#gudrun's hair!!!!!!!!

[elektroblues]

Malaria! in cross-pullovers made by Claudia Skoda for their concert tour in 1982/83. Photo by Esther Friedman. [X]

[clouseplayssims]

So I made a choice when creating this neighborhood to limit CC and one of those things I limited was hairstyles. I was worried the sims would look too same-sy, but Gudrun and Birgit have the same hair and similar features but still manage to look fairly different I think!

(I was inspired by an old old olllllld yahoogroup kingdom where the simmer basically had like, family hairs? So the hair the mother had, her daughters would have, etc.)

[astra-lun]

Ґудрун та Крістоф часто проводять разом час, коли Ґудрун з групою зупиняється у його маєтку. І цей час чаще за все складається з маленьких приємних моментів.

Так як Крістоф вампір, квіти у його маєтку не живуть довго. Але Ґудрун намагається це виправити за допомогою своєї магії при кожному своєму візиті. Для вампіра квіти лишаються нагадуванням, що вона тут була. Також Ґудрун не дуже любить, коли її волосся торкаються без дозволу. Тому і заплітати їх вона дає тільки тим, кому ДІСНО довіряє. Також! РУКИ. І ці маленькі дотики, помітні тільки цим двом? Моє бідне серденько, це дуже мило

Translation:

"Would you like to add an edelweiss flower on the coat of arms?" "Yeah. They are so beautiful! And in heraldry, they symbolize love and good fortune." "Indeed they are. I like it."

"A very interesting volume! The only pity is that the next time its text will appear only in 100 years" "Glad to hear you liked it."

Gudrun and Kristof spend a lot of time together when Gudrun and her group stay at his mansion. And this time often consists of small pleasant moments. Since Kristof is a vampire, the flowers in his mansion usually don't live long. But Gudrun tries to fix this with her magic every time she visits. For the vampire, the flowers serve as a reminder that she was here. Also, Gudrun does not like when her hair is touched without permission. That's why she only lets those she TRULY trust braid it. Also аlso. HANDS. And these little touches, visible only to these two? My poor heart, that's very sweet

[captaingondor]

Here is my TSE Secret Santa for @stories-dearheart ! I used the prompt of Bhatair giving Gudrun a peace offering. Hope you enjoy, and a very merry Christmas!

_____

Evergreen

On their first Christmas together, Bhatair gave Gudrun a red velvet gown, trimmed with white fur along the hem of the skirt. It came with a white fur capelet that fastened at her throat and wrapped around her shoulders. Bhatair’s arm stayed around her shoulders, too, when he fastened it on her, and she leaned back against his chest to let him hold her there.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, even though she hadn’t yet had the chance to observe that to be the case, looking in the mirror to see it on herself. Why move from such a pleasant position to confirm something she knew was true? The dresses Bhatair bought her were always beautiful.

“I know it’s not as beautiful as the one I ruined when I pushed you in the mud,” Bhatair said leaning his head down towards hers. She laughed, lightly, and rolled her eyes. “...but I thought it was a little more festive, at least,” he continues.

“Oh, very much so,” Gudrun agreed. “While that was, of course, a beautiful dress that I will never see the likes of again -” Bhatair chuckled, and she could feel it in his chest. “-that one wasn’t quite as suited for winter weather, so I suppose I can let it slide. Just for today.” She was certainly warm, wrapped as she was in velvet and fur and Bhatair.

“Just today?” Bhatair said, nestling his chin on her head. “What remarkable Christmas spirit you have.”

“It must be an effect of the dress,” Gudrun mused. “I suppose that was your clever plan all along.” She tilted her head up to look at him, and he leaned in to kiss her.

“You caught me,” he said, after he pulled away, his mouth still only inches from hers.

She laughed, reached up a hand to wrap around the back of his head, and pulled him down for another kiss. And another, and another, and another.

~*~*~

On their fifth Christmas together, Bhatair gave Gudrun a vibrant gold and silver gown that shimmered enough to put the stars to shame. The skirt was full, silver cloth pleated between the gold, and the sleeves draped down elegantly. Gudrun stood straight-backed looking it over in the mirror, while Bhatair stood behind, admiring her.

It was actually Bhatair. If it hadn’t been, she would have strangled him whenever he did come back. She had almost begun to give up hope that he would be back in time for Christmas this year, after counting the months, the weeks, the days she spent with that doppelganger hovering around. She had begun to think he would soon not find anything here in Bellingrath that was enough to bring him back again.

She wondered if the budget for this gift came from his finances here, or there.

She wondered if the beautiful, extravagant dress was meant in some way to be an apology for how long he had been gone, as well as for the ruined dress that all his gifts were an apology for. She was not certain how many more apologies she could take.

“Gorgeous,” Bhatair breathed behind her, and it sounded sincere enough, it sounded like it still had that awe his voice had held when they were young and newly in love. It sounded like he still loved her. Adored her. It sounded like he still did not want to ever spend a day apart from her side, so how could she trust it?

