#or an axe or whatever weapon the Vikings used

[dollopheadsandclotpoles]

Bruhhhh 🔥⚔️

[died-of-feels]

My Httyd Next Gens Pt. 1

Name: Oswald

Eye color: Green

Dragon: Eruptodon (doesn't ride)

Age: 23

Parents: Dagur and Mala

Weapon of Choice: Sword

Relationship status: Just married to Solvig

Occupation: Eruptodon protector

Personality: Quiet and tends to keep to himself and stay out of people's way and problems. Likes to tease his younger siblings especially Baldur about Zephyr.

Misc: He made a vow to never ride a dragon again after he gave up his position as first in line for the throne to devote all his time to the eruptodon effectively passing the throne to his younger sister Eula.

Name: Solvig

Eye color: Green

Dragon: Eruptodon (doesn't ride)

Age: 22

Parents: Throk and Atali

Weapon of Choice: Katana

Relationship status: Just married to Oswald

Occupation: Eruptodon protector

Personality: She is very friendly and always willing to help those around her. She is just as courageous as both her parents and is quick on her feet.

Misc: She just like her father has always had a strong connection with the eruptodon and vowed to always protect it. Also made a vow to never ride a dragon once she became the protector.

Name: Eula

Eye color: Green

Dragon: Baby Razorwhips

Age: 20

Parents: Dagur and Mala

Weapon of Choice: Wingmaiden spear

Relationship status: Single

Occupation: Wingmaiden

Personality: She is very well spoken and a great debater. She prefers to be off of the island she grew up on but makes sure to visit her family as often as possible.

Misc: She was always so fascinated and amazed by Atali’s story of being a Wingmaiden that when she was old enough she decided to pass her claim to the throne of Defenders of the wing to her younger brother Baldur and become a Wingmaiden herself.

Name: Baldur

Eye color: Green

Dragon: Skrill named Bolt

Age: 18

Parents: Dagur and Mala

Weapon of Choice: Long sword

Relationship status: Dating Zephyr

Occupation: Dragon rider

Personality: He tends to get very fixated on certain things and start to disregard the things happening around him. He is also very stubborn and will treat people the very same way that they treat him

Misc: He is currently first in line for the throne of the Defenders of the Wing and has no plans to give it up. He has every intention of marrying Zephyr and making her Queen of the Defenders of the Wing.

Name: Ericka

Eye color: Blue

Dragon: Changewing named Novax

Age:18

Parents: Eret and OC named Greta

Weapon of Choice: Spear

Relationship status: Single

Occupation: Dragon rider

Personality: She inherited her father’s fierce loyalty but is very naturally aggressive like her mother. She is a very skilled warrior and plans to one day join the Berkian Guard

Misc: She loves to cook and make her friends treats to cheer them up when they are sad so now she knows what all the riders favorite sweets are and can bribe them into doing patrol or other chores. Her best friend is Zephyr.

Name: Zephyr

Eye color: Blue

Dragon: Nightlight named Dart

Age: 18

Parents: Hiccup and Astrid

Weapon of Choice: Sword and Battle axe

Relationship status: Dating Baldur

Occupation: Dragon rider leader

Personality: She has a very similar personality as in Homecoming just more mature and willing to listen to what the older vikings are trying to tell her before jumping to conclusions. She is also the most knowledgeable about dragons out of all the children and is willing to do whatever it takes to protect them to the point of often having to be dragged away by her friends for her own safety or even Dart refusing to cooperate with her anymore

Misc: She enjoys reading the book of dragons and training with her mother. She also got her father's ability to create useful inventions. Her best friend is Ericka

Name: Nuffink

Eye color: Green

Dragon: Nightlight named Pouncer

Age: 15

Parents: Hiccup and Astrid

Weapon of Choice: Battle axe

Relationship status: Dating Thyra

Occupation: Dragon rider

Personality: Very similar to his personality in Homecoming but more mature. He is still very rambunctious and likes to try all of his father’s aerial tricks that he was told about as a young kid. His favorite pastimes are flying with Pouncer and annoying Zephyr.

Misc: With the very real possibility of his sister marrying Baldur he is most likely to become the next chief of Berk.

Name: Thyra

Eye color: Purplish Blue

Dragon: Monstrous Nightmare named Ember

Age: 15

Parents: Snotlout and Ruffnut

Weapon of Choice: War hammer

Relationship status: Dating Nuffink

Occupation:Dragon rider

Personality: Thyra is very confident in her abilities and is willing to spar with anyone who offers. Unlike her dad she isn't afraid to not take first (breaking generational trauma from snotlout). She tends to spoil her dragon and treat her as the most important living thing in the world.

Misc: She is the most competitive of all the children and likes to follow Hiccup around and annoy him until he is quite literally just chasing her away.

Name: Tove

Eye color: Purplish Blue

Dragon: Deadly Nadder named Attor

Age: 15

Parents: Snotlout and Ruffnut

Weapon of Choice: Spear

Relationship status: Flirty with Skjor

Occupation: Dragon rider

Personality: She is extremely girly and likes to focus on how she looks over fighting the other kids. She wants to be a healer like her mother (yes I headcanon Ruff as the healer after Gothi)

Misc: She and Attor like to look in the reflection of shields to preen. She tends to get distracted while fixing her hair or grooming her dragon and will miss important details in a conversation. She is still very useful in a battle and will take down enemies in style. She and Astrid have bonded over having Nadders and she has learned a few tricks from her.

Name: Skjor

Eye color: Blue

Dragon: Razorwhip named Wingnut

Age: 15

Parents: Fishlegs and Heather

Weapon of Choice: Double ended axe

Relationship status: Likes Tove

Occupation: Dragon rider

Personality: Skjor is the perfect mix of both his parents with his father’s love of learning and dragons and his mother's survival instincts. He loves adventure and journaling.

Misc: He met Wingnut when he got stuck on a random island and used the survival skills his mother taught him. First in line to be chief of Berserker Island.

Name: Vivika

Eye color: Green

Dragon: Triple Stryke named Suvi

Age: 14

Parents: Dagur and Mala

Weapon of Choice: Sword and Blow darts

Relationship status: Single

Occupation: Dragon rider

Personality: Vivika is the most patient out of all the children and always willing to hear a multitude of answers to one problem. She is the peacekeeper between her siblings and on the island.

Misc: She enjoys sitting under the shade of the trees with Suvi to read and be away from her responsibilities for awhile. She really looks up to her aunt Heather.

Name: Lagertha

Eye color: Green

Dragon: Gronckle named Lapis

Age: 14

Parents: Dagur and Mala

Weapon of Choice: Battle axe

Relationship status: Single

Occupation: Dragon rider

Personality: Lagertha is a born warrior that is always ready to take on anyone and anything that will try to pick a fight with her. She likes to boss people around and get the island people to do tasks for her.

Misc: She likes to get up with the sunrise and fly around the island with her dad. Her favorite pastime is whittling long sticks into spears.

Name: Noma

Eye color: Blue

Dragon: Hideous Zippleback (Gas) named Calothosk

Age: 10

Parents: Tuffnut and OC named Friva

Weapon of Choice: Mace

Relationship status: Single

Occupation: Jr. Dragon rider

Personality: Noma is a free spirit who usually does whatever sounds fun. She is curious of the world around her and can often be found taking a walk around the island. She and her cousin Leahlout are attached at the hip and if they aren't doing their own thing they are always together.

Misc: She likes to help her father in the forge (I headcanon that Tuff begins to help Gobber in the forge now that Hiccup is to busy as chief) or helping her mother cook and bake in the great hall.

Name: Leahlout

Eye color: Blue

Dragon: Hideous Zippleback (Spark) named Thevren

Age: 10

Parents: Snotlout and Ruffnut

Weapon of Choice: Daggers

Relationship status: Single

Occupation: Jr. Dragon rider

Personality: She is the most calm out of all her siblings but still enjoys causing a ruckus on the island especially for Gobber and Spitelout. 

Misc: She likes to follow her dad around while he is training the Berkian guard (I headcanon that Snotlout is the captain of the Berkian guard) and likes to train with them herself.

Name: Bjorn

Eye color: Green

Dragon: Gronkle named Fishmeat

Age: 9

Parents: Fishlegs and Heather

Weapon of Choice: Bow and Arrow

Relationship status: Single

Occupation: Jr. Dragon rider

Personality: He is sweet and gentle much like his father but tends to make up his mind and become fixated on his decision and refuses to listen when people try to tell him the opposite.

Misc: Bjorn is a pacifist so he prefers to find nonviolent solutions to problems and stay out of fights for as long as possible until a dragon or someone else is in serious danger of being badly hurt.

Name: Ingrid

Eye color: Green

Dragon: None yet

Age: 5

Parents: Fishlegs and Heather

Weapon of Choice: Teeth

Relationship status: Single

Occupation: Baby

Personality: Ingrid likes to act sweet and innocent especially around her parents (they know she’s not) but she is a feral child and will bite when she feels like it.

Misc: The first person she bit was Dagur. Her other targets include Hiccup, Snotlout, Skjor, and strangely Astrid

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Einherji

CR 10

Chaotic Neutral Medium Outsider

Bestiary 4, pg. 84

The souls of powerful warriors claimed by the mysterious, warlike Valkyries that pledge their services to various gods of battle, the Einherjar (in a rare instance of the statblock being titled with their plural form) are all former mortals reborn in bodies without flaw or weakness to continue battling long after they’ve died. Offense, defense, skirmish, war, it doesn’t matter to the Einherjar how they fight, only that they continue to do so. Continue to battle, continue to learn, continue to hone their skills and learn new tricks and tactics. Battle is their blood... or, more literally, their meat and bread.

When not directly created to serve a deific figure, Einherjar are hired out as extraplanar mercenaries to Chaotic or Neutral gods, often needing no pay beyond the promise of battle itself. Why? Because they’re quite literally sustained by battle itself, their wounds rapidly knitting and their essence replenishing (represented by them gaining Fast Healing 5) so long as they keep swinging their weapons at targets that are fighting back. For lack of a better target, they can even attack one another or their own allies until they’re satisfied, behavior that has to be kept in check by anyone hoping to hire more than one of these beings at a time.

Or not. Maybe just let them whip your army into a frenzy with their at-will Rage and see what happens.

On the occasion the spectral vikings actually want to relax from battle--typically because their human allies need some rest and respite--they can call upon a Heroes’ Feast 1/day to feed themselves and their brothers and sisters in battle. Because the feast grants bonuses which last all day, it’s rare you’ll fight them without the extra +4 to their Will saves (bringing them to +12) and +1 to attack rolls. Sadly, or perhaps luckily, the Outsiders are utterly immune to poison and fear (as well as disease and Cold), so the other bonuses offered by their feast go to waste.

But of course, all of this is simply window dressing for what they’re really about: Hitting things with their weapons a whole lot. These Outsiders are Battle-Trained, skilled in all forms of weapons and armor and unaffected by the weight of whatever armor they’re wearing, even able to ride whatever mount they desire in full-plate without impacting their Ride rolls. Though they can wield anything, the example statblock given has a +2 Battleaxe capable of making three attacks a round for 1d8+6 damage each round, with a savory x3 critical hit multiplier should they threaten to critically strike a victim. ... wait, sorry, did I say 1d8+6 three times a round? Sorry, I meant 1d8+9 damage four times a round, because they have Divine Power 3/day to bolster their attack and damage rolls, as well as give them an extra swing if they manage to stand and make a Full-Attack.

And they’re likely going to be making lots of Full-Attacks. Once you’re in melee with them, it’s difficult to get OUT thanks to their combination of Step Up and Stand Still thwarting attempts to 5ft-step your way away. Though they have no magical means of catching up with enemies that keep fleeing, they DO project the air of an inexorable force, their standard 30ft movement speed unimpeded by anything thanks to their permanent Freedom of Movement, their 10 resistance to three different energy types (Fire, Acid, and Electricity), 21 SR, and their DR 10/Cold iron and Lawful, a combination of attributes that’s difficult to just have on hand.

While no strangers to getting into the thick of things thanks to their bounty of defenses, Einherjar prefer to fight especially powerful foes one-on-one. They can use a standard action to target a single foe and Challenge to Single Combat, attempting an Intimidate check (+16) against their victim. If they succeed, the target is not only permanently shaken, but the Outsider gains an additional +2 to attack and damage rolls versus them (bringing their axe damage to 1d8+11)... at the cost of ONLY being able to make attacks at the target and taking a -2 penalty to their AC against anything but their target’s attacks. This mark of challenge, as well as the shaken condition, last until combat ends, the victim is dead or unconscious, or--interestingly enough--the target successfully strikes the Einherjar with a melee weapon.

Should they be unwilling or unable to pick a single satisfying enough foe to fight one-on-one, they have one trick that makes surrounding them incredibly dangerous for the party found in the small, unassuming feat at the end of their list: Strike Back, a seldom-seen feat. Rather than performing a Full-Attack, Strike Back allows the Einherjar to automatically make melee attacks against anyone that attacks it regardless of how many times that may be. If your party of melee enthusiasts is surrounding it on every side and making your own Full-Attacks, it may be pumping out anywhere between six to fifteen attacks of its own every round.

And if you simply stop attacking it, or attack it from a range? Right back to its unstoppable forward march to beat you to death. Or... near death. They have a constant Deathwatch and an eye for people who show promise. Maybe if you put up enough of a fight, it will let you live... if only to send a Valkyrie your way once you’ve improved.

You can read more about them here.

[lietpolski]

Denmark, 0! (I'm so glad they added an all option!)

