#freyja prayer beads

[lockwood-metaphysical]

New: Freyja Prayer Beads

This is an updated version of the very first full set of prayer beads I’ve ever made. It’s also one of the few sets I’ve made in which all hardware contains sterling silver (sans jump-rings). They've been blessed by Freyja herself to promote splendor, beauty, prosperity, and divine intuition for the user.

You can find the link to the store in my pinned post!

[skaldish]

You all asked for Freya prayer beads, so here they are! Featuring genuine Baltic amber, rose quartz, clear quartz, black freshwater pearls, and a single emerald. The hardware is made entirely out of sterling silver, with the exception of the wire and the one head pin.

The pendant is a reproduction of a viking amulet depicting Freya, courtesy of Grimfrost.

This set of prayer beads and others will be available for purchase in my shop, Lockwood Metaphysical. I’ll let you know when the listing goes live!

[autumnsvoice87]

So awhile back, my purse and a few other things got stolen, including my freya prayer/meditation beads. So I made new ones. It's not quite the same as the other ones, but I like these very much. I feel this captivates her warrior side and her motherly aspects with a touch of the Maiden.

[onyxtides]

Lastest design dedicated to Bast but also suitable for Freyja and Artemis

[thedosianexplorer]

Hagging Out - Veneration

This is a prose-only entry this month (click here for the adorable prequel image) and it is late because, well, *gestures at this human existence in 2022 America*. I haven’t shared my writing in some time but it is one of the many ways I venerate privately. Content mentions for US current events re: the Club Q/Pulse shootings, Supreme Court rulings, the general experience of being a queer American and former Catholic. Other relevant content mentions are in the tags below!

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Veneration used to mean a holy water font booked to the door, laminated prayer cards, statues of Mary that were given to the students who learned their catechism the fastest, the clack of rosary beads. Plastic, wood, metal, semiprecious stones. Clouds of incense wreathing our church calendar and our photo of Pope John Paul II. These things were in my childhood home to remind me that down the road was the church, and we had to show that we acted like we were in that church always. God, the Son, the Spirit, Mary, all the angels and saints, and the host of beloved dead. The Church Triumphant trumpeting loudly onto focus on every room. I made my first shrine this way, to Mary. Besides the obligatory Precious Moments crucifix nailed to my wall (yes, really, these exist), my shrines were to her, my prayers to her, and besides her, the saints, the Spirit, and the angels preoccupied me. I am proud to be an apostate of my old faith, but I was born on a Marian feast and she of any of them can find me still. Now she just has to share space.

My shrines are one of the first things you see walking into my home. They’re like comfortable seats for surprise visits from friends or older relatives. Veneration is still an act, but it no longer feels like a graded performance. This is my home and my temple. My gods know where to find me.

It is the first day of November and my partner is in the worst pain I have ever seen him in, which is saying something about a man for whom subluxations are a frequent enemy. Frigg finds me in the medicine cabinet pulling together the medications that can stand in for the stronger stuff in a pinch. Her light is a thrum across my shoulders as I call dentists, wrangle insurance, make sure there is enough food in the fridge. I often ask Her to help me find abundance and work with it. Patience yields a lead, an open appointment later in the week when every other clinic won't be open until March. The clinic opens doors with a referral, a consultation just five weeks away. The medications start to work. At Frigg’s altar (my kitchen) I mash up leftovers of beef stew and stir in dried basil I grew for Her.

Freyja has another cat for me and this one looks like he’s here to stay. I take care of the outdoor cats as a devotional act because She has kept mine safe. I’ve rehomed many strays over the years and gotten young ferals used to human company. Cryptid came to me just before Samhain two years ago, and this year the Sunday after Samhain my partner found a little black kitten curled against our porch. Within minutes, my partner decided. “His name is Zagreus.” It was the afternoon before the temperatures would drop below freezing at night, and he was barely weaned. His eyes were still blue and he clung to us immediately. I brought him up to Her shrine to say hello, and to ask for help getting him to the vet. As it happened, there was an opening at the same time I had to drop Cryptid off for surgery (this is an exceptionally rare occurrence at my vet). He is healthy, and the other cats have accepted him and taught him their catlore with a readiness that surprised us both veteran cat owners. He’s sleeping next to me now, and his eyes are turning a brilliant amber.

Cryptid’s surgery comes on a Wednesday, Odin’s day. I offer strong coffee for safe travels and our Lyft drivers are swift- they even wore masks! I am wrung-out with anxiety but of all my gods he understands that. Even though I ache through with stress and the toll of new kitten energy I feel cajoled to a Wednesday night walk, my usual ritual with him. I go, and go, and walk farther than I expected, and the old man smiles with a gift: a pristinely kept, solid wood and wrought iron coffee table the perfect height for my reading chair just… placed under a streetlight by the dumpster. He has left other gifts this way- a natural quartz point smoothed with years of rain, a solid copper candle-holder, and now this ideal replacement for the table that just broke. I whisper, “Odin give me strength” and somehow I can heft this heavy thing all the way home.

Macha is who I turn to when I am tired of running or being beholden to the whims of unjust rulers. She knows the burdens of both well. Until February (or longer), all of my student loans are forgiven now but a single Trump-appointed judge in Texas just decided to derail the already delayed day that forgiveness comes to pass. Now it’s up to the Supreme Court who have already decided to curtail my rights in other ways to decide. I didn’t have much to talk about with Her besides that coming right after the midterms, but I was glad to have Her shrine to stop at and catch my breath. 

The Transgender Day of Remembrance falls on a Sunday, Hel’s day in my home. Each year I write the names, light the candles, sing the death songs, and this year it comes early. The news from Colorado Springs finds me in 2022, about to sleep, and in 2016, in the memory of too-bright hotel sunlight. The way of the gods is not linear and neither is grief. In my bedroom my partner and I check on friends and pray. I remember the Sunday morning when the joyful frenzy of AnimeNext fell silent with 49 names from Pulse. Hel is there as I walk the convention floor and listen to a mother’s worry that she wants her teens to be safe wearing those flags with their costumes. I do not tell her that my family doesn’t know I’m queer, that this is the first time I have heard a mother want her children to be out and proud. I tell her something but the words are lost with the sight of her daughter watches the doors behind her friends’ backs and fidgeting with the flag draped over her shoulders. Hel guides me home, bone-white and corpse-blue, cloaked in late autumn fog. She is with me, cemetery silent, in the late hours of grief. For hours I weep for people I will never know. She is much larger than I, and shoulders the weight of what I cannot. I make crockpot applesauce spiked with red wine and honey to warm us both. 

