#my emotions ranged from mildly upset to no to oh fuck why did I get this

[uniquevocashark]

A Good Servant Part 3

Content Warnings for:

murder, blood, slut shaming, implied/referenced mutilation (nonconsensual glossectomy), smoking, mentioned domestic abuse

The blood on your shoulder starts to itch by the time the cousin is gone, and Lady Dimitrescu finally deigns to acknowledge either you or her pet. Daniela has long since disappeared in a cloud of buzzing insects and you’ve kept your hands busy by doting on the Lady as she sees fit. It doesn’t help, and her odd silence annoys you.

She lounges comfortably on a chaise lounge, mulling over a single bottle of wine, a book she isn’t reading propped up on a lectern before her. The room is hazy with cigarette smoke, muting the redness of the walls and blurring them into a dark maroon. She points at you with her chin, and you clean away the stain at the corner of her mouth.

Lady Dimitrescu tilts her pet’s head up by the chin too gently than she usually does in front of an audience and her tone is thick and syrupy in the cold silence, “Where were you, pet?”

Her pet doesn’t speak.

“You want me to believe you were attacked,” Lady Dimitrescu muses, and you take the cup from her, “You want me to believe you weren’t down there for a reason. You want me to believe you didn’t have a secret room. So many wants but you won’t speak. What rules are you breaking, pet?”

Lady Dimitrescu had postponed dinner, which meant that you had to hole Rachel up in the communal bedroom rather than bring her out immediately, so now you were understaffed. You suppose, technically, that they are the Lady’s staff and if she wishes to have less staff members she is entitled to do so. You just wish it wasn’t so bloody inconvenient.

Lady Dimitrescu leans forward, cupping her ear as if she was straining to hear something, “Speak up, dear. I can’t hear you.”

Her pet still doesn’t speak.

The Lady sighs and she has you hold her wineglass as she drinks. An action she only lets her pets do. She closes her eyes for a second after you pull the glass away, and her pet cringes back a step.

Lady Dimitrescu extends her claws and sends you from the room without a word.

…

Dinner is served at 12:30 in the morning and Lady Dimitrescu still has not spoken to you.

The only food that could be properly warmed in time, by sheer coincidence, is the broth you had insisted upon. The Lady’s pet, you’re surprised to find, is still alive but Lady Dimitrescu has never been one to kill her pets on purpose. For as long as you have worked for her, at least. The only caveat is that Mihaela has to spoon feed her carefully and her bloody drool and tears must be wiped away after each spoonful. Her pet has already ruined the front of her new dress.

You positioned Rachel nearest to the Lady and she practically vibrates with nerves while she fills Lady Dimitrescu’s wine flute. She isn’t as nervous as you think she should be. She doesn’t know that her husband is currently with Miss Daniela, though. Or that the Lady knows of her extra martial activities. The stringent adherence to the supposed sanctity of marriage is the only hold over from her protestant upbringing.

Other than the broth, there are a series of rainbow-coloured jellies shaped like butterflies and flowers, arrayed together on their plates to form a meadow. There are a range of cakes; cheesecakes and pound cakes, red velvet and the ever-present chocolate cake that Miss Bela has already smeared all over her sleeves. Miss Daniela’s favourite, pineapple cake, remains untouched near the candelabra.

It isn’t until two in the morning, once the main course is served, that you bring Rachel’s husband into the dining room and Daniela forces the gardener next to her mother. Lady Dimitrescu kept intensive records on all families under her duty of care; she knew the time and date of all births, deaths and marriages of her subjects. She knew when they ate well and when they starved, she knew when they prayed and to whom, she knew when their children came of age and when their adults reached old age.

The Bradley’s were what she had deemed a trial group. Given special privileges to inspire a new flavour. But that was rather tangential. What mattered was that Lady Dimitrescu found their taste unsuited for any palate; Rachel’s indiscretion was merely the icing on the cake.

Lady Dimitrescu rubs the drool off her pet’s chin, “Mr. Bradley.”

Rachel’s husband has a voice that sounds strange with how quietly he talks, his accent slurring the ends of words with the start of the next, “Yes, my Lady?”

She smiles, her teeth stained pinkish. She pulls Rachel’s corpse forward with a finger hooked around the collar of her dress, and it falls forward and splatters a bowl of broth over him. Her throat is a mess of bitten out tendons and mangled vocal cords. You are impressed, as always, that Lady Dimitrescu has not one drop of blood on her dress. “I believe you lost this.”

He breathes through his nose, “Rachel.”

She drags her finger through the weeping hole and licks a drop from her finger.

“Why?” He asks with an emotion you can't identify. He doesn’t try to run, or freak out, or even go for the steak knife sitting pleasantly on the table next to his plate.

“She was an unfaithful whore,” Lady Dimitrescu sneers, “You didn’t beat her hard enough.”

He doesn’t blink, “That’s barbaric.”

“Don’t lie to me, Mr. Bradley. Your face isn’t suited for it.”

A muscle feathers in his cheek when she looks away from him. He isn’t old, but he isn’t young either and he’s missing fingers from frostbite. He has a ruddy complexion, but you suppose he’s handsome. In the way that stuffed elk heads are handsome.

Daniela, blissfully unaware, picks up her blood covered cake. “Oh, I love pineapple cake!”

…

“You were nervous earlier,” Lady Dimitrescu says, after the table has cleared, “Why was that?”

“It’s already been corrected.” You reply.

She sighs out a long string of smoke, “Has it?” You don’t answer and she laughs, a quiet chuckle that’s more a sigh than anything. She flicked the ash from the end of her cigarette. “Mother Miranda wanted to speak to you. A call will be coming through later.”

You nod. “Very well, Madame.”

Lady Dimitrescu looks at you, and you look at her. She blows smoke in your face and you squint against it. It means you don’t see her hand as it comes to stroke idly at your cheek, or the way her pet looks at you from under the table.

You frown at her, “You’re upset with me.”

She doesn’t answer.

You lean into her hand a little and she twirls a strand of your hair around a finger, pursing her lips. “I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong,” She mumbles, and you lean towards her to catch her next words, “I just hate not knowing things.”

You step away from her and head towards the door. “Don’t look at me like that. I told you to get used to it.”

She doesn’t speak again, the usual banter she responds with lost in the vague expression of disdain on her face.

…

The phone rings late the next day, while you’re busy scrubbing at the dishes to help keep everything running on schedule. You end up taking the call while folding the loose clothing that hadn’t been folded in a week.

“Dimitrescu residence.”

“Finally,” Mother Miranda sighed through the phone.

“Mother Miranda.”

“Wesker.” She replied.

You pause, wrestling down a sudden lump in your throat and settling the phone between your ear and your shoulder. “Hello.” You say unevenly.

Mother Miranda’s laugh is no less lovely through the speaker than it is in real life, “You’ve been well, I take it?”

“Very well, Mother Miranda,” You flex your free fingers, then grab another pair of stockings, “You wished to speak with me?”

“I did. Have you had any relapses?”

“No, Mother Miranda.”

“You're healing properly?”

“Yes, Mother Miranda.”

“Excellent. Vanessa wanted me to inform you that she’ll be there on the morrow.”

You drop the shift you were folding. “Excuse me?”

“Did Alcina not tell you?”

“It must have slipped her mind.” You say lightly, placing the shift back into the basket.

“Vanessa will collect more data, but your condition is promising. I’ll call again in a week with the results.”

“Thank you, Mother Miranda.”

She laughs again and you can imagine her clearly. The dark red velvet of her armchair, the hewn strength of her face, the glimmer of her dark eyes. “Take care.” She cooed and hung up.

You place the phone down gently and stand there in silence until Mihaela calls you to the Lady’s room.

…

You try to keep your temper in check when Mihaela leaves but struggle with it to a point that you have to look at her pet instead. Even that doesn’t help, because her pet has dropped all pretence of being meek and glares at you from her spot. She isn’t near the Lady, curled instead behind the bed with a glare towards you.

She should be grateful that she only lost her tongue.

It takes you a moment to realise that you’ve let the silence drag on too long to be polite and that Lady Dimitrescu has abandoned her own charade of being engrossed in a book of poetry she hasn’t touched in years. You flex your fingers.

“Madame.” You say but forgo a bow.

“You’re upset.” She observes mildly.

“God forbid I have a temper.”

The room goes silent again, but you aren’t in a hurry to smooth it over, cataloguing the shock that twists her face. Her eyes are wide, and her smile shows too many teeth, but you’ve never been one to shy away because of a few fangs. She rises from her chair, stepping over the bloody stain in the carpet as she looms over you.

“I beg your pardon.”

“I could ask the same.” You snap.

She raises a brow.

“How dare you,” You snarl, jabbing a finger up at her, and you struggle with your words, “How fucking dare you!”

[mandowh0re]

Peter’s Emergency Contact

Summary: Peter meets the Avengers. It doesn’t go well.

A/N: I’m a terrible person tell me to finish my wips. Also I’m sorry about May :(

P.s. it’s been a long time since I picked this fic up so there are some continuum issues, please forgive me.

Part1/ Part2/ Part3/ Part 4

Part 4

Putting it mildly, Peter was fucking bored. It was summer, but both Ned and MJ were on vacation with their families. And on top of that, it was way too hot to go out and do anything, including patrol. He was, however, on stand by if Karen came through with anything that required Spider-Man’s assistance.

A few floors down, the ex-Rogue Avengers were doing god knows what. They had been pardoned a month earlier and moved back into the tower. Peter had yet to meet them, though Tony seemed okay with them. But Peter didn’t really trust them.

Well, okay. He more-so didn’t trust Steve. Even though the others fought against Tony too, it was Steve that scared Tony. Peter noticed minute things that Tony would do whenever the Captain was mentioned. He’d fidget, or grab his left wrist, or rub his chest, or bite the inside of his cheek. Mostly stuff that would fly past most people.

But Peter wasn’t ‘most people’. Officially, Peter was Tony’s child. After a car accident killed May about eight months prior, Tony legally adopted Peter. Since then, Peter has learned all of Tony’s tells. Wanting to get to the bottom of these anxious ticks, Peter hacked his way around FRIDAY’s systems to figure out what had happened.

Peter wasn’t one to give into rage, but that day he spent a majority of his time in the gym or swinging through the city because he was basically vibrating from the emotion.

But they lived in the same tower, and maybe Peter was desperate for something to do, so he decided to head down to the common room where FRIDAY had informed him that a few of the Avengers were hanging out.

The elevator dinged and Peter walked out to the sight of… Christmas decorations?

“What the…” He breathed, looking around the room.

“You’re not Stark,” Natasha said, suddenly appearing in front of Peter.

Peter had to literally fight down his fanboy excitement to greet the literal Black Widow!

“Uh, no. I mean, technically I am but-”

“You’re Peter, right?” Was that a smirk? Peter couldn't tell.

“Uh, y-yeah. How-?”

“I have my ways of finding things out,” Okay, now that was a smile, “I haven’t told anyone though. So you’ll have to introduce yourself to them.” She said as she tossed her head to the side, motioning to the others on the floor.

