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bookishtheaterlover7 · 5 months

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Her Reign

a/n: Hello, my Fabulous Readers! Would you like to take a trip down Memory Lane with me? Boy, do I have a treat for y'all...

When I was just starting to write my fanfics 8 - 9 years ago, before I fell into major Writer's Block, and went on my forced Hiatus, I wrote this fic for a good friend. Because back then, she drew Steve fanart for me, and I wrote Loki fics for her.

Fast forward to this year, I'm looking through my old notes in my notes apps, low and behold I find a handful of fic ideas and half-written, unfinished fics. And honestly, young me literally had the best fic ideas 😆 I realize that they're basically my very own Vaults! They couldn't have came on a better time, when I want to connect to my younger self, and remember what it was like, when life wasn't as complicated.

Ofcourse, it's not completely the original story, present me needed to polish the rough patches in the story, because specific timeline when this was written, was roughly somewhere before Endgame after Infinity War...😅 And I also need to make sure, it's semi-accurate to the current MCU, for my own sake.

But still, I hope y'all will enjoy reading this one, all the same.

Loki Odinson x Y/n Y/L/N's Daughter, Lucy Laufeyson

Requested: No

WARNINGS: Loki's Death(seriously doesn't need to be a question😆), Abusive, cliché Evil Step-parent, Allusion to the abuse Y/n goes through, Lucy imagining and enacting revenge(and justice) on Evil Step-Parent, Lucy goes ape-shit, Loki would be proud. Story goes way dark(not GOT Dark, but still, pretty dark). Written by me, when I was still fairly new to writing, so sorry for the errors present Me isn't able to fix.

DNI Divider by @firefly-graphics

Enjoy!

Loki looking at Lucy from Valhalla...

It was a typical day for the Avengers in the Avenger Compound. Agents of every kind, rushed here and there, to finish their duties. In one of the lower floors underground, lived the Avengers. Each had their own apartment. But they liked to spend time together, in the common room. And today was no exception.

The room was full of chaos. From the sounds of a certain Captain's daughter crying, because she fell down while attempting to walk, with her doting mother and older brother trying to calm her down, to Peter Parker, Bruce Banner and Dr. Stephen Strange devising a way to make their tactical suits more durable, and more accommodating to the various shapes and sizes each individual, human, alien or super, has.

Lucy Laufeyson is among the chaotic bunch. Born and raised together with James Anthony Rogers, making her pretty much used to everything that happens around here, around her considered-extended family. She'd been living with the Avengers and her Uncle Thor Odinson, in an effort to avoid her Step-Father, Grey Wallace. Well, specifically to avoid hurting, said man.

From the moment her grandmother, from her mother, Y/n Y/L/N's side, had told her that she was to have a Step-Father, she knew that it would take a lot of strength and maturity. For she knew Gray wasn't a good man. He abused her mother and basically, forced her to have his child. Luckily, Lucy could never hate her younger Brother, Greyson. She hated his sperm donor.

Before Loki died, he had written a note to every member of his family. For Thor, Y/n, and especially Lucy. The one for her, specified that he wanted Thor to take his family to New Asgard, where he hoped to be laid to rest.

Once his request was fulfilled, she decided to take her father's name and use it to make a legacy of her own in her new home. Despite this, it didn't stop her from imagining enacting her revenge on Grey. She hated everything he did to her mother, and today is living proof of that.

"Hey James. Nice shield." Lucy smirked, it looks uncannily like her Father's.

"Oh, Lucy... Hi... I-I-I was just borrowing this from Dad." James answered, turning pinker by the minute.

"Calm down, Rogers. I was just teasing." Lucy said, playfully boxing his arm.

"Besides, I'm not here as often as I used to. Just for old times sake."

"Sometimes I wonder how we've been friends, since birth." James sighed.

"Come on... you know you love me, Cap Jr." Lucy smirked again, living for the reaction she gets, from her dear sweet James.

"Excuse me, Ms. Laufeyson, but Ms. Alexa is here." Tony's AI, JAKASTA, said.

"Thanks, JAKASTA." Lucy replied.

"See you later, Rogers." She added, patting the side of his pink face on her way out.

Lucy walked from the training room, through endless hallways, with Agents working and training, as well as the scientist conducting tests and experiments, of all kinds, to the elevator, that will take her down to the Lobby. Her heart leapt with excitement. She always loved seeing her Mother, and her younger Brother, whenever they came for a visit. Preferably without her infamous Step-Father, who in her opinion, descended straight from Hell.

A few minutes later, she arrived at the Lobby, where she knew the people her Family, would be waiting. She pushed open the only door, separating her from the Lobby, and saw her mother for the first time in months. Beautiful but bruised and slightly battered. Loki would hate Grey.

"Mom!" Lucy called.

"Hello Lucy." Y/n replied, looking up from talking to Y/O/N Rogers, her best friend since before meeting the loves of their lives.

Lucy walked a little faster and went to give her mother a gentle but firm hug.

"What am I? A chameleon? Where's my hug?!" Lucy's younger brother, Greyson, asked/exclaimed.

"Hello to you, too, Baby Brother." Lucy smirked, going in to hug her sibling.

"It's always a gem, to see you both together like this!" Alexa cried, tears forming in her eyes.

"We really need to catch up." Greyson said with a smile, taking Lucy's hand.

Sometime later, the family sat in a restaurant downtown, enjoying the food and coffee, while catching up and sharing stories with one another.

"And he just ran and ran and BOOM! Homerun!" Alexa finished, with pride in her eyes as she looked at her son.

"It was nothing, really. Honest." Greyson said, blushing at the attention.

"Changing the subject, how are you and your so-called 'childhood bestfriend, not potential lover', Dear Sister." Greyson teased.

"I told you the last time, Greyson. We're just friends. Nothing more. Nothing less." Lucy replied, as a matter of factly.

"Now, why don't I believe that?" Greyson muttered, under his breath.

"Shut up." Lucy replied, with a playful shove towards him.

"It's so nice to see you both getting along." Alexa said, wistful.

"I would be happier if that lousy excuse of a Step-Father is six feet under and never ever coming back." Lucy commented, scooping up some of her food into her mouth.

"Lucy-" Alexa started, wiping her eyes, before opening her arms towards her daughter.

"I mean it, Mom. He's hurt you enough." Lucy replied.

"Dad wouldn't want this for you..." She added, taking her Mother's hand, and rolling up the sleeve a little to reveal the marks hidden underneath.

"Sorry, Mom. But I agree with Lucy. If he hadn't hurt you, and continued to hurt you, things might've been different." Greyson replied, as Y/n pulled her hand away, and pulled her sleeves down, even further than before.

"I know three days ago wasn't the best wedding anniversary..." She started to explain.

"WHAT THE HELL DID HE DO THIS TIME?!" Lucy exclaimed, her anger boiling up to the surface.

"It's nothing, Lucy." Alexa sighed.

"It isn't just nothing, Mom! It's always something." Lucy raised her voice. Her eyes being drawn to the sleeve that her Mother, so desperately, was using to try to hide the marks from her, earlier.

"This is the last straw! He's been doing this ever since you married him. It needs to stop." Lucy announced, with finality and determination.

"Lucy, no. It's fine. I'm used to it." Alexa replied, unshed tears glistening in her eyes.

"I told you, Mom. He's hurt you enough." Lucy repeated, before standing up.

"I've had enough." She growled, before walking away with purpose and determination, with Y/n's and Greyson's voices calling behind her. Falling on deaf ears.

Grey Wallace was walking from his office building to his car. It had been a long day, and he was looking forward to having a beer when he got home. He was practically skipping down the road, until he felt like someone was watching him, from the shadows. Shrugging it off as paranoia, he continued walking.

He finally arrived at his car, ready to unlock it when he was forcefully, pushed against his car. His arms painfully pinned against his back.

"Who are you? What do you want? If you want my money, take it. I-It's yours." Grey said in a panic, words coming out in quick succession.

"I don't want, nor do I need your money." The figure, behind him, replied.

"Then, w-what do you want?" Grey asked again, shaking to the bone.

"I want justice for my Mother." The figure replied, a sinister smile slowly beginning to form on her face.

"I-I don't even know y-your Mother." Grey cried, before being turned around, and pinned to the side of his car.

"Oh, don't act coy, now... You know my Mother... In fact you know her very well, that you've taken to hurting her for about 5 years, now. Isn't that right, Step-Father?" The figure said, her face coming into the light.

"Lu-Lucy..." Grey gasped, not believing his eyes.

"That's right. And I have come to make sure you'll never lay another hand on my Mother, ever again." Lucy said, before turning into her Jotun form and punching her Step-Father.

Grey's world turned black.

His eyes burst open, and he quickly looked around in a panic. Remembering the terrifying sight of his Step-Daughter, before she knocked him unconscious. He sighed in relief, when he found that he's all alone in his Hospital Room.

"Think you're safe, Step-Father?" Lucy said, appearing out of nowhere.

"Lucy... Lucy... Whatever I've done to you and Y/n, I'm sorry." Grey pleaded.

"You think that's enough?! You think that sorry will take away all you've done to her?! To the both of us?!" Lucy exclaimed, her bright green eyes turning red.

"You're lucky, I only left you with a concussion, and a punctured lung. I would have killed you on the spot, had I not made myself promise Mom not to hurt you too badly." She added.

"Lucy, please I beg you..." Grey begged.

"Oh, now you're begging me." Lucy cackled.

"Like how Mom begged you to let her go, every single hellish night..." She continued, her features slowly changing.

"Lucy, you need help. Y-you don't look well. Y-you're blue!" Grey exclaimed.

"Oh, don't pretend like you care. You never did." Lucy snapped.

"Why are you turning blue?!" Grey shrieked, panicked, his monitor blaring at his increasing heartrate.

"Let me answer your question with this question: Have you ever wondered why we never told you about my birth Father? Why no one ever spoke of him?" Lucy said, lightly caressing the tube that re-inflated his lung.

"Well, the answer is quite simple actually. I'm the daughter of Loki of Asgard." Lucy said, turning full Jotun, and staring right into Grey's eyes.

"Y-You-You're the daughter of Loki Laufeyson, the one who invaded the planet?" Grey asked, trying to scurry away but couldn't. bound to the bed by the very tubes and wires that are helping him.

"Yes. So, if I were you... I'd be glad, that I spared your life. I may seem all sweet and innocent, but trust me when I say this..." Lucy added, slightly squeezing the tube. Blocking it from keeping his lung inflated.

Grey started to feel a tightness in his chest. Unable to catch his breath, from fear, and distress.

"I'm so much worse than my Father. So much worse." Lucy growled. Releasing her grip on the tube.

Allowing Grey to finally able to relax and breathe better and regularly, now.

"You're just lucky I made a promise to my Mother. Had I not, I would have done so much worse." Lucy added, getting up and leaving.

