#ubbe x imogene

[pokeasleepingsmaug]

To Lie Down With Wolves: Chapter 13

I’m so, so sorry about the super-long delay between chapters, but things have been pretty hectic. @underthenorthstar and I are so grateful to you guys for continuing to stick with this piece with us, and we hope you’re enjoying it as much as we are (even with the delays in updates.)

Tagging: @bonniebird @ally22042000 @persephone-is-here-omg@byzantium-glytch @aalexandra2712 @ceridwenofwales @im-the-pilot-bodhi-rook @ivars-pet @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @bitchccraft  @sister-wives-of-kattegat @tiyetiye @letsbedragonstogether @ivarthefuckboy @readsalot73 @florenceivy @captainpoopweinersoldier @vikingsmania @lupy22 @kenzieam@tinymoonshine Let us know if you want a tag!

Read on AO3

Imogene is plummeting into a black abyss that she’s been heading for since the moment the wolf first caught her against his chest. Ubbe’s thumb grazes lightly over her lips and settles against her cheek, his warm palm cupping her jaw and his thumb is stroking her cheek so gently her chest aches. His breathing is soft and deep, fluttering over her skin like the breath of spring itself, and Imogene wants to open her eyes but doesn’t dare.

She knows if she looks at him now, with her chest cracked open and raw and his hand on her face, she will kiss him and kiss him and never stop. The tempo of his breathing changes, and she can’t move. “Imogene,” he whispers, “open your eyes.” She’s afraid, so afraid, but his voice is so full of tenderness that she hesitates for only a moment.

His eyes loom blue and wide as the sky, a mere breath from hers, a soft smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Your eyes are so strange, the same gray of a stormy ocean. The sea was just that color the day we left Kattegat, heading to your homeland.” He remembers his fever dream--water always wins, and so he thinks that perhaps it’s been winning all along. Maybe this was the plan from the very start. Who is he to question such things?

The wolf tilts his head slightly to the side, and his nose is sliding against hers when a scream from Jerrick’s bed startles them apart. Ubbe lurches to his feet before Imogene can even blink, a warrior’s instinct propelling him thoughtlessly toward his son’s bed. His hand flies to his hip, searching for a blade that isn’t there.

Ubbe plops heavily onto Jerrick’s bed, stretching his wounded leg out straight and smoothing the sweaty blond hair back from the pale forehead. “Papa!” Jerrick scrambles into his father’s lap with a relieved cry. Ubbe wraps him protectively in a hug, snugging him firmly against his broad chest. He adjusts Jerrick’s weight onto his good leg. “I had a bad dream. That Imogene couldn’t save you, and you died and I had to stay with Uncle Ivar.” He shudders convulsively, and Ubbe presses a kiss onto his temple.

“I’m here, and I’m never leaving you,” Ubbe promises. Jerrick pops his thumb sleepily into his mouth and sighs. “Tomorrow we’ll go fishing in the harbor,” Ubbe continues, offering a distraction, and the little pup nods solemnly. Imogene opens her mouth to protest that Ubbe shouldn’t push himself that hard, but he meets her eye over Jerrick’s head and mouths “no” to her. She bites her lip, but nods.

They stay like this for a few minutes that could be years, with the fire crackling softly and Ubbe just holding his son, stroking his hair until his eyes begin to droop. The sight fills Imogene with peace--she wonders how this is the same man that ordered her to lick his armor clean, and realizes with a start maybe it isn’t, and maybe she isn’t the same, either. Piece by piece they’ve been building something new together--something that started off with whimpers and snarls but slowly grew into content sighs and a silence that doesn’t need to be filled.

“Do you think you can sleep now?” Ubbe whispers against Jerrick’s temple, and the pup hesitates only a moment before he nods.

His small hand reaches toward Imogene, fingers splayed. “Mama,” he whines sleepily. Imogene can’t answer him around the lump in her throat, but she sets her mending down and goes to crouch beside the bed. She strokes his fair hair back from his face, finding the way it sticks up so adorable she wants to crush him to her chest. She doesn’t, only gives his hand a gentle squeeze as Ubbe sets him back on the bed and tucks the blankets around him.

They stand watch over the bed while he falls back asleep, watching the way his chest rises and falls as his breathing slows. It’s grounding, having something to focus on besides the way Ubbe’s hand brushes against her thigh when he shifts his weight, or the way her breath hitches when he spins to face her.

His hands cup her chin before she’s even realized he was raising them, and his mouth is suddenly on hers and she thinks woozily that maybe it’s good he surprised her like this. Because when she doesn’t have time to think about it, she isn’t scared of kissing him. She’s only scared she’ll never stop.  

[xnora19]

« OTP’s ~ Partner’s

𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊́𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚛 𝚢 𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘. 𝙰𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚒𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝙾𝚃𝙿’𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚒́𝚊𝚗 𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚛 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚘, 𝚖𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚒́𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚜𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚋𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚒́ 𝚢 𝚊𝚜𝚒́ 𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚜 𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘.

