#I think I’m getting pulled into this ship/couple’s rabbit hole oh no

[frosty-tian]

“Between us is a red string, but what it represents is a mystery, much like our feelings towards each other.”

My end of the art-trade I did with the amazing @henry-old-hollywood!

Thank you so much for the opportunity, it was very fun to work on this and with you!

[princecharmingwinks]

i cant believe you said you dont write for fandoms!! these are ending up AMAZING! have another fail date for you to make better: we went four-wheel driving over the dunes out bush, we took my car but he drove because he's done the route before. we were the second car in the convoy and because my car is a little smaller than the others it couldnt make it up the last dune! it nearly made it over before sliding back into the sand and ended up half buried! (1/2)

(2/2) the rest of the group had to drag and push us out with planks and chains etc while we were stuck inside because no way in hell i was opening the door to let the sand in! so three wheels in the sand, waiting on our rescue, irl it was a bit awkward but im hoping you'll rewrite a better ending <3

Awww concussed dragon, you are sooo sweet! Thank you! Your unique failed dates are great to work with. Alrighty, let's get into this one! So the pack got big in this one and while most don't have lines, I liked the idea of everyone being there (or almost for anyone I missed haha). I left some of the couple combos up to interpretation so feel free to ship at your leisure.

---

The pack, after much pestering from a certain human/spark, were finally going on their camping trip. The alpha had finally conceded when Stiles had shot him a pout and hopeful eyes. Derek had reluctantly agreed and ignored the snickering of his betas in the corner of the room.

On the morning of the trip, everyone was pairing up into groups of drivers and passengers so no one drove alone and there were less cars.

Derek and Stiles were the last members out of the rebuilt Hale House. Derek had been locking up and Stiles was finishing off some wards to ensure there were no unwanted visitors while they were away. He was still learning to harness his spark but small wards of protection were easy enough. Defensive magic was easier, offensive was another story.

Stiles threw his bag into the back of the jeep and glanced around.

"So, who's joining Roscoe and me?"

Erica snickered, "Derek."

"What?" Stiles and Derek snapped in unison. Well at least Stiles had a punctuation mark, Derek's not so much.

"I'm with Danny, Lydia and Jacks." Kira spoke up. "Scott, Malia, and Isaac are with Allison."

"I'm obviously with my boy." Erica jumped onto Boyd's back, who was used to his girlfriend's antics and easily caught her. "And Theo is meeting us there after picking up Liam from work. Everyone's paired up so that just leaves you two."

Stiles felt his heart flutter but managed to keep his voice even as he spoke, "Alright Alpha My Alpha, let's get going."

Derek didn't say a word as he slid into the passenger seat of the jeep. Everything would be fine.

Everything was not fine. Stiles was definitely going through a quarter life crisis at the realisation most of the pack were in couples. How did he not realise that? When had it become a prerequisite to start dating a pack member? And now it was just Stiles and the alpha. The alpha he had been in love with for years. Great...

"What's wrong?"

Stiles was pulled out of his internal panic by said alpha's soothing voice. Derek had softened over the years, showing care and concern for each member of the pack. He now bought scent-free nail polish for Erica (so the acid smell didn't upset all the were's noses), stocked Isaac's favourite gummybears and even hugged Kira willingly at her university graduation. Derek Hale was a softie.

"I'm fine, nothing wrong here, no sir." Stiles prattled. Even he heard the blatant lies without supernatural healing. He glanced to his side and was greeted by raised eyebrows.

"Ok, so I may have just realised how paired up everyone in the pack really is."

"Except us."

"Yeah," Stiles sighed. "Except us. Do you ever think about that? Like, why you haven't dated anyone since..." He trailed off. Derek didn't have the best track record for his love interests but he hadn't even been on a date for more than 3 years.

Derek looked out the window at the scenary, they were driving into the sand dune part of the journey, and for a moment Stiles thought he wasn't going to answer.

"I've been waiting."

Stiles blinked. Huh?

"For someone so smart, you're really clueless sometimes." Derek huffed, glancing back at Stiles.

"What have you been waiting for?" Stiles dared to ask. They had paused to allow Allison's four-wheel-drive to roll up the last sand dune, waiting for their turn. Roscoe would be the last time to make the climb.

"I thought it was my imagination at first but then you kept coming around and..."

It was Roscoe's turn now and Stiles slowly prepared for the final climb of the dune. He tried to keep focused on the task at hand, allowing Derek to speak his thoughts. You never rushed the alpha when he was being vulnerable.

"I know you kind of like me?" Derek voiced it as a question but all Stiles heard was sirens in his brain. Derek knew? Stiles' foot slid off the peddle and they immediately started rolling backwards, fast.

"Shit! Shit, shit shit." Stiles acted quickly but it wasn't enough. Roscoe descended the sand dune and sank, refusing to move. Sand on either side of them blocked the bottom of their doors. They were officially stuck.

Stiles rested his head on the steering wheel and slowed his breathing. There were multiple crises going on but most had solutions.

The others would work out they hadn't made the climb soon enough or Theo and Liam would find them on their way through. So either way, Roscoe being stuck wasn't a massive deal. The real dilemma was Stiles' outed feelings for Derek.

The same Derek that was eyeing Stiles with concern as he called Kira to request some assist. Stiles heard him hang up before the sound of a door handle being jiggled. He snapped his head up.

"Whoa there sourwolf, there is to be no sand storm in this car, thankyouverymuch." He reached out and tugged the alpha's hand away from the door.

"I figured me getting out and pushing was the preferred option to sitting here with you in a state of panic at my assumption."

Stiles pulled his hand back. "What?"

"Look, we can just forget I ever said anything, alright? I get I'm not the most desirable crush to have. It's probably just familiarity and your sense of loyalty that's fueled your scent around me anyway. Don't worry about it."

Stiles shook his head, "Oh no you don't. You opened that can of worms and I'm no coward." The spark met Derek's gaze. Had he been planning on ignoring his feelings for the alpha? Sure. But was he going to run away from a moment like this? Nope. Stiles Stilinski was a lot of things but after running with wolves and other supernaturals for most of his life, he knew when he needed to tackle something head on.

"Now, before you go down your rabbit hole of I'm-not-good-enough crazy talk, I've got something to say."

Derek nodded like the soft alpha he was and turned to face Stiles more fully.

"You, Derek Alexander Hale, are amazing. A little on the martyr side but that's because you are so protective of your pack. I'd be crazy to not fall in love with you. That's right, love not like. I've been in love with you for years but how was a kid like me going to catch the alpha's eye? I didn't want to ruin our friendship. This," He gestured between them. "This is important to me. I don't want to ruin it."

Derek released a sigh of relief? Stiles couldn't read his eyebrows which was disappointing when he was the most expert at interpreting the alpha's facial expressions.

Then Derek was darting forward and claiming Stiles' lips in a searing kiss. Stiles went with it, almost unbelieving that any of this was happening.

Derek eventually pulled back and rested his forehead against Stiles'.

"Worth the wait." The alpha whispered, grinning, bunny teeth all on display.

"Two way street here. You could've said something too. How long have you liked me?"

Derek blushed and it was only because they were so close that Stiles saw the pink of his cheeks and ears.

"I've always liked you, even if I didn't always show it. But love? I think I've loved you since you woke me up on an elevator floor by punching me. You could have left without me but you didn't."

Stiles pouted, "Since then?"

Derek raised an eyebrow, "What's wrong?"

Stiles pushed Derek back and clumsily crawled across the gear stick to straddle the alpha's lap.

"We could have been having the best sex of my life for years, Derek! Years! We've got a lot of making up to do." Stiles dove in to kiss Derek this time. The alpha happily drew Stiles in closer, curling his arms around the spark's slim waist.

A knock on the window, interrupted their make-out session. Boyd's face appeared with judging eyebrows to rival Derek's.

"Heard you needed a hand." Boyd spoke loudly with a smirk as Derek's hand moved away from Stiles' ass to rest safely on his back.

"What's Erica doing?" Stiles asked, leaning over Derek to squint at the blonde chatting wildly on the phone. Derek focused his hearing.

"Turns out I'm not the only one who was waiting." Derek grinned, "And everyone apparently owes Lydia money."

They did eventually get Roscoe out of the sand dune thanks to the advantages of going camping with multiple supernatural creatures. By the time everyone was settled in the camp and Erica had informed Theo and Liam on the events of the day, Lydia was a very rich woman.

Stiles couldn't complain though. Not when the alpha was snuggled between his legs as Stiles sat on the log and Derek roasted them marshmallows. Apparently no one trusted Stiles near an open flame following the incident with that vampire clan. Stiles combed his fingers through Derek's hair and looked around at the pack. This camping trip was the best idea ever.

--

Ok so I must confess I do not camp like...ever and have no idea how four-wheel-driving works so please forgive any major errors in that department. I tweaked things a bit from your prompt sorry. I just couldn't imagine Stiles letting anyone else drive Roscoe. Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for popping in!

[sesskagarchive]

November Author Spotlight - ForgettableFox

Q: Where can we find you and your stories? A: AO3, Dokuga,and FFnet

Q: How would you describe your writing style? A: I tend to focus a lot on world building and my writing style really reflects that. I want my readers to know exactly where they stand in my story - What does it feel like? What can you see? What can you hear? I want my stories to be immersive to the point that if you close your eyes, the scene plays out like a movie in your head. Coupled with that, I have a love of metaphor and allegory and try to come up with creative ways to incorporate them into my stories to better understand the character's views, emotions, or thoughts. 

Q: What's one thing you'd tell someone who is considering reading one of your fics? A: I suppose, prepare yourself for the unexpected. I like a lot of twists and turns when I build my stories and I'm not afraid of Main Character Death (MCD) if it furthers along the plot in a meaningful way. 

My stories tend to go one of two ways: they're either humorous and fun or some type of dark epic. Occasionally, a story may fall somewhere in between. I love character development and imbuing my characters with realistic flaws that they must overcome. I don't want perfect characters - I want them to struggle and find that resolve within themselves to evolve into someone worthwhile. I want a sense of realism - and that sometimes means my characters are incapable of meeting that goal; that they stay flawed and suffer the consequences of their own actions. 

So for someone considering reading my stories, keep that in mind. Not everything can be a happy ending and sometimes things don't turn out the way we expect them to.

Q: How do you get/stay inspired to write? (ie: playlists, aesthetics, fanart, this blog, etc.) A: I have a wonderful group of fellow fandom writers who inspire me every day. Sometimes we'll talk about something silly and I'll think "Write that down! Write that down!" It's great to be able to bounce ideas off of other people within the fandom. I have a love of AU, so me thinking "What if SessKag were ______" - and then my mind goes down the rabbit hole of how that would work and I'll bring it up and someone else will add to it and say "Ooh! And what if you add THIS!" and then the ideas spiral out of control from there.

I find myself inspired a lot by music as well - specifically lyrics or a certain vibe a song has. Sometimes other books that I've read will inspire or a prompt I've seen out there. Inspiration is everywhere! It just takes an understanding of the cycle of things - you write, you finish a work, you wait for inspiration to strike you again (and not necessarily in that order!

Q: What's your favorite SessKag moment from Inuyasha and why? A: Probably a lame answer, but that first episode where Sess is introduced in the show and they're battling for Tetsusaiga and the look of shock Sess has when Kags pulls it out of the pedestal. I think that is where that trope comes from of "Oh damn, Kags is *strong*, I love her" comes from. 

Q: What do you like most about the SessKag fandom? A: I really love the *resilience* within the community. Next year Inuyasha will have been around for 2 decades in the US. That's 20 years since that first episode aired! That's wild! And STILL the fandom is putting out amazing works and refuses to dissolve into obscurity. The amount of individuals who I've spoken to who have said "Inuyasha was the first anime I ever watched" or "Sess was my first 2D love" is astronomical! This is a fandom full of passion and I find that's especially true for this ship. People have taken RT's original work and have melded it into something greater, imo. They've filled in plot holes, developed the characters, and have just poured all their love and creativity into the fandom. It's amazing.

Self Rec Time! List the fics that you are most proud of writing.

A New Leash on Life

Calamity Tempest - Miko’s Melody

Reach for the Stars

Rec Time! List your top 3 favorite SessKag fics of all time.

Flamigo by DeadlyGlacier

The Baking Perfection by Monomyth

Beneath the Blackthorn Tree by mythicamagic

[demonslayedher]

Kimetsu no Yaiba and its ties with traditional Japanese culture

Just a ramble and a little dive into what makes the Kimetsu fandom so engaging for someone who, as I like to say, “broke the weeb scale a long time ago.” 

From the perspective of the craft of writing, Gotouge is clearly a novice. While Kimetsu is not a debut work, it’s nearly that, which is why Gotouge only got so big of a deal on anime rights due to (previous) lack of name recognition. It commits all kinds of writing sins; the flashbacks were never hinted to until they become relevant, contrived conveniences move the plot, and I’ve never seen more egregious use of telling instead of showing.  But despite all that, it’s told with a lot of heart. The core bonds between people and character motivations drive the story beyond all those execution flaws. The premise is straightforward and hits on core classic themes found throughout human history of fiction. It’s that lack of nuance sometimes, as well as the pure love put into these characters, that sometimes makes me feel like I’m watching a little alligator child play with action figures and light up as they pause the pretend dialogue to tell you all kinds of exciting things about the world they are having the toys fly through whilst also making ‘bang, pow’ sound effects as they resume play.  (The art likewise commits so many sins but that is so freaking endearing, let’s move on.) A large part of what attracted me to Kimetsu in the first place was the aesthetic. Samurai style warfare never gets old, element-based powers never get old, and when it comes to character designs, the motifs used throughout the series are merchandise gold for how recognizable they are. There’s a certain lack of mainstream Taisho Era manga, despite that being a very exciting and fashionable era made all the more nostalgic for its brevity and relative pre-Showa peacefulness.  You know what, I’m just going to skip the preamble and get straight to it: the more deep diving you do, the more you realize, oh hell, this alligator had a ship-ton of detail and background in this. 

Whether intentional or not, the series has provided a huge wealth of ties to traditional folklore, and when people who know a lot about this stuff start theorizing and pulling in outside research, dang, they can get going.  Some examples I’ve heard:  1. Drawing comparisons to just about every demon legend out there, including spider demons in the mountain, demons that mingle among the courtesans, demons that attain the ability to live among humans by practicing self-restraint, and so on and so on and so on.  2. Tracing the origins of the series to some of the most ancients writings in Japan and showing how many rules and themes of demon slaying have remained consistent throughout centuries of legends. 3. Diving into the local folklore of the places tied with the series (for example, I heard a passing comment about the islands were Iguro is from having men and women live separately, which I have not verified with my own research). 4. Pulling in places not mentioned specifically in canon but bare distinct similarities with canon elements, such as many tourist sites that have recently exploded in popularity around the country (for example, one of my favorite sword-forging sites in Shimane, or a couple shrines that just happen to be called Kamado Shrine with the same somewhat rare kanji, or a garden famous for its extensive use of wisteria.) 5. Diving into the origins of names (such as how the pronunciation of “Agatsuma” has roots in Shinto mythology of a god singing the praises of his wonderful wife) and traditional patterns (the Ichimatsu (checkerboard) patterns having ties to enduring continuity, many other patterns being used to ward off evil, etc.) It’s such a fun rabbit hole (or, swamp demon hole??) which fans go really, really deep in their theories, bringing in uncanny comparisons to historical botanists or insisting that just because something has roots in the Heian period it must be chosen on purpose because you know who else has roots in the Heian period? Kibutsuji Muzan. It’s all connected, Wani-sensei, sugooooooiiiiiiii!!!! And I love to get wrapped up in that too (see here), but then when I consider translating the juicy details, I usually stop for two reasons: 

1. That’s... that a lot of background that would take a really long time to explain. 2. When you get down to it, a lot of it is just fun coincidences, and I think it’s too far of a stretch to make them canon theories.  It’s when I choose not to translate them that I reach two conclusions.  1. Whether consciously or unconsciously, it’s very possible Gotouge did take these sorts of very, very trivial details into account when designing the characters, especially giving the very clear level of research that did go into specifying a lot of the character details. Like, seriously, Wani-sensei, how many yyyyyyyears have you spent soaking all this up? The sheer level of Taisho Era world building is a testament to that.  2. Even without all those layers of ties to centuries and centuries of folklore, at its core, the story remains engaging because of the elements mentioned previously. It’s a classic tale of good versus evil; there are no elemental powers, it’s just people doing the best they can because they have motives that drive them--familial love, revenge, duty, regret, filling in something that’s missing.  But oh, man, oh my demons, how I love, love, love how this series stokes my nerdy side, I love it, I want to climb ALL THOSE MOUNTAINS AROUND TOKYO AS FANDOM PILGRIMAGES AND DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON HOW MUCH THIS FANDOM HAS INFILTRATED EVEN MY TEA CEREMONY LESSONS EVER SINCE THAT RIKYU-BAI NATSUME REMINDED ME AND MY CLASSMATE OF UZUI TENGEN, I CANNOT FULLY CONCENTRATE or even BREATHE, SENSEI, I CANNOT PRACTICE THIS ‘OCHA NO KOKYUU’ WHEN YOU KEEP MAKING KIMETSU REFERENCES, AND I AM NOT EVEN THE ONLY ONE WHO MADE THAT INOKO-MOCHI JOKE, STAHP------

[rockinlibrarian]

Fic Writer Review

@pixiedane tagged everyone on this, and considering I've been wallowing in my sudden Being Into Fanfic lately (though to be honest I've been READING a lot lately more than writing), see this link, I figured I'd take her up on the challenge. You, too, may take ME up on the challenge if YOU have been writing fic!

how many works do you have on AO3? 19. That's much less than @pixiedane! I'm a baby fic writer!

what’s your total AO3 word count? 66,239

how many fandoms have you written for and what are they? There are technically seven listed, but "Marvel Cinematic Universe," "The Avengers (Marvel Movies)," "Captain America (Movies)," and "Agent Carter (TV)" all apply to the same fic, so really just 4. But that doesn't count fandoms I've written but not completed (and therefore posted) for. So there are more to come. Maybe. Sometime.

what are your top 5 fics by kudos? *

"On the End of Endgame," 51 kudos, because I'm right and Marvel doesn't understand their own time travel rules and 51 people KNOW it!

"The Puppy-Fly Effect," 39 kudos, because it's Back to the Future, the most mainstream property I've written for! So people see it and say, "oh, I've actually seen that one" and they're more likely to read it!

"The Invitation: an Epilogue," 22 kudos, which is pretty good since this is my newest fic on there. It's a Howl's Moving Castle (BOOK, PLEASE, OBVIOUSLY) epilogue, so considering it's not a RECENT thing it just keeps getting slow and steady readership. I myself have been reading a lot of Howl fic lately, and people are getting comments on their decade-old stories from me now, so I imagine this one also will slow and steadily keep accumulating hits and kudos.

"Kerry and the Meaning of Life," 20 kudos. I'm honestly not sure why this is, by far, my most kudoed Legion FX fic. It's the first one I ever wrote, and got me started on the whole writing-the-entire-Loudermilk-coming-of-age rabbit hole I fell into to begin with, but I've only improved over time, I think, but even after I'd posted other Loudermilk backstory I think is objectively better, this one still gets the most!

"Syd's (Third) Childhood Begins," 15 kudos, because when people finish watching Legion FX the NATURAL move is to seek out fix-it fic. I wouldn't say this is fix-it really as much as ensure-the-ending-is-actually-happy-it, but I did use the "fix-it" tag, and at least one of the commenters DID say they immediately came on AO3 "looking for pretty much exactly this"...

do you respond to comments, why or why not? Absolutely, because I know what it feels like NOT to get comments, and also what it feels like to-- I don't know, I just get paranoid, if people don't respond to me, I think stuff like "Did I say something wrong? Do they not care about my opinion? Am I invisible?" so I'm Do Unto Others-y about it, even if all I can think of to say is "Thank you!"

what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? Well, I haven't actually posted (read: finished) the ending yet, but it's definitely "Exploration of the Astral Plane," because that's just Legion FX canon. No spoilers, Oliver Bird starts out the show having gotten lost decades ago, and this is the story of HOW he got lost, and his friends didn't KNOW if they'd ever see him again, so the paragraphs I've written of the end do make me quite teary! The fic's really fun despite the canonically sad ending, though, honest!

do you write crossovers? if so what is the craziest one you’ve written? I have not written one YET, if I recall, unless you count the several mildly interconnected IPs involved in the Pipeweed Mafia Stories, which isn't even posted because I feel uncomfortable posting Real People fic online, but crossovers are fun and I really enjoy reading them, especially when the writer successfully blends things together while being true to the characters. Just today I read a hilarious one blending The Good Place and Harry Potter!

have you ever received hate on a fic? Gosh, this is such an ironic question. I wouldn't say that I WISH I received hate on a fic, but my fics aren't even NOTICED enough to receive hate! I already feel paranoid-- Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, you know how it is-- when I don't receive LIKE on a fic! It's LIKE receiving hate for me, because my brain goes into "Does nobody like it? Does nobody care? Are they all too nice to say it's terrible?" mode, so, yeah.

do you write smut? if so what kind? Absolutely not. My demisexual self hates reading it, definitely not writing it. I struggled enough writing just a taste of what a horny, slutty teenager who-talks-too-much Oliver Bird would have been in this AU, and that's mild!

have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I'm aware of. That would really suck, wouldn't it, if someone stole my work and ended up getting MORE LIKES AND COMMENTS THAN ME on it.

have you ever had a fic translated? Also not that I'm aware of, and if I'm not aware of it but it happened I guess that would answer the "stolen" question, too.

have you ever co-written a fic before? Ever in my entire life, I feel like I must have, but not anything I've posted online then

what’s your all time favorite ship? Hmm. Honestly, there are ships I defend passionately if the topic comes up, but I'm not sure I have a favorite just on my own. Especially as I hate smut, so I avoid seeking out specifically shipping stories. But, since I have been reading a lot of HMC fic lately, I should mention that Howl and Sophie ARE one of my absolute favorite fictional couples, but that's just how DWJ wrote them, and I can tell you unfortunately that not all fanfic writers QUITE nail that chemistry...

what’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? Speaking of The Good Place, I really do wish I could write the novelization, and maybe I'd write some pieces of it longer than the few paragraphs I have written? But I doubt I ever will, let alone to the point of FINISHING...

what are your writing strengths? Fanfic wise, I like to THINK I understand the characters very well, at least! Writing in general? I think it's just my quirky voice? I'm the only me.

what are your writing weaknesses? Oh, very much FINISHING. But beyond that, it's pulling teeth to get me to fill out the story sometimes. I tend to draft with dialogue, and then I have to go back and fill in what's actually happening AROUND the dialogue, and sometimes I'd rather not.

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? At first I was like, I don't KNOW any other languages well enough to do this! And then I remembered the Firefly fic I have mostly written but not completed yet, and you know how in the show their speech is peppered with random Mandarin phrases? My husband has the Firefly RPG book and there's an appendix of Mandarin phrases you might hear in the Firefly universe, and I DID incorporate a few of those phrases into my dialogue, just from that appendix and it's probably horrible, but it fit the universe...

what was the first fandom you wrote for? EVER? The earliest I'm sure about is the Ducktales fic I found in an old Girl Scout manual that I must have written when I was 11 or 12. The first fandom I ever posted on AO3, in response to an exchange, was Legion FX of course, but that wasn't until the ripe old age of 40.

what’s your favorite fic you’ve written? I'm going to give this one to "Two (or Three) Mutant Freaks Against the Fourth Grade" just because it has gotten the least number of hits of ANY of my posts, INCLUDING THE PLACEHOLDER WITH NO WORDS IN IT, so it needs more love. And it really is one of my favorites, because it's just a sweet little story about nerds making friends, and I love rereading it.

*This made me curious which fics got the most kudos comparative to their HITS, because the Endgame one has WHOA more hits than any other fic, but it's over a thousand, which doesn't make 51 kudos look so good anymore. Percentage-wise, it's less than 5%, which seems to be where most of my fics hit when you do the math-- between 4% and 8% kudos-to-hits. The exceptions, jumping up to about 18% each, are the BttF and HMC fics, and, curiously, my beloved childhood friend AU mentioned in the last question-- it may have the least number of HITS (22), but that helps the math when you consider it's got 4 kudos. The HIGHEST percentage kudos-to-hits is its sequel, the childhood-friends-as-teenagers-AU fic mentioned in question 5**-- it's got 6 kudos and only 29 hits, so that's about 20%! Apparently people LIKE when I have to write a sex-crazed adolescent boy. COME ON, people! (The story is actually about Asexuality so I guess it really isn't people just wishing I'd write smut).

**Oh, I just noticed the numbers renumbered themselves when I put bullet points in the middle of the original question 3 there, so this is actually the answer to question 8? But it SAYS FIVE.

[bgharison]

It’s like deja vu all over again and I mostly blame @thekristen999

Once upon a time there was a depressed mom who discovered Airwolf fanfiction and thought, cool, nice escape.  Years passed and she really liked the show NCIS and she thought, hey remember fanfiction and wow, it was still a thing.  And then one day she read a crossover with this *other* show called Hawaii Five O and there was this character, Steve, that first captured her attention, and then she watched it, and then wow.

And then she decided maybe she should try writing, just a little bit.

