#mine: lagertha*

[dailybisexuals]

bi text posts - part one

HAPPY BISEXUAL VISIBILITY DAY!!!!!!!!!!!! be bi be proud!!!!

bonus:

[solioquyforme]

Aftermath of Ubbe and Lhyrie’s spar. In the days after, she trains more with Lagertha and gets help from an unexpected guest. Ubbe spends his days with Alfred. Lhyrie treats a patient.

This chapter came together much too quickly. That’s what you get with sleeping issues.

[somewherebetweenrage]

slightly mad about my tag situation let's see if this at least makes them easy to find

[victoria-styles]

And your haircut is really dope too! Love it

Thank you, sweetheart! Back in 2012, I got 14” chopped off and I kept it short for a long ass time. Then during the pandemic, I let it grow back out until it reached my ass. Last week, I cut it all off again and shaved the left side. I’ll be keeping that side shaved and I’m growing out the right side until I’m able to braid it like a shield-maiden. ❤️

[skolworthy]

Time Knows No Bounds (A series)

Hello, this is the first part of my brand new series Time Knows No Bounds. I am not entirely sure, how long this series may end up being, but I will say that I am bound and determined to be writing it for the long haul.

There are simply not enough Ragnar fanfics out there, and I know that I cannot be the only one that is completely enamored by him. I have never written for Ragnar Lothbrok, so I hope that I am able to portray him well enough for everyone's liking. So please, sit back, grab an ale (or whatever tickles your taste buds) and enjoy.

--------

Warnings: None in this first segment

Info: When the font is like this, it means Ragnar is speaking in his native tongue. When he is speaking English it will just be italicized. The reader's text is just normal and anyone other than Ragnar or the reader will be in bold.

Spoilers: None, because this is completely my creation (apart from the character/legend of Ragnar Lothbrok and other historical names) it has nothing to really do with the tv series.

Plot: Ragnar, in this series, is unattached to anyone romantically. No Lagertha or Aslaug or any other baby momma's out there. No children. He has met and learned with Athelstan, because that contributes to his ability to speak with the reader. Other than that, he's just a simple gorgeous viking that lives on his farm in Kattegat, dreaming of adventure.

Summary: Of all of the places that you had expected to move to, Denmark was near the bottom of that list. Yet here you were, eight years later. It was your love of Norse history and mythology that brought you to the area in the first place, completing your education of those subjects in Copenhagen. You then took a full time job as assistant curator for one of the smaller and less well known museums just outside the capital. Many had asked why you simply did not take a job in the capital in one of their famous museums, but the fact that they seemed to be in it more for the profit than actual knowledge and history, deterred you. However, when the main museum contacted your boss about a potential gold mine of a dig sight, you jumped at the chance to aid in this archaeological adventure. Never in your wildest dreams, did you think that you would unearth something this spectacular.

--------

At first glimpse, Hvide Klint offered little hope of bringing about the excavation discovery of a lifetime, but something told you that this was it. This place...there was something about it that spoke to you and sent chills running up and down your spine and goosebumps to rise upon your flesh. While all your team had managed to find on the first day was a few broken pieces of pottery and the random spear head, you knew that this was just the beginning. There was something greater out there and you were going to find it. Your coworkers had left for the day, they were done searching for what they deemed was not there, but you opted to stay behind and continue to look. There was a train station that was not too far from here that you could easily take back home, albeit there would be many stops along the way, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that you had this place all to yourself, which is how you liked it. Being one with the site, finding things that others may have missed and just...enjoying the feeling that you were in a place of such historical importance. You watched as they left and then turned back around and began to walk down the shoreline, your boots sinking down into the wet sand a bit as you walked, until you finally came to an area that had seemed to almost call to you from the moment you arrived. There was a stone pillar that jutted out of the ground, obviously it had been placed there some time ago, it was worn from the weather and from the fjord. The others had shrugged it off as just an old mile marker, not wanting to stay in the cooler autumn weather a moment longer. Your eyes scanned over the ancient looking stone, taking in every crack and discoloration and then your eyes moved to the base where you noticed something sticking partially up out of the sand. Leaning down, your fingers brushed the sand away from it, revealing that it was a part of a blade, but from what, you were not sure yet. Gently you picked it up and then you gasped when the rest of it came up from under the sand, seeing that it had been the blade of an ax. Not just any ax either, but you could tell from the carvings along the handle and a bit on the blade, that it was a viking ax. Yet, it looked as if it had not aged a day? Clearly this must have been something someone had made recently, for there was no way that it would have been in this condition if it were an artifact from the viking era.

The sound of thunder brought your attention upward toward the sky, where once it had been a clear bright blue sky overhead, now there were dark clouds swirling above you. Literally, above you. It seemed as if those clouds were swirling around the pillar itself and for a moment you thought you could hear a faint voice speaking over the sudden wind that was also swirling around you. You stood up, still holding onto the ax in your hand and then you gasped when the wind suddenly propelled you forward some, causing you to stretch out your free hand and place it against the pillar in an effort to catch yourself. A moment later, a crack of lightning filled the air and you looked up in time to see it strike against the top of the pillar. You shrieked as suddenly you were knocked backward a few feet, losing your balance and falling upon your rear end as that bolt of lightning disappeared, along with the freak storm entirely. The sun was shining, the clouds were gone and there was nothing but the sound of calm waves lapping against the shore as you leaned up with your hands behind you, one of them still clutching the ax handle. What had just happened? You were about to stand up when you noticed something stir that was on the ground on the opposite side of the pillar from where you were, seeing after a moment of thought, that it was a man. He too was on his rump in the sand, looking at the pillar in bewilderment before he looked around the area and then his eyes finally landed upon you. Even from the distance between the two of you, you could tell that his eyes were the brightest shade of blue that you had ever seen, and as cliché as it sounded: it were almost as if they could look into your soul. He stared at you silently for a moment, before he pushed himself up to his knees and then finally to his feet, his eyes scanning the area curiously, though flicking back to you now and then as well.

You leaned up a bit as you watched him curiously, wondering where he had come from so quickly, and without you noticing him approaching. Had he seen the random storm brewing around, seen you standing there and he had hurried over to try and move you away? Why else would he be there, when he had not been there before? The man moved closer to the pillar, reaching out with his hand to touch it only to yank it back quickly, sucking in a breath between his teeth as if he had been burned. He stared at his hand and then at the pillar curiously and then his eyes slowly moved over to you where he then tilted his head a bit to the side. His gaze drank you in, moving from your feet all of the way up your body until his eyes met yours once again and you gave a slight shudder from the chills this had sent through you. When his eyes caught sight of the ax in your hand his eyebrows furrowed together and he took a step forward, pointing at you. “Where did you get that? That is mine.” he said as he took a few more steps forward, his eyes now moving to the ax in your hand. The language that he was speaking was something familiar to you, and yet you also could not place it. At first you could have sworn that it sounded like Old Norse, but it had been awhile since you studied that language. Suddenly he thrust his hand forward, his palm up as he gestured to the ax in your hand. “Give it to me.” You tossed the ax away from you gently, sending it to the sand next to his feet, your eyes on his without wavering as he then knelt down and picked it up, brushing the sand off and inspecting it before he placed it on his hip in a loop on his belt…wait...what was he wearing? Your eyes scanned over him slowly, taking in the boots and the leather pants, the simple belt that hung loose around his hips, along with another wider belt that was around his waist that had a weaved pattern around it and then the long dark brown tunic that fit him well. Your eyes then moved up to his beard, short, yet still unkempt and then the smooth skin of his scalp until it came to the top where long braids were pulled back and cascaded down behind his head, coming to a stop between his shoulder blades. When he turned his head, you noticed tattoos that ran behind his ear and down the back of his skull. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought that this guy had walked out of a Viking Renaissance fair.

He must have noticed that you were looking at him so intently, for a slight smirk appeared on his lips as he watched you, and then, he unashamedly did the same to you. His eyes starting at your feet, though as they slowly took in your clothing, he gradually moved closer, his head tilting this way and that, his eyes narrowing and his eyebrows knitting together as he did. Instinctively you began to scoot back as you were seated upon the sand, each step he took, you would move back until suddenly he moved quickly and knelt down to where he was hovering over you slightly. You took in a sharp breath, your eyes widening at this sudden closeness as you watched his eyes roam over your body before they came to your face, moving from your chin to your lips, then the freckles that dotted your cheeks and finally to your eyes where he gazed at you intently, yet there was a curiousness in that gaze. The sound of an airplane caught his attention and his eyes glanced around, his head tilting to try and pinpoint which direction the noise was coming from and it wasn’t until he glanced upward for a moment that he paused and stared at the plane as it went by over your heads. He tilted his head back more, slowly bringing himself up to a standing position as he watched it, his face contorted in utter confusion. When the plane had disappeared from sight, the sound still present, he began to very slowly turn and look around the area, the curiosity falling from it and replacing with disbelief, maybe even fear? He stopped when he saw the building that was farther down the shore, then he noted the skyline of buildings past that along the treeline and finally he looked down at you. ”Where am I?” he said softly at first, but you were too preoccupied with trying to figure out what was happening to hear him. “Where am I?” he said a bit louder, taking a step toward you as you sat upon the ground looking up at him. That simple phrase you were able to decipher and you swallowed hard before opening your mouth, which you found had gone dry. “H-Hvide Klint. F-Frederiksværk.” you managed to stutter out.

