows the careful tilt of his wife’s smile far better, fond as Queen Aslaug is of cloth and garments made by Svala’s family, but she also knows the stories that have come from Kattegat of late. None of them make sense to her here, where the only worry is for the winter, but she sees their reflection in his face before he schools it to impassiveness.

There’s a demand to his voice when he speaks next. “I require a sail.”

Just one. Not something for a fleet. She thinks the boat will be small, barely enough for more than ten people, and the oars used more than the sail itself. No other thing than that would make sense, but Svala has long learned to ask after even the most obvious of demands. It is rare for men to provide the whole of a story, though she thinks the man before her still might. First, however, she must be the one to question.

“For you, or for a crew?”

He spreads his arms wide as though to indicate an answer. It’s just me, he seems to say, though no words come. His next gesture is for a mast that is smaller than the ones she has grown used to weaving for. His eyes flash blue as his gaze turns wider-eyed. His face is no longer tinged with the paleness of exhaustion that seems to have settled in his limbs.

There was a time men came from far and wide to hear him speak. Her own husband, Torvald, still raises a cup to memories of the man who now demands her service. She remembers hearing him the once, before they set sail for Frankia, as dear Floki had invited her whole family to the feast in honor of the sails they had woven for this journey. She had thought she understood then why the world around him seemed to bend and sway for him like reeds at the water’s edge. Had thought of it as the gifted weave of words some men carry, with every slip of their tongue one of mead and honey, but Svala feels it even now that he does not speak at all.

“It will take time and coin,” she says, unwilling to bow to the dance of light in his eyes. “I have the makings of such a sail on the loom, but it is at least two moons away from completion. If I start such a small one fresh, it will be four moons ere it is finished.”

“The one you are already weaving,” he says, voice lilting to curiosity, “whose sail is that?”

“Mine,” she shrugs, “until payment is made. There is always a wish for sails.” She raises an eyebrow. “I would think Ragnar Lothbrok would know such a thing, hm?”

Svala decides she likes the crinkle of his eyes, though she cares not for the sharpness of his smile. She would yet say more, but the swift patter of feet and her daughter’s breathless appearance soon after carry more importance than any word she might speak to a king.

“Móður, come qui–oh.” Thora’s eyes go wide as she locks eyes with Ragnar. Any urgency slips away from her daughter as she slows her run to a walk and then finally to a halt. There is a breath, then another, and then Thora blinks and turns to Svala again. “Alma ate some of the little cakes again, and Gunnar chased her out, only he fell into the…” Her daughter’s nose wrinkles. “He smells, móður.”

“The goat,” says Svala, for Ragnar’s benefit when she catches the slight raise of his brow, “and my son.” She chuckles as she folds her arms. “Always trouble in my house.”

“And you, little one?” asks Ragnar, as Thora shifts from foot to foot in front of them. There is something softer in his gaze as he regards her daughter’s muddy knees and almost-loosened braids. “Are you trouble for your mother, too?”

Thora’s smile is bright. “Sometimes. When my fingers fail the weave.” Her eyebrow raises rather imperiously. “Are you a customer?”

“If your mother allows me the honor to purchase a sail, yes.”

“If you take a sail, mother will need your name. To weave safe passage into its fleece.”

“I am certain your mother knows how to weave old Sleipnir,” laughs Ragnar, and his face almost transforms into that of a younger and far more mischievous man. “If I return in three moons time,” he says, then, “will you leave such a weave by the water’s edge?”

Svala holds out a hand. “If Sleipnir pays what the weave is due,” she says, rather archly, inflecting the name with all the derision she can muster, “then the water’s edge will be a seeker’s treasure.”

Ragnar’s hand is warm, calloused, heavy in her own. His fingers squeeze a wordless agreement to the terms, then allow her fingertips to brush against the band around his wrist upon which he has sworn all his oaths. And even he, so set to wander, so determined to not reveal his true nature at this hour in his life, would know better than to break such a thing.

His voice is a rasp to her ear before he breaks away. “The first of your coin will come after the next moon.” His swift gaze locks on Thora only a moment, with something of old loss visible in the tightness around his eyes. “Take care of your mother, hm?”

Svala does not turn to watch him go. Resists the urge to bow her head and bend before him like all others before her have been swayed to the whims of this one man. Already her mind is on the weave, which will require a different pattern to suit the terror that encroaches at the edges of her vision. There is something of leavetaking in the weights she envisions will set such a sail to right, something of darkness in the thread itself that she has yet to dye proper, and she knows Thora will knot the edges with the smaller bindings she could produce even in half-slumber.