And then her kid said, hey, if people like your stuff, you should check out tumblr, because writing and writers.

And she did.  And she made really good friends, and wrote more stuff, and cringed over a lot of her old stuff, and learned a lot, and even visited tumblr friends irl (and that’s honestly the best part of the fairy tale, because she’s still depressed, ya know?)  It’s me.  She’s me.

Soooooo when my tumblr dash started filling up with “those emergency gays” I was like okay, cute.  But then @thekristen999 started writing stuff and of course I was going to read all of those and I . . . really liked the characters and the dynamic.  So I read more.  

So I watched a couple of episodes.     

@thekristen999 wrote more.  I read more.  @stellarmeadow wrote something.  It’s now a damn conspiracy.

And then I started in on Season 2 and when we first see Eddie?  They’re playing “What a Man” like -- yeah, we aren’t even going to pretend not to play around with this, we’re going to have so much fun with this. Because there is not one straight girl gaze on that man in that moment.  And let me take this moment to say -- I do not give a flying squirrel’s butthole if Buck and Eddie are canon. I have fandom.  

This is about to get stupidly long and I’m not sure why I’m even writing it.  Maybe because it’s been a while since I’ve been newly-enthused about a show.  Maybe because part of depression is being unable to be enthused about anydamnthing and it just feels good to experience that again.  Anyway, there’s specific rambling under the cut, but basically, yeah, I totally get why several of my H50 community have found a place in their heart for this, so here I am to annoy you, hi.

But this show, it’s already checked all of my boxes.

Found family -- check.  Bobby.  He’s just so damn *kind* I want to cry.

Sexual tension push-me-pull-you -- Buddie.  “What are we measuring here?”  Buck’s FACE when he sees Eddie with Christopher for the first time.  Maddie:  “So this crush you have on Eddie . . . “  ::cue me snorting coffee out of my nose::

Competency kink -- check check check check and check ::holy hell::

Adrenaline junkie -- check check 

Whump -- not much yet, but I think it’s coming, and again:  fandom

Protective brother / sister dynamic -- check -- okay, so this is totally my jam, not gonna lie.  I have mixed feelings about this, especially in contrast with Steve/Mary.  It’s kind of neat that they mixed it up and that she’s the older sibling; the ‘on the run from an abusive ex’ is a bit cliché, sure, but ‘in danger from mysterious gangs and evil with plot holes’ required a lot of suspension of disbelief.  I like Maddie’s competence as an RN turned dispatcher, but I was personally fond of Mary’s character growth from flake to competent mom, with her occasional flashes of McGarrett genius and spirit.  Maddie’s character is conventionally attractive and I’m seriously disappointed that in every scene so far, we are Obligated to Notice Her Boobs.  All of the other dispatchers have on burgundy polo shirts, but not Maddie!  No, indeed, she has on some clingy v-neck number (not even just a polo left more unbuttoned).  I preferred Mary’s guess-my-natural-color, mascara-runs-during-kidnappings, dress-for-comfort-or-uniform approach to life.   

Whenever there’s a buddie/partner dynamic plus a brother/sister dynamic, I always like to at least have the option to play with the “oh-shit-I’ve-fallen-for-my-partner’s-sister” trope (at least once, for fun, even if I ship the partners) and I totally don’t see that here) so I’m just a little bit disappointed.  But I’m just four or five episodes in to Season 2.  (Oh, yikes, PLEASE don’t tell me there’s an Eddie/Maddie thing, I might throw up in my mouth a little.  I’ve seen gifs of a pregnant Maddie so I know she ends up with someone.)

It’s FUN to find another rabbit hole to fall into.  

::chanting:: write more write more write more write more write more 

[dafukdidiwatch]

Fantasy High Rant (and why you should watch it)

Ok I got suggested this and I cant believe I've been sleeping on this series in the last two years. This series is freaking fantastic! I’m screaming.

Overview is this is a modern d&d fantasy land a la Onward Style, where we follow fantasy Scooby Doo gang as they try to solve the mystery of missing students while interacting with the fantastical citizens of Spyre.

I hella love it, because while it has such a great mystery of whats going on in the town, who is doing what and why, etc etc, and it just GROWS the more you watch it. You think it was something simple, but the conspiracy rabbit hole gets deeper and deeper. But to me the main pull is just seeing how our Party just interacts with everyone and each other. This is a very character driven series, which makes sense this is a d&d party, you have to get attached to the party if you want them to work together.

Fabian Seacaster: God he’s fun to watch. The rich kid high class type of character but is just has so much gusto. I love his relationship with his family, it’s adorable. He just adores his parents and his parents adore him back. Like Addams style adoration. He is a bit full of himself and arrogant and has a thing of living up to his father's legacy as well as his family name, but I think his arc is him learning that he doesn't have to define himself through his dad and can be his own person. Plus my favorite moments are him screaming “WHAT IS HAPPENING” because out of everyone he mostly the straight man dealing with people.

Gorgug: I just love him. He is just so sweet. He is just a gentle giant and confused all the time. I feel so bad that he keeps getting the shit end of the stick to save the rest of the party. Like the whole "stealing backpack" shit to basically set him up as the outcasts of outcasts. Granted I’m laughing my ass off when it happens, but he is just so anxious it’s cute. He is just very sweet and genuine, even if he is a little awkward. I also love him just asking if people are his dad lol he just wants to know. But when he rages he’s basically God-Tier Shaggy. 

Fig: lol her angsty teenage years finding out she isn't who she thought she was. Tbf her dad basically said she was the reason for her parents divorce soooo take that as you will. Her being the "bad girl" but also very helpful when she can is great. Her flirtatious punk attitude, the winking, and rocking bard stuff. I low key like the idea of her being with Gorgug because of the moments in Barbarian class and giving him drumsticks. And I also like her with Fabian as just a wild cool kid power couple. Also her fucking with Goldenhoarde is the best with her being sexual,with him. Its super funny.

Riz: I freaking love him. Kid detective on the case. The business cards for friendship which I mean, makes sense. His goal from day one was to find the missing girls and babysitter. I'm sorry he has a poor house to use water cereal, but his mom just loves him and I think that’s sweet. His family is the coolest and he isn’t afraid to admit how cool his family is. But he has direction, he has a mission, and he does it with determination. Plus I love how he is The Ball and everyone is just going with it and now supports it. Him fucking with Fabian is great. And I'm glad he is reconsidering his life choices after meeting the AV kids.

Adaine: She needs help. The panicking one. I mean, her family,obviously looks down on her and she is literally jealous of all the other kids parents (love the gnomes). She is learning to find her own magic her own way and trying to shatter the expectation forced on her. God I support her just fucking people up, especially with Pixie Boy.She is just trying to deal with things which honestly this adventure is getting her to open up and not take shit. Character Arc: Don’t Take Shit.

Kristen: I’m just watching a train wreck here. Like she was 100% Helios all the way. But now it is just watching her questioning everything about religion after dying. Its amazing from looking into other religion herself and just how it ALL escalates from there as she is pulled further and further away from her religion and old life. Learning that how she was raised was just so fucked. Like I'm just seeing how far this goes and if she will pick another god instead or just not be a cleric anymore.

Also I'm like never going to post a completed version of this post because I’m way too fucking obsessed. I went from ep 8 yelling about Kristen’s religious life to episode 13 plot-twist end. I basically am physically restraining myself from watching episode 15 before I type this or else this will never be typed. I can literally go off about all the characters there is just so many good moments.

Basically, check out the show yourself. It’s on Youtube, it’s hilarious. Watching the reactions and faces is just so much fun to see. 100% recommend.

Now excuse me while I scream spoilers for episode 8/13/14 underneath:

Midway through Ep 8:

Ok it was fucking Kristen! Like not her obviously, but she was the hellmouth! She was the initial sacrifice! Demon-Dad Garthox said that the Hellmouth can be opened inside a person, and Goth Kid Blane was working for the Harvestmen Helios to get that page. And lo and behold the page was in the corn vat that Kristen's book was pushed into! Coincidence? I think not!

They thought that it was somehow Adaine's magic that caused it, or the very least it was the bully,guy who chucked Kristen's book in. But no, the page was already inside her book and fell into the corn! If bully ass McGee didn't hit the book out of her hands, then she might have been the victim! Which makes sense, why not have a follower of Helios bring the end times in His name.

Which means that it could be Daybreak or her parents that gave her the page in her bible for this.

God,is this what Helios meant when it "wasn't her time?" Because she is needed as the Hellmouth Sacrifice?

And this makes the whole "sneaking into heaven" part make sense now. If Aguefort was trying to be assassinated by Helios, he could sneak into Helios Heaven and spy on them from the afterlife. He's a weird ass man I'm sure he can pull it off.

Also Fig's Dad is hella cool and I totally love him for,trying to be a parent and mature about this. Fig is totally supportive of him and I love it.

Ok I'm going back to finish episode 8 I just REALLY needed to rant about that.

Screaming about Episode 13:

The oracle was going to return,if the country was in danger. It was but she was,kidnapped/killed on an illusion ship to stop,her. Rix dad is a spy and he was 100%,super dope about it and him just finding his family secrets I was just crying like, he found his legacy, his entire family was,badasses he was so happy and took up his dad's gun for justice. Like how cool is it for a goblin spy,being small and already default evil to infiltrate that is so clever. That is what gets me on this show,is that they take these cool setting and ideas and how they are twisted to fit the fantasy. Cops? Fantasy cops. Skateboarders? Fantasy skateboarders.

Which lets be real, I think the best battle where they really,worked together was during the skateboarders.

This mystery is building and building and I,guess Penelope is,trying to,be queen,via homecoming queen which is,weird and has a Sarah berry vibe to,it. Which is fucking nuts.

Now I’m wondering if nice guy,pixie actually was in on it day 1, or if he was turned over after he was "beaten" like the bad guys offered him a way to make his dream girls his 2D pets. Which, gross. But Biz part doesn't necessarily fit with the main plot. He obv isn't behind this.

Kalvaxus is a demon with money. His money needs to be destroyed. So they are funneling his money through the banks. They used his ship in disguise to kidnap/capture/kill the oracle to prevent her from returning, which she said she would if the country was in danger. Yes the religious Harvestmen wanted to start the apocalypse via Kristen, but ass-elf diplomat said it wouldn't really work, but it would break the treaty and start war. Kalvaxus. Coach Daybreak had control,on Zane, who had control over Johnny Spells to kidnap girls, and since Alwin had a spell to find "maidens/virgins" they need the girls, either as a sacrifice or as conduits to power the arcane source. Was all of this to raise Kalvaxus from hell to the mortal world? That would explain the power source at the arcade with the trapped girls, to keep the connection going. The only,thing I can think,as to why Penelope would be as high up as she is in this conspiracy is if Kalvaxus is her dad. Which I guess,everyone has dad issues in,this group.

Side note, I appreciate how Gorgug thinks himself as,dumb but gets really smart ideas and the whole party agreed they are smart. Like,he was the first to,put 2 and 2 together about Kalvaxus== KVX bank, even if he didn't outright say it.

All,the adults are really,enjoyable,to see. I fucking love Rix’s mom shes so cool. And Gilear is actually really,pitifully funny. I wouldn't think I would like,him as much after that first episode, but he is actually hilarious being the lunch lad and just trying his best.

Live Screaming Episode 14 (lots of incoherent):

fucking He'll Riz got the drop on Biz but he fumbled the attack with a nat1.

Ah shit! This is their shit! The prizes are the girls shit as trophies. Zelda headphones. Skateboard girl. You need to give the items back!!!

Fig's German Shepard patrol finally works out

And Riz is now in Penny's game, oh this hurts because this is the girl that he wants to help.

Biz is like a terrible chucky cheese mascot.

I love it when Fabian says "whats happening" because for all his rich person elegance his bafflement amuses me.

It's so sad to see these girls just be this, shadow of themselves. Like no personality at all.

Adaine does will with the divination rolls, I don't think I,could be able to,do this that well.

Damn they are taking the girls,into the power source, they need girl power. Literally.

Gorgug is just so sweet to call his parents for help. Too bad it didn't work. Its a gnome game, sweet.

damn this is a lot more dangerous than before. This is why we don't split the party.

Make Gorgug fly again that would be awesome. But Adaine flying is good too.

Riz using his gremlin powers to fuck up the parascepts from the inside is fucking amazing, why the hell is it funneling to the school.

Sucks that Fabian just kept running all the way out the building. But lets say Fabian having that motorcycle is just so op. Plus it called him Daddy let's not forget that.

Gorgug using the headphones with Zelda’s music is just so sweet and clever. See hes a simple man but very smart. Practical I think.

Lol only the guys got sucked into the game. No girls in video game.

The Bebe raises Gorgug’s rage. Riz is right: hot topic vs av nerds.

Where is devil dad, like he wasn't kidnapped or kidnapped figs mom or whatever right??? Like i get suspicious when people don't respond immediately.

OMG Gorgug is God Tier Shaggy.

Biz is doing the Fantasy Truffle Shuffle.

Cut his wings Gorgug!

Riz!!! Keep her here!!! FUCK!!! HE DIDN'T!!! Biz is soooo creepy.

Yes! Keep the ghosts so sad I would love the bag of holding but too bad it didn't work.

Gorgug’s parents are just so freaking sweet and supportive.

Hold shit Gorgug’s honesty got him double crit. That sucks but I lowkey hope he keeps the white hair.

That motorcycle is so op. But hes in a racing game with the hangman, at least he has an advantage.

Kristen's philosophers are just so op. I love how her religion is just searching for eternal knowledge.

NAT 20 THE NAT 20 FUCKING YES LETS GO RIZ JUST FLIPPING IT OFF AND SCREAMING FUCK YOU holy,shit that was funny. Too bad it was wasted on such a dumbass moment.

Just smashed the palimpsest that's how the owlbear popped out. Wow it was hilarious how biz popped out. But holy,shit Riz not even giving biz a chance as he starts shooting off fingers that’s amazing

I love them fucking with him because hes an ass. Oh, Alwin modify memory to make him think it was his evil plan. You know still fuck him tho. Ugh are those pictures. No. They know it was the group and photos of their house. Ughhhhh and now things are getting more dangerous,

[alias-b]

sins of my youth. 002

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: Hello all~ Down the rabbit hole. TW: Teenagers can be the worst. Bullying. Fatphobia. Slut shaming. Cruel boys being cruel boys.

Chapter 2: A Million Dead Stars

   All Evie had to do was wait patiently. For Heather to pop out back and for Billy to swoop in and make his bold move.

   The goofy grin Heather walked back in with did not disappoint. Not at all.

   “Hey, you.” Curls bounced when Evie cocked her head and Heather plopped down with a drink. They tapped red plastic cups.

   “So, I just had an...amazing conversation.”

   “Yeah...?" Evie sang softer. "Pray tell."

   “Just...wow. Billy Hargrove. Him too, huh?”

   “We knew it would happen. He was being way too cool around us at lunch when the guy has been nothing but shitty toward me since moving here. He gave me a ride home, it was obvious. And so…?”

   “Where to start?” Heather put her arm up on the couch and took a long drink, laughing. Pretty in pink girl. “First he brought up Jane Austen. Said they were studying it in English which was a total bluff.”

   “We’re not.” Evie confirmed. “He’s in my second period.”

   "You gave up choir for that specific period with Bowers." Heather recalled more so to herself.

   "No, I just," Evie scrambled, "I just didn't want to do choir anymore. The teacher played favorites. Got sick of it."

   Another longer drink and she went on.

   "So, continue..."

   “He brought up Pride and Prejudice. Which, okay, but Emma is way better.”

   “You’re wrong, but I still love you.” Evie curled up to face her friend. Heather laughed and took her hand, leaned her head on the couch to gather herself in a fit of giggles. 

   “He said Mr. Dancy.”

   “No?” Evie died there. "And I hoped he might learn something."

   “Yes!” Heather smacked at her. Music pumped behind them. Teens roaming and making a mess of the nice mansion. "I felt bad because...I snorted about it. In his face."

   “You know, I’ll give Billy a point. Go on.”

   “Museums. Fuck me gently with a chainsaw, I love you...but I’d soon jump into a pit of alligators before going to a museum for a date. Bowling or mini golf please.” Heather was chuckling. “Ballpark hot dogs are way better than cheeseburgers. Popcorn over cheese fries and a damn milkshake? Slushies or nothing. I’m lactose intolerant. He was trying to bore me to death or poison me, Eve.”

   Evie broke to laugh again, barely able to speak.

   “I know! That’s why I suggested all of that.”

   “You bitch.” Heather was giggling still into her shoulder. Hands clasped. They broke to drink. “Oh! And campy action adventure movies or rom-coms only for Heather Holloway. I don’t get why you even go for horror, you wouldn’t hurt a fly and you squirm.”

   “He bombed.” Evie covered her eyes, wiped a tear aside. “I almost pity him.”

   “What’s funny is you like all that stuff. I’m not sure if he was faking it well, but he seemed kinda into most of it.”

   “I’ve been running out of ideas when your followers scramble. Sue me, Heath.” Evie pushed up. “I definitely need another drink.”

   “Fine, fine. Hey,” Heather laced their pinkies together, “teen boys are the worst. Thanks for bouncing another off me. Billy’s cute and all, but hell, I have too much on my plate for a boy right now.”

   “Got that right.” Evie weaved between dancing crowds to the punch bowl. Passed some guy puking into a vase and another group cheering on an arm wrestling match. Spooned herself a full cup. Was mid gulp when she turned to a pair of scathing blue eyes. Oh, Billy.

   “You fucking-”

   “I’m going to stop you right there, Hargrove, and walk that a-way.” She gulped again and passed him.

   “You think that shit’s funny?” Billy had a fistful of her jacket collar. Snarling like a mad dog. "She laughed at me."

   The humiliation of it seemed to make Billy the angriest.

   Evie felt that resonate bitterly because he sounded wounded and oblivious to what life threw her way.

   “Funny? Only after the first ten boys.” She shrugged. “Now it’s just sad. I’m not stupid.”

   “I’d say jerking me around is pretty stupid.” Billy was clearly smashed. Smelling of beer and weed. Eyes red to hell. “Maybe you’re so fucking single and miserable, you make sure your friend stays that way too, huh.”

   Billy knew a nerve was plucked at that by the way she stilled to go colder. Brown eyes molten at him.

   “You don’t know me. You’re a fucking asshole, you know that? I think we both know which one of us is miserable. Go show off for the school all you want, you don't fool everyone with those pretty blue eyes.” Evie shoved off him. Wondered if she caught that same frayed nerve.

   "Hey, we got a problem here?" A Hawkins football player towered. Couple of his buddies from other schools that weren't Ridgemont made a barricade between Billy and Evie.

   "I'm talking to Fenny, dickweed. You mind?" Billy spat. Evie huffed and rolled her eyes.

   "You're talking to the girl who kicked Brock Tannen's ass. Show some respect." Another meathead joined in. Evie hid amusement because this was an odd change over the year.

   "Guys, stand down, you really don't have to do this for me." It was...weird. Frankly, Billy looked like he was about to take on all of them.

   The boy in front gave Billy's shoulder a comical brush and they went off like a herd of happy buffalo.

   "The fuck, are you teen royalty somehow?" Hargrove made a face at her tired expression.

   "No, just some lucky idol they keep around. I still get stepped on in the hallway and I pass everyone's love notes for them." Evie sipped. "I don't care that you like Heather, I care that you pretended to be something close to kind with me to get at her."

   "Don't worry, I'm not interesting in being kind to you again." It came out nastier than he meant it too. Alcohol did that to his old man as well. Disgust welled and Billy had nowhere to put it so it flowed out. "No one here gives a shit about what you have to say, Fenny. Don't count on them trying either just because you're some freak they keep around for one sick story. They're all gonna laugh at you."

   Evie blinked a few times. Saw Billy's shoulders sink while they stared into each other, both searching long and hard. Finished her drink in one swig and tossed the cup at his shoes.

   “You fucking insecure asshole, check a mirror in five years and let me know if you like what you see. Not like you even do now, I bet, so enjoy denial. And stay away from me, Hargrove.” She went down the hallway beyond a spiral staircase and almost ran into a huge chest. As if this night couldn't get any worse.

   Fuck.

   Brock Tannen. Poster boy of rich asshole quarterback from their main rival school. Chestnut hair and chiseled good looks covered evil.

   “Fat Fenny. Oh, sorry. Old habit. Evie. Missed you around these parts.” He nursed a can of beer and leaned into the wall. “Go psycho on anyone lately?”

   “The year isn’t over.” She moved to pass him.

   “Look.” He jolted in front of her. “Admittedly, I was a real shithead. I know that now. My folks even got someone for me to talk to. I'm working through all my shit. But, I was an ass to you.”

   “We knew this.” Evie tried to go the other way, but his shoulder blocked her. She caught sight of his chain. A silver playboy bunny charm he loved to show off.

   “Listen, the year is almost up. I want you to know I don’t hold it against you. You went through some shit at home too. Truce?” No response. A beat before his chin lifted. “You never went crying to your slut mother about me. My dad said she sucks the mailman off.”

   "Don't say shit about my mother." Evie was on her toes. Hands clenching.

   "Didn't cry to daddy either, oh...my bad. You can't." Brock's laughter rang sirens around her head. He was begging her to go off again. "Why didn't you tell mommy about me? We almost had fun."

   “You didn’t get far with me if that’s what you mean, you think I’d give you my tears? Just embarrassed that you bat at fat chicks and get turned down. Eat shit, Tannen.” She got around him, staggered away.

   “Maybe I’ll convince you. I just want to be friends. It’s going to be a new year soon.” His voice lingered along the hallways. "Just messing with you cause I like you is all." More chuckles followed.

   Guys like Tannen secretly wanted her. Unobtainable and strange girls who didn’t conform to stupid high school stereotypes, it really pissed people off. Exotic, which was truly the worst word. Evie was easy to fetishize. 

   Billy got over Heather because Evie passed him moments later with his tongue down some Ridgemont girl’s throat.

   The boy was all mouth and hands. Sucked face like a fucking giant squid attacking a ship at sea.

   "Ick. Fucking Cthulhu." She got away from that, drank more to forget.

   Heather pulled her friend into the dancing. Lights blasting all directions. Music pulsed. Couple more drinks and they were stumbling to Heather’s place. Sneaking up the stairs to fall into a queen sized bed.

   “Can’t believe we didn’t wake my parents.” Heather rolled to her front, smudged the pillow with makeup. Evie was on her side snickering. “Hey, you’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

   “Nothing is wrong.” Brown eyes blinked. Heather nuzzled her pillow and breathed even, searching.

   “You changed last year. After, what happened at home… I know you miss your dad.” Delicate fingertips ran over Evie's arm. Slipped away.

   “He left.”

   Evie remembered coming home from school. He was just gone. Clothes and all. Mona crying at the table. Pictures down. Like he never existed.

   And her mother never really explained why. Just said they had problems and her dad wanted to be with someone else. He never called. Mona cried that day and hasn’t cried since. Evie couldn’t even remember the last thing she said to him. 

   People vanish. They have that power.

   “After...what happened with Tannen. You got all distant with me. I just worry about you a lot.” Heather’s fingers curled into Evie’s sleeve. “Kids are cruel, I don’t understand why. Why they're so mean...”

   “Some people don’t know where to put it when they hate themselves.”

   “I don't think I hate myself. Sometimes I hate that myself isn't enough, you know? Enough to please my parents all the time and enough to help other people out."

   "You're more than enough for me, Heather." Evie heard a sniffle.

   "D-Do you hate yourself?” An airy tone slurred.

   “I don’t know.” Evie sighed. “I’m fine, Heath, I’m happy. I dealt with it.”

   “Happy or pretending to be?” Heather mused, pulling at her hair scrunchie to relieve brown locks. “I just don’t see you a lot, like you’re always with someone else. You never wanted to hang out over the summer.”

   “I’m just busy with stuff, it’s nothing.” Evie peered at the walls plastered in their friendship. Felt every smiling version of herself in those old photographs wince at her lies. Stars exploding in total silence.

   “You’re going to leave Hawkins and sing your songs for people on a stage. You’re going to be world famous and I’ll get to point and say, that’s my best friend.” Heather grinned. “Keep breaking that shell. I can help you.”

   “I’ll try.” Evie scoffed. “You’re so drunk.”

   “I am…” Heather hummed. “Just talk to me, okay? I want you to be so happy again. Like we used to be when we’d go to the park. Play on swing sets.”

   “I won’t shut you out.” She replied as Heather settled, started to snore. “Goodnight, Heath.”

   “M’night.”

** ** **

   Billy was still raging into that night. Stumbled out of a bedroom pulling his tee back on, rooting around for his jacket. Most kids were starting to pass out on floors and couches.

   “Hey, this belong to you?” Brock plucked up leather so Billy snatched it. “Good to see you, Hargrove. You know, they say Hawkins would have finished out the basketball season with the title if you stayed on the team.”

   “They played favorites. Got sick of it.” Billy passed him, lightning a cigarette.

   “Come outside, sit with the guys.” Brock cocked his head, square jaw setting when he smiled.

   “Hey, B.” Tommy was stoned out of his mind. Looked at Billy like he was trying to find him in a haystack. Not with Carol so they must have had some fight. 

