#vikings x female!oc | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

muse-oleum · 10 days

Text

Beloved (Part I)

“She was the only woman who saw all of him—the good, the bad and the ugly—and wanted all of it. From the moment she arrived in our village, everyone else never really stood a chance. Honestly, I don’t believe anyone ever will.” OR Rebekah tells Hayley the story of the first and only woman Elijah Mikaelson has ever truly loved, and why he can never love her the way she wants him to.

Elijah Mikaelson x Witch!OC/10th century AU/Unreliable Narrator (mostly Rebekah, though)

Find it on AO3: here.

(+ so many more tags and nerding it out in the notes :) come say hi)

Hayley was sulking again, listlessly watching the fire crackle back to life as Rebekah poked at it, the scent of firewood filling the air as the flames soared higher, licking up at the blackened bricks. With a sigh, the vampire sat back into the leather armchair closest to the fireplace, occasionally prodding the heavy iron grate closer to the hearth, as if keeping the crackling embers from escaping would somehow prevent the werewolf from asking her the question she knew she wanted to ask.

Rebekah sank deeper into the comforting depths of the armchair, eyeing her companion from above the rim of her glass. The scowl on Hayley’s face was enough to indicate just what had transpired between her big brother and the young werewolf.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” she said, taking a sip of… whatever it was Nik kept around the study.

Hayley looked up, frowning. There was a world of hurt in her eyes that Rebekah knew all too well. She’d seen it time and time again in face after face. All the women who fell for her brother inevitably ended up wearing a similar expression on their face when they finally understood that Elijah would never give himself to them completely.

Honestly, had he been anyone else, Rebekah would have accused him of having serious commitment issues.

But this was her brother. Loyal to a fault, fiercely protective of those he loved, dotting uncle to his little niece. And so, as much as she’d rather be just about anywhere else right now, it was both her duty and burden to explain the situation.

Especially to this particular woman, seeing as she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon and her remaining in the dark would only cause more problems in the future; both for her and for the entire family.

Rebekah sighed again, downing the rest of her drink.

“Just so you’re aware: Elijah would have my head for even broaching the subject with him, let alone with you, so if you rat me out, I’ll make Mikael look like the easter bunny.”

The corners of Hayley’s mouth twitched, threatening a smile—an all too rare occurrence these days. It dimmed almost immediately, the kind of pain only unrequited love could bring swimming in her eyes. The werewolf sighed, propping up her chin on her knees, returning her gaze to the fire.

“I just—” she closed her eyes, taking a breath and letting it out before trusting her voice again, “I thought we could be going somewhere, y’know?” She shrugged, tucking her fingers inside the sleeves of her sweater, “But he’s just so… remote. It’s like I can’t reach him, or something. Every time I try, he just… closes off.”

Rebekah poured herself another drink, taking a fortifying breath.

“He wasn’t always that way.” Seeing Hayley’s eyebrows shoot up all the way to her hairline, she scoffed. “A thousand years is a very long time, you know.” Tilting her head, she decided to rip the band aid off in one clean swipe. Better to have it over and done with as quickly as possible. “When we were human, Elijah fell in love with a woman named Svala. She was…” she took a long breath, echoes of agonized screams clawing at her mind, losing herself to old memories as she gazed down at her glass. Rebekah watched them swirl in the dark amber liquid, swallowing the lump in her throat when she realized she couldn’t quite remember her face, sharp features and laughing grey eyes tangling together in soft hues, pulling her back in time despite herself.

“She was his wife, and the love of his life.”

Present-day Virginia, c. 990 A.D.

It was just after Álfablót, during the month of Haustmánuður, that the boats arrived, narrowly escaping winter at sea. Ayana had already foretold their arrival and entire families had left the village to go greet their loved ones from the old countries. The village itself waited, the old and the young, and all those whose kin had not been onboard the boats. New homes had been built—as many as possible—and there were still logs of timber scattered around in expectation for more, covered by pine needles and leaves to keep most of the coming ice at bay.

Preparations for winter were well underway by the time the first travelers were spotted, able-bodied men and women carrying young children in their arms or on their backs, with the more travel-weary stragglers lagging behind. Only the more adventurous children seemed to have any energy left, gazing at the welcoming party with wide eyes, tugging at each other’s sleeves.

The head of the village had gone with them and there was a collective sigh of relief at his safe return. Some of the werewolves had gone too, eager to see new faces—and to warn them of what life with them would entail.

Not that it mattered. After such a long voyage, all would have been glad of a simple meal, the warmth of a fire and the comfort of family they had not seen in years.

Carrying her pack on her back, Svala looked up at the tall pine trees, so different from the wide oak trees of her home. She didn’t know what to make of them—she didn’t know what to make of any of it.

Her mother had convened with her Sisters, sensing the dangers in the new religion that had made its way to their homeland, swaying their people and changing their ways. She had come back with a haunted look, telling her to pack whatever it was she loved most, and that they were leaving. Svala had raged and raged, tears in her eyes, refusing to leave and digging her heels into the ground until her mother had all but dragged her onto the boat.

It was a great hulking beast, larger than the ships she had grown up around. It was meant for a sea voyage that would last weeks, where storms would rage and winds would blow, threatening to drown them into seas she had only ever heard about in stories. Her mother’s presence had calmed her, the hand on her shoulder heavy enough to pull her from her thoughts.

No völva would let her people drown.

It still hadn’t been enough to save her, though, and Yrsa Anundottir had died a week before they reached their destination, leaving her young daughter alone, cold, and scared in a new world she knew nothing about.

A young couple, Ulf and Asta, had taken Svala under their wing. Asta, like her mother, was a völva; and quite good at it too, though she dabbled more in incantations and less in the art of divination.

Svala had always been thankful her own powers had strayed more towards healing than the more arcane arts. She had never envied her mother’s power and, as she stood looking up at the trees in her new home, all she felt was hatred for it. Divination had brought her here, all alone, without her mother. She couldn’t help but suspect Yrsa had known all along she would not make it this far, and it only made her angrier.

A small boy tugging on her skirts distracted her from her thoughts, his wide smile and big brown eyes warming her despite the autumn winds whipping her hair around her face. She tucked an errant curl behind her ear and smiled back, waving at him. He smiled even wider and ran back to those she assumed must be his family. He tugged on the sleeve of one of the older men, whispering in his ear something that made him laugh.

He was handsome, with shoulder-length dark hair braided back from his face, revealing balanced features, most prominent of which sharp cheekbones and an even sharper jawline. She averted her eyes when she inadvertently met his own, the same warm brown as those of his… brother? Son? He was old enough that it could be both.

Svala felt the pressure of Asta’s hand at the small of her back, guiding her to a clearing where an open fire pit had been lit, casting a warm glow on the charred ground beneath it. The village leader, a well-built man called Harald whom she had grown to respect over the past few weeks, had opened the welcome feast, and she noticed that those whose families had left their homeland years ago had at long last been reunited. She smiled, dropping her pack against the trunk of a nearby tree, as she observed Ulf greet his brother Magnar, the two men embracing each other. Magnar then turned to Asta, opening his arms to her and welcoming her, and Svala felt a small twinge of jealousy.

It was petty, she knew, but she wished someone was there to greet her like that. But all she had was her small pack and the memory of her mother.

Averting her eyes to hide the sting of tears she refused to spill for a woman who had abandoned her, Svala turned back to her meagre belongings, rummaging in search of something a little warmer. Earlier this week, they’d stopped at a stream to wash and repair their clothes, and she had taken the opportunity to refresh her winter clothes, not knowing when she’d next have the chance.

Still, fall here seemed milder than at home, where the first snows had surely already fallen. She was hit by another wave of sadness and tied the strings of her pack with such vigor that she nearly snapped them, biting back tears when a small hand braced itself on the bark of the tree in front of her.

“Mother says you can leave your belongings at our home. It’s not wise to leave them about like that.”

It was the little boy from earlier, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet, observing her with a far more intelligent gaze then she’d come to expect for a child his age. Their speech differed slightly from hers, but she understood him well enough, and she thought she could actually make out the slight inflections of her homeland.

“Why? Would someone steal it?”

He shook his head and bent towards her, mischief in his eyes. “No, but the landvaettir might take it and hide it inside an old tree and then we’d never see it again.”

Svala blinked, then laughed. The boy’s eyes lit up, and she had the sneaking suspicion he had been trying to cheer her up. It certainly had worked—it felt so very good to express joy again.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” She whispered conspiratorially, winking at him.

Elated, the little boy ran back towards his family, who had dispersed into the throng of people gathered in the clearing. She saw him gesture wildly to the same man as earlier, caught the amused smile on his face before he started to make his way towards her. She dropped her gaze back to her pack, tying it off with one final tug and hoisting it on her shoulders.

The man was tall; taller than she’d expected. He towered over her, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders. Instead of making her feel caged in, it made her feel safer, an odd sensation tingling up her spine.

Svala finally dared to meet his eyes, finding them darker than his brother’s but full of the same earnestness. He inclined his head towards her, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips. It made him appear younger, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. She smiled back tentatively, her lips stinging, chapped raw by the wind and the salt.

Before she had even taken one step, he took her pack from her, swinging it over his shoulder as if it weighed next to nothing. The little boy grabbed her hand, tugging her along to meet the rest of their family, babbling happily about how he would take her to see the clearing tomorrow, before all the leaves had fallen and Svala couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Perhaps we should let her decide for herself what she would like to do first, little brother?”

The boy stopped, eyeing her as he would a particularly complicated puzzle, a little storm gathering in his eyes, and she knew enough of children to recognize the beginnings of a tantrum.

“I’ll be happy to come with you to the clearing, little one,” Svala said, smiling at the glee in his eyes, “on one condition.” He looked on with rapt attention, his eyes widening. She smiled wider, “I will go, but only if you tell me your name.”

She heard the man beside her huff out a laugh. The boy snuck his tongue out at him, narrowly escaping a smack upside the head as he danced around them, avoiding his brother’s hand deftly. He reminded her of a wood sprite.

“This impolite little imp is Henrik,” his brother said, giving up and tugging his little brother into his side, ruffling his hair. He turned towards her, warm brown eyes mirthful.

“I’m Elijah.”

----------------

“And that’s how they met,” Rebekah sighed, getting up to refill her glass. It was a good thing she couldn’t get drunk easily; she had a feeling she would need that tolerance as the evening wore on. “Svala charmed Henrik as soon as she stepped foot inside our village and our little brother was the way to Elijah’s heart.” She took a small sip, fingers drumming on the table. “I honestly think it was instantaneous, at least on his part. I could tell he was smitten almost immediately.”

She sighed again, leaning back against the table. Hayley was silent, staring at her—although Rebekah was ready to bet the other woman wasn’t really seeing her at all. The Original suppressed another sigh. She disliked the idea of hurting her but it was unavoidable. Hayley was young, and on the cusp of love. She deserved to be pulled from the edge before she well and truly fell for her brother, a path which only ever led to heartbreak.

“Svala’s mother had died during the crossing,” Rebekah continued, seating down on the table, “and our own mother took pity on her, I suppose. I think she could also sense Svala’s powers, which were strong even for a völva, and—”

“You used that word before, but what does it mean?” Hayley asked, straightening up and tugging the fabric of her dress around her knees, visibly shaking herself from her thoughts.

“Völur—that’s the plural form—were witches (mostly), but also sometimes warlocks, who traveled the old countries, stopping here and there to dispense their services. Another term for a völva is seiðkona—wielder of seiðr, what you’d call magic.”

“So she was a witch?”

Rebekah hummed, taking another sip. “Yes, but also something more. You see, modern-day witches seem to have largely lost their powers of divination. At least the ones I’ve met.” She shrugged. “Kol’s been to the East, I’m sure he would tell you more about ancient magical powers, if he could.” Rebekah cleared her throat, pushing away thoughts of her brother. “But in any case, a seiðkona could, under the right circumstances, predict the future with reasonable accuracy.” She paused, eyeing the werewolf. “Svala was one such witch, although we didn’t discover that until much later.”

Hayley nodded pensively. “So your family took her in?”

“Early on, yes. She stayed with us for a while, helping our mother and myself with household chores—don’t give me that look, it was like that, back then—and we grew close.” Rebekah swallowed the lump in her throat as the memories came rushing back. “I always had wanted a sister.”

----------------

“I do believe my brother fancies you,” Rebekah said as they crouched near the frozen stream, their fingers red and stinging from the cold.

“Which one? You have many,” her friend answered with an impish grin.

“Oh, stop it! You know which one!”

“Why, Rebekah,” Svala stood, batting her eyelashes innocently in her best impression of Tatia, the woman who hung on Elijah’s and Nik’s every word, “I had no idea Henrik saw me in such a way.”

That earned her a handful of freezing water to the face. Shrieking, she kicked fallen leaves at Rebekah in retaliation.

The beautiful blonde, the only sister in a large brood of brothers, had been Svala’s salvation these past few months. They were around the same age, with Svala only a few years older than Rebekah, and of vastly different temperaments. That did nothing to stop the budding friendship between them as Rebekah helped Svala navigate life in her new environment, introducing her to their neighbors and helping her to make friends. In return, Svala had taken to helping the younger woman with her chores, lending a hand where she was needed.

Esther, too, had been glad of the help, saying jokingly that she wasn’t getting any younger, and thus welcoming Svala with open arms. She suspected that the older witch would have wanted more daughters. Together with Asta and Ayana, Esther had also taken to perfecting the young witch’s understanding of seiðr, the trio easily stepping into her mother’s shoes. Of the three, Svala was most at ease with Asta, given that they shared a common past—or as common as anyone around here, anyway. Ayana scared her a little, but she rather thought her mother and her would have been fast friends. As for Esther, she remained undecided.

She was grateful to the older woman—more than grateful, really—but there was still something about her that Svala couldn’t quite shake. She wondered distractedly if she should be worried that her mother’s power had managed to make its way to her, and what it was trying to tell her if it had.

“You know perfectly well which of my brothers I was referring to.”

She did.

Elijah was still somewhat of a mystery to her. A man of few words, the only signs of his partiality came in other forms. He would help her with the more physical tasks, such as carrying buckets filled with water and snow for washing and cooking. Or he would help her skin and tan the hide of the animals the men caught on their hunts, fashioning coats and pouches from the leather. He had introduced her to his friend, the smithy, a tall, muscular man named Leif, who showed her how he made the arrowheads and knives used for hunting.

These people did not raid, although, far from the sea as they were, she supposed it wasn’t all that unusual. They appeared to trade with some neighboring settlements, although most of these were nomadic in nature. The only other village near them was the one led by the werewolves—a people Svala had only heard her mother speak about very infrequently. There were some clans in the old country, but they lived far from towns and villages in self-inflicted exile.

