#vikings sneak peek

[misuanonimasu]

I am finally getting out of my writer's block, and the Viking Au is now over 5000 words 🐦‍⬛🐴

#lawlu #fanfictions #fanfic #law x luffy #one piece lawlu #bottom luffy #one piece #top law #wip #work in progress #sneak peek #writer's block #viking au #vikings #viking #ao3 #archive of our own

[i-am-roadrunner]

katherynwinnick: Sneak peek on the secret shoot

Next Look - First Look

#Katheryn Winnick #social media #instagram #kwinnickedit #vikings cast #KatherynWinnick #instagram stories #photoshoot #Sneak peek on the secret shoot #she is so beautiful #my edit

[nothingtolosebutweight]

A lil something that is circling in my head for a while now (as well). If someone has the willpower to write that down, call me 🤣🤟🏻

Background: Lagertha is dead. She died during the birth of her daughter, sired by (ex) Bishop Heahmund. They were both on the run from Ivar's desire for revenge and although Heahmund continues to try to escape, one day he falls into the hands of the prince, who is consumed by rage and hatred. Ivar has to make a decision that is not an easy one for him. He has this little human who is a perfect combination of his parents. He could still somehow take revenge on Lagertha, could inflict immeasurable pain on Heahmund by torturing his offspring, but Ivar is also haunted by his own little ghost, named Baldur, whose death has left a void inside him.

#heavar #heahmund x ivar #ivar x heahmund #vikings moodboard #vikings edit #wip sneak peek #vikings fanfic #vikings #my excuse for having both of those proud man interact with a lil girl #making ideas stop haunting me by giving them at least a moodboard #my stuff #my edits

[teamivankaye]

The deleted scene I would've asked about during the panel of Ivan & Moe at the German Vikings Con if I hadn't been busy filming the panel. 😄👑 Preview snippet of the big upcoming #Vikings interview. P.S.: You can hear my pain about such a precious scene having been deleted! 😅😭💔

#ivan kaye #king aelle #vikings #history vikings #aelle #moe dunford #aethelwulf #deleted scene #interview sneak peek #big vikings interview #upcoming interview #Why are they so mean to delete what little scenes they shot that showed King Aelle's depth and feelings for his family?! 😭

[jazzfordshire]

I'm back with more viking au questions, because I'm a bit excited. Is it a one shot? Planning on both being Scandinavian? Where is it set?

It's likely a multichapter, and Kara is Scandanavian but Lena is Anglo-Saxon. And I'm probably going to set it in Wessex or Mercia!

Here's a lil sneak peek

-

Two of the male warriors are engaged in some kind of game of strength, wrestling each other drunkenly to the ground while the rest of the clan cheers them on, and while Lex is watching the ruckus with a neutral expression Lena has become accustomed to reading his moods from the smallest of cues. His contempt for the Norse is evident from his place at the centre of the high table.

In Lena's distraction the chair beside her, which had been blissfully empty, is filled in a blur of furs and blonde hair.

It's the woman who had been at Clark Jorelsson's side this morning. The one whose intense gaze had lit Lena aflame.

"Gods, I'm thirsty," the woman says, grabbing the nearest mug of ale and downing half its contents in a few moments. She's panting for breath when she finishes, a thin line of foam gracing her upper lip as she grins. "What I wouldn't give for some good honey-mead!"

"Is our ale not sufficient?" Lena says delicately. She folds one leg over the other, and the flaxen-haired woman's eyes dart down to track the movement. They stay there perhaps a shade longer than is proper.

"Simply an unfamiliar brew. But I am a far-traveller. I search out new experiences," the woman says, setting the mug down with more restraint than her brethren – these Norse are all so loud, so exuberant in their feasting. Singing and shouting and fighting with each other for sport. This woman is quieter than the rest, despite her warrior's stature. Her presence is a balm.

Lena hums. "And here I thought all Norse warriors were simply machines of war."

The woman snorts. "Only when we have to be."

"Tell that to the monks at Lindisfarne."

The woman's grin widens. She stares at Lena for a moment, seeming delighted despite Lena's borderline antagonism, and finally she holds out an arm to clasp.

"I am Kara Zorelsdottir. Clark is my kin."

"Ah. So you are to be my kin too, then?" Lena says, her own words tasting bitter in her mouth. The reminder of a marriage she didn't agree to. She glances across the room, where Clark is sitting slumped in his seat with a mug of ale in each hand. He looks about as thrilled with the situation as Lena feels.

She takes Kara's arm. The blonde's grip is firm and strong; the defined muscles of her forearm shift under Lena's hand, hidden by her furs. Kara's smile dims a little at Lena's words.

"That seems to be the way of it."

Kara's grip loosens. Lena finds she's loath to let it go, but she releases Kara's arm and settles back in her seat.

"My clan tries to make violence a last resort," Kara explains. When a passing servant moves to refill her mug as he passes, Kara holds a hand over it with a shake of the head. "Which is why we left home. Got tired of all the raiding. We just want to live in peace."

"And my marriage to your cousin is what will seal it for you," Lena says. Kara's mouth forms a tight line. The sputtering torches and roaring hearth fire in the centre of the hall flicker across her face, throwing her handsome features into stark detail.

"That’s Jonn’s hope."

"Clark himself doesn’t seem to hold the same hope," Lena notes with a nod in his direction. Kara chuckles humorlessly.

"He has a beloved back in Norway. Her father disapproved of the match, but he still pines for her." Kara takes an idle swig of her half-full ale. "I think he’s crazy for not jumping for joy when he saw you."

Lena's heart kicks a fierce drumbeat in her chest.

"Do you?" Lena says, managing to keep her voice even with great effort. Kara shrugs. She pulls a coin from her pocket, flicking it between her fingers in a thoughtless movement that Lena is sure took much practice.

"I told him if he’s to have a chosen match, at least he got the most beautiful one in Christendom."

Lena's whole body flushes with pleasant warmth.

#wip game

[viking-raider]

Geeks in Love - Cotton Candy Fluff

Summary: You have a secret skill that Henry doesn't know about, but finally decided to present to him, in a thoughtful way.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 1k

Warning: G - Cotton Candy Goodness, Soft!Henry, Fluff, Geeks, Supportive Relationship, Shady Mother, Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Warhammer, Sneaking, Secretive Behavior, Hidden Skills, Cuddles, Kissing, Gifts, Surprises

Inspiration: This video on Instagram and Henry Cavills Warhammer 40k obsession.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLISTand turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy! @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY

Henry cocked a brow at his computer monitor as he watched your fourth sneak into his office/man cave, in the last hour. You tiptoed behind him, casting side eyes at him, as you went up to the display shelf the Warhammer 40k minis he had painted were sitting on. Standing there for a moment, trying to act casual, you'd pick one of them up and slowly turn your upper body away from him for a minute or two, before delicately putting the figure back in its place and scurrying out of the room.

Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to trying out Diablo IV. Until, about twenty minutes later, he caught your figure out of the corner of his eye and a smirk spread across his lips. He listened to the soft creaks of the floorboards beneath your creeping toes, while watching your reflection in his monitor.

