#Eddic

[poeticnorth]

For those that are interested in my attempts to write the Poetic Edda into the so-called haiku meter, I've posted a free to read excerpt of Loki's Haiku Duel to my Ko-Fi page

If there's enough interest, I may consider (read: definitely will) post the full poem to my Ko-Fi page.

[eds6ngel]

spending the night at eddie’s and getting up to some… activities.

it would begin as sweet, innocent kisses in bed, nothing out of the ordinary. but, before long, you can feel eddie's dick pressed up against you, rolling his hips into yours. with bruises left down your neck, moans bouncing off the four walls of his bedroom, what once was a loving make-out session soon turned into the hardest and fastest fuck of your life. you woke up the next morning to hickeys littered all over your body, legs unworkable and red marks around your wrists from where eddie had pinned you down with the infamous handcuffs he had finally put to use. and, of course, eddie had just the physical recollection with teeth marks over his chest and scratches down his back from your sharp nails piercing his skin from the pleasure he gave to you.

and the best part of it all was, you were both extremely proud of it. eddie wore a sleeveless tank to school the next day, showing off the scratches left down his biceps, where you styled your hair in a bun, presenting the purple bruises on your neck for everyone to see. and it was no secret that you and eddie were a thing, so the entire population of hawkins high could easily use their imaginations to assume how the previous night went for the both of you. and the various reactions made it all the better.

taglist: @cosmorant @jesssssmaybankk @tlclick73

[why-bless-your-heart]

In defense of Catholicism, at least when you google "Catholic priest," the first result isn't a tumblr page

[woundedheartwithin]

Svartalfheim, home of the dwarves

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[notasapleasure]

I DIDN'T EVEN EXPECT BREAK ME SHAKE ME TO BE ON THE SETLIST AND THEN IT WAS AND THERE WAS THAT STAGING AND THEN IT SEGUED INTO HEY MATT AND AAAAAAAAAAAA ;;_;;

[worldbuilders-blog]

Scandinavia - Old Norse Poetry - Structure and advice on writing imitations

(Some of this will be copy-pasted from my previous post on Old Norse literature and oral tradition)

OLD NORSE POETIC FORMS

Old Norse poetry utilizes a modified form of alliterative verse. In simpler terms, the metrical structure is not necessarily based on the last syllables of a line or phrase rhyming...

Ex: (lines from William Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis) “And so in spite of death thou dost survive / In that thy likeness still is left alive”

... the structure relies on the repetition of multiple initial consonants in a line or phrase.

Ex: (from the Hávamál of the Codex Regius) Deyr fé // deyja frændr

SKALDIC POETRY

Primarily documented in sagas, skaldic poetry is usually about history, particularly the celebrated actions of kings, jarls, and some heroes. It typically includes little dialogue and recounted battles in dialogue. It has more complex styles, especially using dróttkvætt and many kennings.

DRÓTTKVÆTT (“courtly metre”)

- Adds internal rhymes and assonance (repetition of both consonants AND vowels) beyond the normal alliterative verse

- The stanza had 8 lines, each line usually having 3 lifts (heavily stressed syllables) and almost always 6 syllables

- The stress patterns tends to be trochaic (stressed, unstressed), with at least the last 2 syllables of a line being a trochee (usually...)

- In odd-numbered lines (first line, third line, etc.): 2 of the stressed syllables alliterate with one another; two of the stressed syllables share partial rhyme of consonants with dissimilar vowels (ex: hat and bet; touching and orchard)

- In even-numbered lines (second line, fourth line, etc.): the first stressed syllable must alliterate with the alliterative stressed syllables of the previous line (an odd-numbered line); two of the stressed syllables rhyme (ex: hat and cat; torching and orchard)

These requirements are SO difficult that oftentimes poets would mash together two separate lines of writing in order to meet the structure. It’s really hard to explain, so read the wikipedia link here for more info.

KENNINGS

Kennings are figures of speech strongly associated with Old Norse-Icelandic and Old English poetry. It is a “type of circumlocution, a compound  employs figurative language in place of a more concrete single-word noun” (source).

Now, when I first read that, I had zero clue what the hell that meant. But this is my current understanding: a poetic device where you dance around using a single noun by describing it with other words. It is similar to the poetic device of parallelism.

