#london green loop

[seafarersdream]

The Draconic | 18+ (Modern AU Aegon Targaryen x Y/N)

When you’re in London, The Draconic is the place to be. It’s only the hottest club in town, where the drinks are as fiery as the dragons they’re named after, owned by Aegon Targaryen, the self-proclaimed nightlife king. Enter Y/N, Helaena’s best friend, who somehow finds herself tagging along, knowing Helaena’s outings usually end with a story worth telling (or hiding).

TW // Explicit sexual content, profanities, rough sex, mild BDSM elements, substance use (alcohol), smoking.

The Draconic exudes an air of mystery and exclusivity, with its grand entrance flanked by imposing dragon sculptures and the soft glow of green and gold lights illuminating the facade.

Inside, sultry Bossa Nova music drifts through the air, mingling with the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses. The main lounge is a spectacle of emerald and gold hues, with plush velvet seating and marble floors adorned with dragon motifs. Crystal chandeliers cast a shimmering light over the scene, creating an almost otherworldly ambiance.

At the center of the revelry, basking in the attention, stands Aegon Targaryen. He is every bit the king of this lavish domain, exuding confidence and charm as he mingles with the elite guests. His presence is magnetic, drawing eyes and whispers as he moves through the room, a glass of the finest bourbon in hand.

Y/N stood at the entrance of The Draconic, her eyes wide with awe as she took in the grandeur of the club. “Fuck me, this place is something else, Hel,” she muttered, her voice dripping with astonishment.

Helaena, with a cheeky grin, looped her arm through Y/N’s. “Told you, love. My brother couldn’t do subtle if it slapped him in the face.”

Y/N grinned. “Just promise me we won't end up in the tabloids... again.”

Helaena laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, darling, wherever Aegon goes, the cameras follow. It's like he's got his own bloody paparazzi fan club.”

Y/N snorted. “And it doesn’t help that your brother goes through London socialites faster than toilet paper in a public loo.”

Helaena rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. Last week, he was dating some heiress named Daphne. This week, it’s a Russian model called Tatiana. Next week, who knows? Perhaps the prime minister’s daughter.”

They made their way inside, the sultry Bossa Nova music wrapping around them like a velvet cloak. The air was perfumed with the scent of expensive cologne and the subtle, smoky undertone of fine cigars. As they passed through the grand foyer, Y/N couldn't help but marvel at the dragon sculptures and the exquisite marble flooring.

“No phones allowed, remember,” Helaena reminded her, handing over their devices to the stern-looking security guard.

They entered the main lounge, and Y/N felt as if she'd stepped into another world. Patrons lounged on emerald green velvet seats, their conversations low and conspiratorial. The bar, a stunning creation of green onyx and gold, was the centerpiece of the room, with bartenders expertly mixing drinks for the elite clientele.

“There he is,” Helaena said, nudging Y/N. “Aegon.”

At the heart of the room, Aegon Targaryen commanded the space. His silver hair was slicked back, and his suit was tailored to perfection. He exuded an effortless charm, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips as he entertained his guests. The golden dragon pin on his lapel caught the light, a symbol of his dominion over this lavish playground.

“Come now, let's go say hi,” Helaena urged, dragging Y/N through the throng of people.

As they approached, Aegon’s eyes flicked towards them, a slow, calculating smile spreading across his face. “Sister! And this must be…?” he inquired, his voice smooth and welcoming, yet laced with a hint of something darker.

Y/N steeled herself, trying to exude confidence. “Y/N,” she introduced herself, noting that up close, Aegon was even more striking—his silver hair and lilac eyes giving him an almost ethereal allure.

“Ah, so this is the Y/N I’ve heard so much about,” Aegon said with a chuckle, his eyes lingering on her.

Helaena shot him a playful but warning glare. “Stop flirting with my best friend, Aegon. Go find another prey,” she quipped, though there was an edge to her tone that suggested she meant it.

Aegon chuckled lowly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I was merely admiring,” he said, his voice dripping with insincere innocence.

Helaena stuck her tongue out at him and grabbed Y/N's arm, dragging her toward the bar. “Come on, let’s get you something to drink.”

She ordered two Dragon Blood cocktails, which arrived looking unnervingly realistic, the deep red liquid swirling ominously in the glass.

Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes boring into the back of her head. She took a sip of her drink, trying to ignore the unease. But she had a pretty good guess as to who was responsible for the intense gaze.

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Y/N and Helaena were well into their cups, each clutching a glass of Dark Sister cocktail. The liquid inside was an enchanting, a sinister shade of dark red almost purple, flecked with silver specks that swirled hypnotically. The taste was a heady mix of pomegranate and absinthe, with a smoky undertone that left a tantalizing burn in its wake.

Surrounded by a veritable graveyard of empty glasses—was this their eighth drink? Eleventh? They’d lost count hours ago—the two friends were deep in a rambling conversation about Helaena’s eccentric family.

“I mean, can you believe it?” Helaena slurred, her cheeks flushed with a rosy glow. ���Mum's dating Rhaenyra.”

Y/N nearly choked. “Rhaenyra? As in, your half-sister Rhaenyra? The one who also has kids with your uncle Daemon?”

Helaena giggled, nodding vigorously. “Tell me about it. Every time I turn around, there's another plot twist. Yes, that one! So now, technically, my mum is dating my half-sister. It’s like our family tree is a vine, just tangling and looping all over the place.”

Y/N burst into laughter, almost spilling her drink. “That’s bloody brilliant. Do they make you call her mum or sis?”

Helaena cackled, nearly tipping off her stool. “Oh, gods, it’s even worse. Mum’s taken to calling her Nyra in that sickeningly sweet voice. And don't get me started on the kids—Joffrey, my little nephew, is fucking confused on how to address Alicent, bless him.”

Y/N was in stitches, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t even—imagine the Christmas dinners!”

Helaena grinned, raising her glass. “Here’s to family. Because who needs enemies when you’ve got relatives like mine?”

They clinked their glasses, the liquid inside shimmering under the club's lights. Y/N leaned in conspiratorially. “So, what’s the deal with Aemond? I haven’t seen him in ages.”

Helaena chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, Aemond. He’s gone completely off the grid. Last I heard, he was up north in Stromness. When I spoke to him, he was convinced he’d found evidence of a kraken. Sent me a photo of some squiggly line in the water and everything.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t he a marine biologist or something?”

Helaena nodded, her grin widening. “Yeah, that’s the one. But he’s got this bizarre obsession with mythical creatures.”

Y/N laughed, this time spilling almost half of her drink. “Does he have a little notebook for his ‘discoveries’ too?”

Helaena snorted. “Oh, he’s got notebooks, alright. Filled with sketches of ‘sightings’ and elaborate plans to capture a sea serpent. We’re talking full-on mad scientist vibes.”

Y/N could hardly contain her amusement. “I can just picture him, all serious, scanning the horizon for a glimpse of a mythical beast. Does he ever actually do any real marine biology work?”

Helaena took another sip of her drink. “He does, but only when he’s not busy chasing legends. Last Christmas, he gave us all ‘Unseelie Repellent Spray.’ It was just water in a fancy bottle, but he was dead serious about it.”

Y/N shook her head in amusement. “Your family is a goldmine of entertainment, Hel. I don’t know how you keep up with it.”

Helaena shrugged, a playful smile on her lips. “It’s either laugh or cry, and I’d much rather laugh.

Suddenly, Helaena felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find Oscar Tully standing there, his red, curly hair as wild as ever. His boyish face was littered with freckles, and he wore his signature lopsided grin.

“Oscar!” Helaena exclaimed, her eyes lighting up.

“Hel!” Oscar replied, matching her enthusiasm.

The breakup had been mutual, and they’d managed to stay on good terms. They launched into small talk, catching up on life since they last saw each other.

“So, how’s the trout farm going?” Helaena asked.

Oscar rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Swimmingly, thanks for asking. Someone’s got to keep the world supplied.”

Y/N watched the exchange with amusement.

Oscar turned to her with a grin. “Mind if I steal Hel away for a bit? I promise to return her in one piece.”

Y/N waved her hand dramatically. “Oh, by all means, take her.”

He offered his arm to Helaena with a playful bow. “Milady?”

Helaena rolled her eyes but took his arm. As Y/N watched them blend into the crowd, she decided she’d had enough alcohol for one night. She could bet everything she had that Helaena would come back as drunk as George IV.

Standing up, she stumbled a bit and decided to find a quieter place to collect her thoughts. She remembered spotting some private booths earlier, each with high-backed, gold-trimmed seats and curtains that could be drawn for privacy. Each booth had a unique dragon nameplate.

She randomly picked one marked “Sunfyre,” thinking it would be empty.

To her shock, inside she found Aegon reclined luxuriously on the plush seat, his suit jacket discarded and shirt unbuttoned. The stunning brunette was on her knees between his legs, her head bobbing rhythmically as she performed the act with evident expertise. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and Aegon’s hand was entangled in her locks, guiding her movements with a mixture of roughness and intensity.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she took in the scene, her breath catching in her throat. The woman’s lips glistened as they slid up and down Aegon’s cock, her hands working in tandem to heighten his pleasure. The air was thick with the sounds of their illicit encounter—the soft, wet noises of the brunette’s efforts and Aegon’s low, guttural groans of satisfaction.

His eyes were closed, his head tilted back against the booth, lost in the sensations. His grip on the brunette’s hair tightened as he pulled her closer, his hips thrusting slightly in response. But then, as if sensing the intrusion, he opened his eyes and locked onto Y/N’s stunned gaze.

For a moment, neither moved. Y/N stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest, unable to tear her eyes away from the intimate scene. Aegon’s expression shifted from pleasure to surprise.

Before he could say anything, Y/N snapped out of her stupor, spinning on her heel and practically fleeing from the booth. Her mind raced, the vivid image of Aegon seared into her memory. She needed a drink—something strong—to process what she had just witnessed. The night had taken an unexpected turn, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for where it was heading.

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Y/N ordered two of the strongest cocktails served at the bar. The bartender, with a knowing smile, brought her a pair of Death by Flames. She downed the first in one go, feeling the intense heat and smoky flavors hit her like a fiery wave, but realized nothing could erase the image of Aegon from her mind.

“Motherfucker,” she muttered, cursing at herself. “Why do I always have the shittiest luck in the entire country?”

Cursing under her breath, she berated herself and her rotten luck. With frustration bubbling up, she decided to make a beeline for the loo, hoping that a splash of cold water might help clear her head.

Y/N stumbled into the bathroom, taking in the dragon-shaped faucets and sinks made of green marble. Gold accents and dragon motifs were everywhere, maintaining the club’s theme. Soft, ambient lighting in shades of green and gold created a warm, inviting atmosphere, with hidden LED strips along the walls and floor adding subtle highlights that enhanced the overall ambiance without overpowering the space.

She splashed her face repeatedly with water, each splash accompanied by a string of colorful profanities. “Bloody hell, piss off, for fuck's sake!”

She glanced at her reflection, seeing the crazed look and blown pupils. “Great, now I look like I’m the one who just gave someone else a fucking blowjob,” she groaned.

She fumbled with her bag, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, hoping to calm her frayed nerves. As she lit up and took a deep drag, she caught her reflection again and decided it was time for a monologue, just to vent her frustration.

“Alright, Y/N, let’s have a little chat. What the actual fuck were you thinking? Did you honestly believe you’d find a quiet spot in a place called The Draconic? Clearly, you’ve lost the plot.”

She took another drag, pacing back and forth. “Oh, sure, let’s follow Helaena. What could possibly go wrong? Well, let me tell you, everything. First, you walk in on Aegon, the living embodiment of a Greek god getting a blow job from a woman who probably just stepped out of a lingerie commercial. And you? You're standing here, looking like you've just crawled out of a bloody coal mine. Fabulous.”

She paused, flicking ash into the sink. “Why, oh why, did I think coming to this club was a good idea? I’ve got Helaena’s ex chatting her up, and me, well, I’m left with the delightful mental image of Aegon’s magnificent cock. Just brilliant. What’s next? Is the bloody Kraken going to pop out of the toilet?”

Taking one last drag of her cigarette, she flicked it into the dragon-shaped ashtray with a flourish. “Right, Y/N. Time to pull yourself together, go back out there, and pretend you didn’t just have the most insane moment of your life. Maybe I’ll even find Helaena and we can laugh about this... in about ten years.”

With that, she took a deep breath, splashed her face one last time for good measure, and steeled herself.

It seemed the gods were laughing at her existence because Aegon is leaning casually against the wall outside, a cigarette dangling from his lips and that infuriating smirk plastered on his face.

“Why’d you leave, love? I was about to ask you to join,” he said cheekily.

“Fuck off, Aegon,” she muttered quietly, trying to sidestep him and avoid further embarrassment.

But Aegon moved to block her only path back to the main area. He stood there effectively cornering her.

“Come on, don't be like that,” Aegon teased, leaning closer. “It was just a bit of fun.”

Y/N glared at him, her nerves fraying even more. “Your idea of fun is a bloody nightmare for everyone else.”

Aegon chuckled, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “Oh, you wound me, beautiful. Can’t a man enjoy a bit of company in peace?”

Y/N sighed, looking at him with exasperation. “Look, I didn’t mean to walk in on you. It was pure accident.”

Aegon shrugged it off nonchalantly. “No need for apologies. But did you at least enjoy the show?”

Y/N’s cheeks reddened, her breaths coming raggedly. “I’ve seen better,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

Aegon looked at her, unimpressed, clearly not believing her. He took the cigarette from his lips and held it to her mouth so she could take a drag. She hesitated but then took a deep pull, the smoke burning her throat, but the distraction was welcome.

“So, where’s Helaena?” he asked, taking the cigarette back.

“She was whisked away by Oscar and hasn’t been seen since,” Y/N explained, still trying to compose herself.

Aegon raised an eyebrow. “Oscar, huh? Well, that explains a lot. Guess it’s just you and me then.”

Y/N sighed, feeling the massive amount of alcohol she had consumed catching up to her. Her head was starting to pound. “Can I have some water?” she asked, her voice a bit shaky.

Aegon’s smirk softened slightly, and he nodded. “Of course, love.” He placed his hand on her lower back, guiding her gently toward his private office.

The office was a stark contrast to the chaos outside, a sanctuary of dark leather and polished wood. Aegon motioned for her to sit on a leather sofa as he poured a glass of water from a crystal decanter.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her the glass. “Drink up.”

Y/N took the glass gratefully, drinking deeply, the cool water soothing her parched throat and clearing her head slightly. She glanced around the office, noting the various dragon-themed decorations.

“Thanks,” she said, setting the empty glass down on a nearby table.

Aegon leaned against his desk, watching her with amusement and. “Feeling better?”

“A bit,” she admitted, rubbing her temples. “This night has been... a lot.”

Aegon chuckled. “Welcome to The Draconic. It’s never boring, that’s for sure.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, despite everything. “You can say that again.”

Aegon’s grin widened. “Believe it or not, this is one of the tamer nights.”

Trying to be smooth, Y/N asked, “So, where’s your… friend or companion or whatever?”

Aegon shrugged nonchalantly. “Don’t know, don’t care,” he said, his grin turning slightly wicked.

Y/N bit her lip, trying hard to hide the growing wetness between her thighs as she watched him. There was something undeniably magnetic about Aegon, and despite her better judgment, she couldn’t help but feel drawn to him.

“Must be nice, having that kind of freedom,” she said, her voice a bit huskier than intended.

Aegon’s eyes darkened slightly, his gaze locking onto hers. “It has its perks,” he replied, his voice low.

Y/N felt her pulse quicken, the tension between them thickening. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Well, thanks for the water. I should probably get back to Helaena.”

Aegon pushed himself off the desk and stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “Sure you don’t want to stick around a bit longer? I can be very entertaining.” he said, his voice dripping with suggestion. “Besides, Helaena is probably also occupied.”

He began to circle around her like a serpent, his eyes never leaving hers. Y/N shivered, feeling the intensity of his gaze and the heat of his proximity. The room seemed to close in around them.

Y/N breathed out quietly, her voice shaking. “I’m Helaena’s friend,” she said, more to convince herself than anyone else. “I shouldn’t be doing anything with her brother.”

Aegon put a hand under her chin, his finger tracing her lips as he whispered, “She doesn’t have to know.”

