#I'm thinking tagging a masterpost of the week's stories once a week is probably best

[pastryland]

galex completed fic recommendations

If any of the authors of the fics mentioned here or are tagged and don't want their fics to be here, please let me know and I'll remove it!

Will update this list periodically

❤️ = favorite

⭐️ = I love fics by this author in general

🔗 = part of a series (will usually only put fav from series on here)

❌ = triggering themes

🔥 = explicit

raw - 4k - ❤️

George is hungry and Alex is a volunteer in the food bank.

all i do is try, try, try - 13k

Alex is first in line to the throne, George is still a Formula 1 driver.

It's You I Fell Into - 23k - 🔥

When George signs up to marry someone he's never even met before in the name of a social experiment, he's not sure what to expect.OrThe Married At First Sight AU that noone asked for.

hands, knees, please - 4k

And Alex looks right back, tall and firm, one step further now and backlit by the sun kissing them both an orange goodbye. He meets the daring glint of George’s eye with a smile, an amused one, like his taunting is something he knows exactly how to dismantle, undeterred by what it means and almost excited to see it transpire. On the receiving end of that smirk, George is left only with the understanding that this isn’t friendly and a want so intense that he can barely sit together with.

i see you got that new mercedes, i might let you drive me crazy - 10k

“These black fireproofs look really good on you”, Alex comments. “It makes you look kind of hot.” Someone next to him coughs loudly and he’s surprised to see it isn’t George, but Lando. George just stares at him with a blank expression on his face. “Only kind of hot?” he teases when he finally has realised what Alex said. “Don’t you mean… George Russell, you look incredibly hot in those Mercedes fireproofs, you’ve never looked so good before… That’s what you meant, right?” Seeing George in those Mercedes fireproofs makes Alex think about his best friend in a way he never has before, but he himself is the last one to actually realise what that means. Except for George, of course.

ours to tell - 8k - ❤️

rubontruther Okay that's it I'm making a Rubon 2023 shenanigans masterpost. #And maybe some people will come to the realisation that maybe they are dating galextruther YES JAMIE DO IT WE WILL SHOW THEM THE TRUTH 13 notes rubontruther 17 Reasons Why We Think George Russell And Alex Albon Are A Couple We’re only six months into 2023 and Alex and George have been keeping us well-fed with their content, but if you look at everything together, it seems like they’re dating. Why? Well, see for yourself. *** After almost five years of dating, Alex and George are done with all the hiding and secrecy, so Lily, Carmen and Alicia suggest a soft launch. The internet has some thoughts on the matter.

you and me till the end of time - 28k

The one where George has a four-year-old daughter and Alex is her preschool teacher.

no precedent - 4k - ⭐️ 🔥

If he just wins, this will all end. If he just wins, Mercedes will build a fast car for next season. If he just wins, Alex will want him again.

spread before you like a picnic - 10k - ❤️ ⭐️ 🔥

Now, weeks later, he thinks that was probably the reason he’d said it, why when he came back to himself and noticed that Alex had manhandled him on his stomach and was in the process of peeling George’s jeans down, his first instinct was to say, panicky: “You can’t fuck me.”

and the stars shine upon us - 7k - ❌

In a world where soulmates are rare and their existance is a pain to many, George grows up noticing a lot around him. But it's the things he misses that tell his story. He is more than sceptical about the concept of a soulmate and is left scared when he realizes that it could tear Alex and him apart.

driver's license - 12k

"You said forever, now I drive alone past your street" Or Alex struggles to come to terms with how things changed once their paths diverged. (Yes, it's loosely based on the song)

Rescue You - 3k

‘What are you doing?’ George's panicked voice sounded from behind him. ‘Don’t fall, please.’ Alex jumped onto the floor of the other balcony and turned around with a wide grin. ‘I’m stealing my neighbour’s cat.’ George blinked at him a few times before his lips slowly curled up in an equal grin. ‘How scandalous of you, can I help?’ OR: Alex and George save a neglected cat and realize they have feelings for each other.

nothing but teeth - 25k - ❤️ ⭐️ 🔥

“Oh, come on.” Alex says, poking George in the thigh again with his foot. “Don’t tell me you’ve never done a little-” Alex makes a complicated hand-wavy gesture that has the contents of his glass nearly sloshing over the sides. “At your fancy boy schools, a little stiff upper-lipped make-out amongst the chaps? In between rounds of cricket and fox hunting?”

