#vikings era

[blueiscoool]

1400-Year-Old Gold Foil Figures Found at Pagan Temple in Norway

Archaeologists have discovered a votive gold hoard during road development works in Vingrom, south of Lillehammer on the shores of Lake Mjøsa Norway.

The 5 gold pieces are tiny, about the size of a fingernail. They are flat and thin as paper, often square, and stamped with a motif. Usually, they depict a man and a woman in various types of clothing, jewelry, and hairstyles.

The objects were discovered in the remains of a pagan temple, where previous excavations have uncovered thirty similar stamped gold objects in the vicinity over the past three decades.

Archaeologist Kathrine Stene was the project leader for the excavation, which has been ongoing along the road here all summer and into autumn, due to the upgrade of the E6 highway between Mjøsa Bridge and Lillehammer.

“It was incredibly exciting,” Kathrine Stene said.

The pagan temple measures around fifteen meters in length. Archaeologists have found five gold foil figures in the last couple of weeks.

According to the researchers, the objects date from the Merovingian era sometime between AD 550 to the Viking Age.

The latest objects were found beneath the structure in the wall runs and in adjacent postholes, suggesting that they were ritually placed as votive offerings in the form of a sacrifice or a religious act to protect the building before it was constructed.

In 1993, the temple at Hov was discovered entirely by chance. County conservator Harald Jacobsen noticed the soil while driving along the E6. He thought it looked like what archaeologists call cultural layers, or soil containing human traces. A quick investigation proved him correct, and the discovery of two gold foil figures indicated that this was no ordinary location.

Smaller excavations during the 2000s led to the discovery of 28 gold foil figures, and what is referred to as a temple, a house for pagan religious practices.

In Norway, findings of gold foil figures are rare. The 35 from the temple in Vingrom represent the largest collection found in this country.

However, 100 gold foil figures were found in a similar temple at Uppåkra in Sweden, and more than 2,500 gold foil figures were found in a field on the Danish island of Bornholm.

So, “There must be more of them here,” researchers believe.

By Oguz Kayra.

[viking-raider]

SALT IN OUR WOUNDS - CHAPTER V

Summary-> After being found out by the Patrol, you try to act the part, to lower the suspension on Gus's presence.

Pairing-> Gus March-Phillipps/Reader

Word Count-> 3.3k

Chapters-> I II III IV

Warnings-> PG-13: AU, Language, Deception, References to WWII, Use of the word Nazi.

Inspiration-> The one and only Chaos Major, Gus March-Phillipps.

Author’s Note-> This is a work of Fiction, pulled from my imagination.

Divider by->  @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> DRAGON_DWELLER

With the officers gone, Gus helped you to your feet, gently cradling your arm in his hands to look at the steadily bruising print on your bicep. His brows creased, as anger at the officer's roughness with you filled him again and guilt for getting you into this mess consumed him. Laying a hand on his chest, you offered him a soft, reassuring smile, nodding your head slightly.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, tracing the edge of the bruise with his thumb.

"It's not your fault, Gus." You cooed, brows pinching slightly. "It's not like you walked up here and asked us to take you in, We-" You looked at Edmund, who nodded at him. "took you in because we knew it was the right thing to do."

"So, he's not a worker from another village?" Your father's skeptical tone asked, as he regarded the three of you from his chair.

Edmund sighed heavily, rubbing the side of his face. "No, Pops. He's not." He answered, having not liked lying to your father to start with, despite it being needed at the time. Now he was going to have to ask something just as difficult. "She found Gus injured on the beach the other day, and we brought him in, so Dr. Tremblay could treat his wound. I know we told you he was working for me." He explained, moving across to sit beside him. "Now, however, the Patrol, and Trottier, think that Gus is her fiancé. We need to keep that story going. At least, until he's well again and, either they leave the area, or Gus can get back to where he needs to be."

"Can you do that, Papa?" You asked, frowning down at him, concerned for his well-being in the matter, knowing it was a lot asking your father to make merry with a random man who was pretending to be your future husband.

"Well, I have no choice in the matter, do I?" Mael answered, rubbing his shaky hands over his knees. "The mission has already been set up for me by the three of you. I'm just here as support."

"I'll make it as short a mission as possible." Gus replied, giving him a serious, but respectful, expression. "One Major, to another." He added, with a knowing glint in his blue eyes.

"I'll hold you to it." Mael stated, giving him a hard look.

"I guess there's no reason to finish the project downstairs." Edmund commented, sitting at the kitchen table with you and Gus, hands cupped around a fresh mug of coffee.

"Oh, I don't know." You chimed in, setting your tea down. "I really could use some shelves down there." You smirked, giving him a teasing expression.

Edmund gave you a squinty eyed look. "Use some shelves." He parroted, tapping the rim of his cup with his index finger. "Down-stairs."

"Mmhm." You nodded, brows going up, and giggling as Edmund's eyes flickered to Gus. "What are you looking at him for?"

"Wondering if he can get his fiancé under control." Edmund quipped, finally raising the coffee to his mouth.

"Well, I always heard, 'happy wife, happy life'." Gus answered, shifting in his seat, and glancing over at you. "So, if more shelves make her happy." He shrugged his shoulders, a gentle smile on his lips.

"Just because you give her everything she wants, doesn't mean she'll be happy." Edmund replied, an almost sour edge in his voice.

"Are you trying to compare me to Willamena?" You asked, cocking an offended brow at him.

Edmund finished off his coffee and pushed his chair back. "No." He said curtly, standing and striding over to the door, jerking his coat off the hook on the wall beside it. "I'll be back later." He huffed, going out.

"Is he all right?" Gus asked, look to you.

"Edmund will be fine." You sighed, shaking your head. "He and Willa, his wife, haven't been happy together in a very long time. So, it's a sore subject for him." You explained, getting up to take your and Edmund's cups to the sink, but glanced up at the clock. "I have to go down to the shop. We don't have anything for dinner in the refrigerator and I have to see when Remi wants me to work another shift."

"Is it far?" He inquired, coming up behind you and setting his own mug in the sink.

"No." You shook your head, biting your lip as you felt his intense warmth against your back. "Maybe a two minute walk."

"Why don't I go with you?" Gus suggested, cocking his head and smiling at you.

"Do you think you can manage with your wound?" You asked, a bit apprehensive. "I don't want you to over-extend yourself."

Gus's smile brightened and he reached out to squeeze your hand. "I'll be fine, I promise." He assured you, his thumb rubbing your wrist. "I could use the fresh air and sunshine. Plus, it'll help deter any of the Patrol, instead of making them more paranoid, if I stay inside a hundred percent of the time."

"You're right." You nodded, biting your lip, having not thought of what the Patrol would think of Gus staying hidden. "I'll get my shoes and something to wrap up in." You told him, before giving his hand a gentle pressure back.

"I'll wait for you here."

He let go of your hand and moved out of the way. Your cheeks felt warm as you hurried upstairs to grab your cardigan off the back of a chair in your room, pausing to fix your hair in the mirrored back of your vanity and spritz a bit of Soir de Paris. But you stopped, feeling silly.

"Acting like this is a date." You sighed, flustered, plopping down on your chair. fishing your shoes out from under the vanity and securing the buckles. "All right, I'm ready to go." You declared, coming back downstairs, finding Gus patiently waiting for you by the door.

"As am I." He answered, tipping his head politely, while pulling open the door.

"You mind her, Major." Mael called out to Gus, leaning forward in his chair to catch his eye.

"I would think of nothing less." Gus assured him, meeting your father's eye confidently. "I am her fiancé, after all." He quipped, with a wink, then followed you out. "Do we hold hands?" He asked, looking at you, but felt his heart kick at your startled reaction. "I'm only teasing you." He said softly, biting his lip.

