#dark vikings

[fragileheartbeats]

⌗ 𝘝𝘐𝘒𝘐𝘕𝘎𝘚 𝘏𝘊 ⁝ 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 ( ♱ )

— 𝘙𝘢𝘨𝘯𝘢𝘳, 𝘉𝘫𝘰𝘳𝘯, 𝘜𝘣𝘣𝘦, 𝘏𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘬, 𝘐𝘷𝘢𝘳 <3

˚꒰🌼꒱‧ it was a request, but I deleted it by mistake. Anyways hope you enjoy!

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐀𝐑 | 𝑳𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑩𝑹𝑶𝑲 ─ ♕ . ♡𝆬

The Charismatic Leader

Ragnar is the strategic and deeply passionate yandere. His obsession is rooted in a profound emotional connection and intellectual fascination. Ragnar treats you with a curious mix of reverence and possessiveness. He sees you as his equal, his partner in both love and adventure. "My Heart," a term that signifies your essential place in his life. Ragnar’s love is shown in grand gestures and the sharing of wisdom. He wants you involved in his plans, seeing you as integral to his vision of the future. Ragnar's jealousy is a slow burn; he's confident but can become cold and distant if he feels he’s losing your attention. When vulnerable, he shares tales of his fears and dreams, often gazing at the stars with you, pondering the gods' will. Witnessing Ragnar’s intense conflicts, both internal and external, could be harrowing. His determination to achieve greatness can sometimes overshadow his attention to you, leaving you feeling isolated amidst his ambitions. Ragnar envisions you by his side as he makes history, exploring new worlds and standing together as equals among the legends.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐁𝐉𝐎𝐑𝐍 | 𝑰𝑹𝑶𝑵𝑺𝑰𝑫𝑬 ─ ⸸ . ♡𝆬

The Fierce Warrior

Bjorn's obsession nature is that of the protector, almost knightly in his devotion. His love is fierce, and his protective instincts are strong. He treats you with a protective warmth, always ensuring you are safe and respected by all. He call you "My Shieldmaiden," even if you do not fight, it’s how he sees you—brave and strong. Bjorn’s demonstrations of love are in his protective actions, ensuring you never face danger alone. His gifts are often symbolic, representing his commitment and your shared strength. Bjorn’s jealousy can erupt into fierce displays of dominance, though he tries to keep it in check. His vulnerability comes out in quiet moments when he shares his doubts about living up to his father’s legacy. The worst experience would be getting caught in the crossfire of his ambitions and the dangers that accompany his life. Bjorn dreams of a future where you both stand as legends, with a legacy of strength, courage, and unity that echoes through the ages.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐄 ─ 𖤐 . ♡𝆬

The Compassionate Strategist

Ubbe’s obsession is more measured and thoughtful, rooted in a deep emotional and intellectual connection. He treats you with a gentle respect and an eagerness to share everything with you, from the mundane to the profound. He will call you "My North Star," guiding him through life’s tumultuous seas with your wisdom and compassion. Ubbe shows his love through acts of service and the sharing of knowledge. He’s always teaching you something new, ensuring you feel valued and heard. Ubbe experiences jealousy more quietly, preferring to outthink rather than confront. His vulnerability is in his fear of loss, often sharing his nightmares of a life without you. Perhaps the most challenging aspect of loving Ubbe is coping with his internal conflicts, particularly his struggle to balance his ambitions with his moral compass. Ubbe envisions a peaceful future, one where wisdom and compassion have created a world in which you both can thrive, surrounded by family and a community that respects the land and its history.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐇𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐊 ─ ✦ . ♡𝆬

The Wild Spirit

Hvitserk’s obsession is impulsive and volatile. He’s the embodiment of a storm—unpredictable and wild. He oscillates between intense affection and moments of distracted restlessness. But in his good moments, he's exhilarating and deeply attentive. He will call you "My Tempest," capturing both his perception of your captivating allure and the tumultuous nature of his affection. His demonstrations of love are spontaneous—adventures in the middle of the night, unexpected gifts stolen from far-off lands, and passionate declarations. Jealousy can drive Hvitserk to reckless actions, sometimes endangering himself to prove his worth. He’s surprisingly open about his feelings, wearing his heart on his sleeve. The inconsistency and his struggle with his own demons can leave you feeling insecure about where you stand with him. Hvitserk sees a future filled with adventure and unpredictability, always chasing the next thrill but doing so together, forever entwined in each other’s chaos.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐑 | 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑩𝑶𝑵𝑬𝑳𝑬𝑺𝑺 ─ ✞ . ♡

