#Northern trolls

[celestialkiri]

I earned my bachelor's degree in troll representation in folklore and fairytales in Northern countries a year ago, but it's in Finnish 😩 So because some of my friends asked me to translate SOMETHING with my not-so-great English, I made this little collab that I also used on one of my school projects where I was tasked to illustrate some trolls. I hope you enjoy my rambling about trolls ✨

[irisbaggins]

Spoilers ahead, y'all!

Whilst I did make a post about timelines and possible magic and extension of life, somehow, the simple explanation escaped me completely. Especially as someone who lives in Norway, where Winter is half of the year.

When were Lila and Jaysohn born, if they knew their dad half their life? Early Winter. Geoffrey probably died sometime right before Spring, where the snow is still thick and the air still freezing. Let's say, if the plot of the story takes place in September-October, Geoffrey died in March-April, with the kids born around December-January. It would, actually, explain everything. We know, from Viola, that these stoats don't follow normal stoat mating patterns; Viola is having her kids in Autumn. Therefore, who's to say Tula couldn't have Lila and Jaysohn in Winter? They're sapient creatures, who can think and plan. We also get the small glimpse that Tula knows that they may have some control over when they get pregnant, but not always. Who's to say it didn't happen to her, too? What if, that Winter was where Tula gained so much, and nearly lost everything in one moment.

Although, I still believe Ava is overestimating her own age just so she can get away with more things.

[azurascottage]

Just read the Frozen Northern Lights Adventure Notebook! Very cute and fun ❄️

[misfitwandersdani]

The Best Unique Things to Do in Norway

Discover the Unexplored: Engage in Remarkable Experiences with Our Curated List of Unique Things to Do in Norway packed full with fun!

The wind picked up as we took on one of the unique things to do in Norway. My eyes took in the beauty of our surroundings with each step. In every direction, the nature overtook the area, making it feel as though we were in a faraway land.  Norway is a country filled with breathtaking natural landscapes and vibrant coastal cities. From majestic fjords to the Northern Lights, Norway has something…

[star-whatevers]

AU where Shen Yuan gets transmigrated into a younger brother of Mobei-Jun. He manages to avoid getting axed in the inheritance struggle by being a slippery little bugger and a catty bitch that the warring siblings keep around for entertainment purposes. There's a pact that he has to be the last to go when their numbers are finally down to two and everything. He has teleportation powers, but since he doesn't actively cultivate they're not as powerful as Mobei-Jun's.

He's built like a bean pole, but somehow inherited a similar teleportation ability to Mobei-Jun. He spends 75% of his free time holed up in the library and puttering around any markets for books that by all appearances he hates, but won't stop buying. The other 25% he spends actively pissing people off for shits and giggles. His brothers find this hilarious and defend him from the foreign dignitaries he ends up trolling straight to rage.

He only gets in trouble with Mobei-Jun when he finds out that Shang Qinghua is Airplane and beats him with his own scrolls. Mobei-Jun walks in on this scene and is like 'my little brother, finally showing a shred of interest in something other than books, and it has to be with MY situationship'. He's like 3 seconds away from beating the snot out of Shen Yuan for trying to take HIS boy toy. Shen Yuan senses the murderous aura behind him before he's basically throwing in the towel and posturing to his brother like "he's one of the terrible authors, his crimes against words are numerous. I'm not trying to take your man."

Shen Yuan is trying so hard not to piss off the brother that will actually win the fight for inheritance that he ends up wingmaning him after that conflict. He also gets dragged into spars, and he can't tell if this is actually for his benefit or for Mobei-Jun to blow off steam with the added benefit of plausible deniability if he ends up dead at the end. Meanwhile Mobei-Jun is like 'ah, yes, another ally in my struggle to become king. I must make sure he is able to hold his own. He can live.'

Immortal Alliance Conference happens and Mobei-Jun goes there like in the novel to try to catch a couple minutes with Shang Qinghua, breaks Luo Binghe's seal and dips, but Shen Yuan appears and tries to usher him into the Endless Abyss. He gives Binghe some supplies and a weapon before having to try and distract Shen Qingqiu so Binghe can make an escape. He can only transport himself with his weak shadow powers, but he can buy time for Binghe to go down on his own.

Binghe's eventual escape from the Abyss means he comes straight to the Northern Palace and challenges Mobei-Jun in a fit of rage, coincidentally running into his savior - the only person who had been kind to him since his mother died. Shen Yuan becomes a quasi advisor, helping Luo Binghe's adventures and conquest. It's surprising that Luo Binghe doesn't seem to be interested in all the demon women he meets, but at least he doesn't have to endure being the third wheel to all the papapa.

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Finnish polka" - Ivar the Boneless x Reader

SUMMARY: After helping one of the northern Jarls, the Lothbrok brothers attend a celebratory feast. There, they're faced with a tradition of warriors catching flower crowns that belong to young women. How surprised Ivar is when you almost shove your crown into his hands.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.1k

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Ivar is tired.

Of course he's glad that Jarl Thorstein came out victorious. And that his brothers are fine. Still, he feels weary as the adrenaline leaves his body. His legs start to ache. Ivar downs the rest of his mead in hopes it makes him a little more deaf to his mood.

The upbeat, bright music fills his mind like an obsessive thought. His heart beats to the rhythm tapped by the feet of dancing women. They spin, jump and run around with flower crowns sitting atop their heads. How the wreaths remain immovable, he can't quite say.

Ivar is also angry.

As the local tradition entails, when the song ends, all the dancing young maidens will throw their flower crowns to the crowd. Whoever catches it, is believed to be the girl's lover chosen by the gods. However, whether the couple indulges and trusts gods' judgement is a different story. But if the wreath falls to the floor, the girl is said to remain unmarried for the next five years.

Ivar knows the chance of him somehow catching one of those is near zero. He's sitting quite far from the dancers. Even if he did catch it, he's disillusioned about the imminent dissatisfaction of the flower crown's ownert. Not only is he disabled in a way that almost entirely excludes him from fighting but he's also infamous for his ruthless nature and vengeful heart. Hardly a man who invokes desire. Still, some naive piece of him remains hopeful that maybe he's wrong. Maybe he can be terrible and loved all the same.

