#it's just jarring to me that nobody does even ironically

[theparadoxmachine]

Does anyone else have a rarepair ship that's like "it's not that I want to read fic about them hate fucking, I just think it's weird that there isn't any"

[cl4im-u-0n-m7-t4x3z]

1 2 5 + 8 for Spencer and/or Kevin NKotR

holy shit TWO characters to talk about youre so niceys to me .. ok first of all

1. What are your favorite headcanons for them?

Ok this might be inaccurate in like 2 days bc im bad at favouritse . Umm . for spencerr. One of my favourite hcs for her. and this is like kind of nothingburger but i like to think that she sort of engages with the world as if she genuinely believes she is fictional. DOES she believe that?? Maybe. It depends on what is funniest to me in the moment ☝️☝️ but as a rule i like to think that she kind of acts like she is on hit sitcom the office (ive never seen a single episode of the office i just know the camera is diagetic) . One of my favourite headcanons for kevin is that he's some sort of protestant christian. Probably calvinist. I don't know the idea is just funny to me This is a protestant man!!!!!

2. What’s a headcanon / characterization you’ve seen for them that you dislike?

I dont knowwwwwwwww.... NKotR fandom so small i havent seen like any characterizations that i DISLIKE. one thing that vaguely annoys me with characterizing Spencer specifically is like. this is just bc i have worms but she kinda gets that whole "character mentions food once and it becomes their whole gimmick" thing . sometimes it's funny but also the onion rings have genuine symbolism to me and nobody really gets it. wait.... nobody ..... say that again ☝️☝️☝️(<-Reference to book nine of the Odyssey in which Odysseus introduces himself as "Nobody" to the cyclops so that when they take out his eye he will say "nobody has harmed me")

5. What social media apps would they use most regularly?

ok . Obviously MySpace for spencer (ironically though, who do you think she is?) . Facebook for both of them but for different reasons. Spencer literally talks about using facebook like straight out so that's that. Kevin, technologically speaking, kind of has Old Person Vibes. i mean he literally didn't Know what a Video Game was until Computer Fighters. they had a whole gag about it. and facebook of course is the Old People social media. I think in the year of our cosmic angels 2025 Spencer would've loved xiaohongshu. like come on it's like the slightly less popular Tiktok. Come On!!!

8. What political views would they have?

[wearing shirt that says I <3 SPECULATING ON THE POLITICAL STANCES OF CHARACTERS I LIKE] So . Like. Hipsters as a Group are generally more left-leaning than the average bear and that's because a big part of hipsterism is (The appearance of) being counterculture. Spencer herself mentions the ideas of global warming and the Iraq war, both in seemingly negative contexts. I Think that she's. kind of liberal in an edgy way if that makes sense. Like she desires the shock value that comes with being radically against the current system but none of that really coalesces into a fully fledged political opinion. She's all for like gay marriage and legal weed. She Knows the terms proletariat and bourgeoisie. But it is kind of unclear whether this is another Ironic Bit or if she would actually put her money where her mouth is if given the chance (she wouldn't). Now. Kevin is a lot easier to parse a political opinion from because of The Money Tree. this political opinion of course is DIOS MIO!!!!! A LIBERALLLL!!!! but NOT in the same way spencer is at all. Kevin is actively in favour of america as an institution, he is a footballing, leather jacket wearing, Atomic Age American Man!!!!! But ☝️ He goes to pro-choice rallies and recycles his cans and jars. The conservatism is ok if it's not THAAAAT conservative!!! Some people want gay people dead. HE wants gay people to bootstrap or something??? I don't even remember the point i was trying to make. he's the whitest person who ever did the funky chicken. this is the longest fucking paragraph in this post because i cant make a point concisely to save my life but i hope you get the gist

[ghoststookournightmares]

Why did Nick's goodbye affect Boston that way?

I think it's hard or jarring to understand why Boston felt like he was coming undone listening to Nick when the most stuff they did was just f**king. The thing is even if they were doing the nasty 80% of the time, that 80% was when Boston was the happiest. And Nick did LOVE him, like love him. And I mean of course what Nick did wasn't just stalker-ish, it was what stalkers do!!! BUT, I think what happened is that neither of them is completely mentally A-OKAY... They both have their issues and Boston especially has always shunned connections, especially long-lasting ones, because he knows he'll leave and that is just burdensome, so he treats everything as use and throw, hurting so many people in the process.... And I don't know, but I'm speculating he also treats the concept of LOVE similarly, probably after watching his parents, coupled with the fact that Boston uses both himself and others with sex as a currency in exchange for something like a good time, a power play, a way of feeling good about himself, a trade-off, a way to obtain conquests, which at the END OF THE DAY makes Boston extremely lonely... He is a human and you can't avoid connections just like that... BUT NOBODY SEES/OR SAW THE HUMAN BOSTON, not the evil, villainous slutty, assholey Boston, but also the artist Boston, the humane Boston underneath..... UNTIL MR. NICHOLAS ARRIVES.

And I'm very intrigued by Nick's character too, I wish we got some backstory... But Nick as we can see is very naive, very impulsive, and introspective but strangely and foolishly thinks that he is clever... He has abandonment issues, and self-esteem issues too... But what he has that Boston never had was EMPATHY, intense EMPATHY, or clinically illegal empathy, with which he sees the world. And he in his own warped mind accepts Boston, good, bad, and ugly, and even if to Boston they were just FWB, those times he spends with Nick are enjoyable, happy, pleasurable (in a different, not exactly sexual way) unknowingly allowing Nick to burrow under his skin. And even though Nick loves Boston, most assuredly, still he does feel upset too... And we saw that when he told Mew about Gap... But the thing is Nick feels things deeply, more deeply than the others, and in a way he is softer, gentler, and more straightforward than probably anyone Boston has ever known.

And before Boston could even comprehend what had happened in his strictly FWB relationship with Nick, he was ALREADY ATTACHED TO him. He never considered that he would be the one pining for something other than sex, but he did, and that's why Nick's betrayal seemed so drastic for him. Because he genuinely was becoming fond of Nick. But Boston would never have acted on this feeling, instead choosing to bury it away IF NICK HADN'T GIVEN HIS FINAL GOODBYE MONOLOGUE TO HIM.

Nick changed the trajectory of their relationship. THE FIRST PERSON TO SAY SORRY TO BOSTON. To say that I appreciate you, I think you're not a terrible person even if you think so, and I appreciate your dreams and hope you achieve them one day and I love-you-enough-to-let -you-go.... And finally goodbye my lover, I wish you nothing but the best, shook Boston because not only was Nick brave, he was vulnerable, he owned up to his mistakes and he affirmed that yes, you made me happy and I see you, all of you and I still love you. It broke Boston to be 'loved' at all, but in this way by a man, he cheated on and broke his heart.... Also, I want to add, that a lot of people make fun of how Nick eavesdropped on other of Boston's hookups but poetically it is so ironic because in that moment Nick was actually grounding Boston away from another one of his meaningless hook-ups, stopping him from running away from his actual thoughts and processes... And what was very interesting was it was Nick apologizing and bidding him farewell, but it was Boston who couldn't meet his eyes. I would also like to add, that honesty is Boston's saving grace, something we also see in Nicholas in episode 9, like two peas in a pod.

Lastly, I think all credit goes to Mark and Neo for fleshing out such complex, selfish, almost-criminal characters with such finesse, humanity, and vulnerability with so little screentime.

[bruiserelliot]

I sat at the edge of oblivion, my feet dangling gently. The scythe was heavy in my hand.

"I dunno about this."

"What? Nonsense, you'll be great." I stood and turned back to where Death was adjusting their robes, twisting their skull back onto their recently extended spine. "You have absolutely nothing to worry about. You don't even have to do much, the scythe does most of the work. Just give it the old 'your time has come, I'm here for your soul, the clock has run out, blah blah blah.' Works every time."

"Right, yeah, no I got that part, but I feel like it might be important to point out that the last several centuries have proved it doesn't work every time," I argued, trying not to trip over the too-big robes I'd been given. "Nobody's died for the last, like, several millennia. He's not just gonna come quietly like I did."

"Please, you came anything but quietly." Death smirked. How they managed to do that without lips was beyond me.

Death was a good boss, that was for sure, and they'd been a welcome change when I, well, died. Still getting used to that. Turns out getting into back alley fights a few days after Death's recent prison break was enough to actually get you killed. Knives could do that. Who knew?

The knife guy left when he saw the massive shadow behind me, and when I turned around, all I heard was them.

"Do not be afraid, your time has-"

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

"Oh, right."

"I dunno who the fuck you think you are dude but you better back the hell up or I'll tear your fucking teeth-"

"Um, yes, about that." A skeletal finger pointed behind me.

"What?!" I whirled around, ready for round two with the knife guy. No knife guy. Just me, on the ground. I was staring at me. But the me was on the ground, and it wasn't moving, and blood had pooled around it(me?). "Ohhh fuck, oh fuck what was that knife laced with dude?"

"Nothing. Hoo boy, okay I am way worse at this than I thought. Hold on." The shadow pushed their hood back, revealing a whole ass fucking skull. Yeah that knife was definitely laced. "No it wasn't. Hi there, I'm Death, I'm rusty, I need a new reaper, and you're dead. Want a job?"

"... WHAT THE-"

I rolled my eyes, going back to the ledge, looking down at our next target.

"Ooh, I like that word, target. Succinct, to the point." Death twirled the scythe in their hand idly.

The man below the ledge was Walter Archibald Rathe. The richest man in the world, and the oldest to boot.

When Death had been sealed away, three men had been the culprits. Antonio Stillpenece, Oscar Mineaf, and Rathe. All three were now worth billions and had an effective iron fist over the unending world.

They were all complete wackjobs, obsessed with nothing but their own lives, their own power.

Nobody really knew how they did it. Something to do with horses and the apocalypse, I don't really like to think about it.

But someone in the last few weeks had found the jar they'd stuffed Death into, and managed to open it. Every person Death had caught up with since then had turned down the option to become a reaper. Till me I guess.

"Yeah, so you shouldn't be stressing so much."

"Maybe I wouldn't be stressing if I wasn't about to kill the worst man in the world!"

Walter down there was a particularly nasty breed of rich man. The nastiest in fact. See, when you can't exactly threaten people with death anymore, you have to get creative. Ruthlessly creative. Walter's billions sat on trillions of tortured people. Humans that, had Death still been free to do their damn job, would have died centuries, if not millennia ago. Instead they rotted in cages built from their own agony, begging for any end to the pain. Some of them didn't even know death was an option, it had been so long. And here he sat, at the top of his building, as floors and floors and floors were flooded with his wrath.

Death was well overdue here, and they knew it.

"Listen to me. Men like him typically have no idea what happens when you shake a bottle of coke. They don't know what tension builds, what bubbles brew and fizz and make their way to the top. And this particular bottle has been shaking since I've been put away. Too long."

I looked down at Walter, and up at Death.

In all my years, and there were many, I had always assumed that, were death to come for me, it would be kind. And I was right, they certainly had been, to me.

But as I looked at them, the kind spirit who had offered me a job had faded. They stood at the edge with me, hood up, robes billowing, scythe poised. "Now are we going to let it sit? Or are we going to open the bottle?"

I looked down at Walter again. I could hear it. The fizzing whispers, begging for an end. The muscles pulling tight to try and stay together. Walter's chuckle as he added another coin to his pile.

"Mm. Thought so."

"... I wasn't the first one to say yes to the job offer, was I?"

"... No." Death pulled my hood up, and the robes began to shift around me, no longer dragging on the ground. I gripped the scythe tight, feeling the wood soften and shift under my hand.

I stepped down into WAR's office.

"Wh-What the, who are you?"

"Walter Archibald Rathe. Your time has come. Your clock has run out. I have come on behalf of my employer, and I am here for your soul."

"Don't ignore me dammit, who are you?!"

I raised my scythe,

"Pandora Teasurre. Reaper."

and I opened the bottle.

Many ages ago Death was defeated and sealed. Immortality is the norm, but the loss of death has lead to a society of ultralites that rule over never dying slaves. As Death’s first reaper after the unsealing, you are here to remind them why Death exists… and why your master should be feared.

[king-maven-calore]

Mareven “I was waiting for the bus in the rain and you drove past and soaked me in water. Now I’m at a coffee shop and hey look who’s here”

I had so much fun with this one! thanks for sending it love 💞

Mare had done everything right.  

She'd showered with hours in advance, done her make up and picked out her outfit, left her apartment on time. She would not be blamed for when this date went to shit, just like all the others. Her friends didn't believe her when she told them she was cursed for dates. No matter how much chemistry she seemed to have with someone, the moment they arranged for a date, things went to shit in an instant.

Poisoned food, getting catfished, getting stood up, someone's crazy ex showing up. All things that had happened to her. Of course, there were the usually shitty dates in the traditional sense, where the person just wasn't her type after all. Her type being: anyone that did not have a foot fetish, spent more than ten minutes posting where they were and what were they going to eat on social media, or "kindly" suggested she should change some aspect of her personality or how she looked. Her eyebrows were a crowd favorite, since super thin brows were back in vogue. Those requirements wiped out 70% of Archeon's dating pool. 

And speaking of pools, her boots were already flooded by the time she made it under the shelter of the bus stop. She had clung to her umbrella for dear life and her outfit of ripped jeans, crotchet crop top and a vintage jean jacket (cute as hell, in her opinion) was miraculously intact. 

Because today's curse was: the freaking weather. It was fine, she supposed, if it meant that the universe was toying with her in the arrival, rather than the date itself. Which could only mean this was going to be a big one. Today, she might meet the love of her life. She snorted at her ironic excess of positivity.  

With a pleased smirk, she closed her umbrella and fixed her gaze on the approaching bus. 

She was too focused on reading the bus route to notice the sleek black Lexus that maneuvered itself in front of it maniacally fast. It fled past her, drenching her from head to toe with a tsunami wave of murky water. 

 🚘💦

Coffee. Maven needed Italian coffee this very second or he would commit arson. He hated days like this, where it felt like the universe was conspiring to make him hate life more than usual. He'd spent the entire night awake, going over a case, only to lose today at court. And it was raining, and his mother had invited him for dinner at their house. His father would give him shit about losing, despite the fact that he never lost, and Cal would surely announce he'd discovered the cure for cancer or some other great feat like that.  

His hands were shaking by the time he made it to the counter of his favorite coffee shop. The smell of roasted beans already started soothing his volatile mood. He shoved a generous tip in the jar simply because the girl at the cashier didn't use an obnoxiously chipper voice or try to make small talk. Thank fuck for people who kept human interaction at a necessary minimum. 

While he waited for his order, a dog started peeing on his leg. His head slowly turned in that direction, ready to skin the creature alive... but it wasn't a dog and it wasn't pee.  

There was a tiny woman squeezing water from her long ponytail onto his shoe. What the fuck? 

"Excuse me?" he sneered twisting away from her. 

"Oh? you don't like having filthy water thrown your way? Well, guess what, piece of shit ghoul, nobody does! Don't drive around town splashing pedestrians! Were you raised by wolves?" 

She was standing on her tiptoes to bark in his face (or as close as she could get with her stature). Wet tendrils of brown hair clung to her blotchy red face, her pupils dilated as she raged at him. She was so unapologetically angry, it was a delight to watch. Something warm started seeping in his chest, and he wasn't even drinking his coffee yet. 

He quirked a brow and asked in a bored tone. "Didn't you have an umbrella? It is raining, in case you didn't notice." 

Her pretty face went from blotchy angry to completely twisted wrath. 

"I did- I do, and I’m going to shove it up your ass!" she pressed her umbrella menacingly against his throat.  

"As entertaining as these dramatics are," Maven remarked, pushing the tip of the umbrella away from his neck with a finger. "It would be in your best interest to keep your voice down." 

"Or what? You're calling your lawyer?" She mocked him eyeing his suit and (rightfully) guessing his general economic status.  

He surprised himself with a genuine chuckle. What was this woman's name again? 

"I am one, but no. Because you're scaring away that guy who was waiting for you." He jerked his chin in the direction of the guy that had been scurrying away to the door without taking his eyes of her. 

Confused, she turned around just in time to meet the guy's terrified gaze before he shot for the door.  

"Ah fuck," she fervently whispered facing Maven again, but not really looking at him. "Not again." 

If that had been her date, he could not be happier about having splashed her with his car.  

"Let me buy you a coffee," he found himself offering. "Anything you want." 

Her wrath subsided, leaving a skeptical annoyance instead as she considered him carefully. 

"Anything? I eat a lot, lawyer boy." 

"Maven. And yes, I'll pay." 

"I am very hungry," she pressed his offer, daring him to back down. "Being wet and cold and abandoned does that to a girl's appetite." 

Now he was grinning. Oh he was developing an appetite too. Food first though. 

He'd never done this but it couldn't be that hard if lesser human beings did it all the time. Bracing himself, he asked her on a date.   

"Great. Dinner then?" He sounded a bit aloof, but at least he didn't stutter. Good enough. 

The woman's demeanor cooled down completely as she was taken aback by the invitation. She blinked slowly two times, as if she was changing the lens through which she observed him. Finally, she shrugged in a dismissive way. 

"What the hell. Sure. Let's do that." 

Maven made sure not to splash any more people as he drove them to the restaurant. 

[l4verq]

boats🎣 | b.b

bucky barnes x reader

in which you’re supposed to be helping repair sam’s old boat but your boyfriend keeps distracting you :(

tags : 18+ minors pls DNI , bucky’s a horn dog and so is reader, sam doesn’t know bucky has his hand right on reader’s 🐱 and reader is TRYING to keep it that way lol, no plot, just a little porn 😼

fic : one shot

stern - the back part of a ship |

gangway - a flat board or metal structure that can be put in place between a ship and land to let people get off or on the ship |

cabin - a private room on a ship for a passenger or one of the people working on the ship |

masterlist

you know he’s not doing it intentionally.

the slight grunts as his vibranium arm effortlessly rips off rusty, rotting pieces of wood hastily hammered over cracks and gaps.

you’re scratching off stringy residue of duct tape slapped on holes in the stern, standing a few feet away from him, taking in the view.

not the one overlooking the wide stretch of blue water.

but the one where your boyfriend’s wiping the sheen of sweat off his face with his shirt and it’s not just any shirt, it’s the light grey one that’s one size too small but fits so right on his sculpted body.

he lets it drop, panting as his eyes trail over to you and smirks.

ok, so maybe he does know what he’s doing.

you go back to vigorously scraping off the grimy, faded string- how does duct tape turn to these stubborn, ugly strings that just refuses to come off?

and to top it all off, sam’s parents - god rest their souls - used the tapes in places you’re having to bend over, stretch your arms down as much as you can and hopefully are actually scraping the residue off.

“i got it.”

you jump a little, startled by his voice.

that sweet, sweet voice that brings you to your knees [literally] everytime.

he’s right behind you - you’ll never get used to his super soldier thing where he can sneak up on literally anyone - his crotch pressed right onto your ass as he bends down as well, arm sneaking down yours.

oh, he definitely knows what he’s doing.

his hand grabs the handle of the metal scraper in your hand, taking it from you.

the boat sways a little, just a little.

shouldn’t make him thrust right on your denim shorts clad ass, making miss kitty down there all flustered.

bucky’s a lot of things and being an insatiably annoying tease is just one of them.

he gets back up, vibranium around your waist pulling you up too, “sarah said she needs help with the pipes.”

you could use some help with piping too, you think.

“oh, okay.” you say breezily before getting out of his way.

getting out of his way as in sliding your ass across his crotch, a small groan leaving his mouth right into your ear.

he’s played this game with you way too many times and always won.

it was time for a new victor.

and so the rest of the day is just relentless teasing, lingering touches, strokes and a lot of “oh silly me, i dropped something. let me just pick it up.” and slowly raising your ass up his legs, feeling his jeans constrict just as you lift it away.

at one point, he’d pressed you against the wall, pinned your wrists above your head, i know what you’re doing.

cue innocent batting of your eyes, with a what?

you were the clear winner, until now.

until now when you’re in the cockpit, on your tippy toes, straining to hold up the glass pane.

“i don’t know how to break it to you that you’re not tall.” sam yells from the other side of the glass, voice all muffled.

you roll your eyes, practically unsticking your sweaty front from the majestic helm that’s been poking your belly for five minutes now. to say your tank top is just drenched in sweat is not an exaggeration.

totally not the hot girl summer aesthetic you were hoping for this year.

“need a hand?” bucky pokes his head in from the door, eyebrow quirked.

how does he get to look that good all sweaty and grubby?

