#norse mythology au

[myriadparacosm]

What if I make James oblivious that Regulus thinks of him as his world, giving him a snake bracelet, that is actually the world-serpent Jörmungandr who wraps itself around the world and bites its own tail, because Regulus can't stay with James but he wants /his/ world to be safe and the snake will wake up to protect James at some point.

I have enough to write but I want to write this huge Norse Mythology AU so badly

[weirdenbyferret]

@mediocreskelebug And now Moon as a sjörå, and I think I was able to pronounce it a bit better

While searching for info, learned that in some stories sjörå lure and drown men who are unkind, unfaithful or otherwise disrespectful to them or their lake and I think Moons closer to that lol

He cant make illusions, unlike sun, so he has to use different methods to hide his inhuman features while also wearing a more seductive outfit

Might be planning to draw sun braiding Moons hair lol

[ryebread-x]

Moder (Humanoid form)

Some more Moder au content! I wanted to draw my version of a more humanoid form for her. I provided a little info about her design in the second image. She’s kinda a combination of both her parents (in monster and humanoid form)!

Personality wise, though, Moder is basically Loki’s mini me (just slightly more murdery).

[patritxi]

Jonsa Norse Mythology AU

Jon Snow and Sansa Stark as Loki and Sigyn

At the onset of Ragnarök, Sigyn still remained loyal to her husband after he was bound by the other gods for the murder of Baldr; she stood beside him and used a bowl to catch the deadly snake venom that dripped onto his face. However, when she had to temporarily leave to empty the bowl, the venom would hit Loki's face and he would cringe in pain, causing the earth to shake.

[stranger-rants]

Thinking about Jötunn Billy thanks to @thediktatortot.

Billy formed by the sea and washed up ashore as a baby. He’s a tiny, helpless little thing when his adoptive mother finds him. Unable to have children of her own, she prayed for a child to be delivered to her. She visited the shore every day. The nine daughters of Ægir and Rán heard her prayers, forming the baby out of clay and seaweed and salt, molding him in their waves until he is perfect, beautiful, hair golden and eyes marine. When she brought the baby back home, her husband Neil was ‘delighted’… but unbeknownst to her, he was the reason she could not carry children. He had been given a prophesy that his first born son would end his life, so he had a witch curse his wife never to bear children.

Neil tried every which way to get rid of the baby, but Billy survived every trial. First, he tried to return Billy to the sea but he was spat back out. When he was a little bit older, Neil tried to throw him down a waterfall. Billy was carried by fish back to their home. This continued throughout his life, but he grew bigger and stronger and more and more powerful with every hurdle he overcame but Neil grew more reckless and desperate too. Billy’s mother had fallen ill - or rather she had been poisoned by Neil. Neil advised him that the only way to cure her was to acquire a scale from the back of the legendary sea serpent Jörmungandr. Billy would do anything for his mother, and so he accepted the challenge… on the condition that Neil help steer the boat.

Hubris getting the better of him, of course Neil agreed. He could easily stab and kill Billy, throwing him overboard miles away from the shore. His mother didn’t really need the serpent’s scale. It was a mild poison. She would heal in time. Billy and Neil set out on their journey. Billy spoke to the waves, the fish, and the rain, asking where he could find the serpent. Figuring they were far enough out at sea, Neil brought his knife out from under his cloak while Billy’s back was turned. He had been looking at someone or something in the water. Talking to it, when he saw Neil’s reflection on the surface of the water - the knife raised above him. Neil looked down in horror at giant pale eyes and silvery scales. Sensing the danger Billy was in, Jörmungandr lifted himself out of the water and swallowed Neil whole.

Billy was merely asking the serpent for a loose scale when Neil came up behind him. It turns out the prophesy was much less, your firstborn will kill you and more your pursuit to kill your firstborn will kill you.

The end.

[kipcobblestone]

omg I have so much art…. also intro posts to me and @clusterpuppy ‘s TLU Norse au…. cause there are specific gods that play part in the TLU plot we have but then we’ve expanded on others and given them different plots and just bebebebebrbrbrbrbr lots of stuff going on brain bouncing around. marinating. perhaps posting soon. for now I’m sit.

[violetsiren90]

WIP Wednesday

Here's a lil baby excerpt from a Norse mythology AU I have on like, the backburner's backburner:

Basic premise - rapline as the Three Norns; reader as a thwarter of fate (blurb warnings: feeling breathless, being held captive, brandishing of a sword)

Most of the excerpt will be under the cut. 😊

"I found her in the Forests of Memory," he sneered, tossing you forward so that your knees hit the cold stone. You looked up through defiant eyes to take in two figures occupying the rocky crags which had been carved into three thrones. One figure had leapt to its feet. 

"How are you touching her?!" he asked in a voice as bright and lusty as his features, staring down at you through splendid, glinting eyes. His body was clad in a warrior's garb, and his hand on the hilt of a massive sword.

"I don't know, Hoseok," the dark one answered, casting a withering glance over your prone form. The sword-bearer trotted quickly and nimbly down the stone steps and stood before you. He reached out his hand and you thought he might touch your face when his arm was suddenly batted away.

"Yoongi!" he protested in a laughing whine, as he drew the great sword from its sheath and levelled it at the dark one's throat. The sharp eyes under the cloak's hood registered as little fear as they did amusement, languidly blinking as they directed their gaze to the figure on the stony pedestal who had not moved. You followed his eyes to where they were trained on a large form, draped in enigmatic elegance, his face covered by a thin veil through which you could but glimpse his strong and gentle features.

"He is wise to deter you, Hoseok," his deep voice resonated, as certain and soft as the recollection of a dream, "We do not yet know what know what may come of this." He descended, coming to stand before you, awe-striking in his height, even as he genuflected to regard you.

"Namjoon," came the low, cold voice of your captor, "She has no thread." A large, beautiful hand drew back the veil to reveal piercing blue eyes, the color of ice. The eyes gazed intently and unmovingly into your own until they had seemed to draw the very breath from your lungs, and you dropped your head to sag between your shoulders as you panted for air. Your chest burned with a searing sensation that made you want to run toward something at full speed, though you had no concept of the direction. He stood, letting the veil fall back over his face.

"But her name is on the scroll," he posited, thoughtfully. Only then did you notice, in his left hand, an unopened scroll, with a blood-red seal and golden cornua protruding from each end.

The one called Hoseok scoffed.

"That's impossible. How could she be on the scroll if she has no thread? She is not, how could she then be? Were you born of a woman, mortal?" He boomed, suddenly shifting his sword in your direction, whether in indication or threat you were not sure.

"Yes," you replied sitting back on your knees and clutching your chest from where you had been gasping for breath, "of course I was." You cast a haughty gaze up at the sword-bearer, who looked with surprise at the other two. You would have been certain you caught a quirk of the lips from under the dark one's cloak, had you thought him capable of any sort of mirth. 

"Let us take her before the Tapestry," said Namjoon, still regarding you from his obscurity, "Perhaps she is the answer we have sought."

