#|| ( metas & drabbles. ) ||

[teacup-gathering-itself]

21 year old Severus Snape waking up to an eleven year old slytherin quietly calling his name from the doorway outside his personal quarters. He throws on a robe and stumbles to the door, bleary eyed and thoroughly exhausted.

“Yes?” He manages to get out, praying to every higher power that he won’t need to actually contribute energy into a human conversation at this ungodly hour.

“…Sir…I—I frew up”

[noirflms]

୧ ˚₊ FIGHT FOR YOUR LOVE — gojo satoru

it’s a fight for your love between him and his son, because it is either him with you, or his son.

“i don’t like it!”

your eyes suddenly drift to your husband who has his head in his hands, his hair ruffled as he sits beside you in bed. you sit in the cozy sheets adorning your nightwear and so does your dear husband, but today’s he’s been as cranky as your baby boy.

“what do you not like?” you question softly, your fingers drawing comforting circles in his back as he heaves a heavy sigh. his body shaking as he now sits straight, turning to face you.

but even before he could muster anymore words, loud footsteps echo through the hallway, a rush, a storm brewing right outside your shared bedroom door. your husband halts, freezing, his eyes wide, but you pay no mind to his reaction as you eyes the doorknob turning and tuft of white hair peeking in.

wide blue eyes make an appearance as they stare at you and soon a little gojo is seemingly standing at your room door, the sight of you making a huge grin form onto his lips, as his dimples are set for you on display, a toothy grin with a few teeth missing. it is a sweet sight for you, but it certainly is the opposite for your husband; he is not able to take this torture anymore.

“can i sleep with you tonight, mommy?” your wonder boy’s voice warms your heart as you turn into putty, oh god, such a sweet son you have, it makes your heart flutter. but gojo satoru — the strongest — cannot take this torment anymore, for he has not spent an ounce of time with his dear wife, the love of his life.

“of course you can! come here, baby!” you usher the child over, his grin rising as he rushes towards you, his tiny feet quick to climb in your and your husband’s bed, but you miss the twitching of his eye; he has certainly had enough of his son’s tactics to have you all tom himself, while satoru doesn’t get a drop of your attention.

gojo satoru realised of a brewing competition for your love, very later in life. it is because he had won your heart way before, but when the day your son was born, his life had taken a sudden turn, he was no more the only male that was yearning for your love and affection.

the moment his son had kicked him in the face when he had leaned into kiss you, satoru knew of the fight that will go on long. his bright blue eyes looking into the similar ones of his son, and he feels it twitch, a smug smile on his son’s face — who is no more than a few months old — as he nestled into your arms chugging onto the baby formula.

gojo satoru has never felt this disrespected in his whole life.

and since the day forth until his son’s approaching age, he had declared a fight between him and his son to win for your affection.

the staring eyes of your husband go unnoticed by you, for you had your eyes fixated onto your son who cuddles into your side, to in love, you also amiss the side eye and smirk your little boy sends to his father. but satoru notices, he takes heed of the smirk sent his way, and he feels himself huff in anger, but he swallows it down, he couldn’t do it front of you after all.

the two males have been at war since then, if satoru spends an ounce of time with you, a disruption takes place, one that is created by your very own son, and if your son spends time with you, gojo satoru is deemed helpless, he cannot do anything about it.

in the vicinity of your homely abode, sat satoru facing his son, eyebrows furrowed as his son smiles that innocent grin, that could steal the hearts of many — just like his father. you aren’t home, leaving behind the two men in your life, to be sitting face to face with each other, as the older of them has his arms crossed and faced contorted into one of displeasure.

“your mother is mine before yours, got that?” satoru states, his finger pointing at his son after uttering the statement, and it gets his son to scowl, and scoff. the five year old understands what his father means but it doesn’t call to stop the fight.

“but mom loves me more!” the boy counters, showing his tongue to his father as satoru looks at the young boy with a surprised and offended look on his face. it is either he feels defeated or there is still something he could do to change the course of your affections towards him.

“no! she loved me first, so she loves me more!” it is a back forth banter between him and his son, the young boy countering every remark and comment with his very own and strongly stating everything that has always been true. it would have been utterly hilarious to watch such a scene but alas, you aren’t there to see such a comedy.

you click the door to your home open, it is utter silence, not usually like this. the muffled sounds of the television ring through the house — it’s playing your son’s favourite show. there is no signs of chaos, just utter serenity in the bounds of your home, and it tugs at your heart with fear because whenever you have left the two behind, they had always been arguing about who you love more.

you snort at the thought, you had always knows of the argument and fight between your husband and your son about who you love more, and you like to see them both compete for your affections but you know that your husband — the strongest — stands no chance against his son, for the young boy always seeks a way to get first to your love.

“i’m home!” your voice echoes back to you, feet kicking away the shoes as you enter the bounds of your home. the floor underneath your feet creaks as you walk towards the living room, and a soft smile falls onto your lips at the sight of your husband sprawled onto the carpeted floor, with your son being cuddled into his side.

the sight is something you do not get to see on a daily, and it warms your heart to see the two getting together, unlike the times they are at war for your love and adoration. you heave a loving sigh at the view before you, it is until your son wakes up, rubbing his eyes and they fall onto you, and he breaks into a huge grin, and he rushes over to you, stepping over your husband who himself awakes with the force he had been stepped on.

and once again the home breaks into chaos, as you watch your husband chase your son. ah, it could never get any better.

gojo satoru competing for you love with his son, yes it’s a vision i see.

NOIRFLMS 2023 ! all rights reserved - plagiarism is a crime , do not translate my works without permission. REBLOG MORE PLEASE !

[ohmerricat]

the ninth doctor trusted rose enough to believe she would stay with him after his face changed. and twelve took some convincing but towards the end of deep breath accepted that clara would stay by his side no matter how old he looked. but thirteen was so used to losing people. her previous self had loved clara and lost her, he had looked after bill and failed to save her, he had tried to redeem missy and (to his knowledge) lost that cause too. no wonder she wouldn’t trust yaz to stay for her fourteenth face. no wonder she believed she ‘had to do this next part alone’. she had grown quietly distant with the new knowledge that she was no longer even an ordinary gallifreyan, not something of this universe, but outside of it, alien even to the aliens. isolated and inaccessible, standing on an invisible pedestal her ancestors placed her on — a pedestal that more resembled a cage. glass walls on all sides like the forced regeneration chamber. thin glass wall between her and yaz now, transparent but too solid to break through. harder than azbantium when there’s no solid footing to stand on.

of course yaz would run when she saw her new self. of course she would leave. companions would never stay now, they would never fully understand. when thirteen said that she would need to do ‘this next part’ alone, by ‘next part’ she meant ‘the rest of her (potentially eternal) life’. it’s the classic gambit: push the one you love away before they get the chance to reject you. because they always will, now. either that or they die in horrible circumstances. better to flee like you’ve always done.

this is why the bigeneration was a narrative necessity, why the giggle was the perfect vision of a positive finale. the original version of the doctor gets to settle down with people that he won’t lose. people that he won’t turn away from. people whose hearts he won’t inevitably break. he’s sitting there in the back yard and he’s not going anywhere…

…yet somewhere out there in sheffield lives a police officer named yazmin khan. she’s not all sunshine and rainbows — all cops are bastards, after all. sometimes she takes her nameless rage out on a shoplifting suspect. sometimes she hands a parking ticket to a kid that didn’t deserve it. and sometimes she does genuine good for the community, sometimes she goes to the club and dances with strangers, sometimes she sits on the sofa and watches a documentary about space exploration and laughs at the painful inaccuracies. and many miles south, the doctor spends time with his family, but he’ll never get the courage to visit her. because she’d want to run away with him again. and he could never give her that, not anymore. anything but running.

yazmin khan loved the universe in the eyes of her doctor. oh, that doctor in the garden? the stay-at-home-doctor? he’s brilliant, but he would never be enough for her. his presence would never replace the cosmic vistas and myriads of stars thirteen gave her. and she’s never coming back

[traveller-of-the-knight]

Ok, so!

You know all the "Doctor Strange Astoprojects the mk system and we cinematically see the three alters slipping out of the body.

But but but hear me out!

What about Dr. Strange trying to push one person out of his body and failing because it is actually a system and he needs more strength to push them away.

So Strange would hit their chest multiple times expecting something to happen but uh-uh nothing and poor Steven tries to get away from him.

Eventually he puts more effort and manages to do something, that is making Jake front by pushing Steven away from the front and suddenly gets slapped by him.

