#odinns eye

[balu8]

Odinn's Eye #1

by Tomas Giorello

Bad Idea

#bad idea comics #tomas giorello #odinn's eye

[lore-olympus-saga]

Demeter did not like Loki.

Not many gods liked Loki when you think about it. Many of them actually hated them. Demeter didn’t hate them yet. 

But she was starting to as she saw them looming over her newborn. 

Hated to see those long blood red strand of hair tickling her child who stared back, unknowingly, at the god of Chaos itself. A god who has walked among them, took notes about them, flanked by two crows, and reported everything to the Allfather of Asgard. A thief of secrets. As if Olympus didn’t have enough problem with Eris wrecking chaos when she was awake. 

Plants and roots twirled to turned into pointy spears, ready to strike the intruder. To pierce the flesh of the jötnar without a second of hesitation. They were not welcome in Demeter’s domain. 

Yet, as Kore pulled on the jötun's braid, Demeter was surprise to see tears twinkling inside the Trickster's eyes. Grief had settled on this god’s face instead of the trademark smirk they bore around others. Trembling fingers delicaltly pried the hair away from those little hands. Slowly, they rose up and stepped away of the newborn.

“I have daughter too you know?” Loki whispered. So low that at first it took the godess a few seconds to understand him. Loki turned towards her, uncaring of the weapons she had pointed at them. “A wonderful little girl. But she’s away now. Far… Away.”

Demeter felt a clench in her chest in sympathy and pity… 

Yes, thoughout realms and kingdoms it was known that Hela, the daughter of chaos, became the Queen of Helheim unwillingly, Queen of the dead of the northmen. The tales of her disfigured face travelled far and wide. The ones about her fate, the one Asgardians gave her, followed closely behind. Do not get on the bad side of Asgard. So be it if some ally's family is caught in the crossfire as long as it is for Asgard.

“She’s beautiful. You can be proud Godess of the seasons” Loki whispered as they looked back at the baby. “A cute little rose bud,” they chuckled softly when the baby cooed back at them. “I see why Odinn was interested in her.”

Demeter felt fear shackle her limbs for a split second before she made the roots strike. 

No.

No no no, it can’t be! Not her precious daughter barely born!

She couldn’t bare to imagine what the Allfather interest was into a child. But that man was cruel and unfair towards his own people. 

You must never catche Odin’s eye before a battle! She heard humans saying. Don’t catch Odinn’s eye!

For if he takes a liking to you, he won’t protect you. He’ll let death catch you so you can stand by his side in Valhöl 

Loki sidestepped the attack and rushed out of her range. Their feet barely touching the ground as they leaped, slid between plants and trees. Off into the distance, to report back to their brother probably. Demeter rushed and picked her child into her arms, shaking. Not her sweet daughter, no one will ever touch her.

Out of Demeter’s domain, Loki stopped and open their cape. Gently grasping the head tied to their waist, they lifted it so they could face Mimir’s white eyes.

“Say it again. The future you saw of this child, please, repeat it.”

And Mimir answered:

I see the the maiden, born from roses 

I see her, shackled in thorns.

For the care and love from others will be bitter poison 

And the beauty she bares will earn her scorns. 

She will shine and be wanted, 

And taken for granted.

She will break and wrath will take

What sweet innocence she had left. 

She will be crowned with love and dread. 

All hail the maiden and Queen of the dead.

Loki willed themself not to squeeze the head in anger as the words tumbled from his lips. Angry? At who? At the fate that the little rose bud seemed to have and has yet to face? Or was it at himself? 

He couldn’t protect his daughter. Demeter will not be able to save her’s. For the words that tumbled out of Mimir’s mouth are laced with a bitter truth that cannot be changed.

But I see something that may change the stakes.

Loki jumped and nearly dropped the head. They blinked as Mimir continued, with a offended frown at Loki’s handling.

Years to come she will face others and herself. 

If allies stand by her side she may have what it takes

To stand, fight and shield any kindness she’ll have left.

Beware, before spring’s arrival, there will be a harsh winter

And as an Asgardian, Loki, think twice before your share your fire.

The trickster stared at the wise man eyes before looking above in the sky. Twin crows were circling above them. As the birds flew down to land newt to them they sighed.

“Of course I will. Always will, always have.”

They knelt down and offered a hand for Huginn to jump on. It rubbed it’s beak against the jötnar’s sleeve with contempt. Loki sighed.

It was time to go back home.

(Few sketches I've done in regards of this little piece of fanfic between Demeter and Loki)

(This is the "first" meeting between Loki and Persephone, but I'm working on the second meeting, years after this one ^^)

#loki #norse myths #lore olympus #myth loki #norse mythology #lo demeter #mimir #lo critical #lore olympus saga #lore olympus au #fanfic #lo fanart #sorry for any mistakes

[luckycl0ve]

There was a wolf, howling, and a greybeard with one eye. He bid me follow him . . . I saw Odinn, and the Nornir spinning the threads of fate. They were watching me . . . The wolf was eager for my attention as if it were beckoning me to follow . . . I saw the gates to Odinn's hall of slain champions. They opened to me.

