Sure, I was surprised that everyone inexplicably knew my name and expected me to procreate with Ägir such that our child could serve as an offering to Freyja, Goddess of Abundance and Fertility, but what was I supposed to do? Take the dress off? And risk being transported back to the bland world of constricted legs and sleeves? You first, buddy. . Ägir and I actually started to hit it off. He assured me that he loved the dress, even when I periodically asked, “Really? It’s not, like, too much for my frame? Is it okay with my skin tone? Cause sometimes white can really wash me out, you know?” Our relationship was mutually beneficial: I gave him a son—Yngvar—and he told me my dress wasn’t “too Coachella.” Sure, watching those elders jump off the ättestupa was a little freaky, but I would have done the same thing if I hadn’t managed to find the perfect getup for the sommar and foll. . Article by @frederick.diggory #pagancult #cultish #cultlife #floraldress https://www.instagram.com/p/B1gJZk-gw2H/?igshid=el43d0zlh3fw