#sorry for those suffering. I saw a shadow milk piece that made me want to kms (/pos) so I’m bringing you down with me

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By the king’s hand 🐍 XVI

Warnings: noncon/rape, violence/death, trauma, allusions to torture.

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The king proves himself and the reader must accept her fate.

Note: Welcome back, King Loki. Y’all better be ready because our little mouse will never stop suffering.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You felt like you were suffocating, slowly under a heap of rocks. Your return to the palace was a blur. You barely recalled the ride in the carriage or the flights of stairs between you and the chambers. 

You were entirely consumed by your memories and their voices; Magnus, broken before the court, confessing his crimes. Thor, angry and brutal as ever, shouting back at the people as they cried out at their traitorous prince. Neither gave you peace; they were only trapped animals waiting to break free and lash out again.

Hal was a spot in your vision. His voice tickled your ears but you couldn’t answer him as you laid across the bed, clutching a pillow as you rocked frantically. As you calmed, spent from your fit, you rested on your side and quivered every now and then. The sobs would not come, only rattling breaths that seized your whole body.

Time slaked away like layers of ice melting into a puddle. The curtains were drawn back and revealed the shift of sunlight. A pale grey darkened to a dull slate and cast shadows around you, looming over you like the monsters in your mind.

You flinched as you heard the door, the hinges creaked and your fingers sank deep into the feather pillow. Hal greeted the king and firm footsteps marched across the floorboards. Loki’s figure appeared at the edge of your sight as you laid with your back to the hearth. He sighed as he came up behind you and sat on the edge of the mattress.

“You left rather suddenly,” he said as his hand settled on your side. You winced and hugged the pillow tighter. You hid your face against it, the feathers poking through and causing your cheeks to itch. “Mouse…”

You whimpered and curled your legs up. What had this man done to you that was any different than those two savages? You still bore the scars of his switch across your back and your only shield was the life growing in your stomach. It was him who had brought you to this; who had sentenced you to live as a piece of a flesh; who had exposed you to the barbarity of his kin and kith.

“Why?” You asked softly as you turned your head against the pillow.

“I thought… I thought you would want to see vengeance done.” He said sternly. “To see that I’ve brought those beasts to justice.”

You sniffed and shook your head. “I never wanted to see them again… I…” You shrugged and exhaled weakly. 

“I did it for you, Mouse. I dragged that animal, Magnus, down to my dungeons and cut his flesh until he did confess. I watched his blood weep from his flesh and reminded him of what he'd done to you. I made him tremble at my hands. For you.” He sneered. “I’d do it again.”

“You did it for you. For your pride.” You uttered. “You’ve never done anything for me or any other. It is all for you. They humiliated you, took your plaything, kept from you your pleasures. It isn’t about me, it is about what I can do for you.” You wiggled away from his touch, “Do not lie to me, it not only makes me a fool, but you as well.”

“Do not presume to know my will,” he snarled, “Do not talk to me as if I am your subject and not the other way around. And look at me--” He grabbed your chin and forced you onto your back, “When you speak to me, mouse.”

You blinked as a lump lodged in your throat and let the pillow fall away from you. You braced yourself for what he would do next. You remembered the noise of the hinges, the heavy footsteps, the metal against your wrists, the stony touch of loveless beings, the violent claims to your body. 

You grabbed the king’s arm and began to flail. “No, no, no,” You exclaimed, “Please--”

“Gods,” Loki said in exasperation, “Hal! Hal!” You heard softer soles on the boards, “Fetch Birger. Now.”

Loki wriggled his arm from your grasp and grabbed your shoulders. He pinned you down as you kicked out and clawed at the air. “Mouse, shhhh. Mouse!”

“No! No! No!” Your hand flew up and struck Loki’s jaw. He grunted and shook away the jolt.

He struggled with you until the door sounded again and there was a clatter of footsteps across the front chamber. Loki climbed over you as the physician appeared and touched your forehead.

“I don’t know what has come over her.” Loki said, “She has these… episodes.”

“Ah, well she is with child and only just returned from an immense situation. Her nerves are split.” Birgir rubbed your cheek calmingly, “Dear, tell me five things you can see.”

“No, no, no,” you chanted.

“Five things, dear. Five things you can see.” He urged.

“The-- The bedpost…” You wisped, “Y-Your cap… Hal… The ceiling… A chair…”

“Very well, dear, and five thing, “Three things you can feel.”

“Y-Y-Your hand,” you touched the back of his hand, “The bed…” Your eyes flicked back and forth, “The fire.”

“Great, great,” he took your hand gently, “One thing you can smell.”

“The wood. Burning wood.” You gulped.

Birger nodded and smiled at you gently. “Hal, my boy, bring my chest.”

“What is wrong with her?” The king knelt on the mattress beside you.

