Petty and Dishonest

Megara from Disney's Hercules Independent, Semi-Selective Multifandom, Multiship, Multiverse Mun/Muse: 25+ NSFW tagged Written by Bandit Established December 28, 2015

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Meg is officially moving to my multimuse blog here. I will be keeping the following threads:

Any current thread with @cantusecho (or at least keeping the relationship they’ve built up)

Any current thread with @sandsofchaos (or at least keeping the relationship they’ve built up)

Any current thread with @streetxcat (or at least keeping the relationship they’ve built up)

I would also like to keep up the pre-established relationships with @shcsallrightnow and @mentalpsi.

If anyone else would like to continue our threads or would like new threads with Meg, let me know over on the multimuse, which I’ve linked above.

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Meg is officially moving to my multimuse blog here. I will be keeping the following threads:

Any current thread with @cantusecho (or at least keeping the relationship they’ve built up)

Any current thread with @sandsofchaos (or at least keeping the relationship they’ve built up)

Any current thread with @streetxcat (or at least keeping the relationship they’ve built up)

I would also like to keep up the pre-established relationships with @shcsallrightnow and @mentalpsi.

If anyone else would like to continue our threads or would like new threads with Meg, let me know over on the multimuse, which I’ve linked above.

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hey y’all i know i queued some stuff up a while ago, but i don’t know when i’ll be back here to do replies again.  i shuffle around between my blogs a lot, and meg’s in that shuffle but tends to get lost between the longstanding ones and the new ones.  i think she’d be doing better if i hadn’t had that three month gap of no internet right after i set her up.  i do miss her, but it might be long stretches of time in-between being here and not being here, and i apologize for that.

if you need me, you can find me at one of the following: @aeipathix, @ofbeliefsunraveled, @cruximpetus, or @mathematicpoetry.  That’s Jessica Irving (if you know me from Jessica Rabbit, you might know her), Bedelia du Maurier (Hannibal fandom), my multimuse (primarily Tara Maclay (Buffy), Regina Mills (OUAT), Joyce Byers (Stranger Things), and Cordelia Goode (AHS)), and Galen Erso (Star Wars: Rogue One), respectively.

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gxfangen:

╳ ▓ animatronic ▓ ╳

     Springtrap snorted. This greek mythology thing really wasn’t his cup of tea. Also, this was getting to close to his own situation, && it was making him highly uncomfortable.

“D-d-drowing re-re-eally would be mu-much worssssse ——- b-b-b-but drowning f-f-f-from one’s blo-blo-blood - so-sounds amusing to me-me-eeee!!”

     The animatronic slightly tilted his head, yellowish eyes piercing the woman. His mind already did the job for him && imagined her dying the same way he just described.

           “I’m sure it would be.  Much faster              than normal drowning.  And more              painful.  Where would all the blood              come from?  Am I stabbed?  Shot?              Beaten?”      There’s something almost comforting about considering her own death.  As though she would die.  Eventually.  Hopefully.

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ryxbread:

“MAYBE  do a bake sale or something to raise funds. I’m pretty good at baking stuff,” he said, trying not to brag. “Hey, aren’t you in Dr. Bahner’s class? Meg, right? I’m Ryan.”

“Bake sale - I’ll bring baklava.  Not very good, but no one has to know that.”  Meg winks.  “Yeah - Meg.”  She pauses.  “Ryan - I know you.  You sit a couple seats over, right?”

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disrxpair:

    “Maybe fer a lovely lookin’ lass like ye, but fer a pirate fox wit’ my reputation, bein’ cute would serve me no purpose.”

          “Even better - no one would notice you, being all cute and piratey.  They wouldn’t know what to do with themselves.”

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shcsallrightnow:

Abigail’s smile grew lopsided. “People would probably call we ‘guarded types’ sad, but I call us prepared. You won’t see me forking over my heart the way I forked over my trust, that’s for sure.” Brightening at the topic of her book collection, she nodded. “Oh yeah, definitely. Well…I don’t mean to toot my own horn or anything, but I’ve been collecting books ever since I could read. And I love sharing them, just so long as my books are ultimately returned to me.”

Laughing softly at Meg’s joke, Abigail followed her out into the hallway. “Yeah. Heaven forbid we actually show a human side for a change.”