   Billy eyed the clear covered pool. Lights played up to touch his face before he plopped into a metal chair. Boys from Hawkins and other schools gathered around a glass table, drinking and shooting the shit. A joint was passed. Mostly rich, sporty types.

   “Hargrove. Hear you’re the Hawkins Keg King. What the hell happened with Harrington?” Brock faked interest, hands clasped.

   “Crashed and burned, man.” Tommy chortled, smacking Billy’s arm.

   “Who?” Just play dumb.

   “Don’t play coy, man, we all know you beat the shit out of him. Knocked the pretty boy down a few pegs.” Brock only grinned there. “So, you’re in the circle now.”

   “Oooh, do I get a medal?” Billy flicked his smoke aside and swiped Tommy’s beer to drink.

   “I like this guy, Hagan.” 

   “We can trust him.” Tommy winked, sitting back.

   “You’re not going to hunt me for sport, are you?” Billy inhaled sharper, unworried. Laughter erupted.

   “It’s funny you say that,” Brock took the floor, “because we are going to let you in on the deepest secret between the high schools. Something that brings all the boys together. Hawkins. Ridgemont. Hill Valley. Bates. We have this little tradition we do between Homecoming and Prom.”

   “Skirt Safari.” Brock’s right hand man chuckled, sucking the joint down. Few boys echoed it with laughter.

   “The hell is that?” Billy drank, shaking his hair out.

   “Some of us guys throw this big dance party. Rent out a nice place in town, pour some good money into a pool.” Brock shrugged. “You take a girl and we vote.”

   “Vote?” Billy puffed. More cruel smiles.

   “Yeah, on which girl is the ugliest beast.” Hyena cackling followed. Billy just stared with his brow raised.

   “Ah...What the fuck is this? Are you joking?”

   “Open season, man.” Another boy chimed in.

   “Walk with me, Hargrove, you have something special about you.” Brock got up, swiped the joint to finish it. Billy looked irritated and followed. Fresh air cleared his head. Behind them, teens chattered. “I think you’ll fit right in here. You live on Cherry Lane, right?”

   “What’s it to you?” Billy chucked the beer aside.

   “Next to that Fenny girl. Kinda cute in her new little outfits if you like something extra to grab onto.” Brock shrugged. Turned from Billy to eye the sky clearing up.

   “Didn’t she beat your ass last year?” A sly grin crossed.

   “Ah, you heard. Rumors have been exaggerated. Just like you and Harrington I’m sure. Getting booted from the team over a tiff.”

   “I left on my own, fuck them.”

   “Fenny had a thing for me and I said no because I was with someone, so she got emotional. Girls are like that. They get attached and upset when we don't give them what they need.” Brock stuffed his hands into his pockets. “She’s untouched, you know, so I heard. Flaunting her shit now and not letting us grab the goods. Asking for it man, but too afraid to follow through. I hate that teasing shit. They say the bookworms are wild in the sack. Bet you that musical girl can sing too.”

   “You obsessed with her now and her little outfits?” That earned Billy a brief heated expression. The boy was more observant than he was given credit for.

   “I just wanted to raise a challenge for you. Get Fenny to go to Skirt Safari as your date. New Years Eve, we’ll give you the address. Kiss her before the clock strikes twelve. She won’t earn you the win, but I’ll bet you money that you can’t get the famous ice queen to go.”

   “Man, this is so fucking stupid.” Billy clearly didn’t fit with this crowd of uppity shits. Heels spun to go.

   “Is three hundred dollars stupid?” Brock watched Billy skid. Blue eyes shifting to see him again. “Ah, I have your attention.”

   “Cash?” Billy could use it. Three hundred would go far for him. Brock Tannen knew that immediately about him.

   “I can show it to you if you like.” Brock displayed his teeth, almost glowing and sharp. “Show us that Hargrove charm and break the unbreakable. If you're the Keg King. Prove it. Let us see you in action.”

   “I take her to the shitty party and you give me three hundred bucks?" Billy asked carefully, eyes darting. "She doesn't have to find out about this vote shit you guys do?”

   “No, not a word from us. I'll even pay your end of the pool as a token. Just an innocent kiss before the ball drops. You don't have to screw her, unless she's your thing. Easy enough?” Brock held out his hand. Billy eyed the campy bunny chain around Tannen’s neck, huffed out his nose.

   Took the offer with a hard expression.

   “Deal.”

** ** **

   Evie rubbed her eyes the next morning and said bye to Heather, raking fingers through curls as she was dropped off. Jacket pulled close while she fumbled for keys and Heather drove off.

   Not even a second after, a blue Camaro was pulling up next door. 

   It was annoying how great Billy looked even with a hangover after a hard night of partying. He stunk of beer and smoke and his hair was ratted, but glowy as always. Evie groaned when he spotted her and got the key in the door.

   “Hey, Evie.” Was that her name he just used? “Hey, wait up.” Boots clicked to hurry toward her house. A stronger hand yanked the front door closed and Billy held his ground there. "Wait a second, I'm trying to talk to you."

   “Aren’t we both too hungover for this?” Already on the defensive. Makeup smeared around her eyes. She turned, applying some chapstick and sighed out. "What?"

   “Look.” Billy pushed his hands into his back pockets, eyes flicking away and back. “It was a dick move. The whole Heather thing.”

   “Yeah.” She waited for him to go on.

   “And I’m…” Sorry? “It was shitty.” He craned down toward her. "The stuff I said, I was fucking wasted."

   "And you're..." She tried to spell the word out with her eyes. Billy blinked innocently.

   "An asshole."

   Evie flattened.

   "Yes, but not what I was...ah, look, it doesn't matter. I was drunk and I jabbed too. And I am...sorry." A shrug before she tried the door again.

   Billy pulled it shut once more like this was a game, earning a sigh of irritation.

   "I'm still talking at you. I was...I am...a shithead." He couldn't wrap his squid tongue around a fucking apology. Christ.

   Evie looked expectantly, leaning in as if more should come.

   Billy sucked at this so he decided to jump right in.

   “I wanted to make it up to you. There’s this dance up in the city. Real bar. Real drinks. New Years Eve bash. Go with me.” It sounded like an order.

   “Go with you?” She blinked in shock. Grew pointed. “Ah, no, Billy.” Evie got her front door open again and pushed by him. Wondered if he was used to rejection in any form. So, she pushed pride aside. “But, Heather thinks you’re cute okay. Just ask her. It’s fine.”

   She got around the door and hid half behind it. Billy’s hand went flat to stop it from shutting.

   “I don’t want to ask Heather, I’m asking you.” He shrugged with big eyes. Bet ladies fell for it. Evie searched him, beyond confused. She hated confusion. It was too much. “You’re single, it’s this or some lame ass high school party.”

   He noted she opened her mouth and decided not to protest the single part. The hesitation was odd.

   "I...I happen to like lame ass high school parties." She stammered out.

   "Oh, sure." He winked.

   "Y-Yeah, I just love them actually because kids our age are very stupid. It's better than public television."

   "Right. Right." He sounded not convinced.

   "And, you're Billy Hargrove so any girl will jump at the chance, just ask-"

   “I’m asking you, Angel. Deal with it.” He lowered his tone and got closer. Flashed a darling smile then bit his lip. Slid that tongue over it. "Don't make me beg. You know I will."

   “You...I… Look, I’m...flattered but, I can’t. I, uh, have a thing.” Her voice trailed off. “Sorry.” The door shut.

   Billy gave this growl low in his throat. 

   “We have time, Fenny, I’m fine asking again.” His voice picked up. Silence. "All you gotta do is nod that pretty head of yours."

   Billy knew she heard it. He turned and dropped the grin when he spotted Max there on the sidewalk, skateboard in hand. Watching.

   "Are you asking Evie out?" She narrowed on him.

   "Mind your fucking business, shitbird." Billy stepped off the porch. "She's going to a party with me."

   "Sounded like she just said no to you."

   Billy swerved to get angry. Remembered a nail bat crashing between his legs. Shut his mouth.

   "Whatever." A puff.

   "She's nice," Max trailed after him, "you should, you know...ask her to something if you... She's cool. Cooler than you."

   He slowed, eyebrow raising.

   "Doesn't matter."

   "It's Saturday." Max explained, red hair catching the sunlight to flame up.

   "I know what day it is, Max, leave me alone." Billy was going up toward their house.

   "She probably said no because you stink so bad."

   "What the fuck?" He wheeled around again, chest puffing.

   Max smirked at him and Billy found himself matching it. Bold little shit.

   "I know what I said. And it's Saturday, that means she'll probably be helping her mom at that salon later. You should shower and show up. Girls like spontaneous stuff, it's thoughtful and you suck at that."

   Billy scrunched at her.

   "Since when do you care about...?"

   "About what?" She shuffled there on the grass. Peered at Neil's car in the driveway. "We're family now whether we like it or not. Which means I'm stuck looking out for you. Right, Billy?" Max dropped her skateboard, popping it up with one foot. "I like Evie and I don't want my brother being a jerk to her. Or anyone."

   Billy scoffed, near amused.

   "Right." He grumbled. Went up and paused to turn once more. "Max."

   "Yeah?" She readied to ride off.

   "Watch the board around my damn car, will you?" Billy heard her snort. "I got shit to do now, stay out of the way."

   "Take a shower and show up. Try asking instead of telling. See what happens." Max rode off with a clatter of wheels on concrete. He only shook his head again. Smiled to himself without thinking before he went in.

   Billy decided to take the advise on all accounts. She'd go with him.

   Certainty crept the more he looked at himself in the mirror and applied his aftershave. Maybe he forced the feeling so often, it was second nature. Fuck, looking at his reflection was never this difficult. Evie's words rang harder this morning.

   He didn't blame her for once.

   All these false fronts Billy showed the world. Old photographs flashing like a million dead stars. That was all we ever saw of them. Somewhere else, Evie heard those same stars dying too. Decayed and twinkling too pretty even still. It sounded almost like a cruel fate.

   A tongue swept over his lips before he tried something new. Eyes averting to speak quietly like someone might hear. Fingers twisting the silver ring about his middle finger.

   "Sorry."

   He resumed fixing his curls. Polished up that Hargrove charm until it shined bright.

   What Evangeline Fenny didn't know couldn't possibly hurt her, Billy reasoned.