Y/N moved forward, their lips now almost touching. She could feel his breath, warm and intoxicating, mingling with hers. Her fingers found their way to the nape of his neck, playing with the ends of his hair, feeling the softness against her skin.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, the words more for her own reassurance.

“As you say, love,” Aegon whispered back, his voice a seductive purr.

In an instant, they clashed into each other, their lips meeting in a rough, demanding kiss that felt like they were devouring each other. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of them suspended in a moment of dangerous excitement. Their hands moved frantically, tugging at each other’s clothes with a desperate urgency. Y/N felt Aegon’s hands at her back, unzipping her dress, while she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, their mouths never breaking contact.

“Oh, God, Aegon,” she gasped between kisses, feeling his hands on her skin, the heat of his touch igniting something deep within her.

“Y/N,” he growled, his voice thick with desire.

The kiss deepened, becoming almost primal, as if they were trying to consume each other completely. Y/N’s dress fell to the floor, and she felt the cool air against her skin, contrasting sharply with the heat radiating between them. Aegon’s shirt joined her dress on the ground, followed by his belt and trousers. Her hands roamed over his bare chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath, as his fingers traced the curves of her body.

“Fuck,” Aegon muttered, his lips trailing down her neck, “you’re fit.”

Y/N gasped as his mouth moved lower, his hands gripping her hips with a possessive hunger. He kissed a path down her body, his breath hot against her skin. She shivered, feeling the intense pull of desire.

“Stop,” she managed to say, though her protest was weak. “You’re leaving marks.”

“Good,” Aegon murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction. “I want everyone to know you’re mine tonight.”

Y/N shuddered as his mouth found her clit, his tongue teasing and sucking with expert precision. Her hands tangled in his hair, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. Aegon was relentless, his hunger evident in every movement.

“You arrogant bastard,” she gasped, her body betraying her as pleasure surged through her.

Aegon chuckled, the sound vibrating against her most sensitive spot. “So wet, darling, all for me, huh?” he taunted, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

His fingers joined the assault, thrusting inside her with a rhythm that had her seeing stars. Aegon was a god at this, his fingers curling just right while his tongue continued its relentless teasing. Y/N’s mewls turned into desperate cries, her body trembling under his assault.

“Mmm, you like that, don’t you?” he murmured against her clit, his tone a mix of degradation and praise. “Such a good girl, taking everything I give you.”

Her body arched, her hips moving instinctively to meet his fingers, the intensity of his touch driving her wild. “Aegon, please,” she whimpered, her voice barely a whisper.

“Begging already?” he smirked, increasing the pressure of his fingers. “Look at you, falling apart just for me.”

Y/N’s vision blurred, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. She was so close, the sensations overwhelming her. His mouth never let up, his tongue a constant source of exquisite torture.

“Come on, love,” he urged, his voice husky with desire. “Let go for me.”

With a final, intense suck and a twist of his fingers, Y/N’s world shattered. Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing as she squirted hard, her juices soaking Aegon’s hand and mouth.

“Shit, love,” Aegon groaned, his eyes dark with lust as he watched her. “That’s fucking hot.”

He didn’t stop, drawing out her orgasm with gentle licks and caresses. Y/N’s body trembled, her mind barely able to process the overwhelming pleasure.

As the waves of her climax slowly subsided, she collapsed back, breathless and spent. Aegon moved up, his lips brushing against hers in a possessive kiss.

“I could watch you come like that all night.”

Y/N could only nod weakly, her body still trembling, as she tried to catch her breath.

Aegon began pumping his cock, his hand moving in smooth, practiced strokes. Pre-cum was already leaking from the tip, his veins throbbing with need. He sat down and guided her to straddle him. As she settled on top of him, Y/N noticed a strategically placed mirror, reflecting their entwined bodies clearly.

Aegon’s eyes darkened with a primal hunger. “Ride me, love,” he commanded, his voice low and rough.

Y/N positioned herself over him, her hands on his shoulders for balance, and slowly lowered herself onto his throbbing cock. The sensation was intense, both of them groaning as he filled her completely. She began to move, bouncing expertly, the squelching sounds echoing in the room.

“Fuck, you ride like a slut,” Aegon taunted, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks. “So wet and desperate for me.”

Her eyes caught the mirror again, watching as she rode him with wild abandon. The sight was incredibly arousing. Aegon’s fingers wrapped around her throat, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp.

“You like that, don’t you?” he taunted, his grip tightening slightly. “You like being fucked like this.”

Y/N’s moans were half-choked, her eyes rolling back as the pressure on her throat intensified the pleasure. “Yes,” she gasped out, her voice strained. “I love it.”

Aegon’s eyes were locked on where their bodies met, watching as her cream formed a white ring at the base of his cock. “Look at that,” he said as he tuts at her. “You’re making such a mess, love.”

Y/N’s body responded to his words, her movements becoming more frantic. She was riding him hard, her nails digging into his backs, leaving marks of her own.

Aegon groaned, his grip tightening as he felt her walls clench around him. “That’s it, love,” he murmured, his voice thick with pleasure. “Just like that.”

“Aegon, I’m so close,” she moaned, her body trembling with the impending climax.

“Come for me, Y/N,” he commanded, his voice full of raw desire. “I want to feel you.”

With a final, desperate bounce, Y/N’s body convulsed, her orgasm ripping through her with such force that she squirted again, much to Aegon’s delight. He watched with a mixture of pride and lust as she trembled above him. His own release followed closely, exploding inside her and painting her insides with his cum.

The room reeked of sex, the intense scent of their passion filling the air. Aegon held her close, their bodies still entwined, his hands moving gently over her back as he rubbed her hair, soothing the aftermath. They stayed like that for a moment, their breaths mingling, gradually slowing down.

Y/N’s pussy was overstimulated, every slight movement sending tremors through her body. She trembled uncontrollably, her muscles twitching with the aftershocks of their intense lovemaking.

Aegon held her close, his voice a soothing whisper in her ear. “You did so well for me, darling,” he murmured, his tone filled with both admiration and tenderness.

He shifted slightly, still inside her, causing her to gasp as another wave of sensation coursed through her. “Fuck, love,” he continued, his breath hot against her ear. “How am I supposed to not crave your cunt after this?”

Y/N could only manage a weak smile, her body still recovering from the overwhelming pleasure. She leaned into his touch, finding comfort in his arms.

Aegon’s fingers continued to trace soothing patterns on her skin, his breath warm against her ear. “You’re amazing,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. “Absolutely fucking amazing.”

They shared a tender kiss, a huge contrast to what had just transpired. Aegon’s lips were soft and gentle, offering a moment of intimacy that grounded them both.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered, standing up carefully. He retrieved a warm, clean towel and returned to her side, gently cleaning the insides of her thighs. Y/N watched him fondly, her heart warming at the unexpected tenderness.

“What a gentleman,” she teased, her voice light with amusement.

Aegon winked at her. “Don’t tell anyone.”

After cleaning her up, he poured her a glass of cold water. “Drink up,” he said, handing it to her. “You need to stay hydrated.”

Y/N took the glass, sipping gratefully, still watching him with a smile. He then grabbed a spare shirt from a nearby drawer and slipped it over her head, his fingers lingering as he admired how it looked on her. The shirt was oversized, hanging loosely on her frame, but Aegon seemed to like it that way.

“Acting like a doting boyfriend now, are we?” Y/N teased, raising an eyebrow at him.

Aegon smirked, adjusting the shirt on her shoulders. “I knew this shirt would look fantastic on you, and I was right.”

“Oh? Well, in that case, I might as well keep it then.”

Aegon chuckled. “You’ll have to earn it, love.”

She grinned, leaning in to give him a quick peck on the lips. “Consider it a down payment.”

Aegon laughed, pulling her closer. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Y/N laughed along with him, feeling a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the afterglow of their encounter. “I’ll take my chances.”

Aegon grinned, leaning in to kiss her again. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

Y/N kissed him deeply, their lips melding with a renewed passion. His hands found their way to her arse, gripping it firmly as he pulled her closer.

But then the door flew open, and Helaena stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock. “Oh great, I’m forever traumatized,” she exclaimed, a scandalized gasp escaping her lips.

The evidence of their encounter was plain as day. The whole room reeked of sex, and there were suspicious liquid remains on the floor.

“Really? In my brother’s office?” Helaena berated, her hands on her hips.

Y/N’s face turned crimson, and she tried to hide her face in Aegon’s shoulder, mortified. Aegon, however, was laughing shamelessly.

“Oh, come on, Hel,” Aegon said. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

Helaena’s eyes narrowed as she glared at both of them. “Dramatic? The room smells like a brothel, and I just walked in on my brother groping my best friend!”

“You do have impeccable timing,” Aegon managed to say between laughs.

Y/N peeked out from behind Aegon, still embarrassed. “I… I can explain?”

Helaena rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, please don’t. I think the evidence speaks for itself.”

Aegon grinned, pulling Y/N closer. “Come on, Hel. You know you love us.”

Helaena shook her head, unable to suppress a smile despite her mock indignation. “You two are disgusting. Just… clean up after yourselves, will you?”

Y/N nodded vigorously, still trying to hide her face. “We will, promise.”

As Helaena left, muttering about needing eye bleach, Aegon and Y/N burst into laughter. Y/N shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “I guess I’m keeping this shirt after all.”

“Damn right you are,” Aegon said with a smile. He paused, looking at her thoughtfully. “So, when are you free?”

Y/N blinked, confused. “Free for what?”

Aegon rolled his eyes playfully. “I’m taking you out on a date, woman.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “A date? After all this?”

Aegon grinned, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “Course, You’ve already seen the worst of me. Now please let me try to impress you properly.”

Y/N pretended to ponder this, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, let me think about it. I mean, you did just make a mess of the place, and you have a habit of getting caught in compromising positions...”

Aegon chuckled, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. “Oh, come on. You know you want to. Besides, how many people can say they had their first date after walking in on said person mid-blowjob?”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Alright, you’ve got a point there.”

She gave him a mock-serious look. “Okay, 5 PM next Friday, Targaryen. Don’t be late.”

Aegon pumps his fist in celebration. “I’ll be there on the dot, love. You just wait.”

“You know,” she said, looking up at him, “this has to be the strangest way I’ve ever agreed to a date.”

Aegon grinned. “Well, I’m nothing if not memorable.”

Y/N smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her. “That you are.”

She took a deep breath and reluctantly stepped back from him. “I should go find Helaena and do some damage control before she decides to disown both of us.”

Aegon laughed, nodding. “Good idea. She’ll get over it… eventually.”

“Don’t be late,” she said with a playful smirk.

Aegon raised his hands in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t dare.”

With one last smile, Y/N turned and headed for the door.

[petermorwood]

More Sword Questions...

These are further questions prompted by a post already long enough that I’m not reblogging the whole thing.  It’s here.

@softness-and-shattering (who posted the original Ask) wrote:

Thank you so much! What Im getting is that there arent any exact rules, different people and places mixed and matched sword features as they liked. Is that more or less correct? The swords that are green, is that oxidization? Theyre very pretty. And if fullers are to reduce sword weight, what are ridges for? Thanks again :)

*****

(1) Yes, it's oxidation. The uncomplimentary word is "tarnish", the complimentary word is "patina". Bronze swords in museums can be various colours ranging from green (verdigris)...

...through golden...

...to shades of brown and almost black.

I don’t know why (archaeological metallurgy is a mystery to me) but at a guess it's related to the acidity of the ground in which they were found, the proportions of copper / tin / other metals in their bronze.

It may also be the point at which conservators decided they'd gone far enough with that particular artefact and further restoration / cleaning would cause damage.

*****

(2) Ridges on sword-blades add stiffness, is the remnant of the bar or rod of steel from which the sword was made, and are created as the blade's final form is hammered out on either side, leaving a sort of raised centre-parting.

(If this is over-simplified or just plain wrong and swordsmiths reading it are going "Nooo!", please correct me!) ;->

Here's one example with a very prominent ridge, from the Victoria & Albert Museum in London...

...and another with a more restrained centre-line from the Metropolitan Museum in New York.

*****

(3) Sword shapes and features changed depending on functional requirements. If a shape worked and its use didn’t change, it stayed the same. The Roman gladius and Japanese katana are two examples of not much change in shape over several centuries.

Demands of fashion also played a part in what kind of sword was worn when and with what.

While swords (not just Messers or falchions or other "fighting knives") do appear without armour in medieval art...

...swords only became a regular part of civilian dress in the mid-late 1400s.

In Germany this was called a Reitschwert - "riding sword" - for self-defence when out (riding) in ordinary clothes. In Italy it was a spada da lato - "side-sword" - for what's now called EDC (every-day-carry) not just in war. In Spain it was an espada ropera - "robe sword" - for wear with regular clothes rather than armour.

That last one, worn down, mispronounced or just plain pinched, became "rapier", and because it was worn every day, with stylish garments, it became yet another way in which to show off.

The most common Europe-wide rapier was a "swept hilt", comprising bars and loops, while Spain and Spanish-influenced places like Italy preferred the "cup-hilt", which had a different style of swordplay.

Cup-hilts are familiar from movies because it's easy to dress up a sport-fencing sword as something much older. Here's a stage-combat modern épée and two real rapiers.

Cup-hilts could be plain metal bowls like those, or beautiful examples of chiselled, pierced metalwork.

Swept-hilts could be equally impressive.

They were proof that their wearers were dedicated followers of fashion, men of wealth and taste - and, of course, always armed and just as always ready to use what they carried at the drop of whatever was just dropped.

Duelling became a craze, laws against it were ignored, any excuse would do, and Shakespeare summed it up nicely:

MERCUTIO:  Nay, and there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou? why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more or a hair less in his beard than thou hast; thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes. What eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? With another for tying his new shoes with old riband? And yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling?

(That one about the doublet had echoes in 1922, with The Straw Hat Riot in New York, involving assaults on men who hadn't stopped wearing straw hats by the fashion-approved date of mid-September. At least nobody got run through...)

Oddly enough, portraits which include rapiers usually show swept-hilts, even in Spanish portraits where cup-hilts might be expected (I've seen a couple, but not many). Perhaps the artist didn’t have one to hand, or thought the swept-hilt style was more visually interesting.

The smallsword (shorter, lighter, less cumbersome to wear) replaced the rapier, and it too featured a lot in portraits. It was a piece of masculine jewellery, with a stiff narrow blade on an elegant hilt which might be metal...

...or some more exotic material like mother-of-pearl or porcelain.

Then fashion changed again, smallswords also went away, and once again the only people wearing swords on a regular basis were uniformed military types, whose swords could be all sorts of shapes and sizes depending on branch of service and function.

Even when that function is just to be part of regalia, and look good on parade.

[bright-and-burning]

who wants 577 words of landoscar first date cuteness. don't care here u go

The train jolts forwards. Oscar stumbles back, already bracing to apologize to the loud family of tourists huddled behind him, when his motion is halted.

Lando’s hooked his fingers in his belt loops, counterbalancing him.

“Not a regular, then?” Lando wiggles his eyebrows, tucked close to Oscar’s body, half serious, half playful. “If you’re waiting for the third date to tell me you drive some big SUV ‘round London, all you’re getting is the bill.”

Oscar can feel the grin spreading uncontrollably across his face at the knowledge that Lando’s just as invested as he is.

“Skipping straight over the second date? Bold move, Norris.” He forces his smile into something more manageable, more sheepish, and shrugs. “More of a cyclist, if I’m honest. Less of a crowd.”

“Big introvert, are you? Tracks.” Lando says it with a smile, no sting in his words.

“And you just love people, do you?”

Lando tilts his head, considering.

“I dunno…” His face scrunches up. Oscar resists the urge to press a kiss to the wrinkles on his nose. Barely. “You can disappear in a crowd. Feels like I’m not really a person, when it’s me and a hundred other people trying to get to work. Like, I am still, and I know everyone else is, but also none of us are?”

Oscar hums.

“Makes sense, I guess.” He pauses, mostly for dramatic effect, though he’d never admit it. “If I squint.”

Lando giggles.

Silence falls on them, as silent as the tube ever gets. It’s comfortable though, sharing space and air in their own bubble, just smiling softly at each other.

Lando’s clearly staring at his lips. Oscar’s probably just as obvious, really. He doesn’t care.

The train grinds to a halt, jerky stutter-stop sending Lando into Oscar. The doors open, stop announcement breaking through their bubble.

