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maggotmouth · 3 years ago

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hillo sexthy legends !! i’m nora and i’ll be writing margo colby n probs sm1 else bcos lets be real, i lack self-control. u can find her pinterest here n some info abt her sexy self below the cut. plot with me on discord ( hot girl midsommar#8664 ) or in my ims !! x o x

* CAMILA MORRONE, CIS WOMAN + SHE / HER | you know MARGO COLBY, right? they’re TWENTY-THREE, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, ELEVEN YEARS? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to SCRAWNY BY WALLOWS like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole BLEACH WHITE SNEAKERS POUNDING ON A GYMNASIUM FLOOR, USING THE SAME BLUNT SCISSORS TO HACK THE SLEEVES OFF AN EXES T-SHIRT THAT YOU USE TO CUT YOUR 3AM FRINGE, A WALNUT-SHAPED ACHE IN THE PIT OF YOUR STOMACH FOR THE PERSON YOU COULD HAVE BEEN thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is AUGUST 8TH, so they’re a LEO, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nora, 25, gmt, she/her )

CLICK ANYWHERE ON THIS SENTENCE FOR SEXII GOOGLE DOC!!

bullet point summary of margo.

— born margaret but NOBODY calls her that. its colby, coach or margo, and go to the privileged few. margo grew up in the creek commune n then dropped out of school cos of a teenage pregnancy so she was a bit of a cautionary tale back in’t’day (said tht in my yorkshire accent). she now works for summer camps coaching pee wee soccer and pee wee cheer, as well as helping out her beekeeper dad on his honey farm, which is jst north of abernathy creek, and working at scuba on the off seasons.

— its just her and her dad, and has been for as long as she can recall !! everything she knows about her mum could fit on the back of the weathered passport photo she keeps in her wallet of a stranger who shares her face - her name’s melody, or at least tht was name she used when working as a dancer, she’s from argentina and dropped mag’s dad as soon as someone w more money came along.

— margo’s father is a beekeeper with his own organic honey company. margo and her dad moved to irving in the early 00s, the summer between grade school and middle school, because her dad had heard about the communal living in abernathy creek and wanted to lend his skills there and live off the fatta the land in a very lenny from of mice and men kinda way.

— for a few years of middle school margo was bullied for living with the ‘freaks from the creek’, but when they realised how chill her dad was with underage drinking, margo ‘keg-bringer’ colby soon gained popularity among the more renegade students. every so often, the high school parties would happen at her end of town, occasionally with members of the commune even offering the high schoolers a spiritual experience they’d never forget (often in the form of mushrooms) which meant people tried to stay on her good side. to get an invite to a margo colby party handed you a free pass to make up the most ridiculous shit about the commune you liked and nobody else could say anything, because they’d never been to the creek.

— at school, margo had a lot of ‘behvioural issues’ bcos of undiagnosed adhd, she found it difficult to sit still for hours n write down huge chunks of information n her restlessness was seen as laziness. she was encouraged to do sports, as were most of the kids who weren’t that academically inclined, but she turned out to be pretty hot shit at sprinting, because she grew up surrounded by bee houses and he who runs slowest gets stung, baybeyy!! so yea, in school sports became her LIFE. she was gonna get a sports scholarship to college but ended up dropping out of school in senior year n becoming one of those kids who could have had it all but lost it.

— she had sex with sutter at a house party when she wasnt really ready because it felt like the right thing to do at the time and everybody else was doing it. she’d attended health class, she’d seen the corny videos. she knew about all the statistics, but she also knew that it had never happened to anyone she knew and the pull out method was basically safer than the morning after pill and way less expensive.

— a teenage pregnancy knocked her out of the runnings for prom queen and meant she had to leave school early. she didn’t go to college when her friends did, instead she spent the time interviewing potential foster candidates and eating her weight in lindt chocolate while marathoning love island in her room.

— she had a son, who she passed off to someone else a couple of towns away. it was a closed adoption which seemed like the best idea at the time, but she now wishes she had access to his life.

— after peaking in high school and jumping between jobs for a few years, she got a more permanent role at scuba which she loves with all of her heart and soul, but unfortunately a bar job doesn’t pay the rent.

— she works at summer camps coaching junior soccer and netball on the side. she’s extremely competitive and takes it very personally if her team lose. the kids all call her, coach colby n write her longwinded letters about how they’ll never forget this summer camp before they go back to their suburban picket fence houses n she keeps all the letters in a drawer n takes them out to read when she’s feelin depressed.

— enjoys surfing and worked for a number of years on resorts like mila kunis’ job in forgetting sarah marshall. she went on to work 18-hour days as a stewardess on luxury yachts which is a part of her backstory i added after watching season one of below deck because i guess i really am that fucking impressionable. met most of her surf friends doing tht but said she’d never in her life do it again bcos it was mostly just picking up after rich white ppl for shit pay. she came back to irving n thats when she started doing the summer camp jobs so she could move out of the creek n get her own apartment.

— she never actually finished senior year so she’s currently going to night school at the community college to get through her exams and is trying to save to go to college or open university. she wants to major in criminology. she’s super ambitious but also super adhd so she fluctuates between thinking she can achieve anything to just feeling like a failure n thinkin whats the point

— used to shoplift to feel joy and as an act of resistance to her hippy commune routes, but now sees herself as a reformed, bin-diving freegan (sims 4 eco living can i get a hell yaaaa). also she thinks it’s totally wrong to steal when you have enough money and clearly don’t need to steal to survive, ppl risk imprisonment for basic necessities, so for her to do it for a brief thrill and some new shades felt a bit derogatory

— was raised jewish. became a vegetarian as a child because it seemed, at the time, easier than having to explain which foods she was and wasn’t allowed to eat together, so she just cut out meat entirely. still a vegetarian now and dabbles in veganism, although its become less about not eating certain meats in the milk of their mother and more about her global impact / carbon footprint

— nurses little animals to health in her garden. has a hedgehog name OJ short for orange juice not the other one filthy pig. her and her dad have always been huge animal rights activists and existed on a vegetarian diet. the only one in their house who isn’t vegetarian is their cat, auggie. (short 4 augustus gloop)

