#bread-making-vikings

[macro-microcosm]

Description/transcription under a read more because there are so many images and I transcribed the entire reddit post.

For my two cents, I think this is all just a scam at best and at worst a bid for personal information. I don't think that there are any actual products being sold here, just oblique jokes meant to mock the trans community and attempts at preying on the vulnerable.

As for the aforementioned TERF, well, the identity of the owner was traced to a Neo-Nazi. Oopsie poopsie.

[Image descriptions:

First image: A paid tweet from Twitter user QueerQuirk.com (@TheQueerQuirk). It reads: "We're officially the [plug emoji] to get HRT style pills without a doctor's note." Attached to the tweet is a link to estrolabs.com titled "I Can't Believe It's Not Estrogen | OTC alternative to estrogen pills."

Second image: A screen shot from the estrolabs website about the above-mentioned product. It reads: "And let's talk about the benefits! 'I Can't Believe It's Not Estrogen' is like your ver own magical, hormone-boosting fairy godmother. Whether you're hitting high notes in the voice pitch app, or casually perusing r/traaaaaaannnnnnnnnns while sneaking glances at your developing chest bumps, these estrogen-enhancing essentials are just the right spice to add to your transformation stew. So go ahead, mix it up, let 'I Can't Believe It's Not Estrogen' lead the cha-cha-cha of your life. After all, who needs a fairy godmother when you've got Ashwagandha by your side?"

Third image: A screen shot from the estrolabs website of the shop entry for a product called "Femboy Tummy Pills," costing $44.95 USD. The image of the product depicts a white bottle with a pink label with a purple-haired anime character on it with purple eyes, a yellow crescent moon clip, and black sweats, holding up the black crop-top-style sweater to show their flat stomach. The estrolabs logo above the character nearly runs off of the top of the label. Bold white text over the character reads "femboy tummy pills." Further text reads "with MCT." The image resolution is too low to read the remaining text on the label. There are 3 large white capsules in front of the bottle.

Third and fourth images: Screenshots of part of a reddit post. It reads:

"This website is selling a product they call 'I can't believe it's not estrogen' and the marketing is clearly such that it is targeted at transgender women who do not have access to hormone therapy. There are testimonials claiming how well it works and all kinds of other nonsense.

Ashwaghanda as a natural root/drug raises your normal levels of LH. Luteinizing hormone acts on whatever gonads you have to increase their output.

As a result, a pre-HRT transgender woman taking the supplement would literally produce more testosterone on it than they would normally produce, inducing the literal opposite effects of what is advertised.

This has been sent to me now by both a friend and a patient asking if it was a good idea for them to take to help with their transition. It is not, not only is it terrible for an MTF that's pre-HRT, it's just a flat-out evil and cruel thing to do.

Normally I don't make warnings on stuff like this but this is trending on Twitter right now and I want to make sure that nobody that comes here is ever fooled by some nonsense like this. Please be very careful when it comes to taking supplements that can alter your hormones.

This post they have made, it's been viewed over a million times. I shudder to think how many people who don't have access to gender affirming therapy or who have lost it in states like Florida will be fooled by this and end up making their situation even worse so that someone else can profit off of their suffering.

Supplements that claim that they will boost your estrogen often do the exact inverse effect if you are an MTF because the way that they function is to increase the output of gonads. So for cisgender women, yes, that is exactly what it will do. But if you have testicles, it's just going to make you make more testosterone.

Link to their Twitter post: {link.}

Edit: finally Twitter is starting to show some evidence that this would do the exact opposite of what it's claiming to do."

Fifth image: A presumably AI-generated image of a black person. Their hair is in long pink, red and purple dreads, they are wearing a floral button-up shirt under a pink-and-black plaid jacket and a silver necklace. They are wearing dark lipstick. One of their eyes has pink and purple eye shadow with a thinner brow and eye shape than their other, unmade eye. Their shirt merges in a fleshy-and-floral-colored blur into a black, geometric tattoo on their neck that appears to read "EAIUE."

End descriptions.]

This site has been going around Twitter trans accounts quite a bit lately, so just pointing out here too that it'll do fuck all, they're exploiting trans people at a time when hrt is particularly hard to access and please don't give them your money

[ayliffe]

17

devil - moon walker

[evilwriter37]

I like to think that Stoick actually gave a bunch of ingredients to Hiccup to make bread. “You may have killed the biggest dragon, I think you should stick to bread making for a while when your leg is healing.”

Okay, that’s a funny image. I love it!

[lilybug-02]

Ever heard about viking blood bread.

Oh what the actual hell.

They-they put blood in bread 💀 more power to ‘em I guess. It says it’s good in broth so I’m more down for that I guess…

[accki]

told my family if i could only nail the accent, i'd be a KILLER medieval or viking reenactor and they all stared at me with disappointment

[homunculus-argument]

Why is it always "born in the wrong generation"? What if this is the better option you got? What if you were born to be a 1950s lounge singer or a 1300s weaver and already had a lifetime of that, doing what you love to do and what you do best, and spent the whole time thinking "I wish I could do this in a better time, where I could do it more freely from the bottom of my heart, and not have to worry about the things that hold me back"?

You get to make soap with ingredients the soapmakers a thousand years ago could not have dreamed of combining. You get to work with fabrics an ordinary tailor could never have gotten their hands on. Write the gayest love poetry in iambic pentameter without having to worry of being tried for sodomy. Hell, you could have eight kids and bake bread while barefoot without worrying how many of your runts survive to adulthood.

You can draw designs for stained glass windows that the church would never let you, and instead of thinking how your talents would have been groundbreaking back in the day and how they are wasted now, you can imagine how a thousand years ago you may have been drawing the same designs, thinking "I wish I could just do this without having to worry about viking raids and the plague."

[drgnflyteabox]

red ochre [1]

series masterlist part one -> minium || part two -> woad and weld

pairing: viking goap x fem! nun reader summary: you become the unlikely treasure of two vikings who raid your convent looking for gold w.c: 4.3k tags/warnings: religious themes (DLDR), minor suicidal ideation, mention of viking raids (slavery, violence, death), kidnapping, threats, dubcon bathing + touching, mean simon (ish), established goap, reader is underfed and beaten in the convent (corporal punishment), difficult travel, some food description

Near the coast the wind scratches at you when it blows, full of sand and salt.

Once, you'd imagined this as your calling; committed to asceticism, married to God, serving under the abbess. Enclosed, you find yourself stifled more than devoted, pressing your face to the stone barrier that blocks the convent from the outside world.

Isolation, never being quite full, the slow and steady stripping of your identity. This is your life - hollowed out, like meat sucked from a crab, cracked open and used and hollow.

You couldn't have predicted Christ to be such an inconsiderate husband.

"Girl!" the voice is the crack of a whip in empty air. You don't jump, but the hair on your body raises, the welts on your thighs sting.

"Yes, mother?" you put your chin down to your chest, turning, pressing your back to the wall. Demure, submissive, utterly devoid of fight. And still, her grip finds you hard as iron and rough as the rock you'd just been touching, pulling you hard enough to make your shoulder ache back toward the heavy wood doors of the dormitory.

"You shirk your duties again, child? Leave your sisters to pick up your slack?" you didn't mean to, truly. It's only that you ache so deeply you're afraid you might never recover from the feeling.

"Please forgive me, mother, I lost track of time," you murmur. Your uniform is damp from the spray outside, and you relish in the scent and feel of it. Freedom, that's what it is. "Allow me to make up for-"

"Hush!" spit touches your cheek. You don't wipe it away. "You'll finish the tapestry tonight. No matter how long it takes you."

Desperately, you wish for God to strike you down. If you're there, father. You close your eyes. Please, please kill me now.

He doesn't listen, and the abbess pushes you to supper.

Dark bread, boiled turnips, fish and wine. Average, filling, but you'd hoped for more of the crumbly white cheese from yesterdays supper.

You know not to complain. And truly, you are grateful. With your family, it had been gruel upon gruel, often bear, and rarely flavour. Salt kisses your tongue now, and the wine makes your sore muscles relax.

The monks have it harder; you'd visited them once as a girl with your father to pray, but there was still labour to be done here. Cooking was often your job, as was doing the washing and the tilling for the vegetable garden.

Today sister Colette had assigned you weaving so that you wouldn't be out of practice. The muscles in your back and fingers ached from it already, and dread made your stomach sour to the food you ate at the thought of more work.

Mealtimes were quiet, as required. The other women eat mousily, looking down at their plates and pulling their food apart into small little bites, trying to make it last. Obedience, poverty. How silly it was now that you'd dreamed of this.

"Sister?" a whisper, next to you. Margaret was almost a friend, too pious to really confide in but so kind it was impossible to ignore her. "What were you doing?"

"I felt compelled," you shrug, lips oily from the fish. "I felt confined."

"Oh sister," Margaret pushes her bottom lip out, dark eyebrows pulling up. "You should never feel confined here."

You knew, and yet you did. It was like living in a stone coffin. All the work felt pointless since your heart had strayed from God. Even now, touching Margaret's elbow to comfort her in her worry for you, you're sick to death of even clearing plates.

There was one secret they hadn't found. None of the sisters, not even the abbess, had found your secret booklet.

Paper was more valuable than gold since the church needed so much to copy and produce texts. The writing room at the very top of the convent, where you were so seldomly asked, was full of it and guarded by lock and key.

Over months, you'd scrounged, stealing enough to make a booklet. In it, you felt sustained. Free. Titillated, sometimes, when your hand found its way beneath your soft worn blanket under your shift and you drew indecent drawings of men coming to save you. Of the farmboys from your village.

They were nothing like real art, not so detailed, but they lit inside you a spark of life. Without them, you'd be snuffed out.

Candles line the hallway toward the workroom, where you'll likely spend the rest of the night. It's near the very entrance of the convent, so that visitors may see the sisters hard at work and find reason to donate.

Really, it's a temptation. Those massive doors, ready to open and let you free.

But what could you do, really? If God were a kind man and Christ a good husband, they'd turn you into a horse so that you might run, might feel your hooves beating the earth and the coarse air on your skin.

Regrettably human, you sit to work on the tapestry. Curse the abbess and let the holy father hear your thoughts. This is worse than hell, you think. Your fingers cramp and the chair is hard, flat wood. It's made to be uncomfortable on purpose, everything is. After you finish you only have a thin mattress to look forward to, even thoughts of drawing hunky carpenters doesn't draw you out of the misery that is embroidery in the dark.

Is this string strong enough to hold you, should you hang yourself? You're being dramatic, but you feel you've earned the right.

Footsteps walk down the hall towards you. They're sure, heavy. Maybe sister Catharine, tall and splendid, is coming to release you from torment?

"Hello," you say jovially. Please be sister Catharine.

"Look what we've got here, Ghost," it's a male voice. You freeze. The accent is unfamiliar. Had you missed the visit of a monk, an abbot, a priest? "Darlin' little lass, all by herself."

Shivers overtake you. It hurts to straighten from your hunched position, but you have to do it to see properly.

You come face to face with a skull, towering over you from the doorway.

A scream builds, filling your chest, hanging off the tip of your tongue.

Stopped only by the glint of candlelight against a blade, and the quickness of the another man reaching you.

You shake, all sound stuck in your throat, feeling arms as strong as petrified wood circle your arms and pull you toward the door. The pressure, the scrape of rock against your feet, it's unreal and barely registered against the terror that builds when you look to your left and see the skull, sewn into cloth, with the soft clank of bones hanging from his waist.

His eyes find yours, dead and mellow in the eyesockets, piercing through you. Blood rushes through your ears, deafening you, until you leave the room and reality sets in.

Devils, come to sack the convent.

Who will likely kill you and all your sisters. Even the abbess, with her punishment cane and severe face, doesn't deserve that.

You shriek, finding your voice, twisting like a cat in a bag. Their hands tighten against you, growling orders at you to be still, girl.

It's then that you hear the cries, the crashes. Sounds of chaos, a cacophony of harsh voices and the search of the convent. Some of the women weep, some pray, you scream.

"Hey!" Skull snaps, shaking you hard. "Behave and we won't kill you." You comprehend that, but the animal urge to struggle for your life still has a grip on you.

The other man twists towards you, lips snarling. "Ye want to die, then? I'm not opposed to slitting ye open throat to cunt, if that's what ye prefer."

You still, sag, mouth turning downwards in misery. Sweat sticks to your skin, from fear and exertion.

"Good girl," Skull says.

