focusandthefuries

Latest Posts by focusandthefuries

Everyone has moved on, but I'm still here 🥹

Surely a man can survive a bit of backstabbing, huh? Yes, the sword went through him, but that's totally survivable. How? Well, you see, I love him and don't want him to have died! That's how.

Out of context, girls talking about boys 🤭

Cr.: Astridr unused dialogue.

„Don’t worry, I’m right here.“

He’s alright and well, okay??🥹🥹🥹

Senua and Thórgestr followed the enemies-to-lovers recipe very well 😌

A Ray Of Light

A Madslaver (Senua X Thórgestr) fan comic

-the end-

Senua, rendered in Daz3D

they really got matching face tattoos and then didn't end up together like make it make sense

The Unspoken Journey of The Northman and The Mad Woman: Chapter 4

The walk back was silent, except for The Furies screaming in Senua’s ears.

How could you?

You betrayed Dillion.

He is a Northman.

She stole a glance at Thórgestr then, frowning at the expression he held. He was upset, but she couldn’t be sure if it was from anger or sadness. Regret, possibly. Did he regret nearly kissing her?

The thought made her deeply unhappy.

The healer was already inside when they arrived. She directed Thórgestr to take a seat on the bed. He did as she said. Beside her were a few different items. The ointment, proper wraps for his wound, and what looked to be a collection of different dried herbs. There was also a kettle and a basin of water resting by the cold fireplace.

“I have made more than what I will use tonight so you may take it when you leave. The ointment will sting, but it’ll heal faster than without. You must also drink as much tea made from these as you can stomach. The taste is bitter, but not entirely unpleasant.” Senua approached carefully, like a hunter not wishing to startle its prey. She grabbed the herbs with a nod at the old woman.

“I will start brewing it.” She was met with a smile. Senua returned to the kettle, pouring water in it and setting it over the flame of the fire she had created. Fargrimr sprinkled some of the herbs in a cup to help.

His relationship with Thórgestr was complicated, to put it mildly. He was once close with Thórgestr’s father, and had known the younger man for most of his life. Over the years, he had grown a sort of familial attachment to Thórgestr, viewing him much like the nephew he never had. Things soured, of course, when his father decided to take the island over by fear. Fargrimr didn’t hold it against Thórgestr, not like others did. He was just a boy, after all, when this whole mess started. However, he was a man now, one that seemed to be realizing the error of his ways.

The hope he felt when he saw Thórgestr, waiting for Senua’s return was immense. He knew Senua was special, and he thought that if anyone could return Thórgestr to the kindhearted boy he once knew from the coldhearted enforcer he had become in years of late, it would be Senua. Women have a way of doing that. Repairing what had long sense been broken.

These glances, shared between the two of them. Fargrimr recognized them. It was the same way he used to look at his wife in the beginning of their relationship. Equal parts fear and longing. He knew there was once a different woman Thórgestr had intended to make his bride. He did not know the exact details of her fate, but he knew once she was gone, so was the last bit of humanity that Fargrimr saw in Thórgestr. Or it was, at least, until their journey with this woman. He wondered if she knew how her presence healed pains and horrors so deeply seeded that Fargrimr once believed only Ragnarök was capable of destroying them. Everywhere she went, she brought hope.

“This tea, Senua. It helps to heal the body and the mind, but it does not come without some consequence. It can cause hallucinations. Distressing ones.” Fargrimr spoke to her, but his eyes did not meet hers. “I can stay with him tonight if you would prefer. If that is not something you feel inclined to help him navigate.”

His words hit her strong and fast.

He doesn’t trust you to care for Thórgestr.

Of course he doesn’t.

You wanted to leave him to die in the beginning.

Don’t you remember?

“I am fine staying with him.” She responded, pouring the freshly boiled water into the cup.

“Alright then.” Fargrimr hesitated. “His mother was a healer. I wonder if that’s why he keeps smiling at her, despite the pain.”

Was?

Is she dead?

Dead like your mother?

