#this ask made me feel like neil gaiman even if only for a minute

[daincrediblegg]

Is Lady Terror an original female character or, like, the human personification of the Terror ship? Like Doctor Who and Idris/Tardis?

OH MAN NONNIE! FUNNY YOU SAY THAT!!!

So yes. SHE IS an original female character... but as I originally conceived her she was, in part, a human personification of the ship.

because you see, I'm a whore about television shows. Sometimes I mix and match them for au's to fit my needs, even. And at around the time I re-watched the terror in the early months of this year and summarily got myself INTO this mess, I was also watching 1899, which everyone was pissed about netflix cancelling (and I completely understand why- just another on a whole laundry list of genuinely amazing shows that were not given what they were due- my personal grievance among the likes of The OA and Teenage Bounty Hunters... seriously it's such a shame), and that having a bit of a (spoilers) sci-fi twist in it got the gears turning for what the lady terror thing would actually become. It was just a nickname- one for the AI (and one that could conceivably be reader inserted) that ran the terror SPACE ship, and who happened to have the ability to pop into their alternative cryosleep victorian reality- and one that francis fell (and falls) in love with... again and again and again upon every loop on the ship.

But then I got Serious about the plot, and came up with some stuff that was even better in the context of the plain ol canon context, but the nickname stuck like feathers on tar (because in fairness it is a DAMN good nickname). But now divorced from its original context it still holds the same amount of weight for me- if not MORE than it ever did. Now it has a nasty and even sexist implication to the men who gave it to her (since she was originally designated to the HMS EREBUS, but over the course of the story ends up spending more and more time on Terror... so there you have it)... but also I think of all the things that Francis himself says a ship is to a man... and I think a lot also about how much of a "terror" that she herself is also by defying a lot of the rules that such an objectifying nickname might lay out for her (as so many of them tend to do). And it's just too bloody good and delicious to think about and I can't let it go for the life of me now 😂😂😂So there you have it. Lady Terror: Origins

[neil-gaiman]

(spoilers ahead) i wish my question were more positive, but mr gaiman, why did you choose to include wlw rep only to brutally kill almost every example of it?

just watched the first 5 eps of the sandman. i was loving it, until we met rachel and she died 15 minutes later. after johanna walked off into the rain i looked it up and found out she wasn't coming back. i was disappointed but kept watching. in episode 5, i was excited to meet bette and judy but as i slowly realised where the episode was leading i had to stop watching. i looked up spoilers again to confirm both characters died.

i felt sick to my stomach, and researched more to confirm that yes, there were no other wlw characters in the show. maybe i should keep watching, give the sandman the benefit of the doubt. but as a young queer woman desperate for positive representation, having 3 wlw character die brutally in the same episode they were introduced in, and the other written off...

i understand the show is intentionally dark, but considering i was drawn in by promises of positive queer rep, and knowing from my research that there are many mlm characters who don't die or get to live a long life, it feels your lesbian/bi female characters were given the short end of the stick.

at this point, i wish you hadn't included them at all, so i could be saved the trauma of becoming attached to characters i identify with, only to watch them all die in horrifying ways. this is a constant trend in media deep down, it reinforces the idea that queer women like me can never have a happy ending.

even if you don't have an answer, please acknowledge this ask in some way. thank you.

If there's a Season 2 you will see many of these characters again, because Death doesn't stop characters from being in Sandman. And if there's a Season 2 you'll meet several more important wlw characters who will survive much longer (and who may if we get the opportunity spin off into their own story, as happened in the comics).

Always remember though that Sandman is a show in which, given enough time or bad luck, people die. That isn't a judgement on anybody, as I hope episode 6 makes very clear. It's part of the human condition. It's also why people are complaining on Twitter that I've got it in for cis white males (many of whom die in season 1), and it's why you can get articles like the recent one in Gay Times applauding Sandman for its LGBTQA+ representation.

Does that help?

(Also a small footnote. Gay Times describes Zelda and Chantal as "twins". It's made clearer in the comic that nobody in the house actually knows their relationship. They are a couple of women going through life together with love, but whether they are physically lovers, related or just incredibly close friends is none of our business.)

[agoodomenssideblogiguess]

You know how Neil Gaiman said that when it comes to new television shows, Crowley would probably enjoy the Good Place?

Don't imagine Crowley watching the episode where Eleanor finds out her mom isn't dead.

Don't think about how he probably scoffed at Michael telling Eleanor that she should accept that her mom has changed. Don't think about how when Eleanor says "Because I wanted that mom! I wanted the mom who made me afternoon snacks instead of just telling me to look for loose fries in the McDonald's ball pit," his mind conjures memories of God's cold dismissal of his request to meet with Her back when he was still an angel and Aziraphale had just told him about how his brand new nebula only had 6,000 years left.

Don't think about how when Eleanor says "Why does Patricia get that mom?" Crowley probably thinks back to Job and how even if he didn't get answers, he at least had the chance to ask the question. Why wasn't he allowed to ask?

Jesus too, even as he suffered, got to ask: My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Even though it took 3 days, Jesus at least got some closure in the end.

As Crowley fell, he probably cried out the same thing and his only closure was getting dunked into a boiling pool of sulfur, a cruel precursor to Jesus' baptism.

And DON'T think about how when Eleanor says "If Donna Shellstrop has truly changed, then that means she was always capable of change," a sob probably gets caught in Crowley's throat too.

"But I just wasn't worth changing for," Eleanor concludes.

Do you think he finishes the episode?

I don't think so. I think he leaves the remaining 8, almost 9 minutes unwatched, promising himself to come back on a boring day with nothing to do and no one to visit.

I don't think he's really quite sure what to expect from the ending of the episode. Some closure maybe, a sudden understanding, quiet relief from some weight being lifted away, maybe even a desire to forgive Her.

I don't think he gets any of that. And that makes sense. After all, Donna is a human and God is, well, God. Humans can grow, change, exercise their free will. God is ineffable.

I think that as the episode goes on, Crowley probably thinks to himself that he should have just finished the episode the day he'd started it.

When Eleanor says "You need to commit to this," Crowley thinks he probably should have made Aziraphale watch this with him some time before Gabriel showed up. Maybe if he had, things would be different right now. Maybe Aziraphale would have chosen the beautiful life they'd painstakingly carved from themselves out of the end of the world.

I think Crowley would really like the phrase Michael used at the end of the episode: "afterlife life." It a bit if a throwaway line but it brings back a memory from a makeshift bus stop at the end of the world.

"Do you believe in life after death?"

"I suppose I must do."

Michael tells Eleanor, "You told him that you loved him and he told you that he loved you back," and it stings a bit to realize that for all he tried, he couldn't actually say it to Aziraphale. Could barely do more than skirt around the word 'couple.' Maybe that's where it all went wrong. He didn't just need the one fabulous kiss, he needed a proper, direct, confession that left no room for misinterpretation.

I think as the next episode plays and Eleanor gets her memories of her 'afterlife life with Chidi, he wonders what it feels like to have someone give you barely any time to finish your confession before they're saying "I love you, too."

Crowley's not as deterministic as Eleanor. He's a strong proponent of free will, even took the time to learn it for himself. And Crowley is, underneath it all, an optimist. So when Eleanor says "I guess I was right. I'm incapable of love," Crowley's hardly listening. He's too busy thinking that it's really rather fortunate that despite his demonic nature, Crowley can and does love. He barely hears the joke about Eleanor's Sam the Eagle dreams because he's too busy replaying Eleanor's promise to Chidi a few scenes earlier over and over again in his head, like a prayer he hopes will reach the right person up in heaven.

"It's okay. No matter what he does, we will find each other, and we will help each other because we're soul mates."

[itsallpanicnodisco]

I feel obligated to share with y'all how devastated my mother was after watching season 2 and her commentary of E6 (photographic evidence included, shared with her permission).

OBVIOUSLY, SPOILERS AHEAD. ONLY CONTINUE IF YOU DON'T MIND THEM.

Now, first of all, let's set the scene:

Even though I warned her AND she received like 15 minutes worth of voice notes of me crying violently after the first time I watched it, she told me: 'I think it's not going to be THAT bad, you're probably just too sensitive because you love them so much. In the voice notes you scream like you're being murdered tho'.

SHE WAS WRONG.

(except for the murder-victim-like screams)

She had a lot to say while watching and loved it for the most part, a whole lot more than the first season (in fact, she only sat through S1 because the ineffable husbands' chemistry and maybe just enough insistence to drive anyone mad from my part). At the end of E5 she screamed 'WHERE'S THE KISS?' (showed her the EVERY leak when I got spoiled).

I couldn't retain my tears anymore when the ineffable bureaucracy part started. She looked at me weird and asked why a happy part made me sad.

Then it all started to go down and I could see the joy slowly draining out of her face. She started crying when Crowley wasn't happy about Heaven's offer.

The kiss gave her hope, Azi doubting and Crowley waiting until last minute too. And like every one of us, had a little bit of hope in her eyes until both Crowley and Azi faded on the credits, sobbing by that point.

The very first thing that came out of her mouth was: 'FUCK, I WISH I COULD SPEAK ENGLISH TO SAY A THING OR TWO TO THAT AUTHOR' (she can't pronounce Neil's name). Then: 'WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT!?' was repeated like a hundred times.

After I calmed down, I gave her a brief explanation and general review of the husbands' actions during both seasons with some of the new context S2 gave us. Then, she said almost the very same thing I told her when first watching: 'I can't even complain about bad writing because it makes sense. It hurts more because it makes sense'. A very rare but appreciated moment of agreement between us indeed... after that she cursed me a lot for making her suffer with me LMFAO.

Anyway, all that to say @neil-gaiman made my mother sob.

I hope you enjoyed me knowingly traumatizing my mother with GO2. My best friend is next in line.

(sorry for any mistakes, English is not my first language).

[thessalian]

Thess vs Greenwich Market

So. Laundry's in the dryer cycle, the last batch of cookies is cooling (I just decided to bake, like, all of them), I used the kitchen time to boil some more potatoes for potato salad and those are also cooling, so now I'm going to take a minute to explain my Adventure from yesterday. And coincidentally also explain why my feet hurt so very much.

See, there's this place in Greenwich Market called The Fudge Patch. An old friend of mine who I mostly see on Facebook these days recommended it - apparently he goes fairly regularly and last month they had a deal on delivery fees, so I tried some and I loved it. Then I discovered that some of the flavours they have in store were not available on the website - specifically, coffee fudge. Which ... well, you guys know me well enough to know I just simply had to have. So I decided to look up how one might get to Greenwich from my little chunk of London. Turns out it's not that far - only takes a couple of buses. So I decided that if I was having a not-too-bad day Saturday and if the weather was decent, I would go and get this coffee fudge.

Yesterday, as far as I could tell when I woke up, was sunny and bright and I wasn't feeling too bad. So I thought, "Great! I will go to Greenwich Market". Even checked to see if there were any pharmacies in the vicinity so I could pick up the mallet meds I needed. There were, in fact, two. (This will come into play later.) So off I went on the bus.

Decided to do the pharmacies first, and discovered that neither of these two chain pharmacies had a pharmacy counter at those outlets. I mean, I guess it might have something to do with the fact that the place is very much for tourists - the National Maritime Museum and the Cutty Sark are both there. So I sighed a little, and decided to take a quick trip to local bookstore. Bought a Neil Gaiman short story anthology and a copy of Max Brooks' World War Z (far superior to the movie, as far as I've ever been able to tell), and then went to the market.

Greenwich Market is ... squished. Cramped. Lots of lovely things in a very small space. Which was not precisely easy for me to navigate, especially since I made the tactical error of entering via the food court and an awful lot of people were standing around eating while blocking the entrance into the main market. Then I had to hobble through very small aisles between stalls. I did look at some of the pretties, but not too closely because too many people. So I decided that, while the market proper would get a decent look on some other day when we're not at the start of a bank holiday weekend, I should just get my fudge and be on my way, preferably via a pharmacy.

