#anyhow to whom would i go is stuck in my head

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

keep seeing phrases and going !!!!! that reminds me of THIS amazing song lemme just listen to that-

-and then I remember that 'this amazing song' (not always the same one, but a handful of them) is from a musical. a musical performed for the first time in January. a musical written by my friends. it does not have any recordings, not available to the public or anyone other than the writers at this point, anyhow. sadness.

[rosemariad]

THE BITTER END | SPN 15x18 DESPAIR: About that Destiel moment in 15x18

Oh boy…the scene that sailed a thousand memes (and counting)…the scene that made us all go feral in the midst of a contentious presidential elections in one of the most disruptive, chaotic years in recent memory (2020 you son of a bitch)

Now i am super late with this since it’s nearly been 4 years since this was aired live on TV and posted like crazy all over the internet BUT…y’all Destiel shippers got robbed. Not just with this scene but the whole Destiel ship in general - just done so dirty.

I started watching this show on and off back in 2021 and I finally got to finish over the summer this year (2024) taking my sweet time, even rewatching certain episodes (for some fanfic writing 😁). I went into this to settle the debate for myself - is this Destiel stuff legit? Or was it taken out of context? Misconstrued.

No. It really wasn’t. They (the powers behind SPN) tried it, tried to pull the wool over people’s heads, with certain fans chiming in (the destiel haters, the homophobes, the anti-mishas, etc.) but no. The SPN showrunners fucked all this up.

From the beginning….

So it’s 15x18 despair - we’re in the last act - shit’s popping off, everything’s going tits up - Billie is trying to hunt Dean down, calling him chaos incarnate. Dean & Cas get trapped in a room with no apparent means of escape or defense - probably should’ve headed for the exit - but I guess since it’s the 3rd to last episode and the execs clearly want things to go back to the status quo 🙄 now’s as good a time as any to cash in on that plot thread from last season and kill Castiel once and for all 😭 (as 1 person pointed out, given the prior context they probably could've just waited Billie out, since them being trapped in that room - Cas was the one that blocked the door anyhow - but I get it SPN showrunners you wanted to get rid of Cas somehow - what a mess)

If you haven’t watched it - here’s where I gasp and scoff in disbelief - please watch it https://youtu.be/l_r9GZeQl1w?si=uVox8PlXByYEYKci

Basically Cas tells Dean he’s the greatest guy he’s ever known, that he fights for love and that Cas lurves Dean 😭 and he’s not the bad things enemies say Dean is. That he’s more than the worst parts of himself - oh Cas.

This was Castiel’s one moment of true happiness - telling the one person whom he adores more than anyone or anything else in the entire universe - that he is loved by Castiel himself.

The confession that triggers Castiel’s demise to go with the empty, takes Billie with him and before Dean can process the massive TRUTH BOMB Castiel just dumped on him, Castiel is gone.

Despair indeed.

They made too many fucking cuts to this scene, at least for Jensen’s coverage. Like if you don’t want Dean to reciprocate…fine. Don’t. But let him fucking respond! Let him use his words. Castiel just told Dean he was in love with him, that is one of the BIGGEST things you can say to somebody in your life. EVER. Especially on TV. And yes it was in love, like romantically. Not platonically because why make such a fucking fuss over fucking platonic friendship! There’s always been a tension between these 2 characters, it hung over between them since season 4. They just made it into a joke, never expecting to get the traction it did over the years. They even tried writing Cas off the show for good back in season 7. But they got stuck with Cas and never really made proper use of him. They literally just waited until the last minute to get rid of him in a way that couldn’t get the show cancelled until that decision had already been made by the network. to make things worse - COVID happened

So don’t tell me the confession doesn’t merit a response, either for or against on Dean’s part - whether he returns Castiel’s affection or not is another story but dammit let Dean speak! How could you not? Cowards!

And Would it be so terrible if Dean did feel something MORE than friendship for the only other individual that has stood by him for so many years? Like really? A relationship doesn’t demand sex (but let’s be honest, Cas probably wanted to fuck the shit outta Dean 🤣) it’s whatever the people in the relationship want! Dean isn’t young by the time s15 rolls around. Older people tend to just want someone to come home to, settle down with. Companionship. Cas fits that to a fucking T. When Dean dreamed of a future, Cas was right there with him (and Sam, cuz Dean always wants his family close as much as he can, given how he grew up).

Couldn’t find a gif of Dean talking about taking some time off after all the craziness of the hunting they do but I’m not crazy I know he wanted it.

The team behind SPN could have finished Dean’s narrative beautifully as man who was driven by fear all his life and opens himself up to a relationship he never saw coming but when the time came he didn’t run because he grew to love more than fear (and choose to live a life of peace after stuck in one of violence for so many years).

This is why Hollywood is shit! Great beginnings, shitty endings. But in this case, it was because they consistently chose NOT to indulge in queer-like narratives with enough care (aside from some other problematic stuff like the treatment towards women being more negative than positive, the inconsistent writing for characters and plot, etc.)

BUT not when it’s the main character 😡 Charlie can be gay AF but not Dean, seriously? That’s fucked. Like at least let him fucking explore/consider it. So people stop watching it who gives AF?! I never even watched the show when it was on air for 15 years, tons of people didn’t. There are still people out there watching SPN for the first time today! People who started but stopped because it’s a show that ran WAAAY longer than any other normally does.

Idk who made it so that Dean couldn’t explore his sexuality or fucked up the Destiel of it all but they SUUUUUUUUCK! You really shat the bed! at least explore it cuz at the end of the day, it may not work out. Gay relationships aren’t that different from straight relationships in that sometimes it just doesn’t work out BECAUSE we’re ALL people. And who knows maybe they could’ve been happy but we’re not allowed to know that canonically because Destiel was never given a CHANCE!

I mean if it was REALLY that big a deal – why introduce it? By making these little suggestions that (in a way that's funny but why would Dean be queer be haha funny - no that's not okay, queerness shouldn't be a joke) furthermore we’re talking about a show on basic cable - all it would’ve taken was fucking hand-holding or the same routine of staring into each other’s eyes like they’d been doing for 12 fucking years already! Just not shying away from the queerness that time. Legend of Korra did it. That 1 Disney show did it (i don’t remember the name). No kissing would’ve been necessary - nice, wishful thinking but not necessary if the kissing became an issue (but seriously it was 2020 man but ofc - that is a year where a pandemic that required social distancing decided to kick in during the final arc of this show) - just so we’re all clear COVID cock blocked Destiel lol jk 🤣

All those times they had Dean & Cas stare into each other's eyes – the forces at work – showrunners, writers, directors AND editors & the network who is showing this to audiences – if its such a big fucking deal - Don't leave it in. By leaving it in, you're allowing people to make assumptions about the relationship – it happens literally every time in every story ever told. You put 2 people in a scene and they're not family (though not always the case) or JUST friends (explicitly proven) there's a chance SOMEONE is gonna wanna ship them no matter how likely it is (OR NOT) they'll hookup or become a couple. That's just how it is. So don't fan the flames and then turn it around on fans that they're wrong, crazy or misinterpreting. If Wincest can exist, so can Destiel and any other ship. That being said, y’all Destiel shippers were ROBBED but I don’t need to tell you that.

I don’t think the relationship would’ve been perfect or smooth sailing - their friendship as it was on the show sure wasn’t. And Dean wasn’t the only one with issues - Cas had some bad qualities too - the angel liked to lie and for a while there he was extremely averse to conflict. And Dean…he gets real fucking angry 😬 not a good mix for a relationship- hell even a friendship.

But the two had a profound bond, with a great deal of affection for one another and that’s what got them through betrayal, fights, amnesia, curses, apocalypses, and all the ugliness in between. They could’ve made it. Or they could’ve just had Cas and Dean stay friends - but we’ll never know since Cas was pretty much omitted after 15x18 - there were references - like only 2 though 😒

Really SPN? 😒😔 so lazy. But sure, go ahead, blame COVID. It’s not like phones exist. It’s not like the actor couldn’t have just recorded Castiel’s voice nope. Totally not an option 🤦🏾‍♀️ same goes for the other characters - Jody, Donna, Eileen - you know all the other characters Sam & Dean cared about but sure - fuck ‘em too. Status quo is the only thing that matters - SMH.

[eirinstiva]

Two for the price of one

Second part of "Jeeves in the Springtime" and what was the plan? Bingo Little should read some romantic novels to his uncle to prepare for a relationship between different classes.

Old Little had jibbed somewhat at first at the proposed change of literary diet, he not being much of a lad for fiction and having stuck hitherto exclusively to the heavier monthly reviews; but Bingo had got chapter one of “All for Love” past his guard before he knew what was happening, and after that there was nothing to it.

Mmm... this is good!!! Keep going, Bingo.

“And, by the way,” said Bingo, “he wants you to lunch with him tomorrow.” “Me? Why me? He doesn’t know I exist.” “Oh, yes, he does. I’ve told him about you.” “What have you told him?” “Oh, various things. Anyhow, he wants to meet you. And take my tip, laddie⁠—you go! I should think lunch tomorrow would be something special.”

This is suspicious... or as we say in Chilean:

“Oh, that’s all right. I just rang up to explain. The fact is, old man, I know you won’t mind, but I told him that you were the author of those books I’ve been reading to him.” “What!” “Yes, I said that ‘Rosie M. Banks’ was your pen-name, and you didn’t want it generally known, because you were a modest, retiring sort of chap. He’ll listen to you now. Absolutely hang on your words. A brightish idea, what? I doubt if Jeeves in person could have thought up a better one than that. 

Look at this man! Bingo looks so calm, so happy. Poor Bertie has to deal with something rummy, I guess. I think it's a good idea, but I don't know if it's a good idea to change Jeeves' plan without telling him, until know he's the one planning everything for Bertie and his friends.

“Not yet. But I propose to enter upon that holy state almost immediately. The lady who for years has cooked so well for me honoured me by accepting my hand this very morning.” A cold gleam of triumph came into his eye. “Now let ’em try to get her away from me!” he muttered, defiantly.

I told you!!! I'm so happy for Old Little and Miss Watson, but now Bingo lost his allowance and Jeeves lost his fiancée... so sad...

“To tell you the truth, sir, I was not wholly averse from a severance of my relations with Miss Watson. In fact, I greatly desired it. I respect Miss Watson exceedingly, but I have seen for a long time that we were not suited. Now, the other young person with whom I have an understanding⁠—”

Sospechosa la wea...

“For some weeks, sir. I was greatly attracted by her when I first met her at a subscription dance at Camberwell.” “My sainted aunt! Not⁠—” Jeeves inclined his head gravely. “Yes, sir. By an odd coincidence it is the same young person that young Mr. Little⁠—I have placed the cigarettes on the small table. Good night, sir.”

MABEL!!!

The woman with the weird fashion test? Considering that Jeeves left his previous work for the bad taste of his master, I don't see a bright future in this relationship.

Recap: Jeeves got two couples and one heartbroken Bingo with just one scheme. Amazing job, Jeeves!

[tlonista]

So having written a "Elizabeth Cross lives" AU I can't stop thinking through a version of Dead Space 2 with her in it.

My premise would probably be that they get separated soon after both getting transported from their shuttle to the Sprawl -- let's say Isaac gets stuck in EarthGov's Marker-building program, but Cross gets taken by Unitologists almost immediately, instead of them hunting down Isaac a few years later. Cross spends the inter-game period playing along with Daina and the Church, on the chance it could help her get to Isaac, while Isaac assumes she's dead and is sort of busy with the whole traumatic medical torture and hallucinating his dead girlfriend situation anyway.

Anyhow, the necromorph outbreak happens in the Sprawl, and Daina guides Isaac to the Church of Unitology like in canon, at which point he somehow meets up with Cross. (There's the potential there for some interesting questions about whether Isaac thinks he can still trust her, given his opinions about Unitology.) They've presumably both got Marker dementia, but they can work as foils with very different approaches for dealing with it -- my version would be that Cross has found a way to live with the aftermath of Aegis VII while Isaac is still (understandably!) a total disaster.

And now we're getting into the realm of things that can only work in fanfic, but fuck it, Isaac/Ellie/Cross all get together! There's no DS3-style awkward love triangle here, they are a three-person team composed of a constantly hallucinating grief-stricken engineer, an also insane but resigned to being chill about it botanist, and a pilot who's just showing up to this party and trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. All of whom spend most of the story separated but in contact with each other.

Incidentally Stross is still here in this version, but instead of an obviously dangerously delusional murderer, he's initially played as a helpful figure who seems to have gotten stuck in Isaac's Marker program by accident, until we get a slow reveal that he's in far worse shape than any of them.

I think in this version Isaac's relationship with his Hallucination GIrlfriend is mostly the same, but the question is whether Cross has a similar experience with a Hallucination Boyfriend. My impulse says yes, in a way that acts, again, as a foil for Isaac -- instead of being constantly at war with him, she's potentially just decided to live with the fact that there's this terrifying thing inside her head and has found strategies to cope without ever really healing. But there might be better options.

And then, because this is fanfic: yes, they all end up in a relationship after DS2, and at the beginning of the next game Isaac is incredibly depressed because his girlfriends went off Marker-hunting together.

[usagi-mitsu]

Werlyt & Gaius - a bunch of thoughts.

I am a little late to the party. I know. But I just finished the Emerald weapon and before I go to try out the „not Zenos“ weapon as in „Diamond“, I need to get my thoughts on the story straight.

Perhaps I have been spoiled by 5.0s brilliant MSQ and cannot appreciate the inherent beauty of at least decent writing any longer. But this felt so wrong and out of tune with the rest of the game. I started writing this 2 hours ago! I wanted to one in bed by now! XD But I had to get it out of my system… so….

Spoilers for the MSQ and Werlyt incoming??? And no I did not re-read this so not just spoilers but also writing errors incoming. -.-

The good

These fights are epic! I have only ever cleared the normal versions, but I loved those. They are amazing. The callbacks to Eula (her being a woman here! When did they discover that???), Regula (may he rest in peace) and Gaius himself in his prime were delightful. But I could do with a little less rotating, ok? A dragoon has positional, you know? And being allowed to pilot my very own mecha was like *chefs kiss*. On that front? Well done Square Enix!

I am also glad they were able to get another use out of Porta Praetora! That place looks amazing with the wide open field and the lake – and Ala Mhigo across it. It was one of my favourite Stormblood areas and I am always glad to return there. And of course… being able to visit the allied camp again… And Werlyt itself. It’s simply a beautiful place. It reminds me very much of southern Greece. If you’ve watched the movie Mamma Mia you know what I mean.

The music too was really nice. But I don’t think I’ll… you know… listen to it on repeat as I am doing with other parts of the soundtrack.

I’ve also loved how much amazing lore we got about Garlemald and especially the garlean military. And the military abroad. The way soldiers not from the mainland get treated. I love learning about these things.

Gaius

The man. The legend. The guy yelling in Prae.

He’s so very boring here. He has so much potential as a character and maybe I’m missing something, but all throughout this story he has been nothing but passive. He’s a reactive character in this storyline. You know. The guy who made deals with Lahabread (the d is intended), tried to take over Eorzea, lead a whole army, stood idly by as the moon dropped, almost died but then decided just not to die and then though „hm… I’ve got so much freetime now. How about I go and hunt some ascians?“ That guy is NOT a reactive character. He is active. He goes out of his way to make shit he wants happen. And in here? He seems too starstruck and devastated by his adopted kids actions to actually have one clear thought.

The only explanation I have is that he might have gotten hit in the head by something on his way to the ruby weapon. I get why he would rely on Cid for help, but the WoL??? The alliance? If you wish to be an ally and help or something, fucking act like it. You were a former legatus and I expect you to live up to your name – even after retiring.

And yeah.. I guess it’s hard having to watch your kids willingly, knowingly dying. But you fucking raised them. You are a big part of the reason to why they are in that predicament. So like… Aside from that I don’t even get why you are in this story at all.

And for the record: I’m not sorry for him. I’m just flabbergasted by all the bullshit we’ve been learning about him.

To be quite honest, I think this story could have worked just as well or maybe even better, if we got another man as the „hero“ of the story. I am talking about none other than our engineering, hammer-swinging, ex-enemy - of course talking about Nero!

The MSQ has long established that his research into the Ultimate Weapon had been taken, twisted and turned – Estinien had to experience this first-hand. I’m not saying that Nero was in need of a redemption arc and I cannot remember if these weapons were of his creation or even stem from anything he did, but it would make so much more sense for me, to have him confront his past in the garlean military like this and be responsible for the death of his former colleagues. Soldiers that he served with, whom he faught with. Give me Nero and them working together to get the weapons going and him bonding with them as his pilots to a degree. Comrades. Not that strange familiar bond that Gaius appareantly has with them. … Scratch that: Let Gaius be the father figure. Him being that wouldn’t change Nero’s relationship with them, but maybe his with Gaius as his superior.

The story wouldn’t even need to try and redeem Nero: He has already gone through major character development with the MSQ and the Omega raid tier. It would simply be Nero, confronted with the things he created, hopefully instilling more morals and a sense of responsibility for his creations. Heck: Let Cid yell at the guy! Seriously! Cid sticking around to help out would make so much more sense if it was Nero instead of freaking Gaius! Cid hated the guy! He might be a professional, but he is not one to torture himself by staying around a guy he (as far as I know) detests.

Make Nero the central figure and give Cid and Gaius the roles of „angel and demon“: One desperately trying to reach out to his old friend, reminding him why they became engineers and trying to make him realise that he can’t just run around designing weapons and leaving the scematics for everyone to read; while the other has trouble letting go of his imperial past and is struggling to see the errors of his ways – if Nero was wrong, than he (Gaius) was wrong too -and of course they did all of this for their home, to further their cause, and to bring peace to the savage lands of Eorzea, who had been fighting amongst themselves for so long… You get the point.

And you could still have these gundam themed fights. But I think everything would make so much more sense in general.

