Ivar - Tumblr Posts - Page 2

Oh yes, exactely my type..... ❤️

📷: Gif is not mine.

I've come to the conclusion that my type is "covered in blood"

Trying to figure out ages and dates in History Channel’s Vikings is like trying to solve a sudoku puzzle designed by someone while they were black-out drunk, BUT by my reckoning, Ivar would have been like 17 MAX during the siege of York. (Again, the timeline is a hot mess that can’t be trusted and I'm bad at math, but jfc.)

Just thinking about this motherfucking highschooler with brittle bone disease muscling up to his 37 year old mountain-sized brother and saying “Hmm okay but what if I was in charge?” JESUS. Of course he married his first ever girlfriend and believed her when she told him he was a God! Have you met a teen boy? Will someone PLEASE pick up this teenager and send him to summer camp?

Ivar and Valdir. No, they are not my characters. I call them "designs". Why? Because I have no intention to use them in the future - to give them a personality, a history, a soul. Ivar has been sitting in my head for nearly a year now and it's been always tempting me to draw him. Valdir is a quite fresh one. I always have this problem when creating role-play characters - I am afraid that I will screw them up. That's why nearly all of my role-play OCs are ugly - I don't want to waste a nice design on a char that may not last long. (welcome to the world of my stupid, paranoid problems ==') Anyway, enjoy.

She Was-Ivar

    Warnings: blood, self-bullying, bullying, slavery, fluff

     Summary: Ivar’s best friend, Amala, was a slave when they were children. She was later freed and their relationship grew into something more...Now, Ivar has to deal with seeing her on the battlefield, on Lagertha’s side.

      Note: slanted words are in the past. Bold, slated words are being said in the present but was also said in the past.  Amala means ‘Hard working, labor’.

      Words: 470

           There she was, her black hair flying through the breeze as Ivar stated that Ubbe was no longer his brother.

      There they were, wrestling with each other as six-year-olds, laughter rigging through the great hall. But the fun was quickly stopped as an older man demanded that the little slave girl got him more mead. Amala’s wet, sweat-stricken hair clung to her forehead as she rushed away to do the Viking’s bidding.

           There she was, completely silent as Halfdan patted her armored shoulder, telling her silently that it was time to leave the meeting. The young warriors’ eyes met; blue depths of the sea meeting the blinding Sun.

      There they were, two 12-year-olds, Ivar’s face was covered in a cheerful expression, while his closest friend’s was black; surprised, but blank. Her wide, shadowy orbs were now bright as she leaped to him and took him to the ground with a forceful hug.    She was free, at the youthful prince’s wish.

       There she was, shouting continuously to her followers, all wearing pitch-black armor and riding heavy farmer’s horses, attempting to make them more excited for the battle at hand. 

       There they were, her dancing as a mid-teenager to Sigurd’s fast-pact music, her wild, braided hair swinging with each turn of foot as he watched carefully. Amala’s pace quickened, as did the crowd’s joy. She was giggling, causing fellow villagers to join her in happiness, a few thralls swinging their hips as they danced with the Ragarsson’s ally.

      There she was, face bloodied and shell-shocked as a sword struck through her shoulder from behind, making blood sprout like an ivy’s flower. Amala screamed, Bjorn turned on his heel and went to help her, but was held back by King Harald. Ivar’s jaw dropped, stopped twirling the knife in his nimble fingers and gazed down with panic at the scene below him, on the flat land. 

       There they were, sitting in the field, they very day that Ragnar returned from his chosen exile. The vicious cripple was groaning, his legs causing him as much pain as his father coming back, and knowing that his girlfriend was soon to leave. Amala brushed away his hair from his gorgeous eyes, a smirk clear as she sat and he laid on his back. 

       “Don’t go,” he whispered, confused and angry, refusing to accept that she was leaving him, again.

        Now, her body was on the corpse covered grassland, facing towards him, dull, once golden eyes now turning into a greyish color as Halfdan gripped her cold hand, his death near. A single tear welled up and ran down the scarred face of the ambitious, blue-eyed, son of Ragnar as he watched his heart die.

        She was no longer living.              She was no more.                  She was gone.                                               And even the Sun darkened at that fact.

Think of Me part 1

.... Warning- a bit NSFW, angst

Y/N loved her husband, really, she did. But sometimes another man slipped into her head.

Ivar. Ivar, her best friend. Ivar, her husband. Ivar, the love of her life. Now just put an 'ex' in front of all of those and you'll have the situation.

Before the whole war with Lagertha, Ivar and Y/N were deeply in love, hardly capable of killing their eyes away from each other. But after avenging Ragnar and Bjorn making a side comment on you being unable to fall pregnant, Ivar refused to speak to you.

He never slept in the same bed.

Never kissed you good night.

Never asked how you were now, since your mother had died recently.

No, not ever. Not until you left.

