affordable accommodations

Moffat - A Good Writer Goes To War

Series ten was the first series after the political tantrum that was the year 2016 - and while Moffat has never exactly been shy to let his position show, this year he and the team around him left no room for misinterpretation: Who we are is where we stand - and where we stand is somewhere to your left. Far, far away from fascism and bigotry. Doctor Who is and always will be a celebration of the diverse, an encouragement for the curious, and a tribute to the young. 

Keep reading

honestly my heart goes out to all cishet aro/ace folks who feel broken or confused or ashamed and who’ve faced shitty comments because of their aromanticism or asexuality, you are 1000% valid, and i am very sorry that you are experiencing or have experienced that. 

but please just listen to us lgbt people who are saying that the lgbt community is not the one for you, we are just too different; and you are in the group of our oppressors, and we really cant afford to accommodate your needs while staying safe for LGBT folks. 

build your own spaces and communities, i promise you they will be wonderful to help you with your specific struggles, but just please dont take over resources that are meant to support people who struggle with transphobia and/or homophobia.
Trump Says That Transgender People Will Not Be Allowed in the Military
President Trump says that the military cannot be burdened with what he called “the tremendous medical costs” of allowing transgender service members.
By Julie Hirschfeld Davis and Eileen Sullivan

President Trump announced on Wednesday that the United States will not “accept or allow” transgender people in the United States military, saying American forces “must be focused on decisive and overwhelming victory” and could not afford to accommodate them.

Mr. Trump made the surprise declaration in a series of posts on Twitter, saying he had come to the decision after consulting with generals and military experts, whom he did not name.

Transgender service members have been permitted to serve openly in the military since last year.

The president’s announcement came amid debate on Capitol Hill over the Obama-era practice of requiring the Pentagon to pay for medical treatment related to gender transition.

Once again, Trump goes back on his campaign promises to support and defend the LGBT community. Among other things he has nominated a hyper conservative to the supreme count, refused to acknowledge Pride month in June, and now disrespected and demeaned transgender Americans serving in our military. What happened to taking care of our soldiers who served our country? Anyone willing to sacrifice and serve deserves respect and equal opportunity.

An Unsavoury Lodging (Newt Scamander x Reader)

Originally posted by newtscamandersfantasticbeasts

Word Count: 2,467

Warnings: Wounds, bleeding, death…ish?

A/N: So I did some research and it turns out a wizarding book publisher commissioned Newt to write FBAWTFT not the Ministry so sorry about the error in previous imagines


You slowly opened the door, hesitant at what you’d find. You and Newt had been traveling all over the world in search of magical creatures to study and care for (and sometimes save) and had been given a low funding from Obscurus Books, so you were only able to afford cheap accommodations. It’s not that you were incredibly picky or fancy but being mentally prepared is what usually stopped you from hurling at first glance or whiff of your room. Almost always there was a dead animal under the bed or an unsavoury liquid on the walls or some other form of nastiness (sometimes in the form of a dangerous beast).

The two of you normally had to go to places that weren’t exactly known for their tourist appeal to find the creatures Newt had to study and therefore weren’t as nice as, say, Venice for example. You also ordinarily stayed in the more shabby areas and streets, in the more rickety motels and lodgings, with the more shifty people.

And you couldn’t stay in Newt’s case as you didn’t know who would find a slightly battered but otherwise nice case just lying there, waiting to be stolen. Also, the small cabin in the case wasn’t big enough for both of you to sleep in, especially with the constantly messy state it was in.

So here you were, Newt having reluctantly agreed to let you scout the room beforehand as he was finalising payments and such with the concierge/manager. Last time it was Newt who had assessed the room before the two of you unpacked the few belongings you had outside of his magical case. Unfortunately, he was greeted with a self casting hex that shot at him as soon as he opened the door, turning him into an alarming shade of green for the next two weeks, much to your amusement and his exasperation.

As you cautiously stepped into the room, you hoped no hexes, colour changing or otherwise, would be shot at you. You turned the light on as the only source of natural light in the room was a small, dirty window. You stood there for a moment, scanning the room. The window was framed by translucent, wispy curtains, that looked about as good at doing their job as the window. The bed wasn’t made and there was a slight stench of rotting fruit in the air but otherwise it didn’t seem that bad (thankfully). There was a large closet at the back of the room and a doorway without a door into a small bathroom. You walked into the bathroom, deciding that you would avoid it as much as you could as you eyed the strange mould growing on the floor of the bathtub.

You approached the only bed in the room, it was fine though, you and Newt were used to sharing a bed. Well mostly used to, due to your ridiculous and quite frankly pointless feelings for the magizoologist you were constantly on edge. You crouched down onto your knees and glanced under the bed, finding the source of the rotten smell. You determined that you could live with that smell, lest risk touching whatever that was.

You then walked over to the wardrobe, crossing your fingers that no dead animals would tumble onto you when you opened it. You closed your hands over the visibly old handles and struggled to get the decrepit doors to open. Once you managed to swing them open, something did indeed fall on you. But it was no animal, it was too big, too heavy. You tumbled to the ground under the weight of the thing and quickly scrambled out from underneath it, your heart pumping violently in your chest. As you took a good look at it you saw that it was no thing, it was a body. You choked out a scream as you noticed how cold and stiff it was and you quickly turned it over onto it’s back.

Your breathing stopped. Your body froze. Your mind was screaming in sync with your even more frantically pumping heart. You couldn’t stop staring at the familiar freckled face, the auburn curls, the angular features. Newt. Newt. You were frozen on the spot as you stared at the dead body of the man you loved. You knew he was dead. He wasn’t moving or breathing. His skin was deathly pale. There was an obviously deep gash over his heart. He was dead. Newt was dead.

A sudden anguished sob escaped your lips, prompting you to move. You cradled his face, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Newt.” You wept. “No no no no no. This can’t be happening. Newt!” You frantically ripped open his coat and shirt, exposing his wound. You let out a loud sob at the sight of it. You quickly ran to the bathroom, picking up a bucket you found in the corner. You threw the bucket in the sink, turning the tap on. You let out a frustrated growl as no water came out, grabbing a handful of toilet paper you ran back to Newt.

“He’s not dead. He’s not. He’s fine.” You repeated to yourself as sob after sob racked your body. You tried to clean the blood up with the toilet paper but it just soaked through. You pulled at your hair in helplessness, then your eyes widened. You would go down to the concierge and ask where the nearest wizarding hospital was, or at least tell him to call a muggle ambulance, you knew little about muggle medicine but you it was better than nothing. You kissed Newt quickly on his forehead. “I’ll be right back.” You whispered as you dashed off.

Tears were flowing down your face as you dashed out the door and into the hallway. You were so focused on getting downstairs that you didn’t notice where you were going and crashed into someone. You didn’t bother to look up to whoever you had bumped into as you stepped aside and continued running. Well, tried to continue. You suddenly felt the person grip onto your arm as you sidestepped past them. Your gaze quickly moved to the person, anger and frustration coursing through you as you prepared to kick where the sun doesn’t shine, when you saw that it was Newt.

It was Newt who you had bumped into. Newt who was holding your arm. Newt who was looking at you worriedly. Newt who was alive. You threw your hand over your lips as loud sob escaped. There were so many emotions running through you, grief, worry, confusion, panic, relief. Newt’s eyes widened and brows furrowed as he took in your tearstained cheeks and anguished face. Surprising you, he dropped his case and cradled your face in his callused hands.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? What happened?” He asked almost frantically. You whimpered at the sound of his voice, making him even more concerned. “Y/N-“ but you cut him off before he could finish with a bone crushing hug. Newt immediately reciprocated it, one hand sliding around your waist comfortingly and the other in your hair as you pressed your face into his chest. Tears were still running down your face, but you started to calm down. Newt stayed silent, trusting you to tell him what had happened if you wanted to. Your mind eventually caught up with you and you landed on a reasonable explanation for…for what you saw.