“Oh, right.”

Peter followed Natasha farther into the room, gaining the attention of the rest of the crew including Wanda Maximoff, Vision (who Peter had actually met before), Clint Barton, Sam Wilson, and Bruce (who Peter had also met before as he and Thor showed up about two months after May’s death).

“Uh, who’s the child, Nat?” Clint asked, sitting on the kitchen island.

Natasha looked at Peter, who began picking at the hem of his shirt. A nervous tick of his own.

“Uh, hi, Mister Barton. I’m Peter. Uh, Peter Parker. Or, Peter Parker-Stark now I guess? I’m-”

“Wait, excuse me, Parker-Stark? Since when the hell did Stark have a child?” Sam cut in.

“Let him finish,” Wanda berated the man, who seemed to currently be baking cookies, “Go on,” She said to the other teenager in the room, smiling kindly.

“Right, so uh, Tony hired me as his personal intern like two years ago, and we got pretty close. My aunt died last December and since she was my last family, Tony took me in and adopted me.” Immediately after mentioning his aunt’s death, almost everyone in the room looked at him with pity.

“I’m sorry kid,” That was Clint again, “Life sucks sometimes.”

“I’m adjusting,” Peter replied, but he quickly changed the subject, “Why are you decorating for Christmas? It’s almost a hundred degrees outside, not to mention it’s July.”

“Ah, that was my idea!” Sam called from the kitchen where he was currently pulling cookies out of the oven, “Since we’re on house arrest until further notice, I thought we could entertain ourselves with Christmas in July. It’s something we used to do when I was younger.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!”

“You’re welcome to join, kid.” Bruce called from his spot on the couch.

“Really? Thanks guys!” Peter jumped onto a seat at the island.

“Have a cookie, man.” Sam said, holding out a plate of santa shaped sugar cookies.

“Aw sweet!” The boy grabbed one and took a bite, “Thanks!”

About fifteen minutes passed by when Peter’s senses upped a few notches.

“Any cookies left, Sam?”

Peter nearly choked on his current cookie and jumped up to see Steve Rogers walking out of the elevator.

“Yep, a few plates full. There’s sugar, gingerbread, and chocolate chip.”

A few seconds passed before the super soldier noticed Peter.

“Um, hello. I’m Steve, you are?” He offered a hand for Peter to shake.

Peter tried to respond, but the room suddenly began spinning. He gripped onto the counter to steady himself.

“Son?” Steve asked.

“Don’ call me tha’,” Peter tried to glare, but he wasn’t even sure he was controlling his face properly.

Out of nowhere his legs gave out, and black began overtaking his vision.

A chorus of exclamations rang out as everyone ran over to tend to the boy. Fortunately and unfortunately, Steve was the closest and was the one to grab Peter before he hit the ground.

“No! Let me go!” He struggled against Steve’s arms to no avail.

“Calm down, son, I’m just-”

“What happened?” Bruce asked, feeling for Peter’s pulse.

“He just collapsed.” Sam answered.

Then Peter began seizing.

“Fuck, Sam, start a timer to time the seizure. Steve, pick him up and bring him to the medbay with me. Natasha, call Tony.”

“Why are we calling Tony?” Steve asked, following Bruce into the elevator.

It was silent for a moment where Bruce and Nat exchanged glances before Bruce answered, “He’s Tony’s kid.”

“Since when-”

“Later Steve. One thing at a time.”

***

“This better be important. Like, life or death because you pulled me out of a meeting and Pepper-”

“Shut up, Stark. Something is wrong with Peter.”

Tony was quiet for a moment before growling back, “Explain, Romanoff. Now.”

“I don’t know, Tony. He came down and introduced himself and was hanging out with us when he just collapsed and started seizing. We’re taking him to the medbay now-”

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I’m in DC. I’ll have to come back with the suit but it’ll still take me an hour.”

“What do you want me to-”

“Do not let him out of your sight, Nat. I don’t want him waking up alone and you and Bruce are the only two I trust enough to watch him. Keep me updated, I’ll let you know when I’m there.”

“Got it.”

***

“He’s showing symptoms of anaphylactic shock,” Bruce said to the other two occupants after injecting Peter with an anticonvulsant, “ FRIDAY, is Peter allergic to anything? Override code six one three three nine seven five.”

“Peter is allergic to peppermint, and as well has severe reactions when in close vicinity to insect repellents.”

“Was there peppermint in Sam’s cookies?”

“One moment, Doctor Banner.” A few seconds passed before the AI came back with an answer, “Mister Wilson has supplied that the sugar cookies had peppermint extract in them.”

“Peter had several of those,” Nat said quietly.

“Okay, okay at least I can work with that. Steve,” Bruce called to the soldier while pulling out an epinephrine pen, “I think it’d be better if you waited with everyone else. Thank you for helping.”

Steve wanted to argue, but he looked at Nat who seemed to agree with Bruce.

“Okay. Let me know if you need anything else.” He offered before walking out the door.

As soon as the door shut behind him Nat spoke, “If Peter hadn’t accidentally poisoned himself I’m pretty sure he would have punched Steve.”

Bruce finished injecting the medicine and pulled the pen away from Peter’s thigh, “He still might.”

Natasha helped Bruce fix an IV drip in Peter’s arm in silence.

“You don’t have to stay, I can watch him until Tony gets here.” Bruce offered.

“He won’t be here for another forty five minutes. Plus, I’m supposed to keep watch. Stark’s orders.”

Bruce nodded in understanding, “His vitals are starting to return to normal. I’ll go update the others.”

“I’ll call Tony.”

***

Peter felt like he’d been hit by a train.

Had he?

Honestly he couldn’t remember what had happened. He opened his eyes to see Tony next to his bed (why was he in the medbay?) talking to someone on the other side of his bed. Soon his ears stopped ringing and he heard another hushed voice. Probably whoever Tony was talking to. Why did Tony look upset?

Peter turned his head to see Steve standing there.

And

What?

Without really having his wits about him yet, Peter jumped up and shoved the man back, pulling and knocking over his IV stand in the process.

“Woah, Pete! Calm down-”

“What? You didn’t get to kill him in Siberia so you thought you’d come and finish the job while I’m out?” Peter practically snarled.

Steve’s eyes blew wide, shock and shame overtaking his features, “Son, I-”

“And stop calling me that!” Peter shoved again, sending the captain into the wall, leaving a sizable crack.

“Peter!” Tony yelled, grabbing at the kid’s arm, “Calm down, bud. He’s not here to hurt me, or you for that matter. Can you please sit back down before you give me another damn heart attack?”

Peter obliged but his eyes never left Steve, who looked to be in too much of shock to really say anything.

“Cap, let the team know he’s awake, will ya?” It really wasn’t a suggestion or a question, more like a thinly veiled disguise to get him out of the room before Peter decided he hadn’t had enough.

Nodding, Steve hightailed it out of the room, but not before looking back at Peter and offering a quick apology.

It was quiet for a few moments, in which time Tony set the IV stand back up and made sure Peter’s IV was still in place. Finally the older man spoke, “Pete, buddy, what was all that about? How do you know what happened in Siberia?”

Peter’s demeanor fell slightly as he came back to himself, “Wasn’t hard to guess.”

“Mhmm. Wanna try again? Maybe with the truth this time?” Tony said as he sat back down next to his kid.

Peter crossed his arms and looked down at the floor.

“I hacked FRIDAY,” He mumbled.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” Tony asked.

Peter sighed audibly before repeating himself, louder this time, “I hacked FRIDAY.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because you were beat up and withdrawn after we got back from Germany. Which, okay, fine. We weren’t in a place for you to tell me what happened. But then the pardon for them was beginning to go through and every time Steve was even mentioned, you had these reactions like you were nervous or something. And I wanted to know why. I already had a pretty good idea. Then I saw the footage and I just… I don’t want him near you..”

“Peter, buddy. Look at me, please,” Tony gently held the boy’s chin and turned his head so that he looked at Tony, “Thank you for looking out for me. But that’s not your responsibility,”

“Yes it is! I can’t-” His throat catches and a lump forms, tears making their way to the surface, “I’ve lost everyone because I couldn’t protect them. I can’t lose you too.”

Tony pulls Peter in for a hug, and cards his fingers through the kid’s curls, “It’s okay to cry, honey. But I’m not going anywhere. Remember that. The universe will have to personally fight me before I let anything get between us. Understood?” Peter nodded slightly, but clung to his father’s shirt as he cried.

Eventually Peter fell asleep in Tony’s arms.

“I love you, kid. I’m not going anywhere.” Tony whispered, placing a kiss on top of the curls on his kid’s head.

And yes. Peter did end up punching Captain America. We don’t bring that up.

***

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[j-hawthorn]

Books and Bubble Baths: Chapter 3

(Find this chapter and my other work on AO3 here! )

It was so easy for Crowley to sow little seeds of evil in the world. And the fact they were able to do so while getting breakfast for their angel was an added bonus. They held an impeccably wrapped package in their arms – a package they had forced the shop staff wrap, then pull apart only to wrap again until it was perfect. It had to be, Crowley wouldn’t allow a half-arsed gift for their angel. You don’t get shown that GOOD of a time and NOT at least buy the person some pastries!

They’d woken up a tangled mess. Arms and legs and huge wings splayed and curled together with their angel. They’d never done that – woken up with the heat of another person. They also hadn’t seen their angel sleep in...forever. Crowley had stayed with him, watching the rise and fall of his soft tummy, his arms curled to his chest. His cheek had smushed against Crowley’s shoulder, giving him an off centre pout.

Crowley eventually crawled out of the bed, legs wobbling. Naked and still fizzing from the night before, they’d snuck into the ensuite. They showered, stole some of Angel’s perfume and examined themself in the mirror. They hadn’t looked any different. Part of them had wondered if there would be something new about them, but there wasn’t – aside from the marks along their neck from their angel’s hungry little mouth. Crowley touched one gently, and smirked. That had certainly been something. While they could easily alter their form and make the marks disappear, they didn’t. Keeping them made everything more real, they couldn’t pretend the night before was just a very realistic dirty dream – it was real, and their angel had claimed them as his.

They had dressed in a tight (and short) black dress, black stockings and black knee high snakeskin boots with dangerously thin heels. With a wispy red scarf tied at their throat (just because they wanted to keep the marks didn’t mean they wanted anyone else to look at their horny little secret) and hair pulled back into two messy buns on either side of their head they slunk out of the shop. Stiletto heels clicked menacingly on the stone street as if to say: watch out world, I’m newly sexed up! I’m mad, bad and mildly inconvenient to know!

Package in hand, they trotted back to the shop, bell tinkling sweetly. They placed the package on the table, stepping back to make sure it was perfectly arranged – the shop bell rang.

Head whipping round, Crowley hissed under their breath. There was a MAN. He smiled when they met his eye. Crowley curled their lip.

‘Hello-’

‘Go away,’ Crowley strode over, making shooing motions with their hands. The man was taller than them, and white with a mess of brown hair. He picked up a book, turning over uselessly in his hands, ‘I just want to look at some books...’

