#I mean. I was asking for it naming a cat Freyja in a very Loki household | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rigmarolling · 5 years ago

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Myth Time: Loki and the Goat

Once upon a time, the ice giantess/goddess/resident “I-have-no-indoor-voice friend” Skadi was upset about Asgard killing her dad, so she kicked down the door to their victory party and went, “WHO’S THE LITTLE PISSANT WHO KILLED MY FATHER?”

Everyone just stared, mouths full of feast food, and pointed to Loki like

And Loki went

Skadi glowered, axe in hand and went, “If you people don’t FIX this IMMEDIATELY, heads will roll, and by heads, I specifically mean--” and she swung her head in a certain jötunn’s direction-- “that head.”

And Loki was like

Odin immediately went into PR cleanup mode and said, “You’re right--we’re either advertently or inadvertently responsible for the death of your father. What is it that you want?”

And Skadi leaned in and hissed between her teeth, “I want blood.”

Odin, who generally preferred to be literally anywhere else about 95% of the time, went

and said, “Right, well, we’re in the middle of something right now, so besides bloodshed, what can we do to make reparations?”

Skadi narrowed her eyes. Sniffed. Looked around imperiously at the idiots with mouths full of mutton, and said, “I want three things.”

“Name them,” Odin said.

Skadi propped her axe against the wall, straightened up, and looked down at Odin through her frosted eyelashes.

“One,” she said, “I want you to cast my father’s eyes into the sky so they will be immortalized as eternal, shining stars.”

Odin went

but did it, anyway, because everyone’s got their quirks; who was he to judge?

Then, brushing the eyeball goo off of his hands, Odin asked, “What’s the second thing?”

Skadi sniffed.

“Secondly, I demand that one of you makes me laugh.”

The gods shifted in their seats. If they weren’t nervous before, they absolutely were now, because Skadi never laughed. Like, ever.

“Skadi never laughs,” Thor muttered in disbelief. “Like, ever.”

Skadi’s head swiveled in his direction. “Did you say something, you walking sausage roll?”

Thor quickly swallowed the bite of pie he’d been chewing. “No, no. Nothing.”

“My liege lady,” Odin said quickly, his tone suddenly silken. “Why not something...simpler? We wouldn’t want to insult you with lukewarm attempts at humor, after all--”

“Someone,” Skadi declared imperiously, “had better make me laugh, or I swear by the Norns, I will garrote each and every one of you with your own intestines while your children watch on the sidelines and weep for their gutless progenitors!”

Thor blinked and went,

But they had no choice. So, sweating slightly and fighting back anxiety pee, the gods each took their turn trying to make Skadi laugh.

Tyr, the god of war, tried some biting political satire. Skadi didn’t even blink.

Idunn, the goddess of youth, rattled off a few celebrity impressions, but was really more of a “behind the scenes” sort of gal, so Skadi remained stone-faced.

Baldr quoted a few lines from The Importance of Being Earnest, but nobody knew what the hell he was talking about or who the hell Oscar Wilde was, so that was bust.

Thor tried his hand at that one “orange you glad I didn’t say banana” knock knock joke that you thought was the pinnacle of comedy when you were five, but he blew it three times before Skadi shot him a look that could have incinerated steel and he hurried back to his seat.

Frigg, goddess of foresight, tossed out a few legitimately great quips about tech culture in Silicon Valley, but being the goddess of foresight generally meant that she was the only one who would get her references for at least 1,000 years. Skadi, flummoxed, simply scowled.

There was enough awful improv to make even that insufferable guy in your college lit class cringe; there was bad, white-dad-at-a-wedding dancing; there were ham-fisted attempts at stand up, but very few gods understood the concept of “setup and payoff,” so every single bit flopped like a dead fish.

Skadi was growing more and more irritable by the second. Her mouth had all but disappeared into a thin line, and her fingers had started twitching, which usually meant she was either bored or hadn’t punched anything in at least an hour.

Worst of all, mid-way through Bragi’s frankly atrocious tagelharpa routine, Skadi had walked away, retrieved her axe, and sat it down next to her.

Bragi, who wouldn’t have noticed a nuclear detonation if it exploded five feet away as long as he was in the middle of a performance, continued, undeterred.

Meanwhile, Loki had been watching from the sidelines, leaning up against an outer wall of the mead hall, his arms crossed, his jaw clenched.

By the time Bragi got to what had to be the 23rd verse, Loki went

and made his way to where Bragi was going on about something to do with a wolf swallowing the sun, nothing important, and hissed, “Stop. Just stop. Just stop! Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with you people?”

Then, letting out a huff of frustration, he loped over to the nearby pasture-- which was full of livestock just minding their own business, they didn’t ask for any of this, really-- and whistled at a goat.

The goat, who on some instinctual level knew exactly what was about to happen because he’d been around Loki long enough to know that something always happened, let out a sigh and trotted over.

Then, casting the goat a glance that clearly said, “I owe you one, buddy,” Loki pulled a rope seemingly out of nowhere and, with a look of determination that made everybody in the vicinity incredibly uneasy, dropped his pants.

“What the hell?” cried Freyja, goddess of love and war and death, how metal, love her.

But Loki was in full frat mode at this point.

His goods swinging free for everyone to see, he tied one end of the rope around the goat’s horns.

And the other to his own testicles.

Immediately objecting to having himself tethered to balls that belonged to this guy of all people, the goat began to pull backwards.

Loki let out a thin whine, his face draining of all color, and stumbled forward.

The men in the group looked faintly nauseated.

With a breathless sort of grunting sound, Loki tugged back, pulling the goat forward. But the goat was just done with this shit, oh my God, what the hell? and bucked backward with an indignant, “Baa!”

Loki skittered forward again with a yelp and then hurled himself in the opposite direction, “baa-ing” right back.

And on it went--the goat leaping back and pulling Loki balls-first with him, and Loki tugging back until the goat stumbled unceremoniously forward.

At this point, the other gods and goddesses were howling with laughter and/or sympathy pain, and Loki had never known anything but suffering, holy shit, oh, God, I fucked up, I actually did it, I actually permanently fucked up this time for real, oh, sweet mother of God, this goat is the worst goat in the world, just--just the worst fucking goat, just a really, really bad fucking goat--

His vision spotty, his lower half engulfed with the sort of agony that was all-encompassing and obliterating and just oh my God, you’re a fucking idiot, you really, really are, Loki gave one last, mighty tug, roaring like a cat in heat, and the rope snapped, sending the goat skittering back and Loki tumbling, butt cheeks-first, right into Skadi’s lap.

There was a thick, heavy silence. Loki let out a series of noises that sounded like an anemic balloon slowly being deflated.

And suddenly, Skadi began to laugh.

And laugh.

She laughed so hard, she had to screw her eyes shut to stem the flow of tears. She laughed so hard, she actually stopped making noise and took to wheezing, instead.

In her lap, Loki had lost all sense of space and time and would have really liked to have thrown up, thanks, but to his credit, everyone else was laughing so hard, they’d all started to cry-wheeze, too, so he settled for rolling to the side in a fetal position and clutching his now grotesquely swollen balls, distantly thinking, “That’s showbiz, baby.”

“Well,” said Odin over the din of laughter, clapping his hands together and smiling despite himself, “that settles it, Skadi! We’ve made you laugh. Reparations are made, and no hard feelings, hmm?”

As abruptly as she’d started, Skadi suddenly stopped cackling. Her face, which only a second earlier had been stretched wide in a grin, collapsed back into Miranda Priestly coolness.

“No,” she bit out. “That does not settle it. I still require one more thing.”

Odin had known that; he’d simply hoped she’d been distracted enough that she’d forgotten.

*Narrator voice* she hadn’t.

“Of course.” Odin plastered on a smile and said between his teeth, “Name it.”

Something in Skadi’s glittering, cool eyes softened. Her gaze roved appraisingly over the gods gathered around her.