— has a lot of stupid ass stick and poke tattoos. there was a phase during her years as a barmaid where she wanted to train as a tattoo artist n would mostly practice on herself or any friends who would let her

— she doesn’t form many long lasting friendships cos she tends to be super excited when she makes a new friend and just see them all the time but then it wears off and she can ghost a bit. she’ll always coming pinging back but she’s not the most predictable or loyal friend, sometimes she’ll sleep in your house every night for a week and then you won’t even get a text from her for a month. her best friends are elderly neighbours and houseless people she meets when volunteering at the foodbank. she thinks they’re more authentic than most of the ‘fake posers’ she meets down the vela pier

— calls herself a butch lesbian but still has sex with men when she wants validation. sexually attracted to some men, especially effeminate men, but only romantically attracted to women. very possessive of the gals in her life.

— stopped giving a shit about getting older or adhering to anyone elses bullshit standards, realised it was all fake p much as soon as she dropped out of school and one by one her friends just stopped texting her

— lives in one of the lofts in port apartments. it’s open plan with rugs and lava lamps everywhere. she has a palette bed. its all very ‘sustainable chic’. like, oh wow, a pallet bed that im supposed to think you made from scratch but i KNOW you got it off ebay because you thought it looked trendy

— constantly says shes poor but still buys clothes from urban outfitters. sus.

— frequently found at fannies flirting with the cute bisexual bartender with a choppy black bob.

general vibe / personality

vibrant, vulgar, self-absorbed, tenacious, veers bewteen apathetic and dogmatic, temperamental, flighty, unreliable, magnetic, charismatic, passive aggressive, likes to play devil’s advocate, takes the moral high ground. estp and a leo

likes: 70s music, john wayne movies, black mirror, philosophy, cowboy chic culture, dc comics, the smell of locker rooms,, deep red lipstick, lacrosse sticks, smoking weed from a bong, dogs, karaoke, pet rats, kate moss, late-night strolls, hawaaiian shirts worn open over a bralette, skinned knees, thai food, picking the apples at the very top of the trees, zip-lining, cigarettes, the idea of pegging but not the practical application of it, decorative lamps, LGBTQ+ pin badges, worn-out furniture, twangy electric guitars.

dislikes: girls who call other girls ‘pick me’ girls, woody allen movies, mental mathematics, wealthy children, quentin tarantino, ironing, institutionalised misogyny, the imaginary future, french literature, ‘dump him’ feminism, wes anderson films, spoken word poetry nights, college-educated bar staff who act like they’re better than you, indie softbois, the general mentality of cheerleading squads.

aesthetics

orange peel, the smell of bleach, skeleton drawings in the margins of a journal, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, bleach white sneakers pounding on a gymnasium floor, setting dumpsters on fire for the hell of it. a hit flask of vodka decorated with hello kitty stickers, split knuckles, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, a child in an oversize bee keepers suit, scabbed knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your dad wouldn’t take you, a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

hoo boy this is getting LONG AS FUCK but here are my wanted plots

wanted plots

ok margo’s been in irving since she was like 10. she’s quite a vivacious person?? she dresses completely instinctively without any sense of cohesion so she stands out. a guy once told her she was wearing the ugliest outfit he’d ever seen and he thought that was so cool and brave of her. but anyway where was i going.. she grew up in the abernathy creek so stuck out like a sore thumb,,,, maybe ppl who were super interested in the creek or maybe poked fun at her bcos of it idk.....

b4 she dropped out, margo used 2 b in with the cool kids at school bcos her dad would buy them booze and rarely ask for the money. maybe a fun plot cld b with some of the ‘it girls’ she used to hang around with b4 she got pregnant n dropped out and they all went off to college n stopped texting her.

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! some1 she feels like she knew before irving ???

since margo literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships. fwbs. enemies with benefits. all the angst. all the slow burn mutual pining we hate each other narratives

locals who play sports. margo wld be all over community soccer n take it way too seriously. maybe ppl she plays hockey with. girls who she’s like, weirdly intimate with but its not a thing cos the other girls straight !!! what do u mean !! aha just fun !

she works part time at scuba. i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry.

she's also a surf instructor and occasionally works as a lifeguard!! gal has like 7 jobs ik but regular swimmers hmu

ppl she coaches at the gym !! she wants to be a personal trainer

i reckon she might have recently started meditating to try and calm down her mind cos its always bustling with thoughts, n i think she’s p interested in buddhism so if anyone’s a buddhist hmu

someone she’s trying to make a zine with on female empowerment and women in film and art, etc. just a very feminist zine.

TLDR: angry sports gay, former high school track prodigy turned drop out, who likes feminist literature, wearing leather jackets over slip dresses, and smudged red lipstick.

this was so long !!! im sorry !! if you’ve read this far have a biscuit, love x

#aaaaaaa #we back boys #irvingintro #hmu for plots bayybeyyy

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winterromanov · 5 years ago

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Maybe a childhood friends au? Maybe they grew up together and Bucky saw her as a little sister then they don’t see each other for a while and she comes home from college and is like.... woah. But she’s always had a crush on him??

pairing: bucky x reader

It’s hard to say how long you’ve been in love with James Buchanan Barnes. You want to say forever--you’re a bit prone to the dramatics--and maybe it has been, because you can’t remember a moment where you’ve not been absolutely, totally, completely enamoured by him. He’s smart and funny and attractive, goddammit, and he’d pushed Brock Rumlow over when he’d called you a stupid little girl and danced with you at your moms’ friend’s wedding, spinning you round and round aged nine until you were so dizzy you couldn’t stand.

He’s left you that dizzy ever since.

But--and there’s always a but--he’s always looked at you with the soft eyes of an older brother, protective and loyal in the same way he is with Becca. He’s only two years older than you but it feels like an eternity. To him, you’re always going to be the little girl thrashing about in the pool with his baby sister every summer vacation. The girl who he ritually scared on Halloween by jumping out from behind the bush in your front yard in increasingly scary masks. And, the summer following his senior year, the girl who stood teary-eyed on his porch as you watched him pack up his dad’s minivan for Stanford.

