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[tc-doherty]

Book One | Chapter One

Index | Next Chapter

Tag List: @bloodlessheirbyjacques @magefaery @did-i-do-this-write @marrowwife @rainbow-snow-writes @muddshadow @outpost51 @full-on-sam @bluberimufim @unclear-contributions @talesfromtheunknowable @guessillcallitart @flowerprose

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Knights all looked the same.

It had been years beyond counting since the last knight had dared Dragon's Keep, but from her place in the castle's tallest remaining tower she could tell that this one was no different from the others who had tried and failed over the years.

Her eyesight was better than a human's. Even from this height she could see that the steel armor encasing his arms and legs, well shined by some probably overworked squire, was scratched and dented. His surcoat was plain, with no heraldry in sight. The sword at his hip was gaudy, but the hilt was only gold leaf and glass gems, the latter cracked and the former beginning to flake. His destrier was red roan under its bulky iron barding, rather than the preferred white or black of older days.

He was a knight, but not a wealthy one. That was certainly why he was here.

Scattered bits of gold and silver lay around her feet. The hoard itself was behind her, the coins and gems, jewelry and weapons, crowns and idols and assorted other treasures that her mother had collected formed an untidy pile against the far wall. Coins clinked and chimed under her feet as she moved closer to the window. Slender brown fingers curled around the edge of the granite windowsill as she leaned forward and peered down at the knight below.

He had come to a stop. The horse shuddered and stamped one large hoof onto the dirt. The knight patted it idly on the neck to quiet it and lifted his visor – just enough to show pale skin, blue eyes, and a shock of golden hair.

From his point of view, the place must look abandoned. He had already passed the outer wall with its ivy-covered stones and the broken wrought iron gate hanging at an angle from busted hinges. The scene inside the walls was not any more welcoming.

She could picture what he was seeing, having played on these grounds her whole life. No carts had been by in so long that it took a dragon's eye to see the rutted dirt roads under encroaching grass and wildflowers. The bushes here and there stood large and untrimmed. Huge weathered chunks of stone lay scattered around the base of the tower where bits of wall had crumbled and gone unrepaired. The rest of the castle beyond the tower was in worse shape still. Most of the walls had toppled centuries ago and only the foundations remained.

All that only accounted for natural decay. There were also unmistakable signs of dragons. The air smelled slightly of smoke, copper, and the dry, cool scent of scales. Claw marks as deep as a man's hand adorned the trees and remaining walls. The ground at the tower's base was scorched black and had been artistically decorated with the bones of other foolish knights.

She smiled. That had been her touch, and she had sent many knights running with those bones alone.

Her work did not go unnoticed. The destrier saw the bones, smelled the air, and fidgeted. The knight, intentionally or otherwise, ignored the signs. He urged his mount forward. The horse moved with visible reluctance. It shook its head, nostrils flaring, ears flicking back and forth at the smallest noise. She couldn't see its eyes, but she knew they would be ringed with white. Its hooves pawed at the blackened ground.

Her mother descended right on time.

The dragon plummeted towards the earth with a roar that shook the tower and caused even more items to slide off the hoard and roll around the room. The girl in the tower ignored this interruption, keen as ever to watch her mother fight.

Her mother's obsidian scales glinted in a riot of ghostly colors as she fell through the sunlight. It might look careless, but her dive was as carefully controlled as any falcon's. Just as it seemed she would surely crash into the ground and save the knight the trouble of fighting her, black wings opened with a snap and she landed lightly on all fours. The girl thought, not for the first time, that dragons truly were the most graceful of creatures.

The warhorse screamed and reared but did not run. The dragon was three times its size, but it bellowed its defiance and stood firm. Perhaps it was not such a cheap horse as she had assumed, it had clearly had some actual training. But she knew it would make no difference in the end. She had seen this exact farce a hundred times.

The black dragon reared too, swinging back like a snake about to bite – except she produced fire rather than venom.

With a tug at the reins and a tap of his heels, the knight directed his horse aside just in time to avoid the jet of golden flame. He was not so lucky with the whiplike tail that followed after. It slammed into the horse's armor-covered side with a noise like a bell ringing. The force of the blow toppled the horse and sent it and its rider down in a tangled heap of armor and thrashing legs.

Before he had even regained his feet, the knight managed to unhook a painted steel shield from his saddle just in time to block her mother's second burst of fire. The horse screamed as sparks made contact, but the shield held back most of the flames and both were able to stand to challenge her mother once again.

High above the fight, she frowned. In the past her mother had been able to melt through shields in an instant. In the past, the knight would never have been able to stand again. But dragon's fire cooled over the years until it flickered out altogether, and her mother was no longer young. But age did not affect her cunning, nor her will to fight.

The dragon reared again. This time rather than fire she lashed out with her front feet. One foot hit the knight and sent him flying into a cluster of bushes. The other smacked down on the destrier's rump. Her claws slipped off the polished iron barding.

The horse's ears were flat back and his limbs trembled with fear but he did as he had been trained. He kicked out with both strong back legs and was rewarded by the sharp sound of bones cracking.

The girl frowned again. That was foolish. Like any other flying creature, dragons' bones were hollow, and broke easily. In the past her mother would have been fast enough to avoid that, but here too her age was showing.

Down below her mother hissed in pain and pulled back her injured foot. She directed a short spurt of fire at the offending horse, who still refused to bolt. It turned and cantered over to where the knight was chopping his way out of the bush into which he had fallen.

The dragon followed, ready to continue.

She reared up again as she neared the bush, certainly preparing for the final blow.

The knight stood up in a shower of cut branches, tossed aside his shield, and lunged.

The black dragon screamed, a cross between the call of a hunting hawk and a wolf's howl.

She wrenched herself free from the knight and his blade, which had already begun to melt. The dragon sprang for the sky. Her tail caught the knight across the chest and knocked him back into the smoldering remains of the foliage.

The effort of flying only widened the ugly gash in her belly. No longer predator, but wounded prey, she half crawled and half flew up the side of the tower. She let herself fall through a dragon sized hole in the roof and collapsed in a heap at her daughter's feet.

"Mother!" The girl cried. In the language of dragons, even that distressed cry was full of fang and fire. She waded through the trickles of blood and melting gold to put her hands against the gash and try to push the sundered flesh together again.

The dragon shuddered, and with a peculiar shrugging motion, began to shrink.

"Mother, you can't shapeshift right now!" said the girl. "You'll heal faster in your true form."

Even in this condition, her mother managed to laugh. She stopped transforming and pressed her snout to her daughter's forehead, speaking with gentle practicality. "It's time for my fire to go out, dear one. And truly, I could not wish for a better exit. Would you have me stay here and perish of boredom and old age?"

"Mother!"

"All things change around us, that is the knowledge of dragons as you are well aware. But I would gift you my cloak of scales so that it might protect you, even though I no longer can."

When the dragon began transforming again, the girl did not try to stop her, even as the shifting skin and muscle ripped the gash wider and spilled her mother's lifeblood onto the stone floor. Tears rolled down her face, far hotter than any dragon's blood or breath could be. She wished they were hot enough to burn her, so that she would not have to leave. All things might change, but that did not mean that she wanted them to. Unfortunately dragons were never harmed by fire, least of all their own.

She held onto her mother's body, so much smaller and sadder than she remembered. The brown skin was wrinkled, the once brilliant amber eyes no longer sparkled, the hair that had once fallen like a spill of shining night was matted with blood and sweat. Only a small smile which consistently hovered around her mother's lips was the same. She wrapped her mother’s scaled cloak around her own shoulders, wept over the frail, lifeless body, and waited for the knight to arrive.

He strutted into the room proud and shining, like he thought of himself as a ray of sun touching a land long shrouded by clouds. His step faltered slightly as he took in the incongruities of the scene. Despite what the stories said, this was no lady's chamber, and she was no delicate, doe-eyed princess in need of rescuing. She clung to her mother's body like a lifeline, wearing nothing but dragon's blood and a cloak of shimmering black scales. It was a testament to his personality that these facts did not stop him for long. He spoke, and she understood his strange, soft words, for all dragons have the gift of tongues.

"You're safe now, my lady," he told her as he picked his way around the worst of the still hot pools of blood and melted gold. "I've come to take you to court where you belong." He grabbed her wrist and tried to pull her to her feet.

Anger replaced grief in her heart, turning her blood to fire. She screamed at him, no word in any language, just a cry of frustration and loss and rage. She thrashed in his grip and pried at the steel gauntlets, trying to get free. Where skin touched armor the metal bubbled and melted. The knight winced as drops of hot steel began to burn their way through his gambeson into vulnerable flesh, but he held on.

She hissed and spat at him, and cursed him in the language of dragons, and wished it could be smoke and fire pouring from her lips instead of words.

The heat was enough to melt his armor, but not enough to shake his heart, for he was a knight, as foolhardy as he was brave. The strength he had gained through training well matched the strength she had been born with, and he held on.