“I want a husband.”

The men assembled felt a collective scrotum twinge of apprehension.

From his place curled up on the ground, Loki wheezed, “Not it.”

#Mythtory #norse mythology #loki

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samwisethewitch · 5 years ago

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✨🏳️‍🌈 Deities, Saints, Crystals, and Herbs For All Your Gay Magick Needs 🏳️‍🌈✨

Note: This was originally posted on my blog, themysticbitch.wordpress.com.

Happy Pride Month, my loves! June is upon us, which means it’s all gay, all the time for the next few weeks. Being queer is a big part of my life and my identity, so I wanted to do something special for Pride. The end result was my most recent video, which you can watch here.

In that video, I try to get through a ton of information in as little time as possible, so I decided to post a written version here for anyone who wants a more solid starting point for incorporating these deities, saints, herbs, and crystals into their own practice. I’ve tried to be as inclusive as possible here — if I’ve missed something that seems obvious to you, please let me know in a comment so I can update the list!

Spiritual Patrons For LGBTQ+ Folks

Patrons For WLW:

Artemis (Greek goddess): Artemis is considered a “virgin” goddess, but it’s important to note that the word “virgin” had a different meaning in Ancient Greek culture. The one thing we know about Artemis for sure is that she was not romantically interested in men, for whatever reason. Artemis swore never to marry or have sex with a man, and she lead the Hunters of Artemis, a group of all-women warriors who spent their days hunting and roaming the forest. She is associated with the moon, archery, the forest, and the hunt. Some of her common symbols are bows and arrows, stags, hunting dogs, and the moon. She was worshiped by the Romans as Diana.

Freyja (Norse goddess): Freyja is a Scandinavian goddess of sex and sexuality, as well as sorcery, wealth, war, and death. I decided to include Freyja in this list because she is associated with sex and sexuality, especially of women, but is not associated with pregnancy or motherhood like many other sex goddesses are — her children are rarely mentioned in the surviving myths. All we know about her husband is that he was lost, leaving Freyja single for all intents and purposes. She is noted for being bold in her sexual pursuits, sleeping with whoever she pleased. She is a goddess for any woman who wants to get in touch with her femininity and sexual power, regardless of sexuality. Some of Freyja’s common symbols are gold, amber, cats, and falcons.

Saints Perpetua and Felicity (Catholic saints): Perpetua and Felicity were African Christians who were persecuted by the occupying Roman government for their faith. Perpetua was a noblewoman — Felicity was one of her slaves. The two women were arrested together and sentenced to prison — eventually they were publicly executed. Some of Perpetua’s letters to family and friends survived, so we actually have a firsthand account of her imprisonments. From these letters it is clear that Perpetua and Felicity were very close, and historians have long speculated that they may have been romantically involved. Today they are considered unofficial patron saints of same-sex couples, especially women. You can buy medals and prayer cards for both of these saints from online Catholic stores. Like all Catholic saints, they can be honored with a white candle and/or Three Kings incense (this is the incense blend used by churches).

Patrons For MLM:

Apollo (Greek god): Apollo was the twin brother of Artemis, and has a similar history with the LGBTQ+ community. The Ancient Greeks had a very fluid attitude towards sexuality, but today we would probably classify Apollo as either bisexual or pansexual. There are myths that explicitly mention him having male lovers. Apollo was very close with his sister, Artemis — perhaps an early example of MLM/WLW solidarity? Apollo is associated with the sun, prophecy, healing, and the arts, especially music and poetry. Some of his symbols include the lyre, a laurel wreath, a bow and arrow, and a python. He was also worshiped by the Romans.

Freyr (Norse god): Funnily enough, we have another brother/sister pair. Freyr was the brother of Freyja, and he shared her association with sex and abundance. Freyr was a primarily agricultural god, and was believed to bring spring rains to nourish the growing crops. One of his strongest associations was with male sexuality — in fact, he was often depicted in art with a giant, erect penis! Like his sister, Freyr was more associated with the act of sex itself than when what comes after. Freyr is an excellent god for any man looking to get in touch with his own masculine power, regardless of sexuality. Some of his symbols are a boar, a ship, and a phallus.

Saint Sebastian (Catholic saint): Saint Sebastian has long been considered an unofficial patron of gay men, and the story behind this association is a wild ride. Unlike Saints Perpetua and Felicity, there is no historical evidence that Sebastian was queer. He was a martyr, and according to legend he was executed by being bound to a tree and shot with arrows. When the Plague hit Europe, Sebastian was often called upon for protection — this was the beginning of his popularity as a saint. Baroque artists created a lot (like, A LOT) of paintings of Sebastian that depicted him as a beautiful, muscular young man, clad in a loin cloth, gazing passionately up at Heaven as he was pierced with arrows. As you might imagine, he became something of a sex symbol. In fact, Sebastian became so popular with the gay men of Italy that he had his own cult! You can buy medals, prayer cards, and candles dedicated to Saint Sebastian, and again, he can be honored with a white candle and/or Three Kings incense.

Nonbinary and Genderfluid Patrons

Loki (Norse god): Technically, Loki is a jötunn (a frost giant), not a god, although he was formerly allied with the Aesir and lived in Asgard. Loki was a shapeshifter, and was known to take female forms as well as male. In fact, he once took the form of a female horse and gave birth to a foal! Loki is probably one of the most explicit examples of a genderfluid deity in European mythology. However, some pagans choose not to work with Loki. He is sometimes considered a “negative” god because of his association with mischief and chaos, and because he ultimately betrayed the Aesir. It is up to you whether to work with him or not, although I would definitely advise you not to bring Loki into a circle with any of the Aesir.

Odin (Norse god): The common image of Odin in pop culture is of a fierce warrior-king, but this is not historically accurate. Odin was often depicted as an old man in traveler’s clothes, and he was associated with several cultural taboos. Though he is definitely identified as masculine, Odin ruled magick, which was considered feminine in Scandinavian culture — it was dishonorable for a man to practice such “woman’s work.” Odin knew that some things transcend gender, and he is a wonderful patron for anyone looking to break away from traditional gender roles. Besides magick, he rules war, strategy, death, astral travel, and knowledge. Some of Odin’s symbols are ravens, wolves, his spear, and his armband. I personally burn mugwort incense when working with Odin. He was also worshiped by Germanic and Anglo-Saxon peoples as Wodan.

Archangel Gabriel (an angel honored in Christianity, Judaism, and Islam): Gabriel is usually identified with masculine pronouns, and “Gabriel” has became a common man’s name in many countries — but in art, Archangel Gabriel is often depicted with feminine features, and sometimes even with a clearly feminine body. This is because Gabriel is strongly associated with the Divine Feminine and with feminine energy in general. Gabriel rules pregnancy and female reproductive disorders, and is responsible for the care of children. He is also associated with the moon, a common symbol of goddess energy. Angels have no true gender, so they are all androgynous in nature, but Gabriel is especially so. Because of this, he is an excellent patron for nonbinary people. Some of Gabriel’s common symbols are a trumpet, a white lily, the moon, and water. Incenses associated with him are frankincense and camphor.

Honorable Mention: Santa Muerte (Mexican deity/folk saint): Santa Muerte may not be trans, nonbinary, or genderfluid herself, but she’s a fascinating figure and deserves a place on this list. Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte (“Our Lady of the Holy Death”) is a personification of death, and is called on for healing and protection by her followers. What is especially interesting is that Santa Muerte is considered a protector of all outcasts from society, including all LGBTQ+ people and especially transgender people. She is even invoked in same-sex marriage ceremonies in some parts of Mexico! Her worship has recently spread to the United States, with churches dedicated to her in California and New Orleans. You can buy statues and altar candles in her image. Common incenses for honoring Santa Muerte include copal, myrrh, and rose.

