#but she literally moves her ring when she says it and its a lasso

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[dwellordream]

“...The Dothraki are described as having three main weapons: bows (AGoT, 86, 555, 558, 597, 669), whips (AGoT, 86, 194, 493, 555, 596, 669) and a curved sword called an arakh (AGoT 85, 86, 327, 493, 555, 556, 559, 560, 596, 597, 669, 674); of these, the arakh is clearly the most prominent... When a Dothraki warrior enters Vaes Dothrak, each, “unbelted his arakh and handed it to a waiting slave, and any other weapons he carried as well” – after the arakh, the other weapons are seemingly afterthoughts (AGoT, 327). The prominence of the arakh in the narrative is underscored by the fact that it is the only one of these weapons whose name we learn in Dothraki, or which is described in terms of its shape or special function (AGoT, 85), while the bows and whips remain just bows and whips (ironic, as it was Steppe bows, not Steppe swords, which were unusual).

We might dismiss this as simply an accident of Daenerys’ perspective – that, being Westerosi, she focuses on the weapon most meaningful to the Westerosi – but that’s clearly not true. After all, the offering of an arakh is how Daenerys’ loyal followers demonstrate their fealty to her, in a ceremony that is clearly Dothraki, not Westerosi (AGoT, 674). It is also, I should note, the only weapon we see non-Dothraki using that is clearly identified as being foreign and typical of the Dothraki. It remains special through the eyes of multiple point-of-view characters, including military men.

(And, as an aside, now that we are this far in, it seems obvious but worth saying that the fact that Martin has no Dothraki viewpoint characters in his narrative is hardly a saving grace; it merely intensifies the ‘view of a savage culture from outside’ effect. As we’ll see, this makes perfect sense given what seem to be the actual inspirations for his depiction.)

The prominence of a curved iron (or steel) sword lets us rule out a Great Plains Native American inspiration for this kit right out; the sword was never a significant part of Plains Native American armament (the lack of tool-metal production in the Americas prior to European contact means that there was no indigenous sword-making tradition, although the maquahuitl represents a clever sort of ‘sharpened club’ design). Even after contact, it’s hard to avoid the conclusion that the expense of trading for a sword wouldn’t have been justified by its utility over a steel axe which might also double as a tool (on axes, see W. Lee, “The Military Revolution of Native North America: Firearms, Forts and Politics” in Empires and Indigenes (2011), 62-3). So we must turn to the Eurasian Steppe.

And immediately we run into problems, not that any of these weapons are wrong per se, but that their proportion and prominence is all mixed up and that there are other, far more important weapons missing. For a Steppe nomad, by far, above and away, the most important weapon was the bow. The Armenians literally called the Mongols “the nation of archers” (May, Mongol Art of War, 43). Nomads spent the most time learning the bow (May, op. cit. 42-49) and it was the one indispensable weapon. Indeed, so indispensable that nomads were generally required to have several; the Liao Shi records that Khitan nomad warriors were required to possess four bows and 400 arrows, while John de Plano Carpini reports that the Mongols all needed to have 2-3 bows and three larger quivers (May, op. cit. 49-50). The Steppe bow itself would also have looked unusual in both shape and construction to a Westerosi observer either strung or unstrung – they were composite bows, made with a wood core, a backing of horn and a rigid end-piece (called a siyah in Arabic) and were generally drawn with the use of a thumb-ring to reduce strain on the thumb (May, op. cit., 50-1). This unique construction allowed these bows to reach draw weights and launch energies equivalent to the far larger yew longbows of England and Wales and still be compact enough to use from horseback.

...But even after the bow, the sword is not first. Or even close to first. Or, indeed, even on the list! The Khitan regulations I mentioned included four bows, two spears (one ‘long’ and one ‘short’), a club, an axe and a halberd, but no sword. John de Plano Carpini describes the full kit as two or three bows with quivers, an axe, ropes, and swords only for the wealthy (May. op. cit., 50). Speaking more broadly, May notes that spears (used as lances from horseback) seem universal in accounts of the Mongols, but “accounts are contradictory regarding whether these [swords] were universally used” (May, op. cit., 52). While May supposes that the ughurgh-a, the Mongolian lasso, might have been used in combat – and it may well have – we have no definitive evidence of it. If it was ever a weapon, it doesn’t seem to have been an important one.

In short, while the Dothraki’s weapons are an arakh-sword, a whip, and a bow in that order, the Mongol’s chief weapons were his bow, followed by his backup bow, followed by his other backup bow, followed by his spear, and then his axe and only then followed by a sword, should he have one, which he might well not. The reason for preferring an axe or a spear for the humble nomad should not be too surprising – iron in quantity could be hard to get on the Steppe. Spears and axes are not only weapons, but also useful hunting and survival tools; swords are generally weapons only. Nomads generally cannot do their own metal working, so swords would have to be imported. Moreover, even in a melee, the first recourse would be to a spear, whose reach on horseback was a huge advantage, making a sword an expensive imported foreign luxury backup weapon with no additional utility. Nevertheless, it’s clear that Steppe nomads, once successful and moving into agrarian areas, liked to acquire swords – swords are effective weapons! – but the sword was about the furthest thing from the core of Mongol culture the way the arakh is practically the symbol of Dothraki culture.

The other issue, of course, is the arakh itself. Martin describes the weapons as “long razor-sharp blades, half sword and half scythe” (AGoT, 85) and goes back to that scythe analogy (e.g. ASoS, 245). It seems generally asserted that what Martin means by this is something close to a scimitar (I have to confess, I haven’t found anywhere that Martin says this, but I’ll take the reader consensus). A scimitar of some sort (the term refers not to a specific form of sword, but a whole family of curved sabres, almost all originating in Asia) is the correct sword. Mongol swords were, John de Palno Carpini tells us, “pointed at the end but sharp only on one side and somewhat curved” (May. op. cit., 50), something like a Turkish kilij or a Persian shamshir (both forms of scimitar), though given his description, perhaps not as strongly curved as some of the examples of those types.

I have to admit, ‘scythe-sword’ (ASoS, 245) is a really strange way to describe most of the weapons in the scimitar ‘family’ (which includes a number of different curved sabres from Asia), though. A scythe-blade faces the wrong direction, but it is also sharp on the wrong side – scythes are sharp on the inside of the curve, whereas scimitars are sharp on the outside of the curve. There are swords with sharp edges on the inside of the curve (I tend to class these as ‘forward curving’ swords due to the direction of the curve when the sword is held), such as the Greek kopis, the Spanish falcata and the Nepalese kukri; of these, only the kopis seems to have been a cavalryman’s weapon (Xen. On Horsemanship 12.11). These forward curving weapons, being shorter and stockier, are clearly not what was intended by the arakh, which is consistently described as long (e.g. AGoT, 85, ADwD, 884).

Instead, the scythe metaphor fits the overall framing of the arakh, a weapon “better to cull the infantry ranks without breaking stride,” a “murderous blade against half-naked foes,” (ADwD, 884), a “wickedly sharp scythe-sword” (ASoS, 245), ineffective against armored opponents. Not an elegant, fine weapon, but a cruel ‘murderous’ one, made for ‘culling’ unarmored infantry and peasants, as one reaps wheat or hay. I don’t want to push this point too far – in all of these many pages, the arakh simply doesn’t get enough characterization to make the case watertight – but the characterization it does get all seems to push in this same direction: a murderous weapon for a murderous people…which of course fits with effectively all of the other characterization the Dothraki have been given. On the balance, I think Martin is a skilled enough writer to understand the implications of the scythe-sword description and to have intended them (and then subsequently reinforced them).

Nevertheless, credit where credit is due, while the place of the arakh is entirely out of all sensible proportion with how it would be considered by actual nomads, it is the correct sort of sword for a steppe nomad (if we assume it is, in fact, a scimitar of sorts). That said, prioritizing the arakh belies a fundamental misunderstanding of how Steppe (or Plains Native American, for that matter) warfare and culture worked. Placing the arakhat the front is thus indicative of deeper problems.”

- Bret Devereaux, “That Dothraki Horde, Part IV: Screamers and Howlers.”

[hatsukeii]

𝐋𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫

𝐏𝐭.𝟑- 𝐰𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏.𝟓𝐤+

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

It’s hard to focus in class when your mind is stuck on a fucking puzzle of a person. It’s even harder when he’s right in front of you, blocking your view. Did it really have to be today? Hm? He really had to transfer to your science class today? Maybe it was just a coincidence, or maybe it was a way the universe decided to taunt you with. “Hey, you want to lose the thought of him? Cool, here, stare at his back throughout your science lesson!” Either way, this was exactly what you didn’t want happening. “Hey, hey you, dude can you hear me?” You poked your pencil into his back frantically, praying for even the slightest reaction. A nod, a shrug, anything. “Please, I can’t see shit sitting behind you, can we switch?” Everything went silent when the teacher stopped talking. “(Y/n), is there something you would like to share with the class?” Timidly, you stood up from your seat, head hanging low as you gripped the pen tighter, face red and hot from the embarrassment of being called out openly in front of 24 other students. “Nothing Miss, I just can’t see the board because Tsuk-” You stopped yourself before you could accidentally blurt his name out. You weren’t about to let him know you found out his name, which he never revealed to you. “He’s too tall.” The older woman nodded her head slowly, as if she was trying to take back her previous sentence. “Then you should’ve told me earlier. Tsukishima, please switch seats with them.” “Sure.”

The glare that was burning into your back crawled up your spine chillingly as you nervously packed all your notes up. You were embarrassed about being nervous but quickly discarded the thought. Who wouldn’t be nervous if someone started glaring daggers at you so vigorously that you could feel them without even looking? Shaking your head, you slung your bag over your shoulder, itching to get out of the lab as soon as you possibly can. “He didn’t hear me, I’m sure he didn’t. He couldn’t have.” Mumbling pointlessly worked to stop your eyes from darting around and maybe even cooled your burning hot ears down, even if it was just by a bit. Maybe convincing yourself he didn’t hear you would make it true? Right? Your train of thoughts was interrupted when you jerked forward, sudden pain flashing through your arm all the way to your shoulder as your legs are forced to move along with your body. Your wrist was being squeezed so hard that you’re almost certain a bruise will form in its place. Looking up, your eyes widened in shock and disbelief as your eyes were met with a full head of blond hair. This was exactly who you were trying to avoid. “Uh, where exactly are you takin-” Your words were caught in your throat as Tsukishima sent another icy glare at you. You shut your mouth and just followed him, not wanting to test his limits at all. His knuckles were white from gripping your wrist so hard, you almost yelled out in pain when he threw it back to your side. “Ow, dude what the hell!” 

