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#Heahmund
mnzbrg · 1 year
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whatever this was...... PEAK homoerotism.........
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ivarthebadbitch · 1 year
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When he prays and he yells and you put him in jail That's amore
(requested by anonymous)
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There’s something I think is pretty interisting about Ivar’s ships, specifically his male ships. Like from the fics I’ve read Ivar/Heahmund seems to be the most popular and, while not as popular, Oleg/Ivar also seems to resonate with some Ivar stans.
And the funny thing is that, both Heahmund and Oleg are old enough to be Ivar’s dads. 
Supposedly Ivar is 20 years old in season 6, we don’t know how old Oleg is, but based on the actors age he should be around 36 years old. 16 years older than Ivar. 
In season 4b and season 5 Ivar was 17/18/19, Heahmund died at 44 halfway through season 5b when Ivar was 19. Making him 25 years older than Ivar. 
I don’t really have a  point, except that some of us Ivar stans really clocked in on Ivar’s daddy issues with these ships 😭
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Vikings + modern food
A/N: first of all, I am SO honored to be ur first choice for your first request.
Second of all, disclaimer, I do not hate ppl with lactose intolerance, it’s just very funny to me when my brother knowingly consumes sth with excessive amounts of milk and then sprints to the toilet five minutes after finishing his food
Third of all, this was so fun to write and also i've been hoarding this imagine like some goblin creature bc i was so excited to post it. had to do it early after reading heart of winter (we need more bragi)
Tagged: @alicedopey, @bragisrunes (message/comment if you want to be added to any taglist)
Masterlist | based on this request | requests are OPEN!
Here are some foods I think you could achieve in 800 AD in Kattegat:
Pizza, if there are tomatoes from the Mediterranean
Italian noodles (I think you could defo manage Alfredo sauce and chicken, and noodles are just flour + water + egg maybe)
Some steak with sauteed onions and all that other good shii
Maybe, possibly, if the trade gods are feeling generous, soup dumplings and other Chinese foods (the biggest problem here would be the spices and the rice, since a lot of Chinese food has pretty simple ingredients)
Sashimi
Tuscan salmon (again the Mediterranean ppl have to pull up with them tomatoes)
Ice cream if it’s snowing for long enough and you have Tupperware to bury your fruits with you
Hummus if the middle eastern ppl pull up to Kattegat with Tahini and chickpeas
Things you could definitely not achieve (I am saying this having done 0 research):
Smoothies (blender)
Choco/vanilla ice cream
Anything vanilla/chocolate flavored
Sushi (nori + rice)
Several tier cakes
Anything involving huge (or any) amounts of refined sugar, food coloring or artificial flavours
Anything that has to be tempered or cooled down at an exact temperature
Anything that requires an airfryer, thermomix or other fancy cooking utensils I can’t afford  (rn)
Anything fried (how temperature? How so much oil? Maybe if u go to the blacksmith ig)
Mexican food (cries in guacamole and fajitas)
Ragnar
Very suspicious but tries it
You made Linguine Alfredo for the whole fam (Ragnar+Lagertha+Bjorn+Gyda+Athelstan)
Is lactose intolerant
Major L lol
Bjorn laughs when he comes back after one hour of shitting
Lagertha
Appreciates the Alfredo
Does not appreciate shitting husband
When Ragnar declares that it’s worth the risk
She declares the toilet (i think? maybe a hole in the ground?) is worth cleaning
Regardless, she asks you to teach her how to make pasta
Makes very good viking pasta afterwards
Bjorn (as a child bc I stanned him back then :’) )
Stans you for making his dad violently shit
Also stans pasta alfredo
Asks you to cook more, and promises to set the table for you
When your making spaghetti Bolognese, he hands you cream and asks you to sneak it in
You almost do
Gyda
She’s shyer about talking to you, but asks you to make more modern foods
Will help you get the ingredients and cook
If you use a fish she caught for cooking, she’ll cry with happiness
Is the most capable in making modern foods
Fascinated by ice cream
Makes Bjorn taste test everything she cooks before serving
He does it under one condition: trigger Ragnar’s lactose intolerance
Athelstan
Also very skeptical
Loves stuff that’s a fusion between modern and old
Suspicious of your cooking after the Alfredo-incident
He would love Tuscan salmon though
And soup dumplings
Why? It’s a form of bread + soup + warm. That’s why.
tagging @demon-of-the-ancient-world here for obvious reasons
Aslaug
Big fan of Chinese food
She tried modern food to prove to Ragnar that she would not loose control over her bowels bc of a large amount of cream
When she finds out about chopsticks it’s over for you
She eats everything with chopsticks
Thinks it’s more elegant than anything else
Defo a utensils gal
Ubbe
Grew up with the infamous story of the Alfredo incident (we’re going with that timeline in his case too, but not for the other characters)
Regardless, he’s ready to sacrifice his dignity to try something new
Very not lactose intolerant, and rubs it in Ragnar’s face
Loves a medium raw steak
Asks you to cook for him, but you’ll be able to teach him instead
Hvitserk
You give him pizza as a surprise
Looses his shit (not like Ragnar, in a more metaphorical sense here)
Making bread with toppings and baking it and eating it warm? Genius, why didn’t he think of that.