#ac valhalla #assassin's creed valhalla #eivor wolfkissed #eivor varinsdóttir #eivor varinsson #tagging both patronyms with transgender intent 👍🏻 #sorry for posting ac like it's my fault. 🙏🏻 help lol

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Detached

Summary: Written for AI-less Whumptober 2023 Day 8. Set after RttE’s Shell-shocked Part 1 & 2. Viggo dissociates near the Edge volcano.

Warning: /

Rating: General

Characters: Hiccup, Viggo

Pairing: /

Words: 448

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: Dissociation

Whumpee: Viggo

Author’s Notes: Don't really have much to say for this one. Just saw this prompt, had some trouble finding the right idea for this one, but then eventually settled on a Viggo whump fic.

Enjoy!

@ailesswhumptober

XOXOX

There are only two things he remembers the most; the heat and the pain.

The heat was like an all consuming fire, though there were no actual flames licking at his skin. It fell like a weight on him, slowly suffocating the life out of him. He couldn’t breathe, the very air felt like it burned him alive on the inside.

The pain was sudden and blinding. One moment, there was just the heat, the next he was writhing on the ground, screaming in agony as his flesh was eaten away and his eye blinded. He was thrusted into endless suffering, the kind that made him wish for death as a mercy.

That is what he remembers most.

-XOXOX-

“Viggo.”

“Viggo, hey!” Hiccup waves his hand in front of the man in an attempt to gain his attention. The closer they got to the Edge Volcano, the less present he seems.

“Hm, yes?” Viggo’s answer comes out rather dazed, something the younger man isn’t used to see from him.

“I was asking you if you were sure about this?” He repeats his question. He’s patient. Surprised that Viggo would come back so soon after the whole ordeal with the Shellfire dragon and being found burned and bleeding on his doorstep, but patient.

Viggo doesn’t answer and that feels like an answer enough.

He thought of coming here, retrieving the Dragon-Eye, and solidifying this sudden alliance with the Dragon Riders. They did just spent weeks helping him heal, all the while cleaning up the mess the Hunters had made of their island, their volcano in particular. The earth rumbles ever so often, the mountain is angry. Yet, despite this impossible problem, Hiccup still spent his nights keeping Viggo company. And a clean slate deserves to be commemorated with an artifact.

But now that they’re here, nearing the top, he feels unwell.

There’s this disconnection that he can’t quite explain. He’s in his body, watching through his own eyes, yet doesn’t feel like a part of himself and it’s a truly dizzying experience. He feels faint, his reality a stranger to him.

He must wear a look that says as such, Hiccup grows worried.

“Okay, you know what?” He starts, “how about we go back down and enjoy a nice lunch instead? Odinn knows it took me a long time to return to where I lost my leg.”

A chuckle leaves him, but Viggo finds himself not noticing, much like how he didn’t hear his question just moments earlier.

Grabbing him by the arm, Hiccup isn’t giving him any choice. He pulls Viggo back down with him again, Toothless following close behind. The Dragon-Eye will have to wait for another day.

#ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptober #day 8 #dissociation #httyd fics #httyd movies #rtte #race to the edge #hiccup haddock #viggo grimborn #viggo whump #my fanfics #detached

[ener-chi]

How your "vision" perceives Odin as? As somebody with anime leaning vision I wouldn't be surprised if I see him as like somebody from Ouran High Host Club for example lol.

Hi anon!

Haha omggg I LOVE Ouran!! It's always been one of my favorite animes. And ngl I got a really good laugh trying to picture what Odinn might look like in the Ouran style 😂😂

I guess when I see spirits/beings/deities/places etc it's not really leaning to any one particular style. I guess I usually see it pretty close to how I see things in the real world. Though there have been a few exceptions to this.

The way I see Odinn... he is constantly surrounded by his Raven's. His realm is dark and foggy and kind of... ominous?? It has a slightly unsettling energy, like when it's dark and cloudy and a storm is brewing.

He's tall. Very tall. Like inhumanly tall. He's slim. Typically wearing a dark cloak that covers his whole body. He carries long wooden staff with something on the end of it. He uses this as a walking stick and as a magical staff. It is inscribed in runes and he also has runes surrounding him.

He has a beard, and an eye patch. I've seen him without the eye patch, and prefer him with it on lmao. His face is old and grizzled. His face can appear grim and serious, but also there is a lot of wisdom and knowing behind it.

So yeah! That's how I typically see him. Though he is known to shapeshift occasionally. But this is what I usually see him has.

Thanks for the ask!

Blessings!

#odin #odinn #norse #norse gods #mine #asks #witchcraft #witchblr #paganism #od

[kendrixtermina]

(a contemplation of all that is – the country of death)

part 1: allegorica;

First of all there was death,

living in his house with his wife and his daughter,

first-ground of all being,

setting out to make the world like a little distraction for himself.

