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waiting4inspiration · 4 years ago

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Tell Them II (Ivar x reader)

Summary: Confessing the secrets you kept doesn’t go so well for you and you learn that you’ve trusted the wrong person. Ivar says he’ll never love again, but might it be because he still love you?

Warnings: oh boy, angsty, little fluff, mentions of murder, mentions of torture, mentions of blood, strong language, mentions of whipping, I feel like I’m missing something...

Word Count: 3,763

A/n: I took inspiration from the song I’ll never love again by Lady Gaga. You can listen to it while or before reading this if you want to.

Part 1 Here II Vikings Masterlist

The King has been like a father to you since you joined him as his spy. It is why you are allowed to call him by name - Weset - on almost all occasions and why there’s no real formality between you and him. It’s why when he found you crying, actually crying, in your chambers that night that you confessed your heart out to him. And in doing so, told him all the things you kept secret from your original report.

It’s why you ride next to him in the morning to meet Ivar and his brothers in a clearing to discuss everything that wasn’t said last night.

The stern look on your face has everyone fooled. No one would think that you cried through the night or that you barely got any sleep. It probably helps that there are a bit of clouds covering the sun to hide the redness of your eyes. Even Ivar is impressed at the stone-cold expression on your face as you walk towards him and his brothers after dismounting your horse.

You glance up at Ivar for a moment when you come to a stop a few feet from him and his brother, but you find that he’s not looking at you. Instead, he has his eyes fixed on King Weset and the two guards behind him. That’s when you look up at Hvitserk who is looking at you. All he does is shake his head; as if to tell you that Ivar’s not handling what happened well.

“Let’s not drag this out for too long, King Ivar,” Weset starts. You know it’s because he knows what he wants and doesn’t want to waste time getting to it. “I know you are here to form an alliance. And who wouldn’t want to be in cohorts with the Sons of Ragnar Lothbrok? But I must ask what I will be getting out of the alliance.”

This is where you get bored. You never enjoyed the bargaining, the deal being made between Kings, Jarls, or any other man. It might be because you always know how it’s going to turn out because the person on the other side of the stick is the one that you were told to study and you know what they’ll be willing to give up.

With Ivar, you don’t have the heart to think about that. If what he said last night is true, then you know that there is nothing Weset can do to make him look like a fool.

“What is it that you’re looking to get out of it?” Ivar asks back as he shifts in his seat, his voice cold and almost snappy. You’re the only one that knows that it’s the wrong response for King Weset.

The King beside you chuckles making your head turn up to him as he shakes his head. “Perhaps now is the time I tell you that I know far more about you than I did last night,” Weset states, his words making your heart drop in your chest and your head to turn to Ivar.

Ivar glares at you. He knows now that you did as he said. You told Weset everything you kept secret including your relation with him. You revealed the weaknesses no one has ever found out because the only one that figured it out was you. Because he allowed you to.

But Weset’s next words aren’t ones that you ever expected to hear. “Seize her.”

“What?”

You and Ivar question at the same time just before the two guards behind Weset move behind you and grab your arms. Hvitserk and Ubbe pull out their weapons but are stopped by Ivar as he raises his hand, his eyes narrowing at Weset and his body leaning a bit forward. “You see, Ivar the Boneless, I have your heart,” Weset states, holding his hand out to gesture to you while you continue fighting to get out of the guards’ grip. “And if I don’t have an offer from you tomorrow, I will break it.”

Looking over to Ivar with wide eyes that now start to well up with tears, you see his eyes flicker over to you for a moment before he looks back at Weset. He gulps, grips the arm of his chair tightly, and breathes out a long breath. “You would never kill your best spy,” Ivar says, calling the bluff he thinks Weset is pulling.

“Did I say kill?” Weset laughs as he takes a few steps forward, you struggling against the grip of the two guards now stopped as you watch what’s happening in front of you. “When the sunsets today, you’ll hear her screaming for mercy. Mark my words. Maybe it will make you think of an offer quicker,” he mentions, your eyes growing wide in terror when he turns back around to you.

The guards lead you to your horse and force you to climb onto it while holding the reins to make sure you don’t decide to escape. “You son of a bitch,” you sneer at Weset when he mounts his horse.

He gives you a sly smile before ordering his horse forward, you and the two guards following. In a last effort of help, you turn your head over your shoulder to look back at Ivar sitting in his seat.

He’s staring at you with, dare you say it, worry in his eyes.

You weren’t placed in a cell like you thought you would be, considering that your King had you seized a few moments ago. Instead, you were taken back to your room as if nothing happened. Weset closes the door behind him, sighs as he walks towards you but you slowly step away from him until your back hits the wall.

“I trusted you,” you sneer, pressing your hands against the wooden wall and your teeth grinding together as he continues to walk closer to you.

“A big mistake,” he chuckles, stops when he’s just about in front of you and folds his hands in front of me. “Did you really think I wouldn’t expect something like this to happen sometime? You’re a woman. It was bound to happen that you would fall in love with one of my targets. How fitting that it would be the almighty-”

“Shut up!” you shout, push yourself off the wall to rush across the room to put more distance between you and him. “I told you the secrets of my heart and you’re using it against me? Against him?” Your voice breaks as you speak, your chest heaving as you try to push down the feeling of your heart being ripped apart. Again.

Weset rolls his eyes at you and takes one step forward. “Don’t make such a big deal of it,” he murmurs, turns to the pitcher of water on the table and lifts it to pour some water into a cup. “When the sun rises tomorrow, you will be a better spy with no one holding you back,” he says, lifting the cup to his lips and takes a sip as you frown up at him. “You’ll never love anyone again.”

You’re shocked at his words because they were the words you used when you poured your heart out to him.

“Even if Ivar gives you an offer?” you softly question, your head dropping between your shoulders and your gaze staring at your hands that you fold in front of you. You feel like a complete and utter idiot for falling into love with Ivar and then for telling Weset all the truth. You should have kept that to yourself. It was the right choice in the beginning and you fucked up.

Weset chuckles, places the cup back on the table and walks towards you. “Whatever that cripple offers won’t be what I want,” he states, your head snapping up in defense when you hear him calling Ivar ‘cripple’. You’ve often defended Ivar when someone called him that when you were in Kattegat, and you can’t help but want to carry on with that now. “I think the title of King of Kattegat will do good for my reputation.”

He plans to kill Ivar, you can see it in his eyes. You can see the thought turn in his mind and you can’t believe that you were so blind in the sorrow of your heartache to notice that. When he reaches out to touch your cheek, you take a step away from him and shake your head. “You have a choice here, (Y/n),” he begins, his hand that had the intention of touching you curling into a fist as he takes a step closer. “Obey me and help me now and I’ll spare your life. You can be the greatest spy anyone has ever seen. And maybe, I can make you more than a spy,” he offers.

Your mouth drops in shock as you take a step away from him. You can’t believe all this is happening because you did as Ivar told you to do. You told Weset everything you didn’t- everything you wouldn’t tell him. Shaking your head, you drop your head and close your eyes to stop the tears from leaving them. “I stand by what I said last night,” you say, trying with all your might to sound confident even if there is a small break in your voice when you lift your gaze up at him again.

Weset sighs, shakes his head in disappointment and bites his lower lip as he shrugs his shoulders. “Well, that’s a shame.”

Then, he brings the back of his hand across your face, sending you to the ground and yelping in pain when his royal ring cuts straight across your cheek. And before you can push yourself up, he grabs you by the collar and starts dragging you across the floor towards the door.

You know exactly where he’s taking you.

The camp is silent. It has been ever since the screaming started. People only know who’s screams they are because Hvitserk let it slip and the news spread like wildfire around the camp. It suddenly became a question of why they chose to set up camp so close to Weset’s holding.

It’s screams of torture. Everyone knows that. And when it sounds like they’re finished, the screams start again a few moments later. They can only imagine what must be happening to cause the bone-chilling sound.

Ivar can’t stand thinking about that. He knows it’s you. He knows from Weset’s words earlier that day, but he didn’t actually think he’d carry them out. Ivar thought that you were like a precious jewel to Weset and that he would never harm you. Apparently, he thought wrong. Even though he told you that he was ready for anything, he definitely was not ready to hear your screams echo through the sky.

It’s been quiet for a while now and Ivar hasn’t even thought of something to offer Weset. All he could think about were the times he cherished with you. The moments he could look into your eyes and feel as if he was in Valhalla already. Times where he thought that there was nothing you could do to break his heart because of how much he loved you.

The times where he was a fool to let someone get so close to him.

“You have to do something about this, Ivar,” Ubbe demands as he barges into the tent a few moments after the screaming started again. This time, it’s clear that the person screaming is in tears too.

Ivar glances up to Ubbe with a cold look on his face and folds his arms over his chest as he leans back in his seat. “I have to do something? Why must I do anything about this?” he asks back with a sneer, tilts his head to the side as he narrows his eyes at his older brother.

“Because you were talking about making her your wife not so long ago and you still love her no matter what you say,” Ubbe responds quickly, moving closer to Ivar when he rolls his eyes. “Don’t deny it, Ivar. You say you won’t love again because you are still in love with her-”

“She was a spy. Or weren’t you paying attention, Ubbe?” Ivar snaps at him, aiming to make him back off. But he doesn’t. Ubbe just stands there, arms folded over his chest and a raised eyebrow on his face.

Sighing, Ivar pushes himself off his seat and to the ground so he can leave this conversation seeing as Ubbe won’t leave it to an end. “She loved you,” Ubbe says, making Ivar freeze and stare at the ground. “We all could see that she did. And maybe she still does. She might have been a spy, but her affections weren’t an act before she left.”

Ivar’s jaw tenses at his brother’s words as his head drops between his shoulders. It’s quiet between them for a moment before Ubbe sighs, shakes his head to himself, and turns to walk out of the tent, leaving Ivar alone at the realization that the conversation won’t go anywhere from there.

Turning over so he can sit, he stares at his hands as Ubbe’s cursed words float around in his mind. It’s hard to pin-point the moment your faked affection became true. If Ubbe says that everyone could see you loved him, then he can’t say that you didn’t. And though he can’t pinpoint the moment, he does remember that glimmer in your eyes suddenly changing the one day. He remembers it, can’t say when that happened.

Then, he finds himself playing through the memories of the times he’s spent with you. The time where you bested his brother in a duel with a smile on your face. The time where he would stare into your eyes as you told him stories that he doesn’t know now how true they are, but he was still lost in them. The times where you would make him feel like any other man other there and like he could do anything.

He’s so caught up in these memories that he doesn’t realize your screams have stopped, that it’s been quiet for way too long before there’s a commotion in the camp until someone barges into the tent, urgently calling his name and looking at him as if he had seen the Goddess Hel herself.

“It’s (Y/n).”

The last time your eyes were open, you were begging for the pain to end with tear-stained cheeks and your feet barely keeping you standing. You were counting on the chains around your wrists that had you bound to a pillar from keeping you off the ground. And you remember the pain rising up inside you like a heatwave before everything went black.

There are small things you remember, but it’s almost like they’re part of a dream. The man who stands in front of your room, guarding it at night and the chambermaid you’ve formed a small friendship with; both sneaking you through hallways and out of Weset’s holding.

Now, you’re lying on your stomach, in a place you’ve never seen, a tent you’ve never been in. You know your back is open from the gentle dabbing of material again your wounds. Each gentle touch makes you remember how you received the cut and the ‘crack’ that comes with it. It makes tears fill your eyes and you whimper in pain as you turn your face into the pillow your head rests on.

Turning your head to the side, you see bloodied cloths that has been tossed to the side. You don’t need to be told it’s your blood, but the thought only makes you cry more. The healer thinks your sobs are from the pain and tries to comfort you, but no one can heal the true pain you feel.

All this happened because you fell in love. If this is what happens when you love, you don’t want to love again. Even though you know that this is Weset’s intention, you will easily let him win.

The frantic buzz around you seems to die down but the healer continues to work on the lashes on your back. You feel eyes on you, running up and down your broken skin as a familiar sound makes your eyes squeeze tightly shut. The sound of someone crawling on the ground, dragging their lower body behind them.

You know it’s Ivar.

What Ivar doesn’t know as he makes his way closer towards you is that you’re awake. He thinks you're unconscious, considering the number of wounds he counted on your back... Gods know how many others there are.

Your skin is clammy, but it’s the tear on your cheek that has Ivar’s attention and it’s the reason he reaches up to touch your face. You jump at his touch and your eyes snap open. They’re red. Ivar hates that because it knows that it means you have been crying.

“Ivar,” you whisper as he moves away from you. And what you thought would be affection turns into hostility. His face changes, reminding you that he hates you. He doesn’t love you and why should he? You were caught up in the happy memories you had with him to remember that all that is now in the past.

“What are you doing here, (Y/n)?” he questions, pulling his legs in front of him as he sits, his arms then folding over his chest as he glares at you with those cold eyes.

You shake your head, because you don’t exactly know what you are doing here. You exactly know how you got here in the first place. “Weset is planning on killing you no matter what offer you give him,” a voice says at the entrance of the tent, making both yours and Ivar’s head turn. It’s your guard, the one you vaguely remember sneaking you out the holding. “He’ll attack tomorrow at dusk.”

Ivar rolls his eyes, which you catch. “It’s true, Ivar,” you whisper, knowing that Ivar doesn’t trust the word of a stranger. But maybe you can convince him. “Weset wants to be King of Kattegat and he won’t stop at anything to get what he wants,” you add, his eyes shifting up to you.

“And you will walk away unharmed-”

“He’ll kill me too,” you cut him off, so used to being able to freely speak to him without any repercussions. But when he narrows his eyes at you, you immediately shrink into yourself, quietly hissing as the healer starts to apply some kind of paste to your wounds.

Ivar scoffs at your words, chuckles to himself as he shifts in his spot. “Weset would never kill his beloved spy,” he hisses, glaring at you and making your heart break a bit. “You’re lying. Again. And I’m sick of your lies,” he states as he moves to leave.

“Do you want to know what I told him?” you question. He stops, slowly looks at you and you shift so that your eyes meet his. “Yes, I told him everything I didn’t tell him as you told me I should. But do you know what else I confessed to him that made him realize I’m really your weakness and you’re mine?”

He doesn’t say anything, but you can see that he wants to know. He wants you to tell him. He’s not sure if you should with the healer and a few other people still in the tent, but you don’t seem to care as you slowly lift yourself onto your arms, lifting your head off the pillow you’ve cried into. “When I first met you, it wasn’t my intention to fall in love with you. I was supposed to get close, be a friend, someone you trusted. But I never thought I’d find myself lying in your arms, completely in love with you,” you confess, making Ivar breathe in deeply and his hands tightly curling into a fist.

“I thought that after leaving Kattegat, I’d move on, but I couldn’t get you out of my mind. It became so bad that I never want to feel anyone else’s touch,” you continue, your voice breaking slightly as tears start to build up in your eyes. “I don’t want to start something with anyone else, I don’t want to know what it’s like to kiss someone else, or have another’s name falling off my lips.”

Ivar swallows deeply at your words, at the tears that fall down your cheeks, and at the quiver in your words. “I don’t want to love anyone else. And I will never love again, because I’m still in love with you.”

“You say you won’t love again because you are still in love with her.” Ubbe’s words come back to Ivar after you’ve spoken, making his head drop between his shoulders as his eyes stare at his hands as the words in his mind replay over and over.

He doesn’t say anything. You’ve confessed your love in front of a handful of other people and Ivar doesn’t say anything. It makes your heart sink in your chest and the hope that he says something similar to what you had said fades away. “I wish I didn’t break your heart or your trust,” you whisper as you fall back onto your stomach.

This time, you turn your head away from him to hide the growing tears in your eyes. You fear that looking at him longer will break your heart past repair.

Ivar stares at the back of your head, licks his lips as he swallows past the dry lump in his throat before he moves to exit the tent again. No one makes eye contact with him or says anything. Before he leaves, he stops for a moment and turns his head over his shoulder to look at you.

His gaze falls on your hand as the healer moves your arms to rest at your sides. He remembers how you used to run your fingers through his hair, how he loved that. “I’ll never love anyone else because of you,” he softly says, but in the quiet, you hear his words.

It’s what he said to you the previous night, when he told you to confess the secrets you’ve been keeping from your King. But they have a different meaning this time. You can tell from his voice and from the way his eyes soften when you turn your head to look back at him.

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fuchsiagrasshopper · 4 years ago

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Falling Together Part I

Author’s Note: After receiving such kind words from Tall Tale, I had another idea that I ran with. There will be a part two, so if you want to be added to the tag list for this as well as future works to come, please let me know.

Summary: You enter into an arranged marriage with Ivar, a marriage of convenience, but can you both come together to make it more?

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word Count: 3137

Warnings: Language, mild angst

"You need to fuck your wife, brother."

Those were the words that came out of Hvitserk's mouth after they had been sitting in silence. How he longed for better advice from Ubbe, but his eldest brother remained back in Kattegat with Torvi. They had parted as equals, peace finally coming to the sons of Ragnar. For Ivar, Kattegat held only pain and misery, so he had taken to the sea with a handful of ships and a map to Ireland, and once again Hvitserk had chosen to remain at his side. He didn't know what inspired such loyalty from his brother, but he was grateful for his company, most days. Today was not one of them.

"Are you listening, Ivar? I said--"

"Yes, I heard you," Ivar interjected before he could repeat himself. "I'm just choosing to ignore your advice."

Hvitserk shrugged as he pulled meat off of a chicken bone with his teeth. "Alright, but you know I'm right. She's going to want someone to warm her bed eventually, and she won't wait around for it to be you."

"Christian women don't like sex," Ivar said with a huff.

"Not the ones I've been with," Hvitserk said, smirking around a mouthful of meat. "They don't like sex with devout Christian men, but we are not such men."

Ivar frowned into his mug of ale as he thought about you. You were his wife in name only, an alliance forged with your father for lands in the first few weeks they had arrived in Ireland. The wedding had been small, in accordance with Viking tradition, not Christian. You weren't as devout as the Saxons of England, but you had insisted on keeping your cross.

There was no love in your marriage. At first you had appeared hopeful if not reluctant to be sharing in this union, but as many moons had passed, you'd begun to realize you were alone in your efforts. Ivar didn't hate you, even if you were a Christian, but he did not want to be in love again, not after Freydis. She was everything he had ever wanted, and she had betrayed him.

"Why the sudden interest in what goes on in my marriage?" Ivar said, setting down his mug as he watched Hvitserk.

"I'm sure King Conall will be starting to wonder about grandchildren soon," said Hvitserk, leaning back in his chair. "And you have a pretty wife. Others have taken notice already, and she might start to consider picking one. Women don't like to be lonely."

Ivar scowled, hating the apprehension his brother's words stirred up. "She is free to take a lover if she wishes." His voice wavered. Even he didn't believe himself.

"You have changed, Ivar, but not enough that I don't believe you wouldn't kill the man she was with."

Hvitserk wasn't wrong. He still lacked self-confidence as far as women were concerned, and he would take it as a personal slight if you humped some lesser warrior in his army. You never voiced any discontent in his presence, and Ivar was sure he would notice any man becoming too enamored with you.

He rose from his throne, a sudden need to get away from the doubts that the turn in conversation had brought up. Hvitserk looked at him with a grin while folding his arms back behind his head.

"Going to take care of your wife?"

"Be silent," Ivar grumbled. "My marriage is a solid alliance. There's nothing that needs fixing."

"If it's as you say, then forget what I said," said Hvitserk, returning his attention to his plate of food.

Ivar growled as he started for his chambers. He hated not getting the last word in, but nothing he could have said would've proven Hvitserk wrong. Truthfully, he knew little about you or how you spent your days. When he was preoccupied with the duties of ruling, you were off amongst the people, though not without a guard. Ivar was surprised that you had taken an active role in being Queen. Freydis never had, nor had his mother. Your father was a great King, and you must have studied under his exemplary tutelage.

His crutch ticked down the corridor with each slow step, the damp causing his legs to stiffen. Ireland was greener than Norway, but the warmth of the sun would disappear for days behind a wall of grey cloud that brought heavy rain. The long torrents left him miserable with agony, something he fought to conceal from his men.

He leaned on the door as he came into his room, the fire low since the last time it had been tended to by a slave. The bed was empty. This had remained the same since the wedding night. There was a smaller room attached to his main chambers, meant to be used for any future children you birthed. Instead it had become your own personal wing, with no one growing wise to the fact that you slept away from your marital bed.

Ivar slept better alone. The space allowed for him to shift about if the pain became unbearable. Tonight was different. He couldn't keep his eyes from the door to your chamber, even as he eased himself down onto the furs. Reaching for his crutch, he rose again, letting out a low hiss as he forced his body forward. Just one peek would be enough to satisfy him.

Ivar doubted you'd bring any man to your room, as it meant you'd have to drag them past his bed first. Hvitserk's comments had burrowed into his head however, and he needed to be sure. He eased his way through the door, and took a step into your space for the first time. It was a smaller room, not meant to be used as sleeping quarters for an adult, but you had made it into something personal. There was no hearth for a fire. You kept warm under a pile of furs, twice as thick as he needed. There you slept in the middle of the small bed, unaware as he watched this private moment of solitude.

You didn't appear to be in despair. A ghost of a smile sat on your lips. It was a look Ivar was familiar with, even if he hadn't been on the receiving side of it for some time. At first you had tried to smile for him, all attempts to forge a bond with your new husband. He didn't know when you had stopped trying, but now it was a smile you only reserved for others. You never referred to him by name anymore either. It was always 'My King' or 'My Lord', the latter of which he detested.

