#floki writes

[flokidokie]

Let me introduce

Gianni de Riva

After having fought with this template for like forever I finally put together some information about my Rook!

Gianni is an Antivan Crow of House de Riva, but just because I can, I combined my two favorite origins and made him the nevarran crypt-baby too. An expedition with his guardian, a watcher named Ingellvar, led him outside the necropolis, where they fell victim to slavers. Six year old Baby-Rook was tossed from board by Ingellvar near the coast of Antiva, where he survived as a thief in the streets of Mareda.

Approximately a year later he crashes one of Viagos contracts (who is around seventeen years old at that time), but the crow sees potential and takes him back to Salle. Gianni becomes a crow and Viagos closest confidant, acting as a thief of goods and information alike.

Where Gianni goes, Chaos follows. Literally, because similar as Mythals memories living on in Morrigan, a small fragment of Chaos has latched onto Gianni since he was abandoned in an empty crypt as a toddler, becoming the source of both of his best and worst ideas.

Gianni becomes Rook after being exiled from Antiva due his attack on the Antaam in Treviso and his relationship with Viago gets cracks. To make matters worse, sharing headspace with Chaos and Solas has consequences and Rook loses his memories after the interrupted ritual. Now the infamous ghost crow has to stop two blighted elven gods to save the world from ending in demons and fire while simultanously trying to redefine his place in the world.

You can read more about Gianni, his life as a crow and his struggle as Rook in my upcoming fanfiction, which I will link here, as soon as it's published!

Additional information:

Rook romances Lucanis Dellamorte

Rook is trans-masc

He prefers to fight with orb and dagger, because carrying a staff while thieving is inconvinient

He can swim, but is deathly afraid of anything deeper than a puddle, since he fled the slavers ship by swimming to shore at age six

His hate for magnolias is rooted in his past with a brothel called House of Petals

Wisps and spirits are drawn to Rook, because he grew up with them in the necropolis

Though he mostly casts lightning, he also can summon nightmarish visions and would be able to raise spirits, if he trained more. He does not possess the abilities Emmrich has and cannot talk to corpses

Because of Chaos, Giannis eyes are faintly glimming in the dark

After a failed contract, invoving poison and a curse, Gianni suffers a chronic illness, he has to battle with daily intake of medicine. If he doesn't, chances are high that the curse mark will act up again, making it hard to breath for him, possibly resulting in death by choking. Viago makes the medicine himself. Cold triggers it to act up.

The curse mark left scars looking like lightning branching upwards at the sides of his neck.

Gianni shares Viagos affinity for puns and names his own poisons in the same fashion.

Gianni is unpredictable. While others simply chose to play against the rules, Gianni is playing an entire different game.

[bilbotargaryen]

Uppsala

Read it on AO3

Words: 8247

Summary: After nine years, the time had come for Björn to return to Uppsala, and with him he took his brothers to see the temple for the first time.

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Human and Animal Sacrifices, Blood

Note: First time Cross-Posting - Pls let me know if you want to be tagged in the future when I post Vikings-related stories. For now @errruvande come get your little treat :D

Enjoy!

Another nine years had passed. The path was to be treaded once more. Björn had organized it faithfully. All the baggage lay prepared on the back of nine horses. Only the essentials, for the gods would provide once they would arrive. The temple of Uppsala, Björn could still picture it clearly. It would be his third time to see it, but much had happened in the past few years and for the first time, he would see it without either of his parents. His father had disappeared eight years ago and his mother was busy in Hedeby, but his heart was not too heavy for he still had the boys to keep him company.

All his brothers had agreed to come. Ubbe stood ready beside him, waiting for the company to fill. Hvitserk joined them presently and tapped Ubbe on the arm. Björn excused the both of them with a nod. The path to the temple was a treacherous one. Wagons could not be used for the difficult terrain that lay between Kattegat and the holy site. The youngest of the boys, Ivar, had to be carried in a wooden chair mounted on wooden poles, but Björn had seen them carry him that way for hours and was not worried.

He waited for a few more moments before he jumping onto a platform for everyone to see him. Heads turned and voices faded as they took notice. A deep satisfaction spread through Björn and a spark of hope flared up as his eyes wandered over the heads of the gathered. Not many would tread the path today he noted and his father did not appear to be hiding among them. The spark died out.

“People of Kattegat!”, Björn shouted over the market square, “Today we have gathered here to once more walk the path and behold the holy temple of Uppsala with our very own eyes. Today and in the days to come, we will honor our gods! We will celebrate the gifts and favors they bestowed on us! May the gods protect us as we go and receive the sacrifices we bring in their name! All hail the gods!” “All hail!”, echoed the crowd. Björn counted about two dozen people before he jumped back down. He had also spotted his brothers and headed for them next: “I will have to lead the people. You will go last.” “Why?”, Ivar asked, lunging comfortably in his chair. “Because you’re not fast enough to keep up”, Björn gave him a playful slap on the cheek and went off.

“Nonsense”, Ivar huffed as they watched Björn hurry away. “Shut up, Ivar”, Sigurd stood before him next to Ubbe, each holding one of the rods. “What is it, brother?”, Ivar turned his full attention to him, “Tired already?” Neither Sigurd nor the others answered anything. Slowly, the people started to move. They formed a convoy and headed along the Main Road out of Kattegat. The boys let even the horses pass before joining the train.

Five days went by. They walked from dawn to dusk. Sometimes going straight eastward towards their destination, sometimes they had to stray to navigate terrain that was too steep for either horses or men, but they managed to never detour too far off course. Along the way other travelers joined them. Floki and Helga were the first, but they kept to themselves as they often did now. Björn led his people well and their trust in him made him proud. His brothers often fell back, but never lost the end of the train. While Ivar was in as best a mood one can be, the others struggled more and more and especially Sigurd did rarely hold back voicing his complaints. Ubbe had to remind him time and time again that it was no use. Hvitserk, carrying the back of the chair alone, had neither time nor breath to say much of anything.

Finally, just as the sun was about to set, they came to a clearing at the edge of a cliff. A huge waterfall rushed down on the opposite site of the cleft. Through countless treetops they caught the first glimpse of the golden-roofed temple of Uppsala. Björn stopped to gaze at it with reverence. It didn’t matter that he had seen it before, it will always be a sight that touches his heart. “Only a few hours now”, Björn said to the men behind him, “We won’t set up camp today before we have reached its gate!” Gladly, the men spread the word. It reached the boys before they came themselves to the edge. The sun was now almost gone but the last light of day still shimmered on the roof, making it look even more out of this world.

“It’s magic”, Ivar gasped, “The gods await us.” Sigurd snorted. Ubbe was speechless and couldn’t take his eyes off the temple. Hvitserk shifted his weight from one leg to the other, trying to get a better view. It was their first time to visit after all. As the last rays disappeared and the world was cloaked in darkness, they hurried on to catch up with the end of the train.

Two hours later, they approached the gate. All of their people had passed already and on the hills beyond countless flames flickered and danced in the darkness, lighting up the foundations of the temple which towered above them. The gate appeared to be a simple archway at first but the closer they got, and the more light fell on it, they could see intricate symbols and signs carved into the wood. Several stairs made of tree trunks marked the climb to the entrance of the temple. Out of the shadows stepped Björn: “Welcome, brothers.” His voice was low and mysterious or perhaps it only appeared so to them, for the whole place seemed that way. “Where is camp?”, asked Ubbe, but Björn didn’t answer. He tipped his head and walked away. The boys followed him without another question.

They arrived at the topmost hill where their people were just getting started on setting it up. Björn pointed to a large tent that had already been prepared. Ubbe patted Sigurd on the chest, and with a groan he took over the second pole, while the other hurried after Björn, who was already making his way down the slope to the other side of the camp. “Will you not stay with us?”, he asked him. Björn shook his head: “I will stay at the other end of camp.” “Why?”, Ubbe did not quite understand, “We appear split that way.” “No”, Björn stopped suddenly and looked at him hard, “We look united, guarding our people on both sides.” Ubbe gave it a thought, then nodded. “Rest now”, Björn ordered, “We’ll visit the temple tomorrow.” He left him standing, soon disappearing beneath the shadows of the huge trees that stretched their branches far and wide above their heads.

As Ubbe returned to their tent, he could already hear the trouble. “Have you lost your minds?”, he had raised his voice as he cast aside the fabric of the entrance. The shouting match ceased. “It’s Ivar, he wants us to carry him to the temple”, Sigurd blurted out, his head red with rage. “Ivar”, Ubbe said calmly, “We will visit the temple tomorrow. With Björn and all the others.” “But I want to see the temple now”, Ivar complained, “What did we come all this way for to now waste our time at it’s feet?” Ubbe shot a glance to Hvitserk who sat in the corner eating dry meat and rolling his eyes. “We need to rest”, Ubbe said, “We will stay here for three days! You will have more than enough time to visit the temple.” Ivar’s face hardened, spasmed in rage at his brother’s words. With a jerk he threw himself to the ground and crawled past him out of the tent. “Idiot”, Sigurd commented and shrugged as Ubbe shot him a hard look. “When do we meet?”, Hvitserk asked in between bites, “Tomorrow, I mean.” “He didn’t say”, Ubbe sighed, “At dawn, I presume.”

The night went by slowly. All about them was a din. People singing, drums being beaten, laughter, shouts and moans. But good things always had to end and so it did once again. With the first rays of the sun, Uppsala returned to it’s eerie silence.

The boys had slept soundly. None of them had had any energy or desire to take part in the festivities in the past night. This night would be different. Hvitserk was up first, jumping excitedly through the tent, before Ubbe made him head outside into the cool, thin air. He was giddy, impatient about what the day may bring. Ubbe at first wanted to get back to bed, but as he saw day breaking through the slit of the tent entrance, he decided to get dressed after all. He noted Ivar sleeping in his makeshift bed and left both him and Sigurd where they were as he headed outside.