"I know." You squeaked, flustered, before catching sight of your sister-in-law coming out of her home across the way. "Oh, that's Willa." You mumbled to Gus, before lifting your arm and waving to her.

"Morning, Willa!" You greeted her, grinning pleasantly.

Willa stared over at you and Gus, pulling a Rose-Tip out of her engraved case and her sky-blue enamel guilloche, sterling silver lighter from the front pocket of her knitted jumper. She didn't return your pleasant acknowledgement, instead lit her cigarette in a smooth and indifferent motion, eyes never moving off the two of you. Gus frowned, cocking a brow at her as he studied her standoffish demeanor; puzzled. She was just anti-social or if she was being rude.

"What’s her issue?" He asked you, his own eyes never leaving Willa.

"She's fine." You answered, sighing at your sister-in-law, your heart yearning to have a connection with her.

You had been excited upon hearing about Edmund courting someone; finally having another woman in the house to talk to, to share in the chores and just confide things to. Things you couldn't do with your father and brother.

However, from the moment you met, Willamena Badeaux had been distant from you.

She wasn't cold, per se, but she hadn't opened up with you either. Willa had been the first female in your close and personal circle, outside of the couple of elderly church ladies that would come over during the day. They would cook meals, clean the house, wash the laundry and just make sure you, Edmund and your father were well taken care of. After your mother had run off with her lover, the assistant shop clerk of the grocery store she frequented on her shopping trips. Which several of you figured were excuses to go and meet up with him; so she could cheat on your poor father.

But, the church women never went out of their way to be motherly or be a true confidant for you. Their love and friendship was out of pity. You were the little girl of a harlot and a mentally broken man, who could barely manage a job, dropping that weight onto his teenage son. So, when Willa came into the picture, you thought you would have a sister, not only to do sisterly things with, but to also learn how to be a woman. That's obviously not how it turned out.

She only came over to the house, if Edmund urged her to. She only held a conversation with you, if you were the one to start it and spurred it to keep going, otherwise she only spoke to Edmund or sat quietly. It only got worse, when the two of them married and moved into the cottage across the street from you and your father. Willa rarely came over for family dinners, meals you were still solely cooking for the four of you. Only occasionally getting a home cooked meal from her, after she and Edmund quarreled over her not performing her wifely duties and dropping the chores of two houses on you. As if you were their maid.

Part of you was sure, Willa detached from you, because she had been under the assumption Edmund only married her to be a mother figure to you. Not because he had been, once upon a time, madly in love with her.

"Do you need anything from the shop, Willa?" You asked, pulling yourself from sinking deeper into that emotional hole. "Gus and I are popping down there now." You explained, raising a hand and motioning to him, casually.

She stared at you for a long minute, before holding up her case, the sunlight glinting off the engraved bronze and mother of pearl. Nodding that you got the hint, you turned and started towards the center of town, with Gus following beside you. The sun was warm, heating the both of you, as well as the modest homes and buildings that lined the street, all converging on the limestone fountain round-a-bout in the middle of Saint-Thurney, spraying an arch of water from the top; a rainbow sparkling in the mist.

"This is really quite a quaint town." Gus commented, glancing about, following you across the sleepy street.

"It is." You replied, smiling up at him, proud of your little adoptive home. "It's almost like we're somewhere else entirely, instead of such a bustling and chaotic world." You told him, always feeling a sense of peace while in Saint-Thurney, even with a World War being waged around you and the town being occupied.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be." You added softly, stopping beside Remi's General Store. "This is the place!" You declared, waving your hand at the store's front windows, plastered with advertisements for goods he sold inside, several crate displays lined the bottom of one window. "You'll like Remi, he's super sweet." You smiled, reaching out for the door handle, only to have Gus beat you to it.

"Allow me." He purred, pulling it open and standing aside, for you to go in first. "Only proper for your fiancé to open it for you."

You gulped, biting the inside of your lip. "Right." You nodded, clearing your throat. "You're right."

Composing yourself, you went inside, finding Remi at the only register with one of the residents, Mrs. Moulin, the Mayor's wife. They looked up at you and smiled, before their expressions twisted into apprehensive confusion, spotting Gus coming in behind you.

"Morning, Remi. Mrs. Moulin." You greeted them cheerily, while trying to keep casual, like there was nothing out of the ordinary for Gus to be there with you.

"Good morning." Mrs. Moulin addressed you, her eyes still on Gus, as if she expected him to lash out at everyone.

"Who is this?" Remi asked, ignoring his manners, unlike her.

"This is Gus." You grinned brightly, looking back at him and your breath catching in your throat at the feeling of him taking your hand. "He's my fiancé." You declared, heart racing in your chest.

Both Remi and Mrs. Moulin looked floored at the announcement, particularly Remi, who you had worked for for several years and knew you'd never mentioned having a male suitor. Let alone a fiancé! So, selling Remi on Gus being your betrothed was going to be one of the other hurdles you faced, on top of the Patrol and Director General.

"When did this happen?" Remi snapped, dumbfounded and looking almost outraged. "You never mentioned anything!"

Gus rested his free hand on the small of your back, his eyes taking the other man in, sizing him up. "Keeping me your own little secret, Peanut?" He asked, a sparkle coming into his eyes as he looked at you, bashfully.

A zing shot through you, hearing him call by your nickname, your skin breaking out in goosebumps. "I have been." You smirked, bashfully turning your face into his bicep.

"How did the two of you meet?" Remi asked, continuing his interrogation.

"We knew each other from before she moved here." Gus answered, surprising you on how casually he came up with the fabricated detail. "I reached out to her just after I enlisted, and well, I proposed to her a year ago." He stated, smiling at you and caressing your back with his thumb. "Thankfully, she said, yes."

"Would you have gotten yourself shot sooner, if I said no?" You teased him back, getting lost in the moment.

Gus grinned at you, amused, but he felt something deeper. "Definitely." He nodded slowly, his blue eyes soft.

Mrs. Moulin gasped, crossing herself. "You were shot?"

"Yes, madam. I was." Gus replied, tipping his head politely to her. "That's the reason I'm here, and not back in Belgium; fighting." He stated, lightly touching his wound. "This lovely gem is taking care of me." He cooed, touching his thumb to your chin with a wink, making your knees a little weak.

"I thank you, sir." Mrs. Moulin said, straighten her petite body, then glanced around the group. "Fighting those damn Nazis."

Your mouth fell open, surprised to hear the ordinarily prim and proper lady, curse. "Mrs. Moulin." You mumbled, in a state of shock.

"Well, it's true!" She huffed at you, gathering up her grocery bags. "I'm sick of them being in my town, marching about, like they own it."

"I'd be careful with what you say, Mrs. Moulin." Remi warned, as she moved for the door. "You never know who you can trust." He said, eyeing Gus.

"Luckily, everyone here is trustworthy." You chimed, with confused surprise. "Have a good day, Mrs. Moulin. Say hello to the Mayor for me."

"Oh, I will, my dear." She answered, reaching out to rest her hand on your arm, looking between you and Gus. "You make a beautiful couple. You must let my brother, Zane, marry you when the time comes." She said, with a sweet smile.

Your cheeks blazed at her words. "We'll put him at the top of consideration." You promised her, offering her your own soft smile.

"Good." She nodded, patting your arm and gave Gus a cheeky wink, before scuttling out the door.

"Do I have a shift this week, Rem?" You asked, turning your attention back to your boss, who hadn't taken his judging eyes off of you.

"I haven't gone over the schedule yet this week." He answered, gruffly. "So, I'll have to let you know."