Her clever daughter, after all, is not fooled by a mention of Odin’s eight-legged horse. She can tell as much from Thora’s frown, then from her words that come as slow as Ragnar’s own smile did.

“Who is he, really, móður?”

“That,” says Svala, feeling rather as though she is akin to the old dog that had swayed its way into the sheep pen and died amid the fleece, “was King Ragnar.”

Thora’s arms wrap around her own body, as though visited by a sudden chill at the sound of his name. Svala almost reaches for her, almost draws her so close to her belly that it will feel as though her daughter’s heartbeat is still within her body, but something in her gaze gives her pause.

“I will not tell Hvitserk.” Thora’s voice is a hush. Her eyes are bright, too bright, and her mouth twists into the harsh line of need overriding desire. “He does not need this. Not after what Ubbe said about his dreams.”

“Tho–”

Her eight-year-old daughter needs to learn the loom, or so Svala decides when Thora’s chin tilts up and her words become the ice of winter. “I will not tell him. Old Sleipnir can do that himself, once he comes home.”

“And what will you say, hm, when Ragnar’s eldest sons are curious about the sail when they come to fetch you and beg you to join them for a swim again?”

Thora shrugs. “That it is woman’s work. Woman’s worry. Ubbe will understand, even if Hvitserk doesn’t,” she smiles, gap-toothed and assured of the world in a way only the very young still are. “His mother is teaching him, like you teach me.”

Svala’s hands find the first almost-undone braid in her daughter’s hair. “And what sort of thing would that be?” she asks as she undoes its remnants and begins a new weave within Thora’s hair. “What am I teaching, now?”

“I will know,” lilts the soft voice in reply, “only once the sail is done.”

“I will need your knots,” decides Svala, to a flurry of motion deep within her belly, “if we are to weave safe passage for a man like that.”

“For a king like that,” corrects Thora idly.

Yes, for a king like that. Svala nods as she wraps the first of many braids in her daughter’s hair and fastens it. Fear swoops into her hands and sets them to trembling long before winter can take hold. She begins the next braid as they walk, back to the farm, back to her other child’s goat-shaped predicament. Reminds herself that it is only ever one foot in front of the other, and only worry allowed for what she can control in this very moment. I can only hope his sons will never require a sail such as this in your time, my child.

[plus-size-reader]

Consequences

Ivar the Boneless x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1844 words

Warnings: murder? Ivar/Sigurd dynamic

Summary: Sigurd talking badly about you, knowing its the one thing that really gets to Ivar, and having to deal with the consequences.

——————————————————————————————————

It was no secret that Sigurd liked to get a rise out of his youngest brother. Anything he could do to upset Ivar he would do without a second thought, and you all knew it. 

However, more and more Sigurd was finding Ivar less willing to fall into his cheap attempts at upsetting him. 

...So, he decided to evolve his technique. 

More than anything else in the world, Ivar cared for you. In all his life, he had never found himself more drawn to another person and his love for you knew no bounds. 

There was nothing he wouldn’t do for you and to Sigurd, that made you the perfect target for his attacks. 

He knew no hatred for you personally, but the best way to upset Ivar would be by using you, so he was going to just have to get cruel. His monster of a brother deserved it, maybe if even you didn’t. 

Sigurd had been so miserable at the hands of his brother for so long, that it was only right he administered some of his own consequences upon him. 

He just had to find the best time to make this all work, and he found it in the form of a feast, thrown outside to celebrate the changing of seasons. The flowers were in full bloom and you never passed it up. 

After all, you insisted on a feast like this one every year and not one of Ragnar’s sons was going to argue with you. 

Instead, they each took their seat at the table and waited for you to sit among them, ready for whatever courses you’d set on having the thralls make. You always took this very seriously, and they couldn’t fault you for it. 

It didn’t hurt that Ivar had threatened each and every one of them with countless nights of torture if that smile was forced from your face. 

This didn’t matter to them, but it certainly did to you and if anything ruined that, they would surely never hear the end of it. 

“The lamb should be out in a few seconds boys, for now we have plenty of ale” you grinned, sitting down at the table beside Ivar, holding your own horn filled to the brim with golden liquid. 

As best you could tell, there was nothing going on. However, that changed rather quickly as soon as Sigurd opened his mouth. He saw a window to jab at his brother through and he was going to take it. 

...And without missing a beat, he did. 

“It’s no surprise at all that you had something as decadent as a lamb prepared, I suppose” he started, leaning across the table toward where you were sitting,  his eyes fully focused on you. 

