It’s been AGES since I felt inspired to draw or even had time, but I guess when you want, you find a way…. But talk to an amazing writer and read about their plans to a new story, inspired me to draw again, so I did this illustration, based on her work that is not even posted (how lucky i am?)
I won’t explain much about it, you guys can know more, when the story by the amazing @seaweed-water it’s done and posted!
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SUMMARY: You are an omega who has been sold by King Ælla to a wealthy Alpha in Mercia, but before you can be handed over to your new master, another infamous Alpha named Ivar the Boneless has decided to take you for himself.
PAIRING: Alpha!Ivar x Omega!Reader (Flora)
WARNINGS: a/b/o aspects, violence, blood, sexual content!
[If you would like to be tagged in future chapters or in other works of mine, please let me know]
Chapters: 1. 3
TWO: MINE
The great chariot trundled along the uneven hills of the Northumbrian countryside, leading the army of heathens back to their post wherever it may have been. Rain had started to fall from the canopy of dark grey clouds above, blocking the sun’s light and in turn casting a gloomy grey mist upon the land as well as the intruders who occupied it. You curled your bloody fingers against the hard reddish leather of the chariot belonging to Ivar the Boneless and held on to steady yourself, not wanting to lose your balance and fall back against the Son of Ragnar who sat directly behind you, caging you in with his tall, armoured frame as he pulled at the reigns.
You were tense and silent and scanned your surroundings meticulously, eyeing each and every Viking who reached your line of sight. They are a hardy people, you thought. Both men and women crowded the fields around you, stomping forward through mud and long grass with either swords or axes in hand and most wearing amour that consisted of chainmail and iron plates adorned with symbols you couldn’t read. Some of them talked and laughed amongst themselves in their language which was impossible for you to even begin to understand, while others sang songs or argued with one another. A melting pot of different personalities that both intrigued and terrified you but most didn’t pay you a lick of attention, their focus instead on the land around them as they kept a watchful eye out for enemies that may have stumbled into their path. Most – except one pair of eyes that zoned in on you.
Meeting the dark gaze of the Viking warrior, you felt an uneasiness flood in your belly. He was tall like Ivar with long mousy brown hair that had been braided back against his head, though a few loose strands hung messily around his pale face. He didn’t look away when you glared back at him, and it startled you enough to turn your head and look in the other direction.
“What are you going to do with her?” The same Viking broke his brooding silence and you turned to look at him again, noticing now that his attention had switched to Ivar.
There was a moment of pause before you heard Ivar suck in a breath. “That depends.” He mumbled in response.
“Depends on what?” The other rasped, frowning at the answer he was given as if it wasn’t good enough.
“Depends on whatever I feel like doing with her.” Ivar snapped back at him and rolled broad chainmail covered shoulders into a shrug. “What has it got to do with you anyway, brother? Mm? Why are you so interested in my new little slave?” He mocked and you scowled when he patted your head with his gloved hand.
“Don’t touch me.” You muttered and leaned forward, trying to distance yourself from him though the couple of extra inches of room didn’t do much.
“Shut up.” He sneered at you and then smirked before casting his icy glare upon his brother once again. “She was a slave to Ælla, that in itself is useful. I think she will be able to tell us many things about our father’s murderer, things that we can use to our advantage when we go to war against him.” He leaned in behind you then, closing the space you had tried to create until his mouth lingered against the hollow of your ear. “Isn’t that true?”
You bristled at his raspy tone, and he chuckled at your obvious discomfort. It seemed to excite him to see you squirm, not that it surprised you in the small amount of time you had spent together. He was an arrogant fool.
“She’s also an omega.” The brother mentioned.
“Yes, Hvitserk – she is and your point being?” Ivar asked, giving the other son of Ragnar a dumb look for stating the obvious. The conversation was boring him now, irritation working its way into his hardening features.
“We are all Alphas. Bjorn, Ubbe, you and me.” Hvitserk continued, looking at you as he said it. “I think we should share her.” He said so casually that it made you turn to glower at him.
He gave you the slightest smile then, but you wouldn’t return it and instead turned to look ahead once again. How dare he? You were not a plaything to be used and abused by men, especially not these heathens.
“And I think not.” Ivar sighed, not sharing his brother’s enthusiasm.
“Why?”
“Because she obviously is disgusted by your ugly Viking face.” Ivar teased, waving a dismissive hand in the air as he leaned back in his chair, blue eyes raking over you from behind. “Am I right, slave?”
“I don’t want to be shared between you pack of filthy beasts!” You growled, not even bothering to turn to face them. You had, had enough.