"All right." You nodded, feeling the cold coming off of him in waves. "Well, I have a bit of shopping to do for the house." You said, trying to shrug it off as Remi's reluctance to trust with the uncertainty of war, having lost both his brothers.

Gus stepped away from you, to grab a small hand basket from the stack by the door, holding it for you as you puttered around the modest aisles and freezers, grabbing a few items and placing them in the basket.

"Everything is so bare." He commented, watching you grab a box of oatmeal, only one of four on the scarce shelf.

"We're being rationed." You replied, sighing as you tucked a box of dry pasta in with the rest of your groceries. "Remi only gets a shipment of things once a week to stock the shelves. If you want something and don't get here early enough for it..." You trailed off, shrugging your shoulders dismissively.

“Suppose, being enlisted for so long, I’ve been a bit blind to the tribulations of civilians.” Gus frowned, his brow creasing heavily. “Not that I didn’t know about rationing. I just didn’t…” He shook his head, a hardness coming into his blue eyes. “Damned Nazis.” He growled, rolling his jaw.

You rested your hand on his elbow, looking up at him with a soft expression. “It is what it is, Gus.” You told him, quietly. “But it will change. We’ll beat them and everything will go back to how it should.”

“As it should.” He echoed, meeting your eye for a long moment.

What will happen after the War ends? No matter who wins. I’ll have to go back to the Army. I’ll have to leave her. Could I come back after my service? Would you want me to come back? Could I…

He shook his head hard, trying to shove the thoughts away. It was delusional to think such things, he was getting too involved and attached. He needed to keep a barrier between the two of you, to protect you against the danger he presented as an officer of the British Army.

“Well, what’s for dinner?” He asked, forcing that wall back up and peeking into the basket he carried for you.

“Um..” You cocked a brow at the basket’s contents taking stock of it and what you knew was at home. “I could make a simple stew. Wouldn’t be too much, but it would be something in our bellies.”

“I have faith in your cooking abilities.” Gus smiled, the sparkle coming back into his eyes.

“Kind of you.” You giggled shyly. “I think that's about all we need.” You said, biting your lip and glancing about the modest shop. “We can get rung up.” You smiled, heading towards Remi at the register. “How’s your Mum, Rem?” You asked, as he slowly added up everything in your basket.

Remi’s mother had suffered great shock at the loss of her two older sons, Duncan and Andre, who had enlisted and been shipped off to the thick of the war. Duncan had died in the Battle of Crete, taking shrapnel that nicked a serious artery and bled to death before anyone could do anything for him. The most tragic though, was Andre. His squad was ambushed by a German one and overtaken. It had been a hard time for many in the town, when they received the telegraph informing them of Andre officially being MIA. Every time Remi’s mother was seen, she was balling her eyes out and lamenting, prophesying that he too would die as her oldest did.

Two months later though, another telegraph arrived informing them that Andre had been found alive, but being held in a German Prisoner of War camp. His mother was relieved to hear he was alive, however she was still devastated to hear of his situation. Andre survived for a while in the camp. Two whole years, to be exact. But the fated telegraph ultimately arrived, one blustery day, and practically the entire town heard her screaming.

So, in that sense, you and Remi had developed a friendship based on an understanding of parents with mental health issues, inflicted by wars in some way.

“She’s doing all right.” Remi answered, not looking up from his task.

You blinked at him, ordinarily he would elaborate on how his mother was doing when you asked, even if nothing had changed about her. But you realized quickly where his reluctance came from, feeling Gus shift beside you.

Men. You rolled your eyes.

“Can I have Willa’s usual as well?” You asked, ignoring the thick air between Gus and Remi.

“Sure.” Remi nodded, half turning on his heels to grab the red and white, Rose Tip box and tucked it into the bag. “I’ll put this on your tab.” He said, setting it in your reach.

“Thanks.” You smiled uneasily at him, as Gus scooped the bag up and tucked it carefully against his good side. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow.” You told him, before leaving the shop and tracing your steps back home.

“What’s wrong?” Gus inquired, glancing down at you.

“Nothing.” You informed him, licking your lips and shaking your head. “Guess he’s just having a rough day.” You brushed it off.

Gus moved out of the cellar and into the cramped guest room upstairs, nothing separating the two of you now, but the wall of your closet. The two of you agreed it was much more agreeable to have him there than the cellar in the event the Patrol and the Inspector returned. They know doubt would, their suspension of Gus was all too obvious. It would also be more comfortable for him in the guestroom, giving him a softer bed, the luxury of sunlight and fresh air from the window that overlooked the back garden. As well as the beach, beyond the garden wall.

But as Gus healed and regained his strength again, he knew he had to find a way back to his men, and the war. He had to find out what happened to his men, if they were still alive. How he was to do that, was another matter altogether.

The last thing he recalled of the group was infiltrating a Nazi Intelligence Camp to rescue one of their own, Geoffrey Appleyard. They had gotten into the camp and things had gone well. He and his second hand man, Anders Lassen, moved smoothly together before nodding at each other and Gus looked back to Henry Hayes, jerking his head for the younger man to follow him. They moved swiftly through the camp, taking Nazis out left and right and making the camp practically useless for any that tried to use it again; with Freddy Alvarez setting up a plethora of explosives as a finishing touch.

Gus was proud of his men. No one had been seriously injured, beyond a handful of scratches. It had been one of their best in and out missions in the two years the unofficial, rag-tag group had been put together. That alone should have given Gus a measure of paranoia.

Missions should never go so easily.

The shot rang out and everyone in the group tensed, the jolly celebration that filled them instantly vanished as they dropped their looted goods and scrambled for their weapons, pulling out guns and bows. Gus hated being caught by surprise, especially by damned Nazis. He gritted his teeth, returning fire, while trying to assess the situation. They were a mile and a half from shore, where their boat was waiting to take them back to the safety of Allied Lines. There was a sparse covering of forest between them and their extraction point, that could give them some shelter. As much as Gus March-Phillippss hated being surprised, he hated running. But hearing Anders call out that there were too many and ammo was running low, Gus gave the signal to retreat to the boat, taking up the rear to ensure none of his men lagged behind.

It was him that lagged behind.

He felt the hot burn of lead piercing his side, faltering only momentarily, his eyes focused on the back of Lassen’s head, breath from his lungs starting to wheeze in his throat and his vision spot. Gus’s memory skipped in and out from there, like a scratched record. Spotting the boat ahead of the group and urging them forward, the heat of blood soaking into his clothing and his knees feeling like jelly. He couldn’t recall if he made it to or onto the boat with the others, then somehow fell overboard, or something more happened.

There were dark bits lurking in his mind of freezing cold enveloping him, no doubt of him in the Channel.

“Your father’s very into following the movements of the War.” Gus said one morning, sipping a cup of coffee as the two of you finished breakfast.

“He is.” You nodded.

“Does he only follow the major events or…” He trailed off, meeting your eye.

“No, he follows whatever is reported on or gossiped about in newspapers and the radio.” You replied, sensing his intent and sudden interest in your father’s hobby. “Why?” You asked, cautiously.

“I need to know what happened to my men.” Gus told you, bluntly and honestly. “I have to know if they’re still alive, dead or in prisoner of war camps. Perhaps your father has some information that could be useful to me, on that front.”

“How?” You shook your head, confused.

“I was injured during a mission.” He divulged to you, in a low voice. “It wasn’t an official or authorized mission, but there might be a possibility of it being reported on.” He cast an eye over his shoulder to the sitting room, where your father lounged in his usual spot. “Do you think he’d discuss it with me?”