This was not the case here, where the two villages cohabited peacefully. There was, however, an undeniable current of fear around the full moon, when those not afflicted by the Curse would withdraw to the cave systems underneath their village, magical boundaries and wards in place, to wait out the moon. She supposed she understood the high status that Ayana and Esther seemed to enjoy. When faced with fangs and claws, seiðr was an attractive defense.

She was pulled from her musings by the feeling of a strong hand on her arm. Elijah swooped in and took the heavy bucket from her, barely straining under its weight. He gave her a gentle smile and fell into step alongside her. Rebekah, the little minx, winked at her—in full view of her brother!—and escaped up the path, grumbling about how she too could use someone to help her with her own burden. As if summoned, Nik appeared at her side, easily bracing against its weight. Svala huffed a laugh when he threw her a long suffering look over his shoulder.

“Your brother seems to never be too far from your sister,” she told Elijah quietly, laughter brightening her dark eyes.

Those eyes of hers, the color of dark stormy skies, had been an object of fascination to him ever since he had met her. They seemed almost alive, wisps of grey and brown and blue all interweaving together, one peeking through more than the others depending on the weather.

Of course, her eyes were not the only beautiful thing about her. It seemed to him that the gods had crafted this woman solely to plague his dreams. She filled his mind so completely, he had began to wonder about his sanity. On one occasion, he had heard her sing quietly to herself as she gathered wood for the fire, her long brown hair tumbling down her back, framing her petite frame and highlighting the curves of her body; and Elijah had almost believed he’d been taken in by a forest spirit.

But such stories were the ones he told his youngest brother on nights he could not sleep, and he knew better.

He did not know what love felt like; at least, not that kind of love. He knew the deep devotion he felt towards his siblings, and the lust for a warm, soft, body; but this was uncharted territory. Every time Svala was near, Elijah lost the ability to speak, unable to string more than two sentences together for fear of appearing an utter fool. His silence did not seem to bother her, so he took it as encouragement to remain just as he was, comfortable with admiring from afar.

Which was exactly what he was doing right now. Svala was eyeing him curiously, no doubt wondering what was taking him so long. Little did she know (he very much hoped) that all he wanted to do was kiss her to find out whether her lips were as soft as they appeared.

“Rebekah and Niklaus have always been very close,” he answered slowly, returning his gaze to his siblings in front of them, “it used to make Henrik quite jealous.”

“Is that why he’s so attached to you?”

Elijah chuckled. “No, Henrik is rather fickle in his affections. One week, he won’t leave me alone, the next, he’ll be glued to Kol’s side.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping a few octaves. “Although I think that’s mainly so he can learn new tricks and cause more trouble.”

Svala laughed. “Yes, he’s rather good at finding trouble.”

“Oh, I’m sure he would say trouble finds him.”

“An answer only a troublemaker would know to give,” she said, nodding sagely.

They had reached the village, passing through a denser copse of old trees, the scent of pine needles overwhelming. It was one Svala had taken time to get used to, but now that she had, it filled her with a strange sort of warmth. She wasn’t sure if she could call that feeling “belonging”, but it certainly felt close to it.

Between Rebekah’s freely given friendship, Henrik’s childlike love and Elijah’s quiet company, she had began to ease into this new life her mother had thrown her into. She still missed her home, and the wide, tall oak trees behind her homestead, but the ache was cooling, little by little.

Of the Mikealsons, only Finn and Kol remained a little aloof. The former because it was simply his personality and the latter, she suspected, was a little shy about talking to a völva. Svala wanted to tell him he had nothing to worry about: she couldn’t predict his future even if she tried, and she had no desire to do so. The topic hadn’t even been discussed by any of her three teachers yet, although she knew Asta, at least, had some knowledge of the divination arts. Ayana and Esther seemed to think it was best left alone and Svala would tend to agree, given where her own mother’s gift had led her.

Then again, she thought, chancing a glance at the man beside her to find him looking back at her with a small smile on his lips, perhaps that was not an entirely bad thing.

----------------

“They kept dancing each other for weeks,” Rebekah said, shaking her head fondly in an effort to drive away memories of her friend. “It drove Nik and I absolutely mad.”

The Original sighed, raking a hand through her blonde curls to briefly massage the back of her neck. Sitting still for so long rarely took a toll on her body anymore—she was, quite simply, too old to care—but she suspected the current topic of discussion drained her more than she’d like to admit.

Talking about Svala was forbidden. Everybody in the family knew it, and even Nik never ever dared to speak her name when Elijah was within earshot. Her death had been a blow their older brother had never recovered from and even now, nearly a millennium after he’d buried her, she would still catch him bracing himself against some pain she couldn’t see and she knew he was thinking of her.

“Their courtship was long, by our standards,” she continued, turning her back to Hayley as she refilled her glass for the umpteenth time that evening, “but that’s Elijah for you.”

“Why do you say that?” Hayley asked. “He’s always seemed like a man who makes up his mind quickly to me.”

Rebekah hummed into her glass. “Oh, his mind was made up, believe me. He was going to marry her, none of us—least of all him, at least at the unconscious level—had any doubts about that.” She turned back to her companion. “But you forget about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

Eyeing her friend, the vampire sighed, looking down at her glass. “Our father.” She took a deep breath, hating that even now the man had such a hold on her as to make her afraid of speaking his name. “Mikael wasn’t a kind man, as I’m sure you’ve noticed,” she said drily, smiling slightly at the werewolf’s quiet snort, “and he wasn’t then either. I think Elijah was afraid to bring Svala into a family with such a man at the head of it.”

Rebekah sat back into her original seat, bringing her forearms to rest on her thighs, rolling her glass between her hands. “Perhaps he was right to be worried, considering everything that happened.”

“Did Mikael hurt her?”

The Original chuckled bitterly. “Who didn’t he hurt? He hurt Nik, most of all, but he took it out on others too. Our mother never moved against him,” she bit out angrily, “and even back then, I didn’t understand why. He was strong, but she was a witch, so what was she afraid of?” She huffed. “Obviously, now, I know she was scared her little secret would come to light.”

Hayley nodded, shifting in her seat. “Klaus’ real father?”

“The leader of the neighboring village,” Rebekah answered, noting the disbelieving look the other woman shot her. “Yes, rather stupid of both of them really, but oh well.” She shook her head, willing herself to get back on track. “But no, Mikael never laid a hand on Svala. Elijah would probably not have stopped me from trying to kill him if he had.”

Hayley’s eyes grew wide. “You tried to kill your dad?”

Rebekah nodded darkly. “And I wish to god Elijah had let me finish the job.”

“That’s wild.”

“Welcome to the family, love.” Rebekah gulped down the rest of her drink, thinking that she might just have to slow down if she was going to survive waking up tomorrow. “Anyway, after a few months of tentative smiles and furtive glances, Elijah finally made the first move, to our family’s collective relief."

----------------

Midsommerblót was fast approaching and with it, the height of the summer months. Offerings for the landvaettirs had been prepared, crops stood tall or sprawled over and under the soil, birds were chirping in the tall trees and it seemed every living thing was bustling in preparation for the harvest months.

Svala herself had not been idle since the arrival of spring. With help from Elijah and Nik, as well as Leif and Ulf, she had moved into her own cottage, not too far from the Mikaelsons. It was small, but sturdy, the last of the new homes built for the newcomers.

She would miss Rebekah’s constant companionship and the easy routine she had fallen into amongst the family, but she was glad to have a space to herself. She’d never really had that before. The home she had shared with her mother was smaller than her new one, even if her youth had been spent mostly following her mother in her travels.

Besides, given the current climate in the Mikaelson home, Svala had no doubt Rebekah would end up sleeping here more often than not in the upcoming months, personal space be damned. Mikael had been in an even fouler mood than usual, and she had been glad to escape. Svala knew her friend well enough by now to know that her new home was about to become Rebekah’s new home too.

Unless her brother beat her to it.

The distance between Elijah and her was long gone, replaced by open smiles and slower touches; the kind that lingered a little too long and left her a little too breathless. As the summer solstice approached and Midsommer drew nearer, she’d began to feel the telltale pull of desire more forcefully every time he stood next to her. It grew so strong at times that she worried the others would feel it, like the current pushing her towards him. She was entirely powerless to resist it but felt no need to battle it, if only they could find themselves alone.

But, as things would have it, between moving into her new home and preparing for the festival—as well as her daily chores and Henrik’s and Rebekah’s constant demand for her attention—she had barely had any time to herself. Let alone with Elijah.

And yet, the infuriating man wouldn’t leave her thoughts.

Svala shook her head ruefully, spotting Nik down the path.

Gathering wildflowers was a task she and Nik enjoyed doing together. He always kept some tucked away for Tatia, she knew, and he’d give them to her tonight, at the feast. The others were for Rebekah, who’d just turned sixteen last week, a true child of summer.

Together, they kept an eye on Henrik, who amused himself by crafting what flowers they brought him into crowns and bouquets. Svala had a sneaking suspicion one of these was for her, but she wouldn’t ruin his joy at giving it to her tonight.

“So, has my brother finally kissed you?” Nik asked her out of the blue, just as they settled into the routine of their task.

She sputtered, her cheeks glowing red, and he had the audacity to laugh at her.

“Nik!”

“Svala!”

Speechless, her eyes wide and mouth hanging open, she rather reminded him of a fish before she burst into a fit of laughter.

“You haven’t answered my question,” he said shrewdly.

Looking down at the handful of flowers in her basket, Svala pondered how best to answer him, when she felt a hand settle on her shoulder. She looked up, momentarily confused by his sudden change in attitude. Gone was the impish grin, instead, he looked very serious.

“My brother is often too noble for his own good,” he said, somewhat cryptically (and here she thought Esther was the only one with a penchant for the mysterious), “and has a tendency to let that get in the way of his happiness.” He paused, blue eyes studying her. “But he’s in love with you, of that I have no doubt, and if he lets you go because of our father, I will personally make him regret it.”

Svala smiled back tentatively, before her brain catches up. “Your father? Why? Is he… opposed to me?” She couldn’t fathom what it was she’s done to incur the man’s disapproval.

She didn’t say that she was also secretly scared of not being good enough for Elijah.

Nik shook his head, bending to pick some more flowers. “No, as a rule, I don’t believe he is but he’s a difficult man…” he hesitated, debating whether or not to share something else with her, before sighing, lowering his eyes to the ground. “He’s… violent. And unforgiving of weakness. He views love as such, and has already told Elijah off multiple times for spending too much time around you. Not that it stopped him.” He shrugged, “I think Elijah is worried about you joining our family because of how Father is.”

Svala blushed at the mention of her ‘joining’ the family.

It’s not that the thought hadn’t entered her mind since she’d met Elijah, but völvas rarely married or had children. Asta and her mother were exceptions. And Svala herself had never met her father. All her mother would tell her was that he was a good man, a Dane, powerful, and that was that. She didn’t even know his name and probably never would.

Not that it mattered now. She was an ocean away.

“Is he that bad?” she asked quietly, redirecting her thoughts to the present. She knew Mikael was a hard man, but all of the men she’s met before, save for Elijah and his brothers, were—in one way or another—hard men as well. And yet, everyone seemed to tiptoe around the Mikaelson patriarch as if he was Hel* come to drag them all down to her realm.

Nik sighed, about to speak, but suddenly froze, catching sight of something she couldn’t see. Turning around, she saw Mikael looking at them, face unreadable but eyes like thunder. He truly did look like a Viking: cold and hard, like the ice. Svala wondered if it didn’t run in his veins. Nik sighed dejectedly next to her, no doubt expecting a humiliating tongue-lashing once they got back to the village.

No, Mikael did not seem like the type of man who would be pleased to see a son of his picking flowers with a woman.

She held the man’s gaze, daring him to come forward. She may not be her mother, but she could hold her own if he tried anything. She didn’t miss the way Nik tensed as his father’s gaze shifts to her. Svala was half tempted to send a little jolt of magic through the man, but stopped herself when Nik’s hand slid into hers. Glancing at him, she took her eyes off Mikael and in the time it took for him to glance back, his father was already gone past the tree line.

“Please don’t provoke him,” he begged softly, his eyes a little frantic, “Elijah would never forgive himself if Father did something to you.”

Svala stared at him, dumbfounded. Would he dare?

Nik seemed to understand exactly what she was asking, and shook his head. She relaxed slightly, until her friend sighed again, rubbing his neck. The motion dislodged the fabric of his tunic, pushing it aside. Horrified, Svala got a glimpse of what looked like the healed marks of a lashing, scarring the flesh across his upper back. She stopped herself from rushing forward, unsure whether he meant for her to see the evidence of his father’s abuse or not.

Nik might not share his father’s disdain for weakness but that did not mean he would welcome her pity.

----------------

“After that, when she wasn’t with Elijah, Svala rarely left Nik’s side,” Rebekah whispered, staring into the fire as if she could will her friend back to life. “I don’t think she ever told either of them she’d seen his wounds, but she told me.”

Together, the two women had tried to shield her brother from Mikael’s wrath as much as possible. But neither had been able to stop her parents from doing the unthinkable: binding his brother’s wolf form, denying him all ties to the man he would have been better off being raised by.

Standing up, the Original stoked the fire, watching as the flames soar higher, losing herself to memories of another fire, in another place, a thousand years ago.

----------------

A little off to the side, Svala watched as people danced around the bonfire that stood proudly at the center of the clearing she had arrived in only months prior. It was the biggest fire she’d ever seen, stacks and stacks of wood burning high into the night. Gathered around the clearing were the elders, amongst them Ayana and Esther, who looked on fondly as the young danced.

There was one more house on the far left side to where Svala stood and the ground was now littered with old pine needles and wildflowers. She could hardly believe it had almost been a year since her arrival in the village. So much had changed since then: the harsh bite of the cold winds was a distant memory, her loneliness was gone, and she hadn’t missed the sea for a few weeks now. There were still times were homesickness would find her, creeping into her heart when she least expected it, but those were growing few and far between.

The man largely responsible for such a change stood on the other side of the clearing, Rebekah by his side, her hair braided prettily in the style Svala knew she liked. Kol and Nik were arguing with each other, but judging by the fondly exasperated expression on Elijah’s face, it wasn’t anything she needed to worry about.

Her own hair was swept back from her temples in two braids, barely strong enough to contain the rest of her mane as it swept down her back. Svala rarely wore it down, preferring the tightly braided style some of the shieldmaidens had worn back home. It was practical, but Midsommer was not about being practical. It was about revelry and fun, partaking in the joys of summer and enjoying the fruits of a year’s worth of hard work.