He narrowed his eyes at you, tilting his head, clearly not understanding what you had just said. Then he put his hands on the top of his head and gripped his hair with his fingers and let out an aggravated grunt before he walked over to the pillar, going up to it and smacking it with his hand suddenly. “This is not Kattegat.” he said before smacking it again with his palm and then he circled it, looking the pillar up and down before he looked at you and pointed at the pillar. “How is this here, but my home is not?” You stared at him a moment and then you finally began to get up to your feet, brushing the sand from your palms as you watched him, your body poised to run should he come at you once again like he had before. “I’m sorry, I’m having a hard time understanding you.” The man looked at you, his eyes narrowing a bit before he lifted his chin a little, his eyes flicking up and down your body once again, which you couldn’t tell if it were in an insulting manner or if it were to take in your figure. “You are Saxon?” this time...he spoke in decent English. You stared at him silently for a moment before you brought your hands up and hugged them around your torso. He pointed at you. “English?” “In a sense.” was all that you were able to say. Being from the Midwest in America, honestly would probably go over this man’s head. Either he was deranged, or there was something else at work here. Something that was beginning to make your skin prickle with intrigue. “What is your name?” you said calmly and slowly, so that he may understand better. He stared at you silently before he took a few steps toward you, bringing himself to be within a few inches from you, which you noted now (considering earlier) that he had no regard for personal space. Either an intimidation tactic or just flat out cockiness. “Ragnar Lothbrok.” Upon hearing that name, you were hit with the knowledge you had gained over the years of living in Denmark, the legend of Ragnar Lothbrok being one of your favorite things to study and delve further into. You had spent quite a bit of time in school here, devoting your studies to that of the vikings, especially when it came to the tales of the Lothbrok clan.

Your eyes quickly scanned the surrounding area, almost half expecting a hidden camera crew to be hiding somewhere, having just helped some of your colleagues and friends pull quite the prank on you. There was no one around, not unless you counted the fishing boat that was off in the distance, though you doubted they would be getting very good camera shots from there if this was indeed a prank. Yet, if this was not some sort of ruse, then what was happening right now? This man had seemingly (to you anyway) appeared out of nowhere, the moment you had been knocked back by the force of that lightning hitting the pillar, when he had not been anywhere within sight, prior to that. Your feet moved you around him, bringing you to the pillar in question and you reached up, tentatively tracing your fingers over some runes that you had not noticed before. They were etched deep, but they were also worn from the weather and from what you could make of the symbols, it had something to do with ‘time’. Lost in time? Far through time? Ugh, it was too worn for you to tell at this moment. You quickly reached down into the pocket of your cardigan and pulled out your notebook, ripping a piece of paper from it and then brought out your pencil. Holding the paper against the pillar, you used the lead of the pencil to scratch against the underlying etching of the runes, bringing to light what you were unable to see. Staring down at the symbols you had managed to capture with the lead, you wracked your brain for what it might say when you jumped suddenly at the fact that this ‘Ragnar’ was beside you, and close, once again. He had come up somewhat behind you, his face leaning over your shoulder some to see what you were holding and his breath you could feel against your cheekbone slightly as he spoke. “Time knows no bounds.” he said softly. Clearly, he was able to read this. And you jumped for joy inwardly that you at least were correct in knowing it had said something about ‘time’. “My great grandfather carved this after losing his first wife, knowing that one day they would be reunited in Valhalla.” You lifted your gaze from the paper in your hand and looked at the worn carvings upon the pillar for a moment, before you turned your head to the side and your eyes widened, having forgotten how close he was standing. The smell of fresh pine and rich soil wafted up to your nose. “I never received your name.” He said in a soft tone, his eyes daring to move across your facial features, resting on your lips a moment before going back to your eyes. You took a step back quickly, trying to create some space between you and for the love...he moved with you as if anticipating you would do this, keeping that space to its same bare minimum. The cockiness and unashamed way that he kept looking at you, was enough to bring color to your cheeks as you looked at him. “Y/N.”

“Y/N...” he repeated your name and you would be lying to yourself if you said that it didn’t give you chills when hearing it fall from his lips. He studied your face once again and then he gave a small smirk, showing off his white teeth and then he took a step back from you, bringing his hands together in front of him where he clasped them together as he continued to look down at you. “I say again, y/n...where am I?” he said, that smirk upon his lips still. He gave a soft sigh as his eyes moved around the area again. “Or perhaps...I should say 'when'?” This brought your stomach to tighten a little. He was registering the fact that this might not be his home, and not just that, his time period. If this were the case...if he was really Ragnar Lothbrok, then something insane, mysterious and magical had brought him through time, to this moment and place. Your eyes moved to the paper in your hand once more. The words ‘time knows no bounds’ echoing around inside your head before lifting to look up at him. “Denmark. It is the year, 2022.” you said quietly, watching his reaction. Either he had a great poker face, or this did not surprise him as much as it should have, for he gave no indication of emotion as he looked at you once you had admitted the year. He looked down at his hands that were clasped and he gave a slight nod, before keeping his face turned downward, but lifting those blue eyes of his to meet yours again. “Then my home is long gone.” he said, giving a sigh through his nose. He then moved over to the pillar and placed his hand upon it, as if he were expecting it to transport him once again, home. Like the silly little optimistic girl you were, you had half wondered if it would work, but there he continued to stand for many a moment before he let his hand fall down to his side limply. You hesitated and then moved closer to the pillar, getting close to it with your face so that you could study it better, in case anything might have been missed. You then came around to the side that he had been close to when he ‘arrived’ and you noted there was more runes there only different from what had been on your side. “What does this say?” you asked, bringing your finger to point just under the first symbol. Ragnar took a step closer and squinted, lifting his hand up to run his fingers along the engraving, your body tingling when his fingers lightly brushed over yours a moment. “A year and a day shall send you back on your way.” he said as he removed his hand from the pillar and rested it upon the blade of the ax that was holstered at his hip.

“A year and a day?” you said, repeating it under your breath. “Oh fuck, does that mean whatever happened...wont happen again for another year and a day?” Ragnar’s eyebrows shot up into his forehead a bit when you cursed, but there was a glimmer in his eye and the corner of his mouth went up slightly as he looked at you. He then reached up and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand as he looked at the runes on the pillar. “My great grandfather enjoyed his riddles...and his rhymes. Yet, it was exactly a year and a day before he too, entered Valhalla." You jumped when suddenly your phone began to ring and you nearly dropped the paper in your hands as you fumbled in your other pocket to try and get to it. Ragnar was highly confused by the sudden sound, but he watched with interest when you pulled out your phone and then hit the answer button, bringing it up to your ear. It was one of your colleagues, Klaus. "Hey, just wanted to let you know that we made it back. You still at the site, or did you wise up to the fact there's nothing there and leave?" You cleared your throat as Ragnar came closer to you, his head tilted as he looked at the phone next to you head as you then began to talk into it. "Oh you know me, stubborn as a mule. So naturally, I am still looking around." "Oh for Christ's sake, y/n." You could hear him sigh and your eyes widened when Ragnar reached for your hand and brought the phone forward, pressing his ear against it curiously, his eyebrows shooting up when you heard Klaus's voice ask if you had found anything. You quickly took Ragnar's wrist and brought the phone back to your ear. "No, nothing. I'll be heading back soon."

You still had hold of his wrist as you continued to talk to Klaus, though when you suddenly felt his fingertip gently touch the side of your face, you raised an eyebrow at him. Ragnar just smirked as he watched you and did it again, which caused you to shrink back some, though trying to keep your ear against the phone that he was still holding onto. Clearly this man had no qualms when it came to making someone feel awkward, unless this was his way of flirting? Regardless, your face was flushing and you quickly pried the phone from his hand, using your free one to gently swat his fingers away as you took a step back, making him smirk more. Here he was, in a different time period and yet he was getting such enjoyment of making you feel uncomfortable. "Just be careful, there are weirdos out there." Klaus said, which made your gaze flick to Ragnar's. "You know I can handle myself pretty well." Ragnar's eyebrow raised. "I'll send you a text when I'm home." At that, he hung up and you lowered the phone and before you could slip it back into your pocket, Ragnar's hand caught your wrist and he gazed down at the device in your hand. "How does it talk? Magic?" You gave a snort and shook your head as he continued to look at the phone in your hand. Gently you pulled your arm back toward you and unlocked it, bringing about your home screen which showed a picture of you and your friends on your birthday, smiling and laughing. He looked at it intently, looking from your face in the picture, to your actual face in front of him. You could tell that he was highly confused. "It's called a 'phone'. You can use it to talk to people, keep in touch with loved ones that are far away. Among a lot of other things." You then switched on the camera and held it up, looking at him through the screen and put a smile on your face. "Say cheese." He stared at you. "Why?" "It means to smile." He hesitated and then gave that smirk of his and you snapped a picture, turning the phone around to face him after.