"Leave my Mother alone, or a collapsed lung and concussion won't be the most excruciating thing you'll ever experience." Lucy said, turning back to look at him.

"I give you my word, Step-Father." She added, turning into back her human form, her eyes glowing red for a second before going back to green.

Grey shook with fear, causing Lucy to smirk. And with that, she turned and left.

Lucy walked through the hospital doors and out, before opening a portal in the middle of the driveway and walking through it. Taking her home to New Asgard.

When she stepped out of the portal, her red leather jacket, stripped sleeveless blouse, leggings and boots, instantly turned into a long, green, mermaid style dress with a shimmering light green cape, connected in the back.

Her raven black hair curled, pulled back, half up, half down, and a complicated gold head piece with it. She walked to the kingdom, where everyone who saw her, bowed respectfully.

She made her way into the Palace, where her Keeper eagerly greeted her at the entrance. For a man, who was about 1,000 years old, give or take, he definitely could keep up with Lucy's long strides.

"Your Ladyship! The King has gone to Wakanda on business, but there are some matters of great importance to attend to." The man explained, pointing to the long list of matters, needing her immediate attention.

"I shall deal with all the problems one by one. I want to make sure everything is dealt with, accordingly." Lucy announced, taking a seat on the throne.

"Lady Loki, the people are waiting for you." The court announcer told her.

"Send them in." She answered, as the guards allowed the people to come inside. Which little by little, she solved all of them. Loki's Daughter, Y/n and Greyson's fiercest protector, Asgard's warrior, and Valkyrie's Right Hand, Lady Lucy.

a/n: I hope you all enjoyed it! Despite the errors, and the dark stuff... Maybe this'll lead me to upload other, more worthy fics in the Future.

We'll see.

Until next time!

❤ Booky

Taglist: @nescavaneck @jiyascepter @royalwriteroftheuniverse @femefetalelevelingup

#tom hiddleston #loki imagines #loki x y/n #tom hiddleston fandom #tom hiddelston loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki laufeson imagines #loki fanfic #loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki odinson imagines #tom hiddlston imagines #booky's written works #booky's trip dowm memory lane

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robertmatejcek · 4 months

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Untitled Large Format Still Life with Drapery and Bric-a-Brac - analog photograph - paper negative, 8 second +/-, hand-built cardboard box camera, unknown projector lens, caffenol developer - robert matejcek - 2024

“The room was not impressively large, even by Manhattan apartment-house standards, but its accumulated furnishings might have lent a snug appearance to a banquet hall in Valhalla.” - J.D. Salinger - Franny and Zooey

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ladyinred2248 · 6 months

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The Offering, Finan x Luna, Part 8

Warnings: Mature. Minors DNI.

Summary: The crew heads to Hunstanestun to retrieve Skade. Setting is Season 3, Ep. 7.

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Nightmares stirred Finan awake frequently that night. There were many times that he would wake in a panicked state, cursing the hour until he was wide awake at dawn. Luna slept soundly beside him, alternating sides comfortably as he stirred, and he didn’t wish to wake her with his troubles. Finan regretted the darkness that engulfed him in regards to his worries for her and his desire to seek control over a situation, perhaps a future that had no measurable outcome. He had struggled with this concept so often in his life. He wished that Sihtric was there to confide in, and wondered if Luna would be happier to join her brother after all.

Just after dawn, Finan left their bed and put wood in the fire at the hearth as the chamber had begun to grow cold. He sat on the ground near it, contemplating, and fought back tears as he rubbed his eyes.

He heard rustling in the next room until he heard Luna speak.

“Finan… what’s wrong?” She asked with a worried look as she came closer.

He rubbed his eyes and then the side of his face as he looked up to her, forcing a smile. “I’m okay, love.” He replied.

“You are not…” she said as she sat down next to him. “What is it?”

Finan paused for a moment and looked up at her. “I’m not proud of my actions last night. I do not seek to control you. I want ya to be happy.” Finan replied.

Luna paused for a moment before she spoke.

“Were you not pleased with our first argument, Lord?” she said teasingly with a smirk as she cupped his cheek, “Your life thus far has left you with scars. I can understand that. You only have good intentions. You just have to trust that I can follow Uhtred as you do and hold my own. I was raised as a warrior, as you were.”

Finan nodded. “Yes. It’s just… I have never felt this way about anyone before. It’s… very frightening.” Finan replied softly, looking exhausted.

“It is,” she replied as she grabbed his hand, bending her head down to kiss his palm.

“I’ve seen you fight, and you are a relentless warrior,” Finan started, “ I just don’t want to lose you…I wouldna survive. I want to have a family.”

“…Everything will be alright, I promise. I will not fail you, Lord, in either regard.” Luna smiled. “You should try to get some more rest. We leave Saltwic soon.”

Finan nodded and returned to the bedchamber to rest, while Luna packed up their things for the journey ahead. Uhtred’s plan was to retrieve Skade from the Dane’s camp at Hunstanestun, return to Coccham to see his children, and then meet Thyra and Beocca in Winchester so he could gain a vile of Thyra’s blood to avenge his brother Ragnar and send him to Valhalla. Uhtred had agreed to let Beocca marry Finan and Luna upon their arrival. Later that morning, Uhtred, Finan, and Luna prepared the horses for the journey.

“Why warn the Danes that we’re comin’?” Finan asked Uhtred as they walked together, referring to the hostage that had been allowed to live and send a message to the Danes.

“Who asks? The men or Finan?” Uhtred replied.

“Well, I’m askin but the men would like to know.” Finan answered.

“To give them worry. They know that I am coming but they do not know when. It will give them sleepless nights, and when they do sleep, I want them to dream of a cold, cold hell.” Uhtred said as they grabbed their bags.

“Hell is a place of fire, Lord.” Osferth said as he caught up with them.

“Uhhh, what are ya doin?” Finan asked Osferth.

“Did you believe you were leaving without me? Not a chance.” Osferth replied with a smirk and then walked toward the horses.

Luna joined Finan and Osferth as Uhtred said goodbye to Aethelflaed.

“I have a surprise for ya,” Finan said as she came closer.

“Hm?” She hummed as Finan walked a horse over to her, a young beast with a gentle temperament.

Luna grinned as she pet the horse’s head, reeling with excitement. “My gods, he is beautiful! Finan... thank you.” She said as she embraced him in a tight hug, knowing it was his way of saying he trusted her to hold her own for this journey.

Uhtred smiled at Luna as she caught his eye.

“Are you ready, lady?” He asked with a wink at her.

Luna nodded with a smile, then mounted her horse and the others followed suit. They left Saltwic at an eager speed.

Offa had returned to the Dane’s camp to relay Uhtred’s message, and was subsequently killed in a fit of rage by Bloodhair while Haestan and Bloodhair bickered, tempting a fight between the two.

As the crew made their way to Hunstanestun, they came across a village that looked to be faring quite well.

“I’m noticin’ this village is different to the others we’ve passed,” Finan mentioned as they rode up to the gates.

“It prospers.” Osferth replied.

“In the heart of Danelaw, it prospers.” Finan suggested.

Uhtred chuckled. “I have a thirst, my friends.”

As they came into the village, Finan made remarks of the village people being fat and Luna chuckled softly and nodded in agreement.

The thegn of the surrounding area, Guthlac, questioned them suspiciously as they approached an alehouse.

“What is it you want?” Guthlac chided.

“Food and ale,” Uhtred suggested, “A place to sleep, rest a while. And I would hope that our beds would be warmer than your welcome.”

“No swords. Leave your weapons with your horses. My doors will be open to you.” Guthlac responded.

“I will not give you my sword. But you have my word. We’re here for food, ale, and rest, nothing else.” Uhtred replied, eyeing Guthlac.

“Very well, but be warned, we don’t take kindly to..”

“Strangers with swords?” Osferth interrupted.

“Yes, that.” Guthlac responded sternly, then walked away.

“And now he will send a messenger to the Danes, which could be to our advantage.” Uhtred said with a smirk.

As the crew got settled at the Alehouse, Haestan and Bloodhair had made the square. Skade entranced Bloodhair, making him disoriented just before he could strike Haestan. Sihtric watched the duel, glancing to Skade in suspicion as Bloodhair faltered. Skade then assisted Haestan in killing him as the crowd watched. “She is poison to all men...” Sihtric muttered, his mind wandering to Uhtred and the others.

As they all sat at a table eating and drinking, Uhtred turned his attention to Luna. He watched as she chatted with the men, seemingly laid back amongst the circumstances. He had yet to see her in action, but something in his mind knew that she would not falter when the time came.

As conversation ensued, Osferth had stood up from the table and walked over to the window.

“I had more fun at the burying of my father,” Finan told Uhtred during conversation of previous escapades.

“You knew your father?” Uhtred asked, Luna looking over to Finan and then to Uhtred.

“I knew his fist.” Finan replied as he took a drink, Uhtred raising an eyebrow. Luna’s chest sank at the statement, and then wondered just how much Uhtred did know of Finan’s past. She had not even realized that Finan’s father was in fact dead. She sat there contemplating for a moment, wondering at the many details that Finan had yet to share. He had only told her the story of how he ended up on the slave ship. She hoped that in time he would continue to confide in her.

“They are here, Lord.” Osferth said as he saw Guthlac and his men surrounding the Alehouse, seeking to entrap Uhtred and the men for the Danes.

“I see you watching! Tell our visitor Uhtred he is surrounded!” Guthlac shouted at Osferth.

“Men with weapons, Lord. Some with bows.” Osferth said to Uhtred as he approached him.

“He has sent his messenger and now he plans to keep us here.” Uhtred said to Finan.

“Inside an Alehouse? I can think of worse places.” Finan said to Uhtred with a smile as Uhtred chuckled, Luna admiring Finan from across the table, a smirk coming across her lips.

“Guthlac belongs to the Danes. They will hear we are trapped and they will ride to kill us all…. Which is good, that means there will be less men at their camp, we are a distraction.” Uhtred said as he raised his voice to the men.

“And, we are surrounded.” Finan added.

“Watch that door,” Uhtred commanded a man in the back.

“Uhtred, I wish only to talk.” Guthlac said from the outside.

“Then talk!” Uhtred replied.

“I do not wish to fight,” Guthlac continued.

“That is a shame. Nothing finishes an evening in an Alehouse so well as a fight,” Uhtred said with a grin.

“Uh, Maybe a woman,” Finan suggested, Uhtred agreeing as Finan looked up at Luna and winked.

“You are outnumbered. There is no way out, and we have bows. You should yield. Yield and your men will live. They only want Uhtred.” Guthlac insisted.

“You’re a traitor, Guthlac,” Uhtred said as he stood from the table.

“You cannot escape! I say it again, we only want Uhtred!” Guthlac shouted.

“You’re all free men. Free to choose,” Uhtred said with a smirk, then looked at Luna. “As are you, lady.”

