#Ken River Lodge

[the-lady-amphitrite]

— A FAIRYTALE BEGINNING | chapter 7

heart to heart

pairing: Loki /f!half-Asgardian!Reader

word count: 8,615

summary: winter or summer, you'll always find your way home

in this chapter: a cheek kiss from Loki, Reader being bi, overt references to missing/modified memories and lost time, more background lore, brief soulmate/soulmate bond discussion

author notes: i said i would post this tomorrow while i was at work and i lied. to be fair though, this chapter took way longer to write than i expected. the next one should (theoretically) not take as long to finish writing. the c plot in this one thickens. have fun!! and remember that if you want to read about the lore for this series to check out the end notes on ao3.

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You sigh as you dip your aching legs into the ice-cold water of the Sleipa River, the river that runs along the back of the palace.

Today’s weaponry lesson had been long, not to mention brutal while your father sought to test the limits of the god-sense you had told him helps you fend off attacks. He had wanted to see if he could figure out what your godhood is outside of the general concept of ‘war goddess’ that he believes you are.

Your father has trained you since you were old enough how to hold a knife and how to defend yourself with one. As the years passed and you grew, he also taught you how to handle short swords. And once you were old enough to be trained in the art of warfare, he taught you how to wield other weapons as well. Yet no one, not even your father, had been aware of your affinity for weapons. Not until that day so many months ago when you had wielded a bow like it was an extension of yourself.

So after today’s tactics lesson with General Hjǫrdís, your father had asked if you were willing to test out the extent of your ability. To see if there is a central point to the ability, a pattern in how it works to be seen, or a link to be found between your god-sense and your affinity with weapons.

The hours following hadn’t revealed anything you weren’t already aware of with your developing abilities. In sparring sessions with a partner, you performed far better, with little consideration for the weapon you were wielding. On your own, you tended to fare less well and lose far more often (not to mention far sooner, to your own annoyance).

Yet there were a few glimmering moments when you were on the retreat — moments away from losing a one-on-four sparring session — where your frustrations over your incoming defeat became overshadowed by something else. The desire to fight. The desire to prove that you are worthy of protecting the ones you love. Just as your family has done so in the past. And in those short, glimmering moments, your defence had turned into offence.

You ultimately had lost, but your father had praised you for turning the tide on your opponents even as briefly as you had. He revealed that that session was not one you were meant to win, as your opponents had been full-fledged einherjar rather than einherjar trainees. The defeat had stung a little less after his admission, but the loss still lodged itself in you as you stared up at him.

You are the only child of Týr Hymisson and Kára Leifsdóttir.

Your father is the General of Asgard’s Armies, a title earned not by nepotism but by his own merit. He is the God of War Formalities and Justice, and guardian of war-oaths. His words have stopped the bloodlust of war-makers in their tracks, his skills with weapons have put an end to marauders and reavers from the crown of Yggdrasil to the roots, and his mercy has tempered the sorrows of even the most vengeful of war-grievers.

Your mother is known as the Raven-Feeder, a kenning that speaks loudly of the sight of her on battlefields. Whether it’s by blade and shield, or by talon and tail, the stories of her battles are legendary, even to the old gods. She is not a goddess, but if she was, there is no doubt by anyone who knows her that she would be a Goddess of War.

On their own, they each are legends. Together, they leave you with a legacy you desperately wish to uphold.

It’s hard to remind yourself that you’re still just a child. You’re not expected to go to war and defend the Nine Realms of Asgard for another decade at the earliest. Not to mention that since the war against Jǫtunheimr, the Nine Realms have been at peace; no wars or coups from within the Nine Realms and no incursions from enemies beyond Yggdrasil’s reach.

The sudden gust of a hot breeze makes you grimace. It’s an unwelcome sensation, a contrast to the recent winter cold that has left this water so frigid here in the depths of the winter months. You glare up at the clear sky, hoping that whichever season or weather god that is pushing more summer-like weather down on the realm can feel the daggers you’re mentally throwing at them.

“You know they can’t see you,” Loki says, laying next to you on the stone walkway. She’s hiked the legs of her trousers up, letting the water chill everything up to her knees like you. Her eyes are closed, her hair splayed out like erratic halo spikes, and her hands are folded across her stomach as she lazily kicks her feet back and forth.

She’s placed her holotablet between the two of you and turned on music from some new Dvergr group that she’s discovered. It’s good music; less folk and more blues than the usual Dvergar groups you know of, the ones that are more popular and mainstream (and the ones most people know). The rhythm of their instruments, coupled with the lyrics, leads the song to have a melody that coaxes you into swaying side-to-side as the first song of this album ends and the next begins.

“If I glare hard enough, maybe they will,” you grouse. It’s a stubborn reply, and you watch one corner of Loki’s mouth curl up into a smile at your response. She turns her head towards you, opening her eyes halfway to look at you.

“And here I believed that you would be adamant for summer to arrive so that you might abscond off to the winter-wilds with the other Drekasál,” she says.

“I hate summer because it’s too long, and my family never wants to do anything fun while we’re up there,” you lament to her. Then you say softly, “I wish you and the others could come with us.”

The gentleness in her expression at your statement wraps its way around you like a warm blanket on a chilly day. Without her having to say the words, you know she wishes the same thing, and yet she says them all the same.

“I wish we could too. Summer isn’t as fun while you’re gone.”

You’re tempted — and not for the first time — to ask your family if you could stay here for the summer. Just this once, you’d like to spend the summer with your best friend and the small circle of friends you’ve carved out here in Valaskjálf.

“You’ve never explained why you and the others go to the winter-wilds each summer. You’re not like the dragons native to Nornheimr that breathe ice, so being too hot doesn’t seem like it would be a reason to leave each summer,” she muses.

She’s right. Nor are your people like the dragons native to Múspellsheimr since none of you can breathe fire. Only a small percentage of Drekasál have venom — the only other weapon one of your people might have besides tail, talons, and teeth. You’re not among them. In fact, you’re certain none of the Drekasál on Asgard has such a weapon at their disposal either.

The venom — or lack thereof — is another of the many differences between your people and the other dragons of the Nine Realms. With a whip-thin tail, a row of short spines that parade from the crown of your skull to the base of your tail, and two tall, elegant horns that spiral from your head, you can’t imagine a Drekasál ever being confused for anything other than what they are.

“I don’t really know,” you confess, turning your gaze to the other side of the river. “Every year we go north and spend the summer months there, but nothing is different. Mamma and Sveinn are the only ones I really see unless we visit one of the few villages up there. Sometimes I might see Gauti and Lady Ásta, but I never really see any of the others. I don’t think us being a conflagration will change that either.”

Her hand slides over the back of yours. She tucks her fingers in the space between yours. You look down at her, surprised by the action if the way your heart jumps into a faster rhythm is any indication. She’s staring up at you with wide dark eyes, smile gone.

“Stay,” Loki commands softly. “When the others leave, stay here.”

Despite the command, you can hear the plea she’s leaving left unspoken.

When the others leave, stay here with me and the others instead of going with them again.

Her plea leaves you speechless as it wraps its way around your heart. Something about the Princess of Asgard wanting you to stay instead of leave for the summer months again while it’s still the middle of winter makes you feel… loved. You love that your best friend will miss you (and seems to be preemptively missing you even) when there are still months to go before summer arrives and you’re meant to leave.

“I want to,” you tell her, not wanting to promise her you will. A promise would mean you know that you could. You don’t know if you can. The last thing you want to do is to hurt her with a careless promise.

With her free hand, Loki taps her holotablet’s screen. The music comes to an abrupt stop before she tucks it into her pocket dimension. You’re surprised when Loki pulls her feet out of the water, then turns so she can lay her head in your lap and takes your entwined hands so they lay over her stomach, your hand tucked safely between both of hers.

She closes her eyes, asking, “When do you leave this year?”

“I don’t know,” you tell her, taking your free hand and combing them through her dark hair. “No one’s said anything, but I don’t think I’m leaving anytime soon, darling.”

The endearment slips out, and you clamp your mouth shut as you feel your face warm up when your words catch up to you. Loki calls you ‘darling’ often when she’s not calling you Firefly, no matter which of her forms she’s presenting, but you’ve never once returned it with an endearment of your own. All of them have always felt a bit… off for her. Clumsy and incapable of conveying the nebulous tangle of emotions you have about the godling.

(Not that you’ve ever even tried attempting to untangle them. Any time you think about prying those feelings apart and examining them, you make yourself do something else.

Loki is your best friend. What more do you need to understand about what you feel for her than that?)

To your relief (or is this disappointment?), Loki doesn’t say anything about the endearment. She relaxes as you continue to comb your fingers through her hair, occasionally letting your nails scratch gently against her scalp.

You find yourself relaxing as you continue to finger-comb Loki’s hair and listen to the sounds all around. There’s the gentle lapping of the river against the stones of the palace, the rustle of the wind through the trees, the high humming of the skiffs beyond the trees, the chirp of the birds that never leave even in the dead of winter. You can even hear in the distance (very, very faintly) the sounds of several sets of wingbeats.

That would be your conflagration returning from day trips to villages across the realm. It’s nothing more than a routine check-in by the generals to the einherjar stationed in each, but everyone had gone beside you, Gauti, and Lady Katla. You and Gauti are still considered too small to carry a full-grown Æsir, so you both remained behind to go about your usual routines while the others were away. Lady Katla had also remained at Valaskjálf, watching over you and Gauti for most of the morning before returning to her duties as Frigga’s handmaiden after you left for your other lessons.

Several minutes pass, the sounds of their wingbeats growing louder before all nine of the Drekasál come soaring over the trees in an arrow formation. You wave up at them, but they’re gone so fast you’re not sure anyone in your conflagration noticed you down here with Loki. Even if they hadn’t, you’ll see them all at dinner after your lesson with Frigga.

“How long until class?” you ask Loki, returning your hand to her hair. She pulls her holotablet from her pocket dimension to display the time.

“Forty minutes,” she says before returning it. She looks up at you. “What are you thinking, Firefly?”

You still your hand, tilting your head to rifle through ideas before tentatively asking, “May I braid your hair?”

Loki smiles at you before sitting up, scooting closer while you turn so only one leg remains in the river as you set about braiding her hair.

The two of you spend the next half hour working on your Kree, working rapidly through a conversation about the recent theatre production for the play The Glass Wolf. You’re in the second year of your studies for Kree now. Conversational basics are easier now than they were a year ago, though conveying some ideas is more difficult due to the language lacking words for those thoughts.

When you finish tying off the last braid, Loki conjures up a small mirror. She turns her head from side to side, looking at the three braids descending each side of her head and the large braid that adorns the top. It’s one you’ve both seen the valkyrjur wearing. A smile breaks across her face as she turns her head back and forth a few more times, admiring the look.

“It’s beautiful,” she says softly. The mirror vanishes, and she turns to you. “Thank you.”

You go to tell her, ‘You’re welcome’, but before you can do more than smile, she leans in and kisses your cheek.

It’s brief, barely more than a whisper across your cheekbone, but the world stutters to a halt in your mind. The smile on Loki’s lips looks softer as she pulls away. You swear it somehow steals the breath from your lungs, leaving you speechless. The warmth that threads through you and wraps tender hands around your heart compels you to look away, leaving you staring down at the river water with a smile that grows with each passing second.

Loki reaches over, taking your hand and tugging you to your feet. She says, with that same soft smile, “We don’t want to be late for our lesson.”

