#frigg would want me to

[hiddenhearthwitch]

📚 Small Intro To Polytheism📚

One of the most frequent asks I receive is how and where to get started when it comes to polytheism. This is a fairly broad subject and I’ll try to be as general as I can for advice but I will include specific references for Norse polytheists as that’s my shit. This information can be used to help you find a pantheon or to help you pick deities to work with it. If you’d like to use it to pick a patron deity that’s super, if you want to worship 20 gods and not have a patron deity that’s cool too. You do you dude. Please keep in mind this is all reflective of my research and personal practice. 🌻

Picking A Pantheon/Deity

This really boils down to personal preference. You’ll read a lot of posts and books that tell you many different ways and it’s entirely up to you because it is your practice.  That being said, there’s a couple of different ways to go about it. 

Research! This is one of my favorite ways to delve in. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with reading the stories of multiple pantheons and picking on that calls to you. You can also talk to other devotees and see what they have to say about deities and their religions. It is important to keep in mind that some religions are closed so please do proper research!

For example, I wasn’t originally a Norse pagan. I read some stories and thought the Hellenic pantheon would best suit me. I reached out to Eros for a while but after feeling no real connection to the pantheon I continued my research! After reading up on the Norse pantheon I decided to reach out to them out. Obviously, I fucking loved it because here I am. Point being, you can pick a pantheon based on research and not some divine message or whatever. You are also more than welcome to try out a religion, decide it doesn’t suit you, and move on. 

Divination! You can use runes, a pendulum, tarot, etc.This can go a few different ways. You can write pantheon/deity names on separate pieces of paper, mix them up, and place them face down then ask the pendulum to pick. You can assign a deity/pantheon to each suit of cards or major arcana card or even do the same thing with runes. 

For example, this is how I found a devotion to Frigg and Hel. I asked if there were any deities who were interested in working with me and pulled the runes Hagalaz and Berkana which read as Hel and Frigg to me. I followed up with tarot cards and pulled Death(Hel) plus the Queen of Pentacles(Frigg).

Asking/waiting for a sign. This isn’t something I’ve personally done so I don’t have much to say on the subject. You can go about meditating, praying, doing a ritual, or whatever and essentially wait for a sign after. It can come via a dream, something you experience, symbols you see in your daily life, it’s pretty much up to your intuition to decipher it. If anyone has information they’d like me to add in here please let me know!

If there’s a god you’re curious about and don’t want to do any of the above it’s totally cool to just reach out and ask if they want to work with you. 

Idk How To Research

Same, tbh my keyword search game is weak. Anyways, good portion of us are looking up dead religions with little reliable resources. To give those curious about the Norse an easy head start here’s a compiled list of  books by yours truly(click me!!) . It’s important to take everything with a grain a salt of salt when doing research. In my experience a lot of the retold Norse sagas have been Christianized or written under heavy Wiccan influences. It’s a good idea to do research on the author before reading one of their books.

Other blogs! There are tons of great witches and pagans on tumblr that have information waiting for you. 💗 You can search their blog/tags for good references for books, websites, podcasts, etc. Plus lots of blogs are open to answer asks. If you don’t know where to start for searching it’s best to try things based around your interest like: “norse polytheist”, “hellenic witch”, “gaelic polytheism”, etc.

Media! How lucky are we that we live in the age of technology? Knowledge is right at our fingertips! There are countless documentaries, podcasts, and audiobooks on youtube full of information for different cultures and religions. I’d personally recommend almost anything by BBC, Myths & Legends, and World Mythology!

Books! I love starting on goodreads to find good books and trust worthy authors. They’ve had almost every book I looked up with bunches of different reviews so you can get varying perspectives. Check out your local library as well! A lot of city libraries have online databases now of all of their books so you can “check it out” online and read the PDF(personal fave). 

Feeling Lost Still?

That’s completely reasonable and your feelings are more than valid. It can be overwhelming and lot of information to soak up. Just do your best and take it at your own pace, there’s no rush to find a deity or pantheon. 💞 Below are a few other general concerns I hear a lot that I was hoping to address.

“I’m leaving a monotheistic(Christian, Catholic, Jewish, etc) religion and it’s giving me anxiety.” This is entirely common and almost expected in my opinion. I was raised Roman Catholic and my first year to two looking into polytheism riddled me with anxiety. I was constantly concerned that god would smite me down or I’d face an eternity in hell for worshiping false gods. While I can’t speak for everyone that fear was entirely erased for me when I found my gods. I’ve never felt so safe and strong and hopefully with time you can find the same in your gods!

It’s okay to want to learn more or to seek something more. I can’t tell you how to handle your anxiety but please know you’re not alone in that fear. There’s whole communities out there willing to support you and help you find your safe space(including me)!

“What’s UPG?” You’ll see a lot of posts, mine included, that mention UPG - UPG is Unverified Personal Gnosis. This is essentially someone’s personal thoughts and beliefs about a deity. For example, I associate Sif with hazelnuts. There’s nothing in the lore or any book that says that she likes hazelnuts; that’s just a personal opinion(aka a UPG).

“How do I reach out to the gods?” I have a lot of information on my blog about this topic although a lot of it is Norse specific. You can check out my beginner polytheist tag here and my beginner norse post/ask here.

Altar! This is my go to typically. Altars aren’t limited to the cookie cutter image that comes to mind(no hate though I have a few); one thing you can make a side blog dedicated to your pantheon/deity, make a small one in a tin can, or even make one in a video game like Minecraft or some shit. You can be as creative or as to the book as you want. It’s up to you.

Prayer! You can totally just sit down and be like, “Hey man wanna work on some shit together?”. While I’m not 100% that all gods would be down with you being that casual it’s still something you can try.😂 You can reach out to them by sitting down in a quiet space and meditating into prayer, praying in the car or in the shower, or just pray at the altar you set up if you did. Again, I can not reiterate this enough, it’s your practice, reach out to them as you please.

Do something personal! This is more like devotional work in my opinion. Let’s say you knit and you want to reach out to a creative or domestic deity, you can knit something as a devotional act to them and as a way to reach out. For example I pick up litter in honor of the Vanir and Jörð, or I play Skyrim for Thor and Týr.

Most importantly just be honest and up front with the god that you’re reaching out too. Considering that statement be honest with yourself as well. There’s no point going into a relationship with a god if you can’t be upfront, it’ll end up in nothing but grief.

“Can deities reach out through gods/signs?” They totally can. However, it is up to you and your intuition if a deity has and it’s not likely another witch will decipher that for you. Sounds, experiences, images, all have different meanings to each of us - they may show you something that’s very personal to you but would be mundane to someone else. Trust your instincts. However, please remember that not everything is magical, sometimes a raven is just a raven and not Odin.

✨Take everything you learn with a grain of salt. Including this post.✨

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[skaldish]

Writing retellings of Norse mythology where Loki's involved is hilarious, because I'll be writing that one scene where Loki disguises himself as a woman to ask Frigg what can kill Baldr, and she'll say "I didn't get an oath from the mistletoe to not kill Baldr, because I thought it seemed too young."

But instead of wanting to write "And upon hearing that, the mysterious woman vanished," like it has in the Eddas, I feel the strongest urge to write:

And upon hearing that, the mysterious woman looked down at her bare wrist and said with great urgency, "Goodness me, would you look at the time! I've left my Dutch in the Oven for too long! Gottagobye~!"

The Loony-Toons-ass logic of this guy.

[idksmtms]

You Are Not One Of Us (Poseidon x Norse Goddess!reader) - Part 3

Full Request - Part 2

Part 2 << PART3 >> Part 4

AN: I’m so sorry this is so late! I’ve been so busy with life and then I was so tired I kinda lost the motivation to write but I’m back now!!! Also, sorry this is so short, it's kind of a filler before all the big stuff happens!

Side note: I’m so proud of the way I choose to show their messaging systems - will continue in ending note - 

Summary: Forced apart, you and Poseidon try to find ways to communicate.  

Word count: 2,604

Trigger Warnings: she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, profanity, innuendo, age gap (even tho they are both thousands of years old), god racism?? Idk they act like “foreigner gods” is a bad thing, lusting, liking the fact that he looks older (is this a warning???), (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians characters. I do not claim to own any of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

After you were thrown from Olympus and forbidden to even be near your love, it stormed for two weeks straight. With every day of the storm, more houses were destroyed, more people hurt, with no sign of an end. The people trekked to Poseidon’s temples every day with offerings, they prayed until their voices were hoarse, but the rain didn’t cease. The people believed he had given up on them, that they had done something to anger him. They didn’t know the utter heartbreak that coursed with the ichor in his veins. They didn’t know that this was the true despair of a god, that it could destroy them all. 

You had been taken back to Asgard and cared for like you were newly-made, the Aesir tip-toeing around you and hoping not to set off any catastrophes. You had become numb since you had been brought home, moving around the halls of Valhalla like a lost spirit. Odin and Frigg tried so hard to bring you back, to do something that would return you to yourself, but it was all in vain. The only thing that you could possibly want was him. 

Every day you walked the fjords, standing right on the edge of a cliff, the breeze pressing on your back, hoping to push you off. You had roamed every inch of the fjords, combed every cliffedge. You waited for Pegasus to find you, to whisk you away to your love, but the winged stallion never came. You hoped for a sign, any sign that both of you weren’t lost to each other, but nothing came.

And then, when you were beginning to lose all hope, you looked down over the edge of the cliff, straight down and into the swirling waters that frothed and smashed against the sharp rocks. There was no pegasus, but a huge clump of seaweed. You had never seen the seaweed come up near the fjords before in your whole existence, not this much anyway. It was always deep under the water, or only a few specks of it floated up and washed ashore. But there was so much of it floating near the edge that it created an island on the water. 

Your heart stopped in your chest as you watched it float to the cliff wall and bump against it. Again and again it floated into the cliff, as if waiting for something before it would allow itself to disperse. You clenched your hands together, breath suddenly shallow, then took a run and jumped off the cliff. 

The water was icy, and your skin began to tingle as the bubbles floated up around you and to the surface. You waited until they had all disappeared then allowed yourself to push to the surface as well, treading water and staring up at the sky for a moment. It had been so long since you had gone swimming, since you had enjoyed the sea as you once had, and it felt immeasurably good to be immersed in it once more. You smiled, wider and brighter than you had ever done since being back from Olympus. You allowed yourself to drop into the water again and again, ceasing the swirling of your arms and legs to just float in it. It felt like a hug from Poseidon. Then you swam over to the island of kelp and began sifting through it. 

Carefully pulling each piece away and gathering it into your other hand. If it truly was a message from him you wouldn’t let any of it go to waste. It was slippery and a little slimy but you just held on tighter as you straightened out each piece and lay it in your other hand. Right in the centre of the bundle, you found five oyster shells. They were placed in a perfectly straight row in the perfect centre of the kelp and they were… perfect. You had never seen an oyster like that, perfectly black on the outside like a mussel but still rippled so you knew it was an oyster. You reached out and gently picked one up. Your hands shook and tears filled your eyes until the oyster became blurry. You wiped at them haphazardly, blinking until you could see again and the tears had mixed into the seawater. 