“I told you. It is stress.” Birger said staunchly and squinted at the king, “Have you…”

“Not in the last days.” Loki admitted.

“But since her return?” The physician prodded. The king rolled his eyes and glanced away tellingly. “And you expect you to be as she was after all that? Do you even know all that happened to her?”

“She does not speak of it.” The king huffed.

“And why should she? To you?”

“You tread a dangerous path, Birger,” Loki warned.

Birger tutted and caressed the back of your hand. “Alright, I’ll do what I can.”

“You have something which can restrain her,” Loki said, “That can calm her.”

“As her condition stands, not much.” Birger stood as Hal approached with his chest, “It is better if she is kept calm. You can burn lavender--”

“No, you will sedate her so she will sleep,” Loki ordered, “I’ve pressing matters and little energy or time for this nonsense.”

“With respect, your majesty, this nonsense is as much to do with you as it is your brother or his accomplice,” Birger insisted, “It will persist.”

“So be it,” Loki pushed himself off the bed, “Find one of your vials and do your duty. She needs sleep, not quackery.” Birger let out a long breath and tapped his fingers on the lip of the chest. “Well, you’ve something else to say?” The king challenged.

“No, your majesty,” Birger looked into his chest and stirred through the contents, “Boy, bring some milk for the woman.”

Your body was limp across the bed, suddenly without strength as you listened to the argument. It was your fault. All of it. If you could just control yourself. If you weren’t so weak and stupid.

“When you finish, you will go.” Loki neared the door. “And do not bother me on your exit.”

The king disappeared through the doorway and you looked up at Birger as he pulled out a glass vial. You saw the irritation on his face.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly.

“Why?” He asked bluntly, “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

You clamped your lips shut and stared at the top of the bedpost. Hal returned and handed a cup of milk to Birger. The physician mixed in drops of the tincture and sat to hand it to you. You pushed yourself up and took it from him.

“Perhaps it is better you sleep for a time,” Birger said. “Are you eating well?”

“Yes, a lot,” you assured him and sipped the thick milk.

“Well, you make sure you keep on. Rest as much as you can.” He looked to Hal, “See if the boy is permitted to take you on walks. You must keep active as you can.”

You nodded and swallowed the milk tainted with the odd flavour of the medicine.

“Is the king rough with you? As he was before?”

You shook your head as you offered the empty cup. “Not since…” You nodded to your stomach.

“Good, good,” Birger set the cup aside and packed up his chest. “Take care, dear. I will be look in as I can.” He hauled his chest up and clapped Hal’s shoulder, “And boy, you will keep her well in my absence.”

“On my honour,” Hal promised and followed the physician to the door.

You felt heavy as you laid back and listened to Birger’s departure. The king was just in the next chamber and you heard the flutter of pages. Hal’s figure lingered as your eyelids shut and you sank down into the abyss. You were smothered by a sleep deeper than any you’d known in months.

🐍

You weren’t certain how long you slept. You woke in a fog. It was dark but for the glow of the fire and the shapes around you, the furniture shroud in grey, seemed distant and yet close. You felt light and airy and your body felt detached from your thoughts.

You lifted your head and peered around, trying to focus on the chair before the hearth. A wraith sat in it and as you sat up, you realised it was the king. You giggled and let the blankets fall away from your shoulders. He glanced over at you and tilted his head as the firelight limned his features.

“Mouse?” He said quizzically.

“Looookiiiii,” you sang as you turned your legs over the edge. He was visibly aghast at your use of his name. You only laughed again as you stood and wobbled. “Such an odd name.”

“Is it?” He lowered his brows and carefully stood to face you, “You should stay, mouse.”

“No, I’m not tired,” you argued and gave a long yawn. “I feel alive!”

“You can barely stay on your feet,” he rushed forward as you stumbled and caught you. “Come on, to bed with you.”

“Wouldn’t you like that!” You snapped and wriggled in his grasp. “But I’m hungry.”

“You’re deluded,” he rebuked.

You laughed and continued to struggle with him. “I’m perfectly well,” you slapped his chest, “I’m just…” You looked down as your stomach brushed against him and your mouth fell open. “Oh, gods…” You rubbed your middle, “I’ve already eaten too much!”

“No, mouse,” you heard a sliver of amusement in his tone, “You… you are just fine.”

“I’m fat!” You pouted and glared up at him. “Why am I so fat?”

He barely withheld a snicker and took your hand daintily. “I have some biscuits. Would you like one?”

“I couldn’t…” You shook your head as you felt your stomach. “I’m already-- but I am hungry. Just one, just one.”

“Well, you must sit if you want one,” he chided. “Understood, mouse?”

“Mouse! Mouse!” You mocked. “I hate that name. I am not a mouse.”

