#&. alasdair interactions

[senditothemoonn]

Hello, I am here to present some fanart inspired by @oumaheroes’ wonderful fic The Cleaner !

The whole miniseries is just so intriguing and profound and I thoroughly enjoyed reading them and I hope u guys do too ✨ I sound calm while writing this description but honestly guys I’m frothing at the mouth GO READ THESE FICS IMMEDIATELY

[shadowtoons]

~Jacc~

Alasdair stared across the busy tavern; he was quite positive he knew that particular fellow sitting in the corner happily munching on a loaf of bread. Have I drunk from him? He sat there thinking about how he knew the other man.

The male was just enjoying his bread, moments here and there would take another bite. Just mainly here to just explore the area, since had an act in a few hours. Thought just stopping by here at the tavern to just relax before he had to leave.

Soon though checking the time— if he can tell, just taking the other bread had. Getting ready to leave, using his mouth to hold the piece he was eating and stuff the other one in his bag of holding. Already to leave set down a coin for a tip, now can enjoy his bread while heading back, haven’t even notice Alasdair was watching him.

[shdwtouch]

spotify wrapped || accepting @spiritsession got #80 The Village by Wrabel

❝ there's nothing wrong with you. ❞ she says quietly, softly, with one hand placed gently over theirs. looking to him with kind eyes, she offers a small smile, an attempt to be reassuring. she doesn't quite know what she is reassuring them of - often she found the shadows whispering to her, giving guidance and insight, sometimes prompting her to speak, as if to something unseen and unknown to her. but in this moment she knows she wants to offer comfort, reassurance. and she feels it in her heart, wills it into her eyes, her voice, where their hands overlap. because she needs it, and they need it, she feels. and who didn't ? ❝ its true. ❞

[nolongerexistingsadcatface]

Wish i was more attached to the name Alexandra/Alexandria cus GOD…… GUYS…. the shit i could pull with Alasdair + Alexandra being the same name in different fonts ?!?!?!?!!?!

[inkcoffinz]

A brief (yes, this is brief) collection of my thoughts about Scotland- Or Alasdair Kirkland: his motivations, backstory, personality, and all that jazz! I will be taking from both a historical and comic canonical aspects mixed with my own headcanons and interpretations.

Enjoy the read~

Starting off strong with a basic understanding of Alasdair’s personality. While he doesn’t have a lot of screen time, we have enough to gather a basic understanding of what he is like. On the surface, Alasdair is a seemingly stoic individual, often carrying a neutral face and reacting to things with an impassive demeanor. This is only really half true though, as a lot of the times we see these kinds of reactions are almost always strictly with his brothers alone. When he is around people he’s less comfortable with, especially one’s he desires a bond with, Alasdair takes on both a more outwardly aloof personality, but also a noticeably more stressed one.

This leads me to my assumption that Alasdair likely has some sort of social awkwardness or social anxiety. It’s likely that he doesn’t interact with other nations outside of his brothers (especially since England is the only one of the four who go to world meetings). This leaves him with a sort of stunted social understanding and a struggle to be in control of his emotions in situations that he is unfamiliar with.

Alasdair is also likely autistic. Not only does he have this struggle with his emotions and anxiety around situations he has less experience with, but he also shows a lack of understanding of social cues on a few occasions. A good example is when Macawn (wales) starts proudly talking about King Arthur and his pride with how he was welsh and Alasdair interrupts him with an article of how King Arthur was actually Scottish. He continues talking about it even with Macawn being visibly upset at the thought and having such an attachment to King Arthur. You can see in Alasdair’s expression and mannerisms that he truly meant no harm sharing the information but didn’t notice the cues around him to not bring up such a sore subject around his brother. This is also more evidence on Alasdair’s struggle with social interaction.

Against popular belief (and fanon headcanon), Alasdair is a very sweet and loving man, caring for others outside of himself- especially his brothers. While, yes, he does pick on Arthur (England), he honestly has very good reason to. In fact, Alasdair loves his brothers so much that he actively gives up his own desires and wellbeing for their happiness and safety. In the Brexit arc, Alasdair wants to leave the uk because being in it is actively hurting him, yet he gives that idea up when faced with the thoughts of what his younger brothers would do without him.

He loves his brothers more than anything- even if he lovingly makes fun of them from time to time. (But who doesn’t do that with their siblings.)*

*this is especially why I hate the fanon idea that Scotland is some sort of abuser- especially toward England- because in actuality he is the complete opposite.

((I will be getting more in detail about Alasdair and Arthur’s relationship later))

I will now shift my thoughts over to his backstory and how Alasdair’s childhood- teen years helped shape him into the man he is today.

Alasdair is a really interesting dude in the fact that, similar to Scottish history itself, he’s full of contradictions. He was raised practically in war- being likely born during the Roman invasion of Britannia, his teenage years being filled with Viking raids, and his adulthood of wars against England (and to an extent- internal disputes). To put it simply, he was raised a soldier. From the way that he acts in the comics- being very quick to act for the group’s self interest rather than self preservation and the fact he is prone to quick violent defense when threatened, it’s likely he still keeps a lot of the mindset that he would’ve had on the battlefield with him. He yearns for his freedom from his brothers and is aware of how much it hurts him staying with them, yet at the same time doesn’t want to leave them to fend for themselves and takes their happiness and safety into his own hands.

Canonically, he is the eldest. He was the one who had to help raise his brothers and watch what they all grew into with his own eyes. With this intense desire to keep them safe, I think he carries quite a lot of unshown guilt over a lot of things. I see a few people writing Alasdair like he is in denial of the monster Arthur became and doesn’t want to see the truth, which I think is actually the opposite of what’s likely happening. Alasdair out of any of them would be the most aware of Arthur’s descent and likely have a lot of guilt over it that he tries not to dwell on. I think his bullying of Arthur is both as an act of defiance to him and also an outlet for him to relieve his anger about how things turned out. He can turn that guilt into anger and direct it at England.

On the topic of his relationship with Arthur, combined with the topic of Alasdair’s contradictions, we come to the British empire. Do I think Alasdair hated what Arthur and the British empire were doing? Yes, do I think he was lowkey a coward and never really stood in true defiance against him? Also, yes. When it comes down to it, Scotland benefitted from the British empire- they helped create it and Scottish people also caused a lot of colonization by their hands (Northern Ireland being a good example) Alasdair wanted to stand up to Arthur.. but why didn’t he? I think to an extent he did.. but I think that lowkey.. Alasdair is just a pushover. I think he is. We can even see it in the brexit arc- he was very outwardly against the idea until they all said they wanted to and he went along with it because he didn’t want to split up the family. He loves his brothers to the point where he inadvertently ignores their mistakes and atrocities because he doesn’t want to truly hurt the only people he calls his family. His cowardice is also important because along with it comes his denial of that aspect of himself. He doesn’t want to be a pushover and a coward- he wants to be the strong warrior that he wanted to be when he was younger and had to fight for himself. He wants to protect people and the ones he loves and hates how easily he folds into negativity.