He picked her up and held her until her fire fizzled out under the weight of grief and she collapsed into a dead weight, cool to the touch again. Only then did he set her gently on the ground.

She did not move.

She sat mute as he retrieved the saddlebags he had dropped outside the door and began filling them with treasure – the gold and gems that had not been damaged in her mother's death. He was robbing the dead, robbing her, and she couldn't make herself care. He spoke more words in his strange, soft tongue, and she refused to hear them.

Her mother, constant, proud, undefeatable; was dead. That was all that mattered. As for her future, she could not guess. She knew much of knights but little of human customs. She had never wanted to know. She didn't want to know now. So she sat and tried not to think, tried not to feel, as her life fell apart around her.

The knight took no notice. He filled his bags with stolen goods, and slipped the sword of another, less lucky, knight into the empty scabbard at his left hip. He slung the saddlebags over one shoulder, picked her up as if she weighed nothing at all, and left the tower.

For three weeks she did not eat, drink, or speak.

Except on her mother's back, she had never been far from the estate of Dragon's Keep. She had never traveled at length through the wild, creature infested lands outside, nor had she ever seen the dilapidated wall that separated their land from the lands of humans.

She did not see it now.

She noticed nothing of the journey back to the court this knight called home. She slept often, and tried to dream even while awake. To the knight she was a statue, neither resisting him nor responding to him.

She did not fight him when he dressed her in...well, some sort of human fashion, she assumed.

She closed her ears to the words he spoke, first bragging, then angry, then pleading, until he ceased to speak to her altogether and the rest of their journey passed in silence.

But there was no ignoring the court, not really. It was loud, full of people who talked about anything and everything. They talked about her too, making plans for her life without even asking her – not that she cared what they thought, not that she had any intention of responding.

She had never had any interest in humans, and she still didn't.

That did not stop them from being interested in her.

If she had listened to those conversations, she might have understood their actions. But she did not want to listen and she did not want to understand.

For reasons which made sense to them, they gave her back the gold and silver the knight had stolen. They called her lady, and gave her a room in the palace, a trunk full of donated clothing, and sent along three young women who flocked around her, twittering ceaselessly like little birds. Their presence irritated her as they pulled her this way and that way, trying to dress her up like one of them. They succeeded in removing the clothing the knight had given her and replacing it with a single garment before she ran them off with claw and fang and cast the rest of the clothing aside.

She slammed the door behind them.

She just wanted to be left alone, but here she was never alone. The sturdy stone walls pressed in on her, nothing like the decrepit castle she was used to. The sounds of wind, birdsong, and animal life had been replaced with a seemingly never-ending wave of sounds. She drowned in them, the talk and laughter, the thud of boots and the soft switch of fabric as humans moved, the rustle of brooms against rough stone, all of them. She had never been in a place so loud. She had never been exposed to her gift of tongues, which told her the basic meaning of everything said, whether or not she wanted to know.

A particularly abrasive laugh – the laugh of that knight – grated on her ears. During the journey back to court he had been subdued, but here, surrounded by people, he had regained his courage. He was coming to see her, she was certain of it, coming to see what his princess looked like now that she was civilized. But she didn't want to see him. Not him, not the young women, not any of the people here. With a cry like that of a wounded animal she pushed herself out of her seated position, grabbed her mother's cloak, fled through the nearest door, and found herself outside.

She stood for a moment, surprised. The noise of a door opening brought her back to herself. She gathered her wits and ran.

It was not wilderness, this place she found herself in, but it was not stone walls either. She followed stone paths laid neatly on the ground, the clothing she had been pushed into tangling around her legs. There was nowhere to stop, nothing but stone paths and stone fountains with the occasional bush or row of flowers. Even here there were people, people who scattered out of her way and stared after her as she passed. She paid them scant attention.

Dragons were predators by nature, and she had never wondered what a deer might feel while being pursued by her mother. Now though, she did not have to wonder. She thought she had a pretty good idea.

In some ways this fake wilderness was even worse than being inside.

She ran and ran and did not stop until she felt grass under her feet and then she stopped all at once, collapsing onto the ground in a heap. She fought back the sobs that wanted to come out although a few tears escaped to scorch the ground beneath her. She didn't want to be here, but she wasn't about to let these humans see her grieve.

She knew that her mother would not be pleased with this. Dragons were not so emotional. The world changed around them and they adapted to it. They were calm and practical, rational. She never had been good at that. Still, she tried.

Only when she got herself back under control did she look around to see where she had landed.

It was a small grove surrounded by cypress trees. From here, the castle was not even visible. Nor were any people. She breathed, letting the familiar openness chase out the lingering claustrophobia of too much stone and too much metal and too much noise. The muttered conversation from the grounds behind her faded, masked by the sound of branches moving in the wind. Eventually, a few of the braver birds even began to chirp and the area around her sprang to life again, her wild interruption forgotten.

It could almost be one of the courtyards she was used to, save for the fact that someone clearly maintained the area. The grass was too short, too free of wildflowers and fallen branches and leaves. The trees too were too neat. It was still better than where she had been.

She curled in on herself, and began to dream.

She did not return to the room which had been forced upon her. The cypress grove, quiet and solemn, became her retreat. She did not leave it for several days, except to hide deeper in the fake woods when others came looking for her.

The rest of the time she dreamed of the past. Any moment, she thought, her mother could fly overhead – strong as ever, with her black scales glittering like gems in the sun. She would dance in the sky as she always had done. She would shower her beloved daughter with gold she had stolen, scoop her up to go flying, or drop a kill at her feet for them to share.

Nothing would've changed, they would still be together as they should be. Her mother would never have left her on her own to travel to someplace she could not follow. She would, as she had always done, tell her daughter wildly exaggerated stories of the hunt while they ate.

These visions were so strong to her that she did not realize at first that the smell of blood was real. She came back to herself with a start.

A platter of freshly killed venison hovered half a foot from her face. She frowned.

Dragons did not have much of a sense of smell, but the smell of blood was sharp and distinctive. She should have noticed it, or the sound of someone approaching. She would have, if she had not been so determined not to.

Because the meat, naturally, had not made its way there on its own. It was held lightly in the hands of a woman who held herself with the confidence of a knight. Until that moment, she had not known that women could be knights. It certainly had seemed from her mother’s stories that humans were only divided into knights and ladies. But she had seen enough knights in her life to recognize one, even without the armor and sword.

"Don't turn away," the knight said before she even had a chance to do so. "Even dragons have a need to eat eventually." She set the ceramic platter down on the grass and backed off a few paces before dropping into an easy sit.

Three weeks was a long time, even for a dragon. With the smell of fresh meat in front of her, she could no longer pretend not to be hungry. She grabbed a piece from the top and ripped into it, heedless of the mess she caused.

The knight continued to talk, undeterred. "Here I am, on a short visit to my family, and I miss it all," she said. "The whole court is abuzz about Leroy and his Lady Dragon. Tell me, why not just transform and fly away?"

The knight gave her ample time to respond, which she did not do.

"Nothing, hm?" The knight shrugged. "Well, you are a dragon. You of all people ought to know that mourning has to end eventually. I'm surprised you were distraught enough to let it go on this long."

She paused again, and still received no response. "Such a show can only mean you are named after an emotion. Which one is it?"

The bit of meat she was holding slipped her numb fingers to the grass below.

"How-" the dragon hardly even realized she had spoken until after the word was out. This human language was unfamiliar in her mouth and she snapped her fangs shut around the rest of the sentence. It did not matter. One word was enough.

The knight smiled. "Dragons are not unfamiliar to my home country. It pays to know about them. So, your name?"

"It does not translate easily," the dragon said, and felt anger at herself for giving in. She had not wanted to speak to these humans at all, and had even entertained the thought of living in silence until her own flame ran out. But the will to live and thrive runs as strongly in dragons as in humans, and she could no more keep herself from speaking than from eating the meal in front of her.

"I don't mind."

For the first time, the dragon heard the flavor of foreign speech in the words the knight spoke, and recognized them as being different from the things she had half heard over the last few days. This knight, then, was a stranger here too. Still the dragon hesitated, groping for words in a language she understood but had not yet spoken.

"It is the sense of belonging between two or more people who consider themselves family," she finally said, hating how she stumbled over the words. Dragon names came in two flavors: concepts or feelings. Concept names were strong and feeling names were graceful. In the language of dragons her name was beautiful. As sharp as new grown scales and as delicate as a butterfly's wings. In this human language it was long and clumsy, without sense or rhyme.

The knight nodded. "It is a bit long. A sense of belonging between people, hm? In my language we call this 'patrisjie'. As a name here, it would probably be Patrice. And in my home, we would call you Patya."

The dragon growled. "I do not want these human words or this human name," she said.

The knight nodded again. Her hair, brilliant red and cut to be even with her jaw, bobbed in time with the motion. "Soon they will become tired of calling you 'dragon girl' and someone is going to name you. Better it be something close to what you’re used to."

