under the rim of heaven.

norse myth multimuse written by luca *no marvel influence *no marvel affiliation *independent *private *selective

[yggdrcsil]

since these get more traction and are easier to do, LIKE or REBLOG if you’re interested in writing with a norse myth multimuse blog featuring such hits as járnsaxa, hel, nanna, and even óðinn, and more than that, and more to come, courtesy of @yggdrcsil! and no this blog has nothing to with marvel! thank fuck!

[yggdrcsil]

hewwo....

[yggdrcsil]

notinsecure‌:

blue eyes catch one last good glance of the other’s smile and –would you look at that!– jennifer suddenly remembers everything else she planned for the rest of the day isn’t quite so urgent.

      “ hm. unless you’re popping the question right here and now, there’s no need to call him, is there? ” the tiniest of laughs makes a run for it and manages to escape her lips. “ i would love to get coffee with you. ” 

well, isn’t this nice! it’s been sooooo long since the last time jennifer spent time with somebody just because it sounded like fun. she would hate to admit it, but becoming a flesh-eating zombie demon bitch from hell hasn’t done any favors for her social life. who would’ve guessed, right? whenever she isn’t on a date with a rando who will eventually become a three-course meal, pretty much all she does is watch shitty shows on netflix, shop for stuff she doesn’t actually need, and search for the next handsome bachelor lucky enough to win a guest appearance on america’s milk cartons.

      “ i’m jennifer, by the way. maybe you should tell me your name too, stranger. ”

an affirmative!—she releases the small bit of breath that was still held in her chest. in situations like these she has been accused of being too forward, lacking tact. but what need has she to lie to anyone about her intentions? what need does she have to dance around indulging beauty? it's not her way, nor her husband's; there is no lie nor any pretense in the earth from whence she and þórr have come.

"sif," she answers, and the smile stays dancing around her mouth. "it's nice to meet you, jennifer. i think there's a starbucks on the other side of the street?" she half-turns as if she'll see it from this far in the department store, and of course doesn't, but the glance seems to confirm what she's suggested anyway. "yeah, it should be. you want to finish shopping first?"

[yggdrcsil]

deliratium‌:

       i  d๏n’ʇ  nǝǝd  to҉   brεαʇʜe, she tries to say, but she can’t, the words are thick and clotted in her mouth, she’s choking on her own tongue, bent double, triple, body misshapen deformed gyred in on itself,  the tears in her eyes are half mercury half custard, she gags, heaves, vomits a chain of silk handkerchiefs  redbluepinkgreenblueorangered , retching horribly on the tassels of the last, she’s crying and crying and crying and —

             ＳＬＯＷ   ＤＯＷＮ．  ＴＡＫＥ   Ａ   ＢＲＥＡＴＨ．

                             finally,  finally,  delirium  b r e a t h e s

"whoa, whoa." he tries to remember the last time he had to gentle a horse, even though this is hardly the same; there are some parts the same, maybe, the hesitance in coming too near, knowing she is just as frightened of what she may do as he could be. his great hand rests just barely upon her slender back as she chokes out fabric, neon and grotesque—it half-awes him, but his concern outpaces his curiosity for the moment, and as the girl takes her gasping breath, he tries to help her stand upright.

"come, now," he says, again in mind of nanna; inconsolable and fragile. "steady breaths. then you tell me what all this is about, if you wish."

[yggdrcsil]

sinnhelmingr‌:

@yggdrcsil said: ❛ did you touch yourself ? ❜ —sif.

Is it any business of yours, she thinks, whether I did or didn’t?

