Hope Ivar Feels Guilty About Messing With Her Paints Now!

Hope Ivar feels guilty about messing with her paints now!

Lion and the Lamb (Ivar x Christian!Reader) Part 3/?

Y/n is English royalty and in order to maintain peace between the Vikings and the Saxons, they offer their daughter in return. Ivar’s obvious distaste for the princess does not falter when they meet, taking her as a wife is merely a distraction for his ulterior motives in attacking them later on. However, Ivar soon realizes his hatred for Christians seems to falter as Y/n proves to be something else. She proves not only Ivar wrong but everyone in Kattegat, Ivar and Y/n form an unlikely bond. How long will that last when Y/n realizes Ivar’s true motives which could not only tear them apart but start a war

(I’ve decided to add gifs in the works to make it a bit more natural and easier to envision Ivar).

Masterlist

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The precious crate my father had gifted me, which held over twenty paintbrushes and costly pigments that were England’s most excellent, which had disappeared from my first chamber. I had scrambled throughout the hall, even turning every piece of furniture from Ivar and I’s shared room apart trying to search for the chest. 

I did find it in the middle of a group of males and Ivar who was hurling the contents. This caused brushes to break and pressed pigments of paint to crumble was the last thing I expected.

I didn’t expect the day after our lack of, wedding night would be like this. I never expected to be storming and pushing past men and women to get to my items. My stomach had dropped, and I was beyond angry, to meet Ivar, who had the biggest smile on his face. 

“Please, stop!” Reaching down to pick up the discarded remnants of the brushes and pigments. Gathering them into my arms quickly in an attempt to protect them from more harm, the pigments going all over my clothes. I tried not to say anything more as I picked up the few brushes I was able to save. Looking up towards him, the men behind him laughing to one another and pointing to the horrified look on my face. I felt ashamed, their queen on her knees, was this how a queen was supposed to act in Kattegat? Ivar pressed his crutch on a bottle of paint, making the glass crack and the colour to spread onto the gravel.

“Christian.” I’m stunned, I didn’t know what to say. “What are you doing? These are expensive.” Clutching the paints closer to my chest I look to the ground in shame, I dare not cry. Not here, not now, not ever in front of Ivar. The man who was supposed to be my husband. I need to do this for my country, without me they would be under attack by heathens. He says nothing but looks at me with the wickedness smile on his face. 

Nodding in his direction, I glance to my side before dashing away. Clutching the paints to my chest, the sound of laughter and strange voices follow and Ivar’s booming voice. “Gone off to pray to your god?” I ignore his remark and dash inside. Hoping if I hid into my room long enough, they wouldn’t know I had been crying. Pressing my back to the door, I clutch the items tighter, heading to the small desk in the corner by the window, I put it down and sit in the chair. I felt numb as I looked over the few brushes and bottles that held colours of red, blue and gold that had been saved. Swallowing hard I do nothing for a moment before the door to the shared chamber opens. I meet one of the thralls I had recognised from my wedding preparation and who had given me my breakfast this morning. 

“My queen?” She asks I smile in her direction and nod in an attempt to mask the sadness. It was weird hearing her say it, to acknowledge my role. I did not feel like a queen at all. 

“Yes?” She says nothing but watches me intently as she shuts the door behind her. 

“Are you alright, my queen?” I look to my lap and question my words. Unsure if I should blurt my problems onto this thrall or sit here in self-pity and doubt. I pick the first option. 

“This isn’t going to be easy, is it?” I look to her blue eyes, and I clench my jaw to stop the hot tears from falling. She turns her head to the side to study the items on the wooden desk before looking to me again. 

“It will, there have been many queens before you that have ruled strongly.” I nod at her response. I watch as she rearranges a few furs and places a few more wood pieces into the fireplace. 

“What is your name?” I ask curiously. She looks back towards me, and she smiles lightly. 

“Ama, your highness." 

"Call me y/n, you do not need to call me by formalities. Your kindness is greatly appreciated. I am surprised you even spoke to me being Christian.” She furrows her eyebrows and tilts her head.

“You are a queen even though you may be Christian, but that can be changed.” her voice is calm but concerned. 