“Alright,” he nudged you back to the bed and you sat heavily, “Then what are you?”

“Hungry. I told you.” You crossed your arms. “Who are you?”

He grinned and looked around as if confused. “It is me, Loki.”

“Your nose is big,” you said sharply. 

“Thank you,” he said rigidly. “Just wait here.”

He left you and returned with a small box. He took out a biscuit with currants baked into it and held it out. He set the box aside and sat beside you as you eyed the treat.

“What is it?”

“It’s a biscuit,” he said curtly. “Like I said.”

“Sure, sure,” you smelled it and cautiously took a bite, “Suppose it tastes like a biscuit.”

He was quiet. You flinched as you felt his hand on your back suddenly. He rubbed a circle there as you chewed and you clapped the crumbs from your hands as you finished.

“Good?” He asked.

“I told you,” you grabbed his arm and shoved it away. “No.”

He dropped his arm and nodded. He watched you as you balled your hands in fists. You stood and stomped like a child around the room.

“As good as it feels, no, no, no!” You swept your finger through the air. “But perhaps…” You stopped and thought for a moment, “No! No!” You sneered at him. “I don’t want your royal cock tonight, sir!”

At last he chuckled and you were startled by the noise. His features contorted in his mirth and you watched him with wide eyes. He stood and neared you slowly. He reached out tentatively and touched your arms.

“Fine. Not tonight.” He assured you. “But you must lay back down.”

“Why?” You quivered and looked at your body again, “Are my legs broken?”

He smirked and shook his head. “No, because it is the middle of the night.”

You frowned. “Oh.”

“So, bed?” He asked.

“Wait!” You stopped him.

“What is it now?” He sniffed.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. 

“Right,” he said and calmly led you back to the bed. “Time to sleep, mouse.”

“Hmmpf,” you grumbled at the pet name and let him lay you across the bed. “I’m not tired.”

“Oh, you’re not?” He taunted as you yawned again into your hand.

“No,” you argued and your eyes closed. “Not at all.”

“Not at all,” he echoed as he pulled the blankets over you.

He sat with you until you drifted off again though you were barely aware of him. You fell back into the warmth of the bed and the haze of your mind. The peculiar scene blending in with your senseless dreams.

🐍

You awoke facing the king. He slumbered beside you, his pale features unmarred by his waking thoughts. Your head was fuzzy and your limbs heavy. You sat up slowly and wiped the sleep from your eyes. The events of the days before slowly came back to you but did not hit you with the same force. You were anxious to think of Thor and Magnus but not terrified.

Loki groaned and reached out to touch your leg, as if assuring himself of your presence, as he stirred. You watched his long fingers as he squeezed you through the blankets and opened his eyes.

“Mouse,” he voice was hoarse as he retracted his hand and swept his dark hair back. “Is there something the matter?”

You shook your head and looked around. You didn’t like how comfortable you felt. You recalled his callous words the day before during your panic and all those times before he had been unkind. How could he sleep beside you as he would a wife? A wife…

You turned your back to him and evaded his reach again as you stood. You hugged yourself as you neared the dwindling fire and shivered. You heard the mattress move beneath him but he did not rise. You looked to the ceiling as you tried to clear your thoughts.

“Why won’t you give me an answer?” You asked.

“Excuse me?”

“What is to become of me when your wife is here?” You spun back to face him. He sprawled across the mattress as his shoulders and chest were bare above them. “I know this… will change. And I know once this babe is born, you will be done with me or cruel as you were before.”

His face darkened but he made no move to rise. He exhaled, a low growl, and rubbed his forehead.

“I needn’t tell you anything more than you need to know.” He sneered. “I will do whatever is best at the time.”

You gritted your teeth in frustration. You hated his riddles. You weren’t going to get an answer.

“My wife will do whatever I wish of her. And when I have a child on her, then you and the bastard will be of little bother.” He uttered. “And when you are ready, you will return to your original duty.”

Your chest knotted and your stomach grumbled painfully. Your anxiety mixed with your hunger and made your core a pit.

“And the child? I am to carry it to some unknown fate?”

“My child. I shall keep it safe.”

“And me?”

“You are its mother. But you are mine, first and foremost.” He bent his arms behind his head. “You will serve me before the child.”

You scowled in disgust but said nothing. He watched you and slipped his hand beneath the blankets.

“I will have a nursemaid for you. You needn’t worry for the child’s health.” He cooed.

“And my own? Do you care?”

He scoffed. “I’ve provided you with shelter, with sustenance, with a physician for your ailments. I’ve seen you well and I ask little in return.” He declared. “Remind yourself again that you are not my wife.”

“Yes, I am your whore. I am aware.” You hissed. “But you do seem to forget yourself.”

“I forget myself?” He sat up. “Oh, let us put things straight.”

