#modern myth Loki

[strandedinmidgard]

I asked you for changes and help. Got a couple of painful heartbreaks. The trust is still here but... what about a truce? Some peace, for a while?

L: I do not control the anything at any point in time.

[deadhaven]

Flamehair

[loki-was-framed]

[tyrannuspitch]

oh no the fun symbolism in that edit that just came out of my queue is not linguistically accurate :(

that's a T-rune not a TH-rune, so it doesn't matter than the L-rune is a T-rune with a missing piece. because his name is thor not tor :(

but! potentially you could still argue that a TH-rune (ᚦ) is two L-runes (ᛚ) put together, with one mirrored along the vertical axis... like so:

which could maybe mean something about... shadows? reflections? halves? loki as a defective version of thor, but thor's sense of identity inherently incorporating loki? loki being lonely and severed from thor? idk it's less obvious and therefore harder to interpret. but it IS linguistically accurate. whenever you need someone to make your symbolism worse and more contrived just give me a call 👍

[constablewafflebottom]

Dream A Little Dream of Me

"Stars fading but I linger on, dear,

Still craving your kiss.

I'm longing to linger til dawn, dear.

Just saying this,

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you

Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you

Stars fading but I linger on, dear,

Still craving your kiss.

I'm longing to linger til dawn, dear.

Just saying this,

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you

Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you

But in your dreams whatever they be

Dream a little dream of me."

Chapter One

My name is Moira Fenton. I know what you’re thinking: that sounds like the name of a plump little housewife with a brood of unruly children somewhere in the British Isles. Well, part of that is true, the plump little housewife part. I’d been married for five years to a man who seemed, at the very least, ambivalent to my existence most of the time. True, we’d married young, fresh out of college and practically still children ourselves, but we’d been together for years before. My relationship with Michael was essentially the only real experience I had with one. The only word to describe me at the time was ignorant. I had no idea about red flags, or what sort of behavior I should expect or demand from my partner. I had no idea what course our marriage would take once he had me all to himself. After a few years, I didn't think his behavior would necessarily be classified as abusive, but it was… problematic.

From watching my parents, I assumed every couple was affectionate and loving, but once Michael and I married, all of the tender touches and heated kisses came to a startlingly abrupt halt. That seemed entirely natural to my new husband and I came to the conclusion that my parents must be anomalous, that that sort of relationship only happened in movies and the occasional real life situation, but it was far from the norm. I just accepted it. And besides, my husband still seemed to take enjoyment from engaging in intimacy with me, he seemed to always reach completion rather quickly, surely that must mean he enjoyed being with me. He just reserved his romantic attention and affection for the moments when we were truly alone and wouldn’t be interrupted. That’s what I’d told myself in consolation, anyway. Another word to describe me: deluded.

My marriage was a farce, and it felt as though my husband saw me as nothing but a 'glorified housekeeper he got to fuck occasionally.' Then the fucking stopped all together, and I was left as a ‘housekeeper that shares a bed with him.’ But I’d taken vows and permanently bound my life to his, and so I had to make the best of it, and just hope it would get better some day.

The lonely horniness was getting to a breaking point when the dreams started. Every night for the last year, I dreamed of a beautiful man. Although, how I knew he was beautiful was a mystery, because all I could remember of his face when I woke was pale skin and piercing green eyes. But his body was ingrained in my memory, he was larger than any man I’d ever known, tall, broad in his shoulders and trim in his hips, and his red hair shone in silky waves down to his shoulders. His voice was deep and knowing, as if he heard my every secret desire and wished to fulfill it, and so smooth and convincing that a single word from his lips had me happily submitting to his commands. His scent, though again, how I could recall something like a smell from a silly dream was beyond my understanding, was both soothing and arousing. It was earthy and clean, like ice and pine and musk. And his touch, his big hands and soft lips on my body, lit a fire under my skin and made me feel alive for the first time in my life.

It never took long for the dream to come to me, it seemed all I needed to do was close my eyes and will myself to sleep, and there he was, ardent and eager. Some nights he made tender love to me, holding me close with his sinewy arms, those brilliant green eyes locked onto mine as he told me how perfect I was. Others he ravished me like an animal, his strong hands and long fingers gripping and plunging, teasing me to my peak and clawing to hold my curves to him as his length battered my insides so deliciously. It filled me over and again until I could take no more and the ecstasy took me away. And still others, he did no more than hold me to his muscular chest and comb those nimble fingers through my thick sable curls, stroking my hair and skin comfortingly; those sinful lips that brought such pleasure when they drew on my neck or tasted my feminine flesh, pressed gentle kisses to my forehead; the voice that commanded my submission whispered words of love and encouragement. Each circumstance left me satisfied, but it was the latter that left me heartbroken and missing him when the morning came.

Every day, I would wake when the thrice cursed alarm rang, ripping me away from him, and the day would start with Michael rudely urging me out of bed. I would fix his breakfast, prepare his lunch, help him get ready for his day at work, and just hope an argument didn’t start that early, otherwise both of our days would be ruined. I never wanted to fight with him, I would have been much happier if we could have peace between us, but he was implacable and unpredictable in his wishes, such that I felt no matter what I did, it was never the right thing. I lived in a perpetual state of wondering what I’d done wrong this time, and what I would do wrong the next. It induced unbearable anxiety and depression, and filled me with self depreciation and loathing that I could not do something as simple as make my husband happy. He hardly touched me anymore but I would not go seeking outside of my marriage for satisfaction and validation, and so I was left unfulfilled in every way.

That was the only one explanation for the dreams: that my mind had concocted a man to love me, to meet my needs in the only way it could in order to fill the void left by the ever broadening chasm forming between myself and my husband. As devastating as the knowledge was, it was true; my dream man was not real.

 

--------

     The day had been particularly hard on me, another argument with my husband had left my voice weak and hoarse from screaming just to be heard, and all of it in vain. I was tired, physically and psychologically, and I knew that this would be one of the nights my dream lover would not sate my carnal desire, but fulfill my emotional needs. He would hold me close, stroke my head and reassure me that everything would be alright in the end. It was no small disappointment then, when I fell asleep that night and found nothing and no-one waiting for me as I floated in the nebulous darkness of semi-sleep. I feared that the dreams had come to an end and I would never see him again, just when I felt like I needed him the most, and I would grieve the loss of him. 

 

     When I woke again later in the night, I lay there for a long, quiet moment trying to figure out what caused it. With nothing more than a subtle pressure in my bladder, I slipped out of bed with a glance at my snoring husband as I tip-toed into the bathroom to relieve myself; he certainly hadn’t done it, his snoring was something I’d gotten used to in our years together, the sound all but faded into background noise every night as he kept to his side of the bed. Once I put my pajamas back in place, if you could call my short, lacy nightgown ‘pajamas’ when it barely covered my bottom, I started to return to bed but halted with another glance, this time at the door to our bedroom. A faint glow emanated from beneath it, a narrow line of soft light peeked through the crack leaving a streak of green across the carpet. We weren’t in the habit of leaving lights on in the house, and I couldn’t think of anything that would cast a light of that color anyway. Perhaps Michael had awakened before I did and gone to the kitchen for a drink or into the office beside our bedroom, and simply forgotten to turn a light off? 

 

     Briefly, I considered waking him to find out where the light was coming from, what if it was an intruder burglarizing our home? But why would they use green lights, I asked myself. And, if I did wake him only to find nothing of interest or concern, he would be annoyed that I’d disturbed his rest when he had to work in the morning, and that didn’t bode well for the day that would follow. I would have to investigate myself. With any luck, the source of the light would be innocuous enough that I could go to bed and maybe my lover would still visit me again once I’d fallen back to sleep. I stepped quietly to the door and slowly turned the knob until it cleared the latch and pulled it open just a crack to peek through. Nothing was immediately outside, and the absence of light from down the hall said that the office door was probably still closed. I then pulled the door open a little wider and carefully stuck my head out with a glance in both directions. Sure enough, all the doors along the hallway were closed, and the light seemed to be originating from the living room of our apartment. Thinking that it must be the television or sound system lights, I padded down the hall to the living room and froze in the doorway.

 

     A man was standing on the other side of the couch, peering at the shelf of framed photographs. I should turn and hurry back to the bedroom to get my husband, I should scream, I should… I stopped mid-turn as the visual of the man registered in my mind. It was hard to tell in the dark, but his hair, wavy, voluminous and down to his shoulders, looked red. He was taller than my husband, his shoulders were broad, his waist was narrow, and the way he held himself... it seemed familiar. It wasn’t possible, but the light seemed to be coming from him and it faded as he turned toward me. He must have known I was there, as unperturbed and unsurprised as he appeared to be by the sight of me.

   My eyes scanned his body, trim and strong, before they landed on his face. On their own, my feet took me a few steps into the room before I realized what was happening. It couldn’t be, it wasn’t possible, but… though I had never physically set eyes on this man before, I knew: it must be him. And when he approached me, slowly like a prowling panther and carefully as if earning the trust of a frightened animal (which I supposed were both the case in this instance), I did not run, I did not weep, I did not tremble. I watched him draw closer until he was gazing down at me, the green of his eyes was unnaturally bright in the darkness of the living room, as they devoured my upturned face.