   Right?

~~~~~~

Thanks for reading, chat with me if you have time! Tried to push another chp out quick. Imma pass out now XOXO TAGGED: @80sbxtch​ @nottherightseason​ @orxhidshavana​  

[oh-great-authoress]

Tag Game!!!!!

Thank you, @the-coruscanti-blogger, for tagging me!

Okay, here we go!!

Name: Nadia of oh-great-authoress!

Gender: Female.

Star Sign: Like @the-coruscanti-blogger said, this is technically against my religion, but I do know that I am a Virgo.

Height: Over 5 feet, I can’t remember the exact number.

Sexuality: Straight.

Favorite Book: Uhh, difficult question. How about top three?

“The Lord of the Rings” by J. R. R. Tolkien (In my opinion it counts as one book. Yes, I know I’m technically cheating.)

“Washington's Spies: The Story of America's First Spy Ring” by Alexander Rose (They even made a tv series based on the events in this book called Turn: Washington’s Spies!) [Yes, I am a history nerd. :)]

“Niamh and the Hermit” by Emily C. A. Snyder (This book is a hidden treasure. It’s an adventure/epic quest/love story that is just… *chef’s kiss* perfection. It’s along the lines of LotR, so if you like that, you’ll probably love this.)

Current Time: Uhh, unholily late, or unholily early, depending on your outlook.

Average Amount of Sleep: Outside of quarantine, it varies from 8+ to 0, depending on the day.

Dogs or Cats: Both. Both is good.

# of Blankets You Sleep With: One thick one in colder weather, and two thin ones in warmer weather. I know it’s weird I use more when it’s warm, but it works for me.

Dream Job: World Domination. Hahaha, I’m joking. Or am I?…

Favorite Animal: Foxes. Look at the YouTube channel SaveAFox. You’ll thank me later. Go.

Blog Established: January of 2020!

# of Followers: As of when I post this, 31!

Reason for URL: I hang around music nerds, and I am a bit… okay, I’m a music nerd. It’s a sort of oblique reference to a Gilbert and Sullivan song called “Minerva! Oh, Hear Me!” It’s a warping of one of the lyrics, which says, “Oh, goddess wise” I couldn’t remember the actual lyric, (I forgot google existed) and in my memory, I changed it to “Oh, great goddess”, which sounded right. Again, I forgot google existed. And I have a dramatic streak a mile wide. (Or a couple of miles wide, depends on who you ask) In addition, I like to write, a lot, (I also hate it a lot sometimes) so that turned into @oh-great-authoress!

Something I’m Grateful For: My faith, my amazing and wonderful parents, my grandparents, my and my family’s health and life, my friends irl and on tumblr, sunrises, music, my interests and fandoms, tumblr, and all the amazing people I’ve met here.

Followers I’m Tagging: @megsann13, @batmantaking-hobbits2gallifrey, @ruinofsilver, @fromsolowithlove, @rainmakesyouwhole, @demichrising, @cptdorkery, @lynntheninja, @loveandmusic67, @magic-and-the-macabre, and @lenacs!

Questions I’m Adding (Feel free to ignore my added questions)

Favorite Pairings

Favorite Season

Favorite Color(s)

Favorite Actresses and Actors

My Answers to My Own Questions

Question 1.

Favorite Pairings

Reylo — Ben Solo/Rey — Star Wars (I don’t need to say any more about this.)

Gingerflower — Armitage Hux/Rose Tico — Star Wars (Okay, guys, guys, guys, hear me out, okay? Please don’t come @ me. I got sucked into this via Reylo Modern AU fanfics, and I went down a rabbit hole. From there, I read some canon-divergent fic, and it got me thinking. I mean TRoS didn’t even obliquely mention Finn/Rose, so, I thought, why the kriff not. Why shouldn’t Rose “Save What We Love” Tico get a romance/definitively happy ending via fanfic. We already had one Enemies-to Lovers pairing in the Sequel Trilogy, what’s one more? And when you add in Hux’s “I’m the Spy!”? This kinda writes itself. Resistance Spy-Master Rose Tico? Why not. Plus, that deleted scene from TLJ did kind of open this whole thing up.)

Farawyn — Faramir/Eowyn — LotR (If you haven’t read the books or watched the Extended Editions of the films, Faramir and Eowyn end up together, which is why they’re standing next to each other in the Theatrical Edition of RotK, at the end. In the books, they have practically an entire chapter dedicated to them and their romance. And boy, does Faramir have game.)

Fitzwilliam Darcy/Elizabeth Bennet — Pride & Prejudice (I also don’t need to say any more about this.)

Col. Brandon/Marianne Dashwood — Sense & Sensibility (Watch the 1995 adaptation and tell me this is not pairing gold.)

Mary/Matthew — Downton Abbey (Yes, the Season 3 finale broke my heart, thank you.)

Dramione — Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger — Harry Potter (Again, please don’t come @ me, this pairing is basically Reylo in a Harry Potter AU.)

Bathena — Bobby Nash/Athena Grant — 911 (Yes, I do watch this. I actually didn’t see this coming. My Mom saw it coming before I did. But once it happened, I was like, oh yeah, this is my jam.)

Ventrobi — Obi-Wan Kenobi/Asajj Ventress — Star Wars (Okay, yes, I am a sucker for Enemies-to Lovers, okay? And this is Enemies-to-Lovers gold, alright?

Christopher Pike/Number One (Una) — Star Trek (Got into this ship via fanfic, but Discovery/Short Treks well and truly cemented this for me.)

Question 2.

Favorite Season

Fall. Without question. The weather becomes temperate, and in early fall you still get the pretty flowers of summer, but with cooler weather, and in full-out-fall, you get to wear pretty sweaters and boots and scarves, and you get the trees changing color.

Question 3.

Favorite Color(s)

Pink

Teal

Green

Blue

Purple

Question 4.

Favorite Actresses and Actors

Adam Driver (Guys. Come on.)

Daisy Ridley (Guys. Come on.)

Domnhall Gleeson (I liked him even before he was General Hux, guys, he was great in a movie called “About Time” and “Goodbye Christopher Robin”.)

Kelly Marie Tran (She was amazing as Rose, I still feel bad she didn’t get more screen time, especially after what happened to her after TLJ.)

Ewan McGregor (Um, he’s Obi-Flipping-Wan Kenobi.)

Letitia Wright (She was great as Shuri in “Black Panther”.)

Danai Gurira (She was Awesome as General Okoye in “Black Panther. Note the capital A.)

Colin Firth (P&P ‘95 and The King’s Speech. That’s all I have to say.)

Alan Rickman (S&S ‘95 + Harry Potter + Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. Amazing performances. I mean, truly amazing. Nuanced, and just plain hilarious in the case of Robin Hood. His performance as Col. Brandon just pulls at the heartstrings with every single expression in his eyes, and no matter how you feel about Severus Snape, you cannot deny that Alan, God rest his soul, played him brilliantly.)

Hayden Christensen (He was The Chosen One.)

Bruce Greenwood (His portrayal of Captain Pike in Star Trek: 2009 was the reason I wrote and actually finished a fic.)

Anson Mount (His portrayal of Captain Pike in Star Trek: Discovery was the reason I wrote and actually finished more fic.)

And that’s it! I hope I have not ticked off anyone. If I have, I apologize for the ticking off, but not my opinions. I hope you can respect them, or at least ignore them.

Stay Well, People!

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

What Might Have Been - 15

(This one is almost certainly too long for Tumblr, and I highly recommend heading over to AO3 to read it.)

(CW: Brief female-presenting Crowley with she/her pronouns; absolutely heartbreaking ending. This is the story’s midpoint, I figured that was required.)

Here is the fifteenth (and so far longest) chapter for my @goodomenscelebration fic, following the Themes prompts. It tops out over 11,000 words. Please read responsibly.

Through the Years

Eden – 4004 BC

Aziraphale stood on the wall of Eden, watching the Man and Woman walk across the desert. Dark clouds rolled in, carrying something called rain, a storm. He’d worried about it when he’d first heard, but now he had more to worry about.

He’d spotted the lion.

He never should have let them out.

Oh, he’d been ordered to cast the humans out of their Paradise, and to stop them ever returning. Those were the exact words. Take this sword and make sure the humans never even think of coming back.

But perhaps if he’d pleaded, intervened, made their case…

This is for the best. He clutched the flaming sword, the warmth of it taking some of the chill from the rapidly cooling air. It’s for the best.

If he kept repeating it, he would believe it soon.

A noise along the wall pulled him back, a soft sliding that seemed to echo through the air.

He glanced left – just the trees tossing in the wind, as if the storm was taking a deep breath.

And to the right –

The Serpent.

It coiled beside him, just beyond the light of the sword, an enormous black rope, twisted over and across itself, golden eyes staring after the humans as they crossed the desert. The scales of its neck and belly were red as human blood. Its tongue flicked out to taste the air and it reared its head higher than Aziraphale’s.

And it kept rising, body sliding across itself, taking on a form that was more human-shaped. The end result was…nearly correct. Tall, narrow, black flecks of scale here and there. Hair red as blood, in long curling ringlets. Black robes, identical to Aziraphale’s but torn and ragged at the bottom. But the eyes remained unchanged – yellow and angry, squinting in the darkening sunlight, and the wings were black as a sky without stars.

“Well. That was a perfect disaster. I hope your lot is proud of themselves.”

Aziraphale shuffled his feet, fighting the urge to back away. This was his wall, his Eastern Gate. He held the sword before him and tried to look more threatening. “I don’t know what you mean. Nothing that happened here was our doing.”

The demon – obviously a demon, he could see the sigil of the Fallen just above his jaw on the left side of his face – turned to glare at him. “Nothing – so you think that was fair? That it was justified? One piece of fruit and you throw them out to die?”

“They’re not going to die,” Aziraphale said, watching the lion intently. “Not yet. There’s – there’s a Plan, you see.”

“Is there really? Is that great big hungry cat part of it?”

“I don’t…know the details, no one does. It’s ineffable.” The humans hadn’t spotted the lion yet. They were still clutching each other’s hands, scrambling across sand dunes in the growing gloom. “But so long as we trust in the Plan, it will all work out. You’ll see.” When the lion crouched, it seemed to vanish into the sand. “It’s for the best.”

Clutching the hilt of his sword, Aziraphale wondered how fast a lion was. The ones in the Garden simply lounged around, sunning themselves beside lambs. The ones in the world were supposed to be dangerous.

The Woman lost her balance and started sliding down the dune. The Man caught her, pulling her upright. He knelt down to check her for injuries. The lion crouched lower, unmoving.

“In case you’re wondering,” the demon started again, “its not taking a nap. That’s how they hunt.” He leaned a little closer. “It’s not pretty. You probably could have done them a favor and cut them down with the sword yourself.” Firelight glinted off golden eyes. “Be a lot quicker.”

“This is your fault,” Aziraphale snapped.

“My fault? I’m not the one who threw them into the desert for eating a snack!”

“That tree was forbidden! They knew that perfectly well. If you hadn’t told them to try and apple, they wouldn’t be in this mess, would they?”

The demon flared his wings. “Maybe your lot should have thought of that before you stuck a great big forbidden tree in the middle of Paradise! If you didn’t want the humans trying it, all you had to do was put it outside the blessed wall!”

“If they followed the rules that wouldn’t be necessary!” They would learn. Now that they knew the price of disobedience, they would learn.

A crack of thunder overhead. Aziraphale managed not to flinch – he’d read the pamphlets, he knew what it was, but hadn’t expected that sort of volume, the way it echoed across the land.

The demon sidled closer, despite the flames between them, until his black wing almost brushed Aziraphale’s white one. Down below, the humans clung to each other.

“You want to know something?” The demon’s voice was soft now, strangely silken. “I didn’t know anything about the apple when I came up. They just told me to go make trouble. I tried everything. Ripping up flowers, breaking beaver dams. Tried to get the animals to fight each other. Even broke open the wall to let everything escape.”

“I know. I saw your handiwork.” Aziraphale told him coldly. “The only things that left through it were the humans, after I sent them away. Even your actions served the Plan in the end.” He’d need to patch up that hole before the other angels noticed.

The demon made a noise of disgust. “That’s not my point – the point is, nothing I did made any difference.”

“That’s obviously because you aren’t very good at your job. I, on the other hand, was doing flawlessly until you came along.”

“Flawlessly?” The demon spat the word. “You let me right in. Not a very effective Guard if you ask me.”

“Guardian, not Guard,” Aziraphale corrected. “My orders were to…to keep them safe…” The humans had started walking again, right towards the waiting claws of the lion. Aziraphale pressed his left hand to his mouth, waiting.

“And now you’re just going to let this happen? How is that keeping them safe?”

“Orders change,” Aziraphale said around his hand. “Now I’m to – to make sure they don’t return.”

“Well, then.” The demon watched the lion shift, preparing to pounce. “Suppose this will take care of that.”

A bright line of lightning split the sky, and the demon ducked closer, practically under Aziraphale’s wing.

“I beg your pardon!” He stepped back, flipping the wing away, raising the sword to point at the demon’s chest. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The demon’s lips twisted. “Nothing, I suppose. Going back to Hell to report in.” He stepped away, arms wide. “Good luck with the next batch of humans.” A dark light surrounded him as he shifted back to Serpent form. “By the way, I’m probably going to get a commendation for this. Good job corrupting the humans, Crawly. Maybe even a promotion. What’s your side going to give you?”

And then he was gone, slithering over the side of the wall, vanishing into the earth below.

In the distance, the lion leapt, claws extended –

--

Mesopotamia – 3004 BC

A crack of thunder, echoing across the floodplain. A pair of enormous long-legged birds trotted past Crawly, heading for the boat. More animals behind them, horses, mice, rabbits…

The rumors were true, it seemed.

He moved through the crowd, asking questions. Who built this boat? Why here? Why so many animals? He got the name of the ship builders, not much else.

Already the air pressure had changed. Rain was coming, as it never did in this part of the world.

For a thousand years, Crawly had lived among the humans, delighted by their unlikely survival, their clever inventions, their endless, endless ideas. He doubted Heaven was quite so pleased, and it looked like the reckoning had finally arrived.

Up ahead, a pale shape leaned against the fence, watching. An angel, no, the angel, if he wasn’t mistaken. The smug bastard from the wall.

Wasn’t this a day for surprises?

Crawly sauntered up behind him, slipping into a bit of space to the angel’s right. No sword this time, at least. “Well. Fancy seeing you here, angel.”

He immediately stiffened, sliding a little further away along the fence. “Why have you come here, fiend? More mischief?” The angel sniffed. “I’m rather too busy to deal with your nonsense today.”

Crawly rolled his eyes. “Busy standing by and watching, as usual.” The angel’s fists tightened around the fence posts. Must have struck a nerve with that one. “So what’s the story? Word is, God’s angry again. What did the humans do this time? Bake a forbidden pie? Wear the wrong colored robes in a temple?”

“That is highly classified,” the angel said, watching two camels walking past. They seemed particularly unimpressed with the arrangements. “Suffice to say, it’s much worse than a little misunderstanding.”

“Classified. Do the humans even now why they’re being punished?” The angel’s silence was very telling. “Do you?”

“I don’t ask those sorts of questions,” he said, tilting his head back to glare up his nose at Crawly. “But we have made the humans fully aware of what we expect from them. As you know perfectly well, since you’ve been tempting them into all manner of sinful, depraved acts, in every city in the world.”

Crawly narrowed his eyes. “And how am I meant to be doing that? There’s tens of thousands of people in the floodplain alone. Millions around the world. Am I supposed to visit each one every day? Micromanage their lives? That’s your lot’s job, I don’t have time for that sort of one-on-one nonsense.”

“If not you, some other demon.”

“Really not how it works.” But the angel clearly had no interest in listening. He walked away, pushing through the crowd. Crawly would have let him, but the next animals to pass were a pair of lions, trotting along on lead ropes like a couple of well-trained dogs.

Something wasn’t right.

“What’s the punishment this time?” Crawly wove through the crowd, trying to keep up. “Yeah, lots of rain, I can see that. What’s the endgame? Destroy their homes? Their crops?” No response. “Why all the animals on a boat, angel? What are you planning?”

With a sigh, the angel turned back. “We’re…” he glanced at the boat again. “I am authorized to tell you that Heaven has chosen this village as an example. To remind the rest of the humans who keeps them safe.” He rubbed his hands together, probably in anticipation. “Something the others can’t ignore.”

“Something…” it clicked in Crawly’s head. “You’re going to kill them? Drown them all? For what? A few broken rules?”

“More than a few!” He dusted a hand across the fence. “They need to learn to obey. It has all been carefully planned. The site. The number who will die. The chosen survivors – everything has been selected for maximum effect. This…sacrifice is necessary.” He nodded his head. “It’s for the best.”

The sound of laughter, genuinely happy giggles, seeming so out of place in this dismal scene. Crawly looked at a corner of the fence, where three children played a game of chase, weaving around the posts and the legs of the adults. “Angel. Tell me the kids are going on the boat.”

“The loss of innocent lives is an essential part of our message.” Thunder roared overhead. “Once they know we are serious, they’ll fall in line.”

“You can’t believe that.” Crawly grabbed the angel’s shoulders, spinning him around. He needed to understand. “Nothing you do here is going to change anything! These people – those kids – will die for no reason.”

“Unhand me.” The angel grabbed his arm, twisted, and in a flash Crawly was sprawled on the ground, seeing stars flash against the clouds above. “You’ll see. This is for the best.”

He walked away as the first drops of rain began to fall.

--

Golgotha – AD 33

Another desert. Another disaster.

This one only effected a single person, directly at least, but wasn’t that enough?

Aziraphale didn’t want to see anyone harmed. If they just obeyed, no one would need to be harmed.

He needed to find a way to get through to them.

A flash of red, somewhere in the crowd. Aziraphale knew what he would see, even before his eyes turned from the gruesome scene, tracking the dark-gowned figure.

He looked different, but the angry slit-pupil eyes glared across the crowd, same as ever.

What cause did he have to blame Aziraphale? If he had never interfered – if the humans had never left the Garden – no part of this would ever have happened.

Crawly’s eyes met his. The demon shook his head and turned away.

Aziraphale faced again the scene before him, the Cross rising against the darkened sky, the man gasping in pain.

It was for the best. It was for the best.

--

Rome – Eight years later

Crowley stepped into the dark popina,[1] glad for a moment’s relief from the sun. It was still hot inside, the air heavy with the smell of humans pressed close together, but at least it wasn’t so blasted bright.

“What’ll you have?” the bartender glared at him, taking in the unusual gown, the circular brooch, the silver laurel crown in his red hair, the black bits of glass to hide his eyes.

Then she turned back to watch some men playing at dice in the corner, voices rowdy. Crowley wasn’t even close to the strangest thing she’d seen.

“Whatever’s drinkable. Leave the jug.” It would take several amphorae of alcohol to erase the last few days from his mind. And he still hadn’t managed to find a single depravity the Emperor hadn’t already indulged of his own volition, and worse than Crowley could have imagined.

Most days, he liked humans. This was not one of those days.

“Er, pardon me,” came a voice from his left, just as he took his first sip. “It’s…it’s Crawly, isn’t it?”

At the sound of the name, his stomach clenched, already-bitter wine turning sour in his mouth. He swallowed and turned to the angel, brilliant white toga hanging from the golden brooch, who smiled at him insincerely.

“Crowley, actually,” he snapped, returning to his drink.

“Oh! Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry. I’ve been getting it wrong all this time.”

Getting it wrong? He’d never heard the angel say his name, not once. He didn’t even know how he had learned it, but those celestial bastards had their ways. Maybe if Crowley refused to respond, he’d take the hint?

“Oh, you must forgive me, I really meant no offense –”

“Relax,” Crowley grunted, really not able to handle that look of distress, even just out of the corner of his eye. “You didn’t get it wrong, I changed it.”

“Changed it?” The angel slid onto the stool next to him. “You can do that? They just let you?”

“Not much they can do to stop me.” Except refuse to call him by his chosen name, which was what most demons did. But he would wear them down in time.

To his left, the angel was pouring himself a cup of wine from Crowley’s jug. “Oh, no, please. Help yourself.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind.” He took a sip, clearly rolling it around on his tongue, then swallowed with difficulty. “Interesting flavor,” he coughed. “Very, er, robust.”

“It’s cheap.” Hell still had trouble with the concept of money. Some jobs he had more than he could ever use, others he had to make do.

“Well, it certainly is…let’s say, bracing.” The angel tapped his cup, glancing nervously at Crowley. “So…what have you been up to? Still a demon?”

Crowley slammed up cup down. “Still…what sort of question is that?” He jabbed a finger towards the sigil mark on the left side of his face. “Did this vanish when I wasn’t looking? Suddenly develop a holy glow?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“You suppose not?” Crowley hadn’t had a good day and this nasty…prying…cold-hearted angel was exactly what he didn’t need. “So, what, did you think I might have been fired? Not keeping up my quota of souls for the Dark Lords? I mean, Hell doesn’t exactly sack us for that. There is a sack involved,” he conceded, draining his cup and filling it again. “And hammers. Red hot pokers. Really, it’s a great bonding experience for everyone. But then they let you out again and it’s back to work.”

“I…didn’t realize…it was a joke…”

“Oh, a joke. Is Ascending something angels joke about?” The word twisted painfully off his tongue. Demons didn’t talk about it openly, the possibility of returning to Heaven. The longing to feel complete again. What they would give to feel their Grace flow through them just one more time. But there were always whispers, in the darkest corners of Hell.

Crowley didn’t know how he felt about it. And it was too painful to even talk about right now. “How about Falling?” he demanded, changing tactics. “Is that funny, too? There goes another, hope the sulfur pits are still hot. They are, by the way, we keep them at just about four hundred fifty degrees. Haven’t had any newcomers in a while, but we’re always read for the next one.”

The angel looked paler than ever.

“How about you?” Crowley pressed on, because if he didn’t, something would snap inside. “Still an angel?”

He hadn’t meant anything by it, really. He’d hoped the angel would be offended, leave him alone, maybe think twice about snide comments in the future.

What he hadn’t expected was a cry of pain, the clay cup tumbling from shaking fingers to shatter on the floor. The angel pressed his fingers to his lips.

“Are you alright?”

The angel nodded his head, eyes squeezed shut.

Not my business, Crowley thought, glaring at his mug. Demons have our problems. Angels have theirs. None of my concern.

Except.

Except the angel had come over to talk to him. Rudely, managing to push all the buttons Crowley didn’t know he had, but still, he’d come over. And he hadn’t left, even when Crowley was rude back.

“Alright. Out with it.”

“I beg your pardon?” The angel waved a hand over the ceramic pieces, hurriedly reassembling them into some sort of abstract sculpture.

“Angel. You saw your enemy in a popina. You didn’t slip away, you didn’t call for back up, you certainly didn’t draw your sword. You sat down and started talking. Could it be you’ve got something you want to say?” He waved a hand over the messy pile of clay, turning it back into a cup. “Something you can’t risk getting back to your side?”

The guilty look told Crowley everything he needed to know. He refilled both mugs. “Whatever it is, I’m not going to tell anyone. Got no one to tell who would even care. So. Like I said.” He handed one cup to the angel. “Out with it.”

He turned the cup in plump hands, wearing an expression that might be a smile, but looked more like a frown. “How…how do you do it?”

“Do what? You’ll have to be a lot more specific.”

“How do you get the humans to do what you want?”

For the first time in four thousand years, Crowley very nearly blinked. “Wow. Straight to the trade secrets, huh?”

“I mean it,” the angel said, a note of pleading suddenly in his voice. “We’ve tried everything. We gave them rules, clearly outlining what they were supposed to do. It got…complicated. Then we tried to simplify. It got more complicated. We’ve punished them. Rewarded them. Sent them personal messengers and laws engraved in stone. Then you come along, and they forget everything. Turn to sin like that.”

“I seem to recall you once said I’m not good at my job,” Crowley said with a triumphant smile, taking a sip of the alleged wine.

“I’ll admit I was wrong,” the angel said, so sincerely, Crowley spat out his wine in surprise. The angel tapped the jug with his fingers, waved them over the cups, then tasted his own again. “That’s better. And I did think so at that time, it’s true. But for all you said you tried everything else first, it only took you two hours in the garden to ruin all our plans. Not the Ineffable Plan, of course,” he corrected quickly. “But everything we thought we knew changed in an instant. How?”

He was actually listening, Crowley thought, a little stunned. No one really listened to him, except to tell him to stop overthinking everything, stop asking questions. He lifted his cup again, found the liquid inside had been transformed into something light, sweet, with just a hint of bite at the back of the throat. It occurred to him that the angel hadn’t needed to change any wine except what was in his own cup. “How do you think I do it?”

“Well,” the angel fidgeted excitedly, a shy but genuine smile spreading across his face. “I have theories. At first, I assumed there was some sort of trigger for their obedience, and you worked it out first. Something like the Trumpets of Heaven that allowed you to put the idea directly into their minds.”

“Trumpets don’t work like that,” Crowley pointed out, going for another drink. “Otherwise, we never would have been able to rebel. If you don’t like what you’re ordered to do, they aren’t hard to ignore.”

The angel frowned distastefully. “I don’t know what liking an order has to do with obedience. But in any case, I realized that wasn’t it. Humans aren’t designed for angelic obedience; they need to be convinced to do what’s right. So, you’ve worked out how to do it. Some rhetorical strategy or reward guaranteed to get them to do as you ask. Something that’s more effective than any threat or promise my side can make.”

“Very well-reasoned,” Crowley said, finishing his cup.

The angel sat up proudly. “Why, thank you.”

“Completely wrong, though.” Crowley refilled his mug and considered the angel carefully. He could leave it at that. There were things he’d never told another demon, never told anyone. He shouldn’t consider telling an enemy.

But he wanted to say it. Wanted to know how the angel would react.

“I’ve told you before,” he finally said. “I don’t do anything at all.”

“Really, Crowley,” the angel scoffed. “You can’t expect me to believe that.”

“it’s true.” He shifted on his stool, leaning closer. “Back in the Garden, you want to know how I found out about the apples?” The angel nodded. “I slithered up, and the Woman was already talking to the Man about them. They’d been picking apples and gathering them for days, asking each other if it would really grant knowledge equal to God and the angels. All I had to say was yeah, probably.”

“So you did talk them into it!”

“I mean, barely?” Crowley shrugged, sitting up straight again. “If I didn’t say anything, they’d have tried for themselves in a day or two.”

“But surely,” the angel moved his stool closer. “Surely since then you’ve developed some sort of process.”

“Eh, generally Hell has some particular thing they want me to get a human to do. I’ve tried logic, threats, tricking them. I’ve even outright asked. Sometimes it works, sometimes they do something worse than Hell could come up with on our own, and sometimes, despite everything I do, they still do the right thing.”

“How often?”

Crowley tilted his head. “About half the time. I throw everything I can at them, and it works about half the time. Probably when they were going to do it anyway.” He jabbed a finger into the table. “That’s why I say: nothing we do matters. It’s all down to them, every time.”

“What do you mean, we?” the angel demanded, jumping to his feet. “How many of you are there, running around this world, trying to undermine my side?”

“Oh, you know that’s not what I mean.” Crowley leaned back in his stool with a smirk. “There are only two agents here on Earth, you and me. I know I’ve never convinced any human to do anything they weren’t already willing to do, and I’ll bet you came over here because you thought the same. We’re just here so Heaven and Hell can keep pretending they know what they’re doing. Act like they have some control over the situation, but we know it’s all a lie.”

I beg your pardon!” The angel’s voice broke through the background roar of the crowd, causing several humans to glance their way. Soft hands tugged at the bright white toga, pulling it straight. “I am most certainly not – not – no! My job has a purpose! I was put on this world to bring peace and order and safety and – and – and my very presence inspires goodness!”

Crowley finished his cup. “You know that isn’t true, or you’d never have spoken to me in the first place.” He waved to the bartender, picking up the jug, then turned to leave in a swirl of black fabric. “Face it, angel, you’re as useless as I am.”

“I am nothing like you!” The angel’s voice was high and strained in the sudden silence. “I am not useless!”

Crowley spun back, ready to tear the angel apart, but instead found himself meeting a pair of blue-grey eyes filled with pain and fear.

After all, useless demons were punished and reassigned. Angels with no purpose were discarded, or worse.

Throwing us head back to look at the ceiling, Crowley ground his teeth in thought. “Look. Angel.” He took a few steps back and lowered his voice. The humans were beginning to drift back to their conversations, at least. “I’m not saying you’re useless. Just the job they gave you.”

“Pardon me for not seeing the distinction.”

“There is one. I swear. You just…have to accept you can’t control humans. Keep an eye on them, try to nudge them when you can, claim credit when they do the stuff you’re meant to inspire and just…ignore the rest.”

“How?” His voice was pleading now. “I was made to protect them, to guide them! How can I just ignore what they do?”

“Gotta figure that out for yourself.” Crowley waggled the jug of wine in his hand. “I will say, enjoying the pleasures of the world helps. A lot.”

“Pleasures?” The angel’s lip curled distastefully.

“Yeah, you know. Food. Drink. Sleep. Music. And if you find an attractive human, well, that opens a whole other range of options.”

“Angels don’t…do those sorts of things.”

“Don’t they? You certainly know your wines.”

The angel adjusted the drape of his toga, chewing on his lip. “I…I have thought…there’s a new restaurant I’ve been meaning to try. Oysters. They’re supposed to be quite remarkable.”

“Sounds like the place to start.” Crowley turned to the door with a wave. “Not really my scene, though. I’m going to find a place to finish this jug and maybe pick up another –”

“I have a place.”

Funny how the world kept spinning after that. The crowd didn’t even pause in their conversation.

Crowley looked back over his shoulder.

“I’ve been in Rome for some weeks.” The angel moved towards him, one cautious step at a time. “I have a set of rooms. Really…quite nice. Several more amphorae of wine. If you’re interested.” He shuffled his feet, standing an arm’s length away. “You can tell me more about these distractions. I…don’t want to be alone with my thoughts right now. And I think…I might have more to say.”

Crowley crossed the last step between them. “You know, angel. I don’t think I ever caught your name.”

“Aziraphale. Angel of the Eastern Gate. Principality of Earth. Guardian of Humanity.”

--

Later that night

“Siz months,” Crowley declaimed, waving his cup of wine, pacing around the atrium. He paused again to study a potted plant. He could see yellowed leaf spots developing, even though it was clearly receiving more than enough sun. He jabbed a finger at it threateningly. “Siz months workin’ with the general on this whole thingy.”

“Which thingy?” Aziraphale sat on the far side of the impluvium, his bare feet dangling into the rainwater pool. He watched the ripples his toes made with a smile.

They were on the third amphora now, possibly the fourth. Crowley felt very relaxed, very open, unable to keep from sharing the thousands of ideas that ran through his head every day. And Aziraphale continued to listen. It was astounding.

“The thingy. Battle thingy. Plan. Take your boats and hit the other boats with them. Pwwffffffft,” Crowley waved his hands, making what he thought was the sound of two ships colliding at sea. Wine splashed across the floor.

“Not very safe,” Aziraphale decided after some thought.

“S’abattle. Not s’posed to be safe. Anyway. Was a bad plan. Cuz my side wanted them to lose.”

“Why did it take sis moths?” Aziraphale twisted his lips. “Sizzle mons…I don’ want to brag, but I can make a bad plan in under a nhour.”

“Angel. It is. So hard. To lose a battle on purpose.” He slumped against a column dramatically. “Harder’n trying to win. Too many things can go right. Gotta think of errything.” His cup was empty now. How did that happen? He wandered over to the amphora and refilled it, starting a fresh one for Aziraphale. “So. So. Six months. Day comes, all the boats all lined up…an’ the chicken won’ eat!”

Aziraphale nodded his head, then frowned. “Why’z the chicken on a boat?”

“Think she was a priest. An’ the general says they won’ fight until the chicken eats.” Holding the two cups, Crowley carefully circled around the pool towards the angel, who sat with his brow furrowed in thought.

“Chicken can’ be a priest,” he finally declared. “Can’ say prayers, see? No lips.”

“Zirpale.” Crowley frowned, scraped his tongue across his teeth and tried again. “Aziraphale. There’s a horse. In the Senate. I have no idea waz going on in this empire anymore.”

“Oh, I had dinner with Senator Incitatus,” Aziraphale exclaimed. “Lovely home, lots of marble. Didn’t much care for the oats.” He leaned forward, whispering a choice bit of gossip. “His wife Penelope was very rude, you know.”[2]

“Right.” Crowley handed Aziraphale the cup of wine, trying to process this information. “Where was I?’

“Chicken?”

“Yes. Wouldn’t eat. We waited all day and she jus’…jus’ sat there. And the other boats were –” he waved an arm towards the pool. “Thereish.”

“Maybe it was seasick.” Aziraphale took a drink of wine, then looked up, smiling brightly. “Should have used a duck! Ducks like water.”

“Eh. Mh. Fair point. No’ my idea, makin’ the chicken a priest.” He shrugged widely. “Anyway. By the time the chicken ate, winds’d changed, an’ our ships wouldn’ move. Other ones just – whoop – right up and set them all on fire.”[3]

“So you lost.”

“Yeah. But. Not how I was s’posed to lose.” He settled down, next to Aziraphale but carefully avoided the water. Angel might bless it by accident. Or on purpose. “They tell us…they say…erry choice, there’s a righ’ way an’ a wrong way, yeah? But ‘s’not true. There’s a thousan’ ways. Some right, some wrong, some jus’ dumb.”

“Chicken onna boat.”

“Tha’s m’point.” He leaned forward eagerly. “So if the humans do the wrong thing, it’s still wrong, even if it’s not what Hell wants, right? What matters is it’s wrong, even if it’s the wrong wrong, right?”

Aziraphale blinked. “What?”

“Does that answer your question?”

For another moment, Aziraphale stared at the black lenses Crowley wore, then let his eyes drift across the atrium. “My dear fellow, I’ve quite forgotten what I asked!”

“HA! Means I win.” Crowley drained his cup.

But the angel was frowning over something. “You said Hell…punishes you…if you don’ get enough souls.”

Crowley shrugged. “’S’Hell.” He traced a finger across the tiles of the floor mosaic, studying the colored stones.

“Are they…do they get angry? When y’do th’…the…the wrong-wrong-thing? Or tempt humans the wrong way?”

“Does it matter?” He didn’t want to think about that.

Aziraphale’s hand landed on the back of his, a gentle bit of pressure. “My side is – is very angry at you. All the time. Because you tempt th’humans to do all sortsof things. No one knows wha’ to expect. Drives Gabriel mad, you know.”

Crowley felt a smile coming across his face, like nothing he’d felt in a long time. His face grew hot, and he tugged his hand away.

“How about you,” Crowley said quickly. “You ever do a wrong right thing? Somethin’ that was right, but Heaven didn’t like it?”

“No!” Aziraphale sat up very straight, eyes wide. “M’n’angel. I only do right-right.”

“Aagh.” Crowley threw back his head. “C’mon. In four thousand years, there’s gotta be something you did. I did plenny Hell didn’ like.”

“No – no – no –” there was panic in his eyes now. “Crowley. If I diza – disoj – if I didn’ do what they said… I don’t know! I can’t!”

“Annnnngeeeeelllll,” Crowley drew out the word. “Not one li’l miracle on the side? No good deeds? You can tell me. Who’s gonna know?” He leaned closer, recklessly. “I’ll start. One time. In the north. This chieftain’s son was s’posed to kill this other chieftian’s son. Start a whole war. So I…” Crowley grinned. “Convenced ‘em to run off an’ get married. Their dads still got mad, war happened, bu’ they both lived off in th’ mountains.”

“Oh, Crowley. That’s sweet.”

“No’s’not. ‘S’horrible. There was so much fightin. So much. Your turn.”

“Well…one time…” His fingers tapped on the side of a cup. “One scribe was supposed to copy a poem about the king, but I didn’ like it, so I had him copy a different poem instead.”

Crowley blew a raspberry. “Weak! I was s’posed to help Hannibal fight Rome, but I wanted a nap, so I just told him,” he waved his hands, “elephants!”

“I may have accidentally invented the fruit cake?”

“No one likes fruit cake,” Crowley insisted, flapping a hand. “Don’t count. Ummmmm – Oh! I went for a swim ‘round the sea once, and now…’M a sea monster in six different miffs. I eat a princess in one!”

“Did you really?”

“Naaaah, just hissssed at her a little.”

“Oooh!” Aziraphale clapped his hands, smiling. “Stories! In Athens, I had a lovely talk with Aristo – Aristophan – with a play writer. And He wrote a charming story called The Clouds.”

“Didn’ that play get a man killed?”[4] Azirpahale’s face fell, but Crowley waved it off. “Aaaaah, these are nothin’. What’ve you done that y’r bosses would be mad about? Proper mad?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips and shook his head.

“S’gotta be something, Angel.”

“Well. P’haps.”

“A-ha!”

His fingers tightened around the cup, until cracks began to form. “I. At the Ark. I saved some of the humans who were s’posed to die.”

“How?” Crowley slid closer along the tiled floor.

“I – I – I took a family wi’ children. Moved them to th’other side of the world. Told them – told them they’d been spared, if the spread the story. Then…I did it again an’ again an’ again.” He looked up, eyes filled with tears. “That was good, right? The – the point wasn’t to punish, it was to send a message. Well, I helped spread the message. That’s good.”

“Ziraphale…” Crowley mumbled. He glanced at the pool, unable to meet those eyes. The water around the angel’s feet was wine-red, miracling out of his body as he spoke. “Why – why are you…”

“If I’m going to Fall, I want to do it sober.”

“No ya don’t.” If drinking had been an option during the War, Crowley certainly would have. “Why would you –”

“Not just the Ark,” Aziraphale rushed on. “I did the same at Sodom and Gomorrah. I stayed at Babel for months teaching the humans to speak each other’s languages again. In Egypt, the last plague, I – I – I took hundreds of firstborn sons and I – I hid them in safe places. It took weeks before anyone realized what had happened, we’d already left by then, so the point had been made, hadn’t it?”

Crowley pulled off his glasses, still staring at the angel’s panicked face.

“Don’t you understand?” Aziraphale dropped his cup, letting it shatter on the tile. “I’m the reason we can’t control the humans, I’m too soft with them, I don’t have the – the fortitude for this job. I undermine everything Heaven does, always have, and I hoped if I could find another way to control them…but it doesn’t exist, and they’ll find out, and I’ll Fall—”

“When you say…always have…”

“Eden.” Aziraphale pulled his feet out of the pool, turning to face Crowley entirely. “After you left. The lion attacked the humans. So. So I flew down. And I gave them my sword.”

“You what?” Crowley blinked.

“I’d been told to make sure they never returned, and I thought, well, if they’re able to feed themselves and stay warm and fight off the animals, they’ll have no need to come back, will they? I chased off the lion and I said here you are, flaming sword, everything you need in one. Take this, keep walking, never come back and…and take care of each other.” His hands came up, waving vaguely. “Was that the wrong right thing? Or just a wrong thing? I’ve wondered –”