He breathed a sigh. This was not how he imagined his life would turn when he set out to new lands. There was still the desire to grow his father's legacy, and thus far his Kingship in Ireland was progressing much better than it had in Kattegat. He had been driven by blind ambition and false beliefs that he was anything other than a crippled mortal. The loss was humbling, and even with his new found success he refused to rest on his laurels.

Now that his curiosity was satisfied, he pivoted back towards the door to leave. The thin light coming from the fire in his room illuminated the table beside your bed where you kept your cross. There was something else there as well, a small thing that stopped Ivar in his place. It was a hammer of Thor, whittled from wood and tied to a piece of twine. The craftsmanship was poor, but the meaning of it was something else entirely. Someone had gifted it to you, and you had kept it in a place within reach.

He wanted to inspect it further, maybe even take it back to burn it in his hearth, but he wouldn't risk Thor's wrath, or the chance that you could wake up. Hvitserk's warning about you taking a lover came back with a vengeance and had his stomach feeling like it was filled with rocks. He would have to sleep with this knowledge until he could question you about it, a conversation he did not desire to have. How to broach it would be more difficult still, and combined with the pain in his legs, Ivar found no rest that night.

ooOOoo

Ivar was behaving strangely. Your father had come to visit, which meant there was an unspoken agreement between you and your husband to behave cordially. You had done so many times when the situation called for you both to act as united rulers, but the efforts on your husband's part had never felt this...forced.

During the feast his hand kept pawing for yours beneath the table until you gave up and let him cling to your limp fingers. He was attentive, patient, and even addressed you by name. You concealed your frown as best you could between bites of food. One glance down the table at Hvitserk and you understood that he was perplexed by Ivar's behavior as well. It pleased your father to witness such fondness from your husband towards you, and that had you holding your tongue. You would give your King an earful later.

"Daughter," Your father said, raising his arms to embrace you after you had managed to pry out of Ivar's iron grasp. "You are a smart match together, I am glad you are happy."

"Thank you, father," You whispered into his ear before parting.

"Might I see a grandchild soon?"

You flushed from what looked like embarrassment, but was actually shame. It was a constant hurt inside you, that you had failed to be desirable to your husband.

"Maybe, if we are blessed," You said evenly.

"I'm sure you will be. This is a successful alliance, and I have no doubt your union will be fruitful. We have a son of Ragnar on our side, that is no small thing, but remember you are my daughter, and you will always have a place in my court."

He placed his large hands over your shoulders, as he often did when you were a small child. His cheeks were flushed as red as his beard from drinking, and a merry grin was upon his lips. It had just been you and him for so long, after your mother had passed from sickness a lifetime before. You used to think you could tell your father everything, but now that you were a Queen, your loyalties had shifted to protect your husband and the integrity of your new settlement.

With your practiced smile and a reassuring hand upon his arm, you eased whatever burdens he felt for giving you away to heathens. "I am well father, and my place is here with my people."

"Then I shall depart, and leave you with your husband."

"Hvitserk," You called, and he stood with uncoordinated abruptness. "Please escort my father and his men to the gates."

He seemed to understand your true intentions, shooting you a nod to confirm. You had grown fond of your brother-in-law in a short time, and had come to see him as someone you could rely on. He had no qualms about answering anything you wanted to know. If you had asked, he would have spilled every secret about Ivar as well, but you had refrained from going down that path. You would rather get the truth from the horse's mouth as it were, and now you were about to be alone with him.

Ivar's eyes did not lose the mischief behind them. They were cold blue, like the winters of his home you thought. But the patient smile you had been rewarded with at dinner had vanished, replaced with something shrewd.

"What are you playing at, husband?" You stressed the word as you steeled your stance against him.

"I'm not sure I understand, (Y/N). It is a husband's duty to dote upon his wife as he sees fit," He remarked while his hands gripped tight to the armrests of his throne.

"You can stop pretending now that we are alone. Lord knows I have," You mumbled the last bit, but Ivar had heard. Maybe you had wanted him to.

"Come sit, and talk with me," He said, indicating to your throne next to his.

The seriousness of the request left you with little choice, and you gathered up your skirts while keeping your head high as you made your way beside him. There was a constant cloud of anger that seemed to follow your husband wherever he went, but you didn't think he would hurt you. Sometimes when he would look at you, a wave of sadness would fall over his face, and it was as if he was seeing through you to something else.

"What do you wish to speak of, My Lord?"

Ivar winced, but he recovered by bringing his hand down on top of yours. This again. You kept your hand still as he laced your fingers together, the roughness of his palm stroking against your soft one.

"Are you happy here?" He asked, and the hesitation in the question was tangible.

"Yes. The people are content, and the settlement is thriving."

"That's not what I asked." His tone was curt and to the point. It seemed he wanted to discuss the nature of your marriage, but the timing of it was mysterious to you. "I know the people talk of an heir, as I'm sure your father also mentioned."

"The people will always talk, My Lord. All you have to do is listen and decide what's worth hearing," You said, feeling your fingers start to tingle as his grip held firm. "As for my father, he is as any old King would be. Anticipating a grandchild so that he can pass from this world knowing his blood will live on."

His brow was furrowed into a frown. "When we are alone, call me Ivar."

"Alright...Ivar," You said, sampling the feel of his name on your tongue. You hadn't addressed him as such since your wedding.

"If we had a child, would that make you happy?"

His eyes were downcast as he spoke, which you were glad for, as he didn't see how his words had embarrassed you.

"I never said I was unhappy," You remarked. "And I don't think a child is something we are ready for yet."

"Because we are not in love," He sighed.

"Well, yes and no. I always knew I would marry a stranger with whom I wouldn't be in love. But marriage is a tool to strengthen kingdoms, and spread prosperity to its people. If you have that, you don't need love."

His eyes scrutinized you with something indiscernible, and he let go of your hand. You thought that perhaps your words had hurt him, but you didn't know why. When you had first been brought forth by your father to meet with Ivar, you had thought he was handsome. Perhaps a bit too quick to act in anger, as you had witnessed during the meeting, but you had hoped he was a man you would grow to love. Months later, and you were sleeping in separate beds with your virtue still intact, so it frustrated you to see him be upset by what you had said.

"Is that why you accept gifts from other men," His tone was harsh, and you thought he hated you then by the dark look in his eyes.

You jumped up from your throne, and rounded on him with fury. This marriage had insulted you long enough. "What are you accusing me of?"

He searched for something just beneath the collar of his tunic, and what he showed you was the hammer pendant of one of his Gods that hung from his neck. "I know you have one. Which man gave it to you? I will not have my reign tarnished by a whore Queen, not again."

Your stomach burned from the insult, and much of what he said you did not understand. His insinuation had stung, and you had little care for finding out about what he meant by 'again'.

You pulled the small bracelet out of the sleeve of your dress. The twine was too short to be a necklace, but you wore it all the same because it was special to you.

"You mean this I presume. How you came to discover it, I can only assume you have entered my chambers without my consent."

"I'm your husband, and King, I don't need your consent," He shot back.

"Then let me tell you about the man who gifted it to me one day while I walked the market. His name is Einarr, a son of one of your warriors. He is eight years old, not even old enough to have an armring yet."

You took a small bit of satisfaction to see him struggle to retort. Whatever argument and claims he had built up against you in his head disappeared after your explanation. He sunk back in his throne, and you were pleased to see he had the humility to look guilty.

"Then why keep it hidden?"

"It's special to me, proof that even as a foreign Queen to your people, I can be respected. We haven't established a relationship to share such things," You exclaimed, everything that you had been holding back spilling out in an instant. It took a deep breath to calm yourself, to bring you back to the matters at hand. "I think we should stop...for now. Our alliance has thrived by us acting separately, and perhaps that is how it should stay."

"I regret the things I've said," Ivar hurried to say, his voice now thin from weariness.

It was a small comfort, and you both knew it. "If there is nothing else, My Lord, I should like to retire?"

There was nothing he could have said in that moment that could have kept you there and not made you resentful, so with a wave of his hand, he dismissed you.

When you were far enough away, you let your shoulders sag, and let out a quiet sigh of defeat. Despite how he had hurt you with his words, neither of you walked away the victor. The hill to surmount in your marriage had just become a mountain, and you weren't certain it could ever be conquered. Judging by the crashing and shouting coming from the Great Hall, Ivar's black mood had returned. Maybe he felt the same. You held the small wooden hammer in your hand all the way back to your chambers, praying to any God that would listen to guide you on your way to mending your marriage before it was too late.

Tag List

@blah-blah-fuckit-shit

@tgrrose

#vikings #vikings ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson #ivar x you #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #vikings imagine #ivar fic #history vikings #ivar imagine #ivar ragnarsson imagine #ivar angst

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hecohansen31 · 4 years ago

Text

Swept Away By Your Cyclone

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

This is my fic to partecipate to @saldelys‘s challenge ( One year SalDeLys BlogMadness Celebration), for which I know I am late but this period has been nothing but short of things to do, which meant I either had to study or had to be somewhere.

Still I am sorry this took me quite some time to prepare, but I do hope you’ll enjoy it!

I also wanted to make a special shoutout to this fic by @youbloodymadgenius, because it has been my main inspiration to write a certain part of this fic (don’t ever forget to credit artists when you get inspired by them!).

My prompt was:

‘We burned the summer down there's dust when we're around...’

Hope you’ll like it!

As always I’ll tag my beloved @apocalypsebarbiee!

SUMMARY: Meeting you at the place he dreaded the most wasn't certainly a simple coincidence.

It is what he needed and what his Fate bound him to follow inevitably.

No matter how much he pushes his Destiny away.

WORDS: 4, 9 K

WARNINGS: Mention of Misogyny, Mention of slight homophobia, OOC! Hvitserk, Idiotic Talk About Soccer, Mention of Terminal Ilness and Cancer, Do thread carefully if anything related with health triggers you

Hvitserk honestly hadn’t wanted to come to that lunch out with the guys he played soccer with, but in the end, he had just said to himself ‘why the fuck not’.

Most of his brothers were outside of the country and he had a huge house where he had already done his whole list of finite legal activities.

And the illegal ones would have given Ivar a stroke, which he was supposed not to do since his brother was onto a new physical therapy, in a clinic abroad, which brought him to be completely exhausted whenever he facetimed Hvitserk.

He always pretended to act annoyed by their talks, but Hvitserk could see the way he desperately needed a familiar face to talk to, although he had been slowly discovering that apparently his little brother was developing a crush on one of the nurses, there.

Nobody ever expected him to notice something.

He had always been ‘the forgotten one’ in the family, the one that was unproblematic at best and slightly annoying at worst, his brothers searched for him and his approval constantly in a way that made Hvitserk proud, but also wonder…

… would they have still sought him if he had sided with the wrong one?

So, he just had decided to say fuck it all.

And ended up at what looked like the most disorganized lunch party he had ever been at.

And the last time he had ever been invited to a lunch, his father had told them that he’d be moving with his newest wife.

Number three or number four?

He couldn’t remember.

And Ubbe had kept on filling his cup with wine which had ended on his stepmother’s white dress.

At least Ivar had laughed then.

Right now, he was feeling the existential dread somebody felt just at the most awkward of social events.

He honestly liked the soccer team.

He had loved soccer since he was a child and when he had been invited in the team, after the members had seen him play with Sigurd and Ubbe in a small park, he had been beyond happy to take on that hobby.

Soccer was where he wasn’t somebody’s brother or somebody’s son.

He was Hvitserk, number five on his shirt.

He loved the sport, but to say that he was a true friend to any of the guys in the team would have been a straight up lie.

As any relationship among male friends who had seen each other naked, it was a mutual request of silence and support, that worked on the field, but not outside of it, although Hvitserk had gone out with them a few times to drink to their victories.

Lately, he just hadn’t felt like tolerating any of their BS, but the lunch party was a big thing.

Everyone had to bring something, and you weren’t allowed to leave till you were drunk enough to ask for a uber with a banana, instead of your phone.

The kind of party he wanted to be at when everything else in the world sucked.

He hadn’t honestly come there to enjoy anything.

He had come there to feel less alone.

He hadn’t thought of finding something more.

He hadn’t thought of finding you.

Find the complete piece on AO3!

#Hvitserk #Hvitserk Reader #Hvitserk x Reader #Hvitserk Imagine #Hvitserk Fic #Hvitserk Moodboard #hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk lothbrok #Hvitserk Lothbrok Reader #Fluff #Angst #Hvitserk Lothbrock Imagine #Hvitserk Ragnarsson Imagine #History Vikings #Vikings #Vikings Imagine #Modern AU #SalDeLysFirstYear

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wolkoshka · 4 years ago

Photo

AN: UM. SO. I thought I’d just...stop after the first chapter, but I managed to write not just the second, but 2/3 of the third as well. I’m motivated by the Ubbe’s beautiful face (and abs) I guess. My intense boi.

A synopsis, baby: Dhayl, older sister of Tanaruz, has come a long way to seek vengeance on the Vikings that tore her family away from her arms and left her city to burn, especially on the Viking she’d captured in the name Ubbe Lothbrok, but soon realizes she got more than she bargained for and is tossed into a life she had not expected.

Warnings: M for Mature. NSFW/Smut. Violence/Gore. Fluff/Slow-burn. Word count will definitely exceed over 1k.

Ubbe X OC.

Part I

CHAPTER II

Viking Sage

Dhayl moaned awake, her vision drowsily settling on the night sky.

A pause.

Nightfall. How long was she out? At that thought, she immediately straightened, though it pained her to do so, and turned over to regard the Viking king.

He sat faced away with one knee folded, his eyes studying his surroundings. Two things she noticed. One, he was unbound but still chained, and two, her dagger was missing. She made the connection well enough. He couldn’t escape—an impossibility catered by her—but he was more able than before. If before meant still knocking her out with his entire body detained. Curse it.

“Where is my dagger, Viking?” Warm blood trickled over her eye, and she gasped, touching her temple.

His head did not move, but his eyes shifted in her direction. So blue. Too blue. Even night could not cover them. As she soothingly wiped at her wound, she realized, after a few moments in silence, that he did not answer her question.

She came to her feet. “Where is it?”

“My brother, when young, was sent out into the wilderness to become a man. More a warrior than man. He killed a large bear with none to aid him, earning himself the nickname Ironside.”

“I don’t care for your brother.”

“My father did that to him, but he did not do that to me—he was too busy exiling himself—and so I did that to myself. I’ve haunted the most dangerous predators and worn their pelts in return.”

“I will not ask again.”

“Now,” he continued as though she had not been speaking this entire time. “Danger surrounds us, wild animals ready to tear us apart. But there’s one wondrous factor that plays in in the hunt these animals prepare for us—they will attack, but they will not attack one stronger than them.”

She knew what he meant by that: he was the stronger one. All beasts knew to be wary in his presence, for he’d butchered and taken out the best of them. Her? Well, she had trouble hunting even small rabbits. More due to her soft heart than her sheer talent in slaughtering an innocent. This Viking king was no innocent.

“Yes, you speak true—only if they are not ravenous. They will not kill you, not at first. But when they see you are not fighting back…now, that, knows a different tale. I will not release you. I, too, spoke true when I meant to cut you. I could leave you to the beasts and have them at you without lifting a dagger in your direction, Budlungr. And perhaps I should get busy doing so.”

A rough sound. Everything about this man seemed coarse, all the way to the lines etching his face, even the streak of blue runic inscriptions inking down the side of his face. “Release me and I will not only help you but also allow you free passage out of my land.”

She laughed, but it was mirthless. “After what I have done to you? You’ve struck down those with lesser transgressions. Give me my dagger.”

Twigs snapped in the near distance, diverting her attention for the briefest moment. Her heart picked up speed. Howls and wild growls drew close, and from behind woodland trees, drew even closer the large silhouettes of hazardous fiends. Though her eyes had gotten used to the dark, the canopy of branches shadowing the woods from the silvery moon aided little her inspection. She wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

As if reading her thoughts, the Viking offered, “You couldn’t have gotten too far. As I have said, the sun is different in this part of the world. I give you a choice, release me and I will help you fight them off. Don’t, and we both die. But you will not risk the latter, won’t you? This is as close as you come to getting answers. As close as you come to finding your sister. You are so desperate that you did not even light fire, something that would have kept these beasts at bay, solely because your whereabouts could be tracked from the sky.”

Dhayl clenched and unclenched her fist, considering his words at great length. She weighed her options, calculated the negatives as she did the positives, and at last thought best to survive. At least for the time being. She’d set him free. For now. But he was right in one regard: this, he, was as close as she got to finding Tanaruz. She couldn’t allow her weeks of preparation to go to waste.

When the snarls neared, she acted quickly. Counting her steps from the tree, she traced her way to a spot, an act that had the Viking inclining his head in interest. On the tenth step, she stopped and dug deep the soil. When her fingers met iron, she unearthed the keys and backtracked to him.

He furrowed his brows before arching them in nonchalance. He didn’t care. But he should. The chains were not ordinary; they were forged in Damascus with a special kind of iron that could not be broken or melted. The only way to unchain him was with the keys in her hand, and she had buried them in the hopes that even when she was captured and killed for her acts, he would remain where he was, never to know freedom, only ever to know misery. None to find him, he would sooner rot where he sat than taste hope.

She had accounted for the rain that removed all traces of his kidnapping after she’d knocked him out; accounted for the chains to shackle him into eternity; accounted for her interrogation to inspire words from him true. Accounted for all but his resilience. He had knocked her out, stolen hours from her day, and now she was to never repeat that mistake again.

He was lethal. She knew that, but witnessing it first-hand was different.

“My dagger first.”

He regarded her briefly, before shuffling his legs and kicking her weapon in her direction. She clasped it, rounding on him and clicking open his chains. They fell away in heavy clanks.

Dhayl kept her dagger ready for any foul play as the Viking came to his feet, his height towering hers, the bulk of his form rippling. Suddenly, the howls stopped. The silhouettes disappeared. Even crickets stopped chirping. Her eyes narrowed before they widened. Foolish Dhayl.

She had made the biggest mistake of all as the true meaning of his words now rang in her ear: they will attack, but they will not attack one stronger than them. Correct in his words, the wild animals dared not advance, because at least they were intelligent enough to surmise they would not survive the ordeal. Now, here she stood, facing the wildest of the wildest beasts—Ubbe Lothbrok. She was in his terrain, his hunting ground. God, he was merely bidding his time.

Who would account for her?

She would fight, she then thought. She had to. For Tanaruz. For her family. She would spill Viking blood and take that with her into the Afterlife.

He squared his shoulders, but did not pounce. “Lower your weapon.”

She positioned herself. “Never.”

“I am Viking, yes, but even Vikings know honour.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He tilted his head a notch back to stare up at the sky, sniffed—and then pounced. Dhayl leaped out of the way, her boot sliding against the still wet soil. She straightened herself in time as he came for her again, and she raised her dagger high enough to slit his throat.

He ducked, his long braid whipping, and wrapped his arms around her waist, plummeting them both to the ground. The collision knocked the burning breath out of her lungs, his mass weighing on her causing even more damage. In her momentary unconscious state, he made quick work of her hold on her dagger, tossing it away, and shifted his weight on his elbow, his free hand coming to rest on her cheek.

A slight smack against them, meant to nudge, brought her out of the world of disorientation. She blinked, finding Norse blues gazing down at her. For the second time, she lost her breath, and it was neither in cause of his weight or some catastrophic impact. Perhaps she was still disoriented. Yes, that was it.

Another light smack.

She blinked anew, breathing heavy, bringing in air into her deflated lungs. Her mind cleared, as did her vision. “What?” she hissed.

He released a rough sound, nodding then.

Making sure he hadn’t killed her?

She slapped his hand away from her face and, with full-force, pushed at him, disrupting the weight on his elbow. He tumbled onto his back with a grunt, and for the shortest second, Dhayl thought he permitted the act. It mattered little. Grabbing his wrists, she locked them above his head, and placed her knees over his shoulders, evidently encaging him. He had nowhere to go. He bared his teeth, but not in anger. Or frustration. Just…simply, perhaps out of habit. She arched a brow down at him.

Something swam in his eyes, something this dark night could not blanket, and it provoked a reaction from her. A reaction she herself had not anticipated. Her cheeks…reddened? No!

A sliver of a shine from the corner of her eye caught her attention. The second she looked at it, the Viking did too, before their eyes came back to each other.

It was her dagger.

One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three hear— Now!

Dhayl abruptly leapt off him—but he tripped her ankle before she could make a run for it. Air, for the third time, escaped her, and she cursed. He was already on his feet. Gathering her wits about her, she ran at him, wishing to topple him, distort his balance, anything, but what she did not expect was him scooping her up mid-way onto his shoulder, and with such ease and agility, it should have been impossible.

She screamed despite herself. “Release me!”

He did not.

Instead, he crouched and slid her dagger in his boot. The bastard! That was hers!

“You will pay for this!”

“I have no doubt of that,” rang his voice with a lilt of mockery.

She worked her jaw, and swore a silent oath to herself.

Blood rushed to her head, her ears. Her open wound at her temple. Before he properly began walking through the woods, the rushing blood slowly but surely began seeping out, leaving an unseen trail of red in the darkness. The act brought drowsiness back into her system, and though she tried to fight it, as she tried to fight the Viking’s grip on her legs, she succumbed into the awaiting hands of unconsciousness.