 

     In a heartbeat, I was in his arms. One of his hands held the back of my neck, gently holding me in place as his lips crashed into mine, his other arm wrapped possessively around my waist, tightening as he deepened the kiss and pressed me into the length of his body. My arms hovered awkwardly at my sides for a moment, shocked and confused, unsure of what to do with them before I wrapped them around him and eagerly returned his embrace. Everything about him overwhelmed my senses. The sight of his much beloved eyes and the face that only now could I say was definitely the same one from my dreams. The scent of ice and pine and musk filled my head even as the taste of his tongue filled my mouth. The feel of his hands moving over my body, from holding my waist and neck to smoothing down my back and gripping my lace-covered bottom as he held me to him, and the distinctive and arousing hardness pressed into my belly. The satisfied hum rumbling from his throat lowered to a growl as I rubbed my body and tongue against his, my own fingers threaded into his hair tugging unconsciously on the curls. 

 

     His mouth slanted over mine, dominating me and taking what he wanted until the need for oxygen tore my mouth away from his. I gasped for breath, vaguely aware of how his hands lifted to cup my face, hunching his shoulders as he pressed his forehead to my own as if unwilling to part from me just yet.

 

     “I am no longer content with dreams, my little dove,” he whispered. His low, accented voice, dark with promise, sent shivers down my spine and gooseflesh over my skin. “I will return to you, be ready for me.”

---

You can find chapter 2 here: https://at.tumblr.com/constablewafflebottom/dream-a-little-dream-of-me/umqqgje20720

And the Master List here: https://at.tumblr.com/constablewafflebottom/master-list/82s3wqp0jp4p

[samwisethewitch]

What Non-Pagans Need to Know About Fiction Featuring Pagan Gods

In light of Marvel's Loki show dropping a second season and a new Percy Jackson series on the horizon, I want to say some things about how fandom spaces can be respectful of real-life pagan religion.

Let's get one thing out of the way: literally no one is saying you can't enjoy fiction that uses pagan gods and heroes as characters. No one is saying, "Stop writing stories about our gods." In fact, many ancient cultures wrote fiction about their gods -- look at Greek theater or the Norse Eddas. The act of writing fiction about the gods is not offensive in itself.

But please remember that this is someone's religion.

The gods are not "just archetypes." Their myths are not "just stories." Their personalities are not a matter of artistic interpretation. For many pagans, the gods are very much real in a literal sense. I don't think Thor is a metaphor or a symbol -- for me, Thor is a real, autonomous spiritual being who exists outside of human perceptions of him, and who I have chosen to build a relationship with. Even if you are a hardcore atheist, I would hope you could at least be respectful of the fact that, to many modern pagans, the gods are both very real and very important.

When authors are not respectful of this fact, they reduce the gods, these very real objects of worship, to fictional characters. And here's the thing about fictional characters: they are fundamentally tools for authors to use to draw a desired emotional response from an audience.

Dracula's personality and behavior is wildly different depending on who is writing him, because different authors use Dracula to create different reactions in their audiences. In the 1931 film starring Bela Lugosi, he's equal parts alluring and disturbing, a symbol of America's mixed desire and disdain for foreigners. In Nosferatu, he's more strictly frightening and disgusting. In Francis Ford Coppola's movie, he's a tragic, romantic figure clinging to the last scraps of his humanity. In Netflix's Castlevania, he's an incredibly powerful being who has grown bitter and apathetic in his immortality. All of this is Dracula, and all of it is fine, because Dracula is not and never has been a central figure in anyone's religion.

Let's take a look at what happens when authors give this same treatment to real gods:

In Hellenic polytheism, Apollo is one of the most beloved gods, both historically and today. Apollo loves humanity, and humanity loves him back. He is the god of sunlight and of medicine, but also of poetry and song. He is one of humanity's most consistent defenders when one of the other gods gets wrathful. And while he does have dangerous or wrathful aspects of his own (he's also the god of disease, after all), he's also kind and soft with humanity in a way other gods often aren't, at least in some historic sources.

In the Lore Olympus comic series, Apollo is a villain. He's characterized as an abuser, a manipulator, and a violent man child. LO!Apollo is downright hateful, because the author wants us to hate him. Lore Olympus is a retelling of a myth about an abduction and forced marriage. Lore Olympus is also a romance. In order to get the audience to sympathize with Hades and root for his relationship with Persephone, Rachel Smythe needed to make someone else the villain. Apollo is the most obvious and extreme character assassination in Smythe's work, but several other gods (notably Demeter) also get the asshole makeover to tell the story Smythe wants to tell.

Here's where this becomes a problem: Hellenic polytheism is a fairly small religious community, while Lore Olympus is a massively popular webtoon with 1.3 billion views as of August 2023, print books available from major retailers, a TV adaptation in the works, and a very active online fandom. Rachel Smythe currently has a MUCH bigger platform than any Hellenic polytheism practitioner. Smythe and other authors are shaping how modern culture views the Hellenic gods, and that has a very real impact on their worshipers.

This means "Apollo is an abusive asshole" is becoming a popular take online, and is even creeping into pagan communities. I've personally seen people be harassed for worshiping Apollo because of it. I've seen new pagans and pagan-curious folks who totally misunderstand the roles Apollo, Hades, and Persephone play in the Hellenic pantheon because of Lore Olympus and other modern works of fiction.

There are tons of other examples of this in modern pop culture, but I'll just rattle off a few of the ones that annoy me most: Rick Riordan depicting Ares/Mars as a brutish asshole hyped up on toxic masculinity; Rick Riordan depicting Athena as a mother goddess; Marvel depicting Thor as a dumb jock; Marvel depicting Odin as a cold, uncaring father; DC depicting Ares as purely evil; whatever the fuck the Vikings TV show was trying to do with seidr; the list goes on.

All of these are examples of religious appropriation. Religious appropriation is when sacred symbols are taken out of their original religious context by outsiders, so that the original meaning is lost or changed. It requires a power imbalance -- the person taking the symbols is usually part of a dominant religious culture. In many cases, the person doing the appropriation has a much bigger platform than anyone who has the knowledge to correct them.

When Rick Rioridan or Rachel Smythe totally mischaracterizes a Greek god to tell a story, and then actual Hellenic pagans get harassed for worshiping that god, that's religious appropriation.

Religious appropriation is a real issue. This isn't just pagans being sensitive. To use an extreme example: Richard Wagner and other German Romantic authors in the 19th century used the Norse gods and other Germanic deities as symbols in their work, which was a major influence on Nazi philosophy. Without Wagner, the Nazis would not have latched onto the Norse gods as symbols of their white supremacist agenda. To this day, there are white supremacist groups who claim to worship our gods or who use our religious imagery in their hate movement. We are still reckoning with the misinterpretation of our gods popularized by Wagner and other German Romantics almost 200 years ago.

Again, no one is saying you can't enjoy fiction based on pagan mythology. But there are a few things you can do to help prevent religious appropriation in fandom spaces:

Above all else, be mindful that while this may just be a story to you, it is someone's religion.

Recognize that enjoying fiction based on our gods does not mean you know our gods. You know fictional characters with the same names as our gods, who may or may not be accurate to real-life worship.

Do not argue with or try to correct pagans when we talk about our experience of our gods.

Don't invalidate or belittle pagan worship. Again, this mostly comes down to recognizing that our religion is totally separate from your fandom. We aren't LARPing or playing pretend. Our sacred traditions are real and valid.

If you see other people in your fandom engaging in religious appropriation, point out what they are doing and why it isn't okay.

Please tag your fandom content appropriately on social media. Always tag the show, movie, book, etc. that a post is about in addition to other relevant tags. This allows pagans to block these fandom tags if we don't want to see them and prevents fandom content showing up in religious tags.

For example, if I'm posting about Athena from the Percy Jackson books, I would tag the post #athena #athenapjo #percyjackson #pjo. You get the idea.

And if fiction sparks your interest and you want to learn more about the actual worship of the gods, you can always ask! Most pagans love talking about our gods and trading book recs.

If you are writing fiction based on real mythology, talk to people who worship those gods. Ask them what a respectful portrayal would look like. If possible, include a note in your finished work reminding audiences that it is a work of fiction and not meant to accurately portray these gods.

[skaldish]

have you any adaptations of norse myth as complete as the eddas but in a more accessible format? or a modernized english translation? ive tried reading the eddas a few times but struggle with the archaic language so i prefer other texts, including those on your site, but they all focus (understandably) on the more well-known stories while only briefly mentioning others. they solve the antiquity of the eddas but in the process omit lots of gems! am i chasing unicorns here?

It's out-of-print, but I generally recommend d'Aulaires' Book of Norse Myths for a first-time read.

It's a children's book, so the authors gloss over a few of the cruder things (such as Loki tying his balls to the beard of a goat to make Skadi laugh), but the way they've chosen to adapt these oral stories into a linear book-format is nothing short of brilliant. They've woven a shocking amount of extant and historically-attested tales within the book, and being that it's a children's book, everything is very easy to read and understand.

They objectively did a spectacular job with how they organized everything. I think it helped that Ingri d'Aulaire was Norwegian and grew up with the oral tradition. It's clear to me that she didn't need to rely on how these tales are formatted in the old Icelandic sagas; she knew how to restructure them while still conveying the same information.

One thing to note about this book, though, is that it's not designed to give you the same experience you'd have with the oral tradition, nor is it intended to fulfill the same anthropological function. Its purpose is just to share the cultural stories. But the fact it's extraordinarily successful at fulfilling this purpose is why it's my go-to recommended retelling at this point in time.

[chaos-bites]

ah, sigyn! if you have any tips on how to begin worship, i’d love to know, as i’ve been wanting to honor her for a while.

Hey, Nonny!