“And it is so easy to lose your true name!" The dragon said. She heard the snap of fangs and crackle of flame in her words, but the knight did not lose her relaxed posture as a wiser person would have done. Then again, that seemed to be the way with knights. She merely plucked a violet out of the grass and turned the flower round and round in her fingers.

"You aren't alone. My name is Felisjyta, but no one here can say it. They just all call me Felicity."

"And why should I care what they call you?" asked the dragon. Suddenly the rest of her meal was no longer appealing. She pushed the tray away, across the grass. "I do not want that name either. I am no friend to knights." She stood and began to walk away.

The knight made no move to follow her, but did speak again. "You know, Felisjyta is just like a dragon name. You would probably say 'the happiness of someone who has experienced recent good fortune'."

It was a very dragon like name, and she knew exactly how they would say such a thing. In the language of dragons, that name was warm and comforting, like curling up next to her mother on a chilly evening. It didn't suit her current mood at all. She shook her head. "Why should I need this feeling of yours? I have not experienced good fortune in a long time."

She left the garden and the meddling knight behind.

Index | Next Chapter

[november-rayne]

Chapter Nineteen: Seeing

Summary: Frigga uses her sight to discover how the fates intervened to answer Astrid's prayer.

Word Count: 3300

Rating: Mature

*This story is for mature audiences only.* 18+

*Minors DNI*

Chapter Index

Frigga and Astrid were sitting together near a cluster of flowering dogwood trees. The pink and white petals blanketed the stones along the path to where the ladies were seated at a small wrought iron table. An assortment of nuts, cheese, and dates sat on an intricate golden tray. The warm breeze made the petals dance and flutter as the ladies sipped their tea. They had a wonderful conversation until the subject shifted to the wedding.

The Queen set her teacup on the table and asked, “You seem preoccupied, Astrid. Is something the matter?”

“Apologies, Your Majesty. The wedding approaches quickly. I am trying to come to terms with going home without my little girl.”

Frigga placed her hand over Astrid’s and gave it a few little pats. “I understand how difficult that must be.”

“I am happy for my daughter to be getting married and to a prince at that.” She smiled at the queen, “I will miss her terribly. We may not agree on much, but I could always count on seeing her every day. I know I should be grateful for all my years with her.” She sighed, “Why do they have to grow up so fast?”

“It is the cruelty of becoming a mother, I’m afraid. Although eventually, we will be rewarded with grandchildren. Won’t that be wonderful?”

Astrid smiled, “Sigyn has wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember. She had quite the doll collection. Erik would bring her a new ‘baby’ every time he returned home from a trip, every birthday, anytime she got good marks in school, any opportunity he could.” Her smile fell.

“Then the dolls were eventually replaced with dresses, shoes, and jewelry. We spoiled her, but how could we not?” She shrugged her shoulders, “She is our miracle. My answered prayer.”

“And you believe Loki to be the one who answered your prayer?”

Astrid looked sheepishly at Frigga, “I do not have any other explanation. He remembered my unspoken prayer word for word.”

Frigga took Astrid’s hands in hers, “The golden apples from Idunn’s tree affect each of us differently. Loki can tap into someone’s mind, see their memories and hear their thoughts, but I’ve never seen him heal anyone. Perhaps he heard your prayer because you were holding him? He needs to be touching someone to read their thoughts.”

“Well, yes, I would hold him on my lap, stroke his hair, and hold his chubby little hands as he drifted off to sleep. And I would pray. Over and over, I would pray for another baby of my own. I went to the nursery almost every day that we were here.”

“There is no doubt that Loki heard your mind.” Frigga furrowed her brow and looked off into the distance, pondering. “I will need to do some scrying to see how exactly you were able to conceive.”

She looked at Frigga with wide eyes. “How old was he when you fed him the golden apple?”

“Odin was insistent that the boys got their apples as soon as they had teeth.”

“Oh, goodness. So, they were both babies at the time?”

“Yes, their ceremonies were each quite comical.  Thor shrieked after he finished his apple and was not permitted to take another. Loki had just learned to sit up on his own and was more interested in tossing the apple and rolling it around on the dais than eating it.”

“Goodness,” Astrid laughed. “Why so young?”

“As you know, the King is extremely selective. Only those with the strongest elements may receive the gift. He was so proud when the boys were born; he could not wait to bring them into the fold, to start their tutelage. And he wanted them to have the protection of Asgard’s magic as soon as possible.”

“Are you telling me that the King is a big softie?  It is hard to picture.”

“That is on purpose,” Frigga smiled. “He must rule with an iron fist, without exception. One whiff of vulnerability and our enemies would pounce. But Odin is a different man behind closed doors. He is gentle, sentimental, and empathetic. Do not let him know I told you that,” she chuckled.

Astrid grinned, “Of course not.”

“He was a good father when he was not being a king. He focused most of his efforts on Thor, obviously; he was the heir to the throne, strong as an ox, and the spitting image of Odin. But he was just as proud of Loki, in his own way.”

Frigga smiled, “We were both shocked when he was born with a head full of black curls and looking almost exactly like my late father. When he started showing a predilection for seiðr, Odin started referring to him as ‘your son.’ So, he had his boy, and I had mine.”

Frigga took a sip from her teacup and set it back down again. “Loki projects an heir of haughty arrogance, but he is a sweet boy under that cool demeanor. He would be the first to throw himself in front of someone he cares about. And I know he cares about Sigyn, not just superficially; he loves that girl.”

“And she him.” Astrid smiled, “She has had a crush on the prince for as long as I can remember. It was always, ‘Prince Loki is so handsome, Mama.’ and ‘Prince Loki can wield seiðr, Mama.’ She would moon over his portrait for hours if I would let her.

“She was such a naughty little thing when she was young. Just picture me trying to raise a proper little lady and her winking and blowing kisses to framed art on the wall!” She clutched her necklace, “Where she even learned such behavior, I could not tell you.”

Frigga held her stomach and laughed, “Oh, that is precious.”

One of Frigga’s ladies approached the table and curtsied, “Excuse me, Your Majesty. The Prince and the Lady Sigyn have just arrived at the garden gate.”

“Ah, very good. Please bring us a fresh pot of tea and two more cups.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She curtsied and collected the teapot before she hurried away.

oOXOo

Loki and Sigyn came through the garden gate as one of the Queen’s ladies approached and curtsied. “The Queen and the Lady Anderson are having tea under the dogwood trees, Your Highness.”

Loki nodded, “Thank you.” When they were out of earshot of the maid, he leaned over and whispered in Sigyn’s ear, “I think I will take us there the long way.”

She tightened her grip on his arm, “You will get no complaint from me.”

Loki led her off the stone path to a smaller gravel walkway that wound through an ornate flower bed. “Mother designed this garden herself. She spends most of her free time out here.”

“I can see why. It is stunning.” They followed the meandering path until they came across a small pond. Sigyn stopped to admire some purple irises planted along the water’s edge. “It is very peaceful out here.”

She looked over to Loki and caught him staring at her face with a look that could only be described as adoring. “Oh, Loki.” she stroked his face with her free hand, “I love you so much. When you look at me like that…” she ran her fingertips lightly along his cheekbones, “I feel like my heart could explode right out of my chest.”

Loki touched her neck and stroked her jaw with his thumb. “You are the hidden treasure I never knew I was searching for.”

Tears pricked her eyes. She wrapped her arms around his middle and put her head on his shoulder. He rested his head against hers and stroked her hair.

“I am never going to let you go,” she said through her sniffles. They held each other, swaying in the warm sunlight for several minutes. Each of them not wanting to be the first to let go.

“Riiibbit.” A giant bullfrog croaked as he plopped onto a stone in the pond with a squelch, startling the couple.

“Excuse me. We are trying to have a moment here. Move along.” Loki dismissed the frog with a wave.

“Riiibbit.” The bullfrog responded, staring at Loki.

“Rude!” He glared back at the frog, his lips curling up at the corners. Sigyn giggled. “We will get no more privacy here. Let us go.”

She gave the bullfrog a little wave as Loki led her away.

oOXOo

Frigga heard the pair approach before she could see them. Their heavy footfalls and shouting taunts broke up the peace in the garden. Loki rounded a corner and ran down the path at full speed, Sigyn running a little behind him.

“I won!” he yelled triumphantly at her before stopping to bow to his mother, “Mother.”

“Not fair! I do not know my way around this garden! And I am wearing a dress!” She yelled back, slowing down as she rounded the corner and saw her mother's unmistakable look of displeasure. She quickly walked the last twenty yards to where Loki stood waiting for her.

“You cannot sour my victory with your logic, My Lady. I will still relish your defeat.” He was grinning from ear to ear. He placed his hand on her back as she approached the table.

She tried to catch her breath as she curtsied deeply to the Queen, “Your Majesty.”  She gave her mother a peck on the cheek, “Mama.”

Lady Anderson stood and curtsied to the prince, “Your Highness.”