[direwombat]

norse mythology au gimme please!!

ahhh yes! so the title is a little inaccurate, but basically it's an au where rather than being a christian cult, the project is a bit more norse pagan with all of the seeds reincarnations/avatars for a handful of norse deities. jacob is odin and i'm trying to figure out the other seeds, and syb is a valkyrie. only she doesn't quite remember/know that she is.

anyway, the whole thing starts with an investigation where the sheriff's department is called in to look into the murder of some poor guy who was subjected to the Blood Eagle, and as the investigation goes on, syb uncovers and unlocks memories of her previous lifetimes as a shieldmaiden/viking raider/straight up valkyrie and tbh so much of it is just me having fun applying norse mythology and elements to a modern setting. i'm still kind of figuring this out, but the veteran's center is an analogue for odin's hall in valhalla, and all of the people syb ends up killing throughout the course of the story end up being sent there to serve as jacob's soldiers.

[write-and-wander]

One: To Give Life to the Immortal

Loki (MCU/Norse Lore) x Female Reader (OC) Description: You, Idunn, reflect on your life in Asgard and everything that brought you here. You reminisce about the things you left behind, the friendships you've made, and the people you've come to love (including one god in particular). It's all a dream- until it isn't. Warnings: N/A | Word count: 4.6k

Author's Note: As a disclaimer, this story is going to be my fusion AU of MCU Norse Canon and Norse Mythology/Lore. I have grown up loving both of them dearly; so this is my long-awaited story-teller's love letter to both. I don't expect most people who read this to be familiar with Norse Lore, so I'll be sure to explain relevant lore and the creative liberties I take with the story as I go. Feel free to ask questions for clarification if you have them; but keep in mind this is a fictional fusion, and I don't follow Norse religion, I'm merely someone who loves the stories it tells, so I may not always have a solid answer at the ready. Enjoy! Read on Ao3 | Prologue | One | Two | (/13)

Life in Asgard is a dream.

While you can’t say serving each and every god is an always-pleasant experience, Odin- and even more so, Frigga- had ensured you would be able to create your own little pocket of perfect peace amidst the chaos of the Nine Realms.  Your garden belongs only to you, and it’s the only place in all the Nine Realms you can call home.  It is full of color- green leaves, bright fruits, twisting vines with pastel flowers- but of all you have grown in this garden, your apple orchard is your magnum opus.

You watch Loki sit beneath the oldest tree in your garden, back pressed against the trunk, legs crossed at the ankle.  He holds a book in one hand, and in the other, one of your countless perfect apples, half-eaten by now.  A small smile lingers on his lips.

Funny, how he smiles much like his father did.

Odin was still pursuing infinite knowledge, then.  He was constantly on the verge of madness, forever driven only by his pursuit of the impossible.  He had yet to sacrifice his eye to Mimir, the god of infinite knowledge; and his children were yet young gods.

As were you- you were still a young goddess, tending to your still-growing garden.  Your dwarven father, Ivald- who was known for his forge- was in his last days, pouring all his remaining time and energy into the apprenticeship of his sons.  He diligently taught them to craft wondrous items that would continue to honor his legacy- an effort that would later pay off, as it would be his sons who crafted Mjolnir and other legendary artifacts.  But it was your brothers who had such a future; it was your brothers who had Ivald’s great forge; it was your brothers who had your father.  You had none of those things.  Your garden was your everything.

“It’s you.”

You were picking apples when he spoke.  With the crimson fruit in your hand, you turned towards the voice to see the All-Seeing One- Odin .  His name tumbled from your lips in a murmur.

His eyes were wide in an expression you couldn’t quite read- frenzied need? Desperation? Awe? Relief?  Perhaps some sort of combination of all those things, and more.  His stare raked over your form.

You watched him carefully as he took a couple of steps closer, uncertain of yourself.  Part of you wanted to kneel to the All Father.  Part of you wanted to run.  You had never seen anyone look at you the way he did now- it seemed he was ready to take you, keep you, consume you , so long as he could have what you could offer. 

“So it is as he said,” Odin began, his voice breathy as he at last ripped his gaze away from yours and looked around with wide eyes.

“ He ?” You asked, eyes trained on Odin as he took in the new world he walked into.

“This garden is beautiful, Idunn,” he continued with a knowing smile, ignoring your question altogether.

Idunn- ever young , he called you.  The name your father gave you when you first awoke in this garden.  While it was a far cry from your true name- the name that belongs to a life lived before this- it still seemed to suit you. 

“It is my life’s work,” you responded slowly.  “Thank you.”

“I came to ask for the gift the Rejuvenating One offers.  Do you know of what I speak?”

You nodded; of course you knew what he spoke of.  There was no other reason for him to be here.  He wanted eternal life, as did anyone who boldly came to you.  Despite your timid demeanor, you always found a way to turn them down, or encourage their leave, or cause them to relent; but to the All Father?  You knew you had no choice.  He would take your gift, one way or another.  Your only choice was to let it happen.

“How might I receive it?”  His starved expression was once again locked on you as he spoke, as if in a trance; as if looking away from the one thing he came here to take for himself might cause it to disappear all too soon. 

You look down to your golden basket, full of ripe red apples.  One still sat in your hand.

You were always clever.  Even then.

It was one of the things your father praised about you, in your short time together.

You examined the supple fruit on your palm carefully.  With a slow, intentional breath, you created the first of a new kind of fruit- one that could grant rejuvenation.  It glittered to life with an iridescent gold, your eternal gift delicately weaving itself into the life of the apple.  As the magic settled, you held it out to Odin with an easy smile.

“Take,” you softly instructed, “and eat.”

He took, and he ate ravenously.  You watched the whispers of wrinkles fade from his face as he consumed it, the juice dripping from his reddened lips.

“Youth suits you, Odin,” you complimented, taking note of the youthful glow that revitalized his complexion.

“Is that all it takes?  Eating from your orchard?”

You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled to the surface as you spoke: “If it were, there would be countless immortal men-”

“Then tell me,” the words fell out of his mouth in a flash flood of breathy excitement as he quickly closed the gap between the two of you, “how can I maintain it- eternal youth?”

“Only if I give it-”

“Come with me to Asgard.”  He took your now-fruitless hand in his, his eyes softening from wild desperation to gentle pleading.  As young as he appeared to be now, there was an undeniable sparkle of fatherly care in his eyes- an affection you craved more deeply than you knew.  “We will make a place for you, Idunn; forever yours, protected by our greatest Valkyries.  You will be among the Aesir, with a seat of your own in our hall.  Even the Vanir will know your name.  You will belong, so long as you share your gift with us.”

Us .  He meant all the gods- the Aesir, which reside in Asgard, and the Vanir, in Vanaheim.  You would serve each and everyone one of them, for all time.  Befriend them.  Call them family .  You would, at long last, truly belong .

