#astrid; head canons

[cheerleaderman]

Jarid(mostly)and Diya doodles and there’s Falris

The kid Idia is holding is their oldest Kore

[ravencromwell]

Headcanons for either or both of the Dane twins?

Going beneath a cut, because somehow this turned into 3k of Astrid stream-of-consciousness musings on ruling her city, bracketed with Holland's disgusted dead-pan snark.

The very worst thing, Holland thinks in the bleakest moments, is that the Danes aren't the worst rulers Makt has ever had.

***

Athos alone probably would be. He is the lord of infinite, fruitless defiance, and if the city wants to give him such gifts as rebellion, who is he to say no? He will simply fight them all as entertainment between bouts of indulging his insatiable curiosity about artifacts. Emerging victorious would soothe his terror that everyone lost the throne eventually even if it left the city in ruins and more corpses than living people.

But if Athos is lord of defiance, Astrid is lady of small mercies.

From the moment the old man was dead, Astrid knows she will show none of his faux love and camaraderie to her subjects. They might love her in return, and those who love a queen want to see it reflected back, need her words of praise for their devotion no matter how they prattle simple service will suffice.

Such displays are tedious, love reserved for Athos alone.

But gratitude? Gratitude has its uses.

She and her brother want to leave their mark on this world (and its people). If her brother's little stone is as strong as they believe, one day folk privileged to suffer beneath their blades may show their scars with pride and whisper what a gift they were given by Makt's saviors.

If they do not, well. More fool them.

But in the meantime, even an Antari cannot hold off a hundred angry citizens, if they decided to mob. And sometimes, the Danes satiation requires a few missing loved ones. And inevitably, discontented souls decide there must be new blood. In especially unfortunate moments, those close to traitors have chosen to mewl about her brother's punishments and must be put down in their turn.

Her beloved Athos never understood how the body forgets pain. Men and women drink. They promise themselves the blood they saw running in the gutter was not as red as all that. Besides, it will not happen to them. To live in this city is to become deaf to screams, even your own.

Look at her brother's pretty thing. How many times has Athos made him scream? (Enough it's added a permanent, graveled edge to his voice, Antari or no.) And still she and Athos catch those glimpses of defiant hatred that are almost better than the blood for her twin.

Profound appreciation, by contrast? Thankful obligation at holding a living, breathing child, where a month ago there was dying skin and bones? That will make a man hesitate before joining a revolution.

Appreciation may even bind the Antari better than the spell of which Athos is so proud.

'Obey and protect my sister' Athos always says when he won't be close to repeat an unheeded command.

Still, she has seen how he can resist myriad precautions binding every joint and muscle and bone ! Athos's will. Seen the foolish delays, misinterpretations. Seen him dare, if Athos' words are closer to suggestions ignore them outright, force her brother to the clearest possible command. She suspects he can withstand even better as Athos' proximity fades.

Wasted breaths are risk, when blood is in the balance. Fortunately, she is no fool, wrapping herself in enough amulets calling him to her aid is rarely necessary. He rides beside her to prove that even the Dane with slightly less black in her veins can easily control their demon.

But at almost every sign of threat, he moves unprompted. Not because he fears her brother's retribution, not because the seal compels. He comes too swiftly for either of those. Holland Vosijk comes because he knows if she died, he would never throw alms to the city that hates him. No subsidized wheat; Athos would love watching the men and women he trains to ride behind them—never beside, no one is given enough knowledge to stand as equal to they two—into Arnes—divide the city into wedges and make the people under their control scrabble and beg.

When she first saw the stacks and stacks of carefully labeled payments to spell-crafters and curse-makers, she'd thought none of Athos' experiments would be needed. The old man had found a way to open the doors, and now he was dead, and they could simply ride into Arnes and snatch the glory.

But a magical payment for each farmer to feed the city as a whole, rather than their chosen hoard, wasn't the worst idea. And Astrid would happily put the dead's ideas to fine use.

She graciously allows the pretty former knight over-see it, so long as he remembers the queen is always watching.

(Though when speaking of food and goods of all kinds, it is her brother who shines in trade. His tactic is so very simple. So very effective. A merchant enters the throne room. Athos informs them what they will bring to the city. Should they complain or protest, he does not even deign to blink. Merely says: "Unbutton your shirt." And while the merchant is gawping and spluttering, the Antari bears his Seal.

"Do you know what this is?" her brother asks, gently.

By the time he has demonstrated the Seal to his satisfaction—such a thorough tutor to the less accomplished, her twin— the question of whether the merchant's trade might improve under Athos' control does not need asking.

Once, Athos slipped a request for a woman's first-born into a contract revision and she signed without even looking, so desperate to flee from the throne before she had matching runes. She even dutifully paraded the child to the castle six months later. Athos had no interest now she behaved so well, but Astrid found gratitude at keeping her child made her a most excellent spy. within the city.)

And then there are the sick. Perhaps the Antari would be allowed his little preoccupation if her brother ruled alone, assuming the family were desperate enough to contribute a person to his servants' ranks. But even mindless, there's something in his guards that hungers to live, ducking blades and attacks on instincts most would swear puppets could not have. He rarely needs replacement.

On those occasions a petitioner dares bring the ill to their attention, Astrid takes whatever their pathetic tribute is. With gloves, of course, because assassins lurk everywhere. Takes the faded, wilted flowers and oddly shaped rocks with the tiniest bit of color lurking in stone veins from the children—so many are children, young and unscarred enough to believe facing the twins and their demon is a price gladly paid even as those they keep alive will likely betray them eventually.

Adults, when they come, bring carefully knitted blankets and finely spun clothes. Once, there were even the most lovely hair combs, made of some creature's shell far from the south the woman called a tortoise. Why she would surrender them for a squalling brat who has years and years to die while she has nothing else to barter, Astrid cannot guess. But she passed the combs to Albiz, her brother's favorite among the spell-working salon, to check for curses and let Holland do his work.

There are not many such petitioners, but every one will go back into the city and whisper of the queen's mercy, how she always stood between them and the demon, and when it was done, their friend or child or lover was alive. Whispers that will still other's discontent.

She keeps almost all those talismans, unless something catches her brother's fancy. Carves spells into the stones, wraps herself in the blankets, wears the finely made trousers.

Though she has little use for wilted posies. "Keep them," she says gently, savoring Holland's second flickering of desperate relief at being handed a token not steeped in blood.

Funny, how he is even responsible for Astrid's proudest creation, though he disdains her falcons. The complement to her brother's court of favored scholars and magicians. Where her brother's is equally spread between men and women, barely any of her falcons are men. Men are so terribly squeamish about having their bodies borrowed. And all her falcons wear a possession charm, so she may see any part of the city through their eyes whenever she wishes.

She could simply force her will, toss a charm over any likely-looking neck. But she wants keen servants, who will willingly call her attention to matters of interest. Made hungry enough from being overlooked they have the grit to never utter a word of complaint when she enters them abruptly. To never fight when she raises their hands or opens their mouths. To fall upon her prey in whatever manner she requires and ask no questions.

The obedience Athos must bind, given freely.

In return, they shall never starve, never offer their measly tributes to free family from pain, never serve anyone's will but she and Athos.

Years later, the keenest ferocity of them all, her magicless, intrepid Gudrun, under the thumb of a father who craved a drudge incapable of disobedience until she went to the market and ran to rumors of Astrid's glove, nets her flower boy. Whispers the most ridiculous, delightful story about forbidden letters and a knight-turned hound's vices that sees Astrid smiling even days later as she prepares to fully possess a prince. Whispers it with the sweet conviction she must have displayed to her father before Astrid murmurred he could not touch her. To do all the things she must have dreamed. (He learned then a knife could make even a magicless woman a man's greatest terror and Gudrun snarled in delight.) Whispers until the Antari falls to her talons, while Astrid watches from half a city away.

What she wants is easy. What she will call them does not come to her until after Holland's third visit to Arnes, feeling her brother's hand squeeze hers in delight at the wonders of this red city. Both their fingers ache pleasantly from expressing such delight at the hours-long recitation, as they have each time her brother told the Antari to 'account for each moment in the Red City'.

The prey-vulnerable Red Royals must think they are predators, dawdling with their letters, letting 'Master Holland' wander the city while they mull their answers, thinking themselves so safe with their doors. She would mock them more, save their complacency makes for beautiful tales.

Later, he will learn to speak of Arnesian wonders in a monotone as though they were fool enough to believe the city left him any less awestruck than they. But in these early days, even he cannot help closing his eyes at the thought of the fat, juicy rabbits a hunting party carried with them. Or perhaps it is the juice running in rivulets across her brother's fingers and lips as he savors the last few bites of apple. So sweet, that juice, when he had pressed it to her lips for the first bite. She had laughed until her sides ached, spun him about the throne room. She would offer her brother a bite of her own pasty—what a marvelous idea, to tell his pretty thing he must fetch back two things he had enjoyed most for them—but even three trips in, she knew his tastes ran to sweet and savory, not the burn that accompanied her meat and vegetables.

"Did you like it because it burned, pretty thing? Because everything in their world should carry the burn of their betrayal?" she had asked, hours ago, and relished the hiss of breath when he forced the Seal to jerk his head in affirmation.

"Even as you could not help wanting the sweet," Athos had laughed, graciously smearing some of the juice in a lingering kiss at the corner of the Antari's mouth. She could see the red shine of it still. Will he clean it away the second he is alone, or be unable to resist the last taste of sweetness even as he hates himself for it? she wondered, and then the Antari's voice cracked, and Athos gestured that he might fill one of the glasses beside the water pitcher and she exhaled her disappointment.

"We will scry his room and see what he does another day," Athos whispered, and of course he too had wondered if his pretty thing could resist temptation.

"The leader had a bird on his arm," the Antari continued barely a moment later, setting the emptied glass on the table and before he was done explaining how such a fierce thing rested so easily for bits of meat, she was striding to Athos' scrying basin, pulling Holland behind. "Clever, pretty thing, seeing what I need. Falcons."

Such beautiful ferocities, and she tried to touch the feathers even as she knew she would only ripple the water. "As Tosal," her brother said softly, pressing against her back and she blinked.

"Mhmm?"

"He will go back tonight and bring you one with As Tosal. It will make the bird still and silent, but not turn it to stone."

"Was it your favorite, when you made him demonstrate all his mysterious tricks to the salon?"

"You know me so well. We will send him jingling with compulsion coins and they will be none the wiser."

"It isn't a fruit I can have forgotten in a pocket if something goes wrong."

"Then you will not let it go awry, Holland. Do you think a week's silence on his return would make him more or less inclined to state the obvious. It is so very dull."

"More, to spite you. It is what comes of wanting a pet who bites. Athos, come here." She held her mad, foolhardy brother, who would weave a plan in an instant and risk all his great discoveries to bring her something marvelous without her even needing to ask, close to her chest. "The pretty thing is not wrong. Besides, I do not need a falcon, love, only their design. For my court. Can he-"

"Of course. Tell us the rest of the trip later. For now-"

"Holland-" This once, for bringing her such a gift, she will grant his name, since he has so little liking for her sobriquet, "Find the best silver smith in the city. A falcon, in flight. On a chain, small enough to slip beneath a shirt. Bring a finished one for approval by lunch tomorrow."

It was midnight, he would have to roust the Shal's leader from a warm bed to find a smith he would also disturb, he was tired. If the Antari thought any of these things, he did not say them, simply turned on his heel and left.

***

In the next seven years, Holland Vosijk can count, with fingers to spare, those Astrid Dane invites to her glove who flee the invitation. (Athos always let his magicians come grovelling, but Astrid's falcons were always keen-eared for new recruits) Perhaps it is his worst delusion, thinking they, too, see how much blood runs at the margins of a people who, if not content, are at least not especially restless.

There is fountains worth from the one hundred eighty-two killed by the Danes personally, and his sixty-four. The blood of fools who ran their mouths too freely to the innocuous-looking barmaid or shopkeeper or grandmother before a little silver charm emerged. Blood of crows know how many drunk by Athos' magicians for power.

When forced to collaborate or unearth magic, he can most easily hold his control near lady Albiz, who makes the job no crueler than necessary, heeds advice, and returns her dead to their people or buries them herself. And she still snuffed out two Maktahns the day she swanned into Athos' service. He will not forget that because she grants an ounce of respect.

Two lives she'd taken, that were merely one crime, on one day of two thousand five hundred fifty-five. Still full of all that blood, she'd strolled into morning court in a ragged tunic and skirt, pupils glassy from the sudden torrent of magic into a body that knew only a trickle.

Like Alox.

Fifteen and cocksure with it like him, too.

"I heard there was a place here for those who could take it. I'll be your best magician if you'll let me take enough. I'm tired of running dry."

There had always been people not even the king's knight could stop, no matter how it choked him to admit it. He could have wandered the streets, never sleeping, and still not stopped all the blood being shed. And sometimes. Sometimes, they had something Vor needed and he turned a blind eye and Holland fled to Arnes to be in a world where kings didn't have to allow atrocities for the greater good. Until the ache to smell ash and steel and the fear Vortalis was dead in his absence swamped the rage and tugged him home.

But Vortalis would never have leaned in and inhaled the blood clinging to her like a bouquet, licked the red from the corner of her mouth, mirth echoing off the walls until Holland's head throbbed when she moved like a desperate, striking snake to try for a kiss. As though he'd let it be stolen back from his tongue. Would never have said, for all to hear: "Defiant little thing, aren't you? You're the third most beautiful person I've seen all month."

How many lives might be saved, if Albiz and worse weren't infesting the city? How many slum magicians had killed some unwitting neighbor, watching them preen and knowing Athos and Astrid Dane would never care, so long as they were not challenged as the greatest sorcerers of the land?

Deluded or no, it is those few refusals Astrid grumbled over and insisted he keep an eye on ("If they dare not serve, they must have plans of their own. Look harder, pretty thing, and you'll find the rot they're tangled in.") he seeks when he returns for kingship. Hopes their refusal meant more than a disdain for fancy jewelry. Because Athos and Astrid Dane aren't the worst rulers Makt had, but he will be better by far.

[tunedtostatic]

I've been rifling through my rewatch thoughts about Astrid all day and I was going to make a joke about "no one needs me to contribute a post about Astrid being an interesting depiction of a victim of abuse when it has been written about" but fuck it, no such thing as too much Astrid, in this essay I will. I think if you ask "What makes Astrid compelling," most people will indeed say something about her being a depiction of many years of abuse, especially since she's a bad victim (in the sense of being too compliant with her abuser, not being too loud and crazy).

Part of what makes her a compelling depiction of someone who has been abused for many years is the way Mercer portrays her ability to think multiple things at one. It's not a binary where the way Trent messed with her head didn't work and she's secretly a good guy, or she's evil without his coercion and believes everything she says about protecting the Empire. She's just having to do what people in abusive situations do, and keep multiple levels of thought and consciousness going at once, feeling some degree of support for Trent in part of her mind while knowing what's happening in another part.

When Caleb shows up at Astrid's house, she's been trapped by their abuser for nearly twenty years. She tortures and murders for the Dwendalian Empire and she both does and doesn't know that what she does as a scourger is horrific. She tells Caleb that she thinks of the faces of the people she's killed and laments, and in the same conversation she tells him that what she does prevents terrible things from happening and protects innocent people like they used to be. She conveys to him that she wants to kill Trent. She conveys to him that she wants to take Trent's place.

Being a d&d wizard is about knowledge. The wizard plotlines in cr2 are epistemic, focused on what can be known, remembered, realized and discovered: Trent and the scourgers, Vess and the ancient knowledge she uses Lucien to try to harness, Essek, and even Yussa and his focus on Who You Know.

Many popular narratives of abuse are also about knowledge. "Knowing" is conflated with "escaping:" the abuse victim is too naive to realize they are being abused, and if they had that knowledge, surely their next step would be escape. Surely abuse is a fluke, and a strong person will always be able to get away.

"A Volstrucker has never disentangled from Trent before. No one who knows what he does, how he breaks us, has shared their trauma with the world. With the king. Imagine the threat you are to him now that you carry respect of both crown and Kryn. So yes, he's invested."

Astrid knows. She knows the nature of what Trent has done to them. She knows what outsiders would think about Trent's abuse if they were to hear about it from someone they respect. The knowledge alone is not enough to save her.

The horrific abuse of the scourgers is administrated by Trent but enabled by their world. Margolin sends the Blumendrei to Trent. Their professors ignore the bandages on their arms. Ludinus is looking the other way. If a powerful "good" person were to know what Trent has done, that would also mean knowing what his scourgers have done, and who, they must wonder, would be willing to help them then?

Astrid knows she does not have the recourse of that respect from the Crown. She knows she does not have powerful allies to protect her from Trent if she were to run away. At their first meeting, all it takes is for Caleb to express open anger at their abuser - and accuse her of not understanding what he does - for her to tell him her own recourse.

LIAM: "I, um…I'm sorry. I will…never forget what we were. And…even now, all these years later, I can't shake it, I still, care a great deal…about you. At least…the girl I knew. But…he has blinded you. You and Wulf and all of his little helpers. And I mourn our childhood, and our souls." MATT: She reaches up, puts her hand on your knee. "I understand your anger. And as much as…he's been our teacher, he's not infallible. He's just an old man, with the right connections, who will one day pass, like they all do." LIAM: "You always were ambitious." MATT: "So are you, apparently, Bren. Like I said. I'm proud of you."

Her frame of reference for Bren is "also ambitious, also a victim," and she trusts him to understand how ambition and safety are the same thing for her. Astrid's hell and Caleb's hell have been so different for the last decade and a half that he misreads the situation in a single line - you always were ambitious - and throws her under the bus at the dinner party, taking her ambition as a cue to see her as less endangered, or less salvageable.