“My Lady.” He helped push her seat back in before sitting Sigyn next to her.

Frigga raised her eyebrows, “Loki, why were you making this poor girl run through the garden?”

“Oh, I was not making her do anything, Mother.” Loki conjured a tall glass of cold water and passed it to Sigyn, “Here you go, sweetling.” She nodded a thank you as she accepted it. “My betrothed wrongly believes that she can outrun me. So, we agreed to a foot race.” He shrugged as he plucked a date from the tray and passed it to Sigyn.

“You did what?!” Lady Anderson moved to the edge of her seat. She leveled Sigyn with a glare. Sigyn dropped her eyes to her lap as she nibbled the date. “How many times must I remind you that you are a Lady, Sigyn.” Her mother said through clenched teeth. “Ladies do not challenge people to foot races! Especially men! Especially in the presence of royalty.”

“Sorry, Mama. We were having a bit of fun.”

Lady Anderson sighed, exasperated, “A bit of fun?” She shook her head in disbelief as she clutched her necklace.

“Honestly, My Lady, I love that Sigyn feels she can challenge me. I love her spirit and her tenacity. I cannot imagine spending the rest of my life with some vapid woman who has trained her whole life to pander to me.” He rubbed Sigyn’s cheek with his knuckle as he smiled at her.

“Yes, of course, you are right, Your Highness,” Lady Anderson replied tightly.

“My case in point.” Loki laced his fingers together and rested his elbows on the arms of the chair as he leaned back.

“Loki, a little more decorum in front of our guest,” the Queen said.

“Apologies, My Lady. I did not mean any offense.” He straightened his posture and reached across the table for her hand.

“Sigyn is fortunate to be betrothed to someone so… accepting of her demeanor.” Lady Anderson placed her hand on Loki’s, and he quickly kissed the back of it. “She has always leaned a little on the boisterous side. I blame her father.”

“Please, I am the lucky one.” Loki passed Sigyn another date.

“Speaking of fortune and luck,” the queen interjected, “I need to clarify something you mentioned at lunch, Sigyn.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Sigyn covered her mouth as she chewed.

“You mentioned to me that you felt connected to Loki from an early age. Care to elaborate on that a little more for me, please?”

“Yes,” She cleared her throat, “As I told you the other day at lunch, I have felt drawn to the prince ever since I was tiny.” She smiled at Loki and continued, “One day, his portrait stopped me dead in my tracks. I felt a connection that I cannot explain. I knew, somehow, that I would one day be his wife. And the day we met,” tears pricked her eyes, she shook her head and fought to keep her composure, “the day we met in person…I do not have the words to describe the feeling… a piece of myself that had been missing was returned. I felt complete.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “I am sorry if that makes no sense. That is the best way that I have to describe it.”

Lady Anderson moved to comfort her daughter, but Loki was already en route to wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He kissed her temple as he dried her cheeks with his thumb. Sigyn looked at him and gave him a sweet smile. Loki took some cheese from the tray and offered it to her. She laughed through her tears, “Thank you, my love,” she whispered as they rested their foreheads together.

“And Loki? Can you tell me more about when you first met Sigyn?” The queen looked pensive.

Loki’s cheeks flushed slightly, “Aside from being completely bowled over by her beauty, grace, and warmth, I would say that my initial reaction was quite… possessive. I felt time come to a screeching halt. My vision blocked out everything but her. All the pain in my body relented briefly. And I knew she was mine and that I would be hers. I tried desperately to deny it. But I knew. Somehow. She was mine. She is mine. She…is…mine.”

Loki looked away from Sigyn to find the other two women staring at him intently. “What? Is that not how everyone falls in love?”

“No.” the Queen said as she went deep in thought. After a moment, she asked, “Sigyn, Astrid, may I have a strand of your hair? Loki, you as well. Root attached, please.” She held out her hand, and Loki, Sigyn, and Lady Anderson each plucked a stand from their scalps and placed it in the queen’s open palm.

Frigga summoned her soapstone smudge bowl to the table and twisted the hairs together. She placed them in the bowl. A heatless yellow flame rose from the bowl as Frigga held her hands over it. She stared into the flame; her eyes took on a yellow glow.

“I see,” she said faintly.

Sigyn reached over and clutched Loki’s arm with both hands. Lady Anderson clutched her necklace with one hand and held her stomach with the other.

Loki scooted to the edge of his seat, “What do you see, Mother?”

“I see the Lady in the nursery. I feel her pain.” Frigga grimaced and clutched her abdomen, not taking her eyes from the flame; she said, “I see the boy toddling over to her with a book.” She smiled briefly before her face shifted. Her eyes widened, “I see the Nornir… they argue… the tapestry… the Lady’s fate… Atropos relents, Lachesis instructs, Clotho weaves… a new pattern emerges… the boy… the girl…”

The flame in her bowl died down. Frigga closed her eyes, “I have been shut out from seeing any further than today.” She took a few deep breaths to center herself. She opened her eyes and took a sip of her tea.

“The Norns intervened on your behalf, Astrid. They heard your prayer, felt your longing, and changed your fate.”

“Oh...” Lady Anderson clutched her heart with both hands, “Oh my stars…”

“They used a small fiber of Loki’s thread to patch what was missing in yours. A small piece of his divine element, his mischief. The piece was so small that it only healed you long enough to conceive Sigyn and carry her to term. It created an irrevocable bond between the two of them as well.”

Frigga looked to Loki, “You see it in her eyes too, do you not?”

“It was one of the first things I noticed about her. It took my breath away.” Loki looked at Sigyn and the unmistakable glint in her eyes. “I had no idea it was part of my own.”

“Excuse me, but I do not understand. How does one see mischief?” Lady Anderson took Sigyn’s chin and looked at her daughter’s face. “All I see are her pretty green eyes.”

“Only the Gods can see the divine elements, My Lady. I am sorry. It is a sight to behold,” Frigga stated.

“I suppose I owe your father an apology, Sigyn. All these years, I believed him to blame for your naughtiness.”

Frigga laughed, “Sigyn is responsible for her own behavior, My Lady. I assure you that her free will has not been tampered with.”

Sigyn blushed and tucked her chin to her shoulder, turning her face away from her mother’s disapproval. “I see.” The Lady picked up her teacup and took a sip.

Loki took Sigyn’s hand and kissed it, “Would you like another snack, my sweet? I could conjure you something else if you like?” he asked her as he noticed that she had finished off the dates.

Sigyn’s eyes lit up and then fell as her mother cleared her throat. “Thank you, Your Highness. But I… should pass.  I have my final fitting for my wedding gown tomorrow. I want it to look perfect for you.”

Loki scoffed, “I would not care if you walked down the aisle in a burlap sack. Your happiness is my only concern.” He conjured a small pumpkin muffin and placed it in her hands with a kiss on the forehead.

Heat came to his cheeks as he remembered her nakedness from earlier. The curve of her hips, the fullness of her breasts, the cute little bump of her empty womb that poked out slightly between her hip bones. She was athletic and strong while still having the feminine softness that awoke something feral in him. His eyes dropped from her face to the curve of her breasts at the top of her dress.

“Loki?” Frigga said again as she kicked his boot under the table.

“What? Yes, Mother? Did you say something?” Loki tore his gaze from Sigyn to look at the Queen. He heard Sigyn giggle as she tore off a piece of her muffin.

“I asked if you had decided on the apartment.”

“Oh, yes…” Loki cleared his throat, “Yes, we are taking the corner unit directly south of yours, Mother. We are going to be neighbors.”

“Oh, how wonderful,” Frigga beamed. “I am so pleased for the two of you.”

“Fredrik said he would have our furniture delivered and the changes we want to be completed by the wedding day. Sigyn and her maids can move her clothes to the closet immediately. He even gave her her own set of keys to do so.”

Sigyn reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a gold keyring. She jingled them above her head. “I am so excited.” She smiled at her mother, “Would you like to help me organize my things in my new rooms, Mama?”

“I would like that, yes,” she sobbed.

The Queen stood, “That session has drained me, I’m afraid. I need to go lie down before dinner.” Frigga signaled to her ladies.

Everyone bowed and curtsied after she stood. “Are you all right, Mother? Would you like me to escort you back to your chambers?”

“No, I am fine. I just need a little rest.” She waved as she started down the path. “I will see everyone at dinner.”

Loki escorted the ladies back to their chambers, reluctantly bid Sigyn farewell, and then made his way to the training grounds.

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

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XOXO - Rayne 💚

Tag List: @gigglingtiggerv2 @chantsdemarins @superficialdomina @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @acidcasualties @smolvenger @simone818283 @gruftiela @huntress-artemiss

[bluejayboi]

Daughter of Evil

This story is based on the Story of Evil series (No specific versions, just a hodge-podge of multiple). There are three songs in the trilogy, so I'm splitting this story into three sections. It’s based heavily on the plot of the songs but I deviated in a few ways. There aren’t as many quotes but there are some. Hope you all enjoy (＾▽＾)

Part 2: Servant of Evil

Part 3: Regret Message

TW: Yandere themes, kidnapping, and bratty yandere

Songs to listen to while reading:

Daughter of Evil- JubyPhonic, Kuraiinu, mothy  

Characters: Riliane (princess in the dress) and Allen (servant in the suit). Both characters are aged up to 19.