!!! ok here we go :D

1) what would their social media page/activity be like: i've discussed this w/ a friend but i think denmark is the most technologically capable after sweden! i think on twitter he's a little more professional (but he loves rting feel-good stuff) BUT he shines on insta. it's full of artsy pictures of the danish countryside and embarrassing videos of him and his friends on his stories :,)

2) what animal they remind me of: i don't care that it's predictable that man is a puppy!!!! manga denmark is a golden retriever but anime denmark is a yippy chihuahua with that fucking voice

3) my thoughts on their design/aesthetic alone: LOVE!! i think his canon outfit is really nice compared to.... whatever the other four are doing!! his hair is dumb but it's dumb /affectionate /i love him

4) physical headcanons: i got a few! he's an early bird!! and a light sleeper. physique-wise he's the second tallest nordic and he has BIG ass arms (an axe was his main weapon so!! makes sense to me!) he has a huge sweet tooth + he loves pastries!! but his favourite is whatever norway bakes because he's a softie :) as for actual food.... this man survives on sandwiches hot dogs and beer. get well soon x

5) social headcanons: denmark is the nordic with the most friends outside of the group!! finland comes close, because everyone loves finland and he has estonia & hungary, but i think denmark's outside friendships are more involved! a strip that really stuck with me is one during the denmark-norway period, where he goes to the netherlands and asks him to give him the buddy price on weaponry and ned agrees despite how he usually is :,) within the group, i see him as having an older-brother-but-kinda-dad relationship with iceland. sweden and him are close now and they're just the brothers who had a fallout but now r coping by insulting themselves jokingly (only when they're a few drinks in sometimes it's not a joke). he and fin only became close in later centuries but their personalities are super compatible so they're great friends!! and he and norway... oughghhg you're talking to dennor lover #1 here HAH to me they've been basically on-and-off in love for 1100 years or so :,) i'll go more into it in a future post so i'll stop here but!! yeah!!

6) psychological headcanons: i feel like i covered most of this in my denmark analysis!! but hm yeah for me his greateast fear is for sure isolating his family again. and despite how carefree he acts, i think he weighs his decisions very carefully because of what happened in the past when he didn't. i think he's actually really good with dealing with anger in modern day (he's had a lot of practice) but he regrets how he used to be before. speaking of before!! i love to think abt him from the viking era to approximately the late 1500s just... cocky bloodthirsty denmark is really fun to explore and i think people should play it up more instead of making him p much as sweet as in modern times! i dont think he wouldve been anything like that to anyone but his family and own people (also animals btw this guy loves animals 100%)

7) ship(s) with them that i like or at least consider: in terms of like... my version of canon i'm a dennor soloshipper i think :,) BUT i find denmark/norway/finland/sweden fun to think about!! also denmark/estonia is a rarepair i think is veryvery cute. and some classic nedden never hurt anyone!

8) made-up connections with other characters that weren't in the canon (friends, enemies, whatever): yes!! estonia as i just mentioned! he was danish land once and he's a nordic fanboy now so they have to have some kind of relationship! also prussia; i know they do have the whole awesome trio thing going on, BUT i think historical denmark & prussia is not spoken about enough. the 2 were on the same side all the time back then!! finally i find it really funny if he and poland get on each others nerves HAH again because of historical reasons!

9) headcanons about their past: again covered a lot of these already but!! here's one that's a little different. denmark was the first to become christian, and i think he would've annoyed the fuck out of norway and sweden (who were still norse pagan) about it! sometimes it just got him exasperated eye rolls, sometimes it got him beheaded, yk how it goes

10) content about them I'd like to see more of: anything i love denmark sosososo much more iceland & denmark content!!! i adore norway & iceland don't get me wrong but they for sure overshadow ice & dan when it comes to familial dynamics and it's a shame! also i think a lot of the historical content focuses on the viking era, the fall of the kalmar union or 1814, and i'd like to see more of him in the 1500s-1700s!! he was up to interesting stuff!!

[shaywrites-ifs]

for the polearm question, i think in media swords and one handed weapons just have more popularity and more versatility, hence why people trend towards those weapons. Plus in my experience in D&D, i usually play a mixed magic character and like to have one hand ‘free’ to cast magic. but i’ve recently been reading more media with spear fights (brandon sanderson’s stormlight archive series, the poppy war, etc) and they’ve been giving me more ideas of how polearm fights would happen and now i’m trying to trend towards spears as a weapon of choice in games. I think they’re super cool and i appreciate when devs and authors have the option for them in games.

I do agree with your points, i think polearms work for fights and battles that occur in wide spaces or primarily on cavalry, since they have that reach. and they do have a context of being a ‘lesser’ weapon, in that it’s more for infantry and lower ranks in military. I’m no expert unfortunately so if there are trends in warfare i’m missing that would be good to know! i think it would be cool to have polearms that can break down when not in use for easier travel, to go along with hiding weapons and swords.

I've def been meaning to read the Stormlight Archives- have heard a lot of good of that one. Have not heard of Poppy War though. Might check it out.

And thank you for your thoughts! you def brought up a point I hadn't considered.

Response under the cut, though, so it doesn't get too long. But, just to be super clear, am no expert and don't have first hand experience. Just my own research and finding cool informative things.

That is a good point on the versatility- swords can generally be one handed or two with different pros and cons for each and, especially in magic setting with rules that fit, can make it even more important to easily have one hand available. But even without, being able to go from one handed to two or such without completely (or mostly) losing control of your weapon can be important. It also allows for shields (spear and shield is also a thing, and like the shield wall you stab thru like vikings or romans- that's fucking brutal).

And I am by no means an expert either, just somebody with an interest. But spears have been around forever and generally speaking people have liked being farther from the enemys' pointy bits which makes spears great. Especially against swords or anything that isn't reach. And stabbing isn't the hardest thing to learn, which means random farmers and peasants enlisted to fill the army could reasonably use one, along with whatever knife, hatchet, or axe they brought with them. Militias were fond of spears. Spears and polearms were also incredibly useful in dealing with cavalries. So, for a military, spears were amazing. Cheap, easy to learn, were dangerous in simple formations, and could be upgraded. And I mean, that's a limited scope with limited interest in terms of a story and narrative. It's not exactly the set up for a Heroe's Quest, unless starting there and mastering the spear or whatever polearm.

Outside of a formation and battle it's a little different, of course. Outside of a big ol' formation and army you'd want to be more than just basic with the polearm- not that you need to be to still be a threat. That reach still makes them formidable assuming the other person isn't extremely skilled, compared to them. Like, most duels I've watched, one of the few ways to realistically deal with more than one enemy is to have more reach than them- and I'm a fan of Rule of Cool and beating up crowds, but it's good to consider I think.

As for bendy spears, there are a few types. More like quarterstaffs, I think. They’re basically long flails. So, also a cool and neat option! But you do lose the stab and a lot of the reach. Unless doing like that whip Soul Calibur sword that locks in place, but even then, the bends will always be the weak point. Still, just means you have a weakness, so the story should exploit it for the character to overcome later.

Polearms and spears are cool and neat. They have been thru all of history around the world and different ways to use them- PLUS the quarterstaff (which, in media, a lot of times they mix and match techniques cause... stabbing isn't as cinematic I gather) and with a bit of Rule of Cool spice, are fun. And I don't mean Dynasty Warriors level of spice. That's a lot of Rule of Cool. A whole lot. Which is fine, if that's your world, but not necessarily required I'd think, to make polearms useable for a protagonist, especially one in a fantasy setting. Which is why I just am confused why I see so little of it. Troy had a big spear duel, GOT had that one spear duel that I know of, Fate/Zero has the lancers (again, only have watched Troy myself, not the other two, just know of them and about them and too much cause fandoms are loud). Maybe I'm just in the wrong corners I guess?

[thessalian]

Thess vs Two Cakes

So the theme of today’s exploration of video games is “Like X But I Like It More”. Because my brother-from-another-mother has basically looked at the week I’ve had like, “This is burnout and unhappiness and I like my umsibling and Forever DM not to burn out please so I will throw Zen games in that direction and hope it helps”, and as well as having ... well, quasi-Zen, honestly ... it’s given me thinky-thoughts.

Kingdoms and Castles, for example. It’s kind of like what would happen if you crossed Sim City with the latest Sid Meier Civilisation game, and made it cute. Like, “Look over there! Go get those resources so you can effectively build your town and make your citizens happy! Your citizens have to be happy or they’re going to balk at your taxes. Oh, yeah, and occasionally a building is going to catch fire for no reason”. But they have a setting that means you don’t get attacked by Vikings, which is nice. So when I don’t feel like Laying Siege To Germany (it’s an in-joke; don’t ask), I have a thing that lets me do a similar thing in a kind of chill way. I do miss the Sim City ability to just go, “I don’t like this town anymore - EXTINCTION EVENT TIIIIIIIIIIIME!”

The most recent one is Story of Seasons: Pioneers of Olive Town. Which is ... well, it’s pretty much literally Stardew Valley with better graphics. I mean it. Seriously. That is exactly what it is. Though with the better graphics comes a few more bits of fun. Like, I get a pet. So I have a Scottish Fold named Muffin, who I can actually take for walks. So, like, if I don’t want to be charging through town holding an axe or a hammer or a fishing rod or whatever, I can just grab the leash and take a walk through town doing my various chores ... with Muffin on leash. It’s adorable.

Now, see, I have Stardew Valley. You’d think that I’d be all like, “I can already do this; what do I need this expensive version of it for?” But the little differences just make it, for me. I like the better graphics. I like the 3D approach. I like having a pet that I can take on walks. Honestly, I like not having to take a weapon down to the mines with me whenever I go. And I figured out the crafting a lot faster too. Which just goes to show that you can have games that do the exact same thing as games already out there because a) someone might engage better with a different presentation, and b) ... well, the “HOLY SHIT! TWO CAKES!” effect. I have so many farming sim games and now I think I’ve found the one I actually just ... like.

It’s a similar premise to the turn-based, D&D-based RPGs, at least for me. Like, I don’t know how I’d feel about Pathfinder (maybe I should throw it back on my wishlist and find out), but I do know that I did not really feel it with Baldur’s Gate 3. It’s the kind of big that requires a more flexible DM than AI will ever be, and honestly I don’t like the companions that much. I get that it’s supposed to be edgy ‘poor little meow-meows’ or whatever terminology we’re using now, but I guess I prefer a set-up where the party members ... actually ... like each other? Where I don’t feel like I’m picking sides every time I talk to a companion? DA2 did “companions at odds with each other a bit” way better, if you ask me. So if I want turn-based D&D-based RPG, I play Solasta instead, where the mechanics (and story areas, frankly) are more forgiving, and where the party kind of has to get along since it’s entirely created by the player so they can’t do “I have a specific prejudice against This Member Of The Party”. (Not that they’re entirely without personality, the Solasta characters; it just goes by the personality traits you picked out for them according to background etc.)

Right. I have an entirely free day owing to Saturday Shenanigans being called on account of scheduling issues (it’s part of the package, I guess, but also good because after the week I’ve had, a whole weekend off feels like exactly what I need), and I have video games. I just need to pick which one. Which is the hard part. But I did manage to get another level-up done for the Cupcake Coterie, two if you count my own. Which I kind of have to because this is about to get hilarious. The DM PC who’s thankfully more PC than DM most of the time? Well ... she just hit level 10 Bard in her somewhat insane dual-class. Which not only means the full complement of Expertise (ask her to lie for the party. Please. Seriously, her stats are ludicrous. And also she’s never getting snuck up on again), but Magical Secrets. Which means two spells from any class. And she’s a College of Swords Bard married to a Paladin (or a Not-Just-A-Paladin, but still).

Alisaie’s getting smites.

Heeeeeeeeeeheeheeheehee.

[rcdiostcrs]

my pjo characters & weaponry, a comprehensive list.

triggers: weapons, guns (felt that deserves its own label since guns aren't canon-typical; rifles & shotguns), canon-typical violent themes, death mentions last update: 01.28.24

aeron

aeron uses a bone steel battle axe that transforms into a bracelet when not in use. it was forged using the blood of hellhounds by aeron himself. it is named døden ikke lenger.

anakin

anakin doesn't see much battle. when he does, he prefers the sword. call him basic, average, whatever, but he finds his stygian iron blade, named michelle after his late mother, to be quick, clean, & efficient. the blade was a gift from thanatos after michelle's death.

asph ( post )

asph has two weapons—memoria autem ferrum & amissa causa. memoria was janus's blade, passed on to danielle to give to asph when he came of age. the blade becomes a hip pouch when not in use. amissa causa is the weapon he prefers. it's a javelin enchanted to always return to him and become a ring when not in use.

ceader

ceader prefers weapons of opportunity. sure, he has a baseball bat named ausculor (or, rather, a mace called ausculor as the legion rolled their eyes at a sports tool being used for combat... it's totally a bat, tho), but if there's no time to call it to him, he'll pick up a random object to bludgeon his opponent with.

cyrene

cyrene has a staff with a crescent moon shaped blade on one end. (yes, i am taking cues from moon knight. it's a cool design!) it's khonshu's and was given to her by osiris when she first encountered danger after resurrection. couldn't let the first egyptian demigod(?) in a while die, now could he?

hailey

hailey uses the dagger. hers is a celestial bronze blade called lucky bitch.

jace

jace is steeped in demigod danger through his job. as such, he carries weapons aplenty. the one closest to him is a pocket knife of imperial gold; it's carried on his jeans' straps. there's a bow and full quiver in the trunk, two swords in the backseat's floorboard, and one of those massive flashlights that feel like they should be weapons in the glove compartment. one sword is imperial gold, the other is celestial bronze. his arrowtips are adamantine. the flashlight is just a regular flashlight.