“Care to explain how you got my name?”

The air was thick as your mind scrambled for an answer that would satisfy him. What was he expecting? Why was it such a big deal that you knew his name? 

“What’s your deal? I got it from Mai, if it rattles you that much to not know.”

His face stayed completely indifferent, and it was intimidating. Almost terrifying in a way. The way his head was tilted at a slight angle, one of his eyebrows perked as he stifled a breathy chuckle, that was a sight you never wanted to witness again. Ever. “And why the fuck would Mai randomly tell you my name? Did you not take the hint when I left my name out of the conversation the other day?” Heat slowly burned from your chest, to your ears, and to your throat. “Dude fucking chill, I just told her about how I helped you through that panic attack, what do you want me to do?” To you, your reply wasn’t triggering or anything. All girls do is gossip, right? It was pretty much expected, however, Tsukishima’s face said otherwise. “Tch, heh.” Another breathy chuckle. What was it with him and breathy chuckles? Was it a way for him to mock you? Accuse you for doing something he didn’t like? “When did I ever say you could tell someone I had a panic attack?” Once that sentence came out of his mouth, whatever retort you were ready to throw at him stopped at your throat as your mind registered how badly you fucked up. “I- but I didn’t- was I not supposed to tell?” Clicking his tongue, his nimble fingers travelled up to his glasses, giving them a light push as he rolled his eyes. “No, you weren’t supposed to.” “Well, um I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” The blond turned around, not sparing another glance as he spat out a final sentence to you.

“Let’s never talk again. Please.”

Which led to you, sitting on your bed, once again trying to get your mind off of him. “Oh shit, I really done fucked up this time.” What was this feeling? This bizarre determination blooming in your chest, pulling you further ahead on a lasso into the depths of the mind of the boy that was Tsukishima Kei? The way he heaved breathy, sarcastic chuckles, his popularity despite how closed off his personality is, it was intriguing. His entire presence was daring you to dig deeper into this wormhole. “What the fuck do I do now...” You fell into your bed, the mattress sinking behind you. You really shouldn’t have been feeling like this. Tsukishima was quite literally irrelevant in your life, maybe except for that one time you stayed with him for a while to calm him down. He could probably figure out his problems just fine by himself. You interfering wasn’t going to make a difference at all. However, the small, irrational part of your mind was drilling its words into your mind. What if this was a lasting problem for him? What if you were fated to meet in that bustling hallway the other day? What if you were the person that could provide him comfort when he needs it the most? Snapping yourself out of your thoughts, your eyes squinted as your brows knitted. You were cringing so hard at your own fantasies. It was probably because of how boring your life has been lately. There was absolutely nothing for you to look forward to. Life was becoming more of a chore than it should. This, however. This was the little bit of spice you were craving so dearly for. If anybody needed help, you wouldn’t hesitate at this point. Anything was on the table as long as it could intrigue you enough to keep searching for a solution. 

Being so invested in your own thoughts, the simple ring of your phone was enough to make you jolt up in surprise from your bed. “My god, that scared the shit out of me.” Placing a hand on your chest, you slowly inched yourself to the end of your bed and reached over to your phone, which was conveniently charging on the floor. “No caller ID, huh...” You hesitated, managing your expectations. “What if it’s him? No, nonono it’s probably not him, (Y/n), chill, deep breaths.” After your finger hovered above the answer button for what seemed like an eternity, you pressed the green circle, before turning it on speaker mode. “Hel-” “I’M SO SORRY!” “What?” The voice on the other side of the line sounded apologetic, almost in a frantic way. “First off, who is this?” A few seconds went by without a word. “I’m Yamaguchi, I saw you get dragged off by Tsukki this morning, please don’t mind him! He acts like this sometimes!” You stifled a chuckle, before cracking up like a madwoman. “SERIOUSLY? HAHAHAHA, WHY WOULD YOU APOLOGISE ON BEHALF OF HIM?” You could almost imagine Yamaguchi’s hands waving in front of him. “NONONO IT’S JUST BECAUSE TSUKKI DOESN’T LIKE TO APOLOGISE BY HIMSELF! You see, he tends to push people away for no reason, it’s really not a personal thing!” Your mouth stretched up into a smirk as a genius idea popped into your brain like an animated light bulb. “Well, if that’s the case, I won’t accept the apology until he does it himself in person. What about you convince him to give me a proper one instead of having his friend do it for him, hm?” Ending the call, you continued to giggle underneath your blanket, seal clapping your hands until it landed in the wrong position and hit your wrist instead. You winced at the familiar pain that flashed through the flesh of your wrist. “Oh that little shit really messed my wrist up this morning didn’t he?” Without thinking, you started poking the bruises, wincing in pain with each poke. “He better give me a nice, big apology tomorrow or I’ll beat his ass...”

Tags:

@sunshines-and-tatertots @izzyphantomgamer @tiger1719 @tiredgr3mlin @trashcanweeb @itmekisuu @fandomwriter73 @random-fandomlover @samanthaa-leanne @sneezefiction @bokutokoutarou @skyeackermans @ewfilthymundane @mariechan123 @saturnmoon @macaronnv @talks-a-lot-of-stuff @artsamber @kaylacinderella @agentvicinity @sakusasgarbage @tchalameme @onigirinimiya @korean-bbq

Guess what YA GIRL HATSSUN’S BACK I’m so sorry I was unmotivated but I’M BACK AND BETTER THAN EVER MAYBE NOT REALLY<33

[inspirationdivine]

And Cut! || Lydia, Simon, Winston

Timing: Thursday afternoon

Parties: @inspirationdivine, @inconvenientsimonstrocity, @danetobelieve

Summary: Winston has a possible solution to Lydia and Simon’s sticky problem

Lydia paced backwards and forwards in the living room, her heels clicking on the wooden forward. She’d started when Winston had messaged them, and had barely even spoken to Simon in the interim time, except to tell him that they were going to solve this, tonight. She could hardly wait. The doorbell rang, and Lydia jumped, looking to Simon with an inconsiderate eagerness. “They’re here. “ She barely waited for him to begin moving with her before she darted to the front door excitedly. The door swung open so fast it rattled on its hinges. Lydia clasped her hands. “Come in, come in. What have you found?”

Winston was glad that they had taken Natalia’s offer on working at Castillo’s Crafts. It gave them access to resources that they would’ve previously never dreamed of and more importantly it gave them the ability to act when they needed to. “Oh hi Lydia, nice to see you too, yes I did come with a solution to your problem,” Winston raised an eyebrow and shook their head in exasperation, “do you want me to just tell you or should I tell the person you’re also bound to, that seems pretty fair.” The stress of the whole third eye situation had proven pretty overwhelming and it was nice to have a distraction of some kind. The air between the two of them was filled with an unnecessary tension as Lydia and Simon waited for Winston to arrive; suffice to say, she was a lot more high-strung about this than he was as she paced around. He attributed it to his being a calmer person altogether. When the doorbell rang and she looked to him expectantly, he got to his feet in a manner he hoped was quick enough for her and she virtually pulled him to the door in her excitement. Fortunately, it seemed Lydia had the conversation under control though he easily remembered Winston from their incident in the Morgue and he gave a small wave with an equally-small smile.

Lydia pursed her lips, nonplussed. She was hardly apologetic for skipping right past the small talk. Stepping aside to let them through, she looked back at Simon with a small shrug. “I am not so interested in you telling us as I am in you doing it. Do you need a work surface? We can use my work stations, my kitchen counter, or we could go outside if you prefer it.” 

Spotting Simon, Winston couldn’t help their bemused smile and wave in their direction. “It’s Simon?” they asked somewhat surprised. Quite the unlikely duo. Looking around, Winston frowned and nodded. “I need to assemble a few things and then we can cast the shape of the scissors, fortunately we won’t have to melt anything.” Luce wasn’t here to be a human furnace this time. “Do you have like a garage or somewhere you don’t mind us making a bit of a mess in?” Adjusting their glasses, Winston shrugged the bag into a more comfortable position and looked at Simon. “So, how did this happen?” Though he was literally strung along for the ride, Simon felt the need to speak up at Winston’s request. “Uh, sorry for… asking but--” He cleared his throat and scratched his neck. “Oh, um… We walked past each other then we suddenly couldn’t.” He felt like he should’ve gone into greater detail but that was exactly how it happened how he recalled it and there wasn’t anything else TO mention. “We’d only ever talked once before, and it was online.” He looked at Winston as he explained, hoping they would be able to tell that he wasn’t withholding any information from them.

“Yes, the pottery room,” Lydia said, leading them both to another side of the house that she hadn’t taken Simon to before, this time on the ground floor. It was a converted garage, effectively, with carefully crafted ventilation system to accommodate the huge kiln. “It’s rather frustrating. It was like we were lassoed together by something, like we stepped onto a trap or something.”

“The pottery room?” Winston couldn’t judge too hard, Ricky had set up a workshop that was essentially his own personal sculpting studio. “Oh, so, that’s kind of weird, usually these things don’t happen spontaneously, I didn’t find a bunch of info on that but I guess it would be worth a second look if you want to know how this all happened, guess it doesn’t change anything”. Following Lydia through to the pottery room, they nodded and began unpacking their bags. Pulling out a large vial of a silvery liquid, a mould for scissors, a number of powders and other such similar items that you’d expect to see in your standard fantasy kit. “Okay, I need water and I need like a hook or something because these are going to literally be invisible and although I’ve got something in mind to help, probably a good idea we keep it on one thing.” Simon was good at definitely good at keeping up with Lydia at this point though he had to admit, it was a little unusual for her to be so quick about her movements this time. He understood, of course but he still found himself curious when she took them to yet another room he hadn’t seen before… it was like one big surprise box sometimes. He paid attention to everything Winston said though he couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering and he took small steps here and there to observe the area, glancing over at Lydia when they asked for the few things they needed - he hadn’t been there before, obviously, so he didn’t know where anything was or what he was allowed to touch.

