#sobs* freyja why would they do this to you??? *sobs

[jathun]

Forgot to update this! But! I managed to finish Agartha a couple of days ago. And oh god it was sooooo bad! About the only things you could maybe salvage from that arc is the writing around Wu Zeitan (through not that godawful design) and maaaaybe Columbus as an antagonist (but that's stretching it). Everything else was just bad. Just straight up awful. The Psuedo-Singularity reads like a bad fanfic written by a fourteen year old boy just getting into puberty and learning about feminism from the manosphere or something.

But since I had time to spare this weekend too; I've also gone through all of S.E.R.A.P.H and now started on Salem! And both of them are already leagues better than Agartha. THOUGH! I have to mention that that bar is already freezing in the deepest depths of hell - so it doesn't take much to improve upon all of that.

And upon that note. While the writing itself was way better in S.E.R.A.P.H. I have to admit I'm not that big of a fan.

I really liked the writing around Meltyllis, and Kiara Sesshouin has always been one of my favourite antagonists in the fate-verse; so I enjoyed those parts of the story immensely! And the lore revelations about the Animuspheres and the experiments they've been doing was delightfully horrifying! But the EXTRA-verse itself has always been a bit of a sore spot for me. I've never really liked it. I've played through all of the games (extra, ccc and extella), but the whole "game-within-a-game" meta concept is not something I'm a big fan of and the kinda juvenile humour of the verse is just...eh. Not for me. A lot of the character writing for the games, especially ccc, is amazing though! I'm not disputing that! But my general meh feelings about the extra-verse really colored my enjoyment of the S.E.R.A.P.H. psuedo-singularity for the worse, since none of it reaches the heights of the writing of the games.

Not to mention I've always had a hard time taking the more out-there designs of some of the nasuverse characters seriously and because of that no matter how great the writing might be; if a character's design is one giant boob joke it's gonna be difficult to look past that.

Now, I'm just a couple of sections into Salem, but as of yet it's up there with Shinjuku, Camelot and Babylonia as one of my favorite arcs of the game. Again, with the preface that I'm still at the very beginning of the psuedo-singularity.

It's got a way more oppressive atmosphere than most of the other arcs (as a classical/gothic horror fan I approve) and the fact that it's at least trying to convey the attitudes and predjudices of the time through the characters is commendable...even if it doesn't always land. For example, it's kinda jarring playing as a female mc and watching the other female characters be treated a...particular way... only to have the character you're playing as treated completely differently. It completely takes you out of the story. And yes! It's a huge problem throughout the game as a whole! But it becomes more of a sore spot in the arcs which actually try to tell a good story, since...well, they're actually trying.

And regarding Salem, it's also, in a way, blatantly obvious that the arc is a japanese take on the salem witch trials and lovecraftian elements - a well researched one compared to a lot of the other singularities and psuedo-singularities - but still that. A very, VERY japanese take on it which tries to be authentic yet doesn't want to step on too many toes BUT while doing so inadvertedly offends by trying to sweep things under the rug instead.

I'm kinda, specifically, talking about the issue of the Pilgrims, Queen of Sheba, Tituba, and the GIANT elephant in the room that is the transatlantic slave trade which grand order hilariously and hysterically tries not to touch yet by virtue of it being a time-travel based piece of media it just...can't not touch. It's...awkward at best and offensive at worst that the only (very ambiguously) black character (that's based on an actual black woman mind you(I'm talking about Tituba here not Sheba)) in the cast is treated with such little regard and shown with such little agency and screentime compared to her white (actual slave owner) counterparts. I'm honestly a bit baffled. I mean anything even remotely touching the topic of witches in america is bound to also touch the myriad of stories about specifically black women persecuted and accused of witchcraft because they kept to traditions which didn't line up perfectly with christianity and what the puritans saw as acceptable. You could do so much with the topic! And instead grand order just...doesn't even touch those stories. At all. Heck. Tituba isn't even Tituba. She's Sheba. A character who's just kinda ambiguously brown (?). I guess.

With E Pluribus Unum it was an issue as well - just not as in your face. They just kinda ignored the problem altogether. No slavery here. No sir. But in Salem it's just...ugh.

And I'm really not the best person to be talking about this. I'm a white-as-sheet woman from sweden who just loves history and colorful casts of characters in the media I consume. But I think that it's a disservice to the reader/player/consumers to ignore the topic even if it's uncomfortable and difficult. Anyone who can pick up a history book will know what happened at the time. It's almost insulting to pretend otherwise.

I dunno...I'm sorry for the rant. I guess I'll just see where the story leads and get my thoughts in order when I've finished with the psuedo-singularity.

For now, I'm at least really enjoying solving the mystery behind Salem together with Mata Hari, Robin and Circe. Oh, and Sanson is growing on me too, so I'll see where that goes!

Ugh... I'm currently PAINFULLY making my way through EoR: Agartha and the only thing keeping me from quitting and bleaching any and all remnants of fgo from my phone is that I'll eventually get to the lostbelts.

...that and the absolute love and obsession I have for about seven to maybe eight characters from other type-moon works...

[pocket-ozwynn]

Okay

[University!AU]

Word Count: 869

Alice let his phone slip from his fingers and hit the bed.

His whole body was shivering. His heart was breaking under the weight of…everything. He choked back only the faintest of sobs, because he didn’t want to disrupt Freyja. Today had been too much. This week had been too much. 

Despite his best efforts, Freyja still heard the errant noise anyways, “Babe? ‘You okay?”

Alice set his jaw. He cleared his throat and tried to covertly wipe his tears away. He even tried to chuckle as he attempted to inject a confidence into his voice that he did not feel, “Y-Yeah! Um...for sure. I’m...great!”

Wow, that sounded SO fake.

But he didn’t want to seem weak. He didn’t want to seem vulnerable. He was already so much smaller than she was, he didn’t want to give any excuse for not being as strong as she was. He wanted to keep up, he wanted to be on her level. She was holding it together, so why couldn’t he?

He didn’t want to seem lesser in her eyes.

“You’re so bad at lying,” Freyja lovingly teased. But after Alice didn’t reply, there was a click as Freyja locked her phone and set it on the nightstand. She seemed to realize that this was a bit more serious than he was letting on.

Alice could feel her eyes on his back.

After a moment of silence, the mattress shifted as Freyja rolled over to look at him. Her shadow fell over him.

He didn’t roll over to look at her.

“Hey,” Freyja frowned.

He still didn’t move.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alice saw a fingertip reach out and rest itself on his shoulder. Alice put all his strength into resisting the gentle pull, though he knew the resistance was pointless. Finally, he relented and allowed her to roll him onto his back.

Freyja’s face dominated his vision as she slightly leaned over a bit more, to look directly down at him. She was deliberately doing this. Fill his vision up with her face, so Alice could know well and truly that Freyja was here for him--but that she wanted him to be honest. And if he was going to lie, he needed to do it while looking right in her eyes.

Alice’s eyes glistened with rogue tears attempting to well up, he tried biting his lip and hoped the mild pain would help him ignore this rising feeling in his throat.

He kept staring into those massive eyes. With eyes as big as his torso, there wasn’t much hope for him to escape her loving scrutiny.

Seeing that she was going to be a bit more assertive in this conversation, Freyja reached out and gently placed two fingertips on his chest. Alice shivered at the touch. 

With a firm, but loving look she reiterated, “...are you okay?”

Alice couldn’t help but feel his cheeks flush as he FELT her words vibrate through her fingertips and into his chest. He felt his heart quiver in response. Her question seemed to resonate down his limbs and to the tips of his fingers and toes--like he had been shocked.

Finally, he felt something break inside of him. Every sensation of helplessness and of uselessness just...surged up.

Finally, Alice just wept.

He tried to form words, but nothing came--just more ugly sobs. Finally, he just buried his face in his hands and shook his head. No, he wasn’t okay.

Freyja bit her lip slightly. She nodded in wordless understanding.

She whispered a quiet “c’mere...”, before gently sliding her thumb under his back. With her fingertips still on his chest, she held him and gingerly lifted him up. Alice could barely see through the tears, but he felt Freyja cup a hand behind him as she brought him close to her chest. 

He sobbed into that one spot on her shirt. He gently grabbed the fabric and just clung for dear life--as if Freyja was his only lifeline he had left. His entire frame just shook as he sobbed up every knotted up gnarl of emotion he had felt weighing on his heart over the last week.

Freyja hummed a low, rumbling tune in an effort to soothe him. She wasn’t sure how much good it would do, but it was at least a sincere attempt to give him something--anything--to be comforted by. Any time he shook too violently or cried a bit too hard, Freyja would gently hold him just a bit tighter. After several minutes of crying she gently brought up her knees and pulled her head down and just held him.

Freyja wasn’t sure how long they stayed there for, but eventually she could feel him relax. His crying grew quieter until finally he grew quiet; despite this, she didn’t let go. She just held him close. Just because he had stopped crying, didn’t mean he was better now. They could talk later--whenever he was ready. And judging by his lack of protests, and the sensation of his hands moving to hold on to her finger, it seemed that this is exactly what Alice needed.

So they just lay there in a silent, safe embrace.

They could always talk tomorrow.

[tomtenadia]

Remember Us - part 1

Here I am with a new Rowaelin. This will be a much shorter than ALB both in chapter length and story length. The idea came to me while on the bus home after work. It’s angsty,

A special thank you to @whimsicallyreading for being my wonderful beta <3

------

Rowan is involved in a motorbike accident while on his way to work. A crash that will have some consequences on his marriage with Aelin when he realises that he has lost his memory. Day by day they will have to find their way back to each other and and survive the challenges that life throws at them. 

-----

When the silver haired man opened his eyes it took him a moment for his vision to focus and take in his surroundings. The walls around him were a pale beige colour and the smell of disinfectant was the first thing that hit his senses. In the background there was a steady beeping sound and when he moved his head towards it he saw a machine tracking his heart rate. Hospital. He was in a hospital. A couple of bags with liquids were hanging from hooks at his side and the long plastic tubes ran to his hand. Another gentle motion of his head and he saw his right arm in a splint and his right leg propped up and enveloped in a protective support.

The man pushed his head back in the pillow and groaned. He was in an hospital. And slowly he realised that’s all he knew. His mind felt empty as he tried to think about how he got there. But nothing. There was nothing. He closed his eyes and blackness hit him. He clearly broke his arm and his leg, but how it happened? He had no idea. Slowly he realised that all his memories had started from the instant he woke up. That was all he had and a wave of panic hit him.

In that instant a nurse walked into the room to check on him “Oh, Mr Whitethorn, you finally decided to join us. How do you feel?”

“Whitethorn?” His voice gruff.

“Yes, that’s your surname.”

The man looked at her with a confused stare.

“Do you know where you are? What day it is? Your name?”

The man shook his head “but from the fancy machines and your attire I guess I am in hospital.” He managed to utter, his throat feeling scratchy from disuse. How long had he been asleep?

“Let me go and call the doctor.” And she hurried out of the room.

Whitethorn, his surname was Whitethorn. That was a start.

A moment later a woman entered the room “good morning you. Glad that you could finally join us.” She smiled at him and checked a few things. The doctor flashed a penlight in his eyes then held a finger in front of him “follow this.” She moved the finger from left to right and back and he followed it with his eyes.

“So, the nurse said you don’t remember much.” She straightened her back and saw her write some notes on his chart. 

“I can’t…” he whispered “why am I in hospital?”

“Your name is Rowan Whitethorn. A month ago you had a motorbike accident on your way to work. You have been in a coma ever since. You had a helmet on but still sustained some serious head injuries and you are now experiencing amnesia. It will be temporary and the memories will eventually come back.”

Rowan closed his eyes, he had a name now, another small piece to add to the infinite puzzle in front of him.

“I will schedule another MRI to check your progress since surgery. Now rest, I will get in touch with your wife and let her know that you are awake.” And the doctor left.

Wife. He had a wife. He was married and his name was Rowan and he had an accident.

*

Aelin left the OR exhausted. The last surgery had lasted for hours but she had saved a kid’s life. She threw her OR scrubs in the trash and walked back to her office, looking forward to sit down on her chair for half an hour at least. Her back was killing her and she definitely dreamed about a back rub in that moment. But her plans were thwarted when she got a page from doctor Westfall. Rowan was awake. He was finally awake. She told the nurses she was going to the neurology ward and that she had her pager on if they needed her and she ran to the elevator.

Once on the correct floor, she stopped. She had been waiting for that moment for a whole month and now she was scared. She was a neurosurgeon as well and, although she was a paediatric one, she knew what his injuries might cause. She spotted Yrene in the corridor and ran to her in a frenzy “Yrene, I got your page.”

“He is awake,” said the brunette “his functions are okay but he is has amnesia. We talked about the possibility.” She explained and Aelin nodded “I have ordered another MRI and I will have a better idea after.”

“Can I go in?”

“Yes, but remember that he might not know who you are.” And she patted Aelin’s shoulder in support.

Aelin nodded and pushed back the tears that had been forming at the corner of her eyes.

Rowan was awake. She had awaited that news for the last month but the happiness in her soul was shackled by fear. Deep unyielding fear. She might have him back but at what price? She knew that the type of injuries he had suffered could affect the memory. As a doctor she was prepared to face it, but as his wife, she could feel her heart aching at the possibility of being a stranger to the man who held her heart. Of him not recognising their children. With a deep breath she steadied her nerves and eventually she opened the door to his room. She had been waiting for that moment for so long, for the day she would go inside and find him awake, his pine green eyes on her once again.

A step inside and her hand went instinctively on her belly over her scrubs where her bump had barely started to show.

“Rowan…”

*

“Rowan…”

A female voice distracted him from his thoughts. He turned his head and saw a woman with golden hair and the most amazing blue eyes with a ring just as golden as her hair. She wore scrubs, probably another doctor checking up on him. But the way she had said his name was different from how doctor Westfall had said it.

She was stunning. That much he could admit.

“Ro…” she said it with a soft tone and moved a step toward him and he had a feeling she was not just a regular doctor checking on him. Why was she crying? Then his eyes moved to her left hand on her stomach and spotted a ring. He looked at his left hand and saw a matching one on his fourth finger.

His breath hitched at the realisation. The doctor had mentioned a wife. Was it her? Panic rose in him. He was not ready.

“Who are you?”

“Aelin. My name is Aelin Whitethorn-Galathynius.”

Rowan froze. That was his surname and she had used it with what was possibly hers. The woman never moved from her spot. She just stood there staring at him, her blue eyes on him and he had no idea how to react. This woman was apparently his wife. What could he say to her?

“I am Rowan.” He said feeling stupid. She knew already but in that moment was all he could say.

“I know.” She whispered, finally moving a step in his direction “I have known your name for a very long time.”

“I don’t know you.” He admitted feeling his chest tighten.

“I know.” She sat on the chair beside his bed “I know. Amnesia will be temporary. It will slowly start to come back to you. You just need to be patient. Both of us.”

He looked at her and something tugged in him. It was as if although his mind could not recognise the woman in front of him, his body could. It was a strange sensation. The sense of familiarity. His guts were telling him to trust that woman.

“We’ll face it together. To whatever end.”

He had no idea what she was talking about but he wanted to believe her.

“Do you want me to tell you something about us?”

Rowan nodded, eager to piece together some pieces of the mystery his life had become. How had he ended up with her?

Aelin’s hand caressed her stomach.

“We met at University of Terrasen. You were studying law and I was in med school. We had friends in common and I met you at a party and  I thought you were the most obnoxious and annoying man alive.” He heard her chuckle “until a year later when you brought me coffee in the library while I was cramming hard during an exhausting exam session. Then you brought me cake and slowly I realised you were not that annoying.” She continued her tale while her hand gently brushed the tip of his fingers.

“You kept me company and studied with me while I was rambling on medical terms, procedures and other crazy stuff.” He heard her sob “and then we both realised our feeling had changed. We dated. A year later we moved in together. Once we graduated you proposed to me. We got married.” Aelin stood and paced and a ragged sigh left her mouth “after a lot of heartbreak and miscarriages we had our little boy Thomas. A year and a half later Freyja came along as well.” 

Rowan gasped. They had kids. He was married to this woman and they had a family and he could not remember any of that.

“Stop.” He said in a harsher tone than intended “This is too much.”

His wife sat back down and her puffy eyes broke his heart. How was it possible that he felt so heartbroken for a woman he had just met?

Except he didn’t. They had been together for a long time and that feeling of familiarity came back to hit him like a sledgehammer.

“I need to be alone.” He said, turning his head and heard her sob loudly and felt the urge to reach out to her. But he fought it.

He needed space.

“I have to go back anyway.” She stood and pressed a kiss on his head “I will see you later.” And left the room.

Rowan threw his head in the pillow and felt his eyes swell with tears. Why was he crying? Why sending that woman away hurt that much? No, not just that woman. His wife. He had a family, a wife and two kids and all of it felt overwhelming.

He wanted to know more, but at the same time he was scared. What if turned out he hated the life he had? Until his memories started to return he had to trust her. Believe that he had chosen that life.

He sighed and his thought kept going back to Aelin.

Eventually he fell asleep with the smell of lemon and verbena still tingling his nostrils.

Aelin quickly went back to her office, locked the door and collapsed on her chair. And cried. She knew it was a possibility. She had discussed it with Yrene after his surgery. She had been preparing herself for the last month but it turned out she had not been as ready as she made herself believe. In that room she had been a stranger to Rowan. Their kids were strangers to their father and she could not tell him again that another baby was on its way. It would have been too much. 

She cried, remembering how happy Rowan had been when, two months before, she told him she was pregnant again. 

They wanted a big family. They both had good jobs and could afford it. After years of loss they finally had their dream. And then that blasted accident happened. The car driver had hit Rowan and her life was suddenly plunged into hell.

A hell in which for a month she had to tell their kids why dad was not home yet. Console them when they could not play with their dad or have him read stories before bed. Her mum had been helping her looking after the kids while she was at work. But they missed their dad. Freyja especially who was his exact copy and not just physically.

Her sobs grew in intensity. 

She missed her husband too. Her heart ached for him. For the comfort she would find in his arms after a bad day at work. 

Her pager went off and Aelin quickly brushed her eyes and cleared away the tears and left her office in a rush.

She could hide her pain into work. Pretend, for a few hours, that she was not living in a nightmare. That her life with Rowan had not been put on hold. 

For a few hours, inside that OR she could just be Aelin.

[prettypinklass]

Kiran: Every single odd number has an E in it

Alfonse: LISTEN-

Ylgr: Not all of them 30 and 50 aren't spelled with an e in them

Hrid: oh great dragon of Nifl...

Ylgr: If you can split a number in half its even, 30 and 50 are odd

Alfonse: heavy sigh

Fjorm: 15 + 15 = 30, 25 + 25 = 30

Gunnthra: 25 + 25 = 30? You sure about that?

Hrid: Dragon have mercy

Kiran: B y e

Sharena: intense laughter

Eir: One, three, five, nine, and since everything else after that is a variant of these numbers, then all odds have the letter E in them

Peony: YOU FORGOT SEVEN!!

Lif: if just keeps getting worse

Mirabilis: what the hell is going on

Leavatain: You forgot about eight. A number with an E in it that is pretty fuckin even

Plumeria: Why would 8 be brought up if it's EVEN in a post about ODDS??? He said "every odd number has an E in it" not "every number with an E in it is odd" what the fuck

Reginn: Uh guys two is odd and doesn't have an E in it just saying

Veronica: Did- Did you just try to tell me TWO is odd??? I'm fucking crying this is why I need to destroy Askr-

Thrasir: TWO IS ODD??? PBFBT IM SCREAMING

Triandra: Wait, what about 0 that's an odd number right?

