#and the ending implication of this will likely become a habit of the two...

[olailamajnoon]

Bruce pulled off his sweaty shirt in Ma Kent's kitchen along with Clark and Hal, and began chugging a lemonade. The three men had been doing something that apparently constituted hard manual labor in the barn. Zatanna watched silently, then she noticed it.

A tattoo on Bruce's abs. Some foreign symbols engraved in calligraphic form.

It was possible the world was coming to an end.

She turned her head to try and read it. It was Kryptonian, if she had to take a guess.

Bruce noticed where her gaze was. "My eyes are up here," he said.

"I know," said Zatanna, rolling hers. "I just...since when do you have a tattoo?"

"Since I lost a bet to my kids," said Bruce.

"You let your kids do this to you?" Zatanna was incredulous.

"It's been five years, Zee," said Clark. "Are you seriously noticing it now?"

"Well, I don't make a habit of staring at Bruce's nude form," she replied, her sentence heavy with implication.

Clark blushed and dropped his spectacles.

"What's next," said Zatanna bitterly to Bruce. "I find out you're part of a biker gang?"

"You don't become a biker with just one tattoo," said Hal. "You need an entire sleeve of them."

"Don't give him any ideas," Zatanna cautioned.

"You're overreacting," said Clark.

"The world is in a delicate state of balance," said Zatanna. "The very foundations of my existence are being rocked. I'm questioning everything I've ever known."

"I should probably start paying rent for all the space I occupy in your head," said Bruce.

"The tattoo is actually a very sweet phrase," said Clark. "In Kryptonian."

"What does it mean?"

Bruce cleared his throat and shook his head warningly at Clark. Clark grinned.

"It means," Clark said, "My soul is in two halves, and one of them belongs to you."

Bruce buried his head in his hands. Clark laughed. "Like I said. A very sweet phrase."

"You're going to suffer for this," muttered Bruce to him. "I was okay with it, as long as no one knew what it fucking meant."

"Oh stop," said Hal, grinning without shame. "Stop with the toxic masculinity. Just because you have a soppy declaration of love on your abdomen doesn't make you any less of a man." He raised his glass to Bruce in a toast.

Bruce looked at him levelly, and narrowed his eyes. "One of these days, Jordan," he growled, "you will do something, and on that day—"

"Oh, I doubt it," Hal smirked. "I think you've set the bar pretty high."

"Well," said Clark, with a cheeky grin, "Bruce learned his lesson about betting against all of his kids simultaneously, but I would say the punishment was a bit disproportionate to the crime."

Bruce was putting on his t-shirt. "Enough," he said. "No one else finds out, or I will see that you all pay."

"No one else finds out what?" asked Diana from the kitchen door, where she had evidently just arrived. Her arms were crossed against her chest. Barry and Oliver were lined up behind her, with curious expressions.

Zatanna and Hal laughed maliciously. Clark did not look displeased in the slightest.

Bruce's mouth hardened and he stalked off, muttering something about contingency plans. But no one saw the small smile that tucked itself into the corner of his mouth afterwards, when he remembered Clark's face.

Kryptonians. His fingers brushed over the tattoo. And all the ways they love to claim you.

[sexhaver]

in the late 2030s, noosphere analysts in the Unified Irish Republic made a breakthrough: by injecting the souls of people on their deathbeds with specific radioisotopes, they could filter through the greater noosphere for that marker to identify where the soul ended up. the first test subject's soul reappearing in the Mesozoic Era, in turn, led to the discovery that reincarnation is not only real but completely unbound by time or space: upon death, your consciousness is instantly transferred to some other vessel somewhere/when in spacetime at the moment it attains cognizance.

after further research, it was determined that 1. this jump is as close to random as modern nooscopes can measure and 2. the minimum threshold for "cognizance" is incredibly low. this means that most people will end up reincarnating as some kind of insect or vermin, with "human surviving to the age where they start becoming self-aware" being a vanishingly rare outcome. there was also an issue where something like 15% of test subjects ended up returning identical signatures indicating they had been reincarnated somewhere around Orion's Belt, but this was chalked up to a combination of interference from dark matter and insufficiently accurate tools.

this eventually led to the formation of a new religion asserting that there is only one individual "consciousness" in the universe, and that all beings that have ever existed or will ever exist (including you) are all simply different iterations of this one consciousness. the Great Schism of 2037 resulted in this religion fragmenting into two sects due to an argument over the existence of immortal or timeless beings: the larger faction (called "Wombists" due to their habit of referring to the universe as an egg or womb) held that true immortality was impossible in this realm and the endgame for the One True Consciousness (i.e. you) after living every life in the universe was to ascend to godhood; whereas the smaller faction (referred to by the history books as simply "Heretics" after their eradication for heresy) argued that there was exactly one (1) Truly Immortal Being and that the endgame of the One True Consciousness was to end up trapped in this body/life and eventually go mad with power.