“I certainly hope that doesn’t change whether the scissors work or not,” Lydia replied, raising a sharp eye brow. Although she knew Winston didn’t immediately know the answer for that. Lydia watched him unpack anxiously, bouncing her knee until Winston asked for things. Lydia picked up a nearby bucket and handed it to Simon. “The sink’s over there, if you don’t mind. There’s a hook in this cupboard, I’ll grab it.” Just about nine feet apart. Perfect. 

“I’m not exactly an expert, so I guess we’ll just have to try and hope for the best.” Winston didn’t really see any alternative and it wasn’t as if this could end them up with any additional body parts that they may or may not have full time. “Simon, grab me the water please, I’ve got to start mixing this stuff together.” Their hands were already unscrewing caps, popping corks and mixing together various ingredients. They crushed some brightly coloured minerals into a fine powder, adding it to the silver liquid which was actually mercury. This was apparently a recipe for quicksilver which they would then enchant. “Lydia can you please measure out three tablespoons of sulphur, two teaspoons of salt peter and 100 ml of the mercury.” Winston nodded towards a small ring of kitchen measuring spoons. They’d changed everything to cooking weights, it was easier. 

Once he had the bucket and was told what to do, Simon acted accordingly, making sure not to pull on their bond too much to reach for the faucet to retrieve the bucket of water - there was a little bit of stretching involved. As the water filled the bucket, he listened to the ingredients Winston was naming off and he found himself more curious, forcing himself to ask questions as the room filled with unpleasant noises and scents; was magic something that you had to have proficiency for? Could you learn through hard work and patience? When were the scissors going to turn invisible? Was that part the magic part? He kept his questions to himself and took the now-full bucket of water over to the intern, offering it out to them in such a manner that they could take it whenever they were ready for it.

Setting the hook in front of Winston, Lydia watched them beginning to arrange their ingredients. Pots scraped against the stained work surface, sending shivers down her spine. The popped bottles had a pungent aroma and Lydia’s lip curled when Winston asked her to handle Sulfur. She worked carefully and diligently, scraping the heaped teaspoons of salt Peter perfectly flat, before leaving the ingredients for Winston to handle it. “What else can I do?”

“So, now we just mix everything together, Simon will add the water, you can add the mercury and I’ll add the dry ingredients. We’ve just got to pour slowly and stir it all together and then we set it.” Winston was glad that there wasn’t an extensive and gruelling forging process here. Winston set about pouring the ingredients together and the mixture. Once everything was ready they poured it into the pre-prepared mould and looked at them. “I need to enchant this obviously, but it’s going to be draining, with your consent, I’d like to use your energy as well to do it properly, I don’t want to make a mistake.” Like passing out. He wasn’t about to say ‘sounds simple enough’ but Simon continued to do what he was told, waiting for the correct prompts before adding the water. He did, however, feel his eyebrow raise at the mention of ‘using energy’ and though part of him thought he should’ve kept quiet as he had been the entirety of this exchange so far, he felt the need to ask. “Sorry, dumb question but… what’s this about ‘using your energy”?” He wasn’t particularly worried about the concept - he’d be happy to help in whatever way he could - but he was curious about how that was going to go. Was Winston talking about HIS energy? BOTH their energy? Lydia knew magic… her energy specifically?

All at once, Lydia’s eagerness dropped like a brick to the floor, scowling. Impetuous little human. Always asking for more, like all humans She grit her teeth together, her eyes meeting Simon’s searchingly. “You wouldn’t take more than you needed, would you?” She asked Winston, but she was still looking at Simon. Perhaps properly for the first time since Winston had arrived. “Spellcaster bodies don’t always have the strength to tame the magic they use.” They are only human, after all. “I would also like to know precisely what you mean, though.”

“Magic takes up energy, if I cast a spell that lifts something that’s a hundred kilos then I’d feel it, it would take a toll on me. It burns calories, leaves you feeling exhausted and tired.” Winston shrugged. “I wouldn’t have anywhere to put the energy if I did take more then the spell required, you don’t need to worry about it.” Winston looked at them. “We’re going to place an enchantment on the scissors, that requires a fair amount of energy, I’ll be the focus and actually cast the spell, but you’ll assist.”

Perhaps Simon was just being dumb that day or perhaps somethng else was weighing on his mind more but he wasn’t quite grasping the concepts that were being laid out in front of him. So Winston could just… siphon energy from them? He wanted to ask but instead, he just gave a small shake of his head accompanied with a shrug. “Do what you have to do,” He responded. “I have energy to spare.” He wasn’t lying - even though the moon was new, he realised he was still a reservoir of adrenaline just waiting to kickstart.

“Whatever it takes.” If this worked, after all, Lydia had living, breathing energy stores of her own walking around upstairs. She stepped to stand beside Winston. Her wings shifted under her glamour, briefly causing the gentlest breeze around them. Whatever it would take to be free again.

“Give me your hands,” Winston instructed as they reached out and gestured for them to take their hands in their own. Stretching out for them, Winston began the ritual enchantment. Latin words spilled forth and they could feel the energy siphon from themselves and the others as they offered it forth. Winston watched as the mould shimmered and the liquid inside began to gradually fade away. Sweat beaded their brow as they completed their work. “Should be ready now, if you want to carefully pick it up. But don’t drop it because finding it again will be beyond difficult.” Simon offered his hand obediently, a flash of doubt crossing his mind that they were about to do something illegal - he’d only seen magic used once before and he was still finding remnants of that fight while he cleaned the morgue, it seemed like. The latin wasn’t entirely helping but he held still, deciding to keep his eyes on the tool that was being enchanted before them, remaining vigilant even after the scissors turned invisible. He exhaled when Winston finished, almost feeling as though he had run up a flight of stairs. “That’s it?” He asked, not out of dismissal but affirmation.

Lydia nearly dropped to her knees when the drain came. The strangest thing - it was something she’d felt before, in a dozen different people. It wasn’t through a hand but a kiss, fed side by side with the creative burst. She’d felt this a thousand times in the hearts of the humans she kept, and the way they’d sagged in her arms after. The thought churned her stomach, for all the wrong reasons. 

 Lydia looked at Simon, then Winston, and carefully reached into the scissor mould. Her fingers touched cool metal, drawing a gasp of air out of her. “They’re here!” She gasped, and picked them up. It was strange to see her flesh contort to squeeze around thin air, but Lydia would rather feel them tightly in her than drop them and risk losing them forever. She walked backwards, until the bond tightened around her belly. No point getting excited yet, she thought, looking Simon in the eyes as she held up the invisible scissors and snipped them in the air between them. 

Nothing changed. The tension was still taut around her belly. “No, come on,” Lydia whined, snipping it again, and again, her lips curling down in disappointment as nothing changed. Nothing changed! Lydia was almost at the point of throwing the scissors in contempt when something snagged. It pulled her forwards, just for a second, and then the tension vanished.  Lydia stumbled back, her mouth gaping right open. 

Bemused, Winston watched their handiwork. Watching Lydia apparently snip at the open air was something to say the least, but the way that she held the scissors was more then enough to convince Winston that they were doing what they were meant to. She seemed frustrated and then she cut through something and Winston exhaled. “So it worked?” The werewolf watched carefully as Lydia collected the scissors, invisible though they were and Simon opted to stand as still and sturdily as he could while she tried to cut the line, which didn’t seem to work at first until it did and he felt as though a belt had fallen from around his waist. He glanced down, then at the distance between himself and Lydia… then took a generous, slow step backwards, finding that he was able to do so. Nora was right; invisible scissors worked and the bond had been successfully severed. “I believe it did,” He remarked mildly before giving a single clap. “Splendid job, Winston! Brilliantly done.”

“That’s absurd,” Lydia breathed, watching Simon step away from her. It had been what, nearly ten days? Ten days where they couldn’t even stand that far apart. Twelve feet now, and when Lydia took another step, it was one the same size as Simon’s. Thirteen feet. There was barely space in the room to contain her excitement, as she walked back to the table and carefully set the scissors back in the mold. Or she tried to - these things were far from simple. “Human magic makes no sense whatsoever. I am incredibly grateful, Winston. If you give me your bank information I will repay you as you deserve.” Lydia bounced her leg, looking from one to the other, wondering how quickly she could push the both of them out of her home. 

Raising an eyebrow, Winston shrugged. “Magic is … magic I guess.” They reached out their bandaged hand (after all they didn’t want people to see the weird eyelid on it) and carefully scooped up the scissors, placing it on the hook before attaching the hook to a string and beginning to carefully place it into a cloth bag. “I’m going to keep this if that’s cool, unless one of you want it.” Winston wasn’t sure what they would need invisible scissors for but just in case right. “But, you don’t have to … should I be getting people to pay me for this?” Winston frowned, they’d never really thought about it. “Maybe you could just owe me one? I’m not sure what the going rate is...” Winston shrugged. “Cool, Simon, you want a lift somewhere or you gonna stick around for a bit?” Though he could virtually sense the excitement radiating off of Lydia as the latter stepped further and further away, Simon felt decidedly… different. He glanced between Lydia to Winston and gave a noncommittal shrug, acting almost as if he hadn’t been tethered to the woman in the first place. “You know what they say about being good at something and not doing it for free,” He mentioned, turning to give Lydia an unintentionally decisive look. “N-no, I’m… yeah, I could use a lift,” He spoke to Winston as he looked at the Fae, long, almost longingly but covering it with kindness before it lingered too long. “Thank you for your patience throughout this ordeal,” He gave her a small nod accompanied with a vague smile. “I’ll, uh… get out of your space now.” And that was it; he backed away slowly towards the door, turning his head to face Winston now as he waited for them to depart with him.

“By all means, please do keep it,” Lydia said. “I have little use for something I can’t see, normally.” She looked to Winston, and nodded. “You should be repaid justly for your work.” That, and Lydia would rather not owe another human a favour. Her eyes drifted to their bandaged hand, and back to them. “I will pay you significantly above whatever the going rate is. Money is not a concern.” At Winston’s question, Lydia felt a chill run down her spine, looking to Simon expectantly. The last thing she wanted was for him to linger, and that was as clear on her face as the longing was on his. “I would be very grateful if you could. It has been lovely getting to know you, but if I saw you again within the week it would be too soon.”