You picked up yet another one of Henry's minis.

“What are you doing, babe?” He asked, as you put the piece back, startling the life out of you and making himself chuckle.

“Nothing.” You panted, pressing a hand to your thundering heart.

“You've come in here five times, in the last hour, and haven't said a peep to me.” Henry pointed out, smirking.

“I'm sorry.” You cooed, moving over to him. “How's your game going?” You asked, wrapping your arm around his shoulders and gazing at his screen.

“It's going great, thank you.” He answered, slipping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his lap. “But that doesn't answer my question, my love.” He purred, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Why are you peeking at my Warhammer Minis?”

A shy and guilty smirk crossed your lips and you quickly hid it in Henry's shoulder. “It's not finished yet.” You confessed against his skin.

“What isn't?” Henry frowned, shaking his head and leaning back in his gaming chair.

“Give me two more days.” You answered, raising your head to look him in the eyes.

A shallow crease formed between Henry's brows, but he nodded his head, trusting you. “All right.” He purred, but didn't let you go as you made to get up out of his lap, holding onto you for a short time longer.

Two days later, you guided Henry into the dining room, your heart pounding with excitement for what you had to show him, but your hands jittered with nerves that he wouldn't like it. On the dining table sat something covered by a throw blanket that was usually on the back of the couch. You motioned Henry to it, biting the corner of your lip, as he slowly pulled the blanket off.

“I know how it's been driving you crazy, since you finally finished painting your Custodes, that they've been falling over, with the slightest bump of the shelf.” You started to explain in a bubble of anxiety. “So, I decided to make them a little stand.” You pointed to the object he uncovered.

It was several tiered stands, stained nicely, that had lightly padded wells with a finger groove, for every one of Henry's painted minis to comfortably sit inside of. Henry looked it over, his mouth slightly ajar at the craftsmanship you had put into it, unaware you could make something like this, and felt a hard tug on his heart that you had done something so thoughtful for his geeky hobby.

“So, this is why you kept sneaking into my office the other day?” He asked, looking back at you, his handsome face soft with disbelief and love.

“Yeah.” You nodded at him, excited to see he clearly loved it. “I was measuring the stands, so I knew how big to make the sockets for them to sit inside of. Some of them are bigger than others, and I was taking extra measurements.” You explained to him, moving around to the side of the table, picking something off the chair. “I even made you a little box to put them in. So, if maybe, you ever wanted to take them somewhere with you, they had a protective case.”

“The stands fit in it”

He slotted the stands into the box that had the Custodes logo, his name, as well as one of his favorite quotes. “We die, though our war is eternal, We are doomed, but we walk in darkness, We are forgotten, yet the future is our gift to humanity.” He read aloud, then looked at you.

“Why didn't I know you were so good with woodworking and power tools?”

“When my mom found out you were interested in me, she told me to keep it to myself.” You confessed, looking down at your hands. “Because it's unladylike to know how to wield power tools and build something, like a guy. That you, a rich, successful and hot celebrity, would be turned off by it.” You told him, feeling your cheeks heat up and your eyes burn a little bit at recalling the conversation.

Henry felt a hot stab in his gut, angry at your mother for thinking such a thing of him. “What finally made you decide to show me this side of you?”

“Well,” You rasped, biting your lip for a moment. “I already have you, don't I?” You tried to make light, offering him a weak smile. “But, you did.” You told him, gulping. “You're so comfortable showing your skills, no matter what they are, geeky or otherwise. I finally felt comfortable enough to let go and show this part of myself, to show you the skill that I learned from my dad growing up.”

“This is how I wanted to do it, by making something for your precious minis.”

Henry pulled you against him. “I love it so much, babe.” He smiled, kissing you. “I am proud that you stopped listening to your mum and made it with your own two hands. You know, skills like that would have never turned me off. I find it incredible that you can do something like this.” He said motioning to the piece.

“I'll treasure it forever. Just like I will you.”

“That's a relief.” You giggled, pressing your cheek to his chest, feeling better that you didn't have to hide something you enjoyed from him anymore.

“I'm going to put my minis up!” He said, letting go of you and grabbing the box, before rushing into his office, making you giggle with joy.

#Henry Cavill #HenryCavill #Geeks in Love #Geeks in Love *fic* #Viking-Raider Fics #Warhammer 40k #Warhammer #Custodes #Diablo IV #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x plus size reader #henry cavill x short!reader #henry cavill x black reader #Henry Cavill x You #Henry Cavill x y/n #Henry Cavill & you #Henry Cavill & Reader #Henry Cavill & y/n #Henry Cavill/You #Henry Cavill/Reader #Henry Cavill RPF #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fic #British Actor Fic #Fluff #Cotton Candy Fluff

[aikaterini-drag]

Vikings: Valhalla Gifs that I used in my AO3 story "Bleeding Hearts”.

Chapters 11-15 sneak peeks below!

AO3 on my pinned profile post

#vikings #vikings valhalla #vikings: valhalla #leo suter #harald sigurdsson #vikings harald #prince harald #harald #harald hardrada #prince harald sigurdsson #vikings valhalla season 1

[deandoesthingstome]

WIP Tag Game

RULES: Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence.

In honor of your series teaser @itbmojojoejo and with thanks for reminding me I am actually working on something Rules? What rules.

“Show me how it feels.” It wasn’t a question, yet still not a command. He’d never dare to command her. Not until she wanted him to.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that since we met.”

I will not tag 38, let alone 12 writers. Who's working on what these days? No pressure tags: @winter2112rose @viking-raider @mayloma (I still owe you a real reblog!) @geralts-yenn and anyone who wants to share little sneak peeks!

#tag games #wip game #any guesse who this could be? #it might the most nervous i've ever been about a story #👀👀👀

[seamayweed]

got tagged four times, so i thought it was about time i crawled out of the woodwork and did this! thanks, @godotismissingx, @akingyouniverse, @pashminabitch & @idrilka 💙

Rules: Answer all the questions, then tag 9 people you want to get to know better!

Three ships: i'm a seon-ho multishipper but if i had to choose then it would be bangseon (yi bang-won/nam seon-ho, MCTNA); sephcloud (sephiroth/cloud strife, FF7); balthorki (baldr/thor/loki, Marvel/MCU); as a bonus: heavar (heahmund/ivar, Vikings)

First ship: i think it might have been sasunaru lol

Last song I listened to: Labour by Paris Paloma

Last movie I watched: it's still The Divine Fury (haven't gotten around to watching The Handmaiden yet, but i hope to soon! /o\)

Currently reading: not really reading anything right now... though i guess i recently got Fire & Blood by George R. R. Martin. also meant to start reading Gilgi - eine von uns by Irmgard Keun soon beyond the sneak peek i already got (folks, is it gay to call your girl best friend "Marzipanmädchen" and dreamily think of her as romance itself in the era of the "Neue Sachlichkeit" that eschews romance and sentimentality of any kind???).

