#sigurd's faeries

[tgrailwar-zero]

It seemed like you wanted to search for the base and DRACO's main body.

ARCHER: "Right. Well, best of luck to you."

With that, ARCHER and SIGURD set off on their own to continue to assist the citizens, leaving you on your own.

KUKULKAN: "Maybe, I'll give it a chance!"

The journey was quiet, the two Servants focusing before KUKULKAN put up a hand, pointing at a building off in the distance. With a leap, she bounded towards it, the other two Servants struggling to keep up.

You found yourselves face to face with a grand mausoleum, the stench of death emanating from it. More than that, you felt a void. As if this place had been turned into a bottomless, vile pit of magical energy. Stepping inside posed a massive risk- but this was the Beast's domain.

A pulse, before you heard DRACO's voice.

DRACO: "You have some nerve. Fine… push deeper. If you've come to beg forgiveness, then an audience is welcome. If you've come to my head, then I will laugh at your burning corpses. Either way…"

She paused. You could see her expression grow distant, her body flinching as she winced- she was weak. Already weakened, but in a much worse state without a contractor. Most likely overexerting herself- doing too much at once in an attempt to make up for whatever energy she burned away. With a bitter growl, she wrenched herself back into focus.

DRACO: "…Either way… Ugh, I don't have time for this. My Bestia Coccinea- stop playing with your food! Three more sacrifices, just three more, and then…--"

The connection flickered out. Your Servants were waiting- based on their reaction, they probably didn't hear what you all just heard.

KUKULKAN: "...This place is certainly spooky. This is what people call a 'dungeon crawl', yes?"

CONSTANTINE: "I... believe so?"

You saw a couple shapes hovering outside the door. One of them approached first, excitedly. It seemed like one of PRETENDER's fae familiars.

FAERIE: "…!"

CONSTANTINE: "I guess Pretender found this place as well."

After a moment, you saw another figure back out of the mausoleum, dusting his clothes off before turning to face you and your Servants.

PRETENDER: "Well, who do we have here? Some more friends? Thank goodness, I was afraid of going deeper inside this scary looking place alone! But now that you''re here, you can take the lead! Yay!"

CONSTANTINE: "Wait--!"

He stepped behind KUKULKAN and CONSTANTINE, starting to less-than-gently shove them inside.

...It seems like you're going dungeon crawling.

-

[ PRETENDER has joined the party as an Auxiliary Party Member! You don't have access to his skills, but he'll provide support during battles and encounters! ]

[bxldrsdraumar]

She does not care for births of something as lowly as a human. Freyja sees the celebration as meaningless, but apparently everyone else seemed very happy to hand something over as a gift to the loud-mouth idiot. Never to be remembered, Freyja rudely shoves a small box towards the man. No words said to him but the action is enough: happy birthday.

Her presence is a flicker of wind against his mind, almost like the familiar veil of a childhood dream dragged over his eyes, something that he cannot quite grasp to drag to the light but that he knows sets his heart to beating. 

It is his birthday. He is sixteen, and he is no longer a page, no longer a squire – he is a knight, proud and gleaming from tip to toe, and he is ready to serve his liege. He grips the hilt of his sword in his hand, and it is his birthday, and he is twenty, a steeled commander, and a lord in his own right, a beacon for his people. 

It is his birthday. 

He is twenty-four. 

And he weeps, alone, for his wife had been stolen from him, abducted from the battlefield like some faerie in a folk tale, a warning to children before bedtime – but he is not a child, he is a man, a husband, a father, and though he is surrounded by scores of loved ones who are eager to shed blood for his loss, he has never felt more alone. 

Sigurd jerks to waking, careful of his arms around Deirdre – and she is here, in his arms, and she loves him so much – and he feels the sweat breaking out over his body, his mind a churning maelstrom of confusion, of pain, of phantom grief for an injury no longer sustained. 

He looks over to their nightstand and spies a little box with a little bow, and when he opens it he finds a little pile of ash. A reminder, he thinks. 

It is his birthday. Sigurd does not know how old he is. 

[a-krogan-skald-and-bearsark]

I posted 3,141 times in 2022

That's 707 more posts than 2021!

55 posts created (2%)

3,086 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@rabbitindisguise

@a-boros-named-seamus

@ussmysterymachine

@vaspider

@asexual-thot

I tagged 139 of my posts in 2022

#goncharov - 21 posts

#unreality - 21 posts

#mechwarrior - 10 posts

#mechwarrior 5 - 8 posts

#battletech - 8 posts

#twitch - 6 posts

#youtube - 5 posts

#yes the hell jehan's whales - 3 posts

#skyrim - 3 posts

#worldbuilding - 2 posts

Longest Tag: 125 characters

#the look on the blue suns face when the way they find out they didnt get archangel is him offing papparazzi on the citadel...

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I would be Conan Doyle's favourite sort of fan. "Sherlock who? Now about Professor Challenger..."

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle jumps off the Q&A stage, runs down the aisle, and kisses me full on the mouth.

16 notes - Posted November 26, 2022

#4

What pronouns does the Faerie Knight use?

Sidhe/They

18 notes - Posted February 2, 2022

#3

Please friend, tell your tale. What earned you your position as The Guy?

So I went from being home schooled directly to university and joined a historical reenactment group in my second semester. It quickly became roughly ninety percent of my identity. I routinely wore my non-combat kit everywhere. Tunic, trews, and most importantly a giant fuck-off cloak.

I, of course, did not realize I was The Guy until an acquaintance of mine came into the pub I was drinking in and excited bought me a pint because one of his friends had mentioned seeing "The guy in the cloak" in town, and my buddy was able to go "I know that guy! I'm friends with him!"

I also, one semester, regularly showed up to lectures in armour (In my defence. The lecture ended when the training session started. And it's easier to wear maille than carry it)

32 notes - Posted April 5, 2022

#2

Something tells me that either the U.S. Army has never watched M*A*S*H, or has COMPLETELY MISSED THE POINT.

And either of those seem to me to be equally likely.

36 notes - Posted February 20, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

So because I have had a hyperfixation on Scandinavian history 700AD to 1300AD for about a decade and a half now, consistent like. And have been coming back to the Temeraire books all regular like for about the same span. I have decided to share some headcanons/AU worldbuilding for the role of Dragons in Norse society.

So. The generally accepted theory is that dragon-handling was introduced to the Proto-Norse by the Romans. Because the setting is similar enough to the real world that we aren't getting rid of that 'radiation of civilization' bullshit. Especially not before the Napoleonic War.