She’d even worn her best dress, the one her mother had sewn for her back home, during one of those cold winter nights that felt like a lifetime ago. Yrsa had always been partial to green, for herself, as it highlighted her red hair, but red had always been Svala’s color, bringing out the color of her eyes and the warmer tones in her hair. But the pigments for red dye were expensive, even when supplemented with wild berries, and so this dress had only ever been meant to be worn on special occasions. Svala thought her first Midsommerblót in her new home was a rather good time to try it on.

She giggled when Henrik ran up to her, tugging Rebekah with him, and dragged them both to the center of the clearing, where the warmth of the fire was almost unbearable, to dance. The little boy spun around them in a circle, tugging at their skirts until Svala caught him, tickling him mercilessly. He shrieked with laughter, trying to escape her and drawing the attention of his older brothers. Absorbed as she was by her revenge, Svala completely missed the look of complete adoration that overtook Elijah’s face, but Rebekah certainly did not.

She hoped someone would look at her like that too, one day.

Bending down to swoop her little brother up into her arms, Rebekah tugged at Svala’s hand, drawing the older girl into the wide circles of the dance, turning around each other in turn as Henrik clung to her, tucked between them. Laughing, Svala came to a stop, her cheeks red from exertion, and disappeared briefly, coming back with two cups of ale. The beverage was more than welcome, a relief against the heat. Henrik clamored for a sip and Svala had all the trouble in the world keeping him off, her eyes widening playfully as she downed the rest of her cup, taunting him.

“That’s not fair!” Henrik whined, kicking his little legs, “I wanted some too!”

“Not just yet, little one” Svala said, swooping him up to let Rebekah enjoy her own drink in peace, “but there’s some very tasty berry juice over there.”

The bribe worked, as it always did on children. Pacified, Henrik allowed himself to be led to the large oak tables, bending under the weight of the harvest. While Svala poured him a cup of fresh juice, Rebekah saw her older brother approach and, in a moment of uncharacteristic generosity of spirit, whisked Henrik away from the couple the first chance she got.

Passing by Elijah, Henrik nearly thwarted her plan when he reached for him. Knowing her brother was powerless to refuse him, Rebekah twirled around on herself, laughing and drawing a giggle from the child, effectively distracting him from their older brother’s presence. She made her way to another table, sitting herself and Henrik down to let him pilfer the entire platter of wild berries, stuffing them into his mouth as fast as a squirrel, his eyes growing bigger by the second as he looked at the sudden influx of people dancing around the bonfire.

It seemed like the entire village had collectively decided to join in, couples dancing together and wider circles of people skipping together hand in hand, their chants joining the music, growing louder and louder. Had she not been familiar with Midsommer and its merrymaking, Svala would have thought herself addled by the ale. Eyeing her cup, she shrugged and took another drink, closing her eyes.

The thing she liked the most about Midsommerblót was the music and dancing. Everyone was happy, indulging in the warmth of the summer months, enjoying the fact that it would last for some more still before the return of the cold.

Autumns here were less colorful than in the old country. The pines did not shed their leaves and so they never turned into the bright yellows, oranges and reds Svala had known all her life, but the evergreens held a certain beauty to them. It was mostly noticeable in the winter, when everything else was dead and still, they held on.

The one tree she always found herself drawn to, no matter the season, was the one standing tall behind the fire, its branches sweeping over the clearing, full of the green of summer.

The villagers called it “white oak”, for the light finish of its wood when harvested, and it was magnificent. Svala thought it must have been the oldest tree here, allowed to grow into itself as the clearing was cleared of other trees some centuries ago. In the fall, its leaves turned as bright as the trees of her old home, and she never felt homesick in its presence.

Lost in thought, she jumped slightly when she felt the press of a strong hand at her back, relaxing almost immediately when a deep chuckle sounded from just behind her.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you.”

She turned her head to the side, watching under thick lashes as Elijah’s profile came into view, his high cheekbones highlighted by the glow of the fire. Where they were standing, by the tables, its warmth was more distant, but the shiver that tingled down her spine had nothing to do with the chill. She felt the weight of his hand where it still was, pressed into her back, between her shoulder blades.

His eyes turned to her, taking her in.

Svala had always been beautiful, but tonight, in her red dress, her cheeks warmed by more than just drink, she was even more so. Her grey eyes sparkled when she looked up at him, shimmering in the low light. They were tender, excruciatingly so, wide and open. He felt like he could lose himself to her and it would still feel like home.

She caught her breath, noticing the way his hand slipped lower, pulling her closer until her back rested against his chest. She could still hear the music, but the sound was drowned out by the feeling of his hand caressing down her back, settling on her waist. She was pulled more firmly against him, a possessive touch to the way his fingers dug into her side.

Slowly, Svala finished her drink, setting it down on the table beside her. Seeing that everyone else’s attention was taken up by the feast, she allowed herself to rest against Elijah’s chest, his warmth a comforting presence against her back. Her head came to rest just above his heart. If she focused hard enough, she could feel its beat against her ear. It was steady; as steady as the man it belonged to, and she knew, in that moment, that she was the one who held it.

She felt his chin touch her hair, in a kiss or just resting there, she wasn’t sure. She simply savored the moment—the first one they’d shared since he had helped her down from the newly finished roof her house, preventing her from falling and catching her in his arms.

His arm snaked around her, ensnaring her, his finger splayed on her hip, close to where their bodies touched. She felt that pull again, the same one she always felt when he was near, begging her to bring him closer still, until it felt like she was going to meld herself to him.

Turning in his grasp, Svala brought their joined hands to her lips, kissing his knuckles. Elijah’s breath hitched above her and when she looked up, all she saw before his lips claimed hers was the devotion shining in his eyes.

----------------

“I was looking right at them,” Rebekah said, the mischievous look only a younger sibling could have written all over her face. “I never told Svala, but I couldn’t resist telling Elijah. I never saw him blush harder.” She laughed, shaking her head fondly. “Mostly, we were relieved he’d finally done it; their little courtship was exhausting to watch, honestly.”

The Original looked back at Hayley, eyeing the werewolf. She was calmer, now, less jittery, and more focused on Rebekah. She honestly was’t sure if it was because of her stellar storytelling, or because the other woman was desperate for any morsel of anything related to Elijah. She couldn’t fault her for that; she knew her brother was a hard man to forget, even when it was for the best.

She heard the telltale whoosh of another vampiric presence even before Hayley did, hybrid senses and all.

“I do believe your squeal managed to gather everybody’s attention, sister mine.”

Rolling her eyes, Rebekah looked over at her tyrant of an older brother, busy pouring himself a drink, and nearly snorted at the way Hayley’s own eyes rolled almost all the way back into her skull.

“Thankfully, by this point, everyone was too far gone to see what was really going on,” Klaus said, the twinkle in his eye almost fond as he looked back at her, “but, alas, I wasn’t.”

“Oh yes, because you were never one to indulge.”

Her annoying twat of a brother eyed the drink in her hand meaningfully—her sixth of the evening, she believed. Rebekah shrugged, and he softened. Of all of them, herself and Elijah excepted, Nik had been closest with Svala. She didn’t think her brother would have joined in on their conversation willingly—in fact, she rather thought he would have ran from it.

He did love to surprise her.

“You see, Little Wolf,” he said, the moniker falling easily from his lips, “our brother as he is today, noble to a fault and—if you squint—nearly caring, is revolting enough, but Elijah back then…” he shivered, “now that was positively nauseating.”

----------------

Elijah’s hand cushioned the back of her head against the wood behind her, his grasp there gentle even as his mouth did sinful things to hers, gliding against her lips, teasing her. He’d backed her against the side of house, away from the gathering, when neither of them had been able to contain themselves anymore.

As soon as they had been in relative privacy, Elijah had crusher her to him, framing her face with his much larger hands and kissed her with an urgency Svala had not thought him capable of.

She could not have been more wrong.

His hands were all over her, sweeping over her stomach up to her breasts, and all the way into her hair, tangling in the long strands, bringing her face closer still, his kiss growing more desperate. All it had taken was for her to arch into him, drawing the length of her body against his, for him to press her against the wooden wall, a low moan escaping him.

The tether between them was vibrating, the need to possess and be possessed urging them closer until all they could feel was each other. Her brows furrowed and Svala made a small sound of protest when Elijah pulled away, his breathing ragged against the side of her face. She felt the weight of his hips against hers, the evidence of his desire pressing deliciously on her stomach.

Feeling bold, she let her hands wonder, sweeping over his lean hips and around to pull him towards her, arching into him when he let out another low sound of pleasure. He settled into her embrace, letting her caress up and down his back, the touch more calming than it was meant to arouse and yet managing both at the same time.

She was so small, compared to him, he felt like he could pull her into his arms and no one would ever be able to harm her.

Svala nibbled at his jaw, letting her head fall back to allow him to press slow kisses all along her neck. Breathing in her scent, Elijah let himself fall deeper into her arms, resting most of his much larger weight against her, but she never made a single sound of protest.

They were both breathing more calmly now, letting the heat of their bodies cool before he did something unforgivable and made love to her for the first time right up against her house. Elijah would not let himself go enough to allow for anything else than absolute perfection whenever they did decide on sharing this moment together.

Kissing her collarbone one last time, it took all of his willpower to pull away from her. Svala allowed it, dropping her arms from around his neck until they rested against his sides. He smirked when he realized that she was just as unwilling to part from him completely.

Elijah let himself feel up her body once more, lingering on her soft breasts until he heard her breathing speed up again, and he knew that if she kissed him again, he would forget his resolve and drop to his knees in front of her, hide under her dress and make her forget any other name but his.

The thought alone was the sweetest torture.

For now, he felt contented enough to breath in her scent, pine needles and smoke mixed with the flowers she’d picked this morning, his thoughts turned to a future they would share together.

#the originals #elijah mikaelson #the vampire diaries #tvd #tvdu #elijah mikaelson fanfic #elijah mikaelson x oc #elijah mikaelson x female oc #original female character #vikings #10th century AU #the originals AU #tvd AU #(i guess?)#unreliable narrator

12 notes · View notes

peaceisadirtyword · 1 year

Text

Brísingamen (Ivar/OFC)

moodboard by @nothingtolosebutweight

Summary: Freya spent her life searching for the kind of love her parents shared. The kind of love that makes them go crazy, the kind that burns in their chests, when they are sure they would rather die than lose each other. And she found it in Kjartan, her future husband and an ambitious man who vows not to marry until he is king. After years of trying and failing to conquer Kattegat, Kjartan seems to accept that he cannot defeat the king of Kattegat in battle, but he still has a plan to sit on the throne, and for that Ivar Ragnarsson must die. And Freya, the loyal, sweet, innocent Freya, who would do anything for him, could be the key to achieve this. Someone that can sneak into Kattegat and reach the king’s chambers in the middle of the night to bury a knife in his chest. But Freya will soon learn that no one should underestimate Ivar the Boneless.

A/N: This is my new fic for the @vikingsbigbang💙 Hope you like it! Thank you to the amazing @nothingtolosebutweight for creating the artwork for this fic, you’re amazing. Check her blog because it’s great❤️ I couldn’t choose just one because I loved all of them.

Check the artwork♡

Read the story on Ao3.

“Shield up!” Ingrid’s yelling only made Freya scoff and roll her eyes. The shieldmaiden she was fighting took advantage of the momentary distraction and her dullen blade hit her leather vest, making Freya lose her balance and end up on the floor, frowning at both women.

“You always forget the defence when you’re fighting” Ingrid looked at her with a stern glance while she got up “You attack and fight well but you must remember to defend yourself too, it’s stupid not to do so” she shook her head, turning to correct the other girl Freya was figthing.

She only threw the sword and the shield to the ground and walked over to where the jar of water and the cups were, feeling her legs tremble when she was walking. Training since before sunrise only made her body ache before lunch, and as she was still half asleep when she started, the first hour was always terrible.

In any case, she wouldn’t even think of attending the training later, Ingrid was always there before her, no matter when she arrived at the training field. Sometimes, Freya wondered whether Ingrid ever slept or ate, she seemed to be always training, constantly with her sword and shield in hand, almost like they were part of her.

That was probably why she was the best shieldmaiden she had ever known.

Freya didn’t even bother to take her shield and sword and just walked away from the training group, ignoring the other women calling her or even Ingrid’s stern voice telling her to go back. She knew she was probably acting childish and it wasn’t even a big deal. Ingrid corrected everyone, but she always did it with a smile and soft words… Except for Freya, whenever she had to talk to her she did it with her lips pressed together, a frown and harsh words.

A part of her always wished to impress Ingrid, to make her smile and nod with pride filling her eyes. But never, not once had she accomplished that, and that was killing her.

Freya entered the Great Hall, still mumbling in rage and not even looking at anyone she walked by. When she reached the main table she drank directly from a pitch that had some fresh water, thirsty, and didn’t stop until a voice interrupted her, finally shaking her out of her spiral of anger and tiredness.

“That was mine”

Kjartan sat on the throne. His grey, cold eyes were fixed on her and his tone was stern, even when the slight curve of his lips gave him away.

“I’m sorry” Freya left the now almost empty pitch back on the table just when one of the thralls rushed to grab it and take it back for a refill “Your sister is driving me insane”

“Yes, she tends to do that” Kjartan chuckled “Is she being too hard on you?”

“When is she not?” she replied, rolling her eyes with a scoff “She talks to me with such a condescending tone it’s driving me crazy”

Freya approached Kjartan. His smirk grew as she got closer.

“Is there any chance that you will let me train with the men?” she pouted, and Kjartan raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t uncommon to have men and women train together, but he insisted on the fact that women didn’t have the same strength as men did, and even if his own sister could defeat half of his men within mere minutes, he still didn’t believe they were equal on the battlefield. That’s why he always used the shieldmaidens for his own guard, and sent the men to battle.

“You know what I think about that” he reached to put a strand of her hair behind her ear. Freya sighed in defeat, closing her eyes when his thumb caressed her cheek softly “Is my sister no rival to you?”

She is, that’s the problem. Freya shook her head and put his hand away, even though she held onto it, intertwining their fingers.

“She’s too hard on me, she hates me” Freya complained but it almost sounded like a whine. Kjartan didn’t stop smiling, her rivalry with his sister amused him to the point of entertaining that animosity for his own enjoyment. Sometimes it looked like their true intention while fighting was to catch his attention, and if there was anything Kjartan loved was being the centre of attention.

“She wants you to be strong enough to be queen by my side” he shrugged “But ignore her, when you’re my queen you will have all the protection you need and won’t need to know how to fight” he said, leaning in to kiss her temple.

