#to anyone who might not know: I’m Danish!

[bobfloydsbabe]

I did it to myself, but driving to Copenhagen and back (~3h each way) in one day is criminal. My poor lil butt is exhausted. I’m so glad I took tomorrow off work.

[leclercsluvs]

MV1 | Echoes of Sorrow

(part 1)

an: this is sorta loosely based on a song from 2006 that i used to listen to all the time. considering it's not an english song, i'm not going too much after it, just kinda the "plot" of the song. it's danish by the duo nik & jay and its called 'når et lys slukkes' so if you're up for it you can take a listen. pairing: max verstappen x fem!reader warning: kidnapping, swearing, death, drunk driving, murder, car crash, google translated french word count: 2.8k

Max knew bringing you into his life was dangerous, but it wasn't until he got the call that he realized just how dangerous it had been. You hadn’t been in danger in the four years you’d been dating. But then again, Max didn’t quite know the dangers of what he had gotten himself into in the beginning. He thought it was just an innocent way to get a ton of money. Boy, was he wrong. Now he was sitting in a bar at 12 PM because he didn’t know what to do. It had been raining all week, and right now, it certainly wasn't helping his mood.

“Can I have a refill?” Max mumbled to the bartender, pushing his glass forward. He hadn't been here for that long, but he had definitely had more than he should have. But he needed to clear his head a little, and he couldn’t do that sober. At least, that was his excuse for ending up at the bar.

“I think you’ve had enough,” the bartender walked over to him, putting a hand in front of Max. “Can I have your keys? You’re not driving anywhere like this.”

“I didn’t bring my keys,” Max lied effortlessly. “Someone drove me here. I’ll just call a cab.” He got up and walked towards the door. He could feel the tears stinging in his eyes, but he wasn’t interested in crying in front of anyone. Not right now. He just needed a bit more liquor, and he’d be set. He could find you. You were counting on him.

In fact, you knew Max was coming. He had been telling you ever since you started dating that if anything were to happen to you, he’d be the first to start looking for you. And right now, that hope was all you needed. You needed the knowledge that someone was coming, someone was looking for you. You didn’t exactly know how you ended up tied together in the trunk of a car, but you knew this was not on your to-do list for today. You weren’t even sure who was driving the car you were in, and you couldn’t feel your phone in your pocket, so you had no way to call Max.

Max stumbled into the small convenience store and picked up a bottle of vodka. “This will probably do,” he mumbled and walked to the cash register to pay.

“Mr. Verstappen! What are you doing here so early? I didn't think you’d be back today. I don't have it here,” the owner of the store looked almost terrified to see him back. Well, to be fair, he was here collecting a big sum of money just a few days ago, and let’s just say, it didn’t quite go as everyone had wanted. They still had some cleaning up to do.

“I’m not here for business today,” Max said as he placed the bottle on the counter. “Just had to pick up this.” He looked up at the man across from him, eyes blank, on the brink of tears. He wouldn't do it yet, though. Not around people. He might be liked and respected as of right now, but all that could change oh so quickly, especially if he broke down over this. So many people in this business had suffered worse, and he was on the brink of crying because his girlfriend had been kidnapped? And he didn’t even fully know if it was true yet.

“Oh, well, that will be 20 dollars,” the store owner barely finished before the money was on the counter, bottle in Max’s hand, and he was walking towards the door. He needed time alone. Now. He needed to process.

As the car came to a stop, you couldn’t do anything but hold your breath. Would you know the person who had taken you, or would he be a total stranger? The trunk opened, and the rain disappointed you. Was it really on a rainy day you got kidnapped? A man’s face appeared, and you couldn’t help the fear creeping in.

“So, you are Max’s girl now?” he spoke with a French accent. If he wasn’t a kidnapper, you would have found it kinda hot. But under the circumstances, it was anything BUT hot.

“What do you want us to do with her?” a different voice asked. You sort of recognized it, but only faintly. Was he the one who had technically kidnapped you? Most likely.

“Get her inside. I have to call Max. He needs to know for sure that we have her. I want him in the most panicked state possible before I send the body to him.” The body? Was he talking about yours? God, you were going to die on a rainy day. How awesome. The Frenchman walked away, and his friend came into view, picking you up as easily as if you were a bag of flour. You tried everything to get out, not really interested in this new fate of yours.

Max barely made it to the car before his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. It was an unknown number. He hesitated for a second, then realized it could be someone with news about you, so he quickly accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear. “Hello?” He unscrewed the cap on the bottle of vodka and took a quick sip as he waited for a reply from the unknown caller.

“Is this Max Verstappen?” he sighed, doubting it was about you if they had to ask if it was him.

“Yes, this is Max,” he replied while screwing the cap back on the bottle. “Who am I speaking with?”

“You should come see for yourself, if you want to see your girlfriend again,” the voice stated and gave an address. Max wasted no time getting there, tears running down his cheeks. He was silent, though; he just had to get to you, had to get you back. He couldn’t let anything happen to you. He couldn’t lose you.

Against your will, you were placed on a chair in the middle of a nicely decorated room on the second floor of a huge house. You started losing hope. They weren't going to wait long, not if their plan to send your body to Max was going to be successful. Panic and fear started to mix as you were left alone in the room with your thoughts, thoughts about how this stranger was going to murder you and then send your body to Max. You couldn’t stop imagining his face. If he knew about you by now, he would be looking for you. You knew it. It had to be like that, right? He had told you so many times. He would get to you. You needed him. Your only hope was him.

Max walked up to the front door, feeling 100% sober; however, the bottle was still in his hand. Could it be useful? Maybe if it was empty. He had to get you out alive and safe, though, so anything was helpful. The front door was slightly open, so he pushed it further open, hoping no one was there. He would like for this to be a bit of a surprise. He left his phone in the car, so it wouldn’t suddenly ring or vibrate and expose him.

The first room he stepped into was a living room, nicely decorated with a lot of expensive furniture. “This asshole sure loves spending money,” Max muttered to himself as he moved further into the house, looking behind every door he passed.

He made it into the kitchen. He hadn't run into anyone yet, but he knew it wouldn't be long, and he didn't have any way to defend himself except for the bottle. But how useful was that really? He looked around the room, and his gaze landed on a set of kitchen knives, almost glinting on the table, asking him to take one with him. So he did and moved further until he got to a staircase. He could hear faint voices coming from upstairs, but he couldn't hear who they belonged to or what the topic was. He quietly made his way up the stairs, knife ready in his right hand, bottle in his left hand. He was prepared for any surprise this might throw at him.

Before reaching the very top, he stopped and wiped his eyes before taking the last step up. He looked around, making sure they weren't right there waiting for him. He moved towards the voices, and his entire body stiffened as he heard your voice. “Don't hurt him! Please! I’ll do anything to keep him safe.” Max took a couple more steps and stopped. The voices were much louder now.

“Everything, huh?” Max heard the French accent and immediately knew who it was. Pierre. Pierre fucking Gasly. Max was seething with rage. He could feel it in every fiber of his being. “How about…” The voice trailed off, and Max heard you let out a whimper. His mind was suddenly full of all the things Pierre could be doing to you. When Max heard the second whimper, it was clear Pierre was doing something to inflict pain on you, and it was almost as if something changed inside Max. He barely had enough self-control to stay put and put together a plan, but any plan he made wouldn’t be good enough if he didn't do something now.

Just as he was about to jump in and do god knows what, he heard your voice. “Va te faire foutre,” (fuck you - google translate please lmk if it's wrong <3) you spat out, and Max couldn’t help but feel proud, even if he had no clue what you said. He stood like that for a few seconds until he heard your muffled cry, and he sprung into action, not even thinking about what he was about to do, right in front of you.

Both you and Pierre, who didn’t hear Max arrive, were startled, and rightfully so. Who wouldn't be startled if a man came at you with a knife, rage in his eyes? Max wouldn’t let anything happen, even if that meant he had to kill. He tackled Pierre in less than 2 seconds simply because Pierre wasn’t prepared. Max quickly positioned himself so Pierre had no way of moving and then brought out the knife, taunting Pierre a bit before he made his first cut. No one would be able to identify Pierre when Max was done with him. However, he hadn't noticed that you were tied to the chair, forced to watch as Max dug the knife into Pierre's skin, slowly dragging out the pain. As Pierre thought the first part was over, Max quickly placed the knife in his abdomen, making Pierre cough up a bit of blood and just look at the knife with pure shock and horror in his eyes. Max locked their eyes and kept eye contact as he twisted the knife, making Pierre groan in pain. Funnily enough, Max quite enjoyed this. He slowly pulled out the knife, but not for long; he had a lot of work ahead of him. He didn’t plan to let Pierre off the hook easily.

The red blood seemed to never stop seeping out of the many wounds inflicted by Max. It felt like it was everywhere: the carpet, the walls, Max’s hands, Pierre — a mess, not recognizable at all. Max got up and looked around to see where you might have gone, only to see you strapped to the chair, tears never stopping from falling down your cheeks as you just stared at the mess in front of you. “What did you do? What the hell did you do?!” you almost screamed, pain radiating from your voice, not only from what you had just witnessed, but also from the wound above your knee, blood trickling down your leg. He should have noticed, he should have known. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! How could he have missed this?

He rushed to your side, putting pressure on your wound, looking around for something he could use instead of his hands, but he couldn’t see anything useful. “Please tell me you’re going to be okay,” Max said, looking at your leg; the blood didn’t stop, his hands weren’t enough.

Your face was still full of tears, your skin looking a little pale. Sweat started to cover your skin. It almost looked like you had just taken a shower in your clothes. “OMG Max,” you mumbled, barely able to get the sentence out, “did you just kill him?” You looked at him with wide eyes as a sudden headache hit you, your vision became blurry. “What’s that ringing sound?” you asked, confused, barely able to focus, anxiety creeping into your brain, consuming all your thoughts.

Max was just confused. There was no ringing. It was completely quiet, except for Pierre’s ragged breaths. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Schat. There is no ringing.”

“The pain stopped,” Max looked up at you, horrified at what you had just said. You couldn’t not be in pain. He couldn’t leave the scene like this, though, so he unscrewed the cap on the bottle he brought with him and poured it around Pierre. He wasn’t sure this was going to look like an accidental fire, but did he really care about that right now? No. He only cared about you, and he needed to get you to a hospital now. He quickly got you free from the chair, took a lighter out of his pocket, ripped off a small piece of fabric from his shirt, and lit it on fire. He let go of it and let it drop to the floor, where a ring of fire quickly spread around Pierre.

He had to move quickly now. He picked you up; your body already felt lifeless. He got you to the car, luckily without running into any of Pierre’s men. It was only a matter of time before they noticed the fire.

He had to get to the hospital as quickly as he could. He floored the accelerator. Getting you to the hospital was the only thing on his mind this second, and he did make it. However, your body was limp, lifeless, and he was afraid it was too late. But he still had to try; he didn't have time to feel for a pulse, just had to get you in quickly.

“Help! Please!” he walked through the doors with you in his arms, multiple doctors running towards him.

“What happened?” a nurse asked while someone else asked for a gurney.

“I’m not sure. I was told to go to a location, and I found her inside, strapped to a chair with a wound above her knee,” Max basically told the truth, except for the part about Pierre. No one had to know about that. No one would know about that.

“Put her here, and we'll do our best to save her,” the nurse gestured to the gurney being pushed towards them in a hurry. They all disappeared in a hurry, doing everything they could. Max didn’t see much, but he did see that no one gave you CPR, which must mean you had a pulse. He looked down and noticed his hands, covered in blood, which must mean his car was covered in blood too, which meant he needed to clean it.

He rushed out, rushing to his car. He had to get home, get it cleaned up. He couldn't seem to stop crying, and the fact it was raining didn’t help his vision at all. He pushed on the accelerator a bit more, his head full of thoughts: thoughts of you dying, it being his fault. He never had to get into this business. He decided to put on some music, and the song currently being played was one of the new ones from Taylor Swift. Max didn’t mind it. He actually related a little to the song. He turned up the volume and listened to the chorus of “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?”

A tear fell down his left cheek as the roads got a bit narrower. This didn't make him slow down; quite the opposite, actually. He sped up more. He liked the thrill of it. His alcohol level was way too high for him to be driving this quickly, in a part of town with a lot of traffic lights and pedestrians.

He didn't see the red light until it was too late. The woman crossing the road to reach her friend didn't notice either. Her boyfriend did, though, and he leaped out in front to try and push her out of the way. However, he didn't manage to do it in time. Max’s foot slammed down on the brake, but it was too late. Max closed his eyes; he knew how this would end. He heard a bang, and all light disappeared.

~

i haven't made a written fic since my wattpad days back in 2020 so i'm not sure how good this is. sorry about the cliffhanger hehe also very sorry i haven't posted in many days, i lowkey forgot about all of these, and then i got a tiny bit busy so when i did remember i didn't have time to write. anyway enjoy this while i work on something more

[okaystoptellingmetomakeanaccount]

Pwease elaborate on the following points, I beg this of you:

UltraHeroes Paperinika is best Paperinika?!?

Martina's Duckburg is closer to Barks' than Rosa's is?

DT17 leaked documents about Cimino? :O (Is there a way to read them?)

Sincerely thanks from a lurking lurker who lurks.

Omg no thank you i love elaborating about ducks lol

• Paperinika in Martina’s first few stories was great satire, but the character has since been stuck like that. (We’ll ignore Martina’s subsequent attempt to move away from this by making her fight the evil queen from Snow White and beheading robot clones of herself) Most writers kept her ridiculously ‘feminist’ attitude and personality, or changed her hating men into hating PK specifically. And they generally kept a lot of her negative character traits. So the character became a bit hateful. (Now that i think of it i haven’t read enough Brazilian stories so this is like from what i’ve gathered from Italian and Danish stuff) I’m personally not that much a fan of a hero who’s most defining quality is that she’s a narcissistic prick.

Paperinik moved away from a lot of his own negative character traits (he was a bit of a villain at first after all). But Paperinika did not. Probably a lot of writers still deemed all of those things as ‘funny’ because haha woman mad. On the other hand, Paperinika also fell out of use in Italy, so maybe they didn’t think it was that funny. But they never thought to like, y know change her character.

UNTIL ULTRAHEROES HELL YEAH. So like yeah Ultraheroes wasn’t good or something (though i gotta say i’m personally quite fond of it) but they did reinvent Paperinika’s character. Decided that she’s actually likable now! Moved away from all the sexism and gave her a fun personality that fit modern day Daisy and created one of the most fun love triangles between Daisy, Donald, PK and PKA. Too bad that it didn’t really stick outside of Ultraheroes. So it remains one of, if not the best version of the character for me. The end of the chapter where they go against Spectrus and Zafira is just a fav of mine.

• Rosa’s Duckburg is really un-Barksian. It might all add up in continuity and references, but tonally it’s a whole different universe.

The entire thing is too serious. I might even say it all makes too much sense. Barks never cared much about making sense. Scrooge had a different bin every other story.

Guido Martina was always the king of not making sense. He probably contradicted his own stories more than anyone else. Both hik and Barks never cared about continuity. It’s about the story. Duckburg could change into whatever they wanted, as long as it served the story they wished to tell.

Martina’s Duckburg is pretty different from Barks’. It’s a more cynical, one could say almost parodic version of it, where everything and everyone is terrible. But with that it goes way further in those satirical elements of Barks. Something Rosa rarely did, who told more straightforward consumer friendly epic Hollywood stories.

Like uhh we could take a look at Scrooge. Rosa Scrooge is ultimately a good man. He doesn’t even actually care about money, but about the way he got it! It’s about earning the money and the adventures! And secretly he’s a good person who does give money away.