»  Lʟᴇᴠᴏ ᴀʟʀᴇᴅᴇᴅᴏʀ ᴅᴇ ᴄɪɴᴄᴏ ᴀñᴏs ᴇɴ ᴇʟ ᴍᴜɴᴅᴏ ᴅᴇʟ ʀᴏʟᴇᴏ﹐ ᴀsɪ́ ϙᴜᴇ ᴘᴏʀ ʟᴏ ᴍɪsᴍᴏ ᴘᴜᴇᴅᴏ ᴅᴇᴄɪʀ ϙᴜᴇ ᴛᴇɴɢᴏ ᴀʟɢᴏ ᴅᴇ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄɪᴀ ᴀʟ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛᴏ ᴅᴇ ʟʟᴇᴠᴀʀ ᴀ ᴄᴀʙᴏ ᴜɴᴀ ᴛʀᴀᴍᴀ ϙᴜᴇ ᴍᴇ ʟʟᴀᴍᴇ ʟᴀ ᴀᴛᴇɴᴄɪᴏ́ɴ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴀʀ. » Sɪᴇᴍᴘʀᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ɢᴜsᴛᴀᴅᴏ ᴍᴀɴᴛᴇɴᴇʀ ᴇʟ ᴏʀᴅᴇɴ ᴇɴ ᴍɪs ᴄᴜᴇɴᴛᴀs﹐ Mᴇ ɢᴜsᴛᴀ sᴇʀ ᴘʀᴇᴄɪsᴀ ʏ ʜᴀʙʟᴀʀ ʟᴀs ᴛʀᴀᴍᴀs ᴀɴᴛᴇs ᴅᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴀʀ ﹙Pᴏʀ sᴜᴘᴜᴇsᴛᴏ﹐ ᴇsᴏ ɴᴏ sɪɢɴɪғɪᴄᴀ ϙᴜᴇ ᴀʟɢᴜɴᴀ ᴛʀᴀᴍᴀ sᴏʀᴘʀᴇsᴀ ᴍᴇ ᴅɪsɢᴜsᴛᴇ﹐ ᴘᴏʀ ᴇʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴀʀɪᴏ﹐ ʟʟᴇɢᴀ ᴀ sᴇʀ ᴅɪᴠᴇʀᴛɪᴅᴏ﹚. » Tᴇɴɢᴏ ϙᴜᴇ sᴇʀ ᴄʟᴀʀᴀ ᴇɴ ᴇsᴛᴏ﹐ ᴘᴏʀ ᴄᴜᴇsᴛɪᴏɴᴇs ᴜsᴇʀ ʏ ᴏᴛʀᴀs ᴘʟᴀᴛᴀғᴏʀᴍᴀs ʏ/ᴏ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀᴊᴇs ᴍᴇ ɢᴜsᴛᴀ ϙᴜᴇ ᴍɪ ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀ ᴛᴇɴɢᴀ ᴘᴀᴄɪᴇɴᴄɪᴀ ᴇɴ ʟᴏs ʀᴏʟᴇs; ᴅᴇʟ ᴍɪsᴍᴏ ᴍᴏᴅᴏ ʏᴏ ᴏғʀᴇᴄᴇʀᴇ́ ʟᴏ ᴍɪsᴍᴏ﹐ ᴀᴜɴϙᴜᴇ ᴘᴏʀ sᴜᴘᴜᴇsᴛᴏ﹐ ʟᴀ ʀᴇsᴘᴜᴇsᴛᴀ ᴀʟ ʀᴏʟ sᴇ ʀᴇᴄɪʙɪʀᴀ́ sɪᴇᴍᴘʀᴇ﹐ ɴᴜɴᴄᴀ ᴅᴇᴊᴀʀɪ́ᴀ ᴜɴᴀ ᴛʀᴀᴍᴀ ʙᴏᴛᴀᴅᴀ sɪ ɴᴏ ᴛᴇɴɢᴏ ʙᴀsᴇs ᴠᴇʀᴅᴀᴅᴇʀᴀs ᴘᴀʀᴀ ʜᴀᴄᴇʀ ᴀϙᴜᴇʟʟᴏ ʏ ɴᴜɴᴄᴀ sɪɴ ᴀᴠɪsᴀʀ. » Mᴇ ɢᴜsᴛᴀ ᴇʟ ʀᴏʟ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴏ﹣ᴇxᴛᴇɴsᴏ﹐ ᴀᴜɴϙᴜᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀᴅᴀᴘᴛᴏ ᴄᴏɴғᴏʀᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴍɪ ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀ ᴀ ʀᴏʟᴇᴀʀ ᴀʟɢᴏ ᴍᴀ́s ᴄᴏʀᴛᴏ. » Pɪᴅᴏ ϙᴜᴇ ᴀʙʀᴀɴ ᴇʟ ʀᴏʟ﹐ ᴀsɪ́ ᴄᴏᴍᴏ ʏᴏ ᴘᴜᴇᴅᴏ ᴀʙʀɪʀʟᴏ. Es ᴜɴ ᴘᴏᴄᴏ ᴄᴀɴsᴀᴅᴏ ᴍᴀɴᴅᴀʀ sɪᴇᴍᴘʀᴇ ʏᴏ ʟᴀ ᴛʀᴀᴍᴀ ᴅᴇʟ ʀᴏʟ﹐ sᴇʀɪ́ᴀ ʙᴜᴇɴᴏ sᴇʀ ᴀʟɢᴏ ʀᴇᴄɪ́ᴘʀᴏᴄᴏ ᴇɴ ʟᴀ ᴀᴘᴏʀᴛᴀᴄɪᴏ́ɴ ᴅᴇ ɪᴅᴇᴀs. » Bᴜᴇɴᴀ ᴏʀᴛᴏɢʀᴀғɪ́ᴀ﹐ ᴀʟ ᴍᴇɴᴏs sᴀʙᴇʀ ᴇsᴄʀɪʙɪʀ ᴀʟɢᴏ ᴇɴᴛᴇɴᴅɪʙʟᴇ ʏ ᴄᴏʜᴇʀᴇɴᴛᴇ sᴏʙʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴅᴏ. » Nᴏ ᴛᴇɴɢᴏ ɴɪɴɢᴜ́ɴ ɪɴᴄᴏɴᴠᴇ��ɪᴇɴᴛᴇ ᴄᴏɴ ᴇʟ sᴇxʀᴏʟ﹣ʟᴇᴍᴏɴ sɪᴇᴍᴘʀᴇ ʏ ᴄᴜᴀɴᴅᴏ ᴛᴇɴɢᴀ ᴜɴᴀ ʙᴀsᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴀ ϙᴜᴇ sᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴄᴇ﹐ ᴏ ʙɪᴇɴ﹐ sᴇ ʜᴀʙʟᴇ ᴀɴᴛᴇs. » Sᴜᴇʟᴏ ʟʟᴇᴠᴀʀ ʟᴏs ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀᴊᴇs ғᴇᴍᴇɴɪɴᴏs﹐ sɪɴ ᴇᴍʙᴀʀɢᴏ ᴀ ᴇsᴛᴀs ᴀʟᴛᴜʀᴀs ᴄʀᴇᴏ ϙᴜᴇ ᴘᴜᴇᴅᴏ ᴀᴅᴀᴘᴛᴀʀᴍᴇ ᴇɴ ᴄɪᴇʀᴛᴏs ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀᴊᴇs ᴇɴ ᴇsᴘᴇᴄɪ́ғɪᴄᴏ; ᴇsᴏ sᴇ ᴅᴇʙᴇ ᴀ ϙᴜᴇ ᴅᴇsᴅᴇ sɪᴇᴍᴘʀᴇ ʜᴇ ʟʟᴇᴠᴀᴅᴏ ᴀ ʟᴏs ᴘᴊ ғᴇᴍᴇɴɪɴᴏs﹐ ʟᴀ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄɪᴀ sᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴀᴅᴏ ᴄᴏɴ ᴇʟʟᴏs. » Pɪᴅᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴜɴɪᴄᴀᴄɪᴏ́ɴ Usᴇʀ﹐ ᴀʟ ᴍᴇɴᴏs ʟᴀ ɴᴇᴄᴇsᴀʀɪᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴀ ᴘᴏᴅᴇʀ ᴀᴠɪsᴀʀ ᴄᴜᴀʟϙᴜɪᴇʀ ᴘʀᴏʙʟᴇᴍᴀ﹐ ᴅᴜᴅᴀ﹐ ɪɴᴄᴏɴᴠᴇɴɪᴇɴᴛᴇ ᴏ ᴀᴜsᴇɴᴄɪᴀ ᴘᴏʀ ʟᴀs ᴛʀᴀᴍᴀs ʏ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀᴊᴇs. » Mᴇ ᴀᴅᴀᴘᴛᴏ ʙɪᴇɴ ᴀ Cʀᴏssᴏᴠᴇʀ ʏ Rᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ﹐ ᴘᴇʀᴏ ᴘʀɪᴍᴇʀᴏ ʜᴀʏ ϙᴜᴇ ʜᴀʙʟᴀʀʟᴏ ﹙Lᴏ ᴅɪɢᴏ ᴘᴏʀ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀᴊᴇs ᴀᴊᴇɴᴏs ᴀ ᴍɪ Fᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ʏ ᴅᴇᴍᴀ́s﹚. » Mɪ ᴛɪᴘᴏ ᴅᴇ ʀᴏʟᴇᴏ sᴜᴇʟᴇ sᴇʀ ᴀʟɢᴏ ᴍᴀ́s Cᴀɴᴏɴ﹐ ᴀᴜɴϙᴜᴇ ʙɪᴇɴ sᴇ ᴘᴜᴇᴅᴇ ʜᴀʙʟᴀʀ ᴜɴ ʀᴏʟᴇᴏ ᴅᴇʟ ᴛᴇᴍᴀ AU ʏ ᴅᴇᴍᴀ́s sɪɴ ᴘʀᴏʙʟᴇᴍᴀ. » Sɪᴇᴍᴘʀᴇ sᴜʙᴏ ᴍɪs ᴘʀᴏᴘɪᴀs ᴇᴅɪᴄɪᴏɴᴇs ᴀ ᴍɪs ᴄᴜᴇɴᴛᴀs﹐ ᴀsɪ́ ϙᴜᴇ ᴀɢʀᴀᴅᴇᴄᴇʀɪ́ᴀ ɴᴏ ʟᴀs ʀᴏʙᴇɴ ﹙Sɪ ϙᴜɪᴇʀᴇs ᴀʟɢᴜɴᴀ ᴇᴅɪᴄɪᴏ́ɴ ᴘᴜᴇᴅᴇs ᴘᴇᴅɪʀᴍᴇʟᴀ ʏ ᴄᴏɴ ɢᴜsᴛᴏ ᴛᴇ ᴀʏᴜᴅᴀʀᴇ́ ᴏ ʙɪᴇɴ﹐ ᴇɴ ᴄᴀsᴏ ᴅᴇ ɴᴏ ᴛᴇɴᴇʀ ᴛɪᴇᴍᴘᴏ ᴘᴏᴅʀɪ́ᴀ ᴘᴀsᴀʀᴛᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛᴏs ϙᴜᴇ ᴇᴅɪᴛᴀɴ ᴍᴜʏ ʟɪɴᴅᴏ ʀᴇᴀʟᴍᴇɴᴛᴇ﹚.

　 　　　 　　         　　❁ OTP’s ❁

Vikings

❯❯   {Torvi} x Björn ❯❯   {Siggy Björnsdottir} x Oc Masculino ❯❯   Porunn x Björn ❯❯   {Margrethe} x Ubbe ❯❯   {Lagertha} x Ragnar

Hush Hush

❯❯   {Nora} x Jev ❯❯   {Vee} x Scott

Fifty Shades

❯❯   {Anastasia} x Christian ❯❯   Leila x Christian

The Lord of the Rings / The Hobbit

❯❯   {Tauriel} x Legolas ❯❯   {Tauriel} x Kili ❯❯   {Oc femenino} x Thranduil

Game of Thrones

❯❯   {Lyanna Stark} x Rhaegar Targaryen   ✔ ❯❯   Shae x Tyrion Lannister ❯❯   Tysha x Tyrion Lannister ❯❯   {Daenerys Targaryen} x Khal Drogo ❯❯   {Daenerys Targaryen} x Jon Snow ❯❯   Margaery Tyrell x Tommen Baratheon   ✔ ❯❯   {Margaery Tyrell} x Joffrey Baratheon ❯❯   {Margaery Tyrell} x Renly Baratheon ❯❯   {Rhaena Targaryen} x Maegor I Targaryen ❯❯   Alysanne Targaryen x Aenys I Targaryen ❯❯   {Myrcella Baratheon} x Trystane Martell ❯❯   {Gwyn Whitehill} x Asher Forrester ❯❯   {Gilly} x Samwell Tarly ❯❯   {Alla Tyrell} x Oc masculino

Disney

❯❯   {Belle} x Adam   ✔ ❯❯   Cenicienta x Príncipe ❯❯   Blancanieves x Florian ❯❯   {Ariel} x Eric ❯❯   {Megara} x Hercules

Twilight

❯❯  {Isabella} x Edward ❯❯  {Tanya} x Edward [AU] ❯❯  {Rosalie} x Emmett   ✔ ❯❯  Alice x Jasper ❯❯  Esme x Carlisle ❯❯  Sulpicia x Aro ❯❯  Katrina x Garrett