He found Björn beside Hvitserk. “They will take and prepare the horses for tomorrow”, Björn repeated as Ubbe joined them, “And we will have to choose one of our own.” “Has it not been decided yet?”, Hvitserk was chewing another slice of dried meat. “Not yet”, Björn shook his head, “But there are volunteers.” “Nefstein and Hafgrim”, Ubbe said. “You know them?”, Björn wondered. “Only briefly”, Ubbe kicked a small rock down the slope, “They’ve talked to mother about it before we left.” Björn nodded: “We will decide later. First, we eat. Then, we visit the temple. I trust Ivar couldn’t wait?” They shrugged. Björn sighed: “I will find you when I’m ready.” Björn left them again.

Ubbe and Hvitserk watched him go, then turned to the temple. It was the biggest building they had ever seen. Six of its nine roofs surpassed the tree crowns and its peak pierced the clouds, slicing them as they rushed by over their heads. The gold flared up whenever the sun peaked through. “Maybe he’s right”, Hvitserk mumbled, “It must be magic.” Ubbe patted his younger brother on the back and as their eyes met, they shared a smile. “Maybe it is”, he said, “Let’s wake the others.”

They broke their fast with dried meat and the bread and cheese the temple had provided. Ivar was telling them of his visit last night, of the black and white priests and the tall wooden statues. Hvitserk and Ubbe listened more or less eagerly, Sigurd pretended not to hear a single word, focusing solely on his food. “Sigurd”, Ivar’s voice was sharp, “Aren’t you excited to meet our gods?” He looked at him expectantly, slowly falling into a knowing smile. “I am”, Sigurd said. “Oh, really?”, Ivar sounded genuinely surprised, “How…unexpected.” Sigurd looked to Hvitserk who looked back completely unmoved, Ubbe wasn’t even listening. He dropped his cup and left the tent upset. “Can you not leave him alone? We are here to celebrate, not to fight”, Ubbe said without looking up. “What?”, Ivar said, “It is clear for everyone to see that he would rather be anywhere else than here. Should I ignore it like you do? Like Björn does? No! I will not. It is not the way!” “We came here-“ “I do not care that we came here together”, Ivar barked, “I won’t visit the temple with faithless pretenders.” “So, you will go with Floki?”, Ubbe asked. Ivar’s answer was an icy look and him leaving the tent as well. “Leaves us”, Hvitserk commented and lifted his cup. They toasted and washed down their breakfast with a good cup of mead.

Björn, Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd headed to the temple an hour later with a few others of their people. On the porch of the marvelous building stood several of the previously described priests. They were bald and pale, clad in white robes, their faces adorned with black paint. Around some of their necks hung a black chain, presumably a sign of their standing. Everything about the temple was carved into intricate patterns of snakes or ranks. As they stepped inside they could hardly believe their eyes.

Björn left them to their own devices as he had set his mind on visiting Odin. Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd remained in the entrance for a time, taking in all the wonders they saw. The temple was completely made of wood, but gold was glittering everywhere they looked. Set into the carvings, adorning the ends of the wooden rods holding the hanging braziers and some of the ceiling shimmered through the beams, making it look like the sky itself was made of gold. In the middle of the hall stood a huge wooden figure, two others in niches next to it and a fourth was enthroned at the end. Sun beams fell through cracks and crevices and enlightened the room alongside countless candles and braziers. Even Sigurd was in awe.

Finally, they stepped forward and joined the line leading up to a singular priest, holding a bowl. With a brush he sprinkled blood onto each who stepped before him, hailing the gods and their gifts. Sigurd spotted Ivar and Floki right away and pointed it out to the others with a scowl. They shrugged.

“Hail to the Aesir and the Vanir. Hail to the gods and goddesses. Hail to Odin, Thor and Freyr. Hail to Vali, Sif and Heimdall”, he sprinkled Sigurd first, who closed his eyes before he had even dipped the brush into the blood. “Hail to Balder, Bragi and Eir. Hail to Freyja, Loki and Frigg”, Hvitserk was next, not even flinching when the blood drops hit his skin. “Hail to Njord, Ran and Tyr. Hail to Odin’s spear and Thor’s hammer. Hail to the mighty fecund earth. All hail”, Ubbe was last and blinked as he was sprinkled. “All hail”, they echoed.

Now they went further into the temple and beheld the figures. Freyr stood in the middle, by his side Freyja and Thor. The figure in the back, behind a small pond, resembled Odin. They all knew the stories, they did not need guidance to find their way. They split.

Ubbe turned to Thor, ignoring the observing eyes of Floki and Ivar who were nearby. He reached forward to touch the wooden hammer of the statue. He felt the connection immediately and breathed deeply into it. “Thor, Protector, lend me your strength to guard my family and my home, to do as I can to keep us together and out of harm’s way. I bring you many gifts and all the sacrifices I make, I make in your honor”, he whispered and looked up into the carved eyes of the figure. They remained still, unmoved by his words.

Sigurd approached the small pond. A few stones made the passage to the statue possible, but Björn had already gone that way. His eyes were closed, his forehead touched the wood as his hand pressed hard against the rough surface. “Grant me wisdom, Allfather, show me the path forward. Where do I tread, where does it lead me? Shall I remain or is it my fate to go?”, he squeezed his eyes together, “Accept the sacrifices we do in your honor, receive the blood we spill in your name!” Sigurd watched him, feeling detached. He felt a sense of familiarity, but nothing more than that. He wondered how he was supposed to feel.

Hvitserk looked up in deep veneration to the image of Freyja, he placed both his hands on her and then his forehead too: “All hail Freyja.” He breathed deeply before he whispered on: “I wish to find love in this world. A sense of belonging, a connection, a family. By the sacrifices and gifts I bestow upon you, guide my way. Grant me this wish and I shall honor and praise your name forever and ever.”

Ivar sat beside Floki, both looking up at the grim face of Thor, clutching his hammer tightly. Then Ivar’s eyes shifted and he looked up to Floki. He was deep in thought, rubbing his chin, smearing a droplet of blood all over it. “Do you think he is protecting him?” “Always”, the answer came without hesitation, “Thor looks over all of us and protects every single one of us, if they know it or not.” “Does he know when he’ll come back?” “No, no, no, no, no”, Floki giggled, then grew stern, “Only the Allfather knows that…But I know that he will. He will be back. He always is.”

The sun was at its highest point when they left the temple. They headed back to the tents for a short meal before they all met to decide on their volunteer. The four of them sat in a circle around a small fire in the midst of the tent of the boys. “Who do you think should it be?”, asked Hvitserk. “Doesn’t matter who dies”, Sigurd grumbled. “I think it does”, Björn was appalled, “It’s a great honor.” “I think it should be Hafgrim”, Ubbe said, “He’s a great warrior grown old. No means to farm, no family.” “So he wouldn’t be missed”, Sigurd mumbled. Hvitserk chuckled: “Yeah, Hafgrim would make a great sacrifice.” “I think it should be Nefstein”, Ivar attempted to hurl the entrance fabric aside but struggled until a firm hand held it for him to pass. Floki gave the group a nod, then left as soon as Ivar had gotten inside. “And why is that?”, Björn asked. “He is younger, stronger, has more to loose”, Ivar grinned, “What could be more worthy a sacrifice than such a man, huh?” His eyes found Sigurd’s once more, but beyond a scowl he refrained from comment.

They gathered in Björn’s tent for the decision. It was bigger than that of the boys’, the tent of a leader. Most people had already arrived. In front of the crowd stood two men. Björn passed in between the two of them and took a stance at the front. His brothers remained in the back of the tent.

“Hafgrim!”, the older of the two straightened up. He had Grey hair and an elaborately braided beard. His face was disfigured by a huge scar crossing over the back of his nose. He was old, but his broad shoulders told of a youth he spent proudly fighting and raiding. “Nefstein!”, the younger had brown hair, openly trailing over his shoulders. His face was fresh, only a few stubbles were to be seen. His body appeared strong, yet lithe. He too straightened up as he heard his name. “We have gathered to decide which one of you will be honored tomorrow to join our gods in feast and feats!”, Björn announced in celebration. The crowd cheered. All, except Sigurd. Björn nodded to Hafgrim.

With a booming voice he turned to face them: “I have lived a life of many deeds, good and bad, big and small. I always knew, that one day, I will offer myself to the gods and goddesses and not only see great honor in my sacrifice but also duty. I was born for this and so, allow me dear people, to die for it!” A roar sprang through the tent. He was well liked and his intentions seemed to be long known among them. Björn nodded to Nefstein.

He turned more calmly and bowed to Hafgrim as he did who mirrored the friendly gesture: “I have not come here to steal from such an honorable man without good reason. I would gladly stand back and let him take this honor, but I am not here for myself. My family has gone through a bad time. Deaths, Curses…You can all remember my dear sister Asta, a girl of thirteen, when she disappeared last summer, never to be seen again.” A low murmur rumbled through the crowd. “I do not seek your pity, nor your well wishes! All I seek is the favor of the gods. And to do so, dear people of Kattegat, I ask you to allow me to take this honor in Hafgrim’s stead. Hafgrim, I ask you to forgive me!” Silence. Björn observed the crowd closely, some faces were stern, others puzzled or concerned. Sigurd seemed heavily distraught and after a few moments of shuffling his weight from one leg to the other, he left the tent.

Then, Hafgrim closed the distance between him and Nefstein, took the other’s head into his hands and put their foreheads together. “I forgive you”, he said, “And I wish you and your family all the favor the gods can muster.” He stepped back and announced with a roar: “I withdraw my lot, for now. May my time come in nine years today!” The crowd cheered and Björn went to hug and congratulate Nefstein who stood bedazzled and couldn’t quite grasp his luck yet.