Badb is never far. She found me first, before I knew Her by name. I can find Her in rage, in fear, in triumph. This month has brought it all in plenty. I offer pomegranate wine and angrily wrest my peace back from all that subdues it. She is with the part of me that is left when I think there are no more logs to toss on the fire, the choice in every ember to catch or snuff out entirely. She guides the discernment to see which is needed. 

Mórrígan shares war wisdom and cold comfort as I wait on hold with insurance to remind them that, yes, I do still need the medication I’ve been prescribed since birth and yes, that medication I have taken every day for the past twelve years too. I pour out the acid in the pit of my stomach and imagine it full of the chilly cave water that runs through Her fit abode. I drink my ice water and the panic attack passes. A crow flies overhead as I walk the several miles to the pharmacy. I spoke up and my medication is the cheapest it’s been in years. I honor Her with the victory.

Loki popped in the last Tuesday of November to tell us that if we didn’t take a fucking break we’d keel over. By which I mean, we found ourselves with a massive Postmates coupon, a rainy drizzle, toasty pajamas, our massive beanbag chair and five cats that want nothing more to hibernate with us. I usually bake with them but as tired as I am, I know he enjoyed the heaping portion of tiramisu and cannolis. Even though we only had a few free hours that night it felt like a whole day of rest. 

[saltandpine]

I feel like I’m missing the community aspect of my new(ish) religion. I post on Reddit sometimes, and I’m in a pagan discord server, but it moves too fast and is intimidating.

I do fandom on tumblr and have met some of my best friends here. The pagans and polytheists on here seem more my speed with sharing their experiences, prayers, art, etc.

I may start posting prayers or devotionals, as well as updates on crafts I’m working on. I’ve been making bracelets for the last few months and I was thinking I might make some prayer beads and devotional jewelry for Freyja.

If anyone ever wants to chat, my inbox is open. 💕

[dude-im-a-witch]

I got some beads and a charm to make prayer beads for Freyja!! I got some pink agate (I would’ve gotten rose quartz, but there was none), some gold plated hematite, and a tree charm (which I wanted to get a heart one, buttttt they were all the opposite of what I wanted 😅). I think I’m going to start making it Friday!!

[ravenspeare]

When my Golden Lady requests a “prayer bead style devotional thing,” I cannibalize old costume jewelry I traded spells for at a Goblin Market seven-ish years ago and create a prayer bead style devotional thing.

I asked what a girl’s got to do to get some attention around here and that was my answer. I’m gonna have to write the prayers now and I feel wholly unprepared.

[leannan-sithe]

Recent anon. Rewording: are there any unusual godspouse individuals or groups you've encountered? I've found a massive representation of a handful of deities in the Tumblr godspouse community all reporting the same sorts of things. I'm curious about what sorts of variations exist out there beyond the loudest here.

Ooh, this gives me some good wiggle room. Thank you for clarifying.

This is mostly about deities, but some of it can apply to spirit partnerships as well.

Most Popular Deities for Godspouses:

Norse, especially Loki / Odin or both The prevalence of facist and hate groups in Norse circles that focus on Odin often makes those potential godspouses who are fascinated by his Various Ways (queer, trickster, wanderer, war-tired, etc) a little skittish around him because they need to unlearn the (false) idea Odin is The Authoritative White Cis Warmongerer

Apollo Love y'all, but the godspousing circuit adores Apollo/n. You cannot get enough of him. Personally, I think the attraction lies in a combination of Pretty Person + God of Truth / Healing, which is tempting to people who want to feel extra safe in a non-corporeal relationship

Badass and/or Warrior Lady Freyja, Artemis, Hel seems to be popular too. It's about finding empowerment in a traditionally dismissed gender, and also wanting a HBIC Wife to hold you, tightly. Sometimes crafting or traditionally feminine maker-arts are involved, as well.

Trends:

Unintentionally engaging with a deity from each major pantheon, ex. Norse, Hellenic, "Celtic", or similarly eclectic spreads of partners

Either partnered with a demon OR an angel, almost never both at the same time

There is evidence to support that one post about a certain subgroup really enjoying the Authoritative Man-in-Charge relationship (read: Daddy Dom) with their god

Unintentionally reinventing forms of Christianity as you try and distance yourself from the trauma of Christianity (ex. only one god, who you see as creator/maker, adapting monk-like lifestyle, prayers, rosaries / prayer beads, simplified symbols of that deity that you incorporate into your everyday life like one does the Cross)

Starting out with a friends-with-benefits relationship with a deity then falling in love and panicking, which makes it terribly difficult to figure out your feelings and makes it even more difficult to accurately interpret divination on the subject

Quirks (derogatory) of the Community:

Subset that demands worship be connected to godspousing and that godspouses are just Special Priests

Quite frankly, the number of <20 year olds who show up claiming they are a Priest of [Deity], yes I'm old and grouchy, don't @ me

Minors who think they should be allowed to do whatever, whenever, because there's no physical component to the relationship

Newly 18 year olds (adults) who casually drop into chat that they've been having an intimate relationship with a deity for X years, and then we're just supposed to be automatically supportive and not ask Questions

"[Deity] caused [Major World Event] and I know because they told me personally, and they said it was sad but it was for the good of the people"

Subset (often the same as point #1) that thinks it's okay for a deity to force their way into your life and divinely harass you or enact lifestyle changes on you that you're not into, and that you should just let it happen because the Gods Know Best

"Godspousing automatically is cheating if you have an IRL partner" Please be my guest and tell all the Jesus-lovers out there that they're engaging in infidelity every time they proclaim Jesus as their Lord and Husband-to-Be

Shock value partners, i.e. the occasional person wanders in with the edgelord sentimentality and has a collection of edgy partners, mostly demons, gods of death, sometimes pop culture entities. All these are fine individually, but I'm talking about a very specific collection of partners that makes you wanna go listen to Heaven Help Us or the Taste of Ink

"Godspousing = Religious" No, please don't go here, please don't be this person. it can be! But altars, prayers, and hymns are not the gold-standard of godspousing

[jules-ilya]

Going to research things™️ in order to make prayer beads and prayers for Loki and Freyja because reasons

lmk if anyone's interested 🥺🥰

[skaldish]

I have a set of prayer beads sketched out for Freyja and half of the materials ordered. Sometime within the next few days I'll take a trip to the craft store to get tools and whatnot.