Within a heartbeat, she was dead out.

---

To the warm, delicious smell of food and crackling firewood, Dhayl awoke. A cocooning softness and broad daylight enveloped her as she cracked her lids open. For a moment, a long moment, she remained cradled so, sighing, knowing nothing, acknowledging nothing. This was a little bit of heaven she had been estranged from for years. Silence, but a comfortable one where no danger lurked in the near distance. Safety. Wait.

Danger. Ubbe.

At that word and name, the momentary illusion broke away and her little heaven turned into pure hell. She jerked upright, for a second losing all sense of self as her stitched temple hammered with fervour and her vision blackened. No, no, I can’t be here, she thought, trying to find the floor with her tapping feet—that were bare, she now realized.

When she refocused, she was inside a bedchamber, sitting on a bed of thick, soft pelts, wearing nothing but a linen nightgown. Nightgown! Where were her boots? Her clothes? Who undressed her?

Hugging her chest, she jumped down the bed and onto a flooring of more pelts and plush carpets. Carpets that, upon quick inspection, resembled that of the Mediterranean households. Couldn’t be. Shaking her head, she noted instead that she was alone in the bedchamber and that she should escape before anyone took notice of her wakefulness.

There were curtains and beads separating her room from a larger one, and she drew them aside, her nerves on a spike. She stepped out, letting the materials fall into place. It was both a kitchen and living space with food being prepared in a cauldron by the hearth. There was another room opposite the kitchen, perhaps leading to a washroom, she didn’t know, but she approached the cauldron and inhaled the meal being prepared.

It was hot, steamy, and…sublime. Her stomach rumbled, her heart yearned, but she swallowed her hunger and turned around—only to come face to face with a servant girl emerging from the opposite room. She carried a cup of water in her hands.

“Don’t move,” Dhayl hastily let out, reaching for the knife resting on the table with fresh meat and vegetables. The servant girl’s grasp on the cup wobbled, her eyes wide.

“I-I was only brought here to prepare food. P-Please.”

“I don’t care, don’t speak. Don’t move and don’t speak. Yes.” Dhayl’s eyes lowered on the girl’s boots. “Give them to me.”

The girl’s eyes followed hers, and she nodded, though with hesitation. “They are yours.”

Slipping out of them, she tossed them to her. Dhayl wore them, knife still slanted in her direction, and felt her toes curl. They were a bit small but they would do. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m going to leave and you’re going to stay, is that understood? Don’t follow me.”

The girl nodded anew.

Keeping her back to the door, she walked to it, her eyes on the servant, before breaking into a run and bursting out of the house—and right into a group of talking men. She gasped aloud.

The one in the middle, with his pelted back and thoroughly braided hair to her, stiffened and tilted his head sideways.

Her honey-coloured eyes clashed with familiar icy blues. Ubbe.

In response and out of habit, her own head tilted in recognition of his face. Then, she pointed the knife at him. The men around him laughed in amusement, some even whistled.

“A slave with enough wits to strike her master?” one jeered. “I want her warming my bed, Ubbe.”

Dhayl was so taken aback by his words that she remained paralyzed in place for a many heartbeats. Slave. He’d just said slave. Tears welled in her eyes, stinging them, scalding them in the wintery chill of the morning.

“I’m not a slave,” she spoke evenly, quietly. “I’m no one’s slave. I’m not a slave!” she then screamed. “I will never be one! With what right!”

Calm. Calm, Dhayl. Don’t give in to fear. Don’t give in to mania.

Ubbe turned fully around, regarding her still with his head tilted. “She is from the Mediterranean, but now she is in Viking land. Frankly, you are what I say you are.”

“I spit on that.”

Ubbe started, his head moving a notch back, as though he did not expect to hear such intense rebuttal of his words. His eyes steeled thereafter.

His men also straightened a little at her statement, as though she was ludicrous to even be raising her head in level with Ubbe’s. He was their king, yes, but he was not hers.

“You offered me safe passage from your lands,” she reminded him. “I want it.”

“Hm. Now you want it.” The Viking ran his tongue over his teeth that seemed a bit too sharp, and entertained the ground for a moment before arresting her in place. “But when I offered, you laughed. You did not believe. And now, having lost, you point a flimsy knife in my way. I do not know you, but you are adamant on seeing me dead. If I’m not mistaken, that is treason.”

Her grip on the knife began to shake. She tilted her chin up. Be brave. “Will you kill me? Punish me? Enslave me, as your people have done mine? Does memory serve you so little?”

He clasped his hands in a kingly manner before his body, eyeing yet once more the ground. His men regarded him in silence, their eyes shifting from him to her, her to him. He cared not to answer her questions; they mattered not to him.

“Punish her first by cutting off that tongue of hers. Then enslave her, doing with her life as you wish. Only when old age comes to her, take a blade to her throat and slit it open. That should teach her something,” one of his men offered, eyes burning with indignation.

“Perhaps you should come here and do that yourself and I can take the liberty of shutting your mouth for you, heathen,” Dhayl retorted before she could stop herself.

“You dare—!” he started.

There was rich laughter, full of amusement, fully regaled. Her eyes found Ubbe, his head still downcast, chuckling.

“My men,” he swiftly turned on his heels, roughly patting their shoulders, “my good advisors. You are dismissed. Go and drink.”

“Ubbe…” one countered.

He didn’t have to speak; something authoritative shifted the very air, and their dissents stifled out. With begrudging nods, they obeyed, dispersing in every direction. He then came to her, not at all minding her outstretched knife.

“Put that away, you’re embarrassing yourself,” he muttered close to her, his hand snaking around her nape and turning her towards the door.

“What—!” she sputtered, trying to but failing to stop him.

They entered the house with a loud bang, her being ushered in at the forefront, with Ubbe following close behind. “Your knife,” he gruffly voiced to the servant girl, gripping it out of Dhayl’s fingers and throwing it point-forth on the table. It fastened with a sharp, swift clank. “Don’t lose it next time.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Food?”

“Ready.”

“Serve us then leave.”

“Yes.”

Unceremoniously planting her down on one of the chairs by the table, he went to the hearth, feeding it more logs. He stayed there poking at the embers until the fire blazed with ferocity. She had been too immersed in her rather peculiar examination of the Viking that she had failed to register the act of the girl having already served her and taken her leave. Without her shoes.

Only when the Viking settled himself opposite her, making for the wooden spoon, did he raise his head from his meal and regard in incredulity. His hand lamely gestured at her bowl of soup. “Eat,” he roughly initiated, having failed to understand her pause.

She suddenly blinked at him, snapping out of her reverie. Her eyes fell on her food, the act hiding the evident reddening of her face. What was the matter with her?

With a tentative swallow, she plopped her spoon in and gathered soup. When she ate, the warmth and taste of it filling her mouth and coating her tongue, Dhayl couldn’t help but silently start to sob. She wished to gain a better grip of herself but failed rather miserably. She inched her head lower and palmed her forehead to then hide better her tears.

The Viking took no notice that throughout the remainder of their meal, she couldn’t stop her silent tears. She couldn’t have. The meal reminded her of home, of her mother, her father, her sister. Home, something she hadn’t known for a long, long time. Everything she’d wanted but hadn’t got, it was all in here, in this small bowl of soup.

When they were finished, she made a mental note to give back the servant girl her boots.

Sniffling, she wiped her tear-stained cheeks with the backs of her hands, and lifted her head to meet the Viking’s gaze. He slid the bowl aside and leaned forward, his arms propped on the table, his scent, wild and smoky, filling her nostrils.

His eyes, ever intense in their colour, considered her face, her puffed cheeks, her reddened lips from her biting of them to stop the escaping of sobs, and came away with…nothing. If he noticed anything amiss in her demeanour, he did not say it, did not show it. In the quiet of the cabin, he watched her.

Then, “How is your head?”

“G-Good,” she croaked. Then quickly cleared her throat. How embarrassing. “Good. How is yours?”

A rough sound, then the shrugging of broad shoulders. “Better.”

She nodded.

Silence.

“Why am I here?” she asked. “Why am I alive? Why are you feeding me? Clothing me, even when I’d really like my old attire back? Why have you mended my wound, allowed me rest? What do you hope to gain? I have nothing to give you.”

“No,” he disagreed. “You have much to give me, if you proof yourself useful.”

“Why ever would I do that?”

Gazing into his eyes for such a long period of time was a feat she thought she could not undertake, but the more she stared, the more entranced she became. Perhaps a trick of his?

“I want you to tell me how long it has been since you were last in the Mediterranean.”

Dhayl frowned, not diverting her attention from him. Somehow, her heart began to pick up speed. “I wouldn’t know,” she whispered. “I lost count after the third year.”

Ubbe blinked. “It does not take long to reach our shores. Not even on foot.”

“No, it doesn’t.” She licked her lips, glancing down at the table and playing with the end of her wooden spoon. “I fell sick a lot. Recovering was no easy feat. I…I came upon a people that were rather…not nice. Um.” The discomfort was clear in her tone, so she moved on. “I had some of my belongings stolen from me, more than once, hence I lost my way quite a few times. Nearly died. A lot.” She stopped the fidgeting of her spoon. “I don’t know the nature of your questions, but, yes, there were some inconveniences I had to overcome before I landed on Anglo-Saxon soils. Are you content?”

“No. Tell about the chains you used on me. My blacksmiths are all in awe.”

Ah. “A special kind. Made only in Damascus.”

Ubbe covered more of the space between them as he leaned further in, brows twisting. “By the Silk Road?”

She smiled. “Yes. Traders rest there before venturing either across the Mediterranean or through the many Khanates to China.”

“Khanates? Where is that?”

“Not where, but who. They are clans found in the heart of the Silk Road. Beautiful people with wonderful crafts regarding science, astrology, medicine, mathematics. The list goes on. The trade is strong there.”

Deftly nodding, he took hold of the knife and pointed it at her, but not in a threatening manner. He was merely toying with it for his own comfort, it appeared. She wondered if he knew he even reached for it. “You were going to leave me to my death even if I had answered your questions in the woods, is that not correct?”

Dhayl arched a sturdy brow at him. “Perhaps. I don’t harbour warm feelings towards you.”

“Hm.”

She then frowned, catching onto what he said. “What do you mean if you had answered my questions? Did you…not answer my questions?”

“In due time. Now, have you been there, among these Khanates?”

She chose to indulge him. “I truly have.”

“How so?”

Remembering hurt, and her mood grew solemn. “My father was a merchant. His craft lay in steel. As a little girl, I used to accompany him in his travels.”

“And you remember your travels well?”

“Yes. Why would I forget? They were the best times of my life.”

“Hm. Does he trade still?”

“No, he rests peacefully in his grave after the pillaging of my home by your people. As does my mother. As do my friends. Are you done?”

Ubbe fell silent. The knife in his hand stopped twisting. “I want you to know that it has been many years since my people established trade with yours in the Mediterranean. Our routes have also extended to the Kieven Rus. Nothing is as it was in the past.”

Dhayl sat shocked, her jaw slacked open. “No.” She shook her head. “Why would my people… After what your people have done… No, you are lying. We would never.”

“Look around you. Do you not feel as though you have not walked these carpets before? Tasted these spices? Your Emir conceded. There is contract between us. You have been gone a very long time from your home.”

Bile rose to choke her. Her world shifted from under her very feet. Understanding evaded her. Everything she had been burning for, was now snuffed out under a functioning contract. What of all the dead? Would they not be avenged? Or would they be forgotten, rendered nameless, as though they’ve never been, just so trade could flourish?

Was she terrible for abhorring such thought?

Would there be no justice for the slaughtered, the defiled, the enslaved?

“I want you to understand the contract conditions the act of trading back the people we have taken from your lands,” the Viking said. “It is a new age, wanderer. And you are not a slave here, but you have acted upon independent attempts to take the life of a Viking king. That is unlawful in any land. I can enslave, punish, or prosecute you accordingly.”

“So our Emir bribed his people back.” The bile in her throat only thickened.

“Call it however you might. We have learned much from your people, as you have from ours. Raiding is our way. But with trade, there is no need for such battle.”

Yes. She understood that all too well.

“I saw your eyes in the woods…when I asked about Tanaruz. You know something. Was she traded back?”

“No.”

She shut her eyes. “Tell me,” she whispered.

Ubbe nodded, his gaze burning blue holes in hers. “My uncle, Floki, and his wife, Helga, adopted her after our raid in the Mediterranean. Helga loved her, but Tanaruz abhorred her all the same. She escaped many times, was caught all the same—until our next raid, when she killed Helga then killed herself.”

Dhayl released a horrified gasp, her hands immediately covering her face. She hadn’t noticed it, but she had already begun crying at the mention of her name. For a long moment, she sat there sobbing, her heart incapable of accepting the reality painted before her. Tanaruz would never… Her little sister was good… She would never.

But the fear she must have felt, the horror that came with being alone, so alone, that the only way out in her little mind was through death and only death, tormented her musings. Her baby sister killed herself. At that, she sobbed harder. Her baby sister killed herself!

A wail tore from her lungs. “She was a child,” she said, rising to shaky legs. “She was a child!” she screamed. “She was a child! What is wrong with you people? Why would you take— How could you—!” She screeched in her fury, in her mourning, in her love, and toppled everything on the table to the ground.

Ubbe remained seated, not a reaction from him. That infuriated her further. “Out!” She pointed at the door. “Get out! Get out! Get out! I want you out! I hate you! All of you!”

He gradually came to his feet. Dhayl fumed, glaring at him. Then, with all her might, she flipped the table over. It crashed onto the floor. “Fine. No out for you.”

At the animalistic growl in her words, the Viking offered her his first reaction—intrigue.

Cruel.

“You are a cruel people.”

“No less than your people.”

“Don’t you dare. As far as I can see, my people did not kill yours.”

“No, but they have done so others. Your Emir even dines on human flesh. But that is the way of the world, wanderer. We just don’t hide it.”

“Is that the Viking honour you so fondly spoke of earlier?”

“It goes beyond honour, beyond loyalty. It is our way.”

“Your way has children kill themselves.”

Ubbe was silent. She had struck a sensitive nerve. “That is true. Our way has killed even our own broods. It is most unfortunate; I cannot take back what was done. I cannot undo the past. But I know Helga loved her. I know her to be of the best people. She was a good woman. In the time she spent her life here, not once did harm befall your sister. She was fed, clothed, but mostly loved. In her honour, for you, I offer to the gods a sacrifice tonight. There shall be blood, and there shall be fire. Mourn her well tonight, and then bury her.”

Dhayl was too stricken with overwhelming emotions at his words, at the meaning behind them, all confounding, all heart-wrenching, that she remained where she stood even as he bypassed her and exited through the door.

#ubbe lothbrok #ubbe ragnarsson #ubbe vikings #ubbe fanfiction #ubbe x oc #vikings #wip #slow burn #original character #viking sage #chapter 2 #maybe will post it on ao3 with better synopsis but for now i like posting here

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dweemeister · 4 years ago

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Movie Odyssey Retrospective

Alice in Wonderland (1951)

There is an abandoned building at 1127 E 31st St. in Kansas City, Missouri. That 1922 building, made up of red brick and mortar, would have met the wrecking ball long ago, if not for its historical value. For one year, it housed the Laugh-O-Gram Studio, founded by Walt Disney and the first job in animated film for several people who would become instrumental in shaping the American animation industry. Alongside Disney, the Laugh-O-Gram staff included:

Ubbe “Ub” Iwerks, who co-created Mickey Mouse and Oswald the Lucky Rabbit with Walt. Ub stayed with the Disney studios as an animator or special effects specialist through Mary Poppins (1964);

Hugh Harman and Rudolf Ising, who founded Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies with Warner Bros. in the 1930s under producer Leon Schlesinger, later moving to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM);

and Friz Freleng, who joined Harman and Ising and Warner Bros and MGM as principally a director, while introducing or developing most of the central Looney Tunes characters.

All of these figures would shape the environment for animated talkies into the midcentury. But Laugh-O-Gram could not survive the financial obstacles that led to the studio’s closure after only a year. Go back and watch the Laugh-O-Gram shorts and you will find imaginative, rowdy stories paired with movements as fluid as animators not named Winsor McCay (1914’s Gertie the Dinosaur, 1918’s The Sinking of the Lusitania) could draw in the early 1920s. Laugh-O-Gram’s last film, Alice’s Wonderland (1923), was never released commercially to the public and – considering its hybrid of animation and live-action footage – demonstrates the influence McCay had over Disney and his fellow animators.

Later in 1923, Walt submitted Alice’s Wonderland to Margaret Winkler, whose Winkler Productions was the leading animated short film distributor of the time. Winkler had just fallen out professionally with Pat Sullivan, the co-creator of Felix the Cat. Needing a quick replacement and charmed by the animated frenzy surrounding the hybrid animation/live-action Alice, Winkler signed Walt Disney and his Laugh-O-Gram team (including child actress Virginia Davis) to produce the Alice Comedies short film series (1923-1927, including 1923’s Alice’s Wonderland) in Hollywood. These films, Disney’s first taste of commercial triumph, shared little resemblance to Lewis Carroll’s novels Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass, except for the curiosity of the title character and the fantastical situations she might find herself in. After the end of the Alice Comedies series and the formation of Walt Disney Productions (now Walt Disney Animation Studios), Walt wished to adapt Carroll’s books – which he had been familiar with since his childhood in Missouri – into a feature film. Outside forces delayed the project, including the box office failure of Paramount’s live-action Alice in Wonderland (1933) and the creative and fiscal burdens that his studio had to bear during World War II.

During this time, Walt resigned himself to the fact that any animated adaptation of Carroll’s novels, more interested in illogic and wordplay than any sensible storytelling, would not reach the artistic heights of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937). His long wait to adapt Alice in Wonderland as a feature film would end in 1951, with the film co-directed by Clyde Geronimi, Wilfred Jackson, and Hamilton Luske. A stellar voice cast, mixture of storybook and unusual animation, and an acceptance of its own absurdity make Alice in Wonderland one of the best non-Golden Age Disney animated features.

Alice (voiced by Kathryn Beaumont) is a child, probably ten years of age give or take. She is one of the youngest protagonists in Disney’s animated canon and a rare human female lead without monarchical ties or aspirations. Her story is simply a fantastical dream of her subconscious’ creation. Thus, freed from the limitations and expectations of the “real world”, Alice in Wonderland – and the novels it was adapted from – is an episodic series of nonsensical encounters of the various characters that inhabit Alice’s Wonderland. This posed a dilemma for the Disney animators and the army of writers on the film. How does one make Alice, whose only notable characteristics include her naïveté and incurable curiosity, a more interesting character than what Lewis Carroll wrote? With the animators and writers finding no answer, Disney’s Alice is just as reactive (as opposed to proactive) as Carroll’s characterization for her. Inane things happen to and around her, infrequently because of her own initiative; anyone expecting the studio’s first female lead to write down names, possess a sharp wit, and kick ass might need to recalibrate said expectations given the source material.

This discourse wades into questions about literary fidelity in cinema – no standard formula exists for how literature should be adapted to a film. To adapt Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass as faithfully as possible would be to invite structural and tonal chaos. Carroll’s numerous poetic asides, extremely abrupt (and, to me, exhausting) tonal shifts, and his near-complete dedication to exposition whenever nonsense is not present does not make for a digestible film. The Alice in Wonderland that audiences have enjoyed since 1951 presents its developments far out of any Carroll’s narrative order. The tone and individual moments remain Carroll-esque, but, upon release, British critics savaged the film for degrading Carroll’s best-known works (more on this later). Yet by my judgment and familiarity with Carroll’s books (which, to reiterate, are not concerned about character development) Disney’s animated version is the best cinematic adaptation in line with the Carroll’s artistic intentions.

Alice in Wonderland is best seen as a quasi-Disney package film filled with one-upmanship in its animation. A distracted Walt was barely aware of day-by-day developments during production, and thus did not rein in some of the animated excess Alice in Wonderland is now justly acclaimed for. For the second consecutive entry in the Disney animated canon, Mary Blair’s concept art (1950’s Cinderella, 1953’s Peter Pan) is principally responsible for what the background animators would adopt. In the bookend scenes outside Wonderland, the lush, foliage-filled backgrounds recall her work during Disney’s package era, and are easily the most “realistic” backgrounds since the inimitable Bambi (1942). Once the film descends into Wonderland, the background animators, attempting to convert her concept art into cel animation, attempt (but fail to) replicate the characteristic flatness of her concept art.

But for everything else integral to Blair’s artwork – the lack of straight lines, highly stylized architectural and natural features, and detonation of colors – the background animators (who would be assigned specific scenes) faithfully render her style as closely as they can without completely making Alice in Wonderland a modernist phantasmagoria. The film is an overload of colorful experimentation. Just choose from any one of the scenes involving the White Rabbit’s house, the Caterpillar’s toadstool hideaway, the tea party, or the Queen of Hearts’ domain and one is subject to a visual cacophony of inspired production design and artistic audacity. It can be overwhelming, but Wonderland’s locales represent some of the greatest examples of settings-as-character in almost all of animated cinema.

Alice’s Wonderland, however, is nothing without the characters that dwell within. Some of the most impressive character designs of Disney’s mid-century animated films appear in this film, thanks mostly to two of the “Nine Old Men” – Ward Kimball (Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, 1971’s Bedknobs and Broomsticks) and Frank Thomas (1940’s Pinocchio, 1977’s The Rescuers) – and Norm Ferguson (“Dance of the Hours” in 1940’s Fantasia, 1953’s Peter Pan). Because of the sheer number of characters that Thomas and Kimball designed and directed on this film (and this is not even mentioning several other fellow directing animators), I will focus on two specific characters of theirs.