I just know he would gobble up that spicy salami pizza
Is okay with simpler toppings too
Loves everything you make for him, creates scary fusions
Sigurd
Skeptical. Extremely
He likes bean stew and boiled chicken
But not for long
Sucker for spicy foods
Also likes dumplings a lot
Will take them with him in the steamer for a picknick date
Ivar
Can absolutely NOT eat spicy food
Which Sigurd so laughs about
Eats slightly seasoned curry while tears are streaming down his face (manly tears)
Does not take milk to numb it down
You know those wontons with the spicy sauce that are hella good?
Yeah, he loves them without the sauce.
Clocks Sigurd in the jaw when he pours the sauce over Ivar’s not spicy ones
Heahmund
Idk if this is my hc or just personal distaste for this man and his weird ass voice showing through
Cannot handle spicy food (more homoerotic bonding ground for him and ivar yay!)
Does not like modern food (loser)
Secretly is lactose intolerant
Would probably die from a whiff of peanuts
Sticks to boiled chicken and beans (no salt!!!)
Alfred
Didn’t he go to the Vatican or something?
Got a taste for them Italian dishes
Idk if they already had pasta but that’s not the point
Alfred is a man of the world (at least at the dinner table)
Eats everything and anything you make
Yes, he sends hvitserk on a diplomatic mission to find new food
But only bc hvitserk begged him
Would shake his ass in front of his entire court for the mysterious loaded nachos you’ve described to him
Judith
Supports everything Alfred does
Tries his food with him
Oh man, if Sigurd and Judith ever met, they would have a spice eating contest
It delights her to mix two seeds of pepper into the food and watch some lord have a nervous breakdown
Could eat ghost pepper raw
As long as it burns her mouth, it’s good
Knows about the Alfredo incident in said timeline and uses it as a political weapon against the Vikings
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popcorn1989 · 2 years
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Ivar and Heahmund Edit
I made this for @nothingtolosebutweight why? because I was inspired by her fanfics. Check her Storys out. I hope you like it my dear!
Song: Imagine Dragons - Enemy
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ulfrsmal · 1 year
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Trigger Warnings: none.
Mature ⫽ Heahmund/Ivar ⫽ No Archive Warnings Apply ⫽ one-shot
His guards didn’t bat an eye when he ordered them to bring the prisoner to him. Nobody batted an eye anymore. They didn’t see a useless child with brittle legs; they saw a god and a king. It made Ivar feel warm, but also strangely hollow. As if there was something missing that he could not name..
Read On AO3
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niishiki · 1 year
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chim
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"Careful, that sounds suspiciously like a compliment." He tried to catch another snowflake. "Dying doesn't sound so bad. I just wished I would go to Valhalla. I wished I would die in battle. At least you died with a weapon in your hand."
"Small mercies," Sigurd chuckled. “I’d rather not have died at all.”
“Would it help if I would say that I regretted it the moment the axe left my hand?”
“There is no need to get sentimental now. You are not going to die yet.”
@youbloodymadgenius​ @nothingtolosebutweight​ @nukyster-blog​ @chimeracuddles​
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heavenlymorals · 1 year
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Two more Bloodborne themed moodboards for two of my other Viking faves~
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All photos are from pinterest. Click for better quality.
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malenamoonlight · 1 year
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Thinking how Ivar was dumped by Heahmund after open his heart to him and spare his life, but, when it comes to Oleg, he was the one who dumped the poor guy, even after Oleg give him an whole army 😭😭
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Heaven's just a Sin away
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An embarrassingly long time ago @heavenlymorals put this request in my DMs and here we are. In the end, I am somewhat satisfied with the result, even though it is quite rudimentary due to my lack of knowledge about religions. It's not quite what you wished for, but it's something 😋
I loved their religious discussions so much in the show and maybe you can write one of your own? Like Ivar and Heahmund discussing their respective afterlives or why they celebrate their faith as they do (communions, sacrifice, etc...). I think it's worth a shot, so if you take my request, I hope you have fun.
| Paring: Ivar the Boneless x Bishop Heahmund | Words: ~5700 [AO3] | Warnings: Angst, Hurt, Scars, Mention of self-inflicted injuries, Intimacy between two men, Blasphemy, Cheesiness | Summary: Driven by his affection for Ivar, Heahmund repeatedly plunges head over heels into the sea of sins, only to drown in his feelings of guilt immediately afterward, asking God for forgiveness for his actions. His inner conflict is also reflected in his battered appearance. A circumstance that doesn't please the young prince at all. | Credits: @underragingwaves made this wonderful Gif of Ivar. Thanks for letting me use it ♥♥
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The coolness of the night had settled over them, robbing their previously glowing bodies of the heat that had formed between them. Like two firestones, they had rubbed against each other, creating sparks that danced together in the heated air until they merged and burned up in a passionate explosion. 