Once upon a time in a land so far away was an evil kingdom that no person dared to face. You have lived in this kingdom all your life. You had taken a job as a (butler/servant/maid) in Riliane’s castle. The job didn’t pay very well, but it gave you a roof over your head, enough meals for you to not go hungry, and enough money for you to live somewhat comfortably. You lived frugally, storing most of the money you earned in a hidden location on the outskirts of town. You always kept your head down, trying to avoid the attention of the tyrant Princess Riliane. She ruled with an iron fist. She had started ruling at the age of fourteen and never quite grew out of her immaturity and entitlement. You had heard the horror stories of what happened to other workers who had irked her and never wanted to meet that same fate. Unfortunately for you, her attention was unavoidable.

Something about you caught her eye. Maybe it was a particular attribute of yours that got her attention (an interesting hairstyle, exquisite eyes, a cute face, etc.). Maybe it was a certain talent you had (a beautiful singing voice, incredible artistry, a skilled craftsperson, an elaborate storyteller, etc.). Or maybe it was the way you acted (always gentle and kind to others, a strong force that people look up to, seemingly always calm and mysterious, etc.). Regardless of what it was, something about you caught her eye. She fell fast and she fell hard.

Being the greedy individual that she is, she wanted to possess you. She wanted to own you; add you to her collection of shiny baubles and prized possessions. She wanted to polish you up (she couldn’t let you go around looking like a peasant after all) and show you off. There wasn’t anything that this princess couldn’t have, so she sent the boy just like her, her right hand man, to fetch what she wanted.

She had her brother Allen get you for her; had him gather your few meaningful possessions from your servants quarters and escort you up to her room. Whether you go quietly or protest, the ending is the same; you’ll be locked up in her room and gawked at by the privileged princess.

In the beginning, you were like a glorified pet to her. She kept you in a gilded cage, keeping you locked up in some lush quarters right next to her own until the time came when she wanted to spend time with you (which was quite often). She would drag you along to various activities; forcing you to spend tea time with her, reading with her (with either you sitting on her lap or her sitting on yours), and more. She would give you trinkets and treats and other magnificent gifts in an attempt to buy your affections. She would bedeck you in silken outfits and glittering jewels and precious metals, claiming that no possession of hers is allowed to look anything less than magnificent.

One piece of jewelry that she gifted you stood out in particular. It may have been a brooch, a necklace, a pocket watch, or some other piece of finery. Regardless of what it was, the item was wrought of pure gold (since she loves the yellow hue of the metal) and with gems of your favorite color inlaid in it. There’s an image of a dove in flight decorating the metal. How you envied that bird. You longed to fly from this prison, to escape from this gilded cage you were locked in. Yet here you stayed.

Whenever you didn’t act the way she wanted you to, she would throw a tantrum. She would threaten you and the people you care about to get her way. And afterwards she would come crying to you about how she ‘hates being so mean to you’ but that she just wants you to love her back.

Riliane only lets herself and her brother see you at first. She’s incredibly jealous, worried that people might try to steal you away from her if they see how precious you are. She knew she could trust her brother with you though. 

Despite having a rocky start with him (due to him helping kidnap you), you and Allen actually form a pretty decent relationship. Despite his undying loyalty to his sister, he’s actually not that bad of a guy. He’s somewhat kind (despite his skewed morals), hardworking, and dotting. It’s nice to talk to him, since you don’t feel like you're walking on eggshells around him. He feels bad about keeping you here against your will but he refuses to let you go because you make his sister so happy. He cares a lot about you in a platonic way. You make his sister incredibly happy, so he loves you too. He sees you as a second sibling and a close friend. He’s able to trust you with things that he’s worried to bother his sister with. He goes out of his way to pamper you as a way to say sorry for keeping you here.

After a while, your resolve starts to break a bit. You give into the princess’ requests more easily, stop flinching at her touch, and she even sees you smiling more often. Riliane is overjoyed that you're accepting her more and begins to lighten up on you. She starts to treat you more like a partner than a pet. She respects your opinion much more than she did before but she’s still incredibly bratty and will pout or throw a fit if she has to compromise too much.

Riliane even eases up on her possessiveness a bit. She ‘allows’ you to make public appearances. Of course, you have to remain by her side the whole time. She loves ordering people to show you the proper respect that she feels you deserve, often chiming out “Now, kneel before us peasants”. And should anyone treat you in a way she doesn’t approve of, they will face a severe punishment. She once sent a man to receive thirty lashings for simply making eye contact and trying to talk to you. And if anyone so much as thinks of disrespecting or flirting with you, they’ll be dragged out of the palace in chains and sent to their execution. After all, anyone opposing her would be punished for their crime. And treating you in a way she didn’t approve of was a one way ticket to the chopping block.

She loves taking you out to show you off. She’ll get you all dolled up and dressed in the finest of clothes so that you can join her for tea time, sit in on her political meetings, or make an appearance before the kingdom. She also really enjoys taking you out horseback riding. She doesn’t let you ride on your own horse though. She expects you to ride on the back of Josephine, her prized horse, with her (it’s *totally* not so she has an excuse to have you hold onto her).

Riliane continues to buy you extravagant gifts. Anyone worthy of being her partner is obviously worthy of the finest things money could buy. She could buy the world no matter what the price may be, so simply ask her and she will get you whatever you want (in exchange for affection of course). If there wasn’t money for the tyrant left to spend, she would simply take it from her loyal subjects to no end. No request is too big for her to fulfill (unless you're asking for your freedom back)

She becomes a lot kinder with her affections too. Instead of forcing you to cuddle with her, she becomes more conscious of your boundaries and interests. She’ll look more into what you want. She’ll still be a brat about it, but she’s at least trying.

[fuckingconversations]

Not a ring! This gorgeous bracelet was crafted by French jeweler Georges Fouquet.  <-- visit that link to see more of his work!

He was an absolute master of his art, creating ridiculously intricate works that could be mistaken as impossible AI-generated works, but were delightfully real! You can go see them in museums!

He mixed Lapidary (the working of gems) with precious-metalworking, delicate glass enamel, and sometimes even abalone and horn to create my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE collection. All the pictures below are actual photos of his one-of-a-kind jewelry, and I occasionally shed tears of adoring grief knowing that I’ll never be able to own one of his pieces. =‘D

No 3d printers. Only meticulous hand-wrought precision to shape materials and a lifetime of honing his skills.

 Alfons Mucha (Another one of my all-time favorite Art Nouveau artists) designed this bracelet-ring combo for actress Sarah Bernhardt when she played Cleopatra! Georges Fouquet was the one who took his concept art and brought it to life!!

Here’s another shot to show off the brilliant GOLD of the bracelet on a cloth mannequin hand, and how the stones inset in the snake’s head flashed with colors at different angles. From seafoam to purple to brilliant blue

I weep, I WEEP with the terrible lust to JUST TOUCH this masterwork of history with my own hands, knowing I’ll only ever be able to see his work from behind a pane of glass.

 💍  |,,,orz  <-- me ugly-sobbing in the Alphonse Mucha Museum in Japan as I yearn for Fouquet’s skills to leech through the glass and into my own hands

Ring, 1905-09, France.

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[epitomees]

There wasn’t much a kid like her could buy, but Makoto liked that Panchimaru panda thing. She didn’t understand the appeal, but knowing that made finding gifts a lot easier. The key chain wasn’t anything spectacular, just the panda holding bamboo, yet people went crazy over it if this had been the last one in stock. It went inside a small box, one that used to hold some other accessory long ago.

With how small it was, there was no need to giftwrap it, she thought. So she handed it over like that, plain and unassuming, potentially a little misleading. “It’s your birthday, so...”

Time constantly changes, and with it came several uncertainties and uncomfortable adjustments everyone had to embrace. Whether a dire need for something different was required or if it must be forcefully swallowed in order to accept the alterations, it always happened. Nobody could stop it. One way or another, it was a necessary condition of the ever-changing society. Although these instances usually wrought bouts of anxiety and apprehension, since some people refused to acknowledge these changing tides, other circumstances led to more positive adjustments in a person's life. It all depended on the individual's outlook on the situation.

Some constants remained the same, never turning or transforming into a different perspective, and as years passed they solidified more into general life facts. Each individual grew up with several of these facts already known since birth, or some coming into existence when a sudden turn of events veered their life's course to an entirely different path. Unexpected losses, financial declines, or house evictions made the perfect starting point for these cases. It began unexpected hardships, and potentially losing relationships with friends or family in the process. It always happened...