You snorted at him and lifted your tea cup to your lips. “Do I think so? It’s more a matter of getting him to quit, once you get him going.” You said, taking a deep gulp of the rich, brown liquid. “But, yes.” You nodded, assuring him. “I’m sure my father would likely share any information he has on the War with you. Just wait until later in the morning. He likes to nap after breakfast, and he’ll be more receptive and energetic about the subject.”

“Excellent.” Gus smiled, patting your arm. “Would you like to go on a walk with me, to pass the time?”

“I think that would be quite agreeable.” You cooed, finishing off your tea.

[gwydpolls]

Time Travel Question 34: Medievalish and Earlier 3

These Questions are the result of suggestions from the previous iteration.

This category may include suggestions made too late to fall into the correct earlier time grouping. Basically, I'd already moved on to human history, but I'd periodically get a pre-homin suggestion, hence the occasional random item waaay out of it's time period, rather than reopen the category.

In some cases a culture lasted a really long time and I grouped them by whether it was likely the later or earlier grouping made the most sense with the information I had. (Invention ofs tend to fall in an earlier grouping if it's still open. Ones that imply height of or just before something tend to get grouped later, but not always. Sometimes I'll split two different things from the same culture into different polls because they involve separate research goals or the like).

Please add new suggestions below if you have them for future consideration. All cultures and time periods welcome.

[blackcrowing]

Book Review of 'A History of the Vikings: Children of Ash and Elm' by Neil Price

This is probably singlehandedly one of the best academic books I've read as a pagan addressing the Viking era and its people's.

The author did a PHENOMENAL job of using academic sources (archaeology, literature, historical linguistics, etc) to really paint a living picture of the peoples being discussed in their entirety. The author left room for the peoples spiritual/supernatural believes that I don't often see done by writers who are not writing specifically for a pagan audience.

It was deeply refreshing and I sincerely hope to see more academic authors following in their footsteps in the years to come

[borgialucrezia]

"Now concluded, it’s hard not to view VV without contemplating the real-world context of the production, and for that, it’s an especially important landmark in my career and a credit to all who worked on it. I hope to return to my “Irish Viking Family” again in the future." — DAVID OAKES

[wexhappyxfew]

Hi! I love your Silver Bullets girls, and Carrie x Douglass has a special place in my heart (even more since your last writing with them). So, for them I'd like to ask 35. (kissing their bruises and scars) from the Touch prompt list or 5. (the last thing they're thinking about before falling asleep is always the other) from the Subtle love list. 💗

HI FRIEND!!!! thank you so much for sending this and i am so so glad carrie and dougie have meant a lot, alongside the Silver Bullets girls (it seriously means SO MUCH and i always say it but its true!!!) THANK YOU FOR THE OPTIONS TOO!!!! i couldn't help myself and went with the second prompt (5) and decided to focus on some of their earlier meetings with one another and how they've developed into the people today. let's just say, i had a lot of fun! thank you SO MUCH!!!!! :D this was so much fun! <3 (and sorry for the wait for this....the semester was its usual chaos haha!)

greenland

(a/n): safe to say, for my carrie x dougie enjoyers, this was FUN to write. we get a bit into life before the annie bradshaw era of silver bullets! WITH captain birdie faulkner. BUT, because i am a sucker for someone who haunts the narrative and is simply talked about, we don't actually meet birdie here, just hear about her as a leader and all (a running theme!). we also get a bit into the storyline of what dougie means when he said he wanted to ask carrie to 'dance in greenland in THIS PIECE. and also carrie's dislike for greenland lmfao. please enjoy!!! <3

Greenland was anything but green, it seemed.

Maybe that's why the Vikings called it that - to freak the living fuck out of any sort of enemy that was bound to come this way and make them mistake what was actually a stupid ice block for well - 'green land'.

The landing had been less that superb and Captain Faulkner had dismissed them all to the bar to the left of the tarmac for the rest of the evening off.

Birdie Faulkner was everything, including a realist, and she seemed to understand that the rather harrowing conditions of their landing was something that required at least a drink or two before bedding down for the night.

With a half-finished beer, Carrie was sure that she could've fallen asleep in that very chair for the time being, but she had to present herself a best she could. With the newest B-17 group collected, Silver Bullets was formulated and crafted by that oh-so-brilliant mind of Birdie Faulkner, and they all had her to thank. And Carrie had to look a bit more put-together than usual - prove she's not just a wash-out bombardier with lackluster experience. That she deserved the spot in Silver Bullets more than anyone else.

"So?" a voice came from her right, settling into the other plush, leather seat at her side, the smiling face of Bessie Carlisle appearing as she popped open her own beer bottle, "Greenland, huh?" Carrie smirked and rolled her shoulders and glanced around.

"It's cozy, really," Carrie offered, "I'm considering taking a swim in the river, suntanning-"

"Okay, smart ass," Bessie said with a chuckle, her boot nudging her own foot, "can't say I'm complaining. Finally out of those training cycles, working towards the war. Maybe, we'll actually put ourselves to use instead of waiting just to go on a practice run." Carrie watched Bessie and then smiled widely.

"Love it so much that I may tell my future husband that 'Hey, we're moving to Greenland!', pack up the truck, babe, forget Brooklyn, home is where the grass is a solid as a fucking rock," Carrie said, sipping her beer, "not to mention the weather. I love to freeze."

"Someone's happy." a new voice chimed in, as Francis settled into a chair opposite them, sucking down a portion of her beer and grinning, "I've never seen you so enthusiastic about something." Carrie deadpanned.

"I'm really jumping for joy over here, Monty." Carrie told Francis, raising her glass of beer up in mock ceremony, "You know me so well." Francis and Bessie burst out into laughter as Carrie leaned back in her chair with a sigh and looked towards the ceiling.

"When the hell are we going to England?" Carrie asked, counting the flecks of rotting wood in the wooden ceiling, her eyes tracing the pieces that stuck out of the ceiling panels before losing her spot and recounting, "If I could just get another beer started, I'd be ready by tonight to head out. No pit-stops for me, I'm just fine with a beer stop and then jetting off to England and calling it a day."

"I wish I had the same energy towards that, Bergie, I really do," Bessie said, "afraid to say I'd ask for a few hours of sleep thought over that."

"Sleeps overrated half the time!" Carrie admonished still staring up at the ceiling, "How you gonna get a thing done when sleep's-"

"Exactly what you need." Carrie blinked a few times and into focus above her head came James Douglass - fellow bombardier, with whom Bessie had introduced on one of Carrie's first days after her transfer on base.

Carrie remembered first time seeing him coming towards them, with that carpet on his face he called a mustache, a sharp smirk, a rather loud, somewhat obnoxious voice, a quick hand-shaking, before he was wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pointing out to various areas along the base like they'd been friends for years - something that had caught her completely off guard. And ever since then, with their few chance meetings, they'd been nothing but a trifle of teasing jabs and somewhat good-natured fun.

Key word: somewhat.

Because she could never actually read James Douglass unlike Benny DeMarco or Hambone Hamilton who were just about as sweet to her as her grandma's hotcakes. He'd see her and beeline, make a few jokes, flirt shamelessly, and then go dance with the next girl who'd take his hand. He was quite the character and Carrie usually didn't engage in much conversation past when he'd come to seek her out.

Except now, he was hung above her like a hyperactive golden retriever, like the dog, Kering, that had lived down the street from the Achterberg's in Brooklyn all her life. Running out of the Wilkes house anytime the door opened, barking and sniffing and tearing around the neighborhood like a lunatic. Yeah, Kering the golden retriever who looked like he was a lunatic reminded her exactly of James Douglass.

Nice to know home was never far.

