#grimnir the wandering god

[cursecuelebre]

All About Woden or Oðin

It’s going to be a bit long so I hope I won’t bore y’all.

Attributes:

War

Wisdom

Magic (Seidr or Galdr)

Death

Poetry

Runes

Healing

Divination

The elite which is the high class (historically speaking but he can still be worshipped by any class he doesn’t discriminate)

King of Asgard and Aesir

Father to men and gods

Spirits

Air and Breath

Symbols

Runes (which he gifted to mankind and sacrifice himself for)

Ravens, he has two of his own called Huginn (thought) and Muninn (Memory). Crows can be associated as well but accurately are Ravens.

The rune Ansuz

Wolves

Staffs

His spear Gungnir which will always hit its mark

A winged helmet

Sleipnir the eight legged horse, child of Loki. Horses can also be a good symbol as well.

Valknut a sigil that is representative of Death, Preparation, and Protection.

The Gungnir sigil which is a diamond with an X over in the center

Horn Triskelion which Odin’s gift of knowledge of poetry and mead

Poetry this can be written poems or songs

Wednesday or Woden’s day

His own set of books called Havamal which is basically Norse proverbs but it’s basically means “Words of The One Eyed”

Herbs/Plants/Trees: Ash trees, Elm Trees, Rowan Trees, Horehound, Parsley, Woad, Mugwort

Offerings.

Mead (Beer can be a good substitute) if you can’t get beer water or tea or coffee is fine

Meat (for his wolves it’s said that Odin doesn’t eat but drinks a lot according to mythology, but I don’t think he would be mad if you put some on the side for him)

Poetry or general music

Handmade items

Weapons (doesn’t have to be real)

Bird feed (for his ravens)

Crystals (it’s more neo pagan, but he likes obsidian a lot)

Devoted acts like writing, exercise, crafting, etc.

Any magical things

Anything associated with Horses, horses were very sacred in Norse culture. Pictures of horses, horse hair(if you can find any), drawings of horses, etc.

Ravens like raven feathers or skulls (please clean them well and ask the spirit for permission) but then again no need anything crow or Raven related same with Wolves.

Runes, bind runes, handcrafted runes, rune artwork, etc. any divination tool as well like a tarot deck.

Staffs or Wands

Depictions

There is quite few depictions of Oðin in artwork but here is common scenery, he is an older gentleman with a long bread with one eye (the lore never said which eye was sacrificed).

His wanderer aspect: It’s the one I described earlier about him looking like Gandalf, a older man in a top hat or hooded in old robes carrying a staff. This aspect is of him traveling throughout the nine realms.

Warrior aspect or King aspect: He is in his armor, carrying a spear. Sitting in a throne with his winged helmet by his side are his two wolves Geri and Freki and at his shoulders is Huginn and Muninn who are essentially his messengers but very still apart of them so that they can see everything throughout the nine realms.

His hanged aspect: Which shows him hanging upside down from the world tree by stabbing himself while gaining knowledge about the runes. He died then rose back to life fully understanding the runes we know today which he gifted to us.

Sleipnir: Oðin attain Sleipnir by Loki, Sleipnir has eight legs and was Oðin’s battle horse and accompanied him throughout the nine realms most famously known traveling to Helheim to summon a dead seer for a prophecy.

Titles

There are so many but I’ll shall put the ones that are commonly used and ones I really like and forgive me for any spelling mistakes Germanic or any Scandinavian languages isn’t my first language and I have terrible handwriting.

Aldafödr- Father of men

Alfaðir or Alföðr - Allfather

Báleygr - Feeble eye, one eyed or flamed eye

Draugadróttin - Lord of Ghosts

Foldardróttin- Lord of The Earth

Gapthrosnir - One in a Gaping Frenzy

Gizur - Riddler

Ginnarr- Decevier

Göndlir - Wand Bearer

Gollnir - Yeller

Godjaðarr - God Protector

Grimnir, Grimr - Masked one, hooded one

Hangaguð - Hanged God

Gudan - Master of Fury

Haptabeiðir - Ruler of the gods

Haptasnytirr- Teacher of The Gods

Hárbarðr- Grey Bread

Hárr - One eye

Havi- High one

Jölföðr - Yule Father

Jölnir - Yule

Oðinn- Frenzy one

Óski - Fulfiller of Desires

Runatyr- God of Runes

Sigföðr - Father of Victory

Wōden- Master of Fury

Ódr - “frenzy”, divine inspiration, breath

Wilde Jaegar - Lord of The Wild Hunt

Karl - Old man

War-Father

Long hat

Wise and Wisdom Granter

True Father

Spell caster

Shadowed face

Fool and Wise man

Sleep-maker

General Information

Commonly known as Oðin (frenzy) or Wōden (Fury) to the Anglo Saxons he is probably one of fascinating gods in Germanic/Norse Mythology. From the titles and attributes even the symbols you can tell he isn’t just one set type of God he rules and charges over countless of things.

Oðin was born to Borr along with his two brothers, Vili and Ve, Oðin is the oldest. All three brothers killed the first being in existence Ymir. Which they created the earth, sky, and sea from his corpse literally Ymir’s skull is the sky and his brain the clouds and his blood the rivers and ocean. Then him and his brothers created the first humans Ask and Embla from pieces of trunks of Ash and Oak. I should note that most of what sources we have Norse Mythology is from Christian sources so you might see some influences from Abrahamic faiths. Oðin along with his brothers Vili and Ve gave each of them a trait of life. Oðin gave breath of life, Vili gave understanding and physical movements, and Ve gave their senses.

Oðin is a god of wisdom, he is always eager for the pursue of knowledge. That is why he travels a lot. Once he came upon the Well of Mimir beneath Yggdrasil’s roots a Jotun who guarded the well who was the wisest being of all and his well and grant such wisdom. Oðin asked if he can drink from the waters. Mimir agreed but said he needed to give the well, a sacrifice, so Oðin did that he gave the well his eye that he can drink. From doing so he became very knowledgeable in the ways of magic, curing the sick, calm storms, summoning the dead, etc this lead him on to his pursuit of the Runes. By the way Mimir’s head was beheaded and to preserve his head Oðin put the head in herbs and sang spells so that Mimir can still speak to him.

Then another famous story was how he gain the runes. Oðin hung himself upside down from the Yggdrasil tree by piercing himself with his spear as he called for the runes. For nine days and nine nights he had no help but when the runes finally came to him he let out a cry falling dying. It’s said it was describe the light of the world going dark when Oðin dead but suddenly it light up again and Oðin came back alive with the knowledge of the runes. Which he generously shared with Mankind.

He is a god rules over Valhalla one half goes to him (those who die in battle) and the other goes to Freyja’s hall. He’ll lead dead warriors when Ragnorak begins.

He is the god of kings and rulers but he also is the god of tyrants as well

God of order but he does do some trickery like Loki.

He is a war god there is so many titles that have him in war context that is overwhelming lol. About frenzy, fury, spears, victory, etc. it’s also describe Oðin will bring war upon peaceful communities as well.

God of Death, he is considered to be a psychopomp

He is equivalent to Mercury or Hermes (Psychopomp, knowledge, share the same day Wednesday.) similarities between them are mostly documented by Roman historian Tacitus.

He is a God among the goths, Anglo-Saxons, Germanic Tribes, Norse, Danes, Swedish, Finnish, and Icelandic peoples

He is the God of the Wild hunt which along side him is Holda a Germanic goddess of winter and death, it’s said Santa Claus is partly inspired from him because after he is finished with his hunt will come around people’s homes dropping gifts in shoes. He is also known as the Yule-Father.

Oðin is also the god of magic of Seidr and Galdr, Seidr is like a shamanic form of magic that the Norse used. It involved divination, spirit work, chanting, spinning, meditation. Seidr historically was only socially acceptable for women to practice not men but Oðin is the one that taught men Seidr. Galdr is magic of chanting or singing, created the song to cast spells. He can send a person dreams and messages. He can also make witches go mad apparently.

He is able to summon the dead, make them alive again. 

Oðin is married to Frigga of marriage and justice and they had together Baldr, Hodr, and Hermod. But Oðin had many lovers and many children including Thor, Vali, Vidarr, Heimdallr, and many more. It’s also said that he had a relationship with Freyja even married her at one point before he disappeared however it’s not quite clear nor proven to be Oðin just speculation.

My personal experience

I will say Odin is a different type of God I encounter with. The best way I can describe it and it may sound weird but he’s like a fun grandfather. He has his wisdom and knowledge but also his sense of humor. He has helped me through a lot especially with anxiety and depression and burnout. Out of all the gods I have worked with he is the one that gives me the most dreams, the dreams are so beautiful and powerful I can’t describe them in full detail but involves magic.

Typically he loves any type of votive offering (creating the offering) like he enjoys regular offerings of course. But just using your free time to do craft something for him or do something for him he really appreciates. Writing your own poetry, studying, crafting, using your inspiration for workings, etc. divination or spellwork. He does play some playful tricks time to time.

Tarot:

Tarot cards I resonate with Oðin from my personal practice

Magician

Emperor

Hermit

Hanged Man

Death

Ace of Wands

[illwynd]

Utgard-Loki's Tale

I finally got to perform this thing tonight, so I guess it has reached its final form.

This poem is inspired by the traditional Icelandic rhyming poem Lokrur. My adaptation uses a bastard Kalevala metre (trochaic tetrameter), with various features of both Finnish poetry (repetition and alliteration) and Icelandic poetry (alliteration and abundant use of kennings and other wordplay), and I developed it specifically for spoken performance, in accordance with the way the story would originally have been passed along. There's some really geeky shit in here.

Also my thanks to @obligate-rebel who gave me a thumbs-up on an earlier iteration of it :D

...

By men I am called Utgard-Loki

Outlands’ trickster, apt in magecraft,

Skilled in spells and in shape-shifting

One who worked his tricks on wanderers

One who wickedly deceived them

When to his threshold gods came calling

You see, all Thor and Loki knew about me was that I throw all the best parties—what else is there to do when you live way out in the Outlands?—but everyone in attendance has to be the best there is at whatever it is they do, so these two gods... they thought they’d crash my party, cause some trouble, start some fights, show me who’s boss in my own house, and I had to figure out a way to get them to head on home without actually starting a war, because, y'know, that would tend to put a crimp on the party scene. So do you want to know how I managed that trick?