You follow her, and a strange sense of loss fills you when she drops your hand. Part of you realises you’re going to miss her more than you usually do when you go to the winter-wilds this year. The rest of you can’t put into words why that might be.

The two of you head down the familiar tapestry-covered hall, side-by-side in comfortable silence. You stare at the tapestries absent-mindedly as you think about the ever-encroaching summer.

You stop suddenly.

Isn’t today your father’s birthday?

You remember (very vividly) buying the magical quill for him just a few weeks ago. The same day that you’d first seen Loki in her masculine form. And then it occurs to you that, just a few days after that, both Loki and Volstagg had their godnaming. You remember how it had taken weeks for Thor and Baldr to adjust to being referred to by their godhoods by others.

And yet, you so clearly remember how but a few hours earlier (after a rather harmless prank involving two goats, a golden platter, and a light fixture), Hallr had referred to Loki as the Goddess of Mischief. Loki had seemed so at ease with it when you clearly remember her having reservations about the title in the first few days following her godnaming.

Has it truly only been days since the godnaming then?

You stare down at your empty hands, palms up as you feel flickers of something… forgotten show you the shape of the quill box in your hand. You recognise and don’t recognise the faint echoes accompanying the phantom shape.

Loki calls your name, concern lacing through that single word as she stands in front of you.

You blink, disentangling yourself from your thoughts and returning to the present. You lick your lips, swallowing hard as you try to collect your voice.

“What month is it?” You ask her. Your voice sounds a bit hollow, a bit hoarse, a bit haunted.

True to form, your best friend (instead of asking why you’ve asked) answers, “Tomorrow is the first day of Harpa.”

Harpa. The first of the summer months.

Your brows furrow in confusion, mouth opening as you go to say, But Sóldauði isn’t even over. How is it Harpa?

You feel something rise in you, a wave of something that feels… it feels foggy.

You blink, brow smoothing out. Suddenly you can’t remember why you thought that today was your father’s birthday when the end of Sóldauði was months ago. It’s so silly to think that you had forgotten so much time!

The niggling feeling that you have refuses to fade. You can’t come up with the reason why it refuses to go away. The longer you focus on it, pressing against the fog, the more you’re certain that something… something…

Nothing is wrong. Time isn’t missing.

The words slam into your mind, heavier than the fog-like wave that had risen. They sink talons in, gripping tightly as the fog swirls heavier and thicker.

“What is it?” Loki asks, stepping closer to tuck your hands between hers as she tilts her head to look you in the eye. The contact breaks whatever is happening, fog dissipating and the talons disappearing.

“I—,” you choke out, stopping because you don’t want to explain to her the strange occurrence happening in your mind. You shake your head. “It’s nothing, nevermind.”

She tilts your chin up so you’re looking at her again, rather than the floor your eyes had fled to when you dismissed your words.

Her index finger is curled beneath your chin, thumb resting right below your lower lip. The sudden — rather intrusive — thought that you want her to run the digit across your lip springs to the forefront of your thoughts. The placement of those two fingers, the hand that holds both of yours, and the half-lidded look she’s staring at you with. Its enough for all of your thoughts to stutter to a complete halt.

“It cannot be nothing if you felt the need to ask, darling,” she almost murmurs. “Talk to me. What is bothering my brave Firefly?”

Several pieces — none of them related to your seeming loss of time — suddenly click into place as a strange yet wildly familiar feeling floods you. You realise (quite suddenly) the truth behind the tangle of what you feel. All because the Princess of Asgard, your best friend, called you hers.

Oh.

You’ve never put much thought into when Loki says it before; it’s become common enough over the last year for her to say you are her friend, her dragon, her sparring partner. You’d accepted it, embraced it even, without ever realising why you did so without much thought. It had even begun to feel different without you ever being able to explain why.

It feels like that day on the barrels, when you had observed her masculine form for the first time with a scrutiny that you never gave her other forms because you had grown so used to seeing her that way. It feels like so many of those moments recently where the sun’s warmth has pressed its way into your skin from her touch, leaving you momentarily shy and wordless.

Quite suddenly, and without any warning, you understand that the way you care about Loki isn’t as platonic as you’ve always assumed. The remarks made by both Thor and Baldr finally make sense. And then you realise that, were she to kiss you, you would kiss her back.

The unsteady beating of your heart seems to dance faster. You feel powerless to do anything but answer Loki in the wake of your little revelation.

“Truly it was nothing, Loki. I was only struck by the strange notion that today is my father’s birthday. Silly, right? Since Sóldauði was months ago and all.” You give her a half-smile and a shrug, trying to play off the matter that she’s focused on as you grapple with your realisation that has your heart spinning wildly.

Instead of shrugging it off with you, Loki frowns and moves her hand from your chin to cup your cheek. You know by her expression that she’s searching for the dissonance between your words and actions. This does nothing to help quell the quickening pace of your heart or the flustered feeling that warms your whole body.

You know this isn’t a moment to express to Loki how you feel, no matter how much your heart craves to know how she feels about you in return.

She says your name very softly, lacing it with a deep sense of worry before asking, “Do you remember my birthday?”

“Yes,” you reply instantly; the use of your name instead of ‘darling’ or ‘Firefly’ drives home how serious this moment is from Loki’s view. To prove that you remember, you lift her right hand and point to the long, serpentine bangle that covers most of her forearm. “Your birthday was in the middle of Eldingarnætr, coinciding with the first blizzard of the year. I commissioned you this bangle of a jǫrmunetinn straight from Niðavellir because you love stories about them and snakes. I asked the Dvergarnir specifically for nornaseiða uru, so you could enchant and disenchant the bangle without harming the integrity of the metal. You were delighted by the gift, among other things.”

A smile curls the edges of her lips, even as you watch her pick apart your words. “As I recall, I only said thank you for the bangle.”

“I saw the way you looked at me. You looked — ” you looked at me like I had hung the moons and stars around Asgard. You looked at me, and I never wanted you to look away. “… happy. Really happy.”

“I was, truly.” She drops her hands, and you let go of her arm. Her expression becomes more serious in an instant. “You remember my birthday but not your father’s, even though my birthday is later. You’re missing other memories, aren’t you?”

You freeze, wondering how she knows without you saying it. Part of you shrinks in, wanting to hide away the truth. Another (much larger) part wants to reach out to her, to confide in her so she can soothe you. You relent to that part of yourself.

“I don’t remember much of the time after your godnaming, especially this spring.”

The concern on her face deepens.

“May I look into your mind? I wish to see if I can find any anomalies that might be causing this,” she says. At the sight of your panicked expression, she hastily adds, “I won’t look around, you have my word.”

It surprises you how easily she promises not to go looking around your mind. Were this any other day, you wouldn’t mind her being in there, nor would you worry that she might look around a little more than necessary. You know Loki. You trust her with everything.

Except, for the first time, you have something you want to keep to yourself for a while longer, despite how much you wish to share it with her. Your little revelation is still too fresh (and too nerve-wracking) for you to feel comfortable letting her know about it just yet.

You gather it and a few other bits, locking them away in a chest in your mind. Loki will be able to sense it, but you know she won’t press you about it until you’re ready to share them.

You lean your head forward, closing your eyes. Loki’s hand — slightly calloused from all the weapons training — rests softly against your forehead. An ice-kissed breath seeps into your mind, her seiðr gently working its way across the surface of your recent memories. She lingers over a few seemingly at random before moving on. After a few moments, the feeling disappears, and her hand leaves your forehead.

You open your eyes, expecting Loki to have a semblance of an answer, only to be met with a guarded, mildly frustrated expression from the princess.

“I didn’t see anything I could understand,” Loki says, shaking her head. “Mamma will have answers. Shall we go?”

Without waiting for you to agree, she takes your hand and pulls you along behind her at a clipped pace.

You hope that Frigga can answer the gap in your memories. Not just for your sake but Loki’s as well.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

“Lady Kárudóttir?” a voice calls out from behind you.

You blink, your eyes focusing on what’s in front of you as you’re pulled back into the present from wherever your mind had wandered off to as you stood here.

Here. Where is here exactly?

Before you is a window taller than you are, segmented by pale-grey wood; beyond the window is an expanse of shining white, bordered in the near distance by ruffled shapes in dark greys. It takes only a moment for you to realise they’re pine trees. A tree that isn’t found within the city of Asgard, only in the winter-wilds themself.

You’re in the winter-wilds. Summer has come, and Harpa has gone while you wander the permanently-snowy lands of the realm’s far-distant north. The last few months are blurry with various events, but you do (vaguely) recall your departure from Asgard with your conflagration.

You remember (a bit more clearly) your arrival at Bliksalir, the hall your mother had been gifted by your father after they became heartmates. It’s located in the heart of the winter-wilds’s tundra. The entire conflagration had stopped there after the long journey north to rest for the evening. It had surprised you the next morning when your mother and uncle had essentially told you to wander where and with whom you please this summer. You seemed to have surprised them when you chose to leave with Gauti and Lady Ásta after breakfast.

You had only spent a few days with them before you had flown off, exploring the winter-wilds and observing the world for the first time on your own. The scant few villages that existed in the tundra had been more curious about seeing a lone dragonling wandering, but they had all left you alone.

Eventually, you had turned south, leaving the tundra of the winter-wilds at the height of Miðár for the forest of the far north. To your own surprise, you had run into Lady Katla and her heartmates — Lord Ivarr Gunnarsson and Lady Brynja Rúnadóttir — just a week later. Lady Katla had invited you to return to their hall with them, to spend some time with them before you continue your wandering. That’s where you are now, where you have been for the last several hours.

The knot of tension relaxes, unfurling now that you remember where you are. There’s a question that rises, only to disappear like a wisp of smoke as soon as the words pass through your mind. None of them stick, so you can’t help but assume that the question wasn’t important.

You turn, looking at the wide bench table that rests in the middle of the room before sweeping your eyes across the room swiftly and returning your gaze to the table. Lady Katla sits there patiently, the pieces for a game of hnefatafl laid out and the game clearly in the midst of being played.

You aim a broad smile at the drekakona, saying, “You insist that I call you Lady Katla, and yet you would be so formal towards me?”

Lady Katla lets out a huff of a laugh. “You were so lost in thought, you didn’t hear me the first three times, drekabarn.”

You duck your head with a sheepish grin. “My apologies, my lady. I’m not sure where my mind wandered off to.”

Lady Katla lets out a soft hmm, staring back at you with searching pale eyes before gesturing with long fingers back to the other side of the bench. You take your seat, staring at the board after she tells you it’s your move. You pick up one of your defenders at random and move it. Lady Katla stares at the board for silently before moving one of her attackers. For several long, silent minutes this is how the two of you play. You moving your defenders as you try to get your king to safety, and Lady Katla moves her attackers to try to capture your king.

“Have you given thought to my question?” Lady Katla asks suddenly, breaking the silence filled only by the sound of the fireplace.

“Which question?” you ask. When you look up, you find Lady Katla’s eyes still on the board, scanning it as she chooses her next move.

“Eldgard. Have you ever thought about visiting?” When she looks up you shake your head. “You should. I think it would benefit you to.”

“Benefit me? How so?” You ask as she moves her next piece. You quickly counter it, hearing a surprised noise made by the drekakona at your move choice. You watch as she toys with her necklace pendant, the shining rune-carved metal catching your eye as she twists the chain. You can only assume it’s a mindless gesture from how often you’ve seen her do it over the years.