The oyster was just barely open, a thin crack that you tried to peek through, but you couldn’t see anything inside. You dug your nails into the opening and used whatever godly strength you possess to pry it open just enough without breaking it fully. It was a rather delicate task and you had to stop a few times for fear of cracking the shell, but when you got it open you found a beautiful pearl sitting in the centre. It wasn’t perfectly round (as you found that natural pearls rarely were) and was actually rather flat with its edges poking out here and there so it looked like a splash of water in pearl form. You picked it out of the shell, the oyster within not giving any resistance, and you held it in your palm. It seemed smooth, and glinted different colours in the grey light. You flipped it over, and you found that there were little scratches on the pearl. They were much too small for you to decipher at first, but as you brought it closer to your eye and realised that it was writing, your heart began to thunder. ‘To have and to hold’ was all it said. You stared at it, heart in your throat, and gently placed it back in the oyster, shutting it and resting it on its bed. The next was the same, except this pearl was smoother around the edges, almost like a flat oval. ‘For better or worse’ it said in the same small writing. The one after it was almost perfectly round but also flat and thin like a drachma. ‘For richer or for poorer’. The next pearl was sharp, its edges jagged and spiking out. ‘Until death do us part’. You caressed it, allowing the sharpest edge to cut into your skin and the bead of blood to stain the pearl. You whispered each word aloud as you opened the pearls, hoping that since you were in the water that he could hear it, that he would know. The final pearl was a perfect sphere and as large as the first segment of your pinky finger. The writing was inscribed around it, and you spun it over and over, reading the words until they were screaming inside your head, until you couldn’t read them anymore because your eyes were streaming with tears and you were sobbing so heavily that water splashed up and into your mouth. ‘I love you’ it read, inscribed over and over around the pearl so that it looked like it was scratched all over. 

You floated there for a moment, staring at the vows, at the pearls, then let yourself sink under the water, eyes closed. You screamed the words into the water, bubbles floating around your face, voice garbled, but you screamed until you had no air left and even your body began to tire. You wanted him to hear you, needed him to know. Then you surfaced, breathing heavily and feeling lighter than you had before coming to the cliffs. You looked at each pearl again, caressed them, then gently placed them back into their shells. You wrapped the shells up in the seaweed, creating a tight parcel and tying it up with the seaweed you had stripped away before. You stayed in the water a while longer, feeling the caress of it on your skin, pretending it was his arms wrapping around you, his fingers running up and down your arms. Then, when it became close to the time of the nightly feast and knowing the others would begin to worry if you did not show up, you grabbed the parcel and made your way back to your new home, a small house built at the bottom of the hills that led to the cliff edges. 

It was more of a hut, built in the viking style and furnished sparsely. You had lost all your taste for glamour in the last weeks, lost the feeling of being a goddess, and had conjured this place, quiet and secluded and right by the cliffs you had once enjoyed. You left the pile of seaweed in the hall of the house by the entrance, thinking of ways to decorate your house with it. You placed the shells in order on a shelf just above your bed. You didn’t want the pearls themselves to be exposed, just in case someone came snooping. You looked at them longingly and kissed each shell before making the journey back to Valhalla. You had to find a way to send a message in return. You had to. 

Poseidon sat on the beach he had once brought you to. He stared out at the water’s edge, watching a happy couple walk along it, a woman in a beautiful dress kicking up splashes of water and the man staring down at her with such devotion in his eyes. He watched them press close to each other, walk further into the water, let it roll over them. He watched them kiss, felt it on his own lips, then a wave crashed over the shadows and they disappeared into seafoam and the sparkle of sunlight on the water. 

Poseidon pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, sighing heavily and shaking his head as he muttered angrily to himself. Though he had been forced to stop the storms lest he flood all of Greece, the one in his head never ceased. You were his every thought, consuming him from the inside. He had gone to the lake on Olympus everyday for the week he had been forced to stay there after your banishment. Zeus has wanted all the gods together to feast and be merry for the return of his bolt. Poseidon had not spoken a word the entire time, glaring at his brother with such fire that even Hephaestus could not conjure a flame with such heat. The rest of the time was either spent watching Hermes, trying to figure out if all of this was really his doing, or making the trek to the lake to sit on one of the boulders, feet dipped into the water, and reminiscing on the time he had with you. 

Even since had returned to his domain, nothing felt right. The usually comforting embrace of the water now felt hollow. The feeling of the sand under his feet did not mean anything now that he couldn’t share it with you. He no longer felt like the god of the seas, just a god of… nothing. Everywhere he looked he saw something that reminded him of you. He could not escape your memory even if he were trying. Even now, sitting on the beach where you had first kissed, he could only hope you had received his pearls, his vows of marriage. 

A butterfly, blue and shiny, fluttered into view. He watched it flap its wings and fly in little twirls, as if looking for something. Then it began to flutter closer, circling its way to him.  He watched the little creature with a sad smile, wishing you were here to see it. He knew you would love it. But the butterfly kept coming closer, flittering and fluttering until it sat itself on the tip of his nose. His eyes crossed as he tried to stare at it, eyebrows knitting in a frown, as the insect flapped its wings once, twice, then laid them out flat and stopped moving entirely. Without the strength of its little legs gripping to his nose, the butterfly fell away and into his lap, laying on his thigh as still and dead as he felt. His frown deepened, staring at the creature with its legs poking up into the air and wings perfectly flat. 

The structure and pattern suggested it was a monarch butterfly, but they didn’t come in blue. It was old, at least for its species, around 6 weeks if he were to guess, right at the end of its life. With the gentlest movements, he dug his fingertips under the wings of the dead butterfly and lifted it closer to his eyes. He flipped it over and examined the backs of its wings, the beautiful blue that somehow shined even brighter now that it was dead. He stared at the black lines that swirled over the wings, creating little pockets of blue and edged with dots of white. It was in the black lines that he found writing, in the smallest letters possible. Where the lines swirled and made pockets, letters followed them. And there, on the wings of this butterfly that seemed to randomly appear on this beach and randomly choose to land on him, he found his wedding vows. Each one he had sent, returned in the beautiful writing of a goddess. And right at the bottom, in the biggest letters, ‘I love you’. He could almost hear your voice, a whisper in the wind, and he closed his eyes lest the tears fall. 

Years passed without a word from neither him nor you. You had settled into your life with the Aesir again, comforted by the pearls that sat above your bed. You opened the shells every night and gazed at them, whispering the words and hoping that somewhere in the sea he felt your love. He too returned to his palace underwater, the butterfly encased in clear ice to be frozen as long as he lived, a reminder that you had said yes, that you had married him. Both of you felt safer knowing he was yours and you were his. It was not a traditional wedding by any means, but it was yours, and you would cherish it until the end of your days. 

After the first three decades of peace and no sign of anyone knowing that you had sent messages to each other, you sent one more, another butterfly with a simple reminder that you loved him. In return you received a conch shell, not too large but still a hefty weight in your palm. When you lifted it to your ear, in the whisper of the ocean you could hear his voice, telling you he loved you. Every night you put it to your ear and let it lull you to sleep. 

So many years passed in this way, changes coming and going, empires rising and falling. Suddenly the modem age arrived, bringing its technology and skyscrapers and all of you gods into each other’s vicinity once more. Now the Greek gods were huddled in New York, living lavishly atop the Empire State building while the halls of the Aesir occupied Boston, hiding in plain sight. The battles continued, the monsters still roared, but things had become slow, the gods became lazy. While you kept your cabin in the fjords, your connection to Poseidon and your homeland, you were forced to spend much of your time in Boston to keep yourself alive, to keep your facade with the other gods. 

The clashes between the worlds of the Greek and the Norse became more frequent, though all the gods kept their promise of staying away from each other. It was not until the battle of the Draugur that this promise was broken. That after millennia you were face to face with your love once more…

A/N: I chose things from the sea as his messaging system because obvi he’s the god of the sea. But I chose butterflies for Y/n because I see her character in so many ways that I feel the butterfly embodies. I was thinking of the butterfly effect (a butterfly flaps its wings in one place and a storm starts in another) and that’s literally Y/n because she’s this small thing who’s seen as gentle and underestimated but she causes all these big things simply by existing. And then butterflies are seen as small and gentle and colourful but there’s literally a species of butterfly that drinks the tears of turtles and that felt so accurate to her character because she’s seen as small and pretty and colourful (and she is) but she can also be vicious and violent for survival. Anyway, thank you for coming to my ted talk. 

Taglist: @thicficbich1, @pasta-warlord

[acrystalwitch]

(***NO N*zis or TERFs allowed to interact with this post or my blog*** This is a post for Norse pagans or polytheists looking to work with Odin. This is all based on my own experiences working with the all father and nothing here is to be taken as a hard fact. If your practice differs from my own that is totally fine. There will be a lot of UPG and SPG)

An incomplete summary of Odin in Norse mythology.

Odin, god of war and wisdom is a key figure in the Norse myths and is involved in a lot of the stories. He is the head of the Norse gods and is called the All father, because it’s by him that all of humans were created. He is married to Frigg and together they had Baldur and Hodr. Odin also has other sons, Thor, Vali, and Vidar.

He has two ravens Huginn and Muninn, and two wolves Geri and Freki.

He only has one eye, he sacrificed his other eye by throwing it into Mimir’s well in exchange for knowledge that could better help him prevent Ragnarok.

Another famous story of his is when he hung upside down from the tree of life for nine days and nine nights to get knowledge of other worlds and to be able to know everything about the runes.

The type of magic he practices (Seiðr) was a feminine type of magic that wasn’t always looked highly on when men would participate in it. Yet our Allfather was very practiced in it.

My experience working with him: One thing to know about working with Odin going in, he will be very honest and blunt. My other deities have a habit of being softer on my feelings than I’ve heard other devotees say they’ve been with them, I’m assuming because I’m very sensitive. But Odin..? He does not care. He will stop giving advice if I tell him I don’t want to hear it. But, if I ask for advice…oh boy, am I gonna get his full opinion. He is very much a father in the way he goes about things, he cares but he wants his followers to push themselves as much as they can, learning as much as you can and always growing, never staying sedentary for too long.

I have a notebook dedicated to him that I’ve been using to work on learning the runes and that seems to be the best offering to give him in my practice right now. He never misses a chance to remind me I need to get back to learning the runes too.

I always wondered why it mattered so much to him that I learn them. Eventually he told me that it was because they really would be useful in spells, and wards and making bind runes out of them is something I’m learning to do now.

He is not the easiest deity to work with, he may even push your buttons on purpose to get you to think harder on things. I’ve noticed he’s even been rude before just to see if I’d stand up for myself and set boundaries and then he’ll explain himself after. Lots of tests trials and teachings. But man, is it worth it for the immense amount of knowledge and mentorship that he can bring. All in all, I’m glad he came to me later in my practice as I might’ve been scared off from deity work if he was the first. But, I love him to pieces and hope to work with him for a long time.

Offerings and associations of Odin

(Odin does not eat food so I’ve seen many people say not to give him food offerings, I disagree! Give him things that he can feed to Geri and Freki. He is known to still fill his plate and just give them bits over meals. So don’t hesitate to gift him any food offerings you would to any other Norse god)

-colors: gray, dark blue, black

- tree Imagery, Yggdrasil in particular

- raven Imagery, black feathers

- wolf Imagery

- clear quartz

- onyx

- blue goldstone

- amethyst

- carnelian

- the hermit tarot card

- the hanged man tarot card

- the four of cups tarot card

- the king of swords tarot card

- mead, wine, alcohol

- poetry (he writes poems!)

- mugwort scent/incense

- Ansuz rune ᚨ

- learn about the runes

- learn his myths

- learn useful and practical knowledge

- read books

- ask him for advice

There are many more ways to learn about him and get close to him. A great one is reading the Hávamál. If you meditate or do tarot or rune casting those are also great ways to contact him and get closer to him.

Signs he might be reaching out; seeing ravens more than usual or in non native areas, very windy days, rain, seeing his name often, feeling drawn to his mythology, seeing his tarot cards pop up often, you already work with one of his sons (I think he sent Thor to me first to soften my idea of the Norse gods and be a warm intro into their pantheon.)

He is a great god to work with, lots of work though. Odin is not for the weak minded, but he’s been so worth getting to know.

[chantsdemarins]

The Breath of the Æsir 🏰 (Loki x Reader) Chapter 2: The Stranger

Okay friends, I re-wrote Chapter 2. I was not happy with it after a friend pointed out to me that it needed work. Making me remember I really need a beta reader! *Any takers?

