Tag: constantmischief

victorious-sigyn:

@icyxmischief | continued from here

Loki stands peering over the box with an expression of pacified
amusement.  So ferociously reserved is he, but the Lady Sigyn
has certainly wooed her long-time acquaintance with an impressive
and refreshingly benign mischief, and a clear, witty gift for magic.

He turns to charm the reindeer to transform into a small, exquisite
white stag, which gallops from his room trailed by a nebula of
white and gold, and lands upon Sigyn’s lap, there to deliver a
silver bracelet, thin and delicate, with knotted serpents, inlaid
with millefiori and tiny precious jewels.

She had been reading by the window, feet tucked under her bottom shoulder resting against the cool glass the held the heat in. She hadn’t expected a response from her friend. He didn’t do sentiment. 

The tag came as a delightful surprise, causing her lips to turn up in a small smile. That would have been enough, truly. She needed no trinkets. His returned gift is enough to bring a small flutter of emotion to her heart strings. She’s long admired the prince and the serpents were a clear indication that he was pleased by her gift. She slipped the bracelet over her wrist, turning her it over a few times to watch the light play on the jewels. 

Across the realm a paper soldier hopped up onto Loki’s nightstand and saluted him before unfolding himself into a small piece of parchment. 

            It is beautiful. Thank you, dear friend. 

 Loki unfurls the parchment and probes his tongue between
his teeth, a puckish sign of gleeful approval derived straight
from his childhood days.  So rare it is that the unguarded
little one within the God of Mischief now materializes.

        “Clever, my dear. Very clever.  But you look singularly shocked
         to see me. Am I really become so unsociable?”

He lopes into Sigyn’s chamber with the cautious 
regality of a feline.  

        “You have brought me solace in frequent hours of loneliness.
          How could I not repay you in person?” 

A little paper reindeer flies in through the window and lands on Loki’s shoulder. His little nose lights up bright red and for a moment it’s blinding. When the light clears there’s a box in Loki’s hand with a red bow. The Trickster would find his Yuletide gift inside. It’s a set of emerald and gold cuff links for when he’s on Midgard. “Yours, Sigyn”

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 Loki stands peering over the box with an expression of pacified 
amusement.  So ferociously reserved is he, but the Lady Sigyn
has certainly wooed her long-time acquaintance with an impressive
and refreshingly benign mischief, and a clear, witty gift for magic.

He turns to charm the reindeer to transform into a small, exquisite 
white stag, which gallops from his room trailed by a nebula of 
white and gold, and lands upon Sigyn’s lap, there to deliver a
silver bracelet, thin and delicate, with knotted serpents, inlaid
with millefiori and tiny precious jewels.  

Loki’s paper guard hops off his bedside table and crawls up on his chest. Slowly he turns into a paper rose that starts as a bud and slowly blooms. Once open it becomes a real flower, bright red and fragrant.

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         “Oh.” 

This is the Trickster God’s highly articulate comment,
when the animated object transforms with such intricate
and breathless tenderness into a rose.  Every taut muscle
relaxes and he plucks it to caress with long narrow fingers.

      “No more  superb blossom was there … save one.”

His eyes raise slowly to meet Sigyn’s.  

Sigyn approaches her husband from behind, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. She bombards hims with kisses before he can even catch his breath. pausing breifly to whisper in his ear, “Come escape with me?” (ConstancyChaos)

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        “Aheh!” 

Loki pulls back from Sigyn’s explosive affection with a 
happily flustered muzziness. 

       “With you, anywhere,” he murmurs, conspiratorial and young
        and joyous in his heart, twining his fingers with hers. “Lead
        the way.”  

//Sigyn steps into their bedchamber, dressed in lacy peach-pink robes, her hair unbound. She’s holding two glasses of wine in her hands, one of which she gives to Loki. “I thought perhaps we could have our own private celebration for your birthday…” she looks up at him, eyes sparkling with desire, and her own playful brand of mischief. <3333

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          “I do not deny that I had hoped for precisely such an
           outcome,” Loki demurs, meeting his wife’s coyness with
           his own, as he swipes the wine glass from her hand and 
           enthusiastically toasts.  “You’re exquisite today, my great
           gift.”  

❝ i jumped at the slightest of sounds. ❞ (ConstancyChaos)

constancychaos:

icyxmischief:

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          “ … who or what caused you to feel so endangered?” 

The demanding tone isn’t intended to intimidate her, but
it bodes ill for whatever entity is contained in Sigyn’s
answer. 

“.  .  .  My …”

Sigyn swallowed hard. The words stuck in her throat. She hadn’t the heart to verbally claim that vile, Dwarven wretch as her father. No father could treat his child like that and still be worthy of the title.

Absent-mindedly, she ran her index finger and thumb over the faintly silver scars that wrapped around her wrist. Her eyes gazed out of focus across the wide shoreline that lay before them, the presence of her lover fading while distant and usually hazy memories come trickling back into her mind’s eye.

Smoke. Ash. Stifling heat. The clang of hammer on steel.

A shrill cry of a gull overhead broke through, startling Sigyn back to the present. Feeling the cool sea breeze on her face, now wet with tears, she begins to inhale in small, short gulps.

“He was  … a bad man …”

         “There are means of finding and punishing even the dead.
           Means at which my own daughter is expert.  Think on it.”