But speaking of which-

The children

I do not truly care for any of them. And that is a shame: I do think there are great characters and dynamics hidden behind these very few cutscenes. When they were first introduced I was wondering why I was suddenly watching „heartwarming“ cutscenes of my foes as children – until I realised that I was supposed to care and that they were supposed to make me feel pity for Gaius. I was supposed to feel bad for him, because they died and he blames himself. But while their fates so far have been gruesome, I cannot say that I am sad they died. They chose to die as they did. There were a myriad more options. And they chose that.

Actually. Their whole story makes me feel like they were huge masochist from the very beginning. They could have just run away and gotten help from someone more competent than them, but they stayed in an abusive military arrangement just so nobody else got hurt?? Please. Use your brains next time. And for the Berserk-like torture scene? I mean. I get what was implied here. But was it necessary? As a writer myself I follow the rule that torture and sexual violence should never be used in a story, unless it must be in there for the story to work or to bring across a vital point important to the story or it’s moral (or if you are writing porn and you are into it – but we are talking official in-game content here). But the violence towards these „children“ seems unnecessary for the plot and the violence of their deaths by piloting the weapons is already gruesome enough. Sometimes it’s better to leave things like this out – the emotional torture of feeling stuck and having a martyrs complex would have been enough here, I think. If the rest of the story had been well written at least.

(I believe my utter lack of sympathy shows how little character developement they had. I love tragic characters, who choose to suffer for the good of other people – even better if those people don’t even like them. It’s just my thing. And those kids are just… well.)

Their reasons and especially why they were making Allie out as the one who would need to survive was also just… weird. Like. I feel like 75% of what happened would not have happened, if they actually talked to each other, used their brains and had done something about their problems. But no…

These characters are also so exchangeable with basic anime/j-RPG character tropes… I only remember Alfonse, Rex and Allie – because I just did the Emerald weapon. And right afterwards I thought, „huh. So… Fullmetal Alchemist?“ Which brings me to my third point …

…the story at large.

„Pacing is a virtue“ or was it patience..? Anyhow: The author of this story should have had more patience with his story and characters and taken a bloody break! And I am not talking about the obvious blunder of „How is Allie feeling?“, „she is in shock and you cannot talk to her“ turning to „oh yeah if you are careful you can talk to her now“. I mean. WTF. That was MAYBE 10-20 in-game minutes of dialogue.

But everything was moving so very fast – and not even in a good way. There are few things better than a fast paced, action rich story about a group of young people trying to safe (their) world. But if you try to cram in two expansions worth of character development and story telling into about two hours of content each patch.. Well, then you get whatever the hell this is.

Gaius is a very interesting character and while I did not understand why they needed to bring him back in 4.4 (?), I do see how he could be a good asset for endwalker. And his involvement in 5.0 with Estinien was just a dear delight. So I am not opposed to learning more about him, to watching his character grow and changed with time. But I am not ready for badly written content of which 50% get told by suddenly induced echo-sequences. I mean – weren’t there rules for the echo at some point???

I’m not sure which one of the devs said it, but the feature that let’s you play an NPC is super convenient for them to tell the story, because before they could only show what happened where the WoL was.

And that’s just it. Rule number 1 in writing anything is „Show don’t tell“. It feels like they literally turned this one around for these cutscenes. While Valens torture and diet-Fandaniel-routine were very much „show“, the rest of the story was one long cutscene of exposition: We get exposition by Cid, by Gaius, by echo, by Gaius and his crew again, then by Allie. Before having to watch scenes we are not there for.

BTW. Dear square Enix: Your writers are capable of writing amazing villains, antagonist and despicable assholes. You don’t have to write „asshole, must die“ on Valens name card. And I also think the „WoL, strike here“ sign above his head was a tad bit too much. Nuance, dear writers. Nuance. Or perhaps I just got spoiled by these last few foes in the MSQ.

When I said I wanted to just be able to punch a bad guy for once and not feel bad about it, I did not mean this! I meant that I just wanted to play training dummy with Danny-Boy.

(Oh! And as far as I’m concerned you can just… sideline Gaius … „would be killer“ and the lady? Make them targetable NPCs with Dialoge to read. Let them stand somewhere accessible and comment on the latest developement. But ffs don’t give me hour long speeches about how you are going to kill Gaius if he does something you don’t like. The guy could and would wipe the floor with you if he felt like it. -.- So. Please. Shut up.)

Conclusion

Basically. I have to finish the Diamond weapon. But I doubt it will change my perception of this story line even in the slightest.

To be perfectly honest though … bringing Gaius back, having this story with and about him, forcing a sort of redemption ark here. It feels like they are really „grooming“ him to be a morally grey ally in Endwalker, with perhaps a big part to play in the endgame. At this point I wouldn’t even be surprised if they pulled a GoT and made him „King in the North“. Or if they had him die a heroic death to save the world, but especially his country. And to do so they need us to think his sacrifice means something. Or that he is the right person to lead Garlemald into a new future (I don’t think he is). But: For one, neither we (the players) nor the characters need to find him worthy of throne or death by heroism for his sacrifice/ascension to work. To be a useful tool for the story, only the other garleans who might oppose the alliance and scions need to deem him or his sacrifice „worthy“. And only they. And Ishikawa-san has all of 6.0 to accomplish whatever the hell she needs him for. He did not need to be the center of his own botched redemption ark. If that’s what they wanted to do. Or maybe I’m looking at this all wrong and all they wanted was to give the writes in training some literal training grounds to test their abilities.

But! On a positive note: I have yet to be told that raids and other side content are canon to any degree. So when playing the next story quests I’ll blissfully ignore all that happened in Werlyt and if it get’s mentioned (because they do that sometimes when you’ve done certain content) I’ll just ignore it.

Happy ignoring! Also: GIVE ME MORE NERO CONTENT!

[the-knights-who-say-book]

Of a Witch, a Gossip, and a Library

The library on the corner of Oak and Vine was an accident. The crown didn’t bother opening libraries this far out west, so far from any of the major cities—so far that the townspeople joked to each other the king might someday forget to send his tax collectors out there, too. So Feldwidth had never had a library before.

When the local witch died a few years back, nobody quite knew what to do with her narrow corner cottage, with its living space upstairs and walls lined with shelves of witchcraft ingrediants on the single ground floor room. The witch hadn’t any children or relatives to continue living there, and nobody else claimed the space in the months after her death. The downstairs room, shelves on all four walls (even on the inside of the door!), just didn’t invite new inhabitants. No one in Feldwidth, except for the general store owner on Main, practiced a trade which required so many shelves, and no one wanted the tedious task of taking them all down.

It was Margorette Clay, who lived just outside the village and came in once a week supposedly to sell produce but mostly just to gossip, who said they ought to get themselves another witch.

“Not like you find them growing in a road ditch,” Jame Clott said irritably, because Margo was leaning against his fence. As far as he was concerned, no one who hadn’t painted that fence themselves were allowed to lean on it.

“Suppose not. Guess that’s only where you find Clotts,” Margo said, and ducked the dirty sheet that Jame had been beating out on the stone path and was about to beat out on her head. Cawing her distinctive laughter, she ran down the street, apron full of apples jostling and jumping with her loping stride.

Jame leaned over his fence to yell after her, “And they find Clays on the streets after it rains, too dumb to get back into the dirt!”

Margo’s laughter drew Catty Loose to the open doorway of her house as sure as if she’d had a ringing bell to announce new gossip. “What’s got Jame worked up?”

“Cause I said you ought to get yourselves a new witch,” Margo said, barely half-truthful as usual. “Buy an apple? They’re almost as blushing pretty as your kitling.”

Catty’s smallest daughter went red and buried herself deeper in her mother’s skirts.

Another kid, barely older, leaned against Margo’s leg and pulled her hand, nearly spilling all the apples from the apron she was holding up. “Why nother witch? What for?”

“Ah, every place ought to have one,” Margo said vaguely. “It’s the way of things. One apple for each of your kitlings, Catty, and I’ll throw two in free.”

————————

“Margo’s right,” Catty Loose said after temple that Saturday, as the townspeople gathered in the yard to mingle and eat, her arms full of children and another two playing at her feet.

With preternatural hearing, Jame Clott turned from speaking with his husband Willem across the yard to say loudly, “Margorette Clay has never been right once in her life.”

Catty ignored him. “We ought to get a new witch. Sooner or later we’ll want one.”

“That’s crap,” Jame said, coming into the circle that surrounded Catty, which seemed to be half made up of her own children. “What’ll we want a witch for? No one’s been cursed in ages.”

“Aida Macintosh,” someone put in.

“Aida Macintosh ate the red berries by the stream. That’s not a curse so much as a punishment for stupidity.”

No one could really disagree.

“Need one for love shpells,” a tiny Loose kitling named Alfed suggested.

Jame crouched down, his face softening, to look into his small, earnest face. “Love spells are a gross affront against consent and should have been outlawed years ago,” he said gently.

Little Alfed Loose sneezed in his face.

“For getting a baby when you can’t make one yourself,” Mendy Hark said, one hand squeezing her daughter’s shoulder protectively.

Jame, wiping his face, didn’t say anything.

————————

“So how’s one get a witch anyway?” Lukey Keening asked, continuing the conversation from several days ago without preamble, as he tended to do. He and his overly long teenage limbs were sprawled in the grass of the meadow where the families of Oak street gathered once a week for a community meal, conspicuously not helping.

The eldest Loose girl, siblings hoisted on either hip, made a thoughtful sound. “You don’t get one, I think, they get you.”

“I don’t wanna get gotten,” one child on her hip sniffled.

“That’s only bad witches that get you,” Lukey said.

Lettie sighed. “No, I mean, you don’t do something to get a witch, they come to you.”

“That’s right, girly,” Margo Clay said from her perch watching over a pot of stew on the open fire. She had not been invited. Like witches, Margo simply appeared without being fetched. “But I tell you what, you can make them know you want one.”

“How’s that?” Daff Keening asked, arms crossed over his comfortably large belly. His sudden and stout presence made his son scramble up and pretend to be busy helping Lettie wrangle several children, all of whom resembled her as nesting dolls resemble the one they fit inside.

“You make a place ready for her.” Margo’s brash tone, as ever, drew more people from their tasks to pay attention to her. “Like baiting a trap. Can’t expect a mouse to walk into your trap unless you make it look inviting.”

“What do you know about mice?” Sal Hark asked skeptically.

“They’re close relatives of hers,” Jame Clott said, unable to resist. “The better question is, what does she know about witches?”

————————

Margo Clay was an incorrigible gossip, but people who liked gossip liked Margo, so she was listened to anyway.

Catty Loose sent Lettie  to sweep the empty store and dust the unnecessary amount of shelves. Lukey Keening tagged along to clean the small windows and help keep three small Looses in hand. The gaggle of children in and around the shop drew Jame Clott to poke his head in and see what was going on.

“Well! It looks clean, but it doesn’t look like a witch’s shop,” he declared.

“He’s right, Mama,” Lettie told her mother that evening. “I tossed out all the shriveled up herbs she had in there when I cleaned the shelves. Some of them had crumbled near into dust. But with the shelves empty it doesn’t look much like a witch’s place.”

Catty relayed this to the Macintoshes, who were eager for a replacement witch, in case anybody got cursed like Aida had last year.

“Mmhmm,” Catty said to that.

“I think the Harks have the magic books the old witch left,” Theo Macintosh said. “We can put those in there.”

—————————

Sal Hark brought the books around the shop a few days later, squinting in the sunshine at the man who was already there. “Hey, Jame. Witch showed up yet?”

Jame Clott startled back from the window he was peering through. “Nah, no witch is coming.”

Sal let out a whistle of agreement, but his smile was amused, like he thought Jame was wrong.

“Not with the shop looking that shoddy, anyway,” Jame said with a sniff. “There isn’t even a sign.”

“Blew down in a storm a few years ago, I think,” Sal said. “We know what shop it is, anyhow. Not like we’ve got shops every which way.”

“The witch wouldn’t know, since she’s new,” Jame said testily. If the whole town was going to take up Margo’s logic, they had better be consistent.

“Tell you what, then, you ought to paint a new sign. You’re the only one here who knows which end of a paintbrush goes where.”

Jame shook his head and waved goodbye. He wasn’t making a sign for an empty shop, a shop that would remain empty.

That night he saw Willem look out their kitchen window at that empty shop, something sad and wistful in his eyes, several times during their quiet dinner. Their dinners were always quiet, though they told each other about their days in detail, and debated if Margo’s pumpkins were any good at length. It was the quiet of something missing, the kind of quiet the Loose’s house down the street, full to the brim, had never known.

“Sal Hark said I should paint a sign for the witch’s shop, to make her want to come,” Jame said, surprising himself.

Willem tore his eyes away from the window and looked at him. After a moment, he smiled. “Face it, Jame, they won’t get her to come without your help.”

————————

Jame put up the new sign next week, his back so stiff-straight that nobody dared tease him about coming round to Margo’s thinking, though several people gathered across the street to watch.

The sign was big and square and sturdy, and painted on both sides was an open tome with stylized curls of magic shooting from it. Willem held the ladder steady while he hung it up, and Jame felt almost hopeful. Through the shining little windows passersby could see the neat shop room and the witch’s small collection of spell books sitting on one of the many shelves, and it looked almost inviting.

————————

Margo, who lived outside town, was the first one to realize someone had come to town overnight.

“Your witch is here!” she crowed, all but dancing down Oak Street in the early morning. “What did I tell you? Make it nice and she’ll come!”

“Quiet your racket,” said an irritable Jame, poking his head out his door. “Witch isn’t the word I’d use for you.”

“Wheel tracks!” she yelled at him. “Fresh wheel tracks down the road before I left my farm! Who brings a cart into town except for me and the tax collector? And the tax collector wouldn’t have set up shop in there!” She pointed one victorious finger at the corner shop where Jame’s sign swayed gently in the breeze. A rickety wooden cart was collapsed on the ground below it.

Jame opened his mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say.

Down the street, Catty Loose stuck her head out the window. “Margo, what are you whooping about? Oh my—Lettie! Lettie, find my shawl!” Her head ducked back inside, and before the last copper curl had followed it out the window, she was rushing out the front door, Lettie close on her heels.

Jame snapped his mouth shut and hurried after Margo, Catty, and Lettie, following them to the corner shop. A sleepy bundle of Loose kitlings, a couple of Keenings, a herd of Macintoshes and even a Hark or two were all heading in the same direction.

Someone had moved into the witch’s shop.

There were muddy shoe prints down the stone path, a new blue-checked curtain drawn over the window, and Margo standing triumphantly in front of the house, hands on her hips. “Didn’t I tell you! Didn’t I!”

“So you did,” said Sal Hark, “but quiet, Margo, or you’ll wake her up. She must’ve come in dead of night.”

Margo ignored him. “Well, I hope you all remember this. When I’m right, I’m right!”

Behind her, the witch’s door cracked open.

The girl who opened it was no older than Lettie Loose, and probably younger. Her face was nervous, but as she took in the crowd outside her door, it broke into a shy smile. “Oh. Hello. I didn’t expect... I’m not all set up yet. But I suppose the library can be open now if you want.”

“What?” said Margo.

“Library?” said Catty.

“I knew it,” said Jame. “You didn’t catch yourself a witch. You caught a librarian.”

Margo glared at him, apparently lost for words.

The girl looked back and forth between them. “I’m sorry?”

Margo rounded on her. “A librarian! Is that what you are? Then you have to leave. We’re waiting for a witch.”

The girl’s mouth opened and shut, her eyes big, and then she looked down and sniffed.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jame snapped, a protectiveness in his voice so fierce that Margo took a step back from both him and the girl. He glared around him, making sure no one else was going to follow Margo’s lead, and then turned back to the girl. All anger dropped out of his face immediately, replaced by a gentle warmth. “Have you got family?”

“Not anymore,” she said. “I’m... I’ve just been taking my library around. That’s my family. I thought we could stay here, maybe, If that’s alright.”

“That’s just fine. We’ve never had a library before, we’re all real grateful you came. Come have breakfast.” He didn’t wait for an answer, already thinking of having a full kitchen, and Willem no longer staring out the window, and needing to find more eggs for breakfast, and who in town might have extra shoes to replace the worn-thin boots on her feet.

A layer of tension seemed to slough off her. She stepped out of her doorway and a few feet onto the path to follow Jame, then paused. Looking back at them, she said, “When you take a book, write the title and your name in the ledger, and return it in two weeks.”

Skipping to catch up with Jame, she grabbed his hand with an easy sort of trust. She turned her face up to him. “If it’s not for a library, why is it full of shelves? Why were there already books there? Why does it have a book sign?”

“Sometimes,” Jame said, “People think they’re waiting for one thing, but they’re really waiting for another.”

“Were you?” she asked.

He saw the moment Willem noticed them through the window, saw hope dawn in his eyes as he watched them come up the path; his husband, and a girl who looked like she needed a home.

“No,” he said. “We were waiting exactly for you.”

[flightrules]

Which Kind Do You Want to Be?

Summary: You’re from a deeply sex-positive culture. He hasn’t gone unarmored in front of another human in... It’s been a very long time.

Three days on board the Razor Crest featuring moments of angst, domesticity, kindness, explicit consent, and Din doing his best to be a conscientious parent in the midst of everything. Heads up for descriptions of canon-typical violence, mention of past dubious consent, and a moment of (unintentional) violence between our protagonists. Din/cis female OC, on the hetero end of the scale. Ending is bittersweet.

Rating: Mature? Explicit? Anyhow, grown-up sexy stuff in later chapters. Please be old enough to be reading this kind of thing.

Watch for upcoming chapters here, or read the complete story on AO3. 

Chapter 1

He's sitting there looking at you, head tilted, and it's like somebody needed an illustration of curiosity for a children's book so they drew this Mandalorian and stuck that on the page.

"Isn't 'stop' good enough?" he says.

"Sometimes people like to say that and not mean it. Having a different word lets you both know you don't want what's happening anymore."

"If I say stop, I'll mean it."

There's something about that voice modulator that makes everything he says sound final.

The two of you are sitting across from each other on the floor, in the cramped hold of the Razor Crest. You're dressed in your usual practical trousers and shirt, but you've kicked your boots into a corner and your rifle's propped against a nearby wall.

He's still wearing the beskar.

The child is spending the night with Peli, who took him delightedly, crooning about getting him some decent food and a nice soft place to sleep. 

