#oh my god oh my god i shan't say it but i looked at the urban dictionary for something and oh my god

[writeouswriter]

Broke: Acknowledging that a character who is an objectively terrible person is also a complex and intentionally well thought out individual with different levels of nuance you can empathize with in some ways while not in others is immediately “woobifying” or “poor little meow meowifying” them.

Woke: “This character is a bad person” and “this character is still a person” are two statements that can, should and do coexist and admitting that they exhibit nuance and depth and are more than just their bad actions doesn’t immediately excuse or condone their bad actions or mean that you’re ignoring or trying to soften the canonical version of the character.

Bespoke: That’s the whole point, that’s always been the point, to be made to empathize with horrible people so you can understand that they can be anyone, that bad people can be likeable, can be interesting, can be human, are human, and it’s scary to think about all the ways they’re just like you and all the ways they’re just like everything you hate, forcing the use of critical skills in media analysis, forcing a confrontation of the duality of man.

Whatever Level is Above Bespoke: But sometimes, yeah, sure, maybe they are a poor little meow meow, what are you gonna do, get a lawyer

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

@\hecatesbroom (not tagging so I don't annoy you lmao) has been teaching me how to make gifs, and I'm happy to report I've been using this power for the greater good (to make gifs of beautiful women)

Bonus under the cut:

Three little Elizabeths because I couldn't resist her charm 💙

[ineffable-suffering]

Why Aziraphale is an unreliable narrator

Part 1: The Story of Job

I'm absolutely not the first one to talk about this on here and I probably shan't be the last either. Alas, here's my take on why all of the minisodes in Season 2 should be enjoyed with great care – and taken with a grain of angelic salt.

I'm gonna split this into 3 parts, aka the three minisodes we are shown, since I tend to get a bit waffley in my posts and want to still be able to include all the little details. Once I've written them, I'll link Part 2 & Part 3 here as well!

Alright, let's get into it under the cut of doom.

Episode 2 opens with the Story of Job. Right off the bat, I noticed that it sort of looks like an old film playing. At first I didn't read that much into it, but once we see the cut-away to Aziraphale at the bookshop, currently reading that part of the Bible (presumably), I immediately thought: "Oh! It's because it's his memory. He's remembering how it went down and therefore it plays like a figurative film in his head."

This, I then came to realize, is a very crucial difference to all the flashbacks of S1, which were exclusively told and narrated by God. May her intensions be as ineffable as they are: She did tell us all of these stories from an objective outsider's point of view. Now, however, it's Aziraphale who's re-telling those stories to us from memory.

And if there's one thing that's for certain, it's that a memory is something entirely different to an objective narration of a story. Just think about how you yourself remember things. Especially things that happened years, maybe even decades (or, in an angel's case, millenia) ago. What is it, that you really remember? Can you know for sure, that a conversation was held with those exact words? Are you 100% certain that the clothes someone wore weren't different? Had it really been snowing or would that make very little sense given what you're remembering happened in May? And did it even happen in May? Or does that just happen to be your favourite month, the current weather, your preferred style of clothing and what it was that you would imagine someone would have said to you?

What I'm trying to say is: The further away it is that something happened, the more your brain has to fill in the gaps. This is why, for example, your parents will remember the family summer holiday entirely different when you ask them about it 20 years later.

"No, it was Sarah who puked on the car ride home!" "Nonsense, Sarah never puked as a child. Bobby had that gone-off pizza, he's the one that was sick the whole ride long!"

We've all been there. Bobby made it out alive. Don't buy gas station pizza.

Alright, back to the plot: Naturally, Aziraphale is not actually human, so it is a pure assumption on my part that the way his memory works is similar to ours. However, the whole topic of "memory" is actually quite a recurring one on Good Omens.

Crowley seems to have lost his in the Fall, yet somehow managed to get most of it back. Not all of it, though, he clearly has some major gaps ("You used to jump on me back, little monkey in the waistcoat!"). Beelzebub helps Gabriel store all his memories in their little fly container before they get wiped entirely too, by the Metatron and/or Saraqael. Crowley and Aziraphale (and possibly Jimbriel) perform a miracle together that makes everyone in Heaven and Hell forget who Garbiel is or what he looks like. And we know that the Book of Life apparently has the ability to completely erase someone from existence – ergo also erasing them from everyone's memory and making it is as though the person had never been in them at all.

So, clearly, angels and demons being able to remember, forget, reconstruct and, if you're the Metadork, wipe memories, is very much canon. Apart from that very last one, it does make them quite human-like in a way. We too can forget or (wrongfully and incompletely) reconstruct memories, due to things like trauma, illness or simply a lot of time having passed.

So, just like Crowley remembers going into battle but doesn't remember Furfur being there, or just like Jimbriel has entierly forgotten who he is but still remembers the tune and lyrics to Buddy Holly's song Everyday, and just like archangel Michael was miraculously made to forget Gabriel and yet says "Don't I know you?" when seeing him again – just like that, Aziraphale's memories of the story of Job, the story of wee Morag and the story of the magic show in 1941, might not actually be the whole truth.

So, time to look at where the furniture isn't.

Now, it could very well be that the costume designers of S2 thought: "Fuck it, let's go crazy" – but given that this show has a track record of meticulously making sure to stick to accurate and cohesive character design, doesn't it strike you as odd that Crowley would go from this look at the Flood in Mesopotamia, 3004 BC:

... to the (very iconic, don't get me wrong) Bildad the Shuhuite drip in 2500 BC:

... back to this at the crucifixion of Jesus Christ in 33 AD:

I mean ... I mean– come on, that seems like a bit of a far stretch, even for someone as enthusiastically experimental with fashion as Crowley.

And it's not just that: Where did the sunglasses come from, all of a sudden? And why do they look like some sort of obscure, ancient optometrist's device? It's a known historical fact that the Romans were the ones to have invented sunglasses, somewhere around 50-ish AD. Which actually matches perfectly with when Crowley and Aziraphale meet again in Rome 8 years after the crucifixion (51 AD).

So, where do the weird spectacles come from, over 2000 years too early? Maybe from Aziraphale's brain filling in some gaps? Hasn't Crowley always worn those ridiculous sunglasses? Was it Rome? Or Golgotha? Wessex? Oh, blimey, what does it matter!

And it's not just Crowley: Aziraphale's own clothes, as well as the other angels', seem to be very different from the rather plain linen we see him wear before and after the story of Job.

They're laced with golden embroidery along the neckline and sleeves. The remind almost of the clothes angels are depicted wearing in biblical and historical drawings. Ornate and decadent. Not at all like we see Aziraphale in the other flashbacks of S1.

Even Bildad the Shuhite's hair within the minisode keeps changing, going from all pouffy and voluminous to rather deflated and straight-looking:

The costume department either had to fix up two seperate wigs or manually straighten out the volume of the one again to give it a more sleek look. I'm not a professional in this field, but if there's anything I've learned from watching hours of behind-the-scenes material of movies and shows, it's that very little about costume, character, prop and set design is purely coincidental.

You know what it could be, though? An accurate representation of how memories aren't linear, historically correct and objective representations of a certain event, but rather an ever-changing, jumbled mess of impressions, emotions and exaggerations.

More specifically: Aziraphale's impression, emotions and exaggerations.

Like "remembering" Crowley with sunglasses because he's been wearing them for so long.

Like "remembering" himself wearing more luxurious, angelic clothes because that's how he thinks of the difference between Heaven and Hell.

Like "remembering" the permit as a ridiculously long scroll that folded out over an entire valley.

Like "remembering" Job's children to be weirdly sassy in an almost Aziraphale-esque way (Enon: "Don't be silly!") for the fact that Job would have probably taught them to be more humble and obedient in the presence of a literal angel.

Like "remembering" eating an entire fucking Ox after having just one bite of it while Crowley watched him lustfully, sipping on his wine.

Like "remembering" Crowley calling him 'angel', despite them having barely known each other back then.

There's a reason why the flashbacks in S2 seem so much more alive, quirky and, at many points, confusing and all over the place. Because they're not objective stories being told by a third party. They're Aziraphale's. So much of his own thoughts and feelings at the time get projected onto them because that's simply how memory works!

It's subjective. It's unrealiable.

It's not that I'm calling Aziraphale a liar. He's no more a liar than your parents are, mixing up Sarah and Bobby. Or you, remembering snow instead of sunshine. Memories aren't lies. They can simply be faulty, focus on things that you thought were more important and leaving out or changing things that weren't, to you.

The real challenge in all of this, is trying to filter through Aziraphale's stories to see what it actually is they're telling us. Where it is that the furniture isn't. And I think in this case, that's 6 main things (eff you, God, I know you like sevens, but I don't care):

God and Satan (still) talk to each other We see that Aziraphale is quite surprised when Muriel mentions that the whole Job thing is God's bet with Satan. But clearly, despite having made him and the rest fall, God still converses with Her number one traitor about whether or not the humans simply love Her because she gives them nice things or because they truly believe in Her.

God and Satan (and Heaven and Hell) can and do collaborate with each other when they feel like it So much for choosing sides, huh? Truthfully, this is not the first time this is shown to us, but still. It's another piece of evidence on the growing pile.

Aziraphale understands the World and humans way better than any of the other angels "Well, you see ... Citis is 58 ..."

Aziraphale, despite having troubles voicing it, absolutely disagrees and even condemns God's plan of destroying Job's children (and goats and camels and––)

Aziraphale is willing to lie and thwart the will of God Also not the first time we're being shown this but again, piiiile of evidence.

Angels don't automatically Fall simply by doing the above To me, this is one of the most important take aways. It's already hinted in S1 as well that 'Falling' seems to have been a one time even back when the first war broke out in Heaven. And I actually believe that ever since then, no other angels have Fallen again. Aziraphale is the best example for this. He has gone against God's plan numerous times and even lied to her very face (voice?) about it. And yet, nothing ever happened to him. Why exactly that is the case remains a topic for another meta (that I might or might not be working on already, teehee).

Alright, that concludes this first look at the Job minisode! If there's anything I missed, feel free to share it with me. I'll try and add Part 2 (the story of wee Morag) and Part 3 (the magic show of 1941) soon.

Update: Part 2 and Part 3 have officially been written, you can find it them right here:

Part 2: The Story of wee Morag

Part 3: The Story of the Magic Show in 1941

Hugs and kisses, (God)!

[ahjussinice]

what seventeen sounds like in bed

s.coups - a man. a real man. no, really. really like a man and not at all like a whimpering little baby who just wants and needs and wants and needs and oh my god please please please i-oh. it's over now. he's snoring.

jeonghan - a chorus of angels followed shortly by the fear of god settling into your bones. you were never meant to hear this.

joshua - like that one professor you had that was never impressed with your work. he lectures you on your form and finesse and you think you might just drop out after all.

jun - like a normal guy. but normal with an edge of hysteria like he might pull out a chainsaw at a moment's notice.

hoshi - screaming, mostly

wonwoo - he has a built-in reward sound system so he beeps and clicks. his eyes flash an end-screen when it's over and you wake up with coins in your pockets

woozi - the cold silence of hatred. for you or for himself, who can tell.

dokyeom - soft weeping alternating with laughter. oh, now he's pouting. please touch him, he might start crying again.

mingyu - grunting. he thinks it makes it sound like he's putting in effort, and effort is so sexy. you can't tell him it just sounds like a french bulldog trying to jump onto a chair.

the8 - the gentle fall of a leaf on the stream. you watch as it makes its way through the sun-dappled meadow. content in the soft silence of nature and mere existence. light laughter trilling through the trees. where are you? what happened to your bedroom? you look for minghao but he's gone, he's in the wind.

seungkwan - a little of column a, a little of column b, a little of oh my god i can't believe im listening to a man whistle like a teapot at the height of climax

vernon - he sounds like he's asleep. he definitely is. try again tomorrow, i guess.

dino - no, i shan't say

[shares-a-vest]

Everybody knows Eddie has a way with nicknames. Everyone gets a pet name from Eddie to the point he basically never says anyone's real name.

