#vikings storys

[whereserpentswalk]

People don't realize how liminal it is to be a time traveler. How you don't ever really feel like you're in the time you are. Even when you're in your own time, everything is off, your coat was something you bought in interwar France, the book you're reading on the train is from a bookstore you had to visit in Victorian London, even your necklace was given to you by a Neolithic shaman, from a culture the rest of the world can never know. You find yourself acting strange even when in the present, much less in the past you have to work in.

You remember meeting a eunuch in 10th century China, and having him be one of the only people smart and observant enough to realize you were from a diffrent time. You could talk honestly with him, though still you couldn't reveal too much about your time. And it was still so strange hearing him talk casually about work and mention plotting assassinations. You're not allowed to but you still visit him sometimes.

You remember that the few times you were allowed to tell someone everything it was tragic. You knew a young woman who lived in Pompeii, who you had gotten close to, a few days before she would inevitably die. On your last day there you looked into her eyes, knowing soon they'd be stone and ash, that the beauty of her hair would be washed away by burning magma. And you hugged her, and told her that you wanted her to be safe, and told her she was wonderful and that you wanted her to be comfortable and happy. And you let her tongue know the joy of 21st century chocolate, and her eyes see the beauty of animation, knowing she deserved to have those joys, knowing it wouldn't matter soon. And you hugged her the last time, and told her she deserved happiness. And when you left without taking her it was like you were killing her yourself.

You want to take home everyone you're attached to. There's a college student you befriended in eighteen fifties Boston. And you can't help but see him try to solve problems you know humanity is centuries away from solving. And you just want to tell him. And it's not just that, the way he talked about the books and plays he likes, his sense of humor. There's so many people you want him to meet.

You feel the same way about a young woman you met on a viking age longship. She tells stories to her fellow warriors and traders, stories that will never fully get written down, stories that she tells so uniquely and so well. She has so many great ideas. You want so dearly to take her to somewhere she can share her stories, or where she can take classes with other writers, where she can be somewhere safe instead of being out at sea. She'll talk about wanting to be able to do something, or meet people, and you know you're so close to being able to take her, but you never can, unless she accidently finds out way too much then you can't.

You remember the longship that you met that young storyteller on. You were there before, two years ago for you, ten years later for the people on it. The young woman who told you stories wasn't there ten years later, you had been told why then but you only realize now, her uncle, who ran the ship, had been one of the first people to convert to Christianity in his nation. He killed her, either for not converting or for sleeping with women, you're not sure, but he killed her, and bragged about it when you met him ten years later.

You talk to the storyteller on the longship, ask her about the myths you're there to ask her about, the myths that she loves to tell. You look into her eyes knowing it's probably less then a year until her uncle takes her life. You ask her if you think that those who die of murder go to Valhalla. She tells you she hopes not, she doesn't see Valhalla as a gift but as a duty, she hopes for herself to go to Hel, where she wouldn't have to fight anymore. You slip and admit you're talking about her, telling her that you hope that's where she goes when she's killed. You hope to yourself you'll be forced to take her to the twenty first century, you're tempted even to make it worse, you want to have ruined her enough to be able to save her.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: The one who returns

(A continuation of: Humans are weird: They sing going to war)

Though my comrades laughed I continued the human tradition, and to my relief I was rewarded by what gods of theirs were listening.

On my first drop after I started to sing an anti-air shell punctured straight through my dropship. It tore a hole the size of my torso through the hull, reducing the squad mate who had been sitting their laughing at me into a red mist, and then out through the other side before detonating. The craft rocked and lurched but it held together long enough for us to reach the surface.

In my first battle I was pinned down in the ruins of a structure trading fire with a squad of enemy soldiers on the opposite street. We’d been stuck in that firefight for almost an hour trading fire; neither side daring to race across the dead land between us. I had just ducked back to slap in a fresh clip when a shredder grenade was flung through the window and landed at my feet. I had seen what they could due and knew my time had come as there was no chance for me to escape the room before it detonated. Yet as I kept my voice strong in song a stray blaster bolt struck the ceiling above me loosening a chunk of masonry. The piece came loose and fell directly on to the grenade causing the ground beneath it to crumble and continue falling into the floor below before it detonated leaving me unharmed.

What truly astounded me though is when my squad was assigned to capture a metal recycling facility on the outskirts of the city. Reports had identified the complex as a rallying point for scattered enemy squads looking to regroup so we were sent in to neutralize the threat. We arrived in good order and began investigating the factory when the machinery suddenly came to life. A metallic sheering blade the size of my body swung at me from the gloom and would have nearly chopped my head off had I not noticed the red glow it began to emit as it powered up. My comrades were not as lucky and three of them were cleaved like bloody paper. From above I saw the operator of the machinery at what had once been a foreman control post and let loose a barrage of blaster fire. He fell quickly enough and in the confusion of battle between the enemy forces now flooding onto the facility floor I made my way up to the control post. It took a minute to unravel the nature of the controls but in short order I had redirected our would-be machine adversaries to turn on their former compatriots. The facility was ours within the hour with myself once more remaining the only one untouched from harm.

As my squad began shuffling off to wait for a medvac I found myself drawn to the machinery. The giant blades now stood silent and powered down and I ran a hand against them. Even powered off they were sharper than anything I had ever come across and when on had so easily cut through armor meant to deflect raw energy discharges. I’m not sure if it was from the shellshock of battle or from my recent time spent with the human warriors, but I felt something calling to me from the blade. It took some time to dismantle but by the time the medvac transport arrived I had freed it from its housing and dragged in onboard. If my squad had anything to say about it those that could still speak kept their own council.

Back in orbit I dragged the metallic blade to the human’s section of the ship. I had found myself in their company more and more when time permitted between deployments. Their talk of ancient gods and wards of protection were what interested me at first, but they were but the first steps into the depth of my fascination of their culture. I showed them the giant blade and told them of how it had slain my comrades. Some of them spoke how it reminded them of the blade of Surtr which heralded Ragnarök, while others insisted that it was more akin Skofnung, a king’s blade imbued with the spirts of his most loyal warriors.

The debate went on from friendly disagreements into an open brawl between the opposing factions, but their engineers remained focused on the material itself and asked what I wished to do with it. I had heard many of the legends of the humans by now and knew many of them carried great weapons, so I wished them to fashion me one from this blade as well. They were hesitant at first as the work alone would be immense and they had other duties to attend to, so I offered them whatever material of the giant blade would be theirs to do with as they pleased. With such an offer made their eyes went wide and they barely had time to agree to the terms as they snatched the giant factory tool and carried it off between the still brawling throngs.

Three days passed and I heard nothing from them. My next deployment was on the fourth and just before I was to embark on the transport the engineers came before me. With great glee they presented me with my new weapon.

Now a fraction of its former size, the blade could easily be wielded with one of my hands. I took several swings of it and I could feel the very air itself around it buzzing as it sliced through it. To add to the moment the human engineers directed my attention to a bright red button on the hilt of the weapon. No sooner had I pressed it did the blade coursing with power. A soft orange glow began to emit from the blade as it once more became as powerful as the first time I saw it in the facility. As if to emphasize its keenness they had me hold the blade up then swung one of their own rifles at it like a club. The blade sliced through the body of the rifle and it fell to the floor with a loud clutter.

Impressed by their work I nodded my thanks and joined my comrades on the dropship. It would be the last time anyone on the ship would call me by my name. When I returned I would be known by other names but the one that most stuck was Ne’ya Ruel, which in my people’s tongue translated to “The one who Returns”  

[bravo4iscool]

i started watching vikings like two weeks ago and this came to my mind😭

(ubbe ragnarsson x fem!reader; lothbrok/ragnarsson family & fem!reader)

(we’re just gonna act like they’re all a happy family and no one hates each other and everyone is a decent human being lol)

(this is also anything but canon, everyone’s alive, no one’s dead and this has like no place in the timeline lmao. this is just my delusions taking over😭. this probably will have multiple parts too (if people want that lol))

(masterlist | join my tag list!)

REQUESTS/ASKS OPEN!!!

you’re standing at the docks, erik on your hip and little ingrid by your side as you watch the ships slowly run into the habour of kattegat.

your daughter is all giddy beside you, just waiting for her father to finally arrive. “where is he mama? where is he?” she keeps asking, jumping up and down in excitement.