She also spared a moment for you, looking you up and down before shooting a pointed look at the armored man beside you. "It's about time."

"Can you trust her?" you asked on the way up the ramp, as Peli and the child disappeared into her shop.

He shrugged. "With my life? No. With his? Yes."

How exactly does this man decide whom to trust with his life? 

You've known each other, what, a few days? The acid burn on your right shoulder is still raw, the skin still peeling away in shreds. Interesting lesson, that. Gark-vipers don't bite, they spit. 

The scar will be your souvenir from a three-day trek through the jungles of Silicaria. One day in to snatch the little green rug-rat back from the bounty hunters who took him, two days back on tired legs, without food and no idea if the water in the streams you passed was safe.

You were hired help at the beginning. 

By the end, between fighting off hungry jungle creatures, sharing watches through pitch-black nights, and taking turns carrying the kid, you and this man were something like friends. 

Not that you didn't still collect your credits. A girl's gotta eat.

But you also didn't turn down the chance to get cleaned up in his ship's refresher, or to bunk down in a corner of the hold for a decent night's sleep.

He got the baby to bed first, briskly bathing the yawning little creature in the galley sink, then wrapping him up in a clean blanket and tucking him into a hammock in what looked like the man's own sleeping quarters. 

Then he indicated the refresher and sonic shower for you to use. "I'll wait upstairs." 

It was nice of him to give you privacy to get cleaned up and changed, even if it seemed a bit odd to you. Where you come from the human body's nothing to be ashamed of. But not all cultures see things that way.

Clearly his did not. You'd think after what you'd both been through, he'd want to get into some comfy clothes and leave the armor in storage for a while. But no, he switched places with you in the cockpit, disappeared down into the hold, and came back up a little later smelling a heck of a lot better but fully decked out again.

"I promise I'm not dangerous," you said, teasing.

It was a little insulting how easily he said, "I know." But he added, "I have food. If you're still hungry," and that felt like something a friend would say. So you bit back the temptation to remind him that if you wanted to, you could be dangerous, indeed.

The Razor Crest's food stores were nothing to write home about. Your body was going to make good use of the calories though, whether they tasted good or not. You leaned against the galley cabinet and gnawed on a protein bar. He started working on cleaning weapons and putting them away in what looked like a small but impressive armory.

"So what's the deal with the outfit?" Curiosity wasn't a sin where you came from, either.

"What do you mean?"

"You're home, right? We've agreed I'm not dangerous. Who are you planning to fight?"

"I'm not," he said, settling a blaster in its place next to an array of grenades. 

"So?"

"Mandalorians don't go unarmored around anyone but family."

You were struck by a sudden image of him with the kid, the two of them playing tag or something down here among the crates and stowed weapons. The kid in his little brown robes and the Mandalorian in, what? A pair of soft trousers, maybe a shirt that showed his arms. Barefoot, maybe. Probably hair all a mess. If he had hair. Or would he shave his head?

You had to shake your own head to get the image to clear.

"Huh," you said in reply. "Really? I crossed paths with some guys like you, a couple years back. They didn't seem to have any issue."

You were surprised to hear a sigh. "There are different kinds of Mandalorians."

"Do you get to choose?"

He didn't answer. 

You finished up the protein bar and looked around for somewhere to toss the wrapper. There wasn't an obvious wastebin, so when he looked back your way again you held it up, inquiring.

"Behind the door, lower left," he said. And then, "You don't get to choose."

"Who chooses for you, then?"

He turned back to the armory. It looked to you like everything was in its place now, but he lifted out the grenades, turned them over in his hands, put them back. "I was a foundling," he said. "They raised me in the Way."

How he said "the Way," you could hear the emphasis, like it was a sacred word. "A foundling? Like your kid?"

"Yes."

"So, you're going to teach him to live like this, too?"

The answer came quickly: "No." He closed the armory doors. They latched with a clicking sound. "We should go."

"We?"

"The child and I need to get off-world. Someone knew we were here. Where do you want to go?"

What made him think you didn't already belong in the village where he met you?

"You're not from here."

No, you weren't. The place you're from isn't there anymore, though, thanks to the Empire. 

It wasn't a story you cared to tell right then. 

"Sure, yeah, wherever you're headed next." Anywhere you could find work would do. "I'll jump off at the next port." You indicated your shoulder, where the acid burn still stung. "As long as they don't have gark-vipers."

You slept cozily enough that night, wrapped in a blanket he gave you and using the bivy bag from your own pack as padding beneath. At one point you woke to the sound of the child fussing, followed by the man's voice softly singing. The child quieted down and you found yourself lulled back to sleep, too.

“Are you sure the kid’s safe down there?” 

“He’s safe.”

You’re picturing the dusty repair yard, the bare-bones shop behind it, the handful of repair droids who were probably great with wrenches but not so much with guns. Peli looked like she had some wiry strength to her, but she was on her own. “She a former soldier or something?”

“She has a safe-room behind a hidden panel with a ten-centimeter durasteel door. They’ll be fine.”

Your eyebrows go up. Mos Eisley looks like a shambling backwater town. 

“Tatooine has wildlife. Some of it has guns.”

You glance at your own rifle, leaning against the wall nearby. You’ve fought off some of that kind of wildlife before. 

What a strange family you’ve fallen in with. 

“All right,” you say. “Good. I guess you know what you’re doing.”

You expect him to nod, confirm, like he did when you said you weren’t dangerous. Instead, you see pauldrons and breastplate shift as his shoulders sag a bit. “Sometimes.”

This thing you’re doing now, or about to do. It started with a joke. Well, mostly a joke. A victorious mission, the child safe, the two of you safe now too, and alone behind closed doors. The sweat of the mission washed away, guns laid down, a chance to rest. Back home, you said, as you took the blanket he’d found for you, a man and a woman would celebrate. 

You hadn’t expected him to take you up on it, but you also hadn’t expected him to freeze like that, one hand still holding the blanket. Until this moment, he’d looked like that armor was part of him. Suddenly, somehow, the way he reached out to you looked awkward, pauldron and vambrace no longer in line, and that helmet turned the tiniest angle, like he didn’t know where to direct his eyes.

“Never mind,” you said, smiling to let him know it really was ok. “We’re not where I come from, are we.”

Something shifted back now, and the shapes of his armor made sense again. He let go his grip on the blanket as you took it. “No.”

As you went to shake the blanket out and make up your bedroll, you noticed that your shirt was sticking a bit to the burn on your shoulder. “One thing, though, I could use from you. Do you have a medkit?”

“Sure.” He turned in the small space, graceful now, broad shoulders under the beskar pauldrons shifting as he reached up to open a high cupboard. You couldn’t help noticing how trim his waist looked, even under all that steel and fabric. Oh well, some things were not for you. 

The medkit had burn ointment and bandages, but no bacta. You’d have been hesitant to use any, anyhow. It would heal that wound in a day, but you knew what it cost. You’d never had the credits to buy it yourself. 

He started to turn his back, to let you undo your shirt in private and get a bandage over the oozing burn. But the acid had dripped far enough down your shoulder blade that you couldn’t quite be sure you’d covered it. “If I promise to stay decent, can you help here?”

He made quick work of anchoring the gauze to your skin with strips of steritape, while never putting pressure on the places that still ached and stung. Those were hands that had bandaged up wounds before. You’d wondered already what was underneath the armor, but suddenly you found yourself wondering what pattern of scars you might find. On a man who clearly fought as easily as he breathed, maybe almost as often--and apparently didn’t have the credits for bacta, either. Unless he went through it so fast, he couldn’t keep it stocked. 

He flipped the medkit closed. He stowed it back on its high shelf, then crossed to the little room where the baby was still sound asleep, curled in that tiny hammock. “Sleep well,” he told you, before lowering the room’s metal door. 

When you woke in the morning that metal door was up and you were alone in the dimly lit hold. You took advantage of the refresher and used your fingers to comb down your hair, where you could feel it was standing on end. No mirrors in here. You’d been too tired last night to notice. 

Well, if you really wanted to know what you looked like you could check your reflection in that armor.

You made yourself at home in the galley, poking around until you found some caff powder and another of those protein bars. Then, mug in one hand and bar in your pocket, you climbed the ladder to the cockpit.

The Mandalorian was in the pilot’s chair, helmeted head framed by the lights of hyperspace beyond the windows. The little green child was nowhere to be seen. You made your way forward to settle into the passenger seat, meaning to ask if one of you should check on the baby. But there he was, after all, perched on one armored thigh, staring wide-eyed at the lights while his tiny hand held fast to the man’s gloved index finger. 

Neither of them looked over at you, but neither one seemed startled when you spoke. You addressed the child, because why not. You’d been through a lot together, the past couple days. You figured you’d reached an understanding. “Does he sleep in that armor, too?”

The baby looked your way for a second, cooed cheerfully, and returned his gaze to the sky. 

You took a sip of caff, appreciating the spark it sent straight to your brain. Caff was a rare treat for you at the best of times, and on that jungle planet, where every bean had to be imported, it had usually been out of your reach. “Well? Do you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Last night?”

“Last night you might have needed something.”

“But most of the time, you don’t have to. You said, family.” You gnawed off a corner of the protein bar and washed it down with another sip of caff. “So where are the rest of them?”

He reached forward to adjust something on the console, a smooth movement of arm, shoulder, and back that left the baby peacefully balanced in his lap. “This is my clan,” he said. “Until I find the child’s people and return him to them.”

“He’s your whole family?” You needed another gulp of caff to process this. “And when you’ve dropped him off you’re just going to--” That couldn’t be right. People couldn’t go their whole lives walled off like that, beskar steel and cloth padding between them and the whole entire world. “Are you sure you don’t get a choice, here?”

He was silent for a long time. During the quiet, the baby looked up at him, then looked your way. The man disentangled his hand from the baby’s grip and rested it on the tiller. “This is the Way,” he said. It was hard to hear emotion through that helmet and whatever the electronics were doing to his voice, but--he sounded quieter than usual. A little slower. He sounded sad. 

“Well,” you said. “There’s got to be other Ways. Those other Mandalorians I met, they sure had a different way. Pretty sure they weren’t flirting with the barmaids because they wanted to keep their armor on.”

“There are different kinds of Mandalorians,” he repeated, same thing he said the first time you asked. 

You wrapped both hands around the mug you were holding, enjoying the warmth against fingers that still ached a bit from the punches you’d had to throw. “Which kind do you want to be?”

For some reason, you couldn’t let it go. You didn’t push, exactly. That wouldn’t have been right. But there wasn’t much else to do as the ship sailed through hyperspace. He was making a couple jumps, he told you, right-angle turns at out-of-the way nodes, to make it harder for anyone to guess the ship’s trajectory and follow. 

In between setting the next course, there wasn’t much to do besides watch the sky, play with the baby, and talk. After a while, he started asking you questions, too.

“What’s it like?” was one of them. What’s it like to walk around exposed all the time, nothing between your fragile skin and the world but a thin cotton shirt and trousers. You’d never thought about it all that much, but he had a point. The knife scar just below your ribs was a testament to that. 

“What’s it like,” you asked him back. He told you about the electronics in the helmet that make it hard for anyone to sneak up on him. He showed you a few of the hidden weapons, although you’re certain there are many more you haven't gotten to see. He explained the history of some of them, how he’s wearing not just the latest technology but a thousand years of Mandalorian history. He said, in a way, it’s like always having your own backup. Like never being completely alone. 

It wasn't until much, much later, when the ship was on its last trajectory, the baby was in bed, and the two of you were sitting side by side on the floor down there in the hold, a jar of bitter ale in your hand and him still stone-cold sober, that he admitted it was lonely.

And that’s how, after a couple more hours of talking and a night of much more restless sleep, the child’s ended up with Peli as a babysitter and the two of you are alone up here in the Razor Crest, sitting cross-legged across from each other, knees almost touching but with space and several kilos of beskar definitely still between you. 

“All right,” you say. “The word for stop is, stop. You sure you still want to do this?”

“No.”

You’re disappointed, but it’s got to be up to him. You start to scoot back, ready to stand up, to give him some actual room. 

A gloved hand closes around your calf. “Yes.”

You cover that hand with your own. When he doesn’t pull away, you lift his fingers gently from your leg, find the cuff of that glove, and slide it from his hand. 

His hand is trembling.

“You’ll remember? The word for stop?”

He laughs, short and sharp. It makes a faint sound of static through the helmet’s modulator.

Carefully, slowly, you use your own hand to guide his fingers to the bottom edge of that helmet. “How do I…?” He lifts his other hand to help you. There’s a soft, electronic sigh as whatever holds it in place loosens. And then, all on his own, he lifts the thing from his head.

He’s got curly hair. It’s the first thing you notice, as you run your fingers along his scalp and those curls, flattened by the shape of the beskar, spring back into ringlets. You’ve no idea what color his eyes are because they’re closed, and his head is bowed down as, fascinated, you wind one of those curls around a finger. You slide the other hand down to his neck and lean in to plant a single, gentle kiss against his temple. 

It takes him two tries to gasp out the word. “Stop.”

You drop your hands and rock back from kneeling to sitting, putting space back between you.

He huffs out a short laugh again, catches his breath, then raises his head to look at you.

His eyes are dark brown, almost black. Tiny lines at the outer corners hint at how old he might be. The paleness of his skin reminds you, it probably hasn't seen much sun. You might look the same age, but you bet he's got a few years on you.

"Was that a stop for now, or a stop altogether?"

"I don't know," he says. "No one's done that since…" His voice trails off. 

"Do you want to get put back together? We can try again later. Or not."

He's so solemn when he says, "There's no going back." He adds softly, as if to himself: This is the Way. And then, looking at you again, "Do you mind if I…?" He indicates the vambraces covering his forearms, moves as if to take one off.

You can't resist. "Can I help?"

The whole thing is more complicated than you might have thought. It's not just the individual steel plates. Each piece connects into an underlying electrical array, woven into the fabric of his clothing. He shows you first, on one side, then lets you follow his hands with yours to do the other. 

It's probably good you're helping, actually, because his hands are shaking again. By the time you get to the shin guards above his boots, he needs you to undo the catches. 

"No wonder you never take this stuff off." You're kneeling at his feet now, and you reach over to set the second boot next to the pile of beskar that has now joined your rifle against the wall. You worried briefly about just stacking it up like that, but he shrugged. The stuff was made to take blaster bolts. You weren't going to hurt it.

"How long does it take to put it all on again?"

He's watching the tremor in his hands. "It's faster when I'm alone."

"I can go," you offer. "Climb up to the cockpit for a bit and let you…" Let him what? This whole thing got started because he was tired of being alone.

"No," he says. "Stay."

All right. "You've still got a lot of… machine going on there. Am I going to break something if I touch you?"

He looks down at his own body, as if surprised to realize he's still wearing anything. 

"Where do we start?"

The bodysuit array turns out to be a single piece with a diagonal seam across the chest and down to his waist. You work together to undo the line of hook and loop tape that holds it shut. His hands, so capable with fists and weapons, have gone clumsy, and as you help slide the array from his shoulders you can feel the shaking has spread. The man's whole body is trembling.

Underneath, he's wearing a simple, soft shirt with sleeves down to his wrists and black leggings that you can't help but notice cling to slim hips and defined quads.

You knew he was fit. You spent three days fighting beside him. It's still fun to get to see, even if he also looks like he's not going to last much longer on his feet.

You step closer and reach a hand out, and although you can't see his face well now--he's still almost a head taller than you, even with you both now standing in stocking feet--you can hear his breathing quicken as you lay your palm against his chest. His heart is pounding like you've been in battle. 

He's proven he knows how to say stop when he wants to. You move closer again, thighs up against his, belly to belly, your chin against his collarbone, and wrap your arms around him. You're not sure if the sound he makes is a grunt, a laugh, or a sob.

Before long you've sunk to the floor and you end up half in his lap, tangled together, and usually by this point with a new partner you'd be laughing and reaching for bare skin beneath each other's clothes. Here, he's now holding you so tight you couldn't get free if you tried. His face is buried in your neck and there's no mistaking it now. He's absolutely sobbing.

Where you're from, the human body was nothing to be ashamed of. And that includes all the awkward things that bodies do. You slide one hand from his back, up his neck, to rest your fingers in those lovely curls again, and you let him cry.

When he finally winds down, the shaking has stopped too. Gradually his hold on you loosens, and you find yourself shifting against him so you can see his face. His hair's plastered against his forehead now and those warm brown eyes are lined with red. He looks awful, and the thing you want most in the world right now is to kiss him.

He doesn't smile, but he gives another of those short laughs. 

You bring a hand to his face, curving your palm against his cheekbone, using your thumb to wipe away some of the wetness below his eye. You lean in slowly to try a kiss against his temple again, and then his cheek, and then, gentle as you can manage, against his mouth. 

He's already warned you this would be new for him so you're careful, slow, pressure first and then tracing his lips with your tongue. One hand still caressing his face, the other against the back of his head, and you can't resist a gentle tug on those curls. 

But when you do, suddenly he's not responding, until he chokes out your safeword. Stop.

You do, of course, disappointed until you see he's gasping to catch his breath. "That good, huh?"

"It is." And then, he shakes his head. "I don't think I can. I don't know what to do with it all."

You've never been shy around men. Where you're from, a tumble is so normal you don't even count partners. This is new for you. Usually, they keep asking for more.

All you can think to do is say, "You got any more of that bitter ale?" It's not for him exactly, you wouldn't want him making decisions he'd regret. 

It's for you.

He does, indeed, have a whole stash of the stuff, although the dust on the lids suggests he doesn't get into it all that often. You end up sitting side by side on the floor again, backs against a row of cupboard doors. 

When you get up to get you both a second round, your own judgement's fuzzy enough that you plunk back down right next to him, hip to hip, and rest your head a moment on his shoulder. 

A little later his hand finds yours. 

You sit there, side by side, fingers twined together, until both your ale jars are empty. By now you're tired, you're a little bit drunk, and you're still turned on. And you can't do a damn thing about it because the last thing he said was, stop, and now he's probably a little drunk, too.

"I should get some sleep," he says beside you. "You should, too."

