Tag: rutrumxsimilem

             ’ seeing as my lair finds it quite upsetting when one endeavors to scry into it, to the point where it will deliberately lead you to a nest of some deadly half-formed creatures and not let you out, i thought i would engineer you something useful. ’

             the mirror is wrapped in a most delicate parchment, one loki would recognize as asgardian made – she is growing in confidence as asgard’s queen, and such a purchase of fine paper is proof of it. only through a solitary trip to his kingdom’s flourishing markets could she have procured such an item. she could have merely stolen it, of course. and the thought had occurred to her. but thankfully enough, his queen had been wise enough to discern that stealing from her husband’s own citizens could put a bit of a damper on the celebrations of the day.

             ’ it is like your scrying pool, only it is forged of elements and alloys found only in my lair, along with trace amounts of my blood to make up the rubies inlaid there. for the days we must work apart, but still wish to speak my prince of books. ’

              she leans forward for a kiss, splendorous golden eyes narrowing in perfectly content glee as she murmurs smoothly, ’ happiest nameday, my love. ’ she pecks him lightly on the mouth, only to let her lips part in a girlishly playful grin and add, ’ and a most humble apology for the nest of deadly half-formed creatures. ’

              ’ …come. the children have decorated and cooked all by themselves, and they were so adamant about their skill that they shooed their own mother from the premises. ’

                          if one listens very, very closely, they can
                               hear ragni yelling in the distance. 

         “Oh dear.” 

Loki turns at the sound of his wife–his long, lithe, dark mirror–
hailing him with so specific a forecast of doom.  

        “You really doubt your lair welcomes me as an old friend at
         this juncture?”

Even despite his gentle protest, he watches her approach
with all the relish of one half of a whole grateful to see its
better counterpart.  

He accepts the wrapped item, fingertips grazing its surface,
to, after an interval, smile his quiet approval.  

        “I’m pleased to know my realm is found far more welcoming.”

Those delicate hands unwrap Loki’s birthday gift as if
strumming the strings of a harp.  The God of Mischief softly
gasps and holds the mirror up to the torchlight.  Pupils dilate
with excitement and fascination. 

        “Ingenious craftsmanship, my Princess of Flowers,” Loki
         breathes, and that single  solitary part of his body which
         is warm fogs the glass.  

He turns to ask after their children, is met with a slight jump
by a kiss, and then grins, tongue probing between his teeth,
at the  sound of their youngest and most boisterous anmouncing
festivities.

       “ … let us go and  find them before I’ve no residence but your
        lair in which to dwell, ehHEH …” 
 

rutrumxsimilem:

icyxmischief:

         “In detailing the exquisite events which I missed, My Queen
          has already graced me with everything I needed to know.” 

Loki flashes the smirk of a woodland imp peering
through bare branches, complete with tongue
poking  between sharp white teeth; even as he
does, his phraseology is almost laughably elegant. 
The true breeding of a prince who was never fully
tamed.

         “Let us instead play a new game, called ‘find the spot that
          will send your lover into throes of ecstasy,’ hmmmm?” 

A return nip, sharper still.  

           A GENTLE HUFF of laughter sounds from her throat, through her lazily smiling lips, and into his lips as she cannot help but kiss him once more.

‘ i think that game is merely called ‘intercourse’, and we play it often and thoroughly, with yours truly as VICTOR and QUEEN. ’

               oh, and here comes her playful CHALLENGE, how can you resist, god of mischief, for look how infuriatingly she now smiles – she crowns herself victor and yet calls their passionate lovemaking mere INTERCOURSE? oh dear. it seems a lesson must be taught…one that seraphina is all too aware of, and one that she is all to EAGER to pursue.

Loki pulls away from Seraphina long enough to cringe in
mirth at her horrible, wonderful jest.  Nose wrinkling, eyes
squeezed closed, he is the picture of youthful merriment.  

        “You would not dare say that,” he counter-challenges his mirror,
        “If you and I were in Court, or some other public place, where I
         would cause quite a spectacle by ravishing you senseless.”

He clicks his tongue and hunkers forward, long limber
body unfurling to drape across her, slim snow-hued
fingers curling around hers.  

         “Or maybe you would enjoy that all the greater,” and now 
         round firm breasts press down onto Loki’s queen, as she assumes
         the form she knows most flusters her wife.  