“Hey, I always return books.  Never got so much as a scratch on my library record.  Librarians and I were besties.”  Meg gave a thumbs up gesture - smile, locked, pose.  “Which one’s your favorite?  I’ll make sure to avoid eating while I read it.”  Unlike Maria, who had done so on accident and so was forgiven, and Helen, who noticed Meg’s reaction to Maria and decided hey, let’s fuck with my sister and so was not forgiven.  Was in fact banned.

“Human?  Us?  Not on your life.”

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cantusecho:

Something to do? Hibiki didn’t think that far ahead, probably because she didn’t expect Meg to ask or even consider the idea. So what could she offer? What was available to do down here? Did she have any sort of past time activities?

The young teenager prodded her brain, literally poking the side of her head as if that would get it going. “Well, uh, aha,” she started out awkwardly, “…what is it that you like to do with your free time?”

Free time? As opposed to the people who lived down here - well, not lived, but dwelled - Meg’s free time really depended on...her.  There were definitely things she was required - by herself - to do, welcoming the newcomers first and foremost, occasionally going to claim them when something suggested they might be particularly difficult, and some other activities that she had allowed certain others who remained down here to do without her. But when she was free...she wasn’t here.  She was above, pretending to be...someone else. Alive.

Well.  Technically she was alive.  She just didn’t feel like it. “I like to be somewhere else - in the sun, lying on the beach, getting a tan - real colors.  Rainbows.  All that jazz.”  Meg is as bad as Hades was (or is, wherever he’s at now).  “Our current predicament is a little more...stuck.”

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Thirty-nine have entered the waters...

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chainsxwsmile:

The shark’s head perked up, a deadpan bemused expression transitioning across his wide face at the stranger’s inquiry. 

“It’s ‘lways the ‘eatin’ bit’ I don’t get,” the great white mused, flicking his tail to circle around the human. “I mean, sure we’ve got a massive jaw, pretty sharp teeth. But without a doubt, the first thing someone thinks I’m gonna do is eat ‘em. Kinda unoriginal, it gets. After the hundredth time,” he added, rolling his eyes. “I mean, ye’ve got pretty long hair, but no one goes up to ye and thinks ‘oi’ that sheila’s gotta good headful ‘f hair so she must be out steal my hair’, don’t they?” Bruce asked, studying the human from one of his piercing blue eyes. 

After a moment’s pause, the great white opened his mouth again to voice his own inquiry. “So ye’ve gotta a name, sheila?” 

“No, they don’t ask about my hair.  Mostly they don’t ask and take every answer as the one they want.  Always yes.”  The words are quick, rapid fire; she isn’t thinking before she says them, and they feel almost worn coming through her lips.  Even if she wasn’t treading water, they’d be fast - it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she’s treading water and has to speak between breaths.

She bobs up and down in the water a little bit, tired.

“Meg.  Megara.  Meg.  And what is your name, great toothy one?”

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youmaythinkyouknowme:

‘ I’m gonna be honest here and tell you that it’s   almost too much work and sometimes it does   shit without your permission. also, it bites, and   changes styles and hates being brushed. the   plus side is that it’s helpful in a fight but really,   that’s it. ‘

     “Well.  If I’m ever in a fight, I’ll remember        that.  Tell my hair to snap into shape.  I’ll        need all the help I can get.”  Not that she’s      ever been in a fight.  Not one where slapping      hair would help.  “Doesn’t sound like much of        a plus.”

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whichmorgan:

          had a rough time, is having a rough time, will be having a rough time for the next.. how long does it take for ptsd to go away? or for memories to fade? can they ever really? she likes to think so. deb likes to believe that maybe there’s a timer somewhere, counting down until she can get through the day without a xanax or the nights where she doesn’t lay awake listening for suspicious sounds until two am. she likes to hope that maybe, one day, after she has suffered enough, that a switch will flip and brian moser will never have existed to her. it’s UNBEARABLE to consider the alternatives; that he will only go away after years and years of slow fading, or perhaps that he will never really go away at all. no, these thoughts are too devastating. debra doesn’t entertain them.