“yeah, sam’s screaming at me cause i’m short.” you pull your lip, turning to face him.

he chuckles, lowering his head at the doorway and enters the cabin which suddenly looks even smaller because of his towering presence.

“i’ll lift you up, c’mon.” he extends his arms, the slightest smirk tugging at his lips, a playful glint in his eyes.

you turn around warily as he hops around the heap of boxes, screws, wrenches, crocks cluttered around the floor and he’s right behind you, hands tinkering around your waist.

but he slides his right palm right between your legs, other hand on your.... fuck, does it matter?

the only thing on your mind right now is him hiking you up, palm basically cupping your denim clad pussy.

you shakily hold up the glass while sam begins applying window sealant from the other side, completely oblivious to your boyfriend groping you.

his cool, metal arm rests under your thigh, a stark contrast to the burning ache between your legs.

“such a tight spot here.” he comments, palm squeezing slightly and it takes everything in you to stifle a moan.

he was crammed up against the helm, legs bumping into empty jars and canisters. you can only hope sam thought he meant that.

and it’s just torture, the next three minutes perched under his palm, desperate for some friction, to just rub it out all the while maintaining a poker face right at sam in front of you.

not helping that he’s having a casual conversation with sam, knowing full well that you’re absolutely just falling apart under his touch right now.

and the waves, the stupid waves that rock the boat so now bucky has to ‘adjust’ you, bouncing you up on his palm, squeezing your thigh with his other hand.

“sam!” a distant voice calls out.

you silently thank the lord for answering to your prayer.

“i’m working!” sam yells back, eyebrows furrowed, applying a line of translucent paste on the lower frame.

“SAM!”

sam huffs, screwing the cap on the tube of sealant back on, “i’ll be back. you can let go now.”

your sore arms cry out in pain as you retract them back, shaky legs because of a certain blue eyed 106 year old whose hand is shoved between them.

“i got you.”

bucky easily bounces you around, gripping your waist, your legs wrapping around his torso.

“you good?”

his right hand rests on your lower back to support you, eyes raking over your arms.

bucky’s a lot of things and being a caring, doting absolute annoyance of a boyfriend might just be the best one.

you just wait for the familiar creak and slight tilt of the boat confirming sam’s waddled across the gangway before crashing your lips into bucky’s, nearly tipping him over.

it’s almost animalistic, his lips part, letting your tongue slip in and delve in his taste that’s just so.. bucky.

it’s sweet, minty, tangy and you’d figure out the rest if only you both didn’t have to pull away, gasping for air.

“you’re so annoying.” you breathe out, panting right into his mouth.

jars tip over like dominoes as he backs you to the wall, shielded from the many windows but if someone so much as just craned their neck a little to look in, they’d have a front row seat to your snog fest.

“you know what these shorts do to me.”

his vibranium arm snakes around your waist, locking in, making that mechanical sound that’s just so sexy to you for some reason.

the evening sun is a little more merciful than the blistering beams of the morning but crammed up in that tiny area, sweaty bodies clinging to each other, you might just have a heatstroke.

if you didn’t pass out from the throbbing down there first.

“i need you to keep that pretty mouth shut, can you do that for me?” he cooes, forehead resting on yours, fingers reaching down to rub back and forth between your shorts.

you nod feverishly, unable to form words, hands grasping at the wall behind, his biceps, his back, everywhere, the long awaited friction sending sparks up your body.

“can’t let nobody hear us, now can we?” his lips trail to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin, a dull pain overpowered by pleasure coursing through out.

your hand tugs at his hair, soliciting a low moan from him.

“teasing me with your ass all out in these shorts,” he drawls, “such a bad girl.”

you’re hyperaware of the wide open cabin door and how someone could just walk right in, those two kids are always running around ever- fuck, the kids.

god, you’d never be able to face sam’s family ever again.

but it’s somehow the least of your worries when he lifts his fingers to his mouth, sucking on them with soft groans.

and he shoves them in the front of your shorts, “so tight,” he growls, hand barely fitting in.

you gasp as his finger finally make contact, run up and down your sopping slits.

“hmm, always so wet for me.” he groans, sloppy kisses down your neck, along your collarbone.

you whimper as he teases two fingers at the entrance, making you jolt when his thumb starts circling your swollen nub, the bundle of nerves coming undone.

his name’s a strangled, wanton noise deep from your chest but he gets the message.

that you need him to put a baby in you... y’know something along the lines of that.

but like aforementioned, he’s a tease.

so his fingers slowly push in, only the tips greeted by your walls.

“just as tight as i remember.”

back arching when he finally slips them all the way in, palm slightly tapping against your clit and you’re certain you see stars.

and he does the thing where his fingers hook, curl, twist, your legs squirming, his name falling out of your mouth like a chant.

your legs buckle, his fingers moving at an ungodly pace and the only thing holding you up right now is his iron grip round your waist as you shakily find your footing on the floor.

“fuck, you’re clenching so hard, baby.” he rasps, your head lulling into his neck, legs jerking against your own control.

you’re almost there. the familiar tightening of the twisted spring in your lower abdomen, toes curling against the rough surface of your slippers, almost..

creak.

-

a/n : 🤔🤨😳💤🏃🏻‍♀️💨 dk how i feel about this one bestie💭

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

Heart of Steel - Part I

DBH Connor x Male Reader

Word Count: 2.5K+

Content warning: Minor injury detail, PTSD, language

Original game dialogue I got from this video:

https://youtu.be/32Np9LKI1Vg

We were attacked in the night.

After returning from a mission back to an outpost several miles from the red zone, we removed our gear save for a few pouches on our belts we could bother with later. Our team leader set up a fire while the SQ800s, CyberLife commissioned combat androids, began loading up the trucks with extra artillery and resources. A job that could have waited until morning, but Alpha always gave the androids something to do. He said that they creeped him out when they would just stand there in a dormant state, waiting for their next mission to be given to them.

"You know what I'm going to do when I get home?"

"Here we go again."

"I'm going to get me a WR400," Foxtrot; not everyone's favourite but he certainly kept us entertained when there was nothing to do.

"Uh-huh and with what money are you going to be using to pay for this WR400? A military salary definitely ain't gonna cut it." Echo always called out Foxtrot's bullshit, he was the only one that had the patience to deal with him.

"Fine, my birthday is comin' up, if you put towards two-thirds of what it costs we can share. How does that sound?"

"I am not sharing anything with you, I don't know what diseases you carry." Their constant back forth sent chuckles through the group.

"Alright, that's enough you two. It's getting late and past everyone's bedtime, I want you all awake by O-five-hundred at the latest," Alpha would often stop them before Foxtrot would take it too far, but he could never hide the twitching smile on his face.

"Yes sir," Foxtrot mock saluted as he stood from his seat around the campfire. "Hey Echo, that offer is still-"

One moment Foxtrot had a wide grin on his face, the next there was a hole in his head between his eyes, the sound of gunshot ringing in everyone's ears.

"SHOTS FIRED! GET TO COVER NOW!"

"FOXTROT IS DOWN! I REPEAT, FOXTROT IS DOWN!"

It was dark, we couldn't see where they were firing from. The android was the only one still standing, firing off in random directions as they were gunned down. The next was Delta, shot in the left shoulder, then the throat. My gun was back in my tent and there was no chance of me getting it. Stupid.

"MEDIC! GET TO DELTA! NOW!"

"GRENADE!"

I heard the thump by my feet before I saw it. You would think it would be terrifying, to know you're staring death in the face, but for a second it was peaceful. My body was cold and I already felt like a corpse, the Rigour Mortis freezing me in place, just softly gazing at what would kill me.

Something grabbed me before the grenade exploded, saving my life but destroying the android.

The bedsheets were crumpled and soaked in sweat again when my eyes shot open. It was hard to breathe, the panic was still running through me and closing up my throat at the memory.

In; one, two, three, four. Hold; one, two, three, four. Out; one, two, three, four. Hold; one, two, three, four.

It took a few minutes for me to remember where I was. That I was home and that I was safe. Out of nervous habit, I gripped my dog tags, they were wet from the sweat that had soaked through my shirt in the night.

"Shit." It was four in the morning, there was no chance of getting any more sleep and the station wouldn't be open for another two more hours at the least. Saying that; Fowler wanted to speak to me first thing, which never meant anything good for anyone.

It was aching again at the joint. The biomechanical component always felt itchy where it joined at the elbow. Anytime I would have that dream I would scratch at it in my sleep, it was like my subconscious knew it didn't belong. It knew my rotting left arm was still in the desert somewhere being picked apart by vultures.

It's almost ironic; to be saved by an android and then to have part of one attached to me. I hated it.

*****

"Morning Cyborg, you look like shit." Gavin was forever pleasant to talk to.

"Fuck off, Reed." He constantly hovered around the coffee machine, hogging it like it was his newborn baby. "Is Fowler in yet?"

"Not yet, you in trouble?" He took his time making his coffee, exceeding in being the department's resident asshat. "Did he catch you looking at porn on your work terminal again?"

"I'm pretty sure that's only ever happened to you." Not wanting to be reminded of his previous escapades I got no response. Gavin let out a small huff before moving to the side with his fresh cup of coffee, freeing up the machine.

"Officer (L/N)." Oh for fuck's sake.

"Sir?" Captain Fowler stood outside his office, his coat half soaked from the rain.

"My office, I need to speak to you." He didn't give a second glance to me before turning and letting the glass door shut behind him.

"Ha, good luck cyborg." Shooting Gavin the middle finger, I followed Captian Fowler into his office.

"What was it you wished to talk about, sir?" Feet shoulder-width apart, back straight and hands behind my back; habits from the army were destined to die hard. Often I would find myself moving my hand up to salute before leaving the presence of a superior, something else for Gavin to make fun of.

"You're aware of the deviant cases I've assigned to Lieutenant Anderson, correct?" Fowler sat at his desk, wet coat now hung on its rack, but there was slight dampness to his suit blazer where his coat had been left open.

"Yes sir. I believe he's being accompanied by a prototype RK800 from Cyberlife."

"That's correct. I'm sure you're aware that these deviancy cases are on the more..."

"Dangerous?"

"...Unpredictable side. Now, I can't exactly issue a gun to a prototype android if it's going to be in the field and, while I value Hank as a police officer, his record is on the rougher side."

"Captain Fowler, with all due respect, I don't believe-"

"Office (L/N), with all due respect, you don't have an opinion in this matter. I want you to accompany Lieutenant Anderson in these assignments just in case a deviant becomes too much for him or this android to handle. You've certainly got the skillset for it and you're not unfamiliar with working alongside androids, unlike quite a few officers in this department."

"I understand that, but-"

"Whatever you're gonna say I don't want to hear it." Captain Fowler didn't give me a chance to argue as he stood and walked to his office door, the annoyed look on his face worsening. "Hank, in my office!"

I let out a sigh before Captain Fowler turned back to his desk. Through the office wall made of glass Hank reluctantly made his way towards us grumbling something under his breath at the request, the RK800 model obediently following behind him like a little, lost puppy. Hank sat in the chair opposite Fowler while the android stood next to me, giving a small smile as a greeting.

Captain Fowler was the first to talk, "I've got ten new cases involving androids on my desk every day. We've always had isolated incidents, old ladies losing their android maids and that kind of crap... But now, we're getting reports of assaults and even homicides, like that guy last night. This isn't just cyberlife's problem anymore, it's now a criminal investigation and we've gotta deal with it before the shit hits the fan. I want you to investigate these cases, alongside officer (L/N) and see if there's any link."

"Why me? And why do I need a god damned partner? A stupid android is already too much. Why do I gotta be the one to deal with this shit?" Props to Hank for trying, but arguing with Fowler was like talking to a brick wall. "I am the least qualified cop in the country to handle this case! I know jack shit about androids, Jeffery. I can barely change the settings on my own phone."

"Everybody's overloaded. I think you're perfectly qualified for this type of investigation," They were already starting to blow up at each other.

"Bullshit! The truth is nobody wants to investigate these fuckin' androids and you left me holdin' the bag!"

"CyberLife sent over this android to help with this investigation and I've given you (L/N) as well. You've got a state of the art prototype and a leading police officer to act as your partners."

"No fuckin' way! I don't need partners, and certainly not this plastic prick and some action hero fucker."

"Nice working with you too, Lieutenant Anderson," I said under my breath, not intending for the others to hear. Connor turned his head slightly in my direction, I could see his LED blink yellow for a moment before going back to its bright blue.

"Hank, you are seriously starting to piss me off! You are a police lieutenant, you are supposed to do what I say and shut your goddamn mouth!"

"You know what my goddamn mouth has to say to you, huh?"

"I'll pretend like I didn't hear that, so I don't have to add any more pages to your disciplinary folder 'cause it already looks like a fuckin' novel! This conversation is over."

"Jeffrey, Jesus Christ! Why are you doin' this to me? You know how much I hate these fuckin' things. Why are you doin' this to me?" Most of the department knew why he had such a distaste towards androids, no one could necessarily blame him. Ever since losing his son Hank had become completely different as both a person and an officer. Admittedly, Fowler was harsh on him, but if he wasn't then Hank would drift.

"I've had just enough of your bitching. Either you do your job or you hand in your badge. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do." Hank left in a strop, letting out his frustration on Fowler's office door.

"Well then..." Connor was quick to break the tense silence. His voice caught me off guard, it was smoother, more human than any android's I had heard before. The SQ800's voices had always been more robotic than other models so it had been a shock when the androids back home had sounded so normal, it felt like that all over again. It was jarring. "I won't keep you any longer. Have a nice day captain."

Connor left and I followed behind, giving a small nod of dismissal to Fowler despite him still looking at his terminal screen.

The android went straight to Hank either oblivious or ignoring the lieutenant's current bad mood, granted there was never a time the bastard was in a good mood. Heaven itself could rain down on Detroit and he'd huff at it like a hair in his food.

"I got the impression my presence causes you some inconvenience, Lieutenant. I'd like you to know I'm very sorry about that. In any case, I'd like you to know I'm very to be working with you." Ever the enthusiast.

"I'd give in now. You're talking to a toddler in a fifty-year old's body and the toddler is having a hissy fit." I half sat and half leant against Hank's desk, using my arms to support my weight.

"Apologies, I don't believe I've introduced myself. My name is Connor, I am the android sent by CyberLife." He turned to me, a gentle and manufactured smile on his face. "It's a pleasure to be working with you too, officer (L/N). I'm sure we'll make a great team."

"Er... (Y/N) is just fine."

"Is there a desk anywhere I could use?"

"No one's using that one." Hank points to the desk opposite him, while still sulking like a child.

"Gasp, it speaks," I said in a sarcastic tone while turning to Hank.

"Fuck off. I've already got an android on my ass, I don't need you on it too."

I grabbed a terminal pad before perching myself back at the edge of Hank's desk while Connor got comfortable at the empty one. The light at the side of his head flashing yellow for a moment like he was hesitant to speak."You have a dog, right?"

"How do you know that?"

"The dog hairs on your chair. I like dogs. What's your dog's name?"

"What's it to you?" Hank shifted in his seat, "...Sumo... I call him Sumo."

"Under all those shitty shirts and questionable stains there's a warm, beating heart," I say more to myself than the other two, skimming over the recent case files sent in by Fowler.

"Officer (L/N)... (Y/N), knowing that we'd be working together I read your academy and field records. You have quite an interesting background."

"Oh yeah, then you understand that I may be a little driven to get these cases over with. I can't say I'm a fan of you terminators."

"I understand you have a... warped view of androids due to what you've experienced, but I hope you understand that I am your partner and not your enemy."

"Connor, you're not my partner, you're cyberlife's latest gizmo for us kick around." I sigh, turning to sit at my desk adjacent to hanks, taking the terminal pad with me. "Just look through the deviant case files. Terminals on your desk, knock yourself out."

They're nothing but machines. They are not your friends.

"Two-hundred and forty-three files, the first date back nine months. It all started in Detroit... And quickly spread across the country." Connor had only connected the terminal moments before.

"Don't work your CPU too hard," I mutter under my breath, catching a quick huff of amusement from Hank.

"An AX400 is reported to have murdered a man last night. That could be a good starting point for our investigation." Hank was doing his best to pretend Connor didn't exist, but the android was persistent. Connor stood from his chair and made his way into Hank's personal space.

"Uh, Jesus..." Hank turned his chair away.

"I understand you're facing personal issues, Lieutenant, but you need to move past them and-" For an android, Connor has some balls on him.

"Hey! Don't talk to me like you know me. I'm not your friend and I don't need your advice, okay?" Hank's mood had soured like milk, it wouldn't be long until Fowler was adding another page to Hank's disciplinary folder.

"I've been assigned this mission Lieutenant, I didn't come here to wait until you feel like working."

"Connor, you're just gonna-" I had wasted my breath, Hank had already stood and was grabbing onto Connor by the collar of his Cyberlife jacket and slamming against the screen next to his desk. "Hank!"

"Listen asshole. If it were up to me, I'd rather throw the lot of you in a dumpster and set a match to it. So, stop pissing me off... or things are gonna get nasty."

"Hank," I placed a hand on his shoulder to try and lightly pull him away from Connor but only earned a nasty side-eye. "Leave off him, you don't get paid enough to replace him."

"Lieutenant... Officer (L/N), uh... sorry to disturb you," Looks like the tin can was saved before Hank could knock the light out of him, "I have some information on the AX400 that killed that guy last night. It's been sighted in the Ravendale district."

"I'm on it." Hank didn't glance back when he dropped Connor's collar. The puppy dog look on his face almost made me feel bad for him... almost.

"Come on, WALL-E. Don't want to keep the old man waiting."

[otteroflore]

okay so iron widow. reviw i guess.

prose- 3/5 in general, like 4/5 for the YA genre*

characters- 2/5 for depth, 4/5 for enjoyability

worldbuilding- 5/5, very fun

plot- 4/5, makes sense, sure.

*kinda hunger-gamesy, kinds lunar chronicles, im not that into that style but it was fine for what it was.

for me, realistically, this book is like a 3/5 because its not super my thing but its enjoyable enough that i think a 4/5 is fair as for actual quality in the context of the genre.

I dont really do book reviews but ill put my hottest of takes underneath a cut (with spoilers)

Biggest things I liked

-murderousness of the characters

-romance triangle (aka polyamory)

-mecha metal magic descriptions

-the sort of ephemeral setting reminded me of the Claidi Journals by Tanith Lee, weirdly enough, a series nobody ever talks about. But I read and reread Wolf Tower many times as a kid and this has a lot of similarities.

-feminisim good

-good pacing, i mean i read the book in an evening + hour or so in the morning so it was interesting enough to not put down (5hr 44min according to the apps estimate)

-the epilogue, I can't say I wasnt expecting a similar twist but I will admit I was kind of surprised by it. i do like those tropes (IYKYK)

-Yizhi good

-i like that the protag is kind of a mary sue super powerful whatever. thats cool and chill.

Quibbles

-would have liked to see the characters just like. chilling and having a nice time with one another? especially to get a better look at the worldbuilding outside of the mechas

-also just like. more in this world to prove that they care about the people that theyre saving

-some of the modern dialogue and language kinda brings me out of it. I sure wasnt expecting to read the word "guy" so much. kind of expected in ya

Biggest things I disliked

-the MC felt like she had such a modern perspective at times it was jarring. i feel that a character who actually grew up in that society would believe many of the things it said- I would have liked to see her grapple with her own internal biases more instead of her already being "over it," I think that would have been more compelling

-they kind of go out of their way to make Shimin not at fault for the what happened before the protag in a way I dont love. I recently watched a big joel video about a mass shooting where men were told to leave the room while the shooter killed all women, and the survivor guilt those men felt. basically I dont think shimin would have been at fault for being held at gunpoint and forced to do those things regardless of what An did to him. i cant really blame someone for trying to survive.

-on that note, i wish the characters cared about protecting the country a little more earlier on and grappled with the idea of concubine sacrifice being the only way to defeat the hunduns. they just.. reject the concept outright. near the end of the book the protag does have some remorse for her ancestors having been killed by the hunduns and it feels like that thread should have been pulled throughout the entire thing.

Ok i finally borrowed that book iron widow on libby and im gonna read it. Lets see if it was worth the hype

[dontbipanicjonsa]

Let's talk about 8x04

(Skipping writing about episode 3 because of obvious reasons.)

At this point, it's getting very hard to tell what is Pol!Jon and what is "oh no I fucked my aunt". Their relationship is disintegrating fast.

1) Sansa's motivations.

If there's anything this episode confirmed for me, it's that Sansa is not motivated by a desire for personal gain (not that I had doubts before).

Her line from S6 comes to mind:

"If we don't take back the North, we'll never be safe."