UPDATE: I’ve been told that worship of Santa Muerte is part of a closed cultural tradition, and is therefore not open to people outside of Mexican and Mexican American culture. I’m leaving her in this post because I still find her story uplifting, but I do ask all of my followers to please be respectful of this beautiful goddess and her cultural roots. I think we can find hope in her role as a pro-LGBTQ+ deity, while respecting that she is not ours to worship or work with.

Correspondences For LGBTQ+ Issues in Meditation and Spellwork

As I mentioned in one of my previous YouTube videos, magick is the act of manipulating the spiritual energy that permeates the universe. Every part of the natural world, including plants and minerals, has a different type of energy associated with it. If you want to connect with a certain energy (like the energy of romance, for example), you can surround yourself with things that correspond to that energy to make the connection easier.

A lot of the love spells that I’ve been able to find online use correspondences that have a strong association with straight romance. Obviously, some symbols are universal, but I wanted to find some correspondences that can specifically be used for manifesting same-sex romantic relationships. Here’s what my research turned up:

Correspondences For Love Between Two Women:

Rose Quartz: Rose quartz is considered the stone of unconditional love, and it can be used universally to attract love of all kinds, not just romantic. I think this crystal could be especially useful for women seeking a feminine partner, because it has a very strong feminine energy. Rose quartz is also strongly associated with self-love, and teaches us the important lesson that the best way to attract love is to start by loving ourselves. You could incorporate it into a love spell, wear it as jewelry, or meditate with it to align yourself with its loving energy.

Moonstone: Sometime’s called “the woman’s stone,” moonstone is very strongly associated with womanhood and with feminine sexuality. It is said to attract love and to increase passion in existing relationships. Unlike many other crystals associated with sex, moonstone has a very peaceful energy and can be used to calm anxiety or to soothe tense situations. Moonstone is a great stone for any woman looking to reconnect with her feminine power, or for increasing passion in an existing relationship between two women.

Violets: Violets have been associated with romantic love between women since the Ancient Greek poet Sappho of Lesbos (from whom we get the words “lesbian” and ‘sapphic”) used them as a symbol in poems dedicated to her female lover. In the Victorian era, queer women would give their lovers bouquets of violets instead of roses. (In the Victorian “language of flowers,” violets represent faithfulness.) In magick, violets are used to attract love and to increase luck in romantic endeavors. They are also edible — why not brew a violet tea and drink it as a love potion?

Correspondences For Love Between Men

Malachite: In many ways, malachite is the masculine counterpart to rose quartz. Despite its strongly masculine energy, malachite is deeply healing and works to open and unblock our heart chakra, as well as to heal any heartbreaks we may not quite have gotten over. Malachite is also considered the “salesman’s stone,” and can be used for situations where you are trying to “sell yourself” to a potential lover by giving a good first impression. Some people are afraid to use malachite because it is “toxic” — although it does contain copper, which can cause health problems if consumed in high amounts, wearing malachite or holding it against the skin is definitely not enough exposure to cause an issue. As long as you don’t eat your malachite or dissolve it in water, you will be fine.

Red Jasper: This is a wonderful stone for men looking to recharge their sexual energy, or to spice up an existing relationship. Jasper in general is associated with courage and charm, and for this reason it is often recommended to people involved in the performing arts, like actors and singers. Red jasper has a strong masculine energy, and is associated with the root chakra and our connection to the earth. Red jasper is an excellent stone to work with if you are dealing with sexual anxiety, or anxiety over being open about your sexuality. Meditate with it to feel more grounded, courageous, and stable.

Green Carnation: Although the connection between green carnation and queer men is not as ancient as the connection between violets and queer women, it is still well established. Oscar Wilde, who was openly gay, is said to have begun the trend of wearing a green carnation as a signal that he was seeking a man as a lover. Other men in Victorian England began to follow the trend, and the association still stands. In magick, carnation is said to enhance creativity and magickal power. Since it acts as an amplifier for other magickal energies, a green carnation can make any love spell more effective, especially for men seeking men.

Crystals and Herbs For Trans and Nonbinary Folks

Note: I said this in my video, but I feel like it bears repeating here — magick is not a replacement for mental healthcare. If you are struggling with gender dysphoria, I strongly encourage you to seek professional counseling if at all possible. None of the herbs, crystals, or spells mentioned below (or anywhere in this post) are intended as a replacement for medical or psychiatric treatment. If you are already taking medication of any kind, be sure to research potential interactions before ingesting any herb for magic or holistic purposes.

Chrysocolla (for trans and nb women): I first learned about chrysocolla from an episode of the Fat Feminist Witch podcast called “Not Every Goddess Has a Sacred Womb.” That episode discussed issues with equating womanhood to motherhood (or even just to having a uterus), and chrysocolla was brought up as a crystal with strong feminine energy that wasn’t tied to uterine health. This is a great stone to meditate with to get in touch with your own goddess energy, without any biological associations. Chrysocolla is also strongly associated with new beginnings, which may make it a useful spiritual tool for anyone who is just coming out of the closet.

Green Tourmaline (for trans and nb men): Much like malachite, green tourmaline is strongly associated both with masculine energy and with the heart chakra. It is a stone of masculine authority, and can be used either to get in touch with your own power or to help in overcoming emotional issues related to a father figure in your past. Tourmaline in general is said to convert negative energy into positive, which makes it ideal for overcoming any difficult situation.

Damiana (for trans and nb men AND women): Known by the scientific name Turnera diffusa, damiana is currently being clinically studied for its ability to balance hormones in all sexes. In holistic healing, damiana is commonly used to treat sexual problems — this is another one that may be useful for increasing sexual confidence. It is also said to help relieve anxiety and to decrease stress. Damiana is available both as herbal supplements and as a tea.

Angelica or Dong Quai (for trans and nb women): These are two different names for Angelica sinensis, which has been used in folk medicine for hundreds of years. It is often used to relieve symptoms of menopause because it increases estrogen levels when taken regularly. Angelica is also a powerful magickal herb, and is popular in American folk magick. It is sometimes associated with Archangel Gabriel, who I mentioned earlier, and is used for protection and healing. Angelica is available in teas and supplements, though it is usually marketed as “dong quai” in these forms.

Ginger (for trans and nb men): Lab studies found that ginger significantly increased testosterone levels in male rats. Human studies are still underway, but the research that has been done indicates similar benefits for humans. In magick, ginger is considered a magickal “power up” of sorts, and is often added to spells to add power or to speed up results. You can use ginger to increase your own masculine power, and to infuse yourself with a little bit of its sweet and spicy energy. Ginger is available both as a supplement and in teas, and of course it can be used in cooking.

This ended up being a way bigger project than I originally planned, but my research turned up so much good information that I wanted to share. I hope that some of this is helpful to all of my fellow gay witches out there, and I hope that you all have a magickal and blessed Pride Month.

P.S. I’ve actually written three different love spells based on this research. One is for men seeking men, one is for women seeking women, and one is for people who either don’t associate strongly with any one gender or don’t care about the gender of their partner. I was going to include those spells in this post but after seeing just how much info I had to cram in, I decided to give them their own post. You can find those spells here.

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skaldish · 6 years ago

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Sigyn UPG!

February 24, 2019

Oh my gosh you guys I had the most EXCEPTIONAL experience last night and I just have to share it all! And you know me, I’m not one to share this kind of personal stuff as much these days.

After scoping online for as much as I could about Sigyn and coming up with very little, I decided to leave an offering for her and actually invite her into my home to get to know her myself. And boy howdy did I get some UPG from that experience! Because so little is known about this goddess I’ve decided to talk about it.

Disclaimer: This is ALL UPG. The only thing we know about Sigyn in lore is that she’s Loki’s wife and that she held a bowl above his head to catch dripping snake venom until Ragnarok. That’s it. The following is derived from my experiences, and you can take it or leave it as you wish.