Hvitserk was the first to leave the tent. He was a bit worried about Sigurd who had been behaving strangely all day, or rather, more strangely than usual. He looked around for him but couldn’t find him anywhere. He was about to head back into the tent when he heard a noise. Then he saw the rock scuttling down the hill. He went around the tent and saw Sigurd sitting on the top of the hill beside it. As he approached, Sigurd lifted his head and seemed annoyed: “What do you want? Berate me, too?” “No”, Hvitserk shook his head and sat down next to him, “I also thought it would be Hafgrim.” “But you don’t find the choice unfair?” Hvitserk frowned and gave it a thought but shook his head: “It’s his choice.” “It’s a stupid choice”, Sigurd hissed, “It will improve nothing, only bring more misery to that family.” “You don’t know that”, Hvitserk said. “I do”, Sigurd laughed dryly and hurled another rock down the slope, “The gods have never been listening to me. Why should they listen to him?” Hvitserk shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe it is his fate”, Hvitserk did not know what else to say. Sigurd snorted.

The tent began to empty. The people went back to their tents to spend time with their loved ones. Nefstein would do so for the last time. It made Sigurd feel sick. Ubbe found them quickly but turned and left them to their own. He headed back to the temple with Björn. Ivar did not even bother to look for them.

As evening approached the air was filled with song and music again. Laughter and stories and old jokes joined it and soon all were either drunk or high or both. As the sun sank and the moon rose, the people grew more excited and less burdened by thought and worry. Clothes were a rare sight to be seen around the temple of Uppsala that night.

Hvitserk spent it in the arms of two women among a group of people he had never seen before and would never see again. His cup was never empty and one of the men introduced him to a drug that increased the joys of life tenfolds. Ubbe intended to keep an eye on him, but was soon distracted himself. Sigurd played his lute until his fingers hurt, gathering a merry group of people around him wherever he went. Ivar spent the night with Floki and Helga, mesmerized by the stories they were telling in turn, watching first as the fires around them sprang to life and then as the night drew to a close.

None of them had slept, but all were ready when they were called. Björn was still drunk when he lead his people to the square, but he carried himself well and proud. The priest was already waiting for them at the table. Others of his order steamed the square with herbs that made everyone present dizzy with delight.

The priest repeated the salutation to the gods and called for them to join them. Hvitserk did not get one word, but he believed this must be what he was doing. First, nine chickens’ throats were slit, then nine sheeps’ and nine goats’, followed by nine dogs’. Next, the nine horses they brought were drained. One after the other were lead before the priest and nine times the sacrificial knife was dyed red. The blood flowed through drains to a big tub where later all guests could take their fill for their fields and hearths and homes.

Last came the human sacrifices. Nine men, some old, some young, were led forward. One after the other, they undressed and lay down on the table. No screams were heard, nor begs, nor even a whimper. All went in the honor bestowed on them. Last came Nefstein, holding his head high he bowed one last time to Hafgrim, then to Björn, then to the priest. He undressed and lay down on the bloody table. There was no hesitation, no fear, no resistance. He smiled as the priest pressed the knife to his skin.

Neither of the brothers lifted their eyes off the noble sacrifice. Even Sigurd withstood the urge to look away. It was only right to grant him this, in hopes that his family would find peace in the time to come.

The human blood had been collected separately and now, one by one, they were sprinkled once more. It was still warm as they received their blessings to a powerful chanting of the priests, accompanied by drums of different forms and sizes.

After the sacrifices were over, the day returned to a quiet mood. Everyone seemed to be deep in thought. Some more hopeful than the other.

Sigurd was back in the temple. He stood once more before the figure of Odin and after a deep breath he stepped forward over the stones to face it.

“Hail Odin”, he murmured barely audible, “I wish I could understand why you’re choosing all others over me. I wish I could understand your ways. But I have not come to ask something for myself. I’ve learned long ago, that it’s no use. You rather answer all of Ivar’s cruel demands before you listen to one of mine. But, maybe, you do hear one of another: Let Nefstein’s family prosper and flourish. He has given his all, and perhaps Asta has already done so, too. Grant them your wisdom, your strength and your protection. A great sacrifice was held in your name today…” He raised his hand and placed it on the statue, but it was cold and he felt nothing.

He repeated similar words to all other statues in the hopes that Nefstein’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain. But he himself struggled to believe anything else.

Hvitserk and Ubbe were already elsewhere with their thoughts, walking among the trees towards the waterfall they had spotted the day they arrived. They could already hear it’s water masses thunder down the stony cliff into the dale below. “How close do you think we can get?”, asked Hvitserk with an excited giggle. “Avoid the wet stones and we should know”, Ubbe went ahead and pushed out of a bush to reveal the fall’s full glory. “Aaaah”, he had to scream to be heard, “It’s mighty!” “It is!”, Hvitserk leaned forward to see where the water disappeared to, Ubbe grabbed him instinctively by the shoulder and Hvitserk grabbed his wrist in turn. “It’s falling a long way!”, Hvitserk yelled, “But there is a basin a few feet below!” “We cannot reach it! It’s too steep!”, Ubbe judged and indeed, the rocks below him receded so that the edge formed an overhang. Still, his fingertips were itching for the challenge.

He crouched down to inspect the ledge further. As Hvitserk did the same he grabbed his knee: “Wait until I say so!” He found the rock to be dry and easy to grip, and the more he examined it, the more he concluded that the overhang was only short and the wall soon became a comfortable climbing angle. He took a breath and turned to descent. “Watch your feet!”, Hvitserk screamed and looked a bit worried as he watched his brother search for the right foothold. However, the worry soon turned into impatience as he saw how well his brother managed the climb. “What do you say?”, he yelled. “Wait!”, was Ubbe’s answer, but it was barely audible over the noisy waters.

Ubbe jumped the last few feet down and landed onto an almost plain platform with a small basin of water which was fed by the huge fall that not long after tumbled down further into the depths of the forest below. Ubbe didn’t even try to shout. He knew his brother was staring at him for a sign, so he simply gave it. Hvitserk did not wait another moment and got immediately to it. After he managed the overhang the climb turned into a trifle and he soon joined Ubbe beside the basin. “Care for a plunge?”, Ubbe grinned as Hvitserk did at his suggestion. They lost their clothes and carefully slipped into the pool of water, making sure to always keep to the edge were the drift was the weakest.

They did not care to speak. It was too loud for it anyways. They simply enjoyed each other’s company and the fun feeling of the water around their bodies.

They left before the sun started to set. Neither wanted to know how hard that climb was in the dark. They dressed and dried themselves as best they could and then went up once more. The overhang was vicious, but both managed. Hvitserk offered Ubbe his hand to pull him up, but was turned down as the other strained hard to pull himself over the edge back onto the plain. Hvitserk laughed heartily and gave him a pat on the chest when he finally lay safely on the grass. “You’re getting old!” “Shut your trap!”

Björn spent the afternoon with Hafgrim and some other town folk, listening to their plights and wishes. He wasn’t the King and he always made sure to stress it, but the people had nowhere else to go and no one else to address. Aslaug didn’t bother to answer anything else but crimes and his father…he had never wondered more about where he was and what he was doing than here. And others did, too. The night before he had heard many such questions. “Where’s Ragnar?” “Where is he?” “Do you think he’s dead?” “He cannot be dead, can he?” He wondered many of them himself.

He also learned more about Nefstein’s family. His mother had accompanied him here and had supported him in his choice. His father had gone mad and hurled himself into the sea this spring, two of his brothers had died from the fever last year, his sister had disappeared. Now only his mother and a son remained. The boy had ceased to speak three months ago. Björn did not know how to help them, but he promised to keep looking for Asta, however little hope remained.

After sundown the brothers met again. They ate together, as it was custom. “Where were you, Ivar?”, asked Björn, “After the sacrifice, you disappeared.” “I did”, was all Ivar said. “Were you with Floki?”, Sigurd had no patience for his nature. Ivar cackled: “Maybe. Only the gods know, Sigurd.” Hvitserk and Ubbe exchanged glances and decided mutually not to tell anyone about their adventure either.

The night passed like the other, but this time they spent half of it asleep. As they did the next day.

When they woke it was already past midday. The hills surrounding the temple were even quieter than in previous days. Around it still hung the drained bodies of the animals and further off was a pile of ashes. All that remained from the humans.

This day was a slow day. A lot of the other families were already departing and saying their farewells. The people of Kattegat were in less of a rush. Some packed, most rested in preparation for the long journey home, starting the next day. Hvitserk was already feeling quite invigorated. After he had eaten, he tried to convince Ubbe to go swimming again, but Ubbe had something else on his mind. He went to find Björn. Ivar was soon off, too. Still not revealing to anyone what he was up to.

With Ubbe gone and Björn not around at all, Sigurd and Hvitserk bent their minds on mischief and decided to find out what Ivar was up to and potentially ruining whatever it was.

They found him easily and took great care to remain undetected as they followed him. It was no surprise to either of them when Floki suddenly appeared from behind an oak tree. He was giggling as Ivar approached. Neither could understand what they were saying, but they saw how they headed off together. Hvitserk and Sigurd shared a look, a grin and made for the next cover.

Ubbe could hear Björn speaking long before he had reached his tent. He appeared to be angry. “…just now?”, he heard as he entered it. Riled up Björn turned to him and for a moment Ubbe feared he was about to get slapped, but Björn just waved him in and continued to rant. “What stopped you to come to me the moment you realized they were gone? Huh? What made you stay and wait? Did you think the goods grew legs and just ran off to return in the morning? Huh? Or did you take them? Did you hide them for yourself?”, Björn paced the room in all his agitation. “No, no, I would never, why would I deprave us all of them?” “I don’t know? You tell me! Why did you wait, Gilli? Why?” A horrible silence of suspense and anger came to be. “I was asleep”, it was as if someone shattered glass into a thousand pieces. “Asleep!?”, Björn yelled, then repeated it quietly in despair, “Asleep…” “What is missing?”, Ubbe ventured to ask. “Tell him, Gilli”, he waved for the man kneeling on the floor to speak. He turned to Ubbe: “The provisions.” “All of them?” The man nodded.

