BLÓT
Summary:
Unnamed OC is left as a sacrifice to the gods. As she anticipates not surviving the winter night, something very unexpected happens. Sure enough, she is claimed by a god, but in a very different fashion.
Notes:
Disclaimer: This is in no way an attempt to disrespect anyone’s gods and/or faith. I myself am a Lokean, and this is based loosely off of my experiences with Him. I also spell things in the “old school” way, and use a lot of references to myth. If you want anything explained, simply ask in the comments. My paganism is a special interest and if it were up to me, I'd never shut up about it. lol
Work Text:
Since time immemorial, we have performed the blót. It is to thank the gods for leading us through life’s hills and valleys. Most often, it is for allowing us to survive our winters. Thus, the things we hold most near and dear are given to them, in exchange for preserving what’s left.
This is why I am here. I am the only virgin in my village.
The All-Father is known for his prowess in winning women. He has many wives and even many more consorts. To go to him having never before lain with a man is a great honor, or so I was told as I was tied to this stone. It is at the outskirts of said village, the largest of the boundary, and it is here where, typically, we lay our meat and ale. But our harvest was scant this year. Children and elderly perished. This year, we were in need of a bigger sacrifice.
My arms are bound behind my back and my legs are splayed open, each rope tied to my ankle and then to each a nearby sapling. It is in this humiliating pose that I am set to die. To be the latest mortal consort of Óðinn is my fate. My tears are a mixture of embarrassment and sorrow. They are beginning to freeze on my face as the sun disappears.
It is due to this cold settling into my bones that, at first, I assume the figure at the tree-line is born of my own exhaustion. My neck is tied to that which binds my wrists, so I cannot turn my head to see. It’s only when I suddenly realize that one foot is unbound that I know for certain that I am not alone.
The shadow looming over me shows nothing of his face, yet somehow, I see his teeth grinning at me. There is a narrow nose, and angled eyebrows, and his hair, long and blazing red, is being tossed in the winter winds wildly. A pale hand grasps my other ankle, and then another, holding a blade, begins sawing at its bindings. With a sound like a whip, another rope is cut, another ankle is free. However, my strange rescuer is making no attempt at cutting the other bindings.
In a low, melodic voice dripping with deceit, he finally speaks to me. It is then, finally, that I glimpse his scarred lips.
“Betrothed to my Blood-Brother? This is not your fate,” he whispers, chuckling dryly.
Despite the thunder of Þórr in my ears from my heart beating, I steady my voice and reply haughtily, “Name your price, Slaegurtyr!”
He chuckles again, and in the dying light, his eyes sparkle green. He chooses not to answer my inquiry. Instead, he brings the knife to my heart. As he leans into me, his braids graze my face. His nose is almost as sharp as the blade, as are the bones in his cheeks. As he laps his scarred lips and teeth, his tongue is forked like a snake.
“I do not recall asking for anything in exchange. But since we are bartering—”
With one hand, he clutches at my tunic. With the other, he slices it off of me. As my breasts tumble free, the cold instantly hardens their peaks. He once again licks his lips lasciviously.
“Such bounty!”
Before my very eyes, he shrinks, and becomes skinny. His limbs vanish. His hair retracts into his skull. His face stretches and narrows. His tongue remains the same. He is now a serpent, utterly and completely. He winds himself up my leg, and my throat tightens around a scream. I begin to disassociate as the cold, scaly head of the transformed Loki slides into my sex, and I feel its body sliding up inside of me. As if pregnant with a monstrous babe as once was Loki’s wife, I feel his serpent body coil tightly into a ball within me. Its body rotates and it begins to reverse itself, and my legs involuntarily clench as it exits me. Loki then grows large, his arms and legs return, his hair pops up shoots from his scalp and flows back down his spine. His face flattens, and resumes looking almost human. He looks down at me with his eyebrows raised in surprise.
“You have never been with child. Is that why you are here?”
The sun is now low and below the hills, only winking its orange glow at me. My body is shivering. My arms have wrapped around my chest, and my breasts feel like ice. I am at this jötun’s mercy, so I nod my head yes.
Loki slams his palm down upon the rock with a smack, and in an instant, a ring of flame ignites. He crawls through it on his hands and knees, and he is now as bare as a babe, save for a ragged cloth around his hips and groin. I am struck by the being’s beauty. His hair is to his backside, and his arms are thick and sinewy. His stomach is slender and tight, sloping downwards to his thin hips and long, solid legs. Despite my fear, he is arousing me.
Seeming to sense this, he grins widely, before his face growing grave. He is now directly over my body, and when he tilts his head down to my ear, his breath is light and fragrant, and a blush floods my skin.
“Swear an oath to me. We shall make this rock your marriage bed, not your grave. I shall return you to the village, and you shall be my mouthpiece. You will be Chaos’s Bride, and untouched by any mortal man for as long as you may serve me.”