You turned back to look over the garden you had made for yourself.  You mentally walked back to where it all started, eyes lingering on the oldest tree in this place and the small flower bed beneath it.  You looked through each tree, bush, and vine, relishing the memory of building this place, plant by plant and life by life.  It was a beautiful garden; and a rare sight for Svartalfheim, the surface-level counterpart to Nidavallir, the subterranean home of the dwarves.  It was home …

But you had to admit: it wasn’t Asgard.  That would be an entirely different honor.  With the affinity to the highest gods, the protection they would provide, the divine life they lived, and the relationships you could form, it would barely hold a candle to your lonesome garden.  A seat at the table seemed a fair reward for the offering of your fruits.

“I will serve on my own terms,” you added.  “Life is not something to grant by force-”

“Of course,” Odin agreed, ecstatic.  “So long as you grant it.”

You placed your other hand on his- on the hand that still held yours- and he clasped it gently. 

A deal made.

Your arrival to Asgard was a quiet one, and you were thankful for it.  There was no grand feast, no great parade to usher you in, not even fresh flowers were thrown on pathways to prepare your way to your new home.  But there was also no bombardment of questions, no fear for your safety, no crowd of gods scrambling to your garden’s gates like starved strays.  Instead, Heimdallr, the All-Seeing Guardian of the Gods, would welcome you warmly as you crossed the rainbow Bifrost.  You would have a picnic with Frigga in your new garden as the sun set that day.  While she spoke of Asgard- of its people, its geography, its splendor; orienting you to your new home- your mind drifted off to dream of how you might fill this new space with flowering plants and blossoming fruits.  With a knowing smile, she excused herself to leave you to adjust, promising to return again later to show you around her beloved realm.

You would find a young god patiently waiting at your garden's gates that evening.  The silver moonlight casted a white glow on his raven black hair, carefully slicked back behind his ears.  Fine green and gold robes draped across his torso, dressing up the regal air about him.  You were suddenly made all the more conscious of the simple white dress you wore; an incredibly plain contrast to his royal finery.

“I can’t recall the last time Odin brought someone here,” the god quipped, leaning ever so slightly against the entryway.  He seemed to be caught between nonchalance and wild intrigue; his relaxed body language making his careful gaze seem out of place.

“Have you been here long, then?”

“Long enough,” he answered flatly, standing upright as you began to approach him.

Silence fell between the two of you for a moment.  You weren’t sure what to say, primarily because you weren’t sure what he was here for to begin with.  Instead, you looked up at him through your lashes and took time to think.

He simply watched you, studying your face with a slight, practiced smirk.

“What brings you here?” You finally asked, your voice smaller than you were intending it to be.

“I simply wanted an introduction.”  He held his hand out towards you, eyes glimmering with a sort of childlike playfulness that caught you off guard.

Your hand met his in a gentle handshake, his skin cool to the touch.

“Loki, Son of Odin,” he declared with a courteous bow, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand, “God of Mischief.”

You didn’t need the moniker- his first name was enough for you to know exactly who you were facing.  Suddenly, you weren’t sure if the chill you felt was from the cold hand you now held, or your blood running colder as the realization sunk in. 

Loki.  Son of Odin, Beloved of Frigga, Shadow of Thor, and the overall Pain in Asgard’s Ass.  A God of Mischief, indeed.

You swallowed your emotions, steeling yourself for a moment.  “Idunn,” you responded quietly.

He straightened, his eyebrow cocked.  “‘ Ever young ’?  Are you our promised Goddess of Eternal Youth?”

“Odin’s news must have traveled quickly.”

“Your arrival has been a long-anticipated one.”

Your chin tilted.  “Really?”

“Oh, naturally,” Loki practically scoffed, “Father has been searching for your… gift for quite some time.”

Questions flooded your mind.  Who told Odin about my garden?  About me?  How much did Loki know?  Why was he really here?   None of those questions left your mouth, though.  Not now.  You would save them for another time.  At that moment, you needed rest.  It had been a long day of travel, and your head was swimming.

You also needed to stop staring at the handsome trickster god.

And you needed to let go of his hand.

Your hand dropped to your side as you forced a small smile, a silent plea: ‘ Please elect not to notice that .’ 

He seemed to oblige, turning his attention to a blooming moonflower growing on a vine that twirled around the gate.

It was the one plant that seemed to consistently sprout in your wake, no matter where you went.  You hadn’t even noticed that its rare, brief blossom was in full view.

“I won’t intrude on your evening any longer,” he sighed as he plucked the flower, examining its satin white petals carefully, “it seems you still have some adjusting to do,” he finished as he nodded to the small tower-like home that stood proudly in the center of the newborn garden.

You nodded, “Yes- thank you,” you took a breath, “for the introduction.”

“The pleasure was mine, Idunn.”  With a slow bow of his head, he turned on his heel and walked away, gently twirling the moonflower between his index and thumb.

You stood for a while, watching him leave.  Your brows knitted together as you took your bottom lip in between your teeth, concern once again washing over you.  Countless questions swam in your mind, changing the current altogether as you chased the stream of thought to any possible answer.  You looked up to the moon- to Mani, a god you would meet soon- and took a deep breath.  Concerns for another time , you decided.  For the time being, you would instead focus on settling into your new home.

When the news of your arrival- and, more importantly, your agreement- had spread, many of the gods scrambled to your garden’s gates, desperately striving for such a gift, as if they wouldn’t eat of your fruit in time.  The golden gates and the strong Valkyries standing outside of them faithfully kept the hungry gods at bay.

You knew better than to rush.

There was always time.

With a gentle smile, as the seasons changed, you would pick only the brightest reds from your beloved trees and gingerly place them in your golden basket.  One by one, you would visit the gods.  You traveled all the Nine Realms over and over again, falling into a gentle rhythm.  You had your favorites- Freyja, goddess of fertility, would always come from Vanaheim to have her first pick, to the surprise of everyone else.  Most had expected you to grant it to Balder, son of Odin & Frigga, God of War & Justice, and most favored in all the realms; but for better or for worse, you had always seemed to maintain a unique perspective on the gods you lived amongst.  Freyja was your chosen favorite.  Hel became your final stop before you would rest for the season and allow the trees to replenish; not because she was the worst to visit with (as many had presumed), but because there were no conversations held between immortality personified and death incarnate that would not be interesting.  It was your favorite way to round out your travels.  In your own special way, you and Hel had become good friends.  That is not to say the other gods were not your friends; most were rather amiable, considering it certainly was not wise for a god to lose the favor of the one who sustains their very breath.

You would find many names for yourself over the centuries that followed.  You had a name before Odin found you- a true name, if you will- as well as a life of your own prior to the Garden of Asgard, but those were things you kept close to your chest.  “Idunn,” Odin would call you.  “Life,” others would say; “Youth,” more still; “Goddess Eternal,” a small few would hail; “Rejuvenating One” fell from the lips of those who revered you; some even dared to call you “Mother,” as in the one who lovingly gave them their lives.  Above it all, the All Father’s words would always prevail, leading most to call you their eternal youth; their Idunn .

Within just a couple hundred years, you had everything you could have ever wanted.  You had a name, a positive reputation for yourself, a seat amongst the highest gods, and a garden of truly unrivaled beauty.  Unfortunately, all of those wonderful things didn’t seem to tend to the issue of loneliness- that turned out to be inescapable.  But, aside from that?