‘You can’t, shops closed. Piss off!’

The man smiled, then held out his hand, ‘Okay. You caught me, I actually saw you outside and wanted to meet you -’

‘- Ew, grosssss, ’ Crowley hissed – He was ruining their morning! Inside their head a 40 foot serpent was smashing its metaphorical fists on a table chanting “BITE! BITE! BITE! BITE!” Their teeth itched. When ever they felt a strong – and often negative – emotion Crowley’s internal bearings would stop pointing at “person” and start pointing towards “reticulated python” taking their corporal form with it.

‘- The names David.’

‘I don’t care!’ Crowley’s whole faced scrunched in disgust, ‘Do you often follow strangers into buildings? How are you not dead?’

‘There’s no need for that -’

‘Get out! Now! The shop is closed, and I have no desire what so-fucking-ever of knowing you!’

The human couldn’t see it, but Crowley could feel their fangs growing, their body gaining vertebra, lengthening, bones threatening to crack and warp -

‘Crowley?’ The most beautiful sound in the world was their name uttered by a puffy faced, bleary eyed angel in a tartan pyjama set and fluffy slippers. The man turned and blinked, ‘....oh.’

‘Who are you?’ The angel frowned catching sight of the man.

‘He followed me in!’ Crowley snarled, ‘Before I could lock the door.’

‘Why did you follow my love in here?’ Aziraphale walked slowly over, eyes fixed on the man.

‘We were just talking-’

Crowley backed away with a snarl. The snake inside was thirsting for a fight, and they were not going to give in – especially not when Aziraphale’s books were in the splash zone.

The angel stood with his hands behind his back, head cocked to one side. ‘We are closed, sir, you really do need to leave.’

‘Hey, she came in here too-’

‘Of course THEY did. THEY are my partner, you are a pillock,’ The angel gave a steely grin. ‘Vacate the premises on your own accord, before I have to force you out myself.’

Crowley barked a laugh, leaning forward to grip the edge of a shelf. Their ribs were on fire. As a defence mechanism, turning into a giant serpent was quite handy. A lot of creatures backed off from the sight of a skinny little person exploding in a cloud of viscera into a 650 pound mass of teeth and scales. But it did wreck havoc on the nerves.

‘She never said she was married...’ The man whined, slamming the door behind himself. Aziraphale clicked his fingers and the locks slammed into place.

‘Are you okay – oh... Oh dear!’ Aziraphale gasped.

Teeth. Crowley was all teeth now, arms limp and useless around their middle. ‘Gotta biiiite ssssssomething!’

‘Hang on, my love!’

Aziraphale trotted to his desk. He rummaged through the topmost drawer. With expert aim Aziraphale threw a large dog toy at Crowley, who’s body twisted and burst into heavy coils. They caught the toy in their huge jaw, sinking their fangs in deep. With each furious chomp the thing squeaked, lost in the rolling body of the serpent. Crush it! Crush it!

Somewhere in the background of their mind, Crowley heard their angel putting on the jug. The air was full of his scent – warm, tired, a little sweaty. It was calming. Their heavy body slowly unknotted itself. Aziraphale came back in, carrying two steaming mugs. He sat on the shop sofa with a sigh, ‘Goodness me, what a way to start the day.’

‘Bad man,’ Crowley rumbled, punctuating the sentence with a squeak of the chew toy.

‘Indeed!’

The chew toy dropped to the floor, Crowley’s head rising above their knots, ‘If I find who invented misogyny, I’ll give them such a dressing down!’

‘Hear, hear!’ Aziraphale held his drink aloft.

‘They’ll get such a bollocking like no one has ever been bollocked before!’

‘Hear, hear...?’

‘And I’ll constrict around their horrible, pitiful little body until their bastarding head pops off and flies into the sun!’

‘Oh, good lord...’ Aziraphale made a face, looking over at Crowley.

‘Bastards!’ The snake snarled at the world, head aloft, fangs bared. They sucked in a deep breath, then slithered over to the sofa. They looped their body around the entire thing a couple of times, large head placed softly on the angel’s knee. They sighed, ‘....bastards.’

‘I know, darling,’ Aziraphale stroked his finger down the centre of their face. ‘I am sorry.’

‘I’m not a girl...’ They sighed, ‘And I shouldn’t be upset that some wanker thought I was one! What even is a gender to a thing like me? I wear a body for fun, but it’s not...anything! I’m like a...a...a Muppet! A muppet with a snake instead of a hand up it!’

Aziraphale blew out a slow breath, ‘You’re very...descriptive today, my love.’

‘But that’s what it’s like! It’s all fake,’ Crowley wobbled their head. ‘So why am I upset!’

‘Because you were mistreated,’ The angel ran his thumb over the top of their snout. ‘He shouldn’t have said what he said. Or treated you like he did. You’re allowed to be upset, sweet one. Because you deserve the be treated with respect and to be seen how you wish to present yourself.’

Crowley nuzzled their snout into his hand, letting their forked tongue gently touch his wrist. He chuckled softly, and Crowley felt a little thrill at the sound. Comforting. Angel was always comforting and warm.

‘Got you a treat,’ They purred, pointing the tip of their tail at the package. Aziraphale gasped, grinning, ‘Oh! How thoughtful. You’re so kind, Crowley.’

‘Ew, stop it, haven’t I been through enough this morning,’ Crowley mumbled, eternally grateful that snakes couldn’t blush. ‘Are you going to have a snake day?’ Aziraphale asked, stroking his hand down the back of their head. They liked it when he petted them, not that they’d ever told him. But, they supposed, maybe he already knew. He had such a way of finding what made their little brain turn to goo.

‘Nah,’ They said, then pried themself away from Aziraphale’s warm, tender hands. ‘Look away while I switch.’ They slunk down behind the sofa, puling their large body tightly together.

‘Darling, I’ve seen you change a thousand times before, why must I avert my eyes now?’

Because you’ve seen me in ways no one else ever has, and maybe ever will, and I don’t know how to cope with the knowledge of being genuinely and wholly perceived in my true state – and to have that state of being be loved so fully. I feel like I’ve been pulled a part, and put back together piece by minute piece, all by your hand, and that isn’t something I have felt since the birth of creation.

Is what Crowley thought. What Crowley said was:

‘Cut me some fucking slack, Angel!’

Limbs restored, Crowley wriggled their little dress back down over their thighs, and gave their hair a quick pat down. Wrinkle free and fangs safely put away, they sat down beside Aziraphale, and smiled. He didn’t return it.

'So...' Aziraphale said, staring into the depths of his tea. 'We need to talk about last night, yes?'

'Do we, though?' Crowley sat on their hands to hide the shaking. Nerves made their stomach gurgle. There was no point trying to hide it, that man-shaped force of love and light beside them could see through them in an instant. He was their best friend. He'd seen them at some of their lowest points, he knew them probably better than they knew themself. And that put him at an unfair advantage.

'Yes, Crowley, we do,' He shifted in his seat, and looked at them. Crowley couldn't make eye contact, so they slouched, crossed their legs, hands folded on their stomach and stared up at the cobweb covered ceiling. Build a little wall, enough to peek over but enough to shelter, they thought. Just in case.

'Okay then, Angel,' they said. 'Fire away.'

Aziraphale sighed, 'You were gone when I woke up-'

'- To get you breakfast!'

'Crowley, let me talk. Please?' He sighed again, 'Waking up without you beside me was...a shock. I've never wondered what it would be like to wake up with you there, but I found I had been expecting that.'

'...Sorry.'

'Oh! No, please, you don't need to be,' He reached over and patted their knee. 'Dear boy, what I'm trying to say is when I awoke and you weren’t there I feared the worst. I was worried I had hurt you,’ Aziraphale said. ‘Or frightened you in some way. I’ve hurt you before, and I never want to do so again.’ ‘Ah...But I got over it, so no harm done,’ Crowley lied through their pointy little teeth. Sometimes, in the dead of night they replayed the rejection over and over in their head, or they dreamt it – often accompanied by the smell of smoke and lick of flame.

‘Hmm,’ Aziraphale sipped his tea, giving them a look. ‘Well I haven’t. So tell me, are you okay?’ Behind their glasses Crowley closed their eyes and silently cursed themself. Why now were they filled with nerves? They had so many years of quietly thirsting over the angel, of openly flirting and teasing, and now, NOW was when their palms grew sweaty and they wanted nothing more than the earth to open up and swallow them whole.

'I'm feelin' fine, Angel,' Crowley said with a lazy wave of their hand.

'You're feeling fine?'

'Yeah.'

'Just...fine?'

'Yeah?'

'Right-o, then,' Aziraphale said, crossing his legs. But something in the air told Crowley it was not right-o. Something wasn't right-o at all.

'I mean,' they started, leaning closer with their hands on their knees. 'More than fine, Angel. Really more than fine. I'm good, great even. Tingly.'

'Tingly?'

'All up my spine and my skin,' Crowley gave an awkward half smirk half grimace. 'It's nice. But also, real real weird.'

Aziraphale gave a warm chuckle, setting his tea aside, 'I know what you mean, my love.' Crowley's heart did a horrible little flip at that. They kneaded their chest. I'm never going to get used to that, they thought, this bastard is going to kill me with pet names.

'Why are you rubbing your breast, dear?'

'I'm not! You're making my chest hurt!'

'What? How?'

'By being all good,' Crowley frowned. 'And nice and pretty and soft. Why are you so soft?' Their chest was really starting to hurt now, like their heart was expanding and strangling their lungs.

'Sit down, Crowley, you’re having one of your moments.'

'What?' They were pacing – when did they get up? The room was too hot – why did the angel never open any bloody windows in the place-?

Cold hands. Cold hands at their throat. Instinct said to bite, to jump, to scuttle away into the dark. They stood stock still as Aziraphale delicately untied their scarf. Cool air washed over their skin, followed by a tender touch along the marks still present on their neck and throat. Strong arms wrapped around their middle, and soft curly hair settled under their chin. Crowley's arms hung limp by their side.

'I'm a numpty.'

'Yes you are, but a lovely one,' Aziraphale chuckled softly. He rubbed their back. Crowley pressed their cheek to the top of his head, eyes closed. He smelled like soap. Good soap. Fancy soap with roses in it. It was the most comforting thing they'd ever sniffed. They never wanted to not sniff those roses ever, ever again.

'You need to work on your emotional regulation, though, maybe get a stress ball? We could take a perambulation through the park later -'

'- I want to go home.'

Aziraphale pulled back, frowning deeply, 'Oh.'

Crowley picked up the box of pastries and strode towards the stairs.

'Where are you going?' Aziraphale asked. They could hear the frustration in his voice. Crowley ran, 'Upstairs! I think I live here now!’

'What the blazes are you on about?' Aziraphale thundered behind them but Crowley had already placed the box on the table and was sizing up the room.

'I wanna put my desk under that window-'

'Crowley!'

'What?'

'You can't just decide something like that! This is my home-'

'-I think you might be mine, though.'