“How much do you know of our laws, our history? I doubt it’s much since you’ve been raised on Asgard. Have you ever even left the realm? Met other dragons outside of our conflagration?” Her rapid-fire questions send your hackles up. The implication that you don’t know anything simply because you’ve been raised here on Asgard stings. Does she believe your mother and uncle have shirked teaching you about the laws that govern your life? You are a Drekasál first and foremost, not an Æsir. You carry their power, but you are not one of them.

“I know plenty,” you bite out. “I may not have ever left the realm or met other Drekasál, but I assure you that I’ve learnt plenty about our people.”

Her eyes narrow, and while they don’t shift to ones that imitate her dragon eyes, the action causes you to shrink in on yourself.

“Careful, drekabarn. You might outrank me but your attitude towards simple questions leaves much to be desired still.” Her words sound like a warning. Your jaw tightens as you look down at the hnefatafl board, shoulders stiff. “I was under the impression that Lord Alfarr had covered Asgard’s shared history with our people by now. Is that not the case?”

“He did.” Your tone is clipped, so you take a breath to even it out before you continue. “We’ve covered the beginning of the Æsir-Drekasál alliance up to just after the end of the war against the Kree Empire during All-Father Buri’s reign.”

“Did he not bring in guests for any of the lessons? He’s well known for bringing a few in,” Lady Katla comments, leaning back in her seat. She still hasn’t moved her next piece, her eyes still on you.

“Our Kree tutor, Doctor Kheiron, attended several lessons.”

“No Drekasál?” You shake your head in reply, and her brow furrows. “Odd. I thought… hmm.”

“Thought what?” You watch as she leans against the table, covering her mouth with one hand as she continues to fiddle with her pendant in the other.

“Normally he asks for one of our conflagration to attend his lessons as well. We can’t add much that he doesn’t already know, but none of us were born on Asgard. We lived elsewhere for centuries before deciding to make the realm our home.”

“There were others on Asgard before the war, weren’t there?” Your question is softer, more hesitant. Her eyes turn back to you, staring solemnly before she nods. You had had a feeling that might be the truth for the last few years. That something had happened after the war against Jǫtunheimr for Asgard to have so few Drekasál. “Where did they go?”

Her hands drop to the table, a bittersweet look on her face as she tells you, “Most of them were lost on the battlefields. Others left with the then-Prince Njálsson after he announced the late King Randvísson had taken a fatal blow. Our prince was soon to be our king, and many decided to return to their Wing rather than remain abroad.”

“What about you? Or my family? Or the rest of our conflagration?” You ask. She places the tip of her index finger on one of her attackers, rocking the little einheri figure back and forth. She’s quiet for so long you’re almost certain she won’t answer, but then she lets out a sigh and begins to speak again.

“Lady Leifsdóttir loves General Týr, she’s happy with him. Lord Einarsson is very traditional when it comes to his views on soulmates, and thus remains here for her. I stay because Frigga is here, and so my brother Tórbjǫrn remains as well. It’s not a secret that Ásta stays to be near Gauti’s father, whichever Æsir that might be. The rest have their own reasons.”

Questions spring to the tip of your tongue, begging to be asked, but the look on her face stays them. So you redirect your question, asking, “What’s it like? Being able to see colour?”

She lets out a happy-sounding hmm as she finally moves her attacker.

“It’s beautiful. I’ve been able to see since the day I came of age. So many of my first experiences were with my twin at my side, so having my first experience with colour being his face?” She makes vague, nonsensical gestures with her hands before letting her hands fall back to the table with a smile and a shrug.

“Oh,” you say. You’d been hoping for something… more. You’re not exactly sure what ‘more’ might be. Maybe about what it had felt like for her bond to snap into place, or maybe how the world seemed the same and yet so different once she could see colours.

But then you decide to ask anyway. Lady Katla has (compared to some members of your conflagration) always been far more forthcoming when you ask her questions. So you do, asking her first about her soulmate bond and then about how she had adjusted being able to see colour. The conversation continues on about soulmates, with each of your questions being answered the best that Lady Katla seems to be able to.

Eventually, you reach the one question you’ve never dared ask your mother. You hesitate before asking, worried about how Lady Katla might take your question when you ask it. A gentle hand on your shoulder makes you look up at Lady Katla’s face.

“You can ask me whatever it is,” she tells you.

It takes several long heartbeats for you to ask, “Why can’t we find our soulmate before maturity?”

Lady Katla blinks, clearly caught off guard by your question. She takes a long drink from her tankard before sitting forward and refilling it from the pitcher of sweet mead on the table. She takes another drink (this one more of a sip) before answering your question.

“I don’t know.” When you don’t ask another question, she realises you’re waiting for her to explain further. “There’s only one theory about it that I know of. The caster, whoever or whatever they were, made it that a condition of the spell when they cast it. I assume that’s something a magic user can do anyway, I don’t understand magic.”

“It is,” you confirm. “Conditional parameters can be bound to a spell during incantation. You can add them as you’re casting, but you can’t take any that you’ve added away once they’ve been added to the spell.”

You pause and then add, “It’s different if you’re using seiðr though. Seiðr’s a lot more fluid than magic, and works more on a god’s will or intent than an incantation.”

Lady Katla blinks, seeming to take in that statement. To make your point, you hold up your hand and create a simulacrum of the brooch on her cloak from earlier. She gasps, prodding the copy in your palm.

“Remarkable. You could show everyone the way you see the world by doing that,” she mutters. You shrug, letting go of the seiðr threads as you drop your hand back on the table.

After that, you ask yet another question about soulmates, this time about pairs living outside of Asgard, and the conversation carries on. Amid all your questions, your game of hnefatafl gets abandoned as the two of you relocate from the table to the plush seats near the fire. Your conversation eventually shifts from questions about soulmates to Lady Katla asking about your studies and the two of you swapping stories.

You’re relaying the end of a story about a prank you’d helped Loki pull on their brothers, when you hear the sound of the hall’s front door being opened. A booming voice calls out for Lady Katla, and you watch her face light up in the way it only does for Tórbjǫrn. She abandons her tankard on the table, flying out of the room shouting her brother’s name.

You follow along slowly, leaning against the rooms doorframe as you watch the drekakona tackle her brother into a hug. As you stand there, you watch how the two of them interact. Two soulmates who, for a moment, revolve only around one another. There’s a quiet longing in your bones that you’ve never felt before as you watch the two of them.

Next year you will visit the Weavers for the little prophecy they give all Drekasál after they’ve turned fifteen. It’s a small step (a very small one) to becoming a drekakona rather than a drekabarn. It will be at least another five years after that before you reach maturity. Before you can begin the quest to find your soulmate. So close when you consider how long your life will be, and yet so far at the same time.

You close your eyes, a smile on your face as you listen to them before quietly turning around and returning to your seat by the fire.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

As you crest the top of the mountains just outside the City of Asgard you cease beating your wings. It’s more than an hour until dawn begins. Below you, the city is dark, occasionally broken by the few open shops, the braziers littered around the city, and the movement of torches carried by patrolling einherjar and valkyrjur.

You glide down, aiming to land on a terrace at the edge of the city next to one of the lone braziers. Using your seiðr, you muffle the sound of you landing on the stone. Tucking your wings close, you shift back into your Æsir form and tug the hood of your cloak low. You don’t want anyone to see your face as you take off down streets and stairs towards the Palace of Valaskjálf.

The streets are quiet as you quickly make your way down the largest of the City of Asgard’s boulevards. The silence of the early dawn hour is broken by only a few sounds; the soft clicks of your shoes against the stone road, the sharp clacks of a horse headed in the opposite direction as you, and the steady sounds of the bakery you’re passing by as they prepare for another day.

You’re coming home early. None of the others have even started their journey home and wouldn’t for at least another week. You’ve missed the city. You’ve missed the noises, the smells, the sights. You’ve missed your father, your friends, and your cousin. You’ve missed the sounds of their laughs, the tenor of their voices, and the sight of their faces.

You’ve missed Loki, and strangely enough, the nebulous feelings that the youngest royal constantly arises in you.

Missing each of them (Loki especially) is why you chose to come home now, in the middle of Haustmánaðr. Your mother and uncle won’t be arriving for at least a couple more weeks, at the beginning of Ískristalmánaðr. They’ve always brought you home then, so you can’t imagine them coming home any sooner. It gives you time to bask in these last, lesson-less weeks before things pick back up. You’re not looking forward to returning them just yet.

You approach the end of the boulevard quickly, coming up to the left entrance of Valaskjálf. Two einherjar are stationed at this entrance, watching you as you approach. As you get close, you pull down the hood of your cloak, letting them see your face in the torchlight.

“Lady Kárudóttir!” the one to the left exclaims when he recognises your face.

“Einherjar,” you say as they both bow their heads to you. “Where might I find my father?”

“He should still be in his quarters having breakfast, my lady,” the one on the right informs you. You nod, passing by them both with a quick ‘thank you’. You head inside and up to your home within the palace. There’s almost no one up and about just yet and (with a quick minor illusion to hide your appearance) you make it to your destination without any problems.

Once you (quietly) close the doors, you drop the illusion, shifting your seiðr to muffle the sound of your shoes. You make your way down the main hall, listening for any sounds of your father. Approaching your family’s private dining room, you hear him speak. With a smile on your face, you pause outside of the doorway, listening in.

“How is she?” Týr asks.

Before you can wonder who he’s speaking to, you hear your mother’s voice. The light distortion tells you he’s speaking with her through his holotablet.

“I still don’t know. No one’s seen her since she left Lady Rúnadóttir’s hall over a month ago.”

“Are you worried?” he asks. You know from experience that he’s asking if he should be worried too. He’s always followed your mother’s lead when it comes to you. Your seiðr and appearance make it easy for you to pass as an Ásynja, but you’re not. Not truly. You are a Drekasál, and you are all that comes with being a dragon at heart.

“No, not yet. She’s sharp, she’s stayed in her dragon shape when she’s alone like we taught her to.”

We. Your uncle must be right there with her, even if you haven’t heard him.

“Send me a raven when you hear something, will you?” Your father requests. You can hear the undercurrent of worry in his voice. Too late, you realise perhaps you should have spent more time with the other Drekasál rather than wandering alone for all those weeks.

There’s that soft, fond-sounding short-hum noise your mother often makes when speaking to your father. It’s how she agrees with him, so you can imagine the nod that always accompanies the noise.

Once their goodbyes are said, you disenchant your shoes and walk around the doorway. You chirp out, “Good morning, Babba.”

The fork your father had lifted clatters back onto his plate as he surges to his feet. With a joyful shout of your name, he opens his arms, engulfing you in a hug. You let out a soft laugh as you press your cheek firmly against the cold metal of his armour’s breastplate. You’ve missed how warm his hugs always are.

After several moments he releases you from the hug. The two of you sit together for a quiet breakfast, and he asks about your summer.

You tell him about how you spent most of it wandering the winter-wilds alone, about your extended stay with Lady Katla, her heartmates, and her brother. You tell him about your trips into the villages scattered across the winter-wilds, about the Æsir living there and how they always treated you warily but kindly. You show him the sketchbook you had kept on you the whole summer, sketching out the various plants and wildlife you encountered to show to Frigga when you see her next.

Every story you tell him is met by your father’s rapt attention. He asks curious, pointed questions. Each one draws more details out from you as you continue to whittle away the time before he has to leave for his office for the day.