He’d pressed a kiss on Becca’s forehead she sobbed near uncontrollably, the ache of missing him sharp in her chest even though he’d not even set off for the airport yet. Then he’d turned to you, smiling mischievously in a way that had made many a girl other than you crumble, and lifted your chin with his middle finger.

“Look after Becs for me, yeah?” Then he’d winked, and you’d used every single inch of will power you had to not break down like Becca. You somehow managed a nod, your own smile tight. “Can always rely on you, (Y/N).”

You’d never wanted to hug him more. To grab his body close, squeeze the life out of it, to beg him not to go. But Bucky Barnes was not yours, never would be, never would look at you in the way you wanted him to.

You watch as his dad’s truck slowly drives away, chugging exhaust fumes, until it’s merely an orange speck heading for the freeway. You watch your whole world disappear from view--and you never told him how aged nine he shook you up like a snowglobe on the burnished wood floor of a church hall, your shoes squeaking and his laugh in your ears and your heart fluttering in your throat.

You didn’t know much about love, per say, so you’re uncertain on whether it’s more difficult to move on from somebody who once loved you back or someone who never loved you at all. Either way, it takes a hell of a long time for you to forget Becca Barnes’ older brother, if you ever truly forget him at all. You graduate high school and miraculously get onto the Yale literature program and somehow six years have passed since you last saw him, properly, your adoration for him haunting the back of your mind. You kiss boys and break up with boys but you arrive at Becca’s wedding ceremony without an arm linked to your own, in a pretty dress with no-one to admire it.

Madly, it doesn’t cross your mind that Bucky will be there, even though he’s Becca’s only sibling. Of course he’s going to be there. It’s just--you see him stood at the front of the venue, in a fancy suit and a shorter haircut, six years older and Jesus Christ. He’s not the teasing, handsome boy of eighteen who broke your heart without knowing anymore. He’s a proper grownup.

For half a second, his excited blue eyes meet yours over rows and rows of ribbon-decked chairs. He blinks, mouth slightly open like he’s on the edge of a sentence, and you’re suddenly sixteen again. Your cheeks flush as you quickly find a seat next to somebody you know from school.

Your frantically beating heart let’s you know the pretty fucking obvious. You never truly forgot him, did you?

Becca’s wedding is beautiful. She marries a girl she met on her first day of fashion school and they wear gowns they both designed themselves. As you follow the rest of the guests out of the hotel and into the courtyard for pictures, you find yourself becoming swept up in the delirium of the day, throwing rose petals on your sobbing childhood friend as she clutches the hand of the love of her life.

“(Y/N).”

His voice sounds the same--more mature maybe, but mostly the same. When you turn round he’s stood with his hands in the pocket of his grey suit, rose petals caught in his hair.

(His smile is also identical. You’d be heartbroken, even more so, if that ever changed.)

“Bucky,” you say, smiling, in a frankly shit attempt at being nonchalant. “You look really well.”

He shrugs, before gesturing at you. “And you--Jesus, (Y/N), you grew up.”

“Of course I did! And Becca, too.” The sun sharply comes out from behind the clouds so you shield your eyes, seeing him better. “I always knew her wedding day would be beautiful. You must be so happy and proud of her.”

“I am. Always. In everything she does. But you always knew that.”

He’s right about that. You’d never meet a more supportive brother than Bucky. His mouth opens as he looks at you intensely, on the verge of saying something, before a hand curls round his shoulder asking him to join in with the photographs.

“In a second,” he says, before turning and pointing at you. “You’ll be at the reception, yeah? I’d really like to catch up.”

“As if I’d miss it!” you chirp, and he grins as he’s swallowed by another crowd.

It’s like your heart hurts preemptively. Watching Bucky Barnes whirlwind back into your life for a moment before disappearing again, melting like snow on your winter boots.

The Barnes’ a so popular than their reception is understandingly full to the rafters, family and friends and a never-ending list of others besides, meaning every single dinner table is full and James is sat all the way at the front at the top. You talk idly to old school friends about how their lives have gone. An old neighbour with a man-bun writes his number on a napkin and tucks it into the front of your dress, like you’d find that sexy. Champagne is drunk and Becca cries even more and you figure that Bucky has forgotten you again as the evening eclipses into the night. The live band plays beautiful folk covers--Becca and Josie have their first dance to Bon Iver’s Skinny Love, clinging onto each other like the world is ending around them--but you don’t feel like dancing.

The whole day has been perfect. You can’t describe it any other way. But then why do you feel so empty?

You grab another glass of champagne and weave between half-drunk revellers out onto the veranda, where the air is cooler and the music is muted, blurred. White fairy lights stretch out across the lawn and you see a couple kissing under a marquee. Taking a deep breath, you sit on the steps, the stone cold against the bare skin of your legs.

“Room for an old friend?”

You look up, even though you know who it is. You shuffle along so he can slide in beside you, shivering as the warmth of his thigh presses against yours.

“I meant to grab you sooner, but y’know.” He laughs, looking down at his legs. “Big family, big wedding. Think everybody wanted a piece of me.”

“It’s okay.” You shiver more noticeably, and like a reflex, Bucky has rested his glass on the border and wrapping his suit jacket around your shoulders. You try to profess, insist you’re fine, but he’s having none of it.

Jesus, if your sixteen year old self could see you now. You pull it tighter round yourself, the material soft, the woody scent of his cologne clinging to the fabric.

“I don’t know how the years passed, (Y/N). I kept meaning to... but suddenly I was graduating, and Becca told me you’d got into Yale--good on you, by the way--and now I’ve got this job in the city, and it just...” He looks at you, and for the first time, it doesn’t feel like he’s looking at a little girl anymore. “Happened. And now my baby sister is married. Fucking hell.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Me and Becs used to talk about getting married when we were kids. She always said she wanted to marry Julia Roberts and she’d make their dresses, which come to think of it was probably a sign she wasn’t going to marry a man in the end.”