For Norm Ferguson, he is the sole directing animator of the Walrus and the Carpenter, the characters from the eponymous segment imparted to Alice by Tweedledee and Tweedledum (itself an adaptation of Carroll’s “The Walrus and the Carpenter” poem within Through the Looking-Glass). As a study of differences, the designs of both characters give their personalities away even if one were to mute the audio or view a still image. The Carpenter – scrawny, scruffy, and short – telegraphs his dimwittedness and gullibility from his opening moments on-screen. Adding to that visual characterization is that he shares a voice actor, J. Pat O'Malley, and a squeaky, honky timbre with Tweedledee and Tweedledum. O’Malley also voices the Walrus, but adjusts his delivery to a throaty bass, interspersed with the coughing one expects from a chain-smoker, let alone a chain-smoking walrus. The Walrus – appropriately rotund (as walruses should be) with a kitschy suit – is a charming fellow, but beneath that charm are his occasional all-knowing smirks that belie selfish intentions. Ferguson’s clashing character animation for both, in addition to the morbid comedy of “The Walrus and the Carpenter”, are a brilliant complement the abridged poem used in the scene. Alice in Wonderland would be Norman Ferguson’s penultimate film with the studio before his retirement due to complications with diabetes.

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With Alice in Wonderland, Frank Thomas is the directing animator for the movie’s antagonist for the second straight Disney animated feature. The techniques and artistry used for Cinderella’s Lady Tremaine and the Queen of Hearts – voiced deliciously (and boisterously) by Disney regular Verna Felton (Dumbo’s Mrs. Jumbo and the Elephant Matriarch, Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother) – could not be any more different. Where Lady Tremaine was heavily rotoscoped in her movements and facial expressions, there is nothing realistic about the Queen of Hearts’ physicality. As a buxom bundle of waving limbs, she has arguably the most fleshy and expressive face in a 1950s Disney animated feature. In that face, in Felton’s iconic voice acting, we find a crazed monarch who desperately needs to see a therapist to contain her volcanic temper. Thomas’ character design sells the Queen of Hearts’ mood swings – perfunctory courteousness, egomania, pettiness, and bloodlust (“Off with his head!”). Thus, she becomes Disney’s closest analogue to the uptight and pretentious narcissists that the likes of Bugs Bunny or, to a lesser extent, Daffy Duck might have brought down to size in a Looney Tunes short film. How fortunate that the Queen of Hearts only appears in Alice in Wonderland’s concluding stages; an entire film dedicated to her (please do not pass this hypothetical along to a Walt Disney Company executive) would be a wearisome indulgence.

The last masterstroke of character design is thanks to Ward Kimball. Kimball, shortly about to revert his focus from feature animation to television and the Disney theme parks, was the principal designer of the Cheshire Cat. The wide-grinning Cheshire Cat, voiced by Sterling Holloway (Kaa in 1967’s The Jungle Book, the original voice of Winnie the Pooh), is a distinctive swirl of purple and pink stripes, his yellow eyes giving off a blazing glare. As opposed to the Queen of Hearts, the Cheshire Cat – no more or less peculiar than any other inhabitant of Wonderland – rarely stands on his hind legs. Instead, he prefers to perch himself, stomach-first, and limit his non-facial physical movements. With Holloway’s mellifluous voice acting, the physics-bending Cheshire Cat is not the sort to be vengeful or unleash verbal fire and brimstone. But with his capabilities of troublemaking for his own personal entertainment, he is the least predictable and perhaps most dangerous character of all. Depending on the viewer, the Cheshire Cat can be seen as a darkly comic figure and/or the film’s greatest source of malevolence, however restrained.

After watching Alice in Wonderland more than most Disney animated films over the course of my lifetime, I still struggle over how to categorize Kimball’s magical cat. Certainly, Cheshire Cat is an antagonist, but do his actions place him in the pantheon of Disney villains? Reading Carroll’s books and noting – however circuitously – Cheshire Cat helps Alice become “unlost”, perhaps being considered a trickster will suffice.

The soundtrack to Alice in Wonderland contains the greatest number of songs (sixteen from a potential thirty) in the entire Disney animated feature canon. That is partly due to the length of these compositions – clocking in, in several instances, at just under or over one minute – and that more than a handful of these songs are adaptations (partial or complete) of a Lewis Carroll poem. Disney hired a battalion of Tin Pan Alley composers and lyricists to pen/adapt songs around Carroll’s poems, but just over half of the songs were composed by Sammy Fain (“Secret Love” in 1953’s Calamity Jane, “Love is a Many-Splendored Thing” from the 1955 film of the same name) set to Bob Hilliard’s (“Civilization”, also known as “Bongo, Bongo, Bongo (I Don’t Want to Leave the Congo)”) lyrics. Among their mostly original compositions, Fain and Hilliard are responsible for the title song, “In a World of My Own”, and “Painting the Roses Red”, among several other earworms utilizing Carroll’s poetry.

Debatably Alice in Wonderland’s ultimate earworm is the original song “A Very Merry Un-birthday” by Mack David, Al Hoffman, and Jerry Livingston (the trio also composed “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo in 1950’s Cinderella). Because of this song’s affiliation with a certain ride at the Disney theme parks, you, the reader, might already be very familiar with the song’s melody without ever watching Alice in Wonderland. Sung raucously by the Mad Hatter and March Hare (incredible voice acting by Ed Wynn and Jerry Colonna, respectively) alongside Alice, the “unbirthday song” is even more jaunty, celebratory, and devilishly catchy than “Happy Birthday” itself. With this lengthy soundtrack, Alice in Wonderland’s songs completely overshadow and are referenced across Oliver Wallace’s (the notorious title song and score to 1942’s Der Fuehrer’s Face, 1963’s The Incredible Journey) score. For such a riotous and absurd movie, the film contains an equally riotous and absurd soundtrack to empower all of its nonsense.

The qualities that have made Alice in Wonderland treasured by many (including yours truly) today are the exact same ones that British literary and film critics took issue with in 1951. This Alice eviscerates Lewis Carroll’s literary vision and it is too “American”, these critics wrote. Walt Disney, years removed from his namesake studio’s Golden Age animated features (an era where he might have considered the words of academic and critics), now could not care less.

Walt’s distaste for academic and critics in the second half of his career began after musical and film critics pilloried Fantasia (1940). But his disdain for such individuals was fully realized after their response to the innovative and controversial Song of the South (1946) – which Walt intended as a hurrah for the American folklore that colored his childhood. Even upon Song of the South’s release, protesters and picketers decried the film for sentimentalizing the lives of black people in the immediate postbellum American South. “The master-and-slave relation is so lovingly regarded in your yarn,” New York Times film critic Bosley Crowther wrote, “… that one might almost imagine that you figure Abe Lincoln made a mistake. Put down that mint julep, Mr. Disney.” Disney took this wave of criticism over Song of the South personally, and convinced himself that supposedly communist enemies from rival studios and hostile sociopolitical circles were inflaming these attacks against his films and his studio. How dare these people, Walt must have thought, tell the inventor of Mickey Mouse and the man who gave Hugh Harman, Rudolf Ising, and Friz Freleng their first jobs in animated cinema what he could or could not do artistically. Walt Disney could justly say he laid the foundation for American animated cinema in Kansas City – before Burbank, before the overcrowded studio in Hyperion – all those years ago, which must have fueled his pride and dismissal of his naysayers.

In an earlier decade, Walt – especially when noting that Carroll’s work was integral to his start in animated film in the 1920s – might have publicly lashed out to the polarized response that met Alice in Wonderland. Now, Walt had compartmentalized his feelings. And as Alice in Wonderland made its way through theaters, a long-gestating animated feature featuring a canine romance was finally moving forward. Another film, made possible due to the windfalls from Cinderella, had just been greenlit, and would not see completion until decade’s end.

Although not successful in its theatrical run, Alice in Wonderland became the first Disney film to rejuvenate its reputation in the popular mindset through television. TV became widespread in the United States and Britain after the Second World War and, with it, Walt Disney would use the medium to broadcast his older films, to alter popular perceptions of his own persona and personal history, and to employ idealized images and storytelling in telling the story of his namesake studio. Removed from the cultural discourse dominating airwaves and headlines in the early 1950s, viewers in the decades following Alice in Wonderland’s release can now appreciate the film’s role in the Disney animated canon. Alice in Wonderland is a demented classic that, because of its narrative-unfriendly content, has influenced few films following it. The film adjusts Lewis Carroll’s books in ways that pay homage to his writing, but also to chart a colorful course for viewers and Disney fans as cinematically as possible.

My rating: 9/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

This is the twenty-first Movie Odyssey Retrospective. Movie Odyssey Retrospectives are reviews on films I had seen in their entirety before this blog’s creation or films I failed to give a full-length write-up to following the blog’s creation. Previous Retrospectives include The Kid (1921), Cinderella (1950), and The Sound of Music (1965).

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imaginesmai · 6 years ago

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THIS IS MY OLD MY MASTERLIST, IS NOT UPDATED ANYMORE. CHECK OUT MY SIDE BLOG @imaginesmaimasterlists FOR THEM

💕:Fluff

🎈: Funny

💋: Smut

😭: Angst

⭐: Personal favourite.

🥇: The most popular fic in each category (it might change).

Angst Alphabet

Fluff Alphabet

Prompt List 1

Kink-November

AVENGERS

PETER PARKER/SPIDERMAN

A phone call away: Peter is having a hard time sleeping, and doesn’t know how to tell you. Eventually, someone catches him sleeping on a public place and you find out. The thing is, you love him and Peter should know that you’re always there for him. Even if it’s just by a phone call. 💕

⭐ Autistic love (autistic! Peter x reader): there is something weird about Peter, but that doesn’t make him any less lovable. 💕

⭐ Autistic love (autistic!Peter x reader): Peter and you have decided to meet your mother for lunch, and he’s going to discover how much you and your family care about him. 💕

Beautiful: study break is better if Peter is with you. 💕

Breeding kink (November Kink) 💋

Check: He had a date for the homecoming dance, he had the perfect suit and a proper preparation. Peter Parker didn’t think about the winged man ��

Dating Peter Parker would include... 💕 🎈

⭐ De-aging (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) : you get hit by a de-aging spell, and Peter has to take care of you while trying not to break down completely. (COMPLETE)🎈

Europe (1) (2): Europe is being great, and it would be even greater if Peter could just follow his plan. (COMPLETE) 💕

Sometimes, once in a while: even heroes need saving sometimes 💕

Far from home: Peter Parker has just been run over by a train. However, he has biggest worries. Like, Beck having you in his grasp. 💕

Finally: Peter’s strange behaviour hasn’t gone unnoticed by the people around him, but he has a very, very, good reason for it. Or, in which Peter and you plan a date for Friday’s night and he can’t stop thinking about it 💕 🎈

⭐ First kisses: Peter Parker’s and yours first, or five, first kisses. 💕

Fluff Alphabet

Friday Night: you want to have a quiet Friday night, and Peter is just swinging by to make it better. 💕

Fuck you Beck: You had been given strict orders, yet you couldn’t ignore Peter’s call for help, even if the boy was too stubborn to do so; and even if you can be the one needing help at the end. 💕 😭

⭐ Hold you: fighting is always hard, but Peter didn’t think it would be that hard. 😭

No more fondue on my watch: Peter and you have been together for a while now, but nothing can go past Captain America eagle’s eyes. 💋 🎈

Peter Parker having public sex 💋

🥇 Peter Parker making you squirt for the first time 💋

Peter’s Tingle: Peter’s tingle must always be trusted; through the good and bad. 😭 💕

Praise Kink (November Kink) 💋

Promises 💋

⭐ See the light (Tangled AU): Pre-view (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12 - epilogue): Peter Parker has lot a lot through the years, and has become a shell of the bright boy he used to be. A serie of unfortunate events lead him to you, a naive young girl who has a dream. Slowly, he starts to realize that you might be that light at the end of the tunnel he needed so much (FINISHED) 💕 🎈

Short fic 1 💕 🎈

Skip (1) (2): Peter’s new life couldn’t be better. College, aparment for himself, you. Still, Parker’s luck is not on his side, and the memories are coming back. (ON GOING) 😭

Soul Stone: Peter and you are sent to Vormir, to get the soul stone 😭

Tried (not enough): Tony had developed a cronic anxiety every time Peter calls in the middle of the night. He knows it gets bad; just not so much. 😭

Worry: you’re sick and Peter is worried. Maybe a little too much 💕

TONY STARK/IRONMAN

⭐ According to the plan: Tony Stark has a plan. Tony Stark builds a plan. He couldn’t have known both of them could go to shit in an abandoned HYDRA base in Siberia, by the hands of his ex-best friend. 😭

⭐ Family: Tony Stark doesn’t have a lot of nice things nowadays, but his family make up for all of what he has lost. 💕

🥇 ⭐ Feeling old: you say something that tiggers Tony’s inners insecurities and doubts. 💕 💋

Heartbeat: Tony has a heart attack, and you’re the only one around. 😭 💕

Imagine 1

Long way home: the final battle is over. Thanos is dead. Tony is alive. Everyone has payed the price, but some are having a harder time than others.

An endgame fix-it of how Tony Stark survived the snap, but with the reality about a traumatic experience as losing a limb and almost dying. 😭 💕

⭐ On sale: Tony has a task: bring nuggets to satisfy your pregnant cravings. The obstacle: they were on sale. 🎈

Out in space: Tony is trapped in space, and his biggest worry is not how to get back home, but rather if you’re going to make it. Because there is more than one problem he has to face 😭

Recovery: Tony Stark has a problem. Actually, he has a lot of them. Tony Stark has always been surronded by problems. But now it’s different, and he has found the will of getting out of them. 💕

Things we don’t mean: a mission gone wrong, and Peter gets hurt. It hits Tony where it hurts the most, becuase he sees the kid as a son, and he blames it on you. Hard words are exchanged and apologies are muttered. 💕

Whatever it takes: something in Tony’s gut tells him that this recording is neccesary. He doesn’t want to think about it, but he does it anyways 😭 💕

BUCKY BARNER/WINTER SOLDIER

A lash for a dog: after a failed mission, things only gets harder. 😭

🥇 Beautiful ballerina: Hiding your relationship with Bucky from the world was not easy. The worst part of it was hiding it from the mightiest heroes in the world; the Avengers. 💕

Imagine 1

Imagine 2

The first rays of sun: a short fluffy blurb with your moment with Bucky before a mission 💕

STEVE ROGERS/CAPITAN AMERICA

🥇 Be Okay: HYDRA takes Steve. When you get back to him, he’s not the sweet boyfriend you know. 😭

Photograph-song inspired 💕

Perfect: your date is about to get ruined and not even your perfect boyfriend might be able to do something against it. 😭

THOR

My hero: you didn’t believe in heroes. Those strong, brave men that always wanted to save the day, only to cower away when the real problems began. You didn’t like heroes, who wanted to save the damsel in distress; you could save yourself, thank you very much. You didn’t fall in love with heroes, until a certain blonde one stumbled into your life. (1) (ON GOING)

New Asgard: life in New Asgard is peaceful, but the past always comes back. 💕

🥇 ⭐ Nightmares: the final battle had made a mess out of the God. Nightmares fill his mind, but you’re always there to make it better. Until one day, you aren’t. 😭

LOKI

Imagine 1

VENOM/EDDIE BROCK

Friends: Eddie and you have been friends as long as you can remember. He has ruined your life, but it’s not like you can hate the man you love.

Imagine 1

🥇 Imagine 2

Imagine 3

VIKINGS

UBBE RAGNARSON

25th of December (1) (2) (MILITARY AU): When Ubbe’s gone, the only thing you have left is hope. (ON GOING) 😭

Dance Teacher (1): Ubbe’s Friday is not going as well as he would have liked it. Yet meeting his daughter’s dance teacher is going to change that. (ON GOING)💕

First time being a dad (MODERN AU) 🎈

Heartbeat AU (1) (2) : your heart doesn’t allow you to have a normal life, but it does beat faster when you meet your new doctor. (COMPLETE) 💕 😭

Imagine 1

Imagine 2

Imagine 3

Imagine 4

⭐ I’m with you: Ubbe wants to make peace with the Saxons. He doesn’t care what it takes, but when you decided to follow him in the middle of the night, he’s not so sure anymore. 😭

⭐ Lagertha’s Daughter (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) : Lagertha plans on attacking Kattegat, soon, and you, her daughter and Ubbe’s lover, just ask her to make you a promise (COMPLETE) 😭

My Viking Prince (1) (2) (3) : you’re Alfred sister, princess Y/N. All your life, you have believed that love is all about pleasing your husband and making him happy or that’s what your mother told you. Now, prince Ubbe is making you see things differently. (COMPLETE)💕 💋(3)

Say that again: Ivar has never liked you, Ubbe Christian lover, and he makes that very clear.

⭐ The sweet baker and the bad biker (1) (2) (3) (4) (5): (vikings x SOA crossover) Ubbe, as the new president of SAMCRO, goes to the new bakery to see who is the owner and if he or she is a threat for Charming. He finds you, a sweet, cute and innocent girl who doesn’t hesitate to make him fall in love (COMPLETE) 😭

🥇 They learn about periods 🎈

Together: Sigurd’s death threaten to tear not only your world but your relationship apart. 😭

What you deserve (1): Ubbe knows that you’re pregnant with his son or daughter and that he needs to leave Kattegat if he wants to protect you. What he doesn’t know is if you’re going to make it. (ON GOING)

Winner’s prize : Ubbe has put his life again at risk, but this time there are things in between that makes it different💕 😭

Your daughter’s first boyfriend 🎈

HVITSERK RAGNARSON

⭐ Angst Alphabet (Tattoo Artist!Hvitserk) (1) 😭

- N for Nothing 😭

- O for Offended 😭

- P for Pressure 😭

- Q for Quake 😭

- R for Rob 😭

- S for Surgery 😭

- T for Time 😭

- X for Xx 😭

Crush AU (1) (2): shitty job, shitty life, too much stress. What’s better to solve those problems that your hot, handsome and funny roommate’s brother? (COMPLETE)💕 💋(1)

⭐ First time being a dad (MODERN AU) 🎈

Him (MODERN AU): Hvitserk and you are seeing each other behind your boyfriend’s back, his half-brother Magnus. And leaving the latest isn’t easy. 😭

His lady: You’re his lady, he’s your prince. 😭

Home: What do you call home when you have lost everything? You come back to Kattegat to fight Ivar, but it’s hard to know that Hvitserk will be there too. 😭

Imagine 2

NSFW Alphabet

Octopus: Hvitserk is sick and just wants cuddles. (can be read as the second part of him) 💕

Rewrite the stars (Song inspired) 💕

Soon to be husband: Hvitserk’s back from raiding only to find you promised to another man. It’s up to him do something or not about it. 😭

Taken : you are taken by the saxons, along with your soon to be husband, Hvitserk. And you do not hesitate in protecting him, not caring about the consequences 😭

🥇 ⭐ They learn about periods 🎈

⭐ Your daughter’s first boyfriend 🎈

IVAR RAGNARSON

Angst Alphabet 😭

Checkmate: Ivar hasn’t always been the murderous king we know. There was a spark initiating the fire. 😭 💕

First time being a dad (MODERN AU) 🎈

Quiet days: Ivar is in a bad mood and it seems like only you can fix that 💕 💋

🥇 They learn about periods 🎈

Your daughter’s first boyfriend 🎈

BJORN RAGNARSON

Angst Alphabet 😭

First time being a dad (MODERN AU) 🎈

Imagine 1

🥇 They learn about periods 🎈

Your daughter’s first boyfriend 🎈

ALFRED

Something that there wasn’t there before (Song inspired) 💕

ACTORS

TOM HOLLAND

Back home (1) (2): Five months ago, you broke up. Five months ago, you walked out of Tom’s house because it was all too much. Five months ago, Tom left his home without you. And now he’s back, realizing you shouldn’t have never broke up. (COMPLETE)💕 😭

Back to you (Song inspired) 😭

Caterpillar: there isn’t ice-cream on the fridge, and that only makes your day worse. Until Tom comes home to fix it all. 💕

⭐ Christmas Present: you recive a call in Christmas and your world lights up like a Christmas tree. 💕

⭐Fawn (Mob!Tom): GENERAL SUMMARY (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10)💕 😭

⭐ Fluff Alphabet (Tom Holland) 💕

Forgotten aniversary: working so hard had consequences. 💕 😭

Football incident (college!Tom): Tom gets hurt in a game, although it might not be an accident after all. 💕

Gift wrapping: gift wrapping is the worst part of Christmas. Tom is the best one. 💕

Lost kid: Tom and you spent your last weekend before going home in Disney World, and he turns out to be one of those boyfriends who end up in the ‘lost kids’ deparment. 💕 🎈

Mushy Pancakes: morning sex and breakfast in bed is the best way to wake up. 💕

Relax: Tom is driving you mad without knowing, but that’s about to change after an stressful day. 💋

Short fic 1: everyone is cooking in the quarentine, and even if Tom knows he can’t do shit, he’s going to try. 💕 🎈

Shower time: the quarantine is the perfect time to tease, until you have enough and Tom is alone in the shower. 💋 💕

⭐ The Impossible (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6): Your relationship with Tom is on edge. Work, paparazzi and not seeing each other for months is making you tear apart from each other. Thankfully, he’s an amazing boyfriend and propose you what you thought it would be the perfect holidays; Thailandia. The hot sun, the beach, a cute hut and privacy to mend your relationship. Neither of you thought you would be witnesses of one of the greatest natural dissasters of history (COMPLETE) 💕 😭

Training Day: Tom’s morning hasn’t been the only thing hard that day. 💋

🥇 True love kiss: “I tricked your little sister telling her Ursula has stolen my voice because I have a massive hangover, and now we have to kiss in order not to break her innocence”

Au were Tom works in Disney store, has a massive headache and can’t talk, and now he has lied to a little girl and she wants to get him a ‘true love kiss’; which happens to you, her older sister and Tom’s highschool crush. 💕 🎈

ALEX HOGH

Attention: Alex just wants to cuddle with you. 💕

🥇 ⭐ Friends don’t love each other: when feelings and sex are mixed, nothing good can come out of it. Alex and you have been doing it for a while, and the bubble if about to explode. 💋 😭

Good Boy: Alex has been a naughty boy and he needs to earn his reward. 💋

Imagine 1

CHRIS EVANS

Bananas: your daughter seems to have a strange fixation with bananas 💕 🎈

Bananas’ worries: Banana the plushie is making another appearance in your life, and this time is bringing worries. 💕 🎈

⭐ Banana’s new friend: little Nathan is the new addition to the Evans-Y/L/N family, and Banana is having troubled feelings, along with Claire. 💕 🎈

🥇 NSFW Alphabet 💋

MARCO ILSO

🥇 Imagine 1

Imagine 2

You’ve got my heart : Marco is your best friend, your neighbour and your crush. One night at your house changes everything for the best; but you’ve taken different paths and life might never reunite you again.💕 💋 😭

TOM HARDY

B for Baby: you’re pregnant and something happens 😭

🥇 Imagine 1

Imagine 2

SEBASTIAN STAN

Gorgeous: Sebastian is doing and interview and can’t keep his eyes away from you (short blurb)💕

🥇 ⭐ Wired Autocomplete Interview: fans watching your interview with Sebastian are going to get more than what they bargained for. 💕

BEN HARDY

⭐ Interview : you’re exicted for your first solo interview about the End Game movie, but it’s not going to be as good as you thought it would. 😭 💕

Trust: Ben is your bodyguard and you’re his client, and both of you have some unspoken feelings. And what best way to confess, that without words and just after a bomb have blown up the building you were in? 😭 💕

TARON EGERTON

Hypothetically: you find something that you didn’t mean to in Taron’s tablet, and you wish it had been porn. 💕 🎈

SONS OF ANARCHY

JAX TELLER

🥇 Break in: your family night turns into a nightmare morning when some guys break into your house threatening your family 😭

Dating Jax Teller 💕

Embarrasing moment with their child 🎈

Imagine 1

🥇 Imagine 2

Imagine 3

Imagine 4

⭐ Injury: Summer mornings with Abel are always unpredictable. 💕 😭

Lucky (Zombie apocalypse) (1) (2): after the “fall”, everything turned out to be dangerous. You have been lucky enought to find Jax and a group.

