#vikings fan fiction

[collecting-stories]

Willow - Ivar the Boneless

Summary: Feast night in Kattegat, some pretty shameless flirting.

A/N: I haven't written vikings in forever but part of this was in my drafts from like, last year and I finally finished it this morning.

TS Anthology Masterlist | Vikings Masterlist

✰ wait for the signal and I'll meet you after dark ✰

The lanterns that lined the path from the village to the fjord were lit, glowing a warm orange beneath the ever darkening sky. There were soft sounds of a lyre playing somewhere just beyond your line of sight, settling a trance over the whole of the village as you made your way through smaller parties that gathered outside of the great hall, enchanted by the warm night. Feast nights were always your favorite, less of a formality than a festival or a celebration, you weren't so watched on a feast night as you were other times. 

"Have you come to join the dancing?"

Still, there were some whose gaze you never quite seemed to escape. As you addressed the rustling of bushes near your knees, you peered down in the dim light to find Ivar, stakes dug into the ground as he frowned up at you, obviously not amused by the playful teasing. 

"Perhaps someone could string me up like those nonsensical dolls they bring to market, wouldn't you enjoy that?" He retorted, thinking of the countless times he'd requested his mother have the man with the marionettes killed. Or punished violently, he wasn't picky. 

You bent your knees, squatting down so your butt hovered over the grass, reaching a hand out to stroke Ivar's cheek. He leaned his face into your touch, turning his head just so to brush his lips to your open palm.

"You think I am making fun of you? You forget then, I have felt the way you move against me when we are beneath the furs on your bed my love, there is no dance I long for more." You replied. 

Ivar huffed, tilting his head down just enough to nip at your exposed wrist, "now I know you are playing with me." He replied, "I should have you strung up like that marionettes."

When you smiled he couldn't deny the triumphant feeling that gripped his heart, as if some unknown force was saying 'look, you who is so plagued by hideous feelings and darkness, you have made the sun shine in the dead of night'. 

"You would enjoy that." You repeated his words back to him, a statement this time and not a question. 

Carefully, so that you didn't fall over completely, you stood back up, brushing your hands down the front of your clothing. Ivar watched you as the doors to the great hall sung open and more people filed out, shouting and laughing with each other. The lights inside the building and the ruckus had drawn your attention for a split second but then your gaze was back on Ivar, the soft light of the lanterns shining on his face and illuminating his blue eyes. 

"Shall we take our leave?" You asked, sounding somewhat conspiratorial as you watched him. 

Despite the informality of the feast, you were certain your parents would notice if you were gone for too long or if you left early. They'd been careful with you ever since you'd come of age, cautious of who took an interest in their youngest child. Though they knew better than to speak out of turn about the disabled son of Ragnar Lothbrok, you could see, and so could most everyone else, that he was not who they wanted you to spend time with. Ivar knew, certainly. He'd seen the disdainful looks but it rarely deterred him. Ivar had always been someone who got exactly what he wanted, whether through temper tantrums, deceit, manipulation, or someone's misguided pity. Still, he looked almost surprised at the suggestion, though it only showed for a split second before he was schooling his expression to a neutral one. 

"I thought feast nights were your favorite? Don't you want to celebrate all who have returned from raiding?" He asked, shifting his weight so he could look up at you with more ease.

"Of course I want to," you replied, ignoring the first of his questions, "but I don't think I need anyone in there watching me celebrate your safe return."

Ivar's face flushed up to his ears and you smiled in satisfaction. "You are worse than Loki with your tricks." 

"What tricks?" You asked, sitting this time, your legs crossed in front of you and knees brushing against his hands. You leaned forward, your face as close to Ivar's as you could be without touching him, "don't you want to celebrate?" 

"What would your father say, hm?" Ivar hummed, secretly thrilled when your hand found its place cradling his face again, your thumb gently stroking his cheek. 

"Are you really more interested in discussing my father?" You asked, "when I am famished and have been waiting since the ships first crested the horizon to feast?"

"Were you not just in the great hall?" Ivar questioned, squinting in the dim lantern light so that he could appraise your words. 

"I was. You weren't though and I have been eager to sink my teeth into you," you teased, snapping playfully at him. 

The flush was back on Ivar's cheeks tenfold, flustered by the very suggestion that you wanted to be with him. It wasn't the first time you and he had laid together. Thank god for that, Ivar thought briefly as you stood again, stepping off the path and back toward the bushes that Ivar had come out of before. 

Your first time together had been awkward and slightly painful and he had been embarrassed for some weeks afterward that you would be hesitant to speak to him again, let alone allow him in your bed. Some goddess had blinded you with love or lust or adoration though because you seemed so taken with him from then on that you often sought him out, much to his own excitement. Ivar was just as adoring and in love as you were, if not more. While it was more than true that he got exactly what he wanted all the time, it was always better when he was wanted back. 

"Are you coming?" You asked, looking over your shoulder at him. 

"Yes. You'll notice it is a bit more difficult to turn around when you're unable to stand up." He grumbled, digging his stakes into the ground as he shifted himself around to follow you. 

"Perhaps, but I do so enjoy watching you."

"Humorous is it?" Ivar snapped, missing the way you smiled at his sour disposition. 

"Not the word I would use," you replied. "Is a snake in the grass humorous? Or is it beautiful? Dangerous? Exciting?" 

"I am a snake now?"

"Oh, most assuredly my love, you are full of venom. Though, I would gladly let you bite me." You teased, watching him as he caught up with you. 

"You have not let me yet," he replied, looking far more sour at that remark than at anything else you'd said all night.

"Patience."

He huffed, "I have endured a treacherous ocean, armies of men, illness, injury, near death...and you tell me to have patience?"

"Just for a simple kiss." You replied, as if it was nothing to him, "you have brought riches back with you...surely that means more than a simple kiss."

Ivar tugged your ankle as you stepped closer to him, knocking your legs out from under you and watching with satisfaction as you fell to the ground. 

"Ivar!" You laughed, uninjured and no less enamored with him than you had been before. He smiled, devious grin lighting up his features in the dark as he crawled over you, staking the ground over your sleeve so that you couldn't move away from him. "What are you doing?"

"I have no patience," he replied, "I shall have my feast here."

[bouncehousedemons]

Pale on Pale

Pairing: Kwenthrith x Judith Warnings: Blood & gore, violence, character death, cannibalism, demonic possession, horror, smut, angst, lesbian sex. Word count: ~6k

Author's note: It's here! My entry of the 2023 edition of the @vikingsbigbang - really excited to share this with you as it's an exploration of lots of firsts for me - my first time properly writing wlw and either of these characters, and my first ever try at writing horror/gore content. This was a lot of fun. Huge thank you to Yume and Killy for organising this wonderful event once again - it's always a pleasure to take part. Thank you to @underragingwaves for beta'ing this and offering kind words of support. Lastly, but by no means least, a massive thank you and endless praise to my effortlessly talented artist @therealvikingstrash - you captured the mood of the story perfectly - all gifs and dividers for this story were created by Yume and I am forever grateful to her.

Read the full story on AO3.

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Masterlist

Kinktober 2023

Dialogue Prompts for Fellow Writers

⚡️Harry Potter⚡️

💥Marvel💥

💖Misc💖

🪐Star Wars🪐

😇Supernatural😇

🍃Tolkien🍃

🩸Twilight🩸

🗡️Vikings🗡️

🔮Witcher🔮

[lokifromvalhalla]

A nice punishment

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Ivar The Boneless x [gender neutral] Reader Genre: Smut / Comfort Words: ± 2 100 Kind of content: Oral fixation / Nipple play

Playing with his chest does get Ivar to shut up for a little. It feels way better than it should.

Not proofread! Sorry for any mistake!

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

“How many times do I have to tell you?” You sighed as your hands ran across his warm back, feeling every muscle and the bump of every scar under your fingertips. That was something you had done so many times already that you almost memorized his whole back, always knowing if there was any new scar, as small as it could be.