Aziraphale heaved a huge sigh, ‘Oh, my heart. You sweet, beautiful fool.’ He rolled his eyes then smiled, ‘Crowley, I want to be with you and around you as much as possible. You don’t have to grip so tightly, I’m not going anywhere. I adore you. But you can’t just decide that you live here. Do you actually want to move in to the shop with me?’

‘No, it’s kind of ugly,’ They admitted. ‘And your interior decorating abilities are seriously lacking, Angel. I mean really, tartan curtains? Yellow wallpaper? It’d need a complete do over-’

‘Well, golly, thank you for that Crowley,’ Aziraphale laughed, untying the ribbon on the package. He flipped the lid and gasped. ‘Oh! So pretty! Is that almond paste?

‘And custard.’

The smile Crowley got could have lit up the whole world. They could do this. If they could get a smile like that every day, then fuck, maybe they’d be worth something. All they wanted was that smile. That warmth and bite.

‘Maybe,’ They said carefully, ‘We could have a trial run. Of living together.’

Aziraphale nodded, licking sugar powder off his fingers in such a manner that Crowley had to avert their eyes to keep their thoughts on track. ‘Would you move in here? I don’t know if I could move into your apartment-’

‘Nah nah,’ Crowley rocked on their heels. ‘Somewhere neutral.’

‘Neutral.’ Aziraphale hummed, looking out the window, ‘Like...a holiday?’

‘Yeah! Angel,’ Crowley smiled toothily, ‘Wanna go on holiday? Anywhere you like, you pick, I’ll drive!’

The angel leaned back in his dining chair, hands folded on the table. He grinned, ‘I’ll go pack.’

---

Thanks for reading! If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee here!

[notesofarichlycolorednight]

OBC Hadestown Recording Review by a Non-Professional that you didn’t ask for

Alt. click-bait title: THEMES! THEMES! THEMES!

so i just listened to the Hadestown OBCR

so as practice, i’m going to do this review (i have a lot to say if you hadn’t noticed) like a sandwich--positives, mixed, neutral, negatives, more positives

and yes, I compare it to the NY version. it would be Impossible for me not to, considering that’s all I had for years. but I did listen to it with an open mind and wide-eyed excitement

YAS QUEEN

Amber Grey and Patrick Page, lovely as always

I’m glad they introduced Hades in “Road To Hell” also that Hermes is like...is there another god? oh yeah, ME!

Eva Noblezada was AMAZING and I love her Eurydice

Reeve Carney sounds like an wide-eyed, naive, optimistic musician and it’s Wonderful

the overall themes and a more cohesive story--like there were of course themes threaded thru the NY recording, but the themes were much stronger in this version

Hermes being Orpheus’s mentor, rather than just the narrator and occasionally interacting with Orpheus bc he can? the exchange between them reads less like “I’m kind of picking on your bc you’re an artist” and more like “yikes, bro, you messed up. and bc I’m your mentor, and the god of Travelers, I’mma help you out a little”

oh yes, LOVE LOVE LOVE “Wedding Song” and oh, I LOVED that he sang his song in this version (hope to see what happens on stage some day ;_;)

the OBC version of “Livin’ it Up on Top” is still fun as always and I love they included the joke “to hell and back”

Orpheus’s lyrics in “All I’ve Ever Known” are So. Soft. our soft, poor boy Orpheus

Reeve and Eva’s voices fit together really well and I’m cry

“A Gathering Storm” is just Gorgeous storytelling right there, mmhmm. And oh shit, the “It’s not supposed to be like this” damn. And Eurydice’s “bring the world back into tune” Love it.

oh dude, the doubt in “Epic II” mirroring Orpheus’s later doubt poetictheater.jpeg

the lead in from “Epic II” to “Chant” always Great. And oh man, loved more of the storytelling and Eurydice’s lyrics in “Chant” okay but the juxtaposition of Hermes telling Orpheus telling him to look up while the Chorus chants to keep your head low oh jeez. And Eva sounds Great in “Chant” like DAMN

shaken, not stirred

Andre De Shields, sorry bro.

intellectual: I think his performance was great and the way he portrays Hermes fits really well with the style and aesthetic of Hadestown.

emotional: unfortunately, I don’t like his voice. and yes, I’m definitely biased for NY Hermes, but this is like a personal preference type thing. his voice is like the opposite of a stim for me... :\ which is unfortunate, because I did enjoy his performance

“Road To Hell” is before “Any Way The Wind Blows”

intellectual: it definitely fits this version, and I really liked hearing more about Eurydice and understanding her struggles and why falling in love with Orpheus is such a big thing for her

emotional: but I kinda liked the order in the NY version. it kinda felt like a preface to the story itself, and like even tho Hermes is the narrator, beginning with a song the Fates sing, it shows who’s truly in charge (they DO in fact control the speed at which lobsters die)

tho if I’m being honest, “Livin’ it Up on Top” doesn’t quite have that kick the NY version has. idk if instruments or missing or there isn’t enough ppl singing, but there’s just something missing, which takes a little of the fun out of it

It again feels like something is missing from “Way Down Hadestown” :\

intellectual: I guess I understand why they gave Orpheus’s lyrics to the Fates and Hermes (bc like how would he know what it’s like down there, truly?)

emotional: but I also didn’t like it bc as I’ll talk abt a lot in a min, it really takes away from Reeve’s performance

I’m actually super disappointed that Reeve/Orephus wasn’t featured as much as in the NY recording. his voice is almost completely drowned out almost entirely through “Wait For Me.”

intellectual: I quite enjoyed that the rest of the cast acted as the stones echoing back his song, and that it fit with and strengthened the overall themes and plot of the musical. I’m glad that this version has a more cohesive story and stronger themes

emotional: but it was no longer about Orpheus and his journey, and I think they could’ve kept the themes while also featuring Reeve’s voice. esp in such an Iconic song for Orpheus like “Wait For Me”

“If It’s True” I was tempted to put this in the negatives section bc I feel like it really takes away from Orpheus’s story (get ready to here a lot of repetition sorry not sorry fam). but there are some things I liked abt it.

intellectual: I liked that in the OBC version, that it was more abt the theme they’d introduced abt the workers’/chorus’s struggle and Hades’s struggle to keep them nameless, so to speak. I also did like that they show Orpheus’s worldview change. and fucking finally gave Reeve a chance to shine (kinda, with interjections from Hermes and the Chorus)

emotional: but I do think they went abt it the wrong way, bc I liked that it addressed just Orpheus and his feelings of what’s gone on (specifically Eurydice belonging to Hades) in the NY version, and I didn’t like that in the OBC version that it Was more abt the themes. I also felt like it got a little preachy. Like that’s not what I thought the original “If It’s True” was abt yo. I get it fits with the overall theme and message they want to get across, but I don’t think their execution was that Great :\ I also really liked that in the NY version, him just being sad is what moved both Persephone and the Chorus

“Wait For Me (Reprise)” is the same as with “Wait For Me”

intellectual: I’m not saying  that the new, stronger themes are bad or anything--like I’ve said, I Loved that they strengthened the themes and made the musical more cohesive overall.

emotional:

(+): Okay but also I really Love Eurydice singing what Orpheus sang in “Wait For me”

(-): Reeve’s voice is often drowned out and it’s no longer about his and Eurydice’s story as much (it’s in the very first song! “brother, thus, begins the tale of ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE”). I really do think they could have gone about it in a way that highlights Reeve as Orpheus AND keeps with the theme and the message they wanted to get across by including the Chorus. I mean look! Look! Reeve stands off to the side or isn’t singing for like ALMOST THE WHOLE SONG DUDE. he gets 36 measly seconds singing in this song, I timed it. it’s a 3 mins and 12 second song. and most of those seconds are spent singing the song with the chorus (I do not, however, really count the times Hermes is speaking bc those lines are Great and when Eurydice is singing at the end, but Still!). like I said, I’m so glad they have Eurydice singing his song back to him, but I Really Do Think they could have composed it so it was still Orpheus’s song (with Hermes, and Eurydice at the end, keep that of course!), but held those stronger themes.

“Doubt Comes In” ...like at this point, are you even surprised?

intellectual: strong themes. great. okay.

emotional:

(+):  I Loved Eurydice’s part in this, encouraging Orpheus even tho he can’t hear her. I also did love that they added in Orpheus’s thoughts--pique drama, I LOVED it

(-): third verse, same as the first (and second): Reeve just wasn’t featured as much as I would have liked him to be! the Fates get the lines Orpheus used to sing! when Orpheus sang, “where are you? where are you now?” the first time more steady and sing-song-y, the second time more desperate (but still beautiful holy shit Damon Daunno was Amazing) as he starts to go out of his mind,,, i felt that and i���m incredibly disappointed (and angry lbr) that they took those lines away from Orpheus.

not really a point, but this needs its own bullet point: it just does Reeve a huge disservice, bc he’s a Great Orpheus. I Loved his Orpheus, but the fact that he’s taken out of so much of the story he’s the protagonist in detracts severely from his performance, and it’s a damn shame

I did really liked that they made the “la la la” more complicated in “Epic III” and when Persephone and Hades danced, and how it was softer, but I also liked how powerful the “la la la” crescendo as Hermes, Persephone (I believe) and the Chorus joined in along with the instruments was in the NY version so,,, ¯\_( : \ )_/¯

I don’t think they changed any of the lyrics for “Road To Hell (Reprise)” (they added stuff, sure) but it sounded and felt different, and I’m upset that it wasn’t the same as the NY. it’s in this section tho, bc it was still good (think I like the NY version just slightly better, but I do like the OBC version too, but for different reasons)

neutral(ish)

the change of characters who says/sings lines isn’t my fave, but it’s not bad either and, based on the theme and more cohesive storyline, it makes sense

I’m trying to decide if Patrick Page’s descent from a higher vocal range into a lower one is a stylistic choice, but I don’t feel one particular way about it or another (except for the fact that it didn’t sound like him I questioned if it was at first)...tho the bass drops for “Hey Little Songbird” so maybe it was a stylistic choice and if so, Brilliant! (but it will stay in this spot since I can’t tell if that was intentional)

I’m a little surprised they didn’t give Eurydice her spot light in “Why We Build the Wall” but it’s not like it changes the story much. I think I just liked that she stood out, and with those lyrics, bc it’s dramatic irony--we know her mistake but she doesn’t yet realize that it is a mistake she’s made

“Word to the Wise” it was good. not great. I liked NY version better, but I think I mildly like NY Fates better bc they sang in a very harsh and solid way. like in some parts the OBC Fates do too, but not in the songs where it matters (to me)

the changes made to the Epics. I liked the more story-telling aspect of them, but I also didn’t quite love the changes. but the songs themselves were still p great, so (it’s here, rather in the mixed section) bc I don’t particularly feel as strong one way or another abt the NY Epics compared to the OBC Epics

Once again, I feel like smth is missing from “Word to the Wise” :\ like some kind of instrument to really push it into extraordinary, to hold it up. But the Fates were a little better at being brutal so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i guess

hard no, babe

that being said, regarding first point in the neutral section, I didn’t like that they took away (even) more of Orpheus’s lines because it then removes (even) more of his voice, when he’s HALF THE FEATURE OF THE STORY. I know it’s really about two love stories (and like I said before, it does strengthen the themes and overall storyline), but the main focus was Orpheus and Eurydice !!!

the sound of the train whistle. mmm, I’ll pass. it’s so dinky. bring back the NY train!