Keep reading

"no, sweet girl. not at all."

sif's own voice comes from somewhere different—floats down out of the canopy of her wild red-dark hair, from the light-headed, dizzy delirium of sex, the languid summer way she knows of making love, how irresistible hel is to her. oh, she's glad of this. glad that she rouses this hunger in the queen of death, glad that they are so very aligned in lust and hunger.

she slides her hands beneath the foot of the blanket, up over hel's slim legs, sets them atop her knees to ease them down. uncover her. propriety's usually undone when she visits, anyway, and sif pushes the cover entirely off the bed, eager to see her lover's small, pale breasts that she loves as much as every other part of her. "you think i'd be upset, knowing i don't even have to be here to unravel you?" purring, almost. unabashed, she leans her way in, presses her lips to hel's cheek, to her mouth, lays her down and down into the soft welcome of the mattress and into the inky black haven of her own tresses. "you beautiful thing."

sif will not touch her yet, not the way she aches to be touched. her naked hips press close into hel's and rock, mimicking rhythm, teasing at friction, and her kisses travel down the smooth column of the queen's throat, and her dark hands travel that white waist, hold her steady.

"can you feel me?" she asks, murmured against hel's breast, hungry tongue tasting the soft pink bud there. "did you feel me, then? did you think of me just like this, fucking you?"

[yggdrcsil]

if you add an a to the end of nordic women’s names just to make them more feminine you’re weak and you will be culled. frigg. hnóss. rindr. hel. put on your big boy pants and nut up to the consonants bitch cus without them we wouldn’t have skaldic poetry

[yggdrcsil]

notinsecure‌:

if there is one thing jennifer check can’t live without, it’s attention. (no, really. she would literally starve to death otherwise.) so, when a stranger’s voice distracts her from the contemplation of a display case featuring an impressive collection of jewelry (which would eventually be bought with somebody else’s money, of course!), she can’t help but turn towards the source of the compliment. her lips twist into an eager smile as soon as she discovers the impromptu admirer is quite the looker herself.

       “ i know, RIGHT? i’m a legit snack. ”  

conceited, yes, but can you blame her? she’s been told for years how breathtaking she is, even long before the demonic entity became her own personal beauty guru. and there’s absolutely nothing unhealthy about basing your entire self-worth on how complete strangers agree that you are hot enough, right?

      “ are you gonna ask me out or something? ”

sif's brow creases in brief puzzlement. by no means does she think herself behind the times—þórr loves this realm and she lives here with him often—but there's still always slang she hasn't heard before. luckily, it isn't hard to interpret, even for someone who isn't a regular attendant of the little flyting spats her husband and his kinfolk like to have with startling frequency.

"i'm married," she says, almost apologetic, but she follows it with, "we're open, but i'd have to ask his permission before anything permanent. but if you want to get a coffee..."

she leaves it there, unfinished, a grin on her lips. sif's rarely self-conscious about such things, isn't wont to be at all. she can leave her own jewelry shopping for later, her collection of hoops and studs for her ears and her nose and various dermals quite extensive already, and she finds the lack of fine, quality pieces for anything but the ears a little disappointing.

[yggdrcsil]

drengrhugr‌:

CENTURIES before him could be recalled with the uncertainty of acquaintances, for the keeper of youth had been sought upon for the givings of her grove. and she feared little else. his voice sounded like the sweetest of ballads to her flushed ears, the smile growing wider with every day spent in the light of bragi’s love.  ❝ my dearest husband!❞ the words, albeit are sprinkled with the HONEYED comes to the spry little giggle as she is lifted from the ground. her stomach flutters by the embrace of his lips to a cheek that gleams a tint of crimson. how she wishes to be as skilled a wordcraft as he, instead she will marvel in every praise and offer all she could in return. 

  ❝ oh, heart of mine–❞ she frowns upon his words, so gentle the heart she could not endure the thought of bringing upset in her brief absence. lips brush against his jaw in offering.  ❝ i wished to surprise you with cedar parchment this day, i searched from one corner of midgard to the other. that is what kept me but pray, can you ever forgive me?❞  

"i will forgive you a hundred thousand times, so long as you are the best of brides to me."

how can she be anything but? cedar parchment! a fine gift it would be. he can imagine the scent of the cedar, sharp and crisp and wintry, rising from the paper each time he presses an inked pen to it. cedar and ink. like the smell of burning runes, like the galdr written onto his tongue. even if iðunn does not know what a muse she is to him, the simplest of things she is and does can spring a hundred sagas into life. is that not her very essence?

once more he kisses her, before he lets her back down upon her feet, though his arm rests across her shoulders keeping her close. "tell me what you have seen on your travels today. miðgarðr always promises such strange sights."