Ivar scoffed, his back vibrating with each word. “And what do you want me to do? Simply not go anywhere? Just sit here like your little doll, is it?” Of course he would be dramatic, twist your words just so you could feel guilty and let him do whatever he wanted, but you already had a resistance to his whining just like Ubbe and Hvitserk, even if it wasn’t as strong. Dealing with Ivar wasn’t any new to you; you were there long before Ragnar returned, then with him when Ragnar came back and took him to England, helped avenge his father’s death, and now dominate York.

The flames from the torches hanging from the stone walls illuminated the room. Ivar had taken over the cathedral so he could establish his base, and used one of the  main rooms—probably the bishop's—for himself. It was wide, rather luxurious, as a noble's place. In the first days, you would just hang around the room, but with how he kept asking you to help him with massages or undoing his braces until late at night, now it was also yours.

Today was something like this. A long day of unnecessary efforts and blueish eyes by the morning had Ivar’s muscles protesting in pain, so you were there once again, your hands rubbing oil against his rough skin in an attempt to help him despite all the complaints. He did appreciate what you were doing, though. You knew it was some sort of facade because, even between four walls and a closed door, Ivar still had to keep his goddamn posture at least in a few points to ‘keep you humble’. As if you couldn’t shape him exactly the way you wanted, just like Ubbe would do with his younger brothers sometimes.

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea,” you chuckled against his skin and pressed a kiss to the back of his ear. “My pretty little doll, all for me to use, hm?”

Ivar was silent for a moment, choking on his own words to the same level his cheeks heated up, just seconds before he was turning around and throwing his hands in the air. “What do you think you’re saying? I’m going to feed you flaming hot iron if you keep it like this!”

Another chuckle escaped your lips as you pushed him to face forward again. “And what?” You pulled him against you so his back met your chest instead. “Lose your best warrior? Best strategist? I don’t think you could handle even a day without me, knowing I’m not coming back,” you mumbled, chin over his shoulder and arms under his whilst watching your hands work against his ribs, slowly going up.

Whatever was going on in Ivar’s mind, vanished at the moment your hands started running over his chest. Instead, there were only quiet and incoherent grumbles that you could barely make out. “(Y/n), what...” His words trailed off, breath caught in his throat—he tried to fight against the will to arch his back at the feeling of your fingers tracing his nipples, running around them until they were hard. "Wh..."

"I'm just doing the massage you asked for," you scoffed, hands going down his torso just to come up and stop right under his pecs, proceeding to go up slowly. Ivar hissed at the friction as he arched his back; his hands tugged a little on the sheets before they found their way to your thighs, hence his nails sank into the skin messily in an attempt to both ground himself and warn you. Fruitlessly, of course. "How was your day, Ivar? You just mentioned why you're in so much pain, but never really told me what happened while I was gone.”

“Quit playing.”

“I asked you a question.” The weight in your voice had him shutting up for a moment, though the silence was quickly broken by a moan. Your fingers pinched his nipple, and it shouldn’t feel so good.

Ivar sucked in a breath, at first just spitting out stutters until the way you squeezed his pec had him speaking. “I—I was training, but then got... got in a fight.”

Got in a fight? You clicked your tongue. “Ivar. You woke up with blue-ish eyes, why would you even do that?” It was entertaining to watch how sensitive he was, slowly starting to squirm just because of his chest being fondled.

An indignant gasp came from Ivar, but he paused for a moment; his head leaned back against your shoulder for a moment while his hand adjusted against your thigh. “No...! I couldn’t let that happen! H—He was challenging me! Provoking!” His voice cracked once you pinched his nipple, playing with it between your index finger and your thumb, daring to give it an experimental tug. A louder gasp escaped his lips, back arched against you.

Oh, the old discourse about how a cripple can’t rule properly, you thought. It was already getting annoying to deal with.

“Of course, you ignored everything,” you mumbled, continuing to pinch his nipple, though now also doing the same to the other, and it was enough to start reducing him to pieces—the already uneven breathing lost its pace completely while his fingers trying to grip onto your skin however they could, almost having him throw his hips in the air in search for friction. “and grabbed your little sword so you’d kill the poor man.”

“Not a poor man!” Ivar growled. “He dared to doubt... of one of the sons...” He never finished his sentence, words lost into the dark corners of the room once you let go of him so you could get off your position. “Hey! What are you doing?” The blue irises were nothing but thin rings around the dilated pupils that observed you in desire.

Your chuckle had his eyebrows lowering, mouth pursing. “I thought you didn’t like it?” You raised an eyebrow, moving around until you straddled his thighs, pushing him back against the pillows. Whatever answer he had on the tip of his tongue, it died down with the way you parted his legs with a knee, carefully, instead earning yourself a glare, but it would take a lot more to discourage you. His hips were warm under your hands as you held onto them while leaning down to press kisses to his neck, sometimes nibbling on the skin. “You complain so much, sometimes I don’t know whether it’s real or not. How do you feel being so annoying?” 

“I think that you should shut the fuck up before getting yourself killed.” Empty words, of course. Ivar liked the teasing, if anything. In contrast to his words, his arms wrapped around your shoulders at the same time he threw his head back into the pillows to grant you more access.

You breathed a chuckle against his skin, feeling it rise with a shiver according to how you trailed down. “Oh, honey, you still insist on tricking yourself that you can live without me? Pitiful.”

It was fun to tease Ivar then silence him, watch the frustration build up in groans and quiet complaints, his nails sometimes pressing into your skin a little too hard. He was once again silenced, letting out a hum instead at how your lips worked on a spot some inches down his collarbones, sucking and nibbling on the skin until a purple spot was left behind. You knew he had some sort of sensitivity when it came to his chest, but you never knew it was that great until you decided to start exploring it that night; it probably was greater that time, given how long he had gone without being touched like that.

The way he shuddered and breathed shakily just because of how your tongue ran flat over his nipple was truly rewarding. You did it once more, this time snatching a moan that extended itself by how his crotch found a nice source of friction when meeting your thigh on the way once it pushed up. Your grip on his hips didn’t really prevent him from moving, more of guiding his movements and limiting his freedom.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you came untouched,” you mention. You could taste the light herbal taste of the oil on your tongue—it wasn’t bad, actually.

Ivar clicked his tongue, glancing down at you with a glare that would’ve made anyone else start praying for their life, but not you. Never you. That look didn’t give you anything more than entertainment. “Do you wish to die?”

“To kill you would be fun, actually.” A grin tugged on your lips, easily having Ivar more flustered. He wasn’t in position to criticize anything anymore, nor had enough coherent thoughts for it; he just turned his head away instead.

At first, soft kisses surrounded his nipple, soon being replaced by your teeth softly tugging on the skin, and there it was—whines spilled from his mouth with every nib until he clasped a hand over his own mouth in an attempt to muffle his sounds. It had you pausing, taking a moment to observe his messy form. Sweat had some of his hair strands stuck to his forehead, skin already flush and glistening softly under the dancing light of the flames. His chest heaved up and down with the deep sharp inhales.

The lack of interaction had Ivar’s eyes slowly turning to look at you, and that fucking deathly gaze had something stirring in your lower stomach.

“I wanna hear you,” you finally said, pressing a kiss to his fingers before you started to tug his hand away from his face, finally kissing his lips instead. His hands somehow felt in the way of something, something he didn’t know, but it still didn’t really feel right to just grip onto the sheets while you worked on him. He whined softly against your lips, kissing back with little care because all that mattered was how good you treated him, nibbling on his lips and letting your tongue meet his.

His back started arching once you started trailing down his neck once again, this time starting to nibble on the area around his nipple right away, this time working on the opposite one, with your hands back around his hips, tightly. “Fuck,” he whispered softly, voice tight in his throat, soon replaced by a moan. Your lips wrapped around his nipple to suck softly on it until he was arching his back and fighting against your hands, so you’d change to running your tongue flat against the nub instead.

It was slow and agonizing. Every single time the feeling would start to take over Ivar, erase the thoughts away from his head and have his eyes rolling back, you were there to pull him down, ground him again. Ivar crashed back into reality with quiet complaints and groans that only motivated you to continue, even if your lips would be left sore later. Then, there it was, finally. This time, you weren’t pulling away at the moment his hips started pushing up; you continued to suck on his nipple, even letting your teeth tug on it, and he wasn’t even that restrained anymore, with one of your hands letting go of him to instead fondle with the opposite side of his chest.

