#sigurd can go fuck himself

[sapphosraven]

Out of the Shadows: An Eivor/Randvi Fic

Rating: E

Words: 7,717

Summary:

Eivor rubbed her temples, suddenly angry with everything about her brother. Her control was slipping away by the word and it was frightening how little she cared about it. “If I were–” She met Randvi’s somber, if a little confused gaze. The candlelight flickered across her cheeks and lips. Gods, Eivor wanted to–

“If you were?” Randvi prompted. She leaned forward in her seat, clasping both hands on the table in front of her. “What?” She stared into Eivor’s eyes. “My wife?”

-

Eivor spills out what she would do if Randvi were her wife, ft. pining and Eivor being stupid thinking Randvi doesn't want her back. Smut with Sigurd asleep in the other room

Read here on AO3!

[katzkinder]

Doing some Christmas rereading and I’m at chapter 123, Winner, and wow I love that Jeje fires at Misono just enough to chase him outside of the AOE of Pygmalion and how the subchant is almost certainly about his feelings regarding Mikuni’s self blame over the death of his mother. “The original false murder accusation” ugh ugh uuuugh he’s so in love, he’s SO in love with Mikuni and Kiriko both, he will do anything for the sake of his new god up to and including committing the most heinous acts that fly in the face of any noble and loving god. Even the priests Pygmalion summons are in prayer as they hang the guilty and the symbolism is soooo good.

And the panel of lawless reaching for Licht while they’re being hanged hello??? It’s just so. It’s so small and so quick but it’s so pertinent to his character as Greed, because even while choking he can’t help but reach for what he wants the most and what he wants the most is to save Licht.

Also??? Nicco is so fucking cool and he has so much guts, pulling off a trick like that using his own blood to give it legitimacy.

This is a fight that really shows the difference between Mikuni and Nicco as tacticians. Shuuhei mentions that Mikuni isn’t the type to leave the most important parts to other people, while Nicco left the most important shot to Sigurd, trusting that Jeje would be too distracted by the rest of them to notice Sigurd getting into position AND misleading him on the number of shots they had left

And then Nicco correcting Il to “our victory” 😭 I love him so much he loves his family so much!!

Servamp has a very consistent and obvious through line that man is not an island. That in order to accomplish things, you have to rely on others and connect with them.

That there is nothing you can do all on your own, and that if you rely solely on yourself, you will lose against those who go with both conviction and faith in others. Mahiru starts the story trying to do everything by himself, taking over the jobs no one else wants to do. He’s also initially very selfish in his relationship with Kuro, and ultimately it leads to losing the ability to speak with his partner. Lust Arc resolves with Misono’s declaration that because he is no longer alone, he has nothing to be afraid of. Greed arc ends with Lawlicht coming to an understanding with one another and Lawless and Kuro no longer wallowing alone in their grief, instead sharing their burdens and taking the hands offered to them. Tsubaki loses himself when he is no longer relying on his subclass, instead abusing his body and his power all by his lonesome.

Mikuni loses control of his mirror world every time Mahiru and Kuro make contact with each other and team up. No matter how good he is at using his pieces, he cannot win by himself.

He will always be thwarted by the little prince who tamed a fox.

He will always be defeated by love

[randomnameless]

I'm really unsure how much stock i should put on Kaga's interview statement that you're meant to interpret Sigurd as an impulsive idiot who was too stupid to realize that he was being put into a very obvious trap throughout his campaign

Sigurd's death scene always read to me as the audience being meant to be both impressed by Arvis' intelligence and horrified at what's happening to the cast, not as "Sigurd is such a dumbfuck for falling for such a painfully obvious ploy, Arvis got really lucky that his biggest opponent is this much of a dimwit lol"

There's a huge difference between pre!Silesse!Siggy and post!Silesse!Siggy.

Chalk it up to Deedee being missing, living a few months in what is supposed to be a cold viper's nest (tfw Rahna's bros in law don't like her sitting on the throne) or his family being framed for Kurth's death despite years of loyalty by fellow Granvalle people (+ Claud's prophecy that things are going to suck), Siggy mellows a bit.

Then Ethlyn, Quan and Altena eat sand, and Siggy makes the decision to order the kids/youngsters to gtfo - he might still be an idealist at heart and trust that, at least, some people in Granvalle aren't part of the conspiracy to frame him and his dad for the murder of the King - maybe if he can talk to Azmur everything will be "okay" again - and yet, he isn't willing to risk the lives of the kids or the ones who want to get out of this mess, because there is a risk he's going to die, and he's now aware of it.

Post!Silesse!Siggy, especially after his dad and Ethlyn's deaths, reads as desperate - desperate to cleanse his family's name, but also to find allies and make sure the Granvalle he served - under Azmur - still exists.

Of course we know what happens, but fwiw, Siggy is at first doubtful when Velthomer suddenly sides with them to toast Reptor, but thanks to Aida's assurance - and no prior ill feelings against Arvis, who is, as far as Siggy knows, someone who was in Belhalla, gave him a nifty sword and serves the royal family more closely than anyone else - he accepts to follow her plan...

Only to be toasted in turn.

IMO, it's less than Siggy is an impulsive idiot, but he is a naive and idealist man who has full trust in the people he serves (the Heim royals) : sure he was played, but just like Reptor and Langobalt (or Lombard as he is now know) and, ultimately, Arvis himself.

Arvis and Manfroy fooled Jugdral, so it reads a bit as unfair to single out Siggy as being a moron because he was played.

Bar the memes, I wouldn't say it's Arvis being intelligent - but him finally showing his real cards (even if we got hints when he works with Manfroy, and Reptor wondering what the fuck he is doing), that is being unrepentant and torching (gameplay wise, at least in this cutscene) his own brother for the sake of reaching his dreams, and securing Deedee at the same time.

Both Siggy and Reptor trusted Arvis, and Arvis pissed on that to kill them with their pants down : much like ASOIAF's Tywin gambits, this isn't being more intelligent than the others, it's being more ruthless by betraying everyone and everything to reach his own ends.

However, unlike his bootleg copy, Arvis won't enjoy pots of tea and pastries during his retirement : by the time Gen 2 pops up, Oldvis lost everything he onced had, is manhandled by his own son, ignored by his own people, has his "grand ideals" twisted and torn beyond recognition, and his batman gambit to save the hunted children kind of falls flat, because he cannot save his own son(s) nor his beloved daughter.

And to add more salt to the wound, ghost!Deedee hangs out with ghost!Siggy and never asks about him - you can even read between lines that Deedee "accepted" her death at Julius' hands, instead of rewarping or whacking him with the Book of Naga because that would mean she'd reunite with Siggy, Arvis (and Julia, by the same occasion :'( ) be damned.

[therealvikingstrash]

I really like vikings, but it makes me sad to see all this man abusing women. Of course it was surely normal, but it make me feel strange to see it. Bjorn surely rape some woman but it wasn't in the show as an explicit scene. And I think also ubbe is guilty of rape, because at the beginning margrethe was a slay so she couldn't say no. Siggurd himself say 'she belong to us' imply that there was no necessary of ask her if she want to fuck ivar

Well, men still abuse women to this day. And some women abuse men. It is what it is. Ignoring that it happens won't make it go away. Showing a sanitized version of a story would make a quite boring and unrealistic show. The Vikings era was a dangerous time for everyone. Women, men, children, elders - doesn't matter, they were all at risk.

The root problem is Hirst's misogynistic self who honestly believes he wrote a feminist show 🤣 that is just hilarious. He thinks because he let some of the female characters play with the weapons and said they were badass fighters, he is suddenly a feminist for it 😂 please, I'm in stitches just thinking about it. He really thought putting women in the (in his eyes) "male" role was feminist, while not changing anything else. He didn't make them equal, that's the problem. Feminism means equality for all genders. That wasn't the case in the show though.

Just because it wasn't an explicit scene, it makes it okay? In the end credits of that episode with the Algeciras raid the crying woman at the end is listed as "Bjorn's victim" so, tell me, is it less explicit to see her crying and broken as she's put in line in chains to become a slave who'll be abused until she dies? It's enough for me to put two and two together. He also went on far more raids than the boys did, which means more potential victims.

No. Ubbe didn't rape anyone. Did you forget that he insisted that Margrethe was a human being that needs to be asked if she wants to have sex? I doubt that mindset went away. He didn't see her as a slave, but a person. Does that make her a free woman? No. But she had the option to say no, even though she probably was too afraid to speak her mind. Sigurd's opinion on that doesn't matter to me, tbh. He was basically a 16yo teenager. They usually don't have smart ideas and talk shit all the time.

Those boys were raised to believe they were better than others just because they were the son's of Ragnar Lothbrok and their mother the Queen of Kattegat, Aslaug (whose parents were also well known). They were raised as royals who stood above commoners and surely above slaves. They were entitled little shits, let's be real. To them it was normal to use a person if that person was a slave. Modern society recognizes that slavery is wrong and that you can't own a human being. Those weren't modern times though. They had entirely different values. Heck, their biggest goal was to die young in battle to get to Valhalla. I think it's safe to say their ideas of a good life and what's right and wrong differ a lot to what our society thinks today. It's okay to hate those parts (slavery) in the show, it would be weird to agree with and tolerize it. You can both understand why and that it happened and still hate it.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

I have been trying to shape this into a full, coherent narrative for a little while, but a lot of the connective tissue is missing, like how they actually get the twins ferried over to Jugdral. Which, the answers might be "Byleth hits up Yuri to get someone to fake birth certificates" or "the house leaders apply Money and Rich Family Connections to the problem to get a no-questions-asked flight to Belhalla" because that is just a way that these plots can end. Fundamentally, there are a lot of Rich Kids in this AU, and they can just solve some of these problems the way Rich Kids do.

The other big piece I've not figured out was "what does Manfroy do when he finds out the babies are missing, what does Thales do, do they stir up more shit and cause issues to splash back on the main cast". Like Manfroy could just panic and try to kidnap Deirdre and then figure out the details later. Thales might know that Edelgard and Dimitri have to be caught up in this. I haven't decided how much I want to put the main cast do; I kinda wanna cut Deirdre a break, because the poor woman goes through enough in canon and I don't need to put her through a kidnapping, but on the other hand, that gives Validar something to do to cause problems - send in Aversa with a baseball bat to un-kidnap a woman, and that's a funny concept. There's lots of ways the story can splinter after the initial "we stole two babies" part and I’ve had trouble deciding what I want to do with it!

Anyway that’s absolutely hysterical that Jedah is just. carrying on with whatever crimes he’s committing, totally unaware of the slapfight happening between the other three axis of the Cult Gang. He finds out months later that Manfroy had and lost A Potential Vessel For Their God and Manfroy blames Thales and Thales blames Validar and frankly, Jedah still doesn’t quite understand how Validar actually played into this.

They got some of Arvis' blood too, just by telling him “hey give us some blood or we’ll let people find out about your bloodline secret :)”, and he's dead enough inside that he's like, whatever, here, take it, they’re not actually going to be able to do anything with a bit of my blood and hair. And unfortunately for him he does not know that Manfroy knows Thales and Thales has the resources for Incredibly Unethical Science.

That’s incredibly funny, the idea that Thales could like, try to make a legal claim. I’d like to think he tries to make a claim on some sort of Intellectual Property Patent Law kinda grounds, and everyone else goes “THAT IS A HUMAN PERSON”

Robin hits Arvis with it as soon as she knows for sure, which is probably 3 am local time, and Arvis only gave her his number acting under the assumption that she would never ever call him because of international fees, and he answers the phone ready to demand what the fuck is going on and he barely gets one word out before Robin hits him with “you have a half-sister and the Loptyrian Church stole both your and her DNA to cobble together a vessel for their god in a lab and by a vessel I mean a baby - two babies - they stole your DNA and cloned two babies in a lab in Fodlan—“ and Arvis is like “repeat everything you just said but slower”.

Robin goes through the whole thing and has enough info about Arvis’ alleged half-sister that Arvis just. slowly opens Facebook. looks at the friend request from Sigurd that’s been sitting unanswered for two years. looks at Sigurd’s wife in the profile picture with him. slowly pulls a pillow over his head and considers setting himself on fire.

Anyway Arvis does not have Sigurd’s phone number or any contact info for him, still refuses to accept that friend request, and refuses to ask Azelle if he has any contact info for Sigurd, and he’s going to wait to try to get some sort of actual proof from Robin, but he’s also slowly losing his mind and going through every stage of grief and then some bonus unlockable stages, and anyway by the time he has whatever he considers sufficient proof, he calls out of work and just drives to Chalphy because he doesn’t have Sigurd’s number but he knows where Sigurd lives so he just shows up at Sigurd’s house looking like he was hit by a train and he’s like. Hello. I have recently learned something.

It is really a lot on every level for all of them.

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Unexpected: Part 3

Summary: Thickheaded idiot Ivar finally realizes he’s in love while going to the market with her to get her new clothes and wise NPC (tm) gives him some advice. Aslaug takes her in for an interrogation à la overbearing mother… More smut ofc, but it’s a bit brief this time!