Mischief never plays fair. 

rutrumxsimilem:

ICYXMISCHIEF.
continued from here.

           SERAPHINA IS VERY secure in her sole position as the exception in the god of mischief’s life – and she takes full advantage of it, frequently and merrily. what loki can do, that few others in seraphina’s long and bitter life can achieve? it is to bring out the wry and coy scientist in the earth mother, for after all, she was born a hyper-intelligent lady at court, not a cold exacter of unholy destruction. 

          ‘ it is rather fortuitous, then… ’ spoken in a matter of fact tone, as if she were reading the surplus numbers for asgard’s crops to him, before loki would suddenly find a very sinuous and a very naked goddess nestled right up against him, right beneath the fur blanket he has so grievously excluded from her. she squirms in just the right spot on him. but her face, as ever, remains coquettishly unbothered as she finishes, ‘ …that i don’t care what you think, and am able to do as i please. ’

                      ‘ hmn? what say you to THAT, my handsome king? ’

       “I say that I remember you from the days when you were but
        a child, and I also, and you always had your way, Princess
        of Flowers, Queen of Midgard, Mother of my children, self
        of my own self.” 

He will not be deterred; his clothes, too, shed from 
his body’s, as a serpent sheds skin, as a magpie
molts.  He kisses her, and it’s clear he will take this
seduction slowly, savoring the taste of her, as one 
savors the smell and the feel of home, of familiar
terrain under bare feet. 

💙 (except she throws it right at his face bc she’s an Adult) -rutrumxsimilem.

Send 💙 to put a blanket on my muse.

image

When the fur flops comically off his face, it’s frozen in 
an expression of unmitigated delight. What Seraphina
can do, that few others in Loki’s long and bitter life 
can achieve?  It’s to bring out the youthful imp in the
God of Mischief, for after all, he was born a Trickster,
not a dealer of cruel chaos.  

He stands and wraps himself coquettishly in the fur, 
wriggling a shoulder, turning fluidly away from her.

         “Now I shan’t share this with my beautiful queen even if she 
          comes to me naked,” he claims. 

rutrumxsimilem:

icyxmischief:

           “I asked you first.”

They are children together:  the same as the day they
first met.  The both of them whittled stretched starved
versions of the round-faced babies they’d been: the both
of them learning to adore their reflection through playful murmurs
and careful, tender touches.  

Loki licks Seraphina’s lips, bottom to top, then kisses them
hard.  

        “Terribly sorry to be so evasive: secrets of state, you know,”
         he purrs, with another breath of laughter and a slyly creeping
         grin.  

                                                                  ‘ —- oh really. ’

           THEY ARE INDEED children together, children whose young spirits deal in mischief first, free of any chokeholds of paranoia or drowning weight of guilt. loki would be able to taste low, chiming giggles on his lips, as his wife ( usually so unbelievably SKITTISH at the mere  m e n t i o n  of the word ‘secret’ ) now snaps at his bottom lip.

           ‘ then neither shall you get an answer out of me. not a SINGLE description of how i paid a visit to the royal baths all by my lonesome, with the light of the morning sun stretching its rays across my naked body as water beaded on my skin. nay, not a word. state secrets, you know. ’

         “In detailing the exquisite events which I missed, My Queen
          has already graced me with everything I needed to know.” 

Loki flashes the smirk of a woodland imp peering
through bare branches, complete with tongue
poking  between sharp white teeth; even as he
does, his phraseology is almost laughably elegant. 
The true breeding of a prince who was never fully
tamed.

         “Let us instead play a new game, called ‘find the spot that
          will send your lover into throes of ecstasy,’ hmmmm?” 

A return nip, sharper still.  

rutrumxsimilem:

ICYXMISCHIEF.
continued from here.

                                         ‘ where have i been? where have you been? ’

              A VERY SOPHISTICATEDargument, of course, coming from the inventor of the earth, who has spawned trillions of species, mapped out their genomes and their evolutionary patterns, has planned out billions of ecosystems…she tugs on his hair a little. again, another manifestation of her BRILLIANT tactics of debate, as she squirms restlessly ( and ultimately, annoyingly ) beneath him.

           “I asked you first.”

They are children together:  the same as the day they
first met.  The both of them whittled stretched starved
versions of the round-faced babies they’d been: the both
of them learning to adore their reflection through playful murmurs
and careful, tender touches.  

Loki licks Seraphina’s lips, bottom to top, then kisses them
hard.  

