Any advice on raising an astral child with Loki? My son has grown to 5 years in 4 days. He's part dryad on my side so slightly different from the average Jötun/deity/human mix. I haven't really mastered projection so a lot of my interactions are in this realm.
Some of it is advice I would give any parent: empathy and compassion. Don’t tell the child they’re “bad” or “a lot of work”. No child is bad, and no child should feel unwanted or like a burden. Love them, play with them often. Like Loki they will have a lot of energy and want to play a lot. If you need help, remember you’re not alone and neither is Loki. They have lots of older siblings to help look after them and play with them, like Fenrisulfr. Demigods and fae can grow quite fast—it can be startling, but it also means they’re a bit more independent sooner and can watch out more for themselves. That doesn’t mean they don’t need supervision though! They’re still children, just children with magic/powers. Who knows what mischief they’d get into it they weren’t being watched! 😂 my fae astral species needed blood alongside their breastfeeding, although I’m not sure about yours. I can’t always get away, so I leave off a little sliver of my consciousness that can stay with them and tend to them. As far as dietary needs, they should be able to eat what you eat. If there’s something specific that’s bothering you, I’m open for more questions.
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Lottie looked down at her dress hoping it was okay, it wasnt fancy but wasnt to plain. It was perfect for the parks and a date all in one. She was glad they were going to EPCOT, there wasnt any ride there she couldnt ride without showing off her undies to everyone in the park. She played with the him for a moment before slipping on her flats and putting on her lip gloss. She looked in the mirror once more before grabbing her purse and heading to Pav's dorm.
She stared at the door for what seemed like an eternity. Finally she knocked and waited on Pav to answer. She was so nervous about this date, She had never been interested in girls before ever. All this started after they were dared to kiss. Lottie was sure she felt something but didnt know how to go about telling Pav. Luckily now she had been brave enough to ask her out.
She stirred, as much as she was able, beneath the familiar weight. Turning softly, Karnilla slid herself under the heavy arm draped across her waist to face the unseeing eyes of her unconscious captor. Balder lay with his face half-crushed into the pillow, his back uncovered, rising and falling with the tempered rhythm of sleep. With one of her rare smiles, Karnilla traced her fingers over the smooth line of his brow, for once untroubled, safe and sleeping with her beside him. His breath came slow and even, a slight low rumble of a snore in-between that remained steady even as Karnilla gently set his arm aside and rose from the bed.
A robe at the ready, she stepped to the window of the spacious room they had been granted at the inn, cinching it loosely as she poured some water from the bedside pitcher. The night was quiet, somewhat unsettlingly so, and Karnilla stared out the window, glass in hand, at the snow that fell so violently and yet without a sound.
Flurries dropped and rose in tumultuous currents, swirling against the window, up to the clouds, and down again upon the roofs of the village. Karnilla was not particularly prone to sentiment, at least so she thought of herself, but she did feel a certain sense of nostalgia for the town in which she and Balder had decided to make their stay during their survey of Nornheim's cities and sights. She had been born here, after all.
"Papa, where do dragons go when it snows?"
"They find a place to keep warm, of course."
"But where, Papa?"
"I suppose the caverns in the mountains. They find a deep cave and curl up with all their treasure, and spend the winter months keeping safe from the snow and keeping safe their prizes."
"Does every cave in Nornheim have a dragon?"
"Every cave with warmth and safety, and enough gold to light the fire in their eyes."
A pounding on the door, late at night.
“Go back to sleep, Karnilla.”
“But, Papa, it’s so noisy.”
“I know,” a warm hand settled atop her head. “It’ll just be a little while. Back to bed now. Stay there, all right?”
Little Karnilla muttered something in protestation but scooted along down the hall. She had just closed the door behind her when there was a boom at the front door and the shouting of several men. Her father was saying something calmly back to them, and she cracked her bedroom door a little to see what was happening.
Shadows were moving in the bright light of the hall, and she could not see the forms clearly, but there seemed to be a lot of them. They threw angry voices at her father, called him names, told him he was ruining everything for Nornheim, demanded he keep quiet, take the money, stop talking to Asgard.
“It’s a new market,” one of them claimed. “Free enterprise.”
“It’s hardly free when it’s built on the blood of citizens.”
“Are you trying to make new enemies for yourself? That’s hardly wise, you know.”
“You do not have to do this. There are other ways—no amount of profit is worth the cost of a life, any life.”
“Even yours? I wouldn’t be too sure about that. The cost of your life is getting a little expensive for the syndicate.”