Currently watching: i gave in to the urge and finally started watching House of the Dragon (hence why i got Fire & Blood). alicent hightower is my poor little meow meow who is surrounded by creeps and has sapphic longing for her childhood friend/first love turned enemy and can do no wrong

Currently consuming: water - remember to stay hydrated, everyone!

Currently craving: savory puff pastries or há cảo 🤤

Tagging @illwynd, @pyrebomb, @argents-huntress, @hedvig-ulrika, @sadviper, @rain-hat, @nubreed73, @lilsjames, @fuckingfeatherine, @blueberry-cheese-pizza, @springkitten, @contagiousrhythminmybrain, @lvsifer, @noona96n, @strandedchesspiece, @bienmoreau, @cumberbatchedandproud, @laireshi, @judiwench, @itsza, @yohankang, @radialarch, @convenientalias, @avauntus and anyone else who wants to do it!

#godot #ko #pashminabitch #idrilka #meme #tag meme #as usual no pressure #tagging = a friendly nudge #a 'hey i still think of you fondly' #to those i haven't talked to in a while #bc i'm a human disaster lol #also after watching hotd i don't understand how anyone can hate either the greens or the blacks #both alicent and rhaenyra are so cool #daemon too #luce is so baby and aemond is my psycho baby #we all have our natural faves and preferences #but honestly all the characters are so interesting #edit: oops i think you already tagged me for this meme too nubreed though that was months ago #thank you for thinking of me too <333

[casthelstan]

Chapter 4 from my Athelnar fic is up!!!

We're rewriting history! ✨

And here's a sneak peek:

Maybe I'll see you there? <3

#athelnar #fanfic #canon rewrite #ragnar lothbrok #athelstan #vikings

[notasapleasure]

Sneak peek: Brassian (Andor) saga AU

Soooo. I thought I'd post the first three chapters here and let everyone just have a say, if they want? I will answer questions on whatever you like, no really, you want an essay, I can give you an essay.

I think probably the key thing is like...in this setting the essential community aspect of Ferrix can't be the Icelandic community as a whole, because to make it a story just about the Norwegian 'empire' coming in would mean either making it the usual 'noble viking pagan vs. xian creep missionaries' story (YAWN) or setting it later, like, several centuries later, which takes it away from the genre I'm playing with most, which can still include monsters and zombies and far-flung adventures at foreign courts. So Brasso and Cassian are outsiders in the Icelandic farming community, as are all the people you'd associate with them in terms of the good guys on Ferrix - Salman and his family (smiths), Bix and her family (wise-women), Maarva and Clem (well. you'll see.). The Ferrix community is the group of weirdos who don't quite fit in. &lt;3

In terms of the kinds of weirdos they are, well, I'm building a lot of it on specific examples from the sagas and tweaking details here and there. Ask me about any of it that piques your curiosity, please!

Thanks to @notfromcold for tagging me in the last sentence meme. This is somewhat more than a last sentence, but hey!

Also - it's first person, because Brasso decided it was going to be first person. And probably needs CW for period/setting typical bigotry and abusive parenting at the least - the trope of the coal-biter (a lazy son who disappoints his good viking parents before growing into a hero in his teens) is a common saga trope, but I've combined it with the 'son of the slave woman' trope (in a way that isn't 'wow I'm secretly a prince'), so Brasso's family isn't the nicest. It's emerged from various collective fanons I think, around his dad maybe/probably being a jerk and him having approximately a million sisters. Also from the saga stuff you can ask about if you want.

The Saga of the Coal-biter and the Skraeling

1. Coal-Biter

I was born the year they discovered Vinland the Good. My father was pleased - at long last he had a son to take his name. He had such high hopes for trade with the new land, and for me. His wife would have liked me more if I'd been hers, but she agreed to raise me alongside her brood of daughters nonetheless, and she was not unkind.

My sisters doted on me and scolded me by turns like the seething flock of geese in the yard - I would be their beloved plaything one moment and a hassle, a cuckoo to be resented, the next. Of course, I didn't know what a cuckoo was as a child, and my mother grew up far beyond the lands where they are found, so I only learned about these birds whose oversized young take over a nest and transplant the sitting chicks when I first travelled to Norway. But it was the same for me, nonetheless - I was disproportionate in that little house filled with fine, willowy people. I grew strong and broad, tall and dark, and my step-mother said I was of the people of Thrall, not like her children, born to the line of Snoer and Erna. Bearing that in mind, I could have done worse than be named as I am - Brastr, from my size and manner, became the more familiar Brasso.

At least, this is what my sisters liked to call me - my father found it babyish and inappropriate. I was still too young to know when his pride turned into scorn, but as I grew and grew, and remained perplexed by his obsession with 'going viking' or great deeds of a 'manly' ilk, he began to curse me and say I would never amount to anything. He would have disowned me, I'm sure, only he had paid handsomely for Sigurd, the priest of Thor, to confirm I was his when I was born, and then he had shown me off to all his peers at the public assembly, as my step-mother later told me. It would have been embarrassing for him to have gone back on such a confident announcement, I suppose.

So he called me Coal-biter. He came in from the yard one morning and, with frost-cold hands, claimed he was trying to wipe the dirt off my cheeks.

"I asked you to sharpen those knives for me boy, and you've spent the morning rolling about in the ash instead!"

I was sitting by the central hearth, away from the draught of the door, close to the good light so I could see what I was doing as I worked. He was right, I had not sharpened his knives. Truth be told, I did one and then realised how good it would be for whittling the small piece of driftwood I'd salvaged from the beach. I used the beautifully clean new blade to follow the contours of the wood, feeling the layers of it soften when I peeled then back as the callus on my thumb hardened. I still didn't know what shape lay within the salvage - something twisty and cunning. A fox, maybe? - but my father stopped me from finding out. He slapped it from my hands into the fire, and the knife landed in amongst the embers too - its bone handle was engulfed by clean new flames.

My cheeks burning - from the cold of his fingers, from the shame I felt whenever he wiped my face like that, from the anger at losing my project - I glared into the features of this old man who had once been a fearsome pirate and warrior. He didn't scare me, not even then, and I think that's why he came to hate me so much.

"Ash-boy! Coal-biter!" he barked, pinching my cheek and slapping my forehead. "You sit here in the dust all day with the women, getting under their feet while they do the work they need to do. Your skin is filthy with it, your hair is black as soot!"

I made some meagre complaint - "That's just its colour. You liked my mother's black hair!"

Naturally it got me another slap to the face.

"Pick it up," my father seethed, pointing to the metal blade glowing among the flames.

I shook my head and set my jaw. He loved to make impossible demands and I had learned to just ignore them.

He repeated himself, his green eyes bulging, his beard yellow from fire smoke, his mouth stinking from his rotten teeth.

"I already sharpened that one," I told him, reaching for the next knife and the whetstone.

I don't know how the stalemate might have ended - with him forcing my hand into the flames, with me stabbing him with the blunt old blade? - had my eldest sister not stepped in with the tongs and plucked the blade from the fire. She said nothing to either of us, but dropped the ember-red knife onto one of the flat stones they used for kneading bread and walked back to her weaving with a sigh.