First there was death:

Nergal the fierce one,

Osiris, Lord of Silence,

Odinn the wanderer

Plouton the wealthy

Hades the unseen,

firstborn son of kronos,

who in another world should have been heir to all the world,

and all things will come to him still,

but for a little delay:

Helios the all seeing, from his vantage point,

was not so wrong in telling Demeter that there could be no worthier husband for her daughter;

And yet she still grieved and despaired

and let the green plentifulness of her days turn to cracking barrenness

for that’s what mothers do,

when death snatches their sweet maidens from their loving arms -

First there was death,

who patiently holds out his hands.

part 2: romantique;

flesh of alabaster, drowned in bacterial mats of green

a silhouette that is dead in the water:

I splay myself upon the grave, making love to the soft brown earth,

and I there I am seized by black hands,

pulling me under, just as promised.

For long my ghost has kept its watch beneath the gothic arches;

I was hoping, that in the last days,

you would lift me from my mausoleum to the tune of a world left in ruin,

a blackened sun,

spared only to let sink in the moment of last humiliation,

the chronology of a family

that is but children’s dolls with insect heards

monstrous vermin, scattered scales of butterfly wing

and bettle carapace feather, all the same light scattered

white specters emerging from a crimson sea of blood,

beneath a bare black sky and the unforgiving cosmos

corner-of-the-eye glipmse of white shapes:

I don’t want to look close enough to discern

if this be the shrouds of ghosts, or wings of angels

focussing on it would make the apparition real,

reinforce the neural pathway,

hints of motion, falling splotches of black

like glitches in a ruined phone monitor

don’t you know death is surveiling all this world on his flight?

Overlooking wan tepid waters infested with mosquitos,

flowing brackish pallor,

source of both life and disease.

My hands are still clawed around my wish, but surely yet slowly,

they are decomposing,

shriveled skin ripping like discount cloth

Soon I will be forced to let go:

It all goes to his tall black castle,

his vast, great realm

of pike-like unforgiving structures,

towers whose tips ought to draw blood from the crimson evening sky

Even casually wading into the waters,

still as a ripe fruit in bloom,

I know of all the souls that these waters have washed away,

and their greedy palms and mouth,

apt to rend in deprivation,

to devour an all the more endless supply

of what can no longer fill them.

My bathing in the moon is precarious:

Soon now, I understood,

we will be trodden in the very same mud,

and maybe the one I love and I will both be eaten by the same mushrooms,

sealed into one heavy hypheous mass,

or perhaps my remains will be as grime within machines,

dust clogging computer parts,

deceased alone amid a mountain of metal.

Mouth filled with pipe-tubes and yet taken in mid-dream

For both dreams and pain source their provenance from the heart,

from it flow both blood and flowers.

And this, I am to hold out to another person,

inducting them with a whisper?

(and stain our clothes with fruit juice, gore and tears)

All that either of us could share with us

is mired here in this country of death

part 3: metaphysicana;

the country of death can be a beautiful place.

For dreams are possible within it.

They always end, but they are possible

the physical laws do not forbid them,

though they do not preserve them for free.

It is possible to picture a hundred world that will never be

Even a country without death,

though it’s not a given that our minds could comprehend what this means.

We can imagine only that which we understand:

We understand nothing.

Just the deafening flayer-noise of utter confusion

There is nothing TO understand,

just the hard walls of the arbitrary when you’ve exhausted all the questions why:

The world is utter black night,

beneath which there’s a river lined with delightfully oversized mushroooms,

dimly illuminated by an uneasy light.

The world is a wall of red fog into which everything dissapears,

growing fainter and fainter the more you gaze after it into the distance,

suspended in air upon one of many crude polygonal platforms

covered in colorful textures, repeating patterns,

hanging as a circumscribed island in an unfinished void,

wide, but bare of anywhere else to go,

but the untouchable limits in this bubble of being,

invisible walls.

The world is like a bouquet arranged with a catch,

plastic stems and leaves artfully draped in an artful arangement,

and skewered upon their tips are gummies,

in a mockery of natural fruiting and growth

sweet bears and sour worms,

hair vitamins and omega 3

the kinds that make you sleep, and the kinds that make you high

paired with organ meats of that same, rubbery texture,

but we don’t like them as much since they are dripping and reeking,

since they have structure and undefinable bits,

strings, nerves vessels

that aren’t so convenient for ignoring the origins of the gelatine.

The world is a long black straight canal plowed through a flat barren field,

a sad dream of irrigation,

dreamt beneath a noxious red sky laced with heavy fumes,

streaked by band of rainbrow split in a distant prism,

what seems like a wonder but cannot be touched,

becoming just a beam that stains your hands,

the fluffy cloud but a vapor of mist.

And crawling here, at desolations cusp,

but chubby children, but curious toddlers,

small bodies not yet grown around their heavy brains,

drinking from the only water, dirty and tepid thought it be,

like an insect through its long curled beak.

The worls is like a great wide board of chess,

black and white stretching out far into the distance,

ringed by sharp bare mountains,

suspended under the heavy spheres of meaningful planets,

glistening there spinning in the icy void

lying dead foaming at the mouth is the horse that somehow got you there,

standing in your own in this desolations are you, the traveller,

dwarfed by the wide distances between everything that surrounds you.