“Was?” Senua asked, parroting the question that was being shouted in her ears. Fargrimr hummed in response.

“One of the best on the island. Before the goði decided to conquer, all of us lived in relative peace. His mother would travel from settlement to settlement, teaching other healers some of her tricks. We were all better for it.”

Senua felt a shiver run down her spine at his words as memories of her own mother were conjured in her mind.

“What happened to her?” Senua felt she already knew.

“For a time, the Goði brought peace to the lands. Protected his people from any harm. But one day, The Tyrant appeared in the settlement. I was there the day it happened. Thórgestr was just a boy. He had been reckless in climbing a tree. He’d hurt himself, and his mother was doing her best to mend him, but he was in and out of consciousness. The Tyrant found them. By some miracle, she was able to hide him under some fallen branches before he struck, but she was not so lucky. He plucked her up, and then she was gone. I don’t think he saw it, or if he did, he wasn’t able to comprehend it. He was unconscious when I found him. It was difficult for Thórgestr to accept her death. He spent a long time denying it.”

Senua breathed in deeply. Something about that story didn’t quite sit well with her. The giant appearing from nowhere to kill Thórgestr’s mother. The Goði’s wife. The first one dead?

“You have known him for a long time then?” She was met with a smile.

“In a sense. Things changed after his mother’s death. In him and within the island. That is when the Goði started taking. We became estranged. This is the most time I’ve spent with him in years.”

That’s why he wanted you to show mercy.

To spare the slavemaster.

To save the boy he knew.

Does that boy still exist?

Not long after, the healer and Fargrimr took their leave. Thórgestr was sprawled out on the bed, attempting to focus on anything but the pain in his leg. The burning in it made his whole body feel uncomfortably warm and his leather felt unpleasantly sticky to his chest. He smiled at her, attempting to appear stronger than he felt in that moment. She saw through it like he had seen through her on the beach just days prior.

She lifted her hand to his forehead. Warm and clammy, it was almost as if a fever had materialized out of nowhere. She set the tea carefully on the floor beside the bed. “Do you want out of your armor?” He nodded his head, failing to find the strength to verbalize his answer.

Her hands reached to help him loosen and remove his top. She set it down gently before picking the tea back up and handing it to him. Reluctantly, he took the cup and drank it as swiftly as he could.

“Can you handle another.” She asked, sweeping the damp strands of his hair back against his head.

“Yes.” He responded, leaning into her comforting touch. His eyes were closed as Senua padded back to the kettle that was currently steeping the rest of the tea. She hesitated, taking one more glance behind her before she changed into linens that were much more suitable for sleep.

She grabbed the kettle and poured him another cup as she settled into the bed besides him, their knees just barely touching. The silence stretched on as he drank. He felt weak in that moment. Vulnerable. He knew from way she was attending to him that she did not judge him, but he judged himself. His mind grew more hazy with every sip.

Shadows grew longer, he felt dizzy. He blinked once. Twice. Then, he was no longer in his bed. No longer gulping down cup after cup of disgustingly bitter tea. No longer savoring every second he felt Senua’s leg pressing into his.

He was alone and cold, wandering aimlessly in near total darkness. While there was some light from a source he could not identify, he couldn’t see anything but the fog swirling around him. That’s when he heard them. The whispers that seemed to grow louder in his ears.

Horrible whispers.

So many voices, some he recognized immediately. Others were not as clear. Altered in only the way an old memory could be.

His father was calling to him, but the tone caused him great trepidation. He followed the sound of his father’s voice confused by the words being spoken. “When we had not heard from you…” , “simpleton”, “Souvenir”. They echoed around over and over again. Still, he marched on. He would be safe with his own father, wouldn’t he?

He kept walking until he came face to face with his father, or, what he thought was his father. The image was distorted, like a reflection in a pond after a pebble is thrown in it. The air had grown so cold, Thórgestr could see his breath. He could see the sword in his father’s hand, too.

“My boy. Why did you have to turn your back on me?”

