#FINALLY serving up this old as hell joke i been meanin to serve up for months

[todayisafridaynight]

there is one (1) barber in kamurocho i SWEAR

[nxrdist]

𝕺𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕷𝖔𝖞𝖆𝖑𝖙𝖞||TLK Fic|| FinanxOC||Two

AN: Welcome to part two! Just a note, I’ve decided I am going to be using a combination of the show and the book plot for the storyline here.  Also this will be a longer chapter than normal. I didn’t feel there was a natural stopping point any sooner lol. So ya’ll get some fluffy Finan/Tove at the end!

Taglist: let me know if you wanted to be tagged for updates!

||Masterlist||

Summary: Tove chose to surrender rather than be killed, after Sigfried was defeated at Beamfleot, giving herself up to the mercy of the Saxons. Thanks to Finan’s intervention, her life is indeed spared and she is brought into Uhtred’s service. With the sting of defeat fresh on her tongue and her new life fighting for the Saxons secured; Tove is left wondering what tricks the Gods have in store for her next.

Words:3039

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In the end, it turned out Tove had been correct about there being no reactionary attack against their main force. A few smoke pillars rose to smudge the sky in the distance, indicating some surviving Danes had been raiding in their retreat toward the sea. But if any followed them, they stayed far enough away not to be observed by the Saxon scouts. As they drew closer to Winchester, it seemed everyone began to relax.

On the third day, the vast city walls came into view from behind a hill and Tove was momentarily struck by the place. Though it's bustling nature was not unlike her home in Denmark, Winchester had tall stone walls which she was told were remnants of an old people called the Romans. There were several other glaring differences between this city and her home walls aside. The most notable, though not unexpected, being the number of Christian priests who scurried about the streets as they passed through the gate.

In Denmark, Tove did not stand out in a crowd, but she quickly realized she did in Winchester. Tove’s war gear was not nearly as splendid as the Lord Uhtred and nothing compared to that of their King. Still, her leather armor, furs, mail coat, trousers, and weapons drew eyes. People stared at her. Not everyone stared, though; some made a concerted effort not to catch her eye, but those who did either stared out of fear or apparent disgust. All the eyes made Tove feel deeply uncomfortable, causing her to stick close to those few she did know; mostly Sihtric and Finan.

“They stare as if they have never seen a shield maiden before,” Tove hissed softly to Sihtric as they reached the stables.

“I doubt they have lass.”

It was not Sihtric who had replied, but Finan. She turned to face him as he dismounted his horse. A slight frown marred Tove’s delicate features.

“They’re common folk,” Finan went on. “War rarely reaches this far into the heart of Wessex. There are still many people here who have never properly even seen a Dane -much less a shieldmaiden.”

“He is right,” Sihtric added. “Do not let them bother you, though.”

She frowned. “I am unused to be stared at.”

Finan quirked an incredulous eyebrow at her words. His eyes flicked over the fitted leather and down her long legs. Finan found that difficult to believe; Tove was not a homely looking woman. He likely would have said as much if it were not for Sihtric’s elbow swiftly striking his side as he opened his mouth to speak. The gesture caused Tove’s eyebrow to arch slightly, but she was easily soothed when Sihtric spoke again.

“Do not let them bother you,” said Sihtric with a reassuring smile. “Come, let us go to the palace.”

Alfred’s palace was imposing. The time and craftsmanship that must have gone into constructing the vast stone building was a daunting thought. More often than not, her people chose to build with planks and logs, which could still be impressive, but it was nothing like what she saw there. The great stone etchings and many-colored paintings caught Tove’s attention more than anything else as she was led down corridors toward the King’s hall. 

Once inside, her attention was drawn to the figure standing before what she thought to be a rather plain chair for a king at the far end of the hall. Immediately she knew this unassuming man must be Alfred. Up close, his figure was no more impressive than she had first deemed him to be, but as his sharp, intelligent eyes focused upon her, Tove saw how this otherwise non-remarkable man commanded such power.

“I’m told you are called Tove Ødgersdottier?” Alfred asked.