The way Reeve says/sings some of his lines (not all of ‘em tho) could use some work? doesn’t sound great. didn’t love it. idk if it was a stylistic choice on the director’s part or Reeve’s own choices in how he wanted to play Orpheus, but I didn’t agree with them. I think he uses his falsetto a little too much for some lines. And let me tell you, was very afraid they were going to do that three-voice thing (like in the concept album) when Orpheus meets Eurydice. glad they didn’t, but I also didn’t really think they needed it at all

I’m actually uber disappointed they took out the old radio sound for Hermes in “Wait For Me.” I just really liked it man.

ngl, I. was. Heartbroken. when they’d changed the lyrics to Epic III (which is why it’s in this section :\). Esp like I CANNOT BELIEVE THEY CHANGED “where is the man, WITH HIS HAT IN HIS HANDS, who stands in the garden, with nothing to lose” (emphasis mine). like, again, i understand the changes were made to keep with the themes introduced, BUT can you Imagine. holding the whole world in your arms (when Hades gets the girl) compared to holding something so small and insignificant (BEFORE Hades gets the girl). COME ON! it’s like the perfect juxtaposition AND I thought it made Hades much more human AND it still keeps with the themes. (tho I am glad they kept that part at all bc when I realized how much of “Epic III” they changed, I was worried they’d taken that part out too. it’s in this section tho bc the changes are unforgivable overall)

Come Home With Me I and II (Reprise) !!! I’m extremely sad they changed the lyrics so much. Admittedly, I do like the first “Come Home With Me” introducing his song that will bring spring back. But the changes are too unforgivable for me to put it in the mixed section. I really liked Orpheus’s proposal in “Come Home With Me II” in the NY version and that repetition of “say I do, I came all the way just to ask you to” and then the Fates step in and are like, “Mmm, sorry boo, she belongs to Hades now” and the song ending with Eurydice saying “I do” but with a totally different meaning. like okay, the OBC version fits more with the theme, and I’m glad they still kinda included it in “Papers” (I do actually like the way it’s composed in “Papers” if I’m being honest, the “I did. I do.” just,,, hits me) but it’s too unforgivable to put in the mixed section. OH GOD and. esp,,, okay Listen. HOW could they take out “are you always this confident?” // “when I look at you I am” and then later hearing Hades sing, “Orpheus the undersigned SHALL NOT LOOK BEHIND // SHE’S OUT OF SIGHT and he’s out of his mind” LIKE COME ON MAN that was Perfect AND YOU TOOK IT OUT ???

the Fates in their “Way Down Hadestown (Reprise)” I Loved the NY bc they Tore into Eurydice (I love my girl, but that song is a Bop and they are Ruthless). the way they sang, it was harsh and cutting. in the OBCR...not so much. It’s too sing-songy and embellished (is the best way I can explain it), and I was disappointed bc it was one of my fave songs in the NY version. not to mention, I Did Not Like Eurydice’s lyric changes. and I know that it strengthens the themes, and I did actually like that they showed Eurydice losing herself as she worked (esp bc it adds more to “Flowers” and again strengthens the thread linking the songs), but I disliked it as a whole enough that it can’t be saved to be moved into the mixed section

OH NO I. CANNOT. BELIEVE. THEY CHANGED “YOU’RE EARLY” // “I MISSED YOU” TO “IT’S YOU” // “IT’S ME” // “ORPHEUS” // “EURYDICE” FUCK YOUR THEMES but for real, I think keeping “you’re early” // “I missed you” would’ve have kept with the theme way more than what they changed it to bc 1) they’re referencing smth the two litchrally just said to each other. and 2) THAT’S WHAT PERSEPHONE AND HADES SAID TO EACH OTHER WHEN HE CAME TO GET HER FROM HADESTOWN AT THE BEGINNING OF THE SHOW. it’s a theme that’s introduced in the beginning of the musical--“it’s a tale from long ago”--bc Persephone and Hades’s relationship was SUPPOSED to mirror Orpheus and Eurydice right? there’s the fact that Orpheus’s song is what Hades heard long ago like ??? a HUGE Point of Orpheus and Eurydice’s love story was to remind Persephone and Hades about the love they shared when they first met (“wait for me?” // “I will”). and gosh darn it, it still would’ve fit the themes if they had stuck with “you’re early” // “I missed you” bc of that!

SPEAKING OF I CAN’T BELIEVE THEY TOOK OUT PERSEPHONE’S LYRICS IN “CHANT (REPRISE)” LIKE WHAT like it worked so well !!! (esp bc I’ve read reviews of the show, with Hades and Persephone circling Orpheus and Eurydice as they’re dueling and switching the direction they walk when the chorus makes that “kch” noise like poetictheater.jpeg) it was such a good juxtaposition between what Hades thinks Persephone wants and what Persephone actually wants (I do like that “Chant (Reprise)” is more complicated composition-wise, but not enough to move it into the mixed section). ALSO “He said we’d build ‘em up // And then the walls would set us free” // “Is it true, what he said?” // “He said we’d soldier on // And then the war would bring us peace.” I thought that got across the message quite well in the NY version, esp since they were echoing Orpheus’s “if it’s true.” they’re also just Great lines and I Cannot Believe they took them out 

YAS QUEEN

I’m a HOE for singing in the round, and the beauty of Orpheus’s “la la la la” joined in by the chorus in “Wait For Me” got me like. OKAY AND THE LYRIC ADDITIONS I LITERALLY CANNOT IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL AND POETIC AND GOOD WHEN ORPHEUS SANG “I HEAR THE ROCKS AND STONE, ECHOING MY SONG, I’M COMING”

I mean,,, how can you Not like “Our Lady of the Underground.” I also really enjoyed the more jazzy feel. Like it was already jazzy, but it’s even more jazzy in this version, to me

if you couldn’t tell, I loved Reeve and his Orpheus

“Papers” is Great and idk why but I Love “everything and everyone in Hadestown, I own.”

oh shit dude, Orpheus’s song being something from long ago that he like picked up on bc Greek mythology be like that and then HADES RECOGNIZING THE SONG. THAT. WAS. BRILLIANT.

“Flowers” felt like it fit much better in this version, with the themes being stronger and all that. also could actually hear it clearly, so that could be why bc I’m pretty sure they didn’t change a single lyric lol. still Loved it

the lyric additions to “Wait For Me” I’M SCREAM SO GOOD (even tho I’ve mentioned this before lmao)

“How Long” was. so. good. I just really enjoyed the exchange between Persephone and Hades in this song

DUDE I JUST REALIZED “NOW I SING A DIFFERENT SONG” FROM THE ONE ORPHEUS REMINDS HADES OF BRILLIANT

“Oh, it’s about me?” that made me laugh out loud. Oh god Also the repetition of lyrics in “All I’ve Ever Known” in “Epic III” to show that Orpheus and Eurydice’s love mirrors Persephone and Hades’s? poetictheater.jpeg

“Promises” omg. I actually liked this one better than NY “Promises” sorry not sorry. don’t get me wrong, Eurydice has every right to tell Orpheus off since he made all those promises he couldn’t keep in the NY “Promises” but in OBC “Promises” it feels more mutual. it feels softer. rather than Eurydice going, “you done messed up A-A-Ron” it’s more like Orpheus going, “I done fucked up and I’m sorry.” Orpheus is more self-aware and I liked that.

dudes, I’m extremely happy they added Eurydice back in for “We Raise Our Cups” it really rounds everything out. And it’s just a really good epilogue song. (I’m curious to see if Reeve is out on stage for this or if he stays backstage)

Final thoughts: the stronger themes were Great. don’t get me wrong. okay. I liked that about this version. but I feel like by trying to be too In With The Times(TM) they lost some of the heart of the story, which ultimately detracted from Reeve’s performance as Orpheus.

sometimes I really think a story can be just a story about two people (or two love stories), and the themes and messages will find their way in naturally. it doesn’t need to be this big thing about everyone all of a sudden. at the very least, bc it’s obvious the themes and messages are stronger in the OBC version, it does take some work and planning, but I felt like they were trying just a tad too hard and ended up being too heavy-handed.

I thought the themes and message they were originally trying to get across got across just find in the NY composition (specifically for “Wait For Me (Reprise)” bc the themes are definitely stronger throughout the overall musical in the OBCR composition)

now, I’m not saying don’t include messages in your art, that’s what art is for! But I think they could have either kept it about how it was in the NY version, because there were still messages (just a little more lucid and not as strong) OR they could have composed it some way that kept the stronger themes and messages AND kept the importance and presence of Orpheus’s role, and Orpheus and Eurydice’s story.

for me, Orpheus, esp OBC and Reeve’s Orpheus, doesn’t strike me as the guy to start a revolution and lead the Chorus thru hell. Like when the Fates say, “who are you to think that you can hold your head up higher than your fellow man?” I honestly get confused bc,,, he... doesn’t think that though? He just loves Eurydice and wants to save her from Hadestown. and maybe that’s actually the point? that Orpheus wasn’t ready for the pressure suddenly put on him to not just lead Eurydice out but also all of Hades’s workers, so doubt came in. but then what was with “If It’s True?” which, as I said, did start to sound pretty preachy? not to mention, the one time their themes and messages aren’t clear

anyway, long story long, the way I see Orpheus is his voice just does That. it doesn’t have to have some secret, overarching message for his songs to influence and move people. in the original “If It’s True” he sang about his loss and it was emotional enough to move Hades’s workers. to me Orpheus’s gift, his music, his voice is about emotion. and I think of Coco in that respect: “de la Cruz was a nobody, but when he sang, people listened” paired with, “I didn’t write it for the world, I wrote it for Coco” yet “Remember Me” (and all his songs) still resonated and moved people

so anyway, here’s my Hadestown hot take: Reeve wasn’t nominated for a Tony because the new composition underutilized him as Orpheus

no i don’t take criticism

[kivaember]

Prompt #10: Coward

Bluebird muttered under her breath as she carefully trudged her way through the ankle deep snow, the soles of her boots catching on a frozen rock here and there hidden underneath. It was a cold night, the air frosty enough that it needled its sharp way into her lungs, and she’d much rather be spending it within the warmth of their family’s yurt, rather than stomping about in the dark, freezing her tail off, because Aza was a ridiculous crybaby.

Thankfully his hiding spots hadn’t changed since they were children, so she didn’t have to go far. With the yurts of the Iriq at her back, she stepped over the threshold of the camp’s outskirts and right into a dense flock of sheep. It was like a sea of fluffy wool, up to her waist and bleating curiously at her as she waded in, gently nudging aside a stubborn ewe here and there.

