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erzsebetrosztoczy · 2 years ago

Note

Hi! Idk if you write for Sigurd or Tyr but if you do, can i request a lil something with them, maybe comforting them after their arms got chopped off or something?

At your request 😌

Pairing: Sigurd x reader

Word count: 2770

Genre: fluff, angst

Notes: BB boi needs love. Give him love. Give him therapy and kisses and cuddles.

The mild spring weather, which you would otherwise have been grateful for, was now playing against you as you tossed and turned in your bed, your skin slippery with sweat, your forehead furrowed into deep wrinkles, your breathing ragged.Your dream images have now been ingrained in your mind - you have seen the terrible moments over and over again, you have felt the fear, sorrow, despair, helpless anger so many times. But these feelings did not rise in your heart because of your own suffering. That is, not completely.

The center of your dreams was not you. Your person, your presence was just an insignificant detail, as if you had become an outsider, a ghost, who was only an observer of all the bad happenings, unable to scream, run, or do anything to stop the horrors.

In the end; as always in this dream, you reached the point where your mind could no longer bear to see the further course of events - your awakening was a salvation.

Gasping for air, you swallowed, your eyelids popped open as if a snake had bitten you; Throwing your blanket aside, you sat down among the furs. With a buzzing, dizzy head, you looked around thought zigzagging, wanting to make sure that it was just your imagination playing tricks on you- you were really in your bed, at home, safe, under the protection of your people, and all the ugliness you saw before was just a figment of your imagination.

Your pounding heart echoed in your ears, a thin layer of sweat covered your skin as the coolness of the night hit your damp forehead.

Regaining control over your breathing, you took a deep breath in through your nose to calm your heart and mind.

After that you didn't want to go back to sleep— the nightmare chased away the dream from your eyes and you didn't want to risk reliving the horrible events anyway- because you were almost certain that if you were to fall asleep again the images would return, starting all over again, like an insurmountable cycle.

Pulling your boots on, you pulled your thick blanket over your shoulders and walked over to your candle holder on your dresser. Darkness prevailed in your hut, only the white light of the silvery moon shone through your window, illuminating your modest abode. It was a small room, but it turned out to be just enough for you, its homely warmth always made your residence soothing. Lighting your candle, you stepped out into the evening sky; the fresh spring breeze came as sweet salvation to your heart, after the tormenting dreams.

You thought that if you take a walk in the town; exercise your tired limbs, cool down your heated soul and clear your mind, you might be able to sleep a few more hours during the night before a new day begins full of tasks and responsibilities which can only be done properly with a clear head.

Your path led you to the river, watching the moon's eternal glow in the sky, listening to the soft creaking and cracking of the trees as the breeze moved them around you. You almost completely forgot the reason why you're awake, you almost completely forgot about the ghostly images that so gladly flashed before your eyes over and over again, while you roamed the realm of dreams.

Walking up the slope as you got a better view of the shore, you saw a figure among the docks, ships and stone pillars, not far at the end of the pier. The figure sat on the planks- long legs reaching down toward the water, the sluggish waves almost lapping at them. You stopped in fright, squinting your eyes, wondering if you could see him by the light of the moon, if it's a friend or a foe, who lurks alone on the shore in the dead of night. You were already about to turn around and quietly sneak home before it was too late, before the mysterious someone could notice. However, the moon has decided to come to your aid—the drifting cloud in front of it floated away into the distance, enveloping Ravenstorpe in a flood of light.

Your eyes widened, face elongated, and your heart felt as if it had been thrown off a mountain, when - to your greatest fear - you recognized the lonely figure.

Dark red - almost brown braids glistened in the gloom of the night, the white fur coat fluttered on his shoulders as a particularly stronger wind swept across the water – Sigurd sat alone on the edge of the pier, his shoulders slumped, his back bent.

In that moment, the cause of all bad feelings, anxiety, and fear came flooding back into you, crushing you to the ground.

The images from your dream flashed into your mind—a dark, cold, damp room; a huge, murderous shadow, running from corner to corner so you don't even have a chance to figure out who it is; the knives and tongs are a sharp flash. And then there's always comes that makes your blood freeze, the hair on your back stands, and makes you want to cry convulsively.

You catch a glimpse of Sigurd, sometimes sitting up, sometimes lying on the floor. Sometimes he's passed out or half dead, but that's the best case — most of the time he's awake, very awake.

You stand motionless in the middle of the room, you watch trembling as the dark figure ignores you and walks closer and closer to him, Sigurd's eyes widen, the paralyzing edge of fear reflected in his gaze. With what little strength he has left, he tries to free himself from the chains, ropes, and sharp claws, yelling, spinning, throwing himself- all the more in a frantic rush of terror.