You had no idea what he was doing, but you didn’t care. 

You were having too good a time to let Sigurd bring you down, not to mention what a waste it would be to let his foul mood ruin the excellent weather. 

Not that your shrugging him off the first time was enough to put a stop to his coming attack. You were a very easy target for Sigurd’s torment, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

It wasn’t clever or anything, and certainly not his finest moment, but Sigurd didn’t care. He was angry at his brother, and nothing else was as important as getting back at him. 

Especially not right now.

“Come on, tell us all...how much of that young lamb are you planning on eating? I wouldn’t be surprised if it was all gone as soon as they set the tray in front of you” he continued, spewing poorly worded insults your way which you again ignored. 

Though, Ivar wasn’t nearly as inclined to allow Sigurd a pass. He could be as cruel as he wanted to anyone other than you. 

As far as you were concerned, he should have known better than to open his mouth. 

“Watch your mouth brother” Ivar started, his jaw tight and his fist clenched as he watched him. Sigurd had quite a lot going on in his head right now but he wasn’t afraid of what Ivar would do. 

In fact, he was looking forward to seeing how you would react if he kept pushing all those buttons.

You sighed, reaching out to take his hand in your own, trying your hardest to calm him before something bad happened. You knew that his temper could be a little uncontrollable but if you could do anything to make it better, you had to. 

“I’ve had enough food prepared for each of you Sigurd, don’t worry about that” you assured, breathing deep to keep your composure. You didn’t care about his weak insults, not really. 

Perhaps they stung a little, but you were not children playing in the street anymore. Each of you was an adult, and if Sigurd had a problem with the way you looked, he could deal with that himself. 

You didn’t have to concern yourself with his opinions. 

...But Ivar didn’t have that luxury. 

As soon as his spiteful brother opened his mouth, he had started something there was no end to and he had to be taught a lesson. For making you question yourself, Ivar was going to punish him. 

“I have no doubt that’s true, I just hope they don’t have to loosen the seams of that dress too much” Sigurd finally chided, giving one last blow before deciding he’d done enough damage for the day.

By the time he’d finished that sentence, Ivar was practically vibrating with rage and it couldn’t have been better for Sigurd. This was what he wanted all along, after all. 

He wanted to get a rise out of his brother, and a rise he had gotten for sure. 

“Shut your mouth!” Ivar yelled now, seeing red as he looked upon his brother. How dare he say those things about you? After all the hard work you’d gone through to have this entire feast set up. 

You didn’t even have to include Sigurd and you’d done it anyway. 

Understandably, there was a moment or two of silence as each of you in turn tried to decide what to do. You had no idea what had gotten into Sigurd as of late, but you had no words. 

You had been nothing but kind to him and out of nowhere, he was being completely cruel, seemingly for no reason. 

“I was just making an observation” Sigurd shrugged casually, knowing that the more nonchalant he was, the more difficult it would be for Ivar to keep his cool.

...And he was right. 

Before any of you knew what was happening, Ivar had thrown his axe across the table, causing it to land square in Sigurd’s chest. You had no idea what to do, or how to react. 

After all, it all happened so fast and as Ubbe and Hvitserk rushed to where he was now laying on the deck, you could only sit with wide eyes, waiting for someone to address you. 

Had that been your fault? You had tried so hard to keep your calm and not cause problems but Ivar had been angry anyway. So angry, in fact, that he had likely just killed his own brother. 

He killed Sigurd. 

~

The events after had gone just as fast as to be expected, but you didn’t have a chance to clear your head until you were in your room, much later in the night. 

Your feast had been ruined. 

The day had been ruined. 

...And Sigurd was dead. 

That left you, sitting in your bedroom, having to wonder if you had made this happen. Was there anything you could have done to keep him alive? Had you reacted poorly in the moment?

Maybe Ivar had caught on to some behavioral cue that you didn’t even know you were giving during Sigurd’s attack on you. You had no idea what it could have been, but there was no going back now. 

Whatever it was, you would never really know the truth. 

The silence in the room was interrupted by Ivar, entering without so much as a courtesy knock to make sure that you were decent. It didn't matter, not to him. 

You could have been in there doing anything and he wouldn’t have batted an eye. 

Right now, he just needed to be with you. Nothing else mattered more than that. 

“What are you doing in here? All alone” he wondered, having looked all over for you before finally deciding that you would be in your room, turned in for the night. 

Perhaps you were pouting over the fate of your precious feast? Whatever it was, it didn’t even occur to Ivar that it could have something to do with his brother, whom you would all be burying in the morning. 

That didn’t even cross his mind. 