She spun, just fast enough for the skirt to flare out around her, and tossed her hair behind her shoulders, and smiled at him. “I love it.”

She had to trust it, that radiant look in his eyes, because if she did not, what would they have left?

She wanted to tell him that the only gift she wanted from him was the truth. But he didn’t give it to her that year, either. It was time to stop expecting him to.

~*~*~

On their tenth Christmas since they had been married, Bhatair and Gudrun were not together. He did not even try to send her a dress as a peace offering. He must have known how idiotic it would have been to think a dress could make up for their child. He had that much self-awareness, at least.

~*~*~

On their twenty-third Christmas since they had been married - and far too few of those spent together - Bhatair gave Gudrun a forest-green gown all trimmed in delicate white lace, like a light dusting of snow on pine trees. She held it up and at it, not in the habit of receiving gifts from him anymore. She wasn’t sure how to manage it. She wasn’t sure how she felt. Was that pang in her chest the joy of coming home to something familiar? Or was it sorrow for what once had been and could never be again? Was it anger, for all his half-measures and unspoken apologies over the years?

“I thought, green,” Bhatair said haltingly, standing before her and watching her face, perhaps even more eager to figure out what she was feeling than she was herself. “Green, for life. For starting again.”

“Evergreens aren’t supposed to start again,” Gudrun said, stiffly and perhaps more coldly than she had intended. “They are supposed to stay green, always.”

“I’m sure you’re sick of me getting you dresses,” he said with a sigh, though Gudrun hardly wanted to count the years it had been since the last time he’d done this. “But I tried to think of other ideas, and none of them seemed right. This was always our tradition.”

“It was,” Gudrun acknowledged. “And I never did get tired of it.”

“WIll you try it on?” he asked, hopeful.

She draped the dress over her arm, walked over to him, and kissed him on the cheek. When she pulled back, his face was tinted red. Like a schoolboy in love, undone by such a little thing. Like the Bhatair she had fallen in love with, the Bhatair she had married.

She did not know if they could begin again, but maybe there was something still growing that they could nurture.

“Yes,” she said. “I'll try it on, for you.”

_______

notes: year 10 isn't meant to be the same year Enel was taken, because I don't think that's how the math works out, I just wanted nice regular numbers. I did think about doing 15 as well but that period of Gudrun's life is too much of a mystery for me to attempt.

[cannondisabledcharacters]

Today's disabled character of the day is Gudrun from Stress, who has epilepsy

Requested by Anon

[image Description: Drawing of a girl writing on a desk with another figure standing behind her. She is being surprised by the person behind her. She has short blond hair with black roots and black eyes. She is wearing a red top with two straps the went around her neck tied in the front with a metal ring.]

[giantologist]

Can you tell us more about Gudrun and Carol?

Certainly!

When I met Carol I felt a tingle of fear in my spine, which is unlike me. I don't like to use the term 'feral' when speaking about giants, but her teeth were more like fangs, blood from raw meat crusting her skin, and she was so scarred I dreaded to think what she had been through. But she was happy with Gudrun in their cosy cavern home, clearly not minding his weeks down the mine to support his booming ore trade. I also met their son, who was the same height as me, as I suppose the dwarf blood levels out the height of the giant blood. His name was Jeff and he was an accountant.

I spoke to Gudrun about how he managed to meet her, and he spun me a wonderful tale which I shall detail below, edited for flow and readability.

"I was only young, just turned 80, still fresh and sprightly, hair and beard a vibrant ginger. I saw her when I was transporting cargo, moving goods from my mine to the nearest town. There she was, ripping trees from the ground as if they were daisies. I decided at that moment that I would marry that giantess or die trying.

"The first issue I came across was the fact that some female giants are fiercely territorial, but I don't have to tell you that. I had to let her know I was there without actually being there. So, in the dark of the night, I would creep forward, setting a gift on a rock outside her cave, placing a single flower beside it. Each night for weeks I did the same, gifting her precious metals, gorgeous stones, shells and wood carvings, different dishes that I made to the largest quantity I could.

"Every day she would come out expecting her gift, grinning as she inspected it, then go back into her cave. It was worth the effort just to see her smile.

"Next came the actual courtship. I did need to be careful, since she didn't even know I was a dwarf - she could assume I was a giant, though I didn't know she could smell me from the get-go. However, I did try my very best. Every dwarf knows at least a small smattering of the giant language, and I used that to the best of my ability.

"One morning she peered from her cave to find that beside the flower was no gift, and clearly didn't expect to see me sat there with a lute. I started to play her a song and sing the best I could. She listened, something I didn't expect, and when I finished I took off running back into the treeline. She didn't follow, stood where she was.