Martina Scrooge is a bad man. Oh oh oh so bad. Scrooge is used to critique and make fun of the rich that Martina saw around him. He has a comically long list of debts that other people owe him. He got rich by lots of illegal manners, and can get others to do whatever he wants, simply because he has money.

Barks Scrooge is in the middle, but I’d say it leans more to Martina. Scrooge is just a person. Does bad things and good things. He’s full of human contradictions and complexities. But more often than not, even when he’s more neutral, Scrooge is used to make fun off. The stories he tells about how he got rich are ridiculous. They are meant to be laughed at. It’s this difference in tone which is prevalent in most of their writing.

Rosa simply doesn’t use the characters that way. That’s it kinda. Hope this explains my imo a bit lol

• okay shhhh but dont tell anyone

(Sorey, removed the link. Just to stay safe. If anyone still wants it don’t be scared to dm :))

(Kind of scared of getting banned so excuse me if i remove the link in a few days. I recommend you download it to read later. I wrote the longest wall of text to hide it under but the drive i downloaded it from is gone because of disney so like yeah tad bit scared)

And just want to say wow. Thank you for the ask. Like the idea that there are people lurking around reading my posts, like i used to do (and still do) by so many others is insane honestly. Hope you’ve had fun reading my ramblings here, anon :)

[art-that-fucks-you-up-tournament]

who’s excited for stats so far?? i bet none of you are but i’m inflicting them anyway! ...under a cut.

so far, though, we have 198 separate submissions across 166 works!

so far the longest submission piece is 551 words long! wow! there are also another 3 submissions that are over 300 words long, and one piece has 797 words across 7 submissions! the shortest submission, to contrast, is 5 words long! that’s also great!

there are currently 4 artists that have had 3 pieces of art each submitted, and 8 artists that have had 2 pieces. that means there’s currently 137 other artists! oh sorry, while i was drafting this post we got a fourth submission for one of the four.

how about things anyone can go look at? there are currently 7 pieces of public art that have been submitted! four of them are from canada (and 3 are from the calgary specifically), one is in the netherlands, one is in spain, and one is in new york. the fourth canadian one also has copies in spain, japan, and arkansas. there are also 3 submitted buildings! two are in spain, and one is in thailand!

gender! we’ve got 122 pieces from male artists, and 32 pieces by female artists! yes that doesn’t add up to 166, the other 12 are either multiple artists, unknown artists, or i felt like a creeper trying to trawl through their tumblr/website and it wasn’t in their bio. sadly, we don’t have any openly trans, nb, or otherwise genderqueer artists submitted (where openly is “i could find it in the same 5 second google search to determine nationalities”)

even more niche stats! the largest submission (that isn’t a building, a cave, or public art) is 2.15 m (7 ft 1 in) x 34.14 m (112.0 ft) and weighs 4 tons! close behind it is another that's approximately 3.7m x 25.2m (12ft x 72.9ft) but weighs significantly less! i did not feel like mathing which had more square footage. the smallest submission (that is, a physical piece in real life, digital art can be insanely small) is 5.9 x 6 cm (2 5/16 x 2 3/8 in.)!

how about locations? excluding the multiple copies ones, there are 32 pieces located in the united states, 9 in spain, 8 in france, 6 in canada, 5 in england, 4 in italy, 3 each in russia, australia and mexico, 2 each in the netherlands, wales, scotland, and ireland, and 1 each in israel, finland, germany, portugal, poland, japan, austria, ecuador, thailand, latvia, singapore, belgium, and argentina! i know that doesn’t add up but there’s a lot of pieces in private collections, owned by the artist, or we just couldn’t find their location, sadly.

artist nationalities get a lot more variable! i did my best to look up every artist i could and include their birth country and the country they did their works in! except john singer sargent because he just didn’t want to settle down and i didn’t want to give him like six different countries. 

starting off, we have 43 submissions by american artists! 18 by french artists, 17 by english, 8 each by canadians and italians, 6 each by russians and spaniards, 5 each by chinese, irish, and germans, 4 each by dutch, mexican and belgians, 3 by latvians, 2 each by finnish, polish, scottish, malay, serbian, and armenians, and 1 each by portuguese, japanese, austrian, ecuadorian, thai, swiss, argentine, cuban, kazhak, colombian, danish, and iranian! 

i do not currently have stats for jewish artists for you, because i forgot to write it down my first time through wiki, and now i have to go through all ~140 articles and websites again. relatedly: there are 8 works by known-to-be-gay artists, but i’m already running into wikipedia going “well he sure did a lot of male nudes but he also might have had relationships with women” and i am feeling uncomfortable poking through people’s private lives so... i hope you don’t mind it i stop... counting..... i mean if they’re open about it i’ll write it down still.

how about the ages of works? there are 4 things from before the 1400s, 3 from the 1400s, 6 from the 1500s, 3 from the 1600s, and 2 from the 1700s! 5 from 1800-1850, 4 from 1850-1880, 10 from the 1880s, and 9 from the 1890s! 9 from the 1900s (that is, 1900-1909), 5 from the 1910s, 5 from the 1920s, 4 from the 1930s, 4 from the 1940s, and 6 from the 1950s! 3 from the 60s, 4 from the 70s, 7 from the 80s, 15 from the 90s, 12 from the new oughts, 17 from the 2010s, and 13 from the 2020s! and three ongoing projects!

and to wrap things up: there are 101 paintings, 12 sculptures, 17 what i’m calling installations (they’re often mixed media or unusual media, i would give examples but i feel like i would bias submissions), 6 photographs, 2 pieces of textile art, and 21 digital arts, drawings, or comics!

[shanardo13]

Obikin College Au - RA/Don! Obi-Wan/First Year! Anakin - Part Three

Honestly, at this point I should probably just start writing it, but I keep thinking of little ideas for this au and want to keep track of them, so I present to you: Part Three 😈

Link to Part One

Link to Part Two

At this point, they are becoming inseparable - Ahsoka would say insufferable. Both are applicable.

Whenever Anakin has errands to run, he texts Obi-Wan to come with him. Obi-Wan has started to do the same. Now most of their outings involve running errands for each of them.

Anakin: u free? I gotta hit Walmart and get supplies for my project.

Obi-Wan: yeah I’m free. Think u could get it from staples at the mall instead?

Obi-Wan: I wanna go to Sephora and Hot Topic. Need eyeliner and I wanna look at band shirts.

Anakin: omfg 🙄

Anakin: jk jk that sounds perfect! Meet outside subway station in ten?

Obi-Wan: sounds good!

And then they meet in front of the subway station like they planned.

They both bring earbuds to the subway, so really they could listen to their own music, but they never do. Instead they share a pair and sit huddled up together, taking turns picking songs.

They can both be kind of pretentious with music, so they work well together. Despite their differences, they impress each other with their knowledge and love of the same music.

“Anakin, Wings is leagues better than Plastic Ono Band, and anyone who doesn’t think so is just stupid.”

“Oh, McCartney is just bubblegum pop and we both know it, Obi. At least Lennon had substance.”

“Substance abuse issues, maybe.”

“Can we at least agree that Harrison’s work is significantly underrated?”

“Oh definitely. All Things Must Pass is the best post-Beatles solo album in my opinion.”

“Yes! Thank you! Do you want to listen to it?”

When they get to the mall, they immediately head to their favourite little coffee shop in the centre of the food court. Obi-Wan always buys, so Anakin usually makes it up to him by finding him a little gift.

“You just want your regular?”

“Obi-Wan, I’ve told you numerous times. I can afford my own coffee. You don’t have to buy it for me.”

“Shut up, I want to.” He turns to the employee and repeats their drink orders. “And a strawberry danish please!”

They sit in the food court while they drink their beverages and Anakin eats his danish, conversation flowing endlessly. Lots of inside jokes and giggles are shared. Then they continue on with their shopping.

They go to staples first, as Obi-Wan has dubbed it the ‘not-fun’ part of their trip.

“Anakin, you’re getting office supplies for a school project. Boring! Let’s get it out of the way first!”

“Okay, fine.” Anything for you! Literally anything you ask, any time, I would say yes. I’m at your mercy

They grab what Anakin needs at Staples and then head to Sephora.

Obi-Wan spends far too long sifting through various shades of black eyeliner. They all look the same.

“Anakin, which is better? ‘Midnight’ or ‘Jet Black’?” He holds up two pencils.

Anakin studies them. He tries really hard to spot a difference between them and to subsequently make a decision.

“Uhh… I guess, ‘Midnight’ ?” He suggests, pointing to ‘Jet Black’.

Afterwards they head to Hot Topic to look at the band shirts. This has both of them captivated.

“Anakin, it’s buy three get the fourth free. If we each pick two we can get the deal and then just split the cost for the rest.”

“Yes, Obi-Wan, I understand. But what if we each picked four?”

“You don’t need four new shirts!!!”

They settle on each getting two. When Anakin buys Obi-Wan a cool chain necklace with a scorpion on it that he had been eyeing, it’s only as a repayment for the coffee. Nothing else.

When Obi-Wan buys Anakin a pair of dangly sword earrings, it’s only because he thinks they would look really good on Anakin and he’s not too bashful to admit it. He wasn’t going to spend any time thinking about what that might mean.

“Please put them on! They totally suit you!”

“Oh fine!” Anakin obliges. They’re in the washroom after leaving Hot Topic. He puts the earrings on, as Obi-Wan watches him in the mirror.

“See! You look hot, Ani.”

“Oh, fuck off.” He mutters, blushing a fierce red as the two of them maintain eye contact in the mirror. You can’t just say something like that and expect me to be normal about it!

So Anakin walks around the mall, sword earrings proudly on display.

They go to Indigo because Obi-Wan is an English major and is passionate about literature. He wants to buy a book for Anakin to read so they can talk about it.

“I think you’ll really like Slaughterhouse-Five. Vonnegut is a very satirical author, and I think you’ll appreciate his dark sense of humour. Plus, it has science fiction elements! He uses aliens and a warped concept of time to highlight the trauma and impact of war. You’ll love it!”

“It sounds cool! I’ll give it a go!”

Anakin likely would have never picked it up on his own, but the way Obi-Wan’s eyes lit up and the pace of his speech quickened as he spoke with great passion about the novel made it entirely worth reading.

After the mall, they go to the park together. They sit down at a spot under a tree. Obi-Wan leans against the tree. He grabs a journal from his book bag and begins writing in it - just lil poems and thoughts. Definitely not about Anakin.

Anakin stretches out and rests his head on Obi-Wan’s lap. He starts reading the copy of ‘Slaughterhouse-Five’ that Obi-Wan bought for him.

They sit there for a long time in silence, each focusing on their own task but enjoying each others company.

Eventually Obi-Wan stops writing, putting his journal away in his bag.

The sun is starting to set, and as he glances down at Anakin, he notices how it highlights his features.

He notices the warmth of his skin brightened by the light - the gold of his curls enunciated in the glow.

He reaches down and rakes his fingers through the curls as Anakin continues reading.

“Thank you for today. Trips like this mean everything to me.” You mean everything to me.

Anakin stops where he’s reading and folds the corner of the page. Obi-Wan winces - he would never damage a book like that.

Anakin looks up at him, leaning into the fingers in his hair, practically purring. It’s enough to stop Obi-Wan from cursing him for folding the pages of a book.

“Of course, Obi. Things are always more fun with you.” He hums.

Obi-Wan smiles down at him, giving his scalp light scratches. I’m not thinking about kissing him.

“You’re like a little cat.” He ruffles his locks before pulling his hand away. He gives Anakin’s nose a boop.

Anakin huffs and pulls himself into a sitting position so they’re face to face. He stares at Obi-Wan for a moment, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

Suddenly, he stands up, reaching for Obi-Wan’s hand. “C’mon.” He says.

“Oh, what now?” Obi-Wan groans and grabs the offered hand, allowing himself to be pulled up.

“You’re going to buy me ice cream from the stand over there!” Anakin beams, interlocking their fingers and pointing to an ice cream cart in the distance.

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes but can’t control the smile tugging at his lips.

And so they go to the cart. Obi-Wan buys Anakin an ice cream cone. He wouldn’t do it if it didn’t make him happy - or rather, if it didn’t make Anakin happy which in turn made him happy.

As Anakin devours the cone they make their way back to the subway station. Their hands stay intertwined the entire way.

Mindlessly, Obi-Wan rubs his thumb up and down against Anakin’s palm.

All in all, it was quite a perfect day.

I promise at some point I’ll actually start writing this - I can’t promise I won’t post more of these before that though. 😎

[obsidiancreates]

Sid's In Psych Lolz (Existential Horror For The Main Cast Though)

Buzz carefully balances Detective Lassiter’s coffee, a danish for Detective Juliet, and two chocolate croissants in case Shawn and Gus show up today in one hand as he fumbles to put his wallet away with the other. It’s a bright, beautiful day in Santa Barbara, which likely means some kind of murder or major heist is well underway. Sometimes it seems like the more picturesque the day is, the more wild it’ll be.

He gets some good evidence for that theory when he narrowly avoids bumping into a frantic-eyed, shaking young woman. She looks up at him, and her eyes glaze over entirely as her jaw drops.

“Whoa, miss, are you okay?” Buzz is barely done saving his coffee shop goods when he moves his hand to her shoulder, reaching down about as much as he’d have to with Shawn or Gus. She’s young, probably late teens or early twenties, and so pale he assumes she must be a tourist. Her face is stuck as that of shock, but waving a hand in front of her face he’s not sure anyone’s home to reset the breaker.

“Miss, can you hear me? My name is Buzz McNab-”

A shaky, squeak-like laugh escapes her. 

Buzz’s concern worsens when he notices she’s favoring her right side, and her lip is busted open. But given the state of her arm, scrapped up and dotted with rocks, he’s pretty sure she got it all from falling on her side. “Hey, are you in danger? I’m with the SBPD-”

She wavers like she’s about to pass out- and then she does. 

Buzz hopes, as he catches her, that Detective Lassiter won’t mind the lack of coffee when he comes in with a wounded Jane Doe instead.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“This better not be another international thief or forger,” Gus warns as he parks. 

“Gus, it’s not even in the top five possibilities here,” Shawn assures as he gets out. “Chief said the girl is pretty much incoherent.”

“So what’re we supposed to do?”

“Psychically translate her ramblings, that’s what.” Shawn waits for a fistbump that never comes. “Come on! It’ll be easy, I just need you in there checking for signs of drugs while I check for signs of lying or just plain being bananas. Oh, there’s Buzz with her bag!” Shawn jogs over to Buzz, who’s registering the bag for evidence. “Buzz, my good man! Chief called us in for the uh, rambling girl.”

“Oh, good.” Buzz is visibly relieved. “I’m actually the one who found her. She’s in pretty bad shape.”

“How bad?”

“Looks like she fell onto a road or something, and when I spoke to her she went completely blank! When she came to on the ride here she started asking me if she’s really in Santa Barbara and if I’m the real Buzz McNab.”

“Huh.” Shawn shares a look with Gus, both thinking the same thing: possible kidnapping escapee. “Mind if I get a reading on her bag there before I go talk to her? It might help me get a clearer image for whatever she’s saying.”

“Sure.” Buzz hands it over easily. “Just, make sure to hand it over to the evidence guys when you’re done, and don’t take anything.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, man.” Shawn takes the bag over to a bench by the wall and starts rifling through it.

“Careful, Shawn. If she actually got kidnapped, this stuff might be all she’s got left.”