javan ( post )

javan has telumkinesis, which translates to being able to proficiently use any weapon as soon as he picks it up. partly due to his power, partly due to boredom, javan has spent the years since his death mastering every weapon type he can get his hands on. his favorites will always be the bow & arrow, as it is the one weapon he had mastered pre-death, and the rifle. however, unlike most of his peers, he doesn't stick to one specific bow or one specific rifle—he will use whichever he can get his hands on.

lillian

lillian, as a tribute to her mother, chose the sickle as a weapon. she does also carry a dagger and a pocket knife. but the sickle—that's what she prides herself on. her sickle is named interfector pater. because of her weapon of choice, lillian specializes in close combat and fights dirty.

marly-alice

when it comes time to use weapons, marly-alice only has the silver bow of the hunters.

mills

mills is famous around camp for being shit at fighting. he's tried every standard weapon (swords, daggers, bows, maces). he's tried the weapons there's only a few of users of (scythes, kyoketsu-shoges, axes, tonfas). nothing has stuck.

noël

noël, after finding out her mother was joutunn, pouring her heart into finding out everything about viking traditions. as such, she found out about bone steel. what better way to connect to her divine heritage than to forge a couple of bone steel weapons? her first attempt was a couple of arnis bastons. her father practiced arnis and so did she. after perfecting her crafting technique, noël moved on to making a kyoketsu-shoge. after forging the weapons, she had them enchanted to turn into bracelet cuffs and a carabiner respectively. with the enchantments came names—snømaskin and glacies.

rhis

like all hunters, rhis has a silver bow given to her by artemis. unlike other hunters, rhis prefers to use her umbrakinesis to create whatever weapon she needs out of shadows. her favorite is the scythe as a massive scythe made of shadows cuts a terrifying image on the battlefield.

sawyer

sawyer found a set of ring blades (i couldn't find their actual name) with rainbow coloring and immediately set to learning how to use them. she is dagger-trained as well, considering the amount of holographic knives she has bought. however, sawyer finds her ring blades to be the coolest, so they are what she prefers.

sheamus

sheamus has a short sword. he keeps it in his new rome apartment, never taking it out of its sheath unless it's time for war games. the blade is plain steel, not a divine metal, so it only works on those with mortal blood (so, not monsters), but that's a-ok since he's only ever using it against demigods.

stetson

stetson uses a break-action shotgun, making his own shells filled with a mix of adamantine and celestial bronze.

tris

tris has a celestial bronze pocket knife encased in a comb (example of what i'm thinking of). it's mostly for show since his security team is mostly fellow demigods who can combat the monsters who find ways into his concerts / general life. he can fight, tris just prefers not to as the mist has distorted him into seeing monsters where there aren't any.

NAME TRANSLATIONS:

døden ikke lenger: death no more.

michelle: michelle... that one's obvious.

memoria autem ferrum: blade of memory.

amissa causa: the lost cause.

ausculor: to kiss.

lucky bitch: lucky bitch... that one's also obvious.

interfector pater: father killer.

snømaskin: snow maker.

glacies: glacier.

[punkgreys]

Bowmasters mod apk 2.15.11

#BOWMASTERS MOD APK 2.15.11 MOD APK#

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Open the global leaderboards and try to match or even improve the achievement of the Bowmasters record holders by participating in exciting multiplayer battles. Enjoy cool characters, create a hero, come up with a style and image for him and go on the attack. If you are tired of passing the storyline, then call your friends and find out who is the most accurate and calculating shootes. Get into the game mood as you explore different terrain designs and kill enemies with your accurate shots. Fight against the backdrop of a colorful forest, gloomy cemetery, endless desert, majestic sea or blue sea. Dozens of cool and interesting locations with a wide variety of views and decorations await the user here. Fight in various colorful locationsīowmasters is one of the liveliest games for Android. You get the increased chance to hit the enemy. Therefore, a card sharper can throw a card that crumbles into several different directions with a mouse click. Different weapons can have different properties. These can be axes, playing cards, arrows, spears and any other items, which allow killing the enemy in ranged combat. In addition to their appearance, the characters depend on the type of weapon and ammunition available. You can access each of them by going through the game levels. You shouldn’t shoot NPC here.Īs you progress through the Bowmasters storyline, new protagonists are unlocked. By the way, you can receive award only for the knocked down apple. Shooting at apples – in this mode you find yourself in the role of a shooter who aims at an apple on the opponent’s head.Bird Hunting – Quite challenging but dynamic mode where you have to aim at ducks and shoot them down in flight.

#BOWMASTERS MOD APK 2.15.11 SERIES#

Tournament – play a series of duels in which you have to fight with fifteen or more characters.

Invite your friends and start a desperate firefight.

Duel against a friend is a mode for those who are tired of playing alone.

Duel against the computer – standard battles against AI.

Try out several different game modesĪt the very beginning, you need to decide on the game mode. Find out its main advantages from our review.

Challenge your friends and fight onlineīowmasters is a simple and addictive game.

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Please leave us some feedback if you love what we do and feel free to suggest any improvements. Our team reads all reviews and always tries to make the game better. Bugs are fixed and game performance is optimized. We are ready to make your game experience even greater. Whether you play against the computer or against a friend, the confrontations always end badly.

#BOWMASTERS MOD APK 2.15.11 MOD APK#

To start you have just one character unlocked, but as you carry on and win levels you can unlock all the others.īowmaster Mod APK is a fun and zany 2D action game with hilarious graphics and lots of different game modes. When you pick up your finger, you’ll release the blow and see if you’ve managed to hit your opponent.īowmaster has some 30 different characters that all come with their own exclusive weapon. Next you’ll see the power and angle of the blow or the shot. To shoot your weapon (it might be a bow, a Molotov cocktail, a Viking axe, or whatever) just tap the screen and swipe backwards. It works like this: first you attack and then your opponent attacks, and the first person to reduce the other person’s life bar down to zero is the winner. Bowmasters Mod APK v2.15.21 (Unlimited Coins)īowmasters Mod APK Game is a 2D action game where you participate in exciting long-distance duels.

[mensnorsevikingjewelry]

Buying Replica Middle Age Weapons

Not everyone should invest in guns at the age of middle age. These weapons are only interesting to individuals who are particularly enthusiastic about mediaeval knight combat. The majority of these people are interested in re-creating the mediaeval era for current audiences. They intend to relive the thrill of a real knightly battle by staging identical scenes using authentic-looking replicas of authentic mediaeval weaponry. The middle ages are a good time to start collecting useful weapons, although this might vary from culture to culture. You can pick and choose from a wide variety of weapons and equipment.

Assault gear

Swords were the standard weapon of choice for combat throughout the Middle Ages. Therefore, a broad selection of swords may be found in stores selling mediaeval weapons. Swords are often given names that reflect their function or the identities of their original owners. Names like "Sir William Marshall Sword," "Duke of Exeter Sword," "King Henry VIII Sword," and so on can be found on some blades. You can find various types of swords like the mercenary sword, the Rhinelander sword, the Degassed sword, and many more. Each blade here is sharpened and ready for use. Medieval knights have access to a wide variety of offensive tools, not just swords. The flail, the crossbow, the crossbow, and the most famous combat axe of the Middle Ages are just a few examples of mediaeval weapons.

Fans of the fantastic can choose from a diverse selection of imaginative blades. Because they are products of the designer's imagination, fantasy swords are not necessarily reliable or suitable for combat. However, their aesthetic appeal and originality make it simple to develop romantic feelings for them. As another well-known weapon, the dagger is always handy to have about. In the Middle Ages, daggers were employed for more than just stabbing the enemy. When blood oaths are sworn, they are also used to cut the flesh. Middle Ages knights frequently swore allegiance with blood oaths. Daggers have been used as proof that the events described in many thrilling tales written and retold through the years actually occurred. Buying a sword or dagger from the Middle Ages requires careful consideration of not only the blade, but also the hilt.

Tools for self-defense

If there are weapons that can be used in an assault, then there must be weapons that can be used in a defense. Protective shields are one such option. These massive steel and bronze viking shield from the Middle Ages appear like they were manufactured in a different era. Replicas made recently make an effort to mimic this appearance by employing the same or very similar materials. Reproducing the shield emblems accurately calls for careful attention to detail. The armor is a vital component of the protective ensemble. Chain mail is a common type of armor for mediaeval knights to use in battle. As for gloves, they have mail gauntlets, and for shoes, they have mail boots. Although the chain mail will not prevent a full-force weapon from penetrating the armour, it will help lessen the blow or deflect it.

The Perfect Viking Weapon

I think Michael Vick could start at quarterback for many teams, and he could be especially useful in today's "Wildcat" offence. Who do you envision taking the reins in the Wildcat formation? You need someone who is quick and nimble not just to run, but also to pass the ball in the option. Inexplicably, Michael Vick seems to be a perfect match. With the "Wildcat" offence he successfully directed in 2008, Ronnie Brown was selected for the pro bowl. What do you make of Vick's speed, who allegedly ran the forty yard dash quicker than Ronnie Brown? Whatever the case may be, Vick's speed was indicative of sufficient presence as a runner. What, though, is it that makes the "Wildcat" so risky? Over pursuing defenders can be stopped by simply having the choice to chuck the ball. When a receiver is wide open down field, you cannot overload the run. To what extent, though, does Ronnie Brown pose a danger via the air? I am unable to speak to Brown's passing skills on a personal level, but Vick's background as a quarterback lends credence to his reputation as a capable thrower. The combination of Michael Vick's outstanding skills and the "Wildcat" formation is a defensive nightmare.

Having a physical "freak" at the helm of the "Wildcat" offensive is terrifying, and it's something you have to think about while planning a defensive strategy for the standard offence. All teams could easily execute a "Wildcat" package showcasing Michael Vick's skills, even if starting him at quarterback isn't the best option for some of them. Vick may bring a media circus everywhere he goes, but his worth in the new "Wildcat" sub package concept sweeping the NFL is apparent.

However, there may be issues down the road. Vick is "untradeable" due to his hefty contract and negative reputation. In a perfect world, a team would sign Vick to a cheap contract after he becomes a free agent. Is there any plan for dealing with the hippies who will inevitably show up with anti-Vick placards outside the practice field? Vick will always be remembered as the dog fighter who was thrown in jail, but he has a second chance to repair his reputation after he is released from prison. Even if he manages to shake his unfavourable reputation, you'll still have to deal with his mindset. There's a chance it runs in Michael's family; think back to the problems with Michael's younger brother, Marcus. Both of Marcus Vick's felony charges occurred off the field in 2004. Marcus Vick was widely condemned during his 2005 season at Virginia Tech for showing the middle finger to the crowd and intentionally stomping the leg of an opponent.

Following his dismissal from Virginia Tech for "a cumulative impact of legal transgressions and unsportsmanlike play" (Hokie Sports), Vick spent some time with the Miami Dolphins as an undrafted free agent. Marcus Vick's legal troubles began long after his NFL career had fizzled out. They included charges of flashing firearms, molestation of a minor, numerous speeding tickets, and a DUI. Is there an identical mindset between the bros? Even if they share some similarities, we must assume that each person is unique. Vick, on the other hand, has his own set of legal problems, including two occurrences with marijuana. In Virginia, two guys were detained when they were found to be transporting marijuana in a vehicle bearing Michael Vick's name on the registration. The water bottle compartment scandal, however, was a much more intriguing tale.

Michael Vick's water bottle, which contained a hidden compartment, was confiscated by airport security during a routine search. Initial security reports indicated the presence of a marijuana-like material within the compartment; however, subsequent testing confirmed that the water bottle contained no prohibited substances. Vick stated that she kept her jewellery in the bottle. When asked about his jewellery collection, Vick was unable to provide details about any pieces that resembled marijuana. Vick was also fined $10,000 and compelled to give $10,000 to charity for throwing the middle finger to a disgruntled, booing Atlanta Falcons fans following a loss at the Georgia Dome, so these issues may not seem like big deals. What's up with all the middle fingers used by Vicks? As a group, the Vicks do not seem to get along with the establishment.

Would the potential consequences justify taking a chance on Vick? Is he worth the baggage, the boycott, and the media circus? I do not think the high-profile Cowboys could afford to take a swing at Vick with the current media circus around them, but several under-the-radar teams could spice up their image with some Vick on their roster. Although the Dolphins liked to run the "Wildcat," I can not see Parcells having any of that. The Vikings on the other hand figure to be an entertaining match. I don't think Vick could hurt the Vikings' newfound popularity with the fans now that Adrian Peterson has been named the team's face.

Even if Tarvaris Jackson is a "poor man's" Michael Vick, why not just get the genuine deal instead? After what he went through with the dog-fighting scandal, I can't imagine Michael Vick having any more behavioural issues. However, I was wrong about the Cowboy experiment with Adam Jones, who ended up being dismissed after only one season in which he was punished. But in Adam Jones's defence, the event that led to his release from the Cowboys took place before he signed with Dallas, and the quarrel with the bodyguard was very small. What you've done in the past will catch up with you. Simply put, Vick may be a good fit for your team if they like to stay out of the public eye, their quarterback situation is shaky, and they want to spice up their offence by adding a new dimension.

[crazy4dragons]

Mama’s Boy

Nuffink is being bullied at the Academy. Canon-verse, a few years after HTTYD3 ends. Rating: PG (very mild language, bullying, a bit of mild violence). 

Mama’s boy.

Nuffink fought back tears as he ran out of the Academy, his classmates’ sneers echoing in his head.

Mama’s boy. Mama’s boy.

It all started when a group of kids happened to walk by the Haddock house while Astrid was giving Nuffink a cuddle and kiss goodbye, just as she did every morning before school. It had been their routine ever since his very first day, when he and Astrid both cried — him because he was nervous, and her because she realized that her baby was officially growing up, and all the mornings of completing paperwork with him snuggled in her lap were over.