"Now you of all people know that since giants have such long lives they take a long time to make decisions. I wanted to make sure she had ample time to think this over, I didn't want to rush her. However, the next morning she didn't touch her gift, instead waiting by the rock for me. Morning came and went and she sat there still, sharpening her axe or drifting in and out of sleep. The next three days she did this, sitting and waiting.

"Unable to keep disappointing her, I managed to find the rock unattended and resumed my original position on it. As I quietly tuned my lute, the ground shook. She knew I was there. All of a sudden she rushed for me and I tried to scramble away, terrified that I'd come back too soon, that she thought I was lunch rather than a suitor, that she'd crush me flat for being an annoyance. I was thrown off my feet by a massive tremor, a shadow falling over me as she leant over me. Laying on my back, propping myself up on my elbows, I have to admit I trembled, looking at the monstrous and beautiful face I'd been chasing from afar for weeks. She was horrifying and she was stunning, a perfect thing in my eyes.

"She smiled at me after what felt like an eternity of sizing me up, large fingers picking up the discarded lute and passing it back to me. I watched her settle back into a sitting position with astonishment, blinking at her, a smile coming to my face. I picked up the lute once more and stood, making sure it was in tune before beginning to serenade her, my very bad giant speak making her laugh heartily.

"I proposed to her not a month later. Our wedding was as odd as we are as a couple, but I'll remember it 'til I'm in my mountain tomb."

I hope this satisfied your curiosity!

Professor J Finch

[borderland-ranger]

A collection of things I've worked on for my Ranger kit recently. The bag will have it's own post. My kit has a number of pouches, containers/bags/pockets, as well as a backpack, so it's time to start working on the stuff that goes in them, even if they are out of sight 99% of the time. Paper bits like this are a great inclusion, and weigh practically nothing. All paper documents printed onto durable laid paper, and aged and distressed. Picture 2: A map of Olaran in the world of Adrasil, for Fell and Fair's setting used in the Weekend Warrior event. I worked off of a digital file created by Wes Scruggs. Picture 3: A small folded in half wanted poster my ranger picked up from some billboard. It regards a man named Gudrun Irisson, who is wanted for many things, including the murder of a Kingsman and is potentially associated with the Hearth-Guard. It reads:  “Gudrun Irisson. Wanted! Dead or Alive. Wanted on account of high treason, committing sacrilege and the murder of Kingsman Arnol Westbrook. He is armed and extremely dangerous, and may be associated with the Hearth-Guard. Notable features: Greying hair, deep voice, dyed red leather gloves.”  Picture 4: Another, larger, 'wanted' poster of sorts my Ranger acquired from some backwoods town's tavern. This paper details a notorious wild boar in the woods who has injured a hunter recently. If one could hunt down "Old Tuskgutter" there's a reward in it. Noted. This is an adaptation of a wanted poster from the first "Kingmaker" premade adventure for the Pathfinder RPG. It reads: “Old Tuskgutter. Tales run rampant in this town of Tuskgutter, with each telling wilder than the last. Whoever manages to kill this ill-tempered beast is to receive a reward of 400 silver coins and a fine meal from the old, retired hunter Vekkel Benzen, who hath lost his leg to the monster pig a year ago. Bring the head. - Oleg” Picture 5: This small, folded up note, my Ranger came into possession of while on the case of searching for Gudrun. The letter is written from someone only calling themselves "Your Friend in Black," and was meant to be a letter to Gudrun that has been intercepted. It reads: “Gudrun, I pray to Luminos this letter reaches you in time. They know, it’s a veritable manhunt. They’ve already made posters. Best to lay low for the next month or two for this to blow over. Perhaps Sol might be a place to head... Inaara is fine, she made it to the safe house. - Your Friend in Black. P.S. Ditch the gloves, they’re mentioned on posters.” Also pictured is a small mysterious runestone, discovered very recently upon my Ranger's arrival to the Thornwood. Lastly there is another small note, an “IOU” I’ve received from someone a while back for that town’s local inn. When open, it  simply reads:  “His tab is on me. - Krandus”

[inthehoneymoonwithconnorrk800]

GUDRUN (290 DC)

Warnings: Slightly descriptive violence and SA, timeline alterations, and OOC of Yara.

Note: English isn´t my first language, so sorry for the probably mistakes here.

"Come on," her older sister, Yara, with hair as black as the stones of their home, called to her, "father wants to see us at dinner."

No, he doesn't want to see us, she thought sadly.

Only a year had passed…

She was still hearing the screams of her dead family. Her father screaming and cursing the storm when the king left, the heads of her brothers nailed by pikes, both men and women screaming, fire and blood everywhere.

Her father Balon was devastated, not only had he lost the rebellion but his Greyjoy offspring was in danger, for the only male he had left was in Winterfell as a hostage. Theon, his fleet-footed older brother, was his age when he was taken.