Beginning Notes: the Brísingamen is a necklace that was given to Freya in Norse mythology. From the etymology of the word, it’s possible that the necklace was meant to be made of amber.

Taglist: @bragisrunes @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @punkrocknpearls @alicedopey @batmandallyboy (hmu to be added!)

Masterlist | Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 4 | requests are OPEN!

He woke up next to her this morning. Ivar can barely process it. When she moved in her sleep, he’d woken up, and he’d gotten to hold her while she was still sleeping, running a hand through her hair carefully.

She’d smiled at him when she had woken up, kissed him, gotten dressed halfway, and then Ivar had ruined her efforts and they were late to breakfast.

Now that she was his, she didn’t have to serve anyone else. Unlike Margrethe, she doesn’t dare sit down at the table, instead pouring his drink and refilling his mother’s and brother’s cups as well. Ivar glares at Sigurd, who leans towards her just to tease him.

Ivar knows that he is more interested in men than women, and that he’s fucking one ever since Hvitserk and Ubbe are taking up all of Margrethe’s time, but he still clenches his fist in jealousy under the table.

After breakfast, they head out alone. Sigurd leaves first, grabbing his Oud before he disappears to Gods know where, and Hvitserk and Ubbe leave soon after, saying that they’ll spar a bit. Ivar doubts it. Then again, his intentions aren’t the purest either.

She follows him dutifully to the market, carrying an empty basket. Before they can buy anything, Ivar spots Helga, who hands him a small vial. She smiles at her brightly.

“This is for your legs. It’s a new recipe, so tell me if anything is off.” She says, looking at Ivar.

Ivar nods, and she’s quick to take it, putting it in her basket.

“Do you need anything?” Helga asks, turning to her. She shakes her head.

“Bodil’s fever is gone, thank the Gods. It would’ve broken Estrid’s heart if her last daughter died too. That Frankish slave, Lothar, he cut himself quite deep, but the others already shared some of your old supplies.” She replies.

“That’s good. If you need anything, don’t be shy to come to me.” Helga says, walking away. Then, Ivar turns to her.

“How do you know Helga?” he asks.

“She helps us a lot. Whenever she can spare her supplies, she gives them to us. There’s a thrall that used to be in Floki’s service who learned from her. She’s a very kind woman.”

“That is true.” Ivar nods. He didn’t know Helga helped the slaves, but it’s her character to do such a strange thing.

The first stall they stop at is a fabric stall. The merchant looks like he comes from Rus, and his heavy accent confirms Ivar’s expectations.

He offers Ivar a good deal on a ready-made dress and a fur, but when Ivar turns to her, her eyes are wide.

“That is too expensive.” She says decidedly. The merchant immediately tells her he’s unwilling to haggle, but she shrugs, choosing a plain fabric instead. Ivar is sure it’s meant for aprons, but the light blue color suits her, so he hands over his coin.

“You need a pelt for when it gets colder.” He tells her. She looks uncomfortable at the thought, but nods.

“But not from this stall. This is luxury clothing he’s selling.”

Ivar lets her lead him away from the stalls on the main road, and towards a tiny stall that sells pelts as well as a few vegetables that have definitely been grown in the sorry soil of Kattegat.

She seems to know the vendor, who looks surprised at seeing a prince at her stall. Ivar chooses the fur, and she immediately begins haggling with the woman, before they settle on a price, she deems reasonable. Before they leave, Ivar spots a deep green, but still plain dress.

“That one too.” He tells the woman.

“You really don’t have to.” She insists, but the vendor readily holds it out for Ivar to inspect.

“No discussion.” Ivar tells her. “You need more than one proper dress.”

“I can make at least three out of this fabric.” She replies but lets him buy the dress.

They walk back onto the main road together, and she offers to go home. She’s blushing as she looks at the green dress, and Ivar can tell that she can’t believe the amount of money he just spent on her.

“I want to keep looking.” Ivar tells her. The blacksmith lives next to the stalls, and Ivar wants to pick up an axe he commissioned. Then, he wants to go to the stall of a Francian who sells wares from the Mediterranean. His mother loves oranges, so Ivar always goes to see if they have any.

While he’s at the blacksmith, he gives her money to go to the Francian. He follows soon after, only to see that she’s still at the stall.

“I don’t sell to thralls.” The merchant tells her as Ivar comes closer.

“It’s not for me, and I have the money. My master sent me to buy them.” She explains. “And I can take the bad ones off your hands, if you’d like.”

“Stop begging and buy off of someone else.” The merchant hisses.

“Is there a problem?” Ivar asks, stepping next to her. His axe is still in his hand.

“Prince Ivar!” he exclaims. Turning to her, he asks, “Why didn’t you tell me who your master was?”

“I didn’t think it mattered.” She presses out, and Ivar can see the barely concealed anger in the way she clenches her jaw, and her knuckles turn white on the handle of her basket.

The merchant hands over the oranges, and then turns around and gives her another crate.

“The bad ones.” He says. Ivar looks at them and sees a few with marks, some with a little mold on them. He would never eat them, but she smiles brightly and thanks the merchant.

“Why did you ask him for the foul ones?” he asks her as soon as they are out of the rude merchant’s hearing.

“They’re not foul.” She laughs. “Just a bit old. These stalls are luxury stalls, so they usually don’t even sell to random thralls, but once, Bodil found a mandarin after the stall had closed down. She brought it to the thrall quarters and shared it with all of us. We kept the peel because it smelled so good. Since then, we’ve been trying to get more, whether that’s the old ones or something that fell off his cart.”

Ivar thinks he understands. There’s one last stop he wants to make today, but before they make it, she spots a young girl. Ivar follows her gaze. It’s another thrall, who waves to her. The girl can’t be older than seven. Unsure, she glances to him.

“Go.” Ivar tells her, and she almost runs off, taking the young girl into her arms. He sees them chatter and the girl grabs an orange from the crate, holding it up high over her head triumphantly. She reminds Ivar of Hvitserk. Ivar turns to the stall he wants to visit.

“I want to buy a necklace.” He tells the merchant. They know each other well. She’s an old woman, who was already selling her jewelry when Aslaug came to Kattegat. Ivar has been going to her whenever he wants to buy his mother a present.

“For your mother?” she asks, and Ivar shakes his head.

“For the girl?” she guesses, and Ivar stares at the ground.

“Just a simple one. With a stone or so.” He tells her. She turns around, going through one of her displays, until she finds what she’s looking for.

It’s a simple band with an amber pendant she hands him, and Ivar finds it almost painfully on the nose.

“Would you like a ring to go with it?” she asks in an almost teasing voice, and it’s only because Ivar has known her all her life that there are no consequences.

“What would I need that for?” he asks coolly.

“I’ve never seen you with that girl before, but I can tell when men are in love. It’s why I sell so much.”

“Secrets of the trade?” Ivar asks sarcastically.

“Precisely that. Tell her you’re in love. And free her if you haven’t already. I’ve heard nothing bad about that girl, and it’s obvious to me she loves you back.”

Ivar nodded, handing over the money before quickly leaving the stall, necklace clutched in his hand. She enjoyed gossip, entertaining his mother whenever she came to her stall, Ivar knew that. She also enjoyed making money. Was it really true that she liked him?

She’s spinning the girl around as Ivar comes closer, before she hugs her and turns around to find him. She almost bumps into Ivar.

“Oh sorry.” She apologizes. “I’m a bit dizzy. You know, from all the turning.”

Her hairdo is dangerously close to falling apart, and Ivar wants to fix it for her later.

“Who was that?” Ivar asks.

“That’s Bodil. I gave her the oranges so she can share with her family and friends.”

“What about you?”

“I already got fabric and a dress, AND a fur coat. I don’t need more luxuries.” She shrugs.

Shakily, Ivar grabbed the amber pendant. “I still want to give you this.”

She accepts it carefully, as if it’ll crack if she cradles it too harshly. “Thank you, Ivar. It’s absolutely beautiful.”

Then, she hugs him, in the middle of the main road. Ivar freezes, not knowing what to do. Carefully, he lays his head on her shoulder.

They walk into the Great Hall the moment Ubbe and Hvitserk return, and Ivar shoots her a regretful glance as his brothers pull him away.

“I’ll clean your room and change your bedding.” She calls after him, disappearing with her new things.

Aslaug’s POV:

Ivar and his thrall had come back from the market just in time for Aslaug to watch her disappear into his room. She didn’t trust this woman. Perhaps she would use Ivar’s trust to steal something he wouldn’t miss. Perhaps she was as ambitious as Margrethe.

Aslaug was going to find out.

The thrall didn’t notice her at first. She was pulling the linens off of Ivar’s bed, her back turned to the door. Only when she turned around did she see Aslaug.

“My Queen.” She said, bowing her head. “Prince Ivar bought you oranges. I’ve had them brought to the kitchens. Is there anything specific you’d like them with?”

“What are your intentions with my son?”

“I don’t have any intentions.” She replied.

“Why did you sleep with him?” Aslaug continued.

“I thought he was attractive.”

“Despite his legs?”

“I’m not as superficial as some other women.” She said calmly.

“Would you like to be free one day?” Aslaug asked

“Which thrall doesn’t?”

“Do you love him?” Aslaug asked finally. There’s silence from this quick-witted thrall. It lasts too long to be a lie. She doesn’t answer Aslaug at all. The queen grabbed the thrall’s jaw, making her look up at her. Aslaug noticed how young she looked. She couldn’t be much older than Ivar.

She remembered her vision. Aslaug had dreamt that Ivar would marry a thrall one day. She had also dreamt that Ivar would die at sea before he would marry. Her visions did not help her. They only conflicted each other.

“He cannot free you.” Aslaug told her.

“Being his thrall has already made me happier.” She replied.

“He’ll marry someone else. A worthy princess or an earl’s daughter. Not you.”

For a moment, Aslaug sees her façade drop. A second of hurt and jealousy. Then it was over, and Aslaug let go of her jaw.

“Break his heart.” She told the girl, “And you’ll have his family lining up to kill you before he does.”

“I know.” She replied, as if that didn’t scare her. Then, the thrall continued cleaning the bed, as if their conversation had never happened.

Ivar’s POV:

She was talking to Hvitserk. Why the fuck was she talking to Hvitserk?

He creeps closer, trying to make out what she’s saying. Hvitserk’s laughing at something she just told him, and it makes Ivar’s blood boil.

“I can teach them how to make the bread.” Ivar can finally hear her say. What?

Hvitserk sees him, and smiles at Ivar brightly. Absentmindedly, he hands her his cup, and Ivar wants to start a fight with him for disrespecting his woman. Except that she is a thrall, and all she’ll ever be is his property.

“I was just asking her about the bread she made. Now that she isn’t in the kitchen, it’ll be the old bread again.” Hvitserk explains.

“Stay away from her.” Ivar tells him, before going to her.

“Jealous?” Hvitserk teases.

“Shut up.” Ivar almost roars over his shoulder.

“If it’s alright I’ll teach the others in the kitchen how to make the bread sometime next week.” She offers.

“I don’t want you talking to Hvitserk.” Ivar says.

“He’s your brother. I’m bound to see him when I’m living in your home.”

Ivar’s hand shoots up, resting on her neck.

“He’s good with most women. I’m not.” Ivar presses out.

“And I am not most women.” She replies quietly. “I thought we’d already established that.”

Ivar could feel the anger creeping up on him. Suddenly, every man in the room was staring at her. The two shieldmaidens making out in the corner seemed to be waving her over, asking them to join. Sigurd was there, Hvitserk was there, Ubbe was there, even Bjorn was there.

They all look like they were going to take her from him. And the worst part was, Ivar knows they could.

“Go to my room. Now. Take that dress off.” He tells her, before letting go of her neck.

He stays until he can’t bear it anymore before he walks towards their room. Hvitserk throws him a look that used to be reserved for teasing Ubbe, but no one else in the Great Hall notices.

When he gets to their, no, his room, the dress is barely over her shoulders.

“That was fast.” She comments. Wordlessly, Ivar grabs her, pushing her against the door. Her back hits it with a quiet thud, and she lets him tear the dress down her shoulders. The necklace rests between her breasts, a reminder that she’s his.

His fingers are on her, groping greedily because Ivar wants to somehow show her that he loves her, and that he wants her to be his – in a way that she cannot be.

“You’re mine.” Ivar says harshly, “Only mine.”

She nods frantically, and Ivar knows that, in any other situation, she would’ve said something snarky.

“Say it.” He demands. He can feel the desperation inside him growing, he wants her to tell him she feels the same way. He needs her too.

“Yours.” She breathes out, the word ending in a moan when his hand finds her pussy.

She repeats it from her own volition, over and over as Ivar leads her to his bed and sucks dark splotches onto her skin. Her hands trail down his chest, towards his breeches and Ivar lets her do it, because this is something he can trust her with.

