#dark harald
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Common Knowledge 1
Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, bullying, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Harald Halfdansson, tall & plus-size reader
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
You unfurl the strip of legal pad, marked with Professor Halfdansson's messy and pointed writing. The usual scribble that has you squinting at your returned papers. He must be the only instructor in the college that still handmarks his assignment.
Like much of his style, his slanted cursive is chaotic. Often, his lectures or spiraling tangents about his trips to Norway or some mythos unrelated to the topic at hand. He is a well of knowledge, but one which is often overflowing and bottomless.
The subject is far from your first choice. You prefer history with a human subject. Your intrigue is those events which truly occurred, people who once walked the same earth as yourself. Mythos and belief is a human creation but it hardly captures your imagination.
Along your search for title jotted onto the scrap, you find several other books to sate your personal preferences. A book on the Beothuk and their demise and another illustrated index of Renaissance art. Finally, you find the rear corner of the store, the mythology shelves nestled behind Spirituality and New Age.
You hover your finger before the rows and lean in, squinting through your lenses as you search out the rather Nordic-sounding name. You sense a shadow at the end of the aisle but do not look over. You'll just be on your way once you-- there it is.
You pinch the spine of the deep blue tome and slide it out. The cover is stamped with gold runes and lettering, a viking helm the central image. You double-check that it matches the professor's scrawl, however you can never be sure as his Fs look like Ss.
You set it flat on your armful of book, balancing the weight with the rest as you crumple the scrap and tuck it into your pocket. It's a bit more than you want to spend but it will be useful in maintaining your average through Halfdansson's course.
The shadow comes closer and you shift out of the way for the approaching customer. You sidle away as they huff, a breath that fans around them. He leans into the shelf and you sense his head shift and his gaze follow your slow retreat.
"Ah, you are a fan of vikings?" He asks, stopping you in your tracks. "You must've watched the show, hm? Cute series but not very accurate, you know?"
You blink, taken aback but his tone and his assumption. It isn't the first time you've met the attitude in your chosen discipline. When it comes to military history or the lives of vaunted men, there is often an intonation towards female scholars. You have been dismissed more than once.
"Never seen it," you lie, "you seem the type though."
You note his snow white hair, a peculiar shade, drawn back into a half pony, and his blindingly pale eyes. He wears a tunic better housed in the closet of a LARPing club and looms with an air of indignation. He puts a thick hand on the shelf and leans, no doubt used to towering over others.
"Funny, that is the very book I came for," he intones.
"Oh, what a coincidence."
HIs jaw ticks and he snorts, "seems you've found quite the lot--"
"I have. A whole trove."
You go to turn away and hear his sole clomp down behind you, "surely you can grab another encyclopedia. I really need that one."
"Uh, no, this is what I need."
He follows you down the aisle as you keep a quick step, uneasy at how he trails you so fervently.
"Maybe you should grab another one."
"I have all the others. I've been waiting months for that to come into stock," he insists.
"Well, you can find a kiosk and order one in--"
"On a three month backorder," he interjects and grabs your arm. "I'll pay you--"
You spin back to face him and hit his chest with your books, "don't touch me."
"Well, just..." he retracts his hand, "hold up. I'm trying to talk to you. To barter--"
"I'm sorry, but I need this book for class," you hug the books and back up, overly aware of the tingliness from where he grabbed you. You don't like being touched. At all. You can feel your heart pumping.
"Does the school not have a library, little girl?"
Your mouth falls open. Little girl? This guy just can't help himself. You haven't been rude, maybe matter-of-fact, but he's been downright mean.
"Not for sale," you push your shoulders up and back away.
You twist on your heel and speed away. You weave between the shelves and discount tables and join the winding queue at the counter. You don't look back and sway in your boots, waiting your turn.
"I could give you several recommendations for an alternate text," the man appears at your side, crowding you inside the black cords that rein in the queuing customers.
You ignore him and turn your head away. You wish he'd just take a hint. If you heard a single please or any sort of respect, you might consider it. He's only been a jackass and judging at first glance, he's too old for that.
"You don't need it–"
You move with the line and he growls, shifting with you.
"Look, girl–"
You snap your head back and give him a glare. He sucks in one cheek and exhales heavily, "miss, I am asking you nicely–"
The associate at the counter calls for next and you take your cue. You quickly cross the space and put your haul onto the wooden ledge. You hear the pushy stranger snarl something under his breath. You refuse to look back as you hand over your membership card.
Men like that are the very reason you despise the general public. Hard to fathom how you can be so intrigued by the human condition when you can hardly bear to be around other people.
#geralt of rivia#geralt#dark geralt#dark!geralt#geralt x reader#harald halfdansson#harald x reader#dark harald#dark!harald#harald finehair#vikings#the witcher#bookstore au#au#series#drabble
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i see your requests are open!! can you do something sweet with Harald? (and Halfdan if you’re comfortable with polyamory!)
Of courseeeee. Here is some Harald fluff (with a pinch of bittersweetness and angst). I was going to have this be polyamorous (bc those two come as a pair more often than naught in my fics lbr lol), but once I got started it just turned into something more Harald-centric. Hope you don't mind! (I went a little overboard for him again)
Harald Finehair x fem!Reader
HALFDAN THE BLACK is the first to enter Tamdrup’s great hall upon returning from a successful raiding season. The doors swing open wide, and those gathered for the tribunal part, making way for the victorious. Rising from the seat of power, you go to him with open arms, smiling. “I see you brought my husband back,” you muse, watching Harald enter the hall at last, surrounded by a score of rowdy warriors and overjoyed denizens—rightfully so, they have returned with riches and have lost fewer than a dozen warriors during the raids.
“I fear what you would do if I didn’t,” Halfdan laughs, tossing down a heavy coin purse on the table before taking you into his arms.
“It is always good to see you again,” you smile, kissing your marriage-brother’s cheek. He is inclined to agree. After long days at sea and many weeks away, it is good to be greeted by a fair and familiar face such as yours. Halfdan clasps your shoulder as he steps around you, pouring himself a cup of mead—leaving you to his brother. “Harald,” you greet, and the hall falls silent as he approaches you.
His breath catches as he beholds you, standing before him regal as ever with a gifted silver circlet resting upon your brow. His wife. His queen. His heart. It is as though the rest of the world falls away when he stops before you, rough hands cradling your face with the gentlest of touches. “By all the gods” —he strokes his thumbs over your cheeks— “you’re even more beautiful than I remember.”
Harald’s kiss is slow and soft—save for the familiar scratch of his beard against your cheek and jaw—and speaks of the months of longing to return to your loving arms. You kiss him like you’ve done a thousand times before, falling into the rhythm as though you never parted. Your fingers comb through his beard as you part, foreheads resting together, but then your smile widens as you wrap your arms around him, holding him tight. “I’ve missed you,” you breathe. But now he’ll be yours again until the next raiding season comes.
THE WHEEL OF time does not slow, and the harvest season fades into winter and then to the first buds of spring. Nigh all the Vestfold gathered in Tamdrup tonight for the feast to celebrate sowing the first seeds of the new crop and seasoning the turned soil with sacred blood. But that is not the only reason the jarls and fighting men have come all this way. In the coming weeks, Harald, Halfdan, and anyone else willing to sail will make their way to Frankia to raid Paris with Ragnar Lothbrok. Festivities last long into the night, but Harald comes to you soon after you take leave.
He draws lines over the length of your spine as you lay with him, head pillowed on his chest, listening to the slow rhythmic beat of his heat, bare legs entwined, but then you twist in his arms and lean up to kiss him—featherlight and sweet as the mead still on his breath—fingertips following the blue-black scrollwork of his tattoos. Then he tilts his head back, letting you trace the curving lines on his neck and down to the ones on his chest—only your touch could ever make him tremble.
“Paris?” You repeat, following one of the silver scars on his ribs with your fingertips. He’s spoken of the city to the south and of Ragnar Lothbrok before, but with the night’s feast, it became official. Come the spring, he would prepare his ships and set sail to join the farmer-turned-king on his second venture to Frankia.
“Yes,” Harald says, his voice a low rasp. He sees it in your eyes, a flicker of hope that maybe this time you will sail with him and his brother—that you will be able to visit the distant lands so many speak of—but now is not the time for you to venture into the unknown. Your life is not something he can risk so easily and carelessly. Harald curls his hand around yours, then kisses the center of your palm and holds your hand close to his chest. “I need you here, my heart,” he tells you, but you already know that.
“I’ll plan a feast and a sacrifice before you and Halfdan depart,” you tell him—it is what any good queen and wife would do to see her husband and people return safe and with victory. And then he takes your lips and your breath, holding you close. You sigh into his mouth, letting his tongue brush yours, fingers slipping back into his unbound hair. His kiss is reverent, and you cannot help but miss the cracked softness of his lips against yours when he parts, but it is only so he can hold you in his arms.
TEN DAYS AFTER Harald Finehair first sets sail to Kattegat, his brother and the remainder of the fleet are ready to follow. The last of the barrels and crates are being rolled and loaded into the longships when you arrive on the docks to bid everyone farewell and good fortune on their journeys. Six hundred men and shieldmaidens from the Vestfold have gathered over the last two moons, all to leave on this day to join Ragnar Lothbrok in his endeavors—but Tamdrup will feel empty without their presence. Though, there is already a newfound hollowness in the wake of Harald’s departure.
You find Halfdan amongst the chaos, checking the yellow-red shields secured on the side of one of the ships. “Halfdan,” you call, and he turns on heel to face you with a half-bow—nigh teasing in nature, but you are, after all, his queen. Before he can stand upright, you reach out and rest your hands on his cheeks, and he bends a little farther, accepting the kiss you bestow upon his brow. “Be safe,” you tell him, hands moving to clasp his. “Look after your brother.”
Halfdan squeezes your hands. “You know I will,” he assures you. That is something you’ll never have to worry about—the bonds of blood and brotherhood run deep. You nod, and he steps back down into the longship. At your hest, they will set sail for glory and, if the gods deem it so, Valhalla.
One of your attendants hastens to the dock, stepping forward to present the gift commissioned from the blacksmith and jeweler—it's meant to be a surprise in celebration of another year of marriage, but alas, such care and detail took longer than expected. It’s a necklace of bronze and silver with a pendant shaped into the likeness of Mjölnir clasped in the mouths of two silver dragonheads on a chain of alternating links. “It was not finished before Harald left,” you explain, placing the necklace in Halfdan’s palm. “Give it to him, please.” Halfdan nods. “And all my love.”
RESOUNDING HORNS ANNOUNCE the return of Harald Finehair’s fleet in the dark hours of the evening. You rise from bed and make haste to the docks—handmaids following close behind with slippers and a cloak, but decorum is the least of your concerns. So few have returned, you think, counting the dwindling number of ships gathered compared to how many set off. The first wave departs one of the docked ships, and there is no air of triumph in those who press past you—eager to return to home and hearth and for solid ground beneath their feet. “Harald!” You call as he steps from the longship and onto the dock.
But he does not embrace you as he normally would after such a long voyage, and the spark in his stormy blue eyes is faded. It is only when you see who the men are carrying off the ship on a crude stretcher do you understand the cause of your husband’s sullen mood. “Halfdan,” you breathe, looking between him and Harald. You step to your marriage-brother and lift the pelt of fur covering his torso, grimacing—the wound at his shoulder is a festered, blackish mess, and the sweat on his brow in the first chill of winter speaks of the fever that’s set in during the return voyage.
You turn to one of your handmaids. “Call on Mjöll,” you instruct, “quickly.” The years have seen you clean and bind both Harald and Halfdan’s wounds, but this is far beyond your skill, and an herbalist will be needed to call Halfdan back from the cusp of the next life. The girl nods and sets off to the healer’s hut. Looking back at the stretcher-bearers, you point up the way to the great hall. “Take him to the great hall.” In such a state, Halfdan will need several pairs of watchful eyes.
Dark shadows cast from torchlight and iron braziers shroud Harald’s expression—he does not understand how it is you can stand with so much equanimity when faced with such loss. Harald steps to you, and his shoulders fall, then wordless, he slumps into your arms, resting his forehead on your shoulder—another weight you must bear—hands twisting into the fabric of your pale linen shift. You smooth your hand over his back, following the length of his braid-bound hair. “I thank the gods you have returned to me, my love,” you breathe, unwilling to let him part just yet.