Unless money becomes an issue by doing so, I'm going to try to build up stock and a portfolio before officially selling the prayer beads in part because I still need to register my business for tax reasons and I'm still in the process of changing my legal name.

I'll definitely post pics though!

[breath-of-yggdrasil]

A prayer bracelet for Freya that I've given to my mom with a little prayer attached. A set of pocket prayer beads for Loki. A pocket prayer beads string for Freyja that will go in my car on my rearview mirror. Two sets for Thor will be made once I'm paid again. If anyone would like a set, please message me. I'm willing to negotiate design and cost and make a unique set just for you and your deity of choice.

[nephilimsss]

sanctity. hvitserk lothbrok

PAIRING ➨ hvitserk lothbrok x freyja

GENRE ➨ smut, historical fiction, fantasy.

SUMMARY ➨ the goddess of war, freyja, is put onto kattegat to aid the lothbroks during their future raids. both the seer and aslaug have seen her coming, and the queen welcomes her with open arms. catching the eye of hvitserk lothbrok, she treats him as no one has done before; as an equal, instead of a dog.

WARNINGS ➨ unprotected sex, body worship, oral sex (male and female receiving), soft!hvitty.

WORD COUNT ➨ 3,080

SELENE NOTE ➨ this was a spur of the moment fic, so there might be some misinformation, though i tried to do as much research as i could on freyja!  in this fic, freyja is blonde and blue eyed. according to the myths, she is described as having “long flowing blond hair, blue eyes and a gorgeous figure which she doesn't mind flaunting, as she often appears naked to her worshipers.” i also imagined her face claim to be emilia clarke as daenerys targaryen, but much taller. this is what she wears in this fic: https://pin.it/2IOXKvF the braids in viking culture reference is from this q&a, and, as the answerer stated, it is an idea. it isn’t a proven fact, though i will pretend that it is for this one fic.

MASTERLIST

standing tall in front of the kneeling crowd, her falcon feather cloak covered freyja’s shoulders from the cold winds of kattegat, her saphire eyes looking down upon aslaug. she’s known the queen since the mortal was a young girl; only she, freyja, can give certain humans the gift of being a volva, and it was she who granted aslaug to have her four sons. aslaug was one of her most loyal worshippers, silently praying to her every night to let her see the things others couldn’t, to allow her to worship her as the goddess deemed fit.

“i’ve longed to lay my own eyes upon you,” aslaug’s head moves up to view the goddess, tears in her eyes as she takes in the form of the woman she worshipped since she was a young girl. 

“i know,” freyja wipes a tear that trekked its way down her cheek, “my child. i’ve listened to all your prayers and granted those in which i was given permission to grant. i’ve received all of your sacrifices. i thank you for them.” she kneels, feet tucked under her, and takes aslaug’s face into her hands. “if you want to continue to worship me, my favorites are cowslips and oranges.” she places a soft kiss on the edge of aslaug’s strawberry blond hair, keeping her cheeks warm with her hands. 

she stands, her hands moving down the queen’s body to clasp her hands, “come, let’s celebrate.” 

freyja towers over everyone, silver hair swaying in small ringlets past her hips, right hand holding onto’s aslaug’s left as she leads her to the great hall. with every step she took, the opal beads of her necklace twinkled with every step, the gold fastenings glinting softly in the pale light of winter. “stand and join us,” she looks at the crowd over her left shoulder, smiling brightly at everyone who began to stand. seeing an old man struggle to get up, she grabs onto his wrinkled hand, keeping a steady grip on it as she used some of her strength to easily lift him to his feet. “thank you, goddess freyja,” he bows his head. the sons of ragnar keep up with their mother, hearts beating rapidly as their eyes took in the sight of freyja, the goddess their mother worshipped with her very being. they remembered the tales aslaug told them as children, remembered how she told them to pray to her for successful raids and battles, remembered when she used to sing songs in praise of her. 

a few paces away from the great hall, the goddess stops, turning around to face the four boys with a small smile. “you must be the sons of aslaug,” she eyes them with a proud glint in her eyes. 

“we are,” ubbe nods.

“i remembered when your mother prayed for you all,” she notes, seeing ivar slither along the ground, his upper body holding him up to let him see her. “and you must be ivar lothbrok,” she releases the mother’s hand, stepping up towards the crippled man, pulling up her skirts as she kneeled to let him view her with ease. “your mother specially prayed for you,” she caresses his face, feeling the side whiskers he had grown out. “she sang praises when you survived your first year,” her voice lowered to a whisper, only addressing him as the rest of kattegat eyed them nervously. 

despite his inner efforts, ivar smiled, the once curious gaze he wore melting into one of pure happiness until he notices her eyes looking back to his legs, taking in his deformity. “i can carry you to the great hall, if you’d like,” she whispers. “that way you don’t dirty your clothes more than you already have.” his face falling back to that of anger, he motioned for her to do so as she pleased, already wanting to give his arms a break. another warm smile from freyja, she stands up, picking him up in her arms and placing him on her back. his arms wrap around her, cheeks tickled by the feathers of her cloak, his body crying in relief from the pain he had been feeling. 

aslaug’s heart brightened, seeing her goddess treat her son as an equal instead of something to be thrown around and joked about as people have during his younger years. “come along,” she waves the others forward, “i believe this calls for a feast!” 

people cheer as they rush towards the great hall, stomachs grumbling for food, mead, and whatever else they’d be able to receive during the night. 

music played, loud chatter filled the halls, and goats bleated as they walked along tables and through parted legs. raising a chalice of mead to her lips, freyja watches the feast commence, turning a knife between her fingers. the second eldest son of aslaug kept giving her glances, licking his lips once in a while as he took in the shape of her body. 

being the goddess of fertility amongst many other things, her body was the perfect image of a woman’s who’d had gone through multiple pregnancies. his pants felt tighter around his lap, taking in the beauty of the goddess before him. 