The Ruthless Tactician

Ivar's love is intense and all-consuming, marked by his cunning and ruthless nature. He views you as his ultimate prize, his reason for victory. With you, Ivar is surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to his usual ruthlessness. He shares his strategies and thoughts, making you the confidante of his deepest ambitions. He will call you "My Queen," placing you above all, the only one capable of understanding his true self. Ivar’s expressions of love are possessive and grand. He eliminates any threats to your safety, often before you’re even aware of them. His jealousy knows no bounds, and he can become dangerously cold towards perceived rivals. In vulnerability, Ivar reveals his fears of inadequacy and his deep need for your affirmation. Witnessing the lengths Ivar will go to secure power and protect you can be both awe-inspiring and terrifying, as his methods are often merciless. Ivar dreams of a future where you both rule, unchallenged, with a legacy that will be remembered and feared throughout the ages.

@ 𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒔 . 𝐷𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒, 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡, 𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑠 𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠.

[grandpriestofthealpaca]

Here is something weird that happened recently, in the obscure world of club penguin warfare a near world war event occured when an the SWAT army declared war on the Help Force, but this army was allied to a few others, most notably the Templars, and the Army of Club Penguin (I'm in this one 🍀) so both of these three armies formed an alliance (the circus alliance) but then in a very WWI fashion the Dark Vikings allies of ACP followed the war declaration

And so we steamrolled the first 4 battles with multiple leaders working hard to keep us in line and with incredibly dynamic orders

A lot of very particular memes were born that should never escape the confine of this sphere

So let me share a few with you

[arcusxx]

art by Valhyr

[oldschoolfrp]

Vikings and Saxons at war (The Palladium Book of Weapons and Armour by Matthew Balent, with armor illustrations by Mary Walsh and Kevin Siembieda, Palladium Books, 1981)

[levithestripper]

“Love of mine, One day you will die, But I'll be close behind, I will follow you into the dark.”

VIKINGS— Ragnar Lothbrok and Athelstan

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Common Knowledge 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, bullying, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Harald Halfdansson, tall & plus-size reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You unfurl the strip of legal pad, marked with Professor Halfdansson's messy and pointed writing. The usual scribble that has you squinting at your returned papers. He must be the only instructor in the college that still handmarks his assignment.

Like much of his style, his slanted cursive is chaotic. Often, his lectures or spiraling tangents about his trips to Norway or some mythos unrelated to the topic at hand. He is a well of knowledge, but one which is often overflowing and bottomless.

The subject is far from your first choice. You prefer history with a human subject. Your intrigue is those events which truly occurred, people who once walked the same earth as yourself. Mythos and belief is a human creation but it hardly captures your imagination.

Along your search for title jotted onto the scrap, you find several other books to sate your personal preferences. A book on the Beothuk and their demise and another illustrated index of Renaissance art. Finally, you find the rear corner of the store, the mythology shelves nestled behind Spirituality and New Age.

You hover your finger before the rows and lean in, squinting through your lenses as you search out the rather Nordic-sounding name. You sense a shadow at the end of the aisle but do not look over. You'll just be on your way once you-- there it is.

You pinch the spine of the deep blue tome and slide it out. The cover is stamped with gold runes and lettering, a viking helm the central image. You double-check that it matches the professor's scrawl, however you can never be sure as his Fs look like Ss.

You set it flat on your armful of book, balancing the weight with the rest as you crumple the scrap and tuck it into your pocket. It's a bit more than you want to spend but it will be useful in maintaining your average through Halfdansson's course.

The shadow comes closer and you shift out of the way for the approaching customer. You sidle away as they huff, a breath that fans around them. He leans into the shelf and you sense his head shift and his gaze follow your slow retreat.

"Ah, you are a fan of vikings?" He asks, stopping you in your tracks. "You must've watched the show, hm? Cute series but not very accurate, you know?"

