#modern day viking

[minnophee-draws]

My biker, Norse man Sigurd just making sure his pretty little bunny Penelope is properly well-bred <3

"Min lille Kanin" translates to "My little Rabbit"

you can view the uncropped version on my bluesky!

[haellen-o]

This is incredibly ff unrelated but I wanted a rain check for anyone around

Fellow vikings and/or Nordic pagans. Is this the modern day viking longship?

(it's a Volvo 200)

[therealvikingstrash]

Entry for Day 7 of @vikingsevents vernal equinox event. Have a little Ragnarssons being small cuteness that came to me without asking, lol. It's kinda centered around Ivar, which is a double surprise. Aslaug POV, which isn't a surprise at all. (1k fic below the cut)

-

The weather was ideal for them to go on a hunt for easter eggs and Aslaug had made it harder for her over-eager boys. She knew Hvitserk and Ubbe were quick to find all the nests she hid away and so she made the rule that they could only take those with their names on it and have to leave those that don’t. She was sitting on the porch, a tea in hand as she watched them spread out in their yard. Hvitserk was already stomping around in frustration, because he’d found Ivar’s and Sigurd’s nests, but not his own. Ubbe had sat down near a tree instead of looking for his nest and Aslaug was inclined to ask, but with him it was most likely to keep the pressure off his brothers. Last year Ivar had had a fit when he couldn’t find a single egg, so much so that in his rage he managed to topple over in his wheelchair. Neither Aslaug nor Ubbe were allowed to get near to help though. 

She was positive that Hvitserk and Ubbe finding the hidden eggs after five minutes didn’t help the cause. Even Sigurd had managed to swallow his jokes when he saw the fury in his brother’s eyes. 

Her youngest had refused to use his wheelchair this time though and was crawling around in the grass, possibly staining his jeans a bright green where they brushed over the ground. Ivar was also very close to the forest that started exactly where their yard ended. And also as far away as possible from any easter treat Aslaug had planted. She took a sip of her tea and continued watching what would unfold. 

“Mister bunny!” Ivar called out all of a sudden, halting his brother’s in their search. “He’s here!” he was pointing towards the forest and Aslaug frowned, before getting up. She did not want him to crawl around the underbrush of the forest. She’d already been against him doing that in their yard, but there was no way of arguing with an Ivar who had an opinion. Even though she swore herself not to intervene, this did the trick to cause her to walk over. 

“It’s easter bunny!” Hvitserk corrected him. “And you didn’t see him.” he added, his skinny arms folded and a scowl on his cute little face. There was a reason why Hvitserk didn’t believe Ivar and Aslaug knew that it had a lot to do with Ubbe telling his brother that the Easter Bunny wasn’t real. And neither was Santa. Thankfully it didn’t stop Hvitserk from loving the presents and treats and he kept his mouth shut about it towards Sigurd and Ivar.

Although, Aslaug was sure he was holding that revelation back until the very moment one of them pissed him off. He’d done it before with a secret not meant for little ears and Aslaug couldn’t tell if he picked that trait up from her or Ragnar. Or possibly Ubbe. 

“Yes, it was!” Ivar argues, already red in the face. “It’s mister bunny,” he said with confidence and Aslaug had to smile. Ivar did not like to be corrected and he seemed to have a special hatred for Hvitserk correcting him, though Aslaug hadn’t found out why yet. He was fine when Ubbe did it. “He will show me…” Aslaug barely caught that part before she saw Ubbe stand up to follow his little brother who was already disappearing into the forest. 

“Ivar!” she called out, halting him in his movements. “The easter bunny did not hide your nest in the forest, come back here!” Her quick stride brought her to the end of the yard where her boys had started to huddle. “Now.” Aslaug insisted, leaving no room for discussions. 

When Ivar emerged from the higher grass, he sported a pout so big he deserved a place in the book of world records for that expression. Ubbe wasn't far behind him. “But I saw him, mom!” Ivar insisted, “Mister bunny has my nest!” he whined so pitiful Aslaug had to resist picking him up. She knew he hated coddling, but sometimes she couldn't help herself. “Believe me.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Aslaug replied. “I saw him this morning, hiding all your nests.” When she dared to look Hvitserk’s way, the eyebrow raise caught her a bit off-guard. At this moment he looked surprisingly like his father. “Come with me, you’ll find yours closer to the house.” 

The boys continued their search, this time even Ubbe acted like he was genuinely looking as Ivar followed her back. “You don’t believe me…” she heard her youngest say, a sadness in his voice that tore at her heartstrings. 

“I do believe you saw a hare,” Aslaug replied. “But the easter bunny wears a bow around its neck,” she lied. “Did yours have a bow on its neck?” Aslaug wanted to know, looking down at her son who had started poking through the flowers. Still nowhere near the place she stashed his nest. And here she’d thought she made it easy for him…

Ivar shook his head, the pout back on his face. “HAH!” she heard Hvitserk exclaim and knew he finally got the nest that was meant for him. A quick look back and she saw how Ubbe avoided looking at her as he rubbed his neck. She was positive he helped him somehow, but being distracted meant she couldn’t prove it. 

“Why don’t you look over there?” Aslaug suggested, pointing in the direction where she hid Ivar’s easter eggs. “I think I saw him near the lavender.” With a look of concentration, Ivar crawled towards the huge bush of flowers. With her help he managed to find his nest before Sigurd found his own and Aslaug knew that meant a lot less screaming in the afternoon. 

When she sat back in her chair, her boys busy picking through their chocolate eggs and small gifts she placed in those nests, she watched how Sigurd and Ivar compared theirs to make sure neither one was favored. On the other end of the brother spectrum she saw Ubbe and Hvitserk exchange treats they liked best and wondered why she even bothered giving those two their own. 

A heavy sigh escaped her and she turned her gaze towards the forest, only to notice the hare Ivar must’ve spotted earlier. “Well, hello there, mister bunny.” she said quietly and more to herself than anyone else. 

-

In danish Easter Bunny is called Påskehare and Mister would be Herre. So Ivar basically named him Herrehare.

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

mythical/immortal character with an anglo-saxon or norse background (we'll call them A) is forced to make a choice that puts their team at risk. soon after, A gives their teammates large sums of money- weregild for the price of a king's life, for each person. its A's way of saying "whatever happens to you after this, its my fault. I put you in danger, I take responsibility"

...this has been "angstposting that requires a bachelor's in medieval studies to understand"

[nei-ning]

IGG / Mythic Heroes has been a game what I really liked for a year but then started downhill, recently even more so.

The art style was changed and many complained about it, still do, but IGG doesn't listen. Apparently there are perverts enough who toss their money to the company to get slutty looking loli characters now. Old characters, females only, are getting new skins. Their old amazing fierce and powerful look is changed into this horrible loli look, to every pervert's wet dream.

This is Gabriel's normal look. It's not all THAT BAD.

Today we got new skin for her, limited only which takes money to get (and I'm not tossing any euro to this company anymore). It is horrible.

That's just anime loli slut! No offense to those who like this kind of females and styles but I hate this. It's disgusting. And we are talking about an archangel! I believe in angels and to me this is an insult.