“you keep staring at her as if you’d like to jump her,” ubbe tells him, mouth still full with chicken.

“i do not want to jump her, brother,” he turns to his second plate of food.

“fuck her then?” ubbe laughs. “she is also the goddess of sex, you know. she might be willing, and great at it at that. go to her. she’s watching you too.” hvitserk faces her, seeing the blonde turn away to face his mother once again. “why don’t you go over there?” ubbe pours more mead into his cup, knocking his brother with his elbow. 

“she’s a goddess, ubbe,” hvitserk seethes through his teeth, stabbing a honeyed carrot with his fork, eyebrows furrowing. 

“so?” his brother raises an eyebrow. “she’s a woman still. does she not breathe? does her heart not beat? does she not feel the emotions us humans feel?” hvitserk stops chewing, contemplating his brother’s words. it is true, what he was saying, but he would feel an immense amount of shame if she turned him away. everyone would laugh at him as he walked back to his table with his tail between his legs. 

“she leaving,” ubbe nods to her. 

throwing his fork onto the plate, hvitserk hurries from his chair, feet carrying him to where he saw you go. a few people stared at him as he left, though they were too drunk to notice freyja was gone also. he saw her sitting on the docks, face titled up to the sky. 

“i see you’ve decided to join me, prince hvitserk,” her voice broke the quietness of the night outside, the moon shining down on her, giving her a celestial glow. he stood above her, looking down upon her face. he didn’t know how to respond; being around her made his tongue feel like lead in his mouth. “sit with me,” she pats the empty spot next to her, smiling at him once again. moving his cloak so he won’t sit on it, he sits down next to her, feet sitting on top of water below, small waves lapping against the sides of the logs that held up the dock. “how is your first night in kattegat?” he clears his throat, eyes taking in her face.

her top lip was a little fuller than her bottom lip, her eyes were a little bagged, her cheeks had a pink tint to them. she was very beautiful, hvitserk noted, listening to her answer his question. “it’s been very nice,” she plays with the hem of her dress, “your mother has been very attentive.” she chuckles, filling the air with the magical twinkle of bells. 

“i would expect her to be like that around people she trusts,” he laughs.

they talked for a while, hvitserk having gone back inside for a second to bring back mead and chalices for them to drink from. “can. . .” hvitserk stutters a bit, “can i do something?”

freyja nods, turning to face him, saphire eyes twinkling in the light of the moon. placing his warm hand on her cheek, he leans in, placing his lips on hers, feeling her respond quickly, her own hand grasping at the fur of his cloak, bringing him closer to her. she moans lightly, pulling away from him, her breath kissing his lips lightly. 

“fuck.”

keeping her body against his, hvitserk’s hand travels alongside the soft curves of freyja’s body, the warmth of the hearth in his cabin made the earth stifling hot. the arousal they both felt making their senses heighten to every touch, every kiss, every whisper of breath and caress of their hair. freyja pulls the laces of his tunic, pulling away from him, her hands traveling under the fabric, her dexterous fingers tugging it above his head. throwing it over her shoulder, freyja immediately pulled him closer to her, lips once again finding his in the orange light of the fire.

hvitserk’s hand pressed flat against the top of her back, pressing her against him, loving the way her body responded to his touches. “hm,” he pulls away from her addictive lips, his hand moving away from her hip, turning the small figuring of odin so he wouldn’t face them anymore. a small laugh tears itself from her lips before she pushes him to the bed, straddling his hips, feeling his hands settle on the curve between her derriere and thighs. her lips land on the junction where his neck and shoulder meet, feeling the stubble along his jaw prick against her cheek. licking his jugular, she hears his moan, his neck arching back to give her more access to his skin. freyja’s hand travels down his body, the softness of the hair he grew on his chest, the gentle feel of his skin under her fingertips, the airy moans let out against her ear as she continued to kiss, lap, and suck on the pale skin of his neck. 

slipping her fingers under the fabric of his trousers, she grasps his shaft, hot and heavy in her hand. she caresses it, going from the base, where a tuft of hair covered the pallid skin, to the tip, where wetness gathered and made it glisten in whatever little light it received. the more she touched, the faster she went, and the more frequent his moans became. 

he grabbed onto the braided hair on the back of her head, pulling her from her spot on his neck, stained with a dark purple bruise, to his lips, wanting to taste her own once more. his free hand grabs on to the laces of her dress, managing to untie them (though with some difficulty), freyja feeling her breasts be liberated from the confines of the blue and white dress she wore on that day, sitting up on hvitserk’s lap to allow him to slip it down her body, skin gleaming softly in the candle light. she was so perfect, so beautiful, that hvitserk couldn’t help but stare, his hands wandering along her body, feeling the curve of her hips, the fullness of her breast, the softness of her nipples. “is it true that you sometimes come to your worshippers naked?” he asks, voice delicate in the stifling cabin air.

“sometimes,” she bends down, lips touching the shell of his ear, “if they’re lucky enough.” she takes the helix between her teeth, biting it softly before pulling away, hands pushing down on hvitserk’s body to help her stand up, the dress falling to the ground, her body coming into full view. stepping out from the heap of fabric, her toes stepping on the back of her boots as she tugged them off, her hands tugging his trousers down his strong legs, his member coming up to slap against the soft skin of his stomach. wrapping her hand around the base, she kneels on the ground, feet tucked under her body, her lips coming in contact with the tip of his penis. she presses a kiss, pulling away as a small string of his precum sticking to her bottom lip, a small smile tugging at the corners. 

licking at it, she breaks the connection before she comes back to his cock, taking in as much as she could in one go. hvitserk gasps, his head falling back on the bed, one of his hand coming up to wrap around the back of her head, not to control her or to push her down further, but to feel closer. her hair had so many braids, complicated and intricate, divine and beautiful. his mother had told him how braids in their culture showed social status, and seeing freyja’s hair, he wondered how many braids odin wore as the all-father. 