Safe: in your mind, it’s not his fault. It’s never his fault, becuase he’s your dad and he loves you. But there is one person who loves you more, and is willing to prove that what Clay does is not right 😭

Short fic 1: after a shooting, the most important thing Jax has to do is to pick up the pieces. 💕 😭

HAPPY

🥇 Dating Happy Lowman 💕

⭐ Embarrasing moment with their child 🎈

PEAKY BLINDERS

ALFIE SOLOMONS

🥇 Bad words and bad luck: Alfie and you have a bet going on; if he doesn’t say any bad words until night, you’ll let him do whatever he wants in bed. 💕 😭

Imagine 1

NSWF Alphabet 💋

MICHAEL GREY

Attached: there isn’t much to say, just a cute rotten fluff day with the Shelby family 💕 🎈

Beach days: Michael’s and your honeymoon is going to take an interesting turn in the beach 💋

🥇 H for Humillation: you have a nice life, with a quiet library and a loving boyfriend. But some people don’t know how to respect that 😭

M for Mistakes: you’re Michael’s world and he’s not ready to lose you yet 😭

Umbrellas (C for Catcall) 😭

THOMAS SHELBY

G for Grounded: yours and Tom’s son is a spoiled kid, but his father hasn’t really noticed that. Until one night when, after a fight, Tom recives some harsh words from him. 😭

ARTHUR SHELBY

B for Baby: For being a Shelby, having twins was one hell of a lucky strike. Arthur couldn’t be any more happy and exicted about it; yet as always, luck is not very common in a Shelby’s life. 😭

QUEEN (BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY MOVIE)

ROGER TAYLOR (Ben Hardy)

🥇 ⭐ Freddie’s best friend (1) (2): being Freddie’s best friend means supporting him on everything, and being in love with Roger Taylor means suffering in silence, doesn’t it? Maybe a little trip to the fields can change that, but not in the best way (COMPLETE) 💕

To let you inside my heart (1) (2): when you have your heart broken, you build walls so high that no one can climb them. Roger Taylor’s purpose is to show you no walls can stop a loving heart. (ON GOING) 💕

What I love: Roger was a confident guy; full of girls and empty of insecurites. But now, he has a girlfriend and when an insecurity knocks at his door, all of them enter into his head. 💕

GAME OF THRONES

JON SNOW

Imagine 1

ROBB STARK

🥇 Betrothed : you have know since you were little that prince Robb Stark would be your husband one day. It’s time to meet him, and to discover if being promised to an unknown man is good or not 💕

Imagine 1

THE ORIGINALS/THE VAMPIRE DIARIES

DAMON SALVATORE

Back to you: Damon and you broke up two years ago, thinking it was for the best. When a threat to your life becomes too real, he’s forced to come back for the only woman he loves

KLAUS MIKAELSON

B for Baby 😭

🥇 Imagine 1

⭐ The Painting (ANGST ALPHABET): your anniversary is coming up, and Klaus is determinated to put into a painting your relationship. Someone might finish it before he gets the chance 😭

SUPERNATURAL

DEAN WINCHESTER

Imagine 1

Imagine 2

Love you (small drabble) 💕

🥇 ⭐ Please Don’t: while Dean and you’re trapped, he starts to realise that not everything is under control. 😭

Sub!Dean (November Kink) 💋

OTHER FANDOMS

STILES

Angst Alphabet 😭

🥇 Being Liam’s older sister and having a crush on Stiles 🎈

AQUAMAN

🥇 Imagine 1

Imagine 2

EGGSY UNWIN

Imagine 1

DARYL DIXON

Imagine 1

JACE WAYLAND

Daddy Kink (November Kink) 💋

⭐ (Don’t) Care: Jace’s carefree attittude is going to have terrible consequences for once 😭

Strawberry: two assholes feel the right to ruin your day, but Jace isn’t going to let that happen. 💕

🥇W for Weak (1) (2): your relationship with Jace is on edge, so you decided to wait and see if things get better. Not knowing that waiting can be your death sentence. (COMPLETE) 😭

JAMES DELANEY

Devil (1) (2): James isn’t sure if he loves you or he tolerates you. He trust you with something really important to find out. 💋 😭

MAD MAX

Imagine 1

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lisinfleur · 4 years ago

Note

Your writting is lovely and u catch my attention with every word... I would like to ask you some little things, I don't know if you ever talked about it (if u did, I'm sorry for asking again): *How did you became a writer? *How is your writting process? Does it take you long to complete a request? *What inspires you? Also, a different type of question... If you could change anything on the show what would it be and why? (Decidi não perguntar em pt para todos que lerem conseguirem entender)

(Obrigada pela decisão, mas bom saber que tu fala pt amore!!) Well, first of all thank you for the opportunity to speak a little more about me haha, it’s not usual to receive those asks - despite the way I like to answer all of them!

So let us see...

How did you become a writer?

I started with poetry. Mom gave me a “special” notebook and a “special” pen because I was using my scholar ones to write and so she gave me a proper place for me to write my stories and little poetry when I was around 6 years old and it never stopped. I always wrote to myself and then I discovered the fandoms when I was older. The first one where I really started publishing my stories was the Naruto Fandom when I was 15. Since them, I started writing for the others. But requests I started receiving here, in the Vikings fandom, after discovering the Imagine and Readers’ insert style. Before this, I used to write OCs or Self Insertion in private works for myself.

How is your writing process?

I prepare the ambient - usually, I take Saturdays to myself when my husband will go out with my daughter for a father x daughter day or I wait for my daughter and husband to go to sleep so I can focus on what I’m doing completely. I’ll choose a piece of music and read the request multiple times to build a script for the shot or work I’m intending to build in my mind. I take note of this script and based on it I start writing what comes to my mind, not tying myself to the script, letting it flow with the emotions of the music or even what the request inspires in my heart, or my passion for the character... I try to always put myself in the character’s skin so I’ll always study the character, watch multiple scenes of it or the whole story of the char before taking requests or writing for him so I can fit the canon the best I can or fix it the way I observe the fandom think the char should or could be (and sometimes the way I think it would fit better his story, personality or canon line). It’s a whole process of self-identification with the character and sometimes it is really hard (like Björn pieces for an example haha). Original characters go through the same path of self-identification, but I create the whole background before starting to write their current situation or their relation with the original story or the characters and fandom they’ll be inserted into!

Does it take you long to complete a request?

It depends on how the request inspires me, how it mounts itself in my mind... But pretty more on how is my life going at the moment I receive that request. It was easier for me when I didn’t have my now 3 years old daughter or when I didn’t have to search for a job because well, money issues, but the calmer I am, the calmer is the environment around me, the faster I’ll conclude my requests.

So, the time I’ll take to produce a piece of work is directly related to how stressed out I am haha (That’s why the queue is so long and I still have 5CW7 requests to fulfill: life is shaking my ass out these days!)

What inspires you?

Emotions. Whether generated by music, by how deep is the request, if it’s connected so some kind of cause or need in the requester’s life... Emotions are what inspire me and the internal will to cause them, to move them inside the others. I write pretty much to see my requester’s satisfaction, you guys’ surprise, sometimes the tears, sometimes the smiles. The emotions are everything that moves me.

If you could change anything on the show what would it be and why?

Ohhh here is a hard question haha. There are so many things I would change! Maybe the writers?? Hahaha

I think Vikings is pretty good material, but if I had something to change, for real, it would be the size and length of the series. I would stretch it longer, to give the writers more time to develop the characters, their feelings, the judgments and environmental changes that change then from inside... Everything that could be possible to make it clear for us when a character like Ubbe changes from the water to the wine as he did - why? How? What was happening in his mind? How did his relationship with Margrethe decline like that? How it really was developed this love he now seems to have for Torvi? - or a character so smart like Ivar becomes a total dumb as he was in season 5B - cause let us be honest here? What in the nine realms was responsible for his total loss of mind that made him go from a leader in ascension to a manipulable douchebag that thinks himself a god out of nowhere?

We had too many plots that could have been better worked if they had more time to develop the things that are always seeming to be thrown in our face in a rushed way, with little details, causing so much misunderstanding and sometimes, causing things to become impossible to understand or to accept.

So, if I could change something, it would be time, give more time, more space to the characters to be more detailed, richer. To give more of the actors and allow us to enjoy more of their beautiful work before the end of this series.

Ah, and I would also change the nature of this series. I wouldn't call it historic or I would change everything to fit history indeed. Cause to call Vikings historic is a crime... It doesn’t fit History at all.

--- That’s it, babe! Feel free to send me more questions whenever you want! I love to answer!

Thank you for the opportunity!

All the best!

#lis talks #about me

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peaceisadirtyword · 6 years ago

Text

Secrets XV (Modern!Ivar/Reader)

A/N: Hello💕 I was going to post this two days ago, but I had to rewrite the ending and then things happened and I didn’t feel like writing... I’m so sorry :( And again, I thought that relaxing a bit after finishing my exams would help me, but I still can’t write anything😂 I mean, I have the ideas and the inspiration, but I just can’t... I hope the next one is better... Thanks for reading anyway😘

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and sex, angst (an attempt), neglecting parents, character death and my lack of talent

Words: 3084 (I hope it’s not too boring!)

gif is mine :’)

When Elise came back to the school, she found you in bed.

You had been in there for a couple of days, only going out of the dorm to eat, and then back to bed, to sleep, cry and maybe try to call Ivar or Hvitserk. Even Ubbe.

Only Sigurd replied to you once, when you sent him a text asking if everything was okay.

We're fine, Y/N, don't worry.

Elise knew you enough to understand what was happening without asking you. She just sighed, laid down next to you and hugged you while you cried again.

Having her back was a big distraction. You found out that it was easier to deal with everything while listening to her stories of how she had met the love of her life in Norway, but he was gay and she was heartbroken until she found out that he had a straight twin brother and hooked up with him.

Alfred was acting weird, too. You knew his grandfather, Ecbert, had been the one who murdered Ragnar, but tried to ignore it as you sat down next to him on History class. He had looked at you and smiled softly before turning around to start taking notes. After class, he had walked away without even looking at you.

You found yourself waiting. Waiting for Ivar to appear from nowhere, with his crutch and his permanent frown. But, of course, he never did.

The new religion teacher, who arrived at the same time as you, seemed to know everything. You had seen him before, an attractive, blue eyed man who always wore a necklace with a golden cross and was present on half the school's wet dreams. You didn't take his class, so he never paid attention to you, even when you were with Ivar and he would glare at your boyfriend every time he could. Ivar didn't even had that class, so you didn't really understand why he was acting like that, but didn't dare to ask.

Now he was obsessed with you. He would look at you the whole day, even when you were eating with your friends, he would stare at you from the other side of the canteen.

Though you still attended your classes, you didn't study. Your old self would have panicked if she had seen the bad grades you were getting lately. But now you honestly couldn't care less.

"Maybe you should go away for a while" Elise was watching you, sitting on her bed. Both of you had been talking about some new gossip, but suddenly she had seen how you looked away and stopped talking "I mean, I don't know what happened, but clearly" she sighed "He hurt you, so maybe going away until next year would be the best decision"

Going away? The thought had crossed your mind more than once. You knew it would be difficult, but going away from that damned school and away from that country seemed like a very good idea.

"I don't know, a part of me doesn't want to leave" you sighed, looking at her again "I would miss you"

Elise smiled, climbing into your bed and laying next to you, hugging you softly.

Ivar was laying on the bed. His head was turned to his side to avoid the light coming from the window. He had had an awful night, his legs giving him one of the worst nights ever.

He couldn't smell your scent anymore. The first days after you left, he had slept in your room, feeling guilty and angry at himself for letting you go that way. For screaming at you.

As you had spent a lot of time inside that room, he could smell you. It was comforting, almost as if you were still there, hugging him, comforting him.

By his side, safe and happy.

But no one could really be safe and happy by his side.

He was stressed, tense and worried. Thinking about you the whole day. What if you were in danger? It would be his fault and he couldn't be by your side to protect you.

It wasn't like you wanted him by your side anyway. Not after how he talked to you.

"Ivar"

His mother's voice made him open his eyes. It was past lunch time and he hadn't moved from your bed since he got up at eight in the morning.

"Yes?" His voice was hoarse, and his throat hurt when he spoke.

"Are you okay?" She walked to the bed, sitting next to him.

Ivar sighed, he truly didn't want to talk about that with his mother.

"You need to eat something"

"I'm fine"

"Ivar..."

"Mother" he spoke more harshly than he intended to, and he felt guilty when Aslaug looked away "I'm fine, seriously, I don't want to eat"

"Ivar, it hurts me to see you this way... Again" she caressed his hair softly, and Ivar closed his eyes, relaxing under her hand.

"It's my fault" he muttered "I shouldn't have started to fool around with her, nor start something serious or bringing her here, and I should have been better with her... Or better, I should have let her be with Hvitserk"

"That's not the solution, Ivar" she spoke softly "You know, your father tried to keep me away from his business for years, even when Hvitserk was born" she shrugged "Never worked for him, I always managed to find about his plans, to know what he was going to do, and offered to help until he couldn't ignore me anymore"

"But that would put you in danger" Ivar frowned.

"I was already in danger, Ivar, every single girl that gets involved with a Lothbrok is in danger" she rolled her eyes "Y/N is no different, she's in danger now, maybe she's safer in school, but what would you do when she gets out? She doesn't have anywhere to go"

Ivar frowned. He had promised himself he wouldn't get close to you or even mention your name in public, he'd act like you were nothing, and maybe then Aelle and Ecbert would forget about you. But he couldn't let you walk around Copenhagen without a place to sleep or to go.

"We could rent an apartment for her" Aslaug seemed to always read his mind "Being careful, no one should suspect anything"

Ivar nodded, and let his head rest onto the pillow again, closing his eyes, his mother's hand kept caressing his head, and he sighed.

"Stay a bit for me" he asked "Please"

He needed a bit of his mother's comfort.

It wasn't like you were dying to talk to your father, but your mother didn't pick up the phone, and every single day you spent in there it was harder and harder. You needed to get out. You had been locked in there for months, without a single word about Ivar or Hvitserk.

To your surprise, he picked up the phone. He probably didn't even look at the caller.

Biting your nails, you abandoned the small portion of dignity you still had and cleared your throat.

"Hi dad"

He was silent for a few seconds, but when he answered he had a harsher tone.

"Y/N, what do you want?"

Well at least he didn't hung up.

"I was wondering... I..." You sighed "I want to go to Paris with you"

This time you had to look at your phone to be sure he hadn't hang up.

"What? Why?"

He wasn't relieved, or excited to see you again after years ignoring your existence. He sounded annoyed.

"I... Don't want to be here anymore"

"You're in the middle of the school year, Y/N" he scoffed "You can't come here"

"Why not? You can talk to the school, I'm sure there's something that we could do..."

"I'm not letting you near my family, Y/N"

You pressed your lips together and tried your best to avoid crying.

"I'm your family too, am I not?"

"Not since the day you got involved with that boy"

You stopped yourself from throwing your phone against the wall.

"Ivar and I aren't together anymore"

"See? He used you and then threw you away, and now the whole world knows that my daughter was Ragnar's son's whore" he grunted, making you roll your eyes.

"I'm sure the whole world has more important problems than worrying about Ivar's sex life"

"I do not want the Lothbroks near my family, I know what that people is capable of doing"

"But you don't even know them" you rubbed your eyes with your free hand, regretting the exact moment in which you pressed that button and called him "And I'm not involved with them anymore, dad, I swear"

"I don't care, Y/N, I will not have you at my home, I'm sorry"

"Please, dad, you're acting like a..." He hang up, making you sigh and lay down on your bed "Six-year-old child" you finished, locking your phone and leaving it next to you on the bed.

Great, just great.

Elise, who had been having the longest shower ever, emerged from the bathroom, looking at you with a frown.

"He said no?"

You shook your head and covered your face with your arms before started sobbing, too angry and frustrated.

"Hey, no, Y/N" she kneeled on your bed, caressing your hair softly "Come on, it's okay, when school is over you can come and spend the summer with me, you don't need him" she smiled softly.

"It's not that, I... I'm just tired of people treating me like that, you know" you let her wipe away your tears "I haven't heard anything about my mom for months! I could be dead and she wouldn't even care, my father has gone from ignoring me to hating me, and Ivar... I'm not even going to start on Ivar"

"Yeah, it's awful, but it could be worse" Elise bit her lip "You could have not met me! Then it would be much worse"

You smiled a bit, appreciating her attempt of comforting you. She had been very patient and listened to your rants for the past few months.

"Actually, I think you're the only one who actually talks to me" you sighed "Alfred ignores me too, and no one even looks at me, what have I done? It's not like I've killed someone"

"Alfred is acting weird since Christmas" she narrowed her eyes "He doesn't talk to me either... Well, now is normal because both his grandfathers died, but before that..."

"What?" You raised your head immediately to look at her "His grandfathers?"

"Ecbert and Aelle, he had business with Ragnar" she explained "Didn't I tell you? They found Ecbert’s body on his own bathroom, he killed himself" she grimaced "It was a few days after they found Aelle, one of his business associates, mutilated and dismembered, it was disgusting"

You felt like throwing up while hearing the news. You had been so worried about your relationship with Ivar and his obvious indifference towards you that you hadn't checked the news.

It was more than obvious who had done that to Aelle, the man who ordered Ragnar's death, and though you knew he kind of deserved it, only imagining his body being mutilated by Ivar or Hvitserk made you feel dizzy.

"That's why Alfred didn't come to class these past few days" Elise explained, oblivious to your internal distress "He's in Copenhagen now"

"I didn't know" you blinked a few times.

"I thought I had told you" she frowned "Sorry"

"It's okay" you shook your head, still shocked.

Elise looked at you for a few seconds before getting up of your bed.

"You know what? Enough self-pity for today" she grinned and took your hand "We're going to a party"

"A party?" You raised your eyebrow "I thought the parties were over"

"Until tonight" she smiled "Remember that boy I used to like that was on my Biology class? He and a few friends are throwing a small party in his room, and he invited me" she grinned widely.

"I'm not really in the mood for a party, Elise"

"Come on, Y/N" she pouted "You can't stay in here for the rest of your life crying over people who don't deserve you" she sighed "Come with me, just for a while, and if you are bored I'll let you go"

How she managed to always convince you to do things, you did not know, but Elise looked really proud of herself as you did your make up and changed into a crop top and a short skirt, always complaining about how you didn't like parties.

