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cavalierious-whim · 2 months

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Heroes of Old

Childe, a Harbinger of the Round table, is sent to a small town in Liyue to hunt down the dragon known as Rex Lapis. Written for Eclipse, a Tartali AU Zine.

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“It is a simple matter for one such as yourself.” The Tsaritsa pauses, flicking away a spot of ice that curls around her wrist. “Far to the south lies a village in need. They say that Morax has risen again, terrorizing their home with his cruel, golden-eyed gaze.”

A preposterous idea to most but one that makes Childe’s blood sing. The challenge is too good, pulling and plucking at his being, calling to him with a subtle swan song that sets his veins on fire. But, he cannot seem too eager in the face of his god.

“Morax,” he starts, still unable to stop the curve to his grin. “That seems unlikely.”

“I feel it in the ley lines.” The Tsaritsa drags a sharp nail across the arm of her throne. “Like calls to like, as they say, and we are kin in the way that we are both children of Celestia. I feel the way his blood boils, I can taste it on the wind.”

He lifts his chin confidently. “When do I set out?”

“Immediately. There is no time to waste.”

Childe falls to his knee easily, a practiced motion that he’s done time and time again. One hand over his chest plate, the gentle dip of his head—all to lay himself bare before the Queen Beloved.

In return, she sends him off without a word.

Far to the south is the reaches of Liyue where the people work until their backs are bent and their fingers bleed.

Childe stands at the edge of Qingce Village, tapping his boot against the ground. He is out of place here, wearing the full armor of a Harbinger of the Round Table, helmet tucked under his arm. He takes a step forward and a child runs away on skittish feet. Another watches him from behind a crate, eyes wide with wonder as she peeks over her fingers. Adults step around him with wary, suspicious gazes, fleeting around his side at no less than ten paces.

Something is off. These people do not want him here. Childe presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth as he thinks. If they have not called him here, then who? The Tsaritsa, he knows, must have taken matters into her own hands, perhaps because this village was too stubborn to ask for help.

But these people do not look scared. They whisper Morax’s name in awe behind soil-stained hands.

There is a tugging at his side, near his waist. Childe’s face tips down to find a boy staring back, face round with wide, chubby cheeks. He tugs again and says, “Sir Harbinger, right?”

Childe dips low, kneeling until they are the same height. He reaches out and ruffles the boy’s hair, who sputters, cheeks tinting red. “Do you like knights?”

The boy nods. And then he says, “Wuwang Hill, just where the mountain crests and the stone turns dark.”

“Wuwang Hill?”

“It is where he waits for you. The Consultant. Said he’d give me one hundred Mora for passing on the message—but he forgot.” The boy then waits expectantly, hand held out, flat and steady.

Childe huffs, shoves a hand into his purse, and pulls out a glittering golden coin. He twirls it around with a flourish and the boy reaches, but his fingers just graze it as Childe tugs it back. “A moment,” he says, flashing a second coin. “Another if you answer a question.”

The boy nods greedily, fingers itching to take the gold.

“Right, then. Tell me—are you not afraid of Morax?”

The boy squirms at the mention of the old dragon’s name. “Lord Morax saves us,” he says simply. Childe swallows this knowledge down, mulling over it. Then he drops both coins into his grimy little hand, and then adds a third because he pities him.

“Wuwang Hill,” says the boy again, “where the shadows creep and darkness lurks.”

Childe ruffles his hair and laughs. He doesn’t believe in fairytales. These rural folk are the ones that breathe life into them, insistent with their old superstitions.

At the top of Wuwang Hill, Childe is greeted by a glowing gate that leads straight to the Abyss.

He hisses, hiding his nose in the crook of his elbow. The acrid tang of sweat, rust, and metal fills his nose; but it is better than the reek of rot and death. Even now, it tugs at him. The Abyss. He wants to go to it, sinking back into the depths that he once called home—

“I expect our meetings to take place on time in the future.”

Childe freezes. It’s hard to tear his gaze away from the gate, but he manages. The Consultant is a tall, thin man, his wispy, finely-boned limbs hidden by rough-spun robes. He stands there, primly, hands held behind his back. Solid as stone, feet planted into the ground, entirely unbothered by the Abyssal taint that surrounds them.

“I apologize. I was surprised by the village’s… lack of concern for the matter at hand.”

The Consultant sighs at that. “Legends are legends—they get handed around. It is natural to think your Tsaritsa would be worried.”

Your Tsaritsa. “That’s the sort of blasphemous talk that I usually handle,” drawls Childe. It is no secret that his hand is swift when it comes to cutting out the tongues of those who speak ill.

“Ah. Apologies, then. I didn’t mean to offend.” The Consultant seems uncaring about his lack of propriety.

Childe is a Harbinger, he deserves respect, but— “You’re in luck, then,” he says instead, surprising himself. “The only head I was told to bring back was that of Morax himself.”

The Consultant does something strange, then. He smiles, a wry thing that crinkles the edges of his eyes and makes him look older and wiser, and perhaps even dangerous. It is not the smile of a normal man, it is serpentine as his teeth peek out from rosy lips. “A pity,” he says.

“For Morax?”

“For you.” The Consultant does not elaborate, he just waves him over, and like a moth to a flame, Childe goes without restraint.

The Consultant gestures to the gate. “You likely cannot see it, but there is a seal—”

“I can see it.”

The Consultant pauses, head tilted to the side. “Interesting,” he murmurs, tapping his chin in thought. His eyes are golden and they watch Childe with newfound interest. “Ah, right—the seal. While effective, it is old, and like most things, will break down. It is only a matter of time now.”

“What is your point?”

“This is what the Tsaritsa should be concerned about, not Morax. He is spending his time trying to find a solution—” Childe bursts into laughter and the Consultant stops. “Have I said something funny?”

“Only implied that Morax is actually alive and well.” Even if the Tsaritsa had been convinced, Childe was and still is, not. The Consultant looks amused. “Look,” continues Childe, waving to the gate. “I’m not here for that. If you can just point me in the direction of Morax then I can do my job and get out of here.”

“If you kill Morax, this village will die. Karma rots this gate and once the Abyss is unleashed, it’ll only seep into the land. You’re a Harbinger, correct? You know what that does.”

Childe does. He’s seen plains turn to blistering hot deserts, and skies that are choked with dusk and smoke. Once the rot seeps in and karma lays waste, there is no coming back from it—and there are no gods left to reverse the damage like in the days of old. He’s hunted most of them down.

The Consultant sighs again. “Morax will likely choose to challenge you. He doesn't like his name being tarnished. As to when that will be—well, you might just have to be patient.” He tugs at his robes, distracting himself. “In the meantime—are you hungry? Miss Xiangling is no doubt nearly done with the night’s dinner.”

Childe blinks. “Are you asking me on a date?” The only thing that Childe dates is death itself.

The Consultant blinks back and laughs dryly. “I do think that I am merely being a gracious host.”

For once, Childe is embarrassed, turning pink with sheepishness. But, at least the Consultant doesn’t hold it against him.

Days stretch into weeks, and there is no sight of Morax.

It matters not how often Childe asks—at the mere mention of him, The Consultant derails the thought.

“Ah, but Zhongli,” says Childe with far more familiarity than most would see fit. “Morax was a man of distinction in war-time—”

“The Primordial Jade-Winged Spear,” cuts in Zhongli. He nods towards a boulder in the center of the village. A slightly bent lance sticks out from it, the blade smelted into the rock. “Morax crafted this with his own hands in order to quell the raging of the sea beast Baqiu.”

“Oh did he?”

“So the stories say. It waits for a new hero worthy of it.”

At first, Zhongli’s verbose utterances about the past irritated him. Childe does not sit idle; he is a man of action, quick with his blade and cruel with his might, and as a Harbinger it is his job to hunt down the gods of old in Celestia’s name. Morax made his bed by leaving Celestia and blaspheming her name before melting away into nothing but memories. But Zhongli’s words have needled deep. It is weeks later, now, and Childe leans into his baritone timbre, far too interested in the mythos of a place that isn’t even his home.

They share meals and tea. They take long walks where they knock shoulders together, and Zhongli drones on about everything and nothing. Childe should be concerned with Morax, not that crumbling Abyssal gate, and what it might do to this sleepy village. He should be dreaming of a god’s head in his hands, not how soft Zhongli’s lips might be if pressed against his.

Zhongli nudges Childe gently with an elbow. “I figured this would appeal to you, considering the hero that you are.”

“I’m no hero,” says Childe. A Harbinger is just a bully that wears the skin of one.

Zhongli watches him for a long moment before saying, “Let’s continue, then, shall we? I won’t bore you with the details of this old thing anymore.”

Childe almost forgets about Morax in favor of the heat of Zhongli’s hand when he grasps him by the elbow. It isn’t until Childe nearly forgets about His Queen Beloved that he realizes just how much trouble he’s in.

“Ajax.”

Childe jerks awake at the sound of Zhongli hissing his given name. His room is empty. The sheets next to him are unrumpled. He slept alone that night, cold in the soft-spun silk in Zhongli’s absence. He is bereft for a moment, his fingers curling into those sheets, and then he remembers that hiss in his ear.

Something is wrong. Darkness clings to Childe. It coats his skin, thick and oily; cawls down his throat, trying to sink in deep, drowning him in icy hatred. Outside his borrowed room, the town is on high alert. He hears yelling, shouting, and the clanging of metal. It’s then that Childe’s focus sharpens.

The Abyss.

“Ajax!” Zhongli’s voice again, slicing through the air like a whip crack.

Childe jerks into action, tossing on some trousers and tugging the first shirt he can find over his head before throwing himself outside.

The seal must’ve broken. Abyssal taint creeps down the mountainside and threatens to sweep the village. People run around crazed and Childe stands there, stock still.

The darkness, that’s what you are. Come home.

“No,” murmurs Childe, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Home is—”

In this quiet village, tucked away in Liyue, where the people have warmed to him despite being a red-haired devil. At the side of Zhongli who speaks in fancy words in dulcet tones. Childe’s heart lurches as he licks his lips.

The spear. It’s the dumbest idea he’s ever had but Childe darts through the square in desperation. I

Zhongli is in the middle of the fray, hands curled around his own lance, twirling it around with expert ease. Childe should be more surprised but he isn’t. There’s always been something about the man, something barely off—

Ajax, whispers that second voice. It strikes cold dread into his heart, unlike the warmth the Zhongli’s call breeds.

“No,” he mutters, pushing away.

Like calls to like, you are one with us, don’t you remember?

Childe does but he’d rather protect Qingce Village. The spear is cold underneath his fingers as he yanks. Metal screeches as it slides from the stone.

Zhongli turns, eyes narrowed, his gaze tracking the length of him. Childe stares at the weapon in his hands, marveling at how natural it feels there, how easily it slid from the stone as if it finds his palm home.

It waits for a new hero worthy of it.

“Ajax, move—”

Childe barely ducks in time. He’s a magnet. The Abyss seeks out what it’s lost and it wants to claim him again. Childe swings the spear around, but it’s only a matter of time before there’s too much to handle. Darkness reaches for him—only for another person to step in the way.

Fury floods through him. “Zhongli!” he snaps, already striking out again.

Once closer, though, he sees Zhongli’s form ripple before melting away. Antlers crown his head. His hair flows free, whipping in the gales, and obsidian scales glint in the moonlight. He holds a hand out, Geo pulsing above it, and the land around them shifts, quaking with the barest squeeze of his palm.

Childe remembers something Zhongli said once.

“I merely care for Liyue, as a father cares for his children.”

Childe’s throat is dry. “M-Morax?”

“Not now, Ajax.”

Suddenly he regrets telling Zhongli his real name, a soft whisper in the night blurted in the throes of hungry passion. “But you—”

“Not now. I have a contract to keep, which is not with you.” Zhongli watches the Abyssal taint that hovers before him, curious. It wavers, hesitating, knowing just who he is. “You were to leave the seal alone,” says Zhongli. “I was always going to have to replace it, but have you forgotten our bargain?”

The Abyss hisses at him, a tendril striking through the air, only to stop dead the moment it smacks against a golden shield. So effortless. The seal couldn’t be repaired easily so Zhongli waited for it to break. “A patch won’t work. The seal is old and decayed, too unstable, and so it will have to be entirely rebuilt.”

Childe should’ve realized. Zhongli has never hidden who he is, only answered the wrong questions asked with mirth in his eyes.

Zhongli sweeps his hand from one side to the other. The Abyss shudders, shrinking in on itself, rearing back as Geo coalesces around it. Zhongli forces it back to the foot of the mountain. His other hand jerks as he cuts a hole into the earth there, creating a new gate. He presses the Abyss right into it with startling ease, then weaves the most intricate seal that Childe’s ever seen.

It took nothing. Nothing. With the wave of Zhongli’s hand, the Abyss has been forced into a new prison.

When all is said and done, Zhongli lurches, losing his ground. Childe drops the spear and crosses the distance to catch him by the waist. “You—”

Zhongli grunts. “Tired,” he murmurs, pressing his face into Childe’s sweaty nape. And then: “Ajax.”

“I’m… very annoyed.”

Zhongli hums at that, a chuckle spilling from his lips. He braces himself against Childe and finds his footing. Then, he curls a hand around Childe’s neck and presses their foreheads together. His scales prick Childe’s skin. “My hero.”

He is not. “I did nothing. You…”

“This wasn’t your fight—it never was. But, I knew from the moment I saw you that you were destined for more—far more than you can achieve with your Tsaritsa. Later. In the future. I’ll consult with Madame Ping. But first—” Zhongli’s hands are warm against Childe’s face. They butt noses as he shifts. Zhongli’s lips are chapped and his kiss is sweet. “You meant to save me,” he whispers against his mouth.

“I love you,” replies Childe, realizing where his loyalty now lies.

Zhongli’s chest rumbles in delight. “This old dragon is pleased,” he says before seeking out his lips once more.

