#viking long ship | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ghouljams · 19 days ago

Text

Bath [Chapter 7]

<- Prev part

Tags: Viking au, Viking!Soap, highlander!reader, healer!reader, Soap x f!reader, slow burn, kidnapping(sort of), forced undressing, noncon touching, bathing Summary: Mactavish, his kindness knowing no boundaries, treats you to a bath as the introduction to your new home. You begin plotting his downfall. A reasonable response considering your circumstances.

Despite Mactavish’s protests you’re both made to help with unloading the ship. Your labor is forcibly lent to the effort, so you take pleasure in slowing it down. Which leaves the sun starting to drift below the horizon by the time a warm bowl of stew is pressed into your hands as payment for your efforts.

It’s well into the evening before you ever finish tramping up the short hill that Mactavish’s house sits atop. You brace yourself for the worst as he opens the door and ushers you inside. Blood and gore splattered about, bones littering the floor, trophies from his hunts, everything that will turn your stomach more than it’s already turnt. You’re half flinched when you step inside.

Mactavish’s house is quaint, but clean in spite of the layer of dust that seems to have gathered in his absence. The wood beams and daub over stone hold up the roof as well as anything else could, and there’s a small opening near the back you assume leads to a bedroom. There’s a table, chairs, a fireplace, and a wash bin with dishes stacked to the side. It smells the same way all houses that have been left for weeks at a time do, it makes you sneeze and Mactavish mutters an apology as he shuts the door behind you. The sparse living quarters speak to a man that lives on the sea. You wonder how long it will be until you’re sleeping on the ship again.

“Outhouse is in back,” Mactavish tells you when he sees you looking around. He runs a hand over the wood holding the door, fingers notching in the carvings there. “Built it myself,” He continues, “don’t usually have guests.”

“Hopefully you won’t have to entertain me long.” You wander to the fireplace discarding your- his fur cloak on a nearby chair. You crouch down in front of the stone to start building a fire. You’re too much your mother’s daughter, too much a helper to survive. Mactavish follows to crouch beside you, tips his head to watch you.

“Want me to get some wood, Vaenn?” He asks as you glance around, “It’s just beside the house, need tae get the tub down anyway.”

You do your best to ignore him and sweep away the ashes littering the fireplace with the short handled broom that had been sitting beside it. The thought of a tub makes your shoulders tense. The idea of this man undressing around you makes your heart hammer in your chest. As if you were family just because you shared a tongue. How can he even think such things?

Mactavish stares at you a long moment before he stands and turns towards the door. You keep your eyes on the fireplace, your fingers trembling just on the edge of creation as you grasp for straws. For anything to say to tear him down, to rebuke the idea that you need any of his help. The door closes behind him, thunderous in the silence. Your tongue is getting slow as it adjusts to the viking’s rough speech.

Or perhaps silence is the best course of action. Give him nothing and hope that in turn he expects nothing. No, you know yourself too well, you’ve always had trouble holding your tongue when anger seizes it. If ever there was a time to let yourself spit and swear it’s now. Laid in the belly of the beast with nothing to cut your way out.

Although that’s not entirely true. Your eyes catch metal with every turn they take around the small house. There’s the knife in your pack. There’s two more stuck near the hearth. You see an ax hanging over the door, an iron pot, wooden furniture, and a ladder. Perhaps more weapons hidden among the rafters. You glance up to survey what’s been stashed under the roof. Spare furniture and furs, dried and smoked meat, cloth bags held haphazardly in nets. And a tub.

You frown at the damned thing and hope it springs a leak. Wooden slats fitted together with an iron band around them, the wax on it shining dully in the house’s low light. Your skin itches with grime, smoke and blood stain your skirts, and your head still hammers with the persistent rocking of the long boat. It’s a miserable fate to be condemned to, as if your kidnapping wasn’t punishment enough now you must treat your kidnappers.

You eye the axe over the door again.

No. You refuse to let such violent thoughts consume you. You will not sit and let the vikings’ warring become your own, as much as your struggles have gotten you nowhere, you aren’t out of options yet.

You eye the tub that hangs in its netted cage from the rafters. Perhaps if your struggling won’t help you, your compliance will. Never let it be said that you didn’t explore every means of escape except the easiest. Though you don’t see how it could be easy. The mere idea of compliance revolts you, and your stomach churns unpleasantly at the thought of giving any of the men --Mactavish especially-- any ideas that you’re a willing captive. But sacrifices must be made if you’re to get your freedom.

There are women and children here that need care, you can focus your attention on them. That’s simple enough, and when you’re ripped again from your comfort to aid the vikings on their raids, you’ll- you’ll-

You’ll tie yourself to whichever viking seems easiest to sway. Eventually guard will be loosened enough for you to make your escape. Though you’re loath to think what that swaying may entail.

You think of the women in your village, how they’d spoken about men’s weakness to women, to their own instincts. You think of the way Mactavish draws himself to you, tied already with knots your nails are bloody trying to unravel.

You wonder if this is how he finds his thrill, catching unwilling prey and toying with it until it breaks. Well, not you.

Your throat tightens at the swing of the tub, a trick of your eye you’re sure. Yet it does swing, in your mind, it hangs over you like the sword of damocles, poised to bring about your ruin with one swift cut. It has to be Mactavish. You won’t be able to master the vikings’ tongue fast enough to try and win over any others. You don’t even know the others, save for Gaz and the captain. No, Mactavish is the most logical choice. He knows your tongue, played witness to your grief (to your village’s execution), he holds the most guilt. He has it coming.

The door opens and you’re shunted from your thoughts. Your head turns to watch Mactavish set wood by the armful inside the door, your stomach squirms when he looks up at you with a smile. You tell yourself that it’s hatred, loathing, revulsion.

“Should be enough for a fire,” He tells you, shutting the door tight behind him after the last load. You nod. Your mind is made up, but your tongue struggles to follow it. You don’t know what to say, how to act, you’re not versed in anything but your herbs and remedies. Even with those your knowledge is lacking and uncreative. The idea of being sweet to this man makes your stomach turn, and you’re sure he wouldn’t believe it anyway.

You go to pick up the wood, work will take your mind off your planning, and Mactavish catches your arm.

“Go fetch water,” He orders, “I’ll build the fire and get the tub down.”

“Me?” You ask, somehow the idea of being let out on your own for something as simple as a chore had not occurred to you. Perhaps your freedom will come sooner than expected, any other plans can be abandoned in favor of your first one: run.

Mactavish must know the glint in your eye too well, or else must sense some other change in your demeanor because his smile is mean and his eyes are hard when he reminds you,

“You won’t get far if you run, they’ll just bring you back here.” He says it like he wouldn’t be part of the hunt. “They,” as if the other vikings act independent of him. “Vaenn,” you remind yourself, prey. Why wouldn’t the dogs chase down a lone deer, sick with grief and wandered too far from her herd? You can practically feel them nipping at your heels already. You doubt Mactavish has ever given a thought to his own ability to flee.

You glance at the thick corded leather and fluffy furs that seem to lay against him like a second skin. No, you don’t think this man has ever been meant to be anything but a viking. You’re sure he ran off to join them as soon as they landed on his shore.

“Where’s the well?” You temper your trembling, slough off the adrenaline that threatened to send you bolting.

Mactavish leads you out the door and points back behind the house to a small ring of stones, just high enough to keep children from falling in. You wonder why a man who lives alone would think to build up the walls of a well when a wooden cover works just as well on the ground as it does on stones, and banish the thoughts that your thinking churn up. You will not humanize the wolf that drools over the marrow in your bones. He has nothing for you, no kind hand or offer of assistance, and will take everything given the opportunity.

There is no humanity here.

The blue sky feels dull, the white clouds tinted grey, the grass rippling with shadows, so close to your home and yet so very alien to you. The squat houses that dot the town are stained dark from wear, and you manage to dim the colorful banners that signal the market closer to the harbor. Your eyes land on the strange spire that seems to needle the sky, the building dismal and dark nearer the center of town. Vikings must find the sharpness of a blade so beautiful that they construct monuments to it.

There are people there, threading through the paths that spread through the village like arteries. Mothers and children, craftsmen and shepherds. Sheep wander through the hills on the far side of your village and you feel your heart clench for your own village’s flock. Likely all dead now.

You turn your eyes to the well, and the bucket Mactavish had thrust into your hands. Work. Work will take your mind from your thoughts until your muscles ache too much to ignore. Then you can find a fitful rest.