She floated out of the sea and looked down at her feet as she walked along the beach. She hated the sand that stuck to her like second skin and how painful it was to move sometimes in the hard clothes and icy water. However, everyone would look down on her if she complained, she was a damned Ironborn, she had to be strong and tough if she wanted the acceptance of the Ironborns. And she needed it, man did she, the place was small and they practically knew each other.

"You've taken a millennium, woman." Yara complained as if she were her progenitor, hands on hips and voice thick. "Next time I'll leave you there and won't let you in the house."

This is not my house, she wanted to say, but she didn't have the guts.

"I'm sorry," she managed to say. Her sister looked at her tenderly and took her hands even though they were frozen.

Yara really was an Ironborn.

She had boots made by her own hands, with the very fox fur she hunted, her steps were determined and she did not flinch from the pain and the combination of wasteland, like a living goat. Her chest had a couple of sharp knives that not only served to cut vegetables but to scratch, hurt, and remove the hand of the bold who dared to touch her, extensive back ready to be filled with oxygen when she threw herself into the frozen ocean, arms strong as a warrior's and more agile than the skin of a living fish. Added to her Greyjoy-like beauty, she looked like she was made of salt and sand.

"What are you thinking of?"

"About our mother."

Yara stopped walking for a second. Gudrun knew she'd messed up, but she continued, the pain in her chest and the tears in the dawn seemed never to end.

"You know we can't talk about it here."

"But at some point we have to, you and me. Father and his people have already complained and gotten used to it. But I don't…"

She felt her voice falter.

"Not now, another day" spoke Yara, jumping up and down as if she were a wildcat "And that's my last word."

"Yara."

"Yes?" she replied a little annoyed, sure she thought he would insist.

"Has father talked to you about being a rock wife? Uncle Victarion mentioned it was something sacred…from the Drowned God," she didn't let fear creep into her voice, the Greyjoy story was extremely macabre.

"Yes, he has, whether I was swayed by it is another thing."

"Aren't you afraid?" Gudrun was small girl, but she was anxious when she turned ten, the age the rock women bled.

"Of what?" Yara looked at her defiantly. "If father threatens to marry me off, I'll run away with the fastest ship, you know, The Pearl and go to Winterfell to retrieve my brother. Or else I'd infiltrate deep into Highgarden, they always need waitresses and I highly doubt there's anything to tease me there, the continentals are very refined."

"And if you don't manage to escape in time?"

"Well, I'd kill fat Krak" she pointed to the blacksmith who was just passing by "because he'd be the first to come to the call and try to pull me away from the knives, I wouldn't allow it. I would take the opportunity to make myself as unrecognizable as possible and annihilate any asshole who wants to catch me. If our family intervenes, I would throw myself into the water and beg until my throat atrophied for the Drowning God to come to my calls, at least I will get enough distraction to swim to some nearby island, if not…, I will cut my future husband's jugular vein when he tries to stick his penis in my vagina."

In the Iron Islands there was no such thing as refined language, both men and women said insults and swear words, spat and treated their wounds with salt to make them burn hotter and stronger.

She jumped up and down to catch up with her older sister.

And she held her breath as she watched the pikes…, there were three reminders of what would happen if another rebellion happened. A damn year passed and they were still there, rotting, because of some stupid morality her uncle and father had.

Yara turned to look at her.

"You know, Rodrik always smelled like firewater, his feet too. He was always head-butting our brothers and me, you were still too little for it. He called it the tradition of the salute. If we had won, the rocks would be more bathed in alcohol than salt. He made scratches on his face after his first fight, saying they would make him more…tough. Maron, the other one, was a liar of the worst kind, once made me kiss a damn goat saying I'd get more heat that way, and all I got was a little flu, plus ugly pimples. Once he made Uncle Aeron believe that the Drowning God would manifest and the poor man almost drowned, again. While Rodrik had his fists as fat as a pig, but accurate as lightning, lies were Maron's weapon. Father gave him a well-deserved slap that day, so much so that it filled his mouth with blood like bitter paste. He deserved it, the slimeball… Then there's our grandfather Quellon, he was well dead when it all happened. They dishonored his marine tomb, extracted him as one does an animal, took his head and left him nailed there too. He was wise, as everyone says…"

They passed the pikes by and by the time Gudrun realized it she was inside the foul-smelling, filthy castle that she had to call home.

A servant appeared and sent them to clean themselves with rags and buckets of cold water that had a smell similar to the sea. Gudrun cursed under her breath. She loved the sea, as long as she was inside, but going out was total hell.

Yara waited for her because she knew that nothing made her more desperate than having sand, pebbles and who knows what on her body. Gudrun rubbed herself with the rock soap: hard, white, scratchy and if not handled well, it would crumble into little pieces or cause ugly wounds on her body. She remembered her first solitary baths, her back was full of blood from the cuts from her mishandling of that stuff, plus it filled the whole shower in bits. Her father sent her almost naked alone with a towel to pick up every little piece and when she did, as a mockery of the Drowned God, it disappeared completely in her little hands. Gudrun had hated him so much, so much that when it was over the next dawn, she silently prayed for her father to die. And then she slept cuddled like a cat in the middle of Yara and Theon, the only siblings she loved.