He shakes those weak delusions away from himself before they sour his mood further.

His piercing eyes have been following one of the dancers for the better part of the song when he catches himself. Her movements look effortless even when the musicians pick up the tempo. Clearly, she's done this dance one too many times to have any doubts about what she's doing. Joy beams from her in a way that makes her appear almost shining. The wreath on the top of her head is mostly green with white and red flowers. It makes Ivar think of the woods surrounding Kattegat; it makes him think of home.

Ivar leans toward Oddleif, one of the Jarl's men, who's sitting next to him.

"Who is she?"

Oddleif looks at Ivar out of the corner of his eye. He scoffs, takes a large sip of his drink and only then decides to answer:

"If you're thinking of catching her flower crown, don't." His blond braids dance slightly as he shakes his head. There's a hint of laughter hiding in the back of Oddleif's throat. "Half of the surviving army wants it."

"I have no care for flowers," Ivar lies through his teeth. "They have no use. They wilt and die and soon no one remembers them. I am simply curious about her."

"Her father is the blacksmith. You might have seen him in the battle, swinging that damned sledgehammer." Ivar silently nods. He remembers that man - tall as a pine tree and wider than a stable. The blacksmith invokes respect even when he's not decimating enemies like a troll equipped with a tree trunk. "He said once that he'll let any man marry his daughter but only if he can lift an anvil. Tried it once myself. Not that I had any success as you can imagine." Oddleif laughs bitterly and continues drinking. His eyes are glued to the dancers but Ivar knows that right now, the two of them are admiring the very same girl with a flower crown like a forest.

The melody continues to quicken. Despite being out of breath, you don't want it to end. Your feet ache but they do not falter nor do they stumble. It seems that their muscles know the dance better than your mind. There are a dozen girls dancing with you but you do not see them. Not really. They appear worlds away from you and the song of bagpipes and strings.

And then appears he.

A slouched, dark figure flies before your eyes as you're doing another pirouette. The man simply sits there, in the corner, but his presence is overwhelming. Or so you think. He does nothing and yet he tears his way into your microcosm of quick footwork, turns and lively polka.

You recognize him. Of course you do. Many whispers, equally frightened and amazed, have spoken of him. You have believed in all of them until the moment you met his gaze for that split second. Right then, somewhere between blinks and breaths, you renounce every gossip you've ever heard about him. A voice in the back of your head, a trickster or an oracle, nags at you to learn the truth yourself.

When the lively, fast melody comes to a stop, you find yourself shaken awake from the thoughts about Ivar the Boneless. The end of the song seems somewhat abrupt to you as you've been letting your fantasy run wild without paying much attention to what's going on around you. Dancing the last part purely by the memory of your muscles. The moment musicians stop playing, a small crowd begins to form in front of you. Men of different class, age and ancestry reach out their hands. Each one of them is more determined than the other to catch your wreath. They start to yell something but considering that the inside of the long hall is awfully loud anyway, you can't make out any words. Reading their lips, you can only tell when they're exclaiming different variations of your name.

They're only pushing towards you, shoving each other away. You keep taking steps backwards but the distance you create with each step is quickly shortened with the men calling out to you. You knew there would be many of them in front of you but never assumed that many. Instead of somewhat flattering, the siege is terrifying and imposing.

Looking for help or advice, just something that will ease your tension, you silently look around the long hall. Your gaze falls on the same slouched, dark figure. Strange peacefulness washes over you when his eyes meet yours.

The dim candlelight seems to bend around Ivar, making his corner appear darker than anywhere else in the long hall. He's simply sitting there. Maybe he's not interested? But the way he's staring at you shows nothing if not burning curiosity. The sons of Ragnar aren't know for their patience. No, they're said to take whatever they want the moment their desire sparks. Despite that, the youngest of them, and arguably the most famous, appears to be waiting. But for what exactly?

The fresh pine needles prick your skin. You furrow your eyebrows. Your gaze falls to the wreath and then comes back to Ivar. Could it be...?

It isn't much of a throw, really. You toss the flower crown towards him without looking anywhere else but into Ivar's eyes. Without as much as blinking, he catches the wreath with ease as though he has been prepared for that. Low murmurs hit your ears but quickly the sounds of disappointment fall silent as it's made clear who caught your wreath. Despite their initial determination, the men who had been reaching out to you suddenly disperse like fog does in the early morning. They knew better than to get under the skin of a Lothbrok. Especially that one.

"I believe this belongs to you."

Ivar is holding up the wreath. Despite his words, he makes no effort to offer it back to you. His eyes are bright and glistening, the corner of his mouth is tugged ever-so-slightly upwards. He appears amused.

At first, it was nice to finally sit down after dancing for what seemed to be hours on end. But now, when you're facing the consequences of your spur-of-the-moment decision, the tension sets in once more. This time, however, it doesn't feel threatening. In turn, the nervousness is somewhat welcome like the jittery state before a surprise is revealed.

"If I wanted to keep it, I wouldn't have thrown it," you answer in a light tone.

"And why should I keep it?"

The blue eyes study you for a moment. It's a strange feeling - you can't help but think that the longer you are in Ivar's presence, talking or not, he's reading your mind and soul. He stares at you in a way that tells you he already holds all the answers but wants you to confirm them.

"It's said to bring good luck." You shrug your shoulders. "Until the wreath wilts and dies, Freya and Freyr will look after you."

Ivar looks at the flower crown again. Only now, when he's holding it, does he realize that for a flower crown, there aren't many flowers. A few sandworts and poppies, yes, but the wreath is made mostly of evergreen plants. It might take weeks until the crown wilts.

The microcosm seems closed again. Now it's not you and the bagpipes but you and him. It's strange and it's new but it's not threatening. It's not the kind of presence a man of his infamy should have. Or perhaps you've simply fallen for his honey trap.