The Mortal Instruments

❯❯  ‎Jonathan Wayland x Clarissa Fairchild ❯❯  Simon Lewis x {Izzy Lightwood}

InuYasha

❯❯  {Kagome} x InuYasha   ✔ ❯❯  {Rin} [Edad Adulta-AU] x Sesshomaru ❯❯  Sango x Miroku ❯❯  {Izayoi} x Inu no Taisho

The Hunger Games

❯❯  Katniss Everdeen x Peeta Mellark   ✔ ❯❯  {Katniss Everdeen} x Cato Hadley [AU]   ✔ ❯❯  {Glimmer Belcourt} x Cato Hadley ❯❯  Clove Kentwell x Cato Hadley ❯❯  {Annie Cresta} x Finnick Odair   ❯❯  {Peetie Mellark} x Ketniss Everdeen ❯❯  {Catherine Hadley} x Clover Kentwell

The Walking Dead

❯❯  {Maggie Greene} x Glenn Rhee ❯❯  {Maggie Greene} x Negan [AU] ❯❯  {Maggie Greene} x Paul Monroe ❯❯  {Oc Femenina} x Negan ❯❯  {Sherry} x Negan ❯❯  {Sherry} x Dwight ❯❯  {Lori Grimes} x Rick Grimes ❯❯  Tara Chambler x Oc Femenina ❯❯  {Rosita Espinosa} x Abraham Ford ❯❯  {Oc Femenina} x Merle Dixon ❯❯  {Oc Femenina} x Daryl Dixon

Resident Evil

❯❯  {Jill Valentine} x Chris Redfield ❯❯  {Ada Wong} x Leon S. Kennedy ❯❯  {Claire Redfield} x Leon S. Kennedy ❯❯  {Claire Redfield} x Piers Nivans   ❯❯  {Sherry Birkin} x Jake Muller

My Mad Fat Diary

❯❯  Rachel Earl x Findlay Nelson ❯❯  {Chloe} x Findlay Nelson [AU] ❯❯  Oc Femenino x Findlay Nelson

Blindspot

❯❯  {Jane Doe} x Kurt Weller ❯❯  {Oc Femenino} x Roman ❯❯  {Kat Jarrett} x Roman ❯❯  {Patterson} x David Wagner

Gossip Girl

❯❯  Blair Waldorf x Chuck Bass ❯❯  {Georgina Sparks} x Jack Bass ❯❯  {Oc femenino} x Chuck Bass

Barbie

❯❯  {Erika} x Dominick

Intérpretes

❯❯  {Jennifer Lawrence} x Josh Hutcherson   ❯❯  {Jennifer Lawrence} x Bradley Cooper ❯❯  {Jennifer Lawrence} x Chris Pratt ❯❯  {Jennifer Lawrence} x Alexander Ludwig ❯❯  {Claudia Traisac} x Josh Hutcherson ❯❯  {Claudia Traisac} x Ricardo Gomez ❯❯  {Kristen Stewart} x Robert Pattinson ❯❯  Margot Robbie x Leonardo DiCaprio ❯❯  Lily Collins x Nico Mirallegro ❯❯  Rose Leslie x Kit Harington

Harry Potter

❯❯  Harry Potter x {Hermione Granger} ❯❯  Ron Weasley x {Hermione Granger} ❯❯  William Weasley x {Fleur Delacour}   ✔ ❯❯  Cedric Diggory x {Hermione Granger} ❯❯  Draco Malfoy x {Astoria Greengrass}   ✔

Otras OTP’s de películas y series.

❯❯  Han Seoul-Oh x {Gisele Yashar} (Fast and Furious) ❯❯  Alex Stewart x Rosie Dunne (Love, Rosie) ❯❯  Graham x {Amanda Woods} (The Holiday) ❯❯  Gerry Kennedy x {Holly Kennedy}   (P.S. I love you) ❯❯  Javier «Javi» Maroto x {Dolores «Lola» Trujillo} (La que se avecina)   ✔ ❯❯  Álex x Niki (Perdona si te llamo amor) ❯❯  Joy MacNally x Jack Fuller Jr (What Happens in Vegas) ❯❯  {Sylvia Weis} x Will Salas (In Time)

Crossover

❯❯  Hermione Granger x Peeta Mellark ❯❯  Glimmer Belcourt x Christian Grey   ✔

Otras OTP’s Oc.

❯❯   Mafia:: Fc masculino: Michael Fassbender {Fc femenino: Charlize Theron} Descripción breve: Se conocieron gracias a negocios turbios, él es de origen Alemán y jefe de una de las mafias más poderosas del país; ella de origen Italiano y con grandes habilidades de hacker; comenzaron su relación gracias a los negocios cuando él la contrató por sus habilidades informáticas, volviéndose algo más personal al convertirse amantes recurrentes y manteniendo una relación más formal cuando ella se convierte en su mano derecha y la segunda al mando ampliando el negocio cuando se muda a Italia, su país de origen para ampliar sus aliados en el lugar. ❯❯   Relación tóxica:: Fc masculino: Daniel Radcliffe {Fc femenino: Kristen Stewart} Descripción breve: Estudiantes de universidad, él estudiante de periodismo, típico chico inseguro, inteligente y no tan sociable. Ella es la chica rebelde, estudiante de fotografía y espontánea que lo lleva a una relación tóxica en un torpe intento de enderezar su vida. Primero utilizándolo para “limpiar” su historial de chica fácil pero después enamorándose de él aunque sus problemas de personalidad y vicios como el alcohol y drogas son el constante drama de su vida y los constantes conflictos entre ambos, terminando su relación y volviendo varias veces. ❯❯   Amor destinado:: Fc masculino: Zac Efron Fc femenino: Imogen Poots Descripción breve: Desde el día de su nacimiento viven con la marca de cuantos años, meses, semanas, días, horas, minutos y segundos faltan para encontrarse con el amor de su vida, la persona ideal para ambos, con quien compartirán cada día hasta su muerte. Tanto ella como él se sienten nerviosos por su futuro encuentro, solo faltan minutos para encontrarse y entonces todo cambiara ¿Que se dirán? ¿Que pensarán? ¿Funcionara? no están seguros, la gente que está alrededor sabe lo que ocurre, pues la mayoría a pasado por eso y otra más esperan con ansias a conocer al amor de su vida. El futuro no esta escrito, pero el comienzo esta a punto de comenzar.

Aquellas OTP’s que tengan una  ✔ es porque ya están ocupadas. Aquellas OTP’s que tenga los {} es porque quisiera llevarlas yo.

Pd: Cualquier OTP que les interese llevar pueden decirme por mensaje. Así como si tienen alguna otra OTP que quieran llevar, pues me han faltado muchísimas otras por colocar.

[pokeasleepingsmaug]

To Lie Down With Wolves: Chapter 9

Written in collaboration with the amazing, beautiful, and supremely talented @underthenorthstar.

Summary: Imogene settles into life in Kattegat, and on the journey back home from the raid, Ubbe considers his fate.

TW: Violence, bloodshed, death, major injury.

AO3 Link

Tag List:  @bonniebird @ally22042000 @persephone-is-here-omg@byzantium-glytch @aalexandra2712 @ceridwenofwales @im-the-pilot-bodhi-rook @ivars-pet @lostinthoughtsandfeelings@bitchccraft @sister-wives-of-kattegat @tiyetiye@letsbedragonstogether @ivarthefuckboy @readsalot73@florenceivy Let us know if we forgot you or you want to be added!

Imogene has known for what feels like her entire life that she’s going to hell, ever since she discovered she understood the pagan’s rough language. She’s even more sure now. It’s so quiet and peaceful in this little house at the edge of the village without the tall wolf’s hungry eyes stalking her every movement, without his anger and his fingers like iron bands and the dead wife that hovers above his shoulder like an apparition from the depths of hell. Imogene knows now the dead wife is the reason for his temper and his despair. She sits on his shoulder and whispers poison into his ears, wicked words burying his heart under several winters’ worth of snow.

She’s settled into a routine with Jerrick, he’s cheerful and easygoing even without his father around. Imogene supposes it’s because he was too young to remember his mother, and although he knows of her horrible fate, he doesn’t feel the blame for it that Ubbe does. Imogene hates that she thinks of him often during these quiet moments, because without his looming presence the house feels somehow empty. Part of her still fears that Ivar is going to burst through the door, that she’s going to meet the same fate as the slave Ubbe freed and married, but the days pass, and the uneasy peace holds.

…

Ubbe has always loved the sea, the iciness of the spray sharp on his cheeks, the way Floki’s ships bend to the water like a bird to the wind, and the way men sing as they row, but this journey is an agony and there is no singing, and all he can think is that Ivar is never going to forgive him now. It was true they’d captured much treasure and lost only a few men. Ivar had been right, the late raid had been a complete surprise. The enemy had been unprepared.

Ubbe had jumped from the ship, howling and savage, marshalling his crew into the boar’s tusk formation to break the enemy shield wall. Beating his axe on his shield in time with his steps, Ubbe himself was the point of the tusk. He could still feel the weight of the shield on his left arm, feel the jostling in his bones, the crush of his crew behind him as the shields crashed together like waves against a sea-cliff.