“Yeah. Certainly sounds like it.” He laughs and fuck, it takes you back, to lying on the grass in the dark and Bucky would point out constellations he’d learnt at school. Just you, and him, because Becca thought space was boring and would rather drink hot chocolate in the house instead. With a grin, he nudges your shoulder with his. “And what about you, huh? Who were you going to marry?”

It’s a good job it’s dark otherwise he’d see how bright your cheeks burned. “Oh. I, uh--I don’t remember. Probably Orlando Bloom. Or something.”

“Orlando Bloom. Right. Good choice.”

His eyes flicker over you again and you fight the urge to meet his gaze, not quite wanting to read it. You allow the quiet to wash over you, tinged by the slow, chilling lull of a Hozier track in the main ballroom.

“I left it too long, didn’t I?” Bucky says, eyes flicking onto the middle distance, “You know...I always wanted to, (Y/N).”

Your brows furrow. “Wanted what?”

“To tell you. Because you’ve always been there, and you didn’t have to be, but you were. When Ma died, you were there. When I left for college, you were there.” He half-smiles, blinking slowly. “I thought I’d tell you then, but Becca was crying and she needed you more than I did.”

“James.” You say his real name softly, your heart about to burst out your rib cage. Because it’s been six years. Six years. You have spent six years desperately trying to get over this boy-who-is-now-a-man and now he’s... It’s on the edge of his tongue, words you’ve always wanted to hear.

Words he’s apparently always wanted to say.

“(Y/N), fuckin’ hell, I’ve been in love with you for so long I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t. And I’m a dumbass for not saying anything sooner, and I want you to know that you don’t owe me anything. I just had to--I felt like if I didn’t tell you now, I’d drag it to the grave with me. Becca’s been moaning at me for almost as long just to...”

You cut off his declarations with your lips, silencing his mouth with a kiss a whole fucking childhood in the making. His hands curl round your face, tugging you closer, fireworks exploding in your gut. You’d probably kiss for a whole lot longer if one of Bucky’s cousins didn’t choose that moment to come out for a cigarette, giving James a whoop and slapping him on the shoulder.

“Okay...” Bucky says, drawing away, “I’m taking that as a sign that my feelings aren’t completely onesided.”

“Dear God, Bucky,” you fight the urge to roll your eyes, “We are both the most oblivious people you could ever meet.”

He kisses you again. And again. And again. Until he stands, running a hand down your arm until it meets your hand.

“It sounds like we both might owe each other a dance.”

The dancefloor is mostly empty by the time Bucky drags you there, high on your own heartbeat and the champagne in the stomach. Instead of wrapping his hands round your waist and pulling you close, he winks and grabs your hands, spinning you round and round and round until you’re so dizzy you can barely stand.

Bucky Barnes has been making you dizzy for most of your existence. You don’t see him stopping anytime soon.

send me a request

#oof #this got away from me #mcu #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you

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unofferable-fic · 6 years ago

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Do You Fear the Devil? (Loki x Reader): 4 - Milk or Sugar?

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

Gif originally posted by isleoftom

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Victorian London AU

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries/violence, gore, language, angst, lil fluff.

Word Count: 5,658

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Playlist: “Everyone Loves Oranges” — Abel Korzeniowski, “Born Unto Trouble” — Bill Elm & Woody Jackson, “Minnesota, WI” — Bon Iver, “All Gone (Alone)” — Gustavo Santaolalla

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A/N: Also available on AO3. I managed to churn this bad boy out in about four days after thoroughly researching the murder of Annie Chapman. Hope you guys enjoy it, because it was a nice slight change of pace from the other chapters. Thank you very much to those or commented, read, and left likes. Seeing feedback and such genuinely makes my day. Happy reading!

8th September 1888, 6.30 am.

Despite his haggard appearance and fatigue, Loki made it to Hanbury Street in good time. Along the way, PC Barnes provided him with everything they knew so far, and Miss Y/L/N also informed him that the victim was known to them, but mostly to Miss Maximoff. He appreciated the update, even if it was a struggle to keep his eyes from drooping shut.

You are in for a long morning, he reminded himself as they arrived on the scene. Pull yourself together before you draw unnecessary attention!

His first thought was on the massive crowd that stood before him. It must have been several hundred or so strong, and he turned to PC Barnes in displeasure. “What do you expect me to do with all of these people here?”

“Shit,” James mumbled, placing his hands on his hips. “Stark sent Wilson to get more men to contain it.”

The doctor scoffed. “And they are clearly doing a wonderful job of containing it.”

“What the hell do you expect? You know how understaffed we are.”

“Well then let’s make this quick.”

With PC Barnes clearing a way through the throng of agitated people, Loki emerged on to the crime scene with Y/N at his side. Sgt Rogers, PC Wilson, and two other constables were doing their best to control the bystanders, but there was only so much they could do when it continued to grow with each passing minute.

“I’m going to stay with Wanda,” Y/N said, gesturing to her friends, who were sitting against a fence, as far from the body as possible. “I’ll be just over there, not that you shall need me anyway… I would hardly be useful to you.”

“I would imagine that you would be far more useful comforting your friend right now,” he offered her with genuine sympathy. “If you are needed, we shall call upon you.”

“Of course, Doctor.”

He gave her a brief once-over when her back was turned before he joined the inspectors who stood around what he assumed was the victim. “Gentlemen.”

“Ah, Dr Laufeyson,” Inspector Stark greeted him. “Sorry to keep you from your beauty sleep.”

“Luckily I am blessed with an appealing appearance, so no harm done.” Only then did Loki notice Chief Inspector Strange standing beside him. “Oh, Strange, back from your holiday already?”

“It would seem that violent murders have a tendency to cut them short,” he replied, looking grim. “The Chief Commissioner has put me in charge of this case—”

“Co-charge,” Stark added swiftly, wagging a finger between the two of them. “Co-investigating, co-parenting, kinda like a marriage.”

Dr Laufeyson raised a brow and looked between the two of them in amusement. With a slight laugh, he spoke. “Right, of course. Co-inspecting. How innovative.”