Life in Asgard was a dream.

Except for when it was a nightmare, brought about by one god Hel-bent on playing the part of savior and tormentor.

Loki.  The God of Mischief.

On multiple occasions, Loki had tried to take your gift for himself.  He had tried bartering for extra apples, or any other fruit you had grown; taking a lock of your hair; snipping off a piece of your fine robes (which Freyja had generously given to you); even seeking out Hel herself, hoping that your exact opposite would somehow give way to the answers he sought, just as his father did: how did one acquire your immortality ? 

Your gift had never been something to be hoarded; it was something to be shared.  It did not come from brilliance, or might, but from a swollen heart.  Loki never quite seemed to understand that, but numerous attempts at finding your “secret” made for a seemingly endless amount of time spent together in your garden; so you tried to show him.

He had spent countless days and nights in your beautifully curated garden, watching you, observing your magic, carefully studying all that Life herself was in the hopes that he could figure you out.  While it was mutually frustrating at first, you both came to enjoy the visits over time.  Talk of your magic turned to talk of your garden turned to talk of the things you both loved dearly; about Asgard, about being alive, about each other .

Perhaps you had formed a connection of sorts- blindly driven by unbidden feelings hiding behind the carefully pruned hedges of your heart; but that was not anything to be concerned about.

Well, until it was.

You were filling your last basket with this season’s apples when he waltzed into the garden, his suave frame settling against a blossoming tree.  You acknowledged him with a small smile and a sarcastic, “hello, stranger.”

His soft chuckle brought that signature, charming smile to his lips as he greeted you. “I wasn’t sure I would see you before you left,” he noted, his tone light.  His mood was more pleasant than usual, it seemed.

“You did stay rather late last night,” you teased, “I’m surprised a prince would return so soon.”  You held your gaze to the tree, hoping to keep the blush threatening to creep up your neck at bay.  While nothing had transpired outside of stargazing, steady conversation, and the occasional longing glance, you still couldn’t help but feel bashful about the long evening you shared.  He had sat closer to you than ever before while you stared up at the stars for hours and told him about your hopes as you planned your next trip around the Nine Realms.  Just the thought of his breath on your bare shoulder was enough to heat your cheeks to a shade that could compete with the fruit hanging from your dearest trees.

Loki pressed his shoulder into the trunk behind him, using the momentum to bring himself upright before walking over to you.  “Oh, you know as well as I that Thor carries enough scandals of that sort for the both of us.”  With a bit of a flourish, he plucked an apple from the basket you held.  “Does Freyja always receive the first one of the season?”

You took the apple from him and placed it back into your basket before walking to the next tree.  “Do you envy her for it?” you asked casually as you searched the tree for fruit to pick.

“I wouldn’t mind knowing what it’s like myself,” Loki responded, his tone cool and even.  “Though I suppose it would be an honor earned… ” he trailed off in feigned thoughtfulness.

Your eyes landed on a particularly bright apple, which you carefully plucked from the branch.  “And what do you suppose is worthy of earning this?”  You turned to him, holding the apple in front of you.

He smiled, a renewed shine in his eye.  “What if I took you somewhere you have never been?”

You tilted your chin as a twin smile grew on your face.  “Where could you possibly take me, Loki?”

“Do you trust me?”

No , you told yourself, I could never trust the God of Mischief .

But the way he smiled at you…

“Of course.”  You lifted the apple in your hand to your lips, gently pressing them to the top.  The fruit shimmered to life, just as it had all those forgotten years ago.

You gave him the first apple of the season- for the first and last time.

The expression on his face shifted.

It clicked.

You were the gift.  The apples were simply your conduit .

He couldn’t quite stop himself from grinning wide as he found out your own cleverness- but the smile was easily mistaken by you as a smile of his own joy at winning you over.

He took, and ate slowly while you watched life return to his features, shamelessly enamored by him.  He offered you a bite, which you took sheepishly, before he offered an arm to you.

Loki walked with you to the edge of your garden and saw you off on your journey.

He’d be waiting there for you, just in front of those golden gates, upon your return.

Loki glances up from his book, his Odin-like smile still lingering on his glistening, reddened lips.  He takes another bite of his apple as you move to sit beside him; close enough to peer over the pages of the book in his hand, but far enough to ensure you won’t touch.  Despite your endless conversations, touch is a boundary you can’t gather the bravery to cross without his initiation.

“Shall we?” He asks, closing his book and setting it into his lap.  In a whisp of gold glitter, the apple core disappears from his hand.

You take a deep breath and lean your head back against the tree trunk as a soft breeze blows past you.  It’s just a day trip , you remind yourself.  Why do I still worry about being away for too long?

“If you’ve had a change of heart-”

“No,” you interrupt him as he stands, “no, of course not.”  You look up to him seeking some sort of reassurance, but you can’t seem to find any. 

All of Loki’s charm is wrapped up in the expression he wears; green eyes twinkling above a confident smile.  Yet, the warmth you have grown accustomed to is absent.  Something is off ; but you’re not one to push.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve traveled,” you say quietly, almost to yourself.

“We won’t be gone long,” he assures, offering his hand to you.  “I doubt anyone will know of our absence.”

You take his hand with a weak smile and stand.  Just as you try to let go, he takes your hand and places it in the crook of his bent arm.  You glance at him with a questioning look, but Loki gives a wink and walks on, ushering you out of your garden and into the lush Asgardian forest.

You aren’t sure how long you have walked for when you finally arrive at your destination; the two of you have talked for so long that time seemed to pass all too quickly.  The sun is still bright in the sky, telling you it is still likely early in the afternoon; but your sore feet tell you that you had traveled a long way to get here- wherever here is.

“Welcome to my sanctuary,” he introduces with a gesture.

Turning your attention from your guide to your view, your eyes settle on a clearing in the forest, surrounded by trees and cliffside.  Off the cliff runs a beautiful waterfall, churning white mist over a small pool of water.  Moss and vines climb up the rock while bushes roll along the mouth of the pool.  At this time of day, sunlight hits the waterfall at just the right angle to conjure a rainbow at its misty base.

Loki holds his hand out to you, which you thoughtlessly grasp as your eyes continue to take in the sight.  He guides you towards one side of the waterfall, stepping onto a rocky path that leads just behind it to a small cave just inside.  You walk past the watery curtain into the grotto, and the world stops for a moment.

Golden light dances in every corner, half of flame and half of magic.  On the ground are richly dyed plush blankets and round cushions, topped with small piles of books.  Towards the back wall is a small table, on top of which is a single moonflower, still in bloom.

“Loki,” you breathe, awestruck by the simple beauty of a place like this.

“I do hope it has met your expectations,” his gentle tone echoes against the rocky walls.

“It easily exceeds them.”  Your eyes linger on the moonflower- the breath of a memory he perfectly preserved in this place.

“Good.”  He says, sitting down on one of the cushions.  “I’ve come to your haven often enough, I’d think it’s time the favor was returned.”