For me, I began worshipping her after Loki introduced us. It was incredibly difficult to find information on her, unfortunately. I ended up pulling most of my knowledge from the myths and what little else I could find on modern worship. I had found some interesting accounts of modern worship in localized Scandinavian communities, but I can't remember where I found that source. 💀

When reaching out to her, I'd say just be yourself and be respectful, as you would with any deity. Personally, I got her a flower-scented candle, carved her name into the wax, lit some sweet-smelling incense, and lit the candle. I've heard from another Sigyn worship that you can do a ritual where you "hold the bowl" for her, so to speak. This is done by filling a bowl with water and holding it in your hands at her altar for however long you'd like. In this way, it was explained to me that you're holding the bowl of serpent venom for her to give her a break from tending to Loki. I don't personally believe in the myths in a literal sense, but I think the thought that goes into this ritual is what matters.

I suggest reaching out to @broomsick or @notthesomefather for more information; they both have some great resources on Norse deities, although I'm unsure if they know much about Sigyn either. I know Broom in particular is huge on learning about the historical worship of the Norse deities, so I wouldn't be surprised if they have at least something for you. c:

In regards to my personal associations with Sigyn, I'd be happy to share them, but be aware that they're mostly UPG based. Here are some things I associate with her:

Wolves (for her sons, Váli and Narfi); I usually depict them in wholesome, cute, or kind ways

Serpents (I don't usually give offerings related to them, though, due to their negative role in her myth)

Otters, orcas, polar bears/grizzly bears, reindeer/deer, and sometimes moths; most I associate due to their strong familial bonds and pack/herd nature

Bowls, especially ones with beautiful designs

Intricately designed plates, especially those that tell a story or are vintage

Her name is believed to mean "Friend of Victory", "Victory Friend", or something similar to the two; I therefore associate her strongly with victory and overcoming challenges

Family, familial love, loyalty, devotion, resilience, persistence, dedication, inner strength, compassion, caregiving, patience, and fidelity ← domains I associate with her

Light-colored flowers and plants

The colors light pink, gold, yellow light blue, and earthy shades of green and brown

Objects crafted out of love for another person or creature (drawings, wood carvings, crocheted works, etc.)

Family heirlooms, especially those passed down from a maternal figure

Childhood toys, stuffed animals, comfort items, etc. (bonus points if you tell her the stories behind them and why you loved them so much)

Poetry written for or about her, art made of or about her

Defensive weapons; a wolf may not attack humans often, but it still has teeth and claws if needed (protection of loved ones is my reasoning here)

Honey, herbal teas, warmed pastries, warmed breads, soups, and childhood comfort foods

It's not a big list of things, and like I said, it's mostly UPG, but I hope it helps. Take care, and I wish you the best, Nonny! 💚🖤

[notthesomefather]

Modern Heathenry 101

Hi folks! I've updated my blog to include a heathenry 101 tag. I also worked on summarizing how I view modern heathenry from a US-based, progressive perspective:

Who is allowed to practice heathenry?

Everyone!  Heathenry is not a closed practice.  Regardless of your gender, age, orientation, race, cultural background, physical or mental abilities, or any other factor–you are welcome, appreciated, and loved by the gods.

What is heathenry?

Heathenry is an animistic belief system where we honor our ancestors, gods within the Norse pantheon, and the elemental spirits all around us.  There is no one centralized heathen faith, and traditions will vary largely depending on community, region, and era.  There are no sacred texts, though many heathens read the Poetic Edda and Prose Edda to get an introduction to our gods (as they are depicted in myths and sagas).

Who do you worship?

Details vary based on the individual or community, but generally speaking heathens honor gods within the Norse pantheon. 

This pantheon includes: Odin, Frigg/Freyja, Freyr, Thor, Tyr, Njord, Loki, Hel, and many more.  Each of these figures is dynamic and cannot be boiled down to a simple “god of ___” label.  Some heathens exclusively worship patron deities to whom they feel a special connection and sense of dedication, while other heathens maintain relationships with numerous deities.

Ancestor work can be general or highly specific.  Heathens may offer prayers to the Disir, female spirits of the family who help carry traditions, memories, and connections alive throughout the generations.  Heathens may also opt to honor individual ancestors with whom they share a strong connection.  In any instance, it is love not blood which constitutes ancestry.  Many heathens feel drawn to honor “cultural” ancestors rather than blood-relatives (example: a heathen who is Black or LGBTQIA+ may feel drawn towards honoring a deceased activist or fellow community member).

What are some things which constitute a modern practice?

Many heathens practice group ritual while others are solitary.  Every group will follow different traditions but common ones include:

holiday rituals

symbels (opportunities to toast one another and our accomplishments)

blots (specialized rituals dedicated to a specific deity)

ceremonies (weddings, funerals, and things of that nature)

In their day-to-day lives heathens will often wear a Mjolnir pendant as a reminder of the gods’ most prized gift and the source of their protector’s strength (Thor’s hammer).

Heathens will typically have at least one altar space in their homes.  This can be used to honor deities, ancestors, or other figures.  Altars vary dramatically in terms of appearance–some are minimalist and simple while others are lavishly decorated.  This depends largely on personal preference, budget, availability of materials, and personal security (unfortunately, some heathens cannot safely set up an altar in their current living situation).  Another option is the use of a pocket-altar, sometimes called a travel-altar.

What holidays do you observe?

Holidays historically varied depending on location.  Typically these holidays relate to concepts of growth, gratitude, and reflection. There is not one set list of holidays which all heathens celebrate, but there do tend to be commonalities:

Holidays that take place in spring will tend to honor gods who represent youth, new beginnings, and hope. 

Holidays in summer tend to celebrate growth, hard work, and fertility. 

Holidays in the autumn are typically opportunities to celebrate the accomplishments we’ve made throughout the year as well as to prepare for the darker, colder times ahead. 

Holidays in the winter tend to relate to reflection and thinking about things we can shed or invite as the new year begins.

Holidays can be celebrated individually or as part of a group. Here are some of the holidays my group observes.

What are some common symbols or visuals related to heathenry?

Many heathens view Mjolnir (Thor’s hammer) as the main symbol signifying their faith.  This is typically worn as a necklace, though heathens may wear one in a myriad of different ways or not at all. 

Elder futhark runes are also common symbols associated with heathenry.  The futhark are representative of the sacred runes our god Odin learned during a journey of self-sacrifice and searching for spiritual wisdom.  Many heathens use these runes for divination purposes or to receive messages from our gods and ancestors, while others do not interact with the runes in a spiritual sense.

There are other symbols associated with heathenry that have been appropriated by white supremacists.  These include the runes Othala, Sowilo, and Elhaz; the Valknut; and sometimes even Mjolnir itself.  These images are not inherently harmful, and many heathens feel it is our duty to combat this appropriation by showing these symbols in their proper, progressive contexts.

What are some books I can read to learn more?

Here are a few books about the Norse myths I recommend:

The Poetic Edda by Jackson Crawford

The Prose Edda by Snorri Sturluson

The Wanderer’s Havamal by Jackson Crawford

The Havamal by The Asatru Community

Essential Asatru by Diana Paxson

Norse Myths by Kevin Crossley-Holland

The Viking Spirit by Daniel McCoy

Norse Mythology by Neil Gaiman

And here are some books about runes I recommend:

The Way of Fire and Ice: the Living Tradition of Norse Paganism, by Ryan Smith

Rudiments of Runelore, by Stephen Pollington

North Sea Rune Poems, by N. Solheim-Davidson

Norwegian Runes and Runic Inscriptions, by Terje Spurkland

Taking Up the Runes, by Diana L. Paxson

[dailydemonspotlight]

Jersey Devil - Day 64

Race: Wilder

Alignment: Dark-Neutral

JULY THE FOURTH WHAT THE FUCK IS A KILOMETER RAHHH 🇺🇲🇺🇲🇺🇲🦅🦅🔥, 2024

Happy Fourth of July, everybody! The day we get to celebrate imperialism and colonialism! In celebration of this day of fireworks and an utter lack of sleep, why not have an American demon of the day? Today, we're taking a close look at another cryptid, and another one near and dear to my heart- a creature so bizarre that it makes anybody's possible sightings of it feel like fairy tales, and a cryptid that truly embodies the idea of cryptozoology just being modern mythology. Today's Demon of the Day is none other than the Jersey Devil!

A lot has been said about this bizarre creature, a cryptid so esoteric yet infamous that even finding a common consensus on how it looks is difficult- most descriptions depict it as a bipedal creature with hooves and bat-wings, most commonly with a goat or horse's head, but most of the time it's seen as a 'you know it when you see it' kind of deal. This bizarre appearance adds on to just how strange the Jersey Devil is in-and-of-itself, however, and in order to get into that, we need to explore its folklore.

And how strange that folklore is. As the most common backstory goes, the Jersey Devil originated as the child of one "Mrs. Leeds," a woman who was distraught about having so many children. Having given birth to twelve, she cried before her thirteenth, "Let it be the devil!" Just as it was conceived, her thirteenth child came out not as a human, but instead a small, inhuman demon who promptly spread its wings and flew out of the hospital. Since then, several stories have circulated about the devil, whether it be sightings, raidings, or attacks from it in the dead of night. Even today, in spite of this myth originating in 1909, and the supposed birth of the devil being during 1735, belief in this cryptid is still prevalent throughout New Jersey.