“Not a regular, huh?” Oscar teases.

“Got a little distracted,” Lando bites his lip a little when he says it. “Next stop’s mine, if you wanna— come over, or something.”

“Or something?”

Lando nods.

“Not usually a, uh,” he stops to deliberate over his next words, clearly eyeing the family behind Oscar, “‘Come over after the first date’ kind of guy,” he admits, and Oscar is only a little surprised, “But if you promise you aren’t hiding a Land Rover in a garage somewhere, we can call it the third.”

Lando’s fingers are still in his belt loops, tightening and loosening in a rhythm Oscar can’t help but try to follow.

He’s striking, was pretty in the warm light of the Italian place, prettier still under the streetlights as they’d wandered the area in unspoken agreement to keep going, to stretch the night into infinity, talking without pause.

Sharper now, under the harsh light of the train, green eyes practically lit from within.

The stop announcement comes over the speaker, far louder than it needs to be.

“Let’s call it three,” Oscar says, leaning in close enough to count Lando’s eyelashes as they flash up and down, “Because I refuse to kiss you on the tube.”

Lando’s fingers go tight again.

Oscar can feel the flush high on his cheeks. Can see it mirrored on Lando.

The doors slide open and Lando lets go of his jeans completely. Oscar only has a second to register the unexpected pang of absence before Lando’s grabbing his hand instead, dragging him out of the carriage as the omnipresent voice reminds them to mind the gap.

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 31 - Dusk

Tidmouth Train to Hell:

Pip and Emma stared at the timetable, not quite sure what to make of it. “Why is there a massive gap?” Pip finally said, still trying to wrap her head around the odd space from dusk until the next day. “Oh, that’s a Halloween tradition,” replied Bear, looking over from his own train. “Every Halloween they put us all away early for some reason. Never quite understood why, but each to their own and all that!” Pip scoffed, while Emma looked more bemused than anything.

The High-Speed diesels were still new to Sodor, and had only been once before, on trial during the summer period. This was their first October on the Island of Sodor, and all month they’d been amazed to find that the engines were far more interested in the holiday and its various traditions than the mainland was. Particularly, it was extremely popular amongst the native Sudrian people, who had been performing several rituals and festivals since the start of the month.

Emma had been far more curious about the whole thing than her sister, and decided to ask one of the older engines, in hope of getting some information. “Well,” hummed Percy, “it’s a Gaelic thing. Sauin, I believe the Sudrians call it. It’s like Samhain up in Scotland, and is all about the end of the harvest season. I remember how much Sir Topham the First put emphasis on listening to the local Sudrians about how important the rituals and festivals were. For example, at the start of the month is the cleansing ritual; it’s a bit like a spring clean, but in autumn. It used to be when the men would go out and start chopping wood for winter according to Edward.” At that moment, the signal clunked up to show green, and Percy puffed away.

Pip snorted from her end of the train. “Asking about all these silly holidays again?” she asked. “They’re not silly!” protested Emma. “They’re—” “An excuse to get more days off work,” finished Pip crossly. “Now come on, we’ve got a train to pull.”

Pip and Emma ran the WildNorWester express to London, stopping only at Crovan’s Gate, Barrow and Preston. It meant the two were often the most out of the loop on all the important gossip of the railway, as they were over on the mainland and missed it. One such titbit of gossip the pair missed was the track repairs being done at Crovan’s Gate. On their return run a week later, Pip and Emma were stopped at the platform to wait while several old signals and a set of points were replaced.

Their repair shed had recently been completed and stood on one side of the line while the narrow gauge railway sat on the other, the mainline trapped between the two and the Works. Pip and Emma had been switched onto the wrong side of the line to avoid a massive section of missing track. This put Emma right next to the Skarloey Railway sheds, where Duke was resting. “Excuse me,” Emma called. “You’ve been on Sodor for a long time, Duke – do you know much about Sau---een?” “Sauin,” corrected Duke kindly. “And I certainly do. My old line used to run through the heart of old Sodor, so I learnt all about it.” “Not this again!” groaned Pip from the other end of the train. Duke and Emma ignored her.

“Sauin is a festival to celebrate the end of the harvest, the start of the winter season… and the point in time when the barrier between our world and the Otherworld is at its weakest. The month begins by preparing for winter and giving thanks to the sun, before pivoting to asking for protection from the winter gods and giving sacrifices to the ancestors as thanks for their guidance. Then, it ends with Sauin itself, which is better known as Halloween. People celebrate the wicked and supernatural, then stay indoors overnight with scriptures for protection painted on the doorway to ward off evil spirits. It’s said they begin to break out of the Otherworld at Dusk, and party in our world until midnight…” Duke broke off, looking contemplative. Emma wasn’t sure why, but she felt uneasy all of a sudden.

A group of people walked along the platform, offering blessings to the stranded passengers and burning incense. Pip refused to be blessed, and then the group made their way over to Emma and Duke.

“Ah, if you wouldn’t mind,” Duke said. A man stepped forward, painting a sigil on Duke’s forehead in red paint before waving the incense around him. Duke smiled warmly, his old eyes closing as he relaxed while the ritual was performed.

“Oooh, can you do me next please!” asked Emma. The group nodded. “Of course we can,” one said. “Explain it to Emma while you do,” Duke added. “She’s new, and this is her first Sauin.” The man stepped forwards, dipping his thumb in some more paint.

“Alright then Emma, I’m going to paint a sigil for protection on your forehead in Ancient Sudric, and then we’ll bless you with the incense.” A few of the more curious tourists wandered over to watch, intrigued by the ritual. The man painted the sigil in careful strokes on Emma’s forehead, and then several of the others walked around her as much as they could, waving the incense over her radiator grills and wheels.

“Thank you!” said Emma happily when they finished. “I… I actually feel better already.” “You should,” hummed Duke. “It’s a popular Ancient Sudrian tradition to get blessed prior to Sauin night – just in case you’re caught out after dusk.”

Pip just rolled her eyes down at her end of the train.

Emma asked a few more questions while they waited, before finally deciding to broach a topic she’d been unsure of since she’d begun asking around about Sauin. “Why is the timetable completely empty on Sauin night?” she asked. Duke frowned. “I said everyone stays inside, so why would anyone want to take the train?” “What about tourists, or goods?” quizzed Emma. “This is Sodor – there’s always another reason.” “You’re… not wrong,” sighed Duke. “Every Halloween, a train runs from the Rolling Bridge to Tidmouth. It’s on no timetable, and has no schedule. Some engines assert it leaves at dusk, while others suggest it crosses the island in the blink of an eye. What is known about this train is that it arrives at Tidmouth at exactly midnight… and continues on through the buffers.” “Through the buffers?!” squeaked Emma. “What, do they crash the train on purpose?” “Oh no,” sighed Duke. “It’s a train to the Otherworld – though some of the workers call it the ‘Tidmouth Train to Hell’. It’s pure black from one end to the other, and absolutely no one is allowed to set eyes on it.”

“What happens if someone does?” asked Emma, spooked. Duke sighed. “Well – a man was walking along the line in ’37 when he saw it. He was found a gibbering wreck on the trackside, white as a ghost and shivering like mad. He spent the rest of his life in a mental asylum, poor chap.”

Emma winced; at that moment, the signal turned green, and the two High-Speed twins were cleared to go. The passengers hurried back aboard, and the twins set off.

“It’s poppycock,” sniffed Pip as they rocketed along. “Ooooo, be afraid of ‘The Tidmouth Train to Hell’. Duke’s trying to have you on. I bet if you ask a sensible engine like Henry or Gordon they’ll tell you it never happened!”

Pip was proven very wrong. Emma decided to ask the pair that very night, and to Pip’s surprise they immediately confirmed Duke’s story.

“Oh, old Jefferies,” hummed Gordon. “Duke told you about him? I’m surprised he didn’t use one of the earlier cases – when I arrived, people still didn’t believe in it, and we’d find three or four every Halloween stumbling about the line screaming and gibbering and acting like lunatics. I remember very vividly Glynn going down the line and picking them all up in a compartment coach so they could be kept separate and brought to the hospital safely. By the end of the 20s, every had learnt better than to be out on Halloween. Sir Topham always ensured that we were in our sheds on that night too, and his son and grandson have both followed his example.”

Pip and Emma were both stunned!

“So… it’s real?” asked Emma slowly. “It’s very real,” Henry said grimly. “I’ve seen a peek of it through the shed windows. It’s a frightening thing, let me tell you! All black, with great red headlamps and it’s puffs sound like screams. We all stay in here and tell ghost stories and try not to think about it. And I’d suggest you do the same – I know you’ve got the last train of the day. Do not be late getting here.”

Emma agreed that she definitely was going to be on time, and even Pip seemed nervous.

The week went by, and the two new engines watched as more and more Sauin festivals were held. These were less and less about the harvest, and more and more about the oncoming winter and the spirits. A number of the native Sudrians and older engines began to have protection sigils painted on their foreheads when they went out; Duke was joined by Skarloey, Rheneas, Thomas, Edward, Henry and Gordon within a few days. Donald and Douglas, who’d learnt about Samhain back in Scotland, had their own sigils written in Scottish Gaelic. Duck and Oliver got their own Scottish sigils written in support of their friends.

All around them, Pip and Emma watched as Sodor prepared for Sauin night. Hotels filled to capacity, with large parades held celebrating the spirits in several of the bigger towns and cities.

And then finally, Halloween came. The day was incredibly slow, with barely any passengers at all riding with the railway. Pip and Emma wondered if it was worth pulling their train at all – at least, until they set out on their last express of the day. It was packed.

“Why are there so many?!” exclaimed Emma. “We’re going to be barely able to hold them all!” “It’s everyone heading to the mainland to avoid Sauin night,” James said, puffing in. “You’ll be hard pressed with this many – I think it’s cause there was a fog warning put out earlier; no one wants to be caught out past dusk with that in place. Spirits and fog? No thank you!”

James steamed away to shunt his coaches into their siding, while Pip and Emma prepared to head off. It was a struggle setting off. Every single seat was filled, and a number of others stood in the corridors, making the trip extremely difficult. Even more piled on at Crovan’s Gate, where almost all the Skarloey engines had already been hidden away in their shed. Emma watched the slowly descending sun with worry.

“If we get held up on the mainland even once, we’re not going to be back for dusk,” she fretted. “We’ll be fine,” replied Pip. “Worst comes to worst, we’re a little late. ‘The Tidmouth Train to Hell’ isn’t a threat to us.”

Oh how wrong Pip was.

The big sheds at Tidmouth were filling to capacity rapidly. The usual crowd had filed in, as had Edward, BoCo, Thomas, Percy, Toby and Daisy. The sheds were so full that the tank engines had to share a road between two of them; Duck and Oliver on one line and Percy and Toby on another. The scripts had been painted on the doors, and the storm shutters rolled down on the windows. Daisy huffed grumpily, glaring out at the yards as thick fog and mist wafted in. “I hate having to spend the night here, it’s so bad for my swerves!” “Oh belt up!” groaned Thomas. “It’s better than being out there – no one wants to be out there.” “Speaking of out there, where are Pip and Emma?” asked Gordon. “Dusk is in half an hour, and they aren’t back.”

Edward, sat on the turntable, winced. “I heard they had a full train leaving Tidmouth. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been waylaid. Let’s just hope the stationmaster at Barrow parks them there for the night.”

Pip and Emma would have no such luck. The pair were late leaving London and Preston, filled up once again with people wanting to get home for the holiday – but the platform at Barrow was deserted. The fog had truly begun to set in, leaving long shadows where none should be.

“You can’t stay here,” the stationmaster said grumpily. The sun was beginning to sink over the horizon. “There’s no space, and you’re not a Northern engine anyway. Go back to Sodor.”

Pip and Emma both tried to argue – but it was no use. At least the lack of passengers meant they didn’t need to wait around. The pair roared out of Barrow, trying their best to claw back time from the setting sun. Dusk was coming fast: too fast. The fog was willing it on faster, thick cloud cover blocking out part of the sun and making it increasingly harder to see.

Vicarstown flew by, followed by Henry’s tunnel and then Crovan’s Gate. Clear signals guided them through each station, the two honking their horns loudly. It was almost as if they were heralding the dusk, trying their best to make it back home before night came. Dark figures watched their progress from deep in the shadows, hiding where neither twin could really see them. “Faster Pip, faster!” called Emma. “I’m giving it all I can!” called back Pip.

Finally, Tidmouth came into view, one door still rolled up for them. Pip and Emma were quick to back through it, the door slamming down behind them just as the last rays of the sun vanished over the horizon, leaving behind only the fog.

“Cutting it close there,” said Gordon darkly. Both Pip and Emma winced. “We were held up on the mainland… a lot. And then the stationmaster at Barrow wouldn’t let us stay there.”

Gordon huffed. “Stupid man – he’s got no sense. Why, the other day!—”

He was cut off by James shushing him. The two shot glares at each other, before allowing Edward to pick up his story again.

The old engine wove stories throughout the next few hours, telling tales of twisted grins and haunting ghouls heralded by owls, of spirits sent to help and those sent to destroy. The engines relaxed, enjoying the night even as the hours ticked on. Pip and Emma could have fooled themselves into thinking it was just another horrible storm trapping all the engines in the shed.

That is, until a most horrific sound pierced through the air, shattering Edward’s story and leaving all the engines deathly silent. The clock showed a minute to midnight. The sound came again, a ghastly howling and screeching and moaning that seemed to work its way into the engines’ frames and bury itself there, leaving them all shaking. The doors and windows began to rattle and shake, as if hundreds of people were banging on them, trying to pry them open.

“Out after dusk!” they howled. “They were out after dusk!” Pip and Emma began to shake, terrified.

Another ear-piercing whistle filled the air, made of even more tortured howling and screeching. Then came the screams. As the engine thundered towards Tidmouth, each beat of its cylinders sounded like the screams of the damned. The entire shed seemed to shake, as the horrific banging and rattling continued.

“Out after dusk! Out after dusk! They belong to us! They belong to us!” Pip and Emma quivered, petrified. The other engines looked equally terrified – all except Edward. As the cacophony reached a peak, he took a deep breath.

“You are not welcome inside. We are protected. This shed has been blessed; these engines have been blessed. You are not welcome inside!”  

“ONE HAS NOT!” boomed the creatures outside. Pip gasped – she had refused the blessing!

The engine grew nearer; time seemed to slow. Edward took a level breath, and spoke again.

“You are not welcome inside. We are protected. This shed has been blessed; these engines have been blessed. You are not welcome inside!”  

“ONE HAS NOT!” came the furious reply. Before Edward could speak again, there was a horrendous roar and scream of whistles, brakes and steam – the Tidmouth Train to Hell had arrived. It roared past, it’s red lamps illuminating against the doors. The shed walls groaned, as if nearly at braking point. The windows rattled harder, dents being made it the metal. Daisy shrieked and fainted.

Thomas began praying under his breath in one language; the twins did the same in a different one. The train sped into the station, thundering towards the buffers. One dent slammed against the glass of the window next to Pip, cracking the glass. A gnarled nail pierced through the shutter.

“You are not welcome inside. We are protected. This shed has been blessed; these engines have been blessed. You are not welcome inside!”  Edward thundered again, his eyes darting over to the shutter.

The train hit the buffers.

The creatures outside let out a chorus of tortured screams. They were in agony, ripping away from the sheds and howling in pain. The nail was torn from the shutter, giving Pip just enough space to see dark figures writhing on the ground.

The clock ticked over; a new day began. The creatures let out one last screech. The floor seemed to open up around them, hellflames licking up at the night fog and illuminating the entire night in a sea of blood red. The creatures screaming and screeched, dragged downwards and suffocated in the earth before they could be scorched alive by the flames.

And then there was silence.

“Oh…” managed Pip softly.

Everyone looked shaken. Edward sighed softly, and looked over at the twins. “The last time an engine was out after dusk and wasn’t blessed was in 1916, during the war,” he said quietly. “Thomas mightn’t remember it – but I do. It was a loaned engine who told us all that Sauin was stupid… that is, until the creatures of hell surrounded the sheds and began demanding we give him over. Glynn kept trying to keep them out, but he slipped up. The engine’s shed door was ripped open suddenly, and he was… dragged out. We never say what pulled him out – but whatever it was bent that door open like it was a tin can and shoved it back down afterwards. We all heard the loaned engine’s screams as it was given to the creatures and torn piece from piece…”

Edward paused, and gazed at the shed doors, looking wary.