That's it. That's her motivation in a nutshell. Two things are important here, being safe and the North. In her mind they are inextricably linked.

I think she believes (for good reason) that for her and her family's safety, a Stark has to have power in the North. Exactly which Stark is much less important (she's ready to make Bran Lord of Winterfell, she loyally kept Jon's crown safe through S7, he's still the Warden in the North even tho she's the Lady of Winterfell). Basically, Stark power in the North means safety to her.

Another motivation for her is Northern Independence. I think a part of that is again linked to Starks being in power in the North. She doesn't trust people sitting on the Iron Throne. And a part of it is the independence part. She, her family and much of the North bled and died for that independence, and she cannot give it up so easily.

The real motivation she has in this episode tho is protecting Jon. She says as much herself. Tyrion points out that with Jon in the South, Sansa is the power in the North, but Sansa's mind is on keeping Jon North (aka safe). The moment she told Tyrion his secret kinda reminded me of Cat freeing Jaime. It's a dangerous gamble that they're taking, but in that moment they decide to fuck it because if the gamble pays off, then the people they love (Sansa, Arya, Jon) will be safe. Sansa is fighting for Jon in this moment.

2) I don't wanna bitch about Dany but....

Can't she have said any throwaway line acknowledging the whole "the man I thought is my father actually isn't my father" crisis Jon was probably having inside his head??? Did she really just make his parentage all about her?? Nobody tell me she loves him.

Honestly, I think she's a great character (in the books). Going down a dark path, yes, but still great. The show makers appear to be hurrying along her descent now. This entire scene was jarring.

Moving on from the bitching-

Danaerys is really doubling down on the "what's mine", "the rightful Queen", and even "her destiny" now. The problem is that she's technically wrong. Jon has a better claim than her, and she knows it. Saying that he could take what's hers is plain incorrect. Now if she said, "fuck claims anyway. I've worked for this Throne" I would respect that. At least it's self aware.

3) The lady doth protest too much..?

I think Jon spent half this episode saying, "I don't want the Throne", "you are my Queen", and "she'll be a good Queen". Maybe I'm imagining it, but there is urgency in his words. He's trying to convince the people he is talking to. Who is he talking to?

Dany, Sansa and Arya.

Funny thing tho, in that same conversation with Sansa and Arya, it's established that he "did what he had to" because they needed Danaerys to fight the WW. Now this doesn't contradict his tag lines this episode exactly...but they don't seem entirely congruent with each other either. "Had to" implies a reluctance. Like his hand was forced. At the same time, even tho he keeps talking about how she'll be a good Queen, he provides no reasons for why he believes that, no explanation...only these lines. It makes for an unconvincing argument (sorry Jon).

Someone does say that Dany would be a good Queen because "people follow her" (either Tyrion or Jon) but we already know that's not true. People have not followed her since she came to Westeros, and while the show makes a point of establishing that Jon is liked by his people all the more for his role in the Great War, the same cannot be said for Dany.

So here we have Jon and Tyrion both defending "their Queen" hard. It is known that Tyrion, despite his protests, is having serious doubts about Dany. It is known that he is afraid of her (Sansa establishes that in her conversation with him). It is known that he is aware of her "worst impulses".

Why then, is Jon not? Why is he not having serious doubts? Why is he not afraid of her? Why is he not aware of her worst impulses? How can he not be?

The simple answer is, he is.

4) the "stfu or I stg" look.

The look he gives Sansa during the battle planning meet where she suggests letting the troops rest. Honestly? It's a sound suggestion. Jon, who has been Lord Commander, led people in battle, and is generally not known for mistreating his troops should agree with her. So why does he shut her down so hard, and with that look?

Dany says, "the longer I wait, the stronger my enemies grow". Which enemies?

It's a safe assumption to make that Dany is including Sansa in that list of enemies. As Tyrion says to Sansa (I don't remember the words exactly) but something to the effect of "it's easier to give in to her (Dany)" and Sansa immediately catches that Tyrion is afraid of Dany.

Now Jon is forcing Sansa to give in to Dany.....you see where I'm going with this.

This, along with his insistence that Dany is his Queen and she will be a good Queen....

Here's the thing. There are three things that could be happening here.

First, Jon is afraid of Dany and is being extremely accommodating to keep the heat off himself, and forcing Sansa to do the same.

Second, he's really Stockholm Syndromed his way into falling in love with Dany and he means everything he says.

Third, he has miraculously lost his critical thinking skills, his ability to see and hear Dany making some very dark threats (itching to burn KL, increasingly paranoid about Tyrion and Sansa, only concerned with the better claim that Jon now has on her Throne) and all his brain cells.

I know which of these things I want to believe.

5) In love?

Are Jon and Dany in love?

Danaerys is not. She felt something for him, yes, but now that she's discovered his parentage....her priorities are abundantly clear. She does not trust him, she is concerned only with the consequences this reveal has on her claim.

Her reaction is a mix of legitimate fear that this may be the end of her, a more concerning sentiment of "what it will do to the people" because what exactly will it do to the people...? A fear that he will "take what's hers" nevermind that she's supposed to love and trust him and he hasn't done anything himself to prove he's untrustworthy, and a fear of what it will do to "us" (?what?).

Does this make me think she honestly loves him? No.

Does he love her? It doesn't look like it. But we've already established that it's never particularly looked like he loves her. The question now is why does he keep insisting that he is subservient to her? Where does Pol!Jon end and the breakdown of their relationship begin?

The greatest irony of Jonerys is that it's supposed to be the most epic love story, but it's the story of two people that are incapable of truly loving each other.

6) are you seriously telling me

Are you seriously telling me that Jon reluctantly gives away his crown to this woman because he felt that he was left with no choice (and the woman greatly contributed to making him feel that way) and he simultaneously falls in love with her?

Honestly? It's a bit reminiscent of Yggrite. The entire story from Jon going to Dragonstone till now is very reminiscent of Yggrite. I would just like to believe that Jon's character has developed and grown since Yggrite.

And if Dany is Yggrite, then she's an Yggrite who is threatening mass murder and the lives of Jon's family. Are you seriously telling me Jon is capable of loving that (in a healthy way)?

My god. I get what people say now about Jon's character being assassinated. Pol!Jon is really my only option if I want to keep his character somewhat consistent. I guess we have to make our own consistency in this world too.

Note- these are only my ramblings and they are filled with my personal opinion and biases. I'm only saying what I think, not that I'm right.

[dappercritter]

Godzilla vs Kong: Brutally Honest Thoughts

(Took me long enough, eh? Depending on home video releases be like that.)

So first things first, I have a confession to make: I spoiled the movie before I watched it. I was impatient and they had only announced an HBO Max premiere in the states and a theatrical run in Canada at the time. Afterward, I got heads-up from a friend and immersed myself in the opinions of those lucky enough to see it early. I’m just saying that I have some preconceived opinions that I’m sticking to.

That said, Godzilla vs Kong turned out to be more fun than I expected! But you already knew that. Everyone did. The two kings of movie monsters had their rematch and this time it was with glorious Hollywood SFX powering it this time.

The human story was fun but it’s clear they stopped trying at this point. Team Kong stole my heart, especially Jia. Team Godzilla (although the Conspiracy Crew would be a more fitting term since they spend more time chasing down mysteries than trying to back or understand Godzilla) was more fun than I expected and their dynamic was surprisingly enjoyable. Bernie is actually kind of funny, it's nice to see Madison acting more assertive, and Josh was fine--he was the only sane man of the bunch but he was also the butt of the jokes. Still, all the hardcore conspiracy jokes got old fast and it feels off seeing the daughter of two scientists turn into an edgy conspiracy crackpot. Why not an edgy science major?

Team Apex are fun villains, especially Walter Simmons who's a great megalomaniacal CEO type, but Ren Serizawa is a joke. I like his actor's performance but he's just another footnote. Nobody bats an eye at his last name, although the only heroes he interacts with are Nathan Lind and he just misses Team Godzilla. He really could have just been any other villain, but instead, they had to sully Serizawa’s legacy further while robbing a good actor of some interesting material. (As is, it turns out he was just an egotistical jerk with daddy issues--an easy puzzle to solve on day one--after all...)

However, I still cannot and will not approve of the fact that somebody thought it would be a good idea to make the heroes of a sci-fi story into hardcore conspiracy theorists in this day and age. Likewise, I’m not a huge fan of how they essentially made the Hollow Earth into its own universe complete with a crazy portal and an environment with its own laws of physics, nor am I totally crazy about the huge leap in technology that was made between this and KOTM, or G’14 for that matter.

The monsters as awesome as they are, are the biggest mixed bag in the show.

Kong is at his best in ages, and while I am all for the new heroic warrior character that Legendary have crafted and I acknowledge that making him a worthy opponent for their god-tier Godzilla was going to be a hurdle, I think they did a splendid job. Seeing Kong using agility and acrobatics was a glorious sight to behold, and something about Kong becoming a tool-user and weapon wielder just feels right. It’s a far better demonstration of Kong as a “thinking animal” (*wink, wink*).

I’m much less thrilled about their treatment of his greatest opponent ever. After everything they’ve done to build up Godzilla as the incredible force of neutral good fighting to maintain balance and all the build up to ancient rivalry debating back to a great Titan war--even going as far as putting his name in front Kong’s this time!-- they’ve reduced Godzilla back to glorified bully for Kong. He only gets the minimum amount of sympathy from the cast of his movie before they go off to deal with the conspiracy plot or focus on Kong and the Hollow Earth. Worse still, he is somehow more powerful and more aggressive than ever for a good chunk of the movie which leads to an outcome I’m sorry to say we all saw coming. Somehow, I suspect that the reason behind this was how Wingard cited Godzilla vs. Mothra, vs. Destoryah, and Shin-Godzilla as influences for the monsters scale and story, which while cool and all, are all movies where he was played up as a mostly stoic antagonist rather than a three-dimensional character like Kong. (Though ironically vs. Destoroyah and Shin did a better job of making Godzilla feel more sympathetic and in both of them he was a walking nuclear reactor meltdown.)

Due to the unfortunate time constraints of the three-way deal between Toho, WB, and Universal at the time this was in production, Kong was unable to secure a proper sequel that could develop his skillset like Godzilla’s did. Nevermind the fact the filmmakers completely surrendered to the “nothing matters but the monsters” mentality that a chunk of the fanbase has been spouting since this universe unofficially kicked off almost 10 years ago. (Sidenote: Oh god, I’m turning in an old fart already.) As a result, the movie trips over itself trying to set up Godzilla and Kong’s rivalry as well as building up Kong as a worthy opponent to Godzilla while expanding on their shared lore, and as a result countless plot points set up in in the previous movie and tie-in movie are thrown out the window. I’m sorry to say but in spite of all hopes and illusions of grandeur, it’s safe to this damn thing is a Kong movie with Godzilla as the bad guy.

...at least until HE shows up. Yup, Mechagodzilla. The biggest spoiled twist of the centuries steals the show so the movie can pull a Dawn of Justice. But! It does it much better than the fractured DCEU’s most controversial entry ever could. Mechagodzilla’s inclusion gets a decent amount of build up thanks to Team Godzilla/the Conspiracy Crew, and when he shows up, does he make an impression! At first, I wasn’t sure how to feel about his inclusion or his design, but I’ve come to like this one. He’s basically a kaiju terminator built in Godzilla’s image made purely out of heavy machinery piloted by the best Ghidorah head. It’s a jarring change of pace compared to previous MechaG’s but it grows on you after a while. With the abundance of weaponry stuffed into him, he feels like a fitting update of the original killing machine, and even if his inclusion feels like an easy way out of the big showdown, it’s fun to see him played as a literal colossal heel for the kings to team up against. Not to mention he looks shockingly good with those red highlights. However, one still can’t help but wonder how and why he was made in this universe, or how he feels like pure heavy machinery one minute and then an extra-large Ultron unit the next.

As for the the big throwdowns we’ve all been waiting for... well, we’re still in the mixed bag deparment. While the fights are all exciting and excellently choreographed, and benefit from some more eclectic lighting and cinematograph, I’m sorry to say that as far as the rematch of the century goes they dropped the ball on this one.

Don’t get me wrong, the fights are all great in their own ways, but there’s a drastic change in the feeling of weight and power with the monsters. Godzilla, Kong, and even Mechagodzilla all feel strangely floaty in most of their fights. One moments they feel like true behemoths shaking the very earth with every movement and then it’s like they’re in Godzilla Unleashed, running, jumping, and throwing each other around with speed that feels that almost makes you wonder if the Hollow Earth’s gravity inversion stuff is leaking out into the world. While it’s all perfectly cool, you can’t help but wonder how Kong is able to leap between aircraft carriers and buildings, when Godzilla got the ability to blow a hole through the Earth itself, or how a colossal machine is able to move so nimbly or why it has to be flashing blue all the time.

It’s fascinating and fun but you just can’t help but wonder how we got from almost posthuman disaster and war movies exploring how we’re at the mercy of the ancient almost mythical forces beyond our comprehension, we’ve found ourselves smack dab in the middle of Bayformers meets Jurassic World levels of Hollywood absurdity where anything and everything can and will happen in the name of getting to the monster fights. Although I can’t say I’m surprised given the director’s take on Death Note made some questionable choices with it’s take on the infamous cast while still coming up with some genuinely inspired choices. Still, all things considered we could have gotten worse compared to ther cinematic universes made by WB and Universal.

As for some misc. thoughts to close up this rambling mess:

-The soundtrack is fantastic. A great continuation of the feel of Skull Island’s mixtape with some truly wonderful picks. Special mention goes to the opening and ending songs, and they GOT AN ELVIS PRESLEY SONG IN HERE! YES!!! The three kings of pop culture together at last!

-While this movie didn’t need to be any more overstuffed, it would have been nice if the rest of the Titans didn’t disappear entirely from this movie. I get that Godzilla: Dominion already explained what happened to them all more or less, but it really is a missed oppurtunity that we never got to see another Titan war. Or Rodan attacking Kong to avenge his pterosaur bretheren from days long past. Speaking of which...

-“Save Mothra” jokes be damned, Mothra would have been a welcome gues star, not just to help break up the big fight, but to show off Godzilla’s softer, more protective side. And yes, I want more Mothzilla. Shut up, we deserve it.

-Boy, Monarch sure does a whole lot of nothing up-top, huh?

-The cinematography is a great update but there’s a little too much neon lighting, especially in the Apex HQ and the Hollow Earth throne room. It feels like they’re trying just a little too hard to sell the more futuristic, Hollywood sci-fi feel.

-The score is... great but not that great. Of course, I’ve always had mixed feelings about Tom Holkenburg (AKA Junkie XL)’s music. I liked Kong’s themes, but they REALLY dropped the ball with Godzilla’s theme. Mechagodzilla’s works really well as long you ignore that it’s just Godzilla’s theme in this movie with an ominious choir added in.

-The new Hollow Earth creatures are all perfectly fine. Actually, I thought they were another highlight! Especially the Warbats, Hellhawks, and Doug the Titanus Foetodon Man.

-I want to do a release the extended cut campaign but I don’t think any of us have the energy for that s**t anymore.

[adhd-ahamilton]

I got to see Hamilton in Sydney!!

It was a seriously, seriously amazing time – I was always worried that by the time I finally got to see Hamilton on stage (I was even supposed to see it in America last year lmfao) it wouldn’t mean the same anymore. And like, obviously it’s not my hyperfixation anymore. But even like this, it was still an incredible experience! I always figured that the recording would focus more on close-ups and the like because you can’t really see that on stage, but you really can see so much of what’s going on when you see it live and the whole stage is full of things to notice!

I have a lot of thoughts about it (mainly about the Australian cast, though some of these things could just be live performance things)!

Firstly, only two lines had their wordings changed:

* ‘John Adams doesn’t have a real job, anyway’ → ‘Vice president is not a real job, anyway.’ This got a good laugh from the audience; obviously it was changed to preserve the joke, since most Aussies wouldn’t have a good idea of who John Adams was. (I explained the joke when I watched the recording with my parents.)

* ‘Weehawken. Dawn.’ → ‘Jersey. Dawn.’ This was a bit of a surprise, but the more I think about it the more it makes sense. Aussies also wouldn’t know Weehawken (I didn’t even get that he was referring to a place when I first heard it), while Jersey is very clear because they already made a joke about it. (That one didn’t get much of a laugh though, ofc lol) And it’s actually more consistent because later they do say ‘we were near the same spot my son died, is that why’ so they drive that connection even deeper.

I don’t think there were any other music/staging/choreography differences from the recording – just the acting. But ooh, this really was differently-acted!

Hamilton

I love Lin-Manuel Miranda. I love his energy and enthusiasm and intelligence and his optimism. But while I loved his dorky version of Hamiton, I have to admit, I didn’t always think it matched up with even the musical’s script, let alone the real person. This Hamilton, though? I kept thinking about all the ways he felt different from the original, and almost every time, it was like ‘yeah, this feels more like what I know of the real Hamilton.’ (Or at least, the Hamilton we wrote about in fic.)

This Hamilton is aggressive and prickly. Up until Helpless, we don’t really see him smile – which makes sense, y’know, with ‘talk less, smile more.’ When he confronts Burr at the beginning of the play, he doesn’t have Miranda’s overly energetic and talkative air, he’s more pushy and too intense. You really feel like, oh, yeah, he’s just walking up to someone on the street and badgering them into telling him about their life story. When he says ‘God, I wish there was a war’ he’s less naive and more so hyperfocused on his goal he doesn’t notice he’s said something super insensitive. When Burr says ‘You wanna get ahead?’ his ‘Yes’ isn’t quiet and firm, it’s more ‘yes obviously, nobody would not want to get ahead, so just hurry up and tell me already.’

And that’s just in the first couple of songs! He continues on like this, with that kind of burning intensity and hot temper, through the musical, though ofc it softens at important times. Importantly, his relationship with Burr is largely based in frustration. When he does ‘My Shot’, it honestly feels less like he’s singing to impress the guys and more like he’s challenging Burr and everything he just told him; I’m sure I saw him glancing back at Burr several times. Likewise, when he tells Burr to go get Theodosia, it’s not questioning – he’s outright saying that if he really loved her, he’d take any risk for her. And in Schuyler Defeated, his ‘Burr?’ isn’t questioning there, either – he’s already angry, he’s just demanding his attention. He genuinely seems to like Burr in a weird way that even he might not understand at times, but for the most part he just seems to find him really frustrating and is always trying to incite him to do more.

This Hamilton also feels very independent, and even aloof. In The Story of Tonight, while the other guys are totally sincere and moved by it all, Hamilton feels sorta… distant. At one point he half walks off until Laurens brings him back, which I think happens in the recording as well, but here I especially felt like that was how he was ‘really’ feeling. Not that he was being manipulative or lying in any way, just that he couldn’t be in the moment because he was still stuck in his head thinking about the future. And the whole way through, he very rarely seems to properly open up – my friend said afterwards that Hurricane hits so much harder when it’s the first time he’s really vulnerable in the entire musical. Which is basically how it happens.

It’s funny – you think of Hamilton and Burr as being contrasting this way, with Burr keeping his cards close to his chest and not revealing what he really wants until The Room Where It Happens, but this Hamilton doesn’t feel far off. But rather than keeping a secret per se, it’s more… he has such an incredibly strong, intense drive, and you’re never super certain where it comes from. And in Hurricane, it suddenly becomes clear – all this time, he’s still caught up in that trauma, and still feels like he needs to fight and scrape just to survive, even when it turns into this self-destructive impulse. Honestly, Hurricane has always been kind of a weird song – he’s been corrupted and is not the most sympathetic beforehand, but then you get this grand slow inspiring song talking about how he suffered in the past and overcame it, but THEN you cut to an almost comedic number about how he fucked everything up for himself and his family. In Miranda’s version, that mood up-and-down always felt a little too jarring. Here it made perfect sense – it was so shocking to see how vulnerable he was at the beginning, and then the song isn’t just repeating what we learned in the beginning, it’s explaining what he’s been keeping deep down all along, but also making it clear that this is manic and awful and destructive.