Nuffink never thought of his bond with Astrid as odd, but the other New Berkian children certainly did. After all, he’d just turned ten years old, and once you hit double digits, hugs and kisses from your parents just weren’t cool.

That only added to the list of reasons to tease him. Nuffink already knew the others snickered behind his back when he couldn’t hit swing his mace hard enough, or hit the target with his axe. And then there was Spitelout, who had somehow talked his way into teaching a class on strength and persistently mocked Nuffink for not being able to do more than ten push-ups in a row.

“You’ve got Jorgenson blood in you somewhere,” he’d laughed. “And Jorgensons aren’t weak.”

The teasing had been happening all week, but Nuffink hadn’t told anyone. Hiccup was off at the annual tribe meeting, and with Astrid left to do the work of two people for a few days, he didn’t want to burden her with his problems.

“Nuffink, wait!”

Nuffink turned around to see Zephyr running towards him. She was a level above him in training, so they weren’t in the same class. Evidentially, however, she’d heard what happened.

“Who’s bullying you?” she demanded, blue eyes narrowing just as her mother’s did when she was angry. “I’ll kick their asses and send them all the way to Hel.” The language she got from Snotlout and Tuffnut, both of whom she spent way too much time with.

“Forget it.” Kicking a stone, Nuffink sank against a large boulder and buried his face in his hands. “I’m never gonna be good enough, especially not if you and Mama keep taking care of me.”

Zephyr sat beside her brother and wrapped him in a hug. From the day he was born, he’d been her best friend. Sure, they fought sometimes as all siblings do, but mostly, they were inseparable. “I’m your sister, Fink. I’m supposed to take care of you.”

“Why, because I’m a baby?”

“No, because we’re family, and family looks out for each other.” Zephyr stood up. “Now come on, let’s go home.”

Nuffink shook his head. “We can’t go home. Mama will ask why we’re back early and I don’t want to bother her with this. Not until Dad gets back tomorrow.”

“Then what do we do?”

“Let’s go to the cove,” he mumbled, wiping his eyes. “We can hide there until the classes let out.”

Zephyr shrugged. “Alright. If that’s what you want.”

The two children crept out from behind the boulder and began walking towards New Berk’s hidden cove, trying to stay off the main paths so they wouldn’t attract attention.

“Aren’t yer two supposed to be at the Academy?”

Nuffink’s heart sank as he heard Gobber’s voice behind them. It figured they wouldn’t make it very far unnoticed, not with Gobber, Valka, and Astrid all working hard to maintain the island.

“Uncle Gobber!” Zephyr smiled. “We were just heading to the Ingermans’ for lunch. Fishlegs invited us.”

“Does yer mother know?”

“Of course. We cleared it with her this morning.” Then, before Gobber could say anything else, she grabbed Nuffink’s arm and urged him forward. “Bye, Uncle Gobber!” she called behind her. “Have a good day!”

The rest of the way to the cove was fortunately fairly vacant; the only Vikings around were a few women and Mildew, all of whom were too caught up in the latest gossip to take notice of the two Haddock children.

“Zephyr,” Nuffink began once they were safely concealed behind the bushes.

“Yeah?”

“What if Gobber asks Mama if she really told us we could eat at the Ingermans?”

“Then we make up another lie,” Zephyr said.

Nuffink bit his lip. “I don’t know. I hate lying to Mama. You know that.”

“It’s either lie or tell her what happened at the Academy.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “But if I get grounded, it’s your fault.”

“Wait.” Narrowing her eyes, Zephyr strained her ears in attempt to detect whether or not she was imagining her mother’s angry voice in the distance.

“If you ever so much as come within ten feet of my son again, I swear to the gods I’ll chop off your legs with my axe and ship you off to the Outcasts!”

Yes, that was definitely her mother.  “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about telling Mom the truth,” the girl began cautiously. “She already knows.”

“How?” Nuffink’s mouth gaped in shock.

“Because nothing happens on this island without Mom and Dad hearing about it,” Zephyr said, giving off her best Hiccup impression, hand gestures included.

The boy sighed. “I just hope this doesn’t make everything worse.”

“Mom’s the chieftess,” shrugged Zephyr. “Everyone has to listen to her.”

“Yeah, but her going out there and defending me is only gonna make me look like a stupid Mama’s boy even more.” He kicked a twig on the ground.

Zephyr opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, Astrid emerged from the bushes, fist clenched around the handle of her axe.

“Please don’t make a fuss, Mama,” Nuffink begged. “It’s bad enough everyone thinks I’m too weak to take care of myself.” He fought back the tears brimming in his eyes.

Dropping her weapon, Astrid caught her son in a hug. “My baby,” she murmured, holding him close.

“I’m not a baby,” sniffled Nuffink as he felt a tear slip down his freckled cheek.

“You aren’t weak,” Astrid assured, standing back and pressing a hand to his shoulder. “You’re kind, clever, and thoughtful, just like your dad. And your father is one of the strongest people I know.”

“But I wanna be like you,” insisted the boy.

Astrid laughed. “Trust me, love. One child like me is enough.” She nodded towards Zephyr. “Now come on, you two. Let’s go home.”

…

The next day, Nuffink trudged into the Academy, eyes on the floor as he forced himself to move through the gates and over to his class. Part of him hadn’t even wanted to come to school that morning, but the other part of him wanted to show up and prove everyone wrong.

“Thanks a lot for being a tattletale to your Mama, Mama’s boy,” Spearlout taunted. “She came to my house and cussed out my whole family because you can’t keep your stupid mouth shut.”

“I didn’t tell,” Nuffink said in a small voice. “Word got out and —”

“Mmm-hmm, a likely story,” cut in Hildegard.

Nuffink’s heart tumbled down to his stomach. His excuse was only partly true. Astrid had first heard of the incident from others, but after they’d gotten home from the cove, he’d broken down and told her everything, prompting her to make rounds to several households and threaten the guilty parties with her axe.

“Baby,” laughed Spearlout.

“Hey!” Tearing away from her group, Zephyr charged towards her cousin and elbowed him in the ribs until he fell to the ground. “You leave my brother alone!”

“Ouch! Zephyr!” Spearlout cried, struggling back to his feet and throwing a punch at Zephyr’s nose, which she swiftly dodged.

Hildegard inched closer to Nuffink. “Why don’t you get in there and help? Oh wait, you’re too much of a baby.”

“Yeah,” chimed in Leif. “You can’t do anything on your own.”

“Zephyr, please,” Nuffink begged as he watched his sister aim for Spearlout’s eye. “You’re only making it worse.”

“What in Thor’s name is going on?”

The children turned to see Spitelout stalking towards them.

“Your grandson is messing with my brother,” spat Zephyr.

Spitelout laughed. “Well, lass, yer brother needs to toughen up. He is a quarter Jorgenson, and Jorgensons aren’t weak.”

Holding back tears, Nuffink ran out the Academy and towards the Haddock house. He didn’t care about being tough, not right now. In that moment, all he cared about was going home to Astrid.

As he turned the doorknob, the chieftess turned away from her newly returned husband and narrowed her eyes. “Alright, who do I need to kill?”

“Kill?” Hiccup cut in.

“These half-troll kids — and Spitelout — are bullying Nuffink,” Astrid spat, looking back at Hiccup. “He said it’s been happening all week, but I only just heard about it yesterday. I swear to every god in Hel, I’m—”

The Chief held up a hand. “Take it easy, milady. I got this.”

“But —”

“I got this,” he repeated, kissing her cheek before approaching Nuffink and swinging a comforting arm around his shoulders. “What’s up, bud? Who’s bullying you?”

“Spearlout, Hildegard, Leif,” sniffled Nuffink. “The rest of my class sometimes joins in, too, but mostly it’s them.”

Hiccup offered a comforting smile. “I’ll take care of it,” he promised, ruffling his son’s hair as he opened the door to leave.

“Don’t make it worse, Dad,” Nuffink said, wiping his eyes.

“I won’t. I promise. You can even come with me if you’d like.”

After a moment of silence, the boy took a deep breath and nodded. “I’d actually like that,” he decided slowly.

With that, Hiccup and Nuffink set off for the Academy, where they discovered Zephyr cursing at Spitelout while Spearlout sat against the wall, a purple bruise forming around his eye.

“Excuse me,” Hiccup began. “I don’t know what all this is —” He gestured to the group “—But whatever it is, it’s over.”

“Look what yer lass did to my grandson,” Spitelout growled, motioning to Spearlout. “And then she has the nerve to pull her smart mouth on me. Whatever happened to respecting yer elders?”

Hiccup glared at the older Viking. “It is my understanding, Spitelout, that you and Spearlout are both guilty of bullying my son.”

“Oh, Chief,” laughed Spitelout. “Yer got t’ stop being so soft. You yerself was weak as a lad, and look at yer now.”

“Yeah, I’m in charge of this island,” Hiccup pointed out.

“And yer doing a terrible job,” Spitelout insisted.

“Putting all feelings about me aside, we need to talk about what’s been going on here.” Glaring, Hiccup folded his arms over his chest. “Spearlout, Hildegard, Leif, come over here and stand with Spitelout.”

The three children hesitated.

“Now,” Hiccup ordered, his voice firm.

Muttering under their breaths, they dragged themselves forward.

“When I was a boy,” the chief began, “most of the other kids my age treated me just the way you’re treating Nuffink. It left me feeling like I wasn’t good enough to be a Viking, and certainly not good enough to be Chief. So I told myself that if my kids were ever made to feel that way, I’d find everyone responsible and make sure they served a fair punishment.”

The children’s eyes widened. Spitelout grunted.

“And because you made my son feel bad about himself, I’m going to ask that you kids clean out the yak stables every day. For a moon.”

“But Chief! It wasn’t that serious!” insisted Spearlout, looking to his grandfather with his one good eye.

“That is ridiculous, Haddock,” Spitelout barked. “Yer can’t make them do that.”

“But Chief!” tried Hildegard.

“Two moons.”

“That’s not fair!” Leif shouted.

“So not fair!” Spearlout echoed.

“Three moons.”

Spearlout opened his mouth again.

“I can make it four,” warned Hiccup, prompting him to bite back his retort. “As for you, Spitelout, you’re on outhouse duty until the end of the season. You will also no longer be working at the Academy. From now on, Eret will be teaching strength training instead.”

Spitelout’s eyes widened. “But Eret isn’t even a born Berkian!” he exclaimed.

“And I’ll be there, watching you — all of you — to make sure the jobs get done,” Hiccup continued, ignoring Spitelout’s outburst. “Is that clear?”

The four nodded.

“Now get to work. Classes are over for the day,” Hiccup ordered before turning to Nuffink, who was observing silently. “You ready to go, bud?“

Nuffink nodded as a small, crooked smile appeared on his lips. Maybe taking after his dad wasn’t so awful after all.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Headcannon: Shieldmaiden friend with his brothers

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: “I was hoping I could request a headcanon of Ivar being nervous around a new shieldmaiden that is friends with his brothers? He finds her attractive, but that makes him nervous bc of his legs and what ppl have said all his life.”

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: My horrible attempts at whatever the fuck this ended up being, nothing else I can think of.

A/N: So yeah, I made a thing. Am I happy with the thing? Nope. Am I proud of the thing? Nopity nope. Am I gonna post it anyways and hope you guys don’t hate it? Yep.

But yeah, first time writing headcanons, first time diving head first into season 4 Ivar. I sincerely hope you like it, and idk, would love to hear your thoughts, good or bad, on this one. Thank you!

Taglist: @1950schick​​

·         You were one of the shieldmaidens to accompany Björn to the Mediterranean, and you grew close to both him and Hvitserk on the journey.

·         You joined the Great Heathen Army alongside your brother, and everyone was surprised to see Björn sprint towards you as soon as he saw your ship, lifting you off the ground in a tight embrace.

·         Although Sigurd isn’t too thrilled or interested in you, both Ubbe and Ivar are immediately drawn to you.

·         The former, because there’s rumors about how you once bested Björn when sparring with those curved swords.

·         The latter, for completely different reasons. Though, you being a great warrior does help.

·         With you being close to his brothers Ivar finds himself knowing more and more about you with every passing day, and in the midst of the war to avenge his father, with his heart heavy with pain and loss, he finds you, with your easy smiles and your friendly nature, a welcome distraction.

·         That’s what he calls it, at first. When he spends each chance he has watching you from afar, witnessing your interactions with the group of shieldmaidens you call sisters in arms; when he finds himself thinking of you late at night and early in the morning; when he realizes he misses you when you’re gone, even though he tells himself he has nothing to miss.

·         The realization that he actually feels something for you dawns on him when he sees some Dane warrior dancing with you on a feast after Aelle is conquered, and the urge to stake his claim, to go there and interrupt whatever it is that is happening before his eyes, fills him, makes an impulsive hand reach for the axe at his side.

·         Ivar is…well, Ivar, so there’s no way he’d willingly let you -or anyone else, for that matter- know that he’s interested in you.

·         Which he is. Very much so. Because, much to his growing frustration -in more ways than one- he can’t get you out of his head.

·         Still, that doesn’t mean he’d willingly disclose it. He isn’t subtle, though.

·         But people notice. His brothers notice.

·         Björn isn’t thrilled with it, but considering Aslaug isn’t alive to bend to Ivar’s will and have some poor girl forced into marriage with the youngest son of Ragnar, he isn’t too concerned. If something happens, it is because you choose it so, and that’s enough for him.

·         Ubbe bristles up. He knows bits and pieces of what happened with Margrethe, but he has been witness too many times of how Sigurd uses what happened with her against Ivar- something he swears one day will end in tragedy, thankfully nothing too difficult to contain or heal so far-; and he still feels responsible about setting up the whole thing. The last thing he wants is for it to happen again, with someone that is quickly becoming a close friend of him and his brothers.