—

The best way to tell this is to tell it like a story, so please account for metaphor—this stuff didn’t LITERALLY happen. Let’s be smart here.

Anyways.

It began when I invited Sigyn into my home with an offering of chocolate-covered strawberries, which seemed to make the most sense out of what I had on hand. One of the first things she did when she arrived was express great approval for how much I was spoiling her husband, particularly honing in on the framed watercolor I made for Loki that I keep on his side of the altar.

She and Loki were both there, and a few things became obvious at once: Sigyn’s got a really bright energy to her, and she and Loki are MADLY in love. Given any opportunity Loki would sweep her off her feet, or dance with her, or carry her, as if to say, “Who’s the arm-burden now?”

Like a goddang conversation over tea I began to ask Sigyn about herself—”So, uh, what do you DO?” My intention was to figure out what she was the goddess OF, but her reply went something like, “Oh I take care of the boys and the garden, sometimes I paint.” And I was like “huh?” because that’s not what I expected.

And then

AND THEN

Friends, there were IMAGES that came to mind after that moment. A cottage in a meadow, charming as heck, all wooden on the inside with carefully organized clutter and colorful glass lamps. Overgrown but well-loved and cared-for plants. A sprawling garden, well-tended to, complete with at least two garden cats. Feelings of a mild summer night and fireflies, but also the gentle cool breeze of a spring day. It all had the vibe of something Hayao Miyazaki would draw, and something Jason Mraz would sing.

Sigyn IS artistic—actually, I think the whole damn household is. Instruments everywhere and art supplies. The house is FULL of DIY furniture and things. I got the very strong impression that Loki acts as Sigyn’s muse, happy to be WHATEVER she desires in order to spark joy and inspiration in her (this is my experience with Loki as well! I think he loves artists). It’s such a lovely relationship I could die.

In the kitchen I was shown the tea cupboard, and OH MY GODS YOU GUYS this woman has so much TEA! A tea for every reason! Colds, relaxation, stomach pains, sleep, you name it! And it struck me right then that Sigyn was very prolific at low magic: Kitchen witchery, green witchcraft, herbal remedies, etc. You know, more of the earth-based things as opposed to Frigg’s and Freyja’s lofty Seidr.

At this point I began to get a sense of what Sigyn looks like. Bear in mind, this is just how my brain interprets her since deity appearances are metaphorical to me: A woman on the cusp of entering middle age, with a middle-sized build, dark blond hair, hazel eyes, olive-toned and sun-darkened skin, and a couple of sun-spots and moles. Her face is charming and charactered, but definitely NOT the “young maiden” or “hollywood beauty” I previously imagined. She has some serious Cool Aunt vibes to her, actually.

As far as personality goes, she’s fun and playful at her default, bright as a sunflower, but her eyes and smile can quickly take on a cunning look to foretell some quip she’d say. She’s sharp. I got the sense she’s very fond of doublespeak—saying one thing and meaning another:

“Angrboda and I exchange recipes.”—She means witchcraft methods.

“He’s a Jotunn. He needs his exercise.”—The reply to my question about whether or not it bugs her that Loki’s so promiscuous.

(Also, fun fact, I asked her about that nasty “child bride” UPG and she LAUGHED and patted her [child-bearing] hips and said something like, “You better believe I’m a WOMAN!”)

A VERY good pick for Loki. She’s more grounded than he is but still just as bent on having fun. It’s such an amazing relationship I could die and I want to protect it forever.

This all being said, I quickly began to associate Sigyn with some of the following:

Low magic: kitchen witchery, green magic, etc.

Tea (all kinds)

DIY crafting

Art for art’s sake

Gardening and cooking, particularly as magical acts

The tidiness and happiness of a home

Personal balance

Steadfastness, resilience, and personal fortitude

And here’s some miscellaneous UPG:

Sigyn’s bisexual, which pairs well with Loki’s gender-nonconformity.

I guess she has tea with Angrboda from time to time and the two are good friends.

She considers Angrboda’s children her children as well.

Vali and Narfi are young adults and Sigyn’s doing a damn fine job making sure they don’t get into trouble at their rowdy and promiscuous age. xD

She’s not much into the “rabble of the Aesir” these days and I don’t blame her for it.

I now want Sigyn to be my aunt and tell me vibrant stories on her porch during a summer rainstorm with candles and tea.

Even if you don’t agree with this UPG (and you don’t have to) I wanted to provide it here in case some of you find it useful. It really, really bugged me that all Sigyn was defined as is “Loki’s wife,” and framed in senses that reek of 50’s-nostalgia. I’m glad I finally got to know her on my own terms and I hope we’ll become great friends. ^^ She’s really a wonderful goddess and deserves tons of love.

#shen speaks #sigyn #sigyndeity #she of many teas

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writinanon · 7 years ago

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Glimpses

Here are small snippets into the life of Deputy Rook, Coy-Wolf and descendant of Fenrir I’ll be adding some of the head canons in a little bit.

It is a warm summer day when the announcement comes ringing through the halls of Asgård. Ask has taken a Mate. And she is Mortal. And she is not a Wolf. And she is with Child because this was a while ago. Loki can’t exactly say that Odin is timely when it comes to announcements of the Wolf Children. When Loki locates his grandson to inform him he finds that Hati is already gone because Ask’s Mate was due to give birth on this day, also Ask was going by Ash now because modern speech made his name sound stupid. Loki was really going to get Odin back for this.

The babe is bright and makes her displeasure at no longer being safely within her mother’s belly known with yips and yaps. Loki is stunned by her fur. He had seen many a normal wolf with similar stylings of patches of color and a light underbelly. His son, grandson, and great-grandson did not have these markings they were a solid color. But the little one looked like a ridge of clouds that progressed into inky blackness of a storm before abruptly shifting into a pure snowy white. Her mother’s grey, brown, and crème markings mimicked the patterns on the baby. Her mother is Coyote and that clued Loki in as to why Odin was so late in delivering the news. The Trickster lines had merged here though he could tell she wasn’t actually of natural Trickster Blood.

“Have you thought of a name for her?” Loki ran a finger down her spine and she gave a small growl of approval.

“None of the names we picked fit her.” Ash muttered sadly and Hati looked at her fur before smiling, that wolfish smile that meant trouble.

“Rook is a wonderful name and it is fitting no?” Loki looked down at his first great-great-granddaughter and nodded.

“Smoke indeed.”

Hati adored his granddaughter, his only grandchild. Unlike his brother he was much more selective of breeding and mating. She was so tiny. He knew that she would grow, and grow, and grow, and grow but for now she was so tiny, looking more like a flea on her father’s paw than a pup. But his granddaughter was not why he was visiting this day. It was his son’s Mate, Adella that had him visiting. She was dying and he was going to make the final offer.

“I know why you’re here.” She whispered as they watched Ash play with Rook. “My answer is the same.”

“You do not wish to see her grow?”

“Oh, I do. But she needs to be strong.” Hati looked at her. “She will need the reliance of herself alone or else she’ll never stand against them.” He didn’t question her, Adella had always been strange.

“You’ll be gone in Winter.” She smiled and knelt as her daughter raced toward her.

“We’ll make it memorable then, won’t we?” She pressed a kiss into the girl’s hair and passed her to Hati when she made grabbing motions.

Hel understood Adella’s desire not to fight her mortality. The young girl had become quiet with her mother’s passing and was almost constantly in her father’s presence, that though she could protect him from Death. It made the Queen of Helheim smile. She hadn’t said anything but she had a feeling that her father, brother, and nephew were wrong about their little ball of smoke. Many of Sköll’s children showed better defense and it wasn’t until their magic developed as such that they understood. Though the magic had bled out of a few of Sköll’s bloodlines given they weren’t encouraged to wield it. Hel chuckled at her other nephew’s mourning of this. Sköll was a very superficial person. He saw a woman, he liked her, he courted her, he saw another and chased her now that he had caught the one he had previously desired. That didn’t mean he didn’t love all of his offspring. He simply didn’t want to be tied down as Hati and Ash did. He saw having a permanent mate, having a True Pack, as distraction from the Hunt. Only the strongest of his children joined the Hunt, most became Guardians or nothing at all. A yap drew Hel’s mind back to the present as she found herself with paws too big for the little body they were attached to in her lap.

