Mythology

LGBTQ+ Characters in Folklore Around the World — Hidden Histories and Magical Tales

Achilles and Patroclus

If you’ve ever fallen down a folklore rabbit hole (and trust me, I’ve done it more times than I’d like to admit), you know how wild, weird, and wonderful these old tales can get. They’re full of shapeshifters, trickster gods, mischievous spirits, and heroes who don’t always fit neatly into the little boxes society tries to put them in. And here’s the best part: if you start looking closely, you’ll notice that queer characters have always been there—sometimes center stage, sometimes tucked between the lines, waiting for us to notice.

Queer Gods and Gender-Bending Spirits

Let’s start with the deities because they’re the stars of the mythological stage. The Norse god Loki? Not just a trickster but a full-on shapeshifter, flipping genders like it was nothing. At one point, Loki even turned into a mare, became pregnant, and gave birth to Sleipnir—the eight-legged horse that Odin rode. That’s about as queer-coded as mythology gets.

Over in Hindu tradition, you find Ardhanarishvara, a divine fusion of Shiva and Parvati in one body—half male, half female. It’s a gorgeous, unapologetic image of duality and queerness as sacred. In Japanese folklore, the deity Inari sometimes shows up as male, sometimes female, sometimes both, and sometimes a fox. Gender fluidity wasn’t just accepted; it was celebrated.

And in Dogon mythology from West Africa, the Nommo—ancestral spirits—were described as androgynous, both male and female at once. They were associated with water, fertility, and cosmic balance. So much for “traditional” gender roles—our ancestors were already thinking beyond them.

Same-Sex Love in Ancient Stories

Queerness shows up not only in shapeshifting but in old-fashioned love stories too. The Mesopotamian Epic of Gilgamesh, one of the oldest surviving works of literature, tells the story of Gilgamesh and Enkidu. Their bond is so deep, so passionate, that many scholars argue it reads as romantic love, not just friendship. When Enkidu dies, Gilgamesh grieves with a raw intensity anyone who’s lost a partner can recognize.

In Greek mythology, same-sex relationships were practically woven into the fabric of the stories. Apollo loved Hyacinthus, a beautiful youth struck down by a jealous wind god. After Hyacinthus’s death, Apollo turned his blood into flowers so he would never be forgotten. There’s also Achilles and Patroclus, whose bond in The Iliad has been debated for centuries—but the grief Achilles shows when Patroclus falls feels anything but platonic.

And let’s not forget Ganymede, a mortal youth so stunningly handsome that Zeus whisked him up to Olympus to serve as cupbearer to the gods—and his lover. The myth has been retold for centuries, but the queerness is right there, front and center.

Queerness in Indigenous and Folk Traditions

Native American and First Nations cultures had (and still have) the concept of Two-Spirit people—individuals embodying both masculine and feminine spirits. They weren’t outcasts; they were respected healers, storytellers, and vision-keepers. Colonization tried its best to erase this, but those traditions remain alive, passed down with pride.

In the Philippines, the asog were shamans assigned male at birth but who lived as women and held deep spiritual authority. They were vital to the community before colonial influences labeled them as sinful. Similarly, Polynesian cultures have long embraced identities like the māhū in Hawaii or fa’afafine in Samoa—people who lived outside rigid gender categories and were often caretakers, teachers, and cultural keepers.

These weren’t fringe characters—they were respected, integrated, and seen as part of the natural order.

Magical Transformations and Blended Identities

Mythologies are obsessed with transformation, and many of those stories echo queer experiences of fluidity and transition. In Ovid’s Metamorphoses, we meet Hermaphroditus, who merged with the nymph Salmacis to become both male and female. The story may have been written through a Roman lens of curiosity and fear, but it still gives us a mythical figure that embodies both genders at once.

Another tale from Ovid tells of Iphis, a girl raised as a boy to avoid her father’s wrath. When she falls in love with another woman, the goddess Isis transforms Iphis into a man so the marriage can proceed. While that one’s layered with patriarchal expectations, it’s still a glimpse of gender transformation baked right into the mythology.

And then there are tales like that of Tiresias, the Theban prophet who lived as both a man and a woman after being transformed by the gods. His dual perspective was considered a source of wisdom. Honestly, if that’s not queer-coded representation, I don’t know what is.

Why These Stories Are Important

What amazes me most is that these aren’t modern retellings or queer reinterpretations—though I adore those too. These are the original stories, some thousands of years old, that already included gender-bending, same-sex love, and queer magic. The fact that so many of them got buried, ignored, or rewritten says less about the past and more about the people who decided which stories were “acceptable” to preserve.

As someone who grew up hungry for queer representation in stories, I feel a bittersweet mix reading these tales. On the one hand, it hurts knowing how much has been erased or downplayed. On the other, it’s empowering to realize that queer folks have always been part of humanity’s oldest myths and magical histories.