Otr: Okay but here me out 30 and 50 make up for the fact that they have no E for the way their pronounced. Thirt-E and fift-E

Hrid: WHY DO 30 AND 50 MATTER THEY'RE FUCKING EVEN

Eitri: What the actual fuck is happening

Hel: 1 is an even number

Freyja: I'm going to smack you

Laegjarn: -30 and -50 have an E in them

Fjorm: 0 isn't a number

Surtr: It can't be divided by 2 though can it?

Fafnir: It can??? 0/2 = 0

Lif: OD NUMBERS: onE, thrEE, fivE, sEvEn, ninE,

Thrasir: OD numbers huh?

Alfonse: Anything that ends with a 0,2,4,6,8 is even and the rest is odd, 1,3,7,9. Stop freaking out y'all

Triandra: YOU FORGOT ABOUT 5

Peony: What about 4??

Fjorm: What about it??

Peony: It doesn't have an E in it!

Veronica: THAT'S BECAUSE IT'S EVEN??

Sharena: ARE YOU GUYS OKAY??

Thrasir: IM FUCKING SOBBING

Mirabilis: I'm honestly so confused right now

Bruno: What is going on??

Alfonse: This is the height of our stupidity. It has to be or future heroes cannot exist

Anna, who was filming the whole thing: we're gonna be rich

[foreversnightmare]

Eh- What? Freyja blinks a couple of times, looking down at Kurthnaga before looking at the woman. Her heart did ache for the woman, even if her face was stone cold. "I..." She couldn't find herself to say no, unsure if it was the sob story.. or kurthnaga's tears... or a combination of both. Giving a small smile and a nod, Freyja focused on the woman first. "We.. shall try our best." She stated. Now she turns her back, practically drags Kurthnaga off.

Once they were a good distance, she bent down to look at Kurthnaga in the eyes. "Why - would you say yes so quickly?" Of course, she wasn't mad he wanted to help, more so that... she was unsure if they could do anything.

However, seeing that his intent.. she might as well try not to be cruel to him. "Augh.. well.. I have some knowledge. I'm not sure if it'll work, " curse her duty and her heart." Let's take a look at the painting first, and we can go on from there"

Lesbian Dorian Grey

Anniversary | Reason +1

[pomegranates-and-blood]

In another life

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Ivar/Awful Life Choices

Summary: Ragnarök has come for all of them, the Seer’s words to Ivar prove right, and he wonders on what the world ending truly means when he has already lost it all.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Mentions of death, descriptions of violence and death, major character death, angst (or my best attempt at it anyways, but this ain’t a happy story), and my terrible writing.

A/N: So, the world ending, right? Charming thing to write about. I just really like the idea of reincarnation and yeah, here goes. The quote is by cynthiago, you can find it here.

In this universe, the Heathen Army conquered Northumbria and Mercia and it kept raiding for longer than in the show. In this universe, no Freydis. Björn was made King of Kattegat by undirectly, as a result of helping Lagertha defeating Ivar, who took to the Silk Roads with the Reader chracter , and found the Rus and thus, shitshow.

Not long ago he was just like this, sitting before his chariot, covered in blood, and facing an army that hesitated at the sight of him.

But this time, this time is different.

There’s no Viking army to support him, there’s no Ubbe or Hvitserk to fight beside him, there’s no…there’s no victory.

There’s no chariot at his back, only splintered wood.

He remembers the Wise One’s words, so many years ago when he told Ivar of his Fate: your chariot lies as broken as your legs, a snake has settled in your skull, your eyes betray you.

He hears laughter, or at least it sounds like it in his head. The cackles that left his lips as Christians died before him, the mocking giggle of that Rus as he forced his hand, the warm laugh you breathed by his ear as you promised to marry him.

A cruel twist of Fate, or maybe just his arrogance playing against him, but he realizes now none of it happened in the order the Seer spoke it.

“There has to be more to it than…this, don’t you think?” You ask, eyes on the horizon before you. Ivar moves closer, pressing a kiss on your bare shoulder and silently demanding your attention returns to him.

It doesn’t, and it irks him more than he should let it by now.

But, he gathers, a part of him will always want you, want your attention, your touch, your eyes meeting his. He can’t imagine a day he won’t want to have you in his arms, just like he refuses to imagine the day he can’t.

You agreed to marry him once a deal with Alfred is struck and the war can pause, he reminds himself of that with a familiar warmth spreading through his chest. You’ll be his wife, only his.

The memory of your warm laugh as you embraced him and whispered your promises to be bound to him before the Gods and your families -or what was left of them- makes him want to have you all to himself, to feel nothing but you for hours on end.

But, because you asked a question, and because even the slightest of rejections, even one born out of genuine curiosity for an answer, Ivar knows will make him lash out; he replies,

“All that’s left that isn’t ours is Wessex, love.”

You shake your head, “I mean…more than these years we have here. More than this life.”

“Valhalla?”

“Maybe,” You muse, and your eyes return to the horizon. “Maybe there’s more to life than this. Maybe…maybe we get to live again.”

“Like those Eastern men say? We…return?” Ivar questions, the beginning of a mocking smile teasing at his lips before he bites it back, aware of the seriousness in your expression.

You were always one to question everything and nothing. Why an axe curves that way, why Freyja favors cats, why Vikings must be bound to these lands.

Why the world is so big and life so short.

You and Björn have that in common, he guesses. Though you don’t have the thirst for discovery his brother does, instead you just look for…transcendence.

“Maybe we’ll meet in another life.” You seal your promise, your hope, with a kiss against his lips, and smile.

His eyes stay trained on your inviting lips even as he argues, “But you know where we go when we die.”

“Valhalla, Ragnarök, it all may mean something else,” You whisper back, “Things are not as literal as you think they are, Ivar.”

“What does Ragnarök mean to you then?”

“The end of the world,” You reply without hesitation, a slight waver in your voice, “But the world ends every day for someone different.”

It is only then he realizes your eyes are not on the horizon, but on the trails of smoke left by the burning pyres of those lost in the fight.

Ivar can still remember your warmth. You were so…alive, so warm and free and so alike fire.

He spent most of his younger years breathing life to that fire, making you clench your hands into fists and get that adorable little frown with well-placed taunts and jabs.

Gods, you even felt like fire under his fingertips when he touched you, he can still remember how your touch scalded and soothed away years of pain and anger and loss. You kissed him and it felt like the cold that made the bones in his legs ache never existed, you touched him and it felt as if he’d never again know what it was like to be alone.

You’d promise love against his skin in fervent kisses that left their mark even after so many years, and for every time he’d tell you how being loved by you felt like the best kind of wildfire, you’d tell him being loved by him felt like the soothing embrace of ice over a burn, like a relief after a lifetime with bare feet on burning coal.

And he wishes he had believed you.

For so long he thought his eyes to deceive him when it came to you, when it came to the proof of your love and your loyalty. For so long, he wasted so much time fearing you’d leave him, betray him.

Now you haunt him.

Your eyes are big and filled with tears as you look at him, but he refuses to give away his own weakness, instead gritting his teeth and looking at you with nothing but fury and poison.

“If I don’t kill you, you’ll…”

“I’ll kill you, and I’ll make it painful.” Ivar promises, voice hoarse not because you threaten his life with your sword - the sword he gifted you, back in a time when you were cruel enough to pretend to love him- at his throat, but because he knows only one of you will leave this room alive.

You shake your head, and your head drops, your back curves with a sob that still tugs at a pathetic and stupid part of his heart.

“You’ll kill us all,” You whisper, and though your voice trembles, the grip on the sword grows tighter, more certain, “You’ll be the end of our world, if I don’t stop you.”

“Then stop me.” He dares, and Gods, he wants your eyes back on his. It is the end, and he realizes what you meant when you said the world ends many times for many people.

“Don’t make me do this.” You beg, but he doesn’t think you’re talking to him. Maybe Fate, maybe the Gods, he doesn’t know.

“You’re not strong enough to kill me.” Ivar offers, more softly than he should. But it is true, and you both know it. And when your gaze -finally- returns to his, he sees it written in the tears that stream down your cheeks, in the helpless and furious shine of your eyes.

“But I am strong enough to defend my people.” You state, resolute, and though you lower your sword with a shaky breath, Ivar still feels the threat of sharp steel at his throat, but for completely different reasons.

Cold grips at his heart, fear and dread.

“You will not leave me.” He states, voice as certain as it has ever been, and yet it still tastes of desperation, still feels like the lie a madman tells himself.

“I know your ways of war, my love. If anyone, I am the only weapon our people have in fighting against you and these Rus.”

“I will not let you betray me!” He yells, but you don’t react, you only step closer.

The sword makes a clanking noise as you drop it that rattles inside his head.

Your eyes fill with tears, or maybe his do, he doesn’t know anymore.

Your smile is sad, but it still speaks of days spent with you safe in his arms, of nights when your voice by his ear was the one thing that kept him from breaking, of a life that he thought you’d be able to have.

His eyes flutter shut when your hand lifts to his face, dainty and delicate fingers tracing the newest of scars. He curses his weakness, and he forces his eyes to open and meet yours, if only because it may be the last time he can.

Your lips breathe a kiss over his.

“Only death would stop me.”

And with five words and one movement of his hand, his world ends.

Ivar watches as the warriors make way for one of their own. A leader, maybe.

He extends his arms at his sides, even if his ribs keep him from breathing, even if his arms shake, even if he doesn’t see on one eye from the blood that pours from the deep cut on his head. He taunts him, dares him to attack like he did so long ago in a city they have long since lost.

The warrior swirls a sword in his hand, and drops the shield he was holding, eyes set on Ivar. Ivar knows he won’t win.

You did always say he realized his mistakes too late.

You were the only one he ever admitted to any regret, so when the devastating realization of what the war he had brought to his homeland meant for his people and the Gods themselves dawned on him, he had no one to talk to but the wind.

It has been like that for a long time. He doesn’t remember any more how long it has been since…since.

Maybe it is better this way, that no one is there to know how many regrets he carries with him to wherever the Gods will take him. Maybe it is better they think of Sigurd’s death as the cold act of a man that can love nothing, and not the rash action that cost him something he didn’t know he held dear. Maybe it is better they think the war he brought with the Rus at his back is the ruthless planning of a man that would burn it all for a throne, and not the stupid mistake of a king with no kingdom and too much arrogance to see when he was walking into a trap.

Maybe it is better they think your death was the certain and inevitable action of a monster that can’t love anything more than his own ambitions, and not the act of desperation and fear that cost him everything.

The man in front of him steps closer, without fear, without hesitation.

He lost someone. Ivar knows that glint in his eyes. The man wants revenge.

He wouldn’t be the only one. For all the Rus and their games took from him, for all the Saxons and their God have cost him, why should he have allowed any of them to have anything to call their own? No, they deserved to suffer, to feel what it is like to have the world end with a whimper, to know what happens to those who take what is his.

He doesn’t feel any shame -even though he knows you would, you would blink big and sad eyes his way and whisper about mercy and softness and goodness, as if any of those saved you-, and he didn’t feel any then, when he ordered his men to kill the children, to take the wives and hang them for them all to see along the edges of the battlefield; when he led raids and had them burn the villages to ash; when he laughed and laughed until all that was left was raw throat and hoarse sobs as they lost it all, just like he did.

He manages to hook the curved edge of the axe behind the man’s knee, and brings him down to his level, moving quickly and attempting to ignore the pain of broken legs, of cut and bruised body, as he settles over him, letting the axe find a home in the man’s eye.

A scream, pained and guttural, and the man strikes back, trying to move him back but unable to do so.

Ivar feels the piercing and sudden sting of the blade that goes through him, like his did so long ago, to too many people that were undeserving of that fate. But it is with a smile he greets his Fate, his death.

He kills that man, and drops beside him as if their Gods, their wars, stopped mattering, and made them equal. There are no kings, no commanders, no Vikings and no Christians. Only two dead men in a rundown city, and an army that watches in silence.

With gasping and broken breaths, he looks with blind eyes up at the sky, and he knows he will die today.

Your chariot lies as broken as your legs, a snake has settled in your skull, your eyes betray you.

The Seer was right, he always was. Ragnarök came for them all, their world as they know it will end. And the end isn’t far, both for the golden age of the Vikings and for Ivar.

His eyes always betrayed him; he has learned that. Seeing shadows and betrayals where there was none, seeing tricks and lies where there was only truth. For a long time holding on to the certainty that it hadn’t been his fault, he believed it meant seeing love and loyalty in your eyes when you were only playing with him. He knows now, has known for a while, it meant seeing in the smile you pressed against his lips the life he wanted you both to build, and not the strain of a woman pulled between her love for him and her love for her people.

Ivar believed for so long the snake that settled in his skull was you, with your soft touches and your warmth and your love; he was blinded with his own hate and fury, so certain in this self-fulfilling prophecy of his that you could never love him, that it was all a trick. Gods, you were right beside him telling him not to trust Oleg, not to turn his back on his -your- people, and he didn’t listen. The snake that settled in his skull cost him all he had left, the one he had loved above anyone else. He made sure to make him suffer before he died, he would fight this endless and already-lost war for a thousand years for a chance to make Oleg pay for it again.

But, at the end, it wasn’t Oleg’s knife piercing your heart, was it?

His body shakes, and he cannot stop it, he cannot control his breathing and Gods, he is dying.

He looks up at the sky, the sky that remained the same when you died in his arms with love on your lips and regret in your eyes, the sky that remains the same now as the last of the battles for life as they know it is lost.

And Ivar thinks -hopes, he hopes like he hasn’t hoped for anything in such a long time- that maybe you were right after all. Ragnarök isn’t darkness and chaos for them all, for the world ends each day a different way for everyone. The Gods know his world ended on a cold night years ago, and has ended again every day since.

Maybe Valhalla is nothing but another chance to live again.

He murmurs your name with a ragged breath that leaves his lungs at last, and pleads that if the Gods hear him, they will let him see you again. In another life.

____

So, I hope you liked it! I would really love to hear your thoughts on this, it has been boinking around in my head for a while, the idea of reincarnation and of the Seer’s prophecy about Ivar.

Anyhow, this is thought out to be the first part of a two (or more, but still short) series, where I dip my toe on the modern/soulmate!au. It can, of course, end here, because I tried writing it to be a standalone if moderns are not your thing.

If you guys are interested, I can write the next part(s), tho it could take a lil while cause I have a lot of stuff to do writing-wise, atm.

Thank you so much, I love you all! <3

[theunsinkablesappho]

Thoughts After Finishing AC: Valhalla

Under The Cut Out of Respect

Knowing now that Eivor is Odin really explains all those visions Eivor had where she disagreed with Odin after killing folk. It also makes me feel a lot better about my Eivor consistently disagreeing with him.

Holy fuck my feelings. All my friends *sobbing* All of Eivors little Saxon baby Kings.

The moment where Eivor rebukes “Odin” in Valhalla, stating that she needs “everything else” is just... MY CHEST HURTS.

Fuck Basim so hard but also like... God damnit Layla. But also like... if Odin was reborn once then in theory Odin and Tyr should have continued to be reborn? So there should still be an Odin out there somewhere? Also like... Eivor and Sigurd don’t remember who they were until it is pointed out to them so... how did Basim discover he is Loki?

I know that people hate the whole “alien” thing behind AC but tbh, I find it kind of fascinating. I’m more annoyed by the premise of the Animus, especially since clocking back in at the end as Basim instead of as Layla really felt like... a violation? I was pretty uncomfy with that. I plan to resolve it in fanfiction (by literally ignoring the existence of the Animus :D )

So Eivor is Odin. Sigurd is Tyr. Basim is Loki. Aletheia is Angrboda. Is Svala actually Frejya? Or is that just how she envisions herself in Valhalla? (Okay I wiki’d this and apparently yes, Svala is confirmed to be Freyja. Interesting that only her physical appearance changes in Valhalla.) So if Svala is Freyja, and the games seem to be ignoring the existence of Frigga/Frigg, I wonder if Randvi is an Isu at all. The wiki says that all 8 of the Norse Isu Gods uploaded themselves to be redistributed, so it is possible. (Nvm, the Wiki acknowledges Frigg as one of the Aesirian Gods, which makes me wonder why Freyja is then Queen of the Aesir. Since in most Norse myths that acknowledge Frigg - there is some dispute that Frigg and Freyja may be the same Goddess - she is usually listed as Odin’s Queen. Anyway, I suppose this means Randvi could be Frigg?) If I am remembering correctly, the Norse Gods we are introduced to or who are referenced in the game so far consist of: Odin/Havi, Freyja, Tyr, Thor, Baldr (deceased), Loki, Angrboda (jotun, but confirmed Isu), Njord, Skadi, Heimdall, and Idunn/Idunna. The game also acknowledges other non-deity Isu immortals like Fenrir, Jormungandr, and presumably, Hel/Hela, as the children of Loki. (No mention of Sleipnir and The Builder didn’t have a horse this go round so...Ubisoft didn’t want to figure out how to animate an 8 legged horse, let’s be honest). I suppose Randvi could be Frigg/Frigga, Idunn/Idunna, or potentially unnamed as  Jörd/Fjörgyn/Hlódyn, lover of Odin and mother of Thor. It is unlikely she would be Skadi, since Skadi was Njord’s wife and it wouldn’t make a ton of sense to then connect her to Odin.

Of course, Randvi might just be a normal Norsewoman as well, but that idea is much much less fun than the idea of them finding each other over and over again across time.

Also like given that we now know that it was Isu manipulating some of the earliest members of what would become the Assassins, and that they were doing it for their own means... Is the Assassin Order the bad guys now? Like, are they still supposed to be the heroes? I am extremely confused (I have only played Odyssey and Valhalla, and no, I won’t be going back and playing the older games, you can’t make me). Is this somehow going to get twisted around that Loki is a hero figure? Cause tbh, his motivations - while somewhat understandable - still appear to be very selfish in nature. Is the legend of Ragnarok still true? Is the world going to end if he frees Fenrir? I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS

Where is Eivor’s story going to go from here in DLC? Because tbh, there’s not a lot of *positive* material to be hand in that Aelfred storyline. I mean... Aelfred the Great won - he drove the Danes/Norsemen from England and unified England. So unless they are going to rewrite that history in a massive way, which doesn’t seem to super suit the series from my understanding, all that lies in that direction is a whole lot more of the devastation we saw in Hamtunscire. And I’m just going to say this right: I waited THE ENTIRE FUCKING GAME to get my hands on that Randvi romance. So... so help me god if all the DLC content is meant to be within current plot confines. I swear to fucking God I will SCREAM bloody murder. I need post-plot content that INCLUDES more romance development for Randvi and Eivor. I love myself some slow burn angst, but fuck off for real.

Speaking of Randvi and Eivor... they seem to fuck in the Map Room like... a LOT... and Sigurd and Randvi’s old bedroom is like... right there. There isn’t even a damn door. (There also isn’t a door to the rest of the longhouse so like... at LEAST one villager is gonna get an eyeful.) So my question then becomes... how do the logistics of the game work out. The game itself does not acknowledge this but I am left with many questions. Just because Sigurd is cool with me smashing his ex-wife doesn’t mean he’s cool with being IN THE NEXT ROOM while I do it.

For me, the most practical solution is to move all of Eivor’s stuff into the Jarl’s bedroom and move the other stuff into Eivor’s old room and let Sigurd stay there. I say move their stuff because idk, if I was gonna get with my brother’s ex-wife I would be really opposed to doing it in THEIR OLD BED. Just move Eivor’s bed in. And Sigurd can take the old bed into Eivor’s alcove, unless he moves out of the longhouse altogether (which seems unlikely because it would appear he is still Jarl? That begs another question: Is Jarlskona supposed to be a female version of Jarl or is it like “The Jarl is gone so this person is taking over in their stead” and if it is the latter then... hasn’t Eivor basically been Jarlskona the whole fucking time? Google isn’t helping me here, jarlskona appears to be a word invented for the game. Best I can find, a woman Jarl would... still just be a Jarl.)