#Cavalierious Fanfic #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin fanfic #genshin #childe/zhongli #tartaglia/zhongli #tartali

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wonderloste · 1 year

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lore compendium update & progress : races of wonderland complete under the peoples tab!! it's worth noting that wonderland is a society of fae creatures, so most of the muse-list IS considered fae-like / fae-adjacent (including characters like darcy & valtr, who are wonderlandian fae / nightmare fae respectively). however, the fae that originate from diamond kingdom specifically are more traditional faeries and the like. there are only a few outliers, like the dragons and flora, who are NOT considered fae.

wonderlandian faeries : the bulk of wonderland's society makes up the fae, though their numbers are greatest in the diamond kingdom. mischievous, crafty, and deceitful, they're a tricky bunch to contend with. you should never make a deal with the fae, as they will often twist your intent and trap you in a dynamic you never wanted after.

nightmare fae : creatures of nightmare feared by all of wonderland, their ranks include that of the hated bandersnatch. nightmares are born from dark magicks, and thus cast out from general fae society, damned to live isolated in the realm through the looking glass. some find their way back to wonderland, but none are welcome in their society.

sirens : oft coined mermaids or mermen by surfacers, sirens are creatures of the sea who lure unsuspecting sailors and travelers alike into their turbulent waters through the hypnotic sound of their voice. they feed off the flesh and blood of land dwellers, thus capturing their prey and drowning them beneath the depths with intent to later consume them.

dragons : the offspring of the white king, dragons escaped classification as nightmares solely through their resemblance to the jabberwock himself. they are the second oldest species to wonderland behind the fae, they are extremely knowledgeable. most, if not all of them, speak in the same dialect as their father : completely backwards.

atlantians : wonderlandian fae who live beneath the waters of diamond kingdom's oceans in the lost city of atlantis, they adapted to their environment millions of years ago when their city sank to the bottom of the sea. they are more fishlike than their siren brethren, but no less mischievous. that said, they consider themselves their own kingdom.

animatronics : built during the steam age of wonderland's history, most animatronics have completely depreciated. those that remain are largely serving as card guards for their respective kingdoms, though occasionally one can still find active goliaths around old structures where they once worked. alchemists claim they do not have a soul.

flora : the flowers and plant life that cover wonderland is more alive than most outsiders think. aside from acting as the only light source aside from the stars to the realm due to its bioluminescence, it can also speak, whisper secrets, and spread gossip quickly across wonderland. most will warn to be wary of what you say, as you never know if it's listening.

gods : those who have reached levels of divinity within wonderland are few and far between. only three gods exist within the realm, but the jabberwock is the most prolific and powerful as the creator of the world itself. the others hold their title as more of a formality, whereas he is capable of weaving and shattering reality.

immortals : those in wonderland who cannot die unless their hearts are devoured by the few denizens of the realm who are capable of permanently killing them. there are only a few who fall into this category as true immortals, as everyone in wonderland may live forever, but only a handful may not be killed at all, unless specially hunted.

mortals : those who may not die from old age, but are still capable of being murdered or grievously injured enough that they may lose their life. none in wonderland truly age, but mortals can die like any other, so while they need never fear the passage of time, they certainly do need fear the sharpened edges of that guillotine the queen threatens them with.

humes : the term fae, both nightmare and wonderlandian alike, use to refer to those who are not of fae descent, or outsiders whether they are fae of their world or not. oft also referred to as "man-things," "children of men," or simply "humans", one does not necessarily need be a human for them to refer to them as a hume. it is merely another label the fae use.

alices : the outsiders who fall to wonderland, whether they wear this title with pride or not. against their consent, the entirety of wonderland will refer to those who fall down the rabbit hole as "alice," disregarding their true name and in fact warning against telling their real name to others, as knowing outsider's names gives wonderlandians power over them.

#crashes back onto this blog and does random carrd work #KJENRHMKJERNHM IT JUST BE LIKE THAT #i'm throwing this out before i have to go do errands i'll be back to write!!#ʚĭɞ ― lore: wonderlandians ˊˎ-#ʚĭɞ ― lore ˊˎ-#long post —#ʚ o. meta ɞ ⁄ the brightness of the sun will give us just enough to follow our hearts down the rabbit hole.

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majesticwren · 1 year

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The Trickster’s Kiss ᚲ (Ivar/Angrboda/Hvitserk)

Summary: What if Angrboda, daughter of Floki and Helga, never died? She is gifted and cursed. She who walks the Earth guided and Inspired by the Trickster. Grown to become a gifted witch, a skilled warrior, a determined and loyal woman. She who takes guard over her loved one, her people and even the Gods. And in her life, made of choices, and war, and magic, and whispers, she is destined to always choose the side of a man she loves dearly, over her soulmate. As much as she would always choose Loki, over any other God. Behold! A tale about a War of heart, cultures and Gods. The events of this fanfic starts at S402 continuing to S602. It may contain flashbacks.

Words: 12k. Trigger Warnings: mention of slavery, scheming, mention of sex, mention of contraceptive methods, !Sigurd is his own Trigger Warning! Gifs by: tagged. Divider by: @firefly-graphics

Tags: @youbloodymadgenius @miss-madness67 Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged. ✨

Masterpost Playlist

Chapter 12 - Wicked Game.

Margrethe crossed the market square. She was well-intentioned in walking all the way through it and up Kattegat main road, where foreigner salesmen were busy selling everything from different places all around the known World.

After her chores were done that morning, the Queen trusted her with some coins to go and buy supplies for the Hall. Of course, she was more than eager to take that responsibility and do her best. Margrethe thought it was the best way to quickly learn what she would have to do, one day, when she would be Queen.

It was also a great way to understand Kattegat.

Her eyes quickly filled up with the wonders of all the different kinds of food, animals, materials and people, and her nose would pleasantly hitch with the pungent smell of some spices or dried plants and meats. She wondered how those mysterious foods from far away lands would taste. But she was very quick to console herself with the thought that one day, she would be Queen and able to taste everything

She walked slowly, enjoying the lively buzz of Kattegat that morning and the cacophony all around her. Those would be, one day, her people.

More than anything, she enjoyed having time to feel free. Even if her simple shaped, bland colour, dirty clothes, and her braided hair would clearly highlight her social position. At least in her mind she could pretend what she wanted.

But Margrethe wasn’t just enjoying the morning air and a pleasant walk away from her usual duties at the Hall.

Oh, no. She had specific intentions. In fact, she planned that outing specifically.

Her eyes were not just filled with all the wonders around her. They were also looking for a few specific people.

She was fairly new to Kattegat. Yet, she managed to get well introduced into the slaves’ community of the city. Especially helped by her position at the Hall.

And she just needed to find someone she knew.

"Agnes!" As the fates were listening to her, Margrethe recognized the familiar face of a slave girl working for the well-renowned house of a merchant. She greeted the girl with a smile, approaching her.

"Margrethe. What a pleasure." Agnes was not a pretty girl. Not as pretty as her anyway. And not as young.

But she had other wits to her character and her master still liked her very much, leaving the slave with enough freedom to roam Kattegat as pleased her.

It was dangerous to trust slaves - but some people still did it, possibly because it was impossible to understand for a free man or woman what it meant to bear invisible chains for a lifetime.

Margrethe quickly reached Agnes, exchanging a meaningful look with her. And she knew exactly what that meant.

More importantly than its wonders, the market was a source of information.

Margrethe was new to the scene and it wasn't so common that she would have the chance to go to the market. But she already knew it was the way to find and spread information quickly.

She hated being a slave, but her role could be useful sometimes, at least for now. Slaves were invisible and could gather plenty of secrets and knowledge over the private life of people. A slave of the Great Hall would always be known for the more valuable knowledge they could have.

On a regular basis, a slave was supposed to be loyal to their master. Which was the reason why not many would so easily reveal the secrets of their houses. But with the right compensation, everyone would untie their tongues.

It was easy for her to find that business. And because of her position, it was guaranteed that if she had something to say, then it would be good.

So, a stroll around the marketplace wasn't just a moment of freedom she would enjoy. It was useful.

And Margrethe knew exactly where to find, or better, where to sell information.

Agnes was one of those instances.

"So, any interesting news?"

"I might have something." Margrethe looked at the other girl leaving behind a pregnant pause.

Agnes nodded to her words, her attention clearly already hooked. Margrethe didn’t need anything better, she hoped to receive exactly that reaction.

She nodded, with a decisive smile curling her lips.

Generally, the trade of secrets between the slaves had a few rules. More or less, in the slave community, it was common doing to trust each other even without being acquainted. In fact, the sources would generally be protected.

It was also common to think that whatever secret one ear was receiving, then it would be true – or almost entirely true.

The fewer people knew about the information, the newest this was, the more valuable it had.

And finally: everything had a price. And in a community of people without the luxury of even being free, less than poor, sometimes less than animals, a secret could save one’s life. Or give leverage. Or just be the means to have possession over an object of more or less value and more or less usability.

It was generally a dirty and blind trade. It was a gamble.

There was no way she could know what Agnes, or any receiver, had to offer and what they were in possession. It could have been other secrets, information, tips, or objects. And they wouldn't know how valuable the information could be until heard. Yet, it was a game worth playing.

Margrethe smiled at Agnes, her features bent under such a sweet expression, still aimed to no good.

She was like a beautiful, poisonous flower.

“Well?”

“I bet you noticed there has been some kind of... Problem, between the Sons of Ragnar, recently.”

Agnes scoffed a laugh, nodding. “Oh, yes. I mean, there's always friction between them, isn't it?”

“Yes. But, I'm sure everyone in Kattegat had a chance to see Hvitserk's face in the past few days.”

Margrethe was eager, full of pride, even reckless. She didn't lower her eyes or her voice - her words didn't bring the honour she was bound to carry. She was already a step ahead, in her fantasies. Too comfortable and confident she would have landed on her feet whatsoever to bother about lowering her voice.

She was sure no one was listening in, anyway. But the point wasn't that. The point was showing respect.

Agnes, instead, showed the right kind of reaction, bowing slightly and getting closer to Margrethe so she was free to answer with whispers. “I have heard voices about it. I've heard it was Ubbe the one who-”

“Those rumours are incorrect.” Margrethe smiled, lifting her chin proudly, just because she knew the truth.

Holding such information, or anything really, put her in an advantageous position, making her feel powerful. It was the same feeling she felt when she saw Angrboda sneak into Hvitserk's room and knew that getting close to him would have angered the other woman.

And she did, acting following her own agenda.

She found and took a chance to get close to Hvitserk. It wasn’t such a sacrifice, in all honesty. But she did it mainly to juggle others to her own will, Hvitserk included.

And it apparently worked. Hvitserk didn’t have to do much, but Angrboda fell right into her trap like a fool. And then showed once more how much she cared for Hvitserk that same evening at the Hall. Of course, only after confirming her anger was great. She caved a Son of Ragnar's face in, after all.

Incredible how easy it was to find someone's weak spots.

Now, Margrethe knew more about how some situations worked between the Brothers and the girl specifically.

Firstly, to them, she was such an equal to accept what she dared to do to Hvitserk with no consequences. Even Sigurd, who seemed to be the one brother who couldn’t stand her the most, still accepted her move. Secondly, Ubbe was ready to take the fall for her.

It was weird, she was part of their group, yet she wasn’t treated like a little sister or just a woman. But like one of them in every possible way.

Margrethe was still intentioned in following her plans and everyone would know who she was one day. With or without the witch's support.

She knew she had great chances to lure one of the brothers to choose her. But first, she had to eliminate her competition.

Which at that specific moment was Angrboda.

All the women of Kattegat would braid their hair following the designs the Queen would choose. But all the girls' hair would mimic Angrboda's. Even stepping outside the Hall was a constant reminder of what she had to do.

Besides, of course, the barely inconvenient fact that she was dangerously close with all the Sons of Ragnar, clearly able to manipulate them between her fingers at will.

“Are you going to tell me what really happened?” Agnes seemed eager to receive the information. Margrethe saw her hand move to her pocket, reaching for something but she quickly stopped her, shaking her head. “No. No need.”

No information came for free, ever.

Yet, Margrethe wasn’t entirely interested in obtaining payment. Her secrets were valuable but what she most needed was that her word would travel fast.

She needed the gossip to spread. Letting others act upon their own decision caused by rumours.

Agnes gave her such a puzzled look, frowning. Because automatically she thought that then the information was of no value if it costed nothing.

Even slaves between them generally could not afford to be helpful, let alone generous.

But Margrethe knew what she had to say was important and she thought Agnes could make her mind up about it after. And she wanted to be generous, now.

She also had many secrets to share – and knew it was difficult Agnes could afford them all.

While Margrethe first priority was to get the word flowing.

“I suppose you know of Angrboda.”

“Loki-Kissed.” Agnes gasped, and then tilted her head forward as if she was bowing once again.

Margrethe raised her eyes to the sky and shook her head, huffing. People called Angrboda many ways, and everyone seemed to have an opinion. But Margrethe thought she was just a girl.

She saw her anger develop, she felt it crawl on her own skin. But she chose to ignore it – she refused to be scared of such a little girl.

“It was her who hurt Hvitserk that much.”

“Was it? Impossible. Hvitserk is a warrior, a Son of Ragnar!”

“Yes, he is. And she still did what she did. Unbelievable!”

“Speak your words quietly, Margrethe. Everyone knows it brings such bad luck to speak ill of Angrboda Loki-Kissed.”

“Superstition doesn’t make what I tell you less true.”

Agnes just nodded to Margrethe words and didn’t dare to say anything else. She kept her brown eyes pointed to the ground and chose to remain quiet for a while.

Margrethe felt the deep need to give her a firm shake and push some sense into her, thinking how stupid could it be to think that speaking of someone has will over someone’s luck?

Angrboda fame mainly arrived from the value of her name and not because of her own. And from the greatness of her father, whom everyone knew, apparently.

Margrethe smiled to herself once more, thinking that once she was done with spreading rumours, then she could take some time to instigate doubt in the Brothers who would listen.

“But, why? Is there a reason?”

“Oh, there might be, yes. It generally wouldn’t come cheap. But I am generous today. And I have other things to share so-” Margrethe just smiled at the other girl, who was now hooked on what secrets she had to share. Agnes clearly established that whatever she had to say had value. “In return, I just want you to spread these secrets.”

Agnes nodded vigorously, and Margrethe didn’t doubt she would in fact do as she asked.

So, she took a deep breath and nodded, pretending she had to convince herself to say more. “Hvitserk Ragnarsson and Angrboda are apparently really, really close. And he did something that angered her.”

She saw the exact moment her secret left her lips and slid into Agnes’ ears, becoming a thought.

“What did he do?”

“He apparently went with another woman.”

“Oh- Close. That close? You mean they were a couple?”

“I am not sure about the matter. It seems to be a complicated situation even around the Hall. But they are close, yes.”

“Margrethe, are you sure about your words? This is very, very interesting.”

“Yes. I am sure.”

“Who’s the other woman?”

“Of that, I don’t know.” She didn’t dare to mix her own honour in the gossip. Maybe one day it would have come out, as things do. But she didn’t care about it now. Now it wasn’t the moment to put herself in a position of disadvantage.

Margrethe’s lips curled in another smirk, thinking her next piece of information was possibly her most valuable one so far. She wasn’t done and she wanted to place even more doubt between the people about Angrboda’s person.

“I have got more. And believe me, what I have, you don’t want to miss. This piece of information is the most valuable I have.”

Agnes widened her eyes, clearly thirsty for information, which just went straight into feeding Margrethe intentions.

“For this, I want payment. I’ve been good with you, so far.”

Agnes hesitated just a second, clearly thinking about how much could be worth. Margrethe saw her eyes distancing themselves from the world, but waited patiently for her answer, knowing if it wasn’t Agnes, she could have easily found someone else to share her secrets with.

But Margrethe knew she had to act quickly and use her chance wisely. No news was good or profitable if stale.

Agnes finally sighed and then nodded, reaching in her dress pocket. She showed Margrethe an almost completely empty tiny glass bottle, but as little as it seemed, the amount of its content was precious, even if she didn’t know what it was.

“It’s a fine lavender oil. My mistress uses it on her skin.”

Margrethe smiled, the most valuable part of the oil was the glass bottle. She didn’t even have to think about it and just took it off Agnes’ hands, nodding. “It looks like the Loki-Kissed is very close to another Brother too.” Margrethe paused, looking intensely at Agnes. She wanted to see the other hang off her own words. “Ivar the Boneless.”

Agnes welcomed her words with a smile, shaking her head. “Everyone knows that. They grew together. He was raised and trained by her father, Floki the Boat-Builder. They are like brother and sister.”

Margrethe didn’t know that, but she didn’t need that knowledge to know they were close.