Nodding gently, Winston quickly gathered their things up, packing everything away as efficiently as they possibly could. “Okay, I’ll send you my details when I get home and you can decide the price.” Winston had never really thought that this was something that they could just do and get paid for. Maybe they would have to start looking at doing more of this, a little more money wouldn’t hurt and it had kept them from worrying about the nightmare visions. “I’ll let you name a price or we can discuss it later,” they turned to Simon as they shouldered their rucksack and headed towards the door, calling over their shoulder to Lydia. “Let me know if you get tied to someone else in the future, I’ll see if I can help again.” As they stepped into the sunlight, they turned to Simon. “Where do you want to go dude?” Simon saw Lydia’s expression out of his peripheral vision and he blinked after a pause, shaking his head and focusing on Winston. “Uh, just-- home’s fine. I’ll tell you how to get there.” He put his hands in his pockets, his own expression plaintive as he looked to the ground in submission once more. Home… it might be nice, maybe.

[xwndwmns-kept-boy-toy]

Christmas Surprise

Who: @wndwmn

What: Diana gets an unexpected gift from the past. 

When: Christmas

Where: The museum

Triggers: Nope!

Steve: "Owww..."

Steve groaned, one hand clutching his head and the other wrapped around his middle. He had never had a headache this bad in his life. Every time he tried to open his eyes pain lanced from his retinas to the back of his skull and when he forced them all the way open the intensity of the pain ripped a roar out of Steve's chest. It sounded like a wounded animal rather than a human being, so loud it echoed against the walls of...wherever he was.

While it had been painful as all hell forcing his eyes open had either desensitized them or overloaded the pain receptors, or something. He just knew that after he blinked a couple times the bright white faded away and he was slowly able to make out the details of where he was.

He was on a plane.

Well, shit.

The last time he'd been on a plane hadn't ended well for him. Moving slowly, because his head still hurt Steve sat up into a sitting position. Looking down at himself he frowned. Why was he naked? And covered in smears of…clay? Rubbing his hands over his face he was about to make a frustrated sound but feeling hair against his palms he froze, fingertips sliding down to his cheeks. When the hell did he grow a beard? This was…this was all wrong. Where was Diana? This seemed like the kind of thing that Diana would understand better than he would.

Like the whole…Ares thing. Which was still strange, but whatever. He had seen what Diana could do, and more than that he trusted her, so if she said it was true, then it was true.

Still disoriented from his headache and subsequent discoveries Steve wasn't paying nearly as much attention as he should've been to where he was putting his feet. Which was unfortunate, because as he pushed himself up he took a step backwards…into empty air. Surprise had him yelling as he fell, arms pinwheeling comically, and when he crashed down on a 'Captain America' mannequin that had been displaying his uniform from WWI Steve groaned, having landed on his back, all the air punched out of him.

"Owww…"

Diana: It was a late shift, but only by Diana's own doing. She had been in a foul mood all day - its catalyst remained unknown - and she couldn't bring it in herself to go home just yet. There were a few filing needs to be done that could have waited until morning, could have waited until the end of the week really, but Diana wanted to see it done.

Her eyes had begun to feel heavy, eyelids hanging low behind half mooned glasses perched upon the tip of her nose. She set them aside and rubbed her eyes. It was late. But still, she didn't necessarily want to go back to her apartment. So, she took a walk instead. Her heels clicked throughout the tiled hallways, their sounds echoing tremendously through the museum. Aside from the security guards, she was the only one inside. Or so she thought. A sound caught her attention, one heading from the WWI section of the wing. With a frown and brow set, Diana headed in that direction, eyes focused for any potential adversary.

The room remained lit and bright with light - it had been cleaned recently, which was evident by the 'wet floor signs' that remained and the smell of floor cleaner. Diana noted a figure by one of the exhibits; she clenched a fist. "I know you're there; state your name." She called out as she took a few steps forward, though remained a safe distance away just in case. She didn't have her lasso on her, nor her shield.

Steve: Lying on top of the mannequin version of Steve Rogers, Steve did a self-catalogue to check for injuries...and was surprised when he didn’t find any. That fall must’ve been fifteen feet at least, the exhibit set up in a room with high ceilings specifically to accommodate the replica of the Valkyrie, and yet, except for getting the air knocked out of him Steve was fine.

Yeah, something’s definitely off.

Laid out on the ground still Steve heard heels against tile well before the woman walked into the room, his brows furrowed as he tried to figure out what the sound was. But then he heard her voice and relief flooded him. Diana was alive, she had made it through the fight and whatever else had come after that. He had been trying not to think about how worried about her he’d been, very aware that she could protect herself, but his instinct was to keep her safe and instinct wasn’t logical.

Another groan escaped Steve as he pushed himself up into more of a sitting position with one hand, his other pushing his hair out of his face, looking a lot like a confused puppy. ”It’s me, Diana. Not sure how I got here though...wherever here is.”

Diana: It had been decades since she had heard that voice last and she had missed it every minute. She knew the waves of his inflections and the warm tones that danced with his words. She knew him by smell alone. But that didn't ease her surprise when she heard Steve's voice ring out. It was him.

Diana's brows knitted down as she rounded parts of the exhibit to reach where Steve lay upon the floor, naked and dirty. "Steve..." came her breath as she looked down upon him, surprised at what her eyes were seeing. She lowered to her knees slowly, unsure, and reached out a tentative hand. "Is it you?" Her hand just barely rested on his cheek; his beard felt foreign beneath her palm. But it suited him.

Steve: As Diana came into view Steve couldn’t help the way he smiled, wide and warm, blue eyes full of love. She was beautiful as ever. He wasn’t sure what she was wearing, but she looked amazing, but then she always did.

Diana’s touch against his cheek was electric, literally, a spark jumping between his skin and her fingertips, but he was too distracted by the woman in front of him to think of it as anything other than a bit of static shock. Reaching up he covered her hand with his own, turning his face towards her touch at the same time so that he could press a kiss to the centre of her palm. God, she smelled good, how did she always smell so good? Turning his head back towards her so that blue eyes could meet brown.

”Of course it’s me, Diana.” The look on her face didn’t match up with his memories of the last time they saw each other, neither did what she was wearing. ”Last thing I remember is shooting the bombs, then....nothing, ‘til now.” He should probably be more worried than he was, but it was difficult when he was getting to see Diana again, after being so sure that he would die on that plane.

Diana: His gaze said everything he didn't, but she could feel the affection radiate from him, even before she touched his face. The spark wasn't lost on her; it shot through her hand and up her arm, but it was quick and lasted only a second. Her body relaxed completely when he kissed her hand and held her there.

She allowed herself to smile despite her continual wave of surprise. She heard his words but she couldn't bring herself to reply, not when all she could do was pull him close into her arms. She held him there in her embrace, ignoring the clay that spread to her clothes. A sigh escaped her. "I've missed you," came her response, finally, though it was quiet and full of emotion. She could feel tears prick her shut eyes. "I've missed you so much." It didn't matter to her how he came to be here, but she was forever grateful. Her heart was forever grateful.

Steve: ”Oh, okay.” Being pulled into her arms was a bit of a surprise, they hadn’t had very much time to discover just how demonstrative they were before he climbed into that plane. ”This is nice.” That was probably stupid to say out loud. He knew that, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to care all that much. He wasn’t dead, Diana didn’t seem to be upset with him, these were all good things. He didn’t hesitate to slide his arms around her in turn, hugging her close in a grip that would be far too tight if she were a mortal woman, Steve unaware of his strength.

Diana’s words broke his heart, the tone more than anything, and needing to comfort her despite his confusion (how long could he have been gone for?) Steve scooped her up and pulled her into his lap so that he could cradle her against his chest, holding her as close as he could. ”I’m here, love, and I’m not going anywhere.” He was pretty sure his military career was over after everything they did to try and end the war.

Diana: Diana uttered a breath of a quiet laugh at his comment; this was nice. She thought she'd carry him with her forever, and she had accepted that a long time ago, but now that he was here - well, she wouldn't complain. This was nicer than anything she could have imagined.

After a moment of enjoying his arms around her, Diana sighed and pulled back enough to search his face. She touched his beard again before her eyes met his. "There's nothing else that you can remember? Nothing after the plane?" She asked; the memories of that moment flashed in her mind. Her breath hitched in her throat when she visualized the aircraft exploding in the sky. She could remember the pain she felt.

"You were dead, Steve. We all thought you were dead." Diana swallowed and turned to look at the small clock above the entryway to that part of the exhibit. "Come on, my office is not too far from here. I need to find you something to wear." She suggested as she started to remove herself from the comfort of his embrace and stand.

Steve: Steve’s brow furrowed as he thought back again. He remembered them arguing, him insisting that it had to be him because she was the one who could save the world, and she couldn’t save the world if she went up in that plane. He remembered how desperately he wanted to kiss her, but knowing they didn’t have the time for that. Remembered giving her his father’s watch and telling her that he loved her, because he hadn’t had the chance the night they had spent together and he needed her to know that she had claimed his heart for her and her alone. And then he remembered running after the plane that he knew would be the death of him.

He shook his head with a sigh. ”The last thing I remember is blowing up the plane, and then I was waking up on a different plane.” Glancing around the exhibit he looked confused as he focused on her. It wasn’t hard to figure out they were in a museum, he’d always been more intelligent than most gave him credit for, but he was confused about the exhibit they seemed to be in. ”Why did Rogers get his own exhibit? Did you get an exhibit? You should have an exhibit.” If Captain America got a whole room then Diana certainly deserved one for everything she did during the war.