If there’s anything a Viking knows, it’s that water always wins. The sea erodes the cliffs and drags ships to her depths, and just like the inexorable ocean, the boar’s tusk broke the shield wall. The enemy had been overrun like fields during a flood, drowned under a rising tide of blood-drunk men.

And none was drunker than Ubbe, none so fierce or fast, and it seemed that every man he faced was wading through thick mud. He led a howling wave of warriors through the streets, Saxon fighters screaming and pissing themselves in terror as they fled, calling on their weak god to save them. The nailed god wasn’t listening, though, and Ubbe’s gods were there. He could hear Thor’s hammer-beats behind his breastbone, filling him with the thunder of war, driving him to the center of the village.

To a small girl with dark hair and gray eyes that looked so like Imogene, his breath caught in his throat and the thundering in his chest subsided. He was so struck by her, his blood-trance broken, that he didn’t realize the danger until it was far too late. Until the spear darted beneath his shield, beneath them hem of his leather armor, and he was bellowing like a wounded boar as his leg buckled beneath him.

Laying on the ship, where all was quiet except for the brisk snapping of the sail and the creaking of the oars, Ubbe could still remember the shock of that moment. The fear and determination on the girl’s face, the way her mouth twisted with effort as she pushed the spear deeper, wrenching it until he screamed, writhing like a fish on a hook. And he hates the awful clarity of that moment, the stink of blood and fear rising like a fog, the awful hot-and-cold of muscles shredding against a blade, and the rush of red like a whale’s spray as she yanked the spear out. He remembers the way it hurt worse coming out than going in, and even now he thinks that’s just another terrible joke the gods are playing on him.

Because he deserves this, all of it, deserves every second of agony and the shivering so hard his teeth chatter. He deserves the memory of Margrethe bleeding to death in the great hall, the men who restrained him as he screamed and screamed, and he can’t remember if that was when they carried him screaming to the longship or kept him, screaming, from holding his dying wife. He deserves the reproach in Imogene’s eyes and the purple bruises like accusations on her pale jaw.  He deserves the quiet of the men like they’re already mourning him, and he knows soon he’ll die and they’ll simply throw him into the sea because water always wins.

But he doesn’t want it to, and even though sometimes he expects to open his eyes and see the golden roof of Odin’s hall before him, he fights that fate and reminds himself that water doesn’t always win. A beaver can build a dam and change the course of a river, and so Ubbe spends that long, quiet journey listening to the creaking of the oars and in that sound he hears the laughing of the Norns. He can feel them pulling the threads of his life, can practically see the gleam on the edge of the shears to cut his threads, and so he bargains.

What he offers must be acceptable, because the water doesn’t win.

…

Imogene knows her days of peace are over when the horns sound, she remembers that call from the day she sailed into this God-forsaken fjord. The house is clean and quiet, the washing is done, and she has a stew simmering merrily in the hearth. She’s simply sitting in a chair mending the knee of a pair of Jerrick’s small breeches. Maybe it’s the satisfaction of a well-kept house, the familiarity of her task, or the smell of the stew, but this small house at the edge of a bustling Northern town actually feels almost like a home.

She decides to simply enjoy her last few moments of peace before the tall wolf ducks through the door, handsome and broad-shouldered, and she knows his blue eyes will be soft for a split second before that dead wife spews her poison in his ears. The door opens and she hates the smile on her face. She shouldn’t want to see Ubbe but she does.

She doesn’t know the man who shoulders the door open, but she automatically obeys his grunt and scrambles to hold the door. Another man is framed in the doorway, the light haloing him obscuring his face, but she only has eyes for the pallet the two men carry between them. On it is her wolf, pale as new-fallen snow, and the strangled cry is out of her mouth before she can stop it. Imogene doesn’t want a new master. She wants Ubbe, wants the rare kindness in his blue eyes and the laughter he shares with his son and the cloaks he hands her when she leaves the house and the way he defends her from everyone but himself.

His eyes fly open at the sound, searching for her, and as the men set him on the bed his eyes are locked on her. There’s nothing hard in them, only something that sets her heart to battering against her ribs and she’s trapped beneath his gaze like a lamb in a wolf’s jaws.

One of the men clears his throat, the spell shattering like ice, and Imogene turns her startled eyes to him. “Queen Lotja will send a woman with herbs for the fever. Jerrick will stay at the great hall while Ubbe heals. And you’ll care for him.” His words are clipped and businesslike, he gives Imogene a curt nod before reaching down and clasping Ubbe’s hand. “I will tell the king how you broke the shield wall.” He looks like he wants to say more, but is unsure how to proceed. He only squeezes Ubbe’s hand before he leaves.

Imogene hasn’t spoken to her God since the moment she knew he’d forgotten her. But now, the lamb holds the wolf’s life in her small, praying hands.

…

If he’d thought the quiet journey on the sea was agony, then surely the jostling of the pallet was torture. The ship is smooth but the steps of the men are jarring, and Ubbe grinds his teeth together to keep silent. He hasn’t cried out in pain since the spear left his leg, and now isn’t the time to begin. “Ivar,” he manages to grunt out, but the men carry him past the great hall. He growls but they ignore him, and although he wants to keep protesting he’s shivering and every step is jolt through his entire body.

It’s enough that the water didn’t win. The men pause and the light dims as they carry Ubbe through a door, but he doesn’t care enough to open his eyes. First he’s managed to get himself wounded, and now he isn’t even going to see Ivar. He’s going to spend his life as an outcast among his own people just like his uncle Rollo.

He hears a small sound like a wolf pup mewling, and it’s enough to wrench his eyes open. The roundness of the girl’s face and the unruly brown hair, and the stunned fear in her gray eyes make her nearly indistinguishable from the girl who wounded him. Ubbe would rather be facing the girl with the spear, because he deserves this alternating burning and freezing, deserves the jostling of his pallet and the dishonor of not being brought before Ivar. What he doesn’t deserve is the gentle way the men set him on the bed, the reassuring squeeze on his fingers and the promise of herbs from the queen. He doesn’t deserve the compassion on Imogene’s face or the way she falls to her knees beside the bed, stroking his hair back from his clammy face.

He doesn’t deserve any of this but he made a bargain and he manages a smile that’s probably more of a grimace because water doesn’t always win, and Lotja was right all along.

[pokeasleepingsmaug]

To Lie Down With Wolves: Chapter 5

The fifth chapter of the collaboration fic @underthenorthstar and I are writing, hope you guys enjoy it.

Here’s the AO3, where you can also find the previous chapters: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11931633/chapters/27646050

Tag list: @bonniebird @ally22042000 @persephone-is-here-omg @nekodalita @aalexandra2712 @ceridwenofwales @im-the-pilot-bodhi-rook @ivars-pet @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @bitchccraft @sister-wives-of-kattegat @tiyetiye @letsbedragonstogether @ivarthefuckboy. Sorry if I missed anyone!!

TW: choking, predatory behaviour.

Imogene knows God has forsaken her when she begins to understand the heathen tongue; when the growls and snarls of the tall wolf begin to form words in her ear. She will live and die in sin, and even the flames of hell will not be hot enough to cleanse the filth from her soul. She has not even been among the heathens for a full turn of the moon, and this is the moment that makes her realize rescue is not coming. There was always some hope, buried deep in her, that Brida had rallied the surrounding villagers. She realizes now it was a fool's dream; those taken aboard the long, fast ships never return from the frozen north.

Her hope withers, leaving her empty as a winter woods. Not even the voice of the wolf's pup, bright and clear as birdsong, lifts her spirits on that cold late-summer morning. “Papa, is she staying with us forever? I like her. She cooks better than you.” Her master merely snorts. She's come to learn that he seldom speaks before breakfast. Instead, it's always Jerrik's cheerful little voice breaking the tense silence of early morning. Sometimes his innocence lightens her, but this morning he fills her with despair because she understands everything he's saying. Imogene wishes she had the courage to run to the shoreline and fill her lungs with this bitter northern sea. Instead, she turns the bread over to keep it from burning. Weak, so weak. Her legs are like lead but her hands are steady. A small victory.

Ubbe—that's his name, the wolf's, and although she doesn't dare use it she can't help but wonder how it would taste on her tongue—holds a callused hand out to her. She drops a loaf of hot bread into his palm, keeping her eyes on the floor. His eyes are on her like teeth dragging across her skin. It's all she can do not to squirm under the weight of his gaze. She can't fathom why he fought so hard to keep her, can't forget the anger roiling in his bright eyes. Her upper arm still bears bruises from his iron fingers. She only understands that she's his now, forever, and somehow he seems better than the man with the useless legs. Imogene shudders, remembering again the flash of his knife, the spill of blood from the woman he killed on the docks. Better an angry wolf than a swift, glinting knife.

She can hear the quiet ripping of the bread in Ubbe's long, blunt fingers. He huffs a few short breaths on it, and out of the corner of her eye she sees him hold the bread out to his son. The boy pops it into his mouth and shoots a grin at her. “S'good.” Imogene smiles at him, quick and tentative, before ducking her head back to the floor. Ubbe's eyes are still on her, a wolf deciding where to sink his fangs.  Imogene tries her best to ignore him.