The shop was also small, and a lot of it was devoted to the area where the fudge slabs were sliced and stored (and also probably packaged for delivery). There were a couple of people in ahead of me and the first thing I heard from the guy running the shop (mid-60s minimum, one of those wiry guys who gets tough and leathery-looking when they get older, long hair, receding hairline, big beard, very engaging grin) was, "No, seriously, take a sample! We are happy for you to taste everything!" and talking about how even if you don't want fudge right now, and leave without buying anything, he's happy to give samples because you might think of the place the next time you want fudge, or a gift for a fudge-lover on holidays, or when you're recommending a treat to a friend. Good way to do business, frankly. So I tried some of the lemon sherbet fudge he was offering (which was really good; I decided at that moment to go for a five-slab box again, and that to be one of the five) and told him that I was very specifically there because I'd ordered some for delivery but the flavour I was most interested in wasn't available online. He asked which one, and when I told him, he went, "Oh; we will definitely rectify that!" So I might be responsible for the coffee fudge hitting the delivery list. Huzzah!

Anyway, he practically insisted that I try a sample of the coffee fudge, since I'd come there especially for it, and in the process he noticed my pin badges. As I ordered my selection (coffee, lemon sherbet, raspberry sorbet, cinnamon swirl, and peanut butter), first he said, "Decisive person; knows what they want. I like it!" and noticed my pin badges - specifically the D&D themed ones. He said he didn't play but that he was peripherally interested in the whole thing and I told him that the fudge was at least partly gaming snacks. To my utter surprise, he asked what I was throwing at my players this weekend. No stranger has ever asked me anything that specific about my gaming before. So I told him and that was a thing.

That brought us to Warhammer, and sideways into books - apparently he's at the penultimate book of the Horus Heresy. Since we were recommending books and he was almost at the end of an apparently very long series, I made a recommendation of my own - the Locked Tomb. When trying to tell him what it was about, the best I could come up with that was short enough not to be too spoilery or involved was "necromancer lesbians in space". The young woman who was packaging up fudge looked up for the first time at that point, going, "Oooh!" and the guy slammed his fist on the counter in a very Thor-like kind of way (you know, the "I like this! ANOTHER!" thing) and said, "YES. Why has no one done this before? I need this!" So I wrote down the title of the first book for him; he can get the rest from there.

Last little bit of discussion was Patrick Rothfuss, who I told him I only knew from his time on Critical Role, and described the letter he wrote to Keyleth in-character a bit. And by then, my fudge was packaged and it was time for me to be on my way. But I think he sincerely hoped I'd be back sometime. Which was nice. Either way, one of the best shopping experiences I've had in a long time.

Then I had to find a bus stop to head in a home-ward direction. This took awhile, because that particular bit of Greenwich has a lot of one-way streets. Finally found it after a bit of a walk, during which I noticed that the sky was going from sunshine and blue to dark and grey. Well, fuck. Waited a bit for the bus, and didn't notice until I was basically on it that it was only going halfway to where I needed it to go. However, it was stopping at New Cross, so there might be a pharmacy there. Even if not, there's a big Sainsbury's, and the start of a bus route that takes me past at least two pharmacies and about a block closer to home than the one I would have taken if it'd stopped at Peckham like it was supposed to. Unfortunately, it let me off a fair distance from the big Sainsbury's, and there were no pharmacies. Woe.

Stopped at the big Sainsbury's, picked up some vegetables and treated myself to a can of root beer, and waited for the bus. That's when it started to rain. "Fuck", was my only real comment to that. There is nothing more annoying than standing at the start of the route, weighed down with shopping, watching the bus driver fuck around, and knowing you can't complain because they are entitled to breaks too. Honestly, I would have just been happy enough with a bench. But nope.

Anyway, bus finally got moving, got as far as Dulwich, got off near a pharmacy, picked up my mallet meds, back to the bus stop, ten minute wait for the next bus, and finally home - tired, sore, but triumphant.

...Then I started cooking dinner, which was roast chicken. I did really well, too. First I discovered that sage and lemon balm are a nice combination of herbs to stuff into the cavity; gives a really nice flavour to the meat, especially in combination with an onion and an entire bulb of garlic. Then I discovered that whatever I did to that chicken (might have been the slight oiling and salting of the skin before I put it in the oven, or maybe the herbs, or both), it resulted in the chicken being exceptionally juicy and tender. As in, when I went to carve off a leg for dinner, the thigh bone just kind of ... fell out. So ... that was good.

Boiled up the carcass, too - onion, garlic, herbs and all. May have boiled it too long, mind you. Or maybe not; what I have is a highly concentrated stock-jelly, of sorts. I figure I do what I would do with stock cubes or those little pots of jelly stock you can get at the grocery store - water it down and heat it, and stock will ensue. Which is good, because the leftover chicken breast is going to be risotto later.

But not today. Today I have done enough, and on top of what I did yesterday, I deserve more of a break. But that's why I have so many reheatables - on days when I have simply Ceased To Can, I can stick a thing in the microwave but still have home-cooked niceness.

So that was my Adventure. The lemon sherbet fudge is already gone, sad to say. But I still have more fudge, so that's nice. No major regrets for the Adventure, but man do I hurt, especially on top of the Adulting. I mean, hell, I mopped the kitchen floor today. Which would be more impressive if the kitchen weren't the approximate size of a postage stamp, but there we are. I have leftovers and fudge and cookies, plus still a lot of my proper American Sour Patch Kids, and I will have potato salad, and eventually some chicken katsu curry and risotto and chili and...

Look, if it's going to hurt no matter what I make myself to eat, I'm going to make sure the things I'm hurting myself to make are fucking worth it.

[thesherrinfordfacility]

I would not be surprised at all if this turned out to be The Fanservice Season of all time and mostly fluff, because Gaiman said that a season THREE would be an adaptation of the planned sequel novel. This is more like,,, an intermediate setup for the sequel. And I also heard that some stuff got cut out because of COVID complications. So on one hand I'm kind of, worriedly, expecting a dip in quality with S2; but it makes me wonder if we're going to get any real answers at all until the very last minute.

hey anon, evening!!!✨ not sure if you necessarily asked for it, but here's my take on what you've shared💓

i hear you re: concerns, and i think that is a risk with any sequel; that it won't carry the same panache, or quality, or heart and soul of what the original source material was or meant to be. this fandom is incredibly fervent and enthusiastic and every single one of us wants it to succeed, so it's only natural that the fandom might carry these doubts to varying degrees. the concern is usually only meant out of the sheer hope that it will be a fitting continuation of this hugely loved and magnificent book and series, rather than out-and-out pessimism that by nature of being a sequel, it was always doomed to failure.

the concern isn't unfounded... on paper. COVID had the potential to be fatal to elements of the tv/film industry, and certainly the way it works has since changed dramatically... some of it for worse, some of it for better. as you say, neil has been really candid that it affected the budget of s2 and therefore posed certain limitations, but i truly don't think it's going to be to s2's detriment. there is also the fact that there is no novel from which s2 will be adapted. however, that novel started in neil and terry's minds, the same genesis as s2/s3, and regardless of terry sadly having since passed away, it will always be the story they want or wanted to tell.

frankly, i think neil is naturally the no.1 fan of the story they built and were planning to build together (would be alarming if he weren't!) and obviously cares very deeply about not only it and its characters, but also the legacy that it embodies. if neil states that he's happy with, and proud of, how s2 turned out, im more than inclined to trust and believe him. he has the highest stake out of anyone else involved; cast, crew, studio, or fan.

exposition in books (from the uneducated, inexperienced view of this reader) is arguably easier to navigate than translating the same to screen. you have a literal narration in books as opposed to it being optional in tv (eg god in s1), whether that be 1st/2nd/3rd person, a central character or side character, whoever. so, elements like thought processes have to be acted out through an experience or as dialogue, rather than an inner-monologue recollection. a memory has to be actualised, rather than just remembered, because we don't have a written narrative to help us. for example, in the hypothetical book sequel, aziraphale could remember the job incident with probably a one page summary, and that would get the point across - but to adapt that the screen, that's going to require a more literal depiction so that the audience is up to speed, and there's no ambiguity.

so my thought process would be that s3, yes, would have been the hypothetical second book, but for tv's sake, s2 is made from elements of the first and second book combined. as you say, it's made to build a bridge to s3 where, i imagine, the proverbial will hit the fan. all of that set up, the exposition, background narrative, needs to be laid out somewhere, and im inferring that it would be altogether too much to put into a s3. hence s2 will exist. it would be a big story to tell, and easier to do in two books than in two series.

my gut feeling is, and i totally realise a) others may not agree, and b) this may end up being wrong, but some of that set-up in s2 is going to be a major tone shift. there usually is in any show/film or book series; in the middle of the overall story, the characters are put against conflict usually not only working against them collectively, but conflict also amongst each other. i don't think it will be any different for s2; that there will be something that occurs in this series that will carry the driving emotion into s3.

i truly and honestly hope that i am surprised by the boys not having any conflict between each other (as well as conflict with Other Entities) by the end of s2, and i would love for the opening of s3 to be rooted in solidarity and togetherness between them both, but i just somehow don't feel like it will... but that's my expectation, not a certainty. in any case, regardless of the S2 Angst Debate, this season is again set up for s3, so yes - i think it's guaranteed that all of the threads from s2 will weave together in perhaps the last ten or so minutes, and the final Problem will be revealed as the "dun-dun-dun" moment to propel us into s3.

as for fanservice? id respectfully disagree, and say i don't think it will be fanservice at all. fanservice looks different for different people, and honestly nowhere more than in GO. some people will want certain romantic moments, or certain hurt/comfort moments, angst moments, intimate moments, conflict moments, historical narrative moments... you catch my drift. neil has been pretty adamant that the story and canon is where he takes it, and is pretty upfront that he takes measures to avoid fans' headcanons and fic wherever possible. so actually, if someone's headcanon happens on screen, doesn't that just mean that that someone had the same thought for where these characters were going as neil did when he wrote it? that's not fanservice in my eyes, that's just being on the same wavelength as the author, and that - in my opinion - would be pretty cool.✨

[watatsumiis]

Hiii General!!!! I've got some questions from the ask game for you! Specifically, 57, 59, 68, 72, 73, 74, 78, 79, and finally 80: How are you enjoying being a part of the astronetwrk?? Is it fun? Stressful? A good community atmosphere? Would you recommend it for newer writers? Multiple of the above?

Hope you're doing well!!!

Hiya Spark !! Tysm for the ask ooo

57. How conscious are you about including symbolism or foreshadowing in your fics?

Not very - a lot of the time when it happens it's more of a happy accident than anything else, but sometimes I might include a little sneaky here and there :3

59. Have you participated in any fic events/writing challenges?  If yes, what were they and did you enjoy them?

Umm nothing that I can recall off of the top of my head hosted by others? Though I do have a quote challenge that someone else tagged me in a while ago in the works still. I've done my own mini-events and they've been fun - and I almost participated in the EBG but backed out at the last minute (as fun as it seemed, it felt like a bit much for me at the time,)

68. Are there any fics that influenced you to write the way you do?

Hm, not that I can think of right now. I never really consumed a very large amount of fanfiction, honestly? Though there are a lot of published authors that inspire me and I've almost definitely picked up quirks of theirs in my writing (specifically Rachel Hartman and Neil Gaiman)

72. What’s your favorite writing compliment you’ve gotten?

I've had a few people compliment my characterisation, which really means a lot to me since I work hard to portray characters in a certain way! I've also had some compliments on my dialogue, as well as my metaphors, which was really lovely since theyre both things i kind of struggle with at times.

I've also had a couple of people express that they enjoy that my content can be read as platonic too, which means a lot to me since that's the sort of content i aim to create! i do also enjoy romance, but theres something special to me about exploring different kinds of dynamics and relationships with characters i like :3

73. What do you tend to get complimented on the most about your writing?

Again, it's usually characterisation and certain throwaway headcanons that i put in there, which is nice!

74. Do you have a fic you wish got a bit more love?

Yeah, there are a few fics here and there that I worked pretty hard on, mostly one-shots and similar pieces that kind of flopped in comparison to my simpler series pieces, but that's okay. I enjoyed writing them and they tend to be the ones I get genuine compliments on, so that's more than enough for me <3

78. What motivates you during the writing process?

Mostly just my interest and enthusiasm in what I'm writing for! If I'm struggling with a piece I'll step back for a while until I feel excited to write it again. I just like creating things, not even specifically to share, just... sometimes the simple act of creation brings so much joy, and it's wild to look back at the sheer amount of stuff that I write!