Crowley was never sure why he did it.

The alcohol left his body, flowing into the pool to join Azirpahale’s. He grabbed the angel’s toga and pulled him close until their lips slammed together.

He waited for the smiting, for daring to defile a holy being, even if in an awkward, inexperienced way.

Instead, Aziraphale’s hand slid around his waist, the other cradled the back of his head, and warm lips parted below his and oh.

This was what the poets talked about.

--

Wessex – AD 538

The trumpets blared, the gates ground open, and the knights of King Arthur rode into Camelot, a clatter of hooves on cobblestones. Even had Crowley not been looking out the window, the cheers would have alerted her – it seemed every peasant and craftsman was out in the street, celebrating the return of their lords.

Her eyes searched for one in particular, the one she’d heard rumors of, but it was hard to distinguish one knight among all the shining plate and colorful banners. No, there. The one in a white fur cape, with a white horse. The one who carried no weapon. The smile spread across her face faster than she could bite it back.

“Come, ladies,” the queen said, rising from her throne. Her deep green dress was covered in lace and pearls, highlighting a flawless figure. Most humans didn’t see past that, to the sharp intelligence in her eyes. “The quest may be over, but our work has just begun. Keep the conversation at dinner light, no politics until at least the third course and if the Elaines would kindly spare us from their drama for a single evening…?” She raised an eyebrow at a knot of ladies, all different ages and appearances, who giggled behind their hands.

“My queen,” Crowley said, curtseying politely. “If I may be so bold as to ask for an introduction?”

“Of course!” Guinevere smiled, taking Crowley’s arm in hers. “You’ve hardly had a chance to meet any knights at all since your arrival. At least the questing season is almost over.” She lowered her voice as they walked. “The winters in Camelot may be cold and drafty, but at least we can convince the men to sit down and attend the duties of government. When there aren’t other distractions.” She eyed the Elaines again. “Your full introduction will wait until tomorrow, of course, when the king is ready to receive you. But I think we can at least find you a partner for dinner conversation.”

“I would be most grateful,” Crowley said demurely. “But is there any knight to be found who is as good a match for me as your own king is for you?”

The queen pressed her lips together, then smiled again. “Will you pretend you haven’t learned every bit of gossip about the men? Come. Tell me who you have your eye on, as if I couldn’t guess already.”

There was no mistaking the angel. Out of his armor, he worse a simple tunic of pale blue and white with silver embroidery that contrasted the bright, showy colors of the rest. He stood a little taller than most of the other knights, and she could see how his face beamed, radiant, as if he had stolen the stars and hidden them in his eyes.

Crowley berated herself for such foolish thoughts. It came from spending all her time surrounded by the ladies-in-waiting, but oh, it had been too long.

“…and though we found no sign of the Grail, your highness, I still feel the quest was a great success,” he was saying to some well-dressed human that was probably the king. “The people of Elmet were much heartened by your words and the relief you brought them after the famine.”

“Sir Aziraphale,” the queen chided. “That sounds an awful lot like politics, and you know my rules. The king needs time to recover from his journey.”

Crowley may have noticed Arthur reaching for his wife’s hand, but what expression either wore – or what looks Guinevere gave to the other knights – she missed entirely, because now Aziraphale smiled at her.

“It would appear you’ve gained another lady-in-waiting in my absence,” Aziraphale said, taking Crowley’s hand and bowing over it.

“Yes. Allow me to introduce the Lady Antonia of Crowley.”

“Sir Aziraphale,” Crowley curtseyed deeply. “I have heard much of your deeds.”

“And I believe I know of your family.”

“If it will not distract you from your duties,” she said, with a coquettish glance, “perhaps we can discuss old ties after dinner?”

“I look forward to the conversation.”

It wasn’t much of a conversation, though mouths were heavily involved.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Aziraphale managed, pulling his lips away long enough for a few words. “We agreed it’s too dangerous.”

“Maybe I wanted some danger.” Crowley shoved him against the wall of the castle, just out of sight of the hall where the Knights of Camelot feasted, and pulled kiss after kiss from her angel’s lips while his hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer. “Besides. I’m here on orders. My side thinks the island is getting too peaceful.”

“Too peaceful?” Aziraphale spun her away from the wall, backing her into the cushioned seat of a window. She fell onto the red fabric, and he bent over her, pressing kisses on her face as if to memorize the shape of her nose, her brow, her cheeks. “The kings of this island do nothing but fight!” He managed in between kisses, as Crowley twisted her head, trying to catch his mouth. “It’s all the queen can do to keep them from declaring war on each other every time they sit down to dinner.”

“Mmh.” Crowley pulled Aziraphale into her lap, kissing her way down his jaw and neck, as far as the lacing on the tunic would allow. “Probably why I was sent to ruin their marriage.”

“I don’t want to tell you how to do your job,” Aziraphale began, then paused to do something to Crowley’s neck that left her positively gasping. “But if you’re supposed to be seducing the king, you’re going about it all wrong.”

“Perhaps I need more practice.” She pressed her forehead to Aziraphale’s lightly rubbing their noses together. “I’m certain one of the chambers on this hall has a bed.”

“Nh,” Aziraphale groaned with a smile. “They’re going to expect me back soon. I really did just mean to find out why you’re here.”

Crowley let him stand, and he pulled her to her feet. They stood in the hall, arms wrapped around each other, her chin resting on his head. “I’m supposed to make Guinevere fall for one of the knights. We’re fairly certain without her there to balance the king, Camelot will fall apart in a matter of weeks.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“Well. The lust department had several suggestions. But naturally I arrive and she’s already in love with Lancelot.”

“Can’t blame her. Everyone’s in love with Lancelot.”

“Does that include you?”

“Don’t be jealous.” He brushed her lips lightly, and Crowley pulled him closer, into something much deeper and rougher. When they finally parted, breathless, they settled onto the window seat, side-by-side.

“Listen, you need to let me have this one,” Aziraphale said, twining their fingers together. “Not just because I was here first – though I was – but I really do think this is important. The island becomes more unified every year. People are happy under Arthur. And I think I’ve found the secret to the humans.”

“Not this again…” Crowley objected.

But he lifted her hand, brushing a kiss on every finger, every knuckle. “They don’t listen to us because we’re outsiders. We agree on this yes? But they trust a human leader, a charismatic one. We just find the right leader – like Arthur – and guide him on the right path, and he will ensure the rest follow.” His free hand slid up to cup Crowley’s face. “I have a whole report for Head Office almost complete. I’m certain it will go over well. I just need a few more months.”

“Oh, Angel.” She turned her head, kissing his palm. “I told you before. Nothing we do here matters. They’re already in love, she’s already tempted, and every day Arthur spends building his kingdom drives them further apart. It’s only a matter of time.” She leaned against his hand, searching his earnest eyes. “Let’s just enjoy this one. You and me, together, like…like humans…” It was strangely difficult to say.

“We can,” he said, hardly seeming to notice the pain she was in. “Once my report is ready, we can do – whatever game you like.” He pressed a kiss to the sigil on the side of her face. “There’s a lovely glade in the woods…I’d like to take you there next summer.”

Summer was far away. Already the queen received letters from her husband’s best knight, and the messengers carried notes back. But Guinevere knew what was at stake. “I think I can buy you a little time,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale smiled so brilliantly, her heart almost stopped beating. After nearly five thousand years, he still had hope, still believed he could make a difference. Sometimes, he even had Crowley believing again, thinking she belonged, a part of the world, someone who moved through it, helped to shape it, not just an outsider hammering around the edges, trying to make any impression.

It would hurt, later, when Aziraphale was proven wrong yet again. It would hurt them both. But now, in this moment, they had hope. And she loved him for it.

Crowley stood with a gasp.

“Crowley? My dear, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I – nothing.” She stepped away, finding another window to gaze out across the rolling fields of Camelot.

Aziraphale stepped up behind her, wrapping his hands around her waist, pulling her back into the curve of his stomach, enveloping her in his warmth. She tried not to let him see her expression.

She loved Aziraphale.

That was wrong. That wasn’t the Arrangement they had.

They coordinated jobs to avoid pointless conflict. They came up with clever lies for Head Office when half their assignments inevitably failed. They alerted each other to deeds the other could take credit for.

And, when they could, they distracted each other in the most pleasant ways possible.

They were not supposed to be in love.

--

London – 1601

“To be or not to be, that is the question…”

“Literature!” Aziraphale hissed happily, clutching at Crowley’s arm. He had that smile again, the one that always said he’d figured it out “Why didn’t I think of it before? It’s so obvious!”

Crowley looked fixedly at the stage, where the actor struggled to deliver his lines to an empty theater. Burbage was good, Shakespeare’s lines were clever (not that Crowley would admit either out loud), but still no one came to see the play.

“Pretty sure you’ve tried doing plays before. Remember what happened to Socrates?”

“It’s not the same!” He smiled at the stage, eating another grape. Crowley watched that smile through dark glasses, already bracing himself for what would come later. “For one thing, that was a complete accident. I had no idea comedy could be so cruel. For another, I wasn’t trying to manipulate anything, it just happened. But it worked!”

“Worked? It got a man executed!” Crowley circled behind Aziraphale, leaning close to whisper. “Besides, your side has had a stranglehold on literature for centuries. What gets copied, what doesn’t, thousands of sermons and treatises and bad poems.” He clenched his fist. “They’re just – so – boring!”

Up on stage, Burbage hesitated, shooting a glare towards Shakespeare that clearly said I told you so.

“Not you!” Aziraphale waved to the stage. “We were talking about a different play! This one is very not-boring!”

“It’s a little boring,” Crowley started, but Aziraphale scowled at him. “Fine. Yes. You’re very clever. Slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Good rhythm. Bravo.”

Shakespeare waved to his actor, and Burbage stepped to the center of the stage again. “To be, or not to be…”

“Oh, now he’s starting over,” Crowley groaned.

“Look, I have a plan,” Aziraphale tried again. “Popular literature. Comedies, love poems, things people enjoy hearing. We find the writers who are already very good, then just encourage a few new ideas into their stories. Use them as examples. Get people really talking about philosophy and morality.”

Already Crowley was shaking his head. “No, Angel. Besides, what’s so bloody good about this play? He just stands around talking about doing things, and never does anything!”

“Proof of concept. Besides, I happen to like it. Look, I’ll do some of the funny ones you like, too. All I do is get him to slip in a few particularly memorable lines, ensure the play’s success, and once all of London is talking about it, I can bring it to Gabriel and – and –”

“And what? Really?” Crowley circled again, to stand in front of Aziraphale, blocking the stage entirely. “You think humans don’t know how morality is supposed to work? Your lot have been feeding them rules for millennia. Nothing you can tell them now is new. It won’t change anything. Look.” He took Aziraphale’s hand in both of his, running his thumbs across the soft knuckles, feeling the way the angel’s fingers curled with a protectiveness Crowley didn’t deserve. Even after sixteen centuries, it could still make him shiver. “We’ve both got jobs in Edinburgh coming up. Forget all this. Let’s go north together, make a holiday of it. The giant monster can make an appearance at that lake you like, and then we’ll have it all to ourselves for a few days…”

Aziraphale’s eyes half-closed, and for a second, he leaned towards Crowley. Then he stepped away, quickly eating another grape. “Not where people can see us. We need to be more careful.”

“No one cares.” Crowley circled behind him, resting a hand on his lower back, feeling Aziraphale’s own shivers. “What do you say? You, me, a little journey north?”

“Crowley…I really think I have something here.” The demon groaned and stepped away, knowing what was about to come. “Look, if you could just – just cover my blessings for me while I get everything sorted out, I’m sure I can have a report ready in no time.”

“Angel, not again.”

But Aziraphale was looking at him with that mix of hope and pleading in his eyes, and it made Crowley’s heart melt all over again. He couldn’t say no. He could never, ever say no.

“Fine. Just promise me, when it all falls apart, this time you’ll do something for yourself. Take a rest. Enjoy life.”

“If you like, but it doesn’t matter.” Aziraphale smiled, like the sun emerging at the end of a storm. “This time it will work. You’ll see.”

--

Paris – 1793

“Animals don’t kill each other with clever machines, Angel. Only humans do that.”

“Crowley!” The angel leapt to his feet, turning with a smile that made Crowley nearly discorporate. Then he frowned. “Good lord. Is that what you wear to rescue me?”

“Sorry, left all my dashing hero outfits back in London.” He lurched upright and made to leave. “Maybe I should go get one. You mind waiting here a couple of days?”

“Don’t you – Crowley!” He looked back to find Aziraphale sinking back onto his seat. “Oh, you were right. It all fell apart.”

“I know, Angel. I read Paradise Lost. Pretty sure that’s not what you had in mind.” He settled onto the bench and took Aziraphale’s manacled hand in his. “What happened? Last time we spoke, you said it was all going well.”

“Well, I lied. It’s been a disaster from beginning to end.” He stared at the dripping walls of his cell. “I don’t understand. Look at – look at the Courtly Love poetry. The tales of chivalry. The same ideals over and over and people love them, follow them, emulate them.”

“Been a lot written about what your side has to say, too.”

“I know. But people don’t – they don’t love it, not the same way.” He lowered his voice. “Did you read those – those Puritanical treatises? It was like being lectured by Gabriel through a book, as unlikely as that sounds. And half the things they talked about are completely irrelevant! The humans always wind up more concerned with their own ideas and forget about the really important things.”

“So, why did you think it would be any different this time?”

“I don’t know! New contexts, new media. People were excited about literature as they hadn’t been for so long. It could be a fresh start for our message. Only when I pitched the idea to Gabriel, all he heard was the word new and next thing I know we’re organizing new translations of the same texts.”

“That explains the King James Bible.” Crowley had taken some joy in convincing Hell that the latest translation counted as a point for their side.

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand. “Then I tried suggesting some ideas to writers, personally, in dreams or at bars or all sorts of ways. But they all just took them in the wrong way entirely.”

“That explains Paradise Lost.” He’d enjoyed parts of that one.

“Yes. And I finally succeeded in getting some intellectuals to discuss morality, philosophy, science, all those big questions. And in the end, they pulled all our ideas to pieces and rebuilt them into something entirely different.”

“That explains the Enlightenment.” Crowley couldn’t help smiling at that. He loved when humans questioned things.

“And all that led to this.” Aziraphale waved manacled arms around the filthy cell. “A revolution and a hundred executions a day. All because I just…wanted people to talk about right and wrong.” He sighed. “So yes. You were right. Nothing we do makes any difference.”

But you tried, Crowley wanted to say. It’s been so long since I could bring myself to try. And you accomplished so much, even if it’s not what you wanted. You were brilliant. I love you.

He didn’t say that, though. There were some things a demon could never say.

But he had other words instead.

“Angel. What did I make you promise, two hundred years ago, when all this started?”

“That I would make Much Ado as popular as Hamlet. I really did try –”

“No, not that.” He stood up and pulled on the chain that bound the angel. “You promised if it all fell apart –” he tugged again, and Aziraphale stumbled to his feet – “you’d take a break from all this –” one more pull brought Aziraphale against him – “And do something for yourself.”

“Well. I suppose I did.” A little smile appeared on the angel’s face, as his hands started tugging on Crowley’s lapels.

“And it would be horrible – shameful – an unbelievable scandal if an angel were to go back on his word.” Crowley looped his hands around Aziraphale’s waist, pulling himself into that softness.

“Hmmmm,” Aziraphale rested his cheek against Crowley’s shoulder. “I thought we might get crepes.”

“It’s a start.” Crowley pressed a line of kisses across his jaw and down his neck, stopped too soon by the enormous cravat.

“And…see where the night goes?”

Crowley ran his fingers up Aziraphale’s spine, feeling those shivers once again. “I have some thoughts on that, too,” he promised, purring in his angel’s ear. “But after that?”

Aziraphale hesitated. “More crepes in the morning?”

“If you like,” Crowley laughed, “but not what I had in mind. Come on. You always have so many ideas for Heaven. Big elaborate plans. You must have one for yourself.”

“No I – I – it would be quite impossible.” He pushed away just a little.

“Yeah, probably, but that doesn’t usually stop you.” Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s face in his hands. He wanted to see that glow again, the look of hope. “Whatever it is, I can help.”

“I…there was one idea…I thought I might…open a bookshop.”

It took an effort not to frown at that. “A bookshop?”

“Yes! You know. Big leather-bound ones. Novels. Poetry. Even old journals. I could collect them, and repair them…”

“Sell them to customers?”

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s face fell a little. “I suppose…in the right circumstances. But I would also know all the latest books, and I could talk about the ideas in them. Maybe even get a cat.” He sighed. “I know it sounds foolish, but…I imagine it, in the heart of London, closing up early to go to the theater, or spend the night in with my collection and a bottle of wine…”

Yes, there it was. That smile. The one that made Crowley fall in love again every time. “And what are you going to call this business venture?”

“A.Z. Fell & Co. Just need to decide what the letters stand for.”

Crowley nodded. “And the Co?”

“Just a formality really.” His manacled hands found Crowley’s lapels again, smoothing them. “Unless, you know, someone was interested in being my partner?”

Crowley’s jaw hung open, trying to find the words, but it was too much. His heart raced until he thought it would burst. “You. You want me…?”

“Well. Gabriel would just make a mess of things.”

“But. Dangerous.”

“We’d have to be careful, but, well, we’re both very clever. Surely we could –”

The rest was cut off by Crowley’s lips, and by the sound of chains tumbling to the floor.

--

The next morning, Crowley sat on the right side of the bed, watching his angel dream.

He lay back across, to kiss Aziraphale’s cheek, then his bare shoulder. A smile grew across the sleeping face. “Cowey?” he mumbled.

“Shhh. Stay here. I’ve got some things to take care of first. I’ll see you in London. In our bookshop.”

Aziraphale waited for over two hundred years.

--

August 2008

The door to Aziraphale’s bookshop burst open with the sort of force usually associated with riots, attempted robberies, and visits from school groups. He turned from the customer he had been slightly-less-than-gently dissuading from purchasing a copy of Oliver Twist. It was one of the cheap paperbacks he kept around for persistent customers, but policy is policy.

A quick glance to the door to see who the troublemaker was.

A longer glance to take in the tall, dark being with the long red hair and the black glasses hiding any hint of his expression.

He pulled the book from the customer’s hand. “Everyone, please leave. We are closed.”

“But the sign said—”

“Everyone. Leave. We are closed.”

The three human customers shuffled their way out the door, past the impatient demon. Aziraphale took a deep breath before looking him in the eye – or at least the black lenses. “That includes you,” he said, voice as calm as he could make it.

“I – listen, we need to talk—”

“Oh.” Aziraphale took a step closer, watching the way Crowley twisted and squirmed. His clothing was ridiculous, trousers so tight he could hardly walk. He’d managed to cram a few fingers into the pockets, but they didn’t seem to be deep enough. “Now you want to talk?”

“Yeah, look, I’m sorry, Angel, I really am, but this is –”

“You said you would see me in London.”

“It’s…yeah, we’re in London—”

“Two hundred and fifteen years, Crowley!” Even though they’d been designed to absorb sound, Aziraphale’s shout echoed off the walls of the shop. “I have been waiting to hear from you for two centuries!”

“I…I had…”

“Oh, you had things to take care of?” Aziraphale stepped closer, jabbing a finger at him. “You could have contacted me!”

“It wasn’t safe!”

“Wasn’t safe? Since when do you worry about it being safe? You just waltz right in and introduce your newest alias, every time.”

“Angel—”

“Don’t you Angel me!” He shut his eyes and turned away. This isn’t how he’d wanted this to go. Don’t argue. It isn’t worth arguing. Just say your bit and send him away. “Crowley. In the last two hundred years, I’ve taken a…a lot of time to think about our…Arrangement. Things had gone rather too far.” He nodded, turning back. “Perhaps this separation was a blessing. In the future we should avoid—”

“Aziraphale, listen to me!” For the first time in so long, he felt those hands on his arms again, clutching him through the fabric. “Never mind any of that, this is important!”

It was an effort to catch his breath. “Let go of me, now.”

Crowley stepped back, holding up his hands, but the urgency hadn’t left his voice. “Hell has kickstarted Armageddon. It’s the end of the world.”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together. So it’s true. Plenty of humans had calculated the final date, and all of them had been wrong. He had hoped that Heaven’s information would also be incorrect. “Gabriel told me as much the other day. I’m meant to find out what I can and report back.” He cleared his throat, looking around at his shop, at his prized first editions, his music collection, the little row of silver snuff boxes by the window.

Six thousand years, and this was all he really had to show for it.

“I don’t suppose you know how long we have left?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even.

“About eleven years. The Antichrist has been delivered. I don’t know who they sent. I don’t exactly have a lot of fans downstairs just now but – but we still have time. We can track him down—”

“And do what? As you’re so fond of reminding me, nothing we do matters. Nothing I try makes any difference.” Aziraphale walked over to the desk where he kept his favorite first editions. Perhaps he could petition to have one or two added to the Library of Heaven, if they met the subject matter approval. Persuasion, at least, had served him well for many years.

“But we have to try.” Crowley danced around the edge of his vision. “You always say that. We have to try.”

“No, we don’t. There’s really no point. We can either try to avoid the inevitable, or we can prepare ourselves for it.” He wandered over to his music collection. Eleven years was probably enough time to learn to like one or two of Elgar’s works. Not enough time for The Sound of Music.

“Angel, please.” Crowley’s hand found that spot at the small of his back, the one that always made him shiver with delight. Oh, it really had been too long. “Don’t give up. Not yet. I can’t do this alone.”

“Just tell me this.” Aziraphale stared directly ahead, not looking at anything at all. “How long have you been in London? Months? Years? Decades?”

“Angel—”

“I saw the shape of the M25. Did you think I wouldn’t recognize a sigil?”

The hand pulled away, leaving him cold and alone. It was all the answer Aziraphale needed. “You should go now.”

He waited until the door clicked shut before sinking into his chair.

Then he searched his desk for a fresh piece of paper, and began to write his next report for Gabriel.

--

July 2019

Crowley pressed his mobile to his ear, leaning against the side of his Bentley. He heard a ring – another ring – a third –

“I’m sorry to say we are quite definitely closed. My regular hours are suspended, due to—”

“It’s me.”

A pause.

“How did you get this number?”

“What – Aziraphale, it’s the bookshop number. I got it the same way your customers do, unearthing a three-decade-old phone directory.”

“I thought I’d destroyed all those.”

“Will you listen?” Crowley shifted the mobile to his other ear. “I don’t have much time. I know where the Antichrist is. I know a bit more than that, too – what Hell is planning, where it’s all going to happen.”

A heavy sigh over the line. “If you’re going to say Megiddo, I already know that.”

His heart rose. “Aziraphale – you have been doing research! I knew you wouldn’t just give up. Don’t worry, I’ve got more than that – lots more.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I really – really – shouldn’t have this information, alright? But I think I’ve got a plan. I don’t know if it’ll save the world forever, but…it should buy us some time.”

Silence on the line.

“Aziraphale. I’m…I’m sorry. I really am. All I wanted was for you to be safe and…look…I can tell you more when we meet. I promise, I’m going to make it all up to you, in whatever time we have left.” More silence. “Do you need me to say it? It hurts, but I can—”

“No. Don’t.” Another pause, but this time with the sound of rustling paper in the background. “Just…tell me where to meet you. And when. I need at least a day to make preparations.”

Crowley had to put the mobile down and take a few deep breaths, pulling off his glasses to wipe at his eyes. “Right. Yes. Tomorrow is fine.” He turned a map towards him. “I can’t pick you up, not safe, but I can give you directions. Do you have some way of getting out here?”

--

The next day, Crowley paced beside his Bentley, waiting for the angel to show up. He was late.

Not late, actually. Technically, he still had several minutes to go. Aziraphale usually preferred to be early, but there could be many reasons he wasn’t able to find the spot. The plan was to meet here and travel the rest of the way together. He’d fill Aziraphale in on the details as they drove.

He thought he’d been clever, choosing the meeting spot, but the only identifying feature on this side road was a tree in the middle of a field. It was entirely possible the angel was ten miles away, waiting next to a completely different tree in an unrelated field and –

With an almost-unheard change of air pressure, Aziraphale was standing to his left.

“Angel,” he breathed out in relief. “You shouldn’t have done that. Anyone could have sensed your arrival. I’ve made a lot of demons very angry.”

“I know,” Aziraphale said, not quite meeting his eyes. That was fine. They would have time. The important thing was, Aziraphale had come. They were together again.

“Get in the car. It’s about ten minutes from here. I’ll tell you everything.”

“Yes. You really should tell us everything, as soon as possible.”

Another change in air pressure.

And Crowley turned to find Gabriel, Michael, Sandalphon and a dozen other angels standing behind him.

“Well done, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said, with a smile that made Crowley’s skin crawl. “Get the chains on him, I want to start interrogation as soon as possible.”

He spun back to Aziraphale, who held a golden chain in his hand. “You – Aziraphale, no.” Those hands reached for him, and Crowley stumbled back, barely able to stand, barely able to breathe around the awful, broken feeling in his gut. “You lied to me!”

“No, I didn’t – you just assumed – Crowley, please. This is for the best.”

“No!” In a flash of light, he was a serpent again, as big as he could manifest, slashing venom-filled fangs at the angels. It wouldn’t destroy them but it would burn, and he could probably get two before they took him down. He struck towards Gabriel, lashed his tail around towards Michael and her troops, and twisted away to the field, hoping for more room to maneuver.

He never made it that far.

Aziraphale leapt onto his back, pinning his face against the ground, as he twisted furiously, trying to escape. The metal chain slipped around his neck like a noose, pulled tight –

And suddenly, Crowley was human-shaped again, lying in the street, with Aziraphale sitting on his back, knees pinning his shoulders, hand pressing his face down into the pavement.

“Angel – please – don’t do this. Don’t do this.”

“Hush, dear. Don’t struggle. This is for the best. It’s for the best.”

[1] Popina – a bar in ancient Rome, usually serving the lower classes, with reputations for being rough

[2] Incitatus – Emperor Caligula’s prize racehorse, which he allegedly made a Senator, and attempted to appoint Consul. His ornate marble stable probably was real; his wife, the mare Penelope, is from Robert Graves’ I, Claudius

[3] This is not an actual battle, but combines details from the Battle of Drepana (249 BC, when Publius Claudius Pulcher threw the sacred chickens in the sea for refusing to eat) and the Battle of Actium (31 BC, when Marc Antony held his position while the winds shifted, until it was quite impossible to slip by Octavian’s forces). Romans were very fond of various forms of fortune telling; one tradition was that if the sacred chickens ate a certain way before battle, it was a good omen, but if they refused to eat, it was ill.

[4] Aristophanes’ The Clouds – a comedy about philosophy, ideas, religion and education. One character is a parody of Socrates, and allegedly the play was used as evidence in his trial that he “corrupted the youth,” leading to his execution

[fic-xation]

Motel Walls Are Made To Be Soundproof - a GEAH fanfic

Welp. I've officially fallen down the rabbit hole of Netflix's Green Eggs and Ham series. C'est la vie. Because we were ROBBED of this classic shipping scenario towards the beginning of episode ten, I took it upon myself to correct that fatal blunder. Hope you enjoy~! ❤️️❤️️

Archive

"Uh-oh! Sorry, but I've only got one room left. You'll have to share."

"Perfect! Slumber party!"

If Guy's extensive, miserable life has taught him anything, it's that the universe loves throwing him a curve ball whenever possible. And the clerk, (why did he look so familiar?) seemed only too pleased to oblige.

~~

The motel room was nothing short of standard. Beige, unassuming walls, mass-produced inoffensive factory artwork, a television, and twin, bland lamps framing a -

"... Single bed," grumbled Guy, letting his briefcase topple to the hardwood floor. "Figures."

His travel companion, however, approached the subject with his usual flair of obnoxious optimism.

"Hey! Single bed, double the snuzzles, amiright?" Gleefully, Sam elbowed at Guy's belly, before turning his attention to the warbling attaché. "What say we let you stretch your feathers, huh, buddy?"

"Sam, wait-!"

Too late.

Before Guy could get another word in edgewise, Sam flicked at the double latches, and with a caw of delight, Jenkins exploded into the room like a firecracker, crowing and bouncing with all limbs a-gaggle.

“Gyah-!” Guy yelped, stumbling onto his backside. Lucky for him, there was little in the room that could warrant an outrageous destruction fee…

… The noise on the other hand…

“Yeaa-aaah, Mistah J!” Sam whooped, bounding atop the lone bed like the sugar-addled child he was. “Talk about a party animal!”

Guy, however, was far from impressed.

"WILL you two keep it DOWN?!" he hissed, making a mad swipe for the Chikaraffe’s leg. With a playful squawk, however, the bird merely hoisted the elder Knox into the air, before catching him roughly by the scruff of his collar.

"What's got your wockets in a bunch?" Sam sneered, already making himself comfortable against the freshly laundered pillows. Guy, meanwhile, could only dangle helplessly from the smiling beak as he glared towards the wannabe bon vivant.

Thrashing his arms, he managed to free himself before collapsing to the mattress like a sack of cement.

"I don't know if you've noticed, or you're just too crazy to care-" Guy snarled, rising to his knees. "But we are up to our eyebrows in witnesses! Do the words noise complaint mean anything to you?! Or, better yet, search warrant?”

Valid concerns to be sure, but naturally, Sam shot him down with no more than a shrug.

"Chill-AX, my S.O.O.M.D.B... Stressed-Out-Over-Minor-Details-Buddy!” Reaching into the bedside drawer, he began to poke about curiously, evidently looking for something. “Motel walls are made to be soundproof! I mean, heaven forbid ya let the whole building know you n’ your partner are havin’ sweet, wonderful-”

“SAM!” Flushed and flabbergasted, Guy clapped his hands to Jenkins’ ears. (Or, at least, where he assumed ears would be.)

Innocently, Sam tilted his head to one side. “… What? I’m just sayin’, no one wants to have cereal with everyone listening in. Call me old fashioned, but I think slurping and crunching should be done behind closed doors only… Ooh! Speaking of which-”

Unsurprisingly, Sam was quick to find the room service menu. Wasting no time, he began to rifle through the cardboard pages, feigning a look of pseudo-concentration.

“… Let’s see…” he murmured, scratching his chin.

Guy, dumbstruck, could do nothing more than release Jenkins’ head with an aggravated grumph of embarrassment, clumsily shifting his hands into the pockets of his fur.

Why did he get the feeling Sam's… suggestive phrasing was all too deliberate?

"… Look-" he said at last, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just do me a favor, and keep the nonsense to a minimum tonight, okay?"

"Roger-dodger, Captain Cantankerous!" Sam proclaimed, posing his hand in a jolly salute. "Me n' Mr. J'll be the very models of good behavior! ... Won't we, boy? Huh?"

Jenkins, with an excitable gobble, swiftly rolled onto his back.

"Ooooh-” Sam cooed. “Looks like someone is croakin’ for a strokin’!”

With reckless abandon, he launched himself towards the bird, eagerly combing his hands along the soft, feathery belly. “We're gonna be good, wholesome tenants for this good, wholesome establishment. Aren't we? Aren't we, ya silly-willy-nilly-boy...!"

Even Guy couldn’t help but smile slightly, quietly succumbing to a gentle pet along the downy fuzz of the Chikaraffe’s neck.

The power of Sam’s smugness, though, was certainly enough to ruin the moment. With a jerk of his hand, Guy hastily withdrew, and crossed over to the phone atop the T.V mantle.

“Ah, gettin’ the midnight munchies, are we?” Sam smirked, flopping onto his stomach.

“… Sam, it’s seven-thirty.”

“You say tomato, I say ketchup.” He shrugged, propping himself against his elbows. “Oh, but ya know what tastes great in a motel room paid for by identity theft? Couple a’-!”

"If you say the words, 'eggs,' or 'ham,' or 'green,' in any particular order, I'm dumping you off at the diner where I found you." Guy warned, his brows derisively furrowed.

"... Questioned rescinded!" Sam chirped, though something in his expression seemed to have faltered a bit.

... Or, maybe it was just Guy's imagination.

"In any case-" Guy's furry finger trailed the length of the rotary dial. "I'm not callin' room service. I'm just gonna ask the front desk to send up a cot."

Sam chuckled, impishly turning to his back as he kicked at the air. "A cot? … Honestly, Guy, you spoil this bird silly! But there's really no need, I mean, this goofball should be fine with just a sheet or two-"

"It's not for Jenkins." Guy said stoutly. "It's for me."

… Sam’s feet ceased their flexing. Pouncing back to his knees, he stared at Guy with eyes like saucers.

"... For you?" He repeated dumbly. "Ya mean you're not-"          

"No." Guy huffed. "I'm not." Shifting his shoulders, he fidgeted slightly with the coil of the phone. "... It... It’s just for comfort's sake. I-I'd feel better if we weren't... If I-" He cut himself off, practically tangling the cord between his awkward joints.

Sam observed his friend for a moment or two, before smiling easily with a flash of his hand. "Say no more, Pally O'Malley. You need your sleep-space, and I respect that. So!” He leapt to his feet. “What d'ya say we pull the ol' switcheroonie, and trade spots, huh? Let ME take the cot, and you can help yourself to the king-size!"

He then made an exaggerated gesture across the bedspread, like a gameshow host parading a new car. Needless to say, Guy was a little more than surprised.

"... Are... are you sure?"

"Of course! A lil' guy like me doesn't need this much room, anyway. Besides-” Slowly, Sam tucked his hands behind his back, sheepishly shuffling at his feet. “… After all the confuzzlement I've put ya through, this only seems fair."

… Sam was certainly a lot of things, (the words 'dope,' and 'nimrod' generally came to mind,) but every once in a while, he showed a certain level of autonomy Guy didn't think was possible. Briefly lost for words, Guy stared, slightly slack-jawed, before inevitably coming to his senses with a shake of his head.

"... Er... Thank you." He mumbled quietly.

~~

After everything that Guy’d gone through within the last two days, (ranging from breakneck bean-recovery, to adversarial avalanches,) he would’ve happily sacrificed his own appendix for a good night’s rest.

Unfortunately, (but not unsurprisingly,) he had no such luck.

At first, it’d been Jenkins vying for his attention, whining softly as he prodded his beak to Guy’s shoulder.

“… Mr. Jenkins… No… It’s sleep-time…” Guy murmured drowsily, his face half-hidden behind the mound of pillow. If Guy had to guess, he’d wager the big fella was just restless, or hungry… But there was something to his chirping that felt more… desperate. Like he was actively pleading for Guy’s attention. Against his better judgement, Guy finally arose with a groggy grouse, rubbing his palm to the grittiness of his sleep-starved eyes.

“Alright, buddy, wassa matter?” he mumbled with a yawn. Looking over to the creature, Guy expected him to be pecking at the windows, or, (heaven forbid,) scratching at the door… But, to his surprise, Jenkins’ attention was not pointed at the room…

But to Sam.

Sam, who was curled like a boiled shrimp against the suspended canvas of the lightweight cot, quivering pitifully…

… Oh, Dillikins, is he sick?!

Frantically, Guy flicked at the adjoining lamp, scrambling to Sam’s side.

“Sam! Sam, what-”

“… M’sorry…”

Sam’s voice came in feebly; so feebly, in fact, that Guy wasn’t even sure he’d really heard it. Brow furrowed, he gingerly knelt to the floor.

Sam was… sorry?

… Sorry for what?

It was then that Guy realized – Sam wasn’t sick, he was dreaming… Then again, judging by the violent twitches, maybe nightmare would be the better word…

"Sam... Sam, c'mon, wake up-" Guy whispered, hopelessly jostling at his partner’s shoulders… but to no avail.

"... M'sorry..." Sam mumbled again. Guy couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but something about his voice was... unnerving. It lacked his devil-may-care smoothness and bravado... It sounded weaker, smaller... younger, even. “I… I promise I'll be good... I won't be a burden, Mom, please-"

Without warning, Sam’s rubbery arms twisted themselves around Guy’s unsuspecting midsection like a snake. He reeled, flustered and shocked, but there was no prying the little man from the surprise embrace. He seemed glued to Guy’s stomach, murmuring pathetically all the while,

“Don’t leave… Don’t leave, I’ll be good… I swear I’ll be good…”

It was not the monstrous storm of a boisterous sob, but instead, something quieter... and, all together sadder. It rattled in Sam's ribcage, shaking him from the inside-out. Against his friend, he shivered like a pup, huffing and panting and gulping for air, as his tears dampened the weathered, oak-colored coat.

Guy was all too familiar with the type of nightmare Sam was having, even if the specific context was lost on him. More than once, he’d woken up to an exhausted morning after a fit of grief-filled sleep; his face so ludicrously wet with tears, one would think it'd been raining indoors.

"SAM!" Guy hissed, rustling at his partner’s arms like a maraca. Still murmuring his ghostly pleas, Sam head merely bobbed lifelessly.

“What is he, comatose?!" Guy seethed, shooting Jenkins a thunderstruck look. "I can't get him up!"

Mr. Jenkins whimpered helplessly, glancing between his two adopted papas dads like a frightened toddler. Just then, his face lit up, and, (in what Sam would no doubt classify as a lightbulb moment,) he snapped his powerful jaws at the little man's leg.

… Sam was certainly awake then. His eyes popped open like two jack-in-the-boxes, and with an exaggerated breath, Guy knew a scream was bound to follow. Reeling, he hastily clapped his hands to his partner's open mouth, but not even that was enough to stifle the shriek of pain.

"Shh- be quiet, just be quiet!" he urged, not troubling to temper his own volume as he wrestled the writhing Sam. It proved to be more difficult than one would think, (after all, he was no bigger than their luggage to begin with,) but in his twisting arms, Sam squirmed and thrashed a weasel.

