#like. yes let me explain this to you 50 year old highly traditional woman who thinks i am a nice young man

[four-for-fidelity]

i know people are just trying to be friendly but coworkers PLEASE stop asking me what im reading or listening to. the answer is never going to be normal im sorry.

[chopper-witch]

Cost of Creation: Noble versus Nature

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Other characters: Frigga, Loki, you, your parents I made up, Fandral, Volstagg, Thor, Sif and her mother that I made up.

Locations: This town I made up :) Völuspá (in Asgard), the Capital

Things/words to know:

For aging since we know nothing, I’m making them age the initial 18 years for 50 years (so 50 equates to 18) and then they age slow as shit.

Völuspá is the first poem in the Poetic Edda and basically is about a völva (seeress) telling Odin about the world’s creation and end. So I used it as the name of sacred grounds of Asgard.

Veleda is what germanic tribes referred to as a highly respected seeress

Fjalltindr is basically an adjective for mountain/hills.

Word Count: 3,000+

Summary: You and Loki approach 19; you venture outside the Völuspá for the first time

A/N: Pretend your parents have other names (in this case their names are Lifa and Mikkel). As usual all mistakes are mine. :)

CoC masterlist

Previous

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Every Saturday and Sunday Loki came down with Frigga to the Völuspá. And every Saturday and Sunday the two of you learned and practiced together. Everyone else in the Völupsá is older than both of you, so your training is always quiet, nice, and filled with a little too much trouble. 

The first weekend the two of you trained together was… odd. You could already do so much and Loki had no clue what he even was supposed to possibly do - he had only seen the small tricks of his mothers to distract he and his brother on occasion. 

The two of you were left alone under the shade of the ancient Yggdrasil tree while your parents and Frigga were off to do something. Since the tree is the center of the Völupsá, it is the center of all the magic in Asgard and is where every connection to seiðr begins. Its roots lead down to Mimir’s Well, a small staircase carved beside the roots with a door near the base of the tree. 

You were sitting against said door, fingers tracing the old carvings in the roots that have worn into unreadable runes over the years. After only a few minutes you had begun to grow bored, eyes rolling at Loki’s little balled fist as he angrily repeats the spell on the page before him. So you began to shift the leaves on the ground to butterflies, different shades of blue and green and ensuring they flew to his hair and stuck in his black locks. 

“How are you already so good?” Loki demanded to know as he gave up a moment, swatting the butterflies away. 

“What do you mean how am I already so good?”

“Well I mean you are already making butterflies out of leaves and I can’t even turn a page!”

“I was born here, I was born down in the Well, and I’m a descendant Seiðrine. I’ve been doing magic since I was born, I have over a decade on you.” 

Loki huffed. “Well I’m going to be as good as you one day.”

“I hope so, otherwise I’ll be quite alone here.”

And after that woeful first day when it took far too long for him to even begin, most of your lessons were more equal. And while most things you both are learning for the first time or things Loki studied more during the days in which he was supposed to be doing his normal schooling, there is one thing you have already masted well beyond your age: telekinesis. Which always causes problems whenever you two are by any sort of water since your favorite thing to control is water; freezing splashes and drops in midair. It’s a struggle to explain why this is general telekinesis and not a specific type of kinesis to Loki who is just now learning magic at all. It does, however, give your father an idea of what the gift you will be receiving during your 50th birthday ceremony will most likely be. 

He was always immensely proficient at shapeshifting, so he got the ability to shift to be invisible. Heimdall excelled at aura reading and healing, so he got the ability to see all souls. Lorelei excelled at fate magic, so she got enhanced persuasion through her voice.

And in 31 years, at this point, everyone around you will know for sure. But all signs thus far are pointing towards enhanced telekinesis. 

As tradition follows, when the lessons for the day are finished, all four of you walk back towards the entrance of the Völupsá so you and your mother can see Loki and Frigga off. 

“Hey, are you both coming to Sif’s birthday on Wednesay?” Frigga asks before she and the youngest prince leaves. 

“I don’t see why not?” Your mother’s hands rest gently onto your shoulders. “It will be (y/n)’s first trip to the capital. First trip anywhere but the Völupsá, to be honest."

“Then you guys should most definitely come down. It will be nice for her to finally meet the rest of the children.” 