The nuns have been crowded back into the dining room, cowed and cowering, trembling lambs against the storm of awful armoured men ravaging the sanctity of the space.

Some have already found gold, crosses and busts of saints and reliquaries. The abbess weeps to see the bust of Mother Mary, thrown so roughly to the ground that baby Jesus snaps off.

You watch it all happening, eyes wide, shaking despite yourself. Adrenaline makes your legs cramp in their position, curled, back to back with another sister.

"Cap," a younger man runs up, hands full with an ornate chest. "What'cha think of this one?"

"Lookit this one," the man from earlier is giddy, slapping the young one on the back. He holds St Augustine, gilded in gold and jewels. "Not too shabby, eh, Gaz?"

"Not too shabby at all," Gaz grins back at him, turning towards the third man.

"Good job, boys," he says. He's mustached, tall, steadier and calmer than the rest. A leader, clearly.

It smells of smoke, or blood, but you can't see anyone bleeding.

Maybe that's their natural scent, violence clinging to them cloying like they'd bathed in it before coming.

"Soap," Gaz calls. He's run through the library, tossing shelves to the ground, taking one or two books. Walked through the dormitories, throwing open the chests at the ends of each bed. "Take a look at this one!"

A little booklet. Your booklet, tiny in the hand of the devil.

Anxiety crawls up your spine. There's no way they'd know it was yours, but you're still afraid of another kind of raiding, should they discover your sin.

The men laugh, looking with hungry eyes, glinting, mouths stretched and wet.

Look at the ground, be quiet, be still. You want to survive, you want to draw again and feel the air against your skin. You're scared of these men, huge and muscled as they are.

They wear furs, leather, clinking chainmail, wrapped shoes. Weapons hang by their sides and are clutched firmly in hands, though no nuns nor abbesses have been harmed.

Yet.

"Gold ain't the only treasure, eh?" Soap looks down at you while others use pillowcases for bags, stuffing their bounty inside with loud clangs.

His foot nudges your thigh, and you shift away as much as possible, still looking away, still scared.

Skull comes back. Soap calls him over and calls him Ghost, so you switch the name in your head.

Ghost is big, but he glides through the air.

"See that, Ghost?" Soap nudges him, the way he nudged you. Eyes crazed.

"Mm," Ghost grunts. He hasn't looted, not like the others. Just walked through the halls and gathered one or two other stray nuns shuddering in various corners. "You want 'er?"

You blanch, breath leaving you.

"Can we?" He looks back at you and leans down, thick fingers finding your chin, tilting your face up. "Pretty little hen, so scared, aren't ye?"

"Take 'er."

With Ghosts permission, Soap moves his fingers from your face to the meat of your arms, dragging you up, using your stupor to help him.

"Dinnae worry, hen, we'll take good care of ye," it's not reassuring. You think you feel your knees hitting each other from the force of your shaking. "Awe, don't cry."

Two rivers have sprouted form your eyes, tracking searing hot salt down your cheeks, hands twisting in your habit.

The men regroup. You were right about the mustached man being a leader, and learn his name is Price. He commands them like any armyman you've ever seen, clearly holds a lot of authority.

You're the only nun that's a part of the spoils.

The only one tied with coarse rope around the wrists, chafing, tossed between Soap and Gaz through the convent until you reach those big wooden doors.

Those doors you'd dreamed about opening, those doors that you dread opening now.

"Keep walking," Gaz says. He's mellower than the others, but you'd be a fool to underestimate him.

Or ask him for help.

Reality hasn't set. You're in purgatory, stumbling across the wet grass in just wool socks, growing wetter by the minute from mist and dew. The men hoot and cheer and clank their gold, throwing fists and weapons in the air.

A bloodless victory, unless they change their mind and decide to kill you.

Soap jumps, accidentally pulling you forward in a jerk that brings you to your knees. The tears come back, and the pebbles nearing the beach digging into your knees makes you sob.

"Careful!" Ghost barks. Behind you, he reaches under your armpits and helps you up. His hands are still rough, but he lets go of you quickly to yank the rope out of Soaps hands. It doesn't help that it's still near-pitch outside, not yet morning, hard to see.

"Ach," he rubs a hand behind his head, watching you cry and walk like a deadwoman. "Got a little over-excited, darlin. Forgive me."

"I'll be better to ye, don't worry," he falls in beside you, using a knuckle to brush away your tears.

When you reach the beach, you see a few boats, supplies, but that's all. No camp, nowhere to sleep. Did they jump straight from the boats, marching up the hill to the convent to pillage?

God, they're so big. Warriors. Why just you?

"Right," Price calls them to attention. You're stuck next to Ghost, sniffling, shivering a little, praying mentally for the first time in a long time. Dear God, please help me, please strike these men dead and let me run back up the hill.

You miss what Price says, whispering under your breath with your eyes closed and palms together until Ghost puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes you forward again.

"Walk, then get on the boat," his voice is a growl.

"Dinnae worry," Soap chips in. "We brought meat."

They did - dried fish hangs like your laundry across each boats. The gold is loaded alongside you, stuffed to one side, and you're left trying to avoid the men tossing things in your direction.

Ghost ties your wrists to a wooden loop on the side of the boat.

It was built for this. For prisoners, slaves, taken in conquest.

"Ready?"

"Ready!"

Price shouts, the men answer. It's loud, a cacophony of voices and waves and the scrape of the boat against the sand.

You're going, going, gone. Floating. Adrift. Tied to the side of a viking ship with nothing but your thick, woolen habit and woolen socks. At least they provide some warmth, the air colder over the water.

Eyes look you up and down, not just from the two that took you. Gaz smiles to himself and punches Soap in the thigh, then they play wrestle.

You wonder what will happen to you- are you being taken as a slave? A prize?

The positive side to your time spend as a nun is that you know how to work, and you know that if something awful happens, you could find a way to meet God early and put yourself down.

Blood rushes in your ears again.

You register from somewhere outside of yourself that you're panicking again, caught wanting to run and having nowhere to do it. Tied down.

A hand touches your nape, and you turn with wild eyes and desperation all over your face to Ghost.

"Take a breath," he says, low enough that only you hear it, firm and commanding. "In and out, girl. Do it."

You do, if only to save yourself passing out. In and out, in and out, you breathe.

"That's it," he leans down, brown eyes finding yours. The skull is bleached yellow, old, but you try to ignore it. "You're alright."

"No I'm not," you shock the both of you by speaking, voice high and wavering. "I'm not, you're going to kill me or worse-"

"You think we'd take you just to kill you?"

"You're a heathen, aren't you?" you gasp again, wiping your face on the fabric of your sleeves. "Sister Catharine says heathens sacrifice virgins. Please don't."

He startles you by laughing, a ragged thing ripped from his chest.

"Not gonna sacrifice you, lamb," his hand squeeze your nape, his thumb rubbing the edge of your jaw where he can reach. "Gonna be a long journey, you'd better settle now."

It's hell. You were mistaken before, and you'd do anything now to go back to embroidery. You'd let the abbess cane you bloody, you'd kneel and pray with the passion of Christ himself if it meant you could come off the boat.

The boat, the men. The godforsaken fish, too-salty, not much better than the biscuits Soap insists on feeding you by hand.

"Your hands are tied, pretty lamb, how are ye gonna feed yourself?" He breaks it up, wiping crumbs from your cheeks.

You hope Ghost will step in, but he doesn't. He watches, a specter, still wearing that mask on his face. You wonder if it's because of you, or if he's just like that. Private, hidden. Intimidating.

"Open wide," Soap seems fond of holding your face, squishing your cheeks and puckering your lips. He's extra zealous since catching a sea-bird, keen on making you taste it.

The thought makes your stomach roil, despite being sick of the fish and biscuits. You turn your face, trying to avoid him, whimpering when he squeezes a little too hard.

"Come on, hen," he leans closer. "Fresh meat is good, no?"

"Johnny", Ghost saves you again, finally. Pulls on Johnny's shirt until he's sitting back on his heels. "Let her be."

"Awe, just wanna giv'er my catch, Si," if a heathenish, kidnapping devil could whine and pout like a child, it would look like this.

Horrific, is what it is. You tuck your face into your elbow and close your eyes.

You've been doing that most of the journey, closing your eyes and breathing deeply like Ghost taught you. Or Simon, what you've heard Johnny calling him.

Dread sneaks in every once in a while, wakes you up from fitful sleeps or seizes your ability to speak. Nobody else has spoken to you, not even Gaz who keeps glancing at you. Nobody but Simon and Johnny.

"Here," Simon says. You look up.

In his hand, an apple. Your eyes go wide, prickling, and you look even further up to him.

His eyes reveal nothing. Brown, flat.

"For me?" you ask.

"You see me offering it to anyone else?" from the corner of your eye, Soap is staring at you, smiling.

"I can have it?" an apple. You could dance. Days and days of travel after living in the same town and then the same convent to taken by force on a boar. An apple.

"Take it before I give it to Johnny," he grunts.

Suddenly, you feel a kinship with Eve.

Seasickness luckily doesn't affect you, and the melancholy is kept at bay by the apple. You think of it when you think you can't take anymore, remembering it's sweetness.

Simon becomes the safest person, and often if you feel scared your eyes find him.

When a minor storm rocks the boat, pelting rain, waves beating against the front, you tuck yourself close to his side and let Johnny take your hands into his.

Too easy to lean into them, to accept Johnny wiping your face gently with a cloth and eat fresh fish from Simons fingers. You're exhausted, and Simon doesn't push.

He just remains steadfast against chaos, even when Johnny fights with another one of the men and he has to pull them apart by their shirts.

"Si'down!" he barks, the loudest you've ever heard him. It makes you flinch, hiding again, until he sits heavily down beside you and you scoot as close as possible again.

"Not the smartest, are you?" he looks down. That hurts. You're just scared, is all. "Doesn't matter who's there, you'd cling right to them, wouldn't you?"

No, you want to say. But you just hide your face in your arms and cry again. You want to tell him the apple was special, that you know nobody else has one or got one, but you don't.

Your heart beats hard against your ribcage, that dread coming back again, feeling heavy and small under the weight of your predicament and his judgment.

"He didnae mean it," Johnny croons. He strokes your hair away from your face, thumbs finding your tense brows and smoothing them out. "We know you're a good girl. S'why we took ye."

You sniffle. The rocking of the boat has become both maddening and soothing.

You wonder when this journey will end.

Your clothes are stiff with salt, wetted and dried and re-wetted. Your skin itches, wrists burning, welts unhealed from before when the abbess has caught you sneaking mead.

She had accused you of indulgence, of trying to get drunk. Truthfully, you'd just liked the taste of honey and missed it.

Nuns didn't eat honey, at least not there. Cheese and wine were already over the top, God forbid anyone ate anything sweet. That's why you loved the apple, had held each bite long on your tongue, letting the sugars sit there a moment to savor them.

"Hey," someone nudges you, bringing you out of your half-sleep. Easier to be less conscious, less aware, trying not to feel your anguish and your physical pain. "Come on, get up. We're here."

"Hmm?" You're so tired, hissing and whimpering when your wrists are jostled.

Untied. They're being untired. Your head lifts too quickly, making you dizzy. Gaz is squatting in front of you, holding your leash.

"You awake?" he squints, tilting his head. "You look rough, sorry 'bout that. You good to stand?"

Too many questions. You're forced to lean on him heavily to try to stand. He's as solid as the others, just leaner. Kinder, honestly, as he mostly carries you off the longboat.

Muscles like a new foal, you take a seat on the soft wet sand and slump onto a crate. It's a struggle to walk on solid ground.

Men move around you, dumping and lifting and talking. Less excited than the last time they were on the beach, but there's still a buzz aflutter.

"Can I bring'er up?" Johnny is looking at you, his hand on Simon's forearm. Their affection is the quiet kind, something you only noticed the last couple days of the journey. Small touches, murmurs.

"Go ahead," Simon touches him back, moving towards Price when Johnny comes towards you.

"Awe, lamb," he coos, hauling you up with an arm around his shoulder. His other arm goes to hold your waist, squeezing. "Dinnae worry, I'll get ye in a bath soon 'nough."

He's not lying - after a painful, difficult walk, you make it to a wooden cabin. Looking around, there are a few of similar make, a little town.

"Go on in then, sweet hen," he pushes you just enough for you to shuffle your feet in the door.

Modest wooden furniture greets you, a one-room house with a large bed, fireplace, and table. The rest is beyond you once you spot the tub.

"Sit, let me get it ready for ye."