“You're fine, you're okay, just be quiet, please!"

THUMP-THUMP-THUMP!

There came a harsh hammering from the opposite wall, rattling the headboard and lamps in its wake.

“Hey-!” cried a muffled, male voice. “Put a cork in it over there!”

“Yeah!” resounded a second, unfamiliar, (but equally masculine,) voice. “Some of us are tryin’ to eat cereal here!”

Red-faced with effort as well as embarrassment, Guy bit at his lip.

… So much for soundproof walls…

“S-sorry!” he stammered, hurriedly gesturing for Jenkins to hush. “My, uh… my buddy here just stubbed his toe! … We – we promise to keep it down!”

“Yeah, you better!” growled the first voice. “Cause if I hear one more peep outta either a’ you, I’m filin’ a complaint!”

Guy swallowed. “… D-duly noted…” Briefly, he paused, wondering what else to say. “Er… Sleep tight!” he added, with a gawky sort of grin.

“I wouldn’t count on it!” giggled the second voice.

Finally, after a moment of strained silence, Guy let out a breath.

“You know, those two sound so cute together.”

With a strangled yap, Guy glanced down towards Sam. He’d all but forgotten about his partner, now perfectly conscious as he lounged within the incidental cradle.

“I gotta say-” Sam continued, casually resting his hands behind his head. “In spite of the blinding pain in my leg, this is a pretty nice way to wake up.”

With a noise of disgust, Guy hastily tossed Sam to the bed like one unloading a bag of trash.

“For your information-” he snapped. “I was trying to wake you up before you got us thrown out on our furry duffs! You were caterwauling like a Pandog with a Spork in its spleen!”

… Okay, so, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. Even Jenkins shot Guy an accusatorial glare.

Sam’s smile, however, was dropped almost at once. “… You… You heard all that?”

Guy blinked, a little stunned. He’d been expecting a laugh, or a dismissive hand-wave, but… Sam looked almost afraid, sitting back against his knees as he anxiously wrung at his hands.

“… Er… Not too much-” Guy mumbled, suddenly feeling as fretful as Sam looked. There was something so off-putting about seeing such a plucky spirit look so apprehensive… Sheepishly, he rubbed at his arm, glancing towards the ground. “… I-I mean… You mentioned your mom once, but-”

Guy looked up, suddenly noting the subtle twitch in Sam’s seemingly blank eyes.

“… Sam…?” he ventured cautiously.

All at once, Sam’s voice broke out in a crooked sort of chortle.

“BOY-!” he proclaimed, in an unsettling parody of his usual swagger as he hopped to the floor. “I sure could go for a swim right now! Did ya know this place even had a pool? I was shocked, I mean, talk about luxury! Did I remember to pack my swim-trunks? Ah, I guess it doesn’t matter; I mean, I only got the one shirt anyway, right? Do ya think they got pool floaties? Gee, I hope they got pool flo-”

“Sam.”

The little vagabond was already halfway towards the door when Guy’s hand came to rest at his shoulder. Visibly cringing, Sam risked a glimpse, and found his partner’s expression rather… uncharacteristically compassionate.

"... Heh... No beatin' around the bush with you, huh?” Chewing his lip, Sam looked back down.  “… L-look, it... it's nothing! We all have our weird dreams, it's nothin' to get all flibberty-gibbet about!"

Guy groaned, wearily massaging at the corner of his eye. "Sam, a dream about two countries warring over butter is weird. You were having a sleep-paralyzing nightmare. It was…” He paused, suddenly feeling considerably warm. “… Disconcerting.”

"... Oh, Guy-" Sam's eyes wobbled with hyperbolic affection. "You do care!"

He lunged for a hug, but, per the norm, Guy was quick to rebuff.

"I just wanna get this resolved so I can get some sleep, okay?" he spat, shoving the Who to one side. Nevertheless, Sam remained as misty-eyed as a child coveting a Valentine's Day card.

"Okaaaay... ya big ol' softie-pants."

With an amorous giggle, he lightly tapped at Guy's knee, who just rolled his eyes.

“… Alright, c’mon you.” Decisively, Guy headed back towards the bed, helping himself to a seat along the edge. Turning his eyes, he tapped at the open space beside him, to which Sam gave his usual melodramatic gasp.

"You... you mean it?"

Reddening slightly, Guy scowled heavily. "Don’t go gettin’ mushy on me; my legs were just gettin' tired, and..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "Look, just get over here before I change my mind."

With a hoot, and a tap of his heels, Sam was already in, burrowing beneath the blankets like a rabid Groundgopher. As tightly wound as a burrito, he poked his face out from the folds, and giggled huskily.

"I always say, heart-to-heart talks are always better when you're all snuzzled up under a blanket! Ooh, ya know what would make this even better? Hot choco-late!" Dreamily, he sighed, and smacked at his lips. "What do ya say we order ourselves a round to get started, and-"

“Sam, stop trying to change the subject and talk to me.” Guy interjected, swiveling in place as he crossed his legs. “… Is talking about your mother that much of a sudden sore spot for you?”

Even before the sentence was out, Guy knew he’d said the wrong thing. Sam lost all trace of mirth in his expression, slowly staring out towards the opposite wall like a man in mourning.

It then occurred to Guy this was probably the first Sam was ever reluctant to speak.

"... Look-" Guy sighed, resting his arms to his raised knees. "... I'm probably the last Guy to be givin' advice about family stuff, but... whatever the deal is, it seems to me like your mom really loved you... And I mean, look at you now. A certified wildlife protector-! A hero, risking life and limb to protect a helpless animal-"

With every word of praise, Sam seemed to sink further and further into the blankets. Sensing the obvious discomfort, Guy quickly switched gears.

"... Look, bottom line is, you got a lot for a mom to be proud of. That..." he glanced over his shoulder towards the briefcase housing his dismantled self-flyer, and sighed. "... That's more than a lot of people can say."

Despite the gentle words, Sam continued to stew in his self-imposed silence. Warbling softly, Jenkins reached out across the bed, and nudged his nose to Sam's shoulder invitingly. With a resigned sort of smile, Sam naturally obliged, stroking his hand along the bird's mop of magenta hair.

"... I can't say any of that, though..." he said quietly. More quietly, in fact, than Guy'd ever heard him. "My mom wouldn't be proud, ‘cause... she never knew me."

Silently, Jenkins withdrew his head, as Guy could only stare. "... What did you say?"

Surely he'd heard wrong.

"... I made it all up." Sam mumbled after a moment. "Everything I said about my mom... was a lie."

... Then... All those stories-

"But... But what about the juice incident?" Guy reasoned. "Or the stuffed animals, or - or-" briefly, he snapped at his fingers, desperately wracking his brain for any other examples. "Or your imaginary friend, Reggie? Who she pretended was real?"

Beneath the thick veneer of shame and guilt, Sam couldn't help but feel a soft pat of fondness for his gruffy companion.

... He really had been listening...

"Made up... Pretend... Non-existaroo." he listed hoarsely, staring up towards the ceiling. "I never told anybody this before, but... when I was very little my mom-" Sam's voice broke slightly, and he swallowed. "... Left me at an orphanage... It's always just been me. I mean-" he paused, smiling ever so faintly. "At least until I met you."

... Guy was stupefied. Practically since the beginning, he'd pegged his fellow felon as a fool; a clingy buffoon born with an undeserved silver spoon in his mouth... And now, come to find out... he'd been abandoned?

"... Do you remember anything about your parents?" Guy ventured softly.

Sam looked away. "... I remember my mom... a little. Just... one thing."

"What?"

Even in the darkness, Guy could catch the faintest hue of rose blooming through Sam's pearly fur. Shuffling deeper under the covers, he mumbled sheepishly, "It's not important..."

Guy found himself leaning forward.

"Go ahead," he whispered encouragingly.

Though something told him he already knew what it was. Whimpering shyly, Sam drew the brim of his sleep cap over his eyes.

"... It's silly..."

"... Sam..."

Sam jolted slightly, looking out from under his hat. He'd known from the get-go that Guy was not a touchy-feely sort of Knox, and yet... he'd made a gentle reach for his partner's trembling hand, as seamlessly as though he'd been practicing for years. And even more puzzling, he showed no sign of regret, or awkwardness... He just stared with those lined, tired eyes, and squeezed.

Sam’s face went from white to pink… Then, smiling in defeat, he relaxed, and gazed up towards the ceiling.

"... She made me breakfast."

... Guy'd known it, without really knowing it... And even still, he couldn't think of what to say. How many times had Sam ordered that dish in their shared existence? ... And how many times did Guy gag, and shudder, and turn his nose up at it?

... How many times did he turn his nose up to her memory?

The guilt suddenly sagged in his stomach like a stone.

"... I bet hers-" he said after a beat. "... Were really good."

Sam chuckled sadly, finally turning onto his side, though he still avoided eye contact. With his free hand, he mournfully traced the swirling pattern of the bed sheet. "The best... Really green... Super eggy... I've been trying to find her all these years, so I could ask... why, ya know?" He blinked, and a tear lazily trailed along his fur. "... Why she gave me up..."

Guy wanted to say something... anything... but a saddened, desperate chuckle quickly interrupted.

"I-I'm sure it's a good reason, I just-" Sam's voice seem to thicken with grief, as his grip on Guy's hand only tightened. One by one, tear after tear splashed against the bedspread, but Sam was determined to carry on. "... I really wanna know... So I keep ordering them, and I keep trying them... But they're..." he struggled to swallow the burgeoning lump in his throat. "... Never hers..."

Sam I-Am and Guy Am-I had not been together for very long, but in their time together, there seemed to be one hard and fast rule.

Sam was always the first to instigate a hug.

Tonight, Guy broke that rule.

“… Keep trying, Sam …” he whispered, gently cupping Sam’s head to his chest. The gesture and confession proved to be too much for Sam, as he quickly dissolved into snuffles of catharsis, desperately clasping his Guy like a life preserver. Purring softly, Jenkins curled his elastic neck around the pair of them, encircling the two like a wreath of pure warmth.

"Here, blow." Guy said after a minute, plucking a tissue from the box atop the bedside drawers, and gingerly held it to Sam's button nose.

Unfortunately, the moment of tactile tenderness was quickly squelched, as, with a nasally Bronx cheer, Sam's thunderous mucus rocketed a stream of slime as green as his eggs. Quickly suppressing the urge to retch, Guy snagged at a fistful of tissues, hastily smothering them to Sam's sticky face.

"... Better?" he asked, swiftly tossing the snotty clump to one side.

Sam gave a shuttering sniffle, nodding weakly.

“… Y-yeah… Th-thanks, Guy…” Smiling wetly, he dragged his knuckles across his swimming eye before casting the discarded cot a look of drained submission. “I… I guess I oughta be gettin’ back to bed…”

He made to move, but was suddenly pulled back in by Guy.

“… You don’t have to leave…” he muttered, squaring his shoulders with a great show of shyness. Lowering his gaze, he buried his twisted mouth against the fluff of his tawny neckline. “… N-not… not if you don’t want to, I mean…”

“... For real?” Sam gawked. “… But… but what about your sleep-space?”

“Eh,” Guy shrugged, finally sliding in under the comforter, as Jenkins dutifully uncoiled. “I always sleep alone… So, maybe…” Shyly, he fluffed at his pillow. “… I could try it with a companion, for once… Who knows?”

Without realizing it, he’d shuffled in closer, making a second clasp for Sam’s feeble hand.

“… I might wind up liking it.”

[mutually-screaming]

for death and he

Fandom: Homestuck

AU: Godstuck, but with more cults

Chapter(s): 1/??

Ship/Pairing: Dirk/Lil Hal

Summary: Hal needs to feed to survive at this point in his everlasting life. Being a god isn’t easy, especially not when you have virtually no followers. But he’s not god now. He’s a leech. And he needs Dirk to be his host if he wants to survive any longer as a god.

Author Note: Chapter one! I hope you all enjoy! I will be posting this on Archive of Our Own as well, and links will be provided once I do so! I hope you enjoy!

This party sucked.

It wasn't the fact that the party itself was bad, but the suckyness of the party predominately came from Dirk himself. Things that he used to enjoy, like this shitty party, felt like they were slowly getting crappier and crappier over time. Whether it was boredom or how they always seemed to go the same, he couldn't quite tell. But it sucked to Dirk. Everyone else was having a good time, and part of him was jealous of them for that, but he felt like it sucked.

But of course it sucked for Dirk. Dirk Strider, forever sitting on the couch, making boring idle conversation, waiting to get himself drunk. Dirk Strider, always embarrassing himself when he gets drunk. Dirk Strider, waking up in the morning with a shitty hangover and a will in his mind that he was never drinking again. Parties weren't awful, but he just couldn't get why he wasn't enjoying them anymore.

Maybe because of the monotony of his actions at these parties, or maybe he was becoming more of a homebody. The latter option made the most sense to him right off the bat. He was spending more time at home, but he blamed that mostly on school and how it was so vigorously kicking his ass at the moment.

The blonde took a sip of probably one of the grossest IPA's he's ever drank before setting the bottle down and deciding he was done with it. It was almost full.

Music played, people were dancing, the air was hot and humid with their sweat. It was kinda gross. Deciding he needed a break, he shoved his way out of the living room and into the back yard, greeted by a cold yet refreshing gust of night air as he stumbled upon what seemed to be a beer pong tournament? Except all frat-dudes involved seemed way too fucked up. Amber eyes scoped the scene before settling upon three mostly empty tequila bottles on the floor. Ah. Tequila pong.

Considering the last time he decided to play the one way alcohol poisoning game of Tequila pong, he decided against it. Nope. Never again.

Reasoning being, nobody wanted to watch him try to jump from the roof and into the neighbor's pool and fail again. That entire incident ended with a broken wrist and a written apology.

But see? He used to think this was fun. Now he was bored, tired, and couldn't wait to put on his pajamas and fuzzy socks when he got home.

He needed to find Roxy.

Turning around to head back inside, he struggled through the living room and made his way towards the kitchen, only to run into a very frazzled looking Jane dealing with a very stoned freshman he didn't recognize.

"Hey, where's Roxy?" Dirk asked, grabbing some paper towels and handing them to Jane as she tried desperately to clean up a green mess that the freshman seemed to have spilled. The freshman seemed cool with it. Hell, Dirk wasn't even sure if the freshman noticed that he had spilled half of whatever the fuck that green stuff was all over the front of him. He was blazed as fuck.

"Last place I saw her was in the garage getting more drinks, but that couldn't have been more than twenty minutes ago," Jane replied, gratefully taking the paper towels and using them to sop up the green mess. "By the way," the brunette huffed, straightening up and dumping the dirty trash into the bin, "This is Gamzee, he's the foreign exchange student I've been mentoring."

"How's it been, brother? Long time no see," Gamzee grins, his voice deep and laced with an accent he didn't recognize. The stoner reached over and clapped a large hand on Dirk's back, possibly getting some of that goop on his shirt.

Dirk has never met this kid in his life.

"Uh...it's been good," Dirk says slowly, taking a step away from Gamzee as he turned back to Jane, "Look, if you get the chance to talk to Roxy, let her know I'm headed home. Glad for the invite though, that was cool of her. Don't think this kind of stuff is my thing anymore though." Hm. Maybe a little too much information for now. He didn't want to offend Roxy for inviting him to these, he knew she genuinely enjoyed them and that he used to too. But might as well be honest, right?

"Oh, uhm, alright," Jane replied, seeming a little taken aback by Dirk's bluntness. "I'll talk to you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Dirk nodded, briefly eyeing Gamzee warily before making his way out of the party. Part of him kinda felt bad for the guy. He seemed stoned out of his mind. But hey, at least even he was having a good time.

The party had been hosted at a nearby fraternity house that was only about three blocks from the school, making it only about a twenty-ish minute walk back to his dorms, which wasn't too bad. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he quickly sent a text to Roxy, just in case Jane didn't get the chance to relay the message.

headed home. thanks for the invite.

Dirk knew Roxy worried about him sometimes. Especially these past few months since his particularly messy breakup with his ex. But that was a story for another day.

It didn't take long for him to reach his dorm, quickly changing out of his plain jeans and t-shirt and into his beloved fuzzy socks, sweatpants and hoodie. It was a cold night and he might as well get comfortable for the night.

Flopping onto the bed, he couldn't help but lie there for a second. The room was completely quiet, other than the gentle hum of the heater running and the soft thump of his heart beating. Glancing at his clock on his desk, it was only ten forty-five. It wasn't even that late. But why did he feel so fucking tired? He lied still on his bed for as long as he could manage, legs dangling over the side as he shifted and shoved his face into his pillow, only to immediately sit up in distaste as a red line formed across his face from his shades.

Right. He was wearing those.

Dirk took them off and set them on his desk next to his bed before getting settled in. Snuggled in a thick duvet, laptop in his lap, he grabbed his glasses off of his desk. Trading comfort over style, he guessed. It was a miracle he could get those wack-ass shades as prescription, but he was from Hollywood and wasn't about to read too deep into this and you shouldn't either.

Was he tired? Yes. But it was more like the slightly sleepy that led into boredom that led into him browsing the internet for a couple of hours.

An hour and a half later, Dirk found himself falling down the rabbit hole of food network youtube videos on how to make gourmet gushers when an unfamiliar notification popped up. It was from Pesterchum, what was essentially a remake of the now outdated Skype, but he didn't recognize the message that appeared.

autoResponder [AR] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT]

AR: Hey. Ever wondered what ascension is like?

The name autoResponder immediately made Dirk think this was a bot messaging him. But that didn't make sense. The only way someone could message him would be if he gave them his username himself, but he couldn't remember giving anyone his username recently. He honestly didn't even use Pesterchum that much lately anyways because of how busy he's been with school. This totally had to be a bot. But it hadn't sent him any weird links yet or offered to show him boobs. Or maybe it was a hacker trying to give his laptop a virus. But he could handle that. Maybe it would be fun to fuck with this guy. If he was going to try to send him a virus he would well deserve it.

Just as he started to type a response back, he got another message.

AR: Ever wondered what happens after death?

Dirk's fingers hesitated. Now this was starting to sound a little more religious-y. But it gave more of the vibe of those signs you drive by on road trips. The ones paid for by Biblethumpers who had nothing better to do but shove god in every aspect of life, including road trips apparently.

Another message.

AR: Ever wondered what happens when everything becomes void, Dirk?

Dirk closed his laptop.

[cheeseeatingtrashmonster]

Be My Lois Lane (Marichat May) Chapter 5: Baking

I swear I’m still writing this. Chapter 6 is almost done, so hopefully that will be up soon!

Ao3

-

Marinette Dupain-Cheng woke up with a plan.

And a cat trying to sleep over her mouth and nose.

But she had a plan.

"I have a plan," she told Nadja the moment she found her in the break room that morning.

"That's good. Go do it."

"You don't want to hear what the plan is?"

"Trust your instincts. Go follow that lead."

Marinette thanked her and returned to her desk, the buzz of determination and a lead settling into her bones.

Or maybe she'd made the coffee too strong that morning.

Marinette dove down the rabbit hole, searching every social media site she could think to search. She had forty names on her list, eleven with date, time, and location written next to them when Alya interrupted her.

"You ready?"

Marinette blinked up at her. It took a minute for her to surface from the deep research. "Ready for what?"

"...Lunch? We were gonna go to your place and dote on Shadow and come up with a plan about your little identity problem?"

"Lunch? But it's only-"

Alya held out her phone, the clock displaying in harsh black and white. "It's only lunchtime?"

"Oh." Marinette looked down at her work scattered across her desktop. "Can you give me five minutes? I just need to wrap a bit of this up."

Alya laughed. "Sure." She grabbed a chair from an empty desk and settled next to Marinette to read on her phone until she was done. "I didn't expect to have to do this yet."

"Do what?” Marinette asked, typing quick goodbyes to all her open conversations.

“Have to drag you away from work to eat after you lose track of time.”

Marinette bit her lip and let what Alya said roll around her mind while she finished closing out conversations and locking her computer.

“I guess… a project is a project? And I’ll always get lost in a project?” Marinette said. She locked her computer and stood.

Alya linked arms with her. "Mmm, I dunno. I think that maybe, just maybe... you're starting to like being in my department."

"But fashion!" Marinette whined.

"You get more than enough fashion spending every spare second creating for your online boutique."

"I have to have fresh stuff!"

Marinette and Alya had the same debate about the boutique every few days. Alya insisted Marinette didn't need to hide her identity up to the last second, that she didn't have to fear big names like Gabriel now that she had a line of her own. Marinette felt it would be safer to wait until she had a physical store from which to sell. They both had good points, but Alya was pretty sure Marinette's were backed by a little too much fear and self-doubt.

"What are you doing?" Alya asked when Marinette started pulling things out of her pantry, ignoring the lunch she had placed on the table a moment before.

"I need to bake."

"You need to eat. Why would you need to bake?"

"For the people."

Alya stood and took a mixing bowl out of Marinette's hands, holding her wrists (gently) so she couldn't dive back into baking preparations. "What people, M?"

"The people with stories."

"Marinette?"

Her eyes were on the container of sugar, squinting at how much she had left. "Mmm?"

"Wanna come back to earth for a minute and tell me what's going on?"

A second later, Marinette's eyes lost their hyper-focused look and she stopped straining to get out of Alya's hold and reach for the container of eggs. "I'm going to interview as many people who have seen, talked to, fought, or been saved by Chat Noir as possible."

Alya followed the logical trail from there. "And you want to bake something for these people?"

Marinette nodded.

Alya sighed. "Let's get one batch started so it can bake while we eat, then we'll do a few more before we go back."

-

"I should save some cookies for Marc and Nath, right?" Marinette asked as they cleaned up while the last batch was in the oven. "I'll be having as many interviews at the park across the street from them as I can, and they like to refuse to let me pay for refills."

"Absolutely. And maybe if you have any left over, you have a best friend going on another plane ride soon?"

"Where are you going?"

"There's rumors of a new superhero in Sydney. We're collecting a little more info before shipping me off, but this one sounds promising."

"As soon as you know your departure time, I'll have a few things ready to go with you." Marinette leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Gotta make sure you're well-fed when you're away from me."

"You're the sweetest. That's probably why your baking is so good."

"Or, you know, growing up in a bakery."

-

Marinette took her basket of cookies to Marc and Nath's cafe, The Talon. They agreed to let her leave the majority of the cookies behind the counter, taking a neatly packaged few out to each interview. She sat down, prepared her phone's voice recording app, and opened her new birthday present notebook.

"Are you the reporter who wanted to know about Chat Noir?"

Marinette smiled and stood, extending her hand to the woman. She looked to be in her mid-thirties and had brought two young children with her. "Yes, I'm Marinette. You must be Anna."

While her children played in the park, Anna told Marinette the story of how Chat Noir had saved her. It was a very similar story to her own. Grabbed by a supervillain, held hostage on a rooftop, and Chat Noir tried to talk the villain down.

"Chat Noir was still just a rumor at the time," she said. "I couldn't really see him, so I thought it was just some guy trying to help. Then the guy who took me held up his laser-blasting thing and I ducked. Chat Noir yelled some strange word. I heard some kind of... magical sound."

"Do you remember what the word was?" Marinette asked. She added to her notebook, Chat Noir might have magic beyond his baton.

"No, sorry. I might recognize it if I heard it again, though."

Marinette nodded. "What happened after that? What did you see next?"

"When I looked up, the gun was gone, the villain was face down on the roof, and Chat Noir was using zip ties to secure him to a pipe." She looked over at where her children were playing. "He saved me, and my children still have a mother because he was there."

Marinette smiled. "I'm so glad."

"He stayed with me until I was calm. He went and found my purse when I said I had dropped it. He walked with me to the police- well, he walked with me until we could see the building, then waited nearby until I was inside. He showed up on my walk home from work the next night. He didn't come over or say anything, but he made sure I saw he was nearby. He showed up most nights for a week or two. I felt safe again because he went out of his way."

Marinette looked down at her list of questions. That was quite a different picture than the flirty cat from the phone call last night or the goof who offered a supervillain a scarf in exchange for his hostage.

"Do you have anything else you'd like to say about him?" she asked, surfacing from her own thoughts.

"I don't know why he's here, or what his ultimate goal is, but I'm so glad he's here. Whatever this city will face in the future, we'll be okay because we have him on our side."

-

The rest of the interviews took a couple of weeks. Nath started complaining that he was going to get fat if Marinette kept giving them cookies. Marinette replied that she was going to vibrate out of her skin if he kept stopping to visit her with refills of her favorite coffee order between interviews.

"That was the last one!" she said, flopping dramatically against the counter in front of Nath.

He nudged her out of the way and started cleaning the counter, shooting her an annoyed glance. "You really think that was the last person in the city to have encountered Chat Noir?"

"No, not by a long shot," she said. She stepped behind the counter to grab one of the leftover packages of cookies for herself. "But forty-seven people is more than enough. I've put out a couple articles of the more dramatic stories of being saved already, ones with a couple witnesses to corroborate. Now I'll write something about the patterns in the stories, what's known about him, how he acts, stuff like that."

"Uh-huh. And after that?"

She slumped and opened the package of cookies. "After that, maybe he'll like my writing so much he'll let me interview him?"

Nath patted her on the shoulder and stole a cookie. "Good luck with that."

-

Marinette was walking home at sunset (with one hand on the can of pepper spray in her pocket), a little too full of cookies to be seriously considering a real dinner, when she saw something move in the shadows ahead of her.

She stared at the darkness for a minute but nothing could be seen. "There's no one there," she muttered to herself.

She had just started walking again when the shadows slid again and formed into a person.

"Okay, back off, you-"

"Hey! Hey! You can put that away. I was just going to offer an escort home. You look a little nervous."

The fact that Chat Noir was standing in front of her finally registered. She blushed and shoved the pepper spray back into her pocket. "Sorry about that."

Chat shrugged and held out his arm. "I'm glad you're doing something to feel safer. So, how about that escort?"

She linked her arm through his. "Sounds nice."

Marinette watched Chat Noir out of the corner of her eye as they walked. "You do this a lot, huh? Walk home anyone who looks nervous or like they're in danger?"

He smiled. "I'd heard you were asking around about me."

"I'll figure you out, Kitty."

It was Chat's turn to blush, just enough that she could see the pink under his mask in the dying light.

“I have to ask that you not refer to me as ‘Kitty’ in your articles.”

“Will you give me a quote in exchange for that?” she asked. She hoped the teasing smirk she shot him let him know she would respect his wishes whether he did or not.

“Sure. Here’s a quote. ‘If the world were flat, I would knock all the bad guys off the edge.’”

She stopped walking, a look of confusion taking over.

“You… what? Why? What does that even mean?”

“I… you know… like- like cats? They knock stuff off of tables? And I’m trying to help the city, so bad guys…”

He trailed off, a blush rising on his cheeks again.

“That was awful.” Marinette laughed. “I’ll skip the quote, but I’ll leave out any nicknames, too.”

They had reached the front of her apartment building and stood just outside the light shining through the glass front doors.

“And I’m still thinking of a new nickname for you, Princess.”

She laughed again. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

He took her hand from his arm and kissed it with a bow. “Stay safe, Marinette.”

He started backing away, pulling out his baton and looking at the surrounding buildings for a good place to climb.

“Oh, wait!” Marinette said. Chat stopped. “I wanted to show you.” She pulled the notebook he had given her out of her bag. “I hope you don’t mind, but I decorated it a little.”

She held out the notebook. It was covered in ladybug stickers.

Chat reached out one claw to trace the biggest ladybug in the center.

He didn’t say anything, but the smile he wore was brilliant.

So brilliant that she didn’t see the confusion in his eyes.

[pendragaryen]

Rewriting the stars -  The S5/Bellarke fanmix

- The way I see (and feel about) S5 of The 1OO

Over months and months I was drawing up this list, bc I just had the feeling to do so - for my own good. There were TOO MANY FEELS I had to work through concerning the last season. And so I developed this fanmix, which was only ever growing over the last couple of months. I wrote down my own thoughts to each and every song and why I was choosing it. But I think I’ll just leave it here with my thoughts concerning the timing/the person, moment or place I see them connected with. I had fun making this and I just wanted to share it at this point of the hiatus, bc it lasts waaaay too long. Can’t wait to see my bbs back on screen!

Beware of FEELS. A lot of them. But follow me folks, if you will, right down the rabbit hole of angst and excitement that was our season 5 of The 100. ;)

1. Afterglow (Bellarke, after S4, setting: Earth and space/the ring)

You left your ghost behind my door, it whispers you’ll be back for more, was it your intention to own and possess my soul? (C )

I got my days, I’m half alright, I found new things that make me smile, but then it hits me: They’re nothing compared to us (B)

Where are you now, who has my place? Hope when you kiss you see my face. No bad intentions, but I hope it’s not true love (C )

I threw our past against the wall, but I can’t wash your handprints off my soul. What the hell am I doing? Have I lost it all? (B)

I’m trying to make room for love but it’s crowded inside me. I know it’s time to let you go (B)

So won’t you come and get your ghost, your memory haunts me. I’m living on the afterglow (C )

2. All of the stars (Bellarke, after S4, setting: Earth and space/the ring)

It’s just another night and I’m staring at the moon, I saw a shooting star and thought of you

I wonder if you see them too

So open your eyes and see the way our horizons meet, and all of the lights will lead you into the night with me

And I know the scars will bleed, but both of our hearts believe, all of the stars will guide us home

3. Light years away (Bellarke, after S4, setting: Earth and space/the ring)

We only see it on the inside, imagine where it ever came from. Understand with all our insight, ‘cause what we see is already gone

The space between the systems, the space between you and me

The light in you that shines, so vast of its consistence, our life an instance in its time

Don’t you know we’re light years away...

4. It’s okay (Clarke Griffin/Bellarke, S5, after time-jump/six years later, setting: Earth, shallow valley)

I remember how you used to say ‘have no fear, it’ll be okay’, when you told me ‘anything you want is possible, we could have it all’

I believed in you, must have been a fool, all my dreams were with you

I say it’s okay, I can promise you it’s alright, you ain’t keeping me up all night no more. You’re not here but it’s okay, I assure you, babe, it’s alright, you ain’t keeping me up all night no more

5. Whatever it takes (Octavia/Blodreina/Wonkru, S5, setting: Earth, the bunker, “Red Queen”)

Everybody waiting for the fall of man, everybody praying for the end of times, everybody hoping they could be the one.

Break me down and built me up

Whatever it takes, ‘cause I love the adrenaline in my veins. I do whatever it takes, ‘cause I love how it feels when I break the chains

You take me to the top I’m ready for

6. Lovers on the sun (Bellarke, S5, setting: Earth, reunion, “Sleeping giants”)

Let’s light it up until our hearts catch fire, then show the world a burning light that never shined so bright

We never know what stands behind the door, but I got a feeling thats’s worth dying for

Just close your eyes and hold your breath, because it feels right. We’ll keep it moving until we make it to the other side

7. Delicate (Bellarke, S5, setting: Earth, Eligius-ship, reunion 2, “Pandora’s box”)

Is it chill that you’re in my head? ‘Cause I know that it’s delicate

Sometimes I wonder when you sleep, are you ever dreaming of me? Sometimes when I look into your eyes I pretend you’re mine all the damn time... ‘Cause I like you

We can’t make any promises now, can’t we, babe?

8. Hello heartache (Clarke Griffin/Bellarke/Becho, S5, setting: Earth, the desert, Becho reunion, “Shifting sands”)

I was stupid to think that I could stay

I seen your best sides, you got to see my worst. It’s not the first time, but this one really hurts, yeah this one’s gonna... It hurts...

Goodbye my friend, hello heartache, it’s not the end, it’s not the same

Do you know, do you care?

It’s not the end

9. In it with you (Clarke Griffin/Bellarke/Becho, S5, setting: Earth, the desert, after “Shifting sands”)

You took a blade, it went in deep, and it was tearin’ up inside you. Must’ve been sharper underneath, ‘cause there were scars I couldn’t undo.

What were you thinking? Why did you let go? I was still holding you. What were you thinking? Why didn’t I know when I was right there with you?

10. Dangerous (Zaven/Pirate mechanic, S5, setting: Earth, shallow valley)

I don’t know where the lights are taking us, but something in the night is dangerous.

And nothing’s holding back the two of us. Baby, this is getting serious.

11. Run (Clarke Griffin/Bellarke/Becho, S5, setting: Earth, the desert, Becho kiss 2, “Exit wounds”)

I sing it one last time for you, than we really have to go. You’ve been the only thing that’s right in all i’ve done

I can barely look at you

Light up, as if you have a choice. We’ll run for our lives.

I can hardly speak I understand, why you can’t raise your voice to say...

12. Scars to your beautiful (Clarke Griffin, S5, setting: Earth, after “Exit wounds”)

She don’t see the light that’s shining deeper than the eyes can find it. Maybe we’ve made her blind, so she tries to cover all her pain and cut her woes away.

There’s a hope that’s waiting for you in the dark. You should know you’re beautiful just the way you are. And you don’t have to change a thing, the world could change its heart.

No better you than the you that you are

No better time for you to shine, you’re a star

Oh, you’re beautiful, you are beautiful

13. Hush (Bellarke/Becho, S5, setting: Earth, after “Exit wounds”)

I wanted to keep you forever next to me. You know that I still do and all I wanted was to believe.

When I try to forget you I just keep on remembering. What we had, it was so true and somehow we lost everything.

14. I don’t know why (Bellarke, S5, setting: Earth, Polis/the bunker)

Now I’m lost in us. We’re living in a lying trust.

I don’t know why, but I guess it’s got something to do with you...

15. In my life (Octavia/Blodreina/Bellamy Blake, S5, setting: Earth, Polis/the bunker)

Can’t believe the things you said. I turn my head and walk away. You make me sick, you make me nervous.

In my life I decide and it turns me on how I am, how I live, who I love. In my way I feel strong and it turns me on. In my life I decide, I decide...

16. Atlas (Bellamy Blake/Octavia Blake/Clarke Griffin, S5, setting: Earth, Polis/the bunker, “Acceptable losses” and “How we get to peace”)

Some saw the sun, some saw the smoke. Some heard the gun, some bent the bow.

Show me the way, Lord, ‘cause I’m about to explode.

Carry your world. I’ll carry your world and all your hurt...

17. Find you’re gone (Bellarke, S5, setting: Earth, Polis/the bunker, shallow valley, post “Sic semper tyrannis” aka “The Slap”)

There should be grief but I feel none. Trying to leave the night behind I hardly get my thoughts in line. But there is one thing I could say, it seems I’m glad I find you’re gone

18. Heart of misery (Clarke Griffin/Madi/Bellamy Blake, S5, setting: Earth, desert/the bunker)

I don’t want to feel anything today, anything at all, I’ll just be alone. I just want to know that you want to know.

I don’t wanna live through another day. Meaningless to fight for your sympathy, I just wanna drown in the heart of misery.

One life forgot to be

One heart refuse to beat

One love is incomplete...

19. Someone you loved (Bellamy Blake/Bellarke, S5, setting: Earth, the bunker, “The warriors will”)

I’m going under and this time I fear there’s no one to save me. This all or nothing really got a way of driving me crazy.

I need somebody to heal, somebody to know, somebody to have, somebody to hold. It’s easy to say, but it’s never the same.

But now the day bleeds into nightfall and you’re not here to get me through it all. I let my guard down and then you pulled the rug. I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved...

20. deSolate (Bellamy Blake, S5, setting: Earth, bunker/fighting pit) 

21. White flag (Clarke Griffin/Bellarke, S5, setting: Earth, shallow valley, “Damocles 1″)

I know I left too much mess and destruction to come back again. I caused nothing but trouble, I understand if you can’t talk to me again.

I will go down with this ship and I won’t put my hands up and surrender. There will be no white flag above my door.

I’m in love

and always will be...

22. You are (Bellarke, S5, setting: Earth, Eligius IV, “Damocles 2″)

If ever I wanted to run away, I’ll go only if you come with me. ‘Cause no-one can talk to my heart like you are.

I’d say you’re here in my heart, you’re in my heart.

You are my reason

You are the air I’m breathin’

23. O.k. (Bellarke, S5, setting: Space, Eligius IV, “Damocles 2″)

When I find myself in the middle, could you love me more just a little? Over-complicate, but it’s simple. Would you love me more, just a little?

So tell me now, when every star falls from the sky and every heart in the world breaks. Hold me now. When every ship is going down I don’t fear nothing when I hear you say: It’s gonna be o.k.

24. Someday (Bellarke, S5, setting: Space, Eligius IV, “Damocles 2″)

I believe we’ve come to where there’s no turning back

In a way I know that things have been going on for too long, it’s become too much

I’m not the one who walks away that easily. I try to believe in love

Someday, in another time and place, with a brighter, stronger flame, we’ll make it right. In some way there can be a miracle

I know that we can make it right...

25. Approaching lightspeed (The 100/Bellarke/Marper/All, time-jump/cryo-sleep, S5, setting: Space, Eligius IV, “Damocles 2″)

I try to breathe, I try to think of you. Don’t know if trying will do. The silence, a mirror, that breaks the lights in two.

We’ll discover what will make us free.

We’ll trying to stand where no-one dared to be.

When time stands still a moment lasts. We’re moving on, we’re flying fast, approaching lightspeed

26. Rewrite the stars (Bellarke, after time-jump, S5, setting: Space above the “New Earth”, Eligius IV, “Damocles 2″ Finale)

You're here in my heart So who can stop me if I decide that you're my destiny? 

All I want is to fly with you All I want is to fall with you So just give me all of you

Say that it's possible

How do we rewrite the stars? Say you were made to be mine Nothing can keep us apart 'Cause you are the one I was meant to find It's up to you And it's up to me No one can say what we get to be And why don't we rewrite the stars? Changing the world to be ours...

Insert Harper’s and Monty’s voices from the void:

Let’s show them how to live...

Be the good guys...

(And now I’m a crying mess... Thanks for staying with me, guys.)