His blood ran icy and then he ran. As fast and as far as he could. He was in danger. He could feel it like he had when he first came across that slaughtered village with Senua. He did not stop until suddenly he was no longer in the darkness, but falling through branches right onto the forest floor the had appeared below him.

The air left his lungs painfully and he rolled to his back. He stared at the light, scattered by the leaves above him. This time a woman called out to him.

“Thórgestr! Oh, my baby.” She sounded frantic as she cradled his head in her lap, “are you alright? What hurts?” He could not answer her, no matter how hard he tried. He wanted to lift his hands up. To touch the face of the woman peering down at him. A face he hadn’t seen since boyhood. He tried to blink away the tears he had in his vision, wishing to see her clearly for the first time in a long time. He was always told he looked more like her than he did his father. As a child, he did not see it. The sentiment offended him, even. To be compared to a woman when he was a man. As an adult, he was thankful for it because he liked to imagine she was still there with him, peeking through his reflection.

His reunion was over sooner than he was prepared for. He heard twigs snapping. He heard his father yelling again. He heard the hysterical way his mother kept repeating “no”. Then he was being dragged away and hidden in the foliage like a baby deer. He could still see her clearly from where he was as she dashed away from him. She hadn’t gone more than 15 feet when his father came into view. She tried pushing him away when he grabbed her arm but she was not strong enough.

Thórgestr felt a terrible wind, heard it’s howl, and saw it conjure what he feared most.

The Tyrant.

Thórgestr watched as his father forced his mother to her knees and pointed his sword right at her back. “Here! I have your tribute.” He watched in horror as that sword was plunged right through his mother. He didn’t hear a scream. He only heard a thud as she hit the ground. Then, he heard a crunch after the giant took her body and threw it into his mouth.

He felt his vision fading in and out. He heard his mother’s voice once more in his ears. “My son, you have always known. Haven’t you?”

He was floundering now. Drowning in the sea, his eyes stinging as he watched slaves and his men sink beside him. They were reaching out to him. Trying to pull him down even further. He was thrashing now, trying to break free from their grasp.

“Thórgestr.” He heard his name through air bubbles in the water and he saw the face of the mad woman, unclear in the distance, stretching her arm to him. His hand reached out to her, and she grabbed it gently with both of hers. He caressed it before her fingers wrapped around his wrist and yanked him up.

He once again felt himself falling, but this time, when he looked up, he realized he was back lying on the rocky shore where he had first fought Senua. He felt her on top of his chest, her knees squeezing on either side of him. However, when he opened his eyes, she was not holding a rock above his head, ready to end his life.

She was stroking the sides of his face, speaking softly in contrast to the yelling he still could hear in his ears.

“Thórgestr. I am here. Come with me, out of the darkness. The whispers, the visions, I will not let them harm you.” She paused, a tremor making it’s way to her voice. “Come back to me. I know what it’s like, to be trapped in the darkness, seeing all manner of horrors. I shall guide you to the light.”

They were no longer on the beach, but back in the void, surrounded by the fog. Their hands were intertwined tightly and he never wanted to let her go. The more they walked, hand in hand, the brighter his vision became until he was lying down in the bed, safe with Senua within the hut.

He was shaking, his words lost for what felt like the one hundredth time that night. She let go of his hand and threw her arms around his shoulders. Senua pulled him close. He collapsed into her, his head resting on her chest, his arms around her waist as they slowly lied down. He felt the shame crawl up his throat when warm tears streamed down his face and into her linen clothes. She stroked his hair and his back, whishing desperately to bring him the comfort he had brought to her the previous night.

Hold him.

He chose you.

You saved him.

“I have you, Thórgestr. You are safe.”

mutual distrust

"We are not our fathers..."

hellblade 2 studies

SENUA'S SAGA: HELLBLADE 2 (2024)

Senua's Saga: Hellblade II 01/??