You were lying, you loved parties, but it just wasn't the same if it wasn't a Lothbrok party.

Well, it wasn't even a party, only some boys and a few girls drinking and hooking up while listening to music. If Hvitserk was there he would have laughed at how lame the party was.

That didn't stop you from trying to have a good time, though you failed miserably. Drinking cheap vodka and keeping an eye on Elise so that boy wouldn't do anything she didn't want to was all you did that night... Until one of the boys approached.

You weren't used to boys talking to you, not in there at least. You discovered that if a Lothbrok talked to you first, not a single soul would approach you.

But now the brothers were gone.

"Hey" he was obviously drunk, and had a stupid grin on his face that almost made you roll your eyes.

Be polite, Y/N.

"Hi" you breathed deeply and took another shot of vodka.

"You're Y/N, right?" He asked, his eyes already scanning your body and not even stopping on your face.

"Yes" you sighed. Bad idea. His eyes widened while glued to your chest, and you moved, uncomfortable under his gaze.

"I saw you last semester" he grinned again "I thought you were hot"

You raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but scoffed and looked away.

"Congratulations"

"Such a shame Ivar Lothbrok got you first"

"Excuse me? First of all, I'm not a fucking object to 'get', and second, not even if he hadn't looked my way I would have hooked up with you"

The boy chuckled and extended his hand.

"I'm John, nice to meet you, beautiful"

The I'm gonna need more alcohol for this didn't really work in your favor.

You ended up in your bed, as you had wanted since you entered that 'party', but with John between your legs, kissing your lips (well, trying to kiss your lips) and with his hands roaming over your body. Fortunately, you were drunk enough to pretend he was someone else.

Well, it would be easier if he shut his fucking mouth.

"I can't believe Lothbrok let this go" he muttered while gripping your breasts to the point you squirmed in pain "He's such a fucking lucky cripple"

"Stop talking about him" you scoffed "I'm starting to think you'd like to fuck him instead"

"What? No" he laughed "I'm just enjoying that bastard's bad luck... First he loses his father, then all of this" it was disgusting how he talked about your body as if it was a fucking toy "And then his mother, it's hilarious" he laughed again, but you froze and made him stop.

"What? What do you mean he lose his mother?"

"You didn't hear it? She was found dead this morning, murdered last night" he shrugged.

"Aslaug?" You frowned "Ivar's mother?"

"Yes, that one" he answered, already annoyed "Someone killed her when she was alone at their house"

Your heart skipped a beat and you sobered up immediately pushing him away from you. He protested and cursed when your pushing almost made him fell from the bed, but you ignored his insults.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Go away" you muttered, your voice shaking.

"Wha...?"

"Fucking leave!" You pushed him again, and he insulted you again before leaving the room, leaving you alone.

You rubbed your eyes, not caring if you ruined your make up, and unlocked your phone to search on Google.

As soon as you read the news of Aslaug's death, you immediately thought of Ivar.

Ivar, oh my god.

You could almost see him, even more destroyed than when his father died. Aslaug was the person he loved the most in the world.

With tears rolling down your cheeks, you unlocked your phone again, quickly writing a text message.

You discarded it almost immediately, too.

Right now, I'm the last person he wants to hear of.

Laying back on your bed, you left your phone next to you, on the pillow. But it didn't last long as you received a message.

Frowning, you opened it, thinking it would be Elise asking where were you. Your heart skipped a beat and you gasped when you saw the name of the sender.

I'm sorry.

He looked at his phone, his jaw clenched and his hands trembling.

He was stupid for sending that message. After months ignoring you, after being the biggest asshole to you, now he sends that message.

She's not going to answer that text.

He shouldn't do it. He had his reasons to keep you away from him, and he had to do it.

But saying goodbye to his father, then to his mother...

Mother

He breathed deeply, the pressure in his chest intensified, and he closed his eyes to stop the tears from falling again.

Ivar needed you. He needed someone to comfort him, now that his mother was gone.

The memory of her hands caressing his hair, her smile and her voice made him cry again. He felt vulnerable, lonely and exhausted. He had lost everything.

Ivar laid in bed, his eyes red from crying, his throat burning. His legs hurt for the lack of rest, but he couldn't care less.

What had he done to deserve such pain? He knew the only thing he did was hurting people, perhaps it was because of that. Perhaps losing his parents, losing you, were the consequences of his acts.

He didn't deserve anything. He didn't deserve his beautiful mother's love, he didn't deserve you. He didn't deserve you answered to his text.

But you did. And his eyes widened as he read your name and then your reply.

I'm sorry, too.

What were you sorry for? You did nothing wrong.

Before he could think twice, he replied to you, sobbing again.

Come, please.

Tags: @mblaqgi @alicedopey @cbouvier23 @lol-haha-joke @hallowed-heathen @ivarslittlebadgirl @naaladareia @tephi101 @captstefanbrandt @love-hate-love @titty-teetee @readsalot73 @moondustmemories @memememememe1-blog @dreamtherapy @rravenss @thevikingsheaux @therealcalicali @thehanneloner @fuckthatfeeling @drowninginyoureyes95 @chimera4plums @blushingskywalker @imcreepinginyourheartbabe @austenkingmylady @timber3 @unacceptabletatertots @awkwardfangirl02 @athroatfullofglass @shipping-not-sailing @miserablecunt @two-unbeatable-beaters @gruffle1 @bucketfairies @tatidark @justacripple @love-dria @heartbeats-wildly @letsrunawaytotomorrow @inforapound @sallylebecks @hellogabysblog @trashcanx @supermassiveblackhope @winchesterwife27 @russian-potatoes @reeree1500 @lettersofwrittencollective

I hope I didn’t forget anyone💜

#ivar imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar x reader #modern ivar #modern au #vikings #vikings imagine #modern vikings #secrets

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quiche-pocket · 5 years ago

Text

Not Prince Charming: Or Is He?

Here we are again. All this new Vikings 6 content and rewatching old episodes have inspired more of this story that I keep saying is not going to continue! This is a follow up to Not Prince Charming and The Beginning .

Summary: Annis is very pregnant with Hvitserk’s child and she has come to Kattegat to tell him and follow the path her dreams have guided her towards. Her mother is still the little bird in her ear telling her that her child will be the future ruler of Kattegat and beyond. When she arrives and sees the prince that forced himself on her the first time they met will she use him for her own gain? Or will Hvitserk show another side of himself and change the course of Annis’ story?

Disclaimer and A/N: I do not own any of the images, 2 I found on Pinterest and 1 has been on my phone forever, but please if they are yours let me know so I can give credit! As always, please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list. This chapter is happier, but there are still moments where Annis is conflicted and thinks back on past decisions she has made. There is no sexual content or violence in this chapter. Feel free to share and let me know what y’all think!!!

There was a commotion outside of Hvitserk’s rooms that woke him from a deep sleep. He and his brothers had returned from another successful raid the night before and the celebration had gone late into the night. He had stumbled away from the hall as the sun was rising and fallen onto the pelts and furs covering his bed before slipping into a deep slumber.

A banging on his door and the sound of Ubbe’s voice calling his name was what roused him from his bed and when he opened the door, Hvisterk was greeted with chaos. Thralls were running between rooms with bedding and clothing, his brothers were standing there looking as horrible as he felt but much angrier.

“Hvitserk. There is someone waiting for you in the hall. I suggest you handle it before Lagertha comes.” Ubbe sighed and motioned him toward the great hall.

Upon entering he saw her and froze in place. The auburn hair was unmistakable. She was slightly older, but definitely the woman he had found in the woods after the battle. When he left her, though, she was not with child. His heart hammered and Hvitserk made a detour to one of the long tables to grab a horn of ale. Perhaps if he blacked out again he would wake from this nightmare in his own bed surrounded by beautiful women as he had been dreaming of moments earlier.

“What is the meaning of this? Why have you come here?” He growled, making his way slowly toward the woman. A crowd was forming, guards encroaching on the scene should she attack along with Ubbe and Bjorn just beyond. Ivar would be skulking in the shadows until the opportune moment to make himself known.

The woman was silent and Hvitserk approached, snatching her by her hair and pulling her head up to look at him.

“Speak!” He bellows, losing patience with her and starting to panic as his memories of their last meeting flood back.

“Prince Hvitserk I come to you seeking refuge. Your army destroyed my home and you forced yourself on me leaving me with your unborn child. Prince you must help me. This is your child, I know it to be true and he must know who his father is. Please have mercy, I have nowhere to go.” Her eyes filled with tears and Hvitserk softened, seeing the fullness of her belly and the desperation on her face. This child may be his. How he has longed for children and a family to come home to after sailing and raiding.

“Rise. You are exhausted. Did you travel alone? Tell me your name again.”

“Annis, Prince Hvitserk. I have traveled alone. I was with the few survivors but they can no longer care for me in the condition I am and I knew I had to come to you.” She was still shaken, but her voice was steadier and she kept eye contact with Hvitserk. He helped her to her feet and called to the women to bathe and care for her then bring her back to the hall.

More commotion followed, low murmuring as those who witnessed the exchange shared what they saw with those that were not present. Bjorn had left right after Annis and the women, presumably to inform his mother on what had taken place. Hvitserk and the other sons of Ragnar sat together in silence. Ivar had a smirk on his face and Hvitserk wanted nothing more than to strike him with the empty horn still clutched in his fist.

“So, brother, what are we going to do about this?”

“We?” Hvitserk questioned Ubbe. “I joined with her after the raid of her village. She told me her mother had died and brother and father had been killed in the battle. The timing is right for the child to be mine. I will keep her with me for now, here until the child is born and then she will stay in the home in the woods until I am sure I can trust her. The child will be raised here as he should be.”

“How do you know it is a he?” Ivar queried.

“I know.” Hvitserk rose from his seat, grabbed another horn and went to his rooms to prepare for when Lagertha came. He knew it would not be long.

“She cannot stay here. She should not be in Kattegat. She is a threat and so is that child.” Lagertha’s voice rang with authority as she addressed the young man in front of her. Hvitserk had never been openly confrontational towards her, but in this he was belligerent. Demanding. When she had come in the hall he had been ready and waiting. Before she had spoken, the younger son of Ragnar told her that this girl was carrying his child and would be staying under his protection. The situation made Lagertha uneasy and looking at the eyes of the other princes, including her son, she was not alone.

“I will protect her. No one will touch her or my son while they are in my home and under my care.”

“My home!” Lagertha cried. “You are forgetting who you speak to, Hvitserk. This girl means nothing to any of us and you do not even know that the child is yours. She is lying and will use this to take Kattegat from us claiming this child is the rightful king once we are all dead at her hand. Do not challenge me Hvitserk.” She stared him down but Hvitserk would not be swayed.

“No one lays a finger on this girl. Should something happen to her before this child is born it will be my hand you will worry about, Lagertha.” He stood, towering over her in her seat, and stormed from the hall furs billowing behind.

Once Hvitserk had burst from the room and the heavy doors had banged shut Lagertha studied the young men around her.

“He cannot be this foolish,” she mused and the princes chuckled among themselves.

“Hvitserk is loyal. To a fault,” Bjorn began.

“A child is something he has longed for since I can remember,” Ubbe explained. “He believes it is the will of the gods I think. He is soft when he is not slaughtering Christians.” At that all three laughed again and Lagertha began to lose her patience.

“This girl will stay. In her condition she is little threat but hear my words that she will be under watch. Should anything happen or appear she is a problem then she will be dealt with. Is this understood?” All three nodded. Ivar appeared pensive, Bjorn ready for action and Ubbe had a look of worry on his face. She would keep watch over him as well as his younger brother and new guest.

*************************************************************************************

As soon as Hvitserk had left the hall and the meeting with his brothers and the queen, he went to the chambers where Annis was being bathed and checked over. He stood to the side, out of her eyesight, and observed for awhile. She seemed worried but not unpredictable or dangerous. This was the girl who he had brought to submission more than once during their first meeting. There was no doubt in Hvitserk’s mind he could do it again if needed.

“My prince, come closer I know you must have concerns and questions.” Her voice came softly and she did not turn to him but reached a gentle hand toward him. Hvitserk took it and came to kneel by bed she was resting in.

“Why did you come here. You must know that I am not next in line to be ruler of Kattegat. This child you bear will not be a king.” He cocked his head and regarded her thoughtfully.

“Prince Hvitserk I cannot explain everything, but I know our child will be special. My god has given me dreams and visions of a child born of a prince of Kattegat. I do not know beyond that, but I trust my god as you trust yours.” Annis still did not truly believe in God, but she felt this was something the viking could understand.

“You may stay here. I will protect you until the child is born, but Lagertha will be watching. You are safe with me, Annis.” He stood and took her hand in his, placing his other on her swollen belly. “You are not alone any longer. I will protect you.” He said, eyes glued to her belly.

As Hvitserk left the room he did not notice the shadow lurking in the corner nor observe it creeping along and slipping through the door he just exited. His mind was focused on the child and the mother. What a strange woman to keep the baby resulting from a joining as violent as ours he mused. He did not regret what happened, especially with a son coming out of it, but he was still shocked by the events of the morning. This was stranger than the dream he’d woken from just hours before.

*************************************************************************************

“Annis!” A whispered hiss sounded just as the bedroom door opened and banged shut again. It was not Hvitserk’s voice and it made the young woman in the room freeze when she recognized the gravely tone.

“Mother!” She hissed back. “You should not be here! Why have you come? If you are caught they will surely put me to death and the child as well. You must leave!” Annis turned in her bed and saw her crone of a mother hunched and limping toward her.

“I needed to see you. I needed to know if we are safe and how the news was received by the prince and the others.”

“The child and I are safe for now. We will be under the protection of Hvitserk, the child’s father, and he will keep us from the queen’s hand. You must leave! I will send word to the cottage we found when it is safe, but you cannot be here. Stay there and I will protect you as he does me.”

Her mother stood by until footsteps passed the room and she slipped out the door again, heading for the cottage in the woods that she and Annis had found before the girl appeared in Kattegat.

Annis lowered herself to the soft bed, covered in firs and surrounded by warmth from the crackling fire. She rested her hand on her belly as Hvitserk had done and smiled. He trusted her enough to bring her into his home and protect her and her child. Would he keep his word after the babe was born? Was this all a ploy to take the baby and do away with her. Annis’s mother used to believe the latter but after seeing the light in his eyes when looking at her in this way, she believed the prince would do whatever it took to protect the child and her as the mother.

*************************************************************************************

During the weeks leading up to the birth of their child, Hvitserk spent his time keeping watch and did not leave Annis’ side. She slept in his bed and he catered to her. She saw his brothers watching suspiciously but none approached her. During meals he sat and spoke quietly to her, excusing them both when she finished eating. He was kind and loving in a way she did not expect. Every night as he fell asleep, he rested his hands and his lips on her belly and spoke quietly to their unborn child. He shared stories of his father and the gods. Their home and what it took to protect it. She would close her eyes and drift into dreams listening to his lilting voice and feeling the rumble of his chest glide over her body.

No matter how often she sent her away, Annis’ mother continued to sneak into the walls of Kattegat and see her.

“Mother he loves this child, I know this now. He will do anything to protect it.”

“And you? Does he listen to what you have to say? Have you told him that this child is the only way to protect the future of this place and that his brothers and that woman only stand in the way?” Her mother had been increasingly insistent that the only way to protect her child was to eliminate the others and take the power for themselves.

“Mother his desires do not include being king-”

“His desires are not important. This child is all that matters. It is up to you to convince him, or have you forgotten your dream? Has it been that long that you no longer remember why you are here?”

“I have not forgotten,” she said quietly. Arguing with her mother was not fruitful. As she continued to get older, she was angrier and more frightened. Annis worried that she would try and take the future into her own hands. No matter how often she tried to convince her that everything was progressing as planned and that her mother did not need to risk coming, nothing soothed her fears. Annis explained she would come with the baby as soon as she could, but her mother was sure that someone would kill the child.

“The future and honor of our family depends on this child!” Her mother cried and Annis shushed her and sent her away.

“I know, Mother, I will speak with him. Please go, it is not safe for you here.”

Her mother slipped away once again and Annis fell to the bed and began to cry. Hvitserk was kind. He was caring and generous and attentive. Her mother made him out to be a means to an end but the longer Annis was in Kattegat and surrounded by the comfort the prince could provide, the more she began to care for him as well.

*************************************************************************************

“Annis, I would like to take you for a walk with me. The women say it is good for the baby and will help the birth be easier. Come walk with me then I will feed you, I know you need your strength.” He smiled softly and helped her from the chair. He draped heavy furs that matched his over her shoulders and held her close as they walked through the snowy town.

As they walked he pointed out people and buildings, telling stories and making her laugh until her cheeks hurt. He continually asked if she was tired or needed to rest but the company, conversation, and fresh air made Annis feel more refreshed than she had since before her mother’s last visit. Even in the cold her heart and cheeks were warmed by the closeness and care that Hvitserk showed. She had never felt like this since her father had died. Her father that she killed in order to fulfill a destiny her mother will never let her forget. A destiny that may not be what she thought her dreams were leading her towards. Perhaps having this child with Hvitserk was enough. A way to be free from her mother and the life they had. A chance for joy and love with a child and man who cared for her.

“Annis?” Hvitserk’s voice pulled her back to the moment. She had paused at a stall of fruits and he was pointing at them as if asking which she would like.

“Whichever you think is best,” she covered her distraction and leaned into his side as he selected the ripest ones before continuing on their way.

“You seem tired. Let us return to your room and you may rest until you are ready to eat?” He questioned and she nodded with a small smile. He beamed in return and they continued on home. A heavily pregnant English girl and a prince of Kattegat, walking the streets of the town arm in arm as lovers would. Annis began to question everything she had based her path around until this point just as the baby in her womb kicked and made her heart flutter.

@x-valhalla @athroatfullofglass @ainatirb-j @westcoastselkie @lol-haha-joke @hissouthernprincess

#hvitserk #vikings #Marco Ilsø #vikings fanfic

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philomaela · 5 years ago

Note

In the stories of the Ragnarssons, I believe one of the sons is alternatively named "Halfdan" or "Hvitserk." Versions that call him "Halfdan" say that he died in Ireland. Versions that call him "Hvitserk" say he died in Russia. I always assumed the show used "Hvitserk" because Harald's brother was going to be named "Halfan." But I gave up thinking Hirst had some grand or coherent plan behind these plot points.

I think he wanted all of Ragnar and Aslaug’s significant sons to be present in the show, so he went with Hvitserk, Ivar, Bjorn and Sigurd. Also Ubbe’s there. Sorry, this maybe isn’t the most convincing argument lmfao. Maybe he does see Hvitserk and Halfdan as variations of each other.... I’m not sure tbh. But I don’t think it’s due to Harald’s brother since, Hvitserk first shows up in s2 and Harald and Halfdan don’t show up until season 4.

Personally, I actually don’t think Halfdan and Hvitserk are variations of each other anymore (I did think this at one point). I know that that’s a theory that exists, but I’ve never been able to find the source behind it. Even the wikipedia page says it and yet has no citation behind it. So, because I’ve never been able to read the arguments for it, I can’t really determine how convincing I find it. Instead, I’ve only ever read books that treat Hvitserk and Halfdan as “different people” or to put it more accurately books that don’t treat Halfdan as the historical “inspiration” for the legendary Hvitserk.

Rory McTurk [Studies in Ragnars Saga Lodbrokar], despite constructing an argument that Hubbe, Healfdene, Inwaere, Sigifridus and Berno were all sons of a woman named Lodbroka... states that Healfdene does not appear anywhere as a son of Ragnar Lodbrok. He states the possibility that all these other “sons” may be the prototypes for sons of the legendary Ragnar Lodbrok, but he makes no connection between Healfdene and Hvitserk.

Elizabeth Ashman Rowe [Vikings in the West] also makes no connection between Halfdan and Hvitserk, treating them as two separate “sons” in the Ragnar legend. She states that the historical Healfdene doesn’t become a part of the later stories about Ragnarr Lodbrok. (Also... she points out that while Hvitserk is a nickname (meaning white shirt) but it’s adopted and used only as a proper name. It’s never treated for a nickname, which lowkey I found a very convincing counter to the idea that Hvitserk HAS to be Halfdan’s nickname. We have nothing linking the two and it’s never treated like a nickname and... Ragnar’s saga isn’t new to funny names lol.)

I even found one very old paper (1907) by Allen Mawer from the Viking Society for Northern Research that states “It seems impossible, with the evidence before us, to identify Healfdene with any one of the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok named by Saxo or the sagas.” Hvitserk is named by both actually lmao, btw you can read the paper online for free. So, I don’t think it’s a new occurrence to treat them as unrelated entities.

I don’t know, I’m not saying that the argument for Halfdan being the basis for Hvitserk isn’t credible... I mean first off, I would never say it like that because I don’t think I have the necessary background to make that judgement. But more importantly, I’m not saying that because I haven’t read the actual argument. I don’t know what evidence is used to justify it or how many people endorse it. All I’ve seen so far is people saying “historians say that halfdan and hvitserk are the same” or talking about how hvitserk is a nickname (which I’ve said before doesn’t convince me that it was a nickname for Halfdan specifically) and so I can��t really say that I believe it at this point.

#vk ask #vikings #tagging bc maybe someone in the fandom knows?#Anonymous #Asked and Answered

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jacksonroseroth · 6 years ago

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The Viking Princess Chapter 1

A/N: So I may or may not have done a thing...About Bjorn’s Daughter? Shout out to @badwolf-in-the-impala for always helping me out! and to @captstefanbrandt who gave me enough renewed inspiration to churn out this first chapter! Hope you guys like it!

