“It’s a boy!”
Valka’s announcement did little to enhance the joy of the room; the lively, healthy infant was enough to bring face-splitting grins and soaring hearts to the intimate gathering.
Astrid still squatted over the old, bundled cloths, eyes closed and leaning heavily on Hiccup. Hiccup kissed her salty brow, gripping her smaller hand, and grinned at the screaming child in his mother’s arms, splotchy arms swinging at her face.
“You’re amazing,” he murmured into his wife’s stringy tresses.
Astrid hummed her agreement.
You were born with your father’s rage
and your mother’s backbone;
a proclaimed product of survival.
At only ten you were given your first weapon
which you quickly used to dismantle yourself;
two toes missing and your ego humbled.
Your mother said it was a good thing
a gift from the gods — your mother said
this was how she knew
you would never be a monster,
not like he was —
never like he was.
From the moment you stepped
outside the safety of your home
you knew you were different;
and it wasn’t because you only had
three toes on your right foot,
it wan’t because you had a gap
between your teeth that you could
fit all of valhalla in;
it was something in the crevices of the cavities of your heart.
something that started in your gut,
shot through your veins and
shocked your skin.
They called it “bloodlust”, and you got your
first taste of it when you beat your fists against
a boys face for calling you “bastard.”
It was the first time you heard the word,
(painted on his lips like a curse
like you should
be ashamed that your mother
saved herself from the grip of death
and had you to show for it)
and the last.
- My Gravel Girl (i) k.a.
*based off my bastard!AU for Astrid who I play over at lindmaer
**(mega props to avannak for the headcanon about Astrid losing her toes after getting her ax)(via avannak)
There are so many! avannak, elfpen, dyannehs, edge-of-bizarre, and nefertsukia (though it won’t let me tag?) are the biggest ones that I know of (and personal favorites), though there’s dozens and dozens of others I haven’t had a chance to read through. I couldn’t even try to list every good writer that I’ve encountered here, because there’s so many I’d be sure to forget someone. This fandom is so blessed to have such a wide variety of talented writers, you could just go rummaging through the tags and find ten that aren’t “big” blogs. And that’s not even including the artists and gif-makers and whatnot— there is so much to be said for our fandom.
MY MOM JUST LOOKED AT ME AND WAS LIKE I GUESS I’LL TELL YOU…
AND OF COURSE I WAS LIKE, UHM… IDK WHAT THAT MEANS?
AND SHE JUST WALKED UPSTAIRS AND WHIPPED OUT MY LAPTOP.
Holding my Hand
His hands were like the gloves some smithies wore. There was something thick and undefined and leathery about them. Wide palms and stubby fingers. Calloused and scarred. They matched his body: squat and stout and strong.
Hers were long and thin, like the legs of a spider. Hers were paler, with swollen knuckles from too much cracking and uneven nails.
She liked to think they were the only fingers that could slip between his so comfortably.