Part of that is the singing, too. This Hamilton can rap really well, but his singing voice is startlingly gentle and beautiful. It really helps to get across the sincerity of his feelings in Helpless, Dear Theodosia, and as I said Hurricane. On the other hand, there are also times his voice just goes flat, like there are so many emotions he can’t process them – you see that a bit in My Shot when he gets worried (‘I never had a group of friends before���), but it REALLY stings when he says ‘I have so much work to do.’ That hit me way harder than Miranda’s version :(

However, when you combine this Hamilton’s aloofness with that certainty and intelligence, you also get a version of him that is particularly… ironic? He’s always crossing his arms (when he’s not rubbing his face with a palm; those two gestures repeat constantly through the play), and kinda stepping back and Watching people, with a bit of a sense of self-important and even patronising judgement. This is very much ‘So quick-witted!’ ‘Alas, I admit it.’ He definitely does come across like a dude who thinks he is ‘smartest in the room,’ and puts way too much stock in his own opinion. Particularly with Burr whenever they were getting along there was a distinct sense of ‘You know what? I actually think you’re pretty interesting. And my positive judgement is hard to come by, so that’s a big compliment.’ (Burr does not seem to get this weirdly condescending vibe though, lol.) Honestly…. I gotta admit: I really don’t like people like that, haha – though I can’t say it’s entirely inappropriate for Hamilton characterisation. This Hamilton genuinely feels difficult, and that matches up to what happens in the script.

But, the consequence is that after Hurricane, some of the later songs didn’t have quite as much of an impact on me as in the original. In It’s Quite Uptown, I could somehow never quite lose that vision of Hamilton as a bit sarcastic and superior – the way he rubs at his face in grief still just felt a little… put-on and theatrical, like you can hear the frustrated sigh underneath. And this is a song that demands complete, total, unrelenting vulnerability – Miranda’s Hamilton sounds like he’s dying the whole time and that makes the emotional stakes really felt. Maybe it’s that his voice was TOO gentle in this song – Miranda’s more awkward voice actually adds to the exhausted brokenness of the situation?

And finally, when we got to The World Was Wide Enough… Miranda’s speech there in the silence might just be my favourite sequence in the entire musical, so I think anyone else would have struggled to match up to that. It doesn’t help that I was distracted trying to figure out Burr in this scene (which I’ll get to later). It was still beautiful, of course, but ‘What is a legacy?’ just feels so so very Lin-Manuel Miranda and anyone else singing that just doesn’t feel the same.

Overall, I really really enjoyed this version of Alexander Hamilton – as I said, he felt much closer to the actual characterisation I always imagined for him. And this one showed some really fascinating vulnerability in unexpected places, even if the ending didn’t quite land as well for me.

Burr

This Burr was really, really fascinating as well – an interpretation that feels different all the way through, but really pays off at the end with something very striking.

So, something the group of us all agreed was that this Burr felt a lot more like the ‘trust fund baby’ he calls himself. There’s something elegant and refined about him, a rich person who is used to moving through the world as a person to be admired. He’s actually quite graceful, somehow, even though he barely dances? But that also really brings to the fore one particular element – entitlement. (Seriously, my mum is physically incapable of bringing up Burr without mentioning the word ‘entitled’, lol.)

This is a Burr who is used to not having to work for things. He just sort of expects things to fall into his lap, eventually, in contrast to Hamilton. The world will eventually shape to match his desires – that’s how things work. Even in the latter part of the musical, it doesn’t so much feel like he needs to fight and scrape like Hamilton to get ahead, but more like… getting ahead is his birthright, and he just needs to effect that inevitable change into the world. But I’ll get to all that later.

The other thing my friend said was that this Burr feels very much like a preacher’s son, and the more I thought about that the more I agree. There’s something almost… toxically positive about him – the smiles don’t feel two-faced and manipulative so much as maybe like, wilfully ignorant? There’s a very ‘Don’t fret, God will work things out in the end :)’ feel about him, actually. But there’s also something deeply naive in him. Leslie Odom Junior’s version also had some of that genuine lack of understanding – when he muses in confusion over Hamilton in Wait For It, or when his face scrunches in confusion when he says ‘I don’t see why that has to end’ in Schuyler Defeated, and this one does all that, but it feels like an even more inescapable part of his character.

Like, there’s something about this Burr that is just a bit… lame. A bit ‘Hello Fellow Kids.’ But, intentionally!! As I said, he’s a preacher’s son. When he tries to act kinda cool or badass, it just doesn’t quite work. When he interacts with the other guys, even as he smiles wanly and shakes it off when they insult him, you feel like he does still want to be – or even think he is? - part of that group of cool young men. He’s just too… nice, almost. I felt a little more bad during The Story Of Tonight (Reprise) and all. And he seems to take it really earnestly that Hamilton likes him, even if, like I said, there’s a sorta superior quality coming from Hamilton.

He just comes across more naive. Rather than a manipulator, this Burr comes across as more of a shameless Yes Man, who doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with what he’s doing. But I also sort of felt like other characters easily saw through him, and Burr didn’t quite realise that. Like with Jefferson, it sorta felt like he thought he was being really strategic but Jefferson was just like ‘sure, this guy works as an ally, even if he’s kinda annoying.��

And when it comes to Wait For It… the song makes it clear that bad things have happened to him – he hasn’t gone through life without suffering – but he hasn’t had the same reaction Hamilton has had. While Hamilton learned nothing will come to him unless he takes it, it feels like Burr learned that things will just… happen to him, good or bad, and he can’t control it. Nothing that has ever really affected Burr has been of his choice – he inherited his position, and then his parents died, and  all of that was just the uncontrollable whim of the universe. Leslie Odom Junior’s version emphasised the ‘I am the one thing I can control’ aspect a bit more – you feel that that version really had worked hard and struggled for the sake of his studies and job, but this Wait For It gave me a very uncomfortable feeling of being trapped. It’s as though everything about him is already decided, and even his efforts aren’t personal decisions so much as just what was natural and expected of him to do.

And that makes the second half of the story feel very different for him. In Leslie Odom Junior’s version, we see him take that self-control to new levels – that realisation that there is something that means as much to him as all of that drive and intensity Hamilton puts out, and it’s his own ambition. That he does want that, and he will have to fight and get his hand dirty to make it happen. As the story goes on, he becomes increasingly desperate and fearful, understanding more and more what it was to be that kid in the hurricane, becoming viscerally aware that terrible things can and will happen to him unless he stops them.

This Burr doesn’t feel like that. His downfall isn’t frantic. It’s very very cold.

In The Room Where It Happens, yes, his ambition crystallises and he changes strategy. But it feels less like an electric jolt, or an earthquake, and more of an epiphany. It’s okay for him to do these things. It’s right. He belongs in the room where it happens. Whatever he does to bring him there is by definition right and good.

He honestly seems to be feeling good through much of it. He’s so smiley when he comes up to Jefferson. He seems even more confused than Leslie’s Burr when Hamilton is actually mad at him for unseating Schuyler. And in The Election of 1800, there’s nothing of the original’s tired, manic energy, like he’s pushing himself to the brink and plastering on a smile to get through it. When this Burr campaigns, he’s energized and charismatic and friendly and filled with almost a kind of serenity. Like this is what he was born to do. His future is almost here – he just needs to reach out a little and it will be in his grasp.

Which, brief aside here while I analyse this haha – so, in Australia, a big part of our culture is what is called Tall Poppy Syndrome. i.e., an instinctive bitterness and hostility towards those who are perceived to stand above others. It’s often described as an aggression towards successful people, but I think that’s only part of it. Australians would describe their culture as breezy and casual and relaxed, but there’s also something disaffected about it, IMO. You’re not meant to ever take anything too seriously. Yes, we all take the piss out of politicians, but it’s sorta ‘lame’ to really seriously oppose them, too. It’s like our culture is stuck in the mindset of a self-conscious fifteen year old, where we’re all sorta lazily cynical and ‘bluntly honest’, but you’re not supposed to ever actually do anything about it all. Caring too much is kinda embarrassing. You’re just supposed to make fun of people and keep living your life. We don’t get the same fundamentalist groups intent on forcing their viewpoint on society like America does, but we also don’t get the same idealists who fervently believe that if we work hard we can make things better. They exist, for sure. But… well, it’s hard for me to imagine an Australian Leslie Knope, you know? (Who, btw, is one of my favourite fictional characters of all time, for reference.)

Watching Burr in The Election of 1800, I was struck by a memory. It was an Australian season of The Amazing Race, and on top of all of the typical relaxed Australian reality show contenders (seriously, I don’t know what the fuck Drag Race Down Under is on, that is the most un-Australian reality show I have ever SEEN), there was one couple that were I suppose Go-Getters. The type who eat healthily (probably vegan) and get up every morning in their athleisure to work out at the gym or go for runs. They were peppy and enthusiastic and they announced with huge smiles that they were going to WIN this! And the other contestants absolutely despised them. At one point, they did something to attract specific ire – honestly, it was probably nothing more than just not helping another duo who were going the wrong way, because in Australian reality shows everyone helps. But after that, multiple groups all ganged up to sabotage them. They took such delight in watching these two cheery people’s optimism flag, so very self-assured in having taught them to ‘not take yourself too seriously.’ Burr, as he was campaigning, reminded me of them.

It’s really telling, I think, that Burr is the one who reminded me a little of Leslie Knope, here – albeit obviously a much darker version. The kind of person who dorkily believes in the system and puts himself out there unselfconsciously, whose wide smiles are unironic and unmocking. In the original, Lin Manuel Miranda actually compared Hamilton to Leslie Knope at one point, with Hamilton’s ‘thirty years of disagreements.’ It’s a very Australian thing, to make Hamilton less earnest and more aloof and sarcastic, to make his anger as much about frustration with other people as about believing in something himself, and to make Burr, by comparison, sincere. Australians don’t really trust sincerity. Honesty is to be framed as an insulting joke, and Burr is just too polite to do that.

When the results come, Burr’s serene smile only very very slowly fades. Before his expression really drops, he turns away. When Your Obedient Servant starts, he’s quiet. The whole time he sings, he’s measured and controlled and entirely certain of himself. He doesn’t have LOJ’s grit or spikes in volume on ‘just to keep me from winning.’ He’s unnervingly quiet.

Even into The World Was Wide Enough this continues. In the original, Burr is outright frantic. He’s desperate and shaking with anger and fear, and when he points at Hamilton’s glasses and the like, you can feel that he actually isn’t sure of himself – that he’s trying to justify this to himself and knows he sounds crazy, but he just can’t pull back now. His voice shakes and goes up and down. When he says ‘we were near the same spot his son died, is that way?’ it rises and when he says ‘this man will not make an orphan of my daughter’ he cracks in real tears, like the mention of Philip reminded him of what’s at stake here, like that really is the reason he’ll kill him. This Burr stays quiet and cold. He doesn’t waver.

If that Burr was desperate, this one feels… and I hope this doesn’t sound like a joke: like a thwarted rich nice guy. The other Burr learned from Hamilton too well, and is replicating his self-destructive energy. This Burr hasn’t learned anything at all. Winning is still his birthright, and Hamilton has stolen that from him. Burr deserves it, and he deserves to punish Hamilton for this. It’s not an explosion of shock, a scrabbling for purchase in this new chaotic world that will doom them both. It’s vindictive. Burr knows what he is doing and he wants to hurt Hamilton for all Hamilton has hurt him.

After the shot, I was surprised to find myself not tearing up as I expected (usually, these two last songs always get me). With the original Burr, his singing is laced with pain as much as regret. When he repeats ‘death doesn’t discriminate’, we feel his sorrow as he fits Hamilton into the same kind of category as his parents and wife, as someone important to him who died. When he says ‘he may have been the first one who died, but I’m the one who paid for it,’ we understand that he’s referring to the depth of his grief. That having to live with knowing he killed Hamilton feels, in this moment, worse than death.

This Burr is still cold. And when he finally gets to it, and says ‘I’m the one who paid for it,’ he looks away. He almost spits. His face is contorted in bitterness. It’s rough and gritty, for the first time in the entire musical.

I can remember it vividly – it was shocking to see, and sends shivers through me to remember. I’d been waiting for that cathartic sadness, but it wasn’t here. This Burr, deep down, didn’t feel for Hamilton, at least in the end. He was pissed off because for once in his life his actions had consequences. Because of Hamilton, he had fucked up his life forever. His worldview had been shattered. And at that moment, that was all he could think about – that resignation and bitterness and anger. All along, maybe, he had been nice only because he’d had no reason not to be. Once it didn’t benefit him, and his pride and entitlement were damaged, he showed who he truly was.

It… was an experience, lol. Honestly I think it was partly lost on me because I so loved the original version and was like working myself up ready for a good cry here, so I didn’t get to just sit and take the full impact – I kept searching for a grief or fear that wasn’t there. But I don’t think this version is bad! It’s a very valid interpretation of Burr, and it was extremely fascinating to see unfold.

If I have one critique, it’s that one kind of problem with the whole Australian show is that the performances lacked grit. I really wanted more edge, more aggression, more intensity of those emotions – something more sharp and shocking. Hamilton delivers this kind of thing at times, especially early on, but ofc it fades away in the end. Jefferson, as I’ll get to, is too smooth-talking while also having that cold serene kind of anger. When we lack both Hamilton’s broken It’s Quiet Uptown and Burr’s frantic ‘this man will not make an orphan of my daughter’, we don’t get those life and death stakes quite as highly. By focusing all of Burr’s anger in one line, I think the rest of the songs didn’t have as much of an impact as I’d like.

But!! I really enjoyed this interpretation, and I’d love to see it again knowing what’s coming!

Eliza

OKAY nobody else is going to get those huge walls of text lmaoooo

Anyway this Eliza wasn’t a super different interpretation than Phillipa Soo’s, but I think she pulled it off at least as well, if not even better?

So, the really big obvious thing about this Eliza is her smile. Her actress has this amazing, big toothy grin that feels so lacking in guile, but also still so comforting. It’s so attention-grabbing and almost impossible not to be affected by. It just screams ‘hey, things will turn out okay, so cheer up! :)’ And it’s something that just comes out on Eliza as if on instinct – she’s wearing it through most of That Would Be Enough, and at the end of Take A Break when she escorts Angelica away, and even in Blow You All Away when she’s comforting Phillip or in flickers when describing Hamilton’s old letters in Burn.

The thing about Eliza as a character is that she’s basically defined by her emotional intelligence. She feels as strongly as Hamilton, but where he is uncontrolled and reckless and both self and other destructive, she is the opposite of all of those things. She’s measured and practical and knows exactly who she is and what she wants at all times. She will sacrifice for others, but it’s because she decides to, and if she is hurt, she will not keep herself in harm’s way. It’s an interesting kind of competence and I can understand in theory why it’s cool to have a female character like that even if I, as a neurodivergent mentally ill woman cannot relate in the slightest and feel sorta awkward to be judged against.

This Eliza nails all of that perfectly. She’s effortlessly charming and soothing whenever she wants to be – in That Would Be Enough, when Hamilton is turned away and putting up all of his sharpest bristles, you can feel her become something soft and liquid and find her way up against him regardless without getting hurt. It’s that strength of character that makes their relationship really work – it’s not necessarily that she completely understands him or is good at ‘handling’ him, but that her certainty of purpose and deliberate, skilful compassion make her perfectly suited to calm Hamilton’s deep down insecurities. She loves him entirely and makes him believe that. And when Hamilton responds with his own intensity, she loves that, and believes in that.

And all of that makes it mean so much more when she steps out of that natural mediator role for a moment. In Helpless she’s adorable, so giddy and excited and so clearly crushing on Hamilton with a youthful energy that somehow doesn’t feel all that naive. As she sings she’s constantly glancing back over at him, it’s really cute haha. But she does feel a bit more vulnerable here – it does feel like she’s silently asking for help from Angelica when they talk. More startlingly, there’s Non-Stop – when she calls out ‘Alexander’, it is SHARP. It’s the same kind of tone Hamilton takes when he calls out to Burr in Schuyler Defeated. It’s a bit startling actually, but in a good way.

That tone, I think, foreshadows Burn. Again, I think this Eliza takes the same tone as Philippa Soo, but this version (maybe just because I saw it live!) embodied it even more – she talks about her own desperation to understand, re-reading their old letters, and cites Angelica as back-up, but when she reaches the mid-point, she stops and seems to think. She weighs up the situation and her emotions. And when she says ‘I’m erasing myself from the narrative,’ it is very deliberate and conscious. She is in control of her fate and she can see herself objectively and this is what is just. Her moral core is impenetrable. She sees long arc of the future that Hamilton and Burr are so obsessed with and she says, yes, this is what should be done.

And then in It’s Quiet Uptown, that same self-certainty is there from the very first word. This whole musical, even at her lowest, Eliza has instinctively brought out that comforting, wide smile. Here, her face is expressionless. If Hamilton’s acting here didn’t quite hit my mark, Eliza’s was spot on. The withdrawal of that earlier warmth is all the colder when there is no doubt within her about it, and nobody can argue she’s wrong in that. When she takes Hamilton’s hand, she still doesn’t smile. It’s sad :(

Of all of the final songs, Who Lives Who Dies Who Tells Your Story hit me closest to the original. It’s actually almost jarring to see Eliza ask ‘have I done enough?’ This whole song, we hear a hasty energy to her she’s lacked all musical – the first sign that Hamilton has rubbed off on her, too. But when she asks ‘Will they tell your story?’ it’s still Eliza – this isn’t about a legacy, it’s because she’s still that giddy girl from Helpless who loves him and wants to do everything she can for the people she loves.

(Whenever she and Hamilton see each other but appear to walk past one another, only to circle around and meet in the middle again, I cry lmao;;)

Her gasp at the end is soft and quiet and delighted, as though she just spotted someone in the crowd who she hasn’t seen in years and can’t wait to catch up.

If I have one critique, it’s the lack of grit again. Her scream at Philip’s death wasn’t as wild and destroyed as Phillipa Soo’s, and while I like her gasp, I prefer the original’s shocked, overwhelming joy.

Overall though, she was extremely good! Her charisma was just blinding, but it was in that perfectly ‘mundane’ way you’d expect from Eliza. But that solid, immovable core always shone through. They really sold her relationship with Hamilton, too!

Angelica

This is the one I feel like I have the least to say about. My mum said she was the only character who just couldn’t quite match up to the original, and I don’t really agree, but I don’t have a huge amount to say, either.

This Angelica felt a bit older and more mature than Goldsberry. The original Angelica has a bit of brashness and vivid emotion to her – a bit more out there and exaggerated in her actions and expressions. More bold but also more chaotic. This one was a bit more quiet and considering. Diplomatic, maybe?

I actually worried when I first saw her that she wouldn’t be able to carry Satisfied because she was too confident and capable I wouldn’t be able to believe her vulnerability, but no, she pulled that off perfectly. When she was standing in the dark there in the end, the sadness radiated from her.

I actually got a lot more chemistry between her and Hamilton this time; I always thought I disliked the relationship in that canon because of my grudge against how LMM wrote it, but maybe it’s just that LMM was too old for her lmao. You’d think her quietness would contrast with Hamilton’s pushiness, but if anything it feels like she can just eyebrow-arch off his usual way of getting under people’s skin – when she says ‘you forget yourself’ it’s subtly disapproving, then when he delivers the punchline, it’s like he proves himself enough to earn her respect. Indeed, their mutual aloofness actually suits them both really well. You can just imagine them working together, quietly sharing their judgements on everyone else in the room around them. They’d be a terrifying power couple, and that really connects up to her advice in Take a Break.

I don’t have as much to say about the rest of the musical though. (actually IDK if that’s all partly just because by the end my ADHD brain had to work a lot harder to keep up, lol.) Her piece in The Reynalds Pamphlet did the job, and her singing in It’s Quiet Uptown was beautiful.

I guess, if I had to contrast them, the original Angelica felt more spirited and aggressive – very ‘you want a revolution? I want a revelation!’ - while this one felt more like the settled head of the family who already had her place but understood the world perfectly and knew she’d have to pick and choose what she wanted most. (...spoken like that she sounds like a big contrast to Burr, funnily enough?)

Lafayette/Jefferson

So not too much to say about Lafayette – the guy pretty much did him the same as Daveed Diggs, and pulling that off is very impressive but there isn’t too much to analyse here. If anything the Lafayette felt slightly less bright and cheery than the original, which may have been done to contrast with Jefferson.

Jefferson, on the other hand, was quite different. Diggs’ version is very loud and kinda abrasive and arrogant – always smiling and bouncing but with something clearly malicious lying behind all of that. He’s got a harshness to him, deliberately intimidating and surprisingly authentic in what he reveals of himself. He’s a villain character who’s fun to watch because he’s having fun himself and you gotta admire his balls.

This Jefferson is much more smooth and manipulative – maybe taking over from what Burr sometimes delves into? When he first appears, he plays to the crowd, encouraging the cheers, but it’s less arrogance and more like, he’s a celebrity putting on a show. He’s friendly and cheerful all through What’d I Miss?, disarmingly enjoyable to watch. He’s someone who knows the crowd and likes the crowd and is very very good and getting what he wants from the crowd without making it obvious he’s doing that. He’s definitely the type of #relatable celebrity fans would really want to defend.