[asoulofstars]

Priorities

The first of my Derek/Riona drabble rewrites takes place during/after 3x06 “About Face”. I was thinking about this scenario in the car one day, and so even though it’s nowhere near the beginning chronologically or even emotionally, it’s one of the drabbles that resonates with me the most, so it became the priority rewrite.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Riona and Derek were walking out of the elevator together; their floor had been cleared. Her fingers were itching to twine through Derek’s like they would have before she was with Mark. But she was engaged; she couldn’t do that with Derek anymore. She was so lost in her thoughts, and she didn’t register Hotch’s yell, even as her ears acknowledged his voice. What she did register, though, was Derek wrapping himself around her like a human shield, and then a gunshot. She fell as Derek’s weight pushed them to the ground, and then another gunshot—or maybe two—rang out. She looked up at Hotch and Rossi, guns pointed over them, and then turned her gaze to Derek as he groaned loudly.

           “Derek? You okay?” She ran her eyes over him, and her breath caught in her throat when she saw the blood running down his arm. “You took a bullet for me!”

           “Of course I did,” he replied through gritted teeth. “Do you have something to wrap around this until EMTs get here?”

           Riona pulled off her scarf and tied it tight around his right arm. She felt him tense, and it made her chest ache. Hotch dropped to his knees beside them.

           “Are you okay?” he asked, shooting looks between them both.

           “This hurts like hell,” Derek said honestly.

           Riona looked at the entry wound. She couldn’t see an exit wound, and she pressed her lips together.

           “I think the bullet lodged in your humerus,” she told him. “You’re going to need to go to the hospital and get an x-ray, and that’s one that should get removed.” Her heart was beating more and more rapidly.

           Derek took her hand in his good one, and he placed it over his own heart. “I’m right here. Superficial injury. I’m fine.”

��          “Getting shot is not fine,” she replied, tears welling up in her eyes. “Derek…you took a bullet for me.”

           “I did.” Derek wiped at her eyes, wincing with the movement.

           She was about to start really hyperventilating, but she could still hear Hotch.

           “Dave, take the rest of the team to Max’s house; we have to hope he was holding Enid there. I’ll stay with Riona and Morgan,” Hotch instructed.

           “Hotch, you don’t have to stay,” Derek said.

           “I’m your Unit Chief. I will be staying with you.” Hotch tilted his head towards Riona. “Will you breathe? You don’t need to end up in a hospital bed next to him because you hyperventilated.” He ran a hand up and down her back.

           Riona swallowed and nodded, trying to time her breathing with the movement of his hand. Up her back, in; down her back, out. When the sirens pulled up outside of the building, Riona let go of Derek’s hand so that Hotch could help him up. Once Derek was standing again, Riona moved into his side to try to help ground him. She could only imagine the pain he was in, and she knew that he would never show it—not the true extent.

           “Talk to me,” she said.

           “About what?” he asked.

           “Why did you take that bullet for me?” she whispered; it wasn’t what she planned on saying, but the words slipped out.

           “Because you’re my best friend. Because I could. Because I’m not about to let anything happen to you. Riona, there was never a question of me not taking that bullet. There was no time to get us both down, so I did what I had to do to make sure that you were safe. And we got off pretty light here.”

           “Yeah, your arm isn’t going to feel that way after they dig the bullet out of your bone,” she whispered, blinking back tears again.

           “Don’t cry, Ri. I’m fine. I’d do it again in a second.”

           “I know you would. It’s why you never should have made that promise, Derek.” She shook her head, voice cracking.

           “He’s ready to go,” the EMT said. “That arm’s definitely going to need to get x-rayed.”

           “I’ll meet you there.” Hotch gestured for Riona to ride with the ambulance, and he headed for his SUV.

~*~

           Riona didn’t have to fight with the doctors at the hospital. Derek insisted that she be by his side as they dug the bullet out of his arm. Riona hated seeing him in pain; Derek could take a lot, but he was squeezing her hand tight enough that she knew this was really hurting him. They put him in a hospital room, and Riona couldn’t help but smile as he pouted.

           “I don’t need any painkillers,” he told the nurse.

           “Morgan,” Hotch said sternly. “The case is over; you need to take care of yourself.”

           Riona knew he hated having his senses dulled, but she agreed with Hotch. “That bone has fractures radiating from the bullet. You need it.”

           Derek huffed but nodded at the nurse. She set up the morphine line for him. Riona could see him relax almost immediately. She smiled and ran her nails over the back of his neck, and he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

           “That’s nice,” he mumbled.

           Riona kept at it, if only because this was the most contact they’d had in months. Hotch gave her a fond smile with a raised eyebrow, and she shrugged her left shoulder so Derek wouldn’t feel it while she scratched.

           Riona smiled when the rest of the team came in, watching as Emily and Reid went right to Derek’s side, with JJ hovering at his feet, and Rossi going to stand beside Hotch. Her phone started to vibrate in her jacket pocket, and she gave Derek a gentle scritch-scritch before pulling back.

           “I’ll be right back,” she assured him and went out to the hallway. “Hello, Dr. Gallagher speaking.”

           “Riona, it’s me,” Mark said. “You on your way home?”

           “No, we’re at the hospital. Derek got shot by the UnSub; we’ll probably be leaving for the airport in a few hours. The doctors just want to watch him a little while to make sure that there’s nothing they missed. The bullet lodged itself in the bone, so he’s in a sling, and he’s pretty annoyed about the whole thing.”

           “So, you’re not making it back for dinner, huh?”

           “No, I’m sorry, Mark. I’m going to drive Derek back to his place once we land, make sure he’s good for the night. He…he took that bullet for me.”

           “Are you okay?” he asked, concern lacing his tone.

           “Yeah. Derek made sure of that. He’s an effective human shield, even if I would prefer he didn’t do that.”

           “What happened?” Mark asked.

           “UnSub thought it’d be great to go out shooting. Derek and I were getting off the elevator after clearing the floor we were assigned to. Hotch yelled at us to get down, but Derek wrapped himself around me. He got hit; we went down. Hotch and Rossi shot the UnSub.” She paced across the floor, chewing her lip.

           “You know, it sounds like he’s okay. You should breathe,” Mark said.

           Riona sniffled. “I just don’t want to lose him like that, you know? He worried me.”

           “I know. You feel things too much, Riona. Tell me when you get home, okay? I want to talk to you.”

           “Okay. I love you,” she said.

           “I love you, too, Riona.”

           Riona hung up the phone and went back to see how Derek was doing. His eyes lit up when she walked back in, and he reached for her with his good hand. She took it, and he pulled her close.

           “Hey, you know I’m good, right?” Derek ran his nose over the top of her head.

           “A sling is not good,” she replied.

           “Not bad, considering.” Derek pulled her into the bed with him. “How much longer do I have to stay here? Can’t we just get home? I’m sick of Texas.”

~*~ 

           “Hey, I’m home.” Riona called Mark as soon as she was back in her own apartment.

           “Okay. I know you’re probably exhausted, but I’d like to come over if you’re okay with that.”

           “If you want to come over, that’s fine. I missed you.”

           “I missed you, too. I’ll see you soon.”

           Riona waited for the knock, and she watched how Freyja shot the door a look and headed for the bedroom. Riona frowned slightly, and she opened the door.

           “Come on in,” she greeted her fiancé.

           “Hi,” Mark started. “I…I think we need to talk. I don’t really know how to start, but…I know you love me. I know that. And I know you had the case and that you were worried about your friend. But…you know it’s been almost a year since we started dating; it’s been a while since we got engaged, and we haven’t even discussed setting a date. Every time I ask you for an actual date and not just a season or a month, you don’t have an answer for me. I wanted you home tonight to take you out for a dinner I’d planned for weeks so that we could really talk about our wedding. And I don’t blame you for staying with your friend. But I also know that he’s not just your friend, and that’s a large part of the reason you don’t have any answers.”

           Riona chewed her lip. Mark wasn’t wrong. She never cheated on him, but she was Derek’s.

           “I know that you never cheated on me. But I also know that if he decided to ask you not to marry me because he wanted you, you’d choose him.” Mark’s voice was soft; it wasn’t accusatory or angry. It was just resigned.

           “I wish that wasn’t true,” Riona whispered. “I’ve never been settling with you. Everything he’s ever told me has been that he doesn’t want the things that I want. But you’re right. And it’s not fair to you that a part of me is still waiting for him, even though we’ve never been on the same page. You were always on track with me, but…I said yes to that first date because I was lonely, and he was on vacation out of state. And I never expected it to go that well. But it did, and I fell for you, but it was just never the same.”

           Mark held out his hands, and Riona took them, squeezing hard.

           “I really hope that he catches up. He’ll be a really lucky guy if he figures things out.”

           Riona closed her eyes, trying to fight back tears. He kissed her forehead. She leaned into his touch, letting out a sob. She could feel him slip the ring off her finger.

           “I’ll get my stuff and leave my key,” he said softly.

           Riona nodded. Freyja came over to her and wound through her ankles as Mark moved about the apartment. Riona barely breathed, frozen, even as Mark stood in the doorway.

           “Bye, Riona,” he said.

           “Goodbye, Mark,” she replied.

           She was frozen in place after the click of the door, the sadness washing over her. From him, from her. He deserved better from her, and she knew it. Everything was heavy, and she didn’t know how long she just stood there before she finally moved.

She looked at her now-ringless finger, and she knew she was going to fall apart soon. And she knew there was one person that would help her fix it. So, she drove back to Derek’s.

~*~

           “Hey, what are you doing here?” Derek asked, giving her his patented confused puppy look.

           She wordlessly held up her left hand.

           “Oh, Ri. I’m so sorry.” He opened his arm for her.

           She hugged him, and he shut the door, leading her to the couch. He just let her cry into his chest, and he stroked her hair, and Riona clung to him.

           “You want to talk about it?” he asked when she was only sniffling.

           “Not really,” she whispered. “It….I don’t know if it was ever going to actually work with us.”

           “I’m sorry, Ri. I know he made you happy.”

           “Make me forget,” she whispered, looking up at him with wide eyes.

           Derek took her face gently between his hands, even as Riona tried to push his right arm back down, and he wiped at the tears with his thumbs. “Not tonight, Sweetheart. You’re emotionally compromised.”

           “Derek, I’m asking you to.”

           “I can’t. I know that you’re sober; I know that there’s no outside force clouding your judgement. But it still feels like I’m taking advantage of you. Take some time. Grieve over your relationship. And if you want to jump me in a few weeks, I’ll let you. But I can’t do it tonight.”

           “Why do you have to be so good?” she asked, a few more tears slipping down her cheeks.

           Derek gave her a half-smile. “I think you’re a little biased, there.”

           She shook her head, burrowing into his chest again. “No. You’re one of the genuinely good people I’ve met.” She sighed, nuzzling him. “If you won’t have sex with me, will you at least sleep with me? Just...hold me, please?”

           “Of course I’ll do that, Ri.” He kissed the top of her head. “For as long as you want.”

           “Good.” She kissed his cheek. “You’re my best friend, Derek.”

           “And you’re mine, Riona. I hope you know that I don’t take your presence for granted in my life.”

           “I do. And I hope you know that I don’t take yours for granted, either.”

           “Trust me. I know.”

           “Thank you for always being the person I can go to,” she whispered.

           “That’s never going to change.” Derek kissed her forehead. “Like I told you, I’m not going to leave you. Ever.”

           As Riona curled into him, she decided she wasn’t going to argue like she had when he made that promise. She’d let herself believe it. Because she needed someone who wouldn’t leave her.

[heathsbitch]

EPHEMERAL - t.b (ii.)

Gold covered every inch of Joffrey's chambers and Freyja couldn't expect anything less from a prince. Light streaked in through the large windows, shadows cascading over the furniture. Freyja's heart still thundered against her chest, scared of what the prince would do. "Come, I want to show you something." Joffrey told the girl as they entered the room.

An ornate crossbow lay on the small table in the center of his chambers. Joffrey swiftly picked it up and held it out towards Frejya, "Your grace..." Her words trailed off, she was truly lost for words. She'd never seen something quite as beautiful. "You like it?" The pair got closer to each other, Freyja's hands running across the bow.

Her lips broadened into a smile as she admired the weapon. Little did she know that Joffrey's eyes scanned over the girl, provocative thoughts racing through his mind along with his plan to bed her. "Freyja, can you show me how to hold it again?" He spun to face the boar head mounted on his wall, getting into a shooting position.

"Of course, your grace." Palms sweaty, she positioned him how she had done earlier that day. Her head was turning, anxious thoughts pounded through it. 'What are Joffrey's intentions?' She wondered. "You can call me Joffrey, Freyja. No need for formalities when we're alone." His voice deepened.

Freyja's hands still rested on his shoulders as Joffrey turned his head. His eyes looked almost like crystals in the low light, but dark intentions lurked behind them. His arms dropped, the crossbow clanking to the floor. "Joffrey..." She tried to warn him but the prince ignored her, his lips met hers anyway, his hands moving to grab her waist.

Freyja's hands tensed, grabbing Joffrey's shirt. She pushed him away, his hands still held her body close to his. "Joffrey, this is wrong." He kissed her again, his tongue forcing itself into her mouth. "I want you, Freyja," He pushed the girl towards his bed, his hands coming to undo the strings of her dress.

But before things could progress any further a knock sounded from the door, saving Freyja. Joffrey huffed and Freyja tried to tie her dress up. "How dare you dist-," His words were cut short once he saw who was behind the door, "Mother, Littlefinger." The prince spat. "Your grace," Freyja's father bowed, he stared at the distressed state of his daughter.

"That'll be enough now, Joff," The Queen Mother stated before gesturing for Freyja to leave the room. She did not hesitate, rushing past Cersei and into her father's arms. Her breath was uneven and heavy. "I'll be taking her home," Petyr told Cersei and her son. "You have some explaining to do." He hissed in his daughter's ear, a sob coming from her mouth.

As she was ushered down the stairs, her eyes caught sight of a flash of golden hair. Tommen. His eyes held sorrow for the girl, he saw what had happened. But Freyja couldn't linger on the sight, Littlefinger corralling her back to their home.

"What in the name of the gods were you thinking? Trying to get into the bed of the prince?" Petyr Baelish roared at his daughter once they had made it home. "I wasn't trying anything. I didn't want to, father. Please forgive me." The girl's voice was quiet and timid. "Liar," Littlefinger muttered before making his way over to his daughter. He clutched her small face in his rough hands, "The next time you embarrass me in front of royalty will be the last time you do anything in this city."

His voice was calm, but his next actions were anything but. His hand came crashing down against Freyja's face, his rings cutting her lip in the process. She fell to the floor, hands clutching her face, tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry." She kept repeating although she knew the words meant nothing to her father.

Freyja wanted to run. She wanted to find safety somewhere. Maybe Gendry could provide it, but she would have to spend the night alone, her father watching her like a little bird trapped in a cage.

The next morning Freyja was tasked with cleaning one of her father's brothels as 'punishment' for the actions of the previous night. She found her head filled with thoughts of Tommen. She had taken a liking to the young prince after just the short amount of time they had spent together. She missed his company, his warm smile, the talks they shared at dinner. She realised she had felt safe with him. 'If only he was here now, maybe he could cheer me up.' Freyja thought to herself as she scrubbed the entryway floor of the brothel.

"Excuse me, miss. I was wondering if you know where I can find Freyja Baelish."

It was as if the gods heard the girl's cry. Freyja turned around to face the prince, her lips stretched into a big smile. "Your grace." She bowed, the rag she was using to clean still firmly held in her hands. "Freyja." The prince's face mirrored the girl's, his warm smile was back.

He was clothed in gold, as usual, his hands clasped in front of him, his hair seemingly glinting from the sun that streamed through the windows. "Your grace, I'm sorry for my appearance. If I had known you were coming, I would've made myself look more presentable." She apologised. Her clothes were what she trained in with Gendry, old breaches and one of Gendry's shirts.

"It's alright. You couldn't have known. And please, call me Tommen." Tommen was always so kind, a stark difference he held from his brother and his mother. Silence filled the room before curiosity landed on Freyja. "Your gra-Tommen, if i may ask, why are you here?" She quizzed the prince as he looked around the entryway of the brothel.

"I was looking for you, I wanted to see if you were okay. I saw you leaving my brother's chambers. You looked so scared," His eyebrows were furrowed, concern laced in his voice. He got closer to the girl, his hands held out in front of him. "Your lip," Tommen's voice almost came out as a whisper as he saw the girl's injury. "Did Joffrey do that?" Anger. His cheeks flushed as his body tensed.

"No, no, don't worry about that, or your brother." He relaxed. "I know how harsh he can be at times," Tommen said and Freyja nodded lightly. "He told me what he was going to do," Confusion rang through the girl and he noticed. "Yesterday, when we were training, after you left, Joffrey told me he planned to 'bed you'," A mix of awkwardness and anger echoed in his words. "I was worried for you, I didn't want him to hurt you."

Freyja's heart was touched with the gentleness of Tommen, she had never met anyone quite like him. "He didn't hurt me, he just...scared me a little bit." She told the boy, placing the rag in the bucket next to her. "Did he..." His voice trailed off, too scared to ask if his brother had tried anything with the girl.

"He tried to." Was all she said, she didn't want to go into specifics, tears already brimming in her eyes again. The girl was strong, but Joffrey's actions combined with her father's scared her more than anything that had previously happened. "Freyja, I'm so sorry, I-"

"It's okay, Tommen. It's not your fault," She smiled at the prince, trying to reassure him. Silence fell upon the teens once again. "This is no place for a prince, you should probably go, your grace," Her words hurt to say but it was true, a brothel was no place for a young prince.

He nodded, understanding her words, but disappointment was clear on his face. "Thank you, Tommen, for your concern. It does mean a lot to me." The prince's warm smile returned and it seemed to light up the room, "I know you're strong, I can tell. But everyone needs friends. I just want you to be happy," He replied.

"Friends."

With the prince? The girl's heart skipped a beat.

Tommen turned to leave but before he could exit, he stopped in his tracks and spun back to face the girl, "There was something else I wanted to ask," He took a couple of steps closer to the girl, "You know how to use weapons, right?" She nodded. "I was wondering if you could maybe train me. Please."

Freyja was shocked by his words, "Tommen, to train a prince is a great honour, I would love to," His smile seemed to grow even more, the space between them becoming smaller, "But I shouldn't," The smile on his face dropped, and so did Freyja's heart. "You have knights and real swordsmen to train you. They could teach you far better than I ever could."

"But I can't focus when Joffrey's there. He always shows off and he's so much better than I am. I just want to be strong, like you." Tommen pouted. Her chest ached, she really wanted to train him. But if she got caught with another prince, there would be hell to pay from her father. 'But he's been so kind, it's the least I could do.'

"Okay, I'll do it." Tommen rushed to the girl, his arms wrapped around her, a light laugh coming from the girl as she returned the hug. "Thank you, Freyja," He gradually pulled away, shame in his eyes, "I'm sorry, I should've asked before I hugged you." The girl giggled, "Don't apologise, you're welcome to hug me anytime you want, Tommen,"

She cringed at her own words, feeling like she had overstepped. "Um, but we'll have to train late at night. If I get caught with another prince, my father will have my head," He nodded, accepting the instructions. "Meet me in the training yard at midnight, bring a sword." The prince grinned at her and she returned the favour, excitement running through them both.

