“My friend, I fear you must hold very still indeed if your aim is to master this hypnotism spell.”
Loki demonstrates her own prowess, as a membrane of green and gold energy which resembles the thousands of root-like veins on the inside of an eyeball slowly, sinuously, insidiously enclose the enormous flying insect native to Darc’s homeland: all of it growing from the fingertips of her hands.
Not once removing her eyes from the predator, who is being lulled by the purring drone of the Seidhrs into a fatal slumber.
Loki climbs out from behind the mound of leaves, all the brilliant hues of October, brandishing both her knives, stained a screaming red.
She tosses the long braid of inky curls over one shoulder, and licks chapped lips. She examines her brother’s face, full of consternation, and chuckles. It’s the sound of a dry November forest floor rustling.
“The, ah, backside of our ambush is curtailed,” she reports, jade eyes unkindly bright, wiping her forehead with the back of a hand.
Loki looks up from her needlepoint. She’s not mastered the art of weaving yet, for lack of a loom like her mother’s, but this craft she practices in Frigga’s honor. The sewing arts powerfully resemble the use of Seidhr: interlocked threads of thought that radiate the incanting words across vast distances on the spiritual plane.
Her expression is both sly and affectionate when her lover enters, and finds her in the process of producing a needlepoint of Sigewif for the very witchling who now sleeps on her lap. Thea preferred Loki in serpent form, as is more customary, but mama was able to persuade her to wait a while, for progress on her surprise.
“Profitable outing?” she murmurs, quiet enough to keep the toddler sleeping. She sets aside the needlepoint and reaches for the baby blanket. She places it over her womb.
Her breasts have been tender, her humors more labile, her appetites strange and her stomach sour. She has not bled when it was time. And rune stones have confirmed it.
So she guides Balthazar’s hand over her lower belly, and, while smiling all the slier, simply nods.
//So anyway, in the spirit of how extremely validly genderfluid Loki is, who wants a Lady!Loki starter? :)))))
N*ce y’all.
//Also?
People who say “why don’t you shut up about x part of your identity already?” are ALWAYS speaking from a position of privilege, in which they never have to think about x part of identity, because they don’t exist on the disempowered side of that label. It doesn’t matter to them because they’ve never been forced pervasively by social, political, and economic institutions to question who they are or if they deserve to exist.
In other words they’re the ones who need to shut the fuck up.
Look I don’t identify as genderfluid. At all. But guess what, that means I don’t have a social barometer for how much it’s discussed in the media. I use my social privilege to say “hey guys look at this underrepresented thing that a LOT of people can relate to and that is totally valid!” and then I STEP ASIDE. Like Tom Hiddleston did.
Sorry this is ineloquent and not very cordial for my blog’s usual tone but that is such irresponsible, derisive, compassionless thinking, cloaked as some weirdass “I’m so cool because I’m not PC” offshoot of “woke”ness, and I am livid.
People need mirrors. Representation matters. If it’s “ruining” a fictional pretend world for you then fucking grow up.
icyxmischief 