You nearly fall asleep, or maybe you do, because when you open your eyes Johnny has steaming water filled to halfway in the tub, wooden slats fragrant. He's crumbling a dried flower in as well, humming to himself.

"Alright, s'ready," he helps you up again. Modesty is forgotten, you're too tired and weary to care when he slips the woolen habit off and leaves you in a plain shift, finally untying your wrists. "Pretty girl." He says it under his breath, like he can't help it.

The water is better than the apple. You hiss when it touches your wounds, your sore muscles.

You're tired to your marrow, could weep about it, eyes still opening and closing. Around you, Johnny searches through various bags and chests until he finds a bar of soap.

The soap is better than the water.

"Feels good?" he whispers, dipping his hands in and lathering up. How he's up and about, you have no idea. Even his hands near your bare breasts don't phase you - that's how wiped you are.

"S'good," you mumble. "Thought I ws'gonna die."

"We wouldn't've let that happen, sweet girl. Too precious, our treasure," a kiss, on your shoulder. He rubs the soap on your skin, your arms and down to your fingers, washing them each one by one.

"N'ver want to do that again," and then, because you forget he's your captor. "Please."

The attention is soft, patient. The soap washes away salt and dirt and sweat, even tears when he wipes your face with a rag. This is a second baptism, a better one, with gentle hands massaging your scalp and the barest brush against your nipples.

"Sit up," he pushes you forward, rinses your hair, washes your back while you're there.

The rag swipes over your cunt when he gets there, once, twice, eyes boring into you. Your exhaustion mutes the squeeze of anxiety in your chest, closing your eyes to avoid his gaze.

"Right, all done," he helps you back out and into a long, thin shift.

The bed is soft, so soft, covered in furs and actually stuffed enough to cradle your body. You sink into it immediately, just barely registering the door opening again.

"She asleep?" It's Simon, carrying luggage.

"Aye," Johnny says. You hear them kiss, wondering if they think you're asleep. "Anything else?"

"No," he's gruff, to-the-point. Drops bags in the corner with a clank and a chest by the door with a thud. "She give you trouble?"

"Sweet as a lamb, our girl," he sounds proud.

You open your eyes, one last attempt at self-preservation, and see them looking down at you.

Simon swipes a thumb over your cheek, under your eye, still wearing the skull.

"It's alright, go to sleep," he murmurs. Johnny leans his head on Simons shoulder. "Perfect girl, knew we did good takin' you."

[gloomwitchwrites]

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[zapreportsblog]

❝army of ivarrsons❞

✭ pairing : ivar the boneless x reader

✭ fandom : vikings

✭ summary : ivar has always thought of himself to be a failure of a man, his legs did not work like an normal man, his prick did not work. The only thing he was good for was being a prince and a warrior though he wasn’t all that good at being even those in his eyes, but then along came a woman. One so pure, so beautiful she looked to be a goddess amongst men. And with those sweet words she spoke “I will bare you many sons ivar the boneless.”

✭ authors note : I have requests closed as y’all seen but it’s only temporarily, haven’t really been up to writing and seeing as how I had many ideas in mind for stories I thought fuck it let’s try again

The morning sun cast a golden glow over the great hall of Ivar's family estate, illuminating the long wooden table laden with bread, cheese, and freshly caught fish. Ivar sat at the head of the table, his older brother Sigurd to his right. As usual, Sigurd couldn't resist testing his patience.

"Good morrow, brother," Sigurd teased, a wicked glint in his eye. "Have you finally learned how to eat without spilling half your breakfast on your tunic?"

Ivar clenched his jaw, determined to keep his composure. Their sibling rivalry had existed for as long as he could remember, and it showed no signs of waning. He forced a strained smile. "I'm making progress, Sigurd, unlike some."

Before the exchange could escalate further, the heavy wooden doors of the great hall swung open with a thunderous crash. A thrall, gasping for breath and drenched in sweat, stumbled into the room. The hushed conversations ceased, and all eyes turned to the intruder.

Ivar rose from his seat, ready to reprimand the thrall for her lack of decorum, but before he could utter a word, she dropped to her knees, her head bowed low.

"Forgive me, my lords," the thrall panted, her voice trembling. "I bring urgent news."

Ivar exchanged puzzled glances with Sigurd. Urgent news was a rarity in their peaceful corner of the world. He gestured for the thrall to continue.

She raised her head, revealing wide, terrified eyes. "Freya herself has come and blessed us. She walks among us."

The words hung in the air like a spell, and a collective gasp swept through the hall. Ivar's skepticism wrestled with the growing sense of anticipation. Gods did not simply descend from the heavens to walk among mortals.

Before he could question the thrall further, the great hall erupted into chaos. The guests and servants rushed toward the entrance, shoving past each other in their eagerness to catch a glimpse of the so-called Freya. Ivar, however, moved reluctantly through the crowd, his curiosity piqued despite his reservations.

And there she stood, in the center of the throng, an ethereal vision that defied belief. Freya, if that truly was her name, had luscious hair that billowed in the wind, eyes that seemed to hold both otherworldly wisdom and untold mysteries. Her face was mature but agelessly youthful, her features mirroring the very essence of a Viking legend. It was as if the stories of the gods themselves had come to life.

The hall was filled with awe-struck whispers as people fell to their knees, proclaiming that the gods had indeed come to pay them a visit.

Amidst the reverence, Freya's gaze found Ivar's, and she offered him a serene smile. A shiver ran down his spine as their eyes locked. Something unspoken passed between them.

"We have much to talk about," she said, her voice carrying a mysterious weight that left Ivar both uneasy and captivated.

As the crowd continued to kneel and worship the divine presence before them, Ivar couldn't help but wonder what secrets this so-called Freya held and how her arrival would reshape their world.

Ivar stood alongside his older brothers, Sigurd, Hvitserk, and Ubba, each of them caught between awe and skepticism as they gazed upon the enigmatic woman who claimed to be Freya. The hall had fallen into reverent silence, save for the murmurs of those who dared to question her divine presence.

"Are you truly the goddess Freya?" Sigurd finally ventured to ask, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and curiosity.

Freya, or the woman who bore her name, smiled, but her response held an air of mystery. "My face holds many names, Freya may just be one of them."

The brothers exchanged glances, unsure of what to make of her cryptic words. It was Ubba who stepped forward, his towering frame casting a shadow over the ethereal figure before them. "Why have you come to bless us, then?" he inquired, his tone respectful but inquisitive. "If I may ask without sounding rude."

The woman, who had introduced herself as (Y/N), let out a melodic laugh that echoed through the hall. "Rude? Not at all, dear Ubba. You see, I am here for Ivar."

Ivar's heart skipped a beat as all eyes turned toward him. He had been prepared for many things this day, but not for such a direct and unsettling revelation. He struggled to find his voice. "For me?"

(Y/N) nodded, her enigmatic smile never faltering. "Yes, for you, Ivar. If you were to accept me into your home, I would bear you many healthy children."

The words hung in the air, pregnant with meaning and implications that Ivar could hardly fathom. The weight of her gaze bore down on him, as if she could see into the depths of his soul. It was a proposition unlike any other, one that would reshape not only his destiny but that of his family and people as well.

Sigurd couldn't suppress the unease that gnawed at his heart. He looked from his brothers to (Y/N), his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Why him, and not one of us?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of bitterness.

(Y/N) met Sigurd's gaze with an unwavering serenity. "You are all favored by the gods," she began, her voice carrying an air of wisdom. "But Ivar, he is favored above all. The accomplishments you will face, the children you will bear into this world—they will be great, but not as great as his."

The revelation left Sigurd and his brothers exchanging troubled glances. It was a difficult truth to accept, that their destinies were preordained and that Ivar's path would surpass theirs. But even in the midst of their uncertainty, (Y/N) offered a glimpse of hope.

Ubba, ever the one to voice the unasked questions, spoke next. "If you are truly Freya," he began cautiously, "then how come you are here with us and not your husband, the Allfather? I do not wish to be rude, but you are married to Odin, are you not? Yet you speak of carrying my brothers' children."

(Y/N) smiled, her eyes holding a mixture of fondness and sadness. "Odin and I have long since split," she explained. "But for the sake of the other gods, we remain faithful to one another—just not in the way one would think."

The brothers exchanged another set of glances, their minds trying to grasp the complexities of divine relationships and the implications of (Y/N)'s presence in their lives.

Amidst the questions and uncertainties, Ivar felt a wave of insecurity washing over him. He couldn't help but voice his doubt, his voice laden with self-deprecation. "You should choose one of my brothers or someone else," he said, his tone laced with a mix of humility and resignation. "They are able men and can do all the things a woman would need in a man. You don't deserve a cripple like me."

(Y/N) turned his head gently, making him meet her gaze once more. Her smile remained, unwavering. "But yet I chose you."

The words held a weight that Ivar struggled to comprehend. In that moment, he couldn't help but wonder if he truly understood the depths of the path that lay ahead, one where gods and mortals intertwined in ways he had never imagined.

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, Ivar found himself giving in to the uncharted territory that (Y/N) had brought into his life. The same night they met, they wed an impromptu ceremony all of Kattegat’s members and held a extravagant feast of celebration.

Now, in the dimly lit chamber, amidst the cheers and laughter, the newlyweds were about to partake in the bedding ceremony. Ivar couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as he apologized, his voice tremulous. "I'm not very good at this," he admitted, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment.

(Y/N) leaned in close, her eyes holding a comforting reassurance. "You'll do just fine," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. "I've seen how your first time went, my dearest ivar. It is normal to be nervous, especially when it's not the one you truly want."

Ivar felt a surge of relief wash over him. Her understanding words eased his doubts, and he let himself surrender to the passion that simmered between them.

Throughout the night, their love-making was fervent, passionate, and filled with a longing that transcended mere physical desire. The hours blurred together, and the dawn found them entwined, their bodies and souls intimately connected.

The next morning, Ivar awoke with a grin that was unusually happy for the stoic prince. Ubba, his older brother, noticed the change in his demeanor and couldn't help but inquire, "Did something happen to Sigurd, brother?" He assumed that Ivar might have witnessed their brother's misfortune or a rejection.

Ivar chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Nothing of that sort, brother."

Not long after both brothers had been joined by Floki - a member close to their family especially their father and seen as another father figure to ivar, for breakfast, the trio exchanged casual conversation, and Ivar's newfound happiness was hard to conceal. In the midst of a seemingly mundane conversation about the weather, Ivar couldn't contain himself any longer.

"I must share some news," he declared, his voice ringing with confidence. "Last night, I performed well in bed. Every round, to the very end."

Ubba, caught off guard, nearly choked on his mead. Floki raised an eyebrow, intrigued but nevertheless proud by the sudden announcement. "Is that so, Ivar?"

While Ubba struggled to contain his astonishment, he managed to offer a hearty congratulations to his brother, even if a tinge of bitterness lingered. The doubts that had plagued Ivar, the assumptions made by his brothers, had all been dispelled in the passionate hours he had shared with (Y/N).

It had been just a week since Ivar and (Y/N) had wed, but the news that swept through the village was enough to send everyone into celebration. (Y/N), still affectionately referred to as Freya by the villagers, was pregnant with the heir of Ivar, the prince of Kattegat.

Upon hearing the news, Ivar wasted no time in throwing a grand feast to celebrate this momentous occasion. The great hall was adorned with banners and torches, and the long tables were laden with the finest foods and meads. It was a joyous occasion, and the entire village turned out to celebrate the impending arrival of their future leader.

Throughout the festivities, Ivar's attentiveness to his wife was unmistakable. He was by (Y/N)'s side at every turn, anticipating her needs before she even voiced them. If she desired a drink, he would fetch it for her or have a thrall pour it with haste. When she wanted more meat, he ensured her plate was overflowing with it. And when she complained of stiffness in her shoulders and back from the long hours of celebration, he was there to ease the tension, his strong hands working wonders on her weary muscles.

Everyone could see the happiness that (Y/N) brought into Ivar's life, and it was evident in every glance, every gesture, and every tender touch between them. Despite the brevity of their marriage, their connection was undeniable, and it had only grown stronger with the promise of a child.

As the night wore on, and the revelry continued, Ivar found himself in a state of contentment he had never known before. With (Y/N) by his side and the prospect of fatherhood on the horizon, he couldn't help but look to the future with hope and excitement. The people of Kattegat watched their prince with admiration, knowing that he was not only a formidable leader but also a devoted husband, eagerly anticipating the arrival of his heir.