Silence has invaded the room, which not long ago was filled with pleasurable sounds, sinful moans, and whispers of tender words. Heartbeats were slowing down. Bodies that were tightly embraced were now separated, leaving a void.
A shiver ran over Ivar's naked body, leaving a delicate trail of goosebumps. Drowsily, he groped for the end of his thick blanket made of different kinds of furs and pulled it over his lower body to prevent further chilling. A glance to the left, at the naked back that presented itself to him, made his eyes well up with longing.
Ivar wouldn't say it out loud even under threat of the worst kind of torture, but he longed to be held. Especially now, right after sex. After he had made himself so vulnerable by letting another man dominate him, enjoying every second of it. He longed for loving touches, for reassurance.
The cold of the approaching winter was easy to bear. The young prince had enough furs to protect himself against the freezing temperatures that would soon hit Kattegat. But the cold that now prevailed in the room, and which had its origin in the man lying next to him, crept deeper into his bones. This one caused a shiver that left no pleasant feeling, no rising desire, but an uncomfortable squeeze around his heart.
Ivar should have gotten used to it by now, for it was always the same spectacle. 
Only moments ago, he could have sworn that Heahmund was the embodied fire giant Surt. At home in regions of immense heat and fire, which was evident in the eager, impetuous touches that traveled all over Ivar's body, leaving a trail of burning skin wherever they went. Heahmund's hands seemed to be everywhere at once, possessive yet gentle, always careful not to inflict pain that wouldn't subsequently turn into pleasure.
Where his hands were not, Ivar felt hot lips feasting on his body, kissing, nibbling, biting. It made him tremble and moan loudly until his mouth was sealed and a heated tongue invaded him, robbing him of the air he needed to breathe. All of this happened while the giant's burning and pulsating sword penetrated deep into him, piercing not only deeper and deeper into his body, but also into his soul.
The transition from blazing flames to freezing cold was always rapid. As soon as his bishop crashed down from the peak of his high, spurting his seed deep inside him with his voice cracking and his breath brushing hotly against the hollow of his neck, he turned into a frost giant. It was as if all the embers in him had faded into nothingness. As if discharging his sword had triggered his personal Ragnarok, leaving Heahmund burned out and unable to summon even the tiniest spark of emotion.
Each time anew his perfect warrior fought his own battle after they shared their desire. Perhaps the hardest of his life. He turned away, unable to look at him any longer, as if they hadn't just clung to each other like two drowning men, being swayed by the endless waves of their lust.
Ivar hadn't yet given up hope that Heahmund would one day be able to break this cycle, but with this weakness he also allowed himself to be hurt again and again by the other man's rejection.
With a sigh that had risen deep from the core of his being, Ivar turned on his side, facing Heahmund's back. He moved a little closer to the body he admired so much and in whose warmth and scent he wanted to linger a little longer. The almost perfectly round moon was enough of a light source for the prince to see the fine muscles which stretched across the pale skin of his favorite Englishman. 
What was equally emphasized by the bright glow were the numerous scars that stretched across Heahmund's back and upper arms. Some were still accented by a contrasting dark red crust, others were only visible through the shadows cast by the thicker healed skin, while others were already barely visible. Either they had not been deep enough to do much damage, or they had already faded over time, like memories that had sunk into the emptiness. No longer accessible.
Nevertheless, Ivar could still see those scars in his mind's eye. He still knew exactly where they had been. Too often he had traced them with his fingertips, his lips, or his tongue to be able to forget them. All the imperfections had burned themselves deeply into his memory. For him, they were like a map on which reminders were marked like treasures. Only that they were anything but jewels or gems.
Ivar knew where most of the scars originated from. They were not inflicted on Heahmund during battle. Scars won in glorious combats testified to strength, to being victorious. Ivar himself was proud of the few he had acquired in that way, but the ones that covered his legs in great numbers, he despised.  For those, he was rather ashamed. They were nothing more than testimonies to his limitations, nothing that filled him with pride.
The same goes for the scars on Heahmund's back. They didn't testify to glory either, even if they were evidence of a battle. One that took place inside the bishop's mind and soul and one that seemingly was impossible to win. This was the reason why Ivar didn't find them as attractive as all the other scars that had been inflicted on the body before him. In his eyes, they were a hurtful reminder that Heahmund would probably never be fully committed to him. The thought that what they shared was wrong, would not leave his mind anytime soon. 
Heahmund’is devotion to his chosen God was too strong for that. So was the burden of sin that the Christian tried to drain out of himself with these self-inflicted wounds. Not only had he given himself over to carnal desires, which in itself was an act against God. No, he had done it with another man, and on top of that, he had enjoyed it. That was obvious, considering the sounds of pleasure that Heahmund had not been able to hold back. 