"What are you trying to say, huh?" Carrie asked, still slouching in the chair and staring up at him hovering over her. Douglass grinned at her, showing off his pearly whites and that charming look on his face and he let out a chuckle.

"You know, a little sleep never hurt a soul. Only reason we're even alive," Douglass said, reaching forward to rub her shoulder, "makes the brain happy or some shit. Makes people less….cranky."

"You calling me cranky, now?"

"Cranky. Now that's just one of many words-"

"Oh, you little-"

"Alright!" Bessie said standing and shoving Douglass pack from where he currently was occupying Carrie's headspace, "Nice to know some things never change." Carrie glanced at her as she sat up and Bessie raised a brow with a smirk.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Douglass said from behind Carrie, before he moved around her chair and took the other open seat in the grouping of four, and kicking back to relax. Carrie watched Bessie before looking at Francis, who was rather interested in her cup of beer, before glancing at Douglass, who was already looking at her.

"What?" she murmured, before he made a face and she rolled her eyes.

"How was the flight over, Douglass? Invigorating?" Bessie asked Douglass, with a smile - leave it to Bessie to be sweet as cream on any given occasion.

"You woulda thought Greenland would be, well, fucking green-"

"That's what I said!" Carrie butted in, getting looks from the other three, before settling on Douglass who was watching her, with a mixture of interest and annoyance, but she couldn't seem to decipher the two and sank back in her chair, "Greenland's cold as fuck, not some East Coast paradise I'll give ya that." She heard Douglass chuckle at that as Carrie took in more sips of beer.

"With the way we were flying in, I wasn't even sure we were gonna make it at first, I'll tell you that," Douglass said, "you sit in that nose and you swear to God that you'll smash right into the tarmac. Good ole Ev Blakely don't let that sorta stuff happen though."

"Yeah, a real crap shoot." Carrie muttered, "Thought Birdie was gonna bring us in sideways." Douglass raised a brow as he sipped his beer.

"Guess you can say they lied about the fucking weather, too," Douglass offered, "really nice place here. Could barely move my fingers and toes when I actually stood up fully." Bessie let out a chuckle and started sipping her beer again as Carrie narrowed her eyes at her.

"Hey, they're putting on some music to dance, y'all wanna come?" Judy Rybinski's joyfully said as she appeared behind Francis, "C'mon Bessie, I know that look anywhere, you wanna!"

"You know me too well, Jude," Bessie said, getting to her feet and finishing off her beer.

"I'm coming with! No shot I'm missing a chance at good music and good company." Francis said getting to her feet, "The company part may be a stretch-"

"Oh c'mon!" Judy said, taking Francis' hand before looking at Carrie and Douglass unmoved in their chairs, "You two coming?"

"I'm going to continue working on these beers, Jude, but I appreciate it," Carrie said, "Greenland's officially fucked me up." Judy let out a chuckle.

"You enjoy that then, Bergie," Judy said before looking at Douglass, "Dougie?" Carrie glanced sideways at Douglass who sat quietly, before glancing over at Carrie and then Judy again.

"Maybe next time," he said with a nod, "I promise you a dance, got it?"

"Sounds good! Don't have too much fun!" Judy called before she disappeared and some Artie Shaw began playing over the speakers.

"Good to know we have one thing in common, Bergie." Carrie slowly looked over at Douglass, that annoying nickname rolling off his lips like it had before, "We both hate Greenland." And he grinned at her and couldn't help but smirk back.

"First off, don't call me that. Second, you might be right about that," Carrie said, sipping her beer again, "you know that it's called Greenland because of the Vikings?" Douglass let out a chuckle and shook his head.

"Nah, you're fucking with me," he said, "the Vikings? The guys with the horns on their heads?"

"I'm not kidding," Carrie said sitting up and fully meeting his gaze for the first time since he had hung overtop her, "I swear to you, they did it. Tricking their enemies. For the sake of how much can they fuck a person in the head." Douglass watched her for a moment, before letting out a laugh and sipping his beer again, before smirking.

"Maybe they were just being smart," Douglass countered, "before they knew that it was just one sheet of ice for miles on end. Then they realized what a shitty name Greenland was." Carrie stared at him for a moment, before smiling slightly, unable to hold back her grin.

"You really know how to get under my skin, don't ya?"

"Guess you could say I know what makes you tick."

"Oh so now you suddenly know everything about me, huh?" Carrie said, leaning over to give his shoulder a playful shove, "Well, go on, what's my favorite color?" She watched him and noticed him glance at her lips - surprisingly - before moving back to her eyes.

"I don't know….blue probably." Carrie watched him and stilled for a moment.

"Uh….yeah, actually." she said quickly, and forced down the way her cheeks flamed (and for what she didn't know), "Alright, well, where do I come from?"

"Brooklyn." Douglass said, laughing at the look on her face, "Look, sweetheart, that New York accent ain't just a voice with Southern twang. I know if I was walking down the streets, and I heard your voice, it'd be you."

"God, what the hell." murmured Carrie as Douglass chuckled, "You won't get this - school subject." Douglass looked at her and then smirked before leaning forward.

"Something with math, right?" he asked her confidently, "You don't just get interested in this sorta shit without having some interest there." Carrie watched him and tilted her head.

"Are you mind-fucking me or something?" she asked him, "How the hell-"

"Just good at reading people I guess." Douglass said with a smirk, "Contrary to popular belief, Bergie, I usually know what I'm talking about. There's a reason I'm a bombardier and not just some journalist or something." She watched him and licked her lips.

"Is that why you joined?" she asked him, "The Air Force? Flying in B-17s?" Douglass glanced at her and nodded.

"Had to join the fight somehow, couldn't just sit back and let the fucking Nazis think they could walk all over us," Douglass said, finishing his beer, "that sorta stuff just don't fly around here. Well, except us. We fly." The two burst out into laughter, before they both died down and looked to one another. For a moment, they were quiet regarding one another with somewhat hesitant gazes as Carrie finished off her beer.

"Well, I'm gonna head-"

"Did you wanna-"

They both watched each other, before breaking out into laughter and righting themselves.

"You go." Douglass said.

"I was gonna head out. Get some rest. Pretty tired." she said quickly, her heart racing as she smiled at him with a nod, "You?" Douglass stared at her and for the first time, she saw the sudden shyness in his gaze as he glanced away from her and then back.

"Just…was gonna get another drink, but you head out, get some rest," he said, before smirking at her, "you need it."

"Oh, you asshole." grumbled Carrie knocking his shoulder before standing to her feet, Douglass following suit. The stood there for a moment, looking at one another - usually, if this were a Silver Bullets girl, she'd give them a hug, but with Douglass, she felt frozen in place. She stuck out her hand instead, to shake, and he shook her hand, and she felt more awkward than ever before, as she shook back. His handshake was firm though, and confident and suddenly made her feel like some 16-year-old girl in high school and balked.

"Well, I'll see you around." she said, stumbling back a bit, "Night!" And she disappeared quickly - like she always did. She found the barracks, promptly settled into bed, and then stared at the ceiling, counting the dried pieces of wood hanging from the panels again.

And she replayed the look in James Douglass' eyes - over and over.

And for the first time in years, all she could think about was James Douglass' eyes that had watched her like that, as she tried to fall asleep.

To say the least, it was the best sleep in months.

[axelsagewrites]

Taglist Masterpost

If you want to be tagged in all of my work please like or reply to this post

If you only want tagged in certain fandom(s) posts then go to the fandoms taglist post listed below

Game of Thrones

House of the Dragon

Ted Lasso

Vikings Tv

Mauraders Era

Saltburn

[fusrotem-blog]

Here’s Viking Miku/Mildri Bluehair!