When that time comes, he hugs you again, telling you to enjoy yourself now that you’re home. Before he walks out of your family’s suite, he even leaves you with strict instructions to relax. It makes you laugh, but you promise him that you will.

When the door shuts behind him, you head towards your room and pick up the holotablet you had left here for the summer. You have a lot to catch up on now that you’re home.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

When you finally leave your family’s suite, it’s late in the afternoon. It’s still summer, but despite that, you know that Loki has kept up their daily meetings with Frigga. If not for seiðr lessons, then at least to help care for the All-Mother’s garden.

You flip through the pages of your sketchbook as you step into the lift just down the hall, descending from your family’s rooms to the ground floor. It’s strange how the quiet hum of the lift as it descends is both so familiar and yet so loud. The quiet of the winter-wilds is so different from the quiet here in the palace. It’s always an adjustment when you return at the end of each summer.

Outside of your father and the two einherjar you encountered on your way in, no one else in the palace knows you’re home yet. You told your father over lunch that you want to surprise your friends this evening, much as you’d surprised him this morning.

He’d let out a chuckle at that, looking like he wanted to say something about that decision, before telling you that he’d told your mother that you’d shown up at home. You’d grimaced, apologising to him for not letting her know that you were headed home.

“You’re a dragon,” he’d said in resignation. “I’ve learnt from your mother that I have to give you more freedom than I would if you were just an Æsir child, much as I sometimes wish not to.”

Lunch had ended on that note, accompanied by a hug and him saying he would see you at the dining hall for dinner. After he left, you had gone out to the pavilion and taken a seat against one of the columns. This pavilion is higher than the one your conflagration uses, letting you see even farther out across the city. You took in the bright sky and gleaming city, the late summer sun warming you while you waited out the afternoon.

The lift lets out a light ping as it reaches the ground floor. You step off, holding your sketchbook (now shut) to your chest as you check both sides of the hall before setting off towards your seiðr classroom. There’s a genuine excitement you feel about the chance to show off your sketchbook’s contents to the seiðkona. She was thrilled by them last year, and you’re hoping to replicate that moment again when you arrive at the door in a few minutes.

When you reach the door to her classroom, you stop, clutching the sketchbook tighter as you stare at the door for several moments. You knock on the dark door with the side of your fist, waiting only a few moments before the door glides open.

No one stands on the other side. When you walk in, you see Frigga and Loki at the table on the other side of the room. Their heads are bent over an open book, quietly speaking as they take turns pointing at the pages.

You stand there quietly, a gentle smile curling up the edges of your lips. Your eyes are trained on the Princess of Asgard as you note the changes in her appearance from your summer gone. She’s less than four months shy of her sixteenth birthday now. It’s hard for you to believe that you’ve only known her for seven years; you feel like you’ve known her your whole life. You want her to notice you, but you’re just as content to stand here and watch her.

When Loki finally turns her head, her face immediately lights up at the sight of you. When she says your name, your smile turns into a grin, and she all but sprints across the room to pull you into a tight hug. You laugh as your feet leave the ground, wrapping your arms around her neck as she twirls the two of you a few times before setting you back on the ground.

You go to pull away once your feet are firmly on the ground, but Loki’s arms tighten their hold, tugging you closer as she tucks her face against your neck. Something in you flutters, and you press your forehead into her shoulder.

When she pulls away, she places her hands on either side of your neck, thumbs resting on your cheeks as she looks you in the eye. Her dark eyes glitter with happiness as she asks, “When did you get home? We weren’t expecting you home for weeks.”

“This morning, before dawn. I decided to come home early.”

Loki lets out a light laugh, pulling you into another hug. This time her arms wrap around your shoulders, but she tucks her head between her arm and your neck. You wrap your arms around her, letting your hands rest against her back as you tuck your face into her neck. You feel like you’re basking in sunlight again, warming you from the crown of your head to the tip of your toes.

Here in her embrace, you finally feel like you’re home.

After Loki finally decides to release you from the hug, you and Frigga greet other. You hand over the sketchbook you had dropped, watching Frigga scour this summer’s drawings and complimenting you on the pages. She makes no remark about how you’ve shaded the different flora and fauna, but you recognise the look as the one you often catch on Loki’s face. It’s a sharp sort of inquisitiveness, full of questions and observations. It makes you wonder what your monochromacy missed that she can see.

As she pages through, a little chiming tone begins to play softly from Frigga’s bracelet. It’s a sound you recognise well; it’s time to go outside and tend to the garden. She closes your sketchbook, placing it on the table beside the book she and Loki had been looking at when you walked in.

“Ready for the garden?” Frigga asks, already walking past the hanging plants and heading into her garden.

“Definitely,” you reply with a broad smile. You and Loki follow behind, kicking off your shoes as you pass beneath the hanging plants. Loki takes your hand in hers, the two of you giggling as you take off at a light run past her mother and into garden.

( next chapter )

 @ladydracona​ @huntress-artemiss​ @sarahscribbles​

Find the lore notes for this chapter here!

#loki x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #a fairytale beginning #the prince and his dragon #of fire and of ice #amphi writes

[nitrosplicer]

“If there were only trans people in the world, would the monsters in horror movies be cisgender people? The way that cis people have their monsters and villains in transgender characters like Buffalo Bill, or Michael Caine’s character in Dressed To Kill, or Angela in Sleepaway Camp, or Brother Martin in the X-Files episode “Gender Bender,” or Lt. Einhorn in Ace Ventura, or Ryan in The House at the End of the Street, or A/CeCe in Pretty Little Liars, or Z-Man in Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, or Dr. Frank N. Furter, or The Bride in Black in Insidious, or whatever gender thing was happening with Norman Bates? Would teenagers hold flashlights under their chins and whisper tales about a creature lurking in the nearby woods; a creature who has—gasp!—never questioned the gender identity assigned to them at birth?

...

 For a horror movie to captivate its audience, its monsters must wield some uncanny power. Monsters like werewolves wield obvious powers, but even the seemingly unsupernatural serial killers edge into the uncanny, into the liminal space beyond our ken—they’ve forsaken empathy and compassion to attain a capability for feats of cruelty beyond typical humanity. In all-trans world, everybody knows the power of cis people, just as in this world, everyone knows the power of vampires. Cis people have the power to make a trans person waver and question their surety in their own gender, a power that alters what a trans victim knows to be reality as surely as that same trans person knows a brick is solid.

That’s what happened to Torrey in the Price Chopper earlier that day, and which incident the film suddenly flashes back to as Johnny and she sit in the truck. The white of the flashback fades to show her standing in the Asian Foods section, looking for sesame seeds, and suddenly from behind her, she hears, a gruff What The Fuck? And there he is, a cis man, staring at her. He looked human, of course, as cis people often do—but Torrey could feel his power flowing like a river’s current around her and down the aisle. She knew he was cis from the way, caught in his hard gaze, she suddenly felt herself a helpless male thing, in too tight jeans and smudgy eyeliner. She wants to cry out for protection from Johnny, but her voice died in her throat. What if he came, and in the warping gaze of the cis man, she suddenly saw him through those same cis eyes? What if his boots suddenly looked too big for his feet, his shoulders just a little too narrow? But even worse, if Johnny did protect her, their heterosexual role-play would just become standard heterosexuality. A survival strategy. A guy protecting a woman from a guy. A woman reliant on a man. She can’t do that to him. Not her Johnny, and so she drops the sesame seeds and sprints from the Asian Foods Aisle, down along the dairy and meat back corridor, scanning the aisles until she spots Johnny in the soda section, looking as solid and handsome and capable as he always did. She rushes to him and hugs him tight, almost bowling him over, whispering desperately, we have to go, we have to go, unwilling to explain anything to him until they were safely back in the truck.

When the film flashes forward again, the audience now knows what Torrey and Johnny know: in these woods, there are cis people. And this time, the getaway truck is lodged deep in the mud.“

“CisWorld” by Torrey Peters

#to read #essays #torrey peters

[sticksstonesbonespoems]

Time stays long enough for anyone who will use it - Leonardo Davinci

The Ride

The drive through the French countryside felt like it could be Iowa, but what would have been acres of corn was acres of canola - large squares of bright yellow. But when you leave the highway and enter the narrow streets of a medieval town, there is no doubt that you are in France.

The Guide

Olivier doled out wisdom and history like a sage of old. He ferried us around like a shepherd with his tiny flock: Andrew and Brittany (the Aussies), David and Kim (the Louisianians) and Tess, Emma and me. Ken had a long sleepless night and was not feeling well enough to go. Olivier was charming, professorial and passionate about history.

The Women of Chateau Chenonceau

Catherine Briconnet designed Chenonceau in the 16th century while her husband was off somewhere in Italy. She tore down all but one tower of a medieval chateau and built a new one on its foundation. The castle she designed was built in the middle of the river and included a bridge to the other side. She and her husband passed away before King Henry II of France discovered that they had robbed his coffers to build it. According to Olivier, “This was a very French thing to do.”

Henry did not waste the space. He promptly bestowed it upon his mistress, Diane de Poitiers who was twenty-five years older than the king. According to Olivier, “She was the first cougar.” His joke not mine.

When Henry passed away, his wife, the queen took the chateau for herself. Her name was Catherine de Medici and even though she dislodged the mistress, she did provide for her by giving her a different chateau in a town up the way. Pretty nice, I’d say. Catherine added levels to the bridge to add living space. The chateau stands the way she left it.

One in a Million

Davinci spent the last three years of his life in France with King Francois I. They became so close that Davinci requested to be buried at the King’s chateau - Chateau Amboise. Non royal people of the time did not usually merit such an honor.

Leonardo Davinci only painted 14 paintings in his lifetime. He brought 4 paintings to France with him, one of which was the Mona Lisa. He continued to work on them until he died. He designed the massive chateau that Francois was planning to build as a hunting “lodge.” The “lodge” ended up having 427 rooms and 77 staircases. Davinci designed the heart of the building; a Greek cross with a double helix staircase resembling a strand of dna. When modern engineers came in and measured the core of the castle with laser precision, they found that every measurement was exact down to the centimeter.

This day was massive. I am tired in the best possible way.

[mpforests]

Effortless Booking Process

Gone are the days of tedious phone calls and lengthy booking procedures. With just a few clicks, you can secure your spot for an unforgettable safari experience. Visit the official website of Ken River Lodge and navigate to the Panna Safari online booking section.

[southkoreaandjapan]

The exploration continues...

July 5, 2023

Another great day and our last full with in Kyoto and with our group. We are staying in Kyoto but checking out lots of things in this amazing city. We started the day with a bus ride that went by the largest Buddhist temple complex in Japan. It went on for blocks. Truly we were several blocks into it before I finally decided that maybe I should be taking pics.

This complex is fully operational - FYI. Belief in any religion or philosophy is on the decline in Japan. Ken-san says the younger generation are too busy to be bothered - but I think maybe they are analyzing doctrine and thinking... WHAT?!?!?

Anyway - we are on our way to the Tenryuji Temple in the Arahiyama region of Kyoto. This is another UNESCO World Heritage Site. Partially what makes this place a World Heritage Site are the gardens and let me just say WOWZA!!!

This section will just be pics because sometimes are there are no words...

And it just got better with bamboo forests and rivers...

I have never seen a lotus field before this trip and now I have seen two.

What a great way to spend a morning.