Ubbe swayed at the invisible blow, but quickly regained composure. “Since when?” “It must have happened in the night”, he said, “In the evening it was still all were it ought to be.” “Then they couldn’t have come far!”, Ubbe turned to Björn, “Let us look for it! There is no way we cannot track those thieves down.” Björn looked at him strangely, then he turned to the man who he grabbed by the collar back to his feet: “If we haven’t got him already…” “I would never steal from you, I promise! I promise!” “Keep him confined and let us look for the traces of another!”, Ubbe tried again and pulled his brother’s attention back to him. Finally, Björn nodded. “Hurry”, he said, “We cannot wait. We have to set off for Kattegat first thing in the morning.” Ubbe nodded and left the tent.

Ivar and Floki had stopped and settled down among three huge oak trees. There were stones laid out on the floor to sit on. They were talking, but neither Hvitserk nor Sigurd were close enough to hear any of what was being said. They waited until they were sure, that Ivar and Floki were deep in conversation before Hvitserk gave the nod to advance further. They ran with bent legs and backs how far they dared and hid behind a smaller tree just a few feet away from the pair.

“…will see”, Floki giggled, “The gods will provide. Or not.” Now they both laughed. “What do you think he’ll do if they don’t?”, Ivar asked, “You think we’ll still leave?” “He’ll have to”, Floki said, “Aslaug did not allow a long stay. She’s too scared for you.” Ivar scoffed: “She does not need to worry about me. I wish to stay.” “Yes, me too. But we should not outstay our welcome. The sacrifice is done, the feast is finished, all wanderers need to turn home eventually”, Floki said, “Even the Allfather.” “Even Ragnar.” “Even him.”

Sigurd nudged Hvitserk in the side who had previously attempted to look past the tree trunk. “What were they talking about?”, Sigurd whispered. “What?”, Hvitserk mumbled back. “Why do they ask if we’re leaving or not?” “I don’t know.” “They’re planning something!”, Sigurd gridded his teeth together and jumped away before Hvitserk could grab him.

Floki spotted him immediately, Ivar turned to look at him: “Brother!” “What are you two up to?”, asked Sigurd aggressively, “We’ve heard you! What are you hiding?” Unwilling, Hvitserk emerged from behind the tree as well. Floki giggled. Ivar grinned: “Wouldn’t you like to know? Why don’t you go search then?” “You will tell us now! Or we go and tell Björn!” “Then go and tell him. We have nothing to say”, Ivar shook his head and turned away from Sigurd, ignoring his presence while he and Floki shared a smile.

Sigurd growled and ran off. Hvitserk followed him.

Ubbe had looked for his brothers in their tent and around camp, but couldn’t find a sign of them. After some time, he decided to take a look on his own at the place where the supplies had been stored prior to the incident. The tent was indeed empty. They hadn’t brought much, as they knew they would have to carry everything back themselves, but enough to travel without any delay. He knelt down and examined the ground. The grass was flat were the sacks had been, but he quickly realized that the grass around the exit was disturbed. Something had been dragged through, something heavy. Or was it someone? He had seen the traces his brother left behind countless times and he thought he could read them here. But why would his brother be behind this theft? What drove him to this end? How did he manage it? Ubbe immediately guessed that it was Floki who must have helped him carry the sacks. Where did they place them?

The traces ended outside of the tent. Apparently they had at least thought about removing them there. Ubbe sighed and looked around. They had only had the afternoon to prepare and the time the guard slept. It must be hid around the temple somewhere, he figured. Just then he spotted Sigurd and Hvitserk, both hurrying down the slope. “Sigurd! Hvitserk!”, he yelled and caught their attention. They came over in confusion. Hvitserk jumped forward, pulled the tent fabric aside and gasped in horror. “I knew it!”, Sigurd shouted, “I knew it! They’re behind it! I told you!” “Floki and Ivar?”, asked Ubbe with a frown. “Yes!”, Sigurd exclaimed, “We just caught them talking about it. We should have pressed them harder, Hvitserk!” “They won’t say another word about this”, Hvitserk grumbled, “You heard them. They said the gods would provide or not.” “Of course”, Ubbe wiped his face with both his hands and sighed once more, “Can you still lead me to them? Maybe I’ll have better luck finding something out.” “I don’t think so”, Hvitserk murmured. “We should tell Björn first!”, Sigurd insisted. “No”, Ubbe declined, “He knows. We’re to fix this.” Hvitserk blew up his cheeks in despair and rested his fists on his hip. Sigurd felt pretty overwhelmed for a moment, but shook his head back to the task at hand. He nodded into the direction they had just come from and the three of them set off.

When they arrived at the stones below the oaks they found the two thieves gone. “Of course”, Sigurd kicked at a pebble and sent it flying, “Idiots!” “Hey!”, Ubbe took another look at the ground, but saw no signs, “Floki must have carried him.” Hvitserk walked past the trees and found a small path leading down a thin plain of land carved into the hillside. “They must have taken this path”, he announced, “But I still think it has no use hunting them. We should look for the supplies instead.” “And where would you look? Where would these two maniacs hide them?” “They said…what did they say?”, Ubbe had picked up a stick and played with it as he stared into the thin air, thinking. “That the gods would provide or not”, Sigurd scoffed, “They’re nuts.” “Maybe they put it into the temple somewhere? Beneath the floorboards?”, Ubbe wondered. “Is anyone else looking for them? Or is it really just us?”, Hvitserk wanted to know, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other before starting to walk in circles. “I don’t know”, Ubbe shrugged, then mumbled, spinning the stick, “The gods will provide…” “This is ridiculous!”, Sigurd walked off, leaving his brothers alone beneath the oaks.

On his way back to camp he kicked at anything that was loose on the ground. No stone or stick was safe. He was angry, already knowing that whatever would happen his brother would not be punished. “It was just a silly little game, Sigurd”, he mimicked Ivar, “You don’t need to get all upset about it, Sigurd.” He grunted as he sent a bigger stone over the logs that led up to the temple doors. The stone slid past the hanging animals, down the slope towards the pile of ash. “Idiots”, he stopped in the middle of the path to think. He sighed. There was no point in sulking, he had to help his brothers to fix this however impossible and useless it turned out to be. He headed up to the temple to speak to the priests.

None were on the porch, so he had to enter the temple once more. There stood a single priest in front of the statue of Freyr, still holding a bowl and a brush.

“Hail to the Aesir and the Vanir. Hail to the gods and goddesses. Hail-“ “Excuse me, I’m not-“, the priest rose his voice to drown out Sigurd’s and did so successfully. “To Odin, Thor and Freyr. Hail to Vali, Sif and Heimdall. Hail to Balder, Bragi and Eir. Hail to Freyja, Loki and Frigg. Hail to Njord, Ran and Tyr. Hail to Odin’s spear and Thor’s hammer. Hail to the mighty fecund earth. All hail”, Sigurd had been sprinkled with blood three times. “All hail”, he mumbled, “I just wanted to-“ “I saw you yesterday, child, and the day before”, the priest appeared to be unmoved by whatever attempt Sigurd launched to pull him off his path, “I see your struggle and your plight. Trust in the gods, trust in their judgment, they will provide.” “It’s about-“ “Go now, child, let them guide you, trust their will and their power. They will provide.” “Or not”, he murmured so quietly only he could hear it, then he walked on and examined the floor closely, testing the planks every now and then. Nothing.

When he left the temple, he ran into Ubbe and Hvitserk. “Did you find anything?”, asked Hvitserk and Sigurd shook his head. “And the priest?”, asked Ubbe. “Impossible to talk to”, Sigurd laughed hollowly, “He says the gods will provide.” The other two groaned and turned their backs on the temple. “Could it be possible that-“ “No”, Ubbe interrupted Hvitserk decisively, “I do not believe they would ever help with such a deed.” “Then where do we look for it next? It could be anywhere”, Sigurd complained and started walking down the stairs. “I wonder how long they’ll leave the animals like that”, Hvitserk asked as he followed him. Ubbe turned this way and that, wondering whether he should separate from the group, but in the end followed as well. “They’ll burn them eventually, like they did the humans…What is that?”, Ubbe started to trot as he had spotted a peculiar line on the ground, “Something rolled through here.”

He crouched down at a thin line and touched the soft, dusty material it had parted: “Ashes.” His brothers had joined him. “Must have been the rock I kicked down here earlier”, Sigurd said and spread the ashes with his foot, not quite grasping yet what his older brother meant to have discovered by it. “After the sacrifice…”, Hvitserk began, starring at the pile of ashes. “The gods will provide!”, Ubbe jumped up, then stopped himself, “No, they wouldn’t.” “Apparently they would”, Sigurd kicked at the ashes, understanding now, “And they did!” Ubbe sighed looking at the pile: “It’s certainly not big enough to hide all those sacks.” “Hail to the mighty fecund earth?”, Sigurd wondered out loud. “All hail”, Hvitserk bounced and smiled wide, slapping Ubbe on the back and ran off, “I’ll get us a shovel!”

Björn watched Hvitserk as he dug up the earth where the pile of ashes had once rested. He did not have to dig long. Soon he raised sack after sack from the depths to the surface where Ubbe and Sigurd in turn took them off him. “Where’s Ivar?”, Björn inquired calmly. “With Floki”, Ubbe said. “And where is Floki?”, Björn was annoyed by this kind of nonsense. “Only the gods know”, they picked up the giggle immediately and while Hvitserk kept digging and Ubbe and Sigurd remained standing by the hole, Björn could no longer contain his rage. He marched in the direction in which he thought he had heard it.

“Floki!”, he yelled, and sure enough, the tall, slender figure emerged from the trees. Björn threw his arms up in question. Behind Floki came crawling his youngest brother Ivar, looking up at him like a triumphant toddler. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”, he cried out. “We congratulate you”, fluted Floki, “You have proven that you are faithful after all. The gods heard you and they provided.” “So you think?”, Björn couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “So he knows, brother”, Ivar lectured.