She got distracted thinking about it and a small piece slipped in, Gudrun cursed under her breath and squeezed her eye, knowing and groping where the piece was. It took a couple of minutes, it had happened before, she pulled it out, but now the little piece wasn't white it was red, causing her eyes to water in pain. She threw the rest over there and put the towel on, ignoring the possible infection in her right eye.

"I'm done, Yara."

Her sister behind the door walked in as soon as she finished the words. A few years ago, when Yara was five years old, she was taking a shower when a drunk came in with the intention of raping her. She screamed and defended herself with a metal bar that formed the precarious shower. She was screaming so loudly that her uncle Victarion immediately entered, pulled the man away from her, called the others and a massacre ensued.

Quickly, Rodrik punched him to knock him out and defend her honor, Maron joined in later, then the men loyal to her father. They beat him to a pulp, stuck him on an iron cross at Uncle Aeron's expense, slowly cut off his fingers and toes, hurled whips and insults into the mouths of women and men.

Don't touch a Greyjoy daughter was the mantra shared by her father's bannermen.

Then Yara herself pulled out a rusty dagger, to make it hurt more, and cut off his limb, lifted it amid screams and threw it into the sea to be swallowed by fish. She vaguely remembered a small shark appearing and jumping up to catch the limb or perhaps it was one of Maron's lies to give it more drama.

From that day on, Theon or Rodrik would stand guard when one of the two took a shower. When they both left, it was just the two of them left to protect themselves.

Her sister looked at her quizzically, she had her sleeves covering her eyes, as if she was crying.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just…" she tried to keep her voice from getting hoarse from the cold "I got a damn chunk in."

"Be careful, sister" Yara teased playfully. "I'll be out in ten minutes, I'm faster than you. Wait, here." She threw a dagger at her, which she managed to catch.

She nodded and stood on the other side of the door. She tied back the brown hair she owned, almost everyone had black hair but her. It was the most precious thing she had because no matter how much salt or light it got, it always stayed moisturized and beautiful. Yara was teaching her to braid her hair so it wouldn't bother her when it was time to shoot arrows or to avoid being caught by one, because her father trained them for stealth and that included attacks with the bow, he had a good aim, but she managed to hide and camouflage herself very well, it was the only talent she possessed.

She looked at the dagger, she was a bit clumsy with weapons, her hands were sweating and she got very nervous thinking about her opponent's next attack. The other iron children teased her and called her "the continental trash". Sometimes she felt she deserved it…what kind of rock woman didn't know how to defend herself? She fixed her gaze on the edge, it showed her the small face of an eight-year-old girl, her soft cheeks and walnut-colored eyes. He felt like crying, it was said that her brown eyes were like those of her mother, who walked barefoot through the corridors calling for her children who would never return.

Except for Theon, every night Gudrun prayed that he would return, that the wretched Eddard Stark would free her brother from the cruelties of Winterfell and that he would come, and it would be the three of them against the world again.

A servant glanced at her as he swept the courtyard.

Gudrun threw a spit on the ground with a defiant look, she was never to show weakness. For better or worse her luck she was a Greyjoy.

"Gudrun?"

"I'm here" she replied instantly, the door opened and Yara stepped out resplendent as a nereid with her clean clothes on.

"What were you thinking of? Because defending myself I doubt it" she pointed out as she awkwardly held the dagger.

"That the continentals don't know the fucking difference between a nereid and a mermaid."

"Continentals are imbeciles by nature" she stated as if she knew the whole world.

"Yara…"

"Yes?"

"Will you tell me something to put me to sleep? Something about Theon, about Mom, about whatever, about pirates, about the sea."

"Sure, little sister" so as not to look so soft in the eyes of the others, meaning Tristifer Botley, she kicked some dust towards the boy "but first we have to give the peeping toms a beating."

"I wasn't looking, I swear. Y-your father is calling both of you for dinner" The boy's tan face was shades of pink, he always got nervous when Yara was around.

"Really?" her sister challenged, stepping in front of the boy. There seemed to be something between them that Gudrun could not understand. "If not, I swear I'll kick your ass in practice tomorrow."

She took her by the hand again and they both walked towards the living room, without waiting for Tristifer's answer.