“gods,” he jerked his hips when he felt her take him in so far, the tip of her nose pressed against his pubic bone.

he felt her release a giggle around him, sending small shockwaves through his body, his spine curving back, his head tilting so the ends of his hair flitted against his waist. she felt so good around him, taking in as much as she could, fitting his entirety into her mouth. his thighs began to shake periodically, his spine stiffening as his peak came closer and closer, his moans becoming louder, the grip on her hair becoming harder. 

“fuck, freyja,” he releases in her mouth, holding her head to his pubic bone, making her take all of his cum. swallowing around him, she lets out a whine, loving the taste of sweet yet saltiness of him, one hand grabbing onto his shaking thigh. 

she pulls away, kissing her way up his torso, her hands cradling his neck, straightening as she feels hvitserk sit up. 

her hands pull at his braid, his own holding onto the curve of her hips, wrapping around the small of her back. their lips connect, tongues embracing midway, hvitserk tasting his own seed, and, in a way, finds it bewitching, tasting it on a goddess’s own tongue. how had he gotten this lucky? how had he gotten lucky enough to have freyja in his bed, giving him the utmost pleasure he’s ever felt? no matter how many women he’s bedded, there was a major gap between the simple releases he received from the women and the soul crushing orgasm he received from freyja. if he had gotten that much pleasure from her lips, he wondered how her cunt compared. 

his hands wandered from her back to her thighs, using the strength in his body to pull her up, feeling the wetness of her lower lips settle on his cock, her clit hitting perfectly against his tip. whatever wetness she had released slowly travelled down his stiffness. her hand grabbed onto him, moving his cock so it would rub against her slit, teasing her hole as she took his tongue in her mouth, sucking on it like she did his member. 

she frees his tongue, raising her hips enough to take him into her warm cavern. hvitserk’s arms pull her tightly against his body, gasping in her ear when he felt the warmth of her wetness enclosing around him, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other crossing over the middle of her back and the hand holding onto her hair. 

she begins moving, rolling her hips up so only his tip remained inside her, then back down so her clit rested against the wiry hair. her hips quicken, the sounds of their moans and skin slapping against each other filled the air, hvitserk’s eyebrows furrowing deeply as his mouth fell open. “freyja,” he moans, “it’s like your pussy was made by the. . .” he stops short, a laugh tearing out his lips, freyja slowing down as they both chuckle at his slight mistake. 

“i thank you, hvitserk,” she starts the same rhyhmic roll of her hips, lips pressing against the shell of his ear. “you’re the first one to make me feel this way.” this gives a boost to his confidence, gaining enough strength in him to flip them over, freyja’s bac landing on the furs with a huff. 

his hips snap against hers, hands holding her legs up against her chest, giving him better access. “hvitserk,” his name leaves her as a small scream, hands travelling up to grip at the pillows above her bed. 

he could feel her walls flutter against him, alerting him of her incoming orgasm. he reaches down, the tips of his fingers pressing against her clit, rubbing it in time with the snap of his hips. “oh fu -” she tries to form a sentence, but the pleasure that wracked through her body left her unable to do so. “you feel so. . . so. . . g -” her orgasm hit her, her legs shaking uncontrollably as she gushed around him, leaving a thick white cream at the base of his cock. the way her walls constricted around him left him weak, jerking his hips against her, holding him in place as he released inside him.

he shouldn’t have came inside her, he knew this just like he knew that freyja is also the goddess of fertility as much as she is the goddess of sex, but he couldn’t help it. she felt so good around him, she gripped him tightly, almost as she wanted him to cum inside her and give her more children. letting go of her legs, they spread for him, hvitserk falling towards her chest, his head landing against her breasts. he presses kisses on her sweaty skin, keeping himself inside of her, keeping her plugged so none of his sperm came out. 

“fuck, you’re like a kitten of frey. . .” 

“- ja.”

he chuckles against her stomach before going back to pressing those small kisses on her skin. “i want. . .” he muttered, his cock slowly moving out of her, “i need more. please, i need more.” he’s begging her, craving her once again, small tears trekking their way down his cheeks and falling upon freyja’s skin. he’s crying for her to fuck him again and freyja’s heart softens just a little.

 “tomorrow, hvitserk,” she pulls him back up to her, making him look into her azure eyes. “rest. i’ll be here for you in the morning.” he nods, almost childish, in a way, and slumps against her body. 

[urbanseeress]

𝙷𝙴𝙻: 𝙽𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝙶𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑.

WHO IS HEL?

Hel (or Hela) is the daughter of Loki, the trickster god and the Jötunn Angrboda and sister to the monstrous wolf Fenrir and the Midgard serpent, Jormunganr. Appearance-wise, she is “half living”; where half her body is described as being heart-achingly beautiful, and “half dead”, where the other half of her body is described as the pale flesh of death and the rotting flesh that comes after.

Odin, the All-Father and ruler of Asgard, sent Hel to the realm of Helheim where she was to rule over the souls of those who had died a “dishonourable death” - this refers to the death of those who did not die in battle but have died of natural causes, sickness, old age etc. This gives her titles such as Goddess of Death, Goddess of the Underworld etc. (NOTE: Those who die in battle do not directly go to Óðinn. Freyja gets the first pick of warriors and those she chooses go to Fólkvangr, only then does Óðinn get to choose his warriors for the Valho̧ll from those who remain). 

ASSOCIATIONS:

SOLAR SYSTEM: Pluto

ZODIAC: Scorpio

MOON PHASE: Dark Moon, New Moon

CELEBRATIONS: Samhain, Yule

COLOUR: Black

NUMBER: 9

RUNE: Hagalaz

HERB: Mugwort, Wormwood, Cedar, Rue, Mullein and Plantain

INCENSE: Myrrh, Storax, Jasmine, Sage

TREES: Ash, Beech, Elder, Elm, Holly, Juniper, Willow and Yew

CRYSTALS: Black Tourmaline, Black Obsidian, Black Onyx, Apache Tear, Black Moonstone

ANIMAL: Wolf

ISSUES, INTENTIONS AND POWERS: The Afterlife, Battle/War, Darkness, Death, The Otherworld/Underworld, Shadow Work, Necromancy

HONOURING HEL:

The various ways I honour Hel:

I built Hel an altar that consisted of a statue of Hel, black candles, black crystals (See above in “Associations”) and a black altar cloth.

