↪  I don’t feel any different. Do you? (½)

Ubbe and Torvi in 5.13

Completely Innocent

Gif credit: (?).

A/N: So I was searching around bridal customs looking for something on Indian customs in relation to touching and how that might go. Which, if you have anything, shoot them my way. Anyway, I came upon bridal abduction. Totally awful– but I thought of this.

He knew the chances of being caught red handed with Ubbe were bad. His waterlogged boots squish wetly as he moves beside his older brothers Bjorn and Ubbe, pushing away the reeds that shelter his view of the camp.

“This way.” Hvitserk murmurs. Ubbe slides to look behind behind himself as if anyone was looking. Bjorn reassures him with a stone faced look– as if nothing would go wrong because Bjorn Ironside was there.

“Her brother told you to do this?” Bjorn asks.

Hvitserk leans down as if in a crouch as they come up the shore. “Told, hint. It’s all the same isn’t it brother? He says their people do it all the time.”

Bjorn says nothing in response. They wad through itchy, high dark grass. The tents are jovial with their bright colours and dark woods in the large full moon. The flame has been put out as of hours but the embers are still a bit popping red. Hvitserk glances over, braids a deep muddy brown with the dirty water that chills him. He’s the first to lurch forward, shouldering past Ubbe to the camp in question. The younger Ragnarsson knows where he’s going. There are dark figures under warm handmade blankets. He finds the one he wants, drawing back the blanket under a mess of her strewn hair.

“Is she here?” He says.

Keep reading

What could have been.

Warnings

Character death

Credits: Pictures not mine, but the collage is.

A/N: So this jumps between the past and Ivar with his sons a lot. It’s meant to be jumpy, so if it reads that way, its as I intended it to be.

Hard raspy breathing filled his room within the Great Hall.

“What if Ivar does not go to Valhalla?” His son Reginald was beside his side, hands stroking across his withered skin. Tired but not gone, he leers at his son.

“Who are you to question the gods, coward?” Ivar says through harsh breaths. His chest was rising and falling with force of being so worked up. “You think because you are my son you can question them?”

“Father shhh.” His other son Halfdan intervened.

The old man slips his head back upon the pillow, eyes scanning the room he grew up in. The same bed that his mother nursed him in and in the coming days, the same bed he would pass in.

“Father, where do you think you will go? If the gods gave you the chance?” Another son, Olaf spoke.

Ivar run his tongue against his lower lip. “I have someone to see in Hel.”

Who?

Keep reading

Reblog ❤️

An Uncrowned King: Sigurd’s Day

Welcome everyone to our Uncrowned King’s Thursday.

I’m hosting today with @lisinfleur for our sweet King. I hope you’ll all enjoy it. You can expect both fics and moodboards from me. If you have any requests, feel free to drop them and I’ll try to fill them as best as I can.

Today’s Fics and Drabbles

Red Little Shoes 👠

Feral

Her Uncle’s Love: Sigurd’s daughter has Ivar’s condition.

New Look, New Life

Hvitserk’s Thrall

Moodboards

Fairy Kisses

Fall

Second Chances

A/N: Gif by whenimaunicorn.

It had been months since you last saw your ex-husband. You had left him under dubious circumstances in which you fell out over a miscarriage. In any case you knew he was the only place to turn to after this. Your stomach was gaping and bloody. The only neighboring camp that of your ex husband’s, who at the moment, was enemy of your husband.

“Shieldmaiden!”

The people scatter as you grasp the head of a pointed plank. Your wound was spread wide open, drooling down your stomach. It burns rawly. There are hushed whispers from dark shadowy figures in your fuzzy field of vision and it doesn’t take a much for you to know why.

You told him you would never come back.

“Let us through.” The first voice you recognized. Hvitserk. It was Hvitserk. Your feet hit the mucky grass around you, sludging one of your hands in mud. You hardly felt the grain just like you hardly heard Ivar’s voice in a low chilling trill.

“You’ve made the gods laugh.”

It was pointless to ask why. You were in his camp. He must have assumed you were here to plead with him to take you back as his wife.