“i don’t know, baby,” you chuckle while the first ships arrive at the docks, the men leaving them in a hurry to get off. “i’m sure he’ll arrive soon,” you promise, ruffling your daughter hair.

meanwhile ubbe can’t walk towards you fast enough. there’s a big smile on his face as he keeps his eyes focused on you and the kids. he needs to take you into his arms again, he couldn’t wait.

he calls out your name when you don’t seem to notice him just yet and your head snaps up at his voice. your eyes light up when you finally see him almost running towards you.

once he reaches you he picks you—and erik—up in his arms, spinning you around. “my love,” he mumbles. “i’ve missed you.”

he sets you down again, immediately connecting his lips with your while his arms hold you close to his body. you sigh into the kiss, more than happy that your husband had finally returned.

when erik begins to squeak you both break the embrace. “look at you,” ubbe coos. “all grown up, my boy.” he takes erik from your arms and holds him up before he peppers his chubby face with kisses. “have you been good to your mama?” he asks, grinning when the baby begins to giggle.

“papa, papa!” ingrid starts to jump up and down again, grabbing her fathers clothes. “will you give me a kiss too?” she asks, her voice sweet and innocent as she blinks up at ubbe.

he looks at her and crushes down, “of course, my darling,” he smiles before he places his other arm around her and starts to plant small kisses all of her face.

the little girl starts to giggle, clearly happy that she’d gained her fathers attention. you only look at the three of them, thanking the gods that ubbe had returned home safe and healthy.

“papa?” ingrid then asks. “can i go greet uncle bjorn?” she’s giddy on her feet, looking at ubbe with those big eyes. “pleaseeeeee?”

ubbe looks at you and you give him a subtle nod. “you can,” he ruffles her hair. “but be careful, the docks can be dangerous.” his voice contains a clear warning but he doesn’t know if ingrid heard him because she’s already running off.

she’s quick on her feet as she dodges the people on the docks, searching for bjorn’s ship. once it came to her vision she let out a happy squeal.

bjorn stands on the docks, only seconds off the ship before ingrid launches herself into his arms. “oof,” he just manages to catch her, laughing when he clutches to him.

“i missed you uncle bjorn,” ingrid mumbles against bjorn’s chest, pressing her face against his armour. he tightens his arms around her, just enjoying the hug.

“i’ve missed you too,” he then mumbles. “my favourite niece, eh.” a smile breaks out on his face while he ruffles ingrid’s hair.

she giggles, “i’m your only niece.”

“that you are,” he smiles. “but you’re still my favourite.” ingrid starts to play with bjorn’s beard while he gently rocks her around in his arms. he wasn’t married, he had no kids, so he enjoyed the attention ingrid gave him.

“you’re standing in the way, brother,” a annoyed voice then sounds from behind bjorn and he turns around to see ivar standing behind him.

bjorn sighs and shifts ingrid in his arms. “there’s enough space to walk around me, ivar. don’t be such a baby.”

ingrid tilts her head and looks at the youngest ragnarsson. “hello uncle ivar.” she gives him a toothy smile, waving.

ivar only scowls and stumbles past bjorn and his niece. “do not call me that,” he hisses, not paying them both another glance. as he limps away the smile on ingrid’s face fades and she looks at bjorn with question marks in her eyes.

“why doesn’t he like me? or my mama?” she wants to know, turning in bjorn’s arms to look after ivar.

bjorn sighs again and grabs the back of her head gently to place a kiss on her hair. “you should not think about that, little one,” he softly mutters before he starts to move and walk towards his brother and sister-in-law.

-

you laugh as ingrid climbs all over bjorn’s shoulders, using his tall and broad frame as some kind of tree while your sitting back against ubbe’s side, erik in your arms. “be careful ingrid, you might fall,” you still warm her though, your eyes trained on her.

bjorn only chuckles and raises his hand to tickle her. “don’t worry about that. i’ll make sure nothing happens.” he winks at you.

“don’t flirt with my wife,” ubbe grumbles at that, still a small smile on his face.

hvitserk laughs and slightly shoves ubbe’s arm at his comment. “at that point, she’s our wife, my dear brother.”

ubbe shoots him a dead panned look before he rolls his eyes. “she’s more like a mother to you than anything else,” he huffs out a small laugh.

you slightly smirk at your husbands comment, patting his hand. “i like it that way,” you smile, standing up when erik starts to fuss around in your arms.

“you keep an eye on ingrid,” you point your finger at bjorn as you start to rock erik and make your way towards the door of the great hall. maybe fresh air would calm him down a bit.

you softly hum to your son, as you walk away from the hall a bit, just until you reach the first fields. “shhhh,” you coo at him, caressing his cheek with your finger.

but no matter what you did, he didn’t seem to calm down.

“maybe you should throw him away,” a familiar voice then sounds and you turn around to see ivar standing a few meters away from you. he’s propped up on his crouch, a permanent scowl on his face.

you let out a small huff and shake your head. “he’s a baby, ivar. he can’t express his feeling yet. sometimes crying is just easier for him,” you explain in a soft voice, continuing to rock erik.

“that’s why i don’t like babies,” he grumbles.

“you were a baby once.”

“i know.” his facial features were still tense as he stared at you, then at erik. “but i’m not a baby anymore.”

you didn’t know why ivar had—most likely—followed you out here. you knew he wasn’t particularly fond of you or your children. you couldn’t recall anything that would make him hate you but in the end of the day, that was how he was.

but even though he didn’t want you in his family, near his brothers, you loved him. he was your husbands brother. by marrying ubbe his brothers became your brothers and you loved them.

you look at ivar and slowly take a step towards him. “ivar,” your voice is soft and gentle as you speak, only erik’s little whines being audible. “why is there so much hatred in your heart?”

he freezes at your question, his eyes boring into yours. “i don’t have a heart,” he then hisses, taking a small step into your direction. “and i don’t need you to act like you care about me.”

“but i do.”

“no, you don’t,” he says, his jaw clenched and his body tense. “you’re lying. no one cares about me, except for my mother.”

you subtly shake your head and walk towards him until you’re standing in front of him. he had his head turned, staring at something behind you. “look at me ivar,” you softly demand, erik suddenly quiet in your arms.

ivar doesn’t listen to you. deep down you knew he wouldn’t but it was worth a try. so, you carefully raise your free hand, leaving enough time for him to pull back, and cup his cheek. “i said, look at me, ivar,” you say again, your voice gentle and calm, soothing even.

“why should i?”

you slowly start to caress his cheek bone with your thumb. “because i want you too see that my concern for you is genuine,” you answer, surprised that he hasn’t pulled back yet. he didn’t like being touched.

slowly ivar lifts his head to look at you, the conflict clear in his eyes. he was acting against all his instincts, against everything he knew.

a small smile plays around your lips as he looks at you. “you’re my brother, ivar,” you start. “and i love you. i care for you. whatever people might’ve done, might’ve said, you’re my family and i keep my family close to me.”

he’s silent while he listens to you, letting your words sink in. barely anyone has talked to him like that before. he wasn’t used to being at the receiving end of such feeling. he didn’t deserve that.

he swallows, “after all i’ve done—”

“i don’t care what you’ve done ivar or what you thought.” you gently pat his cheek before you pull your hand back to shift erik in your arms. “my love is unconditional. and if you never need someone to talk to or someone to listen, even a shoulder to cry on, my door is open. always.”

you get interrupted when you see ubbe walking towards you. he calls out your name, the concern evident in his voice.

“i think that’s my sign to get back inside,” you softly smile before you place your hand on ivar’s neck to pull him down and place a gentle kiss on his forehead. “think about my words, ivar.”

that’s the last sentence you say before you walk past him to assure your husband that you were alright.

pt.2, maybe a little series???

[doumadono]

This MHA Viking AU artwork featuring Viking Shoto and Viking Dabi from Kvitravn story is beyond words — I'm utterly amazed. Massive credit to the incredibly talented @itswannysenpai who brought this vision to life in vibrant colors. My admiration for this art knows no bounds! 💗 Make sure to give the artist a follow, guys!

[growthhyp]

I love your stories dude! Do you think that you could turn me into a huge Viking warrior?

For a Thousand Bucks

I am preferring you to Jack, the owner of the garage sale. Hope you like it.

You approached the garage, and there he was, Jack, a man who looked like he could have been chiseled out of a block of granite. His biceps bulged under the sleeves of his t-shirt, which bore the logo of a local gym.

"What can I get for you today?" Jack boomed, his deep voice echoing through the clutter of the garage.