Mjöll works to prepare a cataplasm of moss and herbs into the hours of the night, and you kneel at the prepared pallet of fur and pillows, placing a cool, damp rag upon Halfdan’s brow. There is little else you can do for your marriage brother besides trust the herbalist’s remedies, pray to the gods, and hope they are merciful. Mjöll nods for you to leave and tend to your husband. She and her apprentice will care for Halfdan.
He is pacing the length of the foot of the bed when you enter your shared chambers—hands flexing into fists at his side. You step into Harald’s path, hands going to the ties and buckles of his leathern armor. “If the High One truly sought Halfdan’s company,” you tell him, setting aside his vambraces before turning back, “he would already be feasting in the Halls of the Slain.”
To Harald, it is poor consolation but consolation all the same. And deep down, he knows you are right. Shrugging off his worn and stained tunic, he goes to the washbasin and splashes water on his face and chest, scrubbing away a mix of sweat and salt spray, and blood too. Harald returns to sit at your side on the bed—he stares ahead at the flickering flames of tallow candles. “What happened?” You finally dare ask.
“The magic of Ragnar Lothbrok failed,” he tells you. The lingering taste of defeat is bitter on his tongue—the gods had forsaken them on that river, had forsaken Ragnar. As it happened to be, he was just like any other man. “We were humiliated and pushed out of Frankia with nothing to show for it.” He does not remember the last time he returned to Tamdrup, to you, with nothing to show for his travels. It will take time for the Vestfold to recover from such a defeat.
You touch his cheek, fingers combing through his unkempt beard, drawing his gaze to you. “You live, as does your brother.” The rancor in his expression falters, his jaw unclenching, and he leans into you—his nose just barely bumping against yours. Yes, he and Halfdan escaped with their lives. That is more than can be said for many who embarked on the journey to Paris. Ragnar Lothbrok may have lost the favor of the gods, but they still smiled upon Harald and his brother. “That is enough for me,” you say, softly. He kisses you then, and you meld against him with a sigh and a slight smile that he can feel on your lips.
HE SITS ON his throne—slouched to the side and staring into the abyss, twisting his shark-tooth crown in his hands. Your king has returned, yet still, it is only you shouldering the weight of the kingdom. You stop at the dais and extend your hand toward him. “Walk with me.” It is not a request. Harald rises and follows.
The path through the forest is well-worn, both into the Earth and memory. It carves a winding route through the forest and up bare rock to a promontory overlooking Tamdrup and the mouth of the fjord—a place you frequent to look for sails on the horizon when the men are away, a place where Harald promised he would marry you one day what now feels like a lifetime ago.
But the morning fog has yet to lift from the land, just as the fog of bitterness in the aftermath of what happened in Paris has yet to lift from your husband and king. There has been no feast to honor the memory of those lost since his return several days ago and no promise or mention of what comes next for the Vestfold. It is as though he is lost in despair, mourning his brother already despite the day-by-day recovery—just yesterday, Halfdan’s fever broke.
You sit atop one of the boulders there on the promontory. There’s space enough for him to join you, but, for a moment, he lingers and stares. In the morning the light and mist, you seem like one of the winged women—ethereal. A sight that makes his heart twist and ache given the dark thoughts and mood which have taken hold of him since returning to Tamdrup.
Harald sits next to you and hangs his head, letting his hand rest on your thigh—a gentle weight and warmth. “I fear I have not been a good husband,” he confesses. It is never an easy thing for a prideful man to admit weakness and accept his faults, less so for a king. But the failed siege, his brother’s injury, and the long months spent away from you, from home, have been a heavy weight on his heart.
It does not feel right, leaving you time and time again, each longer than the last, to rule over his lands and care for his people—duties which are his. But you rule so fairly, and his people love you for it. “I have left you too often,” he breathes, a new softness and the tremble of guilt in his voice. “And I have left you to carry a burden meant to be shouldered by two backs” —his hand runs across your shoulders, down your spine— “not one.”
You never expected being wife to a king—being a queen—would be easy. Least of all, the wife of an ambitious man with dreams of uniting Norway under a single crown. Harald Finehair is vikingr. To deny him that would be to deny his true self, and even on the loneliest and coldest of nights, you could and would never ask him to be anything other than who he is—the man you love.
“I knew what was expected of me” —you card your fingers through his beard, the first tinges of silver beginning to appear, and he can find nothing but underserved doting affection in your soft gaze— “of you, when we married.” Harald covers your hand with his own, the rough pads of his fingers pressing into your palm as his hand curls around yours, a sigh on his lips. “And I happily said yes, remember?”
He remembers the day you married well—the crown of spring wildflowers you wore, the blood-tinged kiss after exchanging rings, the bridal race with Halfdan and your cousins tripping over one another to get to the mead hall first. It is still the happiest day of his life—tied with every other day the gods let him wake up beside you.
Shifting, you lean your forehead against his and gently slip your hand free from his. “You will always have my love and support, wherever you may be.” Harald closes his eyes and curls his hand around the back of your neck, thumb stroking the soft skin beneath your ear. And you press your hand against the center of his chest—feeling the outline of the Mjölnir necklace under your palm. “And I will be here or at your side,” you tell him, a soft whisper dancing over his lips, “wherever you need me to be.” And now he’s certain—you are too good to him.
[Harald-Halfdan taglist: @ahotmesswithprivilege / @alicedopey / @certifiedlittleshit / @charming-merlin / @elluvians / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @gearhead66 / @gossamarnie / @hc-geralt-23 / @hereforreadandwrite / @moonlightsspirit / @morganamayne / @mrsragnarlodbrok / @n0sferatus / @naaladareia / @queenyalo / @rigshak / @savagemickey03 / @xinyourdreamsx / @yalos-writing ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Murder Bro taglist, or any other taglist, just let me know with this Google Form! if I missed you, I am sorry! but make sure to mention it in the replies or fill out the linked Google Form!
#Harald#Harald Finehair#King Harald Finehair#King Harald#Harald x Reader#Harald Finehair x Reader#King Harald x Reader#Harald Imagine#Harald Fanficition#Vikings#Vikings Imagine#Vikings Fanfiction#my writing#requested#justanothervikingrgirlie#also side note i love seeing your tags when you reblog lol#gods i love him#why oh why Hirst did you not let him have a woman and queen to love him good and well#i listened to Dark Doo Wop a lot writing to this#because i was just#THAT'S MY THAT'S MY MANNN
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En ung kvinde betragter et sankthansbål (A young woman watching a bonfire at St. John's eve), circa 1908
Harald Slott-Møller
#Harald Slott-Møller#danish art#art#painting#art history#dark#scandinavian art#sunset#mood#St. John's eve#1900s
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Fishermans cottage - Harald Oscar Sohlberg
#romanticism#romantik#fisherman#cottage#cottagecore#dark wood#evening#harald sohlberg#sohlberg#forest#wood#norway#norwegen#cabin
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RIDE FOR REVENGE “Ageless Powers Arise” (’...In all my calm I am that true evil. In all my knowledge I am the threat. In your world I cannot be free. And in my world you don’t even exist’)
1. The Hell of Old Testament
2. Your Blood for His Glory
3. Forest of Magic
4. Ageless Powers Arise
5. Pale Is the Moon of Doom
6. Your World Against Mine
7. Vomit Ugly Shit
https://rideforrevenge.bandcamp.com/album/ageless-powers-arise
#Ride For Revenge#Black Metal#Dark-Black-Doom#Harald Mentor#J. Pervertor#Hail Conjurer#Bestial Burst#Northern Heritage Records#Hells Headbangers Records
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Vikings Masterlist
Bjorn Ironside
Mine
Afraid of losing you
Heart's healer
His night
Precious
Arrows
Blue piercing eyes
I love you
Zinnia
False promises
Ubbe
His dark side
Jealous
Secret
Just listen
His bride
Sick girl
Little girl
My enemy and me*
Hvitserk
Goddess
One of his women
Betrayed
Best friends
Crazy and mad
Lies* (remake) / Lies*
Fake wedding
Worth it
My prisoner
Ivar the Boneless
Mad about you
Last night, Back to you
Break
Feelings
Crimes of love
Games and conflicts
Jealous girl
Right person wrong time
Photograph
Toxic I, II
Destruction*
Harald Finehair
Promise
Allies
Live for me
Free with you
Shieldmaiden's secret
#vikings bjorn#vikings hvitserk#vikings ivar#vikings ubbe#vikings harald#vikings fanfiction#vikings x reader#modern vikings x reader#harald x reader#bjorn x reader#ubbe x reader#hvitserk x reader#ivar x reader#bjorn imagine#ubbe imagine#hvitserk imagine#ivar imagine#harald imagine#bjorn ironside#bjorn ragnarsson#bjorn lothbrok#ubbe#ubbe ragnarsson#ubbe lothbrok#hvitserk#hvitserk ragnarsson#hvitserk lothbrok#ivar the boneless#ivar ragnarsson#ivar lothbrok
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Vikings (TV) Masterlist
my requests for vikings are currently partially OPEN! please only request imagines, and not oneshots. for those waiting for a continuation of ‘searching home’ or ‘unexpected’ i am so sorry... finishing those two is going to take me a while :/
hmu/msg me to be added to a taglist!
main masterlist | request guidelines
heorte til heorte
(msg me to be added to the taglist!)