He was distracted from the issue of gender inequality amongst superheroes by the news that, apparently, he had died. Well. That was disheartening. His face fell, unable to help it. He had been wondering how he survived the explosion that must have come after he shot the bombs, but it looked like the answer was: he hadn’t. Being told to follow Diana he listened, releasing her so she could stand up before he followed suit. But, mention of finding him something to wear gave the spy pause, Steve looking down at the broken mannequin parts strewn about. His fall had destroyed the mannequin, but the uniform was still intact and with the mannequin in pieces it wasn’t hard to strip down until Steve was standing there Cap’s uniform in hand holding it up as a solution to the clothes problem. ”I don’t think Rogers would mind.” They were nearly the same size (height wise at least, no one had muscles like Rogers), it’d probably fit.

Diana: Diana could only nod at Steve's further explanation; it was fine that he couldn't remember what happened. She was used to that - Bucky didn't remember much of her from the war, but she didn't hold that against him. She had to do the same with Steve, otherwise she'd be a hypocrite. At his question, Diana had to smile softly. "I couldn't tell you. I'll bring your suggestion to the other board members, though." She offered, her smile spreading just slightly.

She lifted a brow at his suggestion and gave the uniform a once over. "It might fit. You're lucky I can just ask Rogers for a replacement, otherwise I'd have to say no to you wearing it." She nodded and turned just slightly so she could give him a little privacy. "We have a few minutes before the guard comes down this hallway."

Steve: Steve managed a smirk as he gave the uniform a once over. ”Oh, I wouldn’t want to keep it. This thing just screams ‘I’m important, shoot me.’” And that wasn’t bad for people like Diana and Rogers, it was their job to be in the spotlight, to keep the enemy’s attention so that people like Steve could sneak around unnoticed and get things done that would otherwise be impossible. Luckily, he wasn’t currently being shot at, so he didn’t have any qualms with tugging the uniform on (having enough respect for Rogers to get as much as the clay off of him as he could first so that he didn’t dirty the uniform more than he had to).

Once it was on Steve was surprised at how well it fit, it wasn’t perfect, because Rogers was bulkier than he was, but it didn’t look awful, or at least he hoped not. ”How do I look?” Putting his hands on his hips he struck the classic ‘Captain America’ pose Rogers had on all the recruitment posters, a playful smirk on his lips.

Diana: His question indicated that it was okay for Diana to fully look him over, which she did, and smiled at the sight of him in the suit. It didn't look half bad, definitely better than anyone else would be able to wear. She tilted her head slightly and gave him a once over, "I think you look distinguished. Too bad it's not a perfect fit."

Diana then gestured with a hand and started in the direction of her office. "Come on. I have a lot that we need to discuss. And don't worry about the mess. I'll have it taken care of."

Steve: Steve chuckled, hands dropping to hang loosely at his sides. ”I think that’s the first time anyone’s called me distinguished.” He’d been called distinguished while he was undercover, but that didn’t count, not really.

Following after her Steve looked around the museum as they walked through it. Some of it was what he expected to see, the same kind of things he’d seen at museums in the past, but some things...some things were just really strange. He was starting to get that feeling in the pit of his stomach he got when he knew he was about to hear news he didn’t like.

Diana: Diana's smile could only grow. A familiar warmth grew in her, an affection there that she hadn't felt in many, many years. There were people that she adored, cared for, needed, but not like this. Never like this.

She opened the office door for him when they reached it and locked it behind them. She suddenly became overly aware of the memories that littered her office - in her desk and on the shelves surrounding. Diana wrung her hands together before she turned to face him, her smile soft but wary. "I think you should sit down for this."

Steve: As much as Steve was looking around the museum he was spending just as much time looking back at Diana. She was beautiful, but that was not surprising, she’d claimed the title of ‘most beautiful woman he’d ever seen’ the moment he opened his eyes on that beach and there’d been no risk of her losing it. But more than her beauty he could see that time had passed since they’d seen each other last. She hadn’t aged a day, but it was in the way she held herself, the way she moved, and just the general air about her. She’d lived a life that he hadn’t been there for, and he hated that he’d missed sharing those moments with her, but the world had been at stake and he’d done what he had to do so that she could save it.

Stepping into her office he looked around, fascinated by all the pictures and mementos. Before he really realised it he was walking around the edge of the office, looking at the pictures and things. He had just gotten to her desk when she suggested he sit, but then he was distracted by the picture he saw. ”Hey, I remember this.” He picked up the picture, confused a little by the weight of it, but he was more distracted by the content of picture. ”This was a good day.” It was after they had liberated the town, but before the Nazi’s had gassed it. The same day they had spent their single night together.

Setting the photo back down blue eyes were warm as they looked up at Diana, Steve circling around her desk to approach and stop in front of her, his hands lifting to cup her face. ”What if I don’t want to sit?” What if he didn’t want to know? He knew he had to know, whatever it was it was going to be important, he could tell by the look on her face. But that same look told him that once he knew everything things were going to start happening and they might not get another quiet moment.

Diana: The photo that Steve picked up was her most cherished possession and she inwardly tensed, but the realization that the person she'd miss if the photo were to shatter was the one who was holding it. Her shoulders relaxed then and she offered him a smile. She nodded in agreement. "It was one of my favorites."

His hands on her face were warm; she had to resist the urge to close her eyes at his touch. She gave him a sympathetic look, her brows furrowed slightly and smile at her lips. "You don't have to sit if you don't want to. It's heavily implied that you should anyway." Her voice was gentle as she lifted her hands to rest over Steve's.

Steve: Steve couldn’t help the way he laughed, the sound soft. Of course she wouldn’t let him avoid what needed to be done. It was one of the things he loved about her, her determination and resilience. Sighing, a smile on his lips he leaned down, eyes slipping closed, so that his forehead rested against hers for a long moment.  

”Alright, Diana, I’ll sit.” Baby blues fluttered open and then he was stroking her cheeks with his thumbs before he released her, hands slipping away as he moved to sit in the closest chair, eyes never leaving her.

Diana: Everything went still when his forehead rested against hers. With his eyes closed and hers followed suit, the room got quiet. It felt as if the world stopped. She stopped breathing in that moment, though his voice roused her from whatever trance he had put on her.

She swallowed but nodded. Immediately she missed his touch even though he was a mere couple of feet away. Diana leaned against the edge of the desk with her hands clasped together in front of her. She gave him a smile, a silent thanks; she thought that this might be better.

"One hundred years," she came out with. "That's how long's it's been..."

Steve: He had wanted one last quiet moment with her, and he was glad that he had taken that moment when finally told him just when he was.

’One hundred years’

For a long time he just stared at her, her words echoing in his ears. His mind was having difficulty wrapping around the concept that a century had gone by while he was dead. Finally he managed words. ”A century?” As he spoke all the lights in the room flickered, Steve not realising that his emotional state was affecting them. ”I....how?!”** Another flicker, this one a bit faster than the last to match the way his voice raised in pitch as he pushed down the mild feeling of panic. If a century went by then...then everyone he knew was dead. Except for Diana, obviously.

Suddenly glad he had listened to her and was sitting down Steve slumped back against the chair, the look on his face a little dazed.

Diana: Diana could feel the panic grow within him as if it were palpable. She could also feel the energy that danced quickly through the air; it set her hairs on end. It felt like static, but it was strong. He had the strength to utter a few words, but she couldn't answer his questions. She didn't know how. She know how he had managed to come back after that long. She didn't know how he was alive.

Diana pushed off the desk and lowered to kneel in front of Steve. She took his hands in hers. "Steve..." she swallowed. "I do not know how you're here. But it's a miracle nonetheless." She didn't want to feel selfish about this, but her heart soared.

Steve: Steve didn’t see Diana approaching or kneeling in front of him, too distracted by the sheer amount of time he’d been dead. He did feel her hands cover his and that drew his gaze, the man trying to focus on what she was saying. A miracle....well, that was a word for it.

While he might not be sure how he felt about being back from the dead after a century, he did know how he felt about being back with Diana, and his expression softened as their eyes met. He had no idea what he was supposed to do in this new century, but there was one thing he knew hadn’t changed since his day, and he had been wanting to kiss Diana since before he got on that damn plane.

Freeing one hand from hers he lifted it and slid it into her hair, drawing he up as he leaned in. He moved slowly, giving her time to stop him, and when she didn’t he fit his lips to hers in a tender kiss. He just barely got the taste of her on his lips when tiny lightning bolts sparked between their lips, Steve jerking back with a yelp, more from the surprise of the strength of the shock than it actually hurting.

”Christ! Is that new?”** He didn’t remember that happening the last time they kissed.

Diana: She smiled when he lifted a hand to the side of her head; she did miss the feeling of his hand in her hair. While it was a surprise, it was wasn't completely unwarranted. It had been a long time since either had seen the other. She still loved him immensely.

The kiss left much to be desired as the pair was interrupted by the shock that sparked between their lips. Diana pressed her fingertips to her mouth as she sat back and frowned; the pain didn't linger, but it was definitely a confusing moment for her. She hadn't exactly been with anyone since Steve, and she also knew her powers had strengthened since then. Could it be her?

"I don't know. That is not the first time I have felt that same energy since finding you."

Steve: Steve’s brow furrowed as she pointed out that she’d felt the same energy before. His mind was reeling, going over all the facts available to him. 1) He’d been dead for a century, but was now, somehow, alive 2) he had woken up naked and covered in clay 3) he had fallen twenty feet onto a hard floor and wasn’t even sore 4) he was, apparently, sparking electricity left and right.

It was the clay that was sticking with him, Steve reaching out to rub his thumb against the shoulder of Diana’s shirt where some of the clay that had been on him had smeared. ”Diana...how did you say you were born?” He remembered her telling him a story on that tiny boat they’d taken off her island, but he needed her to say the words, because if he said them they’d sound crazy.

Diana: Diana wasn't entirely sure where Steve was going with that, but she recounted the story to him: of how her mother created her out of clay and prayed to Zeus that he would give her a real baby. He had given her her wish, of course, but with a stipulation.

After she reiterated the story to him, she frowned and pursed her lips. "I don't know how that would be possible..." Diana admitted, unsure as to how a new form would have the same personality as the original Steve Trevor.

Steve: At some point during her story Steve had slipped off his chair to sit next to her on the ground, his back resting against the front of her desk. Yeah, the story was just about how he remembered her telling it to him, and it sounded just as crazy as he remembered it sounding the first time. Clearly, it must have happened because Diana was here and she was by no means a normal woman, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sound any less crazy.