in 2041, after the existence of dark matter was conclusively debunked, Cuban astral projectioneers managed to resolve the apparent discrepancy with the earlier Irish dataset: there was, in fact, a planet near Orion's Belt host to an incomprehensibly vast biomass. further expeditions revealed this life to be trillions upon trillions of silicon-based microscopic organisms that were effectively biologically immortal, with metabolic cycles operating on the timescale of stars. the implications of this prompted a second minor schism within the church, since the Wombist line of reasoning implied that 15% of all reincarnations were billion-year jail sentences in the body of an alien tardigrade.

at 1:07 PM GMT on July 27th, 2043, a Mexican observatory detected evidence of a massive eel-like entity emerging from the asteroid belt. it had yet to receive an official name before rendering the issue moot by consuming the Earth whole approximately 28 minutes later.

[ladystoneboobs]

a fake asoiaf fact almost as pervasive as ned stark having a weirwood bed (and that being the only reason theon had his prophetic feast of the dead dream ending with bloody robb and grey wind) is the idea that jaime stood outside the royal bedchamber and heard cersei being raped by her husband just as he did with rhaella before her. the theon in a wf weirwood bed myth comes, i believe, from a conflation with jaime's later weirwood stump dream, and i believe this jaime/cersei/robert misconception is due to conflating book!jaime listening at the door to aerys/rhaella with show!jaime complaining of guarding at the door as robert commits adultery. in neither medium does jaime complain of or remember guarding at the door while robert "claimed his rights" with cersei. tbh this bothers me even more than the idea of theon needing a nonexistant weirwood bed to have magic dreams bc it says more about jaime if you really think about it. why would jaime fans want to believe that he heard cersei's cries of pain and just stood by for all those years?

here's jc talking about her marriage in their first onpage convo (overheard by bran):

"Do you think the king will require proof?" the woman[Cersei] said. "I tell you, he loves me not." [Jaime:]"And whose fault is that, sweet sister?" -Bran II, aGoT

and here's jaime's thoughts and quotes about robert as royal husband in his own pov:

All Jaime had wanted was an hour alone with Cersei. Their journey north had been one long torment; seeing her every day, unable to touch her, knowing that Robert stumbled drunkenly into her bed every night in that great creaking wheelhouse. Tyrion had done his best to keep him in a good humor, but it had not been enough. -Jaime I, aSoS [clear implication being that his "torment" about robert in bed with cersei was due to jealousy, not any thought of cersei enduring assault] [Jaime:]"He[Tommen] is my seed. He's never called me Father. No more than Joffrey ever did. You warned me a thousand times never to show any undue interest in them." [Cersei:]"To keep them safe! You as well. How would it have looked if my brother had played the father to the king's children. Even Robert might have grown suspicious." "Well, he's beyond suspicion now." Robert's death still left a bitter taste in Jaime's mouth. It should have been me who killed him, not Cersei. "I only wished he'd died at my hands." When I still had two of them. "If I'd let kingslaying become a habit, as he liked to say, I could have taken you as my wife for all the world to see. [my read being that he wanted to kill robert himself just to be with cersei openly, and felt he had more right to kill him as a manly knight and victim of this arrangement where robert stole his woman and claimed his children, not that he felt cersei shouldn't have had to sully her hands with murder or been desperate enough to act in self-defense without him there] I'm not ashamed of loving you, only of the things I've done to hide it. That boy at Winterfell . . ." "Did I tell you to throw him out the window? If you'd gone hunting as I begged you, nothing would have happened. But no, you had to have me, you could not wait until we returned to the city." "I'd waited long enough. I hated watching Robert stumble to your bed every night, always wondering if maybe this night he'd decide to claim his rights as husband." [see above first quoted passage for further context on what he thought robert deciding to "claim his rights" meant] -Jaime IX, aSoS [Jaime:]"You were Robert's queen. And yet you won't be mine." [Cersei:]"I would, if I dared. But our son—" "Tommen is no son of mine, no more than Joffrey was." His voice was hard. "You made them Robert's too." -Jaime I, aFfC

how does jaime mocking robert's lack of love for cersei, being jealous of robert's (rough and nonconsenual) conjugal sex with cersei, and blaiming her for how her (forced and abusive) marriage gave their children the baratheon name all square with him knowing she was repeatedly raped by robert? it's pretty insensitive as is, but at least canon jaime has the excuse of not knowing the full extent of what cersei's marriage actually meant to her.

we already know robert had enough control of himself to hide nonsexual abuse from jaime:

Ned touched her cheek gently. "Has he done this before?" "Once or twice." She shied away from his hand. "Never on the face before. Jaime would have killed him, even if it meant his own life." Cersei looked at him defiantly. "My brother is worth a hundred of your friend." -Eddard XII, aGoT

if robert took care not to leave bruises on cersei's face or hit her in front of the wrong witnesses until the last incident of abuse witnessed by ned--which happened once jaime had fled the city, i think it follows he might also avoid violently "claiming his rights" on nights when jaime guarded her door. there were 6 other kg knights who could rotate that duty and be trusted to stand quietly by, and with robert making these visits more and more irregularly as the years went by, it is possible jaime was never outside cersei's bedchamber on those nights.

eta: we also know that cersei had to carefully conceal a non-facial injury from jaime at least once (as unbeknown to robert, her brotherlover usually had access to more of her body than just her face and other ungowned skin):

Her husband's by-blows had his look as well, though at least Robert had the grace to keep them out of sight. Once, after that sorry business with the cat, he had made some noises about bringing some baseborn daughter of his to court. "Do as you please," she'd told him, "but you may find that the city is not a healthy place for a growing girl." The bruise those words had won her had been hard to hide from Jaime, but they heard no more about the bastard girl. -Cersei III, aFfC

yet nowhere in her "i would eat your heirs" passage recalling her sexual assaults does she think of having to keep silent through her pain on nights when jaime was outside the door.

this isn't even getting into what jaime would have done if he'd heard cersei crying out in pain, that has been covered elsewhere, i'm just saying that canonically there is no basis for thinking he knew, no aerys/rhaella tragic deja vu, no chance to act on information he did not have. jaime was never aemon the dragonknight standing idly by as his beloved sister was brutalized bc he just did not know what she was going through and just how unworthy his 2nd king was.

[tragedybunny]

A Little More Than a Nibble - Astarion x F!Reader

Astarion wakes you up at camp looking for a late night snack. You both end up with something a little more. (Fluff, Angst)

Yes I'm on the Astarion train. How can you not love him?

This short is set before Astarion's act 2 confession

Something called to you from the dark, stirring you out of sleep. Fragments of the waking world brushed against your consciousness; a dying fire, a far off owl calling, a presence hovering over you. The cold influx of terror lasts only a moment as you realize the presence is not only familiar but expected at this point. “Are you awake darling?” Astarion’s voice exudes the beguiling charm that’s become so familiar to you, familiar enough you’ve started to catch the hint of artifice that lays behind it.

Sleep-heavy eyes drift open to find him kneeling down next to you, red eyes fixed on you. The deep slumber is hard to shake off and your answer is no more than a drowsy whisper. “I am now.”

“Oh apologies my sweet but I was just wondering if…” He lets the words hang for a moment, waiting for your mind to catch up, to finish the implication. Really though it could only be about one of two things since you’re the one in camp that’s been both fucking and feeding him. And with the ungodly hour, you can easily conclude which it is.

“No luck hunting?” He deserves at least a little teasing for waking you like this.

“Actually I was thinking about you and couldn’t get the taste of you off my tongue. Would you mind terribly if I had just a little taste, just a slight nibble?” Perhaps you’ve been too indulgent with him and he’s grown used to getting his way with you, a habit you really should put to an end. If only the mere suggestion of those teeth at your neck didn’t make you quiver with excitement.

Still, it won’t do to placidly let him have his way every time. “You say slight nibble, and I wake up woozy the next morning. I fail to see what I get out of this little arrangement.”

For a moment, you think you see the slightest hint of hurt at your refusal, before he swiftly resumes his flirtatious persona. “Why, you get my gratitude and affection. Both of which are undying, I might remind you.”

It’s not the honeyed words that convince you, it’s the ghost of an emotion, the possibility of vulnerability, that there’s something beneath the mask he shows everyone, even you. Not that you would really refuse, you’re too far gone for that. Life as the daughter of a noble house of Baldur’s Gate primed you for this, to fall for a man so wrong, and dangerous, and not at all anything you should want. Rebellion after years of complicity, years of forced perfection and crafted smiles, of doing everything expected of you. The Illithid ship had given you a terrible burden, but it had also been more freedom than you’d ever known in your life. Freedom that didn’t necessarily come with inbuilt wisdom. Silently, you throw back the covers, beckoning him into the bed roll beside you. With a satisfied smile, he gracefully slides in, body pressed against yours.

The first time you’d let him do this it had been awkward, sloppy almost, a fact explained by the later revelation you were his first. Now familiarity has led to comfort, intimacy of its own sort. Different than just sex, but no less thrilling. An arm around your waist, he buries his head into the crook of your neck, lips brushing up against it in a gentle kiss first that makes you shiver before the bite.