Instantly Tove’s eyes flicked to Uhtred, who was closest of their group to the King. Uhtred inclined his head slightly. She gave an almost imperceptible nod of understanding; she was to answer any questions asked of her then, before focusing back on the King.

“I am…Lord King.”

Alfred hummed in response and fell silent for a moment before speaking again. “And you serve the Lord Uhtred now?”

“I do.”

Grey eyes flicked to Uhtred again for some indication of where this questioning was going. There was no answer to be found in her Lord’s face, though and it frustrated her. He appeared to either not know or was simply not inclined to share anything if he did.

“But formerly, you served a Jarl called Njal…and this Jarl was bound to the now-deceased Erik Thurgilson?”

“Yes, my Lord Njal is also slain at Beamfleot,” Tove said. “ Lord Uhtred sees fit to spare me of this fate.”

“So, it seems he did,” said Alfred turning his gaze to Uhtred for the first time. There was something in the look exchanged between the King and her Lord that she did not understand it. “That will be all.”

They were dismissed, all except the Lord Uhtred who gestured that she should follow the others. Tove could not help but glance over her shoulder as they left the hall. Uhtred stood straight-backed as he waited for the room to be cleared while Alfred looked contemplative if not ill at ease. Out in the corridor, she pulled Sihtric aside for an explanation of the tension they had just experienced in Alfred’s hall.

“What was that all about?” Tove asked in Danish.

Sihtric cast a glance around as if checking whether he would be overheard. Ridiculous really, by her estimation, she doubted many people in Winchester spoke Danish.

“You have heard that the Lord Odda disobeyed the King’s orders? And that our Lord was convinced by him that he was doing the King’s bidding in moving against Beamfleot?”

Tove nodded.

“We were not. It was our intent to rescue the Lady Aethelfled.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly. Though, she knew Sigfried had been concerned about Erik and the Lady. It had never occurred to her that Erik may have outside assistance -let alone help of Saxons- for that was unmistakably what was being implied.

“Does the King know this?” Tove asked.

Sihtric shrugged, though he looked somewhat nervous. “Can’t say. He may suspect our story is not the full truth, but what proof does he have?”

None, she supposed, because, by her measure of Alfred, it seemed likely that if the King had any proof, then the lot of them would be locked in a cell alongside the Lord Odda. Despite her disagreement with the principle of punishing one who brought you victory, Tove did admire one thing about Alfred. It appeared he could, in fact, be ruthless when need be as she heard the Lord Odda was a close friend of the King.

At the conclusion of their conversation, Sihtric suggested meeting the others at the popular alehouse called Two Cranes. Despite Winchester's size, the walk was short as the place was not far and the three of them reached it before full dark had set in. Usually, she was not one to tire from travel, but Tove was somewhat worn from the road due to her injuries, and so was thankful for the shortness of the journey.

Upon their arrival, Sihtric and a few others in their party went directly to the bar to order drinks and food. Meanwhile, Tove and Finan found their group a few tables along one side of the tavern’s crowded main room. Finally, able to rest Tove exhaled a sigh as she propped her feet onto the stool beside her own. Finan sat across the table from her with an amused smirk playing at his lips.

“Have ya something to say, Irishman?” Tove quipped.

“Who me?” Finan asked, making a show of looking around to see whom else she could be talking to. “I’ve nothing to say to the mighty shieldmaiden.”

Tove scoffed. ”If Hel came to take ya, you’d sweet-talk her into makin’ ya king in her realm.”

Finan chortled heartily at that, to which Tove could not help but smile slightly herself.

“You flatter me, lass,” Finan said when his laughter died down. “Though, I was only meanin t’ ask if ya were feelin alright after the journey.”

“I am no fragile Saxon maid,” said Tove firmly, but at Finan’s earnest tone, she softened slightly. “I…would thank you for your concern, though.”

“Aye tis no trouble,” Finan said. “And after the way, I saw ya fight on the field I don'na ever think I could mistake ya as one who was fragile. After all…it was my shield ya took in the chest.”

Tove’s eyebrow arched slightly at that.