You staggered backwards as he was off the bed in an instant. He seized your arm and you struggled with him as he tried to drag you back with him. 

“The child!” You cried.

“Will be well,” he snarled as he grabbed a hank of your hair and twisted your neck painfully. “Come on, mouse, you want things to be as they were.”

“Stop! I only--”

He sat and you lurched against him. He pushed you back and forced you down to your knees and drew you between his own. His cock twitched and hardened slowly as he clung to you. You pushed on his thighs and wrestled with him as he gripped your jaw.

“My patience for you is spent,” he spat as he shoved your head into his lap. “Open up, whore.”

“Please--”

“Let me give you your answer.” He bit out. “When you have born my bastard, I will use those parts of you unruined by its passage.” He squeezed until you gasped and forced his tip into your mouth. “I shall have my wife’s cunt and your mouth.”

You gurgled as he pushed against the back of your throat and slid down it. You gagged and he pulled you back. 

“Breathe,” he warned, “You don’t want to hurt the child.”

He forced you back down and you clawed at his sides. He moved your head steadily, up and down his length until he was entirely hard. You were dizzy and helpless against him. His groans and grunts added to the noise of you in his mouth and he clutched your head tighter.

He fucked your mouth until you were gasping and gulping around him. He wrenched you off of him suddenly and stroked himself to his climax, his seed stringing across your face. He released you and you fell back in a heap. He stood and stepped around you without concern.

“That is what you will be. Always.” He barked as he crossed the room. “Mine. To do with as I please.”

🐍

The days that followed were frigid and fraught. You could not forget that morning as the king’s former disposition returned fully. He left you in the morning without disturbance and you bided the hours silently, barely aware of Hal as he tried to cheer you. When Loki returned, the boy was sent away. He didn’t speak, only sat and stewed in whatever blight had angered him that day.

And when he wanted you, he had you. Hand, mouth, or cunt. You bore it and hid yourself under the covers when it was done. 

Another week gone and Hal announced that the verdict had been dealt. Loki hadn’t said and you hadn’t dared to ask. You listened as the boy explained how the jury and judges had found Thor guilty and condemned him to death by the sword. Magnus, however, was to be hung like a common criminal.

But that did not mean you would be without a villain. Loki’s moods assured you that nothing had changed at all. It assured you that your life would be as it ever was. That the fate he’d promised you down in that dungeon would come to pass. You would never escape him and perhaps, though you’d not realised it, your time with Thor and Magnus could have been your only hope at an eventual end to the agony.

You sat in limbo. You could hardly believe that they would die and yet, you feared the future beyond. For all the certainty of their sentences, yours was still frightfully abstract. You could not decide if you were appeased by their demise or envious of it.

Your inner strife was interrupted as Hal stood suddenly and you turned to watch the door open. The boy bowed to the king as he entered, clothed in fur and his horned crown. You stood and the king looked between the two of you. He raised his chin and looked down his nose.

“Get her a cloak and boots,” he demanded, “You will accompany us to the green.”

“The green? Why--”

“Gird your tongue, woman,” Loki demanded. “Haven’t you asked enough questions?”

Hal glanced at you wistfully but did as he was told. He helped you into the fur-trimmed cloak and you pulled the hood up as he helped you step into the boots and laced them tightly. Hal snatched up his own cap as he followed you and the king into the corridor.

You walked behind Loki and his guards, Hal was at your side and foreboding set deep in your stomach. You could guess at the event on the green though you hoped it wasn’t as you expected.

You came out into the blustery winter light and a crowd gathered around a stage erected over the white yard. Just before the walls of Boulder Tower, housed tight within the borders of the palace, a platform stood awaiting the executioner and his victim. You stopped short and Hal quickly caught your elbow and urged you on. The king peered over his shoulder in a wordless reproach.

The people parted as the monarch approached and you were diverted into the crowd of onlookers by another armored man. You went unnoticed as the king passed to the front of the audience and you stood alone with the steely sentinel.

A hush went over the crowd as the king stood with his head high. The hooded executioner came out onto the stage and waited by the lever. Armor clinked and announced the arrival of the criminal before he appeared. Magnus had only rags wrapped around his feet and shreds of clothing barely hanging from his form.

He twitched nervously but showed little emotion as he was herded up the steps. The hooded man came forward to wrap the noose around his neck and a holy man offered muttered prayers to the condemned.

You froze as you gaped up at the scene. It felt like a horrid nightmare. The prisoner shrugged away the holy man and strained against the rope. He looked across the green and his eyes narrowed at the king stood among the masses.

“Fuck the king!” He shouted and the lever was pulled suddenly.

The heavy body plummeted downward and all could hear the crack of his neck above their gasps. It was a sickly sound that made your legs weak. You saw Hal, close to the king’s shoulder, lower his head and a few onlookers swayed before they fainted. You felt queasy but did not waver.