“It’s said that engine became the Tidmouth Train to Hell, crossing the island and giving the spirits and creatures time to roam free before arriving in Tidmouth and condemning them all back to hell, to make sure none can inflict that fate on another.”

He finished his story and looked around the silent room. Daisy was still unconscious, and it was a miracle none of the others had followed. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the dent shutter and cracked window, a stark warning of how close the creatures got.

No one slept that night.

And suffice to say, Pip and Emma were never late again on Sauin.

Back to the Master Post

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 7/30/2023

this post half brought to you by viewers like you! thank you!

listening

all my brain wants is charli xcx's apple on repeat. i understand there's a very popular dance with it but it's not H-O-T T-O G-O so i don't know anything about that. extremely effective song to have on loop while writing. peppy but very even and easy to just sort of bop along to in the background. looking forward to this being my #1 most listened song on spotify this year after the (DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT) number of hours last night working on yeehawgust.

thank you to my real-life sister for 1) teaching me about brat summer after i sent her a pic of the neon green pool outside and 2) telling me i would like this album. i do!

-

reading

i saw a photo on here several weeks ago of Balfour Tower, a brutalist residential building in London where all the mechanics are in the little tower on the right and said to myself "what the FUCK is that. how does it WORK."

someone else who said "what the FUCK is that. how does it WORK." was JG Ballard, previous tuesdaypost feature. there are only two books i reread most years, Jane Eyre in the fall and Ballard's The Drowned World in the summer (one of the nicest vintage hardcovers i own, from @morrak ).

let's yoink the description off wikipedia bc it's the most succinct:

The story describes the disintegration of a luxury high-rise building as its affluent residents gradually descend into violent chaos. As with Ballard's previous novels Crash (1973) and Concrete Island (1974), High-Rise inquires into the ways in which modern social and technological landscapes could alter the human psyche in provocative and hitherto unexplored ways.

it's less "the building is evil" and more "by incentivizing residents to not leave the building by providing everything they need, including a liquor store, the building is a petri dish for fucked up british social interaction".

Ballard is extremely good, on a very technical sentence level, of creating an immersive cocoon of dreamlike unreality in the middle of an otherwise functioning world. this is Not good for my brain when i am having a particularly prolonged bout of The Morbs. High-Rise was extremely effective in creating its particular pocket of fucked-up happenings in the middle of the "real world" but was EXTREMELY not the book i needed at this particular moment.

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watching

The Burglars (1971, dir. Verneuil). this is a french heist film but i'm just going to drop my letterboxd review here.

do you want to see an all-in-one safecracking kit in a beautiful imitation leather suitcase straight from the catalog? with a computer to make a punchcard for the key cutting device also in the suitcase? do you feel strongly about emeralds? do you want to see a fuckin lupin iii style real life car chase where they run a little red fiat ragged? a man dumped out the back of a dump truck to fall down a slope half a mile long? do you want to see tits? do you want to see omar sharif get grain entrapped? this movie may be for you!

i would do anything for omar sharif and his big brown eyes.

the title sequence and a remarkably spare morricone soundtrack go SO hard. graphic design IS my passion!!!

how'd i find this: needed to use up some credits on kanopy. the gadgetry in the actual heist part of this film... mwah. a very poorly paced movie, but by god does it Look.

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playing

thank you VERY much @sybilius for gifting me Pentiment! i would describe this as a point-and-click/visual novel murder mystery rpg?

it's endlessly charming. it is dense with medieval sociopolitical factions. i would expect nothing less from je sawyer. i loooove the different fonts: the printer in town has a custom font for his dialogue, other characters' dialogue changes fonts as you learn more about them (a noble's font changes from scrabbly handwriting to fine lettering after we learn he's got some education under his belt).

much like High-Rise, but for visual novel pace reasons and not content/atmosphere, this is not quite the right game for my brain at this time, but i am very excited to loop back around to it when better brain weather rolls in!

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making

yeehawgust prep! i manage to do one prompt every other year but we'll see how this one goes

[luveline]

happy new years!!! can i request rockstar!remus x fem!shy!r, where they first meet bc she lost her glasses (and r has horrible eyesight) & she doesn’t recognize remus & is absolutely mortified when she realizes who she’s run in (literally) to???

Happy New Year!! Thank you for your request <3 fem!reader

You'd only put your glasses down for long enough to rub your tired eyes, and yet you can't find them. They've slipped off the face of the earth. 

And worse, you're so fucking awkward (said with only a pinch of self-loathing) that you can't make yourself do the awkward song and dance to find them, not when you're surrounded by strangers at a friend of a friend of a friend's house in the rich bit of London. 

You stand up, wondering if you can identify the friend you'd come with by their shapes and colours alone, and take a misguided step straight into someone's side. 

Air puffs out of you in a gasp and you take a hasty step back, eyes on the person's chest. There's a sanguine-coloured t-shirt with darker, looping writing across the front. 

"I'm sorry," you say, trying to take a cautious step around them. 

"Hey, that's okay," says a masculine voice, the body it belongs to veering into your path. "Are you alright, sweetheart? Did I clip you?" 

You look up into their face and stare at the space between their eyebrows, knowing you look silly. You can vaguely make out his facial features, and your brain signals it as familiar, but the voice doesn't ring any bells. 

"No, sorry, you didn't do anything. I'm looking for someone," you say. 

"Anyone I'd know?" 

"Elizabeth? They're in a green dress?" 

He looks around the room. You can see his neck turn, the splodge of darker colour that is his hair moving with it. "I don't see any green dresses," he says apologetically. 

You shake your head. The music playing increases in volume, and girls all over the room gasp as a favourite song starts to play. You wince at being shoved out of the way. The man in front of you moves to protect your side, hand behind your shoulder for a short, hot second. 

"Somebody's lost their glasses," he murmurs. 

You giggle nervously. "Is it obvious?" 

He leans down to the settee and then stands tall. He does something with his t-shirt, pulling it away from his torso, and then he nudges a familiar shape into your hand. 

"No, I mean, I saw them on the sofa. They're yours, I'm assuming." 

You laugh again, drowning in embarrassment. As you open the legs of your glasses, you think, Well, it could be worse. Elizabeth said that The Marauders of all people are going to be here tonight. Imagine making a fool of yourself like this in front of them. 

And then you put your glasses on. You can't speak.

"Is that better?" Remus asks, bassist of The Marauders and in the flesh. "Sorry to say, you have thicker lenses than James. I'm surprised you can see at all without them." 

"I can't, really," you say, your voice a far away thing. 

"They suit you." He grins at you, all pretty-lipped and dark brown eyes, the scar over his nose turned white at the edges with the strain. "I suppose I looked more handsome before." 

"No," you say. 

His smile turns playfully smug. "No? I'm glad. You look prettier with them on, too." 

Your cheeks are so hot they're burning, and your chest is lit by a panic you can't describe. You were being completely, entirely genuine with him — he's a thousand times more handsome now you can actually see him, with a voice to match. Smooth, steady, and teasing. Despite the boy-next-door of his sandy brown hair, his sweet smile, there's a stickier emotion playing on his lips. You worry he's gonna eat you alive right there and then. 

"Can I get you something to drink, pretty girl? Or can you manage now your vision's been restored?" he asks. 

His banter throws you off kilter. "I think you'd better get me one," you say, not because you're smooth in any capacity but because you're worried you'll fall over. 

He laughs warmly, worse when he sees you realise you'd sounded flirty. 

"I'd love to get you a drink," he says. "If you'll be alright while I'm gone?" 

You nod wordlessly, collapsing into the settee again as soon as he's gone. You're gonna need a drink to survive this. 

[microbot99]

Just read the wiki for cerise after

The latest London special and I’ve been kinda out of the loop and didn’t know Lila WAS cerise but thought it was an alias but THEN I read that her NORMAL appearance was green contacts and a wig and one of her 3 moms thinks she’s in Africa and the other one can only understand sign language and it just hit me how she was lying about everything everything like oh my god

[viric-dreams]

Going to put a rough timeline together for Ockham:

1781:

Eduard Ackerman is born in Antwerp, in what was then the Austrian Netherlands, the second of what would be five children (and only one of two to survive to adulthood).

1792:

Antwerp falls under French control. Ackerman has since become the oldest living child.

1796:

Ackerman begins working on a merchant ship, involved in minor trade between nearby European ports, and sending money back to his family.

1804:

Whilst away, Ackerman receives a letter that the entire family is ill with cholera. Rather than try to gain passage back to Antwerp on another ship, he makes the decision to stay the course and return as planned, with pay for the full journey. By the time he returns, he learns his younger brother is the only one to have survived. This leads to a massive row between the two of them, in which his brother accused him of being callous and caring more about money than their own family. Ackerman argued that with the benefit of hindsight it would not have many any difference--even if he had taken the next boat back he wouldn't have arrived in time. And was it not his wages that was, in no insignificant part, supporting them all? His brother did not appreciate the logic of this argument, and it became the last time the two ever spoke.

1804-1812:

Ackerman continues work as a sailor, semi-consistently changing ships and never holding onto interpersonal relationships for long. In this time he has no fixed address, yet spent significant time in both Rotterdam and Hamburg.

Autumn 1812:

Whilst on shore leave in London, he's impressed into the Royal Navy.

1812-1814:

Ackerman serves against his will on a British warship, his desertion attempts unsuccessful. Shortly after conscription, the officers give him the nickname Ockham, seemingly unable or unwilling to pronounce his name correctly. He maintains sanity during this period with minor forms of rebellion.

Summer 1814:

His ship engages with a French vessel. Amidst the chaos and cannon fire he's thrown from the deck into the mirrored surface of the sea.

1814-1899:

Viric dreams under a cosmogone sun

1899 (Pt. 3):

Ockham wakes up in Fallen London during Whitsun of 1899.

Much has changed since hishertheir last memories of the place. Ockham tries hishertheir best to get back on hishertheir feet and adapt. Heshethey gets a job on the docks.

Things don't always seem to add up in the Neath. Acquaintances seem to struggle to understand Ockham, to remember details of their interactions, often yawning in boredom when Ockham's speaking. It only serves to worsen Ockham's already negative impression on Londoners, and the English specifically.

And then there are the dreams. Ockham dreams of a jungle, impossibly green. Heshethey lies on a cushioned bed of moss, soft as any cloud. Warm bodies surround himherthem, slithering and sliding across hishertheir limbs, like the sway of floating in a gentle sea. The mellow sounds of the jungle at rest are broken by the low drone of many conversations and it’s so easy to get lost in that hum. Sunlight trickles through the canopy of leaves, warming them all. The smell of saltwater hangs in the air, and the occasional call of gulls hint at a shore not far from here. This is peace. This is home.

Ockham learns of the existence of Parabola, the likely source of hishertheir recurring dreams (memories?) and vows to find it.

At some point in this saga, Ockham gets looped into killing the Vake. Sure, heshethey'll do it, if it enables hishertheir ultimate goal of crossing through the mirror.

Ockham becomes a silverer and begins exploring Parabola, searching for that clearing from hishertheir dreams. All the while, a familiar-looking figure seems to lurk just in the corners of hishertheir vision, never quite in catchable range.

1899 (Pt. 4)

Ockham continues the search for the location in hishertheir dreams. Heshethey decides to petition the Fingerkings for information. There's some sort of connection between them, Ockham can sense it. They seem, however, to be unusually elusive. Not a reptile in sight.

An unpleasant entanglement with The Thieving Stowaway (The Youthful Naturalist) results in Ockham zailing to Irem. There, heshethey finally corners a powerful Cacophony of serpents at the Market. Ockham tries to broker a deal with them, to take himherthem back to that place, or possibly back into their fold. That's why they have the connection, right? That's why some of Ockham's memories (dreams?) are so distinctly inhuman. The Fingerkings don't see it that way. They don't want Ockham. They have no use for himherthem. What would they do with a Parabolan reflection, especially when they already have the original. It's at this point that Ockham finally comes face to face with the familiar figure--the surface sailor whose face Ockham's mirrors. But appearances is where the resemblance ends. If there was once a person in there, any trace of life is long gone, an empty husk puppeted by the Cacophony. Whatever may have once been behind those eyes is gone now, leaving Ockham the sole steward of what used to be Ackerman, now woven together with a patchwork of Parabola.

Furious and frustrated, Ockham zails back to London, nearly drowning in the process during the harrowing voyage. Upon docking, heshethey sets hishertheir zub on fire, wrung out and thoroughly done with the Zee, and vowing never to step foot on a ship again.

Ockham spends the next several months coming to terms with the fact that heshethey're not human, but a creature of Parabola, imbued with the spirit and memories of what once was a person, and many of those of the Fingerkings.

Ockham bounces from job to job, untethered, slowly becoming involved in ventures in the Upper River.

Around this point, heshethey meets Tamara, and seeing someone so clearly lost and in need of a place to stay offers her a spare room in hishertheir flat.

This awkward but tentatively friendly relationship goes slightly pear-shaped upon Tamara discovering what Ockham is. They do manage to eventually mend it to an extent, and slowly begin to understand each other better, both figuratively and literally, as they both gain a common language.

Ockham is often away from London, busy in the Upper River and also Parabola. Heshethey begins a business selling Parabolan-grown ghost peppers to the Stags and rich Bohemians with more money than self-preservation skills.

All this draws to a violent end when the Cacophony makes their move, attempting to kill Ockham and break out of Parabola, something they couldn't do as long as Ockham was in the Is. They don't succeed, and Ockham manages to make it back to London, but it's no longer safe for himherthem to cross through the mirror.

Ockham needs to regroup and find a new profession.

[parkswritessometimes]

Sunday X Marvin

It’s been almost twelve hours without a text from Marvin. Usually, he’d respond within minutes of a message. A little emoji or acknowledgment that he was alive. But nothing. No response from the good morning text he sent when he woke up. Usually, Marvin was the one who woke up early and Sunday would wake up to a cute morning image of Higgins or a bedheaded, shirtless Marvin, but no message today. 

“You good, Kit-Kat?” Sunday types hitting send before his anxieties get the better of him. Marv was probably just too engrossed in a book to even acknowledge their phone. It’s happened before on a handful of occasions, but they always replied within a few hours with an apology or an excuse or something. 

But Sunday can’t stop this gut feeling that something was wrong. That something was wrong. He’s been getting that feeling a lot lately. Especially since the twins rose to power in the magic circle. This twisting feeling in his soul, in his magic. But this was so specific to Marvin like a magnetic force pulling him towards his friend.    

And it’s not like Marvin was going to ask for help if he needed it. Marvin has always been far too prideful for that. Raised by absent parents and a semi-sane mentor who could never be understood by anyone but Marvin, he was always destined to be an aloof person. It probably didn’t help that they were bullied for several years before Sunday came into the picture. 

Sunday was also an outsider always working twice as hard to keep up with the advanced classes he was put in. Magic always seemed to come so easy for everyone else. He’s lucky that he made the cut for the Magic Circle. It would have been so easy to cast him aside and label him a dud, but he was given a single chance. Same with Marvin.

It took a lot of time for Marvin to open up. Lots of shared candy bars, healing magic, repairing uniforms with his more practical sewing skills before Marvin even told Sunday his name. But over time Sunday could feel Marvin slowly opening up. Ivy creeping up his ivory walls until it flooded his heart. 

Now they’re 28 and living life, Marvin had a bookstore that never seemed to be open and Sunday worked for the Magic Circle, always one of the first people to be in the loop. And as much as it annoyed the higher-ups, Marvin was always the first one to know what was going on. It was a good thing the two of them had going on. 

Late-night phone calls that only ended when one of them fell asleep, cute photos, and inside jokes. Nicknames and practice kisses. And yeah their heart always skipped a beat or two or just flat-out stop when Marvin would lay their head in their lap, or hold his hand. But it was fine. Marvin was always skipping from person to person, never sticking with one partner for more than six months. Bar hookups, tinder profile pictures, bumble notifications, that always broke his heart just a little bit. But what was he going to do? Marvin was having fun and Sunday didn’t want to ruin their fun. 

Maybe that’s where Marvin was, on a date or he slept over at a guy’s house and forgot a charger. But still, that didn't feel right.

Sunday looks back down at their phone. No notification. Okay, time for a wellness check. 