You looked around at the piles of old baseball cards, dusty electronics, and faded furniture. "Well, Jack," you began, feeling slightly ridiculous, "I'm a huge fan of Vikings. I know it's a long shot, but is there anything here that could, you know, take me back to their time and turn me into a warrior?"

Jack's eyes lit up with a glint of mischief. He reached behind a stack of comic books and pulled out a gleaming sword. "Ah," he said, "I think I've got just the thing."

The sword looked ancient, with intricate runes etched along its blade. It had a wooden handle wrapped in leather that looked worn from centuries of use. You couldn't believe your luck. "How much do you want for it?" you asked, your voice trembling with excitement.

Jack's smile grew wider, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth. "It's a rare piece, my friend. For you, and only because I can see the passion in your eyes, I'll let it go for a thousand dollars."

The price didn't shock you. In fact, you had been saving for a bike that cost twice that amount. The allure of the sword, however, was something money couldn't buy. It was the gateway to your dreams. You reached into your pocket, pulled out the crisp bills, and handed them over to Jack without a second thought. "It's all yours," he said, his voice filled with a strange excitement. "Remember, you just need to wield it."

The moment the cash exchanged hands, a strange feeling washed over you. It was as if the very air grew thick with anticipation. You nodded, a smile playing at the corners of your lips as you took the sword in your hands. It felt surprisingly light, the balance perfect. As you turned to leave, Jack called out, "Good luck, young warrior!" His words lingered in your ears as you walked away, feeling the weight of destiny in your grip.

Once you were back in your apartment, you couldn't help but feel a little let down. You had just bought a sword that was supposed to transport you to the Viking era and turn you into a warrior, but all you had to show for it was a very expensive decoration. With a sigh, you decided to at least play the part. You took a swing, the blade slicing through the air with a satisfying whoosh.

As you continued to swing the sword, the room grew dimmer around the edges. The modern furniture and appliances grew hazy, and you felt your legs wobble beneath you. Your eyes grew heavy, and with a final, hopeful grunt, you collapsed to the floor.

When you woke, you weren't in your apartment anymore. The concrete had turned to packed earth, and the walls had been replaced with wooden planks, chinked with a mixture of mud and straw to keep out the cold. The light was different too – softer, with a gentle warmth that suggested it came from a nearby fire rather than a light bulb. You sat up, bewildered, and looked down at your new attire. The tunic and robe felt rough against your skin, and the leather shoes on your feet were surprisingly comfortable.

You stepped outside into the bustling Viking village, and all eyes turned to you. The children giggled at your skinny frame, and the burly warriors cast you dubious glances. You felt the weight of your own disappointment pressing down on your shoulders. This wasn't the epic transformation you had dreamed of. You had wanted to be a mighty hero, not a weakling that could barely lift a shield.

But as you wandered the dirt paths, you overheard whispers of a legendary sword, one said to grant the strength of a thousand men to its wielder. Your heart raced. Could this be the answer to your prayers? You approached the village elder, a wise-looking man with a long white beard, and asked him about the sword. He leaned in close and spoke in hushed tones of the blade's resting place atop a nearby hill, buried in a stone pedestal. The villagers believed it to be a myth, a story to tell around the fire, but you knew better.

You set off on a quest to find the hill, your heart pounding with excitement. The journey was long and arduous, but with the thought of becoming the warrior you had always dreamed of, you pushed on. When you finally reached the hill, you saw the pedestal, a simple stone structure with a sword sticking out of it. You could feel the energy emanating from the weapon, calling out to you.

You approached with caution, unsure if it was a trap or a test of some sort. As you touched the handle, you felt a strange warmth spread through your body. The sword was heavy, much heavier than you had anticipated. You wrapped your skinny fingers around it and took a deep breath. The muscles in your arms quivered as you tried to pull it out. The sword didn't budge.

You took a step back, gritted your teeth, and tried again. This time, with a grunt that sounded more like a squeak, you managed to lift the sword an inch. The villagers had stopped their activities and were now watching you with a mix of amusement and curiosity. You ignored them, focusing all your energy on the task at hand. With a mighty heave, you managed to pull the blade halfway out. The effort made you stumble, but you regained your balance, your eyes never leaving the gleaming weapon.

Finally, with a roar that seemed to come from the depths of your soul, you yanked the sword free. The sound of metal scraping stone echoed through the quiet afternoon, followed by a sudden clap of thunder that seemed to come from the very sky itself. The crowd gasped as a bolt of lightning struck the sword, sending a shockwave through the ground and knocking you to your knees. The energy surged through the blade and into your body, setting your very being alight with a fiery power that was unlike anything you had ever felt.

Your body began to change before your eyes. Your chest swelled outwards, each muscle popping out like the cobblestones of the village streets. Your stomach tightened into a series of ridges, forming a six-pack that looked as if it had been carved by the gods themselves. Your shoulders grew broader, your biceps bulging to the point where they looked like they could crush rocks with a mere flex. The horseshoe shape of your triceps grew more pronounced, and your forearms thickened like the trunks of ancient oaks.

Your legs ballooned with power, the muscles stretching until they looked like they could snap a man in two with a single kick. Your calves grew round and powerful, each one a testament to the might of a true Viking warrior. Your neck thickened, and your jawline took on a new sharpness, giving you the fierce countenance of a chieftain. Your face grew more angular, your cheekbones becoming more prominent, your eyes now set in a face that was both handsome and terrifying.

The armor that materialized around your body was not just any armor. It was the armor of a Viking chieftain – ornate and gleaming, with intricate engravings that spoke of battles won and enemies vanquished. The metal felt like a second skin, molding perfectly to your new form. The helm that appeared on your head was adorned with the horns of a ram, giving you a commanding presence that was impossible to ignore.

You felt the weight of the armor and the power of the sword in your hand, and you knew that you were no longer the skinny college kid from the future. You were a Viking, born anew in the past. Your eyes searched the horizon, hungry for the battles you knew were to come. The villagers watched you in amazement as your transformation was complete, their whispers of doubt now replaced by gasps of awe.

[atomic-chronoscaph]

Devils from the Sea - art by Alessandro Biffignandi (1974)

[aikaterini-drag]

Embrace of Two Hearts

Summary: Harald has been traveling, negotiating alliances but now that he is back, he can’t take his eyes off of his wife —as well as his hands off of her.

Pairing: King Harald Sigurdson x Queen Fem!reader

Warnings: fluff, kisses, implied smut, besotted Harald.

It had been a long time since Harald Sigurdsson had left Norway to build alliances and trading negotiations with the surrounding kingdoms. The matter had required his attention and he had been forced to leave you behind so you could take care of the kingdom in his absence. You were his Queen, the person he trusted and loved the most.

After meeting with various wealthy yarls and merchants, Harald’s plans had been prosperous; he’d stricken deals to trade goods and boost the income of his kingdom.

After almost two months at traveling, he was finally back.

Harald hadn’t blown the horns to make his arrival known.

He wanted today to be a surprise.

He wanted to see your face light up and hear your happy laughter as you reached him.

So after a light meal and a much needed bath, he headed to one of the villages where he was told you had gone shopping.

With his hood pulled low over this face, he strolled along the bustling Viking village, and when he saw you, his eyes fixed on you. You hadn’t taken notice of his presence; you were engaged in conversation with some of the women selling silks and spices. Resting his great frame on one of the stalls, he took his time and watched you for a few seconds. When waiting became too much to handle, he slipped back his hood and approached you.

A loud gasp left your lips when you finally saw him. You blinked, as in disbelief and when he smiled invitingly, all dimples and sunshine, you rushed into his arms. Your husband was back! Oh, how you’ve missed him, craved him! You’ve been exchanging letters with him during his travels but nothing compared to him holding you, touching you. And there he was, tall and handsome, wearing his marvelous regal tunic and leather pants, his fur cloak, his handsome face forming a warm smile.

“Ah, there’s my beautiful queen!” he said when you practically jumped into his waiting arms.

"Oh, Harald!" You pressed your lips against his in a long kiss. “You didn’t tell me you were coming back.”

“Surprise,” he said, his lips stretched delightfully.

“Oh, how I missed you! Is everything alright? The negotiations?”

“Everything’s perfect. I’ll tell you about my feats later.” He cupped your face, his hungry eyes taking in your beauty. “Let me look at you, have my fill of you.”

“Did you miss me so much, my lord husband?”

“Only a little, my lady wife.”

"Only a little?" You raised a brow. “Then why are you here?”

“Because I lied. I missed you. Painfully. Deeply. Hard.”

You laughed. “You debauched Viking.”