You end up back in your makeshift bedroll, while he's a whole two meters away in his sleeping quarters. You lie awake for a while, wondering if he's lying awake too, until the combination of ebbing hormones and the effects of good ale finally lead you to sleep.

It's easy to lose track of time on the Razor Crest, where sunlight doesn't make it down into the hold. But the ship's chrono wakes you with its loud, annoying buzz. 

He's already up. He hits a control panel to silence the noise, then takes the few steps from the galley to bring you a cup of caff. He crouches beside your bedroll to hand it to you.

He stays there a moment while you sit up, drag your fingers through your hair, then take the mug from his hand.

He's dressed now in a pair of black trousers and a black shirt that shows off chiseled arms. The color makes his brown eyes look even darker. Overall, the effect is making it hard for you to think.

"I need to pick up the child," he says. "You'll be all right here?"

You rub your eyes, trying to clear your head. "Give me a minute, I'll come with you. I need to figure out where to stay tonight. Look for some work. Maybe your friend can point me in the right direction."

You've gotten so used to having to read him through the armor, it's startling to see the expression of surprise on his face. Like he'd forgotten he only offered you a ride this far. I'll get off at the next port, you'd told him. Tatooine is it.

He settles down beside you, now, watching you sip at the caff. You're halfway through the mug and thinking you'd better get up and get ready, when he reaches out to rest his hand against the side of your head, then draw his fingers through your hair. 

"We didn't get to finish, did we," he says. "Will you stay?"

Tatooine's twin suns are making complicated shadows on the ground of the repair bay. You have to squint against the bright light as you and he make your way down the ramp. 

You're wearing the same clothes as yesterday--it's all you've got that's anywhere close to clean--but you've made yourself presentable, checking your hair in the shiny surface of the beskar breastplate that's still propped against a wall. 

You made sure he looks presentable too, finger-combing tangled curls into submission before you let him out the door. 

Peli emerges from the shop with the child perched on her hip. As soon as he catches sight of the man beside you, the little arms reach out and he's bouncing to be let down.

Peli looks up and lets out a whoop of surprise. "Well how about that! I always wondered what was under there." She finally notices the child's struggles and sets him gently down. "You go ahead to your papa."

The little creature toddles across the yard to be scooped up and examined. "Did you have fun?" He tucks the child in the crook of his arm and crosses the rest of the way to Peli. "What do I owe you?"

She's staring at him unabashedly. You can appreciate her appreciation for how that shirt fits.

"I don't know how you did it," she says to you, "but I'd say this is an improvement. Although," she confides, as if he's not standing right there, "there was something appealing about all that--" she gestures to her own shoulders, hinting at the shape of pauldrons-- "all that shiny.

"Now go on." She's waving the three of you back toward the ship. "I've got a freighter coming in here any minute, and he's actually going to pay me. If you can get that thing off the ground," she adds as if to herself, and then to you, "You tell him if breaks that thing again he better bring it here to be fixed. No more of that Mon Calamari nonsense."

You've got no idea what she's talking about, but it's nice to know that somebody else cares about this man and his odd little child. 

You'll go along with them for a while, you think, see where things lead. Offer to do what you can around the ship, help out wherever they're headed next. 

Mostly though, you're looking forward to seeing what happens tonight, once the baby's tucked in and you're alone together again.

[kandyrezi]

– red carnations;

⌜anonymous asked: Ok so I know there's been a fair bit of Sin stuff, but I feel the need to ask - how would Sin react to her darling hunting her down to confess to her, despite her being in a relationship? They just couldn't hold in the feelings anymore, despite knowing that it's foolish to expect someone as incredible as her to be into them, etc.⌟

pairing: yandere(?) sin x reader (funamusea)

(a/n: there can never too much naga wife love to go around~ u v u tbh i’m not sure how cute of a scenario you wanted it to be, but i hope this is to your liking!)

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

The earthly scent of the flowers reaches your senses, in that moment it’s almost easy to become lost in a feeble, little fantasy where nothing in life can go astray.

You’re trying to wrap your head around what has possessed you to such notion involving you piecing together what was previously shattered to lost courage in order to get it off your chest. By how many times your heart beats above the norm whenever she’s near, you could almost mean it quite literally.

…she is married for Elux’s sake, how could you ever hope to think there being a chance of her returning your feelings?

What would that make you anyhow, a concubine of some kind to a harmonious marriage?

For the most part you are an observer from the sidelines; she is always busy, so you aren’t sure if there is a correct time you are supposed to approach her. Sin is nearly always in presence of her wife otherwise, so it would be difficult to get her alone. Unless you want to tell her you have feelings for her in front of Reficul or Mors, who would no doubt bury you alive.

You had no problem conversing and spending time as acquaintances before, but something quite clearly has changed if you’re behaving differently, leaving you to wonder if she would like an explanation for it – when she’d attempted to make small-talk at times when other demons were nearby, but you would more often than not, run away to avoid saying something you might come to regret in messy tumble of words. Now you were seriously re-considering and actually wondering whether admitting your deepest, inner thoughts out loud to the most powerful creature in Pentagram World would be an intelligent idea.

You find her near the edge of the precipice surrounded by pearly gates with rare sprouting orchids clinging to the metal poles, looking as the burgundy dusk settles and stars decorate in the sky behind the gate. It reminds you of a painting that would otherwise be dull were it not for the subject at the focus point to make it whole. You know exactly what – rather whom, makes it complete.

The weather is usually awful all-year around, but in this time of early night the stars had finally aligned for you. You had acquired the flowers from Alibe, who almost too politely allowed you to pluck them from his houseplant collection it almost seemed a little suspicious, but you barely cared about that then.

Minutes tick by in your head then – you go to approach her, but your footing fails you and you trip over a rock, falling off the hillside. You tumble downwards, painfully faceplanting against the soil-covered ground.

A familiar, concerned voice rings from afar a few seconds later.

“Oh! Oh dear, are you alright?”

Waiting for the vivid distortion to clear from your vision, you look up to see her leaning down, placing her palms on underneath your own to grasp your fingers carefully helping you back to mildly unstable feet.

“I’m alright, i-it didn’t even hurt…”

Not nearly as much as it hurt your dignity – or whatever scraps were left of it anyway. You wince, feeling a killer headache rapidly spreading through your scalp, no doubt a far cry from a developing bruise.

(stupid rock. stupid, stupid hillside. and most importantly – stupid, clumsy you.)

Before the mortifying ordeal of knowing you’d just embarrassed yourself in such manner can sink in, you quickly pick up the flowers, hastily try to wrap them together again to look decent, then extending your hand out.

Her gaze follows your mini-bouquet, observing it with curiosity now.

“Hm? Who are those fo—” the serpent doesn’t get a word in, before you blurt out a confession.

“I love you. I’m sorry.”

Covered in layers of dust and dirt from head to toe, you present her with spray made of red carnations. The low whistling of wind only continues to quietly breeze by. You mentally grimace at catching a glimpse of her blinking, being otherwise motionless.

Then she’s frowning.

You feel a pit forming in your stomach, clutching at your insides painfully—

“Dear, your nose is bleeding.”

You nearly gape, tongue stuck at the back of your throat. Sin slithers a bit closer until there’s almost no space left in between bodies.

“Allow me to fix that.” she says and wipes away the blood with a handkerchief kept in a pocket embroidered in her olive cape reaching down long as her hair. Folding the cloth together and putting it away, she places her palm against your temple. It fades away quickly as it merged; pain is no longer coursing through the area from where you hit your head.

(you nearly blush at being tended to like this.)

It’s still a morbid silence that becomes too much for you to bear. You were almost on the brink of wishing the Devil would emerge and slam you six– no, sixty feet deeper into the ground as far as the underworld goes for this foolish act… until Sin extends her arms to take the flowers from you, looking like she wants to say something about it, but an interruption cuts through when one of them begins to blossom and tilt upwards, petals extending, a mouth forming and opening, sinking its razor-like daggers into the serpent lady’s index finger, surprising both you and her.

‘Damn you, Alibe—!’ you curse that doctor in your head for ruining any and all zero point one chances you might have had at that point.

“Oh, what playful ones you are.” The serpent remarks to the plants, not looking deterred in the slightest as she hums a soothing tune to get the red crawlers to calm down, sharp teeth disappearing and eventually reverting to their original state of looking like regular pretty red carnations, petals stopping their shaking.

“Meat-eating plants are quite fascinating, aren’t they? Beautiful in appearance and quite curious in essence, but… they can cause a great deal of hurt if one isn’t aware of their actual, deadly nature.” she says – you swear you see something mischievous in the look she’s giving you, but you can’t decipher what it is.

“Y-Yes, they are certainly a source of interest…” you say, every neuron alert for any potential sign of displeasure, “I thought… you’d like them… maybe.”

“Now… would you like to tell me why have you been running from me as of late every time I try to talk to you?” she inquires, allowing the plants in her hands to now rest idly.

It seems there was no escape after all. You fumble with the hem of your shirt, not sure what to suddenly focus on. You suspect she probably knows your answer already by now, but as you wait a few minutes in silence, you realize she expects you to say it out loud.

“I… I was nervous because you’re the most extraordinary, elegant being in this world and I am just… nothing compared to you. Just one, ordinary blade of grass next to a grand tree that can reach even the far above skies and beyond. I wish I could offer more than what I am, but even that turned out to be a catastrophe in making…” you grumble, recalling that earlier mishap.

Your words cause her to go deep into thought for a minute and you’re anticipating her words.

She speaks again then, “How do you expect me to reciprocate your feelings if you have such a low opinion of yourself?”

You blink, confused at her answer, “I… h-how do you mean?”

“Do you not see yourself as worthy of being in my presence?” she asks, still cradling the gift close in her embrace, whilst her knuckles rest underneath her chin – you see the first sign of displeasure, but not from the actions you’d previously anticipated.

“Um, no, I… I want to feel worthy. I’ve been looking… just observing far too long from a distance, I think my own rotting heart would have turned to dust from inside out if I let this fire in me continue on burning, but now I’m not sure if I should have just let it happen,” you sigh, “I’m sorry for being a bother, but I hope you won’t hold any ill will against me for it… I just needed to get this off my chest.”

Before you allow your own inferiority complex to gnaw away your senses, Sin’s response back to you is almost immediate.

“You may have misunderstood me, it wasn’t my intention at all to dismiss your confession.” she says, with the same gentle voice you’ve become so used to.  She is even smiling with sincerity now.

“Your heart isn’t rotten in any way. In fact, you’re very cute with many things to admire. I know you always speak from the most inner of your soul, and… you should know I’ve reciprocate your feelings from the very beginning, perhaps with even more so the amount of passion you do, if you would allow me to show you more thoroughly, if my words alone are not convincing you.”

You feel foolish to the point you’re only able to quake slightly, swallowing the lump in your throat to clear your voice, “B-But… what about Refi— I mean, the Devil Queen?” you remember to address her with a respectful title for she is still technically your superior, especially in presence of her lawfully-wedded wife.

“I’m sure she won’t mind me having another beloved of my own. After all, love is meant to be shared, whether that’s between two unified persons or more.”

She gestures for you to place your hands towards her, as she hands you one of the very same red carnations you just gifted her.

“I… y-you knew all this time then…?” you accept the flower, holding it within your grasp, wanting to suddenly never let go of it.

“Darling dove, never shy from what your heart desires with this burning, ardent ache. I was wondering if I would have to wait for another eternity for you to approach me again to tell me about this.” she’s jokingly exaggerating her claim, but the words are not lost on you.

“I’m very perceptive of people’s emotions and it’d be sinful of me to lie and say I haven’t had this… desire to keep you all to myself alongside all my other possessions,” she tells you, offering you her hand to take, you swear her eyes are a deeper shade of red than you’ve seen before, “So, how would you like to accept my invitation to accompany me to my garden?”

You don’t need to think over your answer for too long this time.

- : - : -: - : -

(a/n: this is also partially dedicated to Piralos, i don’t know if this was her request but since as an avid Sin worshipper lover, i hope you like this!! 🍷)

[pomegranates-and-blood]

ἀλήθεια (Chapter 1, Vοσταλγία AU)

ἀλήθεια Masterlist

Pairing: Freydis/Reader, Ivar/Reader (past)

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: The usual, plus like a lot of angst, a lot of it. (Sort of, I’m not very good with death/violence) graphic descriptions of death.

A/N: The first part of the AU of Nostalgia for Freydis/Reader! This is a deviation from Chapter 37, so beware for spoilers, and also...prepare for pain. Anyhow, I hope you like this!

She finds you sitting on that same clearing from so long ago, sitting almost in the same place. Only this time, you are twirling your wedding ring on your finger.

It is still clear as day, the memory of that time she found you praying on that small clearing, the mark of tears on your face doing nothing to diminish the fire in your eyes. She remembers, because that is the night she realized there was something more to you, something more to the way she saw you, something more to the way she felt greedy and possessive over your attention, something more to the way she felt about you.

Fitting, she supposes, that it was that night when you told her Ivar was forcing you to marry him. She never doubted something back then she called love -now knows better, and calls obsession, calls need, calls selfishness- was what made him bring you to Kattegat, and so Freydis wasn’t really surprised to hear he intended to make you his wife.

It still hurt. If she is honest, it still does.

She remembers what you looked like that night, the defeated edge and the anger and the desperation. She remembers what your hand felt like in hers, warm and tethering and hers. She remembers the way you lived up to the name they give you when you pulled promises of helping you escape from her lips, as if she were under a spell -and maybe she was, maybe she still is-.

And just like that night she approaches silently even though she knows you are aware of her presence, and just like that night her heart pulls in her chest.

Freydis is used to your pain, she is used to your anger; she has been a witness to both many times before.

But this, this is nothing like pain, nothing like anger. This is devastation, and wrath.

She never saw devastation quite like the one that is written in the way your spine isn’t as straight anymore, in the way your voice cracks and breaks and you still talk, in the way you tell her the Greeks were attacked, and they will be attacked again.

There’s a strange air around you, like all that is alive and warm comes to die willingly at your feet, like through the cracks of your broken heart seeps in all the warmth of the earth as if to try to heal it.

Freydis still sits by your side, shoulder to shoulder.

She asks by whom.

And she can’t help but think she has never actually seen wrath before, not until now, not until she sees the gentleness in your eyes fade away in but a breath, not until your expression -always so honest, so alive- gives in to nothingness, not until she hears none of the usual warmth when you say Ivar.

And she realizes maybe it isn’t willingly that the warmth comes to die at your feet, but that your touch that has given so much is also capable -willing- to take it all, even life; and maybe it isn’t a soft heart needing the earth to tend and mend it, but it is the woman that had wars started and ended in her name -for a chance at her love- that demands the world pay for the mistake of trying to break her.

Many times she has looked at you and thought of the spring you always spoke so fondly of. She thought of warmth and gentle breezes and flower crowns.

She looks at you now and thinks of the rage of a storm clouding the skies and ravaging the warm earth with strikes of hail and lightning, she thinks of thorns and poison ivies and vines wrapped tightly around the throats of the undeserving, and yet in the devastation and the wrath there’s still you.

And she reaches for your hand.

You hold hers back so tightly she still feels the ghost of your touch when you’ve left her behind, your back straightened once again, but your eyes dead -so dead, so unlike yours- when you go to face the King.

____

She waits for the world to shake and tremble, she waits for Kattegat’s streets to be a swirl of madness as they did when you were made queen, she waits for word to spread of how the queen has died at the hands of her husband.

She waits, but nothing happens. The earth isn’t split in two, even though she knows you are.

A part of her, a part of her that grows stronger with each passing moment since you left that clearing, begs her to go to the longhouse. She knows she could never kill him -but she wants to-, she knows she couldn’t even try to fight him -but she needs to-.

She doesn’t want to leave you alone.

Night falls, and she tries sleeping, even if her body feels jittery and something in the back of her mind reminds her why she always found ways to hold on to small bits of control. Because there is men like him, and there’s monsters like him, that are willing and able to take everything from her, in ways that are worse than she ever imagined, in ways she can do nothing against.

She stands in front of you, watching you as you carefully finish braiding together a wreath of flowers. The distant door to the longhouse is forced open, and your hands still.

“My love, where are you?” He calls out, and Freydis watches, unable to move, as you close your eyes where you stand and take a deep breath. A cleansing breath. A last breath.

The wreath of flowers falls from your hand.

You start walking, and it feels as if thick vines trap her, but she still fights, she still tries reaching you, pleading with you not to go.

“I’m here.” You tell him, eerily calm.

“Come here,” Ivar calls, still slightly manic, still lost and erratic as big eyes look over you. Freydis takes steps twin to yours, but feels like she is watching from afar when he extends a hand, “I need you.”

Freydis cries and pleads, screams and rages, but neither of you listen. She wishes you could just listen, because…she knows how this tale goes, she knows how this ends.

He kisses you, and for the first time she wishes that kiss to never end. His hand caresses the side of your face, and for the first time she pleads he holds you close and you let him.

But he turns you around in his grip, your back to his chest, his nose buried in your hair as he whispers something Freydis can’t hear, but that she knows doesn’t matter. Won’t matter.

Because she knows what happens now. She doesn’t know how, but she knows.

And all she can do is watch.

The scream is caught in her throat as she watches pull tight at the metal cord, choking you. You both fall to the ground, but it is Freydis who breaks.

You fight, of course you do, and she claws and tears at herself trying to reach you, trying to save you. But she can’t, and your neck bruises and bleeds, your body loses its strength, and your gasps and whimpers fade to nothing.

You fade to nothing.

There’s a deafening moment of silence that follows the moment she realizes you are no longer in this world, a moment where she realizes there is a world without you and she is stuck living in it, a moment where at the fading of your voice and your laughter it feels like it is the rest of the world that has died instead.

She watches, frozen and trembling, as Ivar sits up. Her stomach churns at the way your head lolls lifelessly at the movement. She wants to scream, she wants to fight, she wants to…Gods, please, anything but this.

Shaking fingers move your hair away from your face, but Freydis cannot focus on how that makes her feel sick, and the king’s body is shaken by cries that sound more like a wounded animal’s than a man’s, but Freydis cannot find it in her to think it fitting for a monster.