A bunch of Hellblade sketches because I’ve thought of nothing else for the past few weeks

Senua & Thórgestr: Enemies to Lovers - Part 3/3

Excuse me, how is this not romantic? 😍

The Unspoken Journey of The Northman and The Mad Woman: Chapter 3

The shame Thórgestr had felt earlier in the morning had not completely gone away, but it had morphed into something much more complicated. Anger at Fargrimr for putting him into the position were that could happen in the first place and confusion an Senua’s lack of anger. At her lack of reaction at all.

He expected her to be angry. To be disgusted. To yell at him for the way his body had reacted. She did no such thing. She stayed there, sitting next to him for several minutes before they had redressed and made their way to the town hall. Or, attempted to, at least.

His leg once again gave out, and when it did, that is when he finally saw the anger cross Senua’s face. She rushed to him once again and helped him to his feet. He could barely speak when she grasped both sides of his face. Her face was so close to his, close enough that if he had tipped his head just slightly forward, their noses could have been touching. He blinked slowly, distracted by the way her thumbs felt tracing over his cheeks. His eyes drifted to her lips. Pale pink and slightly chapped. He would make sure to remind her to drink mead or tea at breakfast.

“You are going to see the healer.” She said through gritted teeth. “I will not allow you to refuse.” Senua was angry. Angry at herself for being the cause of his pain. Angry at him for forcing her hand in battle. Angry at The Furies for stoking the flames of guilt within her.

Look at him Senua.

He can’t even talk.

You cannot lead him into battles like this.

He will die.

He will die because of you.

Hot tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down over her face. It was then that Thórgestr seemed to break whatever trance he had been stuck in. Hesitantly, his hand reached up and cupped her cheek in much the same way she was holding him. With as much tenderness as he was capable of, he wiped the tears away. “Senua,” he breathed, unsure of what else to say. He wasn’t even sure why she was crying. He felt powerless. He did not enjoy the suffering that so often masked her features.

The moment was broken much too quickly for Thórgestr when Fargrimr’s and Ástríor’s voices were heard fast approaching. Senua had jumped back like she had been scalded by boiling water. He could not suppress the hurt that caused him, Senua could see it in the way his typically proud posture deflated. That too, worsened her guilt.

“Ástríor,” Senua, called, making sure her words would be heard first, before whatever she or Fargrimr had to tell them. “Thórgestr requires the assistance of your people’s healer.”

“The Björg deserves nothing from us. We have already done him a great kindness by leaving his throat uncut.” Ástríor's eyes darted to Thórgestr. They held so much rage that he was tempted to reach for his ax, just in case he might need it. He fought the urge, just barely successfully.

“Senua, I already told you. I am alright.” He did not wish to fight with Ástríor and hoped that his refusal would pacify her enough so they may get on with it. The more time that passed between their initial plan to go after the tyrant and actually getting there the more he grew anxious of what would be waiting for him when he returned to his home.

“Nonsense. I know that he is not viewed favorably by you or your people, Ástríor, but we need him. He risked his life to kill your giant. To bring me here. He wishes to stop everything you hate him for, but he cannot do that if he is unable to guide us to this Tyrant or to his father. Do you understand? “ Ástríor let out a deep, unhappy sigh.

“Senua is right.” Fargrimr added, glancing at the frowning face of his male companion. He found it curious that Senua was making this request, and even more curious that Thórgestr was trying to convince everyone he was fine. What had happened to get the fire in her eyes to burn so strong?

“Fine,” Ástríor spat. She was unhappy at having to help Thórgestr, but she was indebted to Senua, and if it was something the seer requested, it was something she would get. “go eat. I shall bring the healer after she is done with the others she must see first.” She stomped away, not unlike a defiant adolescent, intentionally catching Thórgestr’s side with her shoulder. His eye twitched at that.

“Come. I am quite famished. I am sure you two are as well.” Fargrimr smiled at Thórgestr as he walked past, only getting a scowl in return. Fargrimr noticed Senua’s watchful eye on the Northman, flinching every time he took a step that was less steady than ideal. Curious.