“I know that, Gus, I’m being careful. … Dude, there’s three different books in here. Chief said she’s like, twenty-something, but she’s carrying around The Hobbit? … And a box of safety pins?”

“Safety pins?”

“Yeah, and look at this. What kind of phone even uses a charger like… whoa.” Shawn pulls the phone in question out. “Dude, it’s a smartphone that folds!”

“What?!” Gus snaps to attention at that, sitting next to Shawn and reaching for it. “How is that- it has two camera lenses?!”

“And check out that power button, it’s totally flat against the side of the phone. Maybe she was in the tech industry before she ended up here.” Shawn keeps digging. “Lip glosses, a bunch of surgical masks? Ha, jackpot!”

He pulls out a plain black wallet and opens it up. “ID right in the top, sweet! Looks like our Jane Doe is…”

His brows pinch. He slides the ID out of it’s clear holder and reads it again. “... Definitely not, a real ID.”

“Why not?” Gus leans in to look at it. Shawn faces Gus, and flicks the ID card around.

“Because it says she was born six years ago.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So, how’s it looking in there?” Shawn asks Jules as he gets his first look at the girl in question. Given the likely fake nature of the ID, he’s not sure he should think of her as the name on it quite yet.

“Not great,” Jules sighs. “She’s saying the same things over and over.”

“No, I’m serious,” the girl in the room insists. Shawn zeros in on two things even through the glass- the girl’s leg won’t stop shaking under the table, and she’s picking at the skin around her fingernails. Could be signs of lying, but given her circumstances it could just as easily be from drug side effects or some kind of mental illness or trauma. 

“I understand you believe what you’re saying,” Lassiter says to her, “But-”

“Please, I’d like to talk to Shawn Spencer, he’ll believe me, he’ll know I’m telling the truth here.”

“Whoa whoa, Chief never mentioned her asking for me by name.”

“She just started a few minutes ago- Shawn, she’s very unwell. She…” Jules takes a deep breath and shrugs. “She’s saying she’s from 2023, in a different world.”

Gus looks in at the girl with new concern. “So she’s delusional? Shouldn’t we be handing her off to a hospital?”

“Not until we’re sure about her identity. Shawn, if you can glean anything about who she actually is-”

“Don’t worry Jules, I’ve got this.” Shawn taps on the window. “LASSIE! I’LL TAKE OVER HERE, BUDDY!”

Lassiter startles a little at the knock and shout, but gets up with surprisingly little of his usual grumbling.

“She’s all yours, Spencer,” he says as they swap places.

The girl visibly relaxes when Shawn and Gus step into the room, though the shaking leg and picking don’t stop. Shawn also notices she’s chewing the inside of her mouth non-stop, and her eyes are darting all around- again, he’s not sure if it’s a sign of lying or of serious mental issues. He and Gus sit down, and the girl smiles at them.

“Hi. My name is Shawn Spencer, Psychic Detective,” Shawn starts, using a more delicate voice than usual- this girl is pale and her face is somewhat gaunt. She’s not starving looking, but she’s thin and has little to no muscle, meaning either a lazy lifestyle and good metabolism, or, given the kidnapping theory, being forced not to move for a long, long time. She’s clean, though, save for the split lip and bits of road dirt smeared on her arm still. Her clothes are nice too- new, or at least seldom worn. Her shirt is for a band he thinks he’s seen on MTV before that weren’t really his preference, My Chemical Romance, and he’d guess she’s worn it less than ten times given how new it looks. She’s got a cheap choker on, fake leather with plastic spikes and a little bedazzled heart in the center. She wants to look edgy, and he respects the effort, but the lack of makeup puts her at odds with the now fading-out trend for the style she’s clearly emulating. 

It’s also a little at odds with the large, practical, and very green backpack, and the contents inside. The lipglosses were clear and a very light brown, and there was no eyeliner or nail polish in sight. The books weren’t what he’d expect from someone dressing like this either- The Hobbit is old and pretty far on the nerd-reading scale for someone not in school, even for Gus, and the other two books were some kind of sci-fi- The Murderbot Diaries, which would’ve worried him if Gus hadn’t read the first few pages while Shawn went through the extra pockets and realized the name was a sort of joke and the robot actually didn’t like to murder.

All of these thoughts and details run through Shawn’s mind in a couple of seconds at most, but the way the girl looks at him is almost like she knows what he’s thinking- or knows how he’s thinking. It’s something expectant, maybe even excited.

Then again, apparently she’s heard of him, so she’s probably just excited to see him ‘having a psychic episode’.“This is my partner, Baggins Screwloose.”

Her smile widens. “You went through my bag.”

“No, nothing like that-”

“You did, you saw my books, which means you saw my ID.” She leans forward. “Don’t call me that though, the name, call me Sid instead. If I have to be Isekai’d into one of my comfort shows, I want to be called by my online name. Just in case.”

“Uh, Shawn?” Gus whispers into Shawn’s ear from such a close proximity that literally anyone other than Gus would get slapped away for it on pure instinct. “I think she’s just crazy.”

Shawn gives a little nod, but doesn’t say anything. He turns back to… Sid. “So the ID isn’t your real one, then?”

“No, it is.”

“... You… realize it says you’re from the future.”

“Not your future, though. Well, maybe. I don’t know, the movies haven’t gone past 2019 yet- I mean the Monk movie did apparently so since it’s the same universe I guess the pandemic is canon to your future too but-”

“Let’s, slow down.” Shown puts his hands up and smiles at her. “Uh, movies? Comfort show? I mean I’m flattered, really, but uh, I’m no movie star.”

“Oh, yeah, getting ahead of myself. Sorry, I’m excited, and I’m a fellow ADHDer, ha.”

Shawn’s smile drops a little. How does she know- no, she probably guessed from some article describing him. He’s not exactly hiding it, after all.

“Okay so basically, I’m from a world where you guys are a TV show!” She says it so brightly, so confidently. Shawn’s almost certain she’s got brain damage now. “Called Psych, ran from 2006 to 2014, with three movies currently out and a fourth waiting to be started and hopefully many more after that!”

“Really?” Shawn looks at the glass, giving the detectives behind it a ‘You couldn’t have warned me about this?’ look before looking back at Sid. “So uh, this show is about me and Gus and our agency?”

“Yes, and Jules and Lassie too, and your dad shows up a lot- no offense but I fucking hate him.”

“M-my dad?” Shawn laughs. He’s not going through something like this again, not just a few months after Yang. “Alright, what’s the game here?”

“None! I can prove that you’re a TV show. I can tell you stuff that no-one, not even Yang or the world’s best detectives, could tell you about your past.” Sid grins like she hasn’t just said the most terrifying sentence in the world. 

“Shawn, we need to leave,” Gus says, already standing up. “Thank you for your time, Miss Delusional Woman, but-”

“The hat game.” Sid’s eyes are locked with Shawn’s. “I know about the hat game, and he wouldn’t let you get the cake unless you succeed at it. I know about the doghouse, the one he made you complete years later and then you gave him your neighbor’s dog just to ruffle his feathers for it. I know that you and Gus got into a fight over Battleship one time because you were cheating by not putting out any of your boats, so your stupid dad made you play with one less piece for a month. These were all cold-open flashbacks at the beginning of the episodes, a formula the show followed for years. A flashback to your childhood, usually involving Gus and always involving your dad and some lesson he wanted to teach you, and then the main plot which was somehow related! Like how in the one where you went to find the missing kid at the ComicCon type thing, the flashback was to how your dad was a total asshole about you wanting to read comic books and put you off them until adulthood-”

Shawn stands up, his chair scraping back, as Gus stares at the girl in unabashed terror. Shawn levels a finger at her. “You’re working with Yang, or-or you talked to my dad or my mom-”

“You totally gaslit George Takai in that episode,” she presses on, “And Jules said she also collects comics and stuff! And-and I know about Jules and Lassie too of course- OH! That bar! For the-the astrologist murder case! You met Lassie at that bar, and he said to you while drunk, and I quote, ‘You astound me.’ And then he denied it afterwards until the very end of the episode, and then you repeated it back to him!”

Shawn hears Lassie yelling for McNab and The Chief in the other room, but his head is spinning too much to care. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m from another world where you’re the main character of a TV show that I adore, and I don’t know how I got here. I-I’m not even in the right year- I’m guessing this is around 2009? It’s season four for sure, because to be frank that’s your hottest season and you’re smokin’ right now, but also that jacket-”

“Shawn, we need to go.” Gus pulls on his arm. “She’s crazy!”

Sid stands up. She’s as tall as both of them, slightly taller with her boots. “I’m telling the truth! I’m not a stalker, I’m not working with Yang, and I’m not going to hurt anyone! I promise, I’m telling the truth!”

She is, she is, the nervousness has disappeared and her voice is steady and she’s making direct eye contact and nothing about her says she’s lying and even more she’s saying things she’d have no possible way of knowing otherwise.

“Okay.” Shawn purses his mouth, and then looks at the one-way glass. He knows, just intuitively after looking, that Jules and Lassie are gone and no-one replaced them. It’s just him, Gus, and this girl. He puts his hands on the table and leans in close. “Okay. Answer one thing, and I’ll believe you.”

Sid nods. “Shoot. Not literally, though, please, I also know you’re like, literally a perfect shot.”

“... Am I psychic?”

She blinks, and tilts her head like she’s thinking deeply. “Well, no, if we go by spoken canon. You started claiming to be psychic because you called in a tip while hooking up with a girl, and then Lassie brought you in because he said the shop owner had a partner and they suspected you because of how good your information was, quote, ‘So good it could only come from inside,’ end quote. But when you tried to say you call in tips all the time Lassie listed your job history and the car theft, and refused to believe you, and was about to send you to a cell. Then the lady from the front desk walked in to book you, and she was decked out in spiritual stuff so you got the idea and solidified your claim by telling them about the guy with the tail light shards in his boot, which of course you actually met him while waiting to be interrogated and-”

“Oh my god.” Shawn stands up from leaning on the table and wipes his hand down his mouth. “Oh my god, Gus, she’s real.”

“What?!”

“That’s what happened, there’s no way she could know that’s what happened!”

“She could’ve been here when you got arrested!”

“What, in the interrogation room?!”

“He came to see you at work after,” Sid presses on, looking at Gus now. “He caught you playing games on your computer, and told you that you two were starting a private detective agency, and you told him you were never going along with him again, you learned that at the Mexican border- twice!”

Gus’s eyes go half-lidded, and he looks like he might faint. “Oh… my god! Oh my god!”

“When am I in the season, though? What was your last case? I gotta know, there’s stuff I want to make sure I avoid-”

“Uh, I think- our last case was-was Gus had this girlfriend who liked extreme-”

“Ah, the Ruby thing! Okay, so like, mid season four, which means… ah, shit, the outbreak episode. I already live in a gosh-damn global pandemic, I’m keeping my fucking distance when that happens, okay?”

“You live in- what?”

“Mr. Spencer, out of the way,” The Chief says as soon as the door opens, Lassiter and Jules right behind her. “We’re putting this Jane Doe into custody until-”

“No, Chief!” Shawn shakes his head. “No, she’s- well.” He looks at Sid, who smiles so earnestly at him. “She’s telling the truth.”

“Oh, come on, Spencer.” Lassiter walks further in with handcuffs. “You’ve jumped on some wacky trains before, but this is-”

“What do I have to say to convince you, Lassie?” Sid looks at Shawn. “I can say the interrogation thing again, just, you know, his parts.”

“What interroga-”

“When you first met Shawn and he claimed to be psychic, after you booked him for a… I think radio store robbery, that you thought he was involved in. You were chewing gum the whole time, and you futzed with your then romantic and force partner’s ponytail even while interrogating Shawn.”

Lassiter’s face goes from annoyed to enraged in a second. “How the hell do you-”

“You and Chief Vick were on the way to a conference thing when her water broke, and you asked her to move your briefcase because it’s leather and you hadn’t scotchguarded it! And then you put up your siren on your car!”

Chief Vick is dumbstruck for a moment, mouth agape. Sid turns to her unnervingly knowing gaze to Jules. “And-and you have a boyfriend you’re planning on meeting at a train station sometime soon, you guys agreed to meet up on a specific day and time, and he gave you a figurine from a set, and your brother is a secret operative who you had to arrest-”

“Shawn, who is she?” Jules takes a step back. “Is she psychic too?”

“No such thing,” Lassiter growls.

“I’m naming moments from a TV show,” she stresses. “And if you give me my phone I can even show you the show! Not-not the whole thing, because- I mean, well- I’ll show you clip compilations on YouTube! I’ll play the title song! I’ll show you the actor’s IMDB pages, Gus’s actor was on Broadway and drama shows and Lassie’s actor was in this great musical fantasy show called Galavant and Jules was in a Hallmark movie one time-”

“This is utter bull!” Lassie shoves Shawn away and goes to cuff Sid.

“You couldn’t keep up with Henry while the two of you were tracking Shawn after he got shot, and you said ‘It’s steroids, isn’t it? I knew it, you’re juicing aren’t you?’ right before you both came across the gas station-”

“You have the right to remain silent and I highly suggest you embrace it before you say anything even more incriminating-”

“None of you have ever seen Chief Vick’s husband! Shawn keeps a packet of Johnson and Johnson baby shampoo in his wallet! Lassie once brought a Wii over to Jule’s house for her nephew’s to play with and-and he put baby Jesus in a shot glass! Chief Vick has a sister and Shawn and Gus found out because her sister pulled their boat over and the two got into an argument!”

“SHUT-”

“DETECTIVE LASSITER!” 

Everything freezes.

Chief Vick, visibly shaken, holds her hand up. “Uncuff her.”

“Chief, she’s clearly unsta-!”

“Uncuff. Her.”

Lassiter shuts his mouth, and for a second it looks like he might not do it.

And then he looks down, and reluctantly removes the cuffs. 

“Alright, Miss Sid.” Chief Vick has a dangerous look in her eye. “You say you can prove it using your phone, fine. You have one chance to prove it to us. But if you can’t, you are going in the holding cells, and we will have you put in a psychiatric facility if you are lucky.”

Sid nods. “I promise, I won’t spill anymore secrets once everyone believes me.” She makes eye contact with Shawn again. “Especially important ones.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her phone is weird.

They’re all gathered in the interrogation room, Sid’s backpack on the table in front of them and her phone in her hands. She unlocks it using her thumbprint, and the apps on the screen are just… weird-looking. And her YouTube app is even weirder, just flooded with ads and weird video suggestions and truly looking like an app from another world.

She pulls up the searchbar and, quicker than anyone else in the room is capable of typing on a phone, types in Psych.

The very first suggested result is Psych Gus Running Away. She clicks on it.

A whole page of results that are, undeniably, the faces of the group around her come up. She clicks on the very first result, a short video marked as being uploaded 11 years prior, and it shows Gus, on the very first case he and Shawn worked for the SBPD, running out of the cabin they’d been investigating, screaming, as Chief Vick reacts.

“Bam!” Sid looks up, around at the whole group. “I can show more. Oh, like this one!”

She’s already gone back to the initial page, and she clicks on a video uploaded by a channel named Psych Compilations called Psych: Shawn vs Gus Running Compilation. The very first clip is of Shawn running into the Psych office during the Yang case.

“Stop.” Chief Vick puts her hand over the phone. “I don’t think any of us need to see any more.”

She looks a little ill. So does Gus, to a much more intense degree. Jules is completely speechless, and Lassiter looks angry as he realizes what and how much of his life has been viewed as entertainment by strangers in some other world. Shawn… is surprisingly unreadable. Staring at the phone, probably running a thousand different trains of thought all at once.

Sid looks between them all. “... Anyone want to hear the theme song?”