Chief Inspector Strange narrowed his eyes at his comrade, his brow furrowing in concern. “Are you well, Doctor? You look quite rough around the edges.”

“Now that you mention it,” Stark began. “You do look more rugged than usual. Not sleeping?”

“Somewhat,” Loki dismissed them, turning his attention back to the body. “I did not sleep well last night. But regardless of my exhaustion, I need to see to this body urgently, Inspector.”

The older man snapped back into action. “Of course. We need you to work as quick as you can this morning, if you wouldn’t mind. The crowd is getting…frisky. Bad frisky.”

“Her name?”

“Annie Chapman, confirmed by Miss Maximoff over there.”

“When was she found?” he asked, squatting down so that he could begin a quick examination.

“A little before 6 am,” Chief Inspector Strange elaborated, looking at a small notepad. “By a man called John Davis. He came straight to the station to report it and we came here as quickly as we could.”

“I do not think your speed would have mattered. A quick glance is all I need to confirm that she is unfortunately beyond all medical help.”

With the little time he had before the body would need to be removed, Loki got to work and performed a quick examination. Annie’s left arm was placed across the left breast, while her legs were drawn up and skirts pushed above her waist, revealing a pair of red and white stockings. He turned his attention to her face, which was swollen and bruised, and turned on the right side. Between the front teeth protruded her swollen tongue, a clear sign to him that she may have died of asphyxiation. A bloodstained, white and red neckerchief that matched her stockings was tied around her slit throat. Upon closer inspection, he noted that it was dissevered deeply, with the incisions through the skin being jagged and reached right round the neck. This attack was as vicious as the one on Nichols, and, upon recalling the abdominal wounds inflicted on the previous victim, Dr Laufeyson quickly checked Chapman’s stomach and found a large gash inflicted by a knife. Though still connected to her body, her intensives were removed from her gut and placed on the ground over her right shoulder.

“Her throat is slit,” he said to the inspectors, without removing his eyes from the body. “But I do not think that is what killed her. Look at this.” He pointed to her protruding tongue. “My guess is that she died by asphyxiation. No sign of a struggle… She must have entered the yard alive. Look here.” He noted the fence above her head. “There are some small drops of blood on the fence, but not enough to imply that her throat was slit while she was alive. Rigor mortis has yet to set in, but the body was quite cold. This could be due to the cold weather, but it is hard to tell. The time of death may have been at about 4.30 am. Then again, I cannot be sure under the circumstances.” With a deep breath, he stood up, not wanting to let his eyes wander to her destroyed abdomen any longer. Even with his profession, he found it difficult to handle.

As Strange took notes of his findings, Stark pointed out some more details to Loki. “Her belongings are scattered around her and the yard too, so I don’t know how that goes with your theory of no struggle. We have yet to question the neighbours on whether they heard any disturbance.”

With a swift look over the items that were strewn about, Loki shook his head. “The ones by the bodies seem purposely placed to me.”

“Like they were arranged?”

“Possibly. It could have been a surprise attack as well. That would not give her a chance to fight back.”

“There was something else of note,” the Chief Inspector began before he ushered the men to a nearby water spigot. “So, let us say that you’ve just murdered a woman, slit her throat, and stuffed your hands into her intestines… Wouldn’t you urgently want to wash your hands of the blood? This spigot is perfectly clean and shows no signs of being used this morning by someone with bloody hands. Why not use it?”

“Why stick your hands in a woman’s intestines in the first place?” Inspector Stark replied. “The guy is probably bonkers beyond belief. If anything, this is just further proof of his audacity. He ran off, quite literally, red-handed.”

Strange nodded in agreement, though visibly put off by the notion. “I should also mention that we found a leather workman’s apron in the yard. It seemed out of place, so I thought it was a curious thing.”

Loki nodded slowly, glancing around the scene again. “The more information, the better, Chief Inspector. But I think I have done all I can here. Chapman needs to be taken to the Whitechapel Workhouse Infirmary before this crowd gets any bigger.”

“I shall send for an ambulance, Doctor. We should also have a word with Miss Maximoff — until we can contact Miss Chapman’s family, she is the closest thing we have to any information about her character or people who may want to hurt her.”

Stark nodded. “Noted. We shall see to it. How about you accompany myself and Wilson to the mortuary, Dr Laufeyson, while Strange sees to the women?”

Loki and Stephen both agreed, mostly just eager to have Annie moved out of the public eye. PC Wilson was sent to fetch an ambulance, and it wasn’t long before one was wheeled to the scene and the body was hidden away it a battered old coffin. The doctor threw a cautious glance at Y/N and her friends while Chief Inspector Strange explained to them what the next steps were. They appeared apprehensive, and Loki hesitated for the briefest of moments before taking his leave.

Upon arrival at Brick Lane, shortly before 7 am, Stark let out an audible groan. Loki looked at him curiously as they pulled up outside the infirmary. “What is the matter?”

“Look who is here to receive the body.”

Loki looked at the gates and immediately set eyes on Robert Mann, the same employee who had taken part in the unauthorised stripping and washing of Mary Ann Nichol’s body. “Oh, for God sake…”

“I’m not having this,” Inspector Stark immediately declared and approached the man. He looked him up and down with narrowed eyes, while Mann appeared thoroughly put off by the stare-down. As Loki and Samuel approached the pair, Stark made his instructions clear. “Considering Dr Laufeyson was apparently misunderstood before, I am going to put this in black and white for you boys. This body is not to be touched, other than being carefully placed in a room, until my colleague has completed a full post-mortem examination. Is that clear?”

“As day, Inspector,” Mann replied with a gulp. “Crystal!”

“I would certainly hope so. I would hate it if you lot were to lose your jobs, or if more women were to die because of your mistakes.” With a grin he gave the worker a hard pat on the shoulder and let them carry the coffin into the mortuary.

“Damn, Stark,” Wilson sighed. “It’s not often that I see you let loose on someone.”

“I suppose it is a rare occurrence.”