“But I want to learn” she whined again and Kjartan rolled his eyes with a small smirk “Besides, when you finally make me your queen I shall be the finest shieldmaiden on Midgard”

“That’s ambitious, my love” he chuckled again “You know what I think, ambition is for men, the ambition corrupts women’s thoughts and poison them, you women are soft and have a pure heart, you don’t need ambition” he said softly, making her raise her eyebrow “Leave the ambition for me”

Scoffing, Freya moved around the table to pick up the pitcher again, Kjartan looked at her while she drank again. When she was done she turned around to look at him again, and there was a hint of reproach when she opened her mouth again.

“For being such an ambitious man, you move forward very slowly in your plan of becoming king” Freya tilted her head “And marrying me”

Kjartan looked angry for a second, but then his expression calmed down so quickly Freya thought she had imagined it.

“You know what I think, my love” he repeated. Kjartan always repeated that phrase almost like it was meant to make people eager to please him, to agree with him “I swore over my sacred ring not to marry you until I’m king, and until I’ve avenged my family and freed the people that suffer under their leader’s tyranny” he approached her. Freya stood in her place, with her head high and her eyes fixed on his. She knew that oath, he had repeated it to her every single day since he kissed her for the first time. It didn’t make it any easier “When I accomplish that, I know the Gods will see me as the rightful leader”

“You’ve tried to conquer Kattegat already” she said “And you failed, don’t you think that if the Gods wanted you to succeed they would have granted you the victory already?” she touched his face softly, a small, kind smile on her lips “I don’t want to marry you for your power, your position or for being a favourite of the Gods, I want to marry you because I love you” she muttered, reaching to caress his hair “And I want to wake up with you, carry your children and be by your side every single day for the rest of my life”

Kjartan smiled then, and it looked like a genuine smile on Freya’s eyes.

“Don’t you wish to free the people of Kattegat? Don’t you wish to make the Ragnarssons pay for everything they’ve done to my family and to the people?”

“Yes, but…”

“People’s freedom and wellbeing is more important than a woman’s desires and love” he said sternly “It’s selfish to think otherwise, Freya, remember that” he scolded her softly. When she looked down, disappointed, he made her look at him again with his fingers on her chin.

“You were touched by Freyja” he smiled then “Our goddess of love, battle and death blessed you and crafted you for me, I know I would be insulting her if I married you before winning that battle”

Kjartan’s eyes fixed on hers then. There were unique eyes everywhere in Scandinavia, eyes green like the emeralds the dwarfs crafted in Svartalfheim, blue like the sea that both rewarded and punished whoever was brave enough to adventure in it, brown like the earth the Gods blessed every year to give them food or the leaves that fell from the trees when summer ended. Freya’s eyes were still different, and it was that unique colour that resembled the amber with which the four dwarves crafted the beautiful necklace that rested around the goddess Freyja’s neck.

“I’m sure she would feel more insulted if you rejected her gift” she whispered, her eyes widened in a silent plea.

Kjartan leant in, and his lips almost brushed hers when he whispered:

“First, Ivar the Boneless, king of Kattegat, must die” Freya nodded slowly, closing her eyes and admitting the defeat once again “And you must kill him”

______________________________________________

Ivar almost groaned in desperation when the next couple of farmers stepped forward. Another complaint about lands, property and rights, the most boring thing in the world, which made him almost give up his throne and crown to the first idiot that walked by more than once. Usually, it was his older brother Ubbe who dealt with those complaints “at the end of the day, you’re one of them, aren’t you? You understand them better than I do” he had said, with widened eyes and a small smile, feigning innocence and referring to the comfy lifestyle he had chosen in a farm on the outskirts of Kattegat with his wife and children. Ubbe had agreed, but still insisted that he listened to some of them “the farmers need to see you care for them too, it’s your duty”.

Even though he’d rather jump off a cliff than listen to another two men argue because some dog ate one of the chickens.

Ivar tried his best to listen to them while they bickered, fighting the urge of closing his eyelids that now felt heavier than ever. He hadn’t slept well that night, the summer was coming to an end and the nights got colder and colder. He already dreaded the dark winter that would make his legs cold and achy for days no matter how many furs he piled over his body at night.

Luckily, none of the men that came to him that day concerning their farms and rights had the real will to fight their neighbours, so their intervention was short and soon the Great Hall was empty again, and Ivar found himself sitting at the table, with a well deserved ale and the opportunity to close his eyes for a while.

Well, not a long while because his brothers wouldn’t shut their mouths.

“I’ve been hearing things, Ivar” Ubbe couldn’t care less for his brother’s wishes to sleep, even if he was also the king “People wonder why the throne next to you is still empty”

“What a subtle way of implying I should have sex, Ubbe” he sighed tiredly and reached for the ale again.

“He’s right, though” Hvitserk had his feet up on the table and ate some chicken he had stolen from the kitchen as soon as he was back from training “You need a queen, Ivar”

“The weight of the crown is too heavy for only one pair of shoulders, brother” Ubbe smiled softly.

“I had a queen already” he clenched his jaw “Is that not enough?”

“Freydis is dead” said Hvitserk, making Ivar flinch “You know that better than anyone, you had time to mourn, now you must move on and find a woman, Ivar, you need heirs”

“I have you” he shrugged.

“Without heirs your claim is weakened” Hvitserk ignored him. He had seen enough of what power did to people, to his father and to his brother and had no desire of being heir of anything “And you know that”

“I am a son of Ragnar”

“Ragnar is not here anymore, Ivar” Ubbe sighed “And everyday more and more people set their eyes on Kattegat, wishing to conquer it, the people of Kattegat are restless, they fear the uncertainty that comes with instability and it’s your duty as their ruler to ease their minds” he reached to put a hand on his shoulder “Say you want a wife, let the Earls and Kings bring their daughters and choose the one you like the most, marry, have a child or two, and then you can rule in peace knowing your claim is strong”

“I can’t have children, Ubbe” he gripped his cup so tight Hvitserk feared he would break it.

“Try” his brother shook his head “If you try and you can’t, we’ll see what we can do but in the meantime… Do your part, Ivar”

Ivar reached for the ale again, only to realise there was nothing left inside the pitcher with a groan.

“Shouldn’t I marry someone that gives me political advantage? The daughter of another king?” he rolled his eyes “So I can have some benefit out of it”

“You marry whoever you want, but there’s only one person that has more power than you around here and that’s Harald Finehair… He only has a son, I don’t think you’re into that, brother”

Ivar shrugged, ignoring Hvitserk’s giggle.

“Try me”

“In any case, before considering marrying little Halfdan, you should maybe meet some of the Earls’ daughters”

“I’m sure they are thrilled to meet the crippled king” he scoffed.

“Ivar…” Ubbe sighed.

“Fine” he raised his voice, already tired of the conversation “Call them, tell them to come here and I will meet them, I have nothing better to do until next spring, anyway” he rolled his eyes “Now, where are those fucking thralls when you need them?”

____________________________________________

“Kjartan, I don’t think…”

“This morning you told me you wanted to marry me, have you changed your mind since then?” he frowned, and Freya was startled by the disappointment in his eyes.

“No, I…”

“Then do as I ask” he grabbed both her hands, sighing “Let’s end this for once and be happy”

She hesitated then, ever since those words had left his mouth, she had refused. Kill Ivar the Boneless? The son of Ragnar, the man that had defeated countless men, who was feared by all of Scandinavia and England? Many men, stronger and cleverer than her, had tried and failed before.

“But I can’t do it” Freya almost sobbed then, widening her eyes “I can’t… Kill Ivar, he’s the king, he will have guards and he won’t let me near him”

“That’s why you need to gain his trust” Kjartan raised his eyebrow “You’re a great shieldmaiden, go to Kattegat and ask to be part of his personal guard, get closer to him, make him trust you and when he doesn’t expect it, you bury that dagger in his heart”

Freya’s eyes looked at the dagger Kjartan had left on the wooden table. It was a fine weapon, with runes engraved on the blade, and it was sharp and light. A murderer’s weapon.

“Ivar Ragnarsson is one of the smartest people alive” she said, lowering her voice “He will discover me”

“Then you have to be smarter” Kjartan insisted “I’ve fought him many times, and I never was able to win, I can’t win like that, but if you kill him, I can take Kattegat next spring, and I will be king” his expression softened, and Freya sighed knowing what came after “And you will be my queen”

“The assassin queen” she muttered, her heart still pounding against her ribcage when she thought about it “Why not send one of your men?”

“Because no one would ever suspect you” he chuckled, almost like it was something obvious but that only he saw “You look innocent”

“Because I’m a woman? Why not send Ingrid then? She’s your best fighter”

“My sister is a good fighter, yes, but you’re better with people” Kjartan caressed her cheek with his thumb “People trust you, and you’re a good fighter too”

The tears threatened to fall down Freya’s cheeks when she gulped loudly, trying to hide the absolute fear that shook her.

“You hate the Ragnarssons too, right? They killed my brother” he frowned “They have killed so many people, and so many are suffering under their rule… And you wouldn’t do all the work, I will have to kill Hvitserk and Ubbe afterwards, they’re the difficult ones… Ivar is just a cripple, Freya” he smiled shaking his head “A violent one, but still a cripple, he’s no real threat, my love”

She took a deep breath, suddenly feeling sick and looking down at the table where he had left the dagger she was supposed to take with her. The dagger that was supposed to end through Ivar the Boneless’ heart. And then she tried to imagine her life as queen next to Kjartan, with small children running around, with Ingrid finally being forced to bow respectfully to her, being able to share a bed with the man she loved without being judged and stared at the morning after, growing old with him.

But, for some reason, or maybe because the Gods refused to show her, she couldn’t imagine it. It almost seemed like something that was too far away to even start to imagine it.

“So?” Kjartan’s voice startled her, and she raised her head to meet his eager eyes again.

Freya didn’t want to leave, she didn’t want to go far away without him for the Gods know how much time. She didn’t want to die away from him.

“I will do it” she whispered, surprising herself as her mouth spoke the words before she could even think of them “I’ll kill Ivar the Boneless… For you”

“I knew you would” Kjartan finally leant in to kiss her lips softly “I knew you wouldn’t let me down”

#ivar the boneless #ivar x oc #vikingsbigbangwinter22 #vikings #vikings imagine #read on ao3 #original female character #ivar imagine

58 notes · View notes

ryuzakemo128 · 1 month

Text

Vikings Headcanons

Content Warning: Mention of death, mention of sickness, mention of possible self-inflicted pain.

Rating: MA15+

Early Life

Freyja is a fraternal twin born from a different father. Her twin, Fenrir Raengyreon is fifteen minutes older than her.

Their mother died in a raid when they were twelve. On this same day Freyja's father set himself on fire in act of sacrifice to the gods. Hoping it would have pleased them enough to bring their mother back home safely.

When she turned seventeen years old. She was exiled for at least ten years, due to her step-father's inability to both mourn the death of their mother and properly care for Freyja.

Freyja's immune disorder was always there, it became more pronounced when she was exiled at the age of 18. During her time in exile, her immune disorder truly manifested into bouts of illness, in addition to her joints becoming more and more strained. More painful and in winter they lock up from the cold.

Fenrir on the other hand, his father was a wealthy nobleman and a great warrior. Unlike Freyja's father, he is still alive and cares for every expense Fenrir might need. Fenrir never particularly understood why Freyja remained inside the small cabin with the farm that was left to her when both their birth mother and her father passed. As he thought it was rather strange and unfair that she had to live such a meager life, he had often tried to convince her to come with him to live in his father's estate.

She inherited the farm after her father passed when she was 12, her father's farm grew things like Bilberries, Blackberries, Cloudberries and Lingonberries.

Later in Life

She spent ten years outside of Norway in Exile. Given a map, a compass and enough money to head to Wessex. Enough money to settle there for a few months. She rarely speaks of where she went during her exile, not because she was sworn to secrecy or sworn an oath to never tell anyone.

When she came back from exile she was 28 years old, her home looked the same and she then realized that she was the one that was different now. Despite the fact that her home remained the same as she left it. As she tried to settle back into her old life, she realized that nothing would ever be the same again. The people who had once been her friends now looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. They whispered behind their hands and avoided her eyes. Even her family seemed distant, as if they were afraid of what she might say or do.

Returning to the farm, she went back to her old routine rather quickly, adding brief, slight changes like making time to remake the forge her father had before he died, rebuilding the shed to grow her mushrooms inside of, and even starting to teach herself how to weave cloth for blankets and clothing. Teaching herself how to use a loom to make linen cloth, wool cloth and woolen vadmal. All of which she used to trade in the markets in order to get things she needed for her forge.

As time passed, she found solace in her work. The rhythmic motion of her loom became a form of meditation, allowing her to escape the gossip and judgment of those around her. She became known for her high-quality fabrics, and traders from far and wide would come to her humble farm to purchase her wares. She was content with this life, alone but free.

Freyja's Farm

Mushroom Shed: Built when she returned from her exile, close to the farm and her favorite spot by the creek, this small structure is filled with shelves upon shelves of dried mushrooms, hanging from the ceiling and arranged neatly on tables. The earthy scent of mushrooms fills the air, and a small wooden stool sits by the door, inviting visitors to take a seat and rest while she tends to her fungi.

Herb Garden: Surrounded by tall, lush greenery, this garden is home to a diverse array of medicinal and culinary herbs. Rosemary, sage, thyme, lavender, and chamomile grow in neat rows, their vibrant colors contrasting beautifully with the earthy brown soil. A small stone bench sits in the center of the garden, where she often goes to meditate and commune with nature.

Honeybee Hives: Freyja maintains several beehives scattered throughout the farm, each carefully tended to with love and care. The gentle hum of bees fills the air as they busily collect nectar from the surrounding flowers, their golden honey a prized commodity on the farm. Freyja often spends hours observing the bees' intricate dances and symbiotic relationship with the flowers, finding solace in their harmonious existence.

Duck Pond: Nestled amidst a grove of willow trees, the duck pond is a serene oasis on the farm. Freyja keeps a small flock of ducks that paddle lazily in the crystal-clear water, their cheerful quacks echoing across the peaceful landscape. Lily pads dot the surface of the pond, providing shelter for frogs and other small creatures, while a rustic wooden bridge spans the water, allowing Freyja to cross to the other side and tend to her beloved ducks.

Blackberry Bramble: Tucked away behind the duck pond, this secluded area of the farm is dominated by a lush, tangled bramble of blackberry bushes. They grow wild and untamed, their thorns sharp and threatening, but Freyja knows every inch of them, having spent countless hours picking the juicy blackberries that grow in abundance. She uses the berries to make jams, jellies, and preserves, which she then trades with the villagers or sells at the market. The blackberry bramble is her secret garden, a place of solitude where she can escape the demands of the world and reconnect with the wild side of herself.