- “bane of wood” = fire (Old Norse kenning)

- “sleep of the sword” = death (Old English kenning)

- Drahtesel = “wire-donkey” = bicycle (modern German kenning)

- Stubentiger = “parlour-tiger” = house cat (modern German kenning)

- Genesis 49:11 “blood of grapes” = wine

- Job 15:14 “born of woman” = man

A beautiful resource for translated kennings is this article here from the HuffPost’s Harold Anthony Lloyd.

SIMPLE KENNINGS

Simple kennings would be used in both Eddic and Skaldic poetry.

The usual forms are a genitive phrase (ex: the wave’s horse = ship) or a compound word (sea-steed = ship). There is usually a base-word and a determinant.

The determinant may be a noun used uninflected as the first element in a compound word, with the base-word being the second element of the compound word.

OR the determinant may be a noun in the genitive case placed before or after the base-word, either directly or separated from the base-word by intervening words. The base-words in the above examples are “horse” and “steed”, while the determinants are “waves” and “sea”.

The unstated noun which the kenning refers to is called its “referent”, in the example a bit above: ship.

COMPLEX KENNINGS

More complex kennings are really only used in skaldic poetry.

In these, the determinant and sometimes the base-word are themselves made up of kennings. A matryoshka doll of kennings, if you will.

Ex: “feeder of war-gull (bird)” = “feeder of raven” = “warrior” (referring to how warriors kill people and leave their corpses for birds to eat)

The longest kenning in Skaldic poetry belongs to Þórðr Sjáreksson’s  Hafgerðinga where he writes “fire-brandisher of blizzard of ogress of protection-moon of steed of boat-shed”, which means “warrior” (source).

EDDIC POETRY

Eddic poetry is usually about mythology, ethics, and heroes, and is narrative (where both the narrator and the characters are speaking). They use simpler structures, like fornyrðislag, ljóðaháttr, and málaháttr, and use kennings more sparingly.

FORNYRÐISLAG (”old story metre”)

- Each line tends to be a whole phrase or sentence (or end-stopped), where a sentence won’t “run over” and onto the next line (or enjambment).

Ex: End-stopped, from William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet “A glooming peace this morning with it brings. / The sun for sorrow will not show his head.”

Ex: Enjambed, from T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land “ Winter kept us warm, covering / Earth in forgetful snow, feeding / A little life with dried tubers.”

- Each verse is split into 2 to 8 (or more) stanzas.

Ex: from Waking of Angantyr (structure provided by wikipedia)

- There are 2 lifts per half line, usually with two or three unstressed syllables. At least 2 (but usually 3) lifts will alliterate, always including the main stave (the first life of the second half-line). This means there are usually between 4 and 5 syllables per half line, and therefore between 8 and 10 syllables per full line (but it can vary).

MÁLAHÁTTR (“conversational style”)

- Similar to fornyrðislag, but there are more syllables in a line.

- It adds an unstressed syllable to each half-line, making the typical 2-3 per half-line and 4-6 per line into 3-4 per half-line and upwards of 6 unstressed syllables per line

LJÓÐAHÁTTR (“song” or “ballad metre”)

- Usually made up of stanzas with four lines each

- Odd numbered lines were usually standard lines of alliterative verse with 4 lifts and 2 or 3 alliterations. It was cut in half with a “cæsura” or “//”, which indicates the end of one phrase and the beginning of another.

- Even numbered lines had 3 lifts and 2 alliterations, with no cæsura.

Ex: from Freyr’s lament in Skírnismál (structure provided by wikipedia)

WRITING IMITATION

When writing an imitation of Eddic and Skaldic poetry, there are many workarounds if you don’t want to jump through these hoops.

Personally, I am putting forward my imitation as a “translation” of an Old Norse text so I don’t need as much concern for alliteration, rhymes, and exact syllables.

But I enjoy having a similar feel to the original poems, so I do try to put in some alliteration for words that are of Norse/Germanic origin and keep a similar syllable count.

Posted: 2023 May 29

Edited last: 2023 May 30

Writing and research by: Rainy

[moonbittern]

compiling a complicated reincarnation/mindwipe theory for god of war ragnarok that is 100% not going to be the ultimate truth

[amphibifish]

loki + heimdallr in my interpretation of them in the myths vs how they're portrayed in matantei loki are so vastly different

[asatroende]

Writing about space in a mythological setting while knowing what it is, much harder than expected

Sol and mani suddenly have so much more divine authority than petty martial gods like thor and odin what with sol being directly responsible for making the planet we live on (gravity <3 orbit <3) and måne not only protecting us from asteroids but also swaying our oceans (and letting us visit him)

But that’s nothing compared to realising that the language we use around space and how certain concepts are described… all stars are gods and they walk on a tightly woven fabric that buckles under their weight, some heavier than others, all waiting to embrace their planets at the end of their lives

[a-gnosis]

I'm trying to learn more about Norse mythology, so I bought a few books.