Ragnar stared at it, his eyebrows knitted together as he looked at the picture of himself, taking your wrist and bringing the phone closer to his face, his eyes looking at it curiously. You then turned to where your back was facing him and you held the phone up in front of you, flipping the camera around to where you could see both of you on the screen, taking a short video of you waving and him just standing there behind you, mesmerized. You took in a long breath and then turned to face him, pursing your lips in thought before your eyes then moved to the pillar that was behind him. "I need to do more research on this. You said your great grandfather placed this pillar here? What was his name?" He told you and you, to the best of your ability, jotted it down on the piece of paper you had used to copy the runes on. "Perhaps we can get you home faster than a year and a day, if we figure out more about this thing and what happened and why it happened." He looked at you as you stared at the pillar with curiosity and he gave a small smile. "It is the will of Odin that I am here." You gave a small chuckle. "Well gee thanks, Odin, now I have to figure out what to do with you." you said as you looked at him. To be honest, why should you even get involved in this? What if it were all some sort of joke? Though on the inside, you knew that it wasn't. This was something real, and it was something fascinating and you wanted desperately to get to the bottom of it. You lifted your phone up once again and sent for a taxi before looking back at Ragnar. "It will probably be best for you to come back home with me, until I can get more answers." He gave that damn smirk of his as he looked at you and then nodded his head. "Is it a far walk?" You grinned and nodded your head. "Yes, quite far. But we will not be walking." He followed after you as you walked back up the hill to where you and your coworkers had parked earlier and then kept going until you came upon the road. Your phone dinged and you saw a message from the nearest taxi driver, stating that they were driving down the road and wanted to know where to look for you. You messaged them back and within a few moments, a car came down the road toward you, pulling off onto the side of the road for you to get in. Ragnar backed up a bit, putting his hand upon the ax at his hip, eyeing the large black thing that had just stopped before you and you gave a smirk. "It's okay. This will be taking us to the train station." He just stared between you and the car and you held your hand out to him. "Do you trust me?"

Ragnar looked at you, his hand still on the ax and then noticed that there was a person inside the big black thing and his eyebrow raised a bit, before he looked back at you. "I do not trust easily." "Yeah, well...I can just leave you here then?" you said as you lowered your hand and opened the back door to the car and moved to slide in. "Wait." He said, taking a step forward. "At least explain what this is." he said, gesturing to the car with his free hand. "It's called a car. Think of it like a carriage or cart, but without the horses. It will take us where we need to go." He looked at it once again, his eye landing on the very confused and also irritated that this was taking so long, person inside. "Car." he said under his breath, before he gave a nod and then removed his hand from the ax and he moved to where you were, watching as you slid in and across the seat and then gestured to the seat beside you for him to take. He hesitated and then finally sat down, his eyes peering about the inside of the car before glancing at you. "Where to?" the driver said. "Train station, please." you said as you then leaned over to Ragnar and took the seat belt and wrapped it around him, having to move the ax to buckle it. He stared at you curiously and you gave a smile. "Keeps you safe." you said before giving the belt across his chest a pat and then you did the same for yourself, giggling when as the car then moved forward, Ragnar's hands moved to the seat beside his legs and gripped hard, his eyes widening. "Just wait until you are on the train. It goes even faster." you said, smiling at him when his eyebrows rose a bit as he looked at you. Once the car had been moving for some time, you saw that his body finally relaxed and you watched as he gazed out of the window as an entirely different world than the one he knew, passed by.

*Gif does not belong to me, credit goes to its lovely creator: vikings-ragnar

[ryuzakemo128]

Vikings Writing Prompts

Trigger Warning:

Mention of Death, fighting, miscarriages, suicide.

If anything mentioned above triggers you. Please remove yourself and continue with your day. Your mental health is just as important as your physical health. Vice versa, as the mind can affect the body in equal measure.

Prompts for either imagines, headcanons, one-shots, anything you possibly desire. As long as it is clearly stated as to what character you want it written for. Otherwise I will not be able to satisfy the particular itch you might or might not want itched and scratched.

Characters from the Vikings Show that I am willing to write for as follows:

Male Characters

Rollo Lothbrok

Ívar Ragnarsson

Björn Ragnarsson

Ubbe Ragnarsson

Athelstan

Hálfdanr Hálfdansson

Haraldr Hálfdansson

Female Characters:

Lagertha Lothbrok

Aslaug Sigurdsdottir

Personal Note: I would also preface that I will not write things that trigger me. Things like Cheating and Affairs. At least not in incredible detail as it will harm and hurt my mental health in the long run. And if you respect my mental health, you will respect my personal boundaries as well.

If you would like to peruse my previous works in the past feel free to do so. I will not prevent nor shame those who would want to read them.

Here is a link to two masterlists that contain them.

Masterlist 01 / Masterlist 02

Prompts

Listed below are prompts to choose from if you want to make a specific request for a specific character. First list being SFW and the second one being NSFW underneath the cut.

SFW - Dialogue Prompts

"Whatever souls are made of, yours and mine are the same. As much you might dispute that fact."

"You could just tell me things instead of insinuating them. Communication is important."

"Let me eat my feelings in peace and quiet. Otherwise we are going to have many, many, many problems."

"I know I can't go I'm the one getting nearly all the time."

"I don't trust anyone who would place value of one child above another. Regardless of what someone else may or may not have said."

"For a mother you play favourites quite a bit."

"Depends on what you consider to be fair."

"Aim better! Stop trying to hit me and hit me!"

"You are not my problem. You are theirs. I plan to keep it that way. So neither begging nor pleading to me will not work."

Canon Character x OC/ Reader - Dialogue Prompts

"I am well enough to fight. I am well enough to move around do things myself. Do not coddle me as I were a child and I will not do the same to you."

"I was in exile, I did not abandon anybody, least of all my brother."

"I don't ask for your understanding, I don't ask for your trust either and quite frankly I do not want either one from you."

NSFW - Dialogue Prompts

[TBD]

Vikings Headcanons - Link

Food for the heart and soul - Halfdan the Black x Female Reader - Link

Tarnished and Unveiled Intentions - Bjorn Ironside x reader - Link

Life After Death - Bjorn Ironside x female reader - Link

[demon-of-the-ancient-world]

Ok my *favourite* Athelstan headcanons I've come up with so far, complied from all my earlier compilations** go:

**and yeah, YEAH a lot of these are reiterations of what i've said a million times, fight meeeee

under the cut:

He needs very little sleep to function & his sleep schedule is a Mystery

Always A Little Too Cold, can't sleep without like 18 covers

Shares life/skills tips with Lagertha

They are each other's wingman/woman (& silently judge Ragnar together when he's Up To Something)

They mourn Gyda on the anniversary of her death each year

He pushes himself too far without knowing it sometimes, trying to exist through being way too stressed, exhausted etc.

Has trouble getting the at LEAST 3 languages he speaks straight in his head sometimes especially in those scenarios

Tends the garden at Ragnar's farm, and later keeps a little garden of his own, it keeps him calm and reminds him of his work at Lindisfarne

His birth name wasn't Athelstan, that's his chosen monk name (in a couple fics of mine I've called him Anselm)

Bakes bread like an absolute King

Good at cooking in general

Soup

Has an intense fear of thunderstorms/severe weather

Can swim if he has to but not a fan of water either

Ambidextrous (and would get in trouble at the monastery for occasionally using "the devil's hand" by accident)

But now he can fight with both hands so that's cool

Nearsighted (that's what spending years squinting at small print by candlelight will do to a guy)

It's rare for him to get sick

But when he does it hits him like an absolute truck. Like he won't catch a single cold for YEARS and then out of nowhere bam, stuck in bed for two weeks with the worst bug of his life

Lagertha helps him out if he's unwell, he's got some medical training from being a monk but like I said earlier when he's too stressed his brain does Not work

And he's also helped her with injury recovery after battles, sometimes giving her insight to things that would've been a lot more serious otherwise

Basically he's her physio coach

(he's tried to do this with Ragnar too but that man is Too Stubborn -- even when it's Athelstan)

Ragnar's INSTINCT is to immediately roast most things he says about his religion off bat-- but then he'll spend hours thinking about his takes anyway and come back like hold on what was that you said. And Athelstan is like. Aha.

He and Helga are best buds (to Floki's dismay)

Helga + Athelstan + Gyda flower crown making circle. Yes please.

Face turns beet red in the cold

Ragnar LOVES to playfully slap him on the back, throw an arm around him, hugs etc. which is all fun and great but sometimes he'll forget that Athelstan is like. Small. And will straight up knock him over.

Animals like him instinctively

He's that weird guy who brings his sketchbook to a party & draws people

But fr he has more trouble remembering faces than names (and to him all the Norsemen kinda look alike. He will never admit that.) so he keeps track of everybody this way

Eventually does get a tattoo on a wrist or ankle where it can't be seen by anyone

Sorta easy to not notice. He can be very quiet, to the point where if he wanted to sneak around and snoop he could with almost zero effort. But he doesn't bc morals???

Finds Ragnar's old clothes (that he's stuck with at the beginning of the series) comforting and doesn't mind that they're about four sizes too big -- he's used to loose oversized robes after all

Gyda had a crush on him when he first arrived and Bjorn teased her incessantly about it (Athelstan had no idea)

People get to know him as kind of an advisor and sagely type, and will come to him for advice (honestly...kind of like a priest would do. which is not a connection he makes anyone aware of, but it makes him happy)

Strategy game enthusiast

Learns to knit & makes his own clothes

Has a bit of a photographic memory

Learns to make tattoos despite having only one of his own

Tries to give Ragnar one at one point and they think it'll be a ~bonding experience~ but Ragnar will not stop squirming and Athelstan gets increasingly frustrated trying to get him to Hold The Fuck Still

....Phew

@grantairescurls @levithestripper @starrose17

I know I've bombarded you guys with so much Athelstan stuff that's probably super repetitive but ughhhghhhhhhhh I gotta exorcise these things

[introvertedlass]

Just for fun...