“C’mon, move it, ya dumb sheep,” she grumbled, making sure not to accidentally kick any. The shepherds would tan her hide and turn her into a new pair of boots if they caught her hurting a single woolly hair on their dumb heads, “Outta my way, c’mon…”

It took a good minute of sheep-wading, but eventually she found her quarry. Aza was sitting on a lone patch of bare, scraggly grass, staring at his boots as the sheep milled around him. He was in his hunting gear from that morning, so at least she didn’t have to smack him upside the head for exposing himself to the elements like last time, but she was still displeased to see him sitting on the frozen ground like a dumbass.

“Aza,” she greeted as she stood right in front of him, thrusting the oil lantern above them so it cast their tiny little clearing, flanked by sheep, in an off-yellow light, “You done communing with the sheep or what?”

Aza looked up at her with a small frown. Age had not hardened him like it did to Xaela men. Bluebird didn’t know if it was a Miqo’te thing or not, but Aza always looked so small, so tiny and delicate compared to the men she had met in the Steppes and around the Ruby Sea. It made it hard for her to think of him as an adult at times.

“I just needed a quiet place to think,” he huffed, then, “What’re you doing here?”

“Looking out for you, as usual,” Bluebird said flatly, “It’s freezing outside. Can’t you brood back in the yurt or something?”

“No,” Aza’s expression was closed off and blank, made almost cold by the stark shadows the oil lantern cast across it, “You and Mom’ll just pester me.”

“I’m pestering you now,” Bluebird pointed out dryly, but she squatted down and set the lantern down, resigning herself to chilling out with her brother and the sheep for a good while, pun intended, “What about Dad? You can help him with his crafting stuff.”

Aza looked away and started ripping up clumps of grass, “I don’t want to bother him.”

Bluebird eyed him contemplatively, “You never bother him.”

Aza just gave a one-shouldered shrug, still avoiding her gaze. It was difficult to think him as nineteen when he was like this. Whenever he was upset, he tended to shrink, to hunch his shoulders and bow his head, to avoid eye contact and try to melt into the background, to try and disappear. She knew why. A habit beaten into him from- well, before. He tended to relapse into old, toxic habits whenever he got into these odd moods, but there was always a catalyst as to why.

“I heard,” Bluebird began carefully, “that you had a fight with Buyant this morning.”

“It wasn’t a fight,” Aza said very quietly.

“Oh yeah? Well, the black eye he’s sporting says otherwise.”

Aza looked miserable.

“Khudus said that he riled you up something fierce,” Bluebird probed, “You know, tribe members fight all the time. I mean, me and Khudus can’t go ten minutes without headbutting each other, so you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I know that,” Aza rubbed his palms over his thighs, his gaze skittering around them and catching the glow of the oil lantern, “But…”

Bluebird wasn’t a very patient person; it was a point of frustration with Khudus, who tended to partner up with her for hunts despite knowing she tended to sabotage herself by getting impatient and ruining her own ambush by charging out too early. With Aza, however, she always managed to find some scrap of patience, enough to sit there to wait him out as he dithered over the right words to say.

So, she waited, with nothing but the noise of sheep bleating and rustling filling the silence.

“I’m not a Xaela,” Aza finally finished, “And… I’m not a kid anymore either. I’m an adult.”

“…yeah?” Bluebird said slowly, not getting it, “What, is it a shock to you?”

Aza finally looked at her, even if it was to give her his usual ‘fucking-hell-you’re-such-an-empty-headed-dzo’ expression, “No. It’s not. I mean… I was only really taken in out of pity, wasn’t I?”

Abruptly, Bluebird felt ill-equipped, emotionally, to navigate this conversation. This was always something Dad or Mom tended to handle, because she only ever stuck her foot into it. But, she was perceptive enough to know that quickly changing the subject or avoiding to answer would just confirm whatever fucked up, stupid conclusion Aza already came to, so she sucked in a breath and went for it.

“Well, kind of, yeah,” Bluebird said carefully, “But I mean, we didn’t keep you out of pity. I think. Well, mostly. Just know that I like you, and overall there’s maybe about ten percent worth of pity in there. The other ninety percent is genuine affection.”

“Oh,” Aza said, like this was a surprising fact to him.

“Did Buyant say otherwise?” Bluebird asked mildly, already making plans to corner the asshole and pluck his scales out one by one. That lanky half-Oronir was always salty that Aza was the better hunter, but he never dared to be too overt in his bullying when Bluebird was around. Maybe she should remind him who the real boss was around here, if he was daring to be bold…

Aza said nothing for a moment, then, “He was asking when… when I was going to leave. He said I was just… that I was only here, ‘cuz you lot pitied me, and that I wasn’t a real-”

“Fuck him,” Bluebird said immediately, not wanting to hear the rest. She got the gist, “You can stay until you’re as old and crotchety as Chuluun. In fact, I bet Mom’ll want you to stay, ‘cuz she never gets tired of fussing over you like the giant crybaby that you are.”

“I’m not a crybaby,” Aza scowled, his ears tilting back a fraction, “I haven’t cried in years!”

“Liar,” Bluebird jeered, her mouth curving into a wicked smirk, “You cried two days ago when you saw that fox eat a baby bird.”

“It was so tiny though…” Aza mumbled, his face turning a little pink, “And I sniffled.”

“You cried. Big fat tears and everything.”

“Mom says crying’s fine.”

“Yeah, if you’re a baby,” Bluebird chortled, and yelped when Aza flung a handful of dirty snow at her, “Oi, hey!”

“I’m not a crybaby,” Aza grumped, crossing his arms in a full-blown sulk, “I’m just free with my emotions.”

Bluebird almost choked, because that was the worst lie she had ever heard in her life, “You are the most emotionally constipated person I’ve ever met,” she said, “You’re a disaster waiting to happen.”

Aza frowned at the grass at that, “I try though.”

“Yeah, but you’re too much of a coward to follow through most of the time,” Bluebird said, “You always worry about stupid shit. You worry you’re a burden, you worry we look after you out of pity, you worry about the stupid shit Buyant says, apparently. You worry, worry, worry.”

Aza chewed on his bottom lip, his face creasing into an expression of, yup, worrying.

So, she smacked him upside the head.

“Ow!” he reeled back, rubbing his ear with a betrayed expression, “What was that for?!”

“You’re worrying,” she said flatly, “Stop it. Look. Forget what Buyant said. He’s an asshole and a loser, who gives a shit about him? Besides,” she jutted her chin out, looking at her brother down the length of her nose, “Are you gonna believe him over me when I say we want you here?”

“No,” Aza mumbled, but he was smiling, a small, shy little gesture which was made her feel weirdly embarrassed. Her brother was so high maintenance sometimes, honestly, but… well, she was used to it. It was fine.

“Exactly. Now, c’mon,” she said, picking up the oil lantern and getting to her feet, “Stop hiding with the sheep and come back home. We can plan out revenge on Buyant together.”

“Revenge?” Aza hesitated, but he stood up too, brushing the snow and dirt off his breeches. Bluebird tutted and reached out, grabbing one of his hands and tugging him onwards as she waded back into the sheep flock.

“Revenge,” she confirmed, “Buyant’s been getting too big for his boots, it seems. So, we’re gonna teach him who’s boss. You and me.”

Aza looked unsure, but she knew it would take little convincing for him to tap into that vicious streak he kept hidden beneath that quiet demeanour. Aza could be scary when he was riled enough, something Buyant should be taught sooner rather than later. He was prodding a sleeping tiger when it came to bullying Aza, and Bluebird would rather have some control over the inevitable explosion, than learning on the grapevine that Aza lost his temper and murdered him with his bare hands when it got too much.

“It’ll be fun,” Bluebird said, “You’ll see.”

“Well,” Aza hesitated – then smiled, a wicked little curve to his mouth that promised Buyant was going to have a very unpleasant, immediate future, “Only if we don’t get caught. You know what happened last time we were teaching someone a lesson.”

“That was probably because we broke bones last time…” Bluebird mumbled, remembering how that got out of hand. Her and Aza had been lectured by the khatun until their legs numbed under them and their heads rang from all the yelling. Not an experience she wanted to repeat as an adult. That’d just be humiliating.

“And left a trail of evidence a malm wide,” Aza snorted.

“Hey, I wasn’t the one that instantly confessed! Mom didn’t even finish asking if we did it and you broke down bawling and begging for forgiveness!”

“I did not! You’re the one who tripped over herself trying to pin all the blame on me!”

“Well, it technically was all your fault. It was your idea to stage the dzo stampede, after all.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Bluebird barked a laugh at Aza’s sulky retort, something contented and warm settling in her. Yeah, her crybaby brother was so high maintenance, but it was fine. She loved him all the same – even if the idiot had to reminded constantly of that fact. But that was fine too, she understood. He was a coward, but it was how he survived before.

He just needed to have his immediate instinct to hide to be replaced with confrontation. He needed to be bolder, to know that he could square up against something that hurt and upset him, because he’d have her at his back.

And, c’mon, who can be scared with her at their side? She was amazing, incredible and brave enough for the both of them!

Poor Buyant wouldn’t know what hit him.

[captainschmoe]

I Will Survive [Beta] - Chapter 13: Shut the Fuck Up

[A/N: This is one of those chapters where a completely off-the-wall idea popped into my head, and I’m like, “I have to add that. I can’t not add that now that that thought exists.”]

[Summary: In which Sean talks to Mark and then a whole bunch of mood whiplash happens.]

[Previous] [Next]

Knock knock knock.

Sudden silence.

“Mark?”

“Huh?” There was a strong sense of shock in his voice. “Who’s there?”

“What, did you forget my voice already?” Sean opened the door. “Hey, man. It’s me- whoa.” This room was way tinier than the others - in other words, fairly standard for the real world - and so pretty. It was an ocean vista. Bamboo floors and walls, save for the back wall, which opened out to the right and vibrant blues and whites of the sea and midday sky. It even made the sounds of beach life - the ebb and flow of the waves, the calls of seagulls overhead - and yet it didn’t produce the crisp sea breeze, emphasizing the staleness of the indoors Sean hadn’t noticed before that point. He even wondered if it was even a real opening, and not just a really HD projection.

Bamboo cabinets and dressers lined the walls, and in the middle of the room was a single, creaky hammock. And on that lay Mark, face pink and puffy, shaggy hair dangling in his eyes and damp at the tips, arm bandage crusted over with heaping amounts of dried, brown blood. Not at all refreshed from what this room could have potentially been. He sat upright, propping himself on his good arm and resting the bad arm across his lap. His hand looked limp. How much muscle did Anti bite off?

“You okay, buddy?”

“I started thinking you were never gonna show up again.” His voice cracked a bit.

“And I thought the fake you was the real you right up until I got sent here.”

“He puppeted me good, huh...” Mark rubbed his eyes.

“No, he didn’t. I was just a fucking idiot. Looking back on it now-”

“Well, obviously, now that you know, of course it’s gonna make you feel stupid, but it’s fine. It’s fine, everyone else thought it was me, too. Don’t worry about it.”

He sure said that a lot, didn’t he?