“We’re with you lord,” many of the men agreed. Luna jumped up from her seat, already reeling with the adrenaline that she craved.

Uhtred nodded and swiftly moved. “Bar the door,” he commanded Osferth. Luna’s heart skipped with excitement at Uhtred’s command.

Finan, Luna, and Osferth grabbed their weapons and stood by as Uhtred climbed the stairs, requesting an axe from Osferth as he searched for an escape route.

“What now, Lord?” Finan asked.

“Bring me fire!” Uhtred replied.

“He just loves burning things,” Finan told Osferth and Luna.

“He would love hell,” Osferth replied.

Luna and Finan grabbed torches from the walls as Uhtred cut an opening through the ceiling with the axe, then climbed through the opening and started throwing torches across the rooftops as Finan handed them to him.

“More,” Uhtred commanded Finan, “We shall burn the whole village if we must.”

The rooftops were set ablaze quickly as Guthlac and his men scrambled and village people panicked.

Uhtred and the others were then able to walk out of the Alehouse.

“Spare me, Lord. Spare me. The Danes made me comply. I had no choice!” Guthlac pleaded as they approached him, kneeling to Uhtred.

“Never forget!” Uhtred commanded as he stabbed Guthlac in the chest. “You serve the Lady of Mercia. First and last.”

Finan and Luna shared a glance and smirked at each other as they followed Uhtred and the others back to the horses.

“I see now, why you are loyal to him.” Luna said with a smile.

Finan nodded. “He is loyal to us as well.”

The crew continued on to Hunstanetun and arrived late the next morning. Luna had grown silent as they reached the outskirts of the camp, worrying for Sihtric and hoping they would not cross each other in combat if it came down to it. She was sad that he remained with the Danes, and hoped she would have the chance to reason with him… but this was not a realistic thought.

They got as close to the camp as possible, hiding in the trees as they observed and tried to formulate a plan.

“Once night falls…Even the king of shadow walkers would find no place here.” Osferth said.

“Shh, someone’s comin!” Finan whispered as they all ducked down, a dark figure approaching from the distance.

“It is Sihtric.” Osferth whispered as Uhtred stood.

Luna’s heart raced as she met Finan’s eye contact, Finan giving her a look of understanding.

Sihtric came around to face the men, sharing intense eye contact with Uhtred as he came closer.

“Do you have something to say to me, boy?” Uhtred asked.

“I do.” Sihtric started and then drew his sword, “Yield to me.”

Finan and Luna looked on in shock, frozen.

Uhtred put both of his hands up with wide eyes, dropping his dagger.

Osferth looked on in confusion.

Sihtric then staked his sword in the ground, walking to Uhtred as they laughed and embraced one another. Finan and Luna watched in awe and then looked at each other, Luna sighed in relief as she realized what was happening.

“You were playing us. My goodness, they were playing us, Finan! Why??” Osferth said as he hit Finan’s leg.

“If you had not believed it, Osferth nor would others.” Uhtred replied, chuckling.

“I fooled you.” Sihtric said as he walked up to Finan.

“No, I, I knew.” Finan stuttered with happiness.

“No you did not. Was I good?” Sihtric asked.

“A little,” Osferth replied.

“I’m tellin you, I knew it.” Finan chucked as he embraced Sihtric, both of them laughing.

Sihtric looked away and caught sight of Luna.

“You are here?!” He asked her, coming over to embrace her in a tight hug. “You brought my sister here, Irishman?!” He joked at Finan.

“She wouldna let me leave her,” Finan replied with a smirk. “I just hope it was all worth it.” Finan continued.

“I hope so too,” Sihtric replied.

“What do you know? We saw Cnut on the road.” Uhtred asked Sihtric.

“Only Haestan remains at the camp,” Sihtric started.

“What of Bloodhair?” Uhtred inquired.

“Dead. He fought with Haestan and was killed by Skade.” Sihtric replied.

“Good Jesus,” Finan muttered.

“She’s a witch like no other.” Sihtric continued.

“She knows I’m near?” Uhtred asked.

“Yes, and she knows of your promise to shadow walk. But, there are too many guards. She is allowed to collect grass and herbs by a tree for her spells.”

“A tree?” Uhtred inquired.

“It’s a single tree on the other side of the camp, you cannot miss it.” Sihtric smirked.

“Tell her I’m here and take her there tonight.” Uhtred said.

“And if she refuses? If Haestan prevents her?” Sihtric asked.

“She will not refuse and Haestan will not refuse her.” Uhtred replied confidently.

Sihtric and Uhtred chuckled at each other.

“You have never failed me, Sihtric. I will see you at the tree.” Uhtred told him and lovingly shoved him away.

Finan looked at Luna and chuckled. She glared at Uhtred.

“You allowed me to believe that he betrayed you,” she said to Uhtred lightly.

“It was necessary, Lady.” He smirked.

tags: @persephones-journey @gemini-mama @king-alfred @bhxrdy @alexagirlie

#finan the agile #tlk fanfic #finan tlk fanfic #tlk fandom #the last kingdom #finan tlk

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autisticwriterblog · 3 months

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Fandom 50 Post 21

My eighteenth piece of Alan Wake 2 meta. This one is about Return 8.

Return 8: Deerfest

What happened in this chapter?

After helplessly watching Scratch possess Casey and throw Saga into the lake, Alan sees the Anderson brothers wade into the water and eventually vanish. With a clear mind after all these years, Alan approaches Agent Estevez. He and Estevez discuss a plan to stop Scratch, with Alan explaining that he should be able to rewrite the ending if he can read the original story. Estevez doesn’t seem comfortable letting Alan take over, but her injury means she can’t help, so she supplies him with weapons.

With the weapons in hand, Alan traverses the woods, heading to the FBI agents’ car to get back to Bright Falls. On the way, he is attacked by Taken, but Alan fights them off—it’s no different to what he did thirteen years ago, or for all that time in the Dark Place. Reaching the parking lot, he gets into the car and drives into town.

In town, he finds the place shrouded in darkness as Scratch’s manuscript already starts bleeding into reality. Alan is terrified about walking into the altered reality after spending thirteen years trapped in the Dark Place, but he must do it. So, he forces himself to enter… and emerges in a brightly lit Bright Falls that looks nothing like he expected.

The town celebrates an eternal Deerfest, with everyone wearing deer masks. Everyone is very excited about Alan Wake’s newest book, ‘Return’, and Alan hears people talking all about his book as he passes them. Eventually, he finds a cutout of himself holding a copy of the book, so he picks it up. At which point, the townsfolk turn hostile, and Alan flees for his life.

After blocking a door to stop them following him, Alan walks along a path until he finds the Valhalla Nursing Home. Recognising the windows of his Writer’s Room on the top floor of the building, Alan approaches, but he must take a diversion through the Wellness Center. Inside, Scratch appears and chases Alan, who manages to get outside without being caught. At which point, the doors to the nursing home fling open and Rose yells for Alan to get inside.

Once safely inside the lit building, Alan talks to Rose Marigold, someone he knew thirteen years ago. Rose insists she has received lots of messages from him and followed all of Alan’s instructions for helping the hero of the story. But when Alan tries to explain that he hasn’t done that, Rose mistakes him for being secretive and ‘plays along’. Afterwards, she encourages Alan to go upstairs, so he does just that.

On the top floor, Alan bumps into Ahti, who he isn’t remotely surprised to see. Ahti unlocks the door for him, and when he enters, Alan finds himself in the Writer’s Room. He finds an echo of himself and Saga discussing the ending to the story; using this information, Alan sits down and begins to write, whilst waiting for Saga to hopefully escape the Dark Place and appear via a puddle of water.

My Thoughts

This is another Return chapter in which we play as Alan, this time because Saga is a bit indisposed by being chucked into the lake by Scratch. We follow Alan as he makes his way to Bright Falls in an attempt to fix everything by rewriting Scratch’s ending.

I love it when Alan mentions that the Andersons performed in his musical in the Dark Place, because Estevez lacks all context (and even with context, it would be hard to explain “so, when I was in the Dark Place, this strange man called Warlin Door put on a musical about my life, and young versions of the Anderson brothers performed alongside their long-dead bandmate whilst playing a very catchy song called ‘Herald of Darkness’.” so I can see why he doesn’t elaborate further) and clearly has no idea what on earth he’s talking about. I don’t blame her for feeling less confident about their plan after hearing him say something so random.

It's very nostalgic walking through the woods as Alan, which he himself seems aware of. Just like thirteen years ago, he’s fighting monsters in the woods while looking for a woman who fell into the lake. Things have come full circle for him.

When I first played the game, I got stuck trying to escape the Dark Presence in the Wellness Center and got killed about ten times before I figured it out. I still get tense during that part of the chapter, and not for the reason the game intended. But, once again, my poor sense of direction is a me problem, not a fault of the game.

I love seeing Alan interact with Rose and Ahti; Rose because it’s the first time in thirteen years that they’ve spoken to each other (despite what Rose believes), and Ahti because they’ve never interacted outside of the Dark Place. Ahti’s little speech about water is also very pretty.

This chapter also contains the final Koskela brothers’ commercial, and it is heartbreaking. Ilmo presents it alone because Jaakko is dead, but Ilmo hasn’t adjusted the script, and the camera keeps cutting to where Jaakko should be. He wears a deer mask like everyone else and although it hides most of his face, it’s still obvious how much emotional pain Ilmo is in. Even Scratch’s fake reality can’t fix him.

#alan wake 2 #alan wake #alan wake 2 spoilers #meta #fandom 50

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therealvikingstrash · 10 months

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10 Characters - 10 Fandoms - 10 Tags

pick 10 characters from 10 different fandoms and tag 10 people! tagged by @ladyyennefer thank you for the tag, love 💕

1. Hvitserk Ragnarsson - Vikings

Tortured soul with no limits in combat (total bloodlust), who loves deeply and goes with the flow to survive. Absolute sweetheart when at home with people he loves. Sign me up. Also broad shoulders and slim waist? And and and prettiest hair.

2. Jarl Estrid Haakon - Vikings: Valhalla

She's such a queen, oozing power by just standing somewhere. The presence just pulled me in like a moth to flame and I'm burning for her. She should've been in s2- there, I said it.

3. An Jun-ho - D.P. Deserter Pursuit

Another one of those "goes batshit in combat" types (although, he does apologize for hurting ppl, unlike the other ones who kill), that are very loving, with the broad shoulders-slim waist ratio. Welp, there might be a type.

4. Derek Hale - Teen Wolf

Tortured soul. Honestly, that dudes life is one big tragedy. But he's a fighter xD

5. Crowley - Good Omens

An angel that did not so much fall as saunter vaguely downwards. Asking questions and giving no fucks. My type people.

6. Geralt of Rivia - The Witcher

He swears a lot, soft heart, hard shell. He's somewhere in the dollhouse with the pther dudes up there. They all share a room and bitch about their shitty life.