“I would usually comment on your out-of-character reprimanding, Inspector,” Dr Laufeyson began, taking off his top hat so that he could wipe his brow. “But with lives clearly at stake, one cannot allow room for silly mistakes.”

“Right you are, Doctor.” He looked to PC Wilson and continued on. “Do me a favour, would you? I would rather you stayed here and act in my stead. You are in charge until we return.”

“We?” Dr Laufeyson repeated.

“Yes, we. Look, I need to go assist Strange in questioning the women. It shan’t be an easy experience for young Miss Maximoff, of that much I am certain, but they are a little more familiar with you than they are with us. Your presence might make it easier.”

“Have Rogers do it,” Loki suggested, not entirely eager with leaving the body and having to be in the women’s company when he looked a mess and needed sleep. “Or Barnes.”

“I already have Rogers and Barnes in charge of speaking with the residents on Hanbury Street. C’mon, Doc. We’re short on men enough as it is, and I want to make the process as easy as it can be for the girl. She’s basically still a kid who just saw her friend’s intestines strewn out on the ground.” While Loki was visibly hesitating, Stark tried to ease his worries. “All I need from you is two hours. Then you can come right back here and perform the post-mortem, that sound alright? Wilson will be here to make sure nothing goes wrong.”

He could hardly go against Stark’s wishes given that he was his superior, and Loki knew that. Despite the fact he would much rather do his job and be done with it, he also wasn’t overly eager with the idea of the inspectors blundering their way through an interview and hassling Miss Maximoff more than necessary. His mind briefly drifted to the thought of seeing Miss Y/L/N again, and he was immediately perturbed by the fluttering sensation that made its home in his chest. He wasn’t sure whether he hated it or liked it.

Give yourself a break, man. So she is an attractive woman — it is not like you have met any of them before. Get on with it and stop making a fuss.

“Fine,” he relented, putting his hat back on. “If you insist.”

“I insist quite strongly, so thank you,” Stark replied, before saying his goodbyes to PC Wilson and returning to Commercial Street Police Station. They quickly made their way to one of the more comfortable back offices where Strange was already speaking with Wanda. Natasha and Y/N sat by her side, offering support whenever the younger woman needed it. The four of them were sat around an interview table in the centre of the room, on which there were a number of cups filled with tea, a kettle, and a few plates of biscuits. As the two of them entered the room, Strange paused the interview to offer them a beverage, which they both accepted.

“I hope you are not giving the young lady too much hassle, Chief Inspector,” Stark teased, sipping from his cup as he took a seat next to him. “I have heard you are not the best with delicate issues.”

“I am doing just fine, thank you,” the man replied, somewhat miffed by the accusation. He turned his attention to Loki, who was shrugging off his coat and hat and hanging them by the door. “What is Dr Laufeyson doing here?”

“I thought the ladies would appreciate his familiar face while Miss Maximoff tells us all she can about Annie Chapman. You hardly expect them to stare at our ugly mugs all morning, do you?”

The women chuckled at that, and Natasha was the first to pass comment. “Give yourselves a bit more credit, boys. You are rather pleasing to the eye.”

While the group around him spoke, Loki kept his mouth shut and instead focused his attention on gathering a few cups, a plate of biscuits, and the tea pot from the table on to a tray. He brought it to the couch that sat to the left of the interview table where the group were gathered. When he set the tray on a nearby end table, he then carefully began laying its contents out before returning the tray to its previous place in the centre of the room.

“And you flatter us, Miss Romanoff,” Stark replied, always quick to give a flirtatious comment. “I request that you cut back on that before our heads explode.”

As Loki took a seat on the couch and began making himself a cup of tea, the chief inspector continued on with his complaints. “Should he not be attending to his duties at present?”

“I have been kind enough to give Inspector Stark two hours of my time,” Loki replied calmly, reaching for the plate of biscuits. “After which I will attend to my duties. Right now, I am to remain here and provide whatever help I can to our ever-complying ladies, here. Would any of you like some tea?”

He knew that Stark had brought him in to try make the atmosphere calmer and less professional. He had stressed before that they were on equal terms with these women, and while it may take Strange a moment to adjust around the arrangement, the women were a little more familiar with him. If his presence would bring them some ease and, in turn, progress the investigation, then so be it.

“I would actually,” Y/N answered, looking between him and Wanda. “It might help to wake me up a little.”

“Go and relax for a bit,” Wanda insisted, wiping the wet stains on her cheeks. She sniffled but pushed her friend on. “Natasha is here, so go sit down and have a cup.”

Y/N looked apprehensive at the thought of leaving her side even for a moment. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She gave her an appreciate smile before Y/N retreated to the couch and sat on the opposite end to Loki.

He was quick to grab an empty cup and pour her some of the hot beverage from the kettle. “Milk? Sugar?”

“A little bit of milk, please.”

While the others continued on with their interview, Miss Maximoff providing whatever details and answering any questions about Annie that she could, Loki and Y/N were left to their own devices. When her tea was ready, he carefully handed her the cup and encouraged her to take as many biscuits that she wanted. The others paid them no mind, and the doctor had been prepared to sit in comfortable silence until his companion broke it.

“I’m sorry they made you come in here to humour us.” He met her gaze to see her staring into her tea. “I’m sure you would rather be doing your job in the mortuary.”

What was she apologising for? Did she really feel guilty over such a thing? “I may be of more use in the mortuary, but Stark thinks my presence would make this whole thing go a little smoother.”

“I thought he just wanted you here because you have a handsome face?” she replied, a teasing smile slowly stretching across her face.

Oh? Did she call me handsome?

He could feel his own lips mirroring her expression. “I do believe he referred to my face as familiar as opposed to handsome, but it is nice to know that you think that of me.”

Though she laughed at his observation, he noticed the small tint of red in her cheeks. “My apologies.”

“It is quite alright. I would hardly refuse a compliment, especially when it is true.”

She let out a laugh and shook her head. “Your arrogance knows no bounds, does it?”

“Not particularly. But to answer your question, Inspector Stark thought my being here might help conversation flow easier. After all, the three of you are a little more familiar with me than you are with our dear inspectors.”