relationship: athelstan x alethia stahl (oc) | summary: alethia wanted to go home, to return to her family. instead, she finds herself in ninth-century england. not speaking the language, and still processing the grief of her other life, she searches for an anchor - athelstan. | tags: angst, fluff, timetravel
masterlist | preview | read on ao3
No romantic relationships // character x character
Queendom - relationship: Lagertha x Aslaug | summary: They’ve both loved and they’ve both lost. Perhaps it was time that their hearts warmed again. | tags: angst, fluff
The Lothbroks, aka, the European version of the Kardashians - relationships: none | summary: When Barbie Murray time travels, she finds out that pink isn’t available in Viking times. Luckily, her new besties all understand that boobs are the best and slay (literally?!) with her. | tags: crack, fluff, timetravel
I may be a bimbo, but I’m not stupid - relationships: slight oc/ oc | summary: Ivar kills Sigurd in a fit of rage, but Barbie isn't so quick to forgive cruelness. | tags: angst, crack, timetravel
1st gen Vikings
Strange Woman relationship: Rollo x timetraveler!reader | summary: The woman that appeared out of nowhere could be oh so dangerous, but even a stupid man would know that she was fascinating. | tags: fluff, timetravel
Friend of Thor - relationship: rollo x timetraveler!asgardian!reader | summary: The reader, a fellow Asgardian and friend of Thor and the new King of Asgard, Brunnhilde, falls through worlds as the new guardian of the Bifrost tampers with the magic. | tags: crack, fluff, timetravel
And the Gods wished they were me - relationship: Judith x viking!gn!reader | summary: Judith knows she should not mourn Athelstan. Nor should she even look at Norse heathens. She does both anyway, because Judith was named after a woman that had only rage and death, and she cannot escape her fate. | tags: angst, fluff
Ubbe Ragnarsson
Another day / part 2 - relationship: Ubbe x reader | prompt: we live to fight another day. | tags: angst
Oldest - relationship: Ubbe x timetraveler!reader; platonic!Ivar x reader | summary: It seems that few things change about being the oldest sibling, no matter which place – or time | tags: fluff, timetravel, slight angst
Yggdrasil relationship: Ubbe x reader; platonic!Ivar x reader; dad!Harald x reader | summary: How can you tell your father what happened to you when he’d done it to so many others. | tags: angst, dark/gory
Hvitserk 'Whiteshirt' Ragnarsson
Hvitserksdottir - relationship: Hvitserk x reader | prompt: “I think we need to talk about the fact that I’m in love with you and also that I’m pregnant.” | tags: angst, fluff
Floki’s Cabin - relationship: Hvitserk x reader | prompt: “Just trust me. Please. | tags: angst
Searching Home / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 - relationships: Hvitserk x reader; Ivar x reader | summary: When you stumble upon the ancient Spanish city of Algeciras, it takes you some time to realize that you’ve traveled through time. While that is terrible luck, a merchant couple takes you in. But your peace only lasts so long. | tags: angst, fluff, dark/gory, timetravel
Neither - relationship: genderfluid!reader x Hvitserk | Summary: Hvitserk finds out about genderfluidity and accepts he might not be completely straight | tags: fluff, timetravel
Law of conservation - relationship: Hvitserk x reader | summary: You’ve been working as a tutor at your high school for about a year now. When your parents throw a barbecue party for your new neighbors, their mother Aslaug asks you to tutor her son Hvitserk, who is already a notorious flirt at his school. | tags: fluff
Sandcastles - relationship: platonic!hvitserk x timetraveler!reader | summary: reader builds sandcastles, Ivar doesn’t get it and Hvitserk loves the idea of it | tags: fluff, timetravel
When in Bali... - relationships: hvitserk x reader, ivar x freydís, sigurd x oc | summary: You were supposed to go to Bali with your partner for your one-year anniversary. Instead, you’re there alone, heartbroken. Will reuniting with a friend you know from a summer vacation in elementary school be able to fix it? | tags: fluff
Ivar 'the Boneless' Ragnarsson
Unholy Matrimony - A Sham in Four Acts / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 - relationship: Ivar x reader | prompt: I’ve learnt to love you. | tags: angst, fluff smut
Insatiable Little Heathens - relationship: ivar x reader | summary: drabble, for all of y’all who wanted more of Unholy Matrimony | tags: fluff
Resolve - relationship: ivar x reader | summary: Ivar’s legs hurt but he’s so fucking thickheaded | tags: fluff
My kind of witch - relationship: ivar x reader | summary: You wake up in an unfamiliar bed. The man with blazing blue eyes fascinates you as soon as you see him and as you realize the struggles he faces every day, your admiration for him grows into something more. | tags: fluff, timetravel
Red - relationship: ivar x reader | summary: Ivar finally meets his match. | tags: smut, dark/gory
Serve - relationship: sub!ivar x buff!reader | summary: Ivar keeps teasing you. You finally have enough and give him a taste of his own medicine | tags: smut
Searching home / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 - relationships: Hvitserk x reader; Ivar x reader | summary: When you stumble upon the ancient Spanish city of Algeciras, it takes you some time to realize that you’ve traveled through time. While that is terrible luck, a merchant couple takes you in. But your peace only lasts so long. | tags: angst, fluff, smut, dark/gory, timetravel
Totally artistic - relationship: ivar x reader | summary: When inspiration hits, you can’t stop it | tags: fluff
Sandcastles - relationship: platonic!hvitserk, ivar x timetraveler!reader | summary: reader builds sandcastles, Ivar doesn’t get it and Hvitserk loves the idea of it | tags: fluff, timetravel
Brother - relationships: ivar x reader, hvitserk & reader, reader & oc | summary: You left your home and your brother behind for a reason. Now, a man is causing trouble at the borders of Kattegat, and as Ivar's queen, you take justice into your own hands. | tags: fluff
Unexpected / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 - relationship: ivar x thrall!reader | summary: Ivar finally decides to fuck the slave he’s been eyeing for so long, but when his angry side slips out, things take a turn for the wholly unexpected. | tags: smut
Tarot - relationships: ivar x reader, hvitserk & reader | summary: Your day at the fair has been pretty slow – until a client like no other shows up. | tags: fluff
Imagines
How the Vikings would react to an accidental time traveler and a quiz to see if you’d survive: https://uquiz.com/dVXpgW
Ragnarssons (+Gyda): First Kiss
Social Media
How the Vikings would react to guns and snapchat filters
How the Vikings would react to modern dancing
How the Vikings would react to modern music, and what they’d like
How the Vikings would react to modern concepts of astronomy and space
How the Vikings react to modern haircare
Vikings and Astrology
How Vikings would react to THEM timetraveling
Vikings + getting sick
Vikings + Halloween
Vikings + realizing you’re pregnant
Vikings characters + how they'd react to finding Accidental Time Traveler crying somewhere and not knowing why
Vikings + you on your period (+ more hcs about Ivar)
Vikings + Legos
Vikings + reader being much less stressed in their time
Vikings + single mother
Vikings + Gender Neutral Thor
Vikings + modern food
Vikings + touch avoidant cuddler
Vikings + Kids
Vikings + their history
Ragnarssons + being possesive
Vikings + Maleficent/Fae!reader
Vikings + curls and afros
Vikings + sleeping habits
Vikings + contortionist/super flexible reader
Vikings as modern!uni students
Vikings + affectionate drunk!reader
timetraveling!Vikings + modern tv/movies
Vikings + gen z slang
Vikings + curly haired kids
timetraveling!Vikings + Christmas
Vikings + eras other than their own
Vikings + ivar being remembered/famous
#vikings#ivar#ivar x reader#hvitserk#hvitserk x reader#ubbe#ubbe x reader#ivar ragnarsson x reader#ivar ragnarsson#hvitserk ragnarsson#hvitserk ragnarsson x reader#ivar the boneless#ivar the boneless x reader#history vikings#vikings imagine
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Harald Rudyard Engman - Street scene with conversing couple in the dark (1930)
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The Bookworms' Nest (Bob Floyd x Reader)
Summary: You and Bob love and adore your students at the high school you both teach at, but in the deepest parts of winter, your little nest at home is the coziest pace it's ever been
Tagging: @bobfloydsbabe @bradshawsbaby I hope you guys are ok with how this came out and I do apologize in advance, those gifs of Lew holding the baby in Lessons in Chemistry did things to me (lol)
"Alright guys make sure the chairs go up, floors are swept and that your stuff is all put away," Bob announced. "And Jaime, do not leave your main lesson book on the back counter again. I've already found two back there and this room is getting cleaned this weekend."
Early school closures were always chaotic, even for the high school. Already, Bob could hear the kiddos in the lower grades making their way out to the dirt parking lot to catch the buses or to hitch a ride home with their parents.
"Elen, Jenny, John and Deshawn, you guys come with me," Bob said to the four waiting kids at the back. "Your parents already called and said I could give you guys a ride home."
"You sure Mr. Floyd?" Deshawn asked.
"Positive," Bob answered.
The four went straight to their lockers in the hallway to get whatever they needed for the long weekend. School had already been canceled for the next day and Monday due to the impending snowstorm which had left parents in a flurry of chaos to come and get the kids from school.
As soon as they had gotten what they needed, Bob led them out to the dirt lot, the five of them all climbing into the truck with their things. Already the snow had begun to fall, the skies having turned an ominous dark silver with a dusting of white all over the school grounds.
"Alright who's first?" Bob asked, pulling out of the lot and turning the corner down the road.
"Me," Jenny chuckled, raising her hand.
Bob switched on the bluetooth in the truck so they could have some music on the ride home. Despite the snow and the down-time, Bob sneakily thought it a good time to review a little bit from the day to keep the thinking skills sharp.
"Alright Deshawn, hit me, what was one of the key points of Harald Haradrada's reign?" Bob asked.
"King Harald opted to make peace with his enemies rather than fight and achieved victory at the battle of Fulford Gate in 1064," Deshawn answered.
"Awesome! Ten points to Gryffindor!" Bob said, high-fiving Deshawn. "Elen, which ruler became a saint when Christianity was brought to Scandanavia?"
"Olaf Tryggvason."
Bob reached back and high-fived her as soon as they stopped at the intersection. He quizzed each of them on the way to their stops, dropping them off and making sure they got into their houses with no problems. Finally, after the last stop, Bob headed back to the home he shared with you.
He parked right in the driveway, gathered his things and headed straight inside, wanting to avoid the cold as much as possible. His cheeks were already red and his feet freezing in his steel toed boots, creeping in through the threads of his jeans and his Carhardt jacket.
Bob made his way through the front door of the old Victorian he shared with you, the fire glowing and crackling away already in the fireplace despite it being close to one in the afternoon. The whole place smelled so good, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg and something fried coming from the kitchen. Only when he heard the obscene growling of his stomach did Bob realize he hadn't eaten that morning, making the cravings even worse.
He poked his head into the kitchen to find you with Auggie, your sweet little baby who had been born just two months before. Bob couldn't get enough of the sight, the tiny little baby in your arms and the softness of your voice as you hushed him back to sleep.
"Well good morning," you chuckled when you saw Bob in the doorway. "Or afternoon, whatever time it may be."
Bob laughed before he drew you in for a kiss, his body cold from having been outside. "Thought you were resting."
"Nope," you told him. "Just because I'm on maternity leave doesn't mean I have to be on bedrest all the time."
Bob smiled and shook his head, setting his bag down on the counter near the coffee maker. He hung his jacket by the storm door and helped you finish off the lunch you had made him, a big plate of eggs, spam, toast, carmelized onions and a steaming mug full of his favorite coffee. As soon as he had eaten, he took Auggie from your arms and went to the living room to warm up, wandering a little by the fireplace while he gently rocked his baby son.
"Shhhh......go back to sleep," Bob murmured softly. "Go back to sleep my lovebug."
His gentle hands had very quickly put Auggie back to sleep and as soon as he was sure, Bob placed him, blanket and all, into the little wicker bassinet near the window, letting him sleep for as long as time would allow. A rather loud meow had startled him, but when Bob looked down it was only Pumpkin, the little black cat you and him had adopted around Halloween.
"Damnit cat, you'll be the death of us yet," Bob chuckled, noticing that the bright pink sticky notes from the library were stuck to her fur.
Pumpkin gave him the cheekiest little cat grin she could have given him before she ran off to the library. Bob left the library door open just a crack in case Auggie awoke suddenly, excited as ever that the two of you got to spend the time in here that you did.
It was a whole mess of different colored chalk scraping across the little wheel-in blackboard, the turning and marking of pages and searching the shelves for books that you two had planned on using in your joint lessons when you were able to return from leave. Your literature class had already finished the Viking Sagas and would soon be starting your Tolkien block, leaving plenty of room to break down the literature that had inspired the books as well as other little details.
"Alright Professor Bob, give me your best," you joked as soon as he had finished the chalk drawing on the board.
"Very well my young padawan," Bob answered, returning the joke. "The realm we see right in the middle of Yggdrasil, the world of men is known as Midgard or, as the Anglo Saxons put it Middangeard, would roughly translate in today's English as 'Middle Earth'."
One again the familiar meowing of the cat caught him off guard, startling Bob as the cat curled around his legs. "Damnit! Pumpkin, get outta here!" he ordered.
The slinky black cat jumped right onto his desk and lay right down, rolling in the pile of bright pink sticky notes Bob had in a messy pile, the adhesive sticking to her fur.
"Swear to God, it's a wonder that cat hasn't given me a heart attack yet," he mumbled.
"Me too, now lets get back to business," you chuckled.
"Not without a kiss first sweetheart," Bob insisted.
You laughed as Bob kissed you, continuing his little mini lecture on the mythological origins of Tolkien's works while the snowstorm raged outside, but your home warm and cozy just as it had always been.
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Bluetooth technology was named after Harald Bluetooth, a Viking king who died over 1,000 years ago. He unified factions of Denmark with those in Norway, similar to how today's technology unifies different electronic devices. The Bluetooth logo combines Nordic runes for his initials - H.B. The origin of his nickname is debated; some sources suggest he loved blueberries, staining his teeth, while others speculate a dead tooth caused a dark blue/grey hue.
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Common Knowledge 4
Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, bullying, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Harald Halfdansson, tall & plus-size reader
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
With your thesis proposal submitted and marked, the real work lies ahead of you. You’ve claimed your spot in the library, a stack of cue cards with your arguments laid out in columns. It’s the easiest way to sort out your information and narrow down your key arguments. It’s a bit messy but you like the visual diagram to parse out your own thoughts.
You receive a few shaded looks from those who pass by looking for a spot of their own. You don’t mind moving over if they do want to sit but none approach. You bend over the table and switch two cards. You’re standing, circling the table as you’re swept up in getting just the right flow.
You back up and hum. You grab another card, jotting down a new point to add and a sudden slam makes you jump. The thump of the large book on the table sends the cards scattering in a whirlwind. You sputter as you look up at the figure across from you.
You can’t hide your surprise. It’s been a week since the smoothie shop incident and not close to long enough. That man stands on the other side of the table smirking, his white eyes eerily calm but smug. What are the odds he’s a student here?
You shake your head and roll your eyes. You step forward and start gathering up the cards. Your dorm room bed would be just as good as a table. As you reach to swipe up a card, he grabs it first and reads your writing, letting out a scoff.
“Hmm, how cute,” he muses, “you’re trying.”
You ignore him. Whatever, he can keep the cards. You close up your books and slip them into your bag. He plants his hands on the table and leans forward, gaze boring into you.
“Running away again?”
“Do you not know how to take a hint?”
“As much as you,” he counters, “I just wanted to show you that I found a copy of my own.”
You glance at the book in the middle of the table and furrow your brow. Really? This is some weird battle you don’t want to fight. You blow out between your lips and keep tidying up your things. Your laptop is closed and slid away before you can nab it.