She stands, forces her leaden legs to move to the small bed in the corner. Smoothing the furs gives her something to do, something to focus on besides the inescapable gaze of the predator she calls master. When the furs are arranged nicely on Jerrik's bed, she moves toward the large bed on the opposite wall. She's barely laid a hand on it when feet are thudding quickly across the wooden floor toward her. A hand is on her throat before she can even cry out, forcing her against the wall beside the bed.

“You do not touch my bed,” Ubbe growls, his breath hot in her face. His fingers tighten like chains across her throat, and her hands scrabble uselessly against his iron grip. “Do you understand?” He's forcing her to meet his cold, brilliant blue eyes, narrowed with rage. She barely has the presence of mind to nod. He loosens his fingers just a fraction; she watches his bright eyes flit down to her parted lips before his gaze bores into her again.

He's gone as swiftly as he was at her throat, broad back retreating as she falls gasping to her knees. The silence in the hut seems to hum with tension; she sees it in Jerrik's wide, startled eyes, the way he refuses to look away from the fire. Ubbe carelessly tosses a basket full of laundry at her without even looking in her direction. She doesn't catch it in time, and scrambles to pick it all up before he notices and chokes her again. “Do not come back until it's dry.” He's panting like he's the one who was choked, like he can't catch his breath, and he still won't look toward her.

Imogene is halfway out the door when a snarl from Ubbe halts her, a rabbit frozen in the path of a wolf. He shoves a cloak roughly into her hands. She doesn't pause to put it on until she's well away from his house, but she's glad for it. The sun has barely risen and the cold dew is soaking through the hem of her dress. The village is quiet this early in the morning, only a few women are gathered at the well for water. Imogene ignores them, head down, as she walks to the stream at the edge of the woods.

She sighs and ties her skirt above her knees to save it from the mud of the bank. God has already left her to live in sin, what does she care if someone sees her bare legs? Better the indignity of bare legs than her only dress being filthy. The muck feels like ice against her knees as she sinks into it, pulling the first piece of soiled clothing out of basket and dunking it into the water. The chill settles itself deep into the joints of her fingers. She grabs the chunk of hard gray-white soap and rubs it roughly over the garment.

She sets the soap aside, kneading the large green tunic to work the dirt and sweat out. She pushes it under the cold water again, working her fingers methodically through the soapy fabric. The suds swirls away along the glinting surface, and Imogene pulls the tunic from the water. She shakes it hard, sending droplets flying, and stands to drape the shirt over the branch of a nearby tree to dry.

She kneels again, scrubbing and scrubbing until her hands are chapped and raw and her knees filthy and numb. The sun is high in the sky now and she's since removed the cloak Ubbe gave her and washed it. Imogene presses her stiff hand into the small of her aching back, groaning as she straightens.

“Why didn't you wash your dress?” She jumps to her feet at the deep voice, and her master steps toward her with amusement glinting cruelly in those hungry eyes of his.

“I—it's the only dress I have.” Imogene hates the way her voice sounds, rough and squeaky from disuse. She can't even remember the last time she's spoken.

The wolf wrinkles his nose in mild distaste. “All the more reason to wash it.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest, and Imogene barely stops herself from whimpering. There's something dangerous in the way he's standing, like keeping himself from pouncing on her is an immense effort. “Wash your dress. And,” he swallows, his throat bobbing. “Tell me your name.”

“Imogene.” She's barely breathing as she loosens the ties on her dress, unable to meet his eyes as she feels them devouring her. Unbearable humiliation rises to color her face red. This heathen, this sinful man with his hungry eyes and hard hands, will be the first to see her nakedness. She hates that she is his, hates the way she obeys him. Maybe a flashing knife across her throat would be better than this slow torture, this patient predator toying with his food. She wants to scream, to cry, to push him down into the cold stream and watch his skull crack on the rocks.

Instead, her shaking hands pull the dress over her head. The crisp air kisses her skin, raising goosebumps on her arms, and her nipples tighten against the cold. She shivers as she dips the dress into the cool stream, the water up to her elbows. She drags the dress out and runs the bar of soap all over it, fingers quickly working to scrub her only dress clean. She dunks it into the water again, hating the feel of this man's predatory gaze on her exposed skin. Imogene is weak, so weak, as she rises to hang her dress on a branch.

She finds the damp cloak and drags it down, wrapping it around herself and finally feeling a little safer. When she turns back around, face still burning, Ubbe is gone. Only the snap of a branch and a soft growl let her know he was there at all. Imogene sinks to her sore, dirty knees, and cries. She wants to to bathe, to wash the feeling of his eyes from her skin, but she's afraid he's still watching her. Stalking her from the shadows like the wolf from her nightmares. She hugs the cloak tighter and tries to still her shaking.

[pokeasleepingsmaug]

To Lie Down With Wolves: Chapter One

Here it is, the first chapter of To Lie Down With Wolves, an Ubbe x OC collaboration fic co-written by @underthenorthstar and @pokeasleepingsmaug.

TW: blood, graphic violence, slapping, captivity/kidnapping.

Tagging: @ally22042000, @persephone-is-here-omg, @nekodalolita, @aalexandra2712, @ceridwenofwales, @im-the-pilot-bodhi-rook, @ivars-pet, @lostinthoughtsandfeelings, @bitchccraft, @sister-wives-of-kattegat I think that’s everyone who asked to be tagged, I’m sorry if I forgot someone!

Imogene hasn't seen a wolf since she was small, the winter the snow reached halfway up the side of her family's cottage. A pack of them stalked through the village one twilight—starving, mangy things with shaggy dark hides and eyes that glistened amber in the deepening shadows. They were a far cry from the creature before her now; the only similarity is the hungry gleam in the eyes. This one is sleek and strong, tongue lolling lazily between long white teeth. His head tilts back. He's so close she can see the movement of his throat as he releases a long, ululating cry. The hair stands on her arms.

Imogene runs. She can feel his breath on the back of his neck, hear the swish of his paws through the grass. She can almost picture the wolf gathering himself for the leap and prepares herself to feel his claws sink into her skin. She knows he will kill her, bury his long muzzle in her belly and gorge himself on her entrails. She can see it in her mind: her blood staining his gray face red. She screams.

And wakes, bathed in a cold sweat. She's had this dream since that night she saw the wolves so long ago. But the screaming doesn't stop. Instead of the howling of wolves, all she hears are the shouts of fighting men, the grunt of effort and the reverberating ring of steel against steel. The fighting must be just outside her door. There are no windows in the one-roomed house. She gropes beside her and grasps her little sister's nightgown. The floor is cold under her bare feet as she drags Brida through the darkness, toward the crack of flickering orange where the door doesn't quite join up with the floor. The color of it reminds her of the wolf's eyes.

Her hands shake as she pushes open the rough wooden door. Imogene doesn't see the man until he's already wrapped his arms like iron bands around her, locking her against his blood-spattered leather armor. The smell of him makes her wretch—blood and sweat and fear, more cloying than the incense the priest burns on Easter. He must have dropped a torch, there's one at her feet that burns the hem of her nightgown. As the man stamps out the small flames, Imogene pushes Brida toward the woodline. Maybe she can escape, tell others what happened. Maybe she will return with an army.

Her heart sinks into the soles of her feet as she watches her little sister stumble away. The man is tall, her head reaches only to his chest. He grunts as he hefts her over his shoulder. The small village is burning around them, and Imogene squeezes her eyes shut as she sees Aedward with his skulll split in two. He baked the best bread in town. Imogene has never smelled death on this scale before—the stench of blood and burning meat is inescapable. It's a scent that will haunt her dreams for the rest of her days. She wretches but her stomach is empty. A thin stream of bile slithers from her mouth and down the man's back.

The raider sets her down roughly, his cold blue eyes narrow, and he pushes his face close to hers. It's the first time she's seen him. Blood colors his beard red, much like the wolf's muzzle from her dream. She cannot help the comparison, because he is that savage, that wild. He speaks her language but the inflection is wrong and his voice is a growl that makes her shiver. “Worthless little bitch, you will clean the blood and vomit from my armor with your tongue.”

The back of his hand crashes into her cheek with enough force to knock her teeth together. She sways on her cold bare feet, the world swimming before her eyes. The last thing she feels is his hard arm around her waist, his shoulder pushing into her stomach.

…..

She comes to awareness slowly, like rising out of the deep ocean toward the light at the surface. First she is aware of hard wood beneath her back, then of a gentle rocking sensation. It's calm, peaceful, and she hovers in near-wakefulness from the sheer tranquility of it. The sun is on her face and arms and the lower half of her legs and the wind smells of salt and runs gentle fingers through her hair. There are sounds she isn't familiar with; a large amount of liquid slapping against a hard surface and the snap of wind stretching fabric. Someone is speaking nearby and she struggles to understand the words.

They sound almost the same as her language but the accents are strange and the words don't quite make sense in her ear. The rhythms, though, and the way the words leave the mouth, are the same.

Imogene opens her eyes. Immediately she regrets it. She's on a ship, a crimson sail pregnant with wind above her head. The men surrounding her are shirtless, sweat running down their bodies in small rivers, and they're pulling hard on oars like murderers fleeing the law. Imogene realizes that's because they are. Mountains of bloody armor and weapons are scattered around the ship, stinking in the sun. Even the smell of the sea cannot mask the sickening scent of death that clings to these men like maggots on corpses.