grafted laurel - 1.6k - ⭐️

It’s a breathtaking journey to the outpost at sea where George and Alex are supposed to deliver the handwritten letter of gratitude from the King -- through forests and moorlands, a five days’ ride if you hurry. They’re not hurrying.

the price you pay for loss of control - 2k - ⭐️ 🔥

The bedsheets are soft where George is gripping them. George tries to concentrate on the cotton between his fingers instead of the burning between his legs. The thread count has to be over 800 at least. It’s a wedding stationary colour. He tries to place the exact shade. Ecru, maybe. In the right light, if it had enough sheen, it could be ivory. His sister has been picking out wedding stationary lately. She’s getting married next year, mailing out save the dates for June 2027, and George is losing another championship.

soldier down (on that icy ground) - 21k - ❤️ ⭐️

When later asked, George will always quote 2021 as the tipping point in his career as a Formula 1 driver. He didn’t know that back then. Obviously. But in hindsight, everything that led to this could be traced back to the three events in 2021. OR: Friends drive for Mercedes. Everything that can goes wrong. Again.

ode to a conversation stuck in your throat - 40k - ❤️ 🔥

They’d agreed on friends when Alex had come to collect the last of his things from George’s flat. George had been adamant about it, all uncomplicated smiles, like they hadn’t just spent six months living in each other’s pockets and having some of the most bizarrely intimate sex of Alex’s life. And friends is a noble intention, but. Alex still only has one friend who’s sucked him off in their driver’s room.

From whom you are standing still - 1.6k - ❤️

George has practised the whole set-up, of course. His laptop links to his tv with a HDMI cable, and then he can use the remote to move between slides. He's not wearing a suit (too much) but he's got a nice jumper on, and jeans that sit well on his legs, show off his thighs a bit. He's got a glass of water on the side table in case his throat gets dry. He's got his hair gelled into place. Alex is sprawled across the sofa, looking bored. He says, "George. Mate. What is this. I thought we were going to play FIFA, but I'm getting more of a 'you trying to sell me a timeshare' vibe." "Timeshares aren't good value for money," George says automatically. He's just checking through his slides one last time before he broadcasts them to the television.

all hunger, all restraint and poised bones - 18k - ❤️ 🔥

A simple thought cuts through his mind, hard-edged and cold in its importance. The person taking action was not him. These last thoughts do not belong to George. That means that the fear and shock do not belong to him either. God, he's feeling Alex's fear and Alex's shock. He pushes Alex away before he can feel his disgust alongside it.

the trajectory of us - 2k

The Vegas Grand Prix had been doomed from the start. When George and Alex both crash out there's not a lot to be done. The race is only secondary to the fact that they're both okay. When Alex mentions finding other things to do in Vegas than watch a shit race together, George comes up with an idea that seems like the natural course of action.

all green lights - 22k - ❤️ 🔥

Sorry mate I think you've got the wrong number

we found wonderland (you and i got lost in it) - 34k - ❤️ ⭐️

He closes his eyes one more time and opens them again. The clock on his dashboard mercilessly creeps ever so closer to eight am, the agreed upon time. The time he is supposed to be in the factory to meet Alex, his new rookie teammate and the Williams team he will be working with for the next year. He hopes there will be some familiar faces around, that not all his mechanics and engineers left just yet. OR: Alex left racing after Red Bull, George is at the end of his career himself. They are about to meet again

capture every minute, the feeling in it - 2k - 🔥

George thinks it's probably a coincidence that Alex asks him to make a sex tape less than a week after George bought a ring for his girlfriend. Alex sucks on his tongue and kisses the tip of it once, chaste and silly, where no one else has kissed him before in his life, then leans back and says, "Let me film you like this."

the way back - 30k - ❤️ 🔥

"You've never really been normal about each other," Alex is told.

table in the back - 47k - ❤️ ⭐️ 🔥

“Okay, here’s the offer." Alex says. "I’m going to make you something and if you don’t like it, you don’t pay. How does that sound?” “So I get a good meal or a free meal?” George asks. “Sounds like a no-lose scenario.” “Keen eye, George,” Alex grins. “Figured out my terrible business sense on the first try. Alright, take it or leave it.”