“Ya looked like a she-devil come to carry me t’ the devil’s gates.” continued Finan with an appreciative grin on his lips. “Couldn’ have been more shocked when ya yielded t’ be honest.”

“That man was Njal.” Tove reminded him in a somewhat solemn tone.

Tove had not been close to Njal, though; he was a decent man. Had she not thought him so, she never would have sworn herself to him, but Njal was fair, just, and generous. Beside that fact, he was a well-accomplished warrior. She had liked him well enough.

“Ahhh…sorry bou’ that lass,” Finan said with a shrug. “He was a hell of a fighter.”

“He was,” Tove agreed, and she was smiling then. “He died well. I will see him in the mead halls of Valhalla.”

Finan only nodded. Whatever he might have said was cut off by the arrival of their comrades with food and drink. They both took their shares thankfully, and everyone dug in. There was much talk and joking around their table as everyone unwound from the journey.

An hour or so into their small feast, Uhtred joined them with an intriguing piece of news. They were all to leave Winchester in three days’ time, but not for Cookham as the men had automatically assumed. Tove, too found herself somewhat perplexed as she had been told Cookham was the steading Lord Uhtred owned in Wessex. Instead, they would be traveling to Lunden, where Lord Uhtred was to be put in charge of the protection and fortification of that city. Word was being sent on to all the household warrior’s families to meet them there. Those who were not part of the household troops would be allowed to return to Cookham to protect that burh if they so choose.

A few drinks after the announcement and some logistics discussion, Uhtred declared he was off to bed for the night. Some of the other men also began to trickle off to their rooms, not long after their Lord. Eventually, it dwindled down to just Finan, Osferth, and Tove at their table.

“Isn’ it past your bedtime, baby monk?” Finan joked.

“Bedtime? Honestly, Finan,” said Osferth with an exasperated look.

Finan looked over to Tove and shrugged as if he thought it was a perfectly reasonable question. She gave a jovial chuckle, but as she did, there was a sudden stab of pain through her side. Tove’s fingers flew to her side unbidden, as her nose crinkled from the sudden discomfort. Both men, who had been laughing with her, immediately stopped to look on with concern.

“Are you alright, Lady?” Osferth asked, brow creased with worry.

“Tis nothing,” she asserted, though the argument was weak as her forehead was still creased in pain. “Just healing pain.”

“Nah lass ya’ve gone pale. Shall I fetch a healer?” Finan’s eyes were on her hand, which laid tenderly against the spot where her ribs were bound.

“No!” Tove snapped.

The two men exchanged looks.

“At least let me help ya t’ your room?” Finan asked.

“Unless you’d prefer, we wake Lord Uhtred?” Osferth put in as if he could sense her imminent refusal.

Tove frowned but relented silently with a small nod. Finan came around to her side of the table and stooped to gently place an arm around her lower back. Helping her to her feet, Finan took much of her weight as though she were little more than feather and began leading Tove up to her assigned quarters. She could not help but grumble slightly as Finan helped her along, but he took it in stride.

“Ya don’na have t’ be a shieldmaiden all the time,” he commented lowly as they reached her room.

Pulling away from him to lean on the door frame, Tove gave Finan a dirty look. She could not help it. The sudden onslaught of pain left the fowl taste of weakness in her mouth. He did not seem to understand; if she was to travel to Lunden, she had to be okay. Otherwise, she would be left behind in this unfriendly city until she was healed enough to do so.

“Will ya at least let me take a look at it?”

There was a long beat of silence between them, during which Tove scrutinized him. Finan’s expression was soft, somewhat concerned, and open. She could see no malintent. Though, after all they had done for her at this point, she felt slightly guilty even looking for it. Finally, she exhaled a labored sigh and nodded in affirmation.

Before Tove could maneuver to open the door herself, Finan had already moved forward to do so though he did step back and allow her inside first. Once inside, Tove plopped herself on the end of the bed. Pausing a moment, she let out another labored breath as she looked up at Finan with an eyebrow raised.

“Do you intend to help me out of this, or shall I struggle on my own?” She gestured vaguely to the leather armor and mail she still wore.