However. My headcanon is that it happened slightly differently, and I have come up with some ways to have evidence that both supports my headcanons but is obscure enough for the “The Romans did it” theory to be the dominant one at least as far as the novels.

Specifically having the Romans theory contradicted by several manuscripts of Snorri's "Heimskringla", and an Icelandic manuscript of uncertain provenance (But probably also fucking Snorri because everything is) entitled "Sigurds Saga Fafnirsbani" which would be an alternative text of the Volsungasaga or Nibelungenlied. The texts would diverge in the sequence immediately following the death of Fafnir.

In the germanic texts, Regin the smith instructs Sigurd to cook Fafnirs heart but not to eat it. Depending on the version Sigurd either burns his fingers on the heart and sticks them in his mouth, gaining the wisdom Regin intended to obtain by eating the heart and coincidentally realising the smith plans on betraying him. Or is warned of the impending treachery by a grey-cloaked old man who happens to be wandering nearby and may or may only have the one eye. (This is how the story goes IRL)

In the Icelandic text (invented for this AU by yours truly), amongst the treasures of Fafnir is a large egg, and Regin instructs Sigurd to wake him if the egg shows signs of hatching  as neither of them them have the skill to destroy the egg before it hatches and only Regin has the lore to slay the hatchling, as he had the lore to instruct Sigurd as to how to slay Fafnir 

Regin then goes to sleep, at which point our nameless old hobo ambles past, stops, and goes "You ken your friend is lying through his teeth, aye?" before explaining the Regin intends to bind the hatchling to his will, before murdering Sigurd and conquering the north with a tame Dragon. But. Says the creepy old man, who appears to know things he really shouldn't. If you let Regin sleep, and when the egg hatches, you feed the hatchling and give it a name, it will be willing to bind it's fate to yours. Anyway. Food for thought. Says the old man. And then wanders off.

Long story short, Sigurd ends up with a harnessed dragon (Scandinavia’s first), Regin ends up with several feet of steel through his spine, and the sagas converge again, because having a dragon doesn't do you a lot of good if you don't have the sense god gave little green apples, but do have the insight check of a golden retriever puppy. (For those who aren’t familiar with the saga, Sigurd gets engaged, then drugged and forced to marry someone else, and while under the influence of said drugs is also forced into tricking his ex-fiancee into marrying his brother-in-law instead of him. It starts a blood feud that lasts about three generations and only ends when everyone related to anyone involved is dead. But that isn’t important here.)

Sigurd’s “success“ starts a trend of Norse magnates harnessing dragons, and a linking of the Udal (land) Rights with the support of Dragons. Specifically, amongst a Landowner's Udal rights, they include the right to dictate who on their land was permitted to support a dragon. (Also, a bunch of responsibilities regarding any harnessed dragons supported under their Udal rights)

Now because the Udal Rights (And the titles and land that go with them) are so closely tied to dragons, the Udal Right is entailed on the Magnate's Dragon, and on the Magnate's death, passes to the heir selected by the Dragon as partner. The fact that dragons basically control the inheritance of noble titles makes the relationship between the Norse and their dragons more of a partnership than you find elsewhere in Europe.

However this leads directly to the start of the Viking period as there are only so many Udal Rights available. So you end up with Dragon-riders who have no landrights of their own, and thus have to do something to make it palatable for someone who does have Udal Rights to permit them to support themselves off said magnates land. Obviously the solution is to provide expensive gifts while simultaneously requiring as little support as necessary. And oh, look. England isn't far. And it's rich. And it doesn't have many dragons, and those they do have are smaller and less invested.

My. That's a lovely monastery you have there, Lindisfarne. Be a shame if someone were to happen to it.

But everything changes when the fire nation Ragnar Lodbrok attacks shows up.

As in Ragnars Saga Lodbrokkar, Ragnar marries a princess who is descended from Sigurd Fafnirsbani

Unlike real world Ragnars Saga he does not kill the Dragon guarding her. As it happens to be Sigurds Dragon. Instead he convinces it to become his companion.

He makes the argument that as said Dragon was a key part of instituting the draconic elements of Udal Rights, and Udal Rights are conferred by the Dragon they are entailed upon, he has Udal Rights to all of Norway.

This a bullshit claim and not widely accepted, but he is able to sway enough magnates that it is never conclusively struck down, even if he never manages to enforce it.

But it sets a precedent.

Said precedent is latched onto by Harald Shaggy, who does manage to enforce it. With much bloodshed and strife. He then buys himself a comb, and hires a barber, and changes his cognomen to Fairhair. The bastard.

Now we have  a problem. Because we have a nation full of dragons that are used to agency, and aren't too pleased at being forced to yield it to some upstart Christsman who was fostered in DENMARK, of all places.  And one full of magnates who are used to being big fish in a medium pond and don't take too kindly to becoming medium fish in a big pond. But what's a good pagan dragon or ormscarl to do? Fairhair has the backing of a bunch of converts, traitors and sellouts, as well as the Danes and the English, and some of the Swedes, and the Saami, knowing which side of their bread does not have punitive campaigns marching over it, are staying decidedly neutral.

The answer? Fuck off to Iceland and found a new country! A Better Country! With Blackjack! And Hookers! And no centralized authority! And Votes For Dragons (STEP IN TIME!)

Of course, Iceland isn’t known for it’s forests, and eventually their boats start to fall apart, and Haakon the Good and St. Olaf show up with their Christianity and Organized Church and Monarchy, and treaties that they don’t even honour for a year, and everything falls apart.

The decline of the Icelandic Commonwealth actually happens slower. The dragons mean they’re less dependent on boats for fishing and whaling, although trade still suffers. Too, the shift to Christianity being the state religion takes longer, as dragons making impassioned speeches about “The faith of our fathers” and “Isn’t this why we left Norway in the first place” are impossible to ignore, if only because they’re so loud.

But it does happen, and the same trend of slowly tightening the restrictions on the pagan faiths until they are practically impossible to practice occurs. The Icelandic Diocese also does it’s very best to get rid of this pesky “Dragons are people, actually” thing these Icelanders seem to have come up with, a campaign aided by the fact that property in Iceland steadily ends up being held by the church (or church aligned families, me here, glowering at the Sturlissons), so most of the people well-enough off to support a Dragon are closely tied to the diocese.

HOWEVER! Dragons are long-lived, and more than capable of holding grudges, and in some of the more remote parts of Iceland, and some of the offlying islands and Skerries, dwell families that remember the old ways Some of them hold Gothi, or priest-rights, and eventually these end up being passed to their Dragons because it means they’re more likely to keep the traditions correctly. These families and their dragons are effectively a secret society, probably responsible for a pretty hefty chunk of North Atlantic piracy, and can be relied upon to meddle anytime it can inconvenience the Powers That Be.