"Why did you throw it to me?" Ivar tries to make the question seem unimportant, just curiosity brought to light. But he can't quite convince himself that he doesn't care. There's a hint of something vulnerable and genuine when the words roll off his tongue. It's easy to miss like a dandelion clock carried away by a gust of wind.

You wish you knew the answer yourself.

"I don't know really," you say honestly. "Perhaps it was one of the gods that threw the flower crown for me." You make a pause. Ivar's face is unreadable. "Or perhaps I have no interest in urgent, desperate men."

Ivar chuckles. A deep shadow is covering part of his face, making him appear kind of sinister. For a moment, you question whether he's laughing with you or at you.

"And what exactly makes you think I'm not urgent or desperate?" he continues. You notice his smile is growing wider. That glint of amusement in his blue eyes has changed in mischief. "What if I'm worse than all of them? You surely know who I am."

"Of course I do, Ivar the Boneless," you drone the words. In a barely noticeable fashion, he clenches his jaw when you say his name. It makes him feel a strange, burning sensation in his stomach but Ivar is left unsure whether he likes it or detests. "The whispers of your ruthless character are unending."

"But you're not afraid?" he asks with both disbelief and suspicion. A girl with a flower crown doesn't necessarily strike him as fearless in any way. Or this whole strange situation is a little too good, too dream-like, for him to accept it at face-value.

Ivar's smile falters when your face takes on a confident, maybe even arrogant, expression. He's taken aback.

"I'm a woman of the North," you say while leaning towards him on the table. The distance between your faces shortnes. "The only person I fear is my own reflection."

The sudden closeness makes Ivar inhale sharply. The strong smell of pine needles fills his nostrils. For a moment, his imagination runs wild but it's not his fault - he has no grasp on it:

How those big eyes glistened in the semi-dark of the long hall as you were staring at him. Your smirk, somewhat challenging and beckoning him to push on. Then, the smell of conifer that shakes all senses awake. His fantasy leaves the northern snows and travelles to forests, to him brushing pine needles from your hair and your naked, flushes skin smelling of evergreen trees.

But quickly his shaken awake, to his utmost displeasure, by you:

"Well, if you don't want it, I suppose I should take it back, no?"

Your hand unsurely reaches out for the wreath in Ivar's hand. He's quick to pull his arm back.

"It's bad luck to take back gifts," he states plainly. In an act of nonchalance, Ivar is playing with the wreath, spinning it around his finger. "I should like to keep it."

Sometimes you come back to the night you've met the infamous Viking, when you're rendered sleepless while he's calmly breathing next to you, getting the rest he desperately needs. How funny all of it seems - that a flower crown in bloodied, merciless hands could lead to having a genuine crown on your head. Maybe you were right, after all, and it really was the hand of one of the gods that threw the wreath for you.

[bodhrancomedy]

The Bard Who Returned to Fairyland in Search of a Name by Bodhrán M.

It was the ferryman who met the bard first, a beardless lad in a ragged cloak, broadbrimmed hat, and carrying nothing save an iron knife and one small pack across his shoulders. He watched with mild interest as the bard picked his way down the grassy knoll and onto the black-wood of the small dock, coming to a halt directly before the little boat.

Neither of them moved for a long while. Somewhere in the distance, an eagle screamed. 

Finally, the bard spoke.

“I wish to cross the river,” he said.

The ferryman leant on his oar and regarded him with rheumy eyes, pushing a lank hunk of wire-grey hair from his face. “Is that so?” he replied. “Do you have payment, my boy?”

“Yes, I do.” The bard withdrew a coin purse from beneath the green cloak.

“Coin won’t do, boy. Not what I dabble in.”

“I know,” the bard said quietly. He had an odd voice, the ferryman noted, with no hint of fear or trepidation or awe. “I bring seashells from the coasts of Ireland,” he continued, “filled with the songs of the selkies. I bring spices from the borders of India and China with many healing powers beyond that which we can understand, and a trollish crystal gifted by the giantess-queen of Iceland. I deal as little in money as you do.”

The ferryman was impressed, even if he didn’t show it. He dug a filthy black pipe from a salt-encrusted pocket and stuck it between his teeth. He waited, but the bard made no move to light it for him. Finally, he took a tinderbox from another pouch (this one being an oilskin gifted many years ago by a Swedish princess) and struck a spark.

“So,” the ferryman said, his words curled about the billowing black smoke, “you know what is across this river?”

“I know.”

“And yet you wish to cross it.”

The bard shrugged, almost as if to say that the statement was obvious enough that it did not need to be said. “Have I brought enough to pay for passage?” he asked.

“Of course,” the ferryman said as he stepped aside to allow the man to board.

But the bard did not. Instead, he gripped the brim of his hat and pulled it further down over his eyes. His voice was as steady as before, but lower and intertwined with steel. “Both ways?”

The ferryman’s eyes narrowed.

The bard stood there, waiting for an answer, one small hand on his knife.

Hemming and hawing, the ferryman felt a sting of disappointment and suspicion in his gut. He had ferried more hopefuls across this river than he had ferried back and there was almost nothing which he liked more than the faces of those who had returned to his boat having not taken the first precaution. They had thought ahead enough – many of these wanderers and seekers of mysteries and gold – to have gotten his word not to throw them into the cold water or have their treasures taken before they reached human land again, but they had not thought about payment for the return journey.

But seashells and spices were twice the payment for a crossing – and he had never owned a troll-crystal before. He’d heard that they could outshine the sunrises even in the frozen northern plains, that they were rainbow stars from deep within the ground. It would be something to treasure in the dark.

It was through gritted teeth, therefore, which he gave his answer. “Yes,” the ferryman said.

The hat bobbed as the bard nodded. “And I will reach each shore in the same condition as I board your boat, sir? Each way.”

“Yes,” the ferryman agreed sullenly. Then he thought and tried to not brighten in anticipation.

The bard either did not notice or did not care, but he stepped aboard with the ease of one used to the pitch and swell of river boats. He sat in the prow, half-turned so he could look across the water and still see the ferryman.