You lug the heavy bucket of water back to Mactavish’s house just as smoke begins to stream from the hole at the top of it. You shoulder the door open and take the bucket towards the fire, eager to be free of your burden.

“We’ll need more than that,” Mactavish tells you from behind. You turn to watch him on the ladder, his cloak abandoned and his linen shirt sleeves pushed to his elbows. He leans to grab the rope holding the tub aloft, and you watch with curiosity as he pulls himself onto the rafter and sets about untying the knot. The flex of muscle under fabric doesn’t escape your notice, and the flicker of fire over his features makes him look more beast than man. The thick dark hair on his arms doesn’t help. Like a bear, you think, too big to face with just your wits.

Your fingers itch for the knife in your bag and you dismiss the thought.

You won’t let these vikings make you a killer, their violence might touch your mind but you won’t let it take hold. You’re smarter than that.

“What for?” You ask, though you know what for. Know it as clearly as you know the thunk of wood as Mactavish lowers the tub to the floor, as well as you recognize the strain of muscle against fabric a size too tight. Mactavish’s biceps flex from the weight of the tub even as it gentles itself on the wooden floor.

“You know what for.” He doesn’t patronize you, doesn’t look at you like you’re stupid, in fact he doesn’t look at you at all. He merely sets his gaze towards the wall and swings himself back towards the ladder. Silently, desperately, you hope he falls. You know it wouldn’t make any difference if he did.

“I’m not taking a bath,” You tell him.

“Aye, ya are.” He responds easily, clamoring down the ladder to finish setting the tub right. He gathers the netting from underneath it and begins winding the rope around his arm in quick motions.

“And you’ll force that on me too, I suppose?”

“If I have to,” Mactavish looks at you, his eyes like steel in the light of the fire. You want to protest, but you know it won’t do any good. You scowl, and turn to stalk out of the house. You can’t do it, can’t tie yourself to a man like him even if it is an act. Mactavish… no Scotsman would turn his back on his own people like this. A viking through and through. He doesn’t deserve that tartan.

You’ll find another viking then. Gaz seemed nice enough, pitying of your situation at least. You’ll try him.

You reach the well before you remember your hands are empty. Your frustration boils in your chest, and rips from your throat in a growl as you turn and storm back towards the door.

Mactavish is dumping the water into a cauldron over the fire when you stomp inside. He smiles when you snatch the bucket from his hands, smug. What does he have to be smug about? Asshole.

You storm out of the house a second time and hear Mactavish’s chuckle follow you through the door. Your cheeks burn with every step you take. Your shame follows you all the way to the well and you consider running just to make Mactavish’s life harder. Likely it would make yours harder as well. You weigh the pros and cons of it as you carry the full bucket back from the well.

“In the tub.” Mactavish tells you over his shoulder. You curse him under your breath as you pour the first bucket into the wood basin. This is going to take ages. You have no reason to comply except that Mactavish’s watchful eye makes compliance feel more like an inevitability than a choice. One more he’s taken from you, you suppose. The man does make a habit of stripping you bare of every path you might take in favor of his own.

Your next trip stirs a cold breeze under your skirts as you haul the overflowing bucket from the bottom of the well. You nearly lose your grip on the rope when you shudder. The cold here feels bitter. Are you further north than your village? Or are you already remembering the flames before the winter.

You try to remember your mother’s face, the way she’d bundle you against the cold with scarves and mittens. It doesn’t make you any warmer. You didn’t think it would, but you refuse to hold death as the only thing you remember of your life before this.

Someday you’ll be back in your village, you’ll find the bodies of the people you love and you’ll bury them. Then maybe you’ll bury yourself.

Better than being a viking.

You dump your second bucket of water in the tub. Mactavish is making himself busy with searching the house for something. You don’t ask. Conversation with him does nothing but anger you. You’re already stewing with each lap you take between the house and the well, festering in your thoughts to pass the time. Your fingers begin to ache around the fifth bucket, your back following near the seventh. By the time you return with the eight Mactavish is dumping the boiling pot into your chilly tub.

He takes the bucket from you and dumps it into the cauldron to boil. He doesn’t return it. You stand stiffly near the door, unsure what to do with yourself now that your labor seems to be completed. Even your thoughts seem to focus into a single point, settled on the glitter of water in the fire light. Your fingers squeeze into fists, your nails digging into your palm painfully tight. You release the tense fists and scratch your thumb nail against your fingertips instead.

Mactavish begins unlacing his leather vest and you press yourself closer to the wall. Your eyes follow each pluck of his fingers, drag with the cording through the eyelets, your heartbeat is starting to quicken with each rung on the ladder of his laces that gets discarded. You may as well be trying to paint yourself on the walls with how tightly you press yourself against it when Mactavish lets the leather drop off his shoulders.

He settles it on a chair with his cloak and furs, then turns to you. You flinch into the wood.

“Thought I told you,” He mutters to himself, loosening the lace on his undershirt and stripping the garment over his head, “I’m plannin’ on courting you properly.”

As if such a thought could comfort you now. He takes a step towards you and you draw your shoulders to your ears.

“Stay where you are.” You order.

“So ahm nae gonna touch you,” He lies, taking another step, your eyes dart wildly around the claustrophobically small house, “but you stink.”

“I’ll scream.” You assure him, inching towards the door.

“As loud as you want,” He agrees, “you’re goin’ in the tub either way.”

Your eyes go for the door as quickly as Mactavish lunges for you. You scramble for the exit, tearing the door open and bolting. You take two steps before something huge and heavy collides with you. Your head is grabbed and pressed close to Mactavish’s chest before you hit the ground, pinned under a man who’s lucky you don’t have a knife on you. You scream and thrash under him. It makes little difference except to make Mactavish grunt with effort as he hauls you up into his arms and drags you back into the house.

You scream even when the door shuts, even when you’re set on your feet, it’s only when you’re spun to face Mactavish’s ruddy cheeks that you stop. You spend your silence to spit on his face. He bares his teeth at you with a growl and his hands grab at your earsaid. You flinch away, beating his hands off your clothes. “Don’t touch me.”

“Cannae go in with your clothes on,” He presses, grabbing for you again. He gets a hand around your waist to grab your back, strong arms holding you tight to his chest as he rips at the laces of your dress. You beat at his shoulders like a desperate flailing animal. It makes no difference.

“Let me go,” You shriek. His fingers unfasten your pin and you yelp when he sticks you with the sharp point. It feels like a punishment for your disobedience.

“Quit your squirmin’,” Mactavish grits, “You won’t take it off yerself, I gotta do it for you.”

“I’ll do it!” You yell at him, his hands feel too big, too heavy, and shame is starting to burn over your skin. Your hips bump the hilt of his knife and he lets you go. You take several shaky steps away from him, holding your dress tightly closed. He’d nearly ripped the laces trying to get the knot open. Your fingers shake, your heart hammers in your chest. He takes a step towards you when you take too long standing there. “I said I’d do it,” You snap quickly, turning your back to him.

You swallow the fear in your chest, the hatred that sours on your tongue. You don’t particularly want to undress in front of a man you hardly know, but you aren’t being given a choice. “Don’t look,” You call over your shoulder. You hear a hum in response and glance over your shoulder to see him turning around. You’re quick to divest yourself of the rest of your Earasaid, folding it neatly before your fingers are fumbling with the loosened ties on your dress. You get the knot open and tug at the lacing to open the dress enough to pull over your head, your underdress quickly follows. Another glance over your shoulder to make sure Mactavish isn’t watching and you step into the warm water.

It’s lukewarm, but not unpleasantly so. You sink into the tub, face the edge to give yourself some privacy from Mactavish’s wandering eyes. The warmth sinks into your bones against the chill of the room. You sink lower, trying to soak up as much of the warmth as you can before you force yourself to wash. You scrub your hand over your arm, watching the sweat and dirt slough off, you wish-

The water raises and shifts, splashes over the sides as Mactavish settles behind you with a groan. You glance over your shoulder at him startled, he’s facing you, leaned back against the other end. His head’s tipped back against the edge, throat bared and long legs caging you in as he relaxes in the warm water. You don’t see how he can share so easily, look so at ease, when it feels like your heart is about to pound its way out of your chest. Fear, it must be fear that seizes you when he opens his eyes to look at you.

His gaze feels like hands the way it drags over you, hot and heavy. You look away, face the wall again and decide you can’t do this. You move to pull yourself out of the bath and quickly sit back down when you feel the chill of the air on skin you’d rather keep to yourself. Especially when you feel Mactavish’s hands hovering on either side of you, as if he’d pull you back in himself.