They had come face to face now and Björn did not hesitate. He slapped Floki without a warning, without even the bat of an eye, right across the face. Floki did not utter a single sound, but Ivar’s grin disappeared in an instant. Björn’s upper lip was twitching, waiting for Floki to look back up at him. When he did he only dared so for a moment. With downcast eyes and a beaten face he awaited his judgment. “This is not the end”, Björn growled, then his gaze sank to look down to Ivar, “Your mother will hear of this.” He didn’t wait for further explanations or excuses. He simply turned and left. His face was a grim sight to behold the rest of the day. A sight his brothers did not have to suffer.

After they had safely retrieved the provisions for their journey homeward, they spent the day by themselves. Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd wandered the forest together and sat at the edge beside the waterfall to watch the sundown when it came.

Ivar was left to his own devices, while Floki withdrew himself into the care of Helga. He visited the temple once again and sat down at the edge of Odin’s pond. He looked up to the grim figure, feeling as if it looked down upon him. The longer he looked, the angrier he got. Finally, he crawled off, and disappeared into his shared tent.

They did not speak to him. He was used to it. It has happened before, it would pass again. After they had finished eating, they soon went to bed to rest before they took on the long and strenuous journey home. Ivar went to bed with a smile. He knew mother would not punish him and if she heard of their deed, she would grant Floki nothing but praise and protection.

His smile died when he thought about how their trial had failed. Sigurd was not a true believer, he thought, gnawing the inside of his cheek, without Ubbe and Hvitserk he would never have found it. His eyes traveled into the direction where his brother must be lying. He deserved no praise, he tasted blood, only the gods deserve it, all of it! He did not sleep a second that night.

Sigurd did neither. Was it really him that found it? It can’t be true. Ubbe had spotted the traces! He just kicked a rock. The gods do not listen to him, they never do, they never did. Why now? Why here? His thoughts ran in unstoppable circles.

After a small breakfast, the boys packed up their tent while Ivar sat on his chair facing the temple, awaiting their departure. He wondered one last time at the magic of the gods that housed in their golden-roofed abode.

After simmering with anger and disappointment the day before, Björn was relieved and in a good mood that day. He met his brothers with a spring in his step only Hvitserk shared. Ubbe was also looking forward to returning home. He worried about the safety and well-being of their mother. Sigurd couldn’t wait to leave this place either.

They all had their assigned packs to carry and not long after dawn they set off into the woods. Björn led on, the people of Kattegat followed and at the rear went Ubbe, Sigurd and Hvitserk, carrying Ivar in his wooden chair. They took one last look at the temple of Uppsala, some longer some shorter. And then they set off. Home.

[therealvikingstrash]

More of my Loðbrók Magazine AU for @bouncehousedemons special day! 💕

[flokileroux]

My laptop crashed last week and a huge part of my writing for the second part of Inspector Taylors Cases is lost.... but that's actually not a bad thing at all because now I am forced to rewrite everything and I wanted to change a few things around anyway...

Still sucks though....

[flokileroux]

me - trying to get over the fact that my crime novel only has about 30.000 words although German is infamously known for killing any word count that international universities forbade to use German in essays...

it's a lot of stuff...

[milkb0nny]

Hii 👋🏼 Can you do an Ivar x floki daughter? They were raised together and she was his only friend when he was younger because she wasn't scared and he'll always protect her.

Older she become a healer of the village, and one day floki want her to marry ubble/hwitserk and Ivar become very very jaloux..👀

You can make fluff/smut/ angst as you want!

thank u 🤍☺️

Sorry for my English it’s not my first language

Jealous Games

Ivar the Boneless x fem!reader

Summary: One day, your father enters your room, unveiling that your parents want you to marry Ubbe. Though, the past years you grew feeling for another man: Ivar. You never told anyone about your true feelings for the man but now that Ubbe is supposed to be your husband, you feel utterly broken down. Refusing the offer, you leave the scene, only to discover a life changing secret...

Note: Thank you SO much for this request. It was a lot of fun writing it. I enjoyed writing this particular request more than I should've. 🤍 I hope you'll like it!

Warnings: slight angst (nothing graphic), forced possible marriage, mentions of anger issues, detailed kissing scene

Genres: slight angst, fluff

word count: 2.445

Ivar's childhood was shrouded in a tapestry of dark grays and blacks, a period marked by relentless bullying, discrimination, and a stark absence of love. love. Amid this harsh environment, Aslaug, his devoted mother, stood as one of the few adults who genuinely embraced him. Yet, even her unwavering love couldn't quell the relentless growth of his simmering anger. But, within these somber times, there existed a glimmer of hope - a hope that emerged when you entered his life.

Ivar adored Floki, viewing him as his own father and protector. Whenever the cruelty of both children and adults bore down upon him, Floki served as a steadfast anchor, and so did you. Your friendship started with a shy hesitation.

Helga and Floki, your parents, had taught you to always accept others, no matter how they looked like. You watched your father engage with Ivar, teaching him the art of weaponry and regaling him with Nordic sagas. You had shared them whenever you wanted company and as a result, the two of you became friends.

As the years passed, your bond with Ivar deepened. He shielded you from any unwelcome advances, such as nasty men, while you provided solace during his most challenging moments. Together, you embarked on hunting expeditions, sharing meals at Ivar's dwelling with his family.

Fortunately, his mother held you in high regard. She possessed a strict demeanor when it came to the women who orbited around her beloved sons, yet she understood your unshakable bond with Ivar. With open arms, she welcomed you whenever you graced her home with your cherished friend.

Of course you faced discriminating comments and remarks from time to time because of Ivar, though you stayed by Ivar’s side. You were the only woman who glimpsed Ivar's vulnerabilities, the only girl who had witnessed his anguished tears and experienced the gentleness that lay beneath his hard exterior during your shared childhood.

You knew him, cherished him, and secretly, perhaps even loved him. Yet, you concealed your affections, carrying them within your heart, as your father saw you both as siblings. Sure, you grew up together and were basically one person, but you could also love him, right?

You kept your adoration hidden and you honestly were fine with it because you remained close to Ivar but you always faced struggles when a woman tried to seduce him. You were a strong and loving woman, supporting a man whom few understood or respected.

In recent years, you had devoted your time to the study of science and honed your skills as a healer. Your knowledge extended to various herbs and methods to mend any kind of injury. Ivar sought your counsel frequently, valuing the conversations you shared.

The atmosphere between you was one of relaxation, love, and kindness, something that Ivar rarely encountered in his tumultuous life. He harbored deep emotions for you, but fear held him back. Rejection had been his constant companion throughout life, even from his own father, Ragnar Lothbrok. This fear of rejection crippled him, making him hesitant to express his emotions to you.

One day, your father entered your room with an unusual expression. You initially assumed he was about to share one of Floki's eccentric ideas, as was his habit. Therefore a bright smile creeped over your lovely face, greeting your father. However, what he proposed was far from comforting; it shattered your heart in a matter of seconds.

“I've been thinking about arranging a marriage between you and Ubbe,” he said, his words falling like lead..

You raised your eyebrows, believing that he joked at first but his serious expression remained - he meant it.

“Uh, father. I don’t know if I-,” you began, only to be interrupted by his eager explanation.

“I thought you’d remain close to Ivar and find a man who truly treats you right. I know Ubbe is a good man who will respect you,” he continued.

You pondered his words briefly, acknowledging that Ubbe was a compassionate and respectful man who held women in high regard. During your childhood, you had formed a fondness for him, but it was far from romantic.

No, you truly despised the idea.

“Father, I don't wish to marry," you protested vehemently, rejecting Floki's wishes, which he met with displeasure. You couldn't fathom joining hands with a man you didn't love, especially if it were your true love's brother. The thought left you with an overwhelming sense of unease.

“Child, you've reached a point in your life where you need a man to protect you. You're all on your own, and we're concerned," he voiced his genuine worries. While you understood his concerns, this request felt like an intrusion on your own autonomy, a call you couldn't embrace. You preferred making your parents proud and being a memorable member of Kattegat, but this wasn’t your true faith.

You were bound to none other than Ivar the Boneless, a man whose depths you knew better than your own skills as a healer. As you sat there, Floki's hand swept across his weary face, his gaze avoiding yours as he delivered the unimaginable truth.

“Ubbe has asked for your hand in marriage, and we've already agreed with Aslaug. The decision has been made, my dear," he disclosed, a heavy burden of heartache settling upon you. Tears welled in your eyes, and your cheeks flushed with the ache of this revelation.

“No, Father,” you protested, your voice quivering from the shock of their decision, made without your consent.

“We only want you to be happy," Floki tried to bridge the emotional chasm, but his words fell on deaf ears. You were consumed by fury, your emotions tearing at you, digging a chasm within your heart.

“I’m not!” You cried out, finally allowing your pent-up emotions to pour forth. "I'm not happy, Father. You have a woman you love, and Mother loves you too. Why can't I?” You shouted while tears ran down your soft skin, falling onto the ground. You sobbed uncontrollably.

“No, don’t think that,” Floki tried to console you, his heart aching as he witnessed your distress. After all, you were his beloved daughter, a sweet and loving child he cherished. Right now, you feared the fatherly connection was breaking apart.

“I’m not marrying Ubbe! I’d rather die,” you declared, your voice barely a whisper but loud enough for your father to comprehend. With those words hanging heavily in the air, you rose and fled the room, leaving your father behind. As you left the building you came across Ubbe, who of course knew about the idea before you did, though you rage signalized that you weren’t enlightened.

Floki followed closely, calling your name, but your steps quickened with each utterance. Ultimately, you ran away, seeking refuge in the familiar embrace of the Kattegat forest, a place you knew intimately. You spent a lot of time in the forests and fields to collect herbs and plants, sometimes even staying overnight in summer. With your father, mother, Ubbe, and the impending marriage fading into the background, you retreated into the solitude of the woods. Little did you know your secret significant other just found out about the marriage through Sigurd.

“You’re telling me, y/n is going to marry my brother?” The crackling fire of the fireplace represented Ivar’s slight rage as he received the information.