79. Do you have any writing advice you want to share?

Don't let notes and attention dictate what you write - work on what makes you happy, what you have fun writing, especially if you do it as a hobby. Not every work has to be a total masterpiece, or even has to be posted. Just keep creating for as long as it makes you happy to do so. Go ahead, write that 'cringy' self insert fanfiction you've been thinking about, or that rarepair crack ship you can't get out of your head. You're allowed to write for yourself too - whatever makes you happy, just go for it, don't let anyone else tell you what or how to write.

Your writing is brilliant, it's unique in that you made it, you're the only person who could've made it in that exact way. Don't stop just because it isn't getting the attention you hoped for - write for yourself, not for others. The same goes for a lot of hobbies that include creating, really.

80. How are you enjoying being a part of the astronetwrk?? Is it fun? Stressful? A good community atmosphere? Would you recommend it for newer writers? Multiple of the above?

I haven't really been super active in the network, but it seems welcoming and fun, I've come into contact with a few lovely people through it. The events seem really interesting too, as I said above I almost joined, but bowed out last minute.

I'm someone who struggles a bit with socialising and meeting set standards, so I've been a little quiet and all over the place when it comes to interacting and participating, but the atmosphere seems welcoming I think :>

[mysmistree]

A simple reflection of Neil Gaiman's American Gods.

I will speak frankly, so readers beware spoilers.

I literally just finished this book 10 minutes ago, and thoughts are flooding my brain.

It was a spectacular adventure. It was interesting, it was strange. It was more adult and treated me, the reader, as more adult than most books I've read. (The part with the Ifrit especially was stunning and entertaining.)

I completely misunderstood the title when I glanced it in a bookstore, taking it as something like "Those who are gods in America", like say a rich stockbroker might be a god, or a CEO might be a god, metaphorically, to some.

I now understand it was about a world in which there are old gods, Norse and Egyptian, African and Slavic, and then there are American Gods. All treated diametrically opposed when they are not really on different sides.

I was startled by Media. I was disturbed by The Technical Boy.

I loved and hated Mr. Wednesday.

I did not know who Mr. Nancy/Anansi was when I was reading, but I asked a friend at work if he'd ever heard of such a man, and boy did he have tales to tell me about him. He, you see, has been raised on the legends of Anansi, and went into wonderful detail that I never would've even heard if not for this story and my question.

Through googling I've learned more of the Zorya sisters, and of Chernobog and Belogbog, which made the epilogue of the story click so beautifully with the little things such as what color of the checkers pieces Chernobog preferred to play as.

I was dissapointed to not see in any deep capacity any Greek gods, but now on the other side of the book I was so much more thrilled to become fond of new ones.

I was wonderfully pleased to see old gods who I knew well, Mr. Wednesday and Jackal. I loved how very rarely if ever that the name Odin appeared in the book despite his prominence in the story. It left me somewhat off-balance about how faithful the godly story was before being assured by the end that it was as earnest about the gods as I can imagine anyone to be.

My favorite characters were, unquestionably:

Sam, the charming hitchiker girl who dared to wave flags with a kiss and cast things in bronze, and I adored seeing a lesbian in writing as I had not run into this very much before diving back into books as an adult.

Mr. Ibis, of the Ibis & Jackal Funeral Home. I have never felt more comfortable in conversation with ideas so close to, and involving, death. I also could not help but squeal when Shadow placed a call to them specifically. He was wonderfully put-together and down-to-earth, and I loved in the scene with the scales and the feather how he reflected on his own "image" of himself, as one who writes little histories and stories of people.

And Mr. Nancy. I'm an American-born girl and have never been outside of it, so the only image I have for explaining his attitude is something akin to a "Louisiana swagger", but he certainly rocks it with absolute style. I loved that he is so frequently noted to be wearing bright-yellow gloves, and I am not sure but I recall him wearing much more yellow very early in the story. He was charming and sweet, and felt much more aware of how gods were to the world than most of his peers, such as Mr. Wednesday. (With perhaps Mr. Ibis and Mr. Jackal being equally aware to Mr. Nancy, though far less interested in their god-hood than in their simple living.)

As I listened to this in audio format, I also want to say that I loved all of the voices. Being able to recognize them made pure magic out of hearing their dialogue. In the town car that came to pick up Shadow, I cannot recall nor recognize the moment the driver and his companion became Mr. Nancy and Chernobog. The shift was so smooth, subtle, and quick, and I was thrilled to be there for it.

Overall the book was strange and peculiar. Death did not feel like a theme as much as a companion through the book. Laura's death, Laura. The Funeral Home. Sacrifice upon the tree. The wager with Chernobog. Everything, EVERYTHING, was conjoined with death.

I am not completely sure what the book is about. It felt like it was about loss, about fate. Like it was about symbols and meanings. It felt like it was about deceit and grifts.

It was splendid. It was a hard start getting to know who Shadow was as, from the first, he was dealing with so much. But it was wonderful.

It was amazing.

AND THE GALL OF NEIL GAIMAN TO END MR. TOWN WITH BUT A SINGLE LINE THAT ONLY SAID:

"So she did."

THE GALL. IT WAS INCREDIBLE.

I felt rewarded, as a reader, for recognizing what that meant. It wasn't a secret, by any means, but it wasn't clear. That line alone without context can mean anything. and yet I felt so appreciated, so seen as a reader for paying attention.

Like yes, I knew what happened before. And so I knew what this meant when the time came. I loved that it did not need to be doted upon. It did not need to be re-explained.

He asked her to show him, so show him she did.

I have deeply, deeply enjoyed this book. I believe in this moment that it was a good book, and I am thoroughly pleased to have gotten to the end. This is now the third book of Neil's that I've read, the other two being The Ocean at the End of the Lane, and Neverwhere. Both wonderful books, but fundamentally different books to American Gods.

Though I vaguely recall from Neverwhere, the line:

"As old as my tongue, and slightly older than my teeth," which also appears in American Gods, and is now forever in my memory.

This is my longest and most detailed post, but I have enjoyed this book immensely. I recommend it to any who have a love or fascination with old gods, and quite especially to those with a fascination with learning about more.

It was a lovely book. It was a strange story. It was a crooked game, but it was the only game in town.

And I absolutely loved it.

[castthy-nightedcolour]

One- Shot: A Different Side (written as part of my series ‘don’t worry about a thing’ on AO3, link can be found at the bottom of the post as it won’t let me embed it)

Fandom: Good Omens

Characters: GN Reader, Crowley, a very annoying mouse

Warnings and Tags: snakes, animal death/ harm, swearing, uh oh we have a pest control problem, snake crowley, comfort , are they aren’t they

Summary: mouse traps, a skip full of rubbish and a broken down bus. not exactly your dream day, but your favourite demonic entity has a trick up his sleeve and behind his glasses to help you.

Word Count: 2778

Link to original: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31055930/chapters/81050182

If there was one word to describe your mood, that word would be vile. Tiny little irritants throughout the day had built to a simmering anger:

-Firstly, your bus into town had broken down about ten minutes away from your stop, meaning that you were forced to trek your way to the shops.

-Secondly, your trip to said shops wasn’t for any kind of retail therapy, but was instead to buy mouse traps. Your usually serene flat had been taken over by a little grey rodent who despite any humane efforts, was refusing to leave. You weren’t usually one for violence towards any living thing, but the little shit was out staying its welcome and had most recently been seen taking a bite out of a loaf of bread.

-When you did eventually get into town, it seemed to be the day for the world’s slowest walkers to take to the streets. Everyone was moving at about two steps per minute and you, being naturally speedy, were constantly waiting for gaps on the pavement to overtake. When you did manage to do this, there would be a whole new couple walking side by side, plodding along at a snail’s pace. You weren’t getting anywhere quick.

All in all, not your finest hour. This all came to a head on Oxford Street, or as you liked to call it, hell.

Your brain felt as though it were made of jelly, your temperature was rising, and someone stopped right in the middle of the street to check their phone. Slamming right into the back of them, you immediately let out something resembling a howl before running to your side off down Old Cavendish Street, somewhere slightly quieter. You leaned against the nearest wall, hot anger bubbling within you for what at the time, seemed like a life or death scenario of you getting out of town with the mousetraps, but in retrospect was just the culmination of various shitty things.

The last thing which you wanted to hear was any sign that you were being perceived, but a teenage boy riding past you on a bike shouting an obnoxious ‘WAHEYYYY’ at you was enough to tip you over the edge. You bashed your head back on the wall, feeling acid tears of anger falling, pedalled down your face by your short temper. Then, another shout came towards you from across the street.

‘Y/N? Is that you?’

You were ready to push yourself off the wall to lunge at this person until your brain caught up with recognition. Tilting your head forwards, your suspicions were confirmed when you saw floppy, ginger hair bouncing over the street atop a leather-clad frame. The sunglasses perched on his nose brought you a feeling somewhere between relief and fear.

You and Crowley had a relationship which can only be described as ‘are they? Aren’t they?’

You sure as hell couldn’t tell if he had any romantic feelings for you, and he gave off vibes so mixed that they were jumbled by this point. People always commented on the electricity between the two of you whenever you were together, but you tried not to get your hopes up and usually just put this down to his magnetising nature.

He’d told you about himself, and you thought that he must have trusted you somewhat to be able to disclose that he was a demon to you.

Then again, maybe he was just overly confident.

In the state you were currently in, you couldn’t decide whether to run into his arms to scream, or run as quickly away from him as was physically possible.

Your body chose neither and just stood there, open mouthed and gawking as the tears continued to fall with no effort from your eyelids. Crowley examined you, peering over the top of his sunglasses to try and decipher the scene before him.

‘Don’t tell me someone’s upset you, because I will find them for you, Y/N’ he started, rearing himself up as he spoke. You jumped in.

‘No, no. Not upset. I swear. Just… pissed off. Massively, massively pissed off. Short fuse today, y’see.’

‘Oh. Well, I know all about that. I’m quick to anger at any given moment but then again, ‘s in my nature. What exactly are you doing down here?’

You looked to your side at the gigantic skip full of building waste, then down to your feet where someone’s puke sat. You looked back up to the demon.

‘It was a quick escape, one that was made before I slapped someone in the face.’

Crowley looked slightly taken aback, not expecting any expression of violence from you considering your usually placid nature.

‘Ooookay. Well, I won’t ask for details but, here.’ He leaned over slightly and brushed away some of the tears which were still running down your face. You could swear that you both stopped breathing for a moment as he touched you but then again, you weren’t in a fit state for rational thinking.

‘Thank you,’ you breathed out. ‘I’m all good, I promise. Just need to breathe.’ You gave a reassuring smile to the demon and noticed him looking down to your hand, holding a flimsy plastic bag containing the mouse traps.

‘What you got there? Looks interesting.’ He said, tilting his head to try and get a closer look. You brought the bag up to your chest.

‘Oh, mouse traps. There’s a little shit thinking that he owns my flat who’s probably currently in my bread bin. Thought I’d stop the problem while I could, considering there’s that saying about seeing mice. Y’know, for every mouse you see, there’s always another one somewhere. Can’t wait to clean that up!’ Your words had somewhat of a bite, being spat like venom.

‘Woah. You really are pissed, aren’t you?’ Crowley responded, half smirking. For some reason, this set you off again.

‘Yes. Yes, actually I am. Because y’know what? This day has been fucking horrific! I genuinely don’t think that I’ve had two consecutive minutes of peace since the second I woke up. I can’t relax because of the mouse, then there was the bus, and the walking, and the pain in my feet, and the twat who decided to check his phone in the middle of Oxford Street. Sorry, who the hell does that? I just feel like I’ve been left out of any plans that the universe had to let people go about their day without a care in the world. So yes, I’m fuming.’ You gave a huff before realising that you were now crying again. Crowley stood slightly dumbstruck, shifting his weight between his feet. You glanced off to the side, watching the shoppers propel themselves down Oxford Street.

The demon then spoke, his voice low and sincere.

‘Can I give you a lift?’

—

After what felt like a windswept journey in the Bentley, Crowley screeched to a halt outside your flat. Jolting forwards slightly, the plastic bag containing the mouse traps crinkled between your legs.

You’d calmed down quite significantly, but now felt a combination of complete embarrassment that you’d had such an outburst in front of the being that you completely adored, and absolute excitement that he’d even offered you a lift. This wasn’t helped when you heard him say,

‘Let me walk you upstairs. Check that you’re okay.’