On next stop with the Nijyo Castle. Mark and I visited here in 2017 but that was long before we watch the Netflix series "Age of the Samuri" which had a heavy focus on Ieyasu Tokugawa. We HIGHLY recommend it!

From the website or Nijyo Castle:

Nijo Castle was built in 1603 by Ieyasu Tokugawa, the first shogun of the Edo Shogunate, to protect the Kyoto Imperial Palace where the emperor lived and to serve as lodgings when the shogun went to Kyoto. In the absence of the shogun, Nijo Castle was guarded by Nijo Zaban, samurai dispatched from Edo. In the era of the third shogun, Iemitsu, the interior of the castle underwent a large-scale renovation for the visit of Emperor Gomizunoo, and many paintings by Kano Tanyu were added to the Ninomaru Palace. By welcoming the emperor to the splendid castle, it made the world know that the rule of the Edo Shogunate was stable. In 1867 (Keio 3), the 15th shogun Yoshinobu expressed his intention to ``return the Imperial rule'' at the Ninomaru Palace, which is very famous in Japanese history. You can see the relics of the Momoyama culture that are still gorgeous after about 400 years, such as the Ninomaru palace, the Ninomaru garden, and the Karamon gate. Nijo Castle, which was registered as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1994, can be said to be a valuable historical heritage that has witnessed the rise and fall of the Tokugawa family and the long history of Japan." (Again - no test - no worries!)

It was HIGHLY irritating that we could not take photos here - so I must depend of people who did NOT follow the rules and then posted them on the Internet to share what we saw. To review - these are not my pics but rule breakers on whon I depend upon...

The rooms were quite incredible. The artist had never seen a tiger - but had seen a tiger skin - so they let their imagination go wild.

Also the outer corridor made a squeaking noise with every step - like birds. It turns out that was a construction boo-boo BUT then they realized it could also be a serve as a "first alarm" if you will. They opted not to fix it.

The outside - where all the rule followers could take pics - was beautiful!

After lunch we split up and Mark went back to the hotel. Anson and I journeyed on! (Crack ON!) This time to the Imperial Palace. So the Shogun palace was AWESOME - but the Imperial Palace was... Imperial?

This entire concept is a bit foreign to us. The Emperor is the big guy. He is a descent of the gods and as such is a god or a deity of a kami. BUT the Samurai are agents of the Emperor. The Samurai are either solid fall-in -ine supporters of the Emperor - or they are not. The Samurai all have armies - big ass armies and they are working to expand the kingdom of the Emperor or they are not. But the Emperor's palace it s place to behold.

Check out the roof. It is made of layer after layer of cypress bark. Here is an explanation:

We also learned that the only heat in this castle was tiny coal fires. This - we were told - explains the many layers of clothes worn by the royal family. They were FREAKING COLD!

The gardens here were also amazing - even though it was pouring rain. We loved it!

We returned to the hotel and had one more meal with our friends - before they headed home. Dinner was - no surprise - fabulous!

And with that - our main trip ends. We have been so lucky to travel with Bob and Evie Evans and Jim, Shannon and Maxine Fuhrer and Carol and Jay Gochin. Truly, we could not asked for a better group. Tomorrow they will head home, while Mark, Anson and I move on the Hiroshima.

How lucky are we?

Stay tuned. I am very close to catching up....

[spookyprincessflower]

Plan your visit and book a stay at Ken River Lodge! https://www.promillerstays.com/pugdandee-safaris-ken-river 

  #kenriverlodge #PromillerStays #MadhyaPradesh #MPTourism #MadhyaPradeshTourism #JungleSafari #WildlifeTourism #PannaNationalPark #MPT #WildlifeOfIndia #Pugdundee #PugdundeeSafaris #IncredibleIndia #hotelbooking #bookhotel #junglelodge #mptourism #Travel #TravelGram #Traveling #TravelBlogger #Traveler #TravelLife #TravelDiaries #LovetoTravel #Travelmore #Travelbug #Explore

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

BOOKS I READ IN 2022 Mostly academic books I read for research purposes or to expand my knowledge of a topic, though this year was much more scattershot then 2021 in terms of topic, and I read a lot less. Indeed, this year, while there was a lot of books I loved and luxuriated in, or am proud I finished, there were a bunch of very frustrating or not particularly appealing academic works I almost regret reading, such as the Cavel & Noakes volume! Also, far more fiction - I somehow read sections from almost every volume of Christopher Tolkien's History of Middle Earth series. Generally, I read the majority of the book - monographs or collections where I read a single chapter or introduction aren’t included. I also included a few of the best or most interesting articles I read, though there are dozens and dozens more. Books marked with a cross are ones I particularly recommend. The first two entries are books I started reading in 2021 and the last three I’m still reading!

FIRST ROW:

Anne Guérin, Prisonniers en révolte: Quotidien carcéral, mutineries et politique pénitentiaire en France, 1970-1980  +

Larry Wolff, Venice and the Slavs: The Discovery of Dalmatia in the Age of Enlightenment

Murar Ergin, 'Is The Turk A White Man?': Race and Modernity in the Making of Turkish Identity

Douglas Hamilton and John McAleer, ed., Islands and the British Empire in the Age of Sail

Allain Millard, Communaute Des Egaux: Le Communisme Neo-Babouviste Dans La France Des Annees 1840 +

SECOND ROW:

Blaise Cendrars, L'Homme foudroyé

Victor Serge, Notebooks, 1934-1947 +

Peter Cole, Ben Fletcher: The Life and Times of a Black Wobbly +

John Deak, Forging a Multinational State: State-Making in Imperial Austria from the Enlightenment to the First World War

Brock Millman, ed., Polarity, Patriotism, and Dissent in Great War Canada, 1914–1919

THIRD ROW:

Elinor Barr, Silver Islet: Striking It Rich in Lake Superior

Gerry Boyce, Eldorado: Ontario's First Gold Rush

Nancy B. Bouchier & Ken Cruikshank, The People and the Bay: A Social and Environmental History of Hamilton Harbour

Franca Iacovetta, Roberto Perin & Angelo Principe, ed., Enemies Within: Italian and Other Internees in Canada and Abroad

Janice Cavell & Jeff Noakes, Acts of Occupation: Canada and Arctic Sovereignty, 1918-25

FOURTH ROW:

Élisabeth Vonarburg, The Maerlande Chronicles

J. R. R. Tolkien & Christopher Tolkien, Morgoth's Ring (and bits and pieces of the rest of the History of Middle Earth series)

Elizabeth Hand, Winterlight

Jonathan Haslam, The Spectre of War: International Communism and the Origins of World War II +

William Clare Roberts, Marx's Inferno: The Political Theory of Capital +

FIFTH ROW:

Ruth Bleasdale, Rough Work: Labourers on the Public Works of British North America and Canada, 1841-1882  +

Dale Gibson, Law, Life, and Government at Red River, Volume 1: Settlement and Governance, 1812-1872

Fabrice Grenard, Une légende du maquis: George Guingouin, du mythe à l'histoire

Jesper Vaczy Kragh, Lobotomy Nation: The History of Psychosurgery and Psychiatry in Denmark

Serge Chakotin, The Rape of the Masses: The Psychology of Totalitarian Political Propaganda (1940)

Select articles I read:

Matthew Pehl, “Between the Market and the State: The Problem of Prison Labor in the New Deal,”

Ernest Allen, “Waiting for Tojo: The Pro-Japan Vigil of Black Missourians, 1932-1943.”

Sarah Carter, “Two Acres and a Cow: 'Peasant’ Farming for the Indians of the Northwest, 1889-97.”

David Thompson, “Convalescent Comrades: The 1935 Siege of Winnipeg’s Deer Lodge Hospital.”

Benjamin D. Weber, “The Strange Career of the Convict Clause: US Prison Imperialism in the Panamá Canal Zone.”

Ernest Ming-Tak Leung, “The Japanese Factor in the Making of North Korean Socialism.”

Eugeny Morozov, “Critique of Techno-Feudal Reason.”

Mikkel Bolt Rasmussen, “Fascist Spectacle.”

Tiziana Terranova and Ravi Sundaram, “Colonial Infrastructures and Techno-social Networks.”

Looking forward to reading in 2023:

Ruan O'Donnell, Special Category: The IRA in English Prisons, Vol. 1 & 2

Garrett Felber, Those Who Know Don't Say: The Nation of Islam, the Black Freedom Movement, and the Carceral State

Gavin Walker, ed. The Red Years: Theory, Politics and Aesthetics in the Japanese '68

Cheryl D. Hicks, Talk with You Like a Woman: African American Women, Justice, and Reform in New York, 1890-1935

Sebastein Elsbach, Eiserne Front: Abwehrbundnis Gegen Rechts, 1931 Bis 1933

#books #reading #books 2022 #year end list #2022 reading list #canadian history #prison history #academic quote #academic research #academic books

[theperfectlyandrogynouscollector]

#KenRiverLodgeOverviewPannaSpreadOver30AcresOfPristineJungle, #KenRiverLodgePopularlyKnownAsTheTreeHouseIsAWildlifeParadise. It is #SituatedOnTheBanksOfRiverKen, #AdjoiningThe542SqKmPannaTigerReserve. #TheLodgeHas10DeluxeHutsWithAttachedConcreteBathroomsAndWesternToiletsHotAndColdWaterDressingRoomAndSitOutAreas. #ThereAreAlso10CottageRoomsWithModernBathroomsLivingRoomKitchenAndOpenDeck. #TheTentsAndCottagesAreSpreadOutIn30AcresOfMixedJungleInUndulatingTerrain, giving a jungle experience that few in the country can parallel. The Ken river runs for almost a mile with the property. #TheLodgeAlsoBoastsOfA1500SqFt. #MachaanWhereTheMealsAreServed. The Machaan popularly know as the Tree House overlooks #TheKenRiverAndBoastsOfMultiCuisineBuffetMeals.

For Booking:   https://bit.ly/3AGM1VT

কেন রিভার লজ ওভারভিউ - পান্না 30 একর প্রাচীন জঙ্গলে বিস্তৃত, কেন রিভার লজ, যা ট্রি হাউস নামে পরিচিত, এটি একটি বন্যপ্রাণী স্বর্গ। এটি 542 বর্গ কিমি পান্না টাইগার রিজার্ভ সংলগ্ন কেন নদীর তীরে অবস্থিত। লজটিতে সংযুক্ত কংক্রিটের বাথরুম এবং পশ্চিমা টয়লেট, গরম এবং ঠান্ডা জল, একটি ড্রেসিং রুম এবং বসার জায়গা সহ 10 টি ডিলাক্স হাট রয়েছে। আধুনিক বাথরুম, লিভিং রুম, রান্নাঘর এবং খোলা ডেক সহ 10 টি কুটির ঘর রয়েছে। তাঁবু এবং কটেজগুলি 30 একর মিশ্র জঙ্গলে অনাকাঙ্ক্ষিত ভূখণ্ডে ছড়িয়ে রয়েছে, যা জঙ্গলের অভিজ্ঞতা দেয় যা দেশে খুব কমই সমান্তরাল হতে পারে। কেন নদীটি সম্পত্তির সাথে প্রায় এক মাইল পর্যন্ত চলে। লজটি 1500 বর্গমিটার এলাকা নিয়েও গর্বিত। ফুট মাচান যেখানে খাবার পরিবেশন করা হয়। মাচান জনপ্রিয়ভাবে পরিচিত কারণ ট্রি হাউস কেন নদীকে উপেক্ষা করে এবং বহু-রন্ধনপ্রণালী বুফে খাবারের গর্ব করে।

केन रिव्हर लॉज विहंगावलोकन - पन्ना 30 एकर प्राचीन जंगलात पसरलेले, केन रिव्हर लॉज, जे ट्री हाऊस म्हणून प्रसिद्ध आहे, हे वन्यजीव नंदनवन आहे. हे केन नदीच्या काठावर आहे, 542 चौरस किमी पन्ना व्याघ्र प्रकल्पाला लागून आहे. लॉजमध्ये 10 डीलक्स झोपड्या आहेत ज्यात जोडलेले काँक्रीट स्नानगृह आणि पाश्चिमात्य शौचालये, गरम आणि थंड पाणी, ड्रेसिंग रूम आणि बसण्याची जागा आहे. आधुनिक स्नानगृह, लिव्हिंग रूम, स्वयंपाकघर आणि खुल्या डेकसह 10 कॉटेज खोल्या देखील आहेत. तंबू आणि कॉटेज 30 एकर मिश्रित जंगलात पसरलेले आहेत, जे जंगलाचा अनुभव देतात जे देशातील काही समांतर असू शकतात. केन नदी मालमत्तेसह जवळजवळ एक मैल चालते. लॉजमध्ये 1500 चौ. फूट मचान जेथे जेवण दिले जाते. टच हाऊस केन नदीला नजरेस पडतो आणि मल्टी-पाककृती बुफे जेवणाचा अभिमान बाळगतो म्हणून मचानला लोकप्रियपणे ओळखले जाते.