The sharp ice of those teeth piece your skin and drive into the blood flowing in your veins. Then you feel it, the echo of your blood flowing into his veins. It had frightened you the first time but now it sends a wave of bliss through you. An involuntary sigh escapes you and you know if his mouth wasn’t full, he’d be tormenting you for how much you enjoy it. Arms loop around his shoulders, pulling him tighter against you, as though you are begging for more. You are though aren’t you? You can’t get enough of this, of him.

Drifting away, you lose yourself in him, a sweet surrender to an inexorable pull. As promised though, he’s only taken a taste when he lets up, pulling away, and licking any drops from your skin. The control he’s starting to show is impressive, even if it leaves you yearning for the strange connection of his feeding. Knowing that he never lingers after any encounter between the two of you, you unwrap your arms which feel so much heavier now, letting him go. Unexpectedly, he remains, head now resting on your chest, forehead pressed to your cheek. “Not going to eat and run?”

“In such a hurry to be rid of me?” He murmurs, his face hidden so you don’t even have a chance of reading his expression.

You’re not naive, despite what the others might believe. There’s nothing more you expect beyond what already passes between the two of you. Even if you believe you could care for him, he’s not open to you that way. Still, even if the tone is nonchalant, you feel there’s a loneliness behind it he's not quite hiding all the way. “I didn’t say that.” He doesn’t ask directly to stay and you know he won’t, so you pull the covers over the two of you and put your arms back around him and without saying another word.

With a subtle shift, you feel him get near your throat once again before stopping himself. “Perhaps I should go.”

“You don’t have to, I trust you.” Tentatively, you reach a hand up and softly stroke it through his silver hair. First he tenses, and you wait for a reproach for being too tender with him, but none comes. A moment later and you feel the tension release and he relaxes again. Your eyes are heavy, your body desperately craving sleep, but you're afraid there will never be another moment like this, with him so close, and not pushing you away. So you fight to stay conscious, and keep your fingers moving gently as long as he allows it. Sleep comes to claim you again though, and just as the world fades around you, lips brush your collarbone and the arm around your waist holds a little tighter.

The dawn comes, and the camp stirs. When you find the empty space in your bed roll, you tell yourself your heart doesn’t break a little and get ready to get on with your day.

[brucewaynehater101]

Didn't know who else to send this to, so suffer my brain rot, I guess ♡

Anyway I've been on a fake powers!Tim kick and just the idea of fake psychic/medium!Tim looking unrevealed!hood-jason in the helmet and telling him he'd personally fist fight the crime lords personal demons. Jason is just "child no???? Also how would you manage that??"

Turns out that second question really should have stayed inside the head because Tim just smiled serenely, and 2 hours later, the Joker had been brutally assaulted.

Also, Tim did this as Tim, not as Robin. Jason is now reevaluating litterally everything he was told about this prissy rich kid

Fudge. I love a good fake psychic!Tim AU.

Let's see... as far as fics, obviously we've got to recommend "cards on the table" by wesslan. It's a good Tim joins batfam late au.

Shit... There's another really good one where Tim pretends to be a psychic because he can't otherwise explain how he knows who the Bats are (he's afraid of going to jail or something). They even "train" his powers, lmao. I can't find it, though :(

EDIT: "psych you out" by lukewarmbeefstew. It's locked so you'll need an AO3 account

Anyways! Two AUs inspired by this idea:

First one: Psych inspired AU - Tim, instead of becoming the third Robin, opens up his own psychic detective agency. He utilizes his stalking, hacking, and sneaking skills to gain information on people and pretends all of this "came to him in a vision." He starts this agency a little before Jason dies. Therefore, Jason uses his services to find more info about his bio mom (cause he doesn't want Bruce to find out anything and the agency promises secrecy). Tim finds out all the crimes Shelia committed, passes that info to Jason, and unknowingly prevents his death. Jason and Bruce still have a falling out, but Jason just moves in with Dick instead. The Bats are trying to prove that he's lying about his capabilities, but they can't quite catch him yet.

Second one: Tim, as the Dick Grayson fan he is, doesn't want to implicate Dick by admitting that his Robin gave away their identities to nine year old Tim Drake. Therefore, he knocks on Bruce Wayne's door and tells him that his "vibes are rancid" and Tim's there to fix em. Tim ends up becoming Robin and spends the majority of his career ensuring anyone who can give away his non-psych status (e.g. Martian Manhunter, Raven, etc.) are not in the same room with Tim and a Bat. He also has to go out of his way to procure information via stalking without the Bats somehow figuring it out.