He grinned. “I've hoped to distract you from your shopping. Is it working?”

You fluttered your eyelashes. “Only if you kiss me again.”

Smiling in that stunning mischievous smile of his, he lowered his lips to yours, his tongue dancing with yours wetly. The touch was too swift for your liking but since you were still in public—and everyone was staring… you drew back softly. Harald locked your hands together and led the way back to your longhouse. You walked through the hall, with him stealing kisses and whispering sweet words to you.

When he had you in the solitude of your room, he scooped you up and dropped you onto the bed. You giggled as you bounced stop the furs and pillows. He joined you, a thick knee climbing onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. And then he was all over you, his strong body draped over your slender frame. He watched you with eyes ablaze with the passion, his lips parted. He brought his hands to caress your cheek, his knuckles tracing your skin lovingly.

“What is it, King Harald? What has you so enthralled?” you teased, leaning into his touch.

“You,” he said simply. “My wife… my beautiful wife who outshines even the finest jewels.”

You kissed him lightly. “I’m not as charming as my strong and courageous husband.”

“I disagree. You are achingly beautiful and perfect. And I am not in the least charming.”

“Oh, you're charming. Impossibly charming.” You claimed his lips and he moaned. “Your charm is as sharp as your sword.”

Harald grinned. “My love, my sword only yields to you. Sharp and ready to service you.”

“You didn’t just say that!”

He kissed your forehead, however, his hands were skillfully dragging up your gown. “What are you thinking, my mischievous wife?”

“What are you thinking, my mischievous husband?”

“I’m thinking I missed the feel of you. And that I want you,” he said and rolled his hips gently, and even with the layers of clothes, his groin pressed hard against her center.

Whining softly, you slipped your hands under his tunic to feel his warm skin. “Me, too. It has been so long.”

“Hm… I have been denied your warmth but no more.”

“Make love to me?”

“All day and night, my love.”

He pulled you close and kissed you deeply and fervently, lips meeting, tongues brushing. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving nothing but your love and passion. Clothes were tossed away, skin touched skin, sweat tricked like little diamonds and then came bliss.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

im forcing you all to look shady-car-salesman erik

[What If Magneto Had Formed The X-Men With Professor X?]

[ichigosluvrr]

Why didn't no one tell me that Vinland Saga is a masterpiece 🧍🏾‍♀️like....

[viking-raider]

A Christmas Miracle🎄

Summary: You and Henry are celebrating Christmas with family, while expecting your first child together.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 5.9k

Warning: G - Cotton Candy Goodness, Soft!Henry, Fluff, Kal, Papa Bear!Henry, Domestic Bliss, Christmas Decorating, Pregnancy Stuff, Cotton Candy Fluff, Loving Marriage, Christmas Fluff

Inspiration: This story ties into my Easter story, The Golden Egg.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLISTand turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy! @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY

“Babe!” Henry gasped, as he came into the living room, nearly tossing the steaming cup of tea in his hand, upon discovering you.

You were standing on the two-step high stool, to sprinkle golden tinsel on the fragrant and robust branches of an eight foot Fraser Fir that stood proudly in the corner of the living room. You chuckled, shaking your head at your husband, but didn't look back at him, as you picked a bit of tinsel off one of the emerald branches, having adorned the needles with too much of the sparkling, thin strands.

“You shouldn't be up there, love!” He scolded you, setting the tea he had made you on the coffee table as he rounded it and the couch, to come towards you, resting his hands on your hips. “I told you, I would help you decorate the tree, once I was done with your tea.”

“I know you did, Hen.” You answered, sighing softly, finally looking down at him and seeing the wrinkle of worry between his brow. It hadn't smoothed since the Brit found out you were pregnant with his child on Easter, nearly nine months before. “But I'm also capable of doing it myself.” You reminded him, resting a hand on his shoulder and giving his neck a gentle squeeze.

“I'm pregnant, not invalid.”

Henry sighed softly, leaning forward to press a tender kiss to your round and pronounced belly. “I know you're capable, sweetheart.” He assured you, looking up at you with an affection in his blue eyes that always melted your heart. “I just don't want you to get hurt. Especially with you so close to the due date.” He said, helping you step down off the stool. “Just sit down and enjoy your tea. Then, we'll tag team the tree together.” He told you, putting an excited smile on his face.

“All right.” You conceded, settling down on the couch and took up your tea, cupping the mug between your hands and letting the heat seep into your palms, before finally taking a sip.

“Your parents will be here in a couple days.” Henry commented, squatting beside a box of Christmas decorations neither of you had opened up yet. “My parents made up their guest house in preparation for their arrival.” He told you, peeking into the box.

Halfway into your pregnancy, Henry had taken time off from acting and the two of you decided to leave your secluded London home for the coziness of Henry's home island of Jersey. Buying a nice, beach front property, three streets and a five-minute walk from his parents' place, with the intent on having your baby boy born in Saint Helier. You loved being on the little Channel Island, sitting on the back patio or taking walks on the beach, breathing in the soothing sea air, which helped your morning sickness a good deal.

The only downside was your family was far out of reach of you, having to fly into Jersey to visit and check-in on you. Your parents wanted to be on hand when you finally had their third grand-baby, so Henry footed the bill to bring them out and his parents were amazing enough to host them while they were here.

“That's great.” You smiled, flexing your sore and swollen feet, watching him pull out ornaments, garland and other little tree decorations. “I can't wait to see them again.” You commented, not having seen them since your fourth month, just before you and Henry left for Jersey. “I'm sure my mom will bring more knitted items.” You chuckled, glancing over your shoulder to the soft, butter-yellow blanket your mother had knitted a couple months ago.

“I would be shocked, if she didn't!” Henry laughed back, his broad shoulders shaking as he stood. “What garland do you want on the tree?” He asked, holding up a strand of colorful beads and another of red and white, twisted ribbons.

You hummed, pressing your lips together and studied your tree, eyes narrowing slightly, scrutinizing the colors on its branches. “I think the ribbon would work best with it.” You finally settled, nodding content with your choice.

“All right then.” He nodded back, putting the other garland aside. “Ah, nope!” He tisked, when you set your tea down and started the mini struggle of standing up. “You put the tinsel on the tree, it's my turn to put the garland on. You relax.”

“Fair enough.” You sighed softly, picking your tea back up and rested against the couch cushions, just in time for Kal to jump up beside you. “Well, hello there, sweet boy.” You cooed at him, reaching out to give him good scratches between the ears and around the neck. “Have you come to make sure I stay put?” You quipped, the Akita resting his head in your lap.

“I did no such thing!” Henry called over his shoulder, carefully tucking the garland into the branches.

“Sure, love. Sure.” You chuckled at him, though Henry's protectiveness at times could be a little overbearing, you knew he did it out of love and first-time father worries. “He's paying you in treats and promises of all the good turkey, ham and brisket bits he plans on cooking for Christmas dinner.” You accused, lifting a brow at the unphased Akita, before wincing and pressing a palm to the side of your belly.

“You all right?” Henry asked, catching a glimpse from his peripheral, pausing a moment.

“Yeah, your son just kicks like a Fly-Half.” You answered, chuckling halfheartedly. “If he keeps these strong legs, he'll for sure make the England team.” You said, trying to ease the look of suspicion on Henry's face, that it was the baby kicking, and your own, that the pain was something more than a false contraction.

“You missed a branch there, Bubs.” You commented, drawing Henry's attention away from the subjection, motioning with your steaming black, Nightmare Before Christmas cup.

“Mm.” He grunted, narrowing his eyes at you, but turned to fuss over it.

You took a deep breath, rubbing the globe of your stomach, hoping to soothe any would-be pains. Thankfully, you didn't have any more throughout the morning, helping Henry put up the ornaments and other little hanging knick knacks on the tree. Something Henry was comfortable with you doing, since you kept your feet on the hardwood, safely beside him.

“I want to do a little plaster imprint of his hand and foot, to hang up on the tree for next year.” You commented suddenly, gently holding a little needlepoint ornament you'd made. It was a silhouette of Henry and you, with Kal between you, the year above your heads. You had made one every year since the first Christmas the three of you had spent together. “Should make a new needlepoint too.” You added even softer.

Henry glanced down at you, a fond and nostalgic light in his blue orbs. “I think that would be a lovely idea, babe.” He smiled, warmed at the idea. “I like the idea of making and expanding our little traditions.”

“I should have given myself a baby bump in this one.” You joked, carefully adding the stitched ornament on a branch, accompanied with the others around it. “So much for accuracy.”