Surely you have heard them tell it?

Heard the tale as they recite it

Heard about Thjalfi, swiftest,

Tricked in foot-race versus Hugi

Passed by one who treads so lightly

Or the contest of the mighty

Rymr, he who calls the thunder,

Put his lips upon the vessel

‘Pon the cup all full and frothy

Froth as white as salty sea-foam

And the thirsty draughts he drew then

Drained the horn—of but a mouthful!

So it seemed by liquid’s level

Sore was he, Midgard’s protector

Falling short in simple trial

Surely you have heard them tell it

Heard the tale as they recite it

Heard how Loki, sly and clever

Set his hunger versus Logi

Chowing down along the trencher

Met the two with crumbs between them

Drawing even, feasts devoured

Loki patting bulging belly

Smirking with his smile ‘broidered

Met they then—but skinny Logi

Ravenous as wolf in winter

He had eaten all the meat…

And all the bones… and all the trencher!

Thus was Laufey’s heir defeated!

And you must have heard them tell it

Heard the tale as they recount it

How the grim one’s son continued

Put him forth another challenge

Boasting of his strength of body

Strength indeed of all his sinews

I set before him then the mouser

Tomcat’s father, hearth’s wee tiger

Purring on the floor before him

That he should test his might upon it

Asa-Thor bent low to grasp it

Bent to wrap his grip around it

Struggling with grunts of effort

Grunting as he tried to lift it

But one paw he barely shifted!

One paw raised above the tiles!

Purring still the feline bore it

As Baldr’s brother failed to heft it!

Fury gripped lord of Bilskirnir

And in his anger bade another

Challenger be brought before him

Said I then I thought my mother

In her youth a wrestler had been

But in her dotage still might suit him

Wroth was he with red beard bristling

Stomping on the mat before him

As Elli hobbled to her corner

But soon she did contrive to hold him

Hold him fast with arms around him

Arms like bands of stubborn iron

Till his knee did bend beneath him

Shamed was Grimnir’s lauded kinsman

Beaten so by woman wizened!

Tell me those are not the stories

More or less as you have heard them

But one voice has not been cited

One has not been heard to tell it

That is me. And if you’ll heed

I’ll tell the legend as I lived it

And each contest I’ve recounted

—true it is that I deceived them

Wanderers of Aesir kindred

But look at it from my perspective

Behold for but the briefest moment

Consider how I first had found them

Sheltering in fingers’ caverns

Cowering within the leather

Where the last night I had left it—

I swear I did not mean to wound them

Or to frighten with my snoring

I was merely heedless taken

Heedless of their headstrong journey

Thus I met them in the morning

Waking to their faces frowning

Trying to be most disarming

Not to give them cause for worry

Then they asked ME where the pathway

To the hall of Utgard-Loki!

I saw it full, the very future

Of which I’d had no foretelling

For they queried after speaking

‘Mongst themselves of doom impending

Doom that they would deal that monster

Dwelling in those halls unknowing

Well!

I endeavored to dissuade them

Placing in their path obstructions

Surely less than cruel misfortunes

Set before them my conditions

If they’d travel with my guidance

They would travel by my schedule

I would call the halts and respites

I would carry all provisions

Thus I handed them frustration

Goaded them to resignation

Alas the doggedness of gods

Was not within my calculations

So, if they’d not be dissuaded

Then ‘twas I must scheme before them

How to meet their whim for action

Without inviting my destruction

Thus I pointed them to pathway

To the door of Utgard-Loki

Once apart I shed illusion

Readied all in preparation

Waited till they came a-hailing

Thunder roaring at my doorway

And ‘twas I that granted entry

Though they did not recognize me

As they came to show their mettle

Prove their might in any challenge

Fain was I to meet their boasting

With my own skill in devising

Thus I placed the end of vessel

From which Odin’s son drank freely

Down upon the dolphin’s doorstep

Thirst could never be so mighty!

Not to drain the fishes’ highway

In this way I meant to thwart him

Meant to tactfully confound him

Meant to make him long for Asgard

Not to linger ‘neath these timbers

Then, said I to ember’s elder,

Let me place on you deception

Garb yourself in Aesir aspect

Shape the hungry tongue within you

Solid where your spark did flicker

That Laufey’s son so sly and able

Might not swiftly recognize you

As he sits down at the table

Thus I spake to Munin’s brother

Of the planned dissimilation:

Wrap yourself in men’s attire

From the ash-wood make your raiment

Lace your boots of supple leather

Then set foot upon the pavement

There to meet Toothgnasher’s wounder

There to race against him striving

Round the path of mead’s lacuna

Thus alike I worked enchantments

On the great snake Midgardsormr

On that serpent world-encircling

One that Thor once snared while sailing

Scales reshaped to furry shoulders

Still he hissed alike I tell you

That one trait you might have noted

Naught else of his essence showing

And then came the last contender

Gracious guest of all the prudent,

Spoils of the years’ survivor

By her leave I did conceal her

Veiled her hair in moonlight’s metal

Bent her back like twisted tree-limb

So Harbard’s son would be no wiser

When she set her hold upon him

In the aftermath of trials

Egos soothed with ale aplenty

I revealed to them my secret

That they would not feel too cheated 

Nor would they feel too affronted

All I wished was their forbearance

Parting then as friendly rivals

So they would crave not for vengeance

For Jotuns have our share of talents

Our own place on World-Tree’s branches

Spells apart from gallows’ knowing

More are we than Aesir’s foemen

There my tale is near completed

But if my tongue’s allowed to waggle 

Somewhat more of gods and giants

And the bitter blood between us

Just a few words I will venture

Fury, I have surely felt it

Anger aching for requital

For accounts all to be settled

Quenched with blood the battle’s metal

But I’ve seen no better ending

Not for bards and not for swordsmen

Than to sit by fire flaming

Telling tales with close companions

Ale in hand and sated, cravings

And all the stars above bright-blazing.

[gifts-of-heimdall-runes]

Grimnir: The Wandering God

Artist: Satyaki Sarkar (Artstation)

Odin, becomes the wandering Grimnir, wearing a ragged cloak and hat, accompanied by his ravens, Huginn and Muninn and travels around Midgard, among humans.

The silhouette of Odin with his flowing cloak bears resemblance to the runic symbol ᚨ or 'a' or Ansuz of the Elder Futhark, which also means god.

[tarotbee]

Hi! I really love your worship posts and wanted to ask if you could make ones for Loki and Odin please? Thank you :)

Ways of Worshipping the All-Father Odin

(Loki's post coming soon)

- have an altar dedicated to him, as much as Norse Gods want direct and equality in communication they are fans of lavish things and flattery

- alcohol such as red wine, mead, aquavit or whiskey

- a nice chalice to pour liquid offerings into

- a mug of coffee, take a sip first and then offer the rest to him

- write and burn a poem for him

- write dramatic stories and music and read them to him, he loves drama, pour your heart into it

- share jokes with him!

- do your shadow work

- offer your pain and suffering, feel your emotions, write them down and burn them as an offering

- spend time in the woods/nature

- FLATTERY, it goes a long way with the Norse Gods

- learn and use his many names such as, the All-Father, the Victory-Father, Grimnir, Hanged Man, Wotan, Masked One, Rune God, Jolnir, Gelding, Grey beard and the One eyed Wanderer

(Knowing and using the many names is a form of flattery)

- fruit

- horse, Raven, wolf and bear imagery

- black feather, raven skulls etc (ethically sourced)

- horse shoes

- wolf pawprints, fur and teeth (ethically sourced)

- Runes: Ansuz, Wunjo, Gebo and Othala.

- learn Rune magic and Rune divination

- the Hanged Man tarot card

- dedicate a form of divination to him as Odin, being associated with Horses often led him to being associated with divination 🤷‍♀️

- a statue of himself

- black, red, grey, cobalt or purple candles

- partake in rituals and celebrations such as Sigrblót (April 15th), Yggdrasil day (April 22nd), the Last Harvest (October 31st), and Yule

- Red meats especially beef

- smoked salmon

- leaks, asparagus and garlic

- eat well! Dedicate the meal to him and his wolves Geri and Freki

- feast! Spoil yourself on Wednesdays! (And spoil Odin a bit too)

- offer your secrets and speak respectfully as you would to others, the Norse Gods prefer to be spoken to as equals

- (a pipe with) tobacco

- The Nine Sacred Herbs: ash leaves, elm leaves, parsley, woad, cinquefoil, horehound, periwinkle

- make donations to or do volunteer work at a veterans organisations

- riddles and puzzles

- many heathens say that it is best to directly commune with the All-Father and ask what he wants specifically, he is a jack of all trades deity, and encompasses many aspects such as, war, poetry, riddles, kingship, magic, inspiration, death, self-empowerment, transformation, leadership, travel, madness, academia and wisdom meaning there are so many different types of offerings you could give him

- acts of courage such as standing up for yourself or others

- be wise, know or learn your boundaries in all different areas of life, financial, spiritual, social etcetera

- learn! There is so much in this world to learn, dedicate your time studying to Odin, whether it be mythos, war history or just studying for fun or classes, dedicate that time to him, maybe even light his candle

- dedicate the 9th month of the year to your practice with the All-Father, the number 9 is sacred to him, if you can find multiple ways to incorporate it into your offerings and practice as well

- become an educator, a professor, a leader or a tutor, allow yourself the ability to learn and teach at the same time

[dw-writes]

The Invasion...Chapter Eleven

Summary: Mad Sweeney could not recall the last true believer he had. Sure, he’d been brought over as one of the Fair Folk, but it was different. A sliver of the truth, a dim shadow of what he was really owed. The belief of someone who followed traditions, not him.

That changed when he arrived in Cairo.

That changed when he laid eyes on you and he found that one didn’t have to believe in the myth to believe in the man.