“I think” you started, voice cracking “that there’s a boggart in the closet.” You finished shakily. Newt said nothing as he pressed you tighter against him. You were thankful he didn’t pry into what you saw, he always knew when to push and when to say nothing. Finally, you two slowly pulled away, Newt’s typical manner coming back as he picked up his case and looked away. Your arms still ached to be hugging him, but you ignored the feeling. “I-I should probably take care of it.” You mumbled, wiping your face sloppily. You felt your cheeks redden in embarrassment because of your weeping in front of him. You should have known it was a boggart, should have remembered Newt was downstairs.

“Actually, I think I should do it.” Newt suggested. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I am capable of doing it myself you know.” You said, crossing your arms.

“Oh, yes, I know you can.” Newt rushed to say, in hopes of not offending you, he knew very well of your excellent magical ability. “That’s - I - that’s not what I meant to say. It’s just that you have had quite a shock, being unprepared to find what you did and I thought it would be better for me to take care of it, since I am now aware of it.” You considered it. You didn’t want to seem weak and you didn’t want to put Newt through that, but he did have a point. The fact of the matter was, you couldn’t see it again. Newt’s lifeless body laying on the ground, his usual quietly curious look gone, replaced by a cold, emotionless expression.

“Ok.” You finally said reluctantly as you pushed passed Newt, heading back to the room. You didn’t want him to see you wiping away the last of he tears. You didn’t notice Newt watching you walk away, eyes filled with the usual admiration and longing whenever he sees you mixed with concern for you. He clenched his jaw and kept his head down as he caught up with you, the two of you walking through the dingy hallway back to your room. As you stopped in front of the door, you turned to look at Newt, his eyes were still averted but he could feel you looking at him. “Thank you, Newt.” You whispered. His gaze flickered to you, eyes full of surprise. You gave him a small smile, one that he returned as he slowly stepped into the room.

You dreaded each minute you sat outside the door. You knew that boggarts weren’t violent creatures and that Newt would physically be okay. What you were worried about was his emotional and mental wellbeing. Newt was most definitely one of the bravest and headstrong people you’ve ever met, yet you’ve seen other brave men stay silent for weeks after encountering boggarts, eyes haunted with their worst fears. You ran your hands over your face, guilt about letting him do this eating you up.

You quickly shot up as you heard the door open, spinning around to face Newt. He wouldn’t look at you, his cheeks tearstained and eyes red from crying. You felt your chest squeeze painfully at the sight. “It’s gone.” Newt said too casually. You didn’t say anything as you hugged him, just as he had held onto you just moments before. You understood the need to be comforted, to know that you are not the only one with fears. You bit your lip as you heard him release a shaky breath against your hair, gripping onto him tightly. You held him until he broke away. You licked your lips and took in a deep breath, gathering yourself from the series of eventful situations.

“We should go in now, I guess.” You said, sparing him from saying anything. He gave you a grateful look when you didn’t ask any questions.


You couldn’t sleep. As much as exhaustion tugged at your bones and fatigue occupied your mind, it would not rest.

Newt’s dead body haunted you. You saw him whenever you closed your eyes and felt your hurt thump in panic whenever his sleeping form went too still beside you. You tried not to move as your mind refused to rest, so as not to wake him but you couldn’t take it anymore. You had to do something. You slowly got out of bed and headed towards the bathroom to rinse your face, hoping the water would wash the images away. You turned the creaky tap on and sighed as no water came out. You had forgotten it didn’t work. You looked into the dingy mirror above the sink and watched your lip wobble slightly, looking up, trying not to let any more tears slip out.

“Y/N?” You heard a sleepy Newt mumble. You quickly turned around to find him in the doorway, his hair and clothes messy yet eyes alert, as they always were.

“Newt. Sorry if I woke you.” You said, finding the need to be quiet in the small, dark space. You hugged yourself and looked away, not knowing what to do.

“No no, you didn’t. I woke myself up.” He said, swallowing hard. “Nightmare.” You smiled sympathetically at him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, walking closer to him. To your disappointment, he moved a few steps back. He stayed silent for a while, then finally looked back up to you, his eyes full of sorrow.

“Can-can I ask what you saw?” He asked quietly. “When you saw the boggart?” You pursed your lips and looked away from his unusually intense gaze. You contemplated telling him, knowing full well what it would imply. You couldn’t do it though, you couldn’t risk the relationship that the two of you now shared.

“What did you see?” You asked, a very transparent evasion tactic but you didn’t care. He looked down, then took another step back, as if he feared your reaction.

“I saw you.” He said, voice cracking. “Your dead body.” Your eyes widened and your breath stopped short. You knew it didn’t mean that he had romantic feelings for you but it still meant that you were important to him. That he cared for you.

“I…I…I” You stuttered out, not being able to form a proper sentence. Newt seemed to close up.

“I’m sorry.” He said, starting to turn away, breaking you from your reverie.

“Sorry?” You asked, stopping him. You strode over to him and gripped his hand. “What in Merlin’s beard are you sorry for?”

“I made you uncomfortable, I-“ He started but you cut him off.

“What I saw, Newt.” You began, taking a deep breath. “Was you…dead.” He looked straight at you with those piercing spring green eyes, a range of emotions swirled in them, ones you couldn’t decipher. You could have sworn he froze entirely. Then he pulled you into a hug, the third one that day. It was softer than the last two, gentler.

“I’m alive.” He whispered.

“I’m alive too.” You responded.

“I’m oddly happy.”

“I’m oddly happy too”

“I…may have feelings for you.”

“…I may have feelings for you too.”

“I want to kiss you.”

“I want to kiss you too.”

So he did. If you hadn’t been in love with him before, you were definitely head over heels now.


Not my best work but I’m tired and I wanna sleep so *throws this at you*. Enjoy??

Constructive criticism is welcome.


Too much bass, you're in for treble

A few years ago, when I was a young college sophomore, I got my first apartment. I was terribly excited to be living on my own, independent, by my own rules. However, being a poor student, I couldn’t afford the nicest accommodations. Namely, the walls were paper thin.

The couple in the unit below me had screaming fights on a weekly basis, but they generally kept it to reasonable hours, so I tolerated this, for the most part, with some minor stomping when it was too loud. No, the problem was the neighbor in the unit next to mine.

I never met the guy. Never even saw his face. But I heard him playing his bass guitar almost every night, well into the wee hours of the morning.

“Surely this is a one-time thing, he’ll settle down,” I naively told myself. I was wrong, it did not settle down.

Finally, I had had enough. The walls were shaking with neighbor-guy’s bass. My dishes were rattling. My picture frames were a-quiver. It was time for some payback.

It’s worth mentioning, at this point, that I played the french horn in the university band.

I brought my instrument home with me, and for the next several weeks, whenever I heard the guy playing, no matter what time it was, even if I had to get out of bed, I’d go stand by the shared wall and play my horn as loudly as I could, with the bell aimed right at the wall.

Now, the french horn is a lovely instrument…when it’s played at a reasonable volume. When blasted, however, it’s something more like the ungodly offspring of a mack truck and an ambulence siren.

The first few times i did this, the bass playing would suddenly stop, as if the guy were confused as to where this horrid brassy screeching were coming from. Then he would start up again. So would I. He turned up his volume. I played even louder. Repeat ad nauseum.

Eventually, I don’t know if the guy gave up or moved out, but the playing stopped very suddenly, and I never heard it again.

I’d like to think I made him miserable for at least a little while, though. He certainly did the same to me.

Part 2 ~Odin The Father Of Gods And Men.

Originally posted by zelenka

(Gif Was Created By Zelenka) 

Odin, Wuotan, or Woden was the highest and holiest god of the Northern races. He was the all-pervading spirit of the universe, the personification of the air, the god of universal wisdom and victory,and the leader and protector of princes and heroes. As all the gods were supposed to be descended from him, he was surnamed Allfather, and as eldest and chief among them he occupied the highest seat in Asgard. Known by the name of Hlidskialf, this chair was not only an exalted throne, but also a mighty watch-tower, from whence he could overlook the whole world and see at a glance all that was happening among gods, giants, elves, dwarfs, and men. 

“ From the hall of Heaven he rode away 

To Lidsldalf, and sate upon his throne, 

The mount, from whence his eye surveys the world. 

And far from Heaven he turned his shining orbs 

To look on Midgard, and the earth, and men." 