Jake gets into a fist fight with Strange while Strange tries to use his powers to teleport Jale away from him.

Eventually he manages to astroproject them for a second and he sees Jake and Marc splitting from the body holding hands until Steven pulls them back in.

They are together in this they won't let anyone separate them, Strange needs to try harder.

[nyerusnova]

Glad to see that Tim being a giant Dick Grayson fanboy is finally being highlighted again, and sparking more discussion especially on their early relationship! (Please gimme more!!! I love them so much, augh!)

Probably as a result of that surge, there seems to be reciprocal chatter on the topic of how young Tim actually felt towards Jason, too. It's honestly pretty interesting, because it's more nuanced than it appears at first glance.

Which means it's very fun to dissect! ✨

There's a degree of subjectivity to keep in mind, because readers are going to have different interpretations of the same scenes, or will pull from entirely different scenes than one another to form their individual view on this topic. That's just how it is in comic book fandom, for many things! Regardless, in this case... if the scale ranges from the extreme of "Jason was Tim's Robin" to the other extreme of "Tim actually hated Jason [as Robin] or thought he was a loser that got himself killed" — the actual truth is closer to the middle, as is often the case.

At least, in my opinion.

Mainly I want to focus on those relatively early days with this post, to highlight Tim's initial(-ish) feelings towards his heroes, and touch on the point at which they really begin to change. This turned into a very long post, though. Brevity is beyond my skill, so grab snacks and water lol. Transcripts for each image will be posted at the very end under the cut.

So, the two storylines I want to cover are "Rite of Passage," which is rolls into "Identity Crisis." (NOT to be confused with the major crossover event "Identity Crisis™" which came years later, and is where Jack Drake dies.... But it sure is an interesting coincidence that Tim deals with the loss of each parent in two similarly named stories!) These take place before Tim is even Robin, and I'll be considering them as one arc for this post.

Detective Comics vol. 1 #618 (July, 1990) -- Pages 1 & 2

"When Gotham needed him, he was there. When the Batman needed him, he was there. He was a hero."

"One day, I'll be as good as Jason. One day I'll wear the suit."

To start off, we have this opening from "Rite of Passage." Tim is still in training here, mainly helping Bruce with minor stuff from the cave. His parents are off traveling, alive and well as of these next few pages. He's still bright-eyed and full of wonder. An extraordinarily weird but ultimately innocent kid.

So his view on Jason is positive and fairly simple: a hero, and someone to look up to as Robin. Clearly, Tim here doesn't think Jason was deficient in his role, either as a protector of Gotham or as Batman's trusted partner.

Moreover, Tim already held Dick in very high regard because he was amazingly skilled before he became Robin. To Tim, that's not something he'll ever be able to achieve. Meanwhile, Jason wasn't like that. He was a regular kid without crazy acrobatic training since practically birth. Yet he still went on to be a hero—which is obviously motivational for Tim who finds himself in similar shoes.

It's true that Tim only ever knew or thought of Jason as Robin, and idolized him in that regard. But that's kind of all that mattered to him at that point, because he was this kid who was utterly star-struck by his heroes. Even if he's technically aware of their shortcomings as people, it's overshadowed by the hero-worship.

It was kind of the same with Bruce as Batman at first. (Which was still enough for Tim to risk life and limb to help his beloved hero, before Bruce even knew his name.) Dick was the only one Tim had any sort of "personal" relationship with beforehand, so there is an extra level of attachment—and hence why it was the nidus for his obsession with Batman. Yet even then, it wasn't like he actually knew anything about Dick as a person until later. Until then, Tim's ideas of him were all he had, too. With Jason, Tim just didn't get to know him at any point before his return (oof), apart from what he heard over the years secondhand (also oof).

Ultimately, it's the loss of innocence—along with the ricocheting bullet that is the unresolved guilt of those around him—that begins to change Tim's perception. Not just of Jason, but of things in general.

Batman vol. 1 #455 (Oct., 1990) -- Page 13

"I know why they do it now. Why they put on the suits, and the masks, and go out into the night. They're angry, they're full of rage. They want to hit back."

Losing his mother was a major shift for Tim, obviously. This is right after the previous storyline, and Tim's had the worst week or two of his life (so far). His monologue here is a reference to what happened to both Dick and Jason. The unbearable pain of loss, the rage masking the grief underneath. And importantly, that he feels both of them were justified in their anger. (And Bruce too, indirectly.)

The major theme of the aptly named "Identity Crisis" is to mirror aspects of Dick and Jason and Tim's lives—to show how they converged onto the same tragic road. It's something that Tim notices early in the story, and was frightened by. Now, horrifically, it's become a part of him as well. His parents are gone, and he was entirely helpless to do anything about it. Dick was the same way, Jason was the same way. The cycle is repeated.

In particular, the part about him wanting to go to Haiti for revenge—for his mother—sort of struck me as being an intentional parallel to Jason and Ethiopia. It's a bit of a stretch, especially in isolation, so others may see it differently (e.g. the angry ramblings of a grieving child that does sound like something anyone might say). But it always stuck out to me because of how much Tim is compared directly to Jason in this arc. More on that below.

It's not something I can really give an accurate feel of because it's a lot of subtle things that begin to add up, so I'd encourage folks to read this arc themselves to see what I mean. (Or maybe you'll still disagree which is fine too lol.) Again, many things are in reference to both Dick and Jason in relation to Tim, but it's weighted more on Jason's side.

Batman vol. 1 #455 (Oct., 1990) -- Page 18

"You think my anger will boil over, the way Jason's did. I can assure you, it won't!"

Tim's grief has begun to pull away the veil of idealism that enshrouded his heroes in his mind. It doesn't apply only to Jason, but to the rest of them. Plus add the fact that Tim's keenly aware that he's being managed, even if the adults around him are careful to not outright say certain things. He still knows.

Bruce, Dick, and Alfred are all worried about Tim potentially turning into "another Jason." They (and mainly Bruce) caution Tim to not ignore his emotions, but they're still concerned that he may be overly eager to prove himself in order to cope, and could get hurt or killed as a result. While they aren't wrong for their caution—especially at how unsettlingly similar all the circumstances are—they aren't very subtle about the elephant in the room.

Imagine how that would affect Tim's perception of his predecessor, especially when he's in the midst of a traumatic event he hasn't had time to fully process. The negative association is pretty much inevitable.

Tim's known from day one that he's walking in Jason's shadow, and now it's become inescapable. Tim went from seeing Jason as a goal to reach, to feeling that unless he surpasses him, he wasn't going to be taken seriously by anyone. However, as of this arc, Tim doesn't even fully come to that point yet.

Batman vol. 1 #456 (Nov., 1990) -- Pages 14 & 15

"Drop-outs don't make it. And dead heroes are no use to anyone!"

It's really easy to take away "Tim totally thought Jason got himself killed" as the main thing here, but I think that's missing the forest for the trees.

First some context: Bruce has gone out on a mission to get Scarecrow, and expressly forbade Tim from doing any shenanigans. Meanwhile, Tim is grappling with wanting to prove himself and trying to help Bruce from the cave, all while trying to deal with his emotions. At some point, he falls asleep and ends up having like... exhaustion-grief hallucinations of Dick!Robin and Jason!Robin who confusingly caution yet encourage him. The main theme of this part is facing your fears.

Depending on how you want to interpret the intent of Jason's dialogue here, you could go several ways with it. Ranging from "writer's feelings towards Jason" to "a peek into Tim's mind as his fears manifest as visions of his heroes" or some mixture thereof.

Though Tim argues with Bruce that Batman needs a Robin, we're shown that Tim is understandably scared of joining Batman's "war." He's still not willing to let Bruce go it alone, though, and that's something he feels more strongly than his fear.

Meanwhile, hallucination!Jason's warnings are a lamentation of what happened to him in a way, but it actually exactly describes Tim's current situation even more so. Unlike Jason, Tim is under-trained, under-experienced, doesn't even have a suit of his own yet. But like Jason, he can't sit by and do nothing while someone he cares about is in danger. Tim knows that if he goes out there, he will probably get himself killed, and it will be his own fault. So he's about to disobey Batman's orders, and fly right into danger. If that got Jason killed, then Tim—who is in a way worse position experience-wise—has every chance of ending up the same.

Like... it's about Jason, but it's also about Tim. It's Tim's worst fears made manifest, via the representation of why he is even here in the first place (Jason's death).

That's my theory anyway, but perhaps this is an overly charitable reading of this scene on my end. (Not that I think that makes me wrong lol.) However given that Grant wrote both parts of this arc, and the beginning of which is especially favorable towards Jason, it certainly is something to ponder. I have a lot of thoughts on it I can't expand on here tbh but perhaps that'll be another post.