You blink, taken aback but his tone and his assumption. It isn't the first time you've met the attitude in your chosen discipline. When it comes to military history or the lives of vaunted men, there is often an intonation towards female scholars. You have been dismissed more than once.

"Never seen it," you lie, "you seem the type though."

You note his snow white hair, a peculiar shade, drawn back into a half pony, and his blindingly pale eyes. He wears a tunic better housed in the closet of a LARPing club and looms with an air of indignation. He puts a thick hand on the shelf and leans, no doubt used to towering over others.

"Funny, that is the very book I came for," he intones.

"Oh, what a coincidence."

HIs jaw ticks and he snorts, "seems you've found quite the lot--"

"I have. A whole trove."

You go to turn away and hear his sole clomp down behind you, "surely you can grab another encyclopedia. I really need that one."

"Uh, no, this is what I need."

He follows you down the aisle as you keep a quick step, uneasy at how he trails you so fervently.

"Maybe you should grab another one."

"I have all the others. I've been waiting months for that to come into stock," he insists.

"Well, you can find a kiosk and order one in--"

"On a three month backorder," he interjects and grabs your arm. "I'll pay you--"

You spin back to face him and hit his chest with your books, "don't touch me."

"Well, just..." he retracts his hand, "hold up. I'm trying to talk to you. To barter--"

"I'm sorry, but I need this book for class," you hug the books and back up, overly aware of the tingliness from where he grabbed you. You don't like being touched. At all. You can feel your heart pumping.

"Does the school not have a library, little girl?"

Your mouth falls open. Little girl? This guy just can't help himself. You haven't been rude, maybe matter-of-fact, but he's been downright mean.

"Not for sale," you push your shoulders up and back away.

You twist on your heel and speed away. You weave between the shelves and discount tables and join the winding queue at the counter. You don't look back and sway in your boots, waiting your turn.

"I could give you several recommendations for an alternate text," the man appears at your side, crowding you inside the black cords that rein in the queuing customers.

You ignore him and turn your head away. You wish he'd just take a hint. If you heard a single please or any sort of respect, you might consider it. He's only been a jackass and judging at first glance, he's too old for that.

"You don't need it–"

You move with the line and he growls, shifting with you.

"Look, girl–"

You snap your head back and give him a glare. He sucks in one cheek and exhales heavily, "miss, I am asking you nicely–"

The associate at the counter calls for next and you take your cue. You quickly cross the space and put your haul onto the wooden ledge. You hear the pushy stranger snarl something under his breath. You refuse to look back as you hand over your membership card.

Men like that are the very reason you despise the general public. Hard to fathom how you can be so intrigued by the human condition when you can hardly bear to be around other people.

[dailydccomics]

Dark Knights of Steel: Allwinter #1 featuring Killer Frost by Homare

[froggyfics]

For Your Pleasure - 3

The aftermath comes to light.

18+ only! I do not consent for this content to be viewed by minors. Please take heed of the warnings listed, though they are not entirely comprehensive. Do not continue reading if you are uncomfortable with the content. This story and its contents are 100% fictional, and are not affiliated with Marvel Comics.

Feedback is always appreciated. Feel free to message me privately or comment below to let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

Pairing: viking!dark! Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Warnings: violence, bloodshed

Word Count: 1,774

The invader – your assailant – leaves you writhing in pain in your home. You’re unsure if it’s because he wants to terrorize some other unlucky villager or if he just got bored of you.

You cough up spit, dust, and dirt. It’s impossible to keep your vision steady. Your legs are wobbly like a newborn calf and there’s a great pain in your abdomen. 

It takes every ounce of your energy to lift the barrel into your arms. A sense of remorse envelopes you. Although you are being forced by the invader to take your family’s food, you can’t help but feel like you’re stealing from them.

You grunt while you carry the heavy barrel to the rocky shoreline that sits at the edge of your village. Your peripheral vision notes that there are dozens of people scattered across the sandy shore. Some are your fellow bloodied villagers. The others are the barbarians. 

You remember your grandmother’s voice from when you were younger.

“The Vikings,” she ominously tells you. 

“Oh mother, don’t scare the poor child!” Your mother huffs. “The Vikings have not attacked in several years.”

