W O D E N

I know that I hung on a wind-rocked tree, nine whole nights, with a spear wounded, and to Odin offered, myself to myself; on that tree, of which no one knows from what root it springs. Bread no one gave me, nor a horn of drink, downward I peered, to runes applied myself, wailing learnt them, then fell down thence.

[wcden]

svtekh​:

         That’s Hrafn-speak for it’s not my first choice for what I could be doing right now, but I don’t mind, even if it sounds downright dismissive. Yousef has become an excellent translator. “Great! You’re coming with me, then. Shops to see, people to annoy, you know the drill.”

         He throws an arm around Hrafn’s waist to keep him close, and tugs him out into the mass of humanity. The sun is warm, real beyond the hated barrier of glass; the chatter of mortal-noise is at once both grating and soothing.

         Five feet away, an UberEats driver on a bike goes careening wildly, hitting a lampost. His intended delivery goes flying. A bag tears, a cardboard box flaps open. A Beyond Meat hotdog does a perfect backflip right into Yousef’s outstretched hand.

         “So. Any ideas about what you’re going to wear to this awards thing?” Yousef steers Hrafn easily through the chaos, and takes a bite of the hotdog. His next words are garbled around his mouthful, no fucking manners. “Do you think you’ll take the wolves?”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓,  unforgiving. he would almost prefer the clash and clang of steel, the steady drums of war, to the ceaseless droning of chattering voices and the sound of car horns. it momentarily causes his vision to shiver and blur, and he is endlessly thankful for the arm that snakes around his waist. that, he feels, is at least secure. the sound of his boot heels clicking against pavement is steadying, and he feels stratified with the guiding hand that holds him ;  the feeling of yousef’s skin burning through the layers that separate them, like a brand pulled from embers on frigid winter. he finds he would not have protested even if he had an inclination to.

“ no, but i’m sure you do.”    the words are not unkind, though they are stilted, even in his teasing ;  still unsure of how they might land. at times, he found himself feeling almost coltish in the other man’s presence, still hesitant as he leant into the warmth of his embrace. as old as he was, there were things that never quite stopped feeling new.    “ geri and freki could do with the exercise, though i doubt they’ll enjoy the noise,”    he says. whether truly speaking of the wolves or himself was uncertain.

[wcden]

divinitynpc​:

Aruna is silent for a good three seconds, face looking as if Woden had personally slapped her—but she opens her mouth, says nothing and moves on. The stories of him just knowing things really weren’t just stories, and she shifts slightly as he smiles at her, trying to compose herself.

“They’re so cute!” She pets her, and the cameraman, probably shows a shot of the wolf allowing  a pet. It’s counted—and three and four, before she returns to Woden, making a mistake of seeing his eyes, starry and all-knowing, before just plastering on a smile. “Set, huh! Have you heard the rumors that he, so to speak, shacked up with the god of love? Social media’s going crazy over it, and honestly it’s a fifty-fifty split. You looking to take a slice out of him, or do you have an eye on anyone else in the Pantheon?”

𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒,  patient, as they take their footage ;  lips curling into a more genuine smile when the woman continues to speak, though she is close enough now that he catches the way her gaze seems to shift nervously away from him. it isn’t something he’s unfamiliar with, but it makes him suddenly, and quite desperately lonely ;  like a hollow in his chest that forms a chasm that fissures and splits open just a fraction wider. 

the frantic fizzle and pop around the woman’s edges begins to simmer as she settles into her role. she must be good at it, he thinks, for the work to bring her comfort.    “ i don’t seek ‘sloppy seconds,’ ”    he says, lips thinning to hide the amusement betrayed by the creases forming at the corners of his eyes.

[wcden]

divinitynpc​:

“Oh, they’re great—hopefully my sister’s seeing this and dying of jealousy!” Woden’s voice unsettles her, unnaturally smooth marble in a sea of noise, and so she keeps her eye squarely in the space next to his head, trying not to think about the absolute units that are beside her. Or if they attack on command. 

“I’m seeing a trend of capes among the gods here tonight, though I do remember you wearing a cloak once or twice whenever you performed.” Aruna barrels on, trying not to let her nerves get the best of her. “Are you taking any points from Set or Eros lately, or do you just have capes in a wardrobe, ready to go?” She laughs at that, looking to the camera. “You’ve got to tell me who you’re wearing!”

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐄,  so far as he can see, the fraying nerves of her aura pulsing, tinged darker around the edges momentarily ;  like acrid smoke pressing in, like burning. it causes his focus to shift behind her, ghosts moving like wisps: truly memory, tethers tied to her. two bodies shouting yet intertwined ––– bound together before their bond snaps before his eyes. there is strife in her life, but he is a stranger to her, that much he understands. social etiquette  ( something he has been chastised for on more than one occasion by a certain egyptian )  is not always entirely beyond him.    “ i am sorry about your parents,”    is all he says, simply, before moving on.    

“ yous––– ”    there is a pause. these people, they often never know their names. or, at least, don’t dare utter such. woden, she had called him. perhaps he should play her game, he thinks, and tries to recover,    “ ––– you can pet them, they won’t bite.”    not without his assent, at least. as if to disprove his point, he feels freki’s teeth gently nibble his at fingertips, but the lovebites are something he’s grown used to.    “ you will have to ask set ‘who’ i’m wearing. he dragged me halfway around midgard.”    the smile he gives is weak, waning as a crescent moon, but it is an attempt.