"Thank you." He beamed and Freyja bowed. Tommen left the brothel, a spring in his step and his heart pounding against his chest. He wanted to rush to his brother's chambers just to hit him for what he did to Freyja, but he restrained himself, too happy about his plans for later that evening.

Once he was out of the room, the girl let out a breath she hadn't realised she had been holding in. 'I have to tell Gendry.' She thought. She rushed through the rest of her chores, eager to speak to her friend. Yet again, she had a lot to tell him about the princes.

"I'm going to murder that twat."

"Gendry, calm down. It's alright. Don't commit regicide because of me." The girl was sat on Gendry's workbench as he worked on some armour for her. She had specifically requested something light and flexible so she would be able to teach Tommen easier.

"Are you okay, though?" Gendry's eyes were filled with concern as he looked up at the girl. "I think so, I'm just slightly shaken up. I'll just avoid Joffrey, which shouldn't be too difficult." Gendry breathed a sigh of relief, happy that his friend was okay. "But if he does try anything again, if anyone tries anything-"

"Yes, I'll come straight to you. My big and brave blacksmith." She squeezed his bicep, teasing her friend. He laughed and shrugged her off. "You said you had good news as well?" She explained her plans with Tommen later that evening to Gendry.

"And that's why you need the armour and the sword?" She nodded. "Teaching someone isn't easy as it seems, Freyja. You have to be patient with him, especially if he's as stubborn as you are," She smacked his arm as a laugh left both of them, "I'm being serious."

"I know." She watched the man work, the way his fingers moved across the leather of the breastplate, the sweat dripping down his brow. "Here, try it on," He handed it across to the girl once he had finished it along with two arm-guards.  

The chest-plate fit like a glove, protecting every vital area just in case Tommen lost control of his sword and decided to stab Freyja. "Perfect," Gendry smiled at the girl, handing her a sword with bird wings engraved into the guard, "I've been working on this for a while, for you. It's not too heavy so your arms shouldn't ache too much after using it, I know what you're like." He chuckled, remembering how much the girl liked to complain.  

"Thank you so much, Gendry. How much do I owe you?" She beamed at the man whilst admiring the sword in her hands. "Don't worry about it, it's a gift. Everything is." He waved his hands in front of him before wiping some sweat off of his dirty neck. "Are you sure?" Gendry nodded and the girl hugged him, squeezing him tightly.

"Remember everything I taught you, and Freyja?" His hands rested on her shoulders as she looked up to him, "Yes?"

"Don't make a fool of yourself in front of the prince." They laughed in tandem, "I won't. And thank you again."

Hours were the only thing seperating Tommen and Freyja. They both counted down the time until they could both see each other again, excitement and nerves running through both of them.

[madsmikkelsenschesthair]

Blood of the Dragon ch.14

Hvitserk x Freyja/Reader aesthetic ❤️

Warnings: angst, fluff, first kiss, violence, mentions of character death

Björn and his father were not on speaking terms at all. After greeting his younger brothers, Björn and Ragnar only scowled at each other than Björn, his mother and brothers greeted the King and Queen. Björn ignored his father and focused his attention on Freyja and Freyja only. He had not seen the little princess for almost a year and he was not going to let anyone ruin it.

She had changed. She was taller, growing into her body, hair longer. Skin was cleaner and smoother than before and Freyja constantly smelled of roses. Her cheeks were slightly pink as if pink satin was trying to escape from beneath her marble-like skin. Freyja’s wardrobe had changed too. She wore the same pretty dresses the Southern ladies of Westeros wore and her hair loose but combed and free of tangles. During meals, Freyja sat the same way her stepmother did and the eating manners she had back in Kattegat were gone. Still, his old Freyja was there. From the way she smiled to the way she teased her boys. She still fought as bravely as a shieldmaiden, her purple eyes flaming and Björn swore he sometimes saw a shadow of a dragon behind her. That’s why the gift he bought her was the perfect gift. Hvitserk noticed Freyja’s changes as well. She was beautiful before but now...she was an absolute dream. Ubbe still treated her like a little sister but his younger brothers were going for another route. Maybe they indeed had a crush on her for her soul and beauty but maybe they wanted to win her heart so Freyja could marry them and become Kings. Ubbe hoped they liked her for her, for their sake.

Lagertha watched her ex-husband’s sons bond with Freyja. They were all in the garden of the Red Keep; Ivar was sharpening his ax, Ubbe and Sigurd were trying to teach Fenrir how to play fetch, and Björn and Freyja were talking. He said something to her that made her giggle, Lagertha chuckled at how small she looked next to her son. She heard the soft click-clack of heels on the stone floor followed by the clinking of armor. Lagertha could smell Cersei’s perfume before she could even approach her.

“She’s happy you’re here,” Cersei said. Hvitserk pulled a braid and Freyja squealed, the booming laughter of the eldest Ragnarsons rang in the air.

“I can see that” Lagertha glanced at Cersei and then went back to watching the little princess with her princes. “Does she like it here? Does she miss home at all?”

Cersei’s smile faded a little, thinking about the first few weeks when Freyja arrived. “She...she may have gotten into a fight with Viserys”

Lagertha turned away from the children with surprise. “What happened?” She was very interested in hearing this story. The little Princess was known back home for standing up for herself and getting into fights with boys, she wondered how she fought off a man.

“The King wanted time break her old habits such as hunting”. Lagertha never understood these Westerosis and their strange customs, men, and women could hunt, fight, raid all the same but here things were strange. “One morning, the Princess snuck off to the Kingswood by herself. Viserys followed her. You see, he was angry with us, with her. Targaryens marry cousins and nieces but this time the little Princess will marry a son of Ragnar” Hvitserk braided Freyja’s hair while Björn told a story about one of the raids in a new world, jealousy crossed the princess’s eyes. “Viserys followed her and attacked her. The princess fought back” Cersei chuckled looking more proud now, “It was not a good outcome for him and left him in a bad state afterward” Lagertha grew angry and she wanted to hunt down the Targaryen prince and cut off his hands for even touching her Freyja.

The little princess was happy her family had returned but she noticed there was someone missing. A certain priest that helped raise her and love her as if she were his own as well. Athelstan. Floki and Helga were missing too, Freyja looked for their eager faces when they arrived but they were nowhere to be found. 

“Bear, where is Athelstan?” Freyja finally asked Bjorn. The boys looked at one another their eyes hiding a sad secret. Bjorn’s little brothers turned to him for answers, no one had the courage to tell her the truth. He didn’t want to break her sweet heart. “And Floki and Helga. They’re not here too, why?” Freyja began to get nervous her eyes darting from Bjorn to Ivar. From Ivar to Sigurd. From Sigurd to Ubbe. From Ubbe to Hvitserk. Finally going back to Bjorn. A heavy silence hung in the air. 

Finally, Hvitserk answered, “I’ll tell her, brother” Bjorn stared at his little brother. “Are you sure?” Hvitserk nodded. “Come Freyja. Take a walk with me” He extended his arm offering her his hand and she took it, together they walked deeper into the garden leaving the rest behind. Her anxiety worsened the further they walked without talking, not even the exotic birds were chirping they seemed to sense the dreadful feeling that they were hiding. They walked until they were far away enough to hide from the guards and the other boys. It was beautiful where they were, isolated with white rose bushes and a stone bench, the bushes were high enough to hide them. Hvitserk offered her to sit, “I think you shouldn’t be on your feet for what I’m about to tell you” Freyja swallowed but she sat down.

“You can tell me now,” she said in a small voice, the dreadful feeling wasn’t going away and it seemed to worsen with the small pauses. Hvitserk sat next to her and took her hands in his. 

“One morning Bjorn went to speak to Athelstan about the next raid” Freyja studied his face, her heart threatening to explode. “Bjorn noticed Athelstan’s hut was unusually quiet and there was the smell of blood coming from inside” A lump formed in Hvitserk’s throat and he tried to hide his tears because one of them had to be strong for this and he wanted to be strong for Freyja. When he was sure the tears went away, Hvitserk finally looked up, “Athelstan was found dead. Murdered and-” 

“Oh no!” Freyja cried out, one hand covered her mouth and she began to sob big gulping sobs. Her sweet Athelstan slaughtered like that. Like a pig. “Who did it, Hvitty? Who killed our Athelstan?!” 

It broke his heart to see Freyja like this but someone had to tell her, he made it this far. “I’m very sorry sweet Freyja but...it...it was Floki...Floki killed him.” Freyja knew Floki hated Athelstan for being a Christian but she didn’t know he would go as far as killing him. She cried even harder the ache in her chest far too unbearable. Hvitserk put his arms around her and held her close letting her cry into his chest, her tears soaking his shirt but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about his shirt only caring about Freyja’s shattered heart. 

_________________________________

Freyja was warned not to tell Ragnar or anyone else outside their little circle. All she knew was Floki was in a cave, tied to the ceiling, with only Helga as his company. 

She was not told how long Floki had been tied up. It hurt Freyja that Athelstan was brutally murdered but it also hurt to know the conditions of Floki and poor Helga, who did not have to be there and was suffering as much as her husband.

At dinnertime Lagertha, Bjorn, and his little brothers were invited to dine with the little princess and her family. Everyone else seemed to be enjoying their meal but Freyja, Rhaegar watched her from the head of the dining table not paying much attention to Lagertha. Freyja picked her meat and stared blankly at her glass of water. The ‘only one glass of wine’ rule was not relaxed because of her Norse family. Rules were rules, according to her septa and the little princess was ordered to obey. Hvitserk kept stealing glances at her to make sure she was okay, Sigurd kicked him and mouthed, “The King is watching. Look away”. His older brother shrugged, ‘Freyja is sad’ he mouthed back, Both brothers looked at the princess, Freyja flipped her roasted quail letting out a loud sigh but not loud enough to interrupt the conversation. Ubbe reached for another piece of bread, then stopped when he saw his little brothers gawking at Freyja. He made an irritated noise and his brothers quickly looked away. If the King or the terrible Queen were to catch them...

“Father, may I be excused?” 

The grownups stopped talking, Rhaegar frowned at her untouched plate and said, “Are you alright little dove? You haven’t eaten much”

“You look rather ill, Freyja” Lagertha’s soft hand touched her temple. It amazed Freyja that after all those years of battle, her sweet Lagertha’s hands remained soft. A comforting touch. “You are a little warm”.

“You may be excused, Y/n,” her father said, “I will send Maester Pycell to your chambers to check on you” 

“No!” Her stepmother said quickly, “I will send two septas but not the Maester”

Lagertha shot a suspicious glance at Viserys. The cowardly man looked away. “And you won’t be going alone.” 

Bjorn followed his mother’s eyes. He did not like the prince either and after he heard of the incident, Bjorn wanted to slice off his prick for putting his hands on Freyja but his mother stopped him from doing so. “I will accompany the Princess to her chambers, Your Grace. I know she would like that instead of your guards”. The King agreed but Cersei did not bother to hide her anger something Lagertha noticed. 

Once they were out of earshot Freyja finally burst into tears. Bjorn quickly wrapped his strong arms around her, “Sweet Freyja, little princess. Daughter of Thor, this storm will be over soon”

“My heart is broken” she sobbed, “Athelstan was a good Christian, he loved us all how could Floki do this to us?”

Athelstan, the same man that pampered, protected her, told her about his God’s stories and his life before Kattegat, was dead. A sweet man who envied no one and didn’t wish to hurt or kill anyone. 

Bjorn kissed her head. It didn’t matter what anyone said. A father was a man that raised and loved a child and Freyja was his child. It hurt to see her cry. “Athelstan is with his God now. He always wanted to go to Heaven. Soon his God and our God will put their differences aside and when we go to Valhalla Athelstan shall drink with us and will tell him about our battles.” It was little comfort but Freyja felt guilty for the death of Athelstan, if she had not left Kattegat then he would still be alive. She felt even worse knowing she couldn’t tell Ragnar.

_________________________________________

Hvitserk stared at the three-headed dragon sigil on Freyja’s door debating on whether or not he should knock. It was after dinner, everyone else went to their respective chambers but Hvitserk. He decided to wait until his brothers had fallen asleep, their breathing even with Ivar snoring in the background. He wiggled out of his bed, put on his boots and tiptoed out of the room. Hvitserk couldn’t wait any longer to do what he needed to do. He held his breath and knocked. Inside he heard Fenrir let out a muffled bark then Freyja shushing him softly. She was surprised to see Hvitserk so late. 

“Hvitty” Freyja said in a low voice, “It’s really late you know”

He swallowed, “I know but I had to see you, may I come in?” 

Freyja looked behind him and down the halls to check if the coast was clear, once she was sure they were alone she opened the door wider to allow him to come in. Hvitserk whistled at the beauty of her room. Now, THIS was a room for a royal princess. Freyja even had her own study, gold, silver, and the finest silk in all of the lands were owned by her, Fenrir the direwolf had his own bed right next to the fireplace but knowing his owner, he probably slept with her every night. 

She suddenly realized that they were alone, just the two of them, and she flushed a deep red. “Hvitty, what are you doing here so late? What is it you wanted to tell me?” Even in her simple pretty nightgown with her hair let down she was still the most beautiful girl in the world to him. Shieldmaiden or Queen, Hvitserk would love her either way. What if she rejected him? What if she chose another brother? He couldn’t imagine being in the arms of another.

“You’re beautiful, Freyja” Hvitserk managed to whisper, “more beautiful than the Goddess herself”

The princess giggled, “Thank you Hvitserk is that why you came to me so late? Because you wanted to tell me I was more beautiful than the Goddess?”

“No! I mean, yes but I wanted to do something else” It was his turn to blush. His heart was pounding and Hvitserk wanted to crawl under the bed and hide. The son of Ragnar Lothbrok, legendary Viking, too shy to admit what he wanted to do. “I wanted to ask if...if I could...”He looked down, heat spreading across his face, “Freyja you are so beautiful with a heart of gold, is it alright if I kissed you? I mean you don’t have to if you don’t want to”.

Freyja burst into a fit of giggles. “Have you ever kissed a girl Hvitty?”

He blushed again, “No. Have you ever kissed a boy?”

She rolled her eyes, “Bjorn is too overprotective, you know that”

“We will be each others first then-first kiss I mean”

She took his hand, a gentle smile on her lips, “I would love that very much”

Hvitserk sighed, relieved. He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes falling in love with every passing second and leaned in. They closed their eyes just as their lips met just a gentle touch with lips barely parted, his hand cupped her burning cheek. 

They pulled away shortly after, they couldn’t get caught kissing especially in her room. But Hvitserk and Freyja were smiling so hard their face hurt. He pressed her forehead against hers, “I knew your lips tasted like honey. Thank you...”

She shook her head, “No Hvitty, thank you. Let me walk you back to  your chambers”

The pair walked all the way to the other side of the Red Keep talking and laughing the whole time. When they stopped outside his chambers, Hvitserk said, “Freyja won’t you get in trouble for being out so late?”

“I would rather get in trouble for walking around than you getting in trouble for visiting my chambers so late at night”

Hvitserk kissed her cheek one last time, “Goodnight Frey, thank you”

“Goodnight Hvitty”. He watched her disappear around the corner leaving him blushing for the rest of the night.

Halfway up the stairs to her chambers, Freyja bumped into her annoying uncle. He stank of wine and his feverish eyes looked even crazier. He was still wearing his dinner silks.

“What are you doing out here so late?” He snapped, “shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Why do you care? I was on my way to bed anyway!” Freyja bit back and shoved past him.

But Viserys gripped her arm and shoved her until she was close enough to smell the bitter alcohol. “You do not talk to me like that do you understand? I am your Uncle and you respect me!”

Freyja tried to pull away but Viserys had dug his nails deep into her flesh. “I don’t have to do anything you tell me to do now let go!” 

“You and those barbarians will pay for taking my Throne away from me and I won’t rest until I’ve had my revenge!” 

She dug her own nails into his face scratching his eyes. Viserys hissed in agony pushing her, Freyja let out a scream as she fell down the stairs Viserys could only watch in shock realizing what he had done. Freyja landed face down at the bottom of the stairs and Viserys rushed to her. 

“Y-” He turned her over, a small trail of blood coming from out of her nose running down painting her clean gown. Freyja was unresponsive. Her body limp and he wasn’t sure if she was breathing or not but he wasn’t staying to find out. He dropped her on to the cold hard floor and fled to his rooms. 

@thot-for-mikehanlon​​ @haleypearce​​ @mellxander1993​​ @faeeiiry​​ @-thatgirloverthere-​​ @blonddnamedhandz​​ @lettersofwrittencollective​​ @weirdpotatostuff @shelbi-percifull​​ @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction​ @colie87​

[artificialqueens]

Wasting the Time We've Got (Methydoll) - Thorpe

A/N: Two fics in the span of one week? Who even am I anymore? Last time I gave you a vague angst. Now, this is an Angst with a capital A. I love Nicky and I love Crystal, so I made them suffer. I have no excuse for myself. Thank you to Mac and Freyja for being wonderful and amazing and agreeing to beta this story. I’m also sorry to everyone affected by the tea discourse. I’d love to find out what you’re thinking on @freykitten. Enjoy! xx

…

One Euro is 1.12 of an American Dollar, so Nicky greets the airport with a flair of superiority in her step, and people do fawn over her accent, but no one really cares. The States aren’t as great as television made it seem, but they are something new and entirely different, and it’s just two semesters abroad, so she lets herself be lured in. Gets excited.

She’s imagined she’d be partying in sororities, drinking from red plastic cups and playing beer pong, or spending 12 hours in a car on a cross-country road trip to see the biggest rocking chair in the world.

She isn’t.

Her whole life consists of choosing literature classes and trying to figure out the difference between a freshman and a junior. And there’s also her roommate.

Crystal is sweet in a way that tells Nicky her parents are good people above anything else, and she seems to have a bigger problem wording her thoughts in English than Nicky has. She leaves long pauses and communicates in high pitched noises, and Nicky adores her for that. For that and many other things. There are so many reasons to adore Crystal that sometimes it feels like a default setting.

It’s month two and they’re sitting on Crystal’s bed on a Thursday evening. They have fairy lights on (Crystal’s doing) and a couple of candles lit (courtesy of Nicky), and it’s pouring rain on the outside (aided by no one in particular, as far as they know, but they make use of it by having a cozy night in). 

Nicky doesn’t catch the name. She’s pretty sure it’s because Crystal never said it, but, to be fair, she doesn’t catch many things. It’s hard to focus on what Crystal is saying when she can look at her instead. She’ll write it off as a language barrier later, but it’s not. It's… keen interest. That’s what it is. And Nicky totally isn’t thinking that it also could be translated as an infatuation, especially not when Crystal is telling her about the girl she likes.

She’s asking for advice on flirting with someone else, so Nicky’s luck really isn’t the best. The subject annoys her and she offers the simplest, most cliché things she knows from movies in hopes of ending the conversation. It doesn’t work. So she tells Crystal she’s not an expert, that she doesn’t know a thing about “American dating”. And that, it doesn’t make it better. It makes it worse. Because Crystal starts giggling and decides they have to catch up on everything. She takes her to the movies, she takes her bowling, she fails to teach Nicky to rollerskate, and later they share a strawberry shake in a diner. It’s too pink and doesn’t taste of strawberries, but Crystal’s eyes are sparkling and she blushes when she asks if Nicky is having fun. It’s nice. She is having fun. Too much fun. Too much fun to be having with a girl whose eyes reflect a whole galaxy of stars when Nicky asks her about the progress with her crush. She never tells her anything concrete, and Nicky is thankful for that, but Crystal looks down and plays with her fingers in a way that tells Nicky everything. It’s going well.