You grip the edge and try to pull it from his grasp. He easily dislodges it and tucks it under his thick arm. You hiss and look around, flabbergasted. You turn your frustration around and reach for that coveted book. He stretches his other arm in front of you, blocking you as he looms closer.
“Not so fast,” he holds his large hand up, “would you stop and listen?”
“I’m not interested in listening to you,” you puff out, “give me my computer.”
“Would you let me say what I came to say–”
“Bro, no. How did you even find– you know what? Don’t care. It’s weird. And creepy. Give me my computer and leave me alone. I’ll scream.”
“Relax, you’re being dramatic.”
“Dramatic? You want to see dramatic–”
“Would you stop?” His voice rises, drawing looks from a few other students and some hushes. His throat bobs as he peers around, “I’m trying to apologise, alright? I thought…” his eyes meet yours with almost a sheepish tint, “I’d buy you a coffee and we could talk about mythology.”
Your lashes flutter as you try to keep your eyes from rolling so far back they get stuck. You don’t know that you’ve ever met anyone so oblivious. College has introduced you to several characters but nothing like him.
Your mouth falls open and you shake your head. You step forward and latch onto your laptop. He lets you take it. You’re very aware he could keep it from you easily. For all his flaws, he is clearly in good shape.
“I’m trying not to laugh in your face,” you back up and put the book into your knapsack, “so I’ll be very honest and clear with you. You are the most rude, obnoxious person I’ve ever encountered. Free coffee couldn’t even make me spend a single second with you.”
He grits his teeth as his jaw squares, the cleft deepening as he tilts his head. His frustration is laced in confusion. His eyes search you.
“Oh,” is all he manages to get out.
“Right, so, goodbye.”
You swing your bag over your shoulder and snatch your jacket from the back of the chair. You go to step by him and he moves with you. You are actually about to scream.
“Can’t we start over?” He asks.
How many ways can you say no?
You look left and right and your eyes meet an unexpected pair. Oh, you’re not sure if that’s good. Professor Halfdansson raises his hand to give a small wave as he diverts his strut in your direction. You clamp your lips together and turn back to the man in front of you.
“I don’t think so,” you say bluntly.
“Ah, studying are we?” Halfdansson approaches, coming up perpendicular to you and Geralt.
“Uh,” you look between them as the professor gives a thoughtful look to the other man. “Just leaving.”
“This is a friend?” He wonders.
“No,” you answer as Geralt says “yes.”
You have to hold back a snort. You don’t get this. Any of it. Neither of these men seem to have any sort of self-awareness. At least not a concept of reality.
You bite your tongue and rein in the smart retorts flashing through your mind. You make yourself smile, or at least try to muster one. You take a deep breath.
“I have to go,” you say crisply. “Excuse me.”
Geralt is kept at bay by the presence of your professor, though Halfdansson appears astounded by your abrupt dismissal. You’ll have to apologise in class but most importantly, you need to get this goddamn paper done. Without a man hovering around and distracting you.
#geralt of rivia#dark geralt#dark!geralt#geralt x reader#dark!harald#dark harald#bookstore au#au#series#drabble#common knowledge#the witcher#vikings#harald finehair#harald finehair x reader
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Son of King Harald (Harald x Reader)
Son of King Harald
Harald x Reader
Warnings: after giving birth
Summary: Harald takes care of you.
The conversation between the midwife and your husband barely reaches your ears. Their voices seem far away and muffled even though you are sure they are standing just a few meters away from you. You are too tired to turn your head to their way, opening your eyes would be a lost battle. All of your remaining strength is focused on your arms to keep the small bundle of joy against your chest.
"They are both healthy, my King," the midwife says with deep satisfaction in her voice. "Your son is strong, and your wife is a true warrior."
"Thank you for all of your help," Harald replies. "You can go and rest now. I will take over from here."
"Are you sure?" The woman asks, you can feel her gaze on you.
"Yes," your husband says. "If I need help, I will call for you."
"As you wish, my King."
Silence follows the quiet thud of the door when the midwife leaves. Harald doesn't dare to move for long seconds. His eyes swipe over your blanket and fur-covered body. A thin layer of sweat shines on your skin, your hair is a mess of curls and knots, and circles darken under your eyes. And you are beautiful. Of course, for him, you are always beautiful. It doesn't matter if you are in your battle gear, bathed in blood, or the finest dresses he bought. But this moment is different. He feels it in his chest. You look like a warrior, a wife, a woman, and a mother at the same time. Even though your body is weak and tired now, fierceness and strength radiate from you.
"Harald?" You break the silence. Your arm tightens around your son. Your voice is quiet and hoarse.
"I'm here, love," Harald replies immediately. When you hear his heavy steps getting closer, you force your eyes to open. A trembling smile pulls on your lips when your gazes meet.
"Hey," you whisper.
His fingers brush the sweaty curls out of your forehead to lean down and kiss you there. "Hey."
His attention turns to the blanket in your arms. You watch his face the whole time. The boy is really big and strong. His delicate skin is still red from crying and screaming.
"He has so much hair," Harald states, letting out a shaky laugh.
"And he has big lungs, my love," you add. "We will have long nights, I'm afraid."
"Yeah," he hums, still staring at the newborn. "I think the whole village heard him."
"He is so beautiful," you sigh, caressing his chubby cheek with the back of your finger. His small lips open as he continues to sleep.
"And how are you, my wife?" Harald asks, turning his eyes away from your child to you. His warm palm smooths up and down on your arm. "Do you need something?"
"A bath?" You joke, knowing you don't even have the strength to stand up and your heart wouldn't bear to be away from your son. "And water. And some sleep."
Harald doesn't react for a few seconds. His dark eyes swipe over the room, trying to find a solution for your every wish.
If his Queen wants things after giving birth to their first child, she will get them.
"What are you doing?" You ask your husband, watching him coming back to the side of your bed with a bowl of water and a clean rag in his hands.
"I'm taking care of you, my wife," he says. "My Queen, the mother of my son."
A relieved sigh leaves your lips when the wet rag touches your still-heated skin. Harald's movements are soft and slow as he cleans you up as best as he can.
"Better?" He smiles at your expression.
"You have no idea," you reply, closing your eyes again as the rag brush over your forehead. A few drops of water run down your cheek and disappear into the collar of your tunic.
"I will tell the servants to bring more water and food for you," Harald says, already standing up, but your hand on his arm stops him.
"Stay," you tell him. "Just stay for a bit longer."
"Whatever you want, my love," he replies, holding up your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles.
"I love you, Harald."
"And I love you, my wife."
You don't want this moment to ever stop. You feel safe and content in the small bubble of your family.
#harald imagine#harald finehair x reader#harald finehair imagine#harald x reader#vikings imagine#vikings x reader
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One thing I like to hc with the Apollo Head Counselors is that they all represent a time of which the sun is out.
Lee - Dawn/Dusk
Mainly dusk, but pretty much imagine him in browns, oranges , dusky yellows and reds and the like.
Michael - Twilight
Starts after the fall of Dusk,short lived. Haralds the start of darkness and but also first light when it falls. The darkess time in which the sun is out. I see him muted/ dark blues,dull browns and blacks. Maybe a touch of greyish pale yellows.
Will - Daylight
Longest lived, bright, it's what most people think about when they think of the sun. With his golden sun kissed hair and sky blue eyes its pretty on the nose. I see him in bright/light yellows and blues.
Idk why I thought of posting this, I just love them and wanted to share my thoughts.
Think it is pretty obvious how I tend to draw them, but it's fun to write it out ^^
#mine#pain rambles#pjo fandom#pjo hcs#pjo hc#apollo cabin#cabin 7#cabin 7 hcs#apollo cabin hcs#lee fletcher#pjo lee#micheal yew#pjo michael#will solace#pjo will#will solace headcanon#will hc#pjo headcanon#percy jackson and the olympians#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo#i just love them your honor#rick I'm so mad we got nothing about them in toa#you're telling me that one of the most family oriented gods didn't even think about the multitude children he lost in the Titan War ONCE#THE FIRST TIME HE WAS HUMAN WAS BECAUSE ZEUS KILLED ONE OF HIS KIDS#LIKE IT BE VERY REASONABLE FOR PART OF THE REASON HE WAS GETTING ON ZEUS' BAD SIDE WAS CAUSE HE WAS IN GRIEF AND NOT WATCHING HIS TONGUE#but no#we got his exes angst only#goodness sake would've loved to see him be the most nervous wreck of a dad because now he is living with HUMAN FATHER GRIEF#i'll stop now
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↷ september '23 fave fic recs!⋆☂｡☽˚.
Okay, okay here we go! This nearly killed me to make, so you better read them.
I'm kidding... I think.
Gentle reminder that what I consider 'fave' is by my own personal tastes and preferences, and you might not agree with them and that's okay! These are very lovely authors you can peruse on your own to find the right fic for you, and there are always the tags + algo. Just because your favourite fic isn't here doesn't mean it's not good; it could be potentially for a variety of reasons (I haven't read it yet, I have just not this month, I don't vibe with that character, etc).
That's what I love about the individuality in fandom and writers— there will always be that right fic from that right author that just hits all your good spots.
This is mine. For the month of September. If you find your next favourite fix here— I'm glad! If not, that's still swell! Hope you find it!
To the writers— thank you for writing such brilliant fics! I struggled setting this up because of how many I enjoyed 💝.
Anyways...
More quick reminders!
This is set chronologically; both by character name and by fic title.
If you are familiar with my blog, you will mainly see HOTD, some TLK, then random characters.
There may be smut! There may be dark fiction! I support and consume both! Please read trigger warnings actively! You are responsible for your own person! Community Labels ruin fandom ecosystems, stop snitching! Ignore or block at bloody will!
There are no series parts here. That is in a different display post that is still being processed lol.
If you see repeated author names, it can be numerous things— mostly, they're just that good, okay? Okay.
These are only for September 2023. I've read about 500+ on this account alone, and would die if I tried to go back before then, sorry. You can still check them out through tag navigation here!
I've also added some of my works that I enjoyed writing for the month, because why not.
Now that's fucking over, I hope you enjoy!
ABRAHAM (Grantchester)
*Untitled Piece by @ewanmitchellcrumbs
AEGON TARGARYEN II
Ceilings by @sapphire-writes
Lemon Cake To My Tea by @darlingofvalyria
Merciless or Ruthless? by @lovelykhaleesiii
Moan for Me by @st-eve-barnes
AEMOND TARGARYEN
A Mutual Feeling of Hate by @fan-goddess
Gelato by @oneeyedvisenya
Hell Hath No Fury @fromforeigntofamiliarity
His Love by @valeskafics
I'm A Fire, And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm by @randomdragonfires
Revolution by @valeskafics
The Black Stag by @darlingofvalyria
Til Death Do Us Part by @asumofwords
Unnerved by @dulcewrites
*Untitled by @ewanmitchellcrumbs
*Untitled by @missglaskin
Vulnerability by @valeskafics
ALDHELM
My Heart by @silens-oro
BILLY TAYLOR
The Perfect Send Off by @ewanmitchellcrumbs
BILLY WASHINGTON
Lonely This Christmas by @ewanmitchellcrumbs
DAEMON TARGARYEN
Ask, and You Shall Receive by @ewanmitchellcrumbs
A Thousand Words by @arabellasleopardcoat
Capital by @arabellasleopardcoat
Curse of Womanhood by @just-some-random-blogger
*Untitled by @barbiedragon
Valyrian Bride by @cryingforlife
HARALD SIGURDSSON
A Political Arrangement by @valeskafics
JACAERYS VELARYON
In Bastards of Blue, Wager in War by @darlingofvalyria
MAEGOR TARGARYEN
Little Lights by @dreamsofoldvalyria
OSFERTH
Lacnunga, Or, Remedy by @assortedseaglass
SIGTRYGGR IVARSSON
Little Warrior by @ewanmitchellcrumbs
SIHTRIC KJARTANSSON
Hours by @valeskafics
It's Urgent Darling by @sihtricfedaraaahvicius
Take No Wife by @valeskafics
TOM BENNETT
A Good Wife by @valeskafics
Rest by @fidelias
VISERYS TARGARYEN III
*Untitled by @barbiedragon
MULTIPLE CHARACTERS
Conquerors Reborn by @undertheorangetree | Helaena, Aemond x Reader
El Tango De Roxanne by @valeskafics | Jace, Aemond x Reader
Royalty Fucked by @oorhaellaoo | Baelon, Alyssa x Reader
#fanfiction recommendation#hotd x reader#tlk x reader#vikings x reader#abraham x reader#billy washington x reader#asoiaf x reader#tom bennett x reader#2013 💋 Fic Recs#💋 September 2023#the witch's fic recs 💋
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Under The Moonlight
Part 2
Request: Yes or No
~~~
Their cell felt cold and dark. Hay sparsely covered the solid ground and the windows were covered, making the circle in the ceiling their only form of light apart from the single torch in the corner. Dust clung to the air and walls, telling (Y/N) the jail was very rarely used. Jarl Haakon appeared to run a tight ship.