“I need help.” You say more to the wood lining his camp than him.

“So stand up and ask me to my face.” Ivar says cruelly. You’re not sure if he can see your stomach, nor the blood meshed with mud. Your body protests the movement of your legs. your hand sunk through mud with a grunt.

“Stand up, ex-wife. If the cripple king can do it, so can you.” Ivar takes a step closer and you would claw your hand into the beams.

“Ivar…” You gasp for the words. The other Ragnarsson begins as you rise up. Your bloodied face in line with his, eyes dark with apprehension. Stand tall, you remind yourself. You have to stand tall. Your body didn’t have the same sentiment. You all but fall face forwards when he catches you by throwing out an arm, it fallsnaround your armour of black chainmail and pleats of black. It takes only seconds for him to realize that the blood isn’t from your position commanding an army on the field, but rather your own blood.

“No!” He snarls out, looking to Hvitserk. “Get me a healer!”

Your head gave a last painful pulse before you slacken against him.

It was a lot of in and out. In and out of consciousness— in and out of watching Ivar shadow the back of the room as if he had something to prove to you by being there. Stupid bastard was fine prattling off when you were being stitched up.

“Did someone hurt you?” He asked over and over again.

“No I walked into my own sword.” Was your simplistic reply as he bore at your open wound that disappeared stitch by stitch. Highly drunk on ale or mead that tasted like piss, you slumped in his bed with a drunken moan until finally, you felt slightly less delusional after a few days.

“So who was it?” He asks on the corner of his bed. The warm furs felt familiar to you, etched with the scent of fresh grass, the ale of his lips and his own decadent smell that felt like home.

“Who do you think?” You rasp. “My husband of course.”

Ivar’s fist curls by his lips. “Why would be do that?”

He knew your husband to be the sort of man to shake you in front of him like a prize. Like he had earlier that week at a war council. Not the type to gut you wide open.

“Because I pick shitty husbands who think that my profession is hopping cock to cock, not fighting.” You snap at him, slicing straight through him with your heated words. You don’t care. You’re angry— hurt. Your stomach burns and mostly, you want him to hurt too.

“I never said that.” He snarls.

“You never said I love you either but I believed that crock of shit too.” You snap back his hand uncurls, flicking toward you.

“I do love you.” He crawls closer, dragging his legs behind him. You curse yourself for being so sore. You couldn’t get off the bed like you usually would. Storm off and make him chase you to apologize. No. You could only sit there in disarray.

“So much you accused me of cheating on you.” You snap. The strain and areas of your words brings an ache back to your chest you thought you had banished away.

“Because I cannot have children.” Ivar snaps back. You had tried— for a year. Then when it finally took, Ivar couldn’t take it.

“You accused me while I was bleeding out our child. The little one I wanted so much.” You find that you’re beginning to sob out tears, breaking down quite literally in front of him. If possible— it pissed you off moreso and your fist collides with the bed in frustration.

“Fuck! Just leave me alone!” You shriek, attempting to push him off the bed as his arms prop him up on either side of your hips. His arms are sturdy and his taut muscles in his shoulders more so. There was really no escaping him.

“We can try for another.” He suggests– knowing in his heart that you hadn’t cheated on him. He always did, deep in his heart. He… was enraged. He lashed out against you. It was as if you hadn’t divorced and left him. But you had.

“I don’t forgive you. And! I’m married.” You say as if to wag it in his face just like you did at that ridiculous war council. At the very minimum you knew Ivar was jealous the whole time that you interacted with him. It was as if he was going to explode any time you kissed the other man. Err, your husband.

“I see that worked out for you.” He snorts. You do too– your snarky ex husband was right. You had grounds to divorce your husband. He disrespected and attacked you with his blade. You could divorce him easily and marry Ivar again.

“What have you done to prove to me you’re worthy?” You ask. Of course– last time, he won your hand over chess against your father. A sneaky tactic when the old man was alive. Now the only man you had in your life was your Ivar.

“This again?” Ivar drops his lips down to yours, finding that your finger taps on his pucker, one tap, two tap, three tap.