But Hamilton represents a very clear change to his status quo. He starts off singing What’d I Miss? just in a fun, conversation-starting way as a rhetorical question, but after Hamilton introduces himself, he seems genuinely taken-aback. His last ‘What’d I miss?’ sounds like a genuine question, like, ‘wait wtf what’s going on here all of a sudden?’

And then we get the Cabinet Battles. Despite the above, Jefferson starts off his argument oozing with relaxed confidence. He doesn’t need to take any of this seriously – it’s already in the bag! Everyone loves him and as long as he makes some nice jokes and smiles disarmingly enough, he’ll always get what he want. And then Hamilton starts talking. And he’s pushy and hostile and sarcastic and mocking and angry and superior. And the whole time, Jefferson stands straight and Stares at him. We get none of Diggs’ ‘Haha, this guy is a riot! :D’ type of energy – this Jefferson is deeply displeased, and he is watching very, very carefully to take stock of the situation so he can put an end to it.

It’s actually really well done IMO – when the crowd oohed and ahhed, it felt like a 50/50 of ‘what the hell, people aren’t supposed to DISAGREE with Jefferson!’ and also ‘holy shit this guy is acting like an actual obnoxious child who needs to stfu right now.’ Both Jefferson’s easy entitlement and Hamilton’s unhelpful abrasiveness really got across.

In the second battle, Jefferson is much more careful. Whether it’s because he isn’t underestimating Hamilton anymore or because he cares much more about this, there’s an unamused urgency underlying everything he says. He still tries to be friendly and charming and diplomatic, but his smile drops often. This issue is important and he is not going to back down on it. It’s actually still not quite as immaturely insulting as Hamilton – more like, ‘can we stop humoring this asshole kid already and do something we very much need to be doing?’

(Also fun fact: in The Room Where It Happens, when we get to Jefferson’s version of events, Hamilton’s ‘I had nowhere else to turn’ is SO fake and sarcastic it was really funny, like even the Hamilton in Jefferson’s head can’t bring himself to actually say that sincerely.)

So, when we get to Washington On Your Side, he’s cold. At the time, he contrasts well with Burr, who is all smiles and surprisingly relaxed. This Jefferson is more like Angelica, quietly analysing the situation and slowly coming to a plan. The difference between cold, planning Jefferson and smooth-talking Jefferson is also great.

Because of all this, he has less of the really comedic stuff the original Jefferson got, with the exaggerated expressions and movements – in We Know, he’s more struck dumb by everything than the more over the top reactions Diggs did. But the controlled coldness contrasts with Hamilton better – it makes sense that he was the one who successfully connived himself to the top. And we get much more of that contrast between public and private Jefferson that is one of the interesting real-world meta statements, where who is was to the people and who he actually was were very different.

…….I think I had some kind of impression of ‘because I’m the president’ but I can’t remember what it was anymore. Hrm.

Anyway: enjoyed!!

Mulligan/Madison

So, how I’ve been saying the show lacked grit? I honestly think it might’ve all just collected in Hercules Mulligan lmao – obviously his parts are meant to be bold and brash and powerful, but these ones hit even harder than usual. His part in The World Turned Upside Down was just so Loud I could feel it in my chest! Great performance, I loved it!

Madison was very very different naturally, but also very different from the original version? While the original Madison felt tired and a bit disgruntled, like he was exhausted by Jefferson’s in-your-faceness and just wanted to get this done so he could get back to his work, his one felt much happier to be there. This Madison felt like he actually saw himself as Jefferson’s teammate, like he considered himself part of the show and was happy (even smug) to be helping out. When Jefferson passes him the microphone, rather than say ‘France’ with an irritated expression as if to say ‘everyone already knows this, just get on with it already’, it feels more like this Madison already rehearsed this with Jefferson deliberately. He calls out ‘France,’ as though it is some incredible zinger, like he’s been given the mic drop here. It’s pretty cute haha!

Overall this Madison felt a lot younger. Talking afterwards my mum mentioned that Mulligan’s role is hard because he has to switch to playing ‘an old man’, and was pretty surprised when I said Madison was actually the same age as Hamilton. This version felt a lot more age-appropriate. He still gets sick and starts coughing (and it feels a lot meaner when Hamilton makes fun of him! The dude was just so happy to be here – let him have his zingers!!), but aside from that he thrums with nervous energy behind Jefferson, like he’s ready to help out anytime he’s needed.

In all, he kinda feels like he fulfils that certain comedic henchman trope a bit? It really comes together with the ‘Can we get back to politics?’ ‘:’( please!!’ exchange. Madison isn’t made fun of, per se – it’s not like he really does enough in the script to get that kind of attention. But he’s just a bit funnier and more sympathetic, while also strangely feeling more like he and Jefferson are an actual team. (I mean, Jefferson hands him the mic as though he’s setting up a zinger, too. They’re both a bit ridiculous!)

Laurens/Phillip

Okay, this was one I was really curious about, for obvious reasons – LMM always sorta made it out that since he never included any of the Hamilton/Laurens stuff in the script, he kinda tried to act it in there more. In Story of Tonight or Ten Duel Commandments, or even briefly in the opening song, there’s meant to be a closeness that hints, however subtle, at that relationship.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get that at all here.

Laurens’ casting surprised me at first – he’s super short and extremely baby-faced, to the point that I wondered if he wasn’t played by a cis man. (His actor is a man, though, though ofc I wouldn’t know if he’s cis or not.) I was kinda confused about that all through the first act… until I got to the second act and, uh, remembered. But despite this – perhaps because of it? - he is an absolute firecracker. He’s hot-headed and rough and determined and every bit the young impassioned soldier.

He’s a bit more naive in the early songs – he seems genuinely friendly with Hamilton in The Story of Tonight, and you feel like he really does just like him from the moment he hears Non-Stop – but like I said, Hamilton is still pretty closed-off through all of that, so… it doesn’t really feel mutual. Hamilton likes him fine, but it doesn’t feel like he cares as much as Laurens does.

In Satisfied, he indeed seems super drunk, but it’s more like he’s just too young and drinking too much at a party than anything. The only time I really felt any particular chemistry between him and Hamilton actually comes from Story of Tonight Reprise – when Hamilton wanders off to speak with Burr, in sincere friendship, and Laurens comes over and starts ribbing Burr about his girl with almost malicious energy, it did sort of feel a little like he was jealous, if only that Hamilton and he had been talking so easily.

Finally, we get to Stay Alive. There, Hamilton and Laurens are just so angry and disgusted with Lee that they don’t really have room for anything else. It’s all very focused and determined and Manly, without any time for something softer or close between them. And I’m not sure how to feel about that. Laurens’ revulsion for Lee is historical record, and it says a lot about him and his values that that was so important to him. But there are other important parts of Laurens – that worry and fear and insecurity inside him, that ended up being so damaging to him. In such a limited script for him, ‘Alexander, you’re the closest friend I’ve got’ is really his one chance to show some of those emotions before he dies. Instead, Laurens never really gets to show that vulnerability, and I worry that it makes him feel too much like a ‘generic soldier character.’

I wonder if it’s because this Laurens looked so youthful that they sort of overcompensated, and felt the need to make him extra manly to make it clear he belonged there despite his appearance. But it sort of felt a bit too… macho for me. Nowhere to be found is that 18th century romantic friendship. Instead, it’s been replaced by a more WWI era Comrade and Comrade type deal. They’d die for each other, but would they write romantic letters to one another? And I think this is also unfortunately pretty Australian – real emotion is lame!! The only acceptable emotion is fucking hating your boss, and challenging him to a duel with your squadmate to get him what he deserves.

Well, I’m reading too much into it all, lol. But I always felt like the original Laurens barely got to show much of himself as it was, and this one felt even less so, unfortunately.

His final scene – is it We May Not Live To See Your Glory? - is done well, though. Again, Laurens just sorta feels like a generic young soldier, but ‘idealistic soldier who died too young’ is moving enough on its own. And in one of those rare moments, Hamilton really does feel shaken and vulnerable. ‘I have so much work to do,’ as I said, hurts – so lifeless and unlike him. Like nothing could process those emotions in him now, or express them.

Philip, on the other hand, is the exact opposite. First of all, yeah – having a shorter, younger-looking actor makes that Take a Break scene WAY less awkward, haha. It wasn’t even funny, it was just like ‘oh huh this just kinda looks all right?’ And the actor did really well playing a kid! He looked like a completely different person there, which is really good.

And then we get to Blow You All Away, and hoo boyy. If Laurens had been excessively confident, Phillip oozes uncertainty with everything he does. When he flirts with the girls ‘when I come back we’ll all strip down to our socks’ he manages to pull off the cocky act but in basically every other line you can see and hear the ‘a-am I doing this right? I’m not screwing this up, am I?’ radiating off of him. He definitely believes he’s doing the right thing – when he says ‘you talk about my father I will not let it slide’ there’s no hesitation – it’s just that he very clearly isn’t sure if he’s up to the task of doing it.

It was sorta interesting, actually – I think the original Phillip was more naively overconfident and reckless, and only had an attack of the nerves after he got himself into the duel. But – and this might just be me projecting here, lol – when this Philip confronts Eacker in the theatre, I got a real sense of like… ‘??? can I do this here? Where are you meant to threaten duels???’ and when Eacker is like ‘piss off, I’m watching this show now’ he seemed to wilt a lot, and straight up froze for a second or two, like he really didn’t know what to do at that point. And then of course when he talks to Hamilton he’s really worried…

And then his death. Somehow, I never used to cry much when this happened – it’s obviously very sad, but it didn’t manage to hit the right heartstrings to make crying, even in the recording. But oh god, this one was just awful… Even as he’s dying, Philip is still just so desperate for approval, like he’s so scared his parents will be mad at him for screwing it up, and Eliza is trying so hard to reassure him before he dies… I cried a lot :(

So overall, I really liked this Phillip, even if I don’t necessarily think it’s an improvement to the original. Laurens I kinda preferred the original, though this was still an interesting interpretation that gave me a lot to think about!

Washington

The guy did well! He has what Washington needs, and that’s a stature. When he’s on stage, your eyes are just naturally drawn to him. Even when he’s not doing much, he’s still a little intimidating. He has presence!

And in fact, this actor had an interesting quirk where the whites of his eyes could be seen easily? In Right-Hand Man, as he’s striding around at the center of the stage, his eyes just looked white, and it drilled in that slightly manic, crazed intensity underlying his strict, rigid rapping and self-control. It have the whole thing a really great effect.

But this Washington also had a sort of almost… slight fem-ness to him, that I didn’t get as much from the initial? It’s funny how during One Last Time, I suddenly got this vivid though, ‘oh, it’s like he’s a cool supportive teacher.’ Which… obviously?? Haha. Like he’s clearly a mentor to Hamilton all the way through! But it’s that specifically teacher description I really felt all of a sudden, that he was warm and approachable and gentle at heart, despite everything I said above lol.

Like, I feel like this Washington was just a bit less stoic than the original? Slightly more expressive and less stern. When he says ‘I’m from Virginia, so watch your mouth,’ in the original, it sounded like he was genuinely kinda offended? It was ‘watch your mouth’ as in ‘don’t disrespect my home state.’ But in this one, Washington sorta grimaces a little theatrically and says it more incredulously, like he’s actually saying ‘you wanna maybe try thinking about who you’re talking to before you say that shit, son?’ It’s more of a warning – less that he’s upset and more that other people would be, so he should really try thinking before he speaks.

He also still does the part in Who Lives Who Dies Who Tells Your Story when Eliza says she spoke out against slavery and he kinda stumbles and stares and then looks down in shame, given the real Washington’s actions.

I liked him! I felt a little more warmly to him in the end than the original, but that might just be a product of seeing it live.

Peggy/Maria

Okay so I don’t really have anything to say about Peggy, which had basically always been the case, hah. :’) I mean, I think this version made the transformation between her initial wariness vs her later excitement more clear? But that is very likely a live show thing.

Maria, though!! Honestly? I was never really a fan of the original Maria’s performance. She just feels too much like a cliched seductress archetype, and while you can argue that that’s the role she plays in the story, especially since there’s the uncertainty over whether or not she was deliberately setting Hamilton up, it just feels too on the nose. It makes it harder to believe Hamilton didn’t know what was up the moment he saw her, which I don’t think is intentional. And it makes me feel bad for the real Maria Reynolds.

But this one was very different – much more vulnerable. When she first talks to Hamilton, she’s not doing a sexy pout and throaty singing, she’s just sorta… quiet and monotone and lost, much like Hamilton gets when he’s too emotional as well. Like she’s in shock and truly has nowhere to go is just sort of crumpling as a person. And when she propositions Hamilton, again it feels sincere – she just wants him to stay.

And after he talks to James Reynolds (just as perfectly, theatrically assholish as in the original), that continues. When he confronts her, she genuinely seems desperate and scared and upset. I felt so, so sorry for her that I was yelling in my head right then ‘you can’t just leave her now!’ at Hamilton – and then immediately remembered what that’d mean… it’s a much more gripping situation.

And then in the end, James Reynolds walks off and claps, and Maria just stops, face and body entirely stoic, and follows after him in silence… Is that an indication it was all an act from her? Or is it that she’s so scared of him that she totally closes up and can’t cry, can’t show any kind of emotion or weakness around him, and just has to try and be a silent and flawless wife? No matter how you interpret it, it’s chilling.

Oh, and IDK if this is done in the recording, but in The Reynolds Pamphlet, she gets given one, too, and her look of just… upset/disgust is also really painful. At the end they say ‘his poor wife’, but who thinks about poor Maria?? :(

I still wouldn’t say that this is an accurate adaptation of the real events, since I think that gets right into the script and structure of Hamilton in ways that a regional performance just can’t really make better. But this version is at least better. It plays Maria with more dignity, I think, than making her into a sexy bombshell, even if that bombshell act does get subverted in the original as well. This one feels significantly more sympathetic.

King George

He was great!! He was played by an older actor who seems to have done a lot of serious Shakespearian plays, which of course makes him absolutely perfect – both in that he could flawlessly depict that pompous old privileged Brit, but also in that he probably has a good backing in comedy and political satire :P He was clearly having the time of his life playing to the crowd – throughout all his time on stage he was constantly alternating between doing one or two lines very serious and mostly straight, before doing something absolutely hilarious. That back and forth worked extremely well!

Also I never saw it properly on the recording but when he gets up and dances in the middle of the stage during the Reynolds Pamphlet?? AMAZING.

Obviously, Johnathon Groff is his own personality and is friends with LMM and brings all of that unique stuff to the table that nobody could replicate. But this actor was just as much fun to watch, and does have the added benefit of really looking and sounding the part.

Final Thoughts

I’d really love to hear other people’s thoughts on this run, especially from the perspective of it being an Australian cast/audience – I really hoped the booklet would include at least a piece or two from someone who worked on this run, but it did not. (In fact, it was one of the scantest musical books I’ve seen? I don’t regret buying it as a souvenir of course but usually they have at least one or two interesting pieces of new content aside from just backstage pics…)

What really sticks out to me is the structure of it all. Hamilton is definitely the central character that brings everything together through the first ¾, but around The Room Where it Happens Burr starts to take over bit by bit, allowing him to keep up the energy as Hamilton falls back further and further into becoming both less of a hero but also more quiet and passive. By The Election of 1800, Burr is giving us all the energy – until the end of The World Was Wide Enough, when he too falls back and Eliza takes over.

Given this, this Hamilton did an incredible job throughout most of the performance – he had amazing chemistry with every other character and really exemplified that scrappy, intelligent, driven, but aggressive and difficult character that never quite shined through in LMM’s performance for me. Burr’s more subtle performance complements that well, and he even arguably outdoes Leslie Odom Junior in The Election of 1800. However, after that I think his quieter acting and singing sort of fails to fill the hole Hamilton left behind, reducing the climax a bit of its energy. Thankfully, Eliza was able to bring that all back for her final number.

It also strikes me that this performance is a bit less teary, at least from the men. Eliza, Angelica, and Maria all bring out that vulnerability and the sadness of their positions wonderfully – a great improvement in Maria’s case, for me. However, Burr’s The World Was Wide Enough severely downplays the sincere regret angle, while Hamilton never quite hits the right notes on It’s Quiet Uptown. However, Hurricane and Phillip’s performance in Blow You All Away definitely hit that fear and panic leading to self-destruction. (Interesting I guess that Burr doesn’t also seem more fearful in The World Was Wide Enough?) Is that also a gendered expectations thing, perhaps?

Either way, I’m extremely glad I was able to see it if only for Hamilton’s performance – honestly, maybe the reason it seemed to lose a lil steam was just that Hurricane was so good everything else failed to follow it, haha. Burr also absolutely fascinated me here, too, and that was so much fun to see play out in real time!

Hamilton will be coming to Melbourne next, and I’m not sure yet if I’ll be able to go there but I’d really like to! It’d be really fun to test out these expectations/conclusions of mine with a fresh viewing, as well as see any other new cast changes/interpretations…!

[dai-ou-sama]

Wrote a thing for AlbetherWeek2021!! Has themes of Day 1 and 3 (warmth and dreams), but it’s mostly just Albedo detailing how (and how much) he loves Aether.

—Please they‘re the epitome of a comfort ship I MEAN, WHICH OTHER SHIP HAS A STRING OF REPRESENTATIVE EMOJIS LIKE THIS: ☀️💫✨

Read on AO3 or down below!

Albedo woke to the sight of Aether curled against his chest, what, he decided, must have been his favourite sight in the world.

He was breathing in soft, gentle puffs, his shoulders rising and falling feather-like, nearly imperceptible. The sun had just barely risen. Its rays filtered through the curtains and set the room aglow with a soft golden light.

A draft of wind rustled past the curtains, parted them, stirred the dust in the air and illuminated them so they resembled snowflakes falling from the sky of their ceiling. Stray petals, all in different shades of yellow, drifted from the bundle of flowers hanging by their window onto their bed. They landed around Aether’s sleeping figure. Albedo laughed quietly to himself. It looked like a scene straight out of a fairytale.

For a while, he simply watched. Being in a sleep-tinged daze did not keep him from marveling at the sight of Aether; at his presence. It didn’t matter that this was a scene he woke to everyday. It hadn’t yet failed to steal his breath away and fill his heart with so much pure, unadulterated joy, that he thought it might burst.

Albedo watched him breathe; counted the seconds between each inhale and exhale. He mapped out the freckled constellations dusted over his cheeks and nose. Memorised them. He started combing through his hair, gingerly smoothing out the long locks with his fingers so Aether wouldn’t stir. He wondered at the way mornings casted Aether’s hair in light. Transformed them into strands of liquid gold solidified.

When all the knots in his hair were untangled, and all the stars across his face were found, he settled back into watching Aether breathe once more. It was a simple routine he repeated daily; one he fell more and more in love with with each passing day.

He reveled in the way warmth bloomed where their skin met skin. The way he could feel the soft thumps of Aether’s heart against his own even through the layers of fabric that lay between them. Thump, thump, thump. A steady, constant beat of life, heart to heart, that made him feel, more than anything, alive and corporeal and human.

There had been a time when Albedo had believed that he was an outsider living in a realm that he didn’t belong to. He was a hoax, an imposter, playing at human life in a masquerade.

He had doubted the very basis of his existence. Had questioned if his death would have amounted to anything more than an insignificant end to an artificial life. Like a porcelain doll falling to the ground, shattering out of existence.

From the faded memories of his youth, the written words of his old master had haunted him: Show me the true meaning of life and this world. Her final task to him before she had vanished into thin air.

Albedo hadn’t had an answer then. All he’d known were the laws of alchemy, the art of creation. Earth was the cumulative memory of time and being; soil was the origin of alchemy, the basis of all life; and chalk was the substance from which primal life was molded. There, written in words of fact. Simple, scientific. This he had understood. But what true meaning could have possibly been referring to had been lost on him.

No, he hadn’t had an answer. Not even then, when he would have given everything to see his master once more. When he’d been standing in the suddenly-too-empty halls of his old home, and wondering what the gnawing sense of absence inside him was. When he’d sat at the dining table that used to feed two people and eaten a dinner he hadn’t realised had long turned cold.

His master’s disappearance severed the only tether he’d had to the human world. The concept of meaning given to life and earthly existence became entirely foreign to him. He had found it laughably ironic that his talents lay in fabricating life.

Suddenly, it had felt like he was living in the margins of life. He was barred behind an invisible line, separated from everyone else around him. The depth of loss that had affected him had surprised him. He wondered if his master had somehow carved a part of him out and taken it with her when she’d left. Or perhaps, that that had been an entirely false hypothesis, and it was simply that he’d always been hollow. An empty shell, a facade of life — now simply made aware of it.