[yggdrcsil]

@einnaudr

“you grow lovelier by the day, fair niece.”

nanna is younger by far than her siblings; freyja and freyr were for the war-time, the blade-time before nanna could have even dreamt of her husband, had she been there to meet him. somewhat divorced is she, perhaps, not as close as she could be to any of her family but her father, yet still she has love in her heart for them. and gersemi, a jewel like her mother, draws it as easily, too.

she should come back to vanaheim more often. at least, as all good aunts should, she’s come with a gift, a necklace of feathers fallen from the beautiful birds that nest in breiðablik and the gems that spring from its ground, wrapped in soft linen to keep it safe. “here—this is for you.”

[yggdrcsil]

@drengrhugr

“my wife, the delight of all my days—”

and so has he addressed her for eons now, and yet never forgotten, always as in love upon sighting her as he was the day he laid his father’s sword in her lap. and who could not love her, eternal life bound in beauty and grace? weaker he may be considered than his brothers, and yet still with easy strength his arm rounds her waist and he lifts his ever-young bride from the ground, as if to carry her over the threshold again and again.

bragi presses his lips to iðunn’s cheek, breathes in the floral, summer scent of her fine hair. poetry dances on his tongue, eager to spill out in waves, to make itself known, to worship her. “what loneliness has plagued me without you! even an hour away from the kindness of your eyes leaves me utterly starved to be looked upon.”

[yggdrcsil]

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[yggdrcsil]

LIKE THIS FOR A STARTER and please specify muse!

[yggdrcsil]

@escurridizos

she thinks there must be some sort of feeling, some sort of look, some imprint that the mountains must have upon those who carve out their lives from the rock. of course, nanna is less familiar with the carving, and more familiar with the rewards. her father had always treated her well, ensured that on the high, seaside cliffs, she wanted for nothing. it isn’t the same as the men, the boats, the mills, the traders.

but there is something about the air, maybe. high and thin and crisp and clear and cold. perhaps that’s what strikes her about them. she remembers when she came to breiðablik. when she met iðunn, and the ásynja said to her that she could see the height of the earth on nanna’s cheekbone. what a strange compliment, or perhaps it was not at all.

“are you very far from home?”

[yggdrcsil]

drengrhugr replied to your post: i think, with my stipulation that i want to add...

idunn : 👀

are u ready for a husband who never shuts the fuck up

[yggdrcsil]

@notinsecure

“oh.”

she loves miðgarðr—maybe more than ásgarðr anymore, never as much as she loved álfaheim, if not for how very fast everything is, then how beautiful the people are. gods are beautiful in their way, of course, beautiful in a very fixed way, beautiful in a timeless and vast way which she could never capture with words. sif is no skald. but mortals? the imperfection of them! she could bask in it, she a breathing and growing thing born of the earth itself so similar to them. she’s no ás, either.

and she is unabashed in her appreciation, certainly. the young woman is so lovely it almost makes her heart skip a beat, and sif can’t help the wonder in her eyes as she says, “you’re so beautiful!”

[yggdrcsil]

@deliratium

“easy, girl.”

he rarely sees someone so falling apart. not since nanna, maybe, when the fire had taken her, but this is different. like mead-drunk, like poetry-drunk, like the way words fly from his mouth like the crows in the sky and ash in the wind. this, like melody and brightness and spring-just-turned-summer. a bend of the seasons. a tempest. rán gnawing at a keel after the oarsmen have long lost the drumbeat.

“slow down. take a breath.”

[yggdrcsil]

since these get more traction and are easier to do, LIKE or REBLOG if you’re interested in writing with a norse myth multimuse blog featuring such hits as járnsaxa, hel, nanna, and even óðinn, and more than that, and more to come, courtesy of @yggdrcsil! and no this blog has nothing to with marvel! thank fuck!