And it happened for Shujin's student council president. The little family she had remaining never bothered sitting down and questioning the brunette's feelings on such traumatic instances. Her dad left her in the care of her older sister. From then on, their days and nights were hardly spent together. Not even mingling together by the dinner table due to their conflicted schedules. A simple morning greeting was the best Sis managed in a single day. Nothing else.

Now, on the day of Makoto's own birthday, the younger Nijima anticipated the same, daily treatment. A lone card was the only difference among their morning routine, yet Sae stood nowhere in sight upon Makoto's entrance into the kitchen. Just as expected. Another constant in her life. She vacated the apartment without bothering to read the contents inside the card (if Sae bothered writing anything other than her own name). School kept her mind off of any depressive thoughts worming themselves into her mind. If dad were still alive, it'd be different.

If dad was here, she'd feel included. If dad was here, she'd be smiling again. If dad was here, she'd feel loved. If dad was-

"-OH! Oh, I'm so sorry. I wasn't paying attention..." The brunette's apology lingered away upon seeing a recognizable newsboy cap at her eye level. How had she forgotten about her other sister? Naoto rarely visited, but the few times the two bumped into each other wandering Shibuya's crowded streets it always turned into a pleasant confrontation. She suspected Sae's cold behavior kept the young detective away from their home. An estranged sibling hardly ever received recognition or compassion from their blood family, yet Makoto felt more vulnerable around Naoto. More...connected even.

"...you...oh..." Maroon eyes led down to the small, jewelry-sized box held in the other girl's palm. A birthday gift, from one sister to another. She gingerly took the present in hand, carefully opening the lid to reveal yet another prized Buchimaru collectible awaiting inside. "...oh....oh! You...you found this one!? They're only available at specific gacha machines across the country." Did this mean Naoto intentionally made plans to grab this rare memorabilia for today's special occasion?

All for Makoto?

"...y-you know...I still have that Buchi-mailman plush you gave me last time..." It remained untouched, sitting comfortably among her shelf of various panda-themed mementos and close to Makoto's bedroom desk. That was on purpose. "And now...I have something else I've gotten from you on my birthday...so..." Would it be too selfish to ask at this time? She hardly knew Naoto's schedule but concluded it was just as busy, if not entirely packed, as Sae's daily calendar of events. But maybe, just this once...

...she wouldn't be a burden if she asked for this request?

"...I'm...wondering if...you happen to be free later...would you like to join me for dinner?"

[poshhunter]

Check out this listing I just found on Poshmark: Solid Sterling scenic moss agate.

[nektanewyork8]

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[jacks-tracks]

Oaxaca walka

What happens if I just take my tourist map and head for distant green blobs that may be parks? That's how I spent my morning, walking uphill on Andadors and side streets, and it's surprising how being aimless produces such interesting things.

A 20 foot tall stone block wall stretched for a long block, but up ahead a crowd jammed into an entrance where loudspeakers blurred some message. I thought it might be a tour group that i could coattail along, but following the last folks up the entrance stairs i found myself in a school yard, 2 story building, jammed with uniformed elementary students and packed with relatives. In the open courtyard 6 girls did precision military drill, how useful!? The crowd paid strict attention and i felt a bit conspicuous sliding out to the playground to see what the tables had for sale. Regretably it was the same junk on every vendors pile, cheap jewelry, loud clothes, and tacos with drinks. .

This was far enough uptown to leave the crowds behind and i did find quiet corner parks, with wrought iron benches, a few shade trees and dry fountains. Usually there are people idling on the benches, favouring the shade. I knew there was a large park to the east, and took a side street, stopping for a hot chocolate in a fancy bakery( beautiful creamy cakes, boxes of cookies, frappes and coffee. The cakes were wildly overpriced(like $10 a slice) but the hot chocolate was good for $3. It was a mistake to get the chocolate with milk, I may be lactose intolerant.

A few blocks more and there was the big park, shaded by casarina pines that whisper in the breeze. Same butt buster benches, the cement garden walls a re more comfortable. More people idled including a full patch Hells Angel? I rested, then turned back to town, not that i was anywhere near the town limits, Oaxaca is a big city, but the action is all centro. Streets are walled in by 2 story stone buildings, with occasional tall heavy wooden doors. When I could look into the doors, there were always courtyards, flowers fountains and planters. The first one had a small cafe, empty and some closed stores. Oops, out again after taking pictures. So many nice shops and cafes a re located on empty streets, no pedestrian action, which is how the downtown places get custom. I saw a supermarket and bought bollios for the road tommorrow, 6 hour bus trip. It was in the same under building mall that houses the very nice restaurant I ate at last week. Sort of a car park with shops.

I was now looking for museums, but they were not as mapped, so I was surprised to find the Stamp museum. Ho hum , I thought, books of stamps, how dull. Not so! After the usual big doored entrance a lovely courtyard opened up to a series of rooms. First was dedicated to trees with pictures of central american trees types, and stamps that had trees from all over the world. A green painted central cement column was studded with cement thorns like a common jungle tree. Next was a video room where a loop film showed native trees. Oddly the seating was big beanbags, very cushy, and the drone voice over nearly put me to sleep while flopped on the cushion. Imagine being able to lie down after walking on concrete? NIce!

There was replica post office with original equipment(and stamps of course) with b/white pics of workers sorting mail into drop boxes. Walls were filled with cased world stamps, thousands of them. Odder still, the next yard held a volkswagon bug totally plastered with shellaced on stamps(Sp?). Rear courtyards had shaded tables, a welcome restroom, and still more stamp collections. The real collection was housed in professional steel locked drawers inside a bank vault. There was gift shop of course and friendly staff. All this was the heritage of some rico collector who had dedicated his house to contain and display his treasure trove.

Downhill now, back towards the zocalo, and traffic got busy. I ducked into the car free streets and got to the zocalo. where only the usual throng milled about, playing Marimbas, singing, and ,too wierd: dancing in phony red indian costumes. Phew it's always something new. Returning to Posada Chapulin, I must now explain that Chapulins are grasshoppers, a popular food, sold from big trays on the street and in tacos. Millions of them , deep fried, crispy legs and all. Not for me. the first time I saw them i thought they were cockroaches and thought "Wow, these folks are hard up!"

Loafed away the afternoon reading and listening to Stuart McLean, bit upset stomach from milk. By 5 i felt well enough to venture out tothe Zocalo where a whole new scene had formed. A thousand Indian peasants had set up a protest, though i,m still not sure what the cause was, only sure they're getting screwed somehow. They all had red or green flags on sticks but nobody was doing anything. Not many kids, mostly middle aged men and women. On the church side of the plaza a crowd pressed close to a group of dancing women in fancy dress, accompanied by a brassy band. They held paper mache baskets on their heads, with paper flowers, and swirled gracefully. I think it was a celebration of inclusivness, as there were a large group of developmentaly challenged youth. Downs syndrome. Men with wooden wheels on their heads lit the fireworks on top, and the wheels spun wildly while emitting sprays of sparks over the crowd. Balloon vendors backed away quickly. Really not sure what it was all about, but things were peaceful.

I bought a tray of french fries to test my stomach, ate half and gave the rest to a beggar who said yes he was hungry.. Pushed through the packed sidewalks to the Hotel and here I will stop.Tommorrow, all going well i'll ride the bus to Mexico city. I must say I am enjoying myself, getting lots of walking, some surprises, and a very cultural experience.

[saibolifestyle]

Elevate Your Wardrobe with the Timeless Elegance of Lakhnavi Chikan Kuta for Women

At Saibo Lifestyle, we take pride in presenting a collection that epitomizes the beauty of traditional Indian craftsmanship blended with contemporary style. Our Lakhnavi Chikan Kurta for women is a testament to the timeless elegance and intricate artistry that Lakhnavi Chikan work is renowned for. This article explores the allure of the Lakhnavi Chikan Kurta, its history, varieties, and styling tips to elevate your fashion game.

The Heritage of Lakhnavi Chikan Work

Lakhnavi Chikan work, originating from the heart of Lucknow, Uttar Pradesh, is a traditional embroidery technique known for its delicate and artful handwork. This centuries-old craft involves creating intricate designs on fabric, making each piece a unique work of art. The word 'Chikan' is derived from the Persian word 'Chikeen', which means a cloth wrought with needlework, a testament to the global appreciation of this craft.

Discover the Elegance of Lakhnavi Chikan Kurta

Our Lakhnavi Chikan Kurta collection for women showcases the exquisite craftsmanship of Chikan embroidery, featuring motifs inspired by nature, such as flowers, leaves, and birds, meticulously handcrafted onto the finest fabrics. The versatility of our kurtas means there is something for every occasion - from casual day wear to elegant evening attire.

Varieties That Celebrate Diversity

Saibo Lifestyle’s Lakhnavi Chikan Kurta range includes:

Classic White Kurta: The quintessential white Chikan Kurta remains a timeless choice, perfect for summer days or formal occasions.