“You said you wouldn’t touch me,” You remind him, your voice quieter than you want it to be.

“Ahm nae,” He tells you, voice thick as he settles back again, “Just looking.” He huffs, tipping his head back again as he relaxes again. “Cannae leave you alone, might try tae run again.”

You do your best not to curl in on yourself at his words, the rumble of his voice, the weight of his eyes. He’s not wrong, but that doesn’t stop the heat that burns over your skin at sharing a bath with him. Acting shy has never suited you, but it’s a hard thing to ignore. You busy yourself with cleaning up, snagging a cloth from the nearby stool and wetting it.

There’s another splash in the water, a disturbance of the delicate surface tension. You peek back at Mactavish and watch him drag the hot cauldron closer to dump the heated contents into the basin. The flood of heat makes you shiver. It’s mere moments before it soaks into your muscles and you have to stop the moan that threatens to escape. Gods that feels good. You could stay in this cradle of warmth for hours.

If you were alone, that is. As is, you refuse to give this man a better look at you than he’s already gotten. After all, you have managed to hold onto some dignity. You scrub your arms harder with the cloth, wishing you had some-

“Don’t want you callin’ me Soap,” Mactavish breaks your thoughts after a moment’s silence. His fingers drag through the water, lazy, as you scrub yourself. You’re eager to get out of this tub, and he seems just as eager to stay in it. He leans forward, and for a moment you fear his legs will drag you back against him. Instead you feel the warmth of his breath over goosebumped skin as he offers you a tallow soap. The soft buttery color of it disappears in your hastily grabbing hands.

“Mactavish does me just fine,” You grit, rubbing the soap into the cloth. You scrub your cheeks, and work on lathering the lye scented stuff into a lather for your hair.

“John-” He corrects, “Johnny if you-” He cuts himself off. You don’t see the need for either name. They’re too familiar. Still, you file them away.

“You hardly deserve the courtesy of Mactavish,” You bite, “what makes you think I have any desire to call you by a nickname?”

“Cannae be Mactavish forever,” he grunts, you feel a tug at your hair and swat his hand away, you collide with nothing but open air. You glare over your shoulder at him. He only smiles. “What if another one pops up?”

“And what if you stopped talking to me.” You grumble, since you’re naming things that are unlikely to happen.

You scooch back from the edge of the tub to dunk your head under the water. You bump Mactavish’s knee when you pull your head up, ignoring the way his thick thighs bracket you as you try to wring some of the water from your hair.

His fingers grip the edge of the tub like a vice, no longer dragging lazily through the water his knuckles are white from the strain. Your eyes travel up his wrist and over his arms to see the bulge of his flexed bicep. You can’t stare too much or he might get ideas, can’t even turn your head past what you need to scrub the wet soapy cloth over the side of your neck.

“Move back where you were Vaenn,” Mactavish orders you. You huff out a laugh.

“Oh,” you tease, unable to stop yourself, “Am I in your space? Am I making you uncomfortable?”

You look at him with a mirthful smile and his eyes bore holes into you, blue swallowed by the black of his pupils and his jaw tight. It startles you and in an effort to avoid meeting his gaze you turn yours down.

Did you realize that there was so much of him under his clothes? He looks to be made entirely of that thick corded muscle that you’d only seen laboring men in your village with. Your pulse throbs in your throat as your eyes trace over him, following the swirling intricacies of paint. From the ram whos horns swirl over his heart, to the tribal markings that trace down his ribs towards-

You shriek as your eyes land on his hard cock where it bobs in the warm water. You scramble away, and when your back hits the edge of the tub you frantically press your foot to Mactavish’s chest to keep him from coming after you. His big body, already moving towards you, now rooted in place at your touch. His eyes rake over you, the soap suds doing little to hide your body under the clear water, and land on the tuft of hair between your legs. His brows pinch together and he lets out a pained noise.

Your foot follows him as he settles back where he was. Your foot slips and he grits his teeth.

“Keep to your own space,” He swallows, “or get out.”

You grab onto the opportunity for freedom and nearly trip getting out of the tub. You don’t care anymore, he’s seen all there is to see, and you are humiliated. You snatch your underdress from the floor and scamper through the nearest doorway.

Your hands shake from more than just the cold as you tug the linen garment over your head, your wet skin scraping under the fabric. You wrap your arms around yourself to ease through the worst of the shaking. Fear, you think. It must be.

It’s darker in here, the wall separating this room from the main one also keeps the fires light from dipping its fingers into it. Still, your eyes aren’t so spoiled by the fire that they can’t tell the shape of a bed. It’s a boxy thing, tucked into the corner and lined with furs. It’s bigger than one man should require, and fleetingly you wonder if he has a wife tucked away somewhere. You quickly dismiss the thought, you doubt any woman would stomach Mactavish long enough for marriage. Besides, you’ve seen no signs of a woman anywhere in this small house.

Just him then.

You ignore the splashing from the other room and try to find something to occupy yourself with. There’s a candle beside the bed, a comb, a small wooden bear, a chair and a basket of cloth that you assume holds more clothing. You settle on the bed, feel the crunch of straw under your bottom before you feel yourself sink a short distance. At least he has a mattress in here. You fix your gaze on the wall and try not to think of anything.

But your mind is filled with painted markings, with stories of warriors that earn stripes and were driven north of your home. He really was made to be a viking then.

And hair. You’d thought the patches on his arms were dark but the mass of it that wanders down the midline of his chest is so much thicker. They must have had to dye his skin to get the pain to stick through that.

You press your thighs together, discomfort burning warm in your flipping stomach.

Not a piece of him you like then.

Your head jerks towards the room’s doorway when it darkens. Mactavish leans against the frame. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, can’t see his face from the shadows that he casts.

“You can take the bed tonight,” He tells you, and you must perk up too much because he holds up a hand and crushes you with it, “just tonight, we’ll share after.”

Your heart falls.

And some cowardly part of you tugs you back from going after him. He’ll just force you down as easily as he forced you into the tub.

You suppose even vikings must yearn for their own beds at some point. You just wish you weren’t included in that bed.

#x reader #cod x reader #x oc #cod x oc #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap cod #soap x reader #soap call of duty #soap mw2 #soap modern warfare #viking!Soap #f!reader #viking au #no beta I will edit this when I notice a mistake

418 notes · View notes

the-dumpster-fire-of-life · 2 years ago

Text

(got bored and decided to write this so enjoy and please tell me if you would like more HTTYD in the future in the comments!)

The Gates Of Valhalla

Hiccup couldn't do anything but stare, wide eyed at you in front of him.

He could feel the world blur around him, his breathing picking up as he looked down at you, laying on the sand surrounded by the blue ice, eyes closed.

Chest never moving.

Hiccup could hear people talking, people like his mother and father, his father's hand on his shoulder as Hiccup tried his best to wake up from the nightmare.

He didn't.

"No…no, no, no! Oh, gods, no!" Hiccup cried out, quickly falling to his knees as he grabbed you, bringing you closer to him.

Almost on his lap, Hiccup checked for any sign, anything, that you were still in there.

He could feel the dread, the tears pricking his eyes and the hand of his father, his mother's stare at him as he checked for anything.

He looked for the small twitch in your face he saw every morning he woke up to you. He looked for the pattern your chest rose and fell, a rhythm he loved to feel while his head laid on your chest.

Hiccup cried, a tear falling down his face as he never found one movement.

He still prayed, putting his head to your heart to listen to the familiar best he used to calm down, only to find absolute silence.

You were gone.

Drago and his own dragon, a self proclaimed Alpha, owned by him, had sentenced you to your death.

Or rather, they had sentenced Hiccup to his death, but you being you, jumped in the way to sacrifice yourself, saving Hiccup's life, and forfeiting your own.

But all they did was sentence Hiccup to something far worse than death.

A life without you.

And they used Toothless to do their dirty work.

Hiccup heard the small growl of your own dragon, the way they nozelled their snout against your arm, trying to nudge you awake like they did every morning

You never moved.

Your eyes remained closed, Hiccup's eyes remained on your face, his hand cupping your cheek as he cried, crying for you to come back.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

Everything blurred into thin lines, all Hiccup could do was watch as just mere minutes, or an hour he didn't know, Toothless was taken by Drago, along with your life.

Hiccup and the rest of the dragon riders, your friends, Gobber and his mother and father, Valka and Stoick the Vast, all stood alongside the shore.