“Well Pup? What do you think?” She placed a crown of flowers into her hair. Hel had picked up the habit from Freyja, that troublesome Goddess that wouldn’t leave Hel to her gloom and Mansion. Rook considered before panting a smile and licking Hel’s fingers and then nudging them with her snout. “Greedy little thing.” She ran her fingers through her fur and Rook wagged her tail happily.

Loki snuck his little Rook out into the warm sunshine. He made sure that they were protected from her father’s sight with several large trees. The five-year-old was more than ready to start taking up her mantle of Blood and Magic. She was a Trickster, by blood and half by association.

“Now pay attention little one. These flowers and plants are some of your greatest weapons and allies.” She nodded with a seriousness that not many children her age held.

“Grandpa Loki?” She hummed softly as she slowly made small figures of twigs and leaves come alive. “Why did aunt Hel take my mommy?” Loki knew that her mother’s death weighed very heavily on the pair. Ash was heartsick and could not recover while in the Mortal Realm for he could not distance himself from the pain.

“Hel needed her for the company and to keep her safe.”

“I could do that.”

“Oh no little one.” Loki ran a hand through her hair, her little ears twitched but she rubbed closer. “We need you for the Hunt.” Her magic ran into healing and defense. She would be a great Hunter.

Rook is not often visited by Thor. Thor doesn’t like to appear to be intruding on his adoptive Family on Odin’s behalf. Still he had not gotten a chance to meet the newest member of the Family since her birth and he had given his blessing of protection.

“Really protection?” Loki sneered at him but Thor tossed the little girl with wolf ears up and down while she squealed happily. “Couldn’t you be more creative O’ Protector of Man?”

“I think she’ll need someone big and strong when the time comes to scare off the unworthy. They’ll take one look at your ratty red hair or your scrawny muscles and laugh.”

“Ah! You wound me Brother!” It eased Loki somewhat that Thor was truly acting on his own and not Odin’s Will. Thor could be nosy and not understand that some matters were privet even from Family but his heart was usually in the right place.

Freyja smiled down at the little girl that was playing with her cats. She was getting much bigger. Hel huffed as another flower crown was placed on her head.

“Oh, don’t be so upset.” The War Goddess teased. “She’ll be glorious one day. Truly I feel envy of your niece.”

“Why?”

“It’s nice to have multiple people assure that yes you are powerful and beautiful. Constantly.”

At the age of thirteen Rook is old enough to care for herself, provided that she checks in with the sheriff’s department constantly.

“You have proved not only your strength and prowess in magic,” A dirty look was tossed at her Great-Great-Grandfather at this. “But that you have the drive of the Hunt. Would you serve me upon the coming time instead of Guarding the Family?” Hati asked as they knelt before her Great-Grandfather. She straightened her back and nodded.

“It would honor me to serve my Patron. I will take the Hunt.” She stares into the bright sapphire eyes of her Patriarch before looking to the eyes of her Ancestor. They are a burning red, deep a smoldering like a cooled fire, still dangerous but the believed threat is diminished. Fenrir lets out a huff and licks her, baptizing her and granting his Blessing. From this point forward, she is Pack Blood. She shifts fully into her human form and lays down between his paws.

“Here Pup.” Hel places a bone between her teeth and places her head in her lap, having borrowed Freyja’s newest batch of kittens to comfort her. Hati pulls the rib bone of Fenrir that was taken for this purpose and threads the lace into it. They all begin to chant and Rook bites down on the bone. She knows this will take until sunset. She passes out completely despite her best efforts when Hati begins to depict the Hunt, she can take no more.

Katie is unsure about Rook at first until Rook fully shifts and looks more Coy than Wolf. After that Katie knows that Coy breeds true and there’s nothing to worry about with her friend.

College is not exactly eye opening in the way that Rook was told it would always be. Thor is shuffling her into her dorm after breaking the nose and jaw of two Wolves.

“Have those beasts no manners? And the Southerners claim you savage.” He is muttering as he puttered about and tucked her in like when she was a small child. Rook chuckled softly at that. A pair of French Wolves had thought they had an easy mark in her. This just proved to her that she belonged back in Hope. Hope even run by a Wolf Pack, was at least run by proper Wolves.

Sheriff Whitehorse smiled at her when she walked in to apply. She grinned back. She was glad to be home, glad to finally be able to work for the land that had given her shelter.

#Coywolf Rook #Loosely based on Norse Mythology #Loki can still be Tom Hiddleston but he has to have red hair #Thor is forever Chris Hemsworth now

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robininthelabyrinth · 8 years ago

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Victory in Anticipation (Coldwave) - Chapter 2

Fic: Victory in Anticipation (Ao3 Link) - Chapter 2/3 Fandom: Flash, Legends of Tomorrow, Norse Mythology Pairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart Sequel to Victory in Waiting - read first

Summary: Leonard Snart is dead and his soul has gone to Valhalla, the home of heroes, and that’s the end of the story.

Well.

Not quite.

A/N: I highly recommend reading the first fic in this series first.

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“How do you tolerate the tedium?” Len asks Ed. “Do you even do anything?”

He’s sitting by Ed’s stall, legs outstretched and currently covered by Mungojerrie, who has flopped belly-down on Len’s legs in a not-so-subtle I’m-above-this-really request for scritches. In fairness, Len is very good at scritches.

He’s relaxed into just stroking Mungojerrie’s fur in long, with-the-grain strokes, which is getting him a nice, steady, low-level purr that sounds not unlike a motorcycle engine with a crappy muffler at full blast.

Len’s feeling terribly nostalgic about it. Mick had one of those that he drove near into the ground.

“The All-father doesn’t really ride out that much anymore,” Ed replies. “So yes, it can sometimes get – dull.”

“You’re telling me. Why don’t you just run off or something?”

“I have my reasons to stay,” Ed says obliquely. “You’ve been here all day; aren’t you concerned?”

“Nah, I’m apparently banned from the dining table for a week.”

“The cheese protest again?”

“No, Huginn caught me trying to run a census,” Len says. “Not encouraged, apparently. Who knew?”

“I’ll bite,” Ed says. “Why?”

“There’s gotta be some other Jews that got lost,” Len says grimly. “I’m even willing to take Christians at this point. Anyone who can sympathize.”

“Find anything?”

“A medieval-era monk who fell in love with a Viking. Apparently he eventually convinced the Viking to convert, but they both ended up here when they died anyway. Happy as clams.”

“Ouch.”

“Yep. I’m about three minutes away from standing on a table and shouting that I need a minyan.”

Ed is quiet for a moment. “Isn’t that the one when someone’s just died –”

“Yes,” Len says. “I didn’t say it was a good plan.”

Ed snickers.

“Go back,” he advises. “They’ll have forgotten about it by tonight.”

“All those head injuries have to pile up eventually,” Len agrees maliciously, but – after some convincing in Mungojerrie’s direction – he goes. He wants to accustom the crowd to not seeing him much during the day, not get in trouble for not being there.

Sure enough, no one minds him joining up with them again, though he knows he’d get into trouble if he tried the census business again.

He takes his plate of Sæhrímnir-meat – boiled, what a surprise – and goes to sit by the fire. May as well listen to a story while he’s at it, even if they tend to be both gory and boring, which was not a combination he would have called before this.

It’s another Loki story. Len could really learn to like the guy; he’s clearly ten times smarter than the rest of the gods put together, and yet, for no reason in particular, he keeps getting shit on by the rest of them.