The second one fits the ask better! Tim in that one is unhinged and has a habit of speaking in what he calls his psychic mannerisms. He has to sound all mysterious and mystic and shit to sell the act, but he also ends up being blunt as hell. This is how he ends up telling Bruce that his aura is "like a kicked puppy Bat dipped in angst glitter sauce." No, he does not elaborate.

[tallwife]

Ive been kind of quiet about personal posts on here in the last year or so making my moves in silence so here's the full crazy rundown of how me and bf got together because all I've been doing really is make the occasional vague post but not expanded on it

Met this guy at a party about a decade ago (omg) when I was about 16/17 who I remember because I talked to him and this other boy about video games. Other boy was like a GIRL who GAMES??? And the guy was like 'obviously girls can play games lol' and I remember it well because it was funny and he was nice. Don't see him again

About 5 years ago meet the guy again, we don't make the connection for another few years that we've met before. He has a gf and is nice enough, but I don't know him very well yet

He hangs out with my friend group a lot and I click very well with him when we talk, but he's not on my radar because of aforementioned gf

I start a VERY tumultuous idiotic embarrassing situationship with one of his best friends aka the 'GIRLS CAN PLAY GAMES???' guy. I'm stupid and have feelings for him and on reflection it was insane. My heart is being ripped out constantly and I'm being toyed with

Meanwhile he and his gf break up and soon after he has a casual fwb thing with another one of my friends. So he's still not on my radar at all

As this is all going on me and him become very very good friends, its 100% just platonic and supportive. He finds out how badly his friend treated me and to my surprise he firmly takes my side on things and is a massive help and a great friend in this time, distances himself a little from situationship guy

We start to click and hang out constantly. We bond over being bi and other personal things and we have the same humour, nobody can make me laugh like him.

At this point about a year and a half ago, we probably hang out at least once a week. We have a cute weekly cinema habit and we talk about everything. I've never felt this comfortable and safe with a guy before. Start to realise he's also very much my type but I try to keep it out of my mind

He starts to get back into the dating world and I realise it makes me feel really nervous and sad. UNSURE WHAT TO DO. I worry that I am just feeling this way because of proximity and also that I am going to fuck things up if I ask about it. I also kind of fell into that trap of thinking 'if he liked me he wouldve already tried to make a move'. i start imagining how id feel if he got another partner longterm and it makes me feel really sad

About this time last year it's like I wake up one day and am like 'fuck I have feelings for him' but figure I just need to ignore it and get on with my life

Attempt to have a brat summer and affirm that I will find someone else and that these feelings will go away. By early July I realise this is IMPOSSIBLE and that I will need to tell him how I feel because he's the only person I ever look for at events and the person i think about all the time.

situationship guy leaves the continent and i never have to see him again HOORAY

A few of us go abroad in mid July. Hot country, us two and another friend, his gf and brother.

the whole time im TRYING to ignore my feelings but im 100% fallen in love and am so attracted to him. we have long late night chats over cigarettes on rooftops, late night swims, day trips by ourselves etc. so i realise i have to tell him how i feel or i'll regret it

almost have a heart attack from nerves but tell him on the last night of the holiday. feel like im going to get rejected and because hes slow to react and needs to process it im SURE hes rejecting me

we basically stay up all night talking about what this could mean, the implications if it goes wrong, can we stay friends if so, etc. but we do end up holding each other and falling asleep together.

the second we land back in ireland we go on a 40k+ step walk all day to discuss EVERY detail. at the end decide we're gonna try it and have a proper first kiss by the ocean AHHHHH

have our first date the next day

we fall crazy in love

both admit later on that we had BOTH been in love with each other for the past year and BOTH had resigned ourselves to never confessing it because we cherished our friendship so much and thought the other person would reject us

friends to lovers arc in real life complete

[itsnexhun]

Rush iii.

^*^taglist: @queenmimis

TW: mentions of blood, murder implications, torture implications, description of nudity, NSFW implications

Hours pass and the monotonous scenery of the highway is slowly biting away at your sanity. Keeping a close eye on the right side of the road, you spot the small motel conjoined with a gas station that you were looking for. Slowing down, you turn and enter the driveway. You lazily park your car not even bothering to reverse park to ease it for yourself in the morning. Turning to the passenger seat, you already see him looking at you, not even half tired as you are. Hand firmly holding his umbrella as a sign of his ongoing threat to you.

Sighing, you exit your car. You were too tired to care about your own life and safety, your body felt light and head heavy. He gets out along with you while not making a single sound. You try to keep a mental note of that, he might one day suddenly appear behind your back, ready to strike and you won’t even know it. Though from your current impressions, you don’t think he would kill you quickly. There’s something in the back of your head telling you that he would enjoy the process rather than the outcome. Hence his long game with you right now, he could’ve killed you and took your car already back at that station. Despite that, he still chose to play with you.