Anyway, returning to the point of the similarities vs differences between Tim and Jason: since this is the arc that solidified Tim as the next Robin in comic continuity, it makes sense that the writers really pushed the comparisons between the two of them, specifically. (Even though Dick was pretty similar, as going against Batman's orders is the Robin thing to do, it's not his shoes Tim is directly filling.) So making Tim's "debut" story arc mirror Jason's "swansong" is an obvious narrative choice.

To drive home the parallels, I wanted to include this panel from just a few pages prior to the "daydream":

Batman vol. 1 #456 (Nov., 1990) -- Page 9

"The suit is magic."

That so distressingly close to Jason's famous "being Robin gives me magic" line (Batman #385, page 6). Given all the previous context, it's hard for me to just dismiss it as pure coincidence. Even if it is, the point still stands. Tim is shown having the some of the same heartbreakingly naive views as Jason once did, right in front of Jason's memorial, just as he's about to go and run off into the night against orders.

I think that speaks for itself. There's a lot to take away from it, if you so choose. Especially given the context of that specific Jason arc.

Alright, back to the main course:

So in the end, Tim actually goes out in civvies and a ski mask because if he fails, then at least he wouldn't bring shame to Robin's legacy™. When he gets fear gassed saving Batman, it's once again both Dick and Jason that he hallucinates encouraging him to push past his fear. (Shout out to the fact that he's literally more afraid of tarnishing the legacy of Batman & Robin than he is of dying.... I'm sure this will not be a recurring thing for him in the future.)

Tim's ideology is shown to be similar to Jason's, and the actions Tim ultimately takes are similar to Jason's... but the outcome is different. And it really isn't just "Tim succeeded where Jason failed." At least, that's not what I took away from this. Rather, Tim had no reason to succeed any more than he had to fail, just that he did. Luck combined with caution because he knew what happened to his predecessor, and the fact that Batman was there to finish the job all made the difference.

You could say (and I know some will) that it's just classic Jason character assassination and the writers trying to implore readers that this new kid is different we promise pls don't hate us look how much better he is! But in this case, that feels like it undermines the whole point of this story. It doesn't fit with what the characters actually say.

Thus, we return to the question of how Tim felt towards his predecessor. And the answer is different from where we started, because Tim is different. Not that different though. Because even though at this point Tim—like all the adults around him—has probably attributed Jason "going off on his own" being what led to his death, Tim still thought of him as a hero to look up to. It's about Robin, first and foremost, yes. But Tim is fully aware of the people who made that suit mean what it does, because it's all intertwined.

Batman vol. 1 #457 (Dec., 1990) -- Page 20

"I mean--Dick made it into a symbol the whole world knows. Jason gave his life for it."

Even further, Tim thinks of it in terms of Jason having given his life for what he believed in, for the legacy that now falls to Tim. There's a sense of gravitas there. He's afraid of failing both the Robins who came before him.

Ultimately do I think Tim adored and loved Jason on the same level as Dick or something? No. It's not comparable. (Dick was like part of some of Tim's earliest memories and everything! They have a really unique bond ok.) Yet Tim was also far from thinking poorly of Jason so early on. Frankly, it seems that Tim thought of Jason as a noble hero and a cautionary tale. Yes he took risks and sometimes went too far, generally stuff that Tim doesn't want to repeat and all that. At the same time, Tim still saw him as someone whose legacy and memory was worth honoring.

It's complicated, which is why I like it so much—because it feels real. Having conflicting feelings towards someone is... so human. Especially someone you never got to know, yet who plays such an integral role in your life via the shadow of their death. How can you feel anything but complicated towards them?

It has to be said that, yes, Tim's views—even before Jason's return—change over the years. He becomes more jaded as a person and is surrounded by people who are even more jaded than him... and who often mention Jason as the "failed Robin." It's something that's hung over Tim's head all the damn time. The curse of the Robin mantle.

So it shouldn't come as a surprise that Tim's idea of him becomes more akin to "sounds like a skill issue" as the years go by. All bets are off after Jason's return, and the Titans Tower Incident™. At that point it's firmly "I am better than you, loser" lmao.

And... that's all without getting too into things like authorial intent and general "moods" of different DC writers towards Jason at a given point. Or retcons that played a role in his characterization and how other characters talk about him, depending on what "era" you're reading. That's way beyond the scope of this post though!

TLDR; even though young Tim Drake was obsessed with Dick Grayson as Robin, he still looked up to Jason Todd as well. He didn't think of Jason as a cringefail loser until later. :)

(image dialogue transcripts under cut ↓)

Dialogue Transcript for Image 1 (Detective Comics vol. 1 #618 -- Page 1):

Narration box (Tim): When Gotham needed him, he was there. When the Batman needed him, he was there. He was a hero.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 2 (Detective Comics vol. 1 #618 -- Page 2):

(Scene continued from previous page)

Narration box: But he was nothing special, really. Just a boy, who was taught--trained--brought to his full potential by someone who knew how. Just a boy... like me. I know I can do it. I know I can. One day I'll be as good as Jason. One day I'll wear the suit. One day I'll be a hero.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 3 (Batman vol. 1 #455 -- Page 13):

Tim: I hate him! I hate him! I know why they do it now. Why they put on the suits, and the masks, and go out into the night. They're angry. Full of rage. They want to hit back. They want to fill the hole that's burning inside them.

Bruce: There's more to it than that, son. Much more.

Tim: I know. It's just--I feel--like going to Haiti myself and strangling that creep with my bare hands!

Bruce: The Obeah Man will spend the rest of his life in a prison hospital. He's history. Forget him! But don't fight against your anger. It's natural. Accept it. Live with it. One day it'll be your friend.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 4 (Batman vol. 1 #455 -- Panels from page 18):

Tim: Because you think my mother's death has upset me too much. Well, it did. But I've taken your words to heart. I can cope. You think my anger will boil over, the way Jason's did. I can assure you, it won't. But that doesn't make any difference, does it? Why can't you have a little faith in me?

Dialogue Transcript for Image 5 (Batman vol. 1 #456 -- Page 14):

Narration box (Tim): Blast it! My head's starting to swim. I'm about ready to give up. I almost wish I'd never heard of Batman and Robin!

Vision Dick: Heroes never give up, Tim.

Vision Jason: You know that.

Tim: Dick--! Jason Todd!

Vision Dick: You're training to fight in a war, Tim. It'll last all your life. No matter what, you have to go on fighting.

Vision Jason: Drop-outs don't make it. And dead heroes are no use to anyone! I thought I knew better than Batman. I thought I could run before I could walk. I killed myself, Tim. Because I couldn't wait. Because I couldn't think it through.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 6 (Batman vol. 1 #456 -- Page 15):

(Scene continued from previous page)

Vision Dick: Think, Tim. Concentrate!

Vision Jason: You can do it.

Both: You can do it!

Tim, waking up: What--? Robin...?

Narration box (Tim): I must have been daydreaming. They're right, though. There's a solution to everything. I can find it! So here I go again... Whim. Caprice. Doing something without forethought.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 7 (Batman vol. 1 #456 -- Panel from page 9):

Narration box (Tim): The suit is magic. It gives you power. It hides your weakness. It makes you give it everything you've got. It makes you a hero. If only I could!

Dialogue Transcript for Image 8 (Batman vol. 1 #457 -- Page 20):

Bruce: Are you afraid of it?

Tim: No. It isn't fear. It's more... the suit carries so much history. I mean--Dick made it into a symbol the whole world knows. Jason gave his life for it. Failing them--what they fought so hard to build--that's what worries me!

Bruce: I appreciate that, Tim. That costume weighs a whole lot more than any symbol should... and I'd be failing you if I expected you to bear that weight. So... let me know what you think.

Narration box: A mask has a double edged, he said. It hides your own anxiety as it strikes fear into your enemy.

[legobiwan]

More thoughts because I apparently need to draft an entire backstory before I can write a "drabble" (which will definitely not be a drabble), aka, more lore ideas for a show that's already been picked over with a fine-tooth comb a million times, but here we are, years late, Starbucks in hand, as the old meme goes.

At the end of the whole Weirdmaggedon fiasco, Ford makes his hilariously inept proposition for him and Stan to go sailing the Arctic (Ford's heart was in the right place, but this is not how you want to introduce the possibility of fulfilling your childhood dream to your estranged and traumatized brother of 30+ years).