Angrboda was protective of him – as it was stated the night she travelled over to mend to one of Ivar’s sicknesses. And Ivar was with her. Just a blind wouldn’t have noticed how his eyes always followed her around.

So, in the beginning, she just nodded. But then she shot the other servant a look, tipping her head to the side. “Does brother and sister share a bed then?”

“What are you saying?”

“Apparently, arrangements were made to have them meet in a cabin on the coast, under the agreement of spending a night together.”

Agnes gasped, raising a hand to her chest. Her eyes widened. But a second after she lowered her eyes to the ground.

“Loki-Kissed and Boneless. This is- Confusing. Didn’t you just say she is particularly close to Hvitserk?”

“Ah, but here is the thing. Apparently, she is thirsty for power. And she might be close to all of them that way, for what we know. Manipulating the Sons of Ragnar.” Margrethe showed a serious face, even if she wanted to grin.

She knew the rumours about Angrboda. And she knew people were either scared or straight didn’t like her. But how much would they accept her being around the Brothers if everyone thought she was actually, concretely manipulating them?

The people would have followed the Sons of Ragnar to the edge of the World. But surely not Angrboda.

Angrboda left the cabin early that morning.

Ivar and her got awakened by the bright and truthful light of the sunrise.

Untying the tight hug they slept in, they also loosened whatever deep bond united them that night. They needed to accept the consequences of their decision. Because reality was already expecting them in the outside world.

The passion and intimacy that united them the night before left space to awkwardness and silence. It felt cold. And it felt colder and colder the more Angrboda thought about, or remembered, how hot was the fire that burned them both just a few hours before.

It was easy to imagine that the bigger distance grew between Angrboda and Ivar, and the more time would accumulate between what happened last night and now, the easier it would be to accept it and just continue with one’s life.

That was supposed to be how things worked. And how they should have been working according to their innocent agreement.

That's what Angrboda expected.

She really wanted to think that way about it and feel it happen around her. It was just one night in which their destinies and bodies crossed, nothing more, nothing less. Everything would have been fine. Becoming easier to not think about, at least.

Not to forget. Never to forget. She wouldn’t have taken that path if her decision was to regret her actions. She didn’t regret anything.

Maybe just hurting Hvitserk, of that she was quite sorry. But at the same time part of her just lazed in the idea that it was more than worth it. Just to reach what she imagined to be her goal to finally break whatever bond was left with Hvitserk.

It would have been nice if things were as easy as she expected them to be.

But of course, they weren't.

The fairies chanted their songs, carried by the wind, in an echo throughout entire valleys and forests, carrying a tangle of Ivar and Angrboda's names. As a reminder that followed her the entire way home.

Worse than anything it wasn’t just the fact that Angrboda could still clearly feel Ivar hands on her skin, or the warmth of his body radiating through hers, or him crawling upon her. Or the sound of his voice in her head.

The worst thing was that she slowly started to realize it was real, more than real, especially with the more distance she would put between herself and Ivar. That bond between them, that moment when she felt their darkness mix and connect becoming one, that was definitely more than real. And it followed her.

She hoped time and distance would quiet things down. Instead, Ivar was with her.

She really hoped she felt what she felt just because of the energy of sex.

Sex was always considered one of the most powerful binding energies between worlds. It was like a sacred ritual, and it could be used as such. In fact, many times it was by witches or rituals of their people. People would easily find their way closer to their animal roots and spirits, during such happenings.

Angrboda wanted to think about it that way. She needed to cling to the idea that it was just the resonance of a powerful moment. So it wouldn’t give their decision such a binding, unavoidable weight.

But it wasn’t.

It definitely wasn’t just a powerful moment.

She was wrong.

Knowing it was easy.

She felt Ivar’s heartbeat inside her chest. It was like feeling her own heartbeat, knowing perfectly well it was happening constantly and rhythmically without having to think about it, much like breathing. Yet, it resonated with another beat that echoed in her chest. A constant invader, yet welcomed like it was supposed to be there like it always was.

And she felt his breath flowing through his lungs, and so hers.

She needed to focus a bit more to discover that their channel wasn’t just that. Angrboda felt what his skin felt. She heard the echo of his voice and even if she could not understand clearly what he said, she knew that it wasn't a memory but a present moment.

Ivar was flowing inside of her. The distance seemed to become greater and greater. Yet she felt so deeply connected to him. It was beyond her powers. It was visceral.

It was terrifying.

Whatever she felt the night before was, it was now undeniable and powerful.

Part of her wanted to understand what it meant and why it existed. She wanted to explore that bond. How far and deep would it go? How much were they connected? Would it dissipate, one day?

There was now a sea storm roaring inside of her. It was made of violent emotions clashing with each other like dense and dark clouds carrying thunder and flashes of lightning, unleashing their violent rain and winds over the agitated deep black waters of an undiscovered ocean.

But part of Angrboda didn’t want to see or feel those emotions.

She knew both Ivar and she were hoping to go back to reality. Yet, they didn’t stand a chance.

Or better, she didn’t stand a chance. Not when her entire world seemed so different now.

“Damn it…” Angrboda whispered to herself, lowering her head and curving her body on top of Ulfrún.

The horse reacted to her move, stopping her pace and raising her head, meeting Angrboda halfway and giving her a place to rest, for a moment. She seemed to do it on purpose and Angrboda gratefully accepted that move.

She was tired of not having one thing going as it was supposed to. Or as she wanted it to go, at least. Even just once.

It wasn’t that she hated the idea of being connected so deeply to Ivar – that wasn’t the major problem.

But she desperately wanted some peace.

As much as her mind could crave it so intensely. Her body was instead ready for battle. Ready for a fight.

She didn’t need to be a witch to imagine that she would have not received what she was craving for possibly for a long time.

Angrboda suddenly felt overwhelmed by everything and a state of panic started to settle in.

She felt the adrenaline crawl under her skin, tensing her muscles in sudden cramps of pain. Her heartbeat accelerated, beating quicker and quicker, and her breath became irregular.

The more she thought about it, the more she spiralled into those feelings and felt worse.

Angrboda clutched her fingers around Ulfrún’s black, long mane, squeezing it.

Angrboda's body shook under such pressure and pain, and she broke into a silent cry, unable to keep her tears in, unable to think or��be.

She moved a hand to her own chest, trying to squeeze as much skin she could through the material of her shirt and leather vest. She pushed her fingers against her diaphragm, hoping she could somehow slide them under her skin to rip it apart, and through her ribs to break them open, so to reach her heart and just tear it out.

If she could do all of that, her torn, still beating and bleeding heart would be sacrificed to her dearest God Loki.

Would he, then, answer her prayers and give her peace? Would he, then, accept her sacrifice?

A strong shiver shook Angrboda's little figure, she now looked even smaller.

A sudden thought, blurry like a lost memory, hit Angrboda. To focus on her breathing. In and out, slowly.

She was so lost in her own mind, panic and torments, that didn’t even realise it wasn’t a memory – but a voice hissing through her thoughts and slowly guiding her to gain control.

Angrboda slowly found a hold on her breathing, deciding to put every single thought and any inch of attention on it. She started to count the seconds, to time her inhaling and exhaling.

And slowly the control over her breath spread throughout her entire being.

Angrboda sat back up, and quickly ran her hand on her face, clearing the tears that scarred her skin.

She took a second to regain control and order, shaking her shoulders as if it could be that easy to shake off all her emotions.

Then, as nothing happened, she gave a grateful caress on Ulfrún neck, just a second before encouraging the grey mare to continue into her walk through the forest.

Her mind felt light, her thoughts were muffled, as her emotions, for all the rest of her journey.

She knew it took some time, but it definitely felt like it took only a couple of minutes to reach Floki’s workshop by the beach.

Angrboda dismounted and then guided Ulfrún to the haystack where the other horses were kept, noticing her father’s horse was gone.

She took the time to unload her bag from her horse’s side and then took the saddle off Ulfrún.

Then, Angrboda ran her hands on her grey mare back and side, both to give her a cuddle and to check the temperature of her coat.

After all the travelling Ulfrún did in the past few days, Angrboda knew she needed a good brush and a wash. And she wanted to do it, to take care of her, but… Later.

Angrboda moved in front of Ulfrún, who lowered her head into her rider's hands and accepted her closeness.

Ulfrún welcomed Angrboda caresses with a low neigh. It was a friendly and warm sound. She knew her loyal horse was there supporting her – people who diminished horses to just common animals were so wrong. Because they were massively strong and intelligent animals, but most of all, they were empathetic.

Angrboda pushed her forehead on Ulfrún's muzzle and closed her eyes for a second, breathing in, and out. Still trying to push the panic down,, hoping to do it enough to suppress it.

“Angrboda!” Helga’s familiar voice broke the silence.

Her tone was as sweet and as warm as the one of a loving mother would be, Angrboda felt it around her like a hug.

She was distracted enough to not have felt her energy being close. Even if it was supposed to be quite alarming for someone like her, Angrboda didn’t pay too much attention to that miss.

“Mother.” She turned over and let Helga welcome her with a hug.

At the beginning of that contact, Angrboda felt a bit uneasy. Feeling someone else’s closeness on her body made her skin crawl. But slowly, she melted away between her mother’s arms and gripped on her tighter, finding a moment to relax.

“Are you ok, my child?” Helga didn’t let go but kept her close.

Angrboda senses and powers seemed to be waking up, muffled and confused like after a very long sleep. But slowly, she started to feel Helga’s aura. Her concern. Her love. Her sweetness.

Angrboda just shook her head, and then hid her face on her shoulder. “I don’t know. I don’t- know.”

“Come. Us girls can talk. Your father is away.”

“Where did he go?”

“Ragnar departed this morning to Hedeby and we lent him a horse. But your father wanted to walk the way with him and then go to Kattegat.”

“Oh, I see.”

Helga guided Angrboda through the beach, taking her arm under hers. “So, what has happened?”

“I-” Angrboda hesitated. Her words stopped, trapped in her throat and for a few moments she could not talk.

A new wave of anxiety washed over her. Angrboda lowered her eyes, squeezing herself in her shoulders. There were so many things she wanted to say. So much has happened. And she needed to unload the weight over her shoulders.

Gods, if she needed to unload.

But something still stopped her.

The thought that her opening up could do worse, maybe causing bigger problems, or that it could simply be an inconvenience.

Helga stopped, pulling Angrboda to follow her too.

The two women looked at each other for a while, and it seemed like they were looking in a mirror, each face was a reflection of the other.

Angrboda's eyes burned of the same green her father’s irises did, with the same intellect and determination. But they were shaped like her mother’s, in such a sweet curve of her brows and forehead. Her cheeks would be as pink as Helga’s, with a smile able to melt ice like her mother had, a gift the Gods gave her too.

But Angrboda didn’t just look like her mother. She had her sweet essence burning through her veins, with her charm and knowledge.

Helga was a being of such purity. Perfectly able to do great things, able healer and witch, she could wield life and death in her hands, yet she never had any interest in hurting anyone. Her patience, calm and comprehension for others were one of a kind, and in all the years Angrboda knew her, she never saw her break or lose her control.

Helga was a precious woman.

Her mother just looked and looked through Angrboda’s eyes, and then raised her hand, firstly caressing the air around her face like her father would do with her aura, and then, she scooped her cheek in her palm, both firmly and lightly, caressing her skin.

“I am your mother, Angrboda. I know something happened. I know something is always happening. I see it through your eyes, I feel it all around you. I will always give you space-”

“Something is always happening seems almost like a euphemism.” Angrboda interrupted Helga’s words, showing a sad smile.

She ate away enough space. From how long she wasn’t openly speaking to her mother? From how long she cut Helga out of her troubles?

Angrboda took a deep breath, and then finally nodded, deciding that words would have come out, sooner or later. An avalanche just needed the wrong pebble to fall out of place to start rolling.

“I- I spent the night with someone.”

“Was it Hvitserk White-Shirt?”

“No.”

Helga just nodded, her aura betrayed such hope following her words. Angrboda knew she liked Hvitserk for her. Her mother knew about their affection even before Angrboda noticed it.

Her mother then continued on walking to their main tent in the middle of the beach. For a moment there was silence, between the two women, while Helga invited Angrboda to take a comfortable seat.

“Forgive me for possibly overstepping, my daughter, but I thought you and Hvitserk were close. You were so in love with the boy!”

Angrboda, sat on a pillow and to her mother's words automatically retracted as much as possible in her own shell, she curled up on herself, tucking her legs in a hug against her chest. Her eyes were sad and evasive. “I know.”

She whispered like it was a secret that needed to be kept from those who were always watching and listening.

Helga tipped her head to the side, just looking at her. Implying she could talk if she wanted. And Angrboda bit into that silence. “For reasons I cannot explain, my closeness to Hvitserk can’t happen. He cannot know. Nobody can know.”

“But you can tell me anything. Whatever you’ve done, or has happened, I will always stand next to you.”

With Helga words, Angrboda’s heart warmed up and melted away in such deep love and respect for her mother.

She always considered herself a lucky person to be raised and loved by two people like Floki and Helga. Both because everything they were, and so she was, but especially because of that unconditional affection her parents always seemed to have for her, no matter what.

Both Helga and Floki were two people considered different from everyone else, tied to each other by such love, but also comprehension of their nature, backgrounds and attitudes. And that same feeling branched over to their daughter.

Angrboda felt surrounded and overwhelmed by her mother’s love. In a good way.

She felt her mother's feelings release through her aura and flow all around and throughout her. She breathed them and mirrored them reflecting what Helga thought and felt just looking at her.

It was powerful. An unbreakable bond that started so many years ago and lasted through so many things. And still beat and existed – and always would have.

With everything that has happened and changed around her, and how much she was now transformed - she wasn’t a child anymore, and she wasn’t the same girl she was one year ago - her parents’ love was a stable, unchangeable reference and point of a strong connection.

Like the North Star would be for a lost traveller.

Angrboda felt enlivened, becoming brighter and less oppressed by her usual thoughts and worries. It wasn’t an emotion Angrboda managed to show effectively.

In fact, her expression relaxed and her eyes sparkled with affection. Even a warm smile appeared on her lips. But that was it – there was some kind of awkward barrier that stopped Angrboda from actually telling her mother how appreciative she was.

Because she was. And at the same time, she also thought that her mother could always say and feel something of that sort, seeing her as her child, loving her unconditionally, yet not completely understand.

Would she understand, now?

She would have accepted her and stood by her. But would have Helga comprehend totally what Angrboda was going through and her reasons?

Angrboda didn’t give it any thought, before rushing to the conclusion that probably she wouldn’t have. As any young person would think of an older and wiser one. Accepting someone else who could know better was difficult, especially for a woman like her, at her age, going through what she was living.

Angrboda raised her hands to her hair and moved her copper waves to the side, starting to distractedly braid them, suddenly feeling the need to fill her hands with something.

“I know, I know-” she paused for a second, trying to find better words that wouldn’t sound dismissive, “-but you don’t understand.”

There were still so many things that she wanted to say to enlighten the entire situation, but she knew she didn’t have the right words for it.

“So, explain it to me, then.” Helga's voice didn’t change. Her tone remained gentle and mild. It sounded almost surprising.

Angrboda squeezed herself between her shoulders in an automatic reaction, almost trying to evade that conversation that suddenly started to feel heavy, in a way. “I –” Angrboda stopped, trying to collect her thoughts into a sentence that would make sense and sound explanatory, but also respectable. “-I might have taken the decision to lay with another man to honour him, but also for selfish reasons.”