“Well, since ya be askin’ so nicely!” Finan threw her a wink.

Tove snorted.

He seated himself on the bed beside her but did not move to help immediately. Rolling her eyes, Tove pulled the laces to loosen one side of the armor but forewent the other. With its buckles in the back, she need only loosen one side to be able to slip out of it once those were undone, but the pain in her side stopped her from reaching them. After a second of hesitation, Finan shuffled around to get the buckles at the back of her chest piece. In mere seconds they were all swiftly undone. She could not help but snicker softly. The leather slid easily off her shoulders then, and she shrugged it off the rest of the way, tossing it onto the dusty floor.

“It seems they do not lie about your many skills,” Tove teased, inhaling a more resonant and easier breath.

“I’d love to hear what it is they say about me, but perhaps another time?”

“Perhaps,” Tove responded with a slight smirk.

“Now…about that coat…”

“I will have to raise my arms. If you could lift it off?”

Finan nodded. Though she winced, Tove managed to hold her arms above her head long enough for the Irishman to slip the coat over her head. It dragged her linen tunic up some with it as it came off, and Finan saw a brief flash of her bare midriff before the tunic fell back into place. He dropped the mail coat onto the floor beside her chest armor with a slight thud.

He was silent as Tove seemed to take a moment. Her face was again contorted in pain. Breathing was shallow but steady as she calmed herself. When she opened her grey eyes, she found Finan staring intently into them. A strange feeling of calm washed over her, and though she still felt the pain, it was dulled somehow.

Finan was the one who had caused this pain, but he was also the one who had spared her. Yes, Lord Uhtred may have made the final call and have her oath but had Finan not accepted her yield, she would have been dead. He had trusted the truth of her words even in the heat of battle, even not knowing her, and she was being a brat.

“Thank you,” said Tove softly in Danish.

Though his eyebrow rose, Finan said nothing. He did take it as a signal to continue. Sitting again beside her, Finan urged her to lean back onto her elbows, and Tove went along without complaint. He pulled the tunic up on one side until he could see the bandages that had been wound around her injured ribs. A slight frown settled on his lips as he tenderly brushed his fingers along the dressing. She flinched away from the contact.

“When were these last changed?” he asked.

His fingers probed softly at the bandage. Having seen a fair number of injuries in his time, Finan thought he had an idea what the problem was. There was no evidence of blood on the bandage, an exceptionally good sign. He was not surprised as she had worn armor, and it was his shield that hit her, not his sword.

“This morning?” She guessed.

“You’ll have t’ tell me which good fer nothin’ healer done it. Cause I’d wager they wrapped ya too tight,” Finan grumbled. “I’ll need ya t’ sit up.”

She heaved herself back up without question. Tove only hesitated a moment before lifting her tunic to just below her breasts to show the whole of the bandage to Finan. Gentle were his hands as they unwound the wrapping smoothly and efficiently. Once it was removed, there was an instant wave of relief from the pain. Against her will, Tove exhaled a low sigh and flopped back onto the bed, eyes instantly falling shut.

“Well…I don’ think I’ve ever made a lass faint simply by undressin her before,” Finan laughed.

Cracking one eye open, Tove reached out and smacked him hard on the leg.

“Shut up, you cocky bastard,” she snapped in Danish.

Her exclamation, though he did not know what she had said, only made Finan laugh harder. They shared a moment of laughter, which eventually died down. As it did, Finan turned his eyes back to her side.

“I’d leave that unbound tonight, an we’ll fetch ya someone who knows what they’re doin’ in the morning. Yeah?”

She nodded.

[littlemonstersau-blog]

The Feels Awaken, Interlude 2: One Rogue Thought

Written by @jkl-fff

PART I - PART II [Interlude] - PART III - PART IV [Interlude] (you are here) - PART V [FINAL]

——————————————————————————————–

Bill, putting DVD back in case: Well, now you’ve seen ‘em all (until they finish the new ones, of which only Renegade 6 will be stupendous, and that largely thanks to everyone dying—much pathos by meatbag standards, much comedy by mine). So … Whaddya think, Fordsy?