The months had went by swiftly and soon the long-awaited day had arrived. The air in the room was filled with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety as (Y/N) prepared to give birth to Ivar's heir. The labor had been long and exhausting, pushing (Y/N) to her limits, but she persevered with unwavering strength and determination. Ivar stood by her side, providing constant support and encouragement, never leaving her sight.

As the hours turned into eternity, the cries of pain echoed through the room. The midwife worked diligently, guiding (Y/N) through each contraction, offering words of comfort and reassurance. By her side, Ivar held her hand tightly, his eyes never leaving her face. He could see the strain etched upon her features but admired her resilience in the face of such intense pain.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the moment arrived. The cries of a newborn filled the room, and tears of relief streamed down (Y/N)'s face. Ivar's heart swelled with joy as he looked upon the tiny face of his firstborn son. The room seemed to glow with an ethereal light, as if the gods themselves had blessed this moment.

"I am truly blessed by the gods," Ivar whispered, his voice filled with awe. "For I have a wife, the fairest of them all - the goddess Freya herself - in my arms, with my firstborn son, an heir. I never thought I would find such happiness, but I am grateful that I have."

(Y/N) smiled weakly, her eyes shining with love and exhaustion. She reached out a trembling hand to touch Ivar's cheek, her touch filled with tenderness and gratitude. "And I am blessed to have you, my dearest Ivar," she whispered. "You have given me strength and love beyond measure."

In that moment, the world outside ceased to exist, overshadowed by the miracle of new life. Ivar and (Y/N) found solace in each other's arms, cherishing the precious gift they had been given.

The midwife gently placed the newborn in (Y/N)'s arms, and Ivar marveled at the sight. His heir, his legacy, lay peacefully in his mother's embrace. There was a newfound sense of purpose and responsibility that settled upon Ivar's broad shoulders.

As he looked upon his wife and son, Ivar knew that he would protect and cherish them with all his might. He, a warrior feared by many, had found his greatest joy in the form of his family. With a heart filled with love and gratitude, Ivar vowed to be the father his son deserved, and not the man his own father had been.

Six years had passed since the day Ivar and (Y/N) had wed, and in that time, Ivar had become a force to be reckoned with. At the age of twenty-four, he had accomplished more than he had ever dreamed of. He had conquered lands, brought riches to Kattegat, and solidified his reputation as a formidable leader.

But it wasn't just his conquests that defined his success; it was the growing family he had built with (Y/N) by his side. Their firstborn, Arvid, had been a source of immense pride for Ivar, carrying the weight of being the heir to the throne. Following Arvid, twin boys named Audun and Axel had joined their family.

Their blessings continued with the birth of a daughter, Astride, who brought a new kind of joy into their lives. And after Astride, more sons had followed: Ase, Bodil, Dane, Ebbe, Eir, and Inge, each one a testament to the love and connection between Ivar and (Y/N).

Now, with the passage of time, the couple found themselves on the brink of another exciting chapter in their lives. (Y/N) was expecting once more, and this time, they had received the news that they were to welcome another set of twins into their growing family.

The prospect of more children filled Ivar with a deep sense of pride and fulfillment. He had not only achieved great success in his endeavors but had also created a legacy that would continue to shape the future of Kattegat for generations to come. With (Y/N) by his side, he looked forward to the challenges and joys that lay ahead, knowing that their love and the family they had built together were the greatest treasures of all.

[londonfog-chan]

Emperor Geta x Barbarian!Reader: Free Will Sacrifice

Jesus H Tapdancing Motherfucking Christ. Here we go.

Big, huge shoutout to @eddiemunsonmash for beta reading the clown shoes snippet I had written of Geta falling for a masochistic pseudo-viking, in a time where the vikings didn’t even exist yet.

Look, I love the idea of being a concubine as much as the next person, but I also want to be a gladiator secretly. Like a battered, tired warrior draped in silk holding a sword whose retirement consists of getting dominated on occasion by her insane emperor boyfie. Just two deeply, weirdly fucked up individuals being nasty is all I ask.

Gimme a break here, alright? I like to pretend that Geta thinks he can dominate anyone, meanwhile his partner can foist him over her shoulders and launch him into the sun.

Content Warnings: 18+ Only, Fem!Reader, Elements of power imbalance, dom/sub sadomasochism shenanigans that would not pass a vibe check under normal circumstances, slapping, choking, unprotected p in v, dirty deeds done dirt cheap by two fucked up individuals, you can fix him she can chase him with a knife to humble him, breeding kink

Summary: The northern barbarian allows the emperor to believe he is able to make her tame.

****

“ Soon we will be gone

A free will sacrifice

As free men we are born

And free we shall die “ - Amon Amarth

****

“No gods… no masters…”

A stinging backhand struck across your cheek and jerked your head to the side, a headache coming as your head was already bobbing listlessly up and down from the incessant pounding assault from below. The thrusts of his hips were brutal, erratic. You knew the taste of coppery sanguine from his rings splitting your lip wide open.

This was of course by design, purely by your own allowance. Should you want to, you could just as easily regain control of him, but you allowed Geta to take his pleasure as if overtaken by rut.

And you loved every minute of the pain he inflicted in a desperate bid for domination.

“You will not speak of gods or masters. You will only speak of me! You are mine, and mine alone. Now say it. To whom do you belong?”

Parched lips split into a wide grin. You knew then that among all the things he tolerated about you, he would never tolerate your flagrant disregard for authority, nor your atheistic views.

Cockhead stabbing at your cervix, he drilled into you as though he was a farmer armed with an aratrum, determined to sow the seeds of his bastards inside you. In a frenzied moment of madness, you hoped one would take. Even if it left you gravid and vulnerable.

To be used and manhandled as per your consent was the first stroke of indulgence you had experienced in this place. Such was an indulgence not to be overlooked. It was a blessing. A kindness.

Such kindness was foreign to you in this land. To Rome you were an aberration — the northern barbarian— your foreign blood was meant to be proffered as libation to the gods, your body merely altar bread to be thrown into the colosseum for the rats to consume.

Yet Geta saw in you something more.

By some twisted miracle of fate, you snatched freedom out of the hands of desperate half-starved men; they who were unused to the sting of hunger deep in their bellies stood no chance against your determination to survive. What was suffering to you? Nothing more than an itch of an insect bite. Meaningless. Worth less than, because, at the very least, the itch of the bite was acknowledged with a scratch. When nursed by clansmen in the piercing gales blowing across the glacier’s barren face, the only thing that mattered was the struggle.

Struggle to overcome the cold.

To survive to see each morning sun, shining against the blue ice and snow.

You did survive. Using a blade made strong from the bones of your ancestors, you cleaved that freedom from the enemies of the Romans to choose this life.

The co-emperor had asked what you wanted with this new found freedom. Despite the fact that you were a woman missing your lower lip, and plagued with blindness of one eye, Geta had offered you a choice. No law existed for free women, only free men were expected to live to tell the tale of their colosseum victory, living lower than the slaves in Rome’s underbelly.

Geta’s cruelty would have sealed your fate had you been taken under different circumstances. Aberrant conquests were plucked out specifically as offerings to Caracalla, lesser goods bestowed to his lesser brother to be ejaculated in and on. Had you not shown your ability as the strongest fighter the colosseum had known, Geta would have given you to his brother on a silver platter.

Yet he worried about you beating his poor, weak minded sibling into bloody pap with nothing but fists. Poor, simpering little Caracalla would never stand a chance before you castrated him in a blind rage.

Admittedly, Geta was intimidated himself. It took six men to hold back your berserker strength, and you did not calm down until a blade was held to your throat. He did not expect anything less than for you to ask for a seat as a general, to demand a place in his army barracks. He would have given it freely too. Anything to keep you out of the streets where the senate feared you would begin a massacre of the people in bitter vengeance for your capture.

In your northern tongue, you made one request, translated by a warrior — frightened army fodder— who just so happened to know your language.

You wanted Him.

You wanted Geta.

“Sire, the barbarian… She says she is the sword forged in the ashes of her kin. She is the war bringer, the northern wind that can cripple the Roman empire. She is the free will that defies the hand of the gods… Her only request is that she wishes to take whoever she so chooses to bed — for this night and all the nights after, and she has chosen you.”

Any lesser man would have laughed. Made light of the wish. Geta’s generals had laughed. Hard. Teasing and baiting the mutilated free woman who had the audacity to lust for the glimmering, golden perfection of the co-emperor.

But the emperor’s genitals had other motives, and instantly sprung to life at the mere mention of the request.

You saw it. Trying to maintain your composure, you turned your head to face his arousal with your eagle eye.

A desireable length. Uncut, favoring to the left.

Clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth, you called to the emperor, like a man catcalling a prostitute.

Geta’s erect penis tented under the deep indigo of his toga picta when he heard this click. A primal response to a primitive call.

A call to he who looked into your one good eye, and saw passionate fire burning in your iris.

You knew he was yours from that moment on.

“Tame me…” you had told him, words translated by the frightened warrior, “Make me docile… Take me on the ground in the way that the animals do.”

His amber eyes darkened.

He would make you tame, and take you on the ground on all fours, like the animals took their mates.

You would become concubina to the co-emperor. Just as you asked.

“You will not defy me with your silence, heathen!”

The emperor hissed into your ear through clenched teeth, his shaking body bringing you out of an orgasmic trance as he ceased jerking you back and forth, spearing you on his length.

“I am your master, your commander, your ruler. Say it.” He demanded.

“You are… my Geta-…” you began.

The emperor’s hand lashed at your cheek once again. Harder. With purpose. His fingers tangled into your knotted hair as he yanked your head back. His other hand gripped your hip, holding you in place as he looked into your one good eye. You would not be permitted to use such affectionate familiarity while in the throes of being taken like a beast.

“No… you will address me as your emperor.” he hissed.

He leaned forward. Warm, boozy breath against your skin. Hot, dripping wet tongue lathing in your ear canal.

“I am your emperor, not ‘your Geta’. I am your ruler, your master… your commander... I alone will decide whether or not you are to live, or to die. Now say it. Say it, heathen of the north.”

“Mu… my G…”

It almost slipped out on accident. Pure reflex and poor command of the Roman tongue made you seem incompetent in his eyes. You could see his ring adorned hand ball into a fist in warning, could already taste the golden bands even though they were nowhere near you yet.

You decided enough was enough. You needed more. You needed to take your pleasure, aching and throbbing with need around his cock shaft.

“My Emperor…” you whispered, the word foreign on your tongue as you mispronounced it.

Geta’s body stilled.

My Emperor…

It had come out of your mouth all wrong, mispronounced and uncertain. But to him, it was a start. Something to be worked with. His fingers loosened in your hair, hand moving to cup your neck, a gentle touch as he throbbed inside you.

“Again…” he murmured, voice soft and commanding.

“My Emperor…”

In a single fluid movement you contracted around him, his eyes nearly fluttering shut as his brow wrinkled. Geta was holding back, the moan catching in his throat as he remained stoic.

“Say it again…” he said, voice strained, “Sweet siren, sing your song once more…!”

“My Emperor… Princeps… Augustus… Imperator…”

When he heard these titles, you felt his heart thrash against your back. In a frenzied stutter his hips began moving involuntarily, utterly captivated in his rhythmic dance of taking pleasure. You responded in kind. Mouth open, tongue lolling out to catch the warm, wine tinged saliva he spit into your mouth.

“Again…!” He croaked.

This time, he held back no shameful sound of lovemaking. His voice was cracked, thrusts becoming erratic as he pumped in and out, pace quickening with anticipation. Low, tantalizing bleats of erotic mania escaped from his ruddy lips. One ringed hand wrapped around your thick neck, squeezing the breath from you with one hand as the other was coated in slick spit, fully intent on either slapping your firm buttocks or your face. Whatever was more convenient depending on your answer.

He would not abate his abuse until you said it again. Would not allow you the sweet release of climax until you screamed his name to the heavens, to the gods you didn’t believe in, to all of Rome should he have commanded it.

“Princeps…!” You keened.

And you were rewarded. Two moistened fingers, vigorously creating friction against your clitoral hood.

His title left your mouth in a wail as you sprayed his sheets with the aftermaths of ecstasy.

“Imperator… Imperator…!”

[oosleepyfaeoo]

A Kiss Is All I Need

Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Chapter Two

Summary: 2 months ago, Alys, the love of his life, broke up with him. Their relationship of five years gone by a simple farewell note that she left on their, well now his, penthouse. 2 months crying and feeling like shit but that all stopped when he meet you on that dreadful clothing store.