~~~

I think that this’ll be a one time thing considering the amount of time and effort I brought up to create this and due to my job. But who knows: Maybe the new season is really kicking in and I’ll do something like that again. For now: That’s it, folks. I hope you guys like it - or maybe some parts of it. And bc I value your opions a lot I’m going to tag a few peeps I know from my notifications or who i admire and love from afar. (If you DON’T want to be tagged here, please let me know and I’ll delete your name again. ;) )

Thank you, fam! <3 <3 <3

@clarkgriffon, @katersann, @fyeahbellarke, @hereforbobmorley, @jasperjoordan, @raven-reyes-of-sunshine, @ringsabellamy, @sometimesrosy, @youleftme-clarke, @bellamywanheda100, @viviansternwood, @jordanjaspergreen, @lovethyblakes, @hostagetakerandhisgirlfriend, @clarkeywifey, @morleybobs, @clarkegriffintitties, @mimir-anoshe, @asroarke, @sly2o, @bellamyblake, @bellamynochillblake, @montygreen, @hostagetakerandhistraitor, @bellamys11thfreckle, @ricchardmadden and my beloved @merlination (no particular order)

[tony-luvv]

Shi-Toyu Called Me Out

since @shi-toyu came at me with this post I decided to steal a section and write it for them. Hope you like it Love, we’re too far down the rabbit hole now. Also I really hope you get to see the movie, you’re going to love them even more after you do.