I hope those who might have read the first one will give this version a try!! As always reblogging and comments are the most amazing experience for me as a writer in this community. Thank you for reading and waiting. I am trying to get on a schedule I can stick to!

Summary: This is Loki's side of the story so far, as the world he finds himself in stirs into turmoil. What will the nature of your relationship be under these circumstances?

Smut Meter: Calm wildfire status

Word Count: 3,141 (give or take)

Loki

Loki was hiding among the Æsir. His true origin was not of theirs. Fárbauti, a frost giant, had been responsible for pulling him out of the tight silence and into form, so he could live among the Gods. A thin agreement had occurred between Odín and the Jötunn. This agreement was unknown to Loki. Odín would raise him. All his life, stirring in his veins was the blood of another people, another realm. The ornate mirrors in Asgard reflected back to him the image of a handsome spell caster with Æsir features. There was only ever the slightest feeling, that perhaps, his near-constant discontent, was related to the architecture of a family lie.

He knew where there was limitation, there was often equal illumination. Therefore, this conflict gave Loki insight into many aspects of the universe, some of which he would never have known had he not been born for deceit. This dual vision of light and dark created a natural and gradual buildup of powers, which he had no reason not to abuse. Where he lacked morals, he was tempered by circumstance back into some code of character that appeased both his father and whatever party he had offended by his lack of grace and concern. However, from time to time, something would cause him to change, more permanently, more absolutely. These events were so profound when they happened that the Skalds, both in Asgard and Midgard, told of them. Sometimes humans would be caught in the lava of the Gods' path. You were one of those humans. The day Loki lay close to one of his possible deaths, you had found him.

He was banished because he had seen enough. His contrary disposition had rejected the Northman’s insistence on placing his royal family at the heart of their bloody conquest. Thor, Freyja, Frigg—and Odín—had been brought deep into the conflict moving across the belly of Midgard. They used incantations and sacrifices to move the will of the Gods in their favor. Loki disliked this immensely. He did not like to be appeased with tokens. The ground of Asgard was saturated with the blood of Midgard. This disturbed him so much and ate at his being until he could stand it no longer. He cursed Thor, cursed Odín for the part they played in encouraging such worship.

In the throes of his discontent, Loki quickly discovered a God cannot have everything. For example, he could not have his opinion and his magic. Odín told him to go see for himself. Go see why the humans needed the Gods. See their fragility and need for guidance. He would be begging him to return to Asgard. “Go experience their ignorance with only a sword to protect you from it,” Odín had said to him.

When Loki decided to take a great risk, a great calamitous excitement would concurrently erupt. His enduring life and the lives of the Gods needn’t be so pristine and eternal. He longed for the shorter life of the Midgardians. He wanted to feel what life would be like if you only had a few years before you became permanent food for the beetles and worms. He needed to feel time slipping away from his grasp. So, without any seiðr, he nakedly stepped through the Bifrost and fell to Earth, fell to the home of the Midgard serpent, one of his many children, of which he was not the only father.

When he opened his eyes and began to walk across the hillside, so indulgently green it hurt. He took a moment and said a prayer to the elemental spirits that spun such colors into life on Midgard. They were independent of any God's influence, even ones with their full powers. The elementals were bonded to Midgard herself as servants. Loki could only admire their spinning of forms; he still had incredible vision even without any magic. He could see into their structural design and could listen to the hum of their cellular respiration. Loki was not the God of such things as fertility, but he felt himself in a keen understanding of it. He truly saw his station in the nine realms as a God responsible for making life, more than the ending of it. Not that any of the Gods would ever understand this about him. Creators often end up destroying their most precious creations just because they can. Loki had come to Midgard to change this.

He walked with careful trepidation; he was mortal now, and even though his heart soared with the thrill of his new lot, he did not want his tenure on Earth to be over so quickly. So, he cautiously guarded his path over the verdant hillside in the quiet of the afternoon. Things were seemingly calm, still, which actually began to worry Loki. Silence could mean only two things: peace or death. As he continued walking to gain a better view, he encountered a sight he was not prepared to see just yet. The ruins of a village burned in a heavy cascade of smoke. He quickly remembered he had no power to change the circumstances before him. He thought of Thor—would he truly celebrate this use of his name? He wished they would have the courage to do as he did, to come and see the work of the humans. Loki would have to be the eyes of the gods this time. Just as his contemplation ended, he felt the ground beneath him bend in a rhythmic flutter—horses. It was the same in any realm; the beasts were among the most powerful of all creations. Some could even fly, but not these. These heavy beasts carried their masters, who likely spotted him from their outposts.

They saw a stranger overlooking their burned village and identified him as one of the raiders, one of the pillagers, not as the God who made such acts possible. He looked up just in time to see a sword brandished by one of the riders. With a quick and skillful blow, he was impaled in his stomach. It had only been a few hours since his arrival, and already he was vanquished by the Norns. He fell, consumed by defeat and physical pain, his armor pierced. They spoke in their language, seemingly arguing whether they should take him captive. Perhaps they would have if they had not just suffered such a great loss. They left him to die and rode away without looking back.

The Encounter

Loki was consumed with a pain he had never felt before; it was completely debilitating. No sooner had he arrived on Midgard as a human he was swept away into the saga of their fragility. He couldn’t believe he was once so interested to experience this, to feel his life expiring and his pulse weaken. His heart was slowing, and every breath felt like he was uncertain if yet another would follow. He now worried that if he were to die on Midgard like this, his death would remain unknown, and his family would not find him before the vultures tore the newly minted mortal flesh from his bones. He fell into a fever quickly and began to dream of the frozen landscapes of his true birth home, of Jötunheim. His Asgardian façade was fading with every labored breath.

It was just his luck that as he could take no further steps, he reached the courtyard lined with thorny gorse, which pierced the white of his skin as he fell through the yellow flowers, leaving droplets of blood forming from yet another location other than his stomach. He called out something from a tongue he knew from Midgard, although he knew not where and when it was from. He saw you in the doorway before he closed his eyes; he wasn’t sure if he would open them again. He hoped that if he did, you would be there beside him. It was the tiniest of wishes; he was sure you were a Valkyrie. Not having enough blood in his veins to remember there were no Valkyries on Earth, his eyes shut, and the world of Midgard faded from his senses.

He had felt the jostling of stitches, the pulling of thread against his taut skin. He saw you, Valkyrie, with golden threads weaving his wound closed. He swore he heard you tell him his body was a tapestry, one you could embroider. He laughed at the thought of being sewn together by a fierce battle goddess of the nine realms. He worried about his weakness. He did not like the vulnerability that consumed him as he fought to return to the living. Part of him remembered the icy cold feeling of space he once felt as he let go of Thor and drifted off into the void, only to be intercepted by a race of beings so deadly and diabolical, he knew he wouldn’t be able to die enough times to satisfy their lust for power and domination. Part of him rested in the knowledge that you would make him whole again. The Norns had led him to a warrior who was also a weaver, a tailor.

He Lives, for Now

"Gef þú seiðr þinn mér," Loki mumbled once he was finally able to awaken. Sweat covered his face. A chill coursed through him. You had saved him just as he had predicted. He was still alive, but he was not yet well at all. "What is seiðr?" you immediately asked. You did not have what this man was asking for, and you would not be robbed of what you did have. Leaping to your feet, you grabbed the knife you had uncovered from his person while the man slept. Loki found himself once again at the receiving end of iron—only this time, it was his own.

"How quickly I forgot this is how people communicate, regardless of their station," Loki mused, clutching his stomach, fingers running along your needlework which now adorned him. "Communicate? Sir, you are in my home. I saved your life, and now you ask me for something else. What else could you want, unless you are the thief and murderer my servants say you are? Are they right? Have you come to kill us?" Your voice was a barely audible trill, but every vowel entered his ear as if it were a drum beating away shadows inside of him. You looked so shaky and unsure Loki was immediately disoriented.

As a Valkyrie, you would be more skillful, potentially than him. Why were you not wielding your own blade? Loki’s mind puzzled in a million different directions. In the chosen tongue, he rattled off an inquiry about where he was, now remembering he was on Earth as he came to. He needed you to confirm it. You told him the name of this small village, and Loki more solidly realized you were actually a human woman, seemingly. He found his voice hidden beneath the swell of feelings rising in his chest. "Do you know how to use that knife, woman? Don't wield something you aren't prepared to use, and why would you undo your handiwork?" Loki pointed to the careful stitches across his body. "You know me not, sir," you retorted. "I have unraveled nearly all the needlework I started. I have thrashed threads from one tapestry to another; I have no finished embroidery to show for it, so sir, flicking the threads that hold your guts in would be no long consideration."

The words that flew out of your mouth betrayed all your education and training. Never in your life had you spoken to a man like this, not to your father and surely never to your husband, but this man seemed to be able to feel and hear anything you might say. You didn’t know why you knew that, but you did. Perhaps it was the sewing him up that gave you such a perspective. The candlelight study of his stomach. You thought of the fine line that jutted across his abdomen where you had let your fingers trace in a kind of stoic appreciation for a moment while applying your stitches to his wound. You suspected your husband’s stomach did not have muscular curvature. The stranger was the first man you’d ever seen naked. You let yourself consider that for the briefest of moments before you returned to your senses and your defense of your home. By no means had you an understanding of just who this man was and what he was capable of even in his weakened state.

Loki continued to consider your origins. You could not be a simple incarnation of a human. Perhaps you were actually Asgardian, another traveler like himself, grown discontent with the trappings of the ethereal realm and transplanted to Midgard. He had known others who had come; his idea of leaving had not been a unique one. The Norns might have given him some grace after all, by leading him to you. Yet if you were a fragile mortal with a much shorter life than his, you wore your timeline with such grace, that it completely startled him. You were closer to the end of your short life than the beginning, perhaps you knew this and were prepared to defend what little you had accumulated. Or maybe it was something else that inspired such bold words. "What do they call you?" you finally spoke again, daring to continue. "Loki." His name was a rune itself, a spell, the only magic he had left. He wondered if you would feel its power. "Loki," you repeated, his name flowed from your heart to your feet, causing your body to feel heavy. You landed on the velvet living room chair with a crash. Loki, who had been situated in the other chair, leaped up beyond the ability his body should have allowed. "Woman," he said, daring to near you. "Please wake." He had not expected you to faint.

As he drew closer to you, he wasn't sure if you had fainted or passed to some other realm. You looked so peaceful. He held your head and for a moment dared to place a strand of your hair behind your ear. Your eyes struggled to open. "Loki," you murmured, not having heard the name before, but its composition—the four sounds—collided, perhaps stealing your breath. His concern for you was evident on his face, but it quickly faded, replaced by something akin to fear. Loki was startled by how swiftly Midgard's emotions were becoming his own. He had known so little of fear and now he was becoming proficient in all its shades and hues.

Suddenly a deep knock on the door and frantic voices could be heard from outside in the courtyard. A group of tenants had gathered, yelling and frantic. Perhaps the worst of your fears had materialized. Not only were you harboring a man, but now the townsfolk knew and had come to confront you about it in your husband’s absence. You did not want to open the door. You glanced at Loki, who had stepped further back into the darkness of the living room while you found your footing. "Lady, you should answer them," Loki's voice was a mere shadow, yet you trusted it to your surprise. Elinor was also nowhere to be found, and you were once again left to make decisions by yourself. This introduction with the stranger would have to further wait. With all your strength, you walked across the room and unlocked the large, heavy door. Before you could open it fully, the crowd of tenants crashed into your home and fell against you. There were strict conditions under which the manor lords ruled, and such an intrusion was likely less a group coming to judge your guest but one of desperation you immediately recognized.