You felt fizzy, and as the two of you trudged up to your flat, you felt as though you could lift off any second. As you unlocked your front door, Crowley leaned on the doorframe, peering in to the hallway as you threw your bag on the floor. You suddenly regretted this as when the bag hit the floor, there was a scuttle from under your bedroom door, and the little mouse took one giant sprint off towards the kitchen. You screamed in shock as the little bastard took itself away, and Crowley grabbed onto your arm. This made you jump for a second time.

‘Woah woah there, calm down. It’s just a little mouse, we’ll sort this,’ Crowley sweetly spoke, lulling your heart back to a slightly normal rate. You looked down to his arm resting on yours and couldn’t help but smile slightly.

Crowley had a look on his face which would have read from ten miles away as one with a scheme brewing.

‘Look Y/N, I’m going to do something here which I don’t do very often, and all I’m asking is that you don’t freak out,’ the demon announced.

You couldn’t help but make a sarcastic joke.

‘What’s that then, the housework?’ Smirking, you looked up at Crowley who glared at you through his sunglasses.

‘Fine, you don’t need my help!’ He huffed, obviously taking the piss but you couldn’t help but tease him back into good spirits.

‘No no, sorry Crowley. What have you got for me?’

‘Snake.’

You stood there for a second, trying to make any sense of what he just said and burning up slightly as you wondered if this was perhaps his way of flirting.

‘A… a snake? You have a snake?’

‘Yes. Well, no. Well… yes. Look it’s complicated, can I just show you?’

Uh oh. Maybe this was him flirting.

You thought for a second before hearing an almighty crash from the kitchen, and from down the hallway you saw an entire loaf of bread fall to the ground, followed by a small army of mice. Again, you let out a scream as Crowley slammed the door shut behind the both of you.

‘How fucking many are there now?!’ You exclaimed, turning to face Crowley who was now quickly shifting between his feet. He suddenly grabbed your shoulders.

‘Look Y/N, tell me quick, do you have a phobia?’

‘Of mice? I think that’s pretty evident Crow-‘

‘No, of snakes. Are you scared of snakes?’

‘What is it with you and these snakes?’ You laughed. The demon then stood dead still and stared right at you.

‘Stay still. Don’t freak out please. I promise this will help.’

Before you knew it, Crowley’s hands had disappeared off your shoulders and he seemed to disappear entirely from before you. Confused, you looked down at the floor.

What you saw took your breath away for what felt like forever.

Rows and rows of black scales suddenly lined your hallway, flowing from side to side as the form made its way towards the kitchen. This didn’t take long, considering the snake’s body seemed to run on forever, there must have been at least 10 metres of the creature occupying your apartment.

You’d never really considered Crowley’s powers before. While you were aware that he was a demon, this thought didn’t control your every interaction with him. He was just Crowley- your friend Crowley- your possibly more than a friend Crowley- your Crowley. Shapeshifting had never been part of the picture.

But it was so, so beautiful.

Moving.

And snakes were never your favourite but this was just something else.

Squeals of mouse terror came from the kitchen as a massive shadow rose up throughout the whole apartment. Crowley was sitting up on his body, his head pointed towards any mouse that he could detect and a razor sharp stare in his luminescent eyes.

Your favourite part of this whole scenario was laying on the floor in front of you- Crowley’s sunglasses, sans Crowley for the first time ever. You smiled as you bent down to pick them up, your feet planted to the spot due to the inherently overwhelming nature of what was happening. You ran your fingers over the frames feeling the heat that was stored in them.

There was something so human about the lingering warmth to the metal, but that thing that made it so distinctively Crowley was the fact that the heat never seemed to fade.

The floor seemed to move as the scales once again shifted, with Crowley turning round to come back towards you. Cold fear seized your entire body, despite the oddly comforting and protective energy of this gigantic creature. His yellow eyes were right in front of your face before you’d even managed to properly react to him moving towards you.

You blinked and the Crowley that you knew and … ahem… was standing in front you, a live mouse swinging from his hand by the tail.

‘Consider those rodents dispatched.’

The mouse in his hand was thrashing wildly from side to side and while you hated the little shits, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for it. You went to protest but no words came out of your mouth.

You’d just witnessed something- something that couldn’t exactly be described as a miracle but to you- maybe?

Crowley noticed the panic in your eyes directed towards the mouse and realised what he needed to do. The mouse disappeared in another of your blinks.

There were so many pressing questions on your mind, but you only managed to actually articulate one of them.

‘Please tell me you didn’t eat those mice, Crowley?’ Your tone was somewhere between intrigue and massive concern.

The demon scoffed, ‘I prefer oysters normally, Y/N. No, I didn’t eat them. I can assure you though, they won’t be back any time soon.’

Palpable silence hung between the two of you. You naturally seemed to hold out Crowley’s sunglasses to him, staring directly into the eyes which served as a reminder of his other form as you did so.

Crowley went to slowly take the glasses off you, but in a snap decision, you snatched them back. Crowley wasn’t exactly thrilled by this.

‘Hey, don’t play games with those. They’re my-‘

He didn’t stand a chance of finishing his sentence before you jumped in, with your subconscious mind taking a grasp on your mouth. Maybe this was a trick of Crowley’s, but at least some of it came from your heart.

‘Do it again. Turn back.’

The two of you stared at each other as a smirk took over the demon’s face.

‘Really? It seemed to terrify you, dearest.’

The cockiness in his voice only persuaded you to carry on pushing.

‘Not at all! No no, it was just... well it was a shock at first. Obviously. Like who the hell else can do that? But no, not terror. It’s intrigue. I swear.’

You made sure to assert yourself in your voice as your brain convinced you that you would never rest again unless Crowley turned back into a snake. It was almost like the sheer shock had morphed into utter obsession in a matter of seconds.

And maybe you just adored every part of Crowley and him being vulnerable in showing a new side to you? Well...

Again, you blinked and he was gone for a moment, before the black reptile rose up to meet your gaze. He hadn’t continued to question you.

The presence was unexplainable, physically so big in the space but even just the idea of him just seemed to fill up every corner of the place. Moving the sunglasses into your right hand, you tentatively raised up your left.

‘Can... may I? Can I touch?’ You softly asked, mimicking a petting action in the air. Somehow, Crowley let you know that it was okay, pulling your hand towards him with some kind of magnetising energy.

Your fingers lightly brushed the scales on his head and you took a breath so deep you almost triggered hiccups. The texture was confusing, it almost seemed like it was shifting forms by the second- smooth then rough, hard then feather soft, but still always cool as marble. You fully rested your hand down as you glanced along the entire body, once again filling up the entire hallway.

‘Crowley, this is beautiful. I mean that.’ You whispered, transfixed on what you were seeing.

Then, the unimaginable happened. Your hand which had ended up resting on the snake’s head suddenly felt warm.

Was... was he blushing? You decided to test the water slightly more.

‘I didn’t even imagine that anything could be so magnificent but, well. Here you are. So gorgeous.’

Sure enough, another flush felt through your hand.

‘Crowley, are you blushing?’ You giggled. The heat on his face then took another rise, this time enough to hurt you slightly. You drew your hand away instinctually, but with a smile still on your face.

This was now a day worth noting. The day that started with a mouse in a bread bin and some unfortunately placed anger, and ended as the day that you made a snake blush.

And of course, he made you blush too.

A new side of Crowley. One that you couldn’t help but adore.

[thenightling]

The Dreaming: Waking Hours Issue 12

Okay, let’s dive into this.  Today I just finished reading the final issue of The Dreaming: Waking Hours.  I’m still not particularly happy with how the comic handled “true names.”  I feel it would have been more respectful and empowering toward trans people to have Heather BE her true name instead of having her stop the Unseelie from saying her dead name (implying it would still count as a true name).  I know she said there’s no such thing as a true name but I think for a lot of people (trans, or just those that never liked their birth names and picked a different one later in life) it would be better to know that the name you most heavily associate with yourself IS your true name.

Batman Beyond actually handled this a little better in having Bruce Wayne reveal that Bruce is NOT the name he calls himself in his own mind, making it clear that for him, Batman IS is true name, even after he retired and passed the mantle to Terry.

The 1985 Fright Night also handled this with the has-been horror actor Peter Vincent.  He went from saying “That isn’t even my real name.”  To “I AM Peter Vincent, the great vampire killer!”  We never learn what his supposed “real name” (Read: Birth name) was because it doesn’t matter.  He became the character- the hero he had always pretended (and wanted) to be.  Peter Vincent became his true name.  

But anyway, that was all in issue 11.  The True name part could have been handled a lot better and that was my biggest disappointment for this comic.

Ultimately the story had a happy ending for Ruin and Heather realized that Faerie probably wouldn’t embrace democracy (Thank God!).  Though the anti-monarchy rantings were a bit annoying.  Who were they toward?   What reader of The Dreaming is going “Hmm.  You know, America could really use an absolute monarchy right now.”?

Nevertheless Heather remains my favorite trans character... No, correct that.  She remains my favorite original character in ANY Sandman spin-off, period. She’s well-developed, flawed, yet likable. And she’s not a flat, or boring, self-insert.  She’s actually a good character.      

I wasn’t too surprised that Daniel was portrayed as a bit of an ass here but I was still disappointed.  It seems the only writer who doesn’t make Daniel a complete ass is Neil Gaiman, himself.   I said it before and I’ll say it again . I think some authors must resent him because they’d rather be writing Morpheus but they don’t dare ask if they can out-right bring him back in the contemporary setting. 

Also Daniel’s reasoning doesn’t make sense.  Faerie and the Heavenly hosts weren’t angry because Ruin wanted to be with the man he loved. That was happenstantial.  And Heather told him that Jophiel helping Ruin find his love is what enabled him to ascend back to Heaven.  Jophiel had ot understand and learn the importance of love. That was good.  That was sweet.   

The only explanation I can give for Daniel’s behavior here is jealousy.  Daniel came off as jealous and resentful that his own romance in Simon Spurrier’s (Hiss) version of The Dreaming (which is sadly still canon...) didn’t work out.  And he did not expect Ruin to succeed so when he did find his true love Daniel got jealous and spiteful.  That might not be what G. Willow Wilson intended but that’s how it came off.  “If I can’t have love with a mortal, no one can!”   

(Aw, look!  Daniel’s first “You dare!”)

I do kind of like Heather threatening Daniel with the spell that was used to summon and trap Morpheus though.   There is the flaw that Neil Gaiman did repeatedly say that the spell would not if Morpheus had been at full strength.  First, the spell was never really intended for him (or Unseelie for that matter but she used it on the Unseelie too).  Second, it only worked on Morpheus the first time because he was so weakened after the events of The Sandman: Overture. 

For the sake of Daniel’s decently I’ll pretend he faked fear of the spell because he WANTED to be stopped.  He knew he was wrong to try to separate Ruin and his love but he felt obligated to try.  That sits better for me than Daniel legitimately just being an asshole and promising his family would go to war against Heather’s... again.   Umm... Daniel, your family never went to war with the Burgess family.  Morpheus cursed Alexander and you forgave him and that was that.  What war?!   

Ah, well.  At least Ruin got his happy ending.  But I don’t quite get why he needs to be mortal to have that ending.  That feels unnecessary to me.

Nevertheless, it was still a satisfying ending.  I just wish Daniel hadn’t been made a last minute antagonist just so if Heather turns up again later Dream can’t be an ally...  And I sense that was the intention.  I like Heather but this part feels contrived. 

In general it was a satisfying ending though and there were parts I loved.  I love Heather. I liked the use of the spell even if it shouldn’t really work on Daniel.  I was happy Ruin got the one he loved.  I was very satisfied and happy with how Jophiel’s story ending, that he needed to learn the importance and value of love.  

I’m glad it wasn’t cynical bitterness there but actually a show of Heaven’s sense of value on love. I was a little worried this was yet-another story where Heaven and its Angels were ultimately going to be treated as heartless jerks and I was getting quite tired of that in adult comics.   This was a nice change.   I liked it more than I didn’t.  

And this is still the best version of The Dreaming to date.  It could have stood fine on its own without Simon Spurrier’s The Dreaming.  I would have probably liked it better if it wasn’t attached to that.   But I am still happy with the outcome.  Still the best Sandman spin-off to date.  And with the most likable protagonist (Heather) and Casper the Friendly Nightmare (Ruin).   