“Sir! There’s an intruder!”

Tony nearly fell of his chair at JARVIS’s frantic voice. It’s been so quite lately…

“What do you–” Tony stood up and felt something move beside him. But that shouldn’t be possible, “–mean?

As if he was stuck in a dramatic movie scene, he turned to see this – this thing standing right next to him. It’s jet black, ink-like body stood at least a meter taller than him. The eyes were cloudy grey slits and held no expression. Rows of teeth, sharp and huge opened to reveal a slimy red tongue that twisted in front of him.

“hELlo ToNy.”

As soon as the creature spoke his name his hands moved to call his suit using his bracelets.

…His wrist are bare. Panicked he looked down to see his greatest fear. His iron man bracelets weren’t there.

Right now he was alone with an alien creature and no protection.

He couldn’t breathe.

“helLO?”

It reached for him, giant claw like hands moving to grab him.

It’s almost funny how well gravity and panic worked together because as soon as it touched him he was falling back and scrambling away.

Everything was moving too fast and not moving at all. His body moved on its own yet he couldn’t get his breath back.

His back connected with something and he turned, were there more aliens? Did they come back?

He killed them! With the nuke, he hit the mother ship and stopped the army.

You know there’s more out there.

But he did it, they won. Steve said so.

Just because you ‘won’ the battle doesn’t mean you won the war.

No.

They’ll come back.

No – NO!

“–ony! Listen to–”

You’ll lose.

NO!

They’ll die. All of them.

NO! PLEASE!

“–breathe, come on! Ton–”

You let them die.

“NOOOOOOOOO–”

“TONY!”

Familiar hands grabbed his shoulders, snapping him out of his panicked state.

“Tony breathe!” Right that’s a thing humans do. Tony choked and coughed as his body tried to remember how to function properly. Eyes watering and fumbling to hold on to the person in front of him. It took him a moment to calm down and even then he was still shaking.

“God Tony, I’m so sorry. I knew something like this would happen! Fuck, this is all my fault.”

Tony should be excused for not getting it right away but then again…he is a genius.

“Wait a minute, are you trying to tell me you’re that – that…” He couldn’t even give a name to what he saw.

But Eddie, his boyfriend – are they even still together? – just hung his head guiltily.

“Yeah.”

Quite honestly Tony didn’t know what to think but he needed answers now before he end up having another panic attack.

“Explain.”

It’s complicated. Eddie Brock was Eddie fucking Brock and found himself as a permanent hose to this alien symbiote – thing.

“I can’t believe this happened to you…”

“You can’t blame me, I mean I am dating Iron Man.” Tony couldn’t help the feeling of relief at hearing Eddie say they’re still a couple. But it was short lived and instead he decided to glare down his reckless reporter boyfriend. “Too soon for jokes?”

Tony agreed, nodding his head, “Too soon.”

The air filled with silent awkward tension and Eddie tentatively asked, “…Should I leave?

Tony looked past Eddie at the far wall behind him, “I wish you wouldn’t.” He hated doing this, being weak. But he already had a full panic attack so he might as well go for broke. Looking down at his hands and seeing little indentations from squeezing his hands into fists, he tried again. “I…” God why was this so hard to say? His throat closed up and made it hard to speak past the sudden lump there, “missed you…and I thought – I thought you didn’t want me anymore. That maybe you moved on and didn’t know how to let me down.”

“Tony…”

“Please don’t leave.”

Eddie didn’t leave.

And neither did Venom.

“You’ve been eating a lot.”

“Venom has high metabolism so I’m hungry almost all the time.”

Tony watched Eddie ravage the kitchen for food. “…Does he have a preference?”

“Tater tots.” Tony blinked in surprised as Brock paused in his search to tell him how serious Venom’s addiction to tater tots is. “Oh yes! Peaches!”

The following week the kitchen had a large supply of tater tots and canned peaches. Eddie felt Venom buzz with happiness under his skin.

“WhAT iS this?”

“He’s trying.”

Tony sat in his lab looking over his notes over the past few months. With the help of JARVIS, the genius had been – gathering information on Venom.

From what he could tell of Eddie explaining things, Venom had a twisted innocence about him. Of course there is nothing innocent about wanting to eat people but when your alien to a human’s moral code…it changes things.

So far, from what Tony could tell, Venom is nothing like what he faced in the Battle of New York.

He didn’t destroy stuff. Surprisingly the few times Eddie let him out Venom was careful not to destroy his home (the rest of the city, not so much) With the guidance of Eddie and JARVIS – those videos were still a surprise to watch, Venom was good about only eating hurting ‘bad’ people. For the most part, it seemed that the symbiote was content with learning and being ‘let out to play’ every other night.

Tony’s still not sure of what to make of his boyfriend new addition.

“Why don’t you try talking to him Sir?”

“Don’t rush me I’m getting there.”

He pulled up a picture of Venom and really looked at him. The symbiote in his full form, all tall and encompassing Eddie body and turning them into this giant being. Then he turned and looked at the little snake head that formed out of Eddie’s back so that the symbiote could physically as well as verbally tease his boyfriend. The scene they made reminded him of Johnny Knoxville in the Men in Black movie and made him laugh. He checked his hands, no shaking.

“Power down for me?”

“As you wish Sir.”

Taking a calming breath Tony pulled away from his desk and went to find his boyfriend.

Eddie was passed out on the couch…perfect.

Sitting down on the couch beside the sleeping man Tony took a chance, “Venom…can we talk?”

Almost as soon as he finished speaking Venom’s black inky matter started to form over Eddie’s chest. “hi toNY.”

“H-Hi.” It was surreal sitting here talking to the symbiote. Since their first “meeting” and Eddie’s explanation they never talked about the alien. “Is Eddie hearing this?”

Venom’s snake head turned briefly to look at the slumbering man, “No hE Is slEepiNG.”

“Okay, um good.” He had no idea what to say.

“toNy?” He looked at the mini Venom, “Are yoU aFRaID of ME?”

“No I – I don’t think so…” Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat and tried again, “I was but I don’t think I am anymore.” His hands are still steady in his lap so he pushes on, “Venom you’re not hurting Eddie right? You’ll protect him?”

“i NEEd hIM, goOd HOsT. hE’s…nICE And I PRoTecT mY huMAn.”

“Good, he needs it.” Tony smiled fondly looking past Venom at Eddie.

“…TOny My hUmAN?”

Tony was shocked and surprisingly not terrified by the alien trying to claim him. “Oh – I mean yeah, sure, if you need an endless supply of tater tots – I’m your guy.”

Venom’s snake head form stretched further up to nuzzle against his cheek, “MiNE.”

[fortunatelylori]

Why the Jon/D*any romance doesn’t work (Part 3)

When everyone and their mother has a different take on the same line of text

I must warn you in advance. In this 3rd post in the series (1, 2) we will go down the rabbit hole every woman has found herself in while reading her Tinder messages trying to extract some sort of meaning from a seemingly unrelated string of emojis.

Yes, boys and girls, now is the time to try and answer the all-important question that has plagued womanhood since the beginning of time: What does Jon mean when Jon says words?

Answering this question is extremely difficult since most of what he says can be interpreted in different ways. People have chalked it up to bad writing, rushed storyline and the actor’s limitations but is that really a fair assessment?

When analyzing the Jon/Dany scenes more closely, you begin to realize that they work on multiple levels both plotting wise and emotionally. It’s that both the direction of the scenes as well as the actor’s mannerisms aren’t what people expect them to be in that situation. The writers aren’t doing a bad job at presenting you a generic romance, they’re working overtime to both give you the basic structure of said romance while at the same time subverting every trope that they employ.

When trying to take things at face value and analyze the scenes as romantic in nature, the more I was hit with lines upon lines of dialogue that were vague, banal and impersonal. I started envisioning my scriptwriting editor taking out her red pen and cutting out these lines with notes like: what does that even mean?!? Because no editor in their right mind would’ve let this dialogue and these scenes as they are.

So why were these allowed to be filmed into a production of this level? My explanation for this is that these lines and scenes, while uninspired and unflattering to the character or the actor forced to speak them, do have the advantage of allowing the audience to read whatever they want into them, which they will because of how hotly anticipated this ship was. They’re simply allowing you to get tangled in the web so they can pull the rug from under your feet in season 8.

It might seem like I’m exalting the Ds writing abilities to extraordinary levels. But I’m not. It’s not that brilliant, to be honest. It’s a trick, nothing more. And they do it because they can. No other TV show could get away with inciting a ship this way only to annul everything put on screen later on. No show except Game of Thrones and no other ship except Jonerys. Why? Because Jonerys didn’t need to convince people to root for them, those people were already on board the ship long before Jon and Dany danced the devil’s tango. This has been one of the most hotly anticipated romances in TV history so the scenes only came to enforce what people wanted to see.

So do the writers really have anything to lose by trolling us? It doesn’t matter if Jonerys is real or fake, underdeveloped or the world’s most epic romance., everyone on planet Earth will still be tuning in to see every episode of the next season. If the Ds decide to confirm their fans dreams, then everyone who isn’t onboard will have to shrug off the inconsistencies and move on. If the political!jon theory is revealed in season 8, they will be hailed as the greatest twisters in the history of twisting. Every TV critic will write about it, will publish think pieces and then one day they will stumble on to Tumblr and discover my metas and I will become famous the world over …. Hey, a girl can dream, right?

So, let’s forget for a second that Dany and Jon were the ship that broke the internet and let’s look at the rest of the island scenes keeping in mind both the romance but also the possible subversion of said romance.

Scene 6:

Happy to report that Dany did not ask Jon to bend the knee in this scene.

Yay!

Progress!

Sort of …

There are 3 major things that are wrong with this scene in terms of the romance subplot:

1.       Jon’s reaction to Dany’s temper tantrum.

He looks like he’s about to send her to her room, with no supper. Btw, I hate it when people say that Kit Harrington is a bad actor. He might not be acting out what people want to see but his micro expressions are pretty on point.

Jon isn’t wrong in being frustrated by Dany’s public humiliation of her hand. However, it does undermine the romance, particularly since Jon’s reaction goes unnoticed by Dany. And the whole thing could have been avoided had the people behind the camera simply not shown us his reaction at all. These types of reaction shots are not filmed simultaneously with the rest of the scene so it’s actually a lot of extra camera work, positioning and actors doing the same scene over and over again just to show us that Jon is annoyed by Dany but chooses not to say anything. And they do this because the script, the blueprint of the story, told them to do it.

Alternatively, you could have these reaction shots take on a positive connotation by having Jon intervene and lecture her on her rudeness, for example. That would position him as the only person willing to tell her the truth, another romantic trope that pops up in couplings all the time. But the script doesn’t go there, instead planting this seed of Jon as being duplicitous in his interactions with the woman he’s supposed to have developed feelings for by now.  

Like I said, the writers don’t have a lot of time on their hands. They need to get us all on this ship as quickly as possible; there are only 3 episodes left. And yet they continue to torpedo our trust in this romance at every turn.

1.       Dany turning to Jon for help is unearned.

As we’ve already established they’ve spent the last 5 scenes talking about knee bendings, white walkers and little else. There is no common ground between the two of them that would make this request remotely romantic. So when Dany, out of the blue, decides to ask Jon what she should do, we can’t go: “Oh, look! They trust each other now. They’re a team.” On the contrary, we’re as taken aback by this as Jon is.

2.       He doesn’t actually help her.

The conversation goes like this:

Dany: what do you think I should do?

Jon: Don’t burn people alive.

Dany is moved by his speech, so moved in fact that she doesn’t notice he didn’t actually give her any advice on what to do, just a general rule of thumb on not turning people into torches.

This a pretty blatant subversion of what is a very useful trick writers use to build trust and intimacy in a romantic plot: have one of the partners help the other with a problem that they have.

By writing yet another general, non-committal response from Jon, they’re denying us, the audience, the reason to cheer for this romantic pairing and thus frustrating the momentum needed to credibly build up this relationship.

Scene 7: (or as I like to call it the “there’s a bridge I’d like to sell you” scene)

It doesn’t do this scene any favors that whenever Missandei starts talking about Dany, all I can think is “cult recruiter”.

It’s like she’s heading the welcome parade into Jonestown…

Leaving that disturbing imagery aside, why is this scene so deeply unsatisfying?

In order to answer that, what we really have to ask ourselves is what is the purpose of this scene? There are no useless scenes in scriptwriting. Every scene must serve a part in telling the story.

Is the purpose here to show that Missandei idolizes Dany? It can’t be. We already know that. Is it foreshadowing for Davos moving to Narth because it sounds like a “liberating” place? Doesn’t quite sound right.

It must be a scene that pays service to the Tyrion/Jon scene where Jon is advised to seek out people close to Dany. So the purpose of this scene is to see Jon learning some very positive things about Dany, from her number one fan. This feels like a very natural progression, because we’ve seen this done in stories a million times before. So I think most people will not really look very deep into this scene to really realize why by the end of it, the romantic plot hasn’t advanced at all.

The reason why this scene doesn’t serve its romantic purposel is because  the whole structure of it is wrong.

Let me explain. We start the scene with

Davos: What do you think about her?

Jon: I think she has a good heart.

This line is problematic to begin with because we have seen Dany do nothing that would indicate to Jon that she has a good heart. Since he’s been here, he’s been turned from King to Lord, to simply Jon Snow, he’s seen her humiliate Tyrion, refuse to help him fight the white walkers and develop a troubling bended knee fetish. So what is it that would prompt him to say that?

Well … what is the number one argument that Dany’s fans always bring up when people criticize her? I think it goes along the lines of: But she was doing it for the right reasons. She’s a good person … She has a good heart.

 I think this is the writers at their most trolliest giving people deeply invested in this ship something to cling onto when saying that this romance does actually exist, while simultaneously making people that dislike the ship tremble in their boots a little at the thought that it might be reciprocal.

 And just to make anti-Jonerys’ tremble even more, they double down with this little gem:

Davos: A good heart? I’ve noticed you starring at her good heart.

Yeah … sorry writers, I ain’t tremblin’. I’m a woman. I’ve developed a sixth sense for men checking out a girl’s … wolf bits. It looks a bit like this …

Nice try though!

How does Jon respond to Davos’ appraisal? Does he get flustered that he’s been found out? Does he reject it outright as a vile falsehood?

Jon: There’s no time for that.

And here I must ask again: what do the words that Jon ejects from his mouth mean?!? Does he use the excuse of the white walkers to hide his secret attraction? Does he mean it literally? Is Dany like the Flash, so quick there’s no time to look at her cleavage? Or is he letting out his frustration at having to play out this parody while the world is on the verge of annihilation, as the political!jon theory would support?

 The point is we don’t know. We can claw each other’s eyes out over this all we want. The line is left vague for a reason. We, unlike Jon for once, know nothing.

 Then we get to Missandei’s speech. She’s essentially the Pope of Daenerism. The main message of her speech is

Missandei: My queen has a good heart

Great. So why did we need this scene again?!? So Jon could find out what he already said he knew? Maybe he needed some reinforcement. What was his reaction to Missandei’s ode, you ask?

Can’t read my … can’t read my … nobody can read my poker face …

Followed by the old, faithful romantic classic

Jon: Is that a Greyjoy ship?!?

 So … a 2 min scene of writers trolling and an aerial shot of a ship … and absolutely no progress on the romance front. No wonder this scene is frustrating.

 Humor me for a moment and imagine this scene in a different sequence.Move Missandei’s speech in the beginning and end the scene with Jon saying Dany has a good heart. Eliminate the ship altogether. Doesn’t it feel like a better set-up and make the scene less repetitive and more romantic?

Scene 8:

The first part of this scene is breathtaking. Leaving aside everything else, it’s astounding to see how far television has gotten in terms of what they can present on screen. Everything from the CGI, to the scope of the shot, to the colors, music and scenery is stunning. It’s perhaps the most memorable moment of the entire season. Plot wise, it’s also extremely meaningful.

 Because of the stunning imagery, this has led people to interpret it as romantic in nature. But it isn’t. This is not about the Jon/Dany romance at all, but rather about R+L=J, about Jon himself and his nature. We’ve never seen another person apart from Dany get so close to Drogon before, let alone pet him. And all this is punctuated by Kit Harrington playing Jon as completely overwhelmed. As he should be. He’s doing something that people haven’t been able to do for 300 years and, more importantly than that, he’s doing something that feels strangely familiar to him.

 That’s why all those gif sets showing Jon as completely in awe that imply he’s looking at Dany are so frustrating. Watch this scene again and you’ll see that he’s holding eye contact with Drogon throughout, punctuated even by a close-up of the dragon’s eye looking at Jon. It’s only Dany that looks at him curiously, seeing him interact with her favorite pet/child.

 If you’re going to frame those looks as romantic in nature, you shouldn’t be shipping Jonerys at all but rather … Jonon? Drojon? Can’t decide …

 So, if we eliminate this first part, and concentrate solely on Jon and Dany’s conversation, what happens?

They disagree on whether fire breathing lizards are beautiful, gorgeous, beasts or children.

 Dany: They are not beasts to me. They are my children.

Jon’s face says it all really … (gif courtesy of @thelawyerthatwaspromised)

No resolution is reached on this front. So Jon abruptly changes the subject.

 Like I said in my previous post, romantic couples don’t reach this type of communicational impasses. They duke it out to the end or reach common ground. That’s what makes them work.

 But it gets worse. Not even the awkward transition to another subject leads to anything.

Jon: You weren’t gone long.

Dany: No.

Jon: And?

Dany: And I have fewer enemies today than I did yesterday.

Silence … Very awkward silence … Dany literally has to push the conversation forward and …

Dany: You don’t know how you feel about that

Jon: No, I don’t

…it still doesn’t go anywhere. The writers keep breaking the momentum of their dialogue over and over again and frustrating both Dany and the audience.

Just look at that face. That’s the face I pull every time I come back home from a bad date.

But Dany is a stubborn girl. She tries again, with another awkward change of subject.

Dany: When you first came here, Ser Davos said you took a knife to the heart for your people.

Jon: Ser Davos gets carried away.

This would have been the perfect time for Jon to open up, at least a little bit. He thinks she has a good heart after all, right? But no. He not only avoids the subject, he lies outright. Why? Why would he lie? And more importantly why do the writers want to keep Dany at arm’s length from Jon this far into their relationship?

Dany doesn’t completely believe him but have no fear!

 Luckily the plot intervenes before Jon is forced to answer. Heaven forbid that we get a meaningful conversation between 2 people that are about to have sex a few scenes from now. The less 2 people talk, share their feelings and experiences, the more impactful their romance is. Isn’t that how it goes?

 The introduction of Jorah in this scene is significant because the dreaded competitor for the maiden’s heart is a trope used to excess in romantic plots.

 No matter that the writers haven’t built up enough of a connection between Jon and Dany for us to feel the stakes of introducing this new element into their romance. Finally, now we have the opportunity to see Jon look jealous and feel that his bond to Dany is threatened by someone with whom she shares so much history. Sure he might be standoffish and cryptic when it’s just the two of them but surely he won’t be able to control himself when he sees his lady love hug another man. So what do you say, Jon?

P p p poker face, p p p poker face

Scene 9:

I won’t analyze this entire scene because most of it is not linked to the romantic subplot and also … it’s stupid. The whole hunt plot is stupid and Tyrion should lay off the bottle immediately. It’s affecting his intellectual skills.

 We will resume ourselved to the 3 romantic beats withing the scene.

 So, we start promisingly enough with Jon letting everyone know that Arya and Bran are alive. There’s no context as to why he decided to announce this in front of a room of strangers so read into that what you will. Perhaps he wanted to share the happy news with Dany …

Dany: I’m happy for you

 Silence

 Dany: You don’t look happy.

 Silence

 Perhaps we could tell from his expression?

Lady Gaga ran out of lyrics, you guys … sorry about that …

End of topic. No need to explore this momentous event for Jon or have the opportunity to see him sharing his happiness with the love of his life. That’s what fanfiction is for.

 Then there’s the part when Jorah offers to hunt down a zombie to bring back as trophy for his heart’s desire. This has, of course, prompted people to speculate that Jon decides to go on the hunt in order to one up him in Dany’s eyes. Which is not outlandish, per se. That’s what happens in a love triangle after all.

 However there are two issues with this.

 One - there is absolutely no one in the audience that thought Jon would not go on this hunt since the moment it was proposed. He was Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, he’s the only one in that room who has gone beyond the wall and the only one who has actually fought the army of the dead. Jorah or no Jorah, the scene would have ended with Jon going on the hunt. That sort of undercuts the whole jealousy angle.

 Secondly there’s this peculiar sequence of lines after Jorah says he’ll go:

Jon: The free folk will help us

Davos: They won’t follow Ser Jorah.

 Surely, if jealousy was what the writers were going for, those two lines should have been inversed. That could be construed as an attack on Jorah’s abilities by Jon and could lead to a starring context between the two, right before they’d take their shirts off and duke it out in the rain while Dany watches in rapture from the window.

 Does that sound like a ridiculous, over the top, infantile scenario? Sure … But let’s make one thing very clear. Writers do not introduce romantic triangles into stories because they want to keep it classy. They introduce it so that at some point we can end up here:

The last of the romantic plot in the scene comes right after Jon says he’ll go on the hunt.

Dany: I haven’t given you permission to leave.

This line pulls double duty in terms of plotting. It just does it in the wrong direction. On one hand, it torpedoes the love triangle because Dany clearly doesn’t want to let Jon go while she doesn’t have that many qualms about Jorah potentially freezing to death or getting killed. So with 8 words a triangle that started a scene ago has been turned back to a straight line for the audience. That’s no way to build up tension between your characters.

 The second thing it does is that it shows, once again, just how one sided this whole relationship is. Because Jon is not at all touched by Dany’s concern for his well-being.

 In fact he seems rather annoyed by her attempt.

Jon: With all due respect, your Grace, I don’t need your permission. I am a King.

This has been described as a ‘panty dropping’ line. Except that depending on where your alligencies lie, the interpretation for why it pulverizes underwear is different. People that are invested in this ship say that this is the moment Jon proved himself a good King to Dany. People that reject this ship see it as the moment when Jon regains his agency and status, after being humiliated by not only the queen, but also her servant when denied his rightful title.

 Again, this is a problem. Because you shouldn’t have two contradictory explanations for one line this late in the plot. By this point we should all agree on the basic meaning behind what Jon says, whether we like the pairing or not.

 Also:

Jon: I put my trust in you … a stranger […] Now I’m asking you to trust in a stranger.

 We end this scene with Jon calling the two of them ‘strangers’. It kind of feels like we’ve been through 9 scenes and three episodes of romantic build-up and we have nothing to show for it.

Scene 10:

This scene has been analyzed a lot so I won’t dwell too much on it. The reason why it’s gotten so much interest is because of the ‘look back’ trope.

Jon not looking back is not, in and of itself, a problem. In isolation, it can be seen as a missed opportunity on the writers’ part. Adding the fact that Dany does follow him with her eyes for quite a bit just like the lovely John Thornton does with Margaret Hale in the gif above, does put a blemish on the whole thing.

But then the writers for some reason double down on this motif by having Jorah look back at Dany. And then the camera also includes Jon pointedly NOT looking back.

Look at the boy go … It’s like he’s trying out for the Forest Gump remake. Run, Jon, run!

Once you put all of these elements together in one scene it becomes less of a frustrating lack of romantic fulfillment and more of an intentional message that is very hard to ignore.

But let’s leave that to the side and talk about their last words to each other.

Jon: If I don’t return, at least you won’t have to deal with the King in the North anymore

Dany: I’ve grown used to him

Jon: I wish you good fortune in the wars to come, Your Grace

I’ve already pointed out in my first post of the series how deeply unwise it would be to have Jon say good-bye to Dany by using Mance Rayder’s last words to Stannis if we were to look at this scene in a romantic way.

 It isn’t just the fact that Stannis and Mance were enemies. It’s also problematic because Mance was on his way to being burned alive for not bending the knee. Fire is something that the audience connects to Dany immediately. And what was the main bone of contention for these 2 characters throughout Jon’s stay on the island?

Aside from that, the dynamic between them is exactly the same. Dany’s attempt at warmth and intimacy is flanked by two general, formal statements by Jon, the first of which is actually a bit passive-aggressive if you remember that Dany requested he bend the knee so she could name him Warden of the North.

 Also, this is put in direct contrast with the way Jorah says good-bye to her.

Dany: We should be better at saying farewell by now.

Jorah: Your Grace, I …

Jorah’s line is interrupted by Dany grabbing his hands. This touch elicits such a powerful emotional response from him that he can’t continue his train of thought. He simply bends his head and kisses her hand.

 If you were saying good-bye to someone you love, which one of these two responses would feel more bitter-sweet and romantic? Which one would you like to receive?  

 If you say Jon’s …. Well then:

(source: @dreamofspring)

Thank you guys so much for all your great feed-back and a special thank you to @thelawyerthatwaspromised for supplying me with some of the gifs in this post. They were a life saver. The rest of the gifs and clips also do not belong to me. I picked them up from all over the place so if you recognize your work, let me know and I will add the source below the pic. Thank you!

Also: 

stay tuned for part 4