You gasped for air and tried to calm them, beseeching one of the tenants to explain what had happened. "They are here, the slaughter wolves," Æthaldan, the young blacksmith, finally spoke wildly. The rest of their voices were a blur, a scattered cacophony you couldn't decipher. The "slaughter wolves," who sought to take the land you managed, had been kept at bay by bribe or sword wielded in temporary acts to push them back, to change their minds about the worth of the land. Words had been spoken by the manor lords about the rocky soil being no better than the soils of where they came. Their crops would not find purchase here either. You knew this to be true in your heart since your land had been barren, and that barrenness had crept into all places of your marriage, including your womb. Nothing but the yellow gorse you had planted around the periphery had grown.

Suddenly from behind the crowd, you heard the sound of your closest companion, "What are we to do?" Elinor had been able to come back to the manor from where she had been in the village; she was now frantic as well as she pushed Æthaldan and the others out of her way to get to you. You surveyed the tenants, as you embraced your friend; none had weapons worthy of the name. One held a reaping iron, another something procured from the hearth, likely nothing in comparison to the weapons of the intruders. You needed time to think, but there was none. You looked down at the weapon you had lifted from the stranger while he slept. You had nearly forgotten you were holding it, clasped tightly in your hand. You tried to hide it in your skirt pockets, but it was clear no one had noticed what you were holding in their panic, not even Elinor.

"Please keep them safe until I return!" you finally shouted at your friend, knowing the best she could do was bolt the door once everyone was inside. Your instructions were curt, "Call to the others, have them come to the house," your voice trailed off as you ran through the corridor of the manor, looking for the stranger. You wondered where he had gone; he was still injured but not knowing his nature of intent you imagined all possible things as you searched for him in the curtained darkness of your halls. Your thoughts ceased when you came upon his nearly collapsed form; he was barely able to stand. Without thinking further, you handed him back his knife, taking his hand and placing it to it, folding his fingers around the hilt. "Help us now, I saved you, now you save us," you demanded. "This is your weapon, use it,” you reiterated when you noticed he was not stirred to action. His blue eyes were crestfallen, “Lady, I cannot,” were his words before he handed the blade back to you.

[yanderes-galore]

Since there's no God of War fic here yet, could you write somwthing for Freya/Frigg (her obssession can start with the 2018 game and gets more intense in Ragnarok when she's an ally to Kratos). Reader helps Kratos on his journey and despises Odin as much as her, which makes her have a conection with them.

(This woman literally made her son immortal and invulnerable to almost everything just to protect him, imagine what she would do for her darling).

-🐻

Honestly, she's also quite an intense yandere. I'd love to! I utilized some of the plot elements you gave me but also just gave my general view of her as a yandere.

Yandere! Freya Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Fear of loss, Overprotective behavior, Manipulation, Isolation, Violence, Stalking, Trauma, Forced immortality, Self-destructive behavior, Paranoia, Dubious/Forced relationship.

Honestly, while Kratos is intense because he's brutal...

Freya is intense because she's smothering.

She, like Kratos, has lost many people close to her already.

Both of them have a fear of loss that drives them crazy.

Freya would meet you around the 2018 game.

Despite the distrusting nature of Kratos she sees you are an ally of him and his son.

You probably don't know much about Odin until Ragnarök's events take place.

That is unless you know about her legend and past... even then she may have to tell you about it.

You are right that Freya would go to great lengths to protect you.

She protected Baldur with a spell that made him immortal yet unfeeling, she healed Atreus...

If she cares for someone enough she'll do everything she can to protect them.

Even after Kratos kills her son she wouldn't hate you.

Freya is a motherly yandere who is suffocating with her affection.

She hasn't truly loved anyone as a spouse due to her experiences with Odin.

But she certainly has a connection to children.

When it comes to the one she loves she'll do everything in her power to protect them.

Considering how she's a God, that's a lot of power.

She would feel guilty and bad if her ways of protecting you made you unhappy, but she prefers that over losing you.

Don't be surprised if Freya gives you an immortality spell similar to Baldur's.

She may even try to keep you isolated just to hide you from Odin.

If you also hated Odin it only feeds into her feelings towards you.

Freya has trauma due to Odin.

As a result she views you as someone to cling to, someone to heal her inner pain.

Especially after the death of Baldur, her son.

While she is an ally to Kratos in the 2018 game she isn't as obsessed, she's protective but hasn't fallen for you fully yet.

After the death of Baldur she stalks you along with Kratos.

Freya hates that you still work with Kratos instead of siding with her.

Which only fuels her attempts of killing Kratos.

She means you no harm, yet I suggest not trusting any eagles.

She may just be watching.

Her obsession fully situates when she joins Kratos again.

She no longer wants to kill the man... plus she's a bit envious that he's around you all the time.

You're so much different than Odin... and you hate the man too.

As Ragnarök unfolds, Freya feels she needs you.

To her... you may be the cure for her trauma.

Because of this she begins to pursue you.

Now let me say this, Freya may be even harder to leave than Kratos.

She has many spells and tricks to her advantage.

She can disguise herself, make you immortal, isolate you....

If Freya feels there's a way to protect you she'll pursue it.

Even if you begin to hate her... Freya accepts it.

She loves you too much to just lose you.

She fears your death, she fears you running off...

She'd rather perish than give you up.

Speaking of which, Freya would sacrifice herself to protect you.

She could care less what happened to her at times, just as long as you're alive she's happy.

Freya can't wait until Odin is dead, honestly.

By the end of Ragnarök she's ready to make you her true spouse.

One she wishes to marry out of love... not out of obligation.

Freya can be extremely caring.

Being with her isn't too bad....

But since you most likely have the immortality spell on you, you can't feel much.

In fact... you feel a bit broken and frustrated.

Freya ends up recreating the pain she inflicted on her son with you.

You begin to resent her because she'd rather keep you safe than happy.

No matter how much she says she loves you, no matter how many kisses she gives you...

You feel nothing.

Yet Freya doesn't care in the end... because at least she has you... safe and sound.

[ficretus]

RWBY contains surprising amount of Norse allusions in the story (and funny part is that almost none of them center around Nora, who's primary allusion is Norse god). Everything from Oz being Odin, Beacon being Valhalla, Branwen siblings being Huginn and Muninn, Pyrrha being Baldr, Tree in Ever After being Yggdrasil, and so on.

However, I want to focus on Salem as Loki allusion and her Grimm hybrids.

While relations wise Salem doesn't make much sense as Loki (since Odin's wife was Frigg), Loki does share ancient past with Odin that latter is embarrassed to admit. This of course parallels back to Salem being Ozma's "little" secret he keeps from his allies.

Outside of that, both Loki and Salem seek to overturn order of Gods and cause a Doomsday. Loki also nicely parallels Salem's title of Queen of Grimm by being father (or mother in Sleipnir's case) of monsters that would end up causing Ragnarok. Those children being Fenrir, Jormungandr and Hel.

Hel and Fenrir were already featured in the show, being Cinder and Hound respectively. Cinder has visual similarities with Hel: Mask and Grimm arm (as well as her asymmetrical clothing style) parallel to Hel's half flesh, half blue skinned appearance. Both are also self proclaimed rulers that were cast down at very young age (Cinder symbolically, Hel literally). Hound, just like Fenrir is massive wolf that devoured Odin/Oscar. Their deaths are also relatively similar: Hound was crushed under statue while Fenrir had its jaw crushed by Vidar's heavy boot before being stabbed.

Unlike Salem's other creations, Hound and Cinder are hybrids, which gives them elevated position. If we go by that logic, then third harbinger of Ragnarok, Jormungandr, should also be a hybrid and major threat narratively. Jormungandr appears as either massive serpent or worm depending on the version of story. This, combined with current Vacuo setting makes me believe that we might see Jormungandr in the show as massive Grimm sand worm. While Jormungandr was aquatic being, there is no appropriate setting for that in the show and it would come way too close to Leviathan from Volume 6. So why not bust out a sand worm, after all, desert is sea of sand.

At its core it will likely be another silver eyed warrior, although I don't think this will be Summer. Since potential Grimm Summer would be an allusion to Red Riding Hood's devoured grandma, If they ever make a Norse allusion for Grimm Summer it's more likely she is gonna be a Garmr, ultimate hound of Norse mythology and guardian of Hel's gate (this could be a parallel to implication that Summer was the one guarding conquered Beacon). It's the only opponent at Ragnarok that doesn't seem to be referenced in any way. Garmr's opponent at Ragnarok was Tyr (who parallels with Yang) so it makes sense narratively as well.

[randomtheidiot]

What the Norse gods probably smell like.

NOTE: I AM NOT A NEOPAGAN. I’M JUST A NERD. PLEASE DO NOT TAKE MY DERANGED RAMBLINGS AS RELIGIOUS GOSPEL, I WILL ULTIMATELY USE ALL THAT POWER AND INFLUENCE FOR EVIL.

This is a comprehensive list of what I think all the Norse gods smell like. Do not ask me why I wrote this down, why I wanted to post this on the internet or why I even asked the question in the first place. Everything can be explained by mental illness and sleep deprivation.

If your favorite deity isn’t on here, it’s because they suck.

-Óðinn (Odin): A mix of beer, sausage and that old man sweater smell.

-Þórr (Thor): Alcohol, body odor and an inordinate amount of Worcestershire sauce. The smell is strong enough to knock small birds straight out of the air.

-Loki: Fireplace soot and the kind of mulling spices you’d use in apple cider. You’d think it’d smell good, but the sooty smell kind of ruins it. A bath would definitely help.

-Frigg: Some sort of strong perfume, along with cheap wine and potpourri. She just kinda does, I don’t know why.

-Freyja: She has that cat scent. I don’t know if any of you know what I’m talking about, but she smells like a cat.

-Freyr: Apple scented shampoo. This is a conscious choice on his part.

-Baldr: Flowers. Real ones, too. Not the fake perfume shit. I suppose now he smells like a corpse that was burnt on a pyre, but when he was alive, he smelled like flowers.

-Höðr: Wintergreen mouthwash… for some reason.

-Nanna: Fruit preserves like jam and shit.

-Hœnir: He smells like a dad. Whatever you think a dad smells like is what Hœnir smells like. He smells fatherly.

-Skaði: Pine sap. She is covered in pine sap and if you look closely, she probably has some pine needles glued to her hair.

-Sif: The bread aisle in a grocery store.

-Iðunn: Apple based food products. She’s not exactly running low on apples.

-Sigyn: Olive Garden. She smells like the inside of an Olive Garden. Do not question me on this.

-Mímir: Very strong incense to cover up the corpse smell. It is nearly impossible to breathe around him.

-Týr: Go up to a man. Any man, doesn’t have to be a specific kind of man. Now smell him. That is it. Týr smells like a man.

-Heimdallr: Piss and vinegar from all the hate in his soul. There’s a million goddamn signs of Ragnarök and his dad still has him keeping watch like he’s a fucking security robot. That horn ain’t gonna do shit and he knows it.

-Njördr: He smells bad, but it’s not really clear what’s on him. It could be anything from tacky deodorant to motor oil and judging by his general weirdness, I’m not sure I wanna find out.

-Ægir: Alcohol. He practically wears Heineken as a cologne and it smells fucking terrible. Add on his natural ocean smell and it’s just fucking unpleasant to be around him.

-Rán: Fish, and not for the reason you might be thinking!

-Jörð: She’s a fucking earth goddess. Stick your face in the dirt. That’s what she smells like. Don’t ask me this again. Fuck you.

-Laufey: Tree. :)

-Njörðr’s unnamed sister-wife: The nursing home.

-Lofn: Shitty rose flavored Turkish delight that I got from one of those generic ass Marshall’s stores that white moms really seem to like. It was only slightly better than the lemon one.

-Forseti: That incense they use at Catholic Churches. I don’t know why, he just does.

-Hermóðr: Sweat and various other body fluids, as well as traces of whatever menial task Óðinn last assigned to him.

-Ullr: Tobacco. On his breath. Staining his beard. It’s horrible.

-Sól: Orange juice and sunscreen.