Sigurd understood that you were Ivar's soft spot, and while he relished the opportunity to tease his brother, he also conveyed the truth. Aslaug had kept this secret from Ivar, knowing precisely what she was doing.

“Yes. Ubbe is the eldest among us brothers, so it only makes sense for him to claim one of the town's most important women, Ivar,” Sigurd explained while deftly carving a sculpture from wood.

Ivar despised the idea entirely, his lips chewed raw as he gazed out the window. It was not Ubbe's right to simply take any woman, especially not you. He believed Ubbe was not meant for your delicate being, no matter how loving, respectful, and kind he might be. At least in the eyes of the Ragnarsson, Ubbe would never be worthy.

As the evening progressed, Ubbe and Floki entered the brothers' home. Ivar remained silent, seething with anger and disappointment. However, he was not Ubbe's primary concern.

“Ubbe, she ran way. I cannot force her,” Floki implored Ubbe to reconsider.

“Floki, it’s not your fault. I love her though, and you know it. I’d treat her with everything she desires and I’ll love the children she will bear,” Ubbe explained, greeting Sigurd and Ivar with a small nod.

“You don't love her if you'll force her to marry you," Ivar's words were cold and stern, his anger barely contained.

“Excuse me?” Ubbe was taken aback by the accusation.

Finally, Ivar’s jealousy piqued and he looked up to his brother, “You heard me. She doesn’t love you. She never will!” His words struck like a shock.

Sigurd, joining the conversation, couldn't resist a taunt, “Oh, are your little feelings hurt because she won’t hop in bed with you? Poor Ivar.”

Oh, how much Ivar hated these people, these cruel brothers who always take his hope away. They rob him of his freedom, his excitement and love. They always seemed to achieve everything, while Ivar was left with nothing but solitude and heartache. As the tension simmered within the dimly lit room, Ivar's words hung heavy in the air, causing a palpable rift between the brothers.

“Ivar, you have no right to dictate her heart. She's a woman with her own choices," Ubbe retorted, his voice carrying an air of defiance.

Ivar scoffed as a response to this unsolicited statement. It wasn’t Ivar who was trying to force himself upon you, it was Ubbe. All his life Ivar did nothing to pressure you or force you to do something. You had been safe around him, no burdens dragging you down when you had spent time together.

Sigurd, needing to provoke Ivar further, leaned in with a sly smile, "Is that so, Ivar? Or are you just afraid she might choose someone else over you?"

The youngest among them decided to not react to the jokes Sigurd made as he intentionally tried to fuel Ivar’s anger. While Ivar was torn between his immense longing for you and the realization that he might never be able to offer you the love and protection you deserved, Ivar couldn't help but feel that marrying Ubbe was wrong. The young Ragnarsson decided to leave the situation, searching for you.

They didn’t, but Ivar did.

Meanwhile, you had found safety in the forest, away from the prying eyes and expectations of your family and the town of Kattegat. There, you wandered aimlessly. As you reached a small, shallow river, you placed yourself on a rock. The silence and peace gave you enough room to reflect on the horrible decision of your parents.

You couldn’t deny your love for Ivar anymore. Whenever you thought about becoming Ubbe’s wife, Ivar’s face popped up on your mind. He was the fragile yet strong man you truly desired with your whole heart.

Tears still covered your face, seeking their way down into the cold water of the river.

It was in this melancholic moment that you spotted a familiar face among the shadows. Ivar’s presence unveiled itself on the other side of the river. His intense blue eyes, filled with a mixture of longing and despair, locked onto yours.

“Y/n,” he called your name out, his voice heavy with emotion.

You blinked a few times and a broken, yet warm smile rushed over your lips. You stood up, jumping over the small width of the river, getting closer to Ivar.

“Ivar…,” you whispered, seating you down next to him.

Even though you appreciated his company, your heart couldn’t bear to look into his loyal eyes. Alone the fact others think you and Ubbe would be a suitable couple made you feel dirty.

Ivar’s eyes remained locked on you, his voice filling the silence between you, “You… you don’t want to marry my brother, right?”

You frantically shook your head as an answer.

Ivar came a little closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I can't stand the thought of you being with him," he confessed, his vulnerability laid bare. Jealousy or not, his emotions were genuine and Ivar thrived for your love. Yet, he never told you.

“Ivar,” you whispered, contemplating whether you should reveal your intimate feelings. “Ubbe isn’t the man I want to call husband. Of course he’s intelligent and a wonderful fighter, though…”

Ivar’s soothing voice interjected, “I want you to stay by my side.”

Finally, a massive amount of weight released the both of you, and you widened your eyes in surprise. His confession lightened a fire inside you that you had guessed was already banished. A smile lingered on your lips while you replayed his words again and again in your mind. He asked you to remain his, not to become Ubbe’s woman or anyone else’s.

His eyes expressed his fear of rejection, since you two had shared a unique relationship he couldn’t put together. Your beautiful smile warmed his mind though, letting his hope grow little by little.

Your heart quickened in response to the significant magnetic pull between you. Softly, you said the words you had longed to say the past years.

“Ivar, I love you.”

Without a further word, Ivar reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. His touch was both tender and possessive, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of your face. He never held you like this - a whole new level of trust and intimacy unveiled itself. His passion and your admiration mixed together.

Slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss. You didn’t know how a kiss normally feels like, but you knew his kiss was the right thing. His lips were warm and inviting, and his breath mingled with yours, creating an intimate connection that defied the existence of everything but your shared love for one another.

It was a kiss filled with unspoken promises - the weight of unexpressed emotions that were kept hidden for many years. It was a kiss that spoke of a love that had always been there, just waiting to be acknowledged, waiting to bloom, waiting to emerge.

When he gently pulled away, your hearts were racing, and a breathless silence hung between you.

Ivar's eyes stared into yours, filled with a raw intensity that left no room for doubt. He loved you too.

“No one will take your hand, except for me, Ástvinur.”

[flokidokie]

Is it arrogant to like ones fanfic so much to get it printed? No? Good, because that's exactly what I did!

Featuring a framed picture of yours truly, Thomas Barrow, because it just looks so good on my vintage gallery wall.

[flokileroux]

Behind the fog they lurk. You must reach the lighthouse else you never return.

[itoendme]

i havent ranted about vinland saga in a hot second but after doing some manga rereading, i've been thinking about how vinland saga conveys so well how hard it is to actually break the cycle of violence.

thorfinn doesn't just become a pacifist. it takes time, effort, and self reflection both to decide that he wants to give up violence and to actually make good on that. and he does relapse. he punches the bullies retainers at the farm, he fights against snake, and during the baltic sea war, he fights garm ad nearly kills floki. just because he's not using weapons doesn't mean he's not being violent. in the instances of snake and garm, he's not being violent because he wants to hurt people, but because of the society he lives in and the circumstances he grew up in, fighting often occurs to him as the easiest and/or only way out. many of his problems would be solved more easily with violence. if he'd beat canute's guard at the farm, he wouldn't have had to endure 100 punches. if he'd fought garm earlier, they could have gotten out of the baltic sea war a hell of a lot easier. if he'd beat up ivar, maybe things would have turned out differently instead of raising tensions that ultimately led to violence in the end. swearing off violence is a choice that actively makes his life infinitely harder. it's not easy for him, and it's not something he succeeds at in one go.

and then we have hild. forgiving thorfinn for her father's murder and choosing not to continue the cycle is not a quick or easy decision for her. its something she agonizes over. even though she knows from the beginning that forgiving him is what her father wants her to do, it's not so easy for her to follow that advice. she hates thorfinn, she's the only one of the vinland gang that's seen what he did as a warrior first hand, and having the others try to tell her that her anger isn't justified because 'thorfinn is a good guy now' must have only fueled her anger. And even after she stops seeing thorfinn as a threat, it still takes time for that hatred to ebb away. and eventually making the decision not only to spare his life, but to forgive him, reconciling the vision of him that she built in her head with what she observed of him after joining the group was an internal battle.

breaking the cycle of violence isn't something you can do just by thinking that you should. it's greater than any one person. In the setting of vs, violence and revenge are societal norms. vagn is disappointed in thorfinn when thorfinn refuses to kill floki. I'm bad at writing conclusions, but i just really appreciate how, in vs the transition from wanting and indulging in violence to denouncing it is well-paced and realistic.

[flokileroux]

It all started with a woman, because every good detective story is about a woman…. or rather the absence of a woman.

Inspector Frederik Taylor begins his search for missing journalist Josephine White at the last place she was seen: the remote island of Cetecea Island. With the help of his new colleague Sergeant Olivia Thompson and the arrogant billionaire's son Otis Ballard, he ventures to uncover the island's secrets. In the process, he is not only drawn into the machinations of Centennial Energy Corp, but witnesses events that are to change his life forever.

What Taylor doesn't realise is that this is only the first of many strange cases.

Join Inspector Frederik Taylor on the first of his strange cases and discover the mystery of the Island of the Floating Whales.

Order the GERMAN novel now in the epubli shop or online in the bookshop of your choice.

Epubli 🐋: https://www.epubli.com/shop/die-insel-der-schwebenden-wale-9783757534691

Thalia 🐋: https://www.thalia.de/shop/home/artikeldetails/A1068419378

[jadelynlace]

Learning to Walk Again⎮Ink Drinker Deleted Scene⎮Modern Vikings AU [Ivar x F!Reader]

Find more Ink Drinker here.

Author's Note: This takes place somewhere between Chapter Six, and Chapter Seven, and as someone who is only a provider for patients pre-hospital, this defienetly pushed me out of my comfort zone. (And was likely why it took my so long to write again.)

Content Warnings: Medical settings, Ivar being reluctant.

Word Count: 2600+ words

“Giving you love right now, Ivar, seems like a desperate act,”

It intoxicates him, lying in the cot; and having seen the abyss he’s falling towards up close, he still refuses. Floki sits on the other side of the room, painstakingly watching Ivar stare at the ceiling, at the world just beyond his window. He’s watching him waste away; pushing himself up on few occasions to readjust, but he refuses food. Refuses help. He just simply refuses.