Before, there were decorations made of sea minerals, beautiful and flooding the place with pleasant sea scent. Now, everything seemed to be dry, dark and odorless. They both trotted to the living room, more to have fun than to anticipate the parental call. Dinner was almost always heard snorts of old gentlemen, stupid drinkers and if they were fortunate, they ate a delicious fish ceviche with seafood. Gudrun's mouth watered, she adored that dish like almost every iron man. Lemon was rare, so the lower people used the cheapest orange they could find. While here, it was made from green lemons, the product of the plundering of the bravest and most experienced pirates. Gudrun wished she was a pirate and in command of her sister Yara instead of cooking ceviche for a husband.

When they entered, the room was half full. They made room for each other by elbowing and squealing, close to their father. Gudrun allowed herself to forget the torment of today and what was to come for some good ceviche and Yara's storytelling.

@arryns

@ashighashonor

@housetargeryens

@fanficgot

@a-libra-writes

@alanybunnuewrites

@houseofthrones7

@letsasoiaftogether

@lovelykhaleesiii

@megsironthrone

@sansasurvived

@theladyalicent

@tinfairies

@writingsofwesteros

@witchthewriter

@greyjoyofpyke

[elektroblues]

Mein Blut kann ich hören wie es durch die Sümpfe rauscht

Bäume weiter Wurzeln ziehen es hinauf

Die schwere, schwüle luft drückt es hinab

[glorifiiedgore]

*  Setting:  THE  NORTHMAN              V  I  K  I  N  G  S  ;  A  semi-plotted  love  affair  &  end  of  innocence  for  @bitemescftly​​

Gudrun  had  found  her  way  to  the  sea.  The  water  had  encapsulated  her  body,  her  lungs  filled  with  salt  and  blue-green  opalescence.  When  they’d  pulled  her  onto  the  beach,  the  waves  were  not  the  angriest  they  could  have  been,  for  Aurvandil’s  cries  rivalled  that  of  anything  nature  could  have  omitted.  He’d  collapsed  to  the  ground,  sunk  low  as  he  pulled  her  tall  frame  into  his  lap.  His  large  arms  enveloped  her,  his  lips  touching  down  onto  a  bloated,  once  petal-pink  pout.  A  hand  tangled  in  the  blonde  mess  of  her  hair,  fingers  knotting  and  tugging,  as  his  sadness  turned  to  complete  and  utter  rage.  Had  she  been  so  sad  that  this  was  the  answer?  Had  she  been  angry  for  his  constant  state  of  absence  in  battle?  Or  had  she  merely  lost  the  will  to  live  due  to  forces  unforeseen?  The  fates  had  never  shown  such  a  depressive  state,  had  never  once  hinted  that  he  would  ever  be  without  his  long-wed  bride.  He  cursed  the  Gods,  but  mostly  he  cursed  her  soul  --  to  be  damned  for  all  eternity.  Her  selfishness  had  a  price,  and  that  was  the  leaving  of  himself  and  their  son  behind.  Amleth  adored  his  mother,  his  tiny  heart  would  be  shattered  to  pieces  at  the  news;  but  that  only  met  that  the  King  would  have  to  love  him  that  much  harder,  that  much  fiercer;  as  a  bear  does  to  its  cubs.  He  would  survive  and  thrive  --  they  both  would.  

x  

The  town  had  gone  to  ruin,  smoldering  ashes  in  the  wake  of  the  King’s  army.  The  men  ripped  through  the  town,  collecting  all  that  their  hearts  had  desired,  making  sure  to  claim  what  they  had  now  won.  The  battle  cry  of  victory  could  be  heard  throughout  the  mountaintops,  the  horn  blowing  in  the  darkness  as  they  settled  on  what  was  to  be  done  come  morning.  They  would  take  all  that  they  found  worthy,  they  would  share  their  findings  with  their  kinsman  back  home.  It  would  be  a  week’s  worth  of  hard  riding,  but  King  Aurvandil  was  more  than  ready  to  return  to  his  land,  more  than  ready  to  settle  (for  a  small  time  anyway).  

They’d  barely  slept  before  they  were  awake  again,  mounting  horses  and  strapping  down  the  goods  with  which  they’d  plundered.  Amongst  their  claiming,  had  been  a  young  woman,  beautiful  and  timid,  an  artistic  vision  of  perfection.  Her  milky  skin  called  to  the  King,  her  chocolate  hair  falling  down  past  her  buxom  breasts.  The  curve  of  her  body  was  something  to  behold,  for  he  could  not  remember  the  last  time  he’d  taken  a  lover  who’s  shape  hissed  of  softness  and  padded  flesh.  She’d  been  offered  to  him  on  the  spot,  the  moment  the  tiny  village  had  been  invaded.  He’d  spared  the  family  that  had  made  such  a  sacrifice,  that  had  given  him  the  most  beautiful  gift.  Aurvandil’s  clan  would  clean  up  the  wreckage  here  and  start  a  new,  giving  those  that  had  yielded  to  them  safe  refuge  and  new  community  to  thrive  for.  

x  

A  week  had  passed  and  the  Vikings  had  made  way  back  to  their  homeland.  The  village  was  being  set  for  that  evening’s  celebration;  the  welcome  home  that  all  warriors  would  rejoice  over.  The  food  was  abundant,  the  wine  overflowing,  the  fire  rising  high  into  the  night  sky.  Everyone  danced  with  delight,  the  music  became  much  louder  than  a  roar,  the  chatter  jovial  and  with  ritualistic  intent.  