“What were your reasons?”

“At the beginning it was vengeance. I wanted to get back at Hvitserk for something. But then it became-” Another pause followed while Angrboda searched for a way to phrase her thoughts. She lowered her eyes, escaping her mother’s sight. “Then I thought that lying with someone else could have definitely broken the bond between me and Hvitserk.”

“Oh. Well, it makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“I guess it does. But I am also imagining that you cannot have definite proof that your plan will work, can you?”

“Not really, no. But I am hoping it will. The biggest problem is not even that.”

“And what is?”

“It was supposed to be just as it sounds. We both agreed, no strings attached. Yet, I now think the entire world shifted around itself.”

A tiny smirk appeared on Helga's lips and a shot of sincere amusement crossed her aura.

Angrboda wanted to be filled in with whatever funny thought she just had. “What is it?”

“My love, I really wouldn’t give any man such a credit after a night of passion.”

Angrboda’s cheeks caught fire, turning violently red. But a true, jolly smile appeared on her lips. But Angrboda didn’t answer, still not sure what happened last night.

Ivar’s heartbeat was still there. Like the rhythm of his breath. Still echoing in her chest.

“Who is this man, then?”

“Ivar.”

“The Boneless?!” Her mother gasped. Her wide eyes opened even more while pure surprise crossed the woman. The feeling didn’t carry any malicious sense. Just pure curiosity.

Angrboda was surprised to find such a pleasant warmth surrounding Helga, while that information sunk in.

She knew Helga loved Ivar like a son. They grew together, and Helga was there, following every lesson Floki had to teach them. Before Angrboda had the knowledge to heal Ivar, Helga’s hands were the ones that took care of his injuries and pain.

Angrboda just remained quiet for a moment. “Ivar and I- Something had changed, mother.”

“You know, my child, that sex is the most powerful magic – together with the one of blood. I’m not surprised you’re now changed.”

“But I didn’t need it to change. I needed this to remain as it was.”

“And what was it supposed to be?”

“I didn’t need another thing to become complicated, mother.”

“Can you explain the change you felt?”

Angrboda lowered her eyes on the ground. She wasn’t sure how much she wanted to say.

It was her secret.

Ivar’s love for her seemed to be a secret he kept for a very long time. Now, it was hers.

And their connection. That was hers too.

Angrboda just raised a hand to her chest, slowly beating her palm against her own flesh. “I feel Ivar now. I am connected to him. There’s no way I can explain it.”

She looked into her mother’s eyes, waiting for an answer. Helga nodded to her, remaining silent for a very long few seconds. “Why is that a bad thing?”

“I never said it was a bad thing. It’s just change I didn’t need.”

“The only thing that is certain is change. You cannot be just play being kids forever.”

“No. Of course not-”

“Let me ask you this: do you regret it?”

“No.”

“So, where is the problem?”

“The problem is that I- I am tired of having to deal with difficult situations. I would like something to be easy.”

“But you are not a common woman. You know that better than anyone else, my child. Your life won’t be easy, unfortunately. I wish I could be of better help. But I can just tell you that you’re so strong, and one day all this fighting won’t appear so difficult, I promise.”

Helga leaned closer, squeezing Angrboda’s hands between hers and nodding, looking right into her eyes, as if she wanted to make sure that the seed of that idea properly found grounds in her mind.

Angrboda nodded, even if Helga’s answer didn’t satisfy her. She wished once in a while she could receive a better answer to her problems than just the fact that she was different and so deserving of an unsettled and difficult existence.

“You’re helping, mother. I- I guess at the moment I have to accept not having answers, but talking is helping.” It was true, with every word, and new notion that she let out from her lips the weight pushing her down seemed to lift. Not disappear completely but at least ease.

Another amused smile appeared on Helga’s lips. Behind her hazel eyes, Angrboda could clearly see her curious spirit dancing. “Now, you’re clearly a grown woman. So, how about you let me teach you how to brew your own infusion of herbs to avoid unwanted pregnancies, uhm? I am going to guess it might be another complication we don’t want to worry about… Right?”

“Yes. Right. I’m not naïve about this though. I did think to ask you.”

“I know you’re a smart woman. You’ve got your brains from me.”

Helga nodded towards her while tapping her index on her temple, exchanging with her daughter a cheeky smile.

“And in the meantime you can better explain to me what is going on, or what happened, uhm? If you want.”

Angrboda nodded now a bit more convinced, maybe even confident, willing to fulfil her mother’s curiosity. She welcomed the feeling of her chest being a little lighter, and a little brighter with such a relief.

Helga moved. Getting back up she started looking around, probably thinking about what ingredients she needed.

Then, a sudden giggle pervaded her mother. Helga shook her head raising a hand to her face like she was trying to hide her smile and contain her laugh, which became even stronger.

“What is it?” Angrboda lifted her head up, trying to catch her attention, or understand what was so hilarious.

Helga turned over and Angrboda was hit by her amusement. “You know, I think that your father is going after the wrong man, then.”

Margrethe fixed her dress wiggling in it and moving it back around her body as it was supposed to be worn.

She passed her hands on the thick material of its skirt, trying to flatten some barely noticeable or totally invisible creases.

Her hands vibrated under a tiny charge of nervousness that quickly spread like wildfire throughout her whole being.

Maybe, she would have been able to rustle some time up later and sneak around the coast to give herself a wash.

Her sudden need to be clean and tidy, showing a perfect image was moved by such different feelings. There was her slight guilt, and the idea she was possibly doing something wrong. But more than that, it was the anxiety of a moment she felt just like one would a second before jumping off a cliff.

She inhaled oxygen in her lungs, trying to breathe her nervousness away.

Fresh air would have definitely helped more than the congested one of the barn, smelling of dry hay, earth, manure and sex. But she could not do much better than that, right now.

Her plan worked. After she told all her information and did what she had to at the market, she went back home knowing that Kattegat would be soon buzzing with news.

She made her way back to the Hall and patiently continued with her day, waiting and filling the time with chores she didn’t really want to do but could not escape.

Until the brothers came back.

They all left early that morning to presumably go and fetch Ivar from the place he met Angrboda the night before.

What she had to say at the market were not lies. She knew what she was talking about and how much tension that happening created around the Hall, especially between the Brothers.

She was there when Ivar broke the news to his brothers. The crippled one was all proud and quite frankly impudent about it – and was met with different reactions by the others.

No one judged him, as Margrethe would have expected it to happen. Not even Sigurd. But Hvitserk kicked off quite badly about it. It was understandable if he was as close to Angrboda as it seemed to be.

But then, for some reason that Margrethe could not quite understand, in a dynamic she was totally a stranger to, even Hvitserk calmed down and just seemed to accept the news, blessing his younger brother.

Well, she was not of the same opinion the Brothers seemed to have on the matter. And of course, Margrethe was convinced she had the right to have an opinion about it.

“You seem bothered.”

Margrethe didn’t realise she got carried away by her own thoughts.

She looked over, finding Ubbe still laying in the hay, looking comfortable and satisfied. His blue eyes pierced through her, studying her every move.

Margrethe covered her thoughts with a smile, leaning her head to the side, imagining that could be enough to distract him.

“I am not bothered. Maybe I'm just concerned.” She moved closer to him. Kneeling next to Ubbe, she raised a hand to caress his features in an affectionate manner.

Ubbe was definitely her favourite between them all, and she knew they were growing closer to each other. Or at least, she knew he was starting to develop feelings for her. Of which she felt quite proud of.

She was working on getting close to Sigurd as well. But she had to behave in such different ways with the two brothers.

Ubbe didn’t need her attention to inflate his confidence, of that he was already quite full. But she knew he was ambitious and he liked to conquer power, lands or hearts alike. So, she knew he liked the idea of charming her away from the others, taking it as a personal gain because of his infatuation in her regards, but also as a win.

Instead Sigurd just liked to have the affirmation that he could have attention. He was nonetheless powerful and he still was owed respect for being a Son of Ragnar – but he had a stormy heart and quite a short temper, he definitely liked to receive care and consideration though. Margrethe devotion and love was enough to make him crumble.

So, she had to say that her plan was working quite well. She would have used anyone to climb the ladder to her freedom. But if she had to bet on someone she would have picked, that was Ubbe.

The Son of Ragnar turned his head, and closing his eyes he softly kissed the palm of her hand. “What’s the problem?”

“Oh-” Margrethe retracted her hand, then placed them both on her knees. She turned her head and leaned it on the side, clearly showing herself uncertain – even scared. But also, trying to hide away. “I don’t know if I can talk freely.”

“You can always talk freely around me.”

Margrethe kept her act, hooking Ubbe’s attention with her naïve behaviour.

Again, her plan worked better than expected. A bit of acting and sex was definitely the quickest way into a man’s heart.

Margrethe showed hesitation as much as possible. Even if she looked forward to proceeding with her plan to isolate Angrboda from the brothers, she still had to be smart about it.

“I am concerned about you. And your brothers.”

“Why?” Ubbe sat up, leaning closer to her. Once his attention was hooked, Margrethe finally raised her eyes, pulling out her secret weapon: having them widened, assuming such a lost girl expression.

She knew someone as courageous and heroic as Ubbe would have never resisted such a look.

“I am hearing things all around, and I am seeing things. I think you’re being manipulated. All of you. And it’s dangerous. Extremely dangerous.”

“My brothers and I are not kids, we know how to take care of ourselves.”

“Forgive me, if I am overstepping but- I- I am just worried.”

“You said we were manipulated. By who? In what way? What did you hear or saw?”

“I think it’s Angrboda.” Margrethe whispered her name, pretending just saying it scared her deeply.

At that point, she noticed Ubbe freeze on the spot, his eyes became sharper and, if possible, brighter.

“Can’t you see how the witch is working her way on you? How is she winding all of you up and putting you against each other? I think she is trying to-”

The more she talked, the more livid Ubbe’s face became. She didn’t expect it, she thought she had him in a tight enough grasp to be able to manipulate him. But she didn’t, clearly.

He shushed her, shaking his head. “Of this, you’re not free to speak.” He just turned away and got up, seemingly ready to leave without saying another word to her.

Which Margrethe didn’t have any intention of letting him do, so she followed. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean-”

Ubbe turned over. He looked angry and extremely serious. To the point that when he raised a hand to her face, she was ready to be slapped and be silenced back to her position.

He didn’t. Besides his anger, he still showed her such sweetness, just scooping her cheek into his palm. “I do not know what you heard. But I know what people say. Let me clear up that Angrboda is a sister to us. She is one of us. And she is not malicious as people describe her. Do not believe what you hear.”

“But she-”

“This conversation is over, Margrethe. Angrboda is not a matter of discussion. And you do not have to worry about her.”

Margrethe bit her tongue, thinking she just messed that right up. Maybe she should have waited a bit longer, worked her way into Ubbe’s heart deeper before trying to seep doubts in his head about Angrboda. Maybe.

The idea he was so attached to her, to the point he wouldn’t listen for any reason, but just straight be ready to protect her was infuriating. Was she jealous? Maybe. Maybe a bit.

Both because she didn’t disdain Ubbe, she liked him quite enough, so the idea another woman was around him wasn’t appealing, and because she wanted to provoke the same kind of loyalty and reaction in her own regards.

Ubbe raised his other hand too, now firmly grabbing her face, bringing her to look him straight in the eye. For a few seconds, he just stood there. His icy irises seemed to penetrate into her brain. “You know what I would worry about? The distance you keep from Hvitserk. Angrboda is not someone you want to cross.”

“I-”

“No. Don’t say anything. Just take my suggestion.”

Margrethe just nodded.

Her mind travelled fast to many thoughts. More than anything, she wondered how a girl so pariah gained such respect between the Sons of Ragnar. How was it that she wasn’t treated like any common woman, but like one of them, as Ubbe said, and yet could be seen as a woman nonetheless?

The more Margrethe thought about it, the more she convinced herself that Angrboda was a threat to her plan.

She knew she made enough wrong moves around her to make Angrboda not like her. So, now it was a matter of time. If Angrboda would have whispered her disapproval about Margrethe in any of the brothers’ ears they would have listened to her, clearly.

Margrethe needed to act fast and find a more secure position very soon. Before her plan could go up in smoke and she would be doom to life as a slave. She just couldn’t accept the idea. She already was too comfortable in her fantasy – soon to be a reality, as she liked to imagine becoming Queen.

And she wouldn’t have let a girl ruin her hard work.

It was a matter of time and her window to have the upper hand was very short.

Ubbe gave her a gentle shake. “I am serious. You must be very careful. You know I like you, but not as much to accept this behaviour.”

“I am sorry.”

Ubbe just nodded and then, without saying anything else, he just left her.

Once alone, Margrethe just looked at the barn door from where Ubbe exited. Her eyes burned. She squeezed her fists, shaking in frustration and slight fear.

Of course, she wouldn’t have let Ubbe warnings stop her. She had a plan and was convinced into making it out and getting her freedom and power.

And her possibilities didn’t end there.

Just because Ubbe was her first choice, and the first she turned to – it didn’t mean he was the only one she could speak with about her concerns.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Hvitserk was untouchable. She imagined his affection for Angrboda was too blinding for her to have a chance to slip through the cracks and manipulate him.

Ivar was too unpredictable and she imagined he would have welcomed her words with anger, protecting Angrboda. But of Ivar, she was actually scared, because she knew he lacked consciousness or remorse and maybe he would have even killed her if he felt like it.

So, she was left with Sigurd, who she knew was infatuated and easy to manipulate. Especially on the whole Angrboda matter. He didn’t seem to have any intention to protect her, and definitely Sigurd clearly doubted Angrboda.

Margrethe waited patiently for the time to pass. She left the barn only when it felt like it was long enough to exit from it without raising suspicion.

She went looking for Sigurd, which didn’t require long, she knew where he liked to hide when he didn’t to be around the Hall with the others – which meant most of his time.

He could be either at the tavern playing music, singing and drinking, but that was a more possible scenario in the evening. Or enjoying being alone, hiding away behind the stables.

There Margrethe found him.

She heard the musical tune of his flute betraying Sigurd’s presence.

All the Brothers had different interests besides the usual fighting, hunting and fishing.

Ubbe and Hvitserk both liked to play various dice games, both being quite skilled and extremely competitive about it. Margrethe imagined they just kept challenging each other throughout the years, becoming better and better.

Ivar’s hobby was carving wood. It wasn’t something the cripple ever showed anyone, but it wasn’t even so well hidden. It could be carving runes, or creating figurines either way. Margrethe hated to think someone like him could be talented.

Sigurd’s was music and flyting, he had a talent for that form of creation. He was able to play various instruments, gifted with fine hearing and a tuneful voice, but he could also master words both in ballads and poetical insults.

Margrethe saw him practice flyting many times and definitely, it was Sigurd’s favourite pastime.

She took a second to compose herself. Before turning the corner, she fixed her hair and pinched her cheeks, to make her skin blush. Once more, she ran her hands on her simple dress, making sure it looked nice and in order.

“There you are!” She chirped, greeting Sigurd with the offering of a smile. He immediately lowered his flute, raising his green eyes on her.

Sigurd smirked at her getting back up on his feet, from the pile of hay he sat on. “Looking for me?”

“In fact I was.”

“I wonder for pleasure or need?”