You have two legs, you can walk freely,

but it’s unlikely that you can ever get anywhere.

You are not a figure of chess,

neither of their simple assigned characteristics could ever cover you

yet you still move across the paths as one of them,

ashering to the rules that you do not believe,

if only so you know how they will answer.

This world is like reaching out to touch,

sphaghetti pile of nerves that you are,

through a door to another door,

through a membrane to another membrane,

Feeling what you think is touch across it.

The world is objects in three dimensions,

highlighted or not through the shine of their inversions and bulges,

hoping for the three-dimensional angel,

that will bring to them some schema or mapping or ultimate systemic truth

of the pattern in which all the other three-domensional objects are arranged.

As if that could ever change that the learner of that truth,

and all that truth concerns,

yet remain but three dimensional objects.

part 4: sobering up;

So that is the world.

But what can we do about it?

There’s not a lick that we can.

The cosmos cares nothing.

And yet we still grieve and despair

and let the green plentifulness of her days turn to cracking barrenness

in awareness of death.

Realizing about the world is like a distorted flesh lounding on a couch,

in the uneasy light of of garish brightness,

a lone cone surrounded by black,

skinless shape, not even ugly, just bizzare, surreal,

casaully existing in images without meaning.

As absurd as those fragments of random phrases,

half-seen half-imagined shapes, or beepings.

The correct perception is no less absurd than the malfunctions.

Knowing about the world is like stuffed moose-heads hanging on walls,

for sale in a cramped small room that could not hold the full grown animal living,

seen as by a passerby on the street through the shop-window pane,

illuminated in the empty antiques show, in a jaundiced light,

standing out against the dark of night.

Experiencing this world is a sharp break in something like an old fine porcelain plate,

once a sig of opulent, now just yellowed wallpapers,

dustly clutter heaped up in a place that smells of its elderly residents’ decaying components,

replaced, where the tacky ends, with sharp barbed wires that wrap around the rusty old cutlery,

ready to prick all who might dare to disentanle it,

to fix it, out of some sentimental pain,

just so that it can catch dust on a shelf of their own.

Living in this world is like the dust-like fragility of precious dried butterfly wings;

Like the cakes of dust accumulating on every surface.

It is like a festival of clowns beneath a black sky of stars, 

The satyrs all in costume, and between them, fitting right in, 

The likeness of death, not a mask at all, 

Not bothered by life, not hating it, 

Come as a farmer comes to see the bounteous what field before the reaping

It is like looking at the essence of yourself, 

And seeing only a sad mosaic of arbitrary disconnected parts, 

No quintessential spark of being anywhere to be found.

Your very grace disintegrates you.

It is like finding that you are empty after you'd learned that nothing external can fill you,

like hearing you are false, but not believing those tales about truth.,

naught but new carnival-masks to replace the old,

naught but wishful thinking to fill what knowledge has torn down

Encountering others in this world is to be as a flayed giant,

all made up of veins and cabled, all swarmed over by the residents of its future city,

all the many little laborers and technicians who think that they have some business working on it,

tweaking, adjusting, burrowing their tiny tools into its flesh.

Waking up to the world,

(day after day!),

is like sitting upon a monument as a wizened, cloaked old woman,

surrounded by graves,

crowned by barren trees,

under a black sun:

It would be prudent not to bother leaving this your postures of lamentation,

for sooner than you know,

the graves will ever keep to increase in number,

and decrease they never will.

This world is the country of death.

It was never, ever ours.

#feelings #poetry #baby tries to art

[hubmuses]

hello folks !! you may refer to me ooc as Lady bug   !! my pronouns are she / her and i am currently 28 ! these are the following rules that I would like you to obey listen to ! ( as the rules are kind’ve long I have made a keep reading for them .  )

no minors. this blog is based off norse myths and gods and as such gore, horror, sexual content, and other themes will be featured. I will check to make sure your age is listed somewhere on your page !!!

please don’t god - mod , or meta - play ! I can control my character’s actions as you can do to your own, however if I feel you are controlling my character’s actions I will inform you. if you persist I will block you. simple as that.

shipping is based off chemistry. I am much more pickier with this as he is an old blog. but if i notice some chemistry between them ? i’m all for it then! i will occasionally throw out shipping calls and if you are interested DMS me, or let me know somehow and we can discuss test threads where we see if the chemistry is there or not!

I use formatting , and icons. if any of my formatting is too much just DMS me about it, and i will adjust. with that in mind I do not need my partners to have formatting or icons! I am fine with whatever you do! I might adjust to match your own style just because it is easier on the eyes when I look through our threads!

I am a Pagan practioner, & work closely with both Odinn and Loki. That means my portrayal will always be extra special for me as it is in honor of my Gods. This one’s not a rule. Just something to know about me. (:

#rules.

[gnosticreign-a]

the first of the eleven fatui harbingers, said to be their leader next to the tsaritsa herself. he rarely attends to matters below the tsaritsa’s gaze, deigning to have the harbingers take care of their own matters, but there are always secrets below the surface.

