#but i was inspired by Rollo and Gisla for this from Vikings

[author-morgan]

I really love your Eivor stories! If you’re thank requests would you be able to do an arranged marriage story - where Eivor and a Anglo Saxon princess have to marry to unite their clans and at first their not happy about but when they meet they get along, especially on the wedding night 😉 - thank you! x

♥ Here you are! I hope you like it (sorry for the wait). 

m!Eivor x fem!Reader

EIVOR AND HIS brother, Sigurd, stand before Ceolmund —a powerful Saxon king crowned with the aid of the Norsemen standing before him. Now King Ceolmund of Lothian wishes to secure a lasting alliance with the Raven Clan, one that would not fade at the hands of time. It is marriage the new king speaks of. A marriage between his only beloved daughter and one of the men who laid a crown and kingdom at his feet.

Ceolmund looks to Sigurd to accept, but he shakes his head and dips his shoulders forward in a display of genuflection. “I cannot accept this gracious offer, lord, for I am bound to another already–” Sigurd’s gaze falls upon Eivor “–but my brother…”

He is cut off by Eivor, pulling harshly on the baldric securing his greatsword. “What are you doing?” Eivor hisses under his breath. He had come to secure an alliance and crown another Saxon king who’d look upon the Danes and Norse in favor —not to marry a stranger with no forewarning and on his brother’s whim.

Sigurd turns, his gaze sharp. A curt reminder that he is Jarl of the Raven Clan, not Eivor. “Calm yourself, brother,” he snaps. There’s a pause, heavy with silence, and Sigurd’s smile turns into that of a serpent’s. “It’s past time you wed anyway. Don’t you think?” Eivor glares at his brother, but Sigurd ignores the harsh look and turns back to King Ceolmund. “My brother,” he starts, motioning to the warrior standing to his right, “the honorable Eivor Wolf-kissed, will accept.”

Ceolmund rises from his throne, stepping onto the short dais —arms outstretched toward Eivor. “I should hear it from thine own lips,” he says, meeting Eivor’s uneasy gaze. What he is asking is no small task, but with Sigurd’s hasty acceptance, he has hope Eivor will follow his Jarl’s wishes. In truth, a piece of him is relieved it is Eivor Wolfsmal and not Sigurd. “Will you forge the bonds of an alliance and lasting friendship between our peoples through marriage to my daughter?”

“You honor me, lord,” Eivor tells Ceolmund with a knot forming in his throat, making it hard to speak. He bows his head. “I accept your offer of an alliance through marriage.”

MARRIAGE, THE WORD sits bitterly on your tongue after your father, King Ceolmund of Lothian, comes to visit your chambers in a decaying Roman fortress. “Mother would be ashamed!” You spit, fraught with the sudden news of your impending marriage to a heathen —a matter in which you had no say. “Using me as a bartering piece. A pawn in your games.” You’d trusted your father.

“He’s a good man,” your father refutes. Throughout three moons, he felt he had come to know the man who would marry his daughter —an honest man who wished to do right by his people and protect them even if it meant shedding blood and sweat for quarrels that were not his own. Ceolmund could not ask for a better man —Christian or pagan— to marry his daughter. 

You would rather be sworn to the likes of King Aelfred than one of the godless invaders crawling over England. “He’s a heathen!” You cry. “A barbarian!” 

Ceolmund pinches the bridge of his nose, drawing in a long breath. There will be a feast tonight to celebrate his coronation, where he will make the announcement and begin wedding preparations. He will not ask you to feign happiness, only civility. “Please,” Ceolmund says, holding your shaking hands, “all I ask is that you do not insult our new position or friends tonight.” But even that seemed to be a hefty request now. 

“Princess,” Eivor greets, his clear blue gaze kind and voice softened by a cup of ale. “If I may have a word?” Across the table, your father nods, imploring you to take leave of the feast to speak with the man you’d be marrying in less than a fortnight. You lay your hand in Eivor’s as you rise and follow him from the keep, into the cool air of a spring night to a bench facing a northern vista with snowcapped hills far off in the distance. A frown purses his lips as he sees despair mingled with fear overtake your expression —like a newly caged bird who lost her song. “I know you are not happy with this arrangement,” he starts, gaining your attention. From his tone, you can tell he is not particularly happy either, “but know I will not harm you, and I will protect you until the Valkyries summon me home.” 

You trace the sharp features of his face, lingering on the deep scar across his cheek. In your contemplative silence, Eivor reaches for one of your hands —gently holding it within his own, a soft assurance that his words had been sincere. His fingers are rough from long years of work and fighting, and when he folds them around your hand, it makes you feel small —feeble, even. “You are not what I expected, Eivor,” you note, adverting your gaze. 

“What did you expect?” Eivor asks, curious to know if he and his people had been the monsters in the bedtime tales your mother used to tell. It seemed a common thing across England for Norse and Danes to be made out as devils, or worse. 

“I would spare you from my initial thoughts,” you note, quietly with the color of shame on your cheeks, “for now they feel foolish.” Indeed, you were told stories of the Northmen as a child —that they were bloodthirsty, godless barbarians who raped and pillaged across the countryside. While every story had a grain of truth, Eivor Wolfsmal only desires what is best for his people —strong alliances, good friends, fertile land, and a place to rest his head. You lay your hand atop his, offering a reserved smile. “Know you have eased my mind and heart this night.”

EIVOR STEALS YOU away in the afternoon from your loom and threads, leading you to the edge of the mark and a field of wildflowers. A quiet place compared to the bustling streets of Edinburgh —the seat of Lothian— amid celebrations and preparations. Eivor speaks of his childhood with Sigurd, laughing at the foolish things he’d done as a boy. Eivor’s laugh is charming —a low rumble from deep in his chest— and his smile contagious. 

You tell of the time you and a dear friend used boiled wine for an awful prank on your poor mother. Even on her deathbed, you wondered if she ever forgave you for using the wine as fake blood when you stumbled into her solar, holding the hilt of a broken sword against your stomach. 

He spins the stem of a yellow wildflower between his thumb and forefinger as he tells you of his gods. Curiosity had won over you after hearing brief stories from people in the markets about Thor, Loki, and Odin. Eivor leans forward, tucking the flower behind your ear, finishing the tale of Odin’s sacrifice for knowledge after consulting with the embalmed head of Mímir. “He gave his eye?” Eivor nods, and you cringe at the thought of having to pluck your own eye out. 

From above, a raven swoops down, landing on Eivor’s shoulder. His name is Sýnin, and he has been Eivor’s companion for many years. You reach to stroke his oil-slick feathers and are rewarded with a low, gurgling croak before he takes flight again in the light of the setting sun. 

Eivor reclines, arms folded behind his head —looking up at the sky. You lay back too and compelled by a moment of boldness you rest your head on his chest. The fading blue linen tunic he wears in lieu of his leather armor is soft against your cheek. Eivor stiffens at first, then relaxes though a part of him wonders if you can hear his heart beating faster. After a moment of passing silence, he drapes one of his arms across your middle. Above, the sky begins to shift from the soft orange and pinks of sunset to deep indigo. “What do your gods tell you of the stars?”

EIVOR TAKES THE piece of linen from your hands, shaking his head. “You should not have to tend my wounds, princess,” he notes, wiping away the blood running down his arm from a cut near his shoulder. He returned from a hunt with your father, hiding the bloody wound from a skirmish with bandits. It was not grievous, though it bled heavily. Still, even warriors need to have small injuries tended. Even a soured scratch could send the strongest of men to the grave. 