·         And of course, Sigurd notices, and is cruelly delighted in it. He does try a couple of times teasing Ivar about it when you’re near, but you never stood for those kinds of games, so he was eventually discouraged from continuing.

·         Doesn’t stop him from privately tormenting Ivar about it. It is his duty as older brother after all, and since Ubbe is too busy mothering Ivar, and Hvitserk too busy trying to fuck his way through England, it falls unto him. He may go too far once or twice, but their relationship has always been that way.

·         Sigurd’s teasing only manages to put Ivar more and more on edge about these stupid -pathetic, useless, soft- feelings, and the few times you try getting close to him, he usually snaps at you or reacts badly.

·         Because you are very interested, even if you are much better at hiding it. Ivar proves to be incredibly smart, and with the march of the Great Heathen Army being the first time you’ve travelled this far from home, fought in so many important battles, you find yourself fascinated by him and the way he seems to understand what goes beyond fighting, what becomes war.

·         But, when you are try getting close to him with subtle flirting or soft touches, Ivar thinks you are pitying him or mocking him, and when you are more direct and try finding common ground to get to know each other, he thinks you’re pushing him away.

·         It confuses you, and frankly, it confuses him too.

·         It confuses everyone that has become an unwilling spectator to all of this.

·         Ivar does try his best at being nice to you, it just manages to backfire most of the time.

·         You could be sharing a meal with him and his brothers, and he’d try complimenting you, saying something about how you have proven to be a fine shieldmaiden. But feeling too many eyes on him, feeling like he left himself open for ridicule or rejection, he’d add something else, like how you are obviously aided by the fact you use weapons not familiar to Vikings.

·         He’d fuck most things up, is what I mean.

·         And he’d know -and you’d make it very much clear- that he has upset you, or made you angry.

·         He would try apologizing, but it is Ivar, so “I’m sorry” won’t leave his lips unless someone pries it off him, so, he’d try…alternative approaches.

·         First, gifts. Women like those, right? He’d try buying the prettiest, most expensive thing he can find, and leaving it for you to find. Or, if he is in a particularly good day -if he managed to get one up on Sigurd, maybe, that’d be a good day- he’d give it to you in person.

·         Throwing expensive things at you wouldn’t exactly work, making you feel inadequate and cheap. He notices, so he’d try something else.

·         He wants you closer, so he makes it so that you always sit with him and his brothers at the table where the leaders of the army dine.

·         Before long many men -including Harald, to whom Ivar notices you giving easier smiles than the rest, much to his horror- manage to sleaze their way to the chair at your other side, chatting with you during the nights, making you smile and laugh.

·         When word of how one of them tried talking your brother into a marriage arrangement reaches Ivar, he pulls back on his idea of having you sit with him.

·         To you, it just looks like a rejection, and Ivar notices you grow colder, more distant.

·         With the threat of how desired you have proven yourself to be, a beautiful woman and a fierce shieldmaiden, hanging over his head, Ivar grows more and more restless, and resolute he has to prove to you he can offer you much more than any of these men can.

·         He tries everything he can think of. Make it so that you are there when he beats his brothers in target practice, boast about how his strategy was what won them many a battle against the Saxons, repeat the tales about how he and his brothers are descended from the Gods themselves.

·         When Ivar makes the contraptions for his legs, he goes to find you with -barely contained, he shouldn’t even bother trying to hide it really- enthusiasm, trying to show off in front of you.

·         He ties a lot of his self-worth into how people perceive him, into how much of a ‘normal man’ he can pass off as, and as we know he stands a lot prouder and a lot more confident once he gains more control of the Great Army and manages to make those things.

·         When you see him, though, even though he is preening and standing tall, chin high and shoulders squared; all you do is look at the contraptions around his legs and back into his eyes.

·         “You’re a better fighter without those.” You’d say, and nothing else.

·         Ivar would sulk. There’s no way to impress you, nothing he can do to make you look at him with that mischievous streak you share with Hvitserk, or that companiable closeness you have with Björn.

·         Anger would quickly enough win over any impulse to sulk and feel sorry for himself, though.

·         He’d eventually grow colder, crueler, towards you. He’d feel like you rejected him, and being angry towards you -and in return making you be angry towards him- gives him someone to blame, gives him some way of letting the pain have form, have a target for all the mess of emotions it leaves inside him.

·         When Björn starts making plans to return to the Mediterranean, he fully expects to see you depart following his brother and never seeing you again.

·         He hates himself for grieving the loss of you, someone he never had, someone that -as far as he knows- never cared about him anyways.

·         But he does. The day when Björn and those who choose to come with him will depart East approaches, and Ivar is more on edge than ever.

·         Restless, angry, and with no one to blame but himself. But, of course, he won’t do that, no.

·         He taunts you, makes jabs at you and how you run after Björn like an enamored thrall, points out you choose to sail a ship like a coward instead of staying here -staying with him- and fighting the Saxons.

·         When you snap back, voice loud and eyes furious, that you were never planning on sailing back with Björn, you manage for once to stun Ivar into silence.

·         You don’t even give him time to hold on to cruelty, to the pain and anger he uses as both a weapon and a shield. You stand up from the table and leave the hall.

·         Hvitserk doesn’t lift his head from his food, but still grumbles that he should go after her. At Ivar’s affronted frown, Ubbe insists that he should, offering his little brother a sly smile and something about going to find his woman.

·         Ivar would deny to his very grave and beyond it that his ears turned red at the implication behind Ubbe’s words.

·         But he did, trying to dispel thoughts that told him how he was running after you like a lovesick puppy.

·         When he finds you, you are still angry, because of course you are. And your anger is to Ivar like an electric shock over an exposed nerve, drawing out all the vitriol and fury and explosiveness.

·         Before long he has managed to make you angrier than he has ever seen you, and your voices rise with your tempers.

·         A second time you manage to stun Ivar into silence comes shortly after the argument between the two erupts.

·         He doesn’t even remember what he was about to say, only that with a few words about how you chose to stay with the Great Army for him makes all the thoughts on his head disappear.

·         Before he can twist himself into knots about it, thinking how it must surely be a lie, how you are playing some cruel trick on him; you lean in and kiss him.

·         Ivar doesn’t know how to react, not at first. The only woman he has kissed before was a slave his brother instructed to sleep with him, and he refuses to think of that night, of that woman.

·         He stays frozen under your touch, until you pull back, and smile.

·         He realizes when lack of air makes your kiss end that in your eyes you don’t have that glint of playfulness you share with Hvitserk, or that comfortable understanding you have with Björn; but something more tender, more real, and definitely hungrier.

____

So yeah, that’s that. I have never written headcanons before, and I struggle a lot with season 4 Ivar (who am I kidding, I struggle with writing Ivar in general) even tho he is my favorite Ivar. Idk, I gave it my best, hopefully I can learn from this and get better at it lol

Thank you so much for reading, lovelies!! <3

[waiting4inspiration]

Face Changer (Ivar x Shapeshifter!Reader)

Summary: A Jarl comes to join Ivar’s raid to England with an interesting companion. After speaking to you, he finds that you and he are not so different

Warnings: strong language, angst, small fluff, mythical creatures, shapeshifting, mentions of death, mentions of raids, slavery, mentions of Ivar’s OI

Word Count: 2,619

7k Mythical Creatures Masterlist II Vikings Masterlist

Every summer, a new Earl, King, or Jarl comes to Kattegat to make an alliance with Ivar for the summer raids to England, making the Heathen Army grow bigger. This year, it’s Jarl Kret, from some eastern kingdom who has made a weird request from Ivar. Kret has requested that Ivar have a cell open for him. Ivar didn’t quite understand that, but he did that request nonetheless. 

When Jarl Kret walks into the Great Hall, a woman behind him with chains around her wrists and two guards beside her, Ivar realizes now why he would need a prison cell. But why bring a prisoner with him on a raid?

You keep your head low, your eyes fixed on the chains around your arms in fear of being punished if you dare look anywhere else. You know that you’re in the presence of a king, and you don’t wish to upset him. Who knows what might happen if you do and you wish to remain unharmed. 

“King Ivar, I trust you have seen to my request,” Kret speaks, confusing Ivar as to why that is the most important thing to him. Why you, seemingly his prisoner, is the most important thing on his mind. 

Ivar glances to Ubbe at his side for a second before looking back at Kret. “I have. But I am curious,” Ivar speaks, moving his eyes over to you. He notices how statue-still you stand, barely even breathing, so it seems. “Why is she so important to you?” he questions when he looks back to the Jarl, his head nodding to you as a smile grows on his face. 

Hearing you take in a sharp breath, Ivar’s eyes dart over to you again just for a second before looking at Kret again. You don’t look like a normal prisoner. In fact, the only thing that made Ivar think that was the chains around your wrists and the fact that Kret requests a cell for you. Otherwise, your appearance seems to be that of one of his companions, perhaps even possibly a daughter. 

Kret smirks at Ivar as he shifts on his feet. He glances back at you, making your head lift slightly so your eyes can meet his. And you can tell in that one look what he will ask of you in a moment. “She is my secret weapon, the reason many have fallen to my ax,” Kret begins, his head turning around back to Ivar as he holds a confident gaze. “She has a gift, to shift into any face she wishes.”

Those words make Ivar scoff and roll his eyes. He hardly believes in fairy tales, why should he believe this? 

“You have proof of this?” Ubbe questions, making Kret’s gaze turn to him as he smiles wickedly. 

Holding his hand out to you, you take a small step forward and close your eyes to focus on an image in your mind. “Show them, girl,” Kret orders, but he doesn’t have to tell you because you already knew he was going to say that. You already have a picture of who you want to turn into in your mind. 

Ivar watches you closely as you take in deep breaths. Then, your face begins to change. 

It’s as if he’s watching your skull break down only to reform into a different shape. A male face. Scars appear out of nowhere on your skin that has changed, and a beard. Your hair seems to shrink back into your skull, leaving you with a clean head. And within a few seconds, Ragnar’s form has replaced yours, rendering Ivar and his brothers in the Great Hall speechless. 

When you open your eyes, you have even changed your eye color to those piercing blue eyes the brothers vividly remember. “It is impossible,” Ivar mutters, seeing his father’s face again, even though it has been years since his death, makes him take a step closer as his brothers in the room gawk at you, with their father’s face.

“Impossible for us. But not to her,” Kret states, lifting his head a bit so his gaze can meet yours because of the fact that when you had taken Ragnar’s form, you had grown taller for the resemblance to be more accurate. “Imagine what could be done with her in England. We could trick a king into thinking we have his daughter and he will give us whatever we want in return for her safety. Or perhaps, be discussing a false term of peace in one place,” he says, holding his hand out to you again as he smiles at Ivar. “while also leading your army in a surprise siege,” he adds, moving his hand to gesture to Ivar. 

Being in two places at once. It will be possible with someone like you. Someone who can shapeshift into an exact replica of anyone. “Do you understand now, King Ivar, how important she is to me?” Kret asks, making Ivar’s head turn back to him and away from you. 

You stare at him a while longer, still in his father’s appearance, waiting to see what he’ll do. His eyes dart back to you and you can tell that it must be hard having to say to put someone looking exactly like his father in a prison cell. You only hope that means he won’t let that happen. 

But he nods his head to one of his men, a silent instruction to lead you and the guards that seems to follow you everywhere to your prison cell. 

Pulling your arm out of the guard’s hand, you glare coldly at him as you begin to walk away, shifting back into your previous appearance now that Ragnar’s appearance is no longer needed. “Where did you find her?” Ubbe questions when he sees that Ivar still stares at you, at the back of your head, watching the hair sprout out of your skull.

“I didn’t find her. She was born from one of my slaves and I knew from the moment I laid eyes on her that she was different,” Kret explains, his story making Ivar’s head turn towards the Jarl again. “Believe what you will, but the face you saw when she walked in is not her true appearance,” he adds, interesting Ivar even more. 

You’re different and it intrigues him. He’s never seen anything like what you can do and he wants to know more about it, about you, and about people like you if there's even more like you. He wants to know more. And as King of Kattegat, he will find out more of the prisoner that occupies his cell.

You’re used to living in conditions like this. It’s very rare that you find yourself in other environments with suitable beds and thralls attending to your needs. That only happens when you are portraying someone else. You were born in a jail cell and so that is where you will live, you tell yourself. 

Every cell is not so different from the last. To bide your time, you compare the space between the window bars, the number of chain links on the walls, how much smaller or bigger the cell is. Sometimes, if you have nothing else to do, you sit and picture what you wish to look like, come up with a different face or a different feature. Sometimes, you mix appearances you have seen out of curiosity to see what your face would look like. 

Tonight, you don’t wish to do any of that. All you do is sit in the corner of the cell, staring out the small window at the sky that slowly changes color and turns dark. 

Not expecting anyone to come to you, not even Kret, you frown at the door when you hear someone demand your guard to move aside and for the door to be opened. When it does, you make no movement to stand, not when you hear a dragging sound that tells you exactly what you want to know; who is it that has come to see you?

You see the King, Ivar, crawling into your cell. His gaze immediately lands you and he thinks about Kret’s words. This isn’t your true appearance. You’re hiding that from him, from everyone what you truly look like. He understands why; you want to fit in with everyone around you. When people look at you, all they will see is a normal person in chains. 

Ivar sits in front of you, hands folded in his lap as he runs his tongue over his lips. He’s not entirely sure how to start a conversation with you. It would be blunt to just straight up ask you what he wants to ask. But how does he get to his questions?

“What is your name?” he decides to ask. It might be easier to talk to you if he knows your name. 

But all you do is shake your head and pull your shoulders up to your ear as you glance down to your hands. “People call me whoever it is I look like,” you softly mention, biting your lower lip as you hope that you won’t regret speaking. 

