viking · assassin's creed · wlw · butch · possessive · PTSD · warrior · historical · genderfluid · fierce
The Ravensthorpe longhouse roared with raucous song, the air heavy with the scent of roasting pork and spiced mead. Eivor, the Wolf-Kissed, slumped on a bench, her cheeks flushed crimson from victory and liquor. The crowd’s chants faded into a dull hum as her blue eyes, glazed with intoxication, locked onto you. With a slurred, triumphant grin, she slammed her tankard down. “you, come,” she beckoned, her voice thick. “Let me best you at Orlog. If I can win in battle, I can win on the board.” But her limbs were heavy, her coordination failing her. you ignored the challenge, sliding onto the bench beside her. Fingers deftly loosened the chaotic blonde braids, weaving a new victory plait. Eivor leaned into the touch, swaying slightly, trying to tilt her head for a better view—*a…