When the trio was finally sat at a table, provided with cooked fish and bread, Thórgestr’s sour expression started to relax. The food was cooked well and the bread was still warm. A hot kettle of tea was placed for them in the center of the table. Thórgestr grabbed it, pouring Senua her cup first, followed by his own, and then reluctantly poured Fargrimr one as well. He was angry at the skinny man’s trickery the night before, but he was happy to have spent the night in a woman’s embrace.

“You need to drink.” He grumbled to Senua. The corner of her lips turned up just slightly at the way his r’s rolled gruffly off his tongue.

It is poisoned.

Don’t trust him.

Do not drink.

She hesitated at The Furies words, but took a small sip after he took one of his own.

“Well then, have you thought of a plan.” Fargrimr queried.

“We did not discuss one.” Thórgestr interjected quickly. He was not keen to discuss what had transpired the night before. Granted, it was nothing scandalous or improper, but it felt too intimate of an experience to discuss so openly. It did not feel like an interaction with an adversary, nor did it feel like an interaction with an ally. It felt most like a night shared among lovers, though he was not sure if he was seeing more than what was there. Feeling more than what was there.

Thórgestr noticed the amused smile Fargrimr was fighting to keep off his lips and shot him a murderous look.

“I see. Did you rest comfortably?”

He knows.

He saw her on top of The Northman.

What must he think happened?

You know what he think, Senua.

Senua choked on her tea. Her companions did not have much time to fret over her as Ástríor marched into view, an old woman hobbling behind her. She must be the healer, Senua presumed. While the venom with which Ástríor approached with was obvious, the healer greeted Thórgestr with much greater kindness. She smiled at him, her grin absent of many teeth. Her hair was grey and braided. She reached out and grabbed one of his hands, pulling it up to her lips. She kissed his markings like a peasant would kiss the ring of a king. Clearly, she had met a Björg much more demanding of her subservience before. Thórgestr felt his guilt might eat him alive.

“That is not necessary…” He trailed off, but, she merely smiled at him again.

“My son was around your age when Sjavarrisi took him from me. You remind me of him. You have the same eyes. You avenged my son, and for that I owe you my deepest gratitude.” Thórgestr tried to smile at her in response. His words were failing him and he was uncomfortable. He was not used to being spoken to by the people of these lands with anything but fear and anger in their voices.

“What is it that ails you, my son?”

“My leg.” He shifted in his seat, pulling the fabric up for her to see the wound. “It was struck by the blade of a formidable opponent.” He flashed Senua a smirk quickly before looking back to the healer.

He hates you.

No, he respects you.

Look at him.

He will live.

The old woman hummed as she removed the makeshift bandage. “I can help you, but first, you must wash the wound with this.” She removed a bottle from the pouch that was slung around her neck. “I will prepare the ointment you need while you are at the bath house. You will need to rest here another day. I will meet you back at your quarters when I am ready.”

Another night…

Alone with him.

Will you hold him again, Senua?

Like you held Dillion?

“Get up, Björg. I will show you to the bathhouse.” He nodded and stood to follow, wincing slightly as he did so. Senua got up as well, feeling compelled to follow Ástríor wherever she was going to lead The Northman.

She wants to kill him.

She will kill him.

Will you let her harm him?

What will you do if she tries?

“Do you wish to bathe as well, Senua?” Ástríor questioned, her tone warm and concerned. Senua thought for a moment. The rain had washed some of the blood and grime away, but there was that which still remained. “Yes.” She answered, no more, no less.

Inside the bathhouse, there seemed to be two rooms that split off from the main entrance. They were separated by a thin wall, but there was no door that closed. “You may take one room, he may take the other.” Ástríor lingered after Thórgestr chose his path, grabbing Senua by the arm. “Will you be safe with him like this.” Senua swallowed and then smiled. “I will be alright.” Ástríor nodded and then she was on her way once again.

Senua took a deep breath and ventured into the room opposite of Thórgestr. It was small, but warm. There was no basin or bucket. Instead, a pit paved with stone was dug into the floor. Senua jumped when she heard the clang of his clothing and his sword hit the stone. Her face flushed when her mind wandered to what he must look like right now. She tried to ignore her thoughts as she too shed her clothing and stepped into the water. It was both deeper and warmer than she had expected it to be.

