The Evolution and Adaptation of Witchcraft in the Modern World.
I keep seeing people bitching and being gatekeepers about pop culture witchcraft but here’s the thing, in order for something to survive it must adapt and that’s what witchcraft is doing, it’s adapting to fit our modern times. And I’m not saying the old ways aren’t valid anymore because they still are but the craft is evolving because in order to survive and keep going it needs to.
If you practice the old ways, that’s cool, you do you. If you are using the modern adaptation of witchcraft, cool. If you’re doing both, fantastic! But don’t discredit shit because it doesn’t follow your path or it isn’t “the traditional way!” It’s also toxic as fuck to tell someone to do the path of witchcraft you want them to do because that’s being a controlling, manipulative asshole.
Hell, if technology didn’t advance those people wouldn’t be able to make a tumblr rant about modern witchcraft.
Witchcraft evolves to survive like everything else but it can still keep its old elements. And I won’t be arguing with anyone about this because I’ve made my point and if you can’t see my side then you’re not worth the time.
Notes: Hello everyone! I’ve been reading (stalking) everything about Vikings lately(well mostly Ivar because let’s face it I’m Ivar trash right now) and you guys made me want to write something of my own. So there it is! My first one-shot. English is not my native language so I’m sorry if there is any mistakes. This is my first smut as well so please bear with me! Feedback are always welcomed. I hope you’ll enjoy it!
Becoming a skilled shieldmaiden was the only thing you ever dreamed of since you were a child. But your parents did not like the idea of you risking your life so they never wanted you to learn. They always said that you would become a farmer like them and take over the family’s farm, like they did. When you turned thirteen, you did not listen any longer and escaped every morning to go train all by yourself with a sword you found one day near the river. Without any experience, your training was not helpful at all; all you did was swinging your sword, desperately trying to gain some skills. One afternoon, while you were practicing, you heard laughs behind you. The Ragnarssons, princes of Kattegat, were watching you. Since that day, they helped you training and fast you became really good at this. Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd treated you like a close friend and you saw in them the brothers you never had. As for Ivar, it was deadly complicated. At the beginning, he did not like you at all, always mocking you, telling you how bad you were or how your body was not fitted to be a warrior. He was hurting your feeling but you had never showed it. One day, you had enough and challenged him. Unfortunately, you lost the fight but it was enough to show him that you were not just a poor girl trying desperately to become a fighter. Since that day, he was more careful with his words; he even helped you and showed you some tricks. With time, you both fell for each other.
You were not inclined to share your night with either of them at this rate. Both bickering like children who had lost their toy.
"I think I’m going to see Ubbe.” Rolling your eyes, you smile when the two look up at you. The shock and irritation was written all over their faces.
Bjorn and Ivar both didn’t look very pleased with that outcome. While they tolerated each other as best as they could, adding someone else to the party was out of the question. The brothers weren’t the best of friends and you often wondered how these two managed to keep it somewhat civil. Sharing wasn’t a trait either of them possessed.
Ivar smirks while grabbing your arm to keep you from leaving, “If you’re so eager to have another man how about I fuck you in front of everyone here. I’m sure quite a few of the men in the camp would love to join in.”
Whether its five minutes or a few seconds, you and Ivar always dissolve into fights furious enough to shake the walls. Despite that, it’s rare for a certain unspoken line to be crossed. That is until Aslaug locks you two in a room to sort out your near non-existent differences, only to frustrate you both to a boiling point of honesty.
“If you are going to act like children then you will be punished like children.” Aslaug chimed through the door. You yanked on the locked handle, a flash of anger igniting higher when the only other person in the small room with you shouted in an equal fury.
“Mother this is ridiculous! Open the door!”
She was toying with you both, stroking the already double inferno of rage locked safely behind the door. Queen Aslaug always bore a smile in your company, though you weren’t sure why. Not that you two didn’t get along or shared many interests, but whenever you and your family came to visit, Hel broke loose. Something that entertained Aslaug endlessly. But it was a bit strange given it involved her youngest and favored son, you and Ivar spitting venom at each other whenever in the same room for five minutes.