This time, he’s apparently a salmon. Why a salmon? Len has no idea, having shown up right in the middle of the story, but apparently he’s now a captured salmon. Sucks to be him.

“Now Loki was taken truceless, and was brought with them into a certain cave,” the speaker says, his eyes glinting with glee. “Thereupon they took three flat stones, and set them on edge and drilled a hole in each stone.”

“With what drills?” Len asks. “Small? Large? Why three stones exactly?”

He gets three elbows to the ribs.

“The ways of the gods are mysterious,” the speaker says, glaring at Len. “And so the gods came, and brought forth Loki’s twin sons –”

Len frowns. He hasn’t heard of twin sons before. He’s heard of the horse story – he hadn’t had the heart (or the spine) to ask Ed for confirmation of that one – and something-something Father of Monsters, though he doesn’t know the details. One of them is a wolf, apparently.

“What’re they like?” he wonders aloud. “Horse-ish? Wolf-ish? Dragonfly-ish, just for variety?”

“The most human of Loki’s brood, the children of Sigyn his wife,” Haukr hisses back. “Now shush.”

“And then," the skald continued, glaring a bit, "the gods brought forth Loki’s twin sons, Vali and Narfi. Their mother followed behind, wailing her grief, for she knew what would come to them, her sons, torn from her bosom –”

“They were toddlers?”

Ouch. Elbows, especially armored elbows, are sharp.

“And Loki silver-tongue lost his head at the sight of these, calling forth threats upon the Aesir, the curse of his line to fall upon he who dared harm his kin. But the Aesir were too cunning, for they changed Vali into the form of a wolf, mad and ravening, and it was he who tore asunder Narfi his brother –”

Len drops his plate.

Those fuckers.

“– and the Aesir took his entrails and bound Loki upon the rocks with the bowels torn forth from his frost-cold son –”

Len finds himself halfway across the room and punching the skald in the face before he knows what he’s doing.

“Snare!” Ivar cries out. “What are you doing?”

What is he doing? Just because that sounds so much like Mick’s story – the insanity coming on him, thinking he’s a wolf, unleashed upon his twin brother that he loved so very much by some bitch who either wasn’t paying attention or didn’t care, and mourning ever since – and just because they’re all enjoying it, listening to some poor kid be used as a tool to murder his sibling, that still doesn’t mean he should start shit in the middle of the golden hall while surrounded by angry einherjar.

“Um,” Len say. “Getting into the spirit of things? Fighting and all that, right?”

There’s a tense moment of silence, and then Leifr bursts out laughing. “Oh, Snare,” he says. “One day we will teach you the proper ways. The fighting-time is earlier; not at the fire!”

“Oops,” Len says. It’s not a very sincere ‘oops’, but it’s the best he’s got right now.

“Is this how your people, the Jews, do it?” Leifr asks, still laughing, and Len sees everyone start to relax around him. Len’s made himself something of a reputation for strangeness, after all, and unfamiliarity is amusing enough in this place to merit a laugh instead of a deadly reproach.

“We have whole dinners in which we do nothing but talk about people fighting,” Len says, honestly enough. “I’ll tell you about Hannukah at some point. Whole holiday about guerrilla warfare and also lighting a lamp.”

“A lamp!” Leifr hoots. “Well done, Snare, well done. But sit, and let the skald finish.”

“No, I don’t want to interrupt any further,” Len says, still feeling rather disgusted by the whole thing. “You have fun.”

He slinks off, irritated. He doesn’t care how that particular story ends.

Fuck this, he wants out.

Fuck this, he wants Mick.

He puts his head in his hands.

He’d thought –

God.

He hadn’t really been thinking, to be honest.

He known that he couldn’t let Mick take that hit in the Oculus, not when he’d just gotten him back. Not when Mick had fought his way through time itself to come back to his side.

Even if Mick would probably be happier here than Len.

Len would be willing to stay here, if only Mick were here. It could make up for taking him away from 2046, maybe.

But alone –

He can’t.

If Mick had died –

If Mick had died, and he’d been stuck here, Len would have come after him, one way or the other.

Len opens his eyes again.

Right. Time to stop moping around and get down to business.

Valhalla’s nothing more than another prison, and prisons – well. Breaking out of prisons is something of a specialty.

Len gets up and goes to the stable.

“Ed,” he says. “I need your help. I’m breaking out.”

“Len,” the horse replies, bowing his head until he could look Len right in the eye. “I thought you’d never ask.”

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“Escaping Asgard without the notice of the Aesir is a master-level skill, but it is possible,” Ed tells him. “I don’t know the way myself, but I know how you can find out – and once you find the path, I can tell you the challenges you’re going to face using it.”

“I can handle it,” Len replies, his heart and mind set.

Of course, he may have underestimated the absurdity involved.

“A squirrel,” Len says flatly, some ten minutes later. “The only person who knows how to escape from Asgard is a squirrel.”

Ed snickers, no doubt at the expression on Len’s face. “I told you, it’s not going to be easy. The squirrel – his name is Ratatoskr – is the only creature that yet lives that remembers the crooked ways to and fro. There used to be more, but the Aesir exterminated them.”

Len blinks. “When you say ‘exterminated’…”

“I mean exterminated,” Ed says, his mirth falling away. “There were once many creatures of magic in all the earths – jotunn and dragons, dwarves and elves of all types: dökkálfar and ljósálfar and svartálfar. There are virtually none left.”

“The Aesir did that? Why?”

“Why else? Ragnarök, of course.”

Len opens his mouth to ask what that is, but Ed – who’s clearly having some strong feelings about this – tosses his mane angrily and continues. “The creatures were too small to be written into prophecy, you see; too little, too lowly. But because of that, the Aesir couldn’t know if they would be with them or against them in the end, and they decided it wasn’t worth the risk.”

“Wait,” Len says. “You telling me they committed genocide ‘cause they weren’t sure?”

“Precisely.”

“Nice gods they’ve got here.”

Ed snorts. “Have you heard the stories of the Vanir yet?” he asks. “Freyja’s people?”

“Freyja and Freyr, yeah. They come by sometimes. Very –” Len tries to find a word that isn’t a synonym for over-the-top gaudy. Freyja was pretty and all, and she clearly had good taste in cats, but the few glimpses he’d gotten of her were more jewelry than person. “– shiny. They’re, uh, Vanir?”

“Yes, they are, along with their father, Njörð.”

“How’s Vanir different from Aesir?”

“It isn’t, not really,” Ed says. “They were family, once, long ago; the kin of Ymir. Both warlike people – the Aesir in their stronghold, the Vanir on the plains – and they came to war against each other, a war that they settled by the exchange of hostages. Njörð and his children went to the Aesir, while Hœnir and Mimir were to the Vanir sent.”

“I’m guessing that didn’t work out?”

“Hœnir was an idiot and Mimir secretive. The Aesir knew that they were doing, but when the Vanir found out – they’d actually obeyed the truce, you see, and sent their best – they cut off his head –”

“Which one?”

“Mimir. Hœnir they just kicked out. They sent Mimir’s head back as a warning, but the All Father revived it to receive its wisdom.”

“…wait. You're telling me that big, tall, and scary has the resurrected decapitated head of the man he – possibly deliberately – sent to his death in a jar somewhere to ask questions from whenever he feels like it.”

“You know, it’s a lot more disturbing when you put it that way, and it was disturbing enough already,” Ed remarks. “Anyway, that isn’t actually the point.”

“What is the point?”

“After the trade, the truce endured for some time – the invention of mead around that time helped – but after that the Aesir began to rise in power and the Vanir began to fade.”

“Why do I get the feeling this story ends in genocide?”

“Slavery, forced assimilation, and then extermination.”

“Technically, all of those count as genocide,” Len says, making a face. “No comment from the Freyr-Frejyas?”

“Would you?”

“Hell yes.”

Ed rolls his eyes. “Would most people?”

Len makes another face.

“Exactly.”