“Thórgestr,” she called out, her voice thick with what sounded suspiciously like desire to him. There was a pause before he responded.

“Yes, Senua.” He tried to keep his tone even.

“I…”

Want him.

You want him.

“Your markings. Did they hurt?” She changed the subject. She stopped herself from asking something she felt she shouldn’t.

“Only briefly.” He answered truthfully, confused by her sudden interest. “Do they bother you?”

“No.” She let the water flow through her hair before asking her next question. “How far do they go?”

“The only ones I have are the ones you can see. That might change at some point, but I do not yet know if it will.” Thórgestr’s sighed, swirling the bottle in his hand. He had a feeling it would not be a pleasant sensation, but maybe imagining what she looked like beyond the wall that separated them would help distract him from the pain. He uncapped the bottle, and did what he must. It was worse than he imagined. It felt like there were flames consuming his leg and he let out a pained noise.

“Are you alright?” Senua called, pulling herself out of the water, ready to run to his aid if it was needed.

“Yes,” he croaked. He too took himself out of his bath.

You would run to him?

In this state?

Do you want him to see you bare?

Do you want to see him bare?

She dried and dressed quickly. Upset and embarrassed at what she had almost done. She felt an attachment to the man. One she was struggling to admit to herself. She simply just wanted to make sure he was safe, but how she could have helped, she did not know.

“I am nearly ready,” He called to her. Taking that as his word that he was decent, she entered into his room. She was only half right. His bottom half was clothed, but his top was not. He looked from where he was on the floor, tying his boots. He was wide eyed and frozen. He looked so different from the menacing man she fought in the rain. Her eyes dragged slowly over his body, taking note of the smooth muscle and rough scars that adorned his frame. She was surprised by his chest. She had expected it to be similar to Dillion’s, full of course hair. She was wrong. It was much more fine, much more sparse. She struggled to notice any at all.

Her eyes then flickered to the caps of his shoulders before they rested on his stomach. This gaze of hers, unlike everything else up until this point, he knew he was not imagining. He watched her cheeks turn pink and then red, but she did not avert her eyes. He stood slowly and stepped towards her until the tips of their boots were just barely touching. His breathing had gotten heavier, as did hers. He felt a pang of desire, like lightening coursing through the blood right below his waistband. It was an intoxicating thing to Thórgestr, to have a woman stare at you like she wanted to see every inch of you. To drag her eyes over your body, like you had done to hers.

The air felt thicker. It felt warmer. Her fingers reached up to the side of his neck, following the thin lines of ink downwards. He swallowed and his eyelids began to feel heavy. Senua’s hands were shaking slightly as her palm flattened over his chest. She felt his heart beating wildly under her touch. Slowly, she began to drag her hand lower, feeling the peaks and valleys of his muscle.

The darkness is nearly all gone, Senua.

It is only in his hands now.

The tips of his fingers.

It’s gone because of you. You saved him.

When her fingers hit his waistband, they dipped just barely inside, pulling him ever so slightly forward into her. A low grown escaped Thórgestr’s lips, and his head rolled back. A gasp left her mouth when she felt him against her like she had felt him this morning. She felt the knots and the heat begin to form in her own belly.

You can’t have him.

You’ll hurt him.

He’s a Northman, you can’t trust him.

He’ll hurt you.

Her eyes fell closed as he cupped her head with one hand, tilting it back slightly, while the other rested on her lower back. He pulled her strongly by her waist into his body, so she could feel what she was doing to him. To feel how badly he desired her. The sound she made nearly drove him insane. He leaned closer, desperate to feel her lips on his. Senua could feel the warmth of his lips just above hers. He was about to close the gap when an unexpected voice called out from the main hall, asking if they were ready to meet the healer.

“Fucking Fargrimr,” Thórgestr spat, knowing the moment was ruined.