For Ivar, there was nothing that felt more right than to let himself be swept away underneath his English warrior, to surrender to him in complete bliss. That is why it pained the young Viking when he discovered fresh wounds, as he did now. It felt as if the injury had been added to his own body. His heart became heavy because he knew that the tearing of the skin was a sign that Heahmund's innermost being was also torn. Moreover, he was pretty certain that new wounds would be added by tomorrow evening as well. In this regard, Heahmund was predictable.
Giving in to his inner urge for closeness, Ivar let his fingertips dance feather-light over the battered skin. Carefully, he brushed over the marks, earning a humming and a breathy "Don't." as a signal that Heahmund didn't want to be touched at the moment. At least not by him.
Ivar didn't let that stop him. He would just take what he needed today. That was his right. After all, he was a prince and ruled over a large territory. He owned everything from the coast in the north to the mountains in the west, the fertile fields in the south, and the forests in the east. Having the simplest of his desires taken from him, in his own bed chamber, was out of the question today.
Therefore, Ivar did not retreat, but rather moved a bit closer to Heahmund out of sheer defiance. Sleepily closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead against the bishop’s shoulder, inhaling deeply. The still-warm skin beneath him exuded the seductive scent of sweet desire that resulted from their recent union. On his lips, which were slightly swollen from all the kisses they had shared before, the prince perceived a faint salty taste. He let his tongue slide out to taste more of it, brushing Heahmund's shoulder while doing so. Prompted by the gossamer touch, he opened his lips wider and kissed the spot with his mouth open.
A hushed whisper broke the silence in the room. Ivar didn't understand the words exactly. They were pronounced too vaguely and in a language that he didn't fully grasp yet. But he had no need to comprehend their meaning to know that Heahmund was speaking to his god.
Tender kisses met old scars and new wounds, causing their bearer to tremble as if they were being inflicted anew at that very moment. Heahmund's prayer became louder, his plea to God more insistent.
"Deliver me, O Lord. Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sins are covered. In the glory of daylight, your hand was heavy upon me, guiding me in my righteous path, but by night the devil persuaded me... again. Therefore, I ask you to wash me clean of my guilt. Purify me from my sin."
The words could now be heard more clearly and even though the meaning and the words themselves were foreign to Ivar, he managed to understand fragments. Heahmund was always babbling something about sin, about the devil he accused him to be. In the end, he just needed a scapegoat to explain to himself why he went to Ivar's bed chamber every night when he knew better and, more importantly, intended to do better. An excuse was needed to answer tantalizing questions. Why he couldn't resist the temptation. Why he had to touch him, kiss him, conquer him in the most gentle way. They united driven by love and the need for closeness that went beyond the normally achievable. They wanted to become one, to let their own beings collapse in order to merge into each other, but this simple explanation was not sufficient for Heahmund to explain and accept his sinfulness.
For the former bishop, it had to be some evil doing that made him weak in his knees. Ivar assumed that this belief was easier for him to bear than the truth. To admit to himself that everything he had believed in up to now, everything he had based his life on, everything he had wanted to die for, suddenly no longer made sense, would rob him of his identity. 
Ivar saw this dilemma. He understood it and therefore often kept silent. Said nothing to the multiplying scars and the dismissive attitude of his beloved. For the sake of Heahmund's remaining peace of mind. He didn't want to see him broken, but he also didn't want to let himself be broken by the fact that what was so important to him was devalued as abhorrent by the very man with whom he shared everything he held dear.
Today, however, he couldn't remain silent. His own chest hurt too much.
Just a few minutes ago, he had felt as if he were being carried into the sky by Valkyries. The impact on the ground of reality afterward was too agonizing for him to hold back the scream that rose from his innermost being.
Propped up on his forearm, Ivar leaned over the still praying man, looking down at him, taking in the view of Heahmund’s bewildered expression. Unable to bear the sight for long, Ivar nestled nose-first back into Heahmund's still slightly sweaty neck, running his fingers through the jet-black hair. He felt the dampness against his skin, saw some strands glistening in the moonlight. All this made him think back to the powerful and yet prudent movements with which his strong warrior had driven him out of his mind, had driven him into the arms of the Valkyries. Heahmund had let himself be guided by his passion, had given in to his heated lust, only to regret it all within the blink of an eye. Ivar could not understand it.
"Don't," Heahmund whispered anew. This time with more emphasis, interrupting his prayer or, as Ivar saw it, his whining.
With a jerk, Ivar's right hand grabbed part of the short hair he had lovingly tousled through earlier. Heahmund's head was jerked and he was forced to look at the young Viking.
"Don't whine to other pathetic gods while you're lying in my bed still smelling of the deification you bestowed upon me just moments ago." Despite the taunt in his statement, his voice was gentle, not mocking. Ivar ran his lips over Heahmund's ear, encircling the earlobe. "And rightly so," he breathily hushed. "I am the only God you should pray to... and fortunately for you, I am a merciful one, too."
Heahmund had no sense of humor. At least not when it came to gods. This was evident in the grim expression with which he let the caresses wash over him, listening to the words that for him were the purest form of blasphemy.