Both their horrible wizard goals - turning back time or becoming an archmage of the Cerberus Assembly - are the multiple of power as safety. Caleb hasn't realized that his own desire to bend reality to his will to save his parents is hubris, so he can't do the math backwards and realize that Astrid's ambition is {her way of saving Eadwulf and herself; her own way of responding to the death of her parents; a desire for magic and power that is inseparable from both of those things}. Like...it's open to interpretation, but I think the answer to "Does Astrid also have evil unsympathetic ignoble desire for power?" is that "also" isn't the right word. Power is magic is safety is a reward for her suffering, and Astrid's ambition, like everything else in her life, means many things at once.

Trent chose to abuse the scourgers and their world chose to let him. Astrid survives Trent for over a decade and a half, helps the Mighty Nein, and saves them in Nicodranas. For Caleb? As a maneuver to save herself? That also might be a question with more than one answer. I don't have a conclusion to this other than hats off to this coerced evil wizard for being an interesting depiction of strength in extremis, figuring out how to know multiple things at once when even her magic isn't her own and hang on all that time.

[seleneastridstar]

Curious? 👀

[bestdamnshot]

bit of a shit head-canon but in my head seb is a dad, a really good dad despite his own shit upbringing. mostly modern Seb bc he can be more open when it comes to affection & supporting his kids etc. & I mostly picture Seb being an amazing girl dad in modern hence my oc Astrid comes in & is the reason I started having this whole head-canon in the first place right? But even though I first imagined them having a really shitty relationship bc the first time I wrote her I pictured her showing up at Seb’s door step at age 14/15 angry, a troubled kid who mirrored teen seb a lot bc essentially that is when I pictured he accidentally conceived her & bc he was a kid himself he ran & didn’t look back bc he was terrified he would be an awful father. & honestly given what he went through who could blame him? (Or ether he just never knew she even existed until then lmao, couldn’t decide which I preferred bc the latter was hilarious to me at the time)

anyway in that AU he’s confronted with a lot of the shit he had to face a lone through this kid he has to form a relationship with & he heals through that a bit. But that was really the first time Astrid Moran ever came to exist.

In most of the dad Seb AUs I’ve done he’s raised her as an adult since birth but in any AU, he’s just the complete opposite of his own father bc I like to think that even though he probably does have a lot of issues still, he can be impulsive & have a bit of a temper, he can do his best to not scar his kids the way he was scared & just tries to blow off steam when he’s out murdering for his boss instead of blowing at a toddler for pouring syrup on his shoe or something (which he would never do regardless bc Seb’s always been soft in my head, like really, truly soft. Deep down. Like he’s never lost that little five year old persona who kept a piece of the mischievousness, curiosity, play & love that kid naturally had before losing Alex at age 6.) but that view is mostly for modern Seb.

for Victorian Seb is a bit trickier for me personally anyway bc I love soft seb so much but I base off Vic seb mostly off The Hound of the D’urbersvilles the most in terms of personality & that mother fucker was FUNNY. But the bitch had major Anger, addiction & a whole slue of issues I can’t possibly try to replicate, specially towards a child bc I would only turn him into Augustus in a way & I don’t want that for Seb. So I do make him a little soft, but to make thighs more tense for him & easier for me to write that rougher Sebastian I decided his child, my OC Dorian Moran is a biracial child seb gets stuck with after he does what he does abroad, but before he can run away like he always does Dorian’s mom dies during child birth & Seb, well he has to take DAMN RESPONSIBILITY for once. (Wrote a whole fickler for this LMAO https://teenbasher.tumblr.com/post/184379231091/bloods-thicker <- read here if you want )

Victorian Seb is harder for me in this regard bc his personality is definitely vile & abusive but even then he stands for his child a bit more than his own dad ever did for him, at least he learns to with time, even though at the beginning he is absolutely awful to him. Bc let’s face it, seb is not a patient or kid man. So dealing with a toddler is very hard for him. But despite how much he dislikes his kid & how mean he can be towards him. I like to think that seb does care for him & despite everything, he invests in Dorian’s care having a nanny for him & eventually possibly having Moriarty help him tutor the boy ( since ya know he essentially lives with the man, & yeah a brothel is not the best place to raise a kid, but he’s trying, right?) & I like to also think that at least once in his life Sebastian stands up to someone discriminating against Dorian, perhaps bc of his race or his ilegitimen status, & maybe when Dorian is older & Seb has become more fond of him bc he learns to see him as his son & recognizes quirks maybe he had in his youth & generally learns to love Dorian as the son & human being he is. At some point Seb has to come around & at least show Dorian once that he got his back. Like damn.

anyway this think pice went wildly longer than I planned bc I originally just wanted to state abt how Astrid was mostly a Modern OC while Dorian was Victorina but I went too into thought about Dorian bc I love him & I feel bad I haven’t spent more time developing his character & relationship with Seb (ooooh!! Specially bc I think it would be nice & a total slap on the face to Seb if Moriarty offered to educate the boy. Not only in maths & science & all of the academia, but as an heir of sorts, teaching him the other side of the business eventually, bc think about it, who the fuck is going to suspect a biracial lad in Victorian England runs a world wide criminal empire after the very napoleon of Crime himself , master of disguise & perception Professor James bleeding Moriarty) not only inherit him but taught him since childhood. Plus since Seb would teach him to shoot & handle guns (as a matter of manly honor obvs & not an excuse to bond with his son) Dorian would be the whole package in terms of running Moriarty's criminal enterprise, becoming an incredibly powerful assassin.

[targaryen-dynasty]

DEEP DEVOTION.

Daemon Targaryen x pregnant!Targaryen!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT - MDNI; canon typical incest/targcest (implied), p in v, oral (fem receiving), cockwarming, pregnant sex, lactating, lactation kink

WORDS: 2.5 K

NOTES: Sorry, I love deleting and editing older stuff. This is an oldie - use it to prepare for my Cregan lactation kink stuff. 😌

✖️ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

If there’s something you admire about your husband it’s that he has always been a generous lover. It’s his ample experience that truly pays off whenever you two are staying in bed – or somewhere entirely else – solely depending on where the burning desire overcomes you both. 

And that desire is the main reason he’s put a child in you just shy of three moons after your bedding ceremony.

Wild and exciting are terms you’d use to describe you both indulging in the pleasures of flesh. He’s just a little too rough, and always borderlining between being unbelievably good and almost too much – that was, until he has learned you are carrying his babe. 

Where he has taken you like a common whore before, he now takes his time with you; one of his large hands splayed on your growing stomach while he insists on taking you in no other position than on your back with him between your parted legs. 

Sometimes you manage to sweet-talk him into allowing you to sit astride him, coaxing him to give in with the sweetest praises and offers falling past your lips in the tongue of your ancestors, but even then, his hands always rest on your hips for him to guide your movements and set the pace.

And this night is no different. 

You’ve just recently crossed the six moon mark, and your bump and breasts swelled generously already. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it’s ridiculous how much your body has changed over the time, considering you still have four moons to go. Comparing your bodies to the ones of other pregnant women at court, kind of around the same stage of pregnancy as you, you’ve quickly noticed that your body looked different. However, they aren’t carrying the offspring of a true Targaryen, and their bodies don’t need to provide enough milk for the little life growing inside of them, because they aren’t carrying a dragon.

Lying on your back with Daemon’s silver mop of hair between your parted legs, you have your head tipped back, eyes glued to the ceiling. He has been lazily licking at your folds for too long at this point, not noticing that you aren’t finding much joy in it anymore given the lack of variation.

As you look down at him, you see that his lilac eyes are fixed on you – just not at your face. And when you tilt your head down to follow his trail of sight, you quickly learn the reason why. Where your breasts just have felt hard and heavy to the touch before, they now look like it as well, entirely ready for him. 

A few droplets of milk oozed out of your darkened buds, running down the curves of your breasts. It has happened plenty of times before but only very rarely with direct touch, and never in his presence. 

There’s admiration in his gaze, tinged with something more carnal, primal – hunger. It’s enough to send a shiver down your spine, and coaxes a renewed wave of your arousal to ooze out of your core. 

Your hand entangles in his silver strands, and while that touch seems to be enough to pull him out of his trance, you give him no time to react as you tug him up by his hair to tower over you. 

He doesn’t speak, unusual for someone who always has something to say, and his questioning gaze is enough to have you chuckling softly. Cupping his cheeks, you pull him in for a kiss. “I should have warned you, husband, my apologies. I started leaking very recently,” you whisper against his lips. 

Just like the many times before, you wrap your legs around his waist. You have easily flipped him onto his back like this plenty of times before, but never with your bump and breasts so swollen, which makes you rely on some of his help. Utterly mesmerized by the sight, there comes no objection from your husband, and soon enough you straddle his hips, sitting astride him with his hard cock captured between your soaked cunt and his lower stomach.

It takes a few grinds of your hips to fully coat his cock in your arousal, sliding back and forth with ease. His raspy groans are almost drowned out by the moans you release each time the tip of his cock rubs against your sensitive pearl. 

Your husband knows his job as you lift your hips, bringing one hand to your arse to support your weight while the other grips the base of his cock to align him with your needy cunt, inviting you to sink down on him. 

The delicious stretch is enough for you both to finally moan in unison. One of your primal instincts is to cup your swollen belly at the sensation, fingers splayed out to support the burgeoning bump. Not wasting a moment, your husband’s large hand joins yours, resting atop of it and covering it in its entirety. 

You always marvel at it when you’re on top of him, but Daemon truly looks as though he has been created by The Seven, and, most importantly, just for you. His usually neat, silver hair is disheveled and splayed out around his face, his scars, the testament of the many wars he’s fought, on full display, and his muscles twitch each time your core clenches around him. 

And yet it’s crystal clear that the lilac eyes of the dragon between your legs still don’t know where to settle. His dark-blown gaze flickers from your face down to where you both are connected and eventually focuses on your bouncing breasts, but it doesn’t stay there for too long, always finding another, even more interesting part of your body until it eventually comes back to your breasts again. 

And even your body seems to notice your husband’s unabashed interest in them, because they suddenly feel heavier than before – too firm and too full, and practically begging for his attention. With full anticipation, Daemon awaits for you to move so he can enjoy the show he was going to receive, however, you’ve overestimated your stamina.

“You should have listened to me,” Daemon says smugly, although his voice is caught by a particularly tight clench of your walls. He bends forward, his strong arms wrapped around your middle and pulling you closer. As your perky buds press against his chest you can’t help but whimper, too sensitive to press so tightly against his body. The close contact forces some more milk to leak out of your breasts, wetting both your chests. “Let me–”

“No,” you protest, shaking your head to make a point. 

You slowly rock your hips back and forth, your movements faltering every now and then in response to his closeness and tight grip. His muscles flex, indicating that it feels good for him but that he just doesn’t like the position and your clear discomfort that comes with it.

“Must you always be so stubborn?” The annoyance in his voice is audible, and his patience is clearly running thin.

As Daemon’s head tilts upwards, yours bows forwards, both your foreheads resting against each other with your hips coming to a stop. Indecent thoughts have never before been the bloom of your embarrassment, but it seems that it comes with the pregnancy and your changing body.  

It’s him tightly squeezing your arse that catches your attention again, your writhing body pressing against his. “What is it?” he asks sternly

There’s no escaping him, you’re certain. And with him looking at you like a predator looking at its prey, you know it’s just a matter of moments until he’ll force an answer out of you. But where your voice fails you, you figure it’s easier to show what’s on your mind, how you need him.  

Tilting your upper body back slightly, you wipe at the dark skin of your bud, his eyes eagerly following your fingers. The whiny sounds that leave your lips at the soft stimulation are enough to snap the last lingering threads of Daemon’s resolve, a growl-like sound rumbling in his chest.

A few more droplets trickle down your skin at the contact, and when you reach to wipe your fingers clean on the covers, Daemon is quick to seize your wrist and bring it up to his mouth instead. 

He leans forward, nuzzling at your fingers to take in the scent of you, before both digits are engulfed by his lips. It’s something you’ve thought of since the first time you have wetted one of your gowns, yet seeing it with your own eyes is something entirely different that makes you gasp. 

It’s not the first time he sucks on your fingers, but this time it’s different. The burning that settles between your legs causes you to squeeze your thighs around his hips, and you’re sharply reminded of him still being inside of you when he bucks his hips up in return. 

But that’s not where he stops. 

His large palm comes up to cup the swell of your breast, the pad of his thumb brushing your hardened bud before he applies a bit of pressure to coax more milk out of it. Whimpering again at the contact, the sound quickly turns into a moan the moment his tongue swirls over your little bud, cleaning away the slip of fluid that has escaped.

If your husband wasn’t so familiar with your body, seeing how it approved of his actions and all but melted against his touch, he would have considered stopping.

His mouth latches around your bud, slowly starting to suck, and you can’t help yourself but to arch your back, shoving your breasts further into his face and mouth. Your arms wrap around his neck, bending at the elbow to entangle into the hair on the crown of his head, combing your fingers through it. He is all but forced to your breasts now, and you’d fear that he’s close to suffocating, if it wasn’t for you knowing all too well that he’d gladly die this way – with his lips on your tits, suckling on what is solely designated for the babe he has put in your belly. 

Each suck of his mouth has your cunt clenching around his throbbing cock, slowly but surely coaxing you to rut your hips back and forth with newfound vigor. 

Droplets of milk rest in the corners of his mouth as he pulls back to release a heedy groan. The lack of stimulation causes you to whine, a frown etching onto your features, but as soon as you catch a glimpse of the sight beneath you, you feel a fresh wave of arousal drip out of your cunt, coating his cock and thighs. His lips are swollen, a sight you merely know from your exuberant hours of kissing, and his chiseled features are framed by your full breasts on either side of it.

“Keep going, husband,” you whimper, “do not stop.”

Applying a bit of pressure to his head with your elbows, you nudge him forward to encourage him to continue his ministrations to which he eagerly complies. Banding his arms around your middle, he brings you closer to him again. 

You can’t stop yourself from whining words of praise at the relief you feel when he resumes, this time taking rather large gulps of milk like a greedy babe, the sounds of his messy slurping filling your ears. Knowing you are providing for your unborn babe is good, but it doesn’t compare to the feeling of your husband emptying your full breasts.

With every suckle of his lips, you take in a sharp breath, and when his hand comes up to squeeze the slowly sagging flesh of your breast, the pressure in it long gone with the amount of milk he has drunk, you gently rock your way through your peak.  

“Gods, yes–,” you cry out, your sentence cut off by a moan. “Just like that… please.” You aren’t even sure what you are begging for, since he has already given you all you could’ve ever asked for, but the relief and pleasure his mouth and cock grant you rob you of the ability to form any coherent thoughts, your mind hazy with lust.

You are sopping wet, labored breath drowning out the squelching sounds of your core repeatedly dragging over his thick cock to calm the storm that rages within you. You aren’t able to see it, but you feel that he is coated in more than one of your juices. Milk dribbles down the corners of his mouth and chin, whereas his stones, his cock and his thighs are coated in your arousal. 

He’s still snugly nestled inside of your warm and wet womanhood, and besides the throbbing and pulsing, it doesn’t move much, he doesn’t move much, solely indulging in your efforts. It’s a welcomed surprise to not have his hips pistoning in and out of you, making it much more bearable to keep him inside of you even after the effects of your peak subside.

The previous firmness of your breast is long gone, and only once the spasming of your core around him stops, Daemon dares to pull away from you. “You taste divine, my love.”

“Then keep going,” you whimper the demand, strands of your hair clinging to your sweaty skin. 

You are less vocal as he focuses on your other breast, and just enjoy the sensations that course through you, paying attention to what elicits which response from your body. His cock is still buried hard and wanting inside of you, and you settle into a slow and steady rhythm with his mouth now working your other breast. 

But not only you are deeply affected by this. It’s so strange, so illicit, that even your husband slowly but surely feels the familiar tingling at the tip of his cock, despite you not moving much, sending a shudder through his core.

As he applies just the edge of his teeth to the sensitive skin of your little bud, a second peak washes over your body in an ambush, and you chase your pleasure in a haze, oblivious to Daemon being close to completion as well. 

Keening and shaking against him with the force of your peak, Daemon’s body eventually seizes, his cock spilling his seed deep inside of you, a strained groan of him fanning over your wet skin. If you wouldn’t be growing round with his child already, you surely would’ve been with one after this, his seed filling you up to the brim and slowly leaking out of your spasming hole. 

With you being tight and warm around him, it proves to be a challenge to get Daemon to release the sensitive bud, too keen to drink every last drop of your milk while you grow somewhat sore and uncomfortable at this point.

But when he finally does, he looks up at you with lust-blown eyes, the familiar lilac replaced by black. You lick your lips, eyes flickering between his and his lips, swollen and covered in the last remnants of your milk, begging for your attention. 

Your head bows down, capturing his lips in a soft kiss, and as the taste of your milk on his tongue spreads over yours, you can’t stop a moan from spilling into his mouth. His arms wrap around your body yet again, pulling you closer against him. And this time, it doesn’t feel painful when your breasts are squeezed by his firm chest, causing you to sigh in content. 

“Avy jorrāelan.” I love you. 

[jadeluz-official]

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice review - Beetlebabes Galore 

My rating: 8.7/10 

As far as sequels go, this one pays great homage to the original. More spoiler review under the cut. 

The Good

There's some great things about this film, BJ chasing Lydia down, Delores chasing Beej down, Wolf chasing everyone down, it kinda felt like a wacky hunger games. Of course there were problems with pacing, but it's just as gross and crude, if not more than the first movie. 