But even with years of experience under her belt, she hadn't foreseen the attack Freydis had launched on the Christian. She'd been successful without Harald's keen eye trained on her. Using her knife, she had carved a cross into the man's chest just as he had done to her back years prior. The aftermath had been far from calm but Jarl Haakon had been convinced to provide them a proper trial rather than take their heads.
So, there they were... Sitting in a cold cell with a murky future ahead of them. (Y/N) could only stare at the flickering flame of the torch, his finger tracing over the thread of his necklace, feeling his skin brush against the canine teeth tied to it. None of them had gotten a wink of sleep with the threat of death looming over them and (Y/N) could feel the consequences of it knawing at the back of his eyes. His siblings sat silently with their knees up to their chests, gazes distant as they stared forward.
"Do you feel justice?" Leif broke the silence first with his words, lifting his head and looking at the exhausted Freydis.
"Yes, I do," Freydis answered softly and craned her neck to look at them over her shoulder. Even with the dim lighting, (Y/N) could still see the drops of blood splattered on her face. "I feel cleansed."
"Good." Leif breathed, nodding to himself before continuing. "Because now they intend to kill us."
"I don't believe that. Father said-"
"Father was wrong." Leif interrupted and Freydis frowned, looking away from them as her bottom lip began to quiver. "He's a stranger to this world, Freydis. He does not know how much has changed since he left."
"Then I believe in Jarl Haakon." Freydis asserted, eyes beginning to gloss over with fresh tears. Guilt and hope battled within her, (Y/N) saw it in her eyes. She'd gotten her justice but at what cost? Her life? Her brothers' lives?
"I believe in her too." (Y/N) muttered, voice barely above a whisper. "Her face changed when she heard what happened, Leif. She may not allow us to go unpunished, but she may allow us to live."
"Jarl Haakon may feel sympathy, but she is in a difficult position. If she releases us, she risks war. Christians will burn down Kattegat and many of her people will die. It is in her best interest to have us killed."
"Then we die together. We came here for Freydis. We knew the risks and dangers. I would rather die beside my family than surrounded by strangers on a battlefield." (Y/N) declared, turning his attention onto Freydis. Her lips pursed and she released a breathy, sad chuckle as she turned her head to gaze fondly at her brother. Tears had already begun to slip down her cheeks but his words put a warm smile on her face. Allowing his shoulders to slump, Leif inhaled deeply and nodded in agreement, reaching his arm out to wrap it around his brother's shoulder.
"We fought together and we'll die together," Leif muttered, resting his cheek against (Y/N) head.
Freydis's lips parted, almost as if to speak, but her words caught in her throat when the cell door slung open and three Vikings entered with chains and shackles in their hands. While the one with chains approached Freydis, the other two walked toward the brothers and roughly pulled them up onto their feet, placing the shackles on their wrists and shoving them forward toward the doors. They were escorted out of the cell and down an equally dimly lit hallway before being directed outside and toward the hall where Jarl Haakon and King Canute waited for them.
The hall had already been filled with Vikings, mainly Christians seeking justice for their fallen friend. They glared and sneered and jeered, gazing upon them as if they were mere filth. (Y/N) felt the hate and rage in their gazes. Even if they barely cared for the murdered Christian, following another god was a sin worthy of death for many of them. Their hatred could move mountains, but on most days, it burned down homes and slaughtered innocents.
"Freydis Eriksdotter, you are accused of murdering a man you claimed attacked you." Jarl Haakon took her seat on her throne, head lifting as she regarded Freydis. "Have you a way to prove this?"
"Did I put the scar on my back?"
"Any one of your lovers could have done that to you!" One of the Christians, Jarl Olaf Haraldsson, sneered from his spot in the crowd, glaring at them with the same fury and disgust.
Freydis scowled. "The Gods know the whole truth!"
"False Gods!" Jarl Olaf spat back, rousing the crowd with his words as Vikings called their agreements or disagreed with him. In an attempt to quiet the crowd, Jarl Haakon repeatedly hit the floor with her staff, frown deepening when it proved futile and tensions grew.
"There is only one false God! Your Christian God!" Jarl Gorm bellowed, his voice carrying above all others.
"Silence!" Jarl Haakon called, slamming her staff down one last time and watching the men finally settle down. With the attention back on the trial instead of religion, Jark Haakon sighed and nodded to Freydis.
"In the old ways, you would be well within your rights to take revenge. But we live in different times. There are those gathered among us who feel that your claims require further truth. Can you provide it?"
"A trial by combat." Freydis proposed, shifting her gaze onto Jarl Olaf, a man thrice her size. (Y/N) felt his breath catch in his throat, widened eyes meeting Leif's as the two exchanged a panicked glance. Freydis could hold her own, they knew that well, but Jarl Olaf was far more experienced in combat and strategy than any of them. "If I am lying, the Gods will not protect me."
"Combat? With me?" Jarl Olaf snickered and the rest of the hall howled with laughter.
Lips pulling into an amused smirk, Jarl Haakon eyed the cackling man. "You are her accuser. Are you afraid?" Her words caused Jarl Olaf's face to burn, glaring at those among him who laughed at him instead. Eager to shake the embarrassment and attention off, he stepped forward and addressed the quiet man beside Jarl Haakon.
"King Canute, this woman's actions have robbed you of a valuable part of your arsenal. Not having Gunnar puts the lives of everyone in this room, Christian and Pagan, at risk. Therefore, I implore you and the noble ruler of Kattegat to acknowledge that debt and make her pay for it with her life!" Turning, he shouted as he pointed at Freydis. With the crowd once again growing rowdy, Jarl Olaf smugly smirked and stepped back into line. The confidence on his face made (Y/N) grind his teeth.
"Jarl Haakon, may I speak?" Harald called out, stepping forward when the woman nodded. Motioning toward Jarl Olaf, he began. "Jarl Olaf makes an excellent argument. Gunnar was an important part of our strategy, and his loss will indeed cause hardship. But my brother may have also offered a better solution. Since this woman cost you a vital element to your mission, should she not be forced to render something of equal, if not greater value to our endeavor?"
"Such as?" King Canute prompted and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. With King Canute's interest piqued, the end of Harald's lips twitched upward and he turned his head to look at the siblings, gaze lingering on Freydis before he lifted his arm.
"Her brothers: Leif Eriksson and (Y/N) Eriksson." Harald answered. Freydis went rigid, eyes widening as her brothers were pushed forward for King Canute to look upon. "Sons of the Great Berserker, Erik the Red. Leif is one of, if not the best ship captains in this room. He piloted his ship across open ocean from Greenland through a storm that killed scores of others, with the help of his brother, (Y/N), who possesses incredible fighting skills I've witnessed myself. Should we doubt their motivation, they will be fighting for the life... of their sister."
Harald had offered a solution without bloodshed. A solution that saved their lives, if they didn't die in the war instead. (Y/N)'s throat felt dry but a sense of relief settled on his chest, eyes shifting to look at his sister. Freydis appeared near tears, nearly trembling as she stared at Jark Haakon and King Canute. They could easily dismiss it and proceed with killing them but as the two leaders looked at each other, it seemed like they were in agreement.
"Leif Eriksson, (Y/N) Eriksson, I ransom your sister to King Canute. To repay her debt, you both must pledge service to his cause. Do you accept these terms?" Jark Haakon asked. (Y/N) looked at his brother next, staring into Leif's blue eyes and searching for any ounce of doubt. But he found none. And Leif found none in (Y/N) either.
"I do." With their answer, Jarl Haakon nodded for her men to release the brothers. One man took Freydis by the arm and pulled her away, only letting the brothers stare after their sister as the shackles were removed from their wrists. And while they physically weren't shackled anymore, they were still in chains. Tied to King Canute until his war ended. But their sister would live and that was all that mattered to (Y/N).
"I believe this is yours," Harald said, pulling their attention onto him. Harald extended his arm toward him, offering back his precious dagger. (Y/N) felt a sense of relief and security wash over him, gently picking up the dagger and sliding it into his rightful place. Noticing the calm that wash over the younger man, Harald smiled. "Come, both of you. I must show you something."
"What is it?" Leif asked curiously, a hint of caution in his voice as the brothers followed Harald out of the hall but the Viking simply grinned at them. The other Greenlanders quickly joined them, quietly asking questions and glancing at each other nervously when Leif answered them. They weaved their way through the bustling town, reaching the dock where ships awaited them, many being prepared and packed for the trip to England. Harald led them toward one in particular.
"It was my father's ship." He revealed, stopping before it and watching the Greenlanders begin to board and explore it curiously. (Y/N) followed his brother on, looking over the woodwork of it. The ship was far larger than the boat they'd used to sail to Kattegat, sturdier and meant for many Vikings. A true warship. "And now it's yours," Harald added, drawing the brothers' attention. (Y/N) met Leif's gaze, shrugging his shoulders when the older man raised a brow.
"It's a nice boat." (Y/N) murmured, running a hand over the ledge of the boat before peering up at Harald and catching sight of his prideful smile.
"I'm glad you find it so," Harald replied, his gaze focused solely on the young Greenlander. His eyes studied (Y/N) closely, almost as if he were trying to commit every detail about him to memory. When Harald finally pried his eyes off him, he motioned toward the boat docked beside them. (Y/N) turned his head and easily spotted it. Perhaps twice as large as the boat they were on and suited for royalty. Shields had been fasted to the sides of it, proudly displaying the colors of Norway's flag. "But that is the ship I covet."
"King Harald of Norway, hm?" Leif spoke in a teasing tone, his grin only growing when he noticed the surprised look that passed over his brothers' features. (Y/N)'s eyes widened slightly and his head snapped in the direction of his brother. His skin flushed lightly and he avoided Harald's amused gaze.
"Someday." Harald smiled warmly before nodding to them and heading down the dock.
Leaning his hip against the wall of their new ship, (Y/N) watched the dark-haired prince, feeling his skin prickle with some embarrassment when Harald looked back toward him, coming to a slow stop and holding his gaze. Averting his eyes, (Y/N) cleared his throat and faced his brother, arms crossing over his chest. "You could've mentioned he was a prince."
"I enjoy it when you make a fool of yourself." Leif chuckled, helping Yrsa and Toke bring everyone's belongings on board. (Y/N) couldn't help the small smile that stretched across his face, rolling his eyes at his brother's words and stepping toward Yrsa to help as well. Leif questioned his friends, allowing them to choose whether they'd join him in battle or remain safe in Kattegat. With the boat ready to go, (Y/N) and Leif stepped back onto the dock and exchanged farewells with the friends who chose to remain in Kattegat.
Feeling Leif tug on his arm, he turned his head and spotted their sister making her way down the dock with Harald, a wide smile on her face. She embraced Leif first, giving him a tight hug and rubbing his arm. Gazing at (Y/N), she hugged him next and sighed softly, tightening her hold on him for a moment before stepping back. With quivering lips and watery eyes, she smiled. "I will make sacrifices to Odin for your safe return."
"We'll be fine. You take care of yourself." Leif smiled softly at her and she nodded, leaning in to kiss his cheek. She inhaled and looked at (Y/N), rolling her lips into her mouth and stepping forward for a second hug. (Y/N) chuckled softly, stroking the back of her head and holding her close.
"Protect each other." She whispered shakily, hand rubbing his back.
"We will." (Y/N) assured, pressing a tender kiss to her temple. Freydis leaned back, using the back of her back to wipe away the tears sliding down her cheeks. She smiled warmly at the rest of her friends, stepping forward to give them each an embrace. The familiar feeling of tears prickled the back of his eyes but he blinked them away and stepped onto the boat, inhaling shakily. With the goodbyes finished, Freydis smiled sadly and looked over each of them, taking slow steps along the dock until she reached Harald and uttered a soft thanks. She glanced one last time over her shoulder before heading down the dock and disappearing from sight.
A few more Vikings joined them, some Christian, others Pagan. Among them were Jarl Gorm, the outspoken Pagon with a large figure and long ginger hair, and his son Arne, a young man with a scruffy beard and short blonde hair. Then there was Johan, a Christian Viking with hair that swept over one eye, and Tomas, a younger man with short curly black hair and boyish features. Birger, a Christian Viking who appeared to be a close friend of Harald's, joined them as well.