7. Do Ha-na - The Uncanny Counter

Tough, but actually sweet. Also: pretty.

8. Kala Dandekar - Sense8

She is my babygirl and I need to protect her at all cost. Although, she is fully capable of doing that on her own.

9. Andromache the Scythian - The Old Guard

Very old, very tired, very done with everyone's bullshit (oh, is that me? No, it's Andy). Grade A fighter who has a huge soft spot for innocent people.

10. Pyeon Sang-wook - Sweet Home

Should I say it? Horrible background, gets constantly mistaken for a gangster/mobster, even though he's not a bad guy. He does some questionable things in the name of good(since the law SUCKS big time), but otherwise I would like to wrap him up in a blanket and give him nice things. (Wow, look it's a pattern)

Tagging: @bouncehousedemons @ritual-unions @tlkvikings @ulfrsmal @viking-hel @mercurygray @thelirofnorthlands @queenfinehair @shelivesinhermind @sparkling-strychnine

#tag game

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freddie-foxs · 1 year

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Of Irland, Chapter 8

Chapter 1 \\ Chapter 7 \\ Series Masterlist

Instead of being taken captive in Winchester, Stiorra leaves for Irland with a friend of her father’s. There she meets Sigtryggr, a Dane, the grandson of Ivar the Boneless.

Chapter 8: Dirty Waters

Chapter warnings: Language Words: 2604 AO3

Stiorra had been waiting for only a few moments when the others came in. “Where is Sigtryggr?” Ivar demanded.

“I..” she stuttered.

“I’m here,” called a voice from the stairs. Sigtryggr.

He came down, footsteps pounding on the stairs. He still did not have his shirt on.

“We need to talk, brother,” Ivar ordered. “You little hump thing can wait.”

The temperature in the room dropped. No-one spoke. Stiorra began shaking with fear, although she could not quite identify where it was coming from.

“What did you call her?” Sigtryggr thundered.

Fuck. He was sexy when he was angry. The way his eyes darkened. His voice dropped to a raspy whisper. His hands balled into fist at his sides…

Stiorra shook her head and stepped between the brothers. “Enough,” she said, “stopping fighting.”

Sigtryggr turned to look at her. There was a fire in his eyes. “He insulted you.” There was hurt in his voice.

Ivar had been insulting her since the day she arrived. Now that Sigtryggr was showing her attention, the number of insults was likely to double.

Stiorra glared at him until he backed down. Behind her, Ivar smirked. He muttered something in Irish that made Sigtryggr launch his way past her and start beating the shit out of him.

Stiorra screamed.

Rognvaldr leapt into the fray, trying to break the two apart. Drifa called over Sigurd and Hæfnir to help.

There were several broken noses and bruised knuckles before Sigtryggr and Ivar were separated. Sigtryggr was seething, Ivar smirking.

Stiorra had never been so afraid. Not for herself. But for Sigtryggr. What if Ivar beat him to death? Deprive him of his place in Valhalla? Stiorra imagined killing him if that happened.

“Aww, féach air! Ag cosaint a chlú luachmhar mar an fear is cliste sa teaghlach ó shin i leith ár seanathair,” Ivar spat, held back by Hæfnir and Rognvaldr.

“Ná dean,” Sigtryggr growled, “glaoch orm bórd.”

“Ansin stop ag ligean ort gur duine againn tú. Níl ionat ach bastard, tá a fhios ag gach duine é.” At these words, Sigtryggr tried to launch himself at Ivar again, but failed due to being held down by Sigurd.

Sigurd, unlike Hæfnir, actually looked like a berserker. He was big, carried a massive axe, and his battle cry… that was enough to make anyone shit themselves. He was also exceedingly strong.

“Stop fighting,” Drifa warned. “Both of you. This is enough.” She stood between them now. She glared at Ivar. “Ivar…” she began. Then waved her hand at Asvard and started walking to the room at the back.

“She wants to go fuck yourself,” Asvard finished.

Ivar glared murderously at his brother, and then shrugged off the two men and stormed after Drifa.

Stiorra took a shaky breath. This was bad.

Both led their own bands of men. Both owned their own ships. Tension between the brothers could lead to tension between their men. If a war began within Dyflin, they would all be killed.

Sigtryggr turned back to her. She fought with herself as so not to stare. His nose, there was anything interesting about his nose. Right? Other than the fact it was bleeding.

“I’m sorry about that,” he apologised.

“You didn’t do anything,” she said.

“My brother insulted you,” he reminded her.

Stiorra said nothing.

Rognvaldr called out for Sigtryggr. He sighed, wiping the blood off his nose.

Well, now she got a nice view of his hands. His rough, warm but gentle hands. What she would give for those hands to cup her cheek, to gently draw her closer, to…

Shit. Not again. The puddle reformed.

“I should go and see what Ivar wants this time,” he grumbled. Not helping. The puddle grew larger, more of a pond.

“Will you be alright until later?” he asked her, brow furrowing in concern. She melted under his gentle gaze.

“I was thinking,” she said, fighting to keep her voice even, “I would bathe. It’s been a while.”

He nodded. “Just, don’t go alone,” he cautioned. Stiorra agreed.

“When you’ve finished humping her, brother!” Ivar yelled from the rear room.

Sigtryggr growled. He turned to leave when Stiorra reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Do not fight him again. Please?” she begged. He nodded. But she didn’t let go.

They just stared into each other’s eyes for a moment. Stiorra gazed into the deep blue abyss, falling every second.

“BROTHER!” Ivar called. Stiorra jumped back, and he walked away.

She watched him as he left, the tattoo on his back providing a nice contrast to his pinkish tinged skin. He turned back once more before the door shut.

Stiorra’s heart gave a leap. What was that? Him defending her.

She tried not to think about his sculpted form. Or his tattoo, tracing it with her fingers, skimming her lips along the dark lines…

For fuck’s sake! she yelled at her mind. Gods.

The things this man did to her.

***

Stiorra slowly sunk into the water. It was exactly cold, but wasn’t exactly warm, either. She dipped her head under the water before surfacing again.

A body slid into the lake beside her. Frida. “Is it alright if we join you?” she asked.

Stiorra looked back on the bank. Standing there was Torgärd and Thora. Drifa’s cousin, Asfrid was sitting on a stump. Jezekel, one of Drifa’s guards, was standing with his back turned a few feet away. Stiorra nodded and the women stripped and lowered themselves in the water. All of them except for Asfrid.

“Are you not joining us?” Stiorra inquired.

“No,” she replied, sighing. “I’ve already bathed. Drifa insisted that I chaperone. You never know what dangers lurk.”

“But you already have guard,” Stiorra reminded her, gesturing towards Jezekel. Asfrid groaned in annoyance.

“Fine!” she confessed. “Drifa sent to find out how you feel about Sigtryggr.”

Thora spluttered, snorting up some water. Frida patted her on the back as she coughed.

“WHAT?” Stiorra yelled indignantly.

Asfrid shrugged. “She knows you like him. She’s not blind. Or stupid.”

“And she sent all of you to wrangle a confession out of me,” she demanded of the others.

“Why do you think Mœid is not here?”

“I’d thought she was fucking Sigbjorn again,” Thora said.

Stiorra gaped at her. “I didn’t think any of you swore.”

“You try making through a hump with Hæfnir. He always swears,” she stated.

“Ingemar’s the same,” Frida added. “Always swearing.”

“They do that?” Stiorra asked. She then blushed at her own ignorance of such things. Her father had always shielded her from this type of conversation. Stiorra had the distinctive feeling she was about to have a lesson in humping from these women.

“Oh, yes,” Thora verified, “all the time.”

“Does it… hurt?” Stiorra asked hesitantly.

The women looked at her, seeming somewhat reluctant to answer her. The silence was long and awkward. Stiorra squirmed inside for asking such a question. Eventually, Thora spoke.

“It depends…” she paused, unsure of how to answer the question.

“You should ask Drifa,” Asfrid said. All the women looked up at her in surprise.

“Drifa doesn’t sleep with anyone,” Torgärd reminded her.

“She’s also well-travelled and a healer and advisor. She’s the person people come to for advice on all kinds of things from battle strategies to, yes, humping,” Asfrid informed her astonished crowd. “Thora, do you remember Drifa asking if it hurt the night after you lay with Hæfnir for the first time?”

Thora nodded. “I remember. I told her it only hurt for a moment, but he was gentle and careful, and he made sure I was comfortable before he started moving again.”

“Well, Drifa has asked that question to many women in all kinds of places. Some of them said it hurt every time. But they were mostly women who had not married for love or were women who were raped by their husbands every night. If they complained about it, they’d be told that he was ‘claiming his right as a husband’.” Asfrid paused for a breath.

Women raped in marriage? Stiorra had never really heard of that. She knew that Aethelflaed had not been well treated by her husband, Aethelred. But now Asfrid had said this, was this why the marriage was so unhappy? Or was there another reason.

“But there were those women who said the man was careful and gentle. That he made them comfortable. That he constantly asked if she was alright.”

Stiorra nodded as she listened. There was still something she had to clear up though.

“Why does Drifa to that kind of research if she doesn’t hump herself?” she asked Asfrid.

“Like I said, she is the one people go to for advice. To give advice, she needs to know things. I personally do not believe she has lived as long as she has and still never humped.”

“So, she has a lover?” Frida asked, smirking.

“I’m sure she does,” teased Asfrid.

“Who?” Thora begged. Stiorra chuckled, looking up at Asfrid, curious to know who had been handsome enough to break through a barriers Drifa had built up around herself.

Drifa had sworn off love many years ago when her best friend betrayed her and killed many of her friends. She had said that the reason he did it was for love. Since then, she had sworn that she would not fall in love. But that did not mean she could not hump. Love and humping do not always go together. But the idea that she had fallen off the wagon was too great a chance to annoy her back.

“I think it’s Asvard.”

All four women burst out laughing. Although now it had been said, Stiorra could see the appeal. Asvard was good-looking, strong. He was rumoured to be one of the few who could actually beat her in combat.

“Just, don’t tell her I said that,” Asfrid cautioned. “She tends to get really mad when you mention it.”

***

Sigtryggr:

“Faolán Mac Thóm?” Sigtryggr puzzled.

“Yes,” Ivar confirmed. “He is apparently forming an army to attack us.”

“Where is he gathering this army?”

“South,” Drifa provided, pointing at the map. “From what my man said, he may have upwards of three-hundred men.”

Rognvaldr snorted. “We can beat three hundred, easily.”

“These men are Irish,” Drifa cautioned. “They do not give in easily.”

“We should set some men on the walls and send scouts to watch for this army,” Sigtryggr advised. The more the better. One man’s family was already dead because of their lack of attention.

“I agree.” Sigtryggr’s head snapped up. He had expected to have to fight with Ivar on this, as he had been forced to on many occasions. “We send men to reinforce those at Papey.”