“You murdered Sigurd today” 

It took a moment or two for you to even decide what you wanted to say. You didn’t want to upset Ivar, but at a certain point, you decided that you didn’t care. There was no need to protect his feelings after what he’d just done. As much as you loved Ivar, he needed a quick dose of reality. 

“I did not. It was an accident, he kept saying all those terrible things about you” he huffed, knowing that he should have been prepared for that. You never let him get away with anything. 

Even if he thought he was doing it for the right reasons. 

“I understand that Ivar, but I can handle a little bit of ridicule. No one can handle an axe to the chest” you scoffed, scooting over on your bed to make room for Ivar, as he made his way over. 

You weren’t sure how to handle this. 

All your life, you had been making excuses for Ivar and assuring everyone around you that he meant well and that he wasn’t as cruel as they thought. You had always had his back, and you knew that he had yours. 

However, you weren’t prepared for what that would mean until today. Ivar had never killed someone for you before, at least, as far as you knew and it was a lot to take on at once. 

He had murdered his own brother, in pursuit of protecting your honor. It was almost hard to believe. 

“I’m sorry, but at least now the rest of the men know not to make comments about you” he joked, keeping his voice somber though there was a grin on his face. 

It wasn’t funny, and he knew that, but you couldn’t help but laugh anyway. He had done something horrible, but at least he had come to check on you. 

It wasn’t much, but it was more than you’d been prepared for. No one could ever say that he wasn’t caring, at least where you were concerned. You just wished that courtesy extended to other people too. 

Perhaps if it did, Sigurd would still be alive. 

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 27)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: The wait for today for me was so fucking awful. It’s not that I don’t like these chapters (I do, even if I am a bit insecure about them, but I always am lol) I am writing like 5 chapters ahead already, and I wanna get theeeeere.

But alas, I need to be patient, and not bombard you with updates lol. Hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @heavenly1927​ @toe-vind-ek-jou​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @pieces-by-me​ @angelofthorr​ @samsationalwilson​ @peachyboneless​ @1950schick​ @punkrocknpearls​ @ietss​ @psych0crybaby​ @revolution-starter​

Ivar tells you on the morning that tonight the plan on what to do with the information scouts -and Ubbe’s pointless trip North- have provided will be discussed. He never asks you to be there, or tells you to, or even hints at you having permission to; but he doesn’t have to.

You meet with him outside, and walk together to the spacious room where the tables for the men are always set with food and drink, it seems. As soon as you both walk in, Ubbe speaks out from his place at the table, calling his brother’s name.

“I had some of our spies monitor the situation, it seems you and your wit-…and Y/N were right. Stithulf’s forces move for Strepshire with sureness now.” Ubbe states as Ivar takes a seat.

Ivar accepts his words with a proud, almost arrogant smile on his lips, and nods his head in acknowledgement of his older brother’s words. Before resting his crutch on the table, Ivar uses it to push back the chair at his side, motioning for you. You take the seat and smile your greetings to Hvitserk and the others.

The older Prince continues, “I will take responsibility of the ambush, we will cut down their numbers.”

Ivar agrees silently, a practiced ease in the brothers’ interactions telling you these are not the first times they behave like equals when waging war. You can only hope this lasts.

“Prince Ubbe,” You speak out hesitantly, and when the older man looks at you with hardness and distrust, you try telling yourself you feel a courage you don’t really have, “Stithulf has Arab mercenaries in his camp. I know their ways of war. Their army is feared in my homeland, they use tricks and their own dead so that when the time comes, their champions can…kill easily.”

One of the warriors at the table laughs at your words, and it is only then that you realize your conversation with the Prince was not as private as you thought.

“Vikings don’t die easily, my Queen.” The man boasts, answered with a few raised cups and answering chuckles.

Suddenly aware of so many eyes upon you, you tighten your hands into fists under the table and swallow past a dry mouth, but still insist to the Prince,

“You have seen them fight, Ubbe. If there’s a reason the Saxons held the siege on Dublin for as long as they did is because they counted on Arab and Greek forces making them unpredictable. They no longer have the Greeks, but don’t underestimate the Arabs, Stithulf will still count on them to face you and your warriors.”

After a few moments of silence, the Prince nods, and drinks deeply from his cup before saying, “I said I would value your counsel, and I will,” Ubbe lifts the cup to you in recognition, “Thank you.”

“Thank you, Ubbe.” You say around a small smile, nervousness taking over you once a brief silence settles over the men and women around you.