Colored Ensembles: Apart from traditional white, our collection boasts kurtas in vibrant colors and pastel shades, catering to the modern woman’s diverse tastes.

Contemporary Designs: While traditional designs remain our forte, we also offer kurtas with a contemporary twist, featuring modern cuts and silhouettes.

Why Choose a Lakhnavi Chikan Kurta?

Unmatched Elegance: The subtle sophistication of Chikan embroidery adds a touch of elegance to any outfit.

Comfort: Made from breathable fabrics like cotton and georgette, our kurtas ensure comfort throughout the day.

Versatility: Whether it's a formal event or a casual day out, a Lakhnavi Chikan Kurta can be styled in various ways to suit any occasion.

Sustainability: In an era leaning towards sustainable fashion, our handcrafted kurtas support artisan communities and preserve traditional crafts.

Styling Your Lakhnavi Chikan Kurta

Casual Elegance: Pair your kurta with jeans or palazzos for a chic, casual look.

Formal Attire: Style it with a silk dupatta and churidar for a more formal ensemble.

Accessorize: Complement your kurta with traditional Indian jewelry or keep it simple with minimalistic pieces for a contemporary look.

Caring for Your Chikan Kurta

To ensure the longevity of your Chikan kurta, follow these care tips:

Gentle Washing: Hand wash with a mild detergent or opt for dry cleaning for the best care.

Avoid Direct Sunlight: Dry in shade to preserve the fabric's color and embroidery.

Ironing: Use a low heat setting and iron on the reverse to protect the delicate embroidery.

Conclusion

A Lakhnavi Chikan Kurta from Saibo Lifestyle is more than just a piece of clothing; it's a piece of India's rich cultural heritage. With our diverse collection, we aim to bring the elegance, comfort, and beauty of Lakhnavi Chikan work to the modern woman's wardrobe. Explore our range and discover the perfect Chikan Kurta to elevate your style quotient.

[lizlazer]

my girl

Possessive!Tangerine x fem!Reader

1.5k words

rated E, more fingering so nsfw, no minors~

thank you to local fandom legend @avocado-writing for reading this over!

for @northerngalxy who asked for:

"Tangerine x reader where a drunk guy is trying to kiss her…?"

i found a TikTok of a man who said a certain key phrase in this fic, and i had to write it coming out of Tangerine's mouth. enjoy!

-----

It’s a warm summer night, but a steady breeze makes it bearable. You’re out at a bar with Tangerine, who showed up without warning at your door a few hours ago. 

“How long would it take you to get ready, if I wanted to take you out?” he asked, knowing the answer, but grinning mischievously. 

“Maybe thirty minutes? What’s gotten into you? This can’t be the same Tang who left a week ago,” you said, heading into your bedroom to change. 

He followed behind you, watching you undress. Leaning against the doorframe, he was wearing a striped button up shirt that was barely buttoned, dark jeans that fit him perfectly, and black leather loafers. Never without his gold jewelry, he removed his medallion and placed it gingerly around your neck. Aside from your underwear, it was the only thing you were wearing. 

“I want you to wear this tonight,” he said, his hands sliding down your arms to thread his fingers through yours. “Make sure it’s visible.” He’d met your eyes in the mirror, and it had been so hard not to shove him down onto the bed and take him then and there.

Tangerine is in a rare fantastic mood, not an ounce of the usual grouch in him. After dining at the most decadent Italian restaurant, you’ve decided on a night cap at your favorite local spot. The inside of the bar was packed, so you grab a table on the patio. The tables and chairs are black wrought iron, with an outdoor bar off to the left. They’ve strung lights between the brick walls of the buildings enclosing the space, and they give everything a soft, romantic glow. 

Tangerine is telling you what he can about where he’s been, about Lemon, and the books he read on the journey there and back, joking often and laughing loudly. His good cheer is contagious, and you find yourself smiling so much your cheeks hurt. Every time your drink gets low he’s dutifully heading over to the bar to replace it. After you’ve had a few, you can feel the warmth of the alcohol radiating through you. You ask him to get you a glass of water, and he carefully collects your empty glasses and gets up.

Tangerine is only gone for a few seconds before a stranger comes over to your table. You didn’t notice him at first, busy reaching for your phone in your bag, but the scrape of metal against concrete causes you to jerk your head up. He’s pulling out a chair and sitting down next to you, way too close. 

“Hi,” he starts, clearly a little drunk but not totally inebriated. “I’ve been trying to get up the nerve to talk to you all night.” Everything about him looks expensive, from his suit to his haircut. There’s something predatory in the way he’s watching you that immediately puts you off.

“I’m here with someone,” you tell him flatly, pulling out and unlocking your phone. You’re hoping he’ll take the hint and leave you be, but no such luck. 

He reaches over, putting his hand over the screen. “Give me a chance. I promise I’m a better time than that pretty boy,” he says with a smirk, cocking his head toward Tangerine at the bar. “Let me get your insta, at least.”

“Careful, your jealousy is showing,” you tell the creep, pulling your phone away and replacing it in your bag. “Kindly fuck off and let me enjoy my evening, thanks.” 

He only smiles, and it puts you in the mind of a snake. “I could have you begging for me,” he says, clearly trying some kind of bedroom voice. To you, it sounds like a bad Batman impression.

Before you can respond, two massive hands come down on his shoulders, squeezing hard.

“I don’t think I quite caught that. D’you wanna repeat that for the class?” Tangerine asks, trying to rein in his own fury. The veins in his hands stand out prominently, reaching up his arms.

The man tries to twist out of his grasp, stand up, something, but Tangerine forces him back into the chair.

“No no, none of that. Listen to me,” Tangerine says, leaning down next to the creep’s ear. Voice low and full of venom, he tells the man, “You’re trying to get into her DMs, yeah? But you see my necklace around her throat? ‘Cause at night she’s sucking the rings off of my fingers.”

“Jesus, Tangerine,” you sigh, rolling your eyes, desperately trying to fight a grin.

He gives you a quick wink before getting deadly serious again. Jerking the chair back, the man puts his hands up defensively, cowering. 

“Look, man, it was just a joke,” the creep says, looking like he wants to collapse in on himself.

Tangerine steps in front of him, pulling him to his feet by the lapels of his suit jacket. 

“Look, man, I can’t see the humor,” Tangerine mocks him, shoving him into the table of men who were laughing a minute ago. He rolls ass-over-teakettle across the surface, finally hitting the ground with a thud. 

“Any of you wanna say something?” Tangerine challenges, cracking his knuckles, but they all look away quickly. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

He comes over to you, holding out his hand. “Let’s go, love.”

Without a word, you place your hand in his, and he leads you through the bar and back outside, now on the street. His skin is hot against yours, and you know he was hoping for a brawl. The man loves a good old fashioned fistfight.

After a few blocks of walking in semi-stunned silence, you stop, pulling him towards you. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you bring him into a kiss. His lips press hard against yours, and you catch his bottom lip between your teeth. Groaning, his hands go to your hips, pressing your bodies together.

He breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours.

“Careful, ‘cause I will fuck you on the street,” he tells you, catching his breath.

“Maybe I want you to,” you tease, pressing your lips to his again. His kiss is eager, yearning, his tongue parting your lips. One of your hands threads through his hair, messing up the carefully combed curls. Your nails drag against his skull and he moans into your mouth. Without stopping the kiss, he drags you both over to the side of a short brick building, and pushes you up against a wall. You’re thankfully on a residential side street that happens to be deserted, because neither of you bother to check if anyone’s around. One of his legs pries yours apart, and he lifts up the skirt of your dress. His fingers rub against the soft fabric of your panties, teasing around your clit but not touching it directly. 

“Can I have you right here, love?” he asks, his hot breath on your lips. You smile.

“I nearly jumped your bones at the bar, in front of god and everyone. All that to say yes, absolutely,” you tell him, laughing. His mouth moves along your jaw, kissing and licking his way up to your earlobe. Just as he gives it a sharp bite, his fingers push inside of you. Unable to stop the loud moan that escapes you, you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He starts off slow, letting you get used to one and then two digits. 

“That’s my girl, taking me so well,” he says, looking at you with so much pride it hurts. “Telling other men to fuck off,” he laughs. His thumb finally starts circling your aching clit. The pressure alternates as his fingers pump in and out of you. A bead of sweat rolls down his throat, and your tongue darts out to catch it. He picks up speed until you’ve got his hair in a death grip with one hand, digging your nails into his rock hard forearm with the other. The orgasm hits you quick, your thighs capturing his wrist in a vice, pushing your body down his fingers, trying to get him as deep as possible. You bite into his shoulder, moaning his name and -yes oh fuck yes- into the fabric of his shirt.

Letting you recover against him, he slowly withdraws his hand from you, replacing your panties and righting your skirt. Dazed, the thought of what he said earlier comes crashing back to you. You take his slick hand, bringing it up to your lips. Drawing his index finger into your mouth, you taste yourself as you drag your tongue down the length of it. Your lips tighten around the onyx signet ring and you suck on it. It comes loose easily, lubricated by your own arousal. Releasing his finger with a pop, you spit the ring into your hand, never breaking eye contact with Tangerine. His expression is something between stunned and painfully aroused.