“Why not both?” Margrethe stepped closer to him, unleashing all her charm, knowing perfectly well he was vulnerable to it.

Sigurd was the only one between the Brothers who wouldn’t hide his interest in her even in front of the Queen herself, and Margrethe had to admit she liked how bold he could be, every now and then.

Even if her greater ambition remained pointed towards the oldest between them.

But of course, Sigurd didn’t need to know that.

She raised a hand to his torso, softly caressing his chest while tipping her head to the side. Her eyes were filled with manipulative warmth but were welcomed by Snake-in-the-Eye.

Sigurd’s smirk assumed a warmer curve, while leaned in for a kiss, that Margrethe didn’t deny him. “What is it that you need, then?”

“Oh. Besides everything else you could offer, my prince, there is something I’m here to humbly ask.”

“Yes. I know. I see it in your eyes.” Sigurd moved a hand raising it to her face, firstly caressing her jawline and then tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear.

He was sharp as a blade. With Sigurd one could not so easily understand his means or motives. Even in his affection, she wasn’t entirely sure she managed to tangle him around her fingers because he truly fell in love with her, or if it was to prove a point to others. Yet, it was a closeness that benefitted both of them, and so they both enjoyed it.

“I need your protection.”

Sigurd's expression suddenly changed. His features hardened, shaded by sudden defence and seriousness. “What has happened?”

“I might have attracted the animosity of a few members of the Hall. Of whom erratic behaviour I am concerned. Not just for me… But for all of you.”

“Who?”

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that.”

Margrethe gave him a look that didn’t need explanation. The sudden glimpse of enlightening that crossed his eyes made it clear he immediately understood who she was talking about. Especially for someone who knew what she had done and caused, in recent times.

Sigurd nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“I am not so scared only of Angrboda.”

“No. You still have to be careful around that one.”

“Yes. But she is clearly protected by someone who scares me way more.”

“Hvitserk is not that scary, believe me. He is just dominated by a stupid infatuation. I hope for my brother he will open his eyes up soon. But otherwise, he is harmless.”

“But I am not talking about Hvitserk. I wouldn’t be scared of him.”

Sigurd remained in silence for a second, clearly thinking about what she could mean. “Are you talking about Ivar?”

“Yes.”

Sigurd didn’t reply. Margrethe just watched his expression becoming more livid, but he waited for her to explain. And she wasn’t waiting for anything better. “No one should have a witch so close to power. Everyone knows it’s bad news. Yet, Angrboda is extremely close to all your brothers. Even to you.”

“She is not close to me.”

“Then why did you never outed what she had done to your brother Hvitserk?”

“My loyalty doesn’t lie to her if that is your concern. I stayed quiet for my brother's honour. Besides, who would take him seriously with the knowledge that a woman did that to him?!” Sigurd tongue was often left free and would easily run through hurtful words. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even realise it. But it was his nature. And his words hissed, filled with poison.

“One way or the other, Angrboda can roam free at the Hall. I saw it. I saw that she can do whatever she wants.”

“Yes.”

“And she is under Ivar protection.”

“Ivar is just a spoiled little boy, and a cripple. What threat could he ever be?”

“Maybe not to you. You’re a Ragnarsson. But for a useless slave?” I wronged the Loki-Kissed and now, Ivar is free to unleash his vengeance on me. You didn’t notice his comments? His behaviour? He scares me…”

“Hvitserk wronged Angrboda. Not you.”

“Yes, but what can Ivar understand? The nightmares I constantly have of him killing me in terrible ways.” Margrethe spectacle became almost art. She showed such a scared mask which to her came out quite easily – as lying.

“He would not get so close to you to ever do such a thing.”

“How can you be sure? And with the witch whispering in his ear at all times-”

“I know. I see the danger. I keep trying to make my brothers understand how dangerous it is to keep a witch so close. But none of them would listen.”

“Maybe your brothers wouldn’t because they are too consumed by the Loki-Kissed tricks. But what about your people?”

“What do you mean?”

“I have heard what the people of Kattegat think about her. I know your people do not like Angrboda.”

“So, what are you suggesting?”

“I think it wouldn’t be a difficult thing to brand her as an outcast and wind people up against the witch.”

Margrethe waited for her words to sink into Sigurd’s mind. Of course, she didn’t need his approval for that part of her plan. She already started it. Margrethe was determined to ensure her own position and keep climbing the ladder to reach the top. “So, the people are smart, they understand better, and they can act with the most powerful of voices.”

“Yes, yes. I get what you mean. I don’t even think yours it’s such a terrible idea, honestly.”

Margrethe nodded towards Sigurd, showing him such a proud little smile, perfectly knowing that her plan was good.

Sigurd mirrored her move and nodded. His words, intentions and actions were dictated by worry, but not entirely. Behind his eyes, there was still a sly, selfish aim. He may be acting showing his affection for her, but at the same time… He was listening to her because she was saying something that could be useful to him.

That was it, Margrethe knew they would have been able to help each other.

“And in the meantime, I will protect you. My brother can’t touch you.”

“I am sure that separating him from the Loki-Kissed will be an advantage for you too.”

“Oh, yeah?"

“Yes, in your constant battle against Ivar. Because he will become useless without her.” If she spoke such words, with such courage and insubordination in front of anyone else, she would have been slapped and definitely punished.

But Sigurd just looked at her and raised his chin, his smile became a confident smirk. “Sounds like we’ve got an agreement then. How do you think you should act on this plan? It seems like you’ve got more answers than me, already.”

“Rumours are a powerful instrument, my prince.”

Sigurd nodded at her words with a clear sign of approval and then moved closer to her, leaning in for another kiss.

This time, Margrethe welcomed his lips with more enthusiasm. But pulled back before that kiss could become anything else.

“I need to get back to the Hall. But I will come and look for you later.”

“Lucky me.”

They both smiled at each other, to the point that even Margrethe felt a warm hold around her heart, appreciating the man she had in front of her just because he understood her and didn’t turn her away.

“I will walk you back.”

The two of them quietly found their way back to the Hall.

Margrethe wasn’t sure if Sigurd already had the intention of going back, or if he did it just for her. But either way, it didn’t change much.

She imagined she would have to go back to her chores and start to amend dinner for the Brothers and their mother.

Any slave would have been punished for her behaviour. Taking free time in the middle of the day, or in general, wasn’t something people like her had a choice over. Ever. But Margrethe suffered from the attention of some of the Brothers – which over time, made her too confident on the liberties she decided to take.

Sigurd and her slid through the open doors of the Hall, just to find Hvitserk speaking to someone.

Margrethe could not see the man, but Sigurd’s reaction, pushing his arm out in front of her stopping her from walking any further, made her understand he was someone important.

Her curious eyes ran towards the scene in front of her.

“I will not ask to know what is going on. I do not need to. My daughter will have the freedom to explain herself. But, know this, break her heart again, and I will make you regret every breath you took since you were born.”

That must have been one of the tallest men she ever saw. But besides his body size, which was about the only detail she could distinguish of the man, he didn’t need any more presentation than his words already betrayed.

Hvitserk welcomed his words just raising his chin proudly in a blunt nod. She could see his brown eyes burn of some kind of bright feeling while he looked the other man right in the eye, without flinching. “I wouldn’t dare. But I won’t do it just because of your threats, Floki. But because-”

When Hvitserk confirmed his identity, Margrethe took a second to look at him. She was almost surprised by how he looked. She didn’t picture Floki the Boat-Builder like that: tall and built, his clothes seemed in order and he was armed – she could see the axe hanging off his side. But there was something off in his voice, something peculiar in the way Floki the Boat-Builder sounded out words and sentences. His voice seemed to be high pitched in random moments of the sentences. It was both weird and interesting.

“Yes, yes. I do not need your words on the matter.” Floki quickly interrupted Hvitserk’s words and moved his hands and body erratically all around just to close a hand around his own forehead like he was suddenly hit by a painful headache. “And even if your words bring you honour, young wolf, just keep my words as a reminder. Uhm? You better take good care of my daughter.”

“She can take good care of herself, though. You know that. She doesn’t need a man to do it.” Hvitserk smirked intelligently and Margrethe could just imagine what could be Floki’s facial expression in return to his words.

She observed the man raise a hand to Hvitserk’s shoulder, giving him a soft shake. “You know? I really cannot make up my mind whether I like you or not.”

“I will always look after your daughter. I know you know.”

“I am a fool. I wanted to punish you, and then I decided to spare you but just warn you. Now I might even consider you worthy.”

Sigurd made a step forward, clearly intending to break through that moment between Floki and Hvitserk.

Margrethe could not understand entirely what just happened. The two talked to each other with threats, yet managed to keep respect well high. And, she knew they were talking about Angrboda but why?

What did Hvitserk have to do with anything?

If she had her story straight, then he and Angrboda were nothing at the moment. Actually, more than nothing. She saw in what state he came back last night, after delivering Ivar to his night with the witch.

So, she could not understand how Hvitserk could stand in front of Angrboda’s father and take in all of that, without a doubt or a shiver or anything to say to contradict the man.

She wondered what changed. But for once, Margrethe just faded in the background, accepting her position and not willing to overstep.

“Floki, welcome! I hope my brother made sure to make you feel comfortable upon your arrival!” Sigurd’s words distracted the two men, bringing them both to turn over.

When Floki turned over she could finally fill her curiosity of knowing what face he had.

He was undeniably Angrboda’s father. The two had the same expression, at times.

She had always wondered why Angrboda would always go around with her face marked by black lines. She knew their people did it in battle. But Angrboda did it often on a regular basis. And now, seeing her father’s face marked by the same kind of designs, she understood it was possibly another weird family trait.

Floki was tall, yet she could not define his entire height, because he seemed very comfortable in moving around arching his back and neck in a way that made him look off, and dangerous.

Hvitserk expression became serious as soon as he crossed eyes with his brother.

“I won’t stay long Snake-in-the-Eye, but thank you.”

Sigurd just nodded towards Floki and Hvitserk, and then an amused and impudent smile appeared on his face. He crossed his arms, raising his chin proudly. “I couldn’t stop myself from overhearing your conversation-”

“You shouldn’t listen to other people's business.”

Floki's eyes sparkled with dark humour, and even if he showed a smile, the way he tipped his head to the side, not lifting his sight from Sigurd even for a moment, made him look more like an animal than a person.

Sigurd, anyway, didn’t seem to see any threat and just continued. “You know it wasn’t him who fucked your daughter, yes?”

Floki flinched at the bluntness of his words, and seemed to hold his breath. Clear confusion filled his expression, so he turned over to Hvitserk, looking for answers that the boy didn’t give him. Hvitserk just looked back at Floki, shaking his head.

So, Floki turned back to Sigurd and took a step forward. “What are you saying?”

“Is this what you were talking about, right? Deciding how worthy my brother is to stand next to your sweet, sweet daughter.”

Floki's expression started to change, in a way that made Margrethe shiver and wish to have left her spot behind Sigurd as soon as they came in, running away in the kitchen, instead of being curious.

But now, there was nothing she could do.

Margrethe started to understand at least a glimpse of who Floki was and the possible reasons why he had such respect.

Sigurd, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be scared.

“Sigurd.” Hvitserk called his brother, clearly implying he should shut his mouth.

Floki took another step forward. Every time he moved, his shoulders would sway following his steps. “You better explain yourself, boy.”

Sigurd remained where he was standing, looking proud and content, with a never-fading cocky smirk printed on his lips. “It was Ivar.”

Floki startled once again, clearly gasping to that news. His eyes widened and for a moment, his face glimmered in pure surprise. “Ivar?”

Floki’s voice was a whisper, and Margrethe swore she saw the tiniest of smiles appear in the corner of the man's mouth.

But it disappeared in a matter of a second. Floki’s face got back into its serious and dark expression, now even scarier.

He took his time to walk all the way, confronting Sigurd.

“Look at your amused face.” Floki moved his head from one side to the other, looking into Sigurd’s eyes so intensely that he seemed to be digging in his mind.

Floki raised a hand caressing briefly the air, a second before breaking into a high pitch giggle. “You’re so proud of yourself. But you shouldn’t be.”

Floki's expression suddenly froze. The smile his giggle brought disappeared and his irises burned as if he would eat Sigurd alive.

Margrethe recognized his expression because she saw it reflected on Angrboda’s face.

The difference was, on a man like Floki it was scary.

Floki turned over towards Hvitserk, pointing a finger towards him. “Your brother, at least, had the honour to remain silent, take it in and didn’t betray his brother, being a blabbermouth like you.”

Floki looked back at Sigurd, once again tipping his head from one side to the other.

Just now, Sigurd seemed to tremble. The smile he had on his face slowly dried out.

“Nothing to say about it now, uh? What did you think I would have done, knowing what you told me?” Floki moved even closer, to the point that if Sigurd wasn’t scared, Margrethe was enough for the both of them and took a step backwards, trying to hide.

“Ah, yes, that was it. You thought I would have gotten even angrier with Ivar. Shame on you Snake-in-the-Eye.”

“I thought you needed to know the truth.”

“No. You didn’t. But that is entirely your problem. In any case-” Floki leaned closer to Sigurd, getting down to his same height and looked straight into his eyes. “Keep your mouth shut when it doesn’t concern you.”

Margrethe thought her breathing was never as loud as that moment. She just looked and looked and thought, maybe Floki deserves the respect he had.

She saw a smile appear on the man's face, while he nodded and then got back up, turning once again towards Hvitserk. To him, he didn’t say anything but the two just exchanged a nod, like a sort of agreement was decided.

Then, Floki turned over to Sigurd, his smile was now crooked and didn’t seem right. “You better be careful Snake-in-the-Eye. If no one ever explained to you the value of shutting up, every now and then, I might have to.”

It was a threat. But also Margrethe had the impression that if he wanted, Floki could be way scarier and more threatening than that. His anger and words were still clearly muffled.

Sigurd raised his chin, his face was livid, now. He just looked at Floki, and clearly didn’t pick up his suggestion. “Don’t speak to me like you’re my father. Don’t confuse me with others in this Hall that consider you so.” Sigurd’s words were pure poison and something in his behaviour that Margrethe could not quite get, made Floki flinch once more, and his expression seemed to soften.

“I thank the Gods every day for not being your father, Sigurd. But one day, someone will teach you a lesson and you will pay greatly if you don’t learn to shut your big mouth.”

“Let them bring it.”

Floki shrugged and then released a deep sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. Suddenly exhausted.

When he went back looking at Sigurd, his expression froze again and his eyes sparkled once more. “Besides, stay out of my daughter's business and you won’t have problems with me. If I cannot teach you manners, I 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 teach you fear.” A grim smile appeared on Floki’s lips and just now, for the first time, he looked up to find Margrethe.

She immediately lowered her eyes to the ground, flattening her figure against the wall she walked back towards and held her breath in for all the time Floki looked at her.

He didn’t say another word but just left the Hall walking out in big strides.

When Floki left, the air seemed to become lighter and easier to breathe in.

“What the fuck Sigurd!” Now it was time for Hvitserk to cross the Hall in big strides, crossing his brother. Hvitserk gave his younger brother a push, raising his chin in a proud nod. “You must stop this. I am tired of you behaving this way!”

“Aren’t you tired of running behind a woman who steps all over you?”

“It is my damn business. And you overstepped.”

“Floki needed to know the truth. I don’t know why you protected her and took the threats Ivar deserved.”