You’ve grown up in an age of continuous small wars between petty kingdoms and Danes alike and have seen the aftermath of missing limbs and burning flesh. Shying away from blood is not in your nature after aiding physicians in infirmaries after battle —especially when it is your future husband who bleeds. “We are to be wed, Eivor,” you remind him, taking the piece of linen back from him, “and so long as your wounds are not beyond my skill, I shall tend them.” He does not protest again. 

He watches a flush of warmth creep up your neck and into your cheeks as your eyes dart over his bare chest —he is broad of shoulders and chest with thick and strong arms to match. Clearing your throat, you dapple away the last drops of blood and move to mix a paste of yarrow powder and water in a small mortar. Eivor winces at the initial sting of the paste on the cut, but it stems any new blood from welling as quick as a hot iron. 

You sit next to him on the straw bed, reaching for one of his hands. Ceolmund had been right. Eivor is a good man. Yet for all the fondness that has grown in your heart, you remain unsure about marriage and what will happen when you must leave the only home you’ve known. The worries gnaw at your mind and heart. Even if you have started to believe you could love Eivor in time —that there is a chance of contentment in this union. His fingers curl around yours, squeezing gently, as though he can sense your trepidations. “Do you think we can be happy with this arrangement?” You ask, voice trembling and gaze focused on your entwined hands. 

Eivor cups your cheek, and you meet his clear blue gaze. At first, he’d been uncertain, upset even with his brother for forcing his hand, but now, after the long days you’ve spent with one another, Eivor has no doubts. “I do,” he replies —echoing the vows he will soon take. “I’ve enjoyed our time together,” he says with a fleeting smile. Preparations for the wedding had taken longer than anticipated, giving you and Eivor a full month to become acquainted with one another.

“As have I,” you admit. The days you’ve spent with him have been some of the best in recent memory. His thumb absently strokes your cheek, and you smile, leaning into his touch. “Eivor?” He raises his brow in question, letting his hand fall away from your face. A warmth blossoms in your chest, spurring the same type of boldness you felt that evening in the meadow. “May I kiss you?”

“We are to be wed,” he echoes, smiling —lifting both his hands to cup your cheeks. “You need not ask.” Eivor’s close-cropped golden beard tickles and scratches your cheek when you lean forward, closing what distance remains and placing your lips on his. He leads you, parting your lips with a soft sigh. It takes but a moment for you to fall in rhythm and meld against him. You can feel his lips twitch into a smile when one of your hands slides up his chest, the other resting over the mottled patch of skin on his neck.

THE DOORS SHUT, and you jump, suddenly feeling skittish. The wedding ceremony had come to pass, as had the feast and festivities though now you stand in the center of your bedchambers looking upon your blessed marital bed and knowing what is expected of you. Your husband stands before an open window, barefooted and stripped of the pale embroidered tunic from earlier. He complained during the feast about how scratchy it was. “Eivor?” He turns, stepping toward you —brows furrowed. “It is our wedding night,” you note, voice betraying a veneer of strength. 

Eivor grips onto your shoulders, then lets his hands glide up your neck to cup your cheeks, lifting your gaze to his. He does not wish to see fear and doubt in his wife’s eyes. “I promised I would not hurt you–” he kisses your forehead then returns his kindly gaze to you “–I meant that.” You let out a shaky breath, smiling as he runs his thumbs over your cheeks. “My gods can wait,” he tells you, “so can your God and priests.” Eivor moves one of his hands to your waist, resting his forehead on yours. “We are bound by oath, which should be enough.” Before gods and men alike, you took one another as husband and wife in sickness and health. 

You catch his wrist, sliding his hand up from your neck —peppering his fingertips with gentle kisses. He watches you, lips parted and heart aching. Eivor did not think he gave his heart away so freely, but the knot in his throat as he catches your fleeting smile tells him he had. Loving you was not a difficult feat. 

Closing your eyes, you draw in a slow breath, and the streak of bravado returns. With a final kiss to his palm, you guide his hand to rest on one of your clothed breasts. “Eivor.” You speak his name as though it is a quiet prayer, a soft plead to have you as a husband should have his wife. He pulls on the string at the neck of your shift, loosening it until he can push the thin material off your shoulders. It puddles around your ankles, and though bare, you still hold Eivor’s gaze. He draws in a sharp breath as his eyes dart over the length of your body —it does not escape him that he is the first to see you like this. His eyes darken, though, through the lust, there is a plethora of adoration. 

Calloused fingers caress your sides and stomach, tracing random patterns into your flesh, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. He kisses a path along your jaw, a strong hand coming to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place when you shy away from the tickle of his beard. His other hand skims across your waist before settling on your hip, securing you in his hold. 

“Princess–” Eivor breathes, worried one more kiss will make it nigh impossible for him to stop, but you quieten him with your lips, chasing away any hesitance lingering between the two of you of what lies in store for the night.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer till he sweeps your feet out from under you —laughing at your surprised squeak as he carries you to bed. Eivor lays you on the soft pelts of fur, his weight hovering above you, braced on his forearms. Cupping his face in your hands, you ignore the prickly bite of his beard as you kiss him again, your knees bracketing his hips, brushing against the patched linen and leather of his britches. “You’re sweeter than Freyja, wife,” he muses, kissing the soft swell of your breast —the lingering scent of roses and raspberries tickling his nose. 

Kissing his way down your chest, he drags his teeth across one of your nipples, giving the other a quick tweak. Chills spread across your flesh as you arch into his mouth —hands slipping into his hair. Hands gripping your thighs, Eivor urges you to part your legs wider for him. Doing as instructed, you watch, breathlessly, as he moves across your stomach, leaving open mouth kisses in his wake. Eivor drags his beard against your hip, nipping at the skin there. The warmth in your belly turns to flames. 

Twitching in his hold, you clutch the pelts beneath your hands —heart pounding in anticipation. Eivor in no rush, for there are many hours until the crows sing. He kisses your inner thighs, hot breath fanning against you. The first brush of his tongue has you sighing his name, eyes sliding shut as he laps at your slick folds. Holding your legs open, he makes love to you with his mouth alone. Eivor relishes in the small, obscene noises you make while trembling above him —his cock twitches, but he ignores his desires a moment longer. He leaves no part of you left untouched, his mouth finding every nook and crevice, laving and suckling to his heart's content. 

You burn, the fire in your belly demanding more, cunt fluttering around his tongue, aching for relief. “Eivor,” you whimper, chest heaving as your tug at his golden hair, fingers clutching at his unbound strands. He grunts, huffing a ragged chuckle when your hips move of their own accord —thighs fighting his iron grip. Eivor nuzzles at you, spreading you open with his thumbs. You cry out at the first touch of his tongue to your clit, but then he wraps his lips around the swollen bundle, tongue flicking out. Your body bends to his will, as though you are but wet clay in the hands of a skilled potter. 

Enraptured, you barely notice when he eases one finger into your warmth and then a second —slowly thrusting and stroking. The flames in your belly flood your veins, and with a wordless moan, you give in to the hedonistic haze —it feels as though nothing matters beyond this with the waves and sparks fizzing through your blood. 

Eivor wheedles you down from the high, gradually, murmuring words of praise between your thighs —how beautiful you looked in the throes of passion, how sweet you tasted, finer than sweet honey mead. He eases his fingers from you and crawls back up your body, retracing a similar path with kisses and soft nips. When he kisses you, you can taste your essence of his lips and tongue and feel the hard length pressing against your inner thigh through his pants. It makes you ache with need and want.