Anyway, Ford's lack of social skills aside, we know the general location of where they're heading from Ford's fancy-pants watch.

Now, they have a few options to get to the Spooky in the Arctic.

Take the Panama Canal

Take the Northwest Passage

Start their trip from the East Coast

Option 1: The Panama Canal, aka, a legitimate, if unlikely idea

While private vessels can cross the canal, it looks like the cost of doing so runs about $2500, maybe not an issue for the Pines twins by the end of the show, but in addition to this, crossing the Canal requires 4 linemen, who Stan and Ford would have to hire. My instinct says they wouldn't be so interested in this, at first. Maybe Ford's fixation on the Arctic was just an excuse, but given his canonical enthusiasm, I doubt he would want to deviate too far from that course. Likely the Stan twins come back later do the Canal, on their way back to Oregon. Maybe.

Option 2: The Northwest Passage, aka Death

A route through the Arctic has been the dream of many an explorer for centuries. In recent times, mostly due to global warming, the Northwest Passage has become a sliver of a option to get from West to East. Territorial and political disputes aside, it's still a wildly unsafe option, and one I imagine Ford would love to give a go at, considering all the lore surrounding the Franklin Expedition. Stan, however, would vote this down immediately. He'd like for him and his brother to live to see sixty. And not resort to cannibalism. At least not immediately.

Option 3: Setting Off From Jersey, aka, You Can Go Home Again (But Not For Too Long)

Our final option is for the Pines twins to set off on their adventure from the good old East Coast. Aside from the narrative symmetry, it's also the most practical option. This leaves us with some tantalizing loose ends. Do Stan and Ford build their boat in Oregon and then haul it cross-country? (And what a trip that would be). Or would they have it shipped and meet it later? (Realistic, but boring). Or maybe they go back East and build/order/buy the boat there. And by there, I do feel like there's no other place they could go through with this idea than Jersey. Now, they can't go from the major ports (the Port Authority Ports of New York and New Jersey, which are mainly located in Manhattan, Brooklyn, Newark, and...Bayonne). But! There are a bevy of slips and marinas up and down the Jersey coastline, perfect places to build/buy/refurbish a vessel (and a relationship). A place to leave a lifetime of ill-will behind and start anew.

This makes me think about Stan and Ford, back in Jersey after all that time, probably not too far from where they grew up. It would be a wonderful setting to explore some kind of character piece (especially if they go on some of bonkers road trip to get there) and narratively, it just fits too well.

There's no real thesis to this analysis, aside from the idea that Stan and Ford likely began their journey in the exact place they ended it so long ago. As I said, narrative symmetry and all that jazz.

[graphx]

random percy and Jason thoughts

i know it’s kinda common, I’ve seen it around, that people don’t like Jason, he was introduced late, they gave him a weak tie in to why the Romans weren’t at the Battle Of Manhattan

and there are a lot of better quality posts/essays that discuss this topic way better than I do but I will say I really like him as a foil for Percy

Percy is progressively getting more and more fed up with the Gods and their bullshit by the end of HOO while Jason is swearing to make EVERY god a tribute/temple of some sort

while Percy gets bitter, Jason gets more sympathetic

It’s really ironic considering Jason has a lot of reasons to be upset since the gods have been manipulating him since birth even a bit more than Percy

He was taken from his abusive mother, loving sister and deprived of a normal life (that at least Percy got in some semblance with his mother) and he still has the capacity to love and care no matter the odds

i like that he kinda mirrors nico here too, who was friends with Hestia and both of them saw being a god isn’t as great as it seems

i do like that percy sometimes recognizes this but still doesn’t forgive them for their shit

and that’s really the end of my ode to Jason Grace and how my re-read has really opened my eyes to other aspects of his characters rather than picture perfect guy that struggles with expectations (which i also like that he mirrors that with Piper)

[jojo-schmo]

Sworn Partners at their weekly Dreamland protection strategy meeting

[starrylevi]

“Are you okay?” Levi asks you.

“No.”

“I know, you don’t look it. What’s wrong?”

“Everything is wrong, Levi. I’m exhausted…I wonder what it’s like to have a brain that functions the way it’s supposed to.”

His eyebrows furrow slightly. “Your brain is fine.”

“But that’s the thing, it’s not!” You say exasperatingly. “It’s wired differently and so it makes everything more difficult. I switch between three modes: Not wanting to exist, Surviving, and Beyond Surviving. Guess how much time I spend in each mode?”

Levi doesn’t say anything in response. His expression shows more concern than confusion this time.

“Fine, I’ll tell you. Most of my time is spent surviving. Some of my time is spent not wanting to exist. And just a little of my time is spent beyond suriving…what kind of life is that?”

Levi’s eyes look at you with sadness. “Not much of one, to be honest…but it’s yours and you only have one.” He counters.

“Well, I don’t even know if I want it half of the time. Y’know, someone told me that life is basically climbing mountains. You climb a mountain, which represents a challenge or obstacle, once you get to the top you enjoy the view for a moment…then you climb back down and do the same thing all over again. Rinse and repeat.”

Levi seems to identify with what you’re saying and he knows you’re frustrated right now but he needs to keep you from spiraling. He’s not letting you give up. That’s not the way. “It’s what we have to do, Y/N.” He says gently.

“And what if I don’t want to do anything? What if I don’t want to climb fucking mountains? What if I don’t want to constantly be challenged and given obstacles? What if I just want to sit at the top of the mountain and just be?”

Levi knows these feelings all too well…he’s wrestled with them a few times throughout his life but he’s continued to push through because that’s what you just do. And you’re going to do the same even if he has to do the pushing for you. You snap Levi out of his thoughts with your next statement.

“It would be so much easier if I just…”

“Stop.”

“But-“

“Stop.” He repeats sternly, his steel eyes boring into yours.

You grunt angrily. “You’re not even real, Levi!” You yell out at him. You’re not angry with him. You’re angry at the world, angry for the universe and your parents for putting you in this predicament, angry for placing you into a world that doesn’t accommodate you. “You are a 2-dimensional character I use to cope. There’s no way for you to actually soothe or help me. You. Are. Fictional.”

Your words don’t seem to phase him. He shrugs. “I’m real enough.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I’m real enough to you. Y/N. You are the one who brings me to life. You are the one who decides how real I should be. What does it matter if I’m not a real person?”

“It’s silly.”

“Who says it’s silly?”

“I don’t know, a bunch of people.”

“Well, fuck all of those people then. Just fuck them.” He states as if it’s obvious.

You sigh. “It doesn’t work that way, Levi…”

“So make it work that way. No one else is keeping you alive but yourself.”

“And you…” You say softly.

Levi shakes his head. “I don’t do anything. Like I said before, you’re the one who does the all the heavy lifting. I exist because you want me to. I function the way I do because you want me to.”

“So I control you?”

Levi rolls his eyes at that. “Don’t be a brat. What I’m saying is I’m just an outlet for you.”

You pause, thinking of his words. He’s not wrong. He’s just a character but he’s also not just a character because of you. “I wish you were real.” You admit sadly.

“I wish I were real too…for you.” He sighs as he runs a hand through his raven hair. “But it doesn’t matter if I’m real or not. I still occupy your brain. I still make you happy, that’s all that matters. As long as you let me live in your mind, I’m always going to be here for you.

You nod, not saying anything further.

“Okay?” He asks.

“Okay.”

“Good.”

[kpchrs]

Coriolanus doesn't get poetry at all.

Poetry -- ballads -- is Lucy Gray's way of life. It's the way she observes the humans, the nature, and the world. Lucy Gray loves life and children and people and she shows her love in the form of poetry. To live is to love humankind, she thinks.

Coriolanus doesn't get it. Coriolanus doesn't get it at all. Coriolanus doesn't get poetry. Coriolanus doesn't get humans; the souls. He kills the last speck of soul he has that day and he lives the life of the dead ever since.

Until he sees the poetry in the form of Katniss Everdeen.

Katniss is a poetry. She is Coriolanus' body and Lucy Gray's soul. She is a threat -- and he loves it.

For the first time in decades, he feels alive again.

Again and again, he challenges her in the way he knows how to defeat himself, because she is him. But she is also her and so the Mockingjay wins in the end.

It fills him with joy. With delight. With love. With life. With poetry.

He tells her the truth that final day. He always tells her the truth. He always tells her the truth until the end. Because he didn't tell her the truth when it ended. So, Coriolanus observes gleefully. To see what he, she, they choose. And she chooses the right thing.

"Well done, Miss Everdeen!" He explodes in laughter. "Well done!"

He laughs and laughs and laughs more after, because...