A Handbook to Eddic Poetry: Myths and Legends of Early Scandinavia edited by Carolyne Larrington, Judy Quinn and Brittany Schorn.

The Norse Myths That Shape the Way We Think by Carolyne Larrington.

The latter explores how the Norse myths have inspired our cultural landscape and seems to be both interesting and entertaining.

[poeticnorth]

Haiku Edda update that no one asked for: I started on Rigsþula last month or the month before. I can't remember. I hate Rigsþula with a burning passion. I've only just managed to write two fifths of it into haiku meter. I am really half tempted to just scrap it from the project but unfortunately I've started it and I will see it finished in this life or the next.

[irisharchaeology]

This silver Helm of Awe (Ægishjálmur) pendant is based on an Icelandic magical symbol, which is mentioned in Eddic poetry. It was used as a protection against the abuse of power.

Available here: Silver Helm of Awe Pendant

[always-andromeda]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐓

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Professor!Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ✯ 3268

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ taboo au + dark academia + “I can see how badly you want this, so I'm going to make sure you get it.”

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ✯ I’ve loved this man literally since I was thirteen…so it’s inevitable that I’d be writing something absolutely fucking filthy for him in my twenties…

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ smut (minors, do not interact), gaps in age and power, mutual masturbation, little bit of panty sniffing, a singular use of Y/N (I'm sorry, I hate it too but it was necessary), usage of pet names (sweetheart), general manipulation, slight praise kink, obvious disclaimer: the dynamic in this fic is just that, fictional, and should not be practiced in real life!! let me know if any other warnings are needed!!

(mdni banner template credit goes to @cafekitsune!!)

You’d rarely had luck receiving any sort of grace from your professors. Sure, there were a select few that only wanted to see you succeed. However, more often than not you seemed to encounter sadists who decided to take their kinks out on exhausted college students. But you were convinced that Professor Winchester wouldn’t be like that.

For starters, he’d always been challenging but never malicious. Despite the fact that you’d registered for his Norse Mythology course with the assumption that it would be easy college credits, you quickly learned that his assignments were difficult. Every week there seemed to be about a hundred pages worth of reading, frequent essays, and an emphasis on class discussion.

Oh, did he love those class discussions. While most were less than enthusiastic to contribute to lengthy examinations of Eddic poetry at eight in the morning, Professor Winchester seemed to be none the wiser of this.

He was always squinting over his thin wire framed glasses, surveying the class. He’d stand at his desk, brushing his long hair behind his ear while looking over papers. When he’d listen he’d purse his lips and tilt his head, expression rife with genuine interest. In all of these moments, he was the most gorgeous. But more than that, you were fascinated with his mind.

Professor Winchester knew this material like the back of his hand; was able to pull references and quotes from various pieces of literature at the drop of a hat. He was the only professor who could ever give notes that were actually helpful on essays and he’d always been generous with handing out extra credit assignments. Which is what you aimed to obtain on this visit to his office.

You looked through the glass of his office door and saw him inside, working diligently at a dark oak wood desk. Taking a deep breath, you turned the doorknob and entered.

The hinges squeezed but Winchester seemed so fixated on whatever was before him that he only raised a finger, indicating for you to wait. So you did. Awkwardly. You rocked slightly on your heels, your stomach starting to twist in time with the movement. God, he looked like a dream lit by the stained glass banker's lamp as he graded papers.

In another world you could see him coming home from a long day, his body warm behind you as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Smelling like black coffee and pencil shavings, you'd adoringly close your eyes, taking in his scent and ask him how his day went. He'd hum in contentment when resting his chin on your head; you're his rock, his soulmate, the reason he stays sane despite dealing with probably hundreds of students and the frustrating dance of academic bureaucracy. 

It's a fantasy that broke the second Winchester glanced up and said with a hint of surprise, "Miss L/N! Come in, have a seat," he nodded towards the chair on the other side of his desk.

Relieved that he can pick you out among the sea of students from his classroom, you move forward until you reach the chair. You set your bag down on the floor and settle into the worn leather of the seat as Winchester eyes you expectantly.