"There is only one God and it is certainly not you," he forced out between his otherwise compressed lips.
"I am one," Ivar said out of conviction. "I am a descendant of Odin, the All-Father, and I would be a much more righteous god. One who would appreciate the bloodlust and temperament of true warriors, who would not put them in senseless chains and rob them of their true nature. I would consider it a tribute when people indulge in their carnal desires in my name. I would bless them for it. Only those who do not follow their urges would sin." Ivar put a finger to Heahmund's lips when he saw he was about to speak. To his surprise, this actually made the Englishman hold his words further, even though they were surely already on Heahmund's tongue, ready to be blurted out. It was obvious from the Christian's tense posture that what was said upset him, that he had the internal impulse to argue against it.
 "Doesn't that sound like a God that would fit you so much better, my love?" 
A barely perceptible shake of the head was the first reaction that Ivar interpreted as a response. Because he still held Heahmund by the hair, the warrior could not vehemently deny by this gesture. The prince loosened his grip and also withdrew his finger, but not without once again tracing the contours of Heahmund's lips, wishing he could still his thirst by touching them again with his. They were so seductively close, but Ivar knew that just now was not the right moment.
"It sounds merely like the delusional beliefs of a deluded boy who has spent his life so far under the influence of false gods. Who has lacked the light of God as a guide. It just sounds like a lazy excuse not to follow the right path to make things easy for oneself.  Christ already is a merciful god. He forgives, knows about people's mistakes. He allows them to develop their potential, to realize the truth in their hearts," Heahmund spoke, while turning his head to the side to look at the boy behind him. "But I am not surprised that you, the devil, speak so lightly about such things, that you try to seduce me further with such simple words."
Ivar backed away a little, allowing Heahmund to turn toward him a bit more. He saw this as a small victory, that the bishop was willing to look at him again, making eye contact and thus establishing a connection between them, which until just now had been withdrawn from him.
"Ahh~ right, I'm the devil. You remind me so often and yet I keep forgetting." Ivar laughed softly after his words, finding Heahmund's accusation ridiculous as always. "Aren't you sinning again by telling lies?"
Heahmund narrowed his eyes, looking angrily at Ivar. This sight sent a shiver down the young prince's spine. He loved it when his lover took on those animalistic features. It testified to his inner fire.
"I'm not telling any lies." Heahmund looked directly into Ivar's eyes. Longer than necessary, and longer than it was good for him. He seemed to search for some kind of knowledge in them, a missing piece he longed to obtain.
He didn't have to say it for Ivar to understand what made him pause in wonder. The boy felt it in his joints, in the stiffness of his leg muscles. It was not a particularly bad day. The pain was tolerable, but significantly more intense than on good ones. The whites of his eyes were certainly a touch more bluish as a result. Ivar could only imagine that this often-occurring discoloration contributed to his Bishop's conviction that he was an inhuman being pretending to be something he was not. His current stare spoke of this.
"The devil always comes in disguise," Heahmund lowered his voice as if his next words were meant only for him, "Usually as the most beautiful creature to make it almost impossible to withdraw from his claws. In this way, he lures mankind into perdition, me into damnation." Although he had previously avoided contact with Ivar at all costs, Heahmund now laid a hand on his prince's cheek, as he could no longer resist touching him.
Carefully, he stroked his thumb over the prominent cheekbone, stopped at the hairline, and brushed back, only to start closer under the eye the next time, tracing its contour just as gently. The tender gesture made Ivar close his eyes, a sweet smile on his lips.
For Heahmund, it was as if he was under a spell as soon as he looked at Ivar. He considered himself a strong-willed person, but in this one area, all the prayers, drills, and all the punishments that followed did not help him to get better or wiser. Again and again, the magic emanating from the boy in front of him caught up with him. Proved to him repeatedly what a fool he was.
At first, he didn't really listen to the snippets of conversation he picked up here and there. He was not interested in how the villagers talked about Ivar's mother, the former queen. But at the latest when he understood the meaning of the word Vǫlva, his interest in learning more about it had increased. Apparently, she was said to be a witch, and it was rumored that she had enchanted the famous Ragnar Lothbrok to be by his side and shine in his glory. Heahmund had no doubt that this gift must have been passed on to Ivar. His weakness to resist him; his desire to be near him; touch him; elicit sweet sounds from him simply had to be because of that. He could not allow himself any other explanations. He preferred to rest his tortured mind in the flimsy stories of the common people.
Their conversation quieted for a moment, silence enveloping them in a smooth cloak. Ivar felt the questioning looks on him, but he didn't let them bother him. In his mind, Heahmund's last words still echoed in his head. They embarrassed him, but touched him just as deeply. He had never thought himself beautiful, nor had others ever made him feel that he was special to them - except for his mother, so the fact that his favorite person saw it that way made his heart skip a beat.