“Beat me at chess.” Your finger drops down his chin, tapping his adams apple. Ivar scoffs as if it would be no hard thing to do. He quickly swipes your lips in a kiss, lips moving against yours with a wet exchange of tongues. You hadn’t realized how much you missed the tickle of his slight moustache against your lips or the way he hovered over you like the king he was always in your eyes. Your noses bump and he chides against your lips.

“I already have.”

Ivar

@directionlessbuthappy, @hizz-hizz-mothertruckerz, @some-blondes-unicorn, @cbouvier23, @l-e-a-t-h-e-r–n–l-a-ce, @atequila, @bcat1291, @rekdreams247, @ivarswonderlust, @writingeverynowand-then, @hp-hogwartsexpress, @minarawr, @haliannej, @chuflisworld, @strangunddurm, @cbouvier23, @peachesnpisces, @elenawrit, @equalstrashflavoredtrash, @roxxck, @ilvebeenabad, @vikingsmania, @the-geeky-engineer, @huntingbears, @my-little-wolfe, @mitchiri-nek0, @dakotacheyenneee-blog, @seize-the-droid, @Certifiedpoison, @hotshotstar, @a-writers-dreams, @quaint-and-curious-being, @fangirlbitch02, @deans–chevy–baby, @demongirl0913, @moondustmemories, @colourmeinblue, @ilvebeenabad, @im-bored-how-are-you, @squirtleandeeveearethebest, @fangirls94, @rubyquartzshades, @lost-and-wandering-alone, @memememememe1-blog, @queenmissfit, @calaena-banrion, @zueserra, @mintandfigs, @attorneyl, @hallowed-heathen, @mimi334545, @AzmentineDaWinters, @kirah34, @lulura, @looneytunes20033, @ethereallysimple, @Givemesmutorgivemedeath, @imaginetheeimpossible, @xivarx, @imamom-makingadifference, @sunlightdaniel, @peaches-seed, @tierneygonzalez, @neeading_hugs, @becauseicantthink, @Funmadnessbadassvikings, @mblaqgi

Do it, Princess

A/N: This was a personal request made by @michaeliskindahot. Here you are baby! Also the credit for this picture is also to her, she’s made some really cute moodboards! If you can’t tell, this was a little inspired by The Absent One.

Warnings:

Murder

Violence

Jealousy

Exhibitionism/Humiliation

Dark!Hvitserk. ( I MEAN IT)

The defeat of Lagertha changed Hvitserk.

It wasn’t for the better. As his wife, you noticed the way he was acting. Your sunshine boy had gotten darker– more heated, more angry. He was still your sweet Hvitserk when you were in bed with him, but if you were being honest, you felt as if you were on a leash. One so tight that at times you felt like you were choking near his hand.

“Let me help you with that.” A man with sunshiney fresh locks came beside you. His hair swept under the glittering light of Kattegat’s sweet sunlight as you walked up from the beachside waters.

“Please, Tyr. I asked you to stay away from me. Didn’t you learn last time?” You say with hurried breath as you run back for Kattegat’s gates that were being constructed. Your hands kept a hold on the pole which held water on either side.

“You think him punching me out is gonna do shit?” Tyr bounded ahead of you on his heels, walking backwards as you walk up.

“You don’t know what he can do.” You say. Tyr snuffs that knowledge, dipping around you to swipe the pole off your shoulders in one hand. His other hand swipes up your waist.

“Yeah whatever. C’mon baby.” Tyr slides you close.

“No, Tyr please give me that back.” You reach upon your tippy toes to reach. Tyr bends his head to bump your noses together, the silvery grey hues of his eyes catching yours. You want to scream at him– explain how you don’t want this when your suddenly relieved of looking into those eyes that are sharp as Hvitserk’s blade.

“The fuck are you doing around my woman?”

The voice is a deep hiss. You don’t need to look to know who it is. Hvitserk’s fist has dug so deeply into Tyr’s blonde locks, twisting him around to shove him into the arms of another Viking man that accompanied you. The thralls around quickly take note of when to make themselves scarce, heading back toward the gates of Kattegat.