“It looks perfect, my love.” He assured you, kissing your hair. “Now, let's turn the lights on and see how this thing looks!” He proclaimed, shuffling around the tree and plugged in the two strings of lights skillfully wrapped around the tree.

You stood back to get a good look at the Fir, just as the tiny, cool and warm-white LED, diamond facet bulbs flickered on. Making many of the ornaments glitter and twinkle. It brought a great feeling of delight bubbling up inside of you, tugging on your exhausted and hormonal raged body, until tears spilled over.

“Sweetheart.” Henry cooed, pouting at you sweetly, as he closed his arms around your shoulders, hugging you as closely as your belly would allow.

“It looks beautiful.” You mumbled into his chest, fingers gripping at the sides of his shirt.

He smiled, nosing the hair at the top of your head and rubbing your back with one hand. “It is, dear, and so are you.”

“I'm also starving.” You blurted out, breaking the melancholy mood.

“Butter chicken or pepperoni and feta pizza?”

“Oh god, you know me too well at this point.” You giggled, licking your lips. “But, the butter chicken.”

You sat up in bed, Kal resting between your legs, with his head laying on your belly, as you read your latest book on your Kindle. While Henry was downstairs doing some work on the new Warhammer minis he ordered as a way to keep himself occupied, when he wasn't taking care of you.

“Oh.” You gasped, feeling a sudden, sharp pain. “Gosh, did we disagree on the butter chicken, Bean?” You groaned, pressing your palm to the side of your stomach; Kal lifting his to sniff at your belly as another pain caused you to cramp. “It's all right, Bud. Your brother is just being a little difficult.” You sighed, setting your e-reader on your nightstand and lumbered out of bed, before heading downstairs.

“Hey, love.” Henry smiled, looking up from the Ultramarine mini in his hand. “I thought you were going to bed.”

“I was trying to, but your son doesn't agree with dinner.” You explained to him, looking over his progress on his Warhammer army. “Can you do your trick?” You asked, lulling your head to the side and giving him a cute look.

Henry chuckled, setting his mini down. “My trick.” He smirked, standing up and moving behind you. “Any reason to cuddle.” He teased, reaching around to cup both hands beneath your stomach and leaned you both backwards, taking the weight of your belly as he did.

“Mmm.” You hummed, eyes falling shut, while you let your head rest against Henry's chest. “It feels so good.” You sighed, resting your hands on his.

Henry cradling your baby bump had become a god send throughout your third trimester. Taking the weight of your healthy and active baby boy off your lower back and hips. However in your earlier trimesters, the two of you learned it helped relieve your heartburn and whenever your little one got a bit too restless.

You liked to think it was the baby reacting to Henry's touch.

It was calm for a long, few moments, just you and Henry, slowly swaying side to side, the baby calm. But again, your stomach spasmed and you whimpered, making it clear to Henry, you were indeed having some sort of contractions.

“How long has this been going on?” He asked, eyes wide and brows pinched.

“Since this morning.” You confessed finally, taking slow, deep breaths.

“Why didn't you tell me?” He demanded, startled and worried.

“I didn't have any through the afternoon.” You assured him, patting his hands. “I figured it was just false. But, I'm starting to think otherwise, with how much that one hurts.”

“We should probably go to the hospital.” Henry fret, starting away from you, but you turned and caught his elbow.

“Henry.” You said in a soft, soothing voice. “You remember what the OB said?” You tried reminding him. “Four-One-One.”

“Four minutes apart, a minute long, lasting an hour.” He recited, having listened to your OB, and read numerous baby and expecting parent books.

You had taken a couple of parenting classes as well. Until people started posting photos of you on social media, annoying you and causing Henry to be even more of a papa bear. So, you'd found an online, private class to do in the comfort of your living room.

“Not one has lasted a minute, been four minutes apart or lasted an hour.” You assured him, dropping your hand to his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “If they're the real deal, I'm in the early stages and going to the hospital now will only incur hours and hours of waiting. Which we'll be doing here anyway.”

“What if something happens?”

“Nothing is going to happen, you worry-wart.” You chuckled at him, shaking your head. “Come to bed with us.” You cooed, pushing up on your toes, kissing his bearded cheek and brushing your fingers through the curls above his ear.

“You'll tell me.” Henry insisted as he followed you upstairs to the master bedroom.

“Of course, I'll tell you, Henry.” You assured him. “Then, I'll tell Kal.” You quipped, trying to lighten the mood and get him to smile.

But he didn't smile, his mind preoccupied with making sure everything was ready, should you wake him up and tell him your contractions were growing close together.

Did I get the car seat in the Audi correctly? Where did I put the hospital bag? In this closet or the coat closet downstairs? Everything's in it she and the baby needs, right?

“Babe.”

Perhaps I should just go down and get it, to make sure. What about the nursery? Thank God, I finished the crib last month!

“Hen..”

Do we need more diapers? Are they the right size? What if--

“Henry!” You called out, when he didn't answer you, a far off and growing alarm look in his cerulean eyes, startling him out of his worried trance. “Everything is all right.” You said slowly, holding his gaze steadily. “We have everything we need. Everything the baby needs. If we don't, that's perfectly fine. Your parents and mine have offered their help, should it arise. As have your brothers.”

“I don't know how you're so calm.” He sighed, shaking his head and dropping down on his side of the bed.

You laughed, smirking. “I'm not calm. But there's no use for us both freaking out, especially at the same time. Besides, when I freak out, I have you to pull me back together, the least I can do is return the favor, when you start to lose it.” You told him, maneuvering yourself back under the covers.

“What's a spouse for?”

“You're right.” Henry nodded, turning the light out and resting against the headboard beside you. “One of the many reasons I love you, and married you.” He said, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

Snuggling down, your back pressed against Henry's chest with his hand ever present on your belly, you tried to focus on falling asleep.

“You know.” Henry commented, half-asleep himself. “I sort of miss when you were in your first and second trimesters.”

“Oh?” You mumbled back, with interest.

“Yeah, you were always jumping my bones.” He laughed, shaking the bed with his mirth. “Well, until the end of your second trimester, when your belly got too big to do anything other than waddle and ride my cock.”

You were instantly awake again at his words. A huge smile of hot guilt and embarrassment on your face, that you hid in your pillow. It was true! The first stages of your pregnancy had made you quite frisky towards Henry. Sometimes so much so, he hadn't recovered from the last time you'd had sex and would need to pleasure you in other ways to bring your arousal down. Not that the man complained about it! But a couple weeks into your third trimester, the raging inferno of your passions cooled off. Even beyond what they were before you were expecting. You were just too tired and sore, uncomfortable, and just ready to give birth, to think of such things. But again, Henry didn't complain. You were grateful for that, because you felt bad that your mood didn't match his, at the moment.

Having seen the look of concupiscent on his face more than once, as the two of you showered together, went to bed or woke in the mornings. But you just didn't have it in you, and he took it with grace and understanding acceptance, not pressuring you or making you feel like a bad partner, for not reciprocating.

The two of you calmed down and allowed each other to finally fall asleep.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Henry asked, the next morning as the two of you finished breakfast.

“I feel all right, Bubs. Only a few pains here and there.” You answered, polishing off your usual cup of chamomile tea, something that had been a staple throughout your pregnancy, to battle your morning sickness and heartburn. “Excited to make cookies with your mum.”

Henry smiled across the table at you. “Good. I bet all these sugary smells are going to drive you and wee man nutty.”

It was a Cavill family tradition to get together, before Christmas, and make cookies for the big family dinner party, as well as to give out as tokens to friends and neighbors. It was also considered quite the honor among the Cavill brothers' wives to have Marianne ask to join her in the massive production. Since she didn't ask just anyone to help her; having a couple secret family recipes to protect in the process. But Marianne had asked, surprisingly and much to Henry's pride, you to help her, at your and Henry's first Christmas. Something that made one or two of Henry's sisters-in-law jealous, especially since the two of you were new and still dating, and one of them had never been asked.

Even to this day.

“Our mouths are already watering for your mother's chocolate chip, mocha cookies.” You confessed; it was one of the many things you looked forward to for Christmas. Marianne's chocolate chip, mocha flavored cookies were something you'd start a fight over, as were her chocolate covered, Oreo truffles with peppermint bark crumble on top. “Oh god.” You moaned, stuffing the last bit of bland, buttered toast into your mouth; Henry laughing at you.