Forge and Smithy: At the heart of the farm stands Freyja's forge and smithy, a testament to her skill and craftsmanship as a blacksmith. The roaring fire within the forge casts a warm glow across the surrounding area, while the rhythmic clang of metal against metal fills the air. Freyja spends countless hours here, hammering away at hot metal, shaping it into tools, weapons, and decorative pieces. Her anvil, worn smooth with use, sits in the center of the smithy, surrounded by shelves of raw materials and finished products. The walls are adorned with various weapons and armor, a testament to Freyja's prowess as a warrior and her dedication to her craft.

Training Area: Near the forge and smithy, there is a cleared area where Freyja trains herself in combat. A wooden dummy stands in the center, battered and worn from countless blows, while various weapons lie scattered about the ground. She spends hours honing her skills with sword and axe, her movements fluid and graceful despite her strength. The ground is littered with the leaves and twigs she plucks from the nearby trees, using them to mark her progress and track her improvement over time. Despite her solitary nature, she finds solace in the companionship of her weapons and the physical challenge of training.

Halfdan the Black x Freyja Raengyreon

The meeting: They met when Freyja reached the age of 40 and he was 43, three years younger than Freyja. She was in disguise as an enemy solider, in captivity because at the time she was trying to sabotage the other side. The other side being Ivar and Harald. Unfortunately, there was a misunderstanding and she was captured by Halfdan's forces. He, being the honorable man he was, decided to spare her life and instead took her captive as well, believing that she would make a valuable addition to his household.

Life together: Freyja tried to send subtle messages that she was a spy of some sort, yet it never seemed to pan out the way that she wanted it to, as Halfdan was always one step ahead of her. Whenever she tried to ensure her real identity was revealed, he would then simply believe that she was playing a game with him and just laugh it off. Confusing her further, she even wrote messages using her actual name hoping he would find it, yet he never seemed to notice them. Until she placed them in plain sight and still, he didn't catch on.

Real Identity: One day, Freyja decided to try a new approach. She gathered her courage and confessed to Halfdan that she was, in fact, spying on both Ivar and Harald, thus capturing her was basically capturing one of their own. To her surprise, Halfdan simply smiled and nodded, revealing that he knew all along. He had been playing the same game with her, trying to see how far she would go in her attempts to reveal her true identity. It seemed that they had finally found a way to communicate on each other's level.

Secret Meeting: Halfdan met her again when she was getting more cheese, specifically Brie cheese from a trader than regularly delivers her two wheels of the type of cheese to her from all the way from Frankia. Halfdan thinks it's rather interesting to him considering that he didn't know that she had a fondness for such a delicacy. "I spent time in Frankia, I got a liking to it during my time there and I go back there for a month or two sometimes a year to trade goods or services, and in return I usually get more of this cheese." Which earned a reply of, "Ah, I see. It seems we both have our secrets." Halfdan couldn't help but admire Freyja's resourcefulness and adaptability, finding himself drawn to her even more.

Secret Meetings: Despite the fact they were on the same side, Halfdan and Freyja continued to meet in secret, drawn to each other by a shared sense of intrigue and mutual respect. These clandestine encounters allowed them to forge a deeper connection, free from the constraints of their respective roles and obligations.

Link to the Divider Used: Here

Links to my previous work: Masterlist 01 / Masterlist 02

2 notes · View notes

viking-raider · 7 months

Text

Love at First Sight

#henry cavill #henrycavill #viking-raider fics #Love at First Sight *fic*#Love at First Sight #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill x female OC #Henry Cavill x OFC #Henry Cavill/OFC #Alexa Forsberg #Henry Cavill x Alexa Forsberg #Henry Cavill/Alexa Forsberg #Poll with Me!

3 notes · View notes

the-girl-in-the-box · 1 year

Text

Not Today XLII

A/N: And we're finally back with another update! I posted on my last update to Can You Imagine? That I was going to try and get on a system of posting an update weekly, rotating which fic I'm updating, which means this will probably be updated about every three weeks going forward. So that said, I hope you all enjoy being back to this story, and I hope you'll stick around for the coming updates- I told you this wasn't abandoned XD Skål!

Summary: When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.

Masterlist

Asta felt like she was going to explode. Talking to Olaf had brought up all the grief she’d felt over the years, everything she felt she had locked away when she left Kattegat, and now it was threatening to burst out of her if one more thing happened to bring it out of her. That’s why she needed to talk to Ivar- if anyone would know how to stay sane in the face of everything they were facing… Well, it wasn’t him, but he could help her sort through things at the least.

She let Hvitserk lead her back through the town quickly, indulging herself in the protective arm he’d wrapped around her shoulders. How would she be able to stand it if something were to happen to him, or to Ivar? She’d already lost so much… Truthfully, she wasn’t sure she would be able to handle it- and not like this, when she wasn’t sure she’d handled what had happened so far just yet. If she went through it in her mind- the father she hadn’t known, Heahmund, the father she had, Aethelred, her mother, Freydis, Lagertha, Bjorn… And those were only the deaths. What about Alfred, and Torvi and Ubbe who she hadn’t heard from in… who knew how long at this point?

Her mind turned back to something her beloved Freydis had once said to her, after the death of the Bishop Heahmund. When she had confessed her heart had broken with news of his death, Freydis had told her that her heart would repair. But that had been before everything else she had lost. She wasn’t so sure anymore that was true. Very suddenly, she held out her hand and held it to Hvitserk’s chest. “Wait,” she said, and he looked down at her confusedly.

“Princess?” he questioned. “What is it?”

“I think I need to be alone,” she confessed. “I need… I need to think. Please.”

“Of course,” Hvitserk replied. “Where will you be should we need you?”

Asta swallowed, looking out over the mountains. “I’d say wandering, but that wouldn’t be of any help, would it?” she said with a quiet chuckle. “There’s a clearing not far from here, take the path out of Vestfold and follow it to the east. I’ll be there.”

Hvitserk nodded a little. “Be careful,” he warned her. “Keep your sword about you at all times, just in case.”

“I will, thank you, Hvitserk,” she replied. “Will you let Ivar know?” She didn’t worry about clarifying, sure enough of him to believe that he would know what she was asking him to tell his brother. And happily, she saw she was right, as Hvitserk asked no questions. Instead, he kissed her on the head and wished her well before heading toward the palace.

Now all alone, Asta started down the path she’d indicated to Hvitserk, keeping an eye out as he’d requested. Besides, as little as she trusted Oleg and his men, she didn’t want to take any risks.

In the days since Asta left Wessex, she had noticed something about the way she’d picked up Viking customs. She didn’t pray the way she once did, not anymore. She had grown up praying in church, on her knees in the pews, hands clasped together and head bowed. Now, she just… prayed. The rituals had all stayed behind in England, and in their wake was left comfort and familiarity, a relationship as opposed to religion. Freedom she hadn’t once known.

Unlike Kattegat, Kiev had been stifling. She had to hide so many things there, for fear of what Oleg may do if he learned, even having to resort to hiding away to say a prayer. It wasn’t because Oleg had something against Christians- on the contrary, the man claimed to be one himself- but rather because everything he believed about her would begin to unravel if he learned this one truth about her. Asta knew Oleg would never understand how a wanderer who came to Kattegat, and became the wife of Ivar the Boneless, had become a Christian in her time there in Kiev- and to not partake in the rituals of the Kievan Rus would simply make him question things even more. She knew if he continued to pull on that thread, it would inevitably lead him to the truth- that she was English, and nearly everything he knew about her was a lie. No, she couldn’t allow that.

Thus, she waited until she was well enough alone to pray, and even sought out a hidden place to do so. Somehow, she found that just stepping into that space released the restraints she felt she now lived her life in, and she let out a long breath as she felt the peace of it wash over her. “I don’t know what to do,” she confessed quietly, her voice nearly a whisper. “My life has changed… so much in the past years, Lord. My family are all but gone, my past buried so deeply inside me that I can hardly tell where the truth ends and this lie begins. Add to that how miserable I feel with each and every lie I tell, and I just… I’m so lost. Telling my story to King Olaf has brought it all back, every part of myself I’d silenced, and I know now that I cannot continue on this path I’ve set myself on. But what happens to Ivar and Hvitserk, if I reveal the truth? They’ve known me for years now, won’t Oleg know this? Know what they’ve done in helping me to conceal this? What will he do to them for covering the lie? I need You to show me what I am meant to do, to give me the strength to do it. I’m so afraid, Lord… of losing anything more than I already have.” She swallowed hard, letting out a shaky breath. “Help me overcome these fears. Bring me back to You. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.”

The sound of footsteps approaching interrupted Asta, and she turned back to see Hvitserk running down the path. “Asta, you need to come now,” he said, urgency lacing his voice. “They are going to kill King Olaf.”

Asta’s eyes widened as she processed the words, and she blinked a few times. “What are we doing?” she questioned. “What does Ivar want us to do?”

Hvitserk shook his head. “Nothing,” he answered. “He wants us to attend the execution, but we will not interfere. He wants to keep Oleg’s trust still.”

As little as Asta liked the idea of just letting this happen, she nodded. “Alright,” she replied. “Then we should go.”

They nearly ran back to town, to the docks where the execution was to take place, so they wouldn’t miss any of it, and by the time they wormed their way up to the front Asta could see that Olaf had already been tied down to a chair. Ivar, Oleg, and Igor were there as well, standing up at the front to watch the execution. Hvitserk moved to lean against a post nearby, while Asta came to stand beside Ivar, watching as two men stepped forward and began to pour oil all over… the wood piled around the chair? Oh. It was then that Olaf began to speak, and Asta’s eyes widened.

“There is someone beside me,” he said.

Oleg frowned. “There is no one beside you,” he said. “You are all alone.”

“No, there is someone beside me,” Olaf reiterated. “Although I cannot see Him, I know He is here.”

“How do you know, you old fool?” Oleg demanded.

“Because He speaks to me,” Olaf said. “I hear His voice.”

Asta swallowed as she realised what he meant, and a chill ran down her spine. Anticipation began to build in her. Listen.

Hvitserk glanced over at Asta, noticing the suddenly attentive gaze she had pinned on King Olaf. He hadn’t confessed to this earlier, but he’d heard the tale end of her prayer. He knew now what the woman was struggling with, so he asked, “And what does He say?”

Olaf answered, “He says, ‘He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live. I am the resurrection and the life. I shall walk beside you. Always. Always.”

Asta was stunned. I shall walk beside you. She glanced over at Ivar, who she could tell understood the point of Olaf’s words, and had grown concerned. Why, she couldn’t say, but she knew what it meant to her. She had to do what was right, and the rest wasn’t up to her.

Still, she was distracted from trying to figure that out by Oleg’s interruption, as he instructed Igor, “Don’t listen to him, get on with it.” When he shoved the boy forward, a torch in hand, Asta felt anger boil up inside her. He was really going to make a child do this? He had the gall to order a man’s death, but not to go through with it on his own? To do it himself? She wasn’t sure her opinion of him could get any lower than this. Then, she noticed how anxious Igor clearly was, and her heart clenched.

“This isn’t right,” she murmured from beside Ivar. “He’s a child…”

“I know,” Ivar whispered in return. “But we cannot stop it. Not without raising suspicion.”

She swallowed again as she heard Olaf trying to comfort Igor, even as the young Prince was preparing to end his life. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, though in Asta’s experience that rarely actually helped.

“I can’t,” Igor replied.

“Think of me as already dead,” Olaf advised. “Nothing more can hurt me. Not the thunder, nor the deep swell of the waves, nor yet, the tongues of fire.”

Igor turned back to Ivar, as if silently asking whether or not he should go through with this, and while Ivar nodded to encourage him, Asta glanced over at Oleg. He was clearly quite unnerved by this, seeing that Igor preferred Ivar’s encouragement to his own, and that, at least, brought a small smirk to Asta’s lips as she turned to watch the execution again. Let him stew on that. Children rarely sought strength from the person who pushed them too far, anyway.

The boy knelt down in front of Olaf, lowering the torch toward the pyre built at the King’s feet. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be,” Olaf replied. “My lands are in order, and I am ripe for Heaven.”

He offered Igor a reassuring smile, and Igor finally lit the pyre, before standing and beginning to back up. Ivar reached out and wrapped his arm around him to pull him back, protecting him from the flames that grew quickly to ensnare Olaf within them. To the surprise of most there, however, the man lifted his hands as if in prayer, and gave nothing even close to a cry of pain as he was consumed. Oleg shook his head and stalked off.

For once, his behavior left Asta unbothered as she watched Olaf’s life fade before her eyes. She hadn’t known him for very long, but she had quickly realized how wise he was, the depth of his knowledge, and the fact he had asked the question that had been the catalyst to her awakening was something she couldn’t simply overlook. It hadn’t taken very long at all, but King Olaf had become quite an influential figure in her life. But the Lord worked in mysterious ways, she knew, and all paths crossed for a reason. She found herself thanking God for Olaf’s life, and for the chance she got to meet him, swallowing as she blinked to clear the wetness from her eyes. The crowd began to disburse, and Ivar asked her if she was coming along with him, Hvitserk, and Igor, but she answered that she wanted to be left alone for a while.

She stayed until there was nothing left to stay for, a lone figure on the dock.

Eventually, Asta returned to the Great Hall, and she quickly became aware of Ivar at her side. “My love,” he whispered, disguising it with a kiss to the side of her head. “Are you alright? Hmm?”

She nodded slightly and leaned her head over against his. “Just tired,” she answered. “I don’t think I’ll stay for the feast tonight. I need to get some rest, think about some things.”

Ivar frowned, not convinced at all that Asta really was ‘just tired’ as she said. But, he wasn’t about to force the truth out of her in front of this crowd, so instead of trying he simply nodded and kissed her head again. “I’ll come and join you soon,” he promised. “And I’ll bring you food and drink. Go rest.”

Asta smiled up at him lovingly, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Thank you,” she said. “You don’t know how much of a comfort you are to me.” She leaned up to kiss him softly, and rested her forehead against his, taking a deep breath as if she could draw some sort of strength from him. Ivar returned her kiss before pressing one of his own to her forehead, and releasing her.

She wandered off to head to their room, stopping to press a kiss to the top of Igor’s head and telling him she was proud of him, and when she got in there, the sounds of the feast now distant, she felt a weight come off her shoulders. Running a hand through her hair, she went and flopped down on the bed. It was then that her door opened, and she looked up to see who had come in.