"What can I do for you this afternoon?"

You chew on the inside of your cheek. "Actually, I was hoping that you could help me out with something."

"Oh, what might that be?" he furrowed his brow.

"Um..." you started. "I'm sure you noticed that I didn't do too hot on the last exam."

"Ah, I did," he said simply.

"You did?"

"Yeah, I was surprised, actually." Winchester opened up one of his desk drawers and sorted through some files before pulling out a packet you recognized as the exam you'd taken the week before. "You seem so engaged in class discussion and you've been doing well on everything else. This...this felt rushed. What happened?"

The soft expression of concern on his face only increased your shame. In all honesty, you'd wasted half the exam time away staring at him. He'd worn a red sweater over a cream colored button up that day. Then he'd rolled up the sleeves before handing out the exam papers. It felt stupid to admit that you'd been distracted by his goddamn forearms.

But you had been. You couldn't resist watching him as he'd circled the room, keeping an eye out for cheating. With his arms folded behind his back, you got the best look at the back of him. His long legs clad in khaki. Strong, tanned forearms corded with prominent veins. Shoulder blades pushed back confidently as he walked. Everything about his solid stature had your mind far, far away.

You'd been good at making sure your daydreams wouldn't get the better of you. But this time, before you knew it, Winchester was glancing down at his watch and announcing that you had fifteen minutes left for exam time. You had no choice but to rush through the rest of it, writing down answers that hardly even made sense just to fill in blanks.

Now those answers laid before you, condemning you to a low D– that dragged down your entire grade.

"I honestly couldn't tell you, Professor. I thought I studied enough but I guess not."

Though you'd attempted to laugh off his concern, Winchester obviously wasn't budging. "But these are rookie mistakes. Number fifteen for example. Where do the gods live?"

"Easy. Asgard."

"Right, but here you marked down the answer for Valhalla," he slid the paper around so you could look at the question.

Sure enough, there it was, your frantic pencil marks filling in the bubble for the incorrect answer. Damn.

"And that's just on the multiple choice questions," Winchester continued, flipping through the pages. "You barely followed any of the directions for the long answer questions. Your response to the short essay portion was a paragraph too short. And it was too unfocused."

Unfocused is right, Professor Winchester.

"I hate to say it...but I was a little disappointed."

The sting of tears threatened to spill down your cheeks. So you cleared your throat and blinked them back quickly. Voice trembling, you answered quickly, "I'm sorry, Professor. I wasn't on my game and I thought I'd pay you a visit so I could plead my case. I'm willing to do any kind of extra credit assignment. I don't care how much work it is. I'll do anything to fix my grade because I really want to do well in your class and–"

Winchester raised a hand, urging you to stop. Then he spoke, "Listen, I can see how badly you want this. So I'm going to make sure you get it. Just...let me think."

With that, Winchester rose from his seat and began to gather the papers that littered the surface of his desk. He stacked them neatly before opening a different drawer and laying them inside. After he closed the drawer, he made his way around the desk. You tried not to look at him as he made his way around the room, especially not when you felt his hand brush against the back of your chair. But you couldn't not notice when he drew the shade on his door's window and closed the blinds to his window, leaving the room dim save for the yellow light of his desk lamp.

Once he'd made his round, he returned to his chair and rolled back, leaving a massive gap between himself and the edge of his desk.

Then he did something else you didn't expect.

He patted the wood and said, "Come. Sit on my desk. Let me look at you."

You almost wavered on the direction when he cleared his throat expectantly. That brought you to your feet and compelled you to settle waveringly before him.

With his lips in a tight line, Winchester studied you. He tilted his head every few seconds, letting his eye flicker from your uncertain expression to your body. You sat up a little straighter in an attempt to satisfy his observation of you.

You weren't quite sure what he was doing, but it made you nervous; made you vulnerable in a way you weren't used to.

"I may have one extra credit opportunity that I can offer. Special. Just for you."

"Yeah? What do you want me to do?"

"Well, you can start by spreading your legs."

Your eyes went wide. "Professor Winchester, you're not–"

He cut you off quickly, "First, after office hours, you may call me Sam. Second, I'm not going to touch you. I'm simply asking you to give me a– a presentation," he decided.

"What kind of presentation?" you asked.

Your feigned innocence made the man chuckle softly. "The kind of presentation I'm sure you give in your dormitory bedroom every night."