With a breathy laugh, you sit beside him.  “Is that an invitation?”

“Any time,” he confirms with the flash of a smile.

For a long while, the two of you sit and read, the steady rush of the waterfall echoing in the small cave, filling the silence.  

Though you attempt to lose yourself in the book- some sort of fantastic romance- you struggle to focus.  A pair of green eyes steadily focuses on you, brows stitched together ever-so-slightly.  You hope it’s simply a fondness that etches itself into his features.

Even so, you find this a peaceful place.  You wish you could stay here forever.

But time is cruel.

As the sun begins to kiss the horizon, Loki stands and helps you to your feet.  

You ask him about the book he's been reading.

He provides a short response; just enough to answer, and nothing more.  He carefully guides you out of the cave and back into the forest.

You swear for a moment you catch a glimpse of a tear on his cheek, but the dim light makes it hard to tell for certain.  As he continues forward, his pace picking up to purposeful strides, you train your eyes on his back, determined not to lose the green-caped god in the midst of the darkening emerald forest.

Until something glittery catches your eye, and curiosity gets the better of your discipline.

You look down and see a fine shimmering gold chain.  A small, mossy green agate hangs from it on a small hook.  You bend down to pick it up, and tell Loki to come see what you’ve found.

But there is no response.

You look up to see only trees; the rich green and shimmering gold have disappeared.  You call out to Loki, and hear no echo as your voice is absorbed by the trees which surround you.

Silence.

Your grip on the necklace tightens.

You move forward.  Tiptoeing.  Walking.  Jogging.  Sprinting.

Still no Loki.

Still no green and gold.

Still no sight of the end of these woods.

You call out again, your voice as ragged as your panicked breath.

“Lo-”

Your voice is cut off as a scream rips its way out of your throat.

Giant talons dig into your torso as you’re forcefully lifted off of the ground and carried above the canopy.

“Loki!”

The only sound you hear above the wind whipping past your chilled ears is your own breath- breath that feels like a strangers’ in its desperation.

Life in Asgard was a dream; and the moment you let yourself wonder what all that dream had to offer was the moment it was ripped from you.

[myriadparacosm]

New Hunger Prologue - Tiny Test of Norse Mythology AU

Planned Wolfstar; Jegulus; Rosekiller; Dorlene; more?

“Sirius… Where are we?”

His brother slightly slows to glance at him. His eyes shine like molten silver even in the complete darkness. They are small enough to slip past every kind of crevice and crack but Regulus isn’t too small to not be aware that they are lost.

“On an adventure.”

Regulus scowls and casts a look behind them but there is no entry or exit. They might be in a cavern but it isn’t as cold as he expected it to be. Sirius definitely has no idea where they are either.

“It’s not an answer,” he argues.

“If we don’t know where we are, it means that we are on an adventure,” Sirius replies with this obnoxious tone of his.

He huffs but continues to follow him down the obscure path. They don’t need a source of light because even without seeing the path is clear and safe. Both are meant to be here, as brothers and for themselves.

They reach a wall, curling above them like a reminder that they are not on land nor on the earth. It’s a place close and far away, out of time and without rules of space, with an intent that is brief.

It’s not the sky above them but it looks as infinite and liberating as it should be. They both turn on their feet, heads leaning back to stare at the stars blooming and dying in a mute explosion that ricochets through their bodies. There is too much to take in without losing their minds but they are hooked and dragged into the endless.

Regulus finds himself captivated by one flare warming up all the cold in this small grandiose world. He falls into it, harpooned with a brush and a tingle of his hair. His heart gallops but he is in one piece despite the fire embracing and kissing him.

He could have stayed there without any worry or pain. It’s only because of this all-consuming love that Regulus misses up until the last second the large maw of a wolf swallowing him whole.

The teeth are gentle, inking through his skin like a perfumed balm. It’s a feeling that he got accustomed to by the years of living with this soft hunger that matches his companionship. He has never moved from this spot, never bothered to worry meaninglessly for Sirius, despite the many birthdays. If he makes the effort, he could actually take a peek at where his brother is - somewhere in the sky but Regulus needs to stay asleep for a little longer. Even if he becomes dust, it will be alright because he will be living through the Sun. A wind disrupts his peaceful slumber, nudging him out from the comfortable fur until he is spitted out.

Regulus stands up in a field of pure gold. The gale softly accepts him, leaving the field of grass singing, and the Sun cradles him in his palm.

Despite the soothing safety, he knows he shouldn't be here. A forest that can only be part of the giant legends and the impossible existence surrounds him; trees twisting together like lost lovers, wood shimmering with magic and leaves giggling as the wind picks them up with hues of rainbows. It's a place that should no longer exist and yet Regulus finds himself here once again.

Animals are coming and disappearing through the nooks of nature, flying to reach the clear sky, without any fear. They are almost invisible compared to the water rushing down a small creek that he is so familiar with. There are laughters and words he can't discern fluttering but one voice makes it all clear and honest to his ears.

There is only one trail for him just as always after he gets his head out of the tall grass. He doesn't need another, not when he knows the reward of this one - the best of all. He strides forward, inching closer to the running water tingling his nose. It's fresh and inviting but he won't touch it.

Regulus only comes to watch James, who doesn’t know that, but it’s how he wants it to be.

As quietly as he can, his way is made toward the happy chatter and the splashes of water. The sound is enough to freshen up Regulus even though the heat isn’t overwhelming here but it’s more than what he is used to.

Their language is unfamiliar, a rumored dead language despite the truth, and Regulus has only learned small words here and there by eaves-dropping. It’s still not enough to understand all the excited words thrown left and right. James’ voice is unmistakable, like a clear wind in the middle of a raging sea. He shouldn’t be lulled by it but Regulus has never been the complete obedient soul that he is rumored to be.

His path is made by crouching through the blushing leaves and the golden grass to reach a point of view not too above the small river at the bottom of the rushing cascade. Regulus is just in time to catch the sight of James jumping in the water from a small cliff near the cascade, which he must have climbed to reach for it. It’s not impossible but the path is hazardous and the height would scare every sane person. Of course, James’ friends don’t see any flaw in his judgment as they all cheer until they are sprayed by the water from his landing.

He recognizes the chubby blond young man that follows James, sometimes even up to Regulus’ realm, and the woman of the same age with braided hair up to her dark shoulders. The others are of no importance though Regulus has no doubts that James is a perfect companion to them, but he can’t spare more of his focus. Peter and Mary are known and definitely closer to James than all of them which is the only reason why he has made efforts to know the minimum.

James shakes his head as he comes back to the surface with a laugh already on his lips before even breathing. Regulus stays hidden, eyes working through the blanket of nature, despite being completely hooked at the first notes of it.

They must call him crazy. Peter gestures at the toothed cliff, probably calculating his exploit, as Mary jokingly refuses James to come back up on the riverside where she is sunbathing by pushing him with her foot. He, without surprise, pulls her in the river with no second thought and she screeches in surprise, trying to push his head back under the river. The riverbed isn’t deep, their shoulders are above the water without any trouble compared to the feet of the cascade where James had jumped in. Peter laughs at them, along with the rest of them, as they sit on a half-immersed edge.