Ford, taking in a deep breath: I think … I think I’m personally going to make a working lasercutlass (with SCIENCE!), drive to wherever the hell George Dufas lives—

Bill, helpfully: That would be Skyjogger Ranch, not too far north of San Francisco. I know, because I know lots of things.

Ford: Alright then, I’m going to drive to Skyjogger Ranch, and then I’M GONNA SHOVE MY HOMEMADE LASERCUTLASS RIGHT UP HIS SCRIPT-SPEWING ASS AND ACTIVATE IT!

Stan, startling awake in easy chair: Wha?! Huh?!

Ford: THAT WAS THE BIGGEST WRECK OF TRAINS THAT WERE LOADED WITH ASS-SHIT THAT I’VE EVER SEEN! [rises to his feet, stamps around, gestures emphatically] AND I’VE BEEN TO SEVERAL DIMENSIONS WITH EXTREMELY SHODDY RAILWAY INFRASTRUCTURES AND BOOMING, FERTILIZER-BASED ECONOMIES! MEANING SEVERAL DIMENSIONS WITH FREQUENT AND NOTABLE WRECKS OF ASS-SHIT-LOADED TRAINS!

Stan, rubbing eyes: Yeah, we picked up on your meanin’ there. [yawns, scratches self] What time’s it, anyway?

Bill, grinning at this development: What’d you think of the acting?

Ford: WOODEN! FLAT! LIFELESS! LIKE THIS FLOOR!

Bill: All George Dufas’s fault. Those were all highly acclaimed, highly trained actors, and highly gifted actors. He insisted as Director they act like they didn’t know how to. Like I said before.

Ford: WHAT?! WHY?! RRRAAARRRGHGHGH!

Stan, yawning: Moses, it’s past midnight already …

Bill, egging it on: Heh. And the depiction of non-human meatbags?

Ford: MOSTLY INFURIATINGLY RACIST CARICATURES OF HUMAN MEATBAG CULTURES—er, “human cultures”, I meant just “human cultures”—AND BLANDLY UNIMAGINATIVE OR INSUFFERABLY ANNOYING (LIKE JERKJERK)!

Stan, heaving himself upright: Hey, Sixer?

Bill: Hehehe! George Dufas’s influence again. And the use of the Force? The lasercutlass duels?

Ford: THE FIRST WAS SO UNDERUTILIZED AS TO BE FUCKING POINTLESS, THE OTHER SO OVERDONE AS TO BE SHITTING BORING! THEY MADE SWORDFIGHTING WITH LASERS BECOME BORING! HOW?! WHY?!

Stan: Sixer?

Bill: Hahaha! Still George Dufas! And the script?

Ford: THE SCRIPT?! WHAT SCRIPT?! THAT WAS USED, BARGAIN-PRICED TOILET PAPER! RRRAAARRRGHGHGH!

Stan: Sixer!

Ford: WHAT?! … Er, sorry. What?

Stan: It’s past midnight. Meanin’ it’s bedtime. You comin’ or what?

Ford: Gah! I couldn’t possibly sleep now! I’m too enraged!

Stan, shrugging: Well, I am. So … keep the nerd-ragin’ at, y’know, an “indoor voice” level of volume. ‘kay? [kisses him goodnight, shuffles out]

Ford, momentarily taken aback: Um … Where was I?

Bill, helpfully: The script. Which was also George Dufas’s fault. Basically, the whole prequel trilogy is a case study of what happens if you give a man who had one or two good ideas in the past— when there was an entire team of more talented people to shoot down his one or two thousand bad ideas and sculpt the few good ones— complete creative control of a project.

Ford, remembering how disgusted he is: No, it’s a case study of what happens if a tornado picks up a barn full of diarrhetic animals— A LITERAL SHITSTORM—hits a warehouse of blank paper, then some fuckwattle decides to gather up the pages and use it as a script! It made exactly 0.0 sense as a story! According to SCIENCE! itself there wasn’t even a measurable amount of sense made in this story! And, believe me, I understand that writing isn’t easy, but they had … How long exactly to work on the scripts?