Looking over at her when she finished he laughed dryly, and then he was reaching out to slip his hand into hers, lacing their fingers together. ”Diana, how is any of this possible?” He was just a man (until proven otherwise he refused to think of himself as anything else), matters such as these were far beyond his scope of understanding. ”But I’m here after...everything, and I fell out of that plane and walked away without a scratch and, apparently, I’m throwing sparks left and right. I can’t explain that any other way.”

Diana: The power that hummed around Steve was undeniable. She’d felt it earlier on, when she’d first found him sprawled out on the floor, but it hadn’t alerted any flags. Not until now. She was surprised that he took this so well, after all things considering, but human men tended to surprise her. They were full of will and hope; it made her decision to be the world’s protector all the more easier. It was worth it. They were worth it.

When Steve interlaced their fingers and held her hand close to him, Diana smiled. She’d missed this. She’d missed the honesty behind his eyes, missed the understanding of his lips and the loyalty that came with the planes of his face. She’d missed his golden halo and the roughness of his palms against hers. Whatever was going on with him, whatever was happening, she’d help him to figure it out. They’d do it, together. Diana gave his hand a gentle squeeze. She didn’t want it explained; she was just grateful that he was here again. “I... Maybe. There are still many things that we do not understand about the world. I suppose it is possible...”

She shook her head. “You’re here now... That’s all that matters.”

Steve: If Steve was being one-hundred percent honest with himself he would admit that he wasn’t taking this nearly as well as he was projecting outwardly, but it wouldn’t do either of them any good if he were to panic and deny what was going on. He could do that on the inside all he wanted,  but ‘keep calm and carry on’ was a motto he had taken to heart, despite not being English. Focusing on the facts helped to keep him steady, he wasn’t the type of man to go off on fantastic flights of fancy, never having believed in gods and goddesses and all of that until he met Diana.

The squeeze of Diana’s hand was returned, Steve’s smile growing a little, his thumb stroking along hers. Being a spy had given him a particular skillset and one of those skills was knowing when someone wanted to drop a subject. It wasn’t as if figuring out the whys and wherefores tonight would change anything that had already happened, so Steve let it go. They’d return to it later if the need arose.

For a long moment they sat together, Steve leaning against Diana’s shoulder, their clasped hands resting against his bent knee. Eventually he had to speak because there was one problem that they couldn’t put off for very long. He actually began to chuckle before he laughed, the sound a little tired. ”So, I guess I’m out of a job.” He was assuming they won the war, because Diana was alive and well and she would have never let the war go on for a hundred years, and if they won the war there probably wasn’t a need for spies like him. ”And a house.” Even if they were in London he doubted his flat would be vacant.

Diana: Even though she didn't put too much precedence on figuring out how or why Steve was alive again, Diana was worried. There were many ways that someone could return to the world of the living - many held dark origins. Many dealt with devils and blood pacts and rituals and sacrifice. She didn't want Steve wrapped up anything like that. She didn't want him to have to owe anyone anything.

Diana turned her attention to Steve; they were inches apart. She could count the vivid blues that were his eyes. She'd have to remember them for later, just in case she'd have to miss them. She hoped not. "You can stay with me, but, and I'm sorry to have to do this," Diana stood then as she explained and reached into a drawer to procure her lasso. "I know you won't hold this against me." She needed to be sure. He looked like him, sounded like him, felt like him. But there were imposters everywhere. Diana didn't want her heart broken again.

Steve: The apology had his eyebrows arching slightly, not sure what was coming next, but when Diana moved to stand he released her hand so that he could stand up all the way. When the lasso came out it all made sense and he couldn’t help but grimace slightly, he remembered how much that thing hurt, and even when you told the truth it still wasn’t pleasant, but she was right, he didn’t hold it against her.

Pushing himself to his feet he moved to stand in front of her, and much like he did the last time he had to prove to her he was telling the truth about a promise he reached out, took the end of the lasso, and wrapped it several times around his wrist. He wasn’t going to force her to wrap him up in the lasso, wouldn’t put her through that. He would rather do it to himself.

As the golden lasso wrapped around his wrist it burned Steve gritting his teeth as he pushed the pain to the back of his mind. ”My name is Captain Steve Trevor. Pilot. American Expeditionary Forces. Serial number 8121941.” The heat of the lasso lessened since he was telling the truth making it slightly more bearable, but he didn’t remove lasso from around his wrist. ”Ask me anything you want, Diana.”

Diana: Diana didn't want to do it, but it was necessary for her safety. It was the smartest thing to do, the most sensible, and she could see om his face that Steve understood the gesture. She watched silently as he wrapped the lasso around himself, not waiting for her to even say anything. She supposed that he did know the drill by now.

That would have been a satisfying enough answer for her, but he had to urge further. Diana pressed her lips together and stepped close to him, her dark eyes searching his own gaze. "Before you boarded that plane, do you remember what you told me? When you handed me your father's watch. Do you remember?"

Steve: Blue eyes never left Diana for a moment as she stepped forwards. He wanted to reach for her, wanted to pull her close, bury his face in her hair, breathe her in, and forget that the rest of the world existed. Unfortunately, he knew he couldn’t do that, right now they were focusing on something more important that his wants.

When he told Diana to ask him anything he wasn’t expecting the question he was asked, and he couldn’t help the way his entire face softened, expression turning warm and full of fierce adoration. Taking a step forwards so that there was no space between them he reached up with his free hand and cradled her cheek in his palm. ”I love you.” The burning of the lasso around his wrist was forgotten, the world falling away from them as he stared into her eyes, marvelling at the woman who had claimed him, heart and soul, a century ago and carried him with her ever since. Staring into her eyes...it felt like coming home.

”I love you, Diana.”

Diana: When she heard it, she felt relief flood her. His willingness to prove his truth spoke volumes, but those three words broke something in her. She had missed him terribly through those years; not once did she falter, no matter how many times she wished she had. A century had passed and yet she still held a love for him that rivaled none else, and even as he stood before her now, that love remained unchanged.

At his confirmation, Diana unwound the lasso from his wrist with a swift move of her hand and pulled him in eagerly into her arms. She embraced him, warmly, with her eyes closed and an expression of pure repose adorned her face. He smelled just as she remembered, his warmth just the same as before. Part of her refused to let him go. “I love you, too,” she whispered as her hands clung to the old uniform he donned.

Steve: Steve went easily when he was pulled into Diana’s arms, his own wrapping around her in turn, and he was finally able to to bury his face in her thick, soft curls like he’d been wanting to since he saw her again. One hand was buried in her hair near his face, the other splayed against her back and he’d be supremely happy never letting go.

”I’m sorry I had to leave you.” He murmured the words through her hair into her ear, his eyes slipping closed. He wasn’t sorry that he chose to go on the plane, that had been the right decision, he couldn’t let those bombs anywhere near civilians. His only regret was that saving innocent lives had required him to leave her. It was something he would have never done if the choice were up to him. ”I’ll do my best not to do that again.” He couldn’t promise her that he never would leave her again, because if he were put in that same scenario he’d make the same decision. Millions of lives won out over the life of one man, even if that one man was him.

Diana: There was a worry that this wouldn't last. That this was nothing but an illusion of some kind; for now, she supposed, she could enjoy it. Not unless there was some imminent danger, but for the moment, while Steve was there with her, she'd enjoy it.

Diana shook her head and pulled back to look over Steve's face. She lifted a hand to cup one of his cheeks, her expression reassuring. "Don't be sorry. You had to do your duty, I understand that." It pained her, deeply, but she had been awfully proud of him when he did it. She still was. "Hopefully you won't get the chance to. At least, not when it comes to airplanes. I can fly," she finished, a smile breaking through towards the end.

Steve: Tilting his face towards her hand there was a smile on his lips. That was another thing he loved about her, that she understood his need to put duty above personal desire. If he'd had a choice of course he would've stayed with her, but he'd had no choice.

Being informed that she could fly had his lips curling into a smile, and then a grin as he shook his head. "Of course you can." Lifting his hand he cradled her cheek in his palm, leaning forwards so that he could brush the tip of his nose against hers, their lips ghosting against one another, but never quite touching. "May I?" After the last time he figured it couldn't hurt to ask before he attempted another kiss.

Diana: Diana's hand dropped from his cheek to his shoulder; the lass had been placed upon the desk. She adored this man with every fiber of her being. She had tried so many times not to, to forget him and move on with her life, but she always found her way back to him. And now he was here. She couldn't have asked for more.

The smallest chuckle escaped her at his retort. It was baffling to those not accustomed to seeing individuals with special abilities. Diana, flying? It didn't sound real. But to her it was real. It was her life. He'd have to learn it. Her breath stilled when she felt his lips brush just slightly against her own lips. She nodded, "yes."

Steve: Given permission to kiss her there was a smile on Steve's lips as he did just that, hand sliding back into her hair as he closed the last of the distance between them to press his lips against hers. This time there was no spark of lightning, only their natural chemistry, Steve's fingers curling in dark hair as he his eyes slid shut, his lips moving tenderly against hers.

Diana: It had been too long since she’d last kissed someone properly — kissed someone not because they were a friend or family, not because she just cared deeply for them or felt a strong urge of platonic love. She hadn’t kissed someone for just the love of it, for the affection and the tenderness. She’d missed this. Diana returned the gesture happily, though slowly and purposefully. She wanted to savor it, to take her time now that they had it. She didn’t want to waste a moment with him.

Steve: Steve may have been dead for a hundred years, but it didn’t feel that way. It felt like they were picking up right where they left off, only this time they had the time to enjoy one another. For the moment he didn’t attempt to deepen the kiss, he didn’t want to get carried away here in her office, she deserved so much more than that.

By the time their lips parted he was drunk on the taste of her, humming as he pressed his cheek to hers. ”Do you have more work to do tonight?” It was soft, but not quite a whisper, Steve brushing a kiss against the soft skin under her ear before pressing forwards to breathe her in. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to go home with Diana so that he could hold her in his arms and make the most of this second chance they’d been given.

Diana: The kiss remained shallow, sweet, affectionate; she remembered the curve of his lips exceptionally well, but she was pleased that he hadn’t engaged her further. A work place was not the right setting for gallivanting, of any kind. Besides — a desk was not nearly as comfortable as a mattress.