“No,” Gus says at the same time that Shawn says “Yes.”

“I’ll go with Shawn’s answer. Since he’s like, the main guy.”

“Like his ego needs any more inflating,” Lassiter grumbles, but it’s missing it’s usual bite as Sid pulls up a lyric video for what is, apparently, the theme song of their very lives.

In between the lines, there's a lot of obscurity.

I'm not inclined to resign to maturity.

If it's all right, then you're all wrong,

But why bounce around to the same damn song?

You'd rather run when you can’t crawl... 

She pauses the song. “Thoughts so far?”

“I got to admit, it’s pretty good.” Shawn looks at Gus, who still looks like he might pass out, but nods, still bopping a little. 

“Even your theme song says you're immature,” Lassiter notes.

“I’m proud of that, Lassie.”

I know, you know, that I'm not telling the truth.

I know, you know, they just don't have any proof.

Embrace the deception, learn how to bend,

Your worst inhibitions tend to PSYCH you out in the end! 

Sid pauses it again. Shawn laughs a little nervously.

“Not telling the truth that’s- I don’t lie about my investigations, guys, come on.”

“Really, Spencer? Because you were just agreeing with that theme song.”

“Who knows how different the TV show is from our lives, guys. And who says the-the theme song has anything to do with the show anyway? I mean, lots of shows have theme songs that are totally off the mark, like uh-”

“It says embrace the deception, guys,” Sid pipes up. “Embrace. Allow. Trust me, y’all need it.”

“What is that supposed to-”

“You know, Lassie. You know.”

“Chief-”

“Still can’t arrest her, Detective. … Yet.”

Sid shrugs. “This next part isn’t in the show at all, we only know it from live playings of the song- the creator of the show wrote and sang it with his own band!”

     In the realm of compliments, there isn't any higher than

A fabricated misdirection fashioned by a liar.

You think you hate all that you love,

Acting so surprised when it fits you like a glove. 

“Wow. This song is making you out to be a way better liar than you are.” Gus looks at Shawn. “Maybe the show isn’t that accurate.”

“I don’t know, early seasons Shawn was pretty snake-like,” Sid says casually. “I mean, in a good way.”

“A good way?” Jules looks at Shawn. “Shawn, why is this song all about you being a liar and manipulator?”

“I-” Shawn looks down at Sid. “What the hell are you trying to do to me, man? Turn everyone against me?!”

“Shawn isn’t a bad guy,” Sid assures. “He just… exaggerates a lot. You guys know that, I mean, has he ever even introduced Gus as his own name, or given an honest answer to a non-case-related question? No, because he’s eccentric, and a little unhinged. I should show you his reaction to Henry getting shot and almost dying.”

“Sorry to what? You’re-you’re joking, right?”

“Nope, it’s my favorite episode- even though by then you’re a complete idiot.”

“I- wh- I’m not an- you can’t just say things like that and move on-!”

“I can and I will, UNPAUSE!”

You want to find the answers then I offer a solution

Everyone has got a dose of healthy disillusion

If it's a game yeah, they wanna play

You better load the dice cause they'll do it anyway, but...

You'd rather run when you can't crawl... 

“Okay, Chief, this theme song is clearly alluding to Spencer lying about his ‘psychic abilities’, you can’t deny that.”

“No, no, Shawn is definitely psychic,” Sid says. “I can point to a lot of moments in the show that prove it. But he’s also a literal genius detective who will mix his psychic stuff with his actual deductions and pretend it’s just all psychic because it’s more fun that way.”

Vick, Lassiter, and Jules all look at Shawn. He laughs a little.

“She’s- no, trust me, it’s all psychic.”

Sid looks at Jules. “Remembering retracing Shawn’s steps when he got shot? And how he got a hundred percent on the detective’s exam at age fifteen? And the times he forgot to brush off deductions as minor psychic visions? He’s both! Genuinely!”

Jules looks at Shawn, her mouth hanging open a little bit. “Oh my god-”

“I think I hate you,” Shawn says to Sid.

“You hate that you’re smart because Henry tortured you for it. Own it, Shawn, own it now before it all goes away and you become a bumbling idiot who lucks into all your solves! Don’t become seasons six through eight Shawn, I’m begging you! God, you’re so fucking stupid in the later seasons, so stupid… and it’s already begun, the decline…”

“Whoa! Wha- one minute you’re praising me as a genius, the next you’re calling me an idiot?”

“You become an idiot later. God… season eight… I’m shuddering, look at me. The show is still absolutely hilarious and creative and wonderful, don’t get me wrong, but… your brain, it became mush…”

“Hang on, hilarious?” Lassiter glares at her. “Are you telling me… that the show we are in-” he gestures between him, Jules, and Chief Vick, “-is a comedy?”

“Yeah. Psych is a comedic crime show, heavy focus on the comedy.”

“We catch murderers.”

“There’s dramatic episodes and elements, yes. But it’s mostly a comedy.”

“We are serious police officers!”

“Yeah… lots of copaganda, unfortunately, and the 2000’s nature produces some questionable lines and plots, so the show for sure needs to have a critical eye applied to it at times… but mostly it’s fun!”

“Fun?!”

“I’d offer to show you an episode to prove it being a comedy but, well, for certain reasons I can’t do that. I can show clips of funny moments though! I have lots of compilations and specific moments and stuff I can show you, since my phone somehow has data and a connection to all the stuff from my world and time- should I show you Psych fanfic? No, probably not, I think that’d cause a lot of fighting. I can show you the clips though- oh, and cast interviews! And clips from Galavant and from the movies and-”

“Just finish the song!”

“Oh, yeah.”

I know, you know, that I'm not telling the truth.

I know, you know, they just don't have any proof.

Embrace the deception, learn how to bend,

Your worst inhibitions tend to PSYCH you out in the end. 

I know, you know.

I know, you know.

I know, you know.

I know, you know. 

The room is silent for a moment.

“Alright.” Chief Vick is the first to shake off the ordeal. “Well, we… we’ll arrange for somewhere for you to stays, Miss-”

“Obsidian if you’re using Miss, please. Sid otherwise.”

“... Miss Obsidian. Clearly, something… completely beyond us is happening here, and I think it’s in our best interest to keep a close eye on you.”

“Oh, absolutely. That’s usually how this sort of thing works.”

“... Right. I’ll be arranging for a watch at the place of residence we give you, and Mr. Spencer, I want you to find out what you can about this… reality… situation. It seems in your wheelhouse.”

“I uh… I’ll try, Chief.” Shawn is looking at Sid with some confusion. “On that note, could I speak with her alone for a second?”

“If you take her out of my office, absolutely. In fact, take her back to your office until I arrange her accommodations. She’s… well, she’s unsettling to have around the station.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn waits until they’re in the car to turn to Sid with an undeniable and uncharacteristic scowl. “What the hell was that with the theme song?! You said you wouldn’t get me caught!”

“I didn’t!”

“You told them I’m a genius detective!”

“You are!”

“And telling them you can show them proof he’s psychic was way too far,” Gus snaps. “If your show is real, all it’ll do is get us arrested!”

“I do have real psychic moments to show them! It’s actually a pretty popular fan theory, that Shawn is a real psychic and just unaware of it-”

“Oh my god.” Shawn stops facing her in the backseat, turning back around to look out the front windshield. “Now you’re being absurd.”

“I’ll show you the damn clips too! I’ll show everyone!”

“No! No, I am not learning about other realities and-and being a TV character and then also learning I’m a real psychic in the same day!”

“We can wait until tomorrow.”

“You! Are being completely insensitive and hostile about this whole thing!”

“It spiraled out of my control!”

“So far out of your control you have to call me an idiot?”

“Hey, you have the potential to become one if you aren’t careful! I’ll show you a damn season eight episode so you understand my panic, if I must!”

“No! No episodes, no theme songs, no clipshows! We’re taking you to our office, you’re sitting on our couch, and you’re going to let Gus and I figure out what the hell this all means while you just, sit there!”

“... Alright. That’s fair.”

“Yes, it is.”

“... But if Henry comes by I’m going to punch him without remorse.”

“... Not in his face.”

“Fine. His arm. I’m going to aim to bruise.”

Gus looks at her in the mirror. “How bad does the show portray him?”

“If I didn’t know it would drive Shawn into an unhinged state of revenge and sleepless obsession, I’d kill him with my own two hands.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah it’s not good.”

[anjelicawrites]

Raised by the wolves

Paring: Osferth x reader 

Summary: You should have mercy killed Osferth the moment you found him half dead in the snow, now you have feelings for him. This is going to be everyone’s problem.

Warnings: angst with porn and a happy ending. P in v sex, cunnilingus, a bit of overstimulation. Reader is an asshole. A bit of blasphemy  Canon compliant violence. NSFW and 18+ only.

A/N: reader is of nondescript height, but there are mentions of reader having to go on tip toes to level up to Osferth’s face.

A/N 2: I am so sorry this fic evolved into more than 7000 words long. It was supposed to be shorter.

You let the cold waterfall wash away the blood from your face and body. It's one of those days when you and your sister wolves are too jacked up to sit by the camp, the four of you still needing to take the edge off and the men are just too noisy to bear without risking you or your sister wolves attacking out of sheer annoyance. It's one of those days when you go hunting for the whole team with your bare hands and teeth, wearing the skin of your wolf mother, coming back to camp looking like the animal you are. It's one of those days when you think that you are stumbling in to too many Saxons, their eyes wide upon seeing you and the wolves, as if any of you would attack out of the blue; if you wanted anyone dead, you'd do it swiftly, without your victim actually seeing you, but humans are stupid. It's one of those days when you think if it's worth continuing being an associate of Uhtred, having to speak like a human, having to pretend you are one, just because you look like one. 

You hear the rustling coming from your right side, judging from how uninterested your sister wolves are, the reason for you sticking with Uthred had just arrived.

You turn around taking your time, knowing full well Osferth would try and be respectful, staring everywhere but your naked body. He calls your name, a name you thought you had forgotten; he is the only one who uses it, to everyone else you are "She Wolf", Sihtric sometimes uses the Danish equivalent, but the concept stands: Osferth is the only one who still believes you are human, tries to bring you back from your animalistic ways, while the whole world has accepted that you are, and always will be, more wolf than person. 

As you expected, Osferth's cheeks are tinted red, which you always find funny from a man who has fought many battles by your side and has tended your wounds more times than you can remember, he still burns red at the appearance of your naked skin, as if you don't look like any other person he has been with, and he has lain with many. The thought is a stab of jealousy in your guts and you swallow the bile of your rage. 

You let him approach you, his eyes on the terrain so that he wouldn't fall; your only act of mercy is removing yourself from under the waterfall. You don't go for your clothes, you don't talk to him as he explains that dinner is almost ready, you wait for him to stand in front of you, his baby blue eyes into yours.

“You’ll catch your death - he says, trying to cover his embarrassment, you just let out an annoyed whine - use your words” he says and you bark a laugh

“I’m absolutely fine, I’m never cold - Osferth valiantly keeps his eyes on your face and not on the way your nipples perk to the freezing air - you, on the other hand, look like you might need to cool down”.

You advance and Osferth retreats until his back is against the trunk of a tree, babbling something you don’t really care about, too focused on finally acting on what your body has been wanting for quite some time.

You put your hands on his chest piece for balance as you go on your tippy toes to kiss him, stopping just mere centimeters form his lovely lips, wanting him to initiate it; the way his eyes are hooded and his hands curl around your naked arms, have you thinking this is happening, you too will have your chance at sleeping with Osferth and maybe, just maybe, the desire you harbor for him will whiter and finally die. His eyes are closed and his lips almost on yours, when he pushes you away out of the blue and you let out a surprised growl that make your sister wolves stare towards the two of you

“I can’t - he says not looking into your eyes - I am sorry”

“Why?” you growl in anger as you sister wolves approach you and Osferth cautiously

“I can’t, not like this” he tries to explain but you are already too far gone

“You don’t seem to have a problem with anyone else” you growl dashing for your clothes.

Osferth tries to grab your arm but you turn around and almost bite his hand, his only saving grace are his fast reflexes. He stares at you with hurt in his eyes and that drives you crazy: how dare he look like you have mistreated him? You invade his space again, teeth bared and ears pinned, growling deep and dangerous in your throat; he raises his hands in surrender and says your name gently, like he’s trying to calm you, bring you back to the side of humanity. Your sister wolves whine in confusion at you attacking another member of their pack, you just signal them to come with you; Osferth has enough wits on him to not follow you, he just stares at your retreating back with sadness. 

This is not how this was supposed to unfold.

You sleep away from everyone. Osferth had put together your tent with love and care while you were hunting, near his and the fire, you notice while marching through the camp, as if you have ever needed his protection and haven’t spent the better part of your life sleeping out in the cold with the pack of wolves who have adopted you. As if you are one of the pathetic women he had bedded, barely capable of surviving into the wilderness. Anger burns through you like wildfire for the better part of the night, come morning it is clear to everybody and their horses that you have regressed back to where you were the first time they met you. You barely speak and keep to yourself, you pack your belongings with haste and ignore the whole group, especially Osferth who stares at you like a kicked puppy. Your sister wolves are agitated, picking on your anger, not understanding why you are acting the way you are towards the pack; they stare at you in confusion instead of standing proud as they usually do, their tails partially between their legs. You caress their big heads, conveying your love for them with your body language, but staring daggers at everybody else, especially Osferth. You have no beef with the other men, but the four of them come as a unit and if you are talking with everyone but the baby monk, they’d start asking questions you don’t want to answer. Better for everyone that you keep your distance.

As a group you are supposed to head back to Coccham directly but are sidetracked, as usual. When you traveled alone that had never happen to you, you just went goal after goal in your revenge, killing those who had annihilated your village; if you had met Uhtred earlier than you did, you’d probably still be trying to avenge your family, half mad from the Furies constantly screaming in your head. 

You ride last and you keep your distance from the men, actively avoiding their tries at engaging with you with short answers and long, cold stares. You don’t use your tent and tie your horse away from theirs, camping by yourself but close enough to know if they need your help. You do your job, you fight by their side but you don’t engage anymore; your sister wolves would stare at you incapable of understanding your ways and would shy away from the men, trying not to incur in your wrath. You feel Osferth’s eyes on you all the time: he tries repeatedly to talk to you but you just ignore him by simply moving from where you are to another place or by riding away from him. You offer yourself for scouting duty and refuse to have a partner with you, especially Osferth. The only times when you are close to him are during fights, where you can pour out all the rage and he can show you that he still cares about you even though you hate him now. The rare times he manages to approach you long enough to tell you that he needs to tell you something, you answer coldly that he doesn’t, you have heard him loud and clear at the waterfall, but you keep this latter part for yourself.

You have to admit that the man is nothing but persistent but you don’t understand why: he has already refused you, what does he want with you now? You have to admit to yourself that you don’t understand human interaction. Between wolves everything is simpler, if an offer is denied, the one refusing doesn’t run after the other with empty words, they just accept it and move on. You have offered yourself to him and he has said no, what of it now? It is not his friendship that you want and you don’t want his pity, not those sad stares full of feelings you don’t understand. If only you could hate him, if only removing those pesky human feelings were as easy as killing your enemies.

It’s when the temperature drops one night that you muse that you should have mercy killed Osferth when you had the chance, the moment you had discovered his huddled, feverish form in the snow. 

His skin was burning under your fingertips, his eyes were unfocused and he kept babbling in what you understood was the language of the Saxons. He had grabbed at your hands the moment you had come closer to him and you couldn’t find in your heart to slit his throat. Your sister wolves were less friendly with humans back then and they had growled at him, hungry and distrustful. He kept calling you an angel in his delirium and you made the decision to carry him to the closest farm you could find. He was heavier than you thought on your shoulder, as you walked towards the Saxon-Danish family you used to trade with. 