Bill, promptly: Almost exactly16 years to work on the first one, then almost exactly 3 years for the second one, and another 3 for the third.

Ford, trembling with self-control: S-sssixteen years for one script? And that mmmakes … t-t-twenty-two years total to come up with … with that p-pile of hot, fffffuck-juggling shhhhhhhhhhhit … [loses it, explodes] OH MY VARIOUS ENTITIES OF COSMIC POWER FOR WHOM THE TERM “GODS” COULD REASONABLY BE USED AS A SHORTHAND, EVEN IF IT IS SOMEWHAT MISLEADING!

Stan, from the other room: Indoor voice!

Ford, stomping around: WE COULD COME UP WITH A BETTER PLOTLINE FOR A PREQUEL TRILOGY IN ONE NIGHT THAN THAT MOVING BAG OF NEGATIVE FUCKGUZZLE DID IN TWENTY-FUCKING-TWO FUCKING YEARS! AND Y’KNOW WHAT?! [takes Bill by the shoulders] WE WILL, GODSDAMNIT!

Bill, disbelieving: Really? You wanna do something with me?

Ford: AND IT’LL HAVE COMPELLING CHARACTER ARCS, AND SUBTLY DEEP WORLDBUILDING FOR THE GALAXY, AND THE FORCE’LL BE SHOWN—

Stan, from other room: IF YOU DON’T KEEP IT DOWN, STANFORD PINES, I’LL COME OUT THERE AND SHOW YOU MY FORCE RIGHT UPSIDE YOUR FOOL HEAD!

Bill, excited: Mabel left a bunch of … of arts and crafts stuff upstairs. We can use those for this! I’ll just … just run and get them! Hang on! [scampers up the stairs]

Ford, suddenly alone: … wait a minute … [stops short, looks around deserted room) What the freeze-dried hell am I doing?

Stan, grouching back in: What you’re doin’ is bein’ a pain in my ass—a loud pain in my ass!

Ford, almost panicking: No, I’m … about to write better plots for the prequels? With Cipher? I think?

Stan: And? What’s the problem?

Ford: And I don’t … I can’t trust him! That is the problem!

Stan: You can’t trust him to help write what is essentially gonna be a Cosmos Conflicts fanfic? [rolls eyes] C’mon, Sixer, it’s not like he could write anything worse than what we just watched. You were just goin’ on about that.

Ford, faltering: No, I mean, he’s still planning to takeover! No one can trust him, so what am I—

Stan: Just be the scribe yourself; that way, you maintain creative control of the fanfic and he can’t take it over.

Ford: I mean the planet! Er, the galaxy! Gah, no, the dimen—

Stan, deadpan: Oh, yeah, that’s a real dilemma right there. Can’t have Farth Bill takin’ over that nerdlinger galaxy, or we’ll hafta write a whole ‘nother generation of whiney Skyjoggers masterin’ the Force to confront him.

Ford, irritated: Damn it, Stanly, you know what I’m talking about!

Stan, rubbing eyes: Look, I’m gonna share some Old Wisdom™ I learned as a professional conman with you. And which, in fact, you yourself told me rather recently. [lays hands on brother’s shoulders, looks him in the eyes] You don’t hafta trust someone to work with ‘em, ya dumbass. And don’t hafta trust ‘em to be nice to ‘em, neither, ya dumbass. Or even to like ‘em, ya dumbass. You can do all that, while still not trustin’ ‘em … ya dumbass.

Ford, blinking owlishly: … What? I told you that? But—

Stan, slowly: Listen, I didn’t trust Bill at the start of the summer, but I still talked to him. Still interacted with him and was nice … ish and such. And only a week after? I had him workin’ for me. [gestures dismissively] Yeah, he caused some trouble at the start, but I didn’t lock him up ‘cause of it. I was patient with him, I showed him I’d work with him, and I showed the l’il bastard he can’t beat me at my own game— I always got an eye on him, so he can’t get anything major past me. And now? He’s just like any other employee I’ve ever had (except for Soos) … Slacks off and shoplifts about the same amount, too.