Warnings: Nothing much yet, just little fluff.

Words: 1,167

Masterlist / Series Masterlist

Taglist: @zenka69 @cryptid-l0ver @saelwen-shy-elf @aemondsdelight @shari-berri @kckt88 @watercolorskyy @dae7tina @saturnssrings @dixie-elocin @arabis-world @tulips2715 @reedmurdock @ladythornofrivia @tssf-imagines @eeeeeevesstuff @venmondiese @bellaisasleep @darylandbethfanforever9 @snh96 @liv-cole

Aemond took a deep breath as he stood in front of your bakery. ‘The Faun Cottage’ was the name of your store. The display window was decorated with beautiful green leaves and antique books which served to hold cakes and baskets of bread.

He was dressed in a light white shirt with a leather jacket, black jeans, and super comfortable Doctor Martens, which he wears almost every day. His long hair was tied in a low ponytail.

Looking down at the watch on his wrists, he saw it was 2 pm already. “Here goes nothing,” he murmurs as he walks into the bakery. “You better be right, Aegon.”

The scent of fresh bread and coffee along with a sweet herbal smell hit his nose like a train. Inside the shop, it was warm and cozy. Green vines are climbing the walls into the ceiling and some ancient runes are painted on the stone walls which looks like a mix of cottage core with Celtic/Viking vibe. A faint medieval music played in the background. It looks like something from an ancient era.

There are some people seated eating their food, others reading or working while drinking their tea or coffee.

“Mommy! Mommy! My Prince is here!” Emily’s voice echoed through the shop, grabbing his attention. This time she was dressed in a simple brown dress with some hand-painted runes on it. Her black hair was braided, and two small antlers rested on her head.

Aemond smiles down at her and kneels to shake her tiny hand. “Hello, Emily.” He greets her gently. “And what do you suppose to be today?”

She gives him a little twirl and grins. “I’m a druid! I talk to animals and cure people's booboos with my magic!” The girl grabs his hand and pulls him towards the door behind the counter, saying a quick hello to the guy who was attending to a client.

Aemond chuckles and lets the girl guide him. “Hmm, I see.”

Emily opens the door and leads him inside. It was an office by the looks and by the desk full of papers and a laptop, stood a very stressed woman.

“Mommy! Look who’s here!” Emily chirps happily.

You looked up from your papers and gave him a tired smile. “Aemond... I’m happy to see you. Please take a seat.” You try to make your office table more presentable, putting all the paperwork in cases. “Sorry for the mess. It’s been a busy day. Maria needed the day off so I took over her work and... it didn’t go well.”

Aemond sat on the wooden chair in front of you while Emily went to the corner to play with her plush animals. “It’s no problem... Here’s my papers, all the training I did.” He gives you the case. “By the way, you have a lovely bakery. Very creative.”

The grin you gave him made Aemond’s heart almost burst out of his chest. Your eyes brightened at his compliment and how the dimples on your cheeks made you look so cute and innocent.

“Thank you! It was a lot of work to make it the way I imagined but it was worth it.” You say taking a seat on your chair. “So, shall we start with the interview?”

Aemond nods.

“Okay! So, your brother said you had experience with children. Your nephews, right?” Aemond nods again.

“Yes, my sister's children. Twins, a girl, Jaehaera, and a boy, Jaehaerys, of 8 years old, and toddler of 2 years old, Maelor.” Aemond smiled gently at the thought of his nephews.

You took notice of his gentleness as he talked about his nephews, which made you feel more relaxed with the idea of him taking care of Emily.

“They all have beautiful names.” You speak. “I’m not going to lie but it seems you are perfect for Emily. You have basic first aid training and CPR certifications.” You look down and read his papers. “Also, it seems Emily is already attached to you.”

You nod towards your daughter, who has her gaze fixed on Aemond while she plays. Aemond grinned at her which made the girl giggle and run towards him, showing him her favorite plush animal.

You pull up the documents for him to sign and put them in front of him. “It seems you got the job! You can read the agreement and then sign down here.” You smile. “I drive her to her school every morning. So, 3 pm you can go pick her up and she is all yours until 7 pm when I get home.”

Aemond nods and signs the paper. Opening the drawer beside you, you take a small notebook along with a key.

“Here.” You give him the book and key. “In here you will find all her allergies, her school, and our apartment address. That’s the key to our home.”

Aemond takes the book and the key from you, his pale fingers brushing gently against yours. “Thank you, Y/n.”

The way your name rolled through his tongue made your loins curl in a familiar feeling. You cough and look down to your laptop, a faint blush adorns your cheeks. Get a grip, Y/n!

There’s a small pregnant silence between you too. Aemond admires the way your face flushes so easily. Even tired, you look beautiful.

“Huh... Well! Ready for your first day?” You stand up and smile, trying to end the awkward silence.

Aemond also stood up, looking down at a very excited Emily. “Ready as I can be.” He gently grabs the girl's hand while putting her backpack on his shoulder and walks out of the office with you following close behind.

You kneel and give a big kiss on your daughter's cheek, making her giggle excitedly. “Have fun and behave.”

“Yes, mommy.” She grins and kisses your nose.

As you stand up, Aemond quickly pulls his wallet out and takes his business card. “I completely forgot to you give my card.” He says with an apologetic gaze. “My phone number is there in case you need something.”

You nod and take his business card. Emily pulls Aemond’s hand and jumps up and down. “Can I have an ice cream on our way home? Pretty please?”

Aemond looks in panic at you to which you laugh. “Yes, but only this time. Alright?”

“Yippe!” Your daughter squeals happily and pulls Aemond’s hand again. “C’mon! C’mon! Let’s go!” Aemond chuckles and lets the girl guide him while waving a small goodbye at you.

You waved back and watched them turn around the block, disappearing out of sight. You feel tears stinging in the corner of your eyes, the feeling of your daughter's absence drives you to panic.

“Deep breath, Y/n.” You whisper to yourself. “She’s going to be okay.”

Taking a deep breath, you look down at the business card in your hand. Your eyes widen as you see a familiar red logo. A three-headed dragon.

“Wait! He’s THE Aemond Targaryen??!!”  

I hope you guys like this chapter!! Feel free to like, comment or reblog!

[the-froschamethyst4]

Scars, Muscles, and Veins

𖤐Pairing: Viking! Barrage x Wife! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: smut, fluff, language, P in V, kissing/making out, breeding kink, married couple, brief mention of nudity,

𖤐Summary: Barrage just wants a baby with his wife

————

————

Barrage holds his wife in his arms as they lay on the big soft bed, the furs covered their bare bodies, keeping warm, he moves a piece of her hair from her face and kissed her forehead.

"Mmm~ Cal?"

"Sorry, if I woke you," he says, kissing her lips now.

His hands rub her waist, and shoulder, and kissed her lips some more, she was taken aback from him behind on top of her now, her arms go around his neck pulling him closer into the kiss.

"Mmm~ C-Cal, calm down," she giggles.

"I love your lips," he says as he keeps kissing her lips.

"What is wrong with you?" She giggles.

"I've be thinking," he says.

"Okay?" They sit up now, she sits on his lap as he holds her. "What is it?" She asked.

"I've seen how you are with the children of the village, and it's got me thinking...what if we have our own kids?" He says.

"You've been thinking about us having kids?"

"Yeah...if you don't think we're ready that's fine it was just-"

"No," Nothing else was said but Y/n grabbing Barrage's face and giving him a sift kiss. "I'd be happy to," she says.

Barrage didn't think twice before pushing Y/n on her back again, their lips on one another, his hands exploring her bare body, she moans into the kiss.

Barrage sat up and starts pumping himself, Y/n smiles and placed her hands on his chest and starts sliding them down his toned abs. He stops pumping himself and leans back down to kiss her lips and to start pushing his cock inside of her.

She puts her head back as his tip immediately hit her spot, believe it or not, she has thought about having children with Barrage, but never brought it up before because Barrage is always so busy, and she didn't want him to have to worry about protecting the village and having the thought of children coming into his life on his mind.

"C-Cal-"

"Shhh~ baby," he says, as he rocks his hips slowly, holding her waist but moving his hands back to her face, cupping her cheeks and kissing her lips. "I just need you to enjoy it, tell me if I'm hurting you at all, but I want you to feel good."

She smiles at him as he starts picking up the pace, her hands rested on his biceps, her arms then going back around his neck. Barrage soon sat up pulling away from Y/n's lips, he held her waist again as he starts moving quickly hitting her spot, hearing her moans sent him over the edge.

He moans with her, his hands guiding up her waist to grab a handful of her hair, she moans as she looks up at him arching her back, he starts moving quicker, an ungodly speed.

Barrage then flips her over, her ass slapping against his lower stomach, he smirks when hearing her moans, grabbing yet another handful on hair as his eft hand rested on her ass.

He smirks and leans down to kiss between her shoulder blades, she smiles as she was huffing and puffing, and moaning his name. Barrage then takes her hands and places them behind her back, her cheek lands on her pillow and the soft fur under them was becoming hot, sticky, and wet.

"C-Cal, I-I'm-"

"Do it, baby," he coos, close to her ear, licking the shell of it.

He gives a good sloppy thrust and ended up coming inside of her, she puts her head back with a loud and exhausted moan.

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

6 Months

Barrage was just coming home, a basket full of different items.

"Baby, I have everything you asked for, I couldn't find that bread you like though, Farmer Dan wasn't there today," he says.

"It's okay," Y/n comes of the bedroom, rubbing her big belly as children ran out of the bedroom giggling and laughing.

"Another class?" Barrage asked, walking to Y/n placing his hand on her belly and kissed her lips as they kids all ran down the hill.

"They wanted to know how to basket weave and make flower crowns," she giggles and she kisses her husband's lips.

"How's the little one doing?" He asked, bending down on his knees and kissed her belly.

"She's been kicking."

"I see...hey, now...you better be nice to your mama, she's carrying you around for 9 months, at least be nice to her," he says. He stood back up and cupped her cheeks to kiss her forehead. "And how are you, mama?" He asked.

"Tired...my ankles hurt, my boobs hurt, and my feet are killing me, all I've been doing is lay down, but it feels like I've been walking forever," she says. Barrage just smiles and cups her face.

"You want me to massage your ankles?" He asked.

"Please," she said. He leads her to their couch and let's her sit down, he takes her legs and props them up onto his lap, he smiles and starts gently massaging her ankles and feet.

"This is the best," she says with her head back.

"I saw, König."

"Did you? What did he say?"

"He wanted to know when the little one will be arriving, him and his wife are expecting number 3 soon."

"Really?" He just nods. "Cal...when you told me about having children, how many do you want?"

"I was thinking 5."

"5!!?"

"Well 5, and then I thought about it some more and realized, it should be up to you. You'll be going through all the pain, and carrying them around for 9 mouths, so how many do you want?" He asked.

"...I don't know...I guess it depends on how this one is," she says as she rubs her belly. "I know she'll be good," she smiles.

Barrage then moves his hand up her leg and gives her thigh a gentle squeeze.

"Have you thought of a name?" He asked.

"No...I haven't thought of any...have you?" She looks up at him.

"I've thought of one, but you can tell me if it's bad."

"Go ahead," she smiles.

"Addie...I've thought about it, and I was...shooting some ideas with the guys, and I landed on Addie."

"Addie...Is it short for Addison?"

"It could be...Addie for short."

"Addison...I like it."

"But of course it could change when she arrives."

"And what if it's a boy?"

"Reed."

"Reason?"

"None...Addie or Reed."

Y/n moved closer to Barrage and played with his fingers and looked up at him.

"I like the names," she says, kissing his cheek.

"Sir?" Barrage looks at the door with a not-so-happy look on his face.

"What," he sounded annoyed. "Can't you see I'm with my wife?" He says.

"Yes, I know, sir, but we are having a situation at the dock." One on his warriors says, Barrage groans, he gets up and gets an axe, and dagger putting them in their holders as he kissed Y/n's lips.

"I'll be back," he tells her. She just nods.

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

9 Months

It was painful, Y/n was pacing around the bedroom, the nurse held onto Y/n's arm and rubbed her back, Barrage was standing next to Y/n, comforting her, rubbing and patting her back. She was in so much pain. She groans as her fists were punching the bed.

"Baby?" Barrage says, she looks up at him and just cups his face.

"It's hurts."

"I know, baby-"

"No, you don't," she tells him. "How much longer?" She looks at the nurse.