Only a heavy sigh made him open his eyes again. As soon as his eyelids opened, Ivar was confronted with bright, silvery eyes that still looked at him critically, yet so full of emotions. Ivar became aware that Heahmund was still trying to make sense of his situation. That he was still trying to tell himself lies that would explain his actions. His bishop needed a culprit, and something supernatural like the devil seemed to serve him just fine.
"You long for the blessing of your God, chasing after false ideals which you blindly follow.  But what you don't see is that you don't even need that blessing anymore." Ivar brought his hand to rest on Heahmund's, which still lingered on his cheek, and squeezed it lightly. "You are already blessed by my love. What more do you need, huh?"
Gasping aloud in indignation that Ivar had once again dared to belittle his faith and depict himself as a god, Heahmund withdrew his hand from under the prince's and turned back onto his back in a hasty movement. His gaze slid up to the ceiling and focused there on the fine irregularities created by the use of thatch and turf.  "You don't know what you're talking about at all. Blessed...as if you would know what that even means. Just listening to such nonsensical, ridiculing words is tantamount to a sin."
"Then just kiss me and I'll shut up. It's that simple."
Heahmund's gaze was instantly directed to the full lips in front of him, whose delicate rosy color was only partially visible in the faint moonlight. Unconsciously, he pulled his own lips inward, biting his lower lip in suppressed pleasure. He would only too gladly comply with Ivar's suggestion, knowing that kissing him was incomparable to anything he had experienced so far. He had never been a big fan of this intimate gesture, had rarely been tempted to share his breath with another person. With Ivar, it was the complete opposite. He literally craved for it, but was painfully aware that it was wrong to even think about the sweet taste that still lingered on his lips and tongue. 
As to not be tempted further, he looked back at the ceiling, searching for the crack he had just stared at. "I would sin again in doing so." 
"That even kissing is a sin is so ridiculous." Ivar sighed out in frustration. All those rules of Christianity gave him headaches on a regular basis. He didn't understand how people could voluntarily live with all these restrictions that took the fun out of life.
"I am a man of God who is here on earth to convey his sacred words and live a humble life. I should not give in to these base desires, but lead by good example. Therefore, I should not lie with a heathen, and certainly not with another man. You know that." After all, it wasn't the first time they spoke about this topic. Heahmund turned his head, letting his gaze slide once again from the ceiling back to Ivar. A mistake, he realized. Those bright blue eyes, additionally illuminated by the moon, bored into his and held him captive.
"Yeah yeah, spare me more details." Ivar couldn't hear it anymore. Even if he had asked himself, he had grown tired of this topic minutes ago. "I just don't understand why you let yourself be so restricted. How everything you say can make sense to you. It doesn't fit the strong warrior that you are."
"That I don't want to be tortured in hell for all eternity? Not to be able to see God's magnificent face with my own eyes when he welcomes me to heaven?" For Heahmund there was nothing more obvious as to why he tried so hard to be a good Christian. "I don't understand either how you can be so stubborn as not to see the truth. I want to save you, bring you salvation, but you refuse to be rescued." The thought that he himself was doomed to go to hell already frightened him greatly, but to know that the same fate awaited Ivar was almost unbearable to him.
With his index finger, Ivar began to glide over Heahmund's chest, drawing invisible lines, which only for him resulted in runes in his head. He averted his eyes from the icy ones, concentrating on what he was doing, but then he suddenly paused and looked up again. "Perhaps I should indeed convert."
Two fingers found their way under the prince's chin, gently lifting it to lure the boy closer. "Are you serious?" Hope resonated in his voice. Perhaps, Heahmund thought, he was doing something right here after all. If he managed to spread his faith and convince a high-ranking heathen, albeit in a scandalous way, maybe he was on the right path nevertheless?
Ivar smiled mischievously. "Yes. I should become a Christian like you. A bad one." His boyish smile turned into a wicked giggle. Self-satisfied. "I would do nothing but sin all day long, waiting to go to hell to celebrate all the good things that seem to happen there. The more I hear of this place, the more I want to go there myself." 
"Hell is no joke!" Heahmund grunted angrily, incredulous at having been so deceived. The two fingers under Ivar's chin tightened their grip, making the Viking feel the anger his words had produced. 
"But your belief is!" Ivar replied dryly, his voice thick with defiance. "It has so many ridiculous rules and prohibitions. Everything that is fun is forbidden. To me, living by your rules sounds like something that could describe my personal hell. So, how can you fear this place more than your current way of living your life? With all that regret, the whining about the most natural things? To me, it feels as if one has to punish oneself for needing to pee, to breathe."
"Hell is a cruel place. Unimaginable things happen there. It is not a place to joke about lightly. Not even as a heathen should you speak of it so carelessly, Ivar." Just the thought of that place made Heahmund wince; the hair on his arms and neck stood up. He didn't want to think about it in more detail, but Ivar refused to let it go.