#केनरिवरलॉजअवलोकनपन्ना30एकड़केप्राचीनजंगल में फैला, #केनरिवरलॉज, जिसे ट्री हाउस के नाम से जाना जाता है, #एकवन्यजीवस्वर्गहै। #यह542वर्गकिमीपन्नाटाइगररिजर्वसेसटेकेननदीकेतटपरस्थितहै। #लॉजमेंसंलग्नकंक्रीटबाथरूमऔरपश्चिमीशौचालयगर्मऔरठंडेपानी, #एकड्रेसिंगरूमऔरबैठनेकेक्षेत्रोंकेसाथ10डीलक्सहटहैं। #आधुनिकबाथरूमबैठकरसोईऔरखुलेडेककेसाथ10कॉटेजकमरे भी हैं। #टेंटऔरकॉटेज30एकड़केमिश्रितजंगलमेंलहरदारइलाकेमेंफैलेहुएहैं, जो जंगल का अनुभव देते हैं जो देश में कुछ ही समानांतर कर सकते हैं। संपत्ति के साथ केन नदी लगभग एक मील तक चलती है। #लॉजभी1500वर्गफुटकादावाकरताहै। #फुटमचानजहांभोजनपरोसाजाताहै। #मचानलोकप्रियरूपसेट्रीहाउसकेरूपमेंजानाजाताहै, केन नदी को देखता है और #बहुव्यंजनबुफेभोजन का दावा करता है।

Hotel Name: Ken River Lodge Address: Village Madla Panna Madhya Pradesh-488001 India

For Booking and Enquiry: [phone] #AHR     #AsiaHotelsAndResorts

#Accomodations #Travels #Hotels #Holidays #Ken River Lodge #Panna

[dailyunsolvedmysteries]

New Years Sex Deaths 1962

Two of the other people at the barbecue were Ken and Ruth Nash. Ken Nash also worked at the CSIRO. He invited the Chandlers to his New Year's Eve dinner party, to be held at his home in Waratah Street, Chatswood. The Chandlers arrived at about 10 p.m. for the party, with Geoffrey Chandler casually dressed. At about 11.30 p.m., Chandler departed alone and drove to a Sydney Push New Year's party held at the Balmain home of Ken Buckley,  a senior lecturer in Economic History at the University of Sydney. Arriving there at about midnight, he met Pamela Logan, with whom he was having an affair. They drove in tandem to her lodgings at Darlington. Chandler returned to the Chatswood party at 2.30 a.m. but decided to depart alone, in accordance with Mrs Chandler's understood preference that she be driven home to Croydon by Bogle. The Chandlers' two children were in the care of their maternal grandparents at Granville.

Bogle and Chandler left the party soon after 4 a.m. and drove to the nearby Lane Cove River, which was known as a lovers' lane. What happened next is still unclear but, several hours later, their bodies were found. At the subsequent inquest, medical evidence was given that Mrs Chandler had not had sexual intercourse. Bogle's body was discovered near Fullers Bridge by two youths searching for golf balls. They saw his body and presumed him to be drunk. When they returned an hour later to find that he had not moved and that his face had turned blue, they went to fetch help. When police arrived at the scene they discovered that Bogle's body was half-undressed. Somebody had placed his trousers over the back of his legs in such a way that he appeared to be dressed, but was not. A piece of carpet was also laid on top of his back underneath his jacket, which was laid perfectly on his back. Shortly after this, Mrs Chandler's body was discovered a short distance away. She was also in a state of undress, and her body had been covered with a broken-up cardboard beer box. It was initially believed that she had covered Bogle's body first and then her own, but closer examination suggested that someone had covered her body as well.

It was obvious that both had died from some sort of poisoning. At the scene were signs of vomit and excreta. Excreta from both victims along with items of clothing were found on the exposed bed of the river. Because New Year's Day was a public holiday, forensic examination of the bodies was delayed for 36 hours. When forensic examination did take place, no traces of any poison could be found.  However, in September 2006, evidence suggests that the two deaths may have been caused by accidental hydrogen sulphide poisoning. 

#new year sex deaths 1962 #true crime #unsolved mysteries #cold cases #unsolved

[handeaux]

Green Beer Came Later: Cincinnati’s Original, Old-Time, Irish Saloons

So ubiquitous are the photographs of mustachioed men, feet up on the brass rail, plug hats screwed firmly upon their noggins, that you might be forgiven if you concluded that all Queen City saloons were identical. This is not the case.

For evidence, let us turn to a meeting of the General Protective Association of Saloon-Keepers convened on Tuesday, 24 April 1883, to discuss a new state law taxing dispensaries of alcoholic potations. Although the meeting convened at a German hall, the president, J.J. Abbihl, introduced the agenda in English. According to the next day’s Commercial Tribune:

“As Mr. Abbihl spoke in the English language, Mr. Albert Springer made a motion that the German language be used in the discussion, but it was agreed to make the explanations in English on account of the importance of the meeting.”

Although the German beer garden holds a sacred place in the gilded memories of Cincinnati, a fair number of local pubs were helmed by Irish and American barkeeps. Any discussion of group meetings involving saloon keepers is clear to distinguish between “German saloon keepers” and “American and Irish saloon keepers.” (Of course, in their segregated neighborhoods, there were also Black saloon-keepers, but they were not allowed to join the protective associations.)

In general, the Irish saloons hewed closer to the river, and you can see this among the watering holes listed in the city directories. You find O’Brien’s at Third & Ludlow, O’Herron’s at Plum & Ann, McCoy’s on Front Street, McSweeney’s at the southern end of John and Connor’s way down on Central.

While the Germans colonized Over-the-Rhine, that was not always the case. The WPA Guide to Cincinnati relates that O’Bryonville, with its Irish namesake but early nickname as “Dutchtown,” accommodated Germans and Irish in (not always happy) comity:

“Thenceforth the name Dutchtown also was applied to the community, and many arguments were started over the bars between Irish and German customers who were constantly striving for social supremacy in the little community.”

This distinction was underlined in 1877 when saloon-keepers throughout the city gathered to pressure Cincinnati’s brewers into maintaining standard prices. Throughout Cincinnati, you paid 5 cents for a tall glass of beer, except in a few disreputable dives where suds were dispensed at two glasses for a nickel. The saloon-keepers realized that there was only one way the dives could afford two beers at that price – some brewery was selling stock at a discount. In those confrontations, the German saloonists met at one location and the Irish and American barkeeps met at another. Although they endorsed the viewpoint of the German proprietors, the Irish and Americans elected their own delegation to confront the brewers.

It is clear, from newspaper coverage that the menus differed between German saloons and American and Irish saloons.  William C. Smith, in his wonderful little book, “Queen City Yesterdays: Sketches of Cincinnati In The Eighties,” makes a distinction between the beer-centered German establishments and the Irish and America saloons that purveyed mostly the harder stuff. Smith avers there ought to be a strict differentiation between beer saloons and what he calls “boozing kens.” His description offers a physiological excuse for Irish and American drinking patterns:

“On a shelf next to the wall various brands of liquor were in evidence, some labeled and others in plain bottles, the quality of the latter known only to God and the proprietor. These emporiums were patronized by the Irish and American inhabitants who believed their stomachs to be lined with a substance that beer might corrode, whereas whiskey apparently acted only as a preservative and polishing agent.”

That distinction is fortified by a joke that, according to the Cincinnati Enquirer [23 September 1917], was so old it caused Cain to slay Abel:

“An Irish saloon keeper hired a new bartender. A man came in and got a drink of whisky and then said: ‘I’ll pay for this Saturday. My name is Murphy. The boss knows me.’

“’Wait and I’ll ask the boss,’ said the bartender. ‘Oh. boss,’ yelled the bartender up the stairs. ‘Is Murphy good for a drink?’

“’Has he had it?’ asked the boss.

“’He has,’ replied the bartender.

“’He is,’ replied the boss.”

It is not the case that all Irish and American saloons sold whiskey exclusively. Perhaps the premier Irish saloon in Cincinnati was Andy Gilligan’s Café on Vine Street directly opposite the Enquirer building between Sixth and Seventh streets. For nearly thirty years, Gilligan was famous for his luxurious beard, extending from his chin to his belt buckle. On warm days he was a living Vine Street landmark, basking in the afternoon sun as he stood outside his café enjoying a good 15-cent cigar. Gilligan ran book on local prizefights, but the cops usually looked the other way. He was known as an easy touch for actors down on their luck and a frequent host to heavy-weight champ (and prodigious drinker) John L. Sullivan. Despite his largesse, Gilligan left an estate worth a respectable $75,000 in 1905 dollars. Decades after his death, the Cincinnati Post printed a remembrance:

“Do you remember when no St. Patrick’s Day was complete without a peek at Colonel Andy Gilligan and his long whiskers resting on a great green sash in the Hibernians’ annual March 17 parade?”

During World War I, as Prohibition loomed, evidence accumulated that all of Cincinnati’s saloon-keepers were in the same, sinking, boat. As anti-German hysteria swept the city, nationalist firebrands were quick to point out Irish saloons catering to a German clientele. According to the Cincinnati Post [14 September 1917]:

“James J. Dolan runs a saloon at Richmond-st. and Central-av., which he calls ‘Zum Guten Happen.’ Now that German has nearly been put out of the schools, somebody, no doubt, will start a movement to put it out of Irish saloons.”

A similar situation obtained at an Oakley saloon managed by Patrick J. McHugh, called “Auf Wiedersehen.”

No discussion of Irish saloons can conclude without a mention of green beer. Now, before 1917, “green beer” meant improperly aged suds. A 1908 Wiedemann advertisement advised against drinking green beer because “it has practically no flavor and will cause biliousness.”

As for the annual emerald-hued St. Patrick’s Day quaff, blame the Elks. In 1917, in honor of the patron saint of Ireland, Cincinnati’s Elks lodges consumed green beer in abundant quantities. According to the Cincinnati Post, the verdant libation was concocted by a German brewer.