A string of curses escaped Ivar’s lips, though soon interrupted by the lack of air in his lungs, his teeth gritted and eyes pressed shut. His hips dragged slowly against your thigh, sending sparkles up his body and down again, right to his lower stomach. His shorter breaths had each time more space between them, as if just breathing would drive his focus away from his release, but then, there it was; a long moan was drawn from his lips at the same moment he finally came. As much as you wanted to see the face he was making, it seemed more of an advantage to continue messing with him until he was squirming, on the edge of oversensitivity.

You pressed a kiss to the bright red skin before you finally brought yourself up to look at him. He had his eyes shut, mouth moving lightly in inaudible mumbles to himself until he opened one eye lazily to observe you.

“You good, love?”

Ivar nodded lightly. “Do you need me to...?”

“No, no.” You shook your head and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “For the gods, Ivar,” you chuckled, “look at you. Came untouched, in your pants!” And just a few words had the haze that took over him fading away, replaced by his usual annoyance, curses and threats that escaped his lips seemingly unstoppingly.

[bxwitched]

Masterlist

18+ only, minors do not interact. Explicit content, please heed the warnings.

Disclaimer - I do not own any of these characters, nor do I profit from them. This is simply for fun.

Vikings

Ivar the Boneless

Voyeur

Character pairing: Ivar the Boneless x Reader

- Part 1 Summary: You catch Ivar watching you bathing.

- Part 2 Summary: You indulge yourself in Ivar’s voyeuristic habits.

Captive

Character pairing: Ivar the Boneless x Reader / Ivar the Boneless x You

Series summary: You find yourself a captive of Ivar the Boneless.

- Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

The Boys

Soldier Boy

Diamonds Are Forever

Character pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Series summary: You’re rescued from being one of Vought’s experiments, but are you really safe?

- Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5,

Top Gun: Maverick

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin

Come Fly With Me

Character Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Series Summary: After you find yourself in a spot of trouble, a favour from a friend lands you in the classroom at Top Gun.

- Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

To Be With You Summary: Jake takes a shine to the Admiral's new aide.

Marvel

Frank Castle

Healing Hands Summary: You clean Frank up after a hard night.

Waiting Eyes Summary: Frank has watched and he's waited, but now his patience has run out.

Bucky Barnes

Avenging Angel Summary: Bucky tries to lay low whilst in Bucharest but finds that he can't ignore a woman in need.

[runilafancasts]

Fan Cast: Raiders From the Sea - Lois Johnson (Viking Quest, 1)

Briana "Bree" O'Toole - Amybeth McNulty Devin O'Toole - Art Parkinson Mikkel - Ty Simpkins Hauk - Shawn Ashmore Nola - Susan Lynch

[thegothicviking]

If you are interested in poetry or Rammstein fan fictions than please go follow my other blog 👉 @viking-writing (this is were most of the updates on the WIP Rammstein fan fiction series will be posted along with my poetry and other scribbes!)

I am literally writing a novel for you guys! The 1st is gonna be a long one! And I am terrified that y'all will hate it! 😭

[kurorama]

Stomach Empty, Heart Full

Viking!Bucky x Wife!reader

IN WHICH you’re sick and refuse to eat, but it’s nothing that your beefy husband Bucky can’t help with.

WC: 2.5k

Warnings: vague mentions of smut, mentions of puke, beefy!bucky, INACCURATE VIKING UNITS, pregnancy(?).

A/N: my mom is the BIGGEST viking fan and yet idk anything abt em so…yes everything about this is inaccurate. From their beds to their huts but it’s fiction so who CARES.

A huge campfire was bustling outside your hut, that you knew. The sounds of men and women alongside their noisy children made the headache currently gnawing at your head just about 10 times worse. You’d been lying sick since this morning and if you were being honest with yourself, all you craved was for a good sip of water alongside the company of your dear husband. 

Talking of, Bucky had been gone for far too long now. Even though he’d just gone on his regular routine as a fellow warrior, it helped that they’d only gone out to hunt that morning. 

You suddenly winced as the high pitched wail of a kid adventuring far too close to your hut breached your ear drums, and from the thud that you’d heard a split second before, he’d taken a nasty fall to himself. It didn’t help that his father had chosen the front of your hut opening to reprimand his son, the headache feeling like it would burst out from your head and carve a hole through your skin at any moment now. 

You couldn’t tell what sort of sickness you’d picked up on, but hell if you wouldn’t give up anything in your possession in that instant for an ounce of relief. Your stomach yelled at you for food, but the ache in your head only increased the growing nausea that came with your illness. You were sure that once you’d be healed and back on your feet, you’d kill whichever scum had passed on their bug to you. 

Comfort only came as you curled over yourself, soft blankets warming you, the stitches and patches of soft furs from all sorts of animals that Bucky had hunted and skinned for you. You missed your husband so, so much more in your sick haze. Your eyes finally started to droop as you felt your body giving in to slumber, which was hard prior to the insane pounding at the far back of your head.  

It didn’t take long for your vision to darken, your rumbling stomach being the furthest of your worries as a faint smile overtook your features as you felt the headache begin to dissipate as sleep pulled you in its arms. You could almost taste it, the sweet and victorious taste of relief, when- 

“You are not joining us tonight?” And there it was, the pounding in your head almost immediately punched back to life at the loud sound of whoever that was that had breached your hut. You groaned in dismay, turning around reluctantly to find your sister looking at you in confusion. It didn’t help with the fact that she was your sibling, but at that instant you wanted nothing more than to rip her hairs straight from the root and craft yourself a rag doll with them out of spite. 

“Get out.” you mumbled before rolling back, not missing the way her eyebrows furrowed at your rudeness. You’d treat her a little better if you felt a little better, but you didn’t, and to add to that the only person that you wanted with you right now was probably fighting off whatever beast was hiding in the forest. 

She did, however, listen to you for what felt like the first time in your entire life as sisters. A content sigh left your lips at the newfound silence, as silent as it could be with a meal in preparation happening outside. Finally, you felt the warm arms of slumber welcoming you again in the embrace that you seeked so much, and it felt a little too good to be true. Maybe because you had a knack for jinxing yourself, but the sound of the hut door creaking again had you close to tears. 

The sound of metal colliding against the floor however, gave you a brief idea that it was in fact not your sister. You didn’t have it in you to greet your husband, instead choosing to wallow in your pain as you held yourself like a dying child. You didn’t hear much from Bucky but the rustling of something that sounded big and meaty, probably a catch that he’d brought home to skin later. 

On his side, Bucky was confused as to why you weren’t outside with the other people. It wasn’t that you didn’t know that the feast had arrived, and if you’d fallen asleep, the doubling in noise would’ve surely awakened even the deafest foe. He contemplated waking you up before his blue eyes fell upon the bucket of water by the door, as full as it was before he’d left home that morning.

With his eyebrow furrowed, Bucky kneeled beside you in all of his silence. You could hear the trinkets attached to his belt clanking against one another, his booted feet causing a heavy thud against the floor. 

“You haven’t drunk, you haven’t eaten.” he stated as a matter of fact, and your undying silence threw him off. He’d been your husband long enough to know that you weren’t sleeping, eyelids shut as a decoy more than anything. The beefy brunette sighed at your actions, eyes flickering between the  abandoned wooden plate that harboured his food, waiting for him in all of its loneliness. The cut of meat had his mouth salivating for a taste, after all he had been gone all day to bring back food for his people, why shouldn’t he enjoy it? 

Yet, he just couldn’t get himself to as he eyed your curled figure. There must’ve been a reason why you hadn’t bothered to take care of yourself today, of course there must’ve been one, and as your husband - it was all the more his duty to care for you. There was no resentment or obligations in his actions, only love. 

One of Bucky’s palms slid under your cheek, disconnecting your face from its warm place upon the layers of furs. You whined in dismay, but Bucky didn’t falter. His huge palm covered half of your face, his thumb rubbing at your cheek with inclination. You felt your body relax once more as he slowly let go, as much as you’d normally complain, this time you felt happy as your cheek made contact with the blanket once more. 