No, all she can focus on is the metal around your neck. It looks so much like chains.

You died with chains around you. She remembers your voice, quiet and warm, telling her about the thing you feared the most about death; and she has to look at your dead body and remember she will never hear your voice again, and that she failed at keeping you from dying how you most feared: chained.

She wakes up screaming, and blindly stumbles out of the room, towards the entrance of the home. She has to find you, she has to-…

“She won’t die, child of Freyja,” A voice behind her says, and she turns around with a gasp, finding a woman sitting on one of the flimsy chairs with all the poise of who sits on a throne. Her blind eyes feel all-seeing as the woman tilts her head to the side, so reminiscent of…you. “Her death isn’t his to have.”

The woman smiles, and only then Freydis notices the way her full lips are stained with a shade of red that looks sweet.

She blinks, and the wooden roof of her bedroom greets her. She closes her eyes, clutching the pendant that hangs from her neck, and tells herself everything will be alright.

She was always a good liar, after all.

____

“Tomorrow, there will be-…I will be dead tomorrow,” You explain, and though Freydis feels her heart squeeze in her chest, you speak too calmly to be considering your own death. A deep breath, and, “A thrall, she…she looks like me, she will be dead in our-…in his bed come morning. Ivar will know it’s not me, of course, but…tis not something one survives, leaving Ivar the Boneless, everyone knows that.”

Freydis bites back words -accusations, really- that you are still protecting him, protecting his pride, his image, his reputation. That you are still trying to find a way to spare him the pain.

You breathe something that in a life before this could have been a chuckle, but now only sounds bitter and broken.

“Kattegat will see its queen die, I’m sure that surprises no one. Especially with a…a foreign witch on the throne of a realm she never belonged to.”

“You’re leaving.” The shieldmaiden states, instead of replying to your strange and manic words. Freydis is almost grateful she speaks, because she knows you would have kept on talking.

You meet Valdís’ gaze and in your eyes shines what in a weaker woman would be desperation. But all Freydis sees is determination, and relentlessness, and the stubbornness of something warm and alive trying to survive the winter.

“I have no choice. These are my people, he-…I need to return to those who are still alive. If I wait any longer…if I wait, I may not have life or freedom to make this choice, Valdís,” You raise your chin, but the tears clog your throat and make your voice break. Still, you push on, a rueful smile on your lips, “You know to me there isn’t a difference in losing either.”

The shieldmaiden nods, what Freydis would swear are tears shining in her pale eyes, and embraces you tightly. You barely move to return the embrace, and she has a feeling she understands why.

“I love you, witch. May we meet in the life after this one.”

You look up at Valdís broad frame, and your expression trembles, your breath trembles past your lips in a sob you mask in a pitiful and bittersweet laugh that whispers what you cannot, it won’t happen, not to us, Valhalla and the Underworld will never be one and the same.

“If my mother-…if you ever meet Sieghild, if she returns here,” You close your eyes as you step back, “Tell her I couldn’t survive till the spring. Tell her I love her, and that I hope her Gods and mine keep her.”

Valdís nods her head again, the clear tell of gritted teeth as she looks away from you.

You approach Freydis, and she sees some of your resolve crumble, as if the goodbye hurts you as much as it would hurt her.

“Freydis…”

“Don’t say goodbye,” She advises you, stepping forward. “I am not leaving you alone.”

Your lips part, something quite close to a sob leaving your throat. Still, you shake your head. Stubborn woman.

“N-No, Freydis, I can’t...I can’t ask this of you.”

It is foolish, since you remind her now more than ever of the skittish and distrusting woman that was first brought to Kattegat; but Freydis still reaches forward, grasps your hand in hers.

“Wherever your Gods or mine take you, I shall be at your side,” She vows, as quietly as she can, looking directly into your eyes. Her mind was made long before she even told you those words for the first time. “I swore by it. You aren’t alone.”

You return the hold of your hand on hers, and that is all the answer she needs. With nothing but the clothes at her back and an amulet of Freyja hanging from her neck, Freydis leaves it all behind.

____

She feels like you have been on the run for an eternity, it feels like her legs burn from days of walking, and her body is being pulled to the earth by unseen vines wrapped around her.

By the way you lean against a tree and take careful breaths, she would think you feel the same. But then she catches the faraway look in your eyes as you look back at the direction you came from, and even if you are so far now from Kattegat that this isn’t even considered its border anymore Freydis knows to you it feels like it is still behind you, breathing down your neck.

You meet her eyes, and she doesn’t hesitate to straighten her back and motion for you to continue walking. She doesn’t mind walking for as long as she has to, not for you.

You find a hunter’s camp near the city you say the Greeks had settled at, and you silently agree to spend the night there.

Before the dim fire you two are able to start, Freydis sits and watches the shadows battle the light of the flames, darkness and light, life and death, fighting for the bigger portion of your soul.

The tears make a silent trail down your cheeks as you twirl the golden ring in your hand. The engraved flowers seem to mock you, standing out even more now that the ring is dirtied and muddied from days on the run.

“Did I make a mistake?” You ask her, big eyes filled with a mix of nostalgia and hope she is so used to seeing in your gaze, but that now more than ever, maybe because so much has changed and so much remains the same, it breaks her heart all the more.

And she doesn’t have an answer to give you. She wishes she could tell you coming back would be the right choice, that there’s more waiting at your back than whatever you are facing now. She wishes she could tell you that it was the right choice to leave it all, that you belong to Greece and that there is hope to be found after all that has happened.

But she can’t do either of those things, because she doesn’t know.

And how she wishes she did, if only to make the lost look in your eyes disappear, if only to somehow protect you from the desperate and broken hope that makes your breaths shallow.

“Do you think you did?” Is what she asks instead.

You meet her eyes, unwavering. And shake your head.

Your answer breaks you further than any of hers could, and your face crumples in pain.

It isn’t just the fear of them finding you what keeps you quiet, it is grief cutting any sound from leaving your throat even as you bow your back and part your lips in a scream. The rage and the pain threaten to break you at the seams, and desperate hands clutch at your hair, your own arms wrapped around you as you fold in over yourself, as if to keep yourself together.

All Freydis can do is put her own arms around you, bring you close to her and let you shake and cry and break.

Your breaths never find a regular pattern, scattered and shaking, more labored and pained whenever your hands tighten and you feel the press of that damn ring against your skin. You never lose the tension in your frame, not once in the whole night does your pain leave you for long enough to let you rest, you hold yourself tightly and desperately under your own control.

You tell her it hurts, you tell her you have been torn apart, and the way your voice breaks and shakes around the shape of her name makes her wish she had anything other than quiet and warmth to give you.

When the first rays of the new day try piercing the darkness of the forest around you, there’s a defeated kind of resilience to the way you stand up and walk away.

She moves to follow, but you tell her to stay and rest, and that you will return soon.

When you do, there isn’t a ring in your finger anymore.

____ ____ ____

So, what do you think?

Ivar attacking the Greeks is something I considered a lot for the plot of Nostalgia, but it was something so unforgivable that I couldn’t put in the main story, so here goes. I hope you like this Freydis, and idk, that you like the pairing. Of course they won’t get there anytime soon cause Reader truly loved Ivar and is going to have to grieve that relationship, but I like these two together, a lot.

Enough rambling! Please let me know what you think! Also, if you don’t want to be tagged in this AU, lemme know! I know Freydis isn’t for everyone, so feel free to ask me to take you off the list for this one! Love ya!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @heavenly1927​ @toe-vind-ek-jou​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @pieces-by-me​ @angelofthorr​ @samsationalwilson​ @peachyboneless​ @1950schick​ @punkrocknpearls​ @ietss​   @itsmysticalmystery​ @revolution-starter​ @chibisgotovalhalla​ @the-a-word-2214​ @fae-sedai​ @crazybunnyladysworld​   @funmadnessandbadassvikings @stupiddarkkside​ @aprilivar​ @msrawog​  

[dex-xe]

I’ve made Spotify playlists inspired by each of the ghosts and I’ve made these little written pieces to talk about them. if you wanna read them, please go ahead - if not then enjoy the music!!

This is Humphrey’s playlist:

Body - Mother Mother

I wish I were sorry, but I’m honestly not. There’s no real consensus regarding what the song is actually about. I usually interpret it as being about body/gender dysphoria which isn’t really relevant here but I guess it links to the separation between body and soul and the idea that the body doesn’t define you which I think is quite relevant to Humphrey who relies on his soul for attention from others rather than his physical presence in a room.

Sign of the Times - Harry Styles

I feel like Humphrey probably has the most reasonable understanding of the passage of time of all the ghosts. He’s very down to earth compared to the rest of them. I know Robin has been there longer but I think he’s probably accepted the change of time without really considering it philosophically, whereas with Humphrey getting lost all the time he’s probably had more time to contemplate and I think he’d appreciate the song to listen to while he’s stuck various places. Also he’d like he piano, Humphrey’s a kinda piano man you can’t tell me otherwise (no Billy Joel fuck off).

Greensleeves - Ralph Vaughan Williams & Philharmonia Orchestra

This’ll come up a lot in various other ghosts’ playlists but I’ve tried to include some music from each of their time periods to try and capture what they would have heard so yeah, enjoy some Tudor music.

Tilted - Christine and the Queens

It’s been established that Humphrey’s wife was French so I felt the need to include at least a little bit of French which this song obviously captures. Also again it’s kinda the idea of not having total control over your body.

Abracadabra - Steve Miller Band

No idea why it’s just a Humphrey song I will take no criticism on this.

Don’t Look Back In Anger - Oasis

The scene with Fanny and Humphrey talking about their marriages is one of my favourite scenes and basically the whole “marriage went wrong but you can’t look back at it with contempt because it’s over now and time’s moved on” is what he was trying to say to Fanny and aid her recovery from her marriage trauma in the same way that Humphrey has healed from his.

High and Dry - Radiohead

I also see this song in reference to that scene with Fanny because it’s like no precise meaning to my knowledge but I interpret it as being about telling someone to let go of other people and what’s happening with them and focus on yourself and what you need.

My Iron Lung - Radiohead

Humphrey’s death is constrained by the decisions he made in life that brought about his death, which is kindaaaaa the meaning of the song like it’s a stretch. Like it’s actually about Radiohead being constrained by Creep as one of their most successful songs but like the idea of being stuck in a box and not being able to live freely. I really want to learn more about Humphrey’s life in the new series cause like, I want development to show how his beheading was brought about and what it’s like to live his… death completely restrained by his situation.

Body Terror Song - AJJ

“I’m so sorry that you have to have a body, one that will hurt you, and be the subject of so much of your fear, it will betray you, be used against you, then it'll fail on you my dear”. There we go!! Humphrey’s body wanders away - newsflash from me.

Eleanor Rigby - The Beatles

“A ballad for the lonely”, catch me crying over Humphrey as usual. But yeah obvious reason is cause Humphrey is often left alone and unable to interact with the others. The other thing I like to think when listening to this song is about the idea of lonely people noticing the little details no one else does, in the song it’s clearly the little details about the protagonists lives (Eleanor Rigby picking up tiny grains of rice with no one to help, and Father McKenzie writing sermons no one will hear) but Humphrey - like I think many lonely people — notices little things like Francis writing the letter to Thomas etc.

Where Is My Mind? - Pixies

Idk this song is just trippy. I remember reading ages ago that it was about scuba diving. But yeah, I primarily think it’s a Humphrey song because I just like the image of his body wandering aimlessly about the house with this song looking for his head XD

Waterloo Sunset - The Kinks

Again, I’ve said this a few times now but Humphrey being an observer of Button House and what takes place within it’s walls, just watching the others going about their days as he sits alone. I know the writer said he watched the world from the window of a hospital as a child and I think being able to watch over the city without being able to participate because of physical ailment is pretty telling.

O Lord, in Thy Wrath - Orlando Gibbons & Choir of Clare College, Cambridge

This is just a Tudor song. I grew up very very religious and, while I’m not sure I heard this exact song, I spent hours upon hours in church services every week with songs very similar to this and the music was the only thing I actually enjoyed about it. But yeah, I wanted to include at least a few religious songs in Humphrey’s because of my theory regarding his death which (given that we might find out about it in season 3 and I might be totally wrong) I’m gonna just briefly mention XD I basically think his death might’ve been religiously motivated because of the instability of state sanctioned religion in England at the time. Elizabeth I (monarch when Humphrey died) put 200 Catholics to death and given that Humphrey was married to a French woman and the French were under Catholic rule at the time it might not be too far outside the realm of possibility for Humphrey to have lost his head for being the ‘wrong’ denomination. Idk, probably miles off cause I’m really bad at theories but we’ll find out soon hopefully!!

Pantyhose and Roses - Echobelly

Just for the line “it could change but it never will”. Being a ghost must be such a difficult existence because there’s very little they can do to change what’s wrong because they obviously can’t leave where they die. But especially for Humphrey, nothing can change really for him because of his situation.

Waltz #2 (XO) - Elliott Smith

“I’m never gonna know you now, but I’m gonna love you anyhow”. As far as we know Humphrey’s relationship with his wife obviously wasn’t the best and it seems as if he possible barely knew her cause of the language barrier and the fact it was an arranged marriage.

After Hours - The Velvet Underground

This song has such a feeling of isolation like wishing that you could be a part of everyone’s fun but you’ve yet to find the person with whom you can experience that fun with.

Out of Time - Blur

I’ve said it before I’ll say it again but the idea of noticing the small things around you and focussing on the bigger picture of the world rather than hyper fixating on the intricacies of our own existence. Also, this is totally irrelevant but there’s an episode of Torchwood called ‘Out of Time’ in which three people from the 1950s suddenly rock up in 2000s Cardiff and the Torchwood 3 team have to take care of them and try to teach them about the modern world (it’s one of my favourite episodes, like it’s genuinely really good) and I think that’s really cool.

Blackstar - David Bowie

The song is just sad and I put it on any playlist of a sad character, no further explanation.

Why do I use my paper, ink and pen? - William Byrd, Stile Antico & Fretwork

More Tudor music, Tudor musiccccc.

25 Minutes to Go - Johnny Cash

Obvious but yeah there we go: just basically a man waiting and being led to his death which, if the assassination theory is to be believed (which we shall soon find out I guess) then the idea of Humphrey being led to his death is potentially gonna be a sorrowful story to hear about in the show??

[sleekervae]

Suck It And See [0.3]

A/N: Is anybody actually reading this? I’m finding it hard to tell 🥺

The children were loud and obnoxious, all chattering and boasting about what they'd done on their summer holidays. Jade too was on the bus, sat at the very front seat, alone. All she had to keep her company was her iPod, listening to an emulsion of Radiohead and The Strokes on repeat. The school bus soon pulled into the grand, church-like brick building, seemingly in the process of decay as ivy vines choked out chips of brick and moss was in the process of growing in the cracks. The children all rushed off the bus in a frenzy, passing by the grumpy, grumbling bus driver who sat in his chair with a slump.

Jade stood up once all the kids had flooded out. She stuffed her iPod and headphones into her bag and passed the grumpy bus driver. He looked sad, and not just because the summer was over. So, being the kind soul she was, Jade gave him a smile.

"Thank you. Have a good day, sir," she said. The driver was surprised at her acknowledgement, not many children took the time to talk to him. He smiled back at her and his entire face seemed too light up in a different ray.

"Yeh're very welcome, miss," he said.

Jade hopped off the bus and looked up at the harrowing, looming brick building. The fairgrounds were littered with boistering and bouncing kids ranging between the ages of 12-17, none of them paid much attention to Jade as she walked towards the door. She quickly spotted Oliver standing at the fence, smoking up with his lacrosse mates. He met Jade's eyes and gave her a warm smile and a wave. Jade waved back shyly.

The bell rang and the children flooded into the school halls. Jade kept her eyes focused on the class itinerary that was given to her by the administration. She was trying to find her homeroom. It wasn't as though the school made it easy for her, many of the numbers on the door had been scratched out and faded with age. As she had her head down, she was not paying attention to where she was going, and she suddenly collided into another body.

"Hey!" Jade jumped back in surprise and embarrassment, her cheeks heated up when she realised what she had done. Another young girl, probably about her age, was glaring at her. She tossed her jet-black hair behind her shoulder with an aggravated huff.

"Yeh wanna watch where yeh're going, mate?" She said to her. Jade put her hands up and backed away slowly.

"My bad," she said. The other student was struck by Jade's accent, she clearly wasn't from around here, "I'm just tryna find room..." Jade had another glance at her paper, "A44,"

The other student's glare softened suddenly, and she started to relax, "Well as it 'appens, tha's my 'omeroom. Yeh can come wif me, yeah?" She said.

Jade nodded quickly as the girl started down the hall, "yeah," she followed closely behind her, her toes smashed together in the tight tip of her polished black Mary Janes. The other student took notice of her chunky, strappy shoes and hummed.

"I like yehr shoes," she said.

"Thanks," Jade replied shyly, "Erm... I'm Jade, by the way,"

"Sasha," the girl said, she then took another hard look at Jade, "Why'd yehr folks name yeh Jade? Yehr eyes aren't green,"

Jade shrugged back, "I dunno. Never bothered to ask," she said.

Sasha lead Jade through the ocean of bustling kids until they came to the door marked A44. Sasha marched in without hesitation, but Jade was weary as she set foot on the freshly polished tile. The room was full of young tenth years, none of them paid attention was they settled in. Some were talking loudly, others were making origami planes and throwing them at each other. It was just Jade's luck that Flora was in her homeroom class. Her cousin was sat in the back row with another bunch of girls, talking quietly amongst each other. As Flora saw Jade, she immediately stopped talking and turned her friends attention towards her cousin. Jade felt very self conscious as they stared her down.

She went to grab the seat next to Sasha, but another student suddenly grabbed their backpack and dropped it onto the open seat, stopping Jade cold in her tracks. She looked up at the other student with dismay; she was a pudgier girl with curly, frizzy brown hair and fat fingers. Jade couldn't take her eyes away from the snaggle tooth incisor that peaked out from under her top lip, like some sort of ugly dog. She had a mean glare that would make a bull mastiff jump out of its skin. Jade was beginning to get annoyed with this town's cold demeanor towards her.