The Honey of Humanity - 59k - ❌

It's a death that after eight long years brings them all back together. It's been almost a decade since the self-proclaimed 'Bellgate Eight' have all seen one another. It just happens that the funeral of their shared past Literature teacher, George's life role model, is what brings them back together, for the better or the worse. Alternatively; an exploration of justice and injustice, love and hate, fire and water, and perhaps most fittingly the novel they studied together in their senior year at the prestigious Bellgate Academy; crime and punishment.

masterpost for all completed fic rec lists

[merigreenleaf]

Jotober Day 1 - “Poisonous”

(My goal this month is to do under 1k words for each day’s challenge and I already kinda went over. This one is 1075. I’m pretty sure someone asked me before what “toadstools” meant when Etri calls Adair and Blythe that as a term of affection. This is the answer. I’ll put most of this under a read more.)

Etri was back. Adair still wasn't entirely sure how they'd managed that but having him back was even better than having his map back. He could technically have made another map. Another Etri would have been impossible, although Sol would have probably tried to build a mechanical version for Etri to haunt. That would have been weird. And way less fun to kiss. No, having Etri back to normal was much better and it meant that Adair could finally ask the question that had been bugging him for weeks.

He put his sketchbook down and scooted closer to Etri. When Etri wrapped an arm around his shoulders, Adair was glad Sol didn’t have to get creative. A metal Etri would have been way less snuggly.

"Etch? Why do you call us 'toadstools'?"

Across the room Blythe shut off the faucet and reached for a hand towel. Aha. So she wanted to hear the answer, too. It made Adair feel a little better if she was as clueless as he was. Etri couldn't possibly mean it as a short joke, the way Adair had assumed at first. Not when he called Blythe that, too, and Blythe was tall even for a Protectorate.

After a pause, Etri said, "You did not ask this of Sol."

"Yeah, I did. He just thought I was asking him what he wanted for dinner. I'm assuming that's not what you mean. Although if you want mushrooms, you only have to ask."

Etri chuckled and pulled Adair into a tighter hug. "Perhaps later. No, it is because you are poisonous."

"I... what?"

Adair might be many things. An artist, a good cook, full of pies and puns, but he was pretty sure he wasn't poisonous. Fortunately the person to ask came over and sat on Etri's other side. "Blade, I'm not poisonous, right?"

Besides, why would Etri touch him if he was? Although considering Etri's habit of self-sacrifice, maybe that was the wrong question to ask.

Blythe picked at the dried paint on her shirt. "I'd probably call you contagious... Come on, were you even using blue paint today?"

She was a big help.

"I do not mean that in the literal sense when I call you both as such. It is figurative. If I may ask, how is it that a toadstool appears?"

Oh! Adair knew this one! The perk of growing up in the home of a culinary master. "Something to do with underground fungus and growing where there's decomposing wood."

Etri was silent for a long moment. Adair turned his head to find Etri's eyebrows knitted. Did this mean there was finally a fact he didn't know or was Adair's information that wrong? It had been a long time since he went mushroom gathering and he was never very good at paying attention.

"It's a food fact. Of course he's right."

Adair stuck his tongue out at her. "And the girl with enough plants in her house to equal a small forest would know. I swear I saw one trying to push my bags out the door the other day."

Etri cleared his throat. "If I am incorrect, then the reason behind the term is incorrect and I will cease using it."

"Oh no you don't," Blythe said. "You're not off the hook that easily. What's the reason?"

Etri pushed himself back on the bed until his back was against the wall, making it so that he could see both of his pair. "I will tell. In the temple in which I grew, relationships are forbidden. I have said this, yes?"

Adair nodded and took one of Etri's hands while Blythe took the other, earning a once-rare smile from Etri. Those were becoming more common, even during a subject that Adair knew made him uncomfortable. When Blythe and Adair had been alone earlier in the day, she'd grumbled and threatened to go to Montglace to give everyone there a piece of her mind for making Etri's past so terrible. If Etri's birthplace hadn't been a gazillion miles away, she probably would have done it right then. Adair couldn't blame her.

Etri squeezed their hands tightly. "Yet still there are those who seek out companionship and friendship. This is done in secret."

While Adair tried to wrap his head around not being able to have even friendships, Blythe was getting impatient. "And this ties into mushrooms how? Do the people involved sneak out for dinner together?"