From what you could gauge of the relations between humans, Saxons and Danes weren’t on friendly terms, usually, which you found absurd: it had been a ragtag group of Saxons and Danes to come to your small village to pillage and kill everyone, setting your small houses on fire. You had barely managed to barely escape, a child of five lost in the snow and if it weren’t for your wolf mother, you would have died, but she had decided to take you into the small pack she formed with her pups, your sister wolves, instead of killing and eating you. The irony of you taking the same decision as your mother doesn’t escape you now and you wonder if she hadn’t ever regretted it the same way you do now. 

You had met Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric later, when they were desperately looking for their friend; having to work with them had been a necessity, you and them were after the same man, the last one still alive from the group of pillagers. You needed them because the man knew you were coming for him and had set up defenses you couldn’t destroy alone, they needed you because you were the only one who knew where he was hiding. Becoming their associate just happened; your vendetta was done, you were freed from that burden and the screams of the Furies didn’t resonate in your brain anymore and you were goalless. Continuing to live in the wilderness alone or follow Uthred as he tried to reach his destiny were the same to you. You wonder now if you had already wanted Osferth back then, if that was the reason you kept traveling and fighting with them, a reason unknown even to yourself; not that it is of any importance now, you know where the baby monk stands on the matter and you just know you had let yourself become more human than you ever were, and that has been a mistake you must rectify as soon as possible.

You are at least five days from Coccham and it’s raining, big, fat drops that make the terrain difficult to navigate and forces your group to stop for the night earlier than you have planned. You can hear the men talk from your perch, your sister wolves staring sadly to where camp is; they miss their pack, miss playing with Finan and cuddling with Osferth. They miss you being happy.

You hear Uhtred before you can see him. He looks wet and miserable but he still greets your sister wolves with the usual “girls”, and they shyly wag their tails, unsure of your reaction. You don’t let him speak and announce you are going to leave the group as soon as you return to Coccham and have managed to collect your belongings there. He looks surprised and hurt, a myriad of different emotions dancing on his face for a second, until he asks you why

“You all made me human and vulnerable, that’s not acceptable” you say, hoping your face doesn’t betray what you feel. You used to be unreadable to humans who are less used to the cryptic body language of the wolves that you commonly use.

“Osferth made you human and vulnerable - his deep voice booms between two thunders - does that scare you so, She Wolf?”.

On so many levels, you and him are similar: loyal to a fault and direct to the point of self harm. You growl at him, angry that he has seen right through you, Uhtred doesn’t flinch, he understands rage and pain and knows that you are not going to attack him for stating the simple truth. Slowly he reaches to you and puts one hand on your shoulder, his voice is sad when he tells you that you are free to go wherever you want, he doesn’t keep to himself that he thinks that you are making a mistake

“You camp with us - his hand curls around your shoulder when you try to say something - there’s still danger”

“You’d probably be the one needing help, not us” you say curtly

“Then come to let us be with them for the last few days - pointing at your sister wolves - you can brood in our company”.

You move your belongings to camp and signal your wolves that they can engage with the men, but you give them a wide berth. You see Osferth trying to move closer to you and Uhtred stopping him with a firm hand on his shoulder, the baby monk tries to say something but Uhtred shushes him. Osferth’s baby blues are pinned on you as you studiously ignore him. You can hear him mumbling something to Finan, his voice not loud enough for you to pick up what he is saying, despite your excellent hearing, but he looks sad, like a man who has used up all his possibilities and is left with ashes in his hands. Finan curls a strong arm on his shoulders and murmurs to him as your eyes meet Osferth’s; he is the first one to gaze away.

You sleep on the rough terrain, surrounded by your sister wolves; when you wake up in the morning, you notice a fur that’s not yours on your body. You swear inwardly: you and the wolves have gotten so used to Osferth that you hadn’t stirred in your sleep when he had approached you to make sure you weren’t cold. You wake Osferth by throwing the fur inside his tent and when he exits it confused, you hope he becomes angry, giving you the chance to punch him in the face, to hurt him like he had you. You see his fist clench and you prepare yourself for a fight but your sister wolves put themselves between the two of you, forcing you towards your horse and away from Osferth.

The tension that had been subtle since the waterfall, becomes strong between you and Osferth. You are both tense and the blond seems to have accepted that you don’t want to have anything to do with him but he seems incapable of not staring at you with longing. The other men are leaving the two of you alone, but you can’t seem to shake off the feeling that something is going on right where you can’t see it.

In two days you should be able to finally reach Coccham and you can physically feel yourself vibrating out of your skin with the need to leave and return to the wilderness, where you truly belong. Unfortunately the weather is so awful that you are forced to stop at an inn for the night. Long gone are the days when you and the wolves couldn’t physically enter a village, let alone sleep with so many people around you, opting to camp alone in the countryside. Those days when Osferth would come and check on you and would keep you company for a while, worried that you would freeze to death or would feel lonely. You and your sister wolves can, nowadays, manage the loud voices, the close proximity with so many people and being stared at like freaks. None of you like it, but you used to make due and adapted in order to not be a hindrance to your companions. 

Tonight you are forced to sleep in the only single room the inn offers, since the people sleeping in the communal one are scared of the wolves, as if your sisters would attack without a reason. Still, not having to deal with Osferth’s sad stare is not something you are missing; sad for what reason, if you come to think of it. He had talked shit and had gotten hit and sometimes you don’t get to say you are sorry to wash your conscience, sometimes you have to live with who you are.

A soft knock stirs you from your thoughts. You have partially undressed, wearing only a loose shirt, you open the door. Osferth is there, fist still raised, he stares at your face as if he had never seen it. You want to use his own astonishment against him and try to close the door. For the second time since the waterfall incident, you underestimate his reflexes and he manages to stop the heavy wood 

“May I come in?” polite as usual

“No” a low growl from you

“Please” and you hear the wolves whine, their tails wagging against the floor.

You let go of your side of the door and move closer to the hearth, Osferth bends his long back not to smash his forehead against the lintel and closes the door delicately. His eyes roam the room and go everywhere but on you: apparently he can only stare at you either from afar or when you are not staring at him, otherwise anything else is interesting for him, but your form. He waves at the wolves who go to him and start fishing for pets, which he gladly gives with a soft smile

“Make it snappy monk, I want to go to sleep” you say coldly.

His eyes focuses on yours and are full of hurt, again, as if you are the bad guy here

“We need to talk about the waterfall” he says, shoulders squared, jaw tight

“We don’t - you spat back - you made yourself awfully clear. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out” you turn your full attention to the fire

“If you are angry with me, I wasn’t as clear as you believe me to be” he stares at you with that strange mixture of shyness and courage that is Osferth in a nutshell.

You stalk towards him and he doesn’t flinch back when you get as close to him as you can without touching him, going on your tiptoes to level to his face as much as possible

“I understood you perfectly. I offered myself to you, you refused. What’s more to say?” you turn around and he closes his hand around your arm, forcing you to stay rooted on the spot. This time you don’t try to bite it

“I told you ‘not like this’” he has to bend his shoulders a bit to be face to face to you, his breath on your face

“You said ‘I can’t’, hoping to soften the blow with ‘I am sorry’, whatever came after that is unimportant” you say, venom dripping from every word

“It is not. If you had let me finish…”

“Not interested in your excuses then, not interested now”.

You see something shift in his eyes, a cold flame that is there only in battle or when he sees something that truly displeases him. Both his hands curl around your arms and he crashes his lips against yours. You stay still for a second and respond with a nasty bite on his lower lip, forcing him to let you go, blood dripping on his chin. His eyes stare at you accusatory

“You are an impossible woman” he spits out

“I am a wolf, monk, you better remember that”

“Don’t say ‘monk’ like that, like an insult” he says hurt

“Monk” you utter with as much disdain as you can muster, he straightens to his full height and marches towards you.

You let him advance and then you punch him right in the face, your fist clashing against his cheekbone. He stares at you with an unreadable face and you prepare yourself for a battle he’ll never be able to win

“You are the most impossible woman I have ever met”

You jump him, another punch landing somewhere on his face, pushing him backwards. You foot collides with his chestpiece and you push, forcing him to move not to fall on his ass, another punch which he half avoids and he is against the wall, your arm pressed against the front of his neck

“Give me one reason not to kill you, monk” you can hear the agitated whines of your sister wolves, the three of them unsure of what is happening

“I love you” you recoil as if he had kneed you in the stomach, putting as much space between your bodies that the small, cramped room permits you.

You see the wolves forcing themselves between the two of you, their big heads just turning from one side to the other, your ears ringing too much to hear what Osferth says to them to let him get to your frozen form. He doesn’t touch you, nor he calls your name, he lets the wolves curl around you, whining as you have reverted completely to non verbal and are just producing agitated sounds from the back of your throat, but he watches you like a hawk, ready to catch the moment your mind is clearer. He can see you coming back in your eyes, the way they focus somewhere near his kneeled from and how your hands caress the thick fur of the wolves with intent; only in this moment he calls your name, softly, careful not to spook you and you look at him. He has never seen your face this animated, most of the time he has to stare at you with focus to see the micro expression you sport, now it is almost like you have lost control of the muscles. You feel like you have lost control, but of your entire being, overwhelmed as you are by all those emotions you have been careful not to let up, smothering them with lust before and hate, after the waterfall incident. For the first time since your family has been slaughtered, you truly feel something that is not the basic emotions an animal would experience. You have lived following your survival instinct: eat, kill and fuck but never love, not in the way humans mean it and now that forgotten feeling is drowning you, destroying all those walls you have built in years. You should have known it was love since only with Osferth you were capable to remember your life before the destruction of your village: before saving the monk, you would only been able to hear the sounds of your family’s  slaughter and pain, after, memories as fragile as cobwebs, full of laughter and colors kept popping up every single time you had let Osferth closer to your heart. 

So, this is what love feels like. You are so scared.

Osferth calling your name is slowly registered by your ears in the thick fog of the blood rushing in your ears. He says it patiently, like he is offering you breadcrumbs to go back to your home. You blink repeatedly until you can feel your eyes focus on the thick furs you had already arranged on the bed, on his cross dangling from his neck, on his worried face

“Osferth?” you croak, incapable of saying anything else

“Are you feeling better?” 

“I am not sure”.

For the longest minutes your flight or fight response is screaming at you to leave.Fuck your belongings left in Coccham, you need out! You are barely held back by the more advanced parts of your brain that are trying to make sure you regain your control and don’t do something incredibly stupid, like lauching yourself out of the fucking window. Your sister wolves decide for you by lying down on your legs, effectively stopping any movement with their sheer weight. You let your trembling hands card through their thick furs as you try to reign in your thoughts and emotions. Osferth gives you the time you need, doesn’t try to touch or force you into a conversation until he is sure you are feeling better. He didn’t expect you to react the way you did; surprise he might have expected, even rage, but not the confusion and fear he can still see swirling on your face. If he had known you would have reacted this way, he wouldn’t have confessed his feelings in such a blunt way. He would have let you beat him into a pulp and then take his time to walk you through his explanation.

“If you truly love me - your voice breaks and you need a couple of tries before you can string the whole sentence together - why didn’t you lay with me?”

“Because I love you I didn’t want our first time to on a riverbend, out in the open”

“I don’t understand - and you really don’t, the intricacies of human interactions escape you most of the times - you slept with many women everywhere”

“I didn’t love those women. I just wanted a quick hump and they did the same, no feelings involved”

"I have slept with many men, none of them cared about where we humped" you deadpan and Osferth's ears turn pink, but his jaw tightens in jealousy 

"None of them loved you, then". 

You stare into his blue eyes, pensive. For you humping has always been a matter of releasing energy and fulfilling your desires. Whenever you wanted a man, you simply approached him, like you did Osferth, never thinking feelings could be involved. You start to understand why Osferth treated you the way he did, like the good man he is. 

"I have been horrible to you"

"A bit - he sasses back - I never thought I would hurt you though. That was never my intention, I swear to you"

"You are an honorable man" you caress his face and he revels in the contact, rubbing his cheek against your coarse palm, eyes closed. 

"Is it true that wolves mate for life?" he asks you with dreamy eyes; he has missed your touch so much

"Yes, they mostly do. My wolf mother lost her mate and never took another, she raised us alone. Many males came, trying to kill us pups to start a new pack with her, none of them survived the feat". 

Osferth listens to you almost drunk on your words and attention

"You never took a companion for yourself"

"I've never found one, until now" his eyes focus on yours 

"Forever?"

"The 'forever' of the wolves is not the same of humans'"

"I know. I want that though. I loathed living away from you the way we did". 

Slowly, giving you the possibility to retreat, he cups your cheeks with his big hands and moves his face closer to yours. Before closing your eyes, you see the droplets of congealed blood on his chin he hasn't managed to clean and your bite marks on his lower lip. Off handedly you think that he'll sport a big bruise there and that you need to be gentle with him now. 

When your lips collide, it feels like everything askew in your life is now in the right place. Your hands go to his short hairs to keep him against you while you taste him gently, trying not to let the bloodlust possess you. Gingerly he opens his mouth and your tongue slips in, slowly caressing his and he moans, his right hand curling in your hairs as his left grabs your hips to move your whole body flush against his. When your lips separate he stares at you with a dazed expression, his hand absentmindedly caressing your hip. Slowly you take his hand to kiss his palm and then you remove your shirt, undressing yourself in front of his eyes. He takes a breath as if he has never seen you naked, but it is different now, you are not a fellow warrior, you are the woman he loves. All your scars, the old healed chilblain and your stretch marks, are all his now no worship and kiss with the reverence a priest uses to kiss the altar. Your hands go to his chest piece and start removing it, he helps you with trembling hands until he is gloriously naked and hard in front of you. You stare at his erect cock, he is bigger and longer than any lover you ever had and your mouth waters at the thought of fitting him inside of yourself; he stares at you cocky, his eyes roaming your body and he can't keep his hands to himself. On their own accord his palms mold themselves around your breasts, one thumb worrying the scar near your right nipple, the other plays with the other and you keen. Your lips find his as your hand grabs his manhood, barely managing to curl around it and he moans in the kiss, as you start jacking him with a purpose. He has to stop you, his words slurred by the pleasure as he begs you 

"If you keep this up I won't be able to control myself"

"Maybe I want you to come all over my hand" he growls in response and kisses you again, brutal and mindless of the injury on his lower lip

"I want to be buried deep inside of you the first time - his hand stops yours and forces you to release his cock - I need you" and your name follows as if he is in pain, eyes shut to maintain a sliver of control on himself. 

You peck his nose and then lie on the bed, legs spread to show him your glistening slit, your fingers opening your lips so that he can see better how wet you are for him. You moan like a bitch in heath, begging him without words and he has to cup his balls or he’ll come untouched.

Osferth stalks between your spread legs like a predator, his eyes fixed on you weeping center; if he’d needed you less, he’d be able to focus enough to eat you until you come all over his face, but that must wait, he wants to feel your cunt around his cock, he needs this first orgasm to focus better on how he’ll make you scream until this whole fucking inn knows you are his.

Feigning a calm he doesn’t feel, Osferth grabs his cock and slowly moves it up and down you slit to collect your wetness, his supporting arm trembles as he forces himself to go slow and not answer the siren call of pleasure, he needs to be well lubricated or he’ll hurt you but you are calling his name and are moaning, your legs fitting perfectly around his trim hips as you adjust your position to receive him and he can’t take it anymore; he lines himself with you cunt and sinks in slowly.