You open your trunk, quickly move some clothes and toiletries from your suitcase to your backpack. Turning back, you jump a little bit. He’s already behind your back examining the contents of your suitcase. Going red in the face, you immediately slap the trunk down knowing that your underwear was clearly visible – including your silly prints and several spicy pieces. You cannot even dare yourself to look back at him from your embarrassment.

“Was checking for weapons,” he explains with a hint of amusement in his voice. Is it really just your own mind right now that is being so dirty?

Nervously humming back in response, you turn around and head to the motel entrance. Even though you don’t hear him walk, you know he’s right behind you following you like your own shadow. You’ve never been a loud walker yourself; you know that for someone to walk and move like him, there must’ve been special circumstances, that require such habits. The more you think about him, trying to analyze him, the more wary you become of him. 

You enter the motel, smell of old furniture filling your nose. Beneath your feet an old-style wine-red carpet floor, its color tries miserably to hide the stains. The walls are covered by dark magnolia wood, few road-themed picture hanging sporadically. Lights barely light up the dim hall. At its end stands a shiny black circular reception desk littered with fingerprints here and there. An old man sits behind the desk, wrinkles weighing his face down and judgmental eyes staring you two down. Getting closer, you can see his half-filled crossword puzzle. His simple head movement beckons you to speak.

“Hello, do you have any rooms available for one night, please?” 

Your voice sounds desperate, looking like you are the brink of complete exhaustion, you hope to ignite some sort of sympathy towards you. However, you do not think of alerting him of the possible danger behind you. Whatever you would do, he would notice it even before you thought of it. You already know that you two would not stand a chance against him, might as well spare another poor soul.

The receptionist clicks his tongue and puts away his magazine pulling out a thick old notebook covered in bright red leather casing instead. After listing for a while, he looks back at you, looks back down and pulls out a rusty room key.

“Room 44, payment up front in cash. Be gone by 10 in the morning. Breakfast after 7, not included in the final price.”

Pulling out your wallet, you slowly realize that you left all your cash back at the gas station. You resist the urge to curse. Awkwardly looking back and front, the receptionist’s stern face does not change.

“Is there an ATM here somewhere?”

“Out in the back.”

Looking back at Feitan, you quickly tell him to wait just in case anyone comes in and takes potentially the last empty room. Although, you are not completely sure if leaving the receptionist with Feitan is a good idea. You use the last of your energy to run out, the light guides you to a bright shining ATM. Hoping there’s enough money left, you slide in your card. 

“No need.”

You turn around, seeing Feitan appear behind your back with his cold and nonchalant look as usual. His hands in his pockets, you watch the cloak outline his body with streetlight highlighting every crinkle, every curve. Your heart skips a beat, cold air brushes against your sweating skin. His hair frames the sides of his face, slightly less wild and spiky unlike before – you notice. 

“What..? What do you mean ‘no need’?” 

Your voice comes out as weak and confused. Feeling like a sheep before a slaughter, you take a step back. His eyes narrow, brows furrow. Lowering his head, he analyzes you intently. 

“Reception guy – an old friend,” he coldly states without any emotion in his voice, his eyes having seemingly darker shade than you remember. He does not talk with any sort of emotion someone would normally use when talking about an old friend of theirs, he sounds slightly annoyed instead. 

He pulls out the room 44 key out of his pocket as well as with something that looks like a check to convince you he did not steal the key. He comes in closer, you have nowhere to move – standing sandwiched between the ATM and Feitan. Your hands hover before your body as if that would help you against him. With his face centimeters away from yours, you feel something land in your hands. Handing you the keys, he steps away and his eyes smile at you, at least you think that is what he is doing. Smiling. You cannot guess his expression correctly through his bandana covering half of his face. 

“Okay… I’ll still withdraw some money just in case,” you say as you reluctantly turn around to finish the transaction. You are pleasantly surprised to find out you still have quite the sum of money on your card. Choosing the withdraw half of it in case of an emergency, you turn around to face him. He was patiently waiting behind you the whole time. And now, in turn, you are the one following him back inside. 

You see the back of the receptionist’s head peeking from behind the counter, he seems to be lost in his crossword puzzle again. Perhaps they really were old friends? Surely, he wouldn’t just be calmly sitting there if he was threatened. 

“Ah… He-p...!” the receptionist groans in pain trying to move his head in a ragged motion.

Feitan steps closer to him, pats him on the back while laughing.

“Yes, nine-word inflammatory disease on H – hepatitis.”

“Ah-aaa-h.”