Fumbling with the ties of his pants and underpants, Eivor hurriedly pushes them down his legs and tossing them to the side, wedging himself back between your thighs. You feel the blunt head of his cock glide between your folds, his hips rocking back-and-forth as he coats himself in your slick. Heart racing, your body cries out at his languid teasing. Eivor lowers his mouth to your shoulder, worrying the skin between his teeth, his eyes never leaving yours. 

One of his hands moves slips between the bed and your back, moving further to cradle the back of your head as he guides himself with his free hand into your warmth. You grip onto his shoulder, nails digging into his back as he presses forward, slowly, giving you time to adjust to his girth until he is fully seated —hips flush against yours. With only a thin line dividing pleasure from pain, you understand why the act could be sacrilege in the eyes of God, nothing should make a man or woman feel so divine. 

He braces his weight on bent forearms, one of his hands cupping your cheek as he skims your expression for pain or discomfort. He finds none, only a soft smile and hazy, lust-darkened eyes. You guide him down, kissing him —draping one of your legs across the back of his thigh. “Eivor?” A low hum resounds his acknowledgment, though he busies himself leaving a soft line of kisses from the corner of your lips to your temple. “You can move now,” you tell him —pushing your hips up into his. 

Eivor kisses you, his tongue parting your lips as he rocks his hips back and presses forward —swallowing a soft gasp and then another as he draws back further. It’s a slow rhythm of long and deep strokes that lets you feel the slow drag of his cock with each thrust. He hovers above you, punctuating some thrusts with a kiss and others with a raspy curse to the gods. You draw your legs up his sides, spreading them wider —welcoming Eivor to claim you as he desires. 

Every push and pull of his hips brings him deeper inside you. Eivor pants at your ear, his breathing ragged and strained as his pace falters —thrusts growing quicker and rougher as he seeks his release. Beneath your palms, the muscles in his back and shoulders ripple, contracting with each thrust. 

The hand tangled in your hair disappears —rough fingers sliding between your breasts and across your stomach, down to where your body is joined with his. He presses his thumb against your clit, stroking and rubbing circles, and smiles against your neck at his reward —soft cries of his name mingled with breathy moans and the feel of your walls fluttering around his cock. 

A low hiss escapes him when your nails scrap over the skin of his back and shoulders, seeking purchase as you tremble and writhe —tilting your head back into a pillow, back arching from the bed. The flames from earlier return, taking hold of you and spreading through your veins in a hot wave. Eivor’s name topples from your lips like a prayer as you cling to him, body shaking and driving him closer to his end. 

You squeeze him with your thighs and grip onto his biceps, thrumming with pleasure as he ruts into you, grunting. With another thrust, his body shudders, and his hips still as his cock twitches deep inside your warmth. Eivor’s lips part as he lets out a string of curses and praises —moaning. You cup his face, smoothing the furrow in his brows and tracing the deep scar on his cheek. Shaking, he rolls his hips into yours thrice more and accepts your kiss when you guide him down to your lips again.

Spent, Eivor lays his head on your breast and memorizes the feel of your sweat slicken bodies flush against one another. You drape an arm around his shoulders, stroking back his golden hair. A good arrangement, he thinks to himself, kissing the soft skin next to his lips. “I am proud and happy to call you my wife,” he breathes, turning his clear blue gaze up to you. He hadn’t a true choice in this marriage, but given the chance, he would still choose you a hundred times over. 

His words make your heart swell with warmth and bring tears to your eyes. “I feel the same, husband,” you note —fingers combing through his beard. Only a short time has passed, but it seems as if the two of you were always meant to find one another —heresy be damned. It had not taken long, but you are certain you already love him. 

Lying there in each other’s arms, time slows to an eternity. You whine when he slides his softening cock out of you —leaving an empty feeling as his warm seed trickles down your thighs. He chuckles as he moves from the bed and gathers up a linen towel. He thinks you a sight to behold lying atop the furs with wild hair and a debauched smile. Eivor cleans the mess between your legs and soothes the few red marks on your hips and thighs with quick kisses before rejoining you beneath the covers. 

He lays on his side, and you pillow your head on his outstretched arm, nuzzling close against his chest and threading one of your legs through his. Eivor presses his cheek to the crown of your head and strokes your hair. “Rest, princess,” he breathes, knowing the gods had been good to lead him to a woman like you.

THE LONGSHIP COMES to dock before a bustling borough in the heart of Mercia. Eivor offers his hand, helping you onto the wharf. After spending the majority of a week on the river, it is good to feel solid ground beneath your feet for more than a hasty meal or uneasy rest on the riverbanks. “Princess-” Eivor smiles, motioning toward the people and the wooden storefronts and homes set before the longhouse rising from a hill “–Ravensthorpe.” Love and pride fill his heart, spilling over into a bright smile and voice. You glance the settlement and back to your husband, placing a quick kiss on his scarred cheek before taking the well-trodden path to the longhouse. 

A band of excited children races toward the docks with a white-and-grey wolf cub nipping at their heels, shouting with glee at Eivor’s return. It’s been months since Eivor last helped with their lessons or played with them by the waterfall. They take him by storm and force. At the bottom pile, you can make out his deep laughter among the excited cries. You cannot help but smile. Eivor Wolfsmal is loved, not just by you, but his people. 

He rises from the ground, smiling as he brushes off the dirt from his tunic, having whispered something to the rowdy group that sent them running for the longhouse. “Felled by children and a wolf pup. Are you sure you’re a drengr?” You ask, laughing as you pluck a small clot of grass from his hair and wipe away the streak of mud on his unmarred cheek. 

Eivor’s eyes narrow, lips kinking into a taunting smirk. “Are you mocking me, wife?” He challenges. 

You clutch your heart, feigning offense at his accusation. “The mighty Eivor?” He raises a brow at the moniker. Mighty, it is a title he could get used to, just as he had grown used to hearing you call him husband in a sweet, singsong voice. “Never,” you smile. 

Word of his return spreads quickly, and before the merchant’s tent, most of the settlement gathers, smiling as they welcome Eivor home and are equally as quick to embrace you as one of their own. All doubts are chased away when Eivor wraps his arm around your waist and kisses your temple, smiling. “Welcome home,” he breathes —it is good to be back in Ravensthorpe, but even better to have you at his side. 

[taglist:  @kvitravn​ @vanillabeanlattes  @nemo-my-name-forevermore​  @withered-poppies​ @ananriel​ @britishhotassassin @maximalblaze​ @khaoskrossed @theelvenvalkyrie @xxdearlybeloved​ @elizabethroestone​ @elluvians @letsloveimagines @finick94 @wallsarecrumbling]

if you’d like to be added to my Eivor taglist, just let me know!  

[in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather]

I am curious about something; when you write your story about Jacques, do you have a particular woman in mind, that you physically imagine as the reader, or do you imagine her as yourself (as I guess many readers may do)?

Obviously the story is written to be read from the readers perspective (which btw, I have to say is THE best “Y/N” fanfic I have ever read. As well as one of the best fanfics I have read in my almost ten years, reading fanfic from the Harry Potter, Batman, Outlander, Sherlock, Supernatural fandom etc etc).