Balder Dead (Matthew Arnold)

Odin’s Personal Appearance None but Odin and his wife and queen Frigga were privileged to use this seat, and when they occupied it they generally gazed towards the south and west, the goal of all the hopes and excursions of the Northern nations. Odin was generally represented as a tall, vigorous man, about fifty years of age, either with dark curling hair or with a long grey beard and bald head. He was clad in a suit of grey, with a blue hood, and his muscular body was enveloped in a wide blue mantle flecked with grey - an emblem of the sky with its fleecy clouds. In his hand Odin generally carried the infallible spear Gungnir, which was so sacred that an oath sworn upon its point could never be broken, and on his finger or arm he wore the marvellous ring, Draupnir, the emblem of fruitfulness, precious beyond compare. When seated upon his throne or armed for the fray, to mingle in which he would often descend to earth, Odin wore his eagle helmet; but when he wandered peacefully about the earth in human guise,to see what men were doing, he generally donned a broad-brimmed hat, drawn low over his forehead to conceal the fact that he possessed but one eye. Two ravens, Hugin (thought) and Munin (memory), perched upon his shoulders as he sat upon his throne, and these he sent out into the wide world every morning, anxiously watching for their return at nightfall, when they whispered into his ears news of all they had seen and heard. Thus he was kept well informed about everything that was happening on earth. 

” Hugin and Munin 

Fly each day 

Over the spacious earth. 

I fear for Hugin 

That he come not back, 

Yet more anxious am I for Munin.“ 

Norse Mythology (R. B. Anderson)

At his feet crouched two wolves or hunting hounds, Geri and Freki, animals which were therefore considered sacred to him, and of good omen if met by the way. Odin always fed these wolves with his own hands from meat set before him. He required no food at all for himself,and seldom tasted anything except the sacred mead. 

” Geri and Freki 

The war-wont sates, 

The triumphant sire of hosts;

But on wine only 

The famed in arms 

Odin, ever lives.“ 

Lay of Grlmnir (Thorpistr.)

When seated in state upon his throne, Odin rested his feet upon a footstool of gold, the work of the gods, all of whose furniture and utensils were fashioned either of that precious metal or of silver. Besides the magnificent hall Gladsheim, where stood the twelve seats occupied by the gods when they met in council, and Valaskialf, where his throne, Hlidskialf, was placed, Odin had a third palace in Asgard, situated in the midst of the marvellous grove Glasir, whose shimmering leaves were of red gold.

This palace,called Valhalla (the hall of the chosen slain), had five hundred and forty doors, wide enough to allow the passage of eight hundred warriors abreast, and above the principal gate were a boar’s head and an eagle whose piercing glance penetrated to the far corners of the world. The walls of this marvellous building were fashioned of glittering spears, so highly polished that they illuminated the hall. The roof was of golden shields,and the benches were decorated with fine armour, the god’s gifts to his guests. Here long tables afforded ample accommodation for the Einheriar, warriors fallen in battle,who were specially favoured by Odin.

” Easily to be known is, 

By those who to Odin come, 

The mansion by its aspect. 

Its roof with spears is laid, 

Its hall with shields is decked, 

With corselets are its benches strewed.“ 

Lay of Grimnir (Thorpe’s tr.) 

The ancient Northern nations, who deemed warfare the most honourable of occupations, and considered courage the greatest virtue, worshipped Odin principally as god of battle and victory. They believed that when ever a fight was impending he sent out his special attendants, the shield-, battle-, or wish-maidens, called Valkyries (choosers of the slain), who selected from the dead warriors one-half of their number, whom they bore on their fleet steeds over the quivering rainbow bridge, Bifröst into Valhalla. Welcomed by Odin’s sons, Hermod and Bragi, the heroes were conducted to the foot of Odin’s throne, where they received the praise due to their valour. When some special favourite of the god was thus brought into Asgard, Valfather (father of the slain), as Odin was called when he presided over the warriors, would sometimes rise from his throne and in person bid him welcome at the great entrance gate. 

Besides the glory of such distinction,and the enjoyment of Odin’s beloved presence day after day, other more material pleasures awaited the warriors in Valhalla. Generous entertainment was provided for them at the long tables, where the beautiful white-armed virgins, the Valkyries, having laid aside their armour and clad themselves in pure white robes, waited upon them with assiduous attention. These maidens, nine in number according to some authorities, brought the heroes great horns full of delicious mead, and set before them huge portions of boar’s flesh, upon which they feasted heartily. The usual Northern drink was beer or ale, but our ancestors fancied this beverage too coarse for the heavenly sphere. They therefore imagined that Valfather kept his table liberally supplied with mead or hydromel,which was daily furnished in great abundance by his she-goat Heidrun, who continually browsed on the tender leaves and twigs on Lerad, Yggdrasil’s top most branch. 

” Rash war and perilous battle, their delight; 

And immature, and red with glorious wounds, 

Unpeaceful death their choice: deriving thence 

A right to feast and drain immortal bowls, 

In Odin’s hall ; whose blazing roof resounds 

The genial uproar of those shades who fall 

In desperate fight,or by some brave attempt.“ 

Liberty(James Thomson)

The meat upon which the Einheriar feasted was the flesh of the divine boar Saehrimnir, a marvellous beast, daily slain by the cook Andhrimnir, and boiled in the great cauldron Eldhrimnir; but although Odin’s guests had true Northern appetites and gorged themselves to the full, there was always plenty of meat for all. 

” Andhrimnir cooks 

In Eldhrimnir 

Saehrimnir ; 

‘Tis the best of flesh; 

But few know 

What the einherjes eat.“ 

Lay of Grimnir (Anderson’s version)

Moreover, the supply was exhaustless, for the boar always came to life again before the time of the next meal. This miraculous renewal of supplies in the larder was not the only wonderful occurrence in Valhalla, for it is related that the warriors, after having eaten and drunk to satiety,always called for their weapons, armed themselves, and rode out into the great courtyard, where they fought against one another, repeating the feats of arms for which they were famed on earth, and recklessly dealing terrible wounds, which, however, were miraculously and completely healed as soon as the dinner horn sounded. 

” All the chosen guests of Odin 

Daily ply the trade of war ; 

From the fields of festal fight 

Swift they ride in gleaming arms, 

And gaily,at the board of gods, 

Quaff the cup of sparkling ale 

And eat Saehrimni’s vaunted flesh.“ 

Vafthrudni’s-mal (W. Taylors tr.)

Whole and happy at the sound of the horn, and bearing one another no grudge for cruel thrusts given and received, the Einheriar would ride gaily back to Valhalla to renew their feasts in Odin’s beloved presence, while the white-armed Valkyries, with flying hair, glided gracefully about, constantly filling their horns or their favourite drinking vessels, the skulls of their enemies, while the scalds sang of war and of stirring Viking forays.

 "And all day long they there are hack’d and hewn 

'Mid dust, and groans, and limbs lopped off,and blood ; 

But all at night return to Odin’s hall 

Woundless and fresh : such lot is theirs in heaven." 

Balder Dead (Matthew Arnold”)

Fighting and feasting thus, the heroes were said to spend their days in perfect bliss, while Odin delighted in their strength and number, which, however, he foresaw would not avail to prevent his downfall when the day of the last battle should dawn. As such pleasures were the highest a Northern warrior’s fancy could paint, it was very natural that all fighting men should love Odin, and early in life should dedicate themselves to his service. They vowed to die arms in hand, if possible,and even wounded themselves with their own spears when death drew near, if they had been unfortunate enough to escape death on the battlefield and were threatened with “ straw death,” as they called decease from old age or sickness.

“ To Odin then true-fast 

Carves he fair runics," 

Death-runes cut deep on his arm and his breast." 

Viking Tales of the North (R. B. Anderson)

In reward for this devotion Odin watched with special care over his favourites, giving them gifts, a magic sword, a spear, or a horse, and making them invincible until their last hour had come, when he himself appeared to claim or destroy the gift he had bestowed, and the Valkyries bore the heroes to Valhalla. 