There wasn't an ounce of jesting on his face, but still you played dumb. "I have no idea what you're referring to, Sam." His name felt foreign yet familiar on your tongue. Probably because you'd whispered it many times before in the exact scenario he'd described.

"I'd hoped you'd tell me the truth about why you were so distracted during your exam. But since you haven't been forthcoming, I guess I have to spell it out for you, haven't I?"

You swallowed hard and blinked nervously.

"You thought I wouldn't notice, did you?" he chuckles again. "It's hard not to notice when one of your students, especially one so beautiful, is practically drooling all over their table."

The scraps of flattery were evidently working on you as Sam smiled when you fiddled with your fingers in your lap as your skin got all warm and tingly. So he kept going.

"Besides, you're too intelligent to do this terribly on something you should've aced. Maybe you wanted to fail it. You wanted to get my attention, didn't you?"

"Oh, no, I wasn't trying to waste your time, I was just–"

"You weren't wasting my time. Wasting your time is continuing this pointless back and forth when you could instead be proving yourself."

"Proving myself?"

"Yes. Spread those legs...and earn your grade," he ordered.

Breathing in and out slowly, you did what you were asked. The knots in your stomach told you this was wrong. But the smile of approval that slowly grew on Sam's lips said that this was exactly what you both needed. 

You'd never been more embarrassed to be wearing a skirt. One the fabric pooled around your hips, it only framed the damp patch on your underwear. Perhaps part of you had wanted something like this to happen. Because your pussy was already pulsing after simply being observed behind the cotton curtain that soaked up her anticipation.

"Very good," Sam breathed out.

"What do I do now?" you asked.

"Just...play with her. Show me what you like to do to make her happy."

You nodded, then pursed your lips as you thought. If you were going to present to him...you might as well go all out. So you shifted each of your thighs around, pulling down your underwear until your bare ass was planted on the desk and the garment was caught on one of your ankles. You lifted your left and held it out gently, the panty hanging in the air a little below Sam's face.

"Take them," you said. "Visual aid."

He smirked lazily at the offering before pulling them over your shoe, being careful not to actually touch you. Sam balled them up before bringing them to his nose and slowly breathing in the scent. You could tell he enjoyed it thoroughly as he let out a deep sigh from within his chest.

"With how wet these are...it's good to know you were prepared even for a surprise presentation. I knew there was a reason you're my favorite."

His words went straight to your cunt as a few drops of slick leaked from your hole and landed on the dark wood beneath you.

"Go on," Sam urged, gaze flickering to the drops of you on his desk. "She's waiting. And so am I."

You began to treat yourself with the same level of care as you did when you were alone. One of your hands reached up your shirt and you cupped one of your tits. You kneaded the flesh for a few seconds before focusing on the nipple, pinching it until it pebbled and poked through your shirt. The action made your breathing turn ragged. 

You finally let your other hand travel south, bringing warmth to the soft skin of your thighs. Wanting better access to yourself, you pulled your leg up, resting a foot on the desk itself. Then you reclined back and let your fingers roam where they wanted.

Using two fingers, you spread your outer lips, only exposing yourself to Sam’s scrutiny even further. The cool air hitting your most vulnerable part, you shivered as goosebumps erupted across your skin. You looked up at him, gauging his approval of your performance.

“You’re doing so well already, keep going,” he encouraged, hardly concealing the arousal that clung thickly to his tone.

You took the praise with pride. It emboldened you enough to slip your two fingers between your folds to gather up some of the slick. You couldn’t help but feel mortified as you involuntarily gasped when your digits brushed slightly against your clit.

Sam let a quick puff of air out his nose. “Sensitive?”

“Mhmmm,” you whined.

“Bet you can’t even touch that pretty clit directly without crying, huh?”

You nodded.

“Then be gentle. I want you to last for me.”

You took that to mean that he didn’t want you touching yourself there yet. So instead you switched to focusing on your entrance. It wasn’t often that you went straight for penetration. Rarely did it bring the kind of relief you craved.

But you had the feeling that Sam would want to see it; to see your fingers filling yourself up and stretching you out.

With your fingers practically pruning already, you pushed one in ever so slowly. It took a second to adjust to the slight pressure, but still you began to carefully pump. The slick squelch only intensified when you slipped another one in and sped up your movements.