"Tell me about it." Ivar was curious, but most of all he just enjoyed it when Heahmund talked. Even if it was stories about his faith, which he himself often found ridiculous, he liked the way the man next to him spoke about it. So euphoric, convinced. There was something attractive about it, and Ivar loved to tease him about it as well. It also ensured that Heahmund would not turn away from him again. Letting him talk made sure he stayed with him. In the present.
The former bishop sighed in defeat. He let go of Ivar's chin and let his fingers brush over the boy's cheek again until they disappeared into his long hair, tracing circles there. "It is a place full of the blackest darkness, for not even God's glorious light, which otherwise surrounds everything, can immerse into the pitch-black nothingness that exists there. The screams of the damned who are burned for all eternity, whose skin peels off piece by piece, and into which the demons sink their teeth to feast on their burnt flesh, are the only sounds that exist there. A mixture of all the pleading and screaming blends together. It is a place of suffering and torment from which there is no escape. One is separated from God. From the glory of his might. It is a small price to pay to live one's earthly life according to God's written words to escape damnation."
"That still sounds like a place to my liking," Ivar said, pursing his lips into a grin. "For my legs, this place is certainly comfortable. So much warmth. No cold to eat into my bones and cause me pain. But how can it be the darkest darkness I can imagine when there's fire?" 
Heahmund kept quiet for a moment, pondering whether he should continue to engage in this discussion. Even though he had just been tricked, he knew that Ivar had no honest interest in the intricacies of his religion. He just needed material to make fun of, to expose discrepancies. "This is not a fire to warm yourself by. Like the cold, it tugs at your body, engulfing you in miserable agony in an ever-recurring cycle. You would miss the cold of your winters here as soon as you experienced even a fraction of that flesh-burning heat."  Propping himself up on one arm, he reached for the thick furs to make sure Ivar's legs were covered by them, that he was warm and comfortable. Although he was a little incensed, he still didn't want harm to come to the prince, who was still looking at him smiling impishly.
While they were talking, Ivar had again begun to draw invisible runes over Heahmund's chest area. When his bishop rose, he had to interrupt this for a moment. His hand slipped to his lover's firm belly, where he let it rest for the moment. "Thank you," he said in a gentle tone, touched by the fact that the usually aloof man was so genuinely concerned for his well-being that he had to make sure his legs were not exposed to the cold. 
To really thank him, Ivar decided to stop teasing. He didn't want this conversation to degenerate into a heated discussion. Not when he was just longing for sleep. 
"Let us make a pact, Heahmund. I won't need to long for the heat of hell if I'm not deprived of the place whose warmth I usually feast on, which envelops me, infiltrates me deeply, and not only warms my body, but floods my whole being with rays as warm as those of the sun." Ivar took the opportunity to rest his head on Heahmund's chest as the older let himself sink back into the pillow. His arm wrapped around the strong upper body of the Englishman, over whose heart Ivar placed his palm.
"What kind of place shall this be?" Heahmund asked in puzzlement, not sure what he had to do with it and how he could keep this deal. For a moment he hesitated, but then he also wrapped his arm around Ivar, running his fingers through the long, loose hair.
"It's right here. Close to you, by your side in an embrace. This place is the most sacred for me. I would even give up my place in Valhalla if only I could bathe in your warmth, your love for all eternity." Once again, Ivar changed his position slightly, lifting his head to look at Heahmund. Automatically he returned the smile that appeared on the lips of his warrior. Although there was hardly any space between them, Ivar tried to slide a little closer to his beloved, happy to be so close to him. It was rare that they fell asleep in such close intimacy, that the Christian allowed this to happen.
Heahmund surrendered. How could he deny his prince this wish when he smiled at him with such a pure expression and looked at him with such soulful eyes? He had no chance against the feelings that raged within him. "Then I will not deprive you of it...for this night at least."
.
"Promise me that you won't sneak off to punish yourself in the morning either. I hate to see those unnecessary wounds on your body. There is no reason for that. Isn't love the purest of all feelings? You shouldn't have to feel guilty about it."
Heahmund felt strangely called out by the mention of love. It was such a meaningful word, which held so much power. His hand tenderly stroked the muscular arm that had wrapped around his chest, sliding along it until it reached the fingers which he intertwined with his.
Silence returned, letting Heahmund indulge in his thoughts. It was not long before he heard Ivar's steady breathing and could be sure that at least he was asleep. The cracks in the ceiling once again caught his attention, as if he could find an answer from his God in them about how to align his heart with his faith.
"I love you, my prince," Heahmund whispered, driven by his inner need to verbalize this emotion in a protected environment. Tormented, he closed his eyes, fervently hoping that God would leave him unobserved for a few hours, or at least that he wouldn't judge him even if his watchful eyes rested on him. Despite this worry that gnawed at him, he also felt strangely at ease. The warm body that nestled against him gave him a feeling of security. Something whose soothing effect he would not have thought possible before he met Ivar. With him, it had this impact.