[tikister]

Don't look at her, someone stole her glasses

Inspired by this article and also other reference photos I found online :P

[247reader]

Day 25: Gudrid vìðförla Thorbjarnardóttir!

Guðríðr Þorbjarnardóttir was born in the late 10th century, to a prominent Icelandic family. Her father, Thorbjorn, was chieftain of Laugarbrekka, and he took pride in his social status; when Gudrid fell in love with an unsuitably lowborn man, he opted to remove her from the temptation entirely, and brought her along when he voyages to Greenland with Erik the Red.

One saga reports that Gudrid made a (presumably more acceptable to her father) marriage at this time, to Thorir, a Norwegian trader, but she was quickly left a widow. It’s unclear what religion Thorbjorn practiced, but Gudrid was by this time a Christian; many Norse of the period, however, picked and chose which bits of new and traditional religion they liked. Gudrid’s second marriage was a politically advantageous one: to Erik the Red’s son, Thorsteinn, brother to the famous Leif Erikson - and a man determined to continue his brother’s efforts in Vinland.

It’s unclear whether Gudrid accompanied him on the ensuing voyage, but two things are clear: Thorsteinn died of illness en route, and while Gudrid, back in Greenland, married another prominent man, the idea of Vínland never left her. She soon convinced her new husband, Thorfinn, to finance an expedition with an eye to claiming the uncharted territory.

But North America, of course, was not uninhabited land. And while the settlement flourished for a brief period, long enough for Gudrid to give birth to a son, within a few years of Snorri’s birth conflicts with the indigenous inhabitants the Norsemen called “Skraelings” were constant. Gudrid, her husband, and their son returned to Iceland, the land of her birth - but Gudrid’s last great journey was still to come. After her husband’s death, she made a pilgrimage to Rome - truly earning her epithet: Vìðförla, the Well-travelled.

[midnottart]

I don't come around drawing Thor and Loki in so for now the King's Hall stays empty, its throne waiting for the new king and his adviser.

[blueiscoool]

Archaeologists Unearth More Than 50 Viking Skeletons in Denmark

Archaeologists in Denmark have unearthed more than 50 “exceptionally well preserved” skeletons in a large Viking-era burial ground in the east of the country.

A team from Museum Odense have spent the last six months excavating the Åsum site, which covers about 21,500 square feet and is thought to date back to the 9th and 10th centuries.

The skeletons were buried alongside artifacts from far beyond Denmark’s borders, suggesting Vikings traveled extensively for trade, according to the team from the museum.

Michael Borre Lundø, archaeologist and curator at the museum, said that it is incredibly rare to find Viking remains in such a good state of preservation.

“Often when we excavate bodies from the Viking age we are lucky if there are just a few teeth,” he said in a telephone interview Tuesday.

The conditions at the site are what helped keep the skeletons in such good shape, he said.

“At this particular site, there’s a lot of chalk in the ground which helps preserve the bones and there’s a lot of natural water in the ground as well,” he said. “For long periods of time the bodies of the Vikings were covered in water, which slows down the decomposition of the bones.”

Archaeologists had been called in to excavate the area as part of work to renovate the electrical grid.

“We had no clue that there was going to be a burial ground with Viking skeletons there,” Lundø said.

“It is truly unusual to find so many well-preserved skeletons at once, like those discovered in Åsum,” he added separately in a press release.

“This discovery offers extraordinary opportunities to perform a wide range of scientific analyses, which can reveal more about the general health, diet, and origins of those buried,” he said. “The analyses might even reveal whether the buried Vikings were related, which would be particularly significant, as this has never been examined in similar graves.”

Items found buried alongside the skeletons also suggest a lot about the deceased - including their status in society and how far they might have traveled to trade.

Perhaps the most significant of the skeletons was that of a woman found buried in a wagon, the upper part of a Viking cart that was used as a coffin.

Lundø said in the press release: “The woman was buried in the wagon she likely traveled in. We must imagine that she was buried with her finest clothes and belongings. She was given a beautiful glass bead necklace, an iron key, a knife with a silver-threaded handle, and, most notably, a small shard of glass that may have served as an amulet.

“At the foot of the wagon, there was a finely decorated wooden chest, the contents of which we still do not know.”

The grave of another person nearby contained a fine bronze three-lobed brooch, a single red glass bead on a cord around the deceased’s neck, an iron knife and a small piece of rock crystal.

It was this stone that was of particular interest, according to Lundø.

“Rock crystal does not occur naturally in Denmark and was likely imported from Norway. Several items from the many graves in Åsum indicate that the buried Vikings were connected to international trade networks that developed during the Viking Age, he said in the release.”

According to the release, the discovery of the burial site confirms that Åsum was a key geographical point for the earliest urban developments, which eventually led to the formation of Odense - Denmark’s third largest city

Archaeologists are still excavating some of the area at the site, but most of the skeletons and artifacts are now at the museum awaiting further examination.

Lundø said: “Now the skeletons are drying out a little bit before we can wash them and ship them off to Copenhagen for further examination.”

Among other things, scientists in the Danish capital will be aiming to extract DNA from the remains in order to learn more about those buried there.

“That’s going to be very exciting,” Lundø said. “I think that will give us a much better idea of people’s ages, sex, what diseases they might have had and whether they were related.”

By Lianne Kolirin.

[viking-raider]

Salt in Our Wounds - CHAPTER IV

Summary-> Gus is healing and moving about. However, nothing is sunshine around the house.

Pairing-> Gus March-Phillipps/Reader

Word Count-> 3.3k

Chapters-> I II III

Warnings-> PG-13: Language, Deception, References to WWII

Inspiration-> The one and only Chaos Major, Gus March-Phillipps.

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

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> DRAGON_DWELLER

“You told our father what?” Edmund barked, as you met him outside the cottage, the next morning.

You had peeked out the window for him, ever since you woke.

“Well,” You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment. “It was Gus that thought on his feet and told Papa that he was working with you on things around the house.” You repeat yourself, licking your lips. “We had to tell him something, when he found Gus coming out of the bathroom, after his shower.”

Edmund carded a hand through his hair and paced on the small porch. “So, you told him that Gus was a carpenter from another village, who's come over to help me put up shelves in the basement and do repairs around the cottage?”

“Yes.” You nodded, fidgeting. “What else were we to tell him, Eddie? I just opened the front door and grabbed some random man off the street, who looked as if he needed a shower?” You huffed, a tad frustrated.

“No.” He sighed, waving his hand, a tired expression coming over his face. “No, the two of you did the right thing. I suppose it's just as good an excuse to explain him to Pops than any other.” He exhaled again and stopped pacing. “Right well, is the man handy with a hammer or saw?”

“I haven't the slightest clue.”

“I'll find out.” Edmund replied, motioning you both inside and found Gus sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee and reading his book.

Edmund looked at you with a lifted brow and you gave him a look that said, why not, since your father knew he was there, making your brother roll his eyes.

“Good morning, Edmund.” Gus greeted him, setting his book down.

“Morning.” He answered, narrowing his eyes at the other man, sitting nonchalantly at the table. “Are you ready to work today?” He asked, squaring his shoulders.

“I am.” Gus answered, taking a gulp of his coffee, unphased.

“Not before the two of you eat breakfast.” You spoke up, pulling your apron on. “So, park yourself at the table.” You ordered Edmund, pointing to the chair across from Gus, defusing the brewing cloud of male bravado.

Sighing, Edmund pulled the chair out and plopped into it, giving you a short nod as you set a steaming cup of coffee down in front of him. Blowing gently on it, he stared across at Gus, who had returned to his book, but felt the other man's eyes on him and lifted a brow over the top of his page. Edmund cocked a brow back at him.

