Posts tagged Anon
Rongeur
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“I could have done it, Father!”
He had only made it just in time, and as he gripped Thor’s foot, he strained against the vacuous winds the fallen Bifrost created, holding his sons with his only newly restored strength. Jotunheim swirled into a vortex below the bridge, the icy planet no longer recognisable as it shattered and clouds of nebulous frost spiralled to a vanishing point, deep and dark and endless. Thousand, millions, countless lives—all destroyed. Annihilated en masse in a matter of minutes.
“For you! For all of us!”
He looked down at the boy who gripped the spear with a reaching hand, clinging to it—the desperation in his eyes, the need … the need for what?
For his approval?
No, he need not do anything for that. He already had it—he was to be king, but later … later …
For proof of his kingship?
No, this was all wrong—to prove oneself a king by slaughtering his subjects?
For him? For all?
No, this was not what he needed at all. This was not what anyone wanted; this was genocide; this was madness.
“No, Loki.”
He saw it there in his eyes, his hand up on Gungnir—he was ready to do something even more desperate. What was it? He could not—he would not think to let—
He let go. He dropped himself into the abyss because of him, because he could not think to say anything better. No, this was not what he wanted—this was not what he had planned—
“No.”
No, Loki. You never had to prove yourself to me. You never had to strive to be equal—you always were.
But the roaring of the broken Bifrost, the howling of the forces converging in the wormhole that was Jotunheim, all of it had drowned out his eloquence, and the son who had looked up at him from that tenuous hold had only heard regret and disappointment.
But those had not been for him.
http://www.mspaintadventures.com/?s=6&p=004171
==> Submitted by Anon
(via p5stuck)
I would not know how to explain such terms to you, my friend, seeing that most grey-faces originate from that of Midgard. And when one hails from Midgard, questions arise of our ways and how such traditions came to be.
Perhaps I will attempt to explain this in such simple matters, then.
My mothers are that of the billowing maidens, or perhaps in your tongue, they are the nine wave sisters. They are the ones who control the massacring waves in the oceans, who throw around such defying levels of heights with the waters. But be warned, they are not the ones who control the sea, for that is my grandfather, Aegir, the God of the Ocean. His wife, Ran, resides with him but it is truly my mothers who help him with his way of work. If you hear the stories that Ran tells me of the men she sweeps up in the sea, lured to her rocky shores for her beauteous charm— Ha!
But if you might ask of their names, my birthmothers are: Angeyja, the sorrowwhelmer, Atla, the fury of the sea, Eistla, the foamer, Eyrgjafa, the sand-Strewer, Gjalp, the one who yelps, Greip the mighty griper, Iarnsaxe, the iron sword, Imd, of dusk, and Ulfrun- the she-wolf.
The one who might gloat himself as my father if he even did know I existed, remains unnamed by my mothers’ doing. You might be better off inquiring Heimdall of our parents.
…I was not ready for that one. Oh my heart.