His lips were resting against Ivar's forehead, letting little kisses follow, spreading wherever he could reach. The small hope that there was some truth in Ivar's words, that love was the holiest of feelings and that there was nothing wrong with what he was doing, flooded his mind. Perhaps, he allowed himself to think, this was his true calling. To find love and enjoy it. To fill his heart with this incredible feeling that made everything else pale into insignificance.
It sounded so tempting, and yet he failed to find refuge in that concept.
When the first rays of sunlight woke him from his slumber after a few hours of sleep, the urge to repent was still as overwhelming as before. Ivar's weight on his chest was still palpable, but much more suffocating was the guilt and blame that washed over him. Those feelings took his breath away, and made it difficult for him to remain rational.
Carefully, so as not to wake Ivar, who was still sleeping peacefully, he detached himself from the boy's clutch. Standing in front of the bed, putting on his informal clothes, he looked once again at the bed, glancing at the carefree face of his sweet devil. Heahmund could not deny that he was sinning again at that very moment by feeling envy. Envy of Ivar's carefreeness.
Heahmund could not suppress the urge to purify himself and so his feet carried him out into the forest, towards the dense undergrowth that he had already used several times for this purpose. He had to face his sinful behavior and make amends for it. In the end, heaven was just a sin away. This purification by his own blood, running over the sweet layer of sweat that smelled like the forbidden fruit, was his only salvation.
He was a sinner who prayed in tears for God's forgiveness.
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@youbloodymadgenius @istorkyou @ivarlover
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ivarthebadbitch · 2 years
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ivar and heahmund + acting normal
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jrhysmeyers · 4 months
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Jonathan Rhys Meyers as Bishop Heahmund | Vikings, 5x06 — The Message
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aikaterini-drag · 8 months
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Behold, the fierce Harald, draped in fur, a warrior's warmth amidst the cold winds of the North! 🌬️🛡️❄️
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barbiedragon · 6 months
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Kinktober Prompt #7
Prompt: Virginity/Wax Play
Bishop Heahmund x fem!reader (Vikings)
WC: 500
Additional warnings: minor Religion kink
*comments/reblogs are appreciated
A little gift for @valeskafics
Kinktober Masterlist
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You hissed, arching your back as the warm wax pooled across your chest. Heahmund chuckled at your reaction, leaning closer to blow a soothing puff of cool air over your heated flesh before wrapping his lips around one pert nipple.
“Pain can stir eros,” he whispered against your wet flesh. One hand pressed between your slick thighs, stroking your damp curls. A wicked smile toyed at his lips. He was a man of God and a man of flesh.
“I suppose you would know more than me, being a learned man of the cloth and a skilled warrior,” you whispered, keening your hips and pressing further into his touch.
He continued the pleasant stroking before removing his hand.  You writhed and mewled as he drizzled more wax onto your flesh, covering your belly and hips. Very slowly, he scraped the hardened pieces off, pressing a kiss to each flushed mark left behind on your skin. You were starting to understand his words. A quick sting followed by throbbing pleasure that made your belly tighten. His rough, calloused hands grasped your hips as his lips crashed against yours.
“Are you ready for me, sweet maiden?”
You gazed into those piercing blue eyes as desire thundered through your body. You wanted him to ravage every inch of you. To send you crashing over the edge until every muscle in your body ached. It mattered not to you that Heahmund had savored many women in Wessex. He was between your thighs now, and you sought to give him your precious maidenhead. He promised to guide you through repentance later.
“I am, please,” you begged as his body hovered over yours. His cock was hard and heavy between his legs. The sight made you bite your lower lip and wonder if he could fit inside.
Those strong hands guided your knees back as he pressed against your opening, slowly slipping his way inside. You gasped softly, feeling the pressure fill you until he was deep inside. You felt a slight cramping that slowly subsided as you grew used to the feeling. It wasn’t bad, a simple sting; clearly, the lessons and lectures had been meant to instill fear.  Heahmund began to move his hips as your hands settled against his sides.
Each thrust made your body tremble, and soon, you moved your body in tandem with his. Soft moans spilled from your parted lips. Your eyes rolled back as he hit a sensitive spot inside you that made your thighs twitch. You were certain this was your peak. A pleasant yet unfamiliar sensation rolled through you as the tightness in your belly snapped, and you gave your body over to pleasure.
“Beautiful,” Heahmund whispered, holding your chin between his fingers while he studied your face. He pulled out, and heat flooded your face as his spend coated your thighs. “We should give thanks for such divinity.”
His hands clasped over yours as he murmured a prayer of thanks. You swore you heard angels singing.
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ulfrsmal · 1 year
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I believe in Armageddon Baptized in alcohol Embodiment of anti-Christ I'm living for my own demise [x]
⫽ Special thanks to @grande-caps for the first three pictures. ⫽
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niishiki · 1 year
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“You promised me that you wouldn't be like that,” Ivar replied. Perhaps it sounded childish. “You said it. That you wouldn't be as fickle as the moon. You promised me that you wouldn't betray me.”
@youbloodymadgenius​ @nothingtolosebutweight​ @nukyster-blog​ @chimeracuddles​
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