What character death affected you greatly? Like you can never get over it. It can be from a book, movie, tv show or song.

I'll go first with a few of mine (I have many).

Lance Sweets from Bones (sobbed uncontrollably)

Lagertha from Vikings (I ugly cried)

Opie Winston from Sons of Anarchy

Hedwig from Harry Potter

Owen Meany from a Prayer for Owen Meany

Tom Robinson from To Kill a Mockingbird

I'm sure I will think of more later.

[its-all-or-nothing94]

Ravenblade - Part 2 // Ivar Lothbrok x OC

Summary: As Björn would like to keep an eye on his mysterious sister, she has her sights set on someone completely different, to the surprise of her brother and his.

Warnings: Language, Description of violence, light smut (implied but not fully described)

Pairing: Ivar x OC

A/N: Here is the second chapter :) Still, let me know if you wanna be on the tag list ;)

Masterlist

That evening the great sacrifice takes place, which is supposed to bring victory to the Vikings over the Saxons. Some Earl has decided to sacrifice himself for the cause, and Liv now stands beside her big brother and his brothers before the ceremony.

"You still owe me an answer," Bjorn whispers to her as they wait for Lagertha.

"I don't owe you anything," she says, continuing to look straight ahead.

"I still want to know why you're doing this and whose side you're on."

Now Liv looks at her big brother. "I am on Ragnar's side. I am doing this to avenge his death. Nothing more, nothing less."

"But why?"

"Have you seen him in the last ten years? No? Well, I have. And I have my reasons. But let my reasons be mine."

Then, as Lagertha begins to speak in the old language up front, Liv notices Björn slinking away. She doesn't care, but now she is standing next to Ivar. She looks at him briefly, and her eyes meet his. She grins briefly before turning her attention back to the front.

Lagertha is now sacrificing the Earl. Liv watches closely. It somehow fascinates her how her mother pushes the sword further and further into the man's chest.

Liv looks enthusiastically at Sven, who looks at her with a slight smirk. She feels Ivar's eyes on her. Liv likes it when a man is interested in her. It makes it all the easier to manipulate him. But with Ivar, it is something else. Somehow she feels drawn to him.

Once again, her gaze wanders to him, who is also looking at her with his deep blue eyes. A smile creeps onto her face.

When the ritual ends, Liv sees Ivar in front of the large bowl of blood. She walks up to him and stands next to him.

"May I?" she then asks, pointing to the blood. Ivar looks at her in surprise and then nods hesitantly.

Painting blood on someone is a sign of affection. Liv taps two fingers each into the blood and then looks Ivar in the eye before wiping her fingers across his face. Ivar closes his eyes briefly and then looks at her again. They maintain eye contact for a moment before Ivar dips his fingers in the blood and then does the same to Liv.

From a distance, they are watched by Björn and Ubbe. "I don't like this," murmurs Ubbe. He is not comfortable with the young warrior and does not trust her.

Björn shakes his head with his arms crossed. "She's manipulating him. That's what she's good at."

"Normally, I wouldn't have thought of Ivar as someone women so easily manipulate, but with her... I'm not so sure," the younger of the two concludes.

When everyone has retired to sleep before leaving, Liv sneaks out of the hut she and the Ravenblade have been assigned. She walks through the deserted town and creeps towards one particular hut.

Carefully she listens at the door and hears nothing. Then she opens it quietly and squeezes through a small crack. In front of her on a chair lies Hvitserk, snoring heartily. The position can't be comfortable, Liv thinks to herself and tiptoes past him. Then she stands in front of two doors. She briefly points her finger at both and then decides on the first one.

Silently she opens it, and to her luck, it is the room she was looking for. But to her surprise, he is sitting, still awake, with his back to her, and seems bent over something. Still silent, Liv closes the door again and takes a few steps toward her.

"You're quiet, but I know you're here," Ivar says suddenly, then turns to her.

She looks at him with raised eyebrows, a smug smile on her face. "But only because I wanted you to," she says, winking at him.

"What are you doing here?" he asks then.

Liv takes a few steps across the room, looking at what he owns. "Oh, I felt like company..."

Ivar follows her closely with his gaze. He can't figure her out. Liv walks up to him and stops in front of him. She leans down to him and looks him in the eye.

"Don't you want my company?" she asks directly.

"I... Uh..." he stammers briefly, which throws him off.

"I can leave as well," she says, standing up again and walking towards the door.

"No!" he says quickly. "No. Please stay."

Liv smiles at him and then walks back towards him. She pulls a chair towards her and sits in front of Ivar, so they are at eye level. She is so close to him that her knees touch his, and she has placed them to the left and right of his legs.

"Tell me something about yourself, Ivar the Boneless. That's what they call you, isn't it?"

Ivar nods, slightly befuddled, then looks away. "They do..."

"You don't like the name? I think it's a great one. Not as boring as 'the feared' or 'the cruel'.  Most of the time, they don't live up to their names anyway, but you... You're different."

Ivar looks her in the eye again and notices that Liv is getting closer to him. Suddenly she puts her lips to his, and he enjoys it briefly before pulling away from her again.

Slightly ashamed, he looks to the floor and bites his lips. "I can't..." he says, turning away from her. "If you're looking for that kind of company, I'm the wrong guy..." he continues seriously, and Liv looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

"What are you trying to say? If I want to spend time with you, I want to spend it with you, not with someone else."

Ivar looks at her again, and Liv can tell he is incredibly uncomfortable. "I can't... I can't do this. It."

Liv continues to look at him without making a face. Ivar would have expected something else. Either she would laugh at him or feel sorry for him, but nothing of the sort comes from Liv.

"Have you also been told that a deaf person cannot communicate?" she asks, and Ivar does not know what she is getting at. She takes a deep breath and then moves closer to him again. "How many times have you tried? With how many women?"

"Only with one, and it didn't work," Ivar says quietly.

Now Liv begins to laugh softly. But it's not that she's laughing at him, but rather at his pathetic attempt.

"And that already tells you it can't be done?" she asks, kneeling before him.

She starts to undo his trousers, and Ivar grabs her wrists. "What are you doing?" he asks, irritated, but she grins at him.

"I'm trying to prove you wrong." Hesitantly, Ivar lets go of Liv's wrists, and she expertly undoes his trousers.

Ivar feels the lust rising in him and his body changing. She looks him in the eyes and then begins to massage him slowly. Her movements become faster and her grip tighter, but Ivar doesn't mind. Then she winks at him and lowers her head.

It is not long before Ivar can no longer hold on. His body tenses, and he opens his mouth. He tries to stifle a moan and then looks down at Liv, who is just breaking away from him.

She straightens up again, grabs a piece of cloth lying on the table, and wipes her mouth and hands before looking at him triumphantly.

"What did I say? I guess it all comes down to technique."

With those words, she tosses the rag back on the table, winks at Ivar one last time, and then leaves the hut. Ivar looks after her in disbelief. How is he supposed to keep his hands off her now?

The following day the time has come. The enormous army leaves for England. All along the docks, people are saying goodbye to their loved ones.

Liv walks towards the dock where her boat is moored and stops as she passes her brother's ship. It is right opposite hers. Lagertha is standing there with Björn, saying goodbye to him.

"Oh, how sentimental," she says with amusement, and Lagertha looks at her. As always, Liv has uncovered her sarcastic smile.

"I just wish him good luck on his journey, and may the gods watch over him," Lagertha justifies herself. "Wouldn't you like someone to say that to you?"

"I don't need that... I know the gods are with me. I don't need someone like you to tell me that. And luck is for beginners." Liv walks over to her ship and then looks at Ivar momentarily. "Hello, Ivar," she says, winks at him, and then hops onto her boat.

"Well, folks? Are you ready?" she asks the crowd, where her people are already busy making final arrangements for departure.

"Here you are," Sven says, coming up to Liv. "Where were you tonight?" he asks more quietly, looking at her.

"Oh, here and there," she replies, and her gaze briefly wanders to Ivar, who keeps looking at her.

Sven follows her gaze and glares at Ragnar's son. "Were you with him?" he asks, following Liv across the boat.

"Even if I was, it's none of your business Sven, understand?" she says more seriously now.

She is always very relaxed with her people, but if someone tries to undermine her authority or gets too nosy, she is good at putting a stop to it. Now Liv turns to her whole troop.

"It's finally time!" she shouts, then climbs a mast. "We are travelling to England, and we will avenge the death of Ragnar Lothbrok! Until now, you have followed me, and I hope you will continue to follow me! We are the Ravenblade! Du bekar! Du bekar!" shouts Liv, and her men and women cheer.

From the other boat, Ivar watches her closely. She is a true leader, and one day, she will be his.

With anticipation, Liv waits for her cue. It is a grandiose plan; she has to admit. The first troops of the great army get ready and line up. Then it's their turn. She stands up and leads her Ravenblade up the hill as well.

The shieldmaiden lines up not far from the sons of Ragnar and grins. She loves fighting and slaughter. She turns her sword once in her hand and draws the shield closer as Ivar stops beside her in his chariot.