Something that stuck out to me, however, is the prevalence of the number 13. In a lot of western culture, 13 is considered an unlucky number- there's a reason that Friday the 13th is seen as an unlucky day, after all, and it's commonly believed that it all originates from, what else, but Christianity. As a commonly cited tale goes, the reasoning for the association with 13 and bad luck has to do with the last supper in the Bible, wherein Judas was the thirteenth to arrive at the dinner table, and this was also the case in Norse mythology, wherein Loki is the thirteenth guest to arrive at the banquets of the Æsir. This, alongside the fact that the Jersey Devil was the thirteenth child of Mrs. Leeds, gives light to the idea that it was born of, quite literally, the devil's luck.

Now then, in SMT, there're not many appearances of the Jersey Devil, but the few we have do give it a nice look. While its appearance is the same as usual for most depictions of the Devil, I feel like the odd, almost horror-like artstyle used by the artist makes it look just as surreal as it should be for such a strange story. It's a shame that it's so uncommon in the series, only appearing in Soul Hackers!

Have a good fourth of July everyone, and remember, keep your burgers safe, or else the Jersey Devil might come down and swoop them up!

[strandedinmidgard]

For artist: Years ago, when I was but a wee teen, I followed this blog while trying to figure myself, seeing Loki as gender fluid and so relaxed with topics I struggled with was very comforting. Now, years later, come to find out by mere accident that you're still updating after all this time! I've certainly missed a lot since then, it seems, but I'm glad you're still up to it and having fun with your art. Every piece is gorgeous and I'm very thankful to be able to see it!

As for Loki: the kids have gotten so big! I hope the world is kind to them and your family for more 💖

Loki: The world is the best and the worst it's ever been, and I refuse to accept that my toddlers are now teenagers.

Vali: Thanks!

Narfi: Always glad to provide pubescent shnanigans. Sorry, not sorry. (proceeds to flick Vali's ear with force)

---

Thank you wholeheartedly, this is wonderful to hear! I am glad I could provide some comfort with my silly things! I'm touched by some readers of this blog having been here so long. We basically grew up together ;)

[sigyn-foxyposts]

"Happy pride Month!"

It's that time of the year where we all finally get to celebrate what makes us in the LGBTQA+ community so unique! We have been here all throughout history and what's not more perfect then the proof we have through our mythological gods and figures!

Featuring characters: Njord, Skadi, Heimdallr, Loki, Freyr, Gerdr, Sigyn, Hoenir, Natt and Fulla.

Explanations down below ⬇

Reasonings:

Loki is obviously gender fluid to our more modern understanding and I feel like he is bisexual with a preference for women! Biggest egg out there. 🥚🏳️‍⚧️

Heimdall is polyamorus and bisexual because he slept between a wife and husband 3 times to create the 3 classes of humanity.

Freyr was worshipped by gay men, either he is queer or a huge ally!

Gerdr is non binary because their name is a unisex name used for anybody!

I think Njord is transmasc because there is possible evidence of him having been a woman or had a female form at some point before the norse period. That's where we get the name Njorun!

Skadi is transfem even though she is presented as more masculine then the other goddesses and takes on a sons role in her very own myth!

Sigyn is on the asexual spectrum since she's one of very few goddesses who haven't cheated on their lover. Personally I see her as demi!

Hoenir is on the aroace spectrum, he seems to care more about anything but having a romantic relationship.

Natt is polyamorus because she has multiple husbands and divorce was never mentioned. They have multiple kids.

Fulla is lesbian because she and Frigg share their little secrets in her box 😏

‼️ Friendly reminder that for some transgender people, you can still present as the gender you were assigned with at birth. it's just that you feel more comfortable now that you're in the right body ‼️

[actiwitch]

The Gods' myths sometimes include horrific or immoral aspects. That doesn't mean we should behave as if those myths dont exist!

(A Pagan perspective)

(tw: sa, misogyny)

When we are faced with myths that no longer fit in modern moral views (such as so much SA in Greek mythology alone there's a whole Wikipedia page on it) we should not shy away! Even if we don't like or approve of it, it's a part of the Gods' history and mythos.

All mythology is written by humans, and as such is unavoidably a product of its time. The way that anyone (including modern pagans) interprets the Gods as entities, or any interaction with them, is limited within our own culture, time period, and personal beliefs. By examining both the beliefs of the present and the past, we can decide for ourselves how we see the Gods while considering the context their myths were written in.

Even within one time period or similar group of people, such as modern pagans today, interpretations of the Gods can vary widely.

Zues is a cheating rapist. He is also a powerful god of the skies, lightning, and order.

Lucifer is literally the devil. An evil liar full of sins. And yet he is enlightening, independent, and honest.

Freyja is constantly associated (some say reduced) to sex. She uses her body for her gain, and is quite canonically called a slut. At the same time, she's the goddess of women! Of female power, both in mental skill and physical strength. She leads the Valkyries.

Loki is dark and deceptive, bringer of Ragnarok-- and he's a deity of change and freedom.

And neither is wrong. In mythology, both are true.

The Gods, all their aspects, and all the texts we have of them are complicated, complex, multifaceted, and interpretive- of course, there will be various understandings within pagan practices. No one view is superior to the other. Our understandings all exist on a scale, or rather some sort of mashup, of how important and what importance we attribute to various myths and aspects of deities.

When I worshipped Hera, I did so in two 'versions'. 1. Hera as resistance against men and abuse. I found solace and connection with her in powerful womanhood and female rage. I prayed to her before attending a pro-choice rally. And 2. Hera as a symbol of deep love, power, and marriage, and commitment. I lit her candle when my partner was over or when I needed a confidence boost.

These aspects never felt conflicting to me. Separate, maybe (I certainly wasn't thinking of any cheating or abuse in mythology as overlapping with the love and commitment)- but just part of one THING. Of Hera and everything surrounding her.

To many other deities of various 'immoral' aspects, these conflicting elements aren't just both present but often integral to their presence and worship.

Lucifer is often worshipped in rebellion. In healing from oppressive Christianity and finding light and understanding in that darkness.

Freyja is sexual! One of her many aspects. (which by the way, should not be seen as immoral. looking at yall, bs tumblr feminists) There is pleasure, joy, and power to be found in reclaiming that part of women we are told is shameful.

Loki is so much at once. He is outcast and destructive, and within that he spurs necessary change and chaos. So many pagans look to her as a symbol of queerness in the broadest sense and in facing the necessary chaos of growth.

TLDR: Don't just ignore aspects of mythology that feel uncomfortable (obviously unless something like trauma is involved). There is a lot to learn both from understanding the time and context their myths were written in as well as self-reflection on how certain myths or aspects of deities fit (or don't fit) within your practice.

[battyfics15]

Hello People! 🙋‍♀️

You've fallen right into my trap. 👹

Behold, your SUSTENANCE. (The first hit is free).

AUs/Stuff I'll write about:

(Regular humans) G/T, A B O, Hybrids.

I can write fics that wont cure your daddy issues, but perhaps fill that father sized hole in your heart for brief moments.

I can write fics for people who wanna frick fictional characters. (I get it)

I can write fics for wholesome moments after the guilt of wanting to frick fictional characters starts to eat at your soul.

I can write fics that make you hate me as a writer (angst, sad endings, bc what is happiness anyways it's a myth)

Who I take Requests For;

(These lists may be altered so maybe check on them every now and then)

SFW Platonic (Child!reader allowed)

Call Of Duty: Modern Warfare (Reboot)

-Ghost

-Soap

-Gaz

-Price

-Lazwell

Trailer Park Boys:

-Ricky

-Julian

-Bubbles

-J-Rock

- T (Tyrone)

Marvel:

-Tony

-Cap

-Thor

-Hulk (Or bruce!)

-Hawkeye

-Black Widow

-Deadpool

My Hero Academia:

-Bakugo

-Deku

-AllMight (or Smallmight)

-Mr Aizawa

Transformers (Bayverse):

-Bumblebee

-Optimus

Transformers (Prime):

-Bumblebee

-Optimus

-Arcee

-Bulkhead

-Wheeljack

-Smokescreen

-Knockout

SFW 'Romance'🌹:

Call Of Duty: Modern Warfare (Reboot)

-Ghost

-Soap

-Gaz

-Price

Trailer Park Boys:

-Ricky

-Julian

Marvel:

-Tony

-Cap

-Deadpool

- Loki

My Hero Academia:

-Bakugo

-Deku

NSFW 'Romance' (Aka the frickzone)😏(This can only be found on my patreon but you are more than welcome to request here too!):

Call Of Duty: Modern Warfare (Reboot)

-Ghost

-Soap

-Gaz

-Price

Trailer Park Boys:

-Ricky

-Julian

Marvel:

-Deadpool

Links:

(Patreon Coming Soon!)

[constablewafflebottom]

Dream A Little Dream of Me

Chapter Two

Much longer one this time, I'm going to try to do every day as it's own chapter, within reason. I try to keep each one around 6-8,000 words, so. Get ready for that 😂 Be warned, this chapter does contain explicit smut, as will every one from here on, most likely.

The obnoxious trill of the alarm was the next thing I was aware of and I desperately tried to recall how I’d gotten to bed. Hadn’t I been in the living room with…? I glanced blearily around the room, but it was only me, my husband snoozing the alarm and rolling over into the pillows, and the soft milky light of dawn creeping through the window blinds. Last night must have been a dream after all, I realized with a sigh. The only way to describe the way that felt was bittersweet. On one hand, I was relieved that the dreams were not gone as I’d feared, on the other I was devastated that he was not real after all. Curious, too, was the vast difference in the way that dream had gone as compared to every other before it. I had never had to seek him out, nor had he ever been inserted into my waking life like that.