You left with Bjorn and Halfdan, sailing to the Mediterranean. To most, that was an end to the once obsessive marriage. An end to the late nights of weeping to the gods to solve this problem. An end to hiding away your pregnancy belly...

You later married Bjorn.

He loved you. Sure, he may have not been quite as passionate as Ivar was when you two first got married. But a little love is better then none.

You have birth to a daughter, shortly after arriving in Sicily. She had dark blue eyes and dark hair, of course. It was a mock from the gods, as if they were calling you out for choosing the elder son.

Bjorn was furious when he realized you were pregnant while you were all traveling to the Mediterranean Sea. But still, he supported you.

The girl, who you named Idunna, could not walk. Her legs didn't kick while she came to life. As she got older, you developed braces for her- like Ivar's old ones.

She was just as intelligent as him, though her kindness came form you.

Now, you were on the battlefield. Standing behind your new husband, Bjorn, and his younger brother, Ubbe.

Ivar, with his freezing eyes glared at you, watching your every move. As if he wanted to snatch you away. It was a predator-prey relationship

"And what have you to say, Y/N? Hmmm? "

Bjorn's shoulders tightened under your soft hands as you replied, "I don't like war, Ivar, you know that. "

He nodded softly, but grounded his jaw down, "and?"

"And... I'd rather not have it., " Lagertha looked at you, pleading, "but if it comes to that... I'll be willing to kill you. And Hvitserk... And you, King Harald. "

Everyone agreed, but none worded any kind of acknowledgment. After the argument became worse, and Ivar proceeded to throw water in Ubbe's face, all hope of peace was lost.

Ivar and Lagertha's people moved back, yet you didn't. He was staring again. Gazing so deeply into you that you felt like all the secrets were being ripped out.

"Why did you leave me?" His voice cracked. But you knew Ivar better than anyone else, maybe he was lying. "I know you love me, " He looked back up from the grass with a tempest in his eyes, "I think- at least- that you did"

You sighed, Bjorn calling put from across the field, "I'm not sorry, Ivar. You hurt me, and you have to see that we're not children anymore. You can't just expect me to come running back like a lost puppy"

You wanted to, though. He may had ignored you, but he was mourning too. His brother was dead, killed by Ivar himself.

Both parents of his had been killed, though your mother had just been executed by a foreign king.

"Goodbye, Ivar. " You turned to leave, it the memories came crashing on.

"Y/n" He uttered something else under his breath. Yet your feet kept moving. Tears threatened to overflow as Bjorn wrapped a strong arm around your waist, pulling you on for a hug before rushing to prepare troops.

You and Ivar really loved one another, your first kill was for him. He defended you for years against childhood bullies.

He was your first kiss. You briefly remember his soft lips, the sweetness behind them and his gentle grown when your hand found his hair to tug at.

Your tent was filled with little giggles, Idunna. She was only a baby, and Bjorn only allowed her to come because of your fears. He called you irrational, but you swore to stay off the battle field.

A healer with red hair watched over her, Torvi offered weeks ago, but you kindly offered. Bjorn still looked at her with some lust.

Was this love?

Being second to everyone? Sure, you were Ivar's first for a lot of things. First kiss, first time having sex, first marriage, first kid. Well, he didn't know about the last part.

"Here you are, ma'am" Offering a smile, you readily accepted Idunna from the healer.

"Little Idunna, light of my life." You paced, keeping her giggling, but she would become hungry soon.

It was funny, really how this one child had traveled farther than most people in Kattegat.

"Maybe you know what love is"

To Bjorn you were his second. Second wife, second to father his children, second person who he loved the most.

When you and ivar made love, it was with lust and longing. Those lingering touches lingered just a little bit longer than normal.

Those caresses moved to other parts of the body.

Those impure thoughts and wet dreams became real. The pleasure of feeling him so deep left you limping the day after.

"Wife!" Here he comes, Bjorn.

Bjorn was selfish and stubborn, he left Torvi without her consent, an illegal act to the gods.

You often wondered why, but paid no heed to dig deeper in questions.

He too, was a satisfying lover. He preformed for far longer than what you wanted to. He was barely ready while you were already half asleep.

"Wife!" His blonde hair swing with his overbearing body as he came in the tent. "You must go"

You frowned "Where? Back to Kattegat? "

He nodded.

"But what if you loose this battle I'll be alone in Kattegat when Ivar comes riding in! " You were exasperated.

"Just go, " His hands softly brushed away Idunna's soft-as-dawn hair. "It's for the best"

What you didn't know was he was going to loose this war. Ivar would come for you, and he would be well pleased with his prize.

Before leaving the camp with a few warriors you took a dye and bleached your daughter's hair as light as possible.

Idunna the Boneless would live as Bjorn's child- not Ivar's.

Ivar: I'm beginning to think... maybe... I did something wrong.

Hvitserk: ...

Ivar: probably not.. but maybe