Etri shook his head. "If you knew Montglace as I, you would not jest. It is because these relationships are unexpected and dangerous. The same is thought of toadstools, which are believed to grow in unexpected places."

Blythe let out a little snort of a laugh. "Okay, unexpected I can believe. You can't possibly be saying that Adair is dangerous. He's about as dangerous as a kitten in a basket of yarn."

"Hey! I can be dangerous! There was the time I... no, that won't work, that just ended in me burning dinner. Or when... no, that was Sol getting me into trouble. Wait! ... No, that was Sol again." Adair tapped his head with the palm of his hand. There had to be a memory in there somewhere. After discarding a few more possibilities, he had to admit defeat. "Okay, yeah, fine, I'm a kitten."

"You're sweet, even if you aren't poisonous." Blythe leaned over to kiss his cheek, then turned back to Etri. "So you're saying that because your people think mushrooms are dangerous and pop up unexpectedly, and relationships do the same, that you call those people your toadstools. Makes sense, I guess. More sense than me thinking you were calling us short."

Adair threw his arms up. "So I'm not the only one who thought that!"

Etri caught his hand and squeezed it again. "I apologize for the confusion. If you would rather I cease to use the term because it is wrong or not to your liking-"

"No!" Adair said at the same time as Blythe. She grinned and gestured at him to talk, probably thinking he'd be better at talking relationship stuff than she would.

Which he was, but she was going to regret it. "It's cute, Etch. We want you to keep calling us that. But does that mean I can start calling you both 'pumpkin'?"

Blythe buried her face in her hands. "Why do I ever let you open your mouth?”

"I'm not hearing a no."

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

(I’m only going to do minor editing with these so I have time to write one every day, so hopefully this all makes sense. My plan is to write short things about a bunch of my characters this month, including secondary ones and maybe characters I was writing prior to this series (like my Hidden Magic characters), but my trio demanded the first prompt. I would like to also draw things for Inktober to go along with the day’s story, but I ran out of time today. 

Anyway, I’m going to tag my story tag list for now, but I’d like to ask you all how you’d prefer me to tag for this challenge. I’m thinking I might make a masterpost once a week with links to those 7 posts/stories and only tag on those masterposts. I’d feel weird tagging people every day because that’s 31 days in a row of stories, so I think this might be the best solution so I’m not spamming your activity feeds. But please let me know how you’d prefer I do this or if you have ideas. I have a feeling each day is going to end up around this length because I’m incapable of writing short things lol, so these are all likely to be legit short stories rather than drabbles. @ageekyreader @lynnafred @the-gay-hufflepuff @desperatlytryingtowriteabook @muffindragon227 @oceanwriter @theguildedtypewriter @toboldlywrite @wchwriter @ghostsmooches @lady-redshield-writes @bluemartlet @reeseweston @dreameronthewind @forlornraven @pen-for-sword @shadow-maker @loopyhoopydrabbles @emptymanuscript @madmoonink @megan-cutler @perringwrites @thatwriternamedvolk @elliot-orion @writer-on-time @ravenpuffwriter @siarven @worldbuildingwren @hiddswritingrefs @missrobinswritings @writevevo @fannistwrites @cay--scribbles @focusdumbass @crartistic @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword @enasroterfaden @joshuaorrizonte @zofiehelen @kainablue @homesteadhorner )

[youbloodymadgenius]

Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 1

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello’s masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite, who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310, @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria. Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 1806

Additional note: I'm afraid I'll disappoint some of you. No more newspapers... The articles defined the setting of the story. From now on, it'll be a regular fic.

Hope you enjoy it nevertheless 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

June 2021

Ivar yawns, rubbing his eyes, when he suddenly hears the front door open. The next moment, Ubbe shouts, "Hey baby bro, we're home!"

Slightly confused, Ivar looks at the time on his computer. Stunned, he blinks repeatedly, shakes his head and checks the time again, now looking at his watch. "Guess I lost track of time," he mumbles as he realizes it's really 5:30 pm. He clears his throat. "I'm coming!"

Yawning once more, he wheels to the kitchen. Hvitserk waves at him with one hand as Ubbe greets him with a grin and Sigurd... Well, Sigurd ignores him, as usual.