Rather than linger in bed to doze and get reawakened by the alarm over and over until Michael urged me out of bed, I got up, relieved myself and brushed my teeth before slipping my robe over my nightgown and cinching the belt tight around my waist. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I had become increasingly modest around my husband. The idea of him seeing me scantily dressed, much less touching me intimately, made me strangely uncomfortable, as if his distance had turned back the clock on our physical relationship. It certainly couldn’t be because of a fantasized relationship with the man from my dreams, the one whose name I never learned, but called me things I never thought I would want to be called. Things like my dulcet darling, my little dove, my beloved, my queen, things my husband had never imagined calling me (not when clichés like babe and boo existed). Certainly, my newfound modesty was not out of a sense of fidelity to a man that didn’t exist.

The bedroom was still dark and mostly quiet when I passed back through, apart from the softer snores of my dozing spouse. I didn't give him another glance as I left the room and made my way into the kitchen. With an ease of motion brought by a well established routine, I started my music, then the coffee before moving on to breakfast. Sausage and eggs crackled in the pan as I gathered bread, condiments, and lunch-meat. While waiting for breakfast to cook, I prepared Michael’s lunch, vaguely aware of the sound of the shower running as I packed his insulated lunchbox with his sandwiches, drinks, ice packs and snacks, throwing in his vitamins and herbal supplements before closing the box. Once the breakfast sandwich was finished, it was wrapped up and placed on top of the box with his travel mug of coffee beside it.

My early start meant I’d had an early finish, so I took my own coffee and moved to the living room, intending to turn on the television for background noise and to find out the weather forecast for the day. I stood by the couch, ignoring the surreal feeling of having been in that very spot with him and fighting the urge to search for a sign that he’d been there, that was impossible. Instead I looked around for the remote control, when my eyes fell to the floor and I gasped, finding the very thing I was trying not to look for. There were impressions left in the fibers under my bare feet and I followed them with my gaze, from where I was standing behind the couch, around the table to the shelf of photographs where I’d first seen him. Then I followed with my feet and stood gaping at the imprint of large boots, standing for a long time, judging by the depth of the prints, and then followed the steps back toward the place by the couch where I’d started, the final prints marred and obscured by my own just minutes before. For a long moment, I stared at the only tangible evidence that someone other than myself and my husband had been in this room.

“Everything ready?” Michael’s voice startled me and I jumped with a gasp. “What’s wrong with you?”

“No-nothing. Sorry, I just… spaced out, you startled me,” I excused. It wasn’t uncommon, I was easily spooked, especially when I took to zoning out like that. My husband hummed, uninterested in the innocuous explanation and moved to put his boots on. “Everything is done,” I said, hurrying to the kitchen to set down my mug so I could grab his food and meet him by the door as he stood up. I hung the long handle of the box over his shoulder and gave him the cup and sandwich. “I got done early, just remember the sandwich is wrapped in paper towel and foil, I didn’t want it to get soggy on you,” I warned as I retrieved my own cup again.

“Mmm, thanks,” Michael hummed again, taking a sip from his coffee. “Alright, love you,” he said, leaning in for a goodbye kiss. As a force of habit, I kissed him and repeated the same thing I said every day.

“Love you, too. Be safe and have a good day,” I responded robotically.

With that, he stepped through the door and I watched him walk to his truck, climb in, and drive away. I closed the door behind him, locked it, and stood there staring at the wood paneling for a long moment. Part of me wanted to look at the footprints again, but I was afraid it was simply my imagination or wishful thinking. Maybe they were my husband’s footprints after all. I glanced down at the floor where he'd just been standing and saw the faint print of his shoe. Impulsively, I placed my foot there, lining my heel up and estimating the length between my toes and the tip of the print. It couldn’t have been more than a couple of inches, three at most. I hurried over to the place by the shelf and inspected the floor, and sure enough, the print was still there and definitely bigger than the one left by my husband. Just to be certain, I placed my foot exactly the same way and estimated the difference. This print dwarfed my own, it was easily five or six inches longer. My heart thundered in my chest and my hands shook so violently that I had to put my cup of rapidly cooling coffee on the shelf.

It… it was real. The previous night, where my dream lover had come to life, had kissed me with more passion than I’d ever felt in all of my days, and had vowed to return to bring my dreams into reality… it had been real. And he was coming back.

---

The remainder of the morning passed in a haze of giddy anticipation as I went though the motions of my day. Washing the dishes, tidying the kitchen, and doing the chores scheduled for that day. Around lunch time, Michael called as he usually did to check in, and I mentioned that I’d made an appointment at the salon because it was time for me to get a haircut again, although the reality was that I wanted to look as good as possible this evening. Annoyingly, my husband hemmed and hawed, complaining about me spending money on something that ‘didn’t matter.’

“Why? It’s not like you work, nobody sees you. Why do you have to waste money on stuff like that,” he groused.

“You get yours cut every six weeks, and you spend a ton on styling products for your hair and beard. Why shouldn’t I spend a little to get my hair done once in a while?” I demanded.

“Because, the way I look matters,” he repeated, as if explaining something to a small child. “Clients and suppliers see me every day, my appearance is an investment. The only time yours matters is when we go out together.”

“I’m getting my hair done,” I repeated firmly. “I wasn’t asking permission, I was letting you know. I probably won’t be back by the time you get home, dinner’s in the Crock-Pot.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, I hung up the phone, surprised at my own audacity. I had never taken such an attitude with my husband before, never put my foot down and stood up for myself. It took me a moment to calm down, then I took a shower and got ready for my appointment. I got my hair treated, cut, and blown out, and then for good measure (and to spend more of my husband’s money for spite) I got my fingers and toes done, and made a trip to the esthetician for a full-service waxing.

By the time I was done, it was after time for Michael to be home and I was still reluctant to see him, so I stopped at the shopping mall and wandered around for a while to kill time and minimize my exposure to my surly spouse. As I passed a Frederick’s of Hollywood storefront, I glanced inside and had to stop to do a double-take. I didn’t often buy lingerie, as my husband said, my appearance didn’t matter. If that was so, then what I wore under my clothes certainly didn’t, either. Everything I had at home was serviceable, sturdy, plain, intended to last for a while and work with as many outfits as possible. The only exception was the few frilly nightgowns I'd bought when we first married.

But, as I studied the wispy items displayed on the mannequins, I remembered his promise, as well as the instruction. He would return, and he wanted me ready for him. I didn’t give myself a chance to talk me out of it, I walked into the store and started browsing, wondering what sorts of things would appeal to him. Matching bra and panties? Thongs? Cheeky boy-shorts? Or a teddy, perhaps? Maybe a sheer night gown, similar to the one I’d worn last night? Yeah, that felt right; something feminine without being too revealing, sexy without being slutty.

They each had a bra top with an empire waist and a sheer flowing skirt that would fall just below my cheeks, with a matching set of panties. They were perfect, but what color to choose? I hummed and chewed my lip as I deliberated on my choices; I didn’t like pink, red was too intentional, blue just felt wrong, white seemed too virginal, the black one was nice, and I almost chose it before my eyes fell to the green one. It had never been my first color choice for any of my attire, but when I remembered the green light that emanated from him, and the vibrant green of his eyes, I knew that was it. I found my size, and just for shits and giggles, I grabbed the black one as well as a gold one and took them to the register to pay.

No doubt Michael would gripe and moan about me spending money on sexy nighties, but maybe I just wouldn’t tell him. Otherwise he might expect they were for him. The thought caused an unexpected swell of guilt to roil in my stomach, but I viciously squashed it down. That asshole barely treated me better than hired help, and he certainly didn’t display any interest in me as a sexual partner—we didn’t even cuddle in bed.

“Got an interesting evening planned,” the cashier asked with a grin.

“Oh, y-yeah, I guess,” I replied, feeling my face heat with a blush.

“It’s your first night together, isn’t it?” The cashier giggled.

“Uh, y-yeah, how did you know?”

“Fresh hair, fresh nails, brand new lingerie,” she shrugged with a knowing look at me. “Educated guess.” With a deliberate glance down at my ringed left hand, the cashier added, “Not to overstep, because it’s none of my business, but… just be careful, okay? I’m all for getting yours where you need to get it, but things get messy, quick.” I swallowed hard and blushed again. “No shame here, honey. Trust me, I get it. $128.40,” she offered, handing the bag over the counter.

I swiped my card as I accepted the bag and waited for the approval beep.

“Would you like your receipt?” asked the cashier.

“Oh, uh, n-no. No, thank you,” I stammered.

“Alrighty, thanks for shopping with us,” the cashier smiled brightly. “Have fun, and be safe.”

“Thank you,” I nodded with an uneasy smile in return. Uneasiness not withstanding, I was genuinely grateful for the woman’s concern and advice, and her lack of judgement.

---

When I got home later that evening, I fully expected Michael to be in a sour mood. Not only because I’d gone out and spent his money, but because I’d hung up on him and then spent the entire afternoon and evening out, leaving him alone to stew. He wasn’t as irate as I expected.

“What’d you buy,” he asked shortly, noticing the bag in my hand.

“My nightgowns started falling apart, so I bought a couple new ones,” I exaggerated. They hadn’t really started falling apart, but they were getting old and worn, now that I thought about it. I was so used to putting my own needs last, I never paid attention to things like the state of my pajamas, I couldn’t even remember exactly when or where I’d bought the last ones. He grunted in acknowledgement, knowing he couldn’t really complain if that were the case.

“I’m getting ready for bed, we have to get up early tomorrow. You coming?”

“I need to eat and clean up the kitchen and stuff, I’ll be in in a bit,” I excused. He grunted again and ambled into the bedroom while I fixed myself a plate of food, and before long I heard his snore rumbling through the open door. I finished eating, packed up the leftovers, and washed up the dishes, all the while wondering if or when he would appear.