“I told you so.” Ivar smiled at Hvitserk who seemed disappointed by the rejection but shrugged it off. “Poor little Flora doesn’t seem to like us Vikings seeing as she is a filthy little Christian dog, and she should remember her place before thinking she can speak to her King like that again!” He growled.
The harsh insult wrapped up in a very real threat made you swallow your pride and shut up, the last thing you wanted was to give him reason to torture you more than you already had been.
You spent the rest of the long journey in silence.
York, Northumbria
“Hold still, if you move this will hurt a lot more but I suspect I don’t have to tell you this.” The Viking boat builder the heathens called Floki gently guided your bruised and bloody hands down onto a freshly cut tree stump outside the Viking homestead. The stump had Norse runes carved into its wood, and you wondered what they meant. “These shackles are far too tight; I am surprised your fingers haven’t popped off yet.” He giggled, his painted face scrunching in amusement as he looked up from your hands and to your face.
Obviously the both of you didn’t share the same humour as you didn’t see what was funny about your fingers falling off, but you smiled back at him nervously anyway.
“Don’t worry, they won’t pop off.” He raised his brow, seeing the fear in your features. Seeming to be conflicted with his own words, he hummed and shrugged. “The probability is very low, but it is also never zero.”
“Just take them off, please. I can’t stand having them on any longer.” You pleaded with him and he nodded.
“Okay, close your eyes.” He lifted his palm to your face and slid his fingers over your eyes, manually closing them for you. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
CLACK.
CLACK.
You winced as you felt and heard the metal give way, breaking from your hands and falling to the leaf coated ground with a thud. Opening your eyes, you sighed with relief and smiled at the sight of your free wrists. You could move them apart now and that’s exactly what you did, stretching your arms out either side of you and stretching your sore fingers wide before pulling them back in front of you.
“Thank you.” You nodded at the mysterious looking Viking who nodded in return.
“You are most welcome, now it is important to wash those wounds and bind them with cloth. You do not want an infection; my wife Helga will accompany you to the longhouse with some herbs that will help heal you.” He gestured towards the blonde woman who stood behind you, draped in a long forest green cloak that made her look like a woodland fairy.
She smiled kindly and strolled over to where you knelt and rested a hand on your shoulder as you stood up. “Ivar wants to see you now; I will take you to him.”
Please don’t, your smile faded but you nodded as she guided you through the mass of trees towards the once Northumbrian occupied town.
You followed her up a footpath and through the main gates of the new Viking stronghold, passing many Vikings along the way. Many of them were drunk now that they were safely home, drinking mead out of curved horns and stumbling around in good humour. Some were passed out, laying on the ground sleeping. Men grabbed and groped women in the streets, while Vikings and shield maidens alike practised their fighting skills with sword and shield. Children ran in groups, chasing after loose chickens and goats, their laughter filling the air which reminded you of home. You watched the community unfold in front of your eyes as you followed Helga uphill until you were faced with the long house she had told you about.
A great house that was indeed long, you had never seen one in this country before. Built from wood and metal with a roof covered in grass, it stuck out amongst the other shabby homes that surrounded it. Strolling up and inside the main arched doorway, firewood and freshly cooked food hit your senses instantly. There were three tables filled with warriors feasting on meat, bread, and ale. The longhouse was buzzing with conversation, but their voices slowly dulled into murmurs when they saw you coming. You tried not to let them intimidate you, but it was difficult having a room full of Nordic killers eye you down. Lifting your chin high, you pretended not to see them and pressed forward until your eyes fell upon the alpha who had sent for you.
The meat, bread and ale was thick in the air but so was he. Gulping, you let your injured hands fall by the sides of your damp dress that was filthy from the scuffle in the river. It felt so unbelievably good not to have those shackles on anymore.
Ivar sat atop a black wooden throne; his legs outstretched in a position that was comfortable for him as he held a curved horn full of ale in one hand. You eyed him as he spoke with his brother, patting him on the shoulder as he appeared to be sharing a joke before he turned and looked at you.
“Ah, there she is!” He called out to you, his smile fading a little and his blue eyes darkening in the flickering candlelight as he took a sip of his ale before lifting the horn in an apparent toast. “Flora, my little slave – I see Floki worked his magic on you. No more shackles… give him my thanks, Helga.” He nodded to the blonde who stood by your side who bowed her head in respect and stuffed a bag of herbs in your hand.
You looked down at the bag and squeezed it in your palm.
“I will, my Lord.” Helga smiled and gave you a caring look before she turned and left.
“Come here.” Ivar beckoned you with a wave of his hand.
You did what was asked of you and hesitantly strolled up towards him, stopping by his feet and exchanged glares with him. “Let me see what is in your hand.”