"Hello boys!" Lagertha smiles as she also enters the kitchen. "Did you go to the beach this afternoon?" It's a rethorical question, since sand can be seen on the tanned skin of his brothers, shirtless and wearing only swimming shorts.

When she looks down at him, her smile becomes softer. "Ivar, you seem tired. Did you work all day long?"

He nods, glad that for once she called him by his first name and not by one of those stupid nicknames that she likes but that make his skin crawl.

"Yep," he shrugs without smiling back, "I made good progress. The new version of your website is almost done. It could probably be online by the end of the week."

His stepmom flashes him a beaming smile. "Great, thanks!"

The conversation then moves on to the subject that everyone in Kattegat has been talking about for the last few days: the midsummer party thrown by their neighbor Harald Hårfager. Every June, it is Kattegat's not-to-be-missed event, to which every resident hopes to be invited.

Lagertha is invited every year, yet rarely attends; his brothers wouldn't miss it, not in a million years; Ivar never went.

He listens with half an ear as his brothers prattle on about the upcoming party, while taking a seat at the large, wooden kitchen table on which Lagertha has just put cakes and drinks.

"What are you going to wear?"

"Do you think Marit will attend this year?"

"Hopefully the music will be better than last year."

"Can't be as bad! What was the name of that reggae band?"

For a fleeting moment, Ivar entertains the thought of attending as well. Not that he's dying to, but… Sometimes, he feels a little bit like Cinderella in this house.

Don't get him wrong, it's not that bad.

First, his stepmom is not–

Wait, wait, wait, is Lagertha technically his stepmom? He's not sure. After all, she wasn't when his parents were alive, she was just his father's first wife. Anyway, she may be his guardian now, but he sees her as his stepmom and he honestly doesn’t give a shit if it's a little weird.

Where was he? Oh yes, Cinderella.

So obviously, Lagertha is not a wicked, haughty and abusive stepmom like this Lady Tremaine of the fairytale.

Actually, even if it pisses him off to admit it, she's pretty nice, patient and composed. Does he love her? Let's not exaggerate – he doesn't. She may love him though, which is a little bit uncanny, if he's being honest. He was the favorite son of her nemesis. Shouldn't she hate him? He would, if the situation was reversed.

The truth is, when he was younger, he tried, he really tried to hate her, blaming her for everything and anything. When too much pain prevented him from sleeping, he let his imagination run wild. There, bound to his bed of suffering, he could see Lagertha cutting the brakes on his mother's car, causing her crash, causing her death.

Of course, even then, he knew deep down that Lagertha had not killed his mother; that the story he told himself was just the product of his endless nights of insomnia. But what can he say? He needed this. Because blaming Lagertha rather than admitting that his beloved mother was at fault – by being distracted, or by falling asleep, he'll never know – was easier for the heartbroken boy he was.

Anyway... So yes, Lagertha is definitely not an evil stepmother like Cinderella's.

Also, he doesn't sleep on a sorry garret, on a wretched straw bed either.

Actually, he has a very large room on the main floor, with a king-size memory foam bed, a walk-in – well, a wheel-in for his case – closet and his own, huge bathroom, fully equipped for his special needs.

Sure, the bathroom and the dressing room were already there when his parents were alive; however, the memory foam mattress had been Lagertha's idea.

Anyway... So yes, he can't exactly complain about his sleeping conditions, unlike Cinderella.

And obviously, he's not forced into servitude.

Actually, one might think so, but no, he's not. Sure, sometimes he works for his stepmom, like today. But so do his brothers. When she had taken them in, she was a powerful businesswoman, working twelve to fourteen hours a day. Once she had become their guardian, she had rearranged her working time and learned to delegate; but even so, she had often run out of time. Therefore, it had seemed normal to them – yes, even to him – to help her out, each of them according to their skills and abilities.

So, while Hvitserk almost always does the grocery shopping, while Sigurd vacuums and does the laundry, while Ubbe mows the lawn and trim the bushes, he, Ivar, runs her company's website and sometimes even does the accounting. And since he loves computers and numbers, it's not exactly a problem.

Anyway... So yes, he's not a slave in this house. Unlike Cinderella.

So, yes, to sum it up, he can't really complain and he's by far not Cinderella. And he knows it.

But... Yes, there's a but...

Sometimes, he feels trapped, as poor Cinderella must have felt.