Your peace didn't last long, not when you had a burly husband who had enough force to take down a 300 pound beast on his own. You gasped suddenly as you felt his arms wrapping themselves around you, before pulling you into the warmth of a familiar torso. You wasted no time getting comfortable, you head pushing impossibly further into the firm flesh of his chest to serve as a pillow. It didn’t faze Bucky, blue iris simply gazing down at your slithering form. 

“You haven’t eaten today,” he states again, and this time you’d actually taken the courage to look up at him, eyelids pushing away from each other painfully slowly as you tried to adjust to the dim light of the oil lamps burning by the side of the hut. You could feel his warm palm slowly inching itself into caressing your back through the material of your dress, the beaded necklace that you wore squished between the both your bodies. 

Bucky didn’t ask, he could tell that you were ill and you had no intentions of talking if you didn’t feel well. So he did what he could, a hand digging into the meat in his plate to rip a fat piece off. You watched in dismay as his hands dragged to your mouth, pausing before you closed lips as you refused him access. 

“You’ll be even more ill if you don’t eat, come on.” his gruffly voice sent shivers down your spine. You could feel the ends of his long, auburn hair tickling your cheeks as the wind whistled past the cracks of your shared hut. Your nose involuntarily scrunched at the smell of the meat before you, which you normally loved like all people in your village. Bucky took notice of your discomfort, lowering his hand slightly to prevent you from puking all over him and the place. 

You made a sound of frustration, sick and tired of being sick and tired. You simply wanted to eat and all the more drink but your body just wouldn’t let you do any of it. So sick that tears pricked at your waterline again, resurfacing the throbbing headache that'd been killing you since this morning. 

You couldn’t even have told when the sob had burst through your mouth, but it had apparently and it didn’t fail to startle the hulk of a man you were lucky to call your husband. In a split second, the food was dropped back in the discarded plate, and his hands were quick to carelessly wipe clean against his cloak with little to no care for it. 

Bucky’s heart was hardened from the series of events that’d turmoiled his life from his birth, being a viking was anything but easy. He’d bathed in blood, his own like not, he was scarred mentally just as physically. Yet, he was fierce with a shell as hard as rock to carry his sorrows in. Despite all, nothing hurt Bucky like seeing you upset, or even worse in this scenario, hurt. 

Cradling your head to his chest, he tilted your head softly towards his own as you cried upon his chest. It was weird seeing a woman such as yourself cry over something that couldn’t be seen, yet enough described because your words wouldn’t even allow you to. So to say that Bucky was worried was an understatement, you’d never cried over something so minor, best to deduct that it wasn’t.

“I’ll go and fetch the lach, better hope that Thyra has the herbs to fix you a remedy.” he spoke more to himself than to you, referring to the village healer. You didn’t want him to go though, you’d spent enough time on this miserable day away from the only man you’d wish to see, so you weren’t about to let him go. 

“No, I can handle it until daytime. I just want to eat…I’ll try the meat again.” Bucky looked down at you in hesitance, remembering the way you looked so sick at the approach of his food. Nevertheless, he brought the food back up to your mouth, and you had to fight the inner battle to not throw up now and then. He could see your struggles, yet he only focused on your determination. 

You chewed slowly so as to not upset your stomach further, giving Bucky the time he needed for him to get a taste of his own meal as well. Sure, the cut was barely enough for a man of his size but at least he’d get you to eat, he could always go out and get some more once you were satiated. His hand that wasn’t busy feeding the both of you was still glued to your back, keeping you flushed against his chest as he sat legs crossed amongst the many blankets. 

You couldn’t help with the way your heart soared at his worry, at his care, and at his love. Sure he wasn’t the most verbally expressive man, but his actions meant more to you than any I-Love-Yous. The way his fingers curled against your side as a measure of extreme protection had you weak in the knees, and that said a lot considering you weren’t even standing. 

By the time you’d both exhausted whatever food was on his plate, Bucky’s skilled hand worked for water. Grabbing a cup from the side, he sought water from the bucket by your front door. He took a drink first, draining the cup in two quick gulps. You watched as he served himself another cup, a drop of water dribbling past his beardy chin and onto the defined curve of his Adam's apple. 

Fuck and if he didn’t just look so hot, you’d really gotten the finest pick of all men in your village. You lifted an unsuspecting hand up to his cheek, the prickly feeling of his beard against your palm made a shiver run down your spine. So much for all the days he’d spent buried between your legs, you felt a ghost of the burn you’d feel on your inner thighs at the friction everytime. 

The sounds of water sloshing around brought you out of your daydreams, finally receiving the end of the cup as he lifted the edge to your lips. You liked everything about this, getting pampered while laying in your husband's arms. You couldn’t possibly have gotten two sips down your throat before-

“Maybe I should call the midwife to check on you tomorrow.” Bucky randomly blurted out, and you swore you’d never accidently taken a gulp of water this big before. The choking came first, then the excessive coughing fits before the headache resurfaced again. Now maybe you’d rethought everything, maybe you didn’t want to spend the rest of the night with Bucky anymore. 

His hands quickly abandoned the cup to rub at your back, some silent apology of some sorts for surprising you, and eventually causing you to choke. 

“You don’t think…” you looked up at your husband after you had calmed down, expectant baby blue iris staring right back at yours. Your lips were slightly parted in the confoundment of his words, you found yourself unable to speak past your sentence. You didn’t know any contraceptives further than a remedy of herbs, spells and whatnot the untrustworthy pull-out method. Yet even if  Bucky had been very obedient when it came to following that way, there were some days where he just couldn’t help himself.

His silence made you sigh to yourself, but you didn’t feel like speaking further yourself. The hut fell into a peaceful silence as you both wallowed in the other's presence, soaking each other's affection through soft touches and occasional prayers.You closed your eyes once more for the night, allowing yourself to fully sink into your husband’s burly arms.

Bucky didn’t complain, waiting for your shoulders to fall limp in indication that you’d finally submitted to the slumber you so craved. Now that you were sleeping, tucked and fed, he could finally go out and reach for a serving more appropriate for a man of his size. Though he staggered for a second, kneeling besides your sleeping form along the blankets that he’d arranged over you. 

He moved the blanket properly after noticing that you’d already managed to mess up the ‘bed’ despite being dreams deep into your sleep. Bucky allowed his hand to hover over your stomach, before providing extra heat to the area that crossed his palm. He watched as your lips twitched into a smile in your sleep, his thumb uncontrollably caressing at the clothed area at the sight of your delight. 

A rare smile tugged at the corner of Bucky’s lips, something that only you and his family had gotten to experience more often. His hand left your stomach as he rose to his feet, a distant dream of an infant swaddled by green cloth burning by the back of his mind. He didn’t turn back as he left the tent, stomach empty but heart full. 

-

i’m working on 2 requests rn but i’ll be busy all weekend so expect a fic by next friday‼️

[babelast]

A character by author H.M Brandon. Art illustrations done by BabeLast

I hope she will inspire you today 😊

Follow and like my facebook page here, there will be more awesome posts every week to keep you inspired 😊

[lizardsfromspace]

Honestly one reason I'm glad that super-fascist-looking Klingon flag is a unofficial fan design is that, unlike other fictional sci-fi villains like the Galactic Empire, the Klingons...aren't Nazi analogues? Yeah there's Kirk attributing Klingon quotes to Hitler, but TOS Klingons are firmly Soviet analogues, up to The Undiscovered Country being a v. thinly veiled take on Chernobyl and the fall of the Berlin Wall. 90s Klingons meanwhile are coded as a mix of feudalism, Vikings, and Yeltsin-era Russia. The fascist analogues in Star Trek are the Cardassians and Dominion

[bestanimatedmovie]

Choose your favorite!

Time to fly!

Vote in the other polls!

What fans say:

How To Train Your Dragon:

The message was just nice. I have a lot of nostalgia for it. I used to be a huge dragon nerd as a kid and dragons just weren't that prevalent in media here, especially not as friendly figures. I still love HTTYD and it's sequels nowadays.

It was one of my favorite movies as a kid and one of the few movies I watched that wasn't a barbie movie, it's just really cool.