Her hand finds his cock and she pumps up and down, until Ivar is groaning into her neck, almost ready to beg her. When he pushes into her, it feels just as good as the first time, but this time, Ivar isn’t tense, only angry.

He wants to be gentle with her, so he kisses her slowly, lets his touch become softer. He still squeezes her neck and grabs her hips, because that’s as gentle as Ivar will ever get. When he’s done, he pulls out, using his fingers to get her to finish too.

They lie side by side in silence, and Ivar can hear the sounds of the feast taking place behind his door. He wonders if they heard them. A part of him wants them to know that he can do it. Another part wants her to be his secret.

Her hand finds his. She holds it as carefully as her necklace of amber, staring up at the ceiling. Ivar looks at her, but she doesn’t notice, and for the first time, he sees her.  He sees a reflection of his anger in her. It’s hidden much better, but it’s there.

“Why are you angry?” he asks her. She hesitates, as if she’s considering lying to him.

“The merchant.” She replies.

“I can have him killed if you want.” Ivar offers. She shakes her head, beginning to smile.

“And what would that do?”

“He wouldn’t be able to disrespect you without a head.”

“It wouldn’t change anything. There’ll always be people treating me like I am worth less than cattle. It’s stupid to be angry at them, but I can’t help it. Even if someone freed me, I’d always be the former thrall.” She explains. Ivar knows that he cannot understand fully what she means, and that makes him angrier than before.

“They wouldn’t disrespect you if you were a queen.” Ivar blurts out. She turns to face him, a hand running through his hair.

“My Ivar.” She says, and his heart skips a beat. “We both know that won’t happen. You love your mother far too much.”

I love you too. Ivar wants to say, because he can hear it between the words she does say, I love you and I’d break my promise to my mother for you. I think.

“You’re the only one in the world who understands my anger.” He says instead. It has to be enough, for now.

[sayhwaet]

Who doesn’t love learning about epic battles of yore from various other continents? But everybody knows that sitting around reading dusty history books is dull; instead, you are being made to reenact your assigned battle yourselves in a show-and-tell to the rest of the class. The seminar leader has even provided a dress-up box to aid you in your endeavors. [Grants Heavy Armor +1]  (starter for @aedsunderstudy)

" - And when you get you that point, you don't notice all'a the going's-on around you, and it feels like the passage of time is just – y'know, it's frozen, almost, time starts and stops on either end when you can count your limbs and remember that yer alive – so we didn't even realize that the sun had gotten so low, and AUGH - " Beowolf recoiled dramatically, flinging an arm up to shield himself from an imaginary sun, "DAMN, it was getting int'our eyes! 

"But damn if that man didn't have the most incredible fucking sword thrust – pardon, had the most incredible sword thrust I've ever seen a human man have – and y'know I guess after a fashion he weren't a human man, just somethin' else that we kinda had to trail after, but don't you get me wrong, me'n the rest of his slobs managed to storm the walls and the fields in his wake, and not after no sloppy seconds, I'll tell you that." 

It was hard to keep track of where in the story he was – it wasn't one he got to tell often, he supposed, one of the more mundane skirmishes through Agustria, all things considered, and well before the exile. Nothing that would have made history books, and so when this lovely young lady made a beeline for him with a checklist in hand, he let himself get back into the role once more, more gruff and rough-around-the edges then for the stark contrast he made with the rest of the army to that point, and feelin' mighty out of place in the wake of Sigurd's splendor. 

But he got his licks in, and he made sure emphasize them, propping his foot on the edge of a table for a more valiant angle, swinging his imaginary sword at the imaginary foes until each of them slain and he rose, cocking his head at the young lady with a grin on his face. 

"You sure this the kinda thing yer lookin' for? Not nearly the pretty fairy tale you might find in the library, y'know." 

Stop on your right foot - AND DON'T FORGET IT

[lokifromvalhalla]

Inseparable

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗ Ivar The Boneless x Reader Genre: Fluff Words: ± 1 700

Ivar makes (y/n) taking him around, wherever they go. Both like it, no matter how much they deny it.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

A/N: Just trying something out, I hope you like it.

The cold breeze makes me shudder a little, so I clutch my coat closer, sighing as I observe the commotion in the distance. It has been some days already since Ragnar returned, but there’s still this feeling that none of this is true and all of us live amongst a collective illness dream. Well, people do have their reasons not to be glad regarding his return, however... there’s a reason to celebrate, after all, even if he’s changed; our King is back. Sometimes I wish I could slap those new thoughts off his mind, and I can tell the boys share the same thoughts. Sigurd had that weird look when his father talked about England.

“Why don’t you bring me some water, will you?” Ivar pats my shoulder and I raise an eyebrow at him, shifting a little on my place on the haystack, right beside him.

“As if I were your slave!” I glare as I rest my chin on my arms crossed before me again. “I told you to bring some water, but no!” I sigh, observing some of the merchants sorting out their products while others offer their goods to the visitors or locals, though their rambling and persuasion is mostly always focused on the visitors, who don’t walk past the same booths everyday and notice their low prices are but tricks.

“Well, but now I’m thirsty!” His eyebrows knit together a little. “C’mon, I know you’ll be a good friend and get some for me, hm?”

“Who said I’m your friend?”

“You love me,” he chuckles.

“Try tolerate.” I force a smile, just to genuinely chuckle at the way he shrugs, and finally shuts up for once. To be honest, having Ivar talking about water does make me notice how dry my throat actually is, so I end up moving to get a horn with water from the barrel of the closest booth, soon returning to my previous spot. It’s sort of funny how Ivar sits up and reaches out his hand, just to clench it closed as I bring the horn up to down the water myself instead. “‘Told you.”

Ivar’s face scrunches up as he curses under his breath, soon interrupting himself once I hold the horn out to him and he raises an eyebrow at me before carefully peeking into the horn, humming at seeing it’s full a little over the half. “See?” He takes the horn in hand. “You have a soft heart.”

“Keep believing that.” A small smile tugs on my lips as I finally drop myself to my knees then fall forward on the hay again. “Have you thought about going to England?”

“Well, yes,” he breathes, “but not like Father asked me a thing about it. Yet, anyway.”

Will Ragnar simply ignore Ivar like that? Since even before disappearing, it’s been hard to predict anything, but it isn’t like he was fond of Ivar, from what I remember, at least not all the time. “Have you talked to him properly?”

“Not really.” Ivar shrugs.

“Give it a while.”

Ragnar should’ve asked him at the beginning, to be honest, when he was asking the other four. He even asked me, which I replied with an ‘I don’t know’ that earned me some weird looks from Sigurd and Ubbe, but I’m far from caring about what they think, even more if I want to earn my place in Valhalla. For the gods, Ragnar really is back.

“We are practicing archery tomorrow,” I sigh and glance at Ivar, who continues looking at the people while resting in a position similar to mine.

“We?” He raises an eyebrow.

I snort. “Don’t act like you’d not make me take you along anyways!”

“Well, you’re my entertainment!” He throws his nose in the air, a habit of his. A terrible one. “What am I supposed to do all day? At least watching you gives your dumbness a purpose while it keeps me from hunting someone down!”

“Get fucked, Ivar!” I smack him upside the head, leaving him chuckling as I stand up and head to the booths again to fix something to eat.

⟐

Aslaug seems to be tense since Ragnar showed up out of nowhere in the middle of Kattegat. As much as she at least tries to seem at minimum normal before her sons, something lies under her skin, poking her repeatedly and uncomfortably, enough to have her closing her eyes for a longer moment and taking in a deep breath whenever someone mentions something about the King.

This tension is extended to all of the Ragnarssons, essentially the same one, promoted by those confused feelings towards Ragnar. Ubbe’s tension slips through simply every motion of his, followed by a nervousness he’ll deny a little too quickly if he’s questioned about anything related to it. In contrast, Sigurd has a sharp annoyance that stretches itself to his furrowed brow and movements, and Hvitserk carries such a calmness that’d trick anyone who doesn’t know him better. Almost like Bjorn, but Bjorn’s coldness is still something else.

Sigurd’s eyes meet mine for a few seconds then he sighs, continuing to munch on his food in silence, like everyone else.

“We’re going to the woods tomorrow, Mother,” Ivar cuts through the silence as if it were any other day, and no one was with the King getting under their skin. Aslaug hums, furrowing her eyebrows whilst turning to Ivar. “(Y/n) and I.” He motions towards me before taking a bite of his meat.

Aslaug follows his gaze to me, and eventually nods with a hum. “Sure, it will be good for you.”

Ivar hums in agreement, nodding, and glances towards me, as if looking for a confirmation that I grant him by raising my eyebrows lightly, not bothering enough to stop eating. The silence was quite comfortable in the first place, to be honest.

“We’re going to train, you know,” Ivar continues and pauses to take a sip of his wine. “For England.”

Sigurd looks at Ivar, tilting his head a little, then glances at his other brothers in search of a similar reaction that he never once finds. “You weren’t even asked!”

Ivar still munches on his food when he hums questioningly and furrows his eyebrows, still unamused, as he looks around in a mocking way. “And who are you to know, Brother?”

I’ve been with them for many years now to be impressed with the bickering that ignites between the four in simply each moment, and when Bjorn is around, I at least have someone else to talk to until the bickering dies down instead to immersing back in my own thoughts in the meantime, usually just nodding in agreement whenever someone bothers to ask me something. This time, though, I don’t know if I want to be alone with the ringing thoughts of Ragnar having hidden everything about the settlement in England for so long. The way so many people thought their loved ones were fine just to know they’ve not been with us for a long time already, and Odin didn’t even let them know about it.

“Enough!” Aslaug’s sharp tone cuts through my thoughts before she brings herself up to her feet and ankles out of the room; I look at the four to see Ivar glaring at Sigurd. Gods. It’s all probably about the witch thing again.

Aslaug is nowhere to be found until after we’re heading to our bedrooms, though Sigurd had isolated himself in his place first, and Ivar was the last, asking me where I happened to be going when I went to leave the main room with Ubbe. Of course I stayed back, no matter if I wanted to leave Ivar back with another slap upside the head, even more when he’s poking me earlier than usual the next morning, sitting on the ground and next to my bed with proper clothes already on.

“Fuck,” I groan before getting up.

We check on Floki on our way to the woods, exchanging a few words with Bjorn, then disappear among the trees on the way to the guys’ hunting site, where we finally come to a stop and take a few sips of fresh water from the canteen to finally get the bows and arrows in hands.

Ivar is better at it than me despite less time on practice—absolutely no surprises here. A chuckle comes from him once I miss the dead deer hanging in the distance, but it’s difficult to even keep myself gripped to reality. The next shot doesn’t even go past the pulled string, only for the bow to be put down as I take a deep breath and let the arrow down with it.

“You’re as enthusiastic as a corpse.” Ivar doesn’t look at me, one eye closed as he aims, letting go of the string to send the arrow piercing through the middle of the deer’s head perfectly. A proud smile tugs on his lips once he lets his bow down next to the stump he sits on.

“I am tired,” I sigh, blinking a couple of times in a fruitless attempt to get rid of the weight on my eyelids. “I couldn’t sleep well last night.”

“That’s what happens when you don’t get a good night kiss from me!” He nods to himself with such a confidence that I can’t help but to snort, breathily laughing until he threatens to hit me across the leg with a spare arrow.

“As if! Shut it!” I take the arrow from his hand to hit him lightly on the shoulder with it; he pouts at me with a glare. “You’re gross!”

Ivar scrunches his nose, but shrugs, taking the arrow back. “Well, I’m just letting this slide because—”

“Because nothing,” I grumble, helplessly chuckling at his angry glare, which worsens once I shove him to the side to take a seat next to him on the stump, wrapping an arm around his torso so he doesn’t fall over. “Poor boy,” I tease, running a hand through his hair to fix the few stubborn strands back like the others, and despite scoffing, Ivar does let me do it, his eyes drifting down until I let my hand fall again.

“Annoying,” he mumbles with a sigh, though I don’t have the opportunity to say anything again before his lips are pressed to mine. I furrow my eyebrows as I try to seek for any further explanation for this, but all he does is to smile and nod, picking his things from the ground again.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Drowning (500 Celebration)

500 Celebration Masterlist

Pairing: Hvitserk/f!Reader

Prompt: From the Fluff Prompts category: “You make me happy.”  

Word Count: 3374

Warnings: Topics of drowning and death by drowning. Mentions/allusions to violence and death. A whole lot of angst and some morsels of fluff hidden there. Angst with a happy ending tho. This is, now more than ever after I was gone for so long, probably very OOC. There’s also a lot of introspection going on here, most of this is introspection in fact, since I tried challenging myself a bit. I’m sorry!

A/N: So, I'm still alive and writing for these characters, apparently 🤷‍♀️. It’s been almost a year since I announced my hiatus and well over six months since I posted anything, so: 1) hi again, 2) I’m sorry, and 3) holy fuck, a lot happened since I’ve been away, huh? Anyways, I’ll try to return for good this time! I hope this is alright!