The more time passed, the more Albedo had been inclined to believe in the latter.

At least, meeting Alice and Klee in Mondstadt had helped quieten the clamouring in his head. Living with them was chaotic. It was a flurry of action and noise and laughter and warmth – so completely different from the efficient, systematic way he had lived with his master. Yet, somehow, their presence had still managed to feel familiar.

Their presence kept his anxiety at bay. Or at least, it kept his mind off of it. Klee’s hopeless antics and explosions staved him off from falling too far into a pit of wondering, wondering, wondering what having no answer suggested. No answer. No particular purpose or hope harboured in his being. What did that make of him?

It was a question that clung to him like a shadow that matched his every step and turn. Black matter, uncontrollable, that widened and stretched and grew at the back of his mind, eating away at more and more of him until it threatened to swallow him whole.

Life became a blur of passing interests before he had even realised it. A process of finding new creations and lifeforms that piqued his interest, before getting bored and moving on to find another. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

And then came word of the Honorary Knight. The rumoured traveler who didn’t seem to have come from Mondstadt — or anywhere in Teyvat for that matter. Who had been bestowed his title from the Knights of Favonius because of his contributions to the crisis with Stormterror. Whose name continued to be whispered around town because he, despite his grand title, continued to help with the average Mondstadtian’s most mundane of worries.

‘Aether’, they called him.

Aether. Albedo knew that word, he’d seen it in his alchemical texts before. The fifth element of alchemy; the purest form of air that the gods breathed. The personification of the upper sky, and the primordial god of light.

The boy who wore strange clothes and did kind things.

Albedo had been intrigued. Questions began wandering through his mind before he’d even become fully aware of them.

Where did this stranger come from? How did he control the elements? Why was he helping all those people? Wasn’t he tired? What did he look like? Was his hair as golden as the rumours said they were? Were his smiles truly as sweet as honey? Who was this mysterious person he was looking for?

...Is he like me?

And, somehow, just as his curiosity had reached its peak, they’d ended up meeting in his camp in Dragonspine. The traveler himself had come to find him.

Even now, Albedo still wasn’t sure if it had been this fact that had made his stomach flip in a peculiar way he hadn’t ever experienced before, or if it had simply been the sight of him.

The rumours had been true. Of his hair. His sunshine smiles.

More than that. How had the rumours managed to neglect how long his eyelashes were? Or how his skin resembled warmed marble? His lips to the soft curve of a waning moon?

And before Albedo had even had the chance to try and stop himself, he’d already thrown out a wild request for Aether to assist him with his experiments regarding the peculiar seed from another world. It had been made up on the spot and haphazardly hidden behind the excuse of ‘research’. Albedo still hardly believed that Aether had agreed.

In retrospect, Albedo often reflected on that moment. The same conclusion was always reached: he must have simply lost his mind in that moment. He was just glad that Aether never noticed a thing.

They spent the following weeks together, conducting experiments that confirmed Aether’s origins from a world beyond this one; that tested which laws of the Teyvat applied to him and which didn’t. Albedo’s initial questions about Aether were answered one by one. He easily formed more at a speed that far outpaced his answers. Questioning was, after all, in his nature as a scientist.

Questions like: What does he like to eat? Does he get cold easily? What would make him laugh? If I brought him flowers, would he smile? Is he as happy as I am when we are together?

Utterly scientific.

It had been weeks into their friendship by the time Albedo had noticed just how comfortable he felt around Aether. He was surprised by how often smiles broke onto his face, how at peace he felt. The worries that seemed to have plagued his mind permanently had been dimmed down, momentarily muted, and in their place was the thought of Aether.

They had found out early on that Aether was immune to poison and corruption. Evil did not affect his soul. He had the ability to purify corrupted objects with his touch. Albedo often wondered if that magic applied to him too.

But then, of course, that was impossible. Because, as much as Albedo wanted to believe in magic, he knew that problems did not go away by themselves, unaddressed. Problems demanded responsive action. This was so in experiments, and just as much in himself.

And so, one night in Dragonspine, when the snowstorm had been especially harsh, and the biting cold of winter seemed to seep deeper into him than usual, he’d confessed to Aether, in a fleeting whisper, all the thoughts and fears that clamoured in his head.

About the fact that he wasn’t, and wouldn’t ever be, truly human; that there was nobody else in this world quite like him; that it created an inexplicably jarring sense of isolation that he didn’t think anyone would ever understand. He confessed that he could not see purpose in his own existence.

He knew everything about the creation of life, but nothing about life itself.

His words had been uttered so quietly they had nearly been lost to the howling winds outside their tent. One could have pretended they were simply sounds of the storm imagined into words. The dwindling fire light between them could have been the only thing that heard him at all.

It was the first time Albedo had ever tried to vocalise the thoughts he rarely even let himself think. To speak into existence his emotions was to concretise them, and that had always been something he had instinctively turned away from.

That night, Albedo witnessed Aether’s smile drop from his face completely. For the first time since their meeting, he watched all familiar forms of joy and ease fade away from his expression and he immediately regretted ever saying a word because he could hardly bear with the fact that he was the reason why Aether looked like that.

A suffocating silence had settled over them like a blanket of snow. A sound too loud might have begun an avalanche. And then, like a shotgun, Aether had asked, “Do you love me?” His eyes had not left Albedo’s; his words had been steady. Albedo had failed to notice these things.

His breath escaped him in a heavy rush. Love? The question stumped him. The same way his master’s question had. What was the real meaning of life and this world? And suddenly, the same feelings of loss and confusion began welling up inside him again, amplified tenfold. A black hole ripped open beneath his feet, dragging him in, threatening to drown him.

His own silence crushed him. He fumbled for an answer, choked on his words. Looked away.

“...I don’t know,” he’d said. He had found himself incapable of explaining that he did not understand what being in love meant either.

Silence. It had been short, no longer than a few seconds, but Albedo had never experienced silence quite as loud. The world had begun caving in. He had been crumbling at his feet.

But Aether had not faltered. He’d gotten up and walked over to Albedo. He’d taken his face into his hands. His palms had been so, so warm against Albedo’s cheeks. So solid. “Then answer this instead: does your heart race when you see me?”

It was strange. Aether’s voice had been so quiet, so calm, yet it had managed to drown out the storms from the outside. He became an anchor. The world around them seemed to fall away. Suddenly, they were at the centre of the universe.

Albedo swallowed. Then nodded.

“Do you feel warm when I touch you?” Another nod.

“Do you fall asleep with thoughts of me? Wake from dreams about me?” And yet another nod.

“Good. Then you’re just like me,” Aether said. “Because when I see you, my heart races. When I’m by your side, I’m warm. I’m always thinking about you, and when I can think no longer, you visit me in my dreams.”

Aether’s voice had become fiercer and fiercer with every word he had spoken. There had been no joy reflected in his eyes in that moment, but there had been fire. A blazing flame that chased away – burned away – the shadows clinging onto Albedo.

“If you don’t know if you love me, that’s fine. You just need to know that I love you.” And then Aether had taken his hands and placed them over their hearts. One hand against each of their own. Albedo had felt two beats, identical, pound beneath his palms. “There, you see. Your heart is beating just the same as mine. Doesn’t that make you human enough?”

That was the night Albedo had found his answer to his master’s question. What was the true meaning of life and this world?

He hypothesised that the universal answer might have been love. The ability to love; the gift of being loved. But his personal truth could have only been one person.

That night had been years ago now. It nearly seemed like memories from another lifetime. Now, Albedo laughed when he thought about that night, because his present worries were so vastly different.

His present, most-pressing concern involved the fact that they had a list of a dozen-some chores that they needed to complete by the end of today, and Aether was still deeply asleep. And that was beside the fact that Albedo still had not figured out what flowers they were going to be using to decorate their home in preparation for this year's Windblume.

He’d decided that they would definitely be yellow flowers months ago, but he hadn’t settled on which ones he liked best. Marigolds, daffodils, dahlias, freesias, buttercups, primroses – each of them were a sentiment of his affection. Each unique in the type of love he felt for Aether.

There were so many things he needed to do…

Albedo watched Aether’s nose twitch. He felt him shift against his chest, then nuzzle closer to his neck.

…Later, Albedo decided.

Later, he would wake Aether up with a gentle flick against his nose so he could watch the way it scrunched in annoyance. Later, he would nag at him to get up so that they could go about finishing the chores they had listed out the day before. Later, he would indulge him with kisses all across his face when he began to complain.

Later, later, later. There were so many moments of the future waiting for them. An eternity’s worth, Albedo was sure. After all, they were beings that transcended time. Kreideprinz, the prince of chalk, birthed from soil, and the Honorary Knight, the boy made of sunlight and stars. It wouldn’t hurt to lay in bed for another hour longer.

[transientwordsmith]

The Swear Jar

Ok so I wrote some fanfic for yall :) its MCU fanfic, in an AU (idk which just go with it my dudes). I hope yall like it :D Here is a link to the fic on AO3. Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Wanda Maximoff, Vision, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov | Word Count: ~1900

This story begins on one fine Sunday when Mr. Steve Rogers purchased a rather large jar. He bought a package of labels and a large sharpie as well. When he got back to the Avengers Tower, he took a label, wrote “SWEAR JAR” on it, and stuck it to the side of the jar. Then, he put it on a side table for everyone to see.

“Rogers, what the fuck is that?” Tony had asked when he saw it.

“A swear jar,” Steve explained simply. “Which you should put a dollar in, by the way.” Tony sighed dramatically. He then took out his wallet, removed a single, and leaned over Steve to get to the Swear Jar.

“Fine. Here you go. One dollar.” Tony said.

Now, whenever a resident of the Avengers Tower heard the call of “Language!” from Steve, a few moments later they also heard the clink of the glass jar. Peter Parker, who was a spectator of these rather funny events, noted that Clint and Tony were the ones called out most often.

But, alas, most adults do swear, and everyone eventually put at least a dollar in the Swear Jar. Even Peter had added a dollar or two to the Jar. But it was truly self-imposed. He hardly ever swore around adults, and if he did, it was a “Damn!” or the occasional “Shit!” that had slipped out by accident. But, since the appearance of the Swear Jar, that hardly happened anymore.

This went on for about a month before The Incident, as Peter called it.

Peter had been working in the lab with Tony. They were working on their own projects but they enjoyed each other’s company, so they worked in the same lab. They had been working for a while when Tony leaned back in his chair and sighed.

“You want something to drink, kid?” Tony asked.

“Sure,” Peter said. “How about a coke?”

“Sure thing,” Tony said and promptly left.

Peter was unfazed by Tony’s abrupt exit and went back to working on his project. A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

“Tony?” Peter looked up. It was Steve. “Oh, hi, Steve,” Peter greeted him. “What’s up?”

“Is Tony here?” Steve asked. Peter shook his head.

“No, he just left. You can stay, if you want to, though.” Peter indicated to an area next to him where Steve could sit.

Steve sat, and Peter went back to his work. They sat there in silence for longer than Peter would have expected. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Steve flipping through papers and poking various parts and tools. Peter didn’t mind, but he wondered if Tony would. When will he be back? Peter thought.

Then, all of a sudden, Peter was ripped from his thoughts by a sharp yell.

“Fuck!”

Steve was sucking on his finger. He took it out of his mouth to look at it.

“Fuck, that hurt,” he said, quieter this time.

Peter realized in that moment that he had a decision to make:

Confront Steve now, make him deposit a few dollars to the Swear Jar, and tell everyone

Don’t say anything and use this as blackmail

Peter went with option number 2.

“What happened? Are you okay?” he asked Steve. Steve looked at him and they made eye contact for just a moment.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just got a paper cut.”

“Oh, that sucks. Do you want a Band-Aid?”

“Sure.”

There is actually another Incident that Peter would rather not talk about. In his mind, this is dubbed The Moment.

Peter and Steve had been helping some SHIELD agents move some things from one side of a building to the other side. One of those things just so happened to be a fridge. The agents expressed that they would feel a lot better if Peter and Steve carried it together, even though either one of them could hold it by himself.

They were squeezing through one of the narrower doorways when Peter caught his hand between the fridge and the doorway.

“Fuck,” he swore quietly. Peter let go of the fridge with that hand and shook it out.

Before Peter could grab onto the fridge again, he made eye contact with Steve. Just for a moment. And when Steve didn’t call him out, he realized Steve had made the same decision he had made.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Steve asked.

“I caught my hand between the fridge and the door,” Peter explained.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”

This arrangement continued for around a month and a half, where Steve and Peter felt comfortable swearing when they were alone together, but kept the secret when they were around others.

The only thing that threatened this secret, was Bucky Barnes.

Bucky Barnes had been on a mission in California for the past two months and was finally allowed to come back to New York. When he walked into the common room in the Avengers Tower, one of the first things he spotted was the Swear Jar. Peter watched him eye it for a few minutes. Finally, Bucky caved.

“Steve?” he called.

“Yeah, Buck?” Steve called back.

“What’s this?” Bucky asked, his voice sounding like a parent that had just discovered an impromptu mural.

“...It’s the Swear Jar. See? It’s got a little label on it,” Steve explained, indicating the label on the front.

“Ah, I see,” Bucky nodded condescendingly. Peter watched him from across the room and came to a realization: Bucky knew that Steve had the dirtiest mouth out of all of the Avengers, but he decided to use it as blackmail, just as Peter had.

About a week later, Peter decided to organize another video for the Avengers YouTube channel that he ran, called Miscellaneous Inc.

The video begins with this opening card:

It’s animated. The sparkles come and leave out of sync.

[cut]

Some of the Avengers are sitting in a circle. They each have a whiteboard. Someone speaks:

“I swear to god, Clint, nobody’s forcing you to do this!”

[cut]

Peter Parker is sitting on his bed, criss cross applesauce. He waves at the camera.

“Hey, YouTube,” He greets the audience. “It’s me, Peter, saying hello to you on this fine Wednesday afternoon. Today, I have somehow convinced a whole bunch of the Avengers to play ‘Who’s More Likely To’ with me! I honestly don’t know how I convinced them to do it, but I did. Anyway, I asked you guys to ask some ‘Who’s More Likely To’ questions on Twitter, and I went through them! FRIDAY’s gonna read them out, though, so if you put emojis it might sound a little weird.”

[cut]

Peter, Tony, Steve, Bucky, Clint, Natasha, Sam, Wanda, and Vision are sitting in a circle, each equipped with a handheld whiteboard and a pen.

“Hi, camera!” Peter waves to the camera, mostly to make sure everyone else is aware of it. “You may notice that we are a few Avengers short. I promise, they are not dead. These are the only people I could convince to play with me. So far, that is. Should everyone introduce themself?” Peter asked and looked around the circle. Nobody really gave a definite reaction.

“We’ve all been on your channel before, yes?” Wanda asked.

“I guess…” Peter said.

The video froze and became a bit dimmer. Suddenly, names and arrows appeared on the screen, going around the circle, each appearance being noted by a small ding.

← Tony Stank (Iron Man)

← Peter Parker (me :D)

← Steve Rogers (Cap)

← Bucky Barnes (the coolest)

← Clint Barton (Hawkeye)

← Natasha Romanov (Black Widow)

← Sam Wilson (Falcon)

← Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch)

← Vision (Vision)

“Peter,” Peter said to the camera. “Do something cool during editing. A message came up on the screen: “I got you ;)”

[cut]

“Okay.” Peter clapped his hands. “Let’s get started. To reiterate, this is the ‘Who’s More Likely To’ Challenge. How you play is basically, a question is asked, like, ‘who’s more likely to land an arrow in the bullseye on the first try’. Then you write down who you think would be more likely to do that and then we all compare our answers. Does that make sense?”

Everyone nodded their heads.

“Great. FRIDAY, please read the first question.”

“Who’s more likely to say something they’re not supposed to in front of the press?” FRIDAY’s disembodied voice said.

Everyone wrote on their whiteboards for a few moments.

“Okay, let’s see your answers,” Peter said and turned around his board. Everyone followed suit. There were quite a few answers. The two most popular were “me” (“That’s not an answer, you guys,”) and Peter.

“Next question!” Instructed Peter.

“Who’s more likely to break something and leave it for the next person to fix?”

The most popular answer for that one was Tony.

Who’s more likely to accidentally knock someone out?

Steve.

Who’s more likely to keep saying “one more try” on a trick shot?

Sam.

Who’s more likely to have a weird secret habit?

Clint.

Who’s more likely to tip off a metal detector by accident?

Answers evenly split between Natasha and Bucky.

Who’s more likely to swear the most?

Peter had been waiting for this one. He curated the questions so he knew this one would show up eventually. He saw Steve and Bucky make eye contact. He watched as Bucky turned toward him and looked him straight in the eye. It was as if he was saying, “Now is the time to break our silence.”

“Turn your boards!” Peter instructed. They all did. Apart from Peter and Bucky, the most common answers were Tony and Clint.

“Steve?” Tony asked. “Peter, did you hear the question? They said the dirtiest mouth.”

“Yeah, I know. Bucky, you can back me up, right?” Peter looked to Bucky for someone to back him up.

“I only have my word, kid,” Bucky said solemnly.

Then Peter remembered.

“Hold on, actually. I have something. FRIDAY, show me that day Steve and I were in the lab together!”

FRIDAY rolled the clip. Then, everyone was able to see the true Steve Rogers. They were all shocked, to say the least. Steve sat there with a dumbstruck expression, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

“So what do you have to say for yourself, Capsicle?” Tony asked him.

“Uh...I’m sorry?” Steve tried.

“You’re damn right you’re sorry!” Clint yelled playfully. “I’ve lost at least $100 to that damn Swear Jar! Speaking of which, what do you do with all the money?”

Steve stalled for as long as possible, but it was inevitable. He would have to tell them.

“I spent it on art supplies and ice cream.”

“You did what?!”

[cut]

Peter was back on his bed. He waved to the camera again.

“Thank you guys so much for watching! I can try and convince them to do this again sometime if you’d like! See you next time!

The video ended. Peter turned off the camera.

“Steve is going to kill me…”

[lifeofroos]

ToN spoilers!!!!!!!!!!!

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Nobody else did... so I guess I had to do it myself.

Nico’s first therapy session fanfiction, let’s go. I might write more in the future. 

This might be crazy

When I woke up, there was a juice box on my nightstand. At first, I figured it was Wills’ doing. An attempt to get me to consume more calories. Yet, that just did not feel right.I sat up and pushed my curtains aside a little. Outside, it was still pitch black. Alright, now I was absolutely certain that Will was not the one to put the juicebox on my nightstand. When healers do not have a night shift, they tend to sleep as much as they can.

 I thought about the dreams I had had that night. I was at an amphitheatre and I could hear people talking, but nothing really happened. It was nicer than my usual dreams, which always seemed to come straight out of a Stephen King novel. The amphitheatre. What the hell, it was worth a try. I climbed out of bed, picked up the juice box and walked out the door (I had forgotten to take off my regular clothes when I went to sleep. I wasn’t wearing shoes, though - I regretted that when I was just too far away from my cabin to get them anyway). 

The campfire flared up a bit when I got close enough. Someone was sitting on the first row, near the flames. I sighed deeply when I noticed two glowing, purple eyes. Hell, help me. ‘Nico Di Angelo.’

‘Sir.’ 

‘I asked you to come to the Big House a couple of times, and you never did. I figured you might come if I added some mysticism.’

I tightened my grip on the juice box. ‘So you laid a juice box on my nightstand in the middle of the night. A box of…’- I looked at the carton - ‘Demeters’ Divine Orange Juice.’

 ‘It can be whatever you want. I can give you apple juice or pear juice, if that makes you comfortable.’

I looked at the box. A little grin grew on my face. ‘Can it be dragon fruit juice?’ He sighed deeply. ‘Whatever.’ The picture of an orange on the juicebox changed into a picture of a dragon fruit. I put the straw into the box and took a sip - it tasted weird, but weird in a good sense. I sat down next to Dionysus. 

‘Whatever Will said, it is not true.’ 

‘I sensed myself that there was something wrong. Although your boyfriend did tell me about your issues as well.’ 

I stared into the flames. They were slightly grayish. ‘I feel… fine enough.’

 ‘That’s not feeling good, though.’

 ‘It’s feeling good enough.’ 

‘It isn’t. You deserve to feel better.’ 

I took a swig of dragon fruit juice. ‘Children of Hades do not feel happy. They never have.’ 

‘I know for a fact that you just repeated what everyone else was saying. Because Chiron does not teach old myths about Hades’ children. Because not a lot of them survived. The myths, I mean.’ 