Hiccup had to be pried away from you, crying and clinging on to the love of his life, in order to place you on the shop, a sheet over you to send you off to the Gates of Valhalla.

Hiccup watched as his friends mourned. Never did he think he would see the day his own father cried, mourning the loss of a child who wasn't even his, but one he watched grow up alongside him.

Hiccup starred as the ship slowly sailed off, a bow and flaming arrow in his hand, limping held with a heavy heart as he watched you leave.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

You were supposed to come home with Hiccup. You were supposed to get older, beside Hiccup and your dragon.

Hiccup was supposed to be the cause of the laugh and smile wrinkles on your face as you got older.

Hiccup was meant to stand before you and reiterate an oath he did when you guys stood in the woods as mere seven year olds, promising to marry and to stay by each other's side.

Hiccup couldn't help but be angry at himself and you. It was meant to be him. Not you. He was meant to be lying under that sheet. Not you.

The anger didn't last long, the sadness and heavy feeling in his chest overpowering it.

With a small nudge from his mother, Hiccup let one more tear fall, before his trembling hand lifted his arrow, notching it back.

Hiccup closed his eyes, turning his head away as he let it go.

Hiccup only opened his eyes once more when he heard every arrow stop, looking up to see your ship engulfed in flames.

It was the burial of a viking. One you would have wanted.

But Hiccup would've rather had you standing beside him, rather than leaving him behind with your memory.

"...Hiccup."

Hiccup barely looked at his father, his hand now coming back to rest on his shoulder. Hiccup didn't answer, looking back as your ship was almost engulfed in the fog, the flames growing bigger.

Hiccup had to say goodbye, with a heavy and hesitant heart, anger, fear and sadness creeping down into his gut.

It should've been him. Not you.

He shouldn't mourn the love of his life at a mere twenty years old, and even if he spent those twenty years with you, he would have to go on, grow older, as you were forever twenty.

"...I pray to the gods I will find you waiting at the gates of Valhalla, (Name)."

#httyd #httyd x reader #how to train your dragon #hiccup haddock #hiccup #hiccup x reader #hiccup haddock x reader #hiccup haddock x you #hiccup httyd #hiccup how to train your dragon #hiccup x you #how to train your dragon x reader #how to train your dragon 2

3K notes · View notes

gremlingottoosilly · 1 year ago

Text

Eat your Young (viking!Konig x fem!Reader)

You weren't afraid when the Vikings came. Your ruler pays them well, and they protect you from enemies far worse - there is nothing to worry about as you, an unmarried maiden, wander into the embrace of one of them. They are on your side. Right? Tags and CWs: Age gap, size difference, Konig is a bit obsessive and a huge perv, mentions of violence, Vikings Are Actually Kinda Nice No For Real, hand jobs, oral sex, naked man/clothed woman, slightly historically inaccurate, jokes about inbreeding Thanks to @angelbabysblog for the idea. I changed quite a lot because I was reading articled about how many of the Slavic cities were actually cool with Vikings and worked with them AO3

The Vikings are here. Your Father never allowed you to meet them before – as an unmarried girl, even if you’re already of age, it would be…scandalous. Not smart. Dumb, really – everyone knows that girls that are messing with the warrior from overseas often end up being taken away. And you couldn’t survive sea travel. The Vikings are here, but it’s not really a problem – you know that there are other countries over the sea, the countries that die and burn every time a ship is sailed in their harbors. You also know that you do not live in a country like that. That sound of Vikings approaching is a good one – that you’ll be protected from the other enemies your country has. You always stole glances, despite what your father has told you – you were a curious thing, always searching for trouble, always interested in everyone outside of your small village. You’re on the border – stuck between sea and great plains, open for any enemy if it weren’t for mercenaries who deemed this place as worthy of their camp. They live here, occupying the territory outside – even build themselves houses, despite every rumor calling them nothing more but overseas barbarians who would tear you down for a flick of a coin.

Well, you always thought you’d have nothing to worry about – you are not made of coins, after all. The Vikings had a leader, the one that stayed in the long house just outskirts of the village – the one that would always visit the elders, discussing the payments and the spoils of war. Father always punished you if any nosy neighbor would see you sneaking out to look at the warriors – but you couldn’t care less. If you are going to end up in a marriage with a fool, you could at least steal a few looks at the real men. Not the ones from your village – they felt more like brothers than anything else. Some of them were – second, third, fourth, just diluted enough to make the babies a bit less disfigured.

But, oh, nothing compared to the vikings. You see them when you run for the lake, far from the shore. They are clean – cleaner than sailors from Byzantine who sometimes stumbled upon the small village by the sea. You think you heard them talking about how cleanliness is a sin – and just how silly it sounded. You think you didn’t like people from this place very much – sailors were often drunk, always handsy and never spared a kind word without an insult…not that you knew their language – but you are smart enough to know that if a man is attempting to grasp your breasts while sneering something through his teeth, it won’t be a love poem.

— What are you doing here?

Ah.

You were spotted. Like a fox in a hunter’s trap – you are standing in the tall water grass, looking at the man through the weeping willow branches. Maybe, if you are lucky enough, he’d think you were a mavka, trying to drown him – some men were foolish enough to fall for the act, sparing you the consequences of your curiosity. You aren’t sure if the Vikings have legends of mavkas – if they even have lakes back where they are from. All travelers are mixed in your head – desserts, great plains, barbarians who would steal your sisters if you’d been blessed with some. Sea beasts who will take you on your ship, away from your father and…ah, it doesn’t sound too bad.

— Can’t you talk?

His voice is rough, and accented. Younger than you thought he would be with a body like this – a seasoned warrior, ginger hair covering his muscular chest and a small trail falling down his…

Viking knows your language. Shouldn’t be surprising – they are working for the elders and your ruler, after all. They get gold from your village, they get food from your village. They get sons – you heard about at least some of the women falling pregnant to the guests overseas. No one dares to say anything against it – but the rumors are still falling. You wonder if it’s as bad as it sounds. — I can talk.

This sounds dumb, but there is no use in hiding. Your intentions weren’t innocent – you are curious and curiosity is what leads to the devil. Or god of death. Or goddess – you are not well-versed in matters of spirit and while half of your village is still worshipping old gods while the other preaches about new, stronger ones, you wonder what kind of beliefs Vikings have. You heard their women can wield magic – and can count. And read. You would love to read, you think. — Gut. Thought I spotted a Margygr.

The word is weird. Rough. You don’t know what that is, but you certainly aren’t one. You take a step forward, not caring that your linen dress is getting drenched in water – not caring about what your father might say after. You would just tell him you wanted to go and drown since he was so adamant on marrying you off to some one-eyed half-wit quarter brother of yours. He wouldn’t be surprised – and you probably wouldn’t be missed. A whore to be, as some older women from your village would say.

— What is that?

He tilts his head to the side, his blue eyes looking at you. You notice a piece of cloth in his hands – something that must have been covering his face, you think. He is covered in scars and dirt, blood from some battle is getting washed away into the water of the lake. Gods, you say to yourself – you won’t even be drinking from it again. Although you promised it to yourself a few years ago already, when you spotted a dead deer lying in the water – and it’s not like you held to your promise. Better than seawater, after all. — A…drowned creature. Drowning creature. Your people are calling them… — Oh. Mavka. — Others call it mermaid. Selkie. Mermaid sounds harsh too. Rude. Other languages are rude – still, you would like to know more. Still, you would like to do anything to get out of your village. Learn to read. To write. Maybe hold a baby goat close to your chest and not have it ripped away for the nearest dinner.

— I’m not…that.

— I can see.

He laughs and you steal a peak at his manhood. You should be ashamed, really – if your dear mother was alive, she’d beat you up for being so immodest. If your dear mother was alive, you wouldn’t be allowed to sneak out like that – but she isn’t, so you stare at the man who can crush your skull in one hand. You stare at the trail of ginger hair going down his waist. The muscles flexing and the scars on his hips, glossy from cold lake water.

Hm.

Is it supposed to be this big?

He coughs and you peek to look at him again. Coughing isn’t good – he can be sick. Contangenous. There is a sickness coming around from sailor to sailor – you wonder if vikings have it too. You don’t want to get sick – but it would surely keep you out of marriage for a long while. Maybe, if you’re lucky enough, you could be buried like a pretty maiden. White dress and mourning relatives. That would teach them how to send you off to marry some dumb cousin you never knew before. Or knew too well. — You shouldn’t come here, Schatzen.

— Why?

— My men won’t be as nice as I am when they see a maiden in the lake.