The wedding. God the wedding is so bonkers and pretty. I wish it just went on for a little longer. I know MK was running low on time at that point but the visuals with the church are so pretty. The blue/green atmosphere is something else. 

We get confirmation that Lydia is BJ's "love of his life" and fully intends to marry her again pretty early in the film. God Beej was such a loose canon in here and it was so fun to see him again. Every single scene he's trying to win her over, and Lydia's just not having it haha. This whole movie was such a shipfest and you can honestly leave the ending up to interpretation. I personally think they're married - they don't need rings. That scene where they end up in the bed was enough confirmation for me. 

The parallel with Astrid and Jeremy floating and Beetlebabes floating was my favorite thing the whole movie. Jeremy lets Astrid fall and won't help her back up but Beetlejuice makes sure he has a firm hold on Lydia. There's something about manipulation and revenge with Beej/Delores & Rory/Lydia too. Beej is coming from a place of genuine, disgusting love. Everyone else is doing it for their own gain. 

Wolf was also so fun to watch. He's a great addition to the BJ franchise as like a cop/criminal duo with him and BJ. I would've loved to see more of them interacting. Astrid's dad was also a total sweetheart. I wish he had just a little more time in the film. 

The Bad

I will say, the ending was very dissatisfying for BJ. He had done everything asked again, and Lydia signed an actual contract for the marriage this time. He saved Astrid from the Afterlife and saved Lydia from a doomed marriage. But hey, at least we got a hand kiss and that's all I needed LMAO 

Delores. Everything about her felt like an afterthought. We don't really see her much after she smashes Lydia's photo. She's made to be this huge threat and we don't really get to see it. There was a lot of missed potential drama with BJ and Lydia putting on the rings (which were cut, damn it all). I do like how they smashed Rory and Delores together with the sandworm though, girl was definitely thinking about going for him 😂

Astrid. She wasn't a bad character but she wasn't great. She was just very naive and I had a hard time liking her character. The Deetz are the opposite of naive, so it just felt off to me. And especially because Delia bites the bullet by venomous snake bites. It just felt like they were dumbed down just a tad too much. Lydia was the only one who kept a strong head the whole film. 

The tone of the film vs the trailers. In the trailers, we see a very serious nature about the film. Whereas in film, there's so many plots going on in such a small timeframe, it's a little hard to take anything seriously. And speaking of cut, the editing crew makes a hard zoom onto the ring on the floor and never does anything with the shot. There's def some editing issues/plot issues that got cut or scrapped. We'll have to see when the official script releases.

So....

It's a mess. But it's a fun mess. The visuals are beautiful, the characters are fun. It's such a fun rollercoaster of emotions. I'd definitely go see it again.

[natsukishinomiyaswife]

The Viper Club (or, The Jamil Viper Support Group)

Hello ♡ This is a silly fic I thought of at work, featuring some of my mutual's OCs ♡ The premise is that their OCs end up in Lydia's universe (so my Yuu's Twisted Wonderland) and stay at their "partner's" dorm while there (due to Ramshackle not existing). This fic mainly features Jamil (and his many partners) with cameos from other OCs and pairings as well! ♡

OCs featured/mentioned (along with their OC x Canon) include: Yuusha (@crystallizsch) x Jamil, Mayu (@anbaisai) x Jamil, Rebecca (@0honeybones0) x Jamil, Astrid (@cheerleaderman) x Jamil, Damali (@midnightmah07) x Jamil

Silas (@theolivetree123) x Jamil, Fayrouz (@fell-fell) x Jamil, Dranav (@justm3di0cr3) x Jamil, Jeanne (@midnightmah07) x Kalim, Copper (@cyanide-latte) x Kalim

Shuu (@oya-oya-okay) x Azul, Lysander (@offorestsongs) x Rook, Kiyuu (@skriblee-ksk) x Jack, Daisy (@midnightmah07) x Ruggie, Jewel (@jewelulu) x Floyd

Enjoy! ♡

Jamil wasn't sure how to describe it, unable to shake this feeling he had. All day he felt as if something was off, taking notice of strange things occurring around him.

It started in the morning, with Lydia running around campus in a panic. She would always have someone with her, with Jamil being unfamiliar with each one. There shouldn't be any new students at the moment, and while people were able to visit, it was usually reserved for special occasions. He knew the school wasn't having any events, and their wasn't any games going on.

Yet everywhere he turned, a new face popped up, catching his eye. A blonde haired girl walking to class with Ruggie, a man with long pink hair sitting next to Rook in the courtyard. Even at practice, there was someone in the stands, watching them play.

Did I miss something? He couldn't help but wonder, wiping his face with a towel. Their club activities were over for the day, the girl sitting in the stands leaving with Floyd. He was tempted to ask Ace once they were gone, noticing he didn't have anyone with him. Perhaps he would know what was going on...

"Oh, Jewel? I don't really know her, but Lyds said she'd be staying at Octavinelle for a bit." Ace replied, pulling a sweatshirt over his head. He tugs it down to cover his uniform, putting the rest of his things in a duffel bag, throwing it over his shoulder. His eyes widen after a moment, seeming to remember something.

"She was looking for you by the way! I told her we had practice, so she said she'd be waiting for you back at Scarabia." Ace says, slapping his hand on Jamil's shoulder. Jamil's eyebrow raises as Ace walks away, lifting his arm in a makeshift wave.

"Good luck~" Ace teases, a smirk on his face as he glances over his shoulder. Oh, he knew something alright... Jamil crossing his arms as he watches him go. The question was... what?

He entered Scarabia cautiously, looking around for anyone. He was dressed in casual clothes now, having changed out of his uniform back at the gym. He hears Kalim's voice down the hall, turning to find two people standing next to him. He hid behind the corner, watching them with suspicion as they talked.

"Hopefully Lyddie can get you guys home soon... I just know the other me's miss you two!" Kalim states, causing smiles to come to his companion's faces. Their eyes seem a bit sad though, probably thinking the same thing Kalim was.

"Ah, there you are!" A voice calls out, causing Jamil to turn. Lydia rushes towards him, looking worse for wear. Her hair is a mess, anxiety written on her face. Jamil takes one final look at the strangers next to Kalim before focusing on her, eyebrows raising in concern.

"Is everything alright? Ace said you were looking for me earlier..."

"Yes, yes! Everything's fine!" She responds immediately, forcing a smile on her. "Even better now that you're here, actually!" She grabs his arm, dragging him away. He glances back towards the hall as they leave, unable to shake his suspicions.

"... Do you know who those people with Kalim are?"

"Oh, that's Jeanne and Copper! They'll be staying at Scarabia for a bit." His eyebrows raise at this, wondering when this decision was made.

"I've never seen them around campus before..."

"Oh, um... they're not from here." She says hesitantly, making him even more suspicious.

"They were wearing uniforms though, so they must go here." He states, as if it were obvious. The girl with the hook was wearing an Octavinelle uniform, while the man wore a Pomefiore one. Clearly they were students of Night Raven College... right?

She stops walking, causing Jamil to almost run into her. She turns to him, speaking as if she's answered this question multiple times.

"So they do attend Night Raven, just not our Night Raven. They attend the one back in their world, and somehow... they ended up in ours."

"...What?"

She goes on to explain that on her way to work at Sam's shop, she passed by the abandoned building filled with ghosts and noticed people inside. Anxious, she walked up to the building, wondering who was there. It was way more people than she expected, all of them unaware how they got there in the first place.

After talking with them and discussing the issue with the Headmage, she was tasked with finding them a place to stay, and someone to look after each of them. In the meantime, Crowley would look for a way to send them home (like how he did with the tsums).

"I see... So I'm guessing I'll be looking after someone too?" He asks, taking it all in. It seemed hard to believe, but Lydia was from another world, and stranger things have happened.

She directed his attention to a door, leading to one of the spare rooms they had. "Actually..." She starts, opening the door. His eyes widen as he takes in all the people, sitting around a table with drinks in their hands. They look at the doorway as he stands there, Lydia gesturing towards the group.

"... You'll be looking after this group here. The Viper club, as I like to call them." She walks past him to enter the room, continuing to speak. "Or you could call them the Jamil Viper support group. They all have one thing in common."

"And that is...?" He asks, already knowing what the answer will be.

"They all have a relationship with you. Well, the you from their universe, that is..." She starts walking around the table, standing behind each person as she introduces them.

"This is Yuusha..."

"... Mayu..."

"... Rebecca..."

"... Astrid..."

"... Damali..."

"... Silas..."

"... Fayrouz..."

"... and Dranav."

She allows each person to add anything they'd like to their introductions, approaching him once everyone was finished.

"They'll be in your care from now on, so I hope you can get along." She claps her hands together, doing her best to stay positive. She knows how much responsibility Jamil already has, and adding eight people on top of that doesn't help. She hopes that since they're close with the Jamil's back in their worlds, that they will be understanding, and not give him a hard time.

"I still need to make dinner." He says as a response, feeling tired already.

"Oh! Why don't you let them help you? It'll be a great way for you to get to know each other, plus it'll help take some work off of you." She suggests, a smile coming to her face. Jamil notices how exhausted she is, spending the day running around doing Crowley's job. He couldn't help but offer...

"Why don't you join us for dinner too, Lydia? You look like you could use a break." A small smile comes to her face at his offer, pushing some hair out of her face.

"I appreciate it, but I can't. I still gotta meet with Jack at Savanaclaw, as he'll be watching Kiyuu. And I wanna get back to Octavinelle as soon as possible, cause who knows what Azul has Shuu doing..." She sighs, shaking her head. "He better not be using her for free labor in the Lounge..." She mutters to herself.

"I'll be off, then! You guys have fun!" She says, making her way towards the door. "Oh, before I forget!" She turns, walking to Jamil. She leans in close to him, her voice low so the others wouldn't hear.

"Some of them have asked about a 'Ramshackle dorm', or a 'Grim', and I don't know what they're talking about... Do you know?" She asks, watching as Jamil shakes his head. She nods her head in understanding before waving goodbye to everyone, walking out the door.

Once she was gone, Jamil focused his attention on them, looking around as he asked, "So... who here knows how to cook?" ♡

Ahhhh I hope you guys liked it! ♡ I tried to keep things vague, so that way you can insert your own dialogue/thoughts for your OCs! ♡

Thank you! ♡

[universalhorrorblog]

While this blog is about classic horror movies and shows I must address one thing

I'm a beetlejuice fan. Ever since I was a kid. I watched the movie and cartoon and while the aspect of beetlejuice and Lydia as a couple isn't cool to some people

(mostly young pups who suddenly have morals and decency, ew.)

The beetlebabes fandom has pretty much existed for over 36 years. Some of us are veterans of the ship while others are recently new or about to become fans in the future.

Remember folks, shipping was pretty big before the internet and we millennials

(those of us who aren't self righteous dickheads about fictional characters being paired as a couple)

Build the foundation of every fandom and every ship that's ever existed. Which expanded with the internet. Before normal people ruined things, the internet was to connect with others and share the same love for fictional pairings no matter how crazy it got.

(Crack ships, you know i love'em)

Yes, I'm 39 years old and I still ship it. Maybe I'll take a break but I come back every once in a while and I love that the ship is still rolling down the track.

Once a beetlebabes shipper always a beetlebabes shipper. And I lowkey think that Lydia's daughter Astrid deets is secretly their canon daughter and if not? Shit, I'm head canoning it.

Why? Cause I'm fuckin' nuts.

There's a abit of insanity when it comes to shipping and I love it.

[nolita-fairytale]

don't you worry, there's still time | chef luca x fem!reader, feat. marcus brooks

summary: after losing his mother, marcus searches for joy and stillness in copenhagen. you and luca, who are more than happy to host, decide to take a big next step in your relationship. a oneshot from the world of 'burn your life down.'

warnings: fluff, light angst, grief, death, light smut, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, off-canon connection to the storyline of the bear.

word count: 5.8k

listen to: the playlist

a/n: wow, i missed this world! who is ready for the reveal of chef's restaurant name?! while i don't think i have the bandwidth to write another full series (nor a linear story to tell) i'm thinking of creating a second part to 'burn your life down' where we just get to drop in and see what they're up to. thoughts??

chef luca masterlist | full masterlist

After a tumultuous holiday season, it doesn’t take long for Sydney to realize that her friend is in need of a little help. A reprieve, she so kindly explained to both Marcus and Carmy when she’d proposed the idea. 

It was Sydney this time, who called Luca, knowing that she and Carmy would have to find something to do with Marcus. It wasn’t fair – that he’d lost his mom just before Thanksgiving – and they both agreed that Marcus needed to get out of dodge. Quick to act, Carmy set up a few stages in NYC for a week or so, which, while seemed to inspire Marcus, seemed to only plunge him further into a slump come Christmas. “I don’t know. I think we gotta send him on some kinda… eat, pray, love trip. The guy can only sulk on my couch for so long before I consider jumping out of the window,” Sydney says, her attempt to lighten the mood with humor still genuine. “It’s getting sad, Carm. Like… real fuckin’ sad.”

“You’re right. Uh… what about Copenhagen?” Carmy pitches with a shrug, because he knows what all consuming grief feels like. 

“Again?” she asks, uncertain of whether it’s the best choice that they could make. 

“Yeah,” Carmy shrugs in response. “Think he got a lot of it last time. Could be good for him to go back to somewhere familiar… work with Luca again. You don’t think it’s a-?”

“No I do! I just-,” Sydney hesitates, though she knows her business partner makes a good point. “Familiarity will be good for him. To be around people he can trust.”

“You want me to uh-,” Carmy begins to offer, figuring he’ll make the call. 

“Probably best if I explain the situation. Just ‘cause, you know, I know more of what’s going on… just send me his info and I’ll call later,” Sydney interjects. 

Carmy agrees with a curt nod before adding in:

“Uh… okay yeah. Yeah.”

*

You get plenty of time to prepare for Marcus’ visit, performing all kinds of fancy footwork to arrange a proper visit – a week’s worth of time spent staging and living in Copenhagen. When Luca finds out that the prolific houseboat, a chef retreat of sorts that’s always been an option for lodging, is booked for the week and a half that Marcus plans on visiting, you offer up your place without hesitation. 

The arrangement goes as follows: while Marcus stays at yours at no cost, you’ll stay with Luca for the duration of the time. 

This is how you find yourself at the massive Ikea on Dybbølsbro on a Saturday morning with Luca, in search of a set of fresh bed linens intended for guests. 

“I really should host more. And Astrid said she and Lina were planning a trip out here so… why not kill two birds with one stone?” you’d reasoned to your boyfriend, making a strong case for why you and Luca should make this little shopping trip. 

“What do you think of the blue?” Luca asks you, as you run your hand over a set of the display sheets, checking for softness. 

“Don’t know if the blue is what I’m going for. I was thinking of something warmer. Maybe a yellow or… I don’t know. I’ve kind of been into that trendy rust color as of late,” you reply with a shrug, moving onto the warmer colors. 

Luca chuckles and with a small shake of his head, he clarifies his previous questions with:

“No, I meant for me.”

“What do you mean?” you ask him curiously, his comment pulling all of your focus as you search his face for answers. “You just got new bedding.” 

And expensive ones too. 

But as your eyes follow his gaze, you realize that he’s not talking about sheets, focused on the XL Twin-sized duvets just above where the sheets messily fall along the shelf. 

“I was thinking…” Luca trails off, checking in with you before he continues, with “... maybe it’s time I get two duvets… you know… for us.” He takes a beat, and a step towards you, and you know you’ll never stand a chance against his boyish charm as one side of his mouth turns up into a smile. 

You’re no stranger to the Scandinavian duvet method – two twin duvets for one king sized bed – but it sounds like Luca’s suggestion is about way more than buying an extra duvet on this trip. 

“I want you to feel at home… at my place."

“I do,” you reply, almost instantly, a warmth spreading through your belly as you take a step towards him. 

“But I mean really… feel like it’s your home. Because it is. It could be. You know… if you want it to be,” Luca continues, this time with more insistence, a look of hopefulness in his deep blue eyes. 

“Are you… are you asking me to move in with you?” you manage to get out, your heart skipping a beat. 

“Why not? We could use this week to try it out,” he suggests so casually that you practically have to do a double take. “See how it goes while Marcus stays at your place?”

“Yeah I-... that sounds like a good plan, yeah,” you stammer out, the grin on your face undeniable as you nod enthusiastically in the middle of a goddamn furniture store. 

“Besides,” Luca says, clearing his throat as his tone changes to one that’s much more playful. “You’re an absolute blanket hog and a repeat offender at that.” Luca winks your way as you roll your eyes with a laugh in response. “This could prevent some of our silly little quarrels, don’t you think, love?” 

“Uh huh,” you sound, your face skeptical as you look his way again. “Preventative measures. Sure, babe.”

Luca chuckles before leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips, right then and there, in the Ikea bed linen section, the place you’ll now forever think of as the place your boyfriend asked you to move in with him.

Connection

When Marcus arrives in Copenhagen, you’ve arranged your home with the most comfort in mind, having already packed a week’s worth of things and left for Luca’s. You can only imagine what he must be going through, deciding that something like that – losing your mother – though inevitable, is your goddamn worst nightmare. 

“Marcus, 

Enjoy your stay and please reach out if you need anything. I can’t wait to meet you!”

…is the note that you leave him, along with a few morning pastries you picked up from your favorite baggeri across the street, and your number scribbled down at the bottom of the notepad. 

As Marcus arrives, his eyes drawn immediately to your note and gift, Marcus smiles to himself, noticing that you left a very nice looking bottle of wine on the counter as well. He’s moved by your generosity, considering you’ve never met, and the fact that you’re willing to take so much care, extend this much kindness to a stranger, causes a wave of softness to wash over him. 

Maybe, just maybe, he can find softness again – the last few months riddled with pain, grief, and numbness to get through the days. 