A really important relationship that I want to bring attention to (and often do a lot on my page) is Scotland’s relationship with Northern Ireland. A really interesting thing about Alasdair is his implied affinity for Logan (Northern Ireland ). I have a few explanations for this- an obvious one being that Northern Ireland was mostly settled and colonized by lowland Scots so ofc he has affection towards him, BUT I like to take another approach with the fact that Northern Ireland is likely the one brother that Alasdair really has a connection with. Arthur and Macawn are obviously quite close and are often seen agreeing with eachother or having a general connection that you don’t really see with Scotland. Alasdair is lowkey the outlier of the family and likely clings to Logan cause he’s the other ‘weird’ one.

Tldr- Alasdair is lonely. I really think he is. Even amongst his brothers, he has a loneliness that he can’t really fill. I think this is why he tries so hard to make friends in the story and why it lowkey upsets him so much when it fails

It is 3 in the morning currently so I will end this here, but I will likely have more soon. Thanks for reading!

[heartfullofleeches]

Ichabod's (shirtless reaper lady) darling is seperate from the supernatural harem's darling, but it'd be funny if after like a thousand years of not seeing each other she bursts in on Maddox's new life to see what her baby "sibling" is up to and falls for their human. Her interactions with Baron would be golden

-

[Baron storms into the living room seeing Ichabod's arms around his mate and Maddox looking defeated in a corner]

Baron: Hey Bitch!

[She looks up at him, annoyed]: What.

Baron: What do you identify as.

Ichabod: Ha?

Baron: Your gender! The fuck do you identify as?!

Ichabod: Obviously I'm a fuckin chick - why's it matter?

Baron: Cover your damn tits then!

Ichabod: I don't see you wearin' a damn thing. You think people want your baboon ass in their face everytime you walk by?

[Baron looks at his mate then back at Ichabod as if saying with his eyes "The fucking audacity of this woman"]

Baron: I AM A MAN. IT'S DIFFERENT

Ichabod: How?

Baron: ye- Y/n, tell her. Y/n?

[Supernatural Harem darling slips out the front door holding Maddox's hand as Alasdair walks in with groceries]

Alasdair: Great. There's two of them.

[hetagrammy]

do you have any thoughts about Wales with the pacific siblings?

Wales my beloved, and oft overlooked (including by me). I honestly need to look more into Welsh emigration/history, but I do have some inklings about their interactions. Character-wise, I think that Alwyn was typically there to pick up the slack that Arthur left behind when he had to go abroad or was otherwise occupied with matters of state. Hazards of being your brother's confidante.

So for Alfred... how about those Welsh Quakers? Alwyn adored the chubby, occasionally sickly, little bean Arthur brought home just as much as anyone. I think that was compounded by the fact that Arthur was so emotionally attached to and open with Alfred when he was a baby. Alfred was a little ray of sunshine, and I think the idealism that came so naturally to him was endearing to Alwyn. Like in Ireland, the aftermath of the American Revolution actually inspired some nationalist sentiment in Wales and a lot of Welsh people moved to areas like Pennsylvania. As for Alfred, I think he loves Alwyn of course, but I don't think he exactly appreciated Alwyn in the way that he probably should have. He was loving and warm, but who in his childhood wasn't? I think it was lost on Alfred how much actual parenting/co-parenting Alwyn had to do behind the scenes, as well as the amount of influence he had on him.

Apparently the Welsh had a big hand in building up Canada during the 19th century, and I feel like that's indicative of the relationship between the two. Definitely won't underplay the influence that Alasdair had on Matthew, but I think that Alwyn was able to act as a good guide for him as well. In a family that has trouble expressing vulnerability in earnest ways, Alwyn is probably the most well-adjusted, and I think that Matthew would be drawn to that as someone who is more sensitive himself. I think that Matthew finds Alwyn can relate to him best as well, as they serve as family peacekeepers (especially on Arthur's behalf), and tend to fade into the background because they serve that role. They're both diplomats who will kick ass when pushed, and I like to think that Alwyn had a role in that. Sitting a young Matthew down and telling him "Taking the path of least resistance doesn't mean putting up no resistance." Where Alasdair acts as a protector and Arthur as a stern father, Alwyn is a role model. I think he's also one of the few not to underestimate Matthew.

Alwyn was indulgent with Ralph in way he wasn't really getting from anyone except for Molly and Matthew, which was further complicated by Molly's long stay in America post 1851 and Matthew's prolonged periods in Canada post 1848. Alwyn is smiling and nodding when little Ralph is showing him pictures of lizards from his homeland and asking if he can show him any dragons in return. I think their shared love of animals was a big bonding point for them, with Alwyn being willing to take him out and about in the woods or mountains to go birdwatching or exploring. Sure British fauna isn't so exciting as Australian fauna is, but it was something to give Ralph some entertainment and intellectual stimulation.

Alwyn is Zee's favorite uncle and I will stand by that. Eleanor takes a lot after Arthur what with the grumpiness, the practicality, the bluntness, the obstinance. That's something Alwyn understands very well having been around Arthur for so long. However, she's more down to earth, curious, and forward-thinking than Arthur could ever hope to be, and I think that Alwyn makes a better attempt to understand that than Arthur does at times. Arthur doesn't understand her, but he indulges her, Alwyn indulges her but also tries to understand. Eleanor in turn appreciates this, and she finds him to be a stable and comforting presence who lets her just be herself. I also think their shared love of rugby is definitely a strong bonding point as well.

I guess the ongoing theme here is that Alwyn is a person who operates off of understanding what makes people tick, and using that knowledge to make people comfortable. He's a diplomat at heart, and he's at his best when using those skills with the people he cares about. Rather than piling expectations on his niblings, he's there to sort of guide them through how best to fulfil those expectations from where they are.

[thatscarletflycatcher]

"In this sequence what begins as a set of interactive responses then becomes first a set of recognitions of the intentions embodied in these responses and then a set of recognitions that each of the intentions includes the intention that it should be recognized by the other as the intention that it is."

-- Alasdair MacIntyre, Dependent Rational Animals

"When Mrs Forrester, for instance, gave a party in her baby-house of a dwelling, and the little maiden disturbed the ladies on the sofa by a request that she might get the tea-tray out from underneath, everyone took this novel proceeding as the most natural thing in the world, and talked on about household forms and ceremonies as if we all believed that our hostess had a regular servants’ hall, second table, with housekeeper and steward, instead of the one little charity-school maiden, whose short ruddy arms could never have been strong enough to carry the tray upstairs, if she had not been assisted in private by her mistress, who now sat in state, pretending not to know what cakes were sent up, though she knew, and we knew, and she knew that we knew, and we knew that she knew that we knew, she had been busy all the morning making tea-bread and sponge-cakes."

-- Elizabeth Gaskell, Cranford

[magetrait]

Alasdair MacMuir, Sir Daryush Moradi, and Feyz Aerdan-Koli

When Alasdair paid a man on a dock to take him south, he did it simply to escape the pressures of his family, and the watchful eye of his deceased father. Lord Ronan MacMuir, Son of the Sea, Ocean-Blessed, the Pirate King of Muir, had passed a great deal on to his son after his untimely passing, including his face, his title, and his overpowering obsession with the sea. What he did not pass on was his charm. Alasdair was plagued with a stutter as a young boy that only seemed to worsen as he aged, and at some unfixed point in his early teens, Alasdair simply stopped speaking entirely. He refused to interact with his siblings or playmates at all, and preferred the company of fishermen, or even better, the fish themselves. His mother's displeasure, and then disapproval, and then resentment, he could tolerate, but the torture of being constantly compared to his successful father was too much to bear, and the day before his fifteenth birthday, Alasdair slipped from his father's hall under cover of night, and hired a boat southwards.