If there was anyone she had expected to see, it wasn’t Igor. Still, she smiled a little when she saw him, sitting up to greet him. “Igor,” she said. “Can I help you with something?”

“You did not seem like you were well when you left the feast,” he told her. “I wanted to come and see what was wrong.”

Asta let out a touched sort of sound and smiled at him, reaching out to invite him to come and sit with her. “Oh, sweet boy,” she said affectionately. He did as she offered and settled in beside her, so that she started to run her fingers through his hair. “I’m more worried about you than you need to be about me. How are you after today?”

Igor swallowed and shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t want to kill him,” he said. “I’m not even sure what he did wrong.”

This brought forth a sigh from Asta, who ended up laying back with Igor and holding him close still. “Nothing,” she said. “Your uncle wanted him dead because he feared the loyalty King Olaf could inspire in the remaining Vikings. This sort of thing isn’t exactly uncommon in war, but…” She paused and gave a soft sigh. “It wasn’t right, especially not the way it was done. Your uncle made the decision, and he should have seen it through himself- not passed it off to his young nephew. I can’t tell you how sorry I am he did that, and how much I wish he hadn’t.”

Igor shrugged a little as if he wasn’t all that bothered. “He said he wanted to teach me how to be strong,” he said. “So I had to be the one to do it.”

“Killing a man doesn’t make you strong, darling,” Asta told him. “Although you are strong for enduring what your uncle made you do today. But killing in itself isn’t what defines strength. In fact, your uncle showed a lack of it when he didn’t kill King Olaf himself.”

“He did?” Igor asked, looking up at her with wide eyes.

She hummed as she nodded. “He did,” she confirmed. “Never forget this, Igor. If you ever decide to execute a man, you must always be willing to carry it out yourself. If you aren’t so convinced it’s the right thing to do that you have the strength to do it, then it isn’t right. Do you understand?”

He nodded at her. “I think I do,” he confirmed.

It was just then that the door opened again, and Ivar was coming in with a plate full of food, a cup balanced carefully on it and leaned up against his arm. He blinked a few times when he saw his wife and Igor laying together. “Did I miss the invitation?” he deadpanned.

“Yes,” Asta teased him in response. “I was just telling Igor how he couldn’t trust you anymore, and he could only trust me.”

Ivar raised a brow and asked Igor, “Is that true?”

“No,” he replied. “She was teaching me about strength.”

“Ah,” Ivar said. “This makes more sense. I did not think she would betray me that way.”

Asta chuckled softly. “Mm, but he could be lying, you’ll never know,” she joked.

Ivar smirked and brought her food and drink to her. “Then I suppose I will just have to trust you,” he answered, and once the food was sat on the small table beside the bed, leaned down to kiss her softly.

That was when Igor gave a fake gag and got up. “I’m going to go now,” he announced, causing Asta to fall into a fit of giggles. “Enjoy… that.” He shuddered and then walked out of the room.

“Should we have stopped him?” Asta asked, looking up at Ivar and trying not to laugh, especially when he shrugged.

“I wanted to see if you were doing better anyway,” he said. Her laughter died down instantly. “Mm, you are not. Hvitserk told me you had left the village to pray. You only leave for that when something is bothering you. What is it?”

Asta swallowed and looked away from him, sitting up slowly as she took in a deep breath. This wasn’t a conversation she had expected to have this way, but… she had asked for a path, hadn’t she? The time had simply come to take it. She looked back up at him, and said, “I think we need to talk.”

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @katfett, @crashbyers, @heavenly1927, @pomegranates-and-blood, @lotr-got, @dekusdante

If you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to reach out either by commenting, reblogging, DMing me, or sending an ask, and I’ll be more than happy to add you!

#ivar the boneless #ivar #ivar ragnarsson #ivar x oc #ivar x ofc #ivar x original female character #ivar x christian!oc #ivar's heathen army #alex hogh andersen #vikings #vikings history channel #history channel vikings #not today #chapter forty-two

9 notes · View notes

senualothbrok · 5 months

Text

I write fics about Baldur's Gate 3

I mainly write about Gale. I write angst, hurt/comfort, romance and smut (Gale x Tav/OC/reader). I often write about heavier issues like trauma, mental illness, and grief.

You can find a list of my work and other misc stuff below the cut. You can also find me on AO3.

I really hope you enjoy my work and blog. I'd love to hear from you with any comments, feedback, random thoughts, or fic requests, so don't be a stranger!

--------------------

Enough (Non-18+. Astarion x female Tav. Angst. Trauma and recovery.) AO3 link

You agreed to help Astarion with the Rite of Profane Ascension, but you can't watch him go through with it. You interrupt the ritual, and Astarion turns on you. Now, you must deal with the aftermath of your actions.

Love and Beauty (Non-18+. Non-ascended Astarion x female Tav. References to bereavement.) AO3 link

A few days after Astarion has taken you to his grave, you are lying in bed together. You decide it's time to make a confession.

Rest (Non-18+. Gale x female Tav. Hurt/comfort.) AO3 link

You have defeated the Netherbrain and survived. But when Gale asks you to marry him, you find that you cannot accept his offer.

Content (Non-18+. Gale x Tav. Mild hurt/comfort. Fluff.) AO3 link

After the reunion party, Gale wonders whether you regret choosing him over Astarion.

Prayer (Non-18+. God!Gale. Gale x Tav. Heavy angst. Grief/mourning.) AO3 link

The God of Ambition has returned to Elysium, and you did not follow him. You grieve for Gale, and you struggle to move on with your life.

A Show of Love (18+. NSFW. Gale x female reader/Tav. Smut.) AO3 link

Sometimes, Gale doesn't seem sure how much you love him. So you decide to show him.

Words (18+. NSFW. Gale x female reader/Tav. Smut.) AO3 link

At your home in Waterdeep, you and Gale recall the early stages of your relationship.

Progress (Non-18+. Professor Gale x female OC. Angst. Mental illness and recovery.) AO3 link

When you start your studies at Blackstaff Academy, you expect a battle with your demons. But the last thing you expect is to fall in love.

Promise (Non 18+. Professor Gale x female OC. Angst with a happy ending. Mental illness and recovery.) AO3 link

Gale learns what it means to love and be loved. Sequel to Progress.

A Brush With Danger (Non 18+. Gale x female Tav.)

Anon prompt: Gale's thoughts and feelings before his infamous declaration in the Shadow-Cursed Lands.

Unexpected (18+. NSFW. Professor Gale x female reader/Tav. Smut.) AO3 link

You pay Gale an unexpected visit after one of his classes.

Absolution (Non-18+. God!Gale. Gale x Tav. Angst.) AO3 link

The God of Ambition considers the last of his attachments. Sequel to Prayer.

The Difference (Non-18+. AU (isekai). Gale x female Tav/OC. Angst. Hurt/comfort. Mental health issues.) Multichapter. AO3 link

When a portal appears in your living room and Gale Dekarios tumbles out of it, you think you are going insane. But truth is stranger than fiction, and things are rarely what they seem.

Mortal pleasures (18+. NSFW. Smut. Gale x female Tav/reader.) AO3 link

Gale has shown you how gods bond in the astral. Now, you show him how good mortal pleasures can be.

---------------

I occasionally make Gale-related memes because I think I'm funny 💀

More about me

Senua - 35/F - she/her

This post is a pretty good description of who I am!

I also love animals (esp dogs/cats/horses), tattoos, the Viking age, and existentialism.

Memes

The inside of my brain

When your soul mate is a pixel man

Smooching Gale - the struggle

Gale porn is therapeutic

Fic vs therapy

Other things

* My dear friend @dolceaspidenera made some wonderful gifsets of Gale x Aurora from Progress and Promise. They are so beautiful, I still haven't recovered from them.

* Lovely @mahiiimahiiii made a beautiful piece of art inspired by The Difference, which overwhelms me with so many feels.

* My beloved bestie @practicallydeadinside-blog gifted me a cameo from national treasure Tim Downie explaining why Gale is so shredded and it changed my life.

She has also blessed me with:

- a comic strip of Words which has destroyed my ovaries and impaired my cognitive functions.

- a phenomenal drawing of Mia from The Difference.

* I commissioned one of my favourite artists @demiesop to draw Gale and Mia from The Difference, and she truly delivered.

#baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #gale fic #astarion fic #bg3 gale fic #bg3 gale smut #gale smut

138 notes · View notes

danceyreagan · 10 months

Text

Sometimes I wanna read smut without degradation, daddy kink, and Dom!Sub dynamics. Its ok to write two equals having sex. Its not something I find sexy but these tropes are everywhere!

Lets have a convo, tell me what types of tropes you are tired of reading. Smut, fluff, angst? What do you like? What do you dislike?

I’ll go first

Likes:

A snarky reader. The snarkier the better.

@btsqualityy has some of my favorite work. Her readers have so much personality. None of them are the same.

@black-mcu-imagines her Peter Parker x black OC series! Is fire.

@blinder-secrets has great Peaky Blinders work.

@sceawere (I dont think they write anymore. But their masterlist is still up) for some more Peaky Blinders goodness.

Established relationship fics. (I love slowburn to but I dont have the patience always)

Social Media AU’s

@kimnjss she’s got tons. Black writer too. Currently on hiatus.

Action and fighting

@bubblyani’s batman series. Some of the most perfect writing I have ever come across. (POC writers stand up!)

@laketaj24 I love her work too for Vikings and Peaky Blinder.

@the-last-targaryens and @ashleyfanfic collaborated on the best Game of Thrones AU called Legends of Winters Peak.

I’ll read some flithy wild ass smut if the dirty talk is right. Praise Kink is a plus though.

Werewolf Au’s

@btsqualityy Assuage Series (she’s tagged twice cause she’s my ultimate fave and my friend)

@gamerwoo Seventeen series Imprinted. Yo, I dont even know what to say, they have a Stray Kids Series too if you arent into Seventeen.

Dislikes:

Polyamory it just isnt my jam.

Humiliation/degradation kink. Again, Im not like, judging people. Ive read it enough to know why its appealing it just is everywhere now I’m over it.

Daddy kink. (I was molested by my father. Daddy kink horrifies me. I cannot, I just cannot) its in like everything. Its hard to get away from it.

Angel/Demon xHuman!reader.

Soft readers. Again, I read it. But then I get mad at the reader for not defending themselves. (I said it before Im confrontational)

Bad boy/Good Girl dynamics. Lets flip that. Why not have a female Burnout fall in love with a nerd or shy male character?

I dont hate all Dom/sub dynamics. I guess again this comes from it being everywhere that its a little worn out. But its a hard no for bondage/sex slaves type of thing.

Share your likes/Dislikes with me. Boost up your faves and share them with the people.

#my peaky boo #peaky blinders #tomorrow by together #tommorow x together #bts reactions #bangtan sonyeondan #BTS fem reader #stray kids #Black run blog #kpop fandom #vikings #black reader #black!reader #kpop fanfic #game of thrones #my faves #black creators

61 notes · View notes

istorkyou · 6 months

Text

A Thousand Battles (A Modern Ivar AU) New Chapter

A modern!Ivar x F OC (Julietta Lothbrok)

Note - I think it’s been almost a year since I updated this fic. I’ve decided to post the rest of the fic, despite not being super happy with chapter 11. I wrote the rest of the chapters ages ago but got stuck on chapter 11 so I’ve decided to just Chuck it out here.

Sorry it’s taken me so long, hope those who enjoyed this story before will enjoy the end ❤️ thanks all. This chapter is un-beta’d so all mistakes are mine and I’m sure there will be lots!

Warnings - mentions of violence make against female and female against make, language, weapons, angst

Synopsis - Julietta wakes up with no memory of her life or her husband, Ivar. Will it ever return? Does she want it to?

Word Count - 3828 words

This is for @blackseapearl 400 follower trope challenge. I asked for Amnesia :)

Shout Outs - They know ❤️

This fic kicked (and is still kicking!) my ass, I’ve never had such a hard time with motivation as I have writing this long-ass bitch so I hope you enjoy it :)

It’s also LOOOOOOOONNNGGGGGGGG..... and I’m only the tiniest bit sorry about that!

Tag List - Let me know if you want on or off :)@smears-and-spots @punkrocknpearls @youbloodymadgenius @momowhoo @zuxiezendler @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @ivar-s-my-brat-tamer @pieces-by-me @heavenly1927 @berryonasummerevening @synnersaint @out-of-the-box-and-into-alchemy @petite-hime @serasvictoria @mimiiinspace @itsmysticalmystery @lonewolf471 @mylifeisactuallyamess @draculasbride-blog @love-all-things-writing @southernbe @redhead7799 @kaybee87 @ivarlover @ivarhoegh @idgafiamallthefandoms @darkphoenix5037 @profoundtyrantharmony @snarling-through-our-smiles @crazyunsexycool @xceafh @noway4u @batmandallyboy @complicatedbutrare @readsalot73 @meandmycherrytree

Masterpost

Chapter 11

The early days of Ivar and Liet.

Lev insists on an apartment first, keeping some distance and to set up a place he can still see her in. She assumed Ivar would be annoyed but he says it’s a good first step, she doesn’t know for certain but she guesses that The Lothbroks don’t want a stranger in their midst, she will have to be vetted before being allowed into their inner sanctum.

She stays in the apartment for a few months, building a life, in her “new city”, a routine with Ivar visiting. Lev turns up more often than she wants, an invasive reminder that it's all lies and any potential peace found with Ivar is bullshit.

Lev never gets ugly with her again, but her memory is long and she never forgets the violence he exhibited, quashing all feelings she ever had for him.

She was supposed to lead a double life, reporting to her family, faking the relationship with Ivar, in reality, it’s a triple life now, faking to Lev, faking to Ivar despite her feelings of real love for him and reporting back despite her feelings. God, what an absolute mess she’s made. Etta has no choice but to carry on as normal with Lev when she sees him, fucking him as if he’s her guy when her whole being is consumed by her feelings for Ivar.

The ripping of her soul, the lies, the deceit, the acting, almost sends her into an early grave, until Ivar asks her to move onto the estate.

———————-

Word comes from Ivar’s Father. The Lothbrok family have accepted her. Ragnar has dug into her past thoroughly.

———————

Her Father knew this would happen and hired the right people to fabricate her former life, leaving as much of her true life as possible. Dead parents, teacher (at a different school, one where Olegs family had reach with, who he was able to pay off if asked about Julietta). The Lothbroks came back with nothing but a squeaky clean record of her. Nothing about her time spent with her father, nothing about her training or the other ‘missions’ she’d been sent on. Just a wholesome school teacher with friends and a tragic past.