Oh, our father would bawl and hollar at her too, but he wouldn't lay a hand on her, not when he hoped to find her a husband at the next local assembly. He left me to sharpen the knives, but he only ever called me Coal-biter after that.

A nickname like that spreads - he didn't spread it himself, that would be too shameful as well, but the serving men and women knew that gossip like that could get them an extra measure of cheese or milk or meat when they were on an errand to the nearby farms.

Have you heard about old Ásbjörn's son? He's a Coal-biter they say, yes - slow to speak, disobedient, spends his whole time lazing about the hearth, never does the jobs he's asked to do. No doubt it's down to his mother - what did Ásbjörn expect from such a creature? He might as well have fucked his horse.

I've heard them say it - I've pointed out that it takes a certain kind of imagination to come up with fucking a horse as an alternative to a serving woman, and asked them how they came to know so much about it. There's not much point picking on the servants though - I can let them take their entertainment where they find it.

So what if I was called Coal-biter? I preferred working at the fire to working out in the fields with Ásbjörn - the fire transforms things, it takes matter and makes it something else, turning wood to charcoal and rock to metal. In the fields it's damp and windy. You have to ride to get there, and I outgrew these little horses before I reached my teens. I feel top heavy on them, exposed and awkward.

I started spending time at Pakkur's forge whenever possible - he taught me how the fire worked, but I didn't really want its mysteries explaining. Instead I made myself useful scavenging old iron for Pakkur to reforge: I pulled the clinkers from wrecked boats and scoured the assembly grounds for lost items. It's amazing what the great and good leave behind after their courts are done and the silver has been exchanged - I've found brooches and pins, coins and buckles. Even a sword knop once - it had a little gold on it, Pakkur said, so we pierced it and looped a thong of leather through the back and I gave it to my step-mother to wear around her neck.

Maybe I should have given it to my birth mother, but I didn't think she'd be allowed to keep it. We don't have slaves anymore in Iceland - you hear that a lot. But when, like my mother, that's what you were before you were brought here, the freedom doesn't mean much. She's a servant, she could maybe be a servant in another household, but even now she doesn't like to speak the language - unless it's to complain about the cold - and she doesn't socialise with the others. I know so little about her - only that she was brought to this place that is so far from her home and so different to it, and the anger she holds in her heart about this isn't dimmed even when we exchange brief, shy smiles across the yard.

What could I do? It's my step-mother who was equipped to deflect my father's attention away from my work at Pakkur's, it's my step-mother who made sure I was dressed well and fed well. I knew she would appreciate the necklace, too - she learned that her position was in no way threatened by me or my mother now, and it meant she felt able to pity me somewhat. So when my father threatened to hand the farm over to his son-in-law she persuaded him to wait.

It was a kind gesture, though I didn't want the farm - I didn't really want any of it. I dreamed of worlds beyond my homeland where there were other things to do, things that weren't farming or feuding. Where I could go to the places called towns and see new faces on every turn, not the same old cast of petty smallholders.

2. Skraeling

Speaking of new faces, I was a teen when Maarva and Clem returned from Greenland with their curious cargo. It gave the whole island something new to talk about.

How should I describe Maarva and Clem? I hadn't known them terribly well before, they left Iceland first when I was young, excited by the prospects of the new land Leif Eiríksson had discovered.

As a kid I heard the rumour that Maarva had been a chieftain's daughter - somewhere remote and peculiar and filled with giants, like Gotland - and she'd certainly been married before Clem, but I imagine she'd have been terribly young. She'd travelled, so probably her first husband had been a trader in the east. At the summer assembly she used to tell us stories of elephants and lions, giant gold-hoarding ants and men with dogs' heads. She said she'd seen it all.

At some point she must have been widowed and left reliant on the mercy of a Norse colony far away, east and south, down near the centre of the known world. It was here she'd met Clem.

With his deep black skin, Clem was an enigma to most of us - he spoke Norse well, but saved his words for Maarva by and large. He was handy with the law, which he memorised as soon as he got here, and a fast friend of Pakkur's. He valued the old and the new equally, because in our society all was novel to him. He found our gods quaint and never tried to explain his own. He wasn't quick to violence, but the first guy who called him blámaðr to his face lost his leg below the knee in the duel that followed. After that, everyone was just happy to call him Clem.

Clem didn't tell stories of exotic animals or ferocious gladiators, but sometimes, in a wistful moment, he would describe stranger wonders: great round buildings shining inside beneath gold ceilings, like each one had a sun captured in the rafters. Lands where sweet fruit grew to the size of your fist, not like the fingernail-sized blueberries we foraged for, and where the air was as warm as our hot springs but scented with exotic flowers and perfumes rather than sulphur. Regular days and nights, good weather and plentiful food - it all sounded as absurd as Maarva's cynocephali and Blemmyes. I don't know that any of us believed Clem and Maarva's stories - few of the adults took this odd couple entirely seriously, and we tacitly picked up on that. But I've since seen those things Clem described, and I've ridden an elephant just as Maarva told me was possible. There was more of the world on their little farm, it turned out, than on the whole of my island home.

And there was even more of it when they came back from Greenland.

The stories had been coming back about skraelings for years, and we all knew them and repeated them and embellished them:

Don't play at the harbour, I heard a skraeling stowed away and it lives in the rocks and eats children!

They have one giant foot and they hop from stone to stone! They use them to crush grapes as big as your head and make wine that doesn't give you a hangover!

Their eyes are big and black like a seal's and if you look into them you'll fall under their spell!

Well. That last one might have been true.

Maarva and Clem brought back a skraeling child, or so we all supposed. When he finally chose to tell his story it went beyond the borders of even our knowledge of the world and our imaginative capacities. But for the first while, he was a skraeling to us, a boy rescued from his own land following some kind of disagreement at a trading meet.

Maarva's version of the story was all breeze and bluster; Clem's was cagey and lacking in detail. But what I first heard from our servants when they came back with timber bought and cut from Maarva's woodland, was this:

Our settlers had travelled from Greenland to Leif's trading outpost in Vinland. The skraelingar came with cloth, hide and food to swap for iron. On the occasion Maarva and Clem went with a party to trade, someone had resolved to swindle someone and soon blows were exchanged - no two people agreed on which side started it. The locals used flying rocks and sharp stone arrows with deadly precision, but they had no swords, and even those who weren't proud of it didn't deny that the Norse colonists had the upper hand.

In the telling, our servants claimed it was a blood-bath - the children who heard the story had nightmares for weeks. With relish, the servants described a boy abandoned amidst the carnage, sitting bewildered among dead bodies, too astonished to flee or fight back. Maarva had taken pity on him and adopted the child rather than leave him to starve in the forests of Vinland.

Later, when I was cynical enough to reconsider the context for Maarva's pity, I also heard a version where she single-handedly drove the skraelingar out of the camp. Something about beating a sword against her bare breasts, advancing upon the enemy and nearly tripping over the boy who had been knocked unconscious by one of the flying weapons. I was never brave enough to ask her about that take on events.