I'm honestly close of quiting the game. I think I see Halloween and Christmas and then it can be bye bye for me. It's infuriating and saddening how IGG ruined this game for money and perverts. The game hasn't focused on story or much on anything else anymore, only creating either new over sexy females or this kind of new sick skins. Nothing else.

[cuddlytogas]

So I accidentally almost got into an argument on Twitter, and now I'm thinking about bad historical costuming tropes. Specifically, Action Hero Leather Pants.

See, I was light-heartedly pointing out the inaccuracies of the costumes in Black Sails, and someone came out of the woodwork to defend the show. The misunderstanding was that they thought I was dismissing the show just for its costumes, which I wasn't - I was simply pointing out that it can't entirely care about material history (meaning specifically physical objects/culture) if it treats its clothes like that.

But this person was slightly offended on behalf of their show - especially, quote, "And from a fan of OFMD, no less!" Which got me thinking - it's true! I can abide a lot more historical costuming inaccuracy from Our Flag than I can Black Sails or Vikings. And I don't think it's just because one has my blorbos in it. But really, when it comes down to it...

What is the difference between this and this?

Here's the thing. Leather pants in period dramas isn't new. You've got your Vikings, Tudors, Outlander, Pirates of the Caribbean, Once Upon a Time, Will, The Musketeers, even Shakespeare in Love - they love to shove people in leather and call it a day. But where does this come from?

Obviously we have the modern connotations. Modern leather clothes developed in a few subcultures: cowboys drew on Native American clothing. (Allegedly. This is a little beyond my purview, I haven't seen any solid evidence, and it sounds like the kind of fact that people repeat a lot but is based on an assumption. I wouldn't know, though.) Leather was used in some WWI and II uniforms.

But the big boom came in the mid-C20th in motorcycle, punk/goth, and gay subcultures, all intertwined with each other and the above. Motorcyclists wear leather as practical protective gear, and it gets picked up by rock and punk artists as a symbol of counterculture, and transferred to movie designs. It gets wrapped up in gay and kink communities, with even more countercultural and taboo meanings. By the late C20th, leather has entered mainstream fashion, but it still carries those references to goths, punks, BDSM, and motorbike gangs, to James Dean, Marlon Brando, and Mick Jagger. This is whence we get our Spikes and Dave Listers in 1980s/90s media, bad boys and working-class punks.

And some of the above "historical" design choices clearly build on these meanings. William Shakespeare is dressed in a black leather doublet to evoke the swaggering bad boy artist heartthrob, probably down on his luck. So is Kit Marlowe.

But the associations get a little fuzzier after that. Hook, with his eyeliner and jewellery, sure. King Henry, yeah, I see it. It's hideously ahistorical, but sure. But what about Jamie and Will and Ragnar, in their browns and shabby, battle-ready chic? Well, here we get the other strain of Bad Period Drama Leather.

See, designers like to point to history, but it's just not true. Leather armour, especially in the western/European world, is very, very rare, and not just because it decays faster than metal. (Yes, even in ancient Greece/Rome, despite many articles claiming that as the start of the leather armour trend!) It simply wasn't used a lot, because it's frankly useless at defending the body compared to metal. Leather was used as a backing for some splint armour pieces, and for belts, sheathes, and buckles, but it simply wasn't worn like the costumes above. It's heavy, uncomfortable, and hard to repair - it's simply not practical for a garment when you have perfectly comfortable, insulating, and widely available linen, wool, and cotton!

As far as I can see, the real influence on leather in period dramas is fantasy. Fantasy media has proliferated the idea of leather armour as the lightweight choice for rangers, elves, and rogues, a natural, quiet, flexible material, less flashy or restrictive than metal. And it is cheaper for a costume department to make, and easier for an actor to wear on set. It's in Dungeons and Dragons and Lord of the Rings, King Arthur, Runescape, and World of Warcraft.

And I think this is how we get to characters like Ragnar and Vane. This idea of leather as practical gear and light armour, it's fantasy, but it has this lineage, behind which sits cowboy chaps and bomber/flight jackets. It's usually brown compared to the punk bad boy's black, less shiny, and more often piecemeal or decorated. In fact, there's a great distinction between the two Period Leather Modes within the same piece of media: Robin Hood (2006)! Compare the brooding, fascist-coded villain Guy of Gisborne with the shabby, bow-wielding, forest-dwelling Robin:

So, back to the original question: What's the difference between Charles Vane in Black Sails, and Edward Teach in Our Flag Means Death?

Simply put, it's intention. There is nothing intentional about Vane's leather in Black Sails. It's not the only leather in the show, and it only says what all shabby period leather says, relying on the same tropes as fantasy armour: he's a bad boy and a fighter in workaday leather, poor, flexible, and practical. None of these connotations are based in reality or history, and they've been done countless times before. It's boring design, neither historically accurate nor particularly creative, but much the same as all the other shabby chic fighters on our screens. He has a broad lineage in Lord of the Rings and Pirates of the Caribbean and such, but that's it.

In Our Flag, however, the lineage is much, much more intentional. Ed is a direct homage to Mad Max, the costuming in which is both practical (Max is an ex-cop and road warrior), and draws on punk and kink designs to evoke a counterculture gone mad to the point of social breakdown, exploiting the thrill of the taboo to frighten and titillate the audience.

In particular, Ed is styled after Max in the second movie, having lost his family, been badly injured, and watched the world turn into an apocalypse. He's a broken man, withdrawn, violent, and deliberately cutting himself off from others to avoid getting hurt again. The plot of Mad Max 2 is him learning to open up and help others, making himself vulnerable to more loss, but more human in the process.

This ties directly into the themes of Our Flag - it's a deliberate intertext. Ed's emotional journey is also one from isolation and pain to vulnerability, community, and love. Mad Max (intentionally and unintentionally) explores themes of masculinity, violence, and power, while Max has become simplified in the popular imagination as a stoic, badass action hero rather than the more complex character he is, struggling with loss and humanity. Similarly, Our Flag explores masculinity, both textually (Stede is trying to build a less abusive pirate culture) and metatextually (the show champions complex, banal, and tender masculinities, especially when we're used to only seeing pirates in either gritty action movies or childish comedies).

Our Flag also draws on the specific countercultures of motorcycles, rockers, and gay/BDSM culture in its design and themes. Naturally, in such a queer show, one can't help but make the connection between leather pirates and leather daddies, and the design certainly nods at this, with its vests and studs. I always think about this guy, with his flat cap so reminiscient of gay leather fashions.

More overtly, though, Blackbeard and his crew are styled as both violent gangsters and countercultural rockstars. They rove the seas like a bikie gang, free and violent, and are seen as icons, bad boys and celebrities. Other pirates revere Blackbeard and wish they could be on his crew, while civilians are awed by his reputation, desperate for juicy, gory details.

This isn't all of why I like the costuming in Our Flag Means Death (especially season 1). Stede's outfits are by no means accurate, but they're a lot more accurate than most pirate media, and they're bright and colourful, with accurate and delightful silks, lace, velvets, and brocades, and lovely, puffy skirts on his jackets. Many of the Revenge crew wear recognisable sailor's trousers, and practical but bright, varied gear that easily conveys personality and flair. There is a surprising dedication to little details, like changing Ed's trousers to fall-fronts for a historical feel, Izzy's puffy sleeves, the handmade fringe on Lucius's red jacket, or the increasing absurdity of navy uniform cuffs between Nigel and Chauncey.