Make offerings to Hel – she tends to like coffee and dark chocolate, but I also burn incense on the altar for her. I also light a plain black candle dedicated to Hel.

Hel’s Incense – See above in “Associations”.

I meditate on the Hagalaz rune.

I say prayers in her name to my loved ones that have passed away.

I leave offerings for my loved ones who have passed away, this is mostly a candle, incense, a small dish of their favourite food.

Clearing up the graves of the dead whenever I walk pass and see rubbish left around it or fix any flowers or wreathes that might have fallen over.

Doing anything creative for her is something that she loves. I made a gemstone bracelet to represent her so that I can wear it everywhere I go and connect with her even more. The bracelet is made of Black Onyx beads, Skull beads and the Halagaz rune bead; all these things are associated with Hel.

CONNECTING TO HEL:

How I connect to Hel is by taking a walk through a cemetery where I can really contemplate on Death and connect with the energies of the dead around me. I also do meditations in the cemetery to tap into the death current. Whatever I hear, feel, smell and think of during my walk (or during my cemetery meditations) I always write down in my journal.

Sometimes I call upon her with a simple invocation before asking her directly for guidance. I use Tarot Cards to communicate with her following an invocation or sometimes I just meditate on the spot and wait for any images or sounds to appear in my mind’s eye that could potentially be a message from her.

I play dark, tragic and brooding instrumental music out loud, which helps me relax and contemplate on a lot of things. I also listen to a lot of Viking-inspired music to help me connect to her. I also read a lot of gothic literature, which inspires feelings of grief and longing as a healthy way to let all those feelings out, Edgar Allen Poe’s poetry is one of my personal favourites to read out loud for Hel and I to enjoy together.

MY MEDITATION – ENCOUNTERING HEL:

The first time Hel appeared to me was when I was simply daydreaming, I heard faint whispers of “Hela… Hela… Hela…” in my mind. Before this happened, my mind was completely blank and this was at nighttime as I laid in bed. I thought that this was very random, but nevertheless, I understood these words and felt inclined to close my eyes and meditate in case there was a message for me.

Hel was very unfamiliar to me and to be fair, I am still getting to know her to this day. Deities are very complex with their many different layers, personas, and energies. In general, if I ever feel like a deity is reaching out to me, I focus on the energies I feel from them and meditate on it. Doing so helps me get a “feel” of them, their energies, their intentions, their story. I tend not to look them up because I always want to feel their raw, unfamiliar energies personally and not let their mythology affect the way I sense or view them. I then take note of it in a journal and then proceed to read about them afterwards to see if my interpretation of the deity matches that written in the literature. I always believed in trusting my intuition.

In this meditation, I found myself being transported into what looked like the inside of a cave, however, part of me felt like this was no ordinary cave because it was not completely dark and obscure like caves would usually be without a torch to light the way. This cave in my vision had a pale light blue light seeping through from somewhere. I also noted there were white/pale blue crystals around me among the rocks that made up the cave’s walls.

In the cave, a child approached me. She had long silvery-white hair and pale white skin and icy blue eyes. I also noticed she was wearing a grey torn-up viking dress that was up to her ankles and that was also covered in dirt (perhaps she had been in this cave for a while trying to find her way out of it). She did not seem like she was afraid or lost, in fact, she was quite the opposite. She saw me, playfully touched my hand, smiled and giggled and happily ran away.

Not long after, a woman appeared in the direction the little girl ran off to. She had long raven black hair and was wearing a long, black dress. Her appearance reminded me of a crow.

She just stood there and stared at me, studying me. We stared at each other without saying a word to one another for a while. Later, the little girl I saw later reappeared and joined the woman. Were they mother and child? I had no idea, but they most certainly knew one another and seemed very close. They held hands and suddenly, a flash of light appeared above them and then they disappeared…

Standing in the spot they were standing was another woman with her back turned towards me and partly covered in the shadow of the cave although part of her was also under the pale blue light of it. She slowly turned around to face me. As she turned, I saw from the light that she was indeed very beautiful. Youthful, glowing and with an air of mystery around her but I could not help but feel a sense of brooding and grief in the air too. I could not tell if she was smiling or not for she also looked as if she was pained and in sincere regret. When she finally turned to face me completely, that was when I realised half of her face was disfigured.

It was not just her face, the other half of her body that now revealed itself from the shadows as she stepped forward, half of her body was either rotten or in the process of rotting away. I admit that this image frightened me, and I felt my heart beating and I also felt myself going into fight or flight mode. However, I could not move and stayed rooted on the spot, just staring at her. I could not scream but I know my jaw hit the floor at this point, to be in shock is a complete understatement.

This was Her, this was Hel and I was in Helheim. I probably should not have come here.

I stood there as she limped over to me, she was limping because she was trying to drag her “dead half” with her. The dead half of her was completely limp. I noticed the half of her that is “alive” is also had toned arms and legs and has somewhat of a four-pack, possibly from dragging that “dead weight” for so long. She took my hands in hers; one of her hands was pale but felt very warm, I even felt a pulse from it, a sign of life. The other hand, rotten, decayed, skeletal but still covered in strips of tissue felt cold and dry, and majority was bone, it made me flinch. I also noted the smell of rotting flesh and perfume (I assume is what her live half was wearing at the time) as she stood in front of me.

I finally had the courage to look up at her, into her eyes. One eye was a beautiful sapphire blue, while the other eye was blind, white and lifeless and barely hanging on in its socket as there was no eye lid to support it. I tried to ignore all that and she smiled at me. Her lip curled into a small smile, whereas the skeletal half of her face already looked like she was smiling since all I could see were her exposed teeth. The image of Hel then faded, and I slowly came to, back to the mundane world.

I am still in the process of interpreting this message but I believe the main thing that Hel tried to convey to me was DUALITY. Half beautiful, half rotten and decay. Half alive, half dead. Woman and child. Black and White. Shadow and Light.

HEL IN MY LIFE:

Whenever I think of, work with and connect to Hel, I have always felt a sense of brooding and grief, darkness and mystery, there are also times when I feel fear. She is most certainly a compassionate deity when she wants to be, but most of the time, she is detached, cold, stoic and does not really take sides. She also does not mind what you do in your craft or in your life. She basically gives off the impression of, “You do YOU as long as you do not impede on others.”