Feitan returns back to you, his eyes telling you ‘told you so’. Yet you cannot shake away this bad feeling you have, which says that something isn’t adding up. The both of them didn’t seem to recognize each other when you stepped in the first time. But now he is simply acting like he is helping his good old friend with a crossword puzzle. Maybe you are simply just overreacting, the exhaustion is taking a toll on your senses. 

He leads you to the old elevator. You think of running but your plans are immediately ruined when he insists that you get in the elevator first. Despite the situation you feel less and less inclined to run from him the more time you spend together. Without any more thoughts you stand in the corner the furthest from him while he presses the number on the keypad. It’s the top floor. 

Turning around, you notice your own face in the mirror. Looking like you’ve seen better day, no wonder you don’t feel like running. If somebody saw you two, they would think that you are the dangerous one. Smudged makeup almost blends in with the large violet eyebags adorning your eyes. Your hair is a frizzy mess. Seeing yourself just now, you feel like you just want to hide away from the eyes of others. You try to smooth down your hair a little.

The sound of the elevator stopping tears you away from your thoughts. You have bigger things to worry about other than your looks right now. You get out with Feitan, following him to your room. It’s on the end of the hall. You’ll finally get a chance to sleep, to get yourself together and figure out the next course of action. 

Room 44. You use the keys he gave you and try to open the door. It’s old and seemingly stuck. The rust on the handle scratches the palm of your hand as you try to force it open. He lets you fiddle with it for a while before his patience runs out, then pushing you out of the way, he simply opens it as if it was never stuck to begin with.

As you walk in, the first thing you see is a double bed with a single big blanket crammed in the small room. In front of it is a small old loveseat with a faded out rose pattern. To the right side of the bed leads a door to the bathroom with a shower situated right as you walk in. On the left side of the bed, there are two windows, both with a lock on them. Strangely enough, you were given only one key from Feitan. 

“So, uhm, who gets the bed?”

“Got work to do,” he answers instead in return and before you know it, he’s already gone together with the singular key you held onto few seconds before. Well, first comes, first served, you say to yourself. You throw your backpack on the bed and search for your pajamas along with the hygiene products. Heading into the bathroom for a quick shower, you notice that the bathroom door doesn’t close fully. It’s your only luck that he went out so quickly, otherwise you wouldn’t get to shower. Hell, you would’ve been even more reluctant to just change into your pajama or simply do your business on the toilet. 

You shower as quickly as humanely possible, you’d like to not remain naked and vulnerable for a long amount of time, when you do not know, when he comes back. After washing your face and brushing your teeth, you feel much more comfortable in your own skin. Collapsing into the old creaking bed, you wrap yourself into the blanket. Slowly drifting into sleep, you forget all about your worries. 

Muffled moaning from the neighboring room wakes you up. Still half asleep, you stretch your legs feeling your ankle bones crack. You turn to the other side facing the bathroom door as more of your consciousness comes to you. The slapping of skin, high pitched moans and whines coming from the other room now seem louder to you. 

But there is another sound. The sound of the shower running.

The bathroom door is fully opened, hanging from its hinges. Your gaze focuses. You see Feitan standing under the harsh flow of water. His back turned to you, he leans on hand, nails scratching the tiles. Droplets of water and something else, something dark – brownish red, trace his tensed-up muscles. Head hanging loosely, covered by his long raven hair. 

You are not sure if you are still dreaming.

His breaths are deep and long like he’s trying to calm down. You notice that his bandages are down. Is it blood running down his clenched fists, muscular arms, shaped torso and strong legs? Is it his own? Or perhaps someone else’s? You should be horrified. Yet, here you are, in a stage between dream and reality and your only thought is that the man before you is hauntingly beautiful. 

Deep down you know the truth, but you don’t want to put the puzzle pieces together. You don’t want to realize; your subconsciousness doesn’t want you to realize in a struggle to protect your own mind and sanity as a last resort to prevent you from breaking down.

His head twitches and your eyes meet. You immediately come back to reality. Your heartrate speeding up as soon as you realize the danger. Closing your eyes shut, you pretend to be asleep.  The water stops running, moans from the other room intensify and fill the silence. He does not bother to be quiet, he walks in a way so that you could hear him on purpose.

You feel the weight shift on the mattress. Sheets rustle. A small drop of water from his hair falls on your cheek.

“I know you awake.”

[tarydarrington]

Well into the night, Essek folds his hands at last with nothing left to say. Caleb’s study feels hollowed out, refilled to bursting with the ghosts of every word exchanged. There had been a lot of them. All carefully chosen, some shouted, all heated.

This isn't the end of the conversation, but it's the end of their talk. A satisfactory end to the first of many chapters. Essek takes a deep breath.

"Thank you for listening."