"Just a bit longer, my lady," she keeps rubbing her back, Y/n stood up and walks around the nurse by her side as Barrage just watches, that's all he could.

Barrage felt bad for his wife, he wishes if he knew how hard and painful childbirth was maybe him and Y/n could've talked about it some more.

Y/n leans against the doorframe to go outside, but the nurse stopped her. "Maybe rest?"

"No, I want to keep walking."

"Not outside, my lady, stay in here," she says. "The doctor will also be here soon."

"He better get here quicker," Barrage growls.

"Cal, please," Y/n says. Y/n's emotions and hormones were all over the place, Barrage knew that, whatever she said, harsh words, she didn't really mean it.

"I am here, how are you, my lady?"

"In pain," she says to the doctor, annoyed, grouchy, and in pain. "I just want to get this done and over with, so I can meet my baby."

"I understand, let's lay you down," they moved over to the bed where Y/n laid down and they placed the covers over her belly, Barrage takes her hand and kissed her knuckles.

"We'll start preparing," the doctor says.

-----------

It was a long a painful 24 hours for Y/n, she laid on the bed holding her daughter Addie. Barrage was a mess in the corner, holding back emotions, as the doctor and nurse left the parents alone with their first baby.

Barrage came over bending down on his knees next to the bed, he hasn't held Addie yet. He was scared he would break her, even though he knows he couldn't it was just on his mind it might happen.

"Calvin...would you want to hold her?" Y/n asked, looking at him.

"I'm afraid I might hurt her."

"You could never," he stood up and sat on the edge of the bed. He opens his arms and gently takes Addie from her mother's arms, the doctor had came back in when seeing Barrage hold the baby girl.

"If you want, what helps with the bond, you could take your shirt off and do something I like to call skin-to-skin," Barrage gives Addie back to Y/n and he takes his shirt off.

Barrage held Addie for what felt like hours, Barrage moved his finger and caressed Addie's soft puffy cheek. Y/n was asleep from all the pain and stress, she needed it badly.

---------

The next morning, Y/n almost forgot what happened but she had woke up to Barrage on his side of the bed and in the middle of them were their baby girl, who slept all night.

She rolls on her side and placed her hand on Addie's belly, she rubs her tired eyes and yawns, and she's about to cry, the soft whines alerted Barrage, his eyes shot open and looked to his right seeing Y/n hold their baby girl.

"I was going to get her," he says.

"It's alright, she needs to be fed anyways," Y/n says as her shirt was already lifted and Addie was attached to her boob.

Y/n looks down at Addie and smiles. "She's such a perfect mix of us," she says.

"I know," Barrage starts to move closer to Y/n, holding Y/n and cupping Addie's head. "My black hair, your eyes, your nose," he says, kissing Y/n's cheek.

After a while Addie was back asleep on the big master bed, Y/n and Barrage were in the living room together, Barrage holding Y/n in his arms as he praised her for doing such a good job last night. Y/n takes in his praising as her fingers danced on his scarred, veiny arms.

"You're so muscly," she teased him.

"Hey now, I'm over here praising you and are so touchy feely with me," he chuckles.

"Because you are my husband and I'm allowed to touch you."

"And I'm allow to touch you," he says, moving his hand down to her hip, patting it and giving her a peck on her temple.

-----------

A Few Years Later

Addie was 5 now, she was like her mother, very gentle and kind, but she was so rambunctious, running around and always somehow knowing where her father is all the time.

Barrage was at the dock talking with his warriors about their trading post, as Barrage was talking Addie comes running on the dock and grabs ahold of Barrage's soft wolf cape.

He looks over his shoulder and sees his little girl, she placed the wolf cape over her head and hugs his leg.

"Daddy!" She coos, looking up at him. He bends down with a smile on his face and kissed his daughter forehead.

"What are you doing, baby?" He asked.

"I wanted to find you," she giggles. She hugs his neck as Barrage's face went from happy back to serious.

"We'll talk about this later," he says, walking away as his daughter waved 'bye' at the warriors.

"Let's go find, mama," he said, as they walked the pathway to their home.

They soon see her on her knees on a blanket with Barrage's son, Reed. He was only a few months old, he was on his stomach as Y/n paid good attention to him.

"Mama!"

"My baby, you found, daddy, I see," she giggles as Addie came running and hugged her mom. Barrage came and sat on the blanker next to Y/n, holding her close, Addie sat on her butt in front of Reed and was messing with him, but being gentle, she knows to be gentle with her baby brother.

"Be gentle, baby," Barrage says.

"I am, daddy."

This was the life Barrage wanted with his wife. Children, a married happy life, he loved Y/n, his children and all.

[velvet-paradox]

Stay (ch. 2)

Fandom: Call of Duty Pairing: Viking!König x Female reader Length: Medium

Meeting some of the KorTac clan - Aiding The Collector - A wrong to make it right

The first night with the KorTac clan was humiliating.

After all the ogling and rude remarks as you were dragged through the street wasn't enough, you were made to sit at The Collectors' feet, while he feasted on meat, bread and ale. You were fed scraps.

As you ate greedily after the whole ordeal, the women of the tribe took pity on you, whisking you away to be scrubbed clean, shedding you of your clothes, given a new dress at least in a complimentary color as you ate and took in your new surroundings. Music was played in their great hall.

Another burly man came to König on the throne, talked about as if you weren't really there. Some toy, some play thing, some pet. You tore off a piece of bread with your teeth in earnest.

"Found a wife, did you König?"

"Hardly."

"How positively sad then, maybe she'll make someone else an honest man."

"Doubt it. No one is to touch her but me, understood?"

You'd later find out that his name was Soap.

He'd be the one to lead you out and around the dining hall, a firm grip on the back of your arm (granted permission by The Collector of course)that left little to the imagination that if you were foolish, he'd put you in the ground without a blink of an eye. He didn't even speak to you.

The room was lit with torches at each of its' four corners, shadows danced and swayed when Soap had opened the door, there was a decently made bed against the wall, draped in furs and blankets of turquoise and deep reds.

" 'at door there, only opens from one side. His side." Soap finally spoke, leaning against the doorframe, leisurely looking you up and down uncomfortably as you examined the room. "I don't know what he plans to do with ye' but it ain't gonna' be pretty or nice. Best stay on his good side, lass. You surely don't want to end up like the last one."

And without another word, he shut and locked the door behind him. You sat on the bed and waited for the unknown future.

….

Some days you didn't even see König. Left alone in that room, thankfully not a smelly cell below ground, left and forgotten about until you were nothing but bones. You made use of those quiet days, you'd found some hay stashed in a trunk and made yourself a broom.

You were given some sort of flat type of shoe that just didn't feel right. You were already wearing foreign clothes, now shoes too?

This was only meant to be a temporary stay and yet the KorTac clan had been treating you well.

As if you'd never see your parents again.

Your parents. Another night of crying yourself to sleep over them was looked promising. And that meant another curious look from one of the women or König, if he decided to collect you.

The next morning the door, from his side, unlocked and eased open with the toe of his boot. He stood at attention once he ducked inside. He took up the entire doorframe.

"We are going out," he stated and threw you your clothes, freshly laundered and stiff. Followed by your boots. "You'll need to be ready for what we are going to do today."

"What are we doing?"

"Not asking questions is one." König remarked, remaining still. Like a statue.

He only turned around when you pulled at the strings of your dress, only looking over his shoulder when you had finished. He watched you put on your boots, you barely had time to fix your hair when he lunged forward and grabbed your wrist. He bound you with that same cordage, leashing you to him.

Soap got a real laugh out of that.

….

Kim 'Horangi' Hong-Jin greeted you and The Collector with warm regards. This guy at least acknowledged you. He had greeted you at the gates of his village, the exposed and bleached bone of a whale welcomed you in. You'd never seen anything like it. It was the ribcage, perfectly displayed like a canopy.

König dropped his hand to your shoulder, keeping you close as you moved from house to house while Horangi watched on, munching on a juicy apple.

The Collector gave his signature knock, one you knew well, but from the outside, watching the behemoth use his forearm instead was something else entirely.

You were now an accomplice, aiding the boogeyman in his rounds. The sack Soap had tossed at you when you left the village was getting gaining weight. The coins clinking together as you two went door to door, these people were absoutely terrified and with good reason.

He was even scary in his sleep!

What sort of dreams did a man like that have anyway?

König thanked Horangi with a personal handshake and headbutt. "You're better than a pack mule." König snorted, chuckling to himself as you two moved on to the next town.

More money, more scared and frightened faces. Children hid, in the last town even the chickens held their clucking when you passed by. A village that reminded you of home made you wince when The Collector grabbed a young man up until his feet dangled and shook him like a cloth doll.

He was vicious and violent and cruel.

Ruthless.

A dangerous individual.

Dinner that evening was just the same as it had been. You'd been gifted a pillow to sit on, yet you still ate at his feet and no longer were tossed scraps but you got a whole plate to yourself. Day eight and not a word from your father, no carrier was sent out to the KorTac clan in your favor.

You started to dissolve your thinking that maybe these people knew more than they were letting on. Maybe there was word from your parents. Maybe they chose not to tell you! Being isolated for so long was weighing down your shoulders like a soggy blanket.

"Oh, sorry pet, didn't see you down there." Another head covered man bumped into you on his hot pursuit to speak with König, his right hand man, covered in wolf pelts and broad.

That's what they called you. Your name was erased. Just pet.

He was the one to find you crying in the hallway just outside your forsaken room after dinner. Again, bumping into you. For the KorTac clan to wear face coverings, one might think their eyesight might be somewhat enhanced.

Kruger bent down on one knee, dared touch your face to make you look at him.

"Why do you cry so much?"

"What?" You sniffled and he still held your face. Maybe he has a death wish, you thought.

"You're always crying."

"That's because I am punished here!" You shout and push away from him and the wall. "Wouldn't you be? König dragged me from my home because he up and decided he wanted to change course of payment days. Without fair notice and now I'm locked here with you people. I don't even know if I'll ever see my parents again!"

With that said, you burst into even more tears. Covering your face with your hands was worse, it just made you hotter and more upset that there was absolutely no one here who would, want or could console you.

"Do you feel like a prisoner, pet?"

"I am one! I don't want to be here anymore."

"Kruger!" König's booming voice seemed to flutter around the entire hall, his boots sounded deafening. "You had better not be the one to bring my pet to tears! I will have your throat."

Kruger straightened up quickly and backed away, adjusting his head covering and the wolf fur that hangs off his shoulders. Not like The Collectors cloak, its as deep and lush as the forest that surrounds the village.

He looks down at you wiping your face, trying to catch your breath.

Your chin jitters.

"No, sir."

"Leave us." Is all he says and you turn to take your leave into your room but are stopped, König's hand is on your wrist in an almost intimate manner. Which is shocking and somehow even more terrifying. "Not you."

Kruger left you in the hallway, made sure he was gone and out of sight before entering your chamber. The gust of wind from him opening the door made your bedroom torches crackle and sputter about as he dragged you behind him. He'd only stood in your adjacent doorway, so to see him and have him here in you, in the room you've been tidying to your liking until your father can pay out was - strange.

"Sit."

You sniffled and did as was asked. Still too afraid to ask what happened to the last ransom captive. You obeyed without question. You wrung your hands together as you watched the big man pace.

"They can't keep seeing you crying, you know? Their going to start thinking I'm breaking you apart every night."

"You might as well at this point. Am I ever going home?"

"That's up to your parents, not me." König said with a scoff, as if this wasn't he whole ensemble, he orchestrated this madness to begin with! He's the one that switched up payday to begin with, this was his fault, his doing and the more you sat there and how could König be so passive about it? Too much. It was all too much!

Without warning you sprung up and shoved him, he didn't move much but he looked down at you with narrowed eyes.

"This is your fault!" You pushed him again and for some reason, or maybe you imagined it, he did move this time. "This is all your fault! You did this to me."

"I did it for your own good!"

"That doesn't even make any sense, none of this makes sense. I'm stuck in limbo," you shouted and shoved at him once more, he allowed you, actually allowed you to move him back towards the wall. "I'm stuck in this room! I'm stuck with your clan a-and for what? A failed payment, on a day that you chose!"

König sighed.

"Is this some sick joke? I've been here for a month now, no word from my father, no word from my mother… have you? Have you had word from them, Collector?"

"I have."

Your lashes clumped together, eyes welling up when he crossed his arms and looked away to one of the torches. "You… you have? When? Why didn't you notify me, I'm losing my mind in here."