        “Terribly sorry to be so evasive: secrets of state, you know,”
         he purrs, with another breath of laughter and a slyly creeping
         grin.  

rutrumxsimilem:

&& ICYXMISCHIEF.

        CAECILIA IS THE eldest of the two offspring of Mischief and Nature. the most gentle, the most kind, and the most sensitive. she’s inherited every one of her parents’ good qualities, and carries them all with a serene innocence to her nymph-like frame. but in a celebration of fathers, she is in absolute distress. and this time, she’s refused even her MOTHER’S help, crawling away to hide beneath some desk in her study.

          no one else calls her father ‘papa’. ragni and jory both call him mother, because that is what he is. she understands why, of course, for the reason is simple, a matter of shapeshifting. but even so, while mapping out her sketches, her inquisitive little brother had peeked his way into her view, and asked so many questions. ( what are you doing? drawing, ragni. why? it’s for papa. mama? yes, ragni. why? because it’s his day, ragni. why? ) sweet and patient caecilia, she had answered each and every one of his his questions, but when he had flit off to chase a butterfly, she stared at her sketch, and for the first time in her life, she felt the impulse to TEAR something.

                                                      ( and it frightened her. )

             her mother had told her to be gentle with her father on this day, for he does not like fathers. her mother had told her that she would go with her, to not be frightened, and she had held her sweetly and she had sang to her. but kili is here alone now. outside the door to her father’s study, this tiny baby girl looks so small in the great gilded halls of asgard, of which she is princess. but she doesn’t feel like a princess now. bracing a crudely bound book ( titled as: i love my father because… ) of sweet illustrations and childish, but neat script, she’s trembling, and there are tears in her eyes.

                                        ( but she scratches at the door anyway. )

                                  and when he opens the door, she’ll just push the
                                      book against his leg without saying a word. 

If Loki was in the throes of misery recollecting the father
who kept him ever at tepid arm’s length at best, before
Caecilia scritched the door of the study, trying to compose
himself that his family not see his weaknesses nor feel
burdened by everything about him he sees as wrong, every
reason for which he still loathes himself, every emotion he
was programmed from childhood to shamefully conceal … 
not a trace of it shows when he opens the door. 

He is dry-eyed, warm in countenance, his voice quivering
with gentle sentiment as he greets his daughter:

        “Good morning, Lamb.”

He doesn’t draw attention to her trembling, her nerves or
the feelings fresh in her eyes. He only collects her against
himself, kneeling to her level, takes the book from her and
kisses its cover.  

       “Is this for papa? Is this for me?” 

The God of Mischief thumbs his youngling’s cheeks,
beneath the rims of her eyes.

        “You are my miracle. Please don’t fear me, or hurting me.
          You could not. I am only happy when I think on you.
          Happy that you exist and are mine.”  

I will be a better father than him who came before
me, or I will die still striving to be.  

rutrumxsimilem:

icyxmischief:

@rutrumxsimilem
*******

         “ … come here.” 

         “You haven’t … explored your king in this form in
          quite a while.” 

                                                      ‘ … ’
                          a very long, very heated silence, one in which seraphina’s
                              cheeks color to crimson & her tongue turns to lead.

                        ‘ ehm. your, er. dress. it is…slipping. it’s, ehm. they’re– your– … ’
             she sighs deliberately, to force her gaze back to her book & grasp the edge of
         her desk so tightly that the strain of wood can be heard creaking beneath her fingers.

She draws near the Earth Goddess like a slinking 
she-wolf, and drapes her chest just above the
rim of Seraphina’s book. 

          “Do tell, my queen.”  

rutrumxsimilem:

ICYXMISCHIEF.
continued from here.

         BLOSSOMING OF pink deepens to splashes of crimson, as seraphina wastes no time in obeying her husband, the only being ever to equal her in their now familiar competition of wits. of wits, and of bodies. her lips press hard and fast against his, and while his hands are busy lovingly caressing her fine-boned features, her own hands have already slid down his trousers.

          ‘ i stand…by what i said, ’ ( an indulgent moan into his mouth. ) ‘ fellow CONTESTANT. ’

Loki’s eyes roll feverishly shut, and he rises onto the
balls of his feet, then drops back down, and presses
his pelvis hard against Seraphina’s.  

          “Cheater,” he pants, “I was going a more delicate route,
           but have it your way … ”