A/N: Ah, Sweeney, who doesn’t love it when the guy realizes he’s the unluckiest bastard in the universe? I’m VERY fond of this chapter and the small scenes that are in it, and I hope that you are, too!! Please let me know what you think of this chapter! And, if you’d like to be tagged, just let me know!!

Chapters: Chapter One || Chapter Two || Chapter Three || Chapter Four  || Chapter Five || Chapter Six || Chapter Seven || Chapter Eight || Chapter Nine || Chapter Ten || Chapter Eleven || Chapter Twelve || Chapter Thirteen || Chapter Fourteen || Chapter Fourteen-ish || Chapter Fifteen || Chapter Sixteen || Chapter Seventeen || Chapter Eighteen || Chapter Nineteen || Chapter Twenty || Chapter Twenty-One || Chapter Twenty-Two Requests: Mad Sweeney and The Holidays || The Invasion and the Stressful Blows One Shots: The Invasion and That One Thankful Holiday || The Invasion and the Weight of Change || Eyes On You

The Invasion and the Truth of the Matter

Eagle Point was pretty at night. You sat outside in the parking lot, watching the sun rise over the trees and the buildings and the houses. The stars blinked out and the sky turned an array of colors you had only seen in pictures.

You hadn’t slept. Your thoughts had kept racing, and they raced nowhere good.

You took your medication and drained the bottle of water you had bought from the vending machine.

Sweeney wandered out of the room, hair a little damp, when the night sky had faded to early morning. He patted your shoulder.

“C’mon,” he murmured. You looked up. He had your duffle over his shoulder. “We gotta get going.”

“Where?” you asked.

“Wisconsin.” He held his hand out to you. “Bottle.” You handed over the pill bottle, which he stashed in the duffle. He held out his hand again. You took it. He hauled you up.

“What’s in Wisconsin?” you asked. It took him a minute to let your hand go. You rubbed your fingers over your palm until the warmth of his hand faded. He motioned towards the road and started to walk. You followed him while tugging down your shorts and fixing your sweatshirt.

“The Rock,” he answered. You looked up, waiting for him to go on. “Fuck ton o’ gods,” he added. He sniffed. You noticed he walked with a limp and wondered just how hurt he was from that fight. “It’s what you’ve been doin’ for Wednesday,” he continued. You two cleared the empty parking lot and started down the road.

“Favors? Favors is what I’ve been doing? For what, for the rock?” you asked.

“Rock,” he said, “With a big r.” You stared at him, waiting for clarification. “The House on the Rock,” he said slowly, adjusting the duffle on his back. “Do you have brick in here?” he grunted.

“Books,” you said, staring. He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth tilted up. “That’s up in Wisconsin, you said?” you asked. He nodded, confirmed it, kept walking. You stared. “Are we walking all the up there?” you asked.

“Until we can hitch a ride, sweetheart.” He fully smiled and winked. You rolled your eyes.

You walked.

He asked you about where you had gone, who you met, what all you had to do. You asked him why he’d had to fight the guy in the bar.

“Our man said so,” he answered. You pushed your sleeves up and took the duffle. “Grimnir.”

“Why are you working for him?” you asked. You slung it across your back. “You never told me.”

He didn’t answer for a long time. “’m the errand boy,” he grumbled.

You frowned. “Yeah, you told me that part,” you softly commented.

“Do whatever he wants, whenever wants, wherever he wants,” he continued. He was shuffling, scratching his chin. “He wanted me to fuck up this one, see what he could do.” You held the strap of your duffle. “Bastard set everything up to get this man in his pocket and he succeeded.”

You opened your mouth to ask something – what he meant, if he had forgotten he had told you, to see if he would tell you the why and not the what – when a car rolled up beside you both, matching your pace as you walked. A man rolled down the passenger side’s window. The man inside leaned over. He looked like one of those preacher types – the clean-shaved, turned-over-a-new-leaf ones. “Do you two need a ride?” he asked.

Sweeney squinted at the man but kept walked. You leaned around him and smiled. “You a rapist?” snapped Sweeney. You tripped over your own feet, trying not to laugh at the audacity of the question.

“No, not at all,” answered the man in the car.

Sweeney stared at ahead, looking down only when you leaned around him again. “A murderer?” asked Sweeney. He grabbed your sweatshirt and tugged you back next to him.

“Not recently,” said the man with an amused smile. You looked up at Sweeney while the two of you still walked. He didn’t meet your eyes. “I’ve been on your side of the highway, you know,” said the man. “Where are you heading?”

“Wisconsin,” you answered. Sweeney swore under his breath.

The man smiled. “I can take you as far as Madison.” He leaned over and opened the door.

Sweeney scowled. You smiled. “Can you open the trunk?” you asked. The man popped it and let you throw the duffle in the back. You climbed into the back seat and yawned.

Sweeney glanced back as he sat in the front. “Get some sleep,” he murmured. You shifted around in the seat and rested your head against the seatbelt, closing your eyes. Sweeney tilted his chair back until you were a hair from being uncomfortable.

The man smiled and started to drive. You were out, seconds away from falling deep into sleep when the sound of something breaking made you jump. You opened your eyes, lifted your head, and saw a bloody pipe sticking out of the back of the driver seat. Sweeney adjusted the seat up with a groan. The car swerved, then skidded against the median, and came to a stop.

You took in a shaky breath and released a squeaky, “What the fuck?”

Sweeney reached over to open the trunk, then climbed out. You scrambled after him. Your breath rattled in your chest. Sirens wailed in the distance, getting closer, and cars stopped around you on the road. You wondered who called the cops. Sweeney grabbed your arm and gently led you away from the car – or, at least, pulled you somewhere you couldn’t see the dead body. You stared anywhere and nowhere, mind reeling. What had just happened? Sweeney looped an arm over your shoulders and held you against his side. You reached up and grabbed his hand with both of yours.

The cops took Sweeney’s statement when they arrived and accepted your nodding as statement enough. They went to examine the car while the coroner draped a sheet over the body. Sweeney lit a cigarette.

“That’s some bad luck,” said one cop to another.

Sweeney froze. He wiggled his fingers free from your grasp with a gentle, dumbstruck, “No.” He emptied one pocket – nothing but coins, gold coins, gold coins that didn’t shine in the sun. He emptied the other with the same result. You stared numbly at them as they fell to the ground.

“Mr. Wednesday took the other coin,” you whispered. You gripped the strap of your bag.

“When?” rasped Sweeney as he patted himself down. Maybe you were mistaken!

“Last night,” you answered. You looked up. He glared out at nothing, lips moving as he calculated. Then, he swore, and grabbed your arm and pulled you along with him. You stumbled. “Where are we going?” you asked as you righted yourself.

“Chicago,” he growled. He swore again, once in English, once in another language. “That was the wrong coin!”

“Wait,” you said, pulling your arm from his grasp. Sweeney kept walking, eyes straight ahead, like a man on a mission. “Sweeney!”

“What?” he snapped, whirling around.

You heaved a sigh as you watched him grind down on his cigarette. “I am not walking all the way to Chicago,” you said, exhausted.

He spat the cigarette at the ground and stalked back to you, waving over your shoulder as he replied, “We get a car? That happens. Again.” He stared down at you. “Do you want that to happen again?” You clenched your jaw. “Then we walk.”

You groaned.

You followed Sweeney in silence. The two of you had already walked a good distance, and the man in the car had taken you a little further. You convinced him to stop late in the afternoon, when the two of you passed a small but packed diner in a little town. You two ate in silence, and you left the waitress a large tip when you left. Then, you dragged Sweeney to a dark corner of the parking lot and told him to guide you through stealing a car.

He hesitantly climbed into the passenger’s seat once you jammed the screwdriver into the key slot.

“I’m a good driver,” you told him as you backed out. You added, “And I’ve seen enough Final Destination to know how to avoid stupid accidents.” You told him to grab your atlas from your bag and give you directions to the nearest county road. From there, he traced out your path until nightfall.

You pulled over when it got too hard to keep your eyes open.

“When’s the last time you slept?” Sweeney softly asked you.

You scrubbed your palms against your eyes. “Actually slept?” you groaned. You leaned your head back and sighed. “Nebraska.”

“Fuck’s sake,” he grunted. He waved at the back seat. “Sleep.”

“What?”

He opened his door, then the back door, and tossed your bag up front. You pulled the screwdriver from the key slot and set it in the cup holder before you rounded the car to the still open door. Sweeney sprawled out across the back seat, propping himself up against the opposite door. He wedged his arm between the door and the driver’s seat to flick the lock button. “C’mon,” he sighed as he pulled his arm back. He patted his chest.

“You can’t be serious,” you mumbled as you kneeled on the seat. They were large bucket seats, the kind older cars used to have. With Sweeney sitting the way he was, there was enough room for either him to sleep with both legs on the seat, or for him and someone a little smaller to sleep together with him sprawled out. He patted his chest again, a suggestive smile crawling across his face. You sat by his foot and closed the door.

“There we go.” He gently grabbed your arm and pulled you towards him, turning you around so you could recline into him. He folded his arms over yours and held you like you were a fragile thing. You rested your head back against his shoulder. The windows you had cracked open during the drive cooled the car and sent a chill through to your toes. You shifted your legs to align them with Sweeney’s warmer ones. “Better?” he whispered.

“Much,” you said. You leaned your forehead against his neck. Sweeney smoothed his thumb against the back of your hand. “No bad luck so far,” you breathed.

“Don’t jinx it,” he grumbled.

You felt his voice through your skin and smiled. “It’s all about how you believe in it,” you yawned. He pinched the back of your hand. “Ow.” His fingers stretched over the back of yours, enveloped them but didn’t hold them. You closed your eyes and thought about turning your hand over. You didn’t, though. “Your coin may be lucky, yeah, but maybe you believe it’s lucky and that made it lucky,” you murmured.

“Not how that works,” he whispered against your hair. You smiled. “It’s a king’s coin.”

“It can be a king’s coin and not be lucky,” you replied.

“It’s magic because it’s a king’s coin,” he said, “Lucky because it’s a king’s coin.”

“King’s coin, king’s coin, king’s coin,” you mumbled. He snorted. “How do you say that in Irish?”

“Gaeilge,” he corrected, then he told you, though you didn’t remember. “Are you always like this when you’re tired?” he asked, “Never noticed.”