"Last week."

"What? What do you mean last week? I was here, I've been here! I did not see him."

"No, pet you wouldn't would you? Do remember when I asked Soap to take you to Keeva the seamstress for some mending?"

You were the on to pace now. Of course you remember, it was the first time you were allowed out of his sight and untethered to another person. Keeva was the sweetest one out of the entirety of the KorTac clan. She was round and full, waddling down the muddy lane with you in tow, both of you carrying clothes from the great hall.

"…yes."

"He came the village, alone. You were right," König shrugged and shook his head. "Times are a little tough for your family, they can barely feed themselves. Your father only had half of what is due anyhow."

"Then… how long did he say? An estimate, even."

"No idea. But he did offer me something far more than its' worth."

You shivered. The hairs on the back on your arms prickled.

König then pulled out a familiar bracelet. It was passed down to your mother from her mother and so on. It was to be treasured, worn with grace and beauty. Carrying on. But now, in all its' emerald glory, still pretty as ever, it looked dirty in his palm.

He held it out to you.

"Why do you have that?" Your voice cracking and watery. Your throat threatening to close in on itself like a dune of sand. Blood pounded in your ears.

The Collector cocked his head and once again urged you to take the jewelry.

"Your father gave it to me," his hold on your wrist was tight, but not forceful. Careful, would be the closest thing you could think of when he slipped it on for you. "To give to you."

"W-why?"

"He can't pay me in gold or coin." The Collectors voice deepened and you've never felt smaller than what came out of his treacherous mouth.

No no nonopleaasenopleasenono…

"What he can pay me in is this. And you."

[dare-to-dm]

I have such a love/hate relationship with the Assassin's Creed series.

On the one hand, I hate that it feels like Ubisoft is maliciously designing this franchise to eternally suck money out of my wallet without ever giving me narrative closure or quality design. Like, there are so many cynical at best design decisions in this series. For context, I'm currently playing Assassin's Creed Valhalla, and I've already played every mainline title up to this one, except for AC: Unity, because I've decided to die mad about the whole "It's too hard to make a female playable character" thing. And for a long time now, it feels like each new title is shallowly chasing industry trends in order to try to appeal to a more mainstream audience. In AC Valhalla, there are so many mechanics straight up lifted from other popular games, but implemented so poorly and in such a vestigial way that it doesn't feel cohesive. Like, they tried to implement the pawn system from Dragon's Dogma for some reason, or the puzzles from Senua's Sacrifice. And this is a sad look for a series that was at one time so groundbreaking that it was influencing other franchises instead. In addition to just stealing a grab bag of mechanics from other games, Assassin's Creed is sacrificing its own unique identity to emulate other popular genres, with the combat in AC: Valhalla feeling way more soul-sy than it has any rights to. I mean, there are straight up boss battles in this game.

Boss Battles. In an Assassin's Creed game.

And you can't even just straight up assassinate anyone anymore. Like, if the opponent NPC is a higher level than you, than an assassination is basically just a fancy attack that does a little extra damage. Meaning there's hardly a reason to bother with stealth anymore, you might as well open up combat with a big flashy ability that will at least stun other opponents.

To their credit, you can change this in the Settings. In fact, if there's one thing they put a lot of effort into designing, it's the difficulty options. You can make it so assassinations are always an instant kill. You can make it so that opponents are always the same level as you. You can precisely calibrate how much damage you give and receive. There are also difficulty options for the stealth and for the exploration. You can literally remap the controls however you like. Honestly, I laud them for this. Although a cynical side of me feels like it's also indicative of a weak vision for the game. Rather than crafting an experience for a specific audience, it's another attempt to design for broad appeal.

All this is not to mention all the crap they've gotten up to with their monetization strategies. That could be a whole other post.

I've stuck with the series due to my interest in the story, and it feels a little like they're holding that interest hostage. Each new release gives me tantalizing bread crumbs, but little if anything is ever truly resolved or answered. It leaves me wondering if there's any kind of master plan for the whole thing, or if they're literally just stringing me along with whatever bullshit they think will keep me engaged with no end in sight.

But on the other hand, sometimes those bread crumbs are so good.

Like, there's at least one person on the development team (and probably far more) who is putting real time and effort into making a well researched, intricate, interconnecting story. Someone who makes me feel rewarded for my 100% completion tendencies with all these little nuggets of story and character and clues that feels like it all adds up to something special.

A moment for me in AC Valhalla that reminded me of why I like this series so much is when the viking protagonist travels to "Vinland" and meets some First World People there, who in the game are speaking Iroquois. And there is no translation. Like the protagonist, you are stuck guessing what they are saying from their body language and context clues. It's such a cool way of getting you immersed in the story and setting, and it really stuck with me. And then of course I searched online for a translation, and it feels like the writing team integrated the lore and culture here very respectfully. Like with ACIII, it's clear they consulted with real current speakers of the language, and in addition there is an inclusion of a Mohawk creation myth (which also ties into tidbits explored in both ACIII and AC Rogue). And those creation myths might have been shared simply as a nod to the culture being presented here, but it might also tie into the greater mystery surrounding the Isu, which is cool to speculate about.

Basically, there are some really cool storytelling things happening in this series, and it often motivates me to research and learn a bit more about real history. I just can't give it up.

I've heard that AC Mirage was more of a "return to basics", and optimistically I hope that means the game mechanics are returning to more of what gives Assassin's Creed it's own unique identity. But as long as they keep giving me those narrative nuggets of gold, I'm stuck for the ride.

[thebubblesareevil]

A Deal is a Deal…

I haven’t really posted any danny/kaldur in a bit so here you go

Danny was having a really long, really stupid day.

First he was late for his exam because he woke up to kitty and johnny fighting in his apartment. By the time he got that sorted out he had to rush to campus.

Then, by some miracle, the proctor let him in despite being late only to realize he was in the wrong exam halfway through. (He decided to finish the test and turn it in rather than admit his mistake.)

Then he finally managed to stop and get a truly unholy cup of coffee that he topped off with his last bit of ecto shot only for someone to run into him, spilling his coffee.

Which really didn’t make the blind date Sam set him up with anywhere near bearable. She was nice, don’t get him wrong, however Sam has two types of friends outside of Tucker and him. He was pretty sure he would have preferred hearing about the deforestation of the Amazon than have the heavily pierced girl get wayyy too excited when she realized he was from Amity Park. After he finally escaped with the excuse of feeding his dog Sam decided to call to find out how the date went.

“She did the thing Sam.” He stated bluntly as he struggled to unlock his door.

“And which thing would that be Danny? The one where she’s interested in your personality or the thing where you might need a restraining order?” He groaned, thumping his head on the door before checking the hall for neighbors. With the coast clear he phased through, once more leaving his arch nemesis to fight another day.

“The second one, or at least that definitely seemed where it was heading. She kept asking about all my favorite cemeteries back home.” He threw his keys on the counter, dropping his bag to the floor.

“Well did you tell her about the one near the old clocktower? I’m sure she loved that.”

“Sam, she wasn’t asking about nightly walks and talking to ghosts. She made some not so subtle hints about what she liked to do there.” He could hear Sam wince through the phone.

“Eww, sorry Danny. She really seemed like someone you would click with.” He sighed as he looked through the bare cabinets.

“Not your fault, to be fair things were going great till that point. Plus most people don’t see half as much as I do in graveyards. It could have been worse.” He grinned.

“Oh yeah, what are you thinking?”

“Do you remember that guy from the protest you set me up with awhile back?”

“You mean Orion? What about him? You said he tried to gas light you.” Sam almost sounded offended on behalf of her semi-cannibalistic friend.

“Oh he did more than that. He followed me home.”

“No!”

“Yep, apparently I was being stingy and he thought I owed him so he tried to steal my bike.” He laughed.

“Ugh, don’t worry I’ll be sure to pass the word on to his new partner Marcy. I guarantee he’ll regret it.” He shrugged as he ate a piece of plain bread.

“It’s whatever, at least he didn’t try to kill me.” Sam sighed.

“It was one time!”

“Oh really?” He said as he munched. “If I remember correctly it happened twice.” He could hear the sound of Sam smacking her forehead.

“The first time doesn’t count, that was an accident! Besides Valerie tried way more than I did.” She huffed.

“Yeah, I know.” He yawned, heading over to the bathroom, discarding his socks and shoes along the way. “Some how neither of you are even my worst exes to date.” Sam snorted.

“No I think that title belongs to that crazy Viking that was convinced you were going to start Ragnarok.” Danny felt a small tug at his core as he brushed his teeth.

“What can I say? She was charismatic!” He claimed after spitting into the sink.

“Yeah well Miss. Charismatic nearly talked you into a war with her brother just because he flirted with you.” The tug on his core got stronger. “Personally I would have gone with the brother.” Danny nodded as he nearly tripped walking to his bed.

“I mean, that was never in question. Regardless, I’m swearing off Vikings for the next century.” Danny began struggling to take his shirt off without setting down the phone. The tug on his core was stronger than ever, try as he might to ignore it.

“You really suck at this dating thing, I killed you twice and somehow I’m still not in your top ten-” Danny struggled to escape his stupid shirt as his core PULLED, sending him tumbling to the ground. With a groan Danny finally gave in and just pulled the stupid shirt through his body only to come face to face to someone that was distinctly NOT his bed.

He looked around,coming face to face to someone he was actively avoiding.

“Ello Phantom? How’s death going for ye.”

John Constantine, accompanied by what appeared to be some of the newer members of the Justice League.

Danny decided the best option for this would be to do his best impression of a confused, semi-hungover college student.

“Look man, I don’t know who you are, or what you want but do you have some coffee or something? I’m dying over here.”

“Yet not foolin anyone mate. Need a favor from you. Or rather your better half of you don’t mind.” John replied vaguely as he rubbed his hands together before blowing some kind of powder all over Danny.

Danny stood there flabbergasted, as a rain of dust? Covered him head to toe. He stood there for a minute before his face started to twitch as John began to chant a spell. Danny took a deep breath and-

“AACCHHOOO” John jumped back as the sneeze disrupted the dust.

“What the hell man?” He scolds as he rubbed his nose. John grunted.

“Stubborn little shit huh? Too bad we need the Phantom and he’s coming out one way or another.” Once more he began to chant, Danny however chose to ignore this fact as he took in the faces surrounding the circle. They were clearly some of the younger heroes, even a few apprentices by the looks of it. But Danny really didn’t have time for this, he had another exam tomorrow.

“Look man, I’m not sure what you’ve been smokin or how I got here but unless you’re gonna help me study for my engineering exam, then I gotta go.”

“Please wait.” Danny spun around to face the hero standing behind him, stopping him before he even started to leave. The handsome hero stood tall, clearly he was the leader of this group, which begged the question of-

“Why? What you guys possibly want from me?”

“Allow me to explain. I am Kaldur’ahm, though I am also known as Aquaman. We are seeking the help of a spirit of hope and protection that goes by the name of Phantom. We need his help.” Danny gave the gilled hero a considering look.

“With what?” Kaldur’ahm somehow managed to stand up even straighter.

“A powerful magician by the name of Zatanna was pulled into the Infinite Realms. We need to help of Phantom so we can venture into the realms to retrieve her.” He replied with a barely noticeable sense of urgency. Danny raised a brow.

“You want to go to another dimension? With help from a ghost named Phantom? And you want my help to what? Summon him?” John scoffed, completely ignoring the glare Aquaman sent his way.

“Don’t go playin dumb mate. How exactly do you think you got here.” He pointed to the floor “ That there is a summoning circle, invoking Phantom by name. Now here’s how I figure it. Either you’ve gone and disguised yourself or you decided to take this poor sod for a joy ride.” He smirked. “So which one is it mate?” Danny glared at the Englishman.

“Whether you’re Phantom or not we need help.” Danny sighed as he looked back at the hero.

“Well what’s in it for me? You dragged me from my apartment and you want my help, give me a reason.” He announced.

“Name your price demon.” Danny rolled his eyes at the annoying sorcerer.

“Not a demon.” He paused, trying to figure out what he could ask for as the little heroes started to get nervous. He was gonna help them one way or another, ideally they would give up on him and send him back to his apartment. It would be easy enough to get a magician out of the realms. Danny took one more look around the circle before grinning.

“How about a date?” He said, looking directly at Kaldur’ahm with a grin. He laughed before he continued “Just Kidd-”

“Deal.” Danny choked on his own spit as his cheeks lit up like a Christmas tree. John shouting from the other side of the circle.