I kept looking at the flames. ‘What problems do I have then, that should and could  be fixed?’

‘Well, you tend to summon skeletons when you get upset, for one, and you tend to zone out during activities, and...’ the god of wine probably had a lot more interesting things to say, if it wasn’t for the fact that my juice box was empty, but I kept sucking on the straw, so that the god got interrupted by the weird slush-sound an empty carton makes. It worked for a few seconds, until Dionysus magiced more juice into the box. The next moment I had a mouth full and almost choked. I coughed loudly. ‘Be careful,’ was all the nearby god had to say about it. 

When I could breathe again, Dionysus sighed deeply. ‘You need to stop messing around, Di Angelo.’ I sighed and looked at the seats. Will had encouraged me to seek help. I might need it, even, I could agree with that. But this felt ridiculous. I wasn’t insane. ‘Just take as long as you need. If you come up with something, just tell me.’

 I don’t know how much time I took. I paced around the campfire and  jumped up and down the first row of seats, trying to think. When I got back to Dionysus, he was reading a few documents that looked important. However, he put them away when he saw me. I sat back down. Another juice box appeared. ‘The voices,’ was all I said, while I picked up the juice carton.

‘In your head, I assume.’

 ‘Those. They… I don’t know. They don’t sound human.’

 ‘Well, they aren’t.’ 

‘I mean… I think they are from the Underworld.’ I had no idea why I was telling him that. Yet, I had not told him about…

‘Are we talking about the regular underworld, or Tartarus?’

‘Sorry for the rough question, Di Angelo, I did not mean to immediately ask something so difficult and personal.’ Dionysus stared at me. He clearly meant exactly what he had asked.

‘...Alright, tartar sauce.’

‘Tartar sauce?’

‘Who is the one going around telling everyone names have power?’ 

He actually smiled. ‘Touché. Tell me what you want to tell about it.’ 

‘I do not think it’s… monsters.’ Did I not? ‘It might be… I don’t know.’

 ‘Divinities?’ 

‘Could be. They call out to me. They tell me to… they don’t exactly tell me to come to them. But they don’t tell me to stay away either, if you understand that.’

‘Hm. But you do think that they are outside forces?’

‘How about you try to slap them out of my brain and if they are still there, we can be certain of that.’ 

‘That’s not how it works.’ 

‘Hm.’ Useless. ‘But I do certainly think there is something out there giving me these messages.’ 

‘That would make it one of the most important parts to not let the voices, what or whoever they are, make you go crazy.’ No brainer. Although I must admit it is difficult. I took a few sips of dragonfruit juice. The carton would not empty out this time, so that I could block this whole therapy session out with a slushing sound - I figured Dionysus made it bottomless. ‘Probably.’

He was silent for some time. I put my juicebox down. ‘How do I not become crazy?’ It felt like he wanted me to ask something like that. Maybe not exactly the way I worded it. 

‘That is what we are going to figure out.’ He smiled at me again. ‘Is there anything else that might be bothering you?’ I did not immediately respond. The voices that were bothering me now reminded me of different voices - those of Otus and Ephialtes, which I could constantly hear while I was locked in their iron jars. The voices had gotten into my dreams, even now, more than a year after the incident had taken place. ‘It makes me feel… trapped. The voices, I mean.’ 

‘Can you yourself think of a concrete reason for that?’Yes, yes I could. Except that that reason made me almost cry and him asking that made me angry. And so I said nothing. ‘Too much for this session?’

‘What a concrete observation. I could not be so concrete’ 

‘The voices were already quite concrete.’

‘Maybe.’ I brought the carton to my lips again. I took a sip, but it tasted a little bitter. I heard Dionysus take a deep breath. ‘What do you think about continuing next time?’

‘I said almost nothing!’

‘Not a lot of words, no. But you very clearly told me about one of the big issues you are having. That takes a lot.’ I realised I had emptied out the juice carton. ‘Will I find a new one when it is time again?’

‘Perhaps. Now go back to your cabin before you act like one of your zombies tomorrow and Chiron blames me.’

Chiron would probably blame Will, I thought. However, taking a nap sounded like a good idea. ‘Alright then.’

‘Sleep tight.’

‘Yeah, you too.’ I walked away from the campfire. When I looked around, Dionysus had vanished. I could, however, see a woman sitting close by the flames. She smiled, which made me feel warm inside. Alright, therapy was scary. Therapy with the god of madness seemed like… well, madness. But perhaps it could work out, if I gave it a shot.

[wafflewarriors]

A Rewrite of History

Chapter 11—Bugs (Part 2)

The Winchesters had been generous compared to this guy. If you had been cramped before, this was suffocating. You were in the passenger seat, with a gag pulling tight on your lips.

To even consider fighting against him was a joke.

Your nose flared as you breathed heavily—as it was taking all your focus not to puke all over yourself and the van (considering you had a gag in your mouth—gross). 

You grimaced, tteeth grinding against the wet rag. Your headache was killer, and even though this was supposed to be a traumatizing event, you could feel yourself on the verge of passing out. 

You sure put the nap in 'kidnapped'.

The Winchesters had probably found your little crime scene already. They both were as quick as a whip, so it wouldn't be long until they figured it all out and came for you. That is, if you were important enough to look for.

You'd like to believe you were a little more valuable than a map to find John, now. You had planted your little hints—little bits of the future for them to digest. That had to be enough to intrigue anyone. Especially the Winchesters.

It would be stupid on their end to just let you go.

The van lurched to a stop and you threw your eyes open, not even realizing they'd drifted shut.

You were so tired.

Your vision was fuzzy and it hurt your head to squint into the night. You were miserable. But you watched as the demon left, and you did a double take as he walked over to a familiar vehicle, instead.

That's my car.

It was enough to get you to press your face closer to the window. A figure emerged from behind the car. 

Meg.

You watched, dumbfounded, as she approached the demon. Didn’t she first appear in Scarecrow? That was at least a few episodes away.

You tensed as she pointed in your direction. The other demon nodded, approaching the van again.

What are they saying about me? 

When he threw open the car door, you fell with it, falling down onto the gravel without any way to break your fall.

“Well,” Meg scoffed, kicking at you, "this is disappointing. This is supposed to be 'the one'? She’s a twig.”

Other Demon™ wrenched you upward—seriously, could we please stop with all the sudden movements?—and ripped the gag from your mouth. It left a line of saliva down your chin, but you were too miserable to care. 

You snorted. “Angels tell you that? Because they never lie.”

Other threw your back into the van, and your vision grayed out.

Shit.

You blacked out—only long enough for your knees to buckle, and for you to choke under Other's iron hold—and then you were back. You were barely able to shuffle back on your feet, sputtering.

The ringing in your ears was gradually drowned out by a buzzing, and everyone paused. 

“You,” you coughed wetly, “hear that too?”

Everyone turned to watch as a great swarm blocked out the moon and stars, and you barely had enough conscience to feel fear.

Bugs.

You slid down the side of the van, alone.

Light swam over the area. The buzzing faded.

Was it them?

Shouting. Shouting and light.

Had they come for you?

You felt your eyelids flutter.

You shuddered, sobbing into the dirt when you couldn’t move.

Your panic attack still crushed your lungs as you were forcefully shaken, and, terrified, you gawked into the green eyes of a cross Dean Winchester.

You tried to push him away, but he just pinned you down, scowling and shouting some more.

“—drove—?”

"—what else—?—is there—"

“—her—all we know—”

"—did you—left—should have—"

They were talking about you, but you couldn’t give a damn.

You were so so tired.

"—concuss—"

"—don't let—"

"—know!"

"—dead?"

"—!—"

Without warning, the light around you brightened to become one blindingly white abyss. When you blinked, Dean's face was all but gone, replaced by Castiel.

"Where am I?" you asked. There was no pain. Where had your pain gone?

"Heaven," he said. He left you no time for questions before his hand reached up, caressing—

You woke abruptly to a hard slap on your face.

You gasped—you could breathe!—and your eyes shot open. 

Your headache had melted away, your aches were no more, and the rings of torn flesh around your wrists were gone, as well as your handcuffs.

You were healed.

You blinked, feeling weirdly refreshed as you looked past Dean, as if to catch a glimpse of Castiel behind him. But there was nothing. Meg was gone. Other was gone. There was just a wash of light over gravel where they had all been.

“Whatcha' looking at?”

You looked him dead in the eyes and answered, “A bitch.”

Dean frowned. “Funny,” he said, wrenching you up by the arm and pulling you away from the van. “Thought you were dead for a good minute there." 

“Not dead,” you replied, "but that was horrible."

“I don’t know, it looked like fun.”

You rolled your eyes. Asshole.

Dean still had you by the arm, pulling you toward Sam, who emerged from behind your car.

"Entire car was invested," said Sam as he approached, your bag in his hands. "Got us some weapons, though."

Sam dropped the bag and out rolled the jar of peanut butter and your loaf of bread, which was crawling with bugs.

The last of my food.

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Peanut butter and bread? You live like this?" He kicked the bag away like it was repulsive.

Well, screw you too, Dean.

"Also…" Sam trailed off as he grabbed a weapon. The angel blade. "What is this?"

"It's a knife," you said innocently.

Sam's expression pinched. "Yeah, I can see that," he said. "I mean, what does it do? What is it made of? And can it kill you?"

How ironic, considering you'd died a minute ago (or… you were pretty sure, anyway). It clearly didn't take much to kill you, and that blade wouldn't be an exception.

But they didn't need to know that.

"We could always just see for ourselves." Dean shrugged when you didn't reply.

You snapped at him, "If you wanted to, you'd have done it already. You need me alive." Man, you were beginning to sound like the typical monster. That was depressing. "And it's just a fancy knife. I stole it, okay?"

"You stole our gun too," Sam said as he pulled out their gun from your backpack. "And our dad's journal. You’re quite the thief."

You scoffed. "You're one to talk, Mr.CreditCardFraud. You both love to judge me for everything you guys do daily."

Sam's expression hardened. "Oh, right, because we kill innocents and work with demons."

You gaped at him. "Are you kidding me? You thought that entire kidnapping was me working with them?!" You were on the verge of hysteria. "And I'm sure you thought all those restraints were just funhousing, right? Good times with my demonic pals?"

"Not sure what you're talking about."

You frowned. "I mean just now. Big, burly guy? Ring any bells?" You didn't feel like mentioning Meg.

"Uh… no. Nobody was here but you."

You blinked.

What.

You glanced between the two of them. “But… there was sulfur left behind, wasn’t there?”

“Doesn’t mean anything," Dean denied.

"Because you think I'm a demon. Then why haven't you tested me with holy water yet?"

"We did. Earlier. When I knocked you out. But just because it didn't burn you, doesn't mean you're not something else."

"Either I left the sulfur, or I didn't. You can't simultaneously believe I'm a demon and something else," you said, exasperated.

"Watch me."

"The van, then. The demon drove the van.”

"You hotwired it," he said easily. "See, you left a ton of blood behind—definitely enough to kill a person, mind you. When we found you, you still had blood pooling out of your stomach. And then, magically, you healed. Not a scratch on you."

Blood pooling from your..? What were they talking about? He was exaggerating, probably.

You could see where he was going. And it wasn't helping your case. "Do a blood test, then. That blood on the sidewalk won’t match with mine."

Dean leaned back, tilting his head in consideration before nodding to Sam. "Fine." 

Sam reached over, slammed the handcuffs back on your wrists, and lifted you over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. 

“Kinky," you wheezed.

Sam ignored you.

You couldn’t deny that you kinda had a good view of that booty though… and his toned back and broad shoulders.

Not the time, brain. Shut up. 

Sam threw you in the Impala, and it was deja vu. Back at square one.

Slumping into the seat, you took some time to reflect.

Had you hallucinated Meg and Other?

No, you couldn't have. How else could you explain finding your car? How else could you explain the hallucinations, other than from the brain damage you got from Other repeatedly bashing your poor head on walls and sidewalks?

Your memories were a garbled mess. Like a dream confused with reality.

Then there was the whole heaven thing. Had he interfered? Was the light—instead of headlights—actually Heaven saving you? You lingered on the idea. That meant Castiel was looking out for you, at least.

There were so many things you couldn't explain yourself, much less to the Winchesters.

And Sam… Sam was going to be a hassle.

Older Sam would have tried to understand you by now. He was more level-headed. Monsters weren't all black and white in his eyes—mostly because he knew what being the monster was like.

But this Sam? He was so freaking young. Naive, grieving, and angry. Not to mention, he blamed you for the death of his girlfriend, which was setting him back on his ability to empathize with you. He absolutely hated you.

After all, instead of evidence to prove your innocence, the Winchesters instead kept finding the complete opposite. Every good deed you did was tainted by either the heaven's bloodthirsty intervention, or just your own naiveté. 

Your guilt was climbing so high that you were beginning to agree with the Winchesters. You were the monster—I mean, look at all the times I'd screwed up!

Your presence was killing people. Whether it was your intention or not.

You sighed.

Sam was twirling the angel blade in the car, getting a feel for the weapon. He said, “You know, when I said you were 'working with demons', I actually meant the one from a few weeks ago—the Bloody Mary case."

"You mean the demon I killed? Because that totally sounds like I was scheming with demons.”

Sam paused. "You killed it with this knife, right?"

You went quiet. Damn.

He twirled it again. "Thought so. So it is more than a 'fancy knife'. Makes me wonder what else you're lying about."

"As if you wouldn't be lying your head off if you were in my position. I forgot how honest you two are." You snorted. "You two have no problem lying to each other. Like, seriously? Dean, you lied to Sam about the demon knowing about Jessica's death. On your, what, fourth hunt with him since he'd gone to college?"

Hypocrites. Both of them.

The statement made Sam squint. "How the hell would you ever know?"

"Uh, I was with you? On the plane?" Anxiety pooled in your stomach.

"No, you vanished into thin air before that conversation ever happened," Dean accused. "Another reason to believe you aren't human."

"I have my sources." Sources. Right. What sources?

"And what the hell are your sources?"

Supernatural, you wanted to say, the television show that ruined my life. But how could you tell them that?

You couldn't tell them you were a demon, either. Not only because you weren't—but that would just spell out a whole lot of trouble for you. Not to mention they now possessed your angel blade.

And you most definitely couldn't tell them the truth.

So you did the insane.

"I'm psychic."

///

Tags: @megamindsdespondentcousin​ @depressedunicorn43​ , @rosaren2498​ , @pillowjj​ , @busy-bee-angel-misska​ , @elliotts-world​ , @dagnylokisdottir​ , @omg-we-really-doo​ , @millieccino​ , @regainedworld , @badgal-jackie​ , @postcardsfromliterallynowhere​ , @super-calithehamm​ , @teresa-67​ , @ofthedewthesunlight​ , @dream-believe-and-love​ 

[rwbyremnants]

WARNING: Graphic description of burn injuries/body horror kind of stuff.

=Chapter 33

No one could have looked more surprised than Blake at the strange assortment of people showing up on the Belladonna doorstep. Weiss was equally surprised to see that she wasn't the only one there waiting.

“Ilia!” she couldn't help gasping out upon seeing the diminutive girl standing awkwardly in the living room, rubbing her hand up and down one arm to try and rid herself of her jitters. “What is… I mean, what are you two doing- wait, that's not what I-”

Kali pushed her way past the young Schnee to smile down at her and say, “What a pleasant surprise! How have you been, Ilia?” Relieved that the host had taken over where she herself had failed, Weiss dropped back to stand next to her mother and Pyrrha.

“N-nothing.” It definitely sounded like the guilty, knee-jerk response of a small child being caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“She was asking what the rest of us were going to do about Cinder,” Blake explained. As usual, she looked less than thrilled to be dealing with someone so transparent in their unwelcome flirtations, but it wasn't as pronounced as before.

“Oh?” her mother asked mildly as they all crowded into the room, Pyrrha finally shutting the door behind her. “What about her?”

Clearing her throat, Ilia tried again. “Sh-she's being released from the hospital soon, but… I think she's, um, worried about how everyone will look at her when she gets out. So… s-so I thought- well, we said this was our fallback base until we found a new one, and I came here, but I didn't know you wouldn't be here when I got here, or I wouldn't have come! Sorry.”

“God, show a little backbone,” Raven muttered under her breath. Kali wasted no time in elbowing her in the gut.

“It's quite alright, dear. Blake, could you phone Yang and tell her what's transpired?”

“Of course.” Looking around at everyone there, she asked in a quieter voice, “And… what has ‘transpired’ again?”

While Kali guided her daughter into the kitchen and filled her in on recent events, and to make the call to Yang, Weiss and Pyrrha quickly approached the messenger. The latter asked, “What's the matter with Cinder?”

“What isn't? She won't see anyone but Salem - she won't even see Emerald anymore, and you know how close they were. Because of… o-of how she looks, and her pain, and…” The girl's eyes filled with tears as she looked away.

“Sorry,” Weiss whispered softly. “This is all my fault. And… oh, I'm so worried it's only going to get worse now.”

Ilia nodded regretfully. “Yeah. She really hates you now. But she's wrong - it's not any more your fault for having a dad like that than it's Yang's for going with you! Most of us understand! She just… she's really hurt, and needs somebody to… to blame.”

Trying her best to be patient, Pyrrha smiled down at her and asked, “What was it you wanted to do to help? You started to suggest something before, I think.”

“Oh, I did? Uh… gosh, I don't know. Just to go see her, maybe? She could use some support. But you're not a Dragon, so you shouldn't feel obligated.”

“Of course I’d go to see her. I may not be an official member, but I’m still your friend, aren’t I? A-and hers.” Her eyes lowered to stare at her saddle shoes. “Even if she seems to think we could be something, um… something else.”

Scoffing, Weiss patted her shoulder. “She’s delusional. You like that Jaune in class.”

“I do! I mean, he doesn’t seem to realise I like-like him, though.”

“What a conversation,” Raven grunted as she plopped into the armchair. Weiss turned to glare at her, but she raised a hand to ward off any admonitions. “Save your breath. I know the girl got hurt, and she probably feels like she’s never gonna have anybody ogle her gams again, and blah, blah, blah. Life really kicks you in the tail sometimes. But you have to grow up and move on.”

While Pyrrha was mouthing “Ogle her gams?”, Ilia frowned and said, “It’s not just a sprained ankle. She’s really in pain; she’ll never look the same way again. Or see the same; she might have to stop riding, and for a Dragon…” When Raven glared at her, she ducked her head and whispered, “Sorry. But it’s true.”

For once, Yang’s mother didn’t completely dismiss something a younger person was saying. “Yeah. Probably going to be a real drag.”

“We should go see her,” Weiss agreed with a nod. “She won’t want me there, but I’ll go as moral support for you guys, if you don’t mind.”

“That would be wonderful,” Ilia said with a smile.

Blake returned a moment later, looking a little sullen but resigned. If Weiss had to guess, she figured that Kali had stayed behind to call Yang - and probably whip up a batch of lemon squares for unexpected guests. As uncomfortable as she looked about it, the Italian Dragon wasted little time approaching the Schnee women.

“I'm sorry this is still happening. You shouldn't have to enlist protection just to go to your own house and get some clothes.”

Touched by her sentiment, Willow reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder. Blake looked a little surprised, but that was only because they had just met. “That's kind of you to say, dear. I agree that the situation is… well, I had hoped…” In the end, she seemed to realize that whatever she had been about to say would help nothing and fell silent.

“Can I ask you something?” When she didn't protest, Blake went on, “If he didn't mind hitting you with a belt a few times, I don't think… he would have any real problem doing it before now. Has he been? I mean, how often does this happen?”

Only now did a deep blush of pure shame fill Weiss’s mother's cheeks. Pyrrha tensed as if ready to intervene, and Weiss herself felt an impulse to pull Blake off to one side and ask her not to pour any more salt in this particular wound than was strictly necessary. But it appeared the Schnee matriarch was capable of answering on her own behalf.

“More than I would care to admit. But… probably far less than you are imagining now. Jacques was understandably frustrated with me because I couldn't face the harsher realities of the world. And I hid behind the wine. So… so he would lose his temper, and I wouldn't respond to the shouting, and…”

“And he decided to get your attention another way,” Raven grunted from her spot on the couch, voice full of disgust. “Typical. Small men like him love to feel big in any way they can.”

“Yeah,” Blake agreed, though she looked a little stunned at having to agree with Yang's mother.

“I'm so, so sorry,” Pyrrha told her gently as she wrapped her arms around the woman, patting her back gently. “I’m sorry we couldn’t do more.”

