valkxrie

[valkxrie]

#Q

[valkxrie]

Zvezda by Ismail Inceoglu

This artist’s Linktree

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[valkxrie]

Dark Moon- T3

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[valkxrie]

@silverjetsystm from x

Iron fills her nostrils; all black and blue. Purpled and clotting. Staining her teeth, her tongue. It was a simple question. No, that's a lie. It was a short question. The rest of it was complex and brutal.

If he dies, he dies. He dies beyond what she knows death to be. He dies for a god she does not know. In worship that is not worship, for a need that is not need. For power. For blood.

No. Liar. "Liar."

It's gentle, her tone, unlike her gaze.

"Tell me the truth."

#silverjetsystm

[valkxrie]

‘Svanen’ by Hilma af Klint, c. 1914.

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[valkxrie]

@silverjetsystm

The thought of him being a feral zombie sent a tremor through Brunnhilde's spine. It felt like a waste. It felt like a sin. Even though she had only know this man a matter of hours; it did not feel like a fate anyone deserved. To be a pawn for a god.

A pause. A blank thought. One that existed where she might have existed were she not a pawn for a god. Angry and writhing.

Do you have a preference? She did, but it had no shape. "I should like to be able to choose" was all she said instead. To be free. To have an option. An avenue. To know those options and avenues.

His hushed tones, his pause, made her spine tremor again. This time, with a warmer sensation. With something akin to hope. Longing. Something akin to life.

Her All Speech faltered a moment, her tongue tasting the shape of the words Olam ha-ba. The World After Death. It felt right, the world. The place. The thing that was not this thing. This life that was not this life.

She wondered if they were both already living it, if they were simply living it in the wrong way.

"There will always be blood spilled for death. It is no cost; it just is." It was like the wind, like sand, like time and space itself. It was just something that existed. Where life was, so death was. Where death was, so power would be. And all would fight for power.

His other question was harder to answer. The why. The oaths. The gods. Brunnhilde keeps her eyes on the man. This man, whose soul is many colours, whose shape is many shapes. Who is whole and not whole, and one but never one.

Who wore the shackles of death.

"I think we are the same - and I should like to be able to choose."

#silverjetsystm

[valkxrie]

Horace Vernet - Angel of Death (1851). Detail.

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[valkxrie]

@starlsssankt

The Valkyrie had no answer. Not really. She turned her head to Aleksander and let him see that in her features; let them be open. Let them be kind.

"I know but I also do not know." She replied, finger still touching his, universe still whirling overhead. "I know you get to choose. Good and bad don't matter; just worthy or unworthy. You can go to other gods, to other realms, to other forms... there is no list, no pearly gate. There just is what you are pulled to."

She was bound to being a Valkyrie; made by death. Tied to Ragnarok. When the wolf came, she would be consumed. When the snake writhed, she would crumble. She envied the man beside her and his choice. The many paths before him; many not coated in ash.

"What would you want after this?"

#starlsssankt

[valkxrie]

@silverjetsystm from x

Hands-on her hips, nails dragging against the texture of her belt. Feet pacing a little, breath short. Funny how movement helps you recover from movement; pacing around, breathing, begging bones to settle back into being bones.

Joint exercises should never include a Sally Up Challenge. Fuck Sally. Fuck pushups. Especially, against Marines.

Top of your flight class didn't matter during joint exercises. No one was pulling G's on the ground. The Marines saw more action than they did. They deserved more medals.

"Fleming has a kid." The other pilot. They flew together every day. Spoke every day. Her to him, him to her. More than he spoke to his kid. To his wife. Regs, and all that. Military life.

Brunnhilde uncaps a blue drink. Blue was her favourite flavour of sports drink. She eyes the pilot across the way, sweating with the mechanics.

"Something feels weird. Like when you're in the woods and it all goes quiet for no reason." There was always a reason. Her job was knowing the reason. To break the tension. To be the buzzkill. She probably shouldn't have said so to Marc, but if anyone had a sixth sense - it was him. "Do you know what I mean?"

#silverjetsystm

[valkxrie]

briarsmoss asked: lagertha (vikings) or max (black sails)?

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[valkxrie]

@silverjetsystm

Her alarm is going to go off at any moment. She has a habit of waking up before it. Something about proving her own merits.

[🖍️] They don't give you hot water down there? No wonder you're always so cranky.

The hot water is tied to a timer, and its fickle at best. But Brunn knows it's better than what's on offer in other parts of the base.

[🖍️] Ah, the 5-mile hoo-rah. [🖍️] I don't mind watching you folks jog around in the morning. [🖍️] It's a pity that I now know about your shower situation. [🖍️] I'd sneak you in here, but I'm pretty sure you'd steal all my lifesavers.

#silverjetsystm

[valkxrie]

Sleeping Joan of Arc — George William Joy (1844-1925)

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[valkxrie]

Inna Tsukakhina

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[valkxrie]

@silverjetsystm

The portal, right. There had been a fight earlier that evening; and she'd been there to look into the disruption. To see what Odin's sight could not. To go beyond his periphery. It had been so easy to forget, to think of something else. To be within The Mission, talking to Mister Knight, to Jake. To be experiencing something new and good and interesting.

Brunnhilde hummed, continuing to listen. Continuing to smile and easy and open smile at the thought of gods and galaxies. Humans did think her kind gods. She wondered if they would think Jake a god of some kind, he and his brothers - gifted as they seemed to be.

It was a complex situation, though. Or, at least she sensed it was. The house, the relationships, the division of skills and time and talent.

She watches Jake, listening. Taking him in openly. This was not the man she had fought with in the hours prior. No, this was a very different person. As unique as a thumb-print.

"I do not wish to be a god to you." The Valkyrie replied. There were similiarities between them. She'd never met anyone who walked a similar path. There were questions that simmered about it; about the bondage of it. The limits. The resentments.

She hems a smile around her drink. A new smile, a little deeper than the others. More mischievous. Glinting off her cup. "I am not one for being worshiped as a god. In fact, the only worship I enjoy has no place on a battlefield, or indeed, in front of Odin."

Brunnhilde was no god. She was not one to follow; at least, not in any capacity more than her sisters followed her. She commanded a flock of fury, and that did not make her worthy of prayer.

"Would you ever want a temple of your own? People bowing at your feet?" A genuine question. "Some might call you a god. Or this house. May would fill it with prayers."

#silverjetsystm

[valkxrie]

flawless valkyrie 2/?

[valkxrie]

VII.V.MMXVII. by Orphné Achéron.

pencil, ink and gold.

[valkxrie]

Rovina Cai

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