A really big one is the fact that they don't shy away from historical footwear! In almost every example above, we see the period drama's obsession with putting men in skinny jeans and bucket-top boots, but not only does Stede wear his little red-heeled shoes with stockings, but most of his crew, and the ordinary people of Barbados, wear low boots or pumps, and even rough, masculine characters like Pete wear knee breeches and bright colours. It's inaccurate, but at least it's a new kind of inaccuracy, that builds much more on actual historical fashions, and eschews the shortcuts of other, grittier period dramas in favour of colour and personality.

But also. At least it fucking says something with its leather.

[axelsagewrites]

Where Am I?*Part Five

Pairing: modern!f!reader x (to be determined...) Ubbe, Ivar, Sigurd, Hviserks, Bjorn

Word count:  1531

Warnings: reader learning archer, sassy bjorn, emotionally complex ivar, threats, time travel, drinking, hangover

Series Summary: After falling head first the reader wakes up face to face with a group of strangely dressed men who look eerily like the vikings she studies

Part one Part two Part three Part four

Masterlist Here

Last night had been the first truly relaxing nights of your stay so far. You drank, sang guitar round a campfire on the beach, learned some Viking songs and tall tales, and now woke up with a splitting hangover. “Time to get up,” Ubbe said as he opened the door.

You just grumbled in response, pulling the covers further over your head. You heard sighing then footsteps then suddenly felt the shivering cold. Ubbe stood grinning over your, “Revenge,” he grinned down at you, offering you a hand.

“Die,” you grumbled, burying your head into the pillow.

You could hear laughter from the door, “Finally becoming one of us,” Ivar, you think, laughed.

“Or worse. she’s becoming like you,” Sigurd’s teasing led to more cursing, some thuds, and Ubbe running to split up some kind of fight as you sat up in bed. This was going to be a long day.

-

“Why do I need to learn this?” you whined as Hvitserk helped you load an arrow onto your bow.

“Well if you like to eat you need to learn how to shoot,” Ubbe said as he and Sigurd leant against a tree to watch your struggles. Ivar was sat just a few feet away on a cut down tree.

all boys were noticeably behind you as they watched the arrow sink into a tree three feet from your target. Hvitserk helped you load another arrow before making the mistake of joking to a very hungover, very fed-up woman. “How are you getting worse?”

You huffed, spinning around still holding the bow making all the boys duck. Even Hvitserk jumped away, “Watch where you point that thing!” Sigurd said, hands covering his face.

“Scared of some little girl?” Ivar laughed. Though it stopped when you turned the arrow at him. He held his hands in the air in mock defence, “I thought we were friends,”

“Don’t test me,” you grumbled, turning back to the target. “This was so much easier on the Wii,”

“What’s a Wii?” you sighed as the four asked in unison. Instead of answering you ignored them, rolling your shoulders back before taking aim again. Breathe in, breathe out, and release.

Thud. The arrow hit the edge of the target. “You’ll get there- “Ubbe tried to speak but you cut him off.

“I did it!” you almost screamed, jumping up and down. “Ha take that!” you said, thrusting the bow up like you’d won the Olympics making the boys laugh.

“Please if we were hunting not only would you scare away the deer, but you only would’ve shot his ankle,” Hvitserk said, as he pulled out another arrow for you to use.

You rolled your eyes as you loaded it yourself this time, all be it with a slight struggle without his wins, “Don’t you guys ever celebrate the small victories?”

“What’s the point of that?” Ubbe asked with all seriousness.

“For motivation? To be happy?” you said, like it was the most obvious thing as you lined up your shot. Breathe in and release. “See!” you said, the arrow now slightly closer to the centre than before, “Positive thinking gets you places,”

“Yeah, like the bottom of a pile of dead bodies,” Ivar chortled.

You turned around with a sickeningly sweet smile, “Would you like to be one of them?”

A small smirk formed on his face as the other boys laughed. You felt Hvitserk place his arm over your shoulder, “Oh you’ll fit in nicely soon enough,”

-

By the end of archery practise you were now able to hit the target each time. Not the centre but still. Progress was there. Then it was there turn to do their real practising. Watching Ivar hit the bullseye with his axe each time as he glared at Sigurd made you thankful guns weren’t invented here. You almost told them about them but even if they were nice to you, you didn’t need to give them anymore ideas.

By the time you got back to Kattegat the sun was beginning to set and dinner was nearly ready. Bjorn joined you once again. Apparently, this was unusual for the Ironborn however it was Hvitserk who told you this and you quickly learned he was a massive gossip. Not that you were complaining. However thankfully for you Ragnar and Aslaug were not joining you. Its not that you didn’t like them, but Ragnar asked you a million question while she had a way of staring through your sole.

Somehow you ended up between him and Ivar and any time someone told a story your legend you didn’t understand he was quick to whisper in your ear. “What lies are you telling her brother?” Bjorn, who was sat across from you, asked as he was telling a story of his latest travels.

“That you truly are as tough as you look,” Hvitserk smirked. Despite not having Ivar’s rage or Sigurd’s instigation, Hvitserk was clearly able to hold his own.

Bjorn hummed disapprovingly before turning back to you, “How unfortunate you travel all this way to be stuck with these fools,” he said, glancing round the table, “Not a real man among them,”

“Maybe,” you said, deciding if you were going to be surrounded by argumentative Vikings you may as well try fit in, “Or maybe we have a different definition of a real man,”

“And what would your definition be?” he asked, putting his elbows on the table, and leaning in closer.

His eyes were locked on yours, so you decided instead to let yours look him up and down before sitting back, “Why? Do you need some lessons on how to be one?”

The younger Ragnorsson’s sniggered while Ubbe watched the whole scene carefully. Your eyes stayed locked on Bjorn’s until he sat back in his chair with a smile, “There’s hope for you yet, little one,” he said before dropping the smile, “Though I don’t recommend questioning me again,” The sight made your blood run cold but you did your best to smile, bringing a cup of wine to your lips as the meal soon continued.

-

Somehow you managed to escape from the brothers while they were distracted by finding a new crate of ale. While drinking wasn’t exactly restricted in university, they drank like it was a sport and there was no way you could keep up.

Even though you now wore a Vikings dress and apron there was some things from home you couldn’t let go of; modern underwear and sleeping in a comfy t-shirt. It was the one you had arrived in though admittedly you were going to have to wash it and your other clothes soon. The issue was that meant asking one of the brothers where or how to wash it and you had no desire for them to see these items. Well not yet at least.

 When you got back to your room you slipped out the starched dress and into the soft cotton shirt and got under your furs about to sleep. Before you could however the door opened. “Ivar?”

“My brothers bore me,” he sighed as he crawled over to your bed. You pulled the furs slightly closer, realising you only had the t-shirt on as your cheeks flushed. Ivar took no notice as he pulled himself up to sit beside you, “You were the only interesting one there,”

“A little flattery goes a long way,” you said but he quirked his head at that, “It’s an expression where I’m from,”

“Is flattery not a good thing?” he asked.