However, I understand if you don’t want to answer that particular question💜

Also, when it comes to the female character, was there anyone that inspired you to write her like you did?✨💙

Oh, my god. Is this finally happening? 👀 Someone wants to talk about the bts/inspo for characters? I could die! 😍

*

I stay as far removed from the RCs that I write as I can. There are a lot of nerdy reasons why, which I would gladly go into, I just don't want to bore you with them here. Physically, I either don't imagine them at all and just write the abstract concept of it, in the hope of avoiding those linguistic traps that make people feel excluded - like silky hair, hues of skin, etc. Other times, I indulge myself and picture a lady I have a crush on, or something I've seen in paintings/sculptures that captures what I'm going for. Here, it's mostly been paintings I've seen that catch a moment perfectly.

*

Also, when it comes to personality - I avoid basing RCs on me and having them behave like I would. And I can't recommend that highly enough to anyone writing. There was no direct inspiration for this story, other than the dynamic from Vikings between Rollo and Gisla. They're different characters in a different situation, but she's been useful for those early petulant, stuck up moments which were a lot of fun to add. Other than that, I've mostly tried not to do what I've seen and been annoyed by, which is boss babes toppling the hierarchy in settings where that demonstrably did not happen. My goal with this RC has been to create a believable, flawed person that is a product of her time and goes on a journey on which she learns and grows in a way that feels natural and plausible, and with the story evolving as it goes, it's meant not relying on any existing character.

*

I hope that wasn't obnoxious to read. It was very interesting to consider, thank you so so much for expressing interest in that ❤️❤️

Here is a pretty little pic of Jacques as a reward for sitting through that 🥰

Oh, and I almost forgot! Your gorgeous compliment to the story 😭😭💕💕 I want someone to look at me the way I looked at my phone reading it 😄 Thank you so much, I am so humbled to hear that, it's hard to believe someone would say that about something I've written 💗

[hail-kattegat]

The Frankish Princess. (Part I)

“I can see that you mostly write about Ivar and it’s amazing ! But I was wondering if you can write a Hvitserk x reader imagine ? He deserves his princess too.”

So, like the anonymous said, I mostly write Imagine for Ivar. That’s why I wanted to do something different for our lovely Hvitty. I hope you will like it!

This Imagine will be in two parts. And it is inspired by episode 4x13.

Let me know if you want to be tagged! xx.

Gif credit: My gif.

Requested by: Anonymous.

Warning: None.

You remembered the fear on your people’s eyes and their screams when Ragnar jumped out of his coffin. You remembered your family doing everything in their power to protect Paris. But above all, you remembered the day Gisla married Rollo. You may have been just a kid at that time, but you were smart enough to understand that she didn’t love him nor the rest of your family. He was just a way to protect the city. But for you it was different. You had the mind of a child, so you decided to become his friend. You’ve never been afraid of Rollo. You taught him your language and your religion, and he did the same. You became like a daughter to him. And you grown up fascinated by his journeys. His country. His culture. For you, it appeared to be the freedom you will never have as a Frankish Princess.

When you heard that the Norsemen had return to Paris you left your room in a hurry. Running through the castle to finally meet them. But when you arrived in the corridor, what you saw was guards escorting them brutally out of the throne room. You were watching the group of Vikings being guiding with force through the stairs until it was one of them, who was watching you. A tall young man with braided medium-length hair. His blue eyes were locked on you, and something about him kept you from looking away. “What is going on, Rollo? They are your people too.” You asked when you felt the presence of Gisla’s husband next to you. “They are my nephews.” He responded which immediately made you turned your face towards him, Rollo’s words took you completely off guard.

“Who are the Sons of Ragnar?” You asked in Old Norse, a jug of water and glasses in your hands. All of them seemed to be surprise, not only by your presence, but by the fact that you could speak their language. “I am. And this is my brother, Bjorn.” The young man from earlier said while stood up and waiving his hand through the tallest of the group. “Hvitserk!” Floki hissed before you ordered the guard to open the door of the cell. You walked towards him and filled up a glass of water before giving it to him. “Drink.” You whispered to him before taking a few steps towards Bjorn. But before you could reach him, Floki jumped in front of you with anger in his eyes, which immediately prompted Hvitserk to stand between the two of you. “Who are you? You don’t look like a slave to me.” He said, looking at your dress and jewelleries. “I am not a slave. I am a Princess. My name is Y/N. Rollo’s wife is my cousin.” You responded to him, impressed by this man who seemed to truly hate you without even knowing you. “I read books about the Mediterranean Sea. I can help you.” You added, hoping that it would help Floki’s dark look disappear. “So it exists?” Bjorn asked you, suddenly interested by your presence. You nodded, but before you could say anything, Bjorn grabbed your shoulders in order to holding you still in front of him. “You have to get us out of here!” But his contact with you and his voice raising seemed to have alarm everyone, including the guards. Hvitserk immediately pushed his older brother away from you while two of the men who escorted you walked into the cell with their spear pointed towards the group of Vikings. “Princess!” One of them said before you ordered them to step back. “I will come back.” You promised to Hvitserk who nodded and lowered his head to whisper something in your ear. “Can you come back with food?” He asked which made you laugh a little, it was the last thing you were excepting. “I will.” You said to him before leaving his cell.

And you kept your promise. One hour later you came back with some slaves who were holding enough plates for everyone, but you personally gave his to Hvitserk. There was something about him that kept you from staying away. He was kind, and every single one of his little smirk made your heart skipped a beat. “I spoke with Rollo. I think he will cooperate. You will be able to leave Frankia soon.” You said to him, even if the idea of him leaving already and probably forever didn’t please you at all. “Well then, stay with me until I leave.” He responded after he took the plate from your hands. His request left you speechless, just like it left a sweet tone of pink on your cheeks. You turned your head towards the slaves who were waiting for you before Hvitserk spoke again. “Please, Y/N.” And how could you say no to the handsome young man who was standing in front of you? You finally dismissed the slaves before sitting with him on the dirty and cold floor. You watched him eat. And you talked for an hour. He captivated you as much as you captivated him. Hvitserk hated the Christians but they were something about you who had him questions his own beliefs. “Look at that, Helga, a pretty face and he forgot why we are here. And about the Gods.” Floki muttered to his wife before throwing a chicken bone at Hvitserk. At the same time several guards were entering into the cell to take Bjorn’s handcuffs off. “What is going on?” You asked in your own language. “Rollo wants to talk to him. And you have to come with us too, Princess. Now.” The man responded before Hvitserk addressed you a questioning glance. “I have to go. I am sorry.” You said to the young Viking who was about to take your hand before the guards escorted you out of the cell.

When you and Bjorn entered in Rollo’s private salon, you saw Johannes Scotus Erivgena, a famous librarian from Paris. And you knew it could only mean one thing, Rollo will assure a save passage to his nephews. But at what cost? From what you heard during your time with the group of Vikings, you couldn’t believe that the eldest of the Ragnarssons had actually agreed that Rollo sailed with him. Nevertheless, here he was, in the court of the castle with those who were once his people, walking towards the gates. “Hvitserk!” You shouted while running in his direction. When he heard your voice, he immediately stopped and turned to face you. “Y/N, I asked to say goodbye to you. But they refused.” Hvitserk said to you. The fact that he asked for you before leaving made you smiled, and before he could say anything else, you gave him the neckless you were wearing. “Just so you don’t forget me.” You whispered to him before Floki called his name. “I won’t.” He promised to you before heading through his friends, your gift in one of his hand. But before he could reach them, Hvitserk stopped. Stepping down to you. You barely had time to realize what was going on, that his lips were against yours. Your heart was pounding crazily against your chest. It was the very first time that a man kissed you, but it didn’t stop you from kissing him back with the same devotion. “Just so you don’t forget me”. He repeated against your soft lips, making you blushed even more, before leaving. You will definitely never forget him. And nether did he. “You know what you and your Father have in common, Hvitserk?” Floki asked him, one of his arm around Hvitserk’ shoulders. “We are both great Vikings?” Hvitserk answered with a proud smiled on his face. “No.” The boat builder said bitterly. “You both getting attached to Christians too easily.”