Warnings: None

Words: 4,085

Moodboard made by me, none of the pictures are mine

It was hard for Reisa to adjust to her family, as she was the last child born. All her cousins, and all three of her brothers, were 5-7 years older than her and had little interest in watching after the little princess. But being the only girl and Bjorn Ironside’s daughter made her quite famous among the Vikings in Scandinavia and among the Saxons in England. She’d grown up hearing the tales from her mother, Torvi, her father and uncles as well, about their family and, most importantly, her grandfather, Ragnar Lothbrok. The stories she was told made him seem like a god and she looked up to him for quite a long time.

From the time Ivar surrendered to his older brothers and Bjorn’s crowning as King of Kattegat, the town had grown, even more from its huge trading population and presence into a vast kingdom, overtaking many of King Harald’s earldoms. Angered at this accidental betrayal, King Harald began to wage war on the family, against the brothers who had bonded back together after Ivar’s collapse. Harald was taken by surprise to see the former king fighting against him, for his brothers, but it didn't shake his resolve to take back his lands, gain Kattegat, and finally become King of all Norway. With their only hope of sailing back to England and trying to persuade King Alfred into aiding them, Reisa’s world would become even harsher than she knew.

Clashes and clangs rang in Reisa’s ears as she watched her mother spar with her older brothers. As the only girl, Reisa was very protected by her parents and they hesitated at training her to be a shield maiden. Neither of them wanted to risk her life at battle, especially not when they were up against Harald, who desperately wanted to do whatever it took to win. Yet through the restrictions, Reisa was able to learn enough to know how to defend herself, but not much more. When she was younger, her brothers would secretly teach her a little more, that is, until they received their arm rings and started to train at Bjorn’s side.

“Reisa! Watch out!” Vali’s voice pierced her focus and turned just in time to duck a stray arrow heading for the middle of her face, with a soft yelp. Behind her, she heard the thud as the point found its mark; The wood post just beyond her head. Reisa sighed and glanced up before she stood, yanking the arrow out of the post and turning to him. Vali was Ivar’s son with his wife, Kitta, the second of three. She twirled the arrow in her hand and tried to hide a smirk as he approached. His lips spread into a smile and he chuckled once he reached her. “Are you going to give that back?”

“That all depends, Cousin,” Reisa said, moving the arrow, just out of his initial reach. “Were you aiming at me?”

“Of course not,” Vali said, reaching over her to snatch it away. Reisa chuckled and crossed her arms. Vali stuffed the arrow back into his quiver as he said, “Hakan made me miss. What are you doing down here anyway? You’re not training for at least another few days.”

“I can still come down and watch. You’re not the only one who likes to break the rules.” Reisa remarked, her smirk now showing. Vali chuckled and shifted, crossing his hands in front of him.

“And when do I break the rules?” He asked. Reisa shrugged and said, “I suppose, like last week, when you snuck off with that slave girl and stayed out all night.”

Vali blinked, not realizing someone had seen his little endeavor, but he tried to play it off. “And how would you know that?” He asked. Reisa snickered and gave his shoulder a shove as she walked past him and said, “Because I was up all night watching the stars with Floki.”

Vali sighed as he shook his head and gave a chuckle, turning to follow her. They carried on a short conversation before he left her, with a kiss on her cheek, and joined his brothers, Hakan and Keld, practicing their archery. When the Lothbroks trained, they trained within themselves; Ubbe trained his son, Dain, Hvitserk trained with his two boys, Steinar and Wyborn, while Bjorn trained with Erik and Refil. Torvi split her time between her sons with Bjorn and her son with Ubbe.

It was an odd relationship between Torvi, Bjorn, and Ubbe. During a brief falling out with Ubbe, she had a fling with Bjorn, once more falling pregnant, this time with Reisa. Ubbe never resented her for it, as he even had another child with another woman, the woman soon taking off with his son. To Torvi’s pleasant surprise, Ubbe never treated Reisa any different than the other Lothbrok grandchildren, in fact, he soon became something of a second father to her. During the fling, Bjorn was married to his wife and queen, Gunnhild. Bjorn was also relieved when Gunnhild held no ill will to her and treated her as a daughter as well.

“Reisa. What are you doing here?” Reisa turned, abandoning the conversation with Vali, as Ubbe came over, Dain following. Reisa sighed.

“I just wanted to watch. Mother trains me differently than Erik and Refil.” Reisa said.

“Yes. And you know why that is.” Ubbe said, sheathing his sword and grabbing a pitcher of ale. Dain handed his father a cup and Ubbe filled them both, taking a sip before speaking to her again. “Go back up to the hall, Reisa. I’ll send your mother up when she’s done with her training.”

Reisa’s face scrunched up, annoyed, as Ubbe turned to one of the warriors that approached and struck up a conversation with Dain. Ubbe joined, letting Reisa know the subject was dropped and she was to obey. With a sigh, she swished her skirts at Ubbe as she turned to walk back to the hall, stopping to chat with a few of the people.

Bjorn and his new wife, Gunnhild, were a beloved King and Queen among the people. As Ubbe became Reisa’s second father, Gunnhild became her second mother. Both Bjorn and Torvi were well beyond pleased that their spouses cared for their youngest and only daughter so. As Reisa made her way into the hall, she saw Gunnhild gathered around the fire with her slaves and maidens, no doubt telling the young girls the tales of battle she endured. While she got many such tales from her parents and her uncles, there was something about the way Gunnhild told her stories that fascinated Reisa.

“By the time me and my husband reached each other, we were surrounded by the enemy,” Gunnhild said as Reisa approached with a smirk. It was a story she heard many times and could almost recite it by heart.

“You and King Bjorn?” One of the younger slaves asked, completely enthralled by the story. Gunnhild smiled at her and shook her head.

“No. This was before I met Bjorn. My husband Jarl Olavsonn.” Gunnhild said.

“Where is he now?” Another slave asked. Reisa couldn’t remember her name, but she knew that this young slave was captured by the idea of romance and love, an idea Reisa chuckled at. It wasn’t that she didn't believe in it, more so that she didn't believe it would save her from the fate already decided by the gods.

“He died in battle. The way any Viking should greet Odin. In the halls of Valhalla.” Reisa said, drawing the girls’ attention to her. Gunnhild looked up at her and smiled.

“Exactly,” Gunnhild said with a soft chuckle. “Alright. Enough stories for now. You all have your chores. Go on.”

The young girls scattered; The slaves attending their duties while the maidens stuck together and left the hall, no doubt to go down to training and watch the men. Along with struggling to adjust to her own family, Reisa struggled to fit in with the other young women her age in Kattegat. At 19, many of the other young women were married, many of them with families. Due to both Bjorn and Torvi wanting to find a good marriage for the Princess of Kattegat and that Reisa never found a man worthy enough of herself, she remained unmarried and an unspoken outcast.

“Did they kick you out of training already?” Gunnhild teased with a smirk as Reisa sat next to her, by the fire. Reisa smirked.

“I wasn’t training. I was just watching.” Reisa said. “But, yes. Ubbe sent me back before Mother or Father saw me.”

Gunnhild chuckled and sat back as she sipped her ale. She watched her stepdaughter, studying her as she poked at the fire before beckoning a slave for some ale of her own. Gunnhild sat forward and set down her cup, turning to her.

“Reisa. Has your father spoken to you yet?” Gunnhild asked, prompting Reisa to turn to her, surprised.

“Spoken to me? About what?” She asked. Gunnhild smirked and let out a chuckle as she shook her head. Reisa shifted in her seat as Gunnhild muttered to herself, sitting back once more.

“Oh, Bjorn, Bjorn, Bjorn…” She chuckled. Gunnhild looked at her and said, “We’re preparing to sail west soon. To speak to King Alfred.”

“Yes. Well, I’ve heard that much from Hvitserk and Ivar.” Reisa’s lips curved into a smirk as she added, “They’re quite loud.”

Gunnhild laughed. “Yes. That they are.” She snickered. Gunnhild took a breath and took on a more serious look as she continued, “But has Bjorn or Torvi spoken to you about it? Has anyone?”

Reisa sat back with a small huff, scrunching up her face as she became slightly annoyed and confused. “Not directly. I’ve only heard the talk from my uncles.” She said. Gunnhild gave another sigh and Reisa sat forward, setting her cup down. “What are you not telling me, Gunnhild?”

Gunnhild gave her a look. Reisa knew the tone she was using was disrespectful to her, as queen, but Gunnhild let it slide, for the moment. She crossed her legs and pressed her fingertips together, pondering how to say her next words, watching the princess closely.

“We are in negotiations on who will be going,” Gunnhild said. Reisa tilted her head in confusion. Surely, her uncle would accompany her father and her mother while Gunhild, along with her aunts, would stay behind to tend to their duties and Gunnhild would rule in Bjorn’s absence.

“I...Don’t understand. Negotiations?” Reisa questioned. Gunnhild sighed and said, “Bjorn wants a small portion of the army to come with us, should we have a need for it, and to protect himself.”

Understandable. Reisa thought.

“I have always been at your father’s side. I am very faithful and loyal to my husbands. I would rather risk my life to save his than have him recklessly risk his life.” Gunnhild said. So it had been established that Gunnhild would accompany them. So far, it all made sense in Reisa’s mind, yet she was still puzzled at why there were ‘negotiations’ about those who would be going, as it was quite clear to Reisa. When Gunnhild opened her mouth to continue, Reisa sighed, annoyed at this point, and said, “What are you trying to tell me, Gunnhild?”

“Hmm.” Gunnhild pressed her lips into an amused smile then said, “Save Kitta and Hvitserk’s wife, Syrin, we all wish to go with Bjorn to Wessex. Including your mother, your brother and your cousins. The boys are all well of age and Bjorn and your uncles have agreed already.”

It took Reisa a moment, then it all made sense. She was to stay behind. All of her family; Her mother, her father, his brothers and their sons. Even Gunnhild! They would all journey to Wessex and leave her behind in the care of her aunts. It’s not that she hated her aunts; Kitta and Syrin were wonderful mothers and took care of Reisa just the same. But she’d never left Kattegat, not even to visit the neighboring earldoms, even when she came of age. And now, her father was going to flit off to the west, taking the entire family, most likely as a show of solidarity and slight intimidation, but he would leave her behind?

There was no doubt in Reisa’s mind that they would leave Kitta in charge, as she had once been queen of Kattegat and knew how to lead the people. But she would be damned to Hell if she was going to be left behind while literally her entire family sailed off to Wessex.

Reisa stood, staring down hard at Gunnhild, who was shocked by the movement. “And I’m to stay here as well?! Like a poor, defenseless princess who needs to be protected?!” She cried. Gunnhild held up a hand to calm her, but it only made her even more upset.

“Reisa, please. Sit down and let me-”

“No. I’m not going to be left behind. I’ve never asked Father to go with him when he went off with Erik and Refil. When Mother would take them places and leave me behind. Never once did I ask to join any hunting parties they went off on.” Reisa said. “I’m aware of why Father is going to Wessex and I’m aware that we are at war with King Harald. I’ll not be left out this time!”

“Reisa!” Gunnhild stood as Reisa made to walk away from the fire and to storm down to find Bjorn, no doubt, and stopped her. “Reisa, please. Let me finish.”

Reisa was surprised that Gunnhild had given a few chuckles as she tried to calm her. Gunnhild stood and went to her, taking her hands with a soft smile. She pushed a few stray strands of her dark hair that fell loose during her little fit.

“There has never been any talk of leaving you behind, Reisa,” Gunnhild said. “Bjorn wants you to come, though...Torvi does not.”

The remark came as a surprise to Reisa. She was Torvi’s only daughter and she had always raised her to be fierce and that she was every bit equal to her brothers and cousins, though she did want to protect her in the same breath.

“She doesn’t? Why not? I would think of anyone, Father wouldn’t want me to come along.” Reisa said. Gunnhild nodded and smirked, leading Reisa away from the fire and walking her out of the hall and down to the docks.

“My child, there are a great many things ahead of us that we all must prepare for,” Gunnhild said, linking their arms as they walked through town. “Not only will this be your first time leaving Kattegat, but it will be the first time anyone will see the only daughter of Bjorn Ironside, granddaughter of Ragnar Lothbrok. You will be the name on everyone’s tongue and many men will seek to have you. Not only as a wife…”

Reisa knew her meaning and chewed her lip. She knew there was always a risk of her being kidnapped and held for ransom or leverage against Bjorn. But it was one thing to be taken in Norway, her home. Among the earldoms that she could have escaped to. Going to Wessex was a different situation entirely. She’d heard the stories growing up. Not all the Saxons were fond of the Northmen and there was the possibility she could be taken while they were in Wessex.

“Don’t be afraid, Reisa. You will be one of the most protected people, even more than King Alfred. Your mother is simply worried for you. That’s not to say she will try to stop you, she knows she can’t.” Gunnhild said. At that, Reisa couldn’t help a smirk. Even if Torvi had told her she couldn’t come, Reisa would find a way to sneak onto one of the boats and be with her family to greet King Alfred.

“So, all the family is going?” Reisa asked. “Why are there negotiations?”

Gunnhild gave a sigh and opened her mouth to speak when they were interrupted.

“Reisa. There you are.” The two women turned to see Torvi and Erik approaching them. Reisa smiled as her mother approached and embraced her, kissing her cheek. “Ubbe told me you were at training today.”

“Yes. I wanted to watch you train with Erik and Refil.” Reisa said. Torvi smiled and cupped her chin briefly.

“Ever my little warrior.” She teased. Reisa smiled as Torvi tucked her into her side. Torvi looked to Gunnhild and said, “Bjorn wanted to speak with you. He should be leaving his training soon.”

Gunnhild nodded and said, “Of course.” She gave Reisa a quick smile before leaving the trio. Torvi gave a soft sigh and turned to her daughter, giving her a smile as they started walking back to their house.

“Where is Refil?” Reisa asked.

“He is still with Bjorn. He wants to give him some extra training.” Torvi said. Reisa glanced at her and asked, “Extra training? Does he not already match Erik and Father in battle?”

“Mother,” Erik said in a low whisper. Reisa glanced at her brother as did Torvi and she cleared her throat.

“Well, yes, he does,” Torvi said, opening the door. Reisa sighed and followed her mother and brother inside.

“Then why does Refil need extra training?” Reisa asked as Torvi brought her over to the looms once her armor was off.

“Your father feels he could use it,” Torvi said. Reisa scrunched up her face, annoyed that her mother wasn’t telling her the truth.

“Because we will be traveling to Wessex soon?” Reisa asked. Torvi stopped in her motions, staring at the loom in shock. “Because Father believes that his sons should be ready in case there is a fight?”

Torvi looked at her and said, “Who told you we would be going to Wessex?”

“Well, I’ve heard Ivar and Hvitserk speaking of it. And Gunnhild told me today that-”

“Gunnhild.” Torvi sighed, annoyed. Torvi looked at her daughter and said, “What did she tell you?”

“She said there were negotiations about who would accompany Father and his brothers,” Reisa said, hesitantly. Torvi gave Reisa a look and said, “What else was said?”

“That was it.” Reisa lied. Torvi turned to her and crossed her arms.

“Reisa. What else did she say?” Torvi asked. Reisa sighed and dropped her hands from the loom that she worked at.

“She had made mention that you didn't want me to go…” Reisa said, glancing to Erik, who simply shook his head at his baby sister. Reisa chewed her lip and Torvi sighed and shook her head. “Mother, why wouldn’t you want me to go? I’ll be more than safe with all of you there.”

“Oh, my child…” Torvi said with a soft chuckle. She took Reisa’s hand and led her to the table, sitting her down. “I am not worried for your safety, Reisa. I know you will be well protected, the most protected, and no harm will befall you.”

“Then why do you not wish me to go?” Reisa asked. Torvi gave her a small smile and pushed back some of her dark hair and cupping her cheek.

“Reisa, there are things that will happen on this trip, whether you are there or not. And I would prefer to keep you from them until absolutely necessary.” Torvi said. Reisa blinked, confused.

“Mother, I don’t understand! What is going to happen?” Reisa asked. Torvi took a breath and opened her mouth to answer her daughter, when the door opened and Ubbe walked in, along with Dain.

“We’ll discuss it later,” Torvi said, standing and moving from her daughter.

“But, Mother-”

“Later, Reisa,” Torvi said, a bit more firm. Reisa sighed and slumped back in her chair as Dain joined her and Erik, Erik offering his younger brother a cup of ale as Dain set his axe on the table.

“You did well today, brother,” Erik said with a smirk as Dain gulped down the ale. Ubbe beamed and chuckled, patting his son on the back.

“Indeed, he did. Moving up in his skills, Erik. Sooner or later you all will face each other.” Ubbe said. “Bjorn needs to have the right men at his side.”

Erik smirked and sat back. “Well, the right men are his sons, after all.” He said. Dain shot a smirk right back to him and said, “We are brothers, are we not? Who says I can’t stand next to him?”

Erik’s laugh before he launched into a teasing bitch match with his half brother was the last thing Reisa heard before Torvi redirected her to the loom as Ubbe came over to her. He smiled at his wife and slid an arm around her as he kissed her slowly.

“How was your day, my love?” Ubbe asked, tugging her closer as they both chuckled.

“Very well. How was Dain’s training today?” Torvi asked, resting her hand on his chest. Ubbe sighed and released his wife as he pulled off his vest.

“Good. It was good. He’s quicker, I’ve noticed. Much more calculating in his attacks.” Ubbe said. He smirked and looked at Torvi as he removed the leather bracers around his wrists and said, “I wonder where he gets it from?”

Torvi gave him a look as a smirk spread across Ubbe’s face while he chuckled. Torvi glanced at Reisa, making sure her attention was on the loom, before turning back to Ubbe and speaking in hushed tones. “We need to talk about Wessex,” she said. Ubbe looked up at her as he sat down and gave a sigh.

“What about Wessex?” He asked. While Reisa was focused on the loom in front of her, that didn't mean her ears stopped working. The moment she heard her mother mention Wessex, she was listening, intently.

“I am worried, Ubbe. She’s not ready for something like this.” Torvi said.

“Torvi. She’s old enough to-”

“I don’t care how old she is, Ubbe.” Torvi hissed, glancing at her sons then her daughter. She sighed and lowered her voice, even more, causing Reisa to strain to listen. “This isn’t right. I need to know you will be on my side when I speak with Bjorn.”

Ubbe shook his head and let his head fall back, with a soft groan. “My love,” He started, lifting his head back up to look at her. “Bjorn is King. She’s as much his daughter as she is yours. He won’t back down.”

“There are other ways to do this. Ones that do not involve my daughter and the Saxons.” Torvi said. “For Odin’s sake, Ubbe, they still think us of their faith! Can you imagine what they’ll do to her?”

“You don’t know what will happen, Torvi,” Ubbe said. “Please, my love, you must yield to Bjorn on this matter. And besides, do you really think he wouldn’t ask Reisa first before agreeing to anything?”

“He’s already agreed, Ubbe. Why else are we going to Wessex?!” She whisper shouted. Ubbe sighed and shook his head.

“Torvi, if you insist on bringing this up to him, I will side with you,” Ubbe said, looking to her and taking her hands. “But he is King. What decisions he makes stand…”

Ubbe paused a moment and let go of her hands, turning to the table as he said, “He’s also my brother.”

“Oh, you all and that fucking excuse!” Torvi hissed. “That didn't mean shit when you two turned against Ivar and Hvitserk, why does it mean something now?”

“Because we’ve grown from it, Torvi. We’ve realized the mistake in forsaking our family.” Ubbe said, his voice getting a little rougher. For the first time since they started speaking, Reisa looked at them, watching. She’d heard them have their fights before and knew one was brewing. Ubbe looked up at Torvi and said, “If you are that worried for her, you may speak to Alfred yourself about her. There isn’t much else that can be done.”

Torvi sighed and shook her head, abandoning the conversation and stalking to the fire, stoking it and hauling a pot over it. The moment Torvi stormed away, the boys stopped laughing and drinking to watch their mother, then looking down the table to Ubbe. Ubbe watched his wife for a moment longer before he looked to the boys and shook his head, reaching for the ale and pouring himself a generous cup.

Hope you guys liked it! Feel free to drop a comment! If you want to be tagged in future fics/chapters, let me know! I’ll add you to the list!