“Was this your plan all along?” you ask him, dropping the ring into his shirt pocket. 

“I’m not that clever,” he shrugs, giving you a wolfish smile. His hands slide up your back, pulling you off the wall and flush against his body. He kisses you tenderly, tasting you. “Now let’s get out of here.”

[coinandcandle]

The Morrigan Deity Guide

This is a re-do in the "deity deep dive" format of my original Morrigan post!

Who is The Morrigan?

The Morrigan is the ancient Irish Triple, or tripartite, of war and death, but she is also goddess of sovereignty, the land, and prophecy.

The name Morrigan, or Morrigu, is the anglicized version of the Gaelic name Mór-Ríoghain, which means "Great Queen" in modern Irish.

The old name has been linked to the proto-indo-european word Mór (terror) and Ríoghain could relate to the Latin word Regina (queen). (Wiktionary)

It’s debated whether she is one deity with three aspects or if these three aspects are sisters that create a triple goddess.

If they are sisters, their names are likely Macha, Nemain, and The Morrigan, their collective title being The Morrigu or The Morrigna. (The spelling of these will differ throughout your research if you choose to do your own after this post)

Their names could also be Macha, Nemain, and Badb, though the name “Badb” may have been a title for spirits/gods who wrought havoc on the battlefields and incited terror in the opposing side. (See “The Ancient Irish Goddess of War” in references for more info).

Other names involved with these sisters are Anand and Fea.

It’s not unlikely that The Morrigan’s identity would change between the many different groups in Ireland throughout time.

Parents and Siblings

Her mother is Ernmas, father is unknown.

Siblings have included Ériu, Banba, and Fódla, who make up the triple goddess of spirit and sovereignty of Ireland.

As well as Gnim, Coscar, Fiacha, and Ollom, as her brothers.

Lovers or Partners

The Dagda, with whom her relationship is of great importance for the Irish holiday Samhain.

In some iterations of her lore the Morrigan falls for Irish Hero Cú Chulainn but her feelings are not returned.

Children

Mechi, who has three hearts that each contain a serpent.

Epithets

The Goddess of Death

Morrígu

The Morrighan

The Great Queen

Phantom Queen

Badb-Catha

Nightmare Queen

The Washer at the Ford

Notes

Due to the many myths and legends surrounding The Morrigan and she is also associated with the Fae and the Banshee—a creature that generally takes on the form of an old woman who wails in mourning to announce the coming death of someone in the family.

The Morrigan is most notoriously a shape shifter and deity of magic.

In modern day paganism and witchcraft, some choose to worship The Morrigan as one deity with the sisters as aspects, others choose to worship her as a triple goddess consisting of three sisters. Neither of these can be said to be entirely right or wrong and vary from person to person, even from an academic point of view.

Though there are similar beings throughout Celtic mythology, The Morrigan is unique to Irish mythology.

Stories that prominently feature the Morrígan include Táin Bó Cúailgne (The Cattle Raid of Cooley), Cath Maige Tuired (The First and Second Battles of Moytura), and Lebor Gabála Érenn (The Book of the Taking of Ireland). (Mythopedia)

Fulacht na Mór Ríoghna (Cooking Pit of the Morrígan) in County Tipperary, and two hills in County Meath known as Da Cích na Morrígna (Two Breasts of the Morrígan) are both locations in Ireland linked to The Morrigan.

Modern Deity Work

Correspondences

Disclaimer - Many of these are not traditional or historic correspondences nor do they need to be. However, any correspondence that can be considered traditional will be marked with a (T).

Rocks/Stone/Crystals

Obsidian

Onyx

Silver

Carnelian

Deep green, black and red stones/crystals

Herbs/Plants

Dragon’s Blood

Apples

Nightshade

Roses

Cedar

Cloves

Mugwort

Belladonna

Juniper

Animals

Crow (T)

Eel (T)

Cow (T)

Horse (T)

Wolf (T)

Raven

Symbols

Triple spiral

Crow

Offerings

Blood (be careful with this please!!)

Wine or Mead

The stones and herbs listed above

Imagery of the animals or symbols listed above

Food that you’ve made or a portion of your meal

Jewelry

Art made of her or inspired by her

Coins

Honey

Dark chocolate

Candles and/or wax melts; incense

Meat

Milk

Note: If you’d like your offering to be a bit more traditional, try burying it or sending it down a stream, but only if it is safe for the environment if you do so!

Acts of Devotion

Exercise/Work out (especially if it's challenging!)

Activism

Read/write poetry for her

Research her

Celebrate Samhain

Take up a competitive sport or activity

Standing up for yourself

Keep in mind that these are only some ideas for offerings and correspondences! Items and activities that connect you to her in a more personal way are just as good, and often better, than those you find on the internet. As with any relationship, feel it out, ask questions, and be attentive and receptive!

References and Further Reading

The Morrigan - World History Encyclopedia

The Ancient Irish Goddess of War by WM Hennessey (via Sacred-Texts)

The Morrigan - Druidry.org

The Book of the Great Queen by Morpheus Ravenna

The Morrigan - Mythopedia (Mythopedia also has a bunch of references and further reading of their own that I suggest you look at if you’d like to do your own research!)

[mosneakers]

Cottage Trinkets Jewelry Set

After the recent influx of tourists and new residents in the little cottage of Henford-on-Bagley, Darling thrift has a HUGE haul for you today!

I was a teeny bit disappointed by the lack of cute jewelry that came with my favorite pack, Cottage Living, so I decided to make a few little whimsical pieces to complete our cottage looks and live our best cottagecore lives 🥰

Info and Downloads below:

Garden Charms Necklace:

Bring some charm to your simmies of all ages with this garden fruit and veggie themed necklace 😊

5 swatches in total: red strawberry, pink strawberry, carrot, turnip, parsnip

available for all ages

base game compatible

some bodies with custom sliders may experience some clipping issues (the original mesh was converted from a base game child necklace)

Unfortunately unable to get them to look okay on most adult men, so for now it's mainly made for feminine frames/women (some may be able to use it, just remove feminine filter in CAS to give it a try)

disabled random

Download [patreon]

Most Delicate Necklace:

On a whim, your sim wanders out into their favorite meadow, and picks some pretty little flowers to make a necklace 🌼 It's delicate, but it makes a statement!

I made this using the child's flower necklace that came with Outdoor Retreat, but converted it for adults and toddlers and hand-painted it to give it a more painterly, pastel palette 🤍

Made for all ages

8 swatches in total

Except toddlers, they have the 8 original EA colors in addition to my 8 pastel swatches

Again with this one, some clipping for males/masculine frames and sims with certain sliders may occur

Requires outdoor retreat

disabled random

Download [patreon]

Lantern Earrings:

Combining two of my favorite things; lights and clouds! ��☁️ Cute little dangly globe-lantern shaped earrings with some cloud patterns and some pastel swatches too!

11 swatches

ages teen-elder

should work fine for both masculine and feminine frames

base game compatible

disabled random

Download [patreon]

Ring From Local Blacksmith:

A dainty metal ring with intricate detailing, most likely a nice gift from the local cottage Blacksmith! 😚

5 swatches including gold, rose gold, silver, white silver, and wrought-iron black

available for female ages teen-elder

right hand, ring finger

slightly crooked because it was welded by hand of course

base game compatible

disabled random

Download [patreon, early access until 08/19/21]

Mushroom Ring:

A (rather rough) edit of the base game eyeball mesh, recolored into some lil' mushrooms. We can never have enough mushroom stuffs am I right, simblr?🍄

slightly ugly up close but beats the eyeball ring and is as cute as a button when viewing from a normal distance

12 swatches, one of those include an acorn 🌰

left hand, index finger

ages teen-elder

base game compatible

disabled random

Download [patreon]

"I Dried These Myself" Pressed Flowers Necklace

Combining the cottage theme with the crafting theme that has also been pretty big lately, this is a set of necklaces with hand-painted flowers, that's meant to look like dried/pressed flowers in resin on a variety of metal chains to pick from

12 swatches

Base game compatible

fine for both frames/genders

ages teen-elder

disabled random

my first jewelry piece, hope you like 🥺👉👈

For the readers: Starling wasn't thrilled about this preview shot, sorry girl 😬😛

Download [patreon]

Cloud & Star Necklace:

A little homemade looking set of cloud earrings, with a star shaped bud ⭐☁️

fine for both frames

ages teen-elder

requires seasons

disabled random

Download [patreon]

✨ Tip: Goes well with Folklore hair, for all the cottage vibes!

Individual packages or entire collection available. While these pieces may not be perfect, I've been having so much fun in CAS playing with them and I feel like I captured the magic I was going for. Hope you can enjoy them too 💖