Ford: … And you’re bragging about that?

Stan, smugly: Heh. Yep. Think about it, Sixer. For him, that’s huge progress.

Ford, reluctantly: I guess, but—

Stan: Listen, you don’t hafta trust Bill. Okay? You know already he’s up to something (or so you’re convinced, anyway), so he can’t trick you. You’ll be suspicious of absolutely everything, so he won’t be able to get something past you in the middle of, say, writin’ your stupid, nerd fanfic. Or talkin’ ‘bout an anomaly. Or just havin’ a civil conversation every now and then. Okay? This gettin’ through that metal plate in your skull? I mean, it should be able to since—not to put too fine a point on it—you suggested it to me not too long ago.

Ford: I don’t … need … to trust Cipher … to be nice to him …

Stan: Exactly. And—Moses on a moped!—his name is Bill. [turns, goes to leave, pauses in doorway] And for fffffuck’s sake, keep it down while you two do whatever. Some of us are tryin’ to actually sleep.

Ford, standing lost in thought: … can’t believe it … so simple … really have been a silly, old fool not to see it all along …

Bill, returning: Sorry that took so long. I got buried in an avalanche of Mabel’s spare sweaters while digging this stuff out. [unloads an armload onto the table, pulls up paper and pencil] Where do we start, Fordsy?

Ford, a little overwhelmed: Um … honestly, I’m not sure …

Bill: Hmm … Well, what’re the big problems that gotta be fixed? Let’s start with that. What made you mad in the movie?

Ford, after only a split second of thought: Midi-chlorians firstly. Those go, because the Force is a mystical power-energy thing— damn it all!—and not some sorta bacterial infection!

Bill, making a note: Good. Good. How about that Rule of Two? Speaking as a megalomaniac, I can say it’s stupid to only have one agent working for you. You’d get nothing done!

Ford: Um …

Bill: What? Oh, Yog-Sothoth’s sixth soleus, that was a joke.

Ford, deciding to believe that: R-right. Um … None of that immaculate conception or prophecy crap, either. That’s gone. Came out of nowhere, served no purpose, we don’t need it.

Bill, making a note: What, you don’t like the idea of Space Jesus? How about rewriting the romance so that it doesn’t just … happen, y’know? So that there actually is a romance, and not just two straight characters who bone ‘cause they’re the opposite genders?

Ford, getting excited: Moses, yes! And rewriting Otherkin so he isn’t some whiney kid who just … just does stuff because the plot needs some action! We could do that for all of them! We could make it all as great as it deserves to be!

[hours and hours of excited fanboy collaboration transpire …]

[hereliesbitches--me]

SHIPPING INFO // Answer the following for your muse(s) so people know how shipping works on your blog.

REPOST. Don’t reblog.

Tagged by: @monsieur-de-paris​

What’s your OTP for your Muse?

At the moment, my most developed ship is Rosie and (@osteum‘s) Eddie Brock. Its my deepest passion for that reason, with the kind of dynamics they share, and the amount of interactions that stem around their association to each other. They have a whole family of 6 kids together (including the new addition of Dylan from the current Venom run) and honestly the ups and downs are what I live for. Its the chance I get to explore Rosie’s life as a Mom and a Wife and how she deals with it, mixed in with the regular events of her canon. How she deals with this deep love she has for Eddie and their family beyond any sane reason, and that butters my bread.

What are you willing to RP when it comes to shipping?

Generally anything? As long as im comfortable with my partner, and how Rosie feels towards the said muse, its almost free range. Naturally im not gonna be too cozy with the extremes but If it serves plot purposes maybe I can budge. I can’t really say my own limitation mostly because half the time I don’t really know my limits until suddenly its in my face and too much, then I go “Woah alright, thats enough”

Naturally, anything shipping related needs to be something I can realistically see happening with Rosie. And she’s a hard bird to crack.

How large does the age gap have to be to make it uncomfortable?

