#mulch and bucket

[hiccup-in-the-code]

Also okay, Bucket and Mulch were definitely meant to be gay right?

[the-worm-jester]

I had a vision

Original under cut

Alternate images i wanted to use but didn't

[owlarchimedes]

Okay so I'm rewatching the old Dragons: Riders of Berk show (also called Defenders of Berk for season 2) and can I just say the show is great at representation. The How To Train Your Dragon franchise is well known for great disability representation with Hiccup and Toothless. But! In the show, we meet characters like Bucket and Gothi. Bucket, who "lost half his brain" after he hurt his head. There are some jokes in there about him, but none of the characters really make fun of him. They take him seriously, and he's not seen as weaker and can do as much as Mulch can (who is 100% his domestic partner, they're always together and seem to live together, and Mulch brought 2 male yaks back to "restart the herd" when they lose the animals in the snow in season 1. They're gay. Everyone knows they're gay, too.)

And Gothi. She's the village elder, she's highly respected, and she communicates silently since she can't speak. Even Stoick defers to her opinions on things and yeah. I love this show and I love this franchise so much.

[eemoo1o-tfrmoo]

Random HTTYD Headcanons

Someone once tied together the Boneknapper and Death Song, saying that the former would hang around the game sites of the latter and then collect the bones and I agree with that so much. I’d love to re-find that post so I can credit the blog responsible because they are so, so real for this! I had to mention it because it’s such an under-appreciated take. (ETA: I found the original post here, by @dragonjadearts — thank you for this headcanon I think about it all the time.)

Changewings started to put their eggs in trees to deter Cavern Crashers from eating them.

Red Changewings are the ones that inhabit Changewing Island. Green Changewings are from further south.

Male Thunderdrums are actually the primary caretakers of young Thunderdrums. Both parents will look after and protect the eggs until they hatch but after they do the mother often leaves.

Additionally, Thunderdrums will also transport their eggs and/or hatchlings in their mouth.

Thornado and Skullcrusher have actually met. Thornado had gone out when Bing, Bang, and Boom were asleep and visited Berk, hoping to meet up with Stoick alone only to find another dragon by his chair. The encounter was awkward at first for all three parties, with Stoick trying to break the ice, but once the two dragons recognised what they had in common, they became very friendly and respecting of one another.

The Rumblehorn naturally hunts boars as its primary food source. As opposed to fishing for saltwater fish like other dragons, they also fish for freshwater fish like salmon.

Like the Submaripper and Shellfire, and the Skrill and Singetail, the Rumblehorn and Catastrophic Quaken are naturally opposing species.

Dark Deep was originally the home of the Catastrophic Quaken, not the Gronckle. Due to the sheer number of invading Gronckles, the Quaken was then mostly pushed out.

Gronckles are like the rabbits of the dragon world. They can reproduce from a young age and very often and with high egg counts.

Dragons like the Razorwhip, Timberjack, and Typhoomerang have shorter lifespans in comparison to other species.

Barb-shooting dragons grow their spikes like hair/teeth. The spines that are shot out out are ones that are knocked loose by new roots.

The more distinguishable the colours of each head, the older a Zippleback is.

Zipplebacks evolved from a mutation caused by inefficient embryo separation which means most if not all members of the species distantly share the same common ancestor.

Whip & Lash, Bucket and Mulch’s dragon, is actually female.

Bucket is related to the Thorstons.

The twins removed the S from the alphabet in Reign of Fireworms to annoy Snotlout.

The riders have contemplated who is most likely to turn into a Mildew-type, and most of them have come to the agreement that it would be Tuffnut. Chicken is his Fungus.

Mildew actually has a soft spot for Flystorm. Away from the knowing gazes of others he indulges in petting him and giving him fish, muttering “That’s nice,” as he would with Fungus.

Spitelout treats Kingstail better than anyone ever. As such all of his past methodology surrounding dragons is now in vain, and very hypocritical. (That sword analogy? How dare you compare ol’ Kingstail to that, boyo?)

Fishlegs is actually an only child (he’s always stricken me as one and it boggles me if he isn’t). Those kids he teaches in the Gronckle Scouts are actually his younger cousins. They call him ‘uncle’ due to him babysitting a lot and the difference in their ages. Fishlegs has a lot of cousins.

Fishlegs’ mother, Termagant, owns a Snaptrapper by the name of Arrogance, Innocence, Patience & Conscience. This means that Meatlug has older brothers (and a sister. Technically. Allegedly.). At first they were a bit too mischievous/privy with one another for her liking, making them seem like they were hanging up in her a bit, but they eventually got used to one another.

And yes, she makes all six of her children crab cakes.

The Monstrous Nightmare that Valka saves in HTTYD 2 is the one that took Gobber’s hand.

The Night Fury and Light Fury evolved via something similar to the Peppered Moth Evolution. Whichever one was the original species, however, is still unknown.

Gustav is allergic to peanuts.

Fanghook actually has a fear of setting things on fire.

Hiccup sees a lot of his younger self in Gustav, but it frustrates him that Gustav takes a bit more after Snotlout sometimes.

Gustav’s mother actually wanted to call him “Hiccup” (being the runt) but didn’t want to upstage the chief or confuse people, so she chose “Gustav” (meaning god’s staff or popular guest) to be ironic.