Clever, that.

Carefully, the ferryman untied the mooring rope and then pushed off the knoll with his oar. He began to pull through the water with broad, powerful strokes and so it was a matter of minutes before they reached halfway.

It was then that the ferryman felt safe in speaking again. Too soon and sometimes the young fools would see the error of their ways and pitch themselves into the water. Once you reached halfway, you were falling into enchantments rather simple cold. It did make him laugh, sometimes, to see them flail and splash their way back to safety. He liked to wave at the ones who lived, standing sopping wet and humiliated on the dock, and sing mocking laments at those who did not.

But he did not think that this young man would do so. Still, he waited.

“You off to fairyland, boy?” he asked cheerfully, “Here to see for yourselves the wonders your bardic forefathers taught you? To see if they’re as real as they say?”

The bard tilted his head and the ferryman saw a flash of white teeth from beneath the hat brim, bared in a savage grin.

“No, sir,” the bard said, “I am not merely going to fairyland, sir ferryman. I am going back.”

“Well, that’s a thing!” the ferryman exclaimed. He rubbed his chin with his free hand and added, “Not many people wish to test their luck twice.”

The bard shrugged again.

“And why have you returned?”

The hat tilted back and suddenly the ferryman saw the bard’s face clearly for the first time. It was even younger-looking than he’d expected, suntanned and heavily freckled, but harsh and set in furious determination. “That is my business and my business alone, sir ferryman,” the bard replied in cold tones. “For I know what you are as we have met before, and you told me in the mistaken belief that we would never cross paths again. And I know that changelings would do what they can to gain favour in the eyes of fairyland’s mistress. I would not give up my slightest advantage to satisfy your curiosity.”

Knocked back a little by the intensity of this speech and suddenly slightly afraid of why he would not remember this young man, the ferryman opened and shut his mouth a few times and said nothing in reply. He rowed on in silence, feeling sweat prickling on his brow. Either this passenger was a grand sorcerer of some great power, or he was an overconfident boy with a head full of stories. But he could not place a finger on either option without some unease. Neither felt right.

“It was curiosity, nothing more,” the ferryman mumbled. “I meant no harm in asking.”

“But you did mean harm in knowing,” the bard replied lightly. “And you could make harm in telling. I am no child, sir ferryman, and I understand how this all works.”

[filurig]

some stuff involving non sapient creatures in pareidolia, first image is some animals that tomtar have domesticated, second is a remake of gloson, which is a vätte but is, contrary to most other ones ive made, not a sophont and is instead domesticated by trolls. more info below the cut...

ive already talked about the tomteget in another post, so i wont go into detail about them here, but the one shown in the picture is gullmar's goat (and he is there as well as ucan see). tomtar also keep a domesticated breed of wolverine and ermine, used for some different purposes - wolverines more as guarding/herding animals and ermines to hunt. tomtar don't actually tend to hunt a lot of large prey at all, and what they do hunt is sort of limited as a lot of game birds are sacred to them due to folklore (basically ptarmigans, corvids, grouses, capercailles and things in those veins..). therefore despite how small ermines are they can hunt most of the quarry they prefer such as hares, ducks etc - especially bcs the tomte variety of ermine is bred to be a bit larger and more robust. they can also just be kept as companion animals for many tomtar. wolverines meanwhile serve well as guarding and herding animals due to their size and strength. there is a notable regiment of wolverine fighters in the midlands front - where interested tomtar are trained for combat utilizing the power of the wolverine - the one pictured though is a regular herding/guarding animal though. there are probably some smaller tomte hunting groups that try to go for bigger game with them such as wolves etc. but its definitely pretty unusual. tomteget goats are basically universal across tomte cultures, but the tomte wolverines and ermines are a bit more limited, more occuring in northern cultures historically. although as time goes on they have been spread further south, especially as the midlands front was established and increased the communicative network between different disparate tomte societies. 2. this is just a remake of the gloson from that older post bcs i wasnt really happy with the design - its a laaaaarge animal but didnt really feel like it proportionally bcs i stuck too closely to the normal eu swine proportions... things are mostly the same about them though. the orange parts of the horns glow!

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

It is immensely difficult to understand just how completely white Southerners wrote off slaves in their political calculations. How, we ask, could they contemplate war without worrying about the possibilities it opened up to four million enslaved people? But so irrelevant were slaves to their thinking that William Yancey, the influential Alabama fire-eater, could recommend secession as a resolution of all the old struggles. It would augur, he said, a future with "no irrepressible conflict and no domestic enemy to incite our vigilance." Black Republicans--that is to say, white Northern men and not slaves--were the domestic enemy Yancey had in mind.

Southerners of all political persuasions worried publicly and to good effect about the way abolitionists incited slaves to violence. One can readily discern the heavy weight of racial thinking about people of African descent. It was hard for white Southerners to think of slaves as "the enemy within." More than thirty years of proslavery training had mostly dissuaded them from that view. But the fear lurked just below the surface, and a benevolent paternalism always confronted a deeper antagonistic view. One can hear their conflicting emotions when white Southerners learned of John Brown's attempt to raise slave support in his raid on Harper's Ferry. One contributor to the Charleston Mercury opened with a brave denial that planters had anything to worry about at all--"they would as soon suspect their children of conspiring against their lives"--but descended quickly into a tortured consideration of circumstances in which slaves might indeed pose a threat. When "constantly tampered with," the writer fretted, faith in the Africans' good nature could prove a flimsy defense. "Our negroes are constantly tempted to cut our throats or pink us" with rifles. It was well to be prepared for the worst. Those "foot peddlers" from New York trolling the neighborhoods could "put the devil in the negros' heads," and could have been down there already "for all we know, arming the troops." The conflicted view of slaves' nature was palpable but controlled. Slaves were said to be, by nature, good, childlike, and loyal servants to their masters; they posed a danger only when white outsiders attempted to "rouse an ignorant people [by appealing] to their superstition and lust." Thus when secession dispensed with the Black Republicans, as Yancey promised, slaves would no longer represent a force of any sort.