“I'm going to roast up another heritage turkey this year.” He commented, finishing his coffee, then helped clear the breakfast table. “Everyone seemed to love it last year.”

“That's fine with me.” You answered, loading the soap dispenser and starting the dishwasher. “I have one small request.”

“You could make an enormous request, love!” Henry snorted, taking a protein shake out of the fridge.

“I want yams with roasted marshmallows on top.” You told him, confidently. “To myself.”

“To yourself?” He echoed, a smirk on his lips. “How big is the dish?”

“A small one is fine. I just don't want to share it.” You confessed your craving to him.

Letting out a laugh and nodding, Henry shrugged. “All right then. I'll make sure you have your roasted marshmallow covered yams, and I'll have Kal guard them.”

“Excellent.” You nodded back, then looked at your watch. “We should get going. Your mother asked us to get there before ten.” You informed him, heading for the front door and eased yourself down on a small bench that was there.

Henry joined you, squatting down to grab your shoes from underneath the bench and slipped them on your feet, tying them securely, since your prominently belly prevented you from reaching your feet to put on your shoes. Let alone tie them. Your shoes on and helping you back up, Henry got his own shoes on, but paused as he opened the door for you and Kal. He glanced back at the hall closet. Biting his lip, he hurried over and grabbed the baby bag from inside, then dashed after you, putting the bag in the back as he got behind the wheel.

“Just in case.” He answered your lifted brow.

“Fair, I suppose.” You shrugged, unable to argue with his logic.

“How are you holding up, my love?” Henry asked, peeking into the kitchen, before shuffling over to you, sure his mother wouldn't shoo him out.

“My cookie restraint thinned dramatically after the second batch.” You confessed, looking around at all the Santa's, snowmen, candy canes and snowflakes that were either waiting to go into the oven or cooling. “However, your mum apparently anticipated this. Making me batch yesterday, so I could nibble on them, while we made these.”

Henry grinned, touched at his mother's thoughtfulness. “That was sweet of her.” He cooed, brushing the back of his fingers over your cheek. “Have you had any more pains?” He asked, his brows pinching slightly, worried.

“Nothing concerning.” You told him, closing your hand around his wrist. “You know I'd come get you.” You tried assuring him, giving him a soft smile. “Or your mum would, should my water break.” You giggled, a smile turning into a smirk.

“That's not funny, babe.” Henry snapped softly, eyes big.

You pressed your lips together, guilty, before pushing up on your bare toes, having taken off your shoes for the long standing in the kitchen, to press your lips against Henry's. “I'm sorry, Puppy.” You mumbled against them, before reaching around him, grabbing a finished Snowman, presenting it to his mouth in place of your own. “I baked and decorated this one myself.” You grinned at him, a glitter of pride in your eyes.

“Oh, did you?” He cooed, opening his mouth to admit the round biscuit of white icing, adorned with two black chocolate pearls for eyes and smaller black sugar pearls for a mouth. It had a carrot nose, made of orange icing and the upper crown of the biscuit was covered in purple, blue and white hundreds and thousands, then outlined with silvery snowflake-shaped sprinkles.

Taking the biscuit from you, Henry nibbled on it, already knowing it would be delicious, since you had made it with his family's age-old recipe. “You know.” He mumbled around his mouthful. “I can't wait to share these with our little guy.” He said, smirking down at the bake, before glancing around the kitchen.

“Well, technically, I've already done that.” You giggle, running your hand over the globe of your belly.

Henry snorted loudly, his smirk growing. “You have me there, my love.” He replied, finishing his treat off, reaching out to lay his hand on your stomach as he saw the moments of your son shift, pressing either an elbow or knee out. “Still trips me out to see him move inside of you.” He commented, feeling something around nudge against his palm.

“You should feel it from this end.” You huffed, making a face at the kicks as he tumbled about, prodding a heel into your ribs and a shoulder into your slowly screaming bladder. “Poor bud is running out of space in there.” You cooed, moving your hand to cup the underside of your stomach.

“That he is.” He agreed, leaning down to press a kiss to your belly. “But, soon he'll be out here with us.”

“Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill.”

A cold chill washed down Henry's back, making the little hairs on his neck stand up as he straightened. “Mum.” He squeaked, looking at her over your shoulder.

“You know the rules of setting foot in my kitchen, while we bake.” Marianne scolded her second youngest.

“I do.” He nodded, biting his lip as he half smirked at her. “I was just checking up on her and our little one.” He explained, motioning to you.

Marianne's gaze shifted, her soft and kind blue eyes looking you over. She had noticed the few contractions you'd experience while helping her bake, and had sharpened her eye on you even more. Everyone in the family had a side eye on you it seemed, with your due date so nearby, like they were concerned you would pop like a water balloon.

“I'm fine.” You sighed softly, offering her a reassuring smile.

“Then, you can pop out of our kitchen.” Marianne said, cocking a brow at her son.

You chuckled, loving the nonchalance she had. “We'll see you later, my dear.” You cooed at him, kissing the corner of his mouth, tasting the sugar on his lips and inciting a need for another cookie from your stash. “Off you go.” You giggled, patting him on the chest and set your eyes on your task.

Henry looked at his mother with a pointed look, gesturing towards you, to which Marianne answered with a roll of her eyes and picked up a sheet of cookies needing to go into the oven.

“My back is to you, Henry, not my senses.” You shot over your shoulder, cutting out more cookies from the dough.

“Christ alive, our son has his work cut out for him.” He chuckled, winking at you as he turned to leave and rejoin his brothers and dad in the living room.

You looked over at Marianne and laughed, your mother-in-law joining in, the two of you amused he didn't realize you'd seen her roll her eyes.

“That boy.” Marianne chuckled, shaking her head as she moved to stand beside you, helping portion out the raw dough.

“He's freaked out.” You commented, gently laying a Santa on the sheet.

“Understandably.” She answered, wielding the snowflake cutter with skill. “The first baby is always the most stressful, and Henry's wanted to be a father for a very long time.”

“I know he has.” You nodded, feeling your stomach lightly bump the edge of the counter. “I'm happy and excited for our little one.” You told her, wadding up the scrap dough, then picked up a rolling pin. “I'm definitely ready not to be pregnant anymore.” You snorted, smiling faintly.

“And your worries?” Marianne asked, tilting her head at you, without pausing her work.

You drew in a slow, deep breath. “I'm worried about the labor. I'm terrified about whether or not I'll make a good parent.” You confessed to her, letting your breath out. “I know Henry will, he's incredible with kids. I love watching him with his younger fans, with his nieces and nephews.” You gush, grinning at the flashes of memories. “Seeing him hold Ellie, when we first met her--” You shook your head, a bubble of emotions overwhelming you for a moment, til you cleared your throat.

“You'll be a great mother.” Marianne reassured you, running her hand up and down your back. “You have nothing to worry about there. You'll have me and your mum to help you, as well as Heather and all the other girls.”

“I know.” You nodded, resting your shoulder against hers. “And I appreciate it, with all my heart.”

“Why don't you go upstairs, to Henry's old room, and rest for a bit?” She suggested to you. “I can finish the cookies with Heather.”

“Are you sure?” You frowned, glancing around the organized chaos of the kitchen.

“Yes.” She nodded, resting her hands on your shoulders and turning you away from the counter. “You and my grandson need all the rest you can get.” She directed you towards the entry of the kitchen. “Soon, you won't have it.”

Henry saw his mum guiding you and instantly jumped up from the couch, where he sat beside his brother Simon. “Are you all right, honey?” He cooed, his handsome face pinching.

“She's fine, Henry.” Marianne replied, looking up at him. “She just needs to rest a bit. Take her upstairs.”

“All right.” He nodded, taking your arm and showed you upstairs to the bedroom that was his as a kid. “Can I get you anything? Some water, maybe.” He asked, helping you lay back on the made, full-size bed.

“I'm all right, Puppy.” You sighed, rubbing your face.

“What's wrong, honey?” He asked, pulling up a chair from the desk in his room and sat down in front of you.

“Nothing's wrong.” You replied, sighing, flexing your plump toes as Henry grasped your foot in his hands. “I'm just tired and sore.” You told him, closing your eyes as you let out a soft moan, feeling Henry's thumbs work your arch.

“I got the Dad Talk from my dad and brothers.” He chuckled, gently touching the tip of your toes, each painted a cute red color, that he had done himself about a week before.

He had started giving you little at home, medi-pedis to treat you to something nice. Though, it had taken him a couple tries to get painting your nails down. Admitting it wasn't as simple as painting his Warhammer Minis, like he'd thought.