While he came here to work, encouraged by his friends that a change of scenery may do his broken heart some good, it’s the first time Marcus has had a chance to be still. His feelings of grief sit heavier here and it catches him off guard, uncertain that he’s quite ready to sit with them yet. He pushes aside the thought, focusing on exploring your home and unpacking his bags. Marcus knows how to stay busy – he’s become an expert at it by now – reminding himself that he’s got work at 5 am sharp tomorrow.

*

“A little too much, chef. Take it down by about 15 grams,” Luca directs, his voice even and sure as he inspects the balls of dough that Marcus currently shapes. 

“Yes, chef,” Marcus nods in understanding, plopping the ball of dough back on the scale to adjust the measurement. 

The two of them work like this for the rest of the morning, Luca treading carefully while keeping things professional, while Marcus buries himself in the work – something that feels good, safe, right. 

He’s missed this. While Marcus has one chef he works with directly at the restaurant, he’s the expert – the head patissier. He misses being surrounded by excellence, getting to be a student of someone who is just as driven, if not more, and inspired. It’s good, quiet, calm, yet there’s a focus and intensity in Luca’s kitchen that feels like a breath of fresh air. 

His stage trip to New York has been more of a mess than beneficial. Maybe it had been the chaos of the city, or the chaos of the chefs he was working with. Maybe it was the fact that Marcus, though hungry for a distraction, hadn’t quite been ready to walk directly into the line of fire yet.

As Marcus’ practiced hands move with the dough, there’s a newfound confidence in the way that he works that's not lost on Luca. Luca watches his friend carefully, pride swelling in his chest as his mentee makes the adjustment with ease and diligence.

“Can I join you?” Luca asks, gesturing towards Marcus' workstation. 

“‘Course, chef,” Marcus replies, his response short yet reverent. 

As Luca joins him, finding a space to the right of Marcus, he busies his hands with rolling each perfectly measured ball of dough into mini boules, ready to proof. The two of them work quietly, side by side, the air between them heavy with words unsaid. He can feel it – the weight that lays so heavily on Marcus' heart – but Luca doesn’t want to bring it up, uninterested in forcing the conversation. Especially about something so painful, something he knows that Marcus has barely begun working through. 

“Thanks, again. For uh… you know… letting me come work,” Marcus begins, momentarily checking in with Luca to gauge a reaction. 

“‘Course,” Luca replies, his answer instantaneous. “You’re welcome here any time, mate.” 

“Yeah?” Marcus asks, stealing a glance in Luca’s direction.

“Yeah,” Luca responds with a certain nod. 

“And uh… shit. I can’t thank your girlfriend enough for letting me crash at her place,” Marcus adds, as he works through his discomfort and overwhelm from the wave of feelings that begin to bubble up in his chest.

“You can thank her yourself on Saturday,” Luca brings up, excited over the fact that Marcus will not only be meeting his girlfriend, but staging at her restaurant too. “She’s really looking forward to meeting you.” 

Marcus nods slowly, his hands the only steady thing about him as he continues to focus on his work. 

“I just mean-, well, she didn’t have to-. ‘S not like either of you owed it to me or anything and I-. You guys just really came through…” Marcus trails off, wanting to make his gratitude clear. It means more to him that he can articulate so instead he settles for, “So thank you. Again.”

Luca shrugs with an aplomb about him as he returns with, “We got you, mate.” He pauses before continuing, fully aware that Marcus isn’t quite comfortable with the feelings that have presented themself in this moment. “And the way I see it, I wouldn’t have met her if it weren’t for you – for our conversation the last time you were here – so we really do owe you for it.”

This time Luca makes an effort to check in with Marcus, gauging his emotional capacity as he concludes with:

“But that’s not what any of this is about: debts, who owes who what. We were both more than happy to host you. That’s what mates are for.”

It’s not till the end of the next shift that it hits him, and Marcus finds himself sitting outside of the restaurant on a bench across the street. He’s not sure whether it’s the jet lag or the exhaustion of the 5 am start time in another time zone, but it hits him all at once, like a ton of bricks. Suddenly consumed with the feelings that he’s been trying his best to avoid, all he can do is pause, completely caught off guard by the strength of them. 

Quietly, Luca joins him, having spotted him on his way home, rerouting himself in Marcus’ direction instead. 

All he can think of are the words you’ve asked him, and he you, time and time again – the ones that cut right to the core of you each and every time – that show you how much he cares. 

“How’s your heart?” Luca asks Marcus, after a few minutes of sitting on the bench together in silence. 

And how is his heart? 

He’s not sure how to answer, considering it’s been a while since he’s really had a chance to check in, the crippling reality of this great loss is too much to bear alone. 

His heart is broken, shattered into an infinite amount of pieces. 

He, and his heart will never be the same again and he doesn’t know where or how he’ll ever put it back together. 

His heart is… lost, in desperate need of finding a soft place to land. 

Marcus takes a while to answer, racking his brain for any semblance of a cohesive answer. 

He waits. And then he waits. 

Until finally, he can answer. 

“I uh… don’t know. But I’m hoping this trip will help me figure that out.”

Creativity 

“do you remember the 21st night of september? love was changin' the minds of pretenders while chasin' the clouds away.” (earth, wind, and fire.)

Everything about the way you run your kitchen feels different than what he’s used to. 

It’s sure as hell different from his last stage trip to New York, Marcus thinks to himself.

With Carmy and Syd, working with them, there’s a buzz of chaos that runs underneath even the most organized and efficient service. It’s something integral to what they have, gives an edge to The Bear that seems to make it hum in all the right ways. Even with Luca, who comes from fine dining and Michelin-starred restaurants, there’s a quiet and determined focus – an intensity to his work – even without the undercurrent of chaos. 

But this. But you. 

Your kitchen somehow teeters the line of organized chaos and reckless play so well that Marcus understands why this works – why it’s efficient. 

Still, he watches as you and your staff dance – no, literally dance – around each other to the highly recognizable Earth, Wind, and Fire tune. Mathilde sings along while chopping chives for the brothy mushroom grain bowl, while, mid-phrase, manages to yell out a short command to a line cook in Danish. Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus catches Jesper working the dining room, while you finish plating two more dishes, ready to be walked out. 

It’s as if you find focus in the center of all the noise, somewhere between the electric energy between you, Mathilde, and your staff, and the feel-good vibes and homeyness of the restaurant that you’ve created. 

You had been more than welcoming when Marcus had walked through the doors of your restaurant, Kokuore, mere hours ago. You’d given him the tour, shown him which station he’d be working this evening, then warmly introduced him to your entire team before family meal started. Marcus can’t stop moving, too afraid to be still in fear of falling apart in the presence of how comforting you’ve been. 

And this? Your kitchen. It’s all joy, connection, and artistry. 

It’s not hard for him to see why Luca fell in love with you. 

“Marcus, feel free to take a break,” he hears you say, as you nod towards the dining room through the open kitchen. 

As Marcus follows your gesture, he notices that Luca’s arrived, remembering something about a standing Saturday date. 

“You sure, chef?” Marcus asks, looking to you for approval. 

“Positive,” you nod, reassuringly.

Marcus nods in return to confirm, before taking his apron off and making his way over to the dining room where Luca is exchanging a few words with Jesper. 

“Wassup, chef,” he greets his mentor. 

“You know, you can call me Luca,” Luca reminds him with a crooked smile. “At least when we’re off the clock.”

Marcus chuckles, “Uh… yeah alright. That’s gonna take some getting used to.” 

Luca chuckles in return, before Jesper shows them to his table, mentioning something about Americans being so afraid of fluidity. 

“She’s brilliant isn’t she?” Luca asks, in reference to you as his eyes catch yours from across the room. 

“Nah for real. Like… mad scientist vibes,” Marcus concurs with a smile. “She can throw down for sure.” He pauses as they sit down at Luca’s table. “So you come every Saturday night, huh?”

“When I can, yeah, which is… most Saturdays,” Luca replies honestly, before beginning to list why he’s kept up this routine. “But it’s nice. Keeps me inspired. I get to see my girl, walk her home at night which makes me feel better.” Luca leans back in his chair this time, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I never mind helping close down at the end of the night.”

Marcus hums in response before one of the waitstaff comes to their table, with a glass of wine in hand, on the house. They chat for a little longer before Marcus returns to the kitchen, his excitement for what you’re doing here filling him to the brim. 

As dinner service comes to an end, Marcus can’t help but notice the chemistry and how unique it is as you all work together in perfect harmony. There’s a warmth to it, something different, and he begins to understand why the name of the restaurant comes from the word, heart. 

Luca is quick to get up from his table, quickly finishing his glass of wine as he offers to help close down. The music volume goes from underscoring the buzz of a busy night of service, to the main attraction, as a motown throwbacks playlist begins to blare from the speakers. You all work quickly and efficiently, eager to close down, get home, and begin your weekends, but it’s when an old Otis Redding track that Luca decides to put a pause on the progress. 

“Dance with me, my love,” he says, offering his hand out to you as a huge gesture that earns a few looks and giggles from some of your staff. 

“Luca,” you begin to protest, looking around. 

“You can take three minutes,” he offers, exchanging a look with you this time. 

You nod, taking his hand as you agree with, “Okay.”

And as Luca wraps you up in his arms, engaging you in a slow dance to Otis Redding’s “That’s How Strong my Love is,” you chuckle, relaxing into him.

“Oh, get a room, you two!” Jesper calls out after you, teasingly. 

“She pretends – always puts up a fight – as if they don’t do this every single week,” Mathilde adds, as an explanation to Marcus. 

“Every week?” Marcus asks, a little surprised by both you and Luca’s willingness to pause and revel in a moment with each other, instead of just pushing through. 

“Yeah. Romantics, they are,” Jesper chimes in. 

Marcus smiles to himself. It’s a reminder of slowness – something he hasn’t let himself experience in a long time – and for just a moment, he lets himself settle into the feeling. 

*

You don’t even mind that you woke up an hour before your alarm the moment you feel Luca’s arms wrapped around you, and his lips against your soft skin. The low rumble of his voice resonates across your shoulders, sending chills down your spine as you arch into his hands, his arms wrapped around you. 

“I know we’re only a few days in… of our little trial,” Luca begins, the bass of his voice reverberating through your shoulder blade.

“Our living together trial?” you clarify with your ask, letting out a gasp as he nibbles on your shoulder gently. 

“Yeah. Just wonderin’ where your mind’s at,” Luca murmurs, his eager hands beginning to explore underneath the oversized shirt you put on before bed last night. 

“Well… I really like this,” you reply, the sound that comes out of your mouth somewhere between a giggle and a moan. 

“Hmmmm?” Luca sounds, innocently. 

“This… Waking up to you thing.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Mhm.”

Luca’s name escapes your lips as his fingers gently begin to play with your nipples, his erection hard against your back as you begin to grind your hips back against. 

“And the access to round the clock sex is really a bonus,” you sigh, blissfully. 

“Oh yeah?” he asks you again, a large tatted hand slipping between your legs. 

“Yeah… I’d even be… interested in leaning into that part… right now,” you hiss in reply to his touch. “Considering you’re distracting me with sex.”

“Hmmmmm. ‘S not just it, love. Have I told you how grateful I am for what you’ve done for Marcus?” Luca asks, his mouth back on your neck. He presses your body against him, your back to his chest as he rocks his hips against yours. 

“Luca!” you protest, unable to focus on the conversation. 

“It’s your kindness. Your heart… I’m in awe of it,” he continues to praise you as the two of you begin to set a rhythm between your bodies. 

It’s all heat, and soft sighs of pleasure, and foreplay.

“Well, I know a little something about what he’s going through,” you answer breathlessly. You begin to impatiently push the hem of your shirt higher so that you can give Luca more access to your body. 

“That’s why I love you,” Luca murmurs into your skin, his hands all over you, his focus unbroken and your mind beginning to go blank. His hands are tearing your shirt over your head as he continues to praise you. “Your heart, the way you share it.”

“You helped me get there, baby,” you gasp, turning your head so that you can kiss your boyfriend. 

Instead of answering, Luca nods knowingly, before crashing his lips into yours. His mouth on yours feels like heaven, and you can’t believe that you ever fought your feelings for him. 

“Ah fuck it. Let’s do it. Let’s move in together,” you surrender to him, lost in the moment. 

“Yeah?” Luca pauses, pulling away, as if almost can’t believe what he’s hearing. 

“Yeah. I mean it, baby,” you nod, catching his gaze, certain in the way you answer. “I wanna wake up to you every morning.”

“Me too, my love,” Luca grins, before pressing his lips to yours again. “Now will you please let me fuck you, darling?”

“Fuck yes.”

Luca spends the next hour showing you just how grateful he is for you, while you in return, spend the next hour showing him just how sure you are about this decision. 

And you are sure. If mornings like this are a constant for the rest of your life, you think you’ll die a happy woman. 

You’ve found a home in him, and he, you. He’s the person you want to come home to at the end of the day. He’s the man that puts a smile on your face every single time he gets on his soapbox about how Beyonce is the performer of your lifetimes, and he is unequivocally the best, most unexpected thing in your life. 

Luca Davies, in almost a year of knowing him, and eight months of getting to love him, has somehow become your favorite person. 

By the time you and Luca are both showered and decent-for-company, you’ve begun your mise en place for brunch, completely content with the fact that you’re running a little behind schedule (and in all fairness, the sex was worth it – it’s always worth it). The smell of bacon sizzling away on your carbon steel fry pan fills the entire apartment, and you’re glad that Luca opened a window earlier. It’s not exactly window weather yet, but the air ventilation is a must when it comes to smoked meats.

While you play catch up with your brunch plan, Luca’s busy welcoming Marcus in, pouring him a cup of coffee using the extensive ten-step pour over he’s been fixated on ever since he purchased it, while they chat here and there about what else he’s explored in Denmark. 

“Been too busy working, to be honest but… I don’t know. I might wander around today… see what kind of stuff I can get into,” Marcus answers frankly with a shrug. 

“Ah, mate. We just had a walk at the Frederiksberg Gardens. Definitely something I’d recommend checking out,” Luca suggests, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he mentions it. 

Luca continues moving through his list of recommendations, Marcus chiming in with places and things he did the last time he was here, excited to spend a few days exploring the city instead of just working. 

“Wanderin’ around. I dunno. There’s something about it. ‘S good for the spirit, you know?” Luca concludes. 

“Yeah,” Marcus nods in agreement, before turning his attention over to the French toast you’re working on. “Okay, I see you. What is that? Mascarpone?”

“Yeah, good eye. It’s just something new I’m working on: a mascarpone stuffed french toast. We’re actually talking about extending our hours… maybe doing weekend brunch,” you answer thoroughly, as you dip the stuffed pieces of bread into their egg batter, pre-cook. 

“For real? That’s sick,” Marcus compliments, watching you carefully. “I mean… shit. You could have a whole brunch spot.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, looking up from your cutting board. 

“A Brunch spot,” Marcus repeats, simply, the excitement in his eyes at the new idea, evident. “Yeah, you know. Luca could do the morning pastries. You work your magic on the rest of the menu.”

“That’s a novel idea! What do you think, my love?” Luca asks, intrigue in his voice as he searches your face for a reaction. 

“I-,” you begin, looking from Luca to Marcus, then back to Luca again. “I… never thought about it like that.” You take a beat, eyeing Luca carefully. “We’ve never talked about going into business together.”

Marcus shrugs, before picking up his coffee mug, “Yo, it’s just a thought. I think you two would be unstoppable together.”

“Unstoppable, eh?” Luca asks, his eyes locked with yours. 

You only hum in response, raising a quirked eyebrow in Luca’s direction before adding:

“It’s certainly one hell of an idea, Marcus.”

Kokuore

Monday afternoon, you find yourself at your restaurant with Marcus Brooks, on a day off. 

“I might need a little extra help with something tomorrow. We’re closed tomorrow, but I want to get ahead on this special I’m working on. Could use the help of a pastry chef. What do you say?” you’d proposed to him, over one more espresso before he left. 

To Luca’s dismay, (“ you silly Americans just can’t enjoy a day of doing nothing,” he’d teased the two of you) Marcus had given you an unwavering yes, reassuring you that he was down to learn everything he possibly could from you, especially while he was here. 

And it’s true. You do need the help. But should he want someone to talk to – someone who gets it, even just a little bit – you want to offer him the space and the opportunity to do so.

“As a patissier, do you get tasked with pasta? At The Bear?” you ask Marcus, as you pleat a dumpling in hand with a speed that only comes with practice. 

“Nah,” Marcus sounds, his focus on the dumpling he’s pleating too. His concentration on getting the pleats right is reverent and unbroken, even as he answers your question. “Our head chef, Carmy, he uh… he comes from an Italian American family so when we’ve done a stuffed pasta… he usually takes the lead on that.” 

You nod in understanding, placing the dumpling you’ve just finished down on the full-sized sheet pan. The two of you sit across from each other, having pushed a few dining tables together as a makeshift workstation. 

“Think Luca’ll take over this kinda stuff when you guys open a restaurant together?” Marcus asks, lightheartedly pushing his agenda from yesterday. 

You laugh in response, your hands working quickly on yet another dumpling. 

“For someone with no skin in the game, you’re really insistent on this idea,” you tease him in return. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it,” Marcus pushes right back, his tone still light. 

“I…” you sigh, trailing off as you pause your work for a moment. “You know, we just said we’d move in together. That and a restaurant? Feels fast.” 

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Like… a few hours before you came over for brunch,” you elaborate, earning a whistle from Marcus. The two of you exchange a look, and a laugh, as you pick up another dumpling wrapper that you and Marcus rolled out together earlier. 

