I can't help but snort at his phrasing. It's surreal, hearing those words come out of Erik's mouth in his deep, rumbling voice. "Before you get to work on that," I say, my tone dry, "I haven't had water or food all day since I went to the meadow with Dumitra. I don't suppose you could rustle up a meal? And some water, if you'd be so kind." I pause for dramatic effect. "You know, before we employ the turkey baster tactic."

Erik's booming laugh fills the cottage. "Turkey baster? By Odin's beard, where do you come up with these terms?" He shakes his head, still chuckling. "Very well, I'll see to your sustenance before I... contribute to our little project."

As Erik moves towards the hearth, I can't help but marvel at the absurdity of our situation. Fuck me, never thought it my life would turn out this way.

"You know," I call out to Erik as he begins preparing a meal, "when I imagined starting a family, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind. But I suppose beggars can't be choosers in this medieval shithole."

Erik pauses, a loaf of bread in his hand. "I must admit, I never thought I'd be... procreating in such a manner either," he says, his tone a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "But needs must, as they say."

I lean against the table, watching him work. "Just think of it as a very strange form of brewing," I quip. "You're good at that, right? Making potions and such? This is just... a different kind of potion."

Erik nearly drops the bread, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. "A potion indeed," he manages to say between chuckles. "Though I daresay this one will have quite the potent effect."

As Erik continues to prepare the meal, I find myself marveling at how quickly our relationship has changed. Just this morning, he was treating me like a child bride. Now, we're bantering about magical turkey basters and procreation potions. It's a welcome change, even if the circumstances are utterly bizarre.

"You know," I muse aloud, "I almost wish I could see Oisin's face if he knew what we were planning. Can you imagine? His precious little girl, artificially inseminated by her Norse husband's... contribution." I snicker at the thought. "He'd probably have an aneurysm on the spot."

Erik turns from the hearth, a steaming bowl in his hands. "Let's not tempt fate," he says, though there's a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "The last thing we need is Oisin causing more trouble. Here, eat this. It's not much, but it should tide you over."

I accept the bowl gratefully, inhaling the savory aroma. "Thanks," I say, my stomach growling in anticipation. "You know, for a guy who just agreed to jerk off into a cup, you're being remarkably calm about all this."

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Erik settles into a chair across from me, his expression thoughtful. "I've seen many strange things in my travels," he says slowly. "But I must admit, this... situation... takes the prize for the most unusual. Still, needs must. And if this is what it takes to fulfill the prophecy and keep us both safe, then so be it."

I take a spoonful of the stew, savoring the warmth as it slides down my throat. "Well, when you put it that way, it almost sounds noble," I say with a smirk. "Erik the Brave, sacrificing his dignity for the greater good. They'll sing songs about this someday, I'm sure."

Erik's eyes narrow playfully. "Watch it," he warns, though there's no real heat in his voice. "Or I might just decide to let you handle this... project... all on your own."

I hold up my hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No more jokes at your expense. For now, at least." I take another bite of stew, then look up at him curiously. "So, how exactly do you want to do this? Should I, uh, leave you alone for a bit? Or do you need... assistance?"

Erik's face flushes a deep red, and he clears his throat awkwardly. "I think I can manage on my own, thank you," he says, his voice gruff. "Just... finish your meal. I'll... take care of things... and let you know when it's... ready."

I can't help but chuckle at his discomfort. It's oddly endearing, seeing this hulking Norse warrior so flustered. "Alright, big guy. You do what you need to do. I'll be here, enjoying my stew and definitely not thinking about what you're up to."

Erik stands, shaking his head ruefully. "You're going to get me killed in the future, you know that?" he mutters as he heads towards the bedroom.

"I know, but at least we tried everything!" I call after him, grinning. As the bedroom door closes behind him, I turn back to my meal, my mind already racing with the possibilities of what's to come.

As I spoon another mouthful of stew, my thoughts drift to the practical aspects of our... unconventional plan. How the hell am I supposed to inseminate myself without a turkey baster? It's not like I can just use my fingers - that'd be messy and inefficient. No, I need something more precise, more clinical. A makeshift pump, maybe?

I chew thoughtfully, considering the resources at our disposal. Erik's bound to have some medical tools up in that attic of his. A syringe would be ideal, but I doubt he's got anything that sophisticated. Still, there's got to be something I can MacGyver into a serviceable insemination device.

Whatever I end up using, it's going to be a far cry from sterile. I grimace at the thought of the potential infections I might be inviting into my nether regions. But hey, what's a little bacterial warfare between a girl and her uterus? I'll just have to hope my immune system is up to the challenge. Worst case scenario Dumitra will bail me out with a tattoo job.

Once I've got the... equipment sorted, there's the matter of actually getting the job done. I'll need to prop my hips up for at least an hour afterward, make sure gravity's working in our favor. It's not exactly the romantic conception story most girls dream of, but then again, most girls aren't reincarnated scientists trying to fulfill some batshit Norse prophecy.

But needs must, as they say. If this cockamamie scheme is what it takes to get us to Norway and out of this soon-to-be war zone, then by god, I'm going to make it work. I've faced worse odds before. At least this time, I'm not trying to save the world from alien invaders. Just... you know, impregnate myself with my hulking Norse husband's sperm using whatever primitive tools I can cobble together.

Just another Tuesday in the life of Alexander, folks. Seriously, FML.