________ 

So on Wednesday you and your mother walked hand in hand down to the Capital. Your mother made sure the pair of you left earlier so if your mind wandered and you tugged too hard to force her to go on an entirely different path. 

Surprisingly, you were mostly undistracted by the crowds of the Capital and all the fanfare that went with it. So guiding you from the outskirts where there weren’t many people to the overflowing markets to the more secluded fields where many noble families were gathered for little Lady Sif’s 22nd birthday. 

“So this is your daughter, Lady Lífa,” a woman with long auburn hair twisted upon her head practically squeals, leaning down to look at you. 

As she draws closer her tawny freckled skin becomes far too detailed, dark blue eyes uncomfortably excited. You tilt back from her face as she grew close; the woman continued to interfere with your personal space as you tried to pull back, still gripping to your mother’s hand. 

“Sorry about that, Ásví. She’s not used to people getting so close to her,” your mother apologizes. 

“It’s alright, she is cute a gorgeous little girl. Though her outfit is… curious.” Ásví stands back up, trying to hold back her grimace as she looks at your mother. 

Your brows furrow as you look down to your outfit. It’s a nicer outfit than normal: dark green leather pants with a white tunic that goes well past your knees, slits beginning just above your hips and the tiniest detailing of a Yggdrasil where a keyhole neck cut out would normally go, but your parents insist you don’t wear yet.

“What’s wrong with my outfit?” You question angrily before your mother can speak. 

“Well,” Ásví begins condescendingly, “it is common for women of all kind, but especially those of noble descent, to wear dresses, see?” She gestures towards the group of people behind her, her own blue dress swaying with her movements. 

“But I’m not just noble, I’m a descendant. I’m wearing clothes typical of the Völupsá, especially a descendant.” You stomp your foot as you finish. 

“But you are at a noble gathering, sweetie.”

“I’m not just a noble, though. It-”

“I’m sorry, Ásví,” your mother interrupts. “Maybe next time, we’ll find her a dress. I’m going to introduce her to the other children, alright?”

Ásví turns her scowling face away from you and switches to a pleasant smile as she looks back to your mother. 

“Of course. My little Sif is with all the others.”

With quick steps your mother ushers you both away from Ásví. Your mother sends a quick glance backwards as she moves you quickly along the grassy field.

“Mom?” You ask as you grow closer towards everyone else.

“Yes my little veleda?”

You look up to her. “You won’t make me wear a dress next time, will you?”

“Of course not, little veleda. You can choose, you always have the freedom to choose.” She smiles down at you, her matching eyes looking at you directly to assure you of what she has said. “Come on, you have more than just Loki to know. Outside of the Völupsá there are tons of people for you to know.” 

Both you and your mother look back towards everyone else. 

“You made it!” Loki yells as he dashes away form the group he is in the near middle of, tripping on his own feet to get to you.

Your right hand releases from your mother’s left and you dash towards Loki as well. Loki throws his arms around you in sheer excitement as if he this party was an utter bore before you got there. He lets go of you but keeps hold of your shoulder.

“Let me introduce you to everyone.”

“Alright.”

He grabs your left hand in his right and practically drags you towards everyone else. One girl stands separate from the rest as she moves to greet you and it is clear it is likely she who is celebrating her birthday.

“So this is Sif, whose birthday it is,” Loki begins, gesturing towards a girl a little bit taller than you while also dropping your hand.

She’s also got tan pants beneath her green dress, just barely visible and it’s clear her mother was not the one who approved her outfit. But her birthday, her rules, right? Her hair is braided back tightly to clearly reveal her stony-green eyes. 

“Hi Sif, I’m (y/n),” you reply and extend your hand. 

Sif grins after eyeing your outfit, easily shaking your hand. “I like your outfit, (y/n).”

“I like your pants, Sif. Happy birthday.”

Sif rolls her shoulders back to stand higher with her eyes sparkling as soon as the words pass your lips. It’s clear she has not received many, if not any, compliments on her choice of clothing. 

“Thank you.”

“Now, there are more we need to meet, come on!” Loki insists, pulling you away from Sif’s tight grip. 

“I’ll see you later!” You shout behind you as Loki ushers you away towards everyone else. 

He stops you in front of group of similarly aged children as they all tumble into a pile of wrestling and wildness. His hands stay rested on your shoulders in almost possession combined with nervousness. Loki is radiated anxiety as if everyone is going to suddenly reject you, yet he is also terrified to share the one friend he never thought he had to share.