And Steve gets an array of them. More than anyone else. Sweetheart. Sugarplum. Stevie. Multiple pet names all strung together in quick succession. Very rarely he's Harrington. That one is typically reserved for when Eddie is being a total bitch and they are fighting. King Steve, of course. He still doesn't love it, but at least now it is said with affection instead of sarcasm and contempt.

Meanwhile, Steve's over here simply calling his boyfriend Eds. Okay, maybe he said 'babe' one time in the presence of Lucas, Mike and Dustin and he's never heard the end of it.

It's kinda lame and he rather die than explain it to anyone (or have anyone else hear it), but Steve sees Eddie as his Prince. It's a pet name Eddie hasn't used, which is surprising considering there is a side DND character who is a Prince that bares embarrassingly detailed physical similarities to Steve.

Eddie is the Prince who came and swept him off his feet when he was at his loneliest.

Again, kinda lame. And pathetic.

Unfortunately, Steve blurts out said name in the least romantic setting possible: the back storeroom of Family Video.

They're in the back looking for the copy of Top Gun Steve had stashed away for them to take home. The waitlist was a month long and Keith enforced a strict 'no employees on the waitlist' policy, even though he definitely took a copy for himself.

"Holy shit," Eddie says, staring at the VHS cover of Tom Cruise and Kelly McGillis.

Steve hands it over. "I reserved it under the fake account Rob and I have."

It was basically his only option considering Keith's flimsy rule and Eddie being banned from the store a few years back. Thank God they didn't have security cameras or else Steve would have been fired a hundred times over by now.

"Whoa," Eddie says with the wide-eyed wonder of a kid, holding the VHS in his hands like it is the most precious and delicate thing in the world.

"Anything for my Prince," Steve coos, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek.

He pulls back, staring. Oh god. He really just said that out loud.

Eddie blinks, clearly taking a moment to compute (or willing to tear his eyes away from ogling the back cover image of Val Kilmer). He quirks a brow, turning to look at Steve, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and accentuated by the scar that runs along the left side of his jaw.

"So that makes you the damsel in distress?" he says more than asks, glee in his eyes.

Shit, Steve really hadn't thought of it that way. Trust him to come up with a pet name that immediately made him vulnerable to teasing.

Before he can think of what to say, Eddie is scooping him up bridal-style. He promptly loops his arms around Eddie's neck when he feels his legs teetering on the spot at the cramped and awkward angle, wedged between Keith's desk and a shelving unit.

"Don't worry, Princess!" Eddie declares in dramatic fashion. "The Prince is here to save you from your dungeon and that wretched oaf."

He laughs hysterically as he sways Steve about.

"Stop!" Steve laughs, kicking and sending a stack of VHSs toppling to the ground.

"I shan't!" Eddie yells, his voice echoing through the small space. "Not until I have you in the safety of my bed chambers!"

"This wasn't supposed to happen!" Steve giggles as Eddie swings him around, sending more tapes flying.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Pt XIII good omens: The Adventures of Crowley and Aziraquail (Ages 3+)

@innefableidiot Shout out to you for my Good Omens villain arc origin story. I saw your Duck Omens, I reblogged it thinking I had too small of an attention span to watch a whole show, but the Duck Crowley and Aziraphale looked so adorable anyway. But I had flirted with the devil, Good Omens took over my dash, I made a summary, and here we are. This is in honour of you.

Good Omens, as a toddler's book. Yes I wrote an entire toddler's story for this post. If you do like this ridiculous thing, it would be nice if you could reblog it :") That's the only way it can get to more people. And god knows the children of divorce need a good bedtime story. So here you are, to heal the pain.

Crowley the Crow had always been a naughty little bird. Look at him go, flapping over the street... He wanted to steal something! Oh, no, Crowley. Stealing isn't very nice of you.

"I'm not nice," cawed Crowley. "Not nice at all."

Aziraquail the Quail sat near, on a telephone line. He was eating a piece of grain. Munch, munch, much, went Aziraquail. He saw Crowley and waved his wing.

"Crowley!" trilled Aziraquail. "What are you up to?"

"I'm going to steal something," said Crowley. He waved back. Aziraquail was his friend, and it is polite to greet your friends. That's how they know you care! "Look, Aziraquail, that human has a very shiny ring!"

"It is a very shiny ring," Aziraquail said, looking down. Aziraquail wanted to tell the truth. He didn't always succeed, but that's okay! It's very, very important to try. "But Crowley, you can't steal the very shiny ring! It doesn't belong to you."

Crowley was very confused. He landed on the telephone line beside Aziraquail. "But if the very shiny ring belonged to me, how would I steal it?"

Aziraquail sighed. But he decided to explain it to Crowley anyway. Sometimes, people aren't trying to be bad! They just don't know any better. "You shouldn't steal it at all, Crowley. Stealing will make the human sad."

"Oh goodie," said Crowley. "That sounds fun."

"No!" cried Aziraquail. Aziraquail didn't like the sound of that, not one bit. "Crowley, don't make the human sad. Or I shan't be your friend."

Crowley thought over that. He didn't like that. Aziraquail was his very best friend. Friends are very important, and Crowley knew that. But oh! He did so want that very shiny ring.

Crowley looked down at the human again. No, Crowley! Don't do it!

With a flap of his wings, and a flip of his wings, down Crowley flew, to snatch the human's very shiny ring! Oh, dear, Crowley. How very naughty of you.

But what was this? Crowley bumped straight into the human's head! He bounced off and away he went, landing with a huff on the pavement. That's the part next to the street.

The human was very cross. "Come back here, you bad bird!" she shouted. That wasn't polite of her, was it? When you're upset with someone, you shouldn't shout right away. What if it had been an accident?

"It wasn't an accident," said Crowley. He was grumpy. "I wanted to steal her very shiny ring."

Naughty Crowley.

The human ran towards Crowley to scold him. Poor Crowley! But just as the human stepped off the street, along came a very fast bike, and whoosh! Away it went, just missing the human.

Oh my. You mustn't speed on streets like that, very fast bike! You could have hit somebody. Look at that sign over there. This street is for pedestrians, too! Pedestrians is a grown-up way of saying people who aren't on a vehicle. Grown-ups like fancy words.

"Wait a moment," said the human. She stopped and looked at Crowley. "Oh, little crow, you saved me! I could have been hit!"

Crowley blinked. He was very confused. But he'd been trying to be naughty!

"Thank you!" said the human. "Oh, thank you, little bird. What can I do for you?" She looked down at her hand. "Crows like shiny things, don't they? Here, take this very shiny ring. I got it for free with sweets, and I don't even like it."

She gave Crowley the very shiny ring.

"Thank you," said Crowley, because he might be a naughty little crow, but he was a very polite little crow.

The human waved goodbye, and went on her way. Aziraquail landed on the pavement next to Crowley.

"Oh, Crowley," said Aziraquail. "You aren't very good at being naughty, are you?"

"Yes I am!" said Crowley.

Aziraquail smiled. "But you saved the human! And you didn't steal the ring. She gave it to you all by herself, as a reward. Isn't that much nicer?"

"I'm not nice," said Crowley. Oh, Crowley, you silly, silly, crow. "Well, if I'd done it your way, she wouldn't have been saved! So you aren't very good at being nice."

Aziraquail looked sad. Crowley didn't like that. Aziraquail was his friend, and friends don't make each other sad.

"I'm sorry," said Crowley. "But don't you want to know why I wanted the very shiny ring?"

Oh my, Crowley. Why did you want the very shiny ring?

"To be naughty," said Aziraquail. He was still hurt. Sometimes, even when you say sorry, it isn't enough. And that's okay.

"No," said Crowley. He held it out with his little crow beak, and put it on Aziraquail's foot! "It was for you! Because you're my very best friend."

"We're not friends," said Aziraquail. Sometimes, when we're hurt, we say things we don't mean.

Crowley looked sad. "We're not?"

Aziraquail thought and thought. And decided that he had been rather silly. "I'm sorry," he said too. "Of course we're friends. Thank you for the very shiny ring, Crowley!"

Crowley smiled his naughty little smile.

And then, oh my! How cute. Aziraquail leaned over and gave Crowley a kiss on his feathery little cheek. "It's very pretty. I love you, Crowley!"

It is very important to tell your friends that you love them. You don't have to say it with words. Crowley said it with a little kiss back, because he was too shy to speak.

What a very nice crow you are, Crowley.

"I'm not nice!"

"Crowley!"

"Okay, fine, just a little bit."

The End.

[barrenclan]

i can’t believe nightberry is now named cassandra!! congrats on her transition <3 (i know this issue is going to hit hard i need to be silly)

HE CAN’T GET THE TASTE OF BLOOD OUT OF HIS MOUTH OH MY GOOOD… NOO CORMORANTPINE SILLIES :(( THE SILLY BOYS R SO CUTE IM GOING TO SHATTER WHEN THE ANGST HITS

OH CORMORANT KNOWS HE KNOWS WHATS COMING OH MY GOD

save it for asphodelpaw DO U WANT ME TO EXPLODE

WHUH?? NIGHTBERRY??? WHAT ARE YOU DODING?!?!?!? HUH?? DOES SHE HAVE RABIES?!?? WHAT IS HAPPENING WHAT IS SHE TALKING ABOUT DOES SHE KNOW ASPHODEL IS DEAD??? wait oh my god she’s standing on antlers i am going to eat my own kidney

THE CANINE BEAST IS HOLDING ASPHODELS I WANT TO HEEKEBRTT

REDPELT OH MH GOD YOU GO!!! IM SO PROUD

there’s like.. a link between their eyes it looks like that’s so cool OH MY GOD.. how is everyone there at once? did nightbery tell them to travel im so CURIOUS

i am suing u for emotional damages!! ur welcome

We have exited the era of Pinecorm bliss, we are now in the era of Pinecorm angst.

Nightberry's just having the worst day of her entire life, it's no big deal!

I love Redpelt's background character arc personally. I'm so proud of her, taking charge! You go girl.

Pinepaw and Nightberry perhaps have some connections... some kind of secret... no I shan't say...........

Hope everyone has fun with this issue during the hiatus! <3

[gubbles-owo]

What about Zumama's tail?

oh right i'm supposed to be looking at her tail, not her thighs. god. im being so brave rn. anyway *ahem* Excellent, phenomenal. I'd expect it'd feel exactly the same as holding a snake: cool to the touch, smooth, and very slithery. Damn it's been a longass time since I held a snakefriend... I gotta do that again.