“How far from Strepshire do your spies say the Saxons are now?” Ivar asks his brother, and when Ubbe replies with certain words about the paths taken and the travel times, Ivar nods resolutely, turning to the rest of the table when speaking again, “We must move for Strepshire then, raid the city while the Saxons are focused on Ubbe and his men, so that they can’t aid each other.”

“Attacking that city would leave us vulnerable, my King. Too many were lost, it won’t be victory if we lose more.” One of their men quips, tattooed hands wrapped around a leg of lamb.

“If the Saxon army takes over it won’t be a victory either.” The King argues, his temper rising a bit. The man argues firmly against this, even if a with a bit of fear and the tension of someone that expects an explosion of rage or something else, but soon enough his attention is on another man that starts debating him.

Making use of the conversations that start, you lean closer to Ivar, calling for his attention silently by putting your hand over his.

Ivar turns to you without hesitation, eyes on yours in an instant, and it makes a small smile pull at your lips. He turns his hand around and traps yours before you can pull away though, and that simple action makes you lose your breath for a moment.

A murmur of your name on his lips brings your focus back to the present matters at hand, and leaning closer you argue quietly,

“Stithulf wants you, more than anything. You know this.”

You hope he can see what you mean: Don’t be a reckless idiot, please.

He offers you a smile, his eyes like Greek Fire igniting yours and his voice just as quiet as he says, “Don’t get your hopes up, wife. Better men have tried to kill me and failed.”

Hvitserk calls forth attention by leaning towards his brother and calling his name; and even past the distance the table where you dine puts between the brothers his focus remains solely on Ivar.

His eyes are firm, his tone certain, when he says,

“Give me two weeks. Ubbe will find him and keep him occupied. He cannot get to Strepshire or call for aid in that time. Two weeks, Ivar.”

There’s something in the certainty with which Hvitserk talks that makes you think he already knows something, he already has more than half a plan. Your eyes jump between him and Ivar, and you think the whole table is holding its breath waiting for the answer as well.

But the King argues swiftly, gesturing with the hand not on yours, “What do you want time for? We have been watching from afar for way too long.”

“Trust me on this matter.” The Prince beseeches, even if his voice is strong and unwavering.

You hold your breath, your heart beating and breaking for the two brothers and hoping by grace of your Gods and theirs that Ivar agrees, that he recognizes his brother’s smarts not only to you in secret, or to himself alone, but to the man that loves him and will stand by his side past everything.

Whatever breached the brothers before Ivar got to the throne has partly healed, you see it in the cautious ways they move around each other, uncertain on where they stand. But they still struggle. For recognition, for dominance, for victory, you don’t know. You do know Hvitserk is a good man, a good brother, and he deserves to hear praise, he deserves to feel valued; and that he wants for Ivar to recognize his sacrifice like little else.

You are certain Ivar can feel your gaze on him, and in his profile you see the conflict, the reluctance to relent on this secret war he wages with everyone -especially his brothers- as to feel equal to them. After a few breaths of tense and defining silence, you hear,

“Fine. Two weeks, brother.” Ivar grits out, eyes set firmly on his brother, and you cannot keep your smile from blossoming, wide and stupid. Almost immediately you feel Ivar’s fingers pinch at the back of your hand, a silent command to school your features.

You do, but not before squeezing tightly at his hand in yours. A thanks in behalf of his brother, a recognition of what he did means to all three sons of Ragnar, a promise of how proud you are.

You let go quickly enough, and reach for the goblet of mead, drinking deeply and sharing a smile with Hvitserk across the table, who still looks a little stunned.

The discussion dies shortly after, but even if the spirits of the warriors here are quieter, calmer; you don’t need the guidance of the Gods to see Ivar’s impatience and stubbornness bubbling underneath his skin.

As his brothers and the warriors leave the hall, instead of returning to your rooms you decide to remain with the King for a while longer.

Walking in silence to the chair where the Viking sits, you give yourself courage and lay a hand on his shoulder.

“Annoying, is it not?” You ask, a smile teasing at your lips. Ivar turns his head to look up at you. You still delight yourself in the softness that seems to take over his features when he focuses on you.

“What is?” He asks, quietly.

“Being forced to listen to voices other than your own.” You tease, breathing a laugh when he acknowledges your joke at his expense with the grimace of a purposely fake smile.

“You think yourself funny.” He grumbles, gaze back on the burning embers by one of the doors.

“Enough to get you not to be so angry, yes.” You dare venture, ignoring the rush of warmth that flows from your hand all the way to your chest when Ivar places rough fingers over your hand on his shoulder.