“I’m coming over if you don’t text me in the next three seconds.”

“3”

“2”

“1”

“On my way. I’ll bring sushi as a peace offering.” 

Sunday grabs their favorite green cloak throwing it over their shoulder and goes out into London’s warm Summer night. 

—---

Sunday knocks on the door, okay more like pounds, trying to get Marvin’s attention. He wedges his cell phone between his ear and shoulder and listens to the ring over and over again before getting the standard “leave a message”.

“Vin, Kit-Kat, it’s me. Open up. I bring gifts and if you don’t open up I’m gonna portal up to your apartment. So do us both a favor and let me in!” He kicks the door a few more times to send a message before hanging up and shoving his phone into his pocket. Sunday looks up at the flat, the lights are on which is a good sign at the very least. He sighs yanking his bear charm free from his neck letting his mask form on his face. Magic wasn’t exactly allowed in public without a permit but he’s technically on Marvin’s property. He won’t get nicked for that. Hopefully.  The portal revealing Marvin’s room appears and he steps through closing the portal behind him. 

Higgin’s little merp and rub against his thighs settle some of his nerves but the main problem still remains. His mask swirls back into the necklace on his chest and the golden magic fades from his fingertips as his he pets Marvin’s little familiar. 

“Hey, Higgy. Where’s Marvin? You gonna lead me to him?” 

Higgins jumps up on the bed ignoring Sunday’s request. Typical little cat. Sunday pushes the door open wandering out into Marvin’s kitchen and living room. Notes, pictures, and drawings line the walls looking like the workings of a madman. And in the middle of it all Marvin, still in his pajamas, pacing around the room.

“Uh, Marv? You there mate?” Sunday asks, but Marvin keeps pacing and muttering to himself. Sunday sets the dinner down on the countertop and walks over the scattered pages of Marvin’s writing. Slowly, carefully with each step Sunday moves forward trying not to mess up any of Marvin’s work. Their hand finally finds their way to Marvin’s shoulder and in an instant, Marvin’s mask is on and lighting in his hands. 

“Woah! Hey! Hey! Marvin! It’s me! It’s me.” Sunday says throwing their hands up.

“Sunday. Sunday…Sunny.” Marvin says, almost as if he’s in a trance. 

“Yeah, Kit-Kat. It’s me. It’s Sunny.”

“What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“I used a portal and you weren’t answering your phone. I got worried.”

The fogginess in Marvin’s eyes clear and they flash into so many emotions going from fear to sadness to anger all within seconds. 

"I don't need your help, Sunday." Marvin’s green eyes drill into Sundays. And for anyone else, this would probably strike fear into their souls. But not Sunday. Sunday knows that look. It’s not true anger, if it was he’d be on fire. It’s that pride getting in his way. The fear that if he opens up he’ll be left alone on the porch begging for someone, anyone to stay. He has to push everyone so far away that his heart will never bleed like that again.

"Yeah, I know, kit-kat. You don’t need anyone’s help." Sunday whispers in a soothing tone taking a step forward. Marvin may growl and snarl like a feral cat from time to time but Sunday knows him better than anyone, including Marvin himself. He was just tired and clearly scared of something going on. Whatever he found must have truly shaken him to the core.

“Don’t say it in that fucking tone Sunday. Why the fuck are you even here? Did the twins send you? Because you can tell them-"

 "I came because I was worried. So can you just sit down for five minutes and let me bring you the dinner I bought before Higgins eats it?” Sunday’s golden glow wraps around their fingertips and rests against Marvin’s face. Their thumb go up and down their beard as they try to soothe Marvin. 

“Sunny…”

“It’s sushi, and I know you have some good wine. Let me get us some glasses and you can tell me what's going on.”

“Probably skip the wine.”

“Vinny, did you not eat this morning?”

“I think so? I can’t remember.”

“Okay, let's sit down.” Sunday grabs his friend’s hand and guides him down to the couch. Marvin’s head instantly rests against Sunday’s chest and Sunday finds his hand in his friend's long brown hair. “Do you want to talk first or eat?”

“What did you bring?”

“Sushi.”

“I want to eat first.”

“Okay, kit-kat. Let me grab the food.” Marvin squeezes him closer, refusing to let him get up from his spot. Sunday sighs knowing that he isn’t going anywhere. He opens a small portal allowing the food to fall through and onto the coffee table in front of them. 

“I got California rolls, rainbow rolls, and some salmon nigiri.” 

“You spoil me, Sunny.” 

“I know.” Sunday begins to unpack all the takeout from the plastic bag laying it all out on the table. He hands Marvin a pair of chopsticks and lets him dig in. With Marvin off of him, he gets up and goes back to the kitchen. He grabs a glass from his friend’s cabinet and fills it to the brim with cold water. 

“You want me to grab Higgins?”

“No, that’s okay. He’d just get lost in the papers anyway.”

“Yeah, I was gonna ask you about that.”

“It’s all my notes, I’m trying to decipher some of them.”

“Why? Aren’t they your notes?”

“Yes, but I can’t remember writing some of them.”

“Well, you’ve written so many it doesn’t surprise me you’ve forgotten some of them.” Sunday sets the cold glass in front of Marvin and nudges him towards it. 

“No that’s not the issue, the issue was they were wiped from my memory.” 

Sunday shakes his head and jolts back in surprise. Ras has been wiping Marvin’s memories? Thats-why would he do that? He practically raised Marvin. The Magic Circle has always said that he was dangerous and an outsider. Breaking the rules of magic and not conforming to the laws set in place to keep the world safe, but mental magic? On Marvin? That’s almost too much to bear. No wonder Marvin got so angry. His trust must be shattered on the floor in a million pieces. 

“Ras has been using mental magic on you?! We gotta report this! You can stay at my house until the council has him imprisoned.” 

“What no! Sunday! Ras hasn’t been tampering with my memories. The Circle has been.”

The Circle? No. They were a bit…shifty but what governmental organization isn’t?! Members of parliament and even the prime minister took bribes and did some shady stuff and they were in charge of the country! Don’t even get him started on the mess that was America's government system. But there's no way that The Magic Circle was doing something like that to its members. To Marvin. To Him.   

“Marvin, I think-”

Marvin yanks off his necklace and lets his cat mask form in his hand. The green ethereal glow signaled that some enchantment had been left on it.

“I have it recorded. The twins, they took so much away from us, Sunny. Just look.”

Sunday takes the mask and places it on his face. Green-tinted visions of the past come before his eyes. That’s him in the corner, looking over at Marvin, but he definitely doesn’t remember this. A dead body on a slab with the twins matching fox masks firmly on their faces. Their muffled voices told them to leave the room and like the good peons they were, they left. 

“We’ve reached the limits of what direct observation can show us.”

“Even magical observation is insufficient.”

“Necromancy then.”

The twins cast a spell causing the body to rise up. Sunday’s never seen anything like it. He’s always been told something like this was illegal except in the hands of the authorities. People with permits and power. He couldn’t even pay attention to the answers the body was giving, too shocked by the twin's actions to do anything. 

The body collapses back on the table and Sunday almost does as well. But just when he thought the worst was over.

“We might use Mind’s Eye.” One of them says. Mind’s Eye was one of the most dangerous spells that could be cast on such a body. The Malia it takes could easily drain that of the corpses and the users, leaving everyone involved just dust on the floor. 

“The risk would be enormous.”

“To lesser magicians than we.”

“Very well we do need answers.”

“There remains malia sufficient in the husk to achieve it once.”

The twins touch their fingers to the corpse's skull letting the purple mist swirl around the room chaotically. Sunday can’t make out the images but he knows in his soul it’s bad. The body screams out like it’s dying again before crumbling to ash. 

The twins put their masks back on allowing everyone to rejoin them. Sunday and Marvin are the first to come in but still, Sunday can not remember even being in this room.

Sunday is all but helpless to watch as Marvin picks up his mask as the twins talk.

“We learned much from this vessel, but little of substance.”

“The circumstances of its death were byzantine and inconsequential.”

“A matter of science. Nothing with which to trouble ourselves. Whatever happened to this man does not concern the magic circles. We needn’t investigate further.”

“You needn’t even remember what transpired here.”

The twins chat to cast a spell and just like that the memory is gone. The recording stops and Sunday takes the mask off of his face. 

They took their memories. 

They took his memories.

They took Marvin’s memories. 

Over a man who died to science?! Over something so simple and inconsequential?! What did they erase that was important?! Did they erase a full days months or even years from his head?! How could they do something like that?!

“Marv, what the hell are we going to do? Can we get those memories back?! I can’t- What else did they take from us?!” Could they take larger pieces? Could they take whole people out of the memory? Could they take relationships? When was the limit where they couldn’t touch the memories?! 

“I don’t know. I have regained a few memories they took but that’s only because Ras drilled it in me to record my notes and journal my days. I’m trying to fill the gaps but I think most of them are gone.”

“Shit Marv. What are we going to do?”

“I honestly don’t know. Start recording with our masks? Compare notes?”

“That’s a start I suppose.” 

Marvin takes his spot back in Sunday’s chest and Sunday holds him tight. But it doesn’t stop the intense flood of anxiety coursing through his body. Pumped by the growing beat of his heart. 

Forgetting Marvin would be like forgetting his own name, his own being. They were so intertwined there was no way they could make them forget each other. Right? They surely couldn’t rip each other away. They would have done that years ago with Marvin and Ras. The twins never kept it a secret that they hated the man and constantly pushed Marvin to ditch his mentor. But Marvin was too stubborn, too loyal to even consider that an option.  

He looks back down at his friend only to find him asleep, all curled up in their lap. Sunday smiles and traces over Marvin’s tattoos with their finger. 

“No one will take me from you Marvin. I promise. No matter what.” They plant a little kiss on Marvin’s forehead and shuffle to a more comfortable position on the couch. No use in fighting it, he was gonna spend the night on the couch with Marvin. Not the first time this has happened and certainly not the last. He leans over and grabs a blanket from off the floor and drapes it over the two of them. 

Sunday wasn’t quite ready to fall asleep, still processing the huge mind fuck that the Magic Circle was doing this. And Marvin’s notes and research were within arms reach; he might as well catch up on what Marvin found. His fingertips find a large leather-bound book and pull it closer. Colorful tabs dot the pages probably signifying different spells he needed. 

Sunday opens it up to the first tab to find Marvin’s handwriting. No mention of spells or anything. Sunday immediately closes it and sets it down on Marvin’s back. Not today. There has to be something else he can read to get caught up on all this a spell book or something. But all of the notes around him seem to be in Marvin’s messy cursive writing. 

And then something catches his eye. One of the tabs on Marvin's journal had a little sun and a heart. He rarely lets curiosity get the best of him, that was more Marvin’s department, but he has to know what the little doodle of his nickname was doing there. He opens the book back up and begins to read the tabbed page.

I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna ask Sunny out after this meeting. I know we’re already kinda going out but I’m gonna make it official with him today. I’m in love with him and I’m sure he’s in love with me. Just gotta finish this meeting. I’m pretending to take notes but it's so dreadfully boring. I swear the twins are the stiffest people you’ll ever meet in your lifetime. 

Sunday doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the tear hits the page and smudges the ink. Did they take away that moment? Did they even allow them to have it? It’s not like Sunday could remember it. But he can just imagine it. Marvin just blurts out their feelings and he just goes red with embarrassment as Marvin uses sweet words until they kiss. 

And Magic Circle just took it away like it was nothing. 

Did Marvin know? He had to, he marked it after all. But…fuck. Did they take more moments like that away from them? How many times did they confess only to have the Magic Circle have it erased? 

Sunday wipes the tears away and takes another deep breath. He looks back down at Marvin and traces his finger across his jaw. He looks so peaceful right now. And as much as he wants to wake him up and tell him that he’s right, that he’s in love with him, that he wants to spend the rest of their lives together. It can wait. One big revelation at a time.

Sunday gives him one more kiss on the head and pulls the blanket up to Marvin’s shoulders. Both of them are gonna need sleep if they’re gonna figure out how to save their memories from future tampering. 

“Goodnight Marvin. I love you.”

-----

I don't usually write shippy stuff but here y'all go!

----

Tag List:

@kalcifers-blog

@the3rddenialist

[okay-j-hannah]

Episode 5: The Unknown Subject

Doctor Who : Multishot

Eleventh Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 3413

Warnings: some gunshots. some blood. some violence. some virus warfare. some of the oncoming storm. River taking matters into her own hands... inspiration and some lines came from Criminal Minds Season 4 Episode 24 “Amplification.” 

Request: This just came from my own head 😊

A/N: A skilled team of FBI tactical profilers analyze the country’s most prevalent oncoming disasters, anticipating the criminal mind’s next moves before they can inflict doomsday.

Episode 4: The New Heir

Episode 5: The Unknown Subject {You Are Here}

Episode 6: Dr. Smith

The DAU was overrun with representatives of all international governments. The army was instructing team members under the FBI and CIA to form search parties abroad in each country. Agents were conversing with contacts across seas as they tried to get everyone on the same page about the suspect.

SSA Smith was in the conference room having a heated discussion with other leaders and officials. They could all see him fuming behind the glass walls.

Jack was leaning into Donna, muttering some theories about where they were going to be stationed next. “I heard the professor was last seen in France.”

“She crossed the border after the stunt in London,” Donna agreed, readjusting her blazer as new agents caught her eye. “I think John’s talking to the Prime Minister and the president of France.”

Rory was sitting at his desk, glasses pushed up his nose, “He’s been tense.”

(Y/N) agreed, folding her arms and standing next to the rest of her team. The Doctor had been avoiding her as of late. He had become this hardened, cold-shouldered character since the last reality.

It was hard to associate him with her Doctor. He was so dark and strict and to-the-point. But she could see the split second of recognition in his green eyes when he looked at her.

He still looked at her with fondness.

“You think the professor will cook up some new disease?” Donna asked rather morbidly, “After we traced the last one?”

“Well, with the CDC already synthesizing a cure after the last attack,” Rory said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to create a 2.0 version to throw us through a loop.”

Jack nodded towards the conference room, “Look. He’s calling us in. Time for another debriefing.”

The team walked determinedly through the crowds of agents and military personnel, climbing the ramp to get to their seats.

The Doctor had his arms folded, already introducing their guest before they all sat down.

“Hello everyone, this is Dr. Martha Jones, chief of special pathogens with the CDC.”

(Y/N) nodded to the woman she recognized as a past companion of the Doctor. But the Martha here didn’t know her – she just looked worried with a light sheen of sweat on her forehead.

“Hello, I’m sorry to meet under these circumstances,” Martha said. “The target, Professor River Song, has been developing an unknowable strain of virus capable to compete with our most deadly naturally occurring viruses.”

“She’s already tried that,” Jack said, “We’re creating a cure, aren’t we?”

The Doctor frowned, “She’s struck again with an entirely new strain – in Lyon, France.”

“Oh my god,” Donna whispered.

“Last night, 47 people checked into hospitals with similar symptoms,” Martha began, “And by this morning 22 of those people have died.”

Jack took a seat, “Damn.” He set his jaw, “Were you able to detect the virus?”

“Yes,” Martha said, “Disease control centers across the world have taken samples and are working around the clock to create a new cure.”

“In the meantime,” the Doctor said, “We have to apprehend the professor before she strikes again. We have reason to believe she’s entered the United States. She may have been spotted at the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport in Georgia.”

Rory piped up, “But she didn’t attack the airport?”

“No,” said Martha.

“Then what are we doing about other potential mass targets?” Rory continued, “Malls, trains, subways?”

The Doctor sighed, “There’s a media blackout. We can’t tell the public.”

“There’d be a mass exodus,” Jack nodded in agreement, “The panic would end up killing more people.”

“We’re heading to Georgia,” the Doctor said, “Wheels up in five. Thank you Dr. Jones.”

Martha nodded to him, “I’ll be your direct contact for the cure. I’ll let you know of any developments.”

The team all stood and made for the elevators to pack for their coming trip. Martha followed to converse with the military scientists outside. (Y/N) remained behind with the Doctor, anxiously waiting for him to look at her.

“Doctor,” she said cautiously, “Are you okay?”

It looked like he was hardly breathing, “Perfectly fine.”

“You don’t sound like yourself,” she continued, “I can tell you’re upset.”

“Why would I be upset?” he said lowly, “I only learned that a close friend of mine wants to kill you.”