“Hvitserk that wasn’t what it looked like!” You call out to him, finding that he’s purely ignoring your presence. He’s been dying to do this since the last time your little ex, Tyr, tried to corral you in the marketplace.

“You’ve been looking at her, you little fuck. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Hvitserk bites again when the other Viking man twisted the pole around in front of Tyr’s throat, causing Tyr’s breath to cough up his throat as he thrashed. Hvitserk looks to you, standing behind him as he sways in front of Tyr.

“You want his ass, princess?” A daring low whisper. You’re breath swells out of your chest when Hvitserk lurches forward, yanking your wrist over to  him.

“Do you?!” He snarls– and you know you’re about to be in trouble.

“No!” You shriek. “Of course I don’t want him, I never did!”

“See?” Hvitserk trills. “She’s happy.”

Hvitserk’s firm grip leaves your wrist, tugging you in to gingerly kiss the top of your head. “Of course you didn’t want him.” Hvitserk says, and again he would ball his fist up, veins popping when he whirls around to punch Tyr square in the face. The first time garners a grunt– but the second, the third and so forth get sputtering coughs of his blood. His nose cracks at an odd ankle, telling you that its likely broken.

Like a coward, you say nothing. You watch Hvitserk’s knuckles crack, bleeding to as he beats the man. Eventually the other Viking thrust him onto the ground when Hvitserk’s knuckles were at their limits. On the ground his boot crushes the man’s crotch, digging in with an irritable mash. With a few thrusts of his boot to the man’s ribs he finally looks up. But he’s not done, crunching the Tyr’s throat under his dark boot and unsheathing his sword with a whirring his of its sheath.

“(Y/N), princess come here.” Hvitserk’s voice is like that of a still wind, light and refreshing on the constant grunts of agony and blood that sweeps through the grass. You obey, knowing better than to enrage him. Your hands stroke over your wedding ring, glancing up to Hvitserk’s towering frame.

“I want you to do it.” Hvitserk holds out the grip of his sword– that has met many an enemy on the battlefield. He conquered his countrymen, saxons and anyone in between. Your digits are trembling as you take the sword with two hands.

The man’s lower body twists, rolling in bloodied blades of grass. You’re sure he would have tried to kill you if not for Hvitserk’s black haired friend that pulls his wrists straight down his chest as he sits on his lower stomach.

“It’ll just be a little whack.” Hvitserk shifts behind you. His hands slip over your waist while another caresses your stomach. The red of his hands blends with the crimson dress you wear, but likely, your cincher will stain. Your eyes screw shut and force little wrinkles to form. It’s just once. You can do it for him, you think.

“Do it!” Hvitserk snarls. His boot shifts to the man’s head to pin him in place. You force yourself to block out Tyr’s pathetic sobs of please, please, please– I want to go to Valhalla. You snuffed them short when you swung your beloved’s blade over his exposed neck. There’s a nasty noise, sword meeting bone. Blood soaks you being so close to him– and Hvitserk laughs as he lets go of you, doddling around to admire your work. The blade would thud in the grass. You did it– and it fills you with dread to see his silvery eyes opened with adamant horror.

“You really didn’t want him!” Hvitserk jumps in glee. His friend dismounts Tyr’s body, slipping off his armring. The two are slick of blood and your hands, just as much. The two set off for Kattegat as you take in the sight of the deadman.

“Princess! Bring me my sword!” Hvitserk howls back to you. When you don’t move, Hvitserk stops midturn. “Aren’t you coming?”

A warning or a laugh, you’re not sure. You bend down to take the sword and run after Hvitserk and his strange new Viking friend. You don’t have to ask about burial rights for the boy. No, not at all. The birds would have him.

It was Saturday.

A Saturday where you bathed the sin off your body in a warm bath. No matter how much you washed with herb scented soap you felt red. Your appetite was null, still bothered by the sight of a limp and lifeless body in the fields of Kattegat. Now in the hall with your brother-in-law and husband, you felt as if you couldn’t stomach much.

“You are not eating. What is wrong with you?” Hvitserk held bites of chicken between his fingers.