He looks at her briefly but then directs his gaze forward. And then Björn gives the signal. Together they run off into battle.

After the battle, Liv climbs onto the chariot with Ivar. Behind him, they have tied King Aelle, and he is now being pulled through the mud by Ivar. Liv smiles triumphantly at Ivar and then looks ahead again.

As Ivar comes to a stop, the other sons of Ragnar lift Aelle out of the mud. Ivar also turns on his buck and watches while Liv jumps from the chariot. The Boneless One watches her movements closely.

She seems to be examining where they are when Björn asks Aelle about the location of Ragnar's death. The anxious king looks at a place where Liv is already standing, and she then points to the ground with a nod. She steps on the floor with her foot and notices wood under her feet. She pushes the leaves back and forth and then looks at the king.

"Is this the place?" she asks in English. Liv has learned many different languages on her travels. The king looks at her and then nods hesitantly. "This is it," she says to Björn, and he asks his men to open the hatch.

Together they look inside. Ivar has now joined them as well.

"This is the place where our father was killed," he says, looking at his brothers.

The brothers exchange a look, and then Aelle looks at Björn. "How much gold and silver do you want to spare my life?" he asks tremblingly. "Name a price! Anything, anything you want!"

Liv laughs out loud. She bites her lip and waits anxiously for her big brother's answer. But then Ivar interferes.

"You are mistaken! Our father was worth much more than gold and silver." Then he looks to the king. "That is not the price you must pay."

The king knows fully that he is done for and begins to weep. Liv, meanwhile, looks at Ivar, who returns her gaze. Again, a nasty smile creeps onto her lips.

Then Floki grabs the king by the collar and forces him to his feet.

"I was told that your god was a builder. And you don't believe it, but so am I!"

A little later, Floki nails the king by the hands to posts so that Björn has a clear path to his back. Liv knows precisely what is coming now. She stands in front of the king and looks at him disparagingly.

Then Björn tears the king's tunic off and cuts his back open. He cries out in pain, and Liv looks briefly at her brother. When he looks at her, she raises an eyebrow, then turns around and sits down on a tree stump.

Liv watches tensely, and suddenly she notices how Ivar is next to her and creeps closer and closer to the king. Blood splatters around with every blow of Björn's axe, but Liv doesn't care. She is covered in blood anyway. She sees the fascination in Ivar's gaze and watches him momentarily.

With each successive blow, the life drains more from Aelle until the king is dead.

"I didn't think he'd last this long," Liv whispers to Ivar as she leans down to him.

Ivar looks at her briefly, and enthusiasm is reflected in his eyes. He is probably more like Liv than she thought.

The following day, the lifeless body with its open back hangs over their heads, finally wiping the blood from its face with a scrap of cloth. Ivar sits with Floki on his back, and they all look at the pathetic king.

"Come on...  Another king is waiting for us," Björn says and trudges off.

Liv looks at Sven, who is eyeing her critically. She walks towards him.

"If you have something to say, say it," she demands.

The big man looks at her momentarily but then shakes his head.

"Thought so," she says, then follows her brother.

It's beginning to get on her nerves that Sven always looks at her with that reproving look.

[sigridsdottir]

vikings + ragnar & lagertha

none of these pics are mine. if u want credit for any edits, please let me know! :)

[lokisgoodgirl]

Moon boobs 😂😂😂🌕🌕fuckin asgard, man.

THIS MAKES ME SO HAPPY!!!!!! I'm so so so delighted. We've had some excellent fancasts for Lagertha throughout and I'm defo adding Grandmother Mulan to the list amazing.

Looking forward to meeting your Fandral 😂😂 I'm sorry mines such a dick but also not because i love him.

Xxx

Marked : The Rite (VII.)

A Masterlist for The Rite is HERE A link to my regular Masterlist is HERE Summary: (7) Shaken from Loki's exit, you seek counsel from the wisest person you know. As does Loki. And twin moons aren't the only thing coming together. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Mild angst. Asgardians behaving badly. More smut. (w.c 5.2k)

Loki didn’t know whose hands were touching him, whose breath was on his neck, whose empty congratulations were ringing in his ears.

He was halfway down the aisle before he realised you weren’t with him. Loki turned, trying to stop the tide of bodies sweeping him away.

Did I leave her?!

The moments after the announcement were a blur. He'd meant to take your hand, to pull you up with him...but —

I didn't. I left her.

The riotous blob burst into a small feasting hall near the Rite chamber with long tables laid with glazed hams and towers of pastries. Thor slapped Loki’s back hard enough to leave a mark.

"Is she getting changed? Is she coming?" Loki glanced over his shoulder, drawing the sash tight around his hips. It didn’t make much difference, being that the robe was translucent, but he needed something for his hands to do. “Don’t be absurd, brother.” A tankard was shoved into his hand. “Sif came to the festivities after your Rite—”

“Yes but Sif was a warrior, and a member of the inner circle." Thor’s face scrunched. ‘Your one is…” Loki’s face hardened. “Is what?”

Thor’s laugh made the ale ripple. “Come, Loki, be serious. She’s not one of us. You have what you wanted, your place in Asgard’s Royal line. You can stop playing the cunt-struck lovelorn, now.” Loki stiffened, setting the tankard down purposefully on the table. "She loves me."

"Yes, and?" Thor shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. "She isn’t the first, she won’t be the last. Who cares about her? Enjoy the—”

Loki smacked the tankard from Thor’s grip. It flew across the hall at force, hitting Fandral between the shoulder blades. He spun. “—I care...brother,” Loki hissed, so close to Thor’s face he could smell the pepper-roasted ham he’d been guzzling between idiocies.

“All my life I’ve been surrounded by people like you, thinking I was the one who should linger in shadow; the one who didn’t fit; who didn’t deserve the life he had.” His molars pressed together, growing more incensed with each of Thor’s vacant, casual chews. “But it was the rest of you that needed to change. She sees me for who I am, and she loves me.”

Thor rolled his eyes. “Did that witch Lagertha slip her some magic potion to smear on her lady-bits? Brother, you’re acting most unlike yourself.” Loki’s hand flew to Thor’s throat, lifting him off the floor.

The blonde’s face turned red instantly, struggling against his grip. No one tried to intervene, they knew better than that. With a growl, Loki lowered him, but he didn’t release the grip on Thor’s windpipe.

“Perhaps I’ve been concealing the true fury I hold inside me, brother,” Loki hissed in his ear, enjoying the desperate swallow as he struggled for air. “Boys, boys,” Fandral smarmed, edging them apart. “Your brother’s right, Lo—ki,” Fandral said, sliding an arm around his shoulder and grasping against the chiffon clinging to his muscle. “Enjoy yourself, hmm? Forget that pretty nothing. Tonight, perhaps you’ll indulge in something more…on your level.” He winked, curling a loose strand of Loki’s top knot around a fingertip. “I told her not to get attached. It’s not your fault if she did, she was warned.” Realisation hit Loki like a chariot.

“What did you say to her?” he growled, noting the sudden fear in Fandral’s eyes. The man stumbled back, tripping over a pair of ridiculous satin shoes. Before he could hit the floor Loki’s arm shot out, grabbing the cravat bunched at Fandral’s neck and pulling him up. Fandral slammed against Loki’s chest, nails ripping down the fabric of his robe and tearing into chest muscle. “I’m sorry, I’m sorr—” “What…did you say to her?” An arctic silence had fallen over the feasting hall. Pain clawed beneath Loki’s skin, but he ignored it. Blood was already starting to clot between the minuscule weave. “That you were trying to make her fall in love with you, which, wh-which you did—”

“—And?” Loki shook him, making Fandral’s coiffured golden curl wobble loose. “—A-and that you’d discard her,” he choked, eyes darting manically to the ceiling. “Which…you did.”

Loki punched in the face: right on top of the fastenings covering his re-set nose from last night. Fandral whimpered as Loki punched him again, only stopping because of the tidal wave of arms pulling him off. He thrashed, throwing his fists and swiftly receiving one himself. Loki’s face wrenched to the side, the knot atop his head falling and the golden snake clip bouncing to the stone below. “Brother, stop…” Thor shook his fist, knuckles blossoming scarlet. Loki’s stare fell on Fandral, being hoisted between two guards out the room. He pressed his cheek, wincing. “I avoided your nose, at least,” Thor said. “But it will bruise, for certain.” “Fuck you, brother,” Loki spat.

He didn’t indulge the hands that grasped at him, half-drunk, petitioning him to stay at his own celebrations. He could still taste your delicate arousal on his tongue, and hear the unspoken words hanging in the air between the two of you.

I love you, your eyes had said, even before the enchanted robe confirmed it. He wondered if his had, too. What must she think of me?

The guards opened the golden door separating the inner palace from the outer court. Their eyes fell down his body, but they said nothing. Under normal circumstances, Loki could materialise a more modest outfit with a wave of his hand, but his emotions were too high; his magic was too unstable. So, for now, any members of the court milling around would have a scene to tell their grandchildren about: Loki of Asgard, resplendent in his Rite robe, cock hanging free – on the way to salvage the love he thought he’d never find — if she'd still have him. Quick footsteps pattered behind him and Loki whipped around, fire flashing in his eyes. Håkon stood masked in shadow, a low hood covering his face. “What are you doing here?” Loki said, not bothering to hide the exasperation in his voice. Håkon shrugged. “I thought you might need me. When you messed up, you know?” Loki folded his arms, suddenly aware the boy was seeing him practically naked, but Håkon’s eyes were set firmly on his own, even when a pair of leather pants materialised around Loki's lower limbs. “What do you mean when I messed up?” Loki scoffed, feeling his ears burn. “Why—?”