“So, now, this is Fandral,” Loki points to a blond, “and Volstagg,” ginger, “and Bjǫrn,” auburn hair, and…” but the boys are all scattered now, running in different direction. 

A different blond jumps in front of the pair of you and you stumble backwards, the intrusion on your space so quickly startling you. Loki keeps his grip hard on your shoulder to steady you.

“I’m Prince Thor!” He practically yells in your face. 

Your brows furrow at his loudness and suddenness. Though you have not been to the palace, you have read many books of the previous Allfathers and Allmothers and you know that is no way for a prince to introduce himself. 

“I’m (y/n),” you slowly say. 

“I know. Loki has told me so much about you and your lessons.”

“Thor!” Loki whines from your left.

“It’s unfortunate you haven’t been here before. Two years since you’ve met and you’ve been hiding past all those mountains.”

You shake your head, trying to keep a smile on. “I’ve never left and I’m nearly nineteen.”

“Still.”

An involuntary grimace appears on your face as Thor lacks to explain. 

“I’m just going to sit, I think,” you mutter, utterly confused how Loki and Thor could possibly be siblings. 

You wander away from the brothers, feeling the aura between them change slightly suddenly at your words. A good twenty feet away you simply plop down on the grass unlady-like (not that anyone has taught you thus far how to perform like a lady) and begin plucking on the grass beneath you.

After a few minutes one of the kids Loki pointed out, Fandral you believe, comes to sit you beside you. At first he says nothing. You are content with nothing as you watch the squealing and yelling and chasing of all the other children. It’s not that you don’t want to play, but it’s already overwhelming to see all the people and families walking about. There are more people in this gathering than you have seen in your entire life. 

“So, I haven’t seen you before. What house are you from? Or are you not noble?”

“Oh, um, my mother is of the house of…” you pause to think back to what your mother told you, only days ago. Each noble house had a name based on what land they controlled when Asgard was first built… “Fjalltindr.”

“Oh, okay.”

It’s another good two or so minutes in silence before Fandral speaks again.

“If your mother is from a noble family, why are you never at any of these gatherings?” Fandral wonders.

You shrug, tugging on the grass beside you. “I don’t know.”

“Well what village are you from?” He pushes.

“I’m from the Völuspá.” 

Fandral’s eyes go wide in surprise. “So you’re one of those vættr?”

“Vættr?” You look to him, brows furrowed. “I’m not a vættr. I’m a practitioner of magic. And vætter aren’t bad either, they are just creatures of the supernatural. Like the great wolves, the serpents that once were. They aren’t bad, just… are.”

Fandral furiously shakes his head. “You’re one of those freaks, those unnaturals.” 

“No I’m not. Magic is what runs and protects Asgard.”

“Maybe, but everyone from the Völuspá is a freak!

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

The next tuft of grass you tug goes flying into the air, turning into a flock of yellow, wasp-like dragonflies, all turning directly towards Fandral. They dive-bomb into his hair and bury deep into the locks, the black bodies easily lost amongst the blond. 

He screeches like a newborn as he stands, shaking his head back and forth to rid of the dragonflies. 

Your mother (along with every other adult) turns towards the screaming. In order to stop you from causing more chaos, your mother dashes towards you. 

“What did I tell you?” 

You kick the dirt beneath you and avert your eyes from your mother. “Not to perform magic during this gathering.”

“Little veleda, it is not a punishment.” Your mother leans down to try and look at you. Her right hand lands onto your shoulder softly as a gentle assurance. “Most of the magic people here know of is only the enchantment of the bifrost and the basic protections, everything else they don’t understand. So not here, not now.” 

“Why are we even here? It’s boring.” You look back up to her to beg her, eyes widening in an attempt to convince her to take you home. “Why can’t I be at home with father?” 

“Only a couple more hours. And you would have to come with me at some point, figured this would be a better time than an actual formal event.” She drops her hand from your shoulder. “Go.” 

Frigga walks up behind your mother as you run off towards the rest of the children. 

“It’s hard enough to raise a kid. Try raising one who already has such an insane grasp on her connection,” your mother sighs as she stands. 

“Loki’s already getting strong. At least you don’t have two boys, one who wants to fight his way through everything and the other wants to trick his way through everything.” 