I then arch my back at him, showing him my breasts, and trusting my heart to his mercy.
“I swear,” is all that I say.
His eyes then blaze like the fiery boundary, and he laughs, loudly and jubilantly. He then takes one hand, wrapping it around the ropes that bind me, and reduces them to ash. With the other hand, he rips the rest of my tunic off of my upper body.
“Shall we begin?” he purrs above me.
Dropping his jaw open, his serpentine tongue remerges, and starts to lap at my body. I feel it swirl around my teats and down my belly. As he did before, he enters my sex, tickling me gently. He draws the tongue back into his maw and brings his face down to me.
“Angrboða, who bore three babes with me, once seduced me by opening her shirt and shaking her bosoms at me,” he confessed, chortling. “Since then, I have been very fond of these lovely things.” And like the gentlest lover, he closed his eyes, parted his scarred lips, and suckled me. He moaned into the contact, causing my own moan to escape my lips. He then drew back with a slightly disappointed half smile. “Pity you have no milk for me.”
In spite of the strangeness of the situation, I found myself laughing, which brought him mirth. I then lay back and opened my legs, inviting him to take me at any time.
“Oh, my,” he whispered almost reverently, “I can see as far back as the time of Ymir when I look into you.”
He then rose up, placed his hands at his hips, and slid the loincloth he wore down to his knees. As I gazed up, I beheld his own beauty. As he was of giant clan, he was much more than any mortal man could be. His member was perhaps the length of my forearm, and, as he grasped and stroked it, it drooled like a hungry wolf at me.
“I am not of Æsir ilk,” he declared, “I will only give this to you if you ask it of me.”
“Yes,” I whispered, “I have invited you.”
Loki then gathered me up into his strong arms, sat with folded legs, and perched my small, fragile, mortal frame upon his manly blade. At first, I gasped at the invasion, but then, I allowed him to stretch me. He finally came to rest at the back wall of my womb, and I buried my face up against his heartbeat.
“You seem like you’ve done this before,” I whispered into his chest. “You know how not to hurt me.”
Loki tittered and stroked my back with one large palm. “Mortals are easy to cajole into my bidding. You pretend to be higher than the beasts of the land, but your base instincts are clear once you meet one of Us.”
I was unsure if by “us,” he meant the gods, or if he meant the jötnar. These two camps had quarreled for eons, despite them often interbreeding. The very earth under our feet was embodied by a jötun woman, the mother of Þórr. She was, in turn, the daughter of Nott, the night sky. Even the All-Father himself was of jötun progeny. Why were they endlessly at war? Further, how could the very author of Ragnarök be making love to me so sweetly?
Cupping his hands around my backside and lifting me off of himself, Loki seemed to answer my thoughts with this wistful reply: “We all have our roles in the crossing fibers spun by the Norns, my sweet. Fret not for ageless beings like me. Worry for the covetous men who placed you here, where we did meet.”
He placed me gently onto my back as I stared up at him, confused.
“Are you saying that men are more dangerous than you?”
Raising his eyebrows and emitting a barking, cynical laugh, he returned, “Have I ever killed a woman because the courage of going out into the world as herself made me boil in my rage? No. Fear men, not the likes of me.”
I hung my arms around his neck as he again entered me, and I mused on his words. The World-Breaker had likely observed the world of men from the very beginning of their lineage, so he must know them well, surely? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the first rays of the sun gleaming. Had we been here, making love, all night? Or was entering into god-space a different sort of time? This time, Loki brought no answers. He arched his back in pleasure and began to strike harder and faster into me. I dug my nails into the nape of his neck and trembled thusly. I felt as if I might be cleaved by the mere force of him.
“No, my dear!” he cried out huskily above me. “You shall not perish! You shall simply be the receptacle of my flaming seed!”
With a bellowing laugh, he kept going. My legs shook and my lungs burned with how quickly the air rushed in and out of me. I felt my breasts slapping me like two salmon captured out of water, and I felt an immense pressure in my belly. Loki then decided to sink sharp teeth into the flesh of my shoulder, and then, in an instant, my womb quaked and then felt overcome with heat. He extricated himself from my body, and rose up off of me. He then, still naked, offered me his hand.
“The deed is done. You have your oath to keep.”
Around us, the fire whooshed out instantly. I felt my knees and ankles buckling under me. My vision grew bleary. As the sun began to rise, my eyes were crossed by night. The last sight I saw was Loki putting on a feathery cloak that looked like wings.
I awoke in my bed, back in the village. I was nude, and my back, legs, and sex were aching. Next to my bed had been left a small stool, upon which a warm drink in a stein sat steaming. I took it, as without my clothes, the morning stillness of the lodge was chilly.
My gasp sounded loud to my ears in the quiet building, but I could not stop it from escaping.
Below the stein was a single rune, seemingly burnt into the wood of the stool it had been sat upon.
Dagaz. A new day. A new beginning.