You only remained as you were as slowly, those who still had sense, roused those in shock and dispersed. Those who had fallen were carried away by their companions and you still did not move. It was only as the king’s figure retreated that you were woken from your trance.

“Shall I have his skull boiled and brought to you?” He asked as he neared with his guards in tow. You shook your head and looked away from him. Your eyes stung. “Do not act as if I’m the same as they were,” he lowered his voice as he leaned in. “They would’ve killed you and the child. Where do you think they were taking you?”

You shivered and pulled your hood low to hide your distress. Loki let out a breath that clouded before him in the cold. Snow crunched as an unseen figure neared and another armoured man came up breathlessly. You peeked from beneath your cloak and king frowned at the guard’s frantic energy.

“What is it now?” He poked the guard’s breastplate harshly.

“Your majesty,” the man caught his breath in rasps, “The prince--”

“What of my brother?” Loki tensed and fidgeted as he glared at the guard.

“He is gone. He has escaped.” The guard announced. “He--”

“What do you mean he is gone?!” Loki seized the guard by the mail that poked up around his cowl. “How could he be gone?”

“It seems there was a plot. Lord Fandral and his ilk--”

“Fuck!” Loki shoved away the man and punched his palm. “Fuck!!!” He shouted and looked around at the liveried guards, “Well, you fools, go find them!”

[pomegranates-and-blood]

“Freydis.” (Freydis’ PoV)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: None, Freydis/Ivar if you squint, but not really

Summary:  You can sum this up as a canon divergence from 5x03, from Freydis PoV, with the purpose of explaining why Ivar has some of the ideas he has (as a result of their interaction) and why she is the way she is in the story. I wanted to take a peek into Freydis’ head, mainly because the Freydis of the show is not exactly the Freydis I wrote in νοσταλγία. I wanted to explore the night she is freed, and how/why she finds herself in Kattegat after everything that happens, and why she is the way she is, why she believes in what she believes in. I suck at summaries, I know, sorry

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: The usual, a lot of focus on slavery tho

A/N: Okay so this is my first attempt at Freydis. I really like her character, even if I changed it a bit, I just hate the ‘I am a God’ storyline so fucking much, so I changed their interaction and, by extension, Freydis’ views on the world and the Gods. I’m sorry if this sucks, I’m trying to find her voice and idk, I don’t think I did very well but I still wanted to try and show you guys how I see/write her.

Please let me know what you think, I know this isn’t as flashy as an Ivar PoV but I hope you don’t hate these, cause I also have Sieghild’s little spin-off to post :)

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927​ @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me

They grab her by the back of her neck, hiss some words she doesn’t hear. She drops the jug she was carrying, pale eyes remaining on the spilled milk and watching it be wasted on this ungrateful ground.

They push her, shove her, to make her start walking. She does. Before long she stands surrounded by walls made of stone, and before a man made of fury.

The man at her side is dismissed by the son of Ragnar, and she watches him leave out of the corner of her eye, imagining for a second a world where she can be the one to stand tall and sentence the unworthy to die.

But the Gods didn’t will it that way, they willed it so that she is the unworthy one, tasked with rising above her pain, above her darkness.

“Slave,” He greets, and the word, the reminder, it brings forth so many memories to the front of her mind, so many scars seem to ache with the syllables of the word. Still, she remains quiet and unmoving, she thinks she even offers a calm smile, knowing she has nothing to fear. It seems to intrigue him, she notices. “You do not seem…afraid of me.”

“No,” She replies after a few moments of silence, almost certain he gave her permission to speak. “I have no reason to.”

“You know who I am.” He states, and she nods.

“You are Ivar,” Is all she says. His head cocks to the side, a question about to leave his lips, and with a pit of fear -a fear she knows she shouldn’t feel- on her stomach she adds, “Ivar the Boneless.”

She almost flinches when he lifts his hand to his lips, sure the order to force her into obedience after speaking without being allowed to is to come, but the man only looks at her, blue eyes curious and calculating.

“We are expecting to be attacked by the Saxons, they have a large army outside of these walls,” He explains, and she knows, she knows like she knows the scars on her skin, what he will ask out of her. “We must ask the Gods for help. Would you be…willing to offer yourself as a sacrifice?”

He asks her to respond, he asks her what she ought to do, like it’s a choice, like people like her have a choice to make.

Her lips part, her breath shakes out of her lungs, her hands tremble. They cannot ask her to make choices, if…if she is free to choose one thing, then…

As her breath quickens, as her chest heaves, she feels the familiar weight of the pendant on her neck, and she is reminded of why she ought to feel no fear.

So she brings herself back under her own control and nods, “I would be honored to give myself to the Gods.”