PRIORITY: testing

IMPORTANT INFORMATION

obviously, this portrayal is 99% likely to be thrown over like a cat toy because i’m picking him up at first blush. i’ll work to adapt my portrayal accordingly until everything goes sideways, but until then, you get to deal with me.

also, this portrayal has him as kaeya’s uncle, rather than the popular theory of being his father. it feels more interesting to me in that regard.

this guy’s gonna be a good portion text until i get more icon material, too.

profile information under the cut.

THE BASICS

full name: hari alberich aka: the royal advisor ( formerly ), pierro, the first harbinger, the jester age: over 500 years old gender & pronouns: male & he/him orientation: bisexual species: human ethnicity: khaenri’an occupation: acts as an advisor to the tsaritsa as well as a leader of the eleven harbingers, as well as the fatui as a whole residence: zapolyarny palace

PHYSICAL

height: 6′8″ hair: grayed; formerly a dark blue eyes: ice blue in his left eye, a purple-black in his right scars: various; specifically, a large scar upon his chest, one over his right eye, as well as several upon his legs tattoos: a starry mural upon his back piercings: none notable traits: a mask covering half his face, very warm clothing, bearing a presence close enough to royalty without being so face claim(s): himself

PERSONALITY

birthdate: december 21st zodiac: capricorn positive traits: wise, benevolent, methodical, ambitious, poetic negative traits: manipulative, selfish, suspicious, cynical to all but the tsaritsa

PHYSICAL

physical: healthier than expected of someone of his appearance phobias: n/a eyesight: 20/20 drug use: n/a alcohol use: occasional

PERSONAL LIFE

parents: odinn alberich and his wife frea siblings: an older brother, shankara alberich relatives: a niece, kaeya

SKILLS AND ABILITIES

the wisdom of an advisor. having been the advisor to his older brother and king, before somewhat becoming one to the tsaritsa, pierro is a man who understands the world of teyvat very well, and knows best how to approach a situation. those that fail have merely been interfered with.

the control of a director. patience and detail are both required to weave a tapestry, and the tsaritsa’s design is a fine one indeed. it is he who draws the lines across the nations for the fatui to roam to, even to the ends of teyvat.

claymore mastery. one would be wise not to presume that he isn’t able to fight. he is leader first and a servant of the tsaritsa second, but a warrior was something that had to be trained into.

cryo vision. although he did not use a delusion, his ambition didn’t give him a vision until the tsaritsa took him under his wing. at that point, he believed it was a sign that his allegiance was true.

#( masterpost ) #— ❛❛ // 𝐢. 𝗽𝗶𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗼 ¦ ᶜᵒˡᵈ ᶦⁿ ʰᵉʳ ᵏᶦⁿᵍᵈᵒᵐ ˢᶦᶻᵉ ⁽ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᶠᵒʳ ʰᵉʳ ᶠʳᵒᶻᵉⁿ ᵉʸᵉˢ ⁾ ・ 「 ic post ! 」 #— ❛❛ // 𝐢𝐢. 𝗽𝗶𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗼 ¦ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˢᶦˡᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᶦˢ ʰᵉʳ ᶠᵃᵛᵒʳᶦᵗᵉ ˢᵒᵘⁿᵈ ・ 「 musings ! 」 #— ❛❛ // 𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝗽𝗶𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗼 ¦ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵃʳᵈˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵃᵗᶜʰ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᶠᵃˡˡ ・ 「 headcanons ! 」 #— ❛❛ // 𝐢𝐯. 𝗽𝗶𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗼 ¦ ᵗᵉˡˡ ᵐᵉ ʷʰᶦᶜʰ ᶦˢ ʷᵒʳˢᵉ ⁽ ˡᶦᵛᶦⁿᵍ ˀ ᵈʸᶦⁿᵍ ˀ ⁾ ・ 「 wardrobe ! 」 #— ❛❛ // 𝐯. 𝗽𝗶𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗼 ¦ ᵛᶦˢᶦᵒⁿˢ ʷᵉ ᵛᵃⁿᵈᵃˡᶦᶻᵉ ・ 「 aesthetics ! 」

[devoutpriest]

bloodiedwolf:

‘ THAT’S because he is. ’ perhaps, arya thought, that might have been too coarse, too blunt, too, but she gave no apology for what ought to have been a simple truth ; ambition and hunger ( for power, for knowledge, for MORE ) all but shone through the man’s eyes and dripped from his tongue every time she looked at him, every time he opened his mouth to say anything, it seemed to her, and it didn’t have to be a bad thing all on its own but – there was a reason she’d warmed to lagertha more quickly than to her husband. even so, when silence fell thick and heavy upon her ears, arya glanced down in turn, chewing at her lip ; wondering briefly if she shouldn’t retract the statement, before deciding against it. she was only saying what she saw – if others couldn’t see it, that was no concern of hers. she sees the bowl of soup pushed towards her by the priest, he sliding it across the table to her, yet makes no movement to drink. ‘ but haraldson’s dead, and ragnar’s not. ’ another truth, albeit perhaps less simple ; she’d come here to wash her hands and face and mouth of blood, only to find more. ( IT DOESN’T MATTER, a small voice in her head answered. THERE’S BLOOD AND BLEEDING ANYWHERE YOU GO, IT DOESN’T MATTER. ) her breath shook faintly on the next exhale, but her eyes were dry as a bone – the tremor more of restrained, caged anger than of trying not to cry. ( most days, it seemed as though she didn’t remember how to do that. ) ‘ they were the king’s bannermen. supposed to be loyal. only they weren’t. ’

it was true, that ragnar hungered for knowledge, and perhaps ambition, YES, did play into that. cat’s tone of voice made his mind wonder whether she held some grudge towards ragnar, for some unforeseen reason.