Though the pressure increased and built up tension in your belly, you could already tell it wasn’t going to go anywhere. You bucked your hips pathetically against your own hand, trying to get deep enough to hit your g-spot. But no matter how far you tried to probe, it was useless. Your fingers simply weren’t long enough.

Your eyes went wind, catching sight of something that most likely could reach that spot inside you. While you’d been fucking yourself, your professor had undone the button and the zipper on his pants and slipped himself out. There he sat, your panties in his hand and wrapped around the thick length of his cock. The angry red tip poked up and out of the fabric with each slow thrust. And you could already tell based on how long his strokes were that you’d most likely be able to feel him poking against your belly from inside you. The idea made you moan and throw your head back.

Sam swiftly reprimanded you, “Ah, remember your eye contact. I want you to look at me.”

Shame spread over your body. What the fuck was going on? Were you really fingering yourself on his desk right next to papers that he was surely going to return to students? Was Sam really fisting his own cock with your underwear? And were you actually enjoying this?

“Sweetheart,” Sam’s self control faltered slightly with the name. But it grabbed your attention nonetheless. “I need you to look at me. Let me look into your eyes when you make yourself come on my desk, alright?”

This was about more than fixing your grade. This was about pleasing him…by pleasing yourself. And as you returned his look, you were all in.

Under his watchful, half lidded, hazel eye you allowed yourself to focus on your aching clit which laid in wait like a pearl beneath the hood of skin covering it. Carefully, you pulled that hood back before lightly spreading some of your slick with a finger. You let the skin settle back in place over the sensitive nub before going straight to work.

You began to rub slow circles on the hood and finally properly moaned. It took only a few seconds for the muscle memory of your nightly ritual to kick in as the pleasure started to mount. Finally, all of that pressure in your core had some actual weight to it; a weight that was already beginning to roll in shallow waves over your whole being.

"There you go, sweetheart. Let me hear you loud and clear. Don't wanna miss a single sound from you," Sam groaned and you caught how the grip he had on himself tightened, how his pace quickened.

While rolling your hips against your hand, you pulled up a side of your shirt, exposing even more of yourself to him. Now he could easily see one of your tits rise and fall with your staggered breaths. He could see how the ball of fat dimpled under your fingertips as you squeezed and pulled at your hardened nipple.

Both sources of simulation had you whimpering breathlessly, "Sam, I-I'm so close– Let me come, please?"

Sam glared and asked through gritted teeth, "That's not my name. What do you call me in class?"

"Professor?"

Sam nodded darkly.

You took the cue quickly and begged helplessly, "Please, professor, please let me come–" you were cut off by the sound of your pleasure starting to push you over the edge. 

Sam left you teetering, staring right over the border of this boundary. That boundary being an ethical nightmare that you had no clue how you'd navigate. But you wanted to be good for him; you craved his approval.

And thankfully, Sam gave it as he groaned, "There you go, good girl. You can come, you've got permission."

With that, you arched off the desk and burst with glorious clarity. A thin stream of your arousal drooled from your entrance as you rubbed yourself through the enormous implosions and the small aftershocks that followed. Your head was heavy with the fog of pleasure and you wanted to hang it back, give it a break.

But still, you were determined to keep your eyes on him, even as you pulled your fingers away from your trembling cunt and stuck them in your mouth. Your tongue swirled around the wrinkled digits, soaking up every bit of yourself that you could.

Any sort of professionalism Sam had been trying to maintain up until that point shattered completely when he rolled his chair forwards. Closer to you now, you looked down into his soft eyes and watched how his normally objective stare went personal; emotional. He looked at you with the kind of admiration that made your heart flutter with pride.

He took his hand, placed it on your knee, and spread your legs further. His touch was so light, so soft that you could help feeling electricity dance along your spine.

"I thought you said you wouldn't touch me?" you whispered, only a hint of a smug smile tugging at your lips.

Choosing his words as carefully as ever, he explained, "That was before I decided that you needed some of my...guidance."

[jedimandalorian]

Baylan Skoll and Shin Hati

Skoll is the name of the wolf

Who follows the shining priest

Into the desolate forest,

And the other is Hati,

Hróðvitnir’s son,

Who chases the bright bride of the sky

( from the Eddic poem Grímnismál.)

If Skoll and Hati are the two wolves, then Ahsoka is the “shining priest(ess)” that is, the sun, and Sabine is the “bright bride of the sky, the moon.

If Sabine is a bride, who is she to marry? Her groom is out there somewhere in the sky, far away across the sea of stars. Just follow the purrgil on the path to Peridea.