” He gave to Hermod 

A helm and corselet, 

And from him Sigmund 

A sword received.“ 

Lay of Hyndla (Thorpe’s tr.)

When Odin took an active part in war, he generally rode his eight-footed grey steed, Sleipnir, and bore a white shield. His glittering spear flung over the heads of the combatants was the signal for the fray to commence, and he would dash into the midst of the ranks shouting his war cry: ” Odin has you all! “ 

"And Odin donned 

His dazzling corslet and his helm of gold, 

And led the way on Sleipnir." 

Balder Dead (Matthew Arnold). 

At times he used his magic bow, from which he would shoot ten arrows at once, every one invariably bringing down a foe. Odin was also supposed to  inspire his favourite warriors with the renowned ” Berserker rage “ (bare sark or shirt), which enabled them, although naked, weaponless, and sore beset, to perform unheard-of feats of valour and strength, and move about as with charmed lives. As Odin’s characteristics, like the all-pervading elements, were multitudinous, so also were his names, of which he had no less than two hundred, almost all descriptive of some phase of his activities. He was considered the ancient god of seamen and of the wind. 

” Mighty Odin, Norsemen hearts we bend to thee ! 

Steer our barks,all-potent Woden, 

O'er the surging Baltic Sea.“ 


Odin, as wind-god, was pictured as rushing through mid-air on his eight-footed steed, from which originated the oldest Northern riddle, which runs as follows : ” Who are the two who ride to the Thing ? Three eyes have they together,ten feet,and one tail: and thus they travel through the lands’“ And as the souls of the dead were supposed to be wafted away on the wings of the storm, Odin was worshipped as the leader of all dis embodied spirits. In this character he was most generally known as the Wild Huntsman, and when people heard the rush and roar of the wind they cried aloud in superstitious fear, fancying they heard and saw him ride past with his train,all mounted on snorting steeds, and accompanied by baying hounds. And the passing of the Wild Hunt, known as Woden’s Hunt, the Raging Host, Gabriel’s Hounds, or Asgardreia, was also considered a presage of such misfortune as pestilence or war.  

"The Rhine flows bright ; but its waves ere long 

Must hear a voice of war, 

And a clash of spears our hills among, 

And a trumpet from afar ; 

And the brave on a bloody turf must lie, 

For the Huntsman hath gone by! " 

The Wild Huntsman (Mrs. Hemans). 

It was further thought that if any were so sacrilegious as to join in the wild halloo in mockery, they would be immediately snatched up and whirled away with the vanishing host, while those who joined in the halloo with implicit good faith would be rewarded by the sudden gift of a horse’s leg, hurled at them from above, which, if carefully kept until the morrow, would be changed into a lump of gold. Even after the introduction of Christianity the ignorant Northern folk still dreaded the on-coming storm, declaring that it was the Wild Hunt sweeping across the sky.

” And oft-times will start, 

For overhead are sweeping Gabriel’s hounds, 

Doomed with their impious lord the flying hart 

To chase forever on aereal grounds.“ 

Sonnet (Wordsworth) 

Sometimes it left behind a small black dog, which, cowering and whining upon a neighbouring hearth, had to be kept for a whole year and carefully tended unless it could be exorcised or frightened away. The usual recipe, the same as for the riddance of change-lings, was to brew beer in egg-shells,and this performance was supposed so to startle the spectral dog that he would fly with his tail between his legs, exclaiming that, although as old as the Behmer, or Bohemian forest,he had never before beheld such an uncanny sight.

” I am as old 

As the Behmer wold, 

And have in my life 

Such a brewing not seen.“ 

Old Saying (Thorpe’s tr.) 

The object of this phantom hunt varied greatly,and was either a visionary boar or wild horse, white-breasted maidens who were caught and borne away bound only once in seven years, or the wood nymphs, called Moss Maidens, who were thought to represent the autumn leaves torn from the trees and whirled away by the wintry gale. In the middle ages, when the belief in the old heathen deities was partly forgotten, the leader of the Wild Hunt was no longer Odin, but Charlemagne, Frederick Barbarossa, King Arthur, or some Sabbath-breaker, like the Squire of Rodenstein or Hans von Hackelberg, who, in punishment for his sins, was condemned to hunt forever through the realms of air. As the winds blew fiercest in autumn and winter, Odin was supposed to prefer hunting during that season, especially during the time between Christmas and Twelfth- night,and the peasants were always careful to leave the last sheaf or measure of grain out in the fields to serve as food for his horse. This hunt was of course known by various names in the different countries of Northern Europe ; but as the tales told about it are all alike,they evidently originated in the same old heathen belief,and to this day ignorant people of the North fancy that the baying of a hound on a stormy night is an infallible presage of death. 

” Still,still shall last the dreadful chase, 

Till time itself shall have an end; 

By day, they scour earth’s cavern’d space, 

At midnight'switching hour, ascend. 

“ This is the horn, and hound, and horse 

That oft the lated peasant hears ; 

Appall’d,he signs the frequent cross, 

When the wild din invades his ears. " 

The wakeful priest oft drops a tear 

For human pride,for human woe, 

When, at his midnight mass, he hears 

The infernal cry of ” Holla, ho ! ’ “ 

Sir Walter Scott. 

The Wild Hunt, or Raging Host of Germany, was called Herlathing in England, from the mythical king Herla, its supposed leader ; in Northern France it bore the name of Mesnée d'Hellequin, from Hel, goddess of death; and in the middle ages it was known as Cain’s Hunt or Herod’s Hunt, these latter names being given because the leaders were supposed to be unable to find rest on account of the iniquitous murders of Abel, of John the Baptist, and of the Holy Innocents. In Central France the Wild Huntsman, whom we have already seen in other countries as Odin, Charle magne, Barbarossa, Rodenstein, von Hackelberg, King Arthur, Hel, one of the Swedish kings,Gabriel, Cain, or Herod, is also called the Great Huntsman of Fontainebleau (le Grand Veneur de Fontainebleau, and people declare that on the eve of Henry IV.’s murder, and also just before the outbreak of the great French Revolution, his shouts were distinctly heard as he swept across the sky. It was generally believed among the Northern nations that the soul escaped from the body in the shape of a mouse, which crept out of a corpses mouth and ran away, and it was also said to creep in and out of the mouths of people in a trance. While the soul was absent,no effort or remedy could recall the patient to life; but as soon as it had come back animation returned. 

As Odin was the leader of all disembodied spirits, he was identified in the middle ages with the Pied Piper of Hamelin. According to Medieval legends, Hamelin was so infested by rats that life became unbearable, and a large reward was offered to any who would rid the town of these rodents. A piper, in parti-coloured garments, offered to undertake the commission, and the terms being accepted, he commenced 'to play through the streets in such wise that, one and all,the rats were beguiled out of their holes until they formed a vast procession. There was that in the strains which compelled them to follow, until at last the river Weser was reached, and all were drowned in its tide. 

” And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, 

You heard as if an army muttered ; 

And the muttering grew to a grumbling ; And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; 

And out of the houses the rats came tumbling. 

Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, 

Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats, 

Grave old plodders,gay young friskers, 

Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, 

Cocking tails and pricking whiskers, 

Families by tens and dozens, 

Brothers, sisters,husbands, wives “ 

Followed the Piper for their lives. 

From street to street he piped advancing, 

And step for step they followed dancing, 

Until they came to the river Weser, 

Wherein all plunged and perished ! " 

Robert Browning. 

As the rats were all dead, and there was no chance of their returning to plague them, the people of Hamelin refused to pay the reward, and they bade the piper do his worst. He took them at their word, and a few moments later the weird strains of the magic flute again arose, and this time it was the children who swarmed out of the houses and merrily followed the piper. 

” There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling 

Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling; 

Small feet were pattering,wooden shoes clattering, 

Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering, 

And, like fowls in a farmyard when barley is scattering, 

Out came all the children running. 

All the little boys and girls, 

With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, 

And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, 

Tripping and skipping,ran merrily after 

The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.“ 

Robert Browning. 