Best movie featuring dragons period. The pure wish fulfillment fantasy of having a highly intelligent fantasy creature companion that can fly and doesn’t mind being ridden like a horse, therefore also the best execution of the dragon rider trope in all of fiction. Extremely funny, adding to the comedy is the fact that only adults have Scottish accents and all the teens have an American accent. So good that even its tv show follow up was decent by extension. The bit where Hiccup is trying to earn Toothless' trust and they start to work together changed me on a fundamental level.

I LOVE IT SO MUCHSHJKBSKHGDK I have a bone dysplasia which causes some bones to be a little bit more hollow and whenever I would feel a pain in my top back, 8 year old me was like ''woah I'm growing wings its my time to fly like toothless'' lol and it was always a dream of mine to fly. Weirdly enough I could relate to toothless because the "not being able to fly but you should be" felt like an allegory to a lot of my life! It gave me hope when he WAS able to after the help of others + the care he always needed + that mechanic wing thing made me feel like with the right ''recipe'' could help me get better too. My favourite scene is the first flight!! I love the animation for it, it makes me feel like im flying through the clouds too! The soundtrack is amazing too, I still cry to the songs.

I could write an entire essay about how much I love this movie, it truly is one of the best films ever made to me. Utterly flawless on both a technical level and a story-telling level. Not to mention the score oh my GOD the score of this movie changed my life. There are too many scenes that are so impactful, but the Forbidden Friendship scene has to be one of the best. Test Drive too.

This is literally my favorite movie of all time. This movie got me through the worst times in my life. It’s about love and friendship and all that lovely goopy stuff and it’s also fucking gorgeous.

THE cinematic masterpiece of our generation. On god.

This movie is an absolute masterpiece, the animation is pretty, the score is perfect, the relationship between Toothless and Hiccup is so sweet, Toothless is absolutely adorable. Definitely one of DreamWork's best films.

It's a beautifully animated movie about an unconventional viking boy named Hiccup finding his place in a world where dragons and vikings are constantly at odds, and how he changes the world around him. The dragon designs are unique and beautiful, and the vikings are larger than life and match the exaggerated setting.

Who on Tumblr DOESN'T want a dragon best friend I ask you. I would kill to have what Hiccup & Toothless have.

It does a brilliant job balancing tropes in a way that subverts and plays into them. There is so much in it for both adults and kids, it doesn't look like other animated films, it feels more grounded and in that realism it becomes so beautiful. The friendship in the film feels very real despite one of the characters being unable to talk! Forbidden Friendship scene is, in my opinion, the greatest scene in the history of cinema. The music, the lighting, the cinematography, the pacing, the emotions, it is practically perfect in every way. I could go on but I think ya get it.

God this movie defined my childhood and it's still so good when I rewatch it now. I'm guessing you'll have had this submitted a good few times bc it goddamn deserves it but. Hiccup is so relatable and !! dragons !! big cute dragons whose animation models are based on cats!! based fr

I have many fond childhood memories of this movie and in particular I loved how my cousin would "talk" for Toothless (cousin was babysitting us when we first watched the movie). Another thing is The SCORE. The music is iconic and awe inspiring to this day. That first time when Hiccup and Toothless fly together and it Works and the score absolutely goes HARD, I loose my breath every time. It's great. Also have you seen Toothless he's an adorable dragon and a badass, what's not to love?

Makes me cry every time because Hiccup and Toothless are such good friends and they love each other and end up as two halves of a boy dragon soulmate sandwich also the music is extremely good who doesn’t like dragons anyway.

It's the story of a beautiful friendship forming between a boy who doesn't fit in and a dragon who is the last of his kind. It's so cute. And it shows positive representation of disability, Hiccup and Toothless become disabled in ways that meaningfully parallel each other. Hiccup makes a prosthetic tail fin! And Toothless is just so cute!

The sound track is amazing

Honestly everything is phenomenal. It has a good use of comedy and an excellent story and character development. There are also countless beautiful and awe-inspiring scenes supported by an amazing score.

Up:

It is a very emotional movie about an old man learning to still enjoy life even though his wife died.

Such a beautiful film about loss

[bouncehousedemons]

Milk

Rating: E Pairing: (Modern) Ivar the Boneless x female character (second person, no use of y/n) Warnings: Smut, cunnilingus Word count: 450

Summary: Ivar hates milk. Until he tastes it on your lips.

Read the full fic here.

[jotun-design-party]

on fandom orientalism, ft. a quick visual example:

the example on the right is something i drew solely using references of the top results i saw on pinterest upon searching "jotun loki." please don’t roast my inconsistent handwriting

south asian cultures are often jumbled together for white artists of all kinds (authors, artists, movie directors) to create a sense of mystery and make things look "more foreign."

note: this doesn't touch on the antiblack racism in canon jötun designs; this post is primarily about fandom-sourced fetishization. i heavily encourage people to reblog and add onto this post anything i may have missed or added nuance

cut: links on orientalism, in-media examples, how this manifests in fandom-made content

i'd like to start off by saying that this post is a white person telling other white people how to spot orientalism in relation to fiction. i am by no means an expert on any of this, but my goal here is to start creating a less ignorant space that doesn't push people out of fandom.

i'm just trying to stir up more conversations about this and get other white people to think more critically about how they engage with the content they consume. nerd shit should never come with a sacrifice and it's extremely upsetting to see people of color consistently forced out of fandom communities, especially when modern superhero comics began as a way for jewish people to have a voice.

if this post upsets you, i don't want to hear it. don't tell me, "it's not that deep," or, "keep politics out of comics." it is that deep, and superhero comics have always been political. if you have the urge to leave a comment or send an anon about how you don't think it's a big deal, feel free to block me instead, because i don't care and you'll just get blocked anyway 👍

with that out of the way,

Q:

A:

there are countless ways to design a character in a way that makes it clear that they are an alien, or to make them sexy, and there is no excuse to perpetuate stereotype that put real-life people in danger to do so.

"Orientalist paintings and other forms of material culture... depict an 'exotic' and therefore racialized, feminized, and often sexualized culture from a distant land." [¹]

there are so many examples of this in loki fic and art. it's extremely common to see loki depicted as a feminine object of desire. they may have longer hair. clothing that serves more as an accessory than an outfit, that isn't suited to protect them from either the harsh cold of jötunheim or the sunburns one might get when surrounded by reflections of the sun off the snow. draped in jewelry, and in a compromising position.

i'm sure you can imagine how this can get especially out of hand in relation to thorki. i would speak more on thor's presence as both the white aesir prince or the strong barbaric jötun, but as i'm not comfortable consuming thorki content, i don't have enough context to speak on the stereotypes used outside of the art pieces i've seen while searching for jötun loki fanart.

i am, however, confident in saying that orientalism often serves as a device for fan creators to show a contrast between Asgard's white-viking-british-accent-magic-science-elegance. jötunheim, in the comics, is often portrayed as a less intelligent, cutthroat, barbaric, and bloodthirsty culture.

"There was always something unknown and uniquely different about Orients which reinforced the distinction between the European 'us' and Asian 'them.'" [²]

the green link in particular comes with a helpful tool for anyone who might be inexperienced in spotting racist themes in media. if you have trouble being confident that the media in question is orientalism, this link comes with a checklist scale to score how likely it is to be an offensive depiction.

an example that most of you will be familiar with is Disney's Aladdin (1992). the green link goes much more in-depth about the intricacies of Aladdin's orientalism, and i heavily HEAVILY encourage you to read it, as it will help fully grasp the way fetishization and demonization go hand in hand in orientalism.

here, i'd also like to use it as a comparison to show why this loki stuff is honestly... egregious.

by now, even the visuals here should seem very familiar.

the source goes on to use arranged marriage as an example of a common "trope" in orientalist fiction. as previously stated, i don't consume thorki fiction. however, i am EXTREMELY confident in making the guess that it tends to be a common theme when jötun loki is paired with an aesir thor.

i'd also heavily recommended this article and this wikipedia page, both on the negative and stereotypical portrayals of romani people; loki is a magic user, and i suspect that one of the reasons there is such heavy use of these appropriated, exaggerated, and fetishized themes and visuals is because of the demonization of romani people as tricksters, thieves, and witches.

[lokifromvalhalla]

What's the fun in that?