With your mother and Frigga distracted and a majority of the other people not paying any mind to you an opportunity arises. The forest is close enough for you to sneak off to it. And nothing was said about magic not at the gathering. So you slip into the trees quietly, careful to avoid eyes of watchful adults. 

A little bit in, there is a river, more like a brook, surrounded by gray boulders. Your hands touch one of the smaller ones, looking up to assess just how large it is. From the friction against your hands you know even if it were taller it would still be climbable. With a small jump, your hand reaches the first crevice where you can actually grip, followed with your left hand feeling for another as your feet press into it. In all honesty, it isn’t the best rock to scale but it’s better than just sitting along the bank. Thankfully it only takes a few minutes to climb it. 

Once up on top, you swing your legs to dangle off the other side. In this moment you would hate to wear a dress and glad your mother let you wear pants instead. 

A few snaps in the woods alerts you to someone. It’s likely they followed you from the party. You know it isn’t any of the adults, they were not watching. Another kid. None of them would hold enough interest to follow you except Loki so you know it is him.

“All these things are so boring, Loki. It sucks,” you announce.

The steps pause. 

“It’s alright, you know? You can come sit up here.” 

The sounds of him clamoring up the rock are quiet compared to the rush of the river in front of you. But you listen still. Each scrape, each small grunt his another noise for you to focus on as you wait patiently for him to join you. 

Loki swings his legs around sits beside you on the rock. 

“Well I’m going to be king one day so I am proud to sit through these boring parties,” Loki announces, tilting his head up.

“No you’re not.” 

Loki turns to you. “Pardon me?” 

“I said no you’re not.” Your fingers grab a pebble from the boulder and begin swirling it between your hands. “Unless your entire family dies, the crown will never go to you unless explicitly passed on. Your father dies before Thor comes of age, your mother rules as Queen Regent. Thor dies after the crown has been passed to him but your father is alive? Crown goes to him. I could keep going on. You will never be a king so why bother sitting through all this stupid stuff.” 

You throw the rock into the river. 

The following splash freezes midair as you stare at it. It’s small; the pebble barely disrupted the much rush at all. Still the droplets remain as the rest of the water pushes on as though nothing is happening at all. Loki still isn’t sure how you do it. 

“Let’s suffer together then,” Loki proposes, turning back to you from the river. “You don’t want to be here and neither do I, let’s at least make it more bearable together.” 

All you reply with is a hum. It’s not a horrible offer, to be honest. Together. 

Your eyes glance over to him. “Are you coming tomorrow down to Völuspá?” 

“I should be. Mother told me are working on shape shifting.” 

You sigh. “I don’t know what we will be doing.” 

But anything would be better than this dreadful gathering.

So your fingers move to grab another pebble to toss, this one larger, and once again stop the splash. Loki’s eyes follow yours back to the water to see your little trick.

“How do you do that?” Loki asks innocently. 

“It’s just telekinesis,” you mumble, releasing the splash. 

“But ho-”

“We’ve been looking all over for you two!” Lífa yells. Both of you turn over your shoulder, looking in towards  “Why are you down by the river?” 

“You said no magic at the gathering but nothing about the river.” 

“Then what are you doing here Loki?” Frigga demands. 

Loki shrugs and looks back to you. “I saw her leave and I thought I should follow.” 

The friends share look to each other, both with their own unique twist of concern. The two of you are only going to become more and more of a handful. 

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@tarynkauai @krystallynx

[transliterate]

Blood is thicker than water (but is still a liquid)

“Tell me,” the acupuncturist asked, after removing a suction cup from my shoulder, “is blood a solid or a liquid?”

“Pardon me?” I said, thinking that I had misheard her.

“Is blood,” she repeated, “a solid or a liquid?”

The acupuncturist’s name is Eileen, a middle-aged woman from Shanxi, China. She has been practicing acupuncture for over 15 years and speaks with the intimidating authority of a preschool teacher who is used to handling 50 toddlers at a time.

“Liquid?” I answered hesitantly.

“That’s right!” she bellowed,  “Blood is a liquid, and liquids are supposed to FLOW!”

She wa working herself into a bit of a mini-rage, and still uncertain about the intention of the question, I decided to hold my tongue and wait.

“Blood is supposed to FLOW!” She repeated.

“Yes ma’am,” I said.

“So tell me, how is it that this crap just came out of your body?”