You smile, tilting your head to the side. There are rumors – you can’t invite foreign mercenaries into your country without them taking their toll on the locals. Some people like them, some people are scared of them. Some are going out of the ordeal pregnant and some are not returning at all. But, you can run. But, this is your lake. You like it here – the quiet, the tranquility. You think that if your father proceed with calling you an old bride who should be married as soon as possible, you could just run away and live here. Fish is nice and there are berries when it’s not too cold. — Where are your men?

You never saw Vikings in battle. Never saw a group of them up close – you’d like to, of course. There are warriors in your village, but their best shot is wolves and deer. Not other men – you think you’d like to see war sometimes. Maybe, all the boys of age would die and you won’t have to worry about anything anymore. You would be nice as a local witch – or a local healer. Old hag sounds nice too. — Around. Waiting for the order. — What order?

You ask so many questions, König thinks. Pretty thing – smart, too. You aren’t afraid of him, even though you have to be. Most women would be screaming and crying if they saw someone like him in the lake next to them. Not Viking women of course – but people from around here are soft. Cherished. Coddled. You also seem soft, too soft, too gentle – a woman living in a small village on the shore without a husband shouldn’t be this careless. König knows you’re just lucky that the ruler of your country is kind enough to pay the overseas mercenaries instead of suffering the pillaging. Not all of people are this lucky.

If he won’t get a promised weight in gold this village won’t be lucky either.

König looks at your sweet face, at the way your eyes constantly dart to his crotch. Curious little thing you are – he isn’t sure if he is that happy that the payments have been consistent up to this point. That he can’t just screw this all over and demand a payment in other ways. That pillaging this village and taking all of its women isn’t really an option while they get their gold from here. Your long linen dress clings to your skin - you’re shaking, he notices. From cold, probably, dumb lady who is too curious for her own good. Hm. He has furs not far from here. He can…

— We’re protecting the shore. The border, too. You smile, nodding. And here he thought the locals knew why the foreigners were here – but he can’t expect too much, he guesses. At least it seems like you haven’t heard of most of his accomplishments. The rivers of blood would be enough to fill this whole lake three times. Or, maybe, you heard – and didn’t care, brave and fearless little thing. König likes the sound of that.

— Are you cold?

You ask him, to his surprise. Your gaze is switching from his face – he is open, cheeks flushed from the cold and a maiden right next to him, and he can’t even find it in himself to cover his scarred mug – to his cock. It’s standing proudly, heavy, balls hanging low as if asking to be held in your soft palms. König isn’t embarrassed – but he is surprised that your body, showing only a little bit in that dress of yours, is already enough to make him this bothered. This ready to give up the supposed protection of this village and take what’s his. — You can warm me.

You tilt your head to the side, mimicking his action from earlier. Curious bird – he could keep you at his ship. Tied up to the post, ready for anyone to use you. You’re strong, and resilient. Should survive the long way home – and he is getting quite ready to find someone at last. If the ruler of your little kingdom won’t be as stingy as the previous one, König can walk away with a sack of gold hanging on his shoulder. Enough for him and for him men. Surely enough to sway you. — How?

— Do you have a husband?

He knows, you probably don’t. A husband wouldn’t allow his wife to run around and flirt with other men – and if König was yours, he surely would keep you locked in like the treasure you are. There is too many men ready to take what doesn’t belong to them.

— No. And I won’t.

— Why? — Soon I will be too old to be a bride anyway. Not that I want it. He laughs at that. Surely, little bird, it wouldn’t be your choice. If the luck is on his side, it wouldn’t even be the choice of your father. — Touch me, Schatzen. You want it, ja?

He says this with more awkwardness than before. Swaying women by his side isn’t his strong suit – and even with his strength, not many of them would just throw themselves at him. Being a mercenary leader might bring him money but with the whole team consisting of equally strong and handsome men, the broody leader usually isn’t the first choice. He gets his fill eventually – but not the one that would make his heart flutter. With you, however… Your hands are traveling down his abs. Caressing every bit of skin you see – sending goosebumps down his navel and straight to his hard and leaking cock. He wonders if you’ve done this before – but your actions are the one of an explorer, not a professional. YOu grab his cock with both hands almost as if strangling him, and König lets go with a choked moan.

You retrieve your hands, nervous. Good girl. Eager, pretty. Such a shame this village usually pays its tolls. — Are you hurt?

— Nein, it’s…go on. You proceed to touch him, the softness of your touches is making him groan from pleasure. This is something else – you’re something else. Having the power to bring a seasoned warrior to his knees – god, how much he liked the way you looked at him. Eager and curious, always going down to touch his cock some more. You press your palm together, making s steady rhythm – using the pre-cum from his cockhead like a lube.

König relishes in the feeling – he might be one of the strongest soldiers, but it was the first time he felt victorious. With your hand pumping his cock up and down, the pleasure settling in his stomach and threatening to burst, he felt like a king. No, the king. Gods, you were beautiful. Worthy of throwing this village into the fire for. Worthy risking the payment. Your mouth is warm on his manhood – he didn’t expect you to be this active, to wrap your lips around the bulging head and bop your head just a bit. Up and down. Tongue swirling, as if tasting him. Making him sweat that you will decide to take a bite out of it, just to satisfy your curiosity. To his peace, you didn’t. He came shortly after you decided to put your mouth on him – when your tongue started to swirl around and collect the bitter taste of his pre-cum. When your curiosity about foreign warriors bathing in your lake finally made you do something about it – and he would feel bad about pressing a hand in your hair and forcing you to choke on his length, your nails digging small red paths in his pale thighs. You choke and squirm and cry and this is the sweetest sound he ever heard – so when he finally drags you away from his cock, smiling as you wipe your mouth and whimper. Squirm again, some more. The light in your faded a little as he pushed one calloused finger into his mouth and pushed your lips apart. Poor thing, he thinks. — You did good, little bird.

His seed tastes weird on the tongue. You wince, but swallow – it’s what good brides should do, you think. Somehow, looking at this warrior, you don’t feel so bad about being considered a bride. Maybe…no. You stalled here for long enough – you saw the Viking. You touched him. Tasted him. Father is probably looking for you.

You don’t even bother to say goodbye as you come out of the water – but König stops you right on the edge of the lake, firm hand on your shoulder. Squeezing. Touching. Feeling.

— I…I apologize, maiden. I lost control.

His voice is hesitant. You don’t like how unsure he sounds. It made you feel unsure too. Weird. Uncertain and meek.

— Are you going to leave soon?

He stops mumbling, looking into your eyes. This is settled – he is not leaving you here. You must return to your family, say your goodbyes. Maybe enjoy a few weeks of peace before his troupe finally gets a clearing on killing whatever enemies grouped at the border – and he will take you no matter the payment your ruler can give him. Nothing will be worth more than you.

— Yes. Yes, I will. You turn away, almost running. He didn’t stop you this time – you need to get as much freedom in your lungs as you can. He will take you eventually and, well…you best enjoy freedom as much as you could before this.

When your village will burn along with all the cousins, half-triple brothers, and elders, you’ll find out why most countries fear the Vikings. When you will be hauled to the wooden ship over a giant’s shoulder, with his hand sitting firmly on your ass and his other palm preventing you from screaming, you’d know why taking the attention of overseas mercenaries is a bad idea. When your ruler would refuse to pay the warriors for their service and force them to just take everything by force, you’d know why making payments on time is so important.

When König would finally make you his wife, you’d understand why you should have drowned in that lake instead.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #yandere cod #call of duty #cod x you #konig x you #konig cod #cod konig #yandere x you #yandere x reader

2K notes · View notes

cntloup · 1 year ago

Text

Queen!Reader x Knight!Ghost Vikings attack your land! war, blood and gore, near death experience

Part 2

You hear the galloping of a horse nearing as you walk hand in hand with your husband along the vibrant spring blossoms in the garden and turn your head to see one of the guards approaching.

“My queen, my lord! We saw their ships! Danes are here!” he calls out and informs you of the attack, out of breath from riding the long distance of the riverside to the castle.

“Pagans!” you gasp, “We must act now!”

Simon is alert in an instant, “Gather all the able men. They must be prepared to fight... and prepared to die.” he orders the guard, “Yes, my lord.” the guard bows and spins his horse to leave.

Simon turns to you, “You take all the women, children and elders into the fortress-”, “Do you think I will let you leave on your own?” you cut him off, shocked at his remark.

“I have my men!” he replies, tone harsher than intended.

“I will fight by your side.” you state firmly, matching his tone.