While it seems fairly true to its real-life counterpart, I can help but feel this tail should be a bit thicker at the base? But let's be honest here, that's likely my own bias showing through there lmfaoO Also we get an excellent display of the raw utility of the tail: you can slap belts on it and carry more tools on you! Lift hoods or pry open panels while you work inside them, hold a flashlight so u don't have to ask someone else to stand there and hold it while ur screwdriver slips out of frustration and u swear silently under ur breath! It's just objectively an improvement in what you can do, how flexible you can be, and I think that's incredible.

Wooujghf, she's. She's sure gripping that leaky nozzle like-- nay, I shan't say... Zumama/Eunectes tail rating: can you hold the flashlight for me

[doxypsychlean]

Hi. Can i request a aegon ii x rhaenyra's daughter. Maybe they marry in secret after the dinner of episode 8.

Of course you can, dear stranger! Hope you like it:)

Marry you|Aegon II Targaryen xTarg!Reader

Warnings: Explicit language

Thou shan't repost/copy/ translate any of my work or I'll sneak into your home late at night and bite your nose off!

A/N: Tumblr decided it'd be funny to mess with me and the first version didn't save. I've learned my lesson but tbh, it huuurt. Anyhoo- for the sake of this whole thing, let's pretend like she's didn't leave with her mother to Dragonstone, but instead stayed in King's Landing. Don't ask, I have no idea of how or why something like that would work either. Oh also, him and Helaena are still married to eachother. However, I didn't make it a point to mention their kids, so... Do with that as you wish. Cheers!

..................

The prince stole a quick glance at his niece as he reached for the wine decanter that just so happened to be placed right in front of her. She didn't even acknowledge him, too busy laughing along with Princess Baela at something her younger brother,Jacaerys, had just said to the two. The jealousy was eating him alive. Why? He had no idea, earlier that day the princess Rhaenys had announced the betrothal of Jacaerys and Baela Velaryon. Not to mention, Aegon himself was a married man. He had no right to feel jealous. Even so, he couldn't stop himself from drumming his fingers on the wooden table in annoyance. His brother was quick to notice, considering he sat not that far from him. Prince Aemond gave his older brother a knowing look, his usual smirk on his face.

"Oh Jace, you haven't changed one bit!" The princess said, hand now resting on her brother's shoulder as she wiped at the happy tears that pricked at her eyes.

His nostrils flared, lungs expanding to their full capacity. His heart was beating so fast, Aegon was afraid it was going to shatter all his ribs in attempt to get out. That damn bastard, he thought to himself.

The silver haired man was quick to pour the contents of his glass down his throat. As he placed his cup back on the table, he looked around. A certain pair of eyes had already been staring at him. A smile flashed on the Rogue Prince's face and dissappeared just as quickly. His attention turned back to his wife, leaving Aegon to drown in jealousy and resentment.

Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, wasn't the type that would get flustered easily. And yet, his hands were starting to sweat. He brushed his palms on the fabric that covered his thighs, then got up. He circled around his niece and nephew that were talking about Gods know what and stopped between Jace and Baela. His hand extended out towards the wine decanter. He poured himself another glass.

"I..." Aegon hesitated for a second there. He was sure he'd get an earful for what he was about to say, from both his mother and niece. "I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer."

The attention of everyone around the table had turned to him. They could all sense it, he was about to say something extremely idiotic and inappropriate.

"But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask."

Two pairs of hands slammed down on the table, both brother and sister rising to their feet. A sharp "Jace!" could be heard coming from lady Velaryon. Everyone heard it, except Jace. And his sister. The two stared down the young prince as he went back and took his seat, each for their own reasons.

"Pray tell, Aegon, was any of what you just did out there really necessary!?" She practically yelled as she slammed the doors of his chambers shut.

"I have no idea what you're talking about" He yelled back. Of course he was drunk. Has there ever been a time when he wasn't...

"You brat, I haven't seen my family in ages!" She shoved him hard. "Leave it to you and your brother to ruin everything..."

"I am your family, aren't I?" The prince croaked, his throat had gone as dry as a desert.

"Don't you fucking dare, I refuse to play this little game with you, you-"

"Do you love him?" He interrupted.

The young Targaryen girl in front of him frowned, her face twisting in disgust.

"He's my brother, you arse."

"That doesn't answer my question now, does it?" He was pushing it. Really pushing.

"He's my fucking brother, Aegon! My baby brother! How could you even ask me such a thing with a straight face?!" Her small hands landed a hit after hit to his chest.

"Because I do." The prince caught her hands mid-air, eliciting a shocked gasp out of the girl.

"I love you." His whole body shook as the words spilled out his mouth. " I think I've always loved you..."

His hands went back down to his sides, letting go of her. Aegon was quick to turn his back to her, letting the tears and sweat run down his face freely. He could feel it, he was about to vomit all over the floor.

"Oh, you insufferable twat!"

In the blink of an eye, Prince Aegon found himself facing the woman once more. His whole world melted seconds after.

A pair of soft lips crashed rather violently against his. Two gentle hands gripped each side of his face, still not sure whether or not they should claw his eyes out right where he stood. His found their way around her midsection as they fell, knees slamming into the cold floor.

She pulled back as he tried to deepen the kiss.

"I hate you so,so much...You complete and utter moron." The woman huffed as she brushed the silver locks off of his sweaty forehead.

"Marry me" it was more of a statement that it was a question.

"Huh?"

"You heard." His nose brushed against hers, a smile on his face.

"But...Helaena. And my mother. And your mother-"

"I've made my choice already. And you?"

She kissed him again, this time much softer. She'd made her choice long ago.

[legacyshenanigans]

A bunch of the Lads being put together for an assignment

Wanderings in the woods, taking in nature and writing notes. Ramble post 🤣

Sebastian: ....This is so boring.

Ominis: I think it's quite nice, taking in the scents, being in the fresh open air, it'll do us good.

Amit: I was thinking the same thing Ominis *smiles*

Leander: Well if you think it's so boring, go back to the fucking castle *rolls eyes*

Sebastian: Listen Prewett, don't tell me what to fucking do, ok?

Garreth: Urgh, why are you arguing already?

Sebastian: He started it.

Leander: *sneers at Sebastian*

Everett: Chaps, I found some Bubotubers *smiles*

Amit: Ooh! I needed to take notes on those! Well done Everett.

Ominis: I thought there may have been some nearby, I could smell them, urgh, ghastly things.

Sebastian: The smell reminds me of something.

Garreth: What else do you know that smells as awful as bubotubers?!

Sebastian: Leanders mother *smirks*

Leanders: *rolls up his sleeves* you know what Sallow, I'm not taking this.

Sebastian: *laughs* Well then learn from your mother, she's good at taking things, she took it from me good last night if you know what I mean *wicked, playful smile*

Ominis: Sebastian *stands between him and Leander* stop it.

Garreth: *holding Leanders shoulder* Leave it Leander.

Everett: *mumbles under his breath* Pathetic arguments.

Leander: What was that Everett? You want a piece too?

Everett: I didn't sa-

Sebastian: Whispering under your breath like that, say it with your chest Clopton.

Amit: Goodness will you all be quiet?!

Sebastian: *points at Amit* I've got no quarrel with you Amit, I actually think you're very nice, don't get involved.

Leander: Why what are YOU going to do if he does? pffft!

Sebastian: Oh shut up, don't talk to me.

Ominis: *sigh* Sebastian..

Garreth: *sigh* Leander..

Everett: *awkward eye darting*

Amit: You think I'm nice? *smiles*

Sebastian: *smiles* Yes, nicer than this prick anyway *nods head towards Leander*

Leander: I swear, I'm going to-

Garreth: Oh for gods sake, you get Leander all riled up and he kicks off, what do you expect?

Sebastian: a fight! Obviously! What the fuck do you THINK I expect?!

Ominis: GENTLEMAN! we're in the middle of the woods..Save it for crossed wands..

Everett: SHHHH I'm trying to concentrate on my notes!

Leander: Shove your notes up your arse Everett, MEN are talking!

Sebastian: Pfffft, you're no man! Look at you!!

Amit: STOP!!!

Ominis: Sebastian!

Garreth: Leander!

Everett: *gets upset*

Garreth: Everett is upset now! Nice going Leander, apologise.

Leander: Look I'm sorry, ok?

Everett: Its fine..

Amit: I have a headache.

Leander: Ominis, could you go and see if-

Ominis: Shan't lie Leander, I can't see much of anything, so probably not.

Leander: Shit, sorry, Garreth, would you see if-

Sebastian: Why don't you go and do it yourself?! Whatever it is you want!

Leander: *glares at Sebastian*

Garreth: *sighs* Fucking hell..

~

[empressofmankind]

BEGGARS SHAN'T BE CHOOSERS - Part I

[Crocodile x F!OC]

SFW

(A/N) Better known as the 'Impel Down' fic, I kept mentioning the past two weeks. This is Part One. Of five? Of ten? I've given up. The total draft was > 12k. So, I split it in 3x 4k. And then, I noticed today the 'first part' had grown to >7k. So, I've split it again. I have a clear end in mind, but how long it'll take me to get there...

Originally, this fic was meant to focus around Buggy, but then a 2.53m unit of absolute bullshit got in the way. Shivs and her world class plans, good gods. Post-Alabaste, the mens are stuck in Impel Down. Shivs is dead set on springing the clown from prison. However, she'll first need to figure out where they're keeping him. On account of his devil fruit powers, she suspects level 6. And she has an excellent alibi to demand visitation to level 6. For once, the legal quagmire of technically still being married to Crocodile is going to work for her. Right? RIGHT??

In this first part, we'll join Shivs and Benji (and Mani!) as they get ready to, and make their way for, Impel Down. That's it, that's all that happens, and it took me near 4k. I am so long-winded. It's a terminal condition, I know.

Tag(s): Considering this is the entré, there isn't actually much to tag for? There's fluff and humour. There's a 10-year-old running around saying the absolute funniest shit as things go straight over her head. We got Mani the scaly golden retriever Bananawani along? Oh, and one (1) good marine.

🐊 🐊 🐊 

Beggars Shan't Be Choosers - Part I

“They're stupid clothes,” Benji said, her brow wrinkling with petulant annoyance. She was wearing a crispy white dress shirt, a green-on-ochre striped vest and grey slacks. She'd refused a dress of any sort. Her flame orange hair was neatly brushed and her small face wasn't covered in grease paint for once.

“I think you look handsome,” Shivs said as she pinned her own red hair up with a two-pronged kanzashi fashioned with golden lotuses whose inlaid blue diamonds had not seen the light of day in years.

“I look stupid.”

“Look. I am not comfortable in my clothes either,” Shivs said and indicated the mid-thigh sheath dress of black lace on dark grey broadcloth she wore. She'd decided on sheer stockings to go with it, but no gloves. 

“You look pretty in them.”

Shivs turned back to the mirror to finish pinning her hair and adjusting her bangs to fall neatly from under the strings of her eyepatch. “That is the idea, yes.”

Benji put her hands in her pockets, kicking her foot, making squeaky noises against the deck boards. “What am I supposed to look like? I don't want to be pretty.”