Hvitserk has often, ever since he was a child, caught himself mesmerized -haunted, maybe- by water. By drowning, if he’s a tad more honest.

Ubbe and him never talk about it, not even when in their younger years, quietly, they gave away truths like I hope he never comes back, or when with something darker, something angrier, they reminded each other over the years, I still remember mother’s bruises, or even when they let mead loosen their tongues and admit today to things like I never quite forgave him.

They never talk about it, about her, about what they saw by the edge of that river.

Yet, Hvitserk has seen his elder brother often rush to bring his nieces and nephews back to safety whenever they stray too far into the shallow waters, as if he too sees the hands of a ghost waiting to drag what he loves into the deep; and he noticed the way Ubbe always was paralyzed in fear when he caught himself raising his voice against their mother, as if the knowledge of how much he looks like his father has made him fear the day he becomes like him.

So they never talk about it, but they haven’t forgotten. They never could.

He never could never really understand what drowning feels like, what makes people flail and claw and fight to try and escape, but it never stopped his mind from trying to, and in his nightmares when he was young, it was him his father drowned, it was his own face forced under the still waters as he stood there and watched.

What he has realized, in the aimless musings he allows himself, with his back to a tree in some forest of England waiting for his time on watch to pass, on the nights where sleep eludes him because you aren’t there beside him; is that for as much as the thought of drowning terrifies him, what truly haunts him is the mere idea that he might lose the people he loves to such a horrible fate.

He first realized he feared it so when Ivar almost drowned. It was only the second winter since Ragnar failed to return, and he had argued with Ubbe that he too could be a man, that he too could look after his younger brothers, and while Bjorn took the eldest hunting, Hvitserk took Ivar and Sigurd to the cabin by the river’s edge.

He cannot even remember what Sigurd and Ivar started fighting about, he can only remember he was reaching up to grasp at a pear dangling from a tree, Sigurd and Ivar off his sight for a few moments while he remained close enough to hear his brothers fighting by the pier where they sat. He remembers he was close enough to hear Sigurd’s scream as Ivar fell into the water, yet far enough that he believed the worst had come to pass by the time he dove into the cold water to save his brother.

And he and Ivar do talk about it, when they admit to shameful things like fear of death with small smiles that promise no one but us will know, when they speak of what life before and after their father has been by accompanying each wound with a scoff as if to say but don’t worry about me, when they exchange in truths about what they want most but only in the quiet between battles because accompanying those hopes is the silent admission of if only I were someone else’s son.

So they talk about it, but his brother could never tell him what drowning feels like. He did ask, once, a few days after that incident, and Ivar looked at him blankly and replied with the same thing Hvitserk did when he asked what running felt like, and said, not everything is like something else.

He doesn’t know what drowning is like, he just knows he fears it, he just knows that in some part of his mind he is still haunted by a death that never found him but passed by him, by a ghost that never struck against him but still struck.

But he has learned to overcome it, he has learned to think of drowning and think of Ubbe’s hand on his shoulder shaking him awake from a nightmare where his father’s hands pressed him further and further under the dark water, think of the sound of Ivar crawling towards him on the boat and his grumbling about how much he hates the open water whenever the memory his father’s manic voice telling him to disguise the boats creeps into his thoughts, think of your soft hands cupping his face and your eyes warm with adoration looking into his whenever he feels like being forced under the water by the weight of legacy.

He has learned, and so he isn’t so afraid of drowning anymore, at least not drowning as he used to fear it when he was younger, the drowning of flailing limbs and frantic gasps; and the only drowning he fears now is the one he can’t quite define or understand, the one where someone he loves is holding him underwater, the one where he is watching someone die and does nothing.

But it has been years since he has been afraid of drowning, since he has hesitated before agreeing to join his brothers in a short trip uphill of Kattegat to the river’s edge, since he has flinched when you set your hands on his shoulders as you both enjoy a swim in the warm lake near Thetford.

The last time he remembers feeling that fear was a long time ago. Those first couple of months after first meeting you he’d spend most of his time following you around as you worked, asking questions just to hear you talk, chest growing warm each time he made you smile. So, when one morning he found you waiting for him far from the market where you offered your crafts, and you extended a hand with a smile and asked him if he’d like to go somewhere with you, of course he said yes. He would have done anything to make it so that you kept looking at him like that, so that you kept smiling like that.

You spent the day together, venturing far from Kattegat and into the familiar forests, your hand comfortably in his as you gave away truths about each other, as you traded secrets. When the sun started to fall, he promised to share another secret with you only if you swore never share it with anyone else, and when you agreed, he leaned down and kissed you.

He still remembers what it felt like to feel your lips pull into a smile against his, still remembers the glint in your eye even as you playfully smacked his arm and told him he was a fool.

He might have been, but since that day he has been the only one to kiss you, so he still counts it as one of the best deals he made, however foolish.

Unwilling to let the night end, you had taken him to the edge of the river, watched the moon paint over the calm waters for a few breaths before turning to him, already toeing off your shoes, and daring him to jump in with you.

You hadn’t waited for an answer that time, shrugging off your dress in the blink of an eye and diving into the dark waters without him.

He dove right after you, but try as he might he couldn’t hide from you that it was something more than the desire to join you that drove him in that moment. It had been merely a moment, but his stomach dropped, and his heart felt as if it had stalled its beat, because for a moment, just a moment, you hadn’t surfaced.

Later, while he had convinced himself he had successfully distracted you from remembering anything from that swim aside from his hands and mouth on you, bodies intertwined in a pile of your clothes pretending neither of you were shivering; you asked if you had scared him when you jumped into the river, an adorable tilt to your head and an adoration shining in your eyes that against what his worst thoughts once promised has never faded. Hvitserk chose to tell you about the time Ivar almost drowned when they were children.

Not really a lie, and while he knows that it isn’t enough, he doesn’t know where to start with telling you the truth.

But he tells you, or tries to anyhow, in other ways. He tells you, cannot help but do so, when each morning that finds him with you still in his arms finds him bringing you closer before he has even woken up, a mindless search for the reassurance that you are still there, that you are still real, when the first word that leaves his lips each morning is a call of your name. He tells you when he kisses you goodbye before a battle and grasps your hand to wrap your fingers around a knife, brow pressed against yours and eyes searching your own in the silent request that you promise you’ll do what it takes to keep yourself safe. He tells you after each return from a spring of battle and conquest, when he finds himself absently reaching for you more often than before, chasing after the warmth of your touch and the reassurance of your presence even if through nothing more than a graze of his fingers against yours as you both dine quietly.

He tells you in many ways, and he hopes you understand, he hopes you know that with each whisper of your name in the quiet mornings he is promising I’ll always keep you safe, that with each goodbye he prays is not the last he keeps himself from admitting I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, that with each caress of his hand over your soft skin after too long apart he is reminding the both of you, you brought me home.

It all seems so…insufficient now, and he cannot help the part of him that wonders whether he could have kept you safe if he had told you the truth, about everything, about his fears of losing the people he loves, about how he still feels his Fate has been marked, from beginning to end, by drowning. It is all he has thought about, for as long as he has been in this boat, filled with restlessness and something more bitter, something like fear, as they travel back to what is left of the city where you were waiting for him.

There are few times the Gods have heard him plead, pray.

He did, between hiccupping sobs and hearing Sigurd’s frantic whispers about how he didn’t mean for this to happen, as he tried helping Ivar cough out the water he had almost drowned in, he prayed and pleaded until Ubbe and Bjorn found the three of them and took them home.

He did, hands gripping the railings of the boat that took them home so tightly it hurt for days afterwards, when they got word of Lagertha’s usurping of his mother’s throne, and he was so sure Ubbe had died defending their mother or attempting to avenge her, and prayed to be wrong.

And he does now, because from here he can see the smoke rising over the city where you promised to be waiting for him, and the reality of what has happened is dawning on him, and he prays, he pleads, that the worst hasn’t come to pass, that…that there is something he can do, something he can exchange -his own life, if that is what the Gods demand- to keep you safe, alive.

His breaths stutter past his lips and he grits his teeth to force himself to keep looking at the destroyed city ahead, and he finds himself begging that the Gods allow him just one thing, just this one happiness. He will weather any storm, he will give up anything, he just pleads to whatever might listen that he doesn’t have to give up a life with you beside him, that he doesn’t have to live in a world that doesn’t have you in it.

When he jumps from the boat onto the shallow waters of the shore, he could swear for a moment the electric blue of his father’s eyes is looking back from under the water, but he has no time to dwell on it, for he is running to try to find you before he can think twice about it.

He finally understands now, trying to breathe past the smoke and the fear, searching amongst the bodies littered by the shore for a familiar face and yet refusing to even fathom the possibility that you may be amongst the dead, what drowning is.

Drowning is this. This helplessness, this horror.

He remembers Bjorn’s frown and how alike it was to their father’s, and his brother’s gruff whisper of unhappiness is more common than happiness as they sailed back from Paris with a husk of a father that had been gone long before he slipped away in the first port they docked in.

He remembers all the times he saw the hollowness in Ubbe’s eyes as he let himself linger on the sight of a father with his children, and it is still lodged in Hvitserk’s heart the answer his brother gave when he asked if a simple life would make him happy, we are the sons of Ragnar, is that not enough for any man?

He has seen too many times Ivar’s eyes tinged with blue and his smile tinged with something fragile, and heard too many times the sentence, the promise from a ghost that by his little brother is always voiced as a question, as a plea to have it denied, happiness is nothing.

He remembers all that. And yet, he was foolish enough to tell you, more than once, drunk on love and having lost half his mind to the curve of your smile, you make me happy.

Thinking back on it now, as he searches the town desperately for a glimpse of you; with intrusive thoughts chasing themselves in circles, trying to find something bigger in the sight before him than soot and blood, trying to give to the grief pressing onto his chest a deeper cause than just misfortune, that he walked willingly into those dark waters of his nightmares that first night he spent with you, that every night since, every moment since, have been but him taking another step forwards.

It would have been worth it, to drown, if what robbed him of breath had been the taste of your kiss, but in Hvitserk’s mind the image of himself walking into the deep with your hand in his, dragging you with him, damning you with him.

Someone at his back tells him there is no sign of the group that attacked, that they have left by now. He knows what they mean to tell him by that, he knows it should bring him to his knees to have it confirmed, but he can only manage an absent nod, numbly stumbling over the corpse of a man he once knew, to keep searching.

For all his nightmares where cold hands drag him to the deep, for all his musings where the weight of his father’s rage and his father’s failings push him down onto dark waters, he never quite thought drowning for him would be this, would be just this hollow sinking, this creeping despair making it harder and harder to breathe.

There are no hands dragging him down, there are no cruel faces looming above him, all there is is this horrifying absence, is the painful acceptance that he has lost the ground under his feet. All there is is sinking.

Further into the city he finds the damage isn’t as extensive as in the port and it still looks like the city that saw him kiss you goodbye; that beyond the wall of black smoke still clouding the bloodied streets, there are signs of a fight, of a resistance; that past the smoke there are people moving about, helping the injured and putting out the faint fires.

And hope holds him by the throat, and promises a way out of the water if he just clings to the grip on his throat despite the pain it causes and promises, and Hvitserk’s breath catches, stride suddenly more frantic, more desperate, as he continues searching.

It feels like a last breath, one last gasp before falling into the deep, when he calls out your name.

He is frozen in place as he hears your voice call back, and for a moment he thinks it nothing but a last mercy from Rán as she drags him down in her net, but a familiar figure emerges from behind one of the makeshift barricades, stumbling over a shield as she makes her way to him.

You haven’t made it two steps towards him when Hvitserk is already before you, stumbling, falling, running to hold you again, to wrap his arms around you and remind himself you are safe, to bury his face in your neck and take the gasping breaths of a man that was just pulled from the depths of the sea.

There’s a part of him worrying that he is holding you too tightly, that you might be injured or hurting and he should relax his hold on you, but he can’t make his body obey him right now, he can’t control how tightly he holds your body against his, he can’t control the tremble of his arms, the buckling of his knees as he almost brings you both to the ground.

Your voice, quiet and warm, washes over him as you murmur words he cannot understand right now, what he is sure are promises that you are alright, that it is all alright; and your arms are around him, holding him just as tightly, hands trembling as they cling to the edges of his armor.

Underneath the smoke there I still the faint scent of you, of the lavender oil he has spent many nights tasting on your skin and something softer that is just you, and it helps him slow his breathing, it helps him follow the motions of your hand on his back and find a rhythm.

When his breaths are no longer the desperate gasps for air of a man that understood finally what drowning is from entirely too close, Hvitserk makes himself pull away, just enough that he can rake his eyes over you and see for himself that you are safe, that you are unharmed.

Still, because losing the warmth of your body against his dropped a weight on his chest he wasn’t expecting, he reaches to grasp at your hand tightly, perhaps a tad franticly.

Your smile is trembling but still you reach with your hand to cup the side of his face, a ghost of a caress over his skin that more than ever feels like could break him; and the sight of you now, the feel of you now, is enough to undo him.