[...]

African slaves in New World societies underwent a process of instrumentalization rather than simple suppression or exclusion. White Southerners were so deeply implicated in that process that they had great difficulty shaking an instrumentalist view of African American people even when confronted with evidence to the contrary. Rare, indeed, was the commonsense observation like that of Waltman Willey, a western Virginia Unionist, who, disparaging the secessionists' argument that slavery would be safer out of the Union, asked bluntly what the consequences of destroying the Union would be: "What then. The common national obligation [to return fugitive slaves] is destroyed. Will not the negro find out? The motives to flee across the line would be increased, because he would know that whenever he crosses that line he will be free." What Willey predicted was precisely what most white Southerners denied: that slaves had motives and interests entirely their own, channels of communication that kept them apprised of relevant developments, and allies whose help they knew to seek. It would take Confederates a long time to learn those lessons.

stephanie mccurry, confederate reckoning: power and politics in the civil war south

[bogkeep]

Would you recommend the SSSS comic? I know little of it beside the very beautiful artstyle and premise

to answer the question of if i would recommend SSSS as a comic: yes, yes i would.

a description for those who don't know: Stand Still Stay Silent is a post-apocalyptic horror + adventure webcomic set in the nordics (norway, sweden, denmark, finland, iceland) that have been isolated from the rest of the world and gone back to their old gods. the the world outside of safe zones is full of trolls and beasts - humans and mammals that got infected by a horrible virus and turned into monsters. the story follows a ragtag crew that ventures into the old world (derelict denmark) on an expedition to collect books.

the comic updated every workday until it concluded in 2022, and consists of two Adventures. the creator had plans for many adventures with these characters in this world, but ended it after two when she wanted to take a new direction with her life.

what i love about it:

- the art is GORGEOUS. it's been a huge source of inspiration for me. open any page and it's a masterpiece, and you will ask yourself "how the FUCK did she update this FIVE DAYS A WEEK"

- the characters are wonderful and endearing. i just, i love them so much. i am so thankful lalli hotakainen exists he is one of my #1 blorbos forever

- the world is so cool. the blend of chunky sci-fi and norse mythology fantasy magic slaps. it goes so hard. i fell so hard for this comic when i got to the big ferry ship with a viking style dragon head prow added to it. it's everything

- it really really gets nordic cultures. it's difficult to explain all the dynamics and nuances but it just gets it. it brings me as a scandinavian a lot of joy to read a story that speaks to my heart this way. the attitudes, the language barriers, the cultural differences... it was so refreshing to me in a media landscape dominated by american stories. when the pandemic hit, i decided to reread the comic because i found such an odd comfort in seeing how it depicted the scandinavian countries reacting to, well, a pandemic.

- there's kittycats

what i don't like about it:

- the most glaring and obvious flaw is that everyone in the comic is white. there's not a single character of color anywhere, not even i background shots or the prologue. there's no mention of the saami people (the indigenous people of northern europe), either. i believe this was done in ignorance more than malicious intent, but the implications are Extremely Bad and it's been bothering me (AND MANY OTHERS) since day 1. that is the number one caveat i will give to anyone wanting to check this comic out. i've been in the discourse trenches and i am not going to excuse this. it's just bad!

- you can tell in the middle of adventure 2 that the creator has kind of lost interest in the work, around the time when she found jesus i guess. like, very few people can keep up work on the same creative project for years and years and years and i think it's fine that she wanted to drop it, but it's a bit sad to see the comic dragged to its end like a limp corpse, and feeling like the creator no longer really cares about the characters.

- minna sundberg has said and done some questionable things, presumably gotten somewhat radicalised over time, and has also converted to hardcore christianity which is what her new works are about. there's nothing about this in SSSS - there is a moment of christianity represented in the story in a sort of mythological sense, just like the other religions, but this was written before minna's conversion. her new works... are a Choice. i have much to say about them, and i have, and im not gonna rehash it now.

SO YEAH hopefully this will help you take an Informed Choice! i got into this comic in 2015 and was deep in the fandom and it's for better or for worse part of my soul foundation now.

i also recommend A Redtail's Dream, minna's "practice comic" before SSSS, based on finnish mythology and the kalevala.

[celestialkiri]

In Northern folklore, the Asbjørnsen’s trolls were known for their extra heads, almost always in multiples of three. 😌😌😌

I'm sure he just wants some good ol' beer or he is ready to kidnap a maiden like trolls do for some reason-

[historicity-was-already-taken]

someone in my circle said the holocaust was the biggest genocide in history and I'm like? was it? and by what metric? body count? effect on european history?

Such a vague hyperbolic statement regardless

Look dude, this is ask giving Holocaust denial. And after all the shit I’ve put up with on this website since October, I don’t trust that you’re not trolling me.

Hitler was directly responsible for the murder of approximately six million Jews across Eurasia and Northern Africa. It was and still is the largest, most industrialized, most effectively, bureaucratically organized genocide in history.

But also, and most importantly, it’s not a contest! All genocide is bad! It’s not like The Jews (tm) are winning anything over here by having a claim to the “biggest” genocide. We lost millions of our own and saw our ancient civilizations, languages, and cultures across Eurasia and Northern Africa destroyed, probably forever, as a direct result of this cataclysmic event you’re so bothered by.

Also, read this post, it might help you work out some of your….weird attitude here:

[frozen-snowflakesandsunflowers]

Norse mythology in the Frozen universe: How it's all connected | Part 1 | Analysis | Theory

What if I told you Norse mythology is not a stranger to the Frozen universe but rather a very familiar companion? What if I told you that it's all connected and this is not something out of the blue? It's true!

Last night I came across @humongoustreemoon's post (thank you for this!) and it hit me - it got me investigating and going back to theories from Frozen I! There are old Norse runes and Norse mythology all over the place in the two movies and they could be the clues to finding out what we're in for in Frozen 3 and 4. Please stick with me.

