although it’s only been a day since i said returning to jor, this blog is being archived! it feels like jor needs a good cleanup and the only way i feel able to do this is by moving him to a new, more private account. it won’t be linked over here, and i’ll only be keeping a select amount of threads. pm me to learn both.
although it’s only been a day since i said returning to jor, this blog is being archived! it feels like jor needs a good cleanup and the only way i feel able to do this is by moving him to a new, more private account. it won’t be linked over here, and i’ll only be keeping a select amount of threads. pm me to learn both.
although it’s only been a day since i said returning to jor, this blog is being archived! it feels like jor needs a good cleanup and the only way i feel able to do this is by moving him to a new, more private account. it won’t be linked over here, and i’ll only be keeping a select amount of threads. pm me to learn both.
although it’s only been a day since i said returning to jor, this blog is being archived! it feels like jor needs a good cleanup and the only way i feel able to do this is by moving him to a new, more private account. it won’t be linked over here, and i’ll only be keeping a select amount of threads. pm me to learn both.
although it’s only been a day since i said returning to jor, this blog is being archived! it feels like jor needs a good cleanup and the only way i feel able to do this is by moving him to a new, more private account. it won’t be linked over here, and i’ll only be keeping a select amount of threads. pm me to learn both.
although it’s only been a day since i said returning to jor, this blog is being archived! it feels like jor needs a good cleanup and the only way i feel able to do this is by moving him to a new, more private account. it won’t be linked over here, and i’ll only be keeping a select amount of threads. pm me to learn both.
Plotting/starter call! Hammer that heart and I'll pop into your IM's with this sad boy in tow.
O serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?
independent jörmungandr. norse myth & personal headcanon.
IT WAS THE RED HOT HEAT OF ANGER THAT BLINDED HER , fury akin to a storm . a hurricane that moved her , a force completely unstoppable , destruction behind her and all that lay in her path was a waiting victim . all she had ever wanted – or aimed to achieve – was to protect , and she could not even do that . but she would succeed this time , determination would take her there . the only difference between a herself and a hurricane was that a hurricane did not have a target . and her target was within reaching distance . the god that stood against her would not survive her storm . WITH EACH SCREAM ; A SWING OF A BLADE CUT WIND , A WHIP CRACK LIKE THUNDER , A GUN SHOT AN ECHO THROUGH A VALLEY . agony was a motivator . as names disappeared one by one , it only drove her more ( she would avenge them , would not let them die in vain . ) not again . there was too much loss , too much suffering , and though she may hold herself justifiable as righteous , rage was her reason . SHE DIDN’T NEED KAZUMA TO SEE YATO AS JUST A TARGET .
but blind rage is a road paved with cobbled stone , cracks and fractures , gaps for a heel to break in . and with a mist to shroud sense and vision , without a guide she would only find herself within a deeper chasm . that was when it happened ; the slightest lack of judgement and a blade towards her head . it was last second that she noticed it – not enough time to move , not enough time to react . other’s noticed , held enough of an opportunity to cry out , panicked voices in unison . but one stood out , not from volume , but in rarity . something unique within a cacophony of noise . blazing eyes widen in a moment of shock as her arm moved against her will , raised direct between the blade and its destination . then it was horror . HORROR as the two shinki came into contact , the impact enough to send her off her feet as the crash resonated across the expanse of her temple . she could only watch as the cuff around her wrist shattered . pieces falling away onto the floor . a quiet breath like a whisper of air escapes her lungs in contrast to the yelling from before – SILENCE FROM EVERYONE . and for a moment , she could barely bring herself to get up from the floor .
how many more ? how many more lives was yato prepared to take ? taking the lives from the sweetest , most innocent people she had ever had the good fortune to know . THEY DIDN’T DESERVE IT . she had no hate left to give ; the bomb had already gone off , and this was just another counter on the death toll , another tick against the yatogod’s list . more tears easily pooled in her eyes , spilling over as fast as they had shown themselves and though the loss TORE at her – like everything she had ever known was being taken from her , like what shreds of her heart were left were being ripped into ever smaller pieces , that her entire body screamed against every thought she had to move – she still pulled herself to her feet . jaw clenched , eyes narrowed , PURE HATRED . UNHOLY ANGER . no - one else . – @hoggormurinn
Jörmungandr does not idolise any of the Norse gods or goddesses. While other divine children could look upon Thor’s strength, Freyr’s kindness, Týr’s wisdom, Freyja’s love, Frigg’s humility, Jörmungandr looks upon them only with a detached numbness. He acknowledges they must die for Ragnarök, but he does not like or hate them. He is almost entirely apathetic towards them in terms of love and hate.