They called the boy Andar, claiming he stopped breathing when they found him and that Clem returned his breath, andar, to him. The boy soon made it clear he already had a name and it was Cassian. The nickname Kass - locked box - was a compromise he made with reluctant Norse tongues, but Clem was careful always to articulate the full word, and Maarva did try, when she remembered.

Cassian brought trouble to the Norse settlement in Greenland. He had not asked to be adopted or rescued, and presumably saw his new situation in a rather different light to how it was intended. Apparently, he made such a noise with his screaming and fighting that livestock miscarried and milk turned. The other colonists said he was a curse and he was the source of skraeling magic that was going to bring about their ruin. Maarva and Clem stood by him, but when, in an inarticulate fury, the boy smashed up a boat and an outhouse, they had no choice but to move away - or face the harsh vengeance of their neighbours.

So Maarva, Clem and Kass the skraeling came back to Iceland, and the unwary among us fell under a spell.

3. Tern

As a teen I'd grown tall, but hadn't yet fully broadened out, and I felt like there was nowhere on the island I could hide - I towered over most of the scrubby birch trees and spindly rowans, and no matter how poor the summer weather was, my skin darkened like roasted rye under the long hours of daylight. I was still a Coal-biter to the other boys, to my father and his friends, but when my sisters had visitors the women would gather behind their looms and giggle at me, whispering things behind their long white fingers. It made me uneasy, and I didn't know why, so despite the weather I resigned myself to staying in the outfields with the sheep, or I combed the rocky river beds for lost fish hooks I could take to Pakkur.

Pakkur was dark, maybe like me, though he claimed not to know where his family came from before settling in Iceland. He preferred to say that black was the colour of the forge: it was fitting that his hair and beard should be charcoal black and steely silver, and of course his skin tanned like leather in the blast of the furnace. He said it was a sign I should learn the craft too, but I never did respond well to anyone suggesting a path for me.

I was capable of all I had been tasked with, but it all somehow felt hopeless. I didn't understand where it was meant to lead. Wandering the riverbeds took me away from future concerns - farms and families and all sorts of distasteful responsibilities - where all I did was let my eyes comb over the different coloured rocks, seeking a tell-tale anomaly in the texture or tone that would bring my attention to a lost twist of iron.

During one such meditation I had wandered far from my father's lands, meandering inland through the lava-fields that ringed Clem and Maarva's farm. Maarva Kerski had a great big wolfhound called Bí, and when I heard barking I flinched, assuming I was about to be scolded for trespassing.

I knew Bí couldn't outrun me anymore - he'd been an old dog when they'd left for Greenland with him, and no one had expected him to return with them. But he still had a bark that could cause landslides - and maybe I had finally learned a guilty conscience from my father's strict lessons. I stood still as a tree in the middle of the stony beach and scanned the grey, craggy landscape for a grey, craggy dog.

When I finally spotted him, Bí wasn't even looking at me. I saw his long tail wag urgently by his shaky legs. He was poised at the edge of the lava field, facing into the uneven terrain with single-minded intent. Again he barked, and I saw when he did that a bird rose up from the rocks with a scream. It hovered momentarily and Bí barked again, and then the bird dove with fury and the small yell that followed was muffled by the breeze.

Without hesitation, I struck out towards Bí, eyeing up the furious bird as cautiously as he did. It was summer, and the terns had been nesting along the river. I knew the spots they used and I knew how to deflect their attention when I was egg-hunting. I also knew when it was better to avoid these areas because the eggs had hatched and the adults would defend their chicks like a hail of spearheads.

Someone in the lava field had not known about this, apparently. The tern dived again, and again I heard a miserable cry.

By now I think I'd guessed who it was, and I pitied the stranger who had come to this land full of murderous birds and abrasive, treacherous rocks. Until then I hadn't seen the boy. I'd heard all the stories and listened with weary exasperation - at least they'd found someone more peculiar than me or my mother to gossip about. I wasn't introspective enough to draw a deliberate parallel between this abducted boy and my mother's own past, but maybe I linked them subconsciously.

"Where is he, Bí?" I stumbled over the crumbly boulders until I could see what Bí could see. Curled  in a crevasse, arms over his head, was the boy I had heard called Kass. It was too far to see if he was injured or trapped, but the tern attacked him so relentlessly I could see he wasn't going to get up even if he could.

I pulled my sheepskin vest up over my head and shoulders, thinking of Maarva's story about the Blemmyes whose faces were in the middle of their chests. Had she told the story to the boy? Is that what he'd make of this tall, brown-skinned stranger stumbling headlessly towards him?

Slowly, carefully, I picked my way over the rocks, taking care not to step on fresh moss that would slip away under my weight, or to rely on thin, brittle spires of lava that would disintegrate if touched. No one in their right mind came out in a lava field, ever - where had Kass even been going?

As I drew near, I proved a more alarming prospect for the tern, and it changed tack to dive at me. I cursed as I felt its weight on my vest, its beak plucking at the sheep's wool, wings battering my hands and head. I shook it off and it came again, catching the skin of my hands with its claws or its beak.

"Bugger off!" I snarled, and when I was next able to concentrate I saw the boy Kass staring up at me with those dangerous big eyes the stories had warned us about. He was a handful of years younger than me I guessed, with sallow skin like mine and round, deep irises of a brown so dark it seemed black when I first looked. There was blood on his face, but the cuts were on his arms. His trousers had torn and his knees and palms were grazed, but he still looked like he might run rather than go anywhere I told him to. One small hand tightened on a fistful of gravel and stones and I stood still and shrugged beneath my ridiculous shield. Getting a handful of grit in the face for my heroics wasn't exactly what I'd bargained on. The tern battered me again, and again I flapped around to drive it off.

To my surprise, the boy's distant, fearful expression shifted slightly - like a glacier in the weeks before it calves, when something is about to slip. His lips twitched and he laughed. He pointed to his neck and said something in a strange, melodious language and laughed again.

"No, I don't have a neck," I said, with less good humour than I should have. "The terns pecked it away. Are you coming, or not?"

His eyes narrowed mistrustfully again, and to my surprise he repeated some of my words: "Coming? Not with you." He shook his head.

"Back to your home," I said in exasperation, expecting another collision with an angry bird at any moment. "To Maarva and Clem." There was a bark from behind, and I belatedly added, "To Bí!"

He winced, and I knew to expect the tern again, so I mostly deflected its blow this time. Kass studied me with more seriousness than I think anyone in my life had shown me to that point.

"Home," he said gloomily, and then reeled off a list of words that might have been synonyms - or curses. "Coming to Bí, ok," he finally stood up and brushed the dirt from his clothes, and I slipped off my vest and held it out to him, squinting up at the sky nervously as I did.

"Wear it - it's thick, their beak doesn't go through the leather."

His skinny arm dipped with the weight of it when he took it, but he held on and looked up at me piercingly. "Me..." he swung it over his head as I'd worn it. "But you?"

I shrugged again and waved my arms for good measure as the tern circled. It gave an angry shriek and swooped close to my hand, but not close enough for me to knock it away.