Your grandmother exclaims, “They will return!” She shakes her frail hand in the air with as much energy as she could before hacking up some phlegm. She takes your small hands in hers, “This village has become lazy. The Vikings do not attack for a few years and all of a sudden, everyone thinks that they are safe. Ha!” She coughs some more. “You wait and see, child. Wait and see. The Vikings will always return. Be prepared.”

“Right over there.” A Viking shoves your shoulder towards a particular boat, forcibly bringing you back to the present. 

You approach the boat carefully. The stormy waves are crashing against it, but it does not yield to the power of the water. It holds steady in the wet sand. You almost want to marvel at it. The puny boats that the local fishermen had would have cracked and disintegrated against the power of the waters. 

You lower the barrel into the small boat, where there are several more identical barrels within. With the amount of food they are taking, your village will certainly starve before the weather warms again.

You turn around to look for your family. They’re not there and despair strikes your heart. Your legs take you to sit next to a crying Helga, wrapping your arm around her, like you did with Frida earlier. She does not speak, but you can tell the story of what happened to her by looking at the tattered remains of her clothes and various scratches and cuts across her. She suffered the same fate as you.

The two of you do not exchange any words. There’s still chaos all around. Screams pulsate in the air. Blood fills your nostrils every so often when you sniff hard enough. The Vikings relay orders to one another, readying their boats. There’s one behemoth of a ship a mile into the sea - waiting for the return of the barbarians. 

The lonesome ship piques your interest. It comes to your attention that there are actually very few Vikings around compared to the population of your village. They really overtook your measly village’s defenses with a skeleton crew. You all were easy to defeat. Just another village for them to conquer. 

Lost in your thoughts, you almost don’t catch Frida as your assailant drops her into you.

“Frida!” you cry out. 

“She certainly has a fighter’s spirit,” your assailant chuckles. “My men caught her trying to crawl away.” He meanly kicks her legs, as you cradle her body.

Her eyes roll to the back of her head and she does not regain consciousness despite your attempts at waking her. Slaps and pinches do not bring her back. Red splotches engulf her dress, but her chest moves up and down. She’s still alive, but hangs on by a thread.

“Please,” you stare into his eyes. “She is but a child. She needs to go to a healer.”

“A healer?” He scoffs. “Do not prolong her suffering. She may not be dead yet, but she will certainly cross that bridge tonight.”

Helga lovingly brushes her fingers through Frida’s hair. It was all she could do to communicate to Frida somehow that she was not alone. You rock Frida like you would a baby, trying to comfort her the best you knew how. 

There’s so much noise all around -  more than what you were used to hearing. The village was always so quaint. There were never this many screams.

The jarl barks out orders to his crew. The band of barbarians move swiftly like water, as if they have done this before. 

“Fear not! I do not intend to kill you. After all, who else will warm my bed while I travel across the sea, if not you?”

A shudder involuntarily comes over you. You pray with every part of your being that he didn’t mean what he said -  that it was just a scare tactic used to keep you compliant at that moment in time. 

Rocking Frida back and forth relieves you of your worries and your pain. Despite your chest and pelvis screaming in agony, she is all that matters at this moment. Splintered wood from the jarl’s arrow surrounds her gaping wound. Whoever found her must have yanked the arrow out, hoping that Frida would bleed to death. 

“Too bad for them. Frida’s a fighter,” you think. “She’ll come back to me soon enough, ready to talk my ears off.”

More and more survivors gather on the shore. The smell of defeat is in the air. You look around for your village’s chieftain, but he is nowhere in sight. In fact, you don’t see a single member of his household. 

Anger suddenly surges inside your chest at the thought of the chieftain’s likely death. You don’t quite understand why. You neither liked nor disliked the chieftain. Yet suddenly, in the midst of the turmoil and vanquishment, you’ve become a devout follower of his.

Your eyes survey your surroundings. You finally find the jarl, talking to his men with his back turned to you. You hope your eyes gain the divine power to burn holes in the back of his head.

As if he is clairvoyant, he slowly turns around to face you. You hope he sees the hatred in your eyes.

He does - you know he does because he grins. His teeth are still stained red. He motions you to come to him with his hand. You stubbornly look away.

“Go, girl!” Helga scolds. “Go, see what he wants. Otherwise, you will be the death of us all!”