Hvitserk leans forward, letting his eyes fall closed as he presses his brow against yours, and though his heart still feels if it had been torn from his chest, and his hand cannot let go of yours no matter how much he tries, with you so close, your lips brushing his, he feels he can finally breathe.

There is much he should tell you, he should give name to the relief making each beat of his heart hurt and say I am so happy you are alright, he should voice his fear if only to be reminded it isn’t real and admit I thought I had lost you, he should give away one more truth and tell you drowning feels like a world without you.

Instead, voice a whisper and breaths one, he says,

“I love you.”

Thank you for reading, hope you liked this! Would you believe me if I told you this started out as a happy/fluffy piece? 🥴

I tried challenging myself and writing something with no dialogue but with a moving plot anyways, and idk if I did well, and I’m sorry if this sucks, but it was fun to write at least!

Anyhow, I’m sorry for the long absence! Tbh I debated a lot on coming back here and posting my stuff again, but for now I’m motivated, and I’m back. Sorta. Kinda. Fingers crossed.

But yeah, I am motivated, and I have a lot of things that I wanna share too, so hopefully I’ll see you again soon!

Taglist (so I don’t know what to do with taglists, I kept them as they were but idk. If you wanna be removed or smth please lemme know)

500 All: @youbloodymadgenius​​ @xbellaxcarolinax​​ @1950schick​​ @ietss​​ @peachyboneless​​ @encounterthepast​​ @maggiescarborough​ @fae-sedai​​ @zuxiezendler​​ @crazybunnyladysworld​​ @stupiddarkkside​​ @northumbria​​ @sagyunaro @aprilivar​​

500 Hvitserk: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​​

[popcorn1989]

18: That's a Plan

Characters: Ivar and Hvitserk

Warning: Nothing

Words: 1551

Look here for the related short stories or for other stories: Here

Two more days until Ragnar and his crew, with Ubba, left Kattegat and explored a new land. Where they were going, Ivar didn't know, and it seemed that no one wanted to say. He sat at the table, with his head on his folded hands, again he caught himself counting the nuts in front of him, annoyed he rolled his eyes and flinched briefly when Hvitserk suddenly pulled the chair in front of him forward and sat down on it. He slammed his feet down on the table, dirt falling from his shoes as he did so. "Nothing... Nobody tells me anything..." - "Not to you either?" asked Ivar in astonishment, this was not like the people at all, they loved Hvitserk. "I should have fucking gone with Ubba, then I'd be going too in two days" Ivar leaned back and looked around annoyed "You repeat yourself quite a lot" he saw Hvitserk shrug his shoulder. "I'm just telling you the truth" Ivar was starting to get angry, at the moment everything immediately infuriated him.

But before he could say anything in reply, Hvitserk looked at him "Leave it, Ivar, I don't want to argue" he reached for the bowl with the thirty-five nuts. Yes, no matter how many times he counted them, he always came up with the same number. And as soon as Hvitserk started eating, he counted again, confused at himself, he shook his head and looked away. "Ivar?" his brother asked smacking his lips and stuffing more nuts into his mouth, "Didn't it ever occur to you that this was the opportunity......" - "Maybe you should make your mouth fuller, then I'll understand you better" His brother grinned and stuffed the nuts into his mouth and tried to say something. Ivar just shook his head in disbelief at his brother. Hvitserk put the bowl on the table and Ivar watched him try to chew. "Yes, I have thought about it" he said, knowing what his brother wanted to say. Astonished, he looked at him and raised an index finger. "Whatever you want to say, I'll do it without you" Now his brother looked at him frowning and swallowed. "Wait a minute, I'm not going to tell you not to do it" - "Good" said Ivar.

Hvitserk was just opening his mouth when Floki hit him on the shoulder. Ivar smiled when he saw Hvitserk flinch and turn to him. Floki looked at Ivar grinning, "Tell me old man, where are you going with my father?" Floki giggled and looked around, but there was no one in the great hall but them. "If I told you that, you young hairless chick, I'd have to kill you" - "But an old rooster like you gets to go?" - "Only the old are the wise and I don't see where you have become wise" - "You are an old fisherman without a boat if you think I won't learn" - "And you are the fish that goes on the line even though there is no bait on it" Floki spoke and they both looked at each other urgently. Hvitserk had looked from one to the other and looked rather as if he could not follow.

But then Floki and Ivar started grinning. "Tell me, where is your father?" Ivar raised his hands "If I told you that, old ass, I'd have to kill you" Floki chuckled up "Then I know where to find him. Thank you, Ivar" he patted Hvitserk's shoulder again and headed off to his father's private rooms, he was looking after Floki in amazement. "I don't know what's going on between you both, but it always confuses me" Floki had just disappeared through the curtain when Ivar looked at his brother, he was gathering the small pieces of nuts from the Bowl and eating them. "And I don't know what's going on with you, but I'm amazed how one can be so greedy" Hvitserk laughed "What I wanted to say..." he looked around again "Of course I'm with you Ivar, but you should know that I don't want to hurt or kill Sigurd" again Ivar raised his hands and looked shocked "I would never do that" but actually he wouldn't mind anything happening to Sigurd.

But he was torn, he was his brother, but had no feelings for him. Because Sigurd had already started making fun of him since they were little. They argued and fought, and of course he did the same with his other brothers. Even he and Hvitserk argued and fought and when this happened it always got out of hand, but it was forgotten the next day, besides Hvisterk never made fun of him for being a cripple, he even avoided calling him that unless they were in said argument. But he could never forgive Sigurd, and he never forgot any of it. He looked from his fingers back to his brother and realized that he didn't really believe him. "Hvitserk, do you really think I would kill one of my brothers?" It pained him somewhat that his brother believed that and Hvitserk took a long time to slowly shake his head, but if he was honest, he didn't really know himself.

"So... Fire?... Maybe...we should...tonight" Hvitserk spoke cautiously "No, definitely not tonight" - "Why?" - "As long as Ubba is here, we don't do anything" spoke Ivar, thinking back to how Ubba said that he could be quite different too, if Ivar doesn't refrain from teasing Sigurd. He didn't want to feel his wrath and for the first time he was even happy that his older brother was going with his father, even if he had liked to have his place. "That means we still have two more days, and we can think of something by then?" - "I don't have to think of anything, Hvitserk" - "You have a plan?" his brother asked, his eyebrows furrowed questioningly. Ivar nodded and asked him if he knew the Old Hut that stood outside Kattegat. It was built there so that hunters could stow their prey and continue hunting. But as Kattegat grew, the paths for the hunters became wider and wider, because the animals no longer approached the city, and the hut now stood abandoned.

"Yes, but what do you want with the hut, Ivar?" his brother now asked, becoming more and more skeptical and Ivar had the feeling that he knew exactly what he was up to, but he didn't want to admit it. "It's made of wood and if we put straw in it. Then it will burn even better" - "And you want to lock Sigurd in there?" Hvitserk took his feet off the table and shook his head skeptically, "That's madness. I told you I don't want to kill him" Ivar laughed out and wiped his face with both hands "If he's inside, nothing will happen to him, the fire is outside. But it will give him quite a fright, and he'll scream like a girl, and that's when we'll let him out" - "How are you going to do that? If everything is on fire, then we won't be able to open the door" Hvitserk said, shaking his head again, "That sounds very risky to me." - "We are not going to set the door on fire. What do you think about me?" he asked, confused.

His brother bit his lower lip, he always did this when he was thinking, "So, you want to lure Sigurd into the hut and lock it and then set the hut on fire? How are you going to lure him there, and how are you going to set the hut on fire? It won't burn any time soon" his brother asked, looking at him urgently. "No, no .... I'll explain it to you" Ivar said and really had to explain everything to his brother, but soon his brother nodded. He said it was a good plan, but Ivar had to promise him not to hurt or kill Sigurd. "That's a plan," he said again, raising the Bowl "I'll go and get something to eat," he said, grinning widely as Ivar rolled his eyes again. But he was not alone for long, Ragnar joined him, Floki raised his hand briefly in farewell, and he did the same.

"Still offended?" Ragnar asked him and Ivar laughed briefly, but it died away as quickly as it had come. "Of course not," he said seriously, but he avoided looking at his father. "Good, then I can tell you that I am taking Ubba, Bjorn and Aslaug with me" Ubba was clear, Bjorn as well, but at his mother... "Mother?" he asked confused, she had never travelled with him before. She was not a shield maid. "And who, please, is supposed to keep watch here, when no one is around?" Ragnar grinned broadly. "Do you really think I haven't thought it through?" - Oh no, please don't say it.... - he thought as his father was already saying who should stand in for him for so long "Sigurd" he swallowed and cocked his head to one side, he couldn't be serious, could he? That would change everything. "Hvitserk is much older than he...." - "Maybe, but I have decided" Ragnar spoke sternly and stood up. - Life couldn't get any better - Ivar thought to himself, but this wouldn't change his plan, he was sure of it.

End.

[ladyleonster]

peerlessscowl​:

Cowa-bummer, Bro

The false king in the pit glowered up at him, eyeing his extended hand dubiously. “Fool me once, knave, shame on you. Fool me twice - !”

“You really wanna go that route?” Raven cocked a brow, gesturing again for him to take his hand.

Ethlyn had been quiet while Raven and the man sniped at each other, and after a moment she got Raven’s attention, pulling him away from the pit. She looked…sad at the whole ordeal, and Raven felt a tug deep within his chest.

Perhaps bringing her to deal with a man impersonating someone she loved was cruel. Raven grimaced at the thought, looking down at the disappointment that seeped from every line in Ethlyn’s bearing. He’d had a sister once, after all, had lost family - he thought that if someone had been impersonating the Cornwells he would have torn them limb from limb, and that if she wanted to mete out justice for her brother’s good name that it was her right, but looking at Ethlyn now he understood that he had been wrong to force her to face this, especially with a cold stranger such as himself.

“As you like, Lady Ethlyn,” he said with a nod, expression soft, and when she gifted him with a laugh he graced her with a rare smile in acknowledgement. Raven had less kind things to say about the man in the hole than that he looked funny, but he kept the thoughts to himself.

Stalking back over to the hole, he crouched once more, and called down, ignoring the murmur of rage flickering in his chest that scorched anew at the sight of the faux Sigurd. “I’m gonna extend my hand down now, and you’re going to take it,” he said. “We’re going to restrain you, and then take you back to the monastery. Yes?”

It was not a question, and the imposter seemed to understand that something had shifted during that sottovoce conversation. In short order, Raven tugged the man out of the hole, binding his wrists uncomfortably and with jerky motions before hefting him atop the back of his horse.

After Ethlyn mounted her horse again, Raven hopped up behind the man, settling himself for the journey. “Seems like a pretty bad gig,” he said to the man. “Lotta manual labor to dig a hole, climb into and out of it, and for what? To convince some country nobles for some petty cash?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Dropping the kingly act now, the man’s tone took on a distinct Faerghan edge that Raven had started hearing in his time in this country. “I’m doing it for my family. My sister is - ”

“Thought you said you don’t have a sister, Sigurd.” To tamp the stoking of rage in his chest, Raven clicked his tongue softly at his mount. He didn’t look over at Ethlyn. How fucking dare he…

Surly and childish, the imposter sulks in silence for a moment before, eventually, “I get paid twice, once as Sigurd, and then again when I debrief. It’s good money to get me out of this place.”

While Raven deals with their imposter, Ethlyn collects his horse.  It’s a sweet thing, nuzzling against her cheek as she ties it to her own mount to lead it along with them.  She’s always had such a soft spot for the animals and produces a mint for each of the three from her saddle bag before mounting up herself.  It isn’t the poor horse’s fault its master is who he is.

“That I actually believe,” Ethlyn looks over her shoulder at Raven when the man finally begins to drop his act.  The need for money can cause a man to turn to desperate measures and she supposes acting as a foreign king would be a lot more enticing than risking one’s life as a mercenary or thief.  While Ethlyn herself has never wanted for anything being the daughter of a duke and the wife of a wealthy crown prince, she’s witnessed what desperation can lead someone to do.  It was that desperation that lead to her own death, after all.  

“Listen, I get it.  Times are hard but whoever it is that’s running this whole thing is taking advantage of people who are struggling too.  You can make this easier for yourself and help us out.  Come with us, tell our higher ups what you know, and I’ll vouch for your cooperation.”  Her attention is on the imposter.  She trusts her horse enough to continue without her direct guidance as pink eyes train in on the man tied up.  “This whole thing is going to fall apart soon enough anyway so you might as well help us out.  Clearly whoever gave you the rundown on my brother knows only the bare minimum about him.  He was never a king and he definitely has a sister.  Let me guess, they didn’t tell you about Deirdre either, did they?”

The man looks confused and raises an eyebrow.  “Who?”

Yikes.

Cowa-bummer, Bro

ladyleonster

She wants to be petty. She really, really, really does. This pathetic man in a ditch is attempting to impersonate her brother. Her brother the hero. Her brother the kindest, bravest man she's ever know. Her brother who died tragically. She wants to walk away and leave him there.