Y/N sat there and nodded, pulling her legs up under herself as she got more comfortable. “I think you helped us relax a bit. I know Wanda seems better than she had been earlier.” She sighed. “She could have done without seeing what happened to Annie, but I guess it was unavoidable.”

Loki sipped on his tea before offering his thoughts. “It is grim business to be involved in, and certainly not for the faint of heart — though I would not peg any of you ladies as such — but it is always harder when it is someone you know lying on the pavement.”

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?” he asked, momentarily confused.

“This,” she pressed. She met his eyes now, gesturing around herself. “All of this. You have to witness such gruesome things on a daily basis, most of them up close too. You have to bear witness to how vicious and violent people can be. Does it not horrify you when you see what we do to each other?”

Loki was known, especially by his living patients and colleagues, for having a silver tongue, the ability to string together words, and to talk himself out of anything. It was a proficient skill that he had trained just as much as his medical knowledge. This was, however, not a question he was asked often. Sometimes, PCs Barnes or Wilson may jest and make their usual exclamations such as “that’s nasty! How can you look at that without throwing up?” and he usually dismissed them with a sarcastic quip about how he loves the sight of lacerated organs. But he knew those men, and he did not know much about Miss Y/L/N. Still, he knew by her tone and the events of the day that her question was a genuine one that she wanted to understand. Even though she worked a difficult job and probably saw her fair share of unpleasant sights in Whitechapel, she wanted to better understand how he did what he did. It was clear that her question came from a place of confusion, distress, and genuine interest, and this was a new interaction for him. He didn’t have the urge to reply with dismissive sarcasm or disinterest. Despite the fact he knew very little about this woman, he still wanted to talk to her because she wanted to listen.

Regardless of the anxiety that came with talking to someone about such a personal matter, he was somehow willing to explore it. He barely knew Y/N, and maybe that was the reason why he did it.

“Of course it does.” He paused, carefully keeping his tone level and focusing on the still hot cup in his large hand. “In my experience, you eventually become somewhat desensitised to the horrors you witness. It never becomes wholly manageable, but only a little easier to deal with as more time passes. It is definitely something for only a few lucky people to do, but there are still days when I witness something so… nauseating that sleep eludes me or I turn to a strong whiskey to forget.”

“That certainly doesn’t sound easy,” she said after a few beats of silence between them, the other people in the room forgotten. “You must be very passionate about medicine to be in this line of work.”

“I suppose I am.”

“What made you want to become a doctor?”

He felt her eyes on him again, and turned to meet them, momentarily transfixed by their vibrant colour. He smirked. “Eager to learn more about me, are you?”

“I don’t exactly get the opportunity to ask doctors questions such as these,” she chuckled, opting to grab a biscuit and munch on it. “Usually I just experience a very swift visit with the doctors who check in on all the women that work at the brothel. We hardly get on the subject of how we ended up in our respective professions while they are making sure we’re not pregnant or ill.”

“A fair point,” he agreed and fiddled with his cravat in an attempt to loosen it. “If you must know, I have been fascinated with anatomy from a young age. That, and I liked the idea of helping people.”

“You do not exactly come across as the helpful sort.” When he raised a brow at her, she quickly elaborated. “Ah, that’s not exactly what I meant to say—”

Her mild awkwardness amused him. It was a vast change from the challenging woman he had previously encountered. Loki wouldn’t exactly be himself if he wasn’t eager to poke fun at her for it. “Well, colour me well and truly offended.”

“Dr Laufeyson—”

“It is Loki,” he cut her off, using the lull in conversation to take a biscuit for himself. “Just because you have offended me does not mean that you must start calling me by my title. As stated previously, we are on level playing terms.”

“Loki,” she began again, treading carefully. “What I meant to say was you don’t exactly express an obvious air of concern for others. You definitely seem intelligent and knowledgable and show a genuine interest in your craft, but caring was not a characteristic I would have chosen for you.”

He chuckled bitterly. “You are not the first person to say that to me, darling. And I am sure you shan’t be the last.”

“I wasn’t finished my point.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account.”

“Look, I meant what I said; you didn’t come across as someone overly concerned with others. But then again, you showed up here with the intention of making us, well, more specifically Wanda, feel at ease. You didn’t necessarily have to do that. And not that it’s a big deal, but it was nice of you to make me tea as well. I’ll admit that I didn’t expect even these little caring gestures from you, but I can see now how you would become a doctor so that you can help others.” She finished her explanation and then shrugged. “It makes a little more sense to me now.”

“You seem to be quite good at reading people.”

“Yes, well with a profession such as mine, you more of less have to learn in order to stay safe. It’s something I’ve had to practice over time, but I think I have made a fair go at your character.”

Before he could stop himself, he was suddenly replying with a joke. “And here I was thinking I was doing well to stay mysterious and aloof.”

“You can certainly do better, Loki,” Y/N joked back, and he felt glad that he hadn’t put her off. “Let’s just say that I am certainly right about you being a stuck up, arrogant toff.”

“Ouch… You wound me, my dear.”

“I aim to wound, Doctor. Speaking of...” She pointed to his cheek and winced a little. “Are you alright? I noticed earlier, but felt that Bucky annoyed you with enough questions about your wellbeing.”

His smile faded, and he suddenly recalled how he had acquired the cut on his cheek the night before. He turned his head and looked down at his hands for a moment so that the wound was no longer in her line of sight. He offered a small laugh before he answered. “I will be fine. Robbing is not exactly uncommon around here.”

“I know, but it’s hardly a pleasant experience either!”

“It is nothing I have not dealt with before,” he said, hoping she would simply drop it. “I can handle myself well enough.”

“If you say so.” If she was curious, she let it go for his sake. “At least I just wound you metaphorically.”

“Well, perhaps you would diverge from your wounding to instead humour me.”

“Humour you about what exactly?”

“By telling me how you come to your profession.” When she laughed at his suggestion, he frowned. “Well, it is only fair considering you asked about mine.”