Anyway, this got away from me a bit, so...

63 notes - Posted April 14, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[grimdrago]

Bayonetta Fighting Game Roster Idea

Bayonetta (β1) (2 weapons) Bayonetta (β2) (2 weapons) Bayonetta (β3) (2 weapons) Jeanne (2 weapons) Viola Cereza (Origins) Loki Balder Rosa Rodin Luka? Enzo? (lol idk) Aesir Sigurd? Game Exclusive Fighter? story mode fodder: -Angel -Demon -Faerie

--DLC-- Jack Cayman (Madworld) Wonder Red (The Wonderful 101) Sam Gideon (Vanquish) (Anarchy Reigns/Max Anarchy) (World of Demons)

[meret118]

The Valkyrie — Kate Heartfield (Harper Voyager) Brynhild is a Valkyrie: shieldmaiden of the Allfather, chooser of the slain. But now she too has fallen, flightless in her exile. Gudrun is a princess of Burgundy, a daughter of the Rhine, a prize for an invading king—a king whose brother Attila has other plans, and a dragon to call upon. And in the songs to be sung, there is another hero: Sigurd, a warrior with a sword sharper than the new moon. As the legends tell, these names are destined to be lovers, fated as enemies. But here on Midgard, legends can be lies… For not all heroes are heroic, nor all monsters monstrous. And a shieldmaiden may yet find that love is the greatest weapon of all.

Sleep No More (October Daye #17) — Seanan McGuire (DAW). October is very happy with her life as the second daughter of her pureblood parents, Amandine and Simon Torquill. Born to be the changeling handmaid to her beloved sister August, she spends her days working in her family’s tower, serving as August’s companion, and waiting for the day when her sister sets up a household of her own. Everything is right in October’s Faerie. Everything is perfect. Everything is a lie. October has been pulled from her own reality and thrown into a twisted reinterpretation of Faerie where nothing is as it should be and everything has been distorted to support Titania’s ideals. Bound by the Summer Queen’s magic and thrust into a world turned upside down, October has no way of knowing who she can trust, where she can turn, or even who she really is. As strangers who claim to know her begin to appear and the edges of Titania’s paradise begin to unravel, Toby will have to decide whether she can risk everything she knows based on only their stories of another world. But first she’ll have to survive this one, as Titania demonstrates why she needed to be banished in the first place—and this time, much more than Toby’s own life is at stake.

My Brother’s Keeper — Tim Powers (Baen) When young Emily Brontë helps a wounded man she finds at the foot of an ancient pagan shrine in the remote Yorkshire moors, her life becomes contentiously entwined with his. He is Alcuin Curzon, embittered member of a sect working to eradicate the resurgent plague of lycanthropy in Europe and northern England. But Emily’s father, curate of the Haworth village church, is responsible for having unwittingly brought a demonic werewolf god to Yorkshire forty years ago—and it is taking possession of Emily’s beloved but foolish and dissolute brother. Curzon must regard Emily’s family as a dire threat. In spite of being at deadly odds, Emily and Curzon find themselves thrown together in fighting werewolves, confronting pagan gods, even saving each other from the lures of moorland demons. And in a final battle that sweeps from the haunted village of Haworth to a monstrous shrine far out on the moors, the two of them must be reluctant allies against an ancient power that seems likely to take their souls as well as their lives.

Many more at the link.

[bittertomato]

HELLO???

I had a feeling that was what the faeries based their human production on but that’s fucked up

My face too:

The faeries sure love betraying people by poisoning them to death, huh.

Okay blasted through the last fight with Sigurd + Koyanskaya. Ssg Dragonslayer. Okay onto section 28!

TIME TO START PART 3

GORDIE SHUT UP IM NOT HAPPY ABOUT THIS

[honestsycrets]

[lioninsunheart]

"In wilderness people can find the silence and the solitude and the uncivilized surroundings that can connect them once again to their evolutionary heritage, and through an experience of the eternal mystery, can give them a sense of the sacredness of all creation."

-  Sigurd Olson (1899-1982)

[dapurinthos]

hey it’s out in new zealand, that’s my break and i’ve had this draft waiting for, like, two weeks.

some notes on the codenames (source x) that blood of eden uses for the lyctors

all of the blood of eden codenames for the lyctors are based on mythical weapons, the exception being source aegis (athena’s shield, sometimes featuring the gorgon’s head), but it does make sense upon reconsideration because gideon was not the person the codename was meant for, it was pyrrha, and what is a cavalier if not a protector of their necromancer? it makes much more sense for pyrrha to be the source aegis referred to as wake’s informant, especially since we learned that phyrra was the one who instigated the relationship, not gideon prime.

source piotra took me a moment because it’s a version of the name peter and i was just ??? about it because i was not exposed to anything to do with christian religion until i moved to newfoundland and had to start religious studies in the middle of fifth grade. however, there is a legendary sword that was used by the apostle peter, which is said by some to have been brought by joseph of arimathea to britain, at the same time the poznañ archcathedral (the oldest polish cathedral, settling why the name is piotra, the polish version of peter) displays the copy of the supposed blade itself, a roman gladius with a spaded end.

joyeuse for mercymorn—did blood of eden know her simply as the saint of joy first, given that mercymorn wanted their names to be forgotten and not used, and thus codenamed her after a sword containing the word ‘joy’? joyeuse itself is the legendary sword of charlemagne, the first holy roman emperor, and described in the song of roland. the blade used at the coronation of french kings is claimed to be joyeuse and has been altered over the centuries before being displayed in the louvre today.

cassiopeia continues the mythological swords theme by being named source gram after the sword of sigurd, known as gramr in old norse, which was used to slay a dragon in the volsunga saga. as for why? i’m going to go with the proto-indo-european serpent slaying myth to connect them, cassiopeia being the mother of andromeda who was staked out and left for the sea monster kētŏs (who is not a kraken, thank you very much for inserting that idea into popular culture, clash of the titans), who was also described as a sea serpent, given the similarities between serpents and dragons in greek myth.

now, as for cytherea, source chrysaor. i was confused because i kept looking at chrysaor the mythological person before smacking myself upside the head and recalling the faerie queene by edmund spenser where chrysaor is a sword wielded by sir artegall. sir artegall, the embodiment of justice, the champion of justice. and justice, to blood of eden, is ‘the vengeance of the ten billion,’ it is justice to ‘kill the emperor and burn his houses.’ in cytherea’s own words. (there is also demeter’s title khrusaôros, referring to the golden blades of wheat, and cytherea’s return to the first house is to harvest the seeds planted during the past ten thousand years, to cut down the heirs of the nine houses in the same way wheat is cut.)