#cincinnati irish #irish saloons #andy gilligan #cincinnati saloons

[isitgintimeyet]

Road To The Aisles

AO3

Previous

Chapter 12 and thanks to you all for continuing to read, like, reblog and comment. It is much appreciated.

Special thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge @happytoobserve @wickedgoodbooks for their continued support.

Chapter 12 : An Unexpected Exchange

“It’s pointless for a human to paint scenes of nature when they can go outside and stand in it.”

-Ron Swanson, Parks and Recreation

Claire sat at her desk and eyed her tuna sandwich with distaste. While she had magnanimously agreed last night to let Jamie take dinner leftovers -- a very tasty chilli and rice -- for his office lunch today, she had been hoping that he might have somehow forgotten and made his way to the gym and then work without it, leaving her to claim it (rather than it go to waste). When it was clear that hadn’t happened, she had been forced to hastily make the aforementioned sandwich.

There was a light tap at the office door. A grinning head poked around the door, immediately distracting Claire from her dietary woes.

“G, how you doing? Come and talk to me,” Claire exclaimed.

Geillis strolled into the office and pulled up a chair. She looked longingly at Claire’s sandwich.

“Christ, I’m fucking starving. And I’ve only a banana fer ma lunch.”

Claire pushed the untouched sandwich towards her friend. “There you go. Have that. Now, tell me all your news.”

Geillis took a large bite of the sandwich and munched for a few moments before taking a swig out of Claire’s now cold coffee mug and clearing her throat.

“It’s been a fucker of a morning in the emergency department. We had a chap come in, wouldna talk tae the receptionist or a female nurse. Finally agreed tae talk tae Big Steve, ye ken the guy? The nurse practitioner that does the body building? Weel, turns out he’s come in wi’ a can of body spray wedged up his arse, he couldna get it out. Apparently he’d tried wi’ some kitchen tongs, only shoved it further up.”

“He said…” Geillis took a smaller bite and carried on talking. “He said that he’d slipped getting out of the shower and fell on tae it. Imagine that? And we’re there tryin’ tae be serious while he’s spinnin’ us this yarn. So he goes off tae X-Ray and we’re all placing bets on what scent it is.”

“Is he ok?”

“Turns out it wasna lodged too far up, so Dr. Chris was able tae get it out wi’ no operation needed. And then this chap actually asked if he could have the spray back, as it’s his favourite. Dr. Chris told him it was now classed as clinical waste and would therefore have tae be disposed of ‘in an appropriate manner.’”

Geillis finished her sandwich and looked around for a napkin. Claire passed her a tissue.

“And what scent was it?” Claire prompted, laughing.

“Lynx… Africa. I guessed it. Lucky fer him it was only the smaller size… I mean, the girth on those larger sprays… imagine… no’ even Dougal would --”

“And how is Dougal?” Claire hastily changed the subject. “I know it’s ok from your texts, but what did he say about the whole baby thing?”

“Weel… after all that worryin’ and mitherin’ I put meself through, Dougal was verra understanding about it. I told him straight that I dinna want a baby at the moment, and would likely never want one. So it was his choice… me and no bairn, or no me. And he did the sensible thing… he chose me. The door’s left open, but…”

“And why wouldn’t he? He’d be a fool to give you up.”

“Aye, I ken. I tell him regular that he’s lucky tae have me.”

Geillis delved into her voluminous handbag and retrieved a banana, brandishing it aloft.

“Fancy half a banana? Tae eat? I tell ye… what I’ve seen today… it’s oral consumption only with bananas from now on fer me.”

Claire tentatively took half from Geillis, a worried expression on her face.

“Dinna fash,” Geillis sighed. “I bought it this morning. It’s a virgin banana. I do have some standards, ye ken.”

*************

Jamie and Claire strolled through the park, enjoying the warmth of the summer sun. It was a perfect day, with not a cloud in the sky and only a slight breeze rustling through the trees.

“Do ye think I’ve put enough sun cream on William, Sassenach ? I dinna want him to burn.”

Claire looked over at William, clad in a bright blue romper suit and matching baseball cap and strapped securely onto Jamie’s chest. She could still faintly see the layer of sun cream meticulously applied by Jamie before they came out.

“Think you’ve put enough on for a trip to the equator,” she joked.

“Aye, weel, ye canna be too careful. Shall we head tae the river and look fer some duckies then, ma wee man?”

Jamie took the loud raspberry from William as agreement. He held Claire’s hand as they wandered alongside the river, their companionable silence only broken by William’s excited babbling.

After a somewhat disinterested encounter with the ducks, they settled themselves on a riverside bench to watch the world go by. William tried to bounce, pressing his feet firmly against Jamie’s thighs, eliciting an ‘aargh’ sound from his father.

Claire laughed as she gazed at her two men. She held William’s dimpled hand to her mouth and kissed it.

“He’s laughing at you, Jamie, when you make that sound.”

“Aargh… aargh…” Jamie repeated his exclamation to William’s increasing delight, his chuckles growing louder and louder and joining the laughter from his father and Claire.

“Ah, Claire. I’d recognise those curls anywhere. Your hair is very distinctive, you know,” a voice spoke suddenly, cutting into the moment.

She stopped laughing as she stood up and turned around, patting her hair. Instinctively Jamie stood as well and turned to face the voice.

“Frank… wow, what a surprise. I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought… have you… are you still down in England?”

“Er, yes. I’m just up here for the weekend. Conference, you know. Just on my way to the gallery, see the exhibitions. You’re looking well, Claire.”

Frank smiled at her, oblivious to the palpable tension radiating from Jamie.

"Thanks," Claire responded politely. "Frank, this is my fiancé, Jamie. Jamie, this is Frank… an old friend."

Jamie extended his hand and enveloped Frank's long, elegant fingers in a bone crushing handshake.

“Pleased tae meet ye.” Jamie’s words were at odds with the look on his face.

Frank raised an eyebrow. “Engaged? Well, congratulations to you both… and a baby? Life has changed very quickly for you, Claire. So, are you at work, or maternity leave?”

Claire looked at William who, lacking entertainment, was simultaneously sucking his thumb whilst trying to pull his cap off.

“Actually, William is my step-son. He’s Jamie’s son.”

“Oh, I see.” Frank’s statement hung in the air.

“We’re getting married in just over three months’ time.” Claire suddenly felt defensive as she remembered Frank’s judgemental nature.

William, having succeeded in pulling his cap off and dropping it, now let out a cry as Claire picked it up and secured it firmly back on his head. The cry was followed by a series of sobs becoming louder and louder.

“I think he needs a nap.” Claire explained over the crying. “We should be heading home. Well, all the best, Frank.”

Frank leant forward and lightly kissed Claire on both cheeks. “Congratulations to you both.”

“Bye then.” Jamie nodded and took Claire’s hand as they started walking away.

The journey home was made in silence, William dozing fitfully in his car seat. Once at the house, Jamie, still silent, took William upstairs and put him down in his cot. Claire pottered in the kitchen, putting the kettle to boil, pulling the cafetière out of the cupboard, opening the cake tin. When she heard Jamie’s steps coming downstairs, she made the coffee and cut two slices of banana loaf. Each action precise, deliberate and calm, which was exactly what she wasn’t feeling.

“Jamie, come and sit down.” She placed a mug of coffee and slice of banana loaf in front of him as he slumped at the kitchen table.

“Right, so, what is the matter with you? You’ve had a face like a slapped arse ever since we bumped into Frank in the park. It’s to do with him, isn’t it? And don’t try to tell me nothing is the matter. Sulking is not a good look on a thirty-three year old man, you know.”

Jamie was quiet for a moment, fiddling randomly with the baby monitor. Finally, he placed the monitor on the kitchen table, took a large gulp of coffee, screwing up his face as the hot liquid hit his mouth, and sighed.

“Aye, ye’re right. ‘Twas partly yer man. When ye said William was yer ‘step-son’, I could see Frank, I ken what he was thinking. He was looking at me, judging me, thinking I was some serial shagger hopping from bed tae bed… mebbe even wondering if I’d be faithful tae ye.”

Claire came and sat at the kitchen table with Jamie.

“First of all,  what does it matter what Frank's opinion of us is? He’s not part of our lives. And if we’re talking about serial shaggers, I could tell you a thing or two about him. So what if he wonders about you being unfaithful? No one we know or care about would ever think that.”

“Second of all,” Claire tapped the kitchen table with her forefinger emphasising her points. “Are you unhappy because I said William was my step-son? You didn’t want me to lie, did you? Let him think I was William’s birth mother?”

Jamie lifted his eyes from his mug of coffee to look at Claire, his cheeks reddening slightly. “No’ lie as such, but ye dinna have tae say anything.”

“To make you feel better, to not be judged by Frank? What does that even matter? Or did you want to prove a point to Frank?”

“Ye dinna understand. It’s no’ jes’ tae do wi’ Frank… it’s like… when we’re in the park or some such place, and I see all the families around us, playing and laughing, I like to think, or pretend, that there is nae Geneva, nae leaving ma son fer half the week. I dinna like tae be reminded. I like tae think that we’re a family jes’ like those around us.”

Claire pulled her chair closer to Jamie and reached across to stroke his auburn curls. He inclined his head and closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her nails, now lightly scratching his scalp.

“You are a silly, silly man. We are a family just like those around us at the park… there’ll be every variation of family there… half siblings, step-parents, step-children, single parents, adopted children, fostered, raised by grandparents. And you know what, when it comes down to it, it’s all family. And that’s what matters.”

“Aye, I may be a silly man, but I ken that ye, Claire Beauchamp soon tae be Fraser, are a fine woman that I’m no’ sure that I deserve.”

“Well, I’m not sure either that you deserve me, but…” she replied as she moved to stand between his legs. “... you can try.”

Jamie’s hands settled on her arse as Claire bent her head to kiss him. As the kiss deepened, her hands snaked around the back of his neck, pulling him tighter to her.

The sudden cry from the baby monitor broke them apart.

“He’s no’ got the best timing,” Jamie laughed. “Guess he doesna want his old man having fun.”

Claire breathed in his ear. “Later.”

“Later,” Jamie agreed.