“No!” he bursts out almost in a shout.

“Do not speak to me in that tone! I am still your queen!” you snarl while taking a step closer, standing tall before him.

“And it is my duty to defend you, my queen.” he responds, lowering his voice.

“And it is my duty as your wife to remain by your side through everything.” you retort, tone still harsh as your frustration builds up.

“Please! I can’t lose you!” he utters in a much softer tone, pleading eyes looking back at you, growing desperate as you persist further.

“You won’t lose me... and how dare you underestimate my abilities as a warrior?!” you smirk, half joking and half serious, causing him to let out a chuckle, “I would never do such a thing. Forgive me, my love.”

“You are forgiven. And I will fight alongside you. This is my decision and that is final.” you say and leave to prepare for battle.

He lets out a shaky sigh, anxiety and fear surging inside him. But he knows that he could never prevent you from doing what you set your mind to.

-----

Amidst the chaos of the battle, arrows flying, swords slashing through flesh and bone, blood spurting out of bodies, dirt and grime and gore covering every soldier while they let out raucous war cries, your eyes search for Simon and find him through the gushes of blood and the sprays of mud under the warriors' heavy footsteps.

You sigh in relief to see him alive, but that doesn’t last long as your eyes land on the racing figure who charges towards him.

You nearly black out as the image of him dying flashes before your eyes, but soon gather yourself and rush to him, sprinting and leaping high to shield his body with yours and you feel the sharp blade of the enemy plunge through your abdomen.

It all happens so fast and he has no time to react, to stop you. And it registers in his mind what just took place too late as you lay on the ground, clutching your wound and almost choking on your own blood.

He kneels beside you and lets out a devastated sob, “What have you done?” he cries out.

He quickly gathers you in his arms and rushes into the nearest tent and calls out for the nurses to tend to you.

“Please, love. Stay with me.” he sobs but his voice is merely a faint blurred sound as you slowly fade into unconsciousness.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #cod x reader #ghost x reader #cod fanfic #ghost cod #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod #mw2 #cod modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty x reader

405 notes · View notes

tragisbawls · 6 months ago

Text

Please feel free to request a drawing please please I'll draw any one of your favorite HTTYD characters, viking or dragon. Hell I'll even draw your dragon or viking OC or whatever ship you want (as long as it's legal and not fuckin' weird...) anyways please please idk what to draw anymore thank you bye

388 notes · View notes

lilacargent · 10 months ago

Text

How cold is too cold?

The Quelec had been left alone after their adamant refusal to join the Conclave. This draconian looking species viewed most other creatures as lesser, which made the conclave just as happy to ignore the Quelec and their nearly uninhabitable icy planet.

It didn’t take long before the Prideful creatures couldn’t stand being put to the side like they didn’t matter. Requesting a diplomatic convoy to reopen the conversation was only a ploy to take them hostage and issue ridiculous demands to capture the Conclaves attention.

It is now that a conclave mother ship is hanging just out of orbit to make a plan to get them back. Above a massive map of the icy landscape with one thin line of forest across its median, the three crews tasked with the retrieval are discussing loudly.

“No they can sense electrical currents, and any blast from their breath weapons will shut down our vehicles.” The tall bipedal alien that looks remarkably like a yeti yells at the other people around the table ‘going in with a full frontal attack is going to get everyone killed and if they don’t the cold will. The hostages are held at this planets south pole, which functions as a great prison because of its insane cold!’ The group of Lokachs (a more serpent like alien) hiss at the hostile tone ‘ssssoo far you have not gotten a better idea. Perhaps think for yourself Loquacious.’ When a fight is about to break out the human mediator steps forward. Followed by a tall bearded man and a woman dressed in remarkably non uniform clothes, with markings on her face. ‘No fighting here, they send all of us because we have different experiences with the cold. You, Loquacious of the Relokip, can keep your internal temperatures high like the Quelec can but you’re saying they can sense how you do that?’ the second in command responds ‘Captain Drissum, sir. We generate static electricity in our fur and change it through our nerve system into heat. But the energy will set off the sense of the Quelec.’ With a slow nod Marcus will gesture to the people with him ‘We specifically picked people from a cold climate with generations of experience for this mission: Katjuk from the united Inuit tribes, and Bjørn from the high north and re-established viking society. After many humans left the planet because space travel became widely available the sudden climate changes from the departure of all these people caused an ice age to some degree. All of a sudden skills their people had perfected over generations became increasingly valuable, now they come to share this with us.’

Stepping into the middle of the group Katjuk is the first to speak, ‘we have means to travel the icy tundra without alerting the Quelec, and my friend and his crew have the skills and weapons to protect us during this track. The air is almost good for us the only dangerous aspect is the sulfur and a simple respirator will fix this without using electricity.’ Loquacious lets out a loud bellowing laugh ‘How in the eternal universe are you going to survive the cold without your electricity run suits then? And if you people are soooo cool why do you need us?!’ Marcus just facepalms and Bjørn shoulders past him towering above most people here, but only at eye hight with Loquacious ‘Unless you want us to drop you at the surface with us, you get to sit in your pretty ships and shoot up the other pole and if you are actually brave you can make a bigger splash by going into orbit and making sure they leave their hidey holes.’ kitjak pulls out several packages of fabric and shows one of them to the groups ‘these are a type of clothes our ancestors have used to keep warm in horrible cold, we are going to use them now to do the same. Now on how to get on the planet we are going to do a dead drop, with parachutes. No electricity involved.’ With a thoughtful expression the elder woman looks at the main Lokach, ‘we are going to need your biggest stealth ship, i have been told that it can start up with unheard of speeds almost straight up, is that correct? If so we would need it dropped with us, it is going to be our way out, hopefully it is too quick for the Quelec to respond and we can be picked ultimately outside of orbit.’ Taking a step forward the male bows his head ‘thisss iss the cassse indeed, how do you know it exists?’ Marcus laughs ‘we know most things, but that is not the point now.’ Seemingly having decided that the other groups knew all they needed the humans start speaking with eachother about how they are going to time all of it.

After the fact Loquacious recounts with stunned admiration to the Conclave ‘they dropped down from our highspeed ships with 30 creatures they call dogs, specifically trained to pull sleds and run in packs. The sleds flew over the icy landscape with no regard for the cold. Once they arrived at the strong hold Bjørns men put on spikes on their feet, ropes all around them and scaled the walls like it was nothing. Somehow it took no more than 30 minutes for them to return with the hostages, dropping them down with the ropes like they weighed nothing. Immediately being clothed by Kitjacks group put on the sleds, to return at breakneck speeds.’ Loquacious is silent for a bit when Ilsop (the head Lokach) speaks up ‘with no regard for their own safety they returned the people to the ship we had dropped in the forest line, the dogs are trained to not fear anything their people will tell them to do. There was no sign of exhaustion on these creatures, i believe they would have been able to walk so much further.’ Shocked faces all around look to the massive windows overlooking the internal park of this garden world where a dozen humans are playing with dangerous predators without a fear in the world.

The humans will always find a way.

Outside Bjørn is speaking with Kitjak ‘You know it wasnt even that cold, a Canadian would have worn shorts’ Laughing loudly the woman agrees.

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

Tadah

As this is not my culture i did a lot of research, if i have represented things wrong please tell me. Because of that i have remained vague on certain aspects i could not find clear info on.

This took a bit but in response to @caffineandsugar s request for nordic/inuit/ scandinavian focussed.

#humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #humans are deathworlders #humans in space #humans are space australians #humans are space capybaras #humans are insane

196 notes · View notes

roanofarcc · 3 months ago

Text

ROUGH SEAS

pairing: sasappis x ghost pirate!reader

summary: you and sass had a long history, having known each other before your deaths. you had thought there were decades of underlying feelings between the two of you, but when a new ghost starts hanging around woodstone and catches sass’s eye, you wonder if it had all been in your head.

warnings: probably an inaccurate depiction of 1700s pirates. jealous!reader & clueless!sasappis. mentions of death & drowning but nothing too graphic. thor’s dating advice.

word count. 2k || masterlist

There was a constant chill that enshrouded you. A shiver often coursed through your body, despite the layers of hand-dyed fabrics you had sewn together yourself and the fact that you were dead. It was a side-effect of your death, having fallen through a sheet of thin ice on a pond during an attempt to save a young Lenape girl who had raced out on the frozen water during a children’s game. You had successfully shooed the young girl to a thicker patch of ice before it started to crack under your feet. Before you could react, your body was submerged in the freezing water.