You shrugged, “Depends. My professor told me flattery and insults raise the same question; what do you want? Though I think he stole that from someone,”

“Well, all I want is your company,” he answered and at rare moments when you were alone Ivar didn’t look blood thirsty and terrifying. In fact, he seemed kind of gentle as he let a small smile escape. You couldn’t help letting out a light laugh, “Though I don’t understand how someone can steal words,”

Again, you shrugged, “I guess our people just value different things,” you said as a silence washed over you both.

After a few moments Ivar broke it, “I don’t think so. I think, deep down, all we all want is to be safe,” he said it quietly, as if he was worried someone may eaves drop.

It broke your heart a little though, “I suppose but I would’ve said happy,”

“Happy is a dangerous emotion,” he said, staring off into the distance, “everyone craves it, so they chase it, but they assume there is only so much of it to go around so they steal it. I do not need to be happy. Just content,”

You weren’t sure why you grabbed his hand, but you gave it a soft squeeze. His cheeks tinged pink, but you pretended not to notice, “I think content is a different kind of happy. Maybe if we were all so content with it, we could all be happy,”

“Maybe,”

“It’s a dangerous word,” you said.

Ivar snorted, “How can a word be dangerous?”

“How can happiness be?” you shot back with a small smile.

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[thereweredragonshere]

Dragon with a metal as fuck (literally) prosthetic wing!!

More Prosper content :D I feel an indescribable amount of love for this dragon. And the cool ass wing designs I can give her.

Even though the entire concept of this prosthetic functioning is quite literally impossible, I still put some actual thought into the design’s fictional functionality (hey that was alliteration).

The wing is piloted with a rod that is connected to her remaining organic wing that synchronises the movements (think Toothless’ automatic tailfin). The fingers of the wing are connected together at the top and don’t all independently move, it’s based on a rig that is controlled by the very outer finger. If that one is half folded in the other 5 fingers will correspond with that, if it is fully extended the other five will correspond with that etc etc. The fact that her wings have to by synchronised is by no means easy to operate. She cannot do most basic manoeuvres in the air, even turning to the left/right whilst in flight is extremely dependant on her secondary hip wings and her tail fins. It is nowhere near having a real, attached to her body wing, but it still gives her the ability to fly again. And long distance flying is still a pain in the ass because the massive scars all along the right side of her body get irritated after a while.

A lot of the thought behind the design came from how odd it felt that httyd 3 just… got rid of Toothless’ disability? Like yeah he was still missing a tail fin but it might as well just have grown back. He has a new, fully functional, doesn’t need to be taken off, apparently doesn’t even need maintenance, fire proof and extremely durable prosthetic that just allowed him to function as if he wasn’t disabled? In the Viking age as well?? Even in the modern day we don’t have prosthetics that can fully restore permanent, none skin irritating, doesn’t need to be fixed up ‘replacement’ limbs. Yes there are some very high quality prosthetic limbs that can restore a lot of functionality and give a very good quality of life, but it is not a new limb. It’s a prosthetic. It doesn’t change the fact that there is a missing body part. It doesn’t completely replace every single functionality of a real limb? The film just entirely disregarded that fact that Toothless had a disability. Just slap a technologically impossible bit of gear work on his tail and BOOM he’s fixed. No that’s not how that works you fucking idiot 😭 His skin would get irritated, the fin would eventually need to be repaired because again IT WAS THE MEDIEVAL ERA. I know Hiccup was smart but girl he was not smart enough to invent an indestructible replacement body part. We can’t do that in 2024, let alone 1000 or whenever the fuck httyd is set.

Anyway going off that rant, whilst Prosper does regain the ability to fly, it is very limited, not for long periods of time and kind of painful. Because that’s what happens when you get a whole ass limb torn from your body. It tends to hurt and not be ‘fixable.’

[facts-i-just-made-up]

Vikings were notorious for defacing their burned structures with runes, so to this day a destroyed object is still said to be Runed, or “Ruined” in modern spelling.

[buckets-and-trees]

Steve Rogers Collection

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Unless specifically noted, all of my stories feature a female reader insert character.

dividers by my lovely wife @rookthornesartistry

Series & Collections

EXILED NOMAD a series of encounters that could have happened between Civil War and Infinity War SOFT DARK, explicit smut, rough sex, emotionally damaged Steve, lonely reader

↠ July 3, 2017: When He First Got Me (Steve POV) ↠ July 4, 2017: You Should've Seen Him ↠ September 28, 2017: Pull the String ↠ September 28, 2017, around midnight: Put Me Back on My Shelf ↠ March 10, 2018: It Fit Too Right ↠ March 21, 2018: Puzzle Pieces in the Dead of Night

CEDAR TREES a Royal AU historical romance King!Steve x Queen!Reader politically arranged marriage, reluctant pining to true and utter love, SMUT (rough fucking to fluffy and intimate sexual situations)

↠ Fire Burning From a Cedar Tree [3.4k] ↠ The Thrill of Knowing How Alone We Are [1.2k] ↠ Winter Solstice (response to an ask) ↠ Cold Hands, Warm Hearts [1.3k] ↠ A Shift in the Morning Routine [1.1k] ↠ Love That's Laid Beside Me [5k] ↠ The Silence of the Hushed Sublime [4.8k]

RED, WHITE & TRUE a Steve Stays AU Presidential Candidate!Steve x Wife!Reader politically arranged marriage, slow burn, eventual smut

↠ Prologue: Upstate New York (Steve POV) [1.3k] ↠ chapter 1: Manhattan & Brooklyn [4k] ↠ chapter 2: Las Vegas & Cleveland [4k] ↠ chapter 3: Houston [3.4k] ↠ chapter 4: Fort Wayne, Toledo, Detroit [4.2k] ↠ chapter 5: DC, Tampa, Athens [6.1k] ↠ chapter 7: Brooklyn - Pre-Interview [5.8k] ↠ chapter 8: Brooklyn - The Interview [6.1k] ↠ chapter 9: Kansas City - Interview Broadcast Day [7.6k] ↠ more coming soon

WARM SHADOWS - complete post-endgame omegaverse AU Alpha!Bucky x omega!reader, Alpha!Captain Hydra x omega!reader, eventual Alpha!Bucky x omega!reader x Alpha!Steve DARK SMUT, tw: non con, tw: dub con, fluff beginning

↠ chapter one: When You Fall On Me Like Night [2.5k] ↠ chapter two: Let All Light Go [7.5k] ↠ chapter three: Carving Through the Dark [14.4k] ↠ chapter four: The Working of Your Hands [15.5k] ↠ epilogue: The Dawn Has Come [5.5k]

LITTLE LARK a modern mafia AU with dark elements mean Mafia!Steve x curvy Millennial Female!Reader x mean Mafia!Bucky

↠ Little Lark ↠ Bird on a Wire ↠ Bird Home in the Darkness

BUCK’S ELEVEN  a snapshot series, historical AU, Ocean’s Eleven-style heist premise Steve and Bucky and many other Avenger cameos

↠ Buck's Eleven Steve & Bucky ↠ Bookings and Rings Steve x Pan Am Stewardess Reader [600 words, light smut] ↠ Good Luck the team [600 words]