“ragnar DID win the battle of combat against haraldson, i saw. when all hope seemed lost, he seemed to suddenly strike back with a renewed strength.”

he had been stabbed by haraldson, he holding his wound, red blooming on his white shirt, and then...the strength of odinn coursed through his body, he living to fight another day, fighting through his agonised pain. he was near to valhalla...he sensing the valkyries, the sky looming closer to him with crows circling the sky, yet he remembered his family.

cat’s next response made him think that was even WORSE, than if they were merely acquainted with each other. to pledge a fealty, ·to swear to serve until their dying breath and live within amity with each other, only to back-stab their lord in the worst way imaginable…

“to stray so far from being subject to the law, that is surely unforgivable. and did they have a name, these bannermen?”

#rp partner | bloodiedwolf #ic

[fatedtime]

😡🖌️ For Huginn

😡 Do they have any enemies and/or rivals from their past? How serious of a threat are they to your OC?

Why would they have any rivals or any threats??? they're just a silly little guy ♥ who would want to hurt such a silly little guy?

(In truth, and this is the truth they will deny until it is dragged from them: they still love Odinn. They love him so much it bleeds. All those curses and resentments that are directed towards the All-Father would naturally be directed towards them as well, even if they are a copy of a copy of a copy of what someone once was.)

🖌️: What is their go-to hobby? When did they start learning it? Why do they like it?

Origami! They learned it from YouTube tutorials because they are bored as FUCK in the arctic and it was easy enough to do at their desk. They love making little guys and they used to give them to their fellow staff members. Little of that survived the fire, though.

They also indulge in poetry and woodcarving. They don't remember where exactly they learned it from -- those are confined to the hazy annals of their past -- but they kept it up because it gives them something to occupy their idle mind and hands. They also just love words, and etching those words into wood!

...Perhaps it brings them closer to forests that they cannot remember seeing with their own eyes.

#huginn #oc ask meme #fatedtime oc

[us-cj]

● From last year

"My eyes roll back to white, I was born a million years ago in distant worlds, so we're you. We are all the exploding energy emanating from the Godhead at the time before the start of time. WE ARE THE WITCHCRAFT! HEXENNACHT ÜBER ALLES! The night of Witches lasts forever as we trip in the endless light of the Black Sun, on the edge of forests, in tenebrous alleys, over cold moors, deep in the heart of a concrete world you can still find us, a cancer sent by the Most High to poison their fucking worthless world. Our God's name is "Evil Doer"! Bölverkr, King of Witches, He Who Hung to Know, Grim, Gault, God! The very namesake of the word! He is the word and runes spill from his tongue into our howling hearts that seek the divine. Tonight is the night of Witches, drink and be merry, tomorrow we will not die, as death is a deception, it is maya, we can not die as we are of God and God is forever, we were never born, we have always existed as Odinn has always existed, long before names were spoken!

This is Hexennacht, the Witches Night, throw coins at the crossroad at night lest Frigg who is MahāDevi will send the Wild Hunt to drag you off to ride forever. The dead Völva knows all! Hail the Disir! ALU ALU ALU! Thrice burnt a Witch is initiated, thrice burnt she dies, when she awakens screaming in Hel she rides her broom back to the middle enclosure each time, maya being stripped away with each return until she knows the truth, and then she knows all.

Today we honor those who walk that path, who put their love and fate in the hands of the Perennial spirit of the world. I Hail to those who ride the night.

HEXENNACHT ÜBER ALLES

WE ARE THE WITCHCRAFT

ALU ALU ALU"

● and from the year before

"•Walpurgisnacht•

Throw your coins into the crossroads at midnight, and pray not to be lifted away into the wild hunt.

Now before the May Day daughters of Frigg in her wyrd-est form trace the weavings and read the fates. Now before the Protomagia the daughters of Hekate sing songs in cthonic voices where trails meet under the veil of Nyx.

The Hexenfrauen gather in the glades and on the mountain to call for He-who-casts-spells-despite-the-danger, to Ein sköpuðr galdra, to Fjölnir, to Fráríðr, to Glapsviðr, to He-who-hung-to-know, to Valföðr who is Draugadróttinn. He-who-comes-with-a-host-of-the-Dead is sought out for the knowledge of spells and his domain over Death where the wisest Völva dwell.

Thrice burnt thrice arisen the Völva sees the webs of fate, a dead Völva knows all and is the mother of the world.