Tags: @bellagreenleaflotr @ivartheblessed @vikingdrabbles @mblaqgi @he-has-a-name @the-witch-from-the-forest

[winelover1989]

Will you post more thoughts on Vikings. I'd love to here it more. Love your analysys.

Vikings is definitely a new thing for me because on most shows I can find a character I love, admire or empathize with & I can root for their success but with Vikings I’m like “Oh I wish my problematic children fail on their next raid. No no, why are they winning?”

But it’s a very fascinating story which really sucked me in. I know it’s a saga & the show is not historically accurate but there are some cool things in there that I noticed as a GoT fan. Like it seems like the First Men are inspired by Vikings, only they aren’t as awesome as Vikings. There was a Wall which separated Northumbria from the rest of England back then. Their conquest of York. The sort of swamp lands which inspired the Neck. Like there are a lot of fun comparisons between Anglo-Saxon England & Westeros. I’m excited that they are expanding the universe to other parts of Europe now.

As for characters, Lagertha is my favorite. I started enjoying Rollo in the context of his French life & his relationship with Gisla. King Ecbert was a fascinating character too. But I’m still not emotionally invested in most of the characters.

But it’s a great show & definitely worth watching, it’s one of a kind. I don’t think I’ve watched something which has pulled such a new & weird emotional response from me. But sure, I’m open to talking about it if you have something specific in mind.

[ceridwenofwales]

Heyyyyyyy! Monthly fic rec please for those who wants to read in August.

Awww. Thanks for asking. I’ve been reading a lot of fanfics that leave me in awe. Some of them get lost in my messy blog. I can’t find them by the tags for some crazy reason. Tumblr sucks. I’m sure I’ll forget to mention some of my favorite writers. Please, forgive me. ^^

First of all, your own fic, my lady. Sweet Torture. A fierce woman from a far away land is torturing Ivar with the promise of pleasure. He thinks he is her master, little he knows that the more he wants to control her, the more he is in her hands. We are tortured alongside him throughout the reading. Hahahaha.

The last Friday Heathen Game was crazy and the talented sisters nailed it. Beware that those fics have warning about stalker, kidnapper and serial killer Ivar. So far, I haven’t read any fic praising or romanticizing this topic. What makes me glad.

@captainpoopweinersoldier​ wrote an amazing piece in which you can feel like you are inside Ivar’s mind. It’s called Give You Everything.

Summary:

Ivar is your ex-boyfriend, and he will do anything to get you back.

When the sister says anything, she really means anything.

@ivartheheathen​ wrote a sequence of her stalker fic with Ivar as well. It’s hot and twisted. You were warned. Hahahaha. It’s Stalker.

Summary:

Ivar’s brothers use to tell him that he needs a hobby. But he does have a hobby, his favorite activity: to watch you.

@synnersaint wrote for the first time and my baby nailed it. Decide is an amazing piece. Thrilling and you can feel like you are living the terror with the poor girl. I can’t wait for more.

Play Along by @brightlycoloredteacups is fantastic. But, I couldn’t find the link on AO3. The link is from her blog, but she has an account on AO3. Her series Nothing But Love is cuteness overload.

Ivar stares at the glossy pictures in front of him. He’s trying to gather courage for tonight, and looking at your beautiful, smiling face gives him that courage. There are many pictures of you in the binder. He has them categorized by type, then by date. Of course, he has his favorites that he wants to put at the very front, but he must have order too. Those are all the fics from the Friday Heathen Games I could find the links. Unfortunately I’m having problems to find things on my blog. Now other fics I’m reading.

@that-was-not-supposed-to-happen. Follow her. She writes amazing pieces, not only about Ivar and from smut to fluff topics. Not to mention her pretty moodboards as well. 

@sereniti9. She is a poet. Follow her. Kind, smart and talented sister.

@ivartheboneme. This sister is one of the worse, hahahaha. She will make you sin with Ivar or/and Tom Hiddleston. Don’t let her kindness fool you, she is evil. That’s why I love her. Efterfest and Oral assignment are my faves.

@lordavanti is an incredible writer and her account on AO3 is here. Her piece Imagine Your Wedding Night With Ivar was so cute and it’s my favorite from her.

@ivarsvalkyrie wrote Trooper. Ivar as a gentle cop, with a hidden side (spoiler alert is from my mind. Hahahaha).

Keep Your Silence from @captainpoopweinersoldier​. She is here again. What can I say? The girl is gifted.

Summary:

After his father’s death, Ivar finally returns to University in need of a tutor. Skeptical, and a little wary of the rumors surrounding the Lothbrok Family’s notorious connection to the Mob, Lisbet reluctantly accepts the position.

Leif Ivarsson from @bonniebird. Ivar is having problems to accept he is going to be a father.

Control by @mizzvengenz6661. It’s an intriguing story in a modern AU. Ivar and Alex share the same body and woman. It’s great and the latest chapter was surprising. ^^

The Saga of The Slave Queen from my Aussie baby girl @burntmythroatskullingmytea. Ethna is a strong Irish girl who is taken as captive.

Feed You The Sky by @pokeasleepingsmaug and @shesafreesoul. Kára is a fierce viking woman who wants what it’s hers by right. But she will find much more when she challenges Ivar to a single combat.

Turn The Tide by @anniemar.

Summary:

A new young seer in Kattegat conspires with Lagertha to ensure that the queen will not be “killed by a son of Ragnar” as it had been prophesied. In the process, Ivar gets an education of sorts, before he goes off to become myth and legend. And the seer must decide if she wants to become a part of his story. Sig is a fascinating character. I love her.

Bathe in Fire, Burn in Blood by my cupcake @underthenorthstar. Summary: Ivar wants glory. Ivar wants fame. Ivar wants revenge. But, he also wants love. He’s pretty messed up. But then again, she is too. (In which Ivar secretly longs for love, meets the girl of his literal dreams, and finds himself on a path he never thought he would travel.)

@inthenameofodin wrote a multichapter called This Ends Tonight that is a slow burn. Great work. Her Masterlist is here.

@pagan-raider writes amazingly well. Her masterlist is here.

The queen of sin @cherrytrinkets can be cute too. Her piece Little Legs made me cry. It’s a must read.

Last but never the least. My queen @whenimaunicorn​. The one who keeps me awake reading, fangirling and writing endless comments. ^^

Ride The Storm, Snowed In With The Ragnarssons, This Is How A Sin Begins… Everything she writes is a masterpiece. Warning: Extra panties. Hahahaha. Her AO3 account here.

From Rolisla fandom we have @ourashesofroses. She is a sweet baby. Be kind and praise her because she is a talented and kind girl. Her fanfic is gold.

@zoesongs is incredible too. One day she will be a published author for sure. Her The Princess and The Bear is one of my favorite Rolisla fic. She wrote some  pieces about GOT too. My favorites are Her Hand, in which Sansa explains why she doesn’t want to marry, and Reunion for Sansan shippers.