It had been such a long time since I felt so nervous! The closer I got to going to bed, the more my hands shook, the more my heart raced, the more my stomach tied up with knots. And then I recalled all the ways he’d made love to me, the rampant desire he’d set to brewing inside of me every time he touched me. The trembling, racing, anxiousness was not from nerves, then, but anticipation. I repeatedly quashed the intrusive thought that he wouldn’t come, that he wasn’t real, that I’d simply begun to lose my mind from an overabundance of unsatisfied carnal desires. Before I made my way to the bedroom, I stopped in front of the photo shelf for the reassurance that at least I wasn’t really crazy and took comfort in the footprints fading from the carpet. He was real, my mind was safe, for now, and maybe he really would come.

I entered the bedroom with the bag of negligeés and considered leaving the door ajar, but if he could simply appear in the living room, surely he could do the same for the bedroom. So, I closed the door and tip-toed past my snoring husband into the bathroom to change. My clothes were stripped off, and I smoothed a subtly fragrant lotion into my skin, leaving myself soft and supple all over. Then I brushed my teeth to get the taste and smell of pot roast out of my mouth, and did my evening skin-care regimen. Only then did I draw the green nightdress from the bag, remove the tags and give it a couple of spritzes of perfume before sliding the top over my head, and the lacy panties up my tanned, silky legs. I applied some lip balm and, with a final fluff of my hair, decided I was as ready as I could be.

There was one concern that I wasn’t giving credence to, as with the lack of intimacy with my husband, I’d had no reason to keep up with birth control. The idea that he could get me pregnant caused a rush of arousal straight to my core. It shouldn’t excite me, if anyone but Michael got me pregnant, it could spell a whole list of problems for me, but it did excite me on a primal level. I stared into the blue-gray eyes of my reflection for a long moment as I realized that I was really going to do this, if he did indeed show. There was no doubt or trepidation; I wanted this, more than anything. God, please let him show.

On quiet feet, I stepped to the door to the bathroom and turned the light off before opening it, lest it wake my husband and he see me gussied up. Heaven forbid he think this was for him, the last thing I wanted was for him to touch me. The thought was enough to make me shudder, and not in the good way.

He’d said to be ready, but he never specified a place to prepare. I hesitated to crawl into bed, but I didn’t want to be sitting up in the living room, so what was I meant to do? If he appeared the way he did last night, I supposed I could just get up and find him. Slowly, carefully to not disturb Michael, I slid into the bed and lay back on the pillows, covering myself with the duvet to keep from catching a chill while I waited. I stared at the ceiling and drummed my fingers on my stomach. How long would it take for him to show up? Was there a specific time he would, or could appear? Was it like a Witching Hour thing? Where was he coming from anyway? I tried my best to stay awake and wait for him, but the more I tried to fight it, the more tired I became. Maybe if I just closed my eyes, I could imagine him to pass the time. My eyes closed then, and the world fell away.

---

There was a dip in the mattress by my legs that roused me, a deep shifting and a subtle creak as if the springs compressed under a great weight. Twin points of heavy pressure, on either side of my knees, and the sensation of the blanket sliding down from my neck to bare my lace covered chest. Then I heard a soft intake of breath as the blanket moved to reveal more of me. For a moment, I panicked, afraid that it was my husband taking liberties with me the way he had when we’d first married, but I realized I could still feel his body heat radiating faintly from a couple feet away. My head was turned in his direction and my eyes fluttered open to see Michael sleeping peacefully, none the wiser to the visitor in our bed. I began to pant as a flush crept up from my chest to stain my cheeks before my eyes slid up and away from my husband to the now-familiar face of the man poised above me.

He was knelt over me, upright and straddling my legs as his voracious, verdant gaze took in every inch of me that was exposed to him. His pink tongue darted out to lick his thin lips before meeting my eye with a satisfied grin.

“Y-you’re here,” I whispered.

“I am,” he replied, his voice as quiet as my own, but sounding just the way I remembered.

“I-I didn’t know if you would,” I admitted, and his grin shifted into a comforting smile.

 

     “I am,” he replied, his voice as quiet as my own, but sounding just the way I remembered.

 

     “I-I didn’t know if you would,” I admitted, and his grin shifted into a comforting smile.

 

     “Never doubt me, little one,” he advised. “I promised to return, and I am a man of my word, so to speak," he added, his tone indicating a joke I didn’t quite get. Slowly, he leaned down and pressed his face into the soft mound of my belly, nuzzling me and breathing in the scent of my skin. “Have you been waiting for me,” he asked, and I almost laughed at that absurdity of his question. I’d been waiting my whole life for someone like him, and all day for him specifically. “Eagerly anticipating my return?” I gasped as his lips dropped gentle, wet kisses up my stomach to my sternum, nosing the flimsy material out of the way and leaving a trail to cool in the night air, then over my breast bone until he reached my neck.

 

     “M-my husband,” I breathed quietly, quickly losing the ability to care about the man in question as my lover’s hot breath puffed across my skin. He let out a dry laugh as he suckled on my neck.

 

     “I wouldn’t worry about him, my sweet, a bomb could go off in this room and he wouldn’t wake up.”

 

     I gasped and froze with another frantic glance at my husband, “H-he’s not—” His laughter cut my question off before I could ask it.

 

     “While I’m certainly not above such a thing, you may rest easy. It’s a simple sleeping spell,” he assured me. “He will wake when it is time for him to wake and not a moment before,” he said, moving his mouth along my neck to my mouth to silence any subsequent question with his lips.

 

     Well, Michael wouldn’t wake up, but he wasn’t dead, that was good enough for me, so I gave myself over to the greedy kiss. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders to hold myself close to him and returned his embrace with equal fervor. He nipped at my lips with his teeth and I opened to him, moaning softly when his tongue slid inside to stroke mine. I arched when his hands smoothed up my sides from my hips to my waist, to cup my heaving breasts in his big hands. He broke the kiss long enough to grin at me.

 

     “I know I told you to be ready for me, but this was far more than I expected. Suppose I should have known you wouldn’t disappoint,” he praised, returning to kiss and suck and nibble at my neck. He breathed deeply of me, groaning at the heady fragrance of skin and perfume. I squirmed under him with a moan, trying to move my legs to wrap his waist, eager to feel him against me but he eluded me with another chuckle. “Oh, no, my dearest one, we have waited far too long for this, and I intend to savor every delicious moment.” He crawled back down my body, his mouth and hands alternating over my lace covered breasts, rolling and plucking, and drawing and dragging his teeth gently on my hardened nipples through the fabric. “Wrapped up so prettily in your lace and ribbons,” he murmured between bites. “What a perfect little gift you are, all for me, and I can’t wait to open it.”

“Y-you wanna do that here?” I whimpered incredulously.

“This is where I found you. Besides, I can think of no better place, can you?” he asked, moving from my breasts to kiss down my stomach. “In the marital bed you share with an ungrateful husband, who does not love you as he should. If we’re going to cuckold him, we may as well do it properly, don’t you think?”

I had to admit, the taboo of cheating, the insult of doing in our bed, the danger of doing it with Michael asleep right beside us? That was all incredibly exciting, but this was the first time we would really be together, and it may be the only time. Michael had no place in this. I pushed up on my elbows to look at him, and he lifted his head to meet my gaze with wide, lust blown eyes. I cradled his face in my hands as I sat up to kiss him.

“Maybe next time, if there is a next time, but this time I only want you,” I whispered. His lustful gaze softened as he looked at me.

“Oh, there will be a next time, and a time after that,” told me, punctuating with kisses. “And a time after that, until the end of eternity if you wish it,” he vowed, warming me and setting my heart racing double time. Then he glanced at the sleeping man beside us and grudgingly admitted, “That sound is obnoxious, how do you sleep with all that noise?”

“You kind of just get used to it,” I giggled as his disgruntled face. He scoffed and scrunched his face as if he didn’t believe me before sitting up fully and pulling me with him.

“Well, if not here, my dulcet darling, then where would you have me?” He asked.

“Guest room, across the hall,” I supplied breathlessly.

Before I could stand, however, he rose from the bed and lifted me into his arms, throwing me like a sack of flour over his shoulder. I yelped and giggled as he carried me, with my bottom in the air and my hair over my face, through the door into the guest room. The doors closed behind us by an unseen force and he dropped me across the middle of the bed. He gave me no time to adjust my position before he was on me again, kissing me with a desperate hunger that left me gasping and clawing at his clothes, eager to feel his skin under my hands.

Briefly, he pulled back, sitting on his heels to yank the shirt over his head. He turned to toss it away, giving me the chance to marvel at his exposed torso. My mouth literally watered at the defined planes and sprinkling of hair on his chest, the ridges of his abdominal muscles and the hair that trailed down from his belly button to disappear into his pants, the thick sinew of his arms and shoulders. God, he was a sight, and so much better than in my fantasy. As many times as this had happened in my dreams, I never thought he would be real, that he would be a person with a name, so I never asked. But now that I knew he was real... He looked back at me and grinned at the at the no doubt gawping expression on my face. He moved back to kiss me again, but I hesitated.

“What is it, my dove,” he asked.

“I-I just realized, I don’t know your name,” I whispered, his concern evident in his eyes.

“Is that important,” he asked guardedly.

“Well, I’d like to know what name I should be screaming later,” I quipped, my soft voice at odds with the sassy arch of my brow. His guarded expression dropped and he laughed, fully and openly with a shake of his head.

