Get On Your Knees and Pray To Me

It's Not Pathethic. It's Just Desparate

When the Goddess of Sex died, no one on Asgard wanted to take her place. She was a beautiful woman - seductive, alluring, wise - but her job was impossible. She walked the worlds surrounded by lust and primal needs, a job not fit for the weak of heart. She knew her time was coming to an end and someone, but not just anyone, needed to take her place.

She died with a whisper that she wanted - no, needed - the new God or Goddess of Sex to be someone with great restraint. This person had to be able to withstand sexual requests and prayers and only grant the wishes to a few lucky hearts.

After she passed, there was a lull in the realms when it came to sex. Romance lasted, for the God of Love was still alive and well, but the sex, the passion and the desire had fizzled out. Pleasure was being depleted and that needed to remedied.

But with every single person that Odin requested take up the mantle, they declined. No one could handle the frenzy of sexual prayers without being tempted by them. It was a frustrating endeavor and Odin was beginning to believe sex and lust would fade from existence for good.

That is, until Loki stepped forward.

Loki entered the throne room with a smug grin on his face and Odin immediately knew why his son was there. There was mischief glittering in his eyes and a confident swagger in his step. His body language shouted that the boy would get what he wanted by the end of this, Odin could tell.

In fact, it was likely that Odin wanted Loki to get what he wanted. Because what Loki wanted was exactly what Odin needed - a new God of Sex.

"I take it you know why I'm here," Loki said, his smirk still evident on his face. Odin simply grunted and leaned on his throne, feeling old as he looked at the prideful youthfulness of the man before him.

"You want to be the God of Sex," Odin mumbled.

"In addition to the God of Mischief. Let that be known," Loki stated, a challenge written on his face.

Odin raised a thick eyebrow. "Mischief and sex are not a healthy combination, son."

"So you think," Loki drawled. He stepped closer to the throne, waving one large hand around in front of him. "But really, consider it. Being the God of Mischief includes being the God of Lies. What better person would there be to discern truthful passion from violent lust than a god so trained to detect a slight of mouth?"

Odin did not want to admit that his son was right. Instead, he just peered at Loki with one narrowed blue eye.

"You think you have what it takes, then?" Odin asked.

Loki's smile was one of a viper. "I am the only one who has what it takes."

"What makes you say so?"

"Look around you. Are the pillars collapsing? The streets in havoc? The unruly roaming the city?" Loki paused and waited for a grunt from Odin. "It could be. I'm a mischief maker. If I wanted to, Asgard would be a land of chaos. I know when to stop. I know when to start. I know when to give. I know when to take."

"You seem to know a lot of things, Loki," Odin muttered.

"I also know that no one has wanted to be the God of Sex," Loki said with a smile. "You have asked 746 people whether they want to be the God of Sex and none have said yes. I, oh great Odin Allfather, am agreeing take the mantle."

Odin sighed and stood from his throne. He fisted Gungnir and stepped down the dais towards Loki.

"I don't believe I ever had much of a choice in this matter," Odin mumbled before lifting Gungnir and his free hand. He waved the staff and his hand over Loki, reciting ancient words in the old tongue. A gold light glittered and shone through the hall. It dusted over Loki, coating him until he, too, glowed gold.