He went to exit the conference room, but (Y/N) stepped in front of the door.

“I wasn’t going to die.”

“Yes,” he said darkly, his voice deep and angered, “You would’ve.”

“But not in reality. Not in our true reality,” she pressed, “This is a dream, Doctor – you know that.”

“How can you be so sure dying in here doesn’t mean you’ll die in real life?” he asked, brow furrowed.

Gone was his dancing fingers and giddy steps. Gone was his childlike smile and eccentric movements. He was tall and cold and angry.

“I trust River,” she said quietly, “Her logic is sound.”

“But unproven,” he said, “We don’t know what’s keeping us here. It could be dangerous to wake up. There has to be another way.”

There was the strange tingle of anticipation growing. The dream was about to zap them to the next scene. They had been off script for too long.

“This isn’t up for debate, (Y/N),” he said.

She hated the way he looked at her like he couldn’t fully see her. He was clouded by the storm that had developed and resided within him. The Oncoming Storm.

Something sparked in her stomach. The reason he became like this was because she almost died. Because he cared about her so much he was willing to do anything to keep her safe.

~~~

(Y/N) was suddenly sitting in a booth in a local Georgia café. Across from her was Jack, sipping a massive chocolate milkshake.

It seemed like a more Jack thing to do rather than this FBI agent character. It almost made her smile.

“You sure you don’t want some?” he asked, biting off the candied cherry.

She slumped into the booth, “I’m okay, thanks.” She looked around to see if any of the other team members were there. “I wouldn’t want to spill on my suit.”

Jack looked amused, “And you think I will? Am I a messy eater?”

“The worst,” she snickered. But her mind was still clouded with the interaction with the Doctor. He had looked so angry.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Jack said, swirling his straw around. “Don’t be coy, I know that look.”

She gave a nervous smile, “John?” The scripted lines came out of her easily while her mind dwelled on the dilemma at hand. “We had an argument.”

“Obviously,” Jack said with rolling eyes, “We all saw you in the conference room. He’s just worried about you is all.”

“I know, and it’s infuriating.”

Jack sighed, “You had a close call last case – you almost died.” He contemplated his next sentence for a second, “I think Smith realized that it was possible to lose you.”

“That was always a possibility.”

“But he got a taste of it,” Jack leaned in, putting emphasis on his words, “He had a taste of those feelings – of that loss – and it terrified him.”

(Y/N) could feel her heart snap into motion. It might’ve been a script, but what Jack was saying made total sense to the Doctor as well.

There had been a pattern to all of these dreams. And she was starting to see it.

“You’re making it sound like…”

Jack clicked his tongue, “Like he’s in love with you?” He grinned, “That’s because he is.”

Every dream had a theme of getting the Doctor and (Y/N) together. In the New York apartment there was the tender moment they shared in the coffeehouse. In the fantasy realm he rescued her from an arranged marriage – had said I love you to each other. In the old English estate they were prompted to be friendly with one another in hopes of an eventual marriage.

There had never been a spoken word between them about being anything more than friends, than companions. Sure there had been initial attraction but it was quickly set aside when it was evident the Doctor wasn’t interested.

Or was he.

Perhaps (Y/N) had been blinded by her own efforts to avoid greater feelings. It made traveling with him easier. If she had developed true love with him then the entire companionship would be at risk of falling apart.

But as Jack started rambling on about the evidence he had gathered on why John was in love with her, she continued to connect dots.

These dreams were tailored to the Doctor.

When he wanted to catch River Song for what she did, the dream state changed into a reality where that was plausible. It was set in a crime drama where they caught bad guys.

Somehow the Doctor was in charge. He might not even realize it.

“I’ve completely stumped you, haven’t I?” Jack asked, setting his milkshake aside, “Hard to believe Smith is capable of love, huh.”

“Not entirely.”

Jack looked up quick, “Really?”

(Y/N) shrugged, eyes glazed as she tried to pull herself out of her deep thought. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the guy crack a smile, let alone express an ounce of affection.”

She became reminiscent of the Doctor that was the opposite. The one that was all smiles and all doting affection. Was her safety really the reason for him acting so different?

“But I do know that I’ve never seen him more relaxed than when he’s with you,” Jack said with a growing smirk. “You bring out the best in him.”

“And the worst,” she said quietly, “Evidently.”

Jack threw a few dollars on the table, “It’s gotta be nice to be loved that much though.”

She wrung her hands, “We have to go meet Smith and Pond.”

“I’m telling you…” Jack said, leading the way outside and brandishing a pair of sunglasses, “You gotta say something to him. The poor guy is hopeless when it comes to first moves. Trust me, I’ve worked with the guy for years.”

(Y/N) walked alongside him, making sure her firearm and badge were secured at her belt. “I don’t think he’s in the mood for any love confessions.”

“He’s never in the mood,” Jack said with a laugh. He slung his arm around her shoulders, always the light heart. “But if you’re so concerned with why he’s upset, maybe you need to talk about it.”

“I tried this morning,” she grumbled, his bouncing steps infectious.

Jack squeezed her shoulder, “Then you try again. He might not be an easy man. But he’s a good man.”

She wholeheartedly agreed with that statement. The Doctor was a complicated, eccentric genius who made things more difficult than they had to be. But he was also the loveliest, most generous man who gave the best hugs.

And they deserved to get out of there. And (Y/N) had to get through to him somehow – even with him being stuck in this arrogant, gruff character.

She spotted the Doctor and Amy through the windows of the local police station. They seemed to be discussing something as they looked over a city map. Jack led them across the street and towards the entrance.

He gave her a playful wink as they walked into their work room.

“(Y/N),” said Amy, always looking her best in her professional attire. She was usually underestimated by the agents, but always made the looks on their faces all the more amusing when she proved them wrong.

“Have you found anything?” she asked, avoiding a glance in the Doctor’s direction.

Amy shook her head, “We’re waiting on some intel in central Atlanta. Our profile has led us to believe that the professor will plan an attack at the Atlanta History Center.”

The Doctor muttered, “It’s a historical museum. A place she might enjoy.” He flashed his eyes toward (Y/N) and they both dwelled on their archeologist of a friend. River would love old museums.

“What intel are we waiting for?” Jack asked, eyeing their position on the city map.

Amy scrolled through her phone, “They’re verifying that the professor was spotted in the vicinity. Noble and Williams are giving out the profile and monitoring the surveillance.”

“Let’s not start a panic at the museum unless we have to,” the Doctor said, rubbing hard at his face.

“Understood,” Jack said.

But (Y/N) had fixated on the scruff of the Doctor’s jaw. It was so strange to see him like that. He looked older. He looked more tired. He looked… like an adult.

She wanted his little toyshop salesman self to come out and make some childish remark about the taste of custard cream or the boredom of taxes.

“Can I have a moment alone with (Y/N).” The Doctor was still looking away as his colleagues shared looks.

Jack and Amy cleared their throats, sidling out of the room with quick steps.

(Y/N) wrung her hands again, feeling the uneasiness of an unscripted moment.

“Doctor…”

“You’re going to stay here when we go apprehend River Song.”

“Excuse me?” the words became lodged in her throat, “You can’t do that.”

He gave her a heated stare, “I’m not risking you getting hurt.”

“Doctor, how many times do I need to tell you not to worry. This isn’t real. I won’t really get hurt.”

“Did that Spanish flu hurt?” he asked, emotion flaring in his eyes, “Did laying in your sickbed hurt you?”

It did. But she knew there wasn’t any permanent damage. It was just a dream.

“I’ll wake up,” she said quietly, “It would force me awake.”

He gritted his teeth, “And what if it doesn’t?”

“God, I’d risk it, Doctor! We can’t stay stuck in here for the rest of our lives.”

He looked conflicted, “But it hasn’t been so bad, has it? The roles we’ve played.”

“That’s all it is, Doctor. It’s all play. It’s not real. I want to get back to our real lives.”

“You’re real,” he deadpanned, uncharacteristically still as he stood his ground. “You’re enough for me.”

She blanked. Her mind sifted out of her ears as she scrambled to form words. “Doctor… there are more realistic ways to have a life with me. You don’t have to dream one up.”

His shoulders stiffened, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I have a feeling you might.” She took a step forward, “You can’t create some fictional life with me where we play these characters that live normal married human lives.”

“We’ve never been married,” he said quickly.

“I had a feeling the next one might have us be,” she said just as fast. “It shifts to your wants, Doctor. But what you want here… right now – it’s not what I want. I can’t play a character and pretend that I’m happy with all this.”

His fingers started to fidget like they use to on their adventures, “You’re not happy.”

She lightly shook her head. “I want to go home.”

“You’re not happy here with me.” He said it more to himself then to her.

But she quickly cut in, “I’m happy with you on the tardis. I’m happy with you back in our own lives.” Her hands rose to clutch at her chest, “Please, Doctor – this isn’t right. We have to wake up.”

“There has to be another way than dying!” he said, furious again.

There was a whoosh of air and the pair of them were standing outside of a historical building, groups of people running around in a panic.

Their talk of the real world had them flying to the next scene.

They were clad in bullet proof vests, guns poised in their hands. Wires crept up their backs and into their ears. They could hear the rest of their team asking for orders and the whereabouts of Professor River Song.

“No,” the Doctor growled, addressing (Y/N). “You are staying here while I find River.”

“Like hell I am,” she cried back, taking off for the museum.

“(Y/N)!” the Doctor yelled, “It isn’t safe.”

The screams of the bystanders became muted as she searched for their friend. Seeing her here would mean River was sucked into the dream world too. She could no longer manipulate the rules of the dream.

Her feet pounding into the cement, she frantically searched the faces of the crowd. The Doctor was getting lost behind her, being swarmed by the public.

She cried out, “River! River I’m here!” She kept her finger off the trigger, but her gun was still brandished. “River Song!”

Then in the distance she heard a voice cry back, “(Y/N)?”

She flew around, there at the edge of the building was a pile of crazed, curly hair. She had her own gun at her hip.

“How did you get here?” (Y/N) asked, “Did you get pulled in?”

“Unfortunately,” River said, meeting her friend with a hug. “But I can still try to pull us out.”

(Y/N) eyed her gun, “You trying to get back in prison for murdering someone?”

River shrugged, “This is just a nightmare. None of it is real.”

“Feels real,” (Y/N) whispered, staring at the gun, “I suppose that’s what scares you awake.”

The gun was raised and aimed for (Y/N), “That’s the theory.”

“The Doctor’s not so sure.”

“He gets skeptical when it comes to the safety of those he loves.”

“People keep telling me that,” (Y/N) said, holstering her gun.

River took a deep breath, taking aim, “That he worries for your safety?”

“No,” (Y/N) said, “That he loves me.”

“Maybe you should take the hint,” the professor laughed, “This should only sting a little.” Her eyes flickered to behind (Y/N), “Incoming.”

“Hands in the air!” came the voice of Amy, “I said hands up!”

Jack was right behind her, “(Y/N), where is your gun?”

“It’s alright,” she responded over her shoulder, “I’ll see you guys when we wake up.” She gave a nod towards River Song.

She nodded back, firing three gunshots.

Red hot pain ran through (Y/N)’s lower abdomen. Two shots barely clipped the vest, but the third lodged itself near her hipbone, but definitely into her major organs. It was true, the shock and adrenaline that coursed her system made the bullets only slightly hurt.

She was falling to her knees when more shots were fired. In the distance she could see River Song fall to the ground.

The pain was sharp but was growing into something dull and achingly present. A hand pressed to her stomach came back coated in bright blood. The life was beginning to slip between her fingers.

“(Y/N)!” came a cry from above. Rough hands grasped at her body, pulling her in a way that made her wounds flare up.

She cried out, “Stop!” Her fingers were weak where she grabbed at the arms around her. It was hard to see – her vision was blurry. Her ears were full of a buzz.

But it was the Doctor that cradled her now, “What did you do?” he whispered. “What did you do?”

There was a crack in his voice and her heart began to hurt just as much as the rest of her body.

~~~

There was an insistent beeping somewhere next to her. The air smelled sterile and stuffy with disinfectant.

Her fingers picked at the cotton sheets around her. There was something taped to the back of her hand.

Opening her eyes, she spotted the IV drip. After adjusting she noticed the white walls and old machines measuring her heartrate.

She quickly lifted the blankets to look at her abdomen. After a quick inspection she realized that there weren’t any bandages. There was no evidence at all that she was shot just minutes before. Her skin was clear.

“Dammit,” she whispered, her head falling back into the pillows. They had jumped to another reality.

A crash against her windows had her looking for the source.

There, clad in scrubs and white lab coats, was Amy and Rory. The pair of them kissing like they were hungry for their last meal. Pressed against the window they were unabashed as they consumed each other.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. Great… they were stuck in a medical drama now.

And something else had become evident. The Doctor might have more control over the dream than she realized.