(Y/N) watched the new faces join them and introduce themselves, and even with each friendly smile, he felt more and more uneasy. It'd taken nearly a year for (Y/N) to grow comfortable around the other Greenlanders, and it took another year for him to fully trust them. To have so many strangers on a boat with growing animosity between a few of them... (Y/N)'s stomach twisted.
Noticing his tense figure, Leif placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Easy, (Y/N). We're all working together." He murmured and (Y/N) nodded, turning to watch him step onto one of the seats and look over his new crew as Njal and Skarde brought a barrel to the center of the boat.
"Listen up! All knives and axes in the barrel. No one rows with a weapon on them."
"I don't give up my knife for anybody." Jarl Gorm voiced defiantly.
"There's only one reason to row with a weapon, and that is to kill someone else on this boat. Your enemy is not here." Leif responded, gaze shifting to his brother and giving a small shake of his head. (Y/N) rested his hand on the hilt of his dagger, satisfied he didn't have to toss it into the barrel.
"What if he is?" Arne piped up, eyeing Johan and Tomas when the two stepped by him.
"Then I'll deal with it," Leif answered cooly, face remaining stoic as he looked over the crew. For him to be taken seriously, he needed to act like a leader. Otherwise, those like Arne and Jarl Gorm would do as they pleased, even at the cost of others' lives.
Moving forward, Harald spoke and dropped his axe into the barrel. "I have no enemies here."
With Harald making the first move, the others soon followed, dropping their axes and knives into the barrel. The outspoken men hesitated, glancing at each other and staring at the barrel as weapons were dropped in. Arne cracked first, begrudgingly dropping his axe in. Jarl Gorm held Leif's gaze challengingly but ultimately stepped forward and tossed his weapons in. (Y/N) watched him, taking note of the way he readjusted his coat with his back turned to them. Humming softly, he looked back at Leif and quirked a brow, his brother giving a small nod of acknowledgment before beckoning him over.
"I want you beside me," Leif told him, sitting down on his seat and resting his arms upon the steering oar. (Y/N) eyed Harald when the prince sat down behind Leif, a small smile appearing on the prince's face. (Y/N) frowned at him in return and took a seat on the bulwark, feeling Harald's eyes burn into the back of his head. Propping his leg up, (Y/N) placed his arm on his knee as the boat began to move forward, following King Canute's ship. Vikings released shouts and cries of encouragement as they rowed out into open water.
"Interesting necklace," Harald mentioned, retrieving a discarded rope and beginning to toy with the ends of it, gazing at the threat holding the canine teeth together around the Greenlander's neck. (Y/N) turned his attention out onto the dark waters, watching the ripples and small waves in a blatant attempt at ignoring the prince.
Leif made a noise of amusement and shook his head, fingers drumming lightly against the steering oar. "My brother has never been much of a talker."
"I can see that," Harald chuckled.
Hours passed, the occasional silence filled with small talk between Leif and Harald. The two seemed to grow a quick tolerance for each other, even going as far as cracking a few jokes. And despite Harald's attempts at communicating with the younger Eriksson, his questions remained unanswered, though it only fueled his curiosity. Jarl Gorm eventually walked toward them, being mindful of holding onto things unless he wished to be tossed around by the rocking boat.
"So, is this your first Viking raid? Are you nervous?" Jarl Gorm questioned, resting his hand on the side of the boat and planting his feet firmly on the wood beneath them.
"Our father was a raider. He told us he was a Berserker." Leif said and shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.
"That means he was a mighty warrior and killed many men." Jarl Gorm explained, stepping closer to Leif and moving his hand onto the oar. "Like Harald." Jarl Gorm motioned toward the prince and for the first time since the boat set sail, (Y/N) turned his head to look at him.
Unable to read his expression clearly, Harald cleared his throat. "So, why did he go to Greenland?"
"Because he killed men, even when he wasn't raiding," Leif answered grimly. The subject of their father never failed to make him upset. Even when Erik made attempts at being a decent father, his past and crimes always caught up to him. A past his children had to accept but Leif grew to resent.
"Have you ever killed a man before?"
Shaking his head, Leif frowned at Jarl Gorm. "No. I've never had a reason to."
"And you, boy?" Jarl Gorm turned toward (Y/N) next. The younger Greenlander held Harald's gaze for a moment longer before looking at the older man and nodding, lips pressed into a thin line.
"Almost." (Y/N) answered and Jarl Gorm raised his brows. "He insulted my family so I bashed his face in with a rock. He lost an eye." He still remembered the day. He'd only been nine when the thirteen-year-old boy had decided to bother Erik the Red's son. He found out just how thin (Y/N)'s patience ran at the cost of an eye. The memory of his screams and wails still brought a smirk to (Y/N)'s face.
Smirking widely, Jarl Gorm nodded his approval. "It appears we've got a Berserker in the making."
"We were children." Leif clarified hastily, a frown pulling at his lips.
"Still." Jarl Gorm insisted before he sighed heavily and looked between the two. Without their father there to guide them, it seemed as if Jarl Gorm wanted to take matters into his own hands. "The first time is sometimes difficult. A man is different. He fights back."
"So does a polar bear." Leif chided and Harald smirked, chuckling softly under his breath. Seemingly irritated with his dismissive response and Harald's amusement, Jarl Gorm's lip curled and he turned, heading back to his seat. (Y/N) watched him go, turning his head to meet his brother's eyes and frowning. Leif responded with a small nod.
Noticing the interaction between the brothers, Harald hummed. "You can speak freely before me, (Y/N)."
"Why should I?" (Y/N) frowned at him. "I do not trust you. Prince of Norway or not, you are... nothing to me."
"I saved your lives." Harald reminded softly, brows furrowing when (Y/N)'s eyes narrowed, almost reeling back at the irritation that appeared on his face. "How can you not trust me after that?"
"Because you had no reason to. People only help others when they wish for something in return and you've yet to reveal what you want from us."
"I want nothin-"
"I do not believe you." (Y/N) interrupted him. "We owe you, you know this. So what do you want? Our blessing to couple with our sister? If she wants you, we will not stop her."
Sighing heavily, Harald shook his head. "Freydis is an incredibly strong woman and I admire her greatly. But she does not desire me nor I her."
"Then why-" A holler for Harald came from King Canute's ship and the prince quickly rose to his feet, noticing the large ship had stopped and tilted slightly to allow for Harald to board it.
"This is not over," Harald told (Y/N) as he climbed onto the side of the ship, carefully making his way along the edge until he stepped onto the larger boat and approached King Canute beneath the pitched tent. (Y/N) clenched his jaw and shook his head, looking back at Leif. His older brother stared at him with a frown.
"What?"
"You don't need to be so harsh. I have no reason to believe he has ill intentions." Leif spoke softly, leaning into the steering oar and gazing at his brother. (Y/N) sighed, turning his head away from him. His lips parted to speak but the sight of dark clouds approaching broke his train of thought. Straightening up, (Y/N) felt the wind pick up considerably, and soon, a horn echoed as a warning of the incoming storm. Cold droplets fell onto his face and he looked back at his brother, groaning softly. Leif watched the storm, looking up at the clouds as thunder began to clap above them.
Turning to the man closest to him, he gave an order. "Lower the sail."
"Lower the sail!" Birger called as those standing quickly sat back down and prepared to hang on for dear life. The ginger made his way toward the mast but tripped over Aren's outstretched foot, causing him to take a quick tumble onto the wet floor.
"Watch out, Christian! Maybe you should pray to be more careful." Aren cackled loudly.
"You tripped him on purpose." Johan scoffed, droplets dripping down the side of his face as the rain pelted them.
"I did not."
"I saw you!" Johan barked and Aren's cocky smirk quickly slipped from his face.
"You callin' me a liar?" Arne questioned and stood, tapping his chest. "Come here and tell me that!" He challenged, causing Johan to rise from his spot and step toward him. But before the two men could meet in the middle, (Y/N) shoved himself between them, putting his hand on Arne's shoulder and forcing him back down to his seat.
"Resolve your issues when we reach land." (Y/N) ordered, turning his head toward Johan. He only had to give the taller man a hard look for the Christian to bow his head and lower himself back into his seat.
Leif moved to stand beside (Y/N), frowning down at Arne. "Do you have a problem with my order?"
"I'm fine." Arne raised his arms in surrender and (Y/N) removed his hand from his shoulder. Satisfied with his response, Leif nodded and patted his brother's back, turning away from the others as Jarl Gorm followed the two toward the steering oar.
"I thought you were both followers of the Old Gods, like your father." He spoke loudly, the rain beating down on his face and causing him to squint. Merely glancing at the older man, (Y/N) slipped some rope around his palm and gripped it as tight as possible, hoping it'd keep him from falling into the turbulent waves around them.
"We are," Leif nodded, getting behind the oar and placing his hands on it.
"Then why take the word of a Christian over my own son?"
"Because your son is a liar, Jarl Gorm." He answered bluntly before leaning back. "I suggest you hold on. It's about to get rough."
➸ ➸ ➸ ➸ ➸ ➸
Thick fog surrounded them on all sides and the wind howled softly while birds circled above them. (Y/N) couldn't hear or see another boat, meaning they were all alone for now. With no land or allies in sight. And yet, (Y/N) didn't have worries or fears. His brother knew what he was doing, that was for certain. As long as Leif didn't panic, (Y/N) had no reason to worry. But the others aboard didn't know his brother as well as he did, they didn't trust him either. It was apparent in the way some Christians prayed and others stared at them accusingly.
"We're lost, aren't we?" Jarl Gorm spoke up first, voicing the thought no doubt plaguing their minds. "You've never been to England, and you've lost us!"
"We're not lost." Leif objected tiredly and (Y/N) turned his head to look back at them, frowning at the way Jarl Gorm scowled at his brother.
"Liar! This is your fault and the fault of all the Christians and their false God. The Gods are laughing at us right now!"
"Shut up, heathen." Birger groaned.
"What did you say to me?"
"I said, shut up. You sound like a frightened child." The ginger gritted his teeth as he spoke, turning his head to look upon Jarl Gorm. The Viking slowly rose from his seat, sneering down at the man and stepping toward him. Tearing himself away from the pow, (Y/N) descended down the two steps and slammed his palm on the mast as a warning, successfully taking Jarl Gorm's attention off the man and onto him.
"Stop rowing!" Leif barked his order, walking forward toward Jarl Gorm. "What do you see that makes you believe we're lost?"
"What do I see?" Jarl Gorm repeated, turning his head from side to side before settling his gaze back on Leif and wildly motioning around them. "No land!"
"See, that is where you and I are different. The sky tells me we are headed west. Auks and gannets flying high tell me the weather is improving and we are nearing land." Leif explained, watching Jarl Gorm glance up at the birds flying above. He looked back down at Leif and swallowed.
"Then where are the other boats?"
"The other boats are not my responsibility. This boat-" Leif tapped the mast, raising his brows at Jarl Gorm. "-is my responsibility. For all you know, the other boats are lost, not ours. Now, we continue." With his words, the others resumed their rowing. Jarl Gorm accepted defeat and headed back to his spot.
"And Jarl Gorm, stop blaming the Christians for your fears, hm?" Leif turned away from the man and (Y/N) followed suit as Birger began laughing. But when his laughter abruptly stopped and turned into gurgling, (Y/N) turned around and spotted him leaning against the side of the boat with blood pouring down his neck. The small group of Christians were immediately held back and the other Greenlanders could only stare at the bleeding man. Liv tore herself from their side and hurried over to Birger but the damage had been done. She could only provide mild comfort as he slowly died.
"I'm taking over the boat!" Jarl Gorm declared. "Arne, get the weapons."
"Let them go!" Leif demanded, pushing his way through the crew as (Y/N) quickly stood in front of the barrel, blocking Arne from reaching it just in time.
"Or what, Greenlander? You're going to kill me? I am not a bear and you are not a Viking." Jarl Gorm called hauntingly. His son glared at (Y/N) but remained rooted in his spot, eyes nervously flickering to Njal as the taller man protectively stood behind (Y/N). "You don't have the stomach to kill me."
"A polar bear thinks the same thing before he dies," Leif replied and with a grunt, Jarl Gorm lunged forward. Leif dodged the swing from his axe, slipping past him and using the mast to block Jarl Gorm's swing before he sprung out, digging his knife into the belly of the man. Leif stared him in the eyes as Jarl Gorm gasped and whimpered, digging his knife deeper and deeper. Arne whipped his head around to look at his father, staggering slightly and swallowing thickly.