THE BROOKLYN BOYS - complete a post-endgame where Steve stays in the present rom-com drabble series, slow burn Steve x reader, Bucky x reader, eventual Stucky x reader

SERIES: ↠ 1: Bucky and the Bench ↠ 2: Steve and the Sandwich ↠ 3: Bucky and the Books ↠ 4: Steve and the Skyline ↠ 5: Bucky and the Brief Brush ↠ INTERLUDE ↠ 6: Steve and the Ballet ↠ 7: Bucky and the Shelves ↠ 8: Steve and the Blindside ↠ 9: Bucky and the Situation ↠ 10: Steve and the Best Friend ↠ EXITLUDE

MORE STORY: ↠ First Night [takes place immediately after part 10] ↠ Idle Hands [first fall/winter] ↠ Big Red Bow [a few days after their first NYE]

Double-Shots

Tiny Vessels [1.5k] + Don’t Forget You Were the One Who [1.3k] end of Endgame Steve gender neutral Reader insert, brief moments of non-graphic physical intimacy

One-Shots

Peering In My Hollow Core [2.4k]  Nomad!Steve x Morally Grey f!Reader explicit smut (dubious consent re: sex pollen)

So Black the Darkness Hums [9.1k] Viking King Steve Rogers x curvy Female!Reader DARK, viking AU, explicit smut (non-consent re: prima nocta)

Witchview [1.3k] ignore Endgame/Steve stays, post-WandaVision, witch!reader soft!dark, smut, magic, manipulation

King [1k] mob AU

All the Pieces Fall [3.4k] unidentified male main character x female!reader modern AU, second chance, smut

Drabbles

Not Meant to Be Like This [680] omegaverse, smut, unexpected heat

Steve with a Breeding Kink [750] soft dark, smut, tw: dubious consent

Steve and a Dog [200]  ignore Endgame/Steve stays gender neutral reader, fluff

With You  fluff, potential future Neighbor!Steve scenario/chaptered work

Bodyguard Steve mildly smutty, modern AU

Other Chris Evans Characters...

[oosleepyfaeoo]

A Kiss Is All I Need

Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Chapter Two

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

Warnings: Nothing much yet, just little fluff.

Words: 1,167

Masterlist / Series Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aemond nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[howtofightwrite]

Are horned helmets actually a thing? How would a fantasy race that has horns... compesate for them?

Only in the sense that people do make them for various reasons. There are ceremonial and ornamental horned helmets dating back into the bronze age. There's a famous example that was gifted to Henry the VIII in the 1500s.

As I said, some were made for religious ceremonies. Usually for priests of horned deities (there's a bunch of these.) In these cases it could be made from either metal or actual animal horns. I'm not familiar with much beyond that in these cases because archaeology and anthropology are a little outside my area of expertise. I'm not aware of any religions that still use horned helmets, but it really wouldn't surprise me if it pops up from time to time. I'd also categorize head gear with attached antlers in the same range here. It wouldn't surprise me if it exists, or existed, but, I'm not aware of any examples.

We have depictions of horned helmets from knights at tourney in the 14th century. (And at least one surviving example.) This is probably legitimate. At least, in so far as that the knights may have worn horned helmets to show off. Though, this head gear wasn't something that a knight would wear onto the battlefield.

The modern image of the horned helmet (and the association with Vikings) has a lot more to do with Wagner's The Ring Cycle, and particularly stage performances of that opera. (It's not technically original to that, but the horned Viking was a 19th century German invention.) This also the source for a lot of novelty hats and helmets that you can readily obtain today.

The problem with horned helmets on the battlefield is that it gives your opponent something to grab in a tight melee. And letting someone get control of your head in a fight is a very bad thing. This is made worse with a helmet, where the foe could easily unseat the headgear, potentially blinding the wearer long enough to kill them.

There are historical examples of horned helmets intended for use on the battlefield. The Japanese are probably the easiest example to reference. However, in these cases, the horned helmets were worn, specifically, by officers, and communicated their authority to their soldiers, so they could more effectively issue orders. Somewhat obviously, that's not someone you're going to see in the meat grinder of the front lines. (Also, in most cases, these horns were oriented vertically, and were probably too small to grip. The surviving knight's helm, mentioned above, also featured vertically mounted horns.)

Similarly, if you had examples of horned cavalry helms (particularly vertically mounted horns) used by late medieval or even early modern cavalry, that wouldn't surprise me. Especially if that was part of their parade dress. While it's not horns, the winged hussars come to mind as another example of absurd ornamentation on cavalry, and they continued operating until the late 18th century.

Now, as for a fantasy race, I could see grabbing their horns being a very, very, bad idea. This is somewhat informed by the fact that the first example that comes to mind is the minotaur, where grabbing their horns is probably a pretty good way to ensure you're going to get a horn run through your chest. Ultimately though, it becomes a bit like grabbing someone's hair. You've just committed a limb to limiting their head's range of motion, while leaving both of their arms unfettered. On the battlefield, that sounds like a great way to get stabbed in the armpit and die.

So, they are real in the sense that they existed (and still exist), but their actual use in warfare was extremely limited due to practical considerations. That said, people have thought they looked cool for thousands of years, and they're around. Though the Viking helmet is a complete fabrication by 19th century Germans trying to make the Vikings look cooler.

-Starke

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[laswells-ashtray]

Okay, kind of a weird ask BUT.. Ghost 141.

And I’m not talking abt how they are now, no, I mean like ACTUAL see-through dead people from different periods of time OR from the same time period.

I could imagine that Soap is from the Viking era(Makes sense?), Price is from the Victorian Era, Ghost is from the early Reconstruction days after WW1(I think), and Gaz is from the 70’s or 80’s!

How they meet is completely unknown, but now they stick together like glue and just roam around the Earth as it is.

Sometimes I feel like they’ll see things from their past that no one else can, and the others are confused because- what’s there? Like for example, John was walking the halls of some large abandoned mansion and all of a sudden he sees his lost(and long gone) lover Nik, damn near tearing the house apart trying to look for the criminal before coming to the realization of what he was doing and disappearing for a while.

Nobody knows what the hell that was about, but they most certainly know that it must’ve been serious if the man disappeared for a week straight.

When John finally reappears, the other three men don't know what to say. He looks worse for wear, his clothes are ruffled in a way that requires effort to achieve as a phantom, and his eyes are empty.

They had spent the week debating the identity of the Nik he'd be screaming for. Simon had assumed the person to be a domestic servant but they'd debated the use John had for one. John never had a family, he had been an anomaly of his time. No wife, no children and he wasn't particularly inclined to any career path. He'd stuck to whatever earned him the means to live but much about his life had been kept private and none of the three had felt to pry.

Gaz has other assumptions, might've been taboo in the 80s but it certainly wasn't unheard of. He's unsure about what would've happened if you were perhaps "caught" in Victorian times but he assumes it can't have been good.

But Gaz had spent enough time in queer spaces amongst his people to know one when he saw it. John had been trying to tear his way through them just to get a glance of the Nik he was yelling about and Gaz had heard him muttering to himself about a Nikolai on more than one occasion.