“You are supposed to look like the most capable and well-behaved child to ever grace the Blue.” Shivs pinched her cheek, gilt bangles jangling. “And you do when you don't stand with your hands wearing out your pockets like that.”

Benji took her hands out of her pockets. They idled a moment, undecided, but then she clasped them behind her back. “Your neck looks naked.” 

Shivs laughed at that because the bateau neckline of the dress could certainly use something. “Yours too.”

She plucked one of Buggy's patterned neck scarves from a drawer and tied it around her daughter's neck, tucking the ends into the vest. “There.”

“You should wear a pretty necklace,” Benji said, though her eyes were on the scarf. She seemed to like that, at least.

Shivs didn't have all that many necklaces conventionally considered ‘nice’. Going through the few she had in her thoughts, she picked up her modest jewellery box. Then paused as her gaze lingered on the bottom drawer of her vanity. Maybe she should… She pulled the drawer open and reached among clothes she rarely wore, patting around until she found the old music box.

Its silver had blackened with age and negligence, but even so, its delicate engravings of waves and tall ships were fine. If she polished it now, the oxidation remaining in the fine creases would help pick out its details better than ever before. She didn’t, of course. And she didn’t open the lid either. She couldn’t remember if it was wound up, and didn’t want to hear its melody if it was.

Instead, she held it with both hands and turned its engraved body as if removing a lid from a jar. With a click, the top section came off. Within the tiny compartment revealed lay a small, gold hoop with a bent hinge. She’d long since let the earlobe puncture it used to occupy close. Taking a thin string from her jewellery box, she suspended it from that instead.

“Like so?” Shivs asked, drawing Benji’s attention as she fastened it around her neck.

“Don’t you have anything sparklier, like your hair thing?”

Shivs brushed the kanzashi. Though the era of having such things aplenty was long behind her, she was loath to detract from the last one that remained to her with lesser gems. Besides, he’d notice.

“Sadly, no.”

“Oh?” Benji gave her the thumbs up. “Gold is pretty too, I guess!”

Part of the reason she’d picked it was that it was 24-carat gold. Just like the kanzashi.

“Can I do your makeup?”

“Only if you do not turn me into a clown,” Shivs said as she sat down at her vanity so the girl could reach her face. Benji grinned and set to work.

When Benji declared she was done, Shivs turned to the mirror and had to admit the little girl was now officially better at this than her. She’d gone for a dark burgundy smokey eye with a flawlessly thin line of gold right at the root of her eyelashes and a touch of white on the waterline. It made the hazel of her good eye pop like nobody’s business. She was pretty sure the dark red lipstick was Buggy’s favourite to use himself.

“I like it,” Shivs said and Benji beamed. “Now, I just need shoes.”

“I'll fetch some!” 

Benji was up and running out of the cabin before Shivs could protest. It was only a few minutes before the girl returned, clutching shoes in her arms. And not just any shoes, either. She held up gold-tinted, faux leather gladiator sandals with six-inch stiletto heels that would be a trick and a half to walk on. Where had she even found those?

“These will look awesome with your hair thing and necklace!”

She didn’t disagree as she put them on, but hoped the floors of Impel Down would be neatly packed concrete and nothing else. She hadn’t walked on heels like these in half a decade. Throwing a long bridge coat the rosy beige of dunes about her shoulders, she turned to the floor-length mirror.

Benji looked her up and down with the pinched expression of a critical, pint-sized costume designer grading their latest creation. “You look very pretty.”

Benji wasn’t wrong. She did look nice. Her mood sank, settling like an anchor in the pit of her stomach. She looked like his wife.

“Why is it OK to lie today?”

“It's not a lie.” Shivs shook the morose feeling and picked up her small black bag, its gilded chain rattling as she double checked its content. “More like, hm.”

“Make believe?”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose it is,” Shivs said as she snapped the bag closed and hung it from her shoulder. “It will be easier to convince them to let us visit if we look the way they’d expect.”

“Why would they let us visit uncle Crocodile? Aren’t those visits for, like, if you’re his mom or sister or baby or something?” Benji’s small face was filled with healthy scepticism, hands in her pockets once again. “We should pretend he’s my dad.”

Shivs flinched and struggled to keep her smile from faltering. “Well, only if we have to.”

“They’d have to be pretty bad people to stop a kid from visiting their father.” Benji took her hand. “I hope uncle Crocodile knows where dad is.”

“I am sure he knows.” Shivs gave Benji’s hand a squeeze. She’d no idea how she’d find out where Buggy was if Crocodile didn’t know. She couldn’t exactly demand that information on legal grounds like she had done with him. “Is Mani ready, too?”

“Yes! I scrubbed her squeaky clean and even picked her teeth and scales. She’s eaten and done a big poop.” Shivs tried to let the girl’s bubbly chatter lift her spirits. “I borrowed one of Richie’s sparkly collars and she looks flashy in it!”

“Sparkly? That sounds amazing.”

“It is! She likes sparkly things.”

“Let’s fetch her then and go before we are too late.”

Benji glanced up at her as they left the cabin. “How can we be late for an appointment we didn’t make?”

“We can be late for the only ship going there today.”

🐊 🐊 🐊 

Benji had wanted to stand upon the prow as the government ship approached the Gate of Justice out of Enbies Lobby, because the skipper had said the Tarai current that would see them to Impel Down was chock full of sea kings. Shivs sat on a deck chair with a glass of wine, watching the girl run back and forth with binoculars she’d weedled from a matelot. On account of the seastone laminated hull, she doubted they would see any. However, there was no need to dunk on her chipper mood.

They were not the only visitors, more had trickled aboard to form a modest but motley company on the deck. She’d caught snippets of conversations as they walked by: a mother visiting her son; a brother, his sister. And she had a good guess what some of them were whispering about as they stole glances her way. She’d neglected to list any details regarding who they’d be visiting, but, in hindsight, she supposed the pony-sized bananawani lounging beside her gave it away. 

She’d tied Mani’s rhinestone-infested lilac leash to her chair leg, to discourage the reptile from wandering or - worse - deciding to take a swim. Not that she had any illusion as to its ability to pull the chair straight from under her if it wanted to go. But Mani was a creature of habit and minimal effort. A minor inconvenience such as this would be enough to keep her snoozing on the deck.

“Spotted any big ones?” Shivs said when Benji came towards her for a sip of lychee ramune.

“Not yet.” Benji plopped down beside Mani, putting her skinny arm around her scaly neck as she slurped lemonade. “Did you know bananawani hunt sea kings?”

“Really?” 

Shivs remembered the way the casino halls would darken as they swam by, their shadows passing beyond the glass as they glided towards the feeding platform. The unwitting sea king never stood a chance.

“They are their only known predator and totally hunt them,” Benji babbled happily while enjoying her drink. Mani’s eyes were still closed, but she’d shifted to lean into the little girl’s petting. “Do you think sea king tastes good?”

The water would run red but only for a short while, only until the currents whisked it away. Theoretically, the creature could make it out for the Rainbase oasis connected to the Sandora river.

“I bet Mani would prefer sea king chow,” Shivs said.

“I don't think they sell that at the pet stores.” Benji pouted as she hugged Mani. “She won’t be able to have a sea king snack until she’s big enough to hunt them herself.”

Hopefully, that would take a while yet. Bananawani could grow to colossal sizes, dwarfing mid-class tall ships. Shivs had no idea what they were supposed to do with a fully grown one. Or how to afford feeding the beast if there was no prey for her to hunt on her own. Rain Dinners’ bananawani never hunted alone.

Benji emptied her bottle with a big, noisy slurp, waking Mani. “Maybe we should have brought something?”

“A deck would have been nice,” Shivs said as she watched them. “We could have played slapjack.”

“No, I mean, for uncle Crocodile?” 

Shivs flinched.

“You always say that it is nice to bring something when you visit someone. Especially if you want something from them in turn?” Benji scrunched up her face, rubbing Mani’s thick scaly neck. “I have, like, half a bag of marshmallows, but I didn’t think to bring them.”

“I have something for him, don’t worry about it.”

🐊 🐊 🐊 

Impel Down was a fortress as ugly as it was unimaginative. It spilled onto the rapidly approaching horizon as a grey stain overtaking the limitless freedom of the open sea. And as they drew near on the Tarai current, its squat towers and crenellated battlements came into ever sharper focus until they dominated their entire surroundings. Curiously, there were no cannon embrasures, machicolations or any such defences one might expect from a proper bastion. 

A fleet of warships rested at anchor along the approach to the underwater prison. The modest passenger ship they were on was dwarfed by the marine dreadnoughts they passed as the current pulled them inexorably towards the prison’s colossal gatehouse.

Benji had returned to the prow for the approach, and Shivs joined her there.

“It’s so huge!” Benji stared wide-eyed at the thick walls as they sailed under the barbican and into the secured harbour proper beyond. Mani sat beside her, holding her own leash.

“The vast majority of the complex is actually underwater.” Shivs counted the cannons peeking down at them through the embrasures, out of habit more than anything. She wondered if they had a standing firing crew to man them.

“Are we going underwater?” Benji hopped from one leg unto the other. “The Calm Belts are supposed to be full of Sea Kings! Maybe there will be a window, and I can see one? Maybe there will be wild Bananawani too!”

“It is a prison, so I don’t think there will be windows,” Shivs said in an attempt to calm the girl’s excitement and avoid utter disappointment if that turned out to be true. “It does reach quite a ways below the water surface. A few kilometres, perhaps? Yes, I think so.”

“Wow.” Turning to Mani, Benji added: “Let's find a window, I bet there will be wild Bananawani! You can say ‘hi’!”

Shivs took her by the shoulder when she saw the other visitors disembark. “Come, let’s not be late.”

Benji glanced up at her as they walked to the gangplank. “For the visit we didn-?”

“Don’t say that,” Shivs interrupted her with a quelling look.

“Right.” Benji smiled again and took Mani’s leash. “Come on Mani. Can’t be late!”

They were funnelled through the gatehouse and into a courtyard patrolled by marine sentries. Here, too, cannons peered through embrasures on all sides. Evidently, the prison was more concerned about threats to its security rising from within than without.

“Visitors for level 1 and 2 inmates, that way,” a young marine officer said as he gestured to a colleague. “Level 3 and up, with me.” The few people that joined them as they went to the marine officer gave the juvenile Bananawani plodding beside them a wide breadth. 

The officer led them up steps and into an wholly uninviting lobby. With its worn plaster walls and dirty grey linoleum floor it did its very best to make you want to leave as soon as possible. No seats, no plants, no windows, no nothing. 

“Registration check.” The marine officer motioned them towards the looming concrete counter on the other side of the unpleasant space. “In an orderly manner, gentlefolk.”

Benji put her arm around Mani, leaning into the large reptile and putting her nose against its scales as she eyed their casually hostile surroundings.

“What’s his name?” The marine officer’s tone was amiable, conversational.

“Hers!” Benji said, holding on tighter to the Bananawani.

He tried to catch her gaze with a smile. “Big girls, both of you.”

“Her name is Mani.”

“Ah, ‘she who averts harm’,” he said, and Shivs appreciated his attempts to make Benji feel comfortable. “A wise choice for such a hardy animal.”