[cyborg-squid]

“And since I'm a dragon, I yearn for body heat at night.”

This line from Melusine, I inadvertently made myself sad thinking about it, wondering if the other Dragon Servants also have this need.

Siegfried has Karna to curl up with for heat (who is probably the warmest person in Chaldea), Sieg can curl up with Jeanne or Astolfo, and Sigurd can curl up with Brynhildr. 

But Melusine doesn’t have anyone, prior to Chaldea. Among the inhuman, the faeries, and now even the dragons, she still remains a world apart...

[conaionaru]

Sigurd Snake-in-the-eye Oneshot

Such a lovely bride

Even covered in dirt and messy hair, she was breathtaking. Grinning at him from her spot under him, soft chuckles leaving her lips. "You didn't have to trip me."

"Why? I like seeing you like this." He teased back and kissed her cute little nose, snorting when she crunched it up. She threw him off and looked up at the hill that they tumbled down.

She wanted to be chased, and as the nice guy he was, he agreed. It wasn't his fault they fell down the hill, really. He tripped on a root, and if he should fall, so shall she. Sigurd would do anything to spoil Korra rotten. He was a prince, a son of Ragnar Lothbrok. All those riches and fame would finally be for something good.

"You are staring again." She teased with raised eyebrows.

"I made you another song." Sigurd pulled his oud out, but she dragged him over to the sand and the lake. Pulling off her shoes, Korra ran into the water, not caring if her skirts got wet.

Watching her twirl in the cool water was like watching a Nymph or a faerie. Sigurd could watch her for hours if it didn't look so creepy. Ever since he first saw her, he felt a pull towards Korra.

At fifteen, she stumbled into him from behind, dressed in her brother's clothes, carrying a basket of fish. Instead of apologizing as other girls would have, she called him rude and stuck her tongue out. He could still hear his brother's laughing at his starstruck expression and his stupid smile whenever he thought of her. But it was all worth it when he brought her flowers, and she giggled for the first time.

It was like the loveliest melody, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't create one as lovely as hers. So Sigurd vowed to hear it every day from now on. And no matter what Ubbe said about fading love, Sigurd was sure he would marry that girl. No matter how wild and untamed she might be.

"Well? Aren't you going to play for me?" She asked, looking at him over her shoulder with her cute grin that was a mix between teasing and challenging. So he picked up his oud and played the song that he wrote just for her. It took him a fortnight to make it perfect, and the smile that she flashed him was worth it. But the kiss on his lips when she crawled out of the water was even better.

Laying side by side and watching the clouds pass by as they held hands was bliss. The peacefulness was a nice change to the usual chaos of his family. "That one looks like a goat."

"No, it doesn't."

"Yes, it does. It has the same beard like you." Sigurd looked at her strangely while she cackled at her own joke. Rolling over, he hovered over her and tickled her side till she trashed under him and begged for mercy.

"Stoooop. Siguuuurd! Stop it! I command you!"

He chuckled and looked into her blue eyes with a silly smile. "Who are you to command a son of Ragnar Lothbrok, huh?"

She rolled her eyes and brushed his shaggy hair behind his ear. "Korra, the fisherman's daughter. I have been called the most beautiful woman out there. I think it a lie, but he insisted."

"Pesty, isn't he?" He leaned closer till their lips brushed against each other, blue eyes meeting green.

"It's lovable, really." They locked lips in a sweet kiss and laid back down, this time Korra rested on his chest in silence. Sleepily drifting off till the sun went down and they had to return home.

Returning to the Great hall to dine with his family was like a punishment after the moments he spent with Korra. Ivar parading Margrethe around like a won prize was laughable. Especially after the thing, the slave confessed to him.

"It makes me so happy you are with a woman," Aslaug told her youngest and then turned to her other children.  "The rest of you should already be married. Ubbe, you should have children."

"I probably already have." They all chuckled, but Aslaug wasn't amused by them.

"Just because you are the sons of a king does not mean you can be irresponsible. It's important to find a woman and settle down."

He couldn't help but scoff, glaring at his mother. "I thought I had found a woman. But you forbid me from asking for her hand."

"You don't have to love the woman. As a king's son, you can have as many women as you like... But you need one to breed with."

"Why bind some other woman to me when I already have one that could give me children if I just asked her."

Aslaug shook her head and waved him off. "Korra is not wife material."

"Why not?"

"Because she is crazy." Ivar laughed.

Sigurd's gaze snapped over at him. "Shut your mouth, Boneless!"

"She runs around dressed as a man and talks to herself. She is always dirty and has no manners, brother. I am just saying that she is not good for you."

"What do you know of women, Ivar, huh? If it weren't for Ubbe, you would have never seen one naked. Besides the mother, of course. No other woman would ever love you. And she doesn't even love you; she pities you. We all do. Sometimes we wish she just left you to the wolves."

"Sigurd, that is enough! I know your feelings for this girl. But she does not befit a prince. If you really care for her, I will find her a good match that fits her more. A nice boy who will treat her nicely."

"Kora doesn't want to marry anyone! Especially not a stranger that you chose for her! She would throw herself off a cliff before marrying him!"

"That's a shame then. She would've made such a lovely bride."

"What a shame she's fucked in the head," Ivar said, and the next moment, Sigurd threw himself on top of him, and a fight broke out.

He met Korra at the hour of the wolf. Her standing there with her hair messy from sleep, covered with a shawl for extra warmth. He pulled his fur cloak around her shoulders and flattened down her hair. "What happened to your face?"

"I fought with Ivar."

"So, the usual. What was it this time? Did he wreck your hairbrush? Mess with your oud?" She teased and danced closer to him, but it did nothing to lift his mood.

He sighed and took her hands in his, looking at her with soft eyes. "It was about you. Mother is pushing us into marriage, and when I suggested you, he said some things."

Korra smiled at him and nodded, tears gathering in her eyes. "He called me crazy, didn't he?"

Sigurd tried to lie to her, but he just couldn't when she looked so heartbroken. "Don't lie, Sigurd. Everyone says so. And maybe he is right. I mean, I am sure your mother doesn't approve either."

"It doesn't matter what mother or any of them think! We can run away and marry in secret. We could get a little cottage far away from all the eyes and responsibilities, with little goats and a lake nearby."

Korra shook her head and smiled at him sadly. "You know that would never work. Father was right; it wouldn't last."