To quote Hamlet, though I should quote Macbeth, "And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

I end with words from Óðinn.

•HARBARTHSLJOTH

Harbarth spoke:

20. "Much love-craft I wrought | with them who ride by night,

•Havamal 114:

If she cast a spell, you will care no longer

To meet and speak with men,

Desire no food, desire no pleasure,

In sorrow fall asleep.

Photo credit: personal edit of "Witches going to their Sabbath" (1878), by Luis Ricardo Falero""

● take care my Legions, its a wild world out there - That Guinea Goonbah From Down The Shore

[lore-olympus-saga]

Ever thought what would it be like if Loki ever dared to interact with Hades' Brothers?

Oh well, yes I did! (so sorry for the late response :( life been busy)

Well, Loki wouldn't really dare to interact with zeus or poseidon because he's quite scared of them. Zeus controlling thunder he's in the eye of the trickster like a Thor, but a Thor who has even more reasons to be violent with him. Since Loki is the blood-brother of Odinn he's at the same time dangerous for Lore Olympus but also, could be leverage against Asgard.

Loki would be pretty tame if he's surrounded by Hades brothers but wouldn't hesitate to snark back at them- before running away.

He could fight them, he's a strong trickster but since I've always seen their interaction inside Olympus, I don't think he would be that reckless.

I like the idea that Asgard and Olympus aren't exactly on best terms with each other, so having a trickster norse god wondering around isn't really welcomed. They don't mind them in the mortal realm but unless they're explicitly invited, both sides don't want to hang out with each other.

Also, in one of my headcannons, norse gods dress up a bit like bikers and have none of that classy attitude you see in Olympus. So they clash very easily. Especially since in many myths I've read, norse gods have NO CHILL when insulting each other (those who've read the Lokasenna knows what I'm talking about).

#lore olympus #norse myths #myth loki #norse mythology #zeus #zeus lore olympus #lo fanart #loki #lore olympus au #lore olympus saga #odin #odin norse myths

[redemptioninterlude]

⛸️ go ice skating together (for marlene <3)

winter prompts ( accepting ) + @alldaddy // odinn

They've long grown bored of the party that rages within ; Marlene standing on the outside with Odinn, a cigarette in hand that she smokes by the lamplight, the dark leaving them both sheltered as they try to cope with the terrible feeling of alcohol as it mixes inside of them for the FIRST TIME, and she tries to play it off that it isn't at all odd that they're watching too many friends hook up for the first time. That they're too cool and above all this, or at least she is, with her vintage lighter stolen from her parents ages ago, and that he doesn't look like someone she might remember forever when his hair formed that messy halo, lit up from behind.

"Did you want to get out of here?" How her lips curl into a hint of a smile, and without much more of a word, she's got him by the hand, pulling his gloved one within hers into the night, because despite it all, this is all but her backyard, and he's the one looking to play tourist, which he does SO WELL, doesn't he? "Tell me that you know how to skate. That's a thing you still do in America, isn't it?" how she'll poke and prod and tease and be frustrating, eyes rolling as she's got them by the pond in the back, proper iced over and thick enough to skate over, the groundskeeper having cleared the top of it in the morning, the skates stored in the shed right by the edge of it, pulling the key out that's looped about her neck, undoing the latch without a moment's hesitation.

And it might be cold, SO MUCH SO that each breath draws cloudy within the air between them, but she holds out a pair for him, and she's already kicking off her boots to replace them, the first on the ice. A graceful loop, she'll circle round the edge to test it, looking for spots where it might have melted down, or be dangerous, but when she's satisfied, she's back with a hand out for him. "Don't worry, boyo, we'll take care of you yet. Let me know if you get scared, alright?"

#alldaddy #❝ m. mckinnon ❞ ┆ modern verse ┆ comin through satallites while cruisin ! #❝ m. mckinnon ❞ ┆ meme reply ┆ as you colour me blue !

[ener-chi]

When you first began your path what was it like trying to connect with your guides with the limited senses you had at the time? Did your guides ever give you some signals you didn't make much sense of until later? And I'm guessing for sure you had to do most of the legwork to get that cell service consistently.

Hi anon!

Hmm when I first started astral travelling, my vision was severely limited. Everything was foggy and blurry, and I had a hard time understanding things clearly. Lmao I would have to ask for clarification like 8 times sometimes before I felt satisfied with a response 😅😂

Sometimes my guides felt distant, and connecting with them felt like reaching through a very thick fog. Othertimes they would like come to me or "pull me in" and things would be super lucid when that happened. But that rarely happened, and usually it took a lot of effort to connect and have lucidity and clarity.

Fortunately, it gets easier with more practice, and working on visualization practice and trying to hone your third eye and intuition and clairvoyance helps alot too. Things because more clear, and it was easier to connect.

I can't really think of any times where my guides sent me signals that didn't make sense to me at the time. What would usually happen, though, is I would get some kind of intuitive ping or something that they wanted me to connect with them and they had something to say.