“She’s very sweet and tough,” Benji agreed as she snuggled Mani. “I love her.”

“I am sure she loves you very much too.”

“What is your name?” Benji asked. “Mine is Benji!”

“Nice to meet you, Benji,” the young marine said. “Mine is Toby.”

By then it was their turn, and Shivs approached the desk. It was higher than such things normally were, for she was not a particularly short woman and yet she need not bend down to meet the registrar’s gaze.

“State your name and purpose?” the woman said, hands poised to take down the information.

“Figarland Seonaid. Conjugal visit,” Then added when she saw her transcribe it as ‘Sheona’: “That is without the H, and spelled with N-A-I-D.”

The registrar gave a sign of neither interest nor recognition. “Visiting?”

“Crocodile Niall.”

The woman paused when she heard that name. And Shivs ignored the whispers she could not quite catch from those behind her in line.

“Niall. N-I-A-L-L. Not ‘Nile’.”

The registrar flipped through a thick binder, finger running down a table packed with dense handwriting. “No visitation registered.”

“Preposterous,” Shivs said, overacting an affronted tone. “A signed request for visitation has been approved weeks ago.” 

“There is no record of it, ma'am.”

Benji let go of Mani to fling her arms around Shivs’ waist instead, and gave the registrar and marine officer her most watery of wobbly baby looks. “Mommy, I want to see daddy!”

Shivs rubbed her shoulder, giving the registrar the pleading look of parents the world across trying to desperately manage a child on the brink of wailing. Benji's little sob into the fabric of her dress was very convincing. Mani paced around them, uncertain but riled by the sudden change of mood.

“Can't you put in an expedited request?” Shivs suggested, trying her damndest to sound sincere. “She'd been looking forward to it, and we get so few chances.���

“No registration, no visitation,” the woman said as Benji took in a breath to start a wail.

Toby shook his head. “Let me see what I can do,” he said as he produced a small, earpiece Den Den Mushi and put the sea snail against his ear. A few transmissions later, he turned to the registrar and held up his hand. “Two visitor badges, please.”

With due reluctance the registrar handed them over to him and he turned to Benji. “There you go, kiddo,” he said as he gave her one, and then Shivs as well. “Courtesy of the vice-admiral making the curator see reason.”

“You're the best!” Benji beamed. “Look, mom, I am number 17! What is yours?”

Shivs looked at the scuffed 13 on the badge. It reminded her of a poker table she used to deal at, and the memory settled in the pit of her stomach like a fetch of cannon balls. “Not as high as yours, sweetie.”

“Come, I will see you two down to the right level,” Toby said, and led them to the elevator room beyond the lobby. There were four, two on the left and two on the right. He took them to the far right one, the doors opening as they approached.

“Awesome!” Benji said as she rushed inside, Mani hot on her heels. For the elevator was made entirely of armoured glass and provided a grand view of the ocean sprawling all the way across the horizon. The afternoon sun kissed the waves, setting sparkles to the white-capped water. And Shivs felt it beckon in her bones. 

Benji gave him a hopeful look. “Are we going underwater?”

“We are,” Toby said as he put a key in the control panel and turned it.

When the doors slid closed, Shivs suppressed the sudden and overwhelming urge to get out, to leave and never look back. To stay at the surface, where they belonged. I have to, she told herself as she clenched her hands into fists around the chain of her handbag. Bugs is down there, and he hates the dark beneath the waves.

The elevator jolted to life and Shivs closed her eyes, ignoring the sound of the lapping waves against the glass as they submerged, focussing on Benji’s excited noises instead. When she opened them again, they were enveloped in blue. Sunlight still penetrated, sending curtains of light through the water. Less so with every foot they descended, as the blue grew deeper, darker.

“A Sea King!” Benji screamed, spooking Mani as she glued herself against the glass. In the far distance, blurred in the shifting hues of the blue, swam a long, serpentine creature, its body undulating as it made its way from somewhere to elsewhere. 

“It could be the Prince of the Deep,” Toby said as he came to stand beside her. “It has about the right shape. Colour too, perhaps.”

Benji glanced at him, her eyes large and eager. “Prince?”

“Yes, because he is a prince among his kind. The largest Sea King in this part of the Calm Belt,” Toby said. “Ten times larger than Coral Grove, our largest dreadnought.”

“Wow.” Benji pressed her face against the glass. “Mani could snack on that for years.”

“Wouldn’t it be tough for her to hunt such a large creature?” Toby said, not without humour.

Benji rolled her eyes. “Not right now, she’s a baby. But she’ll be big and strong one day! Bananawani hunt Sea Kings, did you know?” she said and babbled the poor marine’s ears off about the large reptiles for some minutes.

As the armoured glass elevator descended to deeper water, their surroundings became steadily darker. Shivs put her gaze on the glass floor and the pitch black abyss below. It was easier to face the darkness approaching than the light receding, the sparkle of the sun on the water surface dwindling as you sank. The sea has never been friendly to man.

Beside her, Benji had put her arm around Mani as she looked up. No more sea kings down here.

“The 6th level is also called ‘The Basement’,” Toby said, making the girl glance away from the ever more distant sunlight. “Do you know why?”

Ghosts in the attic and monsters in the basement, Shivs thought as she recalled the sailors’ idiom about grief with its haunting memories and stowed feelings.

Benji eyed him, holding on to Mani still. “Because it's dark and far down?”

Because nobody goes there if they can help it. Shivs stared at the watery dark beneath their feet. The sea floor might never come and she'd not be surprised.

“Nope!” Toby said, his smile bright in the dimming light. “Because it is where all the cool people stay.”

Benji’s mood lit up. “My unc- Dad, is super cool! He's actually made out of sand, like, for real.”

“Are you made out of sand?”

Shivs gaze snapped onto him like a hawk. He was looking at Benji, fondness soft on his youthful face. He couldn't be much older than 20 or 22.

“I don't think so?” Benji let go of Mani to brush at her clothes, then glanced at him. “Do you want to pet her?”

Toby smiled. “Absolutely.”

🐊 🐊 🐊 

Horny hell seat reservations - @tiredemomama @smut-goblin @ruledbyproblematique @momodwriter @littlemountainwolf @fanaticsnail @feral-artistry - except there's no horny. Croc isn't even in it either. I feel like a cheat.

[spotsupstuff]

oughhh ur suns and pebbles thing is making me THINK god damn (/very much pos). i guess i just never considered pebbles capable of feeling the want to live or even feeling worthy of life after what he did to moon but if he manages to feel deserving of/happy with his existence, the first thing he would do is lash out at suns for being a shitty mentor and a slightly shitty person. he’s realized that he doesn’t deserve this kind of treatment from someone he was supposed to look up to and it’s so interesting to think about how he’d react to that situation

oh interesting thoughts!

my thinking behind it is more along the lines of like... Pebbles and his self-respect. and self-love. because he never wants to kill himself in canon out of things that people in real life do. Pebbles isn't depressed, he isn't emotionally hurt, he's righteously furious about the injustice that is the painful Iterator existence. that's my favorite characterization bit about him, it's from this

the Iterators' existence is an unjustly suicide mission they were shoved into and cannot leave. the Ancients doomed them to torment until they die- the torment starts once they start breaking down. becaue as we know, despite all that they are, they aren't immune to time

and some of them accept this as if it is fair. as if it is alright and how it is meant to be. as if this is moral. people like Suns

and then there will be people who see this blatant horror and try to fight it. what Pebbles does is this. he's a fighter. he wanted everyone to be okay, free, not have to one day live through that sea of pain that is slowly falling apart at the seams

the only way out of this promised, creeping torment is finding The Solution. *nothing* seems to be fucking working within their Taboo inflicted limits, so he wants to step outside of this cage and look if beyond it awaits help. Pebbles isn't trying to Kill himself, he's trying to find help for everyone

we also need to understand that their world is different from ours. legitibility of religion isn't in question. to them religion IS science. and the final mathematical result is something like a Nirvana. not being anything yet being everything, somewhere else than the real world yet in there as well, presumably

Pebbles is a self-respecting individual. he and Suns probably go way back, to times when things were better, when their existence didn't guarantee agony because they had people to take care of them (the Ancients). then the Ancients left and Suns showed his true colors or simply developed a rather vile horrifying opinion on all of this

and Pebbles ignored it, accepted their advice still, because this is Suns. his mentor. they want the best for him, after all- they are older, they know better. he will listen to them

but then the golden pearl arrives and everything goes down and Pebbles no longer can ignore Suns' outlook on this. it's toxic, it's dangerous to him. and Pebbles respects himself, so when Spearmaster comes a second time with an apology written on a bloodstained pearl, he lashes out

"Astounding," he says. Recognizing. Seeing. Understanding. This is dangerous and he shan't accept anymore of terrible suicidal advice from a moron who didn't think to think and be a responsible mentor

[neednottoneed]

This is sassmill on my main account because I can’t change which url asks come from and I am humbly BEGGING for an angsty danbecca oneshot based on "everytime i look at you, i feel more alone."

Rebecca is slipping away from her.

It started with the haircut, or maybe before, Danny isn't sure. Maybe the haircut was simply the first time she really admitted to herself that Rebecca had grown distant. Rebecca's moods have always been as capricious as the English weather, but Danny has known her long enough to tell when something is off.

And something is off now.

"I'm going up to London next week," Rebecca is saying, though she won't meet Danny's eyes in the mirror. "I shan't spend the night, but I'll be arriving back late, so no need to wait up for me."

"I always wait up for you," Danny says, pulling the brush again through Rebecca's hair. She keeps forgetting how short it is; it stops much more suddenly than she expects.

"You shouldn't," Rebecca says tiredly.

"And what else am I going to do with my time?"

"I don't know, Danny; go play cards with Mrs Rutherford and the rest of the staff."

"The staff don't want me interfering in their fun, Madam," Danny says. "And Robert lets the brandy go to his head."

"Well, I can't be the only one you spend time with," Rebecca says, and it's the first time a cross note has entered her voice. Danny blinks at this. She's never heard Rebecca express such a sentiment before; normally Rebecca's all too happy to monopolize Danny's time and attention.

"I'm perfectly happy spending my time with you," Danny says.

"Oh, I wish you wouldn't," Rebecca says tiredly. "What are you going to do when I'm gone?"

"I don't plan to outlive you, Madam, so such a question is entirely foolish."

"You're only five years older than me, Danny, stop acting like that's such a large difference," Rebecca snaps. She takes the brush from Danny's hands then and stands.

"Why are you being like this?" Danny asks. Her voice does not shake when she does, as badly as she wants to let it. She does not confront Rebecca, not ever. That's Maxim's job. Maxim is the one whose temper matches Rebecca's own. Danny's job is to be a balm for Rebecca, to provide comfort and stability, not to question.

"I'm the same I'm always been."

"No you aren't," Danny says. "I--these past few weeks you've grown more distant, you've--I feel like you're leaving me. Every time I look at you I feel more alone."

God, how desperately she wants Rebecca to comfort her, to take her into her arms and tell her she's sorry, that she's stressed, that she doesn't mean it.

Instead, Rebecca just turns to face her, her expression something like pity mixed with a feeling Danny can't quite decipher.

"I'm not going anywhere, Danny," she says softly. "I promise."