Kass watched and then beckoned me down to his level with a gesture.

I didn't follow at first, but when I finally crouched down, trying to explain that the bird would attack anyway, he put his foot on my leg without asking and scaled me like I was one of my father's horses, wrapping his wiry limbs about my neck and chest and making sure the sheepskin covered both our heads.

"Hup!" he laughed in my ear, and I had to laugh too as I got to my feet. He didn't weigh much back then and I was already strong, so I hooked my arms under his knees and hoisted him to a more comfortable position before beginning to pick a way back to Bí at the edge of the lava field.

That was my first lesson in how he got away with so much - he'd do what he wanted without asking, and be so utterly charming (not to mention right) that you couldn't be mad about it after the fact.

When we reached Bí the boy made no effort to get down but laughed delightedly as the old dog barked and bounced stiffly about my feet. He shouted "Hup!" again and I had to indulge him like I indulged my nieces and nephews - I broke into a lumbering run across the riverbed, moving quickly enough to make Kass shriek with happiness but not so quickly that Bí was left behind. We staggered and giggled our way like that back to Maarva and Clem's homefield, and I set him down to check the cuts the tern had given him. Bí circled around and then flopped in a dusty patch of earth in the doorway, his pink tongue lolling and his tail patting happily against the ground.

A house-keeper came out with a paste to clean the scratches and grazes Kass had suffered, and he turned sullen and wooden-faced until I took the stuff from her and she went inside with a sigh. He was a stoic patient, watching me flick grit out of the frayed skin of his knees and palms and not flinching at all (I noticed his eyes well up, but pretended not have seen it). By way of distraction, I gestured to myself with the rag. "Brasso. That's me. I live over there," I flailed an arm in an unhelpful manner. "Ásbjörn's farm," I added, out of grudging, cultivated habit.

His eyes flicked to the horizon and then he tried the word out: "Brasso." It was refreshing to hear my name spoken without reprimand or warning, and the pronunciation gave him no trouble.

I wasn't as cosmopolitan as this young thing, though. He pulled his grazed hand from my grip and pointed firmly at his sternum, holding my eyes with determination. "Cassian," he said.

It had an unfamiliar cadence, and it took me a few tries - "Kass-een. Kassa-en. Kass. Í. An. Cassian."

It was worth the embarrassment of getting my tongue tangled when he beamed and nodded at my eventual success.

Clem rode into the homefield while the boy was still laughing at my pronunciation, and the first I knew of this was the way Cassian's face stilled again and he turned silent and watchful. It didn't have the same sullenness as when the house-keeper had come out, though, rather it seemed a silence of waiting, of respectful curiosity.

"Hullo, made a friend have you, Cassian?" Clem dismounted and wandered over to us, his horse trailing after. He was tall, but he nevertheless always looked regal on the little horses. "You're Ásbjörn's son, aren't you?"

I stood and blurted out, "That's what he paid the priest to say, yes sir." I wasn't always so good at keeping my mouth shut in my teenage years - I was too accustomed to winding up my father, because it was so easy to do.

Clem just blinked politely. "Brastr, isn't it?"

To both our surprise, Cassian got up and stood between us. "Brasso," he corrected Clem.

Before I could explain that it was just a nickname, Clem opened his palms in apology. "Brasso. Of Harkastadur."

I nodded, wary of Clem's gentle expression and his scrupulously polite accent. I supposed he expected me to explain myself, so I shuffled and glanced at Cassian. "The terns were attacking him. I heard Bí barking and went to help."

Clem did not ask me how I came to be on his land, he just looked at Cassian and sighed. "Did you try to run away across the lava field again?"

The boy dipped his chin and scowled. Something possessed me to intervene, and I said quickly: "He was just by the river. The nests are well hidden this year. I guess...they don't have terns in Vinland?"

Clem smiled generously at my clumsy attempt to cover for a boy who probably didn't even realise that's what was happening. "They do have terns in Vinland. Leif's 'lucky' camp was plagued with them in the first year. Some artisan made a bunting of their corpses and we had to endure the smell of wind-dried sea-bird all summer."

I did what I did with my father and doubled down on a stubborn expression that defied the reality presenting itself to me. Unlike my father, it made Clem laugh and shake his head ruefully. "Look, as you're here and you helped Cassian out, I have some scrap iron you can take for Pakkur."

I glanced at Cassian, who studied me with renewed curiosity, perhaps wondering how I had managed to deflect a scolding he figured he was due.

"At least I know if he makes it across the lava field next time he'll find someone who'll take care of him," Clem said softly, noticing some frisson of hesitation.

I nodded dumbly, offered Cassian a little wave and followed Clem to the back of the longhouse. I was halfway home before I realised I'd left my sheepskin vest behind.

#brassian saga au #brassian #andor fic #andor au #au fic #my fics #my writing #saga au #wip: brassian saga fic #wtf am i doing 🙃 #i am a medievalisn't #my wips #draft fic #brasso x cassian #cassian x brasso #sunday six #replacement for sunday six anyway

[elainapendragon]

Hello everyone!

I'm Elaina Pendragon (my penname), and I write fantasy young adult novels! Book one is available on Amazon in all formats, and you can learn more on my TikTok!

Below is a sneak peek (click on the images for better quality), but soon I'll be releasing a couple of chapters as well, probably chapters 1-5, including the prologue. This story is a coming of age story, one about breaking free of the past. It's for fans of fantasy, dragonriders, character growth, semi-slow burn friends-to-lovers, angst, love triangles, "I will always protect you" vs "Touch her, and I will kill you," a dark and dangerous lover vs a gallant and mysterious lover, action, viking lore, foreshadowing, and a commoner-to-hero romance.

Book one is available on Amazon in all formats and may be released on the Tiktok shop as well (link below).

#its also for fans of #lord of the rings #the elder scrolls #the witcher #how to train your dragon #httyd #legend of zelda #this isn't gonna be an all serious blog either!!! #i can be funny if i want to #this isn't my first tumblr rodeo #booklr #bookblr #books #reading #fantasy #viking lore #viking #elves #dwarves #dragons #dragonriders #fantasy novels #romantasy #all that good stuff

[childofsolace-write-ups]

Here's a little sneak peek to the fic I'm working on right now...

This is when Jamie comes into my Httyd AU series. I'm not posting in on Ao3 until the whole thing is done, and this is the only time I'm posting a sneak peek of it. The next time this would be seen, hopefully, it would be in Ao3 and completed. Still waiting for the poll results that will help me decide if I'll make it a one chapter thing or if it will be a multichap.

Either way, it will be completed.

If you want to wait for the complete version to read it, then there's no need to click 'keep reading' at the undercut.

It was another regular day. The Vikings of Berk were still stubborn yet resilient at the varying weather condition of dry cold to freezing cold, the young of these folks can be angels and devils depending on their moods, and the dragons still raise havoc. However, instead of anger and fear, the people react in fond exasperation.

"Brass!"

"Copper!"