“It’s a good idea though,” you add, stealing a glance his way so that he knows that you’re serious. 

“Well, when you two inevitably do open a restaurant… I want ten percent,” Marcus jokes, earning another laugh from you. 

“Deal,” you agree with him. 

You and Marcus work like this, exchanging a few words, the conversation light, underscored by a softer acoustic soundtrack from one of your Spotify radio stations.

“So how’d you learn to cook like this?” Marcus asks you curiously. 

“Uh…” you hesitate, treading carefully as you realize this conversation could open a can of worms. 

“I don’t know how much Luca’s told you about me… but I was married… before him,” you begin, cautiously. “And… well, I learned a lot of this… a lot of traditional Japanese cooking from my mother-in-law.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. These are her dumplings actually – her recipe. She passed away last Fall and… well, it was important to me to celebrate her – to celebrate her life – by creating a few dishes for her,” you continue, and it’s as if all of the air has been sucked out of the room. “We’re bringing this one back as a special this month but um… yeah. I’m… still very much grieving and… it helps me remember her. Cooking her food helps me feel close to her, you know?”

“Yeah,” Marcus sighs, his heart heavy as he exhales. 

He waits a beat. 

And then another, having paused his work as he watches you pleat, head down, with expert hands. 

The silence between you and Marcus is full, heavy, connected by shared experience. You wait for Marcus to say something, and when he doesn’t, you decide to continue. 

“This restaurant… has so much of my heart in it: it’s got my love for Italian food from growing up in my best friend’s family’s restaurant, and it’s got my love for her – for Aiko – and everything she taught me,” you begin to explain. “And lately… it’s got a fresh perspective… inspired by the love I have with Luca, I think. Well, I know. Inspired by him… how this place brought us together.”

“The name itself is… totally made up, but means a lot to me. The Japanese word for heart is, kokoro, and the Italian word for heart is, cuore. Somehow an homage to my past… and was… Prophetic in so many ways too.” 

As Marcus listens, Luca’s previous question lingers in his head:

How’s your heart?

At the time he didn’t know how to answer, and after five days in Copenhagen – after five days of doing what he loves in a place that he loves – his heart is somehow so full, yet so broken all at once. He’s filled with deep sorrow and with the spark of creativity all at the same time, and he’s just not sure how to hold all of this feeling inside of him. 

Marcus waits a beat, opens his mouth, then lets the words fall out. 

“It’s evident. In your food,” is all he manages to say. “It’s got soul. It’s got heart. I-, it’s inspiring. That’s for sure.” 

“I made a dish. For Michael,” Marcus adds, his eyes on the dumpling he works on, but the guard on his heart beginning to fall away. “He was uh… well, he was the old owner of the restaurant, called The Beef back then. Carmy took over after he died. Felt right to honor him and his life, you know? When we reopened as The Bear.”

“Food is… it’s our art, you know?” you agree. “Sometimes it’s the only way I know how to express myself and… sometimes it’s just the thing that makes sense.”

“Yeah.”

A beat. 

“Maybe one day I can make one for my mom,” Marcus says, his voice stuck in his throat as he admits, “I don’t know if I’m ready yet. But I think… I think I’d like to eventually.” 

“Of course,” you reassure him gently. “You don’t have to be ready now. You don’t have to be ready ever. But when you are, your art will always be there.” 

“Thanks,” Marcus nods solemnly. 

You get up this time, realizing the sheet pan is full, and ready to be placed on the baker’s rack. As you return to the table with a new empty sheet pan, lined with parchment paper, Marcus finally asks you, his eyes soft, the heartbreak in them present. 

“How’d you get through? You know. Losing her? Your mother-in-law?” 

You return to your chair with a heavy sigh. 

“I’ll let you know when I do,” you answer, letting up a soft chuckle. “It helps to have good people and… from what Luca’s told me, you do. But… I had to let ‘em in, let ‘em help me. Let ‘em love me. And in all honesty, most days I’m still just… taking it day by day.” 

“Yeah, I-. I do. I got some really good people. Back home,” Marcus drags out slowly. 

“Then that’s all that matters. Your people and your heart. The rest… you just-,” you start. 

“Take day by day?” Marcus interjects, pausing to catch your eyes. 

You and Marcus exchange a knowing look, the recognition of each others’ pain is met with empathy. 

“Yeah. I think that's all we can do.”

By the end of your work session with Marcus, you’re ready to head home so that you can spend the rest of the day with Luca. 

“What’re you gonna do with the rest of your day?” you ask Marcus, curiously. 

With a sigh, and then a shrug, and a heart that feels just a little lighter, he answers with:

“Think I might wander around a bit. Someone once told me it’s good for the spirit.”

[sillybond]

As a send of here's my compilation of every detail/gag or pretty much everything that I loved about the Fionna and Cake finale.

First off, the lighthearded stuff.

First of all. That's Hunter!!! We finally get to see HW gender-swapped counterpart's design. Gotta say I love that they kept it the same, it does feel like it could fit anyone.

Talking about him, I LOVE that they are finally adding him to the gang. I didn't expect him to be so prevalent in the finale, but I couldn't be happier! It seems like the crew has finnaly learned to apreciate HW and they are inserting her (even if it's Hunter) whenever they can.

All the raw emotion of the lich would have been unheard of at any other point in AT's history. The depression and hopelessnes, such human emotions were amazing to explore in him. He poses himself as a "ceesless weel" a god-like beeing of pure destruction, but even he neels when he realices it was all for nothing.

For some time I theorized that Golb (and subsequently Golbetty) was, in fact, Scarabs and Prismo's Boss. Kind of like a ultimate deity, high up on the pantheon. But seeing how Scarab adresses her in such a careles way, emphasizing that she should "stay out of this" made me think about the real power dinamic between thees two. And thus, of the whole multiverse bureocracy.

This tittle card rips me apart. It's briming with thematic importance. But I feel so many emotions simply beacuse it says cheers, it's like a send-off, a happy cheerfull goodbye to all of us who enjoyed this show. It made me tear up a bit when I first saw it.

For thoose who aren't aware Pawn Swan's was created by Steven Wolfhard after CAWM alongside the pup kingdom. He has in his tumblr a gigantic amount of lore about it. I'm sooo happy they finally got to use his ideas and designs. Many of the pups seen all trought Shermy and Beth's sequence were in his drawings too. So go check that out!

I'm a complete sucker for happy endings and THIS was PERFECTION. I simply connot describe how much I obsolutely LOVE that they are able to comunicate and talk. it's just perfect, this show has me spoiled-rotten.

In pure Marceline fashion Marshal tries playing another song. And Gary is soo into this man it's unreal

But, also in pure Marceline fashion, he gets interupted. It kind of reminded me about Marceline's song to Bonny in Obsidian. But it's kind of the oposite outcome, Scarab isn't affected by it at all while Glorbo is finaly delt with.

Talking about Simon being happy. I'm just so glad that he has been able to reconect with Astrid!!! This man is such a DAD, I love him :,)

Before Fionna's world was finaly canonized we can see that it really just amounts to the city. Which makes sense because if you are trying to put a whole world in a dude's head, you are going to have to cut some stuff out.

Anyways, after they are made legit we can see that the city has expanded! And I also assume that now there's not only a city, but a whole world too!!

This really came as a surprise honeslty, but a welcomed one at that. I assume that since Jay agrees to stay in the city, even if it's not forever, Farmworld Finn must be fine. It doesn't make any sense for him to drop his 4 little brothers just to screw around in another universe.

The only sad part is that, since we don't see neither PB nor Marcy in the tank that means they are probably dead. In the end it does seem like they took eachothers life, together.

Now onto the heavy stuff!

"This is the world we want to fight for. The Scarab is kind of invincible. But we won't give up. If we die, we'll die together, as ourselves"

This cuts deep. At this moment Fionna was ready to die. She acknowledges that she had tried everything she could and that, in a way, it was her fault. But she also understands that this is what it is. And she's ready to depart. In what she thought were her last moments she found happines in thoose and that around her. Magic or not, they were all together, and that's what mattered.

"We made our choices. We could have made better ones, but I don't have any regrets. You were a wonderful experience"

We knew Simon had wronged Betty. She had put away everything for him. He didn't do it on porpuse, but he recognised he could have been more thoughtful. In the end, while Simon acknowledges his mistakes Betty doesn't demonise neither him nor the relationship that came bacuse of it. It's a very sentimental, heartfelt conclusion.

As humans we often try to make our best to navigate life. But with all the choices in front of us it's very hard to get it right. A lot of time might have to pass before we truly see how wrong we were. We realize that we hurt people, and that things didn't have to be this way. But once we acknowledge this we can finaly move on. At this moment, Simon realizes that it's okay to fail but, unfortunetly, we can't go back. We have to live with it and it can't prevent us from moving forward.

In the end all we can do is have compassion for ourselves, and for each other.

That was pretty much all of the details and highlights for me. There's some other ones but they are kind of too obvious to point out.

Thanks a lot for reading the whole thing! It means a lot :)

[ameliemaaaee]

The Silent Witness - Oneshot Series

(1) How you Meet the BAU Team.

Chapter Information Summary: Y/N finds herself enravelled in the depths of a puzzling case which can only be solved in conjunction with one infamous FBI unit. Content Warnings: Canon Violence/Gore, Awkward!Reader & Spencer, Platonic Hotel Room Sharing. Word Count: 7,986. Read on AO3

Story Masterlist - (1) -

The London Underground was not your favourite place. Yes, you were grateful for London’s fabulous public transport system, especially on the mornings where bumper-to-bumper traffic would only frustrate you more. However, the constant work-day rush of people in business attire, provided a stark contrast to all the tourists in their flamboyant outfits, both equally surmounting your dissociative annoyance.

Not to mention the germs. There was a study done on that. It proved that, when swabbed, The London Underground was the dirtiest place in the city, with ninety-five different strains of bacteria found. In fact, you happened to be friends with this researcher, who in confidence told you that even a one-hour trip on the Tube is enough to raise the long-term risk of heart attacks. And this was simply due to the air pollution. It made you shiver just thinking about it. It was a shame driving in the city was slower.

You were rushed to say the least, evading the rush hour was top priority when you weren’t on call, however an interesting case had come in and your expertise was required. It wasn’t uncommon for you to be in high demand, despite your age you were renowned in London for your competency as a forensic pathologist.

Your life for so many years had resolved around the dead, those whom you had to pry the clues out of. Work remained your whole life, the ability to gather evidence from the silent witness, and bring justice to many was beyond comforting to you. The feeling of winning a case against someone you had scientifically proven guilty, defeated the solemn, and gruesome nature of your job by ten-fold.

Now, you focused on the rattling train below your feet as you timidly clutched the railing above your head. The shuddering sound of the train drawing to a halt beneath your feet, rocking you back and forth. This was it.

The platform was abnormally busy as you made a beeline for the exit, barely noticing the busker who provided the soundtrack to the mornings of so many, for so cheap. Bounding up the steps you surfaced alongside block-red lettering screaming ‘Charing Cross’, The Embankment was just a short walk from here.

You weren’t too sure of the details of your newest case, quite simply that it was ‘a big one’ and that it was a rather public disposal. Public disposals were common in London, however public disposals in busy Underground stations weren’t. Especially with the Night Tube services. A public disposal site told you that this kill was a threat. Whoever it was wanted their attention, they wanted their case to be public, the wanted London to shudder with fear. But alas, the closed station required more walking.

Brushing shoulders with strangers, much like the rest, your gaze was dead set on where you were going. And as The Embankment station neared you sighed. This was tourist London, The Embankment opened out onto the Thames, and once you reached the Thames, Westminster, and Big Ben was in View, and the famed London Eye. But you didn’t have time to take in the part of the city you never dared to enter, you had work.

As you reached the station the Mounted Police immediately caught your eye. Sat astride their horses were people attempting to control and direct the crowds back to Charing Cross; no wonder it had been so abhorrently busy. Ducking under the police tape you were greeted by an uninterested officer who guiltlessly looked you up-and-down. Plastering a smile on face you removed your identification and shoved it politely into his face.

“Dr. Y/N L/N. Home-Office Pathologist.” The officer remains stoic, thumbing you towards a set of stairs where a familiar face stood, ever-stoic, patiently waiting.

“Where’s the body?” You omit the greeting. Angela knew you too well, and you both were past the ‘good morning’s’ and ‘hello’s’ that seemed the ever-so-polite thing to do.

You were a tight-knit pair, ever since school, and bonding over your preferred use of the Oxford comma, you had both shared a solid friendship. It wasn’t based off greetings or words, nor a physical display of affection. It was based off the reliability and trust you felt for each other. It was a simple, and honest friendship. That allowed you to occasionally let-loose on your days off. But today would not be one of those days, in fact you wouldn’t see one ever again.

“The top of the stairs, it’s a male. He’s probably in his 30’s. He has a series of interesting tattoos.” Angela’s candour filled your ears, her level tone forever reassuring you of the collective, daily, London anxiety, which seemed to radiate throughout the city.

“Interesting how?” You raised a brow in curiosity, a small chuckle escaping your lips as Angela rolled her eyes, pushing her teal-ish hair behind her ears, mixing it with her original black-ish strands.

“Interesting as in, you-need-to-see-this-and-contact-the-appropriate-people. That kind of interesting.” She said it so nonchalantly, ‘call the appropriate people.’ That didn’t sound interesting, that sounded like ‘this-guy-has-tattoos-relating-to-some-form-of-terrorism-plans-and-you-should-bring-in-counterterrorism’. And boy, were you right.

“This is bad.” You deadpanned, you had no adjectives for how bad it was, other than it was very, very bad. The police officer a great distance behind you bit his thumb anxiously as you stood buried in a white HazMat-style SOCO suit, Angela kneeling beside you, silently shaking her head.

“Angela, I don’t even know who to call about this.” You gestured to the male lay ahead of you, his body scrawled with descriptive instructions on ‘blowing up the D.C Capitol Building.’

And that’s how you ended up at a bar, drinking with the FBI’s distinguished Behavioural Analysis Unit.

-

The thrashing of bass pounded against your chest as you sauntered through the doorway, away from the cool night air and into the warmth of the bar. You weren’t expecting there to be any live music, but you were pleasantly surprised by the quality of the music, that soon would be drowned out by cheap liquor.

The rest of the BAU trailed into the establishment behind you, slight grins on their faces. All of you had changed, ditching the work clothes. The FBI’s plane would be grounded until tomorrow evening, so they were officially off-duty, and allowed to have fun.

And by the looks on the group’s faces you all needed this, the tensions had run high during your latest case and there had been weeks’ worth of sleepless nights, that the medical doctor deep down inside you didn’t approve of.

“Let’s find a booth!” Garcia practically yelled down your ear over the music. You nodded pointing to a room that sat off the main stage area, where it would undoubtedly be quieter.

Heaving a sigh of relief you slid into a booth, in between the males you had come to know as Dr. Spencer Reid, and Derek Morgan. The men all chuckled lightly as Agent Hotchner stands.

“First round is on me!” You laugh quietly, tucking a stray strand of hair away from your face before giving Hotch your order, double vodka and Diet Coke, your drink of choice.

“You know, I’d never been to London until now.” Derek chuckles, as he leans forward, his elbow resting on the table. His gaze connected with yours.

“It’s a nice city.” Spencer chimes as you shake your head laughing.

“You haven’t even seen it.” You smile, leaning back against the plush backing of the circular booth, your gaze finding Hotch who was carrying a tray of drinks, making a beeline for the table. You hadn’t had a night out in so long, you were practically buzzing at the concept of alcohol.

The band’s melody had faded to a distant hum, your heart synching with the echoing bass that still rumbled the ground beneath your feet.

“I must say, you scrub up nicely Dr. L/N.” You turn your head to Derek who takes in your frame. Derek was an attractive man, you couldn’t lie, and you knew he meant no harm by his comment, but you couldn’t help but feel scrutinised.

You offer him a polite laugh, before turning to Hotch who was dishing out the alcohol. Gratefully you took your drink from his hand, taking a long sip. If you wanted to be able to actually hold a conversation without being too uptight, you would need to be at least tipsy. Plus, the alcohol made you forget about… well, the alcohol that was terrible for your health.

“So, Y/N, I assume this has been an interesting week for you?” You chuckle at Rossi, who raises his glass, before sipping on what appeared to be whiskey.

-

Due to the commotion at the Police stations, and the high-risk of having FBI agents in London they had been assigned to a more discrete location; and lucky for you, that was your lab.

It wasn’t that you were opposed to having FBI agents in your jurisdiction, in fact it was the opposite. You were fascinated by their work, in law-enforcement they were truly celebrated for their research, and work. You just weren’t too chuffed by the idea of new people, of which there were now seven.

They all looked, strangely, just how you would imagine a team of FBI agents looking, all but one. The flamboyant one. She was dressed in a way you could only describe as eccentric, her blonde hair curled at the ends, sections held in place by red-rose clips to match her dress. She seemed friendly, despite the sombre circumstances, a half-smile chopping her features.

The rest seemed to blend in. There was another woman, her slender frame, and long blonde hair somewhat reminiscent of the mean girls at school. The rest were all male. We had, the obvious team leader, he stood tall, clad in a black suit. How would you chase bad guys in that? Next, was the cliché buff guy, who spent too much time at the gym. Finally, the skinny, sweater vest guy, and an Italian?

“You must be Dr. L/N.” The team leader spoke up, making his way towards you, his hand outstretched. You found yourself staring at it for a brief moment, as if the action were strange to you, before you realised, he wanted a handshake. You offered a slight smile as you reluctantly gripped his hand, shaking it.

“Supervisory Special Agent, Aaron Hotchner, but you may call me Hotch.” You nod, keeping your gaze on the floor. You were in a room with a bunch of criminal profilers. That was scary. Could they profile you? Would they? Were they profiling you right now? You weren’t exactly keen on the gazes boring into you.