Then, it gets even worse. Crystal comes to her for another piece of advice. She’s so genuinely concerned, that Nicky forces down her jealousy and smiles. “Why don’t you do something she likes?”

It gets worse, because Crystal is so sweet and she’s so interested in Nicky’s life. Asks about her hobbies and life in Marseille, goes to jazz concerts with her, memorises the names of her friends and her favourite Dunkin’ Donut. She starts learning French from an app. Nicky jokes that when she comes to visit her in France, she won’t let her go. Will keep her there forever. It’s a joke, and Nicky is the only one who has any business knowing it’s not a joke at all. Crystal gets excited, too excited to speak, so she keeps nodding her head, making her curls and plastic beads on her necklace bounce. And Nicky knows Crystal is in on the joke, that she wouldn’t want to actually fly to another continent and stay with her forever, but she blushes like she would, and it hurts. 

.

She’s been there for a whole semester already. Someone brings it up when they’re out with their friends and none of them can believe it. Crystal throws herself over Nicky, wrapping her arms around her, and asks Nicky not to ever leave in a shy whisper. Nicky just holds her tighter. If only Crystal knew. But she doesn’t and she can’t and she won’t. Nicky plays it off as a joke, like it wasn’t twisting the knife already stuck in her heart, but lets herself tangle her fingers in Crystal’s hair and stroke the back of her head.  It could be enough, she tells herself.

Later, when they’re walking to their dorm, they’re holding hands, laughing. They’ve had a bit too much to drink, just enough not to care about zipping their jackets and to swear they can see twice as many stars as there actually are. They stop for a moment to count them, but they’re suddenly spinning, so Nicky holds Crystal and spins her too. They’re slowly swaying to the sound of the wind rustling the leaves. And then Nicky turns away from a would-be kiss. She shakes her head, puts a lot of effort into not crying. It’s not her. There’s someone else, who is not her, and Crystal would regret it when the alcohol wears off and the probability of Nicky’s chances significantly drops in percentage points. They keep dancing in silence and Nicky manages to make Crystal laugh again. Before they carry on walking, she presses a light kiss to Crystal’s temple. It’s not enough, and she doesn’t have it in her to lie to herself anymore.

.

“I think you need to get your shit together.”

Crystal’s been dancing around her crush for almost a whole year now, gushing about her, but not making any definite moves. Nicky probably wouldn’t survive seeing her with someone else, but she cares for Crystal’s happiness far more than for her own comfort, so she pushes her. 

“Was it out of line?” Nicky soothes, making up for her harsh words by putting two glasses of iced tea on the table in front of them. It’s a calculated move. Crystal’s been the one to introduce Nicky to the atrocity that instant tea is, and it always makes her happy when Nicky likes the things she shows her.

“No, but it doesn’t mean I wanted to hear it.” Nicky chuckles at that. Crystal doesn’t join her, but it doesn’t make her worry.

“Are you angry?” She still asks. Crystal doesn’t respond, just worries her lip between her teeth and does this thing with her fingers she always does when she’s nervous. Nicky scoots closer. “You can’t.”

“I can’t be angry?” Crystal finally looks at her and she doesn’t seem mad - Nicky isn’t sure she’d be capable of that, in all honesty.

“No. Not with me,” she simply says and rests her chin on Crystal’s shoulder. “It would kill me.” Crystal lets out a frustrated huff, and Nicky smirks. She knows it’s not fair, using that on sweet, kind Crystal, but she’s never had one bad intention towards the other girl, so she feels pardoned. And who knows? Maybe it’s the truth. Maybe it would kill her. “I’m sorry, my love.”

“No, you’re right. I’m going to talk to her.” Crystal turns to look at her and her eyes are clear like the sky, but stern. She says it like she’s promising something to Nicky, and her heart drops at that. 

So, it’s happening.

.

She’s here. They’re at a party and the girl Crystal might be in love with is here. Nicky chose her best dress, spent an hour and a half on her makeup, and teased and coiffed her hair until her blonde curls were like white gold and looked purposefully, adorably disheveled, which usually made people beg to take her home with them. Crystal can’t stop looking at her and she lets herself hope that maybe it’s working, that maybe Crystal will choose her over this strange girl that could never love Crystal as much as Nicky does.

But then they get surrounded by a crowd of people and Nicky can’t stop herself from scanning every girl talking to Crystal, wondering if it’s her. She looks at Crystal, searching for an exceptionally wide smile or a blush or a spark in her eyes. Crystal is covered in glitter, and Nicky swapped her highlighter for gunpowder, ashy and ready to go off. She winces when Crystal briefly lets go of her hand to hug a friend, and she feels her heart speed up at the thought that as soon as they run into her, Crystal will let go for good. She can’t be there, she can’t risk seeing it. So she lets go first and heads to the bar.

She doesn’t see Crystal for the rest of the night. It comes with an effort, because Nicky is always looking at Crystal, naturally gravitating to her. But she’s scared of what she’d see if she turned around, so she stays rooted to her place on a barstool, looking for a distraction. When she finally gets up, she finds Crystal alone in a booth and presses a fleeting kiss to her cheek. It tastes sickeningly sweet from grenadine in the drink the woman standing behind her bought her - or maybe just from the idea of leaving with someone else. But she can’t be here. So she places a kiss on Crystal’s cheek and wishes her luck, before walking out with her date and not looking back.

The next day she doesn’t need to ask how it went. Her heart breaks at how crushed Crystal looks when she comes back in the morning. Nicky curses herself for leaving her alone.

“Yeah,” Crystal chokes on a sob, “why couldn’t you just stay?”

She wants to burrow Crystal in her arms, hold her until the pain transfers onto her and Crystal smiles again, but she seems to reject all forms of comfort. She avoids hugs. She shuts off Nicky’s soothing. She shuts her off completely. And it hurts. Nicky’s aching to hold her and stroke her hair and tell her it’ll be better - she needs that for herself too. But since Crystal needs something else, she forces herself to go back to normal. To regular conversations and casual jokes. Pretends nothing’s happened and that Crystal didn’t get her heart broken, breaking Nicky’s in the process. They don’t mention it again. 

They don’t mention a lot of things. They get distant, and Nicky swallows the lump in her throat. Crystal asks for space and there’s nothing more important to her than Crystal, so she gives her space and time and silence. The first time it feels like the old times again is the night before Nicky’s flight home. Crystal climbs into Nicky’s bed and clings to her and they cry as the sky goes from navy blue to indigo to lavender.

.

She texts Crystal when she lands and then calls her when she gets home.

“It was you, you know? That whole time. It was you.”

“Crystal, I-”

“Yeah.”

“It was you, too.”

“Oh.”

For a while, neither of them says anything, and Nicky’s whole world falls apart with a single “oh”. She feels desperation claw at her throat because she’s 4,899 kilometres away and this is not happening. Except it is, because they’re 4,899 kilometres and 3,043 miles away from each other, and there’s nothing they can do about it now. She swallows once. Twice. Nothing changes. It’s still too late.

“Goodbye, Nicky.” Crystal ends the call, and Nicky stands there long after, her phone pressed to her ear, hoping to hear something else, to hear something that would make it all alright, because it can’t end like this, they can’t end like this, they-

The phone stays silent.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Faint Of Heart 17- Shelter [Ivar x Reader]

A.N.: I love your feedback so much ❤️ Please keep it coming! ❤️

Summary: Sometimes, bliss follows the nightmares.

Characters: Ivar x Reader, Ubbe x Torvi, Hvitserk, Bjorn

Warnings: Explicit language, mentions of violence and blood, mentions of sex and arranged marriage, please read with care. Also, friendly reminder that  I don’t condone any of the messed up stuff happening on the show or in here.

Word Count: 4201

Due to the linking issue, previous chapters are in my masterlist!  ❤️

Gif’s not mine!

The following days were more or less a torture for you. It was as if the news of your brother’s arrival had created a whirlpool in the sea of emotions inside of you, you went from angry to sad on a daily basis but there was one thing for sure, your mind was being haunted by memories and as the time passed, you found yourself being unable to get a good night’s sleep.

You were sure that Ivar was aware of how silent you had become, but he didn’t comment on it. You were sure that he was annoyed by it, but you doubted he knew how to approach the topic, or if he would wish to approach it at all.

Possibly not.

He seemed to be very busy anyway.

In fact, the only person who seemed to have time for you was Hvitserk and you were aware that even if he could see the lack of sleep taking its toll on you.

“Have you slept last night at all?”

You gave the pieces of raw meat to your falcon slowly, and ran your fingers over her soft feathers.

“Y/N.”

“I seem to have nightmares,” You mumbled, and heard his sigh behind you, “It’s not important, really. You have no need to worry.”

“You look tired.”

The falcon cooed and you tried to smile as you watched her flap her wings.

“I am tired a little,” You confessed and looked over your shoulder, “It’s quite alright.”

“Tell him to stop tiring you then,” Hvitserk said, gritting his teeth, “Ivar.”

You turned your gaze to the falcon again, your cheeks burning, “I told you, you have no need to worry.”

“You look like when you first got here.”

That sent a shiver down your spine and you gritted your teeth, frowning deeply.

“Yet I am not like that, Hvitserk. Far from it.”

A silence fell upon him for a moment, “You know, I never really liked your brother.”

“We seem to have that in common,” You muttered and turned your back to the falcon, crossing your arms, “How about you? Did you and Bjorn talk again?”

He looked uncomfortable for a moment, “No. He’s busy, everyone is.”

“With what?”

“Apparently, Floki will be finished with the ships way before we thought he would.”

That made your head snap up, “What? So soon?”

Hvitserk shrugged slightly, “Looks like you are not the only one with lack of sleep in Kattegat.”

You felt your heart sinking “And…will- will you all go to this raid? When Floki is done?”

“I’m looking forward to it. That’s the only reason Bjorn is here, Ubbe and Torvi can barely wait for it and even if he claims otherwise, Ivar was not born to be a king, not really. He likes the battle way too much for that.”

Alone.

You would be alone. Open to any attack.

“I had a thought last night,” You could feel your heart beating in your ears, “When Ivar goes to this raid, I will be in charge of Kattegat and everything and everyone in it, will I not? I could just ask a warrior to seize my brother and- and- do whatever I wish,” A small, bitter laughter escaped from your lips, “If he dares to- to come here uninvited, he shall see how-“

“My brother is a bad influence on you, and you need to sleep.” Hvitserk cut you off as he grabbed your shoulders, so that you could look him in the eye, “If you wanted me to-“ he hesitated for a moment “I told you, my sword is at your service, no matter who it is.”

You nodded slowly and pressed your fingertips on your temples.

“My apologies, I don’t-“ You gulped, “Do not take me seriously please, I’m just under a lot of pressure lately. What of your beautiful lover, how is she?”

He stared at you, then pulled back gently,  

“My lover?”

“I should meet her, Hvitserk.” You tried to distract yourself and offered him a small smile, “So that I can be friends with her away from your influence, while you’re on a raid.”

Hvitserk raised his brows, “Why away from my influence?”

“What if you’re a bad influence as well?” You joked, “Has she begged you not to go to this raid yet? I’m sure she’s devastated because of your departure.”

Hvitserk averted his eyes only for a moment, “Have you begged Ivar not to go?” he asked back and that made you frown slightly. His eyes searched yours before he took a step back.

“I should leave you be,” he stated, “You need some rest, at least while Ivar is busy, alright? Use that for your peace.”

You nodded again, nibbling on your bottom lip silently, then cleared your throat.

“Thank you, I do not know what I would do without your lovely company.” You smiled slightly, “I shall make sure to tell your lover that, so that she can appreciate you even more.”

Hvitserk rolled his eyes at you as you giggled, and he walked to the door to close it behind him. You heaved a sigh, and turned to the falcon cooing at you.

“I should name you, should I not?” You asked her slowly as she blinked at you, “Something worthy of Freyja.”

She flapped her wings, still staring at you and you heaved a sigh, then turned your head when somebody knocked on the door, then opened it.

“My Queen, the list of merchants and their incomes as you requested?” she motioned at the box she was holding before she put it on the table and you pressed your palms to your eyes for a moment before you lowered your hands.

“Alright then, let’s start.”

                                    *

You didn’t know how it happened, but you were drowning. No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t breathe at all, and you didn’t know whether you were swimming away from the danger or towards it, while your heart almost deafened you, and you felt the teeth of the monster coming closer and closer, until-

Your body jerked up in the bed and you gasped, panting. Your whole body felt like it was on fire as the panic pulsed through you and you tried to subdue the sobs, but it was to no avail. You pushed the heavy furs off of you in the dark, desperate to get away,

“Y/N?”

Of course Ivar woke up. He woke up to a squeaky chair, it was ridiculous to think he wouldn’t notice you gasping beside him but you were way too much in fear to say anything as you rushed to the window and slammed it open, inhaling the freezing air. Even if it made you get goose bumps on your skin, the cold clashing with the warmth of the room, for the first time you didn’t mind it.  You sniffled, closing your eyes for only a moment before the nightmare flashed before them and you opened them again, looking up at the moon.

“I couldn’t breathe.” You wiped at your nose, with your back still turned you Ivar and you heard him lighting up a candle by the bedside. You bit your tongue, clenching your jaw.

“Nightmare?”

“I was drowning.” You tried to blink back the tears, “In the sea- we were on a ship and-and a shark hit the ship, turning it upside down before sinking it and I couldn’t escape.”

Ivar heaved a sigh, “Alright, I’m taking you to see a shark the minute somebody captures one. It’s not normal, thinking that a shark could overturn a ship.”

You were way too tired to answer him so you just sniffled silently.

“My apologies for waking you up.” You mumbled, “It was not my intention.”

“Come back here, you’ll catch cold again.”

You tried to fix your breathing and heaved a deep sigh before you turned around. Even if most of the room was dark, your part was illuminated by the moonlight while his was illuminated by the candle. It made you stare at him for a couple of seconds, that coldness in the pit of your stomach leaving its place to warmth as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat.

“I do not want him here,”

“Neither do I. I do not know why he’s coming either.”

“He will ask for your help in something. I think a battle, or- or he needs an army, or-“

“He will ask for my help after attempting to poison me?”

“It hardly matters from his perspective. You’re obliged to do so just like he is, was that not the reason why we got married in the first place?”

“I am not obliged to do anything, much less for him.”

To that, you had nothing to say and you shrugged slightly, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet.

“What are you so scared of?”

You tried to blink back the tears, “What if-“ You hesitated as your voice cracked, but you cleared your throat, “What if seeing him makes it go away?”

“Make what go away?”

“Everything! Everything that I-“ You sniffled, “I don’t want to be like that anymore.”

You couldn’t explain it even if you wanted to, but by some miracle, Ivar seemed to understand what you meant judging by the look of realization dawning on his face. You licked your lips, hugging yourself before he motioned at you to come closer, so you approached the bed before you sat by his side.

“I do not mean to-“ You let out a shaky breath, one hand shooting up to rub at your eye “Be like this.  I will pull myself together in a minute-”

“Y/N, look at me,” his voice was almost as silent as yours and your eyes shot up to his, “You know I would never allow him to do anything that would upset you, do you not?”

You tried to calm down and took a shaky breath before you spoke;

“I’d like to ask something of you.”

“Alright.”

“I will…” You cleared your throat, “I will help you, I will do everything that you see as tiresome or boring, including the finances of merchants and the whole Kattegat, but-” You swallowed thickly, “Promise me you will not leave for the raid, not until he goes back.”

“You would wish me here?”

“If you would be so kind to stay…” Your voice was a mere whisper “Please, Ivar?”

He blinked for a couple of seconds, his eyes locked to yours as if he was trying to see whether you were sincere or not, but then he nodded and that assuring almost pulled your body to his as you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face to the crook of his neck and holding him tight. You could feel his body getting tense almost in an instant, and you knew you were supposed to pull back but the feeling of fear leaving your body and being replaced by the warmth was almost addicting to you, even overwhelming so you couldn’t. After a couple of seconds, you felt his arm sneaking around your waist before he supported your back, burying his hand into your hair.

“I will ruin whoever it is that is the source of your fear, or subject of your fury, little shark,” his voice was almost soft, “I swear to you. I would not stop until you grow weary of their pleas.”

You felt as if your heart melted. That was a threat, you knew it was, but this was also as close to showing emotions as Ivar could get and now you were slowly beginning to understand that perhaps you were not alone in your affections. You took a deep breath as the fear and worry left your body completely and pulled back to look at him as your stomach made a pleasant flip.

“Then I swear to you as well,” You said, your voice almost inaudible, “That you shall have my heart, until I’m nothing but ashes.”

That seemed to catch him off guard, and yet his hesitation seemed to last only for a moment. He leaned in slowly, as if trying to see your reaction but when you cupped his cheek, all his doubt seemed to clear out and his lips touched yours. You could swear he could hear your heartbeat as if slammed against your chest, almost deafening you as he gently pushed you to the bed before rolling over you, making you tighten your legs around his waist and you held your breath, trying to remember everything Bree had taught you but you seemed to have forgotten everyone and everything but this moment, right now.

You bit down on your lip as soon as he pulled back to look at you and you reached out to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, making him close his eyes for a moment.

“Should I blow out the candle?” By some miracle, you hadn’t lost your voice due to the nervousness pulsing through you and Ivar opened his eyes, an amused smile pulling at his lips.

“No you should not.”

You found yourself reflecting her smile despite the timid knot forming in your stomach.

“Not the Viking way?” You asked, making him chuckle as he shook his head.

“Not the Viking way.”

A small giggle escaped from your lips before you nodded, and pulled him closer to claim his lips again.

                                        *

You had no idea how much you had slept, but the first thing that crossed your mind when the bed shook slightly was that you were not ready to wake up. The peace washed over you, but retrieved slowly as you reached out but met an empty spot beside you, making you open your eyes. Ivar was sitting at the foot of the bed and seemed to be fully clothed unlike you, as he did his leg braces and you felt your cheeks burn as the memory of last night flashed over you. You moved your legs but other than a slight soreness, there was no discomfort as opposed to what Bree had warned you about.

You pulled the warm and heavy furs over your body before you pulled yourself up, then reached out to touch his arm as you leaned your chin on his shoulder, your body pressed against his. You were sure no lady back at your court would ever do such a thing, but you really didn’t want him to leave.

“Did I wake you?” Ivar asked as his hand covered yours and you shook your head.

“It’s not even morning yet,” Even your voice was sleepy, “The sun is barely out.”

He ran his fingertips over your bare arm, deep in thought as he pressed a kiss on your knuckles and his shoulder twitched as you moved your head, as if your lashes tickled his skin.

“I have something that I should attend to.”

You shook your head again, even opening your eyes felt too difficult “Your brothers? Tell them to wait,” you whispered, “The whole Kattegat can wait.”

That seemed to make him chuckle, and he pulled back slightly to turn around to see you better, his gaze almost….

Enchanted.

“You no longer shiver,” he muttered more to himself and you nodded slowly.

“I told you it would go away,” you told him, trying to keep your head high even if sleep kept luring you in. “Stay. Give them an excuse.”

“Hmm, such as what?”

You smiled, your cheeks burning, “Valhalla.”

That was what he had told you last night. Through the jitters mixed with the mind numbing delight, you remembered what he had whispered into your ear;

By the Gods, I’m in Valhalla…

His smile mirrored yours as he leaned in to kiss you, but pulled back so soon, as if trying to control himself.

“Go back to sleep, little shark,” he said as he grabbed his crutches, then kissed your forehead and stood up, making you heave a sigh, “Find me when you wake up, hm?”