"Well done, Lucy Gray, well done!"

Coriolanus loves.

"I love it, live it --

Your poetry."

[whumpkinpie]

Untitled Whump 1

A/N: The author has no notes, Just something I've been wanting to post for a while but I either A) Forget or B) Talk myself out of it. ╰（‵□′）╯?

TW: Manipulation, Intimate Whumper (SFW), Touch Starvation, Feelings of - Abandonment / Depression, Caretaker Whumper, Posessive Whumper, Captivity, Failed Escape. (Please let me know if I missed any It's been a hot minute.)

.⋆｡°✩ ~ ✩°｡⋆ ~ ⋆｡°✩ ~ ✩°｡⋆.

The mansion stood isolated in the woods, a solitary monolith surrounded by an impenetrable wall of trees, while the setting sun cast long, twisted shadows across its surface, accentuating the foreboding presence it held in the heart of the forest.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, the only sounds of distant rustling foliage and the occasional cry of a nocturnal creature.

The mansion was a place forgotten by time, its walls holding secrets that had long been buried beneath layers of dust and despair.

Inside, the silence was more oppressive.

The dimly lit hallways, lined with heavy curtains that blocked out the waning light, led to rooms that had not seen life in years. Every step taken within these walls was absorbed by the thick carpet, leaving nothing but the memory of movement in its wake.

In the small, windowless room at the heart of the mansion, Whumpee sat on the edge of a narrow bed, their fingers tracing the worn fabric beneath them. The room was devoid of comfort, its sparse furnishings a stark contrast to the grandeur that the mansion’s exterior might suggest.

A single chair, a small table, and a bed were all that occupied the space. The air was stale, carrying the faint scent of something that might have once been fresh but had long since faded into something less recognizable.

Whumpee’s gaze was distant, their mind a whirl of conflicting emotions.

They could barely remember how long they had been here, how long it had been since the world outside had ceased to exist for them. Days, weeks, maybe even months—it was all a blur. The only thing they knew for certain was that they were alone. Abandoned.

But even in their darkest moments, there was one person who remained constant, the only one who had not left them behind.

Whumper.

The thought of Whumper brought a shiver down Whumpee’s spine, a mixture of fear and an unsettling sense of relief. Whumper was their captor, yes, but also their caretaker.

Whumper’s voice was a constant in Whumpee’s life now, the only one that spoke to them, the only one that cared enough to stay. It was a twisted comfort, one that Whumpee could not fully comprehend but could not bring themselves to reject.

The door to the room creaked open, and Whumper stepped inside. Their presence filled the room, their shadow stretching across the floor to where Whumpee sat.

They were tall, with a calm demeanour that masked the darkness lurking beneath the surface. Their eyes, sharp and cold, scanned the room before settling on Whumpee.

“Are you comfortable, my dear?” Whumper asked, their voice a soft purr that belied the steel hidden within.

Whumpee nodded, though they weren’t sure if it was true. Comfort was a foreign concept now, replaced by a dull acceptance of their reality. But Whumper’s words were always gentle, always caring, and it was easier to agree than to question.

Whumper moved closer, placing a hand on Whumpee’s shoulder. The touch was light, almost tender, but it sent a wave of unease through Whumpee.

They looked up, meeting Whumper’s gaze, and saw the smile that never reached their eyes.

“You know I only want what’s best for you,” Whumper continued, their voice soothing. “I’m the only one who cares about you now. Everyone else… they’ve all left you. But I’m still here. I’ll always be here.”

The words dug into Whumpee’s mind like hooks.

They wanted to believe that someone out there still cared for them, someone who hadn’t abandoned them. But Whumper’s words were so convincing, so absolute, that it was hard to hold onto that hope.

As Whumper’s hand moved to cup Whumpee’s cheek, the room seemed to close in on them, the walls pressing closer, the air growing thinner.

Whumpee’s breath hitched, a tear slipping down their cheek as they fought to keep their grip on reality.

Whumper sat beside Whumpee on the bed, their presence dominating the small space. The oppressive room felt even smaller with Whumper so close.

They exuded a calm confidence that made it clear they were in control, their every word and movement carefully calculated to maintain their hold over the Whumpee.

As they placed the tray of food on the small table, they spoke in a tone so gentle it almost seemed caring.

“You must be hungry. I’ve brought you something to eat. You know you have to keep your strength up, my dear. I can’t bear to see you wasting away.”

Whumpee’s stomach twisted at the sight of the food, but they knew better than to refuse.

They reached for the spoon with trembling hands, the weight of Whumper’s gaze pressing down on them. Each bite was tasteless, the food just another tool in Whumper’s arsenal of control.

As Whumpee ate in silence, the Whumper began to speak again, their voice soothing but with an underlying edge that hinted at something more sinister.

“Do you remember the last time you saw your friends? How they promised to come back for you? They didn’t, did they?”

Whumpee froze, the spoon clattering against the bowl as memories flooded back—fragmented images of a life before the mansion, before everything had gone wrong.

They could barely remember the faces of the people they once called friends, but they clung to the memory of their promises.

But Whumper’s words cut through those memories like a knife, slicing away at the fragile hope the Whumpee held onto.

“They left you, my dear. They didn’t care enough to come back. They’ve moved on with their lives, while you’re here, alone. If they really cared, wouldn’t they have found you by now?”

Whumpee’s breath hitched, the spoon slipping from their grasp as tears welled up in their eyes. They wanted to argue, to deny the Whumper’s claims, but the doubt had already taken root in their mind.

The more Whumper spoke, the more those doubts grew, suffocating any hope the Whumpee had left.

Whumper leaned in closer, their voice a whisper now, as if sharing a secret meant only for Whumpee.

“But I’m still here. I never left you. I never will. I’m the only one who truly cares about you. You know that, don’t you?”

Whumpee nodded weakly, their mind a tangled mess of confusion and despair. They wanted to believe Whumper, to accept the comfort being offered, but a small part of them still clung to the idea that someone out there, somewhere, still cared for them.

Whumper’s hand reached out, gently wiping away the tears that had begun to fall down Whumpee’s cheeks. Their touch was soft, almost tender, but it felt like a brand against Whumpee’s skin, a reminder of the power Whumper held over them.

“You’re safe here with me,” Whumper murmured, their voice laced with false warmth. “No one else can hurt you now. I’ll protect you, keep you safe from the world that has abandoned you. You don’t need anyone else, my dear. You have me.”

Whumpee’s heart ached at the words, torn between the desire for comfort and the nagging doubt that still lingered in their mind.

They were so tired, so drained from fighting against Whumper’s manipulations, that it was easier to just let go, to allow themselves to be drawn into the false sense of security being offered.

Whumper’s arms wrapped around them, pulling them close in a mockery of an embrace. Whumpee leaned into the touch, seeking solace in the only place they could find it, even though it came from the very person who had shattered them.

As Whumper whispered words of love and devotion, Whumpee’s resistance crumbled further, their sense of reality slipping away. Whumper’s lies were becoming their truth, and Whumpee was too broken to fight it anymore.

Days passed in a blur, Whumpee losing all sense of time as Whumper’s manipulations continued. The small room became their entire world, the outside a distant memory that no longer held any meaning. The only reality they knew was the one Whumper fed them, a carefully constructed web of lies designed to keep them in a state of perpetual dependence.

Whumper’s tactics grew more insidious with each passing day. They would leave Whumpee alone for hours, sometimes even days, letting the silence and isolation gnaw away at their sanity. The room, once merely a cage, became a living nightmare, the walls closing in on Whumpee as their mind spiralled into darkness.

When Whumper did return, it was always with the same sickeningly sweet words, the same false promises of love and care. They would bring Whumpee food and water, sit with them, and speak in a tone that dripped with condescension as if Whumpee were a child in need of guidance.

“You’re so fragile, my dear,” Whumper would say, their voice a honeyed poison. “You need someone to take care of you, someone who won’t leave you like the others did. You can’t survive out there on your own. You need me.”

Whumpee’s heart would break a little more with each word, their mind-twisting itself into knots as they tried to reconcile the person they used to be with the shell they had become.

They knew, deep down, that Whumper was lying, that this was all part of some twisted game. But the more they heard those words, the more they started to believe them.

One day, Whumper entered the room holding a small envelope.

Their smile was cold, calculated, as they handed it to Whumpee.

“I found this while I was out,” they said, their tone dripping with false concern. “It looks like someone finally tried to contact you.”

Whumpee’s hands shook as they took the envelope, their heart pounding in their chest. It had been so long since they had seen any sign of the outside world since they had even dared to hope that someone still cared.