Though Loki’s words are quiet, their merciless severity
cannot go unnoticed, nor the mirthless look he offers
his wife.  But the suggestion passes, and instead, the
God of Mischief senses Sigyn’s need to be softly 
heard, softly consoled, as a wolf’s teeth are sharp,
but a wolf’s ears, a wolf’s pelt, a wolf’s muzzle,
are velvet.  

Long slender arms lace around the shaken body of
Constancy’s goddess.  

        “Might I share a secret with you?” Loki breathes into Sigyn’s
        hair, while brushing a sea of auburn from her eyes.  The wind
        is cold and unkind to her flushed face, but Loki’s hide, immune
        to the icy blasts, cuts across its path.  “Since my time with … 
        since my time in deep space… . I too have borne moments
        of recollection too vivid to dismiss.  In those moments I focus
         upon something which I KNOW to be real and present.  Sometimes
         it is the feel of my book page beneath my palms.  Others, it
         is the sight, scent … even the  sound … of a person.  I can
         be that person for you.  What trinket might I give, for you to
         keep upon you at all times, to bring you back to me?”  

constancychaos:

icyxmischief:

@constancychaos continued from x ))
*************

      “Truly … ?” 

Loki pauses–freezes, in fact, every joint locking, pale
eyes caught in the cool light of evening through the 
bedroom window, as he stares transfixed at his wife. 

      “How is it you’re so sure? Did you steal away to visit the Healing
       Rooms while I wasn’t looking, to surprise me?” 

He presses both palms down on top of Sigyn’s, in
his insistent eagerness. 

      “Wait … have you had some prescient vision? Do tell me . . !” 

“I promise I haven’t visited the Healing Rooms,” Sigyn laughed, amused with her husband’s evident excitement. “At least not for purposes beyond my regular duties therein.”

She slowly entwines her fingers with Loki’s. She playfully avoids his relentless and eager gaze, her own cheeks flushing with her own joy and excitement.

“Well, prophetic gifts do run strong with the tribes of the Vanir, as you well know. I don’t believe I have inherited such gifts, but …”

She paused, biting her bottom lip, her eyes flicking upwards to meet her husband’s.

“ … I confess that shortly after we were first married, I dreamed the same dream over and over again: Running through my father’s gardens at Noatun, following the laughter of a small child. Before, I could never quite catch the child’s face. I would always wake just before, but just these past few nights, I-”

Sigyn squeezed Loki’s hands in hers, eyes now beginning to glisten.

“ … I caught a glimpse of him, our son. He had your smile.”

Loki’s eyes skim floor-ward.  

           “A pity for him,” he murmurs, almost inaudibly, though he 
           knows it’s not what his wife intended.  “May those who 
           see it, outside of his mother and father, think only on the
           innocent delights it brings, and not take it as proof of some
          innate character deficiency.” 

He ducks his head further, turns and twines his limbs 
with Sigyn’s, features delicate and pale and strangely
intricate as origami falling on her hopeful stare.  

           “Forgive me, how insensitive. I’m letting my anxieties drudged
            up from the past cloud the joy of the present.   … There can
            be no greater comfort … really, than seeing one’s face in one’s
            child.”

He is carefully circumspect, so as to not exactly lie to 
the Goddess of Constancy, but one: one is such a formal,
clinically detached phrase.  It certainly does not mean I.  

“These skirts make it so hard to move.” (ConstancyChaos) (Pre-Thor AU maybe?)

constancychaos:

icyxmischief:

          “ … I can take them off for you.”  

His smile is quite sly and self-congratulatory. 

“Loki!”

Sigyn whispered in a shocked tone, a deep red flush rising in her freckled cheeks. She feared her husband’s words would be overheard by the many courtiers that surrounded them. 

Together, walking arm and arm, they had been mingling amongst Asgard’s highest nobility, all of which were eager to catch a mere glimpse of the latest trade won by the Allfather from Vanaheim. Being perfectly packaged in glittering Asgardian garb, Sigyn felt she was quite the spectacle to behold, always a prize for display. 

The only comfort she found in these events was the companionship of her new husband, who’s cool reserve and sharp wit was a relief to the stifling atmosphere of the Asgardian court. She meets Loki’s gaze and sly smile, the knots in her belly releasing.

“Just help keep me from tripping, dear,” Sigyn replies with a soft laugh.

Slowly, she slides her hand down from it’s usual, respectable place on the crook of Loki’s arm, to entwine her fingers with his. A small, subtle gesture, revealing a larger craving for affection, and- more importantly- support.

         “I fail to see what I’ve said that’s in any way out of bounds,”
          the Trickster God demurs, with a flash of teeth so straight
          and white that they’re reminiscent of wolf fangs, and a 
          spring in his step that’s not far from the landed hop of a
          magpie. 

He pauses mid-stride to tickle one of her cheeks with
an impudent finger.  

         “Your complexion betrays you again, my love.” 

He wraps himself quite literally around her, one long
arm encircling her waist, the coolness of his body
temperature a refreshment against the sweltering stuffiness
and exhaustive noise.  

“Care to sneak away with me? I doubt we will be missed.” (ConstancyChaos)

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        “Shall we truly be naughty, my Sigyn?” 

Loki’s tone is slyly congenial, lilting high with impish
anticipation, as he grins askance at the stuff proceedings
within the too-crowded Asgardian Great Hall. 

His tongue probes between his teeth.

        “I’m game.”  

He seizes her hand and dashes down a service
tunnel, placing a forefinger to his lips at any 
bewildered servants they encounter.