“I will always protect Angrboda’s honour. Or Ivar’s. Or any of yours. Besides, Floki didn’t need to know the truth from you. If Angrboda wanted to tell him, then it should have been her.”

“I don’t understand you. You love a woman that you let your brother have.”

Hvitserk moved quickly. He grabbed Sigurd’s shirt and pulled him close to his face. His brown irises burned with such anger. Margrethe never saw him show such powerful feelings before. “You do not need to understand what I feel. Angrboda is a free woman. Our brother is a worthy man. End of this discussion.”

“So, if I wake up tomorrow and wish to sleep with her-” Hvitserk gave Sigurd a good shake, but his younger brother didn’t react to that but with a smile. “-Yes? Would you let me fuck her?! Or Ubbe? Because we are worthy?”

“I really want to hurt you right now. How about that?!” Hvitserk gave another push to his brother, this time letting him go. And then turned over, walking to the table and pouring himself some ale. “As I said. Angrboda is a free woman. She can do what she wants. With me, and anyone else. I am no one to give permission.”

Hvitserk took a sip from his horn and then pointed his finger towards Sigurd, exchanging with his brother a look. “But you, brother. You have to stop crossing her.”

“Why? What would you do?!” Sigurd spitted back almost immediately and Hvitserk just raised his eyes to the ceiling.

He shook his head, huffing. “Floki is right. One day, someone will teach you a lesson.”

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jaehaerysiitargaryen · 1 year

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THE MASTERLIST OF WANTED CONNECTIONS FOR THE COURT OF WINTER CAN BE FOUND BELOW THE CUT. NOTE: THERE ARE CURRENT HOUSES IN THE NORTH WITH WANTED CONNECTIONS FOR SIBILINGS, THOSE WANTED CONNECTIONS CAN BE FOUND HERE.

WINTERFELL is the ancestral seat of House Stark at the centre of the north. WINTER TOWN is nearby. Because this is the seat of the WINTER KING, this is also home base for the lords and ladies of the North. King Theon Stark has taken to encouraging courtiers in the halls of Winterfell, wanting to make those of the realm feel welcomed and connected.

HOUSE GLOVER of DEEPWOOD MOTTE lies in the western wolfswood. Because of their placement in the Wolfswood, they stand to benefit from the woodcutters camps and the coin that comes from this trade. WANTED CONNECTIONS PENDING; The new ruling lord and the ladies of this house. This ruling lord will be a welcomed guest in the Winterfell court, especially during the rebuilding of parts of Deepwood Motte after the Iron Wildlings war. The Lady Sister of the ruling lord has been a lady-in-waiting to QUEEN ROSALYN STARK.

HOUSE TALLHART of TORRHEN'S SQUARE the Master's of Torrhen's Square, they will be the lords over the market of this area and stand to benefit from the increasing trade of sentinel sap. WANTED CONNECTIONS; The Lady of Tallhart is the last surviving member of her house after her brothers and father die in the Iron Wildlings war. She will marry a high ranking man of a YITISH HOUSE, part of the Merchant’s Guild. ADDITIONAL CONNECTION INFORMATION; Lady Tallhart is a new member of the STARK COURT and will spend time there with her new betrothed or awaiting his arrival from Yi-Ti.

HOUSE RYSWELL of RILLSTOWN and STONEY SHORE are the lords over the newly built Rillstown. They will also oversee the whaling and fishing of the Stoney Shore. They are currently the GUARDIANS of Theon's Cape until a lord is put in place. WANTED CONNECTIONS; The Lord of Ryswell, or Lady, has recently become a powerful player in the North with the many changes being put in place. ( The Rywells are POC please fc accordingly )

HOUSE DUSTIN of BARROWTON rules the large town and will oversee the new BARROWTON'S EDGE to take advantage of the plains and water source, this area will house the many shipbuilders and sailors. WANTED CONNECTIONS; The lady of house Dustin is sister of the RULING LORD and the Lady-in-waiting to QUEEN ROSALYN.

HOUSE FLINT of FLINT'S FINGER will have large towns built and over the fishing and whaling. WANTED CONNECTIONS; The RULING LORD joins his sister at court often as Flint’s Fingers are extended for the many changes coming to their lands.

HOUSE CERWYN of the WHITE KNIFE is a close house to the STARKS fostered in Winterfell over many years. The current sons and daughters are pages and cup bearers serving the King and Queen. Along with this there are lords and ladies at the court of Winterfell as courtiers. The ladies of House Cerwyn are ladies-in-waiting to QUEEN ROSALYN. (The Cerwyn’s are POC please cast accordingly)

HOUSE MANDERLY of WHITE HARBOUR run the largest city in the North. They hold a strong loyalty to the Starks and the Starks have a great trust in them. As a result the RULING LORD OF MANDERLY is the Master of Ships and his sister serves as the MISTRESS of COIN. The other sister of House Manderly is a lady-in-waiting to PRINCESS CASSANA STARK.

HOUSE BOLTON of THE DREADFORT recently set anew after the bastard Domeric Stone ran to the Vale, the current ruling Lord sits as the MASTER of WHISPERS of the Northern Council. There is a lot of work to be done in repairing the relationship of this house. The brothers and sisters of House Bolton are invited to Winterfell as courtiers but were not offered a chance to get close to the Queen or the Princess.

THE MOUNTAIN CLANS SWORN TO WINTERFELL

(Note; The Head of the Mountain Clans are addressed by the title “Lord Surname” while their clan folk call them “The Surname”. )

HOUSE KNOTT of MT. KNOTT are the mountain clans who rule over the hills and mountains north of the Wolfswood called UP-TO-PLAYER. A SON and DAUGHTER of House Knott are Courtiers of Winterfell.

HOUSE LIDDLE of PINEY POINTE are the mountain clans who rule over the hills and mountains to the NORTHEAST of the KNOTTS. A SON and DAUGHTER of House Liddle are courtiers of Winterfell.

HOUSE NORREY of THE HIGH MOUNTAINS are the mountain clans who rule over the hills and where they mine for different copper and tin. A SON and DAUGHTER of House Norrey are courtiers of Winterfell.

HOUSE WULL of THE MOUNTAINS ALONG THE BAY OF ICE. This area is called UP-TO-PLAYER. The WULLS mine dragon glass which is used to make weapons. A SON and DAUGHTER of HOUSE WULL are courtiers of Winterfell. ( The WULLS are POC, please FC accordingly)

CLAN FLINT of THE MOUNTAINS, called the FIRST FLINTS, have recently reclaimed their ancient keep of Breakstone Hill from iron wildlings. They pay their taxes to QUEENSCROWN and THE WALL. These are divided down the middle.

CLAN HARCLAY is another more northern mountain clans, closest to QUEENSCROWN. Bethany Stark has taken a Harclay daughter as her cupbearer. They pay their taxes to QUEENSCROWN and THE WALL. These are divided down the middle.

CLAN BURLEY is one of the more northern clans, and are close to newly established iron and stone mines that the lowlanders have opened. They pay their taxes to QUEENSCROWN and THE WALL. These are divided down the middle.

#.*. the court of winter; the courtiers of theon stark

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funnypages · 2 years

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House of The Dragon 1x09 - The Green Council

* Again I will reiterate that I like the twist about the Ageon prophecy serving as Allicent’s motivation, and the way nobody believes it because it sounds so fake that Visyerys would say that on his death bed

* Lord Beesbury goes out like a true and loyal man. His death is slightly different than described in the books. The official story is that he was taken prisoner and died of a cold in the dudgeons, while others say Cole slit his throat after supporting Rhaynera

* A bit of a refresher of who the Small Council is at this point: Otto Hightower (Hand), Grand Maester Orwell, Tyland Lannister (Coin), Jasper Wylde (Laws), and Larys Strong (Master of Whispers). There is currently no Master of Ships

* Interesting about Harrold Westerling still being alive at this point. In the books he dies before Visyrys and Cole becomes head of King’s Guard then

* The story about children being fighters in pits is from Asoiaf and is the backstory of Biter, one of the guys in the cage with Jaquen when Arya tries to go North to the Wall

* Interesting that the White Worm caries about children not being harmed

* Aegon is found drunk in a sept. This is a change from the bk, where Pro-Aegon sources say he was with a mistress while Anti-Aegon sources say he was having sex with a very young prostitute

* So the Larys foot fetish story is true, and is the one thing I really hated and might be the thing I dislike the most of the whole season so far. This is not in the book. Why is this included? Like are they just trying to make him more creepy? He’s pretty creepy enough as it is and it just seems weirdly out of place and skeezy to have him blackmailing/trading info to Alicent for looks at feet. Especially as I just said, they made Aegon II less salacious in how he was found

* We finally got Rhaenys on Meleys, the Red Queen. Was a little extra her bursting out of the ground but it made an impression and gives the small folk more reason to dislike Rhaynera’s side and dragons in general.

#The Green Council #house of the dragon #the house of the dragon #Game of Thrones #game of thrones: house of the dragon #reviews

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redeemedqueen · 2 years

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@redeemedsoutlaw continue from x | “ what are you waiting for? ”

He honestly did not know. Pretending to be the young woman's husband to save her from the sheriff had not been part of the days plans. This was meant to be a quick trip into the village for a few necessities before returning to the cottage in the woods. "My apologies." The words are said with the utmost sincerity. It was backwards for him to be apologizing when he just saved her arse. Once the coins were handed over, the store keep left them be, but Robin remained standing at her side holding the items just bought. They were handed over with a sheepish smile. "For you." The sounds of a young babe's cries pulls attention from the brunette. Feet swiftly move to the basket sat just feet away in his haste to pay for this woman's food. A soft hushing sound whispers as the baby basket is lifted and rocked to sooth the child. "I will leave you be, milady. I have a feeling you do not need any assistance." A friendly nod accompanied words. He did not wish to be rude an assume the lady could not handle herself. A quick gaze over the thin frame did have him curious why she was trying to steal food considering her gown cost more than any of the items procured. He knew not to judge others situations considering his own. A man in line for the throne tired of the way nobility treated subject ran free. Life was proving to be more difficult than anticipated but he would not give in. Something inside of him called to help this woman. "Should you be in need of assistance find me." A strange offering considering his home is a small cottage tucked away in the thick of the forest. "My home offers food, shelter or just a place to rest. It's just a few meters through the trees and over the hill." Which felt like a small mountain to most.

Regina didn’t think this through when she decided to escape the castle for the most important mission of her life. She had no means to take care of herself out there. She had no place to stay, nowhere to lay her head down for a proper night rest, and the worst of all was realizing she had no food or money. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Stealing was wrong, but she had no other option if she wanted to survive on her own. It wasn’t like she could walk into an establishment and ask for work in return for some food and shelter... if anyone should recognize her as the Queen, she’d be in serious troubles!

Today was meant to be simple. Make a stop at the nearest village she found, walk inside a store, grab something and leave unnoticed back into the alley to merge right in the crowd. She didn’t plan to be caught by the sheriff, who immediately alerted the shopkeeper. She also didn’t expect the other man, a stranger, who was quick enough to stand by her side and pretend to be her husband to save her and pay for everything she just attempted to steal. It felt like time stood still. Regina’s breath caught in her throat and her heart was beating rapidly. For a moment, she thought no one was going to be fooled by the act. She thought her life was over right there. It was either a death sentence or worse - being turned over to the King, back to a different kind of death sentence of spending the rest of her days as a prisoner at the castle without ever finding the answers to what she was looking for out there. But when the stranger handed over the coins, the shop owner seemed to be content enough that he simply left them in peace, and so did the sheriff. When Regina turned to face the man who just saved her life, she let out a shaky breath. “Thank you,” she accepted the items he gave her when a wail of a child made Regina flinch. His child, it seemed, since he quickly moved to the baby basket which was the source of the cries. The soft whispers to soothe the baby brought a wave of a strange feeling deep within her. An ache she only felt once before and for a very short moment. Holding back the tears, Regina pulled herself together when the man turned to her again, and swiftly nodded when he offered to leave her be. She could handle herself, but considering the close calls she already had that nearly got her caught before, Regina felt extremely nervous and terrified of having to be out there on her own again. But what choice did she have? As if he were reading her distress, something pulled the stranger to offer her a final act of kindness before parting ways. He offered her his home. Food, shelter and a place to rest. Luxuries that Regina could only dream of! “Thank you, again. For the offer, and for... everything. I don’t know why you did that but I do know you didn’t have to.” Accepting the offer was tempting but she couldn’t let herself make mistakes by trusting anyone at the moment. She couldn’t even repay the man - and that seemed hardly unfair in return for his kindness!

Before she could politely decline, Regina caught the sheriff at the corner of her eye walking in her direction. Panic gripped her body and instincts quickly kicked in. Regina averted her face and stepped closer to the stranger and his child, too close to be considered appropriate to a man she just met! The sound of the sheriff’s heavy boots paused for a brief moment and with rapid breath Regina said a silent prayer and unintentionally rested her head against the stranger by her side. When the doorbell rang above the front door, the same footsteps stepped outside and the door was shut behind it. It was safe to assume the sheriff simply walked by without another glance at them and Regina’s knees nearly gave in under the pressure.

#THIS IS SO LONG I'M SORRY lmao #baby give away by cora verse #redeemedsoutlaw

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usagimen · 4 days

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𝙸𝙽 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚃𝚁𝚄𝚃𝙷 𝙸 𝚂𝙴𝙴 [𝙵𝙸𝚁𝙴] 𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝙳𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝙼𝙴

#usagimen: rabbit masked, to wear more than one face, concealing the multitudes of a heart from the outside world.

𝙻𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙴𝙳 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷: 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚉𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙽 𝙷𝙴𝙸𝚁, 𝙽𝙰𝙾𝚈𝙰

☾. 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐: running with wolves, the ghost within the halls, godhood is just girlhood, embracing true horror, what monstrous things we do for love, wisdom underneath the full moon, juliet's dagger, the song at sorrow's end, scream queens, the sole survivor, 𝚊 𝚔𝚞𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚒 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚐𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢.

01. CARRD | 02. BIO | 03. PROMPTS | 04. HEADCANONS|

✷. 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝙶𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝙺𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚢𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒 𝚂𝚊𝚢𝚞𝚛𝚒: the revered daughter of the Kobayashi Clan, with their stronghold upon Gion, Kyoto she is one of few invisible women - a term coined to mark that of an assassin. In hushed whispers of blasphemy, those who utter false prophecy proclaim she is the vessel of the former Lord of the Feast, Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto. Their union shall usher in an era underneath the benevolence of the stars, yet, Sayuri is not of nocturnal guidance but a flame who shall consume all in judgment && righteousness. In her violence, she will bring harmony / chaos in equilibrium, lady of sorrow, may her glory bleed into stars above.

(indie Jujutsu Kaisen Original Character: none fandom affiliated, minors DNI+)

summoned from the ashes by V.

Themes consisting of the occult, violence, generational trauma, sexism, nihilism, ect are rampant. Please use every available resource to protect yourself, understand when following the content of certain series may cause a squick reaction or be too much. I tag everything accordingly, it is never within my desires to cause anyone discomfort.

I prefer to write multi-paragraph to novella sized threads. One liners are usually reserved for quick but light interactions, if you are wondering how to start a thread, simply send in a prompt or like the starter calls / inbox calls. You will see them liberally throughout the blog as I strive to interact with everyone.