“So, Gus.” Your father called out from the sitting room, having kept his own eye on him since Gus appeared upstairs.

“Yes, sir?” Gus answered, respectfully setting his book down again and tilting slightly to the side to give Mael his attention.

“Why aren't you fighting in the War?”

“Papa!” You gasped, head jerking in his direction, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “That's rude.” You whined at him, frowning.

“It's all right.” Gus replied, smiling sweetly at you. “I don't mind.” He assured you, then looked back at Mael. “I'm a Conscientious Objector, being Evangelical.” He explained to him, causally.

Mael stared at Gus for a long while, fluttering and tapping the pencil between his fingers against his map. The sizzle of hotcake batter on the red-hot griddle and the bubble of the percolator on the counter filling the quiet space, as no one spoke. Finally, Edmund grunted, shrugging his shoulders and taking another sip of his coffee, putting the atmosphere back into some reasonable balance.

“At least, he's not a deserter or a Nazi.” Edmund commented, putting his coffee cup down and picking up the newspaper you'd set on the table.

“Exactly.” You trumpeted, nodding your head, a tingle of relief running through you, turning back to the griddle to flip the hotcakes. “How many cakes do you want, Papa?” You asked, shoveling the steaming rounds onto a serving plate.

“Three, Peanut.” He answered, still tapping his pencil, but his eyes had shifted to the uneven hardwood floor.

Nodding, you shifted three over onto his plate, before taking up a knife and cutting another in half, adding one half with his three, knowing sometimes three weren't enough, but four could be too much for him.

“Boys?” You called over your shoulder, cracking an egg onto the griddle, beside the two fresh pools of batter.

“Four, please.” Gus chimed, turning a page.

“Same.” Edmund replied, squinting at the small print of the article he was trying to read.

Humming to yourself, you finished cooking up the batter and made everyone an egg, before doling out plates. Everyone had just dug in, when a knock sounded on the door. You and Edmund tensed, eyeing each other, a silent conversation going between you.

“Don't be rude!” Mael huffed around a mouthful of food.

Sighing, you stood up and answered it, finding Dr. Tremblay on your doorstep, black bag in hand, a flood of relief washing over you.

“Oh! Good morning, Dr. Tremblay.” You greeted him, glancing behind you to Gus and Edmund.

“Good morning, mon chéri.” Tremblay smiled at you, kissing your cheek and glancing into the house and spotting Gus at the table, enjoying his breakfast. “I see my patient is feeling better.” He commented, lifting a bushy white brow.

“He is.” You nodded, stepping to the side. “Please, come in. Would you like some coffee or tea?” You asked, biting your lip nervously.

“Tea would be nice, oui.” Dr. Tremblay answered, setting his bag on the table.

Edmund looked at the respected senior and cocked a brow over his shoulder to his father, hoping to indicate not speaking of Gus's injury and real purpose in the house. Tremblay returned a squinty eyed glare, just as you set down his cup of tea, making you chuckle at the two of them.

“What's brought you over so early, Sacha?” Mael asked, forking a hotcake into his mouth, but his eyes were cast over the table.

“Oh,” Tremblay waved his hand dismissively, before reaching out for the sugar pot in the center of the table, dropping two granular, ivory cubes into his teacup. “I came to check up on Edmund.” He replied, looking at your brother with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Heard from Thom that he might need a new pair of glasses. So, I've come to take some measurements.” He said, patting his bag, still sitting on the table.

“You didn't mention anything about that, Ed.” Your father croaked, looking a bit alarmed.

“I didn't want to burden you with it, Pops.” Edmund answered, squeezing the handle of his fork. “No worries though. Doc has it under control.” He grunted, eyes shifting over to Gus.

Everyone finished their breakfast and Edmund showed Tremblay upstairs, under the guise of looking at his eyes in privacy, while Gus excused himself to the bathroom, following the two of them upstairs. You fret a little bit, picking up the dishes from the table and putting them in the sink, the feeling anxious of not knowing if Gus's wound was healing right or if he needed the antibiotics anymore. You wanted to go upstairs and join them. But knew if you did, your father would likely get more suspicious.

“Are we going to take our usual Sunday afternoon stroll around the garden today, Papa?” You asked, putting a plate on the drying rack.

“I'll see how I feel come time, Peanut.” Mael replied, leaning against the arm of his chair to catch every word the radio presenter was saying.

Nodding, you pulled out the mop bucket and carried it out to the garden, using the garden hose to fill it. Leaning against the wall beside the door, you looked up at the morning sky, steely with angry looking, iron-gray clouds drifting by overhead. You drew in a deep breath, filling your nostrils with the cool and salty scent of the sea, but it also had the faint snap of the ozone, the possible threat of chubby raindrops.

“Well, it looks like my nurse took excellent care of me.” Gus's voice chimed in your ear, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Your wound is all right?” You asked, casting your eyes up to his.

“Yes, ma'am.” He smiled, filling the doorway. “Healing nicely and should have the stitches out in no time.” He assured you, lifting his jumper a little to show you. “I also don't need any more shots! Which I am thankful for!” He chuckled, but looked at you quickly. “Not that you weren't good at administering them!”

“Oh no!” You giggled, cheeks warm with embarrassment and relief. “I'm just as glad as you are! I would have much preferred Dr. Tremblay make you take the antibiotic by mouth! The idea of sticking you, or anyone, with a needle is frightening. I'm surprised I didn't wound you further in the process.”

Gus smirked, glancing down at his boots. “I doubt you could have. I have thighs the size of tree trunks.” He remarked, biting his lip for a moment. “Your bucket!” He gasped, catching sight of the water spilling over the side.

“Oh shoot!” You snapped, twisting the nozzle off and letting out a sigh.

“I'm sorry, I distracted you.” Gus apologized, watching you tip the bucket slightly to let out the excess water.

“It's all right. I should have been paying attention.” You shrugged, grabbing the handle.

“Here, I'll carry it in for you.” He offered, replacing your hand with his at the handle.

You brushed a loose lock of hair behind your ear and watched him take it inside, before shaking your head, as if to snap yourself out of something, and followed him back inside. “You can put it right there.” You instructed him, going under the sink to grab the bottle of fairy liquid. “Are you going to help my brother?” You asked in a hushed voice, pouring some of the washing up solution in the water, while glancing over at your father, who had dozed off.

“I don't know.” Gus replied, a crease forming between his brows. “I'm not sure your brother is too fond of me.”

“Edmund is...” You sighed, resting your hands on your hips. “Edmund tends to be guarded. Many relationships in his life haven't panned out. With our mother leaving us and his wife—well, Willa has big dreams. She feels have been held back and blames him for that, by keeping them here in Saint-Thurney. So, sometimes, even when he does like someone, he gives them the cold shoulder.”

“He's waiting for the boot to drop.” He nodded, understanding.

“Exactly.” You hummed, grabbing the mop and dripping it into the soapy bucket. “Now, you need to skitter off my kitchen floor, so I can wash it.” You ordered, shooing him.

“Yes, ma'am.” Gus laughed, swiping his book off the kitchen table, gave you a grinning salute and made for the basement, casting one more look back at you, smirking as you started scrubbing the floor. “Do you want any help?” He asked, finding Edmund framing up the shelves against the cellar wall.

Edmund paused, a nail clamped between his lips, bracing his elbow against the board he was nailing, he took the one out of his mouth, answering. “Are you any good at building things?”

“I find my way around a saw, hammer and a nail.” Gus replied, looking around at Edmund's spread-out supplies. “Just tell me what you want done with them.”