A shipwreck, an unseasonal storm, a circuitous caravan journey, and a detour to a floating market-city later, Alasdair found himself in a small desert town with an empty purse, and no way to fill it back up. He wandered and begged and pilfered what scraps he could, though this was made significantly more challenging by his absolute refusal to eat meat. Despite his absolute disinterest in his fellow people (though all those south of the Crest insisted that Alasdair was a fairy, and not a person) Alasdair's empathy for other living creatures was cripplingly strong, even those that resided nowhere near the ocean.

Six months into his new life as a sandy street rat, Alasdair encountered Sir Daryush Moradi, a wandering desert-knight, who inquired politely in Canain (Alasdair's own tongue) why he was picking chunks of chicken out of the bowl of soup he'd just been given. After an extended written discussion on the merits of vegetarianism, Daryush invited Alasdair to travel with him. Alasdair saw in him everything he didn't see in his own father; warmth, guidance, protection... Though Daryush had a few students in his hometown further east, there was no questioning who was the favorite. He spent a few blissful years in the northern Kathib, learning a hundred ways of fighting with a hundred kinds of sword.

Then, not long after Alasdair's eighteenth birthday, a Sarkoli troupe came into town, and Alasdair fell in love not with nature or with combat, but with a person. The object of his dogged, obsessive affections was Feyz, the son of the troupe's fortune-teller. An enigmatic young man with a penchant for speaking to spirits, Feyz was regarded with faint distrust by the rest of the Sarkoli, though this did not extend outwards to the town at large. Alasdair was enchanted by his easy manners, his gentleness, and his people's wandering lifestyle. Surrounded by desert for so many years, Feyz's tales of sea-journeys were intoxicating. The Sarkoli brought with them a letter, however, battered and sand-worn, that had been carried over half the continent. It was marked with Alasdair's name, and sealed with his father's crest, still unbroken. Inside was a note from his sister, informing him of his mother's passing, and requesting his return to the north - if he still lived.

With Daryush traveling southwards to fight in a desert-war, Feyz and the Sarkoli leaving for the east, and his sister's letter begging him northwards, Alasdair was left unsure of who to follow, who he was supposed to become. Only time would tell which path he would take, or if he would cut a new one for himself.

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Reflections

Chapter Seven

Master List / Real People Master List / Reflections Master List

Pairing: Mia MacAlsdair x Au Tom Hiddleston

Warnings: language, fluff, angst, mentions of suicide and self-harm, 18+ Minors do not interact

A/N: I apologize in advance should my Scottish/English interpretations be incorrect. I am Canadian playing in a world of my own making. Do not @ me.

**I do not tag. **To be notified of updates and new works, subscribe to me or the story on AO3 for email notification, or follow the library blog @tilltheendwilliwrite-library  with notifications turned on so you’re not missing out. An account is required to access my work on AO3. For more information on how to get your FREE AO3 account, see this post.

~

In a borrowed coat and boots, Mia walked the grounds with Tom. He listened as she talked, asked intelligent and insightful questions, and occasionally interjected with facts about his home.

"So you have an altar for him?"

Mia nodded. "I do. Not just him, though he features. Freya is there, Thor, Odin, Fenrir and Jörmungandr. They're the ones who niggle at me most often."

"Can I see it?"

"No," Mia chuckled.

"Please!"

She shook her head. "One, it's in my bedroom, and two, an altar is very personal. I might be inclined to share it with you someday, but I don't know you well enough right now."

He sighed but nodded. "I understand the hesitation. May I ask what's on it?"

"Candles, crystals, some pretty feathers I found while walking. Loki likes candy, so there's often a bowl with something sweet and a few fun trinkets, again for Loki. Recently, I found a beautifully carved raven that seems to please Odin. Freya likes flowers." She shrugged. "I go where I feel led."

"The way you speak of them…."

She sighed. "It's fine. You wouldn't be the first to call me crazy."

He grasped her elbow, causing her to stop and look at him. "I don't think you're crazy, Camila."

She blinked at him in surprise. "How do you know my full name?"

He tucked his hands in his pockets and ducked his head. "I may have checked out your website. You list yourself as Camila online."

"Yeah, Camila Alasdair. It's my artisan name to help me avoid creepers. Not that I'm anywhere well-known enough to have creepers." She chuckled. "The only person who ever called me Camila was my dad." She smiled at the memory. 

"It suits you," Tom murmured. "Camila, the firebrand with the copper penny hair and temper to match."

Mia shook her head. "I don't have a temper. You were an ass."

"Ah, that isn't what I heard. Did you not also threaten Benedict Campbell?"

She crossed her arms. "Again, a perfect example of assery."

Tom chuckled. "I think you Canadians have cultivated this persona of politeness, but it is complete rubbish."

"Don't test me, Hiddleston. You're stomping on the Geneva Accords again." 

He snickered and grasped her hand. "And we wouldn't want that, would we love? I'd hate to get on your God's bad side. I know what trouble he can bring."

"And he's already annoyed about the hair," she quipped, attempting to ignore how his thumb pressed and caressed her palm. 

"You said that before. What was wrong with my hair?"

"It wasn't red."

"How do you know it should be red?"

She bit her lip, studying him hard. She already spilled much about her private life to this man, but no matter Henry's warning, she felt a pull toward Tom that had nothing to do with liking his acting and everything to do with liking the man. 

"No one knows what I'm about to tell you, and I'd appreciate it if it stayed that way."

His smile slipped into seriousness as he closed the distance between them. "You have my promise, Camila."

She sighed. "When I was thirteen, I met him."

His eyes widened. "What? Like actually met him?"

The disbelief was palpable, and Mia stepped back, causing him to release her hand, creating distance to protect herself from the skepticism to follow. "Yeah. I was in the worst of my foster homes, where the dad drank and screamed. There were five of us, four boys and me. Two were terrible, always pinching me and pulling my hair, making fun of my freckles and anything else they could poke at. The oldest one was indifferent, and the youngest didn't care. I learned to defend myself and fight dirty in that home. I had to, but it was a hard time. Really hard. I was thirteen, my body was changing on top of everything else, and I hated it. I hated life. I hated living. I hated foster care." 

She hugged her elbows and turned to face the town, the view from the hill spectacular. "I was depressed and still grieving. No one thought to get me help, and after two years, I couldn't do it anymore."

"Camila." His hands were warm through her coat as they squeezed her shoulders. 

"I ran away," she whispered. "I found the highest bridge I could and climbed over the railing."

"Fuck, Mia," he murmured against her hair. 

"Then, out of nowhere, there was this… person crouched on the railing like a raven. "Girl, what are you doing?" he asked me. For the first few seconds, I couldn't tell if they were male or female. I didn't understand the shifting of their face until it stopped on these pretty masculine features, all angles and sharpness, almost too delicate to be male. His hair was long and red as blood, a sunset, a fall leaf. It was full of braids and twists and feathers, bits of gold and tiny bells. He crouched there with these piercing eyes like he could see my soul."