Brida isn't on the ship, isn't among the other women huddled with their hands tied together in the belly of it. Maybe there is still hope for rescue, but Imogene knows in her heart that she is lost. The only ships in her village and the ones nearby are slow fishing vessels. She's never been on a ship before but the feel of the wind lets her know they are traveling fast.

A shadow falls over her and a mess of stinking, gory leather lands in a heap before her bare feet. She looks up, into the face of the man who carried her from her house. The blood is washed from his beard but he looks no less predatory for all that. “Clean it, thrall.” His voice is low and dangerous, Imogene's shaking hand moves to obey, compelled by the inherent threat his tone promises. She gathers the armor into her lap and grabs a fistful of her dirty nightgown to start the cleaning. “No.” He shakes his head. “I told you earlier. With your tongue.”

She leans down and drags her tongue across the dirty leather. The taste of iron and salt twists her stomach into hard knots. But the man is standing over her, his arms crossed over his chest. She remembers the way they wrapped around her like chains, the throbbing crack of his hand against her cheek. She doesn't dare to stop. Tears leak down her cheeks, and the tall man just laughs. He makes no move to walk away, and she knows he is going to ensure his armor is spotless. Imogene wishes for the wolf from her dream. At least he would kill her quickly.

[pokeasleepingsmaug]

To Lie Down With Wolves: Chapter 3

The third chapter of the collaboration piece by @underthenorthstar and I, I hope you guys enjoy it!

Tagging: @ally22042000, @persephone-is-here-omg @nekodalolita @aalexandra2712 @ceridwenofwales @im-the-pilot-bodhi-rook @ivars-pet @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @bitchccraft @sister-wives-of-kattegat @tiyetiye

TW: Actually this chapter isn’t too bad. A little roughness is about the worst of it.

And here’s the AO3 link, where you can also find the first two chapters if you missed them: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11931633/chapters/27202494

Ubbe misses the warmth of his wife. There's nothing quite so comforting as a warm body huddled against his in the soft furs, the roundness of a hip for his arm to wrap around and legs tangling with his in sleep. He even yearns for long hair in his face, tickling his cheek and and sometimes even ending up squeaking between his teeth. He used to hate that, used to beg Margrethe to braid her hair before she came to bed but she would always laughingly refuse.

He tries his best not to think of her, but some days are harder than others. His son is the spit of her—wavy blond hair and wide blue eyes in a round, pale face. He sees little of himself in the boy, although he's sure that when Jerrik is older, his body, at least, won't resemble Margrethe. She was all curves and softness, used to complain sometimes that his body was too hard for her to rest comfortably against because he is all hard sinews and strength. Still, that never kept her from running her hands over his taut muscles, never stopped her fingers from tracing the tattoos and scars that adorned his body like marks of honor.

Ubbe can't take it anymore. He sits up abruptly, looking around in the flickering shadows thrown by the banked fire. After his eyes adjust to the strange play of light and dark they find Jerrik automatically. He's always loved watching his son sleep, the rise and fall of his thin chest predictable and reassuring as the tides. When Jerrik is awake he's all erratic energy and swiftness, snow-melt rushing down a mountainside. He strides over to him on silent feet, running a gentle hand through the soft blond hair. Jerrik sighs heavily but does not stir.

He spares one more tender glance for his son before looking for the slave. She's huddled in a thin blanket in the corner, and draws it up over her body even further when she sees him approach. Ubbe's sick of seeing her flinch all the time, and doesn't consider even for a moment that her fear might be justified. He bends down and grabs her arm, pulling her up. He isn't as gentle as he could be, and he knows this but he doesn't care. He starts dragging her toward his bed.

She digs her heels in, a frightened squeak leaving her bow-shaped lips, and Ubbe frowns at her and tugs on her arm again. She's shaking her head frantically, blue-gray eyes wide and frightened, face gray as ash. He rolls his eyes and tosses her over his shoulder. Her small fists beat into his back furiously, but her blows are weak. She's obviously never hit a man before. She's crying as he heaves her forward and pushes her down into the furs, and Ubbe rolls his eyes as he climbs in after her. “I'm not going to fuck you, you ugly Saxon bitch. I just hate a cold bed.”

Only half of that is a lie. Now that she's bathed and he burned the disgusting nightgown she was captured in, he's forced to admit to himself that she's a lovely girl. He'd thought she was pretty the day he snatched her and carried her away, but over the course of the journey he'd forgotten. During the voyage she looked and smelled like she'd rolled in a pigpen, but he supposed that was half his fault for not allowing her to wash. What does it matter, though? She's only a Saxon, and a slave to boot. Ivar's orders had been clear before the raid had set out. Do not untie the captives for any reason. Ubbe hadn't dared disobey—his son was staying with Ivar, and he knew some of the men wouldn't hesitate to tell the king if he'd put so much as one toe over the line. No slave, no matter how pretty, is worth the life of his son.

Her body is strung tighter than Sigurd's lute as she feels his weight settle in the bed behind her, and Ubbe feels her scoot as close to the edge as she can get. She's whimpering in fright, Ubbe makes shushing noises and flicks the back of her ear with his finger. She hisses in pain but then falls silent, and Ubbe relaxes into her warmth.

Finally his bed is full and welcoming after nearly two years of emptiness, and it feels like coming home after a very long journey. He's already cozied up to her like like a kitten to its mother. Ubbe hasn't felt warm properly since Margrethe, and for just a moment he allows himself to forget how much he misses her.

…

Ubbe awakens shaking and sweating, Margrethe's pallid face still swimming behind his closed eyelids. He knows it must be nothing but a nightmare. Like a plant turning its face to the sun, he draws closer to the summery heat of his wife beneath the furs. He sweeps aside her silky hair to plant a soft kiss on the back of her neck, then wraps an arm securely around her waist and pulls her round rump against his hips.

The body in his grasp feels wrong—it's tense, Margrethe never tensed at his touch. The hip is rounder, the ass more ample against him. He's only half-awake but rousing quickly as he slides a hand up to firmly palm a tit through the nightgown. Definitely not Margrethe. Finally his eyes pop open, and with a shout of disgust he shoves the slave onto the floor. He ignores her as she scrambles toward her blanket in the corner, and buries his face in the furs. Margrethe's face hangs before his eyes like an accusation, pale and twisted with pain.

He draws a deep, shuddering breath to steady himself but the slave's scent fills his nose. Guilt rips him apart like a pack of starving wolves.

[pokeasleepingsmaug]

First Line Tag game

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors.

I tend to begin first sentences with names for some reason haha. My favorite is 18, because it really just sets the tone for that whole story so well!

I was tagged by @aadmelioraa, thank you darling <3 I'll tag @whenimaunicorn @raincityruckus @geekandbooknerd and @darkcloakedinfinitevoid

1. All That's Best of Dark and Bright, a Tam Lin-inspired Sihtric x Eahlswith AU: Eahlswith hates traveling with this rowdy, ragtag company of Danes a little less each day.

2. To Curse a King, a Sihtric x Skade dub-con knife kink crackship that you can't prove didn't happen: Skade does not flinch as the knife pierces the skin at the crook of her elbow, and she does not struggle against the firm hand holding her wrist in place.

3. Silver Hairpins, Sihtric x Eahlswith canon-compliant fluff: Sihtric was always happy to come home flush with victory, but this time he was even happier

4. The Heart of a Family, Sihtric captured and tortured by Kjartan and Sven, because this poor darling is too easy to whump: Sihtric can't remember how long it’s been since he's seen the sun, though he knows when night is because that's when Kjartan and Sven leave him alone.

5. The Weight Behind a Blessing, a one-shot exploring a bit of Sihtric's past and his blossoming bromance with Osferth: Osferth is not the first Christian to bless him for splinting an injured arm, although he is the ugliest, Sihtric thinks, smiling down at Baby Monk after he slips the sling over his head.

6. To Tame a Wildcat, a little bit of Sihtric x reader battlefield kink that I will never apologize for: There is no softness in him now, the son of a man known for his cruelty, a fierce man in his own right.

7. we keep pretending the sun will not rise, a piece that explores the entire relationship of Katy x Reilly x Jonesy, from when they're in high school until when they break up: Katy tries not to smile over her coffee cup at the two boys across the small plastic table, their arms pressed together, Reilly’s damp hair dripping onto his shoulders and Jonesy’s eyes wide and bright.

8. so fill to me the parting glass, Sihtric tries to comfort Beocca when he's mourning Thyra, and Beocca learns maybe the rat-faced Dane isn't so terrible after all: Beocca cannot even stand to look at him, the Dane boy that Uhtred keeps in his company, the son of the man who tormented his wife for years

9. Pulse of my Heart, she has been searching for Finan for years, and doesn't believe she will ever find him: It was a great sword, longer and lighter than most, designed to be wielded by a man who danced around his foes like a whirlwind give human form.

10. Blasphemy, Osferth, wounded and tired of Finan's incessant worrying, asks Sihtric to sing. Sihtric cannot sing: They were on the road somewhere in Mercia, and this was one of those times that Sihtric felt he’d ridden the entire length of this land, from Wessex to Northumbria, a dozen times over

11. To Throw Curses, a piece exploring Sihtric's childhood, that I wrote after wondering why Sihtric knew so much about curses: His mother is a good Christian woman and proud of the fact that she’s managed to maintain her faith despite her hardships, so maybe Sihtric shouldn’t be surprised when she crosses herself and leans forward to repeat the gesture over his body, too.