Regulus drinks the sight like a man without pride and famished. James’ skin is lighter than Mary but is still contrasting with the limpid water. His chest shines under the sunlight and the tattoos drawn on it only accentuates how healthy he is. It certainly only feeds his massive character and explains why James attracts all eyes whenever he comes close. Though for Regulus he doesn’t even need to be around for that.

Thankfully he doesn’t show up half-naked everywhere, never in Regulus’ home which is a twisted blessing, but even obscured by clothes he shines out like the Sun. Regulus swallows and tries to deepen himself into his hiding spot as his cheeks continue to heat up at his thoughts. James’ hair is wet, shining with joy, and already curling up in a way that seems to invite Regulus over. He quickly retrieves his glasses from Peter after brushing a hand over his wet face to clear it once he and Mary make their way to sit beside their friends.

Regulus watches pleasantly from his personal hideout. There aren’t many words that he can recognize but he doesn’t need all of it to take in the sight of James pleasantly sunbathing amongst his friends. He seems almost asleep but he smiles, laughs and chats with all his friends with no worries about the rest of the realm.

He is jealous of many things but the list only grows longer the more he observes James. Sirius and him are always together every time he comes to visit them, sometimes even alone but Regulus knows that neither of their parents are aware of that. They are insufferable together and while Regulus has been invited to hang out, he knows that it would get too much for him.

Here, in James’ realm, Regulus has no place but to be an enemy or at best a dubious outsider but there is nowhere else where James is as beautiful and serene as in here. He is free and nature nurses him with a stark favoritism that Regulus fully agrees with.

A light startles him, disturbing his revered sight-seeing, and he looks up to meet with the Sun blinking at him like a curious eye. It eats the sky and looms over James and his innocent friends. Regulus doesn’t flinch at the wolf breathing down his neck, hungry and at the ready to jump at his favorite prey, if anything it’s as one that they get ready to jump at the Sun.

His hands are the paws. His jaw pulse with teeth earning to drown into the molten blood. His eyes sharpen on the golden flesh begging for his lethal care-

“Regulus?”

He startles as he meets James’ eyes right in front of him. To spot him, he must have climbed his way up here and crawled in his hiding spots. James looks delighted, eyes sparkling above his dreamy smile, as he completely eclipses the Sun.

It shouldn’t happen - they can’t meet and especially never like this even if James waits on him like he is something precious. It cannot happen.

[weirdenbyferret]

Done drawing on the sunday/saturday @daycarefriendpickup magma, heres the stuff I drew today!

Tagging two people, both cuz of the second drawing lol

@mediocreskelebug the one who gave me the idea for the norse mythology au, and @wyervan cuz they helped me a bit with figuring out what to draw! Also cuz they were eyeing Moons/Máni's claws lmao

[ryebread-x]

Files:Vanir studies 

Tw:Mentions of ethical experiments,manipulation,and implied torture and later murder (nothing graphic)

Created by: Odin Borson a.k.a Dr.Allfather 

Property of Asgard and the Aesir government 

File #1

Name:Njord (unknown)

Age:Psychically anywhere between his late 50s or early 60s

Species:Vanir

Number:NVO-2

God affiliation:God of the Sea

Parents:Unknown 

Children: Freyja Njorddottior and Freyr Njordson

Threat level: low 

Dr. All Father's notes:With Njord, there is not much to say. I find him rather unless all he does is sit in the corner of his cell and stare with a cold expression. I really didn't have any use for him except leverage against the twins. I couldn't find records of his family or the twins' mom. I did find he had a sister, though. Since he'll have no use for my plan, like the other three, I plan to keep him around for a bit. Then I'll just simply do away with him once I set my plans into place.

File #2:

Name: Freyja Njorddottior 

Age: Psychically in her mid 30s

Species:Vanir 

Number:FVO-3

Goddess affiliation:Goddess of Fertility, Love,and War

Parents:Njord and an unknown mother

Brother: Freyr Njordson

Children:None 

Threat level:Very low

Dr.Allfather's notes:Freyja ….what is there to say about her. For starters, she's beautiful but that besides the point. Freyja served as [Redacted] right hand in the war. Just like the rest of them, she arrived with a fight in her. However, I found her easier to break. She is associated with love, after all. I just deprived it from her until she was finally left broken. She was easier to manipulate from there. I made her think that I'm the only one she could rely on. She'll be a vital part of my plan ,Frigga was becoming a rather borish wife anyway. 

File #3

Name:Freyr Njordson 

Age:Psychically in his mid 30s 

Species:Vanir

Number:FVO-4

God affiliation: God of Fertility 

Parents :Njord and unknown mother

Sister:Freyja Njorddottior 

Threat level :Moderate

Dr. Allfather's notes:Despite his threat level, Freyr only attacks when provoked. He's very protective of his twin sister Freyja and almost beat a guard half to death for hurting her on time. Other than that, just like his father, I can't say much about him. He seems too laid back for someone in the situation he's in. To the point where he is too laid back, to where I find it honestly suspicious .Though just like the rest of them, I'm sure I can find some use.

File #4

Name:Sigyn Ivaldidottior 

Age:Psychically in her early 30s 

Species:Dwarf-Vanir(Hybrid)

Number:SVO-6

Goddess affiliation:Goddess of Loyalty and Victory 

Parents:Ivaldi and unknown mother

Threat level:High 

Dr.Allfather's notes:Sigyn Ivaldidottior or Svo-6 is one of our most dangerous subjects. She has put up a fight since day one of arriving at my lab and hasn't seemed to stop. Her father is a dwarf and her mother, I presumed, had been killed in the war. She seemed to have had an unstable life since day 1, which explains her attitude. She is not easy to break, that's for sure, not like Freyja. I can't tell you how many times I've seen doctors and guards lose their limbs to her. It got to the point where I had to make Tyr guard her. It's a good thing he has already lost a limb before. Despite all that she sure is a fighter, she'll make a good guard dog someday.

File #5

Name:[Redacted]

Age:[Redacted]

Species:Vanir

Number:GVO-1

Goddess Affiliation:[Redacted]

Family:[Redacted]

Threat level:[Redacted]

Dr.Allfather's notes:

By my bread what have I done…..

VO 5 file remains missing

I decided to make this au into a fanfic! I'm unsure when I'll have the first chapter out, so I wanted to give kind of a little prologue first.

