KONUNGR ♕

Sigurd might be smaller and weaker, but he’s fast. As soon as Ivar seems to recover from the slam, he lifts him and slams him a second time, and then a third. Knowing that he can’t sustain using all his strength to lift Ivar’s upper body like this, he pins Ivar down to the ground and goes in for a punch.

Fist pulled back and ready to fly, hands grab him by the shoulders and lift him cleanly from his brother. Sigurd wiggles and protests. “LET GO!” But Ubbe’s hands dangle him easily off the ground.

♕ — the second slam comes faster than expected and before ivar has any chance of grabbing his bearings in order to retaliate, a third one follows. 

it knocks all air out of him as he grunts, trying to pull himself together enough to lift both arms in order to block the punch that’s to follow, before ... it doesn’t. breathing heavily, ivar eventually drops the arms, willing his eyes to focus on the third sibling to enter the fray, currently holding sigurd at bay, preventing any more punches to be thrown his way. 

“I’m the bacraut?” Sigurd raged. “Well you are a nithingr!”

Sigurd knew calling his brother a useless weakling would end up with him getting even more hurt, but he didn’t care. They were on this path now, and he wasn’t going to be the one to let it go. The moment’s pause the headbutt caused gave Sigurd enough time regroup. As Ivar pushed himself forward, Sigurd used the momentum to roll Ivar onto his back. He shimmied on top of him, grabbing his shoulders hard and slamming him into the floor a couple of times.

“What are you going to do now, BONELESS!”

♕ — “i have told you to stop talking to me in this manner---!” the insult only spurs ivar into action as he doubless his efforts to get back at his brother.  it wasn’t uncommon to find the pair fighting over something ridiculous or pointless --- it was a matter of who was going to back down, their pride not allowing either to do so, no matter the situation. 

so despite sigurd now having the upper hand, ivar doesn’t give up, even as he’s rolled onto his back and slammed into the floor with a grunt, the slams knocking wind out of him. 

he hates feeling like this. hates how quickly sigurd manages to turn the fight’s tide and how difficult it gets to do much of anything, save for lifting his hands up enough to try and break free of his brother’s grip.