Diana leaned into him and closed her eyes at the small kisses and touches he gave her along her skin; she was content. Blissfully content, something which she hadn’t felt in a long time. “I just have one more email to reply to,” she explained and pulled back so she could search his expression, “and then I am done for the day. It should take me no more than a minute.” Reluctantly, Diana removed her arms from around Steve and stepped back around the desk to wake up her laptop and maximize the email screen.

It took her little time to respond to the inquiry about a fundraiser and shut the machine down. She closed the laptop’s lid and slipped it into a brown leather messenger bag before she slung that over her shoulder. Her work keys jingled when she slipped her cell phone into her purse. She paused, then, as she was getting ready to leave for the day, to just stop and look at Steve. There was nothing but an adoration present in her gaze.

Steve: ”Alright.” He didn’t know what she meant by ‘email’, some sort of letter, maybe? But whatever it was he would wait, he’d wait until the end of the world for Diana Prince. He let her go as she drew away, but before she moved completely out of his arms he took her by the arm loosely, hand sliding down her forearm until he could catch her fingers, raising them to his lips so that he could brush a kiss over her knuckles before letting her go completely.

As she went to her desk Steve busied himself with looking at the various items on display on her shelves, focusing mainly on the photos, seeing what she had been up to since 1918. The sound of her fingers moving over keys reminded him vaguely of a typewriter, and it was something he wanted to ask about, but tomorrow. Tonight was for them, not for the million questions he’d inevitably have once he let himself think about the fact that a century had gone by.

The sound of keys and a bag being packed had Steve turning towards Diana, and as their eyes met his were full of affection and adoration. Moving to her side they didn’t need words, Steve stroking her cheek and tucking a stray curl behind her ear, his smile warm. He moved away then, but only so that he could open the door for her, waiting for her to pass before he followed after her, the door closing with a soft snick behind them.

[laissezferre]

review: poto manila cast: ian jon bourg, carla verdier, matt leisy

gosh, it's nice to see phantom again! the last time i saw it was in singapore five years ago or so, and since then i'd like to think that i've gained substantially more knowledge on the show's history, costumes, sets, etc, etc.--and that awareness of where things should be and where people should stand has somehow affected my viewing this time around.

i saw the show fairly early in its run, so things will most likely get better, but for its first week of shows, it's pretty solid! i didn't get to see the principal phantom and christine, and while i was pretty bummed about that initially , i realized soon enough that it wasn't such a bad deal (more on that later).

what i like most about this production is how palpable the thought behind every portrayal is. even as far as the balcony, it's very clear that christine was falling in and out of a trance/hypnosis in music of the night. it's very clear that christine was being compelled to walk towards the phantom in why so silent. it's very clear how the crowd in masquerade pokes and prods at christine (not literally) until she gets overwhelmed and confused. you can also pinpoint the exact moment in point of no return that christine realizes that the phantom is under the hood. i don't know if that's stage direction or clara verdier's acting choices, but either way, i loved it.

everyone already knows that they removed the golden angel from the proscenium. apart from that they also had to adjust scenic design and props because the theater doesn't allow open fire indoors. so, no flash in red death's exit, none as well when the phantom releases raoul from the lasso. no fireballs in wandering child. instead the floor bursts with gusts of air and some light when raoul goes near the phantom, and instead of a flash for the phantom's exit, the stage is lit with harsh red light accompanied by a loud thunder sound that rattles the auditorium, then black out.

i "think" that they slowed down some of the scenes. i remember listening to matt leisy sing his part in think of me and going "huh, he's taking his time". i felt the same way in all i ask of you reprise and the finale. someone please confirm, but does the show really last 2 hours and 10 minutes without interval?

some notable things that only fans will care about: christine falls to the floor when the mannequin moves. the phantom doesn’t catch her in time. also, the phantom doesn't drag his entire body across the stage in stranger than you dreamt it; he crawls on his knees.

could be improved: major props to the guy on soundboard that night for being alert, because feedback tried to kill our ears twice, but they got it under control before it could reach that blackboard-screeching level that haunts us all in our sleep.  sometimes i could also hear gears turning and machines whirring as the set pieces moved, which can’t be pleasant if you’re sitting on the stalls. i'm not sure if this normal, but it was noticeable when the title track switched from prerecorded to live. also, although notes 1 and 2 were considerably slowed down, i still couldn't understand most of it, same with wandering child trio. maybe poto and counterpoint just aren't meant to be.

ian jon bourg as the phantom (u/s)

as i mentioned earlier, i was a little disappointed when i learned that jonathan wasn't our phantom. i didn't check the cast board so i didn't know, but when he started singing in the mirror, i knew--that wasn't jonathan's voice. imo voice is the weak link in ian's solid performance. he struggles in music of the night; he either fades out or does an awkward falsetto that doesn't ring nicely in the ears, and he sounds out of breath. but barring that, when the notes hit right in his range, he has a lovely deep voice that booms beautifully. his voice also breaks in all the right places, giving a portrayal of a phantom that's vulnerable and sympathetic. despite being a murderer.

ian is more memorable for his acting. he doesn't have the little phantom quirks that fans love--no flicks of the wrist, no ridiculously seductive hands as they brush up his hair, but i think he's very "eric", he's canon eric. he's not fit or sexy or seductive. with ian, the audience is very much aware of who the phantom is-- an old, resentful, and lonely man. 

what ian has going for him--and here i will stick my neck out--is that he doesn't have chemistry with clara. sure, christine is drawn to him and is mystified by him, but the audience (ymmv) doesn't come out of the show choosing team eric or team raoul.

ian can pull off threatening but sympathetic really well. he acted the hell out of stranger than you dreamt it. when he got to "fear can turn to love", i shuddered because he sounded so utterly dangerous. he was the textbook delusional but controlled madman trying to convince a victim that what he's saying makes sense, and then he turns away from christine and whimpers like a child. the whiplash is incredible. what's even more incredible is that i was still able to feel for him despite all that.

this is also the first show i've seen where i can feel the phantom's age. how old is eric? late 50s? ian seems to age throughout the finale, and by the time christine kisses him and they're gaping at each other, he looks and sounds exhausted. he could barely mutter "forget all of this", and then manages to compress the bulk of his entire body into a pitiful huddle that by the end of it, everyone just feels sorry for him. carla's christine really felt for him too; she broke when he sang "i love you" but she never gave any indication that she wanted to stay.

carla verdier as christine (alt)

carla's christine is a truly terrified christine. she's not as playful or vibrant as the ones that are usually well-loved--the opposite of samantha hill, basically. the phantom really got under her skin, because it took some real comforting before she could loosen up with raoul in all i ask of you. i think she does a better act 1 than 2 when christine is really in the height of desperation. her christine eventually found her strength in the finale--when she was shielding raoul from the phantom, she was still trembling, but she managed to take tiny steps to confront the phantom, and the phantom moved away.

unfortunately, carla's voice is shrilly and thin, and once her vibrato came it stayed. i wasn't sure yet who our christine was but when she got to the part where christine was supposed to settle into singing think of me, i knew, "this isn't principal-worthy". she did that harsh inhale through the nose that sierra boggess did at the end of think of me. her voice also wavered a few times; i wasn't sure if there were mic problems or if she just had the tendency to fade out, especially when she's being drowned out by other voices. it was sad to see, because you're never fully confident that she was going to hit the note or not. that being said, her "soul began to soar" was gorgeous.

matt leisy as raoul

matt is such a supportive raoul. he's gentle with christine and he never forces himself or looms over her, even in notes 2. you know when you're watching a raoul and you keep thinking "please don't be an asshole, pls dont be an asshole". raouls are held to such a high standard of Perfect Musical Boyfriend, and matt did just that, not a single misstep.

matt has a clear voice that rises above choruses, so when he sings softly--i.e. with carla's christine--you know he's intentionally adjusting.

overall i really enjoyed poto manila, especially the clearness of direction and ian jon bourg. there were a few tech problems, but i’m sure they’ll sort it out speedily.

[vadhnatta]

Justice League Rant

Have you ever been to a movie where you hoped it would be decent, despite assorted warning signs, but then you end up having a CinemaSins track running through your head the entire time as you slowly crush the empty box of concession stand candy and wonder if it actually is possible to murder a man with the force of sheer hatred, disgust, and a growing tension headache? Because that was this movie. I could have been sleeping. I could have been working on my projects due next week. I haven’t really seen many DC movies, or been invested in their world at all, but I saw Wonder Woman and loved it and Diana was featured prominently in the trailer, which looked pretty good, so I figured, hey, maybe they actually figured out how to make a good character and can keep this momentum going for a bit. It won’t be as good as Wonder Woman, but I could at least probably see Diana be a badass for a bit, and Aquaman looks like a decently amusing character. I saw a few episodes of the Flash TV series and that wasn’t awful. Maybe this will be okay.

No.

No it’s not.

I’m mostly waiting for the Excedrin to kick in so I can take a nap before diving back into a project with a program that has most of its documentation in Polish (which I do not speak), so this isn’t going to be a detailed or coherent meta analysis of all the points wrong with this film, or how I’m not sure there wasn’t a woman under the age of 60/over the age of 10 that wasn’t immediately sexualized, or how Joss Whedon should never be allowed within 30 feet of a woman apparently. But here’s a list of thoughts that went through my head while I watched this, for amusement and catharsis, because Wonder Woman was a fluke, Patty Jenkins and Gal Gadot both deserved better, and DC Comics is incapable of having nice things.

((Spoilers, obviously))

--I heard beforehand that there were four ass-shots of Diana, all added in by Joss Whedon, and I was hoping that was an exaggeration or not horribly noticeable, but yeah. I actually think there were more than four, but I didn’t count. 

--On the ass-shot note, at first I didn’t think Diana was wearing underwear under her skirt because we saw her ass cheek. Yeah. But she was. It’s dark blue. I know that because we saw up her skirt again, multiple times. 

--People tried to say the bikini armor was only in a flashback. No it wasn’t. They lied to us. We get to see Amazon warriors crushed to death under large stone gate things, straining to hold it up for their queen to run underneath it like that one bit from Prince Caspian, except with women in metal bikinis. 