Another Rolisla writer is @seersaw. Nightfall is incredible. Summary:

Slight AU. Rollo doesn’t speak up when the Cardinal comes and Gisla is being as stubborn as ever. In order to save all he has worked for Rollo must win over the heart of the stubborn princess using every trick he knows. A story inspired by the myth of Psyche and Eros.

The Things That Bind Us is so sweet too. It’s an AU, in which Gisla is taken to Kattegat.

[goldentailedmermaids]

Laure’s fic recs:

So I have been reading a lot of good fics lately and I want to give those more love so here we go!

The Fates serie by @amkatepet - A serie centered around Erlendur and his redemption in the arms of the gentle Brynja and its sequel which focuses on Harald’s thirst for conquest and his alliance with his old foe, Erlendur Horiksson. 

Always a Stark serie by @zoesongs -  A series of occasional one-shots about Sansa Stark set during and after Season 6 of Game of Thrones. 

Paris Summit by @zoesongs -  A chance encounter in Paris. Rolisla Modern AU. 

The Princess and the Bear by @zoesongs - A Rolisla story that follows Rollo and Gisla’s meeting at the end of season 3 and an alternate season 4.

The Land of Eternal Winter by @wintermoonqueen -  In a world of sacrifice, shields, and gods, Elsa never felt that she belonged. Having thought to be a curse left by Odin, she stays hidden. As Anna struggles to connect with her sister, both women are dragged into a war they aren’t ready for. How will they survive when treason threatens to tear them apart? 

The Swan Queen by  TheMusicalHermit -  A retelling of the Swan Princess animated film, with more focus on Odette's captivity than on Derek's search. Darker and with expanded backstories for all. 

The Sea Wolves by @ceridwenofwales -  A Scottish girl is trying to avoid being noticed by the Vikings that came from the fogs of the sea to torment her village. But it seems the norns had woven her destiny in an unexpected way.

A Grumpy Customer by @ceridwenofwales -  Ivar and Emer from The Fox and The Maiden Fair in a modern AU. She is a waitress in a Swedish coffee shop, and he is her grumpy customer.

Turn the Tide by @anniemar -  A new young seer in Kattegat conspires with Lagertha to ensure that the queen will not be "killed by a son of Ragnar" as it had been prophesied. In the process, Ivar gets an education of sorts, before he goes off to become myth and legend. And the seer must decide if she wants to become a part of his story.

Light and life in an unusual place by @ourashesofroses -  "A ringing voice, a woman yelling in a foreign language. He turned towards the voice, as if it was calling his name, as if it was something for him, and then he saw her."

And The Women Shall Lead by  LadyFangs - They are both tired. Tired of loving Ragnar Lothbrok. Tired of supporting him. He would be nothing without them, and yet they have both suffered his insults, his abuses. He has finally crossed a line, and this time, they will not stand for it. Explores what could have happened had Aslaug told Lagertha that Ragnar hit her.

Nightfall by @daizydoe -  Slight AU. Rollo doesn't speak up when the Cardinal comes and Gisla is being as stubborn as ever. In order to save all he has worked for Rollo must win over the heart of the stubborn princess using every trick he knows. A story inspired by the myth of Psyche and Eros.

The Things that Bind Us by @daizydoe -  AU. Rollo takes Gisla back to Kattegat after the Paris raid.

Blame by @whenimaunicorn -  Lagertha can't fight the pull she feels toward Ubbe, even though she knows she's fated to be killed by one of Ragnar's sons.

Snowed In with the Ragnarssons by @whenimaunicorn -  What will you and the boys do to pass the time when you’re all snowed in together up at the hunting cabin? "We could play with the slave..."

[hail-kattegat]

The Frankish Princess. (Part II)

Part II is finally here! I really hope you will like it. Please tell me what you think!

This Imagine is inspired by episode 4x09.

Let me know if you want to be tagged! xx.

Gif credit: @bonniebirdsgifcentre

Requested by: Anonymous.

Warning: None.

“It is the sixth man who asked for your hand, Y/N. And you refused. Again.” Gisla said to you, annoyed by your behaviour towards all your suitors since the day you met Hvitserk. You knew he was long gone and that you will probably never saw him again, but you were still looking for him in every man. “It’s been two years. Your Heathen forgot about you at the moment he sailed to the Mediterranean Sea. He will never come back. And even if he does, I will never let him put a foot in Paris alive.” She added, making you face her angrily. “Hvitserk is your Husband’s nephew. How dare you to say such a think? You are yourself married to a Viking, Gilda.” You said to your cousin who tightened the armrest of a throne, before stood up suddenly. “And that is exactly why I will never let you marry one of them! No matter what they do or say, they will always be Vikings. You need a good and true Christian. And I found you one. He is a Burgundian Prince. He will be here in two days. It is settled.” At Gisla’s words you violently threw your glass of wine on the wall behind her, making her startled. You had enough. Anger had overwhelmed you, so you decided to leave the room before saying something you could regret. If her mind was made up, yours was too.

“Ivar, Uncle Rollo once told me on his ship on our way back from the Mediterranean, he said that if I ever needed his support, all I had to do was ask.” Hvitserk said to his brother who was lying on a bench. “What do you think?” King Harald asked, looking at the both of them before Hvitserk repeated the same question to his younger brother. “I think you ought to leave at first light tomorrow.” The leader of the army said, and that was exactly what he did. A couple of hours before first light, Hvitserk left on a boat with a dozens of men to Frankia. “My brother left quiet in a hurry, did he?” Ivar said in a suspicious tone to the King who was standing next to him, on the docks. “Well, let say that he loves to fight as much as he loves what is in Frankia.” Harald Finehair responded with a playful smile on his face, giving a gently clap on Ivar’s back. The youngest son frowned at Harald’s words and turned his face in the direction of the King who was now laughing, thinking back of what happened in Paris. On his journey, the memory of you hit Hvitserk like the waves hit his boat. Many were the times he wondered where you were and what you could do. But for the first time in years, he had never been so close to find out. When the ramparts of Paris started to appear in the horizon, a slight smile brighten Hvitserk’s face. And on his way to the castle, his blue eyes were looking for you. Or, at least, for a sign of you. Almost forgetting the true reason of his visit.

“She is in the garden.” Rollo said to his nephew once their meeting was over, knowing perfectly that you were the reason why Hvitserk was distracted all along. And even if he answered to his uncle by a simple nod and left the room calmly like a real behaved man, Rollo rolled his eyes with amusement when he heard Hvitserk run in the stairs like a five years-old. Twenty-four hours passed since Gisla told you about that Prince, but it didn’t change a thing, you were still furious about this news. About this other suitor. You didn’t even know what he looked like, but it was him you imagined every time you released your arrow. That, even if you missed the centre of the wooden target more than you managed to target the middle. “Your elbow is too high.” A familiar voice whispered in your ear, making you dropped your bow on the grass in shock. Your heart was pounding crazily in your chest as you turned to face the young man who was standing just behind you. “Hvitserk!” You almost shouted while literally jumping in his arms. And with a smile on his face he held you tight, your feet leaving the ground. “You came back. I always knew you will come back.” You said to him before he gently cupped your face to look at you properly. “I was afraid you forgot about me.” You added shyly and almost in a whisper, with your hands now resting on his chest. “Never.” Hvitserk said to you before releasing your face to show you the necklace he was wearing, hiding under his armor and shirt. Your necklace. If you still couldn’t believe that he was back in Frankia, you couldn’t even more believe that he kept your gift after two years. You were about to say something about it but before you had the chance to, Hvitserk’s lips met your firmly and tenderly.