You fell back to bed and hugged the furs over your body, already dozing off to sleep even if you were aware that Ivar was still by the door, watching you.

You didn’t know when he left, but when you woke up, he was gone and Gala was in the room, tidying your books on the table. The couple of dried blood drops on the sheets caught your attention, making your heart skip a beat and you licked your lips.

“Gala?”

“Good morning my queen.”

“Good morning,” You smiled at her, “Um- would you please tell someone to change the sheets when you can? My…monthly visitor seems to be here.”

She nodded as you stood up, taking a very careful step, mentally checking yourself but there was no horrifying pain as all your ladies in waiting had told you that you would feel, after your first night. You made a small noise of content, but were soon distracted when the room felt almost too empty and the curtain flew by the window because of the wind.

“Have you seen my falcon?” You asked her, looking around but she shook her head.

“She was not here when I arrived.”

“I left the window open last night, but she was here,” You muttered to yourself “Are you certain?”

“Yes my queen.”

You bit on your lip, your stomach making a flip before you tried to pull yourself together.

“I was going to name her.” You mumbled and Gala raised her brows,

“She will come back I’m sure, as she did last time,” she said, “A bath?”

“Yes please.”

After a very long bath due to you losing the track of time upon losing yourself in the memory of last night, you were ready. You walked through the hall but Ivar was nowhere to be seen so you made your way to the map room, thinking that they would be there, yet you only found Hvitserk and Bjorn who fell silent as soon as they saw you.

“Good morning!” you smiled at them, “Um- have you seen Ivar?”

“He left early in the morning,” Bjorn said, “Is it something of importance, can we help?”

“Oh no,” You shook your head, “I just wondered, that’s all. Are you talking about the raid, may I join?”

Bjorn looked between you and Hvitserk who looked almost angry for some reason and he nodded, shrugging.

“Hvitserk tells me Floki is close to be finished with the ships,” You told Bjorn as Hvitserk bit on his apple, “He seems to be very fast.”

“Does not seem to matter,” Bjorn shrugged, “Ivar does not want to go anywhere until your brother’s visit is over, so we wait. More time to plan it.”

Your head snapped up, “…Oh?”

“I wonder what made him change his mind,” Hvitserk mused out loud “When just two days ago he was talking about how much he wanted it.”

Bjorn frowned slightly, “Hvitserk. That country is not going anywhere.”

Hvitserk looked at you as if he knew what had happened, “He is in a very good mood, is he not? So are you.”

“It’s a lovely morning.”

He scoffed, “I’m sure.”

“Brother…”

“There is only one thing a woman can do to put even Ivar into a good mood and change his mind about something he planned. Well, two but I’m sure princesses do not do the second one.”

Your jaw dropped as the fire spread over your cheeks “That’s hardly-“

“Hvitserk!” Bjorn snapped, glaring at him, “Go take a walk.”

“Why, because it’s-“

“Go take a walk!” Bjorn’s voice was very stern and Hvitserk pushed his chair back.

“I will go on a raid by myself if Ivar wants to stay here, at least I will be away from everything here,” he said through his teeth as he stormed out of the room and you felt the embarrassment crash down on you but managed to pull yourself together as Bjorn heaved a sigh.

“I apologize for his behavior,” he said, “He’s just…”

“Under pressure I assume,” You tried to smile and nodded, “We all are.”

“Does not excuse that,” Bjorn stated and you cleared your throat.

“I know it is not my place,” you started “But perhaps he could be happy with who he loves, regardless of the obstacles.”

Bjorn pulled his brows together “What?”

“I know you do not approve, but if he were with who he wanted, I think he would be much happier.”

Bjorn gawked at you, “Y/N, Ivar would kill him.”

“No he would not, and I can convince Ivar.”

“You- what?”

“Bjorn, Ivar will not care if Hvitserk wishes to be with a servant girl, in fact I think he could even be happy for him.”

Bjorn blinked a couple of times, as if he didn’t understand “…What?”

You heaved a deep sigh, “I saw Hvitserk and a servant girl, and they were very…intimate. It’s obvious he wishes to be with her, I just- I do not understand why everyone is so opposed to this. Is their happiness not more important than her social status, which can change if I may add.”

Bjorn looked at you as if he was trying to read your mind, a look you had seen in Ivar’s eyes multiple times before he let out a breath in disbelief.

“I see,” he said slowly, “Uh… well he- you know Hvitserk,” he cleared his throat as if he was trying not to laugh, “He does like a lot of women.”

“But she has to be special if she has his heart.”

Bjorn heaved a deep sigh, shaking his head slightly before he stood up,

“I’d better find him, excuse me.” He said and left the room. You bit inside your cheek, still feeling your face burn and you stood up to stretch your body, cracking your neck. You leaned forward to inspect the map better, tilting your head before you heard Ivar’s crutches by the door coming closer and soon enough you felt the warmth of his body and his lips on your temple.

“Good morning again,” You bit down a smile, and fixed the crown on top of your head, making Ivar tilt his head back.

“That will cost me an eye one day and unlike Odin I will have nothing to gain.”

“Ivar!” You exclaimed, making him chuckle.

“What are you doing here alone?”

“I was under the impression that you would be here,” you shrugged “With your brothers but Bjorn said you left early.”

“Mm hm. I had something I needed to attend to.”

“Is it about the raid? Ships? Floki?”

He shook his head, his eyes still focused on you and you made a face.

“Earl Finnr?”

That seemed to make him scoff, “No.”

“Is it anything I can be of help with? We should talk about the merchant issue as well, and I think if-“

“I have a gift for you,” he cut you off, making you stop talking immediately as you turned around.

“What?”

“I have a gift for you.”

A smile warmed your face, “What- what is it?”

He raised his hand so that you could see the wooden box he was holding but just when you reached out to grab it, he raised it above your reach, smirking slightly.

“What is it about merchants though?”

“Ivar!”

“If it is important, I think we should talk about it. You did tell me you would-“

“Give me my gift!” You demanded as he licked his lips, his gaze on you and he lowered the box a little so that you could grab it from him. You put it on the table and nimbly lifted the lid, then held your breath, reaching into the box to pull it out.

A dagger.

Its hilt looked to be made of gold, with ambers adorning it and when you unsheathed it to inspect the blade better, your jaw dropped.

“Ivar…”

“I would’ve made you a sword, if I knew you could lift it,” he said as you felt your heartbeat getting faster. “How about you start with the dagger first?”

You gawked at your initials on the blade of the dagger, letting out a breath.

“You made this?” You asked, not daring to believe, “For me?”

He nodded, as if nervous about your reaction but you pulled him into a kiss before your smile parted you, and you giggled, beaming at him.

“I love it, thank you!” You said, “I’m beyond happy, I-“ You closed your eyes, shaking your head before you opened your eyes again. “I cannot express my gratitude.”

You turned around to take a deep breath, dragging your fingertips over your initials on the blade and he seemed very pleased with your reaction because he ran his knuckles over your shoulder, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Make use of it,” he muttered to your ear, and you pressed your lips together.

“To my heart’s desire?”

“To your heart’s desire.”

You looked over your shoulder for only a moment, a smile playing on your lips as you returned your gaze to the blade.

“I will,” Your voice was a low murmur, “I will.”  

  Special thanks to: @nympha-door-a @theskytraveler @iblogabout-stuff @mamaraptor @vikrone @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @asongofmarvelanddc @not–even-a-real–fan @alicedopey@thorohdamnson @captstefanbrandt @flowers-in-your-hayr @marauderskeeper @badbitsh13 @superwolfchild-fan  @mblaqgi @thescarsweleave @marvelsvalhalla @natalielbeauty @pandalandalopalis @alyssiamarierenee  @bloodyivar  , @eleanorsparkz    @illumminated @itsjoshebelbitch @vikingalexthedane @hangirl93 @mersers-moonypadfoot-prongs @skadithegoddess   @geekandbooknerd @katalina-from-hellbound @too-stressed-to-live  @supercarricat @sky-daybreak @athroatfullofglass  @blushingskywalker @little-froggy @girlwhoisfearless @aikeji @part-time-patronus @actuallyazriel  and lovely anons! You are amazing! <3

[honestsycrets]

My Mær

Gif Credit: Me

Frigg had locked in her keys.

Ubbe did not know why the gods had done this-- but he could easily speculate the cause. When he rejected the gods, Frigg had become enraged. Being descended from the gods, he thought that he might have been welcomed back.

Your miserable wailing proved otherwise.

The mark of silver keys imprinted on your palm as you sobbed out to Freyja, Frigg and the gods to assist you in ending this pregnancy. A fruitless effort. He stands along the wall with his hand against his ruddy beard. Otherwise silent, he considers Frigg— never understanding why they would punish his young family.

You rejected me.

Ubbe swats near his ear, eyes reddening with the wispy strands of smoke muddying the air. The midwife squats by you on all fours, deep in labour where usually you would be squatting to deliver his child onto the Freyja’s weed that made up the plush bed.

They expected it to be difficult. Not this difficult.

Hours into labour you finally squeal out in pain but no other noise came with end of your cries, head dropping back. Ubbe looks desperately from your body beading with sweat toward your blood slicked thighs then to the midwives that cluster about the baby just beside you.

“Release your hand upon her, Hela.” They chant together, spiraling the smoke about her head. He approaches, pushing the last few of the midwives away. His pale child lays on top of warm, beige sheets. Her little chest is motionless, pale and still. The midwives whisper among one another.

“Is she okay?” Your breath comes out hard. It should not have been right that you spent the majority of the last year round and miserable for only this to happen. Pains in your womb meant you could not work the house. Swollen ankles meant any journey on foot quickly became one on horseback. Ubbe’s large hand comes atop of his blonde haired daughter, looking toward her thin body in despair.

“Don’t do this.” He whispers. “Don’t take her.”

“Ubbe, what is going on?” You’ve put one and two together, dragging yourself forward. Pulling her close, Ubbe drapes the charm in his hands-- a silver key on a charm once given to him by his mother. As the first of her Aslaugssons, he should have had children long before now. You tug at his hand, letting out a harsh, desperate wail that rings his ears.

“Damn!” He howls, at last giving up on his gods. “Mother bring her back!”

Then, at long last another wail fills the room. Another and another from the premature lungs of am infant, filling the air with her short puffs. Ubbe turns his eyes up, catching his little one’s closed eyes wrinkling with strain. Rather scream than nothing at all, Ubbe clutches her, bringing a knife to tear the umbilical cord apart. You reach for the warm sheets and tug them around her naked little body.

Then he looks back to you, grasping your jaw and tugging you up to meet his lips. Your wet tears stain his beard, lips devouring his in a few desperate kisses. When you break away, it’s with another sneaky kiss.

“What do we call her?” You breathe on his lips. Despite being exhausted, you kiss him between words. Overbearing as usual.

“Mær.” He answers. A thrall brings a warm bowl of water and you take her from her father, dabbing down any bloody stains on her flawless, but maybe a little swollen, skin. She begins to whine yet again.

“Daughter? Really?” You laugh.

“We didn’t think we would have one, did we?” He states his reasoning. With the two boys you had already, yeah, you suppose that is true. You really didn’t think you would have this daughter that you so desired.

“No. We didn’t.”

But she was here— and best of all, she was alive.

[cursedregality-a]

Final Goodbye

Earlier that morning at breakfast it was told to Caillen that Freyja would be expecting her for an extended birthday surprise. Naturally at the word ‘surprise’ her already bright green eyes lit up more, however, it was the fact that it was only she Freyja was expecting that beckoned her curiosity. Trusting the elder with her life, there was no suspicion. Only naturally the question of ‘why?’ she was the only one (you know, despite the surprise being for her). Day going by as fast as it did, it wasn’t long until Caillen found out.

A car had been sent for her by the goddess. Right on time it came to collect her, and she were on her way. During the ride, as her mind was in it’s usual million and one places, the biggest place was focused on whatever it was the Goddess had for her. Knowing Freyja, she knew it had to be something extravagant. Deep down she hoped not. Extravagant was more of her sister Nareena and not particularly her. However, if it was, she wasn’t going to insult the woman and simply accept it.  She had too much respect for the older woman to be that rude.

It was a good twenty minutes or so before they had arrived. When the door was opened for her, Caillen thanked her driver and got out of the car. For a little bit she stood before the (castle sized) dwelling before finally gathering herself to make her way up the steps to the door. Just as she were about to raise her hand and knock, on its own the door had opened for her. Stepping inside she looked around before walking further in. Following her intuition, Caillen went into the living room where she sat and waited for Freyja to find her.

Ten minutes had gone by until she heard the footsteps of another. Thinking it was one of her house staff, Caillen thought nothing of it. Not until an all to familiar scent met her nose. Wet tree bark and forest rain. Naturally she had thought she were crazy. That her mind was once again messing with her, trying to make her believe something that wasn’t really there. Deciding not to fall for it, she muttered a couple of curses before shaking her head and mindlessly playing with her magic.

Another five minutes had gone by until again she heard the footsteps and smelled the scent. Only this time, there was a voice that followed both. “I try to get your attention, and this is how ya do me? I’m hurt red, I’m really hurt.”

Still looking down at her hand, Caillen froze completely.  Knowing she was crazy; she knew she wasn’t that crazy. In her chest her heart raced as she debated turning around. Deciding to take one quick glance, she did so. Seeing no one behind her, there was a sigh of relief with a minor mix of dis appointment. When she turned back around, it was at that moment did she get the shock of her life.

There was silence as she stood to her feet, her gaze filled with both shock and joy. Hesitantly, she raised her hand to touch the others face and quickly took it away after feeling how solid but cool it was to her touch.  Instantly her eyes began to swell with tears.  It was really him. Her Bastian. So much to say, it seemed as if she were having problems saying anything. “ Yer here.” She spoke, her voice nearly a mere whisper.

“ In the flesh. Well, somewhat anyway.” He replied with a chuckle as he looked down at her. Lifting a hand, he wiped away a tear that began to make its way down her cheek. Gently placing a kiss upon her forehead, he looked at her once more and complimented,” Even after all these years you still look as beautiful as ever. Happy Birthday by the way.”

Able to do nothing else, Caillen chuckled at his words.” Ye keep it up and I’m goin to flood this whole place with tears.” She confessed before reaching up and gently pressing a hand to his cheek, her glassy eyes staring into his.” I never thought I’d see ye again.” She stayed that way for a while as she took him in. He looked just how she remembered him only more…… bright. After he had stopped communicating with her, she worried about him and continued to hope that he was alright. Seeing him at that moment proved to her that he had been fine all long.

“Hey, just cause’ ya haven’t been able to see me don’t mean I haven’t been around. Someone’s gotta look after my best gal. Even when she don’t wanna look after herself. Though, I think someone kinda has.”  He told her, knowing she knew exactly who he was referring to.

She didn’t know if it were a bad or good thing but immediately, she knew that he were speaking about Nate. “ No, no we’re just.—” She started before being cut off.

“Friends? We were too once, remember that? You don’t gotta explain, besides, I kinda like him. I met some of his peoples a month or so ago. He’s a good wolf.” Seeing her happy was all he ever wanted. Not being able to make her so anymore, he wanted her to move on with someone who could. And this Nate? Well, he knew without a doubt he’d be the one to.

Tears beginning to stream down her cheeks, putting two and two together Caillen knew exactly what was happening. She was no fool therefore didn’t need him to explain to her. “Be a waste of time tellin ye how much I wish that ye could come back, wouldn’t it?” After a couple of moments, she rested her head his chest and sobbed. She missed him so much. There were no words that could express how much or a single would who would truly understand. “ I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, it should’ve been me. It should’ve been me.” She repeated between her sobs.

“ Shh, shh. C’mere.” Despite the fact that their time was quickly dwindling, Bastian embraced the woman and gave her the comfort that he knew she needed. Kissing the top of her head, he held her until she were calmed down enough to have her look at him.” Hey hey, you listen to me. Nothin about anything that happened was your fault. If I had to do it all again, ya know I would. Ya have a life to live red and I want ya to. I need ya to promise me ya will.”

Feeling her heart breaking all over again, although it was the toughest thing she had to do, she nodded her head before forcing herself to verbally say so,” I..I promise.”

Lifting her chin with his hand, Bastian placed a soft kiss upon her lips. “I’ve always loved ya. Always had and always will. Keep remembering that. My beautiful red bird.” And just like that he was gone.

Alone again, Caillen bought her hand to her mouth as to try to silence herself. She couldn’t breath. Why couldn’t she breath? Her mind telling her to inhale she did so, her breaths shaky as she exhaled. Closing her eyes, she got down onto the floor and laid down. There she allowed her tears to freely fall, and there she remained heavyhearted all over again.  

Eventually Caillen returned back to Elenas. Despite the questioning from the other woman, there were no responses. Instead, she wished her a good night and retired to her room. What was supposed to be a kind gesture felt to be everything but and she felt it. And gods did it hurt. 

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 4)

(Gif credit to @iceandabyss​)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader (eventual)

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: The usual :)

A/N: Hi! I decided to post a second chapter this week so we can finally kick-start the plot, and tho I can’t promise double chapters every week yet, the Saturday chapters are a certainty, and let’s call the Tuesday ones a bonus :) Anyhow, would love to know what you think of this so far, and thank you so much for reading!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​

You awaken in the middle of the night as Sieghild barges into the room you sleep in, and without warning her arm, muscled and inked, locks around your waist and she drags you out of the building and towards a small tunnel that leads you both past the walls and near the woods.

She keeps dragging you, ignoring your threats and the kicks you deliver without much strength to them. The way she moves between the trees with such certainty, the way her steps are measured and fast as they step over the frozen ground never ceases to amaze you.

She throws your body with surprising strength against a nearby tree on the first clearing she finds, making you dizzy as your head hits the trunk.

“Ah! W-What are you doing!?” You grunt, but Sieghild doesn’t answer, green eyes set on her task as she brushes your hair away from your face and cups your head in her hands.

“Quiet. There’s worlds past our own.” She advises, and with quickened breaths you rake your eyes over the suffocating trees around you and, in the distance but somehow close enough, you see the faint lights of the Varangian encampment.

Your eyes return to your mother, and before your lips can form the words, the questions, you remember.

“There’s worlds past our own,” Aamir says, dark eyes, black eyes, set on the fire. “And there’s worlds in between.”

You steal a quick glance to the shieldmaiden, but she keeps her gaze ahead, even if the small quirk of her lip tells you she notices your stare of confusion and mirth.

“In between.” You repeat, and the man turns wise eyes to you. The confusion, the scorn, fade within you into curiosity, into that same madness that made you cross the Aegean on an old fishing boat.

“Between the dead and the living,” He explains without hesitation, “Between this life and the next.”

“They sound lonely.” Someone quips, but the man smiles, shaking his head slightly.

“They are filled with opportunity. Life or death, past or future,” His almost black eyes set on you, and your breath catches in your throat, “nostalgia or hope.”

And in her green eyes you see the choice shining. The question, the test, the goodbye and the welcome home.

“I’m staying with the Greeks.” You whisper, feeling as if you have sealed your own fate without knowing what the Gods have in store for you. Feeling as if Sieghild does know, but cannot tell you.

Looking down at you, she smiles through the pain of loss and the tiredness of war.

She looks firmly into your eyes and whispers, “And so it is fated you do so.”

“I can’t help but feel both our Gods have looked away, mother.”

But she shakes her head, the twin braids on each side of her head flowing with the movement. Her gaze is electric, and there could be a sad smile playing at her lips.

“I have asked Freyja for guidance, for help, ever since we arrived in Scandinavia. She has answered, but not in the way your Mistress would.”