The sight of the envelope, with its familiar handwriting, sent a surge of hope through them, a small spark in the darkness.

But as they opened the envelope and read the contents, that spark was quickly extinguished. The letter was brief, its words cold and distant, as if written by someone who no longer cared.

The message was clear: they had moved on, leaving the Whumpee behind.

Tears welled up in Whumpee’s eyes as they read the letter over and over, the words blurring together as their vision swam with tears.

It felt like the final nail in the coffin, the last shred of hope being ripped away from them. They had truly been abandoned.

Whumper watched with sick satisfaction as Whumpee broke down, their sobs wracking their fragile body.

They moved closer, wrapping their arms around Whumpee and pulling them into their chest, offering the only comfort the Whumpee had left.

“There, there,” Whumper cooed, stroking the Whumpee’s hair with a sickening tenderness. “I know it hurts, but I’m here. I’ll always be here. You don’t need them anymore. You have me.”

Whumpee clung to Whumper, their tears soaking into their captor’s shirt. They were too broken, too defeated to fight back, too desperate for any semblance of love and comfort, even if it came from the very person who had orchestrated their downfall.

As Whumper continued to whisper sweet lies into their ear, Whumpee felt their resolve crumble completely.

The small part of them that had clung to the hope of rescue, of escape, was snuffed out, leaving nothing but a hollow shell behind.

At that moment, They were no longer the person they once were; they were whatever Whumper wanted them to be.

Whumper smiled, pleased with the outcome. They had won, their twisted version of love and devotion finally taking root in Whumpee’s broken mind.

The days blended into each other as Whumpee slipped further into the abyss. They had lost all sense of time, all sense of self. Whumper was their entire world now, the only person who mattered, the only one who hadn’t abandoned them.

They clung to Whumper’s words, finding solace in the lies they had been fed, because the truth was too painful to bear.

But somewhere deep inside, a small spark of resistance still burned, buried beneath layers of despair.

It was a faint, fragile thing, but it was there, refusing to be completely snuffed out. It whispered to Whumpee in the dead of night, reminding them of who they used to be, of the life they once had.

One night, when Whumper was out of the room, Whumpee made a decision.

They would try to escape, to break free from the chains that bound them, even if it meant risking everything. They couldn’t continue living like this, trapped in a nightmare with no end in sight.

Their hands shook as they fumbled with the lock on the door, their heart racing in their chest. They knew that if they were caught, the punishment would be severe, but the thought of spending another day in this hell was unbearable.

They had to try, even if it was a futile effort.

The door creaked open, and Whumpee slipped out into the dark hallway. The mansion was silent, the only sound the faint rustling of the wind outside. Whumpee moved quickly, their bare feet silent on the carpet as they made their way toward the front door.

But as they reached for the handle, a cold hand clamped down on their wrist, freezing them in place. Whumpee’s heart stopped, their breath catching in their throat as they slowly turned to face Whumper.

Whumper’s eyes were cold, devoid of the false warmth they usually displayed. Their grip on Whumpee’s wrist tightened, and Whumpee winced in pain, their mind racing as they tried to think of a way out.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Whumper asked, their voice low and dangerous. “Did you really think you could leave me? After everything I’ve done for you?”

Whumpee stammered, trying to find the words to explain, but Whumper cut them off with a sharp tug, pulling them away from the door and back into the darkness of the hallway.

“You’re ungrateful,” Whumper hissed, their voice dripping with venom. “After everything I’ve done to keep you safe, to protect you, this is how you repay me? By trying to run away?”

Whumpee’s heart sank, their brief moment of hope shattered by Whumper’s words. They had been so close, so close to escaping, but now they were back in Whumper’s grip, with no way out.

Whumper dragged them back to the small room, their grip never loosening as they pushed Whumpee inside, the door slamming shut behind them with a finality that echoed in Whumpee’s ears.

For days, Whumper refused to speak to Whumpee. They left them alone in the room, with no food, no water, no contact. The silence was suffocating, the isolation driving Whumpee to the brink of madness.

They had no idea how much time had passed, only that they were alone, abandoned by the only person who had ever shown them any form of care, twisted as it was.

When Whumper finally returned, Whumpee was a wreck. They were weak, dehydrated, and delirious, their mind fraying at the edges. The sight of Whumper, with their cold smile and cruel eyes, was both a relief and a terror.

Whumper knelt beside Whumpee, their touch gentle as they brushed the hair from Whumpee’s face.

“You’ve learned your lesson, haven’t you, my dear?” they asked, their voice soft and condescending.

Whumpee nodded weakly, too broken to resist, too desperate for any form of comfort to care. They would do anything to avoid Whumper’s wrath, anything to stay in their good graces, no matter how twisted those graces were.

Whumper’s smile widened as they pulled Whumpee into their arms, cradling them like a child. “Good,” they murmured, their voice a sick parody of affection. “I’m glad you understand now. I’m the only one who truly cares about you. No one else matters.”

Whumpee buried their face in Whumper’s chest, clinging to them with the last of their strength.

They were too far gone to fight, too broken to see the truth. All they knew was that they needed Whumper, needed their twisted love and care because it was the only thing keeping them from falling apart completely.

Whumper held Whumpee close, their hand stroking their hair as they whispered words of false comfort. Whumpee had learned their place, had accepted the reality Whumper had created for them, and that was all that mattered.

Whumpee became nothing more than a puppet, their strings pulled by Whumper’s skilled hands. They were no longer a person, but an object, something to be controlled and manipulated, molded into the perfect image of what Whumper desired.

Whumpee lay in Whumper’s arms, their body limp, their mind numb. Whumper stroked Whumpee’s hair, their touch tender in a way that would have seemed loving to anyone on the outside.

But within the walls of the mansion, that touch was a symbol of ownership, of control. Whumpee was theirs, and theirs alone.

As Whumper whispered words of love and devotion, Whumpee closed their eyes, letting the darkness take them. They had nothing left to fight for, no hope, no future.

Whumper smirked, pleased with the outcome.

In their twisted mind, They had succeeded in breaking Whumpee, in remaking them into something new, something that belonged entirely to them.

And as they held Whumpee close, Whumper knew that this was the only kind of love that mattered.

.⋆｡°✩ ~ ✩°｡⋆ ~ ⋆｡°✩ ~ ✩°｡⋆.

[teacup-gathering-itself]

Severus getting a prep cook job in Cokeworth one summer and picking up solid mf knife skills. Like those culinary school chopping videos. Just fast asf precise knife work and handling.

He gets back to Hogwarts and it’s just business as usual until he’s DEAD tired one day and is prepping ingredients in Slughorn’s class. He gets to something that needs to be sliced uniformly and is similar in shape/size to food he prepped at the restaurant and muscle memory just kicks into overdrive.

The whole classroom freezes and looks at him because idk if y’all know this but that shit is LOUD compared to hesitant knife work. It smacks the cutting board and has a way different rhythm than normal kitchen noise.

Yeah it’s a skill no one has encountered unless they have been back of house at a restaurant.

Severus is too exhausted to process that anyone is paying attention to him so he just keeps going. Ingredients? Prepped? Potion? Brewed with gusto, like he was born to do it. His brain isn’t online so he’s acting like it’s a dream and adds in some flourish and flair, a trick to catch a knife, a fancy stir to help aerate the brew, a crazy amount of multitasking just because he can.

Jaw dropping behavior.

Slughorn doesn’t know how to react honestly, and is spared needing to praise him considering Severus is half awake when he hands his potion to his head of house.

[legendofzoodles]

How the Chain solves dungeon puzzles

Time has been doing this since before his first puberty so he’s got it down to a science. With decades of experience he’d probably rely on that heavily when approaching any dungeon puzzle, and automatically pay attention to certain things like the design, who might have created it and the items he finds there to give him a leg up when it’s time to use ye olde noggin. That being said, since he has been doing this since he was a child I feel like he’d 100% rage if things got too difficult. 

What? You think he survived the Water Temple because of patience and controlling his emotions? Goddess no, he was mentally 9 when he painstakingly got through it and it broke him. He now has a deep seeded hatred for all water based puzzles. 

Warriors on the other hand, has spent a lot of time managing armies and little to no time in a room devoid of sunlight- unless it was shutting himself away in his office to crunch some overdue paperwork. Don’t get me wrong he’d crush any sort of puzzle where the solution is simply beating up a room full of monsters or the dungeon boss, but traditional puzzle he might struggle with. A lot of Zelda puzzles require an ‘out of the box’ kind of thinking that probably doesn’t come naturally to the ‘by the books’ Captain. 