"There's hardly a freaking difference!" Jack exasperated, putting down a newly crafted pick axe that Gobber had him make. Honestly, these days, he thought watching the younger children of Berk was a lot less aggravating. "Don't you two have anything better to do than argue and having me caught up in the middle?"

Aster and Gobber looked at him, opening their mouths to answer.

"No, don't answer, I don't really care; It's my break." Overhead, Jack saw the familiar sight of a dark mass with a boy on top of it. "Just in time," he grinned, grabbing his weapon staff before jumping on some nearby barrels and crates. "Over here, Hic!"

Aster held out a hand towards him, "Wait Jack," he scowled, "We're not done here!"

"I am!" Jack gave him a salute, his arm stretched up just in time for Toothless to fly by to grab it. As soon as his barefeet left the roof's surface, he used the curved part of his staff as leverage to flip over and take space on the saddle right behind Hiccup. "Thanks Hic, you saved me from another tug-of-war match with those two."

Hiccup chuckled, "Anything for you, snowflake." he smiled and blushed when Jack kissed him on the cheek for that response.

Jack laughed as a response to the thrilling belly flops he felt as Hiccup continued to soar higher to the sky, and further from the island and the village. He noted that there were some ships heading for the island, but he could see there were mostly people in civilian clothes so he didn't have to worry about it being an attack.

Even if it were, they'd be pretty foolish to attack Berk. After a few encounters with the Outcasts and Berserker alike, (plus kidnap attempts that annoyed Jack to no end, Hiccup more so since it's his boyfriend that got taken more often) Jack's pretty sure word's spread that they were working together with dragons, so the dragons were under their protection and vice versa. Stoick's still hoping they can come to a peaceful resolution with the Berserkers, since the previous chief was an old friend, but that still remained to be seen.

In any case, Jack figured that whoever these people were, they just might be some sort of business partners of Aster. It wouldn't be the first time the man didn't need to leave since the restock of supplies would be coming to him. Although usually, the island would make a day out of it where they would put up stalls or tents and there would be a bazaar for about a week.

Hiccup started to undo the security lock from the prosthetic pedal. "All right bud, you ready?"

Toothless made a  growl in affirmation.

"Wait, wait," Jack balked, "Can't we just enjoy flying without you doing..." he wasn't able to finish as Hiccup leaned more to the side before willingly falling off the dragon. "that..." He groaned, before crouching low to hang on for dear life... Literally.

As Toothless allowed himself to be taken by gravity, unable to continue his flight path without Hiccup's assistance, Jack grimaced and clenched his teeth. Much as he liked to scream, as would be the natural response, the last time Hiccup did this, a flock of birds were nearby and one of them pooped, nearly into his mouth. That said, it landed at his lower cheek and missed his mouth by only a few inches.

Just before they hit the water below, Hiccup angled himself just so and easily got his prosthetic re-attached to its pedal lock of Toothless' saddle and they glided through the surface, water splashing in the process, before taking back to the sky.

"Yeah!" Hiccup laughed as they were high enough to be amongst the clouds again, "I'd say that went about smoothly this time around, too."

Jack huffed, repositioning his staff that went an awkward angle during the crouch, before wrapping his arms around Hiccup's torso. "Maybe from where you're sitting," he shook his head, "And must you do that so frequently?"

"C'mon, it's exciting." Hiccup smirked, nudging Jack the best he could from where he sat. "some part of you has got to admit that it was awesome."

"Yeah, sure." Jack deadpanned, "Only about the thirteenth time, this week alone, you jumped off of Toothless for a thrilling free fall, that almost stopped my heart, without warning."

"If you give it a try..."

"I may now be less terrified of the sea, or bodies of water in general, but that doesn't mean it's going to hurt less when I hit the surface from this height."

Hiccup rolled his eyes, "You're not going to hit it." he said, "I'll catch you."

"Raincheck," Jack said with a smirk, "now I think we're going a little too slow for a Night fury, don't you think Toothless?"

Toothless what might be his version of a laugh, before zooming quickly through the skies.

Back at Berk, Aster and Stoick went to welcome some people docking in port.

A couple of months before, Aster left Berk to barter more items that could be traded. Ever since the island started caring for dragons, he had more business. To that end, the trader needed to restock his wares more often. In one of the island he frequented, a village there was ransacked by wild dragons that didn't seem to know about Berk being a safe haven for them. Not that the island could house every single dragon in the world, of course.

Aster had some good friends in that village though, and he requested Stoick to give some of them temporary refuge while they rebuild their village.

Though, there was one particular family wanted to live in Berk at the request of their one and only son. The boy was adopted because the couple couldn't have children, and rarely asked them for anything. So, when he actually did, it's usually given to him. Stoick was a bit on the fence, but Aster did tell him it was only one family who wanted to move in permanently. Plus, the one that would could open a tavern in Berk so there would be more options for good meals and drinks.

"Does Jack know I'm arriving today?" A young boy about Jack's age, only a year younger, came on port and walked on the gangplank towards Aster. He was visibly excited and nervous at the same time. "Is he here, too?" he looked past the tall man's shoulder, as if Jack would be behind him for a surprise greeting.

Aster chuckled at his amusement, "I haven't told him about it, Jamie. Wanted it to be a surprise," he smirked, "Serves the boy right for pulling a big one on me two months ago."

#Htty AU #Hiccup Haddock #Jackson Overland #HiJack #Jamie Bennette #E. Aster Bunnymund

[raverin-2]

BKDK Viking Au

(No official name, so until I can think of one, it's going by BKDK Viking Au)

Summary: There isn't an official summary yet either, but... Katsuki hops off the ship last, grinning wildly as the villagers scream while his crew raids the village that has sent disgusting threats to the Bakugou Village for months now. It’s another raid, just as usual as the other ones he’s led since he was fourteen. But as he reaches his idiot friends, catching the smirks on their lips as they face a space where it looks like a stage has been set up. His eyes narrow, his face twisting into a grimace as he looks at them.

Sidenote: (1) 🪷 Inky 🌱 artsy nerd on X: "a familiar face in unfamiliar circumstances #bkdk https://t.co/4gL3QmPPFI" / X (twitter.com) (their account is private, so I don't know if you'll be able to see it, but I still had to link it!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For $3.00 as a member of the Sorceress Tier, you can read this fic on: September 19th.

For $5.00 as a member of the Temptress Tier, you can read this fic right now.

Try out the 7-day free trial on either tier to read it right now or in two weeks!

Public Release Date: Undecided because it's going to be long...

lil sneak peek:

#bkdk #mha fic #Viking Au #getting Together #Meeting Again #Bakudeku

[corvusalbus93]

Sneak Peek: Dead Man’s Tale

Recently I’ve shared my plans for a new story, an AU in which Askeladd survives and has his own storyline, separate from Thorfinn’s canon one, details here.

Until I start publishing, there will be a few, short sneak peeks, introducing new characters and hopefully get you curious.

Starting with a snippet from early on in the story, giving you an idea as to how Askeladd survived in the first place:

...

Horik drew his blade, keeping a little distance from the body. “Let’s make sure this one is down for good.”