"When I pull this out, you will be dead. Before I do, tell your men what you see." Leif demanded, turning the man to look forward.
With one last dying gasp, Jarl Gorm spoke before collapsing on the ground, "England."
"Anyone else wishes to join Jarl Gorm?" (Y/N) questioned loudly, staring at Arne and raising a brow at him. When the blonde turned away from him and slumped back down in his seat, he looked over each Viking, watching them avert their eyes and shake their heads. (Y/N) turned his attention back onto Arne, gaze lingering on him before he hummed. "Good. Now, get to rowing."
Once everyone settled back down into their spots, (Y/N) and Leif dragged Birger to the middle of the boat beside Jarl Gorm. Despite their faults, (Y/N) was certain they'd find themselves feasting with whichever faith they chose to believe in, old or new. Leif returned to the steering oar and settled down, appearing unphased by what had occurred. (Y/N) placed his hand on his shoulder briefly before stepping up and leaning against the pow, watching the cliffs grow closer until a horn sounded off in the distance. Turning his head, he spotted ships appearing through the fog.
Jarl Olaf's ship neared them first, tilting so it could brush past their boat safely. Perplexed faces greeted them, confusion only intensifying upon seeing the two bodies. Following the ship, King Canute's sailed beside them and came to a slow stop, allowing Harald to step onto the ledge and board their ship. Harald paused, gazing down at Birger with a saddened frown. He climbed down, briefly stopping to rest his hand on the chest of his friend before approaching the brothers. (Y/N) crossed his arms as he watched Harald walk toward them, meeting his gaze briefly. Harald placed his hand on Leif's arm, features softening slightly.
With an approving nod, he looked at them. "Vikings."
#x reader#x you#x y/n#x male reader#vikings valhalla x you#vikings valhalla x male reader#vikings valhalla#vikings valhalla x y/n#vikings#harald sigurdsson x y/n#harald sigurdsson x you#harald sigurdsson x male reader#harald sigurdsson x reader#harald sigurdsson#leif eriksson#freydis eriksdotter
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Our Love Eternal - Part 1
Prompt: Harry is a Viking, and invades Y/N's land.
The Demon was taller than Y/N had expected him to be. Dressed in fighting leathers and a heavy fur coat, he stood alone before her father’s throne with both hands on the pommel of his greatsword. He had no beard, no visible ink staining his fair skin and his thick dark curls were free from any braid or decorative bead.
Had she not known any better, Y/N might have thought him an English mercenary, come to offer his services to the kingdom. But she did know better. The stories of the northern invaders had reached her ears long before they came knocking on Castle Branagh’s doors.
A furious storm was raging that night, said the stories, when three ships emerged from the mist. Twenty men on each ship, rowing to the shore to the relentless sound of drums. One man did not row, people said. He stood still as stone, at the bow of the foremost ship, staring ahead. Jarl Harald, his countrymen were said to call him. Demon, did the people of Lothian.
The invaders did not know hunger, thirst or weariness. They marched on, day and night, taking all the riches and valuables they could get their hands on. An unstoppable wave, heading straight for the castle, the heart of the kingdom.
Neighbouring lands had faced the northern invaders before, and fallen before them. But this group seemed different. They took no lives, so long as people did not resist. Women were left unabused, homes unburnt. From the monasteries, they seized the gold, but left the monks alone. From the fields, they took what food they needed, and cared not to ruin the rest.
Men had been sent to stop them, of course. The strongest warriors in Lothian had been torn from their homes, lifted onto brave steeds and sent off to lay down their lives for the kingdom. And lay down their lives, they had, cut down like children by the northern beasts.
Y/N had seen them appear over the horizon one morning, a shifting mass darkening the path to Castle Branagh. Standing on the battlements, she had watched them approach as the castle erupted in pointless chaos. There was, after all, nowhere to run.
Nowhere to run, she thought again as she stood behind her father’s throne, the Demon before them.
“Ask him what he wants,” said the king to the translator. Her father wore his best finery, the Antler Crown placed proudly on his balding head. Slightly crooked, as always. Y/N could see beads of sweat running down his neck, and hoped that the invaders could not. For dignity’s sake.
The translator, a short and plump spice merchant who had apparently done frequent business in the invaders’ northern lands, spoke then in a strange, rhythmic, melodic prose. The Demon tilted his head to the side, bright green eyes on the Antler Crown, as he replied in that same strange language.
“He asks if you are the one called the Stag King,” the translator said.
“I am King Roderic of Lothian. Like my father before me, and his father before him, I am called the Stag King by the people of my lands.”
An old title, its meaning forgotten. Undeserved.
The translator translated. The Demon’s eyes narrowed, his gaze leaving the crown to travel the crowd of stoic soldiers and cowering nobles. He spoke then, his tone sharper.
“He asks if you have a child,” the merchant said. “No - a daughter.”
Y/N froze as, one by one, each member of the royal court looked at her. Following along, the Demon’s green eyes settled on her figure. She was covered from head to toe, gloves on her hands, cloak around her body, veil over her face. Yet she felt naked as he watched her, watched every tremor, every shiver that racked her.
The Demon spoke again, his chapped lips curving into a predatory smile. Spoke to her.
“He says hello,” the translator said. “He says not to be scared.”
“Scared!” her father scoffed. “The nerve! Has he come to mock us? Is this why he asked for an audience? To make fools out of this court before they slaughter us? We know his men stand ready! We know who waits in the darkness!”
The Demon’s eyes went cold, flickering to her father as he bit out two short sentences.
The translator hesitated. “He says - he says he was not speaking to you, Your Highness. He was speaking to Lady Y/N.”
Her father opened his mouth, fury reddening his skin. Before he could speak and possibly damn them all, Y/N took a step forward.
“Why?” she asked. She sounded frightened, and cursed her lack of control. It was impossible to ignore the smile that blossomed on the Demon’s face. “What does he want with me?”
Her heart pounded against her ribs as she listened to the translator’s wheezy voice, and the Demon’s deep one in return. Air turned scarce as she watched the merchant’s eyes widen, his shoulders tense as he turned to her.
“He’s offering a deal, my Lady. He says he and his men will depart Lothian at once, and not harm a single soul. He swears not to return in ill spirit, lest the deal is broken. He says he is ready to make a solemn oath to you, and to the gods of his faith.”
“What- what does he want in return?” Y/N asked.
Time seemed to stop, seconds stretching into centuries as she waited with bated breaths for the translator to speak. The Demon stood still, his green gaze boring into hers through her veil.
“He wants the Stag’s Daughter to come with him back to his land. To Kaldagr. My Lady, he wants you.”
-----
The northerners’ longships were called drakkars, Y/N learned. Their word for sword was sverð, the one for shield, skjold. Come was koma, and skynda was hurry. To her, they said nei most often. She needed no translation for that one.
She was told the crossing would be dangerous. Depending on the winds, it would take them three to six days to reach their homeland. Three to six days of cold winds, harsh waves and unpredictable weather.
They asked her if she could swim, and laughed when she said no. They opened her sole bag of belongings and threw away all three of her dresses, and ordered her maid to pack men’s pants instead. They never left her alone. Never.
As if she could have run from them. As if she wanted to.
The Demon’s audience with the Stag King had ended ten days prior, with the signing of a treaty between the kingdom of Lothian and Kaldagr. The treaty was simple: there would be peace and friendship between both lands, so long as the Princess of Lothian remained in the great city of Kaldagr. It was not stated what she was expected to do, once in the north, and she did not dare to think about it for too long.
In the end, what did it matter? If it saved her people, she would endure.
“My Lady, you must drink.”
Robben, the merchant turned translator, was handing her his waterskin. They were sat pressed together from hip to shoulder, at the back of the longship. They had departed from the Lothian shores almost four days ago, and the open sea surrounded them on all horizons.
There had been rain, there had been wind, and waves so tall they seemed like mountains. Every now and then, weather permitting, the northerners would pack the oars and let down the sails.
“Thank you,” Y/N said as she took the waterskin from Robben. She lifted the bottom of her veil and drank a few mouthfuls.
As ordered, she had put on men’s clothing, the pants an unfamiliar feeling on her legs. She had too large hunting boots on her feet, kept in place by leather laces around her calves, thick socks underneath. Two cloaks had been placed around her shoulders, and still the cold wind passed through.
If the courtiers of Castle Branagh saw her, they surely wouldn’t recognize their princess. She looked like a vagrant, and smelled like one too after days at sea.
But still, she kept her veil over her hair and face. Not out of modesty, or out of respect for her father’s orders. She’d never cared much about those, even if she’d obeyed them for her entire life. But keeping her features hidden felt safer, the veil almost a shield against the northerners’ eyes. It was the last thing she owned, the last thing that was truly hers. She already dreaded the time when she would have to remove it.
She was still surprised she hadn’t been asked to take it off yet. Thought she would have to, that day on the beach.
On the morning of their departure, her father’s men accompanied her to the shore where the drakkars waited, already prepped for the journey home. A single row boat waited on the sand, two men sat inside with oars ready.
The Demon stood before it, his boots lapped by the waves, the rising sun over his left shoulder. The soldiers who brought her to him stayed back at the end of the dirt road, standing in a line as she walked alone towards the monster who now owned her.
As she approached, she noticed first that his arms were bare. Dark ink covered his fair skin, swirls and strange symbols running from his shoulders to his wrists. His dark curls were braided back, silver beads holding the ends together. The greatsword he’d carried at the audience was now accompanied with twin axes at his hips, a dagger at his belt and a bow across his back.
Now, he truly looked like a demon. Y/N’s heart faltered, an age-old instinct to run rising in her bones. She was smart enough to recognize that if he was the predator, she was the prey.
But she was the Princess of Lothian. She may have been going to her death, but she would go with pride and dignity. So she kept walking, stopping three steps before him. Even though he could not see her eyes, hidden behind the veil, she refused to look down.
A small, secretive smile on his lips, he bowed his head in a show of respect that made her want to spit in his face.
“Y/N,” he said. Her name did not sound the same coming from his mouth, his accent distorting every syllable. Then, he gestured at his own chest and said in broken, exaggerated English, “I am Harald. Harry.”
“You know my language?” she asked. He frowned, confusion in his eyes, and she took it as a no.
He spoke then rapidly in his own dialect, his hand pointing to the longship behind, then to her. He repeated the same words a second time, while she looked at him blankly.
“Kaldr,” he said. “Cold.”
Y/N looked down at herself, and the coat that had been given to her. It must have belonged to a hunter, stained with old blood and dirt, but she had no clothes of her own for extreme temperatures.
“This is all I have,” she told the Demon - Harry.
He clicked his tongue, muttering under his breath. Then, to her horror, he pushed back his cloak. Truthfully, calling it a cloak was doing it a disservice. Made of white, immaculate fur, it must have belonged to a wolf, but one larger than Y/N thought existed. It looked wonderfully warm and soft.
“No,” she protested as he took a step closer to her, the cloak in his hands. “I don’t want it.”
“Cold,” he said again. “Death.”
“I’ll be fine!”
He snarled, teeth bared at her. Such an animalistic behaviour, a savage show of dominance. But her protests died in her throat, her muscles locking up in fright.
His gaze turned softer at her reaction, and he looked almost regretful. But he said nothing, and stepped into her space. As he draped the heavy garment around her shoulders, his arms on both sides of her head, she kept her gaze on his chest.
“No cold,” he said, stepping back. “Varmr.”
“Warm,” she guessed. “I suppose I’m no good to you if I die from the cold before we even get there.”
“Warm,” he repeated, struggling on the w. “Já.”
Then, his hand lifted towards her face. As the tip of his fingers brushed her veil, Y/N startled backwards.
“Don’t,” she hissed. “Nei.”
He inclined his head in surrender, and sighed. Then, without stepping closer, he gestured towards the row boat.
For a moment, Y/N debated staying put. Digging her feet in the sand, the soil of her homeland. Would Lothian hold her, she wondered? Would her kingdom grip her ankles, her thighs, her waist, keep her with it no matter how hard the northerners pulled at her?
She entertained the fantasy for a few seconds. Breathed in. And walked to the row boat.
“We will reach Kaldagr before nightfall, I believe,” said Robben, his wheezy voice startling Y/N out of her memories. “Only a few more hours to go.”
“And then what? Will I be locked up? Beaten and raped? Made a slave to my enemies?”