I use a mixture of different anime FCs, this muse interchanges her face constantly, but I do have one main FC. You are not allowed to use me as a source for muses, icons, ect. Failure to oblige results in a softblock, furthermore, if all you do is constantly reblog aesthetics I will part ways as it shows no engagement whatsoever. Inspiration is fine, but after awhile, if our blogs are aligning too much I start to feel uncomfortable.

This blog strongly deals in topics of womanhood and girlhood. Mentions of fertility, motherhood, pregnancy, sexism, patriarchy, and misogyny are commonly found. While everything is tagged, please keep this in mind prior to following.

The story I write is solely for artistic expression, various mentions of canons, npcs, ect are present. If you do not subscribe to canon x oc shipping, that's great! Though, it will be mentioned quite often that Sayuri harbors romantic affections for particular canon characters. This isn't to force ship or demand that this be written with her, it's merely to streamline a concrete story that moves from beginning, middle, to end. If you want to write these topics, all the better, if not and you're merely here to enjoy content, great! Please don't ever think the canon story that is placed before you is something you must adhere to, it's solely an interpretation belonging to Sayuri.

If you have an issue that needs to be addressed, please reach out to me. Furthermore, no drama, no gossiping, none whatsoever. I do not care for drama that can be resolved by parties privately. If someone is a true genuine danger in the RPC than that is fine to discuss, otherwise, I come here solely to relax as my personal life is quite taxing - please respect this.

If you block me or sb me on this blog, please do so with the rest. I have zero interest in interacting with those who would prefer my males muses while having my female muse block, it just is a weird feeling altogether. Thank you!

I try to make my blog as engaging as possible, while it’s understandable we all have lives with little time to be here, please try to engage in some way. I do count OOC interactions, liking posts, ect as engagement. It’s disheartening to try and write with others only to see it head nowhere whatsoever. If you wish to start a thread over or have an interaction completely nulled in order to redo, I am completely fine with that, all you need to do is DM me.

On the topic of shipping; I love shipping! There is no need to deny it, though again, I ask that it be a two way street in order for us to better communicate. If you wish to ship romantically, please be upfront, platonic, enemies, ect, all of that are welcomed && adored. Though I only ship with one variation of a canon, ships that are inactive for two months are dropped but can be reestablished again if you reach out.

Please call me, V. I’m an enthusiastic metal fan that is currently in love with industrial, I lurk quite often due to personal obligations && am extremely easy going. I'm an extremely introverted / private person, please do not mistake my silence for anything personal, I tend to just vibe in my own little head half the time. If you wish to reach out OOC wise, do so, I genuinely enjoy talking quite a bit - I'm just shy of my own shadow. My hobbies consist of cinema, yoga, cooking, while also endlessly suffering under artistic expression.

graphic credits:, isaworks (icon template) fordcomission (theme background // display icon)

#PINNED.#LIKE AFTER READING.#MOBILE RULES.

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aphrcdisiacs · 13 days

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𓏲ּ ֶָ 𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗 ⁝ mahesh jadu, 37, cis male, he/him. announcing the arrival of ZAHIR of house HOUSE QORGYLE, the HEIR of SANDSTONE. whispers among the court name them to be both CHARMING and RETICENT in disposition, and those closest to them speak to their interests in languages. if we bards could compose a song for them, it might tell stories of sand fluttering in the storms of the desert, a silver tongue prepared to please & the unsuspected dagger piercing from behind. the seven whisper to their most devout queen as she sleeps, making her question where their loyalties truly lie. are they right to whisper? for their loyalties truly lie with DORNE.

" the thing about dancing with the devil "

full name : zahir qorgyle. nickname : none. title : heir to sandstone. year of birth : year 813 aec. current age : thirty - seven. sexual orientation : heterosexual religion : the lord of light, R'hllor. pronouns : he / him. languages : the common tongue, high valyrian, braavosi and dothraki language. allegiance : house martell.

" you do not get to decide "

father : sahil qorgyle. mother : samira qorgyle nee valith. brothers : utp qorgyle. sisters : utp qorgyle.

"when it stops. "

at sundown thirty-seven years ago, lady samira qorgyle gave birth to her firstborn. the bloodred sun covering the sand-covered fields gave for a dramatic entrance for the heir of sandstone and the dramatics would forever be a part of the young brown-eyed boy.

born into a household of dorne zahir was developed by his father into the qorgyle's greatest dagger. ruling lord sahil had always known there was more to the world than the throne in westeros and as someone who served underneath the kingdom of dorne's royal family with glee - it came as no surprise that house qorgyle wished for their homeland to get rid of the dragon rulers and their domain over the sands.

the qorgyle's followed the martell's willingly and bowed to their wishes, but even with a steadfast and loyal claim to them, they wished for more. sahil trained zahir early on in the arts of persuasion, charm and how much the pull of a smile could affect others, how words of silk and thread could make for a lethal rope. upon the wishes of riches and fame, sahil trained his son in every manner he could to become a beau - someone no one could escape the words and charms of and all this was intending to claim more.

growing up zahir was manufactured to become what his father dreamed and he willingly did so. his mother showed him the ways of charming any individual and how his words could give them what they wanted more than anything - fortune. With slow hands and steady heartbeats zahir's father had made contact with several braavosi households sharing their visions and dreams, but also being the serpent underneath the dunes. "fear our sting" he would repeat to his eldest son and zahir followed.

with his years zahir traveled as his father's spoke person, charming his way through bravoos and ending up in pentos, where he, himself found a source of fortune he believed once could become his. However, the bond created with a prince from pentos was broken after years of creation and to this day zahir regrets his mistakes, mistakes of getting caught.

while spinning his traps of conquest the qorgyle heir looks for what his family has always wanted, a free dorne and coin to make the qorgyle's a powerful household. with charms and delicate words, he slithers into conversation, into minds and beds, and without a doubt enjoys every moment of it.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

tba.

#introduction : zahir qorgyle

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usagimen-a · 1 month

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𝙸𝙽 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚃𝚁𝚄𝚃𝙷 𝙸 𝚂𝙴𝙴 [𝙵𝙸𝚁𝙴] 𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝙳𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝙼𝙴

#𝚔𝚞𝚛𝚘𝚢𝚛𝚒𝚒: in the language of hanakotoba the black lily represent a cursed soul, in other symoblism, vengeance.

𝙻𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙴𝙳 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷: 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚉𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙽 𝙷𝙴𝙸𝚁, 𝙽𝙰𝙾𝚈𝙰

01. CARRD | 02. BIO | 03. PROMPTS | 04. HEADCANONS|

✷. 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝙶𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝙺𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚢𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒 𝚂𝚊𝚢𝚞𝚛𝚒: the revered daughter of the Kobayashi Clan, with their stronghold upon Gion, Kyoto she is one of few invisible women - a term coined to mark that of an assassin. In hushed whispers of blasphemy, those who utter false prophecy proclaim she is the vessel of the former Lord of the Feast, Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto. Their union shall usher in an era underneath the benevolence of the stars, yet, Sayuri is not of nocturnal guidance but a flame who shall consume all in judgment && righteousness. In her violence, she will bring harmony && chaos in equilibrium, lady of sorrow, may her glory bleed into stars above.

(indie Jujutsu Kaisen Original Character: none fandom affiliated, minors DNI+)

summoned from the ashes by, the Void.

Please call me, Void. I’m an enthusiastic metal fan that is currently in love with industrial, I lurk quite often due to personal obligations && am extremely easy going. I'm an extremely introverted / private person, please do not mistake my silence for anything personal, I tend to just vibe in my own little head half the time. If you wish to reach out OOC wise, do so, I genuinely enjoy talking quite a bit - I'm just shy of my own shadow. My hobbies consist of cinema, yoga, cooking, while also endlessly suffering under artistic expression.

graphic credits:, isaworks (icon template) fordcomission (theme background // display icon)

0 notes

nevermoorcentral · 3 years

Conversation

Morrigan: How is our friend this morning?

Anah: Better than when he regained consciousness last night. What did you hit him with?

Morrigan: The wall

#morrigan crow #morrigan #anah #anah kahlo #source: queen of coin and whispers #incorrect nevermoor quotes #q

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dailyadventureprompts · 3 years

Photo

Adventure: Queen of the Arena

“Go Find me another challenger, go ahead, I’ll wait. These good people paid to see a show and by the gods I’m going to give them one If I have to hack my way through every beast in the pits beneath us.”

Setup: One name reverberates across the city, chanted by adoring crowds and whispered by treasonous lips, a name that echoes across the empire could even shake heaven itself with the thunder of its cry: “ VOLZI! VOLZI! VOLZI! VOLZI! ”. Champion of the people’s hearts and daughter of one of the empire’s most powerful generals, this swaggering swordswoman is one of the greatest ever to spill blood upon the sand, famous not just for her skill in dispatching opponents, but with the utter art with which she handles her blade,

Born at the front while her father was on campaign, Volzi Polvian grew up among soldiers and camp followers, in a years long campaign that saw the frontiers of the empires expand, absorbing vast swaths of new territory that earned her family honors beyond counting. When her father returned in Triumph, Volzi found hersleft thrust into the political limelight, but always chafed at the constraints of “civilized” society and longed for a chance to life a life of exertion and challenge once again, a longing that brought her invariably to the glories of the arena.

Everyone knows the story of how when she was only fourteen years old, Volzi leaped from her seat on the edge of the arena to save a favored combatant that’d been set to meet his death at the hands of a victorious rival. Taking up her champion’s blade, she disarmed the far larger and more experienced warrior and forced the preceding to a draw. While it began as a scandal among the nobility, it soon became heralded as the first of Volzi’s many victories within the arena, where she fought beasts who’s savagery and hunger cared little for her noble pedigree. In those battles that Volzi found a space for herself outside her father’s shadow, and over the decade or so since, she’s yet to meet with an opponent who could wrest her from the title of champion, or her place in the people’s esteem.

Adventure Hooks:

While the battles against beasts and the executions of convicted criminals are real as can be, Everyone knows the warrior-on-warrior fights are staged; carefully choreographed exhibitions between performers trained to show off and entertain the crowd rather than slay eachother outright. Identity obscuring outfits and cleverly concealed mummers tricks helps preserve the “verisimilitude” of these warrior’s grisly deaths, while helping to retain a roster of highly skilled athletes that circulates around the empire as their performances require. One of these performers, (and old friend of one of the heroes) reaches out to the party to request their aid. Lately there have been ACTUAL deaths in the arena, and while the first one or two appeared to be accidents, there’s a growing suspicion that someone is sabotaging the fights to contrive murderous circumstance.

An Aetherborn known as “The Haze” controls betting around the arena, and allows those who wish to wager on the outcomes of various bouts and games to pay back their debts in either coin or life-force. Part oddsmaker, part crimeboss, and part manager, The Haze sees the arena and the crowds it draws as a wellspring of both livelihood and longevity, and as such takes a discerning interest in the lives of patrons and performers alike. The Heroes may find The Haze to be a welcome source of finance for future adventures, provided they’re willing to stake their wellbeing on uncontrolable outcomes.

Proffering everything from snacks to memorabilia to scalped tickets, the goblins of the extended Gleesqueak family are an inescapable presence in the arena crowds, hawking their goods left and right as they have for generations. In addition to their more mundane wares, the Gleesqueak also operate a lucrative sidehustle brewing up various alchemical goodies for the athletes and competitors within the arena. While their reserves of healing and heroism seem downright bottomless, the Gleesqueak brewmasters can easily cook up something more specialized for a discerning patron.

Further Adventures: While it may seem as if there’s nothing more to Volzi’s ambition but the accruement of yet more fame and glory, the young woman’s public role as “ Champion of the People’s Hearts” is infact a persona intended to protect her from the mire of imperial politics. General Polvian was beloved by soldier and citizen alike, a true son of the empire who won such honor and aclaim for himself expanding the empire’s reach that the man could have easily swept in and claimed the throne on the back of a popular uprising with Volzi as his heir. The forces close to the emperor knew this, and so recalled the general to the capital some ten years ago in order to keep a better check on his ambition.

After repeated attemtps were made to “disapear” the young Polvian and use her for leverage against her father, Volzi realized that the only safe place for her to take refuge was in the public eye, as even the influential power players of the imperial court would fear upsetting the mob. Her celebrity is a shield that prevents her father’s enemies from moving against her directly, and as long as she continues to play the glory-hungry meathead, they seem content to leave her father alone and settle for the occasional assassination attempt.

The murders at the arena are all a smokescreen, designed to look like someone (The Haze) is trying to fix fights in order to game the odds while all the while shrinking the bracket of available fighters and getting an imperial assassin planted among their ranks closer and closer to the champion. While Volzi prefers to fight monsters, she’s been known to put on an exhibition match now again when the Arena needs to draw a crowd, which the event organizers may pressure her into once their performers start dropping out in fear for their lives.

In addition to the many other services they provide, The Haze also supplies the arena with beasts for its champions to fight, contracting out to adventurers and monsterhunters for exotic game. The party might be first drawn to the Arena after an esoteric bounty comes across their bounty asking them to finagle some dangerous critter and transport it to the capital, alive.

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katsumiiii · 3 years

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Sinbad, King of Sindria

Sinbad x fem! black reader

fluff imagine

Sinbad was a name that echoed throughout history itself. The young man was remarkable, creating his own path caused by the sweet stench of adventure. His stories were marveled, people hunched over whispering the tales of King Sinbad of Sindra. His beauty was envied as well as adored, men looked down at him with scowls, while women fawned over him with bright smiles and red cheeks. In his mind he was unforgettable as well as well known across the globe. Not a single soul on this Earth wasn’t aware of the phenomenon that was Sinbad. All except for one.

She was the most beautiful woman he’d even seen, her brown skin glimmered under the beaming rays of the sun. Her curls bounced around her rounded face, giving off the impression of a lions mane, bold yet hypnotizing. Her smile could be compared to the shining of diamonds, bright and breathtaking. She was ethereal, and the only woman whom he believed that was worthy enough to stand by his side as Queen of Sindra. It was only fair that the male indroduce himself to the lady, I mean she was to become the rightful Queen of his country, but in order for that to happen he had to strike a conversation. So, in true Sinbad fashion, meaning cocky and bold, he stalked towards the girl, a mischievous smirk laid upon his face. “Hello fair maiden.”

The girl whipped around to face the male, her eyebrows furrowed and lips slightly quirked up in a polite smile. Her eyes fluttered as she looked the male up and down, surveying his appearance. Deciding that it would be impolite to keep him waiting any longer she replied to the man. “Hello good sir. Is there something you need?”

Her voice was smooth, reminding him of the silk sheets that lay in his room bare on top of his bed. Shivers were sent down his spine at the prospect of him laying her down on said sheets, ravishing her until sunrise. “Yes well, I couldn’t help but notice you from afar. You’re quite remarkable. I am Sinbad, nice to meet you.” He reached out a pale hand, leaning down to intertwine her brown one with his own. He grinned at the feeling of her skin making contact with his, soon bringing the soft appendage to his thin, chapped lips, placing a small kiss upon it. He dropped her hand back to her side, waiting for the surprised gasp at the mention of his name.

“Nice to meet you too Sinbad, you may call me Y/N.” The girl cocked her hip out, placing a basket that was filled to the brim with various types of fruits and vegetables against it. She then averted her brown eyes back to the vegetable stall in front of her, picking up a ripe cucumber to inspect. “Do you think this cucumber would fit well in my shrimp noodle salad?” She pushed the food against the males face, forcing him to look at it as well.