-Máni: Grape scented for unclear reasons. Probably nefarious ones.

-Bragi: Bragi smells like a disappointment of a child. His siblings are Þórr, Baldr and Týr and he’s just there with his stupid poetry and shit. He smells like those stupid Yankee Candle candles that never actually smell like what’s on the label. When I see “tropical seabreeze” on a label, I don’t expect it to smell like dishwashing liquid, but it always does. Bragi is tropical seabreeze candles. Bragi is dishwashing liquid.

-Hel: BAD. BAD SMELL. THAT IS NOT A GOOD SMELL.

-Angrboða: Plums.

[godsofhumanity]

You should make some general Thor headcanons since Marvel helped him become a popular god

okie i have some ideas.

i'll be real. marvel is what got me into norse mythology, and i find it super difficult to separate chris hemsworth's Thor from mythology Thor. so my hc's are pretty similar to that portrayal.

personality wise, i think Thor is generally a friendly guy. i mean, i dont think he makes friends as quickly as say, Freyr and Bragi, but deep down, he has a heart of gold and anyone who knows him, knows that this is true.

Thor doesn't really have any filter. he says exactly what he is thinking. he's call things as they are.

i think this makes his relationship with Loki very interesting. marvel has Loki and Thor as brothers, but in myth, that dynamic works better between Loki and Odin instead. so, my hc is that after Odin, i think Thor might interact with Loki the most largely because Loki is a *bit* scared of Thor.

Thor is superrrr strong. maybe the strongest in Asgard after Odin. his lightning is feared by everyone, as it should be. AND he has a temper to match.

with Thor, it's a short temper, but quicker placation. you can easily defuse his anger by apologising, or telling a joke, or acknowledging the situation. i don't think he holds on to troubles. so that's why with Loki, who perpetually sets everyone off, Thor tolerates Loki a lot because he just doesn't get angry for a long time. and once Loki has served his punishment for the crime of the day, Thor is satisfied... UNTIL of course Baldr's death which is simply too tragic to deserve any redemption.

now. as it has been said before, Thor isn't that smart. i think he's a bit all brawn and no brains. and that's ok. Asgard wouldn't want it any other way.

Sif is the love of Thor's life. i think he's always showering her with compliments and gifts.

i find it SUPER interesting that Sif has a son (Ullr) who is not fathered by Thor, while Thor has children Magni and Modi who are not mothered by Sif.

in all likelihood, Magni and Modi are products of extramarital affairs but i'm sick of having to write about gods and goddesses who cheat, so i hc that Magni and Modi, like Ullr, are products of previous marriages.

being warriors, and gods who are susceptible to death, it's completely possible that Thor and Sif's previous spouses/partners fell in battle... or perhaps even simply that they amicably left those partners because the relationship didn't work. idk,, i haven't thought about those details too hard just yet.

Sif has a GREAT relationship with her stepsons, and Thor has a GREAT relationship with his stepson.

i like the idea of Ullr being the eldest son. and i think he has gotten along with Thor from the start. Thor seems like a guy who wants a huge family, so having four kids i think is pretty good and natural for him.

Thor is a dad-joke kinda guy. and he also laughs at absolutely anything.

as i have mentioned before in my hc's with Frigg,, i believe Thor gets along with his stepmum very well. i think he has a lot of respect for hierarchy and power, and being a stepdad himself, i cannot imagine that he has a bone to pick with Frigg. it helps that Thor's own mother Jörð is treated well by Frigg and looked after by Odin too.

with Odin, i don't think Thor is that close. i hc Odin to spend a bit more time with the children of his who will take up important roles in his kingdom; for example, Baldr who is his heir, or Tyr and Freyja who would take charge of defense and war strategies, etc.

because Thor isn't all that bright, i don't think he that much responsibility in terms of organisation or management... he is simply a powerhouse who lends his aid when it's requested.

that's not to say that Thor and Odin don't like each other. they just have a different relationship. they are similar in terms of their personality, and i think Odin definitely would have given Thor instruction in the art of war, etc.

anyhow. amongst the rest of the gods, Thor gets along very well with Bragi. Thor loves music a lot, even if he sings offkey when drunk (which is most of the time).

he also enjoys spending time with Heimdallr. i think Heimdallr would tell Thor stories when he was a child that Thor later still recalls to tell his own children (Heimdallr is the eldest child).

strangely enough, i think Thor is one of the few gods who manages to break the ice (haha) with Skadi when she first comes to Asgard. because she's a hothead and Thor's a hothead and they're both super strong, i think they can go toe-to-toe with each other.

so yeah. there u go :)

[miss-spookhead]

okay look: this blog may be deader than a doornail, but by god am i going to revive it so i can ramble on about a steddie how to train your dragon au

now hear me out--Eddie, obviously, is hiccup. an eccentric, outcast underdog of the highest degree. he may not be looking to prove himself like hiccup is, but the idea still works. what really matters is that he's different. he doesn't fit into the mold of what a dragon-killing viking should be, and maybe he takes a lot of pride in it.

what he doesn't take a lot of pride in, however, is his absolutely mortifying crush on Steve Harrington, the local dragon-slaying overachiever, chief's son, and all around air-headed jock whose confident douchebaggery has Eddie reeling at the very idea that he very much is attracted to him.

besides his humiliating crush on Harrington, Eddie sets his sights on two things more productive: discovering whatever there is to know about the dragons his village is so obsessed with killing, and aiding his uncle Wayne's blacksmith shop. and Eddie loves wayne, odin's beard he does--he calls Eddie his fucking son--but the old man puts a lot of belief on his beanpole excuse of a viking nephew.

like, wayne looks Eddie in the eyes with those sad, tired eyes of his, calls him son, and asks him to carry on his life's work. and who is Eddie to say no to him? he likes building shit. he has an eye for the artistic. he'd give the whole world to that old man just to make him the slightest bit proud of him.

case in point: he's hauling an actual catapult to the top of an empty hill in the middle of the night so he can give one of his newest builds a little test run. launch a spare bola into the forest, why not.

so, once he heaves the bola into the mouth of the catapult (which does a real number to his pissant limbs), his eyes wander to the inky night sky above him. they trace the blinking stars, and he feels this odd calm wrap around him. he can't even place the last time he's felt this at peace before in his life. it's never been so quiet.

he dashes the thought once he sees a blot of black nothingness engulf the stars, bit by bit in quick succession. like a shadow soaring through the night sky. something is out there.

a fucking night fury.

"shit." Eddie's hand slips, and down goes the lever. out goes the bola.

"shit!" clearly, it hits. a bellowing roar echoes from the sky, and there's a great rustle and thud as the dragon makes impact with the forest's trees.

Eddie stumbles backwards in shock. his mind is racing, positively buzzing like a hive of bees in his head. he hit a night fury. like, actually shot it down from the sky. using one of the bola catapults that he built.

now, Eddie, non-conformist that he is, wouldn't usually want to brag about taking down a godsdamned night fury with his own catapult to the common viking, Harrington be damned, but this. this is a real achievement. he can hold something above his stupid head and his beautiful hair. his ego demanded it.

and even if he wanted to stay tight-lipped about the situation, wayne still has to know.

and come the morning, he's got to prove it somehow.

"can't son," wayne says gruffly. he lugs the axe head he's been diligently hammering on into a bucket of cold water at his feet, then looks at Eddie with those droopy eyes. "someone has to keep shop, and I ain't discouragin' you from your little..." he trails off, yanking the steel from the bucket, "adventures."

frigg bless his heart for at least encouraging Eddie's bullshit, even when he's not an active participant. and maybe that's the worst part of their relationship, Eddie thinks, that wayne would very gladly shoulder all that burden, all that extra work just so Eddie could..well...be himself.

Eddie opens his mouth to argue, even when he knows his uncle is right, but wayne shakes his head. he's got a solemn look about him, worn and frayed on the edges. it shuts Eddie up real quickly.

it's a wordless agreement.

so, Eddie turns heel, ready to make his way to the forest, and promptly collides with Harrington. the asshole probably sidled up behind him to collect whatever weapon Wayne's making without even considering that his nephew was trying to goad him into seeing a night fury. which said nephew took down himself mind you.

whatever. asshole.

"odin's beard," Harrington huffs, running a hand through his, sigh, perfect hair, "do you ever watch where you're going, munson?"

"apologies for not making way for royalty, cheifling," Eddie snaps, and stomps off. he can practically feel Harrington's dumbfounded stare even when he's out of sight. chiefling. that's a good one.

what he really should be focusing on is the night fury in the forest. the forest that he's lost in. the night fury that he shot down that's in the forest that he's lost in.

jord help him.

"--and you really went and did it, Edward," Eddie mumbles to himself, tone manic. he digs the toes of his boots into the soil as he walks, "you hit a dragon and you fucking lose it. you do something right--then poof! gone into thin air!"

"classic. fucking. munson"-- he kicks a sizable pebble on the ground in frustration--"blunder!"

it makes impact with the trunk of a fallen tree.

no--the tree is snapped in half. like something heavy fell against it. like a dragon. like a night fury.

quickly, he stumbles over the broken tree, over a few rocks, and he finds the body of the night fury, bound at the legs by the launched bola.

it's still. dead still.

Eddie swallows, hand unsteadily reaching for the knife at his side.

the night fury is a stark black, sleek and scaly. Eddie imagines how smooth it would be if he slid grazed the dragons skin with his hand. atop its head is a smatter of grey spots, from the tip of its head to its snout. kind of like dust.

Eddie blinks.

it's so...fragile looking. and, gods, he fucking killed it.

"look at it," he whispers to himself, half in pride and half in utter, stomach churning despair. "look at what you've done."

breath caught in his throat, Eddie pokes the belly of the dragon with the toe of his boot, just to make sure.

its eyes shoot open, belly sucking in quickly as it takes a sharp breath. it's leg pushes against Eddie, shoving him backward onto his ass.

"shiiiiiiiit!" he chokes out, quickly bringing himself to his feet. his legs wobble like a newborn lamb, and he crowds his back against the rock behind him.

his stomach pools with fear, and obviously, he does what he does best--

Eddie's halfway through a pathetic attempt to climb over the rock to get the fuck out of there, when the night fury whimpers behind him. his head turns slowly, heart beating like war drums, and he finds the dragons eyes trained on him.

Eddie thinks he might die.

he slides down the rock, grunting as he lands on his feet, and he stalks carefully toward the beast. he's white-knuckling his knife as the night fury's eyes keep following him 'til he ends up at its feet.

chest heaving, Eddie raises the knife, and the night fury drops its head in defeat.

but Eddie resolves not to kill the dragon. instead, he takes the rope binding the night fury's wings and begins cutting it, putting a whole lot of elbow grease into the effort.

and when he's done, the dragon stirs, pushing Eddie to the ground with its front legs, the pressure almost crushing the bones of his shoulders into powder.

it roars, spittle landing all over his face, and Eddie screams in response. using his entire chest.

the night fury reels backwards in surprise, blinking rapidly, then staggers further into the forest, leaving Eddie in the dust.

Eddie's shaky hands meet his shoulders in an attempt to sooth the pain. the shock. the confusion of it all.

Eddie--he...he did something. something incredible. he built a bolas and shot it into the night sky and hit a night fury. something no other person has ever done. not even perfect Harrington and his perfect hair and his perfect resolve when slaying dragons.

he hit a night fury--black and spotty--and found it in the woods. near death.

and he freed it.

if he were Steve Harrington, would he have freed it? would he have felt a sliver of empathy for the creature, or would he follow in the footsteps of his father and put it out of his misery?

does Eddie even want to be like Harrington? no. he doesn't. not in a million godsdamned years. he may be beautiful and strong and capable, but Eddie is nothing like the chiefling. and he's proud of it.

Eddie stares out into the mess of trees in front of him, listens to the distant stomping.

without scooping up his knife, he turns and runs.