Since back in the day Twilight had Oocca and her son to teleport him out of the temple when he got tired, low on supplies or bored so if he can help it he won’t stick around longer than he needs to. That said he’d still really enjoy his time there, silently taking in the atmosphere and ambience of the dungeon. 

Also, according to the 2000s Zelda fandom TP’s dungeon puzzles were the most difficult of the series. I’d wager that Midna, rather than helping out (outside of her being a companion type character), would’ve either cryptically teased the answer if she figured it out before him to poke fun or simply not have taken an interest and just nagged at him to hurry up. Meaning he solved them mostly on his own and therefore got really good at it.

Sky definitely used to chat with Fi as he solved puzzles back in his adventure, sharing thoughts, getting hints and occasionally voicing frustration. Because of this, he would definitely collaborate with whoever’s exploring with him and if he’s on his own then he’ll just talk to himself. Helps him think.

He’s the type to overthink every problem presented to him, to the point where he’d often invent a very convoluted solution when an obvious one was staring him in the face ignored. And unless there’s someone there to point it out he’ll never notice. 

Like Time, Legend’s got a lot of experience dungeon crawling, I’d argue more since judging by Time’s armour he hasn’t been travelling a whole lot recently, so he’d also be relying on that experience. When he was younger, dungeon puzzles were a blast to figure out but now they’ve all just kind of bled together. There’s nothing he hasn’t really seen before in some shape or form, no tricks for the deity’s to pull that will surprise him. 

He’d just breeze through each puzzle or trap like: “Lame,” or “Seen it,” or “Hey...the spider’s new,” yawning as he went. I feel though if he were paired up with Warriors (he could act nonchalant while Warriors is jumpy at everything) who’s new to all this or Hyrule how’s only ever seen really simplistic dungeon puzzles it could spark that joy he once had. 

Wild would unashamedly break the system. Either accidently while finding creative way to cheat or to intentionally carve out his own shortcut. Not so much out of frustration, he could absolutely solve it they way the designers intended if he wanted to, trouble is he rarely has any interest in doing that. He used to ruin the carefully constructed puzzles (most of) the Sheikah monks crafted specifically to test him- right in their faces!- and they rewarded him regardless of the damage he caused. He’s been spoiled. I can imagine him blasting a way out only to turn around, go back in and intentionally destroy the rest of the puzzles for the sake of completion and loot.  

Members like Wind, Hyrule and Time on a bad day would 100% support this method, the others would be horrified, with Legend somewhere in the middle.

Four is a very methodical sort of problem solver, not one to let his past experience cloud his judgment and restrict him to assumptions rather than trying out something new. As a blacksmith who’s probably gotten to learn about how other cultures craft their weapons he probably has a deep appreciation for the dungeons design and would be the first to point out what certain quirks of the building mean and what tribe left their mark there. Whenever he may feel agitated for not understanding a puzzle all he needs to do is walk around and look at some historic architecture to keep Blue at bay. 

For this reason he may be one of the slower ones to complete a puzzle, but at least the walls swirling patterns may give him inspiration for a cool new sword handle. Not everyone would be able to relate to his eye for detail though. 

Four: The paving looks amazing with all these unique carvings, don’t you think?

Hyrule: [grazing a hand over the stone] Ah yes, the floor is made out of floor. 

Similar to Warriors Hyrule hasn’t really seen any complex dungeon puzzles, but unlike him he has a more creative ‘out of the box’ way of thinking, which would give him an edge. He’d probably get easily distracted though, lured away from the puzzle by a hidden passage or another route he hadn’t checked out, yet would somehow end up discovering every nook and cranny in the entire dungeon has to offer without much trouble.    

Wind is not really a fan of them. Unless it’s for a specific purpose like rescuing someone or to beat up a monster he’ll actively avoid them. But if he had to he’d try to get through it as quickly as possible by literally just trying whatever first pops in his head. He’d rush past and ignore any sort of hints the designers might have given him and try to brute force his way though. When it eventually works he’ll immediately forget the solution though, so don’t bother asking how he got out just be glad he did, like Grandma would. 

He’s not the type to ‘stop and smell the roses’ like Four, or just enjoy the atmosphere like Twilight, but he’s too polite (thanks to Grandma) to go around destroying ancient masonry like Wild. 

Who do you think would make up the best teams (2- 4 people) if the chain were split up in a dungeon? 