“I do not wish to be pagan, Ama.” She sighs at my response, but she continues, “show them you can be a Viking queen and still be a Christian, then.” Furrowing my eyebrows, I study her face. “Prove to them that being Christian is but a distraction, so when you can prove them all wrong, they know to mess with the Queen of Kattegat.”

—–

Her words had struck me, and I knew that I shouldn’t let a Viking man get to me, Christian men never have, it should not start with heathens. I had wandered the halls in an attempt to gather the courage for dinner with my husband. We had not had breakfast together, the way Saxon’s did, I would hope dinner would be different. On my way to the main hall, I noticed Ubbe, who was walking straight towards me, his hair in the notorious Viking way, he gives me a small smile before walking straight past. 

I stop in my tracks and look back to find him disappear behind a wall, glancing to the side of me before stalking towards the wall quietly. Peering behind the corner Ubbe goes behind double doors, calmly walking towards the door I listen intently. I only hear muffled voices, but I do make out small parts of their language, regarding boats and travel. 

I jump slightly to the sound of someone clearing their throat. I turn around with my back to the door to someone I recognise. Harald. His eyes scanning my face, I swallow harshly and dart my eyes behind him then to the side. I really need to stop listening in to conversations. “I was just about to go in,” I excuse. The corner of his mouth etches, “So were I.” He holds my elbow before opening the wooden door engraved in pagan symbols. I am greeted by a table surrounded by Ivar, Ubbe, Hvitserk and a few men I did not recognise. Oh shit. “Look who has joined us? Your Christian wife." 

Ivar’s smile widens but not in a pleasant way. He extends his hand out across the table and says, "wife.” He bows his head, mocking me and not nearly as polite as he’s trying to make it seem.

Hvitserk smiles to the side towards Ivar as he does this. I gulp hard as Harald pulls me into the room to stand beside him. I felt out of place as they all started towards me. I dart my eyes between the men and take a small moment to look towards Ubbe. What am I getting myself into?

They soon forgot my existence and continued to speak in their language, it was broken in small parts in an attempt to pronounce the lands surrounding England. Ivar, Harald and even Ubbe traced their fingers across maps displayed on parchments and cloth. I watched them intently, I made out small parts in terms of raiding, which was a typical Viking practice. Something that caused my family to sell me off like cattle, but I instead not think about that at this moment.

I think back to Ama’s words in an attempt to calm my anxieties. I notice the conversation became focused on some regions of Mercia. There was not much in Mercia, my father admitted to me so. It was not as fruitful as others that I knew of. They traced their finger past canals and circled around Paris. Ama’s words echo in my head. Prove to them that being Christian is but a distraction, so when you can prove them all wrong, they know to mess with the Queen of Kattegat.

“There is a trade outpost disguised as a ministry on the coast of West Francia. My father has made many attempts at trades with them, they’re known largely for their medicine and gold exports throughout Paris and Mercia.” Everyone’s eyes turn to look at me, Ivar and I catch eyes, but he’s quick to downcast them to the map.

“How do you know, you are but a Saxon woman?” Harald speaks first with arms crossed and a blank look on his face. A thick foreign accent accompanies his question. I swallow hard and think back to Ama’s words before I speak,

“I may be a woman, but I have been raised amongst the franks and the Saxon men, I know who the enemy is, and I know who is most worth your time. If I am just any woman, why would I be standing here revealing a secret trade post that only the Saxon know of to the people who I should fear?” They all seem shocked by my answer, and Harald almost seemed pleased with my words.

I looked to Ivar as he looks up to me with his head down, I nod before heading towards the door, “I hope my advice has helped. I will be in our quarters, painting, husband.” Taking a moment to emphasise the words painting. I can’t believe I said that.

TAGLIST: @youbloodymadgenius​ @soleil-dor​ @alexa4040​ @secondratecomplaint​ @rose1729 @lol-haha-joke​ @vicmackeybullshxt @poisonous00​

Did I just spend the last hour reading all the previous chapters? Yes.

Am I excited this slow burn is starting to heat up a little bit? Also yes.