--You know how the Amazons all had really cool armor that wasn’t super sexualizing based on actual ancient armor forms and construction techniques? Nope. Now they have similar highly-stylized banded chestplates like Diana’s, form-fitted around their boobs, and about half of those come in bikini form! Because variety!

--The Amazons can’t leave their island??? Um. But the entire reason they didn’t leave in Wonder Woman was because Hippolyta didn’t want to sacrifice her warriors for a war that wasn’t theirs, not because they physically couldn’t leave the island? So there’s an attack on their home, many warriors slain, and the only thing they can do at all is light a fucking signal fire??? They are way better than this.

--Did they actually kill Hippolyta’s wife/partner? Because that’s how that scene read to me. Fuck you movie.

--At least they didn’t actually destroy all of Themyscira. I’ll take my small victories there because I was convinced they were going to take my favorite part of Wonder Woman and burn it the first chance they got.

--How did they light this fire? Where was this temple? It’s obviously visible to the rest of the world, so it’s not on Themyscira. Was that a magic bow that could fire across dimensions? How could you aim it? I’m so confused by this scene. It’s one temple on fire, how did you know it would make the news and Diana would also happen to be watching the news when they ran that story, that’s hardly the biggest news story out there.

--So Diana had lightning powers. Or did the final battle of Wonder Woman not actually happen now. You know, the bit where she shot a giant lightning bolt thing out of her bracers. Vaporized a god. That. So, why the fuck is the only thing her bracer boosh move is good for now is creating a small shockwave to knock people back. It does nothing.

--Also, “we need an electric charge to shock the cube so we can activate the resurrection bullshit.” “Okay, so we need the Flash to run really fast down a hallway to build up electricity and poke the cube at exactly the right moment. That’s the best and simplest way to do this. I mean, it’s not like we have a literal daughter of the god of lightning bolts that has enough lightning powers to vaporize a god standing right next to us, where she could make lightning.”

--I thought the whole point of this movie was an Avengers-style team up where they actually worked together to take down the evil guy. But they just teamed up to bring back Superman, distract the bad guy long enough for Superman to show up, then Superman handles it. So. You just proved the point that you’re all worthless without Superman. 

--Rich isn’t a superpower, how are you not dead yet Batman.

--Batman is bitter/jealous/??? because Clark is more human than him for... getting a job and living a middle-class lifestyle when he didn’t have to? Bruce. You could do that. You too can put on glasses and go get a day job. You could give away all your money and go live on a farm and be a reporter or whatever. Like. That’s an option for you. Being rich isn’t a handicap.

--Aquaman I don’t care what you are or that you’re Legolas-surfing on a bug-orc, if you fall from hundreds of feet in the air, you die. At the very least your legs should be shattered. 

--Also, I have to agree with Batman on that one, you literally just brought a trident. You. You’re powers are water-related. Yeah, you have combat abilities apparently on par with Amazons, but. You couldn’t have steered this fight towards a lake? Brought some water with you? I feel like you could have been more effective in this fight somehow.

--I actually liked Aquaman for a good bit during this film. He came across kind of like Thor did to me early on, but with more whiskey and less ties to his home. I can totally get behind the vigilante merman defender of this town that rescues fishermen and hangs out at bars and randomly wanders into the ocean. He felt nicely reminiscent of old mythology stories for a bit there.

--But then the plane scene. Yeah, good points about how Batman doesn’t have a superpower, Flash is just tripping over his feet and slamming into walls all the time, and Cyborg may or may not be controlled by the cube things, or at least not have full control of his powers, agreed. But your point on Diana was “you’re gorgeous”, then increased rambling, leading into more rambling motivated by the lasso. You were actually doing okay, you didn’t need the sexist bullshit. It seemed like Atlanteans and Amazons fought, but still respected each other as powerful warrior cultures (at the very least, they seemed really similar), and she’s the one that’s actually shown the most effectiveness and power in fighting so far. So what the fuck.

--Did we really need the disparity between the male and female Atlantean armor. Did we really need the boobplate.

--Can Atlanteans not talk underwater? They live underwater. Do they need to create air bubbles every time they want to say anything? 

--What are Cyborg’s powers exactly? Anything electronic/machine related? Regenerating machine(??) body parts? Can he change his limbs into anything? Does he need fuel? What is his deal, idk. 

--”The plane won’t fly that fast (to get across the world in under a few hours).” Cyborg: “It will for me.” ...I don’t. That’s. That’s not how planes work. Or can you expand your entire body/infinitely-shapeshifting limbs to cover the entire plane so it won’t fall apart from higher speeds than it was meant to fly at. Can you just restructure the engines, or reshape the plane to make it more aerodynamic. Are you just going to merge with the plane and turn it into an SR-71 Blackbird. Is that the plan here. BECAUSE THAT’S NOT HOW PLANES WORK. YOU CAN’T JUST TELL IT TO GO FASTER BECAUSE YOU HACKED IT WITH MAGIC SHIT.

--Why is there an egg thing around the town for a few minutes. I don’t. Is that a bug thing? That’s not what the cube did in the flashback. 

--What’s with the purple tendril rock things? It looks sort of like the Crystal Dragon landscaping stuff from GW2. Idk. How that fits.

--So. I’m sure Superman can pick up a building and he’s strong enough for that. But. I don’t think that’s how buildings work? Like if you put the entire weight of the building supported by two hands in the middle, especially an apartment structure that large/wide, it’s probably going to collapse at the ends. Unless Superman also has magic forcefield building-holding powers, idk, maybe he does, what do I know.

--I’m really not sure what was going on with this bad guy, but he looked like a frost giant from Thor, mixed with the plot-line of Pitch Black from Rise of the Guardians. Literally both movies ended the same way. Also not sure how nothing seemed to hurt him, how does something get more powerful than all the armies, when did this become Lord of the Rings? Was he supposed to be Sauron? 

--How did they all just. Forget the cube. When Superman woke up. You just. Left the apocalypse-causing mcguffin in the empty plane. Unguarded. What. Did the DM just rush the party out of the room without letting any of the players say anything about taking the thing with them because he wanted to progress the story in a certain way? Because I’ve had that happen, that’s plausible, but. 

--Why was calling Lois to handle newly-resurrected Superman not the first plan? I mean, protect her, obviously, in case he has no memories at all, but. That seems like the obvious first plan. Wake him up, have Flash waiting to get her out of there quickly if something goes wrong and Diana standing with her (not with armor and sword and everything out looking ready for battle), and talk to him? Don’t immediately trigger a threat response because he’s disoriented and confused and why are battle-ready people staring at him?

--Why did Diana always need her sword to fight? She even jumped down the reactor thing to get her sword back. What’s so special about this sword? It’s not the Godkiller sword, that was destroyed in the last movie by Ares. So. It’s a regular sword, presumably. She has lots of them. Bring an extra.

--Also Diana can use other weapons. She trained with Amazons, she can wield all the weapons.

--I almost left to go to the bathroom during the final climactic fight. Because I had no investment in this film, and the only thing that kept me there was the last shred of a chance that Diana could at least do something cool during this fight. She didn’t. She swung her sword at the bad guy, which didn’t do anything, made a shockwave a couple times. She broke his axe after Superman froze it. Wow. 

--Is that really it? Was his power all in his axe? This really is Sauron.

--So did the cubes just vaporize when they separated? Didn’t happen last time. But we don’t see them anymore. So. Are they not a threat? Also “big power surge” on separation really seemed like it should be more than that. It knocked Superman and Cyborg back by a foot or so and onto their backs (also how did they both handle that the same way, I don’t care if you have magically regenerating metal, I’m pretty sure you’re not as explosion-resistant as Superman). And the rest of the team didn’t seem to feel it at all, and they were in the same complex. I thought power surge on separating this planet-destroying nuclear bomb of a power core would at least take out that town.

--Why. Did it make flowers? I’m. Really confused by the terraforming at the end. I think they tried to frame it earlier as a life-regenerating thing that just worked so fast it destroyed everything, but. That’s not really an explanation. Also don’t stick your face in that small child, the bright colors probably mean it will kill you. Also alien plants. Probably going to completely fuck up the ecosystem for a good while. But sure, it’s pretty so it’s fine.

--Oh, and the boob-faceplant did happen. She was facing away from the camera, so I easily believe the body-double story because they were so fucking desperate to have this happen.

--Was the Flash always an idiot? I feel like his entire character was just played for laughs as the dumb one because he was younger/less experienced, which is disappointing. Seriously, who meets Batman and the first thing you talk about is that you don’t understand people because they’re on a different frequency/slow, and what is brunch?? 

I’m sure there’s a lot more, but those are the things that immediately came to mind, so. Save yourself the headache. Don’t see this movie. Just go watch Wonder Woman again. Or Thor: Ragnarok, that one was good.

EDIT: WAIT I HAVE MORE.

--Fuck you Bruce you little shit, you have no right to call out Diana for not superheroing all the time. First of all, we’ve already seen her on multiple occasions out helping people, like the opening of the film where she saves a bunch of people from that terrorist group, and whatever happened in BvS. Second, she didn’t leave her home and everyone she loved to help clean up your shit or put up with you, she specifically left to stop WW1 and kill Ares. Guess what. She did it. She did her explicit mission, and then stayed to help when she wanted to because she’s a good person. Yeah, I think she gets to “shut down” for however long she fucking wants to after the person she cared most about outside of Themiscyra died and she had to deal with the entire “no, men actually suck and will go to war and commit atrocities because it’s their nature” thing she had to come to terms with, WHILE STILL STAYING AND FIGHTING FOR THEM ANYWAY. She has no obligations to you, you do not own her attention or her help, yes Barry, we would all cover for her if she murdered your ass for antagonizing her and insinuating that she has done anything wrong in her life.

--Also, what have you done huh? You dress up like a bat in your costume and run around the city because you like an adrenaline rush and want to feel cool taking down criminals. Sure, you donate to charity, whoopdee-fucking-do. You could probably buy a country. You have so much money. What were the stats on how much money it would take to end world hunger? 5% of what the US spends on their military budget or something? Less? You probably have more money than that. You want to do something more than cosplay with it??