“This is my team, we have Supervisory Special Agent, David Rossi.” You wave awkwardly as he gestures to the Italian guy, unsure of what social conduct was required to meet criminal profilers. David Rossi smiles at you, offering a brief salute that would have made you chuckle in better circumstances. Perhaps you would be better, in better circumstances.

“Supervisory Special Agent, Jennifer Jareau.” The pretty blonde leans forward hand outstretched, as you smile awkwardly. Her grip was firm, irking you less that Hotchner’s handshake. However, you already felt inferior to these individuals, no number of correct-introductions or doctorates could save you. They hunt criminals for a living. Yes, it may not need a doctorate, in fact, you weren’t sure any of them were doctors. But they certainly weren’t cowardly in a mere social situation, like you.

“Supervisory Special Agent, Derek Morgan.” You react quickly this time, lifting your hand in a quick, but still awkward wave to the incredibly muscular guy in front of you. Derek Morgan seemed like such a fitting name for him, in fact, you weren’t sure there was a name more suited for him in all the 5,163 first names, and 151,671 last names commonly used in the United States of America.

“We also have our Technical Analyst, Special Agent, Penelope Garcia.” The eccentric techie waves her hand cheerily, a wide smile breaking out on her face. She seemed sweet, and you were glad to see a female computer nerd. There certainly wasn’t enough of them in this universe. Her grin was infectious as you attempted to hide yours with the floor.

“Last but not least, we have our resident genius.” Your head snapped up at that. ‘Resident genius’? What rendered this guy a genius? You supposed, he looked smart. But you couldn’t quite decipher if it was just the sweater vest. In fact, he looked more jet-lagged that smart.

“Supervisory Special Agent, Doctor Spencer Reid.” Ah, a doctor.

You smile slightly, glad the introductions were over.

-

“Yeah, I have worked a fair few high-profile cases in my time, but this probably tops them.” You smile at the group, your gaze connecting with JJ and Garcia who both offer you sweet smiles. You can feel Spencer’s gaze on you as he clutches a glass of water in his right hand.

“It certainly tops ours.” JJ smiles, leaning towards you, a chuckle escaping her lips. “I never thought we would see an international case, never mind this.” You smile, bringing your drink to your lips, taking a refreshing sip.

“I- How do you do what you do? I mean- the chopping and the blood and guts and-“ Garcia frantically waves her hands in front of her, very nearly knocking over her martini as she rants.

“Garcia- she’s used to it, just like we are.” You nod in agreement with Hotch, your ears tuning in the set change happening with the band next door.

You scan the remainder of the room you were in, the bar was fairly quiet, most of the younger crows would have moved onto nightclubs by now. You could see various groups of people seated in their booths, most of them appearing as if they were celebrating, which felt fitting for your occasion.

“You know-“ You turn back to Rossi who was pointing a finger at you, a sly smile on his face.

“-I thought this week was going to be a drag when you asked us to surrender out firearms.” You watch as small chuckles erupt from the rest of the team, allowing yourself to join in with them.

-

You watch the team, stare at you expectantly, kicking yourself into gear.

“I have a room for you, a conference room.” You direct your statement towards Hotch who nods his head sharply, gesturing for you to lead the way. And you did. You guided them towards your conference room.

It was a large room with glass windows. On the back wall was a large TV screen designed for presenting, in the corner a safe. It was quite simple by design; a room, a TV, a table, and chairs that surrounded it. You weren’t sure it was FBI approved with its scratchy carpet and simplicity, but it would have to do.

“I hope it’s okay.” You try to say it with confidence, as you stand by the door the agents filing into the room, but your voice comes out as more of a squeak. Typically, this causes you to make unnecessary eye-contact with the Doctor.

“Uhm- You are going to have to surrender your firearms.” This certainly got a reaction from all but Aaron Hotchner, who likely, was aware of this.

“Why?” The doctor spoke up, as the rest of the team curiously gazed at me.

“Fire-arm residue. You are gonna be around bodies that haven’t had post-mortems, and you could contaminate them. So, I take the arms.” You watched as half of the team swallowed harshly, obviously not-to-sure about not having a weapon, which was such an odd reality of Americans.

“You’ll get them back, don’t worry. It’s just anywhere beyond this room would count as an unnecessary contamination. I think your Unit Chief was informed?” Your gaze turned to Hotchner who nodded.

“Guys, the weapons will be retrieved if we are leaving the building.” The team nod, clearly becoming more willing to surrender as they remove their holsters. You reach for a plastic box, holding it out as you walk around the group, being handed the various heavy weapons.

“I don’t carry.” You nod politely at the technical analyst, moving finally towards the male you now knew as Spencer Reid. He placed a revolver into the box, odd choice.

“Okay this is your safe, the code is 62282. Please remember it.” You quickly place the weapons, and the plastic box into the safe, locking the door with a loud beep. Before you walk to the door, watching everyone settle in.

You stand uncomfortably at the door as you watch them lay their belongings down on the table awaiting some sort of response, or a cue to leave.

-

“Yeah, I don’t have a good track record when I’m not carrying a firearm.” Spencer chuckles, pulling his glass back up to his lips.

“Boy wonder here doesn’t do well in close-combat situations.” You watch as Derek reaches over you, ruffling Spencer’s hair, his cheeks turning a bright shade of red.

“Awh, it’s okay. I don’t think close combat would be much use against someone with a bomb.” You offer Spencer a friendly smile, as his gaze connects with yours. He offers you a shy smile as you nod towards his glass.

“No alcohol? Very responsible.” Spencer shakes his head, still grinning.

“Someone’s got to be sober.” You nod, laughing as JJ and Garcia stand, walking towards you.

The pair grab you by the arms, attempting to pull you over Spencer, you chuckle awkwardly as Spencer stands, allowing them to drag you out of the booth. They wrap their arms under yours as you stumble on your heels, feeling the alcohol hit you.

“We are dancing.” Garcia gently taps your nose with her pointer finger as JJ supports you on your feet. She laughs as you feel your face pale slightly.

“I-I don’t dance. Plus, this is a bar, not a nightclub.” Your gaze falls on the rest of the team who seem extremely amused at the girl who couldn’t stand properly after only one drink. You sigh slightly.

“I’m a doctor, I know how bad alcohol is, so I don’t drink often, okay?” You watch as the remaining men laugh at your dramatic statement as JJ slowly releases you from her grasp, satisfied that you would be able to stand alone.

An idea pops into your head.

“People don’t dance in bars over here, but I do know my way around London.” You raise a brow, watching as the team look at you inquisitively.

“You lot hunt serial killers. How about Jack the Ripper? Spencer you could be the tour guide!” You laugh as their faces morph into one of understanding, a look of excitement settling on Spencer’s face.

-

“Alright, we have work to do. We need to start brainstorming.” Hotch’s voice rang out throughout the room as he gestured for you to make your way to the front of the room.

“Okay, so there has been no post-mortem done as of yet, but I can show you pictures from the crime scene yesterday, and the close-ups produced by my lab tech.” You stand in front of the team, all eyes trailed on you. You quickly turned the TV on with the remote, leaning over the table and logging into the laptop.

“So, the unidentified male is assumed to be around 27 years old, he was found in a very public London Underground station, lay on his back. As you can see, he was shirtless with an intricate tattoo scrawled over his body.”

The team nods, as you pull up the picture. The screen filing with the photos of a dead man shot point-blank in the head. You notice the team’s tech analyst wriggle uncomfortably in her seat and you chuckle.

“I’m so sorry, feel free to look away if you need.” You smile at the woman as she gives you a small grin, opening her laptop and beginning what you assumed was some sort of research.

“What Underground station was he found in?” You smile as Rossi speaks up, leaning forward to your laptop, laughing.

“I have a map for you, I figured it would be more use than just giving you a name.” You pull up a map of the London underground system against the landscape, turning to see it on the television screen.

“Okay so, the male was found at The Embankment station which-“

“-The Embankment has a huge, empty substation attached to it, that has actually been abandoned since 1957. It’s called ‘Pages Walk’ and is located behind a blast door in the station.” Dr. Reid cuts you off, as you chuckle. You smile politely at the rest of the team, the male introduced to you as SSA. Morgan held his head in his hands, shaking it slightly.

“Right, you are doctor. I was going to say that it was notoriously ‘Tourist London’, and opens out onto the Thames, with all the tourist attractions, but that works too.” You shrug, offering Spencer a slightly awkward thumb up.

-

You widen your eyes at the sound of your name, making eye contact with the lanky Dr. Reid who was now making his way over to you. Work talk, you could do that. Spencer stood beside you as you watched the team settle for a moment more, before following you out of the door.

“How many times do you reckon I will have to remind you lot of the safe code?” You chuckle to yourself, trying to make simple, light-hearted conversation. He was a doctor, maybe you could level with him?

“I have an eidetic memory.” His reply was so simple, so nonchalant. But it caused you to furrow your brow. He was a resident genius, and you were not going to be capable enough to level with him. You open your mouth as if to speak but decide against it. No need to incite more awkward interactions.

Instead, he decided to incite it.

“How long have you been a pathologist for?” His question was simple, the answer was simple. So why were you panicking? You knew that you felt inferior, but that wasn’t something that bothered you often. Spit. It. Out.

“Uhm, around four years.” You reply, trying to keep your voice level, and even. Anything to illude to your oh-so-confident demeanour.

“You seem young.” It was a statement, phrased like a question, one that needed answering. You weren’t young, you were 29. But by normal standards, you were too young to be a pathologist of five years.

“Yeah, I guess? What are you a doctor of?” You quickly deflect the question, but almost immediately regret it.

“I have, uhm, three PHDs.” You try not to hold your mouth agape, resident genius ringing in your ears. You were only slightly glad of his hesitation. Surely announcing you had three PHDs wasn’t easy. That required admitting that you were a superior being. But then again, with an eidetic memory it was no surprise he had 3 PHDs.

“They are in, uhm, chemistry, mathematics, and engineering.” You nod, humming along in affirmation as if this were a normal thing, and frankly you surprise yourself. Once you got over the initial shock it wasn’t so hard to act like you were in the presence of a regular person.

-

The team stand from their seats fairly quickly, accepting the concept of a drunken Jack the Ripper tour. Despite the lack of alcohol in his system Spencer’s got a massive grin on his face, and practically shaking with excitement.

Dragging them out into the chilly London air you stop suddenly, gasping.

“We should get alcohol, to-go!” You turn to face the team, your eyes wide with a sense of wonder at your marvellous idea. Only being egged on by Garcia, Morgan, and JJ who cheer loudly at your proposition.

“Isn’t that just a liquor store?” Spencer’s brow is furrowed in confusion, trying to work out what alcohol to-go was, and he wasn’t too far off.

“…and a bad idea?” Rossi follows, pointing an accusing finger towards you.

“…and illegal?” Hotch follows Rossi with a chuckle.

“No, it’s actually perfectly legal here, and liquor stores are expensive, we’re going to Tesco.” You clap your hands jumping on the spot excitedly, before making a beeline for the Tube station.

-

Whitechapel was shockingly quiet, for this time of night with only the distant humming of the main roads to remind you that you were in fact in one of Europe’s busiest cities.

You and the rest of the BAU team ambled through the narrow alleyways that once housed one of the world’s most prolific serial killers, Spencer occasionally pointing to various street-corners and naming one of his five canonical victims.

“You know, In the Victorian era the basal population of Whitechapel was swelled by immigrants from all over, particularly Irish and Jewish. This poverty drove many women to prostitution; The victim-pool of Jack the Ripper.” You turn to Spencer who’s walking closely by your side, something he had obscurely insisted on.

“Yeah, In October of 1888 the Metropolitan Police estimated that there were 1,200 prostitutes ‘of very low class living in Whitechapel and about 62 brothels.” You pipe up, a smug grin settling on your face as you gaze at Spencer, eyes narrowed.

“I know my facts doctor.” You slur. Spencer laughs, reaching out for the bottle of sweet beer in your hand, removing it from your grasp, as you gasp, attempting to grab back the bottle that he holds high over his head.

“Hey!” You pout as Spencer tosses the bottle into a nearby bin. You are quickly distracted by the way your trip over your own feet.

“Woah, woah! Confiscating the alcohol was a good move on my part.” Spencer mumbles as he grasps your shoulders, steadying you on the pavement. You both stop, turning to see Derek stood with Garcia, staring right at you and Spencer, a glimmer in his eye.

You look past him to see Hotch, Rossi, and JJ slowly walking towards you both. Hotch and Rossi had drunk nothing since the bar and were both practically sober. They had allowed you, JJ, and Garcia to drink despite their apprehensions, and likely remained sober to ensure you were safe. Derek had managed to leave the bar with his pint of beer, still clutching the empty glass.

You yawn slightly, swaying on your heels as you turn to the team. Furrowing your brows as you lean back against Spencer who stumbles slightly in surprise.

Your mind is foggy, but not foggy enough to ignore the impending hangover that would undoubtedly kick your ass the next morning.

“I should go home now.” You finally feel the fogginess settling in your brain, like a sickly-sweet haze. But alas, you were running out of energy. You missed Hotch’s stern look.

“You’re staying at the hotel with one of us, we can’t let you go home alone.” You roll your eyes slightly at the solemn male.

“No thanks dad! I’m excellent at navigating my way home.” You chuckle, at your own joke, JJ and Garcia joining in a drunken chorus.

“Y/N, you’re drunk, and it’s dangerous out here.” Spencer chimes, in. His arms are still holding tightly on your shoulders as you drunkenly giggle. Your forehead rests on his shoulder as you teeter on your heels.

“Fine.” You take the arm that Spencer offers you, watching as Hotch and Morgan do the same for JJ and Garcia, Rossi walking closely behind you. You were by far the most drunk, and the most likely to faceplant against concrete.

-

“Who wants her? Because I really don’t mind.” Derek points his finger, raising his eyebrows at Y/N as she sits on the floor of the hotel corridor. Her fingers trace the patterns on the carpet, as she hums along to a non-existent song.

The team let out a collective sigh at Derek’s implication.

The world is fairly fuzzy to Y/N, and she has resorted to paying absolutely no attention to what was going on around her, hyper-focusing on anything that would appeal to her senses. She knew that she would regret drinking in the morning.

“Fine! Personally, I feel as if Spencer should do it.” Derek nudges the lanky genius, who simply rolls his eyes, his cheeks dusting a light shade of pink.

“That’s a point, two of us have two beds in our rooms. That’s Spencer and Derek.” Rossi quips, turning to face the two men who now stood, eyes widened.

“For Y/N’s sake, I think we veer away from Morgan as a candidate.” Hotch says, a slight smile on his face as JJ and Garcia burst into a fit of giggles, leaning against one another.

“You’re up Spence-“ JJ smiles, as Hotch and Derek reach out for both her and Garcia, ushering then towards their respective rooms. Spencer watches as Rossi, offers him a humorous salute before he turns, walking down the corridor.

“Okay, Y/N.” Spencer tries to keep his voice down, so he doesn’t disturb other patrons of the hotel. He helps Y/N to her feet, cautiously gripping onto her as she sways into his chest.

“How are you so smart?” She practically whispers as Spencer guides her towards his room, scanning the key card.

“I’m not sure, perhaps it was good genetics?” Spencer quips, pushing her through the hotel room door, watching as she gasps, making a beeline for the empty bed. He can’t help but chuckle as she dramatically flops onto the bed, splaying her arms out wide across the plush surface.

“You know, twin studies of adults have found a heritability of IQ between 57% and 73%, with the most recent studies showing heritability for IQ as high as 80%.” Her words are slurred, but her facts are correct which makes Spencer smile.

“Did you have smart parents?” She props her body up on her elbows, connecting her gaze with Spencer who digs through his suitcases, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Spencer’s head snaps up at the question as he offers her a solemn smile.

“I guess you could say that. What about you, were your parents smart?” She giggles slightly resting her back on the bed as Spencer walks towards her, fiddling with the straps of her heels in an attempt to undo them.

“My dad is really intelligent academically, and my mother was amazing at the arts and music. I got a combination of both I guess.” Y/N smiles to herself, allowing Spencer to take her uncomfortable shoes off, her mind distracted by the thoughts of her parents.

“You know, I never really considered myself smart.” She practically whispers, sitting back up as Spencer removes her first shoe, she reaches forwards, helping him remove her second.

“Why not? You’re a doctor.” She shrugs laughing lightly at Spencer’s straightforwardness.

“I never found school academically difficult in hindsight. I struggled to understand that it wasn’t the work that was difficult, it was all the social-emotional stuff. At that point, to me, school was just difficult.” Spencer nods, offering her a reassuring smile as he passes Y/N a pile of clothes.

“You can have these, or if you’d rather sleep in the dress, it’s up to you.” Y/N smiles, grabbing the sweatpants and shuffling them on underneath her dress, Spencer had turned away and was now fiddling with an Ice bucket.

“Y/N, I’m going to go get ice, I’ll be back in a minute, okay?” She nods, watching him walk out the door as Y/N unzips the dress fully, pulling Spencer’s clothes over herself as best she could in her sluggish state.

The sweatshirt was massive on her, the sleeves covered her hands, but the sweatpants were a different story. Spencer was practically a whole foot taller than she was and that left the bottom of the trousers to bunch up around her ankles.

She quickly rolled the cuffs of the sweatpants up to a reasonable length, before collapsing back onto the surface of the bed. Inhaling the scent of his clothes she groaned, the alcohol was surely leaving her system, but left in its wake, a pounding headache.

So much so that she didn’t notice the sound of the door opening.

