VALKXRIE | PINNED · POST | NEW · CARRD
Independent RP Blog for the Valkyrie Brunnhilde. Inspired by Norse mythology and interpretations across various media. 21+ only.
Carrd | Memes | Rules | Verses | Playlist
wallacepolsom

Origami Around
Acquired Stardust
dirt enthusiast
i don't do bad sauce passes
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

Kaledo Art

Discoholic 🪩
hello vonnie

⁂
will byers stan first human second
Cosmic Funnies
Mike Driver

★
taylor price

JVL

izzy's playlists!
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
AnasAbdin
we're not kids anymore.
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@valkxrie
VALKXRIE | PINNED · POST | NEW · CARRD
Independent RP Blog for the Valkyrie Brunnhilde. Inspired by Norse mythology and interpretations across various media. 21+ only.
Carrd | Memes | Rules | Verses | Playlist
Midnight hunter
HILMA AF KLINT | Karlberg Palace, Solna 1862 - Danderyd 1944 | TREE OF KNOWLEDGE No. 1 1913-15
@kylo-wrecked
Isolation (c. 1930) by Norwood Hodge MacGilvary
"Eye pink." Yanjun Cheng.
Obsessed with villainous displays of affection.
violence on their beloved's behalf.
deranged compliments and praising bad deeds.
stealing nice things for their beloved.
jealousy and possessiveness.
encouraging their beloved to be worse.
crimes together.
"Beneath The Golden Willow"
Ed Perkins.
Emilio Freixas - Midsummer Fairies.
Galloping horses in the mist by Sofie
The Very Eye of Night (Short) | Maya Deren | 1958
Southeastern Colorado
jonahlange_
( @valkxrie pressed the <3 for a connection )
[ ϟ ]—– There are countless places where the veil at times grows thin, between worlds, between life and death, places where memory settles into the ground and the very air.
The valley below stretched out as a vast expanse of pale green, the sky above it washed silver by approaching dusk. Its grass bowing in restless waves, unsettled by the wind, was beautiful from a distance, and thunderer now stood upon the ridge overlooking it, blood stained hands hanging idly by his sides.
Here the veil was lifted still, ghostly slivers of mist and residue of souls still thick as syrup upon ground and leaf alike.
Warriors had died here; wildflowers already pushed through soil enriched by crimson, and time, that tireless and silent sculptor, had softened the blotches of blood ever so slightly, silence now draped over a place that had sung with war-cries.
The wind carried scent of distant rain and the faint metallic tang of iron, petrichor weaving through it ever so slightly as distress returns to the god's mind and physique.
A night and a day had passed since the war here had ended, yet he had not moved, tethered to the place and the mortal realm by the heavy chain of duty, rage still simmering beneath the languidly heaving chest. Ever-present flame of it was momentarily doused, by something moving in his peripheral, a subtle shift in the rhythm of things, like a current altering its course beneath calm waters.
' Have you come to mock me, or bring me to justice?'
Their ways were shaped around Odin's will and Odin's law, and whenever thunderer moved beyond them, called upon by Men, answering their prayers and cries for blood, the inevitable would come to pass. Answers were sought out, by Allfather or those who were bound to do his bidding, whomever deemed it necessary to act.
' I have done my duty, and you have done yours when all these warriors perished. I fail to see why you felt the need to return to this field.'
@asgardianhammer
Souls always left a slick mark. Something akin to silk, or saffron, or a heavy sleep. Brunnhilde had carried many souls. Her shoulders were tired, too tired to join the braying of Valhalla. Too tired for too long.
The valley was pretty. More importantly, it was quiet. Even the Mighty Thor stood in silence, his brow seemingly knit by war, by rage. The Valkyrie knew rage. Furies they were called. Weilders of anger. Weapons of wrath. She had made an art of the thing between his brows. She had made a spear of the weight within a chest.
"I have naught to mock you for, and no interest in justice," Brunnhilde replied, half expecting the man to taunt the leash his father held. The one wrapped around her throat. "I just wanted to look at the field."
The Valkyrie was freshly bathed, hair half-damp, armour well removed. Her body was clad in simple clothes, the slickness of blood and souls having been folded into a drain and drowned with soap, and salt, and water.
"It is a nice field." She did not look at the stoic prince. "It is empty too. It has no duty. No honour. No ghosts. There are no houses or great halls. There aren't even any ravens. I wanted to come and see it - now that it is just a field."
Her wings remained unfurled. She wished to sit a while. To feel the wind and stare at the shifting of the sky. "Why are you still here?" A simple enough question. "There will be other wars. You need not linger on this one."