“It’s herbs to help my wounds heal.” You told him.
“I said let me see.” He breathed and reached a palm out for you to hand him the little pouch.
Doing as you were told; you handed the herbs over to him and watched as he opened the pouch and peered inside. Seemingly fine with what he saw, he tossed the pouch back and you barely caught it. “Just checking.”
“For what?” You bit out.
“That you are not a snivelling little thief, of course.” He smirked, keeping his eyes pinned on you as he took another deliberate slow sip of his ale, trying his very best to get a rise out of you and it was working.
You scoffed. “If anyone is the thief it’s you, idiot!”
The longhouse quietened very quickly, and you realised your mistake too late. Everyone had heard you snap at their King and watched on. Allowing your shoulders to slump, you parted your lips to say ‘sorry’ but nothing came out as Ivar scowled back at you evilly. His nostrils flared and his chest heaved and you prepared for the worst. Flinching, you closed your eyes when he snatched one of your wrists in his strong grip and yanked you close. You gasped at the pain and tripped over your dress, falling to your knees before him with a thud.
“What did you just say to me?” He asked lowly, his eyes wild with anger and when you didn’t answer quick enough he tightened his fingers around your wound and bellowed so loud his voice shook the room. “ANSWER ME.”
“I’m sorry!” You cried, tears pricking your eyes now.
“I should have a shackle made for your neck and throw you in a cage to rot, you will wish you were still with Ælla when I am done with you!” He spoke through his teeth, refusing to be insulted by a slave in front of his own people.
You sobbed, tears spilling down your cheeks as you lifted your free hand and rested it on his thigh. “Please, no. No, no. I’m sorry… I’m sorry.”
“Ivar!” A deep raspy voice came from one of the tables. “That’s enough, let her go.”
His anger overcame him to the point he looked animalistic, a terrifying beast upon a throne but it faded once he heard his brother call to him. Letting his grip on you go, he looked up and around at the faces of his people who stared back at him. Some smiled at the outburst, others were unbothered and continued eating while some looked terrified. You collapsed at his feet, and he blinked down at you, anger replaced with regret and then anger again. Whether at you or himself or both, you didn’t know.
“Take her away!” Ivar commanded, grinding his teeth together as he regained control over himself again. “NOW!”
You didn’t know who had lifted you and carried you out, but when you finally stopped crying long enough to look around, you noticed a couple of women already tending to your wrists. They cleaned them and dressed them, and the herbs Helga had given you were boiled down into a tea. You drank until there was none left and then you drifted into a deep sleep.
‘I am sorry.’ You were running through a forest, your feet bare as you sprinted along a ground made of clouds. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’ The voice echoed in your ears, coming from every direction and you stopped to look around, trying to find where he was. ‘I hope you forgive me.’ You knew that voice.
“Ivar.” You whispered in your sleep. “Alpha.”
When the feast was over, Ivar grabbed onto his crutch and grunted as he pulled himself to stand from his throne. He was sober with anger, more so than usual and blamed himself for what had happened earlier. Yes, he lost his temper when you had disrespected him, but he understood he had gone too far. The blood from your wrist stained his palm, a reminder of the pain he had inflicted on you. He took uneven steps down the hall.
CLUNK.
Step, step.
CLUNK.
Step, step.
Ignoring the drunken warriors who were slumped at the tables from ale, the King made his way out into the brisk night air. He could see each breath leave him it was so cold, but the weather was the least of his concerns. Looking around, he found an all too familiar face walking over to him with long strides.
“She’s with the healers.” Ubbe told him.
Ivar nodded, quiet for a moment as he looked over his brother’s shoulder to the healing house in the near distance.
“I –“ Ivar began, furrowing his brow.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me or anyone, she is a slave and she disrespected you.” Ubbe cut him off. “I only intervened when I seen you lose yourself in the moment.”
Ivar sighed. “I need to speak with her.”
“She’s asleep, drunk on those herbs.” He smiled at his younger brother and patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Nodding, Ivar watched as Ubbe disappeared into the longhouse before continuing down the street. The Vikings who were still up and out in the dead of night parted like the red sea when they saw him coming, a mixture of fear and respect in their eyes as their King hobbled past them and through the silk fabric that hung over the healer’s door.
“My King.” One woman bowed her head as soon as she seen who had entered her quarters, the other two following suit and bowing to him.
“Leave us.” He told them and as they left, his eyes softened at the sight of you.
Sleeping on a makeshift bed that was stitched together with hay and feathers, you looked peaceful. It was the first time he had seen you without a frown and he smiled, realising you really were angelic underneath it all.