The only two gods he does despise are Óðinn and Thor. Óðinn for what he did to Jörmungandr’s family, and Thor for all he has done and all he will do as his arch-enemy. He is more scared of Thor than he is aggressive, but that terror melts into a vicious rage and hatred if he ever meets face-to-face with him. The other gods he is more afraid of than aught, for that if they discover he is not bound to the seas and raise the alarm, Ragnarök may not proceed directly as is fated and he may go through again what he did at the hands of Óðinn.
Jörmungandr is not afraid of his own death, but he is afraid of his death meaning his siblings are not permitted their revenge at Ragnarök. His own life is forfeit if it means they are sated.
The loss of Kazuma had devastated all. Wailing souls, bereft of a guide; sobbing hearts, bereft of a comrade; but it had been their master to suffer most. Yukine’s onslaught had brought a cataclysm to their door and discord to the hearts of those to proudly serve. Fake smiles wobbled and teetered, slipping down a crevasse devoid of hope and dragging all health over coal and slate. Bishamon, for all her strength, was not an unending source of light and life; she, too, ached and burned in the void of Kazuma. Only Jörmungandr Zenha had noticed her strife. Only he had drew near to her as she clutched her head, staggered to an almost-abyss before turning to exile. Only he had felt no agony at Yukine’s words -- only an anger easily controlled, brought to heel for the mention of hellish life. Yato’s shinki knew little of passing names like currents in a stream, being reviled and lauded as a monstrosity over all. If any were akin to hell, it was he for damning fair Bishamonten so.
Slender fingers adjusted around the haphazard gathering of a bouquet’s stems, smoothing over leaf and neat-cut tip. Suzuha’s death had brought no colour to the greatest god’s world, smothering all joy in a tide of red decay. Jörmungandr held no business in replacing the smile-bright boy, but flowers of any kind -- white, in his case, simple and clean and removed entirely from fields afar to those of Suzuha’s careful craft -- were stated to bring light to any and all who received them. The shinki took a needless breath, tongue flickering briefly over dried lips, before delivering a quiet quartet of knocks to his mistress’ door -- their own design, and a clear sigil of who it was who wished to be seen before Bishamonten that day.
@vengefulgods is getting the cute son
As people will no doubt be aware of by now, i’ve been dealing with an emotionally abusive living situation involving my parent for over a year now. as of a few hours ago, that parent has completely cut me off financially and familially. while i’m relieved at the weight off my shoulders this estrangement brings, i’m now in even more of a precarious financial situation.
i’m a student at university, and while i do receive student finance, it does not even cover my rent (thanks George Osbourne). Currently I need to make an extra £30 a month to cover the deficit, and while my rent for next year’s home will be cheaper, I will still need to make around the same over the summer and on. With this estrangement, I also have two new expenses: my phone bill and my medication bill. The two together currently stand at around £50 a month, though I am hoping to get this reduced with edits to the contract. I am currently financially dependent on my father and grandmother, but with this estrangement I don’t know if my grandmother will continue supporting me. If she does not, I will be living on less than £15 a week. My father lives in another country and has his own house to maintain and my sister to keep – he cannot financially sustain me by himself. I’ve been applying for jobs, but everywhere wants experience with nowhere wanting to give it, so I am reopening commissions to help me afford food and my medication.
I will do icons in bulk packages of 50, up to any number you desire. I can take my own screencaps where needed, but there will be an additional charge as necessary. The prices stand at:
Contact me here ( fondword ) or through skype ( just-anotherstolenrelic ) for commission information or requests. If, for a reason beyond me, you are kind-hearted enough to want to donate directly to me, my Paypal is sebas-chan96@hotmail.co.uk .
Thank you all so much. Keira.
“Do you, indeed?” He knows his blood. He knows now the consequences of kinship, of sentiment, the power and the curse of inevitability wrung from his flesh. He knows his life now is one of many he has lived; a string of failures, a wheel of horror that begins, and ends, with him. Loki knows his blood and knows these things —— but so too does he know himself absolved of the timeline this sea-whelp means to pin him beneath. Though he is a strong and lovely boy… if he were his, Loki knows he would be proud. But he harbors no recognition, feels no remorse. And even the Origin of deceit itself demands the softer relief of truth in meager sips. It is this that brings Loki closer; sees him lean, incline himself toward the young beast with an unblinking gaze that sparks poisonous in the dark. In the depths of Urðarbrunnr Loki found peace, the sort of quiet in the mind he had once sought with such diligence and devotion. Whatever it took from him as its price, it has left him hollow, a breathing fury.
Those born of thy body are monstrous all.
Oh, this boy loathes him. It is not so strange, of course, but curious to him none the less, that he should remember nothing of this bitter face, and see nothing of himself within it. The quiet encroaches, and Loki’s red sickle mouth begin to bend. “Perhaps you mistake me for someone else.” The truths were these: neither serpent told a lie.