“When I’m exhausted,” you answered with a faint giggle. He squeezed your hands.

You dreamed of a little disk of sunshine and a king in the woods.

You awoke in the late morning with an ache in your back, your leg asleep, and Sweeney snoring in your ear. You shifted, slid from his arms, and climbed into the front seat as graceful as you could with a leg that refused to move. With a groan, you opened your atlas, turned on the car, and started to drive, all the while wiggling your foot with the hope that feeling would return sooner rather than later. Sweeney slept for another hour, waking up when you pulled over somewhere in Chicago.

You were a cautious driver, yes, but you knew that city drivers were a nightmare on the best of days.

“Where are we going?” you asked when you heard him groan. You tugged the sleeves of your sweatshirt down and wiped the wheel off, the screwdriver, the door handle – anything that was smooth you vigorously rubbed until you thought your fingerprints were gone. You unlocked the doors with a covered finger and stepped out.

Sweeney swore when he climbed out of the car, yanking open the door to grab your bag and the map. He looked around while scratching his head and gave a noncommittal wave. You started to walk. It stung your feet, and made your legs hurt, and your stomach growled when you past the first gas station you saw. You took the atlas from him, shoved it into your bag, and pulled out your wallet.

“Are you hungry?” you asked, “Because I’m starving.”

He nodded. “Coffee,” he grunted.

You rolled your eyes and walked inside. The cashier hardly looked up when you entered. They didn’t even watch as you pulled snack after snack off the shelf – chips, crackers, cookies, candy – then took two of the largest bottles of water and a soda from the fridges. You made your way to the coffee machine with an arm full of treats. The man by the machine stepped aside, ducked his head, and tugged his baseball cap down over his face. You kept your attention on him as you filled a coffee cup. The man stirred a stick in a cup that you noticed was empty. You juggled your haul up to the cashier as quickly and as carefully as possible, paid, and hurried back out to Sweeney with two bags.

He was shaking your pill bottle when you approached with his coffee. “Finally,” he groaned.

You opened a bottle of water and took your pills, looking back at the station with a frown. “I think someone—” You turned back to see him upending a flask into the coffee. “Seriously?”

He shrugged, continued to pour until it was empty, then drank it. He happily sighed.

“I think someone’s following me,” you repeated. He frowned. You shoved the water and the soda into your duffle with your wallet, pills, and most of the snacks, then took the bag, and opened the chips. “Can we go?” you asked.

Sweeney started to walk. “What do you meant someone’s followin’ you?” he asked.

You swallowed your food. “There was a guy back there, I uh,” you looked over your shoulder, “I’ve seen him before. A few times.”

“Same guy?” he said more than asked.

You nodded. “I think?” You shook your head and pulled out another handful of chips. “Never seen his face,” you muttered.

Sweeney looked back. “Yer phone off?” he asked. You wiped your hand on your shorts and pulled it from your pocket. It was on and almost dead. You turned it off. “Keep it off,” he demanded, “If you need ta have it, keep it off when yer not usin’ it.” You nodded and finished the chips just in time to follow him into the parking lot of a diner.

“Seriously?” you sighed. “I could’ve just gotten something here?”

“We won’t be here long,” he growled. You followed him, shifting the bag across your back. The diner was practically empty, save for Wednesday and the man you recognized from the bar. You barely heard Mr. Wednesday’s snide comments to Sweeney, though heard the man – Shadow, Sweeney called him – correct Wednesday’s turn of phrase. You tilted your head as you threw away your bag of chips and made your way to the diner counter. You’d heard the name Shadow before, somewhere, you knew you had, but where? Your sister came to mind. You wondered why.

A familiar face walked up to the diner counter and you smiled. “Mama-ji,” you greeted.

She returned your smile. “Messenger,” she said with a nod. Her eyes darted down you. “Have you eaten?”

“Chips,” you answered with a shrug.

She clicked her tongue and snapped her fingers, pointing at the chair. You sat. She placed a plate of hashbrowns and eggs and bacon in front of you without prompting. “Eat,” she commanded. You started to protest. “Quickly,” she added.

You scarfed down the meal without another thought. Behind you, Sweeney growled and threatened, spat, and swore. Mama-Ji took the plate and emptied it out into a small to-go box, handed you a plastic fork, and nodded at the door. You stood. “Hey, if I wanted to get you something, what would I get?” you asked as you shoved a piece of bacon into your mouth.

She smiled. “You’ll know when you see it,” she answered.

Sweeney yanked the door open and stormed out.

“I’d keep an eye on your man there,” Mr. Wednesday said as you turned to the door. You rolled your eyes and turned to him, eating a bite of eggs. “Make sure he doesn’t step out of bounds.”

You sighed. “That an order, sir?” you asked, a little more sarcastically than you intended. He arched an eyebrow. Shadow turned around with an amused smile. He was cute. More than cute. “Sorry,” you whispered. You shouldered open the door and hurried out after Sweeney.

He was halfway down the street when you caught up to him. “Where are we going?” you asked as you offered him the rest of the food.

He glanced over. His shoulders slowly relaxed. He took the carton when you offered it again. “Eagle Point,” he answered.

“Wait, we’re going back?” you asked.

He nodded and shoveled food into his mouth. “Moon Shadow back there left the coin on his fuckin’ wife’s grave,” he answered.

You tilted your head. “I know that name from somewhere,” you mumbled.

“Where’d we leave the car?” Sweeney asked. He dumped the empty carton in a trash can. You led him to the car, where he climbed into the driver’s seat. You sat back in the passenger’s seat. He hesitated in turning the car on.

You smiled, tongue licking your bottom lip in a way he found very familiar. “I believe that I’ll be fine if you’re driving,” you slowly said, looking over. He pressed his lips together, nostrils flaring as he snorted. “I believe you’ll keep me safe,” you whispered.

(Warmth pooled in his chest and he found your words to be true.)

He started the car. As he drove, you asked him to tell you a story. “What’s with you and stories?” he asked with a smile.

“I like them,” you said. You drew your feet up onto the dashboard and stared at the designs. “Like these shoes – they have a story, many stories, and you can kinda read them all if you look hard enough.”

He glanced over. “Where did ya get those?” he asked.

You smiled. “A friend.” He hummed. “So?”

“So, what?”

“Last story you told me was about a girl whose boobies you liked,” you said.

He was grinning when you looked over. “Good story,” he said. You snorted. He leaned his head back against the head rest and looked at the road. “Married once,” he murmured. You stared at his profile. The cuts were already healing, the bruises green and distant under the sweat and dirt that covered his face. His eyes were soft with nostalgia. “Don’t ‘member her name,” he whispered. He cocked his head. “’member her dress, pretty yellow thing with red stars,” he frowned, “Or were they flowers?”

“Was this when you were a king?” you softly asked.

“Oh, yes,” he emphatically replied. “There was a feast. A party. Bonfire. We danced.”

“You danced?” you asked with a smile.

“Fightin’ and dancin’ aren’t that different,” he said as he glanced over. He smirked. “You should know. We’ve danced often, you and I.”

You felt your face burn and you laughed. “I still have a lot to learn,” you said. He glanced at the clock and pulled over. “What are you doing?” you asked.

He nodded his head at the clock. “We got maybe…” he sniffed, “Hour? Maybe less? Until we get to Eagle Point.” He turned the car off and climbed out. “About four hours until sundown, another two until it’s safe to go grave robbin’.”

“Woah, wait.” You followed him. He shrugged off his coat, then his button up, and rolled his shoulders. It was a sight you could never grow tired of. You fumbled to pull off your sweatshirt. “Wait, so we’re going graverobbing?” you asked.

Sweeney glanced at the car, then the shoulder, and stepped back into the grass, curling his fingers for you to follow. “You heard Moon Shadow—”

“Shadow Moon,” you corrected.

“Damn dark eyed bastard,” he spat, though he was smiling a little. “Threw my coin on his cunt wife’s grave.” He lifted his hands.

You did the same, adjusted your stance when you felt the pebbles of the road shift beneath your shoes. “Not everyone’s a cunt,” you pointed out.

He threw a jab. You shuffled back. He followed, jabbed again. You smacked his forearm with your leading hand and swung your elbow towards his chin. His back hand pushed your elbow up and over, following the arc of your movement, and spun you around so your back smacked against his chest. “She was a cunt,” he whispered in your ear. He squeezed his arms around you and asked, “What do you do here?”

You grabbed his forearms. “How dirty are we fighting?” you grunted as you struggled. He was really squeezing!

“Real fight kinda dirty,” he replied. You didn’t have to see his face to know he was grinning.

You snapped your head back against his chin, then dropped your weight. The tactic would have worked on someone that wasn’t seven feet tall and made of coils of muscle. Sweeney, though, he lifted your dead weight up like a sack of potatoes and shifted his stance. You grunted, kicked your feet up, then let them fall, the flat of your shoes smacking against his thighs. You pushed against him. He released you, let you crumble forward to the ground while he stumbled back.

You scrambled to your feet and turned around. “Why was she a cunt?” you asked.

“Not too many reasons a pretty wife gets in a car with another man,” he replied. The split on his lip had opened again and the blood painted his teeth pink. He waved his fingers at you, taunting you. You took in a slow breath and watched his hands.

“How do you know that?” you asked. You stepped in, throwing a cross, aiming for his chest. He swung his arm down to block your punch. You lifted your foot and kicked the inside of his leading knee. Sweeney swore, his back knee dropping to the ground. You stopped short of elbowing him across the face.

“Read the paper,” he replied. He wrapped a hand around your bicep, his other arm around your torso, and lunged forward, pinning you beneath him. You squirmed until you released a frustrated squeal, then flopped back against the ground. Sweeney braced himself above you with a grin. “Again?”

“Are you gonna keep beating me up because you’re bigger than me?” you asked.

He snorted and climbed to his feet, holding out his hand to help you up. “Where’d you learn that knee thing?” he asked once you were up.

You dusted the rocks from the backs of your thighs. “School,” you replied, “Took a class as a stress reliever. Didn’t really work, but I’m starting to remember some of the stuff.”

