#odin is his own wanring

[someweirdoreblogger]

You have an "admirer," apparently. One that has no sense oncesoever.

Odin, the All-father, iron fist of the Norse.

You use everything in your willpower, hidden deep, to not flip your shit each time he graces your weaker presence.

Odin comeths baring no warning. Does a King need formal reason to wander inside his own castle?

Suddenly, day after day, night after night-this intimidating figure finds you worthy of not just a simple glance.

Not a word spoken, without distraction nor misdirection. He is elegant down to how he walks, with purpose and unwavering resilience.

The All-father is supreme and tyrannical in godly definition, of the legendary Bifrost's chosen few. A rapid tide in constant pursuit, edgeless flood overcoming building after building in its merciless path of endless devastation, devouring those who dare oppose the roaring waves.

Odin is... just there.

Next to little ol' you, a lowly servant, the great All-father. Without a care in the world. The sheer audacity to treat this like it's not extremely unusual for an all-powerful god such as himself to take interest in another out of the blue, let alone someone so painstakingly simple. Someone never pinned on the radar of another god, definitely not one of their strongest ancients.

Either you found him, or likewise, the latter; waiting ever patiently by the bay of your active sector, stuck in the ground like a tree stump. Is he even breathing? Feet rooted, immoveable as stone.

It's hard to not miss him in this lightful realm, a towering candle of stern darkness-permeant arrogance written on his face. Wrinkles forming indifferent strokes, old indeed, but nevertheless immortal. Long scars, they decorate him in tight and unnerving brushes. A bleak void carries the stinging yellow jackets in his eyes, stoic, unrelenting. A force to be reckoned with, even then, any blind fool can tell this highly dangerous god homes a deep attractiveness mortals are blessed to witness. The devil is hideous on one hand, yet beautiful on another. People become frantic in trying to appease their quite unexpected guest, you can't blame them, if you didn't know what Odin was here for-vaguely at the very least-you would've tripped on yourself to ensure no bloodshed as well, no one wants to wipe up intestines and tethered remains off the walls. Frightened assistants question one another, curious bombarding. A sea of peeking servants and turning heads, eager but not too eager to learn the answer to the question lingering in everyone's mind- -Why Odin of all damn people is in private servant quarters? Endless blunt remarks of his loyal crows fill the air, interesting how they obviously contrast, scolding unlucky others getting far too close for their liking (Getting used to that nonstop bickering and annoying flaps of their feathery wings deserves a round of applause admittedly). Shouting in a voice you swear can be heard all across Heaven that the All-father needs not justify himself to weaker masses. And soon, the crowd disperses till Odin is all that remains, looking upon reality like it matters little to him in that current moment. Continues to stand moving not an inch, dead to the knowing world. Maybe he was ready to stay there for years, just for you. Ridiculous, but the determination itself is admirable, terrifying as the person it belonged too. Holding, distant, stubborn on holy soil older than your great grandfather until you're unfortunately noticed; The only servant Odin made eye-contact within the past few hours, a small part of you immediately died in that current moment. Caught. Well, better to accept fate then delay the inevitable.

Furthermore, Odin never fucking leaves. Unless swayed by the heavy burden of his responsibilities to Valhalla, he is practically glued to you. Hip to hip, never behind.

Where you least expect him, somehow, he has unadmitted reason for popping up into your vision like a mole, driven by curiosity.

Coincidentally, in your most favored places. Including personal ones.

(There next to your bed watching you sleep, there behind you during your break, there standing next to you as you dust the priceless artifacts of the great halls. Wherever you go Odin is almost certain to trail after, turning this into a childish game of follow the leader.

Odin goes where you go, regardless of actually where 'where' is. At this point, you can only expect but never predict. Quick as lightening, an invisible thundering sound in the distance, appearing where most convenient. Your face sinks the moment his face enters your sights, you won't shake him off matterless of whether or not you really tried, both stuck together till night falls from Olympus.

(Yeah right, you shaking off Odin. No fool can ever dream hard enough to achieve such a feat.)

It's an unlucky series of unwanted occurrences that all servants know better then to suggest otherwise.

You swear, this is on purpose. But for what?

Pleasure?

Curiosity?

This torture of constantly hanging on the end of the cliff, not knowing if someone behind you is waiting the perfect moment to push. To see you fall down into the bottomless abyss. Thor and Loki had to get their tendencies somewhere.

You are fairly confident in yourself, even when it comes to dealing with the gods. You have worked for Olympus long enough that little to nothing surprises you anymore. You've witnessed aplenty things, from disasters to miracles, you have never seen-

-this.)

And Odin just...stares at you the entire time, much to your intense confusion and unbridled fear.

Odin grants no hints and admits nothing, an intimidating statue of a great towering godfather who can erase your mortal existence off Heaven in under a millisecond. Completely and utterly unpredictable, reeking of boundless bloodlust and pure fighting prowess. Won't take the unrivaled intellect of Tesla to recognize Odin can't be a bearer of good news.

He irritates the sensitive hairs on your neck, pricked up, suffocating in fright. His aura scorches you, a transparent brand of godly fire. Daring you to move out of line, defiance is forever intolerable in the biased eyes of the Heavens. You can't imagine doing anything to potentially earn his ire.

You have no intention of betraying Valhalla, unfond as you are about the gods, not that you'd foolishly announce that to fucking Odin.

Your conclusions are empty stales of bread, no meat and cheese, sauce, mayonnaise or mustard. No excuse for this argumentatively, obsessive behavior about following you like a shitty puppy. You can't guess why Odin is even here to begin with, why he bothers you with never-ending oversight.

Thankfully, Odin only looks. Just watching.

Seems merely seeing you just living is a newfound hobby for Valhalla's ruling god, whatever that means for you.

As deeply unnerving as his constant observation is, you suppose it could be worse, as you and your beloved nymph friends speculate. All you can do is wait for something to happen. You take it as a sign to perform your duties more perfectly, though it was more out of crawling desperation to live than inspiration.

(You read and carefully organize the ancient books in a quiet, knowing patience.

Counting the lively torches upon the grand Olympian walls, which ones are lit, which aren't.

Writing down assigned addresses, preparing for the awaiting visitation of the next Pantheon for Hermes.)

Non-blinking, holes burning at the back of your head. Analyzing the most basic specks and wrinkles of your face and neckline, fair hair whistling silently against Winter winds. Eyes of an eagle locked onto their target, dreadfully focused. By far the most scared you have ever been in your entire life, and that's saying a lot from a mortal servant of the gods. Luckily, it gets easier and easier to ignore. Silence seems to be Odin's consistent trait.

Odin is a walking blank slate blessed with legs. He does nothing, says nothing, and acknowledges nothing. Nothing but you, in the slightest form of a distant bat of thick eyelashes thrown in your direction.

You can't be certain if that's better or worse.

Apart from constant observation spilling not a single question, Odin hasn't raised a hand or tried to bring upon you any sort of harm. Made not even the tiniest peep across your numerous encounters. Done anything other than made you incredibly creeped out.

Odin is a constant, looming shadow. A curse, razor-sharp, an unpredictable element of nature. A sinking feeling of never being left alone in peace, sticking on the very edge of every corner of your unrest. That dark gaze is something no one ever forgets.

Certainly not you, a victim of that judgmental pair of golden ores, staring into your soul. Every truth of you naked to his eyes, like glass.

You still have no clue why Odin decided that you must be the center of his undeterred attention.

(Oh, you poor unfortunate soul,

If only you knew the storm coming your way.)