“All right.” Edmund nodded, cocking a brow at him. “I need a few more boards cut. I already have them marked to length. You can do that for me.”

“Sure thing, Captain.” Gus replied, going into his makeshift room to set his book down. “What?” He asked the other man's look, lifting one of the pre-marked boards onto the sawhorses, finding the pencil measurements and grabbing the saw that rested against the leg beside him.

“Don't call me that.” Edmund growled, an angry glare in his eyes.

Gus held his gaze for a moment, a faint smirk on his lips. “My apologies.”

The two of them nodded at each other, then turned back to their work.

There was no afternoon walk to be had, the dark clouds from that morning broke open and saturated everything outside, shutting in the residents of Saint-Thurney. Your father continued to doze in his chair, unbothered by the weather pattering the roof like a percussion symphony. Gus and Edmund were still down in the basement, hard at work, coming up periodically for bathroom breaks and refreshments, and you sat at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea and getting lost in the world of Oliver Twist.

You paused, bringing your teacup to your lips and cast your eyes to the window by the door, sure you had heard something outside, above the rain and carpentry. But saw nothing and shrugged, taking your sip and set the cup down, returning to your sentence. However, a few moments later, you swore you heard it again; putting you on edge.

“Edmund!” You called out, slowly setting your book down, the hairs at the back of your neck began to stand up. You gasped, seeing three men flash by the window. “Edmund!” You shouted, startling your father awake, his eyes wide with panicked alarm.

A thunder of furious pounding sounded on the front door accompanied Edmund and Gus's boots stomping up the basement stairs, frantic and confused. You had rushed over to your father, in an attempt to calm him before he slipped into an episode of shock.

“It's the Patrol!” You cried, rubbing your father's back, eyes trained on the vibrating door, a stream of German demands now being shouted with their banging, mixed with accented French and English.

“Damn my eyes.” Edmund growled, gritting his teeth. “They must be doing random searches, thinking they can catch everyone inside with the weather.” He huffed, wiping at his sweaty brow and glancing at Gus, who seemed startling calm, but tense.

“We have to let them in!” You urged your brother, not liking how angry the Patrol sounded and knowing the longer you waited, the worse it would be.

“I know!” Edmund barked sharply, the gears in his brain spinning for a split second longer, before he took a long step forward and yanked the door open. “What's the meaning of this!? Are you trying to wake the dead?” He demanded, looking the three German Patrol officers over, the Sturmführer was red faced, and all of them were dripping from being forced to wait so long in the rain, for an answer.

“Inspections!” He snapped in Edmund's face, a small bit of spit hanging from his bottom lip.

“Yes, fine!” Edmund replied, rolling his eyes and shoving the door open.

No one moved as the three officers entered the cozy cottage. Your hand shook as it rested on your father's shoulder, periodically massaging it when you felt him tremble, still on the edge of a possible attack from his Shell Shock. Edmund eyed them from his place by the door, sweaty hands clenched into fists as he watched them conduct their inspections. More like a path of intrusive destruction. They yanked books off shelves, opened cabinets and tossed out their contents, pushed over furniture for amusement.

Even nicked things, when they thought the owners weren't looking.

Mael leaned forward slightly, mumbling to himself, causing you to frown. You tried to kneel down to bring your ear close to his mouth and listen to what he was saying, worried for him, but were stopped by one of the officers. He grabbed you roughly by the arm and yanked you up, barking something at you in German that you didn't understand.

“Please, he's not well!” You protested, tugging against him, desperate to care for your father before he slipped too far.

“Nein, bleib, Hexe!” He barked at you, making you cry out, his grasp tightening.

Before Edmund could blink, Gus was halfway across the kitchen, trained on the German holding you, like a bull seeing red. Snarling, with nostrils flaring, Gus twisted his fist in the officer's uniform and yanked them together. Forcing the other man up onto the tip-toes of his black polished boots in the process.

“Let her go!” He barked, giving him a good shake, for effect.

Startled, he let go, you tumbled to the floor at their feet, and rubbed at the burning handprint that was left behind. The air in the cottage thickened dramatically. One of the officer's comrades came rushing in from the garden, hearing the commotion, and fumbled for his sidearm. While their leader came flying downstairs.

“What is this!” The commanding officer demanded, glaring at Gus as he continued to hold his subordinate. “Put my officer down! At once!” He ordered, when Gus didn't move, showing no fear or reluctance towards the three of them, unlike you, Edmund or your father. “Who is this man?” He barked, looking between your brother and father.

“Answer me, at once!” He screamed, face turning red again. “Or I'll have him shot!”

“No!” You cried out, frightened. “Gus, let him go!” You begged him, pulling on his pant leg, desperately. “I'm fine, please!”

“Answer!” The officer growled at the lot of you, his limited patience wearing thin. “Oswin!” He hissed at his officer, who was now pointing his Walther p38 at Gus. “Shoot him!” He ordered, with a hard jerk of his head.

“He's my sister's fiancé!” Edmund blurted out, as Oswin pulled the pistol's slide back, his eyes wild in the heat of the moment, before collecting himself and saying more calmly. “He's just my sister's fiancé.” He gulped, meeting your eye as you looked up at him, stunned, and caught off guard by the omission.

“What man wouldn't protect his betrothed?” He asked the Storm Leader, moving his eyes to Gus.

“A lesser man.” Gus replied, taking the cue, then looked at the commanding officer. “And I'm not a lesser man, to have your filthy runt put his hands on my girl.” He growled, shoving the man away.

“Why have we not seen you before?” He demanded, looking Gus over.

“He was serving, but just returned home, after being wounded.” You explained to him, looking up at Gus. It was the easiest bit of information to give, for them to believe, Gus could show them his wound.

“Is that so?” The officer asked, cocking a brow.

“It is.” Gus answered, pulling up his jumper to show them his bullet wound. “I was wounded in Belgium and discharged. So, I came here to be with her and recover.”

“Can anyone other than those here confirm your story?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at the lot of you.

“Yes.” Edmund chimed in, feeling like the situation was on decent grounds. “Dr. Sacha Tremblay. He's been doctoring his wound since he's been back.”

“I will be checking and informing the Director General.” The Storm Leader warned the three of you, and the look in his eyes hinted at his misgiving, waiting for one of you to crack.

“Very well.” Edmund answered, his tone bland, shrugging one shoulder.

The senior officer stared the three of you down for a second longer, before looking to his men, inquiring in German if they had found anything. But the two replied in the negative. There was no contraband or anything that could get any of you in trouble as collaborators to the French Resistance or Allied Powers. Despite Gus standing right there in front of them, plain as day.

Whether they knew that or thought they had enough evidence to take you in, was another story entirely.

[merovingian-marvels]

Bonus post: The Sutton Hoo rivets

Archaeology pioneer Basil Brown standing in the Sutton Hoo ship. No actual wood has survived. The whole lay-out of the ship has only survived because of the rivets having remained in their original place all those centuries.

The rivets can be seen as black dots on the white (mother soil) background. There has been no other ship from the Vendel age excavated that is so well preserved without actual wood surviving. Grave robbers and the wood collapsing on itself usually leave plenty of rivets out of place.

Image credit: Basil Brown in the Sutton Hoo ship, 1939. The British Museum and the Sutton Hoo Ship’s Company.

[uwudonoodle]

I had a dream that they released a surprise trailer for a new Zelda game in the Wilds era, and LINK COULD TALK! I was freaking out, and even showed my family (who had no idea what I was talking about).

[borgialucrezia]

"That might sound strange to some people as the series develops, but there is a certain moral framework to what [Godwin] does." — David Oakes