Hatred shook a spider’s web, rusted veins spiralling over all thought of familial bond and sentiment. The babe of before had been soft, demure -- charming for all his quietness and willing to forgive. Now, Loki bartered no such kindness. Fenrir had been quick to condemn their father’s absence, seeing with those clever eyes the secret sadness sculpted behind the stone of their mother’s queenly guise. Hela had been too young to see, still gurgling in her cradle and grabbing, giggling, at aught her brothers dangled over her crib.
Jörmungandr had known his mother’s sadness, seen the cool veneer of chipped ice and boiling anger behind the edge of her razor’s smile. A head at her knee, the clumsy attempts of a child to see their parent smile, had been the serpent’s ward, the wooden sword clutched in childish hand to fight back all fiery hate, inspire cool green in waves to bathe an aching heart. Oh, Angrboda had laughed for her children’s antics, kissed their heads, told them all was well, but Sorrow’s abandonment at vicious Lies’ hands had left talon marks gouged to the hagia’s very soul.
Cool denial bit viciously at the worldwyrm’s cheeks. It gouged at the hollows of his skin, dragging rusted wire hooks to pull goblets from salted flesh, to sear lines to ice and drag peaceful intent from its iron perch. How he wished to spit and sneer, cast poisons of word and venom the Liar’s way and have him burn. No insult was it to the boy-beast Loki claimed no link, but a greater insult to brother and sister, the hagia’s rage of a mother beheaded. By his hand and will had Fenrir and Hela been born, solicited from ice and life to stumble into the worlds, and he dared turn his back upon them? Jormungandr mattered not, but they...they were all.
Slender fingers clenched to fists by his sides, muscle jumping in his jaw. No wolven wrath became he, no howling anger a blizzard in his gut. Those were his brother’s tools, his kin’s words. Jörmungandr’s was a fury of the ice and cold; a frigid thing building fortresses of the soul, freezing aught and all who spoke against mother and brother and sister all. A sonorous growl ripped in the depths of a wet, dark throat.
“I know you well, faðir.” There came the sneer, the twinge of anger and hatred twisting endearment to a cold weapon’s sword. “You lie and lie, and are the same.”
No crumpled universe could save the Trickster. All were guilty of the original’s crimes, and none would evade the righteous wrath of children burned.
‘ ———what are you doing here ? ’
she doesn’t mean for it to sound as short and harsh as it does, but the words seem to cut through the air between them after only a small hesitation once she sees him. it’s been natasha’s experience, that any time some otherworldly god or being comes to visit, shit has either just or is about to hit a fan of epic proportions. their past rapport seems to matter little as her brow knits together, eyes wary and instantly suspicious. a moment passes before the black widow gives him a sidelong glance that looks almost apologetic, followed by a light chuckle under her breath and a mumbled…
‘ no offense. ’
Rage aplenty stirred in humanity’s momentary hearts. The anger of a vicious dog, chained and chewing at its ankles in despair; the cries of a disgruntled babe, red-faced and raw of throat, ham fists wailing at the air; all was humanity’s incensed emotion, golden the path of ease in which it stirred. Jörmungandr had seen many a life hiss and snarl, bare their teeth to the chords of anger’s violin, to no avail. What impact could they have on he, a heart deadened by millennia of salt and cold? They could hiss and spit and snarl, but never could they kill a god more living ghost than aught of vitality’s make.
Life and death was black and white, stark contrast at opposite sides of the board. He, then, was grey; deathly pale, dead of eye, all trace of a bright-eyed child balled and compressed to a secret catacomb in the tombs of the serpent’s heart. If she meant to intimidate, or by anger’s make stir a need to fight in the god, the spider ought to select a more rattled foe.
Dark brows drew together, half a picture of confusion and half a portrait of parent’s anger, a wrath delivered unto a misbehaving child. The cant of his head brought no words to rest upon his tongue; a single hand, instead, rose to push news of violence the spy’s way. A newspaper, bedecked with news of registration and Avengers’ accords, crumpled and dirtied as though it had beaten through seven wars, rested on the desk between them, a look of hot accusation chilled and tempered in the cold steel of the serpent’s eye.
Did humanity truly expect him to bow to a pup’s growled demands? The serpent held their world a necessary burden, a weight to break his bones and cripple the flesh of his maw, but never did he think them capable of forced instruction. Were it pleasant enough, Jörmungandr would comply, but the heavy hand of government was brutal, stifling, and unable to hold control over he.
Asgard...is dead.
jör’s actual reaction to seeing his sister kick ass in the thor teaser
Richard Madden » first look at Cosimo di Medici in S1E1 entitled “Il Peccato Originale”