Håkon sighed. “—Do you know where her rooms are?” A swallow worked down Loki’s throat, common sense spreading now that his heart had slowed. “No.” Håkon smirked in a way that Loki felt entirely responsible for. “Exactly. Come on, let me help you for once.” Loki’s heart wrenched a little at the sentiment, quickly diluted by the whisper of ‘idiot,’ as Håkon passed him. And then it was his turn to smirk.

The boy led him through a maze of corridors Loki had never seen before, up three flights of stairs and to the furthest wing of the court. Your door was open, but to his dismay, Loki quickly realised you weren’t there. Clothes lay strewn across the floor, emptied from a dresser.

“Where is she?” Loki growled to no one, and Håkon shrugged lightly. “Depends what you did, master,” he said, glancing out the door and down the corridor. “But she’s gone, alright.”

No one had tried to stop you. And really, that said it all.

You’d made straight for the baths and shrugged off the ceremonial robe, pulling on your old day dress as quickly as possible. You’d run to your chambers with bare feet slapping against stone, slamming the door behind you with wild eyes and wilder thoughts.

I have to get out of here. You couldn’t stay here where you were a figure of ridicule; where everyone knew you loved Loki enough to satisfy some ancient magic and his first thought had been an ale, and the approval he so desperately wanted.   A place of honour, yeah right. Anger curdled in your gut. He hadn’t even said thank you. Bastard.

You bit back tears as a bag was stuffed with all the necessities you could think of. It would take a few days to arrange travel somewhere far away from here, maybe back to your family. But until then, you couldn’t sit here waiting for whatever pity knock came at the door. And there was only one place that came to mind. “Oh,” Lagertha said, peeping through the gap in the bronze door of the Weaving Tower. Moonlight smoothed the deep wrinkles of her face, and the bobble of a sleeping cap hung by the sheet of fabric draped down her chest. She peered to either side, groggy eyes blinking back to your face. “Got Loki exhausted and begging for mercy already? You better be here to spill all the details - I’m a little old for girl talk but I’ll do my best.” She smiled as she said it, but it was wary.

When you didn’t reply she added, ‘…What’s he done?” And then, you started to cry.

Lagertha ushered you inside, bringing you to a small door at the back of the ground floor. Through the haze of tears, you couldn’t even appreciate that the door that had appeared from nowhere on the smooth circular wall, opening into a homely set of rooms. She plonked you at a small table and set about making tea while you heaved out the important details: ceremony, amazing, loved him, left.

Lagertha sighed. She drooped into the chair opposite and pushed a steaming cup of something herbal in your direction. You blew a wet snort into the sleeve of your dress. “Blessed Norns, dear. We may not be royals, but we’re not animals.” She fished in a pocket of her nightdress. “Here,” she said, offering a suspiciously crinkled handkerchief. You took it, blew into it, and she sighed again. “I’m sure he meant well, love.” “He left me!” you gasped, high and squeaky. Your eyes itched from tears and Lagertha grimaced. “He didn’t say a word, let himself be dragged off by the people he claims to despise all telling him how fucking great he was…Fandral was right. I’m nothing to him.” You folded your head in your hands, staring at the table. “I never liked that Fandral,” Lagertha said after a pause. Her chair creaked. “Never trust a man with more shoes than sense, that’s what my mother always said.” A small laugh erupted in your throat. And soon afterwards, the stone weighing in your stomach was dust. Temporarily, at least. When the teapot was empty, she showed you to a small bedroom beside her own holding a long single bed, and not much else. A nightdress was folded on it, woven by Lagertha. The threads shimmered in moonlight. “I can’t magic you up a four-poster bed, I’m afraid,” she said with a sad smile. “But I can guarantee you’ve never slept on finer sheets.” You shook your head. “No, it’s perfect…thank you, Lagertha.” And as you curled your knees to your chest, staring at the wall, you tried not to think about Loki’s eyes as he kissed the inside of your knee; of his warm breath in your ear as the syllables of your name lingered on his tongue, and the hope you'd felt. That was the worst of it. You were trying so hard not to think about it, you almost didn’t hear a knock at the front door.

“What do you want?” Lagertha hissed. You stood with an ear pressed tightly to the wood separating the front door of Lagertha’s quarters to the main entrance of the Tower. A low voice rumbled in response. “I don’t know what to tell you,” Lagertha said. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

“…Safe?” the voice mumbled. It sounded sad. Is it…? You pulled the door open.

Loki stood in the entrance, that broad shouldered silhouette unmistakeable. Shards of liquid moonlight dashed across the wild hair spread over his shoulders. He still wore the ceremonial robe, but the intricate folds were tangled and now he was wearing a pair of those — fucking —leather trousers that clung to every insane muscle. And then, breath caught in your throat. A bruise the colour of stormclouds was spreading under Loki’s eye socket, and a deep scratch ran from his heart down to the oblique on his left side.

He gasped your name, lunging forwards – but Lagertha stopped him with a delicate press to his chest. He looked at her, and then at you. “I need to speak to you,” he pleaded. “I can explain, it’s not what you—" You raised a hand. Part of you wanted to run into his arms and tell him to shut up and kiss him into oblivion. But another part, the sensible part, knew that nothing had changed. Not really. Lagertha looked between the two of you.

“Why don’t the two of you have a little chat, hmm?” You said nothing, staring at Loki. He was breathing heavily. Did he run all the way from the palace? How did he know I was gone? Butterflies erupted in your stomach as you noted the twitch of his fingers by his sides, the frantic dart of his eyes over your face, his lips itching to say the words jostling behind them.

Lagertha rose her eyebrows at you, and you nodded in confirmation. She made a fist at the thin material on Loki’s chest and pulled him inside. The bronze door slammed. The god smoothed his hair back, his abdomen twitching. “Upstairs is about as private as it gets,” Lagertha said breezily, shuffling across the floor. Her bare feet whispered across polished marble. “Just…try not to throw him out the window, will you?” she asked as she passed, patting your shoulder. “The kids need those hams from the palace.”

You lowered your gaze as her wizened hand lingered and then slid into the darkness beyond with the rest of her. And the next thing you felt was the gentle touch of a finger trailing up your jawline. “Little Ow—" “—Don’t.” The finger flinched. Your vision started to blur. “I’m so embarrassed, Loki,” you whispered, hoping he couldn’t hear the waver in your voice. His brows peaked.

“Come upstairs,” he said, letting the fingers graze down your arm and tentatively cupping your hand. Loki led you up the staircase, his perfect ass shifting in those ridiculous leather pants. You bit your lip, trying to douse the hope building in your gut. That hope always got you in trouble. The measuring room looked different by moonlight. A wide bar of white spilt through the solitary window. Outside, Asgard's twin moons were almost in perfect alignment. Once every 500 years, you thought lazily. The chaise in the corner was still in the same place you’d first seen the god draped over it, the first place you’d seen the hint in his eyes there could be something more.

He dropped your hand, pacing to the centre of the room, and spread his arms, turning in a solemn circle. Loki looked up beneath his lashes, the bruise shadowing one half of his face, and moonlight dashing the other. “I am, who I am,” he said with a tinge of bitterness. Loki’s tongue nipped over his lips, trepidation flashing on his features. “To everyone…I am the prince of pleasure. I am usually drunk, mostly rude, or having sex…or all three.” You rolled your eyes, arms folding over the thin nightdress. “But then…I met you,” he finished. He crossed the room, a hand sliding around your waist. “Years in the palace shovelled dirt on the person who I am, who I want to be. I felt like I was…mad. But with you, I feel whole. I can be…free.”

His lips brushed yours, hovering. “When they said The Rite had been successful…I was blinded by everything I always thought I wanted. Everything I’d been conditioned to want by that awful place, just for a moment," he said, voice catching against the short puffs of your breath into his mouth.

“But what I truly want…is you. And you owe me nothing, I know that. But I need you to know that I —” You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him to your lips, tongue demanding entry as he stumbled back and clasped his hands at your back.

“I love you, Loki,” you gasped through messy kisses. "You fucking fool, I do...I just thought, I thought..."

He pulled away. The dark, tangled halo of his hair framed the angles of his face. Loki’s eyes were black in the gloom, a small sliver of blue ringing blown pupils. He cupped your jaw, and brushing a thumb over your parted lips. “I love you in ways I thought weren’t possible, I love—”

Your body moulded to him like a magnet, tongue exploring his it was the first time. His hands cupped the base of your skull as one of yours worked down his chest, down his waist. Loki hissed, jolting back. “I’m sorry,” you said, glancing at the ragged scratch. “What happened?” “Fandral,” he muttered, but before you could ask his mouth was on yours again. You squeezed his cock through the tight leather as Loki unwound his hands from your hair and shrugged the ceremonial robe from his shoulders. “Can we…you know... now?” you breathed against his chest as your eager fingers pulled at his laces. Loki’s chest shook with silent laughter but all he said was, “Yes. If you want to.” You looked up, scandalised. “If I want to? Are you mad?” Loki’s hands stilled around yours. The tip of his cock was hard against your fingers, and all you wanted to do was dig down the narrow gap of the fabric and squeeze; feel him tremble under the weight of how much you wanted every part of him. “If you don’t want me anymore, if The Rite was too much and now you have doubts…you’re under no obligation to—”

“—Fuck you?” A smirk curled at one side of Loki’s mouth. “Well, yes.”