The burghers were powerless to prevent the tragedy, and as they stood spellbound the piper led the children out of the town to the Koppelberg, a hill on the confines of the town, which miraculously opened to receive the procession, and only closed again when the last child had passed out of sight. This legend probably originated the adage ” to pay the piper.“ The children were never seen in Hamelin again,and in commemoration of this public calamity all official decrees have since been dated so many years after the Pied Piper’s visit. 

"They made a decree that lawyers never 

Should think their records dated duly 

If,after the day of the month and year, 

These words did not as well appear,

’ And so long after what happened here 

On the Twenty-second of July, 

Thirteen hundred and seventy-six: 

’ And the better in memory to fix 

The place of the children’s last retreat, 

They called it the Pied Piper Street " 

Where any one playing on pipe or tabor 

Was sure for the future to lose his labour." 

Robert Browning.

In this myth Odin is the piper, the shrill tones of the flute are emblematic of the whistling wind, the rats represent the souls of the dead, which cheerfully follow him, and the hollow mountain into which he leads the children is typical of the grave. Bishop Hatto Another German legend which owes its existence to this belief is the story of Bishop Hatto, the miserly prelate,who, annoyed by the clamours of the poor during a time of famine, had them burned alive in a deserted barn, like the rats whom he declared they resembled, rather than give them some of the precious grain which he had laid up for himself. " 

’ I, faith,'tis an excellent bonfire ! ’ quoth he, ' 

And the country is greatly obliged to me 

For ridding it in these times forlorn 

Of rats that only consume the corn.”' 

Robert Southey. 

Soon after this terrible crime had been accomplished the bishop’s retainers reported the approach of a vast swarm of rats. These, it appears, were the souls of the murdered peasants, which had assumed the forms of the rats to which the bishop had likened them. His efforts to escape were vain, and the rats pursued him even into the middle of the Rhine, to a stone tower in which he took refuge from their fangs. They swam to the tower, gnawed their way through the stone walls,and, pouring in on all sides at once, they found the bishop and devoured him alive. 

“ And in at the windows, and in at the door, 

And through the walls, helter-skelter they pour, 

And down from the ceiling,and up through the floor, 

From the right and the left,from behind and before,

From within and without, from above and below, 

And all at once to the Bishop they go. 

They have whetted their teeth against the stones ; 

And now they pick the Bishop’s bones ; 

They gnaw’d the flesh from every limb, 

For they were sent to do judgement on him ! " 

Robert Southey.

The red glow of the sunset above the Rat Tower near Bingen on the Rhine is supposed to be the reflection of the hell fire in which the wicked bishop is slowly roasting in punishment for his heinous crime. In some parts of Germany Odin was considered to be identical with the Saxon god Irmin, whose statue, the Irminsul, near Paderborn, was destroyed by Charle magne in 772. Irmin was said to possess a ponderous brazen chariot, in which he rode across the sky along the path which we know as the Milky Way, but which the ancient Germans designated as Irmin’s Way. This chariot,whose rumbling sound occasionally became perceptible to mortal ears as thunder, never left the sky, where it can still be seen in the constellation of the Great Bear, which is also known in the North as Odin’s, or Charles’s,Wain. 

” The Wain, who wheels on high 

His circling course, and on Orion waits ; 

Sole star that never bathes in the Ocean wave.“ 

Homer’s Iliad (Derby’s tr.). 

Mimir’s Well - To obtain the great wisdom for which he is so famous, Odin, in the morn of time, visited Mimir’s (Memor, memory) spring,” the fountain of all wit and wisdom,“ in whose liquid depths even the future was clearly mirrored, and besought the old man who guarded it to let him have a draught. But Mimir, who well knew the value of such a favour (for his spring was considered the source or headwater of memory), refused the boon unless Odin would consent to give one of his eyes in exchange. The god did not hesitate, so highly did he prize the draught, but immediately plucked out one of his eyes, which Mimir kept in pledge, sinking it deep down into his fountain, where it shone with mild lustre, leaving Odin with but one eye, which is considered emblematic of the sun.

 "Through our whole lives we strive towards the sun; 

That burning forehead is the eye of Odin. 

His second eye, the moon, shines not so bright; 

It has he placed in pledge in Mimer’s fountain, 

That he may fetch the healing waters thence, 

Each morning, for the strengthening of this eye." 

Oehlenschlager (Howitt’s tr.).

Drinking deeply of Mimir’s fount, Odin gained the knowledge he coveted, and he never regretted the sacrifice he had made, but as further memorial of that day broke off a branch of the sacred tree Yggdrasil, which overshadowed the spring, and fashioned from it his beloved spear Gungnir. 

” A dauntless god 

Drew for drink to its gleam, 

Where he left in endless 

Payment the light of an eye. 

From the world-ash 

Ere Wotan went he broke a bough ; 

For a spear the staff 

He split with strength from the stem.“ 

Dusk of the Gods, Wagner (Forman’s tr.). 

But although Odin was now all-wise,he was sad and oppressed, for he had gained an insight into futurity and had become aware of the transitory nature of all things, and even of the fate of the gods, who were doomed to pass away. This knowledge so affected his spirits that he ever after wore a melancholy and contemplative expression. To test the value of the wisdom he had thus obtained, Odin went to visit the most learned of all the giants, Vafthrudnir, and entered with him into a contest of wit, in which the stake was nothing less than the loser’s head. 

” Odin rose with speed,and went 

To contend in runic lore 

With the wise and crafty Jute.

 To Vafthrudni’s royal hall 

Came the mighty king of spells.“ 

Vafthrudnis-mal (IV.Taylor’s tr.). 

Odin and Vafthrudnir - On this occasion Odin had disguised himself as a Wanderer, by Frigga’s advice, and when asked his name declared it was Gangrad. The contest of wit immediately began, Vafthrudnir questioning his guest concerning the horses which carried Day and Night across the sky, the river Ifing separating Jotunheim from Asgard, and also about Vigrid, the field where the last battle was to be fought. All these questions were minutely answered by Odin, who, when Vafthrudnir had ended, began the interrogatory in his turn, and received equally explicit answers about the origin of heaven and earth, the creation of the gods,their quarrel with the Vanas, the occupations of the heroes in Valhalla, the offices of the Norns, and the rulers who were to replace the Æsir  when they had all perished with the world they had created. But when, in conclusion, Odin bent near the giant and softly inquired what words Allfather whispered to his dead son Balder as he lay upon his funeral pyre, Vafthrudnir suddenly recognised his divine visitor. Staring back in dismay, he declared that no one but Odin himself could answer that question,and that it was now quite plain to him that he had madly striven in a contest of wisdom and wit with the king of the gods,and fully deserved the penalty of failure, the loss of his head. 

” Not the man of mortal race 

Knows the words which thou hast spoken 

To thy son in days of yore. 

I hear the coming tread of death ; 

He soon shall raze the runic lore, 

And knowledge of the rise of gods, 

From his ill-fated soul who strove 

With Odin’s self the strife of wit, 

Wisest of the wise that breathe : 

Our stake was life,and thou hast won.“ 

Vafthrudnis-mal (W. Taylor’s tr.). 

As is the case with so many of the Northern myths, which are often fragmentary and obscure, this one ends here, and none of the scalds informs us whether Odin really slew his rival, nor what was the answer to his last question; but mythologists have hazarded the suggestion that the word whispered by Odin in Balder’s ear, to console him for his untimely death, must have been ” resurrection.“ 

Invention of Runes - Besides being god of wisdom, Odin was god and inventor of runes, the earliest alphabet used by Northern nations, which characters, signifying mystery, were at first used for divination,although in later times they served for inscriptions and records. Just as wisdom could only be obtained at the cost of sacrifice, Odin himself relates that he hung nine days and nights from the sacred tree Yggdrasil, gazing down into the immeasurable depths of Niflheim, plunged in deep thought,and self-wounded with his spear, ere he won the knowledge he sought. 

” I know that I hung 

On a wind-rocked tree 

Nine whole nights, 

With a spear wounded, 

And to Odin offered 

Myself to myself; 

On that tree Of which no one knows 

From what root it springs.“ 

Odin’s Rune-Song (Thorpe’s tr.). 