He smirked, tongue licking the blood from his bottom lip. You smiled. He shifted his feet. “Again, c’mon.”

You two fought on the side of the road until the dirt stuck to your sweat. You were exhausted when you climbed back into the car – all of the walking, all the sun, all the physical exertion was catching up with you. You pulled on your sweatshirt in an attempt to absorb the smell that had to be rolling off you at that point. He started to drive, flipping the visor down to block the setting sun.

“Cunt better be dead,” grunted Sweeney.

You looked over. “You know, if you keep calling her a cunt, it’s gonna bite you in the ass.”

He lolled his head against his shoulder, glancing at you. “She’s a dead cunt, so who cares?”

You shrugged and muttered, “Just saying.”

You arrived in Eagle Point in an hour, just like Sweeney said. The sun had set by then, and he drove until he was a block away from the cemetery, then turned off the car. He leaned back in his seat. “So,” he said.

You shoved your seat back and crossed your legs beneath you. “So,” you replied.

“Tell me more about you,” he said, looking over. He stretched over awkwardly and pulled his water bottle from the duffle, along with a bag of crackers.

You snorted and took the water bottle he handed you. “What? No?”

“Coward,” he scoffed.

You rolled your eyes. “There’s nothing to tell!”

“Oh, there’s somethin’ to tell,” he challenged, “Or you wouldn’t be defensive.”

“I have done nothing with my twenty-something years of life,” you flatly proclaimed, “You tell me something.”

“I’ve told ya plenty!”

“You have centuries on me and you’ve told me two stories,” you held up two fingers, “Two, which both had to deal with boobies.”

This time, Sweeney’s scoff was indignant and muffled by a mouthful of crackers. “One dealt with boobies!” he shouted, turning fully to you. You leaned your back against the door. “One, the other started because you asked if it was about boobies.”

“How many times are you gonna say boobies?” you asked.

He arched an eyebrow. “Why?”

“It’s annoying,” you said. You sat up. “Specifically, how you’re saying it, it’s annoying. It’s your accent, it’s just—stop saying it.”

He leaned over, stretched his hand out, and tweeked your nose. “Boobies.”

You slapped the bag of crackers out of his hand. He slapped your hands back, shouting through a mouthful of the cheesy crackers, which had you slapping his hands again, until you were both slapping each other silly. His hand slipped between yours and smacked lightly against your cheek. You gasped, stopping short. He was laughing in short, breathless guffaws that shook not only him but the car, too. He’d been laughing for the last few moments of slap fighting. You leaned over and slapped him back.

He wheezed, still cackling, “’ey!”

“You started it!” you shouted, struggling to keep your own grin down. He lunged across the seat. You scrambled backwards, opening the door and tumbling ass over tea kettle out of the car, grunting and covering your mouth to smother your startled laughter. Sweeney swore and stumbled out of the car after you, kneeling in front of you when you finally landed ass up in the grass. He sat back on his haunches as you pushed yourself up. Your eyes fluttered. “Is the world spinning?”

Sweeney smiled a crooked little grin. You could hardly see him in the dark. “No,” he answered. He brushed a finger over your forehead and down your cheek, flicking hair from your eyes. “Took one hell of a fall,” he said. He held his hand out in front of you.

You took it. “Let’s go dig up a dead body,” you groaned as he helped you to your feet.

You two cleaned the car from bumper to bumper, and you slung the duffle over your shoulder when you were done. Once you two were over the low cemetery wall, Sweeney slung his arm over your shoulder with the groan of a man four times his age. He scrubbed his hand over his hair as you two walked.

You looked up at him. “What’s on your mind?” you softly asked.

He scrunched up his mouth, tilting his head up towards the sky. He didn’t answer for a long time, at least until you two had reached the still fresh grave. There was a little plastic marker, nothing special, and you wondered if she would ever get one. “Bad feelin’,” he finally said. He looked around as he let his arm fall off your shoulder.

You dropped your bag next to the grave and sat next to it. “What kind?” you asked. You pulled the last of your snacks out of your back and sat back to eat.

Sweeney wandered away for a moment, only to return with a shovel. He arched an eyebrow with you as he stabbed it into the dirt. “You gonna help?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Your coin,” you said, biting one of the cookies in half, “I’m just here to keep you company.” He snorted at that but didn’t disagree. Instead, he started to dig. A quarter of the way down, he took off his jacket, then his shirt. You tilted your head as he rolled his shoulders back and the suspenders just seemed to slide right off them. You pressed your lips together and tilted your head. “What kind of bad feeling?” you absently asked.

He glanced up, not missing how your eyes traced the contours of his muscles. He smirked. He arched eyebrow when you met his gaze, then continued to dig. “A bad one,” he answered.

“Smartass,” you grumbled.

He tossed the shovel out of the hole and dropped to his knees around the same time that you finished your cookies. You leaned over the edge of the grave. He scrambled to brush the dirt off the lid and froze. “Fuck,” he hissed. He grunted and tugged on the lid, yanking it free from the dirt around it, then stood. There was a hole in the center of the casket lid. He turned towards you and stared at you through it. You looked down at the casket at the same time. “Fuck!!” he shouted. He threw the casket lid down.

You pressed your lips together. “Isn’t there supposed to be a body in there?” you nervously asked.

“Fuck!!!” he screamed.

You sat back and looked up at him. “Now what?”

~*~*~Thanks for Reading~*~*~ ~*~Tag List~*~

@teller258316​  @jinxy-toast​ @selenaofthemoon​ @hiddlebatchedloki  @superflannel​ @karmabites2313 @hstott​ @lakeli​ @nemophilistvampyr

[scmildanach]

@maegtig​ said ‘ you should have told me sooner ‘ for Modi  ( miscellaneous angst starters - ACCEPTING )

❝ --I told ya you wouldn’t have liked the man I was before. You get treated like a human long enough, you start thinkin’ like ‘em.❞ Sweeney pulled his gaze away from the other as he looked out into the darkness of the courtyard from where they sat on the garden’s steps. He’d never wanted to tell Modi this story, but knew that he couldn’t hide it forever. His knuckles turned white as both hands clenched together in front of him, and Sweeney lent forward by resting his arms onto his knees. Shame, but also some semblance of concern, surged through him like a broken dam flooding a valley. It was because of his own cowardice that his entire kingdom had fallen to the enemy all those years ago. He had abandoned them all out of fear for his own life; his death had been shown to him in the flames on the eve of Mag Rath, a curse placed by Ronan for Sweeney’s persecution against the Christian god. When Sweeney, then known as Suibhne, abandoned the battlefield, he’d chosen to leave it all -- his people, his family, even his mind. For years Suibhne wandered across the moors and forests, crazed and irrational to the point even when his helpless wife had ventured to find him he hardly recognised her. Sweeney was a broken man, and nothing of the honourable god he’d once been. 

❝ Now you know why I owe Grimnir a battle. ❞  The leprechaun still refused to look at the bear, and instead threw his weight further into his position, almost as if he feared he would float away otherwise. ❝ As much as I hate to say it, he brought me back. Turned me from a fuckin’ bird into a man again... gave my mind back. Reminded me of who I was, who I really was. ❞ 

[bookwyrmbran]

Newbie Devotee Challenge, Day 3

Day 3: Does your deity have any alternate names or epithets? If they do, what are they, and what do they mean? What does the name you call your deity mean?

I am absolutely not listing all of Odin’s heiti here. Nuh-uh, nope, can’t make me, not gonna do it. I will list some of the ones I call Him by, though. Some -- this is not comprehensive because holy shit do I not feel like inflicting that headache on myself. In no particular order:

Odin (Oðinn): the inrush of breath and intensity associated with rage and madness and poetic inspiration. I… honestly use this less than most of the rest, so when I do use this name it’s typically with at least some reference to that aspect.

Old Man: Pretty self-explanatory. He’s notable for being one of the very few gods described as old, which is rare in warriors and poets and wanderers, and thus worth watching out for.

Old Bastard/Perv/Jackass: He is a queer pervy genderdeviant pain in the ass and He knows it. And unfortunately I love it. 

Old Warrior/Old Wolf: Associated with wolves both in battle and off the field. This epithet usually comes out if He’s showing a more predatory or hunt-driven aspect. Also Hildolfr, Battle-Wolf. Sometimes this is less immediately predatory and more just world-weary, jaded, sense of having seen it all and look what’s coming round again. I sometimes think of Him in that aspect as Brutus from Pixie and Brutus.

Gangleri: Wanderer. I’m moved around and traveled a lot, and identify strongly with this aspect; I kinda just pepper it in there.

Grimnir and Grimr: Hooded One and Masked One. Because He has a bit much fun with that. Usually at my expense. 

Hrafnass/Hrafnatyr: Raven-God. Used whenever He’s being particularly grabby about whatever catches His eye (shiny! mine! worse than flock of jackdaws, I swear.) I use Hrafnass more because then I can also call Him an ass and sometimes I am five. 

Hangatyr: God of the Hanged, also God of Suspension Bondage and Breathplay, and I use it whenever it comes up in any or all of those contexts (they overlap to a surprising terrifying high degree.)

Ygg: Terrible. Sometimes used in frustration, sometimes jokingly, sometimes entirely serious, really heavily depends on context.

Geirtyr: Spear-God. Used when He sees fit to pepper my dreams and/or trancework with images of being speared through; also when He’s dragged up something from my subconscious or traumatic history I need to look at with rather too good an aim, and painfully; also when He’s cracking too damn many terrible puns and I would like Him to FUCK ME ALREADY DAMN YOU.

Sviðrir: Calmer or Soother. I do a lot of work with Him around anxiety, panic, and C-PTSD. He’s absolutely my go-to if I need an anchor to hold onto while ramping up to an attack or at high levels of arousal. 

Healer: Basically a follow-up to the previous two. 

Fimbulthulr and Hroptr: Mighty Counselor and Sage. I also call Him Teacher. This is usually when I am looking for advice or help unpacking my head.

Oski: Granter of Wishes/Wished-For/Desired. I go with the last two connotations for this and generally use it as an endearment. I was absolutely terrified of Him and wanted nothing to do with Him for a while (yay more trauma!) and while I know He gets it, understood it perfectly well and does not bear a grudge for it, I like to emphasize explicitly that that is no longer the case: all my kvetching and grousing aside, I want Him around, I call Him desired and wished-for.