“The only way I am leaving here, Ivar, is if you get up and escort me out,” Floki has told him, calmly. 

“Do you want my lunch?” Ivar asks dryly. Floki on shakes his head. “You’ve been here for days,” He tries.

“As have you,” Floki starts. “The only difference is, Helga has packed me food. You know how she gets,” 

“Go home to her,” Ivar grumbles.

“No,” Floki replies, and it’s firm. Reasonable. Steady—what Ivar needs right now. His eyes are still closed as he speaks, head resting back against the wall. Floki never sleeps, Ivar is sure of that. He only rests. 

“I don’t want to break up your marriage because of this. I’ve already lost Y/N,”

“You fight for what you want,” Floki simply says. “And, if you would look at any other place than outside your window, you bastard, you’d notice, she’s been in the hall,” Ivar turns his head quickly at that. But he knows, Floki never lies. 

You’re there, propped up in one of the most uncomfortable chairs you’ve ever sat in, your sweatshirt bunched into a makeshift pillow as you scroll on your phone. You’re still in your uniform, and you’ll probably stay in it until your next shift. There’s a single water bottle on the ground, and as Ivar watches you, a nurse stops at your side. She offers you something to eat and you accept it. Because she knows you’ve been here for days, too.

“Thank you, Thora,” You say softly and your throat is dry. Dry from misuse, dry from crying. Dry.

“You’re alone today,” She remarks, and takes the set next to you. Your eyes watch her, trailing from your phone to her face before dancing down to her ID badge, clipped to her scrubs by a cartoon pizza slice, complete with a smile. 

“Yeah, his brother wanted to get some sleep in a place that won’t cause him irreversible spine damage,” You hum, watching Thora split her sandwich into two pieces.

“You might want to try that too,” Thora says softly, handing you your half. “They seems really close,”

“They’re twins,” You state. “They were made that way,” You snort. “We uh, we worked his crash together,” You then tell her.

“Wow,” Thora answers. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like,”

“I couldn’t tell you, either, I haven’t—haven’t processed it yet,”

“You will in time,” She tells you. “If you don’t die from exhaustion, or spine damage first,” She teases you, and you snort.

“I didn’t get to be where I am without being determined,” You answer. “Chief didn’t raise no quitter,” And that phrase alone makes you smile. 

For a moment you wish he was here; everything makes sense with him around. Your drawing he handed you is still in your pocket, and every so often you find your fingers gravitating towards it. Like a toddler and their favorite blanket. It makes sense. Just like everything makes sense in the bay at the station. You can’t remember how many times you’ve sat on those floors, even prior to your career, just to find some piece of mind. That warmth of nostalgia from the cool touch to the concrete; and the smell—one you’ve never found anywhere else. How your home smells, only to you. A scent you could notice any moment, but it would only make sense in that one place. You’d wheel Ivar there in a heartbeat if you thought it would have the same affect on him.

“If he doesn’t start eating soon, we’ll have to place him on a feeding tube,” Thora suddenly admits. 

“I know,” You say. 

Ivar watches you converse, not able to know what you’re saying but with the expression on your face, he learns it’s nothing pleasant. You’re paler now than he remembers, there’s no color to your cheeks, you’re gaunt, you’re simple existing as he is. 

That’s the moment Ivar realizes it. If this kills him, it’s going to kill you, too. 

It’ll kill Floki.

It’ll kill Hvitserk.

It’ll kill Aiden.

It’ll kill his mother.

It’ll kill you. It’ll kill the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with. 

Inhaling suddenly, a panic seeps into Ivar—as if something has grabbed him, holding him under water and his screams only bubble to the surface. Sitting up quickly he grips his bed sheets, the monitor to his side beeps rapidly to announce the anxiety and it draws Floki’s attention. It draws Thora’s attention, and with a bite of turkey in your mouth, you look up at the man, with panic etched into his features, he is staring back at you.

“Ivar?” Floki says, and even you notice that this is concerning to him. “Ivar? What’s going on?”

“I—,” And out of all the languages he can speak, none of them want to trickle off his tongue. Thora stands in anticipation and you only put your hand to slow her down.

“Leave him be,” You finally say after swallowing your bite. “Floki’s the best thing for him right now,”

“Not if he’s having a serious problem,” Thora answers, looking down at you.

“He’s not,” You reply. “I know that look,” You tell her.

“I can’t kill her,” Ivar finally says.

“Ivar…?” Floki starts.

“Y/N,” Ivar replies, as if the answer is as clear for Floki as it is for him. “I can’t kill Y/N,”

“You think this is killing her?” Floki asks. “Tell me more,” Ivar swallows thickly.

“She’s…she’s pale,” Ivar replies. Floki negates to turn to look at you, waiting for what more is to come. Ivar takes his hands to scrub the tears out of his eyes before speaking again:

“She’s in the same uniform,”

“She wears and identical uniform, Ivar. Every day,”

“No—no she washes it after work. Right after work—she’s through the door and…and it’s in the wash before anything else. I always—I always kiss her shoulder when she’s done and she said—she wants a tattoo there now because it’s so reparative. It drives me up the fucking wall too because sometimes…she just washes it alone, or I’ve done my laundry already and then she’s there, taking off her uniform,”

You watch Ivar. You watch him explain something to Floki with the intensity through his features, a passion to his words and you wonder what on earth he could be talking about.  

“The color is always brighter after the wash, and it’s always dim when she comes home from work. Like…like she’s so excited to go into the job she loves, and even though she’s drained when she comes home, she does it all again because that’s who she is,”

“Ivar,” Floki tries. 

“And it’s so dim right now, Floki—her uniform, her face, everything is so fucking dim because of me. And this is killing me, because I can hardly move and—and I keep trying to tell my legs to move but they’re ignoring me. And if this kills me, it’s going to kill her. Where will she find that color if I die, Floki?” Ivar finally cries.

Floki’s eyes water, inhaling deeply as he watches the little boy he remembers cry in front of him.

“Ivar,” Floki says. “Let’s stand up, and we’ll go from there,” 

And Ivar nods. Without even thinking about the sentence, he nods every so slightly that Floki almost misses it. 

Stunned for a moment, Floki swallows, mentally patting himself on the shoulder as he straightens. He puts a hand on Ivar’s shoulder, squeezing for a second before he abandons his bag on the chair and turns to the hallway. Opening the door and cleaning his throat he looks at both you, and Thora.

“Think you can help him stand, Y/N?” Floki asks. In all honesty, you’re quite positive you’re imagining it. “Y/N?” Floki asks again.

“Help him…help him stand?” You ask.

“Did I stutter?” Floki tries. You inhale, standing as Thora follows you. But before she can follow you into the room, Floki cuts off her path. 

“Give them a second,” He winks. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” Floki asks her.

“Hi,” Ivar says to you softly.

“Hi, Ivar,” You say back to him as he finally looks up at you. “Oh, Ivar…” You trail off, taking the pad of your thumb to wipe the tear that spills. He melts into your hand at an instance, leaning against your palm as if you’re taking away every ounce of discomfort for him.

“I don’t want to kill you,” Ivar mumbles.

“What?” You ask.

“I don’t want to kill you too,” He repeats, as if it makes sense to you, like it does to him. 

“You won’t,” You try.

“If I don’t get better, I will,” He tells you and that’s when it hits you, too. 

“Then lets stand up, just you and me, yeah?” You try.

“Are you allowed to do that?” Ivar asks, stalling.

“I am a medical professional,” You say. “And they can sue me if they think otherwise. I’ll move the blanket, you don’t have to look, alright?” You tell him and Ivar nods. 

It aches Ivar as he feels you pull the sheet from his leg, relishing in the fact that he can feel it; he can feel the cold air against his skin, but he won’t look. You eyes scan his legs, still wrapped in dressings, less stitches than you remember and you gently place you hand on his thigh.

“You feel that?” You ask and Ivar nods. Your mind takes over, as if he is a patient in your care and you asses is pedal pulse, two fingers on the top of his foot and it’s strong. “Can you feel that?” You whisper and Ivar nods, still looking directly at you. Only at you. You take your knuckle against the ball of his foot, tracing from heel to toe lightly, and back down again. “How about that?” And he nods, a glimmer of a smirk to his lips at how it tickles him. “Can you move your toes for me?” You then ask him, and Ivar does—eyes still not leaving yours. He watches how your eyes water, and you recall asking him similar questions in the heat of the crash’s aftermath and how he slurred a response. 

“Can you roll your ankles at all?” You whisper. And you watch them rotate, just as you ask. You take you thumb to his nail bed, pressing against his toe to watch the capillary refill in almost perfect time. And the whole time, Ivar’s eye never leave your face. “Alright,” You squeak. “I’ll help you swing them slowly,”

“Wait,” Ivar says suddenly. “Come here,” And you obey. His hands stretch towards you, taking up your cheeks as he brushes the hair from your face, and wiping under your eyes. He pulls you in then, his lips just brushing yours and you can’t help the small cry that escapes, that’s caught between the two of you before it’s swallowed with the kiss.

“I love you,” Ivar whispers.

“I love you, too,”

“Now I’m ready,” Ivar tells you.

Your hands are nearly hot coals against his legs, as you try to be as gentle as possible with your heart rate nearly pounding in your ears. You have half a mind to stop, to pull out your phone so you can record it but you don’t want to ruin the moment. 

“Fuck, that tile is a lot colder than I thought it would be,” Ivar grumbles and it makes you laugh. “If I fall, you know you’re going to fall with me, right?”

“Gee, Ivar, I hadn’t really thought of that,” You say sarcastically and there’s a glare from his face that you don’t realize how much you have missed until that moment.

With his feet on the floor you repeat the same movements, assess, feeling, having him move his toes and his ankles and all the while Ivar won’t look at his legs. Adjusting his hospital gown, you position his hand to grip the railing, and you put your shoulder under his opposite arm. 