“You make me angry all the time.” He argues, the softness in his voice betraying the intended bite. With his hand holding yours, you catch a moment of hesitation before he brings your hand to his mouth and carefully, cautiously, breathes a kiss over the back of your hand.

Warmth fills your chest as you find yourself catching more and more glimpses of the almost shy, uncertain but captivated man beneath the mantle of the Viking King.

“But it’s the good kind of angry, isn’t it?” You ask, bending at the waist and leaning closer to his profile with what you know is an annoyingly satisfied grin.

The Viking simply scoffs in response, “You are insufferable.”

“I have been told that before.” You offer in response, your smile growing softer when he gives your hand a soft squeeze before letting go.

You are almost to the doors when Ivar calls your name. Still not used to the thrill of hearing it in his voice, with his accent, you turn around and face him.

He doesn’t look at you, but you see his profile, drawn tight and tense. It makes worry settle at the pit of your stomach.

“What can I do for you?” You ask quietly, wanting to walk closer but feeling unsure.

���Stay.” Ivar bites out, his voice almost strangled and the request sounding like a command. Still, you know it means quite a lot for him to ask something out of you, so you walk closer.

“Of course.”

“Don’t do it because I told you to.” He growls, his head moving with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. Again he goes with the explosive vitriol, with thinking too much and growing more and more furious through nothing but his thoughts. You still walk to his side and sit on the chair next to his.

“I’m not. I…like spending time with you. When you are not set on driving me mad, that is.” You offer finally, sharing a smile with him and feeling lighter than you have in years.

Ivar sobers after a moment of silence, and his expression back to being tense, serious, you would dare say troubled as you settle on the seat. This time, you say nothing, waiting for him to speak.

“You are…you don’t have any reason to lie to me,” Ivar grumbles, convincing you both it seems. His fingers go back at staying by his mouth, a nervous gesture born out of not knowing what to do with his hands, you think. There’s reluctant fondness in Ivar’s voice when he speaks next, “And if there’s one woman I have known to not be able to keep her mouth shut, is you.”

“My best and worst quality.” You smile.

When the youngest son of Aslaug turns his eyes back to you, you are starkly reminded of the night you became his wife.

Careful steps bring you closer to him, and his eyes are scared and hopeful and longing and so many things as they search yours. ‘Kiss me’, he had whispered, and you have no doubt it was a surrender.

“I can give you anything you want, if you ask,” He promises, voice low and beseeching. His nose furrows, his teeth bare in a snarl, barely a second but it is still there, his fury at being seen as human, at being vulnerable. Ivar’s eyes burn as they gaze at you when he says, “But never lie to me, never turn your back to me.”

You consider his words in silence, feeling strangely like an oath is being asked out of you, a vow.

“I want the same thing I give,” You state, resolute. “If I give you honesty, I want the same. If you give me trust, I will…give the same.

You don’t fear what it would make out of you to be loyal to Ivar, to pledge to stand by his side, because, vow or no vow, it is exactly what you’ve been doing for a long time now. No, it is not a question of whether or not you can trust him. It is whether he can, whether he can agree to the honesty that comes with friendship, the vulnerability that comes with loyalty.

So, with a quiet voice, you ask, “Do I have your trust, Ivar?”

“You do. Do I have yours?”

It doesn’t feel like he is asking about trust at all, and judging by the hint of fear, hint of something, that shines in Ivar’s pale eyes; you think he thinks that too.

Still, you offer a smile, faint and tremulous.

“Since the beginning,” You confess, and at the slight surprise that lifts his brows you shrug. “I have always had a soft heart, after all.”

____

Soooo, hope you liked it! I would love to know what you think! Thank you so much for reading!

Next chapter is already up (this one and that one were supposed to be one but it was way too fucking long lol)

[omgkalyppso]

2, 16, 17 for all your main ocs?

I'm so sorry. I ran out of steam. I did all questions you requested for Fae, and only Appearance #2 for a few other oc's below the cut. Thank you for the ask! Feel free to send again any of these questions I missed for these oc's or with a particular oc in mind for me to focus on. <3

Faedolyn

Basics #2 - What does their name mean? Why were they named that?

If you look up Fae on several naming websites, as I did just now, you'll find a variety of meanings that probably are inaccurately sourced. asdjhfgajs I assume it's just what it is: a variation on Fairy that fits gaelic and old english spellings. I originally though I'd spell their name as Faye (if only to help with pronunciation) when I started writing fic, but didn't like the F+ay and how much it looked like Flayn when you were reading quickly, so I kept the indulgent spelling of Faedolyn which I'd used in my playthrough. I thought adding the suffix +dolyn, like Gwendolyn, made it feel less modern and was a fun combination.