Weiss noticed in that moment that Ilia looked a little out of sorts, and she couldn't blame her - given that she was the only one in the room who had no direct connection to the drama within the Schnee dynasty. But that was just how things were going to be for a while.

Raven stayed planted where she was and the rest of them did their best to comfort Mrs. Schnee. Nobody had much to say until Kali returned from the kitchen. She was already dressed for leaving, and a weary but passive expression was in place.

“Alright, Yang has agreed to meet us at the hospital. Raven, would you mind staying here with Willow to keep her company?”

Ironically, Willow was probably the only person in the room who didn't realize that “keep her company” was a thinly-veiled euphemism for “bodyguard”. Raven simply nodded by way of response, moving to the couch and patting the cushion next to her to indicate Weiss's mother was to sit by her.

“Oh,” she sniffled numbly, moving to obey. Weiss fully understood why she would have no room left in her mind to put up much of a fight after all she had been through that day. She half-feared that Raven would put a hand on her thigh or some other terribly timed advance, but decided to trust her for the time being. She had proven herself worthy of such.

And the trust was well-placed. Raven only patted her shoulder as her mother watched the other women take their leave.

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

When the group first arrived at the hospital, they were turned away, told that the patient had instructed she not be disturbed. They had worried that would be the end of a wasted trip until they spotted Emerald emerging from the ward.

“Hey!” Blake bade her, racing to clasp her hands immediately. Weiss really wished the first thing she noticed wasn't the bright pink scars along her forearms, but she knew she now had matching ones on her stomach and her back - which greatly reduced the amount of sympathy she felt, no matter who had or hadn’t been drugged.

“Hey,” she answered shakily.

“How did you… I mean, I thought they were going to take you off to the slammer!”

“Well, I could tell they wanted to. But the doctors swore up and down that there was no way I could have known what I was doing with all that stuff pumping through my veins. So now that I'm clean, they had to turn me loose. It's, uh, still really scary but better than being in jail, I guess.”

Kali stepped forward and bowed her head slightly in greeting. “Glad to see you're recovering, dear. How is Cinder coming along?”

Immediately, all light left Emerald's eyes. She looked like a puppet that had its strings cut, completely devoid of life on the inside. Then she forced herself to take a long breath and smile at the older woman. “Better, a little. She's getting better everyday.”

“Then I'm glad to hear that, too. Do you think there's any chance we could see her? They refused us at the desk, I'm afraid.”

“Oh, I don't know…” Her eyes went straight to Weiss.

“She's paid her dues,” Blake put in. There might have been a little reluctance in her voice, but at least she had said it. That was worth its weight in gold.

“You're right, I know you are. But after the fire, and the raid on Junior's, she's not quite as fond of Schnee as she used to be.” In the end, she shrugged and turned back toward the doors into the ward. “Don't say I promised anything.”

By the time Emerald returned, Yang had arrived on the scene - on her recently-mended motorcycle, which she was highly pleased about - and spent the rest of their wait caressing and kissing Weiss's head, trying to reassure and comfort her as best she could. She was only glad her mother wasn't there to have to witness it; maybe it was better in the long run for her to start getting used to seeing such things, but the day had been hard enough on her already. Stacking more trauma on top of other trauma certainly wasn't going to help anything.

“Umm… she said she'd see you. But that she doesn't want Weiss getting too close. Or talking. O-or anything.”

“I get the message,” she grumbled as they moved to follow her.

Halfway down the hall, Yang hooked an arm around the back of Weiss's neck to pull her in close. “Don't listen to that pile of shaving cream. We both know the truth.”

“Yeah,” she sighed contentedly, leaning into the touch and the solace it provided. “You're right. That's what matters.”

Cinder Fall's hospital room was no more or less depressing than the one Weiss had spent so long in during her tenure there. A single potted sunflower graced the table by her bedside - likely from either Salem or Emerald. As for Cinder herself…

Weiss now realized that she hadn't got a good look at all the last time she paid her a visit. There were still bandages. Even after such a long convalescence, she still had bandages hiding the left half of her face and her left arm. Would they ever let her out?

When they entered, she already looked hollow. The look didn't change in the slightest when they approached, and the visible eye didn't turn in their direction.

“Hello, Cinder,” Kali attempted. No answer. “Feeling any better today?”

After a few painfully awkward seconds, Emerald whispered, “She shook her head when I asked that earlier.”

“I can answer for myself,” Cinder rasped. Her once-velvety voice now scraped out like gravel across sandpaper. Kali recovered a lot faster than the others, who were all busy wincing.

“Good, good. Then you can tell me why you wouldn't let us back here before.” When the marred Dragon only gritted her teeth and turned away, she folded her arms over her chest. “Hmm… seems you can't answer for yourself consistently. Maybe you shouldn't snap at your devoted companion for trying to help you.”

Taking some initiative, Blake stepped forward and asked, “Any word on when you'll get out?”

“No.”

“Not since the last time,” Emerald added, this time ignoring the obvious irritation in Cinder's burning eye. “They're still saying ‘maybe another couple of weeks’ and that's as specific as they get.”

“You are really cruisin’ for a bruisin’,” Cinder muttered.

After the briefest of hesitations, Yang stepped forward and grinned, gesturing to the hastily lopped-off locks that were just barely hanging to Cinder's chin. “What a lazy fuzzy duck. Look at that hair! Didn't know you looked up to Vernal like that, copying her style and all.”

That did at least earn a little snort from the patient. But her eye was back to staring across the room at nothing. Any fool could tell that the scars on the surface were nothing compared to what had been done to her soul.

“It'll grow back,” Emerald whispered, sitting on the edge of her bed. “You'll see.”

“Yeah,” she rasped bitterly. Her voice got a little stronger the longer she spoke, but the smoke inhalation had done its temporary damage. “But the rest won't. They said… the burns are too deep. I'm ruined. Forever. And none of you understand even the slightest shred of how I feel. So you can all save your- your well-wishes and sunny words for somebody else. I don't want to see any of you. I don't want you in this room. Leave… me… alone.”

That really seemed to be all Cinder could stand. She said more than the last time Weiss tried to visit, though none of it could be viewed as an ‘improvement’. Yang, Ilia, and Emerald were already turning away, and Weiss was waffling, unsure of whether or not she ought to follow, when another voice spoke up.

“Can we see the damage?”

Cinder's visible eye went wide in mingling disbelief and anger as it swivelled in their direction. “Excuse me?”

“Well, you're right.” Pyrrha took a single, measured step toward the bed before she continued, “None of us know what you've been through. We can't without going through it ourselves. But maybe, if we saw the injuries, we could empathize a little better.”

“You can't be serious.”

“I am.”

Shaking her head, she looked down at her own lap. “You want to laugh at me; after all those passes I made at you, now you can gloat that I'm not good enough for you anymore. Should have known! Uppity Christian girls always love to feel smug and superior. Isn't that right, Weiss?”

She did open her mouth to respond to that barb, but Pyrrha beat her to the punch. “I won't laugh. Cross my heart.”

“What's that worth to me?” Eye squinting, she demanded, “If you laugh, you'll take off your blouse.”

“Cinder, really,” Kali sighed in pure exasperation.

“How is that not fair? She's asking me to expose myself! I'm only demanding she do the same if I have to suffer any ridicule or-”

“Deal,” Pyrrha cut across the budding argument. Then she took a few more steps closer. “Go on. Unless you're really that afraid of my reaction; I would understand.”

Weiss could see what her best friend was doing there, and she could scarcely believe it: goading Cinder, manipulating her into relenting to her demands. It was surprisingly underhanded from her! On the other hand, she thought she could tell where Pyrrha was going with this; if so, it was because she thought such manipulation was the only way to help Cinder. Even if it wasn't how she would normally choose to handle things, sometimes one has to work within the available options, no matter how less than ideal.

“Fine,” the bedridden girl growled, sitting up a little straighter and reaching for the bandages on her left arm. “You'll see. You're going to see right now, you pathetic little- nobody understands, you all think I'm…”

Weiss could see both Pyrrha and Kali twitching as if they would move to help her. She felt the same impulse; Cinder was a fiercely independent woman, but it was heartbreaking watching someone who had been so injured wrestling with bandages all on their own. But for the sake of her pride, they resisted.

Until they all gasped.

It was bad enough when she unravelled her arm, because they noticed there wasn't quite so much of it as there had been before. Huge chunks of the flesh on her forearm were gone, and worse still, her pinky and ring finger were completely missing. Though the upper arm was whole, it still bore several stretches of burns that would take as much time to heal as the rest of them.

Unfortunately, she wasn't done. As the gauze fell away from her face, they saw it looked no better than her forearm. The scar tissue stretched over the forehead and cheek, fading just above her lip and jaw. Some of it inched into her hairline, but it looked as if the hair was already growing back so the follicles were intact. But that wasn't the worst of it.

“Oh, your eye…” Blake looked as if she already regretted saying it by the time Weiss glanced at her, but she went on, “I'm so sorry, Cinder. I mean it, I can't imagine…”

It was a lot harder for Weiss to look into that gaping socket than the rest. Cinder could tell - she could tell all of them were having a harder time with that than the rest, even if Pyrrha was merely gazing at her, contemplative.

“Hand me that box.” When nobody moved, Cinder growled in annoyance. “Useless Dragons.” She reached for the side table herself, but Emerald got there first, passing it to her. “Guess we should try this so you all can close your damn mouths.”

There was a glass eye in the box. Cinder took it out, staring at it as if it were the enemy. Every inch of her being was rage, hatred, bitterness. She set it in her lap, then picked up her glass of water and hesitated again.

“I've only done this once. Just… they showed me how, but I haven't needed it since then. Bandages would be covering it up, anyway.”

Then the real struggle began. The remaining fingers on her left hand weren't recovered enough to be fully functional, and she wasn't able to hold the socket open enough to pop it in there. After the first few tries, she began shaking with frustration, which certainly didn't help matters.

“Here,” Pyrrha said, reaching for it. Cinder jerked it out of reach. “Let me help.”

“I don't need your help, Straightie.”

“You do. Don't you get tired of acting like a baby?”

Cinder's remaining eye flew open. Incensed, she glanced around at the rest of them, as if waiting for someone to jump to her defense - tell Pyrrha she was out of line.

“Don't look at me,” Yang snorted. “Had to have a lot of help putting on shirts and stuff from my mom while my shoulder was messed up - and you know how much I really wanna ask her for help.”

Already, the patient was completely caught off her guard. When Pyrrha sat on the edge of her bed, pulling the glass eye out of her numb grip, she started and drew back from her. “Wh-what… what are you trying to-”

“Can you pull down the skin under your eye for me?” she asked while dipping the little glass sphere in the water again. Cinder obeyed, too flabbergasted by everyone's reactions to her injuries when she had been so certain of what they would be. “Thank you. Here…”

Everyone in the room held their breath while Pyrrha used one thumb to push up her bald eyebrow and the other hand to ease the eye in. It did resist a bit, but eventually went where intended - and she only had to tap it once or twice to make its pupil aim in the same direction as the other one. For some reason, that was more disturbing for Weiss to watch than installing it in the first place.

“There,” she sighed at last, smiling in relief that she was finished and it had gone successfully.

“Thank you.” That was so unusual for Cinder to utter that she herself winced at how it sounded in her mouth. But when Pyrrha’s arm fell around her shoulders, she tensed and said, “Now what do you want?”

“Just getting comfortable. I'm visiting a friend, aren't I?”

“Are you? I thought you hated me hanging all over you. Making you uncomfortable. This was an easy excuse to put a stop to that; I wouldn't want some hideous freak hanging all over me, either. You could never darken my ‘hotel suite’ again and I would understand.”

Pyrrha's smile was gentle, but also bore a hint of mischief. “What do you mean? I'm sitting next to the strong, gorgeous, confident Cinder Fall. A little burn here and there doesn't change that. At least, I don't think so… and I know I'm not the only one.”

While Cinder was still goggling at that much, unable to fully comprehend the situation, Pyrrha used the hand behind Cinder's neck to crook a finger at Emerald, beckoning her over. When she approached, brown brow furrowing, the finger pointed down at the other side of the bed, where there was just enough space for her to sit. Still clearly not sure what she was doing, she sat.

“What are- Emerald, go away! Sit in the chair or s-something!”

Before Emerald could do as Cinder commanded, as she almost certainly would have, Pyrrha's other hand shot out to catch her hand and pull it over so that they were both resting on Cinder’s stomach. “Let her stay. She really wants to be close to you.”

“No, she doesn't! She's just… pitying me, like everyone else wants to pity me! God, you're all so, so…” But she couldn't seem to come up with a word for what they were.

“Is she? I think it's more than that. I may be a ‘straightie’, whatever that is, but I've seen the way she looks at you. Maybe you should just ask her.”

Looking more distressed than Weiss could ever remember her looking, Cinder glanced first at the rest of them, then up at Pyrrha. Then, very slowly, she turned to the green-haired friend who had been by her side all along.

“You'd better not be harboring some secret crush, Emerald. We tried things and they didn't work out. I'm just…” Almost begging now, her expression softened very slightly as she went on, “I’m a bed-and-forget kind of girl. You know that! Stop forcing some weird feelings on me that you know I can't return!”

Emerald shrugged her shoulders, dusky cheeks blushing a deeper shade as she looked away. “It's not a secret.”

“What?”

“I never tried to keep it a secret. After that time we… well, that time, I told you how I felt, and you rejected me. Said I should stop making a big deal about nothing. So… I haven't brought it up again because I didn't want to make you uncomfortable.” Passion rose in her voice as she went on, “Didn't mean those feelings went away. You're still the only one for me! I don't care if… if I'm not the one for you. That's fine, and I can accept it. But it doesn't mean I'll stop being your best friend.”

No one else in the room breathed or made a sound. Ilia did cough, but it seemed to be honestly involuntary, not as an excuse to break the silence.

“Why?” Her voice broke, and moisture began to leak from the corner of her good eye. “I'm… I am the worst bitch in the whole world. You deserve so much better.”

“What about those other women? Like this one right here?” She nodded toward Pyrrha, who only rolled her eyes at the attention being returned to her when she had specifically turned it away on purpose. “Don't they deserve better, too? I mean, she turned out to be alright.”

“Thank you,” Pyrrha laughed, amused at the phrasing.

“If they let a bitch like me pound them into the bed and dump them, they deserve to be dumped. I don't respect weakness; I respect strength.” Cinder’s eyes flicked over to the tall redhead. “If you gave in, I would have blown your mind… but lost respect for you since you didn't stick to your guns. You stood your ground. You're strong.”

She nodded, slightly pleased at the compliment hidden amongst the harsher words. “Well, that's… I suppose I understand how you would see it that way. And I don't know anything about sex, to be honest. But I'm…” With a little shrug, she rushed ahead, “What you see as a weakness, I think it's a kind of strength. To give someone your heart and trust that they'll take care of it for you? It's stronger than the fear telling you to protect yourself.”

“What do you know about it?!” she snapped, though the tears and scratchiness in her voice gave her words less bite than usual. “You've never even been with anyone, man or woman!”

“I haven't. Maybe I'm just not ready.”

“Oh, but Emerald and I are? I don't know the first thing about… about being someone's girlfriend! I'm a selfish, abrasive, aggressive, horrible woman! Why would I inflict that on an incredible friend like her?!” By now, Emerald was in shock, staring open-mouthed, but Cinder couldn't seem to stop. “Of course I've noticed her looking at me that way, like sh-she wanted to neck again! But… but what does she know about being in a relationship, either? So it was just better if we pretended… oh, you ruined it, you idiots!”

If the room was quiet before, it was a tomb now. Emerald started to get up, to retreat, but Pyrrha held her fast; she seemed to think they needed to finish that conversation.

“You… you could tell?” she breathed, mortified. Cinder nodded in defeat. “But I thought you weren't… interested in… with me, so I let go of…”

“I'm not. You're better than some tramp. You're my best friend, my right arm - or I guess my left, since that's the one that got roasted.” Yang did let out a soft chuckle, subdued as it was. “Why mess with success? Especially now that I'm like this.”

Pyrrha fielded this one. “Like what? A few scars aren't enough to eclipse the great Cinder Fall.”

“Oh yeah?” Her smirk was a good attempt, but didn't even come close to her usual haughtiness. “I wasn't great enough to get you into bed.”

“I'm not interested in women. But…” When she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, flashed a shy smile, Weiss finally realized that Pyrrha might have been spending more time with the Dragons than she previously realized… because she was flirting with disaster in a very literal sense. “You did shake my faith in that more than anyone else has.”

Cinder squinted up at her while the other women in the room looked on and sheer shock. Ilia and Blake glanced between each other, and Kali shook her head with a little smile; she definitely saw the moment for what it was, experienced as she was herself.

“Hmm… well, Little Miss Nikos, you may have to wait until my arm heals. Can't drive your body wild with only one good hand.”

“Really? I suspect what you mean is… you can't drive both of us wild with only one good hand.”

Emerald looked as shocked as Cinder. But when the latter turned to look at her in disbelief, stunned and a little bemused, Pyrrha chanced a wink at the other woman. Then she began to move their hands in a circle over Cinder's stomach. Picking up on her intentions at last, Emerald chanced a coy little grin and added her own efforts, teasing her through the hospital gown so much that she looked away from both of them, cheeks and neck filling with color.

This was really happening. Cinder Fall was blushing.

“Yeah,” Emerald finally giggled. “Pretty ambitious, even for you, Cin.”

“You two are really proud of yourselves, huh? T-teasing me when I'm injured and recovering? Very nice. Take advantage of the handicapped.”

“You don't seem like the type to make excuses,” Pyrrha said with a soft smile. Her other hand reached up to comb through her patient's hair, which from her side of the bed meant caressing her face on her way there. Weiss couldn't believe what she was seeing! Not only her best friend petting scar tissue, which was a little icky, but making the formidable Cinder a blushing, flustered mess.

Worse: an emotional mess. “But I'm…” Another tear slid down her unmarked cheek, voice smaller and more fragile than any of them had ever heard it before. “I'm so ugly now.”

It was obvious Pyrrha was about to reply, say something comforting. But this time, Emerald beat her to the punch. Her hand released Pyrrha's and lifted to tilt Cinder's head upward, meeting her eyes with her own.

“Like you weren't ugly before.”

Even while the other girl sitting on her bed was gasping in shock at the insult, the first real laugh she had enjoyed in weeks bubbled up from Cinder's stomach. “You really are terrible.” The others laughed in relief as the two smiled at each other. When Pyrrha moved to stand, she said without looking away, “Where are you going?”

“Oh, I… well, it seemed like you two wanted a moment alone.”

“Don't be ridiculous. You all came to see me; I'd hate to seem ungrateful and kick you out just so I can… rediscover Emerald.” While the named girl grinned goofily, she turned away and patted the bed, asking Pyrrha to sit again. She did, looking very slightly less confident but still satisfied with her own results. “And… I suppose I should apologize for how unwelcoming I was at first. Wallowing in my own misery; you're right, that isn't who I am.”

“Of course it isn't,” Weiss said with a smile - which vanished when Cinder's normally burning eyes shot a cold gaze in her direction. “Uh… hi.”

“Your father did this.”

“Yes, I- well, about tha-”

“Come here.” She approached, a little too guilty to refuse - even if she knew in her heart she had no reason to feel guilty. “Emerald tells me you have a new scar. Since I had to bare my shame in front of everyone, mind if we compare?”

“Must I?”

“It's not like I haven't seen more from you before.”

That was true. Hoping it would make it feel less like a violation, she was quick about nipping her shirt up to expose the little pink scar on her stomach. Then she turned to show the longer one at the respective position on her back. To her shock, gentle fingers caressed the scar, and she shivered as goosepimples broke out over her skin. The touch was surprisingly kind, given the person it was attached to. Blake let out a wolf whistle.

“You're forgiven. For whatever small role you played in the fire being set. You could have come after one or both of us for revenge for this wound, and you didn’t. And… I suppose there's no reason to mistrust you anymore. You’ve proven your loyalty over and over, and I was holding onto a grudge that didn’t really exist. I know better than anyone that you can’t help who your parents are.”

Feeling a little too self-conscious, Weiss waited for Cinder to stop petting her. When she didn’t, she turned back around and yanked her shirt down again. “Alright, you masher! Stop being so greedy when you already have a girl on each arm!”

Everyone else in the room laughed. After a moment or two, Weiss joined in; it was nice that they were getting along again, and could enjoy some moment of levity in the midst of so much despair. And even though they might have their differences, she was honestly glad to see Cinder getting back to being her old self again. Maybe now that she had Emerald and they could be open about their feelings, she could find some true happiness instead of fleeting moments of distraction. They all deserved that much.