Heaven. He is dead and is now in Heaven, otherwise, how could he explain how you feel around his cock? The fit is perfect as he slowly enters you, trying desperately to keep his wits to himself, but he can only utter praises and moans until he bottoms out and you curl your legs around his waist, heels digging against his lower back to keep him in place. A part of him is screaming to move, to take his pleasure raw, another is fighting desperately to stay in control and he kisses you with desperation, needing a tether. You are in no better shape than he is, you feel like he is cutting you open by his girth; you haven’t lain with a man for so long and your fingers are absolutely ridiculous in size compared to his manhood. By the time he bottoms out, you are sure you can feel him in your throat, his lips on yours provide you with enough distraction for your body to take control and you start grinding your hips against his. Osferth moans in the kiss and starts moving, small thrusts at first which evolve into longer, deeper movements the moment he feels your body getting in sync with his, until he is fucking you with fast, brutal movements that make the bed slam against the wall. He kisses any part of you he can find as his hands fist on the cheap sheet under your bodies, your nails scratch down his back, leaving marks and you don’t care for, your focus centered on his cock massaging against that spongy part of yourself that makes you see stars. Every retreat, followed by a push sends you closer to your orgasm and you come with a scream when he fingers your clit mercilessly. He follows you down the precipice with a howl and loses any strength he has and collapses on you, his head under your chin as you caress his back with shaking fingers. 

The moment he manages to come back to himself, he turns to free you from his weight and his spent cock from your pussy and you feel his spent leaking out from you. You turn to stare at him and you see blood on his lower lip, your kisses have reopened his wounds; you try to stand up to collect some clean rags, but he is faster and tells you to stay where you are. He grabs the clean bandages from one of your satchels and your still full canteen to clean the mess between your legs, only after he is happy with the result, he lets you inspect and clean his lower lip. He winches a bit when you dab the wounds and you curse at yourself for having bit him this deep. You want to say that you are sorry but his hands start wandering again on your skin until he has both your breasts in his large hands and he is hard again. With a sheepish smile he guides you on your back, asking you to let him take care of you

"You already did*

"Not the way I should, not the way you deserve". 

He kisses you again, slowly, taking his time in truly tasting you, minding his lip and the bruises on his face. He moans and grounds his hips against you when your hands go into his short hairs and you pull gently on his strands. His lips follow a path down your body only he knows, kissing and sucking, leaving small marks of ownership on your skin, until he is between your legs. With delicate fingers he spreads your lips open as you tell him that he doesn’t have to, his eyes are ablaze as he stares at you, murmuring a curt

“I want to” before starting devouring your pussy like a desperate man.

His tongue feels like it’s everywhere, your leaking hole, your needy clit, his hands two manacles on your hips as he keeps you still, at his mercy. Your hands fly into his hairs on they own accord, pulling desperately as his tongue breaches you and starts fucking your hole. You try to wriggle away, but there’s nowhere to go, only the pleasure he is subjugating you to. You try to beg but only long, keening sounds of pleasure leave your lips as one of his arms presses horizontally on your lower belly to keep your hips from bucking while he thrusts two fingers inside of you, curling them in a way that makes you trash, fighting him uselessly. Your whimpers turn into full screams when his lips start sucking your clit with fervor, two fingers becoming three and hitting you in that special spot until you come all over his face; you start begging when the assault on your pussy doesn’t stop, just slows down, his fingers still moving inside of you. He has mercy on your clit and start kissing the inside of your thighs until you are coherent enough to produce a sound akin to a question; Osferth’s blue eyes burn with something you know you want to explore once you are safe home, as they stare at your 

“I should make you come on my face as many times as the days you ignored me, but come tomorrow my face would be still buried in your cunt, and I want to finish inside of you again. Now be good and come for me”.

You don’t have the time to say anything ‘cause his lips are on your clit again, sucking cruelly and his fingers are breaching you with intent. You are not sure when your orgasm hits you, too lost in the pleasure Osferth is giving you, you only know that he is calling your name and that your eyes are closed and your eyelids feel impossibly heavy to open. His rough palm caress your cheek until you can stare at him

“Hey” he says with a smile, as if his cock is not painfully hard and his chin is not wet with your spent

“Osferth?” you croak, throat dry from screaming your pleasure to the Gods.

You can feel him maneuvering your spent body into a sitting position so that he can put the canteen on your lips to help you drink the cold water. By the time you are finished, almost all the water is gone and your head feels a bit more clear. Osferth is sitting partially behind you, your back against his bent leg for support, his worried face the first thing you see when you open your eyes again. Without even thinking, your hand finds his still erect cock and he moans when your rough palm curls around the heated skin

“You said you’ll come inside of me again” 

“You passed out” you can see the guilt in his eyes, the fear of having used you too hard strong in his heart

“It means you did your job, monk - this time the moniker doesn’t cut inside of him like a dagger - I really wish to ride you, but my legs can’t support me now. Lay me down and make good on what you said”

“Always bossy” he laughs as he helps you on your back again

“I am a wolf, Osferth, we make the rules”.

The only reason Osferth doesn’t laugh again, is his aching cock: he needs to be buried in you and this time he wants to go slow, wants to feel every inch of you and needs to be mindful of your body as well. He has let his instinct take control and you have lost consciousness for a couple of seconds, scaring him shitless. He doesn’t want to hurt you, not without you frankly asking him to.

Your soft moans are the temptation he can’t and doesn’t want to fight: he is too much of a man to say no, the saints in the stories when tempted by the Devil were able to say no, he doesn’t want to. He has desired you for so long, keeping his want for himself in fear of ruining your friendship and now he can’t help himself but cherish your body, hoping you would accept him in your bed again and again for the rest of your lives.

It feels like his cock has a mind of his own, straining for your glistening opening as he positions himself over you, helping your legs around his hips, sheathing himself in your heath while kissing you gently. He moves slowly this time, savoring your moans and the taste of your skin on his tongue, sighing every time your fingers scratch down his back. 

The gentleness of his movements drives you crazy, you can feel each and every agonizing inch of his cock spearing you open again and again, his wandering lips and tongue on your neck and chest amplifying your sensations to the point of madness. You move your hips faster but Osferth uses his strength to keep the pace slow and intense, his sweaty chest over yours, his forehead against yours, careful not to miss every expression on your face. Your torso arches under his and your feet push him even deeper in you and you moan when you hear him say your name like a prayer; without your control your muscles squeeze his cock and he loses the battle at going slow, his hips jackhammering inside of you, lips feverishly seeking yours until you come, taking him with you.

The two of you need more time to go back to your senses, brains fried by too much pleasure, bodies still entwined, basking in the feel of the other’s skin and warmth. You keen when Osferth stands up on shaky legs to retrieve more rags to clean you and himself, he almost falls when the wolves uncurl from near the hearth to get closer to him, wanting to be petted right this moment. You whistle and your sisters come to your side of the bed, waiting for your command to jump in with you; you wait until you and Osferth are under the furs to give them the command to jump in with you and the three of them just lay on your bodies, big heads trying to burrow between yours and Osferth’s

“I think the others played us - Osferth says, at your sound of curiosity he adds - they were conspiratorial the moment Uhtred told us you were going to leave. Uhtred was adamant we took this road home instead of the faster one”

“There’s no inn there”

“Exactly. I wanted this to happen at home. I was going to talk to you before you’d leave but they forced me to come the moment you entered the room”

“Uhtred always the great strategist - you curl even closer to Osferth, you head on his shoulder - remind me to punch him in the face. He is going to be so damn pleased with himself come the morrow”

“Are you still going to leave?” he asks without breathing, afraid of your answer

“Do you want me to?”

“No!” he knows he has said it way too fast

“Then I won’t. I am not angry with you anymore”

“Come and live with me. Permanently”. Be my wife”.

His request leaves you speechless, for a moment you can only hear the rush of your own blood in your ears

“I was going to ask you in Coccham but now is the right time. Stay by my side. I know I am a simple man who can only offer you the forever of the humans, but I truly want this. I want to keep doing what we do with my wife by my side, keeping me safe”.

Then again the intricacies of human emotions escape you, but you don’t care. Your wolf instincts are screaming at you to grab this man and never let him go, to protect him until you have a breath to breathe. How could you fathom a life without him after the days you have spent away from him have been so miserable? You throw your arms around his neck, the only yes he needs.

The morning after your friends start boasting the moment they see Osferth coming down from the stairs; their loud voices lowering after seeing the state of his face and peaking up again at the sight of your entwined hands and Osferth’s reddened ears. Uhtred looks indeed like the cat who got the cream and you don’t punch him just because you are in a good mood and because your new ring might get tarnished. Finan is the first one to notice it and starts harassing Osferth to be his best man while your wolves just try to get all the attention and the pets they can get from the men. The pack is finally reunited, ready to go back home.

[firstelevens]

sambucky (bake off AU mayhaps?? 👀) + “bloom” 🪷

“Okay, but why did bodyslamming the dough seem like a good idea?”

Sam scowls at the phone. “I didn’t bodyslam the dough, Bucky. I just applied extra pressure so it would roll out.”

“You threw your entire body weight behind that rolling pin and fucked up your neck and shoulder, Sam; I think that’s a little more than extra pressure.”

“I had to get five dozen danishes shaped, what was I supposed to do?”

“You could have waited literally any amount of time for the dough to warm up.”

There’s no video on the call, but Sam can perfectly picture the look on Bucky’s face anyway, frustration mingled with fondness, and he would call the feeling that blooms in his chest homesickness if he wasn’t already smack in the middle of Delacroix.

“Put Alpine on,” he says, instead of I miss you or thank you for worrying about me. “She’s much more sympathetic than you are.”

“Can’t,” says Bucky. “She’s at my parents’ place.”

“And where are you, exactly? You left her all alone?”

Bucky snorts. “I dropped her off a while ago. She’s busy hanging out with my parents while they set up for the party; I just needed to make a quick stop.”

That, at least, explains why Sam thought he heard a GPS earlier in the call. The neighborhood that Bucky’s parents live in might as well be a labyrinth, and for all George and Winnie’s well-intentioned directions, one visit was enough to put Sam firmly on Bucky’s side of the ‘this is why no one should live in New Jersey’ debate. 

(Not that Bucky ever needs to know that. During his last visit to the city, Sam had shamelessly baited Bucky by praising a bagel spot in New Brunswick, and the resulting angry makeout session had absolutely been worth listening to Bucky’s rant about the superiority of New York tap water.)

Sam doesn’t realize that he’s gone silent until Bucky’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “I didn’t interrupt you setting up at the truck, did I? Tell me you’re not there right now.”

“You’re worse than my Mama, you know that?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” says Bucky, and it’s actually stupid, the way a corny line like that makes Sam’s heart stutter.

“I’m not at the truck,” says Sam. “Freddie said he could cover the lunch rush, and Naya has practice after school today, so we’ll just close things up early.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. I know you were looking forward to seeing everyone before tonight.”

He sighs. “It’s fine; I’m just glad we didn’t have to shut down completely. I should’ve been more careful.”

“You think I could have that last thing in writing? Get it notarized, maybe?”

It’s very obviously a ploy to make Sam laugh, but it works anyway. “Shut up, Barnes. I’m always careful.”

“Oh, did you get rid of Redwing and just forget to tell me? That tiny little plane that you flew during a storm the other day, because you live to stress me out?”

“I live for other things; raising your heart rate is just a bonus.”

Bucky snorts. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” says Sam. He starts to ask something else, but cuts himself off as the doorbell rings.

“Sam Wilson,” Bucky says, faux-scandalized, “did you just call me to kill time while you were waiting for company to arrive?”

“Not this time,” says Sam, as he pushes away from his desk. “I’m not even expecting anyone; Sarah and Freddie already took the truck.”

“Maybe they forgot something.”

“I think I’d have noticed eight batches of croissants lying around.”

“Maybe they just really wanted to see you again.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s that one,” laughs Sam. “Hang on a second, let me just see who it is.”

He’s still got the phone pressed to his ear as he pulls the door open, which is maybe why he’s so confused to find his boyfriend standing on his porch and not a thousand miles away in New Jersey.

“Like I said,” Bucky says, grinning crookedly at Sam, “I just wanted to see you again.”

[envythemouse]

All-time Hannibal extended universe recs

Will/Nigel from Charlie Countryman

Heart of Spades by WaffleBunny13

Summary: Will pauses when he sees the face of the man in front of him then the cup of coffee slips from his hand.

“N-Nigel?”

Hannibal's neck nearly snaps to look at Will with a frown on his face then the doppelganger, Nigel, steps forward to Will with a smirk on his face and his hands casually resting in his pockets.

“Hello, gorgeous”

Envy’s notes: Nigel and Hannibal are not related. Nigel shows up at a crime scene. Everyone thinks he’s Hannibal. Then Will and Hannibal arrive, Hannibal finds out his look-alike is Will’s ex from the time he was on a scholarship in Romania.

Unconventional Therapy by DarkmoonSigel, sku7314977

Summary: Upon noticing that Will has been having some difficulty separating his mind from the monsters he’s made to chase, Hannibal makes a rather unexpected suggestion for some uncommon therapy to help the empath unwind.

Envy’s notes: Hannibal suggests sex as a form of therapy thinking he could finally get close to Will. Will instead goes out and stumbles upon Hannibal’s brother Nigel, they proceed to fuck in Hannibal’s house which makes for an awkward morning after.

Behave by sourweather

Summary: Nigel and Hannibal are sharing their Omega. Taking Turns, so to speak. Today, Nigel is to accompany Will to a crime scene. Will isn't looking forward to it. He loves Nigel, but he doesn't exactly play well with others.

He's proven right to worry when Nigel makes a less than perfect first impression on Jack Crawford.

Envy’s notes: Protective!Nigel. Nigel defends Will from Jack the way I always wished Hannibal would have done in canon.

"Two women are dead," Jack says, growl distorting his usual voice.

"And Will is alive!" Nigel snarls in response. "You'd think keeping him that way might be more important to you, but here you are running him into the fuckin' ground."

Will/Clifford from Death Stranding

The Beauty of the Rain by EarthsickWithoutYou

Summary: Part one of my Deathgram AU -- in which Hannibal discovers that Will has taken a lover who resembles him strikingly, an ex from his past in New Orleans. A man named Clifford Unger who bears the weight of the world on his shoulders, riddled with self-doubt, regret, trauma and grief. But he considers it his mission in life beyond all else to cherish and protect Will Graham, the light of his life, his redeeming soulmate.

Now that he has Will back in his arms, Cliff won't let anyone hurt his boy, even a clever, scheming, crazy-shocked-jealous therapist/cannibal who has been playing with fire and may now pay the price.

Envy’s notes: Hannibal comes over unannounced and discovers Will has Clifford as his lover. Clifford finds out about Will being sick lately so he takes him straight to the hospital and later gets revenge on Hannibal because there’s no way the former doctor didn’t know about Will’s sickness.

Will/Lucas from Jagten|The Hunt

Organ by CarnivalMirai

Summary: A week after the funeral, Lucas gets a parcel from one W. Graham. At first, he thinks it’s a wrong delivery. But the parcel is addressed directly to him. So curiously, he opens it.

Inside the box is another box. This time, in the shape of a small house or kennel— it’s a build-a-bear bear. He pulls the box out to see a card slipped in the box, again, addressed to Lucas. So he opens it.

Dear Lucas, I’m sorry for the loss of your son. He saved my life. I thought maybe you’d enjoy his heart beat. I hope you enjoy the bear. Kindly yours, Will Graham

Envy’s notes: Very interesting concept, imagine falling in love with a man who carries your son’s heart. No Hannigram, though Hannibal is one of Will’s doctors.