A good plan. Sigtryggr may not like his brother, but sometimes he actually did use his brain for thing other than insulting women. His thoughts wondered back to Stiorra.

Stiorra. The small woman who had come here with Drifa. Sigtryggr had not been able to stop thinking about her since the moment Drifa brought her into the Great Hall. He’d had a prior arrangement and had left. But now he wondered…

He snapped back into the conversation. “If the army is as big as you say,” Ivar was saying, “I am wondering how easy it will be for them to take this place.”

“Then they must not get past Papey,” Sigtryggr told him. “Send the men.”

Ivar nodded and the order was passed around.

Sigtryggr turned to leave.

“Where are you going, brother?” came a scornful voice. Ivar. “To find your little hump thing?” He chuckled.

Sigtryggr seethed. He turned and stormed towards Ivar pinning him back against the wall.

“Brother!” Rognvaldr shouted.

“Do not,” Sigtryggr growled, “call her that again.”

“Why? Aren’t humping her?” Ivar goaded. “Because if your not then I will-“

Sigtryggr did not let him finish his sentence. He slammed Ivar back into the wall again, letting him fall to the floor before punching him as hard as he could. Ivar struggled back, his fist connecting with Sigtryggr’s already broken nose. Drifa stepped in, pulling Sigtryggr off his brother.

“Enough,” she warned. “All this in fighting is not hel-.”

“You will not touch her,” Sigtryggr seethed.

Ivar chuckled. “Someone has to hump her. Teach her a lesson,” he goaded. He was enjoying this, Sigtryggr realised. He enjoyed riling his brother up, shattering his so-precious self-control.

Thankfully, Drifa responded before he could launch himself forwards again.

“Ivar, keep your dirty little hands off her. All this in-fighting between you, you create dirty waters, and your men drink it. We cannot afford a civil war now. We have a common enemy for now, Faolán. Let us focus on him.”

***

Stiorra:

Stiorra carefully slipped into her dress. It was flowy, like the red one from earlier, only this time it was blue, a colour Drifa said suited her. She strolled back to the city, escorted by Jezekel. The other women had long since left, but he’d remained, saying that Drifa had insisted.

Jezekel was unusual. He was tall and blonde. His hair was shorter than most Danes here, and his name did not sound Danish either. When she prodded him, he only told her that he came from some place far from here.

As they went through the gates, Stiorra felt someone grip her elbow. She turned to slap whoever it was, only to find that it was Sigtryggr. She smiled and he let go of her. Jezekel only looked back briefly before continuing.

“Did you enjoy your bath?” he inquired.

“I did,” Stiorra told him.

Sigtryggr was wearing a shirt now, not that Stiorra was surprised. The sun was setting, taking the heat of the day with it.

Sigtryggr offered Stiorra his arm. She looped her arm through it and they began to walk.

He pointed at the various shops and places in the city. He told her which blacksmith was the best to go to for swords, and which was best as shoeing horses. He showed her the stalls where farmers sold their crops. The butchers, where the stench of blood and death emerged from the darkened interior.

He took her to the market. This one was where the merchant’s came from overseas to sell things like cloth and jewellery. He hung back while Stiorra admired the trader’s wares.

Lastly, he took her to the docks where the ships came in and out. They stood there for a while, watching the sunset. Stiorra shivered in the cool evening breeze.

“You’re cold,” Sigtryggr observed.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. He was not convinced. He heard him leave for a moment.

When she heard his footsteps coming back, she turned to find him holding a thin summer cloak. It looked like Drifa’s work.

Drifa had many ways of making a living. She heeled people, but she did that for free. So she made armour and clothing.

Sigtryggr wrapped the thin linen cloak around her bare shoulders. She shivered again, but not from the cold.

“The waters are so clean here,” Stiorra marvelled.

“That’s because we don’t throw our shit in the water.”

“My father told me that my mother used to complain about washing in dirty waters,” she said sadly. Sigtryggr noticed this.

“I’m sorry,” he consoled. Stiorra shook her head to clear the tears. It had been many years.

As the sun dipped behind the horizon, he suggested that they go inside and eat. Stiorra happily agreed. This had been the best day in Irland so far. So much had changed. She still missed her father and her mother, but somehow, she didn’t quite feel as alone.

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vikingnerd793 · 1 year

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OK so I feel spoiled that I've loved so many games since 2018. But here is my personal favorite games ever list, updated

1. Assassin's Creed Valhalla

2. Skyrim

3. Baldur's Gate 3

4. Elder Scrolls Online

5. Diablo IV

6. God of War Ragnarok

7. Assassin's Creed Origins

8. God of War (2018)

9. Assassin's Creed Black Flag

10. tie between Diablo II and Diablo III with the Reaper of Souls expansion

SPOILER BELOW

BG 3 was incredible and I'm shocked I enjoyed a turn based game that much .... I sincerely hope for DLCs! If they could just add in a new ending for a certain character someday, it would be a 100% masterpiece for me. Maybe a DLC or a patched in cutting room floor option. That was so traumatic and then roll credits after.....omg...

#baldur's gate 3 spoilers #my favorite games #my games ranked #this is personal so no I don't invite arguments or criticism thanks

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dani-luminae · 1 year

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How did the D&D go? Was it fun? Did you like it? Was it your first time?

Yes, it was my first time! And it was freaking hilarious. Maybe not as engaging as I would have liked, but the hilarity made up for it.

So like 13 people signed up... and like 8 of us actually showed. So, big party, lots of characters for our DM to balance. But he did fantastically! Some of the highlights of the night include a mimic!pillow, our bard and warlock joint-seducing an alligator who, after a spectacular Nat20 from the warlock, joins our team, and a face off against some hag called Algast.

Iri (me) spent most of the time carrying around Annie, the Warforged ragdoll, and in my most impressive move of the evening, I melted half the hag's face off with acid spray cantrip.

(The warlock wanted to train the alligator to dance to the bard's music, but sadly failed the animal handling roll.)

Some of the best quotes of the night include:

DM: "The mimic's wounded eye oozes a green slime that drips down it's face and over it's mouth -"

Iri (me): "please don't be acid please don't be acid -"

DM: "It's not acid, it's just gross. ...Needless to say, this mimic is seriously regretting its life choices."

Anti-Paladin, about undead castle guards, as the party is in a study: "Can we just light a book on fire and throw it at them?"

DM: "...Odin descended from Valhalla and declares 'no book burning!'"

Cleric (of Odin, who has been unsuccessfully trying to pray to Odin all evening and is Done with the anti-paladin's shit): "FINALLY"

The DM, about our party's strategy to the last encounter of the night, in which the Bard and Warlock are performing as a distraction, several others are charging right at Algast, and the rest of us are stealthing: "Algast doesn't know what to do about this... this clown car of pure insanity that has just been released into the throne room!"

Then, as Shit Gets Real, "[Algast] is finally realizing that this is not a clown car, and oh fuck, you're all *actually competent*!" (three minutes later I melt half her face with Acid Splash! Ha!)

In the briefest summary, Annie is the only member of the Clown Car party that Iri cares about, and Iri has one useful moment.

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thecaptainsgingersnap · 2 years

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Oc Ask Game - The Basics: Hannah Kentworthy

1. What is your ocs full name? Does this name have any special meaning/history?

Hannah Louise Kentworthy, I just liked the way it flewed

2. Does your oc have any nicknames? How did they get these nicknames?

Han, Hannah Lou, and Hannah Banana are all obvious. Floor 19 calls her Ice Queen and her Boyfriend TJ casserole her Snowflake because her mother is the goddess of snow and ice.

3. How old is your oc?

Eternally 17

4. Does your oc have a defining physical trait? What makes this feature unique?

Her eyes, they're big and wide and ice blue

5. Does your oc have a defining personality trait? Why does this trait define them?

She's protective. She spent her last few years alive protecting her brother. She died protecting her gang of street orphans. Now in her afterlife, she's Floor 19's resident mom friend making sure her friends are mildly safe and their emotional and mental states are well taken care of.

6. What’s your oc’s current job and what’s their dream job? Do these jobs differ?

Well as a dead eternal teenager, she doesn't have a real job, but Blitzen let's her help at his shop sometimes. She wishes she could have owned a bakery.

7. How would you describe your oc’s style? How would they describe their style?

I'd call it cute, but functional. Hannah would call it I can wear this to combat training or on a date or dating to the death (a real thing at the Hotel Valhalla believe it or not.

8. What is your oc’s relationship status? Are they content with this?

She's in a long term relationship with her hallmate Thomas Jefferson Jnr. asks she is very happy with that.

9. How would you describe your oc’s personality? How would they describe their personality?

We would both say she's the mom friend with a sarcastic side

10. What’s your oc’s greatest weakness?

If she leaves the Hotel, she can die, but permanently this time

11. What’s your oc’s greatest strength?

She can control ice and snow

12. What is your oc’s biggest fear? Why?

Giant squirrels, you get chased through Yggdrasil by one and tell me you're not terrified afterward!

13. What is your oc’s most prized possession? What’s the importance/meaning behind this item?

Hermagic arrow, Willow, was the only gift her mother had ever given her. Her aim is always accurate and she always returns to Hannah's quiver. Plus like any good magical weapon, Willow can talk.

14. Does your oc have any hobbies? How did they get involved in these?

She sews and bakes. She uses them as excuses to make stuff for her friends.

15. What’s your oc’s favorite color? Does this color have any special meaning/symbolism?

Blue, it gives her wintery vibes and reminds her off her mother.

16. What’s your oc’s favorite food? Why is this their favorite food?

Yorkshire pudding was the first thing Hannah learned to bake and it reminds her of growing up in London.

17. What’s your oc’s biggest aspiration in life? Why?

She wants to delay Ragnarok as long as possible. She didn't get long to live her life and she's happy as an einherjar. She's in no hurry to give that up.

18. What’s your oc’s relationship like with their family?

Well her mother doesn't really talk to her but Hannah knows she cares from a distance. Her father and her brother are both dead and apparently in some other afterlife so she doesn't really have a relationship with them anymore.

19. Does your oc have any defining skills? How did they acquire/learn these skills?

Outside the typical einherjar abilities, Hannah is kheimo and frigokinetic. She inherited these skills from her mother Skadi. She's also an amazing archer. Part of that is also inherited talent but most of it comes from a lot of practice.

20. What does your oc’s bedroom/house look like? How does this reflect their personality?

Her room at the Hotel Valhalla looks like the inside of a cozy cottage. Her main atrium is divided between a large living area with comfy couches and chairs around a huge roaring fireplace with shelves full of books on the walls all around it and an enormous kitchen fully stocked for baking. To one side, there's a nook for maintaining her archery equipment. On the other is a nook with sewing supplies.

Basic Asks

#Hannah Kentworthy

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wyrmfedgrave · 4 months

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Pics:

1. Lovecraftiana magazine!

2 thru 10. Too many tentacles!!

What happened to Howard's other monsters?!