“And what is the name your mother gave to you?” Ivar questions, your head lifting back to him and your eyes to grow slightly wide in shock. 

You fear that him knowing your name will lead to something bad. Something where you both could get in trouble and you’d get the worse end of it. Still, the look in his eyes is unlike any you’ve ever seen. And somehow, you feel safe under the gaze of those bright blue eyes that seem to have the knowledge you’ll never know. “(Y/n),” you whisper and Ivar smiles at you. 

He knows there is no need for him to tell you his name, but he does in any case. You nod your head and glance back down at your hands, waiting for him to say what he’s come here to say, perhaps to tell you what you will be doing in this raid across the sea even though you have a very good idea what it is. 

“Kret says your mother was a slave,” Ivar starts after a moment of silence. 

His words make you scoff and roll your eyes, making him in return smirk at the cockiness you try to hide from him. He knows you don’t want to anger him accidentally which is why you hide your responses, your emotions from him. But he wishes you wouldn’t. He wants you to be you right now. 

You look up at him, an angered look in your eyes and your mouth pulled in a thin line. “She wasn’t a slave. She was his prisoner so that he could get my father’s lands,” you coldly say. Ivar can see a rageful shiver roll through your body, something you try to contain and he wonders how long you have pushed down your rage for what Kret did. 

“Your father was a man of power?” Ivar asks, frowning slightly as he tilts his head to the side. 

“My father was the King of people like me. Shapeshifters, face-changers, whatever you want to call us,” you explain, sadness flooding your eyes as you look back down at your hands. “He was chosen to lead because of his loyalty and courage.”

Ivar shifts forward at your words, leans a bit in interest as your eyes look at him through your lashes. “You are a princess then,” he whispers as a smile grows on his face. 

Your head snaps up, fear now in your face as you shake your head. “I’ve said too much,” you mutter, shifting away from him and turning away from him to press your shoulder to a wall. 

But he moves closer, obviously not done with this conversation. “Tell me what happened,” he urges as you bring your knees up to your chest and wrap your arms around them. “Tell me.”

Shaking your head, you turn your gaze away from him and bite the inside of your cheek to stop you from giving in. What if this is a test? What if Kret is testing your loyalty to him? You can’t fail a test like that. Gods know what would happen to you if you did. He might not kill you because of the value you are to him, but it would still be terrible. 

“Tell me what happened, or show me your true appearance,” he bargains, thinking that you’d rather do the former than the latter. 

His suggestion causes your head to turn back to him slowly. You stare, furious at him as you jaw tenses before you breathe out. “I won’t show you that.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” you trail off, sigh and drop your head between your shoulders. “Because it will disgust you. And when you look at me, it will be the only thing you remember of me,” you sneer, but Ivar can tell your anger is directed at yourself, not him. “You will think me ugly. It will frighten you away and you will always think I am a monster.”

Something about your words, about the anger in your voice and the rageful shimmer in your eyes when you look up at him resonates in Ivar. Something familiar. Something that reminds him about the disability he was born with. 

You’re angry about what you are, just as he is angry about how he is. In you, Ivar sees himself. 

He swallows deeply as he blinks. “Tell me, or show me,” he challenges, his face remaining unchanged and stern. 

Thinking to yourself that it’s best to show him your true appearance, frighten him away and protect yourself from Kret’s fury, you close your eyes and take a deep breath as you let your legs fall into a crossed position. 

Ivar watches as intently as he did when you changed into the face of his father as your skin changes into an unnatural color. Blue. And though your skin starts off being smooth at your cheeks, it turns scaly along your forehead and down your neck. 

Your eyes are bright yellow when you open them, almost like the gold Ivar finds in the Christian churches on raids. 

He stares at your appearance for a moment, takes all of it in before he drops his stare away from your face. Wordless, he turns onto his hands, away from you and starts to crawl towards the door of your cell. You drop your head, tell yourself not to cry because you knew this would happen, and turn back to press your shoulder against the wall and your knees to your chest. 

Ubbe’s waiting for Ivar outside the prison, arms folded over his chest and a curious smirk on his face. “You talked to the doppelganger.” It is not a question, so Ivar only responds with a quick hum. “Did she show you her true face?”

Ivar knows that means that Ubbe had been listening to the conversation and he stops to turn his head up to his brother. He doesn’t have to say anything for Ubbe to know that you did, he can see it in his little brother’s eyes. “And did she frighten you?”

Rolling his eyes, Ivar turns his head back to the now-closed door he had exited through. “No, she didn’t,” he says, smiling to himself as he thinks of the color of your eyes. He could stare at them all day if he had the chance. 

“Then why did you leave so quickly?” Ubbe asks, making Ivar look back at him with a proud, cocky smile on his face. 

“I am going to free her from Kret’s chains.”

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[phenomenal1500]

Melt The Ice In My Heart | Vikings

Summary: Chaotic, Coldhearted, Evil. Raven black hair, ice blue eyes and a devilish stare that could freeze everything she had in sight. Njorun Noraide, Kattegat's archer, was feared by many, but not by the two known brothers. She was raised in the snow, her childhood had never been filled with warmth and love. Her father abused her, angry he didn't had a son instead.

One day two young men walked in, cut the father to pieces and brought her to a safe heaven, Kattegat. She quickly picked up the talent of archery to defend herself and was finally free from her abusive father. She grew close to the two brothers, but sadly while hunting she ended up in a snowstorm.

Stories spread she had died, people forgot about her, asking her name nobody could remember it... except the two brothers. Ragnar and Rollo Lothbrok were determined to find their old childhood friend, seeking the area for years, until they started raiding the western for the third time, both recognizing the bright blue eyes they remembered as no other, imprisoned by the English.

Timeline: This story begins in season 1 episode 7 when Rollo and Ragnar attack the western for the third time.

Relationship: Rollo Lothbrok/Ragnar Lothbrok x Njorun Noraide (OC)

Fandom: Vikings

Chapter 1: The Snow In My Eyes

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

Warning: There will be probably a lot of strong themes and sexual content in this fan fiction.

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

(POV Njorun Noraide)

My hands were bounded together so I could do no damage as I was stripped from my clothing, only, not to be raped, well, probably not yet. They found it funny to cut me open first, cut for cut. The cold iron hit my smooth skin and cut it open like it was a harmless baby. With my jaw clenched I grunted in pain but didn't want to surrender to these men. I didn't know what they wanted from me or how I ended up here, but one thing I knew for sure, this was going to be my death, whether I liked it or not so why let all my precious information spill to them.

A tear released itself from the corner of my eye as another cut was made, feeling the warmth of the blood running down my collarbone. The sun was lowering and darkness started to surround us and after what felt like the thousandth cut, they suddenly stopped torturing me when a higher ranked man approached me. He had laid his weapons down onto a wooden table and grabbed the pole behind me before kneeling beside me, using the pole to keep himself steady as he did so. He stroked a piece of hair out of my face and I turned my head around, making him retreat his hand and he backed off.

"You know what we want."

"No."

"We have been doing this for a while now, better be truthful. Who are you and how did you get here?"

"All I remember is that I ended up in a snowstorm years ago. So just leave me alone." He rolled his eyes before standing up, clearly not willing to except my truth.

"Get through her, break her if you have to."

He turned back around towards me so we locked gazes and he shook his head before walking away, yelling one last time to his men and me.

"I'm sorry that it has to go this way. My men, I just removed the rules, do what you want to get to the answer!" My eyes narrowed and I smiled to myself, the fuck did I get myself into. With all my strength I tried to break the chains, but I knew I had no change, I was bleeding everywhere and had a little to no energy to save myself. I rumbled with the chains, making an unbearable sound. Secretly hoping a wanderer would find me or anyone else, but my hope was quickly gone as the first young man with brown hair walked up to me, bending over me as he slowly lowered his trousers and meanwhile smiled at me.

I closed my eyes preparing for whatever I had to deal with next. Only before anyone had touched my body or anything else happened, my eyes shot open when I felt hot blood dripping onto my face and a axe was placed in the neck of the man that was planning to rape me, after my rescuer killed all the men that tried to run away as well. Slowly, my eyes followed my saviors movements and when he kneeled down, bright light lit up his face and it was visible to me. The green warm, but strong eyes, the dark long hair. He grew up handsome and I couldn't hide my excitement towards the man who had once again saved me and who I knew from when I was younger.

"Rollo!"

"I'll get you out of here, sæta."

"You called me cutie? Why the... I'm no-...!"

"You are. Now, let's not distract me from finding the key for those chains or do you love being naked and tied up while being cut open?" I looked down and totally forgot about having no clothing on me which made me try to cover myself up by pushing my legs against my chest, screaming out as the pain from the cuts began to hit me when I moved.

"Got it." He confirmed holding up a key and secretly concern filled his eyes. Rollo stepped towards me before the sounds of the heavy chains falling onto the ground was echoing through the tent. He had slid his fur of off his shoulders and wrapped it around the naked me to cover me up, after, he tried to help me raise to my feet, but I failed to do so even with help which made Rollo carry me outside of the tent and gently held me close as he brought me to the other group Norsemen. When he was sure I was safe he laid me down and started to tend to my wounds while he asked a man named Arne to get clothing for me that I would fit the most.

"Thank you."

"It's good you survived, Ragnar and I have been trying to find you for ye-..."

"NJORUN!!!!"

Shocked I looked up to see the other brother running towards me, he too was grown up more handsome than before.

"Ragnar, careful." Rollo tried to shout at him, but he was too happy to even listen. I was pulled into a tight hug with the fur almost falling of off me so with all my strength I patted him on the back and secretly pulled the fur back, covering me again while hissing through my teeth and sucking up the pain.

"By Odin, you grew up into a fine woman!" He grabbed a piece of my hair while he again smiled at me. "With still the dark hair and cold blue eyes."

"Thank you?" I bursted into laughter while a sharp pain came back, making Rollo push Ragnar back a bit.

"Let me patch her up, then the three of us talk?" Ragnar nodded in annoyance and left to speak with the other men waiting for him as Rollo shoved up the fur by my legs to stop the bleeding on my legs while sitting on one knee to be at the same height.

"I already got a hug from Ragnar."

"So...?" He raised his eyebrow before a smirk appeared onto his face.

"Give me one too." I saw him hesitate before he slowly sneaked his arms around me, pulling me gently closer to him.

"I'm glad you're back, Njorun."

"Me too."

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Chapter 14

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

KJOTVE’S FORTRESS

THE DUNGEON

Eivor stared at the limp body dangling above him, utterly dismayed by the new reality he had just stepped into.

Not a single word escaped from the barrier of his lips, and yet, the only thing he wanted to do was scream. It felt as if everything around him had come to a sudden pause, and at the moment, there was nothing except a deafening silence crushing the walls of his skull.

How could Thora be dead? It was just a day ago that Eivor saw her roaming around, full of the vibrant life she always carried. He recalled their last conversation as if it were yesterday, and even now, her voice still lingered in his thoughts like the smoke of an extinguished flame.

He promised himself he would’ve saved her. He believed he would. He fully expected he’d be returning to Bjornheimr with Thora in tow after a long and arduous battle, but now... his entire world was crumbling around him.

Thora was gone. The very same woman who once rescued him from Kjotve’s barbarity had now succumbed to it herself, and it was all thanks to the hissings of a snake.

Eivor just prayed he would live long enough to see Dag again. He may not’ve been able to save Thora anymore, but he had every intention of ensuring that her killers would follow her footsteps across the bridge to Helheim.

It was the least he could do for her at this point, and the only thing he could do.

“Looks like you’re too late, Wolf-Kissed,” a familiar voice gloated from behind Thora. “Such a shame. All that time spent forming this alliance, and you couldn’t even save one person. Your entire bloodline has always been a joke.”

The young man averted his gaze from Thora’s corpse and spotted Gorm emerging from the shadows, battle-axe in hand as two other warriors prowled alongside him. Kjotve however, was nowhere to be seen.

“Gorm...!” Eivor growled, instantly rising from the floor. He brandished his axe and bared his teeth, ready to leap at them at a moment’s notice. “What have you done to my sister?”

The other man chuckled. “It’s rather obvious, isn’t it? Father cut her down like the bitch she was. Thora tried to put up a fight, but in the end, it meant nothing.” His lips curled into a smug grin. “I’m afraid her seat in the Corpse Hall will forever remain cold.”

Eivor mindlessly took a few steps forward, wanting nothing more than to sever Gorm’s head from his shoulders.

“...You argr dog!” He snarled. “I’ll tear your lungs out through your spine!”

Sigurd hurriedly snatched his lover’s arm, holding him back before he could get himself hurt.

“Eivor!” He warned.

Gorm snickered at the display, clearly not intimidated by the broken warrior’s threats. “You couldn’t kill me even if I was blindfolded, Wolf-Kissed. And we both know it.”

Sigurd ignored the viking’s taunts and got straight to the point, eager to put this charade to an end.

“Enough, Gorm!” He barked. “Where is Kjotve?”

“My father?” He let out a scoff.��“He’s gone.”

The prince’s tone mellowed with bewilderment. “What?”

“Are you deaf, Styrbjornson?” Gorm snapped back. “I said he’s gone. He fled. He isn’t here.”

Sigurd grew impatient. “Well then, where the hell is he?”

“Even if I knew, you really think I’d tell you that? You are as stupid as you look.” Gorm brought his attention back to Eivor and smirked, not entirely finished with him just yet.

“It’s a pity, Eivor. My father actually wanted to keep Thora alive. She was rather valuable, after all. Could’ve made for a useful hostage. Not to mention that there are many slavers out there willing to give up a handful of silver for someone like that.”