But she can't.

There is no honor in striking a man down when he is unarmed and vulnerable. Even is this impostor is a scumbag and a dastard, he still deserves a helping hand. Her brother, the real Sigurd, was the epitome of such knightly ideals.

Ethlyn turns to Raven and gestures him away from the side of the pit. Not Sigurd doesn't need to hear her defending him at least. "Listen, we can't leave him here. He's a dastard but, well, we're not. Besides, I'd rather make him come with us than let his friends find him, right?"

She cranes her neck to look back down at the man below them before turning back to Raven with a snicker. "He does look pretty funny all pathetic and stuck down there like that though."

The false king in the pit glowered up at him, eyeing his extended hand dubiously. "Fool me once, knave, shame on you. Fool me twice - !"

"You really wanna go that route?" Raven cocked a brow, gesturing again for him to take his hand.

Ethlyn had been quiet while Raven and the man sniped at each other, and after a moment she got Raven's attention, pulling him away from the pit. She looked…sad at the whole ordeal, and Raven felt a tug deep within his chest.

Perhaps bringing her to deal with a man impersonating someone she loved was cruel. Raven grimaced at the thought, looking down at the disappointment that seeped from every line in Ethlyn's bearing. He'd had a sister once, after all, had lost family - he thought that if someone had been impersonating the Cornwells he would have torn them limb from limb, and that if she wanted to mete out justice for her brother's good name that it was her right, but looking at Ethlyn now he understood that he had been wrong to force her to face this, especially with a cold stranger such as himself.

"As you like, Lady Ethlyn," he said with a nod, expression soft, and when she gifted him with a laugh he graced her with a rare smile in acknowledgement. Raven had less kind things to say about the man in the hole than that he looked funny, but he kept the thoughts to himself.

Stalking back over to the hole, he crouched once more, and called down, ignoring the murmur of rage flickering in his chest that scorched anew at the sight of the faux Sigurd. "I'm gonna extend my hand down now, and you're going to take it," he said. "We're going to restrain you, and then take you back to the monastery. Yes?"

It was not a question, and the imposter seemed to understand that something had shifted during that sottovoce conversation. In short order, Raven tugged the man out of the hole, binding his wrists uncomfortably and with jerky motions before hefting him atop the back of his horse.

After Ethlyn mounted her horse again, Raven hopped up behind the man, settling himself for the journey. "Seems like a pretty bad gig," he said to the man. "Lotta manual labor to dig a hole, climb into and out of it, and for what? To convince some country nobles for some petty cash?"

"You wouldn't understand." Dropping the kingly act now, the man's tone took on a distinct Faerghan edge that Raven had started hearing in his time in this country. "I'm doing it for my family. My sister is - "

"Thought you said you don't have a sister, Sigurd." To tamp the stoking of rage in his chest, Raven clicked his tongue softly at his mount. He didn't look over at Ethlyn. How fucking dare he…

Surly and childish, the imposter sulks in silence for a moment before, eventually, "I get paid twice, once as Sigurd, and then again when I debrief. It's good money to get me out of this place."

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Vantalaður Ást

Ivar Lothbrok x F!Reader

A/N: Chapter 2! Here we go! Kjötsúpa is an Icelandic soup that I actually made yesterday and it’s so very yummy!

Warnings: Sigurd is a dick. Ivar is….Ivar. Alcohol mention.

Word Count: 2564

Tagging: @ivarisms @majesticwren @acrossthesestars @a-bang-for-your-bucky @youbloodymadgenius @kaybee87 (if I missed anyone I’m sorry! Just give me a shout!) Currently sick as hell, so my brain ran away.

Divider by: @firefly-graphics

The rest of the journey passed in reasonable silence, you were snuggled into Hvitserk’s side but you could see Ivar out of the corner of your eye. His hand pressed into his thigh running down it in a powerful stroke and you tapped Hvitserk on the arm dipping your head in his brother's direction.

“How much longer Ubbe?” He asked.

“We’re nearly there, then we can get out and all stretch our legs.” You admired the brothers and how they looked out for Ivar even when he was acting like he was ungrateful all the time. Within minutes the Chevy swung round the corner and there was the cabin. It had three stories, wooden steps on the outside leading to the other floors. It was getting dark already and the lights were on casting a warm glow on the fresh snow. With a satisfactory sigh you stretched, watching Hvitserk try and help Ivar out of the car but the younger brother slapped his hand away with a curt word, ignoring everyone else as he let himself into the cabin.

You grabbed some luggage with Kat, dragging the cases upstairs, you got to the landing just before Ivar had a chance to shut his bedroom door. His blue eyes locked with yours for a moment then they moved to the mark on your face, you saw something cross his face and you wanted to tell him you didn’t blame him. But the moment was over as Sigurd clattered up the stairs, Ivar’s expression hardened and he slammed the door abruptly.

“Glad I’m not sharing a room with him this holiday we’d probably kill each other.”

“Your behaviour is so unnecessary Sigurd. Just leave him alone.” To your annoyance he followed you into your room, the trademark Lothbrok scowl marking his face.

“My brother is a jerk. Look at your face!”

“Only because you are a jerk Sigurd! Just stay out of his way this holiday because I can’t be refereeing every damn day.” Lifting the case onto your bed you hoped he’d get the hint and go away but he crossed his arms and leaned against your doorframe.

“Who is it then? Hvitserk?”

“What?” You responded as you took your toiletries into the en-suite.

“Why do you stick with us? I thought it was Björn but you seem to be the one woman he won’t touch.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not me, you’ve made that perfectly clear so that leaves Hvitserk and Ubbe. Or…” you could feel heat creeping under your skin at his assumption that you were only here to sleep with one of the brothers. “Maybe it is Ivar.”

“What the fuck Sigurd?!” He smirked widely, knowing he’d just touched a raw nerve.

“Is this why you’re still single hanging around us all?” he shrugged slightly. “I suppose we’ll see,” he sneered. You were too enraged to think of anything to say and he left you seething in your room. You spent the rest of your time alone unpacking, slamming your drawers and wardrobe doors until you heard Ivar’s door open. Everyone else was downstairs, you could hear the rumble of Björn and Ubbe exchanging brotherly banter. Ivar appeared in your doorway, leaning heavily on his cane, his dark hair was in a ponytail today with braids down each side revealing the shaved sides the brothers all favoured so much. You wanted to ask if he was alright, had he had his medication, but you knew as soon as you started fussing he’d withdraw.

“Sigurd is a prick,” you chose to say instead. Enjoying the smile that broke over his face.

“He won’t get away with it,” he replied in his accent that you adored so much. You nodded, thinking he was referring to what happened in the car. You heard him carefully make his way down the stairs and you sat on your bed just as Kat appeared.

“Well that was wild,” she exclaimed leaning on your doorframe.

“You can say that again! But usually the journey is horrendous. Something about too much testosterone in a confined space,” she laughed at your comment and you patted the space next to you. “I’m glad you decided to come, it’s been awful being the only woman these past few years. I feel like a bloody parent on holiday with 5 unruly kids.”

“Björn hasn’t let me hang out with the others so much, so this is an…experience,” she confessed.

“Ubbe and Hvitserk are the mellow ones, Sigurd is a shit stirrer, Björn is the enforcer but he does anger quickly with their bullshit and Ivar is just….” You shrugged. “Ivar.” She eyed you curiously before standing up.

“Gonna show me round?”

“Sure!” You led her downstairs showing her the living room where Ubbe was lighting the fire already, the sofas were navy with cream blankets and cushions strewn over and you told her she’d have to fight Hvitserk for them as he liked to hoard them all.

“Drinks!” Björn bellowed from the kitchen. Rolling your eyes you sighed.

“I can’t believe you boys are on the ale already, I’m going to make some hot chocolate.”

“Oh no I am all over the alcohol!” Exclaimed Kat as Björn wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured and you made a face as Hvitserk and Ivar yelled at them to get a room.

“We are in a room!” Shouted Björn. “You just happen to be in it too!” You heard them migrate to the living room. It wasn't until you turned that you realised Ivar was still sitting at the island, the heel of hand was kneading his thigh and you had to reign back your instant need to ask him what you could do to help him. Choosing to busy yourself making hot chocolate instead.

“You want some?” You asked.

“I guess,” he replied sullenly.

You were standing in front of the stove stirring the thick liquid in the saucepan when all the boys came through talking of going outside. Everyone bundled up in their coats, hats and gloves sliding their feet into the boots that lined the floor. Watching them through the window you smiled, Hvitserk was instantly bombarding them with snowballs, Kat shrieked in surprise when one caught her to the side of the head and Björn retaliated. Ivar had gone outside, you could see him sitting on the bench on the porch and Hvitserk was passing him snowballs like they used to do when they were younger. Ivar had a perfect aim, hitting his intended target every time without fail.

You grabbed a thick blanket and put two cups of hot chocolate on the tray, putting a stick of cinnamon in Ivar’s, knowing that he would need warming up. Slipping on your coat and boots you grabbed the tray and opened the door. Ducking and flinching when a snowball splattered on the wall next to you.

“HOLD!” Björn bellowed. “She’s carrying drinks!”

“Thanks Björn.”

“Next time ástvinur!” Shouted Ubbe and you stuck your tongue out at him. Hvitserk took the blanket off your arm and draped it over Ivar without a word to which his brother rolled his eyes but accepted the cover anyway. Wordlessly you passed Ivar the hot chocolate and to your surprise he took it, wrapping his fingerless gloved hands around the mug giving you a quick nod in return. You couldn’t ignore the bubble of warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with your own drink and you settled on the bench next to him.

A snowball from Sigurd hit Hvitserk in the face and he leapt off the porch with a yell leaving you alone with Ivar. Something touched your leg and you looked down in surprise to see he had tried to share the blanket with you but not wanting to make an issue of it. Sliding slightly closer you arranged it over your legs, your whole right side now squashed up against Ivar. You both froze. Not saying anything, just sharing the blanket and occasionally drinking or throwing some banter at the others as the snowball fight continued.

Soon the fight was wrapped up, the boys and Kat were drinking in the living room while you and Ubbe made some kjötsúpa for dinner. You lifted the lid on the massive pot and Ubbe tipped in the vegetables, splashing them in the stock and arranging them around the joint of lamb that was cooking already.

“About 20 minutes right?” You asked, ready to set a timer but he just smiled.

“You’ll smell when it’s ready, trust me. Come on, do a shot with me,” inwardly you groaned as he pulled a bottle out of the cupboard.

“Are you trying to get me drunk on…what do you call it?”

“Svarti Dauði,” he replied with a smirk, dumping two shot glasses on the counter.

“Last time I had this I’m pretty sure I blacked out.”

“Yep. Gave us all a laugh, you fell asleep on the sofa and I caught Ivar…” he trailed off pouring you a glass and sliding it towards you but you couldn’t be distracted from what he said.

“Caught Ivar what?” Ubbe shrugged.

“Skál.” Tilting your head you glared at him and he rolled his eyes in frustration. “Fine, I caught Ivar tucking you in ok? He’s never shown affection for anyone, I never told the others because he’d have never loved it down.”

“But he dislikes me?” Ubbe shrugged and made a face.

“Maybe it’s the other end of the scale,” he suggested hesitantly. “Come on, don’t think anything of it. Drink.”

“Here we go, skál!” You had forgotten how hideous it was, the aniseed taste had you wincing. “Oh yurrrrrgh!” You cried loudly, dancing on the spot while Ubbe seemed unaffected and poured you another.

“Ubbe, why are you getting our cook drunk?” Asked Hvitserk as he strode in.

“Hey! I didn’t come on this holiday to cook for you all. I am here in a family capacity like always. Skál.” This shot went down easier and Hvitserk grabbed his own glass, sharing a shot with Ubbe.

Finally the lamb kjötsúpa was ready, Kat helped you by laying the bowls out on the table along with the laufabrauð and calling everyone to the table. You tried not to look at Ivar suddenly feeling nervous in his presence after what Ubbe had said. You’d never had or acknowledged any feelings for the brothers beyond familial affection, or so you thought. The idea of Ivar liking you more than he let on made butterflies fill your stomach. Sitting between Ivar and Hvitserk you took some bread listening with satisfaction as everyone silently ate their food.

“So what are everyone's plans for tomorrow?” Ivar asked when he picked up his glass. Your movements slowed, you recognised the playful tone to his voice and if there was one thing you knew about Ivar he loved to make a scene.

“Well I thought we could go into town,” Björn answered.

“Sounds like a good idea but it’s best Sigurd doesn’t come,” he answered so matter of factly it took everyone a moment to realise what Ivar had just said.

“What the fuck?” Shouted Sigurd, slamming his glass down in irritation.

“Well after the things I heard you say earlier,” Ivar gestured to you with the piece of bread, but his intense blue eyes didn’t move from watching the growing anger on Sigurd’s face. “It’s probably for the best if you stay here and have a little think about the things we say out loud, hmm?” He tipped his head to the side, a smug smile turning the corners of his mouth upwards.