“So the Aesir are dangerous assholes,” Len says. “Got it. What’s your point?”

“My point is, you’re going up against creatures whose powers are beyond your imagination –”

“Heard it before, done it before,” Len says dismissively. “I’ve seen them run about; I’d bet on the Flash any day.”

“The…Flash?”

“Metahuman,” Len says. “All difference types of powers – speed, strength, weather, teleportation, mood control, you name it. You haven’t heard of them?”

“Not many einherjar recently, as I said,” Ed says thoughtfully. “Interesting. I’ll have to think about that. But in the meantime, you need to talk to Ratatoskr.”

“The squirrel. I can’t believe it.”

“Says the man who tied bows in the hair of two bear-sized cats?”

“It’s a giant squirrel,” Len says, unimpressed. “We have squirrels in Central City. Rats with big tails, and not as smart.”

Ed snickers. “You still have to find out how to catch him long enough to get him to answer your questions. He’s fast.”

“Oh, stopping someone fast is practically my day job,” Len drawls.

It turns out the weird wooden arch things scattered around outside are actually tree roots for a tree so big no one can see it, which makes so incredibly little sense that Len has no choice but to accept it as truth.

The squirrel - it's a literal goddamn man-sized squirrel - is, indeed, quite fast, but it's definitely no Flash.

Of course, he doesn't have his cold gun. But the cold gun's just a tool, in the end. He doesn't need it.

First, though, there's the polite option.

"Hey, you!" Len calls to the furry blur climbing down the tree roots.

As expected, there's no response.

Plan B it is.

Len turns to Geri, who is waiting very patiently by his side. "Hey, Geri," Len says, and pulls a piece of Saemhirir tongue - Geri's favorite part - out of his pocket. "Who wants a treat?"

Geri's tail starts wagging and his jaw drops open in a canine grin.

"Who does? You do? You want a treat?" Len continues, keeping a careful eye on the root. Observation over the last day has shown him that the squirrel will be back in thirty two seconds. "Because you're such a good doggie?"

Geri's grin grows. He knows this game. He bends his knees, readying for a pounce, eyes fixed firmly on the meat that Len is dangling in front of his face.

Ratatoskr bounds up from under the root on his busy way up.

Len spins and pitches the tongue right at the squirrel.

Geri yips in the sort of overwhelmingly joyous abandon that only members of the canine family can manage and leaps.

Ratatoskr screeches when Geri hits him full-on, knocking both of them off the root and onto the ground. Len meanders over to where Geri is licking up all the remnants of the piece of tongue.

"Get off of me, you mangy flea-ridden carrion-eater!" Ratatoskr is yelling.

He doesn't sound a thing like Alvin the Chipmunk or Chip and Dale; Len's almost disappointed. Disney lied - what a surprise.

Len waits until Geri starts to get up off of Ratatoskr to say, very pleasantly, "Geri, lie down."

Geri promptly flops down, squashing the squirrel in place.

"Who the fuck are you?" Ratatoskr demands.

"I'm an einherjar," Len says dismissively. "No one of note."

"The All Father's wolf obeys you, you can't be nobody," the squirrel screeches. It has a very irritating voice.

"Geri doesn't obey me," Len says. "Geri takes my suggestions, because Geri's a good doggie. Isn't that right, Geri?"

Geri yips happily when Len runs his hand over his head and scratches a little behind his ears. Ratatoskr watches, eyes narrowed.

"Right. Whatever. What do you want to make him get off?" Ratatoskr asks, getting straight to the point. Smart squirrel – what an anomaly.

"I hear you know all the ways in and out of this place," Len says. "One of the few left."

"They need me to give 'em updates, that’s all, that’s all I do," Ratatoskr whines. "Níðhöggr’s progress is slow, same as always; Veðrfölnir doesn't see nothing new, same as before."

"Good to know," Len says. "I'd say I care, but I really don't."

"What do you want, then, if not to show off your skills to the All Father and by so doing earn praise?"

"I want to get out of here," Len says.

"What," Ratatoskr says.

"Out. Of. Here. Back to Midgard. It's not that hard."

"Well, if someone robbed your grave -" Ratatoskr says, widening his eyes in a bad mockery of innocence.

"First, I don't got a grave; I went up in flames," Len says flatly. "Second, I don't want to be a draugr – which I have heard of. If I did, I'd be talking to the valkyries, but for some reason turning into a rotting zombie-warrior sounds incredibly unappealing, thanks. I want to go back, whole and entire, to Midgard."

"Lot of people want that."

"Not as many as you'd think," Len says, not without some disgust at the memories of those men who let Heiðrún’s mead wash away all memory of absent friends and family. "And what of it, anyway? I'm the one asking you."

"What makes you think I know a way to do it?" Ratatoskr snorts. "I run messages up and down the tree, that's all I do. No more, no less. It's a humble job. I'm no wise-man, who knows -"

"And yet," Len interjects, because he knows the start of a rant when he hears one, "a reliable source tells me you know the crooked paths."

Ratatoskr goes quiet. "The crooked paths," he says after a long minute. "It's been a very long time since anyone's asked about those. Your source must be a brave one indeed, einherjar, to speak of such things."

"You know 'em or not?"

"I do," Ratatoskr says. "But it's useless to you. Only one with the All Father's token may pass."

"But -"

"He who last walked the crooked paths bore within him a blood-bind, blood-brotherhood, and the paths of Asgard could deny him nothing, least of all entry," Ratatoskr says. "The Aesir have made their stronghold tight, as the years have gone by. I'm afraid you're stuck. You won't even be able to see the doors."

He catches Len's expression. "I'm serious! It's not that I won't help you, I would if I could, but without something of - of his - to signify that you're an accepted traveler, you won't even be able to see the passageway at all. Totally invisible. Can't be see, touched, the whole shebang."

Something of his. That didn't sound so bad.

"How about you tell me the way," Len says. "And I'll worry about getting myself a token."

Ratatoskr eyes Len strangely, staying still even as Geri finally rolls off of him and goes to nuzzle into Len's side instead. "You remind me of someone," he finally says. "Someone who was nothing by a belly full of trouble and two lungs filled with hot air and ego. He who last walked the paths, in fact."

Len arches his eyebrow. "That a good thing or a bad thing?"

Abruptly, Ratatoskr grins. "Neither," he says. "But it means I'm going to help you. Now listen up - I'm not going to fall for the same trick twice, so you'd better get the path memorized before you go and do anything dumb."

He pauses. "Dumber than what you're already doing, anyway.”

“Just tell me what you know,” Len says. “I know it’s dumb, I’m doing it anyway.”

“They’d better appreciate what you’re doing for them, whoever you’re going back for,” Ratatoskr mutters. "Hope they're worth it."

“They are,” Len says. “They really are.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"- and once I've got the token from the big guy, I'll be able to find the sideways door, which is three widdershins turns from the root," Len concludes. "What's widdershins?"

"Counter-clockwise," Ed says. "What next?"

"The sideways door apparent leads to the crooked path, in which I need to walk, uh, the inverse of the distance between Skaði’s domain and Njörð’s."

"Not atypical for one of the All Father's ways, but still, that's remarkably unhelpful," Ed observes.

"You think?" Len rolls his eyes. "Luckily, the mountain ice queen and the sea god is a story I've heard around the fire - I assume the inverse of the distance is them together, right? A mountain stream?"

"...yes," Ed says, looking startled. "Yes, quite."

"Always was good at riddles," Len says with satisfaction. "'I got no hinge, key, or lid, yet within me a golden treasure is hid' - got it on the first try, even without Gollum's help, and I don’t even eat eggs on a regular basis."

"That'll be a useful skill," Ed agrees, looking mystified. "Gollum?"

"Magic ring that tempts people into greed and possessiveness and eventually death because it’s evil?"

"...Fafnir and the cursed ring of Andvari? What about it?"