12. He Lacks the Courage, OC Thora x Ubbe, tons of angst, Bjorn is a jerk, but that's just who he is: The boat rocks to the motion of the small waves and the rowers’ work, the sun paints the sky in luminous pinks and oranges and the waves spark and dance with the color of flames, and usually Thora would love this but tonight it just feels like emptiness

13. To Lie Down With Wolves, Ubbe x OC Imogene, Ubbe is disgraced for betraying King Ivar long ago, and keeps the slave Imogene against his better judgment (co-written with @darkcloakedinfinitevoid!): Imogene hasn't seen a wolf since she was small, the winter the snow reached halfway up the side of her family's cottage.

14. Funeral Pyre, Sihtric returns to Dunholm, a lifetime after he's left it, and finally puts its ghosts to rest: When Sihtric sees Dunholm rearing up on its high crag, bile rises into his throat but he keeps his face impassive because his friends are watching him.

15. Fighting Lessons, Nancy Wheeler x Jonathan Byers x Steve Harrington, Steve teaches his lovers to fight in the Wheelers backyard, because none of them feel safe even though the gate is closed. Post season 1: He’s had this fear in him, ever since the cabin, that someday Nancy would be without her handgun.

16. Counting Breaths, in the dark when she can't sleep after falling into that place, the only thing that keeps Nancy sane is the rhythm of Jonathan's breath: Inhale, one.

17. Slow Hands, modern AU, Ubbe x reader, reader runs a horse sanctuary and Ubbe is her new farrier.: Finding a farrier was always such a pain, and of course as soon as the horses had gotten familiar with John, he'd thrown his back out.

18. Captured, Ivar x shieldmaiden reader hate-fucking, AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED: “Do you really think that’s going to work?”

19. First Sight, a companion piece to my longfic Feed You the Sky. Ivar and Kára reminisce on the first time they saw each other: Ivar is an old man now, his black hair streaked with gray, and the fire in his wife’s hair is dulled but still he cannot resist running his fingers through it every chance he gets.

20. Hidden Daggers, Sihtric and Eahlswith meet-cute and first night together, and you can't prove it didn't happen exactly like this: Sihtric was the son of a dead slave girl and he loves being a free man, he loves carrying swords and serving Uhtred and wearing silver arm-rings.

[pokeasleepingsmaug]

Author Tag

I was tagged by @anniemar who has written so many amazing things that I need more of in my life!

Fandoms you write for: Mostly The Last Kingdom, Vikings, and American Gods, but sometimes also Stranger Things, Letterkenny, and Supernatural.

Where you post: Ao3 at pokeasleepingsmaug, and here on Tumblr

Most popular one shot: I’m gonna go by AO3 and not Tumblr, because it’s easier. On AO3, it’s An Army of Ivarssons

Most popular Multi-Chapter: To Lie Down With Wolves, an unfinished Ubbe x OC (named Imogene) piece co-written with my amazing friend underthenorthstar, who is no longer on Tumblr (although all her work is still posted on AO3 and is INCREDIBLE). We still talk all the time and we’ve discussed the possibility of finishing it someday, but haven’t made any definitive plans to do so yet.

Favourite story you wrote: I love all of them for different reasons, but I would say Feed You the Sky has a special place in my heart. It’s really the first story that I ever put out there for the world to see. 

Story you were nervous to post: Endure. It was my first The Last Kingdom fic, and it deals with some really difficult subjects. It does not have a happy ending. It is not for the faint of heart. But it’s a story that grabbed hold of me and wouldn’t let me go until I’d written it. 

How do you choose your titles: Some of them come naturally from the story, like a line I like, a theme I think is important, or some concept of the story. But also some are song lyrics. 

Do you outline: Honestly it depends on the story. Sometimes I plot, sometimes I don’t. Shorter ones I usually don’t, longer ones I usually do. 

Complete number of stories: 38 on AO3, but there’s a bunch of stuff on my Tumblr that isn’t on AO3 so I’m not sure of the exact number.

In progress: Currently none for fandoms, although I have some ideas I’m tossing around. But To Lie Down With Wolves is still haunting me and will forever.

Do you accept prompts: Usually, but sometimes it takes me forever to get to them and I’m sorry.

Upcoming Story you are most excited about: I’ve actually been focusing more on some original stuff lately, and I love all of them. 

Tagging: @tiyetiye @anunhealthydoseofangst @equalstrashflavoredtrash and @thewildbeauty

[pokeasleepingsmaug]

Masterlist

I’ve finally compiled a masterlist of basically every fic I’ve ever written. Beneath the cut, because it’s sort of long.

VIKINGS

Ivar the Boneless

Ivar x OCs

The Game: A drinking game in gets out of hand. Ivar x Thora, an OC shieldmaiden from another kingdom. Multi-part, complete. Trigger warnings: Blood and bondage. NSFW.

Part One. Part Two. Part Three. Part Four. Part Five.

Feed You the Sky: Ivar is king, and seeks to conquer the neighboring kingdom. Things go as planned, until the king’s daughter returns from quelling rebellion in her father’s lands. Longfic, complete. Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Chapter Nine. Chapter Ten. Chapter Eleven. Chapter Twelve. Chapter Thirteen. Chapter Fourteen. Chapter Fifteen. Chapter Sixteen. Chapter Seventeen. Chapter Eighteen.

How to Conquer: A Feed You the Sky oneshot that takes place a few years after the end of the longfic.

First Sight: Ivar and Kára reminiscing about their first meeting, many many years after the story ends.

Ivar x Reader

April Fools: The reader gets caught in a prank war between Ivar and Sigurd.

Worship: Ivar and the reader reconnect after a battle, on the field of victory. TW: blood, death, it’s sort of gross. NSFW

An Army of Ivarssons: Ivar and the reader argue about her pregnancy. TW: serious angst, arguing, talk about abortions.

Blurred Lines: A modern AU in which Ivar uses the title song to seduce the reader while she drives him home from college for Easter break. NSFW.

Spring Blessing: In which the reader and Ivar use a fertility charm. NSFW.

Homecoming: A modern military AU in which Ivar comes back home after a month-long field exercise. NSFW.

Bad Soldier: Modern military AU. Starts out filthy, transitions into tragic. NSFW. TW: violence, explosions, grievous bodily harm, loss of limbs, head injury. Not for the faint of heart, really. Longfic, in progress. Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. Chapter Five.

Hot EMT: Modern au in which Ivar, an EMT, helps the reader after she sprains her ankle at a party.

Bad Girlfriend: Modern au based on the song of the same name. Ivar and his girlfriend have an interesting relationship. TW: barfights.

The Kelpie’s Bride: AU in which Ivar is a kelpie and drags the reader to his home in the lake. TW: kidnapping under enchantment.

Condition: Ivar offers to set a new slave free if she can fulfill his conditions.

Slow Hands: Ivar and his wife play a game.NSFW. TW: knife play, blood.

Penance: Ivar apologizes to the reader. Bite-sized fic.

Captured: Ivar and the reader, a shield maiden, are captured. TW: mild dub con, sex as punishment, hate sex, love hate relationship

NSFW Asks.

Non-romantic Drabbles

Ruthless: Ivar thinking about his lot in life.

Hangover: The reader wakes up hungover next to Ivar and they try to piece their night together. Short and silly.

Drill: Modern AU LT Lothbrok doing rifle drills. Flash fiction.

Ubbe

Ubbe x OC

To Lie Down With Wolves: collab fic written by @underthenorthstar and I. Ubbe takes a Saxon prisoner on a raid. Imogene soon discovers what happens when a lamb is claimed by a wolf. TW: blood, violence, gore, death. NSFW, eventually probably. Longfic, in progress. Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Chapter Nine.

Ubbe x Reader

An Offering: The reader comforts Ubbe, upset that he has to share his wife with Hvitserk.NSFW. Trigger warnings: Orgy.  Part One. Part Two.

Silly Promises: The reader cares for Ubbe after he’s wounded in battle.

Stop the Sun: The reader and Ubbe spend one last night together before he leaves for England with his brothers. NSFW.

Caught: Hvitserk catches Ubbe and the reader playfighting. Flash fiction.

Mutterings: The reader overhears Ubbe talking in his sleep. Flash fiction.

Slow Hands: Modern AU in which the reader works at a rescue horse farm and Ubbe is the new farrier. Slow burn. Almost complete. Part One. Part Two. Part Three.

Sigra Mig: Ubbe and the reader reunite after a battle. NSFW. TW: roughness, death.

The Arrow: Ubbe and the reader are drinking and making arrows. Bite-sized fic

Prize: The reader flirts with Ubbe’s brothers during an archery competition to make him jealous. Bite-sized fic.

Risk Games: Ubbe and the reader escape from the feast for a few minutes. NSFW.

Trickery: The reader loses a bet to Ubbe, and he comes to collect.

NSFW Alphabet: A-E. F-P.

Q-Z

Non-romantic Drabbles

Wolf: Ubbe thinks about his brothers. Post season 4b, so speculative based on the trailer. Bite-sized fic.