Sanctuary by Astromeda, tinypurpleghost

Summary: In the aftermath of a plunge that claimed one monster but spared another, Will Graham seeks refuge in a small Danish town. There, he meets Lucas, a kindergarten teacher with a heart of gold, and the spark between them is immediate and undeniable. When Lucas is falsely accused of a heinous crime, the monster inside Will yearns for blood. Even as Will tries to support Lucas in the way he needs, he realizes that he will stop at nothing to protect what’s his.

Envy’s notes: A post-fall fic where Hannibal dies and Will survives. He moves to Denmark and falls in love with Lucas pre-movie. Then canon happens except Will will do anything to protect the man he loves (and their dogs). Will is still in contact with Jack and there’s a man in town who knows of Will’s past. Lucas eventually finds out and accepts Will’s darker side.

Prince Charmont/One Eye (Ella Enchanted|Valhalla Rising)

Perfect Stranger by victorine

Summary: Char doesn't know Frank. Frank doesn't know Char. So how the hell did they wind up hugging in the middle of a park at midnight on Valentine's Day? And what will Char do when he realises it's not actually his best friend Ella rubbing soothing circles into his back?

Envy’s notes: Prince Charming is upset and a stranger (though he doesn’t know it’s a stranger) comforts him.  Oh and it’s Valentine’s day.

Just look at his smile. ⬆ How can you not like that? Lucas is adorable. I only wish I could see the movie without having to pay extra for it, damn it Amazon.

Nigel makes smoking and cussing look attractive somehow.

@principesorosado

[tonariofjananda]

For the ask game: Tonari - 5, 7, and 12!

Heya Ray! Ok here goes

5) What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

Honestly I’ve got a handful, most for maybe a line or two of association, but the first one that came to mind when reading this question that’s completely hers in my head was “The Moon Will Sing” by the Crane Wives. I love imagining the song as her reflecting on her dad, friends, Hayase, and Fushi, and how they’ve all contributed to the way she feels about herself and her legacy. Fun fact, the association came about from my mishearing of a line as “I shine only with the life you gave me,” the original word being “light” instead of “life.” But the more I reflected on the song, the more I felt her presence in it (I described this to my best friend as Tonari clawing her way to the surface lol), especially in the third verse. That one in particular draws a really vivid image to me of what Tonari’s headspace must have been right after Fushi pulled her away from the flames. I imagine she’s remorseful that she couldn’t give her friends a better life and is rallying to find her courage to kill them before Fushi steps in. “Instead you hoarded all that’s left of me” is a complicated little line too, filled with the bitterness and confusion at Fushi of keeping her from death. There’s not much left of her with the death of her friends, what Fushi did was selfish, but also implies Tonari didn’t realize Fushi cared if she lived or died. Then he takes the sword from her hands, “swallowing your doubt,” and she’s… grateful, angry, upset… but most of all, she acknowledges the mutual hesitance between herself and Fushi, even though they both know this is the only course of action. Even though it makes her feel like he’s taking the sword through her own body. He might as well be. The line “I want to feel the fire that you kept from me” is the most straightforward in my opinion, and what really solidified this song as being hers for me. It’s a little funny what I’ve done here tbh. The song probably meant the line as “i want to become the person you stopped me from being, I want to regain the life that was supposed to be mine,” but for this Tonari interpretation, I’ve given it the opposite implication… cough

Anyway, the chorus also kind of ties in with another song I somewhat associate with her, “Your Best American Girl” by Mitski, for the lines “Well I’m not the moon/I’m not even a star,” but I’ll spare you the analysis for that and “Goodbye My Danish Sweetheart” (also by Mitski) til… later 👀❗️

For now, I’ll leave you with the three following, lighter songs: Laufey called “Best Friend,” which I listen to as something directed towards the immortal army as a whole; “Wings,” by So!YoON! and Phum Viphruit as a song between her and Ligard and Fushi woah who said that; and “A Thousand Years” by Christina Perri bc immortalism and the heartbreak of waiting to reunite with someone. Also please imagine the second verse as being from Fushi’s perspective on getting not just her but all of their friends back at the end of the past era arc with potentially rough implications for their thought process in the modern arc WHO SAID THAT

7) What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you like?

(Lyn asked me this too so I’ll cover it here for the two of ya!)

Tbh… I just like it when anyone talks about her ówò Tonari tends to get overlooked- even tho I’d argue she’s something of a deuteragonist- so I really just love whenever people acknowledge her importance to the story and show some enthusiasm for her plotlines. In terms of stories and fan art, it’s always awesome to see all the different sides of her shine through! Tonari’s badass, bitchy, and a little judgmental, but she’s also fashionable, studious, and warm, especially toward March and Eko. It’s also nice to see the occasional silliness she used to show on Jananda shine through every now and then. She’s changed a lot by the next arc, for obvious reasons, but she was pretty silly to Hisame when she was inviting herself to dinner, I don’t think all that playfulness should just disappear! So it’s nice to see fans playing with Tonari without vilifying her ;w; Also without reducing her to her feelings for Fushi, because yeah she has some but that’s not the only thing she’s about (even tho…. I fixate a lot… on that particular subject……… cough). While I’m on the subject, I really love that most ToFu art is limited to things like gentle physical affection. A head on a shoulder (I spent hours running around my house when you sent me that pic Ray, HOURS), a meaningful hug, and touching hands- an absolute must if you like em. I’m definitely getting carried away now though…

12) What's a headcanon you have for this character?

(Limit yourself, limit yourself, limit yourself…!!!)

(Also Coop if you’re reading this, the green one is the only safe one lol)

Bisexual Tonari is an obvious one, I’m convinced she was attracted to Parona’s form (who isn’t in this show tho lmao), and I find those ship posts between Tonari and Mizuha to be so fun tbh. Enemies to lovers maybe, invited to hold hands with her and Hanna! That theory you had about Nagisa having a crush on Tonari lives in my head rent free too, absolutely canon to me. Actually the MizuNariHanna stuff would be extra funny in a world where Nagisa has a crush on Tonari bc now Mizuha’s a girl stealer too! Nagisa just can’t win!!!

Tonari loves writing! And she’s a woman in STEM! Not a headcanon just fact but it lays down the groundwork for my following headcanon: she probably went away to grad school or something. Bon asked if Tonari knew how to do surgery, implying to my insane head that she’s probably gone away for school or something, maybe even received a doctorate, but Bon doesn’t know what for. Her stitches look a bit spaced out and wonky tbh, so she probably doesn’t have the patience for things like needlepoint. I’d wager her calling probably isn’t physical art either haha.

She absolutely goes drinking with the immortal trio + Bon and maybe Gugu once she’s old enough to do so (… would Hairo drink? Designated driver Hairo Rich, but also it’d be so funny if he’s completely normal in the stupidest way while drunk. “Stands like perfectly normal but topples over the second he goes to take a step” typa drunk- BUT THIS ISNT ABOUT HIM SORRY). I think they’d love having Tonari around to pal around with! I imagine that old Jananda arc silliness comes out full force then, if her excitement at Mizuha’s birthday was anything to go off ✌️

(This one’s safe Coop!) Her hair’s been short and choppy since before she got to Jananda so I like to think she did that little kid thing where she tried cutting her own hair and it came out looking uneven. Instead of letting her parents fix it though, she just insisted it wasn’t a mistake and wore it out like that for years. Then when she got to Jananda all the scissors sucked so she just had to keep cutting her hair in the same shabby way. Mia and Oopa having long hair is so funny to me too cuz I imagine they wouldn’t let Tonari get anywhere near them with scissors in her hand (OK stop reading here Coop!)

While I’m here, i think Tonari probably sees a little bit of her old friends in the immortal army tbh. Like, @/alphaofdarkness made the connection that March probably reminded Tonari of Oopa ;; So I feel like Gugu could remind Tonari of Uroy in some ways too, like in the buff, blond, older brother figure kind of way. Eko could remind her of young Sandel in the same way both were kind of upbeat and cute, but quiet in a way that they faded a little in the group (my brother INSISTED Sandel had NOT been there the entire time we were watching the Jananda arc). Meanwhile Messar might remind her of the older Sandel, the kind who probably was more like a brotherly shithead to her after all their years of growing up together. And Mia… imma be honest Mia’s weird as hell, chair fighting, curly hair collecting? Ain’t nobody doing it like Mia 🫡 ACTUALLY ITS BON, BON TOTALLY REMINDS HER OF MIA LMAO

OK IM ENDING IT THERE (Believe it or not this is me limiting myself, I’d typed out an entire section on Tonari’s relationship with each of the members of the immortal army). Hope these were decent enough responses to your questions Ray!

If you- or anyone- has anymore questions on Tonari or literally anyone else please feel free to send them! I have thoughts on like literally everyone, no character too obscure ✌️

[yourbelgianthings]

our last night

a short (about 3 pages) oksamber fic by me! no content warnings, i would say it’s angst though

When the shoreside community first moved under the water, to make their permanent home in the Ethersea, the first several days were a liminal space. All that anyone had ever known was gone, but they had only the smallest beginning of a new home, and no idea of what was to come. They paused in the time between to comfort each other, to be with their grief, before they had to continue on with the task of constructing their new life. People mostly stayed on the Biggest Baby in the early days, but they did their best to find their own space within the large communal home. In any case, it was better than the shithouses on the beach at least. Amber and Oksana had found their own corner of the ship, somewhere dark and quiet with just each other. Who else would there be? They were all each other had, the only remnant of the world before and the only constant going forward into this one. One morning after a few days, Oksana was already gone by the time Amber woke up, which was out of the ordinary, and Amber didn’t usually wake up late. She wasn’t too worried though, as she would say, they were both big girls and could take care of themselves, so she went to the communal kitchen area to get some coffee (black for Oksana, with a splash of milk and a couple sugars for herself, but she didn’t let anyone else see that) and a couple danishes. When she returned, their little area was still empty. Even though it was the morning, not a lot of light reached it, and the dark did not comfort Amber right now. She was used to hanging out in dark places, but when you’re still coming to terms with the fact that you’ll never properly see the sun again, it’s much more uneasy. Amber slid down the wall, slumping onto a pillow and letting her head rest on her knees. Things weren’t what she was used to, and she couldn’t operate in her normal way. If you’re someone who pretty much just lives in the present and doesn’t usually think very far ahead, that’s not going to feel very good when the present is suddenly unknown and uncertain. You’re still present, but maybe you don’t want to be anymore. Involuntarily, teardrops rolled down her face, slowly at first but then a river, and her shoulders trembled as she sobbed silently. Even alone, Amber wouldn’t want anyone to hear her cry. When she heard Oksana’s footsteps at the end of the hallway, she quickly dried her face with her bandanna and tried to act like nothing had happened. Even though she had quite clearly been crying, Oksana gracefully ignored this fact, although she did put her arm around Amber as she sat down.

“Hey bubba, where were you?” asked Amber as she handed over the other danish and mug of coffee.

“A meeting...” Oksana trailed off as if there was more detail to be given about this but she did not offer it. She was not at all an anxious nor shy person, so Amber immediately raised an eyebrow.

“For what? Come on, don’t be a clasper! You know you can tell me anything.”

Oksana sighed. “Well, you know that our city is going to need to be defended, right? We have pretty much no idea what’s out there, but someone has to go get on the Biggest Baby and protect everyone else from it.”

Despite the seriousness of the moment, the two women giggled. It was still hard to believe that was the name of the ship, and not only that, but the name from the special renaming brainstorm committee!

“Anyway, the defense force is going to be called the Chaperones, and they want me on the team. It sounds like some pretty intense stuff, but if that’s how I can help our city, I want to do it.”

A smile spread across Amber’s face. “That’s awesome! Of course they asked you to come help kick ass, bubba. I thought something might be wrong, but that’s great news.” “Yeah, yeah it is,” Oksana replied. Her shoulders softened a little. “I think it’ll be good, not easy but good, I’m just still not used to everything down here so it all feels a little, uncertain, yknow?”

Amber nodded. They sat in silence for a while, eating their danishes. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Amber hopped up to get it, and she opened the door to a gruff man who asked, “Is Kodira here?” She shook her head and said,

“I don’t know what other guppy you’re looking for, but the only two here are me and Oksana.”

However, Kodira slowly got up and came to stand next to Amber.

“No, that’s me. I’m Kodira. Listen, I’ll explain in a minute, but what do you need?” The man had a hurried conversation with her and left as quickly as he came.

“Hey Oksana? You wanna tell me what’s going on, and who the fuck Kodira is?” snapped Amber.

“It’s okay Amber, it’s still just me,” Kodira explained. “Apparently to work for the chaperones they want to change your name to something that honors Koda, yknow, the vestiges whose body is the Biggest Baby. So, Kodira. It’s a little weird, but I think I can get used to it.”

“I would call that more than a little fuckin’ weird!” Amber stomped towards Oksana. “If you wanna go join their cult and be Kodira or whatever, fine. I knew we’d end up doing different things down here, I just didn’t expect this.”

“Hey. Back up,” Oksana commanded. Amber huffed but went to go sit down. “Listen, this is a lot for both of us right now. What they came to tell me is that I gotta leave tomorrow. And I would like this to not be the last conversation we have. So I’m gonna take a nap, and you’re gonna go for a walk, and we’ll talk again later.”

Amber generally hated being told what to do, but she respected her best friend, and silently obliged, heading out the door, down the hall, and away. She found some barrels to punch while Oksana fitfully dozed. Once Amber’s hands hurt (she was strong, but even she had limits) and the water had begun to darken, she walked back to the room. The door was unlocked, so she entered quietly to find Oksana packing her suitcase. As soon as they made eye contact, she set her things down and they approached each other, silently embracing. Oksana was the taller of the two, so Amber’s head nestled on her collarbone. Time slowed to the consistency of molasses, as they created this physical memory. Finally, Amber pulled away, her cheeks wet. Almost whispering, she said, “Well damn, bubba, you know I don’t cry or say sorry but...I’m sorry for calling the Chaperones a cult. I want you to be happy, and if that’s not with me, well, I’m a big girl.” She chuckled and gave a sad smile. Oksana held her hands and squeezed them, and then Amber helped her finish packing. They laid down next to each other, sharing a blanket, for the last time. The next morning, Amber woke up alone again, but she knew Oksana wouldn’t be coming back. The two of them wouldn’t spend another night together for more than 23 years, but neither of them knew that that morning.

[daincrediblegg]

YO!!! I was tagged by @officious-sea-lawyer to do this and so here I deliver:

❄️ Favorite Christmas movies

Well I actually have a NEW favorite christmas movie this year and it’s the 1970 Scrooge starring Albert Finney. True to my nature I really love a pathetic old man and he might be the most sopping wet and weird little scrooge I’ve ever seen but also in the flashbacks… holy shit he’s handsome (reminds me of francis a little. Just saying) … anyway go watch Scrooge all the songs were written by the same lady who did charlie and the chocolate factory. AS FOR OTHER FILMS GOD THERE’S PLENTY but to rattle off a few: Muppet Christmas Carol (THE FULL VERSION), Polar Express, any of the Rankin Bass christmas films, The Holiday, White Christmas, classic Grinch AND LA Grinch, 1939 christmas carol also. And of course, It’s A Wonderful Life.

☃️ Christmas traditions?

On christmas eve we all open a small present and then I make hot chocolate and watch the polar express when everyone’s gone to bed.

🎄 Favorite Christmas aesthetic? (Traditional, black and white, etc.)