It was also similar to a fire emblem awakening oc's name: Evalynn. Whose spelling was based on me being upset that Eva was pronounced Ee-vuh and not Ev-ah when I was like 13. asfjdghasj

In-character I think their father names them, regardless of whether that's Geralt or Balfour. Geralt chooses it for being innocuous for the sake of hiding (even though he doesn't change his own damned name). Balfour maybe chooses it for a late older (twin?) sister.

Appearance #2 - Do they have a face claim?

No. Or they didn't the few times I drew them besides the reference photo I had of people who didn't quite look like Fae. Even this person doesn't quite look like Fae, but after a quick search of actors, I'll choose Roseanne Supernault.

Fun Facts #2 - Do they play any instruments? Sports?

I have not written Fae to be musically inclined but did entertain the idea of a modern au of a piano quartet for my ot4, Hilda would play cello, Claude violin, Lorenz piano and Fae viola by process of elimination. As for sports? Swimming! Especially, but also hiking and for the sake of an olympic au I've spoken of, fencing; and otherwise probably team recreational sports, like soccer.

Fun Facts #16 - Which Deadly Sin do they most correspond to? Which Heavenly Virtue?

Just let me google these. ashdfgasjdk I guess Wrath? Vengeance, rage, grudges. They're quiet about them, but they're there; especially in their canon. Their virtue is actually the corresponding trait however, Kindness. They try to be merciful and generous at every opportunity.

Fun Facts #17 - If you had to choose one tarot card to represent them, which would it be?

The Empress. The empress calls on us to understand ourselves and connect with our sensuality to attract life circumstances that bring happiness and joy.

Appearance #2

For Zoran I'll choose Martin Sensmeier.

Appearance #2

Anna Lambe is too young to be Sawyer, but I'm having fun.

Appearance #2

Almanzor is a heavier Tobias Santelmann; photo from his role as Ragnar Ragnarson from The Last Kingdom.

Appearance #2

I've never seen License to Kill but I somehow knew googling young Benicio Del Toro was going to have the exact combination of handsome, unsettling and (idk) vulnerable that I wanted for Lucanus.

[honestsycrets]

The Wife of Kalf: Him

❛ pairing | Ragnar x Reader, Previous Kalf x Reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | Your sons Saevarr and Vigfuss are not over the death of their father. They torment you about your choice to marry Ragnar.

❛  warnings | hateful sons, divorce, bullying, harassment, fighting.

❛ sy’s notes | requested.

The love of their father was strong. In some ways, more than anything else. Bones of a horse crack Ivar on his skull as he drags himself through the angled streets of Hedeby. Standing there are the two children of Kalf, flicking bones in their hands. Ivar brings his fingers up, rubbing the sticky blood between his fingertips.

“Did you hear--” says Vigfuss.

“Yes brother?” prompts Saevarr, his broad arms folded one over another. Firm, handsome arms and dark hair, easily growing fine beards.

“The reason Ivar cannot grow a beard?”

Ivar shifts on his gloved arms, alternating as if to listen to his stepbrothers. They look at him with wide and curious eyes.

“What would that be?” Saevarr asks.

“Because he drank too much of his mother’s milk. He’s a mother fucker, look at him on the ground. No wonder she took pity on him enough to fuck him!”

Ivar jerks his axe from his belt, drawing it over his shoulder.

“Self defense has been established, brother.” Vigfuss snaps his hand to his belt. Two hands wind upon opposing sides of the Kalfssons heads, knocking them together with a wet crack. Vigfuss and Saevarr drop under the hands of their other stepbrother, Ubbe, who shifts his fur over his shoulders.

“I wouldn’t speak of him like that if I were you,” his big brother says. The sons of Kalf scramble up with heads now pounding.

“You--”

“That’s enough.” You say behind Ragnar, who nudges Kalf’s sons aside with his boot. You stand in a heavy dress made of wool, a rich dark red that matched the king’s shield. Their bodies freeze up as if bones calcified shut.

“They started it.”

“Do not lie to me.” You say. Ragnar’s hands cross one over the other, leaning back with wordless pride “Your father would have been ashamed.”

Their dead father.

The boys hand their heads. Since Kalf’s death, they struggled to adjust to the concept of joining family’s with a man who was married to the murderer of their father. It wasn’t Ragnar who finished Kalf and though you know he would have if necessary, he hadn’t.

“You’re the one who betrayed him. Standing there sleeping with his enemies.” Vigfuss dares say. Saevarr is the quieter of brothers, who do not dare say such things about you, even if he may have thought them.