"It won't if you just give up, Korra! Just say yes, and I will take you away from here! I will make you the happiest bride in all of Norway. Just say, yes!"

"No." With a tearful smile, she dropped his hand and walked away, trying her hardest not to look back and fall into his arms. She wanted to tell him yes so badly. But he was a Ragnarsson and a prince. It wasn't right to keep him all to herself and abandon all the glory that awaited him in the future.

After the proposal, she accepted Aslaug's suitor and let their mothers plan her wedding to a man she never met before. Her heart longed for her sweet Sigurd and his songs and kisses and hugs. He grew angry and fought with his brothers more than before.

No matter how many times he tried to seek her out and talk to her, she avoided him like the plague and concentrated on her upcoming wedding. After both Ragnar and Aslaug died and Ubbe married Margrethe, she though Sigurd would focus on getting revenge on the Saxons.

But he was always so fiercely loyal to her. So when she saw him standing there on her wedding day, it broke her heart once more. It was like a cruel riddle - who was more hurt? Her with her unhappy marriage or him all alone and angry.

Her new husband wasn't ugly or cruel. He was sweet and kind, patient above all else. But he wasn't the one she wanted.

"I swear." He said confidently, smiling down at her encouragingly to repeat the words.

"I swear." She echoed with a shake of her head, letting her new husband kiss her. Her eyes subtly drifted to Sigurd's retreating frame in the distance. Tears trailed down her cheeks, but she told him that they were from happiness.

She was a married woman now, her husband, a respectable merchant. Rich but not too much and gentle. Korra expected to forget about everything and live a happy life with many kids. A year into her marriage and Ubbe returned to Kattegat with his brother Sigurd. When she saw him get off the boat, her heart leaped, and she fought back a smile. Her husband, of course, ignored it, too focused on his work to notice her.

In the night, the hour of the wolf especially, she found Sigurd in their usual spot. He looked at her with sad eyes and tried to leave her alone. But something in her screamed out for her to stop him, so she did. "Why did you two come home alone? What happened to your brothers?"

"We fought."

"So, the usual." She smiled shyly as he laughed and nodded. The awkwardness all gone, as if they never split apart.

"This one was more serious. Nearly got an axe to the chest."

"What?" Korra shrieked out and pulled his tunic back to see the damage. True to his word, a thin scar on his chest was a bit above his heart. She stared at him awestruck, worried for his life. How close she was to losing him. Even though he was no longer hers.

"I am fine. I swear." She teared up and pulled back, cradling her hands close to her heart, still feeling his warmth by her. "How are you?"

"Married life is a bliss. He is very nice and kind. Patient and everything your mother promised he would be. We never hunger or fight... I should be happy and content..."

"But?"

"But... I am so lonely."  She sobbed out and looked back at him to see the same expression on his face. "They were all right, Sigurd. I am no wife material. I am so void and empty while he tries so hard. He wants children, and all I can do is nod along with like some broken little pathetic creature."

He strode over to her and pulled her into his arms, whispering into her ear how much he loved her and how perfect she was. For the first time in a year, she felt happy. Despite the tears and guilt she felt, she finally felt whole and content. Maybe it was wrong of her to do this; she was a worried woman now. Had a reputation to protect and a man to be true to. And yet she kissed him and liked it. She fell for Sigurd when she was just a child, and never would she stop loving him. She fell, and so did he.

[dccomicsnews]

Review: Wonder Woman #776

Review: Wonder Woman #776 @michaelwconrad @beckycloonan @thejillthompson @MattB_Lloyd

Review: Wonder Woman #776[Editor’s Note: This review may contain spoilers] Writers: Michael W. Conrad & Becky Cloonan and Jordie BellaireArt: Jill Thompson, Becky Cloonan, and Paulina GanucheauColors: Jill Thompson, Jordie Bellaire and Kendall GoodeLetters: Pat Brosseau and Becca Carey Reviewed by: Matthew B. Lloyd   Summary Diana and Ratatosk are joined in Elfhame- Land of the Faeries by Sigurd…

[waiting4inspiration]

Ivar’s daughter making him a flower crown and asks him to wear it so he does and his brothers teases him until their niece makes flower crowns for them as well and so in the end all brothers end up wearing flower crowns

Snippets Masterlist

The small girl wobbles over to Ivar, a bright smile on her face and a bunch of flowers in her hands. “Daddy, look!” she cheers, holding out the flowers to him and revealing that it is a flower crown. “Will you wear it?” she questions, pouting her lips at him. 

Ivar can see his brother nearing him and his daughter, but he can’t say no to his little girl. Giving her a small smile, he tilts his head down so that she can put the flower crown on his head. When he pulls away, the smile on his daughter’s face makes the teasing that his brother will give him worth it. 

“Have you gone soft now, Ivar?” Hvitserk begins the teasing when the little girl leaves.

Ivar gives his scowl before rolling his eyes. “Or perhaps you have become a king of Faeries now?” Ubbe adds with a small laugh, making Ubbe and Sigurd chuckle too. 

“And just when we thought you couldn’t make yourself look even more ridiculous,” Sigurd mocks, making Ivar open his mouth to tell him off but he sees his daughter returning with another bunch of flowers in her hands. “Uncle Ubbe! Uncle Hvitserk! Uncle Sigurd!” she shouts, rushing towards them with the flower crowns in her hands. She stumbles over Hvtiserk’s name, but she always has. “I made for you too!”

The smirks on their faces fall suddenly and a smirk grows on Ivar’s face. She holds out the flower crowns and bounces on her feet. They take them from her and she waits for them to put them on. “Now, brothers. You wouldn’t want to upset my daughter by not accepting her gifts, right?” he teases, raising his eyebrows at them as if to challenge them. 

The glare at him and glance between each other before hesitantly putting the flower crowns on. 

Tagging - @youbloodymadgenius

[adalheidismimisbrunnr]

Magickal Beings

Elves & Other Spirits

The world of ancient Paganism was hardly limited to the worship of the Gods.  There are various other beings who were honored, and. Elf worship. was often the hardest part of Paganism for Christians to destroy.  It was easy enough to substitute one God for another, but it was quite another to tell the common people that the elves which brought fertility to the land were not real!