‘  Hail  King  Aurvandil  War  -  Raven!  ’  cried  the  company  as  their  concurring  hero  made  his  way  through  the  muddy  path  and  into  the  grass.  The  King  had  been  dressed  in  dark  brown  slacks,  chest  bare,  shoulders  draped  with  furs.  His  light  eyes  focused  on  the  young  woman  seated  on  the  ground  upon  a  wooden  platform.  Three  of  the  town’s  women  had  been  braiding  her  hair,  and  calming  her  nerves.  They  all  placed  kisses  to  her  cheeks  as  the  King  approached,  leaving  the  two  of  them  be.   ‘  In  all  my  days  I  have  never  come  across  a  more  exquisite  beauty,  ’  he  announced,  loud  enough  for  all  to  hear,  and  yet  his  focused  gaze  remained  on  the  young  woman.  ‘  Tonight,  under  the  eyes  of  Freya,  I  will  take  this  woman  as  my  own,  ’  his  words  rang  heavy  in  the  night,  the  applauding  yells  came  from  across  the  land,  the  clan  more  than  pleased  with  this  decision.  ‘  You  will  be  my  queen,  ’  he  breathed,  settling  down  onto  his  knees  before  the  brunette,  his  hands  cupping  her  face,  ‘  tonight,  my  life  becomes  your  life.  My  blood  is  your  blood.  My  heart  is  your  heart.  You  will  give  all  to  me.  I  will  receive  all  of  you.  Sweet  Goddess  Freya  blesses  me,  and  by  Odin  I  will  not  falter  in  my  love.  ’  

His  mouth  his  quick  on  her  own,  not  giving  her  time  to  think,  the  rumble  of  the  crowd  becomes  that  much  louder,  as  his  hands  roam  from  her  face  to  the  thin  gown  with  which  she’d  been  dressed  in.  ‘  You  tremble,  ’  he  whispers  so  that  only  she  can  hear,  his  ocean  eyes  locking  with  green  spheres,  before  the  garment  that  shields  her  body  is  no  more.  ‘  Do  not  fear  me,  ’  he  notes,  hands  large  and  unyielding,  grasping  at  naked  flesh,  his  lips  are  fast  on  hers  once  more,  his  thick  frame  wedging  between  her  thighs.  The  fur  that  drapes  over  his  shoulders  falls  aside,  a  hand  works  at  the  pants  he  wears,  tugging  them  away,  before  he  stands  to  completely  disrobe.  It’s  all  happening  so  fast,  and  he’s  on  his  knees  again,  this  time  turning  her  voluptuous  frame  so  that  her  back  is  to  his  front.  Strong  hands  reach  for  biceps,  pulling  her  backside  flush  against  his  chest  and  torso.  Lips  daring  to  claim  purchase  of  her  shoulder,  her  neck  and  beneath  her  chin.    

╰             —           ✧             :         BITEMESCFTLY          for        anna        ›  

[vexxwraith]

☽ Celebrate endings ☾

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➣Ruwe - Polux earrings - available at Sabbath

[captaingondor]

The Invitation

Here is my TSE Secret Santa for @accidental-spice for the prompt "Noah and Ruya in college." enjoy!!

----------

Noah walked from the library side by side with Ruya, where they had been studying together for their end of semester exams. In truth, he would need to be doing some further studying after they parted. He had not gotten as much out of this session as he might have. Ruya's presence could be… distracting. When he was meant to be poring over notes, he kept sneaking glances at the furrow in her brow and purse in her lips as she concentrated on something she was reading, at her fingers slowly twirling a pencil between them, at a lock of hair sliding down from her shoulder and hanging in front of her eyes, begging to be pushed back into place. All the same, whether or not it had been ideal studying conditions, he considered it to be time well spent.

They were both bundled against the cold, hats pulled around their ears and the shoulders of their thick coats almost rubbing together as they walked. Ruya's mittened hands clutched the straps of the bag slung on her shoulder, and Noah's were shoved into his pockets, where they wouldn't betray him and try to reach for hers.

He wasn't sure he was ready to think about what that would mean.

"So," Ruya said, her voice somewhat muffled by her thick scarf, "do you have plans for Christmas break? Are you going home?" Ruya didn't know where "home" was for Noah, but she knew it wasn't particularly nearby. Enough that his traveling for break might be in question.