As she said this, she thrusted the removed suction cup dramatically in front of my face. The suction cup is clear and shaped like a menstrual cup, but slightly larger. In the cup is a substance whose colour and consistency reminds me of black currant jello, and it jiggled with the force of her shove.

After an hour of acupuncture, Eileen had announced that my shoulder joint is very inflamed and she would like to perform “cupping” to let some blood out. I agreed to the procedure, and using something that’s like a cross between a stapler and a stamp, she poked some small holes into the skin near my shoulder joint, placed a small suction cup over the holes and pumped air out with a gun-shaped tool. The coagulated jelly-like substance was apparently what came out of those holes.

“This right here,” Eileen continued, still juggling the cup in my face, “is why your shoulder hurts so much!”

“Oh,” I said sheepishly, fascinated that such a solid substance had apparently come out my body, and still slightly intimidated by the boisterous woman.

“You said your shoulder has been hurting for a month now?” Her rage had suddenly subsided and her tone changed into one of pained concern. “How did you let yourself get so bad before coming to see me?”

How did I, indeed.

Eileen’s practice was located in a basement suite in North Burnaby. I had never tried acupuncture prior to that day, having been taught by my parents and grandparents that traditional Chinese medicine is mostly superstition. Eileen, however, came highly recommended by my lion dance partner, who swore that Eileen’s acupuncture has saved her from numerous sprains and tears over the years. Besides, my “western” doctor’s advice of “just ice it and take some Advil” really wasn’t helping me much. So I decided to give it a try.

Minutes after I arrived at her clinic, Eileen had already efficiently laid me down on a massage table, swung a heat lamp over my belly to keep me warm, and inserted 23 needles into my shoulder area with practiced, expert pokes.

“An acupuncture session needs to be at least 40 minutes long to be effective,” she explained. “I’m going to check in on your after 40 minutes to see if you can go longer.”

With that, she gave me a bell to ring in case of emergencies, turned on the radio to keep me entertained, and left the room to poke other patients.

40+ minutes is long time for me to reflect on all the life choices and events that had led me to a massage bed in a windowless basement suite in North Burnaby, with 23 needles poking out of my shoulders, pop and acoustic versions of Christmas classics looping on the radio, while my belly gently toasted under a heat lamp like an egg being hatched.

At the time I worked part-time at a non-profit and part-time at a busy all-you-can-eat Korean bbq and sushi restaurant. It was the winter holiday season, the busiest time of the year for restaurants, and my shoulder had started to hurt from the motion of wiping tables. I had ignored it until I could no longer lift my arm higher than my shoulder to reach the spinach salad on the top shelve of the fridge. Although my doctor had, in addition to his advice of “ice it and take some Advil,” recommended that I took at least 3 months off of work, and was willing to provide a note, I didn’t qualify for medical employment insurance because my restaurant earnings did not constitute 40% of my income.

I thought about how I had briefly attempted a career in freelance and copy-writing, but when people saw my face and read my name, although they tell me that “wow, your English is so good,” they never thought that I may be good enough to write for them.

I thought about how I struggled to find work outside the Chinese-Canadian community, even though I was born in Vancouver and English is my native language.

I thought about how I lost all my tutoring students when I began presenting as genderqueer, and parents no longer felt that it was safe to leave their children with me.

Staring at my jiggly blood in a suction cup, I suddenly had a moment of clarity with regard to my life. Intersecting oppressions, crappy medical insurance policies, and the prevalence of low-waged, part-time work in the nonprofit sector had landed me on this massage table.

“You’re going to have to come see me for at least three more sessions,” Eileen said suddenly, interrupting my thoughts.

“It’s a good thing you came to see me when you did. Your shoulders are a relatively easy fix now, but left untreated, it could become problematic in your old age,” she continued, her voice becoming more gentle now with each sentence spoken.

“I probably can’t ask you to take time off work, but maybe for now use your other arm to wipe tables. After work, make it a habit to take a long warm shower, and let the warm water run over your shoulder joints to improve circulation.”

That night as I was taking a long warm shower at the advice of Eileen and I found suddenly that I could reach the bar of soap on the shower caddy without pain, I had another thought. If my Chinese-queerness has destined me to a life of body-deteriorating manual labour to subsidize my passion-work, then at the very least, I am grateful that my ancestors had invented superstitious magic cures that let me survive.