“You’re every bit the arsehole they say you are,” you said, poking the centre of his chest, “you’re vain, and brash, and arrogant…” Loki’s smile grew, sinking slowly to his knees. “Keep talking, darling. Ruin me.” His thumbs and forefingers curled above your knees, working upwards and raising the hem of your nightdress with it. “Proud, and mouthy…but…you’re also kind, and generous and, oh-gods,” Loki’s mouth fastening to your clit, suckling gently. Your fingers raked through his hair, pulling his face tighter to the heat between your legs. In the pearl-slick gloom, there was only you and him; Lagertha's fabrics glistening like exotic bird wings in the half light. Your legs trembled and Loki’s hands flew to your ass, balancing as you staggered through orgasm with a rush of his name.

Sinking to the floor under his guidance, your lips met; whispers of ‘I love you,’ cracked the stillness while Loki waved his hand, and soft fur rugs unfurled from nothing on the floor.

You pressed against his chest, nudging him onto his back. Light kisses were peppered on his bruised under eye, down the line of his nose, across his parted lips. You travelled down his neck, tongue nipping over the thick vein straining and dipping into the hollow of Loki’s collarbone. “Please,” he gasped quietly, nails scraping lovingly down the ridges of your spine, “I need you, I’m begging you, darling.”

“A Prince? Begging?” Tutting softly, you straddled his hips, scooting down the god’s long legs and pulling the leather trousers as you went. Loki laughed as you threw them to the side and kissed up his perfect femurs, and then up the trail of the scratch on his stomach. His cock nestled between the swell of your breasts, pre-cum leaking into the fabric of the nightdress. “No…” Loki whined with feigned frustration. Or maybe not feigned, you thought with a thrill. His cock was incredibly hard, flat to his stomach, the tip dripping fat beads of arousal to the skin below. He arched his back, his eyes flashing with a primordial need. Your grip tightening around the girth, and Loki released a guttural choke. With a deft swoop, you captured the crown of his cock in your mouth. Loki was silent for a moment, and then, he moaned.

It was the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard. His skin was velvet against your tongue; every ridge pulsing in time with each suck. Loki’s words were unintelligible. Murmurs of praise in an ancient tongue, the glimpse of his fingers tightening around the furs out of the corner of your eye, his hips quivering with the effort of not emptying down your throat. Your fingers tightened around the base, tongue flicking the sensitive underneath of his shaft. Loki squirmed, and you looked up – mouth full of his cock. His brows peaked in desperation, his jaw slack and strands of hair stuck to his forehead. “I need to be inside you,” he panted, biting back a groan, “please…fuck me. Please—" Before he could finish the sentence, you’d crawled up his chest, kissing him like a Valkyrie. Loki Odinson was putty in your hands, thrusting against your bare thighs like a needy youth desperate to feel a cunt wrapped around his prick for the first time. And it was fucking hot.

A deep groan rumbled in Loki’s chest, and it was only at the last second you realised it was a growl.

He flipped you to your back, caging your wrists above your head, and spread your knees wider with one of his own, settling in the middle. Loose hair hung around his jawline. Above you was the devastating god of legend: the one that could ruin a city and a woman with one smoulder. And he was yours. “I love you,” he said again, nudging his cock at your slippery entrance. You arched up, capturing his lips. “Please, Loki,” you whispered. Loki’s cock breached and the two of you stilled. He panted slowly; his eyes fixed on yours as he eased himself inside.

The god’s forehead rested against yours as he circled his hips; a fullness rising like the tide filling a narrow cave. Of all things you expected Loki to be – gentle wasn’t one of them. And now, you weren't sure why. You clenched on every drag of his cock from your cunt, relishing the pained pleasure in his eyes before he sank inside again.

Each wickedly slow wave of his hips caught the deepest secrets of your desires; his breaths timed with yours, and only your name on his tongue. And then, his lips lowered to your ear, sucking the lobe between his teeth as he came with a thunderous gasp of devotion. "I'm yours," he breathed. "Utterly."

Your legs tightened around his hips, capturing him deep, locking tight enough you’d swear you’d never let go.

Loki's face buried in your neck, his heartbeat thumping against your chest. “I feel cheated,” you whispered against his cheek.

He frowned, pulling back. His cock twitched inside your snug cunt. Norns, it was even more perfect than he dreamed it would be, but — “Excuse me?” he said, followed by a confused snort unbecoming of royalty. He cringed as your lips rippled with a stifled smile. “I’ve heard all these tales of Prince Loki and his sexual theatrics…drama, you know?” You shrugged, and Loki tried to ignore the gnawing desire rear in his lower stomach at how innocently fucked-out you looked. “Is my lover…unsatisfied?” “No?” You bit your lip, and Loki’s manhood eased from your silken channel with a licentious slurp. His eyes narrowed as you continued with, “That was…incredible, I just…you’re different to how I thought you’d be. Gentler, more…romantic.” Loki knelt back, heels digging against his ass. He ran his hands through sweat-damp hair, pausing with the fingers locked behind his head. “You should be honoured,” he sniffed imperiously. “I don’t think I’ve made love like that in…” He realised he’d been staring at the window and tilted his head to meet your eyes, “Ever.” Your beam of pride made his heart explode into a thousand, shining pieces. He towered over your moon-drunk body, memorising the lines that appeared in your face when you were truly happy. Joy. Acceptance. Love. So, this was what it felt like. One finger traced over Loki’s lips, down his chin; fell to his chest and continued its descent between his ribs. “Are you asking to experience both sides of me, tonight?” he asked: slow, gravelled.

You bit your lip again, but the smile couldn’t be contained. Loki lowered, making a show of placing his palms above each of your shoulders.

“Are you asking for Loki of Asgard to fuck you like a god?” he growled, relishing the frantic nod of your head. “To take you as his mistress, and mark you as his own?” He shot you a wolfish grin. No words passed your lips – at least, none known to gods or men. Your hips thrust up to meet the dangle of his riotously hard cock with a clouded, desperate mischief in your eyes.

“Mmm,” Loki hummed, sliding a flat palm between your breasts and massaging the base of your neck. In one graceful movement Loki’s hand dropped to your waist, the other scooping beneath your hips and sliding your body up his thighs. He gave your arse a tight smack, grabbing a handful of hot flesh with an approving rumble. He held you still above the tip of his cock, mustering his best look of regal indifference. “What do you want?” he goaded. The fingernails digging into his shoulder muscle would leave marks, but Loki didn’t care. “Fuck me again, Loki…please, hard” you gasped, raking through his hair. He knew it would be hanging in perfect dishevelment around his jaw, trailing the hollow of your neck, strands marking his moonlit skin like ink.

Loki lowered you an inch, letting the tight ring of your cunt swallow the tip of his cock. His whole body shuddered, fingertips sinking into the soft flesh of your waist. “F—fuck, darling,” he stuttered. He hoped he’d never become accustomed to that silken fire.

You yelped as Loki powered upward.

His thighs smarted, and your legs tightened around his waist. The god took several steps forward, pressing you tightly against the turret wall.

Asgard’s twin moons shone through the window, coating the city rooftops like white sapphire. They're almost joined, he noticed. The court would be out in force for the event: fires blazing, chants ringing. His absence would be noted. But all Loki could feel was the beat of your heart against his, and your whispers of forever in every breath.

The moan that ripped from your throat as he buried himself was heaven, and Loki intended to wring pitches of pleasure from that pretty throat that you’d never thought possible. He ripped the neckline of your nightdress, devouring the supple skin that taunted him — palming your perfect breasts, and his enthusiasm as harsh from his throat as it was from his cock. You arched into his body, offering your neck like a willing rabbit to a panther. Or was he the rabbit? Hel's fire: It had never been like this.

He wanted to consume you, or rather, let you consume him. An endless cycle of lust, and love, and eternity. He wasn’t afraid anymore. Whatever he’d found in you, he’d found himself. Every inch of himself was alight with the grip of your cunt as he bottomed out again and again. A hand flew above your head, gripping a chunk of uneven stone. “Make me yours, Loki Odison,” you breathed as your climax ebbed, clenching tightly around the root of his cock. He dragged it out with a gritted growl. Webs of cum squelched as he eased in, and out; your ambrosial mess coating the wet, slow clap of skin. “You give yourself freely,” he panted, and your fingers wrapped deeper in his hair, tugging sharply. He hissed, delivering a punishing thrust that made the wall behind you tremble. “I take nothing which isn’t offered freely; I take nothing which isn’t already mine.” At that, your crossed ankles pressed deeper into the base of his spine. Loki thought he might explode. “Mark me with your power, Loki,” you said, nudging his lips to yours. “Uhhh, g-gods…don’t…” A sob caught in his throat as he felt orgasm swell. He bit into your shoulder, sucking hard enough to bruise. Your gasp of pleasure was the final tie. It snapped. Loki’s hand flew to your ass, pulling you a final devastating time down the rippling veins of his length. His heavy breaths thrummed with climax, your hands fastened to the sides of his face – forcing his eyes to yours.