“I will not bend to a corrupt organisation. I know you can see that this is wrong.”
“Stubborn, isn’t he?”
“You do not have to continue this cycle. You are good men, doing bad deeds. There is still time to change things.”
“You’ve got two options now. You either join up, or we take you out. We can’t have any loose ends in the political machine. Bad for business.”
"So long as there is life left in me, I will not abandon Nornheim to the likes of you."
Karnilla watched and listened as her father told the shadowed men all those things he had read to her from stories, the ones that told of virtuous warriors in white who fought to protect the people, men and women, and little girls like her with everything they had: their swords, their wits, and their words. He told the men those words he had told her—about the value of life, about doing the right thing no matter what, and Karnilla listened, waiting for the part in the story when the shadowed men realised their mistake, realised they wanted to do good instead.
She was still waiting when the metal flashed in the light of the hall, and the squelch of wet flesh around a blade stopped her father’s words. It was not until the blood had seeped far enough down the hall that she realised the words of a warrior in white were capable of failing.
And the wordless screams of a young girl had the power to eliminate an enemy in a single flash of light and grief.
Karnilla closed her eyes, pulling her hand back from the window and breathing deeply. Anger still simmered beneath the surface at the thought of it--all that time, all those letters, the loss of dignity, petitioning, pleading, and for what? To have the All-Father--jest of a title as that was--ignore them, neglect them, leave them to rot, fester, and die. Odin, her face almost snarled involuntarily, had killed her father as surely as the syndicates.
A good man, she thought as she turned away from the window, setting her drink down. He had been a good man--one who had been counting on his king for aid, for protection, and received only death instead.
Her eyes drifted across the room and back to the bed, where in the stillness of the dark, she could barely make out the light rise and fall of the pale sheets over half of Balder's back. The small movement was the only sign, the only difference, she thought, from before . . .
How many good men would Odin take from her?
Balder stirred, turning more on his side, reminding her again that he still remained, relieving her of the unconscious thoughts of when he had closed his eyes and not opened them again. He was here, she assured herself, and this time she was with him.
She smiled to herself as he slumbered on--he had to be exhausted from the day they had had. What had been anticipated at the start as a potential battle to halt a Trollish raid had been unexpectedly diffused. Who would have thought one could negotiate with Trolls? Well, certainly not all Trolls, but Balder, after much time in parlay and what seemed near inexhaustible patience with the marauders, had convinced the tribe raiding the nearby pastures (a rare and precious thing in the stony soil of Nornheim) to agree to a bartering system in exchange for permission to use Nornheim's land beneath the surface. Now Nornheim would no longer have to pay exorbitant fees for smithwork from Dwarves who refused to sell, and second-hand merchants who raised their prices simply for the pleasure of dealing with them. Trollish wares, though not quite the same calibre as Dwarvish, were impressive and skillfully wrought, and the economy of Nornheim would profit by it.
All from one little talk, by a man who still believed there was good in everyone, even a Troll.
Karnilla finished drinking the last of her water, lips smiling softly into the glass at what a treasure she had managed to secure.
"Karnilla?"
"Mm?" she set down her glass, turning a soft glance toward his voice.
"What are you doing up?" he murmured from the bed. She could see the hint of brightness from his eyes as he blinked himself awake, slow as it was.
"Thinking."
He gave a low and almost childish noise from his throat. "Hardly an hour for such an activity."
She toyed at the sash of her robe. "And have you a better suggestion?"
He rolled over onto his stomach. "Resting," he muttered from the pillow.
With a skewed smirk at his insistence on indolence, she made her way over to sit upon the edge of the bed, dipping a small section of the mattress beside him and causing him to roll slightly toward her. "And if I am restless?" she played.
He rose slightly to turn and lean upon his elbows, a brow raised at her. "Again?"
She leaned in, fingers walking a trail up his chest to his chin. "Again," she answered impudently.
The weight upon the mattress shifted once more as he rose up further, a hand travelling through her hair to grasp her shoulder, leaning her across his lap. "You are impossible," he complained, but his conviction was undermined by the light graze of his lips along her jawline.
As she reclined further across the bed, the light edges of her robe brushed open by warm fingers and followed by warmer touches still, she could not keep the flutter from her chest as she gazed up through the dark to eyes that swept over her, looking, lingering, loving.
Let the dragons keep their gold and their gems, she thought, fixing her violet eyes upon the appreciation of his blue. For the treasure I keep treasures me in return.