“I don’t know what the fuck he’s going on about,” Sigurd tried to brush off what Ivar was saying as the others all lifted their heads and looked at him. You were watching Ivar and when his blue gaze swung to you it felt like you were trapped. Ivar’s look was intense, he always used to avoid eye contact with you but now you were pierced by the full force of his gaze.

“Tell them,” he encouraged you softly, nodding to the others. “Tell them what he said to you upstairs.” He sat back in his chair, now just letting the scene unfold before him.

“I…” everyone’s eyes were on you and it was so disconcerting. “He—um…”

“What do you fucking care anyway Ivar? You’re not exactly her biggest fan!” Ivar leaned on the table and laced his fingers together, dragging his bottom lip into his mouth as annoyance crossed his face.

“He asked,” Ivar started with an irritated tone, “He asked her if she was just here to sleep with one of you, because apparently that’s the only reason she hangs out with us.” Ivar smirked, letting the words sink into the silence around the table.

“Is this true?” Asked Björn. Ubbe was glaring at Sigurd but you could tell he was wishing Ivar was lying. Hvitserk leaned forward onto his elbows.

“Ivar better be lying Sigurd,” he told his older brother. “Because she is family.”

“Ivar’s lying,” he mumbled without conviction.

“Actually,” your head snapped up to look at Kat. “I heard him say exactly that. Ivar is telling the truth.” There was a beat of silence before pandemonium broke loose. The boys all started to yell, Sigurd got up from the table followed by Björn who grabbed his top at the shoulder, hauling him into another room followed by Ubbe. Ivar sat in his chair, smugly watching them walk past with a mischievous light in his eye.

“I don’t know why you’re glaring at me, Hvitserk,” he said with a shrug, not even looking up and returning to his food. “He said what he said and he shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.”

“But at dinner Ivar?” The youngest Lothbrok spread his hands in a questioning movement.

“When would have been a good time, huh? Should I have left it and just let him talk to her like she’s a whore?”

“I’m surprised you opened your mouth at all,” Hvitserk murmured.

“That hurts me brother,” he pouted a little, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “I’m all for justice.”

“Excuse me,” you whispered. You couldn’t sit there anymore, you had to leave. Quietly you put your bowl in the kitchen hearing Björn ripping into Sigurd and telling him he needed to apologise but honestly you didn’t want it. Not if he’d been forced into it by his bigger brothers. You passed the dining room to see poor Kat sitting awkwardly at the table as Hvitserk and Ivar continued their discussion. Taking the stairs two at a time you darted up to your room and threw yourself onto your bed. You were too angry to cry, so the emotion just settled on your chest like a weight, heavy, constricting and unshiftable. Your mind was racing and yet you couldn’t catch a thought, they flew through your mind at such a speed you had no idea where they were heading until only Ivar remained. You’d never given your feelings for him much thought before because he’d always disliked you but with Ubbe’s comment in the kitchen and now Ivar standing up for you downstairs. Although, maybe that was just a way for him to get Sigurd back for the incident in the car. Whatever was happening, you couldn’t control it.

[airlock]

SO, for the first and fastest bit of CYL nerdery for me to do this year, there’s something new!

this year’s poll came with a fucking hilarious novelty, y’see. we had our midterm results as usual, except... they were unranked, in alphabetical order, betraying not a trace of who was actually winning

at that time, just for the love of guesswork, I made predictions as to what was most likely going to be shape our top 20s would actually be taking. so... how close to the mark was I?

let’s find out.

first things first, I estimated that Soren, m!Byleth and Felix were the top contenders on the male side. I probably meant to count m!Robin among the top contenders as well but I seem to have forgotten to jot his name down anywhere in my predictions, whops. anyway, that blunder aside, the remainder of those predictions all composed the actual top 4 on the male side, so! we can scratch that as a win.

(that aside, though, I was not expecting that, if only one of Soren or Felix would get a foot in the door, it’d be Soren. I sure wasn’t expecting him to be just 500-odd votes shy of even putting a dude between himself and Felix, at that. color me impressed, ye stans of old)

Sigurd, Leif and m!Shez were the ones I admitted I couldn’t really predict on the male side. in the end, they’ve landed, respectively, #5, #9 and #12. moderate results all around. pity that Thracia 776 remains nowhere near breaking out of its rut, although at least this isn’t one of those years when fucking Reinhardt is the game’s top contender--

but speaking of my unknown quantities, hey, guess, what? one of them won the female side. by almost 3000 votes over the runner-up. which is to say -- either the last couple months in FEH have been real interesting, or some of yall need a date--

my other non-predictions on the female side were Sharena, who finised at #7, and f!Shez, who finished at #14. seems like, most of the time, those unknown quantities landed themselves firmly in the middle of the pack.

(speaking of which -- f!Shez was more popular than m!Shez, but by a margin of only 39 votes, probably the smallest differential we’ve EVER seen between two differently gendered versions of the same character. certainly the smallest to happen to a character who gets thousands and votes and not, y’know, Kana)

speaking of Kana, their mum is our other winner this year, so -- Gullveig aside, how well did I do at anticipating the female top placements? well, I guessed that our top contenders were f!Robin, Anna, f!Corrin, Azura, Bernadetta and Hilda. these guesses were mostly correct; these characters occupy the rankings spanning #2 to #6... except for Anna, who only earned herself a #9 ranking. we’ve fallen far off the year when she almost won, that’s for sure. but who knows what Lady Anna might pull off next year?

top contention and unknown quantities aside, I also had guesses as to which of our remaining characters were unlikely to win, but likely to make it to the top 10. these were Dorothea and Tharja (#12, #9), then Lyon, Black Knight, Takumi, Leo and Yuri (#13, #7, #16, #18, #8). close enough on the female side (much as I hate that Tharja being top 10 is such a safe guess), but whoops, that wasn’t a very good guesswork all in all on the male side. I suppose the leokumis of the world were too busy this year either stanning Corrin, stanning Azura, or arguing over Soren and Felix--

anyway, here’s to Elincia, Alfonse and Sylvain blindsiding me and making it to the top 10. one of these is a very happy surprise, another a just kinda mid one, and the final of them I’m going to guess is the reason why Felix couldn’t stay competitive with the other winners-- (look, I’m just saying, both Soren’s and m!Robin’s most popular dates were inelligible this year.)

lastly, an interesting question: did anyone outright fall off from the midterm top 20s? it doesn’t seem to be the case, unless the two characters on each side that I didn’t put in a guess for were not just the ones I forgot about in the midterm, but instead, the ones who unseated whoever else was there. so... it’s just a matter of whether Petra and Ferdinand have been on this list this whole time or not, I guess

anyway, the TMS#FE gang has put on a stronger showing than ever this year, but it doesn’t look like Fódlan’s vise grip on the overall rankings has lessened at all, so... I guess the most interesting things that will remain to be observed are how well the new characters from Three Hopes fared, and how much shit is imminently going to be eaten by each of the characters who finally made it to FEH last year. in any case, it’s time for me to start chewing the top 100, without gender divisions!

[tainbocuailnge]

Give the dreams and theories for Bazett's FGO gameplay.

[trying not to hype myself up too much] the dream is to get bazett at all [realizes this is jinxing it] and not have them involve prillya in it. anyway:

between sigurd punching his swords for his np and santa karna outright calling himself boxer class it seems inevitable that bazett will be saber (possibly also calling herself boxer bc she's the origin of the joke) but in my heart of hearts i'm still holding out for berserker because i'm the berserker guy

delayed action noble phantasm like angra, but in her case she gets like, a one hit invul buff + on-target effect that once consumed will blast the attacker with the beam that has already taken effect. ideally it has some stupid high damage modifier on it to compensate for the jank of even triggering it. if we want accurate lore gameplay integration they'd need to somehow make it so she can only use it three times per fight and idk how they'd go about that but oberon actually is a step in that direction already with his permanent sleep buff so maybe using the np puts some permanent status effect on her and if it reaches 3 stacks she can't use it anymore. actually you could also make it so the delayed action of her np is triggered by enemy nps/charge attacks and then give her a skill that feeds the enemy charge for some funny joaks

all that sounds more complicated than they'd actually be willing to implement though so the more likely option is that she just has a standard enmity np maybe it makes some flat stars too who knows.

QQABB(Q) set with fat rune magecraft crits is the only true path although you do risk overlapping with karna too much there which IS countered some by making her np jank as fuck and because she's my wife and i always win she's gonna be more buster focused than quick. i think she should be sturdy as all fuck too im talking kagekiyo 3/4 uptime guts galatea 100% defense up facetank nps kind of sturdy which again would pair cool with her np being a reactive tool. the whole thing with bazett's fighting style is that she built unbelievable physical toughness to compensate for her emotional weakness + her np means her fight strategy hinges on baiting out her own death so the logical conclusion is to make her one of those solo survival artists/backline clutchers

all her ascensions are just the suit but one with a cool raincoat added and one with the jacket held over her shoulder

[peaceisadirtyword]

Drabble #3 (Modern!Ivar/Reader)

A/N: Hiiii🥰 I’m back again with another Christmas request! (even if this is more like an one-shot than a drabble because I have no self-control). 

Thank you so much dear anon for your request!♥️ I hope you’re better now! In any case, here you have nearly 3000 words of soft Ivar that I hope help a bit🥰 Also I hope you like it, I hope I didn’t fuck up your request😭 Thank you💞

Warnings: Ivar being a bit anxious, mentions of sickness, I need a boyfriend like Ivar, I tried to consult as many sources as I could to make sure I was getting the symptoms and the medical stuff right but I apologize in advance if I made any mistakes! There’s also fluff💖

gif belongs to @therealcalicali​ 

"Ivar, would you please stop looking at your phone when I'm talking? It's kind of rude" 

Ubbe's big eyes were narrowed at him when Ivar finally looked up from his phone. He locked it, a bit annoyed and frustrated, but left it on the table before finishing his beer. 

"Sorry" he shrugged "Continue" 

Ubbe had been ranting about the ideas he had for Torvi's present. Sigurd was insisting on him buying the tickets for that concert Torvi wanted to go, but Hvitserk had been trying to convince him the best idea would be to enter the Victoria's Secret store at the end of the street. 

"What's wrong with you?" Hvitserk elbowed him with a frown "You're very quiet"

"Luckily" Sigurd rolled his eyes as he took a sip of his tea. Ivar ignored him because he wasn't in the mood to deal with his idiotic brother. 

"And you're staring at your phone" Ubbe pointed out "I don't think you have done that before" 

"It's just..." Ivar sighed, looking around the bar in which they were sitting. He thought a beer would help to calm his nerves but until then it had done exactly the opposite "It's Y/N"

His brothers' faces went from curious to worried. Except for Sigurd, who only rolled his eyes. 

"What's wrong with her?" Hvitserk raised an eyebrow.

"She... Hasn't talked to me for a couple of days" Ivar frowned "I texted, I called, but she hasn't replied nor picked up her phone, and I don't know what happened... What if...?" he didn't finish, only stared at his empty glass. 

"So she realized you're a fucking psycho and decided to leave you, what's the big deal?" Sigurd chuckled, but Hvitserk glared at him.

"Shut up, Sigurd" 

"Enough, all of you" Ubbe scoffed "Now, Ivar, did you have a fight or was she bothered by anything the last time you saw each other?" 

His little brother shrugged. He had asked himself that question at least ten times in the last twenty four hours. But there wasn't any fighting, you didn't look bothered nor angry at him, only a bit tired because you had been working a lot the days before... 

"No, we didn't fight, we just had dinner, watched some tv and she spent the night, nothing else..."

"Yeah that night she didn't sound bothered at all" Hvitserk chuckled and Ivar glared at him. 

"That's weird" Ubbe frowned. It wasn't like you to avoid Ivar "Has she been active in social media?" 

Ivar shook his head.

"Do you think something could have happened?" he licked his lips nervously. He didn't really want to think about it, but it was either that or you deciding to break up with him. 

"Hey, don't worry" Hvitserk smiled softly at him "I'm sure everything is okay, why don't you drop by her place? It's near here, isn't it?" 

"Yeah, act like a stalker when she clearly does not want anything with you anymore" Sigurd scoffed "Stop bothering her" 

Ivar and Hvitserk rolled his eyes at the same time. 

"Why did you invite him, Ubbe?" Ivar rubbed his eyes. 

"Because I thought we could enjoy a some brotherly time together" his older brother suddenly looked very tired "I was clearly wrong" 

"Anyway, I'm going to see her" Ivar took his crutch and stood up. At least that day was a good one and he didn't need both crutches "If I get dumped, I will call you so you can order another round" he clenched his jaw. 

"Good luck, little brother" Hvitserk patted his leg with a wink "Use protection"

"Don't be all defensive and aggressive with her" Ubbe raised an eyebrow at him "Give her space and time"

"Okay" he rolled his eyes again, ignoring Sigurd as he stepped out of the bar.