Helga pries Frida from your arms. It feels like you’re losing Frida again.

“Oh, yes, please. Take your time! No rush!” The jarl shouts, his words dripping with sarcasm.

You hold your tongue, even though a growl froths in your throat. Shaky legs trudge to him. Every inch of you still hurts from his earlier assault. 

His hand gently grabs onto your shoulder. It feels like a mocking gesture. You know just how dangerous his hands are. You don’t think you could ever forget how his hands violated you.

“We’re going into that one.” He points at a boat some distance away. 

You inhale a shaky breath. The world becomes fuzzy and black spots take over your vision. The ground no longer supports you, and you slowly freefall into the dark abyss. 

A muffled voice exclaims, “Oh no, we will not have any of that!” 

He’s there to catch you. When you land in his arms, the darkness fades away, but then you’re left with the inescapable light. You take a moment to process your fainting episode. You peer up at the smiling jarl, with his blood-stained teeth. Your parents raised you right - you were nearly about to thank him for catching you. The words fumble in your mouth though, as your mind catches up to the situation.

Why are you even surprised? He quite explicitly told you that he would kidnap you earlier. You have an out-of-body experience as he marches you to the designated boat. This feels like a dream - a dream that you have when you have a fever so great that it deludes you.

When you’re within arms reach of the boat, you’re suddenly pulled into reality. 

“Run!” your mind screams at you. “Fight back or die trying! Die now with your brethren instead of far away from home!”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts disapprovingly at your hesitation. “Do not provoke me, girl.” He leans in closely to whisper in your ear. “I’ll make you watch as I slit that little girl’s throat.”

You blink at him, and then observe the other villagers. Not one of them dares to meet your gaze. The shame of their silence is more nauseating than the blood.

The jarl laughs heartily when you voluntarily step into the boat. “I knew you were well-behaved!”

Frida’s limp body becomes smaller and smaller as the boat sweeps you away. Helga does not even look in your direction. 

The ship is so much bigger than anything you’ve seen before. If it were under different circumstances, you would take the time to marvel at its gorgeous architecture. It’s not like your captor would have allowed you a moment of reprieve. A flurry of bodies surround you as the crew prepare to set sail. 

You clutch onto the ship’s railing, looking longingly at your village. You’re in a daze until a certain sight piques your interest. 

The shoreline is barely visible from the ship, but you know it’s them. Despite the obvious injuries they’ve sustained, it’s evident that your parents have come out from their hiding places to the shoreline to survey the survivors. You can tell it’s them despite the tattered remains of their clothes and the large red stains. They are searching - trying to find their siblings, nieces, nephews, neighbors, friends, and children. 

You inhale as deeply as you could, so that your scream would be deafening. Your mother’s head whips in your direction.

A genuine smile stretches across your face. “Mother,” you croak - your voice finally giving out to the day’s trauma. You give a small wave before your hand is yanked and twisted behind your back.

You know it’s him before he even speaks. “Shut it, woman!” His grip on your wrist tightens tenfold. “You will speak only when spoken to.”

He continues to yap in your ear about obedience and compliance, and even though the village grows smaller in your vision as the ship sails away, you continue to smile.

[nocternalrandomness]

"Arrival at Avalon" by Joe Pestoniak

[999lcf]

[madcat-world]

the Old One (1 of 5) - Dominik Mayer

[synintheraven]

Really important matter here but uhm me and @lord-aldhelm we're trying to prove a point here so please choose the one you think it's the prettiest 😌

(votes are anonymous okay so feel free to vote!! Just be honest ;)

[arcusxx]

[jason-is-a-real-mood]

Soo we agree that every time Tav feels Harleep use her body it’s with Raphael ?

[st-just]

Viking Warrior by xiao董

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Common Knowledge 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, bullying, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Harald Halfdansson, tall & plus-size reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

With your thesis proposal submitted and marked, the real work lies ahead of you. You’ve claimed your spot in the library, a stack of cue cards with your arguments laid out in columns. It’s the easiest way to sort out your information and narrow down your key arguments. It’s a bit messy but you like the visual diagram to parse out your own thoughts.