@tephi101 @shieldmaiden25 @titty-teetee @captstefanbrandt @ivarslittlebadgirl @hail-kattegat @badwolf-in-the-impala @tgrrose @irishhiggins @i-war-s-boner @readsalot73 @thisisparadisemylove @capitanostella @noaor @somethingdawn @lol-haha-joke @meganjudee @tinypuppysoul @lovelydreamer-2000 @littlepanda-love @moondustmemories @imconfused28 @ivaraddict @kinzykittty @filthy-lil-thing @unicornbaby741 @thedevil-of-monterrey @chinduda @nomzcandi @ever-darkening @darling-nymph @franzi201070 @colie87 @derzauberermitlilabademantel

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unicornbiscuitsblog-blog · 7 years ago

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7 БЛЮД, НАЗВАННЫХ В ЧЕСТЬ ИСТОРИЧЕСКИХ ЛИЧНОСТЕЙ

Всеми любимые кулинарные шедевры родились случайно, а названия их скрывают интересные истории. Почему пирог назвали в честь женщины, а салат – в честь римского полководца? 1. Сэндвич Популярное блюдо сэндвич назвали в честь Джона Монтегю, четвертого графа Сэндвичского. Этот знатный человек, живший в восемнадцатом веке, был настолько заядлым картежником, что не отходил от стола для игры даже ради обеда. Вместо этого он просил слугу принести ему еду – холодную говядину между ломтями хлеба – прямо за стол. Удобная форма перекуса, позволяющего не пачкать руки, понравилась друзьям графа, а потом – миллионам людей во всем мире. 2. Салат «Цезарь» На самом деле этот салат назвали не в честь Гая Юлия Цезаря, как многие думают. Придумал его повар итальянского происхождения по имени Цезарь Кардини, в своем ресторане Caesar's Place в Мексике. По легенде, случилось это в 1924 году, 4 июля, в День независимости США. Ресторан был полон американцев, приехавших праздновать в Мексику, ведь в Америке в то время был сухой закон, и алкоголь был под запретом. Из-за огромного наплыва посетителей еда на кухне закончилась. Умный повар придумал новое блюдо: натер тарелки чесноком, выложил салатные листья, сбрызнул оливковым маслом, добавил вареные яйца, прованские травы, крутоны, натер пармезан и полил вустерским соусом. Гости были в восторге. В 1953 году салат Цезарь признали «лучшим рецептом, появившимся в Америке за 50 лет». 3. Пицца «Маргарита» «Маргарита» – одна из самых популярных пицц в мире. В 1889 году итальянская королевская чета – король Умберто I и Маргарита Савойская – посетили Неаполь. Правители, проголодавшись, решили выяснить, что ест простой народ. Их угостили обычной лепешкой с моцареллой, томатами и базиликом. Простое, но невероятно вкусное блюдо монархам понравилось. Рецепт был взят ко двору и получил имя королевы. Это самая патриотичная пицца, ведь ее цвета – белый, красный, зеленый – повторяют цвета флага Италии. 4. Яйца Бенедикт Завтрак «Яйца Бенедикт» состоит из бутерброда с яйцами пашот, бекона и голландского соуса. Изобрел его Лемюэль Бенедикт. В 1894 году это брокер забрел в отель Уолдорф-Астория в Нью-Йорке, пытаясь спастись от похмелья. Мужчина просил тосты с маслом, яйцом, беконом и голландским соусом. Метрдотелю блюдо так понравилось, что он включил его в меню и назвал в честь клиента. 5. Карпаччо Витторе Карпаччо – итальянский художник эпохи Раннего Возрождения – известен обилием красных оттенков на своих картинах. Любовь к этому цвету дала название закуске. Карпаччо – это тонко нарезанная сырая говяжья вырезка. Заправляют закуску смесью оливкового масла с лимонным соком или уксусом. Изобрел блюдо Джузеппе Киприани в 1950 году. Рецепт разработали для графини Амалии Нани Мочениго. Врачи запретили ей есть приготовленное мясо. Клиентка, которая увлекалась живописью, рассказала повару о выставке Карпаччо. Так и появилось название блюда. 6. Шампанское Хемингуэя Эрнест Хемингуэй любил крепкий алкоголь, и даже придумал несколько коктейлей. Один из них – шампанское Хемингуэя, или «Смерть в полдень». В его составе – абсент и ледяное шампанское. Чтобы напиток был правильным, шампанское должно оставаться игристым. Писатель также придумал коктейли «дайкири Хемингуэя» (грейпфрутовый сок и ликер), «Смерть в Гольфстриме» (джин и сок лайма) и «Молот Хемингуэя» (бакарди и фруктовый ликер). 7. Шарлотка Шарлотка – один из любимых осенних десертов. Яблочный пирог в тесте популярен во всем мире, и существует несколько версий его происхождения. Британский король Георг III был большим любителем сладостей и не мог смириться с тем, что все знаменитые десерты изобрели итальянцы, французы и немцы. Поэтому его повар придумал простой и вкусный десерт, который будут готовить везде. Повар угодил монарху. Пирог назвали в честь жены короля Шарлотты.

#ubb #ubb love #ubb image #ubblove #ubbstudy #ubb study inspiration #ubb study motivation #ubb inspiration #ubb motivation #unicorn biscuits blog #unicorn biscuits #ubb food

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imgoldielikehawn · 6 years ago

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Goldies Viking Master List

My full and complete Vikings Master List if its not here.. i didnt write it LOL Enjoy Loves!

Headcannons

Vikings Cast As Horror Movie Stereotypes

Ragnar

Rollo

Bjorn

Ubbe

Sigurd

Hvitserk

Ivar

Vikings Cast As Aaliyah Songs

Ragnar

Rollo

Bjorn

Ubbe

Hvitserk

Ivar

Vikings Cast As Band Members From the 60′s-90′s

Ragnar

Rollo

Bishop Heahmund

Bjorn

Ubbe

Sigurd

Hvitserk

Ivar

Vikings Cast & Their Zodiac Signs

Ragnar

Bjorn

Ubbe

Ivar

The Vikings Cast AS Popular Horror Movie Killers

Ragnar

Bjorn

Ivar

Ubbe

Hvitserk

Imagines

Daddy Says Travis fimmel x reader NSFW

Marco x Alex as roomates Comedy

Imagine being the wife of Heathen King Ivar The Boneless, little does he know he’s married a heathen as well ( Ivar x Reader) 18+ Mature Themes

Imagine Your Five Year Marriage Ending Over Another Woman ( Alex Hogh x Reader) Angst

Imagine Ubbes Face The First Time You don’t want to have sex

Imagine Ubbe Coming Home from a long trip (Ubbe x Reader) 18+ Mature Content

Imagine you get a Message From Your Boyfriend While he Is on Set ( Vikings Cast x Reader) Fluff

Imagine Fighting With Your Viking Man ( Vikings Cast x Reader) Angst

One Shots

Back Stage Pass ( Travis Fimmel x Reader) 18+ Mature

Castles Made Of Sand (Hippie Hvitserk x Hippie Reader) 18+ Mature

Musical Seduction ( Modern Bjorn x Reader) Fluff

No Sleep For The Heartbroken ( Vikings Cast x Reader)

Nothing To Talk About ( Alex Hogh x Reader) Fluff

Three Years And Counting ( Modern Bjorn Ironside x Reader) Pure Fluff

Five Years And Counting ( Modern Bjorn x WOC ) Pure Fluff

Happy Birthday Alex! ( Alex Hogh x Jordan P Smith x Reader) 18+ Mature Themes

Teenage Fever (Ivar x Reader) Angst

Too Good ( Ivar x Reader) Angst

Take Care ( Alex Hogh x Reader) Angst

Best I Ever Had ( Alex Hogh x Reader) Angst

Find Your Love ( Alex Hogh x Reader) Angst

One Dance (Jordan Patrick Smith x Reader) 18+ Mature Themes

Trust Issues ( Alexander Ludwig x Reader) 18+ Mature Themes

Girls Love Beyonce ( Marco IIslo x Reader) 18+ Mature Themes

Close ( Bjorn x Reader) 18+ Mature Themes

Boss (Ubbe x Reader) 18+ Mature Themes

Study (Jordan Patrick Smithx Reader) 18+ Mature Themes

Ride (Ivar x WOC ) 18+ Mature Themes

You Have No Idea (Ivar x Plus Size Reader) 18+ Mature Themes

Who (Ivar x Reader) 18+ Mature Themes

Lonely ( Modern Ivar x Reader) 18+ Mature Themes

An Evening With The Devil ( Dom Vampire Heahmund x WOC) 18+

Series

They Will See You Now ( Bishop Heahmund x Ivar x Reader) 18 + Mature

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 ( Ongoing)

Run Away (Ubbe x Reader) 18+ Mature Themes

Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 (Ongoing)

Lethal Lovers (Ivar X WOC )18+ Mature Themes

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 (Ongoing)

Jail ( Modern Lawyer Bjorn x Inmate Reader x Astrid ) 18+ Mature Content

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Hate= Love (Bjorn x WoC) 18+ Mature Themes

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 (Complete)

What Winter Brings ( Bjorn x Woc) 18+ Mature Themes

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (Complete)

Choices

ALex Hogh Andersen x Reader 18+ Mature Themes

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Ragnar Lothbrok x Reader 18+ Mature Themes

Part 1 Part 2

Collab Fics

Those Among Us ( Vikings Cast Greek Mythology AU) With @laketaj24

Part 1 Part 3 Part 5

What Happens In Dublin ( Vikings Cast x OFC`s) 18+ Mature Content @laketaj24 @courtrae89 @grungyblonde

Part 1 Part 6 The Hangover Part 2 Hells Bells

Queen`s Of Odin`s Eye ( Vikings Cast Sons Of Anarchy AU)

Part 4 Part 8 Part 12 (A) Part 12 ( B) Part 16 Part 19 Part 22

Part 32 Part 37 Part 41 Part 42 Part 46

Jax & Brii Snippet

All Works of fiction are inspired by the History Channels Vikings! Please do not repost and take credit! Enjoy

#vikings #vikings imagine #ubbe x reader #ivar x reader #bjorn ironside #ragnar lothbrok #Smut #iamgoldie #master list #follow me #woman of color fanfiction

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equalstrashflavoredtrash · 6 years ago

Text

Left to the Wolves

a/n: So i fininally finished this story which i’ve been working on all summer... it’s my first foray into the genre of a/b/o au so i hope you guys enjoy. This chap is Hvits centric but there’s suggestion of Ubbe x reader and if this gets enough positive feed back, i will continue with a chap abt him!

warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, a bit of heavy handed persuasion but overall consented sexy times, like this is mostly smut cus im a perv like that... oral (fem receiving) and vaginal penetration, also a healthy competition between brothers.

FF.net // Ao3 // Masterlist

Hvitserk X Reader // Vikings

word count: 2,445

As relaxing as the bath felt, it did nothing to relieve the sticky layer of perspiration that coated your skin. The sweat was provoked by a heat that came from within rather than the sun, a heat you had been trying to deny you were due for. Pulling the simple linen night dress over your head, you grabbed the hem to tap at your brow, hoping to dry it some but effectively doing nothing. No matter how much you tried to cool yourself, the moment your hands were idle your mind immediately snapped back to your hosts, Ragnar’s sons and your internal body temperature would spike.

You knew they had noticed, it was blatant they had caught a whiff of your budding heat when you spent that afternoon watching them train. Earlier in the week you had merely sat at the sidelines, spectating as they practiced, but today each of the brothers insisted on vying to hold your attention personally.

Hvitserk offered to teach you how to shoot a bow and arrow, something you’d never cared to learn before. He quickly took advantage of the situation, crowding in behind you to rest his hands on your hips under the guise of adjusting your stance. Rearing your elbow back, you pulled the string taut as his breath fanned the nape of your neck—sending a shiver down your spine—when a movement from across the field caught your eye.

Casually, you turned your head thinking it was just the others wrestling when you noticed Ubbe tugging to remove his tunic. He discarded the garment somewhere to the side as he strode back towards the makeshift ring where Sigurd waited. He met your gaze and flashed a wink, smirking before slapping his chest and settling into a starting pose. You watched the way he bent over, hands at the ready to deflect his brother’s attacks when your grip went completely lax, launching the arrow absently into the dirt.

Hvitserk’s laugh tickled at your ear, bringing you back to your present position, his hands still firm on your hips, holding you in place pressed against his chest. “You need to remember to keep your eyes on the prize, Princess,” he teased in a low voice only you could hear.

For the rest of the day you could think of nothing besides the warmth of Hvitserk behind you, his strong hands keeping you still. At the same time you found your mind wandering to his older brother, Ubbe, and to the way the sun radiated off his skin, highlighting the lean muscles he’d cultivated since your last visit when you were still a child.

That night you followed your mother and Queen Aslaug to dinner, finding all of the princes already seated at the table. Your approach caught their attention and both Hvitserk and Ubbe stood, abruptly sliding their chairs away to greet you as their younger brothers remained sitting. Aslaug and your mother took their respective seats at the head of the table and across from your intended destination. It had been a few days now that you’d occupied the spot situated between Ubbe and Hvitserk at every meal, but there was a light in both their eyes tonight that you couldn’t ignore as they ushered you into your chair.

The dinner was pleasant enough despite Ivar’s unsolicited and spiteful comments. In fact, you barely noticed the bitterness of the youngest and third Alpha in the family, having no idea that his sour mood was inspired by the same scent that brought his older brothers to battle for your attention.

Ubbe and Hvitserk were both eager to offer you more bread or mead, each making sure your plate was full before you could even reply. You were utterly overwhelmed by their hospitality, unsure of how to properly respond while also fawning at the onslaught of affection. You could barely eat under the watchful gaze of the two brothers. They were much more obvious about the competition then they had been earlier that afternoon. Throughout the meal they strove to outdo the other—whether it be through tales or kind acts.

Once you had finished eating, you were quick to excuse yourself, providing the need for a bath as the reason. As you rested in the warm water, you attempted to relieve some of the tension with your own hand, a tactic you often used before. Though before you’d never been in heat around so many Alphas, and it seemed the more time you spent with them, the more painful it was to resist. You wanted to fling yourself into their willing arms without hesitation and let them do as they pleased, marking you as theirs forever.

Unable to find release alone, you let out a frustrated snarl and gave the surface of the water a slap as if it was the bath’s fault you felt worse than before. You ultimately climbed out of the water before your fingers became too wrinkled, drying yourself and dressing for bed.

With a sigh you dropped the hem of your nightshirt back over your body when something behind you creaked. You spun on your heel, finding the door ajar and Hvitserk standing on the other side, his hand holding the latch as a smirk grew on his face.

“How long have you been there?” You exclaimed, hands flying to protectively cover your chest, forgetting you were already dressed.

“Long enough,” he shrugged as he crossed the threshold to your room, making sure to shut the door tightly behind him, clicking the lock closed.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you stated in what you hoped was a strong voice, but even you couldn’t deny the waiver at the end. “If-if my mother knew, she’d—,”

Hvitserk’s smile cut you off. “You see, I’ve been thinking about that,” Hvitserk began, slowly moving closer as you tried to match his steps in reverse, backing away until your thighs butted up against the edge of the table where you ate breakfast. “If your mother cares so much, why did she bring you to Kattegat—where she knew there were young alphas—when you would be in heat? Why are you in a room by yourself, with such a large bed, if you weren’t meant to share it?” His jovial expressing and tone seemed kind enough, but you could sense the edge to it. You could see his scheme but something in you found it logical—maybe it was the part of you that wanted him so—but suddenly it seemed to make since why your mother kept dismissing you, telling you to spend time with the Ragnarssons while she and Aslaug did needle work.

His hand found your waist again, squeezing your curves harder than he had while teaching you to shoot. Leaning to the side, Hvitserk dropped his head, nuzzling into the crook of you neck, inhaling your scent with a groan. Your fingers squeezed his shoulders, making a futile effort to resist as you melted into his touch.

“I’m not supposed too—,” your voice trailed into a moan as his lips made contact with your skin.

“Stop fighting,” Hvitserk hissed, finally crashing his mouth against yours. You tongues wrestled as his left hand dropped to cup your thigh, lifting your knee to curl around his waist as he lifted you to sit on the table. You leaned back, resting on your elbows to take in the way he loomed over you, his large palm slowly traveling up your side from your leg until he came to engulf you breast.

With a tilt of his head, he studied the rapid rise and fall of your chest and the way the linen of your nightshirt clung to the sticky sweat on your skin. Reveling in the softness of your flesh under his his grasp, he unconsciously jutted his hips into yours, letting his hard length prod at your inner thigh.

Hvitserk mumbled something before lifting his head to repeat himself, “I want you.” His green eyes held yours as he stilled on top of you. “I need you. Please say you want me.”

You responded without words, snaking your fingers across the nape of his neck, pulling him forward. He easily took the hint, shifting to press against you before he suddenly went stiff. Drawing away, he looked over his shoulder just as there was a knock on the door.

“Go away Ubbe,” Hvitserk barked with a sly grin. You laid frozen beneath him, slowly processing what was happening as he chuckled, “You’re too late.”

There was a still moment of silence as the pair of you waited for an angry retort but as the minutes grew it was obvious Ubbe had left—for now. Hvitserk could barely resist himself, anxiously inching his hands under your bottom. He tensed his fingers, squeezing as he began to pull back. Stepping away, Hvitserk grabbed your hand, leading you away from your perch on the table.

He backed you to the mattress, crowding against you as his palm came to hold your cheek. “It would be a shame if this big bed went to waste,” he teased as he lead you to lay flat atop the furs. You were like putty in his hands, allowing him to maneuver you limbs to the right place as he pleased, settling so your arms were pinned above your head.

Pawing at the hem of your skirt with his free hand, he drew the fabric higher, revealing the apex of your thighs. The deep groan he released at the sight of your sopping mound resonated in your bones. Silently, you longed for contact, jutting your hips towards his, begging for some kind of stimuli.

Slowly he dipped his fingers between your lips, easily finding your bud of nerves. With a brazen swipe, he rolled the nub under his touch, eliciting a moan from you lips with each rock. Grinning to himself Hvitserk watched the way you fell apart under him, knowing that every sound that crossed your lips came without hesitation. You bucked into his grasp, urging his hand to slide lower. He swirled his digits, skimming just around where you wanted him most before he began to shift. Inching his knees back, Hvitserk dove forward, burying his face between your thighs. His tongue and lips took over where his fingers had been as he laved at your hole, giving you everything but what you needed for release.

“Stop, stop,” you panted, tugging at his braids to pull his face away, overwhelmed by the presence of his tongue. Your cunt ached for him and his mouth only increased the want til it was unbearable. “Please,” your voice came out breathy and eager as you begged. “Please, I need your cock inside me.”

The look in his eye only stoked the fire within your gut, leading you to whine for his touch. Kneeling back he wrestled with his tunic as your fingers tugged at the lancing of his pants, too impatient to wait for him to finish. Kicking off his boots he slid his trousers down his lean legs, discarding them aimlessly before turning back to you. His prick stood proud and ready, bobbing slightly as he moved—the tip an angry purple.

You mouth watered at the sight before you, a fresh pang of desire flooding your senses. Lacing your fingers into the roots of his hair, you pulled him forward as you laid back, letting your knees fall open. Hvitserk pumped himself while lining the head with your entrance. In a single hard thrust, he sank into you easily.

Clenching around him you reveled in everything you wanted but had been denying yourself. He drew back before slamming against you, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing in the air with your moans as he kept up a brutal pace. Hvitserk wrapped his arms around your ribs, holding you tight as you clutched at his shoulder blades, your nails leaving red lines as they dug in to his skin.

Maneuvering his legs, he pushed himself to roll onto his back, dragging you to straddle his waist. Sitting up you rested your hands flat on his chest, bracing yourself as you reared back, pushing your ass backwards to swallow the entirety of his prick, swollen knot included. You could feel Hvitserk’s grip tighten as your hips came to touch his, pausing for a moment to adjust to the way his knot stretched your walls so deliciously.

A stuttered moan leaked from Hvitserk’s mouth as you began to roll your hips, grinding so that your clit hit his pelvic bone with every pass. You were so distracted by the feeling of his cock inside you, you hadn’t even realized the filth that he had been cooing to you.

“You like that don’t you?” he chided as you raised your eyes to meet his. “You feel fucking perfect, I can barely hold back.”

“Then don’t—,” you whined in response, blushing at the dark grin that slid across his face.

“You want me to ruin you, huh?” He began, digging his fingers into your ass, spreading your cheeks as his lifted you. “You want me to come inside you, to fill you with pups?” Grounding his heals into the bed he began to thrust upwards at a steady but teasing pace. “Tell me. Tell me how bad you want it and I’ll give you everything.”

“Yes, I want it. I want your cum so bad, please fill me,” you begged without thought or hesitation in a high pitched, wanton voice that nearly threw him over the edge. Hvitserk grabbed at your hair, wrenching your head back to expose your neck to his teeth as he pounded into you in an unyielding rhythm. Your soft flesh bounced as he nipped along your throat. He could feel the moment your body let go, the walls of your cunt spasming around him as your limbs shook, overwhelmed by the liquid ecstasy that flowed so freely through you.

Hvitserk followed soon after, his own body tensing as he fulfilled his promise to release his seed deep within you. Finally giving up on using your arms for support, you collapse to his chest—still trying you gather you conscious thoughts.

Shifting, you move to roll off from on top Hvitserk, but he was quick to keep you in place the moment he felt the slightest tug on his over inflated knot. “Not so fast,” he chuckles, drawing his arms tighter around your ribs. “You think I’m letting you go this soon after getting you? I'm not done here tonight.” Your response was a content purr, accepting your fate for the evening as you nuzzled your nose into the crook of his neck.

Hope you enjoyed! please tell me what you thought!

@beautifulramblingbrains @ariwolf14 @titty-teetee @whenimaunicorn @sweetvengeancee @ivarinleatherpants @tiyetiye @romanchronicles @oddsnendsfanfic @murmelinchen @buckybarnesisalittleshit @laketaj24 @ivarslittlebadgirl @readsalot73 @imgoldielikehawn @ivarsshieldmadien @ceridwenofwales @grungyblonde @honestsycrets @lisinfleur [[if you want to be tagged for vikings stuff in the future, leave a reply]]

#hvitserk #hvitserk imagine #hvitserk x reader #alpha!hvitserk #hvitserk x you #vikings #my writing #left to the wolves

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