You also feel his fear, his helplessness, his vulnerability - like an animal waiting to be slaughtered, who has been tied up and is watching the arrival of his executioner. A cold pain shoots through your heart, your limbs start to go numb, your face and ears burn, your eyes fill with tears, as despite all your efforts you cannot prevent the events or turn away from them.

A rusty, broken saw appears out of nowhere.

Then only the heart-wrenching yelling and sobbing; which one of you hears it, is unknown. Blood flows, blood everywhere, covers Sigurd, runs down to the floor, pooling, reaching your legs, then up to your ankles.

Blood, blood everywhere, red, warm and unstoppable flowing blood, covering the room, covering your body, flowing into your nose, ears, mouth, eyes, suffocating you.

Blinking, you turned back to face the Raven Clan's Jarl. You moved your trembling legs and wrapped your arms around your chest, to see if it could ease your heart's pounding.

You weren't there when it happened. You weren't there, you don't know how it was. It has already happened and there is nothing any of you can do about it. You know well, not even the weavers of fate can change the past. He was home now. Eivor brought him home; he lives- and is at home among his people.

You walked closer to the shore, but still making sure he didn't hear your footsteps - or at least if he did notice you, don't make it look like you wanted to go to him at all costs. In fact, that was all you wanted. Since Sigurd's return, you have only met a few times, your conversations were short. Until now, you didn't dare to bring up the subject of his arm, thinking that you should leave Sigurd, let him initiate the conversation. But inwardly your heart was rent at the sight of his condition; seeing the ghost of the agony on his face, the sparkle in his eyes has faded, his lips have only a faint memory of his smile.

You wanted to let him heal at his own pace, not rushed, forced just for your own peace.

However, you wanted to show him that you are by his side, that you are there for him at every moment, ready to do anything for him, just so that you can see him whole again. Until Sigurd is his old self, you can't be either.

The wind howled and rose stronger, caught in the blanket wrapped around you which flapped against your side like this. Grabbing the warm material, you pulled it closer as you were about to turn back from the shore, leaving him with his thoughts when a voice broke the silence of the night.

"You're really awful at sneaking." Sigurd spoke to you, his voice seemed forced.

"I didn't mean to… I didn't want to eavesdrop." You stammered, swallowed thickly from the embarrassment and shame. "I just came out for a walk and..."

"I didn't mean to send you away. Just don't stand there alone like a ghost, come here then.” Sigurd's tall figure turned towards you, patting the wood next to him with his good arm.

You just blinked at him for a few moments, wondering if you should leave him alone, or if he really wanted you to sit next to him for company, but your heart couldn't overcome your mind - you wanted to be as close to Sigurd as possible.

And now you had a great opportunity.

Taking small steps on the slippery wood, you reached him then carefully sat down on the edge of the dock dangling your legs over the water. You couldn't decide whether to look at him or you would make him uncomfortable with it, so you turned to his direction watching the moonlight reflected in the water.

In the past, the quiet, silent moments in Sigurd's company felt pleasant- a real salvation even - when you were both in your own world, yet next to each other —always in each other's company in an intimate silence.

Now however, this light and secure feeling couldn’t be found. A lump grew in your throat with each moment you spent in silence next to him, gnawing at the inside of your cheeks, wondering what and how to tell him. Do you say anything to him at all?

You noticed that, unfortunately, the man has changed towards you as well. The once open, attentive and interesting conversations turned into half-sentence answers, with his indifferent and tired voice you sometimes felt that he was perhaps outright bored or annoyed with your presence…

Although it had to belsaid; Sigurd held back himself particularly around you- since you saw how he could bark orders at Eivor, how venomously he could hurl accusations and insults at a person's head after a simple comment. You usually caught a glimpse of these while walking by the Long House; when at an unlucky moment you turn a corner and find yourself faced with a fight — you were only an occasional real eyewitness of its manifestations, and even then, as soon as he noticed you, Sigurd immediately retreated into his gloomy, wordless brooding.

While he lashed out at others with burning anger, when he turned to you there was only cool callousness.

The river tumbled, bubbled and splashed beneath you, a chorus of frogs surrounded you as if they were singing to you. At least they are talking while you sink into deep silence.

There were many things in your heart that you wanted to say, that you wanted to share with him, that you wanted to guarantee him; Sigurd needs to know that he is not alone, that he never will be, and that he should never be afraid that anyone - especially you - will reject him because of what he has been through.