           ❛ yeah, ❜ deb half whispers, half CHOKES out in response. some people just don’t deserve to breathe. it’s funny, because even after everything, had deb really wished he would die? when she walked into the apartment, saw him there with his throat slit, did it bring relief? maybe, but it was the same relief she would have felt seeing him get a life sentence in prison. she isn’t sure it’s right to decide that he didn’t deserve to breathe. maybe he had, once. ❛ maybe you’re right. i guess i don’t get to make that fucking decision. ❜ she hangs her head a little, nails tapping at the bar counter top, feeling nauseous. whether it’s from the memories or the drinks is unclear.           she’s going to need to call a taxi for sure. 

                    “It’s easier when someone else decides.”

          That may be insensitive to say - something in her notices it after she says it, and she cares but not enough to take it back.  Her hands cup her drink, and she hunches forward the slightest bit, eyes trained down into the amber liquid.  She’s not making comparisons, but the conversation cannot help but make her think of Penny, of taking on her load, of being left--           Of watching Hadrian shoot her            It would have been far easier, in that moment, to not know.  For Penny to just have left, for nothing to have been explained.  She wouldn’t have felt so...useless.  Wasted. Used.                     “They don’t feel...guilty.”

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cantusecho:

The reassurance made her feel better but the words Meg offered made sense. There were various things Hibiki wished she had handled better, or changed, but there’s no way to go back. Now if she meant current events, then Hibiki wouldn’t be able to understand. With all the people Meg, apparently, had to watch over down here, that meant they would be stuck forever? It was sad to think as such. 

“I…guess that makes sense. Though sometimes, don’t you wish there was something you could do? Or, at least, make it a bit easier for people down there?” Though that could just be how Hibiki felt but who knows? Maybe Meg wished to but was restricted. 

Make things easier?  Had she not done that?  Had she not taken time to create the Meadows of Asphodel or the Elysian Fields, so that the souls were not stuck draining away forever in an endless river of death?

                                    But who would possibly call that better? Compared with life, with the mortal realm, with remembering and being and breathing and living, who would call that better?  Meg certainly couldn’t.  Even as the newly made goddess of the underworld in Hades’s disappearance, she wasn’t sure she would call what she was doing living.  And she certainly wasn’t sure it was better than being stuck in the underworld, in the draining river, might have been. “You can’t bring the dead back to life.”

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neko-shadow:

weakncss:

“It’s a lot better than the wars, at least.” Meg remembered the crusades from centuries ago, remembered the men and women and children swarming to the underworld. Often they were still squabbling away over it, ghostly forms trying to damage what could no longer be damaged, even past realizing there was nothing to be done. Some still held grudges - enough to keep them in her meadows and away from her fields. Meg followed Shadow’s lead easily enough, watching the crowd carefully. One of the men they passed seemed to pause, to stare at her vacant eyed, and a slight humming assured her that they would meet in a few hours. She wasn’t sure what he saw. Probably the Reaper, if that was what he expected.

“A lot of things are better than wars.” Shadow said. He had taken part in a war, although it hadn’t been a very serious one and had only lasted basically one battle. He had been quite handsomely paid for it though, and hadn’t killed anyone, which is something he was proud of. He hadn’t killed anyone, to the best of his knowledge, and he couldn’t think of a wound that he had inflicted on anyone that would kill them, unless they were particularly dumb about getting it treated. Meg probably would know better than him if he had killed anyone, although he had no idea of that at the time.

Shadow led her into the cafe, barely noticing the man who stared at her as her passed, imagining that he was probably staring at her body. She wasn’t exactly the most endowed woman he had ever met, but she did have wide hips and a very slim waist, which did make her look very curvy. So he simply assumed that they were staring at her body as he lead her inside, leading her to an empty table and taking a menu to look at what was on offer.

Meg had nothing to say to that.  She agreed, and that was that.  As far as whether or not Shadow had unintentionally killed someone - that wasn’t something she knew off the top of her head.  She didn’t particularly keep track of who killed whom, although some of those in the underworld held intense grudges against those who killed them.  Ares, perhaps, would know that implicitly.  Meg was more tuned in to when someone would die.

She tried not to think about that.  It made being among living humans hard.

In the cafe, looking through the menu, and her lips curved into a smirk.  “What do you think the reaction would be to a bit of day drinking?” Wine.  She means wine.