Thekkr: Welcome. Basically the same as above, an explicit statement that He’s welcome in my life and home and arms and bed.

Uðr: Beloved. ‘Nuff said. 

[thegodskeeper]

🧿 20 Day Newbie Devotee Challenge - Odin

Day 14: Draw a picture of what you believe your deity to look like. If you don’t like your art style, find a picture of a celebrity/model/someone else’s art that fits your image of your deity, and discuss why you believe your deity looks that way.

I had to look up his name, but there is a model who - whenever I see a photograph of them - makes me think of Odin. His name is Philippe Dumas, I believe he’s in his late 70s, and he’s from France. I am almost positive I’m not the only person who looks at him and thinks of the Old Bastard...

I wrote a story that had Odin in it, before I was even a baby polytheist. It had this phrase in it:

He also knows all the words to Immigrant Song by Led Zeppelin, and has been known to wear an Armani coat, on top of a shirt of maille.

The Odin who I deal with is Grimnir, the masked one. When I dream about him, or I try to describe him to others, I see the very stereotypical Odinic wanderer. Tall, strong, rough hands, grey beard, wide-brimmed hat that covers his eyes. Sometimes, when I try to draw him, I mentally add norse braids. His hair is long, and he probably ties it back.

But then talking about that Odin erases the modern day Odin. I don’t think Odin is an old-fashioned god, I absolutely think that he is adaptable. I see him in Mr Wednesday, from American Gods. Ian McShane was too good. The modern Odin in my mind is a silver fox at the bar ordering whiskey, an old hipster in a record store, a homeless man on the street, the man on the train with the impossible stories that you somehow know are the truth. He isn’t a look, he’s an archetype.

[forbidden-sorcery]

Locked in his visionary trance, Óðinn's mind wanders, traversing the breach between levels of consciousness. And this is a crucial distinction: within Norse culture, there is no separation within the body and mind of soul and spirit; they shift as one. Óðinn's skin-turning ability may bear the appearance of the shamanic hallmark that exudes hypnotic suggestions upon those witnessing his activities, but there it ends. That Óðinn could shape-shift was a literal belief; it was not an optical or magical illusion. Without encroaching upon the spiritual suffering that shamanism entails, Hávamál describes an intense physical and heightened emotional ordeal in which Óðinn endures the privations of hunger, thirst, and cold. We are alerted to the fact that "among the Buryats, an indigenous people of Siberia, there is a shamanic practice of the shaman's sons fasting for nine days during their father's initiation." The Yakut peoples tether animal sacrifices to a linked series of nine poles; each pole represents sequential realms the animals must pass through in turn.

Shani Oates - The Hanged God: Odinn Grimnir

[calamity-bean]

Mad Sweeney through the ages

Or, as Bilquis put it: the leprechaun, the hill spirit, the pagan warrior, the madman, and the great and golden king.

I felt like putting together a little quick-ref guide to all the different forms of Mad Sweeney we have seen as of American Gods 2.07, arranged in the order in which he lived them. Because I think it’s a hugely interesting progression and wanted to kind of organize everything we know! My primary source is the show canon, but I’ve supplemented the outline it sketches using additional names, dates, etc., from sources such as the Buile Suibhne, the Irish annals, and the AG novel to clarify details and fill in some gaps.

Of course, details vary between sources. The mutable, inconsistent nature of mythology is a key theme of Sweeney’s journey, and even within the series, the accounts of his backstory repeatedly contradict each other. So ultimately, these are my personal interpretations of what the series has shown us thus far and how I think it fits in with traditional literary/folkloric sources (or at least with particular versions of them).

Lugh, god of the sun, of luck, of the arts, and of kingship; a High King of the Tuatha Dé Danann several thousand years ago. (The Annals of the Four Masters put his reign from 1870 BCE to 1830 BCE, making him at least ~4,000 years old, though Pablo Schreiber has mentioned the figure 6,000 in interviews.) Called Lámfada (“long hand”) for his skill with his yew-wood spear; also called the Shining One. Grandson of the giant, one-eyed Fomorian tyrant Balor, who tried to drown him and the rest of his grandchildren in a lake to avoid a prophesized death. Lugh survived, however, and later slays him in the course of driving out the Fomorians at the second Battle of Mag Tuireadh, during which High King Nuada is killed by Balor and after which Lugh becomes king. Sweeney believes Balor to be the source of his predilection for madness. 

Suibhne mac Colmain, son of Colmán Cuar and pagan warrior-king of the Dál nAraidi in Ulaid during the early Christianization of Ireland, circa the 7th century CE. Husband to Eorann, daughter of Conn of Ciannacht. When St. Ronan Finn dared try to build a church, Cell Luinne, on Suibhne’s lands, Suibhne retaliated to the sound of the bells by throwing Ronan’s psalter into the lake and spearing one of his priests. For this, Ronan cursed him to madness, wandering, and death by the spear: “May it be thus that he will ever be, naked, wandering and flying throughout the world; may it be death from a spear-point that will carry him off.” Flees the Battle of Magh Rath after foreseeing his death the night before (as he claimed in 1.07), or after hearing banshees wailing upon his arrival at the field (as claimed in 2.07), or, according to the Buile Suibhne, simply after being driven out of his senses by the frenzy of the battle itself. The Annals of Ulster place this battle in the year 637; the Annals of Tigernach, however, place it in 639 and, intriguingly, record that Suibhne was indeed among those slain.

Suibhne Geilt (“Mad Sweeney”), husband to Eorann and father to Moira. Unlike the other forms we see of Sweeney, which are more separated by time and more significantly transformed, this is still Suibhne mac Colmain. Bereft of his lands and status as a result of his desertion at Magh Rath, where his allies were defeated without his aid, he’s now a madman suffering under Ronan’s curse. In his madness, he is often compared to a bird, living unclothed and “among branches” like one and flying across the world so swiftly that his feet seldom touched the ground. Interestingly, Eorann claims in 2.07 that Ronan cursed him after Magh Rath, as a punishment for his desertion, which contradicts the story about the priest and the psalter that Sweeney recalls elsewhere in this episode.

One of the Fair Folk, in the last twilight days as Christianity was securing its hold on the land and transforming the myths about his kind. One night, he lies with a seer who tells him he will be undone and abandoned west of the sunrise, his fate sealed by a dead woman’s bauble. In some versions of the tale, however, he is murdered that very night in or near the refuge of St. Moling, either on the saint’s order or by his swineherd or cook. Though Sweeney as we see him here is now a fairy rather than a human, the inclusion of Moling links this era of Sweeney’s evolution to the traditional tale of Suibhne mac Colmain and thus illustrates the way in which people’s changing beliefs were in the process of transforming Sweeney from a legendary king into one of the fae. As there’s no mention of him being considered specifically a leprechaun at this point, I wonder whether this might be the “hill spirit” Bilquis refers to, or perhaps, per the novel, the guardian of a sacred rock in a glade.

A leprechaun of the aos sí, the people of the mounds, who live beneath hills. Beyond general fairy folklore, we know little about what Sweeney’s life was like at this specific time, as we glimpse him only on the periphery of the life of Essie McGowan, a resourceful 18th century woman from Bantry Bay who leaves him tribute throughout her life, keeps the traditional beliefs alive, and ultimately brings him with her to the New World. No longer a god, no longer a king, he’s very much being left behind by the world by now and feels even more lost in America. Nonetheless, the fact that he takes it upon himself to collect Essie personally at the time of her death demonstrates his gratitude and affection toward her and reflects his nature as a creature who is simultaneously loyal and fickle, reciprocating what he’s given for good and for ill.

Last but very much not least: Mad Sweeney as we know him today, a jaded, bellicose, fast-living alcoholic leprechaun whose memory of his own past has become incoherent and whose heart and code of honor are buried under a great deal of disillusionment and pain. Lately in the employ of Odin, known to Sweeney as Grimnir, who has promised to give Sweeney a chance to redeem himself in battle for his desertion at Magh Rath.

And as for where he goes from here... who knows? But I very much hope that we haven’t seen the last of this journey, and if we’re lucky enough to see more of him, I look forward to seeing who he becomes next.

[bellanicansky]

Odin.

The Germans and the Scandinavians had many gods and goddesses, and the supreme among them was Odin (the German name Wotan or Wodan). His name Оdhin comes from the Icelandic odh, which means "inspiration", "ecstasy". This is a warrior god, as well as a carrier of wisdom, knowledge and magical power.

In later myths, he also appears as the leader of the “wild hunt” and carrier of souls. And Odin more patronizes warriors, shamans and skalds. Initially, it was a minor god of storms, but with the improvement of the social status of the warriors, who needed a strong patron, Odin gradually took the main position in the German-Scandinavian pantheon. Over time, being the head of this pantheon, he received some more incarnations, the essence of which is expressed in his nicknames - heyti. Today we know more than forty heyty, here are some of them: Alphedra - All-Father, Hroft - Warrior, Ygg - Terrible, Har - Tall, Grimnir - Hiding under the mask. Turning to Odin for help, we must remember that this god is not simple and many-sided. One lives in Valhalla, where after death the souls of the heroes and Eriles fall. But he likes to wander the earth in the image of a tall old man in a blue raincoat and wide-brimmed hat covering an empty eye socket. He is usually accompanied by the crows Hugin and Munin and the wolves Gehry and Freki. Odin does not like liars, although in some myths he himself acts as an oath-breaker and deceiver. He has a spouse Frigg - the goddess of marriage, love and childbirth, as well as 9 daughters of the Valkyries, who perform the tasks of their father and keep the heroes in battle. Odin is the father of Runes and the patron of runic magic. The essence of Odin as God is the embodiment of wisdom and mind combined with intuition and knowledge.

Hail Odin!

[scripted-dalliances]

Rest In Peace: Chapter 3

Title: Rest In Peace

Chapter: 3

Summary: A part of Faithless Fairy Tale, a more in depth look at how they brought Laura back to life. Appearance of old faces, creation of new ones and if you’re looking for canon, it left a long, long time ago. If you squint you might be able to see some pieces from the book.