A few men looked worried, one turning to the Dubliner. “You think he might still be alive?”

“After what I just saw, I’m not taking any chances. Rhiannon?”

Dagger drawn, as if she feared he would rise again, Rhiannon kneeled beside the fallen Viking. She checked for a pulse and breath, before giving Horik a nod. Loud enough for those around them to hear she said. “He’s dead. Lungs must have filled with blood.”

Horik, put his sword away and nudged Askeladd’s head with his boot. “Good riddance. Let’s get him out with the rest. Give me hand, will you?”

The hall had once again become quite busy, with people either leaving or helping to clean up. Horik wasn’t sure just how many had died here today, and counting was complicated by the fact that the dead weren’t always in one piece. He glanced to the unconscious man he helped carry; this wasn’t someone he wanted to meet on the battlefield.

Somewhere in the crowd he spotted Caradoc and Frodi, bearing one of the less mangled corpses. He only got a short glance, but all limbs seemed attached and the deceased had short, blond hair. So far so good. Horik felt his heart hammering and suppressed a smile. It had been years since he’d felt this kind of excitement; that he got to do something like this in his old age. Now everything depended on whether they could pull off the switch and do it in time. The toga was still soaking up blood, telling him that there wasn’t much left. Hopefully, Rhiannon was up to the task.

-

Floki wasn’t having the best day, and he was seething. The king had died under his watch, he had failed to stop Askeladd from slaughtering dozens, almost gotten killed himself, and now Prince Canute was leading the army. Worse, the prince was no longer a pliable boy and seemed little interested in the Jomsviking’s advice. Perhaps looking down at Askeladd’s cold corpse would make him feel better. Why, he’d like to be the one, kicking the bastard into the flames, once the pyres were lit.

The bodies had been divided. Christians didn’t like to cremate the bodies of their dead, so the corpses would be stored by these freezing temperatures, until the ground was soft enough to dig graves in the churchyard. Some of the more important victims would be returned home to be buried amongst family.

The rest however, were to be burned. More convenient this time of year.

He arrived at the cremation site outside York with his retinue, when the sun was already low. Close to the forest the men didn’t need to carry the wood far to build the pyres. The bodies that were to be burned this eve were lined up in the snow, some already with funerary goods beside them.

One elderly man seemed to be overlooking the workers, directing the steady flow of logs. “Where’s the body?” Floki barked at him without so much as a greeting.

The overseer turned around, evidently annoyed, and not the least bit intimidated. Floki remembered him, an envoy from Dublin. And former Viking. “You will have to be more specific, Floki.”

The Jomsviking was not in the mood for his antics. “The traitor, idiot. Where is Askeladd?”

The Irish Viking looked around, until he pointed to a line of bodies just a few steps away. “Ah, there he is.” Admittedly, Askeladd was easy enough to spot, thanks to the toga.

But what Floki saw as he stepped closer made even his stomach turn. The stab wound inflicted by the prince was no longer the only visible wound. It looked as if the body had been speared and stabbed several more times after death, even bludgeoned. Some blunt weapon had completely disfigured the face, the only thing still recognizable being the blond hair, now sticky with blood and bits. “What...what happened to him?”

“You’ve seen what he’s done in the hall. Let’s just say some wanted to vent their feelings after that.”

“You didn’t stop them?” Floki was repulsed; he was no stranger to such acts, but this was excessive.

Horik frowned. “Risk my neck for a dead madman? Not a chance.”

“You kicked him too!” one of the loggers shouted.

The Dubliner shrugged. “Once or twice. What? I was hoping the King would end the threat to Dublin. Now I have to start over with Prince Canute, and he’s probably going to be busy pacifying England. So yeah, I’m pretty pissed.”

Floki sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just burn the bodies,” he said wearily. At this point he just wanted this day to be over, but if nothing else there was at least one less problem he needed to worry about.

#vinland saga fanfiction #vinland saga #askeladd #lucius artorius castus #dead man's tale

[promiseiwillwrite]

Getting to know You Ask Game

Tagged by @a-witch-named-crow - thank you so much! I've never gotten tagged in one of these before!

Rules: Answer the questions and tag nine people you want to know better.

Favorite Color: Green. But not just Green... The color of moss after months of steady rain. The color of THRIVING Life.

Currently Reading: I am currently between books. I was Thinking about reading this anthropological deconstruction of the Northern European Bear Cult that pre-dated the Viking era, but I am not sure I have the bandwidth. Maybe I will read something silly next. I know there are multiple "Adventures of Ms. Pollifax" books, and if you've not read one, go Look her up. They are novels about an old widow who becomes a successful spy.

Last Song: Not sure. What I am sure is that there is a Non-zero chance that it was "Show Yourself" from the Frozen II soundtrack. Otherwise it was some random crappy country song that was on in the carpool I was riding with out to the place where we went hiking yesterday. Not sure that counts for these purposes.

Last Series: Locke and Key, Season Three. They rounded out the cosmology, tied up the loose ends, and threw away the key. At least it got an ending... Many Netflix Series aren't so lucky. (squints in Netflix's general direction with consternation for having failed to mention whether or not they will Bother with more Sandman) I have Also recently concluded watching "The Orville" and if Hulu doesn't make more of that I may go burn something down. Guilty Pleasure, and series still in progress, "Gargoyles". They never let me watch as a kid, and now no one can stop me. Some of it is AWFUL. (should have remained in the 90's) Some of it is surprisingly well done for a Kid's show of that era... (lots of crazy pagan magic stuff in there, no wonder I adored my sneak peeks as a kid)

Last Movie: Soul. Yes. Disney. I watch by myself in my basement where no one else is harmed by this destructive habit.

Sweet/Savory/Spicy: I Love Flavors. It is Impossible to innumerate them all. Much shorter list of things I hate: Steamed Artichoke Leaf, Sea Urchin Sushi, and Kababoli Relish. These foods, in my opinion, taste like wet cardboard, the layer of fish poop at the bottom of the rocks in a dirty fish tank, and vomit, respectively. I felt very seen when they talked about the combinations of flavors that created synergistic enhancement in Ratatouille.

Currently Working On: Therapy and the development of skills involving coping with anxiety and managing trauma while moving toward successful task management and task conflict tolerance in relationships and at work. This blog. Learning about Foraging. Getting my Master Sergeant Stripe. A Gardening Project 7 years in the making. I've honestly written a lot of things... But most of them have involved the voices in my head, and I'm pretty sure my therapist is dead set against this as maladaptive daydreaming, and does not consider it a legitimate coping skill. I am not so sure. At very least, I think abandoning it entirely feels like leaving a lot of creativity on the table. I will still likely eventually end up writing one of the ideas, if I can convince myself they are unique enough. The Tree and Door stories seemed pretty solid to me... maybe I will get those together one day. At least, if nothing else, I am pretty sure it would make a Rad D&D game.

Tagging: @solostinmysea @sickened-things

Sorry, I don't really know very many people here that might answer a silly thing like this. Most of the people I follow are kind of doing their own thing and don't interact with others personally...