“Ah yes, is the hangover setting in?” Y/N whimpers slightly at the unnecessary noise, rolling over in the bed, onto her stomach. Smashing her head against the pillow.

She feels a meek tap on her shoulder, and turns to see Spencer kneeling beside the bed, his hand outstretched, two pills in his palm.

“Take these, so you don’t wake up in the middle of the night.” Y/N groans, rolling back over in the bed, sitting upright. Spencer’s hand steadies her shoulder as she gratefully takes the pills with a glass of water she had clearly placed on the bedside table.

“Okay, good. Now, get some rest.” Spencer pulls up the sheets allowing her to climb under them. Y/N’s eyes stay closed as she listens to Spencer shuffling around the room and entering the bathroom before the room goes silent. And with the silence she slips into sleep.

-

You walk the short distance from the hotel foyer to the entrance of the Underground station. JJ and Garcia trail behind you whist Spencer, ever eager, walks by your side. Spencer is bright and awake, as his gaze takes in what seems to be every little detail of the street, meanwhile you are simply glad you took painkillers.

You were also down a few team members. Turns out that Derek had managed to get a girl’s number from the bar, leaving him unavailable. Meanwhile, Hotch and Rossi preferred a ‘quiet morning.’ You would meet up with them later.

“Wait, this is Aldgate Station?!” Your gaze trails along the bright red lettering marking the entrance of the station. Spencer, JJ, and Garcia laugh at your dramatic halt. Quickly you do a one-eighty, turning and walking away from the station entrance, realising that you had an interesting place in mind.

“Did you know that over 1,000 bodies lie beneath this station, which is built over a plague pit from 1665.” You can’t help but laugh at Spencer’s fact as you turn to face him, walking backwards and trusting the oncoming pedestrian traffic to dodge you.

“Interesting, but the place I have in mind for you may be the sight of even more horror, beginning with the fact that we are walking.” Your gaze fixates on Jennifer who sighs dramatically, but Garcia simply hums, shrugging her shoulders.

You can tell that JJ is hung over, a pair of dark sunglasses are sat on the bridge of her nose, her hair tied back in a messy ponytail. She seems content however, the pain likely avoided with a healthy dose of paracetamol.

Garcia, on the other hand is awake and bubbly as ever. She also dons her sunglasses, but you wouldn’t know she was hungover. Her flamboyant outfit radiates a happy energy, that seemingly rubs off on you.

The sound of traffic fills your ears as you bustle past various other pedestrians trying to go about their regular lives. Slowly but surely, you guide the team down streets, alleyways, and pedestrian walkways that you begin to recognise.

“You know, sometimes I shock myself with my ability to navigate this city.” You smile to yourself as you see a familiar structure off in the distance.

“There’s nothing of significance here Y/N.” You can’t help but furrow your brow at Spencer’s quip, he was wrong.

“Spencer, how many times in your life have you been wrong?” You watch as Spencer’s cheeks turn pink, him shrugging his shoulders.

“Well, I suggest you add one more to your tally, because if you are patient, you will see that there is in fact something significant in the distance.” This causes Garcia and JJ to laugh. He follows your instructions, and you watch as his eyes widen, before turning back to you, a grin crossing his previously embarrassed features.

-

“Oh my god! It’s a castle in a city. Is that where the Queen lives?” Garcia’s voice interrupts the comfortable silence. Her voice is high pitched, laced with a sense of extreme excitement.

“Originally, it was built by William the Conqueror to be a residence for the royal family, and a fortress. But they soon discovered that it was as good at keeping people in as it was out.” Spencer’s hands flail about wildly and you can’t help but smile at the excitement plastered across his face, your hangover was long forgotten.

“Officially it’s called Her Majesty’s Royal Palace and Fortress, The Tower of London.” Spencer finds himself impressed, as you smile brightly, eyes fixated on the tower that was coming closer into view.

You walk along the perimeter of the grounds, towards the visitor centre watching as your three tourists gaze in wonder across the lawn towards the large medieval building.

“Only 22 executions have ever taken place inside the Tower of London. They include the two famed executions of Henry VIII’s wives, Anne Boleyn, and Katherine Howard.” You guide the team towards the visitor centre, watching as all the crowds ahead of you gather.

You walk towards the turnstiles that provide entry to the castle, spotting a beefeater watching over the people entering into the tower grounds.

You slowly walk towards the male, pulling a slip of paper out of your pocket. As you hand him the paper to read, he simply nods, allowing JJ, Spencer, Garcia, and yourself through, politely thanking you all for your service.

“-For our service?” Garcia pipes up as you walk towards the tower gateway, a look of confusion plastered across her joyful features.

“Yeah, uhm, I spoke to a few people.” You state simply, not really wanting to draw out what may create too much of a scene. Garcia certainly struck you as the dramatic type.

“What kind of people?” JJ pulls a strand of hair behind her ear, peering over her sunglasses at you. You can feel Spencer and Garcia’s eyes boring into you with curiosity.

“Well, The Tower of London is owned by Her Majesty the Queen, so-“ Your gaze falls on Spencer who’s face twists into an almost smug look as his brain begins to put the pieces together.

“You asked-“ He begins.

“No, no- well, I mean… She offered?” You chuckle, trying to hide your flustered sate as a look of shock crossed Garcia’s face.

“The-the Queen?!” You can’t help but laugh at her reaction. Both Spencer and JJ join her, eyes widened with shock.

Before you have a moment to think, Garcia walks straight towards you, engulfing you in a surprising hug. You can’t help but tense in surprise.

“The Queen knows we exist?!” She whispers into your ear, allowing Spencer to pry her off you. You simply nod, humming in response.

-

Slowly, you begin to make your way around the walls of the ancient fortress. From the tower above Traitor’s Gate, you had an excellent view across the Thames, of Bloody Tower, and the impressive White Tower behind you, housing the notorious Crown Jewels.

“I always found this part of the castle to be so weird.” You can’t tell if you are talking to yourself or the rest of the team, but Spencer makes his way towards you, his gaze curiously set on you.

You turn towards him, watching as Garcia and JJ excitedly stand on the other side of the wall, inspecting the expansive gardens where twenty-two whole lives had been taken.

“How so?” Spencer says quietly as you fix your gaze back on him.

“So many doomed people made their final journey by boat beneath our feet. They wouldn’t even had known at that point if they were sentenced to death or not.” You sigh, turning your gaze to the ground staring at your feet.

“You know, they had a way of communicating their fate right in front of them without even knowing.” Spencer nods, urging you to continue.

“The jailor would be abord the boat to transport them through the gate and he would carry an axe. If the axe was facing forwards, they were lucky, and if the axe was facing backwards… well-“ You watch Spencer’s brows pinch together as he nods in understanding.

“…People spent the worst days of their lives here.” Spencer murmured as you simply nodded, allowing your gaze to trail onto JJ and Garcia who were taking photos.

“-And the best.” You smile, nodding towards JJ and Garcia as Spencer hums in agreement, a small smile on his face.

“Are those men actually called beefeaters?” You smile at Garcia’s question, turning to Spencer as he interrupts.

“From what I gather, it’s a sort of slang name for what are officially Yeoman Warders of the tower.” Garcia nods as Spencer offers a tight-lipped smile.

“Oh, we should do one of their tours!” JJ exclaims, pointing at a group crowding around for a tour due to start in just under 5 minutes.

“If you want- but those guys will slam you if they find out your American.” You smile, dragging the three agents towards the crowd, as confused looks crossed their face.

And boy, were you right.

-

The harsh, night air nipped at your skin, goosebumps crawling across your exposed skin, your dress from the previous night turned out to be a rather weather-inappropriate outfit. After The Tower of London, the heavens opened in a torrential downpour that caused our small group to sprint to a local bookstore café, where the missing team members caught up with you for lunch.

You spent around three hours in the quaint café, both you and Spencer eyeing up the large bookshelves lined with various graphic covers as the rest of the team talked. They truly were a nice group, and you were glad you had the opportunity to work with them. But it hurt to think that you may never see them again.

But alas, they tided you over by regaling tales of sadistic killers, and various – and frankly, hilarious – anecdotes from their time together. You could tell they truly were a family, especially since they didn’t fail to mention the fact their job is so demanding that they practically live in the FBI Academy together.

~

“You know, law enforcement was always a job that interested me. I just wish that I could see a case through, you know; studying the bodies is fairly detached.” You chuckled, placing your glass to your lips, and taking a sip.

“You want to chase Unsubs?” Derek turned to you, a smile on his face.

“I guess so, I always enjoyed travelling for specialty help, I was a bit more involved in solving cases then. I just feel so helpless once all evidence is processed, I must wait and hope that the police can work it out themselves.” You smile, reaching your arm out to fiddle with the napkin in front of you.

~

“Y/N?” The sound of a voice pulls you out of your dissociative reverie, pulling you back into the here and now, where the team all gathered in front of you.

“Thank you for everything Y/N.” You smile at Rossi, gasping as Garcia pulls you into another surprise hug. The end of her blonde hair tickles your nose as you let out a small chuckle.

“I will miss you Garcia- I will miss all of you.” You whisper as Garcia pulls back and you acquaint your gaze with the hardened concrete below your feet. Trying to hide the embarrassment you felt for becoming so attached to the people in front of you in such a short time.

“You don’t fancy a trip to America, do you?” Derek chuckles, nudging your side with his elbow, you lift your hands to cover your mouth as you laugh. Your gaze fixating on Derek as he offers you a wide grin.

“I could do with a holiday-“ You smile shaking your head.

“-but I’m not so sure my boss would like it.” You watch as the team chuckle to themselves, their gazes flicking between each other as they slowly realised, they would be leaving very soon.

-

Hotch stands, deep in thought as the team gather together, Y/N included, on the runway. He couldn’t help but notice how well Y/N functioned with the team, and how quickly they were able to solve an extremely complicated case with her expertise.

A notification snaps him out of his daze, gazing down at his phone he sees a reminder popping up, telling him that the jet leaves in 15 minutes and that they should all be ready to board.

“Guys-“ He breaks the giggles and chatter between his teammates, watching Y/N’s expression falter at the implication of his words. He knew she had bonded well with the team in the short space of time, and he knew that the team would miss her also.

“-you should say your goodbyes, we have to be on the jet in five for take-off in fifteen. I’ll be back in a minute.” Hotch disappears onto the jet as Garcia sucks in a breath, her eyes saddening as they land on Y/N. A soft smile rests on her face.

“It’s been a pleasure working with you all. I had heard so much about you guys-“ Y/N chuckles, her cheeks heating up as she turns her gaze to the ground scuffing her feet on the concrete.

“-you certainly -uhm- lived up to those expectations ten-fold. This wouldn’t have been solved without you guys.” Y/N’s gaze scans over the group, lingering on Spencer, who gives her a soft smile, his cheeks reddening.

Rossi was the first to step forward, offering Y/N a silent pat on her shoulder, before walking towards the jet, and disappearing inside.

JJ and Garcia stood forward together, opening out their arms as they engulfed Y/N in a group hug. The whispers of thanks making the other members of the team smile at the sight. But soon they disappeared into the comfort of the jet.

“Stay safe, okay?” Was the simple sentiment Morgan left Y/N with his gaze switching between her and Spencer suggestively, an expression they both missed.

Finally, Spencer steps forward his eyes stuck on the ground as he fails to meet Y/N’s gaze.

The pair both remain silent, gazes alternating between each other and the ground as they both relish in the awkwardness of not knowing what to say.

“I enjoyed having someone smart to relate to.” He practically whispers as Y/N let’s out an embarrassed chuckle.

“Don’t be mean to your teammates, you’re a bright bunch.” The quip makes Spencer laugh shyly, as he raises his gaze to Y/N who stands in front of him.

“You’re a brilliant mind.” Spencer’s voice is practically a whisper as he takes a small step forward, outstretching his hand to Y/N. She gladly takes it and shakes it with a chuckle.

“Hey Reid, I thought you said it was safer to kiss?!” The pair jump at the sound of a voice coming from the small jet. Turning they see Derek stood at the top of the steps, a smug grin on his face.

Hotch walks past him, making his way towards the now extremely embarrassed, frozen pair of doctors. Spencer quickly offers Y/N a small smile before dropping your hand.

Y/N turns her focus to Hotch. He stops in front of her.

“Dr. L/N, we’re running late, but I just wanted to let you know that I will be in touch over the next couple of weeks, as regards the case.” Y/N nods, immediately going into business mode, she straightens up.

“That’s absolutely no problem, I will forward you any of the paperwork on our end for reference.”

“That would be great. Excellent work doctor. As I said, I’ll be in touch.”

And with that, they were gone.

-

Story Masterlist - (1) -

[saturnniidae]

you say you have disabled hiccup headcanons? :3 *ears get really reall big. how are they doing that. why*

id love to hear them :D

Yes! Okay you've opened the floodgates my friend, I've been waiting to talk about this for so long.

He's autistic and has adhd! Obviously.

stims by tapping his fingers against things, waving his hands around, quickly taking apart and putting back together trinkets he's made, mimicking dragon noises (tho over time he's realized their vague meaning and stopped doing it randomly bc it was confusing them), running his hands over toothless' head to feel the texture of his scales and (when he was younger) petting his fur vest

His 'obsession' with things (trying to one up viggo, and when he was working on his sword) is literally just him Hyperfocusing on things

Easily loses track of time when he's locked in (Hyperfocused) working on inventions

Has that random 'I need to info dump NOW' thing and wakes Astrid up in the middle of the night like to randomly talk about abnormal behavioral patterns in a new terror flock on berk and Astrids just like 'babe I love you but it's three am'

Dyspraxic. When he was a kid he spent so much time practicing coordination for things like learning to write then later working in the smithy, and almost gave up more than once before continuing out of spite.

immunocompromised. Like seriously Hiccup has a weak ass immune system and would get sick every winter as a little kid, to the point of it being fatal. The villagers would always talk in hushed tones (bc of stoick caught them they'd get yelled at) and wonder if that years gonna be the one where he doesn't make it but he always ended up pulling through (also out of spite)

After meeting Toothless he developed tinnitus. Didn't think much of the ringing in his ears at first bc. Yknow, dragon roared at full volume directly into his ear. Then it didn't go away and he was like 'huh maybe this is an issue' then it just got worse as he continued to be in close proximity to loud noises like, even more roaring, and explosions etc.

Despite this he's got that weird "I enjoy loud noises like dragons roaring and the sound the wind makes when you're flying at like 40 mph, but if I hear the noise of lots of overlapping voices all having different conversations in a large room I need to die."

Chronic pain. The obvious, phantom pains in his leg of course, but fun fact! The human body really doesn't like it when you've broken bones repeatedly especially in the same area, and with how much this kid gets thrown around in rtte it's safe to say he's broken, fractured, and dislocated a lot of things.

When he comes home/gets back to the edge after a long day of traumatic or ridiculous events, first thing he does is take Toothless' saddle and prosthetic tail fin off, then he tries to crash in his bed, but either Toothless doesn't let him sleep until he's taken his prosthesis off (I hate that he sleeps with it on in canon looking at it makes my body hurt imaging how uncomfortable that'd be), or Astrid comes in to make sure he does (and also to make sure he eats bc he forgets to wayyy too often).

Asthma. No explanation. I just know he has it

I hope not all of these came off as super angsty, they aren't meant to completely. Like sure it sucks but he's allowed to not be miserable constantly (disabled people are allowed to not be miserable constantly, it doesn't make our pain any less valid. We're allowed to be happy).

I just love when characters are permanently, physically, changed by their story. Tbh if it weren't for rampant ableism, I think a lot of characters in action/adventure stories would be disabled, but people aren't ready for that discussion yet. Ty for the ask I had so much fun answering and writing these!!!

[valkyrie138]

A Court of Ice and Shadow - Chapter 1

Pairing: Half-Seraphim/Half-High Fae OC x Azriel

Summary: After the war against Hybern, Astrid, a young half-seraphim half-high fae, is struggling with a growing power with little to no answers of how or why it's happening. After an incident at her home in Cretea, Miryam and Prince Drakon send her to train with Rhysand.

With the threat of Koschei looming, Azriel has been running himself to the ground, trying to find more information. The search has been a helpful distraction from a certain Archeron sister, but what will happen with the new guest in the house of wind that he seemingly can't stay away from?

Overview: This is an 18+ series, angst, canon-type violence, murder, torture, smut, fluff, etc.

Note: Please be kind. This is my first time writing in a really long time, but I'm always open to constructive criticism. Also, if anyone wants to be an editor, send me a message!

Word Count: 2.3k

»»————-　✼　————-««

Astrid loved this view of Cretea. Lately, it had become her favorite place on the island. She’d often spend her nights atop the Brightwater Palace, the home of Prince Drakon and Lady Miryam. The palace sat atop the most prominent hill on the island, the stone pillars tall enough that they seemed to touch the stars. She loved this view and how she could observe her home below in almost its entirety. Astrid watched as a half-fae left a tavern with flushed cheeks, their human partner struggling to hold them up. The young seraphim wondered how the couple met. Was it stolen looks in a tavern, or did they find comfort in one another after the war? Astrid sighed as her eyes continued to scan the city below her. She missed the nights when she was red-cheeked and giggling with Lucy and Kendra while they stumbled home. But sitting up here and making up stories of those she observed seemed interesting enough. Her eyes drifted through the island streets to the glittering Erythrian sea surrounding them. A small smile crept onto her rosy lips. She really did love this view. The sound of a person landing was what tour her eyes away from it. 

“They really should put a plaque here.” 

“Whatever for, Kendra?” Astrid drawled, looking at her sister-in-arms. Kendra, with sharp green eyes and auburn hair, was the captain of the Seraphim aerial legion. 