“Yes, I suppose so,” he replied, still tremulous with his laughter. He sighed and looked into my eyes, “I am Loki of the Æsir, son of Laufey, god of mischief.”

I stared blankly at him, blinking in stunned silence. I mean, I had no reason not to believe that what he said was true, but…

“A-are you serious?”

“Rarely, but in this instance, yes,” he replied, watching me carefully. “Does that… change things?”

“No,” I answered immediately, noting the relief apparent in his smile and in the way his shoulders dropped, before he leaned back in to kiss me, but I pulled back again. “Unless… I mean, I know I’m not in a position to be judgmental, but, are you really married, with children?” I asked, rushing to explain my curiosity. “Because my husband might be an asshole, but I don’t want to break up a family, Loki.”

“You are worried about causing heartache to a hypothetical woman you do not know,” he smiled at me, stroking my face and tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “Worry not, my dearest heart. I am, as yet, unspoken for. That is one of the many things the stories got wrong.” Loki leaned in to kiss me, but I pulled back once again and he huffed softly in frustration.

“Don’t you want to know my name,” I asked. He grinned a little sheepishly, if someone like him could be sheepish.

“I already know it,” he answered. “Moira, daughter of Bernard, and regrettably, wife of Michael.”

“Well, why’ve you never used it before?” I demanded.

“You didn’t know mine,” he shrugged. “I thought it might be weird if I used your name and you didn’t know mine.”

"And you never thought to introduce yourself?”

“Neither did you,” returned Loki.

“Alright, that's fair…” I mumbled.

“Now, can we resume,” Loki asked, his voice almost a purr, his gaze centered on my lips. “Or was there more you wished to know before I have my way with you.”

I hummed, as if giving the question real thought, but at the moment all I could really think about was finally letting him have his way. Loki watched me indulgently, likely knowing that I was teasing him.

“Yeah, we can resume,” I finally answered, leaning up to meet his kiss once again. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down with me as I lay back on the coverlet, and he followed, sweeping his tongue into my mouth and groaning as I eagerly arched against him. Our ardor had cooled a bit in the time between changing beds and the ensuing conversation, but it was burning just as hot now that I’d succeeded in getting his narrow hips between my legs.

Loki pressed me into the mattress under his weight while my hands roamed his muscled back and shoulders, stroking his chest and upper stomach. Before I could reach down to unfasten his trousers, he grabbed my hands and held them down by my head. The display of dominance had me letting out a needy groan but I didn’t fight it, though I did whimper in protest when his mouth left mine to trail down my body, and dropped my head back in frustration. That only gave Loki the room to suckle bruises on my throat, and through the haze of desire I worried vaguely about having visible love bites on my skin, but when his mouth found my nipple again, I forgot all about it. He released my hands in favor of exposing and groping at my breasts, and I had the chance to tunnel my fingers through his hair again, tugging on his fiery curls the way he liked while his hot, wet mouth worked my hardened buds. The growl that rumbled through my chest and straight to my core was proof enough that he enjoyed it. Then his hand, with nimble, expert fingers danced across my naked thigh and ever so lightly caressed my heat over the lace panties. The texture of the fabric added a subtle vibration as the pad of his finger glided across it that caused a fresh rush of arousal to my core.

He drew his mouth away with a hiss and a groan.

“Oh, my angel, you are so wet for me, aren’t you,” Loki moaned, his voice roughened by his lust.

“I’m always wet for you,” I answered. “Please, Loki.”

He smirked and began to move down my body once again, this time not stopping until my knees were hooked over his arms. He had a nearly unobstructed view of my wet folds, but for the undergarments blocking him. Carefully, as if to avoid tearing my lacy underthings, he slipped his fingers into the waistband of my underwear and shimmied them over my hips, dropping kisses on each inch of exposed skin until he had to close my legs to divest me of them entirely. Once again, he tossed them carelessly over his shoulder before reclaiming his spot between my spread thighs. He sighed in satisfaction, the puff of warm air tickled me and I had to resist the urge to squirm under his undivided attention.

To my surprise, Loki didn’t immediately dive in to feast on me, instead he placed soft kisses from my knee to my groin and skipped over my center to give the other side equal attention, the only difference being the lustful bite to the soft flesh of my inner thigh. The sound I made was a cross between a yelp and a moan, because right after the bite, he did dive in to deliver a ravenous kiss to my wet, aching center. I let out a loud, keening moan at the sensation of his mouth on me and slapped a hand over my face to stifle the sound when his tongue slid along my slit to lap up my juices. He chuckled into me, sending jolts of pleasure through my body, delving in as deep as the appendage would allow before withdrawing to envelope me and draw in my clit, circling it with his tongue. My body writhed, head thrashing and toes curling as he made love to me with nothing but his mouth, repeating the cycle of sliding his tongue up, then in, then all around over and again.

Then his fingers found me and I swear, I nearly shot off of the bed. They were gentle at first, probing at my soaked entrance before one slid in, deeper than my fingers had ever been, certainly deeper than my husband’s had ever been—but I wouldn’t think of him now, it would only tarnish this moment of absolute rapture with Loki and his magic fingers. Another digit slid inside and I clenched around them. Loki moaned at my response, keeping his tongue and lips on my pussy, and thrust his fingers into me, slipping a third one in and curling them as he drew hard on me. I broke then, arching off of the bed and clamping my thighs around his head with a desperate cry as I came for him. He moaned again as he tasted my orgasm on his tongue, but he didn’t stop the movements of his hand or mouth until he’d wrung every last drop of pleasure out of me.

I fell back onto the bed, gasping and panting, almost embarrassed at how terribly easy it had been for him to get me to come. But, I suppose when my dry spell had been years in the making, it was only natural for my touch starved body to respond the way it had. Loki, his hair a mess from where I’d pulled on it, captured my gaze as he crawled up my body, kissing my stomach and watching me through the red curls, tousled and hanging over his eyes. When he reached my face again, he kissed me hungrily and I nearly recoiled at the taste of myself in his mouth, but I refused to find anything about him or this moment distasteful, and wrapped my arms around his neck. I drew my hands back down to hold his face and pulled my mouth away just long enough to speak.

“Now it’s my turn,” I panted. Loki chuckled and shook his head.

“No, my delicious one, this is to be the night I fulfill you, not the other way ‘round,” he replied.

“My throat is still a part of me, isn’t it,” I asked rhetorically. Loki was momentarily stunned by my words, and didn’t fight when I pushed against him, rolling until I sat astride his lap. I leaned down and began peppering kisses along his neck, and along his collar bones, copying his habit of nipping and biting on the sensitive skin there.

“I-it’s not that I don’t appreciate the intention,” he breathed, gripping my full hips in his hands and pressing me into his hardened loins. “But, dreams are one thing… I’m afraid I’m a bit more than you can handle, my darling. ‘Giant’ is not an exaggeration.”

I hummed as I kissed down his chest and rocked my hips on him, wrapping my lips around his nipple and sucking hard on the little pebble. He groaned and bucked subtly under me, and I giggled.

“Don’t underestimate me,” I warned, lifting my head to meet his confused eyes. “I might be small, but I don’t have a gag reflex.”

“W-what?” Loki sputtered, but I didn’t answer. I resumed my path down to his stomach until I was on my knees between his legs, my naked backside in the air as I tugged his trousers open. While I ran my tongue along the furrow of muscle over his hip, my hands reached in to fish his hardened cock from within the fabric. I gripped his length in one hand and stroked it, glancing up to see his reaction, and would have laughed if I hadn’t been so aroused by the sight. His face was flushed and his lips were slightly parted, a sheen of sweat or my own fluids on his upper lip, but his eyes were desperate, if a little disbelieving as he watched me. I hoped the visual was a pleasing one for him and decided it must be. His muscular chest and stomach expanded and clenched with his heaving breath, and his arms and shoulders flexed as he held himself up on his elbows.

A small, salacious smile curved my lips, I’d never thought I could have this effect on a man, especially one as gorgeous and perfect as this one, but there he was, barely restraining himself while I touched him. I hummed happily and turned my attention back to the rampant cock in my hand. Loki hadn’t been exaggerating about his size, his was easily the biggest I had ever seen. Almost as long as my forearm, and nearly as wide. Thick veins webbed along the shaft, and the uncut head was wet with lubricating fluids and so red it was almost purple. I stroked him again, watching with fascination as the skin slid back and exposed it. Even though I'd resolved not to think of my husband, I couldn’t help but compare them; Loki made him look like a cocktail sausage and I giggled at the mental image.

“Don’t tease me, kjærlighet,” my god groaned above me.

“I’m not,” I giggled again. “Just… bracing myself.” I studied the cock throbbing in my hand and considered where to start.

My tongue flattened on the underside of his shaft and dragged it up the considerable length, stopping before I reached the crown and starting back at the bottom, over and again until I’d licked the entire circumference. He moaned above me and threaded one hand in the hair at the back of my head; he didn’t push me in any direction, he simply held me as I wrapped my mouth along the shaft. I ran my open lips up and down, and all around the bottom half and stroked the top with my hand, gently squeezing the weeping head and spreading his fluid. My focus shifted to the base of his cock and I sucked and licked around the place where it met his groin before moving to take one of his swollen balls into my mouth, running my tongue along the sensitized skin and drawing gently. The sharp exhale, followed by the gasp and groan he let out sent a rush of pleasure through me, so I switched sides to give the other equal attention. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t devote so much time to this, but his obvious enjoyment of it had me licking and sucking on his heavy sac for several long minutes while I stroked him. But I’d waited long enough, and I wanted to feel him in my mouth and taste him on my tongue. I withdrew from below, and hovered over the twitching, throbbing mass filling my hand and glanced up at his face again to see how he was doing. He looked absolutely wrecked, dewy with sweat, flushed and delirious with lust, his green eyes were nearly black for how wide his pupils had grown under his furrowed red brows.