"You mind if I sit there?" She asked the pudgier girl. She stuck her nose up in the air and scoffed back.

"I'm using it, yeh see. Go sit at the front wif then other losers," she barked back.

Jade turned her head to the front row of desks. There were only three boys sitting at the front, talking amongst themselves and not paying attention to the scuffle behind them. Jade's irritation reached a new peak as she turned back to the other girl. Without a word, she grabbed the ugly green and red backpack and dropped it back onto the floor with a loud thud. The noise was loud enough to jolt everyone's attention towards her, including Flora's. Including the boys at the front row. Sasha just watched the mousy brunette with surprise, and a smug smirk made it way to her face as Jade glared down at the other girl.

"Looks like the seat's opened up, love," she said. The girl was at a loss for words as Jade took her seat and waited patiently for the teacher to walk in. Sasha chuckled under her breath.

Meanwhile, one of the boys at the front, Alex, small and lanky he was, couldn't tear his eyes off the new girl. He and his mates were taken by surprise at her actions towards Missy Calders, one of the meanest girls in school. The boy next to him, Matt, couldn't help but chuckle as well.

"I've never seen the snaggle tooth 'anging open like tha'," he whispered to him. Alex couldn't wipe the excited grin off his face neither, he had to admit that that was awesome.

And just like that, the teacher walked in, and class had begun...

➿➿➿

A full day of orientation had quickly become exhausting for Jade. It mostly consisted of introducing herself to students over and over again, and constantly being asked where her Geordie accent came from. Luckily, Jade had Sasha in most of her classes for the day, she stuck close by her side as the day passed. Sasha turned out not to be as terrifying as Jade initially thought, she was sweet really, a bit of an outsider from the rest of the grade. Jade could tell from the way she carried herself with such pride how she didn't give a damn what other people thought of her. Jade wished she too could do that just as easily.

Being the new girl in school was tough, especially in the cafeteria. Even just standing in the line for the hot bar, she found herself getting the most obscene looks from other students. Did she attract some sort of weird attention to herself? Was it just her accent that threw others off? She wished she could find Sasha in the crowd of students, she had brought her own lunch instead. Smart her, she didn't have to wait in line.

In her lunch tray was a plain looking slice of pepperoni pizza, an apple, and a juice box. She wasn't hungry, but she knew her mother would urge her to eat anyhow. She missed her mum, desperately. She had tried to phone home last night, but alas, there was no answer. Her mum was probably fast asleep, and her father was probably with his new girlfriend. Neither of them bothering to think of Jade.

"Oi! Helders, you dumb fuck!"

Jade suddenly jumped when she heard a loud slam from behind her. Everyone's heads in the cafeteria turned towards the commotion, finding a large, gruff-looking behemoth of a boy grabbing a younger kid by the lapels of his school blazer. He was one of the boys that had been sitting in Jade's homeroom this morning. He was a bit larger as well, with a head of curly hair and a bad case of acne, but his snarling face was mean enough to match his pursuer.

"Wha's yehr problem, Luke?" He spat in the older boy's face. Luke pulled the younger boy closer to get in his face, seething red.

"I know yeh was the one 'ho wrote about me ma in the loo!" He snarled.

"Yeah? And wha's it to yeh?" The boy replied with defiance. Suddenly, a smaller, lankier boy came running up behind Luke and made a gab from his friend.

"Matt didn't mean it, Luke. 'E were just funnin'," he said.

"Fuck off, Al!" Matt replied, "I meant wha I said and I stand by it. Yehr ma takes strange cock in alley, Fat'ead!"

Jade couldn't believe what was unfolding before her. Where were the bloody teachers to stop this abuse? The students weren't much help either, they all cheered Luke on to meet on Matt some more. She watched in disbelief as Luke grabbed this Matt fool and in a fluid motion, pinned his head down into a random plate of mashed potatoes. The kid whom it belonged didn't dare protest, he just simply got up and ran off before he could get caught in the crossfire. Then the smaller boy, "Al" if she heard correctly, tried to pull Luke off his friend with no results.

"Let him go, yeh big bully!" He shouted at him. Luke shoved him off with ease, "Stay out of this, yeh little pip squeak!" then pulled Matt's head up out of the mash. It was then something sparked within Jade, some form of anger that she had been hanging on to finally bubbled over and snapped. She took the food items off her lunch tray, set them down, and went up behind the giant student without his noticing.

"Listen wisecrack," Luke growled at him, "You and Kermit the Frog over 'ere," he nodded towards the smaller boy, "Are gonna take fookin paint and cover tha' shit up. Then yeh're gonna take a pen and write 'I cream myself in me sleep' over it, and fookin' sign it!"

Matt spat some of the mash out of his mouth and rubbed his eyes, glaring angrily at the older boy, "And if I don't, what'll yeh do? Put me face in the fava beans instead?" He roared.

"Nah. I'm gonna take this tray 'ere," he picked up a lunch tray like Jade's, "And I'm gonna beat yehr arse wif it,"

Jade stood behind the large student, she was too short for him to notice her, unfortunately for him. She slowly raised the tray over her head, "You mean like this?"

With a hard swing, she nailed the big bully over his head and sent him flying into another table. He landed on his back on the open surface of the table, colliding into trays of pizza and pastas, staining his clothes and hair. Everybody stared at Jade with shock, unable to believe that this new little mouse had single-handedly taken down one of the biggest bullies in school.

Matt's jaw had seemed to hit the floor, and Al stood behind Jade with wide, illuminated eyes. He paled as though he had seen a ghost, he couldn't believe then might that had come from this small girl.

"Tha' was awesome," he said to her. Jade turned to him, having it now dawn on her what she'd just done. She was slightly embarrassed, but at the same time, it felt great to let off some steam. For the first time that day, Jade started to smile.

"Thanks,"

[sapphirelass]

What family is all about - Weasley FamilyxWeasley!Sister

Hiiiiiii!!! It’s... been a while. Again. Let’s face it, I’ll never be able to post as often as I’d like. I just don’t like rushing stuff, or posting anything I’m not happy with, so...

Anyhow, I LOVED writing for the Weasley family, and I’ll most likely do it again soon. Bill and Charlie are both underrated characters in my opinion and I had a ton of fun letting them ‘shine’ (despite this being a sort of sad story, but that always seems to be where I end up... XD)

Also, I might have to edit this once more, but it’s late, I have not posted in about two weeks and I just want to go to sleep XD That being said, take it for what it is, and I’ll try to correct any grammatical errors later. Good night! <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Please note:

1: I don’t own any of the gifs used, nor any already established characters, so credit to the authors and original creators - You have done a phenomenal job :)

2: English is not my native language, as I was born and raised in Sweden. I have, however, studied English for almost a decade, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem, I just thought I’d let you know ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Word count: ≈ 2800 (they just keep getting longer, don’t they? XD)

Warnings: Light swearing, blood, angst

Enjoy! :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That’s what family is all about 

“How big did his tongue get?”

“It was four feet long before his parents would let me shrink it!”

The sound of laughter was heard from the kitchen as Elwira Weasley entered her childhood home. She worked as an arithmancer, and had been stationed at a research-facility in the northern parts of Sweden for the past few years. Her work took up most of her time, but she had just travelled home to go see the quidditch final with her dad, older brother Bill, twin brother Charlie and all their younger siblings.

“It isn’t funny”, her dad shouted. “That sort of behaviour seriously undermines wizard-muggle relations! I spend half my life campaigning against the mistreatment of muggles, and my own sons-”

“Are just a wee bit too daft to understand that!”

She walked through the door and found her entire family, plus two other people she didn’t know, all sitting or standing around the kitchen table.

“Ellie?!”

Her older brother and twin, with whom she had always been extremely close, both made their way across the room and pulled her into a hug so tight she could barely breathe.

“Blimey! ‘ello Bill, hey Charlie! Long time no see, huh?”

“Certainly!”, their mother exclaimed while pushing the two oldest sons to the side as she tried to get a good look at her grown-up daughter. “Not a single visit since Christmas, Elwira Weasley, we’ve had to do with owls for six months?!”

“Sorry, mum, there’s been a lot of work to do… I thought I’d stay for the rest of the summer though, if that’s okay with you?”

“Of course, dear! Have you eaten yet?”

“No, I’m famished!”

Mrs Weasley went off to get another plate, and Ellie, after greeting everyone and being introduced to Harry and Hermione, took a seat between her dad and youngest brother.

“So Ronald? Had a good term?”

“Err.. Sure? Nothing interesting except for the stuff I wrote to you about, though.”

“Well you’re going into your fourth year now - almost halfway through!” She paused for a moment and turned to her father. “You good dad? You seem a bit… tense?”

Arthur looked up from his plate and sent his daughter a kind smile.

“Don’t worry about it, darling. Hosting the world cup comes with a great deal of problems all with the need to be solved. Admittedly, it’s not really part of my job, but the entire ministry becomes quite chaotic when something like that is days away. I’m a bit stressed, that’s all. How are things up in Scandinavia?”

“They’re… somewhat slow to be honest. There’s so much work to do between like October and February, but in the summer it’s mostly filing and other boring bits of paperwork.”

“Elwira?”, Hermione asked. “Sorry, I’m just curious, what is it that you do? Ron’s never told us…”

“That’s probably cause Ron doesn’t understand what I’m doing”, she smirked, “but of course, I work with, and study, arithmancy which, as you might know, is part of what’s called ‘natural magic’.”

“Great!”, mumbled Ron quietly, making sure only his friends and older sister heard. “Hermione, there are four rules in this house, okay? One: Don’t ask Charlie about dragons, Two: Don’t ask Percy about anything, Three: Don’t ask dad about muggles, and Four: Don’t ask Ellie about her job. Break either and you’ll be stuck listening to a five hour lecture.”

 Hermione didn’t seem to be bored though, so Ellie ignored her brother’s comment and continued. 

“It’s the type of magic that has been studied and worshiped since ancient times and has a very strong connection with nature. The natural phenomena with the strongest affiliation with magic is, while they in themselves have what the muggles would call a ‘scientific explanation’, the northern lights. Meaning it’s only when they’re visible that we can make any significant progress.”

Ellie paused and glanced at the younger girl, trying to see whether she had caught on or not, and was happy when realizing that she had.

“And... “, questioned Hermione, “the northern lights are only visible north of the polar circle and b-”

“Between September and March, exactly… Meaning there’s sadly not that much advanced research that can be done during the rest of the year…”

“It’s still a fascinating subject though. I only started last year, but I love it.”

“I’m glad! At least some people appreciate the wonderful art that is arithmancy, Ronald!”

Ron looked up at the mention of his name and met his sister’s gaze. 

“I just don’t find it interesting”, he said.  

“Right, because you ha-”

Ellie didn’t get to finish her sentence before being interrupted by her twin brother.

“Hey, Ellie? Must have been fun watching the Nordic versus Germany, huh?”

“Oh shut up, Charlie!”, she groaned while putting her head in her hands. “Holy Merlin…” The Nordic National Quidditch team, of which she had become a huge supporter in the last few years, had suffered a HORRENDOUS loss against Germany, and it had certainly not been a fun night. 

Her brother, however, did not shut up, but instead burst out laughing.  

“Charlie, it’s not funny!! You should have been there though… You’d have done a much better job than the stand-in seeker we had.”

“What were the results again? 700-20?”

“... 520 actually”

“520 to??”, Bill said mockingly

“You’re idiots both of you… 520-0, happy now?”

Ellie hadn’t realized that everyone else around the table had been listening in on their conversation, but was made aware when Fred, George, Harry, Ron, Ginny and Arthur began laughing loudly.

“Why is this so funny to everyone? England lost badly too, and neither Romania nor Egypt even qualified to compete?!”

“Yeah...”, began Fred.

“But none of them lost with 520 points.”, finished George, earning himself a furious look from his older sister who stood up and shook her head.

“I’ll go see if mum needs any help…”

~~~~~~

Ellie loved her family, and therefore all her slightly annoying brothers, beyond everything, but being away from them for months and then meeting them all at the same time was TIRING! Having no desire to sleep through the world cup, she decided to go to bed early the night before, and she had barely closed her eyes before she fell asleep...

~~~~~~

“3, 2 ‘shhhh, quiet!”

Ellie took notice of the obnoxiously loud whispers, but it wasn’t enough to fully wake her up.

“We’ve got one more chance, 3, 2, 1, ELLIE!!!!”

She woke up instantly and sent a blast of blue sparks towards her older brother, barely missing him by an inch.

“What ‘ru doing, El? You can’t just go attacking people?!”

He tried to sound angry, but failed miserably, a heartwarming laugh escaping his mouth.

“You bloody idiots?! Why’d you scare me like that? You’re 21 and 23, not five?”

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it? Do you remember-”

“Yes, I do!”. She rubbed her eyes slowly, “‘85, look can you two please let me sleep?”

“Sorry, sis”, said Bill. “We’re leaving in half an hour. The kids and dad left ages ago.”

“Yeah, you don’t want to be late do you? Not when you can cheer for a team that might not loo-”

“Charlie, I swear!”

~~~~~~

The match was fantastic! Ellie would never admit it to her brothers, but it was nice to watch an even one for once. Watching and cheering with her family brought back fond memories of childhood games at the Burrow or Hogwarts, and she realized just how much she had missed actually playing. They stayed up late discussing players and tactics, but eventually their father ushered them all off to bed. 

~~~~~~

“Ellie?”

“Ellie??”

She stirred slightly and pulled the sleeping bag tighter around her.

“Ellie! Damn it, wake up!”

She opened her eyes slowly and saw her twin brother bent above her. The sight made her sigh.

“Charlie”, she mumbled. “We see each other once- or twice a year nowadays, do you really feel obligated to wake me up every time you get the chance?”

“Elwira, I’m serious! Get up!”

This caught her attention. Sure, the twins often used their full names when messing with each other, but it didn’t sound like Charlie was joking at all. She sat up, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and yawned loudly.

“What’s going on? Wha- Charlie? It’s still dark out? Why’d yo-”

“Ellie, c’mon. We have to help dad. Someone’s attacking the muggles.”

He threw his sister a jacket and pulled her out of the tent. Arthur, Bill and Percy were all waiting outside.

“Dad?”, she asked. “What’s happening? Charlie sai-”

“We’ve got to help the ministry!”, he said while frantically trying to count everyone and make sure they were there. “Fred, George, you make sure the others are safe. Go wait in the woods and I’ll come for you when the situation’s under control. Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ellie, let’s see if there’s something we can do.”

Nobody questioned Mr Weasley’s instructions, and immediately left in different directions. There were people everywhere though, and the two directions quickly became three, four, six. Spells and curses were fired left, right and centre and Ellie found herself disarming and stunning at least a few death eaters. There weren’t that many of them, roughly thirty or so, but the insane amount of witches and wizards fleeing the campsite made it difficult to fight back. She couldn’t risk hitting any random bloke.

While duelling a tall man in a black mask, Ellie suddenly stumbled forward, a particularly nasty curse having hit her straight in the back. Falling to the ground felt way more painful than it should have, and her wand landed well beyond her reach. She groaned as a burning pain spread through her lower back, but made an effort to get back up anyways. She did, however, not make it very far before the sharp end of a wand dug into her throat.

The death eater behind her sniggered and pulled her up by the collar of her shirt.

“Well, well, well… Why’re you trying to ruin our fun?”

He stood way too close for comfort and Ellie felt his breath on her neck. She tried to answer, but the curse that was shot at her must have hit its intended target, as all that came out when she opened her mouth was a strained cough and warm blood.

The bloke holding her let out a dark chuckle and threw her to the ground. She could barely keep her eyes open, and a thick, red liquid oozed from the wound in her back.

“Not so high-and-mighty now, are we?”

Ellie lacked the strength to fight back, and to the death eaters that seemed to take all the fun out of the situation. They set off back towards the campsite, leaving Ellie on the ground next to a few pines. She tried her very best to sit up, but ended up passing out…

~~~~~~

“Charlie?!”

Bill ran up to his younger brother and pulled him in for a quick, one-armed hug.

“Charlie, you okay? We’ve got to get back to the tent. Where’s El?”

“Wha-, I-I thought she was with you?!?”

“What? Last I saw her you were together?”

The brothers shared a lock of utter terror.

“Bill, we have to find her!”

“I know… Dad went to get the kids and Percy’s back in the tent waiting.”

“There’s no time to waste then. Let’s go”

~~~~~~

They had been running around the camping grounds for half an hour, and there was still not a trace of a living soul - let alone the special one they were searching for. At first, they had been shouting her name at the top of their lungs, but were now walking silently. That was, at least, until a shout made both of them turn around.

“Bill! Charlie! What are you doing? I told you to stay in the tent?”

Arthur Weasley came running towards them, with Harry, Ron and Hermione following close behind.

“Dad!”, Charlie shouted. “Have you seen El? We can’t find her?”

“What?”, asked Arthur. “But she was with you, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, at first, but we must have gotten separated… Dad, is that? You know?”

He threw a dark glance at the skull and snake decorating the night sky and said, “Yes. Yes it is. Look, I’ll take Ron, Hermione and Harry back to the tent, and I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes, okay? Don’t go too far. Come on kids!”

~~~~~~

Just as the brothers were about to give up, go back to the clearing, wait for their dad and hopefully find both their sisters safe and sound, Bill noticed something. A glimpse of red in the moonlight…

“Charlie? Get over here fast!”

The younger brother followed Bill’s gaze and immediately set off through the forest when his eyes found a mess of ginger hair sticking out from behind a rather large pine. Bill followed closely behind.

“ELLIE!!!?!!”

Charlie stumbled to his knees and turned his sister around, trying to get a better look at her. He pressed his hand to her wrist and breathed a sigh of relief when he found a pulse.

“She’s alive”, he mumbled. “Bill, she’s alive!”

“Good. I- Good.” Bill was lost for words too and mumbled a quick “Let me see”.

He pushed some hair out of her eyes and searched for any clues to what had hit her. He was a curse-breaker after all, but that usually meant working with curses placed on things or places, not people. 

“Charlie, I-I don’t know what that is… it’s not a curse I’m familiar with and I’m no healer… You want to carry her?”

“Of course”

Charlie brought his twin into his arms and picked her up, her bruised, limp body threatening to fall unless he held on tight enough. The brothers walked back to the clearing where they’d promised to meet their dad, but kept a close watch on their sister. They would apparate, though at the moment none of them felt like they had much time for ‘Deliberation’. It wasn’t very far anyways.