In the various folktales and sagas, we find very little which would lead us to a concrete system of what spirit was responsible for exactly what.  We are sure of the place of the Valkyries, who were responsible for bringing the slain to Valhalla, and for choosing who in battle would die.  They seem, judging by their actions, to be supernatural beings of some type.  However, Valkyries appear in various places as very human figures and their exact nature is difficult to determine.  Sigrdrifa was a Valkyrie who was cursed by Odin because she refused to bring victory in battle to those whom he had chosen.  Her punishment was to be married to a mortal, and the implication is clear that this would end her days as a Valkyrie.  It’s equally clear that she has great knowledge of the runes as she tutors Sigurd after he awakens her.  In most respects she seems to be a normal human woman, although a very wise and independent one with great powers.  Elsewhere, Voland and his brothers are said to have found three Valkyries sunning themselves without their swan-coats. When the brothers steal their feather-coats and hide them, the Valkyries again appear as otherwise normal women.  This does not seem entirely in keeping with a supernatural origin, and it’s possible that some kind of magickal order of Priestesses has become confused over time with the supernatural beings we know as Valkyries.  The swan-coat seems very similar in description to Freya’s falcon-coat and the entire issue may be something related to the practice of seidhr.  As far as we know, the Valkyrie were not worshipped as such, but were considered more the messengers of Odin.  They also serve the mead at Valhalla, and because of this whoever pours the mead into the Horn at Blot or Sumbel is today known as. the Valkyrie.

The other spirits whose place seems fairly clear are the Disir.  These are spirits who are intimately linked with a family.  There is also some indication that they are linked with the land, but this would be in keeping with the old ways.  We forget sometimes that many landowners in Europe have been living in the same place since before this continent was discovered. The land becomes an intimate part of the family and its identity, so it is natural that family spirits would also oversee the family land.  Disir inevitably are seen as women who appear at times of great trouble or change. They are somehow linked to the family bloodline and seem most closely linked to the clan chief.  There is one scene in one saga where a spirit, apparently a Dis, is passed on from one person to another who are not blood relations. However, these two friends are closer than brothers, so while the link is apparently not genetic, it is definitely familial.  We know the family Disir were honored with blots at the Winter Nights and that they have great power to aid their family.  As far as their origin, it’s possible that they are ancestral in origin. They may be ancestors whose power was so great that they were able to continue to see to their clan.  Or it’s possible that the Disir are the collective spirit of the family ancestors. Freya is called the great Dis and there may be some linkage here to her position as a seidhr woman.  We know from the sagas that Seidhr was involved with talking to various spirits (including the dead) and its possible that this is the source of Freya’s name.  It is also possible that she performed much the same function as a Dis to her tribe the Vanir.

Closely linked to the idea of the Disir is the Fylgia.  These spirits are attached to an individual person in much the same way that the Disir are associated with a family.  Fylgia usually appear either as animals or as beautiful women.  They correspond to the. fetch, totem, or. power-animal. in other cultures.  Most of the time the fylgia remains hidden and absent, it is only with truly great or powerful persons that the fylgia becomes known.  They may have something to do with Seidhr as well, because many sagas offer evidence of spirit travel in the shape of animals.  This corresponds exactly to notions of shamanism found in other cultures.

The remaining spirits include Alvar or elves, Dokkalvar or dark elves or Dwarfs, kobolds, and landvaettir. While some have defined one being as doing one thing and another serving a different function, I’m not inclined to draw very sharp distinctions between these various creatures.  They all seem. elfish. in origin, and there seems to me to be no pattern of associating one name with a specific function.  We know that various landvaettir or land spirits were honored with blots. We also know that Frey is the lord of Alfheim, one of the nine worlds where the alvar are said to live.

Of all the remaining spirits, the dwarfs are the most consistent in description.  We know that the dwarfs are cunning and misanthropic in character and incredible smiths, capable of creating magickal objects so valuable they are considered the greatest treasures of Asgard. Thor’s hammer Mjolnir, Freya’s necklace Brisingamen, and Sif’s golden hair are all creations of the dwarfs.  They live beneath the earth and have little to do with mankind or the Gods unless one seeks them out. What place they had in the religion we no longer know.  It would seem wise to invoke them as spirits of the forge, but I can think of little other reason to disturb them.

Elves are the most difficult magickal race to pin down.  Mythological sources tell us that the Alvar or light elves live in Alfheim where Frey is their Lord.  However, we also have the enduring belief in folklore of the elves as faery-folk: beings associated with the natural world.  These two conceptions of elves might still be linked, however, as Alfheim is known to be a place of incredible natural beauty, and Frey, their leader, is an agricultural deity.  To further confuse this issue, Norse folklore has a strong belief in the Landvaettir, or land spirits who may fit into either or both of these categories.  I’m inclined to lump them all together as similar beings that we simply don’t.t know enough about to tell apart.  What is important is that Asatru, like all Pagan religions, honors the natural world and the earth very deeply.  Whether one calls the spirits of the land as the elves, the faeries, or the landvaettir, or uses all of these terms interchangeably, respect is all important.  Asatru is known for being one of the most politically. conservative. of the modern Pagan religions, but you’ll find few of us who aren.t staunch environmentalists.

One of the most important spirits to honor is the house-spirit. Folklore is also filled with stories of various spirits variously called faeries, elves, kobolds, brownies, tom-tin, etc. who inhabit a house and see to its proper conduct.  In the usual form of the tale, they offer to perform some housekeeping functions, but eventually turn on the owners of the house when they are insulted by overpayment. We don’t.t have any concrete evidence for how our ancestors honored these beings, but this is not surprising because such a thing would not be a public observance and it’s unlikely it would be recorded in the sagas or Eddas.  Folklore indicates that such beings should be honored with a simple bowl of milk or perhaps beer, but no more.

In general folklore does not paint the various elves and spirits as particularly benevolent figures. With the exception of house spirits, who as spirits of a manmade object are bound to us on some level, they seem most interested in staying out of the dealings of mankind.  There are numerous stories of people who spy upon elf women and force them to become their brides.  Inevitably the women are unhappy and eventually escape, leaving their husbands devastated.  There are also numerous stories of spirits who haunt the woods and who will drag wayward travelers into rivers to drown or to some other untimely death.  When people do have dealings with the elves these beings seem to operate on an entirely different set of expectations than we do. Most of us would be gratified by the gift of a. bonus. from our employer, yet time and time again in folklore this is the easiest way to anger a house spirit.  We know that elves were honored with blots, but it’s just as possible that these ceremonies were made in propitiation to them rather than in kinship as are our blots made with the Gods.  We suggest caution in dealing with beings with a set of values so foreign from our own. They should be approached in the same way one would approach a person from a country whose ways are very different.