Sieghild leans forward and presses a kiss on your forehead. You have a feeling she is saying goodbye in more ways than one, and tears clog at your throat.

“What are you saying?”

She ignores your question, expression determined and fierce, “I hope I have grasped the meaning behind the Seer’s words, my child. I hope so with all I am.”

Nothing makes sense, and there’s…there’s tendrils of a voice you cannot quite catch of a meaning you cannot quite understand, and you are suddenly a child again, listening to the strange woman speak in tongues you feel are familiar and yet foreign; you cannot…you cannot…nothing makes sense.

“What seer?”

But she shakes her head, “It doesn’t matter anymore,” She presses her forehead to yours, and your eyes fall closed, “I will not be here come morning, minn dóttir.”

A small part of you feared this would happen, feared that when Sieghild could taste back the spirit of her people, could hear again the war drums of the Vikings; she would choose to stay with them.

And you cannot blame her. If you found yourself surrounded by foreign customes and foreign people, even if you loved some of those people, even if you had grown to know and follow those strange customs...if you were to find yourself back in Greece, you are certain no love and no familiarity could keep you from those lands that made both your blood and your spirit.

Sieghild brings you into a one-armed embrace, and you feel her chin over your head. Still, a small sob leaves your lips, both at the caving feeling of being left alone and at the pain that lacers her voice. You lost Narses, Galla and the rest of your people are dead because of you, and now you will lose her too.

She is all you have had, since you were a child. Since you have memory, her matted red hair, her comforting green eyes, her brutishly gentle nature, her inked skin; they have been your home, your family.

Sieghild finally pulls back from the somewhat embrace, and even if it feels like ages it is only a few fleeting moments where you meet her gaze and look back at her with tears in your eyes and shaking in fear, a child all over again.

Her fingers trace your cheek with motherly affection, “Make the ground where you are defeated become the realm where you will conquer, child.”

“Sieghild?”

She traces a symbol in your hand with her own fingers, you think a rune, but you only have eyes for her face, her motherly smile, her kind eyes, her marked skin.

“Survive. Until spring comes.”

She darts for the woods, leaving you weak and worn against the tree trunk. Bringing your knees up against your chest, feeling the taint of blood of your own and those not still on your hands even after you have rubbed them raw, you hide your face in your arms and let the cries leave your chest.

Sieghild is long gone, Narses is dead, your people are nothing but corpses on some faraway field, the city is afar. There’s no one to see you, no one to hear you.

And if no one hears you cry, you can pretend you were brave.

_____

“We have reached our agreement, and in time I will pay that debt,” Stithulf comments as you approach. If he notices the inquisitive glare you send his way as to why he is telling you this, he ignores it. “However, we also arranged for a payment in exchange for that Viking warlord accepting the possibility of negotiations, and I have to pay it now.”

“What is it?” You whisper, brow furrowed.

The scarred Christian motions with one hand, and before you can react there’s two soldiers at your sides, holding onto your upper arms and with ease holding you immobile. Stithulf approaches, taking advantage of your stunned body that cannot seem to react quick enough, and he sets heavy and burning shackles at your wrists.

“What are you doing?” You hiss at the black-haired Saxon, but he only raises his face high. “You cannot-…”

The sound of the chains moving as they exchange hands hurts your ears, like the shrill screams of a Priestess being burnt to death.

You remember rough and violent hands wrapped around your wrists, your arms, your throat; keeping you defenseless, keeping you from fighting back. You remember tight rope burning your wrists as you were tied and dragged to the pole where you would be set alight.

You have been beaten, you have been defeated, exiled, humiliated, betrayed.

But you never had chains put on you. Chains are…are for prisoners, chains are for slaves, chains are meant for people without freedom. You have killed and died for your freedom, you cannot…you cannot lose it now.

Narses, Galla, so many others are dead. Your home is no more. Sieghild has left you behind.

You cannot lose your freedom; it is the only thing you have left.

You look down into trembling hands and bite down a scream of your own.

Chains.

You have lost it already.

The soldiers at your flanks force you to move towards wherever the Saxon is walking, and the chains make you obey their command.

“You forced my hand, Greek,” He promises, pretending that regret pours out of his lips, “You were part of the price asked, and I had no reasons for wanting to keep you.”

But you still shake your head, tugging frantically at chains that follow your movements and chase after your wrists like hungry snakes. And you cannot get out, you cannot get free, you cannot…you cannot…

“Wh-…no, you can’t do this. Why…why!?” You cry out, not caring how your voice trembles and breaks. The chains are heavy, and so is your breath, “Release me, I am not yours to give away!”

The Saxon moves quickly, a thunder of rage and underserving authority, and the backhand across your face is painful but expected. Leave it to a man like him to hit you when you are bound.

Stithulf forces you to straighten yourself from the hit by grabbing painfully onto your jaw and turning furious eyes to him.

“I will not have you challenge me in front of those Vikings. You will keep your mouth closed for once.” The Saxon grits out, his grip on your jaw brutish and hurting.

You grit your teeth, but still bite out, “With a Christian keeping me chained, there’s not much I can say or do, Stithulf. You know this.”

Your body almost braces for another hit, but Stithulf only laughs to himself. Laughs, and you cannot help but open your eyes to find him, head bowed, eyes closed, chuckling like you have amused him, like you are an old friend joking with him.

“Oh, how I will miss you, Greek.”

You lick the cut his hit gave your lip, and return your eyes ahead as they warriors make you start walking. They lead you to the docks, and you catch sight of other slaves being boarded into the Varangian ships.

You are the only one in chains, though, and the burn of humiliation hurts as much as that of defeat.

Beady eyes you know well catch sight of you, and Leofric, one of Stithulf’s trusted men, one of the pigs responsible for Narses’ sacrifice, for the slaughter of your people; approaches you with a sleazy smile on his weathered face.

“Witch.” He greets, his voice dripping with arrogance and satisfaction. You don’t answer, but he does replace one of the soldiers at your side, his hand on your upper arm disgusting and invasive.

Two Varangian men wait for you and Stithulf to approach, one of them the King, standing tall and proud as he looks over you.

It shouldn’t sting like betrayal that he wants to make a slave out of you, it truly shouldn’t. But…it does, because you are foolish, you always have been. You truly thought he was honest when he talked with you, you truly thought he saw an equal and not a witch to pride himself in conquering.

But no, what was it Sieghild told you when she spoke of Rorik and what happened before the Varangians took Kiev?

“Never trust a man to choose you over anything, much less a man in power to choose you over the illusion of holding onto such power.”

“She is a pagan witch, but she has noble blood,” Leofric states without prompting, ignoring your glare. You feel the eyes of the Varangian on you, but you keep your enraged focus on the man that lists off qualities like you are a mare being sold for breeding. “The Greeks call her Queen, and she is worth quite a lot to more than one Kingdom in the Mediterranean.

Leofric’s hand finds your throat, and your entire body coils as your lips part and a bubble of panic starts on your chest.

“And a good lay, even.” He sneers by your ear, giddy with the power he now holds. Narses is dead, and Stithulf has no use for you; your protections in this land are long gone, and he believes he can do as he wishes with you.

Better men have tried.

Stithulf steals a glance to you, an almost challenge for you to speak up written in his eyes. You keep your gaze on his and let your lips curve into the beginning of a smile, because even if you know it is a lie you feel anything but the desire to squirm out of your own skin, you will be dead before giving it away.

His eyes narrow slightly, but he says nothing as he passes on the chains to the Varangians like who offers the leash of a dog, and at the reminder of the chains binding you, the pressure in your lungs is almost the same as that of those first weeks after you survived the pyre those Christians built.

It is only then, with more than iron chains in his hand, that Ivar the Boneless takes his pales eyes to meet your own.

He smiles, terrifyingly and hungrily, and a shiver runs down your spine. Your mocking smile drops as dread settles over your very bones, but you refuse to lower your gaze.

The tug he gives to your chains to bring you closer is as humiliating as before, but you have to follow the commands of the shackles in your wrists, and you stumble a few steps until you stand by him.

“Priestess.” He greets lowly, and your nose furrows.

“Viking,” You hiss back, because of course you wouldn’t keep your mouth shut. You lift your hands bound by heavy metal between you, “I spent too long a Christian’s attack dog, I refuse to die a Varangian’s prisoner.”

He chuckles, cruel and every bit the King you tried not seeing him as. Ivar the Boneless.

“You think you have a choice.” He mocks with a disgustingly fake smile on his lips.

You still lean closer, “You better than any man here knows what I have done to keep myself from being a prisoner.”

It staggers you how easy it is to bring a strange softness to his gaze, so much so that you believe him to be fooling you for a moment before he speaks.  

“I don’t want to make a prisoner out of you.” He promises without hesitation, without shame. And your anger returns, pushing back the curiosity, the foolish hope, the weakness.

“Then why am I chained?”

“Was there any other way to get you to do as I say?” The King replies easily, the mocking smile once again on his lips.

Regardless, he loosens his hold on the humiliating leash, and your eyes are drawn to his hand. You catch sight of the now dirtied and bloodied bandage around the hand he injured yesterday, and are reminded of the knife you saw him pull out of some secret sheath in his armor.

And if the same guile that made Narses lay an army at your feet is the same that tries keeping Ivar the Boneless from reacting when you put chained hands over his armored chest, no one can blame you.

Women are taught to play these games. The more binds they put on you, the more tricks you learn.

“But you didn’t try any other way,” You argue quietly, looking into his eyes, and even if your closeness, your caress, are lies, your next words are not, “I thought I could trust you.”

The King does not react, body almost frozen but still challenging and calculating as he gazes down at you. His chest rises and falls under your hand and you take a breath and lean even closer.

It would be easy, you ponder, grabbing the knife and attempting on his life, futile attempt as it would be. You could cut your own throat, they couldn’t stop you, and you wouldn’t have to live to see the day a Varangian makes you his slave.

But that would be too easy. Hushed teachings of strength and composure travel from your memories, your mother’s voice and Sieghild’s mixing together in a choir.

You muster a quick prayer of protection and strength in your mind before you go through with your stupid, stupid, stupid idea.

Gritting your teeth and trying to ignore the tremble of your hand as it finds purchase in your target, you wrap careful fingers around the knife you saw sheathed at his ribs, grabbing a hold of it.

You can see in the barely-there widening of the Viking’s eyes, on the sharp breath and the tension coiled around his shoulders that he knows what weapon you hold in your hand now.

He doesn’t move, the only change you notice along with his breath is the slight adjusting of his grip on the crutch. Your eyes dart to his hand and back up into his own, and a challenge shines in them, a curiosity and something else, something darker and stranger that you cannot help but find alluring.

He is challenging you to put that knife to use.

I did promise that while a Christian held me in chains I wouldn’t act.

You turn around with a small smile, feral as it is, on your lips. The chains stop you from doing any real damage, but a deep enough gash runs down Stithulf’s face, and that is enough for you, even if it means your death. The wound over the Saxon’s eye pours blood, and you allow yourself a laugh.

“I will crawl out of the Underworld if I have to, but I will find you again. And I will send you to Lord Hades bearing the mark of my sacrifice. Let the dead know who you have wronged, let the Furies torment you until I have my chance to.” You snarl in Greek, eyes set firmly, manically even, on the commander.

A mark of blood, a vow to the Gods. You know you will kill him, and as you look into his eye you think he knows it too, even if he didn’t understand a word you said.

The chains yank again, painful against your sore wrists, and you comply. Dropping the knife to the ground in front of the Varangians, you try quietening the deafening beat of your own heart in your ears.

Stithulf keeps his good eye on you, enraged but oddly enough not surprised. Maybe you were wrong, he wasn’t stupid enough to believe Narses’ words about your meekness and your obedience.

The sudden tension not much unlike the stillness before the beast pounds takes over the dock as the warriors, their attention drawn in by the commotion, wait with baited breath for the next action. Both Saxons and Vikings stand in waiting for any movement.

The man with the blondish braid that was standing behind a few steps is the first one to break the silence, walking towards you with ease and bending down to pick up the knife.

He just…laughs.

The man just laughs, and it is in startled silence that you are tugged back by your chains to the King’s side. The man’s warm eyes travel between you, still in chains, and the now bloodied Saxon holding a hand over his eye.

“Almost lost an eye to a chained Christian woman,” The man says, looking at Stithulf with a smile on his young face, “That will be a story to tell.”

The Viking looks back at the Saxon leader with knowing clear eyes, expecting the strike back, expecting the fight. He delights, you realize, in taunting the Christian with the retribution he cannot have.

Whatever argument they were bound to have, or whatever vindication Stithulf was to set upon you, is quickly tampered by the humiliation. Good.

You could swear the man that spoke out, as he turns around, looks into your eyes with something akin to understanding for a moment.

Clearing your throat and past the fear and pain, you croak, however broken your attempts at speaking past the knot in your throat may be,

“N-Not…not a Christian. Never.”

The man regards you in silence for a moment or so, before finally acquiescing with a nod.

“I noticed,” He says with a smile, and looking for a moment at the man that holds your chains, the Varangian that spoke to save your hide leans closer, but you do not feel threatened, “I’m Hvitserk.”

You smile, the first genuine one you felt in so long, but you still don’t reply with your own name. He notices, but says nothing as you are led to the boats.

“Sons of Ragnar,” Stithulf speaks out, stopping both the King and Prince on their tracks. “Be certain I’ll kill you.”

“I’m certain you’ll try.” Hvitserk replies with a mock flourish, turning his back to the Saxons.

The Varangians board their ship, and you have no choice to follow, a vindicated sort of defeat guiding your movements.

_____

Hi, thank you for reading! I would love to know what you think of this chapter, and the story so far in general! Finally we reach the abduction part of the abduction myth lol

Thank you so much for your support, it means a lot to know people are reading and (hopefully) enjoying what I write! You’re the best!

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Stjarnavetr - Part II - Chapter 40

TITLE OF STORY: Stjarnavetr

CHAPTER NUMBER: Part II – Chapter 40

AUTHOR: renlem

WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Loki

STORY GENRE: Angst, Erotica, Drama

STORY SUMMARY, PART II: Things have gone well for Loki and Stjarnavetr these past five centuries, but it cannot remain so. When Loki unexpectedly betrays those closest to him, Stjarnavetr’s world falls apart. Painful secrets and dark pasts will come to light, love will be tried to the breaking point, and Stjarnavetr must come to terms with the fact that the man she loves is not the man she thought she knew. Through it all, both Loki and Stjarnavetr will come to realize just how far they will go for one another and the sacrifices they will make, no matter the cost.

STORY RATING: Explicit (for strong language, strong sexual content, and graphic violence)

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

CHAPTER WARNINGS/TRIGGERS:

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS (PART I & ONE SHOTS)

Part II: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39

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CHAPTER 40

Loki

Helheim

“Nice try, Mannadr!” I smirked, slicing the stale air with Laevateinn, the sword Angrboda had commissioned for me.

Four palace guards stood opposite of me, weapons drawn and poised. Before them lay their comrade whom they had likely known for centuries, whom I had just decapitated and whose black blood was pouring thickly out onto the dusty ground, and whose unfortunate fate simultaneously did not faze them at all.

I was training again—for what, I knew not, only to pass the time, I suppose—and I greatly enjoyed it. It took my mind off other matters, anyway.

I always instructed the guards I happened to train with that day to attack me as if they truly wished to kill me, queen’s father or no. Of course they mechanically obeyed and a few times I had ended up with some rather nasty wounds. Luckily, unlike them, I could heal myself even here and did not have to spend the rest of eternity with half my guts exposed or fallen out.

Many of the guards I had killed this way. Hel once told me that even though we were all dead here, it was possible to die a second time, and there was no coming back from it. By that logic, I suspected it was once again possible to return to life, but Hel had always remained rather tight-lipped on the subject, only fueling my suspicion.

But as of late I had not spoken much to Hel if I could help it.

It was an interesting sight when one of them died. The guard would collapse onto the ground and a few seconds later their bodies would slowly disintegrate into an ashen mound, which would eventually disperse in the dry wind. I would have felt odd killing palace guards simply for my own amusement, but Hel had assured me long ago that the guards were not as the other dead in Helheim; they were mindless and followed orders blindly. There was nothing left over of them from their previous life, save their physical appearance, and there was certainly no shortage of them.

“Try me again!” I shouted at the next biggest one, a gnarly brute called Mannadr who had survived my spars for quite some time. He currently was my ultimate goal.

He came at me, sword raised, feet pounding loudly on the hard-packed earth. He swung, aiming for my head, but I dodged the blow and dropped hard to one knee, bringing my sword around in an arc towards his right leg.

  The blade did not meet flesh, however, for he swiftly dodged my blow. I gritted my teeth, leaping to my feet as he turned and attempted once again to decapitate me, likely in some blind revenge for his fallen comrade.

Ultimately, he did not succeed, and like his unfortunate friends before him, lay dying his second death upon the ground. I grinned triumphantly to myself, staring into his eyes as the dullness there became duller and his jaw went slack and his mouth fell open to reveal the blackened stumps of his teeth and whatever shriveled flesh remained of his tongue. I withdrew my sword from his chest just as his skin began to crack and turn greyer.

As soon as I finished wiping his blood on the bottom of my boot, a shout drew my attention.

“My lord!”

It was Ganglati, Hel’s slow-moving manservant and occasional fuck toy.

“What?” I barked.

“Her Majesty requests your presence.”

“Tell her I’m busy,” I replied flatly, turning away and wiping my brow. I would avoid her if I could, and it wasn’t as if Ganglati could do anything.

“It is urgent,” he insisted, though his voice was bland as always. “The queen demands it.”

I rolled my eyes, but did not further acknowledge him. I went to begin another spar, but before I could shout at one of the remaining guards, suddenly I felt Ganglati’s hand around my arm and I turned, shocked to see him standing right next to me.

“The queen demands it,” he repeated, insipid gaze focused on me.

“Alright, alright,” I snapped unnervingly, not wanting to ask how he had gotten across the training yard so quickly.

I handed my sword to the guard by the weapon rack and headed towards the palace. I was annoyed at being summoned. The next meeting was not for another four days and I knew not why Hel would need to speak with me like this so suddenly.

After everything had come to light months ago—or whatever I assumed to be months with the changing of the light in the sky, it could have been much longer or shorter—I had grown an aversion to Hel, likely much to the delight of her mother and my lover, Angrboda. It was not that I hated Hel, but it was that I almost felt sorry for her and did not wish to further complicate things between us by being around her often.

“Where is Hel?” I demanded as Ganglati trailed far behind me, despite his show of sudden dexterity minutes before.

“Her chambers, my lord,” he called out.

I was there in minutes. I went past her guards, threw the doors open, and found Hel standing by her large window. She turned and smiled, which she had not done to me in so long.

“Father.”

“What is it?” I asked, somewhat shortly.

“I have a gift for you,” she answered, suspiciously cheerful.

Her words caught me off guard. Immediately I was wary.

“I was just in the training yard—”

Hel breezed up to me, took my hand, and turned to lead me towards her bedchamber.

“Did you kill any guards?”

My skin crawled at her touch. After learning of Hel’s rather iniquitous feelings for me, I felt uneasy at her proximity.

“Yes, two.”

“Wonderful,” she said brightly, in her normal gritty rasp.

Now she stopped at the closed doors and turned to face me, withdrawing her hand and abruptly appearing remorseful.

“Before we proceed, I would like to say that I am sorry if I have offended you in any way,” she admitted. “I did not mean for things to change so between us. I do not like how we have been lately and hope we may overcome this.”

“Er…”

“I hope sincerely that this will make it up to you,” she continued with a blossoming smile, pushing the doors open and leading me inside.

“Hel—”

“Look what I have for you, Father.”