You couldn’t ask for a better day then the one you spent with Hvitserk. He helped you with your archery skills, he even taught you how to fight with a sword -or, at least, tried to-, before you went for a walk in the garden who actually ended up by more kissing than walking. It was with a bright smile on your face and butterflies in your stomach that you walked to the castle at night time. It was when the guards opened the doors of the dining room for you that everything crushed. Reality suddenly hit you in the worse way possible. A young man that you never saw before was sitting in front of Gisla. And when you saw him smiling at you and stood up, you knew that it could only mean one thing. The butterflies on your stomach left for a terrible and heavy knot as you were walking in the corridors. Lost in your thoughts, you tried your best not to cry until you reached your room. But suddenly a hand grabbed your wrist to pull you in one of the guest bedroom of the castle. And before you could realize what just happened, your back was against the massive wooden door, and Hvitserk’s lips were on yours. There was something about him that made you forgot everything and everyone. But as soon as he broke the kiss, the sadness and the anger came back. “Hvitserk… What are you doing here? I… I thought you were spending the night with your men…” You said to him, confused. “I know. But I need to tell you something.” Hvitserk responded with a smirk on his face. “Well… Me too.” You added in a whisper, before biting your lower lip nervously. “Let’s say it at the same time.” He suggested, and whatever he had to tell you, Hvitserk seemed impatient and quiet excited about it. So you simply nodded and at three you both spoke again: “Leave with me for Norway.”/ “I am getting married.”

Tags: @bellagreenleaflotr @ivartheblessed @vikingdrabbles @mblaqgi @he-has-a-name @the-witch-from-the-forest @alicedopey @lol-haha-joke @iofiivar @readsalot73 @titty-teetee @demonhunter1616

[goldentailedmermaids]

Fanfictions writers questions 1, 2 and 3 for Crashing Waves. ❤

This was such a sweet ask to come back to. Thank you so much Renata for your interest in this hellish fic. It means the world to me! Especially since you are one of my all time fave fic writer and how much I love my monstrous baby.

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way?

Idk to be honest… I guess it has to be the first fanarts I drew of Rollo and Gisla for a mermaid AU I had the idea of because I wanted to draw mermaids again. So I drew and drew again, always repeating a little story in my head until I began to make my first edits for this AU. Bit by bit, the story came to me and I had an epiphany when I linked the mermaids to the Viking age because some of the legends come from Scandinavia. So I began to build a whole universe and mythology around this and it grew so much with every new things I learned about the sea. And about the same time, @seersaw told me about the Rolisla Christmas Challenge she was planning and I decided to write this little story I had in my head. At first it was supposed to be 40,000 words long and I ended up writing a 271,000 words long epic. I especially wrote it so that non-Rolisla shippers can read it. The more I wrote it, the more things came up (such as Ragnhild the vengeful, who I love dearly in spite of everything she will do) and I tend to develop things and conflicts because it just would not be as funny without them.

Also, when I was developping the story I was at the beach, looking at the sea in front of me, savoring the sun on my skin and the wind wiping off the drops of salt water, scorching and so invigorating. So I guess it is the sea, in a way, which inspired me.

2: What scene did you first put down?

The beginning, actually. I always starts with the beginning. I like to work in a linear way, this way I can keep my thoughts moving at the same time as the story so that it can shapes itself more organically. Nevertheless, I have to confess that I wrote the prologue the day I posted the first act of the fic and that I wrote many scenes in a messy way, writing pieces of dialogue and linking them afterwards. The first thing I have written is this one (beware: angst!):

The clouds were low, the sky seemed to want to crush and hit the heavy waves of the sea. A heavy fog hid the horizon and nothing could be seen clearly. The waves crashed on the little boat’s keel with a noise that would have made Thor’s thunder sound like a cat purring. The wind seemed to want to compete with the waves in terms of noise and ferocity. The screams of seagulls were hidden by the violent argument Njord and Ran were having.

A gigantic and triangular wave sprang up in front of the fisherman’s ship, bigger and more menacing than the waves surrounding the small craft. It struck the keel with a big crash and the boat turned over. He managed to escape the boat to avoid being crushed by it, but another wave came upon him and submerged him. He fell into the dark waters of the heavy sea.

Rollo closed his eyes. So had the gods decided that the day of his death had finally come. He relaxed his muscles, accepting his fate. As his breath left his body, his thoughts rushed to Siggy, the beautiful Siggy. Siggy who drowned saving his brother’s sons. Siggy who he had loved for almost a decade. Siggy who had been good to him and made him forget about past loves. Siggy who might have loved the mess he’s been for his whole life. Siggy with her blue eyes and brown hair. The brave and wise Siggy. Another thing he had to sacrifice to his brother.

Ragnar. Rollo’s thoughts ran to him. How would he react if he learned he died? How would he react if his body was never found? How would Lagertha react? Would she cry? Would she laugh? Would all of them let it slip? Would they care? He thought not. He was nothing back in the village. Just a poor fisherman with too many crushed dreams and ambitions. He was nothing but a wounded warrior whose axe was taken away long ago. He did not deserve to live. He did not deserve to die. He only deserved to be forgotten, to never have existed.

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

I cannot show those yet because it contains HEAVY spoilers😉 😉 😉 (btw I LOVE THE ENDING I WROTE!) since my fave lines are at the end of the fic. But I must tell you I tried as much as I could to be poetic! I hope you will like it!

Thank you so much for your ask! It made me so happy! Do not hesitate to send more for this fic or others. Thank you so much Rê💗💗💗💗💗💗💗 I love you!

[ceridwenofwales]

Also, last question 😉 Do you, for your followers, shipper pals and sisters in the Heathen army, have fanfic recommendations? (can you describe it to us, please?) Lots of love❤️❤️

Awwww. You’re inspired today, aren’t you?

Let’s see. I have an almost endless list of favorite fanfics.

From Rolisla fandom and in no particular order.

From @zoesongs:

The Princess and The Bear. This masterpiece is historicaly accurate and portrays how it would be Rollo and Gisla marriage at the time.

Nothing Sweeter will please those who watched season 4b and didn’t recognize that Rollo, a man who always dreamed of a  family, happiness, wealthy and power, these last two not in a selfish manner, but as a way to bring prosperity for his people. In this fanfic Rollo is a happy father and husband. A true Duke, loyal to those who gave him a chance to prove himself worth of trust.

The Consummation. Rollo and Gisla are able to talk to each other and come to an agreement.

Ice Road Truckers. In a modern AU, Rollo is a rough and tumble Ice Road Trucker who meets a beautiful and lost driver.

From @daizydoe:

Nightfall. It’s a story in which Gisla receives a mysterious guest in her bedchambers every night, while she is trying to divorce Rollo.

The Birth of a Son. For those who wanted to watch Gisla giving birth to their first son.

Duet. If you’re curious about how it would be Rollo and Gisla consummation.

“She led him by the hand to her chambers […] If he had any say in the way his wedding happened, he would have planned it like this. Going only with her […]“.“As she drifted back to reality she stroked his back and murmured little love words she thought she would never speak to anyone.”

The Things That Bind Us. If you wonder how it would be if Gisla was taken to Kattegat, instead of staying in Normandy.

From @laure-demontety:

Crashing Waves: Drowning and Betrayal. If you like Gisla and Rollo, mermaids, Norse Mythology, then you will love it. What I love the most about this fic is that Aslaug is fairly portrayed, as a wise, caring and strong woman.