This is going to be a long post but I'll break it down to a part one and two.

[long post alert]

Norse mythology in Frozen I

The book

Okay so the very first piece of ancient language that we get is from book cover of the very book that Agnarr goes to find that leads them to the troll valley at the beginning of the movie.

Runes of Knowledgeable [magic] book cover

These runes are of Nordic runes from Norse mythology which is German is mythology. The book reads "ᚱᚢᚾᚬᛦ ᚠᛁᚢᛚᚴᚢᚾᛁᚴᛦ" or “runąR fiulkunikRa”, “Rúnar Fjǫlkunnigra” in proper Old Norse which translates as “Runes of Knowledgeable [in magic]". I tried to translate it myself but it was hard to find the right alphabet and get the right translation. Chrome browser may not render runic font properly or Google apparently. So most of the translations in this post are based on Panya's blog on deciphering the runes.

Then we look at a specific page inside the book.

A page of Runes of Knowledgeable [magic]

Apparently some of the lines in this book are repeated. The lines in old Norse are:

1. ᛋᛏᛅᛁᚾ ᚠᚢᛏᚢ ᚢᛅᛚᛏᛅᛦ ᛏᚢᚴᛚᛅᚼᛁᛘᛁᚾᛋᛁᛋ ᚦᛅᚢ

2. ᛏᚱᚢᛚᛁᚾ ᛅᚠ ᛋᚢᛅᚱᛏᛅᚠᛁᛅᛚᛅᚱᛁᚴᛁ ᛅᛁᚴᚢ

3. ᛚᛅᚴᚾᛁᛋᚼᚬᛏᛦ ᛋᚢ ᚬᛏ ᛁᛋ ᛅᚠ ᚴᛅᛚᛏᚱᛁ ᛋᛅᚱ

4. ᛘᚾ ᚴᚱᚢᚦᛅ ᛁᚠ ᚠᚢᚱᚦ ᛅᛚᛒᚱᛅᚦᛚᛁᚴᛅ ᛏᛁᛚ

5. ᚢᛅᛚᛅᛦᛁᛋ ᚦᛅᛁᛦᛅ ᛏᚱᚢᛚ ᛅᛁᚴᚢ ᚦᛅ ᚾᚬᛏᚢᚱᚢ

6. ᛅᛏ ᚦᛅᚢ ᚠᛅ ᛅᛚᚬᚾ ᚴᛅᛚᛏᚱ ᛅᚠᚦᛁᚱᚦᚬᚾ[ᛚ]

7. ᚢᛦ ᚴᚢᚴᚢᛚᛁᚴᛁ ᚾᛁᛘᚬ ᛅᛁᚾ ᚦᚢᛁ ᛏᛅᚦ ᚴᛅᚱ

8. ᛁ ᚢᛚᚢᚴᛁᚾᛁ ᛅᛋᛏ ᛁᛋ ᛋᚢ ᛅᛁᚾᚬ ᛁᛋ ᚠᛅᛦ

9. ᛅᚠᚦᛁᚱᚦᚬᚾ[ᛚ] ᚼᛁᛅᚱᛏᛅ ᚴᚱᚢᛏ ᛅᛚᛒᚱᛅᚦᛚᛁᚴᛅ

In the blog, they try to translate it as:

1. Stone brought fourth by powers of moon and sky, they,

2. the Trolls from the dark mountain realm, have

3. healing hands. A soul which from cold wounded

4. will heal if brought very quickly to

5. the field of them. Trolls have those nature

6. that they get all sorcery thaw

7. out of approached body to save one. Such action done

8. in true love is only which can

9. thaw heart stoned very quickly quickly.

Making sense, the text says: The Stone (heart) brought fourth by the powers of moon and sky, they, the Trolls from the dark mountain realm, have healing hands. A soul which is cold wounded (struck by the cold powers) will heal if brought very quickly to the field of theirs (the Troll valley). Trolls have the nature that they get thaw for all sorcery out of approached body to save one. Such action can be done by true love only which can thaw heart stoned (heart) very quickly.

It's like what happened with Anna. Anna had been struck by Elsa's "moon and sky" (ice) powers which led Agnarr to quickly go to the Troll valley so the trolls could heal Anna, the cold wounded. Trolls seem to be known to somewhat heal and know the thaw for sorcery magic like such. Pabbie was able to heal Anna's head but had warned the family of being struck in the heart with the powers. For Anna's situation years later, Pabbie told them the cure was true love.

Next to the text page is this image:

It shows a troll healing a royal man/ soldier by taking out a blue misty magic (the same moon and sky/ ice magic Elsa has) from his head and right above it is the northern lights. This could be what happened with Anna, the trolls were seen taking out ice magic from his head and changing up her memories. The Northern lights were used as a visual projection for Grand Pabbie's prediction abilities.

The northern lights will play a huge role in Frozen 3 and 4 I think, just like in Frozen. When Anna sees them in the sky she believes the sky is awake, and Olaf too says the same.

The concept art for Frozen 3 shows that mysterious white castle and the northern lights around it. My theory is that the northern lights are magical and are part of the trolls magic. So troll magic = Northern lights magic. I know this might not make sense right now but let's look at it differently. When it came to the trolls, King Agnarr was very familiar with them and knew all about them. They seem to be a part of Arendelle history. It could be that Norse mythology is part of Arendelle's history which is Agnarr's side of the family, just like Sami culture was part of the Enchanted forest's history from Iduna's side of the family. Frozen 2 explored Iduna's background while Frozen 3 could be exploring Agnarr's background.

The map

Then we have a map that falls out of the book which leads to the Troll valley. In Nordic runes it says “ᛏᚱᚢᛚ” or “trul” which is menas “Troll”.

There's a map compass-like sign at the top left hand corner of the map which resembles the Viking protection symbol the Helm of the Awe in Norse mythology.

So it seems like Agnarr's ancestry is Norse mythology/ Viking heritage as Iduna's was Sami culture.

The memorial stones

A little while later in the movie, when Anna goes to her parents burial, there are runes on their graves.