“Mark me,” you slurred, resting your head against the wall: watching him come undone inside your sweet cunt with a lazy smile. Loki’s vision blurred, blood thundering in his ears. He screwed his eyes shut, face tipped to the ceiling and a strangled moan choking from his throat as he emptied molten seed deep inside you for a second, glorious time.

Your lips fastened to the hard vein throbbing in his neck, kissing up until they met the angle of his jaw. "Which side of me do you prefer, then?" he asked, noting the wild thump of his heart. He felt your smile against his cheek.

"I love all of you, Loki." You kissed the tip of his cheekbone. "Every side," you whispered, "and each piece between. You never have to pretend with me. And I promise, I won't pretend with you."

Loki's vision blurred, a thick swallow working down his throat. And for the first time, he knew without a doubt exactly what he wanted; what he needed.

“Marry me,” he murmured, and your grip on his hair faltered. “What?” You looked at him with nothing less than utter bemusement. “You can’t be—" “Serious? Deadly.” Loki lowered you to the ground and kissed you so deeply that he felt the hidden parts of him mingle with yours. But it was meant to be this way. “You opened yourself to me during The Rite – gave me my destiny – but it wasn’t the succession, it was you.” You opened your mouth and closed it again.

Loki raised a hand and snapped his fingers.

Balls of light burst in perfect sync in mid-air: dozens of tiny, flickering orbs of golden flame. Your eyes met his. “Loki, I love you, but you don’t mean that you need to…your family would never—" “—Fuck my family,” he said softly. “To Hel with their inane traditions that serve no one but themselves. I will marry you, and I’ll be happy. I’ll make you happy. If you want it.” Loki touched his forehead to yours, feeling your shoulders begin to shake. “Together, we can usher in a new age of Asgard; a new dawn.” Loki drew his face away, unsurprised to see tracks of silent tears making your cheeks glisten. With every second that passed, the nerves in his stomach skittered to the emptiest corners of his mind he preferred never to tread.

“Will you have me?” he whispered, searching your face. “Will you help me?” The air was knocked out his lungs as you threw your whole weight at him; arms locked around his neck and mouth pressed violently to his own.

Amber slats of sunrise played in the sharp crevices of Loki’s cheekbones. They softened the bruise Thor had left. Loki hadn’t wanted to hide it, not from you. Not from Lagertha, either.

His blue eyes peered knowingly over the rim of one of her pattered teacups, narrowing softly. You smiled, and straightened as Lagertha came bustling through the kitchen door. “Ah, you stayed the night,” she said brightly, nodding to Loki and making for the teapot. “Thought you might. And I see you got the night-robe I left out, thank you for…wearing it. Not that I don’t appreciate the spectacle but given the circumstances it may be a little…inappropriate.”

She poured a cup, plopping down in the third seat at the small table, before looking between you. An eyebrow rose.

“If I go upstairs, Loki Odinson, there better not be a button out of place.”

The words were honeyed, but you could tell she’d kick his ass if there was. And Loki knew it too. You stifled a laugh as his eyes widened, and he pressed an innocent hand to his chest: mortally wounded. “Every thread is in place, Lagertha. You have my word.” She rolled her eyes, landing on you with a wink. "Mmm..." she murmured sceptically, her eyes falling to the tattered neckline of your nightgown. Heat crept up your neck.

The three of you sipped in silence before Lagertha said, “So I assume I’ll need to clear my weaving schedule for a wedding, then?” Loki's tea erupted in a splutter, bringing a fist to his mouth and coughing frantically. You turned to her. “I…um…we,” Lagertha patted your hand. “Don’t worry dear, I wasn’t listening. But like I said the first time we met…I have eyes.” She smiled gently. “Am I wrong?”

Her wry gaze swung between the two of you. “Thought not. Fandral just ordered a new batch of capes. I’ll tell him it won’t happen this quarter: Royal wedding garments take top priority, you see. What a shame. I know how much he loathes not getting what he wants.”

She gave you another wink. “But, for the two of you, I shall enjoy every moment.”

Loki reached across the table, and your own hand crawled forwards, meeting it. “I love you,” he murmured. “Finally,” Lagertha huffed. “Nice to hear you say it out loud – blazing Norns, it’s been a long week. If I wasn’t already grey, I would be.” Loki threw her a loving glare as his thumb massaged the centre of your palm. Despite lack of sleep, you’d never felt more awake. “As much as I adore her, Lagertha likes to think she knows everything, darling.” “Cos’ I do,” she said with a shrug. “At least where weaving and their enchantments are concerned. But this?” She gestured between you, “It was as obvious as Asgard is golden. Colour me unsurprised when you announce it and no one bats an eye. He’s met his match, and I’ll curse anyone who says otherwise; weave a spell into their robes which makes them perpetually shit themselves, perhaps. But you better not forget about the little ones—”

“—Never,” Loki cut in. She nodded, and put her hand on top of the knot you and Loki had made. A golden ribbon as thin as cobweb snaked over your wrist, slithering in soft waves through the gaps in your fingers and up Loki’s forearm.

“May the Norns bless you,” Lagertha said with a gentle smile, and the ribbon dissolved like melted sugar, absorbing into your skin. And as you and Loki’s eyes met, you knew, finally, that they did.

A/N: Thank you so much for coming on this journey with meee❤️I really hope you enjoyed seeing a bit more of this version of my Asgard, silly as it is. 🕯️ Whether you're reading this two days or two years afterwards, I'd love to hear your thoughts 😊 May the Lagertha-Vibes be with you, always.

A Masterlist for The Rite is here Series now: Complete. A link to my regular Masterlist is here

[i-is-v-tired]

[andrew-garfielld]

KATHERYN WINNICK ━ Photographed by John Russo | New Beauty (November 2021)

[catherinesvalois]

[demon-of-the-ancient-world]

Athelstan + Lagertha friendship headcanons

Sigh. Here we go again. I'm almost as unhealthy about these two as I am about him and Ragnar. Only reason I'm not doing hcs about Them is because I'm pretty sure it's all been said before.

Sort of inspired by @procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics 's hcs here (which came in response to an ask of mine so...I'm just adding to this very long ago discussion I guess)

it's (too) long so under the cut:

So I headcanon their relationship as being slightly on the antagonistic side when they first meet and for the first little while of Athelstan being their slave

Athelstan is more than a little afraid of her

But a little in awe of her too

She's definitely not as warm towards him as Ragnar is to begin with. He's a disruption to their otherwise pretty straightforward lives, a stranger, and someone she has a hard time trusting

Also gets Fed Up with how little knowledge he has about how to help run a farm

She *does* care about him deep down, just tends to be more stern towards him

I have this idea that at some point some farmer neighbour or somebody starts harassing him or giving him crap for something that isn't his fault, maybe pushing him around a little, and Lagertha sees it and goes OFF on the guy

Like, goes full mama bear mode and Athelstan is so very stunned

And then very matter of factly goes back to her work and he's like wait wait what now

After that is when he really starts wishing they could just be friends

She teaches him to knit

And later years down the line they have knit and chat nights

(often to complain about whatever Nonsense Ragnar is up to)

His food experience is a little different from hers but I like to think they exchange cooking tips

And herbal medicine tips

Honestly? He's a bit of a simp

Not in a gross way, more of a "my friend is just so awesome and I'm kind of obsessed with their whole vibe please listen to how great they are" kind of way

will absolutely tell other people how cool she is if they don't already know

(Obviously he loves Ragnar too, but Ragnar isn't 'cool.' Ragnar thinks he's cool, but let's be honest he is. kind of a dork.)

Any time she gets a new boyfriend after being split from Ragnar he will hype her up to whoever it is so hard as long as they aren't a creep

And if they are he tells her straight up because I think he's got a good sense of people

& she knows he's right in those (rare) cases, because he's normally very supportive of her doing whatever tf she wants in terms of new lovers, so when even he's like "nah something's up with this one" she respects his judgement

Likewise, she'll try to hook him up with singles in Kattegat

In an attempt to be sneaky but he KNOWS what she's up to

Honestly? They fight really well alongside each other. Like they tend to be pretty well in sync even in the chaos of a battle

She has definitely saved his ass in MANY times

But he's made his fair share of saves as well, some surprising

Including one time when he saw an archer from a distance before she did and just yeeted himself full force on top of her knocking her aside before either of them could be hit

He worries over her after battles though, and has definitely helped her with injuries before

One time somebody asks them if they're together now after she left Ragnar, and after a stunned silence they both just crack up laughing

They both mourn Gyda on the anniversary of her death. Every year.

At first it's separately in their own private ways, without each other knowing, but one year she quietly reminds him what day it is and when he tells her he already knows she's so touched and surprised, not knowing he remembered

She can be such a mom with him sometimes

And honestly like, in a totally not-unhealthy way, Athelstan doesn't want to acknowledge it but deep down he sees her as the closest thing to a mother figure he's got

I think she doesn't really realize how deep their friendship actually goes

Until they have some semi-intoxicated emotional heart-to-heart at 2 am and end up crying and hugging the whole works

Ragnar finds them and is Very confused since this is very out of character for them both

None of them ever bring this up again

[pegcrter]

Vikings: 1.01 -  Rites of Passage.