Danny doesn't know whether to feel comforted or hurt at the obvious lie.

[blairsanne]

Pretend to Be Nice - 1 - Oh No

For the @deanobingo 2023 event!

Prompts: Anders Johnson - Honesty The Almighty Johnsons - Anders & female Reader 4619 words

Summary: You are secretly in love with your friend, Anders Johnson. When your other friends find out, they encourage you to let it go.

CW: Alcohol consumption, discussion of hookups (mild). Angsty? Slow burn I guess? (This is a multi-part story.) Series masterlist here

You stood in the kitchen of Michele’s house, topping pieces of baguette with various things while music filtered in from the living room. 

The gods and goddesses surrounding the Johnson family had gotten into the habit of weekend parties, and you were having a quiet moment inside while the crowd was in the yard, enjoying the summer weather.

Anders sauntered in through the back door and flashed you a smile as he looked you over.

“There she is.” “Here I am.”

He walked up to you and leaned in as though to tell a secret as he pinched at the fabric of your dress. “This thing is dreadful. Bin it.”

“Oh? What would you have me wear then, my lord?” you asked sarcastically. 

It wasn’t completely out of the norm for Anders to tell you whether or not he approved of your fashion, but this might have been the harshest he’d been to something you were actively wearing.

Still, it seemed mostly light-hearted.

He was grinning back at you, his blond hair aglow in the late afternoon sun shining through the window behind him, looking every bit like the piss-taking god he was.

“Well if we’re talking druthers, I’d prefer you without, but I think killjoy Mikkel would complain.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ha ha.”

Anders snickered to himself and ate one of the appetizers you were still preparing, earning him a brief dirty look from you which only served to make his dimples more prominent. 

He could tell he was pushing your buttons, but you always indulged his mischief, so he figured you’d forgive him.

He gestured to the chilly bin. “Can I get you a drink?”

“I dunno. Last time I drank with you, you left me alone at the bar.”

“Hey, you left me.” He pointed, recalling your night out together the week before. “I went to the bog for a quick pash and when I came back you and Axl had gone home.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You have a skewed sense of quick.”

He shrugged, unapologetic. “What can I say? I’m a generous god.”

You snorted, and he let out a humming giggle in reply as he pulled two beers from the bin. He opened the first one and placed it on the counter beside your handiwork before opening his own.

“So how’d you end up on food duty when there’s a perfectly good handmaiden present?” “You’d best hope she doesn’t hear you talking like that.”

He grinned as he sipped his drink.

“I’ll take my chances.” “Brave man.”

He gave you another lookover and winced. “Seriously, you look like an old woman in that frock.”

You raised your brows in offense. “Understood, Bragi. I shan't damage your eyes with it again.”

Sensing that you were taking it personally, he tilted his head and added lightly, “I liked that purple one you wore to Ty’s.”

You snickered, knowing which - revealing - dress he meant. “Wonder why that might be.” “Just saying, you should play to your assets.” “My ass-ets?”

Anders wagged his eyebrows, turning to stick his own ass out as he gestured at his chest to imply large breasts.

You shook your head and went back to your task. “Always so charming.”

His bright laugh won you over, however, and you couldn’t help but smile when you looked up to see his eyes wrinkled and his dimples in full view.

He caught sight of Michele and Stacey walking over and winked at you, as though to keep his previous comment a secret.

“Need help?” Stacey offered.

Anders snickered, but turned away to sip at his beer in an attempt to hide it. You threw him a warning glance despite your own amusement, then offered Stacey a warm and genuine smile. “I’d love that, ta.”

Michele hummed and leaned against the counter, giving Anders a lookover as Stacey started helping you. “It’s not like Anders is of any use.”

“I don’t see you cooking,” he retorted.

She shrugged. “I’m not very domestic. My talents lie elsewhere.”

He nodded, his eyes training over her form. “I’m sure they do.”

Olaf stepped in the back door. “Ah, sustenance!”

Before anyone could stop him, he nabbed a couple of the completed appetizers off the plate.

“Leave some for the rest of us, eh?” Anders teased.

Stacey shooed Olaf away. “Get out, both of you. We’ll take them outside when they’re done.”

When Olaf began to protest, Anders put his hand on his back to steer him toward the door. “C’mon Grandpa, let’s let the women do their work.”

“Like it’s the role of goddesses to feed useless gods?” Michele challenged.

“Well not you, obviously; we don’t want to be poisoned,” Anders called behind him as he exited.

Michele flipped him the bird, though he didn’t see, then turned to you and shook her head. “Dick.”

You laughed under your breath and got back to work.

--

Later on, you found yourself standing with Anders outside, talking about plans.

“Axl and I are gonna hit up that new club on Fort Lane tomorrow night. You should come with.” “So I can keep Odin company while you get your end away?” He grinned. “We can trade off.”

You grimaced, then looked away, playing it off. “Yeah, nah. I’m not up for it.” “What?” Anders nudged you playfully. “You always come.” You shook your head. “Mm. Not this time.” “Oh, is it that time of the month?”

You smacked his arm. “No! God.”

He let out a humming laugh at your reaction. “Then what’s your problem?”

“I just…” You rubbed your arm and looked away again, shrinking somewhat into yourself. “I just don’t feel like hooking up with anyone right now. That’s all.”

“You should hit him harder,” Michele suggested, walking up with a glass of wine in hand.

You snorted as she and Stacey joined you.

Anders scrunched his face up in mild offense. “All I did was invite you out. Usually you’re keen on it.”

“Finally get sick of babysitting the Johnsons?” Michele wondered. “You’d know all about that, eh?” Anders challenged.

You shrugged, wanting the topic dropped now that there were more people involved. “I’m just not up for it.”

Anders pointed, squinting his eyes at you playfully. “Or maybe you’ve got some boy toy on the side you haven’t told us about.” He fingered the fabric of your dress again. “Would explain your sudden off-putting attire.”

“Anders, couldn’t you just pretend to be nice?”

He clucked and winked at you. “Nah, I respect you too much to be dishonest.”

You snickered as Stacey rolled her eyes.

“Oh please.” Michele crossed her arms. “As if you have any idea how to respect goddesses.”

Anders placed his hand on your shoulder. “Just the ones I like.”

“The ones who put up with your crap, you mean.” “The ones who aren’t frigid bitches? Always a pleasure, Michele.”

He turned to you then, pointedly ignoring her and squeezed your shoulder a couple times. He flashed a crooked, conspiratorial grin, his tone coaxing. “We’re gonna have fun…”

“I’m sure you will.”

He clucked again, but gave you a wink as he started walking off. “Change your mind, you know how to reach us.”

Michele watched him walk off, then turned to you with a raised brow. “I don’t know how you can stand going out with him.”

You shrugged defensively. “It is usually fun. And he usually pays for my drinks.”

“You don’t need a wanker god buying your drinks.”

“Well I don’t need a mum telling me who to hang out with either. Besides, it’s good for Axl to have someone a little less…” You glanced towards where he was now joining up with Olaf to partake in a joint. “-Anders with him.”

Stacey and Michele both laughed. “That is true.”

--

A while later, Stacey leaned over toward where you were sitting against the back wall of the yard.

“Alright, so spill.” You looked over at her with raised brows. “Spill what?”

“Why don’t you want to go out with the boys? Was Anders right? You’ve got your eye on someone?”

“Oh.” You took a swig of your beer. “Yes and no. It’s- not going to happen.” You laughed under your breath and shook your head.

“No way, you’re a catch,” Stacey argued, pushing your shoulder playfully. “And Anders can totally talk any mortal into bed with you.”

You snorted. “Yeah, that’s not the issue. I’m sure he’d be down for a root, but that’s not-” You shook your head again. “I don’t want that.”

Stacey’s teasing air faded and her voice turned soft. “You really like this guy, eh?”

You shrugged, but nodded. “Mm.”

“So what’s the deal? Is he, like, married or something?”

“Nah.” You shook your head and took another deep drink of your beer.

Michele walked over and sat down facing you both. “What are you two plotting without me?” “Nothing.” “She’s fallen for some guy.” “Oh? Who’s the lucky mortal?” “Not that lucky. She hasn’t made a move.” “Oh, no. That’s pathetic. You need a little Sjofn push?”

“No!” you said a bit too panicked, putting your empty hand up. “Definitely not. I’m just going to swallow it down until it goes away.”

Stacey laughed, but Michele narrowed her eyes. “Why?” “Because it’s just never going to work out.” “You don’t know that.” “I’m serious. If I told you who it was, you’d laugh at me.”

“No way!” Stacey insisted. Michele crossed her heart, confident she could get you to tell her. “Goddess’s oath.” 

You contemplated it, looking around. You seemed to be alone in the yard, and the music from inside the house was loud enough that talking quietly should make it impossible for anyone to overhear you.

“You can’t tell anyone.” “Promise.” “Absolutely.” “Not even Ingrid. She’ll mean to keep it quiet and then tell Colin or one of the Johnsons by accident or something.”

They laughed but nodded in agreement.

You let out a quiet groan. This is probably a mistake.

“It’s…” You leaned closer and whispered. “Anders.”

Stacey nearly choked, laughing incredulously before falling into a coughing fit.

Michele just stared at you in alarm for a beat that faded to pity. “Oh, no.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes. “I know. I know. Hence nothing coming of it.” You got up and walked away before they could tell you any of the countless reasons it was never going to work out for you. You’d already agonized over them yourself plenty. 

Sure, you could probably talk him into a root or two, but you’d only end up upset and hurt when he didn’t want more from you.

Anders did not have partners; he had notches in his bedpost, and that was it. There was no point making things awkward for everyone by trying to change that and becoming a bitter ex. 

--

A week later, you were back at Michele’s for another god-party, arriving late after debating whether to come at all. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be around them, but you knew that Stacey and Michele would be judging your interactions with Anders now, and you knew that he was probably going to talk about his exploits - which shouldn’t hurt your feelings, even though they did.

Eventually the barrage of texts - from your goddess friends as well as Anders and Axl - had convinced you that you should just suck it up and attend. The more you acted out of the norm, the more they would question why, and Michele or Stacey might let it slip.

Your two goddess friends spotted you the moment you arrived, and before you could stop them, you found yourself whisked into a bedroom to be stared down.

“Finally!” Michele crossed her arms. “Is this really about Bragi?”

You wrapped your own arms around yourself as your shoulders raised defensively. “Look, I’m here now, okay?”

“You need to get over him.” “She’s right, it’s for the best.” “I’m not trying to be under him! I can’t help how I feel-”

“Yes, you can,” Michele argued. “Stop playing along with his bullshit, and letting him treat you like the wanker-wingman he’s trying to turn sweet Axl into.”

You looked up and sighed. “So, what, just stop being friends with him?”

“Absolutely.” “I can’t do that. He hasn’t done anything wrong.” “Except be himself,” Stacey muttered.

You winced. “I like Anders. He’s funny, and smart, and he’s nice to me.” Michele raised a brow.

“He is!” You shifted, breaking eye contact. “In his own way.”

Michele softened, realizing that arguing with you about the subject of your crush might not be the most efficient route to solving this problem.

“And yet, boyfriend material he is not. So swallow down the butterflies, have a few meaningless roots, and for the love of Asgard, move on.”