It was apparent that if the Doctor didn’t want to wake up, then (Y/N) wasn’t going to wake up either.

~~~

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[windsweptinred]

@maelstroms-blog and @remolinop I promsied you a wee Eternity short from Metamorphosis. So here it is, full to the brim with fluff. 💖😅

A cool night breeze drifted gently into the nursery through the open casement windows. 

Within an ornate oak cot, engraved with beasts, both fantastical and nightmarish in form, a tiny hand reached upwards, grasping at the air with glee. The gust swept down, caressing the little fingers lovingly, then withdrawing with reluctance, drawing back to skies with a  silent promise to return. 

A small babe, just past his first year of life, staggered clumsily to his feet. Toddering  to the bars of his cot, little fingers grasped tight upon the railing for support, looking towards the night sky longingly. Stepping on wobbly tip toes, he stretched his right hand towards the window, left clutching a small blanket of raven feathers possessively to his chest. "Ma-mi?" He called questioningly into the air. Above, two stars flared brightly down upon him and a great, beaming smile spread across his face. His little feet, stomping excitedly against the soft mattress. 

So enthralled was he, he missed the soft, swirl of sand materialising on the corner of the room, and the pale figure who stepped forth from it, tread quiet and considerate of the occupants within. 

"Do you not wish to visit my kingdom tonight little brother?" A soothing voice enquired. 

The young boy turned abruptly, swaying slightly on his unsteady legs as he did. Three teeth flashing proudly in a wide grin as his clapped his hands together with glee at the sight before him. 

" Deeam! " He cried, reaching now for the new arrival enthusiastically, chubby fingers curling in a grabby motion. Luminous, gold irises dancing and twisting in loops and figure eights on dark eyes at the sight of his older brother. 

Two slender hands reached down, carefully lifting the child and blanket and cradling them to his chest. "Why do you not sleep tonight Etie?" Dream asked. Fingers carding through the boys' silky black locks.

Little hands waved once more towards the open window. "Ma-mi" He called again. 

Dream looked through the frame to the night sky, blazing with unrivalled beauty over the rooftops of London. He reached out in greeting, feeling a wave of love sweep over him in return. 

"He will be back soon, Eternity. He crafts a new galaxy into existence tonight. Is that not exciting?" 

In answer, the young Endless shoved his blanket into his mouth, gumming at the dark, iridescent feathers with determination. 

Frowning slightly, Dream pulled at the blanket, releasing it from his brother's mouth with a soft yank and trail of drool. Earning an angry cry and teary eyes in response. 

"Be careful, Eternity." He scolded gently. "This belonged to your big brother. You must treasure it." 

Tubby legs swung and kicked as the littlest Endless looked at his brother thoughtfully. 

"Pffffiieeess?" He asked. 

Dream smiled indulgently, sitting his baby brother back upon his tiny mattress. "That's right, Orpheus. He wraps about you while you slumber and keeps you safe and warm. Are you not lucky?"

Eternity bounced on his bottom enthusiastically, smile, a carbon copy of his father's, "Cat Deeem?" He enquired loudly. 

Dream shushed him calmly, staring at the antique Elizabethan bassinet, engraved with songbirds, which stood opposite the cot. Within, a baby, only shy of newborn, with a riot of minute auburn curls already sprayed about her head, slept soundly. 

"Be careful Eternity, do not wake your sister. Euphoria plays in fields of Fiddler's Green. Do you not wish to join her?" 

"Cat, cat, cat!" The boy demanded, swaying his little arms too and fro as if to emphasise his point.

Dream raised a white eyebrow, unimpressed at his display. "I have duties to attend to, little brother." 

Eternity's little mouth formed a familiar, forlorn pout, eyes wet in a tiny replica of his mother's hard done by expression. 

Dream sighed, knowing the fight was lost. 

"Only until Mother returns," He warned sternly. And with a slight shift in the air, where once had been a fair young man, now a large white cat, hair long, thick and soft, sat upon the cot mattress. 

With a loud, rumbling purr it sauntered gracefully towards the child. Rubbing itself around the boy as he squealed in glee, clutching at the white tufts of his fur eagerly. 

Kneading happily at the soft bedding below, purr all the louder, Dream graced Eternity's forehead with a single, tender lick. Before settling demurely, legs tucked under himself, letting out a yawn, fangs glistening in the moonlight. 

The baby boy followed suit, little mouth wide as he yawned, snuggling into his brother's fluffy belly, a contented smile upon his lips. 

A few hours later a second form would materialise within the room in a cloud of starlight, long robe awash with magnificent, multicoloured nebula. Behind him, two owls came to perch elegantly upon the sill, as he gazed adoringly into the cot. 

"Dusk, relay a message to Lucienne in the Dreaming." He instructed quietly. "Tell her, Lord Daniel rests, safe and well in our care and will return to her in due course. In his absence, might she send Matthew to watch over my children's dreams?" 

He gave one last glance to the occupants of the cot as Dusk disappeared with a great waft of her wings. Little Eternity, head nestled into his brother's furr. Dream, head propped upon his baby brother's head in peaceful slumber. He checked next upon his daughter, green eyes, so like Dream's, closed tight in sleep. Little body curled up blissfully in her brother Robyn's lovingly restored oak cradle. 

With a quiet whisper to Dawn to keep watch over them, he took in his children one last time. 

"Sweet dreams" He wished them tenderly, before exiting the room to seek out his husband. 

Thank you to @danimydear (I hope I've linked the right blog there 😅) For the suggestion of Euphoria for Eternity's sibling. I loved it as it fills the gap left by Delight perfectly. I really liked Entropy and Evolution too... I sense the second coming of the chaos twins!

If you've got any more mini promots from the Metamorphosis verse you'd like me to tackle, feel free to send me them. 😊

[artemisbarnowl]

What is life like in Melbourne? I’m looking into moving there from the UK and would love some insights and whatever else from people who live and work there 💕

I've only visited the UK briefly as a tourist so I'm not sure how to compare them in a way that's going to give you useful info. But I'll give you info at least. Please sit comfortably and we'll begin.

Melbourne has 5 million people in it, but is also quite a large sprawling urban area, so it doesn't feel really packed and busy. It sits on a bay, so it doesn't get freezing but does have the '4 seasons in one day' jokes which are true. I never really got in the habit of checking the weather in the morn before I left for work until I moved away from melb where the forecast was such that I could dress appropriately without surprise.

When I talk about what I love about Melbourne I mean inner suburbs and CBD (which is a beautiful grid and shining example of urban planning for the now that is weighed down by no plans for the future). Public transport connectivity is decent (comparable to London imo) but wait times, delays, and travel times on trams and buses might be relatively crap depending on your experience. It's no Moscow metro (my beloved), but you can probably get to where you're going somehow. Also e scooters have popped off. Further out there's no trams and there's more big gaps between train stations (the train lines are arranged like spokes of a wheel around a central city circle. There will be another city loop slightly overlapping the current one in service next year). This is what I despairingly call The Suburbs. Where you probably need a car to get around and it's like at least 20 mins drive to Anywhere for dinner, groceries or fun activities. Mostly Melbourne is not overly hilly so bikes are an option but infrastructure such as bike lanes is really hit or miss depending on area. Especially good in the inner north. Melb inner suburbs are very walkable and I love love love that. I lived in the inner north and could walk into the CBD to do whatever.

In terms of culture things I think Melbourne is the most international of Aus's capitals in that it has a lot of different people but also that there's a lot open late. Sydney probably can and will make the same claim. But that's it. The rest of Aus is a country town. Major shops will probably close 5.30 or six mon to wed but there's plenty of stuff that's open later. You can always find a bar* or 8. There's plenty of different cuisines in gourmet or fast food dining. There's a cafe in the CBD that's open 24 hours where I can sit outside and have a pot of green tea WHENEVER I WANT. Bookstores open til 10pm. There are lots of events throughout the year and lots of cultural institutions to visit on a whim for free! Some are paid also obvi but I find it difficult to be bored when I can go to the museum to see taxidermy or the NGV for art for free whenever. I am a zoo member which means I get to hang out in a beautiful park/garden which creatures for free whenever I want. Again as you go out further this becomes less true. Fringe cities at the ends of train lines are likely to have what you need to live but less fun activities less often. Not nothing though!

Melbournians really do love wearing black. Especially in winter. They also love strategic Grey. I thought people were exaggerating until I left. A head to toe black outfit is uncommon enough to be remarkable where I live now. Even in a regular boring office where people wear very muted colours I'm the only one who does it. There is no functional difference between the a mourning outfit and one of a Melbournian. it's common wear sneakers with a lot of seemingly formal or corporate outfits, but not thongs with jeans. That's some weird Sydney nonsense.

Being around the bay there's plenty of places to swim in summer! Most of the bay is bordered by beach, most famous and reachable from the city is St Kilda beach. Which is excellent and beyond reproach if you're not Australian and 'fine' if you are. Traveling down towards Mornington Peninsula they get better. 5km makes a difference to the grain of the sand. Some are more fine, can get more coarse and shelly as well. Never stony. Only a little bit of seaweed here and there.

There are parks in the heart of the city (nothing huge like Hyde though) and little wildlife corridors or reserves in most suburbs but it's not an especially Nature city. It's only one hour by train and bus or by car to the Dandenongs (a low mountain range, not to be confused with hugely underated immigrant suburb of Dandenong in melb) though which have cool temperate rainforest national park, lots of gardens (huuuuuge rhododendron garden up there), little b&bs, english style cafes (miss Marples in Olinda is the most famous) and lots of walking and biking. I say one hour but Melbourne as an area reaches right to the base of the range, which is why you can get a bus from the shops. There are national parks that are native woodland or grasslands closer to the heart of the city but these are less special to me because that's the standard nature I see every day of my life. There's a pink lake in south melb which is fun. But I love tree ferns and fresh damp dirt and the tallest flowering trees in the world!!

If you have more specific Q's feel free to ask. I am a city gal at heart but did live rurally originally and frequently do short stays (2 weeks to a month) in rural or remote areas so I am used to comparing amenities and connectivity.

*Melbourne has regular bars but also is very big on rooftop bars. Sydney has some, but other cities hear rooftop bar and think 'bar inside but with views or on top floor of building. Probably formal'. Melbourne roof top bars are on the roof. In the open air (maybe some shade sail) and it's very much a casual thing. Jugs of beer or sangria, chips, feels like a good barbeque rather than a refined cocktail bar. Those are often in basements.

[crochetedblorbos]

"Look, she's well steep."

Character Name: Montgomery “Three-Card Monty” Barker

Fandom: Realms of Peril & Glory (@realmspod), Liminal London campaigns [Podcast]

Played By: Naomi Clarke (@naomithinksit)

Yarn Used: Hair: CraftSmart Value - Toasted Almond Skin: CraftSmart Value - Taupe Birthmark/Mouth: Caron Lava Cakes - Sour Cherry Tracksuit: Red Heart Super Saver - Spring Green Zipper: CraftSmart Value - Heather Grey Shoes: CraftSmart Value - Tomato Soles: CraftSmart Value - White

Basic pattern here.

Monty, our beloved chicken nugget wizard. I fell in love with this kid pretty much from the moment I heard him (him being Naomi’s creation helped with that) and he’s just…adorable. And after Episode 4 of Loose Change (the fourth mystery), Great Googly Mooglies, that boy needs all the hugs. I hauled ass to get him finished in time for Episode 5 (I am writing this paragraph prior to actually finishing him, so we’ll see if I manage since it’s, uh, Sunday night). [Crafter’s note: I did not. I finished him two weeks later, in time for Episode 7.] He differs from the base pattern as follows:

Shoes: I actually used a different color for his soles this time! Like with Joseph’s, I did the soles in white, then switched to red for the body of the shoes. However, I did use white for the decreases at the toes in the first round of decreasing the shoes to give that white toe cap that’s so distinctive on Converse and Converse knockoffs (per Naomi, everything Monty owns is a knockoff). I also added an extra round of decreases to make longer flat tops to the shoes and skinnier ankles. The shoes went up to R9 like that, and then: R10: Ch 1, sc in front loops of first 5 sc, sl st in next 2 sc, sc in next 5 sc, sl st in first sc (12 sc).

Tracksuit: I asked on the Light & Tragic Discord, and Naomi was kind enough to inform me that Monty wears high-tops and tucks the hem of his tracksuit into them. I also wanted the pants to have a kind of baggy effect. So once I joined the tracksuit yarn, I chained 2, then did 2dc in the back loop of the first sc in R9, then dc in the back loop of the next 10 sc in R9, then 2dc in the back loop of the final sc in R9, sl st in first dc (15dc). I then continued as normal. I used the same method for his shirt as I did for Joseph and Gerry, just a bit higher up when I started the hemline. I also formed his torso the same way as I did Gerry’s—square most of the way up and then starting the decreases at the very end. Neither of these decisions were intentional, I just wasn’t paying attention to how many rounds I’d done. For the zipper, I tied three knots on top of one another to make a zipper pull, then embroidered in straight lines up and down either side of the zipper track before doing a cross stitch up the middle.

Head: Naomi said in S4E5 that Monty “had one of those big birthmarks” and I knew I had to include it. I didn’t really plan the defined edges of the birthmark, just changed color back and forth as seemed appropriate. Came out a bit Ziggy Stardust, but you know, it’s Monty. I also used safety eyes for him again. Think I put them in too far up too soon, because stitching around them was a pain in the ass, but it worked out.

Hair: I, uh. Forgot to start adding his hair in as low as I usually do, so his hairline is a bit higher in the back than normal, which is one of the reasons there are no pictures from behind, the other being that for some reason the seam got really jagged up the back (I’m guessing I wasn’t counting carefully enough and my joins got off). I’d meant for him to have a textured stitch to his hair, but I got to that point while I was away from home and didn’t have my book with all the stitches in it with me, so I improvised. I gave him a fun little swoosh of hair at the front. Turns out I was overcomplicating things with Hux’s and Mini’s hair. There’s a legitimate stitch called the hair stitch or fur stitch that does exactly what I was trying for on them with significantly less stress, so I used that here for Monty. Gives him kind of a cheeky look and I love it.

Arms: I used the same method I used for Joseph. I only stuffed up to R20 so he would have a little more flexibility in the shoulders.

[stephensmithuk]

The evasions of Raffles

Raffles' attempt to evade Baird can be followed on a modern railway map of London:

He books a ticket to High Street Kensington, travelling on what is now the Circle Line as far as Sloane Square. This would be mostly underground in steam-hauled closed compartment trains on the Metropolitan District Railway. A similar style of carriage can be found - and gone inside - at the London Transport Museum at Covent Garden.

He gets off at Sloane Square and goes to his studio.

After leaving, he gets a taxi across the river to Clapham Junction. This is the busiest British station for the sheer number of trains passing through, due to the two major railways there.

Boarding without a ticket was something that could get him in a magistrate's court if he ran into a ticket inspector. These days, the companies will allow you to pay a "Penalty Fare" as an alternative to prosecution unless your evasion is particularly egregious or you're a repeat offender. This is £100 plus the full single fare for your journey, but will be reduced to £50 plus fare if you pay within 21 days.

From Clapham Junction, he goes to Twickenham - there are Waterloo to Waterloo services using the Kingston Loop Line.

Walking to Richmond takes about 40 minutes today; it would probably be a bit longer back then due to poorer conditions, but remember Raffles is a fit young man.

He then gets the District Line to what was then Charing Cross, but what is now called Embankment. The current Charing Cross tube dates from 1906, being originally Trafalgar Square (Bakerloo) and Strand (Northern) - neither of those bits had yet been built.

Albany is located between Green Park and Piccadilly on the not-yet-built Piccadilly line. The line goes more or less literally under the Piccadilly street; while a deep-level line, it was easier to dig it that way to avoid accidentally entering someone's sub-basement.

[cha-melodius]

Cold Light

(For @natendo-art, who asked for Loki & Mobius in Norway or Iceland, potentially watching the northern lights; tumblr ATE your ask, but fortunately not before I got your prompt out of it. Thank you so much!)

chamel's fandom fest info | read all the fics

(lokius, 3.6k, M; read it below or on AO3)

I

With a sickening crunch of grinding gears, the engine of Mobius’ rental car seizes up and leaves him coasting to a stop on the side of the road. He’s about fifty kilometers outside of the nearest town of any size, and it’s late. There hasn’t been another car on the road for a while. His phone shows not a single bar of service.

In short, he’s completely screwed.

For a few minutes he considers his options. He could conserve heat and wait until morning in the car, when hopefully there might be more traffic traveling this route. It’s not yet fully winter, so he might be ok. He could see if he can tell what’s wrong with the engine, though that seems futile. He does enough remote research to have a working knowledge of simple engines, but a late-model car with all its electrical components is probably beyond him. Walking anywhere is pretty much out of the question, though he supposes there’s a chance he might find some kind of farmhouse.

It feels fatalistic to not even look at the engine. With a sigh, he pops the hood and extracts himself from the warm cabin of the car. About five seconds after he lifts the hood, he realizes he doesn’t have a flashlight. It’s probably moot; there’s a rather sickening burnt odor emanating from the engine block.

Lovely.

He’s just turning away when he hears the tell-tale purr of an engine approaching, and a moment later twin headlights swing around the curve down the road. As the light washes over him, Mobius puts his hand up and prays for a good samaritan. The car continues to get closer seemingly without slowing, resolving into something black and sleek and expensive-looking, and Mobius is already mentally cursing the driver when it abruptly screeches to halt next to him. Even if his night vision hadn’t been blasted to hell, the windows are tinted, so he can’t see a damned thing about the car’s occupant until the driver’s side door swings open and a tall person in a long, dark coat gracefully unfolds from within.

“Thank god,” Mobius breathes, sending a cloud out in front of him. It’s colder than he thought. “Hi. Hello. Sorry, my Norwegian’s a little rusty. Do you speak English?”

Lit up from the side by the glow of the headlights, his savior resolves into someone more-or-less masculine-presenting as Mobius approaches, with shoulder-length dark hair framing a handsome, angular face. From what Mobius can see, he’s wearing a suit under his wool coat, with a luxurious green scarf looped around his neck. He looks like he belongs in New York, or London, or at the very least Oslo, and not in the middle of fucking nowhere in the farthest northern reaches of Norway.

“I do,” the man answers in an unexpectedly British accent. “I take it you’re in some trouble?”

“You could say that, yeah,” Mobius huffs, glancing back at the vehicle. “Engine’s caput.”

“Yours?”

“Rental.”

“Ah,” the man says. “Mind if I take a look?”

Huh. Unexpected, but Mobius just shrugs. “Knock yourself out. But, er. I don’t have a flashlight.”

In response, the man pulls out a phone and turns the flash on—Jesus, why didn’t he think of that?—then hands it over to Mobius to hold as he gingerly leans over the engine.

“There was a crunch,” Mobius offers. “Before it stopped.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” the man replies as he straightens up again. Whatever he was doing he seems to be done with, even though he hasn’t touched a thing. He stares up at the sky for a moment, as if lost in thought; in the silence that follows, Mobius watches ribbons of what’s shaping up to be a rather spectacular display of the aurora borealis begin winding their way across the night’s sky behind him.

“So? What do you think?”

“Hm?”

“About the engine.”

“Oh, I don’t actually know anything about engines.”

Mobius stares at him for a beat in disbelief. “Then why’d you want to see it?”

The man shrugs, a vaguely amused expression playing on his features. “Seemed like a thing one does when your vehicle breaks down.”

Mobius can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes him, and he shakes his head. Everyone’s a comedian, apparently.

“I presume you might like a ride?” the man asks.

“Is that a real offer or just something you do when you see someone stranded by the side of the road?” Mobius counters.

The smile pulling at one corner of the man’s mouth deepens. “A real one. Although I think I’m headed in the opposite direction of your travel.”

“Not picky,” Mobius says. “If you can get me somewhere with cell service and a place to stay the night, I’m good. I’ll work out the rest in the morning.”

The man inclines his head and makes an ‘after you’ gesture toward his car, so Mobius grabs his belongings from the backseat of the rental and transfers them to the other vehicle. It’s meticulous inside, all gleaming black leather without a single scuff, and Mobius feels distinctly shabby in comparison. His bag is beat to hell and filthy. He probably should have put it in the trunk.

It’s only once he’s buckling himself into the front seat that Mobius realizes that they never actually introduced themselves. “I’m Mobius, by the way,”

The man’s attention flickers over to him momentarily as he pulls back into the road. “A pleasure to meet you, Mobius,” he replies. But then, instead of offering his own name in return, he just asks, “What brings you Magerøya?”

Hm. Mobius considers pushing, but in the end he lets it go. For now. “Research,” he answers. “I study the effects of climate change in the boreal forest.”

“So you know the area well.”

“Spend three months of every year here collecting data.”

“In the middle of winter?”

Mobius smirks to himself; it’s a question he gets a lot. “Best time to detect the effects I’m looking for.”

What is surprising is how many questions the man asks; he gets Mobius going, and it’s easy to forget that he’s not shared a single thing about himself. Easy, but Mobius doesn’t, in fact, forget. Maybe he wants to be mysterious, but Mobius has brash American inquisitiveness on his side. He likes to know people.

They’re approaching the outskirts of a small village when the conversation lulls and Mobius sees his chance. “So are you gonna tell me your name, or am I just going to have to refer to you as my tall, dark, and handsome savior?”

The man glances over at him, clearly amused, though whether by the question or Mobius calling him handsome is unclear. After another beat, he answers, “It’s Loki.”

“Suits you,” Mobius says, which earns him a quirked eyebrow. “I just mean— I don’t know. But it does.”

“I’m sure my parents will be very pleased.”

“Are you from around here originally?”

Loki glances at him again, his expression unreadable. “Not exactly.”

They ride the rest of the short distance in silence, and before Mobius can figure out something else to say, they’re pulling up in front of a small tavern that’s miraculously still open. The warm lights spilling out of it shine through the window and highlight the fine lines of Loki’s nose and cheekbones, and Mobius spares a millisecond of disappointment that he’ll never get to find out what’s lurking behind those blue-green eyes. Instead, he thanks Loki for the ride and gets out of the car, ducking into the back for his things.

He’s halfway to the door of the tavern when he hears a window roll down behind him.

“You’re wrong about one thing, Mobius,” Loki calls out to him as he turns to look back.

“What’s that?”

The expression on Loki’s face is grim. “I’m nobody’s savior.”

With that, he speeds off down the road like some kind of spirit that has granted a boon and disappeared into the night, leaving you wondering if they were ever really real.