For example, when Skadi wanted to talk to me, I would suddenly get like... very cold, randomly, but on the inside, and I would have very brief flickers of a vision of this snowy plain. Or with Odinn - and this still happens to this day, cuz I still work with him - I'll see a Raven irl, and then with that cawing I will get this... surge in energy and reality will kinda feel like it's distorting around me a little bit, and I'll feel his presence.

So yeah! Thanks for the ask! I hope this helps!

Blessings!

#mine #asks #about me #od #sk #spirit work

[melodicwitchlight]

before going to park to walk, athelstan settles down behind his warm brown mahogany desk.

— a ship of stability that had helped pull him through the dark — of solitude is calm peace too. the rich aroma, swirling grooves decorating the borders…

he pulls out his writing pad from a lion’s maw — brass pulley drawer ; to write a Treaty of Alliance.

dear flower sword of joyeuse, he starts writing on paper — scritch scratching on wall.

a while later, placing letter in drawer for later consultation

— he walks through the park, listening to his ocean water painted walkman (jack savoretti’s only you), and feet walking on pavement path, memory fragments start to pocket into his mind.

remembrance dances fleetingly in his eternal warred village of nithilam and sirithar. of looking down from heaven to see the story of his son alfred’s pilgrimage of meeting pope in rome unfold to becoming king – from uncertain judgement of peers’ perception (‘you have laid upon me such a burden ; they whisper i am weak and i fear they’re right’) to an embraced entire leader (‘confronted by evil, we do not surrender to it or fear it; we have the risen christ and odinn on our side ; we are all devils and angels.’ and he recalls being so proud of witnessing alfred’s entire.

witnessing alfred’s presence of reaching out in his prayer to him and to the late king ecbert – his heart wrenches in empathy, wanting to console his sadness with an embrace.

alfred, you are not a weak king, he thinks, as the song continues to play.

he loses his train of thought, as he continues to hear savoretti’s gorgeous texture of only you: ‘with your courage, i escaped my fears…’

he shakes his head to recollect thought, smiling shyly to a passersby looking at him oddly, his feet continuing to walk through pavement.

your body is not a carcass, he muses; it is still a continual struggle for him too – perhaps more so than alfred -, as the splintery felt bones in his head reverberate in crunching motion resulted from conflict overload.

athelstan recalls he had tried beyond endurance — to be a pacifist — peaceful negotiator to himself and to the world in turn. I do not want any more bloodshed…

he pauses, though… when an orderly asks a compromise of

pulling a clock face off and allowing one to leave the hands on

what..? he thinks in momentary confusion

, vile paranoia pervading his consciousness

savoretti’s gritty croons are the savior to his peace of mind as well as the art of sketching and colouring of beautiful clay formation. colours were pleasing to his mind always before, painting in his monk solitude of books, faith and prayer.

yet now colours spin in vibrational clarity and he has to be especially careful when crossing obstacles like roads; pause and peer as not to put himself in danger.

as he continues pausing and peering, arms sudden enveloped around him and his hair suddenly fans out in the wind — his heart skittering in chest. “by the norse gods’ and Christ’s grace!”

You nearly pushed me into the road! he thought. as he cautiously turns — who are you really? he thinks momentarily, thoughts swimming — until an anchor tattoo of never stop dreaming — aligned into the eyes of his boyfriend, charlie. not monty, thank the heavens, of count Olaf eye tattoo.

charlie withdraws arms and turns off miniature fan, but not before gently yet firmly pulling him back from the hastened steps forward — in quickened fright towards the ever-changing road due to his contradicted forced affection, “sorry, I was just trying to be affectionate — you seemed to be in eternal lockdown. i wanted to join you in your walk.”

athelstan’s vibrational clarity of mind greys more and more —- listening to Charlie’s repeated infiltration of dance requests. without giving him breathing room to paradoxically dance.

athelstan’s eyes narrow, “who does that?”

charlie struggles to word

, “I– I saw it in titanic — we are rose & jack.”

athelstan reminiscences, a rose by any other name is just as sweet. ” that’s nice… I guess. I do like that film. but no crazy attacks, please.”

…alfred, you do not have to be the king of a well-dressed and presented skeleton.

no man is whole without a family, he recollects, it is the making of him. this still holds true.

but. you do not have to be humble like me, father to son.

you are a carcass and more than one both – it is all to be embraced. suffer no more, dear alfred, but trust in your salvation.

he smiles at alfred’s rich beautiful eloquency of newfound confidence; ‘if you see fit for me to rule over this wasteland, i will restore your kingdom to its former glory.’

‘walk beside me in the moment…’

the song continues, and he smiles.

we do not always have to communicate, just a few minutes into the music playing of dance

he nearly collides with another passerby during his reminiscence, as he continues down the park’s path, they distorting heavily in appearance due to his headache.

his earbuds fall out of his ears during this collision, with the last remnants of savoretti’s song reverberating out loud.

‘sorry,’ he mutters automatically to the person.

he gets the earbuds off the ground. and plugs it back in walkman.

‘do you like jack savoretti? or which music soothes your spirit & why?’

OPEN.

#athelstan ic.

[coolcomicbookcovers]

#odinns eye