I think Serveta maybe one of my most favorite characters to write about.
Anyways... This is a distraction from writing other fics, so enjoy
"Why does Skwisgaar feel the need to father so many children"
Of course she knew about them. She had seen the news, and reporters constantly bombarded her with with questions about them. She just didn't want to believe they existed. Serveta looked in her vanity lightly touching her face, tracing every wrinkle or crow feet. She looked , well, old. She had as many wrinkles as she did grandchildren, and that thought alone was ageing her. She was Miss Sweden for Odin's sake she couldn't get old. Her beauty was immortal. She glanced at a picture of her younger self and threw it across the room, where it shattered against the wall.
Shattered glass and cheap compressed wood littered the floor. She sighed as she went to pick up the pieces. Maybe it was about time she settled down. She wasn't getting any younger. Hell, she was even married. She smiled at the thought of actually having a husband. He was nice, and stable. He was safe. He called her pretty and brought her home flowers along with a fat pay check. Even Skwisgaar was getting along with him. Which he never did with any of the other men she brought home. This one was different.
She piled all the debris into her still soft hand and threw it into a bin nearby. But when she picked up the photo she frowned. The woman in the picture wasn't her. She had perky breast and no wrinkles. She was beautiful, and could get any man without a spoken word.
She folded the picture in half and ripped it. That time was over. The woman in the picture was no more. All that was left of her was an old woman in a mirror. A woman with wrinkles, saggy breasts and grandchildren.
Grandchildren. GRANDCHILDREN.
Serveta's mouth twisted downwards in disgust. The word was like bile on her tongue. She didn't want to be old! She wanted to be fresh and young again! She was settling down, and just becoming, well, old. No! She had to stop this.
"älskling! Ams you be joinings us at da bar?" Her husband had walked through the door of their shared bedroom.
"Ams nices thing for us to bes da, families, ja?" He smiled good-naturedly but he was oblivious to the inner turmoil that was raging through his wife's head. Family, family. Family means settling down, which means slowing down, which means ageing, ageing means old. Serveta CAN'T be old.
"You knows. I ammenst feelings mys hunder-reds persence." She feigned sick.
"OH, älskling! Ams you okies? You ams havtinks da colds? Shoulds I stays?" He rushed over and held her close. He mindlessly massaged her shoulders as he spoke.
"NO! Yous haves good time, ja? Do da bondings wit Skwisgaar." She lightly removed his hands away from her shoulders but kept them in her own. They stood there in silence for a moment; enjoying each others company.
"Yous am sures?" He asked suspiciously. If she was seriously ill he wouldn't want to leave her alone to fend for herself.
"Ja." She smiled softly and let go of his much rougher hands.
"Okies. Buts if you am neddinks antithings, calls me." and with that he left, closing the door behind him.
She stood there, staring at the closed door, for what seemed like an eternity. Until, she finally decided to pick her phone up and call a few old buddies of hers.
"Hello? Ja. Woulds you likes to come overs? Ja. Ja. Brings him toos. Ja. Sees you soon." She hung up and prepared reverse time, the only way she knew how.