[merovingian-marvels]

The Beowulf Epic

The Beowulf Epic is one of the most important literary works in the development of the English language. The language used is 10th century but it includes many words which are prominent for the 8th century, proving the tale is at least centuries old by the time this version was written down.

Germanic Heroic Myth is a genre on its own, with Beowulf fitting perfectly within this narrative. However, other famous examples of Germanic literature such as Das Nibelungenlied and the Eddic Texts were all written down in the 13th century.

Interestingly, the tale was published in 1815, which was also the time its now common name was introduced. Before the tale was dubbed Beowulf, it remained nameless all those centuries.

Despite the tale being as much a work of fiction as it can get, it gives seemingly unimportant details about life in the 800s, such as a mention of how the Danish guard their coasts on horseback.

Image credit: “Cotton MS Vitellius A. xv.” (Nowell Codex), 129r by an unknown scribe.

First page of the so-called Beowulf Poem. Manuscript located in the British Library

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Scandinavia - Old Norse Poetry - Literature and Oral Tradition

The following post describes the literature and oral traditions of Scandinavian peoples during the times of the Vikings. I describe the difference between skaldic and eddic poetry and define kennings.

A later post will have my resources and advice on writing imitations of both types of poetry. (Find it here!)

There are few primary sources of Scandinavian history and stories from the times of “Vikings”, or from the late 8th century to the late 11th century. There are artifacts with runic writing, but these are short and few in number. Most of the documents about Scandinavians written during their time are from outside sources (and often they are biased against the Norsemen) (source).

In the late 11th and early 12th centuries, Christianity and its method of writing in Latin was introduced to Scandinavia. After Latin was introduced, the oral traditions began to be recorded by a variety of authors, though the most notable is Snorri Sturluson (who compiled the Prose Edda) (source).

The most important to study of the Old Norse languages and the mythos of these peoples are the Poetic Edda and the Prose Edda.

“The Poetic Edda is the modern name for an untitled collection of Old Norse anonymous narrative poems” (source). There are several versions, and the most notable is an Icelandic text called Codex Regius from the 1270s CE which has 31 poems. These poems were not written by any one poet, but were collected and recorded from oral tradition. The exact age of these poems are unknown, but are considered to be the only direct records of Norsemen from their times.

The Prose Edda “is an Old Norse textbooks written in Iceland during the 13th century”. Its major and most well known contributor is Snorri Sturluson, a scholar and historian. The contents of the book are accounts of Old Norse mythology. Many of its sources are the same poems documented in the Poetic Edda.

Now, more on Old Norse poetry. For the most part, history and stories of the time of Vikings were passed down orally in two types of poetry.

Skaldic poetry (named for their creators: skald, or court poets) mostly regarded history and celebrated kings and jarls. It typically included little dialogue and recounted battles in detail. In comparison to Eddic poetry, Skaldic verse tends to be more complex in style and uses dróttkvætt. It also uses more kennings. While not proven, there is some speculation that skald accompanied their verse with a harp or lyre (source). It is mostly recorded in sagas.

Eddic poetry (named for the book they are compiled in: the Poetic Edda) is narrative, where there is both a narrator and characters speaking. They are characterized by their focus on mythology, ethics, and heroes, as well as a simpler way of verse (using fornyrðislag, ljóðaháttr, and málaháttr). It uses kennings, but less extensively than Skaldic poetry. It is mostly dialogue (source 1, source 2).

Kennings are figures of speech strongly associated with Old Norse-Icelandic and Old English poetry. It is a “type of circumlocution, a compound employs figurative language in place of a more concrete single-word noun” (source).

Now, when I first read that, I had zero clue what the hell that meant. But this is my current understanding: a poetic device where you dance around using a single noun by describing it with other words. It is similar to the poetic device of parallelism.

- “bane of wood” = fire (Old Norse kenning)

- “sleep of the sword” = death (Old English kenning)

- Drahtesel = “wire-donkey” = bicycle (modern German kenning)

- Stubentiger = “parlour-tiger” = house cat (modern German kenning)

- Genesis 49:11 “blood of grapes” = wine

- Job 15:14 “born of woman” = man

  In a later post I will go into further details of the exact format of the two types of poetry. But it will be in the context of writing imitations.

Posted: 2023 May 29

Last edited: 2023 May 30

Writing and research by: Rainy