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Ivar The Boneless x Reader Genre: Comfort / Light angst Words: ± 3 800 NOT proofread

Ivar is captured by Oleg. (Y/n), the Rus' army commander, is both interested and interesting.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

“Are you a devotee of Odin or a Christian?” The heavily accented voice cut through the atmosphere and put ground under (Y/n)’s feet again, making the heavy presence in the corner of the room known. (Y/n) silently turned around to glance at the viking that stood in the training area with a grin tugging on his lips, reflecting an entertainment that he only allowed to demonstrate whenever he was around them.

The training yard (Y/n) preferred to use was near a stable—it was covered from the sun or the snow and gave them the privacy they wanted to hit the log and targets as much as they wanted to.

A heavy puff of air escaped (Y/n)’s flush lips as they ran a hand through their hair. Sometimes Ivar caught himself lost in observing (Y/n)—the way their skin was littered with scars in some areas, telling stories he didn't know, in an opposite to the rough sunburnt skin of the Vikings. Even Oleg’s skin was thinner than the Norwegians’, but (Y/n) commanded the army. They were Rus’ main warrior.

“Does it matter to you?” (Y/n) carefully put their sword back on its scabbard that hung from their waist, walking past Ivar to serve themself a glass of the water jar that sat on the barrel in the corner.

Ivar ducked his head, shrugging a little, as he turned around slowly to face (Y/n). “I don’t think I have enough power to demand something from you. I am just curious. ‘Never seen you pray.” He blinked under the intense gaze of their eyes and let himself observe them once again—(Y/n) was wearing one of their most basic armors, a gray one, but it didn’t hide the warrior’s elegance and high rank, with all the embroidering and details that decorated their shoulders and chest.

“A person’s faith matters only to them,” (Y/n) said, leaving the now empty cup where it once was. They returned Ivar’s mannerism, eyeing him from head to toe without bothering to hide their curiosity. “Why are you here?”

Ivar almost chuckled, humming instead. He looked around until dropping himself on a bench—a sigh of relief escaped his lips whilst he let his crutches rest together against the wall, next to him. “Well, I like being around people who don’t treat me like an animal, and Igor went for a walk with Oleg or something. Y’know, it can be tiring, and Oleg seems to have a certain liking for me.” He raised his eyebrows lightly. He didn’t expect (Y/n) to react. Of course not, they were faithful and fair; Ivar never heard them talking bad about an enemy, even. “I remembered when you mentioned your training schedule, so I thought I would come... see you...” He shrugged.

Silence took over, thickly, only interrupted by the voices of other soldiers talking in the distance and the horses snorting in the background.

“It’s not allowed, Ivar.”

“Oh?” He snickered, teeth catching on his bottom lip for a moment. “Since when do you care about rules or anything? Y’know, I caught you going against Oleg’s orders when—”

“It’s dangerous.”

Ivar pressed his lips together, shaking his head. “Nothing is dangerous to you. You could overthrow Oleg if you wanted.”

This time, (Y/n) was the one to laugh. “I’m not saying I’m the one in danger.”

A breath was caught in the Viking’s throat, compelling him to stop in the middle of the argument and look at the ground in a defeat that was laced with pure amusement. In some way, it was a cure to the chronic boredom that pestered him since Oleg had decided to keep him captive, but it also stirred him up in other ways. How much did Oleg’s right hand hate him? How far could he get against Oleg until he was noticed? Or would he win? By chance?

Reality swallowed Ivar again at the strong feeling of fingers sinking into his jaw to tug his head up. “That’s why you keep getting yourself into problems. Never thought of deciding to keep everything in order?” (Y/n)’s breath fanned over his ear, making a shiver run down his spine as his fingers tightened around the edge of the bench.

“And what would be the fun in that?”

.

(Y/n) blinked slowly as they observed Oleg and Katya from across the table, with boredom clear in their half-lidded eyes, struggling to keep their attention on Oleg's specifications for a war strategy request while he insisted on exchanging affection with Katya.

"Reaching them through the woods would be the best. Do you wish for any other details?" Oleg smiled, never stopping caressing Katya's hand that rested between his.

Shaking their head shortly, (Y/n) hummed as they looked around. Their fingers traced the details of their golden cup of wine, following among the images of saints and crosses embedded with stones. "About 5000 men might do it? For a beginning, I mean, to prepare the area for a battle."

"Of the best?"

(Y/n) scoffed. "Something under the third general's power."

Oleg raised his eyebrows with a hum, his eyes resting on a spot on the table for a moment before he slowly nodded. "Ivar?" He called—the Viking promptly looked up from his food. "Any opinion that might help?"

"Nothing that I haven't told (Y/n) already." He nodded toward the warrior.

A chuckle came from the Rus prince as he nodded. "Right. Glad to see two great war leaders working together."

(Y/n) breathed a chuckle, almost humorless, something Ivar couldn't quite read, in an opposite to Oleg—his eyes lingered over (Y/n) before he returned to his food.

The rest of the meal was animated by Oleg and Katya's constant comments that would leave (Y/n) eyeing the two nobles in disdain or pretending they didn't exist, something Ivar hadn't quite mastered yet. Plus, that, well, he wasn't as important as (Y/n) to have such freedom with the two. A comment that would earn (Y/n) a snicker maybe could cost Ivar’s life.

Time dragged by slowly until Oleg finally declared he had finished and ordered the servants to take his plate, but he never stopped talking with (Y/n). Ivar could feel the anxiety crawling under his skin the more he tried to invent excuses, so he would leave along with (Y/n). He could feel the words tingling in his throat, '(Y/n), can you follow me? I think you'd like to know more about Kattegat's defense,' he almost said. Did Oleg know? Was he doing this on purpose?

"If you were cornered in a battle," (Y/n) said as they approached Ivar, slowly walking towards the stairs to the next floor to make sure the Viking followed them, "what would you do?"

Ivar shrugged messily, not having much freedom due to focusing on climbing up the stairs. It took him a moment to answer, only doing so when they were near the end of the stairs. "Depends, but I think a shield wall until getting the situation under control would be the best. In a case, of course, because if—"

"You can shut up for now," (Y/n) yawned, seemingly oblivious to the glare they got from Ivar. Still, the Viking remained silent, letting only the sound of the flames burning in their holders on the wall, and their steps resonate down the hall. Ivar’s crutches created sharp noises as they met the ground, but it was something (Y/n) had learned to get used to.

With Igor still being in the lower floor, the concentration of guards on that one dropped significantly. (Y/n) didn't even bother rushing Ivar into their room, standing beside the doorway until he walked in so they could follow.

(Y/n)’s room was something like Oleg's and Igor's, but with their own touch, mainly on the rich golden and red tones of the bed covers. What seemed like repaired swords hung from the walls while a couple of paintings decorated the walls—a reminder of victories and defeats. Ivar couldn't help but always look for a cross or an image of Odin, maybe even Thor, on the wall; however, he never found anything. Maybe the crosses on their armor would mean anything.

A long sigh of comfort escaped Ivar's lips as he let himself fall on the bed, firstly sitting down on it and letting his crutches fall to the ground, then lying back on the cushion. He seemed tired.

The sight was enough to have a smile tug on their lips whilst (Y/n) locked the door. They internally debated whether they could say anything or not, just to decide to remain silent while taking off the heavy winter clothes until their thin tunic was all that rested.

(Y/n) couldn't deny it, though—resting on such comfortable covers felt like heaven after a long day.

"C'mon." They poked Ivar with their foot.

Ivar got up to get rid of his shoes and most of his clothes, only keeping his bottoms, but not without complaining during the whole process. The groans turned into a soft hum as (Y/n)'s arms wrapped around him at the moment his head hit the pillow.

The feeling of (Y/n)'s lips running against his cheekbone had his skin rising with a shiver as he leaned into their embrace, hands closed around their arms.

"I would pay to have Oleg quiet for at least a meal," Ivar said quietly like the slightest wrong detail would ruin the situation, following (Y/n) with his eyes as they propped themself up on an elbow. It had been a matter of seconds until the room attained the most comfortable atmosphere in the world. It was warm and filled with something he couldn't quite place. He allowed himself to close his eyes, enjoying the safety he felt even if it wasn't genuine. How was he supposed to fight against the sensation of (Y/n)'s fingers delicately undoing the braids that held his hair?