[bluecatstory]

The fortunate one

Boy met a tea kettle genie. Unfortunately, this wish-granting genie did not get to grant a single wish. This is an AU 100% based on Neil Gaiman's The October Tale. Also, the main pairing here is GoYuu (Gojo Satoru/Itadori Yuuji), so please click back if you don’t like it. 

---

“Ahh, this feels great. I haven’t got this good stretching from a longg timeee.”

Yuuji Itadori had had a fair share of abnormal things in his life. Like how he had weird tiger markings (?) on his face and genetically non-dyed pink hair. Like when he used to have a jellyfish imaginary friend. Like how his friend Megumi may or may not have the ability to summon dogs. Or, like sometimes, he could still see his family talking and laughing in the house like they never left. 

Yuuji figured he might not be normal as well. But it was not really a problem for him. He had found a way to ignore it and keep on living. 

So back to where he was, lying on the floor as he looked up to the white-haired man fly (?) - floating on-air, black cloak fluttering and his eyes covered with blindfolds. The only thing not depressing and stuffy about him, Yuuji thought, was his constant smirk. 

“Are you a genie?” Yuuji asked out loud. He was even surprised by how straightforward he sounded. 

“Hmm, what makes you think of that, sakura boy?” The strange man’s smirk widened into a mischievous grin. 

“Because when I rub the kettle, you appear in a puff of smoke? Like a... tea kettle genie? Or you’re at least a magical being. You can float and see through your blindfolds, I guess. Your clothing is not similar to the genie that I know, but it may just be how people reimagine them. All in all, the highest chance is still that you’re a genie.” Yuuji rambled. 

The man seemed like he was about to burst into laughter. 

“Well, I was about to introduce myself as a dark overlord or some sinister being to scare you a bit. But… Ding ding ding! You got it, smart boy! This is a genie-in-the-flesh!” 

The man - or genie twirled around in the air. And like a grand performer, he ended it with a cool pose like a hero in Yuuji’s shounen manga. He folded his hands and bowed deeply. 

“Rejoice! Through heavens and earth, you are the fortunate one. I am the genie of the tea kettle. And I have the power to grant you three wishes. A very helpful tip: Don’t even start with the “I wish for more wishes.” That doesn’t work, and you’ll lose a wish. Ok, go!”

Yuuji just stared at the overly-enthusiastic genie. 

“If you have problems thinking, I can give you some suggestions: Money? Become the richest? Find One Piece? You ever dream of flying—”

“Umm… sorry, Mr. Genie, sir.” The boy suddenly raised his voice. “It’s ok. I don’t have any wishes. I mean, thank you and all that. But I’m good.” 

The white-haired being just made a face like Yuuji’s answer was the most outrageous and grabbed his left chest as if he had a heart attack. “Honey, sweetie, I’m THE genie. Just say a word, and the world will bow down to you. Come on. You definitely have something you desire. Just say whatever.” 

“It’s fine, really. Just like I said. I don’t have anything.” The boy with tiger markings smiled at him. “Do you want anything to drink? Is chamomile tea fine with you? Or water? Do you get thirsty after a long time staying in that kettle?” 

“Well, yes, I am thirsty, but hello? Genie? Three wishes? Anything in the world?”

“Come with me. I’ll make you some.” Yuuji’s smile grew as he led the astounded floating man. 

...

“Thank you. Can you add sugar to it?” 

“No problem.”

“But I don’t understand. Everyone, literally everyone I've met - they always ask for a bigger house, power, control, a big harem,... Ooh, I get one! Do you want a girl, like someone tall with big butts, to love, hold, and cherish you? Or if you bat for another team, I can definitely arrange that—” 

The pink-haired boy just cracked up. Never before have the genie heard such a cute laugh. 

“Sorry I’m good. And please call me Yuuji. I’m not sweetie, honey, or dear. Do you have a name, or should I just stick with Genie?” 

The silence suddenly filled the room. The boy nervously reached out and waved his hands in front of our current neighborhood genie. 

“Did… did I say something wrong, Mr. Genie?”

“Not wrong, very strange, though. People always want things. And you insist that you don’t. Are you absolutely sure? And you can drop Mr. Genie. Call me Gojo.” 

“100%. No wishes. But if you need me to free you, I’ll make my wish right now. Uh… Is it ok, Gojo?” 

“No need for that, my cute Yuuji. It’s just community service. Now, I’m not entirely convinced so! Guess who’s gonna stick with you for the time being till you say yes: Me!”

Yuuji laughed again. This time was soft but hearty laughter. If there were an award for the best smile/laugh, Yuuji would surely win, Gojo thought. 

“Sure, sure. How’s the tea?”

It was the finest tea Gojo the Genie had tasted for centuries. 

Like a curious kid who just got a hand on a new toy or witnessed a magic trick for the first time in his life, Yuuji’s questions came like a flood to the genie. He asked where Gojo came from, whether Genii had families, if he felt the need to please everyone, or just doing his job as a community worker who happened to grant wishes. Gojo calmly answered in his most genie way. That Yuuji should not think of him as a mortal, for he was a powerful, magical, and omnipotent being. 

“Ok, but do you like pancakes? You hungry?”

Although Gojo was stuck in the kettle for you-don’t-know-how-long, he was very, very updated with the current world. So yes. Yuuji just flashed to the fridge and whipped up the batter. After a few minutes, hot buttery sweet pancakes were already presented on the plate. 

Gojo poured all honey on the pancakes as he ate with delight. 

He jerked up suddenly. The sugar rush must have given him an idea. 

“I know! Just make a wish, and all specialties from around the world would be on this table in a snap. Each will be the most mouth-watering, scrumptious delights served on golden plates. All for you!”

“Yeah, I’m good. Actually, would you care to buy some groceries with me? There’s nothing left in the fridge for two people.” 

“Urggghhh. Fine. Take me to whatevs, Good.”

“Gojo!”

Chapter 1 - End. 

[withoneheadlight]

I was tagged by @memes-saved-me <3<3<3<, Thank you, love <3<3<3<

~

1. why did you choose your url?

It’s because, one day, just a few months after starting to write again, feeling like I was sweating blood every time I had to sit down and do this, Neil Gaiman made me feel the most understood I‘ve ever felt when it comes to writing:

“It's a weird thing, writing.

Sometimes you can look out across what you're writing, and it's like looking out over a landscape on a glorious, clear summer's day. You can see every leaf on every tree, and hear the birdsong, and you know where you'll be going on your walk.

And that's wonderful.

Sometimes it's like driving through fog. You can't really see where you're going. You have just enough of the road in front of you to know that you're probably still on the road, and if you drive slowly and keep your headlamps lowered you'll still get where you were going.

And that's hard while you're doing it, but satisfying at the end of a day like that, where you look down and you got 1500 words that didn't exist in that order down on paper, half of what you'd get on a good day, and you drove slowly, but you drove.

And sometimes you come out of the fog into clarity, and you can see just what you're doing and where you're going, and you couldn't see or know any of that five minutes before.

And that's magic.”

He summed it up in another interview like this:

“Writing a novel is like driving through the fog with one headlight out. You can’t see very far ahead of yourself, but every now and again the mists will clear.”

i printed it and got it on my wall, too. so i don't forget.

and guess what’s one of my all-time favorite songs? yeah, you got it :D

also, that's the amount of mental enlightenment I go through life with: half the standard equipment. So it fits me pretty well i guess.

2. any side-blogs? if you have them, name them and why you have them.

yeah i’ve got a few. most of them to stash things i like, in general or in other fandoms, but in harringrove i have @thequarryatnight as a fic/hc storage of sorts.

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

uh, technically a few years?. I've had a few different accounts that I always ended up forgetting about. But had never really used Tumblr until this past last year and a half.

4. do you have a queue tag?

I use the most simplistic 'queue' ... when I remember to put it on XD (which, I should, because I'm always so worried people think I'm in here ignoring them when in reality what I usually have is the longest queue)

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

Uh, long and boring story? xD. I started posting harringrove in my main a few months after I started using the account again, along with posts/reblogs for other fandoms. But with Tumblr being the chaos it is (for me at least, and for the way my poor add brain works) it felt pretty overwhelmed, having so many different things in one place, and never being able to find anything so I decided to make this one side-blog only for posting my fics, but then people started following me here and suddenly there were a bunch of them and then suddenly it felt like it made more sense?, rebloging things in here where more people could see them? so I made @thequarryatnight and started reblogging my stuff in there, so I wouldn't get crazy, and started using this as a more fandomish blog.

6. why did you choose your icon/pfp?

I love pictures taken from the side? xD, they’ve got this feeling, of looking at someone without them noticing. there’s a longing in there that’s always fascinated me, and steve’s breathtaking in this one (same as billy in my main pic, imo). i like to think billy'd look at him and think ‘fuck’, fall in love for the hundredth time so, yep. I love that pic.

7. why did you choose your header?

Is a picture of Santa Carla at night, aka Santa Cruz, where Lost Boys was filmed. Is my second favorite fictional town (first is Astoria i might have a list) and the feeling of it is just *chef’s kiss*. Had to have it. But I’m thinking of revamping it for the summer? maybe? I’ve got a few ideas, it’s been hard to decide, but I wanna bring out the summery vibe this year.

8. what’s your post with the most notes?

it’s apparently my upside-down kiss one! I'm pretty happy with how it turned out (i used this page since I had 0 idea of how to check this)

9. how many mutuals do you have?

i honestly don't know, but they all are amazing mutuals <3

10. how many followers do you have?

one of the best things about tumblr: doesn't show the follower count <3 (imo)

11. how many people do you follow?

about 1000? xD

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

if saying the first stupid thing that comes to my head in here is considered a shit post, then,t o o m a n y.

13. how often do you use tumblr each day?

I've been trying to reduce the number of times I come checking but still, way too many :D

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? who won?

nope. never. sometimes i want to leave my opinion in some posts, but i still feel pretty insecure about the language, so i'm perpetually afraid of being misunderstood.

15. how do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts

the ones with something good/bad is gonna happen if you don't reblog? i usually scream internally while i fast-scroll past them while both feeling like bwahhahaha and scared shitless.

16. do you like tag games?

oh i LOVE tag games too much.

17. do you like ask games?

very very much. even if sometimes i repent bc it's hard for me to find the time to answer them xD.

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

dunno but @chichipafarolillos is my personal superstar <3

19. do you have a crush on a mutual?

no xD but I really really <3<3<3 my mutuals.

20. tags?

@ghostofjellyfishforgotten @missroserose @rascheln @neonponders @cockasinthebird @thatharringrovehoe @edith-moonshadow @dyingontheharringrovehill @wholeshebangs @irishbeings @smashmouth-hargrove @mourntheantagonist @aestheticchaoss @somuchanemoia @cupidsintern

[fuckingdeadbutroyal]

Jasonette July- Soulmates AU- Part 1

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 -

Marinettes knees were bruised. Again! She was so so careful not to ruin her new summerdress on the way to Ninos 9th birthday-party and now her knees were all red and scratchy. “Not todayy”, the little girl whined while searching for some kind of medicine in her small pink backpack, hoping to ease the pain for her as well as the cause of her suffering: her soulmate, who seemed to have an eagerness to ALWAYS fall on their knees. A few moments and a frustrated huff later, Mari found herself punching her arm for some kind of payback and wincing right after. Why couldn’t she just have a harmless soulmate-bond? Why couldn’t she just dream of them like Nino did or have a tattoo like Chloe? Why was her bond forged through literal PAIN? 

Rounding the corner, little Mari found herself in a field full of green and blue balloons with loads of boys and a few chosen girls surrounding a happy Nino. The boy was currently bouncing like a basketball and grinning from ear to ear, while sneaking longing glances to a table full of presents, as well as various treats from the Dupain-Cheng bakery. Speaking of the Dupain-Chengs, their daughter was spotted by her best friend as she was about to put her present next to the others, which lead to him running to greet her and pulling the girl into a bonecrushing hug. Therefore Mari was left patting Ninos’ back and trying to catch a breath. “You made it! I saw your treats and I know you answered my invitation but I was still worried, this party wouldn’t be the same without you!”, he blubbered in all of his bubbly grace while trying to lift her, even though he wasn’t quite strong enough to succeed yet (which didn’t mean he wouldn’t try again tomorrow, he was now older and stronger than her, after all). 