When he had fully mastered this knowledge, Odin cut magic runes upon his spear Gungnir, upon the teeth of his horse Sleipnir, upon the claws of the bear, and upon countless other animate and inanimate things. And because he had thus hung over the abyss for such a long space of time, he was ever after considered the patron divinity of all who were condemned to be hanged or who perished by the noose. After obtaining the gift of wisdom and runes, which gave him power over all things, Odin also coveted the gift of eloquence and poetry, which he acquired in a manner which we shall relate in a subsequent chapter. 

Odin, as has already been stated, took great interest in the affairs of mortals, and, we are told, was specially fond of watching King Hrauding’s handsome little sons, Geirrod and Agnar, when they were about eight and ten years of age respectively.One day these little lads went fishing,and a storm suddenly arose which blew their boat far out to sea, where it finally stranded upon an island, upon which dwelt a seeming old couple,who in reality were Odin and Frigga in disguise. They had assumed these forms in order to indulge a sudden passion for the close society of their proteges. The lads were warmly welcomed and kindly treated,Odin choosing Geirrod as his favourite, and teaching him the use of arms, while Frigga petted and made much fuss of little Agnar. The boys tarried on the island with their kind protectors during the long, cold winter season ; but when spring came, and the skies were blue, and the sea calm, they embarked in a boat which Odin provided,and set out for their native shore. Favoured by gentle breezes, they were soon wafted thither ; but as the boat neared the strand Geirrod quickly sprang out and pushed it far back into the water, bidding his brother sail away into the evil spirit’s power. 

At that self-same moment the wind veered, and Agnar was indeed carried away, while his brother hastened to his father’s palace with a lying tale as to what had happened to his brother. He was joyfully received as one from the dead, and in due time he succeeded his father upon the throne. Years passed by, during which the attention of Odin had been claimed by other high considerations, when one day, while the divine couple were seated on the throne Hlidskialf, Odin suddenly remembered the winter’s so journ on the desert island, and he bade his wife notice how powerful his pupil had become, and taunted her because her favourite Agnar had married a giantess and had remained poor and of no consequence. Frigga quietly replied that it was better to be poor than hard-hearted, and accused Geirrod of lack of hospitality - one of the most heinous crimes in the eyes of a Northman. She even went so far as to declare that in spite of all his wealth he often ill-treated his guests. When Odin heard this accusation he declared that he would prove the falsity of the charge by assuming the guise of a Wanderer and testing Geirrod’s generosity. Wrapped in his cloud-hued raiment, with slouch hat and pilgrim staff," 

” Wanderer calls me the world, 

Far have I carried my feet, 

On the back of the earth

I have boundlessly been,“

” Wagner (Formans tr.). 

Odin immediately set out by a roundabout way, while Frigga, to outwit him, immediately despatched a swift messenger to warn Geirrod to beware of a man in wide mantle and broad-brimmed hat, as he was a wicked enchanter who would work him ill. When, therefore, Odin presented himself before the king’s palace he was dragged into Geirrod’s presence and questioned roughly. He gave his name as Grimnir, but refused to tell whence he came or what he wanted, so as this reticence confirmed the suspicion suggested to the mind of Geirrod, he allowed his love of cruelty full play,and commanded that the stranger should be bound between two fires,in such wise that the flames played around him without quite touching him, and he remained thus eight days and nights,in obstinate silence,without food. Now Agnar had returned secretly to his brother’s palace,where he occupied a menial position,and one night when all was still, in pity for the suffering of the unfortunate captive, he conveyed to his lips a horn of ale. But for this Odin would have had nothing to drink - the most serious of all trials to the god. At the end of the eighth day, while Geirrod, seated upon his throne, was gloating over his prisoners sufferings, Odin began to sing - softly at first,then louder and louder,until the hall re-echoed with his triumphant notes “ a prophecy that the king, who had so long enjoyed the god’s favour,would soon perish by his own sword. 

” The fallen by the sword 

Ygg shall now have ; 

Thy life is now run out : 

Wroth with thee are the Disir: 

Odin thou now shalt see : 

Draw near to me if thou canst.“ 

Samunds Edda (Thorpe’s tr)

As the last notes died away the chains dropped from his hands, the flames flickered and went out, and Odin stood in the midst of the hall, no longer in human form, but in all the power and beauty of a god. On hearing the ominous prophecy Geirrod hastily drew his sword, intending to slay the insolent singer; but when he beheld the sudden transformation he started in dismay, tripped,fell upon the sharp blade, and perished as Odin had just foretold. Turning to Agnar, who, according to some accounts, was the king’s son, and not his brother, for these old stories are often strangely confused, Odin bade him ascend the throne in reward for his humanity, and, further to repay him for the timely draught of ale, he promised to bless him with all manner of prosperity. On another occasion Odin wandered to earth, and was absent so long that the gods began to think that they would not see him in Asgard again. This en couraged his brothers Vili and Vé , who by some mythologists are considered as other personifications of himself, to usurp his power and his throne, and even, we are told,to espouse his wife Frigga. 

” Be thou silent,Frigg ! 

Thou art Fiorgyn’s daughter 

And ever hast been fond of men,

Since Vé and Vili, it is said, 

Thou, Vidrir’s wife, didst 

Both to thy bosom take.“ 

Semunds Edda (Thorpe’s tr.).

May Day Festivals -  But upon Odin’s return the usurpers vanished forever ; and in commemoration of the disappearance of the false Odin, who had ruled seven months and had brought nothing but unhappiness to the world, and of the return of the benevolent deity, the heathen Northmen formerly celebrated yearly festivals, which were long continued as May Day rejoicings. Until very lately there was always, on that day, a grand procession in Sweden, known as the May Ride, in which a flower-decked May king (Odin) pelted with blossoms the fur-enveloped Winter (his supplanter), until he put him to ignominious flight. In England also the first of May was celebrated as a festive occasion,in which May pole dances, May queens, Maid Marian, and Jack in the Green played prominent parts. As personification of heaven, Odin, of course, was the lover and spouse of the earth,and as to them the earth bore a threefold aspect, the Northmen depicted him as a polygamist,and allotted to him several wives. The first among these was Jord (Erda),the primitive earth,daughter of Night or of the giantess Fiorgyn. She bore him his famous son Thor, the god of thunder. The second and principal wife was Frigga,a personification of the civilised world. She gave him Balder, the gentle god of spring,Hermod, and, according to some authorities,Tyr. The third wife was Rinda, a personification of the hard and frozen earth, who reluctantly yields to his warm embrace, but finally gives birth to Vali, the emblem of vegetation. Odin is also said to have married Saga or Laga, the goddess of history (hence our verb ” to say “), and to have daily visited her in the crystal hall of Sokvabek, beneath a cool,ever-flowing river,to drink its waters and listen to her songs about olden times and vanished races.

 ” Sokvabek, hight the fourth dwelling; 

Over it flow the cool billows ; 

Glad drink there Odin and Saga 

Every day from golden cups.“ 

Norse Mythology(R. B. Anderson). 

His other wives were Grid, the mother of Vidar ; Gunlod, the mother of Bragi ; Skadi ; and the nine giantesses who simultaneously bore Heimdall ” all of whom play more or less important parts in the various myths of the North.