I predict that Arvid is going to get himself killed if he keeps up with the flirting.

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 12- Northumbria

Summary: A Grecian girl is taken from her home in the Mediterranean during a raid in a Christian monestary. She is thrown into dangerous waters after she is gifted to Ivar, who believes she is nothing good but a pretty distraction, until he learns of her true talents, using her to his advantage for his growing army against the Christians of England, and the usurper, Lagertha.

Pairings: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 3545

Warnings: Mentions of blood eagle.

11- Arvid/ The Sacrifice

…

“I did not take you to be the type to get seasick.” Artemis says with a smile. She hands Ivar a scrap of cloth when his head emerged from the side of the ship. He spit into the sea the remnants of the bitter sick in his mouth before glaring at her. He snatches the cloth from her hands and wipes at his mouth unbecomingly before tossing it back at her.

“I am not fond of the sea.” He mutters bitterly, groaning again as his stomach began to churn unpleasantly. Ivar scooted as far back into the corner he was in, treating the space as a safe haven. 

Keep reading

It’s a little different than flan. They’re a fluffy steamed rice cakes. They’re sweet like dessert but my mom would eat it with dinuguan (pork blood stew).

one of my favourite linguistic phenomena/in-jokes is spanish potato chips being “ham-flavored, probably”

Oh we all know Ivar ain’t going to spare Erik. Boy stop playing!

A Nun’s Tale: Part 2.

Please comment if you like, always love to hear your thoughts & suggestions!!!<3 

Read the previous: Expo, Part 1

Tags: @youbloodymadgenius​ @youaremyfamiliar​ @poisonous00​

TW: NSFW, Attempted rape \ assault, language.

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“You asked to see me, my king?” You ask as soon as you enter the great hall. Ivar’s eyes are already on you, intense and protruding. You bite your lip and await further instructions. Ivar finishes the last bit of food in his mouth before his gloved hand waves you over, you nod and walk closer.

“Why all the formalities, Y/N? I don’t understand. I have said this many times before.” he asks, seemingly frustrated. 

Truth is, not long after you were taken, you’ve started developing complicated feelings towards your capture. You were taught to hate and fear all heathens, but after almost two years in captivity, you’ve learnt there were many shades of grey between black and white. And many sides to the Boneless King.

So the formalities were necessary to put some distance between you two, even though you knew Ivar’s broke through to you more than any other man before. But also because you weren’t the most popular face in Kattegat. Many people still thought of you as a slave, or worst, an enemy. A nun who got down on her knees in front of a makeshift cross and prayed to a different god. But Ivar allowed it and you simply tried not to shake the boat as you went about your business.

When you were alone with him, however, that’s when things became truly complicated. You’d sit together, tell stories, laugh…Ivar would drink and his lips soon became a little too loose. He ever shared a couple of secrets every now and then. He trusted you. And you did not want to become his weakness. You did not want to become the one thing his enemies could exploit to harm him.

Looking down, you didn’t say another word. Ivar put down his cup of ale and waved off his guards. “Leave us.” his words were gruff and he was clearly dissatisfied. 

“Sit down.” his voice ordered like satin over ice. You swallowed and obeyed, sitting before him.

“What seems to be the problem, Y/N?” he asked in a husky whisper, turning his body closer to you. You could smell the drink on his breath. 

“Please, my king…I…” you stutter, Ivar’s fist collides with the table surface loudly. “Do not! Call! Me! That!” he roars, causing you to flinch. Then he inhales, closing his eyes slowly. “I do not want you to act like a slave anymore. I do not want you to call me ‘my king’ and frankly I would appreciate it if you stopped following all those…Christian customs. It’s been two years, Y/N. How much longer do you think you’ll need?” Ivar spoke fluently, and when you dared to look into his eyes you realized he was saying a lot of things, things that he’d probably kept in for a long time before finally letting them all out. 

“You don’t understand.” Your voice is weak as you look away.

“Enlighten me then.” he insists.

“I have…thoughts.” you mutter. Ivar’s eyebrows immediately lift up, but he waits.