Sure, they'd all developed over the years of being stuck as spiritual presences but some things lingered. Occasionally Soap would slip into a damn near unintelligible rant about something that would leave them all confused. Although, he is just Scottish so that might be it. Simon still struggled to wrap his mind around modern-day laws, smacking around your kids could earn you a prison sentence. He'd get a distant look in his eyes before quickly switching topics whenever it was brought up. Gaz would be the first to admit that hearing about modern-day movies centred around queer stories would always sweep him off of his feet.

Even if he was more used to the openness after they'd taken to following around a CIA agent that John had found amusing. The woman was a powerhouse and finding out she had a wife floored them all but they'd taken to lingering around the couple's home for amusement.

But John had never been willing to elaborate on the Nik he so desperately sought. No one quite knew what to say to him when he came back after disappearing for a week, trying not to ostracize the man through sheer verbal accident.

It surprised no one that Soap had been the first to talk but even Gaz would've expected a more tacful greeting.

"John, you're back. Just in time, the lesbians got a new cat."

Silence falls over the four of them for a moment. Simon facepalms with enough force that Gaz worries for his nose. John looks utterly caught off guard and the way his nose scrunches is undeniably endearing.

"What- what colour is it this time?" He asks, voice utterly wrecked. He sounds as if he'd been gargling glass shards for fun.

"Grey. Looks like mold."

They all smile at the way the man's lip quirks, a faint hint of a smile shining through.

[vesearlee]

the collective works with the main pairing of Bucky Barnes will be in this masterlist.

𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

— 𝐀 = angst — 𝐖 = whump — 𝐈 = sick fic — 𝐃 = dark — 𝐃² = dead dove — 𝐏 = poly — 𝐊 = kid fic — 𝐅 = fluff — 𝐒 = smut

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⠈⠂⠄⠄ Biker ⠈⠂⠄⠄ Bodyguard ⠈⠂⠄⠄ DILF (Modern) ⠈⠂⠄⠄ Farmer ⠈⠂⠄⠄ Incubus ⠈⠂⠄⠄ Lumberjack ⠈⠂⠄⠄ Mafia ⠈⠂⠄⠄ Mafia and Artist ⠈⠂⠄⠄ Mechanic ⠈⠂⠄⠄ Monster ⠈⠂⠄⠄ Omegaverse ⠈⠂⠄⠄ Outlaw ⠈⠂⠄⠄ Paramedic ⠈⠂⠄⠄ Personal Trainer ⠈⠂⠄⠄ Pirate ⠈⠂⠄⠄ Pornstar ⠈⠂⠄⠄ Scare Actor ⠈⠂⠄⠄ Street Racer ⠈⠂⠄⠄ Stripper ⠈⠂⠄⠄ Tattoo ⠈⠂⠄⠄ Viking

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄  𝑴𝑼𝑳𝑻𝑰𝑷𝑳𝑬

➺ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Multiple Pairings — 𝐅 + 𝐒 Today was the day — your birthday, but how would the many Bucky’s treat you? With a lil’ bit of nice? Or a lil’ bit of spice?

➺ 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐝 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Rockstar!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader — 𝐀 + 𝐅 + 𝐒 — CO-WRITTEN WITH @buckyismybicycle All it took was one night, one song — hell, one note — and you were gone for him, hook, line, and sinker. Turbulent times lay ahead, but in the afterglow of ecstasy, forced to feel emotions in such intensity for someone you’d never expect, you couldn’t help but follow him anyway — he was irresistible, after all.

➺ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Scare Actor!Bucky Barnes — 𝐅

The ancient game of cat and mouse, a fight for survival between a predator and their prey, wasn’t a new phenomenon — it had been practised for centuries and it was an art that very, very few perfected. For years you had chased the craving to find someone that had mastered the art of the hunt, and for Halloween, you had gone all out and visited a haven unlike any other. 

It was there that you found your match. 

Cloaked in nothing but black and shrouded in a sense of lethality, you would have to run from this shadow in an adrenaline fuel haze unlike any other. A chase for the ages, the very one you desired. 

And if he caught you, your world would end as you knew it.

➺ 𝐖𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Modern!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader — 𝐀 + 𝐅 Currents had pulled you under for so many years, the crash of them against your mind leaving you constantly breathless and Bucky would always pull you back up from the cruel thrashing. But now, there was a chance they’d stop.

➺ 𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Modern!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader — 𝐀 + 𝐅 The yearly tradition of a blanket fort on the 4th of July gets an upgrade.

➺ 𝐍𝐨 𝐖𝐚𝐲 𝐎𝐮𝐭 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Bucky Barnes x Agent!F!Reader — 𝐀 + 𝐖 Fate was cruel. Life, even more so. The pain was excruciating, well past and beyond endurance. It was just a shame there was little comfort you could give from the other side of Death’s veil.

➺ 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐊𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Modern!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader — 𝐀 + 𝐅 There were very few things that brought you as much joy as seeing Bucky smile, but this — this moment would forever be etched as one of your fondest memories, let alone his.

➺ 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Modern!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader — 𝐅 “Don’t make a big deal,” Bucky said — “I have all I need right here,” he insisted. 

A shame, really, that he had thought that you had listened, and you wouldn’t make a big deal of it; he was so wrong, and he would be better off for being so, for when a paw touched your heart, it would never leave.

➺ 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Grim Reaper!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader — 𝐀 + 𝐅 Grief was no stranger to you — it ebbed and flowed with time; its currents ill-suited to travel for those who were heavily ladened with loss. That was where you came in, offering the comfort of your empathy and gift to those who remained stuck, and to those that passed on. It was how you met him, and it was how you became the light in his otherwise shadowed life.

➺ 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐲 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ TFAWS!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader — 𝐒 When Bucky came home from a bad day, it was your pleasure to change that, and you took pride in making him shatter to pieces if you reaped the rewards.

➺ 𝐀 𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Bucky Barnes x Makeup Artist!F!Reader — 𝐀 + 𝐅 It was a routine job — if you discounted the suspicious lack of information and the endless NDAs you had to sign, and you were looking forward to having a high end client. Though, what walked through the door would test every last skill you had.

➺ 𝐋𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐞 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Dragon Rider!Bucky Barnes x Dragon Rider!F!Reader — 𝐀 + 𝐖 It was inherently a dangerous way to live the life of a Nomad Dragon Rider — an outcast. And those very dangers would be what would tear you apart, and what would separate you from the one you trusted, the one you loved.

➺ 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐞 ‘𝐧 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐞 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Husband!Baker!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Baker!F!Reader — 𝐅 Bucky had prepared a surprise for you, much to your amusement, and it wasn’t even the end of the night — a battle of wits was to be fought.

➺ 𝐀𝐧 𝐎𝐥’ 𝐅𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐎𝐟 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐲 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Bucky Barnes x F!Reader — 𝐅 Bucky had been away for a long, long time, and your heart ached with missing him. Although, the time apart had allowed you to plan a surprise that would rock his world once he walked back through the door of your home, and into another era.

➺ 𝐀 𝐑𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Witcher!Bucky Barnes x Sorceress!F!Reader — 𝐀 + 𝐖 + 𝐃 + 𝐅 It had been an ordinary day — nothing amiss, nor a cause for concern, not even the sudden appearance of soldiers in the local tavern. You should have known better, however, for fate had never left you in peace.