Victorian!!!! Jesus christ but I love victorian christmas aesthetics (especially this year. Good GOD. I’m deeply into victorian christmas aesthetics this year)

🎁 Christmas food/drinks you love

HOT CHOCOLATE!!! But also I always buy a tin of danish butter cookies. I love those little bastards with the dried black currants in them especially. So fucking good. Also I won’t say no to a good gingerbread (or more importantly my fave cookie flavor of all time: ginger molases)

❄️ Best Christmas song

Not gonna lie. I fucking love Hark the Herald Angels Sing. It’s very nostalgic for me singing it with not just my youth choir but the WHOLE congregation at the end of Christmas Eve service and ringing bells… yeah man. Yeah. For more modern stuff I do fucking love any of Bing Crosby’s songs (but ESPECIALLY white christmas), and Andy William’s It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.

🎄 One thing you got for someone (I won't tell :3)

I actually made hats for my whole family!!! Though actually I didn’t make a hat for my dad bc he doesn’t wear hats bc he’s a strange little man but I made him a little headband earmuff thing instead that I think he’ll really like 🥰

☃️ One thing you really, really want for Christmas

A fucking camera 🥲 I know I won’t get one tho. But I can DREAM can’t I? Other than that like the big thing for me is some new over ear sony headphones that don’t fucking hurt my ears and give me headaches yes. Other than that my 4 day trip to montreal was a great gift indeed I had a fucking blast (will provide details if wanted)

Now who to tag… hmm…

@prismatica-the-strange @your-mighty-words-astound-me @kittensmctavish @roaming-thru-roses @seldonhari @jokerownsmysoul @smileofacaffeinatedsaint and ANYONE ELSE TO WHOM THIS LOOKS LIKE FUN!!! Happy fuckin holidays bitches!

[dickfuckk]

Ten characters, Ten fandoms, Ten tags game!

I was tagged by @sherlockig​ (thanks babe) and I... am not in 10 fandoms ghdjsk but this looked fun so I might go with like fandoms I used to be in?? lmao. This is not in any particular order at all

Also I’m stealing your format with the gifs and stuff that was cute

1. Stede Bonnet from ofmd my beloved bitchy idiot (but Ed my beloved babygirl, who can do no wrong, is such a close second)

2. Aziraphale from Good Omens. Yet another beloved idiot

3. Nandor from wwdits. Idk he’s a bitch and i respect it

4. Jesse Pinkman from Breaking Bad. No character breaks my heart quite like Him.

5. Jim Moriarty from Sherlock. Again, he’s a bitch and i respect it

6. Spider-man from Marvel, i don’t feel like anyone needs to justify why spider-man is the best

7. Jesper Fahey from Six of Crows (specifically the books bc i’m sorry i hated the show. But Kit Young can get all my love though I fully respect him)

8. Steve Harrington from Stranger Things. I just want to squeeze him

9. Klaus Hargreeves from the umbrella academy. I love him so much actually he’s the perfect character

10. You know what fuck it, I’m gonna add Pyrus from the danish christmas show for children: Pyrus. He rocks and I love him and he deserves to be added

alright as always i have no idea who has already been tagged but I am tagging: @neine​ @awkward-fallen-angel​ @pickle92​ @spineless-lobster​ @skysofrey​ @captainsjm​ @z-aliada​ @badgersknackers​ @fabstan​ @lateral-org​ only if you wanna do it ofc!

[the12thnightproject]

Hi. I love your stories. From what I've read in current Mitsuhide's story, I was wandering if you are a native speaker of Portuguese or at least have a good knwolege of the language.

Hi Anon!

Thank you very much for the love. I very much appreciate it.

The short answer to your question is no - my native language is not Portuguese. I know almost no Portuguese. My native tongue is English.

The longer answer is that I have tried to learn the following languages: Hebrew, French, Spanish, Danish, and Norwegian. The operative word is tried. The technical term is failed. At best, I can somewhat read French, and at one point, I could manage to figure out newspaper articles in Danish with some context and a good dictionary.

Part of this might just be that I am a language dunce, and not capable of learning another language. Part of it might be more that in the United States, in public schools, students do not have the opportunity to take language classes until age 14 (an even then it is an elective and not required), and that's probably too late for most of us.

I wish I were better at language acquisition and greatly admire anyone who is fluent and able to communicate (speaking and writing) in multiple tongues.

As for the fic itself - though my main character Katsu has learned Portuguese, because the story is written in first person, I don't actually have of the dialogue written in Portuguese. Instead, I just note that such and such character (usually Francisco, but there will be a couple of others in later chapters), spoke in Portuguese, but because Katsu understands that language, she's already translated it in her mind, so whatever words the original speaker used, was already translated in Katsu's head.

Examples below the cut of how I work around it:

“Lord Mitsuhide – stop. That’s my partner. Francisco.” I pushed past him and called down to the lower level. “Francisco, up here. Don’t worry. I’m safe.” Then, because Francisco’s apt to forget his Japanese even in the calmest situation, I repeated myself in Portuguese.

Moments later, a puffing Francisco breached the top of the stairs and rushed into the room. His face was red and there were sweat stains visible on the shirt he wore under his jerkin. “Katsu. You are here. When I learned someone bought you, I thought, Akihira will murder me.” He paused and drew in a long panting breath. And then another. “I got lost and went to the wrong ship.”

Of course he did.

Note to self. Next time find a partner who can find their way from one end of the city to the other.

He was still speaking in Portuguese, so clearly his language skills (such as they were) had deserted him completely. I hurried to reassure him. “An acquaintance of Aki’s recognized me and purchased me. If you can repay him… and maybe give him a bit extra for his trouble, then we can be on our way.”

.....

In the next chapter, we get Mitsuhide's POV of the same conversation:

Shouts from below disrupted that thought. He couldn’t make out the words – it sounded like the Nanban tongue. Had her would-be purchaser found them so quickly and returned with more reinforcements? If so, it was a poorly thought-out ambush that would alert the victim to a pending attack.

He grabbed his sword and turned just as Akihira’s daughter yelled, “Lord Mitsuhide – stop. That’s my partner. Francisco.”

She rushed past him and called down to the lower level. “Francisco, up here. Don’t worry. I’m safe.” She then added something in Portuguese. Presumably to calm the man down but given that Mitsuhide did not speak the language he could not be certain of it. She could have given this ‘Francisco’ the opposite instructions in Portuguese and Mitsuhide would never know.

She understands Portuguese.

A useful skill.

Too useful to ignore.

He kept his hand on his sword, just in case as a short, stocky Westerner rushed into the room, his words tumbling over one another. Mitsuhide caught the words “Katsu” and “Akihira,” and none of the rest.

The daughter followed the gush of words without any problem and replied to the man in the same language. Not just familiar with the language. Fluent. Which turned her from an annoying impediment to a potential tool. Unfortunately, an aggravating tool.

-------------------

Granted, the fic would be much more realistic if I put the dialogue into the language it is being spoken in... but to do that I'd have to rely on google translate, and there's too much possibility of error that way.

This is more or less how it's handed when writing film and television scripts too. If the intention is that a character is speaking in another language, in the script that's signaled as "(speaking in Spanish)" but you write the dialogue in English. With spec scripts there is no guarantee that the whoever is reading your script (be it a producer or a contest judge) speaks that other language, so writing it in that language would cause them to miss potentially important information.

The intention is that if the script is ever filmed, they would either hire an actor fluent in that language and/or hire a translator, so those lines likely would be filmed in Spanish (or whatever language), and then subtitled.

Again, thank you for asking!

[hayleysayshay]

Why is an actor's sexuality irrelevant when they're playing a non-heterosexual role, but does matter with trans ones? Surely someone can be trans closeted in exactly the same way?

Yeah, that’s true— but I think it comes into a debate with transgender actors as trans characters being played as a ‘costume’ like you put on some makeup or flatten your tits and you’re trans now. As people continue to treat trans people as if they’re just ‘pretending’ at being the gender they say they are by putting on the ‘opposite’ clothes it is useful and important to hire trans actors and actresses so it’s not just seen as a costume, it’s more of a lived experience. I think there is more nuance and variables with gender that isn’t there with sexuality. And I think we shouldn’t harass small actors and actresses to our themselves but I’m fairly confident that Eddie Redmanyne in the Danish Girl isn’t closeted trans and I think we all know why he took the role was to be daring and get awards. So yes please treat new and young actors with nuance and don’t harass anyone famous or not but I think casting a trans role with a known cis person isn’t the same as sexuality if society continues to treat being trans like a costume.

I think it’s different with sexuality as a) who someone sleeps with/ is romantically linked with consensually is none of our business anyway b) if you hire two gay men for two gay roles they might not be attracted to eachother anyway. I think if we get too pedantic it can be like ‘should this bi person in an opposite sex relationship play this gay person?’ And punishing people for not being queer enough. Portraying sexuality isn’t really the same as portraying gender.

I think in the future it would be rad if any gender could play any gender but we’re not really there yet.

Not to say that I don’t want to see gay actors play gay roles, and I’m glad we’re seeing more of a push to see accurate casting and giving openly gay/Bi actors a chance to play roles they couldn’t have one or two decades ago, but at the end of the day if a ‘straight’ actor is cast to play a queer sexuality I’m not really going to get bothered by it. Especially in something like tv, if the sexuality or a character evolves due to natural chemistry with another character for example, then let it be, no matter the sexuality of the actor playing it.

Also, Im sure gay actors don’t just want to play gay roles either, they want to play a variety of interesting people, so I’m not going to get mad at an apparent straight person for taking on a role that isn’t their apparent sexuality.

This is not an exact science, there’s nuances to all individual acting roles— it doesn’t have to be a one size fits all statement.

[askfanden]

About this blog - info :>

◻️ Welcome to my little ask blog where I draw a large portion of my inspirations from Scandinavian (though admittedly from a mostly Norwegian centered view) folklore, folk beliefs, and history through the perspective of, and how the Scandinavian devil, Fanden\Fan\Faen, as they are called was perceived.

Here you will also meet a few other characters who are both friendly and unfriendly. Human and not. Feel free to ask them questions as well if you’re interested in them, though it’d be nice if you clarified who you’re asking about. 

◻️ The blog’s host is called Termite, and I go by They\Them pronouns. :>

That’s about all you need to know about me, hahaw. I just have a special interest and find the whole process of the Viking age, Christianization, witch persecutions, folklore and folk tales wholly FASCINATING. Concepts doesn’t stem from nothing and knowing even just a few parts of it slots things into interesting places.

I’m just here to bring SOME of my ideas to life, hahaw.

◻️ Here you can expect the occasional comic about either a personal story of my making, a visualization of a folkloric concept, or a retelling of folk tales, Fun facts, and all that fun stuff. And of course questions I answer whenever I am lucky enough to get them, hahaw! 

◻️  The way I answer questions is that I go through a 4 answer options (though deviations might happen):

1: If the question doesn’t spark much VISUAL inspiration, I’ll answer through text. Maybe I will at a later time retroactively draw something when the inspiration strikes.  2: A visualized, but straight forward answer that acknowledges the questioner.  3: A comic written to be ca about the question that will answer it, even if the answer itself won’t acknowledge the question and might be left a bit open ended. Think of it as a snippet of a story.  4: OOC \ Blog related requests are fun too.

If you want to ask the person behind the blog, please phrase your question as ‘’OOC: [insert thing you want to say here]’’ or ‘’To the Mun\Termite’’, I’ll more than happily ramble about whatever.

◻️ Small rules to follow, I’ll be brief:

-Don’t spam. If you’re afraid Tumblr ate your ask, I’d be happy if you’d say so in the follow up ask. ^^

-Be respectful and don’t send in explicit NSFW questions. I am ok with NSFW themes (on my own terms) but keep it reasonable.

- Don’t send me fetish related questions or requests. Even non-sexual ones as I don’t consent to it.

- Please understand that IC =/= OOC.

- I I do not consent to anyone reposting, using the art I create, or turn my art into NFT’s. Unless I draw explicitly FOR YOU, my art is all mine.

- I can do mistakes, and while they’re never intentional, may happen. I might misinterpret a source, translate something wrong (gods I hate old danish-Norwegian and dialect texts... Norwegian might be my first language BUT WHY DO THEY SPELL IT ALL LIKE THAT), and accidentally not see through historical bias. I am just mentioning that, so that if you notice something like it, that you’ll hopefully understand it’s not from a place of malice.

- If you have any neat book recommendations on Scandinavian history and folklore, GIMME.

◻️ Most of, but unfortunately not all, of my sources I’ll likely draw from:

-Prose Edda -Poetic Edda -The history of the Danes - Saxo Grammaticus

- The Unmanly Man: Concepts of Sexual Defamation in Early Northern Society (The Viking Collection, Studies in Northern Civilization , Vol 1) - Preben Meulengracht Sorensen - Valkyrie: The Women of the Viking World - Jóhanna Katrín Friðriksdóttir - Women in Old Norse Society: A Portrait - Jenny Jochens - Old Norse Masculinities - Gareth Lloyd Evans, Jessica Clare Hancock - Men and Masculinities in the Sagas of Icelanders -  Gareth Lloyd Evans -Women and weapons in the viking world - Leszek Gardeła - The viking way: Magic and mind in late iron age Scandinavia - Neil Price - Viking Friendship: The Social Bond in Iceland and Norway, C. 900-1300 - Sigurðsson, Jón Viðar - Viking Law and Order: Places and Rituals of Assembly in the Medieval North - Sanmark, Alexandra - Thraldom A History of Slavery in the Viking Age - Stefan Brink - https://www.academia.edu/7617134/Magic_beyond_the_binary_magic_and_gender_in_the_Poetic_Edda - https://www.academia.edu/30273992/Eddic_Poetry_A_Gateway_to_Late_Iron_Age_Ladies_of_Law - https://www.academia.edu/38896844/Children_of_a_One_Eyed_God_Impairment_in_the_Myth_and_Memory_of_Medieval_Scandinavia - https://www.academia.edu/2896380/Ability_and_Disability_On_Bodily_Variations_and_Bodily_Possibilities_in_Viking_Age_Myth_and_Image

- Tree of Salvation: Yggdrasil and the Cross in the North - Murphy, G. Ronald -Power and Conversion: A Comparative Study of Christianization in Scandinavia - Sanmark, Alexandra -Medieval Christianity in the North: New Studies - Jorgensen, Torstein -The Germanization of Early Medieval Christianity: A Sociohistorical Approach to Religious Transformation - Russell, James C.

-''Remedies and Rituals: Folk medicine in Norway and the new land'' - Kathleen Stokker ''Witchcraft and Magic in the Nordic Middle Ages'' - Stephen A. Mitchell ''Trolldom: Spells and Methods of the Norse folk magic tradition'' - Johannes Björn Gårdbäck ''Medicine, Magic, and art in Early modern Norway'' by Ane Ohrvik

-’'Å leve med døden : folkelige forestillinger om døden og de døde'' by Bjarne Hodne  (Death, funeral rituals, beliefs, and magic connected to death) -''Merkedager og gamle skikker'' by Per Holc (holidays) -Gamle folkelige værvarsler : 1700 værmerker fra hele landet (Weather signs\folk magic) -Kjærlighetsmagi : folketro om forelskelse, erotikk og ekteskap (love magic) -''Djevelens livshistorie : scener fra en travel tilværelse'' (Stuff about the devil) -Slik levde de da -  Hanne Marie Johansen -Skeive linjer i norsk historie fra norrøn tid til i dag -  Hanne Marie Johansen - Livets høytider : skikker og overtro fra vugge til grav

List will probably be updated as I read more or remember what else I’ve read.