"It's so quiet." Sigurd sighed heavily, the sudden noise alarmed you as you turned your head towards him, straightening up in your seat. His voice sounded strangely harsh - raspy and hoarse, as if it pained him to make a sound.

"It's best to contemplate at times like this." You answered, in the hope that a conversation might finally come to fruition. "In peace and quiet."

Sigurd's nose crinkled as he grimaced sourly; his Adam's apple bobbed rapidly while he swallowed. You noticed this; biting in the insides of your cheeks you thought again, could you have said something wrong to him.

“Is…something wrong? Did I say something wrong?" You sputtered softly, having enough of the silence, having enough of the speechlessness, having enough that you don't know what is happening between you, what is happening with Sigurd, why he behaves like this towards you. “If you wanted to be left alone you should have just said-” You suddenly bit off the end of your words as Sigurd leaned over to you, wrapping his arm around your collarbone and pulling you close to his side.

A sharp, ragged sigh escaped your lungs, shoulders and torso rigid from the quick and unexpected action.

Moments later, however, you finally felt yourself melting into his chest, the pent-up doubts and tension of the days had melted away to almost nonexistent as he held you close - even if only for a few moments.

"No, not at all. I didn't want to - you never -" You didn't say a word, you let Sigurd say what he wanted, stuttering, not finding the words. He needed time to express everything he wanted; you also needed time to understand him. "I didn't want you to think... I just... I don't know what's happening to me, what's happening around me. Why is all this happening… Nothing is the same.”

"Hey," you placed your palm on his shoulder blade, trying to calm him by drawing small circles into his clothes. "it's okay. I do not demand anything from you Sigurd, quite the opposite. I want everything to go the way it suits you. I understand why you're upset... I'd be the same if I were you — I am; seeing what happened to you... I just want you to know that I'm here by your side." You spoke as quietly and softly as if you were talking to a feather, making sure your breath didn't blow it away from your palm.

"No—I'm not being fair to you." Sigurd's voice broke, swallowing thickly as he shook his head.

For a moment you blinked in silence gazing ahead into the river, your mind trying to comprehend everything that had happened so quickly until now; how you should respond to reassure your beloved and assure him that it is only his mind that creates these dark shadows.

"How's your…arm?" You asked suddenly, the topic being so different from the previous ones that Sigurd snorted in astonishment.

"My arm?" A growl broke out of his throat as he forced himself to straighten up, leaving your side, his arm unconsciously touching the wound. "According to Valka, the skin is slowly starting to close... Sometimes it hurts, sometimes itches... most of the time it's like I still feel the -"

From the side you saw him biting his lip through his red beard, distant eyes wandering over the shimmering surface of the water. You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers together, pulling your body closer to his.

“It’s healing. Slowly, with a lot of care and time it will heal completly. Just the same, you will feel better over time. You can trust the clan, you can trust me— we will stand by you every step of the way.”

You turned to each other; pulling your legs up, you knelt on the pier so you could finally be at head level with Sigurd. Even in the darkness of the night, you could make out his sparkling, soft gaze, as his eyes scanned your features, mapping out what kind of meaning you wanted to give to your words.

Tingling waves ran over your skin as you finally felt Sigurd's warmth and the solidity of his body again; the fact that you could finally hold him in your arms made your heart skip a beat.

Without a moment's hesitation, your Jarl wrapped his arms around your waist, nuzzling his cold nose into the crook of your neck, resting his forehead on your shoulder.

You have been missing this feeling for a very long time. You missed him. Now, it's as if a little piece of your heart has returned to you again, as your body has absorbed the love and care of the moment.

Sigurd didn't answer, but he didn't need to- you already knew what he wanted to express, what he wanted to show you, even though his wounds crippled his voice for now.

"We'll get through this." You sighed, fingers coming to comb through his long braid. "We'll get through this together."

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frenchoravocadotoast · 10 months ago

Text

Hytham headcanons

Hytham (AC Valhalla) x GN!reader

Word count: 1078

A/N's note: I've been meaning to write about Hytham these past few weeks! Have some headcanons while I finish reading The Golden City :) (it got a bit angsty at the end)

Hytham’s love languages are gift giving and quality time. Hear me out.

He's pretty quiet (compared to the rowdy Vikings, at least), but true to his creed, he watches everything and everyone like a hawk. This applies to you too.

Hytham is willing to wait when he starts to grow interested in someone. He’d much rather approach them only once he feels like he’s gotten to know them both from the inside and the outside. I don’t see him seeking his crush out from the very beginning – he prefers bonding with them over time and seeing where things go.