~~~~~~

“DAD!”, Bill shouted as soon as they noticed Arthur in the clearing where they were supposed to wait.

“Boys! Didn’t I tell you t-”

“We’ll take that later, Dad, you’ve got to help her!?”

Arthur Weasley was speechless, which had most likely never happened before, and Charlie felt so helpless. This was worse than his worst nightmares, and there was nothing he could do. Had it been a wounded dragon, sure, he knew loads about them, but this?

“Dad?”, asked Bill. “What can we do?”

“Right. Er… I suppose there’s no use trying to get you to wait here?”, he said while looking at Charlie who frantically shook his head. “Right, Bill could you go back to Percy and the kids? Fill them in on what happened? Then Charlie and I’ll take Ellie to St Mungos, okay?”

Bill didn’t look too happy with the idea, but nodded nonetheless.

---

“Charlie sit down!”

“Fred, he can’t”, said George. “Hey, I think you missed a spot over there, Charles”

“Shut it both of you! Honestly, why am I the only one that’s worried?”

Arthur stood up and put an arm around his son.

“Listen, we’re all worried, but walking back and forth isn’t helping anyone. Just sit for a moment, huh?”

“No, dad, you don’t understand! It’s my fault. We were supposed to stick together! I let her out of my sight...I-”

“Charlie, we all-”

“No, Bill, you don’t get it either, I should-”

“-let your sister sleep for once? That’d be greatly appreciated, thank you.”

The entire family turned at once, and found the oldest daughter struggling to sit up.

“EL!!”

Charlie stumbled over and put a hand on his sister’s back, trying to help her up, but unfortunately placing it right where the curse had hit her.

“Auch!”

She moved away from his touch and he pulled his hand back immediately.

“Blimey, Ellie I’m so s-”

“Charlie, it’s good. Don’t worry about it.”

Ellie pulled her brother into a hug, though he was now extremely careful, and she looked over his shoulder at the rest of her family. Her eyes met Bill’s and he sent her a kind smile. She gestured for him to come join them, and eventually the whole family found themselves in a loving group hug. Molly did her very best to wrap her arms around all her children, desperately trying to convince herself that they were all there - safe and sound and loved. 

Because if there was one thing the Weasleys had a lot of, it was love and that is, after all, precisely what family is all about.

~ L

Masterlist

[jamfindingexpert]

Before the Bloodshed

Pairing: HoseokxF!Reader

Warnings/Genre: Angst, fluff

Contains: Addiction, language, likely intimate-ish scenes but no smut (probably), dry-heaving, blood, smoking, etc.

Synopsis: What happens when a night of gambling has Hoseok doing favors for you?

P.S. I’ve never gambled before so I dunno how it works. Okay, have fun reading.

Oh, and the story will get better after this, I assure you. It won’t be this boring forever 🙄🦶🦶

Part 1

Hoseok’s PoV

“All right,” Some man, whom I had no clue was, began without explanation. “Place your bets, everybody. C’mon, now.”

Men and women alike threw a series of paper money onto the table. Chaotic, it was, but that didn’t stop me from joining in on the fun.

“32! 32!” I heard a group of men chant, pounding their oversized fists on the wooden table. Amusing how immature adults can act when intoxicated. Not that I can say much, though, as I also partaken in it.

With my beer in hand and the dim lighting just hardly illuminating anything at all, I squinted to see the numbers. I was betting on 15. I was more confident in this bet than any other, so I bet a large portion of my money. Not all of it, but quite the sum.

“C’mon, c’mon! 32 for the win.” I heard someone mumble beneath their breath. I don’t think anyone was supposed to hear that, but I surely did. “Right there...”

The tiny, white marble was still jumping around from slot to slot, my money reaching out in vain to return to my pockets. I was feeling this one. I was going to get it.

The manner of which everyone’s head bowed down in disappointment, including mine, was almost funny in a way. “48!”

A woman behind me greedily loomed over the table, wrapping her arms around whatever could fit, making a second trip for the rest. She chuckled dryly, only puffing out more smoke from her cigarette; one of the only scents I can’t stand. Unfortunately for me, this place reeked of it.

“Ahnjong takes the round, well done.” The host clapped, his gravelly voice coming off as daunting. “Let’s go another! Minimum bet, 70.”

~

Pain was all I knew right now. That and regret.

I was hovering just above the toilet, my hands gripping the base for dear life. With all of the alcohol I’d consumed in the last twelve hours, I’m almost surprised I haven’t had a seizure. Though, I am nearly vomiting, so I’d say that’s punishing enough.

Note the nearly. The world was trying to hand onto my pain for as long as possible, not allowing me to get the excessive alcohol out of my system. All I could do was dry heave and hope, eventually, something would come out.

While I was waiting for my next opportunity to rid myself of all the beer I drank, I started to contemplate last night. For a bit of background, I had lost my job a bit more than a month ago, leaving me depending on what I saved to pay rent. Unfortunately, I was starting to run low on money and I couldn’t ask my parents to afford themselves and their son, so I opted for gambling.

Now, of course, that’s where I was last night. I wanted money, I needed money. I came to the conclusion that betting it on random numbers was going to be in my favor, but it clearly wasn’t. I’m now stuck with even less than before.

What to do, what to do...

Well, sitting here certainly won’t get me anywhere. Nothing’s bound to come out, so it’s not like I even need to be here in the first place. May as well go watch other people ruin their lives before I return home, maybe even grab a bottle of water from the vending machine.

Standing, I unlocked the bathroom stall that was partially broken anyhow, walking back into the main area where all the gamblers chilled. I wasn’t planning on risking the little money I had left, but I was going grab some water, as I said.

To my disappointment, when I got to the vending machine, I was left sad at the lack of water. Maybe I could buy some water from the bar, or they could even offer me a free cup if they’re kind enough. Either way is fine with me.

“Excuse me.” I called out, asking for the attention of a bartender that didn’t have his hands full. “Can I get a cup of water?”

“No problem!” The woman smiled, placing the small bottle of whiskey onto the shelf to do so. So they were kind enough.

Waiting for the bartender to return, I heard a quiet chuckle from beside me. I paid no mind to the two men it until I heard one of them whisper, “How d’you think I got all this money? They pay real well, I’ll tell you.”

“How well?” The other man, with a noticeably lower voice, asked. “Maybe I can help out ‘round there if it’s worth the pay.”

The bartender returned with my water, though I didn’t bother to thank her, as I was too caught up in the conversation beside me. I cautiously took a sip of water, listening in even further.

“Real well. I’m talkin’ I oughta never work again.” He laughed loudly, though he lowered his voice for the next part. So much so whereas it was nearly inaudible. “But that’s only for the real tough things. You can do silly shit like chores and get paid some, but I like the risk of the tough tasks, so I’m fine with it.”

Before I knew it, I’d absolutely crushed my drink and my thirst was finally quenched. I hadn’t noticed because my mind was too occupied with the conversation.

Hesitantly, I inched closer to the man nearest to me, saying, “Hey... Do you think you guys could help me out?”

“With what, bud?” The man turned around after overcoming the temporary shock of a sudden question. I would be the same, so I can’t blame them.

“Well, I happened to overhear something about being paid well.” I nervously fiddled with my thumbs in my lap. I didn’t want to bother them too much. This is a Casino, who knows how patient a man could be? It’s better to expect the worst.

“So you were eavesdropping, eh?” The man furrowed his eyebrows out of anger, making my heart absolutely sink. I was relieved to discover it was jokingly, though, for he said, “It’s all good, we ain’t gonna hurt you. And sure, we can help you, but you gotta cut us some, you hear?”

“Yeah, but how do we know we can trust you?” His friend said. “Do you swear on your life? And take that to heart, your decision means a lot.”

“I swear. Cross my heart.” I said, phone in hand with google maps pulled up on the screen. “But not until you give me the address.”

I watched them warily make eye contact for a moment, their condescending expressions saying it all. Well, I thought that was so until one of them turned back to me with a smug expression.

“You got yourself a deal.”

[midhavencryptids]

Rebecca Chapter 1 Test And Results

Based on Dr. Jekyll's Work becomes a very different Hyde, with an unexpected transgendered results.

The very start of Mr Edward Fletcher’s unwittingly transformative journey, where some bloods had been requested of him....

Note to readers all stories connecting with Midhaven (Mid-haven) are set in 1994. All the characters are purely fictional, and no way portray any real people or institutes of any kind.

MIDHAVEN:

Rebecca

By Maddie Jane Rann

1 Tests and Results

31st March 1994

Edward Fletcher sat anxiously in the empty waiting room of his local surgery for his appointment which was supposedly meant for 10:30am. He himself, was a gaunt and lanky looking 35 year old dressed in a slightly crumpled grey office suit. He had four inch long auburn hair which was styled into a centre parted undercut and also wore thin framed rectangular glasses. Restless with nerves knowing a blood test had been required of him by his new GP, Dr Elliot. He had only met the doctor once before, for some completely unrelated matter since he transferred from Bournemouth and taken over his previous doctor’s practice. Nevertheless, it was something that Edward really could of done without, plus the blood nurse was running late which only put him more on edge. Looking for some form of distraction he glanced to the low coffee table of magazines about three feet ahead of him. He rose slightly out of his chair, the red coloured tie dangled out of his jacket as he leaned forward. Shakily he rummaged through the assortment of ‘Glenda’ fashion magazines until clumsily knocking a couple of issues to the floor. In a panic he picked them up and placed them neatly in a tidy pile on the table before collapsing back into his chair with a sigh of embarrassment.

“You tit.” He uttered

He gave up the clock that was hanging on the far end wall an impatient glance, it was now 10:43.

“It's cutting it a bit fine.” He muttered to himself, he had an important meeting at 11:15 which he must attend the weekly briefing of the Lindenbay shopping district on the Harbour which he was appointed as a senior architect, then he was expected on site thereafter. As this was a fasting test he was just hoping there might have been chance of breakfast before his work begun.

Moments later he caught from the corner of his left eye, an elderly couple being led carefully out of the phlebotomy room and then the nurse as she watched them creep past the reception and out the main entrance. Then she turned and looked down towards him with her hands on hips.

“Edward Fletcher!” She called sternly yet with a playful tone. To him the calling was like the tolling of the iron bell, but the aged female voice was familiar and somewhat soothing to his recollection. He turned nervously to meet his calling only to smile with some relief that it was his Mother’s friend June who was on duty today.

“Oh....um, June, hello.” He greeted standing to his full height of 6ft1.

“April Fools by chance? No? Not today?”

“Hello Eddy, come this way.” The 60-year-old Nurse beckoned him with a smirk and led him into the poky room that housed a singular black leather treatment chair which was bolted to the floor. There was a tall fan blowing in the corner that made June’s blue disposable apron flitter dramatically in its breeze.

“If you could remove your jacket and roll up both sleeves before taking a seat, I do like to have my pick of veins.”

“Oh yes OK.” Edward did as he was bided.

“You seem a little tense Eddie? Anything the matter?” She asked whilst checking over his notes.

“Ah well you know…. It’s a blood test and…..” He began as he sat in the treatment chair gazing around at the four blind walls and quickly objecting.

"There are no windows in here?”

“Yes, you would think us phlebotomists were all vampires or something, you should know by now I don’t bite, just prick a little.” She smiled.

“Ah ha yes, that’s what I’m actually afraid of…...” He added with a nervous laugh.

“Oh, I see….. You fall under Dr. Elliot, lucky you, with your infamously well-known fear of needles and all. I don’t know. He’s always requesting bloods for one thing or another, usually something mundane coupled with genomic testing. Usually, I thought it was something reserved as a premium treatment, never known a doctor to request this as much. Seems to be his style, I guess, prefers the full ins and outs of his patients’ right down to their DNA. Anyhow he keeps me busy.”

“Terrific, lucky me indeed.” Edward squirmed as he tried to get comfortable on the leather seat.

“Liver function…. right.” She started to look for the colour coded phials through the equipment draws.

“I think Dr Elliot had been concerned with my history of drinking.” Edward mentioned shamefully

“Uh huh.” June sighed knowing all too well.

“And how’s that been going?”

“Very well, though I have had a few dips late. But only on occasions.”

June pouted with disbelief.

“Really?”

“Ahh, look, to be honest, it’s this shopping centre development it’s been really getting to me of late.”

“Oh really? You’re doing that now? It looks very exciting what they’ve been planning for the harbour.” Said June.

“Uh huh yeah, well you know when they had to halt construction during the discovery of the 14th century burial pit, it was all over the Midhaven Messenger for weeks on end. Well by the time the archaeologists had finished the architectural firm that had been employed for the project had gone bust leaving our firm to immediately take over. They left so many flaws it was unbelievable, never mind the parts that were left unfinished. A complete and utter mess, to be fair, that shouldn’t have gone as far as planning yet alone construction! You know they left 18 shop spaces, completely blocked off with no access!”

In meantime of Edwards complaining she had found the correct phial and took another look at his notes….

“Ah…. I thought so, bang on style, genomics too, right where did I leave those tubes. OK just sit back Eddy I won’t take long at all. Talk about drinking have you diluted yourself with plenty of water?”

“Oh yes Aunty June……. and have been fasting since 10 past last night.” As he saw it was on the tip of her tongue.

“Very good….. Just for security reasons could you confirm your address and date of birth please? Just so I know it’s you.”

“But you already know….” He stopped with June’s glaring, over the top of her glasses.

“Ohhh…. 15th of the 4th 1958 and 13 A Mitchell Avenue, Midhaven, MD1 JH3.” He sighed.

“Very good Eddy.” She confirmed then gave her hands a singular clap before scooting away from her desk in her wheeled desk chair to Edwards left side.

“Now just relax and I promise I won’t take too much.”

He gulped as the needle of doom was now inevitable, yet knew he was in safe hands. His eyes wondered from his Mum’s old friend preparing his arm for the surgical procedure to staring at the collection of photos stuck to the wall ahead of him. These pictures were an odd assortment of carnival masks and cocker spaniels, he figured it was probably something that either June or another blood nurse had put together for the patients to focus on rather than the blood being taken.

7thof April 1994

A few days later as Dr Elliot came to work he was handed several letters from the front desk that had arrived the day before. His brow rose with intrigue noticing that they all came from the Phlebotomy labs in the city. He thanked the receptionist with a smile of gratitude before taking the envelopes and his briefcase to his office. Without another moment he sat at his desk and was readily opening the envelopes with great enthusiasm. Dr Elliot who was an average looking man in his late middle years with silver hair that swept across his head. He also bore thick black eyebrows that were currently furrowed behind large paned glasses. These letters were indeed the latest round of test blood results that he requested, though he was more interested in his patient’s genomics, seemingly at first to disregard the other. He speedily went through two lots scouring them closely only to not finding what he was looking for. It wasn’t until his third envelope and opening it with a sigh to only expecting the same humdrum when something caught his eye that instantly gave him a chills, something exciting as he ran through the latest sets of numbers. A look of long lost cheer came to his grey middle aged face as he quickly drew a red pen from the desk tidy and roughly circled the odd allele scores that brought him to such frenzy. Once finished he slapped his left hand down on the edge of the desk then opened a draw just underneath, lifting the corners of a couple of folders that concealed a small flat key. He took hold of it before springing out of his chair, and almost skipped to the grey metallic filing cabinet that stood beside the window only 6ft to his left. Pushing the key into the lock of the bottom draw then turned it and pulled the handle. In seconds he was leafing through the murky green coloured folders until he found the one he was searching. Taking away the whole folder he returned to his desk and sat down before spreading out a few pages of his interest, one was another set of genetics like the one he marked. He ran his finger through the results.

“Ha!” He barked and scribbled circles around similar results in the same red pen. He beamed with joy as he held them studying them side by side, his mind now racing with possibilities. This was the opportunity that he and his associate had been waiting for, for quite some time with now just the thought that they might finally reach their goal in the next couple of days, if they planned it right. After a moment of pause for consideration he put down the paper and picked up the handset on the cream coloured desk telephone. He held it to his left ear and keyed in the number. While he waited for his recipient to pick up the phone he took time to find the name of the patient whom the results belonged to.

“Mr Edward Fletcher? What a lucky man you are.”

He smiled heartily when the other end of the line was picked up and proceeded to speak in bright and theatrical manner.

“Ah, good morning my dear May! It’s Elliot here….. Yes!…. Yes!….. I’m quite aware how early it is for you, but if you must be up all night skulking around until the early hours…. My point?” He was taken back by his recipient’s seeming impertinence.

“Now if you give me a little time and patience, I can inform you of some very good news that came by post this morning.” He picked up the results.

“Yes…. it’s some genomes if you care, from one of my patients, they came back from…. Yes, he has all the right faults that I have been looking for, in all the right places for the formula to work. This is it, my dearest May, this is it.” He listened to the receivers reply though by the sinking look on his face it was probably a reply of a dreary lack of enthusiasm.

“All right…. I shall tell you what…. “He breathed rubbing his temple in frustration.

“We shall reconvene this matter when I come off duty…. About half 6…. you say you’ll meet me. Of course, the usual place, the old sail factory, we can set up the equipment at once. Then we can decide how to safely capture our specimen. Until then I’ll let you have your sleep… oh.” May hung up cutting the call abruptly.

“You may even wake up a little less insolent too.” He said to himself glumly and still holding the phone to his ear, in a delayed moment later returned it to the base.

“But that of course would be asking too much of you my dear.” He sighed

Dr Elliot looked at his clock it was 8:30, then hurriedly gathered the test results and associated papers in the folder just before the receptionist knocked on the door.

“Coffee Dr Elliot?” She called.

“That would be lovely Miss Tibbs, please come in.” He replied with a big arm gesture, the young lady entered with a mug of filtered coffee in one hand and a printed A4 sheet of booked appointments in the other which placed on top of his desk next to the folder.