Folklore is humanity’s collective diary—our fears, our dreams, our love stories, and our messy contradictions, written in code through gods, monsters, and enchanted beings. And queer folks? We’ve never been absent from that diary. We were just waiting for people to turn the pages back far enough to notice us again.

So the next time someone argues that LGBTQ+ representation is “new” or “modern,” just point them toward Loki’s horse baby, Apollo’s grief for Hyacinthus, or the honored roles of Two-Spirit people. Queer folks have always been in the story—sometimes hidden, sometimes celebrated, but always there.

Further Reading…

If you want to dig deeper into these magical and hidden histories, here are a few books and resources worth checking out:

  • Queer Magic: LGBT+ Spirituality and Culture from Around the World by Tomás Prower – A globe-trotting look at queer spiritual practices and folklore.
  • Changing Ones: Third and Fourth Genders in Native North America by Will Roscoe – A groundbreaking book on Two-Spirit identities and traditions.
  • Mythology by Edith Hamilton – While not explicitly queer, this classic is a good gateway to Greek and Roman myths, many of which are full of queer themes if you read closely.
  • Queer Mythology: Epic Legends from Around the World by Guido A. Sanchez, illustrated by James Fenner
  • Online resource: OutHistory.org – A treasure trove of queer history, myths, and hidden stories.

Thanks for wandering through these magical tales with me! Now I’m curious: do you have a favorite myth or folktale with queer undertones? Share it—I’d love to discover more.



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Just for Fun: If Mythological Gods Had Instagram

Loki in the midst of shapeshifting

I’m feeling a bit silly today and I came up with this idea….

Okay, soI know the gods of myth are supposed to be all majestic and timeless and whatever, but I cannot stop imagining what would happen if they got their hands on Instagram. Like, just picture Zeus trying to slide into DMs and accidentally live-streaming himself shapeshifting into a swan. Again. Blocked by Hera for the 387th time this week. Honestly, the god has zero chill and I feel like he’d be the type to post vague thirst traps with cryptic captions like “Lightning never strikes twice… unless I want it to ⚡😉.” Sir, please log off.

Now let’s talk about Athena. Oh, you know she’s running a flawless, grayscale aesthetic with Latin quotes and black coffee in moody lighting. She’s the queen of the #NoFilter movement but also subtly tags her owl in every post, like, “Just me and Glaucus vibing in the war room ☕🦉.” She’d totally have one of those perfectly curated highlight reels labeled “Wisdom,” “Battle,” and “Petty Feuds w/ Poseidon.”

Meanwhile, Poseidon is definitely that guy who overposts vacation selfies. Beaches. Buff arms. Salt in his curls. Always tagging some random trident brand like it’s a casual sponsored post. “Just me, vibing in Atlantis. #OceanDaddy #DeepThoughts.” I feel like he’s also constantly tagging his location even when he’s somewhere sketchy like, “Mediterranean trench 🧜‍♂️🌊💀.”

And Loki? Oof. Loki is absolutely thriving in chaotic Instagram energy. His grid is pure nonsense: mirror selfies that distort his face, cursed memes, illusion tricks, and unhinged Instagram stories where he starts a poll like “Should I shapeshift into your ex and cause emotional turmoil today? 💔🐍” And the results are always 98% yes because honestly, we live for the drama.

Oh! Persephone. My girl would run two accounts. One is all soft-core cottagecore vibes—sun hats, pomegranates, beeswax candles, “accidental” flower crown selfies. The other? It’s a secret Finsta called @UnderworldWitchBabe where she posts shadowy OOTDs, rants about seasonal depression (literal, not metaphorical), and thirst reposts of Hades brooding by a fireplace. “Me looking respectfully.” (And Hades, being the ultimate goth boyfriend, reposts it with the caption: “She lights my eternal abyss.”)

Not gonna lie, I think Dionysus would have the most entertaining stories. Every post is blurry, chaotic, and usually involves someone dancing on a table. He’d be posting from vineyards with half-drunk poetry and random centaurs just wandering in and out of frame. Comments like “bro where even ARE you” would flood in hourly, and the answer would always be a shrug emoji and a photo of a spilled goblet.

And then there’s Anubis—underrated king of the aesthetic feed. Like, you just know that man’s Instagram is visually immaculate. Monochrome black, golden accents, slow-mo shots of incense rising, jackal-themed nail art, and captions like “Sometimes silence speaks louder than the living.” You double-tap it and immediately feel like you need to reevaluate your life.

Honestly, if mythological gods had Instagram, I don’t think the world would be better off—but it’d be way more entertaining. Olympus would fall, sure, but not before we all got to witness a comment fight between Hera and Aphrodite over a shirtless pic of Ares. You can practically hear the passive-aggressive emojis already.

Anyway, now I really want a Greek pantheon reality show where the gods are just influencers with delusions of grandeur and wildly clashing aesthetics. Someone call Netflix. Or better yet—Dionysus. He’ll produce it, stream it, and forget about it all by morning.


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