Do not be fooled by his acting. Whether he’s cackling at a joke, dining at the longhouse or target practicing, Hytham is sure to be eavesdropping on your conversation. If you’re nearby, that is. This doesn’t mean that he’s spying on you specifically – he tends to strain his ears (like all Hidden Ones do, really), and sometimes, if he��s lucky, he might just hear your voice.

When he does, he smiles to himself.

You’re good friends with Eivor, and often accompany her on her errands around the village. This has led you to the bureau multiple times, and Hytham is always caught off guard by the unexpected visit.

“🧍🏾‍♂️Oh. Good evening.”

You like the place, it’s cozy and the man isn’t bad company either. So you stay, and even if there’s other parchments he needs to finish before sunset, Hytham perks up at the chance to answer any question you might have (grinning and kicking his feet when you show interest in the creed).

So that’s where you spend time together. Celebrations in Ravensthorpe are also guaranteed to lure him out of his cove – you’ll be sure to find him letting loose and coming out of his shell more. His favorite game is apple bobbing, and he’s determined to win everytime – but despite his competitive streak, he might pretend to lose if he’s going up against you.

As for gift giving, it doesn’t evolve into actual physical gifts until later on (he thinks that’d be way too obvious). Instead, his first ‘gifts’ are things you might need.

Whether you have experience in fighting/self-defense or not, Hytham hints at the training yard he and Basim use. He invites you to use it whenever you please (you can pummel the dummies for a bit, as long as you put them back in their place); and if you have no experience whatsoever, he’ll gladly teach you some things.

You don’t get to have your own hidden blade though. Sorry (ask Basim for one)

But you can try his! Just don’t die.

If you do somehow get injured, you can have the medicine he’s made. It’s all yours.

Interested in a particular topic? He probably has a book about it at the bureau (or he’ll find it somehow, don’t ask) and will gladly let you take it.

Teaches you how to do the leap of faith. If you pull his leg just like Eivor did and don’t leave the haystack, I think he’d have a similar reaction.

“Very funny. You can come out now.”

“We are so not doing this rn.”

“Please.”

“Please, Basim will kill me.”

Things start to shift when you see the signs. You crack a joke with your friends and notice Hytham’s already looking at you with a soft smile. You tell him your pouch is broken, and remember the beautiful purse you’d once seen at a market in Lunden. Days later, coincidentally, Eivor brings you a beautiful leather pouch from the same city (hint: it wasn’t Eivor’s idea). You also find him playing hide and seek with the Norse children outside, and he urges you to join.

You start testing out your theories. When spring comes, you comment on the beauty of the blooming flowers and he’s immediately crouched down, going through every plant in your vicinity to tell you everything he knows about them. By the end, you have a large bouquet of flowers in your hands.

Eivor sees this, and jokingly tells Hytham he should get some purple ones and smack you in the face with them (a courting tradition amongst Vikings). Needless to say he’s mortified.

Random secret: he knows how to make flower crowns – his mother taught him when he was younger.

He’s giving you instructions as you weave the stems together, and you can’t help but feel his eyes glancing repeatedly between your hands and face.

It’s not until Ravensthorpe is attacked that you’re forced to face your feelings. The ambush is bad – there is no escape as the docks are on fire, and arrows are whizzing past you no matter where you run. Whether you’re a villager, a sage, or a warrior doesn’t really matter. It’s the kind of attack where you’re certain your next stop is going to be Valhalla.

But then the clashing of swords stop. The last enemy falls to their knees, and through the smoke and the ringing in your ears, you hear the roaring victory of your people.

Sigurd and Basim are looting the bodies. Eivor is opening the longhouse where the villagers have barricaded themselves. But you don’t catch sight of Hytham, not until you see him emerge from the woods along with the other Drengr. His white robes are flapping in the wind, his sword dripping with blood, and he’s holding his side as he grimaces. So you run to him.

He sheathes his weapon when he sees you alive and well, eyes darting all over your face as if scanning for injuries; and before you can say anything, he cups your face and locks his lips with yours.

Congrats! You’re now dating.

Basim tells you and Eivor something enigmatic months before his sudden betrayal. Hytham’s happiness is clearly reason for his gratitude, and no matter how much you insist that Ravensthrope is Basim’s home too, you’re only rewarded with a wry smile from the assassin.

It’s months later, when you’re sitting in the empty bureau with Hytham, that you reason Basim must have known. You watch as Hytham grips the table and rakes his hands through his hair, how he paces the room when he’s not squeezing your hand. He questions everything when you realize Basim must have known all this time – must have known that he wasn’t going to stay, that his apprentice would be alright. That Hytham would be happy in Ravensthorpe. And thus, you make sure it stays that way.