Mari wriggled her way out of his arms, happy to catch a breath and giggling. A blush was gracing her face, leading to Nino blushing happily in return. “Of course I made it! I didn’t spend all week making you a present for nothing!”, she smiled as Ninos ears grew hot, “You spent a-all week making a present? F-for me?”, he stuttered with a big dopey grin splitting his face. Marinette nodded, another soft giggle escaping her mouth. All the guests were now watching them, holding their breaths. She handed him the pretty red box. Nino sat down on the grass right there in front of her and opened it, hands shaking with eagerness and breath held in anticipation. Mari sat across from him, covering her eyes with her hands, afraid of his judgement. This was her first time gifting someone one of her sewing-projects, after all. 

His delighted gasp led to her parting her fingers slightly, only now noticing all the tiny cuts covering them, no doubt the price she had to pay for still being clumsy at sewing (”even though I have been doing it for a year now, I should be better than that”, she mentally scolded herself). Her thoughts were interrupted by a round of gasps coming from the tiny audience surrounding the best-friends-duo. Marinette focused back on Nino and dropped her hands to her mouth, squeaking in delight. The boy in front of her put on the basecap she made him and was grinning even wider, which she, until then, wasn’t even sure were possible. He hugged her, in a much gentler embrace then the previous time. His fingers were soft, not covered in cuts and red spots, as he pulled away and took her hands in his, not caring about the giggles and ew-s from their audience, nor the blush creeping up Maris’ cheeks. “I love it...so much”, what he meant, though, was “I wish you were my soulmate”.

And Mari couldn’t agree more.

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

It was dark, a coffee mug was standing amongst an army of already finished ones and a droopy eyed girl was sitting in front of them, lazily turning a page on the book her english-teacher assigned her to read. She recognized the storyline, knew all the plot-twists and felt connected to the characters as if she’d been there herself. The strange thing about that though, was that she has never laid eyes on it before. Of course that didn’t stop her from reading it. There were assignments she had to fullfill and tests she had to ace, which were connected to that piece of literature and she couldn’t risk getting a bad grade due to a foolish reliance on her instincts. 

Instincs.

Yes that is what they are and of course none of this is connected to her soulmate. 

It couldn’t be, she couldn’t dare dream of it. They died, that’s what that numbness she felt for over six months must have meant. That’s why those scars were now gracing her whole body. Her soulmate could not have survived this. No mortal being could go through so much and still be breathing. 

The new bruises and cuts she was getting now and then? Her Ladybug suit can’t protect her from everything, being thrown over the Saine so may times couldn’t have left her with no traces whatsoever. Yes, that’s the reason. He’s not resurrected, that’s silly...there’s no way.

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

“What happened to your lips, milady?”, Ladybugs partner purred as they layed on a roof not far from the eiffel tower, watching the stars, having just finished patrol a few minutes ago. “M-my lips?”, the 16 year old girl stuttered, a tiny voice immediatly occupying her, previously calm, mind with thoughts of her soulmate. They have been acting up lately, not that it was possible. They were gone. 

There’s no way, she must have been hallucinating again. She must have forgotten how she hurt her lip, she must be feeling side-effects from the loss of her soulmate. Her thoughts were spiralling and that tiny voice in her mind was whispering, filling her denial with doubts and cracks and making her heart beat faster. 

“Your lips, they look... different...”, Chat Noirs voice interrupted the turmoil in her head. Ladybug gazed over to him, only to find him closer to her then when they first layed down. His eyes were glistening, seemingly shining even brighter than the Eiffel Tower in it’s nightly glory. A foreign sensation ran through her veins, a weird tingling covering her whole body. It could have been mistaken for goosebumps, if it weren’t for the warm summernight they were currently enjoying. “They do..?” she said, though it came out as nothing more than a whisper, for he was already so so close, even closer than when they are in battle. Their noses were almost touching, his eyes took up all of her view and for once she wouldn’t dare complain. Since when does she like that proximity? Why is his warmth so intriguing? Why does she enjoy the way his arms found their place on both sides of her body? “They look so...red...like your suit...Ladybug re-”, he got interrupted by his lips sealed shut. Shut not with that redness he mentioned, not with that love or attraction and reciprocated admiration Adrien was hoping for. No, it was her red suited hand which covered his mouth to silent him. She felt it before she heard it. An earthquake was rummaging through the streets and handling it was much more important than handling that purring in her best friend.

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

Jason was annoyed. His fingers were full of cuts: sure, he was used to that. His hips were bruised from his soulmate constantly closing doors and cupboards with them, at least that’s what he thinks they do to cause such silly bruises: no problem, he didn’t mind dealing with that. His backpains he could deminguish by working out, though he has been thinking of finding them just to tell his significant other to better their fucking posture. But the tiredness? Holy fuck! It’s like he’s sleeping for both of them! Whenever he sat down to read he just... collapsed. Guess he’ll have to dream about it... yeah sure it’s fair, ‘cause after all she treated his wounds for both of them, too. It’s like she had some kind of superpower which made them heal clean, never leaving more than a white line behind. Nontheless, right then he would rather have ugly scars than have to deal with this inhuman tiredness. His grumpy grumbling was interrupted by Red Robin speaking up in his ear.

“Hood where are you? The portal is about to appear, we won’t be able to wait.”

“I’m on my way, give me 2 more minutes.”

“Hurry.”

With that, the line went silent and his mind went back to coordinating his grappling hook and limbs into getting him to the batcave in time. He had planned on finishing at least one of Terry Pratchets and Neil Gaimans novels in preparation for the moviemarathon he and his brothers had planned for the upcoming week. “Good Omens” is a masterpiece but he refused to watch any visualizers nor read the book if he hadn’t read all of the previous works the authors had published. “It’s not just about the continuation, it’s a matter of respect.”, he rememberd telling Stephanie, when she asked him why Alfred was handing him a box filled with a combined number of about a hundred books. He had work to do and reality to escape, but that last part was none of his lovely sisters business. 

Zoning back into reality he noticed he had already reached his destination. “Focus Jason. There’s a whole city just waiting to be pulled out of the ashes.” With that thought in mind, he entered the batcave and went straight for the portal, following his siblings into the destroyed city of love.

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

Adrien was on edge. The fight has been going on for four days, the city was nothing but blood and ashes, the akuma-shelters weren’t enough to protect every citizien who has lost their home to the earthquakes and following akuma attacks. Many people have died, many have volunteered and too many of those have died in the process. It was traumatic, painful and quite honestly felt like the end of the world. They could fix it, of course. But to do so she had to survive and Adrien, or Chat Noir as you will, was not about to leave her unprotected. He didn’t know where she got her power from, why she could go on without taking a break for so long. He has lost count on how many times he saw her helping someone who was about to be crushed by a collapsing building, how many times she was screaming in frustration, torn between following the akuma and guiding a lost civilian to safety. 

It was an incredibly sneaky akuma. It was nearly translucent, consisting mostly of dirt and dust. It could hide in the mess it made, attack you from behind and you wouldn’t be sure whether it was a flying brick or it’s fist hitting your head. It hasn’t officialy announced itself yet, hasn’t given itself a name or shown any forms of weakness. Hawkmoth was definetly trying out a new approach and highly succeeding. The Dustmonster was probably planning on wearing them out until they wouldn’t be strong enough to resist it going for their miraculous.

In the beginning Chat felt like he could trust his Lady to take care of herself, trusted for her to keep the target in mind and think of a plan while he was going to protect her and the citizens around them. It worked, at first. She figured out what the akuma was, aka figured out that it was an akuma in the first place and soon started giving out orders to police and firemen. After a day of trying to get the akuma, in order to stop it before things could go out of hand and failing to do so, no matter which strategy the heroes tried and no matter how many seemingly random Lucky Charms they used, they decided to replan. 

They met on a building not far away from Marinettes home, Chat remembered. They were hoping to come up with a new plan and let Ladybugs Kwami recharge. The recharging was an already practiced routine they came up with, once her fifth Lucky Charm has also failed. They jumped into the water, which was apparently off limits to the akuma, since the dust didn’t settle properly and it wasn’t able to hide (any attempts of getting it wet were blocked by the destruction of another building, which led to the heroes saving the civilans and themselves instead of attacking the enemy.) One of Ladybugs Lucky-Charms straight up covered the Saine, turned up side down boats now gracing the surface. Those boats mobilised possible hiding and resting places for the heroes. 

That time though, they needed more food for Tikki and Plagg and what better place to restock could there be, than the famous Dupain-Cheng bakery?  Ladybug swung in and came back with two baskets. One full of cheese and the other full of cookies. Chat grabbed the smelly one and turned to jump in the direction of the river, when they heard it. 

A grumbling which turned into a roaring and finally morphed into deafening laughter. That was the first time they heard the akumas voice. Instead of shouting the following words, the way it did scream in laughter, it just spoke in an even, eerie and scarily confident voice: “You should stop asking for help, insect. Helping others only leads to you getting hurt. Help won’t save you. Your precious little safety-nets won’t save you.”, the sound was coming out of the dust, echoing off of every destructed creation, seeping into each broken bone and every fractured mind. “You think you can reach out? Think someone is going to pull you away from under the pressure of this worlds eternal suffering? You are wrong. No one came to save me, no one is capable of saving. You.”, the last word came out emotional. The monotone voice the akuma had previously used to preach it’s intents was gone. A shiver ran up Marinettes spine. The dust surrounding the city build up and rose in columns, coming out of every broken source from all over Paris, towering over it, looming dangerously over it’s citizens. Everyone was trying to decipher the meaning of those words, Adrien was the first one to realise. 

“Marinette!”

Ladybug first looked at him in shock, thinking he had figured her out, then she realised what he he had actually meant. Chat was off, jumping on her balcony and screaming her name. 

“No...”

The silence before the storm, the frightening towers of dust and dirt started moving, accompanied by horrified screams of terrorised civilians. The dirt wasn’t meant for them, though. It flew as if it were one. Gigantic snakes with one single target. 

Marinette ran, but the destruction was quicker.

The Dupain-Cheng ceiling collapsed. Marinettes yo-yo missed it’s target as she plummeted to the ground. Her vision was blurry, her mind blank, eyes wide and  breath unconciously held. 

She didn’t recognize the pain as she hit the pavement. 

She didn’t even think as she called out for her seventh Lucky Charm. 

Ladybugs cry echoed through the ruins of Paris as her usualy leather-clad partner fell from the sky, with tears in his eyes and covered in a red and black spotted suit. “Sabine she’s...they’re...”, both of them broke down crying in each others arms. Adrien never knew how great his partners pain actually was, in comparison to his.

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

Hi! This is my first try at writing MariBat and my first fanfic in like... 4 years? 

I’ve just recently graduated Highschool so I’m now embracing my free time and trying to get back on my creative track.  

Please comment, I NEED to know what you think of this. Critique and all that is very appreciated, even a simple “YES” is going to absolutely make my day and, honestly, you could comment about dogs and I’d be happy to read it. 

Thanks for reading ^^

[invisibleicewands]

Staged's Anna Lundberg and Georgia Tennant: 'Scenes with all four of us usually involved alcohol'

Not many primetime TV hits are filmed by the show’s stars inside their own homes. However, 2020 wasn’t your average year. During the pandemic, productions were shut down and workarounds had to be found – otherwise the terrestrial schedules would have begun to look worryingly empty. Staged was the surprise comedy hit of the summer.

This playfully meta short-form sitcom, airing in snack-sized 15-minute episodes, found A-list actors Michael Sheen and David Tennant playing an exaggerated version of themselves, bickering and bantering as they tried to perfect a performance of Luigi Pirandello’s Six Characters in Search of an Author over Zoom.

Having bonded while co-starring in Good Omens, Amazon’s TV adaptation of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett’s novel, Sheen, 51, and Tennant, 49, became best buddies in real life. In Staged, though, they’re comedically reframed as frenemies – warm, matey and collaborative, but with a cut-throat competitiveness lurking just below the surface. As they grew ever more hirsute and slobbish in lockdown, their virtual relationship became increasingly fraught.