“Ready?” You ask.

“Not really,” Ivar admits. 

“If you think you’re going to fall, just sit back down, alright?” 

“You ever done this before?” Ivar asks, stalling.

“Only at least once a day while I’m on duty,” You answer. 

“I don’t know if I can—”

“Ivar, not today,” You state. “We’re not doing this today, we’re not doubting ourselves,” And Ivar inhales. “On three, yeah?”

“Baby—”

“Ivar,” You say sternly, catching his eyes. “You can do this. You can stand up. It’ll get you that much closer to coming home,” 

“Alright,” Ivar peeps.

“One, two…two and a half…three,” You finally say. And as you hold your breath your barrel your feet down against the ground, taking Ivar’s weight as you help to lift him. You watch the muscles in his arm tense, the veins popping into view as he pushes himself to be flat on his feet. And for a moment, time freezes, and Ivar stands. 

He stands.

“Fuck,” Ivar hisses. “It’s worse than pins and needles,” He groans. 

“Lean some of your weight on me,” You tell him. And he does. “Alright, good, now shift some back against the bed,” You then say. As Ivar follows your command you take your free arm and you reach for the walker that’s collecting dust by his bed. 

“We’re going to switch, and you’re going to push your weight through your hands against the walker, alright?”

“No—I’ll fall,” Ivar tries.

“On three, yeah?”

“Y/N,” Ivar tells you but you know better this time than to let him pull himself out of the moment. You move the device in front of him and he follows suit without argument, grunting slightly as he moves his hand from the rail to the handle. Slowly you help him bring the other hand down, catching his weight before he’s standing on his own, hands gripping the bars for dear life. 

And you laugh—in sheer shock you look at Ivar standing before you.

“Ivar!” You exclaim. “You’re standing, you’re—you’re fucking standing!”

Ivar has a look of discomfort across his face, mixing with the anguish and what feels like slight embarrassment while you reward him for what he thinks is the most basic fucking thing.

“Where do you hurt?” You ask quickly, searching his face.

“Do you want to guess?” Ivar snaps at you. His breathing rate increases as he feels his palms get sweaty and he worries he’s going to lose his balance.

“I’m right here, Ivar,” You tell him. 

“I’m standing,” He finally croaks. “I’m actually—standing,” And there’s a smile on his face. 

You move yourself to his vision, reaching through your toes to kiss his chin and you smile back at him. 

“I told you,” You whisper to him, and Ivar sees that color come back to your face.

“Where’s Floki?” Ivar asks.

“Did you really think I would go that far, eh?” Floki sings from the hallway. 

“Floki—I’m standing,” Ivar says in disbelief. “You have to call Hvitserk,” He adds.

“My phone is a bit busy right now,” Floki hums, and you notice then, where his bag sits abandoned in his chair, his phone sits just outside of it, propped up, and recording. 

Tags:

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full masterlist can be found here.

[flokileroux]

THIS! I'm so happy somebody else feels like this because I got worried. I write scenes one by one, almost never in the order they will eventually be in. Sometimes I write a scene two or three times, sometimes even because I forget that I have already written it. Then I compare these scenes and mash them together to a version with the best parts of both.

Sometimes I rewrite scenes after adding a new scene before or after it that has some new information I haven't worked in when I wrote it back then.

Until I actually come to write all these scenes into one manuscript, which is technically the first complete draft, it is actually like the sixth or seventh draft, because I edited the scenes individually when I had to.

The first book I wrote? The first draft was also the final draft and I only corrected some typos and a few words my beta reader didn't understand and that weren't fit for the general audience.

But to be fair I also grew up with a lot of do it right the first time then you don't have to correct so much later though...

Just in case anyone was confused or concerned.

Drafting is a skill. And it's a skill you can learn. If you ever look at your first draft and go 'actually this is good' do not immediately go 'no it's can't be good it's a first draft'. If you've been writing for a while (like years) writing a draft that is perfectly serviceable and only needs some editing without a ton of cutting is like... fine.

I spend a lot of my time 'writing' and 'rewriting' drafts 6-10 times in my head and when they finally come out as my 'first draft' (or a second in some cases) it's already been through 2-8 revisions. The work has been done and the words I'm writing are the culmination of those revisions. I just didn't write it down.

Not all revisions have to take place in meat space or as text on a screen. Revisions happen as you play out scenarios over and over again in day dreams or bed time stories. Your first draft is not something that Must be conquered and tamed into something presentable. Sometimes you nail it because you've spent all the revision time already.

This is not something that comes to everyone. But it is something you can get good at. You do not have to agonize over a 5th rewrite if the first time you've put words to paper is already the 6th revision that's gotten better every time. There's a lotta 'you gotta suffer to make a book good' in writeblr I just don't agree with. You can just nail it the "First Time". Not every time. But you can.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you for tagging me @timetravelingpenguin1066 <3

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

111.

2. what's your total AO3 word count?

413,187.

3. what fandoms do you write for?

Actively: House of the Dragon, The Last Kingdom and Ewanverse characters. Previously: Vikings, MCU, Game of Thrones, and a few miscellaenous characters played by the Skarsgård brothers.

4. top five fics by kudos

Who Taught You How to Love Like That?, Unbearable, Ride, Mine, Perzys se Rūkla (wow, I am popular with the Daemon crowd on AO3, who'd've thunk it?!)

5. do you respond to comments?

For a really long time I didn't, simply because I am a creature of procrastination and AO3 isn't a platform I check often. I think it got to something ridiculous like 400 unread comments, so I wiped them all and started fresh and since then I make a point to go in once a week and reply.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Either Careless Words or My Body is a Cage

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably The Shielded Heart.

8. do you get hate on fics?

I did for As the Gods Intended - this person was really bent out of shape about the incest and abusive dynamic within the fic, but I went onto their page and all of their fics were Lucemond ones, which seemed hypocritical to me, so I blocked them!

9. do you write smut?

Yes.

10. craziest crossover?

I don't really do crossovers - I did a Tom Bennett/Billy Taylor cross over once. That's my only one. It's called Body Electric.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not an outright copy and paste, but I have fallen prey to mosaic plagiarism, and it feels equally violating. Especially when the person admits to it, but then refuses to rewrite the portions they've lifted from you.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, Unbearable was translated into Portuguese for Wattpad (with credit).

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, the unpublished Socussy fic - @bottlesandbarricades @targaryenrealnessdarling @em-writes-stuff-sometimes and I all created something nightmarish. It lingers in Google docs, like a beating heart beneath the floorboards.

14. all time favorite ship?

Floki and Helga from Vikings (I have previously written fics for this) and Tifa and Cloud from Final Fantasy VII (never written fics for this and never will)

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have yet to leave a WIP unfinished!

16. what are your writing strengths?

Characterisation, clear and concise prose.

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

Sometimes I can be too objective.

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Love it. I never use a translator, as I prefer the challenge of figuring it out myself. Particularly High Valyrian.

19. first fandom you wrote in?

Vikings.

20. favorite fic you've written?

I'm currently very proud of Cozened Indigo.

No pressure tags: @vampire-exgirlfriend @emilykaldwen @targaryenrealnessdarling @moris-auri

@flowerandblood @barbieaemond @superprincesspea @exitpursuedbyavulcan

[entitled-fangirl]

if.... IF I was to write for Vikings...

I'M ONLY ON S2 SO EVERY OTHER CHARACTER WILL JUST HAVE TO WAIT

[willtheweaver]

Writing share game

Tagged by @kaylinalexanderbooks

Rules: share some writing!

Mixing things up a little. Here is a snippet from one of the stories in Dreamspinnings

(CW: characters going on hunger strike, and self-inflicted injuries)

——————————————————————

The four siblings felt ashamed for their actions. They gave back the gifts they stole, and afterwards, they scattered to the winds seeking atonement. It was said that one traveled south into the great deserts. Meditating beneath what little shade there was, his fur faded to the pale yellows and browns of the sand, and his ears grew large, so that he could always hear Al-Gia. Meanwhile, the second sibling headed north to the frozen waste. She stood still through blizzards until her fur became as white as snow.

The last to remain in the forest were the twins Renerd and Floki. Their paths would be the hardest. Floki took to burning great fires, and walking over the hot coals, day in and day out. The smoke and the heat of the fire eventually charred his fur black. Meanwhile, Renerd had taken to lying in thorn bushes, nettles, and brambles until they tore his skin, and his fur was stained red from all the blood lost. All the while, none of the four took any sustenance. All were on the verge of death when they were stopped.

“Enough!” Al-Gia spoke to the siblings. “You have gone far enough. You need not continue on these paths of self-destruction. My forgiveness, I grant unto you.”

The four siblings felt a warmth inside of them. It was like the summer sun. As it faded, the four foxes found that they were returned to full health, though their appearances remained as they were.

“Let your forms always be a reminder of your actions.” The great deity declared. “Never forget to stay humble, for the world will stand against you. But I shall not forsake you. I approve the gifts of swiftness and cunning. Others may be stronger, some may match your fleetness, but none shall match your intelligence. Remain quick on your feet, and quick of thought, and you and your descendants shall prosper.”

——————————————————————

Phew! That was a long one. (I must be mad, for this is from a spinoff book and I am still working on the main story. )

Tagging @late-to-the-fandom @splashinkling @jay-avian @theeccentricraven @poethill @whatwewrotepodcast @winterandwords @the-ellia-west @illarian-rambling @mk-writes-stuff @somethingclevermahogony @gottestod-writes and open tag for anyone who wants to jump in.

[flokileroux]

The mysterious fog had held the island in its iron grip for so long that most of the inhabitants of Crooks Meadow could not remember a time when it had not been so. A few, however, believed its origin lay hidden somewhere on Hawthorne Hill, veiled behind a common gas explosion. But who could know for sure? Time, at any rate, seemed to pass differently in this dense sea of fog.

Warm lights in cold places