“You are not afraid.” He states in response, but it is a question.

“I have always known…” Her breath falters, but not her resolve, so she straightens her shoulders, meets his eyes with certainty, “I have always known that pain is the Gods’ gift to us.

She looks down at hands roughened by labor and pain, and is resolute when she continues,

“‘To live is to suffer’,” She quotes, the woman who told her that long dead by now, “It all leads us to Ragnarok, it all leads us to…pain, before and after the wolf breaks free. Pain is a mark of the Gods. And those who embrace the pain, those who are born in it, that live in it,” Her eyes look at nothing, nothing but the memories, the snarling faces, the hurting hands, the broken pieces. “Those are chosen by the Gods themselves.”

Her gaze returns to the man sitting in the makeshift throne, and she is startled by the gasp that leaves parted lips, the unbridled hope she sees shining in wide blue eyes.

“Come closer,” He whispers, and she does, with no fear. His eyes search hers, with a desperation she scarcely saw before in someone not a slave, “What…what do you-…? I don’t understand.”

“I know who you are, what you are; so I know you understand,” She offers a small smile, “I know you understand that some of us are chosen by the Gods themselves to be pushed to the ground, to be broken, to…suffer.”

“Chosen.” He repeats, and his voice shakes.

Hers does not.

“We are chosen, pain is a mark of the favor of the Gods. We are to endure, we are to rise above it, we are to survive, we are to accept the Gods’ gift.”

“I…”

“Those who endure, are rewarded,” She straightens her back, offers a smile cold but true as she raises her chin for what feels like the first time, “I am willing to be the sacrifice. And may Freyja reward me in the life after this one.”

But he shakes his head. Barely at first, as if enthralled, as if shaken, but when she meets his eyes with what is certain to be shock and surprise written all over her features, he takes a deep breath and finds his voice.

“You are free to go.”

“But…”

“You…” He frowns, his eyes fall from hers, look at nothing. She knows that look. But he shakes himself off it before long, and meets her gaze again, “You are a free woman now.”

She learns that night, that being free is a new kind of pain.

They leave her alone and unbound and alone, and she does not know what to do. For a time, she is thrilled in the newfound freedom, terrifying and suffocating as it is, laughing like a madwoman until her throat goes raw, convinced that this is the Gods’ reward for a life of pain, for enduring, for understanding their will. But the night darkens and she has nowhere to go, and her laugh turns into manic sobs even as she covers her mouth, the shadows chase her lonely form even if she is unbound.

They don’t talk about the loneliness of freedom, she realizes numbly in the morning, dress dirtied and hair wild as she sits on the ground, back resting against one of the stone homes of the city. They don’t talk about how terrifying it is to be left alone with your thoughts when you know you are free to do what you will, what those thoughts tell you to.

Her thoughts tell her she wants to burn the city to the ground and also explore every crevice of it, she wants to let the slaves feel the same freedom as her but she also wants to be on the other end of the terrified stare of a desperate thrall, she wants to…she wants to…she wants.

She wants, and she has wanted for so long; but they cannot ask her to decide, they cannot tell her now she has choices to make. She is scared, and the fear that runs through her veins like Thor’s lightning is a new kind that she has never felt before.

Almost twenty years they have told her to want for nothing, that a slave ought to never want. And now she can admit to having wants, and hopes, and…and now the world is at the tips of her fingers and if she just reaches…

But she is petrified, petrified and alone and fearful.

She wonders if this is but another kind of suffering to endure, this freedom.

____

She has learned, in these months of freedom, many new things. She has learned the taste of some strange dried fruits she stole from a merchant; she has learned working while a free woman feels differently than when working as a thrall even if it is the same routine; she has learned the possibility of choosing never stops being suffocating.

She has learned she is lacking many things. She is lacking a name, having long forgotten it and the people that knew it have been dead for even longer; she is lacking anything but the old red and green dress she wore the night she was freed; she is lacking the certainty being bound to servitude gave her.

A ghost has taken her place since that night, she thinks. Or maybe freedom feels like this. This wandering, this fear, this uncertainty.

A ghost that walks the streets, a ghost that still cries during the night clutching a worn pendant, a ghost that, when the ambitions of the sons of Ragnar take them elsewhere, follows.

Because she has also learned that she is utterly and unbearably afraid of being left alone.

An old woman with runes on her skin finds her wandering the streets one morning, the dawn breaking over the distant waves of the city that now has a new King. She smiles at her, like she sees her, like she understands.

“What is your name?” The woman asks, but all she can do is shake her head, eyes wide.

“I don’t know.” She doesn’t know many things.

And when the woman invites her to follow, she does, because she doesn’t want to be left alone but also because she can, because she wants to, because she can choose to.

So before long she sits in front of the fire and a mangy black cat purrs in her lap, the woman’s eyes piercing and calming as they study her.