Hvitserk

Hvitserk x Reader

The Raider’s Wife: In which the reader is a princess, and and her father marries her off to Hvitserk to make an alliance with the Vikings. Maybe ongoing, when I have time. NSFW. Part One. Part Two. Part Three. Part Four. Part Five.

Not Alone: Hvitserk comforts his wife after she attempts to take her life due to the loss of their stillborn child. TW: child loss, stillbirth, suicidal thoughts.

Later: Hvitserk is teasing his lover. Bite-sized fic.

Hungry: Hvitserk is hungry, as always. Bite-sized fic.

Some NSFW Alphabet stuff.

An NSFW Ask, answered.

Bjorn Ironside

Bjorn x OC

Ironside and the Spell-weaver: A healer and sorcereress traveling with the Great Army finds herself taking care of the prince. TW: Blood, violence, animal sacrifice, ritualistic drug usage and magic. Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Four.

Bjorn x Thorunn

Lightning: Bjorn thinks about Thorunn. Bite-sized fic. TW: death of a child, angst.

Bjorn x Reader

Bloody: Bjorn comes to the reader after a battle. NSFW. Bite-sized fic.

Aslaug: Sons series. Short drabbles from Aslaug’s point of view following the birth of each of her sons. Firstborn (Ubbe). Midwinter (Hvitserk). Ourboros (Sigurd).  Birth of the Boneless (Ivar).

Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye

Sigurd x Reader

Competition: Fic where the reader is with Sigurd, and Ivar interrupts. NSFW.

Endless Blue Skies: Modern au where Sigurd and the reader go skydiving.

Song: The reader’s reaction to Sigurd’s death. Bite-sized fic.

Ragnar x Reader

Flip: Ragnar is being dramatic. Bite-sized fic.

Harald Finehair x Reader

Claim: Harald takes what’s his. NSFW. Bite-sized fic.

NSFW Alphabet: also includes some Mad Sweeney here, this was an ask I answered.

Halfdan x Reader

Spotless: Halfdan is pleased with how clean his sword is. Bite-sized fic.

Deserve You: Halfdan doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve you. Bite-sized fic.

Thorunn

Shame: Thorunn and her scar. Bite-sized fic.

Voices of the Gods: Floki convinces Thorunn to stay in Kattegat.

Margrethe

Sing to Me: The reader comforts Margrethe. F/F

AMERICAN GODS

Mad Sweeney

NSFW Alphabets/NSFW Prompts/Asks Answered, etc. All NSFW.

NSFW Alphabet

Rough Dominance

Teasing, etc

Promises and Praise

Wild

Little Witch: Part One. Part Two.

THE LAST KINGDOM

Erik x Aethelflaed

Surrender: Erik is so attracted to the Princess of Wessex, he thinks she must be a sorceress.

Sihtric One-shots

Endure: The story of Elflaed, a Saxon slave, and her son, Sihtric. Begins the day Elflaed is captured by the Danes, and ends when Sihtric swears his oath to Uhtred.

Hidden Daggers: The first time Sihtric meets Eahlswith, she looks at him with eyes that understand all his suffering, and she laughs at all the weapons he carries.

SUPERNATURAL

Dean Winchester x Reader

Strong Enough: Dean and the reader reminisce in the Impala after a hunt. NSFW. TW: trauma, injury, implied parental emotional abuse.

[ceridwenofwales]

I have mojitos in my system. It's past midnight. Not sure if I should read now, but I will.😄😄

To Lie Down With Wolves: Chapter 11

The next chapter in the collaboration fic written by @underthenorthstar and I!

Tag List:  @bonniebird @ally22042000 @persephone-is-here-omg@byzantium-glytch @aalexandra2712 @ceridwenofwales @im-the-pilot-bodhi-rook @ivars-pet @lostinthoughtsandfeelings@bitchccraft @sister-wives-of-kattegat@tiyetiye@letsbedragonstogether @ivarthefuckboy@readsalot73@florenceivy Let us know if we forgot you or you want to be added!

Special thank you to @whenimaunicorn sent me a beautiful still for this chapter but I’m a dummy who can’t figure out how to save it (I will someday just not after a 12 hour shift haha). 

AO3 link

Ubbe is almost afraid to let his gaze linger on her when he awakens, afraid her gentle hands were merely part of his fevered dreams. He’s afraid of the disgust he’s sure will still be in her eyes, the despair he’s seen in the gray depths since that first morning. But it isn’t there. There’s only a shy smile and the barest glimpse of blushing cheeks before she suddenly busies herself with tending the fire. It’s the lightest Ubbe has felt in years.

His leg aches when he places weight on it, but he can’t bear to be lying down any longer, to be not touching her. He’s acutely aware of his bare chest, of the deep red of her cheeks when he gently grasps her chin and slowly tilts her head up. “Imogene,” he whispers, and the nervous giggle that spills from his lips is like the answer to a question he’s been asking his entire life.

“You should still be in bed,” she reprimands him, voice breathless, and he thinks he could listen to her speak forever. It seems impossible that once, all he wanted from her was silence so he could forget she even existed.

Continuar lendo

[whenimaunicorn]

Oh my GODS what an amazing chapter. I have so many things to say but I'm at work and will have to review later but oh, oh my heart in this one!!! You've turned their courses so neatly and beautifully here! And the hypnotic repetition of "water always wins" was so lovely and also got us in the trance-like mindset of fevered Ubbe too. This is just amazing!!!

To Lie Down With Wolves: Chapter 9

Written in collaboration with the amazing, beautiful, and supremely talented @underthenorthstar.

Summary: Imogene settles into life in Kattegat, and on the journey back home from the raid, Ubbe considers his fate.

TW: Violence, bloodshed, death, major injury.

AO3 Link

Tag List:  @bonniebird @ally22042000 @persephone-is-here-omg@byzantium-glytch @aalexandra2712 @ceridwenofwales @im-the-pilot-bodhi-rook @ivars-pet @lostinthoughtsandfeelings@bitchccraft @sister-wives-of-kattegat @tiyetiye@letsbedragonstogether @ivarthefuckboy @readsalot73@florenceivy Let us know if we forgot you or you want to be added!

Imogene has known for what feels like her entire life that she’s going to hell, ever since she discovered she understood the pagan’s rough language. She’s even more sure now. It’s so quiet and peaceful in this little house at the edge of the village without the tall wolf’s hungry eyes stalking her every movement, without his anger and his fingers like iron bands and the dead wife that hovers above his shoulder like an apparition from the depths of hell. Imogene knows now the dead wife is the reason for his temper and his despair. She sits on his shoulder and whispers poison into his ears, wicked words burying his heart under several winters’ worth of snow.

She’s settled into a routine with Jerrick, he’s cheerful and easygoing even without his father around. Imogene supposes it’s because he was too young to remember his mother, and although he knows of her horrible fate, he doesn’t feel the blame for it that Ubbe does. Imogene hates that she thinks of him often during these quiet moments, because without his looming presence the house feels somehow empty. Part of her still fears that Ivar is going to burst through the door, that she’s going to meet the same fate as the slave Ubbe freed and married, but the days pass, and the uneasy peace holds.

Keep reading

[ceridwenofwales]

There's little to say after this awesome review. Imogene started realizing she was not the frightened lamb in the last chapter. She is also a wolf. And now we have Ubbe realizing he is not damaged beyond repair. He can be the wolf looking after the pack. They can walk to meet halfway.

He leans into that small touch, that promise of tenderness, and closes his eyes. A ragged thing made new.

A new beginning for a man that suffered enough and doesn't need to punish himself more. I loved this update.

To Lie Down With Wolves: Chapter 11

The next chapter in the collaboration fic written by @underthenorthstar and I!

Tag List:  @bonniebird @ally22042000 @persephone-is-here-omg@byzantium-glytch @aalexandra2712 @ceridwenofwales @im-the-pilot-bodhi-rook @ivars-pet @lostinthoughtsandfeelings@bitchccraft @sister-wives-of-kattegat@tiyetiye@letsbedragonstogether @ivarthefuckboy@readsalot73@florenceivy Let us know if we forgot you or you want to be added!

Special thank you to @whenimaunicorn sent me a beautiful still for this chapter but I’m a dummy who can’t figure out how to save it (I will someday just not after a 12 hour shift haha). 

AO3 link

Ubbe is almost afraid to let his gaze linger on her when he awakens, afraid her gentle hands were merely part of his fevered dreams. He’s afraid of the disgust he’s sure will still be in her eyes, the despair he’s seen in the gray depths since that first morning. But it isn’t there. There’s only a shy smile and the barest glimpse of blushing cheeks before she suddenly busies herself with tending the fire. It’s the lightest Ubbe has felt in years.

His leg aches when he places weight on it, but he can’t bear to be lying down any longer, to be not touching her. He’s acutely aware of his bare chest, of the deep red of her cheeks when he gently grasps her chin and slowly tilts her head up. “Imogene,” he whispers, and the nervous giggle that spills from his lips is like the answer to a question he’s been asking his entire life.

“You should still be in bed,” she reprimands him, voice breathless, and he thinks he could listen to her speak forever. It seems impossible that once, all he wanted from her was silence so he could forget she even existed.

Keep reading