Even now you could hear the smile in her words. “I am going for a walk. Hope you two decide to be well behaved by the time I get back.”
Both you and Ivar called, begging and fighting for a release from each others presence. A silence came waiting for her response and you both slumped realizing she was already gone. In a last fit you kicked the door, crossing your arms pouting and refusing to turn around and face Ivar. “This is your fault.”
Modern AU Soldier Ivar x Reader A Broken Warrior: One-shot, 10,759 words. (Treat yourself to a glass of wine while reading this. Or two. It really is that long. One day I will learn my lesson. One day…) Warnings: Angst. Swearing. Amputation. Very, very mild descriptions of sexual intercourse. All of the Heathen Army’s amazing Modern AU Ivar fics inspired me to go in all out and write a one-shot for two of my favourite things - Ivar and uniforms! It was meant to be a little fluff fic, then it progressed onto a medium angst fic but in the end it just ended up being a big, old mess of hurt/comfort because I just can’t quit. It’s ended up being REALLY long so I hope it isn’t too difficult to follow. I realised about 2/3rds of the way through that this should have been a series but I couldn’t bring myself to start again since I have Healing Hands to finish.
As a little girl, you never knew what kind of man you’d end up loving when you grew up. Sometimes you imagined being the wife of a doctor, or maybe the wild, leather-wearing lover of rock star. Occasionally, you even saw yourself marrying an astronaut or even becoming the glamorous girlfriend of a famous football player. The one thing you’d never imagined was falling head over heels for a soldier but that was exactly what happened when Ivar Lothbrok walked into your empty bar on a quiet Tuesday afternoon.
As a student in a big city, you knew that you had to get a part-time job to help yourself through college. Back in your own home town, your parents had owned a local diner so the logical option was to seek employment as a waitress. It wasn’t difficult to find work tending tables in a place that had both a university and a military base so soon enough, you started working at a local watering hole. It didn’t take very long for you to get a promotion to a bartender and after a few weeks of training, your manager felt comfortable enough to leave you alone on quiet week nights. It was during one of these slow weekdays that a group of three men and two women crashed through the doors, laughing cheerfully as they collapsed into a booth at the back of the bar.
Here’s a compact little navigation for y’all (and for myself) to access specific show content by tag (and mostly to help myself stay organized). I’ll be collecting as much content as I can manage, ranging from photos to videos to shitposts.
If you see any discrepancies, anything that needs to be corrected, etc., don’t hesitate to shoot me a message or an ask!
* As a note, the 2018 tour will have its own page.
Did you like that, little rabbit? I can feel your heart beating like a caged thing. What did you like the most? Tell me. I saw your breath hitch and your chest heave. I wonder… Does the sight of the blood excite you? Is your cunt dripping as you shift your thighs? Do you yearn for me to take you while we’re still covered in it?
Your and Ivar’s explicit escapades haven’t gone unnoticed, more so your confident demeanor amidst free men and slaves alike. Ivar is confronted in front of the whole army for being weak in not making you submit.
“We need to talk about your slave.”
Ivar snapped back behind his drink. He looked in the general direction he last saw you, then back to the rigid young soldier, Oleg, looming over his Commanders breakfast. Glancing innocently to Hvitserk, who avoided him with a smirk, he apparently already foresaw this confrontation and never bothered to bring it up. Putting down his cup Ivar straightened in his chair. “What about my slave?”
“You need to get her under control.” He nearly laughed when this warrior, this subordinate, crouched down, fists clenched knuckle white on the table as he stalked above Ivar. Apparently just too angry with you to recognize Ivar’s warning glare. “The other slaves are getting defiant. Especially the Saxon ones.”
Ivar rubbed his fingers together in thought, not breaking away the tense combative glower they shared. He could defend you, could brush it off as nothing, could stand up and bark at this ill-mannered glory seeker, instead he waved for an idle slave to fetch you. The glower melted away, baring his teeth in a more friendly manner. “How is it any of my business that you can’t put a handle on your own slaves?”