—————

She can see a respite, a pause of her turmoil if she is away from Lev, away from the pressure he is putting on her, the pressure her father is putting on her through Lev. She can breathe easily once she gets there. For a minute.

She knows any peace is temporary.

The day before she is due to move, Lev catches her outside her apartment as she is running errands.

She feels him behind her, an insistent grip on her arm.

“Keep walking, Love. Who knows if we are being followed. Walk to the market.”

Julietta has no choice but to do as he says.

In the market he catches her arm harshly and turns her toward a stand.

“Try on the sunglasses,” he instructs her harshly, so she does. She catches his eye in a mirror, he is standing close to her. “Tomorrow we will be separated, God knows for how long. You know what needs to be done, Etta?”

She nods and picks another pair of glasses up, slipping them on her face.

“I’ve watched you with him, in this very market,” Lev’s voice is saccharine sweet, she’s heard it before and the blood runs cold through her veins. The intrusion into the relationship she thought she’d developed in private was being watched. Of course it was. Stupid girl.

“I’ve seen him kiss you, I’ve seen the way you look at him, Etta.” Etta watches as his pupils constrict in the mirror as his grip tightens on her flesh, sure to leave marks she will have to explain away.

Etta starts to shake her head and pulls away carefully, smiling playfully as she starts to protest but his words stop her.

“My eyes don’t lie. I’ve seen you. Do you not remember my words? If you fall for him I will kill you both. You are mine,” his finger back on her arm, holding so hard she has to bite her lip to stop from yelping. “Mine,” he growls in her ear. “I hope for both your sakes you are a better actress than I give you credit for, Etta.”

Lev leans into her, his nose in her hair and he inhales deeply, eyes never leaving her face for a second. “I would hate to murder you, my love.”

Through the ice in her veins she knows what she must do. A calmness settles over her, knowing her only way out of this encounter is to placate the man she once loved.

She removes the sunglasses and her eyes catch his in the mirror. She leans back into Lev, her upper back pressing against his chest and she pushes her ass into his crotch. Her voice is thick with sweetness when she addresses him. “Baby, I’m the best actress you’ve ever met. You think I have feelings for him? I’m repulsed by him. Every time he touches me it makes me want to vomit. I would kill him and his whole fucking family in a heartbeat to be back with you, my love.”

She sees Lev’s eyes change from hatred to relief and she knows he is putty in her hands again.

“I’m doing this for the family. For you. Just as you told me to. It’s all for you, a means to an end, my love. I’m leaving tomorrow, who knows when I will next get to see you. There's an alley up to the left. Meet me there in two minutes. I need you one more time before I go.” She turns in her heels and heads for the alley.

As she turns left she claps her hand over her mouth, desperately trying to stifle to cry and tears in the minutes she has before he joins her. She takes in some steadying breathes and prepares herself to allow Lev to touch her, fuck her, to betray Ivar with the man that sold her out like she was nothing. A mere commodity.

As she watches Lev enter the alley her skin starts to crawl, but she pushes the feeling away.

She’s let her guard slip with Ivar, she needs to pull herself back again, with more success this time. She curses inwardly at not realising she is being watched the whole time, of course she is, she’s her family's most valuable asset.

She can’t be the reason Ivar dies. She will be the best actress ever. To save herself. To save Ivar.

—————

Julietta is sure that Ivar feels the change in her, in the way she is with him over the next few weeks. Sometimes she can see her detachment break his heart and she wants nothing more than to open herself up again, allow him into her heart fully, but the memory of Lev’s words stops her.

Sometimes she feels herself allowing the feelings to creep back in. It’s easy when it’s just the two of them, living together, a normal life. Somedays, when she’s watching him move around their home, on the phone, smiling at her, she forgets what this all is. Fake. An assignment. Not for long, but long enough for it to crush her heart when she remembers.

Some days she is so angry. Furious at herself for letting her life come to this. Rage filled at her father for making her do this. Devastated at the circumstances that have led her life to this point. Angry that she is in love with a man completely out of her reach, despite being married to him. It’s on these days can hear herself say the most disgusting things, things about his wheelchair, his disability that make her so ashamed of herself she knows that when her time comes they will be the reason she will be dragged straight to the depths of Hell.

He shows her nothing but endless patience. She isn’t sure if that is because he is so in love with her or because she drops enough breadcrumbs of love and affection to keep him hopeful that she will return to the woman he met in Sardinia. Hope. It can hold people prisoner, and that’s what she feels she is doing to him. Keeping him shackled to a memory of the woman she wishes she could be with him, her old self.

Julietta can’t even bare to look at him when they have sex, can’t bare the way his eyes feel on her, like they are going to pull a confession out of her at any moment so she manipulates him again into being intimate in a way she can stomach, a way she can live with herself.

She manages to find an outlet in the form of a diary, written in code. She pours every thought, every feeling, every second of happiness into it so she doesn’t allow it to spill out into their actual lives. So she doesn’t compromise them. If she writes it down the weight of her feelings and the fear that accompany them is lifted slightly.

She’s allowed to the main house after the checks come back clean, before that she had barely any access to it at all which meant she didn’t have much to pass on to Lev when she saw him at the flat. Information is freely available to her now, access to staff, their gossiping, access to Ragnar’s study, although she is careful here until she is sure there are no cameras inside this space. There aren’t, probably so he doesn’t incriminate himself should the time ever come. It does mean she can access paperwork left around, listen in on conversations he has in there. She has yet to plant the listening devices given to her and try to access Ragnar's computer, making up excuses to Lev when pushed on the subject, only handing over as little as she can get away with.

She despises herself every time she does it, hearing the consequences of her actions spoken about by the Lothbroks, people killed, families ripped apart, collateral damage.

She tries to redress the balance of her disgusting deceit as often as she can. Julietta knows one of her strengths is the ability to read people as if they are telling her their secrets openly. Body language, the slightest flick of an eye, the quick exchange of notes between Ragnar's staff is stored in her head. Most of it is innocent, the occasional affair between staffers, a few people stealing from the kitchens, but any hint of something that could hurt any of the family she tells Ivar about, discreetly, so as not to give herself away, hints at things she’s noticed. Ivar is astute enough to read into it the droplets of information she gives him and neutralises the threat.

He can’t see I’m his biggest threat Julietta thinks sadly.

Over time Julietta becomes more involved with all the family members and she starts to enjoy their company, they treat her like one of their own, not knowing she is a snake in the nest. It’s hard enough betraying Ivar without the extra guilt so she stays detached, warm enough that she isn’t alienated but she keeps them at arm's length. For her own sanity.

After months of being on the estate with her love her brains tricks her into thinking she has some solace from her real life. She stops passing along as much information as she can get away with, only given intel she knows will have minimal impact on her husband and his family. She makes excuses to not have to meet up with Lev, passing along the information via a notebook hidden in her flat, deliberately ignoring Lev's outrage at her evasion, which is clear from the messages left in the hiding spot in her apartment.

She continues this way until a clear message is received. One of the Lothbrok security guards is found outside the estate with the letter E carved into his forehead; she knows she has to face her life outside the walls. For Lev to get so close to the estate, to risk the whole assignment to get her attention she knows she has no choice but to meet up with him.

The thought fills her with a paralysing fear, she can’t do this anymore. The double life has to stop and Julietta knows which of her two lives she wants.

Julietta goes to her apartment, calls Lev from the phone stashed in the space in the walls and arranges to meet him at the gym. She changes into her workout clothes and heads there with a racing heart. She went to the toilets at the back of the gym, where Lev has made sure that no security cameras reach.

He’s waiting for her and pins her to the wall before they mutter a world to each other. He pulls her shorts down roughly and his fingers are inside her before she knows what’s happening.

“Lev, no, we need to talk. Stop,” she tells him in Russian, grabbing his wrist to push him out of her, pulling up her shorts.

“Etta, what’s wrong? I’ve missed you. Do they know? Is that why I haven’t heard from you?” His mouth is all over her, her neck, her chest, making her skin crawl.

When he starts to kiss her mouth she twists her head away, and her head falls against the wall. It’s now or never.

“I'm not doing this anymore. I’m done. I'm going to be a proper wife to him. I love him, Lev. We are finished here.”

Lev's face pulls into a scowl before he bursts out laughing. “What? Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t love him. You are mine!” He grabs her face, bruising it with his fingers. “You can’t just stop, you will never be done!” His face is searching hers, trying to find a hint of a joke.

She smacks his hand away “Don't ever touch me again, Lev. I am done with all of you. I never wanted any of this. My father won’t kill me for falling in love. Ivar, he’s not like any of you, not with me, he's gentle and he loves me.” Etta’s chin is raised in defiance.

“I fucking love you!” Lev replies with desperation in his tone. “I’ve loved you for years. You can’t be in love with him, he’s the fucking enemy, Etta.”

“Is he?” she shouts at him. “I’m starting to think we are. Father is only doing this for territory, not for revenge or anything noble!”

“Etta, my love. You are smarter than this…” Lev’s tone is one she recognises. A calm, friendly tone which is uses at his most dangerous. “Think about this my love. Come to your senses and I won’t tell anyone what you’ve said today. I love you.”

“Oh Lev, you’ve always been about your career, Fucking the bosses daughter was a strategic move for you. I know you would never choose me over the family.”

“You think Ivar would?” Lev screams and punches the wall next to Etta’s head. “You stupid fucking bitch. You are fucking dead. What did I tell you before? Do you remember? If you fell in love with him I would kill you both.” His hand is back on her jaw, pressing her skull against the hard wall behind her. “Etta. Tell me he hasn’t tasted you.” Levs face screws into pure hatred.

“I remember. I don’t care. I only care about him.” Her breaths are shallow with fear now. She’s weighed up all her options in the small space they are in. She knows all of Lev's moves and if she’s quick enough she can get the better of him. Hopefully.

“My rule, Etta,” Lev says through gritted teeth. “Did you let him taste you?” His eyes flit to her mouth.“You treacherous fucking whore!” He grabs her around the throat and she reaches into the underside of her sports bra pulling out her mini switchblade, flicking it open expertly and pushes it into his groin.

“Femoral artery, Lev. You taught me that. Let go of me or I’ll do it. You’ll bleed out in a minute or so. I’m a good actress, remember? I’ll say you attacked me and I will be believed. Never dare to call me a whore again.” She pushes the tip of her knife into his skin.

He glances down and removes his hands from her throat. “Dead woman. You are fucking dead, Etta” He points in her face and slams the restroom door open so hard it closes again she locks it quickly, clapping her hand over her mouth, hyperventilating in fear. She spends a few minutes calming down and listening for any sign of him. Silence remains and she is sure she is safe enough to leave the gym.

When she steps outside she hears screams from her right and as she spins towards the noise she sees Lev driving straight at her before everything goes black.

——————————————-

Present day

Consciousness tugs at her as does Ivar’s voice, which is getting louder with every syllable. Julietta wakes on the floor of their closet, Ivar cradling her head. “Liet? Baby, thank god! Are you okay?”

Was it all a dream? A nightmare? She knows it isn’t.

Her whole life is back.

Julietta remembers everything and she starts to sob.

“Julietta, what is it? More memories?”

Gods knows she can’t let on that she remembers everything. Even in her vulnerable state she knows for certain she needs time to sort through everything. As much as she wants to pour the truth out to him she values breathing. She hasn’t taken all the risks she has for this man to have him kill her in their beautiful home.

She shifts so she is sitting up, pushing away the nausea and reaches for the pendant laying between them. “The necklace, I remember the first time I put it on you. Ivar, I need to lie down. My head,” she whines, clutching her temples. “My head is splitting.”

She manages to walk to the bed on her wobbly legs, with his help and climbs under the covers and curls up into a ball. The bed dips and she feels him behind her, pressing himself close to her, running his hand up over her arm.

“Do you need anything, love? I will call a doctor.”

“No don’t, I’m ok. I think it’s just going to feel like this when I get memories, they said that after the market. Can you get me some water?”

Ivar nods against her skin. “I will love, I’m going to set an appointment tomorrow to go back to the hospital for tests. Just to be sure.”

As she hears him start to leave she turns to him quickly, knowing she needs to address something. “Ivar? I really don’t have any memory of that man from the Gala.”

Ivar’s jaw ticks and he nods stiffly at her then leaves.

Her own lip curls in disgust when she thinks of Lev. He will be dealt with sooner or later.

She stare up at the ceiling before getting the strength to walk to the bathroom to take a look at herself in the mirror. She looks different now she remembers who she is. Harder, she doesn’t like it.

“Hello, Etta.” She says to her reflection.

She runs her eyes over her reflection, the scar on her cheek, pulling down her top to look at the scars over her arm. Her gaze travels back to her short hair and she sneers slightly then remembers Ivar’s reaction to it and smiles.

“You are not Etta anymore,” she says softly, pointing at herself in the mirror. “You are Liet, his Liet. Bury the old you, do you hear me?” Her reflection nods and she starts to formulate a way forward.

A path to happiness.

————-

She doesn’t know how she manages to keep it together in the days and weeks after her life returns but she does. She compartmentalises her life as Etta until Ivar leaves every morning, as soon as the front door shuts she runs to the shower and tears pour from her. Grief for her parents, they way they were taken from her, the sheer scale of who she was before crushing her like a bug under a wheel.

Broken, bent, torn apart by the old her.

She prays to the Gods to make her Liet again, to remove everything she knows now but it’s just an act of futility. She has to find a way to live with the knowledge that she betrayed her Ivar, to continue to function as his wife with the terror that he and his family will find out about her.

The thought of fleeing crosses her mind, for him as much as for her. Gods know what Ragnar would do to Ivar if he finds out. If she leaves him, just disappears, she could protect him from that, but she knows she’s too selfish, and where would she go? Back to Lev?

Back to the man who did this to her?

“Liet, you have to talk to me. I feel you pulling away from me. I know something has changed. You are not… you are the same… you are turning into the you from before the accident and I need you to be happy again. Baby, please talk to me.”

Julietta can’t meet his eyes, but she forces herself to as she lies to his beautiful face. “I keep seeing flashes, I don’t like what I see, Ivar. Snippets of the way I was, and hate it. I was a totally different person, I didn’t know how to let myself be loved but I don't know why.” She knows why, but she needs to give him something. She used to be able to deceive at the blink of an eye, she’s lost that ability and part of her is grateful, but a bigger part of her wishes she could bullshit with ease to his face.

“Gods,” she thinks, “I should just fucking end it all now and spare him the pain of knowing who I really was.”

“Liet. I chose you then, and I will choose you in every lifetime I live. Always, baby. I’ve loved you since I laid eyes on you, I’ve loved you through the bad, the terrifying and the amazing. You don’t remember it all but I do, and it’s you. It’s always you. Always.