“I saw what happened to Ethan,” Sean said. “And I know you’ve already been having a super-rough time of it here, to put it mildly. So I just... wanted to check and see if you were all right.”

Mark sighed, disappointed. He gazed off into the deep blue. “You know, it wasn’t even Ethan that got me.”

Sean was confused. “It wasn’t?”

"No.” Mark turned back to him. “You want to know what I just randomly realized?”

“What’s that?”

“I just...” Sean could practically feel the tears coming back to stain Mark’s face again. “When I was in the clinic, and I saw Ethan... And I saw Amy and Tyler and Kathryn all together, in that r-room... It made me think, th-they’re all down here...” He started shaking so much the hammock posts creaked a bit. “...so that means none- o one’s up in the real world to- to take care of Ch-” He doubled over, hand covering his mouth.

“Oh... I know, I understand.” Chica. God, he loves that dog as if she were his human child.

“And- and on the one hand, like, why did I not think about that earlier?” His voice cracked and squeaked even more. He was almost yelling, as if to force the intermittence away. “Like, why did it take me so long to realize that? I feel so bad for just completely forgetting about her like that. But, but on the other hand, on top of that, why is that the thing that got me? Like, why is it that none of all these human relationships I have, and what’s happening to them, made me get this upset, but the dog did?”

“Mark, that’s normal. You just let it all build up all this time and you hit a breaking point.”

“I know, I just...” Pause. He turned quiet. “I thought I could help.”

Oh, boy. Here it comes.

“I thought I could be someone that people could turn to if they were feeling scared.”

“You thought you could be a hero?”

Mark flinched.

“Signe told me Anti said that, and that you could never be one?”

“Yeah... and I think I see where he’s coming from.”

“Mark, no.”

“I mean...” He shifted and crossed his legs, and swallowed to clear his throat. “That’s all I’ve been trying to do this whole time, is be some kind of positive force that would help keep everyone from falling into total despair and to keep fighting until you showed up. But, like... time just kept going on and on and on and so many more people - our friends, our fans, random strangers - they just kept coming and they just kept waiting, and I think they were starting to catch on that maybe I was full of shit.”

“Mark, stop. What do we always tell you?”

“About what?”

“About doing this to yourself. This...” Sean gestured to his whole body. “This whole degrading-yourself thing.”

“It’s not degrading myself. It’s just giving myself an asskicking.”

“Well, you don’t need an asskicking right now. If you did, trust us; we’d do it for you. You’re not full of shit; you’re full of... normal human emotions.”

It was clear to Sean that Mark wasn’t really absorbing what he was saying.

“Why do you think you need an asskicking for being human? Why do you think you’re overreacting to the thing about Chica? Why do you need to make things so much harder for yourself than they need to be?”

Mark calmed himself with a yogic breath, rubbed his eyes again, and went into his soft, deep voice. “I have two goals in life: to be the best friend I can be to others, and to make myself proud. Those goals are so much more important now than ever before. And I realize now that I’ve completely failed in that regard.”

Sean stared at Mark for a few seconds. He stepped up closer to him, in good range, and turned him by the shoulder. “Mark, look at me.”

“Huh?”

Slap.

The ringing silence practically drowned out the rumble of the waves. The stillness, untouched even by Mark’s breathing. He hadn’t cringed back from it. Hadn’t even grunted or yelped in pain or anything.

He finally spoke: “I guess I deserved that, didn’t I.”

“That wasn’t so much to punish you for anything,” Sean clarified, “as it was to help reset your brain a bit. Your mind’s in a bad spot right now and I can’t have that when I need your help.”

“Help with what?”

“I’m going to be piecing together information about Anti and this world. I’ve already got ideas circulating around just from hearing Signe’s summary of what’s been going on. And I need your help to do that, but I need you to stop being... stop being you for a moment. Know what I mean? Mark, look at me.” Sean tilted his downward-drifting head back up. “If there’s any time where you absolutely need to kick this habit of being this hard on yourself, this is that time.”

Mark nodded, but suddenly caught sight of something behind Sean, scrunching up his face in confusion. “The hell is that?”

Sean looked at the spot next to the door, seeing a mass of bright colors coming through from underneath it. A swirling, seemingly magical, mist of red, green, and blue swimming and darting through the air towards them. Just like how Anti moved around. But Anti’s mist was black and green. That couldn’t be him. Right?

The mist solidified into a white eyeball - a Sam!? - with those same colors patterned over its body. Marvin-themed?

“Sam?” Sean asked. Aw. It was actually really cute.

“The hell? Where’d that thing come from?”

“Hey, don’t talk about my little Sammie boy that way!” But it was a good question.

The Sam looked rather nervous, twisting and turning itself around as if searching for something. It dissolved into the mist again, flying and landing atop the hammock, re-forming itself next to Mark’s thigh.

“You, uh, you looking for somethi- aiiii-yi-yi...”

Sam darted up the leg of Mark’s shorts, making him squirm.

��Ahahahaha!”

“What- What are you doing. Why. Why. Why are you doing that.” He frantically started kicking, to no avail. Standing up didn’t help, either, only making the hammock tip Mark onto the floor - and making the traveling bulge more awkwardly apparent when he did eventually, successfully, get back on his feet.

“Oh, my fucking God...” Sean started coughing, he was laughing so much. What the absolute fuck was it doing?

“Ohhh, God, it tickles. Jack, make it stop. Jack!”

“Wha- How? How. What do you expect me to do, Mark? Reach into your pants and pull it out?”

“It’s out of control, Jack! I figure: it belongs to you, maybe you can get it back in control!”

“Get it out yours-”

Grrrowl!

Slam.

Any remaining laughter in Sean’s belly was obliterated as Anti burst through the door. Both of them froze perfectly still as Anti, beads of blackness momentarily floating from his body like the dots from the ghosts, stared them down from the doorway. Hunched over like an ape, arms dangling by his sides, eyes black and beady, hands with long, lightly-curved claws waiting to sink themselves into someone’s flesh or eyes, knife sheathed through his belt at the hip.

“Hello, y̷̧͜o̷͠u ͢t̵wó̶.” The last remaining dots disappeared, and Anti straightened himself out, a little more like a normal human, with normal white sclerae. He pulled the knife from his belt, giving it a quick twirl between his fingers, and slowly advanced towards them, body swaying as he did so. “I thought I heard your r҉aùc̵ou̴s ͘l̶au͝ght͝e͡r in here.”

“Hey, Anti.” Sean stepped forward, slightly in front of Mark, mimicking Anti’s laid-back posture. “Whatcha doing here?”

“Looking for a little S̢̢a̡̨m͝ flying around the place. I know he’s įn͠ t͏h̛is̛ ̷h͡o̡u͡sę somewhere.” Anti’s voice was somewhat more distorted than Sean remembered from last time.

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

Anti raised an eyebrow. “ S̸a̶m? You know who Sa̢m is, right?” A few of his words sounded like they were getting “jammed” somehow.

“Of course I fucking know who Sam is, but no, I have not seen a Sam anywhere.” Sean made use of his head shaking and natural conversational movements to sneak a peek at Mark’s face, checking to see if he was accidentally giving away Sam’s location. His face was as straight as could be. Guess Sam had settled down and stopped wriggling. He couldn’t tell if it made a visible bulge, and for multiple reasons, Sean wasn’t about to look too closely to find out.

“Let me clarify.” Anti bolted for Sean, grabbing and body-slamming him to the floor, pinning him face-up - and Sean felt that immense pressure once again keeping him from moving. One clawed hand clasped his throat, choking and poking him. Anti’s hot breath seared his face. Sean’s nerves became jittery, his breathing rapid and shallow and needing more effort. “I saw S͘a͢m come down this corridor. Whȩre͟ di̕d h̢e ̴go, S͟ea͜n? I know he’s at̢t͘ách͞ed to us. I know he’d wa͡nt̷ ͡t̕o͞ find͡ ҉y̡ou.”

Sean couldn’t think of an answer. Even if he could, he couldn’t think of a good lie. Something in his gut told him he needed to keep Sam safe at all costs.

“W͜h͝͡e̕r͘͝è̛͟ ̸i͜s͠ ̢h̕͡e͠?͏͘” Anti’s hand crushed Sean’s throat, and his nails dug in further. On instinct, Sean’s arms tried to shove him off, and his legs flailed. All he got for his efforts was a knee slamming down on his groin. “Ơne ̶way ͜or ͠a̵n͠oth- You fuck off!”

Anti released him - oh, sweet air! - and turned around to slash at Mark’s face. “I’m sure you’d l̀o̵ve̡ ͝t͠o͢ p̢lay hero again, wouldn’t you? Did you le͠a̧r͝ņ n͟o͞th̸įn̨g͟ from last time?”

Without Anti paying attention to him, Sean looked to where Sam should have been. Didn’t even look like Mark was hiding anything extra in there. Weird and awkward, but at least it seemed to work. At least he didn’t have to worry about Anti finding him.

He... didn’t really want to think too deeply into how it might have been working.

“I learned that you have this fascination with attacking me and no one else,” Mark said. Four dripping red streaks crossed his cheek. The nightmare. “What did I ever do to you, anyway? You ever gonna answer that for me, buddy?”

“The Dark vs. Anti thing,” Sean said, remembering the texts with the fake Mark. He sat up, feeling too dizzy to stand, and needing to use his arm for balance.

“What?” Mark’s tone suggested confusion rather than surprise. Like it made no sense to him. “No, no, no-”

“Anti literally said to me that the reason he attacked you and me first was because of the Dark vs. Anti thing.”

Anti merely watched the verbal tennis happening between them. Sean swore he saw the faintest of smiles creeping across his face, like he knew something they didn’t - except, unbeknownst to him, they’d already figured it out. Sean kind of wanted to play this mind game with him for a bit; maybe it would make him feel cockily confident enough to leave them alone with their own supposed ignorance. Now if only he could telepathically communicate to Mark his plan, or hope and pray that he would catch on.

“But literally none of the other people who were in that video are down here, and we’re pretty sure none of my egos exist.”

Goddammit.

Whatever smile might have been trying to come onto Anti’s face was immediately flattened. He definitely thought they hadn’t caught on. Yet.

“Unless he needs those people up in the real world, I guess?” Mark added. “I don’t know.”

Sean tried to subtly tell him what he was trying to accomplish here. “Hey, Anti, it’s nice that you’re just standing there letting us try and figure out why you’re doing what you’re doing right in front of you.”

Anti scoffed. “Yòu'̵re ̨l̸ucky I’m not ŗip̛ping͟ y̕ou͡ t͢wò áp̶a̸rt.” His voice grew in pitch and volume. “You have no͘ ҉i̵d͘ęa how i͢nf͜u͢ria҉tinǵ it is that I ͢c͞a͠n'͞t͞ d̷o̸ that!” The knife slashed the air, creating an audible whoosh.

“What’s stopping you?” Mark asked.

“Don’t antagonize him!”