“What the bloody hell kind of request was that?!?”

“ I didn’t think he’d say yes!!!!” Danny covered his cheeks as the handsome hero smiled at him.

“A small sacrifice to help a friend, though not a difficult one.” Danny’s face turned a darker shade of red as green started to bleed into his cheeks. ‘Was this guy seriously flirting with him right now?!?’ The hero raised a single smug brow at him, tilting his head just slightly to the side.

“Do we have a deal?” Danny took a deep breath, coughing into his hand.

“Uh, yeah sure, I’ll get your friend back from the realms.” Kaldur’ahm smiled, Danny blushed. “I guess I’ll just… yeah.”

“We shall begin preparations immediately. Once Phantom arrives we should head out immediately, the less time Zatanna spends in the realms the better.” His face closing off as he got serious, Danny couldn’t deny it was cute before he realized what he said.

“Oh, yeah no, you guys aren’t going.” John practically growled causing the hairy green kid to back up.

“Like hell we aren’t! Just because you claim to be a spirit of protection doesn’t mean I trust ye.” Danny turned a steely glare on the sorcerer as he walked towards him. He made it all the way to the edge and the look of confidence he’d been sporting during this whole ordeal dropped from his face as Danny stepped over the edge of the circle.

“I don’t give two shits if you trust me! You aren’t welcome in the Realms John Constantine. Not until you get that piece of patchwork you call a soul sorted out!” He looked around at the rest of the people in the room. “Besides, it’s against the rules to bring the living into the Realms and I’d rather not have to deal with Walker today, thank you very much.” John glared.

“Look here you dead piece of sh-”

“HALF-dead thank you.” He interrupted as he started to float off the ground. “Now buzz off before I change my mind.” John looked as though he intended to reply when Kaldur’ahm stopped him.

“Enough Constantine, we need his help. For Zatanna.” The British asshole grumbled to himself as he scurried off to the side. Danny stepped back on the ground, making his way over to the Atlantean.

“Hey Kaldur’ahm, before I get your friend, you don’t actually have to go on a date with me.” He looked away as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I was gonna help you anyway, I just wanted to get under Johnny boy’s skin.” He just looked at Danny with a smile.

“I thank you, however a deal is a deal, it’s too late to back out now.” Danny’s jaw dropped as the Atlantean grinned. “And please, call me Kaldur.” Danny coughed into his hand to try to force himself to talk.

“Okay… well… okay then… um…” he studdered, dying a little more inside. “I’m gonna go get your friend we can…uh… talk about the details after.” Kaldur nodded as Danny reached a hand behind him to open a portal.

“Agreed, and please be careful Phantom.” Danny paused.

“You can, you can call me Danny.” He back with a slight stutter.

“Very well Danny.” He smiled. Danny blushes as he backed up into the portal, tripping over his own two feet as he fell through. Once on the other side he quickly reached out to find the intruder in his domain. She was easy enough to find, he didn’t even bother transforming. She was standing on an unclaimed floating island only a few miles from where he opened the portal.

Armed with the knowledge that she regularly worked with superheroes he thought it would be best to announce his presence before he surprised her.

“You wouldn’t happen to be a magician by the name of Zatanna would you?” The fierce woman turned, her wand posed, ready to send a flurry of spells at a moments notice.

“And if I am?” Danny smiled.

“A friend of yours asked me to come get you.” She looked at him suspiciously.

“And which friend would that be?”

“A cute Atlantian with a killer sense of humor, named Kaldur.” She raised an eyebrow at that.

“I’ve never heard him described as having a sense of humor.” Danny chuckled.

“Yeah, I told him I’d come get you in exchange for a date. He didn’t even hesitate. Like he’d actually wanna go on a date with a ghost!” He replied with a laugh. Zatanna however did not join in and instead looked Danny up and down before looking him dead in the eyes. She grinned.

“Gotta say I can’t exactly blame him. It’s not often he gets asked out by handsome shirtless men.” Danny squinted at her confused before looking down. His eyes went wide as he realized he hadn’t been wearing a shirt the whole time!

[gejo333]

For the Dancing and the Dreaming

Viking Miguel x Female Viking Reader

Summary: You were the chieftains daughter of your village and you had just turn the age for men in the village to begin courting you in hopes of having you as their wife and becoming the next chief. However, no man caught your eye until your childhood best friend comes back home from battle to make you his.

I’m sorry for the lack of updates my schedule is beyond crazy! But I promise to update “An Unexpected Match” and get the sequel of perfect picture out too.

But as an apology here is a fluffy random Miguel Oneshot🥰

Inspired by this song I haven’t heard in a while on TikTok.💕💕💕

I apologize for any grammatical mistakes. I didn’t read over this yet. 😅

Enjoy!💕

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Today was officially the start of your adult life as you now were old enough for the unmarried men in your village to begin courting for your hand in marriage.

As you finished getting ready you head downstairs to see your parents and younger siblings.

“Good Morning.” You smile at your parents as you head down to the kitchen to help your mother with separating the herbs.

“Good morning y/n. You must be excited for today. You’ll definitely have quite a few prospective suitors from what I’ve heard.” Said your mother with an upbeat in her voice.

“I’m definitely excited, but nervous too. Hopefully it’s not too hectic.” You chuckle nervously as you put the finished separating the herbs into the wooden bowl and began to mush them.

“It’s definitely exciting my beloved daughter. But those men will have to be brave enough to stand against me. No man is perfect enough for my daughter.” Your father huffed as he helped lift the meat to hang over the fire.

You chuckled from your father’s words. You did feel a bit bad for the poor souls who had to go through not only your father but the chieftain of the village to have a chance at courting you.

“So, any men in the village that you hope comes knocking on our door?” Your younger sister teasingly elbowed you in your arm, trying to get the juiciest gossip for the nosy villagers. You roll your eyes as you try to hide your smile on your face. You then pass the wooden bowel to your sister to continue mushing the herbs as you make your way to get the bucket to fill for the animal feed, one of your daily chores.

“I think I know who.” Said your younger brother in a sing song voice as he helped with making the bread with your mother.

“Wait who?!” Your sister asked eagerly.

“Not telling you.” Your brother smirked which made your sister puff out her cheeks in annoyance as she threw a bit of flour at him, which he did in return.

“Knock it off you too.” You loved your younger tween twin siblings, but they definitely got on your nerves sometimes. More like all the time.

“Just tell me!” Groaned your sister as she wiped the flour off her face with a rag.

“I’m actually curious too now.” You chuckle as you cross your arms with the bucket hanging on your arm to the side.

“It’s Miguel O’Hara.” Your brother said proud of his answer. Your eyes widen and cheeks redden.

“Now that’s a man I could see as chief and be a good husband for you.” Your father said as he kept on eye on the cooking meat.

“It’s a pity he is off at war. And it’s been five years since he was back home. Who knows when the men at sea will be back.” Said your mother with a small frown on her face. You internally sigh at your mother’s remarks. Miguel was your childhood best friend. He was three years older than you but the two of you were inseparable when your were kids. The last time you saw him was five years ago when your were still a kid and he was just barely old enough to be an adult.

As the years went by you eventually became use to him not being around, except for every once in a while you got the painful reminder of the lack of his presence. You did wonder what he would look like now after five years. You assumed the same boyish person you grew up with.

“Bye.” You say to your family, not wanting to partake in your future suitor gossip as you walk out of your home towards the farm.

Of course you didn’t think this through when you walked outside as countless men were waiting for you.

“Y/n!”

“Y/n, I brought you your favorite pastries!”

“Y/n, look at this wolf coat i made for you!”

Overwhelmed by the vast amount of gifts and men flocking around you in competition to gain your attention, you quickly walk back into your house as you close the door behind you.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?” Asked your mother as your entire family looks at you, curious and startled by your sudden reappearance back inside.

“Is it possible if I don’t do chores today? There seems to be a sea of men in front of our house.” Your words perked your families interest as they all got up and moved passed you and through the front door. Taking a deep breath you joined them outside.

“It’s the chief!”

“Chief, can I speak with you?”

“Chief!”

“Leo go do your sisters chores. She has more important things to attend to at the moment.” Said your father as he gently took the bucket from your hands and passed it to your brother who groaned in annoyance.

“Don’t start Leo.” Your father gave him a stern look to which your brother straightened up and went on his way to the farm to complete your chores.

“Go back inside the house y/n and I’ll bring one man at a time and tell me if you want to marry him or not.” Your father smiled at you as your mother gently guided you and your sister back in to the house to the main area.

As the hours passed the line of suitors made outside of your house grew smaller.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see us getting married.” You say to the disappointed man in front of you as he lowered the array of flowers gathered in his hands. You tried to seem remorseful for him, but your response felt automatic as he was, what it felt like the hundredth man you have turned down today.

“Darling, is there anyone who you see fit? You’ve turned down almost the entire village.” Your mother said with concern in her voice.

“We want you to make the decision, but you also need to find someone.” Said your father as he shared the same concern as your mother.

“And I understand that, but I just couldn’t picture standing by any of their sides for the rest of my life as future leaders of our people. How many men are still outside?”

“Three.” Said your father. You bit your lower lip as a nervous habit as anxiety and worries of not finding a suitor began to consume your thoughts. Your mother placed her hand over yours as she smiled at you.

“Try not to worry. We’ll figure it out.”

Your father let the next suitor walk inside the house, but before he could speak a loud horn echoed throughout the air. It was the rest of the men returning from battle. You felt your heart beat out of your chest as the sound of the horn echoed inside your head. They were back which means… so was Miguel.

Ignoring the man before you, you quickly grabbed your sweater as you ran out of the house towards the beach. You weren’t the only one who decided to head to the beach as the entire village left their evening suppers to welcome back loved ones.

By the time you made it to the beach, it was crowded with joyous laughter of reuniting families and couples as well as mournful tears of loved ones lost in battle. Your heart began to ache as you were starting to lose hope on seeing him again. Your fears were washed away when you heard a familiar voice, just deeper. Turning around your froze as your gaze met a familiar pair of warm ruby brown eyes.

As he drew closer to you, you noticed the stark differences. His height. He was significantly taller than you, not the couple inches five years ago. And his build was bigger too, massive even. Guess being in war for that long can make you build a lot of muscle. He was so different yet so familiar at the same time. He placed his hands on your waist when he reached you, lifting you up and twirling you before setting you down again.

“Gods I missed you.” He said as his large coarse hand gently caressed your cheek, which you leaned into his touch as you placed your hand over his.

“I miss you too. I was scared that I never would get to see you again.” You smile up at him as you couldn’t break away from his loving gaze.

“I was scared when I came home you would be married to another man. I hope I’m not too late.” His gaze shifted to different parts of your face to try and guess your facial reaction.

“No your not too late. Just in time in fact. And I passed up quite a few proposals today.”

“You did?” Miguel chuckled.

“Yes, I was hoping for certain man.”

“And has this man proposed to you yet?” Miguel smirked as he lifted your chin slightly, his thumb grazed your lower lip.

“No he hasn’t.” You smile as you shake your head.

“Well let me change that then.” Miguel leaned down as his lips met yours in a loving kiss, which you happily returned. Your lips separated from his, both needing air.

Miguel took your hands into his larger ones as his facial expression turned serious.

“Y/n, my love. I’ll swim and sail on savage seas with never fear of drowning, and I’ll glady ride the waves of life, if you will marry me.” His words made your heart glow as you couldn’t hide your excited smile.

“Yes, a thousand times, yes.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, jumping into his arms as he holds you in a loving embrace. Miguel twirled you around one more time before placing his lips on yours again.

“I think our daughter has found her suitor, dear.” Your mother smiled as she leaned on her husband’s shoulder who loving held her by his side.

“This cause for a celebration!” Your father roared in joy across the excited crowed, as the cheers grew from the chief’s announcement.

…

“And that’s the story of when your father proposed to me.”

“That’s so romantic!” Said your daughter as she hugged her wooden doll.

“Did the line of suitors really go across the village?” Said your other daughter who sat next to her younger sister.

“It did. And even after I officially courted your mother, I still had to shoo away suitors hoping to steal her away from me.” Miguel chuckled as he walked in holding your son and your youngest, well for now.

“You know, no one could steal me away from you.” You say as you rub your large round belly after feeling the baby kick.

“I know, my love. And it’s too late now to try. Your stuck with me forever.” Miguel chuckled as he wrapped his free arm around your waist as he brought you close to his side and gave you a loving kiss.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

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I hoped you liked this little oneshot🥰