You shrugged, pouting. “Yeah, that’s… more or less the plan.”

Michele wrapped an arm around your shoulders to lead you back out into the party. “Perfect.”

--

Michele and Stacey hovered around you for a good while, but eventually Michele went off to find Mike, while Stacey helped Ingrid to not destroy the food that she was trying to make for everyone.

You found yourself standing alone in the backyard, staring up at the sunset painting the clouds in warm hues. The soft blue that was fading from the sky suddenly reminded you of Anders’s eyes, and you felt a twist in your gut.

It wasn’t fair, you thought, to be so close to the man - indeed, a common companion on pub crawls and confidante of drunken exploit reports after his trysts - and yet unable to cross that invisible barrier.

Maybe he would be down for a root; it was Anders, after all. The problem with that was you; too much of a romantic to be satisfied by a bit of fun, you knew you’d feel lower than dirt to see him bedding mortals again after having his way with you. Being a meaningless root would be worse than being his undesirable friend.

“Ah, here she is. The cause of my sexual frustration.”

Anders’s voice caught you off-guard as much as his comment, and you raised a brow as he stepped up from behind you. You felt a flutter of anxiety, but played it cool.

“Excuse me?”

He placed his hand on your shoulder and leaned in close. “Went out with Axl as planned, but since you weren’t there, I wasn’t able to have any fun. Could have taken this fit blonde to the bog but Ax’ was getting into trouble without your supervision.”

You shut your eyes and pursed your lips, swallowing down the feelings of rejection that were rising like bile in your throat.

“And I’m sure that’s stopped you from Bragi-ing anyone else to bed since, eh?”

Anders laughed brightly. “Well, no. Of course not.” He gave you a glancing look-over. “Nice dress, by the way. Much better than the last one- But come with us next time. It wasn’t as fun without you there.”

You rolled your eyes. “To keep Axl company?”

“And me? And to have fun? Why are you being so weird about it? You usually like coming out with us.”

Anders hadn’t missed the offense in your voice, but he meant what he was saying; he just had a better time with you there.

Which is why he’d texted you multiple times trying to coax you to join them that night; why he’d been bothered by your lack of response.

He shook the beer he was trying to give you enticingly.

“Pass.” You took the bottle from him, but turned and walked off, feeling irritated that he really had no idea how you felt.

No, it’s my fault…

How would he possibly know, after months of following him and his baby bro to the bar, watching him take chick after chick home (or to some dark corner), that you didn’t want to hear about his sex life?

How could he know that finally voicing your feelings to Michele and Stacey had made them impossible to ignore; a dam that had secretly burst.

It wasn’t fair to treat him differently as a result, but you had to somehow. You simply couldn’t stomach it no matter how much you wanted to be around him.

Ugh… Michele is right.

He caught up to you before you could make it inside, blocking your path.

“What’s your problem?” “Sorry?” “Is there something the matter?”

You took a defensive step back. “What would be the matter?”

His nostrils flared, his voice low with irritation. “I don’t know, you’re the one suddenly too good to go out with us.”

You scoffed and tilted your head. “I never said that.”

“Then stop being so fucking weird-” “Stop asking me to babysit your brother so you can fuck every blonde in Auckland!” “Okay, fine!”

You could read the confusion and offense in Anders’s expression even as he took a step back.

“But just so you know, you’re starting to act a lot like your friend Michele.”

You knew what he meant, but you couldn’t help the offense you felt at him implying that was a bad thing. She was your friend, after all.

“So what if I am?” “Kinda prefer you acting like you?” “Oh- well- let me just change my personality to suit your taste then! Just like my wardrobe.”

Anders frowned. You’re offended by that now, too?

“Why don’t you go boss around a mortal?”

You saw the subtle twitch of his cheek as he clenched his jaw, his eyes searching yours.

He didn’t get where this sudden disdain was coming from. You’d never been so pissy with him, and never about him using his powers.

You felt your heart in your throat, anticipating some biting retort as he glared at you, but instead he suddenly turned and stormed off, leaving you alone outside again.

--

Anders stalked through the party until he found his brothers standing around chatting.

He threw himself into the conversation, acting aloof and lighthearted despite his mind being distracted by your odd behaviour.

He’d assumed you declining the invite last week had been a one-off, but now it seemed like the mere idea of going out with him and Axl - a longtime regular occurrence - was entirely bothersome to you.

He wondered if it had to do with your little goddess friends giving you shit; he knew they didn’t like him much. Or maybe you really did have some beau you’d neglected to mention. Neither option sat particularly well with him.

The light-hearted conversation was interrupted by the sound of a smoke alarm going off in the kitchen.

“Shit-”

Mike and Ty immediately ran toward it, even as Stacey started shouting that everything was fine - ‘just a little cooking mishap’ - over Ingrid’s apologies.

Anders laughed at the chaos and looked up at Axl. “Hey, while I’m thinking of it-” He leaned in close to ask Axl if he knew what was going on with you.

“What d’you mean?” “She doesn’t want to come out with us all of a sudden.”

“Really?” Axl cocked his head in surprise. He hadn’t truly questioned you not being there last time, but now that he thought about it, Anders did usually drag you out with them.

“When I asked her why not, she acted… fucking, weird, I dunno.” He sipped his beer. “Pissed off at me, but I can’t suss out why.” He glanced up at Axl. “Thought maybe you knew something I’d missed.”

“Nah, she seemed fine last we talked, but…” “But?” “Well… You can be kind of a dick, even if you don’t mean it.”

Anders scoffed, an insulted grin on his face as he briefly tucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “Love the vote of confidence from the baby bro.”

“Nah, just- you know how chicks are. You probably- didn’t even realize, or- didn’t mean it however she took it, you know? Just say you’re sorry, I bet she’ll forget all about it.”

Anders pursed his lips. He wasn’t exactly a stranger to upsetting people, though he couldn’t think of what he’d done this time. He was used to being himself around you - blunt and teasing - and you’d never gotten upset with him about it before.

In fact, that was part of why he liked hanging around you over the other gods and goddesses.

He had fun getting you to laugh despite yourself at the inappropriate things he said. You always took things the way he meant them, and you always seemed happy to see him. You never made him feel like he was some monster for using his power, or wanting to root. 

So then, whatever he’d done to upset you, it must have been pretty bad.

Maybe Axl was right that he just needed to apologize. Still, he wasn’t the sort to apologize without meaning it, or knowing what he was supposed to be sorry for. He was going to have to ask you what was going on, which he’d already tried with poor results.

“Goddesses,” he muttered in annoyance, resigning himself to having to talk to you about it.

“Chur.” Axl let out a small laugh and clinked his bottle against Anders’s.

--

You stayed outside while the fire alarm chaos went on, sitting at the edge of Michele’s pool to kick your legs in the water. 

You’d come out at their insistence, but all you wanted now was to go home. I’m not even in there anyway.

Once the commotion seemed to die down, you dried off using one of the towels Olaf had left out and slipped your shoes back on.

You found Stacey and Michele pouring themselves glasses of wine in the now-empty kitchen and gestured for them to follow you into Michele’s bedroom. 

With the door shut for privacy, you let out a defeated huff.

“Right. I’m gonna head out.” “No, stay,” Stacey whined. “No, I’ve made enough of an ass of myself for one night.”

Michele frowned. “Meaning?”

“I’m pretty sure Anders hates me now.”

Michele and Stacey answered over top of each other. “Well that’s no issue-” “I’m sure he doesn’t-”

You winced and let out a groan.

Stacey’s tone was full of concern. “What happened?”

“I was pathetic.” You held one hand to your forehead. “I got cross with him for no reason.”

“That’s not possible,” Michele muttered, rolling her eyes. If you were cross with Anders, it was probably justified.

“It’s not his fault that I fancy him and he doesn’t fancy me. And it’s childish to get hurt by it. I just need to…” You sighed and gestured half-heartedly. “Get over it somehow. It’s pointless.”

“True.” Michele nodded. “I could help you find a man for the night?”

“No, I just want to go home and sleep. Ta.”

Stacey patted your head, then pulled you into a hug while Michele shrugged.

--

Anders spotted Stacey and Michele coming into the living room after seeing you off, and he stepped over with a raised chin to ask where you were.

“She just left,” Stacey replied without hesitation, thumb pointing toward the door.

Michele elbowed her, but before she could say anything to Anders, he was already heading for the exit.

“Way to go, Stace,” she hissed.

--

Anders caught up to you just as you were about to get in your car.

“Hey!”

You raised your shoulders and sucked in a breath as you turned to face him. “What’s up?”

“You don’t say goodbye anymore?”

It was true that you normally made a point to do a goodbye lap at god gatherings, but you hadn’t been up for it tonight.

You shrugged. “Bye.”

“No- wait.” Anders put his hands on his hips and licked his lips. “Clearly there’s something going on.”

“No, nothing,” you lied.

“Look I know I’m a prick, but I am actually capable of behaving when I need to. Whatever I’ve done to upset you, if you just tell me, I’ll stop.”

You read the sadness in his face, and felt a tug in your heartstrings. Not only were you feeling like shit being around him, you were making him feel bad now too.  Oh, well done.

“No, Anders- I know that. You didn’t do anything. You’re fine.” You reached out to tap his cheek consolingly. “You’re perfect.”

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?”

You retracted your hand, hunching your shoulders. “Like what?”

“Like that. Like I hurt your feelings or something.” “No. No, you didn’t. Really. There’s nothing wrong.”

Anders scowled, his cheek rippling in frustration. “Don’t lie to me.”

You swallowed, then looked down. “It doesn’t matter, really. It’s no worries.”

“What’s with you? Just tell me.”

It wasn’t like you to be so vague with him. The idea that you wouldn’t tell him what it was pissed him off for reasons he couldn’t explain to himself; maybe more than the idea that you were upset. You’d always been so open with him before. Did this mean you hated him so much you wouldn’t even give him a chance to make it right? Did you think only the worst of him suddenly?

You hugged yourself, not wanting to be honest, but knowing things were going to keep escalating if you didn’t. You could easily imagine the drunk texts or the scene he’d make at the next god gathering; him blaming Michele or trying to rope Mike into figuring it out for him. Your stomach turned and you fought back a wave of nausea.

“I thought… I could just get over it, or ignore it, or whatever. I wasn’t going to say anything, but- Now I guess I’ve let it ruin things.” 

You groaned, holding a hand to your face. This is pathetic.

“What?” Anders stared at you in confusion, still convinced that he’d done something and you were being too polite to tell him what. It must have been pretty bad to upset you this much, but he couldn’t think of anything out of the ordinary or particularly egregious that he’d done - particularly to you, who he’d considered one of the better gods in the group.

You met his concerned blue eyes with an earnest expression. “Anders, the truth is I-” You licked your lips, fighting the sting of tears. “I’ve sort of- Fallen in love with you? And I know nothing will come of that, so I didn’t want to make things weird by saying so.”

His face was slack with dumbfounded shock.

In love with me?

That was the opposite of what he’d been expecting to hear. You’d been so cold and avoidant that he was sure you were going to tell him how awful of a person he was; you wouldn’t have been the first.