[thorraborinn]

Hey. I was hoping you could sanity-check a thought that occurred to me. So, Loki shows up with different companions (Odin and Hoenir, or Thor and sometimes Thjalfi) and seems like maybe he has a different vibe with different sets of companions and has a lot of heiti-as-distinct-from-kennings (so just regular alternative names), and anyway I feel like there might be a stapled-together-from-multiple-characters vibe here. Like the opposite of the Frigg/Freyja theory. Does that sound right to you?

There's the well-known hypothesis that Loki and Lóðurr were originally the same figure, so sure, why not the opposite?: they were different figures who, later on, started losing their distinction and merging into a single character. So Óðinn-Hǿnir-Lóðurr becomes indistinguishable from Óðinn-Hǿnir-Loki, to the point they even use the latter's name, and the trio's third member is more prone to mischief and catalyzing narrative chain reactions. Maybe this merger wasn't complete, which is why we can't figure out if they're the same guy or not, and they don't act exactly the same, but some invisible transference of qualities brings them closer.

Lóðurr is the first example that occurred to me and probably the one best suited for this kind of thought experiment. It would be harder to speculate about a fully independent, non-Loki, Loptr or Hveðrungr, though that difficulty doesn't mean it couldn't have happened.

In some ways I agree but I think there's risk of oversimplifying. I think all of the gods that we have sufficient information about show signs of a process of little splits and little mergers, maybe sometimes punctuated by big ones. I think that a persistent process of diversification and subsequent reintegration is part of the process of proliferation of lore and custom in general, and might be sufficient to explain what you're picking up on without necessarily saying that people recognized multiple fully-independent entities but their descendants no longer recognized them as distinct, and if we do want to say the latter, we have to make a specific case for it and we rarely have the data necessary to do that.

I will say, I do think it's probably true that mergers did happen. A lot of people think that the Óðinn that's presented in the Eddas includes hundreds of years of people adding to the concept of Óðinn an unknown number of other gods and progenitor figures (Gautr is a good candidate for a name that may have belonged to an independent figure but which later is one of Óðinn's many names). I actually think that we see an early phase of this with Frigg and Freyja (i.e. that they were starting to merge at a late period, not that they split early on), though importantly, in the way I theorize this, a process of (linguistic) diversification is a precondition for that later confusion -- both names generated a lot of cognates, and some of those cognates look more like reflexes of the other one. If you see the name Frea it's reasonable to think that's a cognate of Freyja, but it's actually a cognate of Frigg.

But I think the same process happens at smaller scales and even within figures that we consider "the same." We usually treat names like the boundaries of a discrete being, so that every time someone says "Óðinn" they are talking about the "same" being, and certainly they're making a claim of continuity with something that they themselves consider to be a consistent phenomenon. But there's also diversification here, because two people might have somewhat different ideas of "Óðinn," and their ideas may be more or less consequential for others' considerations of "Óðinn." We go back and forth on whether or not "Óðinn" and "Wōden" are the same and most of us understand the answer to be something like "it depends"; this same thing is true within a single linguistic group as well, especially when you account for how many hundreds of years pass between the earliest and latest contributions to our concept of "Óðinn." So there are persistent cycles of diversification and reintegration. Part of Eldar Heide's theory about Loki and the Ash-Lad implicates two Lokis, both called Loki, mutually influencing each other, which had a common origin and so weren't totally separate anyway but were rather two sort of semi-independent tracks but still in dialogue with each other.

Eventually these diversification-reintegration cycles might produce results that are so different that the reintegration part stops working. That could be how we got Útgarða-Loki. We're surely not compelled to believe that Loki and Útgarða-Loki split from the same original figure, but you could make a case for it, as Anatoly Liberman has. There's nothing stopping us from entertaining both your hypothesis and Liberman's, in which case Loki is both a chimera of different figures and has split into two distinct beings.

I also think this happens with more subtle, unnamed things like broad, underlying patterns in stories, rituals, customs, etc. Loki could be changed by something that has apparently nothing to do with him if, say, the narratives they find themselves in have enough beats in common that it creates an expectation for Loki to do something particular. Ideas and attributes move in ways that don't necessarily follow the tracks left by names.

One last thing is that the mythological poems themselves could certainly have changed and developed which would affect the figures that appear in them. The compilers of the manuscripts that we get these poems from seem to have consciously arranged them into a cohesive order to imply a single narrative, and used the prose introductions (which are generally considered a very late addition) to help them all build together into a unified whole that wasn't really there to begin with. So some of this "stapling together" really could have occurred at the last minute, though in that case it isn't multiple named figures being merged into Loki but rather lots of narratives in which Loki appears being forced into continuity with each other and bringing Loki with them.

Anyway, I guess part of my point is that yes, you're at least right on the vibes level, but consistency and continuity is not really something we should expect to find anyway. So the more important questions involve to what degree it's true, or at what time period these things happened. This isn't to say that Loki in the Eddas isn't multiple figures stuck together, and you could still make an argument about that, it's just that the seams that are showing don't require us to go all the way there. But yeah, you are at least picking up on something.

[firedrakegirl]

Meeting Odin

“Odin Allfather.” Fire started to bow, realized a curtsy was the correct choice for a female, then managed to tip over when she tried to do both at once. She could feel Loki’s amusement as he helped her up silently, then they bowed and curtsied in unison.

“Mortal. Why are you here?”

“Loki and I are bound, majesty. He could not come without me, nor could I stay without him. Sedir binds us closely for now.” She said, head still down as was proper.

“Rise, both of you.”

“Loki!” A female voice rang out as Frigg walked in just barely within acceptable speeds. She looked at her for a moment, then through her…then beamed. “Daughter!” She rushed to us as quickly as etiquette allowed, kissing both our foreheads. “Husband, this is a joyous day!” There was an edge to her voice as she called odin husband. “Prince Loki has returned to us, and found us a daughter as we always wanted. Why is Loki in chains?”

“He attempted to take over Midgard.” Odin began, though Frigg quickly cut him off.

“Did not Heimdall say he was under the control of the Tesseract?”

“Aye, but…”

Loki put a hand on Fire’s arm to keep her from reacting inappropriately. “Your majesty, may I approach? My human throat does not do well speaking so loudly for so long.”

Loki squeezed her arm in warning, but Frigg answered for Odin, eyes twinkling. She knew her son, and any who would bond with him would be as full of mischief. “Yes, daughter, you may.”

Fire walked forward with a grace that she hadn’t possessed before Loki. “Thank you your majesty.” She curtsied again to Frigg before turning to Odin and letting a kick fly…right into his groin. The Allfather let out an extremely pained sound, while Loki let out a laugh. Even Frigg had to cover her grin.

[hiddenhearthwitch]

Hello! This is a bit of a loaded question and i know there are many answers so dont worry i just need advice. I've been interested in witchcraft for a while and deity worship has always interested me but i never felt good enough for it? If that makes sense? I never thought i would be able to provide my chosen deity/deities with the worship and belief they deserve. (Not to mention how intimidating it can be) Ur blog has helped me gain a bit more confidence in that regard, but now im a bit stuck. Im still not wholly confident in my ability to properly deity worship and yet the thought of it keeps popping up in my head regardless. Do u have any advice for determining if its really for me? Or types of practices/routines that can help me gain the confidence for this?

Hey moonbeam! I'm so glad my blog has been able to help you gain some confidence! Keep that shit growing boo. 🤍 I'm sorry for getting to this a little late, I hope you'll still take my answer.

So, honestly, it's totally normal to feel hesitant or unsure about diving into deity worship. Remember, there's no one-size-fits-all approach to spirituality, and it's okay to explore at your own pace. I'll be honest, if you want to try something but you're not sure it's for you - there's no harm in trying. I can't honestly tell if you if deity worship is for you. I do believe though, that there are gods out there for everyone if they choose to reach out. 🩷 I'd imagine if you think it's for you then it probably is. Maybe your practice will just look/feel different than what you see on the stream line.

That being said, a good way to gain confidence is to start small! ✨ Begin by researching different deities that resonate with you and their associated attributes or domains. You might find that certain deities align more closely with your values or interests, making it easier to establish a connection. I know I feel that way with Frigg and Hel.🤎

Additionally, consider incorporating rituals or practices into your daily routine that feel comfortable and meaningful to you. This could involve meditation, prayer, offerings, or even just spending time in nature reflecting on your spiritual journey. It can be big or small, once a day, once a week, there's no hard rule on this. When I remember I make my coffee in the morning for Sif or Freyja.

If you want to start even smaller for a routine - look in the mirror and tell yourself you're worthy of your love and your God's love(whoever that may be). For an example, I say hi when ever I see falcons for Freyja and Óðinn for ravens. Sometimes little interactions are what builds confidence and closeness.

It's also important to remember that deity worship is a personal journey, and there's no "right" or "wrong" way to do it. Trust in yourself and your intuition as you navigate this path, don't be afraid to seek guidance or support from fellow practitioners or resources like my blog along the way. Above all, be patient and gentle with yourself as you explore what feels right for you.

[e-wills-afterhours]

Heeey. I have a request, Hiccup having phantom pains and Astrid taking care of him? Thanks!

A/N: Sure thing, Nonny. I think I wrote this very oneshot years ago, but I cannot find it, for the life of me. Might as well do an updated version!

And who doesn't love a little Hiccstrid tenderness, amirite?

Our beloved OTP is 17 here. I also seem to be writing a lot of Hiccstrid from the 5-year gap between HTTYD 1 and 2 lately minus RTTE...

Aaaaaand, I'm kind of okay with that right now. I hope you are too.

Rating: T (all of my work pretty much is unless I rate it otherwise)

Just One of Many Things

-------

If Astrid was asked to list all of the things she appreciated about Hiccup Horrendous Haddock, it would be long. Perhaps, equal in length to all of the things that aggravated her about him. Some qualities even held spots in both categories. His stubbornness, for example, could be quite the asset when he was in the right; but just as much a headache when he got stuck on some new harebrained idea.

She loved him, regardless.

Growing up amid dragon raids, she did not understand the old adage "opposites attract." It seemed counterintuitive. What held two people together who could not see eye-to-eye on anything? In those days, there was no one more unsuited for each other's company than she and Hiccup.

But then the fog of war lifted, and she finally saw him for who he was. She came to realize that they had more in common than she dared to imagine. They wanted the same things, from the world and each other; albeit their approaches were drastically different. Therein lied their beautiful counterbalance. Everything she needed was within his capacity to give.

He was patient and kind, slow to anger, and remarkably intelligent--almost frighteningly so. Generous with his resources and abilities, she seldom had to ask him for anything he hadn't already thought to provide. He was the calm to her storm.

But true to form, some of his other admirable qualities irked her as much as they endeared him to her--and in that moment, his fierce independence was the bane of her existence. He had a pesky habit of refusing to ask for help, even if he needed it.

The more she pressed him for the truth, the more he denied the extent of the problem.

"Just because you can suffer in silence, doesn't mean you have to," she huffed, arms folded. "You're not winning any prizes."

"I'm fine," he insisted, through gritted teeth as he limped toward the hearth, all but dragging his prosthetic along.

His gait was always the slightest bit uneven, ever since the Red Death took his left leg. One needed a keen eye to notice it; he had adapted so quickly. It made his exaggerated lurches all the more pronounced and worrisome as he braced himself against the mantle.

"You're in pain," she said, frowning deeply.

"It's just a little burning," he replied with a feeble smile, the faintest edge in his voice.

Astrid could make out the beads of sweat glistening on his brow and upper lip from across the room. The crackling fire illuminated them clearly.

"Hiccup, there's nothing there to burn," she retorted, pointing to his metal appendage.

He let out a dry laugh. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

Astrid clicked her tongue. Unlike him, she was prone to impatience. She strode across the room and grabbed him by the shoulders. With a sweep of a well-placed boot to the ankle, she kicked his good and steady leg out from underneath him. Looping one arm beneath his, she guided his fall and avoided further injury as he crumpled to the floor.