A soft chuckle came from (Y/n), quiet and almost humorless. "You don’t know how much I relate to it."

Ivar smiled, sighing deeply at the feeling of the tip of (Y/n)'s fingers pressing down against his scalp, on the back of his neck. He instinctively leaned into where he thought they were, humming in satisfaction at the feeling of warm lips meeting his. (Y/n)’s kisses were soft, awakening a feeling in Ivar’s chest that was difficult to explain—it felt too good to be worried about, what bad could it cause?

The kisses got each time deeper as if they were seeking something, maybe wanting something from Ivar, which he was willing to give. A sigh escaped his lips when (Y/n) finally gave him a few seconds to breathe, only to drown him in kisses once again, holding firmly onto his hip.

His eyes fluttered as Ivar threw his head back, mumbling words that (Y/n) couldn't really make out while their lips worked on their neck.

The safety Ivar felt, unfortunately, didn't extend itself to everything. It wasn't even voluntary—his body just jumped at the moment (Y/n) adjusted their fingers around his hip.

"Shhh, I know," they whispered against Ivar’s lips, almost making him want to curl up and die.

.

The way (Y/n)’s warmth towards Ivar would turn into plain coldness whenever they weren't alone together would always amuse him. He almost caught himself questioning whether the last night was true or not whenever (Y/n)'s eyes would linger over his form with a disdain that always got Oleg smiling smugly.

In a way, Ivar hated the position he was automatically forced into at the moment Oleg showed interest in him. Rus wasn't a country he was used to, and he still didn’t have a complete notion of his boundaries there despite already being there for a few months. Something about all of that messed up with him. He looked forward to slipping into (Y/n)’s bedroom; in their presence he felt... something else. It wasn't like being back in Kattegat or with his family, but it was something he could hold onto, like a guarantee he would get out of that alive. Of course, it was something dumb to think about—(Y/n) didn't have any obligation with him or major interests aside from the ones he had sought with them himself, which still weren't that significant.

"Have you ever been to Scandinavia?" Ivar raised an eyebrow at (Y/n); they hummed questioningly, compelling him to repeat himself.

(Y/n) raised their eyebrows, shaking their head. "Not really, not in a while."

Ivar paused for a moment to observe (Y/n) cleaning the blade of their sword, which had already mercilessly impaled a Viking earlier once they found a place to settle down in Scandinavia. The Rus settlements weren't much different from the Viking and Saxon ones, but still had their differences, differences that were fun to watch while he wasn’t busy tolerating Oleg or observing (Y/n).

“In a while...” He repeated.

No response came from (Y/n) for a while, almost like they didn’t hear his question, only continuously rubbing the bloody rag over the silver blade until it was shining again. (Y/n) went through a quiet debate in their mind whether they should or not tell Ivar about that—not because Oleg could find an issue in it, no, but because they didn’t know how much they wanted Ivar to know about their life. “Since the last battle.”

“For who?” Ivar wasn’t dumb, and Oleg did mention it was his first time putting his plans of invading Scandinavia into practice.

(Y/n) paused under the gaze that burned against the side of their head, pressing their lips together for a moment. “I’m Rusian, but I didn’t spend my whole life here.”

It made sense, of course. (Y/n) didn’t fight like a Saxon, though it wasn’t like a Viking either—it was something in between.

“How did you get to be the army’s commandant, though?” Ivar tilted his head a little. “I don’t...” He paused, thinking whether he should say it or not. (Y/n) wasn’t someone he wanted as an enemy. “You don’t seem like a Rus noble.”

A smile tugged on the corner of (Y/n)’s lips as they hummed. “Yes, because I’m not.” They put their sword inside its holder again, setting it aside on the ground along with their other stuff. “But it isn’t like Oleg found me in the trash either.” The humor that played among their features wasn’t exactly genuine, so Ivar didn’t dare to mess with the matter any further. They knew (Y/n) had enough knowledge of his bad past and not enough mercy to refrain themself from dropping sharp words whenever needed. They didn’t owe him any kindness, but Ivar still had some sense of self preservation. And will to take risks.

“Of course not,” he scoffed. “Something like you.”

A crease showed up between (Y/n)’s eyebrows as they breathed a laugh, shaking their head. “If I were you,” they whispered as leaning closer to the Viking, “I’d be a little more careful.”

Ivar raised his eyebrows in a light questioning manner, almost daringly, but whatever (Y/n) planned to do while staring at him with narrowed eyes was interrupted at the moment they heard Oleg’s voice.

“I hope there is no fight going on!” Oleg announced over the sound of his heavy steps and Katya's delicate ones, having (Y/n) immediately stand up whilst Ivar straightened his posture. “I wouldn’t like to see my great war leaders on bad terms with each other. It would affect our plans immensely, and I hope you’re aware of it.”

“You’re the only one I bother fighting with,” (Y/n) replied with such disdain that Ivar had to hold back a chuckle.

Oleg raised his eyebrows, shaking his head, about to say something when Katya cut in; she held onto her husband's arm, stroking it lightly. "Well, maybe they weren't fighting." A small smile played on her lips as she glanced at (Y/n) from under her lashes.

Breathing deeply, they hummed quietly. "I'm afraid you, Mistress, don't know me well enough."

Katya gave the warrior a light raise of eyebrows, slowly nodding, but (Y/n) doubted she believed a thing. It wasn't like they should care, though something about this situation had a chill running down their spine, a feeling among the urge of pulling Ivar away from Katya's view. After all, of course (Y/n) would get attached to Ivar at some point. It was almost like keeping a little pet if Oleg also weren't so protective of the prize that fell into his hands.

"Anyways," Oleg cut in, "I'm here to tell you we should send at least a couple of men forward tonight to analyze the area before we attack tomorrow."

(Y/n) seemed to think for a moment before they nodded with a sigh and took their scabbard, setting it around their waist. "Let's go."

Night fell fast. It wasn't long until the warm night meal had settled down in their stomachs and the only illumination across the field was of dancing flames under the starry sky of a new moon. One of (Y/n)'s direct subordinates took care of the expedition into the outskirts of Kattegat, excusing themself with the need of a full night of sleep that instead meant, secretly, having the viking slip into their tent.

Ivar lay down among the pillows with a smile on his face as he watched the warrior make sure their weapons were all placed in strategic places, just in case. They didn't know how unaware of their attack that the Vikings were. (Y/n) sighed, organizing in the corner, just like their own, the clothes Ivar had tossed to the ground.

"Undo my braids," he said softly, eyes following (Y/n) climb on the bed and hover over him. He blinked a couple of times, fingers curled around the edge of the covers that went up to his bare abdomen until they were pulled down by another pair of hands that soon started to trace Ivar’s chest. The feathery touch of (Y/n)'s fingers against the tattoo on his chest made him shiver, slowly letting out a breath that almost got caught in his throat. Soon, their hands met the base of his jaw, carefully holding his head up to press their lips against his whilst slowly and thoroughly letting themself sit down on his lap, encouraged by his hands guiding their hips.

"Be careful tomorrow," (Y/n) whispered against his lips, letting their fingers trace his jaw and dip to the back of his neck to play with the loose strands of hair.

Ivar hesitated a little, but scoffed. "Why do you care?"

Putting it into words seemed harder than piercing a sword through a man's chest. (Y/n) decided to remain silent, closing their eyes briefly as they slowly shook their head. Whatever Ivar tried to say was silenced by another kiss, which he quietly protested about with a soft groan, and the issue slowly fell into the back of his mind.

A shaky breath escaped Ivar's lips, followed by a soft noise according to how (Y/n) kissed down his neck, a hand pressed to his chest.

"(Y/n)!" A heavy voice called, belonging to none of the two. It had (Y/n) sighing and complaining under their breath—they gave Ivar a last kiss before moving away. Hiding their displeasure wasn't anything they even bothered doing, moving to the entrance of the tent and observing the soldier standing there. "Soldiers have been sent to the recognition. Prince Oleg wants to know if you've seen..." He paused, taking a step to the side as if to see something over (Y/n)’s shoulder, just to have his view blocked by them. "If you've seen Ivar Lothbrok."