[backstabber128]

Here's some sketches of a random crack Arcane x God of War + Ragnarok AU bc of these ideas-- (Also bc the Norse mythology style is absolutely awesome 👀)

I couldn't resist imagining what little Vi & Pow would look like as mini gods with their adult tattoos like Atreus. Also me being delusional imagining Warwick protecting them as part of Vander's shape shifting ability--

Also headcanon that Odin/Silco has mind control powers, hence Vi and Powder vs Warwick rip. He tears their family apart even in this AU 🫠

+ Jinx gaining Baldur-like abilities through becoming Silco's daughter

[get-kratioed]

I don't care much about AUs in general, but I can imagine Atreus & Angrboða building a sanctuary for wolves on Minecraft together in modern time. :)

[chantsdemarins]

New Fic: Breath of the Æsir ⚔︎🏰 (Loki X Reader)

Formally (Collapsing in the Arms of Chaos) I changed the name. 😬 I know Medieval stories aren't everyone's fav but heck, I hope you like it! It has been brewing in the coffee pot that is in my head for over a year. I feel slightly self-conscious that after my first time with COVID, my brain is not the same. I hope I still have my ability to write! My last story published a few weeks ago was written while I was falling ill and I know it wasn't my best!

Thank you for reading!! If you want to comment I would be so happy and reblogs are like the most precious thing to me. All art is mine, it's a Photoshop-crazed situation.

Summary: Disenchanted with the Danes' misuse of Norse gods to sanction their brutality, Loki finds himself ostracized. Stripped of his divine powers and bearing a severe injury, he wanders into the realm of the conquered. By a twist of fate, he arrives at your manor, where you await your husband's return. However, destiny has other plans.

Warnings: Blood.

Words: 2,471

Smut rating: Not yet...but there sure will be!

Posting schedule: Every Saturday! I am going to stick to this!

Chapter 1 The Embroidery of Destiny Chapter 2 The Stranger Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

@lokis-little-fawn @lcolumbia1988 @thesoftboiledegg @anukulee @mochie85 @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @nildespirandum @caffiend-queen @mochie85 @maple-seed @mischief2sarawr @kikster606 @thedistractedagglomeration @glitchquake@simplyholl @holdmytesseract @holymultiplefandomsbatman @wheredafandomat @fictive-sl0th @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @muddyorbs @vickie5446 @trickster-maiden @grymrayven

Before your family settled again, you had been travelers, moving from one darkened patch of earth to the next. Soil on your boots muddied your paths, creating difficulties in finding a home. There were many things to see, some horrors, some things magical and unfounded. Shapes shifted in the forest where you camped at night. One day your father showed you where they lowered men into the bogs, decorated with bronze. These were not the ways of your people. They did not worship like that. It might have been too much for you to know where some ended up when they were no longer living, not in graves or on pyres. Something else.

By the time you reached the northern lands, your family had negotiated your belongings down to just what the pallid horses could carry. Your croft was built into the very earth you had struggled to cross, with bedrooms burrowed into the side of a hill. It was not built for so much rain. Buckets and sluices were not enough to keep out the floods.

So, when your husband came to marry you, you packed your things neatly, placed them in a pack, and left your parents’ home without drawing a breath. You walked a distance far greater than any you had as a child to his family's land, your new home. The way your family had negotiated the marriage remained a blind spot in your mind. You couldn't fathom it. From a croft to a manor.

Over time, nothing in your marriage seemed to flourish. The land, though beautiful, yielded nothing you sowed. Too sandy or too chelated, perhaps unfortunate timing. You became a wife in the loneliest ways. No spinning of yarn would produce a cloth finer than the wool you began with. Hours of practice composing embroidery resulted in nothing more than half completed sea escarpments, knots, and birds with no flight.

The elegant window that surveyed the tenants' labors only deepened your isolation. They carried on with their duties, and you retired to your quarters, curtains drawn. The chill from your childhood followed you here. The stone walls held a dampness no fire could dispel. You knew somewhere across the hills where your parents still sleeping too close to the earth. Rooms still flooded. Though your loyalty never wavered, even as your husband wandered afar, absent for days at a time, his pursuits as obscure as the horizon beyond your room filled with half-finished tasks.

In kindness or disappointment, he had ensured your education extended beyond your lowly beginnings. Through travels and courtly audiences, barons and other titled men and women recounted their lives' poetry over each glass of mead or wine. You listened for moments when they forgot their lines, most days this was more interesting than their images they wanted you to see.

Although had you not met Isolde of Easting, you would not have thought to plant the spiky yellow gorse along the manor's borders. When the proper conversation waned, you had discovered the titled people still spun tales of their lands. The places they had come or been uprooted from. In the best conversations, you gleaned knowledge of the plants, herbs, and tokens from the first peoples, their ways overshadowed by the new cultures but nonetheless seeming to flow from them to you during the quieter moments—the men away hunting, the embroidery thread running low, the teapot empty. These things were spoken of in hushed tones so the servants would not get ideas.

You spoke of the hawthorn tree, the ravens' work, the swords warriors cast into the cold estuary, found along all the lakes' shores. The Roman merchants who brought tales of Jesus and his cross. The god Woden came from the Angles, and Odin, from the North. Their wars and bloodshed filled the spaces between village homes and now the courts. If asked if you prayed to the Christian god, you couldn't say. You longed to speak of the place where they lowered men into the bogs, the place your father once showed you. Later, in the quiet of your room, you would pull out a relic from beneath the blankets in your chest, and it would look unrecognizable. It once held meaning, but that meaning didn't travel with it.

Sometimes when you were awake much too early, the nightingales still singing, you would dip your quill into the small pot of black soot. You would unroll a small piece of parchment, discarded by the cooks, and write down your dreams. Which had room in your sleep since they were so often unimpeded by the presence of your husband. You wrote in the lais of the Frankish people, counting eight sounds to the line, braiding your dreams with your words.

Had I found a small shell, not rope I would have held it to my ear The ocean's song would have come to me Instead, I was swallowed wholly

This was how things proceeded until the day they did not.

As you came to learn, in the void and closeness of life, nothing is reliable enough to expect its continuation the next day. You should allow for change to slip through the crevices of even the dampest chambers. It just had not happened in so long you almost did not recognize it when something remarkable unfolded at your manor.

On this day, as you sipped your tea, with half-finished yards of cloth draped across your lap, and the unopened book of hours on the small, worn table, your gaze was fixed on the wind billowing the emerald curtains—silk from an era long past, traded by hands unknown. Like much of the decor in the manor, these were vestiges of your husband's family's trade in finery, symbols of their stature akin to that of minor kings.

Elinor, your companion for the last 10 years, rapped on your door abruptly, breaking your contemplative gaze.

“My lady, please excuse me,” she croaked, as the door opened before you could arrange a pretext to delay her entry.

“What is it, Elinor?” you asked, not wishing to dwell on the trivialities of the manor that day. Clearing her throat, she reported urgently of a man in a bad way, injured and lying on the steps. She hastened to your window, the portal to the land beyond your manor, and pointed to the makeshift courtyard where a man lay seemingly lifeless if not for the faint moan you heard.

“Why have you not sought my husband or some other man of decisions?” you questioned with a twinge of fear edging into your refuge of solitude.

“Lady, your husband has traveled beyond into the land of the Scots, and the aldermen are not present either,” she informed you.

“A household of women only, then? How did I overlook such an event?” you pondered.

“Lady, you are often engrossed in your own pursuits within these walls. How could you have noticed your husband's departure?” Elinor reasoned, her words not easing the panic now fully upon you. The thought that your husband had left you unprotected added another layer of anguish.