“So they can cement this as your spot, obviously. Your ass has made an imprint in the stone. That, at least, deserves a plaque,” Kendra was also a smart ass.

“I’ll make sure to tell Drakon and Miryam that you think my ass deserves such an honor,” she quipped before turning her gaze back to the city. Kendra moved to sit beside her, her feet dangling over the edge. 

“I’m heading to the taverns tonight. Would you like to join me?”

There would be so many people, so many thoughts, so many memories, and so many emotions. Astrid's chest tightened at the thought. She sighed, “Not tonight.” She could feel Kendra’s disappointment wash over her. The captain stared at her for a while, her face contemplative. “Have you told Miryam and Drakon that you’re struggling? If anyone could help, it would be them.”

Astrid, hearing the question, sucked in a breath. There was no real point in trying to lie to Kendra. Astrid may have the daemati power, but Kendra always knew what she was thinking. A small part of Astrid wished she could go back in time and take back that drunk confession from a few moons ago. The moment she told Kendra that this new daemati ability controlled her more than she could control it, Astrid knew Kendra would be on top of her to fix it. 

“No,” Astrid confessed. “Miryam suspects something is going on, though. I’m staying at the palace tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll ask.”

Astrid’s eyes lingered on the Cretea for another moment; she loved this island. But her eyes drifted to the other side of the palace, which looked out across a dark sea. Her mind often wondered what was happening across those blue waves. She had only left Cretea once, and it was to fight in the war against Hybern. No one on the island knew what was happening in Pyrthian for the past 52 years. Astrid felt that growing pain in her chest again, the warm air suddenly feeling like a small fire in her throat. The war had a cost, and the carnage still plagued her nightmares. But she still wondered what was happening in those faraway courts.

“I wonder what she’s doing, too,” whispered Kendra. She meant Lucy, the missing piece of their trio. The pain in Astrid's chest deepened, her heart aching. Lucy had lost her wings during the battle. Astrid was there when it happened,  saw the Hybern soldier shoot her out of the sky, and heard Lucy’s screams as she fell. The memory played in her mind on a loop, and her guilt festered somewhere deep within her. After the battle, Lucy decided to stay in Prythian and start a new life. Neither Astrid nor Kendra had heard from her since. Remembering Kendra’s comment, Astrid only replied with a slight nod. 

“Maybe the High Lord will know,” Kendra added. 

“I do hear that he has eyes everywhere,” Astrid noted. The High Lord of the Night Court would be coming to the palace tomorrow for what she didn’t know. Kendra stood up slowly, wiping her pants lightly. 

“If you aren’t joining me at the taverns tonight, at least get some sleep. You look positively dead,” the captain quipped. 

“You really do know how to flatter me,” Astrid replied, a smirk spread across her face. 

Kendra flew off with a wave over her shoulder. She watched as her friend flew above the streets and disappeared from view. Astrid’s eyes swept across Cretea, the rolling seas, and then settled on the stars above her. On clear nights, she used to sit on the roof of her family's home with her father, counting the stars, finding constellations, and listening to her father tell the stories behind them. She wondered if he was up there, along with her mother and sisters, watching over her. She wondered if they were proud of the female she had become. She felt the fissure deepen in her chest, full of ice and unyielding. She sharply swallowed the feeling, pushing it down, down, down. She couldn’t afford that cracking, the breaking. With a sigh, Astrid reached her arms to the sky as she stretched her back, her white wings fluttering behind her with relief. The hours spent sitting on the stone edge of the palace did nothing for her sore back. Astrid took one last longing look at the sea and the stars as she stood before gazing at Cretea below and flying home. 

»»————-　✼　————-««

The nightmares had plagued Astrid again that night. She awoke struggling to breathe, and ice covered her room, the temperature far below normal. She almost flung herself off the balcony in her room while trying to gulp down fresh air. Her dreams were full of the deaths of her family, and of her fellow soldiers she lost in the war. Their cries still felt like they were still echoing in her ears. The young seraphim stood examining her reflection. Her moon-white hair was pulled back high on her head, with intricate braids starting at her temples. Her midnight-blue eyes were stark against her hair and milk-colored skin. Her eyes drifted to her leathers. She probably should have worn a dress for the meeting with the High Lord, but her nightmares had left her feeling uneasy, the grip on her power slippery. The supple grey leather provided her a comfort that no court dress would. A knock on her door made her tear her eyes from the mirror.

“Come in, Dalia,” she said, turning toward the door. Dalia was a half-fae, half-seraphim like herself, who was well over half a century old but would never confirm her age. She was also positively senile.

“Astrid, you couldn’t have deigned to wear a dress today!” The old female exclaimed as she set down a tray of pastries. Most would take Dalia’s tone toward Astrid as rude. But the seraphim knew how the old hag felt about her. Astrid loved her; she was like an overbearing grandmother, with her braided grey hair and small, frail body. 

“You know I just like being prepared for anything,” Astrid winked at her as she continued, “I’m guessing the bat is about to land on our shores.” 

Dalia rolled her eyes and sighed exasperatedly, “You should mind your tongue. He should be arriving soon, and I pray to the mother that you don’t converse this way with the High Lord.” 

 Astrid smiled at the old female, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Oh, Dalia, I only reserve this way of conversation with you.” 

“You are going to send me to an early grave,” Dalia quipped as she sat before the fireplace.

“I keep you young, old hag.” Another knock sounded on her door. The smell of sea and hydrangea wafted in Astrid’s nose, “Come in, Miryam.” 

The dark-haired lady slipped through the door, her sage green eyes immediately falling on Astrid.

“I’ll have to tell Drakon he owes me thirty gold marks. I knew you would wear your leathers today.” She smirked as she crossed the room to sit across from Dalia, picking up a pastry as she sat. 

“I told her she should have worn a dress today,” replied the ancient female as she stood. “Now, I will see you later, and please remember to watch your tongue around the High Lord." With that, Dalia slipped from the room. Astrid could feel Miryam's emotions shift from ease to concern. With a small sigh, she sat beside the princess, her palms sweating. 

“I brought you something,” Miryam said as she pulled a rectangular jewelry box from behind her back. Astrid took it from her before resting it on her lap. The red velvet was smooth beneath her fingertips. Lifting the lid, a lump formed in her throat. In the box was a silver warrior’s diadem; it had carvings of feathers and wings sprouted near where it would meet her ears and a large sapphire shaped like a teardrop in the middle. The lump seemed to grow in her throat, an ache beginning to form in her chest, her eyes burning. 

“This was my mother's,” Astrid croaked. 

“It was always going to go to one of you,” Miryam paused while Astrid tried to shove this feeling of despair down till she couldn’t feel anymore. This diadem was going to go to one of her sisters, not her, if they hadn’t been murdered. If she hadn’t- “your mother would want you to have it.” Miryam finished as she delicately picked up the finery and placed it on Astrid’s head. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror; the circlet was the most ornate thing she had ever worn. 

“You look so much like her,” Miryam smiled at her. “She and your father would be proud to see that on you.” She supposed they would. The circlet had been her mother's, but instead of a stone of sapphire, her mother's was emerald green. Her mother was a high fae from the Winter Court before the war, where she met her father. After coming to Cretea, her mother was Miryam's hand, which meant she was officially part of the royal court. Her parents would be proud if they were still alive. The burning in her chest only seemed to grow at the idea. She shouldn’t be the one wearing it; her parents should still be here, and her sisters should be too, and it was her fault they weren’t. Her skin began to tingle, her throat dry and hot. Astrid quickly took the circlet off her head, its weight feeling too much. 

“Astrid?” She looked at the princess. Miryam’s eyes were wide, and her feeling of worry was closing in on her. “We might not be blood, but you are part of this family. Whatever is going on in that mind of yours…let me help.” Her voice was soft and empathetic as if she were speaking to a skittish deer.

Astrid gulped. The knot in her throat slid down to her stomach, heavily nestling itself there. “I’ve been…struggling.” She couldn’t meet Miryam's eyes as she said it, the dread of admitting she didn’t have a handle on her power. She didn’t know how the princess would even be able to help, but she continued, “I can handle getting into other's minds and shutting them out, most of the time, but” she paused, trying to find the words, “I can feel everyone's emotions all the time, I can’t escape them. No matter how hard I try, I can’t shut them out. It’s honestly…suffocating. And it sometimes just becomes too much to control at once.” 

Miryam didn’t say anything at first, just grabbing the circlet from Astrid's hands and placing it back on her head. Light green eyes stared at her as a wave of reassurance and determination washed over her. 

“The High Lord, Rhysand, you know he is a close friend. One of the few who knew this island existed before Hybern. He’s a very powerful daemati, and so is his mate. If you're comfortable, we can ask him for some assistance during dinner.” 

Astrid sucked in a deep breath. It would be embarrassing to admit to a High Lord that she couldn’t master this dumb power, and not many were privy to the knowledge of Astrid’s powers. It was unusual for fae to gain new powers as they aged. The seraphim was young in fae terms, only seventy-six, but her power was growing and expanding to levels even the oldest fae on Cretea weren’t familiar with. She had spent hours in Cretea’s library with their oldest scholars, trying to find answers. Still, because her people found refuge here, their libraries were considerably less dense than those in Prythian. Since the war, her daemati abilities have grown to feel others' emotions. And after the war, none of the feelings were good. These past months, she had found herself drowning in it, the sorrows of those around her suffocating her. After a while, she stayed in her townhouse, never leaving unless going to the palace. She knew she couldn’t live like this forever; Astrid only nodded in response before she felt a slight panic snake around her chest, a foreign feeling, not her own or Miryam’s. 

           “I believe the High Lord is here,” Astrid replied, knowing the time for this conversation was over. Miryam only gave her a soft smile of reassurance before taking hold of her hand. Together, they walked down Brightwater Palace halls, the seafoam-marbled floors and tall white pillars surrounding them. Standing at the home entrance was one of the most handsome man Astrid had ever seen. 

[revive-the-fandom]

the dragons series had a lot of inconsistencies tbh and I've yet to see anyone spell some of them out? so I'm gonna be the critic i need in my life

Gothi

this childless Grandma is not a healer.

she is a Seeress or a Wise Woman. the Berkians canonically refer to her as The Elder.

A Seeress' job is to commune with gods and spirits (mostly thru getting high) and give advice to their King or Jarl (or Chief). Gothi does this canonically by being the final judge for whether Hiccup or Astrid got to graduate/get the honour of killing the Monstrous Nightmare.

Seeress' were almost always women, although men did occasionally become Seers, it was considered emasculating and unnatural.

Seeress' may also live in high, isolated places in order to be closer to the Gods, which Gothi most definitely does. They could also take vows of silence, which is most likely what Gothi has done, if she isn't physically mute.

Seeress' were highly respected and had a considerably amount of influence over their clan.

Berk's attitude towards the dragons

The end of Httyd 1 showed multiple people riding and co-habituating with Dragons. They had feeding stations (made out of old braziers), stables etc:

But RoB/DoB opens with the village seriously struggling to assimilate the Dragons into their lives, with the Dragons stealing food and shitting in the town square.

Fishlegs & Hiccup

Fishlegs is not Hiccup's friend in Httyd 1, he's one of Hiccup's bullies.

Fishlegs hangs out with Snotlout, the twins and Astrid and laughs along with them when teasing Hiccup. He may be a conflicted or opportunistic bully rather than a flat out asshole, but he's still participating.

Fishlegs is one above Hiccup in the pecking order, if Hiccup's not around to be bullied then Fishlegs is next in line. But as it stands Fishlegs is allowed into the friend circle, whereas Hiccup is not.

Fishlegs is the bully that needs Hiccup around so that he doesn't get bullied himself. He for sure wants to be friends with Hiccup too, but he's not going to risk his position in the group for Hiccup.

Snotlout & bullying Fishlegs

the series (The Iron Gronckle ep mostly) makes out that Snotlout has been terrorising specifically Fishlegs (both physically and verbally) to the point that Fishlegs has become meek and anxious because of him.

which is just blatantly not true, see my above point on Fishlegs being one of the bullies.

Snotlout is mean to Fishlegs, sure. but he's also mean to Hiccup, and on occasion to the Twins. Snotlout is second in command of this group's/generation's pecking order, and he only bows his head to Astrid because she is sitting solidly at the top (and he has a crush on her).

As soon as Astrid is booted off of her pedestal by Hiccup, Snotlout starts acting friendly to Hiccup. So does everyone save Astrid.

and once Hiccup is top dog, Snotlout takes orders from Hiccup, because Hiccup is the most successful and respected of their group. Even when they lead him into dangerous situations like the final battle against the Red/Green Death.

Snotlout is not The Bully TM he's just one of many bullies. He wasn't trying to single people out, he was just trying to fit in with the standard the adults of Berk had set, and one of those standards was bullying the weak.

Astrid & bullying hiccup

the series loves to forget that Astrid was the Leader of the group for most of Httyd 1, and she was at best a passive observer of their bullying Hiccup, and at worst an active participant. She shared Berk's views on "get tough or get out" and applied them to Hiccup.

Astrid took things a step further and started stalking Hiccup as soon as he started out pacing her in training. She pushed him around and hit him, while even Snotlout had only teased him.

Saying that Astrid and Hiccup have "known each other all [their] lives" in RTTE is true in that they have lived in the same village and grown up at the same time, but they most definitely weren't close in Httyd 1.

[thegurlwhoisntthere]

Okay, HTTYD fandom I’m coming for you.

I want an au where the gang were always friends. Like, they grew up to be just as tight-nit as they are in RTTE, but because of reasons they hide the fact that they’re friends with Hiccup from the adults. Why do I think this could work?

Well:

Hiccup by nature is very forgiving, so when all his friends come to him and say they can’t be friends in public because of one reason or another, he sympathizes, as long as they’re still friends, he doesn’t really care.

Snotlout is the first in the group to start drifting away, and they all ask him why

Spitelout doesn’t like that his son is hanging around Hiccup when he’s so unviking-like

He pressures Snotlout to cut ties with his cousin and to start putting him down for not living up to “what he should”

This backfires

Baby-lout hasn’t yet had the time to really internalize his father’s teachings, so when his friends ask, he tearfully tells them

Most of the group is furious, but Hiccup understands

If it had just been up to him the group probably would’ve disbanded then and there

Lucky for him it wasn’t

They figure that if Spitelout doesn’t want them to friends then they won’t… in public

In private is a different story

In public they treat it like a game, to taunt each other and be as sarcastic as possible

But when they’re alone they let their guard down

The next one to go, surprisingly, is Astrid

After her uncle died her family’s reputation takes a dive

At first, the fact that she’s friends with the chief’s son is a good thing, but as time goes on and he doesn’t grow, her parents start getting pressure, and Astrid, not being as young anymore, feels it, too

Astrid’s extremely conflicted, because on the one hand she doesn’t want to abandon Hiccup, let alone insult him in front of the village like Snotlout

But on the other, she needs to restore her family’s honor

So they come up with Astrid’s cover: in public she’ll distance herself from all of them, working hard to be a shield-maiden, only being a part of the group in an orbit-sort of way

She grows into ignoring Hiccup in public because if she doesn’t she’s going to take the head off the next person who insults him

For Fishlegs and the Twins, there’s no specific moment that they start to distance themselves in public

Overtime, the twins become more destructive and so does Hiccup, so being seen together is a no-go

Fishlegs is growing evermore into the scholar and is completely uninterested in fighting, to the point where, if it wasn’t for his stature, he’d be in the same boat as Hiccup (if less magnified, because he’s not the Chief’s son)

So they all “grow apart” into the roles we see in the first movie, with some noticeable differences

They sit together in the great hall, but to anyone casually observing Hiccup’s excluded from the conversation

In actuality, Hiccup and Fishlegs came up with their own little version of sign language which Astrid forced everyone to learn, though some are more fluent than others (Tuffnut is surprising good at it, but Snotlout’s lucky to understand a full sentence)

Astrid still trains extra in the forest, but usually you can find the rest of the group somewhere nearby doing their own thing, if they’re not needed elsewhere

Similarly, because they hang out around her while she trains, she manages to bully at least Hiccup and Fishlegs into being at least passable with one weapon (sword and hammer)

Snotlout still flirts with Astrid, but it’s far more joking and well timed than in canon (of course he still has a crush on her, she’s Astrid, but he also flirts with her to escape that weird fluttery feeling he gets when Fishlegs gets excited about the book he’s reading)

The twins outward behavior doesn’t change as much as their friends’ perception of them

The group is very aware that the twins are far smarter and more capable than they let on, and are aware that a lot of their chaos is carefully planned and not just violent stupidity like the rest of the village might assume

The gang even joins in a lot, the twins made them far more mischievous than they let anyone know

Due to the closeness to Astrid, Ruffnut is far more willing to be serious about training and other things, even if she still tries to downplay it

In reverse, Astrid is far more willing to chill the fuck out and have some fun, let her creativity take the lead, even if she’s very strict about keeping a mask in public

This is getting really long and repetitive so I’m just going to leave a few more thoughts

Fishlegs is far more confident and courageous because of his friends, but he’s still skittish in public

Hiccup is far less he’ll-bent on proving himself, but he’s still a sarcastic insane inventor so the results are pretty much the same he’s just happier (less lonely and lacking self-esteem)

Snotlout and Astrid are more comfortable with their emotions

Snotlout has less self-image problems (still-there though, fuck Spitelout)

When Hiccup says he shot down a Night Fury, they can tell he’s telling the truth, but they don’t have time to search with him that day, so he still meets Toothless the same

They plan to work together come dragon training, but Toothless kinda throws a wrench in that plan

Hiccup tries to keep him secret, but they know him, so when the Zippleback thing happens, he stands no chance

I have a lot more ideas but this so long

Just. Let them be friends damn it