~~~~~

II

Loki, as it turns out, is very, very real.

Real enough to push him up against a wall outside the one bar in town, slip a thigh between his legs, and kiss him hard enough to bruise. Real enough to dig long, slender fingers into his neck and under his belt, to make him gasp as his hips grind forward, to bite down on Mobius’ lower lip until it stings.

“I’ve got a room in town,” Mobius manages at one point when they come up for air, as he stares up into the night sky. It’s cleared up after the storm earlier, and delicate green tendrils are twisting their way across the milky way.

“Perfect,” Loki purrs into his neck. “Let’s go.”

Running into Loki again had not been on Mobius’ bingo card for this field season. He’d come into town from the field station for supplies, only for the weather to turn and certainly make the dirt roads back to his site impassible. Fortunately he’d been able to grab a room at a little bed and breakfast that was only too happy to have the off-season business. When he’d ventured out to the tavern for a beer and some food, the very last person Mobius expected to see had been sitting at the bar.

At first, Mobius wondered if his company would be welcome after how they’d parted. He’d taken the stool next to him, but left the approach up to Loki. It hadn’t taken long. Loki seemed to be in a better mood than their first encounter. He’d asked how Mobius was doing (fine), inquired about life at the field station (a bit monotonous). Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was something else. Mobius wasn’t going to question it.

The next surprise had been the flirting. Look, it’s been a while—too busy with his work was the old excuse—but Mobius knows when he’s being hit on. They’d talked, they’d drunk, they’d laughed, they’d drunk some more, Loki had suggested they move to a booth, then hooked his foot between Mobius’ in a way that left little open to interpretation.

And now they’re here, Mobius pressed against the wall next to the light switch of his room, even though the bed is barely ten steps away, with Loki’s lips wrapped around his cock. The man is a wonder with his tongue, and it really has been a while, so Mobius is rapidly hurtling toward the precipice of his own release when Loki pulls off with an obscene pop.

“Will you fuck me?” he asks, clear evidence of his previous activities in the rough scratch of his voice.

Shit. Mobius swallows hard. “I don’t have any—”

“I do,” Loki interrupts before he can finish, which is really something. “Will you?”

For all their conversation tonight, he still knows basically nothing about this man. This is insane. But then Loki slides a hand up along his shaft, thumbing teasingly under the head, and he bites back a groan. “Jesus, yes.”

This time, at least, they make it to the bed.

~~~~~

III

Loki is gone without a trace before Mobius wakes up the next morning, and Mobius doesn’t see him again for another three weeks. That, too, is a surprise: Bea said she hired a guide with a boat to take him out to some remote fjord that’s unaccessible by any other means, a new place he hasn’t actually sampled. Mobius imagines some grizzled Norwegian fisherman with a white beard and a wool cap pulled down over his lined face. What he finds when he gets to the dock at the designated time is Loki.

Loki, looking down as he coils a rope next to a small but well-kept fishing boat with the name Frigga painted on the side, wearing a thick, oatmeal-colored cabled sweater, his black hair falling like a curtain around his face. Long fingers that pressed so cleverly to Mobius’ skin work through a knot in the line, and Mobius feels something hot flare in his gut. God dammit, this is not what he needed today.

“You’re the one Bea hired,” Mobius says in lieu of a greeting as he approaches, shifting his bag of gear over his shoulder.

Loki looks up at him, his face unreadable. “It appears so.”

“Didn’t know you had a boat.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Mobius says pointedly. To this, Loki says nothing, returning his attention to the rope in his hands. “Did you know it was me when you took the job?”

“I had an idea.”

That’s… something. Mobius doesn’t know what. It feels silly to be hurt by the fact that Loki left without so much as a note when it was pretty clear what he’d been after from the start. They’re not friends; they’re barely acquaintances. They fucked once. It didn’t mean anything.

(It felt like it had meant something, when Mobius had called him sweetheart and said let me take care of you, and Loki had whimpered out a broken please and held on tightly enough to leave bruises on Mobius’ skin that had lingered for days.)

“Well,” Mobius says. “Ready when you are, I guess.”

Things are tense at first. They don’t speak except to confirm the sites on the map where Mobius wants to visit. Loki watches him intently as he works, though there’s no sense of impatience in it. He just… watches, with some degree of interest. Maybe his questions about Mobius’ research that first night in the car weren’t just deflection.

“D’ya wanna help?” Mobius asks at the third stop.

Loki actually looks around like there could possibly be anyone else in the vicinity. “Me?”

“No, the marmot half a hill over,” Mobius says sardonically. “Yes, you. Would go faster with two pairs of hands.”

“Don’t you have a field assistant?”

“She had other sites to visit today.”

Mobius doesn’t wait, just starts setting up the equipment as he has at the previous localities. Somehow, he feels like he has learned something about this man, and his instincts are right. Sure enough, a few minutes later Loki cautiously approaches him.

Got ‘im, Mobius thinks, hiding his smirk.

“What, er,” Loki hedges, “would you like me to do?”

It does go more quickly with two people; quickly enough that Mobius thinks he can get in a few more sites before the early sunset. When he proposes this to Loki, he’s surprised again.

“We can keep going until nightfall,” Loki tells him.

“You can navigate back in the dark?” Mobius asks uncertainly. He hadn’t seen much in the way of electronics in the cabin.

Loki just nods as he stares out in front of the boat. “I know these waters well.”

They settle into an easier routine after that as they visit the remaining sites. Now that the dam has been breached, Loki starts talking again—though for a man who clearly likes to talk, he almost never says anything. He tells stories about nothing, regales Mobius with Norse myths of his namesake, gossips about the townsfolk that Mobius has had occasion to get to know. Mobius can tell that Loki doesn’t think he’s giving anything away, but Mobius is not your usual observer. Not by a long shot.

Night falls swiftly this time of year, and with it comes yet another vivid aurora. The phenomenon isn’t uncommon up here, of course, but Mobius feels like he’s never seen them quite so spectacularly as when he’s with Loki. But maybe that’s just the hopeless romantic in him.

Loki has somehow managed to—accidentally, no doubt—get himself talking about his boat as they head back toward the village, and Mobius pounces.

“Why Frigga?”

Loki is silent for a moment, his skin washed a faint green by the northern lights. “For my mother,” he says, so softly Mobius almost doesn’t hear him over the motor. He looks over at Mobius, and there’s something terribly laid bare in his expression. “To remind me of her and her stories.”

This time, Mobius doesn’t push.

~~~~~

+1

“Who the everloving fuck is knocking at the door at this hour?” Bea says, with no small amount of irritation.

Mobius can’t help but agree with her sentiment, if not her delivery. The field station is three hours outside of the closest village on terrible roads. He’s not sure a single person has ever come out here that they didn’t explicitly ask to do so. Certainly not at nine o’clock at night. In fact, it’s more likely that whoever it is could be in trouble of some kind. There aren’t a lot of hikers around this time of year, but the ones that are here often seem to have a bit of a screw loose. With a sigh, Mobius levers himself out of his comfy chair and heads over to the front door, which creaks on its hinges as he opens it.

The person on the other side is not, in fact, lost.

“Loki? What are you doing here?”

“Well, hello to you too,” Loki replies. He’s quite thoroughly bundled up against the midwinter chill, his nose gone slightly pink, but there’s a tiny, tentative smile curling his lips.

“Hi, yeah, sorry,” Mobius says, taking a step back. “C’mon, get in out of the cold.”

Loki just shakes his head. “Actually, I was hoping you’d join me?”

“Join you where?”

“There’s a clearing at the top of a cliff nearby with excellent views. I have good reason to think the northern lights will be particularly stunning tonight, and I thought…” Loki trails off, looking abruptly sheepish.

“Close the goddamned door!” Bea calls from behind him, making them both jump.

Mobius makes a snap decision and grabs his winter gear, following Loki out into the cold and tugging the door closed behind him. The air has that heavy silence it only gets in the winter, when there’s snow on the ground deadening all sounds. It’s a crystal clear night, and Mobius’ breath plumes out in huge clouds in front of him as he shrugs into his coat.

“You thought?” Mobius prompts.

Loki looks briefly startled. “Oh, I just thought we could… spend some time together?”

“Did you now?” Mobius replies, unable to stop the grin that’s taking over his face. Especially when Loki makes a point to look exceedingly pained by this admission.

“Do you want to go or not?” Loki huffs with an attempt at irritation that doesn’t quite hit the mark. “I brought wine.”

“Oh, well, if there’s wine.”

“I don’t know why I came out here.”

Mobius levels a look at him. “Why did you come out here, Loki?”

“I told you, I was nearby—” Loki tries.

“No one is nearby here,” Mobius says, cutting him off. “Ever.”

A beat of silence passes, then another as Loki looks up into the trees and blows out a pensive breath. “Because I wanted to, all right? Your company isn’t… unpleasant.”

“A truly glowing endorsement.”

“Yes, well,” Loki says, biting down on a smile. “If you knew me better, you’d know that it is.”

“I think I’m starting to get the picture,” Mobius tells him as they start walking. He’s pretty sure he knows where they’re going, since he knows the area around the field station quite well, but he’s happy to let Loki lead. Their boots crunch on the snow as they wend their way through the trees along some ancient path toward the sea. “You’ve been here before,” he ventures eventually, not quite a question.

Loki gives a small nod. “Not for quite some time, though. Certainly there was no field station the last time I was here.” He slants a small smile toward Mobius. “Love what you’ve done with the place.”

“The university said the landowners were very encouraging of research activities on the property,” Mobius says, watching him carefully. “That’s you? You’re the landowner?”

“My mother left it to me,” Loki confirms. “For a long time after her death I couldn’t really bear being up here, so I left its management up to a third party. I do try to keep up with the active projects, though.”

“So that first night, when you asked me about my research…”

“I figured out who you were rather quickly, yes. But I was curious,” Loki says as he slows to a stop near some low boulders in the middle of the clearing. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who made me so curious as you do, Mobius.”

“I’m really not that interesting,” Mobius protests, huffing a self-deprecating laugh.

Loki shifts closer, sliding a gloved hand onto Mobius’ waist and drawing him in until their noses nearly brush together. “I disagree,” he murmurs, then he closes the remaining gap between them.

His lips are cold and dry from the winter air, but they part readily, welcoming Mobius to the heat within. It’s so different from every kiss they’ve shared previously; there’s no urgency, no desperation, no sense of being kept at arm’s length even as they fall into each other. Loki kisses him with slow and unwavering purpose, as if pouring weeks of unspoken feeling into it, all the things he hid behind idle chatter and silver words, and it leaves Mobius far more breathless than can be explained by a simple lack of oxygen.

Eventually they do part, though not without a few more stolen kisses, and Loki pulls him down to sit on the boulders. They huddle close, tangled in each other’s arms against the chill, and because it feels impossible to keep any space between them now that Loki is letting him in.

“So does this mean I get to learn more about you?” Mobius asks cheekily as Loki fishes a flask of wine out from somewhere deep in his coat. Loki gives him a look, and he grins. “I’m curious.”

A soft puff of laughter escapes Loki. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about your mother,” Mobius says. “If you want.”

Loki smiles softly at him, and there, under the breathtaking northern lights, he tells a story.

[xjumbled-up-brainx]

Saw you needed octonauts world headcanons so here’s some I’ve got

1. I think there are probably parallel cities and countries to our world since I’m pretty sure Tweak’s dad lives in Florida? So they have at least a US? Anyway the locations of their major cities and counties are all the same. Most animals live in places close to or in their natural habitat, but cities like London or New York probably have animals from all over the place mingling (but to a certain level of logic like you’re less likely to see a polar bear or reindeer living in South America or something). Cities probably also have slightly different designs to accommodate for the variety of species living in them

2. The world population is split between anthro and non-anthro animals, because the octonauts are clearly anthro but the animals they rescue aren’t. There used to be a lot of conflict between the two groups but now most places don’t care and are designed to accommodate both kinds of animals (Like Tweak and Sandy are friends)

3. Whether or not predation of other animals (especially the non-anthro) is okay is a heated debate in their society

4. It is possible for some non-anthro animals (most likely mammals) to learn to walk and use their paws (hands?) like anthro’s, but it’s very difficult (and vice versa if an anthro wants to learn to be more like a non-anthro)

5. There is a United Nations equivalent who are tasked with keeping peace between species. They have a representative for each major species of each biome, with groups such as rainforest or polar regions working as groups or having one collective vote on large scale issues (they are also the ones who fund the octonauts)

6. Like all things, the octonauts probably have a few haters and enemies (because even in this world there are bad people) and they sometimes have to watch their backs when at ports to resupply (I can see them getting into conflict with people who overfish like in that one fic or people who pollute the ocean or oil rig people)

7. Their world is just as, if not more technologically advanced in some areas than ours (I mean, they manage to hide whole helmets in small collars!)

8. Their world likely isn’t post apocalyptic. Instead, humans never existed and many animals evolved in almost identical ways to fill that niche

9. Most of, if not all, the world share a collective language (Called the universal wild language or something) that makes cross-species communication easier. Each genus likely shares a language (with species having slightly different versions (for example: wolves and dogs will slightly different pronunciations or slang, but sound very similar when compared to a fox)), but all animals are taught the universal language.

10. Most animals have extended lifespans that are closer in length to humans

11. Some objects we use that usually have simple handles will have grips or whole shaped loops for paws to make holding them easier

12. Coat colour possibility and variations are far greater than in our world (I mean, Tweak’s GREEN)

OH MY GOODNESS THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!

Ur ideas are pretty similar to mine so far and I will take all input into my little files ^^

All y’all else👁️👁️ follow suit (if u would like but I appreciate everything!)