The sun will always rise

I was measurably worse about it with school which is a habit I'm hoping to kick myself out of for college, lol. xD So this got really long, lol, and there's no need to match the length love, Ragnar and I were really inspired.

Ragnar understood that they were always going to have disagreements. Disagreements and differences of an opinion were to be expected because Thistle and him were starkly different creatures, raised from entirely different backgrounds. Quintessentially, Thistle was notably more refined than he, much more royal in the descriptive properties of the word than he, the savage, was. Besides bringing a woman’s intuition into his decisions she provided him with unique view points that he, otherwise, would have never considered if merely because of her civility, and compassion — both of which Ragnar also lacked. The platinum Jarl stared placidly at his wife his brow furrowed slightly in his thought. He needed Thistle. In an entirely different way than he needed Nerian — though he considered now that Stavanger Bay was founded and things had happened very differently than he had envisioned (in his visions of branching off Pump had not been deceased) that he did not need her for that purpose anymore and considered giving her her freedom. Even if his wife wouldn’t have held the spot of Gamma so consecutively, having thoroughly earned her way there without his biases, there wasn’t anything he kept from her. Not personal and not governing; Ragnar sought her opinions, valued her input as both second highest ranking wolf under him and as his wife. Her opinions mattered to him on all things, and impulsively he wanted her to know that, to know that without her he would be lost (which was more true than he probably was willing to admit).

Somewhere, somehow Thistle had became the focal point in which his world revolved around.

It was as Thistle spoke that shattered Ragnar’s rampant thoughts and he blinked once at her, confused for a moment having forgotten as he implored the wandering tendency of his thoughts what they had originally been speaking of. Or fighting about. “I’m going to give her her freedom, Thistle. I promised her I would back when I had considered breaking away from Pump before …this,” Details were unnecessary because Thistle had been there and knew just how exactly awry that plan had gone. In the face of their hybrid leader’s death, Ragnar had actually felt a swell of shame that he had considered it, that somehow Pump would know and hate him for it. “I should have done it long ago,” But he had needed her bound loyalty at the time, and while he still expected her loyalty if she chose to go he wouldn’t stop her. “I will wait until her heat cycle has ended.” The scarred Northman spoke with a wry sort of grin, adding it as an afterthought. He did not want to be tempted by her hormones as he had the first time. There was nothing quite like burning from the inside out and having to simply ignore it, but he had, because if he wouldn’t have regret would have followed; despite that the call of her hormones to him wasn’t anything he could control. If it had been another female besides Nerian he would have had the same primitive urge.

The touch of her muzzle, the brush of it as she moved it up the strong column of his throat momentarily disarmed the Viking, his thought process abruptly pulling a blank slate as the electricity of the touch and the intimacy of it and his own vulnerability there. A natural weakness. Ragnar did not make much of a habit of letting others near his throat for the simple facts that it was the easiest way to kill him and because he was vulnerable there. Letting brush her muzzle against the length of his throat was the purest ways he could express his absolute trust in her. It spoke more than any words he could conjure in Norse or English combined. “I love you,” The Viking purled in a rasping, exhilarated breath. Granted, he had just said that not but a few moments ago but it was unprovoked this time partially because he didn’t want her to think him parroting it back to her was just a knee-jerk reaction. Words that at one time he had been confident he would never utter in any romantic semblance. “I need you.” It was an admittance but not meant to be of the physical ramification of the words. Of course he would always want her in the physical sense and the electric touches wasn’t helping that case but with his children abound and wondering he knew they’d have to find a more secluded place than this for that type of need and loving.

“I need you by my side always, Thistle. In this life and in Valhalla,” And as he had once told her, if he had to sneak off to one of the other Halls to find her in Asgard he would do it. Every night. And if Ragnarök was fated to claim him again he wanted to die fighting by her side. It went without saying that she was indefinitely his better half.