_________________________________

Ivar wasn't sure of what he was expecting when he knocked at your door. He didn't know whether to expect another man, maybe a shirtless blonde that was cooking you lunch, or maybe you opening  the door dressed only with someone else's shirt. Maybe you wouldn't even open the door, because you didn't want to see him. 

But what he definitely didn't expect was to see you opening the door with your eyes nearly closed, shaking while in your pajamas and wrapped in a blanket and with an irregular breathing. 

"Y/N?" Ivar frowned.

"Hi Ivar" you smiled weakly, looking like you weren't sure if you were dreaming or not. 

"I... Are you okay?" 

No, clearly you weren't okay, because when you tried to reply you started coughing, which alarmed Ivar. 

"Sorry" you cleared your throat "I think I caught a cold"

A cold. Ivar raised an eyebrow and entered your flat, closing the door after him. 

"You didn't answer your phone for nearly two days, Y/N I was..." he bit his own tongue, cursing himself for thinking you were trying to avoid him and having sex with other people when you were literally fighting for your life. 

"Sorry" you apologized again, frowning softly. Two days? You remembered coming back home and falling asleep on the couch after spending the night with him, and waking up in the middle of the night with a headache, coughing and feeling like someone was sliding a knife down your throat every time you breathed. You had gone straight to bed, and since then you only remembered being asleep or feeling like someone had ran over you at least five times when you were awake. Didn't even think about checking your phone. 

"It's fine, don't worry about that... Did you go to the doctor?" Ivar pressed the back of his hand against your forehead, and his eyes widened when he felt how warm your skin was. 

"No, I..." another cough made Ivar lick his lips nervously "I think it will pass if I sleep a bit" 

Ivar was more than sure that wasn't how illnesses worked, but he wasn't going to start arguing with you. 

"Alright, I will make a couple of calls, I will tell Hvitserk to go buy a couple of things and you" he pointed at your couch "Are going to lay down there and not get up until I say so, understood?" 

You opened your mouth to protest, but started coughing before you could even think about what you were going to say to him. You could feel his widened ocean eyes on you the whole time. 

"You can't stay" you finally managed to whine "You will get sick too!"

"Sure, I will just leave and I will come back when it's time to organize your funeral, do you want me to call your parents and tell them you love them?" he smiled sarcastically as he took his coat off and left it on the rack. 

"Ivar I'm serious" you could barely talk now, but managed to glare at him "What if you get sick too?" 

"Then I will need you alive because I don't trust Hvitserk" he rolled his eyes "Couch. Now" 

There was no point on arguing with Ivar because he was the most stubborn human being in the world, so you just sighed and finally let yourself fall on the couch, snuggling under the three blankets you had gathered. 

But your peace didn't last, as Ivar took the blankets off of you. You glared at him and whined in protest, but he sighed, shaking his head. 

"You have a fever, Y/N, if you put three blankets over you, it's going to get worse" 

"But I'm cold" you frowned, and you'd swear Ivar's expression softened. 

"I know, but you can only use one blanket" he tucked you in, balancing with his crutch to avoid falling over you "Come on, try and fall asleep again" 

You sighed and nearly smiled when you felt his lips against your temple. 

Ivar sighed, leaving the blankets on the backrest of the couch before turning around to take his phone off of his pocket. 

The first call he made was to Helga. He knew she had a few days off the hospital because of the holidays and was currently at home with Floki. During the call he tried to sound calm and relaxed, but he was sure that Helga -who had practically raised him- had heard the panicking tone on his voice. 

The next person he called was Aslaug. His mother sounded worried when he explained that you were very sick and he didn't really know what to do. After trying to calm him down, reassuring him that you weren't going to die, she gave him the recipe for the soup she always cooked when he wasn't feeling good. 

The last call was for Ubbe. He was relieved to hear that Sigurd had left already and that Hvitserk and him hadn't drank that many beers after he left. Then he made them write down the ingredients Aslaug had told him he needed for the soup and then sent them to the nearest supermarket. 

When Helga arrived he had no other choice than to wake you up. He had been tidying up your bedroom, and even took the time to take your favorite stuffed animal and left it next to you. It broke his heart to see you wincing in pain when you opened your eyes and groan against the cushion you were using as a pillow, but the small smile you shot him when you recognized him relaxed him a bit. 

"Ivar called me" Helga kneeled next to you, checking your temperature with her hand with a smile "Let's check how you're doing, okay?"

Ivar sat next to you, caressing your hair slowly as Helga asked you some questions and you replied weakly. Just when she was finishing, Ubbe and Hvitserk arrived, and he had to leave you alone with Helga as he answered the door. 

"How is she doing?" Ubbe asked him quietly as Hvitserk took the bags to the kitchen. 

"Well... She's alive" Ivar frowned "I think I'm going to stay here with her for a few days, until she gets better"

Ubbe couldn't hold back a smile.

"Yeah, I think that would be good, just be careful and don't get sick you too"

"I've spent half of my life in the hospital, Ubbe, I'll be fine" 

Hvitserk looked amused when he came back. 

"She looks terrible but she isn't that bad, threw a cushion to me when I asked if she was pretending so she could hide another man under her bed"

Ivar sighed.

"Now leave, she needs peace and quiet to rest and she's not going to get that if the two of you are here so" he pointed at the door and practically pushed them out of the flat. 

"I'll stop by to see if you need anything and I will bring some things to you, text me what you need!" Ubbe barely managed to finish his sentence when Ivar closed the door. He went back to the living room as fast as his sore legs and his crutch allowed him. When he arrived you were back on the couch, hugging the toy he had left next to you with the blanket over you and half closed eyelids. Helga was standing up, carefully tucking you in before turning to look at him. 

"Looks like pneumonia" she sighed with a gentle smile "Not too bad, nothing she can't handle, but you should stay around" 

Ivar nodded, glancing at you. 

"Does she need to take anything?" 

"I left some medicines in the kitchen, with that and some painkillers she should get better" Helga took her things and started to put her coat on "But she hasn't eaten anything, so she needs to eat before taking them" 

"I'll cook something" he nodded and glanced over her shoulder to glare at you "You didn't tell me you hadn't eaten" 

A weak groan that sounded like an apology was the only answer he got.

"Good, don't be alarmed if she feels nauseous or anything like that, it can happen, but she needs to eat and rest. If she's not better in a couple of days call me and we'll take her to the hospital" Helga kissed his cheek "Take care of her, Ivar, she needs you"

"Don't really have anything better to do" he rolled his eyes, amused, as she said goodbye. 

As soon as Helga left, Ivar made sure you were asleep and still breathing before going back to the kitchen. It couldn't be that hard to cook a soup, because even Hvitserk managed to do it once. He struggled and had to call his mother a couple of times, but in an hour and a half he had a warm soup ready and had managed to make you get up and walk to the kitchen to eat.

"I didn't know you could cook" you muttered with a small smile as you ate. He sat next to you eyeing you carefully. 

"I mean... It's not as good as the one my mother did" he pouted "But it’s not that bad" 

"It's the best soup I've ever tried" you leant in to kiss his cheek softly "Thank you"

"Come on, eat" he shook his head, holding back a smile and blushing a bit. You did look a bit better after you finished the soup and took your medicines, but Ivar forced you to go back to the couch as he cleaned the kitchen. The medicines left you asleep for hours, and Ivar could rest for a bit as you before you woke up again. 

"What time is it?" you asked softly, yawning. Ivar was sitting on the couch, with your legs on his lap and his fingers tracing some patterns over your pajama pants. With his other hand he held a book, one of the ones you had left on the table of the living room a few days before when you came from your monthly trip to the bookshop. 

"Almost seven" he replied with a gentle voice. It was already dark outside, and you were happy to realize your head didn't hurt as much and you could breathe a bit more easily. 

"I can't believe I slept the entire day" you muttered as you sat. Ivar left the book on the coffee table and helped you to sit up on the couch. 

"You looked like you needed it" he chuckled "How are you feeling?" he leant in to kiss your forehead, relaxing a bit when he noticed you barely had a fever anymore. 

"A bit better, thanks to you" you smiled softly at him.

"I'm glad, but you still need to rest and eat" he winked at you "I'll prepare something for dinner"

"I'll go to the bathroom" you sighed "I also need a shower" 

"Be careful with that and be quick, don't get cold, that's the last thing you need" he narrowed his eyes at you.

"Okay mom" you giggled, leaning in to kiss his cheek "I love you, you're the best"

"Me too, but go now" he chuckled, shaking his head with his cheeks reddened. 

__________________________________

"This feels nice" you muttered as you laid on your bed, surrounded by blankets and cushions Ivar had brought to your bedroom. He laid just behind you, with his head resting on top on yours and his arms around your body. It was the most comfortable you had been for days, and the sound of his breathing, the barely perceptible rising of his chest against your back comforted you even more. You weren't even paying attention to the sitcom that played on your laptop. 

"Yeah" he agreed softly "You okay?" 

You nodded, sighing when he pulled you even closer to him. He kissed your temple again and left his cheek pressed against yours.

"Did you really believe I was cheating on you?" you asked with a giggle, making Ivar groan. 

"Worst two days of my life" he smiled against your skin. 

"Same" you smiled "I'm sorry I made you worry" 

"It's fine, but next time send me a text"

"Only if you promise me you won't call your entire family to come and take care of me"

"I will call the fucking government if I have to, Y/N" you couldn't see him, but you were sure he was rolling his eyes. 

"I don't need the government, I just need cuddles" you pouted "I'm not in the mood to make out now but when I get better I'm going to give you the biggest kiss ever" you turned your head to look at him. 

"I'm looking forward to that, but for now" he leant in to kiss your nose softly "Rest" 

You hummed, nodding, and went back to rest your head against his chest before closing your eyes. Being sick sucked, but at least you had Ivar. 

[travelling-on-the-octopath]

I've been reading your thoughts on Margrave Gautier, and I find your perspective absolutely fascinating. But, while he's certainly more complicated then this fandom likes to think, there's the obvious issue of Everything Going On With Sylvain, and sadly the Margrave isn't actually shown ever in the game. Forgive me if I sound a bit obtuse, but what are your thoughts on that?

No problem at all! I just have chronic fic-writer brain, which means that I see a blind spot in canon, and set up a bunch of fanfic-mirrors so that blind spot is now unavoidable.

That being said: I see him as a man that tried to be both a father and the protector of Faerghus' northern border, and ended up having to prioritize one over the other, which leads to him missing literal murder attempts initiated by one son, targeted at his younger son. And, I think he completely inadvertently put the nail in the coffin with Sylvain when he disowned Miklan, because at that point, Sylvain has started to associate his worth with his Crest; I think, because the margrave was absent for all the Shit, when he finally stepped in to prevent his son from being killed, Sylvain's wires have already been crossed from the relentless abuse and he believes his father only wants to protect his legacy. After all, he wasn't worth defending, but he was worth saving.

But, as we know, Sylvain is too smart for his own good. Before he can feel everything he feels, I think, he starts to rationalize himself into his own personal hell. He doesn't blame his father for the choices he made--who's going to spare energy for their still-breathing son when Sreng has come a'knocking?--but he's certainly not eager to give him any leeway. The margrave (I've dubbed him Sygurd Irénée Gautier, because a) he's in my fic, b) the man deserves a fucking name, c) I wanted to name him Sigurd for the etymology but FE4 beat me to it, and d) I like a little irony and gave him a middle name that can be used as a feminine form, because fuck the way Sylvain acts sometimes) knows he's fucked up, but, again, has poured more of himself into defending Faerghus than making sure his son knew he had a father. So, again, he makes the choice to just let Sylvain stew (spoiler: bad choice). It gets to the point where they can only really interact as Margrave and heir, which is my personal headcanon for Sylvain's paralogue. What the margrave thought of as a show of faith (You don't need anyone else, I oversaw your training, these thrives are nothing to you) was nothing but a trial run for the house's future, and a dumb one at that. Sylvain's a chronic slacker; those thieves would have done him in. (...so tempted to do a solo Sylvain run to see if I can actually do it. Don't have the patience though.)

GOD I'M SORRY. All that to say: the margrave Fucked Up by letting his son get abused by Miklan (I think he had an inkling there was tension, and that Sylvain would hide most of it, but it would NOT have been that hard to tell), fucked up again by letting him rot in his own mind after the fact, fucked up a few more times--but he still pretty much exiled Miklan after finding out; still entrusted the Lance of Ruin to Sylvain before he became Margrave Gautier, when I'm sure the warrior population of Sreng would have jumped at the chance to sieze the Faerghan land after getting word of their shiny wiggle stick being at the monastery instead of at the border; still maintained that border and let Sylvain go off searching for their prince instead of making full use of Sylvain where he was probably most needed.

I think, as per the usual Faerghus nonsense, the margrave speaks better in his battle-honed ways than with his. You know. Words. Which is bad when you're trying to raise a human, but nobody's perfect.