“...The fact that I'l̷l͞ ̷nev́e͟r ͏g̶et͡ w͘h̕a҉t͞ ͘I͘ ̷w͢a̛nt if I do.” Anti gazed down at the knife, holding each end in each hand, sighing. He rubbed his thumb along the edge of the blade, hard enough to cut it and cover it in blood, which he smeared between his fingers. His whole body swayed; his feet carried him in small, irregular shapes across the floor between them, always in constant motion.

Mark looked to Sean, baffled at the sudden shift, pointing to Anti while he wasn’t looking at him, and mouthed What’s his deal?

And when Anti’s fidgeting turned him back around, Sean shrugged and answered, I don’t know.

“Oǹe o̢f ̶thes̕e̴ ̧d͘a̛ys̸...͝” Anti muttered. He scanned the room. The mostly empty room, save for the hammock, which obviously held no secrets. He checked around, violently flinging open all the cabinet doors and dresser drawers - one so hard, he actually lost his grip on his knife, which he retrieved in a split second, sheathing it back in his belt to prevent it from happening again. Sean and Mark silently let him search for Sam. It was more fascinating than anything, seeing him this distraught and calm, and trusting of the fact that neither of them would take the opportunity to get the jump on him while he had his back turned, despite the injuries he’d inflicted on them and their friends. Knowing the truth about his motive, Sean’s heart panged with profound sorrow. Anti was a facet of himself, technically, as much as Jackieboy Man and Chase Brody and Dr. Schneeplestein and Marvin the Magnificent, all of whom he envisioned had perfectly good hearts and the capacity to lead happy lives, even with their personal struggles. Then again, he did say to himself that Anti had a good heart, too, right? He kind of joked when he said that. But... he wanted it to be true. And if he wanted it to be true, given the nature of who Anti was, could he will it into truth? Did he have the power to make Anti happy?

He sure hoped so.

With everything opened, Anti gave up, leaning on the last dresser, head hanging. “I guess there ŗea͟l͡ly̸ is̕n͝'t͠ ̵a͡n͡yw̛h͟ere else͠ to hide in here, isn’t there?” He let out a small whine, and straightened himself out. “I still want to r̨i̛p̡ y̶ou͠ ̕two ͟àp̕a͏rt͡.”

“We love you, too, Anti,” Mark joked.

Growl.

“By the way, have you lost weight or something?”

“Shut up!” A pulse emanated from his body, and he snarled in response to it. “F͟u̸̡c̢k͢͠ ̵̷̢m̢e̶͡͠!̡́ I͝ c̴an'̢t́ ge̕t ̕ánything̸ ͘do̧ne around here!” He made a move for the door, then shuffled back a step. The way he was twitching in place, and throwing glances between the door and the two of them, it suggested that he didn’t really know where he should go next. Eventually, he decided the door, throwing his fists downward and grunting in a childlike fit, dissolving into the mist, and disappearing underneath the door. They waited several seconds, engulfed by the sounds of the ocean “outside.”

Was he really gone? Sean tried to stand up, feeling a wave of lightheadedness as he did so. The sharp pains in his groin were gradually converting to more-bearable aches.

“Here.” Mark held out his hand to help him up. Sean took it, holding on for dear life as the dizzy spell intensified, and only let go when he grabbed hold of the hammock post. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just need a few.” Already he was starting to recover, at least from the lightheadedness. “Also, the fuck was that last thing you said to him?”

“I know it sounded like the dumbest joke I could’ve cracked, but I swear he actually looked skinnier than the last couple times I saw him. And good God, your throat is bruising.” He brushed a couple fingers over his Adam’s apple.

“Really?”

“Yeah, you’ve got some serious pink going on there.”

“No, I mean: really, Anti looked skinnier?”

“Oh, yeah, like his pants fit looser, stuff like that. Did you get the sense that he’s been getting a lot weaker in general?”

“I don’t know, I’ve only just met him in person for the first time, like, a couple hours ago.”

“Oh, yeah, duh. I knew that.” He laughed a little. “But yeah, I remember the first time I met him...”

Sean’s ears perked up at the new info.

“...he was, like, lightning fast, faster than he was here. Like, speed of light, it was crazy. He could grab me and lift me up with no effort whatsoever. He could pin me to the ground without even touching me. All he had to do was stand near me, and then I felt that- that pressure, you know what I’m talking about?”

Sean nodded. Of course.

“Just standing near me, that pressure would cause my knees to just buckle underneath me. And...” He lifted his bad arm, by the shoulder rather than the elbow. Must not have been able to move his forearm very well. “I’m sure Signe told you about this bullshit that happened the second time I saw him?”

“She sure did.” Ew. He could see the indentation in his arm where the flesh was ripped out. The bandage was turning an old brownish color. “Probably should change that soon.”

“I know I should, but I hate it though, ‘cause it itches so bad. Oh, great, now I’m thinking about it.” Mark resisted the urge to scratch it, sharply putting his arm back down by his side. “But anyway, Anti just seemed more... human this time around? You know what I mean?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Yeee...” Mark started to squirm again. “Ho, boy, he ’s a-wrigglin’.”

Sam wormed his way to the bottom of Mark’s shorts, flopping down onto the floor.

“Oh, ew! Now I feel all slimy in bad places. As if it weren’t bad enough having him pressed firmly and uncomfortably up against my balls for several terrifying minutes.”

“I... didn’t need to know that.” Wait. “Oh, God, don’t tell me he was inside your underwear, too.”

“Nah, he wasn’t.”

“Okay, good. I was gonna say.” Sean looked down at Sam - tendril whipping around like a cat’s tail - with narrowed eyes. “Are you proud of yourself? You look proud of yourself for causing this conversation to exist.”

Sam didn’t give an answer, only bouncing towards the door. He bumped against it a couple times, looked back at Sean, and bumped it again.

“You want me to open it?” Sean quietly, carefully did as Sam directed. Not too much so - didn’t want to look too suspicious just in case Anti was merely hiding in ambush. Where did he go, anyway, if he wasn’t? For someone so hell-bent on trying to find Sam, he sure gave up pretty quick.

“Coast is clear,” Sean said after scanning the walls and ceiling. “We should probably head back to the top side soon.” He looked back to Mark, who seemed a bit out of it. “You, uh, you okay?”

“Huh?”

“You okay? Like, mental-wise and...” He touched near the scratches on his face. The blood had started to congeal, the thinner streaks crusting over. Were it not for that nightmare Sean had, he might have called it badass.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You’re not just saying that to...?”

Mark opened his mouth to say something, but seeing Sean’s face, he simply sighed instead. “I’m sorry, I just kinda impulsively said that.”

Sean was so disappointed. Not even annoyed with him anymore. Just... like a disappointed father. “Why do you keep saying you’re fine when you’re not?”

“I guess I just don’t want to...” His hand groped the air, searching for the right word.

“Bother people?”

“Kind of? But, also, like... Mainly, I just don’t like when people worry about me. I don’t know why.”

“Most of why we worry so much is because you keep telling us everything’s fine when we can just sense that it’s not. And I, for one, have a very keen sense of how other people are feeling,” Sean said firmly. “You’re just bottling up everything until it causes you to burst. And this, especially...” Sean’s hand motioned around the corridor. “...is not the fucking place or time for that shit.”

Mark’s gaze drifted to the floor. To Sam.

"Listen.” Sean leaned in a little closer. “Don’t take this as me suddenly hating you or anything.”

“No, no, I didn’t figure that was it.”

“I mean, it’s not like I haven’t done stupid shit myself these past few days.”

“You mean thinking Anti was me? I mean, even Amy told me she didn’t know until it was too late, so don’t feel bad.”

“You know what he said that really bugs me, though?” Sean started slowly walking down the corridor towards the balcony, Mark and Sam following.

“What’s that?”

“I quote, ‘Some people don’t deserve redemption.’”

“Yeesh.”

“That alone should have been the thing that screamed to me, ‘That’s not the Mark we all came to know and love!’ That is the single most un-Mark thing you could’ve said.”

“Sean.” Mark clasped his good hand onto his shoulder, stopping their feet. “If you can forgive me for being an idiot down here, I can forgive you for being an idiot up there. That’s all we are. Is idiots.”

Sean couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “All we’re known for being...”

“Exactly. Now don’t be a hypocrite and tell me not to kick myself in the ass and then turn around and do it to yourself.”

“Okay, but you also have to promise that you’ll look after yourself as much as you look out for others.”

“You sure you want good ol’ Markiplier to make a promise on that one?” he asked with a smirk.

Sean wasn’t amused.

“How about this: can we shake on it?” He extended his right hand - the bad one. It was painfully obvious that he had little use for that hand anymore.

“Can you even move that hand properly?”

“No. Anti took out enough of the muscle that I can’t really move my wrist or thumb much.”

Sean took the hand, anyway, frowning when he felt the weakness. Especially jarring coming from this guy. “Feels weird shaking a limp hand. You know what? How about this instead?” He went in for a hug. It seemed to catch Mark by surprise, judging by the initial freezing before returning it.

“Okay, that works, too, I guess.” Mark gave him a soft pat and rub on the back. Felt nice.

“We good?”

Nod. “We’re good.”

Sean withdrew from the hug as he felt Sam bumping into the side of his shoe. Hmm. “Just in case Anti comes back, shouldn’t we hide Sam somewhere? Somewhere other than your pants?” he remembered to add.

Mark looked down at Sam and shrugged. “The playroom, maybe?” He pointed to the pair of doors they’d just passed, the one next to the vista. “Could camouflage himself pretty well in the ball pit.”

Sean’s jaw dropped. “There’s a motherfuckin’ ball pit?”

“Yeah, there’s a ball pit.”

“Going there now!” Sean made a mad dash for the doors Mark had pointed at, throwing them open. “Holy shit!” he screamed as he took in the new room, laughing. “This is fucking amazing!” Tube slides! Trampolines! Tree houses with suspension bridges! Obstacle course around the edge! Ball pit! And all of it brightly colored and big enough for a kid his age to romp around in! Never in his wildest dreams could Sean have imagined a pocket of unbridled childhood delight to exist in this world.

Sam was eager to play, too, diving straight into the pit, and swimming through the balls. The sight and sound absolutely tickled Sean, and that was before Sam popped back up and looked at him with a little shimmy in his body. Instant heart melt.

“Aw-ha-ha... He’s so fucking adorable!”

“Well.” Jack momentarily uncovered his eye and clicked his tongue. “That happened.”

“What did you see?” Chase asked like an excited young boy.

Jack just shook his head. “Don’t... Don’t fucking ask me that right now. But, good news: Sean is in this world.”

“He is? Yes!” Chase yelled with a fist pump. “Now Sam just has to lead him back to us, right? And we’re good to go!”

“Right!” Jack covered his eye again. “Hopefully they can find a better hiding spot for him.”

“Tsch.” Jackieboy let out the tiniest, snarky laugh. “What did you see, Jack?”

“What? No!”

“What, yes. D͜o̕n'͏t ͝m̛ind͝ m̕e͝.̢ I won’t shake things up too much. I’ll just be sitting here, pa͘ti̢en̸t̷ly͜ wa҉iti̵ng̛, just as you are.”