You giggled back, smirking. “Did they?” You hummed, letting your eyes fall shut. “Any good advice?”

“Um, Simon said that I should explain my job to him as soon as we think he can understand it.” Henry recalled, biting his lip with an amused smirk pulling across his mouth. “So, we don't have another Thomas Incident on our hands.”

“My dad's Sherlock Holmes!” You replied, laughing aloud. “Or god-knows who else!”

“Exactly.” He nodded, amused by it too. “My dad suggested, should we have any more kids, to have girls, that way it doesn't continue on the Cavill boy madness, like dead arms and throwing each other off the couch.”

“I would like, at least, one girl, anyway.” You told him, laying your hand on your stomach, feeling your son shift and kick again, wincing as he did.

“Same.” He smirked, as excited as he was for a son, he had wanted a girl too. “Maybe the next one.”

“Mmm.” You hummed back, falling silent and drifting slightly.

Taking the hint, Henry rested your legs in his lap and leaned back, closing his own eyes to rest. Both of you were exhausted from the months of preparation for the baby, all the worrying about if you would be good parents and protecting your son against the world of social media and paparazzi. But the pair of you had only laid there for twenty or so minutes, before you jerked at a sharp pain, inadvertently kicking Henry in the stomach as you did.

Henry gasped and groaned at the blow, doubling over. “Babe?” He rasped, frowning across at you, finding you half sitting up, hand cupping the underside of your stomach with a look of shocked horror on your face. “What's wron—oh shit!” He snapped, seeing the wet patch seeping through your leggings and onto the duvet on the bed.

“Was that--”

“Uh-huh.” You nodded, gulping thickly.

“It's okay, all right.” He nodded, running both hands through his curls. “Up we go.” He said, holding his shaking hands out to you, pulling you up and wrapping an arm around your waist. “Broke your water on my childhood bed.” He commented offhandedly, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“It is where we had our first kiss.” You added, lifting a brow at him. “Why not this too!”

“Mum!” Henry called out as you reached the bottom of the stairs. “We have to go.” He said as Marianne rounded the corner from the living room. “Someone's water broke.”

“Oh gosh!” She exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “Go hurry!” She shooed the two of you towards the door, before spinning on her feet. “Code blue everybody!” She shouted at the family gathered in the living room, snapping them into gear, sending brothers and in-laws scrambling everywhere.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Henry asked as he helped you buckle your seatbelt.

“Like I just peed myself.” You snorted, clutching your belly. “Henry.” You cooed at him, watching him make jerky movements but not move from your side. “Hen!” You called, reaching out to grab his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake.

“Huh?” He whimpered, blinking a few times.

“My shoes are still in the house.” You informed him, offering your sweet partner a smile.

“Oh right!” He nodded, kissing your hand and backing away to close your door, then raced back inside, running into a gaggle of his family fighting to put on shoes and coats. “Excuse me, pardon me!” He barked, diving into the huddle, scrabbling for your shoes.

“Henry!” Nik shouted after him.

“I forgot her shoes!” Henry yelled over his shoulder, pelting back to the car. “Got them!” He smiled, sliding home into the driver's seat and dropping them onto the center console. “I'll put them on you, when we get to the hospital.” He told you, starting the car and pulling away from the curb, while ordering Alexa to map the route to Jersey General Hospital, the very hospital where he and his brothers had been born.

“Speed limit, Cavill!” You reminded him, frowning.

“Baby!”

“He's not going to pop out right now!!”

“He could!

“Between the two of us, Hank, I'm damn sure he's not!” You snapped back, through a contraction. “Deep b-breaths! ” You wheezed, through the pain.

“Relax your shoulders, don't clench your jaw, take a deep breath in....and let it out!” Henry reciting your Douala and doing the technique with you. “Amazing, baby doll. I'm so proud of you.”

“Jesus Christ on a motorbike.” You sighed as the pain faded. “We're waiting at least three years before we have our daughter.” You panted over at him.

“Yes, ma'am.” Henry laughed, holding his hand out to you. “Whatever you want.”

“I know what we should name him.” You said, softly.

“Oh?” He replied, pulling into the hospital parking lot. “What?”

You looked over at him, your expression soft. “I want to name him, Charlie.” You told him, biting the corner of your lip, you'd put a lot of consideration into it over your pregnancy. “We wouldn't have met, if your brother didn't nag you to come talk to me at that club.”

Biting his lip, a heart shaped lump thumping in his throat. “You're right.” He whispered; voice raw.

Charlie had prodded him for an hour, while supplying him with shots of liquid courage, to finally cross the club you both were in. You were with your friends, blowing off steam after a long work week, and Henry, Charlie and two other friends of Henry's were just hanging out, since he was in town and not working on any projects.

He never forgot the look on your friends' faces as he approached your table, recognizing him, melting into the dark leather of your corner booth and mumbling to each other with hungry, googly eyes. But you, while surprised a celeb was approaching you, hadn't fawned over him, like they did. You'd kept your cool, with jittery insides. Henry politely acknowledged everyone at the table, but his blue eyes were set on you. He asked, trying to have a persona of cool and calm, if he could get you a drink, noting on the way over, yours was empty, and with relief, you'd said yes. So, you dislodged yourself from your friends and followed him to the bar. Striking up a conversation with him, that moved to an empty table, after getting your drinks and lasted until the announcement the club was closing, at two am.

Neither of you had wanted to move apart, but it was late and you both knew it. So, you exchanged numbers and texted while you got yourselves home, then fell asleep. Making the promise to have a proper dinner the next day.

All of which snowballed to this moment. Sitting in the car at the hospital, married and staring at each other between contractions, discussing the name you wanted for your first born, for your son.

“It's perfect.” He nodded, reaching out to cup your cheek. “I could ask for nothing more for Christmas, than you and our son, for Charlie.” He choked up, leaning across to kiss you deeply.

@winter2112rose / @littlefreya / @kemillyfreitas / @thereisa8ella / @courtlynwriter / @starfirewildheart / @beck07990 / @goldenirishpotato / @pipsqueakkitten

[createimpact3p0]

An unbelievable video about Vikings, the Fearsome Legendary Norse Warriors. These fierce warriors had advanced skills in shipbuilding and navigation, allowing them to traverse vast oceans with their iconic longships in search of new lands to conquer.

[bravo4iscool]

i’ll never forgive bjorn for treating siggy bad, so take this🤪 (kinda fix-it, kinda not)

(bjorn ironside x fem!servant!reader)

tag list - @bumblebeesfromvenus @yazt09

(masterlist | join my tag list!)

REQUESTS/ASKS OPEN!!!

“shhh little siggy,” you coo as you rock the small girl around in your arms. “do not cry, everything is okay.” she’s been fussy for hours now and nothing seemed to be able to calm her down.

you didn’t know what to do. you’d tried everything already. so, the only solution you knew was to search for your mistress aslaug. she made caring for siggy your main task but told you to search for her when you didn’t know what to do.

you keep the girl to your chest, a blanket draped over her as you make your way towards the great hall. surely aslaug would be there…

one of the men in front of the hall helps you open the heavy wooden door and you give him a thankful smile. once you’re inside you freeze. aslaug wasn’t there. or so it seemed.

two pairs of eyes stared at you. ragnar and…bjorn.

you slightly bow and press siggy to your chest. you knew bjorn wasn’t fond of his daughter. otherwise he would be the one caring for her, not some slave that his stepmother owned.

“i’m sorry my lord,” you hastily apologize, already retreating. “i—i was searching for queen aslaug.” you wince when siggy starts to cry again. you wanted her to stop, but you didn’t know how.

ragnar keeps his gaze on your before he stands up without a word. you swallow, your grip on the girl tightening. slowly the king walks towards you, extending his arms once he came to a halt in front of you.

“give my granddaughter to me, will you,” he mumbles and what where you supposed to say? no? you hesitatingly pull siggy away from your chest and give her to ragnar.

he smiles down at her once he cradles her in his arms, slightly rocking her around. “look at you,” he whispers. “are you making trouble, mhh?” he wants to know, tickling her cheek with his finger.

you carefully watch ragnar as he holds the little girl in his arms, your eyes drifting over to bjorn. the oldest prince still sat at the table, his gaze fixated on his father and daughter.