“There you go Doctor, milk and no sugar and your appointments for today.”

“Ahhh….Thank you so kindly.” He said and then began studying the list as she backed out the office. He nodded when he understood the workload ahead and took a sip of his coffee, then picked up his folder and placed it in his desk draw before dutifully calling for his first patient by pressing the button of the intercom device that was sat next to his telephone.

“Mr Utterson to see Dr Elliot, come to room 2 please, I am quite ready to see you now.”

next chapter

https://midhavencryptids.tumblr.com/post/629310030007713792/rebecca-chapter-2-edwards-day

[thevioletjones]

That 100k hits tropes prompt sure makes a person want to slap together some absolutely WILD combinations.....however, I would like to present you with a relatively tame #67: time travel and #39: accidental eavesdropping. (PS--congrats!)

Thanks! What I came up with for this one is a little weird, and may not be at all what you had in mind, lmao, but anyway…. Rather than do a time travel scenario pertaining to IxM’s lives, I decided on them traveling to a historical event, and I also made the “eavesdropping” bigger and more purposeful. Lol. Hope you like it anyway! Shout out to @grumblesandmumbles for the time period/gangster idea.

July 22, 1934, Lincoln Park, Chicago, IL

“This was such a dumb idea, Mickey. There are feds everywhere!”

“Yeah, and they’re all busy tryin’ to nab literal Public Enemy Number One, so what’re you so worried about?”

“Um, I’m worried about the fucking time machine in the alleyway five blocks away, and how we’re gonna get near the fuckin’ theater since it’s surrounded by G-Men anyhow.”

“You read the damn biography, Gallagher. You know they set up a shit perimeter full of innocent bystanders. Coppers didn’t know what the hell they were doin’ back then.”

“You mean back now.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Whatever. This is gonna be so fuckin’ cool.”

Ian’s face scrunched up. “Your murder boner kinda disturbs me sometimes, you know that?”

“Well, you followed my murder boner all the way to the 1930s, so maybe you shoulda protested sooner.”

Ian flicked him in the ear as they kept walking. The Biograph Theater was only a little over a block up to the left now.

“There’s gotta be a spot we can stake out and see it all.”

Mickey scoured both sides of the street as they approached. They still had almost two hours to kill before anything would go down, but surely the rooftops would be occupied by some kind of rudimentary version of a SWAT team, right? Procedural details were always hard to pinpoint when it came to the past, and neither Ian, nor Mickey were exactly scholars with expertise on historical criminal law enforcement. Still, they’d never trust a man in uniform. Not after all the shit they’d seen and dealt with growing up where they did. Back in Future Chicago where the Depression was over in name, but might as well still exist for them and theirs.

Ian caught sight of an apartment building sort of catty-cornered from the theater that had balconies cut out from the brick. He nudged Mickey and motioned toward the building with his head.

“One of those balconies would be perfect. As long as we don’t get hit by a ricochet. Could be dangerous.”

“Dude, we found out we can’t change the past. We woulda known if someone in that building caught a deadly bullet, right?”

Ian shrugged. “I guess, but we’re still new at this shit. Anything could happen. I don’t wanna be stuck dragging your corpse back to the future.”

“Settle down, McFly, we’ll be fuckin’ fine. I could break into one of these places easy. Shit, it’s the 30s, people probly leave everything unlocked anyway.”

“If I’m McFly, you’re Biff, asshole. And we’re not breaking into shit. If someone calls the cops, they’re literally right at the doorstep. I’m not getting fucking arrested in 1934.”

“Why not?” Mickey asked amusedly. “Could be fun to break out. Dillinger and Baby Face did that shit not long ago.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s just go watch your fuckin’ hero get shot up without the incarceration part. I got an idea.”

Ian’s idea involved knocking on doors near the front side of the building until he was greeted by a little old lady, to whom he then spun a yarn about how he used to be sweethearts with a girl who lived in the building, and how he came back for her, but she doesn’t live there anymore, and did she know the young lady? And it was a good thing they’d procured some era-appropriate clothes and props, because suddenly, there were Ian Gallagher and Mickey Milkovich, sipping tea and sharing a piece of bread and butter in the kitchen of some random lady born in the middle of the 1800s, listening to her tales, which were frankly way more boring than you’d expect given the space and time traveled.

As the clock neared the hour they knew shit was about to go down, Ian slyly requested permission to take the air on the balcony and have a cigarette with his friend, Mick, if it wasn’t too much trouble, and then they’d be on their way. She agreed, and his boyfriend giddily made his way outside with Ian at his heels.

“Jesus, firecrotch, cuttin’ it close with that old windbag.”

“Whatever, I got you a front row murder seat, baby. I deserve a reward.”

“Oh, you’ll get your reward later, big boy.”

They pushed each other around good-naturedly and Mickey pulled out a fake silver cigarette case and a box of matches. They had a perfect view of the street in front of the cinema where Manhattan Melodrama was displayed across the marquee.

“Can’t believe we’re about to witness this shit,” Mickey continued as he lit his smoke. “So badass.”

“Whatever,” said Ian, snatching the cig, “I still say we shoulda gone to the 1860s if we were gonna do the assassination rubbernecking. Seeing Lincoln get shot would be a million times more significant.”

“No way we woulda gotten into a fuckin’ play with the President, man, not even back then. This is way easier, and way cooler. This dude is one of the most notorious gangsters of all time, and we get to see him eat lead.”

Mickey positively radiated excitement, and now Ian really was really concerned.

“This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever agreed to do with you.”

“Ain’t my problem,” Mickey groused, snatching back the cigarette.

Suddenly, there was activity across the street. The movie was letting out.

“Oh shit,” said Ian.

“This is it,” said Mickey.

Within a few minutes time, all hell broke loose. There was scuffling, yelling, screaming, and suddenly gunfire. Like a lot of it. Everyone was ducking and running, but they could clearly see John Dillinger followed by Melvin Purvis and the other feds, and the way the infamous fugitive’s body dropped to the floor as the shots still rang out around them.

They’d traveled all this way, and it was over in seconds.

Ian kinda grimaced, but Mickey… Mickey looked almost gleeful. It was a little frightening to Ian that he was so in love with someone with that true tinge of a psychotic edge.

“Holy shit!” Mickey exclaimed. “People really are swarming him to get blood samples.”

And to Ian’s total horror, Mickey took off on a tear out of the apartment, just as the little old lady ran toward the balcony.

“What on earth happened? What’s going on?”

“Oh, well, it looks like the police shot a man outside.”

She gasped and hustled toward the railing. As they watched the scene below, Ian eventually saw Mickey emerge from the large crowd to wave a scarlet-soaked handkerchief at him, then take off down the street toward the park.

“Shit,” said Ian. “I’m sorry, ma’am but I’ve gotta go. Thank you for the hospitality.”

She nodded in confusion and stuttered a goodbye, then Ian went after his batshit boyfriend. At this rate, he’d have to stop him before he tried to join up with what was left of the Dillinger gang before the rest of them got shot up later on in the year. He’d probably try to make himself the kingpin of the remaining operation.

“Crazy motherfucker,” Ian muttered as he took off running.

[sserpente]

A/N: Heyho there my lovelies! How have you been? Since Valentine’s Day is coming up, I am now officially prepared… to spend the whole day in bed eating chocolate, cuddling with my cat and catching up with Doctor Who. Are you ready? Oh, listen to this song while you’re reading.

Words: 2300 Warnings: fluff

“Stop looking at me like that.” You complained, biting your lower lip as you eyed Loki from the corners of your eye, passing him in the hallway.

The God of Mischief smirked. “Like what?”

“Like you’re going to eat me alive, I can ensure you, I don’t taste good.”

It had been like this for weeks. Loki and you were dancing around each other, not quite friends but not quite enemies either. He was usually indifferent and cool to everyone, allowing no one to get close to him. Honestly, you did not blame him, who were you to judge?

“I beg to differ, little mortal.” He muttered under his breath before disappearing around the corner.

Opening up to people took a lot of courage, confidence and trust. You had been there. You had done it. You had paid the price. Never before, however, had you met a man whom you so desperately wanted to talk to you about his feelings.

He was hurting, of course he was. They all were, in a way, with Thanos having vaporised their loved ones and friends with but a single snap. Perhaps it was you getting closer and closer to your period this month that you wanted to comfort and cry with him all the while stroking his beautiful raven hair, or perhaps it was the fact Valentine’s Day was coming up… but who were you kidding?

Hardly anyone cared about holidays anymore. Christmas and New Year’s Eve had passed by without notice, with no one being able to celebrate the merry times. There was no reason for you to be cheerful either, really but given there was no one you had had left to lose, you were emotionally… detached from what was happening in the world around you.

Whether this was a good thing or much rather a disadvantage, you did not know yet. Anyhow, it did not change the fact you felt compassion towards the superheroes, especially towards Loki. Well, was he? A superhero? Probably not. If anything, Loki was a cheeky antihero but that only made him all the more interesting.

You met Clint and Thor when you entered the kitchen to get yourself a cup of tea. You might not be as mentally drained as the others, but you still had trouble falling asleep night after night. Tea usually helped.

Clint was staring out of the window, presumably thinking about his dead wife whom he would have surprised with heart-shaped chocolate and a bouquet of flowers tomorrow. At times like this, you were better off not to break the silence, get your cup of tea and leave again.

“(Y/N),” Thor murmured with a nod. He was, most likely, the only one who had been lucky. Loki was back. He was alive, safe and sound—well, more or less. You had seen through him by now. His lies and arrogance protected him, a hard and impenetrable layer shielding his tainted heart from any more pain. A sigh escaped your lips. What made it even worse was that Thor still could not see how much his brother was hurting.

Tossing and turning on your bed, you threw back your blanket and breathed out audibly. Frustration spread in your limbs as you sat up and hugged your knees. Perhaps you had been wrong and what was happening around you did actually affect you, for why else would you be unable to sleep until early in the morning day in and out?

Was it the darkness around you? The fact the black left you alone with your thoughts? Another sigh. You should just give up for tonight and head to the kitchen to make yourself another cup of tea. As soon as you entered the pitch-black hallway, however, there was a silent moan catching your attention.

Tensing up, you halted and listened, biting your lower lip in the process. Hearing strange noises at night was never a good sign, every single horror movie you had ever watched had taught you that. If Thanos decided now to attack again, you were pretty much screwed. You didn’t want to die wearing only an oversized t-shirt and black knickers.

There it was again! It sounded more than a mere moan this time. Someone was crying for help, whining. It came from Loki’s room. Was he being attacked? Were you right after all and Thanos had come back tonight?

Grabbing the closest object you could use as a weapon—a still moist umbrella—you tiptoed across the hallway and carefully opened the door to his bedroom. There was no Thanos, no trace of a fight… only a panting God of Mischief jerking on the bed.

“No… no… no!” Sweat was pooling on his forehead, his breathing shallow and rapid. Loki’s fists clenched at the creamy white bed sheets, desperate to hold on to reality but unable to escape the demons in his mind. “Stop! I can’t… I can’t… NO!”

Even now, he was incredibly beautiful. His chest, not as muscly as Thor’s but still well defined was pale, almost reflecting the moonlight shining through his open window and forming a breath-taking contrast to his raven hair falling over his shoulders.

It was chilly. Naturally, as a Frost Giant, he did not seem to bother. His lower body half was still covered by the bed sheets, leaving little to nothing to your imagination. You wondered, instantly, whether he was sleeping naked. But that was not a priority right now.

Loki was still twitching and it broke your heart to see him suffer. The frown on his face was deep, cutting into his beautiful features.

“Shhhh… Loki, wake up, you’re having a bad dream.”

But the God of Mischief did not react, almost as if he had already descended to the madness inside of his own mind, devouring him from the inside out.

“Loki, please, wake up.” Forgetting yourself, you sat down on his bed, reaching for his hair to stroke it lightly. He looked… so innocent, vulnerable. It almost appeared as if in his dreams, he showed his real, raw emotions clawing at him mercilessly. You wanted to help him so desperately you felt your own heart ache. Whatever it was he was dreaming, it was hell.

So you did the first and last thing that came to your mind. If you could not reach his conscious, then perhaps you could reach his unconscious. Putting the umbrella down, you began to sing.

“Fríða náttin er ein eimur, stjørnugrús, nú vaknar heimur…“ Eivør was a Faroese musician whose music you adored. Her songs had helped you improve your Icelandic and Faroese skills so much you were now able to hold entire conversations and even read tiny snippets from the Edda.

Funny, you realised, how the lyrics of the song applied to you. The beautiful night is glowing ashes, in a mass of stars the world awakes.

“Nakin standi eg, eina her… maður vakur men so styggur… nærkast varisliga, hyggur… taradimt er hár, tinnuhúð.”

Naked I stand, alone on this spot. A man so fine but so timid warily approaches, watches. His hair as dark as seaweed, his skin as fair as crystalline stone… you smiled. You were singing about Loki. Much importantly, however, it seemed to work. The God of Mischief began to relax, his frown disappearing. He had stopped thrashing, his breathing slowly calming down again. He did not wake but now, you did not want him to anymore. Now, he seemed at peace again.

“Verð mín, verð mín, verð mín…” Be mine, be mine, be mine, my world. You kept singing for a while longer, until you had reached the end of the song all the while playing with Loki’s black hair. Only then, after making sure he was sleeping peacefully again, you retreated and returned to your own room to finally drift off yourself.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Loki.” You muttered before you picked up the umbrella, left his room and quietly closed the door behind you.

Naturally, you didn’t expect Loki to remember you had come to his room last night to stop his nightmare, nor did you want to remind him. He had been vulnerable as is and you were by far not close enough for you to pry into his personal matters. You had felt sorry for him though, you had wanted to help.

Sighing tiredly, you marched into the bathroom and took off your clothes, ready for a hot shower to start the day and humming absentmindedly in the process. Ever since yesterday, the song you had sung to Loki was stuck in your head and there was something about showers… as soon as you had turned on the water and stepped underneath the warm spurts, you began to sing again.

You took your time washing your body, letting the water wake up your muscles and skin. Your eyes fell shut as you sang, leaning your head back to wet your hair.

When you opened them again, you shrieked. Loki was standing right in front of you behind the glass door of the shower, his expression both curious and astonished.

“Loki, what the fuck! I’m naked!”

The God of Mischief only tilted his head in response, seemingly unimpressed while you desperately attempted to cover your private parts with your hands to not much avail.

“I recognise this song. It sounds like the ones Mother used to sing to us as children and yet… this one I remember not. Do tell me, how are you able to speak Old Norse?”

“It’s not Old Norse, it’s Faroese and it’s a very modern song, actually!” You replied hysterically.

He shrugged. “Faroese… a mere descendant of the original language then. That does not answer my question.”

“I studied it. I study Icelandic and Faroese because I like Scandinavian culture and history. How do you think I know so much about the Norse myths? Now get the fuck out, I’m taking a shower!”

You knew of course, how he recognised the song but you were certainly not going to discuss it with him now… not while one of you was stark naked and dripping wet.

“I have seen naked women before, little mortal.” He retorted smirking mischievously. Finally, his blue eyes darted up and down, taking in your whole form. You felt heat creeping up your cheeks. You were shy, that for sure, yet at the very same time, having him examine you so intimately was an incredible turn on. What was he thinking, you wondered? Did he like what he saw?

Blinking, you shook your head. This was not the time to ponder over sexual fantasies.

“That’s not the point and you know that! Get out!” You yelled, making him chuckle darkly. Much to your surprise, however, he did as he was told.

You should have known better. As soon as you left the bathroom again, dressed only in a white towel covering your naked body, you found him sitting on your bed with slightly spread legs, playing with his fingers as if he was nervous.

“I do not like not knowing things.” He began before you could scold him. “And that song is familiar. I demand to know where it is from. I am genuinely interested.”

Sighing, you crossed your arms and sat down next to him, looking at your naked toes for a while. You must have made quite an impact on him last night if he remembered the song so well and on top of that, was desperate to learn why it was so familiar to him.

“You demand to know, huh?” Giggling, you looked up at him and shook your head. He still looked peaceful. Like he had slept well for the first time in a long while. “Well, uh… Loki, I…”

Should you really tell him? What if he yelled at you for invading his privacy? But then again, you had not harmed him, now had you? So much for keeping your visit a secret.

“I heard you last night. Screaming. You were having a nightmare.”

Loki tensed up. Avoiding your gaze, you found his lips parting, waiting for you to continue. What did he expect you to do? Mock him?

“I… tried to wake you up but it didn’t work, so I… I sang.”

He breathed out audibly.

“I thought you wouldn’t remember but clearly, you do.”

For a while, Loki simply said nothing. He sat there in silence, leaving you hanging nervously. Then, just when you thought he would say no more and leave without another word, he suddenly opened his mouth.

“Thank you.” He uttered, barely audible. You could tell immediately he did not express his gratitude often—it made him about as vulnerable as he had been yesterday. In response, you simple leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tightly for what felt like half an eternity.

Loki inhaled deeply, relishing your scent. You had used coconut shampoo, he could tell. The urge to slip his hands underneath the towel rose with every passing second. Loki quickly drew away before it overwhelmed him.

“(Y/N)…” He murmured. Your name from his lips sounded like liquid honey you wanted to kiss and taste him.

“I’m not going to tell anyone.” You promised before he could even finish.

The God of Mischief smirked.

“Is it not Valentine’s Day today?” He asked cheekily then.

“Um, yes?”

“And what do mortal men usually do to court their women on this day?”

“They, uh… buy them flowers and chocolate.”

Loki raised his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed.

“Now, that will not do. Wear a warm coat. I shall pick you up in half an hour. Surely, you have never seen the famous Northern Lights with your own eyes.” He decided, standing and leaving you behind with your eyes wide and your mouth hanging open.

A/N: Let me just add here that I envy those of you who can actually speak Faroese and/or Icelandic. Such beautiful languages I definitely want to learn at some point.

Guys, if you liked this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me and my work on KoFi! It’s easy, it’s anonymous and you can do it from all over the world! ♥ ko-fi.com/sserpente