"Frigg og Eir!" Astrid, he hissed when he landed. "You don't have to kick my leg out from underneath me! I only have just the one!"

She crouched down in front of him, her expression flat. "At least your sense of humor's still intact."

"Are you going to be kicking that out from me next?" he asked, indignant.

She sighed and sat back on her knees. Her face softened when she considered his labored breathing and clenched fists. His mouth was a tight, thin line as he tried to force the pain down where she wouldn't see. But the suffering was plain in his eyes.

"Please, let me help you," she murmured, placing a hand on his knee. "I want to do this. Just...tell me how."

He paused for a beat, then said, "You really don't have to--"

"Hiccup...," and his name was a soft plea on her lips; one he never could resist.

A drop of sweat trickled down from his temple. He stared at her. There was obvious tension in his neck and shoulders. His left leg jutted out stiffly in front of him while he leaned back. It was as if he thought distance from his metal leg my improve things.

He finally relented with a shuddering exhale.

"Okay." He sat up a little straighter and repeated with more conviction, "Okay."

Astrid gently unfastened his prosthetic and set it aside. Not too long ago, he would have never allowed such a thing--to spare her from his indignity, or some such nonsense. But she never cared, and he had come to accept that. A quarter or more of the adults on Berk had some sort of fake extremity: battle scares of a bygone era. Nothing about Hiccup could ever repulse her. After all, she had grown up alongside Snotlout and the twins; and nothing was sacred anymore.

"When was the last time this happened?" she asked as she rolled his pantleg up over his knee.

"Months ago," he replied, teeth clenched. He breathed through the pain, nostrils flaring. "I don't remember. It's been that long."

"What now?" she asked, holding what remained of his lower leg in her hands.

He betrayed himself with a small whimper, then gestured vaguely at the kitchen. "There's a cloth or a rag. Boiled water on the pot on the table. Should just be warm now."

Astrid filled in the blanks, which wasn't difficult. She got up at once to fetch the rag and took it over to the pot of water that had more than likely been boiled for tea, or some other herbal concoction. With caution, she tested the temperature of the water with the knuckle of her pinky finger. Deciding it was no longer scalding, as Hiccup had said, she dunked the rag in. The excess water, she wrung back into the pot.

"Do I lay it on, or do I wrap it?" she asked, returning to where her boyfriend sat on the floor.

"Wrap it," he replied. Then, with a weak grin, he added, "Please."

Astrid nodded and wrapped the warm rag around the stump of his leg with great care, covering as much of the residual calf muscle as possible. She gave his leg the tenderest squeeze.

He let out a groan, head falling back as he supported his weight on his hands.

"No good?" Astrid asked in alarm. "Is it too hot?"

"It hurts, but it's perfect."

She wrinkled her nose. "What?"

"Do...that again," he said, making a kneading motion in the air with his hands.

"Massage?"

"Yes. But it sounds better when you say it."

She rolled her eyes playfully. "You're such a dork. I mean, truly-- the smartest dumbass I've ever known."

He flashed her a genuine smile then laid all the way back on the floor. She settled in a crossed-legged position and massaged the length of his lower leg, up to the knee, over the warm rag.

They stayed in comfortable silence apart from the occasional pop and hiss from the fire. Hiccup, lying down with his eyes closed, and Astrid, tending to the stump in her lap. It was peaceful and uniquely intimate. She'd keep at it all night to take his pain away, if he only asked, but she knew he never would. So, she did what she could for him in that late hour, running her thumbs to the bend of his knee with steady pressure. Followed by long, kneading strokes back down to the end of his limb, where thick ribbons of scar tissue and mangled remnants of flesh all came together, long stitched off. She wondered how much of her touch he could still feel. He had never told her.

She wondered vaguely if her parents were expecting her home. Time was of little consequence whenever they were alone together. The minutes either crawled or flew by; it didn't really matter either way. All Astrid cared about was easing some of the burden he carried. To help, to do something for him, was all she ever wanted.

Hiccup's breathing eventually evened out. His skin was no longer adorned with sweat, and all the tension had left his body. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was asleep.

"Hiccup?" she asked, cutting through silence, and it was almost jarring.

"Hm?" he replied, opening his eyes to meet her gaze.

"Does the pain always feel the same? Like your leg's on fire, I mean."

He thought for a moment, staring at the ceiling, then answered, "Yes. It happens far less often now than it did in the beginning. But the feeling is always the same. Maybe slightly less intense, but I can't recall."

Astrid shook her head. To imagine a sudden and unexpected sensation of one's own flesh burning was horrific.

"Well, that's awful," she muttered.

He shrugged. "Gobber told me this 'phantom pain' happens more often in the first few years. I might get to a point where it doesn't happen anymore. Or it could happen randomly and infrequently for the rest of my life. Who knows."

"I just...hate that it has to be you."

A silence fell over them again, much heavier than the last. He studied her all the while, his eyes appearing impossibly warmer in the firelight.

He sat up slowly. "I'm alright now. You can stop." When she shot him a skeptical look, he insisted, "Honestly, it's passed. These episodes don't last forever."

She sighed and handed him his metal leg, which he took after rolling his pantleg back down. The speed and finesse with which he reattached was always interesting--but what was more remarkable was that he never complained. Not once, that she had ever heard. Yet, he had brought peace to their island, and he saved the people that had chided him for years--but no one else lost limbs in that fight. Just one boy and his dragon, against an ancient monster, risking everything to stop the cycle of fire and death that plagued their people for centuries. The exchange seemed one-sided; that he should still experience echos of pain from that day, was a terrible injustice in her eyes.

"Do you ever regret it?" she asked.

He glanced up, brow furrowed, as if the question itself was confusing.

"The Red Death is gone. The dragons are free. Berk is safer for our people and our dragons. You're safer." He took her hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. With the utmost assuredness, he answered, "No. I don't regret it. Not for a moment."

She closed her eyes and leaned forward until their foreheads touched.

"You're unbelievable, Hiccup Haddock," she said. "Completely unbelievable."

"I thought that's what you love about me."

"Just one of many things," she murmured against his lips, and he smiled.

[kiame-sama]

Could you make more yandere heimdall x reader oneshots? Or maybe make it a series? I really like how you wrote it because reading yandere fics where they're abusive to the reader/ what not kinda gets old and your fic was refreshing to read. 10/10 best yandere fic I've ever read.

Yoke of the Gods- (Yandere!Heimdall x Reader) pt 2.

(Let's be real, flattery like this will get you damn near everywhere with me)

Warnings; Heimdal is a jackass as per usual, Reader is technically under a spell, yandere behavior, yandere relationship, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, god of war ragnarok spoilers, manipulative behavior, adult themes, dub-con touching, objectification

Inspiration part .5; https://www.tumblr.com/kiame-sama/704495622290571264/heimdall-obsessing-over-a-darling-with-some-kind?source=share

(NSFW warning) Part 1; https://www.tumblr.com/kiame-sama/706987664714432512/yoke-of-the-gods-yandereheimdall-x-reader-in?source=share

~~~~~~~~

"Do you know how much others look at you, how Thor looks at you? Their intent is to take you from me, but I won't let that happen. You are Mine. Only mine..."

Another evening of Heimdal recasting the binding spell keeps him awake. Where he had once needed to recast the incantation every night, he only had to do it every once in a while as his beloved lay sleeping peacefully in his arms. The only one that could hurt him adoring and worshiping him was certainly good for his ego.

Even if he didn't need to reaffirm the spell he would lay awake and talk softly into your ear, arms wrapped around you to keep you with him. Something about the way you showed no intent that he could detect that made him press so close to you at night. As if holding you reassured him that you were still there, you were still his dearest and there was nothing anyone could do to keep him away from you.

He knew he needed to have you swollen with his child and The All-Father will have another loyal warrior. The things his child will do will only make him shine even more in the eyes of The All-Father. Your body was certainly accepting of his advances even as his hands hold you tighter.

Heimdall gently kissed the forming ink on the back of your shoulder as he checked on the spells progress. Though it was a long and twisted spell, it was known to be unbreakable once formed. Soul-binding some may say is extreme, but Heimdall knew an opportunity when he saw one and he was going to grab it with both hands.

He had felt what was once indignation at you touching him, the warmth of your body, the soft crooning of your voice even as you threatened him, but it melted away to adoration. The feeling of that connection with another being though your touch rendered him weak kneed and speechless.

He needed that power for himself and he needed you to come along. To him you were just part of the perks for being The All-Father's favorite. The tattoo symbolizing the spell etched permanently into your skin.

~~~~~~~~

"I know you didn't want this, but we know how this ends... See you soon"

As soon as Freya was done murmuring the words to Kratos, she departed, leaving the Aseir god to chuckle.

"Oh, we both know that's not true. But don't worry, Frigg! I'll be coming for your and your brother as soon as I am finished here."

Despite the fact that Kratos no longer craved the blood of Gods, his rage played with the idea of just outright killing the man. Mimir- the ever loyal amd helpful companion- called up to Kratos with a barely calm voice. The fate of Kratos' daughter was still uncertain and it is difficult to question a dead god.

"Steady, Brother."

Heimdall laughed at this, holding up his hand as if to cover the fact that he was laughing. The purple eyes seemed to shine and glimmer in a way that looked crazed as he swept his hand around himself as if being a showman.

"It truly is nice to meet you, Ghost of Sparta. After all, it wasn't long ago that I was wondering if I would ever meet my Beloved's father."

"What have you done to her?"

"Nothing that she wasn't enjoying."

Mimir spoke up suddenly, always prone to talking whenever the casual banter lulled. His voice was a mix of rage and fear, trying to look at the Aseir to demand answers from the bastard.

"You had better not have put your filthy hands on her you-"

"I don't consort with traitors, head, and I found a very loyal woman who was being held back by her father. She needed to be set free into my arms, because I am the only one who can keep her safe now."

"Slit his throat, Kratos, I want to see the bastard suffer."

"Ah-ah-ah~ you wouldn't want to take away her one and only love, would you? The second she stepped on Asgard was the second she unlocked her true purpose with me! You don't want to make her hate you, do you? She is so truly... Loyal."

He chuckled, even risking getting within direct range of the Spartan due to his confidence in the battlefield.