Really, we need more pics about HPL's 'regular' creatures!

Where's Ben Jerkin & the rats in the wall?!!

Or, the Elder Things & Nightgaunts...

Come on, artists!

Astound us again.

But, no tentacles this time, okay?

Addendum: Short Takes.

Around 1911 & 1912, Lovecraft still had some school friends - especially one Chester Munroe.

Addison (Chester's dad) said, "HPL lived... a few houses from our home & was... frequently... here with our sons."

"We had a room fixed up in our base- ment... to use as a club... which was popular with Howard."

"The (members) consisted of... a half- dozen... 'boys,' (all) 20 years of age."

"When they had a... 'banquet,' (it was) improvised &... self-cooked."

"(HPL) was always the speaker of the evening... & he delivered addresses that were gems."

2. "Occasionally," Addison continued, "I would... talk with him & he always surprised me with the maturity & logic of his (thoughts)."

"One time in particular, when I was (in) the Rhode Island Senate (from 1911 till 1914), we had several... measures be- fore that (governing) body."

"Howard, being... here..., started to discuss... these (matters) & I was astounded by the knowledge... he displayed... to measures that would ordinarily be of no interest to a young fellow..."

Quotes:

1. "Good art (is) the ability of an (artist) to pin down, in some... medium, an... idea of what he sees... that nobody (else) can (make out)."

2. "Most of my monsters fail... to satisfy my sense of the cosmic. With the... chromatic entity in "The Color Out of Space" being the only one... I take any pride in."

3. "Men (with sensitive) minds... always tremble at the thought of... hidden... worlds (& the) strange life... in the gulfs beyond the stars."

"(Life) which may press... on our own globe (thru) unholy dimensions - that only the dead (or) mad can see."

4. "I am... opposed to... arrogant & arbitrary extremes (in) government... simply because I wish the safety of (our) artistic & intellectual civilization to be secure. Not because I have any sympathy (for) the... 'herd' (that) menaces... civilization - if (they were) not placated by sops."

5. "Too widely (differing) races, whether equal or not, cannot coexist (peacefully) in the same territory... Either they are (both) mongrelized or cast into... permanent... aloofness."

6. "I do not regard the rise of women as a bad sign. I fancy... her traditional subordination was... an... undesirable condition based on Oriental influences."

"Our... Teutonic ancestors did not think their wives unworthy to follow them into battle! Nor, scorn to dream of winged Valkyries bearing them to Valhalla."

7. "I am not a pessimist, (just) in- different..."

"I don't think the... cosmos... gives a damn... about the (needs or) welfare of mosquitoes, rats, lice, men, fungi, dodos nor (any) other forms of biological energy."

8. "The only saving grace of the 'present' is that it's too damned stupid to question the past closely."

9. "I could never... convey to any other (person) why I... refrain from suicide. Why I still find existence enough... compensation to atone for its... burdensome qualities."

10. "I live to trace the remote in the immediate; the eternal in the ephemeral; the past in the present; the infinite in the finite - these are, to me, (true) delight & beauty."

End.

#hpl bio #history #addendum #aside #adult hpl #friends #timeline: 1911 to 1912

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teddyniffler · 6 months

Text

Mercy in Defeat

Chapter 8

As Alfred said, the villa was quite the next week, most of the leftover food had been dispatched to the local townspeople, and most of the household staff were absent on a break granted to them by the king.

On the last day of the year, Alfred sat on his bed, he knew this day had been coming, but to finally get here was another thing, today he needed to ask Hvitserk what his wishes were, either to join the Christian faith and become a Saxon prince, or stay a Pagan and be reunited with his family in Valhalla. Alfred put his hands on his face and rested them there for a moment. If it came to it, he would pick the fastest, least painful method for his friend, he had tried to arrange a way he could keep Hvitserk alive should he refuse, but there was always the risk of him fleeing back to his people.

Outside the Villa in the royal courtyard, Hvitserk walked alone among the Roman statues. Alone, because Alfred had told the guards to stop following him, he was free to walk anywhere, do anything he wanted all on his own. He still wasn’t allowed to go into certain areas, but Hvitserk had no interest in running away now, either way he knew his destiny was tied to Alfred, either by his side or dead by his hand. Hvitserk paused by Venus, the goddess of love, the Romans brought her to England with them, then they turned Christian, then the descendants of Alfred’s people arrived once the Romans had left, with their own version of the gods that Hvitserk knew well, until they too turned Christian. Looking at the statue of the beautiful woman, Hvitserk wondered if the Romans would ever believe all their gods would one day be replaced by a single god. How long until Christianity reached Scandinavia? It was going to happen sooner or later, Floki always warned them that the Christ was coming to slay their gods, but their mother told Hvitserk and his brothers that Floki was just scaremongering and being typical Floki, but now all of them were gone and Christianity was still spreading, it had reached the Rus, who were Viking once. He looked up, the sky was white, perfectly matching the snow still on the rooftops. If the gods were up there, they were blocked off under this continuous cloud that covered the entire sky, not even the sun shone through it, but it was up there somewhere.

“Hvitserk”

He turned, Alfred was standing behind him, his dark hair contrasting against the white snow, so it was time.

“How about we go to my chambers and talk in there, it is cold out here” Alfred suggested and Hvitserk nodded, he walked to Alfred who then turned and led the way back into the villa. Hvitserk’s heart pounded, he still hadn’t made his mind up. Join Alfred and live but never see any of his loved ones ever again, or refuse to give up his gods and go to Valhalla to be with his family. He could be back with Ivar again, maybe even tonight, he could hug his mother, his father. Kiss Thora and ask her to marry him, but what if it were all a lie? What if Valhalla was just more suffering at the hands of the gods, would he be giving up his life only to arrive in Valhalla to find him and Ubbe at each other’s throats, forced to fight each other because the gods wanted it. Did Valhalla even exist? If he joined with the Christians, would their god even want him there? He wasn’t anything like Alfred or Elsewith, he wasn’t like Bishop Heahmund, he wasn’t like Prince Igor or Prince Dir. He was an ex-junkie, a recovering alcoholic who was hiding the fact he had killed somebody dear to him in cold blood, he had hurt so many people of Alfred’s religion he was still surprised the Christ god allowed him to wake each morning. The bishop he had murdered in cold blood in this very villa, the sister he had attacked in the church in York, when Ivar horrifically killed the holy man, Hvitserk had cheered from the corner of the room, bathed in the blood from the sister he had just butchered. There was no way Alfred’s god would want him.

If he tried to join their religion, he knew where he was heading.

Hell.

Bishop Heahmund had told Ivar and Hvitserk on many occasions that they would burn in hell, condemned to the pit, and each time they laughed at him, while Heahmund described to them the torments they would suffer, they roared in glee and mocked his words. Now however it was all too real. If he joined the Christians, he would go to their hell and there he would only find more pain, he had enough experience with pain to last a life. If he went to Valhalla, he would be forced to fight everyday and be at the mercy of the gods who had caused his suffering. There was no good choice for him.

They entered Alfred’s room, it was a warm and cosy room, Alfred led the way over to the fire and asked Hvitserk to sit down with him upon some furs by the fire. Hvitserk sat, but didn’t speak, he waited for Alfred to say something.

“I need to know your answer, Hvitserk” He said calmly. “Will you agree to being baptised and join my faith or will you be staying a Pagan?”

Hvitserk looked down at the furs on the floor.

“I can’t join your religion” Hvitserk said. “I’m not who you think I am.”

Alfred’s head dropped slightly, he was devastated but he tried to hide it.

“I understand, it must be hard to give up your way of life” He said reassuringly “But why say you’re not who I think you are, what do you mean by that?”

It was time to tell the truth, Hvitserk was going to die by Alfred’s hand anyway, there was nothing really to lose by telling Alfred what he was, but maybe by telling another person, it would ease his guilt, the one that had been eating him alive for over a year. He could die with a slightly lighter conscious. His checks went warm and his mouth felt dry, he wished Alfred had offered a drink. Hvitserk always felt so ashamed whenever he thought of how bad he had gotten, how low he had sunk, but he had never been able to tell anybody what happened with Lagatha truthfully, he had always had to put on an act, either to Ubbe, Bjorn or Ivar. He remembered lying in bed and sobbing uncontrollably, only then had he been truthful with himself.

“I’m… just a son of Ragnar in name alone, my rest of my family, all my people except for Ivar disowned me. You’ve only kept me alive because I have influence among my people, you believed you could use me, but I don’t have any influence among Vikings, my own people hate me. I did something bad.”

Hvitserk looked away from Alfred, he watched the fire burning, so similar to the flames he once stood in. “I got sick, really sick. I was told by the seer that I would do something nobody else could, but the price would be high. I started hearing noises and seen things nobody else could, I went mad. The only thing that helped was alcohol, I drank until I couldn’t see or hear the horrible things in my head. The alcohol stopped working, so I turned to drugs. Mushrooms. I spent all my money on drugs and Ale until there was nothing left, I started telling the drug dealer to chase Ubbe down for the money. In the end he refused to serve me, so I sold my arm ring. The arm ring is sacred and I sold it for drugs. It’s like you selling your father’s cross for drugs.”

He rubbed his face with his hand, he hadn’t noticed the tears starting to well up in his eyes. He held his hand over his mouth for a moment, scared of the things he was saying, half expecting to be sick. Alfred didn’t say anything to him, Hvitserk was sure the king was furious at hearing he had been keeping a junkie in his villa, Hvitserk had let him believe he was useful for months, but now Alfred would know it was all a lie. Hvitserk was hated, not loved, he was tainted when Alfred thought he had somebody important in his home.

It was ok, he could hate Hvitserk if that made it easier for the king to kill him. Alfred was certain to hate Hvitserk even more soon enough.

“Ubbe and Bjorn noticed, but Bjorn had to go away, he left Ubbe in charge of me, he thought I was insulting our father’s memory by laying in the mud, covered in my own vomit, screaming because I could see my dead mother, I could see the woman I loved who had murdered, I could hear Ivar always calling me, I could see him all around town. I had betrayed Ivar and, in my head, he was promising to come back to town to kill me. It got so bad Ubbe asked for me to be kept in my room, I kept escaping no matter what he tried. I had so much mushrooms and ale in my body I was sure I was going to die but I kept going back for more. My sickness got worse, one night I believed Ivar was coming, so I escaped my home, it was really late and it was storming, I ran and out on the street I could see Ivar in front of me in the form of a giant serpent, he was making his way to my home to kill me, so I ran out and stabbed him.”

Alfred still sat in silence, Hvitserk didn’t want to look at him. He looked down at the furs, pulling his fingers through the fur, he couldn’t even look up because of his shame.

“When I looked down, it wasn’t Ivar who I stabbed” His voice was shaking now, hot tears ran down his face, he just allowed them to fall onto his arms.