"Tolkien is better than the original," Len says, because he has feelings about this. "Anyway, once I walk the crooked path, I have to choose between the low road and the high -"

"Take the low," Ed says. "You might survive the cold of going too close to the ruins of Jötunheim and the land of Niflheim beyond them, but you'll never survive the heat of Muspelheim."

"Agreed; cold's more my style. My partner's the hothead. So I go down that way until I end up..." he hesitates. "This part I didn't quite get. I get to where the end begins?"

Ed huffs in his inimitable horsey manner, sounding almost contemplative. "Don't worry about that. It won't be an issue."

"What is it, though?"

"A prison," Ed says. "Where they keep in a cage what none who wish to can release. But if you can manage to get there, you can get directions to Midgard -"

"Good."

"- provided you aren't first spotted by Heimdall, hunted down by Tyr's dogs, captured by Skaði’s traps, or lose your way for eternity in the cracks between the worlds."

"So,” Len says after a long moment. “What you're telling me is that you're an optimist.”

Ed whinnies in amusement.

"Either way," the horse finally says, "you still need to get a token from the All Father. I'd suggest grabbing a spoon from his table -"

"-except he doesn't eat," Len finishes. He'd noticed. "And his cup would be immediately missed."

"Something he doesn't notice immediately would be best," Ed agrees. "I should warn you now, though; he was a god of trickery - I wouldn't count on being able to pick-pocket him. No matter how good you are."

"Watch me," Len says, but his bravado fades when he returns to the halls of Valhalla. He doesn't know what it is about - him - but Len can't even look at him too long. Perhaps it's something about the idea of the All Father, adopted father to all the einherjar, but he rubs Len the wrong way - all the wrong ways.

Len finds his breath cut short, his shoulders instinctively bowing forward, his instincts dull and his reactions slow. There's a lot of his dad in the All-Father, and he hates every last piece of it.

He keeps his eyes peeled for a day, then two, then three, but he can't find a way to convince his feet to go anywhere near the throne.

Then the All-Father goes away, some business of his own, and Len can breathe easy again.

Still no token though.

A token that the All Father won't notice he's missing.

Something small. Easily replaceable.

Something so insignificant it will be forgotten as soon as it disappears.

Out of sight, out of -

Hmm.

Now that's an idea.

No idea if it will work, of course, but it’s worth a shot.

Len positions Geri by the window and Freki a little further, and he listens.

The familiar flapping of black wings is not audible from a distance. The even more familiar bitching, however, is.

"Hi, Huginn," Len says, waving as the first of the All Father’s ravens swoops into Valhalla, back from his nightly rounds. "How's life as a snitch?"

"Bite me," the raven says, snickering meanly.

"Listen here," Len says, jumping up and heading over. "I want to have a word with -"

He trips over Geri, and takes a flying leap, hands outstretched and -

Muninn, just flown in through the window after his quicker brother, squawks like a parrot when he's surprised by a flailing human landing on him.

It's hilarious.

Freki, who's only sometimes obedient and whose love for puppy piles is beyond belief, leaps up from where he was lying within careful line of sight and throws himself into the pile.

By the time Len untangles himself, Muninn is swearing like a sailor, Freki and Geri are chasing each other's tails, and Huginn is laughing hysterically.

The other einherjar aren't much better.

"Snare," Haukr chokes. "Is that why you never join us in battle? You're clumsy?"

"Shut up, I've seen you fight," Len says, ducking his head in implicit concession.

Leifr, Ivar and Haukr roar with laughter and drag him off to dinner. Len lets himself be dragged, keeping an eye on Muninn, but it doesn't look like Munnin has noticed that anything's the matter.

Len spends the night drinking and staggers to Ed's stall the next day.

"Hard at work, I see," Ed says, amused.

"Don't speak so loud," Len says. "Also, for the love of – you know what, never mind – please tell me one of Muninn's feathers counts as one of the All Father’s tokens."

"How in the world did you get that?!"

"The joys of slapstick," Len says with a sigh. “Will it work?”

“With that, you can see anything the All Father sees,” Ed says, tossing his head, mane rippling down his back. “Well done.”

Len grunts, rubbing his temples as he finishes sobering up. The healing factor of the dead is something to be feared. "Any thoughts on how to survive Skaði’s traps? I have an idea for the hounds – and maybe for Heimdall."

"She's an ice goddess," Ed says doubtfully. "Dress warm?"

“Thanks, Ed.”

“Listen, there’s a reason the einherjar only ever go back to Midgard as draugr, and it’s not because they all feel like sticking around, okay?” Ed says. “They don’t survive.”

Len nods, because he’d be an idiot if he didn’t acknowledge that what’s at stake is quite literally his soul, since he’s already lost his life. “You think I’ll make it?” he asks, wondering.

Ed ducks his large head in a nod. “I think you will,” he says. “Like I said, you remind me of someone – and you’ve kept your head a hell of a lot better than most of the einherjar. You remember who you are, what you want; you haven’t forgotten it all in the joy of preparing for battle.”

Len sneers. He always figured that the other einherjar were a bit too complacent; it surprises him not at all that it was by design. “Why me, do you think?”

“I have some theories,” Ed says, tossing his mane. “But you don’t care about that; you care about getting out.”

“Damn right.”

“Take some apples,” Ed advises. “They’ll give you strength if you eat them as you go.”

Len nods. He’s about to turn and go, but he hesitates half a second, then takes a step forward, towards Ed’s pen. He holds out his hand to Ed, who noses at it solemnly. “Thanks,” he says.

“Good luck,” Ed says. “What are you planning, to avoid Heimdall, the all-seeing? The hounds of Tyr?”

“I’m going to defeat them with one of the great mysterious forces of the universe,” Len says and goes to find himself a cat.

Two cats, to be precise.

Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer are currently reclining on the roof of the stable. They are currently so woven together that Len suspects they may be defying the laws of physics. Maybe something in quantum?

(It wouldn’t surprise him – these are cats.)

“Hello,” he says to them, having crawled his way to the roof one painful finger-hold at a time. “I need your help.”

Two sets of yellow eyes fix on him.

Len really, really hopes this works.

“They say that this watchman of the gods sees everything, if he looks,” Len says. “Everything and anything. But I know better.”

Four unblinking pairs of eyes continue to regard him.

“I never had a cat,” Len says. “But I took care of some that lived nearby. And no matter what I did, when I turned around, one would be there. Through cold and dark and locked doors, there they were, and I never spotted ‘em, and I’m good at spotting. Nothing spots a cat that doesn’t want spotting. I’m willing to bet it’s the same for you, too.”

He swallows, then. This is the tough part to say, even if it’s true. “I want to go home,” he tells them. “I want my – my partner. I need him. And to do that, I need your help. If you don’t mind.”

Rumpleteazer yawns, a big long movement, and then she gets up and pads over to where Len’s sitting. Mungojerrie stretches out his paws, back arching, and then he, too, comes over. They crawl up on him – he chokes a little, because they’re freaking huge - but they don’t crush him with their massive paws even as they loll around over him, deep, low purrs coming from their chests.

When they come off of him, Len’s covered in cat fur from head to toe. Despite the splotches of color on both cats, the fur on him is all grey, and even when he moves his arms, it doesn’t fall off.

All cats are grey in the dark.

He looks down at his clothing, then up at the pair of cats.

They purr at each other, pretending not to look at him. They’re above actually doing people favors, of course.

Len grins and, because he is who is he is, he decides to press his luck.

“Don’t suppose you two can keep the Billies from following me when I go,” he drawls, nodding down at the barn where the goats are penned right next to a worrisome set of harnesses.

The cats grin back.

Len goes, collects the pack he’d prepped for himself with clothing and food and apples, drops the feather into his pocket and, armed with little more than his luck and his wits, heads into the unknown.

#dccoldwave #leonard snart #mick rory #victory at end #my fic

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