She stopped to wipe her cheeks, the tears coming unbidden. "Girl, what are you doing?' He sounded disappointed, shocked, and sad. I told him I was tired and couldn't keep going when everyone dragged me down. He talked to me, told me this wasn't the way, that there were other paths to follow, and when I took his offered hand, he helped me back over the railing."

It was why she always knew his touch. She could never forget it or his voice that day. 

"He kissed my forehead and walked with me as we headed back to that house. He told me he could help, that he understood and loved the parts of me others saw as weird or quirky. He said it would be hard, but I could make it if I had the heart to try."

"And so you tried at the behest of the God of Mischief?"

"Not at first." She smiled. "I didn't even know who he was for a while. Then, we had a class on Norse Mythology at school, and it clicked. I spent weeks in the library figuring it out. He's been around ever since."

You would miss me if I left, girl.

"And he still calls me girl. And yeah, I did think I was losing it for a while. I wondered if I had a tumour - I don't. I even considered that I was hallucinating because I was malnourished and sleep-deprived, but when both of those regulated, he remained. Like a tick, you can't scrape off."

Rude.

"Does he appreciate such remarks?" Tom chuckled. 

"He makes worse ones."

Lies.

"You do, too, and you know it," she huffed.

"He's speaking to you now?"

She turned to face Tom, eyes narrowed, wondering if he was humouring the crazy girl, but his genuine curiosity released the tension from her shoulders. "Yes."

"Can you see him?"

She shook her head. "Not since the bridge, but I can feel his presence and his touch. Sometimes, when he wants me to know I'm not alone, there will be a flash of red and a raven."

One quorked in the nearby tree before flying down to land in the grass and hop along beside them. 

"Like that," she chuckled. 

Tom stared at the raven. 

"Look, I get that you probably don't believe any of this, and that's fine. As I said, faith versus fiction is hard for people. Most people. My stuff is likely dry, so I'll just change and head home."

She tried to walk around him, but he pulled her back. 

"I do believe you."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You do?"

"Yes, and I'll be forever grateful he stopped a child from ending her life," he whispered hoarsely as he cupped her cheek. "So she could grow into an incredible woman. A very beautiful woman. A fascinating woman."

His voice dropped sentence by sentence into a deadly velvet-soft purr that shook her to the core.

"I'm… I'm not fascinating," Mia insisted without much effort behind it, her knees now weak.

"Oh, but you are, Camila. You are bewitching. I thought it the moment we met."

"You didn't even like me."

"I was under a misconception," he huffed. "An error that irritated me."

"Why?"

He moved closer. "Can you not guess, Camila? Can you not feel the pull between us?"

She nodded, her eyes drifting to his lips as he licked them. 

"Fuck it," he murmured. "I can be a gentleman later."

Again, Mia saw it coming, but when Tom ducked his head, she pressed up on her toes and met him in the middle. Her mind blanked as his mouth slid over hers, tilted, and locked. 

Mountains could tumble, stars could fall, and Gods could walk the Earth. Nothing would drag her from the lightning wick of excitement that coursed her veins and dropped her to drown in a sea of searing desire unlike any she'd ever known.

The intensity made her gasp and break the kiss, but they didn't pull apart. His nose brushed against hers as tingling lips came together in small, almost delicate kisses. 

Big and warm, his hand caressed and cupped her nape, keeping her near. He held her close, fingers splayed against her lower back, urging her into his body where she relished his heat. 

Mia worked her arms up his chest and around his neck, her knees threatening to buckle when he bit gently into her lower lip. 

When he finally drew back, it was only an inch, allowing her to see kiss-darkened lips and heavy-lidded eyes full of want.

She couldn't remember the last time someone looked at her like that or if Colt ever had.

"Camila MacAlasdair, where in the world did you come from?" he murmured, gently squeezing her nape. 

"Canada," she said, a little lust drunk. 

The man had power over parts of her she thought dried up and out of commission long ago. Now, they were awake, alive, and firing on all cylinders. She was embarrassingly wet. Add in her lack of underwear, and Mia was practically dripping down her leg from nothing more than a few devastating kisses.

He chuckled softly. "I suppose you did."

"So, that was unexpected," she said, rocking back on her heels. 

"But not unwelcome?" he asked.

She blushed and shook her head. 

"Mm," he hummed, eyes twinkling. 

Mia didn't know they could do that outside fiction. 

He stroked her hair, collected her hand, and led her to stroll toward a paddock fence. A couple of horses wandered over when they stopped at the railing. 

Mia pet their soft noses.

"Do you ride?"

She shook her head. "That's the second time someone asked me that today."

"Oh?"

"Henry, he said my grandmother rode. He offered to teach me."

Tom stiffened. "Henry Stewart?"

Mia nodded, watching the emotions sweep across his face.

He cleared his throat. "How do you know Henry?"

"He looks after the farm."

The wince was subtle but present. "And he is aware you are here?"

"Yes. I drove his truck."

Surprise widened his eyes. "And he let you come?"

Mia frowned. "Because he's my keeper and has a say?"

"No, of course not! But…" He struggled to find the words. 

Mia took pity on him. "He doesn't like you. I'm aware."

Tom cringed. "It's a bit more than that."

"Oh?"

He looked at her and sighed. She wasn't going to prod him into telling her. If he wanted to, he would. 

Tom rubbed a hand over his mouth, then scratched the chin of the horse when it nudged him. "Henry blames me for his sister's death."

~

Emma squealed and yanked on Kip's arm. "I knew it! Oh, she's perfect for him."

Kip chuckled as they spied from a third-story window as Tom showed Mia around the grounds. Emma had her nose stuck to the glass and attempted to break his ears with enthusiasm. 

"She's quite perfect for him. Sweet but unwilling to put up with his brooding," he agreed. 

Tom spent the last years with his chin tucked, full steam ahead, fighting and clawing to save what they nearly lost. Sometimes, it felt like he meant to prove the sacrifice of his career wasn't in vain.

Kip wished it hadn't happened. He knew how much Tom loved acting, but he wouldn't hear of it when Kip offered to step back and do the hard thing. Tom insisted it was his duty, his responsibility. He wouldn't pass the burden to someone else. 

That he sank nearly every quid he had into keeping Highpark afloat while they figured things out didn't go unnoticed. He never said anything, not one peep about basically going broke to keep the lights on, but it was a scant few years before and during the pandemic.

Now, they had breathing room and thriving businesses, and Kip was working more than ever. So much so that taking time for Serina and the baby was an easy choice to make. 

But once in a while, he could see the far-off look, the stare of longing, the memories surface and hold his brother hostage, as he looked at Kip's life and thought… what if?

Tom spent so much time with his head down that he stopped living. If he kept going, the resentment would kill him. 

Meeting Mia at the market was like a little miracle. She was funny, easy to talk to, and not impressed by fame. But oh, how her eyes lit up when she spoke of the other Loki. And not in the crazed superfan, murder you in your sleep and wear your skin as a trophy kind of way, but in the, I appreciate the effort you put into making the role something special way.

She didn't even cop to the name, making him doubly sure he wasn't introducing his brother to a nutter. 

Then the idiot went and nearly muffed it. 

The wanker.

"Oh… oh… oh!" Emma shrieked and slapped his arm repeatedly, dragging him from his musings. 

"Dammit, Em! Leave off-" He caught what she was on about and stared in disbelief. "Oh, that cheeky bastard! And he gave me shit for moving too fast with Serina."

They were locked in an embrace, too far away to know for sure, but if he weren't kissing Mia, Kip would be disappointed. 

Then, like something out of a damn period film, the sky broke just enough to bathe them in a shaft of sunlight. Mia's hair glowed like copper fire, Tom's like aged bronze.

As quickly as it came, it went, hidden behind the clouds that appeared less daunting than before.

"I have to tell Ethan!" Emma shrieked and dashed off, leaving Kip watching alone. 

They'd plotted to toss the pair together as often as possible for just this moment. That his brother made a move in barely hours impressed and surprised Kip. He didn't think Tom had it in him to steal a kiss so blatantly.

Their moment lingered for long heartbeats before they broke apart.

Kip couldn't help his smile. 

"Well done, Tom." 

It was about time he found his happily ever after.

When they walked off toward the paddocks, Kip left the room.

~

Mia stared at him, her face drained of colour, causing her freckles to stand out starkly against the cream and her ocean eyes to appear bigger. "He… what?"

Tom sighed. It was never an easy thing to talk about. "Back in the day, Henry and I were mates. Best mates. I spent as much time at his as he did mine, and Sarah, his sister, often tagged along. She was friends with Emma, as they were in the same year of school, but often wanted to chase after Hen and me." He patted the horse's cheek and pushed her face away when she tried to nibble on his shoulder. 

"Do you mind if we walk and talk?" he murmured, motioning down the fence line toward the barns. 

Surprisingly, Mia took his hand and squeezed it encouragingly. That one point of contact slowed his racing heart and calmed his fear that she would run from him when she heard what he had to say. 

"At four years her senior, neither of us wanted to entertain his little sister. It was our last summer before college, and Sarah was especially clingy. She was taking Henry's leaving hard, but the minor infatuation I had ignored for some time escalated that summer." 

She left him notes, snuck into his room, and showed up at parties she knew he would be at, causing him or Henry to have to take her home. 

"She was fourteen to my eighteen, and while four years now may not seem that big of a deal…."

"It was a really big deal when you were dealing with a girl trying to be a woman," Mia murmured. 

"Yes," he sighed, relieved she understood. "The night before I was set to leave for school, she showed up here, in my room, in my bed."

"Oh, wow," Mia whispered. 

"It made me sick, a little mad, and desperately frustrated. The implications and the gravity of the situation were not lost on me. Luckily, I was with Emma and Kip, so they knew I had nothing to do with her appearance." Even now, the thought of what could have happened, the accusations that could have followed, broke him into a cold sweat. "I sent Emma in to get her out of my bed and dressed and Kip off to get Mum and Dad because enough was enough. She damn near invented a scandal with me at the centre."

They left the grass to crunch into the gravel drive that led to the barns. "How mortified was she?"

"Very," he sighed. "And Emma has never been known to hold back. I don't know what she said, but they weren't friends afterward." 

"Emma would have wanted to protect you," Mia murmured, tightening her grip. 

"Unnecessary but appreciated. When Kip returned, I found out Mum and Dad had gone out, leaving three teenagers to handle the mess alone." He thrust his free hand through his hair, remembering with a clarity clearer than glass. "So we marched her into the parlour, where, with Kip and Emma as witnesses, I told Sarah that I didn't like her that way. She was Henry's sister, would always be Henry's sister, and I would never see her as a woman."

“Ouch,” Mia murmured. 

"I admit, I could have handled it better, been nicer about it, but I was leaving for college. I thought four years without me around would cure her of her obsession. Had I known, fuck, I don't know…."

Mia drew him to a stop just inside the shade of the cool, musty barn. "Tom, so far, I don't think you did anything wrong. I think you're fortunate that so much of it went right. If Kip and Emma hadn't been there…" She shook her head. "She was a girl with a crush and a dangerous infatuation. I don't know if nicer would have been better or encouraged her to try harder."

He nodded. "Such were my thoughts." 

"So what happened? Henry mentioned Sarah died at sixteen. If you were away at college, how are you responsible?"

He closed his eyes against the sick feeling rising in his stomach. "I was home for the holiday, Christmas. Highpark always hosts a party, and that year was no different. Henry and I kept in touch, but we drifted. Going to different colleges, school work, and life made it hard to keep up our friendship, but he was there, and so was Sarah. We never told anyone what happened; Emma and Kip ensured she got home safe, but not even our parents knew what she'd done. But that night, she was dressed to the nines, flirted with everyone and pretended like I didn't exist. I was relieved."

"Clearly, she was planning something."

He snorted and shook his head. "Clearly, you are smarter than me. I didn't suspect a thing."

"I'm suspicious by nature," Mia shrugged. 

"If only I were the same, I wouldn't have gotten pissed. I would have noticed when she disappeared toward the end of the party. I would have checked before I walked into my room and turned on the light only to find her naked on my sheets… with a fully pissed Henry on my heels."

Mia's eyes widened into round orbs. "Oh, shit!"

"Yes, well, as you can imagine, it went about that well. Henry raged and took a swing at me; I took one at him. Sarah screamed and cried, racing to get her clothes on as we beat on each other. When she finally managed to make us stop, I…" He swallowed thickly past the bile. "I said, "I told you the last time you pulled this stunt, I wasn't interested in fucking a child." She paled to a ghostly white and ran off. Henry cursed me out and went after her."

Tom attempted to release Mia's hand, but her grip tightened, and her free one lifted to rest against his chest. "Tell me."

He swallowed hard. "I chose to wash my hands of it. Sarah could explain to Henry whatever she wanted. I was done. The next morning, he found her dead. She'd overdosed on sleeping pills."

Mia's jaw dropped. 

"Henry blames me. I went to him, tried to apologize, tried to explain what happened, but he wouldn't hear it. Sarah was troubled, he said. If I hadn't been so brutal, maybe she wouldn't have-" 

Soft fingers pressed against his lips. 

"You are not at fault for the decision she made. When a person decides…" Tears caused her eyes to sparkle. "When they make up their mind, not much will stop them."

He cupped her cheek, heart aching for her. "You stopped."

She leaned into his hand. "I had an intervention. I'm sorry the same didn't happen for Sarah."

"As am I. Over the years, Henry's hatred of me has grown. Now, we avoid each other as much as possible."

"The town isn't that big. You're going to have to come to terms with this eventually."

Tom shook his head. "I've tried. He damn near takes my head off each time."

"Then what you need is a peacekeeper." She smirked. "Oh, would you look at that? A Canadian. How fortunate."

Tom chuckled. "I still think it's all poppycock. A reputation built on fabrication."

Mia rolled her eyes. 

"You do that a lot," he murmured. Every time, he wanted to back her into the wall or spank her bottom pink.

"You annoy me a lot," she quipped. 

He leaned closer. "I think you enjoy it."

"Maybe." Mia snickered, heading into the barn where a few faces watched them over stall doors. 

"Welcome to the stud," Tom purred against her ear, his hand spanning her waist. 

The woman had an ass on her that would make a pleasing handful and thighs he longed to grip, but she had a tucked-in waist and generous breasts, and he tried hard not to think about how she had nothing on under his clothes.

"Why does that feel like a line?"

He chuckled. "Unintentional, but would it work?"

Mia snorted. "No."

He laughed, and the sound echoed, causing a few people working in the barn to stop and stare. Tom ignored them as he introduced her to each stallion waiting for his attention. 

"These five are our top producers."

Mia stroked the white spot on the end of Mystic's nose. "Producer of what?"

"Foals, love. They are our prize breeders. Once, they were tops in their fields." He turned and pointed at each. "Jumper. Steeples. Polo. Racer and this old man," he patted the cheek of the black whose nose she stroked, "ran like the wind in his day. They are all proven sires whose offspring have gone on to be just as talented as they are."

"So you just breed them? You don't raise racing stock too?"

"Ah, that would be the other barn. We have a few prospects we breed or purchase ourselves yearly, but the stud is where the money is. Ethan, Emma's husband, does the training and travels for the races or shows when needed, and while I'm fit to ride and give the old men their exercise, I leave the pairings to the farm's breeding manager."

"Did your family always raise horses?"

"Back down the roots of the family tree." He chuckled. "We weren't always Lords of Highpark, but horses are in the blood, though we shifted away from racehorses into a wider range. I was a polo man myself in my younger years."

"And you still ride every day."

He looked at her sharply. "And how would you know that?" 

She glanced at him, a slight blush in her cheeks. "I see you when I walk the fields most mornings."

"Do you? And do you enjoy watching me ride?" 

She nodded, and he could tell she held a firm appreciation for him on the back of his horse. It was a nice stroke to his ego.

They made their way out the far side of the barn, where he crowded her against the wall, bracing his hands to either side of her. "Perhaps tomorrow I will ride down to the fence so you may see everything closer."

"That…" Her voice caught. "That would be nice."

His grin spread, wicked and wide, as he leaned in. "Maybe you would like to ride with me?"

"I don't know how yet."

"That won't be a problem," he murmured, his heavy-lidded gaze back on her mouth before his lips slowly brushed across hers. 

"Tom," she sighed, slipping her hands inside his open jacket. 

"Sweet, surprising, Camila," he purred, cupping her nape and tilting her head up. 

His lips brushed and retreated. Brushed and pulled her bottom lip. Brushed and teased until she whimpered, body erupting in shivers. His nose caressed hers. She breathed in his exhale. Their mouths met, and she moaned.  

Potent wasn't the right word for Camila. Explosive. Dangerous. Devastating. Those were closer to how easy it would be for him to fall into something with her. He could only imagine how the rest would go if kissing her was this good. 

He kissed her until she was breathless and panting, then traced his lips down her throat to suck where his jumper gaped between her shoulder and neck. The quiet groan she released had him slipping his knee between her thighs and pressing more of his weight into her welcoming body. 

"Would you have dinner with me?" he asked, tugging her earlobe with his teeth. 

"I would. When?"

"Tomorrow. I would say tonight, but I have an obligation I cannot escape," he murmured before sucking on her neck again.

"Tomorrow is good," she agreed, running her hands up his back. 

"Excellent," he crooned, returning to her mouth to kiss her because he couldn't get enough of how she tasted. 

A drizzle began to fall, dampening only a little of the heat they created, but it was enough for Tom to lift his head. "I should return you to my sister. I seem to have monopolized your time."

Mia laughed. "I don't think she'll mind."

"Why's that, love?" he frowned. 

"Well, she's spent the last two weeks texting me about how great her brother is, and she wasn't talking about Kip. They think they're so tricky, but I know they intended to set us up."

Tom cursed softly but inventively and shook his head. "And I nearly muffed it up. No wonder Kip looked seconds away from beating my arse."

"At the time, it was an arse worth beating," Mia teased. 

He snorted and stepped back, pulling her from the wall to tuck her under his arm as they headed for the house. "I was a complete prat, but I've never been so thoroughly jealous of Kip in my life."

"Not even when he took over as Loki?"

He looked down at her. She couldn't possibly know losing her to Kip - had that been a possibility - would have hurt far more than losing Loki. 

He slowly shook his head. "Not even then."

Mia blushed and tightened her grip on his waist. 

Unable to stand it any longer, he asked, "Do you still regret meeting your hero?"

"Oh, Gods!" she cringed. "I can't believe I said that to you."

As they crossed the lawn, he whispered in her ear, "Would you like to explain how, in all the realms, I'm your hero?"

Her face burned scarlet, but she murmured, "You did him justice. You took the role and very clearly put thought, research, and effort into it. There was passion in your performance, and while I wasn't familiar with the comics then, I could tell you researched the source material. The guy who played Thor was decent, but if he ever read a passage of the Eddas, you could have fooled me."

Tom stopped, drawing her to a stop with him in the grey mist that added tiny droplets to her hair like individual crystals. "You could tell that from my performance? And this makes me your hero?"

She shook her head. "It's difficult to explain. What I am, who I am, being Lokean is part of my identity. By then, I'd practiced for years, hearing him, following him, and, yes, loving him. I had also put up with ridicule and discrimination for just as long. When I found out about and then watched Thor, seeing someone else care that much?" She shook her head. "You don't know what that was like for me. Did I think you were Lokean? No, but you cared enough about Loki, about doing him justice as a character to go above and beyond what was asked of you."

Heat warmed his cheeks. "Camila, I'm… I'm honoured."

She tilted her head. "I was so disappointed when you weren't in Ragnarok, but then I didn't enjoy that movie. I felt it made a mockery of the growth and effort put into the other films. I stopped watching after that, and I never was much of a movie watcher before Thor."

 "Which is why you didn't know who Kip was."

"Yeah. And I've never been great with names, so yours just slipped my mind until Emma explained who you were." She shrugged. 

"Yes." He sighed. "I faded swiftly and thoroughly from the limelight and everyone's memories."

"Maybe," Mia murmured. "But today, Loki isn't why I think you're a hero."

He frowned. "Oh?"

She shook her head and hesitantly brushed her fingers over his cheek before combing the water droplets from his hair. "No. What you did to save your home and your family is far more heroic than anything you might have done on screen. I know it's not my place, and my opinion isn't likely to matter, but… I'm really proud of you, Tom."

"Camila," he whispered, voice thick and hoarse with emotion. Her opinion suddenly mattered most of all.

She smiled, pressed up on her toes and kissed his cheek. "We should head in."

He cleared his throat and nodded before tucking her back under his arm and leading her to the house.

Next Chapter

[carnivalshipping]

Wanted to draw all my current vaguely developed self insert OCs, but I might as well make this a promo post !! Hi, I'm Jester or Alasdair! And for the sake of my mental health, I wanna try being more active in the self insert community again, it's nice to meet all of you !! I'm gonna be 23 in nine days, and though I don't wanna say this blog will be 18+ only I can't promise I'll always be PG, and might be less likely to interact with people under like,, 16 in this fandom for my own comfort, but I prommy I don't bite

[pvffinsdaisies]

HI Augustine! How are you? Have you been well? I sure hope so! 💓 I was curious what made you start shipping scotnor? -🪽

Hello!!

Been doing fine, ty for asking, I hope things have been going ok for you too, Anon ✨💕

How did I start shipping ScotNor, that’s actually an interesting question. ScotNor’s a ship I’ve always been aware of, somehow, since I first joined the fandom really and it was that awful ginger Scotland (who I never rlly cared for) and before I was even on tumblr. Before I had joined ig rp, which is rlly going back 😅 but I never really cared for the ship.

But I actually distinctly remember when I did join Instagram roleplay, I started interacting with a nyo Denmark RPer (who was… a bit questionable 😅) who’s favourite ship was ScotDen and at some point I mentioned generally, if I had to choose, I would probably prefer ScotNor to ScotDen. They naturally disagreed, I wasn’t rlly bothered bc I had no attachment to ScotNor at this point.

But I have always recognised Scotland & Norway to be friends, good friends. There’s so much history between them and so many positive interactions in the modern day.

Anyway, at some point, at least a year later, I decided to develop a nyo Scotland, who was… fine ig. Very similar to old fanon Scotland, but less of a creep. And at some point I was searching for a ship for her, and I thought upon nyo Scotland x nyo Norway, and it quickly became my favourite ship for her. But I never really had anyone to chat about it with, I’d been moving to discord rp at this point, and I just couldn’t find anyone who might’ve been interested.

Then Scotland became canon, and I can’t say I immediately loved him, I was so caught up in being annoyed that Ireland was a man. But around the time I wound up trying to go back to Instagram bc I couldn’t find any servers on discord anymore. And when I was there I actually started chatting with a Scotland account who did ship ScotNor, though their favourite ship was very clearly ScotFra. Still, we started chatting a bit and decided to do smth with Alistair & Signe Lovise (my nyo Norway). Who, tbf, I’ve always gone back and forth between being bisexual & being a lesbian. I’ve now decided on lesbian.

We didn’t actually end up doing any ScotNor with them, as I say, they much preferred ScotFra, and they were also really busy so they weren’t online much. But I became… a little bit desperate 😭 I really had started to properly like ScotNor, and they were the only Scotland, really. And idk, somewhere along the line my preference changed for Alasdair & Signe Lovise, to Alasdair & Aksel. I then forced a few Instagram friends to like it.

And I’d also began moving to tumblr at this point. And I shared some thoughts about them here. And naturally discovered @ifindus and 1 or 2 other friends. I honestly think I would’ve probably lost interest in ScotNor if it weren’t for them. But no, I just stayed obsessed 😅

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

INTERVIEWS ETC 2023

I sometimes talk to people! Going back over the last year, I had some nice conversations with some very cool people. I like doing interviews, but they definitely stress me out a little bit. I suppose it's good to get out of your comfort zone from time to time, though ... So yeah, here are a few of those interviews, in case you missed 'em the first time around.

HEAD VOICE (James Jackson Toth, Ben Chasny, Donovan Quinn)

Donovan Quinn: There’s one aspect of process which is like a user manual. You know, turning on a machine, how you control the bass or whatever. But then there’s a part of process which is more of our terrain, where it’s kind of a story. An artist or a group of artists is interacting with all these elements — each other, gear, inspiration. With each of our pieces in Head Voice, we’re getting little bits of that story.

ILYAS AHMED

With my record, I’ve seen people reference Loren Connors, which is great — I’m a huge fan of Loren Connors. But I’m always comparing it to something like Bill Fay, maybe in an emotional sense. Or like, Neil Young — how do I make “Cortez The Killer” … but not just copy it. One of my favorite Coltrane tunes is “Alabama.” Those eternal favorites you always come back to. How can I make something that feels like that without just doing that, right? I’m not interested in copying it, I’m interested in transmuting it, making it fit into my weird perspective of the world. 

WILL HERMES

As an artist, [Lou] was a “transformer,” and everybody has their own version of who he was. What they want him to be, what aspect of his character they wanted to take in. I tried to show them all. I don’t know if they all morph into a single, intelligible human being. But maybe that is part of what was endlessly fascinating about him. He was all of these things simultaneously and they didn’t all necessarily add up.

M. SAGE

I think it’s radical to have fun. And to be silly. It’s not meant as escapism or denial, but the world is dark and weird. And it keeps getting darker and weirder. It’s radical for an artist to afford an audience joy or pleasure. I mean, I love a lot of that solemn, serious, foreboding electro-acoustic music. There’s incredible stuff, obviously. But I wanted to make something that felt fun. And accessible! That’s radical, too, I think.

HORSE LORDS

Andrew Bernstein: We’re trying to make things that sound interesting to us, first and foremost. But we’re also hoping that the music and the way we operate spurs the listener to think differently. Every act is political, and our decisions might make someone reconsider how they make music or how they go about their lives.

BRENDA SAUTER

“The Obedient Atom” at White Eagle Hall was really special. That was one of the original Willies songs and it never got recorded. It was one of those songs that was always left behind for one reason or another. To finally play it out just felt incredible … and then the fire alarm went off and everyone had to evacuate [laughter]. There’s something about that song! Surreal. The atom wasn’t so obedient that night.

Further reading: Bill Million on the Feelies' live tribute to an Underground legend

GUIDING LIGHT: A TOM VERLAINE APPRECIATION

Alasdair MacLean: I also think of some of Stephan Mallarme’s phrases – “the musician of empty nothingness.” Verlaine seemed to be working in parallel: “Watching the corners turn corners;” “Lightning struck itself.” The language turns in on itself, like the guitar solos. He obviously knew those poets back to front. I imagine lots of other people have tried to do this since, but all of them have made fools of themselves. Verlaine never did.

Further reading: Tom Verlaine - 20 Great Tracks

SPIRAL STAIRS

When we first started talking about rehearsing, I was like, “We’re probably going to be playing the same 20 songs. Let’s just pick another 15 songs that we know we can bust out.” Eventually, we finally came to that point…but then in rehearsals we ended up playing probably like 60 songs [laughs]. I’m like, “Oh my god!” That was just for the two Primavera shows, so it was like “Come on!” It took a while to re-learn all of that stuff. 

[gender-carnival]

🩷 Jester or Alasdair! 🩷22 🩷 She/He/It🩷

Pinkie pixel credit + Spiral divider credit + Icon and header credit Kinlist Rentry

This is gonna be my gender blog! Probably mostly just going to reblog things and the like ;oP - but thought it'd be fun to do an intro! - I am pro LGBT+ (or queer, for those who prefer that!), pro racial and gender equality, and anti discrimination, but I'm not gonna write a DNI, if I don't want you interacting with me, you will be blocked! And I hope you'll do the same to me if I accidentally violate your DNIs! I will like your posts and/or follow you from my main on @carnival-core! If I have other things to add, this post will be edited ;oP

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

Pop Culture and When I Was a Kid

So I just watched The Orange Years, a documentary about the early years in creative development at Nickelodeon, which was a huge part of my childhood. The Orange Years were MY Nickelodeon years, with The Adventures of Pete and Pete and Doug and Ren and Stimpy and especially You Can't Do That On Television (if Egon Spengler was my first parasocial crush, Alasdair Gillis was my second...and yes Canadian friends...I've had a lifelong affinity for irreverent Canadian television).

Anyway, I liked the film, and as they moved into the shows that my brother's generation feels nostalgia for, they started discussing Are You Afraid of the Dark? and one of the show creators said they were prepared for pushback from parents about how edgy some of the content was. And they were surprised they didn't get any. And I thought, "Well of course they didn't get any." My parents didn't give even the tiniest of shits what kind of media I was consuming as a kid, or even what I was doing at all as a kid with only a small number of caveats, which were:

Don't get bad grades (because that requires time and effort on our part to meet with and interact with teachers and try to improve them).

Don't get into trouble in school or otherwise in public (because then we have to...again...deal with school or neighbors or God forbid law enforcement).

Don't do things you know or even just suspect could make you injured, sick, or dead (to avoid any work on your behalf from us).

Be quiet and out of our way, entertaining yourself somehow (so we don't have to engage with you).

These rules didn't censor any media. I could read all I wanted, listen to any music I wanted (as long as they couldn't hear it), watch anything on television I wanted. No way would my parents ever push to remove a program from TV or a book from the library or get some label put on an album cover. They super didn't care. And I think most parents outside of rigid fundamentalist religion didn't care in the late 70s-90s. And honestly, I think that's good. Not that I don't care what my son consumes. I don't want him to get on some express YouTube or TikTok train to the alt-right cesspool, obviously. But J and I don't censor what media he consumes. He knows what we value and believe. He has a sense of empathy. If he does see Q or some other crazy racist sexist hate-fueled shitheads talking garbage on the internet, I'm confident he'll blow them off because we let him watch That 70s Show, and listen to Miles Davis, and The Velvet Underground and Nico, and Radiohead. So that's good. That's a thing I appreciated and thought was good enough about my own childhood that I didn't change it with my own kid. And I think it's something that many if not most of people my own age experienced at some level in common with me. My sort of proof is that no other parents were complaining about the subversive programming on Nickelodeon, not even, it seems, the uptight religious right.

But then I thought about when I watched Stranger Things season 1 with J, and how earnestly dumbfounded he was that Mike Wheeler could get away with hiding and feeding and dressing Eleven in the basement without his parents noticing. And I said, "I 100% could have hidden a kid in my basement without my parents knowing it...if we had a basement (we did not)." And then he made that Sad Face he always makes when I casually drop information about how clearly neglected and ignored I was as a kid. That is something I know I didn't share with most of my peers.

I already had proof of that before J's Stranger Things Sad Face. Because I used to go to my friend S's (girl) or S's (guy) or R's or L's house, and their parents were always so kind and welcoming and attentive. We hung out in the basement, but they definitely knew we were there. Made us chili dip and ordered us pizza and offered us drinks and asked us about school or after school jobs or extracurriculars (KNEW what extracurriculars we were in; KNEW where our after school jobs were).

Now we're that house. And our son's best friend comes over here...in fact most of his friends come over here...fairly often for not being drivers yet, and the Boy gets kinda bummed about it. Because he doesn't get invited to his friends' homes nearly as often. So I tried to tell him it's because we're the safe house; we're the friendly, attentive house. That's something I'm glad I've definitely changed about when I grew up as a parent.

[heartfullofleeches]

A reverse human haram with a supernatural reader sounds so cute and dope

(I don't remember names so I apologize in advance)

But like the angel being a human business owner like an antique shop

Baron maybe being a tattoo artist? I feel like it'll fit him

And the reaper could be... Um.. maybe a hacker or something like that? Something that will let him stay inside all day and minimize human interaction.

And there's reader, some kind of a supernatural being, that maybe like going shopping in antiques shops, and getting tattooes... And going on the dark web? 💀

Or maybe the 3 humans already know each other and trying to track down this being for some reason?

Anyway, i just dig the idea:) could be really cute and I also miss those 3 😭

(I Stan librarian Maddox who just draws most of the time and panics when people talk to them)

"Can't one of us just ask them out for coffee? Even in the bizarre scenario they are what you claim, why would this be the best way to go about this?"

"Because your ugly ass would scare them away. Now shut the hell up and Mad give me the next step."

Maddox flips through the pages of the book positioned in their lap, producing a switchblade from their pocket. "All that's left now is a drop of blood from those who wish to form a contract. That's us, I suppose."

Baron, safety be damned, grabs the knife blade first - cupping the warm blood in his hand as he passes it to Alasdair. The shop owner was hesitant, but for the prize at hand he was desperate. He sticks his thumb and gives the knife back to Maddox who does the same.

Baron snorts, blood seeping from his closed fist onto his jeans. "What? Scared of a little nick?"

Alasdair rolls his eyes meanwhile Maddox ignores Baron's remarks as they get into position. What led them all to this situation? Two of them though on equal levels would never be seen together, and the alternative pairs worked as well as water and glue. The binding agent for their group was none other than a visitor shared between their place of business. Those keen eyes that marveled at the antique owner's precious collection of angels. That sweet smile peaking over the librarian's shoulder as they scribbled away behind their desk. The bubbly laughter that gave an ego boost to the tattoo owner and his horrid taste in fashion.

A person capable of bringing these opposites together had to be supernatural in nature, and in a way - you were. Baron discovered this while stalking you to the back alley behind their stores and witnessing you vanish from thin air. Doing more research than he ever had for school projects, Baron reasoned that you had to be a demon. He enlisted the help of Maddox to find a way to get your attention with Alasdair picked up along the way. He was skeptical as any Christian man would be, but since they were using his store for the summoning he had no say.

The trio bring their hands to the center of the circle on the floor and pour the contents onto the piece of your shirt Maddox managed to snip off. They squeeze the tip of their finger as apology and remain the last to pull away as the puddle of bloods turns black and begins to boil. The ground cracks and a skeletal hand reaches through, bones staining in the onyx sludge that creeps up its body creating layers of muscle and flesh. Crawling from the hole, the creature's tongues flicker against the hostile air as smog disburses from its throat. It cracks its jaw as it stands to full height, towering over them all - plucking a bone from its needlepoint fangs.

"That's the last time I try to finish something while being summoned."

Baron speaks up first. "Are... you naked?*

"If I'm not pretending to be a mortal there's no need to put on clothing... Don't I know you all?"

"that's so fucking hot... Ow, bitch!"

Alasdair clears his throat to play off the assault he committed on his peer. "I apologize for our barbaric approach. I'm sure this is as shocking for you as it is for us, but we have gathered here due to a shared interest in winning your heart."

You look around the room. "So.. you all want to date me?"

"Precisely."

"Hell yeah."

"Is that a bad thing?..." The librarian slides their charred notebook at your feet. You pick up the book. What's left of the pages shows you in human form.

"I suppose not. I am bound by contract to whatever your commands are, and if you wish to sell your souls for something like that then so be it. If I'm allowed an opinion, this one has already made a good first impression."

You point your claws beneath Maddox's chin who nearly faints from the contact. Baron's jaw drops to the floor while Alasdair tries, and fails to hold a straight face.

"Come on, Mad you're the last one I thought I'd have to worry about. I thought we were cool!" Baron grabs your arm, eyes bulging out of his sockets at the feel of your harden muscles. "Holy shit.... You said you'd do anything, right?"

"Baron I swear to God if you ask them to crush you with their thighs I'll choke you to death right now."

"I wasn't, chill-.... Their arms would do just fine."