“If I remember correctly--” Ragnar folds his arms one over another. “He was the one who left her. I swept in after.”

And could they blame him?

Vigfuss spits in the other direction.

He could. He could blame Ragnar for his family falling apart. Lagertha for being so spiteful as to kill their father when they needed him the most. And their own mother? Falling into the charm and laying beneath Ragnar Lothbrok?

Most of all he could blame you.

“Do you even think of him?”

All the time.

His hand settling a piece of opium poppy behind your ear in the hall, thinking himself so smart as to box you in with a hand on the wood behind you. Only to slip on fallen ale and require help. Or, alternatively, the moment you realized he no longer loved you.

He gave Lagertha these long considerations. When you were watching his children, he would flirt with her. Find beauty in her-- but Lagertha was no homewrecker. She had no interest in him, though she trusted him.

“Vigfuss stop--” Saevarr calls out to his brother.

“What?” he snaps.

“I want a divorce,” Kalf said one day.

It should have come as a shock, a shame, or a horror. His adultery of the heart comes as none. You were sitting for once, drinking ale with him. Lagertha had come home. “I know.”

“--Mother!”

A hand grazes your cheek. Ragnar’s rough fingers, coercing you back to the present as he has the power of doing time after time. His eyes beg the question, are you okay? And your head bobs in agreement.

“I’m fine,” you agree. “Fine.”

“Are you sure?” As he asks it, you feel the pressure of tears pounding down. Ivar’s eyes, Ubbe’s eyes, your little boys-- who obviously, oh so obviously, hate you for your marriage to their deemed enemy.

“No,” the pressure breaks through, tears springing past your cheeks. Your hand comes to your face, wiping away tears and rushing back into the hall. Ragnar stomps after you, repeating your name as if it would make you stop.

“Nice going, shit-heads.” Ivar spits at Vigfuss, pushing past them and up to his brother Ubbe. Saevarr looks to his older brother, nose and lips scrunched up like he’s just eaten something sour. Or perhaps trusted someone sour.

“See what you’ve done now.”

@supernaturalvikingwhore @generic-fangirl @unassumingviking @babypink224221 @multi-fandom-fanfiction @beautifully-quixotic @tomarisela @alicedopey @candyheartsandcigarettes @majikpyrohades @p8tn0lish @naaladareia @allvikingsfanfic @bat-fam-blob @vikingwolfsworld23 @notyouaveragegirl @ladywolf44005

[lisinfleur]

Imagine Ragnar and his breeding kink...

Info |  Requested by Anon ⁑ Warnings: NSFW, SMUT included, +18

He never hid his intentions of getting you full of his child

Correction: his children

Doesn't lose a single opportunity to say how proper for birth are your hips

Or how beautiful your boobs would be, full of milk

Always caressing your lower belly while cuddling

Sometimes sharing his imagination about your body full of his seed

Whenever he starts talking about this, it ends up in sex

Good and deep sex

Always finds a way to cum inside

Keeps pushing himself against you until he stops throbbing

Two in a row? Why not three?

Sleeps inside almost all the times he can

Knows how your cycle works

And gets aroused whenever your period is late

"Seed me, my stallion" is a major turn on for him

Calls you Momma

"Call me Daddy"

"Deeper" is his favorite word

"I can't wait to see you full with my child"

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Tagged ones:

@ivarswickedqueen - @directionlessbuthappy - @akamaiden - @bang-kim-bap - @cris101071 - @solveigs-temple - @volvas-temple - @alicedopey - @athroatfullofglass - @captstefanbrandt - @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla - @dreamingsofatraveler - @heartbeats-wildly - @lol-haha-joke - @mixedwiththemoon - @moondustmemories - @moose-squirrel-asstiel - @ms-allenbrown - @mslothbrok - @normatural - @readsalot73 - @xinyourdreamsx - @shutter-bug124 - @rekdreams247 - @sassygirl25 - @slutforasoldier - @naaladareia - @wish-i-was-a-mermaid - @awishmyheartmakes - @laketaj24 - @that-goodgirl - @scumyeol - @neeadinghugs - @witchesandfairytales - @thevikingsheaux - @titty-teetee - @oddsnendsfanfics - @soapjay - @two-unbeatable-beaters - @therealcalicali - @carbonated-beverage - @igetcarriedawaywithyou - @grungyblonde - @come-with-me-and-imagine - @themusingofagothicsoul - @arses21434 - @honestsycrets - @princessofthalia - @funmadnessandbadassvikings

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