Rosie really a grownass woman with kids, and she’s immortal so she’s more likely than not older than her partner. But Rosie is not gonna date not teenager that could be her kid. Im not gonna flip my shit over huge age gaps as long as there’s good chemistry but Rosie isnt gonna date someone who’s like.. under 25. It largely depends on the maturity of a person that will be the hit or miss with her.

She tends to be interested in older muses either way,  It all varies by what gets plotted in a verse, but Rosie is a little more open to the idea of an older partner than she is someone younger. Even if she’ll never look past 32

Are you selective when shipping

At this point in time, im a tired old lady that literally just wants people to care for Rosie beyond being a tool for romance, so yeah. Im selective( arent we all?), but im generally open minded if we already chatted out some interesting dynamics. In the end, Rosie may be a sick person, but im not gonna have her jump dick or look for some V to slay just because she’s not that desperate of a character. If you wanna love Rosie, there’s gonna be a lot of baggage that is involved from emotional trauma and her off personality, along with her having kids ,

but if you’re ready to explore that field, im open. I just dont want something half assed, ya know? Need a partner thats just as enthusiastic about the ship as me, not someone just collecting her as a angsty neko girl they can go to whenever they don’t get what they want from someone else. Im a hella go big or go home type of Gal. I dont wanna end up looking dumb or making a fool out of Rosie for caring about a ship my partner doesn’t feel the same passion for. Im too tired to get treated like that. And Rosie deserves better than that.

How far do steamy moments have to go before they’re considered NSFW?

The moment dirty words start getting thrown in and the heavy petting turns into intentional acts of trying to turn her partner on, its nsfw and its going under read more. I have to be highly comfortable with my partner to actually be writing it but im not against it. Although it has yet to actually happen on my blog besides Rosie’s dirty jokes. Who knows what the future holds.

Who are other muses you ship your muse with

Atm, Rosie’s partners all have their separate verses and I fucking love them all 

@quantahope with Rosie’s spaceman, Wendell. Its still in development but man is it delicious suffering and growing

@maxskulline has dragged me into the pokefandom with Max and Guzma, so Rosie and Max have that close BFF friendship with that touch of intimate passion thrown in there.

@fcllenstcr Rosie’s infamous relationship with the devil who’s nothing but trouble. There’s a lot of background history that goes into the relationship, but give em a few thousand years and suddenly Rosie finds herself the new Queen of Hell keeping the old snake in line.

 @Cecidesent is Rosie’s main apostle husband, Guts. Written by Will too, Guts and Rosie is probably one of the oldest ships I got and I love them.

Does one have to ask to ship with you?

I would think its common courtesy to ask and not just force your muse onto another. Rosie is not exactly an easy person to just throw in with and chances are if you try she’s gonna shy away because bitch doesn’t know how to handle someone being equally interested in her. I would like to have talked for a while before throwing in with shipping , make sure our muses have good standing because Im not here to have Rosie used as a sex doll right away. But if you see some chemistry there, feel free to ask! Highkey chance im probably into it as well and have been too shy to ask.

How often do you like to ship?

Not often at this point. Im more concerned with Rosie making meaninful friendships nire than I am shipping her off with every person that comes along. There’s a lot of things to accept when shipping with Rosie and many things about her that arent just gonna magically go away just because she’s with someone. I dont mind it but its certainly not my priority.

Are you multiship?

The above information should tell ya by now that I am, however I do have my mains. The more passion and dedication you show me, the equal passion I put in myself. Thats how it goes for me and Rosie. Just fair treatment, ya know?

Are you ship obsessed or ship more-or-less?

Ship more-or-less . Really not a priority but if it happens, it happens.

What is your favorite ship in your current fandom

Naturally, EddieRosie and Gutsie take the cake right now since they are the most developed I have so far.

Finally, how does one ship with you?

Please just write with me and talk with me.

 Thats all it takes. 

Good chemistry, dont yank my chain and trail me along with fake interest, and im probably gonna already be into it. 

Tagging: @curiousobjecthead​ @quantahope​ @thewhitepoison​  @draconicmatriarch​ @sunkissedkxd and anyone else who hasent done it!