The left stone reads:

ᛁᚦᚢᚾ ᛏᚱᚢᛏᚾᛁᚴ

ᛏᚢ I

ᚼᛅᚠᛁ

This translates to:

Queen Iduna

She died in the/ at sea

The left stone reads similar:

ᛅᚴᚦᚬᚱ ᚴᚢᚾᚢᚴᛦ

ᚼᚬᚾ ᛏᚢ I ᚼᛅᚠᛁ

Translates to:

King Agnarr

He died in the/ at sea

In Panya's blog, she says that these aren't grave stones but memorial stones as they didn't find their bodies. I don't know why we never thought of this. They never found their bodies - how could that have? Iduna and Agnarr died in the dark sea and their ship was washed to shore in the enchanted forest all the while the forest was still trapped in the mist. No one could've gotten in or out. And the Northuldra and Arendellian soldiers seem clueless to their deaths which means they never discovered the ship or if they did they didn't find any bodies with the ship. (Brb I'm gonna cryy!)

So I'm gonna go with their conclusion of this theory that Agnarr's ancestry is Norse mythology.

The wedding book

Anyways, next and the last we see the runes in the movie is on a book held by a small troll when they try to wed Anna and Kristoff.

The book reads “ᛏᚱᚢᛚ”, and “Troll” in English.

Powers of the moon and sky

But before I move onto Frozen 2's Nordic rune sightings, I wanna refer back to this, we're a troll is scene healing an Arendellian.

Some believe this is an ancestor of Agnarr who was hit by ice magic. This could be true. It would make sense why Agnarr was so familiar with magic and the trolls. But this ancestor was hit by the magic of the sky and moon meaning that Elsa wasn't the first with the ice and snow magic, which then could mean that there was indeed a previous fifth spirit who also had powers like Elsa at the time of this recorded incident. It's unknown if there were two parts of the fifth spirit, one with powers like Elsa and one without like Anna. I would say there wasn't but after seeing the chaos that King Runeard caused, Ahotohallan believed the fifth spirit should be divided into two with one being powerless so that peace with humans could be made between the magical. Runeard probably hated magic partly for this very reason, that it is dangerous and he fears the unknown. With frozen we learn that if anyone fears the unknown, the magical, they try to destroy it and hunt it down. Runeard feared the magic in the enchanted forest and Arendellians or at least the council feared Elsa's magic so they tried to destroy it until it was Anna who ultimately saved the days and restored peace between humans and the magical. Elsa couldn't have done her part in saving Arendelle and the forest if it wasn't for Anna. That's why both are the fifth spirit.

And the book mentions that the powers are of the moon and sky. That sounds very similar to Tangled where Rapunzel's flower was from the drop of the sun. Tangled takes place in Germany so it could have tied with Norse mythology having Frozen and Tangled connected in not only the same universe but with Norse mythology too. But in Frozen 2 we learn that Ahotohallan was the source of all (elemental) magic and is a frozen river/ a glacier. It could be that it was just being metaphorical as ice relates to the moon and sky with how cold it is. In the D23 panel, we're given the question of who gave Elsa her powers? Now where did it come from because we got that answered. It's who? Ahotohallan isn't actually a being. It's a magical source. Could it be that the who is linked to Agnarr's Norse mythology ancestry? Maybe it's related to the previous Fifth spirit that gave the Arendellian the cold wound. I don't think the Fifth spirit is someone from Agnarr's ancestry but I could be wrong, especially if his ancestry relates to Norse mythology where runes are included. The spirits symbols are runic so it could be from Iduna's side too. Perhaps the two sides are connected!?

Trolls' realm

As for the trolls, I believe the Trolls are part of his culture, with the Old Norse runes. They are revealed in the runed book to come from a Dark mountain realm. For those who have no idea what realms are kingdoms/ holes to different species and gods. It's like a different world basically. Realms are included in Norse mythology but the Dark mountain realm isn't a named realm in the nine realms of Norse mythology. The nine realms are

Asgard

Midgard

Vanaheim

Jotunheim

Alfheim

Nidavellir

Niflheim and Muspelheim

Helheim

I did some research and it seems like Jotunheim or Jötunheimr is the "dark mountain" realm that contains dark forests and mountain peaks where winter never is neverending. But it's a home to giants. In Scandinavian folklore, trolls are giant, monstrous beings, sometimes possessing magic powers and in old Norse, Trolls dwell in isolated mountains, rocks, and caves and are rarely described as helpful or friendly.

In the Frozen universe the trolls aren't giants but are rocks themselves and they live near an isolated mountain, being the North mountain where it's wintery. Except they are always friendly and helpful and are known to heal those wounded by sorcery magic. The realm they're from is called the Dark mountain realm. It sounds similar to Jötunheimr.

Referring back to the concept art, we see a white castle that people are quick to believe is a place similar to Valhalla. Valhalla is basically like paradise in Norse mythology, a place viking warriors go for the afterlife. The majestic described hall is located in a celestial realm in Asgard where the Norse gods live. Perhaps that castle isn't a castle but a hall and that place really is Valhalla which would explain why it sits on clouds. Agnarr was a viking warrior according to Norse mythology so it's possible he's there. Perhaps he and Iduna could return in that sense. And seeing the northern lights surround what seems to be Valhalla, maybe the northern lights are what surrounds and guards these realms.

Read Part 2 here.

[areyougonnabe]

guide to the terra nova scientists

"who are these dead british guys that this blogger i followed for a completely different fandom 2-10 years ago is always screeching about" ok i'll tell you

EDWARD "BILL" WILSON - director of the scientific staff of the terra nova expedition. captain scott's boy bestie. "the best man i've ever known" — pretty much everyone who ever met him. exerts BLINDINGLY POWERFUL charisma field. essentially Polar Jesus

GEORGE "SUNNY JIM" SIMPSON - meteorologist. tall. only cares about weather. really very boring but that's his charm point. from manchester, a self-made man thanks to scholarships, probably the most leftist/socialist guy in the hut but doesn't make it a whole thing.