“Hmm, I would imagine so.”

Y/N nodded in thanks, putting the cucumber in her basket, soon reaching in her pocket to grab the source of payment needed.

“Don’t worry ma’am, I got it.” Sinbad reached forward with a bag of gold coins, throwing it on top of the merchants stand. He winked at the girl, chuckling at her surprised expression. “Keep the change sir.”

“Wow you must be rich Sinbad?” Y/N gawked at the worn out bag that was tossed onto the wooden counter top.

“Yes well, as you know I am a very successful man.” Sinbad pushed out his chest, ready to hear the string of compliments emerge from the beautiful woman’s plump lips.

“Know? How would I know?” Y/N cocked her head in confusion, picking up her feet and beginning to walk amongst the crowd.

Sinbads eyes shot open, his violet iries staring at the young woman before him, causing him to bump into a few commoners as he was distracted by the statement. “Well, I am Sinbad.”

“Yes you’ve told me.”

“You know. The Adventures of Sinbad. King of Sindria. Dungeon capturer.”

“No, doesn’t ring a bell. Why, am I supposed to know you or something?”

Sinbad continued to gawk at the woman, not sure of how to feel at the realization that not everyone seems to know who he is. Though, a lot of people are aware of the great tales of King Sinbad, some are clueless, not knowing a single thing about the male. Such as the beautiful girl before him. Now normally Sinbad would be extremely disappointed, opting to go camp in his bedroom for the rest of the day, complaining to Ja’far of the fact that someone had no idea of his existence. But, with this girl he simply couldn’t walk away, he had to be near her at any given moment or he felt as if his heart would explode out of his chest from greif. Yes, he was aware at the fact that he just met the girl, but he was so enamored by her that he just couldn’t bare her not being his. So instead he chucked in amusement, violet eyes shimmering at the idea of a new adventure, an unknown territory to explore.

“Well, how about you get to know the tales of King Sinbad from the source himself?”

“Hmm, I’d like that.”

#sinbad x reader #sinbad x poc reader #poc reader #magi x reader #magi #sinbad magi #black reader #anime x black!reader #anime x poc reader

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snowbellewells · 3 years

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Self-Promo Sunday: “Into the Unknown With You”

Another one shot from my assorted collection “Of Swans and Swords and Hopeful Hearts” - this one playing with some of the ideas I would rather have seen in 6x10 and 6x11, it certainly diverges from canon at that point...

Summary: As Emma searches for a way back home from the Wish Realm, help comes from a surprisingly welcome source...

{One more Author’s Note: The “awfully big adventure” bit is a tiny nod to J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan.}

Can also be found on AO3 or ff.net

“Into the Unknown with You”

by: @snowbellewells

‘No, no, no!’ Emma’s mind reeled horrifically as she stared at the spot where only moments ago the portal had been whirling, her way home to her son and her pirate wide open. She wanted to scream; it couldn’t just be gone, and yet, a second too much hesitation, and the chance was lost. She looked to Regina anxiously, her fists clenched so tightly she felt the impressions her nails cut into her palms. It was all she could do not to rail at Regina, this whole twisted world, and her own bad luck.

‘What now?!?’ she wanted to demand, wanted to shake her former nemesis turned tentative friend, but one glimpse at the other woman’s stunned, disbelieving face staring across the shoreline at her presumed dead True Love, and Emma knew it would be a lost cause. Having stood beside a grave in grateful stupefaction at her own love’s miraculous return to life not so long ago, Emma couldn’t find the heart to remind Regina just yet that she had spent the last day preaching that none of their surroundings or those they encountered in the Wish Realm were real, and hurry her along. She too found herself blinking dazedly at this other – very convincing – version of Robin Hood for a few moments.

Even if her heart was still crying out for her home and her family, for Henry’s soft hair tickling her nose when she placed a kiss to the top of his head, and Killian’s arms enfolding her, she didn’t know where to go in this topsy-turvy version of the homeland she had never actually lived in, and so she had to wait – more impatiently by the minute – until one of these two, either queen or thief, snapped out of their spell and led the way…

As it turned out, Robin Hood was not the sort of outlaw who would truly do harm to two ladies passing through his territory. He wouldn’t have even made to steal their jewels and furs once the same trance that had overcome Regina seemed to strike him mute as well, but Regina offered him a pouch of coins that had been strapped to her waist and a ruby ring, pressing it into his calloused palm with a quirked smile and the assurance that “she insisted, she was much more partial to his cause than he knew”.

Emma wanted to snort at the ridiculous understatement those words were, and she only barely managed to hold back a roll of her eyes, which she sensed the thief saw but let slide with a conspiratorial wink.

Before she could make an argument for trying to catch up to Gold – or Rumplestiltskin here, she supposed – or ask where they were going to find another bean, it was evening, they were entering a forest in the gathering dark, and soon they had been welcomed to sit around a roaring fire with Robin’s motley crew, and even been offered the ale and venison passed around the circle as if they were part of the merry band.

“Now,” the archer began, seated beside Regina, his boy nodding drowsily on his lap. He looked around her to meet Emma’s gaze head on. “You must be thinking that I owe you an apology. Clearly you were about to leave this place, and because of me, you missed your ride.”

She tried to shrug it off nonchalantly, not wanting to get them kicked out in the cold, or to lay blame on him for something he couldn’t have known, but instead, to her own mortification, she felt hot tears stinging in the corners of her eyes. Though her sight grew glassy, Emma refused to let them fall. “So,” she tried for flippant, even if it fell horribly flat, “does that mean you know where we could get a replacement bean and want to help us get it?”

“Actually, Princess Emma,” Robin winked, a knowing sort of mischief in his eye, “I just might.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

The following morning dawned misty and cool, but fair, and Robin greeted Emma at the simmering coals of the previous night’s campfire with a welcoming grin, Regina at his side on the stump they used for a seat, looking as soft and at ease as Emma had ever seen her, her head resting on his strong shoulder seemingly still half asleep. She and Regina had talked at length the night before, and at long last Emma had accepted that Henry’s adoptive mother wasn’t returning with her yet. “I know he isn’t the same Robin, that this whole place is built on a whim, but I’m not losing him again,” she had whispered vehemently. “There has to be another way to get back…one that he could take as well…if he wanted to…” The emotion welling in Regina’s dark eyes had been raw enough that Emma finally consented to go on without further fighting to change her mind, only giving a nod in affirmation when Regina had asked, “You’ll explain to Henry? Tell him I mean to return as soon as we both can?”

“Ready, your Highness?” the sandy-haired outlaw asked, breaking into Emma’s recent memories once more and looking down at her from where he now stood at the ready. “We should make the harbor by noon, if we set out now.”

“The harbor?” Emma asked breathlessly, dazed for a moment by what this could mean. Her heartbeat kicked up in both anticipation and dread. Surely he wasn’t here too…was he?

“Yes,” Robin answered her spoken question with an amiable nod as he kissed the back of Regina’s hand in farewell and turned to head off with Emma on his heels. “I happen to know a pirate with whom I sometimes trade my less than lawfully acquired goods. He might have just the sort of thing you need to return home…”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

The sound of gulls crying and wheeling overhead and the creak and groan of the wooden docks as they reached the edge of the shore town and neared the sparkling blue harbor was enough to take Emma’s breath away. Robin took a step forward to lead her down the docks, already offering to make introductions, but Emma stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

There before them, as recognizable as always, was the Jolly Roger, bobbing proudly at anchor. Though most might be intimidated by the sight, Emma drew in the first full breath she’d had since remembering herself in this strange realm – as if she had gotten her first real glimpse of home at last. He might still be the vengeful Captain Hook in this reality, but somehow she wasn’t afraid. He would never truly hurt her – and she only wanted to be at his side again without further delay.

Reassuring Robin that she could take it from there, Emma bid him goodbye. Though he looked uncertain, the archer took her at her word and left her with his best wishes. If she clutched his hand a moment longer and a bit tighter than would be normal and bid him be safe a little too fervently – well, she didn’t have to explain herself to anyone here…

At her first step onto the gangplank, a shudder of recognition ran through her, as if the vessel itself was welcoming her back aboard, shivers skittering along her spine. At first glance, the ship seemed deserted, her crew perhaps gathering supplies or unwinding at the nearest tavern, but the air around her wavered, charged suddenly, letting her know she was not alone. Emma felt even before she heard heavy footfalls on the planks or that deep, commanding voice at her back, asking who went there, that she had not gone undetected by the ship’s captain.

Turning, her eyes found him, hungrily drinking in the details; altered, but still without doubt the man she loved. The dark hair was windblown and unruly, practically begging for her fingers to delve into its soft abundance and brush the fringe back off his forehead. Though the strands might be shaggier and generously shot through with grey, it made him no less attractive to her starving eyes. In fact, she only wanted to stare at him all the more, to catalogue every difference, trace the deeper crow’s feet around his eyes and the added lines on his forehead. Those fathomless blue eyes were lined so liberally with the kohl she hadn’t seen him use for some time in their modern Storybrooke life that she almost wanted to chuckle at the effect until she registered the way the blue of his gaze also looked paler – as if washed out by too many tears shed alone and without comfort, or dulled by pain held back because he couldn’t afford to let it show.

Brandishing his moniker, and that dastardly, flirtatious mask he had long since let drop around her, to full effect, Captain Hook stepped well into her personal space. “And who might you be?” he questioned, breath warm on the shell of her ear as he leaned in, hook lifting the heavy rope of her golden braid and tucking it back over her shoulder. It was an achingly familiar gesture and he stood much too close for calm comfort, sending her pulse fluttering again, and yet no recognition lit his gaze as he studied her; the fond devotion she had come to rely on more than she could say was utterly absent, making her heart ache and crack in her chest.

“Princess Emma of Misthaven,” she answered as sturdily as she could, raising her chin and meeting his eye with as much confidence as she could muster. “I had hoped to speak to you on a delicate matter of some importance.”

“A delicate matter, is it?” he asked, his enunciation and the way his tongue caressed his words seductively had not been altered or diminished in the slightest, whatever else had changed. He stood back to his full height, fingers in his waistband, hips thrust forward and looking every bit as sinfully irresistible as he ever did, complete with that wide-open, chest-exposing red vest she had witnessed once in their trip to the past through Zelena’s portal. If she hadn’t known him so well, she might have been fooled by the bravado, but knowing his heart as only a True Love could, she saw the emptiness behind the lascivious look, the pain within the façade – the proper, honorable lieutenant he had been, hating the persona his course had forced him to adopt. Even as he ran his tongue across his lower lip, letting his eyes trace her curves from head to toe almost lewdly, she could see the regret clouding the pupils and the wistful longing – as if he could sense what might have been.

Unable to stop herself, Emma reached forward impulsively, grasping both his hook and hand tightly as she spoke, “Yes, very…but just maybe…I was meant to find you. Maybe you’re the only one who would believe me.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

Another hour found them below deck in his cabin, seated at the scratched, weathered wooden table which had served him in his lonely meals for ages, Emma’s hand still clinging to his hook where it rested on his thigh, but the other reaching up tentatively to trace that faded scar she knew so well beneath his eye. Hook – though more and more her Killian with every passing moment – had scooted closer to her on the roughhewn bench, blinking in awe as she saw hope returning to his face. He appeared both afraid to believe her words, but also desperate for them to be true.

“So you’re telling me that all of this around us – this whole life – is an illusion?” he asked haltingly, not daring to move his eyes from her face, as though he thought she might disappear as quickly as she had come to him.

“Well, yeah, basically,” she tried to explain. “Or more like…it’s a possibility that didn’t actually come true. There’s this v-villain in my home, in the real timeline that I come from, who made a wish that reset things, and I was sucked into it. I have a son, family and friends, a-and another version of you…who’s my True Love…there missing me. And I have to get back to them.”

“There’s another me?” he breathed, and where anyone else would have been skeptical, he looked merely stunned, wanting. “And…we’re…together?”

“Yeah, we are,” she whispered, laying a hand over his rapidly beating heart and drawing comfort from its rhythm. She already felt stronger, more certain, even with this iteration of her pirate. Her watery smile quirked up into a bit of a smirk at one corner, “And don’t worry, he’s still devilishly handsome.”

Her captain’s eyes fell to their joined hand and hook in his lap, huffing out a laugh at her words. “More so than I, I’d wager,” he murmured.

Emma hummed under her breath, reaching out to run her fingers along a grey streak in his longer hair. “I don’t know about that,” she offered. “There’s something pretty appealing about this model, grey hair and all.”

“You flatter me, Milady,” he teased, that voice still a sinful purr rumbling from his chest as he lifted her hand to press a kiss to its back. Still, emotion welled up beneath the flirtation, making his magnetic gaze all the harder for her to escape. She was blinking, nonplussed and floundering for some audible response, when he straightened and pulled her to her feet with him. “Enough lollygagging then! I’ll prepare the old girl to set sail. It’s time we got you back where you belong!”

For a moment, Emma was stunned anew. This full-on piratical version of her True Love, who didn’t really even know her and had no reason to do anything she said, had not only chosen to believe her story, but was going out of his way to help her – just as he had ever since he turned his ship around to take her to Neverland. The lump in her throat was almost too much to speak around, but Emma managed to croak out, “You really would give anything to help me, wouldn’t you?” even as she shook her head in disbelief.

“Aye,” he affirmed, looking a bit like he was marveling at that fact himself. “I am not sure I fully understand, nor can I explain it to you, but I sense that I would – that I am almost compelled – to help you in any world or time you would appear to me.”

“Thank you,” was all she could really say in response, her wondering smile nearly blinding him with its brilliance.

“Come then,” he offered her his arm, his speech all business again, even while the pointed tips of his ear flushed, clearly uncomfortable with the gratitude and praise. “Above deck, and we’ll be off. I know someone who deals in nigh impossible to procure objects.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

Standing beside him at the helm just a few short hours later, wind in her hair and the salt spray on her face, it struck Emma that though she was desperate to get home, to make sure her son, her family, and her Killian were alright, she didn’t want to simply abandon this pirate captain beside her. She didn’t know what would happen to him, if he would find something to live for, something to be part of, or if she was dooming him to his quiet desperation…even if he might simply vanish into nothingness with the rest of this ill-fated wish. She didn’t know what happened next, to be completely honest. Laying a hand on his forearm, she gazed up into his face, swallowing hard. “I don’t know what becomes of you, or this realm, when I leave here and go home,” she admitted. “I’m not sure if you all just go on like it never happened, if you cease to exist, if you wander here aimless forever…I just…I don’t know…”

Covering her hand with his, he guided the ship with no more than his hook rested capably on the wheel. “Worry not, Princess,” was his confident response, fervent resolve painted over his strong, careworn features. “We shall still set things right, as they should be. Whatever comes after this – infinity or oblivion – will be an awfully big adventure.”

Tagging: @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @thislassishooked @winterbaby89 @darkcolinodonorgasm @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @stahlop @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @wefoundloveunderthelight @apiratewhopines @lfh1226-linda @xsajx @ineffablecolors @drowned-dreamer @thisonesatellite @kday426 @ultraluckycatnd @xhookswenchx @hookedonapirate @blowmiakisscolin

#self promo sunday #cs canon divergent ff #season 6 divergent one shot #into the unknown with you #wish realm fix-it fic #of a sort?

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