In general, we.re also very reticent to make decisions about classifying the various. other peoples. It would be very easy to draw lines and place certain spirits into little boxes which label their function, but that seems overly mechanical and of little utility. Elves and other. wights. are not human, and it might be too much to try to classify them in other than subjective terms.  It’s probably best to simply make your intent clear, experiment, and use the terms which work for you, remembering only to be true to the sources.

Demi-Gods

There is a whole classification of Gods which are not truly part of the Aesir, Vanir, or even the Jotunn. Wayland the Smith is the best example of this that we can offer.  Wayland, called Volund in the Norse version, is the greatest of smiths, but it’s clear in the mythology that he was more or less a human man.  The myth tells of how he lost his wife and was enslaved by a human King.  While his powers allow him to outwit and take vengeance on the king, it’s clear throughout that he’s not on the level of a Thor or an Odin.  What one does about these demi-Gods or local Gods is a good question.  I see nothing wrong with pouring a blot in their honor and dealing with them as you would any other God or Goddess.  On the other hand, they are not part of the Aesir, and I think it might be disrespectful to honor them with the Aesir or as part of a ceremony dedicated to the Aesir as they seem of a different nature.

Ancestor Worship:

Honoring one’s ancestors was one of the most sacred duties of the Norsemen.  One of the most important parts of greeting new people was the exchanging of personal lineages at sumbel.  The worship of the Disir is closely linked to ancestor worship. However, it is difficult for modern day Pagans to seriously engage in ancestor worship.  We are for the most part without a strong connection to our heritage, and even if we feel motivated, we would probably need to skip at least a thousand years back to find ancestors who would not have been appalled by our Heathen beliefs.  One substitution for ancestor worship in the modern Asatru movement has been the veneration of heroes from the Sagas and legends of our people.

The manner of how we honor ancestors is also somewhat troubling.  I reserve the blot ritual to Gods and other powers, and I’m not sure if it’s appropriate to pour a blot to an ancestor, no matter how important he was. It’s touchy when you are honoring someone that you knew was a mortal.  I think the most important part of ancestor worship is remembering, and the sumbel seems the most important part of that.

While we discuss ancestry, I must mention that some modern Asatru groups, in part because of holdovers from 19th century cultural movements, have placed a great deal of emphasis on ancestry in terms of race.  Many have held that Asatru was a religion for whites or Northern Europeans only. In my not particularly humble opinion, this is pure idiocy.  The basic argument for this is that people of other cultures do not share the same background and values.  This is certainly true, but the key word in my opinion is culture, and all Americans by definition share a culture.  Also, while I admit I would think it doubtful that people from outside of our own cultural heritage would be attracted greatly to Asatru, if they are it is for a reason and they should be welcomed and not shunned.  It proves the worth of our religion and way of life that it is so strong that one would leave his own cultural path behind to take up ours.

As far as culture is concerned, the ancestry of the ancient North is alive and well in modern America. A thousand years ago settlers sailed to Iceland to avoid the growing influence of powerful kings and centralized government.  This centralization of power was one of the things which Roman Christianity brought with it.  Two hundred years ago we in America rebelled against our king for much the same reasons. Our culture is much more profoundly influenced by the Vikings than most would care to admit.  Our law is based on English common law, which in turn has roots in Norman and Saxon law. (Both the Saxons and Normans were descended from Germanic tribes.) Our culture is based on many of the same ideas which the Northmen held dear: the importance of the individual and the belief that individual rights outweighed collective rights.  Thus, it is my assertion that we are all descended, at least in part, spiritually from the ancient Norse.

The Jotunn

The Jotunn or giants are the sworn enemies of the Gods. While the Aesir represent order and the Vanir represent the supportive powers of nature, the Jotunn represent chaos and the power of nature to destroy man and act independent of humankind.  In the end, it is the Jotunn who will fight the Gods at Ragnarök and bring about the destruction of the world.

In essence despite being called Giants or Ogres, the Jotunn are Gods just as much as the Aesir or Vanir. In many cases they correspond very closely to the Fomoire in Celtic mythology.  Most simply put, the Jotunn are the Gods of all those things which man has no control over.

The Vanir are the Gods of the growing crops, the Jotunn are the Gods of the river which floods and washes away those crops or the tornado which destroys your entire farm.  This is why they are frightening, and this is why we hold them to be evil.

The Jotunn are not worshipped in modern Asatru, but there is some evidence that sacrifices were made to them in olden times.  In this case, sacrifices were probably made .to them. rather than shared. with them. as was the case with the Vanir and Aesir.  It would be inappropriate to embrace them as friends and brothers in the way we embrace our Gods.  One doesn.t embrace the hurricane or the wildfire; it is insanity to do so. However, we must also remember that fact that we see their actions as bad, they are not inherently evil.  The storm destroys the crops, but it also brings cleansing and renewal. We humans are only one species on this planet and in the end, we are both expendable and irrelevant to nature.  This is the manner in which the Jotunn act, and it is not surprising that we see this as evil.

However, one must also take into account the premonitions of Ragnarök recorded in the Edda’s.  If the Jotunn are merely amoral, why are they the sworn enemy of the Aesir and why will they bring about the end of the world? It’s possible that Jotunn was more of a catch-all term for dangerous Gods rather than a reference to a specific family.  (It is the case in many languages that there is one word for people that speak the language, usually translating as people, and another term for those persons of other cultures and tribes.) The dangerous forces of nature are. Jotunn. because we cannot control them, but there are other forces, principally those of chaos, that are considered. Jotunn. as well.

There is abundant evidence for this in the Eddas.  Various Jotunn are seen to marry into the Aesir without a great deal of trouble from the Gods, but at other times the mere sight of one throw Thor into a rage.  The obvious conclusion is that they are more than one specific race of deities.  The destructive powers of nature were tolerated to some extent, and often married into the Aesir bringing them more under control.  However, other. outlander. Gods were completely destructive to the Aesir (and thus mankind) and the Gods only thought for them was death.

[honestsycrets]

The Designer || 5CW

Cute moments of Sigurd finding out a slave girl who's with them since he was a child is in love with him silently through all these years, caring for him and even being the real author of many things he thought was Margrethe who did for him instead.

“This one is more your taste. She’s a good thrall from King Ragnar’s hearth as you may well know! Well-trained and a virgin,” the loud voice from the queen’s favourite trader punctuated, pulling on the slave collar that hung from around your neck. He cracks your collar down, forcing you onto your knees before the potential buyer.

“A virgin?” the woman said. “I wasn’t aware that the sons of Ragnar left any virgins unclaimed.”

“Fortunately so.”