"And I seem to have such strength in me now, that I think I could stand anything, any suffering, only to be able to say and to repeat to myself every moment, ‘I exist.’ In thousands of agonies–I exist. I’m tormented on and if I don’t see the sun, I know it’s there. And there’s a whole life in that, in knowing that the sun is there." -Fyodor Dostoevsky

+

Sweeney is a fucking coward.

He turns tail and runs away because he is fuckin' shitting himself over what a dead woman half his weight and size might say to him. Like his life has become that sad, that words can ruin him…

They can, words have power, just like names and faith. Combined, they can birth new gods, new worlds and endless hells. And Laura Moon has a mouth full of venomous words just waiting for him, he is sure.

How can she not? He is the reason she is dead. He is the reason her man left her, first from six feet under and then again two feet away. He is the reason she will rot in this limbo, aware and tormented.

That was the kind of punishment better suited to traitors and killers, not to a mortal girl only guilty of being bitter and lonely. Even he, her executioner, acknowledges that.

Because if she is bonded Prometheus, he is the asshole eagle sent to rip her apart. Caught up in her endless torment if only by association, because he is nose deep in it and has to bare witness just the same as she must experience it, day after day.

-and he is a coward for not having the balls to tell Grimnir to fuck off the first time. For not saying sorry and meaning it. For not telling her, she deserved her revenge the second he found out who she was. For his part in her death, for demanding his coin back. For not getting on his knees and letting the short mad bitch cut his head off too.

For the sick, undeniable want and need he has for her to trust him.

But Sweeney is a damned coward, and so he says nothing.

+

Mad Sweeney ends up wandering the halls of the manor, each room he peers into is heavily decorated. Stuffed to the brim with lavish furnishing and wealth but also empty and cold. Like a show room floor, perfect in placement but utterly fake. The only other life he finds is the odd rabbit here and there, and he makes a point to flip them off and continues his mindless journey. He can't leave her, but right now being in the same room makes him want to attempt to break his own neck.

He nearly runs into Shadow turning a corner, as it is the other man smoothly steps aside while Sweeney slams his toe into a side table and swears furiously to himself for several seconds.

“Watch it you bastard.” He snaps, more out of embarrassment than actual anger. Oh, sure, Shadow Moon pisses him off but the bastard is hard to hate without feeling like a fool. Probably because of his lack of reaction, like bloody Buddha himself. There was something deeply annoying and unsatisfactory about someone who refused to push back when the world came a swinging.

Sweeney remembers how hard he had to try and just get the man to hit him. Short of telling him he was the one who killed his wife, it wasn't even that long of a fight. Not as it should have been, for a man who had just got out of prison and found out his dear wife was dead. Who had cheated and never sought to tell him it was with his best friend.

If the roles were reversed, if it was Sweeney in his place, he wouldn't have stopped until Shadow was nothing but a smear of red. He would have burned the world down. Shadow had fought well enough in defense of his old life with righteous torment, but it would have been better if it had been just anger. As that long winded, eight legged dick once said, anger got shit done.

Now, Sweeney stares down at Shadow. Apprehensive, even if he knows it's unwarranted. If Shadow wanted him dead or to kick his ass, he would have done it by now.

“Hey.” Shadow says, voice calm. “You and Laura get anywhere?”

“Wouldn't be standing here before you if I did, Moon.” He retorts, as if Shadow has offended him. He has, with his benevolence to his wife's killer and even toned greeting. Like they are buddies.

“Ostara and I might be headed out, her rabbits can only go so far without her. We need to get the word out that Wednesday is dead. That the war is over, or should be. Think you two will be alright here?”

“Think I will try and kill her a second time?”

Shadow gives a deep sigh in reply and looks at him like he is a naughty child trying to talk his way out of nap time. Like Sweeney is a clueless bastard, mind you he is, but he sure as fuck doesn't like someone looking at him like he is.

“I know what you were doing. The night we first met, and why you goaded me into a fight.”

He attempts a smug smirk, but it’s a shaky thing.

“Aye, that was Grimnir's orders.”

“Was it?”

“Yes,” He grunts, “Hardly a fair fight was it? You're lucky I didn't crack your skull in.”

“So, that part where you let me smash your face in wasn't because you were feeling guilty about Laura and looking for punishment?”

“He did what?”

Sweeney will swear on his life he does not jump in the air like a scared little girl. He swears on the rocks and the trees he does not. No, instead he points a finger in Shadow's face and growls.

“You, keep your trap shut.” Then he rounds on Laura. Who stands behind him, hands on hips with a displeased expression. “-and you. You can fuck right off and while you're at it, buy yourself a fuckin’ bell.”

“You let Shadow beat the shit out of you?”

Sweeney has never wanted to claw his own face off more than he has in this moment.

“It was a mutual beating.” He attempts, realizing sadly that all his exits are blocked by Mr and Mrs Moon. Minus the window…which he thinks about for a half a moment too long before acknowledging that would be too dramatic even for him. With his lack of luck he'd only get stuck.

“A mutual beating.” Laura repeats, tone letting him know just how much she believes that. Which is none at all. “This before or after you lost your luck?”

“You know, if I tried I could probably shove you into the freezer downstairs. Not sure how Miss Spring would feel about you snuggling up next to her breakfast eggos but if that's the price of me getting some bloody peace. I'm willing to buy her a new box.”

“Try and we’ll see who fits first. Spoilers, I spent a lot of my off time playing Tetris on my phone, ginger bitch.”

Before Sweeney can get a reply in, Shadow injects his hand between them with a calm smile. The asshole. “It was before. I didn't pick it until after the first fight.”

Laura’s expression sours and Sweeney wants to kick Shadow in the damned knees.

“I told you to shut the fuck up, didn't I?” He hisses.

“Actually, I am still not sure how that last one went down. Wednesday said I just got drunk but even then I knew the truth was you beat me unconscious. Why didn't you take it back then?”

“He told me he gave you the wrong coin. So dumb ass here probably didn't even realize until you were gone.” Laura adds.

“I hate you both.” He seethes in his original tongue, but it goes over both their heads. He goes black to English with clear mounting frustration. “You stole it.”

“Did I?”

Sweeney snorts indignantly, “I now understand why you two were married, you’re both a pair of cunts.”

Laura's tiny fist hits him in the side like a bat and he feels a rib break. “Christ!” He shouts, kicking back at her fruitlessly while he attempts to lean into the wall for support. But in seconds his knees are giving up the gun, as slides right down to his arse.

“They all left, idiot. Now. You have exactly thirty seconds to untwist your panties and tell me what the fuck Shadow means.”

Shadow, amused by the turn of events happily stands by and watches. Sweeney glowers at him, but it's obvious that the man isn't going to stop Laura from kicking his insides up his throat. Still, a man has his pride.

“Fuck you, Dead Wife.”

Laura raises one boot and Sweeney flinches.

“Fine! FINE, you-“ He halts his insult, seeing her rage and backtracking. “Lovely lass?”

Shadow actually fucking chuckles.

Sweeney vows, then and there, to piss on everything Shadow owns.

“The night I met Shadow. Wednesday told me to pick a fight with him. See if he could handle it…keep him out of it too. Long enough to not question too much about how he got to be on the road with the bastard. Thing is, your hubby ain't an easy man to piss off. I've had nuns resort to violence easier than this stone twat, finally took slapping him with a newspaper with your dead face across it to get to him to even hit me.”

“-and he hit you.”

“Aye, he got a few hits in.”

“More like I bashed your nose in.” Shadow comments, off hand.

“He still allowed you to get even one in.” Laura says. Mostly to herself. She has Sweeney pinned to the wall with her gaze. “That coin should have had Shadow punch himself before it landed once on you. Never mind enough to kick your ass, unless you allowed it.”

A beat of silence passes between the two.

“You gave it up willingly, didn't you?”

“Aye, I did. What of it dead wife?”

>

[gifts-of-heimdall-runes]

Rune Magick of the Grim Wanderer

Artist: uncredited

Source: Alice Zaniquéli (Pinterest)

(Title added by Gifts-Of-Heimdall-Runes for this post and happy to update the artist if known to any Tumblr followers.)

[queerheathenkaos]

Odin

A poem I owed to Odin for his assistance. Inspired by an intensely spiritual entheogenic experience I had some months ago.

-----

Odin, Allfather, Grimnir,

How naive I was, how blind,

When I asked you to open my eyes.

You, wise one and wanderer,

You opened the gate with a silent smile

And watched as I stepped through.

When I tasted wisdom, it was lightning on my tongue.

Thunderer, Stormer,

You set my blood aflame and left me to hang

On the highest of branches.

From there I saw the world, the weave,

Felt it spiral up my spine

As if all of creation fit inside me.

Past, present, future,

Everything was bare before me,

And I before it.

The runes filled my eyes,

Sank through them into my mind

Bursting and bright

And there they died.

Words fail, Finder of Truth.

No song can compare,

No line can evoke

That which you revealed to me.

Now I stumble forward, deprived and denied,

Consumed by unquenchable thirst.

Damned am I to wander too,

To ever seek and never be sated?

Your laugh is answer enough.

And yet still I thank you,

God of madness and mystery.

A humbled fool you have made of me.

Now I don the hood

To journey towards knowledge once more.

[honestsycrets]

Eddic [Mythology of All Races Vol. 2] Chp IV: Odin

A few personal notes for me to keep in mind. This is all from the book, Eddic: Mythology of All Races by Matthew MacCollogh. Nothing is outside of this. Furthermore I’m sure there is content in here that can be debated.

Other names:

Wodan wōd: mad

OHG woutan

OS wodan

AS Woden

ON O penn ON: poetic frenzy

Furious Host (?)

Other Norse Names:

Vafud

Vegtam (Wanderer)

Gangler (Traveler)

Ómi (Noist one)

Vidforull (Fartraveler).

Viator Indefessus (Unwearied traveler) by Saxo.

Heimskringla (The far have travelled) by Snorri.

Galga Valdyr (Lord of the Gallows)

Hanga-tyr (God of the hanged).