[wcden]

divinitynpc​:

“Woden! I—How goes it? And you brought, uh, you brought two friends?” It was a sight, of course to see wolves come down the red carpet, but she only wavers whenever she sees them. Or his eyes. So she’ll be taking a point behind him and trying that. “I hear that your fans are planning a tribute—and this early! How does your fanbase keep going strong, even after—after the tragic things that have happened?”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍  from where he had been kneeling, hands nearly disappeared in the soft, white fur of geri’s neck. she had been chuffing and whining ever since his vision had gone from this world and into that which is hidden. a subtle tremor has been left in its wake, hands unsteady, even as his sight had seeped from crystalline clarity into the watery vision he was accustomed to, bodies moving like lanterns in the mist of his mind’s eye. 

voices, though. voices often called him like a lighthouse to shore. he walks toward her with quick strides, black silken cape billowing behind him, more confident than the two wolves that skulk at his heels, heads both hung low. they’ve always been more perceptive than most. his voice, however, is quiet when he first speaks,    “ good evening––– ”    and he feels a wet snout nuzzle into the palm of his hand. he pats the side of freki’s black maw absentmindedly. starry eyes narrow, head lilting to the side to consider the woman. she fizzles, fermentation like static around the edges of her being.    “ miss blake,”    he greets. he forgoes her question, though not entirely. not for him.    “ how is your family ? ” 

[wcden]

svtekh​:

         “Absolutely fucking none, going by the look of you,” Yousef replies, all fond mockery and beaming grin, and wastes no time in starting to drag Hrafn out of Olympus. He hasn’t been here long and he’s already starting to hate the place.

         He can’t decide if he hates it because it’s patronizing, because it’s so far above the masses, because it’s so ostentatious – or if he loves it because it’s away from the seething mass of humanity, from the mess and the mortality and the shrieking noise. He’s teetering wildly between the two, and it’s giving him a goddamn headache. Hrafn, though. Hrafn is steady. Hrafn is fucking solid, an unwavering presence. So yes, he’s going to drag Hrafn clothes shopping, and hope that some of that steadiness rubs off.

         He’s not sure if it’s relief or irritation he feels when they get five feet away from the exit and the crowded streets outside, but he does stop, because he might be an asshole, but he’s not a total asshole. Yousef swoops in, presses a kiss to the bridge of Hrafn’s nose, lips twisted into an irreverent little smirk like it’s no big deal. “How do you feel about shopping? It’s about eighty percent an excuse to get out of here.”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆,  possessed by light as it is, causing yousef’s form to swim in his vision, and he finds himself tripping to keep pace with the younger man. he bites his tongue and pushes his dignity aside: something he is getting alarmingly used to in yousef’s presence. but the prospect of stumbling out into daylight brings a strange sort of anxiety, even as the sounds of L.A. remain muffled behind thick glass ;  sounds and sun, the heat of which remains unfamiliar to him ;  that seeps in through the entrance as the door opens and shuts, the clack of heels clicking as a woman passes. it all makes him shy away from the door.

what comes next, however, is warmth: a press of lips that leaves ghosted breath in its wake, hot against chilled skin, causing an uncharacteristic flush to rise up the column of a pale neck. hrafn is unsure if he’s ever supposed to grow accustomed to yousef’s easy and uncaring affection, if such a thing could ever be described as such.    “ lackadaisical,”    he murmurs, seemingly out of the blue in his distraction ;  eyes keen to follow and trace the lines of yousef’s face ––– having come close enough for hrafn to see, he wishes to savor such clarity. it never lasts for very long.    “ i feel neither which way about shopping. ”    presumably for the event they’re set to attend, he gathers without question.

[wcden]

svtekh​:

@wcden​

         If looks like he’s a character in a heist movie and he’s about to boast that he’ll get through that security laser grid in less than six seconds is an aesthetic, Yousef thinks he’s adequately envisioned it. It’s a hard job, but someone has to do it, and he has the legs for it. More than that, it’s a decent outfit for being seen in.

         Sometimes a god just has errands to run, you know? Things to do, people to see, personal property to destroy. Hashtag Just Deity Things.

         No, Lachesis, he’s not going to destroy another Tesla. Why is that guy even still mad about it, that was yesterday, it’s been a whole sixteen hours, get over it, right?

         “Hey, come with me. I’m heading out.” He’s not giving Hrafn much of a choice; Yousef isn’t dragging him yet, but the intent is there in the light grip he has around Hrafn’s wrist, reeled him in with a fire-bright grin. “And you look like you could use some sun. I don’t know if we can die from Vitamin D deprivation but if anyone’s close, it’s definitely you.”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆  grasps his attention before words are ever uttered, head lilted ever so to the side as he listens. the gait is familiar, he finds, and he anticipates the voice before it sounds ;  the slight rasp around the edges never failing to cause dark lashes to flutter over black eyes. hrafn turns his face toward the sun, and sees the shimmering aura that surrounds him, low and warm like flickering candlelight. it stands in contrast to the ghosts that swim in his vision like wisps of memory that’s not yet passed just behind. he murmurs his greeting,    “ yousef––– ”    before he feels long fingers encircle his thin wrist. they take more solid form in his mind’s eye as his starry gaze falls to consider their grip. the tentative smile that plays at the corners of his lips betrays his amusement.    “ how much sun do you think the nordic lands get ? ”

[ueberdemnebelmeer]

BENJAMIN (2018) - dir. Simon Amstell

[youngwarlock]