I’m thinking Sky, Four and Hyrule because they’d go at a slow pace chatting the whole time, with Four teaching the other two about who built the dungeon and Hyrule encouraging them to explore every room. Or maybe Legend, Warriors and Wind, with the latter two trying really hard and Legend supervising and making fun of them. Leaving Time, Twilight and Wild, where Twilight would struggle to keep Wild from blowing them up and Time being seconds away from joining him. 

~~~

Thanks for reading! 

Masterlist

Other headcanons: 

Parkour team

Honorary Gorons

How each member of the chain laughs

[soup-of-the-daisies]

Grim-Old-Place

Inspired by this post, by @in-flvx. I fuckin LOVE magical homes.

***

Sirius Orion Black is the last of the male line, and Grimmauld Place Number Twelve is his tomb.

It is his home as well, but that’s neither here nor there. Not for Sirius, who sees further than Number Twelve’s façade: he is its Master, was born in the mistress’ bedroom, learnt to crawl and walk and run in its hallways and learnt to whisper and speak and scream through its doorways. Master learnt to read and write in the study its previous Master stayed in until his death, learnt to sit up straight and hold cutlery in the dining room that ends up abandoned, learnt to swallow his emotions down down down like his father before him and his father before him with a parent looming over his tiny human body.

It’s always been this way. Number Twelve knows no better than how his Masters of the Past and Present have been raised, have grown, have pushed their power into the tough-cold-living stone of its cellars. Number Twelve has belonged to the House of Black since before it was built, before it rose up from pre-existing foundations permeated with old magic. It has belonged to the family for generations, and in this day and age, its current Master shall be its last.

Number Twelve shall listen to him. Number Twelve was built to listen, to accomodate, to warp and change to the wishes and whims of its Master. It became a fortress because its previous Master wanted it to, strengthened the wards he weaved by borrowing his willpower—softened its floors when children fell because Master-of-the-Past did not like cries of pain, bore down on unwanted guests because Master-of-the-Past did not like most people. Number Twelve listens and follows both spoken and unspoken orders. That is what it was built for.

Number Twelve is not just a neglected, abandoned family home. It is not dilapidated and haunted just because it was left to rot for so many years, just because its only inhabitant was for nearly a decade was an old elf influenced by an object emanating magic fouler than any kind Number Twelve has ever housed; it is because its current master is unable to imagine it any differently, and Number Twelve adapts accordingly, because Number Twelve listens.

Master is the last bearing his last name, the last of the male line, and the House of Black is forgotten glory. It is a family that has sunken down from their presumed superior position like a rock hurled into deep waters. How else would this decline present, than decaying walls and festering infestations of vermin? Number Twelve is Master’s prison and it morphs itself into one, turns its air oppressive and its temperature down low, narrows its winding corridors and shrouds itself in misery.

Number Twelve becomes the representation of Master’s biological family, gone and dead-won’t-stay-dead, because Master sees Number Twelve as such. Ghosts creep behind ratty curtains and loom in shadowed corners, become mirages by moonlight and play in the motes of dust, and Number Twelve lets them because this is what Master thinks, what Master says. When Master’s mood drops, so does Number Twelve’s, because when Master is saddened and angered he thinks, deep down, that these other residents ought to be uncomfortable and irritable as well. When Master’s mood becomes cheerful, Number Twelve dutifully pushes the joy into its floorboards and walls, as Master wishes to share his happiness and Number Twelve gladly helps. Number Twelve locks doors when Master does not want to see the residents who are filling Number Twelve with life and Number Twelve changes its layout when Master does not want to be found. Number Twelve was built to listen to and follow orders, and it will do that until it falls apart. What Master wants, Master gets.

Number Twelve does not appreciate the other residents when they upset Master. Number Twelve does appreciate the other residents’ attempts to clean its rooms, wishes it could show how grand and beautiful it used to be and can be. But Master thinks cleaning to be a lost cause, so Number Twelve ensures it is a lost cause: it presses dust out of the smallest corners without any trouble, and it delights in Master’s delight when the other residents feed their frustration into its walls.

Number Twelve listens and acts. Master refuses to look in mirrors lest he see something he does not want to, so Number Twelve darkens them, dirties them, ruins them until they cannot be fixed. Master believes and does not want to be disproven about the hatefulness of the elf, so Number Twelve does not even attempt to improve the relationship. The elf was the one to bring the foul and dirty object through the very wards Master-of-the-Past erected to keep such magic out anyway, and Number Twelve is old enough, fed enough, to hold a grudge. Master’s joy, even if it is tainted by grief and ire, is Number Twelve’s joy. Number Twelve is, after all, simply glad to have a Master.

It has always been this way, even if it is different now, with a Master so similar yet so different to Master-of-the-Past. A fortress and a tomb are synonyms in the loosest definition, and Grimmauld Place Number Twelve now has a Master who sees it as his tomb: as Number Twelve cannot begrudge its Master anything, it will be a tomb. But Master sees it as his home too, deep down, and Number Twelve was built to be a home.

It will adapt accordingly.

[sisterdivinium]

Now is the time to place your bets on whether or not this hyper self-indulgent doctor superion Vampire the Masquerade AU fic will or won't get to 100 handwritten pages...

[flame-cat]

TALK ABOUT IT.

"Talk about...? Oh. Oh dear..."

"Oh, for fuck's sakes. I mean, this isn't- can you believe this, Stolas? A- a cosmically-ordained therapy session?"

"You know what? Truly, I can't. It's not as if we have anything more to say to each other on the matter."

"No, hang on, actually. Like, I get that the whole thing with the crystal went... not well. But you didn't let me finish talking. You just- sent me away! Like some sort of... servant. And I'll be honest, I really didn't appreciate that."

"I don't want to hear any more, Blitz. Please."

"No, you know what? I get that I hurt your feelings, and I'm sorry for that, but you didn't even give me a chance to say so before you just decided you knew how I felt about it!"

"I thought you made it very clear how you felt."

"No the fuck I didn't! I have no idea what you want from me anymore! We had a simple arrangement, and it was all fine, until suddenly you decided that you wanted something else from me, and the second I couldn't catch up you decided, again, that I just wasn't good enough for you! Well, I'm sick of you playing with my fucking feelings like the entitled prick you are! You're gonna listen to me now! Got it, asshole!?"

"... Alright."

"... A... alright?"

"Yes. Alright. I'll listen to what you have to say. It seems I don't really have a choice in the matter, anyway."

"That- that's just the thing, though! You've always had a choice! Our entire relationship has been about you and your choices! You've always been in control! And y'know what? Maybe I didn't always like it, but I was fine with it. I accepted it. And then suddenly you pulled out the rug from under me and changed the rules! That ain't fair, Stolas! It's not fair to me! It's not fair that you get to have whatever you want whenever you want it and I have to prostitute myself just to get by, and then you have the fucking audacity to act like we can have something after all that!

"I'm not your fucking plaything!"

"I don't want you to be! That's why I gave you the crystal in the first place- so you could choose. If you really, truly hate me, if you never want to see me again, then... then you can. I don't blame you. I wasn't fair to you. I... I want you to get what you want, Blitz. I want you to be happy. Even if it's without me."

"... I uh... I don't... really know what to say to that."

"Right. That's... that's fine."

"No, hang on, just let me get this figured out. So... that's it? You don't... want me anymore?"

"Of course I want you, Blitz. But what I want isn't the only thing that matters. I want to know what you want."

"... Uh..."

"Do you... not know?"

"Pft- Of course I know what I want! I- I want hot sex and gallons of liquor and a bloodbath every evening before I go to sleep in a big pile of money! That's what I want!

"That's... what I want..."

"... And... what do you want... from me?"

"... I... I uh...

"I dunno.

"I... didn't think I could ever... I never thought about that."

"... So... you need time to think about it?"

"I mean, maybe? I don't... I don't... this is all so fucking complicated..."

"It doesn't have to be. We can... start over. If you wanted to. Or, again, if you never want to see me again-"

"No!

"I... I do. Wanna see you again. I... I like seeing you."

"... You do?"

"... Yeah."

...

"... I think I don't know what I'm doing, actually."

"Heh. Yeah, sure seems that way.

"I, uh... I don't either, really."

"... But you want to see me again?"

"I just said that, didn't I?"

"Blitz. Please. Look at me.

"Do you want to... try? With me?"

"... I... I don't fucking know. Maybe? I- I don't want you to go away forever. I... I want you to stick around."

"For as long as you'll have me. Any way you'll have me."

"... You really mean that, don't you?"

"Of course I do."

"... You don't... you don't know me, Stolas. You don't know what I'm really like."

"I would like to. I really would. If you want to show me."

"... I don't know. I don't know- anything. ... I... I'm not a good person, Stolas. I'm... really fucking selfish. And a fuckup. And worthless. And annoying, and abrasive, and mean, and horny, and stupid, and- and so many things. Fuck, I even hurt you when you were just trying to...

"That's what I'm really like, Stolas. Yelling at you, pushing you away, acting like a fucking moron... that's who I really am."

"... I apologise for any possible offense, but I don't believe you."

"Huh?"

"You're right that you can be rude, abrasive, pushy, loud... but those are all things that I like about you. And even beyond that- I can see that you're more than a fuckup. You started your own business, you adopted a daughter, you made me realize where I was going wrong in my life. You have shown me so much, Blitz. All that I want is to show you the brilliant, strong, caring, beautiful man I see when I look at you. Please, just... even if it's just as friends. I want to show you what I see when I look at you. That's all."

"... Did I hypnotize you with my dick or something?"

"... I don't like you because of the sex, Blitz. I like you for the moments between. For who you are, not... what you can do for me. Please believe me on that."

"... You... you can't just..."

"Blitz. Please. Let me see you."

"... I... I don't know how."

"Hah! I don't either. Again, I really have no idea what I'm doing. But... I would like to find out. With you. If you'll have me."

"... Okay!"

"Really? Okay? You're sure?"

"No the fuck I'm not sure, this is terrifying! But hey, scary stuff turns me on, so why not?"

"I don't want you to agree if you're unsure, Blitz."

"I'm never gonna be sure. Not until I try it. So... so okay! Let's do this. Let's... let's try."

"We'll take it slow. Start from... friends. How does that sound?"

"... Can we still fuck?"

"That... depends. Do you... like fucking me?"

"I mean, yeah. You're kinda ridiculously hot."

"Oh, my, hahah... But, beyond that, though?"

"... Maybe we can just... stick to simple stuff for a while. Like, uh... I dunno. Cuddlefucking. We could do that."

"Whatever you like, Blitzy."

"... Could we... right now? Not the fucking part, but the... cuddling... part."

"I would love nothing more, my dear."

"Right. Cool."

"Comfortable?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm comfy."

"Are you sure? You're... erm... shaking, a bit."

"What? Am I? Nahhh, that's crazy, why would I be shaking, it's not like I'm absolutely fucking terrified right now! Totally cool!"

"We don't have to-"

"No!

"... Don't go anywhere. Please."

"Of course not. I'm right here. Whatever you like."

"... And this is... fine for you. You're fine with this."

"Absolutely. I'm perfectly happy like this. As long as you are."

"Yeah. Okay. Cool."

"... Blitz...?

"Oh, my darling, sh, sh, sh... It's alright. It's alright."

"... I... I don't know why... w-why can't I- stop-?"

"Sh, sh, sh, it's alright, it's alright. Just breathe, alright? You're alright. You're alright."

"I- fuck, I know, I kn-know-"

"Just let it out, my dear. Just let it out. It's okay."

"H-hang on, wait, wait, I need- need to-"

"Oh, alright, alright, okay. Do you want me to-"

"Stay. Please. J-just. Just don't... u-uh..."

"Here. Is this...?"

"Yeah, k-keep, keep doing- yeah. Mhm."

"Alright. Alright. I'm not going anywhere. Take your time, love."

"I-I'm, such a fucking mess..."

"I don't mind. You've certainly seen me quite a mess before, after all."

"Hahahaha! Y'know what? I have!"

"... Feeling better, I hope...?"

"I dunno. That was probably the worst love confession anyone's ever done. Not sexy at all."

"Well, sexy didn't happen to be what I was going for.

"... You really meant it? That you... want me by your side?"

"... Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"... Thank you. I swear, I'll make it all up to you."

"Oh, boy. So it's your turn to cry now, huh?"

"Ah, I apologise-"

"Stop it. You're fine. Fair's fair, right? And besides... you're already making it up to me. And... I'll... make it up to you, too."

"You didn't-"

"Just let me say the thing, and you can cry in my arms, and then we can... I dunno. Do whatever."

"... Whatever sounds nice."