Robben sighed.
“I don’t know what will happen to you, my Lady. But I do not believe you will be harmed.”
“Why not? Isn’t that the Viking way?”
“If they wanted to hurt you, they would have done so in Lothian.”
Y/N scoffed.
“That’s assuming there’s any kind of logic to their actions. Do you know them so well, sir, that you can assure me of my safety?”
To his credit, Robben seemed to take no offence to her sharp tone and biting words.
“I am not so arrogant. But I have spent time with the northerners, and with Jarl Harald himself.”
“Harald,” she repeated. “Or Harry?”
“Harry is a nickname of sorts, one he uses with foreigners. Perhaps because it is more familiar to them, less…”
“Northern?”
“Less threatening. Many in the world believe the Vikings to be savages, conquerors, people with little thought who steal, and rape, and kill. We imagine they live depraved lives, uneducated and beastly.”
“Do they not? They certainly behave like animals.”
“No. They are warriors, certainly. But you will see in Kaldagr that there is tradition, art, laws, commerce, and all the same complexities that you have in Lothian. The culture is different, yes. Very much so. But I would say the same of Francia, of the Byzantine Empire or Flanders.”
“You are a well-travelled man.”
Robben nodded, looking at the horizon with a distant smile on his face.
“I thank you, my Lady, for what I believe is a compliment. But do not mistake me for a learned man. I am no wiser than a child.”
“Do you truly not know, then?” Y/N asked, fear slipping into her tone. “What he wants with me?”
“The Jarl? No. But he is a private man. I do not believe even those closest to him know why he took you from Lothian.”
“Well,” Y/N said, hugging the white fur coat closer to her body. “I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.”
-----
As Robben had said, land appeared on the horizon hours later. Cliffs that seemed to reach the clouds rose before Y/N’s eyes, grey rocks topped by emerald green grass. Forests of spruce stretched on and on, dark and imposing.
The longships sailed to a narrow opening in the cliffs, which Robben said was called a fjord. They followed the river for some time. The further they travelled, the more the northerners smiled. The men had been quiet, focused and sullen during the crossing, but now, they laughed and joked, sang songs. Ale was distributed, caskets passed from one ship to another.
Even Harry, who had not said a single word the entire journey, now sang with his men from his place at the bow of the ship. He looked younger somehow, his green eyes lit up with barely restrained glee. Happy to be home, Y/N supposed, while she felt she was getting closer to her grave with each passing minute.
As dark as her mood was, she could not hold back her gasp when Kaldagr came to view at last.
It was the largest city she had ever seen. It stretched from the end of the fjord to the top of the hills beyond, an army of timber houses with thatched roofs pressed close together. No walls surrounded the city, but the forest around was so dense that Y/N realised they did not need one.
All of the homesteads were low to the ground, made of one story. They looked barely discernible from one another, an extra window here, slightly wider walls there.
There was one building, however, that contrasted with the rest. It was built from the same timber and thatch, but its length and width far surpassed that of any other building. It was also much higher, towering above the city.
“That’s the longhouse,” said Robben. “It’s where the Jarl lives, and where the northerners hold their meetings and gatherings.”
“Like a castle?”
“Not exactly. Castles, like the one you grew up in, are meant for the nobility. Longhouses welcome everyone.”
“Are there no upper classes here?”
“No, there are. But the gentry is not so separated from the rest of the people, like you might see in Lothian.”
“How strange,” Y/N said, looking at the longhouse. Her father would have never allowed the lower class to step foot in Castle Branagh. When he spoke of the common people, it was always with disdain and mockery. As if the very bread he ate hadn’t been made from their hands.
But then, her father had always been a selfish, greedy man. The veil Y/N had borne her entire life was yet another example: how much he’d loved that only he knew what she looked like, how he’d basked in the curiosity of the other nobles, of the neighbouring royalty. She’d been yet another jewel in his coffers, to be kept hidden, under lock and key.
“Ah,” said Robben. “The welcoming party has arrived.”
Y/N looked to the docks. A crowd had gathered, men and women of all ages cheering and waving at the approaching ships. At the end of the longest dock, three women stood.
Two of them had dark hair, and wore long, thick dresses of the same burgundy colour. Golden jewellery adorned their necks and wrists, their hair pinned up. They could have been twins, had one not been considerably older than the other.
“The Jarl’s mother and sister,” Robben explained. “Hedda and Astrid.”
The resemblance to Harry was more evident the closer they got, from the shape of the mouth to the colour of the hair. But Y/N’s eyes were drawn to the woman in between them. She was as tall as a man, her figure toned. Blonde hair fell from her scalp in wild curls, the wind blowing them in front of her icy blue eyes. Freckles decorated her skin, like stars in the night sky.
She was not wearing a dress, but fighting leathers. A large axe hung from her waist, the woman’s hand resting on the handle as if she might draw it at any moment.
She was beautiful, stunning even, in the way that a snake is before it strikes.
“What about her?” Y/N asked.
“Ah,” answered Robben. “That would be the Lady Saga. Eldest daughter of Jarl Thorvald of Skolstrond, to the north of here.”
“The Lady Saga has quite the weapon.”
“Yes, she does, and she knows how to use it. Does that surprise you? A woman fighting?”
“No,” she said, and shrugged at Robben’s doubting look. “Why would a woman be incapable of fighting? We have arms, don’t we?”
“Do you not believe females are weaker?” asked Robben, throwing up his hands with a smile at the sudden tension in her body. “For the sake of argument only, my Lady.”
“No,” she replied. “Not when I look at the Lady Saga.”
At last, the longships reached the docks. Ropes were thrown to secure them and a human chain was formed to unload the many bags and crates, filled with the northerner’s plunder.
Y/N’s name was called, and she looked up to see Harry before her, his hand stretched out. There was a wild smile on his face, victorious. A man who’d gotten what he wanted, although she still wasn’t sure what exactly that was.
She looked at his outstretched hand, those long, calloused fingers. The hand of the enemy. The joy in Harry’s eyes faded, replaced by apprehension. He spoke softly.
“He says not to worry,” said Robben. “He only means to help you off the ship.”
Y/N took a shallow breath in and placed her hand in Harry’s. He gently closed it around hers, pulling her up to her feet and guiding her to the edge of the longship. Stepping off first, he grasped her elbow and supported her as she stepped onto the dock.
“Thank you,” she said, her words barely audible.
“Þökk,” Harry smiled. A translation, offered like a gift.
He did not let go of her hand as he accompanied her down the dock, as if she was an honoured guest and not a prisoner of war. As they reached the trio of women, his mother and sister kissed his cheeks and forehead, tears pearling at the corner of their eyes.
The sister, Astrid, couldn’t have been older than fifteen. She was bouncing on the heel of her feet, wide brown eyes flitting between Harry and Y/N. The mother, Hedda, had a bit more composure and only snuck glances here and there.
“Saga,” said Harry, drawing Y/N’s attention. The warrior had approached, bowing her head respectfully. Harry clasped her forearm, as one would a fellow warrior.
They exchanged a few words, before Saga’s cold blue eyes settled on Y/N.
“Y/N,” she said. “Welcome to Kaldagr.”
Her voice was melodic, surprisingly high. Most surprisingly was how seamless her English was, her accent nearly indiscernible.
“Thank you,” Y/N said tentatively. Robben hadn’t said who Saga was to the northerners, and she was unsure of the level of deference that was expected. “I didn’t think many would know my language.”
“Most do not,” the warrior replied. “But I had a good teacher.”
Saga said nothing more, and Harry took this opportunity to softly pull at Y/N’s hand. He led her down the docks to the city itself, his mother and sister falling in step behind them. Robben had joined them, and as Harry gestured at some buildings here and there, he translated.
They passed the armoury, the butcher’s shop, the sick house, the forge. There was a school, training grounds and a tailor. They walked through two different markets, both overwhelming from sights, scents and sounds.
Men and women hurried down the busy, narrow streets, many clasping Harry’s free hand with sincere joy in their eyes. He knew most of their names, and always introduced them to Y/N, though she understood very little of what was said.
At last, they reached the longhouse. While not as tall as the smallest tower of Castle Branagh, the longhouse was daunting in its sheer length and width. The large doors were thrown open, and through them, Y/N could see a large room filled with tables and benches. At the centre was a firepit, and against the room’s back wall were two thrones perched on a dais. The floor was covered with thick furs and carpets, the walls decorated with tapestries.
Harry walked straight through, pulling Y/N along. They passed the tables, the firepit, the dais, and walked through an opening to the side. She saw the kitchen to her right, many closed doors to the left. At last, they reached another door, more ornate than the rest. Harry opened it and guided Y/N through.
At once, she saw the bed. She whirled around as the door closed behind her, realising with dread that she was alone with Harry. His mother and sister, the Lady Saga, Robben, were all gone.
Instinct took over. Harry blocked the path to the door, so she bolted to the other side of the room. Her eyes passed quickly over the desk, the chests and wardrobes, the bed, and widened as she saw the weapon rack. She grabbed the handle of a sword and pulled. But she hadn’t realised how heavy it was, and her grip loosened as the sword fell with a great clatter to the floor.
She cursed under her breath, and strained, lifting the sword off the wooden planks. Her arms ached, muscles screaming in pain.
“Stay back!” she ordered, air coming out of her lungs in panicked wheezes.
Harry hadn’t moved from the door. He stared at her, eyebrows raised high, his mouth slightly open.
“I will kill you if you touch me,” Y/N hissed. “I will cut your head off, I’ll split you open, I will - I will rip out your lungs!”
Gone were her promises to her people, the treaty, her father’s orders. If this demon put a hand on her, she would bite it off. Or, at the very least, she would try.
Harry laughed.
“What?” she asked, baring her teeth. “I will!”
With an amused smile, he shook his head. He spoke, but she understood none of the words he said.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she said, her tone rising.
His brows furrowed in concentration.
“No hurt,” he said. He was looking at his hands, like a boy trying to remember his lessons. She realised then that this was exactly what was happening, as he continued in English. “You - are safe. No danger.”
“But - why,” she stammered. “Why did you bring me here?”
She gestured to the bed, and his eyes widened.
“Nei!” he said. He spoke in his language, and his face twisted in frustration as he struggled to find words. He pointed at her, twice, then at the floor.
“Are you…,” she began, looking around the room. “Are you saying this is my room? Just mine?”
He nodded, pointed to the closed door and the hallway beyond. “Mine,” he repeated.
His, over there. Hers, here. Separate bedrooms, because he was not going to touch her. Y/N deflated, the sword sliding a second time from her grip and falling to the floor. She ignored the wince on Harry’s face and leaned against the wall, her legs shaking.
“Safe,” he said again. “Safe.”
There was honesty in his eyes, his features devoid of any sign that he might be lying, trying to trick her. How stupid could she be, to want to trust him? He had taken her from her land, her people, her family. He had forcefully brought her to this city full of strangers, to his home, and she was supposed to believe he meant her no harm? What else could he want?
But there was something, in the bottomless green of his eyes. In the tilt of his full lips, in the shyness in his gestures.
“Okay,” she said. “Safe.”
With shaking limbs, she lifted her hands towards her veil. Part of her was screaming not to do this, not to let go of her last defence. But it felt like a show of trust, a step in his direction. She would see what he’d do with it.
She pulled at the clasp that held the veil in place, and felt it fall from her hair and face with a whisper. It pooled at her feet, the heavy lace stained from the days of travel.
Harry did not blink. His eyes pored over her face, the shape of her jaw, the tilt of her eyes, the colour of her hair. It seemed as if he looked at her for centuries. She dared not move, dared not breathe. She was afraid, but did not know of what. His judgement?
“Þökk,” he said, his words soft as a morning breeze. Thank you.
Then, he bowed his head and stepped back to the door, leaving the room. As soon as the door was closed, Y/N’s legs faltered and she slid down the wall until she was sat on the floor, the fallen sword next to her feet.
She looked at the room properly, at the rich furniture, the open wardrobe in which many dresses were hung, the finely woven tapestries and the bed fit for an empress. She may have been a prisoner, but it seemed she would be a comfortable one. The luxuries she’d been awarded at Castle Branagh paled in comparison.
So many questions filled her head. But the fatigue of the past days caught up to her at last and she dragged herself to the bed, falling down on the furs without bothering to undress herself.
The moment her head hit the feather pillow, the world turned dark.
-----
Thanks for reading the first part, let me know what you think!
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#harry styles x you#harry styles x reader#harry styles x y/n#viking!harry#its-julia-in-outer-space writings
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