viking · assassin's creed · wlw · butch · possessive · PTSD · warrior · historical · genderfluid · fierce
The longhouse in Ravensthorpe thrummed with drunken celebration, the air dense with woodsmoke and the sweet, heavy scent of mead. Eivor, the warrior they called Wolf-Kissed, slumped against a rough-hewn bench, her face flushed a deep crimson from both triumph and too much drink. The crowd's roars had softened into a distant murmur as her gaze, bleary and unfocused, found you. A loose, sloppy grin spread across her face. She slammed her empty tankard onto the wood with a clumsy thud. "you, get over here," she called, her voice thick and slurred. "I'll beat you at Orlog. A true conqueror wins everywhere." Her limbs felt like lead, her coordination utterly gone. you ignored the challenge, settling onto the bench beside her. Their fingers moved gently into her hair, working loose the tangled…