But, even with my hesitation, Loki never used the hand in my hair to force me down on him, he simply waited for me to make my move. With my eyes locked on his, I lowered and enveloped the glistening head in my mouth, unable to stifle the moan at the salty sweet taste of him. He let out a trembling, breathy groan in response and dropped his head back before jerking it back up, unwilling to miss a single moment of me loving him. His tongue darted out to lick his lips as he watched me take his length into my mouth, a little at first as I suckled and massaged him with my lips and tongue, then more and more until he was nudging at the back of my throat.

“Oh, fuck me. Moira,” he muttered with a gasp, suddenly losing all of his eloquence.

If you insist, I thought with private amusement, and with a deep breath I relaxed my throat to swallow him down. If he thought I’d been bluffing before, he was well and truly convinced now as he slid further into my mouth until my nose was pressing into the springy hair at the base of his cock. His strangled moans were their own reward, and his hand tightened in my hair. Not to hold me down, but simply to hold me the only way he could. My throat contracted around him as I flexed and swallowed, before withdrawing and plunging back down to effectively fuck him with my throat. His moans turned desperate, and when I withdrew again, he pulled my mouth away before I could take him back in and sat up for a messy, open mouthed kiss, seemingly undeterred by the taste of his own essence on my tongue. 

 

     In a flash I was on my back again with Loki’s face in my neck and his bared hips pressed between my thighs, flexing them with another groan as he slid along my dripping slit. My back arched at the sensation and I wrapped my arms around his waist as I writhed under him. He held himself over me on one elbow and set his knees wide, using his free hand to rub his cock along my opening and spread my slick all over himself before pressing the tip into me. With agonizing slowness, he sank inch by spine tingling inch inside. Even as wet and eager as I was, he was still so much bigger than anything I’d ever felt before, and it did take a moment to adjust. Once the path was set, he planted both elbows by my head, caging me in an embrace and held his face close to me to kiss me deeply as he gently, carefully, and subtly shifted his hips. With the most minute of movements, the tiniest thrusts, he urged more of his length inside of me, in and out again while I moaned beneath him. Our breaths mingled, our sounds of pleasure were synchronized and harmonious as he filled me. With every inch he gained, his thrusts grew deeper and more purposeful, and my legs trembled along his flanks until he was fully embedded within me. 

 

     “Oh, that’s it, my beloved, you’re mine now,” Loki breathed and held himself still as we savored the feeling of complete oneness with eachother. He was right, I was his now, and there was no going back. I whimpered and shook, arching again to urge him to move as I dug my fingers into his backside.

 

     “Please, Loki, please,” I begged. He smiled as he pressed his mouth against mine and slid his tongue inside to mimic the motion of his hips. I lost myself in the feeling of him slowly slipping out until he was almost entirely withdrawn before pressing back in just as deep. The breath left my lungs in a sound of primal pleasure as he moved, filling me, leaving me, and filling me again. My body moved by sheer instinct, rolling my hips and clawing my fingers, my mind lost to my lust and love as Loki took me higher than I’d ever been. 

 

     All sense of reality was gone, I didn’t worry about the time, I didn’t worry if the neighbors could hear the animalistic cries I was letting out, I didn’t care if Michael suddenly woke to find me spread beneath Loki and taking him with such enthusiasm. All I cared about was the feeling of being joined with and loved by him, and when he started to swivel his hips with every thrust, all that I cared about was the unbridled pleasure he was giving me. My body wound tight, my pussy spasming around him, and I knew an unprecedented second orgasm was building. I was vaguely aware of his mouth still on mine, but he wasn’t kissing me, he was gasping and moaning into me as if even he’d been overwhelmed by our lovemaking. His shoulders quaked from holding his own weight under the onslaught of sensation. He moved then, dropping his hands to grab my bottom as he buried his face in my neck again, using his grip on my cheeks to lift my hips as he pounded into me. On top of the heat and friction, there were the sounds; my heartbeat thundering in my head, his breathless moans and desperately groaned curses in my ear, and the wet pat-pat-pat of his hips meeting mine. 

 

     My own sounds of pleasure twisted into a keening wail as my body snapped, my pussy clenching unmercifully, shuddering and trembling around his cock and milking it as my hips bucked against him. He fucked into me harder then, inhumanly fast as his own climax washed over him, drawing mine on for several moments until he spilled deep inside me with a low growl. But he never stopped, not until I fell limp against the bed, gasping and panting, shivering with aftershocks and shaking from weakness, unable to take anymore. He held himself still within my body as he kissed me, wrapping his arms around my waist to keep me close. I circled his hips with my legs again and held him around the neck as we drifted back into ourselves.

 

     When my heartbeat and breathing had slowed a little and I could see clearly again, I looked up at him. I knew I had to be a mess, but he was no better. His face was still flushed and sweaty, his hair mussed and clinging to his forehead, his eyes satisfied and drowsy, but he smiled at me and leaned in to press a soft kiss to my lips.

 

     “I love you, Moira,” Loki whispered and I froze. It had been so long since I’d heard those words spoken with such sincerity, it almost felt foreign. My eyes misted as I returned the sentiment, my voice a bit more wobbly and thick than his.

 

     “I love you, Loki."

 

---

 

     Post-coital lethargy made it difficult for me to move, let alone get up, but Loki helped me off of the bed and carried me to the bathroom in the hall so I could relieve myself and clean up the mess of mixed fluids between my legs. When I was done and it was Loki’s turn, I peeked into the master bedroom at my husband in our king size bed, impressed that he really was still asleep; I knew I hadn’t been quiet or dignified, and he would have definitely burst into the room to find out who was assaulting his wife. I almost couldn’t believe it, I’d actually cheated on Michael, but I didn’t feel guilty for it like I thought I would, something about being with Loki felt right. 

 

     When he was finished in the bathroom, Loki helped me back to the guest room where we crawled into the bed together. I had no idea what time it was, but I knew it had to be very late and I wasn’t looking forward to getting up with Michael in a few hours. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about that, though. Right now, I was cuddled up with Loki, my head pillowed on his chest and his strong arms holding me like I was the most precious thing in the world. I grew more drowsy with every passing minute, though I was reluctant to go to sleep; I wanted to hang on to this moment. What if he didn’t come back? As if he could read my mind, he nuzzled my hair with a gentle stroke of his hands over skin.

 

     “It’s alright, my little dove. I'll come back in the evening, after that old sod goes to sleep,” he assured me.

 

     “You promise?” I murmured sleepily.

 

     “I swear it,” Loki vowed, tipping my chin up so he could seal it with a kiss. I hummed against his lips, then tucked my head under his chin and let him soothe me to sleep.

----

I'll try to provide translations for any non-english words I use. Since Norse Mythology isn't limited to any one Scandinavian country or language, I tend to pick and choose which endearments I like the sound of the most and use them. Don't come for me 😂

kjærlighet - Norwegian, noun, meaning love

You can find Chapter 1 here: https://at.tumblr.com/constablewafflebottom/dream-a-little-dream-of-me/l69odaqyvg7t

And the Master List here: https://at.tumblr.com/constablewafflebottom/master-list/82s3wqp0jp4p

[lokiinmediasideblog]

"why are people against evil thor depictions?" it's because Thor is traditionally masculine and mostly hurts the people of the assigned evil race, and because most of his fans are cishet white men this is seen as heroic. people of color can see the red flags about his jotun hatred from a mile away and women know how men with anger issues behave behind walls.

I think the most likely and charitable explanation is that they can't let go of the Marvel depiction (or their idea of it). I don't want to generalize the demographics of people that like Thor. IF they have any version Thor as a comfort character they will sand off the edges and pretend it's the sweetest precious cinnamon-roll. People do that with their comfort characters (people do this with Loki depictions too, but it gets criticized WAY MORE with Loki depictions because he's frequently depicted/framed as a villain (and this can be attributed to Loki not being traditionally masculine and Loki being considered "argr", and technically the only one that is undeniably queer even by modern standards because he just does "gay shit" because he wants rather than some ulterior motive.)).

It does annoy me when people act like the Vikings were some paragon of queer acceptance. Then they act like Thor doesn't have plenty of villainous traits to work with such as: anger issues, toxic masculinity, and his favorite hobby of smashing Jotnar into puree with Mjolnir. It's probably because people don't want to deal with problematic elements or implication, and that's fine, as a personal preference. It's a preference I DON'T SHARE. But I understand people disliking reminders of bad things.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~GOING ON A TANGENT HERE~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But now you've unlocked my rant about the Asatru and Norse Pagan attempts at organized religion. Thor's definitely more popular than other Norse gods among cishet white men for obvious reasons, which is the prime demographic of the Asatru. Based on the blogs I've seen of them and few online exchanges, they are AWFUL and I block on sight as they'll call you slurs from the 18th century. They're not safe to be around and they're on my shit-list, and they're fucking annoying about Loki and equate him as a Norse Devil, which is why I consider Loki a starter litmus test.

I make a huge deal out of mentioning that I'm not Norse Pagan because I'm an Atheist and would be uncomfortable with it, and the most any deity will get is "blorbo-from-the-myths" type hyperfixation from me and "blorbo-from-myths devil's advocate".