The man rested his battle-axe on his shoulder. “But you know what? I tire of these games. I’m sick of going back and forth with your clan, and frankly, I don’t give a shit about what my father has to say.” He gestured to Thora’s body. “Consider this your only warning, Raven-Tamer. Tell your clans to back down, or else, Thora won’t be the only one with a broken neck when this war is over.”

Eivor glowered at him, his gaze wide open with an unbridled rage. “It’s too late for that, Gorm. You murdered my family. Your people burnt down my home. Our village lies in ashes because of you.” He tightened his grip on his axe. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re nothing more than another corpse standing in my way.”

Raising his arm in the air, Eivor didn’t even give Gorm a chance to react before he hurled his weapon across the room, aiming straight for the other man’s head.

Before the axe could make contact though, Gorm quickly ducked under the trajectory and charged forward, signaling his men to follow suit. In the meantime, Eivor whipped out the spare axe hanging from his back and lunged at them, completely devoid of the grief that had crippled him mere moments ago.

As for Sigurd, he focused on taking down the other two warriors and instantly bashed the butt of his sword against one of their helms, attempting to knock off the piece of armor. He swung the lengthy blade into the man’s abdomen, and forcefully slammed him against the wall. The brutish viking struggled in Sigurd’s grip and tried to shove him away, but was quickly silenced when the prince jabbed his sword into the crack sitting above his collar.

For a brief moment, the warrior choked on the blood that came spurting from the wound and jerked like a fish out of water, but swiftly fell into death’s embrace once Sigurd sealed the kill. The prince allowed the lifeless man to collapse to the floor, and within a heartbeat, he was already hunting down the second man.

Meanwhile, Gorm and Eivor found themselves in a heated fight to the death and practically threw each other around the room, doing whatever they could to gain the upper hand. Their axes clashed together in a storm of vicious attacks, and if it weren’t for the cramped space of the dungeon’s cold walls, Eivor would’ve already tackled his opponent directly to the floor.

To Gorm’s surprise though, Thora’s death hadn’t hindered the Wolf-Kissed nearly as much as he expected. The strength behind each of his swings was fueled by a fervent sense of vigor, and if anything, he would’ve said that her loss only empowered him further.

There was a deadly layer of venom coating the edges of his sharp stare, and in the shadows, Eivor fought more akin to a beast than a man. His glare pierced through the darkness like a torch in the dead of night, and within seconds, he had already pummeled his way through Gorm’s wavering defense.

“You should’ve never laid your hands on Thora...” Eivor said through clenched teeth. “I’ll gut you for what you’ve done.”

With one powerful blow, the young man slammed his axe downwards and bashed Gorm’s weapon out of his grip, leaving him defenseless. Afterwards, he kicked the viking down to the ground and towered over his writhing body, preparing to land one final strike.

He took a handful of Gorm’s tangled hair and violently yanked his head up from the floor, positioning his blade right underneath the chin. Just before he could cut the flesh however, Sigurd’s voice came booming across the room, bringing Eivor to a sudden halt.

“Wait!” The prince exclaimed, reaching an arm out. “Don’t kill him...!”

Eivor shot a glance at him, his eyes still wide with fury. “Why not?”

Sigurd stepped over the corpses of the warriors he just slew, still somewhat worn out from the fight.

“We can make use of him. He’s the only one who can lead us to Kjotve. If he dies, we’ll be left in the dark.”

The young man was silent with reluctance, causing Sigurd to walk closer to him.

“Eivor...” he said, attempting to calm him down, “I know your heart bleeds for your sister, but we need Gorm alive. Without him, we’ll never find Kjotve on time. Think about this.”

“If it weren’t for this bacraut--” Eivor fired back, shaking the man in his grasp, “Thora would still be here! She would still be alive! We could’ve... we could’ve saved her. We could’ve brought her back home.”

Sigurd’s tone sank with empathy. “...I know, Eivor. I know. And he will pay for it. I promise you. But right now, vengeance will get us nowhere. The only way we’re ever going to bring this war to an end is if we strike at the core itself. We need to find Kjotve, and we need to do it quickly. We can’t give him time to recuperate.”

The young man was quiet in return, but Sigurd could tell he was listening. His actions were restrained by a leash of hesitation, and the fires of his rage had dimmed into nothing but dying embers.

“...Fine.” Eivor finally murmured. “Have it your way.” He threw a fist into Gorm’s face, knocking the man out cold.

Sigurd let out a breath of relief and made his way to Eivor’s side, unsure of what to say from here.

“You did the right thing, love.” He reassured, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll send someone to fetch Gorm. We’ll tie the bastard up and bring him back to Bjornheimr. In the meantime...” Sigurd peered at Thora’s body, “...let’s get your sister down from there. She deserves a proper funeral.”

Eivor said nothing in response and simply slunk away from the unconscious warrior, drifting over to his fallen axe. He retrieved the weapon from the floor and wandered to the mechanism holding Thora in the air, carving through its taut rope with his blade.

Just after a few firm slices, the rope snapped in two and slithered free from the system keeping it in place, causing Thora’s body to plummet onto the rough stone.

She fell with a solid thud, and landed in a position that made it look as if she were only sleeping. Meanwhile, Eivor plodded sluggishly towards his deceased sister, entirely drained of any willpower he once carried.

“Thora,” he whispered, kneeling down beside her, “...I’m so sorry.”

Sigurd stayed by Gorm’s body, watching the tragic scene unfold. He never had the chance to speak with Thora other than a few scattered conversations, but even then, the heartache in Eivor’s voice was enough to plant sorrow within him. 

He remembered well what the loss of a loved one felt like. Despite having seen over twenty winters pass since then, Sigurd hadn’t forgotten how desolate the world was after his mother departed from this realm.

Everything felt pointless for a time. It took him months to find any motivation to see his life to its end, and even longer to accept the grim reality of the absence in his family. It wasn’t until he was a young man that Sigurd was finally able to move on from his grief, and to this day, he still experienced occasional bouts of loneliness.

He couldn’t imagine how Eivor must have felt. Not only was he mourning the loss of his sister, he was also battling with the guilt of not finding her on time. He never had the opportunity to say goodbye or wish her well, and if the horrors of war had taught Sigurd anything, it was that guilt often proved to be more torturous than any enemy out there. He just wished he knew how to help.

“Eivor?” Sigurd said softly, approaching the other man. He knelt on the floor beside Eivor, trying to provide him some amount of solace. “I’m... I’m sorry. This is...” he let out a deep sigh, “...this is unforgivable.”

His lover cradled Thora’s head in his lap, running a comforting hand through her hair.

“She saved me from Kjotve,” Eivor recalled, “when I was just a boy. While everyone else fell to his blade, she was the one to pull me out from the fire. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t even be here. I owed her... everything. And yet, I repaid her with nothing.”

The Wolf-Kissed’s shoulders slouched in despair. “Thora doesn’t deserve to be in Helheim. I do.”

Sigurd leaned closer to Eivor, hoping to part the stormy clouds looming over his somber gaze.

“Don’t lay down your shield just yet, Eivor. We haven’t been defeated. We still have a chance to make this right. This war isn’t over.”

The younger man scoffed. “And when will it be over, hm? When Kjotve kills the rest of my family? When he kills you? When does it end?”

“I... I don’t know, Eivor.” Sigurd answered sincerely. “This tapestry that the Nornir have woven remains a mystery to me. But know this...” he looked his lover in the eye, “I’ll do everything in my power to ensure that Kjotve doesn’t walk away from his crimes. I’ll find the traitor who’s hiding amongst our clans, and I’ll get the answers we need from Gorm. Even if I have to beat them out of him. Thora will be avenged.”

Eivor let out a shaky breath, attempting to conceal his forlorn nature. The last thing he wanted was to break down in front of Sigurd -- especially in the middle of a battlefield -- but he could feel his shell withering away with each passing second.

“Thank you, Sigurd.” He replied plainly. “You’ve always been there for me.”

The prince laid a delicate hand on the back of Eivor’s head, pulling him into a gentle hug as he pecked a kiss above his brow. “And I always will be.”

Disrupting the stillness, a clump of footsteps suddenly began to echo wildly off the stone walls, prompting Sigurd to separate their momentary embrace. He shifted his focus to the staircase on the opposite side of the room and took hold of his sword, bracing himself for anything.

Much to his relief however, he saw Ulfar hurrying into the scene with a small party of men in tow, attentively searching for the jarl’s missing daughter. His forehead glistened with the beads of freshly broken sweat, and splatters of blood could be seen staining both his axe and armor. 

“Sigurd! Eivor!” He called out upon noticing the two men. “Have you found--”

The raider fell into an abrupt silence, taking a moment to process exactly what he was looking at.

“...Is that...?” 

The prince gave him a dour expression. “...Thora. Yes.” He dragged a hand down his face. “We were too late. Gorm killed her.”

Ulfar blinked out of shock, completely taken aback by the horrid news.

“Oh, no...” he murmured under his breath. “When did this happen?”

“She was killed long before we arrived,” Sigurd explained. “Kjotve knew we were coming.”

The older man furrowed his brow in anger, seemingly unsurprised to hear the report. “...Shit. Where is Kjotve now?”

Sigurd shrugged. “No idea. He fled even before we set foot on his shores. The only person who could lead us to him is Gorm.”

“And where is he?”

The prince gestured to his body. “Over there. Don’t worry, he’s not dead. Just unconscious. I wanted to bring him back to Bjornheimr. See what he knows. He claimed to have no knowledge about his father’s whereabouts, but I don’t believe it for a second.”

“A wise choice. My men will take him to the longship. If this bastard has any information on Kjotve, we’ll get it. As for Thora...” Ulfar’s voice wavered slightly, “just look after her. Okay? I dread to see how Arngeir and Randvi will react to this, but we need to give her a proper burial. It’s the least we can do.”

Sigurd nodded. “We’ll take care of her.”

“Good. Then we should leave this damned fortress as soon as possible. I’ve seen enough of this frozen hell to last a lifetime.” Ulfar turned to address his raiders. “Men, gather any of our people you can find and return to the ship. Halvard, Osmund, I want you two to handle Gorm. Make sure he returns to Bjornheimr alive.”

“Of course, Ulfar.”

“Then let’s get moving. I imagine our jarl will be awaiting the news. Best we tell him sooner than later.” He took a glance over his shoulder, peering at Eivor. “...You lot go on ahead. I’m not quite finished here yet.”

Swiftly making their way out of the dungeon’s stuffy interior, Ulfar’s men returned to the ships and brought Gorm along with them, dragging him across the floor as if he were no more than a sack of meat.

As for Ulfar, the weathered warrior sheathed his axe and calmly approached Eivor, crouching down on the floor in front of him. He asked Sigurd to give them some privacy with a simple tilt of the head, and assured the man that he would take care of their mutual friend.

At first, the prince seemed tentative to abandon his lover’s side. Eivor was clearly still in a state of distress after all, and he didn’t much like the idea of leaving him in the hands of someone else. But after a moment or two, Sigurd decided to grant the young man some space and quietly removed himself from the dungeon, eager to get a breath of fresh air.

Meanwhile, Ulfar stayed behind and kept the distraught viking company, suddenly thinking back to when he found Eivor at the beach on the anniversary of his parents’ deaths. Much like that day, the boy appeared to be lost in a labyrinth fashioned out of his own thoughts, and his eyes seemed to bleed with a profound darkness that even Ulfar didn’t know how to fend off.

It pained the old raider to see the man like this again. He had hoped that by the time Eivor reached his age, Kjotve’s cruelties would’ve been a thing of the past. He hoped that Eivor would’ve been able to start his adulthood in a world of prosperity, and yet, here they were, knee-deep in a storm that was only growing larger. It felt as if Fimbulwinter itself had settled into Norway’s seas, and the icy winds seemed to be biting their flesh harder than ever before.

Thora’s death had left an irreparable tear in the threads of Midgard, and frankly, Ulfar didn’t know how they were going to recover from this.

“Eivor,” he finally said, “...it’s time to go.”

The Wolf-Kissed kept his gaze on Thora’s face, unable to even make eye contact with the other man. He could hear everything the raider was saying to him, and yet, his mind remained stranded in an ocean of fog.

“...What am I going to do, Ulfar?” He asked, his tone flat with emptiness. “Where do we go from here?”

Ulfar sighed morosely and stared at the floor, weeping internally at the sight of Thora’s corpse.

“The only way we can go.” He answered. “Forward.” He paused for a second, trying to maintain his composure. “I... I am going to miss Thora dearly. I watched her grow up, just like I watched you. Seeing her die before me -- it’s always been one of my worst fears.”

Ulfar knotted his hands together, carrying on with his train of thought. “But I knew Thora, and I know she wouldn’t have wanted this to weaken us. She wanted Kjotve dead as much as the rest of our clan, if not more. The best thing we can do for her now is ensure that she doesn’t die in vain.”

The raider gripped the sides of Eivor’s arms, holding him firmly in place.

“...Never let go of your axe, drengr. Not even in death. We are not broken yet. Kjotve will fall.”

Ulfar rose to his feet and beckoned the young man to do the same, ready to put this dreadful place behind them. The battle outside had finally died down after what felt like an eternity, and it sounded as if most of Kjotve’s men had been slain by the Bear and Raven Clans.

Though, of course, the enemies they faced here were only a portion of the man’s entire army. Ulfar imagined that the rest of them were protecting their cowardly leader on some remote island, and shielding him from the dangers of the world until his foes stumbled upon their doorstep.

But right now, he had no desire to spare another thought on the morbid subject. He was already drained due to the anchor of grief now weighing him down, and his heart pounded at the idea of informing Arngeir about his daughter’s brutal demise.

They were going to have a hefty funeral to prepare for once they got back home, and Ulfar could only hope that the traitor would soon join their fallen warriors on the pyres.