Sometimes he feels like a spectator of a life he doesn't belong to.

Sure, he doesn't have to be homeschooled – but gods, he's glad he is. The reasons for him to be continuously bullied by classmates are endless. The simplest ones being: he is a cripple, an orphan, the son of a dead mob boss, the smartest one in the whole damn school, let alone his class. Take your pick. It's no fun, no fun at all. Being home alone is preferable to that alternative.

Therefore, barely leaving the house except for medical appointments, he has no friends. He doesn't do sports either – obviously – and yeah, he lives a lonely life, filled with video games and Netflix series. And he's okay with that. Well, most of the time.

Sure, his brothers, or at least Ubbe and Hvitserk, always try to include him as much as possible. But the truth is that because of his legs, there are many, many things he just can't do.

And the other truth, the less pleasant one, is that he partially did that to himself. He cut himself off from a world that hurt him, yet he still misses this world sometimes. At times, he blames himself. Because his life, honestly, is hardly what you would call a life, is it? Not when you're sixteen.

That's why sometimes, like now, he feels this longing, almost a need, to live. To really, truly, fully live. And that's why, for a brief moment, lulled by the light chitchat of his brothers, he considers attending Harald's midsummer party.

But he knows better. This life is not for him, never has been, never will be.

And so, shaking his head, he chases the thought away and, placing his hands on his push rims, he's about to leave the kitchen while the incessant babbling of his brothers goes on.

"I can't wait."

"Don't tell me! As every year, the most beautiful girls of Kattegat will be there."

"Remember that burger food truck? Best burgers ever!"

"I've heard Y/N would be attending this year."

"There'll be booze and girls! Sounds like Valh–"

Wait. His mind goes blank.

Fuck.

What? Did he hear right?

As he replays his brother's words in his head, it's like there's an earthquake happening inside of him.

Fuck.

He stops breathing. Blinks, then clamps his eyes shut.

Fuck.

When he finally manages to draw air into his lungs, he swallows loudly before asking in a weird, high-pitched voice, his heart pounding in his chest, "What– What did you say, brother?"

Hvitserk turns his head toward him and shrugs. "I just said there'll be boo–"

"No, not you!" Ivar snaps at his brother, pointing his pointer finger at Ubbe. "You, what did you fucking say?" Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Lagertha frowning – 'no curse words in this house, boys'– and even if he barely contains an eye roll, he still mouths a quick 'sorry' at her before rewording his question, impatience coursing through him. "What did you say, dear brother? Who did you say would attend?"

Stunned, Ubbe looks at him with wide eyes. "Y/N? I said Y/N would come. That's what I heard anyway. She's Harald's niece. She was here once, right? Remember her, baby bro, huh?"

But Ivar is no longer listening, the blood draining from his face. Y/N... Y/N... Fuck. Finally. Fucking finally. After so long... He may see you again. Wow.

I'll go! I'll fucking go!

He barely contains the words, suddenly acutely aware of the deafening silence in the room, his brothers shamelessly staring at him.

With her brows furrowed and her lips turned downward in a slight frown, Lagertha takes two steps forwards before crouching down in front of him. "Are you all right, sweetie? You're a little pale."

He barely hears when Sigurd giggles, "A little pale? He's greener than an alien!"

Lagertha shoots Sigurd a dirty look and then gently cups Ivar's cheek. "Do you know her, Ivar? Do you know Y/N?"

Overwhelmed, self-conscious, freaked out, caught off-guard, he doesn't know how to respond. Should he tell the truth? Should he lie? His brothers will mock him, for sure. What is the point of telling the truth? What good would it do? On the other hand, he could really use some advice. Yeah. Sure. Advice from Sigurd. Just the thought of it is enough to make him sick. Fuck, what is he going to do?

Rushed words are out of his mouth before he can even gather his thoughts. "No. No. I don't. I mean, yes, I think I do but–" He's being pathetic and he hates it. So after a sharp intake of breath, he shakes his head and eventually replies in a flat, calm voice, the white lie rolling off his tongue. "I know her, but I thought Ubbe was talking about someone else. Sorry."

With these words, he hastily leaves the room, his eyes riveted on his knees, his heart still drumming in his chest.

Y/N. Fuck.

🛡⚔️🛡

Ivar's taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom

Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings