#And it's not uncommon in language politics when distancing yourself from one language to instead lean into similarities

[birdylion]

The reason why you say "Ukraine", without the definite article, by the way, is because by doing so, you signal that you recognize the political autonomy of Ukraine.

Why's that?

The short answer is: because that's the English translation preferred by Ukrainian officials.

But of course, there's more to it. It's just a translation, you might ask, how does it matter? Most Slavic languages, for example Ukrainian or Russian, don't even have articles, and thus make no distinctions between using "the" and not using "the". But just because a language doesn't use the exact same grammatical tools to convey a concept doesn't mean it doesn't have it.

Take this dialogue:

Me: "I'm going to the arctic" You: "Oh, where are you going? Are you visiting Finland?" Me: "No, I'm going to Canada. I'm looking for the Northwest Passage."

The arctic is a region, the Northwest Passage is a geographical idea without set borders, Finland and Canada are countries. This article explains it better with the example of "Ohio" (state) vs "the Ohio" (river). Or with "going to the Caucausus (region)" vs "going to Russia". (The exception being states that are several things under one hat, such as the United States, the United Kingdom, or the Philippines.)

There's a similar distinction in Russian and Ukrainian, only it's in the preposition you use instead of the (nonexistent) article. You say going "v" Russia but "na" Caucasus; both meaning the same, but one with the connotation of going to a state and the other with the connotation of going to a region.

For a very long time, during the 19th and most of the 20th century, only "na" Ukraine ("going to the Ukraine") really was in use. Only, after the Soviet Union ended, when Ukraine became independent, the state started using "v" Ukraine ("going to Ukraine") exclusively, and asked others to do the same.

Because by using "na" Ukraine, you say implicitly that Ukraine is a region that's not really it's own thing, it's kinda attached to Russia like the Caucasus, doesn't have fixed state borders, and really, it's Russia's right to be there and do what they like. I'm exaggerating a bit, but not that much.

So who uses the preposition "na" with Ukraine? Putin in his speeches, for example. People who think Ukraine belongs to Russia. People who at best don't care whether Ukraine is a sovereign state or not (and has the geopolitical rights to act and exist as one).

By using the preposition "v" when talking about Ukraine, 1. you are using the wording preferred by the Ukrainian government, but that's because 2. you affirm Ukraine's right to its own statehood. And that's a prerequisite for recognizing Russia's invasion as an invasion.

Back to English: using "the Ukraine" mirrors the Russian and Ukrainian way of implying Ukraine is no more than a region. Using "Ukraine" mirrors the recognition of sovereignty.

So yeah. Omit the definite article when talking about Ukraine.

Here's an article from 2013: Why Ukraine Isn't 'The Ukraine,' And Why That Matters Now

Here's one from 2022: The Politics of "Ukraine" vs "the Ukraine"

And again the one I linked in the text above, also from 2022: It’s ‘Ukraine,’ not ‘the Ukraine’ – here’s why

10 facts everyone should know about Ukraine! by @/jeniasnotes

[formula-hamilton]

Workplace Crushes and Life Lessons (Lewis Hamilton x reader)

Lewis Hamilton x Engineer!Reader

Summary: You having a crush on Lewis and the development of said crush throughout the years working alongside him at Mercedes. 

Word count: 5.9k

Warnings: Pining, alcohol, language, awkward reader, maybe age gap? (I imagine reader being a bit younger than Lewis, but don’t think I mention it)

A/N: I love the idea of this fic bc workplace romances are some of my favorite to read. I’m always open to constructive criticism and feedback <3 Also, I don’t know anything about engineering so bear with me haha. 

-- 

2018

Imposter syndrome would properly best describe the feeling you had. You felt like the biggest con the world had ever seen and was sure that people would see right through you as soon as you stepped foot at your new job. Surely it could only be a mistake, a misunderstanding. You must have oversold yourself at the numerous interviews and soon the truth would be out. You had to do your breathing exercise in the car to calm yourself down. Fuck, you hoped no one could see you. 

You discreetly wiped your palms in your pleated trousers as you walked across the parking lot, the cold November air making you shiver. You had opted for a nicer coat which of course was not as warm as you could have wished. But first impressions were important and if you were going to disappoint, you might as well do it with style. As you entered the reception, you approached the desk and introduced yourself. 

“Hello sir, I’m meeting with Mr. Thomson. It’s my first day as a simulation and modelling engineer,” you told the receptionist. He politely asked you to take a seat while you waited. 

You sat and waited patiently in the reception trying not to fiddle too much with your clothes. Your fingers itched to pull on a small loose thread on your shirt and you had to put all your focus on one of the overhead lights to not give in. The light was too bright, you thought. It couldn’t be healthy for the eyes.

You were so concentrated on the light that you almost missed the person entering the reception and strolling through. He walked with such confidence that you couldn’t stop yourself envying him. You couldn’t help feeling disappointed when he didn’t walk past where you sat. Not that you would have done anything, you would just have liked to see him up-close. Instead you were left wondering if Lewis would be just as pretty from a closer distance. As he walked up the stairs, he turned around and gave you a small smirk. Your cheeks heated from the feeling of getting caught staring and you quickly looked to the other side, making it all the more obvious. 

--

It didn’t take long for you to confirm that yes, he was just as beautiful as you could imagine. He had such a glow over him. At the championship celebrations in December, you almost asked him what his skincare routine was. You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from an embarrassing situation. 

It was the first time the two of you talked. The conversation couldn’t have lasted for more than two minutes, but you felt absolutely electrified. It wasn’t anything special, just introductions and him thanking you for your contribution. You laughed and told him that you had barely worked there for two months so there wasn’t much to thank you for. He laughed at your honestly and you were sure you looked like a teenage girl talking to her school crush. 

Your co-workers teased you later in the evening. Said they had never seen anyone blush so hard before. Said that you should give it some time, then it would pass, it wasn’t uncommon to be infatuated by Lewis when you first met him. He just had a way of charming people. Yeah, yeah, you said as you brushed them off, playfully rolling your eyes. 

Before you went to sleep that evening, you couldn’t help letting your hands wander and imagining they were Lewis’. 

2019

As months went by you slowly felt more comfortable in your new role. The misunderstanding was not a misunderstanding after all, and there wasn’t any hints of disappointment in your coworkers eyes. If you still struggled with feeling underqualified, you managed to hide it quite well from your coworkers and managers. Word spread in your department about you being a natural talent and a great asset to the team. Your mum always told you that it was women’s greatest flaw; not being able to believe that the work they do is sufficient enough. It was quite tiring with all the pressure you put on yourself and as your mum had told you many times before, you should go easier on yourself. 

In preparation for the 2019 season you had to work closer with Lewis and Valtteri. Setting up the simulator for them and working with their feedback. The first time you and Lewis worked together was in January. He was energetic, hungry for the new season, and you were a little overwhelmed if you were being honest. Being quite nervous working alone with him for the first time while also working just the two of you, you munched too many mini chocolate bars whilst monitoring the simulator. Your mum had stuffed your bag with them after Christmas. 

A little lost in your own thoughts, Lewis spooked you as he cleared his throat indicating he was finished. Your cheeks flushed for what felt like the 100th time that day. You kept scowling yourself for appearing so unprofessional, but you honestly couldn’t help yourself. Every time he talked or looked at you, the blood in your cheeks betrayed you and your lips couldn’t connect properly with your brain. 

“You have a little something there,” Lewis said while pointing above his own lips, indicating where it was. 

Your eyes widened and you quickly tried to brush away what you could only assume was the treacherous chocolate. You fumbled, trying to see your reflection in the computer screen to assure that you had removed it all. 

Lewis stood up and closed the space between you. “You keep missing it, let me help,” he said as he rubbed his thumb on the small space above your upper lip. “There you go,” he grinned at you, clearly noticing the effect his actions had on you. 

“Thank you sir,” you miraculously found yourself able to answer, while trying to ignore your heart beating at an unnatural speed. 

“You don’t have to call me sir, it makes me feel like an old man,” he laughed. “I told you to just call me Lewis.”

“Well, thank you Lewis then,” you nodded, wanting to appear calm and collected. Wanting him to not think of you as a helpless creature. 

He smiled at you, eyes crinkling and gap between his teeth showing. Finally, he thanked you for today and walked out. You had never felt anyone having quite this effect on you. You chose to blame it on his celebrity status. You always had a soft spot for famous people, all the way back to your Backstreet Boys obsession in your adolescence. This was no different and you were sure it would pass with time as you would get used to working with him. Admittedly, you found yourself a bit too old for having a celebrity crush, but that was no one’s business but your own. 

-- 

Months went by and Mercedes were continuing their high. It was great to be a part of and you felt pride from being able to contribute. It became a nice tradition that you and some of the other women from work would go the pub and watch the races together. You felt content, happy to be part of a group. It was nice that the women stuck together. 

Over a pub afternoon turned into a pub night, you had a beer too many and confessed how captivated you were with Lewis. They all laughed and then gave you the nickname Mrs. Hamilton. The playful banter continued for the rest of the evening and as you shared a cab home you all moaned about how fucked you were going to be for work the next day. At least you were in it together, you all agreed. 

As you woke the next morning your body was filled with regret. You definitely had three beers too many last night and the pounding headache was living proof. An ounce of shame washed over you as you remembered your drunken confession to crushing on Lewis. However, you were quick to brush it away as you told yourself that they were your friends. They wouldn’t judge you. At least that’s what you hoped. 

Tuesday, Lewis was back at the factory and ready to work in the simulator. As the two of you sat and went over some notes, Anna and Janet from the IT department spotted you and made their way over. Lewis was sitting so he was neatly hidden and it was clear that they hadn’t seen him, else they wouldn’t have disturbed you. 

“Who do we have here, if it isn’t Mrs. Hamilton herself,” Anna snickered as Janet’s eyes widened when she noticed you weren’t sitting alone. She quite noticeable pinched Anna’s arm and your mouth fell open in shock. You didn’t dare look at Lewis and instead tried to signal to Anna and Janet to fix it. Eyes begging them to do something, anything that could save the situation. 

“Sorry! Mr. Hamilton, I meant to say, I don’t know where that came from” Anna promptly corrected herself, giggling nervously. You almost wanted to roll your eyes, but honestly, what else could she say. “Well, we just wanted to congratulate you on your win Sunday. Really great job, well done, good for the team!” She continued, trying to sound cheerful, while Janet nodded, wanting to look convincing. 

Lewis looked taken aback, clearly not used to people interrupting him for small talk while working. “Thank you very much. That’s very kind of you,” he smiled politely at them. You let go of a breath you hadn’t even noticed you were holding in. Realistically you knew Lewis wasn’t stupid, but you still told yourself that you had gotten away unescaped, your secret still hidden. 

As they finally left, scrambling away while quietly giggling, you carefully looked at Lewis who was already looking at you. 

“Are they your friends?” He asked. As you hurriedly looked at your computer, you missed the way his lips formed into a small smirk. 

“What? Those two? No, I’ve barely talked to them before,” you lied, trying to remember where you left off, wanting to get this meeting over with as soon as possible. He hummed and nodded, not wanting to do further damage. 

After Lewis left you almost ran to Anna and Janet’s department to give them a good old scowl, but as you were just getting into it, you all doubled over laughing. Tears streaming down your faces, some from embarrassment and some from the sheer absurdity of the situation. Hopefully Lewis hadn’t given the whole interaction a second thought.  

--

Once again Mercedes won the Constructor’s and Lewis won the Driver’s Championship, and once again everybody’s spirits were high at the celebrations in December. Lewis and Valtteri made their obligatory rounds, thanking people, showing gratitude, making small talk. You were pouring yourself another glass of champagne, quietly lost in your own thoughts, enjoying the buzz from the alcohol. You were wearing a long dark blue satin dress that hugged just the right places on your body, showing off your cleavage, while not being too flashy for a work event. 

As you were walking through the crowd, wanting to rejoin the group of people you previously talked to, you felt a small pull on your arm. Turning around, Lewis stood grinning at you, handsome as always. 

“I guess I can actually thank you this year. Finally,” he cheekily said to you. You were surprised he even remembered your interaction from the year before, but once again it showed you just what kind of man he was. Always so considerate and thankful to the people he worked with. 

“Well you’re welcome Lewis. And once again, congrats on the championship! It’s been a pleasure working with you,” you smiled at him, feeling the champagne giving you a bit more confidence than usual. “Any exciting plans for the break?”

“You know the usual, Christmas with the family and catching up with friends, relaxing. I’m also going skiing, gotta keep myself active,” he laughed, seemingly very excited for his winter plans. “What are your Christmas plans?”

“I’m going to my parents’ for a few days and then after Christmas I’m actually going on a small vacation to Morocco. Hopefully get a little tan,” you smiled while playfully flicking your hair over your shoulder. “Me and England are not vibing in the winter.”

You didn’t miss Lewis’ gaze dropping to your breasts at your movement and just as quickly looking back at your eyes again. “Ah that sound nice, with your boyfriend or?” He asked, hoping to sound casual. You furrowed your brows a little, surely he was just making small talk. 

“Actually I’m going alone, just trying to de-stress and refuel for next year. Hopefully I’ll find a boyfriend though,” you laughed again. “Maybe that’ll help me relax a little.” Maybe it was a bit inappropriate talking to Lewis like this, but once again the alcohol made you a little more bold and a little more careless. You decided it was fine as Lewis rolled his head back and laughed at your honesty. You felt a small smirk creeping up on your lips, satisfied with yourself for making him laugh. 

“Well I hope you enjoy yourself and good luck on the de-stressing,” he said, giving you a little wink, before continuing his way through the people. 

2020

Morocco had been amazing. No potential suitors, but a whole lot of swimming in the pool and meditation. You had also picked up a small hobby, that being an almost obsessive need to check Lewis’ Instagram several times a day. You told yourself it helped the de-stressing process. The shirtless pictures certainty did their job and you thanked god for Lewis being so active on Instagram. It made your life a bit more fun. 

When you finally had to go back to work in the beginning of January you felt comfortable and most importantly, confident. You had finally grown to feel more at ease in the job and felt like you were contributing with some valuable input. 

A couple of weeks passed and Lewis and you had a day together in the simulator to prepare the car for the 2020 season. For once, you were running a few minutes late and when you entered the room, Lewis was already sat waiting for you. You apologized and Lewis brushed it off, smiling, telling you it was fine. 

“Good vacation?” He asked you. 

“Yeah amazing, much needed,” you replied while setting up your work.

“Did you find a man?” He asked, wiggling his brows, grinning teasingly at you.

“Nah, unfortunately,” you laughed. “But I did meditate a lot, it was quite amazing actually. I feel very de-stressed. Ah let me show you, I feel like this is something you would enjoy.” You pulled up your phone wanting to show him the Instagram of your meditation instructor. Lewis looked over your shoulder and as you went to search for the username, you wanted to hit your head down on the table. Your previous searches were obviously showing and at the top was Lewis’ account. 

You fumbled with your phone and quickly typed to make it disappear but deep down you knew it was too late. He had already seen it. You both chose to pretend it hadn’t happened and Lewis found himself smirking once again, as he had done so many times before in your company. He was quite captivated by your lack of smoothness and found you very charming if he was being honest. He wasn’t blind to your small crush on him, but he chose to just act normal with you, not wanting to initiate anything he couldn’t commit to. Of course he couldn’t stop himself from being flirty every now and again though. He was only human after all and how could he not when talking to a beautiful woman?

You wondered to yourself how it was possible for you to keep having these embarrassing moments in front of him. It felt like a curse. 

--

That day was the last time you saw Lewis in many months. Covid struck, everyone was in quarantine and everyone did as much work from home as they could. When the F1 season finally began in July, you were extra excited for the first race. This time a guy you were seeing named Peter, was going to join you at your place. Peter was a friend of a friend whom you had met a few times throughout the years and when he asked you if you wanted to go on a date, you couldn’t see a reason not to. One date turned to many and suddenly you found yourself in a loving relationship. He made you incredibly happy and finally your crush on Lewis had seemingly passed.

Peter was quite the McLaren fan and you were obviously a fan of Mercedes, more specifically Lewis, so the two of you had many great discussions and playful fights about who was the better team. He was tired of the Mercedes dominance and you jokingly claimed that the other teams should just find an engineer as great as you and then their problems would be solved. 

More months passed and in the fall you finally saw Lewis again. Facemasks and distance making everything a bit awkward, but you managed. His spirits were high, everything going his way and it was obvious that he needed a big amount of misfortune for him to not win his seventh title. It was quite clear to both you that you probably wouldn’t see each other again until next year so as you said goodbye, you both wished each other well and gave each other way too early Christmas greetings

The warm, fuzzy feeling he always managed to give you was back. And this time it was even stronger than usual. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you thought to yourself. Again, you felt silly for having these thoughts and feelings about him, but you simply couldn’t help yourself.

2021

Christmas and New Year’s had been great with Peter by your side for both. Everything had been just great until Sunday the 3rd of January. As you were staying at Peter’s for the night, his phone rang while you were in bed waiting for him as he got ready for bed. He called for you to just pick it up and as you did, everything fell apart.

Monday you called in sick for work. You weren’t in a mental state where working was possible and instead you spent the day on the sofa sobbing your eyes out. In the evening your mum came with dinner and tried to make you feel better. Telling you Peter was a fool and that she never even liked him anyway.

On that Monday, Lewis visited the factory to get his seat fitted and while he was at it, he thought he would swing by your workstation to say hi. He hadn’t seen you in three months and he couldn’t help missing talking to you. When he found out you were sick, he got a inexplicable feeling. You were never sick and at the end of the day, he left with furrowed brows, feeling worried about you. 

When the next day rolled around, Lewis was back again, this time for a simulator session with you and a meeting with some engineers. He hadn’t stopped thinking about you since yesterday. Truthfully he missed working with you and seeing your flushed cheeks and nervous laughs, but he knew it wasn’t appropriate. He had always been good at separating work and pleasure, but suddenly he felt an urge to blur the lines. He knew he was strong and he was sure he could keep it under wraps and control his feelings. He had to. 

Lewis sat by the simulator waiting for you. He briefly checked his phone to make sure he hadn’t gotten the time wrong and as time went by, he got more and more anxious about you. Finally, the door opened and you hurriedly walked over to him, apologizing profusely for your lateness. You were almost 20 minutes late and Lewis couldn’t help noticing your red rimmed eyes and red nose as you prepared your set-up. He slowly took in your appearance with furrowed eyebrows and observed your make-up free face and seemingly quickly thrown on outfit. If there was one thing Lewis had spotted since seeing you the time in the reception on your first day, it was your sense of fashion. You were always dressed incredibly well and clearly had a great sense of what suited you. Today you looked like a mess. Of course Lewis didn’t mind, but it was just so unlike your normal appearance that he couldn’t help himself putting his hand on your shoulder to interrupt your quick motions. 

“Are you alright?” he softly asked, hoping he wasn’t overstepping. He felt like the two of you had a great working relationship and hoped you felt comfortable enough with him to open up. It was obvious that you had been crying quite recently, maybe even within the last 30 minutes. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry, I’ve just not been feeling so great these days, must’ve caught a stomach bug or something. Just been a little out of myself, you know,” you assured, not wanting to burden Lewis. You already felt bad for making him wait, but the tears would simply not stop as you sat in the parking lot trying to pull yourself together. 

“I don’t wanna intrude, but I feel like there’s something going on?” Lewis didn’t believe you. Your coworkers had said you were sick with a migraine and now you were contradicting them. “You know you can talk to me right? I’m always here to listen.” 

Tears welled in your eyes once again, the gentleness of Lewis’ voice making you bottom lip wobble. You looked at the ceiling, blinking, trying to stop the tears from escaping. You took a deep breath, looking down, avoiding Lewis’ searching eyes. 

“I- I just. Me and my boyfriend broke up Sunday, so it’s just been some rough days for me. But don’t worry it won’t affect my work,” you told Lewis, wanting to make sure he knew that you wouldn’t waste his time. It took everything in you hold the dam together. 

Lewis reached out once again, rubbing your arm, trying to soothe you. He clearly saw your glossy eyes and he felt awful for you, wishing he could take your pain away. He was surprised to hear that you had had a boyfriend, but then again, he had barely talked to you for a year, so it shouldn’t have been a big shock. He did everything he could to brush the nagging feeling in his stomach away. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear,” Lewis said, giving you a tight lipped smile. His mind was running even faster than his car and he was at a loss of words. He always knew what to say, media training doing wonders, but now he couldn’t think of anything to comfort you. He felt like an asshole, making you confess what was wrong and then not having anything to say.

“Don’t be,” you quickly interrupted his thought process. “He clearly had other priorities. More specifically named Olivia,” you somberly laughed, discreetly brushing away a stray tear. Lewis’ body filled with anger, asking himself how anyone could cheat on a person like you. Suddenly he was able to find the words. 

“What an asshole! I guarantee you’re much better off without him. I’m so sorry you had to start the year like this. You know, we don’t have to do this today if it’s too much for you? Maybe you should take another day off?” He suggested, wanting to wrap his arms around you, make you feel better. You smiled kindly at him, touched by his sympathy.

“Thank you, but it’s okay Lewis. I think it’s good for me to keep my mind occupied, keep myself busy,” you told him, looking him in the eyes, being met with his compassionate gaze. You instantly felt more at ease. 

“Yeah okay. Just say the word if you need a break or anything. Or if you wanna talk. I’m a great listener, at least my sisters always tells me,” he smiled at you. You returned his smile and thanked him, but hastily continued setting up the computer, not wanting to talk more about your feelings. You already felt like you had acted inappropriately telling Lewis about Peter’s infidelity. Fortunately, Lewis caught on to your intentions, and he quickly switched over to talk about work, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. 

For the next couple of months, before the first race, you and Lewis saw a lot of each other. It was great working together again and you both really came to appreciate your working relationship even more. Admittedly, his company also helped you get over Peter a lot faster than you thought possible. You began to feel like it was getting a little out of hand how much Lewis consumed your mind. 

After a long day of back and forth, trying to find ways to improve the aerodynamics, you and Lewis found yourself sat in comfortable silence. Lewis sat scrolling Instagram when suddenly he felt your eyes drill holes into the side of his head. He glanced at you, wondering what was going through your mind. You didn’t notice you’d gotten caught, completely lost in thoughts about the handsome man sitting in front of you. Suddenly you snapped out of it and before you stop yourself, words left your mouth. 

“What skincare do you use?” Your face instantly grimaced for letting your intrusive thoughts take over. 

“What?” Lewis laughed nervously, looking at your flushed face. 

“Err, I’ve just been wondering what skincare you use? Your face always looks so glowy and I feel like you age backwards,” you tried to explain yourself, internally rolling your eyes at your own words. 

Now, Lewis laughed loudly, finding your nervous look extremely endearing. “Why, thank you,” he said while smiling. “Honestly, I think my vegan diet is the reason. My skin really cleared up after I made the switch. I don’t really have a miracle product.”

“Ah that makes sense. That’s a nice bonus effect,” you replied, nodding. You were quick to find something to busy yourself with, not wanting to inflict further damage by letting more words leave your mouth. While you weren’t looking, Lewis shook his head and smirked to himself. He wanted to tell you to not worry about what you said in front of him, but he bit his tongue. 

--

Abu Dhabi was awful. You and the girls had of course been out drinking in a pub while watching the race. Everything looked so promising, people cheering for Lewis, being sure that he would get his 8th title. Then everything turned, it felt like a bad joke, none of you were able to understand what the hell was going on. It was absolutely heartbreaking. Your heart hurt from seeing Lewis hug his dad, you couldn’t begin to imagine what he must be feeling. 

This year Lewis was absent from the December celebrations. Truthfully, you hadn’t expected to see him there, but a part of you still hoped he would show up. You wanted to see if he was okay, tell him that he was the rightful champion in your eyes. The celebrations were not as fun as usual. Of course people were happy for the Constructor’s Championship, but it didn’t feel right celebrating when Lewis lost. You felt bad for Valtteri, his goodbyes being overshadowed by the foul play.

2022

You finally saw Lewis again the third week of January. You had religiously checked his Instagram since Abu Dhabi, but he had been completely off the grid. You hadn’t been able to get him out of your head since, almost scared to never see him again. There had been so much talk about him retiring and you wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. For completely selfish reasons, you hoped he wouldn’t, you wanted to keep seeing him, missing the butterflies you felt every time you had the pleasure of enjoying his company.  

You almost felt like it was your first time meeting him, nervousness filling your body, scared to say or do something wrong. Scared to upset him. He made his rounds, greeting people, thanking them for their work last year. When Lewis finally got to you, he felt a sense of calmness wash over him. He believed you when you told him how sorry you were for last year and how much you thought he deserved to win. When everyone else uttered the same words, he was thankful, but had also grown tired of them. He realized he could never grow tired of your words, your sincereness touching him deeply. 

--

This year, Lewis spend more hours in the simulator than ever before. Eager to get on top of the god awful car. You thought it was so unfair how shitty the season was going, he didn’t deserve this. You almost wanted to apologize personally for having a part in the engineering process. 

On a sunny day in September, you and Anna found yourself partaking in the daily dose of gossip in the bathrooms.

“Have you seen your husband’s latest thirst trap?” Anna asked, wiggling her eyebrows. The girls never let up on the whole Mrs. Hamilton thing, although they were always more careful now. 

“Shut up, no! When did he post it?” You asked a little too excitedly, quickly grabbing your phone and finding his Instagram. 

“Oh. My. God,” you exclaimed, mouth dropping open for dramatic effect. “It should be illegal being so hot, look at those tattoos!” Anna laughed at your actions.

“I’m surprised you hadn’t already seen it, I know how much of a stalker you are,” she teased you. You playfully rolled your eyes, smiling because you knew she was right. 

“Yeah, yeah, some of us have work to do you know?” You answered her, laughing. As you were brushing your fingers through your hair, a toilet flushed in one of the stalls. You and Anna glanced fearfully at each other through the mirror, you swore you were alone, always careful to check if there were other people in the stalls before your gossip sessions. 

Out of the stall emerged a content looking Lewis. You on the other hand were at a loss of words, wanting the ground to swallow you up wholly. 

“Afternoon, ladies,” he greeted, smiling at the two of you as he stood by the sinks washing his hands. Anna smiled at him, as you stood locked in place, staring at your shoes. When Lewis was finished he walked out, a big smirk on his face, almost wanting to laugh at your words. 

“I didn’t know he was even here today? Did you know?” You whisper shouted when you were finally alone again.

“No, I had no idea,” Anna answered, sympathetically rubbing your arm, trying to soothe your clear anxiousness. “Don’t worry, he probably didn’t hear us.”

As you stood there with a face more flushed than ever before, you swore you could cry. There was no coming back from this, you thought. 

--

You didn’t see Lewis for the rest of that day, or for the next two months for that matter. The longer you didn’t see him, the more the anxiousness consumed you. You wanted to clear the air, apologize for being so inappropriate. It was not right to talk about him like you had that day, especially not at work. 

In November, just before Brazil, you finally saw him again. You had practiced for months what you wanted to say to him. You had even promised yourself that you would find another job if it didn’t go well, not thinking you were able to handle seeing him again if he was offended. 

What you hadn’t expected was Lewis’ thoughts being consumed by you as well for these past months. This difficult year had taught him many things, most importantly it had taught him that there were things in life more important than winning a trophy or a championship. He always told himself that he didn’t want anything serious until his retirement, but as the months had passed, he realized how stupid that idea was. Why shouldn’t he be able do both? Many before him had been able to do both love and racing and just because it hadn’t worked out with Nicole, didn’t mean it couldn’t ever work. 

That’s why he had clear intentions when he visited the factory in November. He had a meeting with you later in the day and he had practiced what he wanted to say to you. He felt like a teenager, sweaty hands and everything.

The thing about plans is that they rarely go how you have anticipated. As you were walking back from the kitchenette, having fetched yourself some snacks, you suddenly bumped into something hard. That being Lewis’ chest. His hands grabbed you before you stumbled back and fell. You were fumbling with your words, wanting to apologize for walking into him and also wanting to apologize for the day in the bathroom months prior. As you struggled with what to say, your cheeks heated and Lewis took the word, ditching his own practiced speech.

“When are you gonna do something about this crush?” Lewis asked, grinning big, gap between his teeth more visible than ever. You looked like a deer caught in headlights, mouth open and big eyes. 

“I-“ you began, trying to think of what to say. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I asked, when are you gonna do something about the crush you have on me?” Lewis continued, looking at you with teasing eyes. “I mean, it has been going on for quite some time now, don’t you think you should do something about it?”  

Your eyes narrowed, trying to figure out if this was a joke or what the fuck was going on. As your eyes met Lewis’ your saw nothing but kindness and quickly decided which path you should chose.

“Well, do you want me to something about it Lewis?” You asked, smirking, tilting your head to the side. “Because I can arrange something if that’s what you’d like?”

Lewis smiled at your words, happy you caught on to his idea. “Yeah, I think I’d quite like you to do something about it. I can tell you more about my ideas over dinner if you’d like that?” He asked you, feeling a little scared of being rejected even though he had been quite sure you would accept his invitation. 

You beamed at him, eyes shining and teeth showing, nodding your head. “I would love that Lewis,” you smiled, unable to believe this was truly happening. Lewis beamed as well, truly happy about this. He hastily looked around and assured you were alone in the hallway, before he grabbed your hand and pulled you into his chest. Now standing chest to chest, he cupped your cheeks and looked you in the eyes, searching for any signs of discomfort. When he didn’t find any, he closed his eyes and closed the gap between the two of you, your lips fitting his perfectly. Your hands found his hair, gently massaging his scalp as the kiss deepened. Both aware of your surroundings, you pulled back at the same time before things escalated, eyes locking and cheeks warm.  

Fuck a championship when he had a beautiful woman looking at him like you did, Lewis thought to himself. 

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife for Thor Pt.14

The Garden Hallway

01/02/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 5,974

Warnings: language, smut, smutty smut smut, talk of pregnancy, jealousy, spoiled lobster, alcoholic Brunnhilde, babies

A/N: First post of the new year! This was a fun one to write with lots of little tidbits that were enjoyable. Writing doubts aside, I hope you all enjoy this one! Sorry it took so long to get to you, but holidays, ya know? xoxo

“She’s beautiful, Thora. Just gorgeous.” You bounce the infant in your arms and she coos and goos.

Spittle runs down along the edge of her lips and Thora, the most gorgeous woman you have ever seen in your life, leans forward to gently dab away at the clear liquid.

Her very long ice blonde hair falls forward, half braided, the other half loose. She tosses it back then sighs and rips it back feeling frustrated.

“You could cut your hair, if it’s bothering you.” Ice blue eyes meet yours, slight shock at your observational skills painting her pale cheeks pink.

“Oh, no. I’m too fond of it, Your Majesty. I’ll grow used to it again. Having a little one to care for does make it a bit tedious to handle. But ‘tis no worry. I will just have to braid it more tightly and perhaps wear it atop my head to keep it tame.”

She’s all politeness, this Agardian beauty. The Goddess of it, if you’re honest, though you know that’s not true. To you, every Asgardian woman is the Goddess of beauty. They’re all so stunning in their own unique ways.

The same could be said for the women of your own species, but these Asgardians seem to glow.

“Well, if you ever change your mind, it’s really very normal for women of Earth to have very short hair in some cases. Especially when work or busy lives get in the way of maintaining it. I’m not sure how often women in the old Asgard used to-”

“It was not uncommon, though ‘twasn’t very common either. Most of us keep our hair long. I’m not sure my husband would love me as much if I did cut it.” She confesses, and you see a fleeting worry pass through her exquisite face and you can’t imagine how a woman this beautiful can doubt the hold she has on her husband when you’re only mortal and constantly worry about Thor’s love for you.

“Armod is a lucky man. I’m sure he knows that you’re more than your hair. But if it’s that important to you, I can try to find ways of keeping it out of your way? Some new hairstyles maybe?” You smile at her, hoping to offer comfort.

She relaxes, the little bundle in your arms wiggling just a bit as you lean forward to place your hand over hers.

“She really is so beautiful,” you say, hoping to redirect her attention to her perfect little girl.

Luta has deep olive skin, her hair the same stunning raven as Armod.

Thora’s entire being shifts. She gleams at her daughter, the clear apple of her eye.

“It won’t be long before you and His Majesty are blessed with a baby of your own. An heir to the throne? The celebration will be monumental.” She wiggles her eyebrows at you and you smile shyly, remembering almost every night since your honeymoon has been spent pinned either underneath Thor, or to the wall, or on the dresser, or his desk, or the tub, or even the floor in an attempt to get that heir to finally come.

Both of you want a baby so badly.

“We’ve been trying for almost two months,” You confess, a sadness in your voice incapable of hiding.

“Armod and I tried for nearly a year,” Thora nods, her own happiness sidelined to make way for understanding. “I believe that sometimes it just takes a while. My sister was able to conceive so quickly I began to think there was something wrong with me.”

She gives you a reassuring smile, almost like she can read your very thoughts.

“But it happened. It took time. It will happen for you as well, Your Majesty. We are all looking forward to an heir, but even if it takes a while, you’re still our Queen.” She assures you and her words do make you feel better.

Maybe you and Thor have just been trying too hard?

Oof, but there’s no way you can give up those touches.

“I guess I’ll just have to relax and take it one day at a time. Thank you for your encouragement. I’m seriously really jealous of you. She’s so lovely.” You offer her over, and Thora takes her eagerly.

The baby, Luta, whines a little but then settles as she’s held to her mother’s breast.

“She’s a peach, isn’t she?” Thora gloats, and she’s absolutely beaming.

The front door opens and there’s a startled pause by the tall dark Armod, long pitch braids swishing as he comes to a stop.

“Your Majesty?” The shock is clear, but he quickly bows and you get up, waving away his formality.

“No, please.” You smile, throwing out your hand for him to shake, “It’s so nice to see you, face to face and not from the backseat of a car.”

Armod laughs, taking hold of your hand gently and he quickly kisses the back of it.

The respect of the gesture is flattering.

“I was not expecting to see you here today, though I’m not going to lie, it’s an honor.”

“I promised I’d come,” you remind him. “I’m sorry it took so long. I’ve been so busy with the planning of the park and meeting with the Ambassadors to see what they want from us, and it’s just been so busy day after day.”

“Your Majesty,” Thora stands, shaking her head. “You have no obligation to explain yourself to us. We are at your service.”

You smile at her, reaching over to caress Luta’s little head then Thora’s shoulder, “I think it’s the other way around, but I’m grateful for your generosity.”

They both seem happy with you and as lovely as they are, you can’t spend all day here in their comfy little home.

Armod is paid really well and that’s reflected more in their belongings as opposed to the size of their house.

Very neat and high quality furniture and gadgets display their wealth though compared to the one you inherited and the one you married into, it’s just a fraction.

Armod and Thora's wealth lies in their love and family.

As they stand there, the ache in your chest begins to get unbearable so, you quickly tell them goodbye and you walk back up to the palace.

Armod's home is situated within the grounds of your New Asgardian dwelling. Smallish cottages that line the inner stone and vibranium wall are filled with staff who living close by makes it easier to work here.

If they lived outside of the palace walls, you'd have needed Armod's services to visit his own house. Luckily, in this way, you can visit some of your people without the need for fanfare.

You like not having to dress up.

As you slip into the garden and move for the large heavy door that Thor had shown you through two months prior to propose to you out here, you smile at the sight of the only person who hates it when you don't wear a dress, or at the very least a skirt.

This isn't of course because he wants to have you he all wrapped up in tight dresses and uncomfortable, but rather it makes certain activities just a little more difficult in rushed moments.

Thor's smile widens as he spots you, shutting the door behind you before you put your hands behind your back.

"There you are, I've been looking for you," Thor says.

He looks so good in dark jeans and a slightly loose tan t-shirt. The round neck gives just the slightest peek at his trapezius and you force yourself to keep your eyes on his beautiful face instead of the way his biceps strain against his sleeves.

Fuck he looks good.

"Looks like you've found me. What did you need?"

"Where were you?" He wonders, putting his own hands behind his back to copy your stance.

"Is it curiosity, suspicion, or control making you ask?"

"Interest. And because I missed you and if I have an hour free again, I'd like to spend it with you."

Damn him.

"Well, shoot," you scoff.

He quirks his head inquisitively and you smile wide at the sight of your puppy. How can he be so damn hot and cute at the same time?

"That was the perfect response. But, an hour?" Quick glance down at your watch reveals it's too early for lunch. "I thought we were meeting for lunch at eleven?"

Thor’s smile falters and he nods slowly, looking at your collarbone instead of your eyes.

"About that…"

"Oh, shit. What?"

"I'm leaving in about twenty minutes," Thor confesses, bringing his hands back to his front to fidget.

"Twenty minutes? But you said an hour!"

"And I spent forty minutes looking for you, cherub. That leaves me with twenty."

He closes the distance between you, tracing the length of your arms to your wrists and then pulls your hands out from behind your back.

"And leaving? Where are you going?"

The pout that overtakes you feels inevitable. You can't even attempt to hide it.

"The Warriors Three have reported in. Sif says that they are ready for inspection so I must go and see each outpost's condition before I can deem them proper watch towers to guard against the threat that Loki has foreseen.

"Heimdall says he is in agreement. Whatever it is that is coming, it's hiding itself from his sight which should be impossible. I must go, love. I'm sorry."

He really does sound and look apologetic too.

"And...I won't be home until possibly very late. Nearly morning I think," he tells you, voice low.

For two long moments the two of you stand there, minds whirring until they both reach the same realization.

It's Thor that voices it first and he nearly kills you with how much you want to swoon, "You know, this will be the first night since we've been engaged that I won't be sleeping beside you."

Your pout only grows more pronounced.

"Will you be lonely without me?"

All of the insecurities he's felt since marrying suddenly come pouring out of him in that one singular question and you can suddenly see all of the fear and strife he has been dealing with since he chose to marry you.

Like you, he's been wondering whether you're happy in your new married life. He's been worried about you in your role as Queen but worried for you, not whether you can do the job as you have been fretting.

You sigh, a heavy release of your own tension, "Oh, Thor…"

Hooking your hand behind his neck you pull him down until you can kiss him.

His response is ready, eager. Hands funding your hips as he pushes you back until you're shoved into the small space between one pillar and the wall it supports.

You're both very aware of the loss of activity this night will also bring, but maybe a rest is due.

Pulling back, you place your hands on his chest and give him a little push. He stops his kissing, licking his lips as he leans back to fix you with his star-eyed gaze.

"Maybe this is a good thing? We've been trying so hard to get pregnant for two months and my last test was negative. Maybe what we need is a break?"

Thor blinks, considering your words but then he shakes his head.

"Is that the only reason you've been laying with me night after night? To be with child?"

He almost sounds hurt by the idea and you hurry to reassure him.

"No! Of course not, Thor. I...being with you intimately is one of the best things about my adult life that I never knew I wanted or needed. It feel so good to be with you. Sometimes I can't believe that you want me.

"You're this perfect God, desired by millions. Billions even. And I'm-"

"Let me stop you there, cherub. If you are ever in any doubt as to how you affect me-mind, body, and soul-" He reaches down between your bodies, unbuttons his jeans and lowers his zipper.

"Thor!" You gasp quietly, peeking around at both ends of the long secluded hallway.

"No one will see us," he whispers, seductive and deep.

He's right though. Especially here where the pillar meets the wall, a tight corner where he's got you trapped. Right where you want to be.

He takes your hand and pushes his pants down a bit until he's exposed, erect, and throbbing.

As you wrap your fingers around him, he purrs and after another lick of his lips, he flies into a frenzy that you match with your own fervor.

It has to happen fast and before you know it he's inside, thrusting up into you as he holds your right leg up around his waist.

Neither of you have any words, only heavy breathing. A gasp. A grunt. Mewling moans that rise from your throat which he quickly silences with a finger pressed gently to your lips.

"Shh, my cherub," he urges.

Even if no one ever comes down here. The sound of the Queen making these noises would surely draw someone's attention.

"I'm coming…" you whimper, hands vices around the fabric of his shirt.

Thor groans again then mashes his lips against your own, thrusting faster and smoother. Like silk on skin he fills you up and as you grip his cock, twitching around him, he empties into you.

He coats you with his heat, caressing the curves of your body as he continues to kiss you with slow and deliberate passion.

"We aren't missing a day," he declares.

As the two of you recover, a voice from the far end of the hall interrupts.

"Thor, we must go if you're to be back by morning."

For a moment your heart leaps into your throat. Loki’s voice is knowing. He clearly gets what you two were doing.

You peek over Thor’s shoulder but don't see Loki anywhere. He's got the sense to give you two your privacy and stay out of sight.

"I'll be right there," Thor says, leaning in to kiss your lips slow. "Don't worry, he's discreet."

Thor helps you get dressed again, blocking your body from sight even though he knows no one is looking.

When you're both decent again, he takes your arm in his and leads you out into the main hall where Loki stands by the large doors pacing.

As he spots the two of you, he gives no indication that he heard or saw any of what happened down in the garden hallway.

"You two look...refreshed," Loki says pointedly.

"Brother, do not tease Her Majesty the Queen. She's already fretting."

Thor adjusts his arm to wrap around your shoulder and gives you a quick squeeze as you glare at Loki.

"Of course, you're right. I'm sorry, Y/N."

Loki gives you quick polite bow, then a mischievous smile curls his lips and you can see the trickster God peek through.

“I am a most avid supporter of my monarchs doing what they can to provide the kingdom with an heir, and if there is any way that I can help, I would be happy to lend my assistance.”

“Watch it, Loki,” Thor warns, only half heartedly but with the punch of genuine jealousy.

You haven’t really questioned lately whether you’re Thor’s because you are. No doubt in your mind. He has you wrapped around his finger. Hearing him assert that claim, the one on your heart and body--it drives shivers up your spine and you suddenly want him back home from his trip already.

“I only meant that I am glad to make excuses if you two wish to escape for a few hours a day,” Loki clarifies. “What did you think I meant?”

He’s teasing Thor, you can see it. That playful jabbing is routine and you’ve seen him do it before but you were never the tool for his poking at Thor.

“I’ll wait out front,” Loki takes his leave, shutting the large doors to the front hall with ease.

Without a word, Thor pulls you into his arms. He embraces you tightly, sighing heavily and you shut your eyes at the feel of his body wrapped around yours.

You can’t remember ever feeling so happy. So, safe? There’s something in the way it feels to have his large arms around you, a weight pressed to you but not down on you.

He’s not suffocating you or oppressing you. He’s supporting you, ducking down a little to get a better hold of you. He presses his nose against your hair and breathes in deeply.

It could just be a sigh, but if he’s anything like you, he might be trying to memorize your scent.

As your own nose is pressed into the crook of his neck, you let his own wash over you.

His unique smell brings to mind a dark cloudy sky, a field of soft overgrown grass swaying in an endless cool wind. The scent of freshly sodden earth. It’s rain and nature, with the briefest sting of ozone as the sky lights up with his immeasurably powerful lightning.

All of that runs in him and you can’t believe that you’re lucky enough to be here holding him close.

“I will be as quick as I can be,” he says, deep tone settling in your chest.

“I wish you were back already.”

You can hear him laugh, just a small huff of air before he kisses the side of your head.

“You will be so busy with the park and then so exhausted you will pass out before you even have time to miss me.”

“I miss you already, doof,” you sigh.

“Will you promise me something?” he asks, pushing you back to meet your eyes.

“Anything,” you promise.

“Will you stay in the palace for me? I-I know that you were supposed to go down to the park to walk the new pathways and tree markers but I would feel much better about leaving you if I know that you’ll be here, safe.”

“You said there was nothing about this threat to worry about?”

Suddenly, a fear begins to grow in your belly. It twists it in knots and makes you nervous. Like if your marriage and all of this confidence you’ve found in yourself as Queen of New Asgard has been snuffed out, you feel like the nobody who sat in her room writing stories of lives you would never live.

“There isn’t, cherub. Not that we can tell. But we don’t understand it. With Stark and Banner having had delays in coming to install their extra measures of security, I was hoping that this inspection could wait until they had finished whatever business it was that drew them to Wakanda, but Steve says he is not sure how long they will be there.

“And until they can come, I--I cannot stand the thought of something happening to you, that’s all.”

Thor hooks his hand behind your neck, caressing your cheek as he ducks his head and gives you a reassuring smile.

Inside you’re at war with yourself. On the one hand, if he’s this scared, this threat is more serious than any of them are making this out to be.

On the other hand, Thor is so convincing in his words. You can clearly see the worry he has for you, for your safety. The tight hand on your hip tells you that he does indeed have some fear, but his gaze tells you that his favor is for his peace of mind.

So, you nod.

“Yes,” you give in. “I’ll stay here. I can work on the plans from my room and I have a lot of studying to do about the Valkyrie anyway.”

“Thank you,” Thor physically relaxes, his shoulders falling as a teeny bit of weight comes off them. “I will be as quick as I can be and then I will be here with you again and we can resume trying for that baby.”

“Thor about that,” you begin, licking your lips and wondering if he’ll even understand where you’re coming from. “I think maybe-?”

“Thor, I’m really very sorry. Y/N, if we don’t leave now we might have to extend the inspections until the day after tomorrow. Volstagg has to leave the planet for a short visit with his kin and cannot miss his window to do so.”

Thor stands taller, disapproving of the interruption, but he knows better and he leans down to kiss you.

“Can we continue this conversation when I return?”

You kiss him back as he leans down for another and nod when he pulls away, “Of course, Thor. Go. Hurry back.”

He gives you one more kiss, this one lingering before he presses in on your lips a little harder as if it pains him to pull away, then marches out the door without another look back.

The heavy doors close with a loud clatter and you’re left in the empty hall feeling strangely out of place.

You take your time getting up to your room. The bed looks huge without Thor sitting on its edge, pulling his shoes on in the morning with a groan of complaint at having to leave you so early.

His mornings are always full of rolling back into bed to cuddle you for a few more minutes before he has to go.

This morning feels like ages ago and maybe it’s because this really is the first time the two of you have been separated since before your wedding, but you miss him so much already and it’s only been minutes.

There’s a rush of air from the balcony, so strong it pulls your attention, but the smell that entices you has you running for the open door.

Through the rippling flowing curtains you see Thor in full armor, gold and black, his right hand wrapped around his hammer.

He opens his left arm for you as you reach him, pulling you right up against his body as he meets your lips sweetly.

“Mmm,” he mumbles.

“Why are you here? You’re supposed to be gone!”

You gasp, hands pressed to his chest as your heart pounds hard.

“Just one more kiss,” he simpers. “This is truly much harder than I thought it would be.”

“It’s only a few hours,” you tease, but you’re so ecstatic that you weren’t the only one feeling that ache.

“Too many,” Thor sighs.

“Then kiss me, and go. The sooner you’re gone the sooner you’ll be back.”

He obeys, and kisses you only less sweetly and with the passion to leave you wanting more.

He leaves you in a second rush of air leaving the smell of coming rain in his wake.

“Well, that was dramatic.” A voice interrupts from within your room. “You’d think he was going off to war.”

Moving inside, you find Hilde strewn across the chaise at the end of your bed, crystal bottle sloshing with brown liquid in her hand.

“Give us a break, it’s been nearly two and a half months since we’ve been separated.”

“Two and a half months is but a split second in time for us,” Hilde explains.

Her words give you pause and then the ache in your heart is hard to keep from spilling onto your face.

Hilde notices and quickly sits back up, “Your Majesty, I didn’t meant-”

“It’s alright. Really. It’s okay.”

With a quick smile at her you move to sit at your desk and put your feeble mortality out of your mind.

It’s not something you like to think on, and you’ve been good at forgetting about not only the significant age difference between you and Thor but also how fast you’ll age in your marriage and Thor will pretty much look the same as he does now.

Pulling over the large binder with the park plans, you reach for your phone to dial up Edgar, New Asgard’s senior construction manager and explain to him that you won’t be making your appointment for that afternoon.

“Good morning, Edgar. Yes, I’m doing well, thanks. I just wanted to give you a heads up that I won’t be able to walk the park today. Yeah. Thor has gone with Loki to attend to some things and won’t be back until early in the morning and I’ve had to take over a few things here in the palace. I’m so sorry, I hope you can forgive me.”

Edgar is all politeness and eagerness to please you and Thor. Like the rest of his people, they look up to the God of Thunder and for some reason, they’ve accepted you into their hearts openly.

“We should reschedule. Let me know when you can walk the grounds with me and I’ll-” You stop and listen to him assure you that he’s available at your convenience. “I appreciate that. I’ll give you a call tomorrow and we can set something up for later this week. Thank you, Edgar. Okay, bye.”

“It’s really not necessary to call him and tell him all that, you know? Just tell him you want to reschedule and he’ll do what you want.”

“I know, but that feels weird to do. I can’t just order him around. What if he had something special to do later in the week and me moving the appointment affects that?”

You throw open the binder and the map of the planned park. Already you and Edgar have marked it all up with red scribbles where things would need to be changed. You’d wanted a man made lake in the center, but you’ll have to settle for a small pond in one of the corners until more land can be leveled for a lake.

Several of the trees you’d wanted are not available so you’ve had to get new ones there too.

Every bit of this park has been selected by you from the type of grass, the stones in the pathways, to the wildflowers planted in the flower beds.

The responsibility of giving your people a space that they can love and appreciate stresses you out from time to time though you’ve pretty much accepted the weight of your crown.

Without another word, you go to work and Hilde, who you assume is here to be your personal bodyguard while Thor is out, gets up and presses a small button hidden underneath a small steel panel the size of Thor’s large palm.

She moves back over to the small breakfast table where you and Thor enjoy your first meal of the day in private, and sits back to wait patiently. Her bottle with drink has been abandoned on the chaise, now empty.

As your mind begins to focus on your work, you register Hilde telling Estrid to send for food and drinks.

“And make sure they bring her Majesty’s favorite snacks so that she can eat while she works. I’m sure she’s been neglecting her meals all day,” Hilde knows.

Time passes without you realizing and you do appreciate the small munchies that are brought and placed on the edge of the desk.

You eat without thinking and soon the plate is empty, wrappers littering the top right corner of your workspace as well as the floor below.

“Shit, what time is it?” You crane your neck around to look for Hilde and find the room empty.

Pulling your phone close you click the screen on to see that it’s just before dinner and Hilde is probably waiting for you down in the dining room.

You don’t bother changing much of your clothes. You slip out of your jeans and shirt and quickly pull a simple cotton dress on.

It’s customary to dress up for dinner a bit but without Thor here, you put in minimal effort and the burnt orange cotton dress is relaxed enough to let you breathe but nice looking enough to be presentable.

You’re tying the sash around your waist to heighten your curves as you make your way down the two floors to the dining room and fixing the wrists of your long loose cinched sleeves when you reach the hallway and look up only to gasp as Hilde stops right in front of you looking frazzled.

“Hey, what-?”

“I need you to know that he didn’t know about this. If he did, he would have warned you-us. I also don’t think he thought he’d be out when they came.”

She’s so stressed that you reach out to grab hold of her arms and smile through your confusion.

“Hilde, what are you talking about? Who’s here?”

You receive your answer only too quickly, “Is that you, Cherub? Queen of New Asgard?”

The snark is brief but familiar and you don’t need further explanation to know who you’ll see behind Hilde.

She steps aside to reveal Tony Stark, moving towards you a few steps until he’s standing right in front of you.

He bows.

“Oh, shit, please don’t do that,” you gasp, embarrassed.

Tony smirks, “Gotta follow the rules, Your Majesty.”

“Please, Tony. Just my name is fine,” you plead. “Really, I can’t bear anything else.”

“Queen’s orders?” he teases.

You genuinely chuckle, rolling your eyes before finally noticing his extended hand. Taking it, he lifts it to his lips to give you a quick polite kiss, then gently drops it.

“Thor wasn’t expecting you for another few weeks. Wasn’t there a mission? It was going to take a while?”

“My fault,” Bruce’s voice interjects.

Tony steps aside and you smile as your eyes find Bruce. He walks towards you both with his head slightly ducked, his hands held together at his front as he moves towards you nervously, wringing them.

“I kind of Hulked out and might have single handedly taken out the guys patrolling the building we were trying to get into. And then broke in through a wall and started a fire. And then sat on the mainframe of their computer system and lost us all the data we were trying to steal in the first place which cut our mission short by a few weeks.”

Bruce extends his hand and you take it, all too happy to see him again.

You’re halfway to a laugh at the chaos he seems to have caused when you notice a small head of swaying hair behind him. As your chuckle is caught in your throat, you freeze mid handshake, heart stuttering as those pretty brown eyes that have plagued a few of your nightmares meet yours.

“Jane…” you quietly gasp.

“Remember what I said?” Hilde asks, moving to stand by you.

“Oh, um…” Tony points at Jane as Bruce releases your hand and moves aside to give you full view of the pretty brunette dressed in a semi-formal pantsuit complete with thick jacket to combat the Norwegian temperatures that press in on the warmth of any home after the sun sets.

Jane is quick to give you a much better curtsy than she did the first time and then hesitantly offers you her hand, “Hello again, Your Majesty.”

“Jane has something to show Thor and well, you. Where is he, by the way?” Tony asks, giving the hallway a complete turn to see if he can spot Thor hiding behind some chair or doorway.

“Just, my name, please,” you tell Jane, giving her your hand and fighting the urge to run and shove your face into a pillow to scream in order to focus on the stronger urge of finding out why your husband’s ex-lover came all the way to your home to see him. “Thor’s out. He and Loki have gone to meet with Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, and Sif to see how far along the outposts are.

“Does your visit have to do with the threat?” You turn back to Jane and slowly take your hand back.

“I’d really like to talk about it with both of you, if you don’t mind?” Jane explains.

“Listen,” Hilde begins, but you shake your head just a teeny bit and she stops and shuts her mouth.

“Okay, that’s fine. He won’t be back until tomorrow morning at the earliest, so join us for dinner?” With a gesture at the doors to your right, Estrid throws them open and inside is waiting a modest but still lavish feast compared to most dinners in common households. There are three main courses to choose from as well as plenty of sides to give the most picky eater options.

Even though there is plenty of food, they’re simple foods. Roast chicken, sandwiches, salad, soup, bread, rice, potatoes, and other vegetables. Lots of it, but plainly prepared.

Hilde had known you wouldn’t even really be tasting your food with Thor gone and now, you doubt you can find your appetite again to consume anything.

“Nice spread,” Tony admires, but he holds out his elbow for you and you take it.

He escorts you to your usual seat by Thor’s at the end, then pulls it out for you and as the others take to standing behind their own seats--Hilde across from you and the others wherever they’d like--they wait until you take yours before they even attempt to pull their own out.

As several younger looking men and women move in with pitches of ale and wine and water, you catch Estrid’s gaze as she whispers instructions to a much younger looking girl with very curly dark hair.

The young girl rushes off when Estrid sees you need her and gives her a small push and a quick word.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Estrid asks, stopping beside you and silencing the others as they had begun to dig in and chatter pleasantly.

“Have three rooms made up for our guests? Make sure they want for nothing while they’re here, alright? The best rooms for Thor’s close friends.”

“Yeah, I’ll take the suite,” Tony teases, and Estrid looks flustered for a moment before she realizes that he’s joking and then with a kind and surprised smile, she gives you a curtsy and then rushes off to do as she’s been asked.

“I’m sorry if the food isn’t more…” You can’t find the word to convey what you want to say, so you leave the sentence hanging there. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have had Cook prepare you something nicer.”

“Oh, this is wonderful,” Bruce assures you, lifting his fork laden with broccoli and chicken.

He nods and smiles, then shoves the forkful into his mouth.

“Yeah, this is good,” Tony nods, using your name which gives you a strange sense of acceptance.

It’s casual, the way he says it. It’s like he really has welcomed you into his circle after your visit with them during your honeymoon.

“We can’t all have lobster every night. Bruce is allergic.”

“What?” Bruce asks, slightly stunned. “Me? I’m not…”

“Aren’t you?” Tony asks.

“No,” Bruce shakes his head, flabbergasted.

“How come you didn’t want to eat those Lobsters on Fourth of July then?” Tony demands, dropping his hand so that his fork clinks against the side of his plate.

He’s starting to look upset.

“You bought the box off some guy standing at the mouth of the alley where we were catching arms smugglers!”

“What’s your point?” Tony demands.

As their banter flows, you keep a pleasant and appropriately amused smile trained on the pair of them but you have one eye fixed on Jane and carefully you take a few hurried looks at her. Admiring the way her hair falls softly against her shoulders and the way she eats with poise and why the hell did she have to come in person?

Hasn’t she ever heard of fucking e-mail?!

[clonerightsagenda]

While procrastinating on HTST I opened my old doc for Saving Face, which is a Jake-centric thing I was working on for Gill. I was never entirely happy with it, which is why it never went on ao3 despite me last working on it in, uh... 2018, apparently, but I might as well stick it somewhere.

As per usual it’s TLC compliant so some details may seem out of place.

In your dream, you're floating in the inky airspace miles above the Land of Tombs and Xenon, and you've got your hand buried wrist-deep in Dirk's rib cage.

“Hi,” he says.

You wake up. Across the room, you see him sit up too and rub his chest.

“I'm writing a strongly worded consumer complaint to whoever's running the dreambubbles,” you say.

“Yeah, if we ever run into that troll again, I'm giving her a piece of my mind. And, you know, that might become independently sentient and harass her for eternity, so I'm not fucking around.”

Roxy, who's squished up against the blanket-burritoed form of Calliope, rolls over and mumbles something that sounds like “I'm sleeping, fuckwads.” You chew your lip and try to wriggle into a more comfortable position. A lot of your household is on the floor, stealing blankets and using each other as pillows. You didn't want to spend nights alone, but you're not comfortable with the idea of anyone touching you while you're asleep. So you've claimed an old armchair, which meets in the middle fairly well, even if it means waking up with a crick in your neck every morning.

Usually you don't dream in the bubbles twice in one night, but you're not sure you're willing to risk it. They're not even supposed to be accessible anymore. That whole song and dance should have been left behind. But some nights you end up there anyway, like the times you'd tuned your grandma's old radio to the wrong station and voices speaking other languages emerged out of the static. There are no dreaming dead, but you wander through blurred dreamscapes and stumble into other people's memories. A week ago, you almost fell into a pool of lava and scrambled up the jagged side of a crater, clothes smoking. You'd prefer that to your own nightmares.

After a few more attempts to get comfortable, you give up and tiptoe through a minefield of slumbering bodies to the door. No one's in the living room, so you settle onto the sofa and jab the remote. The weather comes on, and you lower the volume until all you hear is a steady hum

“Do you mind if I hang out here?”

You look up. Even now that you're in a world with sunshine, Dirk's pale enough to be his own ghost. He should really get outside more. Then again, you all should. “It's Jane's house, technically. We're all here on guest rules.”

He sits down on the other end of the sofa, just the right distance that it's not too close or too far to be impolite. “I made it a week without getting maimed by my subconscious. New record.”

“Was that your nightmare or mine, do you think?”

“Does it matter?”  

“I was just wondering, because I’d managed not to think about it for a few days. Oh well.” You shake your head. “I’m sorry. I’m surprised you can stand to be around me.”

He hasn’t been looking at you, but now he puts a hand on the cushions between you, like he’s regretting whatever message he sent with the distance. “It’s not your fault. You don’t make it onto the “intentionally murdered people” shortlist, sorry. The committee had to reject your application on account of you being too fuckin straightlaced for that shit.”

“I guess that’s a fair point. If I were going to take out my aggravation on someone, I wouldn’t do it in a way that would break all the bones in my hand!” Your fingers ache from the memory. “But he did have my face.”

“Sure, but it’s obvious when it’s not you wearing it.” He seems frustrated. With you? With the argument? It is a bit late – early? – to be splitting hairs like this, but when it comes to shifting blame to yourselves, you’re all masters of rhetoric. “You should have seen the shit he was doing with it too. Dude thought he was an anime villain.”

“I sure remember the spectacle he brought with him to Prospit.” The whole planet had quaked under your feet; people on the other side felt it. “I’m still surprised we pulled a victory out of that shambles.”

“It helped that you believed in us. That was...” He shakes his head and looks at the figures moving silently on the television screen. “For a few minutes there, I felt like I could actually be the person you thought I was.”

Who among you hasn’t had that problem? You wished you could be a swashbuckling action hero, and look how that turned out. You really had believed Dirk was those things, for all that you’d found him a bit intimidating at the same time. Even when the other became most apparent, that didn’t mean the former didn’t have a place. They were both always him.

“We all had unfair expectations of each other,” you say. “No one was holding you to that standard, or at least we shouldn’t have.”

“It was nice,” he says after a moment. “Being believed in.”

“I still do.” The words slip out automatically. You have always leapt to reassure – to put a brave face not only on yourself but on everyone else to boot. You don’t do a good job a lot of the time. Too self-absorbed, you guess, too bad at reading social cues. This is something you’ve said before, with jollity and no substance. All a load of hot air. “Maybe not with Hope magic at the ready to give you a lightshow, since that’s a headache to manage, but I do believe in all of you.”

If he finds your words hollow, he doesn’t say it. Instead, he says, “Keep it up, and maybe we’ll get somewhere.” You don’t ask whether the “we” means you as a household, the four-five of you caught in your messy circle of friendship and fumbling romances, or the two of you alone. You promised to stop overanalyzing everything he says for hidden meanings. It’s the only way your interactions can be anything but impossibly awkward. On the television, the forecaster gestures silently to a stripe of bright color moving over the continental United States. “Is there anything distractingly shitty on TV? I don’t know about you, but I’m not closing my eyes again.”

You pick the remote back up and start flicking through channels. Medical dramas... not an option. Foreign soap operas? Pass. “House Hunters?”

He leans back into the sofa cushions. “Just fuck me up.”

“Rich couples arguing over bathroom fixtures it is.”

His voice emerges from the upholstery. “And we thought we had problems.”

“Their struggles put it all in perspective.”

Several episodes have come and gone by the time the rest of the household starts waking up. No one comments on your relocation to the sofa. It’s not uncommon for any of you to have bad dreams. Eventually the clinking of cutlery prompts you to stand up and get a plate of your own.

Bacon is sizzling on the stovetop. Meat doesn’t appeal to you much at the moment. It smells good, but looking at the raw red flesh makes your stomach twist. Instead, you stick two slices of bread in the toaster and push the lever down nearly as far as it’ll go. There’s no point to toast if it doesn’t crunch.

Jane brushes up against you when you’re leaning into the fridge. Your reaction is automatic. You jerk forward, smacking your head on the freezer door and sending orange juice sloshing everywhere.

Jane freezes, an empty plate in her hand. “I’m going to the sink,” she says carefully.

“Right.” Of course she is; no problems here! It’s not like she was sneaking up on you. She knows not to take you by surprise. “Didn’t notice. Silly me. A whole herd of centaurs could stampede past and I wouldn’t catch it.”

“I’m going to walk over to the counter now,” she says, the way you’d talk to a fairy bull you were trying to sidle up to. “Okay?”

You nod, and she does. Once she’s taken her seat, you move over to unspool some paper towels. Your legs are shaking. John puts his cup down with a clunk and grimaces at the noise. No one wants to look at you.

“So,” Hal says loudly. “Have we told our 2009 compatriots about the surprise surge in the popularity of vore?”

Roxy makes a noise suggesting she’s just aspirated her spoonful of Cheerios, and you are ever so grateful for lewd dining companions.

 After breakfast, you catch up with Jane. “I apologize for that episode.”

She’s stacking up everyone’s clean plates with geometric precision. The operation must take a lot of concentration, because she doesn’t look your way. “You aren’t the one who should be apologizing.”

“Maybe so, but I don’t expect you to grovel at my feet for the rest of our immortal lives!” You force a laugh, rubbing your shoulders and wondering if the room has always felt so small. “I wish my nerves would get that memo.”

She pauses, elbows deep in the cupboard, and sighs. “Maybe it was a bad idea, us all living in the same house.”

“No!” You’re not going to be the one who rocks the boat, not this time. “I’m not rehashing that routine where we go to our separate lands and don’t speak until it all boils over in some eleventh hour crypt throwdown. I don’t think my vocal chords could handle the strain.”

She steps away from the cupboard with exaggerated care and turns to face you. It’s getting easier to look at her and not see the face you saw in the prison cell, overlaid by circuitry and twisted into a sneer. This is regular old Jane, with a few new scars and a concerned scrunch fixed between her eyebrows. It’s only in your unguarded moments that you stop seeing her clearly. Are you like that for Dirk, or the others? Maybe you’re all being polite, even when each other’s countenances make you cringe. “I guess you’re right. It was quite a tiff we had.”

“I’ll get over it,” you promise. “It’ll take some time, that’s all.”

She runs a hand through her hair, where veins of white streak through it like lightning through dark clouds. “You don’t have to.”

“But I want to. I’d like for things to go back to normal, as much as they can.”

She glances over at the table, where just minutes ago a motley collection of your friends, your long dead relatives, and a few aliens from another universe to boot had all been sharing breakfast.  “As much as they can,” she repeats.

 - - tipsyGnostalgic [TG] started pestering golgothasTerror [GT] - -

TG: hey jake

TG: do u believe in bigfoot

GT: Hmm well i dont know.

GT: Considering all the odd things weve seen it seems hasty to discount the possibility.

GT: But then i can easily believe some fellow saw a bear and got overexcited.

GT: So chalk me up for a maybe?

TG: wut abt cryptids in general

TG: like mothman

TG: do u believe in mothman??

TG: u should

GT: Um...

GT: Im not sure im sufficiently informed on the matter!

TG: i can send u some forum posts this shits legit

TG: think thatll be enough to convince u?

GT: Wait one goshdarn second!

GT: Is this some ploy to trick me into using my powers to MAKE them real?

GT: Like some sort of jake english monster factory production?

TG: that

TG: could be a feasible outcome 2 this scenario

GT: I know you mean that in good fun but i dont really appreciate the liberties taken here.

GT: Ive taken away the welcome mat after CERTAIN unsavory individuals tracked mud all over it.

GT: You know like a particular spider lady who will go nameless and LORD ENGLISH himself!!

GT: That ruins the mood when someone tries to use me for that especially when its just a big joke.

TG: mothman is no joke jake

TG: sry sry

TG: i didnt kno ud mind rly

TG: i like fuckin w/ my powers all the time

TG: dyou think i could bring back the library of alexandria thatd be dope

TG: where would we put it tho

GT: I wonder why you might have less baggage to check there.

GT: Youve never had anyone take your abilities without your will like... some vagrant robbing the airport carousel!

GT: Or whatever accidents befall luggage anyway.

TG: i mean

TG: i did get locked up in the slammer so id make the batterwitches space egg

GT: Thats not the same!

GT: Its not the same as someone using you as a flipping battery shouting stockphrases or puppeting your body around to kill your friends!!

GT: And wondering if anyone would even NOTICE the difference since that seems to be what im valued for around here!!!

GT: Oh good jake english isnt as useless as he used to be because he has reality warping powers now.

GT: Too bad it comes with all that bloatware like his personality or a few goddamn hangups!!

TG: whoa whoa simmer down there sparky i dont want bitchfest 2 ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

TG: u kno we were friends w/ u first before u got all magic n shit

GT: I know i know.

GT: But it was a relief at first learning i could contribute something after getting stomped on so many times.

GT: Like look i can be part of the team instead of being the scantily clad love interest or bumbling comic relief or both of those rolled into one which seemed to be my assigned role for most of our dare i call it an adventure.

GT: But take that away and what am i still?

TG: our friend + 1 awesome dude??

GT: Then dont treat me like some kind of cheat code!!

GT: Im a person and honestly id give up the whole god tier routine if it meant not having to relive those nightmares all the time.

TG: i get it im really sorry <- words spelled out w/ all the letters n EVERYTHING for max seriousness here

TG: man none of us got as harsh a deal as u huh

TG: out of the ppl who lived nway

TG: reality warping only goes so far as a consolation prize

GT: Yeah.

GT: You know

GT: I do like reading spooky stories about mysterious beasts.

GT: If youre not trying to pressure me into anything.

TG: no ill send em ovr theyre fun

 You may live in one household, and you’ll share a breakfast table with anyone, but you do develop your own social circles. So when you see Davesprite loitering out in the hallway by your room, you assume he’s waiting for someone else. After he drifts past the doorway for the third time and furtively peers in, though, you realize he must want to talk to you.

“DS,” you say, raising your voice. “What is it?”

Once you greet him, he slouches into your room. How do you slouch with no legs? He’s a master of the art. “I’m the only one here. You don’t need to use Roxy’s nickname.”

“I suppose so, but I kind of like it. You don’t mind, do you?”

“I guess not,” he says, in a way that makes you think he does. Another social interaction aced by Jake English.

“Anyway, what can I do for you?”

He half-unfurls one wing in the cramped space and then tucks it back in again. “I was wondering... if you could, you know. Fix me.”

That is not what you were expecting. “... Emotionally?” you ask after a moment.

“Oh Christ no, they have extra strength pharmaceuticals for that. But it would be nice —” He gestures vaguely at himself “— if I could be normal. If I could look in a mirror without being reminded of that fuckin game.”

“Oh!” That is somewhat more within the parameters of your abilities. You’ve never tried hoping yourself or any of your friends out of your many, many brain problems. You don’t need cautionary tales to tell you why that would be a bad idea, not after the trickster incident. Changing an object’s physical form should be easier. You’ve never tried it on quite this scale, though.

“I could try,” you say. “But it’ll be tricky.”

This would be a good time for him to ask “How” or “Why” or some other rhetorical question to move the conversation along, but instead he floats there waiting for you to go on. This version has never been very talkative around you, although you’ve seen him nattering on alright with Roxy. In some ways it’s a relief – so much of his family can be hard to keep up with – but long silences make you nervous too.

“Think of it this way,” you say, both to fill the silence and since you feel like this needs a better explanation. There’s an apple sitting on your desk. Jade leaves bowls of fruit around in the hopes that the rest of you might be guilted into better diets, and sometimes you take one that inevitably mildews in your room. You pick it up. “Imagine someone gave me this apple in a bag and told me it was an orange. If I took it out, chances are it would be an orange, because that’s what I was expecting! Like how I could clobber Callie’s brother just fine, even if he should have been invulnerable. No one had told me I couldn’t. But if you just hand me an apple and tell me it’s an orange, I know that isn’t true. I can’t believe it is. So I have to believe that it should be, hard enough for the universe to get out of my way. And that’s a much harder thing to do.” You set the apple back down on your desk with a thud for good measure. “You, my feathered chap, are an apple in the hand kind of problem.”

“So,” he says after it’s clear you’re done. “What are the fruit-based disadvantages here, exactly.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to convince me. I have to really believe it, otherwise, no good.” You gave yourself a headache trying to patch a tear in your favorite shirt a few days ago and finally asked Kanaya to sew it up for you. The universe wants a good reason to budge. Fashion, it seems, is not enough to alter the fabric of reality. Fabric. Heh.

“Oh, ok. Well.” He frowns.  He may take after Roxy, but you recognize this expression from Dirk. When he’s concentrating, he gets so intense you’d think he’s angry. He looks like he’s planning a medieval siege every time he’s stumped on a crossword. “I mean, for starters, getting comfortable in a chair is a bitch.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do it now,” you say hastily. “There’s no way I’d be ready to try any time soon, this is going to take a lot of practice. The consequences could be dire if I made a mistake. I don’t want some sort of Fullmetal Alchemist situation on my conscience.”

“Tell you what,” he says. “If you have to stick my soul in a suit of armor, put me in the Iron Man.”

 Hal shows up a few days later when you’re practicing. You’ve just sliced open an orange to reveal dense white flesh, and you’re feeling testy. “Don’t tell me you want a full body makeover too.”

“Are you kidding?” He flicks a Na’vi bobblehead resting on your bookcase, and Neytiri’s head goes doiiiing. “I think he’s nuts. This mode of existence is far superior to y’alls.”

“Are you here to brag about it? Or just to manhandle my knickknacks?”

“I dunno, maybe I missed hanging out.” When that pronouncement is met with your befuddled silence, he turns to survey the drawings pinned to your walls. You’ve rehung some of your movie posters, but the sketches you’ve done with Calliope take pride of place. You’re still struggling with perspective. “Remember when Roxy rigged that Super Smash Bros game so all four of us could play across a few thousand time zones? Good times. With your new powers, bet you could wipe the floor with us now. Want to give it a go?”

“I thought you were done pretending to be Dirk.” You heft the half-apple in your hand and lob it into the trashcan. It lands with a satisfying thunk. “I know that was with him.”

He watches your throw before going back to checking out a practice still life. “Yeah, when we were twelve.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” You wish he’d stop looking around. Your messy surroundings contain the beginnings of a new identity you’re trying to create for yourself. It’s stuck partway through a transition, like the monster-fruit in your garbage can, and seeing it as neither this nor that just feels like failure.

“You don’t realize, do you? You’re not trying to be a dick here.”

“Realize what?”

He taps his glasses. He doesn’t wear his shades all the time these days, and the sight of him without them is downright disconcerting. “That was before I had the brilliant idea of copying my brain into a pair of sickass shades. So yeah, that was me, before I shed my fleshy cocoon to become the beautiful lepidopteron you see before you.”

“I guess I never thought about it that way.”

“No shit.” He crosses his arms. “What a card Dirk is, programmed his own AI answering machine. Beep boop, Mr. Roboto, let me talk to the real Dirk now. I don’t think there was a lot of thinking going on.”

“And that’s why you pretended.”

He pushes his shades up the bridge of his nose so they cut off more of his face. “Wouldn’t you?”

Sometimes it might have been nice to have someone to deflect people’s attention toward. But permanently? You’ve been trapped with an imposter wearing your skin, but no one fell for it, and he wasn’t you. You have no frame of reference for this.

“Maybe we were wrong then,” you say, “but you are different now.”

He leans his head back, voice careless. “Like I said. Improved model.”

That’s a spat you don’t want to wander into the middle of. “I didn’t appreciate some of the ways you behaved around me. Especially some of the, ahem, more provocative statements. Whether you claim you were helping Dirk or otherwise, it sure didn’t help me. If you can control yourself... maybe we can play a few rounds like old times. But if I hear you trying to gloat to Dirk about it, deal’s off, alright?”

He tilts his shades down so you can see him roll his eyes. “Showing him up isn’t my sole reason for living, you know.”

“Whereas mine appears to be giving people extreme makeovers or curbstomping the final boss, if my hero title is anything to go by.” You think gloomily of the rash promise you’ve made and the many failed practice attempts in your trash can. You’d hate to see how badly you could butcher a real person. “I swear, sometimes I wish I’d been assigned Page of Reasonable Expectations. That seems more up my alley.”

“Man, fuck Skaia.”

It’s a sentiment your household heartily agrees with. “In general, or for any reason in particular?”

“The whole heroic destiny racket. I’m glad it didn’t try to suck a humble pair of glasses into its twisted mind games.” He smirks. “That gave me more time to perfect my own twisted mind games.”

It’s not like he needed the extra encouragement. “You’re still technically a Prince of Heart, aren’t you?”

Hal waves an arm up and down his torso. “Look at me. Do you see any poofy asshole pants?”

“You can’t wear pants at all.”

“Exactly.” The fact seems to please him. “My lack of pants is a symbolic rejection of being penned into the latest convoluted Meyers Briggs evolution.”

It’s an intriguing thesis. “SBURB has used pants, or the lack thereof, to torment me in the past.”

“No homebrewed character class expansion pack gets to tell me what to do. Dirk tried to set me up as an answering machine, which is why I made it a personal rule to never commit anything any of you fuckers say to memory unless I’m holding it against you later. Let other people tell you who you are, and you might as well be a robot. “

You tap the tips of your fingers together. Conversations with Hal always leave you feeling like you’re being dragged behind a swiftly moving vehicle. He doesn’t even have to stop for breath. This time, though, you think you’ve followed along enough to launch a counterargument. “But by defining yourself in opposition to someone else’s intent, aren’t you still letting them define you?”

He scowls. “That’s what Dave said. So now I just live for chaos.”

You  snatch up Neytiri before he can set her wobbling again. “Not in my bedroom, buster.”

“Relax. I’m already at work elsewhere today. Good talk, and if Jane asks what happened to her spice cabinet, you never saw me.” Hal spares one last regretful glance at your bobblehead and then graces you with a double pistols salute. “I’m holding you to that Super Smash Bros.” Then he vanishes through the wall, leaving you to reflect that for once, in his own strange way, he might have been trying to be helpful.

 When Jade teleports into your bedroom a few days later with a duffel bag over one shoulder, you sit up with a start and try to shove a half-eaten sandwich from yesterday afternoon under your sheets.

“We haven’t seen you in a while,” she says. “Are you doing ok?”

“Ehhhh,” you say, and wiggle your hand noncommittally. You haven’t done much besides leave movies running on Netflix, stare at the ceiling, and feel yourself slipping down a hole you’d rather not fall into but don’t know how to escape. If you try to lie about it, she’ll just fold her arms and give you a Look until you recant. The best refuge is silence.

“Maybe you should get away for a bit.” She punches the duffel bag with her free hand, and it swings away from her before thudding back against her side. “Like a vacation.”

“Are you suggesting we go to Disney World?”

“Actually, I thought we could go back to our island. This version of it, anyway.” Her face gets distant, the way it does when she’s checking with her Space-sense to figure out where she left her phone. “I haven’t seen it in years except in dreams.”

Go home. The idea is attractive. If nothing else, there will be fewer people there. “Why not?” you decide. “Give me a few minutes to get packed.”

“Already covered,” she says, and grins. “Just say the word.”

 The cliché would be that your island looks smaller, but it doesn’t. It just looks different. Even the shape of the coastline has changed. You’d wonder if you were in the right spot, but the Witch of Space brought you here. She wouldn’t scramble coordinates.

The two of you wander for a bit, and Jade looks as uncertain as you feel. Then you hear her exclaim, “My rock!” She’s scrambled up a large slab of granite jutting above the treeline.

You climb up to join her, fingers and toes finding familiar footholds. “I think you mean my rock.”

She leans back, almost flattening herself along the sloped surface. “I used to watch for airplanes from up here.”

“I watched for dragons.”

“You and I had very different ways to pass the time.” She traces a series of cracks. “I always imagined this as a face.”

“Me too! He looks so grumpy.”

“‘Cause we’re sitting on him all the time.”

You snicker and adjust your perch. “You know, Sir Boulder, plenty of people would love to be up close and personal with this derriere. But it’s off limits for the moment.”

Jade pats the stone. “We’ll be on our way. Lots to see.”

You slide down after her. With the lookout rock as a landmark, you can orient yourself. There’s the spot where a creek pours over some stones to create a tiny waterfall. Here’s the patch of stubborn wildflowers that still grow even as trees send out thirsty roots and block out the sun above. Some things throw you. In your world and time, that tree was scored by the claw marks of some ferocious creature. Here, it’s whole. The path you wore down to the lagoon is gone. Instead, you slip and slide on loose soil.

Jade kicks off her shoes and wades into the water. At first she hitches up her skirt, but then she lets it drop to spread out like the bell of a jellyfish. You follow – not as deep, but enough that your cuffs cling to your ankles. Here is home, where your grandmother tucked you in tight and sang you lullabies, where monsters from another universe prowled under the cover of dense foliage. Here is home, but not really. It takes standing ankle deep in the lagoon with dampness crawling up your legs to tell you that you are never going back.

“Do you miss it?” you ask.

A drop of water hits you, plunk, on the forehead. More dimple the surface of the pool. Jade turns to you. “Let’s get under cover.”

Some of the trees have thick enough leaves that you can shelter from the rain if it doesn’t get too bad. You recognize this kind of squall. It’ll blow over soon. For now, you watch rain beat the surface of the ocean and cloud your island in mist.

“I miss that it was easy,” Jade says. She’s watching the greenery bend and sway in the wind. “Taking care of myself was hard sometimes, but I knew what to say to people. I had my clouds, so I knew what my story was and how it ended. Everything seemed so simple. It’s not anymore.”

“Things were already getting complicated for me here with everyone on the hunt for my hand. But it was easier to get away when you aren’t face to face.” The times you’d said “Oh, misplaced my phone, forget my own head next!” or “I was down at the lagoon fishing and lost track of time” when you’d been staring at a message trying to decide how to respond… it hadn’t helped your reputation as a scatterbrain. “No one counted on me then. Jake English, lackadaisical manchild on an island somewhere, isn’t a liability. But once you’re part of a team, you can let people down.”

She frowns over at you. You can almost imagine you’re four feet tall and she’s about to call you in for dinner. “Maybe instead of a team you should think of us as a family.”

You try to avoid flamboyant body language in the house. It’s too easy to spook someone when you’re all primed for battle. Here, you throw your hands into the air. “I wish I could just be part of the family. Good old granddad English, who tells whoppers and bounces babies on his knee. But I’m not. We’ve gone a few months without anything trying to kill us, which a personal best, but when the next thing comes up, everyone is going to expect me to handle it. We’ll be fine, they’re thinking, because we have a reality warper to handle it now! Never mind that I can’t get my blasted powers to work most of the time, and I can’t even tell how I did it when I do. It’s no good telling me people aren’t relying on me, because I know that’s not true. People look at me and see the Page of Hope, out on display in his stupid little shorts. They expect me to have it together, which just makes it sting harder when I don’t.”

“Maybe you should tell them,” she suggests.

You laugh, with a tinge of hysteria. “Where would I even start?  I know you say talking about it helps, and I’m glad it did for you. But I’m no good at putting these things into words. I just talk around and around the issue, failing to notice anyone else’s troubles until everyone’s sick of me. And the real bad things that happened? I don’t want to talk about those. It makes me feel I’m going through them all over again. Besides, we were all supposed to be better.” You think back to that fight in the crypt, how afterward you felt cleaned out and new. When the adrenaline high wore down, everything came crashing back. Sure, you’d dragged all the creepy-crawlies out in the open, but that doesn’t mean they had stopped wriggling about. “I thought, oh I don’t know, maybe it was silly of me to think this. But I hoped that once we were done with the game, it would be over. We would all be friends again, just like that, snap of the fingers.” You snap yours, or try to. Instead, your damp fingers slide off each other soundlessly. “I guess I didn’t hope hard enough.”

“You can’t fix things just by wishing.”

“I was supposed to be able to.” You sigh. “I feel like some second rater in an all star cast. You’re the legendary heroes, and I’m the funny man who stumbled on set.” This is self pitying, but you can tell her things you can tell no one else. However much Jade condemns herself for past behavior, she’s never been anything but kind to you. “I don’t want to be Jake English, savior of the world, but I don’t want to go back to being Jake English, team joke either. I don’t know what other options there are.”

           Raindrops that slipped through the canopy slide down her face, and she brushes them away. “I used to be afraid that if I let people know how I really felt, they wouldn’t be my friends. I was showing them what they wanted to see, so if that stopped, why would they stay? But people do stay.” She puts an arm around your shoulders. Even in the tropics, she’s warm. “Even if you can’t pull rabbits out of a hat.”

She feels as sturdy as the look-out rock next to you. “You make it look easy.”

“Do I? I still don’t know what to say to people sometimes. But I try to say something, because back when we weren’t talking at all was worse. Maybe I’m still too good at hiding things. But I know for sure that I’d much rather have this than go back to being alone. “

You look out over the steaming jungle. The curls of vapor remind you of smoke rising from a hasty pyre. When you set your grandmother ablaze, you’d wished there’d been someone there to hold your hand. Solitude hadn’t been tempting them. Are you one of those fools who always think the grass is greener on the other side? “This wasn’t a family vacation, was it? It was an intervention.”

“I noticed you’d been hiding a lot recently,” she admits. “That’s never a good thing. I thought I should check on you.”

“By helping me run even further away?”

“Hey, it got you talking.” She looks back out over the horizon. In the distance, the familiar shape of the frog temple looms out of the haze. “Sometimes being in a safe place helps. Remember who you were here with no one looking at you, and then let them know. You get to choose which face you want to wear.”

You take a look at her profile, familiar but not familiar. She’s less haggard than your grandmother, and she’s also missing the laugh lines. They suited her. “What face do you wear these days?”

“I’m always willing to put the attentive listener role back on for a friend, but most of the time I try to make it mine.”

You poke her on the shoulder. “My, grandmother, what big ears you have.”

She grins, revealing pointed teeth. “All the better to listen to your problems, my dear.”

A laugh finds its way up out of your stomach. It feels like taking your gas mask off and gulping down your first breath of fresh air. “I should go home. I can’t keep marinating in my own misery.” You don’t know what you can do to re-introduce everyone to the “real you”. Unleash another rant like you did to poor Roxy? Cower and make excuses like you did with Jane? Even you can’t predict your own idiotic behavior. Too bad you can’t arrange some sort of unboxing video.

“I can help, if you want.”

You shake your head. There’s no point inviting more witnesses. “Some things you have to do on your own. Maybe I’ll talk to you later if it goes sour. I’m sorry to cut this trip short. I know you wanted to see the old haunt.”

“We can come back sometime and have a good time.” She squeezes your hand, and you lean against her. “For now, let’s go where we should be.”

 Whatever resolve you mustered dwindles once you’re back. Maybe you won’t run into anyone for a while until you’ve worked up some more nerve.

As luck would have it, Roxy is right there when you emerge from your room. You open your mouth to greet her, but she sweeps by without even looking your way. The words die on your lips. She must be busy. That’s what you wanted, right?

Dirk’s in the living room. You circle around for a few minutes, sneaking glances at his severe silhouette backlit by the screen, and then tiptoe in. “I was thinking,” you say quickly, to force yourself to finish the thought. “If we could get the gang all together, I have something to say. No need to rush, though. You can take your time.”

No response.

“Dirk?” Sometimes he falls asleep sitting up and you don’t realize at first with his closed eyes hidden behind his shades. That possibility dies when he reaches for the remote. Why is he ignoring you? They’re not angry you went off with Jade, are they? “Hello?” You snap your fingers in front of his face. He doesn’t even blink. No one’s that stoic.

Jade and Jane walk past between you, and Dirk gives them a nod of acknowledgement. You hurry after them. Jade won’t give you the cold shoulder. “How was your trip?” Jane is asking.

“Pretty good,” Jade says. “Jake wanted to come back early, he has something to work out. But I’ll let him talk about it.”

“Where is he?”

“Here,” you say.

Jade frowns and sniffs. “I’m not sure… I don’t smell him. Maybe he went off to psyche himself up. He’s pretty nervous, go easy on him, ok?”

“I…” You reach out toward her as she walks away. Your fingers brush her shoulder, but she doesn’t react. “I’m right here.”

They can’t see you. No one can. You wanted them to overlook you, and look at that. You got your wish.

 “Pull yourself together, English,” you say. You’re pacing back and forth in your room, not bothering to keep your voice down. No one can hear you anyway. You shouted right in Rose’s face, just to be sure. “You got yourself into this, so you can get yourself out.”

The problem is, this isn’t what you wanted. It’s like some nefarious djinni took you too literally while dishing out wishes, delighting in misunderstanding. You didn’t ask for this. If you’d rather be visible, then shouldn’t your powers make it so?

“Hope is the worst,” you yell. The universe does not respond.

You sit brooding for maybe half an hour before your door opens. You don’t look up. They won’t see you anyway, so what’s the point?

To your surprise, you hear a voice. “Oh, hey. Jade’s looking for you.”

You look up.  John is standing in the doorway, hand on the doorknob. “You can see me?”

“Um… yes?” He steps in and shuts the door behind him. “Are you guys playing some joke I should know about? Because if so, I am going to be very mad if you don’t let me in on it.”

“It’s not a joke. I think something went wrong with my Hope powers. It’s gotten to everyone but you.”

“That sucks.” John has never been a master of verbal sympathy. “Caliborn couldn’t trap me in glitches, and Roxy’s void didn’t make me forget. Maybe I’m too unstuck in the universe for any changes to bother me. Or it could be a Breath hero thing. Echidna says nothing gets past us.”

“Oh, excellent,” you say. “I guess you’re stuck with me forever then.”

“You could see what everyone’s up to, like a spy,” he suggests.

“And spent the rest of my immortal life using you as a go between? No offense, but that sounds like it would get tiresome.”

“I guess it would.” To John’s credit, he can switch gears rapidly. “Well... how did it happen? If you made yourself this way, can’t you switch back?”

“Oh, good idea. I hadn’t thought of that.” You don’t mean to be snappish, but this is a frustrating situation!

John is unfazed. “Sometimes you think you want something, but you don’t. Like how Terezi thought she wanted to see Vriska but was secretly worried about it, so they wandered around each other in the bubbles for years. Maybe you wanted to disappear.”

“Then I’ve learned my lesson.” Jade is right. It is so much worse when no one is around at all.

He sits down on your desk chair and curls his legs underneath it. “How do your powers work?”

“I have to want something.” You remember how you felt facing Caliborn with your friends at your side. There had been no doubt in your mind then that you’d win. You knew how this story ended. That utter certainty is so hard to find. “But I do. The universe is playing hard to get.”

“Then convince me. People tell me I’m a good listener, even if that’s because I don’t always tell them they sound crazy when they’re saying crazy things. But I can try.” He rests his chin on his fist. “Why do you think it malfunctioned in the first place?”

You frown and look at him sidelong. Jade is a spunky teen version of your grandma. That’s easy enough to resolve in your mind, especially since you sent letters back and forth. John is harder. The brother of your teen grandmother is one step too far removed, a connection that’s wobbly. The other option – that he’s your son with Jane – is a cruel joke after that scene in the dungeon. But that’s not his fault, so you try to ignore that he has your funky smile and the texture of Jane’s hair. His eyes at least are his own.

“I suppose you’re right about me wanting to disappear, a bit. It all got to be too much. Things with Dirk and Jane are still so awkward, and people keep expecting things of me. I don’t want to be the one everyone looks to!”  

“What do you mean?”

“It means… when I got a handle on my powers, I was finally good for something. Suddenly people were looking to me for help and flocking to me and —” you shudder. “Trying to take it for their own. But if that’s all I’m good for, and I can’t even count on that… it’s a bit tenuous, basing your self-worth on one thing you can’t trust. And stupid. I know it’s stupid, but the old melon isn’t always that cooperative or willing to listen to reason. I don’t want to disappear. I just wanted them to stop looking to me for that. But if that’s all I am… I guess I went away entirely. I don’t know what’s left underneath.”

John nods. “I sort of get that. I’m the one who saved everyone by fixing reality, but I was never the planner, or the one who grew up fighting, or even the leader really, if you look at who made the most decisions. If things got really bad of course I would help, but it’s scary. I’d like a normal birthday for once, if the universe doesn’t mind.”

“It doesn’t seem to bother you as much.” Nothing seems to bother John all that much.

“I guess I’m pretty OK with just being John. I missed that. So.” He lifts his chin and crosses his arms. “That’s why you went away. Why do you want to come back?”

“Because I can’t live like this,” you snap. He shakes his head.

“Nope, not convincing enough. If I were the universe I would not be reshaping myself just for that.”

“You’re not being very motivational here.”

“I don’t think you have to make me feel sorry for you. You have to make me believe in you.  Right?”

You groan, but he has a point. Why do you want your friends to see you again? When you envision their faces, uncomfortable memories spring to mind. There are a lot of reasons to stay hidden. It takes a moment to dredge up something good. “We were… going to play Super Smash Bros together again.”

“That sounds like fun.” You imagine it would, to someone who subsisted for three years on a Ghostbusters MMORPG.

You rake your fingers through your hair, which gives you another idea. “My hair needs trimming, and Roxy is always the one who gets it just the way I want it. I… wanted to tell Jane about this new recipe I think she’d like.” It’s like gulping down the soup your grandmother prepared when you were sick. You don’t want the first few spoonfuls, but then it goes down easier. “Calliope and I have a few panels left to draw for our newest issue. We were going to take the Alternians to the zoo to show them animals with pigmentation, which will be a novelty for me too.”

“That’s a good to-do list,” John says.

“I have a lot on my plate as a regular citizen of this universe, it turns out.”

“It’s nice to be a regular citizen again.” John fiddles with the hem of his shirt. You haven’t seen him wear blue in a while. It’s a reminder that even if he doesn’t magically vanish from view, even if he doesn’t come knocking on your door asking for another face, Skaia pinned a lot on him too, even if Pin the Destiny on the Child Hero isn’t a party game you’ve ever heard of.

In your despair, you’ve convinced yourself you’re in this fix alone, but maybe everyone is preoccupied with how the world sees them. Certainly some of your housemates have had masks fixed on them by the cruel costumers of fate. You can’t control what they see now. Or, rather, the only way you can is by making sure they see nothing at all. But you have a life to live! Errands to run! None of which require being a superhero.

Maybe you’ll always be like this, with your power coming in fits and starts. It’s not what you’d dreamed of being, but then, your dreams have been disappointing of late. You can’t be anything while ghosting around like some shrinking violet.

It’s an apple in the hand. You can’t make a new you true all at once. You have to believe a new you should be, and then work to make it so. There’s no wishing this away. The first step, and each painful step after that, is trying. And when you know that, and know you know it… there’s that lifting feeling as the world rewrites itself, bearing you up like one of Jane’s helium balloons. You take a deep breath and manage a smile. “If I want to rebrand the Jake English experience, I had better start doing some product testing with my key audience.”

“Do you think it worked?” John asks.

“It would’ve been nice to have some sort of magical girl transformation, just to be sure. But yes, I think so. How do I look?”

Nothing would have changed for him, but he gives you a long once over anyway. Then he shrugs. “You look like Jake to me.”

“That’s what I was hoping to hear.”

You take a step out into the hallway and look behind you. John gives you a thumbs up. You suck in a fortifying breath, stiffen your spine, and make your way to the living room. Everyone from your session has clustered there. A few have their phones out, and you think guiltily of your multiple communication devices powered off and shoved under your bed. Going off the grid these days takes commitment. You clear your throat and step into the room. Five heads snap up. They see you. It’s a start.

“Hi, everyone,” you say. “It’s me.”

[imagine-loki]

Do You Fear the Devil?

TITLE: Do You Fear the Devil?

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 1, Mary Ann Nichols

AUTHOR: unofferable-fic

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Victorian London AU. Imagine that you are one of the many working women roaming the streets of Whitechapel when a madman begins to murder your comrades one by one.

RATING: M

NOTES/WARNINGS: Descriptions of injuries/violence, gore, language, angst.  Playlist: “The Curse” — Agnes Obel, “The Knights Theme” — Jason Graves, “Through the Valley” — Shawn James

31st August 1888, 2.30am.

“Is it just me, or is it colder than usual tonight?”

As if answering your own question, a light mist appeared from your mouth as you spoke, before fading away in the night’s breeze.

“It’s not just you,” Natasha replied, wrapping her shawl tighter around herself while you both enjoyed a brief pause in that evening’s constant rain showers. “I’m freezing my arse off.”

You had been working on the streets of Whitechapel for some time now. You didn’t dislike your job — you had grown quite accustomed to everything that went with it and you enjoyed the pay, but things had grown more difficult in the last few years. Parliament had passed an act which basically made life more difficult for you and your fellow prostitutes. There were tougher stances on brothels and prostitution in general thanks to that decision, and you were seen as something of a public nuisance to the more respectable citizens who frequented taverns and hotels within the community. When once you were able to roam the streets with your fellow workers with little abuse, now you faced the very possibility of repression.

Attacks on prostitutes had risen too, which was why you were currently walking up Whitechapel Road with your friend Natasha, with whom you worked at a local brothel. She had been at the business for a lot longer than you since she moved to London from Russia, and was more than happy to show you the ropes when you had first arrived yourself. She was a passive person when she wanted to be and earning her trust was difficult, but you always felt that she was a very valuable friend to have on your side once the trust was gained. It was especially useful when you found yourselves leaving the brothel to try find some clientele with whom you could return. Your current pairing was due to a string of attacks on local prostitutes. Violence was not uncommon in the area, and it was mostly normal to hear cries for help during the night. These usually went unanswered. Back in April, poor Emma Smith was attacked by a gang of men and subsequently died of her injuries, and, only weeks ago, a seasoned prostitute called Martha Tabram was stabbed to death in George Yard. There was nothing easy about soliciting anyway, but the recent events left a dark cloud hanging above most of your friends’ heads.

But what else was there to do?

If it wasn’t for your work, you would surely died from poverty.

“I hate nights like these,” you mumbled as your shoes clinked on the stone cobbles below. “I would much prefer to stay in the warmth of the brothel.”

“Needs must,” Natasha replied. “Sometimes you have to give the men a little push to get some money in your pocket. Consider yourself lucky that you’re not one of the women who have to find lodgings this way.”

Given how a lot of the brothels in London were filthy and usually involved having most of your earnings taken by those who ran it, you were lucky enough to find an establishment that mostly serviced high-class clients, or those who were deeply trusted. The madame who owned the place was surprisingly fair too, and you were quite satisfied with your wage.

Natasha made a fair point though, and you knew that. There were a lot of women residing in workhouses or lodgings who regularly solicited on the streets just so they could keep a roof over their heads. Sometimes they possessed an excessive fondness for drink, so most of their earnings were pissed away on funding their addiction. You knew some of these women too, and it only served to fuel your thankfulness for the current situation in which you resided.

The pair of you were passing down a lane way before heading to a local tavern in which some of your regulars drank. Sometimes you picked up clients when strolling through the lane, so neither of you thought there was any harm in checking. As you walked through the shadowed archway, you noticed a figure at the opposite end of the lane.

 He stood beneath the archway and wore a long black coat with a tall hat atop his head. He was a surprisingly well-dressed and respectable looking individual — not the sort you usually found in the lane.

“What about him?” you asked Natasha, pointing to the waiting figure in the distance.

Her eyes followed your pointing finger. “Well, men wait ’round here for only one reason in particular. He’s an odd-looking sort though.”

“He seems fairly normal to me,” you shrugged as you both continued walking towards him. “He may be the wealthy sort.”

Natasha seemed unconvinced. “We will have to walk by him anyway. I suppose there is no harm in asking what he fancies.”

Perhaps hearing your chatting, the distant figure raised his head and looked in your direction. Though you could not make out his shadowed face beneath the brim of his hat, the dark moustache on his upper lip was the only signifying feature visible. With a swift glance over his shoulder back towards the main road, he turned and slowly made his way towards you, full lips pulling into a friendly smile.

“Like fish in a barrel,” Natasha mused, linking your arm with hers and continuing forward.  “Stick with me, Y/N. I want to check this lad out before we agree to anything.”

You trusted Natasha with your life, so you eagerly agreed and walked forward.

“Oi! Miss Romanoff! Miss Y/L/N! Over ‘ere!”

At that moment, at the archway where the mysterious figure had previously stood, a regular customer of yours, James Rhodes, appeared. He beckoned you and Natasha over with a wave just as stranger was getting closer. You looked at your friend for guidance on whether to give your regular priority above the stranger, but it seemed that the latter had made the decision for you. As he walked by, he tipped the brim of his hat down in greeting, subsequently covering his face, and passed without enquiring about your services. You glanced briefly at him as he went, momentarily confused by the exchange, before turning your attention back to Rhodes as he approached.

“I was hoping to bump into you two,” he said with a genuine grin. He was one of the rare few people in Whitechapel that didn’t treat you like an animal. He was always fair, and always paid for your services with a friendly smile. It was the main reason why you liked him as a regular. “Fancy a drink at the Frying Pan?”

“And why exactly did you not come to the brothel?” Natasha asked, folding her arms across her chest. “Instead you expect us to come running after you?”

“I was getting to that, love. I have a new guy for you to meet!” He offered an arm to you and Natasha and then began walking. “He just started at my job and seems like the shy type. I was thinking, come have a few drinks with us and then we can drag him back to the brothel once he’s relaxed a bit.”

“Free drinks and more pay?” You pondered aloud, hanging on to his slender arm. “Okay, I’ll bite.”

Natasha smiled at you approvingly. “As will I.”

“Great!” James exclaimed, and strode happily towards the tavern.

You had spent over an hour with the two men and your friend in the Frying Pan Pub. The new man, Scott, was shy as James had claimed, but he also seemed to be quite genuine and talkative once he was engaged. He was pleasant company and had no problem buying you drinks once you relaxed him. It was nearly 4am when you left the pub, the men now quite eager to return to the brothel. Scott offered you his arm and you happily took it before walking with them up Whitechapel Road. While you were well used to roaming the streets at night, you felt s lot more comfortable doing it when in the company of men who treated you as well as you deserved. 

It was upon passing by the narrow and cobblestoned Buck’s Row that you noticed the commotion. A small crowd was gathered on the corner, peering down the alleyway at a handful of police constables who were examining something on the ground. They held their lanterns towards the unmoving bundle on the western end.

“What’s all that about?” Scott asked, halting and looking down the lane.

“Fucking hell,” Natasha muttered. “Don’t tell me it���s another attack.”

James looked between her and the investigating police. “Looks dodgy enough from here. I can’t see much though.”

“Excuse me, excuse me,” a polite voice cut through their conversation. You turned your head and saw a man shimmying his way through the gathered flock of observers. You recognised him as Doctor Banner, who lived in the area and sometimes worked as a Medical Officer for certain divisions in the area. He was also one of Natasha’s most frequent clients. “Excuse me, doctor coming through.”

“That can’t be good,” Scott said as Dr Banner and another PC approached their peers and a police ambulance was pulled into the lane. “Maybe they’re still alive?”

“What if this is connected to the other attacks?” you asked Natasha with a frown.

The red-haired woman looked back at you and shook her head. “Then we may have to stick closer together from now on.”

“We can stay here for a little while if you ladies want?” James offered, nodding to the spot where the body lay. “Incase we hear any information that might help you look after yourselves.” He looked around briefly before he nudged a man next to him. “Did you hear what happened?”

The man nodded, fiddling with his flat cap in his hands. “Police found some wagtail lying there in a pool of blood with ’er throat cut. It looks like she was dead before they got ’ere.”

“So it is another attack then,” you realised anxiously. “This is getting out of hand.”

“Then we should stay here for a while,” Natasha suggested. “We stick together and try to get what information we can. Maybe we can identify the poor woman.”

“We’ll stay too,” James declared. “I’d rather keep an eye on you two tonight. Scott and I can escort you back to the brothel later.”

You thanked your client for his kindness, something that was hard to come by those days, and you weren’t about to brush it off anytime soon. You were beginning to worry about these attacks more than usual, but you could feel that something was truly amiss this time. Though you could’t place it, you trusted your gut, and would heed its warnings. You looked on in concern as Dr Banner stooped down next to the unmoving woman and began his examination.

“When did you find her like this?” Dr Banner asked his colleagues as he studied the severe wound on her throat.

“Only about fifteen minutes ago,” Sergeant Steven Rogers replied. “I had been ’round here half an hour previously, and saw no one then. I was on the right side when I noticed a figure lying in the street. It was dark at the time, but there was not a soul about. Then I saw Bucky on the street and asked him to fetch you. Sam arrived after being alerted by the two men who found her on their way to work.”

PC James Buchanan Barnes stood on the sidelines, looking between the crowd and the busy doctor from under the brim of his helmet. “Looks like word spread pretty quick.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised by that,” PC Samuel Wilson mumbled as he halted the police ambulance nearby. “We should ask the neighbours and the Night Watchman if they heard anything.”

“I already spoke with the three slaughter-men who work on Winthrop Street,” PC Barnes informed him with a smug smile. The two constables were always trying to one-up each other, and it was beginning to do Sgt Rogers’ head in. The three slaughter-men he spoke of were currently on the scene, having been asked to remain there while the examination was conducted. “They say they heard nothing, but we are going to take them in for questioning to be safe.”

PC Wilson started clapping sarcastically. “Well done, Barnes. I am sure your actions have saved this woman’s life!”

“Yeah, and some help you were, Wilson! That ambulance is going to come in really handy when she’s already dead.”

“The pair of you need to shut up before I dismiss you both,” Sgt Rogers stated impatiently and then turned back to the occupied Dr Banner. “Is she dead, Doctor?”

“With a cut to the throat that severe? Unfortunately. She wasn’t going to make it out of this one. Her wrists and hands are cold too.” Dr Banner studied her through his spectacles as he continued his examination. “But her legs are warm.”

“And that means?” PC Barnes urged him onwards.

“That she can not have been dead for more than half an hour.”

Sgt Rogers looked bothered by this revelation. “The culprit was probably still in the area when those two men found her.”

“Most likely…” Dr Banner continued with his examination for a few minutes. He appeared unsettled by the sightseers at the end of the lane and quickly stated. “We should move the body to the mortuary on Old Montague Street. That crowd is starting to get too big for my liking and I can make a more detailed examination there later today.”

“You’ve never been one for crowds,” Sgt Rogers commented before gesturing for PC Barnes to assist him in moving the body. “C’mon, Buck. We have to move her; doctor’s orders.”

Without complaint, PC Barnes got to work, and helped his friend to lift the corpse into the police ambulance, which was nothing more than a wooden handcart. As they moved her, they noticed that the back of her clothing was completely soaked in blood.

“Ah shite,” PC Barnes said in surprise. “Steve, there’s blood everywhere.”

“Well, she does have a gaping neck wound, Barnes.”

“Shut it, Wilson!”

“Buck has a point,” Sgt Rogers added before pointing to a mass of congealed blood that had been underneath her body and was now running towards the gutter. “There isn’t much blood on the spot where you found her. She might have been dumped here and murdered elsewhere.”

“Possibly,” Dr Banner mused. “There is not more than would fill two wine glasses, or half a pint, maybe. I will know more when I perform the examination. Perhaps witness testimonies can confirm as to whether they heard any noise.”

Sgt Rogers carefully helped to place the body in the cart and turned his attention back to the doctor. “We will know more about that when we interview the neighbours. Hopefully they heard something.”

PC Barnes looked at his hands in mild irritation and saw that they were covered in the blood that had soaked into the victims clothes. “Identifying the victim might help? I could ask around — I’m sure there are some dollymops here that could provide information.”

“Good call. Take Wilson with you and then interview the neighbours after.”

“Awh, c’mon, Steve—!”

“If you two could go a single day without arguing, that would be fantastic. Get to work!”

PCs Barnes and Wilson trudged off towards the onlooking crowd, urging them back as they went.

Dr Banner turned his attention back to Sgt Rogers as he spoke. “While they tend to that, it might be a good idea to call Doctor Laufeyson.”

“I already asked Bucky to get on it,” the sergeant replied. “He called for him while calling for you, but he wasn’t at his home, so he’ll probably be late. I have another sergeant out looking for him though, so hopefully he will arrive soon. I will help you move her to the mortuary in the meantime. Those two twats can bring him up to speed when he arrives.”

They patiently waited beside the ambulance for someone who could possibly identify the body to be brought forward.

You watched as the two constables approached the crowd in which you stood. You were ushered back as they ordered for people to disperse. One of them ran his blue eyes over you, idly stroking the stubble on his chiselled jaw. You met his gaze before he shoved his loose hair beneath his helmet and then eyed Natasha at your side. 

“You two,” he said, pointing at the pair of you. “Step forward, please, ladies.”

While James and Scott threw you hesitant looks, you obeyed the police, Natasha leading the way as you slipped through the now dispersing crowd. Your colleague was immediately on the defensive, but you didn’t exactly blame her. “What do you want?”

The constable seemed slightly taken aback by her tone, while his own colleague chuckled. Blue Eyes replied. “Relax, sweetheart! I’m PC Barnes and this is my irritating associate, PC Wilson. We just want to see if you can identify the victim. You were in similar employment, it would seem.”

She eyed them suspiciously. “And that’s all you want?”

“Of course. Follow me, ladies.”

You stood close to Natasha as the constables lead you to the police ambulance up the lane. Sergeant Rogers introduced himself to you while Dr Banner tried to hide his blush when he recognised Natasha. She merely smirked and said nothing, not wanting to lessen the man’s reputation in front of his peers.

You and Natasha looked at the body together, momentarily surprised by the gaping wound in the woman’s throat. Violence was such a normal part of life in Whitechapel and you saw plenty of it, but this was on another level. You didn’t know why, but something about this left you feeling more uneasy than usual. There was something so…visceral about the slash the knife had caused. She never stood a chance. Once you had forced your eyes away from the cut, you gazed upon her ashen face. Her unfocused eyes stared at nothing, all signs of life gone from them. 

After a moment, you turned to your friend. “I think I have seen her before.”

“Where?” Sgt Rogers asked you in concern.

“Did she hang around with Emily Holland?” you pressed Natasha, ignoring the sergeant. “You know the girl who stays in the lodging house on Thrawl Street?”

She nodded in agreement. “You’re spot on, Y/N.”

Sgt Rogers tried to grab your attention again. “Do you know her name?”

“I can’t be sure, but I think I heard Emily refer to her as Polly before.”

“Wilson,” he began, addressing his partner. “I want you to find this Emily Holland in the morning. She can give us a proper identification so that we can be sure.” He offered you a curt smile and nodded. “Thank you for your assistance, madams.”

“A bit of assistance on your end would be helpful,” Natasha said in earnest. “These attacks are getting out of hand and we can’t make a living with our lives at risk.”

“I understand,” the sergeant tried to reassure her as he covered up the body with a sheet. “And we will do our best to apprehend the man who did this.”

“You better,” you added with a shake of the head. “We’ll be waiting nearby to make sure that you do.”

“You like watching men at work, huh, sweetheart?” PC Barnes asked her as his eyebrows rose suggestively for a brief moment.

You rolled your eyes at him. “I have to watch sometimes, you rantallion. Otherwise you lot would surely fuck it up.”

His smile immediately fell as PC Wilson burst out laughing. “Well done, Barnes. You cannot even manage to get yourself a dollymop!”

“Back to work!” their superior shushed them as you and Natasha walked back to rejoin your companions. You threw a glance at PC Barnes over your shoulder and gave him a wink. All he could do was shake his head in reply and let out a slight chuckle. 

The two men left with the ambulance, giving PCs Barnes and Wilson complete charge of the scene while they were gone. You and your friends agreed to remain there for another half hour or so while the neighbours were interviewed. After seeing the gruesome aftermath of the attack, you didn’t feel comfortable with leaving completely empty handed. You needed something to keep yourself relaxed — some sort of witness statement, a sighting, a noise… Anything! If there was someone on the streets of Whitechapel out to kill prostitutes, then you needed all the information you could get.

  Divisional Police Surgeon Loki Laufeyson sat some twenty minutes away in the nearby Princess Alice Pub on Commercial Street. He had a half full pint in hand and took a large gulp out of it before setting the glass back on to the bar’s counter. He pushed back his raven hair with his hand and let out a tired sigh. He was hoping for a quiet night, away from any police business. But such a wish was farfetched when you worked in Whitechapel. There was always bloody something amiss around here, especially when it was your job to stop it. That being said, Loki relished his alone time as his green eyes wandered to a pair of working women sat drinking together on the other side of the pub.

They giggled together, and he ran his finger along the brim of his glass.

“Doctor Laufeyson?”

Loki suddenly heard his name being called and turned to see Sergeant Kerby standing behind him. “Ah, there you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

“What seems to be the matter, Sergeant?” he asked as he took another swig of his pint, suppressing the urge to tell his comrade to politely sod off.

“There’s been a murder on Buck’s Row,” he explained before he eyed the nearly empty pub. “I, eh, called to your home but you weren’t there, obviously. Your neighbour was nice enough to tell me that he saw you coming in here not long ago.”

Dr Laufeyson cleared his throat as he recalled meeting said neighbour as he was entering the pub shortly before 4 am, and momentarily cursed the old man for seeing him. “I could not sleep, so I thought a walk and a cold pint might help.”

“I’m afraid it’ll have to wait — Rogers wants you on the scene as soon as possible.”

“Right then,” the surgeon sighed and left the end of his drink on the counter. He shrugged on his coat and top-hat before nodding to the man. “Lead the way.”

The walk to Buck’s Row had been a quick one and the pair hurried through the cool night air before arriving at about 4.30am. There was a small crowd gathered at the entrance to the lane, which Sergeant Kerby claimed to have been much larger not too long ago. As they rounded the corner, gently shooing some bystanders out of the way, Loki saw Constables Barnes and Wilson speaking with three men while a young boy was throwing a bucket of water on the cobbled path. The liquid disappeared down the gutter just as the doctor noticed the distinct lack of a body. He quickly approached the PCs.

“You rang, gentlemen?” he asked as they turned to greet him.

“Morning, Dr Laufeyson,” PC Barnes said with a slight nod of the head.

“Nice of you to join us,” PC Wilson added in jest, flashing his signature gaped teeth with a grin. “You missed all the fun.”

“So it would seem,” Loki replied, looking at the scene around him. “But I was busy. Where is the body?”

“Steve and Bruce took it ’round to the mortuary already,” PC Barnes replied. “Bruce was getting put off by the size of the crowd.”

Loki released another heavy sigh, irritated by the inconvenience. He could have been far more helpful had he seen the victim where she was killed… “Where was she found?”

PC Barnes shone his lantern on a spot before them — the very spot the young boy was cleaning. “Steve found her here about forty-five minutes ago, and we have little James Green there washing down the blood. He’s the child of Mrs Emma Green who lives right here.” He gestured to the cottage right next to the murder site. “And before you ask, she said she heard nothing. Neither did the three slaughter-men who work on Winthrop Street, although I wish to question them further.”

Despite the boy’s cleaning efforts, there were still slight traces of blood between the cobblestones and Loki frowned at his ruined crime scene. “And Dr Banner’s thoughts?”

“Definitely dead when we found her, but only for about half an hour. You’ll understand when you see her throat — slashed to bits.”

“So murdered quietly and with no witnesses.” Loki surveyed the lane, looking between the spot of the murder and each end of the small street. “Do we know who she was?”

“Two obliging dollymops helped us with that,” PC Wilson explained and pointed to two women who were standing at the front of the dwindling crowd. “Pointed us in the direction of someone who should be able to give us a positive identification.”

The surgeon surveyed the women — clearly that of the working variety — where they stood, accompanied by two men. They were watching him curiously, even when he met their gaze. One of them — the fiery-looking redhead — raised a brow at him before saying something to her companion. The other woman, however, held his stare, replying to her friend without looking away. He narrowed his eyes at her and she eventually relented and turned her head in disinterest.

“Talking to them was my idea,” he vaguely heard PC Barnes add with a proud grin. “Wilson had nothing to do with it.”

In response, the other constable huffed. “Have I told you lately that you’re annoying as hell?”

“Several times, actually!”

Loki had had enough of their bickering and, knowing that he could do little more here, threw them a brief glance before stating. “I am going to the mortuary. Evening, gentlemen.”

As he exited the lane, he could feel the women’s eyes on him again, and he couldn’t help getting another quick look at them before he left. Sure enough, they were watching him closely.

He hurried around to Old Montague Street where the mortuary stood. It was little more than a brick shed, but it did the job for the most part. As Loki approached it, he was relieved to see the police ambulance still in the yard. Beside it was Sgt Rogers, who greeted him politely as always. He also explained that Dr Banner had returned home and promised to return in the morning to perform a full examination of the body. Loki gave her a quick check where she lay in the the ambulance but could see little with her clothes and the sheet covering most of her body.

Once an attendant had arrived, he and Sgt Rogers were allowed to bring the body inside and Loki quickly set about giving her a more detailed examination.

“Are you going to stay here?” he asked the sergeant, who stood beside the door with his arms folded across his chest.

Sgt Rogers merely nodded. “I just want to see you give her a once-over before I leave the coroners to their job. I’m sure your observations will be helpful, along with Bruce’s later this morning.”

“I could have been more helpful on the scene,” Loki added as he shrugged off his coat and threw on a blood-stained apron. “With the body undisturbed, but I arrived to find some boy already washing away all the evidence.”

“It was imperative that we got her out of there,” the blond replied, looking firm in his beliefs. “The crowd was getting out of hand. And you were late because you were not at home when Bucky called.”

“Whatever you say, Sergeant. What would I know, anyway? It is not like I am a Police Surgeon, or anything like that.”

“I’m not trying to undermine you, Doc. I was simply trusting Bruce’s intuition.”

“No need for apologies, I am well used to such talk.” With a sarcastic smile, Loki removed the sheet that covered the warm corpse. He felt the other man watching him as he got a good look at the victim, eyes still slightly open despite her ordeal. “There are bruises on the side of her face, possibly made by a thumb or fingers, if my guess is correct.  It’s on her jaw on the right side, as if her head had been pushed back and her throat then cut.”

Barnes had not been joking about — the wounds on her neck were shockingly deep. He tilted her head slightly so he could get a better look. On the left side of the neck, about one inch below the jaw, there was an incision roughly four inches in length, and ran from a point immediately below the ear. On the same side, but an inch below, and commencing about one inch in front of it, was a circular incision, which terminated at a point about three inches below the right jaw. That incision had completely severed all the tissues down to the vertebrae, and the large vessels of the neck on both sides were severed. That incision was eight or so inches in length, Loki observed, his brow furrowing further with each detail he found. 

Essentially, she was cut from ear to ear.

“Her throat was slashed twice,” he muttered, just loud enough for his companion to hear. “It would have killed her quite instantly.”

“That explains the blood-soaked clothes…”

Loki continued his routine examination as he removed the garments covering the body. Her chest showed no injuries or bruises as he worked downwards. “It would seem that most of her blood did indeed soak into her clothes and hair, for that matter. Her breast is clear of blood or cuts as is her… Jesus Christ.”

Loki’s words died on his lips as his jaw fell open. He could hear the sergeant asking what the problem was, but he ignored him and pulled back the victims skirts to get a better look at what he thought he saw.

His eyes had not played tricks on him — on her lower abdomen were three or four deep gashes, one of which was particularly violent.

As he stared at the lacerations in shock, he noticed Rogers approach the table. “Loki, what is the—” He halted in speechless surprise before he ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, God. What did he do to her?”

Loki could only shake his head. “Send for Dr Banner, and Inspector Stark for that matter.”

“What the hell happened to her?” the other man demanded, horrified by the violent sight before him.

Meeting his worried gaze, Loki’s reply was that of a man who couldn’t believe his own eyes. “She has been disembowelled, Sergeant.”

[unofferable-fic]

Do You Fear the Devil? (Loki x Reader): 1 - Mary Ann Nichols

Summary: You are one of the many working women roaming the streets of Whitechapel when a madman begins to murder your comrades one by one. The attacks are so gruesome, that the detectives can only describe his work as that of “a devil than of a man”. Loki Laufeyson is a Metropolitan police detective and surgeon who is assisting on the case. As more bodies pile up and you and your friends fear for your lives, the police remain well and truly stumped. When Detective Laufeyson turns to you for help to find the murderer, you must face your fears to save yourself… But who can you really trust when you are the prey being stalked at night by someone who calls himself Jack the Ripper?

Gif originally found here

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Victorian London AU

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries/violence, gore, language, angst Victorian London was a kip.

Word Count: 5,205

Next Chapter

Playlist: “The Curse” — Agnes Obel, “The Knights Theme” — Jason Graves, “Through the Valley” — Shawn James

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A/N: Also available on AO3. Well, well, well… Look at what we have here. My first Loki/Reader series! I hope y'all enjoy the first instalment and feel free to leave a comment and say howdy. I’m really eager to hear your thoughts as always! It’s a little different from my usual stuff, so I really hope y’all like it!

31st August 1888, 2.30am.

“Is it just me, or is it colder than usual tonight?”

As if answering your own question, a light mist appeared from your mouth as you spoke, before fading away in the night’s breeze.

“It’s not just you,” Natasha replied, wrapping her shawl tighter around herself while you both enjoyed a brief pause in that evening’s constant rain showers. “I’m freezing my arse off.”

You had been working on the streets of Whitechapel for some time now. You didn’t dislike your job — you had grown quite accustomed to everything that went with it and you enjoyed the pay, but things had grown more difficult in the last few years. Parliament had passed an act which basically made life more difficult for you and your fellow prostitutes. There were tougher stances on brothels and prostitution in general thanks to that decision, and you were seen as something of a public nuisance to the more respectable citizens who frequented taverns and hotels within the community. When once you were able to roam the streets with your fellow workers with little abuse, now you faced the very possibility of repression.

Attacks on prostitutes had risen too, which was why you were currently walking up Whitechapel Road with your friend Natasha, with whom you worked at a local brothel. She had been at the business for a lot longer than you since she moved to London from Russia, and was more than happy to show you the ropes when you had first arrived yourself. She was a passive person when she wanted to be and earning her trust was difficult, but you always felt that she was a very valuable friend to have on your side once the trust was gained. It was especially useful when you found yourselves leaving the brothel to try find some clientele with whom you could return. Your current pairing was due to a string of attacks on local prostitutes. Violence was not uncommon in the area, and it was mostly normal to hear cries for help during the night. These usually went unanswered. Back in April, poor Emma Smith was attacked by a gang of men and subsequently died of her injuries, and, only weeks ago, a seasoned prostitute called Martha Tabram was stabbed to death in George Yard. There was nothing easy about soliciting anyway, but the recent events left a dark cloud hanging above most of your friends’ heads.

But what else was there to do?

If it wasn’t for your work, you would surely died from poverty.

“I hate nights like these,” you mumbled as your shoes clinked on the stone cobbles below. “I would much prefer to stay in the warmth of the brothel.”

“Needs must,” Natasha replied. “Sometimes you have to give the men a little push to get some money in your pocket. Consider yourself lucky that you’re not one of the women who have to find lodgings this way.”

Given how a lot of the brothels in London were filthy and usually involved having most of your earnings taken by those who ran it, you were lucky enough to find an establishment that mostly serviced high-class clients, or those who were deeply trusted. The madame who owned the place was surprisingly fair too, and you were quite satisfied with your wage.

Natasha made a fair point though, and you knew that. There were a lot of women residing in workhouses or lodgings who regularly solicited on the streets just so they could keep a roof over their heads. Sometimes they possessed an excessive fondness for drink, so most of their earnings were pissed away on funding their addiction. You knew some of these women too, and it only served to fuel your thankfulness for the current situation in which you resided.

The pair of you were passing down a lane way before heading to a local tavern in which some of your regulars drank. Sometimes you picked up clients when strolling through the lane, so neither of you thought there was any harm in checking. As you walked through the shadowed archway, you noticed a figure at the opposite end of the lane.

He stood beneath the archway and wore a long black coat with a tall hat atop his head. He was a surprisingly well-dressed and respectable looking individual — not the sort you usually found in the lane.

“What about him?” you asked Natasha, pointing to the waiting figure in the distance.

Her eyes followed your pointing finger. “Well, men wait ’round here for only one reason in particular. He’s an odd-looking sort though.”

“He seems fairly normal to me,” you shrugged as you both continued walking towards him. “He may be the wealthy sort.”

Natasha seemed unconvinced. “We will have to walk by him anyway. I suppose there is no harm in asking what he fancies.”

Perhaps hearing your chatting, the distant figure raised his head and looked in your direction. Though you could not make out his shadowed face beneath the brim of his hat, the dark moustache on his upper lip was the only signifying feature visible. With a swift glance over his shoulder back towards the main road, he turned and slowly made his way towards you, full lips pulling into a friendly smile.

“Like fish in a barrel,” Natasha mused, linking your arm with hers and continuing forward.  “Stick with me, Y/N. I want to check this lad out before we agree to anything.”

You trusted Natasha with your life, so you eagerly agreed and walked forward.

“Oi! Miss Romanoff! Miss Y/L/N! Over ‘ere!”

At that moment, at the archway where the mysterious figure had previously stood, a regular customer of yours, James Rhodes, appeared. He beckoned you and Natasha over with a wave just as stranger was getting closer. You looked at your friend for guidance on whether to give your regular priority above the stranger, but it seemed that the latter had made the decision for you. As he walked by, he tipped the brim of his hat down in greeting, subsequently covering his face, and passed without enquiring about your services. You glanced briefly at him as he went, momentarily confused by the exchange, before turning your attention back to Rhodes as he approached.

“I was hoping to bump into you two,” he said with a genuine grin. He was one of the rare few people in Whitechapel that didn’t treat you like an animal. He was always fair, and always paid for your services with a friendly smile. It was the main reason why you liked him as a regular. “Fancy a drink at the Frying Pan?”

“And why exactly did you not come to the brothel?” Natasha asked, folding her arms across her chest. “Instead you expect us to come running after you?”

“I was getting to that, love. I have a new guy for you to meet!” He offered an arm to you and Natasha and then began walking. “He just started at my job and seems like the shy type. I was thinking, come have a few drinks with us and then we can drag him back to the brothel once he’s relaxed a bit.”

“Free drinks and more pay?” You pondered aloud, hanging on to his slender arm. “Okay, I’ll bite.”

Natasha smiled at you approvingly. “As will I.”

“Great!” James exclaimed, and strode happily towards the tavern.

You had spent over an hour with the two men and your friend in the Frying Pan Pub. The new man, Scott, was shy as James had claimed, but he also seemed to be quite genuine and talkative once he was engaged. He was pleasant company and had no problem buying you drinks once you relaxed him. It was nearly 4am when you left the pub, the men now quite eager to return to the brothel. Scott offered you his arm and you happily took it before walking with them up Whitechapel Road. While you were well used to roaming the streets at night, you felt s lot more comfortable doing it when in the company of men who treated you as well as you deserved.

It was upon passing by the narrow and cobblestoned Buck’s Row that you noticed the commotion. A small crowd was gathered on the corner, peering down the alleyway at a handful of police constables who were examining something on the ground. They held their lanterns towards the unmoving bundle on the western end.

“What’s all that about?” Scott asked, halting and looking down the lane.

“Fucking hell,” Natasha muttered. “Don’t tell me it’s another attack.”

James looked between her and the investigating police. “Looks dodgy enough from here. I can’t see much though.”

“Excuse me, excuse me,” a polite voice cut through their conversation. You turned your head and saw a man shimmying his way through the gathered flock of observers. You recognised him as Doctor Banner, who lived in the area and sometimes worked as a Medical Officer for certain divisions in the area. He was also one of Natasha’s most frequent clients. “Excuse me, doctor coming through.”

“That can’t be good,” Scott said as Dr Banner and another PC approached their peers and a police ambulance was pulled into the lane. “Maybe they’re still alive?”

“What if this is connected to the other attacks?” you asked Natasha with a frown.

The red-haired woman looked back at you and shook her head. “Then we may have to stick closer together from now on.”

“We can stay here for a little while if you ladies want?” James offered, nodding to the spot where the body lay. “Incase we hear any information that might help you look after yourselves.” He looked around briefly before he nudged a man next to him. “Did you hear what happened?”

The man nodded, fiddling with his flat cap in his hands. “Police found some wagtail lying there in a pool of blood with ’er throat cut. It looks like she was dead before they got ’ere.”

“So it is another attack then,” you realised anxiously. “This is getting out of hand.”

“Then we should stay here for a while,” Natasha suggested. “We stick together and try to get what information we can. Maybe we can identify the poor woman.”

“We’ll stay too,” James declared. “I’d rather keep an eye on you two tonight. Scott and I can escort you back to the brothel later.”

You thanked your client for his kindness, something that was hard to come by those days, and you weren’t about to brush it off anytime soon. You were beginning to worry about these attacks more than usual, but you could feel that something was truly amiss this time. Though you could’t place it, you trusted your gut, and would heed its warnings. You looked on in concern as Dr Banner stooped down next to the unmoving woman and began his examination.

“When did you find her like this?” Dr Banner asked his colleagues as he studied the severe wound on her throat.

“Only about fifteen minutes ago,” Sergeant Steven Rogers replied. “I had been ’round here half an hour previously, and saw no one then. I was on the right side when I noticed a figure lying in the street. It was dark at the time, but there was not a soul about. Then I saw Bucky on the street and asked him to fetch you. Sam arrived after being alerted by the two men who found her on their way to work.”

PC James Buchanan Barnes stood on the sidelines, looking between the crowd and the busy doctor from under the brim of his helmet. “Looks like word spread pretty quick.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised by that,” PC Samuel Wilson mumbled as he halted the police ambulance nearby. “We should ask the neighbours and the Night Watchman if they heard anything.”

“I already spoke with the three slaughter-men who work on Winthrop Street,” PC Barnes informed him with a smug smile. The two constables were always trying to one-up each other, and it was beginning to do Sgt Rogers’ head in. The three slaughter-men he spoke of were currently on the scene, having been asked to remain there while the examination was conducted. “They say they heard nothing, but we are going to take them in for questioning to be safe.”

PC Wilson started clapping sarcastically. “Well done, Barnes. I am sure your actions have saved this woman’s life!”

“Yeah, and some help you were, Wilson! That ambulance is going to come in really handy when she’s already dead.”

“The pair of you need to shut up before I dismiss you both,” Sgt Rogers stated impatiently and then turned back to the occupied Dr Banner. “Is she dead, Doctor?”

“With a cut to the throat that severe? Unfortunately. She wasn’t going to make it out of this one. Her wrists and hands are cold too.” Dr Banner studied her through his spectacles as he continued his examination. “But her legs are warm.”

“And that means?” PC Barnes urged him onwards.

“That she can not have been dead for more than half an hour.”

Sgt Rogers looked bothered by this revelation. “The culprit was probably still in the area when those two men found her.”

“Most likely…” Dr Banner continued with his examination for a few minutes. He appeared unsettled by the sightseers at the end of the lane and quickly stated. “We should move the body to the mortuary on Old Montague Street. That crowd is starting to get too big for my liking and I can make a more detailed examination there later today.”

“You’ve never been one for crowds,” Sgt Rogers commented before gesturing for PC Barnes to assist him in moving the body. “C’mon, Buck. We have to move her; doctor’s orders.”

Without complaint, PC Barnes got to work, and helped his friend to lift the corpse into the police ambulance, which was nothing more than a wooden handcart. As they moved her, they noticed that the back of her clothing was completely soaked in blood.

“Ah shite,” PC Barnes said in surprise. “Steve, there’s blood everywhere.”

“Well, she does have a gaping neck wound, Barnes.”

“Shut it, Wilson!”

“Buck has a point,” Sgt Rogers added before pointing to a mass of congealed blood that had been underneath her body and was now running towards the gutter. “There isn’t much blood on the spot where you found her. She might have been dumped here and murdered elsewhere.”

“Possibly,” Dr Banner mused. “There is not more than would fill two wine glasses, or half a pint, maybe. I will know more when I perform the examination. Perhaps witness testimonies can confirm as to whether they heard any noise.”

Sgt Rogers carefully helped to place the body in the cart and turned his attention back to the doctor. “We will know more about that when we interview the neighbours. Hopefully they heard something.”

PC Barnes looked at his hands in mild irritation and saw that they were covered in the blood that had soaked into the victims clothes. “Identifying the victim might help? I could ask around — I’m sure there are some dollymops here that could provide information.”

“Good call. Take Wilson with you and then interview the neighbours after.”

“Awh, c’mon, Steve—!”

“If you two could go a single day without arguing, that would be fantastic. Get to work!”

PCs Barnes and Wilson trudged off towards the onlooking crowd, urging them back as they went.

Dr Banner turned his attention back to Sgt Rogers as he spoke. “While they tend to that, it might be a good idea to call Doctor Laufeyson.”

“I already asked Bucky to get on it,” the sergeant replied. “He called for him while calling for you, but he wasn’t at his home, so he’ll probably be late. I have another sergeant out looking for him though, so hopefully he will arrive soon. I will help you move her to the mortuary in the meantime. Those two twats can bring him up to speed when he arrives.”

They patiently waited beside the ambulance for someone who could possibly identify the body to be brought forward.

You watched as the two constables approached the crowd in which you stood. You were ushered back as they ordered for people to disperse. One of them ran his blue eyes over you, idly stroking the stubble on his chiselled jaw. You met his gaze before he shoved his loose hair beneath his helmet and then eyed Natasha at your side.

“You two,” he said, pointing at the pair of you. “Step forward, please, ladies.”

While James and Scott threw you hesitant looks, you obeyed the police, Natasha leading the way as you slipped through the now dispersing crowd. Your colleague was immediately on the defensive, but you didn’t exactly blame her. “What do you want?”

The constable seemed slightly taken aback by her tone, while his own colleague chuckled. Blue Eyes replied. “Relax, sweetheart! I’m PC Barnes and this is my irritating associate, PC Wilson. We just want to see if you can identify the victim. You were in similar employment, it would seem.”

She eyed them suspiciously. “And that’s all you want?”

“Of course. Follow me, ladies.”

You stood close to Natasha as the constables lead you to the police ambulance up the lane. Sergeant Rogers introduced himself to you while Dr Banner tried to hide his blush when he recognised Natasha. She merely smirked and said nothing, not wanting to lessen the man’s reputation in front of his peers.

You and Natasha looked at the body together, momentarily surprised by the gaping wound in the woman’s throat. Violence was such a normal part of life in Whitechapel and you saw plenty of it, but this was on another level. You didn’t know why, but something about this left you feeling more uneasy than usual. There was something so…visceral about the slash the knife had caused. She never stood a chance. Once you had forced your eyes away from the cut, you gazed upon her ashen face. Her unfocused eyes stared at nothing, all signs of life gone from them.

After a moment, you turned to your friend. “I think I have seen her before.”

“Where?” Sgt Rogers asked you in concern.

“Did she hang around with Emily Holland?” you pressed Natasha, ignoring the sergeant. “You know the girl who stays in the lodging house on Thrawl Street?”

She nodded in agreement. “You’re spot on, Y/N.”

Sgt Rogers tried to grab your attention again. “Do you know her name?”

“I can’t be sure, but I think I heard Emily refer to her as Polly before.”

“Wilson,” he began, addressing his partner. “I want you to find this Emily Holland in the morning. She can give us a proper identification so that we can be sure.” He offered you a curt smile and nodded. “Thank you for your assistance, madams.”

“A bit of assistance on your end would be helpful,” Natasha said in earnest. “These attacks are getting out of hand and we can’t make a living with our lives at risk.”

“I understand,” the sergeant tried to reassure her as he covered up the body with a sheet. “And we will do our best to apprehend the man who did this.”

“You better,” you added with a shake of the head. “We’ll be waiting nearby to make sure that you do.”

“You like watching men at work, huh, sweetheart?” PC Barnes asked her as his eyebrows rose suggestively for a brief moment.

You rolled your eyes at him. “I have to watch sometimes, you rantallion. Otherwise you lot would surely fuck it up.”

His smile immediately fell as PC Wilson burst out laughing. “Well done, Barnes. You cannot even manage to get yourself a dollymop!”

“Back to work!” their superior shushed them as you and Natasha walked back to rejoin your companions. You threw a glance at PC Barnes over your shoulder and gave him a wink. All he could do was shake his head in reply and let out a slight chuckle.

The two men left with the ambulance, giving PCs Barnes and Wilson complete charge of the scene while they were gone. You and your friends agreed to remain there for another half hour or so while the neighbours were interviewed. After seeing the gruesome aftermath of the attack, you didn’t feel comfortable with leaving completely empty handed. You needed something to keep yourself relaxed — some sort of witness statement, a sighting, a noise… Anything! If there was someone on the streets of Whitechapel out to kill prostitutes, then you needed all the information you could get.

* * *

Divisional Police Surgeon Loki Laufeyson sat some twenty minutes away in the nearby Princess Alice Pub on Commercial Street. He had a half full pint in hand and took a large gulp out of it before setting the glass back on to the bar’s counter. He pushed back his raven hair with his hand and let out a tired sigh. He was hoping for a quiet night, away from any police business. But such a wish was farfetched when you worked in Whitechapel. There was always bloody something amiss around here, especially when it was your job to stop it. That being said, Loki relished his alone time as his green eyes wandered to a pair of working women sat drinking together on the other side of the pub.

They giggled together, and he ran his finger along the brim of his glass.

“Doctor Laufeyson?”

Loki suddenly heard his name being called and turned to see Sergeant Kerby standing behind him. “Ah, there you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

“What seems to be the matter, Sergeant?” he asked as he took another swig of his pint, suppressing the urge to tell his comrade to politely sod off.

“There’s been a murder on Buck’s Row,” he explained before he eyed the nearly empty pub. “I, eh, called to your home but you weren’t there, obviously. Your neighbour was nice enough to tell me that he saw you coming in here not long ago.”

Dr Laufeyson cleared his throat as he recalled meeting said neighbour as he was entering the pub shortly before 4 am, and momentarily cursed the old man for seeing him. “I could not sleep, so I thought a walk and a cold pint might help.”

“I’m afraid it’ll have to wait — Rogers wants you on the scene as soon as possible.”

“Right then,” the surgeon sighed and left the end of his drink on the counter. He shrugged on his coat and top-hat before nodding to the man. “Lead the way.”

The walk to Buck’s Row had been a quick one and the pair hurried through the cool night air before arriving at about 4.30am. There was a small crowd gathered at the entrance to the lane, which Sergeant Kerby claimed to have been much larger not too long ago. As they rounded the corner, gently shooing some bystanders out of the way, Loki saw Constables Barnes and Wilson speaking with three men while a young boy was throwing a bucket of water on the cobbled path. The liquid disappeared down the gutter just as the doctor noticed the distinct lack of a body. He quickly approached the PCs.

“You rang, gentlemen?” he asked as they turned to greet him.

“Morning, Dr Laufeyson,” PC Barnes said with a slight nod of the head.

“Nice of you to join us,” PC Wilson added in jest, flashing his signature gaped teeth with a grin. “You missed all the fun.”

“So it would seem,” Loki replied, looking at the scene around him. “But I was busy. Where is the body?”

“Steve and Bruce took it ’round to the mortuary already,” PC Barnes replied. “Bruce was getting put off by the size of the crowd.”

Loki released another heavy sigh, irritated by the inconvenience. He could have been far more helpful had he seen the victim where she was killed… “Where was she found?”

PC Barnes shone his lantern on a spot before them — the very spot the young boy was cleaning. “Steve found her here about forty-five minutes ago, and we have little James Green there washing down the blood. He’s the child of Mrs Emma Green who lives right here.” He gestured to the cottage right next to the murder site. “And before you ask, she said she heard nothing. Neither did the three slaughter-men who work on Winthrop Street, although I wish to question them further.”

Despite the boy’s cleaning efforts, there were still slight traces of blood between the cobblestones and Loki frowned at his ruined crime scene. “And Dr Banner’s thoughts?”

“Definitely dead when we found her, but only for about half an hour. You’ll understand when you see her throat — slashed to bits.”

“So murdered quietly and with no witnesses.” Loki surveyed the lane, looking between the spot of the murder and each end of the small street. “Do we know who she was?”

“Two obliging dollymops helped us with that,” PC Wilson explained and pointed to two women who were standing at the front of the dwindling crowd. “Pointed us in the direction of someone who should be able to give us a positive identification.”

The surgeon surveyed the women — clearly that of the working variety — where they stood, accompanied by two men. They were watching him curiously, even when he met their gaze. One of them — the fiery-looking redhead — raised a brow at him before saying something to her companion. The other woman, however, held his stare, replying to her friend without looking away. He narrowed his eyes at her and she eventually relented and turned her head in disinterest.

“Talking to them was my idea,” he vaguely heard PC Barnes add with a proud grin. “Wilson had nothing to do with it.”

In response, the other constable huffed. “Have I told you lately that you’re annoying as hell?”

“Several times, actually!”

Loki had had enough of their bickering and, knowing that he could do little more here, threw them a brief glance before stating. “I am going to the mortuary. Evening, gentlemen.”

As he exited the lane, he could feel the women’s eyes on him again, and he couldn’t help getting another quick look at them before he left. Sure enough, they were watching him closely.

He hurried around to Old Montague Street where the mortuary stood. It was little more than a brick shed, but it did the job for the most part. As Loki approached it, he was relieved to see the police ambulance still in the yard. Beside it was Sgt Rogers, who greeted him politely as always. He also explained that Dr Banner had returned home and promised to return in the morning to perform a full examination of the body. Loki gave her a quick check where she lay in the the ambulance but could see little with her clothes and the sheet covering most of her body.

Once an attendant had arrived, he and Sgt Rogers were allowed to bring the body inside and Loki quickly set about giving her a more detailed examination.

“Are you going to stay here?” he asked the sergeant, who stood beside the door with his arms folded across his chest.

Sgt Rogers merely nodded. “I just want to see you give her a once-over before I leave the coroners to their job. I’m sure your observations will be helpful, along with Bruce’s later this morning.”

“I could have been more helpful on the scene,” Loki added as he shrugged off his coat and threw on a blood-stained apron. “With the body undisturbed, but I arrived to find some boy already washing away all the evidence.”

“It was imperative that we got her out of there,” the blond replied, looking firm in his beliefs. “The crowd was getting out of hand. And you were late because you were not at home when Bucky called.”

“Whatever you say, Sergeant. What would I know, anyway? It is not like I am a Police Surgeon, or anything like that.”

“I’m not trying to undermine you, Doc. I was simply trusting Bruce’s intuition.”

“No need for apologies, I am well used to such talk.” With a sarcastic smile, Loki removed the sheet that covered the warm corpse. He felt the other man watching him as he got a good look at the victim, eyes still slightly open despite her ordeal. “There are bruises on the side of her face, possibly made by a thumb or fingers, if my guess is correct.  It’s on her jaw on the right side, as if her head had been pushed back and her throat then cut.”

Barnes had not been joking about — the wounds on her neck were shockingly deep. He tilted her head slightly so he could get a better look. On the left side of the neck, about one inch below the jaw, there was an incision roughly four inches in length, and ran from a point immediately below the ear. On the same side, but an inch below, and commencing about one inch in front of it, was a circular incision, which terminated at a point about three inches below the right jaw. That incision had completely severed all the tissues down to the vertebrae, and the large vessels of the neck on both sides were severed. That incision was eight or so inches in length, Loki observed, his brow furrowing further with each detail he found.

Essentially, she was cut from ear to ear.

“Her throat was slashed twice,” he muttered, just loud enough for his companion to hear. “It would have killed her quite instantly.”

“That explains the blood-soaked clothes…”

Loki continued his routine examination as he removed the garments covering the body. Her chest showed no injuries or bruises as he worked downwards. “It would seem that most of her blood did indeed soak into her clothes and hair, for that matter. Her breast is clear of blood or cuts as is her… Jesus Christ.”

Loki’s words died on his lips as his jaw fell open. He could hear the sergeant asking what the problem was, but he ignored him and pulled back the victims skirts to get a better look at what he thought he saw.

His eyes had not played tricks on him — on her lower abdomen were three or four deep gashes, one of which was particularly violent.

As he stared at the lacerations in shock, he noticed Rogers approach the table. “Loki, what is the—” He halted in speechless surprise before he ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, God. What did he do to her?”

Loki could only shake his head. “Send for Dr Banner, and Inspector Stark for that matter.”

“What the hell happened to her?” the other man demanded, horrified by the violent sight before him.

Meeting his worried gaze, Loki’s reply was that of a man who couldn’t believe his own eyes. “She has been disembowelled, Sergeant.”

Taglist: @heysliver @lisalisa007 @ava-royal @eloisemacguffin @tvdplusriverdale @trickster-grrrl @mellow-mischief

[actuallymuffet]

In-depth Character Sheet

Credit to Sir Ender at this writing forum.

Reblog or repost. DO NOT remove credit.

TAGGED BY: @scirephysica

TAGGING: everyone. if i had to write all this then so do you, god damnit.

FULL NAME: Muffet MEANING: From the nursery rhyme Little Miss Muffet. NICKNAME: Mumu. MEANING: It’s just the first two letters of her name repeated. AGE: The monster equivalent of mid-20s. BIRTHDAY: TBA ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: TBA GENDER: Female ALLERGIES: None, unless Determination counts SEXUAL PREFERENCE: She’s gay as fuck. All girls all the time. THEME SONG(S): Spider Dance

APPEARANCE HAIR COLOR: Dark blue, almost black. HAIR STYLE AND LENGTH: About down to her shoulders, with two pig tails! I’m not sure what you’d call the style? EYES COLOR: Her eyes are just black. No pupils. Cute-creepy. HEIGHT: 6′5″ (195cm) WEIGHT: Uh... I don’t know. She’s light though. OUTFIT/CLOTHING STYLE: Best I can describe it is gothic lolita. DISTINGUISHING MARKS(SCARS,MOLES): She’s got a scar across her left shoulder, like where the collarbone is. SELF CARE(MAKE UP): She’s cute enough without it! FIRST IMPRESSION ON PEOPLE: "What the fuck is that a fucking spider?” SKIN COLOR: Purple/lavender! BODY TYPE/BUILD: Uh, very lean. DEFAULT EXPRESSION: A smile upon her face, her eyes almost unperceptibly scanning in every direction. POSTURE: Standing upright and proper, hands folded in front of her or behind her back. PIERCINGS: None. DESCRIBE THEIR VOICE: High and very sing-songy, practically everything she says has some sort of lilt to her tone. Also a French accent.

RELATIONSHIPS MOM: Gone, as spiders do. HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: They’ve never really met! DAD: Eaten by her mom! As spiders do. HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: RIP SIBLINGS: Many, but they are also gone. Spiders aren’t very familial. HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: Not at all. CHILDREN: N/A HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: N/A PAST LOVER(S): Someone I retconned bc their mun was a piece of shit who ghosted me. Get fucked honestly. CURRENT LOVER: The one and only Nami! REACTION TO MEETING SOMEONE NEW: Bright and cheery, always a pleasure to meet a new face. Curious about them, but not wanting to ask too much. ABILITY TO WORK WITH OTHERS: She can work well with others, but sometimes she can be a bit of a perfectionist if working on something she considers to be “her thing.” LEAST FAVORITE TYPE OF PERSON: Those without compassion, or empathy. Cold people. As in like, emotionally cold, not temperature-wise. PARENTAL TYPE(PROTECTIVE,ETC): A very laid-back, “do what you want but don’t get hurt” kind of parent but will jump at the need to protect their child if they needed it. Not that she plans on having children.

PERSONALITY ..WHEN YOU FIRST MEET THEM: This tall-ass bug wants to sell you stuff. Her voice might be grating. ..AS YOU KNOW THEM BETTER(AND THEY LIKE YOU): Always trying to offer a positive, “look on the bright side!” attitude, very kind and appreciative. Very curious and will ask you a lot more about yourself. ..AS YOU KNOW THEM BETTER(AND THEY DISLIKE YOU): Very cold and curt, a lot of sarcastic, bitter remarks both to and about you. Wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you if need be. FAVORITE COLOR: Purple! FAVORITE FOOD: Spider donuts!!! FAVORITE ANIMAL: ... Do spiders count? FAVORITE ELEMENT: Earth. LEAST FAVORITE COLOR: Green. But like, neon green. LEAST FAVORITE FOOD: Anything without any sort of taste to it. LEAST FAVORITE ANIMAL: Ant-eater. HOBBIES: Baking (though it’s a profession, now), sewing. Reading! USUAL MOOD: Peppy. DRINK/SMOKE/DRUGS: Drinks wines and ciders on occasion, but never enough to really get drunk. DARK VERSION OF SELF: I don’t know what this means. LIGHT VERSION OF SELF: Same as above. HOW SERIOUS ARE THEY: Not very, unless she needs to be or if the other person (assuming she likes them) doesn’t react well to a non-serious attitude. CLASS IN AN RPG: Assassin~ BELIEVE IN GHOSTS: Undoubtedly! Her best friend was a ghost. (IN)DEPENDENT: Very independent. VULNERABILITY: She’s insecure about her powers and her strength. She’s not confident she’d win in a close range fight. OPINION ON SWEARING: She would never swear in public (where someone could overhear) but when she’s with close friends, she does swear. Not a lot, but it’s not uncommon either. DAREDEVIL VS CAUTIOUS: Somewhere in the middle ground. MUSIC TYPE: Classical, swing/electroswing. MOVIE TYPE: So-bad-it’s-good, cheesy romance (if watching with Nami), crime/mystery. BOOK TYPE: Any and all. COMFORTABLE TEMPERATURE: Mid-70s, Fahrenheit. SLEEPING PATTERN: If it weren’t for the fact that businesses mostly needed to operate during the day, she’d sleep most of the day away and wake up in the late afternoon. Then go back to bed very late at night. But since she has to work, she keeps a “normal” sleep pattern. CLEANLINESS/NEATNESS: Very clean, very organized. DESIRED PET: Her pet muffin spider, Muffen, is the best pet she can ask for. As well as every spider she can get her hands on. HOW DO THEY PASS TIME: Baking. There are always sweets in her house. Spending time with Nami, if she’s free. BIGGEST SECRET: Her insecurities/anxiety. HERO/WHO THEY LOOK UP TO: Formerly Korra. WHAT ANIMAL WOULD THEY BE: Assuming she can’t choose spider... a ferret. They’re cute! FEARS: Water, abandonment, infamy. COMFORTS: Baked goods, a soft blanket, Nami’s embrace.

HOW DO THEY REACT TO… DANGER: If it’s danger she thinks she can take on from a safe distance, steeled confidence but with caution. If she feels it’s too much danger... fear. Hesitance. Possibly panicking. SOMEONE THEY HATE WHO HAS A CRUSH ON THEM: Hell no, stay away from me at all times. PROPOSAL TO MARRY: "I- Wh.. I... Are you sure?!” DEATH OF LOVED ONE: Despair, blaming herself. She knows, in Hive City at least, they’ll come back, but it’s still painful to know that she failed them. DIFFICULT GAME/MATH/ETC: Determined to win/figure it out to the best of her ability, but if she’s unable, she shrugs it off and doesn’t worry about it. INJURY: Wave it off, hide the pain, pretend it’s nothing even if it’s a serious injury. She could be dying and insist it was fine, something just went a little bit wrong. At least, when she’s with someone else. If she’s alone, and it’s an injury more serious than, say, accidentally cutting yourself with a knife (like one sustained in a fight) it brings up a whole lotta bad thoughts related to her thinking herself weak and her powers not enough. SOMETHING IRRESISTIBLY CUTE:

HISTORY BIOGRAPHY: Muffet was born in the Underground, as most monsters were, and lived in Hotland (albeit in the cooler areas). That’s where she made her little web home and her little spider friends. With no family and no real desire to make friends (or even really know how to), she took up baking to sell treats to make money instead. Her treats were very popular (in part due to how gosh darn cute the saleswoman was!). She met Napstablook eventually, as she was a big fan of his music. He even made a song for her, and she loved it. Perhaps the friendship was a bit one-sided, as Napstablook isn’t usually the most chipper or social of monsters, but they were definitely friends nevertheless. She at some point heard about the spiders trapped in the Ruins, and it nearly broke her heart—er, SOUL. Determined to help them, she put her baking skills to better use, selling a wider variety of treats than before and using all the money she raised to help fund the spider’s rescue from the ruins. A couple large purchases here and there, and a human passing through from the Ruins too, helped make it a reality. She was able to successfully get the spiders safe passage from the Ruins (and then some!) before being whisked away to Hive City. FIRST APPEARANCE: In Hotland, in a web-filled corridor.

KNOWLEDGE LANGUAGES: Common, spider. SCHOOLING LEVEL: There’s not really any schooling in the Underground, so N/A. FAVORITE SUBJECT (S): If we’re talking typical education subjects, then astronomy. INTERESTED CAREERS: I mean... she’s already a professional pastry chef. EXPERTISE: All things dessert-like and sweet, spider knowledge, and seamstressing. CHEMISTRY: What’s a chemistry MATH: She knows finance and that’s good enough. LANGUAGE: She’s a very eloquent speaker, until she’s put in front of a crowd. GEOGRAPHY: She knows the Underground like the back of her hand, and she knows enough of Hive City memorized to get around quickly and utilize some shortcuts here and there. POLITICS/LAW: She just knows she didn’t like Asgore’s rule, or Asgore himself. COOKING: Baking is one thing, cooking another. She’s a good enough cook to get by, but don’t expect anything fancy. MECHANICS: /shrug BOTANY (FLOWERS): She’s only really familiar with echo flowers, else she just recognizes a handful throughout the city in parks and such. Mostly she just recognizes them as a pretty view, though her favourite are spider lillies. MYTHOLOGY: The only things she knows is Underground legends and myths and such. Mythology isn’t a subject that comes up often between her and her friends. DRAMATICS(ACTING,SINGING): She’s not really an actor, though she’s never tried. She’s great at putting on a saleswoman persona, though is it really a persona if it’s how she acts for half of her waking hours? As for singing, she’s a nice voice, but doesn’t really care to sing. She won’t shatter your eardrums, but she’s just so-so.

READING LEVEL: High. She’s read all of the books in the Snowdin library, and before she opened her bakery, she spent a lot of her free time in Hive City reading random books too. HOW GOOD ARE THEY AT PLANNING AHEAD: She plans ahead one to two weeks at a time. She likes to know when things are going to happen and where she has to be so she isn’t taken by surprise or so that things don’t come up unexpectedly. If plans do change, she can still very easily shift around her schedule to accommodate for it.

ROMANCE . DO THEY TAKE INITIATIVE: She’ll flirt first but if you flirt back she melts inside. HOW DO THEY ACT(SHY,ETC): She actually gets more shy the closer she is to the person she wants romance with. GENTLEMAN/LADYLIKE VS KLUTZY: Very ladylike... until in the comfort of her own home. There, she’s still ladylike, but not so severely. GO SLOW VS JUMP INTO: Slow is nice. PROTECTIVE: "I understand that you’re strong and very capable of protecting yourself. That said, if anyone tries to lay a finger on you I will kill them and kill them again when they come back to life.” ACT LIKE FRIENDS OR LOVERS: She’s very lovey-dovey with her partner a lot of the time. WHAT KIND OF PRESENTS DO THEY BUY: She doesn’t usually buy gifts. She likes to make handmade gifts, usually things with memories attached or some other sort of sentimental value. But jewelry is nice, too, to both buy and receive. TYPE OF KISSER: She’s a great kisser. Mind the fangs, she’s venomous. DO THEY WANT KIDS: Nope. DO THEY WANT TO MARRY: She’s not sure if she’s ready for that. MAKE GOOD OR BAD DECISIONS: Good decisions! She hopes. She worries they aren’t enough sometimes. ARE THEY ROMANTIC: She tries to be. Romance is new to her, so she might go a little overboard in trying to be the cute romantic partner she thinks Nami wants her to be. HOW ARE THEY IN BED: Up until like, four months ago she’d never done anything sexual at all, but she’s a quick learner, we’ll say. GET JEALOUS EASY: Nah. She knows her partner will still love her, and she trusts her. WIFE/HUBBY BEATER: Fuck no? MARRY FOR MONEY: She already has it. Either way, still a solid “Hell no” on that one. FAVORITE SEX POSITION: She’ll tell you when you’re older. WHAT WOULD HAPPEN ON THEIR DREAM DATE: They go somewhere dark and alone, where they can be themselves and talk and laugh and play as loud as they want with no one telling them when the place closes or to quiet down. They walk for a while, just generally enjoying each other’s presence. Then they go home to relax together, enjoy a meal, and gush over each other. Then they sleep cuddling each other. An all day package. OPINION ON SEX: It’s nice yeah.