As a pirate, venturing across the seas, you had only ever set your sights on living life to the fullest. Your only concern, since you were little being raised on a ship with your father whose crew you inherited after his passing, was adventuring and learning. You had your sights set on the next place you’d encounter, but never on what waited for you in the afterlife. Of course, your lifestyle wasn’t the safest, and you often believed you would eventually parish with your sword drawn in defense of your ship, as your father had. The only people you had ever cared about were your crew, but when you landed in North America in need of a break from the seas after an especially horrible storm that left your supplies at the bottom of the ocean, you found refuge with the Lenape tribe.

They had been especially kind to you. You bonded with the younger adults, including one sweet man named Sasappis who you bonded with the closest during your short time there. Your care extended to the tribe. So, the moment you saw the little girl race onto the patchy ice, you didn’t hesitate to chase after her in fear of her getting hurt. She had been saved, but you disappeared under the icy water in a cruel twist of fate. When you found yourself lying on the ice, you realized your life had left you and ghosthood had claimed you.

Loneliness didn’t claim you, however.

You had quickly met another ghost who greeted you with excitement, a Viking with endless stories of the sea he was thrilled to share with you. You were grateful for Thor. He had made your unexpected transition into the afterlife less terrifying, despite his loud voice and large Viking build.

Not too long after your death, Sasappis followed. While you were heartbroken at his loss of life, you had missed speaking to him. The two of you quickly fell back into your old ways, joined by Thor in a new adventure of the afterlife.

As more ghosts joined your circle of friends, you were never as close with any of them as you were with Sass. Each ghost had their own relationship with you, whether it was swapping swashbuckling stories or gossiping about the livings, but the relationship you and Sass had was different. When you were alive, you had pondered the idea of the two of you being more than friends. But you came from two very different lives and you feared it was too much of a long shot to ever push the bounds of your friendship. Then you both were dead, and your afterlives were seemingly tied together since you couldn’t leave the property.

You weren’t scared of sailing rough seas or fighting off other pirate crews who threatened to rob you. You weren’t scared of the endless darkness that accompanied the ocean or gambling with fate. But the prospect of a relationship with someone you considered your best friend was terrifying. So, you skated around it, allowing you and Sass to linger on the line of more than friends but never cross it. That was all fine and dandy because no one else had ever come around to threaten the delicate relationship you two shared until Sam and Jay hired their first employee at the Woodstone Bed and Breakfast, and he came with a cute ghost's soul attached to his car.

A bitter shiver ran down your spine as you glared out the living room window, watching Sass laugh and flirt with Jessica, the car ghost. She was beautiful, even with a shard of glass poking out of her forehead. You knew it was childish to be jealous, but you couldn’t help it.

“Ah! Friend, you missed cod-talk again,” Thor said, entering the living room. “What are you looking at?”

You sighed, gesturing to Jessica and Sass outside. “The new ghost and Sass,” you replied. “They’ve been awfully friendly with each other.”

Thor hummed as he peered outside, his hands perched on his hips. “Landship ghost. She is new friend of Sass, yes?”

“Seems so,” you huffed.

“You look angry.”

You forced your gaze away from the window and shook your head. “I’m not angry. I’m just…just concerned, that’s all. We don’t even know this ghost. She could be bad news. Or…” You realized you sounded insane, speaking about someone you didn’t know with such malice. It was in your nature to be intense and skeptical of everyone you met because you never knew who was there to be your friend and who wanted to stick their sword through your gut. But life had progressed well past the days of pirates of your kind.

“Want Thor’s advice?” Thor asked, his hands perched on his hips.

A part of you wanted to say no and shoo the Viking away so you could mope around in peace, but Thor had always been a nice shoulder to lean on when you needed it.

“What kind of advice?”

“Landship ghost is pretty, yes. But Sass like you. Tell him you like him too.”

Heat instantly rose to your cheeks at Thor’s words. You sputtered for a response, but something caught Thor’s attention from the kitchen. He left you standing at the window in a pit of your feelings. When you returned your gaze to the window, Jessica was inside the car, alone and Sass was nowhere to be seen.

“What’re you doing?” His voice sounded, startling you as you spun around to face him. He wore an amused smile on his lips.

Clearing your throat, you quickly replied, “Watching the birds.”

“Watching the birds?”

“Y-Yes. I have to entertain myself with something. What have you been doing?”

Sass shrugged, looking a bit sheepish. “Keeping Jessica company. I imagine it gets lonely being a car ghost.”

You hummed in response, feeling that awful pit of jealousy rage like the sea in your stomach. “She seems nice.”

“Yeah….” Sass trailed off, looking anywhere but at you.

The conversation felt odd. For decades, centuries even, the two of you never felt uncomfortable in each other presence. You were practically two halves of a whole. But suddenly there was a great divide, a chasm neither one of you were sure how to cross.

You couldn’t handle it, so you made up some excuse about a promise you made Hetty and left.

Days later, news came from Thor that Sass and the car ghost were dating. You felt like you were back underwater, submerged in the pond. It wasn’t fair of you to feel that way; you had never voiced your feelings for Sass aloud to him, so how was he supposed to know? Yet, you had always thought he had the same inkling of likeness towards you, too. You had waited and waited for a confirmation of that to show itself, but you had received the opposite.

Pirates didn’t run away from their problems; they met them with swords drawn and teeth bared. But when you thought about your problem was Sass, all you had the will to do was cower. You could almost hear the disappointment of your father in the air, and the confusion of your long-lost crew. It wasn’t like you; time had changed a lot about you.

Sass had never been one to run face-first into confrontation either, which was why you were so surprised when he entered your bedroom one night just as the mansion was settling for the night. He looked nervous, a little sorry, and a little angry.

You looked up from the book Sam had opened for you, gazing at old paintings of ships at sea that were reminiscent of your old adventures.

“Hello?” you greeted, confused.

Sass twisted his hands together in front of him, a mix of emotions stormy on his face. “Did I do something wrong?”

You sat up on your bed, smoothing out the age-old wrinkles on your clothes. “What’re you talking about?”

He huffed in disbelief. “You’ve been ignoring me for almost a week. Every time I try to talk to you, you run away. You didn’t even show up for Love Island this week! I had to watch it alone. What’s the deal?”

Another thing about pirates that you were familiar with, they did not like being cornered, but they often found themselves in that unfortunate position.

“I don’t have a deal,” you said a little defensively. “I figured you’d be spending time with your new girlfriend; that’s why I didn’t show.”

“I wouldn’t miss Love Island night,” he countered before casting his gaze to the ground. “And Jessica’s gone.”

Your eyes widened against your will, shocked. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a long story, but Sam and Jay have to find a new employee.”

You wanted to act sympathetic, but you couldn’t find it. In fact, you were relieved. “Oh.”

Sass was quiet for a moment before his face twisted into even more confusion. “Wait, is that why you’ve been avoiding me? Because of Jessica?”

“You seemed busy. I didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted, trying to look like you hadn’t cared as much as you had.

He scoffed in response. “Just because I got a girlfriend doesn’t mean I didn’t want to hang out with you. Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged.

He studied you with inquisitive eyes; it felt like he was looking through you, which usually wouldn’t have bothered you due to your ghosthood, but with Sass it was different. He saw you differently than anyone else you had ever known, alive or dead.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not!”

“You are! What’s really going on? Did I say something or do something?”

You stood up from your bed, knowing the conversation was completely unavoidable now. If a pirate is backed into a corner, the only thing they knew how to do was fight their way out, protect their ship or go down trying.

“No,” you sighed. “It’s me, okay? I was…” Trailing off, you internally cringed at yourself, not wanting the next words to leave your mouth, but you feared you had no choice. “I was jealous.”

The admission hung in the air for a moment, a tense cloud that swirled between you two. Sass opened his mouth and then closed it. You let out a shaky breath and added, “It’s been you and I for…forever, it feels like. I got in my head, okay? I thought after all of this time, maybe, you felt different about me. Maybe you felt like how I feel. But you don’t and I-”

Sass cut you off with a swift shake of his head. “How you feel? How do you feel?”

It was all coming out, after so many years, lifetimes even.

“I like you, Sass,” you whispered. “I really like you. But I didn’t realize just how much until you were with someone else.”

He was quiet for another moment, and you feared the worst. You feared he’d tell you your feelings weren’t reciprocated. But he surprised you by crossing the space between the two of you, grasping your shoulders, and before you could even comprehend what was happening, he was kissing you.