“I had stabbed Lagatha” Hvitserk said in little more than a whisper, he noticed Alfred shifted slightly from the corner of his eye. “I killed her. It was an accident, she said as she died that she always knew a son of Ragnar would kill her, the seer had told her so. Only after she died did the madness in my head lift. I ran away but they found me and made me come home, Ubbe knew it was me, Bjorn returned home and they knew. I confessed and Bjorn sentenced me to death, I was to be burned alive. I think Ubbe may have tried to speak up for me, as Bjorn let me go at the last second before the flames reached too high, but he wanted me to go die in the woods away from everybody else, I couldn’t tell them it was an accident because the gods had willed it, I had to take full responsibility, but I would never hurt Lagatha otherwise, it was an accident, I promise.”

His sobs were almost as bad as they had that day in his bed, he knew he would be killed for sure now, but at least he had told Alfred the truth and not waited until Alfred had found out himself from another person.

Hvitserk lifted his hand to clear his face of his tears, he was shaking.

There was movement from Alfred next to him, Hvitserk flinched, but-

Alfred’s arms moved around him and pulled him gently into a hug.

One of Alfred’s hands touched the back of his head, guiding Hvitserk down slightly onto his shoulder. There was a hand just stroking his back, trying to calm him.

A moment passed.

What was this? Why was Alfred holding him? Wasn’t he angry? Didn’t he want to kill Hvitserk?

Hvitserk remained still, his arms held tightly to his side, one of his hands stopping new tears from falling. Alfred just held him as Hvitserk slowly calmed down, his mind raced. He could feel Alfred breathing, could feel how warm he felt, how soft his fur coat was. He was being comforted by somebody he had been raised to believe was his enemy. For a moment Hvitserk closed his eyes, he could almost believe it was Ubbe holding him except it was too gentle to be Ubbe. He kept his eyes closed; his arms relaxed but he kept them by his sides.

“Hvitserk” Alfred said, slowly letting Hvitserk go once he stopped crying. “How open are you to hearing a different perspective?”

Hvitserk looked at him

“What do you mean?” He asked quietly.

Alfred looked at him in concern. “In my faith we are warned against false gods, they are often demons, fallen angels who have misled people with the intention of condemning them to hell after they die. They come to people with the intention of getting people to worship them and not the true God. My Lord Jesus Christ was once approached by the devil himself, trying to alter his mind. Once they get followers, they led souls directly into the pit for eternal damnnation, the pit is where they live with the devil, in a frozen lake in a hellish waist land. When you said you seen a serpent, I knew, you had been led by the devil to kill Lagatha, he often takes the form of a snake. It has long been my people’s belief that your religion is led by false gods who are trying to condemn all your people to hell. Valhalla I fear is the pit, Hvitserk, the signs are all there, constant murder, suffering, fighting…I fear your gods have been toying with you and your family, your people for a very long time.”

Hvitserk put his head into his hands, he then rubbed his hair.

“I’ve thought that myself” Hvitserk said in no more than a whisper “They killed everybody who ever loved me. Margrethe, my mother’s slave, I cared for her a lot. Thora my first love, she died a miserable death. Amma, the only person who cared for me when I was sick, she was killed in battle. They killed my mother and father, they killed my brothers…”

Alfred held his arm near the top.

“I know I asked once before, but what happened to Ubbe and Bjorn? Your gods did something to them?”

Hvitserk rubbed his eyes again, Alfred stood up and went to a table, before bring back a small cloth of fabric, he handed it to Hvitserk who looked at it in confusion, wondering why Alfred had handed him it.

“When I went back to Ivar, he had been staying with the Rus, they are Christians now but they used to be Viking, they wanted to end Paganism in Scandinavia and put Ivar on the throne as their puppet. There was a battle, I wasn’t well enough still to fight in it, so I stayed on the boat, Ivar went to shore and ran Bjorn through the back with his sword. As for Ubbe, I don’t know if he’s dead or alive, he left after I was banished, he went out to sea, but he never came back, nor did he ever send word he was safe.”

Alfred watched Hvitserk, he had suspected Hvitserk had been hiding things for him, but he never guessed it would be this. Hvitserk looked distraught, not meeting Alfred’s eyes or even looking up.

“Have you been able to speak about this to anybody else? Ivar even?” He asked.

Hvitserk shook his head

“It’s not a thing Vikings do. Even growing up, my mother told me to never show weakness, we were meant to be strong, with a father like Ragnar, she would always remind us that my grandfather killed a dragon so we all had to be equally as strong.”

“You told me the other night I didn’t always need to be strong” Alfred said, remembering his words “That you couldn’t ask for help, this was about your sickness, wasn’t it? You needed help from your brothers when you were sick but you couldn’t ask for it. You couldn’t even talk about the people you had lost?”

Hvitserk nodded.

“Ubbe wanted me to go on a trade mission but what I really needed was him. I wanted to get clean but I couldn’t do it alone. When Ubbe found me dosed back up on that stuff, he just started shaking me, I was seconds away from being sick on him. He never wanted to see me again, and he got his wish, I didn’t see him again until after Lagatha’s death, I was in my bed but he knew it was me, he was angry. Bjorn also, the last memory I have of him is him screaming at me. Yet I really miss them, I remember the times we were happy together. I love my brothers still, it’s why I still want to go to Valhalla, just so I can see them again. If you could see your brother again, talk to him, wouldn’t you want to go to him?”

More tears ran down his face, Hvitserk rubbed them away automatically, leaving the cloth untouched.

Alfred was torn between his promise he had made with himself on letting Hvitserk make his own choice and his heart that didn’t wish for this young man to die only to condemn himself to more suffering. Whatever he had done in this past, it still could all be forgiven, he could start again. He decided in that moment he was going to try and change Hvitserk’s mind, he could hate himself afterwards.

“Hvitserk, I don’t think you should condemn yourself just to be reunited with your family” he moved slightly to the side of Hvitserk so he was facing him rather than sitting beside him, he reached over slowly and took hold of the hand Hvitserk wasn’t currently using to dry his eyes. “I’ve never told anybody this, but one of my deepest fears is I will go to heaven and find none of my loved ones there. My grandfather was corrupt, he said it often himself, he wore it as a badge of honour. He cheated his way to be king of Mercia and killed their queen. My mother did the actual killing, the fatal blow came from her hand, you see the Merican queen was trying to kill my grandfather in his bed, and my mother was having an adulterous affair with my grandfather at the time, she was his mistress, everybody knew it, it was the worse kept secret in this villa. My mother killed the queen from behind and my grandfather took her throne for himself. My mother also committed adultery with my father to conceive me, then my grandfather claimed I was chosen by God to justify my birth because he liked my father. My other father, Aethelwulf, was also rumoured to have had an affair with the Mercian queen, many times, I once heard tales that he visited the Mercian queen the same time my mother was visiting my grandfather.

Then my brother. My dear brother. I told you a few days ago about him and his plot, and that he died, but not of my mother. When my sickness returned and I was in bed sleeping, my mother took it upon herself to murder my brother, she poisoned him. I woke on the day of my brother’s funeral, just in time to say farewell to him. None of my family, I fear, are in heaven, they are all in hell, yet I have little doubt in my mind that they would want to me join them. They would want me to go to heaven so I can be with my real father.”

Alfred kept holding Hvitserk’s hand, Hvitserk’s fingers curled around Alfred’s without thinking, his hands were warm, holding it comforted him.

“Your god” Hvitserk reminded him “He wouldn’t want me. Not the way I am. I’ve killed and hurt people, I’ve done terrible things. If I so much as see ale I want to drink it badly. The mushrooms you eat for dinner sometimes, just seeing them makes me want to take them all over again. I’ve tried so hard to be sober, but I fear its only a matter of time”

Alfred gently squeezed his hand

“One of my Lord’s most beloved and loyal followers was a prostitute.” He said with a slightly embarrassed smile.

“What’s a prostitute?” Hvitserk said blankly, that was a word he was unfamiliar with.

“A prostitute” Alfred repeated, slightly hesitating, faint signs of pinkness coming to his checks and his voice dropped quieter. “It’s a woman who takes money from men to do duties normally done between a husband and a wife, they can have many visitors, day and night.”

“Like a whore?” Hvitserk said “There were many in Kattegat”

Alfred’s checks were really going pink now, something Hvitserk noticed. Why was the king so embarrassed about this? To Hvitserk it was just something that happened every day. Despite his tears, a part of him cheered up slightly when he noticed Alfred looked mortified trying to explain this topic to Hvitserk.

“Well, she was one of my Lord’s most loyal followers and he loved her a lot and she was considered unclean and the lowest of society, yet she was allowed to do honours for him nobody else was allowed. His other followers did all sorts of actions that would have got them condemned, they were just normal men who drank, gambled, probably lay down with whores. The thing is, my God does not hold this against a man, Hvitserk, he doesn’t hate you for having a drinking problem or for taking those mushrooms, my God doesn’t hate you. My own father Athelstan broke his vows not to ever be with a woman and he went with a married woman, a queen even and everybody says he was the most holy man they ever met, and he lived among your people, worshipped your gods for a while, yet he’s in heaven now and his illegitimate son rules Wessex. What does that tell you about my God? He’s accepting of things, nobody can truly know how the Lord’s mind works, but if somebody wishes to be saved, then my God welcomes them” Alfred said, pressing slightly on Hvitserk’s hand.

Hvitserk sat thinking what Alfred just said, if it were true, then maybe he could keep on living. The thought of joining the Christians made him feel physically sick, it would anger his gods so much, he would be at their mercy entirely if he left them, their vengeance would be great, but how else could they hurt him? They had already taken everything from him. Rollo was still alive and the Christian god was protecting him, he had a family, he lived in a castle, surely it couldn’t be that bad? He wanted to live!

He closed his eyes and took his hand out from Alfred’s and covered his face on the pretext of rubbing his eyes, but he was thinking of them all, those he had lost. If he agreed to this, he would never see them again. Ivar’s face swam into his mind, Ivar died to save his life, he wouldn’t have been on that battlefield if it wasn’t for Hvitserk, if Hvitserk turned up in Valhalla just months after Ivar give his life to save him, then Ivar would have died for nothing. Hvitserk put his hands down and focused on the fur they were sitting on, he wasn’t sure if he could meet Alfred’s eyes right now, he was scared to even face himself, he had never felt so exposed in his life, as though he alone sat in an opening surrounded by dark space where anything could watch him unseen. There was a moment of silence in the room were only the fire made any noise as both men tried to make sense of their own conflicting thoughts.

“I will join your religion” Hvitserk muttered. “Although I don’t really know much about it”

Alfred’s heart sored, relief ran through his entire body. He had saved Hvitserk from throwing his life away. A smile broke out on his face as he reached over to Hvitserk and touched his arm.