Snotlout was originally proud to have Gustav model himself after him, but when growing up and maturing on the Edge he realised that Gustav was or could be reckless because of it and started to resent him for being a “cheap copy” of him.

Hookfang has a soft spot for Gustav, mostly when he was younger. Since Gustav got Fanghook, his patience has been less withstanding.

The dragon with the least patience for kids is actually Stormfly. Just after would be either Barf & Belch or Hookfang, but by a long shot. Hookfang holds more patience for younger kids than older ones.

Spitelout for some reason shows more outwards appreciation towards Gustav, but argues with him over being leader of the A Team.

[pvtpuma]

I was not expecting the trees to be so young that they are tiny sticks, but we planted them yesterday! You can see it in the center if you squint, lol

[detdeldragons]

Chapters: 12/? Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Excerpt from the chapter “Dear Oswald.” Heather and Windshear find some shelter to get out of a storm, and Heather passes the time by reading a letter from a mysterious author.

“With each passing day I feel less in control of my own brain, more unhinged, more...deranged. There is a venom inside of me that wants to poison the world around me and deprive them of what I've been forced to live without. It is wrong, and I know its wrong, but I am the Chief and I need to be strong and how can you be strong without showing the world what you are willing to do in your own name? When dragons burn our homes and blizzards decimate our crops and other Vikings raid our shores what else is a leader to do other than be strong? And there is no one I can tell, no one I can speak my fears to, for if I speak my fears then someone might hear and use them against me and tear away the only thing of yours that I still possess - your chiefdom.”

This series of short stories features the various Vikings living in the Barbaric Archipelago. I have stories about Hiccup, Astrid, Heather, Fishlegs, Snotlout, the Twins, Stoick, Johann, and more. Hope you enjoy!

[b-blushes]

:o the sunlight shining through the horsetails!

[muirneach]

just hung out with an acadian man named crash (dope name tbh) who was obsessed with mulch (very real) and was antivaxx but maybe anti nazi too (but maybe not) but also anti authoritarian. really u can meet anyone in this neighbourhood

[zenmastercharles]

The Kirby Buckets writers be cookin’ up downright horrid concepts for a 14 minute conflict that gets solved by ketchup or some stupid shit like that

[spacenintendogs]

MORE!!!

happy pride month

[jensownzoo]

Got my delivery of woodchips from ChipDrop and got it all moved out of the street (where I had them dump it) within 24 hours. *flexes muscles* *clutches back*

And! It was from an Eastern White Pine so everything smells a-maze-ing right now.

[revive-the-fandom]

Map of Berk

Credit to DanGref on DA for the larger map of Berk, I believe it was taken from one of the games - I usually say that those are Dubious Canon but since we have nothing else and it looks pretty close I'm including it on my map.

I made a better map of Berk, hopefully it's understandable? There's a couple of problems with it:

for one, Gobber's house in "Legend of the Boneknapper" is the same house as Snotlout & Spitelout's in "Race to Fireworm Island" ???? - so I left it as Gobber's since it's close to his Smithy and I'm putting the Shorts in a higher category of Canon than the shows I guess?

Astrid's house in "Team Astrid" is the same as the Armoury in "In Dragons We Trust" ???? - so I left it as the Armoury since it's seen in multiple episodes as "The Armoury" and Astrid's house is burned down.

Aaand I couldn't find the path to the Academy/Arena so I left it blank.

I would've liked to put things like The Cove, Bucket & Mulch's farm, the Path to Gothi's Hut, and the Beaches that they keep visiting onto the map, but there never seems to be a solid spot of any of them, so I'm presuming they're too far away to be on this map.

Blank Version:

[eemoo1o-tfrmoo]

Propaganda under the cut.

Propaganda option #1 — This probably works best if Hiccup remains the same age as Toothless as in canon (so fifteen). The twins could work well as the comic relief characters to Toothless’ serious nature, and they could also work as his new “best friends” so to speak (aside from Hiccup, though technically Hiccup is his found-brother). Imagine whatever Race To The Edge had going on with them but Toothless can actually quip back in the voice of Noel Fischer.

Propaganda option #2 — This can work with Hiccup at fifteen or aged down, and as well as working with Toothless as friends, I can also imagine a “kindly uncle” vibe to them. They would also be the comic relief characters. I can also imagine them finding Toothless and taking him back to their hut. The twins could do that too and use him for experiments, but it wouldn’t make as much sense from a familial aspect.

Propaganda for both — Imagine their dynamic with Toothless. No, like, seriously. Imagine it.

[pvtpuma]

Got the email that my free trees are on the way, so now I get to stress about planting them. They’re sending me twelve plants that will all be up to 25’ tall. That’s so many! Do I have room for all of them between the front and back yards? Will they be too tall and mess with the sloppily installed internet line to the house that divides my backyard in half diagonally? Will I even be able to dig the holes needed? So many things to consider, and I, of course, was so excited about the prospect of Free Things that I didn’t consider any of them.

[detdeldragons]

Bucket and Mulch Fanfiction

Finally got around to writing a short story for Bucket and Mulch. This is the story of how they meet. The two of them are so adorable together. I hope you enjoy!

[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.