“I am not viking. I can’t look at you and have these thoughts. I can’t do all those things that you do…I…I do not want to jeopardize your status. They see the way you treat me, Ivar.” You say, eyeing the guards outside.

“They know I favor you for your interesting stories and…different point of view, Nun. You need not worry, Y/N.” Ivar says proudly with a dismissive smile.

You swallow the insult in a compliment’s disguise soundlessly. He said he merely favored you, even though you’ve just admitted to having feelings for him. After all, he is the king of heathens. A ruthless, blood thirsty king.

So what were you thinking? What did you expect? 

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The following day, Earl Frodi and his warriors decide to visit Ivar’s hall. Before nightfall a feast begins, to celebrate their visit and a new fruitful alliance. Many other Earls sit to the tables with their men, and you greet the ones you’ve met before humbly. For the past year the word of Ivar’s nun traveled all across Scandinavia and many curious pagan leaders wanted to meet a Christian in person. The ones who were not hostile but merely intrigued were allowed to hear your story, but Ivar had to be present at all times.

One of Frodi’s men had always expressed special interest in you, and since they were allowed, on more than just one occasion, to speak to you - his warrior, Erik, knew your story well enough. Whenever he was around he watched you from afar, and whenever Ivar was not around he even dared to speak to you. Erik tried to remain cordial every time - but deep down you were afraid of what he might do if he ever caught you alone.

And that night was the night.  

“Skol!” The men roared as the evening progressed. Most of the men and women were already full, sitting and laughing and telling raiding stories. Drinking held very little appeal in your eyes and so you gave Ivar a look, he nodded in mutual understanding and you got up to leave. 

Your little world was a small cabin connected to Ivar’s bedroom. It was built in a way so that the only entrance was through his bedroom. With no other doors and a very small window inside your space. In there you had your bed, your bible, a table, and whatever little belongings you’ve collected during your stay in Kattegat. 

Peeling your robes, your eyelids grew heavy, but suddenly someone’s close proximity had you back on high alert. Turning, you could see Erik smiling down on you mischievously. You could smell the ale on his breath. 

“Hello, nun.” he said gruffly before his hands grabbed your cloth, tearing at the fabric abruptly. “I’m going to fuck you now, after all this time.” he announced as the dark fabrics fell to the floor, leaving you naked and shocked. You couldn’t even cry or scream.

Erik grabbed you by the throat, then tossed you on the bed roughly. Just as he was about to climb on top if you, you screamed. A scream so loud you thought it invoked the thunder. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe it was a coincidence. 

In the meantime, Ivar was moving restlessly on his throne in the great hall. The thunder had unsettled him. It was as if the mighty Thor was calling to him. And he could not ignore his call. 

Climbing down, he used his crutches to step away. His mobility was significantly slower, but he didn’t care. He liked walking. 

As soon as the troubled king walked into his bedroom he could hear the cries. His blood boiled, roaring in his veins as the thunder rolled and roared outside. For a split second, he was scared of what he might find in there. He recognized that voice. He cared for the nun. He might have even…

Ivar’s eyes were sharp as he studied the scene before him, Erik taking his clothes off. His favorite nun stripped bare on the bed - shaken and frightened.

“So which one is it, Y/N? Do I let him rape you now, just to prove a point…to let the people know I don’t care about you? That you are not my weakness?” Ivar asked contemptuously as he finally glimpsed at Erik, who was shocked to have been found. “Or do I kill him and save your precious…virtue?” His other question was dismissive, as if it meant so little.

But your virtue meant everything to you. And Ivar knew it too.  

What’s funny is “putang ina mo” which is used as son of a bitch/fuck you/fuck literally means your mother is a whore in Tagalog. So I don’t know why my ancestors decided to name their delicious cakes puto.

I know when I eat something good I call them tasty little bitches. Maybe they had the same thought process? 🤷🏾‍♀️ 🤣

one of my favourite linguistic phenomena/in-jokes is spanish potato chips being “ham-flavored, probably”

So once I get confirmation on My rejection or approval I will be taking commisions My.... Hmm. Rivians? Cavills.... We'll come up with a name. A good name. A suitable name