The Historical Odin -  Besides this ancient Odin, there was a more modern, semi-historical personage of the same name, to whom all the virtues, powers, and adventures of his predecessor have been attributed. He was the chief of the Æsir, inhabitants of Asia Minor, who, sore pressed by the Romans, and threatened with destruction or slavery, left their native land about 70 B.C., and migrated into Europe. This Odin is said to have conquered Russia, Germany, Denmark, Norway, and Sweden, leaving a son on the throne of each conquered country. He also built the town of Odenso. He was welcomed in Sweden by Gylfi, the king,who gave him a share of the realm, and allowed him to found the city of Sigtuna, where he built a temple and introduced a new system of worship. Tradition further relates that as his end drew near, this mythical Odin assembled his followers, publicly cut himself nine times in the breast with his spear, “ a ceremony called ” carving Geir odds,“ ” and  told them he was about to return to his native land Asgard, his old home, where he would await their coming, to share with him a life of feasting, drinking, and fighting. According to another account, Gylfi,having heard of the power of the Æsir , the inhabitants of Asgard, and wishing to ascertain whether these reports were true,  journeyed to the south. In due time he came to Odin’s palace,where he was expected,and where he was deluded by the vision of Har, lafn-har, and Thridi, three divinities, enthroned one above the other. The gate keeper, Gangler, answered all his questions,and gave him a long explanation of Northern mythology, which is recorded in the Younger Edda, and then, having finished his instructions,suddenly vanished with the palace amid a deafening noise. According to other very ancient poems, Odin’s sons, Weldegg, Beldegg, Sigi, Skiold, Sasming, and Yngvi, became kings of East Saxony, West Saxony, Franconia, Denmark, Norway, and Sweden, and from them are descended the Saxons, Hengist and Horsa, and the royal families of the Northern lands. Still another version relates that Odin and Frigga had seven sons, who founded the Anglo-Saxon heptarchy. In the course of time this mysterious king was confounded with the Odin whose worship he introduced, and all his deeds were attributed to the god. Odin was worshipped in numerous temples, but especiallyin the great fane at Upsala, where the most solemn festivals were held, and where sacrifices were offered. The victim was generally a horse, but in times of pressing need human offerings were made, even the king being once offered up to avert a famine. 

“ Upsal’s temple, where the North 

Saw Valhal’s halls fair imag’d here on earth." 

Viking Tales of the North (R. B. Anderson).

The first toast at every festival here was drunk in his honour, and, besides the first of May, one day in every week was held sacred to him, and, from his Saxon name, Woden, was called Woden’s day, whence the English word ” Wednesday “ has been derived. It was customary for the people to assemble at his shrine on festive occasions,to hear the songs of the scalds, who were rewarded for their minstrelsy by the gift of golden bracelets or armlets,which curled up at the ends and were called ” Odin’s serpents.“ There are but few remains of ancient Northern art now extant, and although rude statues of Odin were once quite common they have all disappeared,as they were made of wood ” a perishable substance,which in the hands of the missionaries,and especially of Olaf the Saint, the Northern iconoclast,was soon reduced to ashes. “ There in the Temple, carved in wood, The image of great Odin stood.” Saga of King Olaf (Longfellow). Odin himself is supposed to have given his people a code of laws whereby to govern their conduct, in a poem called Havamal, or the High Song, which forms part of the Edda. In this lay he taught the fallibility of man, the necessity for courage, temperance, independence, and truthfulness,respect for old age, hospitality, charity,and contentment, and gave instructions for the burial of the dead. 

“ At home let a man be cheerful, 

And toward a guest liberal; 

Of wise conduct he should be, 

Of good memory and ready speech; 

If much knowledge he desires, 

He must often talk on what is good." 

Havamal (Thorpe’s tr.).

Thanks for reading and please excuse any typos 

anonymous asked:

How much do you generally spend on needles for t? I've seen boxes at the pharmacy around $50 but I'm not sure how many are in them, or if they're the right ones. I know my doctor will tell me all that info, but I really want to try to budget for it ahead of time and I don't see him until next month. Also, how long does a vial typically last? I don't have that much income, so I want to make sure I can actually do it.

Depends what size vial you get. When I get 10mL vials they last like 4 months. But lately the pharmacy has been giving me 1mL vials which I have to refill more often and is annoying. A 10mL was like $50 something for me at the clinic I went to in Nyc. It was around $80 in Texas I think after the pharmacist gave me a discount (my insurance doesn’t cover my t). As for needles I bought mine in bulk– I got a box of 100 of both sizes (one including syringes) and it was like $30 I think? I got them from the clinic I went to. I would just ask the pharmacy how many is in it and your doctor will tell you what length/gauge you need for whichever type of injection you’re doing. I do a shot a week so 100 needles will last me over a year so I don’t have to think about buying them again anytime soon.

You can use the app goodRX to help get a deal on your testosterone, so it isn’t as financially stressful. And if you go to a clinic like I went to in Nyc they were used to lower income patients who often didn’t have insurance so their pharmacy was very affordable and accommodating.


Shout out to everyone with learning, attention, cognitive processing, executive function, and/or anything of this nature that affects you in school/daily lives.

  • To everyone who has ever been denied accommodations from the College Board.
  • To everyone who is denied accommodations from the College Board because they are “too smart”. 
  • To everyone who has to go through repetitive extensive testing to submit to the College Board, even though you’ve already done them. Even though you know your diagnosis.
  • To everyone who has wasted lots of money on these new pointless tests for the College Board, only to be denied.
  • To everyone who can’t afford to apply for accommodations for the College Board because the testing they require is too expensive.
  • To everyone who has failed an AP exam because your weren’t properly accommodated.
  • To everyone who finishes your tests last while your classmates make noise and disrespect you. 
  • To everyone who has to stay after class, during lunch, or after school to finish their work while their friends hang out without them.
  • To everyone who is left out of social activities because school work takes up too much of your time.
  • To everyone who is the last person to leave school before winter/summer break because you were making up work.
  • To everyone who is given accommodations they don’t need because your disorder isn’t recognized, and is labelled as something else in the school system.
  • To everyone who’s ever heard “you have _____? But you’re so smart!”
  • To everyone (with mild symptoms) who doesn’t always need accommodations, but don’t receive them when they do.
  • To everyone who can’t do well in school if they forget to take their medicine.
  • To everyone who struggles with teachers who aren’t willing to follow your accommodation plans.
  • To everyone who isn’t receiving accommodations they need because the school won’t pay for them.
  • To everyone who has parents that put lots of pressure on them about this.
  • To everyone who has parents that are very supportive to them, and don’t give up on them. (even when others do)
  • To everyone who also suffers from emotional/mental illnesses alongside these ones. 
  • To everyone who has been diagnosed pretty late.
  • To everyone who was diagnosed early and has known about it since they were little.
  • To everyone who has been misdiagnosed with the wrong disorder.
  • To everyone who hasn’t been diagnosed.
  • To everyone who has ever heard that “______ is just an excuse”
  • To everyone who has ever heard that “______ doesn’t exist, it’s made up so people can be lazy”
  • To everyone who worries about being able to get and hold onto a job.
  • To everyone who is scared they won’t be able to graduate. 
  • To everyone who has struggled with anything else related to this.

Im so sorry that these problems are so often overlooked. Im sorry that many of these problems are completely invisible to everyone else. Im sorry that so many people don’t know about these struggles we face. 

But I believe in you, I believe in us! We can make it. You can do it! Im proud of you, no matter how well you do in school, or on a test or assignment. Im so proud of all of you guys.

Broken Hearts, Broken Vows      A Downton Abbey Fanfic

Part I,  Part II,  Part III,  Part IV,  Part V,  Part VI,  Part VII

Part VIII:

And so began a friendship of sorts. Beryl found she could almost set her clock by them. The third Thursday of every month, the Mortensons would arrive in time for supper, stay over two nights and check out on Saturday mornings after a hearty breakfast. When the weather warmed, the couple took long walks into the countryside, never straying too close to the village. Evenings would find them in the parlor, Mrs. Mortenson with embroidery hoop or book in hand and Mr. Mortenson with his head bent over counting out the matchsticks he would inevitably lose to Albert Mason over a game of cribbage.

Beryl wondered aloud to her husband one night as they were getting ready for bed about why the couple would continue to stay at their small B and B when they could so obviously afford more luxurious accommodation. He speculated that they just wanted a quiet few days away from the hullabaloo of running an estate. She figured he was probably right, as he was with most things. Her husband had an uncanny knack for reading people and understanding their motives, and she was too tired to lose sleep over it.

It was at the end of one such visit in early summer that Beryl was clearing the breakfast dishes when the bell over the front door rang.

“Ooh, that’ll be the women from the church come to collect the jams I made for the bazaar,” she exclaimed as she dithered in front of the couple seated at the table.

“Let me have those,” tutted her husband taking the plates from her. “You go on out front and get the Mortensons checked out. Send the ladies ‘round the back of the house and I’ll load the jams for them.”

“I’ll have your bill ready in two shakes!” she said cheerfully, giving her husband a grateful smile and turning towards the dining room door. She spied Elsie Carson standing at the front desk with another woman and called out, “Mornin’ Elsie, Albie says to go ‘round the back and he’ll load the jams for you.”