“It’s ok. I will learn you” He told Hvitserk, if Hvitserk looked up, he would see that Alfred looked relieved, more happier than he had in a long time. “In my faith, anybody new to our religion has a sponsor, somebody who will stand for them and teach them how to live in accordance to our God. I will be your sponsor, your Godfather, that means I will be the one who learns you about God, our ways, everything you need. It also means you will join my family; you’ll be a Saxon prince, it would be as if you had been born into my family. Would you like that?”

A new family.

Truth was, he liked Alfred a lot, they was something warm about him that drew Hvitserk to him. He knew Hvitserk’s past and didn’t turn against him, Alfred had only ever tried to help him.

Hvitserk looked up at Alfred and nodded.

“I would like that”

Alfred smiled and then paused, he looked at Hvitserk seriously.

“There’s also the matter of your name” He hesitated as Hvitserk looked confused. “You see, when people are named before God, they are so with a Christian name, my other grandfather, king Aella told me he had given your uncle a Christian name -“

Alfred paused, there was a grin on Hvitserk’s face.

“Back home people used to call him Rolf to annoy him, it used to make him roar and throw things” Hvitserk giggled, the memory coming back to him.

Alfred smiled too. “Yes well with Ubbe, he didn’t get any other name as it was just a matter of convenience for the both of us, it was not a true conversion, but I was thinking with you, we should change your name, for two reasons. If you are going to be a Saxon prince and then one day a king, you will fit in better with a Saxon name and secondly, I think you may feel happier with a new identity. To carry on calling you Hvitserk will only remind you of your old life, a new name can help you move on from everything.”

Hvitserk thought about that, he never thought he would have to give up his name. His mother had given him this name, she thought it was adorable and fitting for him. Yet Hvitserk was also a down on his luck Pagan, it tied him to his past.

“Ok, that doesn’t sound so bad, but what will my name be?” He asked “Please not Rolf”

That made Alfred laugh, he looked over at Hvitserk and then his eyes went over Hvitserk. There was movement from the corner of the room, Alfred caught a glimpse of a figure. A monk’s robes, dark hair just like his and a small silver shine of something around his neck, in a blink he was gone. Hvitserk noticed Alfred looking and turned himself, but there was nothing there.

“No, not Rolf” Alfred agreed, eyes still on the spot across the room. “I will get back to you on that, but it will be a good name, I promise”

Hvitserk nodded, he started playing with the fur again, he felt so strange. He knew he had just made the biggest choice of his life and felt as numb as the day he jumped ship to leave Ubbe.

“You’re making the right choice” Alfred smiled at him.

Hvitserk nodded. “I just hope I don’t disappoint you, I did my own family”

Alfred shook his head. “You won’t, you’ve already made me proud. I can’t imagine the amount of strength it takes to leave behind something you’ve known all your life, to see its errors and try to do better, just talking about what you’ve been through must have taken a lot of strength.”

Hvitserk looked at him, stunned. Nobody had ever praised him like this before, he didn’t feel brave or strong, there were dried tears on his face, yet the king of Wessex was proud of him? Nobody had ever said they were proud of him. He smiled at Alfred slightly, wishing his own family had just once told him that they were proud of him too.

“Come here” Alfred said, he held his arms out to Hvitserk, and Hvitserk knew what Alfred wanted to do, this time he also put his arms around Alfred as the young king hugged him again. It was as warm as the first time, just as comforting, but this time it felt like a hug between family, welcoming.

Alfred would be his family now and he would leave behind his past, his gods, his hurt. He would start afresh as a Saxon.

#MIDAHFABL

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spacecadetspe · 11 months

Text

Nov. 8, 2023

Eitri barged into my quarters yesterday, with Vassilios trailing after him. Vassilios quickly babbled an apology on behalf of the dwarf.

"I'm so sorry, Hope," he said. "He's terribly impatient. I tried to stop him."

I waved at him a bit to calm him down. "It's all right. What's going on?"

"I found them!" Eitri cried. "The Sons of Ivaldi and who they're working for!" I gestured for him to go on, and he drew out a unique looking feather. "It belongs to a Valkyrie."

I cursed under my breath.

"And not just any Valkyrie," he went on. He tossed the feather into the air to demonstrate. A crackle of electricity shot from one end of the plume to the other. "Thrúd."

"Thor's daughter."

Just then, a raven landed on the windowsill. I growled at the bird, but Eitri stopped me.

"It may be our way of reaching out to her."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Let the raven guide us to her."

I honestly wasn't too keen into walking into Thrúd's lair, not after she kidnapped three of my colleagues. But I listened to Eitri... and the damned bird. I followed it to the roof, where it opened a portal into the hinterlands of Valhalla. A great feast hall had been erected there, and the whole place was swarming with nested ravens. Fucking Odin. I've begun to hate ravens.

The guards at Thrúdheim let us in without a fuss, but when we entered, all the revelers went quiet. I hate that ominous bullshit.

But Thrúd came out, arms open in welcome, and began sizing me up. "The great Wisdom of the Ages has finally arrived at my humble abode!" she cried. Her blonde hair was braided back with silver ornaments, and she was dressed in furs and leather from neck to toe.

"What a welcome it is," I said diplomatically.

The shades watched the two of us as Thrúd circled me, gauging the threat I posed.

"Looks like you've found a use for the dwarves as well," she noticed.

I felt myself sneer a bit. "A use?" I asked.

"Crafty little bastards," she said flippantly. " Finest blacksmiths in all nine realms."

I hummed thoughtfully. "Most innovative, certainly." She picked up a stein of mead and made to hand it to me, but I waved her off. "Thank you, but it's a bit early in the day for me to indulge."

She shrugged. "Perhaps." She set the stein down and led Eitri and me to a more private room. The walls were carved with ancient runes and prayers to Odin... altogether a stifling sort of place. It was there that she tossed me a weapon; the Star Killer, Ingrid's divine weapon. "That other Virtue... Justice, I think; she's a hell of a fighter. Gave me this even!" She showed me a long scar on her arm.

"I believe that." I wondered for a moment how Ingrid got her sword back from Betelgeuse, but then handed the weapon off to Eitri for safekeeping.

"We fought for half the day, I think," she went on. She put her hands on her hips and shifted her weight. "You know, when I heard that you got that black sword from Surtr, I didn't believe the rumors at first."

I made a noise of understanding, but waited for her to say more.

"Then my father and Viđarr confirmed my suspicions. You truly have a power and weapon without equal. I applaud you for that."

I narrowed my eyes at her slightly. This girl applauds me for outranking her? For having a weapon that can kill anything? I honestly felt a bit insulted. I worked, fought, and bled for my position. Her paltry acknowledgments were the very last thing I wanted.

"Of course," she went on, "it's a hell of a standard to reach." She grinned at me. "But I was up to the challenge."

"Challenge?" I asked. "I never saw it as a race."

Eitri spoke up, the anger in his voice thinly concealed. "You call using the Sons of Ivaldi to craft your family another superweapon 'up to the challenge'?"

"They swore a blood oath, dwarf," she said plainly. "The line of Ivaldi would pledge its allegiance to the line of the All-Father."

I hummed softly, and then got out my phone. I excused myself politely while I wrote out a text to her father, who I haven't seen in over a year.

"Your daughter is causing mischief," I wrote. "May need you to make a house call."

His reply was quick. "Youthful impudence? Or more along the lines of Loki?"

He probably knew the answer, so I left him on read.

I put the phone back into my pocket and harrumphed at Thrúd. "Odin's bloodline," I mused. "That's an awfully broad promise to make."

She twisted her mouth at me, as if trying to hide her annoyance. "The Sons are nearly done with their work. And then I'll finally have my chance to test my steel against yours, Hope."

I nodded briefly. "Perhaps I'll see another of my father figures. Not holding my breath, though."

"Who?"

"Regin. I heard he was an ass though. No dreams to be crushed over that." I stood near the door and puffed on my pipe as thunder rumbled in the distance.

Regin was once one of the Sons of Ivaldi, who took in the refugee princess Hiordis and her son Sigurd.

Thrúd had the good sense to look confused, both at my comment and at the sound of her father's footsteps. And when he arrived in a column of lightning, she fell down before him.

"Father!"

I turned and greeted Thor, and he gave me a hearty embrace, picked me up and swung me back and forth affectionately. "Has it been an age already?" he asked. Once he had set me down, he turned to Thrúd. "Rise, daughter."

She reluctantly got to her feet.

"What's this mischief I've heard about?"

I gave him a play-by-play, and heard him hum under his breath.

"Looking to wield a godly weapon of your own? Does Mjolnir not suffice?"

Thrúd was quick to defend herself. "Father, the breed of souls are not what they were in ages past. We, choosers of the slain, must now reap far more powerful beings than before; beings that rival and surpass our own strength."

I stared at her, perplexed. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I took initiative to augment a power to preempt such a threat!" she insisted.

"Which is why you should have come to me first, instead of kidnapping my colleagues."

Thor's head snapped around to look at me. "Kidnapping?" he asked, incredulous. "Thrúd, what have you done?"

I told him about the missing psychopomps, but Thrúd didn't wait for him to admonish her.

"I am a chooser of the slain. As such, I'm allowed by the UFU to select which souls are fit to grace the halls of Valhalla, and which are fit to fight."

Fight what, exactly? I wasn't ready to initiate the war to end all wars. So I cut to the chase. "That does not include depriving your coworkers of their free will."

"They are conductors of souls, Father, serving their same function in the same capacity."

"They are not your personal servants!" I said harshly.

Thor turned to his daughter, and thunder rumbled at the sound of his voice. "You'll release them now."

Thrúd stepped back and called the finished weapon to her hand. She set it on the ground before me.

I sighed. "You're ignorant. Much too proud. My weapon seldom leaves its sheath, and for good reason." I stepped forward. "Release my friends."

"I can't," she admitted. "I'm not crafty enough to undo Dwarven magic."

I looked at Eitri, and he nodded at me. The Balancer.

"You felt threatened," I assumed of Thrúd.

She rolled her eyes at me. "The understatement of the age."

"Then earn the mentality of one who can't be threatened. If you want to get stronger, follow me; don't fight me."

The two gods stood aside for me to summon the Balancer.

"Spoken like someone from a position of strength," she mumbled. "Which validates my point."

But it doesn't, really. Any idiot can be dangerous. Only the truly powerful are the ones who cease to feel threatened. I crushed the weapon with a single blow, sending shades cascading in every direction.

Thrúd sighed sharply.

"I know, I know. The short, easy road is tempting." I dismissed the Balancer. "Do you know why soul magic is so powerful? Dwarven magic is frequently based on contradictions, riddles, and paradoxes. And a soul is the greatest set of these in existence; a universe in a grain of sand." I looked up at her. "So what can your soul do?"

"It fights," she said.

"Oh, and so much more than that. So?"

Thor continued for mee. "Fight for the righteous cause."

I opened a portal to the astral realm and guided them in. They'll be all right. They just need to find their way. The right way.

#mythology and folklore #spicy psychology #dreams

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