“Yes well, I certainly didn’t chose my profession because I liked it,” she admitted, folding an arm cross her breast, a motion that did not go unnoticed by him. “I think we are both in very different positions.”

That much was clear to him as well. They were currently sitting on opposite ends of the spectrum when it came to work. Loki was no fool — he knew well that most women turned to prostitution out of desperation as apposed to personal preferences these days. Whitechapel wasn’t an area known for its flourishing opportunities. But he couldn’t help but wonder about Y/N and how she came to be in this position. Much like her friends, she was relatively young, younger than Annie Chapman had been anyway. At the same time, he supposed they were all simply women who found themselves stuck in a situation that was less than ideal. It was obvious to him that the reason she found companionship with Natasha and Wanda was their mutual understanding. “I preferred to not make any assumptions.”

“I’m sure your assumptions would be mostly correct.”

He hesitated for a moment before asking his next question, though he felt like the answer was clear already. “Do you have any family that could help?”

She stiffly shook her head before nodding to the two other women. “They would be the only family I have. My parents died quite suddenly, so I didn’t have much choice.”

“I’m sorry,” he offered weakly, well aware that his words would do little. “Were they ill?”

“Tuberculoses.” Her eyes glazed over as if she was no longer in the room or thinking much about their conversation. “It’s one hell of a thing.”

A sensitive subject, it would seem. Perhaps it would be best if I didn’t push that further...

“What about you?” she asked after taking a swift gulp of tea, eager to forget her own memories. “Any family or other Laufeysons floating about?”

“No,” he answered quickly before he could stop himself. She was looking at him quizzically, but he merely repeated himself. “No one of note. It’s just me.”

“At least we have something in common,” she offered, but there was a clear note of sympathy in her voice, one that caused him to look down at his cup again. “Although it’s not a great thing to share.”

“I suppose not, although I am quite content with my own company.”

“All the time?”

“Well with company such as me, how could I not be content?”

She chuckled at that, and he was glad that she found his arrogance amusing rather than annoying or distasteful. “I wish I could feel that way about being alone sometimes.”

“You unfortunately have to learn to manage when it is unavoidable, Y/N.”

“As long as you’re not forcibly excluding yourself, of course.”

He paused, irked by the insinuation, mostly because he knew it to be true in his own circumstances. While he was teased by his colleagues for being a loner, it wasn’t a lie. Bar his patients and his colleagues with whom he worked, he rarely socialised with anyone else. It wasn’t entirely self inflicted, but he had resided himself to that way of life, and he was happy with it. Wasn’t he?

They sat in comfortable silence for a little while, each of them finishing their tea and once again realising the dire situation with which they were so tightly bound. Even when lighthearted conversations could be had, it seemed that the murders and their horror were inescapable. They were both in the thick of it, but Loki couldn’t help but wonder how Y/N felt about it. Yes, they were both hunting the same monster, but said devil was hunting only one of them.

After a while, she spoke again, exhaustion evident in her voice. “My mother used to say that life could be a right load of shite sometimes.”

“Elegant,” he noted. “But also true. It can be tough.”

“The sooner I realised that fact, the better off I was.”

The conversation drifted after that. It never returned to the former depth with which it had begun, but Dr Laufeyson was somewhat relieved to instead speak of things that held little meaning. He always hated small talk, but on this occasion it was welcomed. It did him until the interview had ended and the women were escorted back to the White Swan by Chief Inspector Strange. Inspector Stark thanked Loki for his cooperation once again before the pair of them made their way back to the mortuary.

It was here that they made several unpleasant discoveries.

The first of which was that in spite of PC Wilson’s presence, two nurses had stripped and washed down Annie Chapman’s body after being instructed to do so by the Clerk of the Workhouse Guardians. Dr Laufeyson was so angry that he very nearly flung the clerk on to the street. He had never seen Stark as exasperated before, and his superior’s similar reaction helped to validate his own anger. After a lot of shouting, damning, and cursing, Dr Laufeyson was allowed to carry out his post-mortem. Stark sat in the room with him, grumbling about the idiocy of the mortuary’s employees.

“It is as if they are trying to tamper with the investigation,” he ranted, massaging his temples. “I swear, Loki, my brain is this close to exploding.”

“Shall I perform your post-mortem as well then?”

“Ha, ha, ha. Very funny. I just can’t believe they would do this again…”

Stark kept talking, but Loki zoned out as he turned his attention from Anne’s neck wounds to the large gash on her abdomen. He opened her up to survey the damage inside. What lay waiting (or rather, not waiting) for him both baffled and startled him.

He felt the blood drain from his face at the sight.

Stark was still rambling, but he couldn’t her any of it.

“Stark?”

“… if they’ve tampered with the evidence—”

“Stark?”

“—I swear, Strange won’t let me hear the end of this—”

“Stark?”

“—I shall tell that wanker that the only one who can boss me around is me—”

Loki couldn’t help but run out of patience. “For God sake, Stark!”

The inspector threw his hands in the air and spun around to face him. “What?”

“Her womb is gone!”

Silence engulfed the room.

Stark stood frozen on the spot, his face twisted into an expression of dread and confusion. “Her… womb?”

“Is gone,” Loki finished, turning his attention back down to the disfigured body. “He cut it out.”

In fairness to Stark, he did come to the doctor’s side so that he could peer at the damage himself. He was silent for a long moment, his eyes scanning over the wound. “What the hell are we dealing with?”

“A man with anatomical knowledge,” Dr Laufeyson pondered, unable to pull his gaze away from the mess of mangled flesh and muscle on the table. “A doctor perhaps?”

As he spoke, Inspector Stark’s voice held every ounce of hatred that the man possessed. “This isn’t a man, Doctor. He is beyond that. Whatever we are dealing with, it is more like a devil.”

Despite wanting to remain hopeful to some extent, when Loki studied the work done by the murderer, he couldn’t help but feel the dread that Stark was expressing. The brutality with which this woman’s life was stolen was now as clear as day. This was way out of their comfort zone. Far beyond it.

This was otherworldly.

This was evil.

And they were not ready for it.

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