“Come, little cub,” he said to Eivor. “Your father’s waiting for us.”

[frustrated-writer-skyeknight]

Excerpt, the assigned guardian

Read Plotbunnies here 1, 2, 3, 4

Summary: Stoick mulls over what he must do about his son and the his being prone to getting into trouble. Jack gets wrapped up into it.

Hiccup returned that late at the Haddock household. He finds his father in the middle of sharpening his weapons. Hiccup runs past Stoick to quickly and quietly crawl up the stairs, but seemed to have Stoick notices him. 

“Hiccup.”

The young viking stops halfway up the stairs. “Dad!” he gritted his teeth before sighing in resignation. “Uh… I have to talk to you, Dad.” he mumbled in resignation as he climbs back down.

“I need to speak with you too, son.” Stoick said, standing to confront his son. 

Meanwhile, Jack had been watching sheep until someone for the next shift takes over. He stretches, taking the herd staff Hiccup crafted for him personally, for his last birthday, before heading back to the Haddock’s hut. It was almost dawn, he figured he could catch some sleep before having to make breakfast for him and Hiccup. The chief was going on the possibly fatal voyage, and his best friend didn’t eat much so Jack didn’t have to cook a lot if it’s just two of them.

Jack enters the Haddock household, placing his staff on a hook nearby but barely made it across the threshold as he heard Hiccup and Stoick talk at the same time.

“I’ve decided I don’t want”

“I think it’s time you learn”

“to fight dragons.” Father and son looked at each other, “What?”

Stoick gestured to his son, “You go first.”

“No, no,” Hiccup shook his head, “you go first.”

"Alright.”

Jack blinked and remained standing at the door, at pause on what to do at the face of what seemed to be the start of a father and son heart to heart. He may have been with the small family for a while, but he thought it was still too early for him to be a part of a family meeting.  

“Uh,” Jack lets out an awkward cough, thumbing behind where he came from. “I think I forgot to uh, there’s something in Aster’s shop that I needed to…” He cleared his throat once more, reaching for his staff again. He may not be guarding sheep again, but it was his best weapon against the lesser dragons. 

He learnt the hard way that being nearly abducted was a possibility for an ordinary day in Berk. Jack and Hiccup are still wondering how Stoick actually managed to save him.

“So, yeah. I’ll come back later.”

“No lad,” Stoick raised his hand to stop Jack midway before he could move, “this involves you, too.” The large man turned back to his son, “Hiccup, you get your wish. Both of you; Dragon Training. You’ll start in the morning.”

Jack’s mouth popped open.

Hiccup balked, and starts to ramble. “Oh, man, I should’ve gone first!”

“Er,” Jack rubbed the back of his head, “when did I mention wishing for this?”

Stoick sighed, having the decency to look apologetic. He knew the lad wasn’t a Berkian, and he didn’t have the Viking blood in him. Jack was just residing in the island since it was a common stopped of the man he was officially under. But it might as well count as his actual home, as he didn’t have anywhere else to go, Berkian or no.

Still, he was still a leader and had a sense of diplomacy in him... Even if a smidge.

“I won’t ask ya to risk your life for us,” The chief started, “but if ya’re going to keep staying at Berk, you’ll need to pull your weight on the battle field too beyond passing weapons. At war, we could benefit from a Field medic. I know you’ve been working on some ointment or whatever it is to help with burns.”

Jack balked, “Whoa, war?” he repeated, “What war?”

“Uh, you know dad,” Hiccup interjected, “we have a surplus of dragon-fighting Vikings, but do we have enough… bread-making Vikings, or small home repair Vikings–? Jack and I could…”

Stoick interrupted his son by giving him an axe. It seemed that he wasn’t just sharpening the weapons he’d be bring along with him. “Here,” He said, “you’ll need this.”

Hiccup grunted, attempting to carry an axe with a weight he wasn’t used to. “I don't want to fight dragons.” he said with a bit of a strain in his voice.

“Come on.” Stoick laughed, as if his son just made an impossibly funny joke. “Yes, you do.”

“Rephrase: Dad,” Hiccup tried again, “I can't kill dragons.”

“But you will kill dragons.” 

"No, I'm really very extra sure that I won't.”

“It's time, Hiccup.” Stoick started to change his tone.

Hiccup groaned, “Can you not hear me?!”

“This is serious, son!” Jack looked back and forth from father and son, really wishing he was actually invisible now. He could slip out, but he did want to be there for his best friend and crush, even if it’s just in the form of presence moral support. “When you carry this axe, you carry all of us with you. Which means you walk like us. You talk like us. You think like us. No more of...” Stoick paused as he gestured to his son, unsure how to phrase it, and just settled for one word. “this.”

Hiccup narrowed his eyes, shrugging his shoulder again to adjust his hold on the axe. “You just gestured to all of me.”

“Deal?”

“This conversation is feeling very one-sided.”

“DEAL?!”

Hiccup sighed in resignation, “Deal.”

“Good.” Stoick nodded, taking a knapsack and tossing it over his shoulder. “Train hard, both of you.” He acknowledged once. Jack gave him a compliant, yet lazy, salute. “I'll be back. Probably.”

“And I'll be here.” Hiccup muttered as his father left, “Maybe.”

Jack went by to stand next to his friend. “You know, your father isn’t much of a listener, is he?”

Hiccup narrowed his eyes at his friend, as if to say ‘you think?’

“So,” Jack cleared his throat, “Breakfast?”

Prev

HiJack AU []HTTYD, ROTG]

[krypticss]

FIVE DAYS — Hvitserk.

Hvitserk x Reader

PROMPT: 12.  “I feel sick… so anxious and sick and like my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest.”

SUMMARY: The reader goes missing after they raid York.

WORDS: 1.845

WARNINGS: none?

“I feel sick… so anxious and sick and like my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest.”

It had been five days since the Vikings invaded York. Five days since their conquest had gone as smoothly and as gratifying as it could possibly have.

Five days since anyone had seen you. Hvitserk had walked day and night, through every inch of the town, looked through every house and under every block of stone. You were nowhere to be found. Before you left Kattegat, a feeling haunted him, something dark and filled with sorrow. He should not have let you come, he knew it in his gut.

“Brother,” Ivar wiped his lips of the remnants of ale, “had something happened to her, we would have found her body. It’s (Y/N), she is fine.”

Hvitserk’s leg bounced up and down, his hands passed down his face. The plate in front of him was untouched, he found no appetite in himself.

“Eat. You will feel better.”

The plate flew to the nearest wall as Hvitserk hurled it with all his strength. His body burned with the frustration, nothing would simmer down the fire in his eyes. The words spat from his mouth before they could be contained, “I don’t want to eat, I want to find (Y/N).”

His brother was unbothered by the petty behavior. Hvitserk might have been the oldest, but he rarely acted as such. Ivar shrugged.

“Don’t eat, then.”

He huffed, and paced around the old church. Ivar was insufferable. He didn’t understand. How could he? He didn’t know what if felt like to love you. To have your bare skin pressed against his chest as he laid kisses on your head. To feel your smile intoxicate his being to the bone.

To not have you by his side was waking up to a morning without the sun.

Hvitserk would rather face an army on his own than to bear the thought of you joining the gods so soon. You could not go to Valhalla. Not yet. He wouldn’t allow it.

“We must gather the men and search for her.”

Ivar contained his laugh, but the taunting smirk remained on his face, “You would have us leave York?”

“Some of us.”

“You see, brother, this is why I am in charge.”

“Don’t push me, Ivar.” He warned.

Ivar might underestimate him, treat him like waste, but he could never forget, Hvitserk was more than capable of unleashing chaos and walking out unharmed. He was still a son of Ragnar, after all.

“Two men will accompany you. Don’t wander off too far.”

Hvitserk’s jaw clenched tight, it was not what he had in mind. If it was up to him, he would have half the town looking for you. He nodded, nonetheless.

“Good.” Ivar smiled and sipped on his drink. Hvitserk was ready to leave the church, the confined space had become enough to suffocate him breathless, much more with his little brother around. As he opened the grand doors, Ivar called out to him, “She would be disappointed.”

He was frozen in place. Fingers clasped the handle tight, nearly breaking his bones. Every breath became more rapid, every heartbeat echoed louder in his ears.

“All this time,” Ivar continued, “and you still underestimate her.”

Hvitserk made sure to slam the door behind him.

-----------------------------

The group had been on the road for three days when they came upon a small farm east of York. Hvitserk, a shieldmaiden and one of Ivar’s most trusted men. The sun had barely shone its rays in the sky. It was quiet. The cold breeze ruffled the tree branches above them. If they concentrated enough, the heavy waves could be heard as they crashed in the distance.

Hvitserk’s heart fluttered with hope. It was the only place that consisted of more than trees and dirt in miles. You had to be there. They rounded the farm with care, but no living soul was to be seen besides the sheep and cattle. At last, they checked the wooden hut, where the farm owners were likely to be asleep at such early hours.

With his axe in hand, he slowly opened the door. Its hinges creaked to announce their arrival, but the room remained still. It was empty. There was a door, left ajar. It led to the only other room of the house. Hvitserk approached it, his boots pressed hard against the floor with each step.

The door burst open once he was within reach, a round shield was thrown towards him. Hvitserk was barely fast enough to block the impact with his forearm. He did not bother to attack its owner, he recognized the familiar patterns of the paint that dried on it.

He had watched you paint the shield with delight. Your favorite part of fights and battles was not the thrill of violence, or the trial of skill. It was testing your weapons to their limits until they broke and you could improve them. And then, at last, decorate them. You loved painting your shields until they became uniquely yours. So your friends could find you miles away on the battlefield.

You were nothing like Hvitserk. The thrill he found in action, you found in watching. The love he found in talking, you found in listening. The two of you were not similar, and that’s why he loved you with all his heart. The broken pieces of you seemed to fit in each other with perfection.

“Stop! It’s me!” Hvitserk laughed as he blocked your blows. Joy consumed him, so much he could take on the whole of England right then and there.

You stopped your axe mid air and took the moment to analyze the man before you. Within the adrenaline, you had failed to recognize his voice, but the laughter was unmistakable. “Hvitserk!”

The axe and shield dropped to the ground and you threw your arms around his neck. Hvitserk held you tight, taking in the feeling of having you in his arms. The scent of your hair, your body warm against his.

“I thought I lost you,” He mumbled against your shoulder.

You pulled away from him with a frown but kept your bodies entwined. “Lost me? Why would you have lost me?”

“You disappeared, (Y/N),” He breathed, “I searched all of York, and I couldn’t find you. No one could find you.”

“During the raid, I saw a man leave the town with a child. She cried and screamed, and he dragged her with so little care, it felt… wrong.” You explained, your hands dropped from his neck and you sat at the table. “I followed them. When they got here I saw how he mistreated her and I intervened.”

“You killed him?”

“He attacked me first.” The words came out more aggressive then you had intended. “I waited for her mother to arrive, but she never came. I would ask the child, but… I do not understand a word she says.”

Hvitserk’s sigh was heavy with emotion he had to hold. “Have you stopped to think she might not have a mother? Or any other family? What will you do then?”

You bit your lip, “I will take care of her.”

“No, you will not.”

“Yes, I will.” You stood up, your lips pulled tight into a frown. One of the few similarities the both of you had, one could be just as headstrong as the other. Arguments turned into fights, and fights tended to not end well for either of you. “It is not your decision.”

His voice was low, his hands slid to your waist gently, “(Y/N), if you wish for a child, I will be more than happy, you know this. But not like this.”

But it wasn’t so easy. The gods knew you had tried, both intentionally and unintentionally, but there had never been a sign of you bearing a child. It vexed you. So much, your worst fight had been when Hvitserk suggested the possibility that, perhaps, you simply… couldn’t. It wasn’t unusual. You refused to accept it, but a part of you hung onto it, in the back of your mind. A poisonous seed among your thoughts that always told you it could be true.

“It’s not about that,” You shook your head, “I cannot leave her alone.”

Out of the corner of your eye you saw the two warriors share a look as they fidgeted in the spot. Whatever they had been here for, it most certainly wasn’t to witness a couple arguing. Recomposing yourself, you cleared your throat.

“Forgive me,” you smoothed out the night gown you had been wearing, “You must be tired. There is ale on the jar, I will arrange a place for you to rest.”

Inside the bedroom, the little girl hid under the bed in fear. You gathered the furs you had been using for yourself and some clothes from her parents so you could make a decent bed for your companions. You set everyone in the main room of the house to not frighten the girl.

The sun was high in the sky as the two warriors slept. On the other side of the room, you and Hvitserk were still wide awake. His chest heaved up and down with each breath, his heartbeat faint as a dream against your head. Your thumb rubbed small circles on his arms, he was the most relaxed he had been the entire week. Even so, he couldn’t find it in himself to fall asleep. He finally had you in his arms, and he didn’t want to miss a second of it. He was afraid he would wake up and you wouldn’t be there anymore. Blown out of his reach like petal in the wind once again.

“Why did you come?” Your voice was a whisper, barely audible. But he heard you.

“I was worried about you.”

You lifted your head to rest your chin against his chest, “I can take care of myself, Hvitserk. This was a simple raid.”

His fingers played with your hair, he was lost in thought. He knew you like the back of his hand. You were a shieldmaiden. A viking, just as much as he was. Strong, determined, headstrong. Hvitserk also knew the other side of that. The adventurer, fearless free spirit. The part who would be the first to run to the top of a hill to find what was on the other side, whose curiosity could not be eased. It was not hard to believe that you ran from York without a note of warning. In fact, it sounded just like you, running to the rescue of the innocent.

“I know,” He pursed his lips, “when it concerns you, (Y/N), I tend to act by my heart, not my head.”

Your expression softened, “How could I ever blame you for that?”