“At such a time, Elinor, how shall we defend ourselves?” you barely articulated.

“I suspect he gave little thought to the matter,” Elinor replied, her head bowed even lower than her subdued voice.

“Then it falls to me to act in their absence,” you reasoned. Not wanting this conflict or the talk that may ensue you knew you must act quickly. This man perhaps knew your husband, or perhaps it was only a small political scuffle that may have resulted in his injuries. You thought of the many reasons he could have ended up at the steps of your manor of this day. None of them added up entirely.

As you navigated the long, narrow corridors, your thin morning jacket provided little relief from the chill as Elinor aided you with the heavy door. You both stood in awe of the man at your feet. Having seen men before, chiefly your husband. This man’s appearance was now shocking at close view. He was unlike your husband in all ways you could imagine.

“Holy Jesus save us,” Elinor yelled through her missing teeth.

“He will not assist with this, Elinor,” you responded, your eyes surveying the severe wound from his stomach to his chest, the dark blood pooling around his lean form.

The man’s hair was a shade darker than the darkest night. Had night possessed more depth, it would resemble the hue of his locks. His attire suggested nobility, which only intensified the chill you felt. He had clearly been bested in whatever skirmish he had come from, and with no healer at hand, it seemed likely that a burial might soon follow—until his eyes fluttered open.

A striking blue that drew your own darker gaze, hinting at his foreign language or origins. His hand reached out feebly before falling back to his side.

He whispered faintly, “Ásjá.”

“He's alive!” you declared, as if the statement itself could reverse his fate.

“Yes, lady, he lives, I told you. Now what shall we do?” Elinor asked, concern evident in her voice.

“We save him. It is the right thing to do,” you answered.

“But without a healer, we risk much by sheltering him,” Elinor’s voice trembled.

“Then we shall tend to his needs ourselves,” you declared, your courage unusual, unfounded, drawn from the same well that had seen men saved from death at a distance. An instinct came over you. You directed Elinor to gather wood, cloth, herbs, and other necessities that seemed more from your imagination than any practical experience. You quickly cut away his clothes, exposing the dire wound more fully.

“Lady, he may not survive this,” Elinor observed with a somber tone. The unhinged flesh flapping against the seemingly unended torrent of blood emerging from him. How could there be so much blood.

“Silence, Elinor,” you hushed her. Your hands, though failed in the art of tapestry, were adept with needle and thread. So much failure had given you courage.

“We must stem the bleeding before we can stitch him up,” you instructed, asking for a branch from the fire.

“Lady, you cannot—” Elinor began, but you had already pressed the smoldering wood to the wound. The man awoke suddenly, thrashing in pain.

“Hold him down!” you ordered. Elinor, small but determined, restrained his arms.

You envisioned repairing his injury as if it were the "Galley of the Titan’s Moons," a rare piece of embroidery from the northern lands.

“I shall map the night sky upon your body, sir,” you said, speaking into the silence as he drifted further from this world. You sensed the ancestors gather, ready to welcome him, but you were not ready to let him go.

“No, not yet” you whispered, a soft rebuke to the invisible presence.

Elinor looked at you, puzzled. To whom were you speaking?

You were determined. This man would not die. Though you had sent for a proper healer, your task was to keep him alive until they arrived, hoping they would be sober enough to be of use. Much worse would be a drunk priest should your help not find any healer available.

It was not until you had finished suturing his wound that you noticed how his body appeared in the dim light of the great room. Your loneliness resonated with the landscape of his injury. It was a peculiar reaction, but there was something else broken within this man, beyond the sword wound. It was something familiar to your own. You held you own stomach for a moment, it felt as if you were the one almost slain, not him.

Eventually, his bleeding ceased, and the healer arrived, tended to him with poultices and what looked like grain spirits. You wrapped your furs around his sleeping form. He did not pass away. The stranger in your home survived. You had been told he might still not make the night. You watched him for as long as your eyes could. His faint inhalations mirrored in your own. But the exhaustion took over, and before you could retreat to your own chamber, you found yourself lying at his side.

“How improper, Lady!” Elinor’s voice pierced the quiet as dawn crept in and your eyes, heavy with sleep, opened. You hadn’t realized you had fallen asleep beside the stranger. Startled, you rose, wrapping a blanket around yourself. Quickly finding a reason that you had slept at his side.

“He remains unconscious, Elinor. The healer was unsure if he would wake,” you confided in the servant who had been by your side for so many years. She looked briefly placated. Yet you knew her mind was racing. The healer would tell the burgh folk of this strange man. Your husband was nowhere to be known. Northman had recently been subdued with heavy piles of church silver, and that arrangement was delicate at best. They would be back and this time they would perhaps sack the village since you knew the last of the silver had been promised away to visiting bishops and clergy. The wealth had run its course.

“He must stay until he awakens, until he can speak for himself,” you quickly decided.

It was better to know who he was. He would surely tell you since you saved his life.

“But what if he is a demon, my lady? Have you considered that he may have come from Hell to bring us further misfortune?” Elinor ventured, instantly regretting her words as her face contorted with shame.

“I apologize. I did not mean to imply you are cursed,” she hastily added.

You felt pity for Elinor, she was not as traveled as you had become. Had not the stories you knew, but you also could not see beyond, you had no way to know if it was safe to keep him with you. If your husband should arrive back, there would be no way to convince him that this man had not abused you in some way, but you did know something of him. There was something you did recognize.

“This man is no curse, no demon,” you affirmed, your gaze fixed on his hair, as dark as the ink with which you wrote.

“How can you be certain?” she queried.

“He spoke in the old tongue, asking for aid. Did you not hear him, Elinor?” you questioned, your voice steady.

The woman stepped back, tossing another log onto the fire, her confusion apparent. “I did not recognize the language, nor do I understand how you did,” she admitted.

The language was familiar to you, it was the tongue of your people from so long ago. From the place of your birth. The place that was destroyed till there was nothing but darkness.

Chapter 2 below!

[arleniansdoodles]

A little something inspired by Calliope’s adventures in Ironwood! Here she’s standing with Angrboda and one of the Giants I pulled from the myths: Eggdér, wolf-herder of the Jötnar.

In the Völuspá, Eggþér (or Egðir, which I find more visually pleasing loll) is a herder of the giantess in Ironwood, which is most likely a reference to Angrboda. He raises the kinfolk of Fenrir, and joyfully plays his harp while the red rooster Fjalarr crows to herald the onset of Ragnarök. Given that he’s mentioned with Angrboda, I just had to make him one of the returned Giants in my fic!

Since he’s a herder, I imagine all those wolves who led Atreus to Angrboda were actually Eggdér’s, but he bid them to watch over her if he was ever absent. He also plays a harp, so I gave him an affinity with music, and a possible teacher for Calliope given her own goddess-y musical abilities. As for his dynamic with her (and with Atreus), that’ll be revealed more in the story! XDD

Oh, and I should probably mention that Kratos and Sindri won’t be the only father/uncle/guardian figures in Calliope’s life lmaoo