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streetxcat:

                         SHE FOLLOWED, moving to her feet and then remaining still.  She was stiff from having just been sitting for so long, but Cat knew they were about to start walking, so no need to stretch just yet.  No need to dust off, either – she was a dirty girl.  No amount of DUSTING would fix that.  Her hands had grime e t c h e d into the cracks that ran along her palm.  Fingernails were almost painted with the brown and black coloring of asphalt and trash.  On top of which they were bitten to the nub or simply broken from lack of care.  It had been around a week since she had last managed a shower.  Even then, the water pressure had been pitiful and cold, leaving it mostly to just be a chance to rinse her hair some, the WILD tangles already returned, sending her hair into a frenzy about her head.

                      It was rare for people to believe she had a home life at all.  Most thought her as a runaway.  Others figured she just lived with a boyfriend who couldn’t pay for proper items due to a CRAPPY job.  Then there were the people who thought she was addicted and chose to be out there bartering for her next fix.  The last amount realized she was just homeless and didn’t think about where she came from.  Very few, it ANY, had ever considered she had been abandoned.

                                                   There was also those that suspected her of criminal                              activity.  To which they were RIGHT.  Though she was on a much                              smaller scale now  –  no longer with the ring where she had dealt                              with drugs and heists and, unfortunately, killing.                                             Cat was a bad girl, but she wasn’t HEARTLESS.

                     At the question, small head raised to look upon her companion.  Sunken gaze was apathetic, too tired to bother with braving an emotion in the chill of a light wind.  Hands were dug deep into her pockets while she remained still, a stature that looked as if it could s h a t t e r on the breeze and clothed in fabric too big for it.

                                                     “There’s a burger joint two blocks south.  A Chinese                                 place jus’ down the road over t’our left.  Then a couple Mickey D’s                                an’ the like jus’ scattered round the corners.”

                          Meg wanted to suggest Chinese - all you can eat buffet style was almost always a good idea, if you weren’t inclined for leftovers or anything of the sort (and reheating Chinese, even in those cases, was only good in the context of the sugar sprinkled fried doughnuts or maybe egg drop soup) - but something about food that felt good for the first few hours but left you craving more even when you thought you’d eaten enough didn’t sit well right now.           Her own nails were impeccably trimmed.  When she wasn’t working or painting (or a few other things, although there wasn’t much other than those two anymore), Meg took the time to curve and paint and trim her nails.  It was a sign of something, from a working perspective, that she had the time and the money to do it.  A clean, well-pressed look.                                                     And she’d do it anyway, but that was beside the point.      “What sounds good to you?”                            Meg wasn’t extremely hungry herself.  Between burgers and Chinese--                            either was fine with her.  Money wasn’t a concern.  And she didn’t hate                            McDonald’s.  Most of the time.

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me: ok cleared out followers of inactives now to cut down on replies me: but i like all of these me: i can’t drop these they’re great -still has twenty-three replies left- me: HEY AT LEAST IT ISN’T FORTY

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cruximpetus:

Here is this.

If you voted for Clinton, I don’t hate you. If you voted third party, I don’t hate you. If you voted for Trump, I don’t hate you.

Given the choices, you went with who you thought would be best for the country. Regardless of whether I agree with you or not, I’m not going to hate you. That seems defeatist to me. That’s the sort of rhetoric that is just going to fuel more hatred and anger.

So, I don’t hate you. This election was tough - every election is tough - and I believe you put just as much thought and weight into your decision as I did into mine.

And if you chose not to vote, I won’t hate you either. I’ve been in that position. I understand.

In that same manner, I hope that you would not hate me based solely on the person for whom I voted, regardless of who they may be. Hatred does us no good. It will only make things worse.

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I know I have not been here lately (I’ve been on four of my other blogs, two of which are new, and trying to get a fifth set up), but know that I do really want to return to Meg - it’s one of the things on my list of things I want to do if I have time.  I don’t know how many of the threads I currently have that I’ll keep (because I can certainly think of a few that I definitely want to keep), but I know that I’ll probably be going through and dropping some of them.  Condensing, basically, so that I can add Meg into the Bandit’s cycle of muses.

Right now I’ve got one blog that I’m trying to keep completely on top of as far as replies, and then the others I’ve been cycling through.  I want to add Meg into that cycle.  However, because this month is nanowrimo and I’m working on something in that, it’s possible that it may still be a while before Meg gets added in.

But now that I do want to come back.  Eventually.

-crosses fingers-