Limping over towards you, the Viking gazed upon your face and then down to your hands that had been bound with white cloth. Dragging a wooden stool over to sit with you, he rested his crutch against the bed and just watched you for a while. It was when he was alone with you that he truly breathed in your scent, the intoxicating aroma of omega radiating from you in waves that settled in his lungs and threatened to drown him if he wasn’t careful.
“I am sorry.” He mumbled after a moment, lowering his head of dark braids. “I didn’t mean to hurt you and I hope that you can forgive me.” He reached for your hand and gently brought it to his mouth, pressing a lingering kiss to the cotton wraps.
“Ivar.” He looked at your lips as you spoke his name in your dream. “Alpha.”
Alpha.
Alpha.
The murmured word you spoke so softly stirred something deep within him, something primal and his eyes seemed to glow bluer in the dark as he gazed down at you. He was as in much confusion as he was in awe, you called him alpha? He was so used to being overlooked by women for being a cripple that he had never even considered that you, an omega would be drawn to him. But the way you said it. Oh, how he could have ravaged you. Such a pretty young omega with no alpha who had claimed you, well Lord Bolton had – whoever the fuck that was, Ivar didn’t care. The name had no meaning to him and it didn’t matter anyway because in that moment he had decided in his mind that you were his. Yes – his. And you would know it soon enough, perhaps you already did.
Leaning in, the Viking stroked his calloused fingers along your cheek and pressed a kiss against your lips, so gentle that he barely tasted you, but he didn’t want to wake you from your sleep. Especially when you were dreaming of him. It took him all his might to pull himself up to stand again when all he really wanted to do was bury himself between your legs and make you cum for him.
Biting down on his teeth, King Ivar leaned on his crutch and glanced at you one final time before he limped out of the house and into the night.
Hikari gets irreparably injured, and both legs have to be amputated. (some time late teens) (I've yet to decide the details of how)
Tobirama: oh kami im a terrible sensei I failed her she probably hates me now, hell the whole Inuzuka clan is probably going to curse me for letting their heir be crippled oh fuck-
meanwhile...
Hikari: owie.
Hikari: sensei, I need you to make me knife feet.
✨️and that's how Tobirama revolutionized prosthetics and mobility aids.
Making a seperate part for Aki's predecessor because she deserves it.
This is Hikari, and her ninken, Riku
(みーとめーかー2 | 整成换装游戏了)
飛 means "fly, jump, leap" - 香 means "fragrance, aroma, scent" - 璃 means "glass, crystal, gemstone"
黎means "black, dark, many, numerous" - 久 means "long time, old, long-cherished"
Riku is a Swedish Lapphund. She gives church grim vibes. <3
Another important note: the red ribbons in her hair are supposed to be at the top of the buns, dangling down both sides. (just to clear up the discrepancies between picrews) (the lil wing clips are optional)
It's actually so so so important to me that Hikari is middle school aged. (It might be influenced by the fact I didn't get to fully experience those years myself-) She's rebellious and emo, her unnerving stare could kill a man. I love her.
RIP Hikari you would have loved Danganronpa, which I've never seen but from what I hear it would be her kind of drama.
~~~
Hikari is 13 when her clan moves to Konoha, but she's been having visions of it since she was 6. She doesn't particularly care if the village succeeds, really, all she wants is to see something interesting.
But alas, Hikari will be in charge of her clan some day, so she'll just have to settle with making the decisions that will lead to stability. Boring, yes, but she still has a sense of duty and cares deeply for her clan.
That said, she's having fun wreaking havoc in the meantime. (It's completely minor and inconsequential, she swears)
She likes joining in on the duckling entourage that follows Tobirama around everywhere. Sometimes she tells people about their gruesome deaths futures if thing go too smoothly for a bit. Menace to Society is a badge Hikari wears with pride.
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The clan signed some sort of blood pact with some dog deity, and now have ninken who are intrinsically tied with their lifetime. Their ninken are basically part summon.
Shrine Children
Occasionally, the gods deem it necessary enough to send some poor couple a divine-sent child of chaos, odd wisdom, and unnerving stability. This may or may not be related to the fact their ninken are all actually in possesion of a piece of a god.
It's like if the gods had a big chaotic group chat, and Aki had access to all the hot gossip.
Clan Markings
The main line has the classic red fangs on their cheeks, and only clan heads have the triangle on their forehead.
Others have it tattooed somewhere else. (Until a certain age, the red is just paint, but later on it’s permanently tattooed.)
A few examples: Aki has hers on her back (specifically her shoulder blades), Haruki has hers on her biceps, and Tamotsu has his on his wrists. Some other options are stomach, legs, chest, or even neck. so yea basically anywhere but the face, cause that's reserved for the main line.
