#jorn

[nofatclips-home]

Love is the Remedy by Jorn featuring Gus G

[bestalbumtitle]

Round 1:

Which title do you like better?

Bring Heavy Rock to the Land

Who Do We Think We Are

Voting ended onNov 20, 2025

Bring Heavy Rock to the Land

Artist: Jorn

Release: 2012

Who Do We Think We Are

Artist: Deep Purple

Release: 1973

Note: The title references a 1972 article in Melody Magazine that quoted the band's drummer saying, "Deep Purple get piles of passionate letters either violently against or pro the group. The angry ones generally start off 'Who do Deep Purple think they are...'"

[loverofwhump216]

Meet Jorn. He is squishy and whumpable

(Note: I did not draw him, I used a character creator app)

Jorn is my HTTYD OC. I created him back in 2018 and he has lived rent-free in my head since then.

He is introduced in part three of a series I wrote (and am rewriting atm) called Seizure Procedure. The story is called Living Will.

He has trauma he works through as we get to know him. His first wife died while in childbirth. His son dies 7 years later after some bullies push him off a cliff. His son would be the same age as Hiccup, if he was still alive.

After his son's death, he sets himself adrift until he lands at a Hunter port. With nothing left to lose he becomes one of their Healers, earning a reputation for having a gentle touch.

You technically meet him when he is dealing with sick Johann. You get to know him as he tends to Hiccup, who is being tortured by Johann later in the story. He betrays the Hunters to save Hiccup, fearing he won't survive what Johann has in store for him.

He fits right in with the Dragon Riders and later Berk. With Hiccup's help, he trains Garff, the Deathsong. He later meets and falls in love with Valka. They get married post Hidden World.

Hiccup trusts him with his life and loves him the way a son loves a father. He sees Jorn as his second dad. He even names one of his kids after him.

All around he is perfect, but even he has his moments. Think Bob Ross and Mr. Rogers type personality.

[dvilsdesire]

[throughtrialbyfire]

A Petition to Jarl Elisif

i really enjoyed how this scene turned out from my longfic, so i thought i'd just post it here for ppl to read if they want. enjoy! <3

  For the next several minutes, Athenath stood close to his companions as Viarmo rambled on and on about tradition, about the spirit of Solitude, history, all things which fell onto uncaring ears. Phoebe, behind her desk and under her plumed cap, gave the trio a sheepish smile while she listened and recorded the words spoken among the courtiers and the headmaster, her hands a flurry across the scroll which seemed near-never ending in her lap. Athenath would occasionally glance to Emeros or Wyndrelis, and do their best to keep their posture tall instead of shrinking into themself.    "Jarl Elisif, you know as well as I do that the Burning of King Olaf is tradition in Solitude. What's a city in the midst of war without its traditions to keep its residents in good spirits?"    "Viarmo," Elisif breathed as she rested her head in the crook of her thumb, rubbing gingerly at the ridge of her brow, "we have had this discussion before. It's simply too inappropriate with the death of my husband to reinstate the festival now."   "Your Grace,"-Viarmo gestured a sweeping hand to the students lined at his side, in such a neat row it could almost be taken for part of a performance-"I merely implore you to think about the prospective bards in the situation. Not only has this festival been held since time immemorial, but the bards that this festival exists for inducting as full-fledged members of the college are unable to take part in their rightful festivities. These three," he moved his hand, bringing to sweep along the air where Emeros, Athenath, and Wyndrelis stood, "are brand new to the college, and taking part in the festival is a rite of passage to the new students! And as you know, Ataf," he moved to gesture to the plume-hatted man, who gave a nervous wave of his fingers, "was set to be inducted as a fully-recognized bard! And Jorn," he gestured to the Nord, who puffed out his chest with pride, "was in charge of this year's effigy! That's a prestigious honor, and we at the College would implore you to reconsider." 

  "Headmaster Viarmo," Falk hardened his words in his throat, words enunciated with a sharpness of warning, "we understand your wishes to reinstate the festival, we truly do. Not only is it most inappropriate during the period of our Lady's grieving, but in such times of war as this, you would have us let our guard down for one night?"    The room clenched in silence, the air tight and hard to gather into full breaths. Athenath's gaze struggled to find a focus, slipping quick from the visages of fellow bards to the members of the court, his hands lightly taken by tremor. Breathe, deep and slow, they pushed and pulled air like waves as Viarmo scoffed.    "There are plenty of guards who would still keep our city safe, so our residents could rest a moment at ease. This could even serve to boost morale, if you'd let it."    "Enough," Jarl Elisif's word left Viarmo scrambling for something else to say, her voice hinting at the drain this conversation put on her as the edges of her speech drooped and wilted like dying flowers. "I understand how much this festival means to you, Viarmo, but High King Torygg-"   "Was an enormous supporter of the arts, a continuous and reliable patron of our College, and friend to myself and several other members. Would it not be an insult to his memory to push away the very festival he cherished so?"    Athenath swallowed tightly as Elisif's weary gaze flitted between the faces of the students, then to Viarmo. 

  "Headmaster, I believe it's time you go. I will give it some thought. You are right in this regard, my husband was always thrilled at the festival's occurance every year, but this is not the time to be discussing such matters."    Viarmo floundered for more to say, his brow tight and lowered, his hand raised as though he were attempting to point at some spectre behind the Jarl, but at the measured pace of her housecarl who inched closer in his heavy armor, Viarmo blew a breath out between loose lips and scrubbed his face with his palm.    "Thank you for your time, Your Grace."    He gave a flourishing bow, the feather in his cap bending with the motion, velvet cape pouring over his shoulders like a velvet waterfall. As he rose, he turned on his heel, gesturing for his students to follow him. Emeros looked down at Athenath and arched a brow, the Altmer shrugging as he turned to Wyndrelis, who similarly wore a look of subdued confusion at the rapid change in the headmaster's attitude. One moment he was ready to stand up for the festival, and all it represented, and the next...    The moment the group had exited the Blue Palace, Viarmo gave a long and heavy, near-dramatic sigh. "Well, we'll just have to see what Giraud comes up with. Great work, everyone, perhaps she will give it some thought with having seen you all there."    Athenath had his doubts. How could just laying eyes upon some of the students make the Jarl change her mind? They raked their long fingers through their curls, shedding more glances to the uncomfortably grimacing faces of the other students. Clearly, this had gone even worse than anyone anticipated, and Viarmo's disappointment visibly scurried itself up his shoulders. Normally so high and poised, his body slumped in on itself as he lead the way back to the ancient college.    "Fear not," he turned to face his students, who stopped in their tracks, "while we may not be able to put on the Burning of King Olaf yet, that does not mean our sacred festival is doomed to obscurity. We'll simply have to be patient. Ataf, Jorn, I apologize if your induction will be later than usual."   Ataf waved a hand, his face still bearing the hallmarks of his own discomfort, a twitched and upwards-curled lip and furrowed brow, eyes never quite meeting anyone else's face. "I'm not too worried. It just means I can spend more time on my studies."    Viarmo gave a nod of agreement. Maybe he truly did believe the excuse, but Athenath knew that sort of phrasing anywhere; something he'd used himself in different times, a brushing off of concerns just to placate whoever stood before them. Either way, the older Altmer said that they should head back to the college, and he'd work on his next appeal in a week or two. Whether this would include him marching the students back to the Blue Palace, Athenath didn't know, and he sincerely hoped it would exclude them this time.  

[zwampy]

everyone grieves in their own way

[signofthefloss]

old shitpost i made

[ftnbooks-blog]

Asger Jorn ( continued )

View On WordPress