"Now, whatcha got?"

~~~~~~~~

The spear sunk deeply into Heimdall's arm, pinning the man to the stone where he found himself trapped.

"Wait... What is going on in that empty head? Oh no no no no no... You are going to spare Me out of pity?"

The spear still imbedded in his arm kept him stuck to the wall and prevented his movement. As Kratos approached, a sudden shape rushed between the two, defending the Aseir man.

"Release him!"

The voice that pleaded with the Spartan was a familiar one that gave the man hesitation. Laying her head almost pathetically against the chest of the blond, she ensured to keep her father as far away as she could. Her eyes were pleading and begging, wanting the man to be released even if it meant putting herself in harms way.

"Let him go!"

Heimdall was stunned as he had been under the impression that you were not able to leave Asgard without him. Apparently you found a way out of your shared home and straight to Heimdall before Kratos had the chance to kill the arrogant man.

"Brother, she must be under a spell to make her loyal to him-"

"Let my husband go, damn it!"

"Husband? Lass, what in the nine realms are you on about?"

"Lay one more hand on my husband and I will end you."

The hateful hiss that came from you made surprise and shock run through both Mimir and Kratos as you ensured to remain close to Heimdall. Clearly his choice of taking you as his beloved was having more and more benefits even he did not foresee. Judging from the concern in Kratos' eyes and the clear hesitation the man showed, you gave Heimdall a certain level of protection from the infamous god-killing god.

"(Y/n), lass... That is not the kind of man you want to stand by. Aye, he isn't as bad as Thor in many regards-"

"Speak ill of my husband again and I will destroy every shred of you, head."

It was clear none of what Mimir was saying really registered to you and you were deep under whatever kind of spell had been put on you. The hostility that you showed towards the two of them was far out of character for you. They both realized that there was no way to convince you otherwise and their only choice was to play into your delusion.

Kratos was careful to not explode his spear as you could be easily injured by being too close, instead he chose to knock both you and Heimdall unconscious. He set to cradling you in one arm and slinging Heimdall over his shoulder so he could transport the both of you. Though he didn't want to bring Heimdall as well, he knew you would respond poorly to waking without the arrogant Aesir god nearby.

"Brother, I fear this may be too complex of a spell to be removed easily. I vote we take both with us. Perhaps Freya can help cure her."

"And if she cannot be cured?"

"We will get to that when we can. For now, we are to complete our mission here and take them back."

With a soft grunt of acknowledgement, Kratos begrudgingly carried both his dear daughter and the nuisance who enchanted her.

[heimdallsram]

 ━━━━ masterlist. soundtrack. archive of our own. taglist.

title: perennial

pairing: heimdall x female! goddess! reader

"You were a goddess of oaths and vows. It was only fitting that Odin would

bind you to his service in only the most ironic way that he knew how: marriage."

this fanfiction contains the following: domestic violence, blood, gore, choking, violent sexual content, bad BDSM etiquette, non-consensual somnophilia, blood drinking, unhealthy relationships, and much more content that may be sensitive to some readers. reader discretion is advised.

*for inquiries about the taglist, please dm me and i will add you to it.

 Odin was a terrifying man. While he appeared the genteel, kindly older god with an inquisitive twinkle in his only good eye, he was anything but—to most, or all outside of Asgard, he was a monster who did not deserve his place. He was a manipulative man, a smart and narcissistic one that had driven the best of them into their early, shallow little graves before they were brought back again to serve as his Einherjar. He had exiled his wife, after all, sealed her existence to Midgard and corrupted the Valkyries that were loyal to her—twisted her own son’s heart to her, though she had a hand in that as well, cursing him with immortality and invulnerability as she did. Freya—Frigg, as she was known in Asgard—could not be blamed for wanting to protect her child. But not giving the same regard to Odin… she had sealed her fate more quickly that way, and for the good of all others, Odin had never succeeded in that particular spell.

 You supposed that was why he kept you around, at first. A goddess of oaths and agreements was detrimental to him if left unchecked. You held all of his hidden secrets, his deals, his vows with magics, his pacts, his promises, his wishes, in the palm of your hands each time he made one, sifting through the forbidden knowledge with a careful eye. Each time a marriage vow, or any other form of a promise, was created, you would know, and it would be made known to you the promises and agreements made in their specified vows; just like now, like today, as you bore witness to the violent, almost… bloody fight between man and wife.

 An insipid dalliance with a lover had stolen his wife’s heart from him, you recalled. The words shuttled through your mind painfully and quickly, like daggers of ice. With each vow broken—love, eternity, fidelity, faithfulness—you felt the bindings of their fates rapidly unwind like a loose spool of silken thread. Spin, spin, spin, and it was all falling apart before your eyes, through a magic window framed with wood and lit with warm candles.

 The woman cried as the man curled his fists into her hair and pulled. Her pleas did not reach his heart, for he had shielded it against her—against everything she stood for. You could not pity her for what she had done. Instead, even as she was brought to her knees and a leather belt lashed across her face, you felt fiercely proud of her for taking control of her happiness despite the pain it was now bringing her. Her husband, while feeling the betrayal keenly, was not faithful nor was he in any position to feel wronged, for he had committed the same crime and found himself innocent.

 When the breaking of the vows had made themselves known to you, you had risen from your bed in Odin’s grand hall, bundled yourself in warm furs and silks, and braved the chill night as it rose over you in an ill tide. Your leaving had not gone unnoticed; there had been several eyes upon you as you had made your way down the frozen, muddy path and to the home sequestered among many others. Munin, loyal creature that he was, had flown and followed and remained at your side upon the bench you now sat on, watching the events unfold as you knew they would.

 It was another version of foresight that the All-Father found… pleasing to have in his employ. It was the only way you could explain the way his mouth had twisted into that friendly, yet not so kind, smile when you had spoken to him of his broken fatherly vows to Thor—the ones he had unwittingly made after bringing a child into the world. Love, warmth, care; Thor had been denied them all. It had not even taken a teenage goddess, newly minted and born from the previous, to point that out.

 You could not do as Heimdall could and read thoughts and intent. You were not as the Norns were, able to pick through decisions and fate and weave together a predictable future. You did not even have the sooth saying abilities that the Giants had, long gone as they were. The vows and oaths spoke to you and you would obey; that was all that Odin knew. All he would ever know, for now; he had no need of the knowledge that you were both judge and executioner.

 “It’s kind of a cold night to be witnessing vows, isn’t it?” Odin was never obvious in his appearances with you. He was always quiet, always contemplative, desiring the upper hand always. Much like yourself, he had abandoned his thinner robes for more thickly lined ones; even his eye patch was lined with fur, perhaps to keep the aching loss of his eye safe from the cold. Perched on his shoulder was Huginn, tilting his head to and fro, not quite looking at you but through you. “When I was told you had left, I almost didn’t believe it.”

 It was a lie, of course, in lieu of acknowledging the way the woman’s husband had abandoned his wife on the floor to take a swig of bitter ale.

 Your answering smile was small. “Much as we are all slaves to fate, so am I to the oaths made between those slaves. They call and I must answer, you understand. Even in the cold of night.”

 “Sometimes your disrespect is refreshing,” Odin sighed lightly. To you, it almost sounded tired; as if speaking had simply exhausted him. “Not like Thor’s or Sif’s or… Hel, Frigg’s.”

 You kept painfully quiet at the mention of the former Queen’s name. Instead, your eyes remained trained on the window where you could see the husband come into view once more, ale on his lips and beard and his shirt abandoned. There was nothing you could do to hide the grimace as the man hit his wife so hard that she rolled on to her back, slammed her nose into the baseboard of their bed, and coughed blood. Beside you, Odin did not flinch.

 “Well, don’t take too long,” he said, finally, with a tone of amiability. He patted you on your shoulder like an old man might as if speaking to a good friend, Munin leaping into his arm and melding with his flesh. “Big things to do in the morning, little time to do it, you know.”

 You did not look away from the woman as she rose to her feet, fists raised and trembling. “Of course, All-Father.”

 He vanished into a flurry of black birds with golden eyes. You paid it no heed. You continued to watch as the woman began to fight back, little by little, inch by painstaking inch, until both she and her husband were bleeding, laughing lightly at each other, stroking each other’s bloodied hair and bruised cheeks.

 Only then did you rise to your feet, your cloak dragging in the mud and soiling the white fur as you approached the door to the warm, violence blessed home. You knocked on the door only once, knuckles white against the wood. You tucked your hands carefully against your stomach, folded neatly, and schooled your expression into something… other. Something placid and stern and knowing. Something only your powers could give you.

 Your feelings did not matter when it came to this. Could never matter, in the end.

 When the door opened, your stomach curled unpleasantly. They had made haphazard attempts to clean themselves up: streaked, wet blood here and there, hair pulled back tightly. The husband had thrown on a shirt; the wife had tied an apron around her neck to hide the belt lashes across her chest and ribs. A deep sigh threatened to escape your lungs. All slights had been made right between them, their smiles dimmed with confusion as they took you in: a stranger in the night, dressed in rich silks and fine furs, your hair pulled back into a severe tail at the nape of your neck.

 “I apologize for the lateness,” you began, your voice monotone and lifeless as you edged past the husband, past the door frame and into the home within. Blood stained the floor at your feet, mingled with ale and spit and other indiscernible bodily fluids. A stool sat in front of the hearth, an abandoned knitting lying helpless as it smoldered under the heat. In the corner, sleeping pitifully, was a baby, cocooned in warmth and shielded by a newly woven basket. You took in all of this with one sweep of your gaze, your heart pounding in your chest in a crude drum beat. “But you have broken your vows, and they called to me. I must obey.”

 It was always a little heart breaking to see the way their faces dropped when they realized who—what—you were. You never forgot how their eyebrows would sink low over their eyes, their mouths fall open and slack for just a moment before words and pleas bubbled from their lips, the way a wife might freeze or a husband may raise his sword to you. It was always the same variation of reactions, one never quite the same as another but similar in all respects, and you had come to expect them all at some point, when your guilt had failed to override the sense of duty you now held to yourself.

 Neither noticed as a breeze, sweet smelling and of sage and lavender, quietly closed the open door and flashed pale lilac. It would not open until dawn, just as the sun peered over the horizon, and the floorboards and fur rugs of the home had been soaked in more blood than had been shed by both husband and wife. In the corner, cooing innocently with a bundled sprig of mint and holly in its little fist, the baby awoke to brilliant, sparkling rubies dripping from the roof like mother’s milk.

 You would not be there when the surrounding inhabitants woke for their day and slowly noticed their neighbors were not outside as per usual with their child in tow. You would not be there as a comely old woman made her way into the house and gasped at the grisly sight before her. You would not be there as the child was scooped up and brought to safety, even though the threat was already over. You would not be there as the local carpenter tried, and failed, to scrape the rune burned over the headboard in shining lilac light off, not to disturb another family who may occupy the space.

 You were never there.

 Instead, you would shed your clothes upon your return, as nude as the day you had been born from the flesh of the former Var, and sit in the morning sun on your stool, unblinking and unseeing. You would bathe yourself and cleanse your skin of the blood you had shed, bundle your clothing for washing, and carefully weave your hair into something presentable. You would present yourself as if you had never claimed two souls in the night, as if you had nothing to do with the events at all—Odin would see to it if fate did not.

 You would drink, smile, and remain placid. Your place was secure. Odin needed you and you would keep going as you were, Freya’s parting words to you echoing in your mind like a plaintive wail.

 Never trust him.

 And you knew she had been right when your morning was interrupted by a servant carrying a letter, Sif right behind her, dressed in her immaculate blue gown and her hair like spun gold. She appeared apprehensive, not at your nudity as you accepted the letter but at your potential reaction. You could already feel the loom of oaths and vows spinning as the golden haired goddess shut the door behind her, parting the wax seal with your thumb and exposing the contents within.

 ‘[Name],

 It pains me to do this, but you leave me with no choice. You are to be bethrothed to Heimdall, in all ways that matter. I cannot trust you as you are now, you understand.’

 It was not signed, but it did not have to be. Your disrespect to Odin had gone on long enough, it seemed, and he could not tolerate it any longer. It was both a punishment and a leash, one shorter than he gave most. Thor had a longer leash than this, and his was studded with proverbial spikes and metaphorical shame. You had been expecting something like this to occur, but… Heimdall.

 You burned the letter over a candle at your bedside, watching the edges flicker and turn pitch. Odin might think he was clever, subjecting you to his most loyal dog and binding you to him in the way you thought worst, but you always had a plan, a card up your sleeve should you ever end up in one of his schemes as your Queen had done.

 Heimdall was an itch you could not scratch. A mystery you could not unravel. His only oaths were to Odin, his only promises to Odin; his loyalty was unmatched. But just like any dog, there would come a day where it would bite the hand that feeds it, and you would make sure it would come to pass one way or another.

 You made an oath that morning as the sun rose to its apex in the sky. And when it descended, heralding the arrival of Odin’s beloved hound and a night of festivities for the equinox, your mind was a shield and your mouth a blade.

 The moment Heimdall laid eyes on you, eyes shining and fuchsia and a burning shade of Bifrost as he tried and failed to read you, sitting quietly in a corner and entertaining the woeful drunken stupor of Baldur’s widow with your doubloon gold gaze and a tiny, sly smile on your face, you knew you had won.

 But that victory, you would soon come to find, would not come without a price.

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