She prefers to not interfere with anything and would rather watch you. I always feel like she has her eyes on me, watching every move and decision I make, wondering what will happen next. She sometimes expresses curiosity and fascination with me; I interpret this as even though she is a Death goddess, she still likes to be involved in the lives of her children where she can watch them live in the way they want until they pass away from this world and she welcomes them into her realm with open arms.

I never really got over the fear I feel sometimes when I connect with her, but then again, I believe that was her intention. The whole point is to feel uncomfortable and never get used to this feeling. I remember sincerely apologising to Hel later for reacting so negatively towards her, but she told me that she took no offense and that it is a good thing that I reacted in the way that I did towards her.

She wants to constantly remind me of how I feel whenever I encounter a shadow of mine. This fear is a projection onto her. It is almost as if she is a mirror image of all the “bad” and “evil” things of myself that scare me, make me uncomfortable and make me want to run away from. Since she constantly pulls out the shadows from within me to make me feel extremely uncomfortable and makes me face them, I ended up doing Shadow Work with her as my guide. She always asks me, “Are you truly afraid of me or of the things I remind you of when you look at me?”

She is aware that half of her body is Death itself, but it never bothers her. Even though she literally must drag the other half of her body along with her wherever she goes (literally the dead weight of herself), she acts like she had gotten used to it over time and does not let it stop her from doing what needs to be done. The fact that physically, she gained muscle from dragging her dead half around for so long indicates that she gained strength from her ordeal.

I see Hel and see that this dead side of herself is like her very own personal shadow, except that, she is at peace with it and living in harmony with this side of her. She is an example of someone who had integrated their shadow into their life and has reached the point where she no longer needs “Shadow Work”. Only a deity is capable of this because to me, Shadow Work lasts a lifetime. As you grow older, the more Shadows form.

I admire her so much and this is why she is my role model. I strive to become like Hel and so I have dedicated my entire life to Shadow Work with her. I believe that I too can live in harmony and be at peace with the parts of me that I tried to cast away. I want to unapologetically bare my real self and feel nothing but pride. I want to uncensor my own ugliness.

Hel also eased my fear of death and completely changed my perspective on it. I view death as an end to something and the beginning of something new. I view death as a transition. Death also leads to rebirth. It is very hard and painful to let go of things sometimes, but it is necessary in order for you to move forward with your life. You come out of that situation stronger.

I used to be so afraid of the idea of dying and leaving behind all my loved ones. I also struggled with the death of loved ones, losing my Father was the one that hurt me the most. When he left, I felt a part of me die with him. I remember it took a very long time to heal and move on with my life. I was trapped in never-ending grief and was consumed with so many negative emotions like guilt, pain, rage.

What I felt is indescribable, but I remember telling my therapist that “Losing Dad felt like there was a hole in me that can never be filled by anything or anyone and I had to learn how to live with a part of me gone, but at the same time I somehow still felt severely depressed. It is not normal, it did not feel normal, nor did it feel right. I felt so numb and so empty yet despite that a part of me had died along with him, I was still able to feel negative emotions that reminded me that I was still alive.” Thinking back to that moment, it feels like Hel was with me all along, but I never realised until much later, she was there especially during those times where I felt, “half dead and half alive”.

Nowadays, I have accepted and even embraced death. Hel made sure that I was ready for when that time comes. To live your best life, you must also embrace death. As for the death of my Father, I had finally come to terms with it and vowed to live the best life that I can. I also realised that he is not truly gone because as long as I remember the memories of him, he will live on inside of me.

[bxthharmon]

White Butterflies, pt i. || Hvitserk Lothbrok x Reader

Words: 1768

Warnings: Arranged marriage

Summary: Y/N struggles to adapt to the world she’s been forced into, but it’s not all as bad as it seems.

A/N: This quarantine’s giving me so much time to write lmao, this was inspired by a list of old wives tales i found :)

i | ii | iii | iv | v

This story doesn’t follow the plot, so you don’t have to know the story to understand it.

Just past the settlements and huts of Kattegat, a short way over the headland, above the waterfall in the stream that ran to the next bay, there was a yew tree. Salient due to the runes and markings carved into the trunk. The tree’s roots reached and ensnared the flowing stream, knotty and tired after hundreds of years of life. The top branches were so high that some of the younger children of the town believed it to touch the sky, and the older inhabitants, however skeptical, could do nothing to disprove it. Of all places in and around Kattegat, the seats provided by the roots of the tree were your favourite place. When you had first arrived, you had felt so despaired, your God could surely never reach you here, but you had let go of Christianity, and embraced the Viking culture.

You used to believe that God could reach you anywhere, if you needed Him. But when you had needed Him most, He turned His back on you. Eventually, after a month of feeling lost and broken, you found that your prayers had turned to your new home’s Gods. You prayed to Odin for knowledge, to Freyja for help in the unknown. You prayed to Frigg for children, but mostly to Vidar, the Silent  God of Revenge. Come to think of it, every God you knew of had entered your prayers in the last month, though only some seemed to hear. You had learned the ways of Kattegat quickly, Hvitserk putting it down to the help of Freyja and Odin. but you showed no signs of being with child, understandable due to the infrequency of… opportunities. And Vidar? You hoped that he had a plan for you, because you wished, more than anything, for revenge.

You watched the water swerve around the toe of your boot, flowing quickly around the sides of the leather and continuing their journey down to the fjord. You leaned your head against the trunk of the yew, looking through the branches, but unable to see the sun through the metres of thick pines. You closed your eyes, and tried to imagine what your father would be doing now.

He would be in a meeting - the war council, probably - planning an invasion or attack. He was always planning, and he passed the habit onto you and your brothers. The eldest, Geoffrey had his kingdom and his people to look after, as the heir. Arthur would run the matters of war; planning and devising wars and battles, strategy and fighting had always been his skill, with his taste for violence. He scared you. Your only younger brother, Theodore, would also be victim to a political marriage, but he was too kind for the ruthlessness of a court life, you had always thought. Your mother would be riding, or gossiping over her embroidery with her ladies in waiting.