T. GRIFFITH "GRIFF" TAYLOR - senior geologist. british-born australian. far too skinny bc he hates eating, also proudly straightedge. the most drastic case of unmedicated ADHD exhibited in a historical figure you will ever see. compulsive graphomaniac, satire writer, mapmaker, Your_Racist_Friend-They_Might_Be_Giants.mp3

FRANK "DEB" DEBENHAM - junior geologist. very australian. very beautiful. injury-prone. polite and hard-working, friend to all, tends to recede into the background of official accounts. aka Jessamine aka Jasmine aka Jessie (he definitely hates this). later the beloved founder of the Scott Polar Research Institute!

CHARLES "SILAS" WRIGHT - physicist and glaciologist. canadian, tall, flat ass. much to his chagrin everyone calls him American/The Yank. always swearing colorfully, always hungry, frequent complainer. chronically unsentimental/practical, a bit hot-headed but analytical. brave & strong outdoorsman.

EDWARD "MARIE" NELSON - biologist. from a wealthy family, failed to take his degree from cambridge. immaculate dresser, somewhat lazy. highly reactionary, argumentative, misogynist, the best in the hut at chess, has a fiancee (somehow), essentially an internet troll at heart.

those guys are all in the hut at cape evans together. CHERRY and ATKINSON who you probably know were also technically part of the science team but they lived in the tenements (bunk area) so feel separate to me... and DAY and GRAN lived on the scientists' side as well.

elsewhere we have:

RAYMOND "RAY" PRIESTLEY - geologist of the northern party (the guys stuck in an ice cave). antarctic veteran and local sweetheart. no longer the ingenue he was on the nimrod expedition. now he is balding <3 has hordes of pretty sisters for his friends to marry (silas and griff did this)

DENIS "OOZE" LILLIE - biologist of the ship's party. expert in whales and deep-sea creatures. very eccentric, dreamy, probably transgender. believes he was a roman in a past life. draws caricatures of everyone and some are really mean.

THIS CONCLUDES my impromptu lecture. please continue to enjoy my posts with this helpful background knowledge. and do feel free to send me asks about these guys if you want to know more......

[mamaclownhunter]

I am here to continue my shameless SQH loving-

I am always ALWAYS here for rat man SQH. I am ALWAYS here for Hamster SQH.

This man commits so hard to the bit and is not in a strong body I respect the hell out of him for being a bit of a scared yes man to keep his life.

Why? Bc my boy is clever as hell and definitely and always the smartest guy in the room.

That being said and if we are sitting in the Binghe is a reflection oc that SQH poured much of his needed therapy points-

Shang Quinghua has a shit ton of unresolved anger issues. It is why I so deeply enjoy fics where he is standing his ground and ordering people around.

It is why I live fics where he kinda fights back against Shen Quingqui.

I can totally see why he doesn’t at first with Luo fucking Binghe the best guard dog on the face of the planet looming over the peak lord’s shoulder.

But Shen Quingqui probably likes his friends with a bit of backbone, he likes them talking back. It is why he appreciates Liu Qingge, Gongi Xiao- he gets confused easily!! You need to speak to him directly! There is only so much he can glean correctly!

I imagine Shang Quinghua has lower back problems and his weak qi comes from the fact that there is a problem in his spiritual flow.

He probably sees Mu Qingfang for it often and Shen Quingqui is hearing about the blockage and seeing Sheng Quinghua wave the doctor off and remembers his sister peering his father about it-

So he baits SQH. Completely childish pushing all the available buttons he can get his internet troll fingers on.

SQH probably snaps at him (eventually) snaps at him and they have a fight that lasts three hours. Shen Quingqui rounded on his husband so fast when Binghe went on guard and told his husband to sit and let them fight.

It felt fucking great. It was so cathartic. They just screamed and yelled until their throats were hoarse and they were panting.

Shen Quingqui- immortal unflappable peak master of Elegance snorted and laughed.

“Fuck if only you were that poised and precise in your writing- I would have enjoyed your books more.” It is the lightest teasing with respect in those Jade eyes.

It is responded with another sharp curse but it feels half hearted and flat. It just makes his weirdo friend grin more.

“Feel better?” He says fan coming up to hide his smile.

“Hn?”

“It is bad for the back to have that much anger. We should do it more often. It was fun.”

They do. It is more often in the human realm then in the demon bc they don’t want demons to think their empress and the northern deserts queen are flirting.

I want him to release a lot of that anger from his years of abuse in the workforce.

I want him to relax more and gain more confidence.

I want Mobei to think Shang Qinghua is fucking sexy for it. Sue me I am insane for Moshang.

I want Shang Qinghua to piss off Shen Quingqui but making an arguement that Luo Binghe is Jesus Christ and why he should be allowed to say “Luo FUCKING BINGHE” as a curse

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

An aspect of Hilda the series that I feel isn’t talked about enough is the colonizer’s guilt and how it affects the main character.

What made me write this was watching the third episode of the new season, but honestly, it’s something we see throughout the whole series. Starting out with the elves in the northern counties, and moving on to trolls and now giants. Every season that came out gave us a chance to see Hilda deal with the feelings that arise from living in a society she knows is built on the occupation of another people’s native land and the oppression of those inhabitants.

She knows it’s not her fault, she knows she’s not the colonizer, but she’s well aware that she’s in the privileged side of her society. Seeing her grapple with the fact that her very existence in these spaces is only possible because someone else is getting the short end of the stick, to me at least, makes her that much more interesting of a character.

Because it’s not a matter of fixing what she’s done, but the privilege is still there and not even well hidden when she sees the day to day life of the people whose land has been occupied by humans/trolbergians. So whenever we see her rush to aid them, her borderline desperation to fix what’s been broken, it’s even more captivating because it’s not just the usual “I love helping people and having adventures” gist, there’s always this undertone of guilt for something she hasn’t personally done but still knows has to be held accountable for.

Hilda knows the type of oppression that people like her get away with. And she wants no part in it.