“You have a home here, if you wish it so,” The old woman says, “But you ought to have a name, child. What should we call you?”

She grabs onto the pendant hanging from her neck, she thinks of the tales she was told, she hears the memories of whispered prayers.

And she chooses.

“Freydis.”

___

Okay, so that was it. I hope it doesn’t suck, and even if it does I would love to hear from you and learn how to improve.

Btw, her views on pain and what the purpose of life is, or life being suffering and all, it was very much inspired on Edith Hamilton’s insight on Norse mythology and its effect on VIkings and their way of life/worldview; all of it, of course, proyected into Freydis through the very poor vector that is my writing lol

Anyways, thank you so much for reading! I would love to know your thoughts on this, an whether or not alternate PoVs like Freydis’ or Sieghild’s are something you guys would be interested in seeing more of. Thank you!! <3

[multifandom--imagine]

(@bisarcastic ❤)

Pairing: Sweeney x male!reader

(English is not my mother language, so sorry for any grammatical errors)

If you had to describe your life in one word, you could call it normal. You are a boy of good family, you study at an excellent college and your grades are absolutely excellent, you have a loving girl and many friends. Yes, luck has always turned on your side, even the most skeptical people became a little superstitious when they listened to your story.

But even if all your friends constantly ask you what your secret of success is, you never had the courage to reveal it. They would have taken you for a fool. It was obvious that part of your work was not your bag of flour, but every so often in your life who doesn’t need a hand?

Your mom has always told you since you were little some legends about leprechauns and how they brought good luck if their believers repaid them with some bread and some warm milk. And it seems quite absurd but you blindly believed in these fables, but above all you had the concrete proofs of their existence, because the food you left in your window was eaten by someone every night! Your mother justified this by saying that the food was eaten by the neighbor’s cat, but you never got discouraged.

Everything changed when one day the hot milk and the bread you left in your window were not eaten by anyone. You would have lied if you felt your heart crack slightly. But your courage didn’t stop fighting, you left that food again and again on the window, until at the end of that week and with the same result, you decided to give up. No leprechaun had come to see you and leave you some of his luck…What if your mother was right? If it was all fruit of your imagination?

And so you would have remained to regret if it hadn’t been for your group of trusted friends who invited you to a neighborhood pub, to drink a beer all together, between laughter and jokes. You accepted even if reluctantly, probably an evening of fun would have turned you away from negative thoughts and sad. So after having dressed quickly with a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, you went out to the meeting place.

The evening seemed to pass so slowly, that you would have given the gold of the world in order to be able to have fun as your companions could do, luckily your girlfriend had not come, she would have started to ask too many questions, to which you could not have given no answer … You just wanted to know why that “magic” had suddenly ceased, had you done something wrong? Were you crazy and just? Why was it so difficult to understand? By letting out a heavy sigh you walked away from your group of friends to approach the bar to order yet another glass of coca-cola, you didn’t love drinking very much and you were not ashamed to admit it. The barman was so busy that he didn’t even realize your raised hand, which was begging for his drink … ah that night was really unlucky.

“A glass of whiskey for me and a coca-cola flat for the brat next to me” said a husky masculine voice beside you. A tall, muscular man sat to your left, leaning his elbows heavily on the counter. Your eyes studied him with astonishment, while with as much astonishment you realized that the barman had begun to prepare your drinks. The man turned his gaze on yours and frowned, giving you a bold smile. For a moment you felt a sensation of goose bumps all over your body. “Oh come on (y/n) don’t look at me with that mistreated child’s look, I know exactly what you like” said the red-haired man, taking his glass of whiskey in his hand, drinking it all at once.

“H-How do you know my name?” You asked stammering, and if he was a…stalker?

“Ah…little petulant human, I know all about you, ever since you were tall like this” the man replied with a slight laugh as he indicated the height of his calves.

“You…You are crazy, you have a second attempt to explain to me how you know me before I call the police!” You exclaimed defensively. The red-haired man snorted bored, rolling his eyes.

“Oh fuck please don’t even call them the cops, I went out by miracle from the fucking police station…” he commented with a tired and nervous tone “I remembered you more kindly” he admitted, snapping his tongue on the palate.