Shield Wall and Coffee. It’s a modern AU with Gisla and Rollo. I miss this fic. Please keep writing it. ^^

From @ladyofglencairn. The absolute goddess. If you love tv shows, you should follow this cutie. ^^

Beauty and The Beast. Gisla is stubborn, but Rollo is decided to win her over.

From @swimmingfoxsticks. If you like A Song of Ice and Fire too, you should follow her.

Hati and Sköll. Gisla and Rollo wedding night.

“Her bottom lip was as fat as a pot-rabbit. Carefully, he put his hand up, ran his thumb along it. The feeling of her – as if her whole weight and strength was just under the skin. He traced the line of her jaw, and it was the underside of sheepskin, the down of yellow chicks. Her eyes were accusing, and yet he saw the seer in them, and his words again. And he saw his gods, and maybe hers.He leant down, kissed her. Kept his hand on her neck. Her breath came into his face as if from behind a big rock, reluctant. A little tremor of her back teeth, chattering together.” 

From @literatigeek, well known as the one and only Princess Gisla in the RP community, @aprincessoftheblood.

Things Forgotten. Michael Hirst didn’t show us how Rollo and Gisla relationship developed. If you miss those moments. I highly recommend you to read this fanfic.

An Intimate Announcement. It takes place in season 4x08, we can see how Gisla would announce her pregnancy to her husband.

What say you? It’s another fic about the consummation of Gisla and Rollo marriage.

From @amkatepet:

The following fanfiction is about a not popular character from Vikings: Erlendur.

The Fate The Gods Wove Us is an outstanding fanfic that deals with Erlendur’s story after his divorce from Torvi. The author managed to make an underrated character more relatable.

From Ivar’s Heathen Army:

Some of the fics are available on Archive of Our Own, others are only posted here. Anyway, follow these cuties. We swear that we are not dangerous. We are totally normal. @shesafreesoul, @lottak, @underthenorthstar, @ivarthebonelessx, @pokeasleepingsmaug, @whenimaunicorn, @rosepetaldream-blog, @mizzvengenz6661, @anniemar, @ivartheboneme, @ivartheheathen, @pagan-raider, @thenorns-themoirai, @devilrydaily, @synnersaint, @captainpoopweinersoldier​, @neverlands-little-lost-girl​. We have more members, but I’m still “meeting” them.

Little voices, by @ivartheboneme. If you wonder how Ivar would be as a father. Of three, hahahaha. That’s your fic. Warning: Sweetness overload.

Control, by the  @mizzvengenz6661. It’s a really different story. Alex and Ivar are one and the same. Modern AU.

Feed You The Sky by the adorable @pokeasleepingsmaug. Her original character is truly amazing, fierce and daring. Kára is everything Ivar dared to dream of and vice versa. I’m addicted to this fanfic. But, I’m not going to rehab. No, no, no.

Turn the Tide, by @anniemar. A new seer arrives in Kattegat. She must choose if she will be part of Ivar’s legend or help Lagertha to avoid the prophecy that she will be killed by a son of Ragnar.

The Cripple and The Hellcat and Raising The Stakes, by @underthenorthstar. Ivar is not only craving for glory, he dreams of a woman.

Hold Me Down and Watch me Drown from @whenimaunicorn. The original character is Sigrunn, King Harald’s daughter, she is a hostage in Aslaug’s household to avoid treachery from her father.

Did you miss me? from @ivartheheathen. The OC’s loyalty is divided between Ivar and Lagertha.

And then I have my fanfics. But, you already know them and support me.

The Fox and The Maiden Fair. I’m basing the storyline on the Annals of Ulster and Ivar’s saga He is married to an Irish princess, Emer. It takes place before my another fanfic.

The Saxon Rose and The Ouroboros. In this fanfic I’m writing about The Great Heathen Army and how Sigurd and Blaeja got married.

[goldentailedmermaids]

Why did you first decide to start publishing fanfiction and sharing your wonderful stories with the world?

“wonderful stories” OMG Ran, you’re so kind and nice, you actual angel of light! Your constant support is truly the best gift I ever had. I just love you so much!❤️

My first fanfic ever published was The bear and the maiden fair. I was so invested in Vikings and I loved Rollo and Gisla so much I created this story in my head to help me fall asleep (this ship took control over my life and there is no turning back). I had everything; I had the structure, parts of dialogues, scenery... It evolved and one day I decided to begin to write it. I remember I was writing it in the train from Nantes to Caen, pushing myself to write in English and hoping to publish it and hoping it would get a lot of reviews and followers. I was so inspired by the other fanfic writers such as @althaea1989 and @alayne-stonecoldfox (and tbh I envied their stunning writing😉)   and I loved their fanfic so much I thought “Why not me?”. So out of love for fanfictions, I decided to publish that story. That is the first story I ever finished and the first story I ever wrote in English. I remember that when I was writing it I felt like I was walking in the middle of a thick fog to an unknown destination. My story wasn’t even structured. I simply noted random stuff on a notebook and planned without any idea of the length and the chapters. It was so messy and if I had enough time and energy, I would re-write it because my English level improved as well as my writer’s sensibility. Honestly, I often cringe when I look at it again. Nevertheless I am proud of this fanfic. I was so excited when I got new followers. It made me so happy to know people from other countries red what I wrote!

Afterwards I wrote a 9,500 words sequel called The bear and the maiden fair! (how original I know), a moder AU Shieldwall and coffee (next chapter will maybe come out this year hahahaha) and several other one-shots (including one in french), all about Vikings because I can hardly write fanfics about anything else. I love this show so much.

And after that, beginning February 2016, I started writing Children of the Wolf, a story with some OCs as main characters and rare Rolisla appearance. I only began to really structure and develop the story around May, but I already had a vague idea of what to write and a few extracts of writing. I wanted to write something new and I am so proud of it because I got to create new characters and give them their own personalities. It was so fun, also to create and write chemistry between couples. I loved writing (and drawing) about Geirlaug and Guilhem and Sprota and Wilhelm. It is not an Historically accurate fanfic, but I am proud of how it turned out. Of course I still wish to edit it one day for it to fit better to History, but I am so damn proud of this fanfic. I guess that this is one of my proudest achievement. I loved drawing about it and I loved getting reviews each chapter (and I wish to thank you, Ran, for the interest and support you gave this story because God knows I will eternally be grateful for that). I also loved including Sig and Boda because even before 4a started I was already picturing them as a shieldmaiden and a sorceress. I even imagined another story, linked to that but I doubt I will ever write it, no matter how much I want to.

And then, in September, following the Rolisla christmas challenge announcement, I began to work on a mermaid AU I got the idea of in August. It evolved in such an unexpected way I am still writing for it (but I am taking a break and writing a secret project😉). It was so long and the structure so determined I decided to cut it in half. I did a lot of researches for this fanfic and some characters just popped up right in the moment I was writing some lines. I cannot wait for my readers to know what will come next. I am always so happy whan people comment my chapters because it makes me feel like people actually give a shit about what I do😆. So far, Crashing Waves is my longest fanfic ever written. And I intend on finishing it this year in order to work on original stories. My word count on AO3 is 200,000 words but I did not post three of my works here, nor the second part of Crashing Waves.

So, yeah. Writing fanfictions has been such an amazing experience. Who would have thought, when I started writing, about two years ago that I would have improvedand wrote so much? Not me, that’s for sure!