It was soapily addictive and hilariously thespy, while giving a voyeuristic glimpse of their interior decor and domestic lives – with all the action viewed through their webcams.

Yet it was the supporting cast who lifted Staged to greatness,Their director Simon Evans, forced to dance around the pair’s fragile egos and piggy-in-the-middle of their feuds. Steely producer Jo, played by Nina Sosanya, forever breaking off from calls to bellow at her poor, put-upon PA. And especially the leading men’s long-suffering partners, both actors in real life, Georgia Tennant and Anna Lundberg.

Georgia Tennant comes from showbiz stock, as the child of Peter Davison and Sandra Dickinson. At 36 she is an experienced actor and producer, who made her TV debut in Peak Practice aged 15. She met David on Doctor Who 2008, when she played the Timelord’s cloned daughter Jenny. Meanwhile, the Swedish Lundberg, 26, is at the start of her career. She left drama school in New York two years ago and Staged is her first big on-screen role.

Married for nine years, the Tennants have five children and live in west London. The Lundberg-Sheens have been together two years, have a baby daughter, Lyra, and live outside Port Talbot in south Wales. On screen and in real life, the women have become firm friends and frequent scene-stealers.

Staged proved so successful that it’s now back for a second series. We set up a video call with Tennant and Lundberg to discuss lockdown life, wine consumption, home schooling (those two may be related) and the blurry line between fact and fiction…

Was doing Staged a big decision, because it’s so personal and set in your homes? Georgia Tennant: We’d always been a very private couple. Staged was everything we’d never normally say yes to. Suddenly, our entire house is on TV and so is a version of the relationship we’d always kept private. But that’s the way to do it, I guess. Go to the other extreme. Just rip off the Band-Aid.

Anna Lundberg: Michael decided pretty quickly that we weren’t going to move around the house at all. All you see is the fireplace in our kitchen.

GT: We have five children, so it was just about which room was available.

AL: But it’s not the real us. It’s not a documentary.

GT: Although some people think it is.

Which fictional parts of the show do people mistake for reality? GT: People think I’m really a novelist because “Georgia” writes a novel in Staged. They’ve asked where they can buy my book. I should probably just write one now because I’ve done the marketing already.

AL: People worry about our elderly neighbour, who gets hospitalised in the show. She doesn’t actually exist in real life but people have approached Michael in Tesco’s, asking if she’s OK.

Michael and David squabble about who’s billed first in Staged. Does that reflect real life? AL: With Good Omens, Michael’s name was first for the US market and David’s was first for the British market. So those scenes riffed on that.

Should we call you Georgia and Anna, or Anna and Georgia? GT: Either. We’re super-laidback about these things.

AL: Unlike certain people.

How well did you know each other before Staged? GT: We barely knew each other. We’ve now forged a friendship by working on the show together.

AL: We’d met once, for about 20 minutes. We were both pregnant at the time – we had babies a month apart – so that was pretty much all we talked about.

Did you tidy up before filming? AL: We just had to keep one corner relatively tidy.

GT: I’m quite a tidy person, but I didn’t want to be one of those annoying Instagram people with perfect lives. So strangely, I had to add a bit of mess… dot a few toys around in the background. I didn’t want to be one of those insufferable people – even though, inherently, I am one of those people.

Was there much photobombing by children or pets? AL: In the first series, Lyra was still at an age where we could put her in a baby bouncer. Now that’s not working at all. She’s just everywhere. Me and Michael don’t have many scenes together in series two, because one of us is usually Lyra-wrangling.

GT: Our children aren’t remotely interested. They’re so unimpressed by us. There’s one scene where Doris, our five-year-old, comes in to fetch her iPad. She doesn’t even bother to glance at what we’re doing.

How was lockdown for you both? AL: I feel bad saying it, but it was actually good for us. We were lucky enough to be in a big house with a garden. For the first time since we met, we were in one place. We could just focus on Lyra . To see her grow over six months was incredible. She helped us keep a steady routine, too.

GT: Ours was similar. We never spend huge chunks of time together, so it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. At least until David’s career goes to shit and he’s just sat at home. The flipside was the bleakness. Being in London, there were harrowing days when everything was silent but you’d just hear sirens going past, as a reminder that something awful was going on. So I veered between “This is wonderful” and “This is the worst thing that ever happened.”

And then there was home schooling… GT: Which was genuinely the worst thing that ever happened.

You’ve spent a lot of time on video calls, clearly. What are your top Zooming tips? GT: Raise your camera to eye level by balancing your laptop on a stack of books. And invest in a ring light.

AL: That’s why you look so much better. We just have our sad kitchen light overhead, which makes us look like one massive shiny forehead.

GT: Also, always have a good mug on the go [raises her cuppa to the camera and it’s a Michael Sheen mug]. Someone pranked David on the job he’s shooting at the moment by putting a Michael Sheen mug in his trailer. He brought it home and now I use it every morning. I’m magically drawn to drinking out of Michael.

There’s a running gag in series one about the copious empties in Michael’s recycling. Did you lean into lockdown boozing in real life? AL: Not really. We eased off when I was pregnant and after Lyra was born. We’d just have a glass of wine with dinner.

GT: Yes, definitely. I often reach for a glass of red in the show, which was basically just an excuse to continue drinking while we were filming: “I think my character would have wine and cake in this scene.” The time we started drinking would creep slightly earlier. “We’ve finished home schooling, it’s only 4pm, but hey…” We’ve scaled it back to just weekends now.

How did you go about creating your characters with the writer Simon Evans? AL: He based the dynamic between David and Michael on a podcast they did together. Our characters evolved as we went along.

GT: I was really kind and understanding in the first draft. I was like “I don’t want to play this, it’s no fun.” From the first few tweaks I made, Simon caught onto the vibe, took that and ran with it.

Did you struggle to keep a straight face at times? AL: Yes, especially the scenes with all four of us, when David and Michael start improvising.

GT: I was just drunk, so I have no recollection.

AL: Scenes with all four of us were normally filmed in the evening, because that’s when we could be child-free. Usually there was alcohol involved, which is a lot more fun.

GT: There’s a long scene in series two where we’re having a drink. During each take, we had to finish the glass. By the end, we were all properly gone. I was rewatching it yesterday and I was so pissed.

What else can you tell us about series two? GT: Everyone’s in limbo. Just as we think things are getting back to normal, we have to take three steps back again. Everyone’s dealing with that differently, shall we say.

AL: In series one, we were all in the same situation. By series two, we’re at different stages and in different emotional places.

GT: Hollywood comes calling, but things are never as simple as they seem.

There were some surprise big-name cameos in series one, with Samuel L Jackson and Dame Judi Dench suddenly Zooming in. Who can we expect this time around? AL: We can’t name names, but they’re very exciting.

GT: Because series one did so well, and there’s such goodwill towards the show, we’ve managed to get some extraordinary people involved. This show came from playing around just to pass the time in lockdown. It felt like a GCSE end-of-term project. So suddenly, when someone says: “Samuel L Jackson’s in”, it’s like: “What the fuck’s just happened?”

AL: It took things to the next level, which was a bit scary.

GT: It suddenly felt like: “Some people might actually watch this.”

How are David and Michael’s hair and beard situations this time? AL: We were in a toyshop the other day and Lyra walked up to these Harry Potter figurines, pointed at Hagrid and said: “Daddy!” So that explains where we’re at. After eight months of lockdown, it was quite full-on.

GT: David had a bob at one point. Turns out he’s got annoyingly excellent hair. Quite jealous. He’s also grown a slightly unpleasant moustache.

Is David still wearing his stinky hoodie? GT: I bought him that as a gift. It’s actually Paul Smith loungewear. In lockdown, he was living in it. It’s pretty classy, but he does manage to make it look quite shit.

[ohlookitsrex]

Summary: "If we can go one week with no lies, then we will go on a field trip, only the winners, of course."

That was Charles' idea...to be completely honest, Charles only made this bet so Erik would flirt with him...Charles' plan was working out to be spectacularly terrible.

There had been a bet going around the school, among the staff, mainly. Charles had been preaching the importance of honesty and transparency, but he quickly realized that his colleagues needed more incentive.

"If we can go one week with no lies, then we will go on a field trip, only the winners, of course."

That was Charles' idea and so far, it was quite fun. To be completely honest, Charles only made this bet so Erik would flirt with him -unintentionally, mind you. Two days in, and Charles' plan was working out to be spectacularly terrible. Erik was seemingly avoiding Charles, which was a valid strategy, but still.

Charles had walked into the lounge room, hoping to catch Erik and a cup of coffee. Erik was indeed there, likely on his way out of the lounge. Erik wore that borderline sinful black turtleneck along with a tight pair of pants.

"Erik, fancy a game of chess during our 30 minute break?"

Erik had finally taken note of Charles' presence and became extremely nervous for some godforesaken reason. Erik knew the reason: he likes Charles, it's as simple as that. He loves those piercing blue eyes, the kind smile, the soft, untouched hands of Charles Xavier. He won't deny it... okay, well, maybe he will. Everyone seems to know this fact besides Charles. 

" I would love to Charles but I have tests to grade," he said with an obviously fake smile. Technically, that wasn't a lie; Erik would love to play a game with Charles and he did have tests to grade. Charles sighed, "oh, I see...well, perhaps next time then." Erik gave a genuine smile this time.

"Perhaps." On the way out, he brushed past Charles, both of their faces reddening madly. Oh, if only they could see each other from an outsider's perspective. They are so obviously in love even a blind man could see it and a deaf girl could hear it.

***

Charles was walking down one of the school's many corridors, in search of one Erik Lehnsherr.

"Charles," Raven spoke from behind him. "Yes?" He queried, turning to see her. "Have you seen Hank?" So Raven had the same idea as Charles it seems.

"That depends, have you seen Erik?"

"Ooh, are you trying to seduce him or something?"

"I won't tell if you won't."

"Deal, Erik is by the fountain reading."

"Lovely, Hank is in the tennis court."

Charles immediately turned around and began pacing to his destination. 'Of course Erik was reading' Charles thought to himself. He strolled over to one of the many exits of the building.  Charles wandered lost in thought . Maybe I'll have a romantic moment with Erik by the fountain, like in all of those Rom-coms that Raven keeps telling me about. Maybe we could be like Bella and Edward—less cliche of course... Unbeknownst to Charles, he was about to walk face first into his Edward. This realization came with the audible thud of Charles' face colliding with the muscly chest of Erik, Erik's book now on the floor as a result.   Charles looked up to find a very flustered Erik—not that Erik looked flustered, but the bar of flustered for the (usually stoic) Erik is very low. 

"Erik, hello again.  Sorry, let me-"

Charles bent down at the exact same time Erik did.  Their foreheads met with a (less audible, but still) very painful thud, sending both men backwards on their asses. 

"Fuck" Erik muttered.  Erik looked up to see Charles: his legs bent upward and nearly sprawled out with his hand against his forehead.  For some reason (again, Erik knew the reason), Charles seemed to be the most captivating creature on earth, far more interesting than Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere.  Charles had looked up about four seconds before Erik realized he was staring.  Erik's eyes quickly darted away from Charles' strikingly blue ones.  "Well, I had been meaning to run into you, but this was not what I had in mind." Erik chuckled at this.

"I would hope." Charles smiled at Erik.  On the outside, Erik simply sat in nearly the exact position of Charles, mouth slightly open but still with a calm demeanor.  On the inside it sounded more like this:

Holy shit, Charles' eyes are piercing through my fucking soul.  If we were back in about 400 b.c I would think this man is Jesus and confess my sins to him...

"Well, Jesus was actually brown—likely with dark eyes. He was born in Nazareth, which was in the Middle East.  The only reason we think Jesus is white is because DaVinci was commissioned to paint a picture of Jesus.  He, of course, modeled it after his boyfriend at the time." Erik was hit with an abrupt sense of confusion.

"Hey-"

"I can't help if your thoughts are loud, Erik!"

"Right..."

Erik and Charles sat in the same spot, simply staring into each other's eyes for an unreasonable amount of time.

"Would you like to go back to the fountain?" Charles propositioned with a tint of uneasiness.

"S-Sure, Charles" Erik babbled.  Charles' own name falling off of Erik's lips hit him like a freight train.