Without hesitating another second you got up from your stool and with a firm step you started out of the pub, looking for any signal to be able to call the police or 911. You were about to activate the call, when suddenly a wide hand and strong, he tore your cell phone out of your hands, throwing it to the ground and breaking it into a thousand pieces. “Really (y/n)? Is that how you became, a hysterical pussy ready to ask for help and squawk like a fucking chicken?” said the red-haired man with an angry tone. "You know? I thought I’d come looking for you tonight, to apologize for my absence, for not having eaten the good food you had prepared me with so much affection the previous evenings, for not having supported you with my luck. But do you know what it is? fuck you, fuck you, your fucking prayers and your fucking hot milk and bread”

Did the words of that stranger leave you blown away, luck? Bread and milk? It was not possible… “You are…a leprechaun?” He asked in a whisper for fear of having misunderstood everything, there was probably some strange drug in that coca-cola. “Fuck! Bingo we have Mr intelligence!” the leprechaun replied bitterly “You also want a kiss and hug, so you feel more special?” “You know what? after all I don’t mind at all that you disappeared, I don’t even want luck from an asshole like you!" you screamed at the man with contempt, blinded by nervousness, while turning heels you went to your house.

Sweeney clenched his hands in two fists, to see you walk away from him was something that gripped him, his worst nightmare. How could he tell you that he had lost his lucky coin? And that without it he couldn’t have given you everything you needed? Well, what could he do …? In the end you were tied to him just for something selfish, you just wanted some luck and success, and what would the poor leprechaun hold in his hands if he lost both his powers and you?

As soon as you got home you locked the door, trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to wake your parents. You sat on the bed and bringing your hands in your hair, you were immersed in your thoughts. Your emotions were a mix of adrenaline and anxiety, happiness and anger. Was it all true then? Did leprechauns exist, like so many other supernatural creatures ?!

"The last time I saw you like this was because you were afraid of thunderstorms as a child, (y/n)” you suddenly looked up at the imposing figure of Sweeney, who leaned his back against the wall.

“Jesus Christ! How did you get in?” you asked awkwardly.

"Nah, I’m better than that hippie” Sweeney commented, licking his lips. “It’s no use hiding it, I know you want to know why I’ve been missing for weeks…but I doubt you’ll like the answer, brat” he added suddenly serious, catching your attention.

“Then talk..”

“I fucked up (y / n), I lowered my guard in a fight with an idiot named Shadow Moon and now my source of luck is in the hands of his bitchy-wife…” the leprechaun said, getting closer towards you, to then kneel beside the bed so as to stand on your same height.

“Without my luck, I can’t fulfill your desires…I can’t protect you and without my lucky coin the people around me die like flies…if I lose you…I will never forgive myself” he admitted sighing heavily. “I can’t lose you too, I don’t want to be the cause of your death, rather I prefer to let you go, but aware that your life will not become a disaster”

There is a moment of silence, and while you stand still on the reflections you hear, Sweeney took the opportunity to stand up and walk away from you. How to think about how to deal with future suffering? How to think that the small gestures they make for him every day from your thirst for luck?

“Even if your delicacy of a bison, I feel that you are not a danger to me…”

“Sure? But come on (y/n)…There is no future with me…" the man said, scratching his head and biting his lip as he looked at you” In my centuries-old existence few people have entered my heart and the I lost…all of them…you are part of my heart (y/n)“ those words made you roll your eyes "And I love you and it scares the hell out of me" he admitted with a small smile with his fragile voice.

"What do you?” You asked incredulously.

“Ah (y/n) don’t lie to me, you asked me for a girlfriend so you won’t be fooled by your friends. Do you think I don’t know about your bisexuality, brat?”Sweeney said with an amused laugh.

It was really incredible…that leprechaer knew everything and everything about you even your most intimate and secret secrets.

“I know you would never be able to feel any feelings for a being like me anyway, so now that I told you the fuck you like, I take the trouble off” Sweeney concluded as he walked to the window.

No, you didn’t want him to leave, not now that your heart was beating mad, he had abandoned you once and you didn’t want it to happen again. Your arms wrapped around your chest as your face sank into his muscular back.

“Please…stay with me” you whispered timidly as your heart took control of your mind. You could feel that even the heart of the red-haired man had started beating quickly “I promise to cook you the warm milk and the best bread in the world” you add almost to corrupt him and in fact Sweeney let slip yet another sly laugh.

So without thinking about it much, he broke the embrace and turned to you with a smirk he said “Well if you tell me this way, I could do a little thought of it” he said, amused and without further delay, took your face in his hands, approaching the tips of your noses, which gently rubbed, to then make room for a soft kiss on the lips.

At that point you had ascertained that your heart was completely deceased, those chapped and hungry lips had sent your brain out of tune and the only thing you wanted at that moment was to go deeper into that kiss so sinful.

Sweeney seemed to read your mind and in fact he opened his lips, tapping the tip of his tongue against your mouth, searching for more contact. You gave him permission to move forward immediately and so you both enjoyed that supernatural and special kiss.

You walk away a few millimeters after an interminable time, to catch your breath and with a small smile you whispered, giggling “It is incredible how much I’m in love with a leprechaun, who is so stupid that he hasn’t told me his name yet”

“Sweeney, my name is Mad Sweeney”

#08

– Taiga 🐯