Bustling around the end of the front desk, she finally focused on the tall woman with the dark blonde hair standing next to Elsie. “Oh my, Lady Merton, I wasn’t expecting you,” she acknowledged quietly.

“Not to worry, Mrs. Mason,” Isobel Gray said gaily. “I’m helping Cousin Cora organize the bazaar this year and heard that Mrs. Carson was coming out from the village to collect the jams today. Dickie, Lord Merton,” she corrected herself, “is off visiting his sons until Sunday evening so I offered the use of my motorcar.” 

The woman emerging from the dining room stood stock still as she recognized both the voice and the figure of the woman speaking to Mrs. Mason.

Catching the motion from the corner of her eye, Isobel turned to look at the woman frozen in the doorway. “Prudence?”

“This is Mrs. Mortenson. She and her husband are one of our regulars,” said Beryl by way of introduction.

Elsie’s jawed dropped when she heard the name her friend used for the woman she knew to be Lady Shackleton. She covered her mouth with a gloved hand when she saw the tall man coming out of the dining room and nudging the woman forward with one hand at the small of her back.

“I’ll go up and get our bags, shall I?” he queried before turning to look at the women standing at the front desk. He could feel the bottom drop out of his stomach when he recognized the two new faces.

“Dickie…” Isobel’s voice was a shaky whisper as she stared into her husband’s eyes.

“Isobel, I can expl…” He was cut off when she closed her eyes and raised her hand to silence him.

Without moving or opening her eyes she said in measured tones, “Would you please ask Mr. Mason to put the jams in the motorcar and we will be on our way, Mrs. Mason?”

“Right away,” replied Beryl quickly, looking to Elsie for confirmation of what had just dawned on her. Elsie grimaced and gave her a small nod.

“I’ll wait for you in the car, Mrs. Carson,” Isobel said stiffly as she hurried out of the house.

A/N:  I’ll not make you wait until Christmas for Part IX, it’s not that kind of story so keep an eye out in bit because it’ll be released from the queue shortly.  

I keep forgetting that Dan and Phil are actual real people

anonymous asked:

If you had to pick the best and the worst British royal in visiting patronages, who would you pick and why?

I won’t do that I’m afraid. The thing people in the fandom don’t seem to understand is that royal visits take months of work to plan. Most charities don’t have the time, money or resources to fund several engagements a year and royals are limited in their fundraising capability as they can’t directly ask people to give money to a charity. So for some charities one visit a year is as much as they would be able to handle whereas for others a few a year is more appropriate. Charities don’t want their patron visiting every month- they can’t afford or accommodate it- so it’s impossible to judge. All patronages seem happy with their patrons so they’re all doing their job

anonymous asked:

Rip, every time you see Harry in a tee with holes in it - remember, this is the cost of Joffrey sabotaging the others' careers. Poor Harry can't afford new clothes (Gucci suits are on loan! It's all a smokescreen!). That's why he lives with friends too, can't afford food and accommodation with all the money going to bribery. Winter is coming too. We should set up a crowdfunding site for Harry captive-of-evil-Joffrey Styles

joffrey is making him sleep in the garage and that’s how he gets those holes, by hanging out with the garage moths. 

Originally posted by trisgrimes

group project woes again. We are now all in contact but trying to meet up. and one precious child can’t possibly meet before our 9:30 class before they’ll have to get out of the house before 7:00.

which is pretty much what I do when I don’t have a ride from my parents.

Sometimes, sweetheart, you need to make sacrifices. Not every group can afford to be so accommodating all the time. 

Now, I’m gonna chill and watch Aladdin.

cosmictuesdays  asked:

Garak/Bashir, ageswap spy AU.


Relations between the Federation and Cardassia had never been good, to start with, so Garak wasn’t surprised in the slightest at their situation, the tall, lean man behind him, his arm around Garak’s throat- not tight enough to start choking- particularly not with his defensive scales, but tight enough to threaten considering he’d already seen how unusually strong the man was for a Human. The phaser pressed to his temple was cold, a sharp contrast compared to the humid air at this rare resort on Cardassia, and as he was half-dragged down the hall to a room he wondered what it would feel like to die- would there be a burst of blazing light as the phaser destroyed him or would there be nothing but instant darkness?

When the human tossed him to the ground, keeping the phaser on him, he sluggishly rolled onto his back and smiled his broad smile, forever said to be insincere. “Now, not that I’m complaining about being dragged to a handsome man’s hotel room, but I’m afraid I’ve got work to do.” He gestured to his stolen uniform, the uniform of the resort’s staff, plain dark coveralls that he found supremely ugly but wouldn’t dare complain about while he was undercover.

He leaned back and wondered if he could reach for his own microphaser fast enough, tucked into his belt, as the human stepped up and put a perfectly shined boot on his chest, his smile bright against his dark skin, framed by that scruffy fur so many species grew on their faces. His smile looked earnest, almost innocent in it’s brilliance, and Garak internally fought to keep the flesh under his scales from flushing.

“Well, if you’re working here, I suppose you wouldn’t mind telling me all about the living accommodations being afforded to the Romulan diplomat’s party, wouldn’t you?”

They smiled at each other, tensely, each one knowing fully what the other was.

“Well, now…what would I know? I’m nothing but a gardner, sir. A plain, simple gardner.”

hey!! my name is susan and im from poland and im going to the last shadow puppets concert in berlin (23th of august) and i spent all my money on a ticket and probably wont be able afford any accommodation so i was wondering if anyone from berlin might be able to help me and host me for a night?? im nice and tiny so i can fit anywhere (seriously i could even sleep on the floor i just need a place to stay for a night)

anonymous asked:

Helloo, sorry for the random ask.. Sis and I were wondering what locations would be best to visit in Great Britain? It's our first time visiting and we're trying to find people who live there to aid our search on where to stay (without drilling a hole on our pockets haha) so far we've saved up 2398.72 pounds. We're staying for about a week. Thanks in advanced!


Well it depends entirely on what you’d like to see while you’re here. Firstly I would recommend that you don’t stay in London for the duration of your trip. It’s expensive, most of the big things people want to see there can be done in a day or two and all too often people visit Britain and don’t stray out of our capital which is a wasted opportunity. Don’t get me wrong, I like London and always enjoy my visits there, but it’d be like only reading one page of The Book of Britain.

Next popular place is The Cotswolds/Gloucestershire and, without a doubt, it is one of the most beautiful parts of the UK. Due to its high levels of tourism and transport links to London, it is expensive to stay here but with your budget so far I can’t see why you wouldn’t be able to afford nice accommodation, a rental car and meals out there.

There’s also down on the south west coastline Cornwall, Devon and Dorset and all three counties are full of charm, nice beaches, friendly people and old architecture. But, be warned, apart from small and somewhat infrequent connecting flights you will need to travel for hours to get there from the major airports. London airport; about 5 hours by car, Manchester; 9 or so if you’re driving down to Cornwall, Bristol is closer but still a good couple of hours drive away. The train links to the south west are also pretty dire if you don’t plan on hiring a car.

Interested in history and medieval architecture? Then Scotland or Wales is your best bet. Both countries are famous for their beautiful mountains and castles. Wales has the benefit of being closer to visit England, but Scotland’s hills and lochs take some beating, not to mention Edinburgh is a beautiful city. Then again, one of my favourite places in the world is Tenby on the west coast of Wales.

I’m also quite partial to Powys, Wales and Shropshire in England, which border each other. Shropshire isn’t expensive in terms of accommodation and there are a lot of interesting places to visit. It’s an hour’s drive away from Birmingham International airport which is handy and, due to its central location, makes visiting Wales, the north of England and south England more manageable than staying on one side of GB.

I hope this helps! And if you fancy staying somewhere a little different than your average B&B or travel lodge, I highly recommend looking up a website called Canopy & Stars who offer unique places to stay scattered all over Britain. Last year I booked a yurt in The Cotswolds and it was a wonderful trip.

Followers, feel free to chip in if I’ve missed somewhere worth noting.