“come here bjorn,” ragnar waves his son over, his eyes never leaving siggy. “you have not seen your daughter in months.” you only stand in front of your king, head bowed.

bjorn doesn’t follow his fathers command. that makes ragnar scoffs and shake his head. “what did i expect?” he mutters beneath his breath before he looks up at you. “what’s your name?”

you lift your head, not daring to look into his eyes as you tell him your name. ragnar hums in acknowledgment and places siggy against his chest. “where do you sleep?” he asks the next question.

“queen aslaug gifted me a small hut,” you reply, fumbling with your hands. why would he want to know where you live and sleep? “my main task is to raise siggy.”

ragnar looks back at bjorn, than at you again. “you will move in with bjorn,” he then says and your eyes widen. bjorn jumps up from his stool.

you immediately shake your head, stumbling over your words. “my lord, i—i can’t do that!” you shake your head. but ragnar just scoffs and shrugs.

“you can and you will. i just ordered you to.” the older man ignored his furious son while he watches siggy giggle. “take two men and let them help you move,” he gestures, not bothering to look at you. “i want to spend some time with my precious granddaughter…”

you swallow and bow your head. you knew you couldn’t defy him. he owned you, he could make you do whatever he wanted… “of course my lord,” you whisper as you retreat to do as you were told.

-

the next weeks feel like pure torture to you. bjorn doesn’t look at you or his daughter, he doesn’t talk to you, he doesn’t acknowledge you. he just comes and goes, always a new woman in tow.

you try to get siggy out of the house as much as possible so you both don’t need to witness it. it disgusted you. thankfully queen aslaug allowed you to stay with her during the day, helping her keep an eye on her boys.

“does he treat you well?” aslaug asks you one day and you freeze. could you tell her the truth? because right now, bjorn was treating you like a piece of trash.

you hesitate with your answer before you look at her, “he…does not hit me. if that is what you mean,” you mumble, continuing to braid siggy’s short hair.

aslaug purses her lips. “that is not what i mean,” she says, placing her hand on your shoulder. “tell me the truth,” she softly urges. “please.”

you look up from siggy’s hair and look at your queen. “he doesn’t talk to me,” you—truthfully—answer, biting the inside of your cheek. “i try to be out with siggy as often as possible because…because he keeps brining women over…”

aslaug hums along in acknowledgment, gently squeezing your shoulder. “you can leave and go back to you old hut, you know,” she says and you shake your head.

“i can not… king ragnar has ordered me.” you say in a whisper, averting your gaze. “i can’t just leave…”

“you can, if i make you a free woman.”

your head shoot’s up and you look at aslaug. “what?” your voice is breathless, almost not audible as you stare at your queen.

she smiles and squeezes your shoulder again. “i can make you a free woman. then you can take siggy and move back to your old hut. it would be up to you wether you want to still work for me or not…”

“thank you, my queen,” you breathe out, tears gathering in your eyes. “i don’t know if i can ever repay you for that…”

aslaug chuckles, “you taking care of siggy is enough payment.”

-

you stuff your stuff into a small leather bag, siggy strapped to your chest. you wanted to leave without bjorn noticing; you doubted he would notice anyways.

just when you were about to leave the door flies open and his hulking frame fills the frame. “where are you going?” he asks in a deep grunt, crossing his arms in front of his shoulders.

“i’m leaving,” you swallow. “i’m moving back to my hut.”

he slowly walks towards you, “you can’t do that. you know what my father has ordered.” his eyes fall to siggy on your chest and narrow.

“queen aslaug has made me a free woman,” you reply, placing your hand on the back of siggy’s head. “she gave me the freedom to chose and i decided that i will move back to my hut.”

your voice is firm and determined—you didn’t know where you got the confidence to stand up to him like that.

bjorn frowns and takes another step into your direction. “a free woman, huh?” his eyes bore into yours, something dangerous and unpredictable in them. “then we shall marry.”

your jaw goes slack as you stare at bjorn. “what?” that’s all you can say. you’re at a loss of words. why in all that’s holy did he want to get married to you? he had all those women and now that you’re a free woman he says that’s he wants to marry you?

“you’re a free woman now and siggy needs a mother, someone who’ll care for her.” bjorn shrugs, keeping his eyes on you while he talks.

a sarcastic laugh leaves your lips and you shake your head with a scoff. “maybe her father should man the fuck up and start to care for his daughter!”

“you know nothing about me and siggy,” bjorn snarls, grabbing the braid at the back of your head. “you do not know what she reminds me of, what she makes impossible to forget.”

you hiss in pain, having no other choice than to look at bjorn. “i lost my child and my husband,” you say in a low voice. “do you see me fucking everything with two legs and a dick? so you see me leaving siggy in the dirt?” your gaze is hard and your words hit him like nothing he ever felt. “every time i look at her i see what i could’ve had, being in her presence is painful for me but still i don’t behave like a child!”

you rip your head away from his grip and somehow manage to slip past him. he doesn’t move. you look back at him, and press siggy’s head to your chest. “grow up and learn to live with the pains of life, bjorn.”

-

you slender over the market, siggy strapped to your chest and a basket in your hand. it’s been three weeks, maybe four since you let bjorn’s hut and it was hard for you to believe but he actually made amends to see and get to know his daughter.

he was visiting almost daily and by now you felt sure enough to leave them both alone for two to three hours while you went to work for aslaug.

but right now you were alone, trying to run a few errands. siggy was babbling along and you smiled down at her. she was such a sweetheart…

you came to a hold in front of a vegetable stand, eying the few vegetables with a slight frown on your face.

“they’re all fresh,” the young farmer smiles, offering you a tomato. “harvested just this morning.” you smile at him and take the vegetable.

you turn it in your hand, looking down at siggy. “should we take some of those?” you ask her and she giggles along. you chuckle and look at the farmer.

“how much for a few of those?” you want to know, tilting your head in question.

the farmer smirks and takes the tomato from your hand. “i’ll give them to you for free. it’s not often i see such a pretty young lady roaming the market all on her own.” he winks at you and you feel yourself blush.

“why, thank you,” you chuckle while you place a few tomatoes in your basket. “this is very kind of you.” there’s a small smile on your face and a certain twinkle in your eyes.

just when you were about to leave you felt someone behind you and a hand extended to place a few coins on the stand in front of you. “don’t flirt with my fiancée,” a familiar voice threatens and you can see the farmer slowly nod.

you bite the inside of your cheek and turn towards bjorn. you stare up at him, ready to say something but all he does is—gently—grab your shoulder and pull you away.

“we talked about this,” you grumble as bjorn takes your basket, completely ignoring your words. “i said i won’t marry you.” you stop walking, placing your hands on your hips.

bjorn groans and turns around. “do i look like i care? i want to be the father my daughter deserves and you are the one taking care of her,” he argues. “it is only natural we marry. after all, i do not want to separate the both of you.”

he takes a step in your direction. “i know i made mistakes and i am sorry but i am willing to make this work out.” his hand itches towards your face.

“you don’t love me, bjorn.” your voice is a sigh and you turn your head away.

“but i can try.”

(excuse this shitty ending HELP😭. i’m debating if i should write a pt.2 tho😭)

[doumadono]

I'm overwhelmed with joy — I'm crying tears of happiness and giggling uncontrollably. The final drawing depicting viking Dabi battling his brother, the self-proclaimed earl Shoto, is simply breathtaking. A huge thank you goes out to the amazing @explosion-island for bringing Kvitravn story to life ♥

[glitchlight]

the lions?

I sure love watching my former fuckin DC coach his new team into the conference title game in his first year when the goddamn cowboys havent made ot past the divisional round in 30 fucking years.

[seaglassdinosaur]

I know we collectively agree that Hiccup isn’t romantically inclined, and his getting married and having kids didn’t make sense in the epilogue, but consider: Hiccup getting married for political reasons.

It’s a marriage of alliance, which is recognized both by him and his partner, and they enter it without expectations of romantic involvement. Since they’re now married, they live in the same castle, spend time together, and Hiccup finds he really likes his spouse. They’re funny, get along with his friends, and has the same interests and values. They both probably speak multiple languages. She understands why Hiccup is so dedicated to making the Wilderwest better, and holds similar views. She’s a good politician (her job after all, was to be an ambassador). Hiccup likes spending time with them, and the feeling is mutual. They’re not in love, they have their own lives, but they’re dedicated to each other and eventually decide to raise children. They teach their kids how to train hawks and hunt with dragons, riding, history, the Languages, and all the necessary skills of their world. They’re not in love and they’re happy together.

[misuanonimasu]

Forgot to share this here, I made a StrawPage that has all my social links and silly things I've made, like this 👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