It took your breath away, surprising you more than death itself. His lips were warm on yours and his hands held onto you like he was scared you’d disappear under the ice again. It was decades worth of feelings bubbling to the surface at once, spoken through an intense kiss that took the air that wasn't even there right out of your lungs.

When you pulled apart, a smiled painted your lips as a sheepish look graced his face. “I like you too,” he said.

You laughed in disbelief, grasping the sides of his face and bringing him in for another kiss.

#cbs ghosts #sasappis #sasappis x reader #sasappis x you #cbs ghosts fanfiction #thorfinn

110 notes · View notes

rhyrhy · 2 months ago

Note

Ok I've never seen someone write this but viking abby has been playing in my brain 🥰

AHHHHH I HAVE THE PERFECT STORY FOR THIS IN MT NOTES POOKIEEE 💐

Headcannons

Viking Abby! who definitely names all her swords. When teased or asked about it, she’d explain how it ‘gave them extra strength.’.

Viking Abby! Who sucked at hnefatafl, and when she was close to losing, she would hold your eye contact and swipe the pieces onto the floor.

Viking Abby! Who absolutely loves the longship, always volunteering to row because she can’t really sit still and secretly enjoys showing off. You’d catch her flexing as she rows and giving you that little smirk if she sees you looking. Followed by a soft, “See something you like?”

Viking Abby! Who takes her braiding very seriously. Her hair is always pulled back into perfect, intricate braids for battle. If you’re close to her, she’ll insist on braiding your hair too, saying it’s a “warrior’s bond”.

Viking Abby! Who hates the cold and gets grumpy during long winters, always complaining but secretly enjoying the chance to spend more time indoors with you. She’d spend the nights sharpening her weapons by the fire while stealing glances your way.

Draft/storyline idea in my notes

The haunting memory of Abby’s father’s death echoed in her mind as she stood at the helm of ‘the viper’, continuing his journey in his memory. The same crew that had pulled her from the wreckage of the attack on our village, the one that took his life, stood beside her. We were entering dangerous waters in the Caribbean, but she pushed forward—it was just another voyage.

She jolted from sleep by screams. Her ship was under attack Grabbing her sword, she rushed into the chaos.

As she fought to defend the crew, abby blocked a strike, grabbing a woman’s arm. Her sword faltered, and you pressed the advantage, knocking it aside. As their eyes locked, and her heart stopped.

“Y/n?”

The memory of two girls laughing, running on this very ship, clashed with the vision of your family leaving hers behind, abandoning them in chaos when fleeing the raid that took her father from her.

“Abigail ?” You whispered, guilt and disbelief written on your face “I thought you—”

“You left us. You left me.” She snapped of anger, her grip tightened on her weapon.

But Before either of them could speak again, a massive wave hit, Clanks of metal faded. sending you both overboard into the freezing water.

Abby woke, gasping for air, sprawled on a rocky shore. Her muscles ached from the cold, her clothes soaked. Struggling to her feet, she scanned the beach, trying to orient herself.

You choked out a mouthful of water, catching your breath. Sand stuck to your face, hair, everywhere.

Once your thoughts came back to you, you glanced around you, seeing wherever the hell the water had taken you.

With a heavy breath you closed your eyes for a moment, trying not to freak out. The water was unpredictable but sending your long lost friend your way? especially when how things ended years ago, felt like a cruel joke.

The reflection of your face came into view when her boots landed in front of you. You slowly looked up to the woman before you…and oh her face? That look in her eye of hurt and anger

nothing was going to be as cruel as abby once she gotten a hold on you.

#abby anderson #abby x fem!reader #abby tlou #abby anderson x female reader #abby the last of us #viking #viking abby!

83 notes · View notes

themuseumofwitchcraftandpaganism · 3 months ago

Text

Did Christianity Steal From Paganism? Yes... No... It's Complicated. Part 2: Vikings

Tis the season so I figured I'd talk about the topic that's been the subject of debate for a long time, most recently with the 2024 Olympics. I will be discussing the visual aspect of these religions, not the theological aspects.

Short answer: Yes

Long answer: No

Let's get into it: The Viking era is from 800-1050 AD and can be divided into seven parts based off the style of visual art that was popular. The first style is called the Oseberg style (775-800 AD) and would be the basis of all the Viking styles of art after it. It was made of three forms that were derived from Pagan pre-Viking art: ribbon animals, gripping beasts, and ambiguous forms. You can see it on the bow of the ship below; the ship dates to the 9th century and was found in a burial mound in Tønsberg, Norway. Remember these forms because they're going to be important later.

The Vikings started coming into contact with Christian Anglo Saxon (modern day English) missionaries in the 700-800s, but they had little effect. The missionaries were well received by the kings but when their Pagan chieftains threatened to rescind their support, the missionaries were sent away. Another example of that is in 878 AD, the Christian king of the Anglo Saxons, Alfred the Great of Wessex, and the Pagan king of the Vikings, Guthrum the Old, were at war. King Alfred ended up winning and as part of the peace treaty, Guthrum had to get baptized into Christianity. He did so but maintained his Pagan worship and did not implement Christianity.

Besides the kings, common people had also started to slowly assimilate to Christianity. Christians had a rule that they couldn't trade with Pagans so Pagan Vikings began primsigning. Primsigning is an old Norse word meaning "to make the sign of the cross," the way to show you followed Christian beliefs before converting all the way through baptism. Even though they weren't being baptized and were still practicing Paganism, primsigning was enough for Christians to feel comfortable trading with them and brought the Vikings more into the world of Christianity.

An interesting example of this is in Kopparsvik, Sweden, where a large number of Viking individuals were buried in a prone position from 900-1050 AD. This is completely different from traditional Pagan Viking burials: there were no grave goods, no animal sacrifices, no mighty ships. Typically, a prone position is a sign of showing humility towards God and all the figures had notches carved into their teeth (below). Historians theorize that they used the notches to secretly signal to Christian merchants that they were also Christian to get discounts while not being alienated from their Pagan communities.

The coin below is from ~921 AD. It's a Viking coin from York, England and wonderfully shows the mixing of Pagan and Christian iconography. Coins like this typically had the name of the Viking king engraved on them but this one has "St. Peter." However, it also depicts the hammer of Thor on both the head (left) and reverse (right). It really demonstrates the visual mixing of religions.

Sometime between 940-1000 AD, the cross below was made. It was found in St Andrew's Church, Andreas, Isle of Man (between England and Ireland), and is another great example of the combination of Pagan and Christian art. On one side (left) it depicts Odin with one of his ravens fighting the wolf Fenrir at Ragnarök. The other side (right) depicts Christ triumphing over Satan. Both of these are stories of good vs evil and depict a god triumphing at the end of days. It would have drawn attention to the theological similarities between Christianity and Norse Paganism, making it easier for people to conflate the differing theologies.

Remember the Oseberg style from before? We're going to revisit it. By the 900s, Viking art was being done in the Mamman style; the ribbon animals and gripping beasts had combined into an icon called the Great Beast. The Great Beast was a symbol of power and strength, frequently put on longships and other Pagan items. In 986 AD, Viking King Bluetooth, a recent convert to Christianity, had the jelling stone below erected in honor of his deceased parents. On one side, he included a Great Beast; this was to show the strength and nobility of his parents and the nation they ruled. On the other side, he put an image of Christ Triumphant. This makes sense for a cenotaph as the promise of a resurrection is a comfort in the face of death. But the combination of a Pagan symbol of strength and an image of Christ is very interesting; it's doing more than pointing out the similarities between the two religions, it's uniting both Pagan and Christian subjects under his rule and proudly displaying the two different sources of the Viking's strength.

I can't end this without also talking about architecture. The last Viking art style is called the Urnes style and it's primarily because of the church below. It was built in 1132 AD in Urnes, Norway and is a stave church, meaning the whole thing was built without any nails!! The entire thing is self-supporting wood made using the post and lintel system. It's a Chrisitan church but has Pagan iconography on the sides: the last version of the Great Beast (right) and Pagan runes. It's fascinating how a Christian place of worship is decorated and protected by Pagan icons, once again showing the combination of visual cultures and methods of thought.

So, the answer everyone is looking for is NO.

The Christians didn't steal anything from the Pagans, they made an association. They produced art in the style that was popular and followed the artistic trends of the time. Christian and Pagan imagery was produced in the same medium and combined until Paganism was phased out over hundreds of years. They saw similar gods and iconography and combined them to make a message that was understandable to all audiences.

Happy Yule! Happy Winter Solstice!