#outlander fan fiction #outlander fanfic #Road To The Aisles #modern au #Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #chapter 12

[iamwanderingavocado]

Where do broken hearts go? Bicolandia Adventure 2016 
Legazpi- Naga-Caramoan
My very first solo travel 
no reservations from ticket to hotel, lahat spontaneous 
day 0
since wala akong reserved ticket, i’m considered as chance passenger. i went to cubao bus terminal (near ali mall) about 6:30 pm then luckily i got a ticket bound for legazpi city by 9pm. there are 3 kinds of buses plying to bicol area, the ordinary one( w/out aircon), the aircondittioned bus and the lazy boy type. so i chose the lazy boy type because it’s more comfy, the seat space is bigger, it has on board comfort room and it has free wifi and individual plug. 
9:00pm – etd to legazpi city 
day 1 
9 am – arrived at legazpi city capitol ; dropped by at the provincial capitol to look for city map, tour map 
10:00 am – brunch at bigg’s diner (bicol’s most famous fast food chain)
10: 30 am – rode a jeepney to lignon hill 
from the jeepney stop, 5 minute walk to reach the entrance, the entrance fee is i think p50 per person plus if you want to rent a “habal habal ride” going up the top , a fee of p50 per person . 
- lignon hill
- world war 2 japanese tunnel
- kapit tuko trail
12:30 pm – checked in at embarcadero hotel 
the rate there is p 1,000 per night inclusive of free breakfast, good view of the mayon volcano during breakfast 
the hotel is quite convenient since it’s inside the mall premises (embarcadero mall), so security wise and if you want to buy necessities, there’s a super market, restaurants. embarcadero de legazpi being “fisherman’s wharf” , the legazpi baywalk boulevard is also located at its premises. 
12:30-2:00 pm – rest 
2:00pm – DIY city tour
- our lady of gates church (daraga church)
- cagsawa ruins
- cagsawa parks 
- albay parks and wild life 
6:00 pm – early dinner at djc halo-halo ( bicol’s famous halo-halo ) 
- stroll along pacific mall and gaisano 
(due to time and budget constraints , i was not able to go to the other tourist spots in albay such as the sumlang lake, quintiday hills, quintiday under ground river, mayon skyline, misibis bay, tiwi falls— so if given a chance, maka balik ng albay , yan na ang first sa itenerary)
back to the hotel
day 2 – 
5:00 am – sunrise photo at the legazpi baywalk and photo op (signage)
8:00 am – breakfast 
9:30 – check out; got a tricycle ride to the central terminal
uv express/shuttles are available plying to naga every hour. 
1:45 pm – arrived at sm city naga 
2:00 pm – late lunch at sm naga 
then i looked for a cheap hotel, may sogo hotel pero i checked in sa cheaper hotel, sampaguita travels/tourist inn located at panganiban drive, walking distance lang from sm naga , yes nag check in ako sa motel, P 300/ night,not bad na may aircon, tv and own cr . good deal na di ba for 300 
3pm – check inn 
4pm – naga city DIY tour 
so para akong nag visita iglesia sa naga , supposed to be naga cathedral (our lady of pena francia) lang ang sadya ko pero ang mga simbahan pala sa naga particularly on naga centro ay magkakatabi so why not drop by na din 
- penafrancia basilica 
- penefrancia arc
- st francis church 
- penafrancia parish
- el pueblo de naga
- vicentian heritage park
- naga centro
- cwc ( located at pili, camsur)
I also visited 1st colonial grill ,home of the famous sili ice cream. I was supposed to try the sili ice cream, tho may leveleling yung anghang hindi nako naglakas ng loob pa ,i just tried the second famous pili ice cream 
8pm – dinner at bigg’s diner at naga centro , since ang habol ko ay free wifi and comfy and ang sarap din kasi ng food sa bigg’s ( must try yung laing cordon bleu nila, first time to eat laing and i loved it)
9:30 pm – night stroll sa naga —- chill at rookies bar 
11pm – back at the hotel 
day 3 – 
5:30 am – check out – rode a tricycle ride to the terminal bound to san jose, camsur
(via shuttle van)
6:40 am – arrived at san jose, camsur- sabang port , rode a boat to guijalo, caramoan
9:30 am – arrived at guijalo port, caramoan
since, DIY at wala akong background pa sa place nagtanong lang ako sa tricycle driver, ang bait bait nila, sabi ko lang gusto ko sa inn na malapit sa dagat na 
P300/ person yung tricycle ride since ang layo, makaka mura ka pag may kasabay 
10:30 am – checked in at island view lodge, barangay parimian, caramoan
the rate is parang 1,500 per head with aircon and own cr, wala nga lang internet and television so para tayong nag retreat 
since may sariling restaurant yung hotel dun na ko nag lunch, medyo pricey kasi tourist price pero authentic bicolano dishes talaga like beef caldereta sa gata and pangat ba yon 
2:00 pm – island hopping. since mag isa ako, i tried to be friendly and if ever makiki hitch ako sa mga ibang mag iisland hopping, unfortunately wala ganong kasabay since its a weekday, may mag jowa akong nakita pero ayaw nila nang may kasabay so brat tayo, di tayo nagpatalo nag rent ako ng own boat, nag island hopping mag isa 
P1,500 for 2 hours inikot ako ni manong bangkero , sariling diskarte na lang sa picture 
so yun ang ganda ng beaches sa caramoan, talagang pristine waters and yung iba virgin pa talaga, di pa commercialized 
5 pm – back at the hotel for sunset 
6pm – dinner – seafood overload and bicol express (first time to eat bicol express and from then on favorite ko na sya ) 
day 4 
6 am – rode a tricycle bound to guijalo port then boat back to sabang port)
(please do ask na lang sa mga drivers kung anong oras ng trips kasi minsan walang trip, mahirap na mastraned kung wala kang extra cash, walang atm sa island)
930 am – arrived at sabang port ,got a shuttle back to naga city 
12nn- arrived at naga city, so wala na naman akong reserved ticket, chance passenger na naman, luckily may manila bound pang bus kaso aircon bus na lang di na lazy boy 
11 pm – arrived at cubao terminal 
Technically ang main goal ko why travelled solo is for soul searching, ang burgis diba ! kidding aside, its when im deciding if im gonna enrol na for law school But besides that ive learned a lot from that trip like being friendly to strangers, when to ask for help, there’s no harm in asking , being thrifty and most importantly, maging grateful sa life. Yung sa pagiging grateful sa Caramoan ko sya natutunan actually kasi, yung mga nakausap ko dun from the trike driver to staff nung lodge where I stayed, binibida nila yung Survivor TV show na if Hindi daw nafeature ng survivor yung town nila, di daw sisikat ang Caramoan as it is today so from then on grateful sila and they show it by being very hospitable sa mga tourist na napupunta sa place nila 
#iamWanderingAvocado #Project81PH

[themusicsweetly]

“And this?” I said, holding out the opal. “You’ve seen it? It was his?”

Tewaktenyonh reached out as though to touch the stone, but then drew back.

“There is a legend,” the girl said softly, not taking her eyes from the opal. “Magic snakes carry stones in their heads. If you kill such a snake and take the stone, it will give you great power.” She shifted uneasily, and I had no trouble imagining with her the size of the snake that might have carried a stone like this.

The old lady spoke suddenly, modding at the stone. The girl jumped, but repeated the words obediently.

“It was his,” she said. “He called it his tika-ba.”

I looked at the interpreter, but she shook her head. “Tika-ba,” she said, enunciating clearly. “This is not the English word?”

I shook my head.

Her story finished, the old woman sat back in her furs, watching me with deep speculation. Her eyes rested on the amulet around my neck.

“Why did he speak to you? Why has he given you that?” She nodded at my hand, and my fingers closed over the opals curve in reflex.

“I don’t know,” I said -- but she had taken me unaware; I had no time to prepare my face.

She fixed me with a piercing look. She knew I was lying, all right -- and yet how could I tell her the trust? Tell her what Otter-Tooth -- whatever his real name -- had been? Much less that his prophecies were true.

“I think perhaps he was a part of my... family,” I said at last [...]

When i rose finally to go back to the longhouse where we lodged [...] Jamie was outside, waiting for me. His breath rose white in the night air, and the scents of whisky and tobacco wafted from his plaid.

“You seemed to be having fun,” I said, taking his arm. “Any progress, do you think?”

“I think so.” We walked side by side across teh big central clearing to the longhouse where we lodged. “It went well. Ian was right, bless him; now they’ve seen this wee ceilidh did no harm, I think they’ll maybe be disposed to make the bargain.”

I glanced at the row of longhouses with their floating clouds of smoke, and the glow of firelight from the smokeholes and doorways. Was Roger in one of them now? I counted automatically, as I did every day -- seven months. The ground was thawing; if we traveled partway by river, we could perhaps make the trip in a month -- six weeks at the most. Yes, if we left soon, we would be in time.

“And you, Sassenach? Ye seemed to be having a most earnest discussion wi’ the auld lady. Did she ken aught of that stone?”

“Yes. Come inside and I’ll tell you about it.”

HE lifted the skin over the doorway, and I walked inside, the opal a solid weight in my hand. They hadn’t known what he had called it, but I did. The man called Otter-Tooth, who had come to raise a war, to save a nation -- with silver fillings in his teeth. Yes, I knew what is was, the tika-ba.

His unused ticket back. My legacy.

~ Drums of Autumn, chapter 57, “A Shattered Smile”

#Outlander #OutlanderEdit #Claire Fraser #Jamie x Claire #Drums of Autumn #Outlander 4x13 #ClaireFraserEdit #perioddramaedit #Outlander Season 4 #A Man of Worth #Outlander Book Quote #Otter Tooth #Outlander Spoilers #DoA Spoilers #Spoilers

[mpforests]

Ken River Lodge Panna

Nestled amidst the mesmerizing wilderness of Panna National Park, Ken River Lodge stands tall as the epitome of luxury and tranquility. As one explores the enchanting landscapes and diverse wildlife of this renowned national park in Madhya Pradesh, India, finding solace and comfort at the best resort in Panna becomes a necessity.

[lahilden]

Hensol House

Hensol House is located in Kirkcudbrightshire in Galloway, Scotland. Hensol House dates back to the early 15thcentury and was added to by several owners throughout its history. The Jenkins family owned it from 1419-1721. The castle also passed through the members of the Cunninghame Clan from the 19thto the 21stcenturies. Big Game hunter, Richard Cunninghame lived in the home until his death in 1925. Richard went on safari with the late President Roosevelt and saved him from an angry rhino. The Gothic and Tudor designed country home sits on the River Dee and Loch Ken at the end of a mile-long private drive. Built with granite and slate, the three-story house has square turrets and slit windows with diamond-pane glazing. The gardens were designed to encircle the house, and include yew trees, a sundial, a walled garden, and graveled areas. The 632-acre property has a tennis court, a summerhouse, cottages, a farmhouse, a boathouse, various outbuildings, and a Gothic style 1822 lodge located near the entrance gate. Hensol House has ten bedrooms, two family bathrooms, a sitting room, a conservatory, four reception rooms, a drawing room, a library, a wine cellar, and a billiards room. The interior boasts high ceilings, a Jacobean carved mantelpiece, a cantilevered staircase with a mezzanine landing, a cupola, large bay windows, and vaulted ceilings. The castle is currently on the market for 5.5 million. 

#castles #countryhouse #scotland #galloway #kirkcudbrightshire #HensolHouse

[billandkenride]

Best of Blogs

Morning,

Now that we are well past the halfway marker of our Canadian tour, we will recap from time to time the best-of covered to date. The category and then the best from each province, with a special feature. This morning the category is:

Best Commercial Motel (we think of them as lodges)*

BC: Kokanee Chalets, Crawford Bay. Running water.

Alberta: Wagon Wheel Motel, Killam. Two beds.

Sask: Lakeview Motel, Elbow. Indoor toilets.

Manitoba: Yellow Quill Motel, Portage la Prairie. Coffee next door.

Ontario: Bears Den Motel, Deep River. View of toxic waste site.

*Warning: for motel-culture travellers only. Not for the faint of heart. Some health risks may be unavoidable.

Yesterday was a miserable, dreary, low cloud day. No rain, though, and a pretty good up and down ride. Kilometres 7 and 8 were a grind. But you know, kilometres 9 and 10 were a breeze. That kind of day over and over again.

This morning we are leaving Deep River. Might venture into Quebec today.

Cheers,

Bill & Ken

P.S. We’re raising funds for the Canadian Cancer Society. Click here to donate.

Taking it easy

Another classic

Song of the Day