The needle pricked your skin, causing a sharp sting to shoot through your finger. You watched the blood form a little bead, pretty and dark against your skin, before slipping down onto your cloth. The crimson darted out, over the shiny, cream fabric before another bead joined its invasion of your cloth, the blood seeking out the threads of your embroidery, staining your stitches too, making them an ugly brown.

“Y/N!” your mother scolded, “Go clean yourself up, you’ve ruined your work, as always.” she pursed her lips, inspecting your uneven stitches, “you used to be good at this, but look, your stitches are too small and tight now, they need to be more relaxed.” she raised an eyebrow at you condescendingly, as if it was the worst thing in the world. “Go now.”

You went and washed your hand and it stopped bleeding, but looking for an excuse to leave your mother’s company, you had ventured down the halls to the Throne Room. you pushed open the huge, oak door and slipped into the vast room. You walked down the stone path to the steps, and walked up. You stood before your father’s throne, towering and strong and massive over your eight-year-old self. You touched the cold metal arm, and the uncomfortable-looking wooden seat. You went to sit down, but your oldest brother’s voice cut through the hall. “Y/N!” he called, “You can’t, Father will be angry.” he looked at you angrily, “Aren’t you meant to be with Mother? Go to her,” he frowned, “Now.”

“Are you okay?” you opened your eyes, and were greeted with the sight of Floki, crouched on the other side of the stream, staring at you.

“Forgive me, Floki, I was thinking.” you said, embarrassed, and stood up abruptly, “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he said, still staring at you. He hadn’t even blinked. “What were you thinking about?” 

“Well,” you shrugged, gathering your skirts and hopping over the thinnest part of the stream, “more… remembering.”

“You still think of your old life?” he asks, not unkindly, but giggled unsettlingly.

“Sometimes,” you looked at him, and he led you down the path back to your new home, “It’s still new, all of this.”

“But you still pray to your false God.” he did not look at you, but seemed accusatory.

“Rarely,” you said, feeling melancholic, “Christ has no power here, I find myself praying to your Gods.”

He spun round so quickly you almost walked into him, “Our Gods will never be yours,” he bristled, “I have seen Christians betray us too many times before.” You wondered what he referred to. “The last ended up dead, by my hand,” he continued, “So do not make false pretences by our Gods.”

“I promise you, they are not false,” you wanted to explain, but could see it would be futile, so you walked the rest of the way to Kattegat in silence. You heard a bird calling from the North, sounding like a grouse of sorts. 

The hunts were your favourite part of the summer. Your father had always insisted on your attendance, despite your mother’s protests, due to your skills in archery. You spent the best part of your summers with your brothers and cousins, learning to track and kill animals (not officially of course - it wasn’t proper.)

It always involved the smaller kills - grouse and pheasants to feed the company until the boar or stag was finally killed. These were your favourite. A few would go out and find dinner. Your well practiced archery provided most meals and food for the noblemen of the company. This particular summer - that of your fifteenth birthday - you had gone hunting for grouse with your father. It was a rare couple of hours that you spent with only the company of your horses. You always remembered those sort of times.

A bird call - a repetitive “cuckoo, cuckoo” sounding every minute or so - had come from the north. You father stopped and put his hand on your shoulder. “Your mother told me once that a bird call from the North is an omen of great tragedy,” he paused as the bird called again, “And she’s never been wrong.” 

He started his horse again, riding towards a meal.

You thought of how your cousin had died that very evening - a snake bite in the woods, and hurried on, to where Floki waited for you at the edge-most structures of the town.

“Your husband asked for your presence at dinner,” he said briskly, “I wouldn’t ask why.” 

He giggled again.

*

Loud, drunk laughter filled the hall, fires blazing and cups full. Everyone in the town seemed to be crowded into the room, but you felt removed from it all. Your husband and his brothers were spread about the room, talking and chatting with various people, while you stood in the shadows, studying the lively interactions between the vikings. You watched how they argued and laughed and talked, pure, constant passion, each in their element, doing whatever they pleased. It was such a foreign environment, You couldn’t understand how these people were so free, but how you had been so controlled in your home country.

“Darling,” you turned to face Hvitserk.

“My Prince?” you greeted, with a discreet curtsey.

“Why are you always so polite?” he was slurring slightly, but still coherent.

“I’m sorry, My Prince, in my old home, it was improper to call anyone by any name other than their title.” you explained, flustered.

“Is that what this is?” at the obvious confusion in your face, he smirked, “Your home?”

“This is where I live now, so, by definition, yes.” you thought of the place that you used to call home. You thought of your brothers, Geoffrey and Theo, always kind, and Arthur and your parents, always proper, if proper meant cruel.

“My mother said home is where the heart is.” he swayed slightly, and you held his shoulders so he couldn’t fall, “Is your heart in Kattegat?”

“My heart is long gone,” you whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear, “I don’t know where it’s gone, or how to find it…”

He looked confused, hurt even, so you looked up brightly, “Come on, Prince, you should go to bed. You’re drunk.”

“No!” he laughed, “I’m just a little happy.” 

You wrapped an arm around his waist, and he leant on you, so you struggled your way to the door, passing pleasantries with Bjorn, explaining taking him to bed, and then found yourselves in the cold air outside.

You dragged Hvitserk to your hut, and sat him down on the bed. He sat there, happily oblivious, as you pulled off his boots and belt. You went to pull his top over his head, but he stopped you. “I have a wife.” he said, you laughed.

“Oh?” you smirked, “What’s she like?”

“She’s beautiful,” you had distracted him enough to start to help him change to his nightclothes, “she’s from a Christian place, but Floki says she’s beginning to believe in our Gods. I don’t think she likes me that much, but I want us to be happy.” he sighed, and you lay him down, pulling the covers over him, before joining him in bed, “I want her to be happy. She’s really clever, you know. She speaks Frankish and English, and Latin and our language. I think she’s sad, but I don’t know how to help her.”

You realised you were crying, but were distracted from your needless embarrassment when you were pulled into his side. You fell asleep slowly, long after the party had ended and everyone in the town seemed to be slumbering. It was the most peaceful you’d felt since you’d left home.

Home.