Hnikar (Thruster).

Karl af berge (The man of the mountain).

Rostarus.

Drauga Drottim (Lord of Ghosts).

Valgautr (God of the Slain).

Val-Fadir because ‘all that fall in battle are sons of his adoption. Oski Synir (Snorri)

Valkjosandi (Chooser of the Slain) in (Kormaks-saga).

Hropt.

Fjolnir (The many shaped).

Bolverk.

Sigfadir (Father of Victory)

Sigtyr (God of Victory).

Hertyr (God of hosts).

Heryan (Leader of hosts).

Herfadir (Father of hosts).

Valfadir (Father of the slain).

Hnikarr (Spear-lord).

Biflindi (Spear Brandisher).

Gautatyr (God of the Gauts).

Saxagod (God of the Saxons).

Aldafadie (father of men).

Grimnir (the hooded one).

Hrafna-god (Raven god).

All Father and patron of aristocracy, warriors and skalds.

Hyndlujod, Freyja says he gives hold, Hermod helm and coat of mail, to Sigmund a sword, and triumph to some.

Oaths were sworn by Sigtyr’s Mountain, his city was Sigtun.

Odin drinks wine.

The first drink is to Odin ‘for victory and power.’

The other gods are Odin’s people as he rules all things.

Grants men their wishes.

War god

Weapons and armour to heroes.

Dog was given his spear.

Heroes valour, triumph and treasure.Women and giantesses made victims by his runes.

Caused the first war between the Aesir and Vanir.

‘He hurled his spear on the host, and war then came first into the world.’ (Voluspa).

Also pisses off princes, kings and causes strife.

Provoked battle of Harald and Ring.

Pisses off easily when victory is given to the wrong places such as Brynhild and Agnar (Svefnthorn).

Joins in battle and has favourites, so people favour him.

Great warrior.

Weapons reference Odin and his Valkyries.

More prominent than Thor.

Likewise his spear is of better 'culture’ than Thor’s hammer.

Ravens haunting the battlefield equate to him.

Spear Gungnir made by dwarfs and given to him by Loki.

All other weapons were useless against it.

God of poetry, master of magic, knowledge.

Odin gives poets their words by taking poetic mead from the giants.

Gave Starkad the art of poetry and composition of spell.

Appears in dreams before great battles to give some victory and invite others to him. (Snorri)

Spoke magic and charms to the Volva but did not know Balder’s fate-- had to seek knowledge from her.

Struck Rinda with a bark of runes and drew her into a frenzy.

Loki accuses him of dressing as a witch and working charms in Samsey.

Obtained a magic wand gambantein and learned a language from the dead in Hlebard in Harbardsljod.

Cures a lame horse with charm or rune.

Knows magic songs bringing sickness, sorrow, stop arrows, produce fetters and blunt weapons, neutralizer dangerous roots where runes are written and reflect the danger, remove hatred, calm wind, aid friends in a fight, make the hanged speak, quench fire, give knowledge of the gods and elves and win love.

Takes form of a ferryman, a servant or peasant, snake, eagle.

Woke the dead and sat under hanged men for knowledge. (Ynglinga-saga)

Could control fire, sea and wind by his words.

Knew of buried treasure, runes to open earth, mountains, rocks and mounds. Could also bind these.

May understand the language of birds.

Runes

May have created runes in Havamal.

Coloured them perhaps with blood.

Could have obtained the wounds by hanging on Yggdrasil and wounding himself by his spear as an offering to himself. The runes may have fallen down from the tree.

Consults Mimir.

Made runes of draught from head of Heithdraupnir and horn of Hoddrofnir.

Mimir may be a waterspirit with his well beneath a root of Yggdrasil.

Wisdom and understanding are stored under Yggrasil

Loss of his eye! Mimir withheld a drink from the well until he was given.

Odin’s eye is hidden in the well where Mimir drinks of the pledge each day.

Could perhaps be Odin’s uncle, son of Bolthorn who is the father of Bestla who is Odin’s mother.

More Wisdom

Drinks daily from the cool waves of Sokkvabekk with gold cups with the Goddess Saga (Frigg?)

Saga is a female water elf.

Love affair (?).

Sought to match his knowledge with the giant Vafthrudnir. Proved himself wiser.

“What did Odin speak into Balder’s ear before he was burned on the pyre?” A riddle used with both th giant and King Heidrik during Yule.

Initially a spirit of god of wind or dead as the past wandered in the wind. Brings wind with his wagon.

Gives fair winds to sailors as said by Freyja in Hyndluljod.

The storm stills when Odin boards Sigurd’s ship.

May have first been worshipped in Gotland.

Is a traveler.

Rides a white or black horse with a wide brimmed hat, staff and hounds.

Snorri: rides with helmet, birnie and speak Gungnir at Ragnarok.

Also known to ride Sleipnir. The eight legged grey mare of Loki’s lineage with Svadilfari.

Rides her to Urd’s well daily.

To consult Volva in Niflhel about Balder’s dreams.

To offer random for Hel after his death.

Names stemming from appearance:

Sidhottr (with broad hat).

Harbard (grey beard).

Skidskegg (long beard).

Misc about appearance

A man of amazing height (Saxo).

Draupnir, the ring made by Sindri the dwarf was given to Odin by his brother.

Burned with Balder’s pyre and Balder sent it back to him from Hel.

Animals of Odin.

Munnin (Memory) and Huginn (Thought) are sent at day break around the world and return at evening to bring news to him.

Whisper what they have heard.

All Ravens are birds of Odin.

Wolves are also his: Geri ‘The Ravener’ and Freki ‘The Glutton’

Shares food and wind with him.

Sleipnir is taken to Hel, Jotunheim, etc.

Challenged Hrungnir that his was better than Gullfaxi.

Hrungnir chased him into Asgard where Thor dealt with him.

Yggdrasil

‘Ygg’s Horse’ Ygg being “The terrible”.

Askr Yggdrasils (the ash of Yggdrasil or of Odin’s steed).

Odin hung for nine nights in Havamal.

Stabbed himself with his own spear as well.

King Vikar needed to sacrifice himself so that his fleet might pass through great storms.

Starkad (Odin’s foster son) created a death akin to Odins for Vikar.

Harbard

Appears as a ferryman of the dead.

Valhalla

“Souls of those slain by violence go in the Furious Host, and souls of heroes go to Odin in Valhall.” (MacCulloch, 44).

Chosen warriors are einherjar.

Mightiest of warriors are taken to Valhalla as he wants them by their side when Fenrir comes to the seat of the god.

Valhalla lies in Gladsheim, the world of joy.

Valhall is the ‘Hall of the Slain’.

Vingolf is the ‘friendly floor.’

Valkyries

 ‘Chooser of the Slain,’

However shares the slain with Freyja.

Determine a man’s feyness and awarded victory and took the slain.

Wish-Maidens becausee they carried out Odin’s will.

Corselets sprinkled with blood and sparks fly from their spears.

Sacrifice

Prisoners sacrificed more common in Denmark and Sweden. ‘Odin has you all!’

In response Odin gives some gifts at times.

Descent

The cow Audhumla gave birth to Buri.

His son was Borr who married Bestla.

Bestla was daughter of Bolthorn.

Bestla and Borr had Odin, Vili and Ve.

Children and Love

Frigg.

Wife of Odin, although she was at one point shared with Vili and Ve when they believed Odin would not return.

Frigg offending Odin may have been why he left.

Or perhaps thrown out into exile after the incident with Rinda.

Took her back as his wife when he came back.

Son was Balder

 Jord

Son was Thor.

Rinda.

After Balder died, Odin desired revenge. So he spoke to prophets on this and one of these told him a son must be born to him by Rinda. As a soldier, he gained her father’s favour but not Rinda. As a smith he made Rinda made many things but she still refused him. Eventually, he used the bark of runes and claimed to cure her as a maiden skilled in Leecraft.

Has Vali by her (Bous in Eddas).

Seven sisters in Harbardsljod. Allures witches from their husbands.

Linen-White Maid.

Grid

Has Vidarr by her.

Billings Daughter

“Dear to him as life.”

Tried to visit her at night on her request only to find a band of warriors at her home.

Visited her in the morning and found a dog tied to her bed.

“Many maids are fickle.”

Gunnlod, daughter of the giant Suttung.

Penetrated rock with the snout of Rati.

Mead given to him by Gunnlod and he won her over.

‘fettered with the feathers of the bird of forgetfulness (heron) in Gunnlod’s abode, very drunk in the house of wise Suttung.’

Gains knowledge from the mead.

As Bolverk, he slept with her for three nights and received three draughts of mead. He gave the first to Odrorir, second to Bodn and third Son to gain all the mead.

Then turned into an eagle and flew away beck to Asgard.

Gave the mead to the Aesir, who have the ability of composition. Poetic Mead.

Other Children

Heimdall

Bragi

Hod

Skjold

Kings and chiefs (Skjoldings from his son Skjold)

Losses

After killing Otter he had to pay wergild when overcome by Hreidmar.

“In Lokasenna, Odin shows himself frightened for Loki, and it is Thor, not Odin, who silences him.” (MacCullogh, 49)

Source Credit

MacCulloch, John Arnott. The Mythology of All Races: Eddic. Vol. 2, Cooper Square Publ., 1964.

[weatherman667]

On Mrs. Claus

Father Christmas is actually based off Grimnir the Wanderer.  Odin in disguise as he wanders the world.  This would make Mrs. Claus Freya.  But?, you say, Santa = Christmas, which is obviously Christian, right?  Well, yeah, the Bible doesn’t say other gods don’t exist, it says not to worship them.  As long as we don’t worship Santa we’re fine.  We have to cap it at veneration.

Santa is an Angel, likely an Archangel or Power.  This would likely make Mrs. Claus an angel as well.

Santa is a Fallen Angel.  Fallen Angels are Angels kicked out of heaven for being too fond of the lower world.  This would make Mrs. Claus the Human woman who was worth giving up heaven for.

Santa is a Saint, and his long life is a Miracle.  This means that his desire to share his life with Mrs. Claus was enough to extend his long life to her.

Mrs. Claus is entirely mortal, and there have been many over the centuries.