—————————

She exists. Weeks are passing slowly and she is slowly learning how to be Liet, pushing Etta away. It’s easing, the guilt. The fear of being found out is something she just pushes away with a stern talking to in the mirror. She’s determined to be who she wants to be, not who she was.

Chapter 12

#modern ivar #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #modern vikings #alex hogh andersen #ubbe #modern!ubbe #modern!hvitserk #ivar x oc #vikings fanfic #vikings fic #vikings modern au #vikings ivar #hvitserk ragnarsson #ragnar lothbrok

18 notes · View notes

crowwritesaway · 8 months

Text

Fanfiction for Ivar the Boneless

Would anyone be interested in reading and me finishing a fanfic that I started years ago. As if you are, should I post it on Wattpad, AO3...

Summary:

Riley Knight meets Ivar in a forest. Riley is someone who grew in a home that smothered her with "affection". He feels seen for the first time and becomes infatuated with her. Will Riley respond to his feelings?

#ivar fanfic #ivar the boneless x oc #ivar the boneless fanfic #modern ivar #modern ivar fanfic #Ivar x reader #ivar x female reader #vikings ivar the boneless fanfic

10 notes · View notes

msnewobsessioneveryweek · 11 months

Text

Here is a list of some of my favorite Dagur fan fictions. I know it’s hard to find good ones with him. These are specifically either X reader or X OC books. These are all on Archive of Our Own, or Wattpad.

(This is a currently small collection of X OC oneshots.)

(An X OC story. Hasn’t been updated since 2018. I pray for its return.)

(This is a oneshot X OC. There’s jokes about Dagur being shirtless and the OC enjoying the eye candy.)

(An X OC story. This was just updated yesterday. Be warned, there are very spicy scenes.)

(An X Female Reader story. This is also available on Wattpad with the same name. This is completed and the first in two stories. A couple suggestive moments. It can be very triggering, it’s Dagur in Defenders of Berk.)

(Again, this is available on Wattpad with the same title. This is part two to Betrothed. This has sex scenes and spicy scenes, but there are warnings in the beginning of the chapters when they’re there.)

(An X OC story. This has a sex scene in chapter 6, and spicy scenes all throughout the story.)

(An X Female reader story. The reader has a dragon form and a human form. Rated mature for a reason I don’t know of.)

25 notes · View notes

wordsbymae · 2 years

Text

MINORS DNI

Title: The Viking

Pairing: Male OC x reader

TW: Violence, murder, generally bad things, implied non/con, no explicit smut but heavy Non/con groping!!, discussion of sexual slavery, mention of cannibalism, Christian elements but it is because I am and I am less afraid of stuffing up Christian stuff than other religions. If you are uncomfortable with any of that move on This man is not nice. Pet names: little mutt, little one and little lamb. Let me know if I missed anything let me know

ALPHABET HERE

Also, I tried to do Gn but as I am a woman, I automatically write with a female reader in mind. But!!!!! I have tried my very best to not mention gender. If something doesn't work please tell me. Reader discretion is advised! Also, I hope I don't need to say this but I will just in case, I do not condone these sorts of actions!!! Or any actions in any of my work. This is pure fiction. Also, all my OCs and the reader are over the age of 18+. and I'm not gonna add google translate because that takes forever and you guys won't even be able to read it so he conveniently speaks the same language as the reader.

Notes: Aaaaa! I have 21 followers! You guys are absolutely amazing! I never thought anyone would want to read my stuff let alone like and reblog. This doesn't take place in any place in particular, if anything I heavily rely on the climate of my home. I was though heavily influenced by Vikings and their nordic culture of that time, however, I had originally planned to make the oc a barbarian of sorts and not a Viking. But my inspiration dive into Pinterest left me with Vikings so here we are. I might write a nomadic barbarian fic later on cause I do see them as quite different in my mind but it depends where this goes, I usually write the notes and triggers before I start writing as a way of planning my thoughts so it might change halfway through.

Also the climatic event in the beginning, in my mind, is the cause of a volcanic eruption somewhere on earth, there was a year of just constant winter due to a massive eruption a few centuries ago and I wanted to include that and showcase how superstitious the people of this time were, seeing the winter as a foreshadowing of terror. And hell they were right.

Lots of love Mae xx

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was far too early in the season for the cold winds to be here. Your father pretended to not be frightened but you could see it in his eyes. There was a fear lingering. You could hear your parents whispering in worry when they thought you were asleep. You could hear your mother sob as they discussed what it could mean. Your homeland was one of sun and thunder, but never frost, never snow. Yet, a chill had descended onto your lands. A frost had spread across the summer grass. Your bare feet crunched upon what should have been dried pasture, instead, they were chilled by a wicked frost. The sun that you would curse for its harsh warmth was now hidden behind constant grey clouds and you begged for it to return. The floods and storms you ragged against never came. No seasonal thunderstorms after the humidity of the day. There was just darkness. Travellers and merchants from far-off lands, journeying to the capital came through your village, speaking of the darkness that had spread. It seemed like no kingdom or empire was safe. The frost and darkness had come for all.

The first omen of their arrival was the frost itself. It seeped into everything and made the ground as solid as rock, the summer pastures shrivelled up and left nothing but dirt behind.

The second omen was the famine. The harvest failed and the livestock starved. Your father was forced to sell the heifers and cows and slaughter all calves and steers to provide for your family. Still, it wasn't enough. You heard gruesome tales of far-off villages butchering each other for scraps of meat from their bones. Your village was lucky, the sea still provided as much as it could.

The third omen was the dragons. Firey images in the night sky, leaving streaks of light hanging in the air. As soon as they appeared men cried out and women fell to their knees. It was a sign of a terror to come.

The final omen was a raven.

The skies had begun to clear and the winter rains had soothed the harsh scars left behind. Crops had been sown and the frost retreated in the face of the reappeared sun. You had all thought that the struggles of the last few months were over. Your father had been able to buy a cow with calf last week with money you made weaving baskets. She was a skinny thing even with the calf in her belly, but with the winter rain healing the land, you could see her regaining strength.

You had thought it was a crow when you first saw it. It did seem to be a bit bigger than the crows that waited patiently for your fish scraps by the pier. But you had never seen a raven before, so why think anything of it. It had flown in from the sea, flew over the village before fixing its gaze on your mother's garden. Your mother prized her garden, especially her roses, and had cried bitter tears when the frost killed the flowers, leaving thorny masses behind, but they had begun to regrow, leaving your families house surrounded by a beautiful arrangement of daisies and violas, butterfly pea flowers and lilacs. You had your favourites of course. In fact, you were picking them right now, happy to make a bouquet for your ancestors' burial place. As you were sitting and deciding which flowers to choose, the raven landed beside you, you watch in amazement as it plucked a flower from your hand and rose into the air and back towards the sea. Standing up with a giggle you chased after it in play until you reached your property's fence. You watched until it was nothing but a black dot in a sky of blue. If you had known what it had foreshadowed you would have wrung its neck.

They themselves came in the night.

They landed on the beaches and in silence drifted into town. Axes drawn and blood-hungry. The first death was the blacksmith. He was stumbling from the inn, stomach filled with ale. He saw them first, and let out a cry of warning, but it did not save him from a dagger sliding across his throat. The killer let out a howl. His comrades followed. The screams began.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You had lost sight of your mother in the smoke of the burning village. Fire ragged towards the heavens. The smell of charcoal and blood ravaged your senses. The yelling and screaming were just a constant now. Like how a bird song drifts into the background. You stood immobile calling for your mother, begging her to reveal herself. Out of habit, you called for your father, but you were harshly reminded that dead men can't answer. You watched as the savages ripped men to the ground and let blood flow. They hadn't noticed you yet it seemed. A lone wraith shaking in the centre of town. In the centre of all the murder and mayhem. For a moment you thought you were dead. That the arrow your father had taken for you had indeed struck you and now you were wandering the mortal realm alone and afraid until St Peter called for you.

Your eyes reached towards the heavens and you began to beg for the angels to pluck you from this horror. Your arms wrapped around yourself as tears flowed down your soot-covered cheeks. You were broken from your prayers when you heard your name being called, your mother perhaps? Your eyes rushed to find her. No, you can't see her. But it was enough to have you moving towards the darkness and away from the light of the fire. With your arms still holding you tight, you began to stumble towards the outskirts of town. Once in the fields outside town, you could hide. Wait till they grew bored of your village and left in their ships to torment another village. You were reminded of a time when you were fearful of the dark. But now it was your salvation. Tripping over your feet you struggled to remain standing, leaning on the walls of yet-to-be-destroyed houses and holding onto the rungs of fences. You kept rushing forward, eyes onto the safety of darkness. You were close, only a few more steps.

A beast emerged from the darkness. His face burned with the light of the fire, and his axe shined with delight. His furs were matted with blood and encompassed his shoulder. His arms were bare save for strips of leather circling them. There was blood on his arms and hands as well, dripping onto the handle of his axe and onto the dirt below. You stood still, hoping perhaps you were dead. That he would just pass by and you could remain nothing more but a spirit. If death was without pain you would prefer it to the horrors the beast in front of you was capable of. His face was marked with blood, lines travelling over his forehead and down through his eyes. His eyes flickered with hunger and his mouth was turned up into a grin. He stood feet wide as if he was ready to battle, but his hand was loose on the axe, allowing it to dangle from his palm. He saw no threat in you.

A strange mix of sounds came from his mouth, while his voice was rough and stern, his words were lyrical and filled with rounded sounds and quick sharp notes. It left you confused and almost enchanted, like a deer in the gaze of a hunter.

His voice stopped and his eyes drifted down and then up. He gave a deep laugh at the site of your cowering.

"Come little mutt, stand tall" he chuckled with amusement. You whimpered at the sight of him, a beast of a man denying your freedom. He began to march towards you his axe swinging in his hold. You try to take steps back but he is quicker. You yelp as he pushes you towards a wall, his thick forearm resting against your neck as he peers down at you. You could see the scars littering his face and could smell the stench of blood dominating his body. You could feel the warmth of the blood from his arm smearing all over your neck and chest. You hated to think whose blood it once was.

"Little mutt has no teeth huh? What about claws? hm?" he questioned, joy in your torment in his eyes.

"If I was to fuck you now would you fight me? Would you claw at me or bite at my fingers?" he laughed at your obvious fear. He brought his head down to your neck and sniffed loudly. You cringed as his nose met your skin.

"You smell sweet little mutt. I wonder if you taste just as good"

you struggled as his tongue run up your neck, tears tumbling down your cheeks.

"As sweet as honey!" he cheered. His forearm dug into your neck further as you struggled to escape. He began to shush you, giving out soothing sounds like you would a crying baby as his body stepped forward to meet yours.

" Please don't kill me" you choked, eyes red with fear.

"Never little one!" he bellowed, his face of mock hurt. "Why would I kill you? hm?" he comforted, releasing his arm if only by a fraction. "You will fetch me a high price at the slave markets, little lamb. Men will go mad trying to buy you for their beds" he grinned, showing off his sharp canine teeth. You struggled once more, this time clawing at his arm and chest.

"So the little mutt has claws! Maybe I will keep you for myself. Use you to warm my cock. Would you like that little one?" he teased, he moved his face closer, his tongue darting out to catch the tears on your cheek.

" Get off me" you grunted, desperately trying to remove his arm. he teased you by feigning pity.

"Poor little lamb, you must be so scared. Trapped by a beast like me" he cooed, pushing his arm further into your skin. You watched as his eyes drifted to your chest below his arm. He dropped the axe in his other hand to the ground, it falling flat with a light thud. He looked you in the eyes once more. You could see mischief in them.

"I am torn between keeping you for my bed slave and making a small fortune on another man's desires. Let me see your wares and then I shall decide" he sang, his grin reaching higher and higher with each word. You could only watch in horror as his hands reached for the front of your night smock and ripped it. You tried to grab his wrists but he was too strong. In a mere moment, your smock lay tattered on the ground and you stood bare in the night air. His eyes drank you in, and his hands drifted over your body. He gripped tightly in some places and softly in others. Blood from his hands was left smeared all over you, like rivers on a map. His eyes found yours once more and glee was evident on his face.

"I have decided little mutt. You shall warm my bed and most importantly me" he proclaimed, laughing at the end. "I am to be your master and you the little mutt at my heels. But first, let me dull those claws, hm?"

You stood arms covering yourself confused at his words. You had no claws to dull.

You gave a shriek as he began to drag you into the darkness. His hand was tight against your wrists. You tried to use your body weight to stop him, but it only ended with you falling to the ground and him dragging you through the dirt. You screamed and kicked, shouted and cried. He just laughed.

The dirt turned to soft grass as released you from his grip. You shot up to your bare feet, only to be thrown to the ground and a foot thrown on your stomach.

"I admire your fight little mutt, but as your master, I cannot in good conscious allow you to disrespect me. it would not be natural." he cooed at you, his hair falling into his eyes. You choked out a sob at the thought of what he planned to do. You were both far enough from the town your screams would not be heard and you were both hidden by lush pasture. You began to pray, your words drowning in sobs.

"Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kin-"

"Enough!" shouted, falling onto his knees above you, a dagger glinting in his hand.

"Keep your God, fine, but do not expect kindness from me when you beg for his mercy" he sneered. You watched in terror as the dagger raced towards your head, only for it to land safely in the soil next to you.

"Now little lamb moan sweetly for me, will you?" he smiled, his grin one of filth. You lay there looking up at him in fear. "I said moan" he barked, his hand reaching for your throat. You gave him what he wanted, although it was tarnished by your terror.

"Like the music of the gods" he praised. He removed his hand from your throat and brought both to your knees, lifting them up and slotting himself in between them.

"Look at you little mutt, shaking and cowering in fear and yet I haven't even fucked you yet. You Christians are strange folk. If you knew of pleasure you would be moaning on my cock by now. You yourself would have begged for it. Begged for me to fuck your tight little hole on the ashes of your ho-" you slapped him with a furry. A rage releases from you, with you reaching for the dagger beside your head. His hand reached for yours first and punished it with his strength. He gave off a terrifying laugh as you were forced to drop the knife and he quickly threw it behind him.

"Maybe you aren't a little mutt but a little wolf instead. That fire in you will warm my cock and balls for years to come. But first, let me break you in"

You really did wish that arrow had found its mark in you.

#vikings #oc #gn!reader #viking oc #i noticed i write in past tense. I guess thats just my writing #i was going to tag yandere but it isnt #its just dark #viking x reader #oc viking x reader #dark fic #dark drabble #tw noncon

478 notes · View notes