Fuck, I wish I could hear that more... "Need a hand, Schatz?" Charles looked up to see Erik standing above him, hand outstretched.  Charles grasped Erik's hand and found that Erik pulled him up much harder than Charles pulled Erik down. This resulted in both men's faces being much closer than platonic allowed.  Erik quickly turned to the side, a very subtle blush dusting his cheeks.  For a split second, Charles could feel Erik's breath on his lips, Erik's slight stubble scraping against his chin, Erik's cologne filling his nostrils. Charles was going to ride this high for months.

"C'mon, let's go" Erik spoke with a hint of nervousness. Charles, still spaced out and on cloud nine, mindlessly followed Erik to the fountain.

***

"And then he sees door..." Charles was sitting on the fountain next to Erik, listening to him go on a passionate tangent about the book he had been reading.  Listening is a bit generous though, rather, Erik's words were hitting Charles like water across a creek floor.  "And then-"

"Erik?" Charles asked, creating an abrupt end to Erik's sentence.

"Charles?" he mimicked.

"What do you think about my eyes?"

"What?" Erik panicked internally.

"You keep thinking about them."

"I-" Erik took a moment to compose himself, trying to calculate the weight of his words.

"Your eyes are...beautiful" Vorefreud his mind was screaming.

"What does that mean Erik? 'vorefreud'?" Erik's cheeks reddened.

"Uhm...it uh, it means..." Erik closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, his eyes now meeting Charles'.

"Vorefreud pretty much means the pleasure of waiting for something pleasurable."

"And why do my eyes bring that word to mind?" Charles said with a grin that he simply couldn't hide. Erik was silent, his eyes never leaving Charles'.  Erik slowly lurched closer to Charles, his left hand coming up to Charles clean-shaven jawline and his right coming to rest atop Charles' hand on the smooth stone of the fountain.

And just like that, Erik was kissing Charles and Charles was kissing Erik. Both men felt this heavy weight suddenly lift off of their shoulders.  The pining, the sexual tension, the unspoken feelings, all of that was paying off.  Erik noted that Charles' lips were unreasonably soft, and Charles found that Erik's lips were slightly chapped.  The kiss was not ravenous, rather a soft, passionate, admission of love.  Charles brought his hands up to Erik's sides, his thumbs slowly moving up and down against Erik's sweater.  Erik pulled away, but not before hitting Charles' bottom lip and dragging his teeth across it.  At this, Charles let out a sharp gasp, his eyes pointedly meeting Charles. 

Erik looked passionately exasperated, eyes boring into Charles.  Charles brought one of his hands up to touch his lips, rubbing across the part Erik had just bit.  Erik smiled at this, the widest smile Charles has ever seen from him. A slight chuckle escaped his lips. The urge to, once again, kiss Erik washed over Charles, who decided to listen to it.  He lunged forward, one hand clasped itself against the underside of Erik's chin and the other flew to the back of Erik's head, roughly gripping his hair. 

Erik cursed against Charles' mouth and kissed back, this time ravenously. Erik's hands found Charles' back, his arms looping underneath Charles'.  Erik nibbled on Charles' bottom lip, this time, making him groan.  Erik took this as an opening and gracefully slid his tongue into Charles' mouth.  This kiss was no longer an admission of their feelings, but now a declaration, an announcement.  Charles now pulled away, his forehead resting against Eriks'. 

"Erik," Charles softly spoke.

"Charles," Erik said with an audible smile.

"I'm glad you think so loudly."

"Me too."

WC: 1482

A/N: Thanks for reading, babes!

[elsanna-shenanigans]

August Contest Submission #2: Frogs

Words: ca. 1,600 Setting: mAU Lemon: No CW: Brief mention of bullying

  June

  Anna Sommers adjusts her bangs and checks her teeth in the reflection of her phone’s camera before pressing down on the button to start her video. “Hi y’all, it’s been a minute. I’m all moved in and my new neighbor just told me about an art market a couple of blocks away. I thought I might take y’all there to see what’s up. Let’s go!”

  The new Apartment Therapy blogger and wannabe social media influencer walks down the street as she speaks to her phone about her new house and all of the ideas she has for it.

  Upon arriving at a park, she is surprised to see that there are at least a hundred tents set up with various wares for sale. Art, homemade soaps, textiles, and food all line designated pathways, and Anna takes no time getting lost in it all.

  As she walks, she puts her phone away, wanting to enjoy the moment for a bit. The market is crowded with families with mischievous children, young adults, old folks, and all sorts of people looking for things to buy. It’s Anna’s element, and she grins as she tells herself that moving to this neighborhood was the best idea she’s ever had. She walks down the path and stops to chat with the vendors, looking for her next story but also looking for inspiration for her new home.

  When she spots a tent with a table of several brightly colored flowers, she lights up. “Perfect,” she says to herself as she walks over.

  Though the plants drew her in, it’s the woman that stops Anna in her tracks. “Gorgeous,” she says a little dazedly.

  A dark brow arches and a pink lip quirks. “Excuse me?”

Anna shakes her head and blinks. “Uh, you are- your flowers are gorgeous.”

  The woman- with the most beautiful pale blonde hair Anna has ever seen- smiles. “Thank you. Are you familiar with bromeliads?”

  “Bro what now?”

  Anna’s ignorance illicites a light laugh from the woman. “I suppose not then.”

  “No,” Anna says, her cheeks turning a dark shade of pink. “I’m what you’d call a plant murderer. I’ve killed succulents.”

  “Succulents are actually not as easy to care for as people think,” the woman cocks her head.

  “That doesn’t reassure me,” Anna says with a self-deprecating scoff. “I’m more of an appreciator of plants though. Experience has taught me to love them from afar.”

  “I bet you’d be a good plant mom if you had the right tools.”

  Wishing to know more about this woman, Anna steps further under the tent. “Thank you for the confidence…” She lingers to see if the woman will take the bait.

  “Elsa,” the woman smiles.

  Anna grins. Hook, line, and sinker. “Thank you, Elsa. My name’s Anna; I just moved a few blocks down.” She turns and vaguely waves her hand in the direction of her house.

  Elsa turns around but continues. “It’s nice to meet you, Anna.” Anna watches as she picks up a plastic pot with a small bromeliad in it. When she turns and holds out the plant to Anna, Anna’s eyes widen.

  “I bet you can keep this little guy alive for a month,” Elsa says.

  Anna holds her hands up defensively. “Oh, no, I don’t think-” The plant is thrust into her hands.

  “I believe in you,” Elsa smiles again.

  Anna nearly melts at her sudden infatuation with Elsa. Never before has she fallen so hard so fast; but, Elsa’s words have struck a chord deep inside Anna, and she wants to know Elsa more.

  “Anna?” Elsa’s mouth quirks up again.

  “Huh?” Anna’s eyes focus on the blonde. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I was just saying that I’m here every month so you can bring it back and let me inspect it to see how you’re doing.”

  “Wait, really? You’re giving me a plant? Shouldn’t I, like, pay you for it?”

  Elsa shakes her head, and Anna wishes she could play with her hair. “Consider it a housewarming gift.”

  July

  Anna practically runs from her house to the market, excited to show Elsa that her bromeliad hasn’t died yet.

  “I’m proud of you,” Elsa grins when Anna arrives at her tent, red-faced and out of breath. “I told you you could do it.”

  Anna puts the plant down on the table. “It’s all thanks to you. After I downloaded that app you showed me, I made a plan to keep Olaf alive.”

  “Olaf?”

  “I had to name him, Elsa.”

  Elsa’s laughter makes Anna grin, and she thinks that all she ever wants to do is make Elsa laugh.

  “So, I forgot to ask you last time: why bromeliads?”

  Elsa walks over to her table and grabs a book to hand to Anna. “Have you ever heard of Terry Pratchett?”

  Anna takes it as she says, “Didn’t he write Good Omens with the Neil dude? I forgot his last name.”

  “Gaiman; and, yes, they did write that together. But Terry Pratchett also wrote tons of books on his own. This is my favorite.”

  Anna looks down at the book. “Wings,” she read aloud.

  “I learned about bromeliads from it.  My grandmother bought it for me when I started to read chapter books. I especially loved that it talked about how frogs live inside bromeliads in the rainforest. I was the weird little girl that loved frogs, lizards, salamanders, and anything slimy.”

  “That’s not weird at all. That’s so cool!”

  August

  Anna has to wait until an older couple finishes purchasing a bromeliad from Elsa before she can ask her question. As soon as they turn to leave and she acknowledges them with a soft “hello,” she steps up to where Elsa is sitting behind the table.

  “Elsa, will you help me on my journey to be a plant mom?”

  Elsa smiles up at her. “Sure. I know a few places that have hardy plants that even you can’t kill.”

  “Ha ha, you’re hilarious,” Anna deadpans as she pulls out her phone. “Do you have plans tomorrow? I could get your number, and we can meet up to go together.”

  “I’d love that.”

  September

  Anna takes a few calming breaths. She’s outside Elsa’s front door and working up the courage to knock. They’ve been spending more time together outside of the art market, but this is the first time Elsa’s invited her to her home.

  Just as she psychs herself up, the door opens and Elsa is there grinning. “I was wondering if you’d ever knock.”

  “For your information, I was admiring your door knocker,” Anna hedges.

  Elsa just laughs. “Well, if you’ve finished, I want to show you my greenhouse.”

  Anna nods. Her own plant collection is growing rapidly thanks to Elsa’s encouragement and advice, but she’s ready to see Elsa’s.

  They walk through the house, and Anna is excited to see bits of Elsa’s life. It’s as clean and organized as she imagined. The den has a cobalt sofa. There’s a kettle on her stove and pristine tea towels hanging from her oven door in her kitchen. Plants are everywhere- hanging from macraméd planters, in otherwise empty corners, trailing along walls. In short, Elsa’s house is Anna’s dream house.

  Elsa opens the back door and leads Anna through her garden. It’s small but brightly colored, with butterflies and bees pollinating all around them.

  A pot of dirt and a bag of bulbs outside the greenhouse catches Anna’s attention. “What are you planting?”

  Elsa turns to the pot. “Crocuses. They’re one of my favorites. They bloom in the spring and are beautiful shades of purple, white, and yellow.”

  “Purple’s my favorite color,” Anna grins.

  Elsa returns her smile. “Mine too.”

  October

  Fall has finally arrived, and with it, Anna’s favorite holiday. The market is decorated for Halloween, and Anna is a little relieved to see a few other adults dressed in costumes. Her own costume isn’t so much a costume as it is an adult onesie, but she doesn’t care. She’s on a mission to ask Elsa out, and she’s opted to do it as a frog.

  When she arrives at the table, Elsa’s looking down at her phone.

  “Hi,” Anna holds her arms out joyfully. “Are you hoppy to see me?”

  Elsa looks up with a smile that’s quickly replaced with a frown.

  Anna lowers her arms. “What’s wrong, Elsa?”

  “Are you making fun of me?” Elsa’s brows furrow.

  “Wait what?”

  “I told you I like frogs, and now you’re dressed up like one. Are you making fun of me?”

  “What? No, Elsa, I,” Anna pushes back the hoodie on her onesie. “I’m sorry. It was supposed to make you smile.”

  Elsa’s blue eyes soften. “Oh, I’m sorry, Anna. I was made fun of for liking frogs as a child, and I get a little defensive of it. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

  Anna feels terrible and embarrassed and shifts from foot to foot. “No, it’s my fault.”

  “It really isn’t. It’s just me and my stuff. Please stay.” Elsa pats a chair next to her’s.

  Anna nods but never does get to fulfill her mission.

  November

  “Okay, Anna, do it. Do the thing,” Anna pumps herself up to finally ask Elsa out. She’s even found purple tulips to give Elsa because they resemble crocuses. She walks up to Elsa’s door with a purpose. Only to falter. “What if she says no? No, Anna, she won’t.”

  The door opens as she squares her shoulders.

“Are those for me?” Elsa smiles.

  “They are,” Anna hands them to her. “Elsa, will you go out with me?”

  Elsa grins. “I’d love to.”

  Epilogue

  Anna adjusts her bangs and checks her teeth in the reflection of her phone’s camera before pressing down on the button to start her video. “Hi y’all, it’s been a minute. Today I’m finally moving into my girlfriend’s house and I can’t wait to show y’all. She’s perfect, our home is perfect, and our new pet frog is perfect. His name is Sven by the way.”