The woman has a youthful face though her eyes reflect her age. Her long, blonde hair is neatly braided back from her bright eyes and spoke with a mealy-tongue. You recognize the woman as being the earl Lagertha. Every once in a while, you spotted him shifting in the background. You caught a glimpse of his blond hair shifting by with his brothers. He sat today with them eating, a flat bread in his hand while his eyes creased as he talked. They remind you of where the sea lapsed along the dark granules of sand, how the great snake would one day slither out from the bright ocean.

But not today.

Today your arms hurt in the tight rope and though you’re not sure what you said or did to upset Aslaug after so many years of service, here you were regardless. You try to think of better things than being traded. Like how his fingers would strum the oud at the end of a long night, sloppy with mead as opposed to the morning when he was fresh faced.

“Lovely,” the earl leans in, slipping her hand under a dress that fell to your knees. Her hand cups your sex, slipping over soft curls. Your legs knock together and you nearly sob out a protest. “She would make for a good gift for a king.”

The man leans in, “Or a queen.”

The exchange a knowing look between one another. “Yes, well, I am known to enjoy the company of both. I’ll take her. Let her say her goodbyes to Ubbe and Sigurd. She has been watching them since we began to speak.”

The other brothers had gone. You watched them leave not so long ago, never thinking that you wouldn’t see the brothers again. Maybe you would see him again-- Sigurd, who shifted with his Margrethe who was ordered to sit beside Ubbe for the time being. It must have been nice.

“Come,” the overseer brought you to the princes. Sigurd sets his drink aside as if realizing your presence. You look at him from behind a long curtain of your hair, lined by buds of fresh flowers that were meant to help your sale.

“(Y/N),” Sigurd recognizes you. That’s enough-- enough to make it worth it. “What are you doing to her?”

The overseer titters, “She’s been sold to earl Ingstad.”

Ubbe sets his cup down as if realizing that their mother who spoke with the girls of Kattegat was behind it all. Sigurd stands up, so close that you can make out the wisps of fine hairs on his upper lip cradling his chin.

“I wasn’t aware that my mother could sell my thrall,” Sigurd says in an unreasonable voice. His eyes flicker over to yours, wide and on the ground, then back to the overseer.

“Ah. She is queen, isn’t she?” He implies, almost with mock amusement. You wonder what Sigurd thought you had been doing over there. “You should be proud. She caught the eye of a great shieldmaiden. I dare say she will become her love slave.”

You don’t look up. Not when Sigurd inhales sharp. Ubbe reaches out, consoling him with an arm to his. You try to relax, to tell yourself that this was… temporary, despite knowing it wasn’t.

“My prince,” you soothe. “I-- your oud was in my bed. I was working upon it.”

“Working upon it?”

“The design of the snake among flowers in the wood. It was me,” you inform him with contrite remorse. You hadn’t meant to be so forward. But for years-- you let him believe that Margrethe was the one who cared for his instruments when it was always you. You suck in a breath and snap your mouth shut when both princes fell silent.

“Yes, yes, come along,” the overseer says clearly, mincing back toward Lagertha with smooth steps. His eyes leave yours when Lagertha unbinds your hands, leaning in to speak into your ear. The realization set over him-- you had been the one to fix his oud, to design his oud, to be there and listen to his songs. He has no idea what to do now with this new information. He almost steps up, but his brother’s wife stops him.

“Let her be,” Torvi stops him. Sigurd almost defies her when she speaks again. “She will care for her better than you can.”

As Torvi sweeps away, and Lagertha shows you the door, Sigurd lurches up. He couldn’t let things… go. Not like this. He clutches his bag of coin at his hip and pushes past her shieldmaidens.

“Lagertha!” he calls after the earl whose hand follows the loose rope on your slave collar. She turns just as he stands in front of her, his chest raising and falling behind his deep blue tunic. Her head turns.

“Sigurd,” she says, stating his name carefully.

“I will pay triple what you gave for her,” Sigurd says, holding his bag of coin. “Here and now.”

Lagertha’s hand falls from your rope, and you gawk at the ounces of silver in his hand. It’s far more than you ever thought you would fetch. Her shieldmaidens wear shocked, pulled back expressions too.

“She means that much to you?” Lagertha meets his eyes, standing up to him. He says nothing more, neither confirming nor denying, but it’s enough. Lagertha takes the coin from his hand and drops the rope into his hand. There is a warmth behind her next words-- almost as if she half cared. “Take good care of her.”

Your eyes fall to the rope. The women he usually play his oud for watch you, as if wondering themselves, what was so great about you? Your head bows away from their stares. Sigurd’s hand meets with your midback to take you somewhere else-- to his bed. His oud sits over a feather stuffed pillow. When he guides you to sit upon his bed, you take it upon yourself to refluff his downy pillow.

“What else have you done?” he asks, bending down onto one knee before you.

“Hm?” you mutter, stupidly. You’re far from stupid but-- you’ve been caught. You thought that you would never see him again. Or at least, not in a very, very long time.

“You etched these markings upon my oud. But what else have you done?”

You would unbraid his hair when he stayed out too late with his brothers. Undress him and redress him with proper fitting clothes when he was too drunk to stand upright. Sharpen his knives and cleaned his furs. Things that-- a wife should have done. But you knew that your intentions were him for deep.

“Where do I start?” you laugh, awkwardly so.

“That many?”

When you nod, Sigurd massages the tension out of his own head. He makes out why quick. “Of course, that many. What was I thinking?”

He was thinking that it was Margrethe-- spending time etching designs to please him. For as much as he loved her, she did not love him nearly as much. The person that did love him was sitting here, stroking fluffy pillows with a collar that weighed down her neck. He leans up, hooking the slave collar around his thumbs. When he pulls it down, your gasp almost stops him.

“You are a free woman. Go and do what you please.”

You stutter, reaching back out for the collar like it was some sort of safety net to keep you in his arms.. “What I want is to be here... with you.”

“A slave?” Sigurd asks.

“If I have to be.” you answer quickly. “I don’t want to go.”

“Then don’t. Stay here with me.” 

When you smile, it’s all the confirmation he needs-- you found yourself back at home. Right where you had always been.

@alicedopey @sununicorn @shadioux-fox @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @sincerelysinister @snake-eye-blaeja @flowers-in-your-hayr @feyrearcheron44

[trashybugs]

Omg now that you've said it, it's a ridiculous (and hilarious) idea. Surtr being a malewife for Obevorti, cooking the world for the giant worm. The King of the Fire Giants and the Faerie King, that's a one big crackship there. And the fact that Surtr was under the guise of Sigurd and Vorti under Oberon... yeah.

we need Pretender Surtr 😭