➺ 𝐀 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐰𝐨, 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐧𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Modern!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader — 𝐀 + 𝐅 They said fate worked in mysterious ways; the strings of destiny plucked and pulled and snapped at the leisure of those they controlled, but not you. The delicacy in which you handled the woven web was forever unseen and unprecedented, and your patience was to be rewarded in a way you least expected.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Drifter!Bucky Barnes x Drifter!F!Reader ➺ 𝐈'𝐦 𝐆𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧’ 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮 — 𝐅 Dancing had many forms — you were proud to say you may have been the best of the best in an unconventional discipline. Finally, fate gave you a chance to prove it, once and for all.  ➺ 𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐞 — 𝐅 + 𝐒 A deal had been struck, and since you had claimed victory that day, you were more than eager to collect the reward of such a win. — 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 — 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐕𝟐

𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Modern!Bucky Barnes x Writer!F!Reader ➺ 𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐅𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 — 𝐅 An ordinary, relaxing day of arriving at Bucky’s coffee shop and spending it working on a project was what you planned to do, however, a certain brunette had other ideas. ➺ 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 — 𝐅 Bucky had always been willing to help you with your dreams, and it just so happened that you need to experience something first hand in order to write it effectively — it was just a shock at how far Bucky was willing to take it.

➺ 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Barista!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader — 𝐅 Bucky’s cafe was a home away from home, a place where you could be happy, spend time with your two closest friends, and your favourite fluffball. You just hoped that your admission wouldn’t change a thing — at least, you had to hope it would, in the best way.

➺ 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Baker!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader — 𝐅 There were very few plans you had come up in your life with that rivalled the sheer brilliance of what you decided to do — ‘twas the belated day for it, anyway.

➺ 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 — 𝐅

➺ 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐎𝐟𝐟 — 𝐒 You came home to a sight; one that you revelled in the consequences of.

⇀  𝐃𝐁𝐅 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲

⇀ 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

I want to shut Hiccup up with a kiss when he's upset about something.

End of the statement

Thistle, Scout and Scottish Bluebells pt 3

Pairing: Grumpy!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 1,942

You need some cheering up.

Tags:  httyd 1, aged up, au, time travel, bitter reader, bitter hiccup, cheery reader

<Previous -

You stared down into a shallow bucket, eyeing the slimy, slightly smelly body of a small fish as it bobbed with each one of your steps. It looked almost sick, nearly scraps, made slightly warm by the rising sun’s heat. It also smelt; its scales were flaking and somewhat muddy-looking, though you knew it was mostly clean- cosmetically, of course. For you, parasites were a constant worry.

  Your hands, now much more calloused than they ever had been, clutched at the thin, metal bucket’s handle. One of your sleeves had gotten stuck there as you trudged your way back from the docks and the one measly fish stand there. Getting it untangled was proving to be quite the task.

It was an old world that you’d been sent to, with untamed mountains and riled seas. It was unpredictable and dangerous, just as emotionless as every facet of it raged and roared. Each toil was made herculean, long and arduous not just by the times but by the sheer might and mystery of everything.

There was safety even in the dangers of the modern world, because at least the dangers were known, if not expected. More explored, less left up to the imagination- the untamed world was cruel, the might and anger of the ancient man even moreso.

As interesting as the loðinn-something-or-others were -or the Hairy Hooligans, as it was- they were a cagey, brutish people, even starved, or perhaps especially because they had been starved. 

The inhabitants of Berk were sparse and few in between, plagued by famine. What Vikings hadn’t been picked off by the dragons had been killed by the outcasts and thrown into the very literal fires by their very own brothers-in-arms.

Now, most of the huts were empty, some with the wood obviously burnt and rotting everything from the inside out.

You leaned over your knees, sitting on an old, unbalanced stool.

Their names were all stupid, anal- fitting, for a guy like Hiccup, but perhaps you were biased.

You heard the sound of shuffling leaves and dirt from outside right before the front door of the shack was pushed open, creaking and scraping against the dirt floor.

You knew who it was, marching inwards with semi-soft steps, muttering darkly to himself. You weren’t sure you’d ever heard him so stormy. It made you apprehensive, a tight grimace pulling at the corners of your mouth. 

You listened as the sound of footfall migrated from soft ground to harder ground. You were even able to make out a stray ”-eta-leg-” something, which might have had something to do with fish. You almost thought to ask, but he was quite typically very apathetic towards most of your colloquialisms. 

There was a pause. “...What are you doing?”

“Making, ah, dinner.” You said, glaring up at him defiantly, your hands falling downwards.

“...Right.” he said, eyeing the sloshing water-bucket.

You grimaced. He could probably smell it- so deep in the woods, the hollowness of salt against the bark, mulch and scattered leaves was probably strong. Bringing water along was also perhaps not so good for the dead fish. Damp things rotted faster and made already smelly things that much worse.

How else were you going to boil out salt, if not with seawater? You weren’t sure if it was going to work but now was more of a time than any to try.

He grunted as he slung the heavy pack of whose-whatsit off his shoulder and dropped it heavily onto the ground, lanky shoulders flagging as he then dropped himself onto the wooden one-blanket-ed frame of his own bed.

He would sleep, maybe, until the next day. You weren’t very versed on his schedule. To you, it seemed to be odd and erratic. He didn’t do much besides slog his way to the forge and back and be an ass.

It wasn’t as if there really was a reason to go into town.

“The arena.” You announced, after a moment of hesitation, into the dark silence.

You’d been into the forge maybe once, leafing through haphazard papers like office files, parchment mostly blank and slightly scribbled over, hard to read in the darkness. Desperate. Hurried.

It wasn’t too different from the one in the woods but there were a few more stall doors and also it was surrounded by huts, which, in a way, made it all the more eerie.

 Out the forge window, briefly, you’d spotted a man, handlebar mustache, not unlike the kind you’d expect on the face of a biker with prickly cactus-looking scruff littering the round dip of his chin. 

You shifted, minding slightly dry, already wilted plants. They had been hastily shoved into your pockets. Modern seams had torn quickly, forcing you into shambled hand-me-downs. 

Hiccup grunted.

You huffed, looking up at him from downturned eyelids. You spoke, “You’re bringing me there.”

He walked past you and stopped just before his bed on the far side of the shack behind, much too long at the legs and the wooden supports at its base much too far apart. He also lacked anything to cover the holes between them, meaning that if you laid at the wrong angle, your bent elbows would dip between the boards. He grunted again, slinging one arm over his face irritatedly, “Do it yourself.”

You smothered a brief spike of irritation, forcing down a scowl. Do it yourself.

Soft highlights made up of the waning sun-glow bounced off nearly imperceptible hairs on the back of his hand. You kept quiet for a moment longer, deep in rumination. It was quite odd to notice something like that- most particularly because you wanted to pick all of them off and then punch him over the head.

Since the beginning, you’d been forced to learn how to cobble up your own dinner, your own bedding and everything else. He hadn’t helped, not really. Everything you had was your own doing, besides maybe the odd repair shack repair or so.