Noah shook his head. For the first few years of this whole arrangement, Bhatair had wanted to spend his Christmases with his family, meaning Thoth had been free to share his with his. But people had been begging Velvare to stay for some big to-do in Greenway, so maybe that would be nice for Avidan. Maybe. And that meant, of course, that Thoth would stuck out here being Bhatair. Maybe that would be nice for him, spending Christmas with Gudrun and Nathan and Delaney, instead of his own son. Noah couldn't exactly crash that party without raising a lot of questions. So no, he did not have any plans for Christmas. It wasn't as though he could travel home on his own.

"No you don't have plans or no you're not going home?" Ruya asked, when he gave no further elaboration.

"Both," Noah said, and shrugged. "I mean, I guess I'll go to a service, and… get a nice meal somewhere." If he could find somewhere that was open on Christmas. Maybe he'd just be eating in his room, all alone.

This was actually a bit depressing, now that he thought about it.

"You can't be spending Christmas alone!" Ruya protested, aghast.

"Ah, it's just how things worked out this year," Noah replied, trying to sound nonchalant, like this was not really a big deal and did not bother him even a little bit.

"No, no, that is not acceptable," Ruya said, prodding him in the shoulder with mittened fist m , for emphasis. Before Noah could ask what she expected him to do about it, she continued. "I'll have to tell my parents that we're inviting you over. They'd be thrilled to have you, I'm sure. No one should be alone on Christmas."

"I don't know," Noah said doubtfully, rubbing the back of his head, although the thought of his own lack of Christmas plans was sounding more and more dismal the more he thought about it. "I wouldn't want to intrude…"

"Nonsense! The more the merrier. What's Christmas spirit if it isn't shared?"

"I guess it's pretty miserable," Noah said, with the image in his mind of sitting alone next to a tiny, sad tree and a carefully wrapped present he wouldn't be able to get to Idony until well after the holiday.

"You see? Don't act like you don't want to celebrate with someone," Ruya said, and Noah had to admit that she had won. Now that he could no longer try not to think about it, he could no longer deny that he really, definitely, did not want to spend Christmas alone.

And spending it with Ruya, specifically, would definitely fill him with cheer appropriate to the holiday.

"Alright, yes - if your parents say it would be fine, I'll come over. I would be glad to." Ruya grinned and clapped her hands, or rather produced a soft thump from her mittens. Noah smiled and ducked his head, finding he was actually very excited by the invitation now that he had allowed himself to accept it. "Is it going to be a big crew?" That would make it a lot easier to fit one more person in, and he wouldn't have to feel like he was putting anyone out of their way.

Ruya shook her head. "Just us, a quiet little celebration. Hope that's alright."

"Of course," Noah said quickly.

"What's it usually like for you at home?"

Noah thought back to Christmases past in the overcrowded orphanage. "Chaotic." He smiled fondly. He would miss being with his family, but… "I don't think I'll mind having something a little more peaceful, for a change."

"Well, good, I don't think we can provide much chaos, if that's what you wanted. But we can provide a delicious dinner, and entirely too many cookies, and a warm fireplace."

It sounded heavenly. "And good company," Noah added, leaning over to knock Ruya's shoulder with his own.

"Something you'll be bringing along yourself, too," she replied, looking aside at him with a smile. Noah dared to wonder, then, if their study session had been exactly as productive for her as it had been for him. He watched her face, for just a little too long, before answering.

"Well… just let me know once you've talked to your parents." He came to a stop. They'd reached the point in their walk back where their paths would diverge. "Tell me where and when to show up, and I’ll be there."

Ruya half-turned to face him. "I will. And I know they'll say yes. They’ve heard a lot about you.”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “Good things, I hope?”

“Of course!” Ruya exclaimed, and giggled. “Great things, don't worry. We'd all love to have you. Um. So I'll see you later!" She waved and hurried off down the path. Noah held a hand up, watching her go.

-----

I'm not totally clear on the timeline of Noah's education, but I figure this happens sometime between the start of his time at college and Thoth's death. I don't feel confident enough in writing Ruya's parents, of whom we've barely seen anything, to write this actual Christmas dinner, but I hope the invitation is sweet enough on its own! Merry Christmas!

[reevaly]

If you don’t mind me asking where did you get the hair for your Gudrun posts? Thank you!

Can you find here *click*

[fuckyeahcostumedramas]

Nicole Kidman as  Queen Gudrún in ‘The Northman’ (Film, 2022).

[allthatisnowlandwasoncethesky]

[usuallysublimepenguin]

Maybe trying drawing Reynir's sister Guðrún (whoops, big format paste, wanted to spell it right) in her wedding / courting attire. Probably not a Western white wedding, but new traditional-style clothes, with embroidery? Does she wear an even more elaborately plaited hairstyle, or with flowers among the plaits? If you're grooving on it, maybe her swain's outfit as well?

Inktober #1!

At least, an approximation, black watercolor on sketchbook paper, somewhat unpredictable. Thanks for supplying me with ideas, Wavewright!