You receive a few shaded looks from those who pass by looking for a spot of their own. You don’t mind moving over if they do want to sit but none approach. You bend over the table and switch two cards. You’re standing, circling the table as you’re swept up in getting just the right flow.

You back up and hum. You grab another card, jotting down a new point to add and a sudden slam makes you jump. The thump of the large book on the table sends the cards scattering in a whirlwind. You sputter as you look up at the figure across from you.

You can’t hide your surprise. It’s been a week since the smoothie shop incident and not close to long enough. That man stands on the other side of the table smirking, his white eyes eerily calm but smug. What are the odds he’s a student here?

You shake your head and roll your eyes. You step forward and start gathering up the cards. Your dorm room bed would be just as good as a table. As you reach to swipe up a card, he grabs it first and reads your writing, letting out a scoff.

“Hmm, how cute,” he muses, “you’re trying.”

You ignore him. Whatever, he can keep the cards. You close up your books and slip them into your bag. He plants his hands on the table and leans forward, gaze boring into you.

“Running away again?”

“Do you not know how to take a hint?”

“As much as you,” he counters, “I just wanted to show you that I found a copy of my own.”

You glance at the book in the middle of the table and furrow your brow. Really? This is some weird battle you don’t want to fight. You blow out between your lips and keep tidying up your things. Your laptop is closed and slid away before you can nab it.

You grip the edge and try to pull it from his grasp. He easily dislodges it and tucks it under his thick arm. You hiss and look around, flabbergasted. You turn your frustration around and reach for that coveted book. He stretches his other arm in front of you, blocking you as he looms closer.

“Not so fast,” he holds his large hand up, “would you stop and listen?”

“I’m not interested in listening to you,” you puff out, “give me my computer.”

“Would you let me say what I came to say–”

“Bro, no. How did you even find– you know what? Don’t care. It’s weird. And creepy. Give me my computer and leave me alone. I’ll scream.”

“Relax, you’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic? You want to see dramatic–”

“Would you stop?” His voice rises, drawing looks from a few other students and some hushes. His throat bobs as he peers around, “I’m trying to apologise, alright? I thought…” his eyes meet yours with almost a sheepish tint, “I’d buy you a coffee and we could talk about mythology.”

Your lashes flutter as you try to keep your eyes from rolling so far back they get stuck. You don’t know that you’ve ever met anyone so oblivious. College has introduced you to several characters but nothing like him.

Your mouth falls open and you shake your head. You step forward and latch onto your laptop. He lets you take it. You’re very aware he could keep it from you easily. For all his flaws, he is clearly in good shape.

“I’m trying not to laugh in your face,” you back up and put the book into your knapsack, “so I’ll be very honest and clear with you. You are the most rude, obnoxious person I’ve ever encountered. Free coffee couldn’t even make me spend a single second with you.”

He grits his teeth as his jaw squares, the cleft deepening as he tilts his head. His frustration is laced in confusion. His eyes search you.

“Oh,” is all he manages to get out.

“Right, so, goodbye.”

You swing your bag over your shoulder and snatch your jacket from the back of the chair. You go to step by him and he moves with you. You are actually about to scream.

“Can’t we start over?” He asks.

How many ways can you say no?

You look left and right and your eyes meet an unexpected pair. Oh, you’re not sure if that’s good. Professor Halfdansson raises his hand to give a small wave as he diverts his strut in your direction. You clamp your lips together and turn back to the man in front of you.

“I don’t think so,” you say bluntly.

“Ah, studying are we?” Halfdansson approaches, coming up perpendicular to you and Geralt.

“Uh,” you look between them as the professor gives a thoughtful look to the other man. “Just leaving.”

“This is a friend?” He wonders.

“No,” you answer as Geralt says “yes.”

You have to hold back a snort. You don’t get this. Any of it. Neither of these men seem to have any sort of self-awareness. At least not a concept of reality.

You bite your tongue and rein in the smart retorts flashing through your mind. You make yourself smile, or at least try to muster one. You take a deep breath.

“I have to go,” you say crisply. “Excuse me.”

Geralt is kept at bay by the presence of your professor, though Halfdansson appears astounded by your abrupt dismissal. You’ll have to apologise in class but most importantly, you need to get this goddamn paper done. Without a man hovering around and distracting you.