“It’s nothing.” You answer quickly.

“It does not sound like nothing.” He draws his arm over your chair. You garner a glance of Ivar who likely thinks the same. “What can daddie do to make it better, hm?”

Daddie? Ivar says beside his brother. His lips are pulling up into a smile under the fingers that are in his mouth as he chews. It’s all very amusing to him. Hvitserk looks to his younger brother with a nod, smiling and looking back to you. You’re hardly convinced, looking away from Hvitserk when he reaches over, taking your hand to his lips for a soft kiss.

“C’mon pretty princess. Tell King Ivar what you want to do.” Hvitserk’s satin lips pull off of your knuckles, holding your hands in his calloused ones. Heat soars to your face in dread when you realize what Hvitserk means. Your exhibitionist qualities. The ache you felt in wanting to be more free– like Margrethe had been. You want to play. It just so happens that its fine with Hvitserk. So long as he is the one in control of who entered his bedroom. You try to ignore it, but Ivar leans forward to look you with wild eyes gleaming. Your thighs slicken in the awkwardness of such excitement.

“Tell your king what you want.” Ivar hisses, far too amused for his own good.

“I… want to fuck you.” You murmur, finding it easier to pull away and drink your ale than deal with the consequences of his words. Ivar’s tongue caresses the corner of his mouth. Hvitserk’s hand has shifted up your skirts, caressing your moist folds. Hvitserk tests the waters by slipping a finger into your cunt.

“But she behaved badly today by making me jealous.” Hvitserk remarks, pulling his fingers away from you when Ivar leaned back. He looks to his throne as he takes his crutch up.

“Let her king teach her a lesson.” Ivar commands, making his way up to his way up to his throne. Hvitserk follows and holds his hand out to you. Maybe you could have ran– but this seemed like a perfect way to wash away the guilt. Hvitserk shoves you in front of him, standing behind you and beginning peel away your overdress, then the undress goes along with it. It’s to the pleasure of the eyes of those in the Great Hall. Your naked flesh was cool against the air and hot against the eyes taking you in.

“Shh, shh, shh! We must see what punishment this entitles!” Ivar holds up his hands, willing down the excitement brewing in the hall. “What is it you did?”

A moment of pause. “I… excited Tyr.” You supply. Normally of course, that was Tyr’s own fault. He should have been the one to suffer for it and he did– terribly.

“In front of your husband?” Ivar tilts his head. The laughter of the crowd stopped altogether. Everyone had heard of what Prince Hvitserk had done.

“Apparently.” You snap.

“Careful.” He grins wickedly, slapping the dark heavy wood of his throne. “It is decided… a public humiliation is in order. Bind her wrists.”

The man from earlier stepped forward, puling and tying them with a flaxen rope. You grunt as he winds the knots tight then step aside. Hvitserk grins from behind you, walking you back and back until the back of your legs hit Ivar’s trousers. He reaches out to grasp your nipples between thumb and index finger and tugs them forward.

“Sit on him.” Hvitserk orders, tweaking them painfully in his fingers. You do as he orders– but instead of the flat surface of his hips, you feel Ivar guiding himself within your wet walls. His hands at your hips snap you back onto him and he fills you, reaching the end of your tight channel that holds him tightly inside. A wanton moan rips from your chest. The great Ivar the Boneless, son of Ragnar Lothbrok and descendent of Odin is deep within your folds. Hvitserk relinquished one of your nipples long enough to slap your tit, then the other. You’re well trained, avoiding any cries as Ivar sets out a brutal pace to fucking you, guiding your hips up and down his cock as if you are his toy alone. Your eyes seal shut as you battle with your noises, desperate to show no pleasure, but its failing. Of course it is, that is what Ivar wants. He fucks into your cunt with hips shifting each inch in and out of you.

“Open your eyes.” Hvitserk’s smooth voices washes over your body with a thick clench to Ivar’s cock. “How does he feel?”

“G-Good!” You cry out with a line of drool slipping from the corner of your lips. “So fucking good!”

Ivar’s strong arms shift to grasp you, arms below or above your tits, yanking you back against him. A foreign pleasure teases you of being unable to stop his hips from shifting forward. He claims you with smooth thrusts, in and out– and gods, he is definitely not your husband. Hvitserk’s hand digs into your hair as he yanks out his cock, pressing the tip of his member to your lips.

“Suck me off.” He commands. Your plush lips part to welcome him into your warm mouth. His taste is familiar to you– but the firmness of his cock thrusting in and out of your mouth at an unforgiving pace is what shocks you the most. The crowd below is watching with jovial roars and bright grins, waiting for their king and prince to explode. Hvitserk’s hips undulate, taking his time with your mouth around his member. He uses your hair as a lead, whipping you down to take him fully.

“Agh!” Ivar hisses below you. “What a good little princess, squeezing my dick!”

You moan in response, causing reverberations of pleasure to ripple up Hvitserk’s cock. He tugs in swells of air nearly at his peak. He narrowly misses tugging out of your mouth on time when Ivar barks at him to pull out, tugging the skin of his shaft harshly. Pearls of white spill over your naked breasts, exposed to the audience whom laughs jovially. Then it is their King whom hits his peak, squeezing you with his muscular arms. His seed spills into your walls as you pull him through his orgasm, hardly meeting your own.

Your cunt is still sticky when Hvitserk leans down to kiss you, guiding your cunt off of Ivar’s softening member. Hvitserk lifts you over his shoulder, cracking his hand upon your ass. Your used cunt seeps the King’s seed as he tucks his cock back in place and turns down the stairs. Somehow, Hvitserk always manages to outdo himself.

@piebytheocean, @strangunddurm, @atequila, @rekdreams247, @justacrush, @ivarswonderlust, @peachesnpisces, @elenawrit, @equalstrashflavoredtrash, @roxxck, @dylanowhyyien, @ilvebeenabad, @vikingsmania, @huntingbears, @my-little-wolfe, @seize-the-droid, @Certifiedpoison, @hotshotstar, @deans–chevy–baby, @moondustmemories, @colourmeinblue, @ilvebeenabad, @squirtleandeeveearethebest, @rubyquartzshades, @queenmissfit, @calaena-banrion, @hallowed-heathen, @kirah34, @lulura, @looneytunes20033, @imamom-makingadifference, @sunlightdaniel, @neeadinghugs, @Funmadnessbadassvikings, @mblaqgi, @Natmors, @triumphantreturnofpies, @DMV_49, @imavulcanatheart, @attorneyl, @nina2697, @iconicvaleria, @lovelynerdytraveler @igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok (no mix), @romanchronicles, @captstefanbrandt, @ateliefloresdaprimavera, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @concretewaywardangel, @naaladareia, @cbouvier23, @the-geeky-engineer, @dorned, @lisinfleur, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @tephi101, @akamaiden, @Kirah34, @ethereallysimple, @venusloviing, @happylittlepuppydog, @beyond-the-ashes, @slutforrpg, @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns, @mixedwiththemoon, @sparklemichele, @alicedopey, @lif3snotouttogetyou

Wretched Little Angels

Wretched Little Angels: [Formerly Go Ahead and Try] After her father causes the Ragnarssons difficulty in the import of drugs through Kattegat’s harbour, Hvitserk decides to kidnap his daughter (Y/N). The brothers decide shaking her up a little will do.

Warnings

Non!Con or Dub!Con

Multiple Pairings

Kidnapping

Drugs

Alcohol

Hvitserk’s Cherry Lollipops 🍒

Chapters

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Fanart

Salimahbicharara-comun

Wretched Little Angels

Wretched Little Angels: [Formerly Go Ahead and Try] After her father causes the Ragnarssons difficulty in the import of drugs through Kattegat’s harbour, Hvitserk decides to kidnap his daughter (Y/N). The brothers decide shaking her up a little will do.

Warnings

Non!Con or Dub!Con

Multiple Pairings

Kidnapping

Drugs

Alcohol

Hvitserk’s Cherry Lollipops 🍒

Chapters

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Updated