You really only existed under the same roof. If he tried to kick you out, well…

The only thing that had held you together was the idea that maybe, if he hadn’t been born and raised there, or if he hadn’t become so jaded and heavily disillusioned, he might have been good company, or maybe that was just pity talking. You didn’t know much about him, nor had you seen anything clever or brave and bright come from him yet. 

Optimism was a hard thing to carry, and in times like thesis, where you had nothing more than frustration to buzz at the tips of your fingers and an empty belly, you found that all your faux goodwill was crumbling. You felt it deep in your chest, nestled right where all your spine’s nerves speared into your heart.

Saying ‘it felt like a dream,’ had never carried the right connotations- it couldn’t fully encompass all of the things you felt or the way you needed what you were sure wasn’t even real; a place where hard ground was limited to the outside, where you had a soft mattress to cater to the line of your back, the way bumpy asphalt felt beneath your sneakers or the way an old, hot car bounced over ancient potholes in abandoned roads- something deep in you reached for it, and yet all of those solid things passed through your fingers like hot smoke.

Your real life now was much colder. You hadn’t known who he was at first, or even for weeks after. If you had been told about any of this beforehand, you might have expected him to look like a cartoon, but with the uneven stubble at his chin and the not nearly as aesthetic a shape to his face, he really was just a man.

You opened your mouth to speak as he turned away, showing his back to you as he faced the wall, but then you caught yourself. You were going to call a name, any name, but he didn’t like those, not really- he was quite snappish when it came to those, in fact.

Names were tricky things, of course.

You felt that you were walking a thin line, at times; balancing over a tightrope a million miles up from the ground like you’d been thrust into some stupid, old, gaudy cartoon. Which, you had been, and it was just as inane as you imagined.

Instead you listened to the sound of white noise and fabric-on-fabric as the slow rumbling of the forest faded into something that was almost silence. You heard yourself as you breathed and the bucket and the legs of your chair rattled under you. You heard your feet digging and making low noise against dirt.

You ignored a very pointed rock of the bed frame as he shifted. 

 You made a lot of noise, to say the least. You didn’t care, though you could practically feel the air grow stiffer as you struggled.

Finally, with a hard jerk, you were able to tug your sleeve out from the handle and the bucket. You could hear the sound of fabric tearing as you sat back just above the sound of shifting over the threadbare sheet behind you.

Feeling wholly satisfied with yourself, you grabbed the tail end of the fish, pulling it off the bucket with a splash. You pulled it into the air, listening to the sound of water sloshing as it settled, water sliding off bumpy skin in rivulets.

It was nasty- it felt nasty, as most fish did, and as if you could drop it at almost any moment. 

There was a small spit set up in the middle of the room like a rig, a shoddy smoke hole framed above it in the roof. As you shifted towards it, by accident, you kicked over your bucket, cursing under your breath

Your hands shot back down to the corners of your stool, calloused palms scraping against wood and scale, fish still clutched unpleasantly in one hand, wetting the edge of your sleeve as it rolled itself back down.

There was a heavy thump behind you, the sound of boot meeting ground and the loud, frustrated creaking of wood. It startled you as you stood and whipped around, your grip loosening- the fish flew out of your hand with  what was probably a lot more force than you expected, meeting Hiccup nearly lip-to-lip. 

Stubborn coughed and spat, fish slime glistening against the lower half of his face, “Can you- stop?”

You weren’t sure of any of the things that made up his voice and those rolling tones. Was it Scottish or Gaelic something, Norwegian, Danish or having something to do with the Swedes? Or was it a mix of all of the above?

All of their vowels were deep and hitting a sort of hard to reach tenor, Hiccup’s voice especially grated with all the nasal and grumpy worn-ness of all the burden of having to live in such an old time. 

Compared to the voices of everyone else, his was sort of high. It was not what you expected, watching an animated face through a gaudy screen. 

The berth of everything you lived through now made everything you’d known seem so much bigger. It made you sad… And angry. To say it lightly, you didn’t feel pity for… A lot of people. 

Seeing him choke on salt water and slime -If he’d ever made out with Astrid, whoever she was, here-  there was a joke to be made there, something about ‘macking on’ and mackerel. It made you happy.

“No.” You said, voice sounding not-very-dead or particularly serious.

[broomsick]

Would you mind sharing your personal experience with Odinn? I've heard a lot about him but would really love to hear what he's like from your experience. He seems really nice. :)

Hey! Thank you for the ask, it would be my pleasure to share my experiences with you.

I think it's important to take into account how often Óðinn as a mythological figure has been exploited in media. He's become quite the celebrity when it comes to the popular general knowledge regarding norse mythology. Someone who doesn't know much about the topic could still name him when asked about "the Gods of the vikings", simply due to the sheer presence he occupies in modern media. This makes it so creators can pretty much project what they want onto him for the purposes of their story, passing off this or that as being part of a sort of alternate mythology. That makes it difficult for us as worshippers to detangle the threads of this inflated lore, and rid ourselves of preconceived ideas regarding his existence as a deity rather than a pop culture figure.

In my eyes, the feature that stands out most prominently to me: he is great. To me personally, he feels similar to a grandparent who has seen so much, been through so much, and who has an unlimited supply of stories to tell, and of advice to give. I have so much admiration for him that it's almost overwhelming, in a reassuring way (if that makes sense). What I mean by "great" is that his presence commands reverence, like when you're faced with a landscape so magnificent it takes your breath away and you're left quietly admiring and listening, letting yourself be swept away by its beauty. But at the same time, Óðinn's beauty is indisputably found in simplicity. I'd compare this feeling to coming back home after a long journey and realizing how precious the simple moments of your every day life are, and how much you'd missed them. It's a simple solution to a problem you thought was a maze. And Óðinn's teachings are often like that: it often comes down to quiet contemplation of the world around you, and of your own feelings.

I hope I'm not diving too deep into imagery and abstract ideas. Let me try and make this more concrete. In my experience, his personality is quite a bit like that of a playful grandfather figure. He'll often find ways to surprise you, and also to comfort you. When you start to worship him, what you can expect for sure is that you'll never know what to expect! And above all, Óðinn is so, so, so kind. He's benevolent and gentle, but in a way that makes you realize the strength that lies underneath it all. After all, he's a figure associated with war and death, right? It serves as a reminder that there's balance to be found between chaos and order, and that loss and happiness are often two sides of the same coin. That's where the complexity of Óðinn lies.

He's also taught me to be cautious and to look out for myself, to hone my intuition and to know myself. In a way, he's acted in my life like a sort of spiritual "anchor". When I struggled to connect with spirituality due to lack of time, or due to mental health factors, I always knew without a doubt that he of all the Gods was aware of my struggle, and that he was there for me to call upon at all times. What I believe is that he cares so incredibly much for his followers, and that he places trust in us. It's like he's curious to see how we'll pull through the trials that life throws at us, standing ready to help whenever the need arises.

Among the norse pantheon, he's the God that stands out to me as being the most "unreadable". He's an enigma really, which also contributes to making him feel so powerful to me. Regardless of this, I would highly recommend worshipping Óðinn if you're inrerested. He's such a generous, benevolent, playful, and admirable deity to get to know. I can't begin to put into words how much he's helped me in my personal life. In a way, he's even the one who drew me to heathenry in the first place. I feel connected to him in a deeply personal and spiritual way.