But in love with him? Sure, he’d heard that before from mortal women who he’d Bragi’d to bed, who didn’t really know him at all but found him charming. He’d always shrugged it off as a bit of an insult, or an unintended lie. They loved some incorrect idea of him.

But you knew him better than that. You’d been there through messed up god business, and kept his secrets that even Dawn had no inkling of. That meant that you’d seen all the bad parts of him - bickering with his family; using his powers on everyone; drunk, and high, and being a prick - and concluded that he was lovable?

Really? Even his own family was always chastising him.

You took his stunned silence as confirmation of what you’d already known; he didn’t feel the same for you.

“Sorry,” you managed in goodbye, then climbed into your car.

He watched as you drove off, blinking and at a loss for words, Bragi no help this time.

---

Part 2 here

---

A/N: I wasn't sure I'd end up finishing any of my bingo WIPs given what's going on IRL right now... Shoutout to everyone who has been posting so much for the bingo event! And special shoutout to @laurfilijames, whose fic broke my writer's block.

Tags: @the-poldarkian @i-did-not-mean-to @the-butterfly-blues @laurfilijames @midearthwritings @feeweeeee @ichoosechoasandbeingqueer @missihart23

As always if you'd like to be added or removed from tagging (for a specific character/fandom/everything) just let me know any time!

[blackjackkent]

OK, clearly we've got to put the pedal to the metal and get moving on tracking down Gortash, so - early morning in camp, let's get out on the road and--

Oh, Christ, what do YOU want?

"I've had my eye on you. Hot as brimstone, jagged as lightning... and seething like the River Styx. But there's something missing, isn't there? You're hungry for pleasures beyond this plane. Something more satisfying than mortal flesh, blood, and bone."

...Bahahahahaha oh my god. Really?

I can't imagine what Hector could POSSIBLY have done that would give her even remotely this impression, so I am choosing to interpret this as her trying to fuck up Karlach's relationship, since Zariel doesn't actively want her murdered anymore but that doesn't mean Mizora wants to see her happy.

Hector, as usual, is just baffled by the whole conversation.

"I have no idea what you're on about."

"I'm talking of the mundanity of a life ignorant to the thrills of the Nine Hells," she purrs. "Yes... you're curious. Your eyes are lit like raging stars. You want what only I can give you. The ecstasy of agony. The pain of the damned, distilled into pure bliss - beyond every climax you've known. The little death, writ large." She smiles slowly, her eyes drifting over him in a long, lascivious arc. "Smile, and I'll come to you when you put your head down to rest. I will sate your most forbidden lusts." She tilts her head to one side, laughs softly. "Or don't... and know the eternal ache of the unknown and the unanswered."

Hector's eyes are very much not lit like raging stars; he's just sort of staring at her in bewilderment. However, she's not entirely wrong about him being curious.

Much to his own shame, he is only human and she is a creature designed for temptation in every aspect, and what she describes does spark a smidgen of physical response, rather as his moment with Gale in the Weave or with Astarion's teeth in his neck, back in the early part of his adventures, did as well - when he was still newly out in the world and being acutely reminded of the fact that he had a body and it had needs. He is fully capable of giving in to his own curiosity in ill-advised ways, too; in other circumstances... perhaps, he would even listen.

But he has Karlach, and that is enough for him. And Mizora is responsible for far too much misery among his friends for him to even consider the notion.

"Absolutely not," he says flatly.

Her eyes flash for a moment, but then her expression smooths out. "Dear me," she murmurs. "I've overestimated you. Trust me, I shan't be making that mistake again. Ta-ta!"

-----

"You're kidding. Mizora? Mizora wanted to get you in the sack?" Karlach stares at him and looks as if she isn't sure whether to be furious or laugh. "And thought you'd say yes?"

"I'm not sure what she thought," Hector says wryly. His lips twitch. "She said something about me being 'hot as brimstone.'"

"Well, she was right about that," Karlach says, and grins mischievously. "Can't fault her taste, I'll say that much." A slight pause. "You weren't... y'know. Tempted? Right? Not by her?"

Hector draws a breath and lets it out slowly. "What was it you said about Flo? 'If she’d been completely different from who she was, we might’ve been real friends.'"

"Hah..." Karlach lets out a soft bark of a laugh and shakes her head. "Yeah. Get that a lot with the infernal sort..." A pause. "I know I said I'm not the jealous sort - and I'm not, long's we talk about it. But not her. Not her..."

"Never her," Hector agrees firmly. "You can be certain of that."

----

(A/N: Out of curiosity, I did go see what happens if you say yes. As the romance scenes in this game go, it's honestly pretty lackluster; Hector stood on a floating platform in an abyss with Mizora, with different colors of flame around him representing different layers of the Hells they were "moving through," and made suggestive faces while the narrator described him experiencing different flavors of agony and bliss. And then Mizora's clothes vanished and they floated up in the air snuggled together inside her wings while Hector was FULLY CLOTHED, which was a choice. And then they woke up in the barn in camp, she said something about him being "forever marked" by the experience, and then Karlach walked in on them.

The actual most interesting aspect of this was Karlach's response. She is fully too good for this world.

Obviously she was angry - but her first anger was on WYLL's behalf, not her own: "Look, I don't own you. I can't tell you what to do, and I wouldn't. But Mizora? After everything she's done to Wyll? After everything she WOULD do to me if given the chance?"

Nega-Hector explained that his curiosity got the better of him, and Karlach, because she is, again, too good for this world, forgave him. I was 100% sure she would dump him for this. "Ugh. I wish I could say I don't understand. But I know what those fuckers are like. They'll promise you the world, make you believe it too. Then right when you're relaxed, yoink! There goes the rug, right out from under you. I trust you won't make the same mistake twice. Mizora works for Zariel - *pure* evil. We don't need them. We have each other. Ourselves. *Life.* What else could we want?"

Oh, no, Karlach, if Hector ever actually treated you like this, I would WANT you to dump his ass. You deserve better.

Anyway, what a relief that that didn't actually happen. XD )

[stranded-labyrinth]

Hi, I find you terrifying to interact with but you're my favorite person on all of tumblr and I love your Hannibal content more than I love to breathe

would you be willing to recommend some hannigram fics you like? I adore everything you write about them, but that also means I read and re-read all of it many times so I wanted to check if maybe you'd share some recs

thank you and I love you're brilliant

first off, i love you SO much for this, and second, i'd be more than happy to provide fic recs!! it's been a while since my last list, so let me go through my bookmarks again :]

Kindness, I Suppose by McRibFarewellTour

"Disturbed by the way his manipulations have panned out, Will decides to abjure both Hannibal's plan and Jack's and invents one of his own. Deep conversations, torturing Hannibal with low-class accommodations, and Will hyperfixating on the history of New Orleans, all with the well-loved backdrop of a forced road trip."

i actually was just finishing this one as i went to answer your ask, and oh my god, i am in love with this fic. McRibFarewellTour is a fairly new AO3 author, but i've loved everything they've made

You're Looking Like I Feel by McRibFarewellTour

"Will��s been out of prison for a week, and Hannibal still hasn’t heard from him. Needless to say, he does not find this acceptable and decides to take action."

one of the best depictions of Will having a perfect idea for revenge on Hannibal that i've seen yet. it combines ideas we've all had for the best way for him to truly hurt Hannibal, with something new that i haven't seen from anything else yet. heed the tags!

That Which Has Been Ignored by virtuous_contract

"Behind him, Hannibal’s breathing is barely audible. Always so damn composed. Or perhaps Hannibal is really asleep? Perhaps the touch is only accidental? It’s the soft pad of a thumb on the back of his neck and the tips of loosely curled fingers stirring his curls more than resting against his skin. Shouldn’t he hate it? Or at the very least, fear it? Deep down he feels something else entirely. Relief of some undefined kind that he fiercely pushes away and refuses to acknowledge. It’s too embarrassing. He can’t be that person. Can’t be that weak."

a delightful touch-starved and maybe even shy post-fall Will on the run with Hannibal, going from hotel to hotel. lots of pining. i shan't say more, just know it's currently one of my favorite one shots.

to swallow smoke by ghostforwhat

"After all that, he had just needed a little release. A quick stop at a gas station on the way here had easily produced what he was searching for; a soft pack of cigarettes now bulging in his shirt pocket, hidden from the downpour as he ducks under the small awning over the office door."

how could i not include this one? part one already had me romanticizing things i should likely never romanticize, and part two extended that tenfold. it's something you need to experience. if you don't fare well with smut, at least read part one.

oh, to be the life and soul will be the death of me by Serindrana

huge fic description that's a passage from the fic, but this is essentially a one shot that combines mutual pining with Will discovering that Hannibal is indeed The Chesapeake Ripper...in the middle of one of Hannibal's dinner parties.

to the victor go the spoils by zipegs

8.9k word smut one shot that follows a dinner at Hannibal's between him, Alana, and Will, in which Alana leaves when she can no longer abide the tension. a very bitter Will ends up taking things in quite some direction, using a very particular sort of power in lieu of revenge, while also ensnaring himself in the very net he attempts to catch Hannibal in.

Small Repairs by Devereauxs_Disease

"It started with a clogged drain. Will put himself in a position to rescue Hannibal's dinner party, hoping to ingratiate himself to the good doctor as he gathered evidence. What he didn't anticipate was how much fun it was to fix things for Hannibal Lecter. In return, Hannibal offered to act as a cooking tutor for Will Graham, talking him through making dinner nearly every night. Are small home repairs really enough to fix what's been broken between these two?"

as always, i love their work. there's a particular scene i love near the end that i won't spoil, but i'll say that it has to do with Will having a very particular way to notice Hannibal's vulnerability, even from afar :]

A Sepulchre in This Kingdom by petrodactyl352

"The first time Hannibal meets Death, he is eight years old."

how could i not include the fic based on my own prompt? a delightful gift <3 i'm still obsessed with this concept even now

Hidden Potential by sourweather

"The first time you make eye contact with your soul mate, you see a vision of their greatest accomplishment. They call it your Peak. Unfortunately for Will Graham, his soul mate's Peak is a vision of blood and horror. Fortunately for Hannibal Lecter, his soul mate's is too."

a very particular kind of soulmate AU, and i was on the edge of my seat nearly every chapter wanting to see where everything would go. as usual, sourweather does NOT disappoint :]

touch me, i'm cold (unable to control) by Naomi_Riddle

"Dr. Hannibal Lecter lacks nothing. He’s definitely not lonely, and he’s certainly not touch-starved. And he absolutely, positively doesn’t have a thing for Will Graham. So when Abigail Hobbs is discharged from the Port Haven Psychiatric Facility, he suggests that she should move in with him - and so should Will. It’s only fair, as they’re both her legal guardians. A domestic, fluffy little fic of touch-starved down bad Hannibal Lecter, oblivious Will Graham, and sassy Abigail Hobbs who conspires to get her gay dads together. Featuring Winston and Company."

this one is still ongoing, and it's the one i look forward to the absolute most currently when it comes to fics updating. i've seen mutual pining domestic vibes with these two, obviously, but placing it so early on and including the adoption of Abigail just scratches an itch i didn't know i had in my brain.

and with that, i think i've met where i ended off last time i recommended stuff from my bookmarks :] hope you enjoy!