My eyes were drawn immediately across the room towards the fireplace, and I was surprised to see a woman standing there in a faded white dress with her back to us. At the sound of Hel’s voice, however, the woman turned, and something like a jolt went through me.

She was very beautiful, with pale grey eyes and full lips. Her hair was a lovely light gold and fell in pretty waves over her shoulders and down to her waist, which was cinched with a thin, plain brown belt. She tilted her head ever so slightly, lips twitching upwards in a small smile of what appeared to strangely be apperception.

I stared at her for a long, bewildering moment, searching her eyes, oblivious now to Hel’s idiotic grin. There was something in the back of my mind suddenly, clawing its way to the forefront, screaming to be recognized, and when it hit me the useless breath left my lungs and the darkness in my mind receded and I knew her.

I was across the room in seconds, a warmth like I had not felt in so long blooming inside me, filling my stomach and chest and limbs as I enfolded her into my arms, heard my name fall from her now trembling lips followed by a sob of what I recognized as happiness.

I tangled my fingers in her hair, pulling so I could see her face, her lovely, wonderful, beautiful face, the most beautiful face I had ever seen, and I was kissing her lips, her nose, her forehead and eyelids and chin, anywhere I could reach.

She smiled and pulled me close as I buried my face into her neck, breathing her in. She did not smell like she always had, but then again could I even remember? She only smelled cold, if cold had a smell—even her hair did not smell like anything.

“Stjarna,” I said, grinning widely, feeling my own eyes sting with tears. I could not think to stammer anything but her name, her name which to my eternal regret I had almost forgotten. “Stjarna, Stjarna…”

I pulled back to look at her again and saw tears streaming down her face, and it was only then when I finally registered the deadly pallor of her skin. My brows furrowed in concern as I gently ran my thumb over her cool, wet cheek.

“Stjarna?”

I turned to Hel, anger rising suddenly in me like a wave.

“Why is she here?” I demanded furiously. It was a leap, but with how shrewdly Hel had been smirking, presenting Stjarna to me as a “gift,” led me to believe she’d had something to do with this.

Hel quirked an eyebrow. “She died, obviously.”

I stared at her.

“No, Loki,” Stjarna said, and her voice sent a rivulet of pleasure through me, momentarily quelling the anger inside me. She took my face in her hands and I couldn’t tear my eyes from hers, shiny with tears. “I was in Vanaheim—”

“Vanaheim? Why were you in Vanaheim?”

“I…” she faltered, appearing almost pained. “After you killed Freyja, Valdrlund demanded recompense. Thor had no choice…”

“I don’t understand…”

Her lips trembled. “I was… I was the recompense, Loki…”

“Thor gave you to him?” I growled, gritting my teeth.

“He had to,” she said sadly. “I did not want to go, but there was nothing to be done. Valdrlund threatened war.”

Suddenly, something awful took form in my mind, banishing this warmth inside and filling me instead with this cold dread.

“Did he… what did he…” I placed my hands on hers on my cheeks, staring at her in worry.

“I did it, Loki,” Stjarna said, managing a quivering smile. “I killed him.”

My lips parted in surprise.

“We were… we were…” she glanced down now, reluctant to speak. “He insulted you and I grew so angry, Loki, for all he had done and I… I…”

“Oh, Stjarna,” I breathed, closing my eyes and pressing my forehead to hers, worry churning sickeningly inside me. “Did they hurt you?”

“No. They were going to execute me, but…” Stjarna’s large grey eyes flickered over to Hel, who tilted her head and shrewdly curtsied when acknowledged.

“Hel?”

“I paid her a little visit in prison,” Hel explained nonchalantly. “It was no trouble.”

So that was where Hel had been this morning.

I turned back to Stjarna, knowing not whether to feel rage for her having died by the hands of my daughter, or joy for her standing here with me.

“You may go,” Hel said, not bothering to mask her arrogant smile, as I took Stjarna’s hand and led her out. “I’m sure you two have a lot to catch up on.”

Her harsh laughter rang out as the doors closed resoundingly behind us.

__

I could not stop looking at her, even as I led her slowly and aimlessly around Eljudnir.

I was remembering every aspect of her features, both saddened and upset with myself that I could have dared to forget any part of her. Her laugh, her smile, the way her hand felt against me or lips upon mine.

It was as if something had opened up inside me, something I could not explain, and every waking moment from then on I needed to be with her, to remind me of the light and love I had lost and so desperately wanted back, everything I had forgotten and wanted to remember.

I had Stjarna recount to me everything that had happened since my death, which I learned had been less than two years ago. Stjarna possessed a much heartier memory than I had when I had come here, but I suspected it had something to do with the way she had died and Hel being the one to have personally brought her here to Helheim.

As she spoke I studied her face, the way her lips formed every syllable, her hand movements, and I was conjuring memories I believed to have been permanently buried or even gone. The tiniest details began to emerge from my subconscious with every word and I wanted to be angry for all that had transpired after my death to my beloved Vana, and that we should be reunited in such a dreadful place, but I could hardly evoke the emotion with her standing so real in front of me, all smiles and void of any negativity.

She was here now, and we were together again.

“Tell me of this place,” Stjarna said as we walked around the edge of the palace, lacing her fingers with mine. “Hel did not say much.”

And so I told her of Helheim, a bleak and lonely realm divided into nine regions where the dead resided, domed by a sky that wasn’t a sky, but still by some magic gave the appearance of night and day. I spoke of our life here, and much in the same way Hel had explained everything to me when I had come here.

How these forms we possessed were not our actual bodies, but what was left of our souls manifested physically here. We still behaved like the living—eating, drinking, carousing, and even breathing, despite the fact we did not need to.

I laughed when Stjarna tried it and was startled upon realizing she did not have to actually breathe, but preferred to like the rest of us to retain some semblance of our life.

Inevitably, she inquired about Hel and Angrboda.

At that point we were headed back to my chambers, having inadvertently explored most of the grounds.

“Hel is queen here.”

“And she is your daughter.”

“Yes.”

“By Angrboda?”

“Yes.”

Stjarna was quiet for a long moment.

“Hel told me Angrboda was here, as well.”

I nodded, not really wanting to speak of Angrboda for the shame coursing through me now. Could I bear to tell her I had taken up with my giantess again? But of course I could not stay with Angrboda.

I did not speak on it.

“These are my chambers,” I announced when we finally reached them. I opened the door, praying Angrboda was elsewhere.

Stjarna entered and I shut the door behind me and quietly locked it, in case Angrboda decided to drop in any time soon. I’d have to find her later, tell her we were done. I almost found it surprising, how entirely I had devoted myself to her, and seemingly felt nothing now that Stjarna was here. Angrboda would not be pleased with my fleeting emotions.

Stjarna walked around, quietly studying my rooms.

“It is similar to your chambers on Asgard,” she remarked softly.

My eyes followed her as she continued her slow, investigatory procession around the room, touching various things. I was surprised somewhat at her comment, that here she should remember so trivial a fact, though it was strangely comforting to hear those words.

“Some things are different, though it is much the same,” she observed, wandering out to the balcony. “I will get used to it, though.”

“You will, as did I,” I answered, coming up behind her to wrap my arms around her waist.

“Are you happy here, Loki?”

“I am now,” I replied, kissing her cheek from behind.

“It almost does not seem real,” she mused somberly, leaning into me. “I did not think I would ever see you again.”

I only kissed her, hopefully offering some comfort, and unwilling to admit I had nearly forgotten her. I wondered if I had ever been this ashamed in my previous life. I doubted it.

“I am glad Hel brought me here, though,” Stjarna continued, turning in my arms to face me. She cupped my face and lifted up on her toes to gently kiss my lips. “It matters not where I am, as long as I am with you.”

I grinned, soaking up her words, and did not think I could wait any longer.

Stjarna giggled knowingly as I pulled her backwards into my chambers, drawing her tight against me so I could rain kisses eagerly across her face. She just as fervently returned my affections, and we lay together for the first time in seemingly forever, and in the end it was as if nothing had changed between us, save for the ceasing of our hearts.

My Stjarna was so different from Angrboda. There was something in her kisses not present in Angrboda’s, warmth in her eyes instead of cold pitilessness, the way she gasped my name so filled with reverence, clutching at me as if I was the source of her existence, and how afterwards when we lay breathless, still entwined, she enfolded herself into me and told me how much she loved me.

Since neither of us wished to be anywhere but here with the other, Stjarna and I remained in my chambers the rest of the afternoon and all through the evening and night—talking, joking, reminiscing and making love. It was the happiest I had been since I could remember, and in those moments could not imagine what possibly might come next. But for now, I hardly cared.

__

Some days passed, all of them in a haze.

I came to peace quite quickly with Stjarna’s arrival. Of course I was delighted to have her with me again, but initially had hardly known who to be furious with. Valdrlund for daring to claim her and abuse her, or Thor for sending her off to Vanaheim in the first place; Hel for bringing Stjarna here, or Stjarna for being more than happy to die to be with me again.

Stjarna assured me repeatedly that all was well and she was happy, when I began to think of it and would grow angry all over again. Eventually, I tried to not think of it like that, and only considered the fact that Stjarna was here with me again.

Hel thought it all quite amusing, commenting laughingly that she would never have expected me to behave in such a manner. I cared not, though—Stjarna was here and was all I could think of. We spent every waking moment together.

One day I was strolling around the grounds with Stjarna. A dry breeze was blowing, occasionally whipping up the dusty ground.

“Loki?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes, anything.”

Stjarna appeared reluctant and we stopped.

“Is Valdrlund here?”

I was silent for a moment.

“Hel explained it to me like this. All are equal here, no matter what we were in our past life. He is here, but he likely does not remember any of his past life. If he does, he will soon forget it.”

“Why do I not?” she asked curiously. “I have heard this, but I remember everything.”

I looked up, thinking.

“Perhaps it was the way you died. I will admit, Stjarna, I was forgetting much of my life until you came here. Oddly enough you being with me now reminds me of much of it.”

She smiled. “That is a good thing?”

I grinned at her and took her hand in mine, continuing to walk. “That is a very good thing.”

“My parents are here, aren’t they?”

“Yes, as are mine.”

I had thought of them, Frigga and Odin. Sometimes it pained me to think they were here, that though we might be so close, I might never see them, and they might not even remember me. It seemed amazing how drastically things had changed, and how much initially I had forgotten even of them. I knew in my life I had loved and revered Odin, and at one time reviled him, but nothing seemed so important anymore. I knew if I could, I might embrace him again if I saw him, and my mother…

“I wonder if they found one another here,” Stjarna wondered. “I wonder if they are happy.”

I knew not how to reply to that, and Stjarna appeared saddened.

By now we had reached the training grounds. There was not a soul in sight, but then again there never was unless I was training.

“Is there war here?” Stjarna asked, gazing inquisitively at a weapon rack.

“No. The most conflict in this place is between individuals.”

“So why did you build this?”

“I was bored.”

Stjarna laughed. “Well, I am glad there is a library. I never thought there would be a library in the realm of the dead.”

I smiled, but Stjarna wasn’t looking at me anymore. I followed her suddenly somber gaze across the training yard and my guts immediately tightened.

Standing serenely by herself on the path on the other side of the yard, and staring at us, was Angrboda.

I highly doubted she had been strolling around Eljudnir by herself and just so happened to end up at the training ground the same time as us.

“Is that Angrboda?” Stjarna asked softly.

I looked at her, almost not wishing to admit it.

“Yes.”

Stjarna gave a small nod and did not resist as I hooked her arm with mine and turned us to continue our walk in the direction we had just come from.

Having them speak was the last thing I wanted, if only to spare Stjarna the sordid details I knew Angrboda would only be too happy to divulge.

__

A few days later, there was a meeting of representatives.

I slipped out of bed, readied, and kissed Stjarna before leaving. She stretched, smiling at me as I told her I would be gone for a few hours, but I would be back soon.

The meeting was boring, as usual. Nothing of interest, though Hel did snap at Gaumr when he interrupted her and spoke a little too sharply to another representative.

Afterwards, I headed back to my chambers, eager to slip back into bed with Stjarna.

I rounded a corner and was only momentarily surprised to see Angrboda leaning against a column, obviously waiting for me.

“Good morning,” she purred, eyes locked on me. By her expression it did not appear to truly be a good morning.

“Angrboda,” I coolly acknowledged.

“This might be a bit of a leap, Loki, but… I do think you’ve been avoiding me.”

“You’re just now noticing that?” I dismissed, going to brush past her.

“Busy with that new plaything of yours?”

I stopped, unable to help the smile that spread involuntarily across my face.

“Are you jealous, darling?” I smirked, turning with somewhat of an arrogant flourish.

The corner of her lips twitched, but then she returned my smile and sauntered deliberately up to me.

“Why would I be jealous, Loki? I know she cannot possibly satisfy you as I did.”

I laughed, amused at the notion, when Angrboda stepped closer and placed her hand on my chest.

“You don’t look at her like you do me, I see it.”

“Then you are blind as well as ignorant,” I retorted. “There is no one I look at as I do you, but it is not with what you want, Angrboda.”

“So what were all of those heated declarations, Loki? When you told me you loved me and I was all there was?”

“Chalk it up to my being drunk on death, darling,” I replied tautly.

Angrboda was not amused.

“Would she see it as such?” she asked, running her fingers down my arm.

I pulled away, vaguely annoyed.

“You do not love her as you do me.”

“You’re right,” I replied, attempting somewhat to mask my true emotion. It almost pained me to admit it, but some part of me loved Angrboda. I had admitted it to myself long ago, and to her multiple times, in the dark of the night and clouded in lust and headiness, but it was not the type of love I held for Stjarna. It was a love I was more than willing to leave to die.

“Why do you partake in this foolishness?” she demanded, suddenly heated, when I went to turn, realizing she was losing whatever was left of this useless conversation. “Why do you waste your time on that Vana wench?”

“I am not wasting my time,” I retorted. “But you are. You and I, we’re through.”

Angrboda’s brows slightly lifted, but other than that there was nothing else to betray her emotion.

“You spurn me for her?”

“It was always her, Angrboda,” I replied, somewhat exasperated. “I—”

“You think Hel did you a favor, Loki?” Angrboda snarled, baring her sharpened teeth. “You think she did this out of love?”

“Absolutely not,” I responded immediately, unwilling to fall into Angrboda’s baiting. “Whatever manifests itself in Hel is not love.”

I had not spoken much to Hel since Stjarna’s arrival here in Helheim, but then again had been pretty much taken up with Stjarna and been able to think of little else. I did not dismiss Angrboda’s accusation, though. I had no doubt Hel had done this simply to spite her mother, whom she hated.

“Of course she killed your lover only to torment me.”

“What, can you not to stand to lose me, Angrboda?” I laughed. “It is almost comical. You finally have me after so long, and now I’m snatched away again.”

That must’ve been the wrong thing to say to an angry giantess; I did not flinch or recoil as she came quickly forward and roughly took a fistful of my tunic in her hands, pulling me close.

“Are you spited, love?” I taunted.

She pressed her lips together, black eyes narrowed dangerously.

“You think me jealous of that her, Loki? She is naught more than a distraction.”

“From what?” I goaded.

“Your true purpose.”

I chuckled, realizing. Angrboda believed Hel had given Stjarna to me to prevent Angrboda’s grand scheme for me, one of the reasons she had gifted me the sword Laevantinn. Occupied these past days with Stjarna, I had practically forgotten Angrboda’s lust for me to go to war for her against the world, to lead an army of the dead against those who had wronged her.

“You laugh, but you cannot see,” she spat.

“And what is it that I do not see?” I asked tightly, reaching to disentangle her fingers from my tunic.

“Your destiny,” Angrboda growled. “Fucking her will not stop it.”

“The only destiny you hope for me will never come to be,” I said firmly. “And whatever there is left of it, you are no longer a part of it.”

I turned to leave, but before I could make it even a step, abruptly I felt Angrboda’s iron grip on my shoulder and she jerked me backwards and spun me around to confront her fury.

“You will not spurn me for that Vana whore!”

“Do not touch me, Angrboda,” I bit out, any semblance of restraint vanished with her hostility towards Stjarna.

“Do not think that I won’t—”

But before Angrboda could spit another word out, my hand was around her throat and her back to the wall. I dug my fingers into her neck, pressing the length of my forearm firmly against her front to keep her still.

“You will stay away from her,” I growled, staring fixedly into the angry, inky blackness of her eyes. “If you dare to touch her, I will kill you, and not even our daughter will be able to save you.”

Her gaze was cold, wrathful.

“Only for you, lover.”

I remained motionless, debating on whether to describe to her in lurid detail the endless agony I might inflict on her if she were to carry out any harm against Stjarna, but then I had no doubt Angrboda already had some idea what might befall her if she were to proceed with any part of her vengeful deliberations.

I roughly released her, turned on my heel, and returned to my chambers, where I found Stjarna still sleeping peacefully.

__

A few days later, Stjarna and I were relaxing in my chambers.

We had spent nearly the entire morning in bed before requesting for food to be brought. The remains of our little midday meal lay on my table. I lounged in bed, finishing a glass of dark red wine. For the realm of the dead, Helheim’s vineyard produced remarkably delicious wines.

Stjarna was standing at the open window, a fairly sheer robe wrapped around her, hands poised lightly on the sill. Soon after Stjarna’s arrival, I had requested of Hel a wardrobe made for Stjarna. I would not have my lover dressed here forever in her death shroud. She was staring outside, watching the rain fall and turning the already barren landscape even greyer.

“It rains here,” Stjarna murmured.

“Yes, I believe there is some enchantment over this place,” I replied from the bed. “It certainly does help with the monotony.”

“I’m glad it rains,” she said. In her voice I detected a hint of sadness, so I set the glass of wine on the bedside table and got up to stand behind her. I wrapped my arms around Stjarna and she melted into my embrace.

“Why do you like that it rains?” I inquired.

She shrugged.

“It is just something else like up there.”

“Ah,” I said, somewhat uncertainly. Then, tentatively, masking the tinge of worry, “Are you unhappy here?”

“No,” she replied, turning in my arms. She cupped my face in her hands and offered me a small, reassuring smile. “I am simply thinking about my family.”

“Konavefr and Dreyma and the boys?” I offered. I suspected Stjarna’s step-mother and sister-in-law and nephews still resided in Asgard.

She nodded. “I wonder if they… if they know…”

I kissed her forehead. “There’s no way to tell, but I’d suspect not.”

She gave a little nod and let her hands fall slowly to my chest. “It is almost comforting to know that.”

“I am sorry,” I murmured.

“It cannot be helped,” she replied with a small smile. “I am only grateful we are together again.”

I placed a gentle kiss on her lips, then her nose, and swallowed.

“Stjarna?”

“Hmm?” She murmured, leaning into me and moving her hands around my sides to my back.

I hesitated.

Shortly after Stjarna had arrived here in Helheim, and we had begun reminiscing over all that happened, I had recalled that shortly before my death, I had asked Stjarna to marry me. I had not spoken of it, but constantly it was nagging at the back of my mind.

But I could remember now Stjarna’s reaction in Asgard, and did not hesitate now.

“Will you marry me?”

There was a brief silence, then she pulled back to stare at me. Her lips were parted in surprise and I grinned amusedly, moving to grab her hands and lace her fingers with mine.

“We were not able to get quite that far, if you remember…”

“I remember,” she whispered, lips curling into a smile. “You still want to marry me?”

At that, I burst into laughter.

“What kind of question is that? Of course I still want to marry you, Stjarna. I always wanted to, I was just too stupid to realize it for most of the time.”

Stjarna echoed my laughter and it was music to my ears.

“Yes, Loki, I will marry you.”