"He was going for a walk the last time I saw him." (Y/n) rubbed their face, letting out a heavy breath. "Why me, tho? Send someone after him, if he's so worried, not to mention it wouldn't be the first time or anything. Ivar knows he would be killed on sight if anyone from Kattegat showed up."

The soldier's eyes peeked over their shoulder again, but his breath was caught in his throat at the sharp gaze he met. With a quick bow and some rushed words, he returned to where he had come from, the metal of the armor filling the silence of the night along with the cracking of the torches.

"What was that?" Ivar asked at the moment (Y/n) walked back in. He now sat on the bed with the blankets pooled around his hips, curious eyes following the warrior.

"Oleg. Nothing important, though," they sighed, sitting behind Ivar on the bed so they could undo his braids as asked.

"I heard my name."

"Oleg noticed you weren't in your tent."

Ivar hummed, thinking for a moment about it, but opted for falling silent as he closed his eyes briefly and leaned his head back into (Y/n)’s fingers. He would deal with that later. It wasn’t like Oleg would want to do anything right before the war and risk an inside collapse—he was crazy, but not dumb.

A soft sound was snatched from Ivar’s lips, having him open his eyes and tense up at the feeling of lips nudging under his jaw at the same time (Y/n)’s hands trailed up his chest.

.

“I hear you’re not following orders,” Oleg’s voice was tense and almost caught in his throat as he spoke without looking away from the battle that started before him. Not Ivar, not (Y/n), not Oleg himself, none of them were being risked in an invasion like this. (Y/n) stood in the backline along with the Prince whilst the Viking had disappeared to God knows where—genuinely, this time.

(Y/n)’s expression didn’t change a little bit; Oleg would’ve thought they didn’t listen to him if he didn’t know them any better. “I’m not crossing any line, as far as I know. Not disturbing this war in any manner nor lacking respect with Your Highness and Her Highness, Katya.”

Oleg huffed a discreet chuckle. “You know really well what I am talking about.”

“I’m not a slave.” (Y/n)’s eyes observed the ongoing invasion. It wasn’t that easy; they had warned Oleg, just to be ignored and force to used a strategy that was clearly not working well at all. The Russian way of fighting wasn’t prepared for the hostile Viking way they found in Bjorn’s hold. “I expect not to be treated as one anymore.”

“We have an agreement, dear.”

“And it includes me not being a slave anymore,” they sighed. “I’m not one of your mistresses either.”

“God knows what that Viking can put in your mind,” Oleg muttered as he slowly shook his head with a scoff.

“I’m stronger than that. I have principles.”

[soshadysoquiet]

TUA S4 Concerns *some spoilers for what's been teased so far*

So I'm concerned about Season 4. I want to be hopeful, but I am concerned. C o n c e r n e d.

It's short. There's bits in TUA that I don't personally enjoy as much and skip, there's bits that could have been taken out and nothing would have changed... but I like having that bit of room for more: did we need the Ikea Mafia's viking foot funeral? No. But did we need it? Yes.

The ball pit. The ball pit concerns me on a number of levels, and I'm sure it will be funny, I hope it will be funny, I just hope it's relevant enough why they're in that setting to not be too gimmicky, e.g. it made sense they ended up in the bowling alley; they probably snuck out there as kids and so it was one location they would all know, but man that ball pit worries me like a sleep paralysis demon.

The potential for germaphobe Klaus (sorry that's probs not the correct term but I can't think of what it might be). I can see why he'd be afraid of death now, but is it germ/cleanliness specific? If so why? Klaus has been one of the least concerned about hygiene up to this point so they're laying a whole new framework that I hope they give sufficient depth to. I'm an OCD sufferer myself, about death anxiety in fact, and I haven't resonated OCD with Klaus before if that is what they go for - I'm open to it, just not a cheap OCD gimmick. There's So Much trauma in all these characters at this point, my worry isn't them exploring new avenues as much as not bothering to look into the trauma they've already heaped on and doing something new for the sake of it. If it's done well, I'm all for it, but there's some previous with trauma getting forgotten on TUA so...

The Jennifer Incident. Please, please let this be more interesting than a romance story.

Lila's baby. I love Lila, I don't have a problem with her being preggo etc, I worry a little that TUA tends to speed run life so what is this actually going to look like? Parenthood is such a big life changing deal that I'm curious / cautious about what they'll have done with the characters here.

Viktor. His schtick is that He's Mr Apocalypse, sadly that limits his character coming to a place of peace in some ways. But mostly just let him have an actual conversation? Please? He'll have had 6 years this time skip, if they bullshit that 'oh no one's really seen each other in 6 years' lazy ass nonsense I'll be fuming.

As above, there's been 6 YEARS here, I want to watch the characters and feel that time has passed, that they've interacted, have in jokes now, shared history, maybe not all of them but that makes it even better; have Diego and Klaus have a cleaning routine together to help Diego understand Klaus and trying to be supportive if brusque, but then defending this to his other siblings. Have Luther share some actually positive moments with his other siblings and not just have been in Sloane-hunting solitude, make him always be trying to host awkward family BBQs that the others force (or pretend to force) themselves to go to. Have literally any of the siblings be on the look out or Five's triggers for him - and better yet actually give him some now that he's had time for the PTSD to swell. I want the small nitty gritty details, I want the filling, I want to feel the expanse of time not just 'oh shit another week and there's an apocalypse and we haven't seen each other hey ho oh look a ball pit!'

Anyway, I'm hopeful, but concerned, and I'm sure I'll love it and don't intend to be negative, it just helps me to voice them. Either way, I pray for the fan fiction that follows the series most of all, the rising of the crowd to give us more of what the series does deliver and flesh out what it does not. Is it weird to almost be more excited for that?

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hi!

I’m writing a fanfic in which the characters go to various mythical places. I want to have them go to Alomkik, a place in Abernaki mythology. However, information online seems to be scarce about it, and I’m well aware that Native and First Nation mythology has historically been butchered for entertainment. Not asking you to do research for me (obviously not! That’s my job!) but do you have any advice? I really want to do this respectfully or not at all.

Characters Visits Place from First Nations Myth

Here's the bottom line: unless you are yourself First Nations, I would not even attempt this. Not only do you risk cultural appropriation, but the fact that there is so little information available about this location... and the fact that it's associated with a legendary bird spirit, concerns me that Alomkik may have spiritual and/or deep cultural significance and firmly off the table for use by people who are not First Nations. Additionally, the lack of information available would force you to have to fill in the gaps, and I'm sure you can see the issue with someone who is not First Nations, and who is not rooted in Abenaki culture, filling in the gaps of Abenaki spiritual mythology.

Other things to consider: since you mention this is fan-fiction, if the source material has used or commonly uses places from Indigenous cultures, it's possible there are people from those cultures on the writing staff. It's also possible they just don't care and are blatantly appropriating from those cultures, but that doesn't mean you should or that it's okay for you to do it, too. Instead, if you need a mythical location in that same general area (what is now Central Maine), you could make up a fictional colonial settlement that disappeared (like the Roanoke Colony in what is now North Carolina) and give it some interesting mythical legend. Alternatively, you could create a myth around a fictional Viking settlement... Vikings are known to have settled an area 700 miles away (L'Anse aux Meadows in Newfoundland and Labrador) and some scholars believe it's possible the Vikings could have explored what is now inland Quebec via the St. Lawrence River, and as far south as Manhattan Island. That gives you plenty of realistic leeway to have a Viking settlement in inland Maine... though, you may need to look at the viability of available rivers for conveying boats far enough inland for your needs. Or, you could maybe create a legend where a particular member of a Viking exploratory group splinters with the main group and takes a small number of people as far up river as they can go, then further inland on foot until they arrive at the necessary destination. Another option would be the... dare I say it... Knights Templar... who are popularly believed to have traveled to North America to hide treasures taken from the Holy Land. My point is, there are lots of opportunities to crate an interesting mythological location using European folktales, myths, and legends rather than appropriating from Indigenous culture.

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

LEARN MORE about WQA

SEE MY ask policies

VISIT MY Master List of Top Posts

COFFEE & FEEDBACK COMMISSIONS ko-fi.com/wqa