Across the coffee table, his mother folds her hands in her lap. "Thank you for your honesty."

As though this is the end of a business meeting and not the second most harrowing conversation of Essek's life, they exchange a polite nod.

He stands, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Allow me to show you to your room."

Hours ago, Caleb had retreated to his quarters to allow them some privacy. Much as Essek would like to follow, he will stay away while his mother is here. Whatever assumptions Deirta might make about their involvement would not be true—not yet, anyway—and he will not sour their uneasy truce with a misunderstanding.

“My quarters are there,” he says, gesturing to the door with the star carving. “Caleb’s are across the landing.”

He points out the rest of the rooms below as they approach the landing. The tower has been tinkered with over time; the rooms usually reserved for the rest of the Nein have become workshops, research stations, and other such spaces that have proved useful in their explorations.

Before he can lead her down through the iris, his mother holds up a hand.

“If I might impose,” she says, “I should like to read over the reports you mentioned.”

Of course—he had mentioned the Vurmas reports during the initial buffer of small talk. They would make their way to the Dynasty eventually, but reading them beforehand will give his mother a leg up. The first of many gestures Essek suspects it will take to make up for her silence.

A small price to pay. Until he had known for certain that the Umavi would not cut all contact upon learning of his treason, he hadn’t realized how much he had dreaded the possibility.

He turns away from the iris and toward his room. His mother waits outside as he slips in, leaving the door ajar behind him as he sifts through the stack of papers left on the table in the entryway.

“Pardon the mess,” he says out of habit, as though the space is not spotless. Caleb arranges this room from scratch each night; there is not so much as a speck of dust to offend.

It stops Essek mid-hover, then, to see his mother’s eyebrows raised when he turns back.

“Think nothing of it,” she says, and already the polite smile is back in place. “Tell me, do your friends’ quarters share the same design?”

Essek follows her eye line over his shoulder. Caleb has laid out his rooms as he usually does, all purples and stars and fine fabrics. An array of arcane instruments waits patiently on a table under the window. Essek's mother looks past it all and into the bedroom. He frowns. There is nothing terribly unusual there, save—

It's all he can do not to swallow his own tongue.

The bed. His mother is staring at his bed.

For a drow of his age to sleep once in a while is not unheard of, of course; particularly when ill, they are known to indulge. Be that as it may, Essek knows as well as Deirta that one would hardly purchase a bed for a once-in-a-blue-moon nap. It comes with certain implications. 

It was not a purchase, Essek insists to himself. Everything in this room was pulled from the ether to make him comfortable. The logic is with him.

"Indeed," he says. "The colors are customized to suit us each as individuals, but the layout is the same."

This is the part where he pretends that he hasn't spent more than one night positively snug under those blankets for comfort's sake, and especially pretends he has not realized that the mattress is wide enough to fit two.

Essek’s mother is an intelligent woman. She will put two and two together: Caleb is a human, and a human unused to drow customs might make such a faux pas with innocent intentions. One tends not to think twice about habits that are second nature, and someone of Caleb’s background would not think twice about placing a bed in a bedroom.

Essek has done the same mental math more than once, with varying levels of desperation.

“Well,” he says, and presses the files into his mother’s arms with as much dignity as he can scrape together, “let me show you to your rooms.”

They make their way in silence down through the tower’s central column. Essek thinks auf rather than saying it this time; better, just in case, to keep the magic words from his mother.

He leaves the way to the front door open. She has far too much decorum to snoop during the night.

They touch down on the fifth floor. Silently, Essek thanks Caleb for neglecting to put a dodecahedron on the guest room door.

“These are yours.” He draws the door open for her, bowing his head as he gestures inside.

With no small swell of pride, he watches her take in Caleb’s handiwork as her head turns on a slow swivel, then sneaks a glance himself.

Strands of crystal drape the ceiling like a canopy of iridescent vines. Caleb has replicated perfectly the sitting room Essek had described, complete with his mother's favorite tea steaming on the low table. Everything from the molding to the doilies speaks to both the gravity of her station and her own personal tastes.

There is no bed.

The Umavi’s manners are immaculate. He knows, as she turns a smile on him that is barely thinner than usual, that he will not hear a word about it. He will simply be cursed with the mortifying knowledge that she has arrived at her own conclusions.

Perhaps, if he tried very hard, he could claw his way out of his skin.

“Thank you very much,” Deirta says, hands folded in front of her. “Please pass on my gratitude to Master Widogast.”

He will hold eye contact. He will hold eye contact and smile politely. It is perfectly acceptable for his mother to suspect that he—

“Of course,” he says. “Should you require anything, the cats will assist.”

With utmost grace and one final nod, the Umavi shuts the door behind her. Essek, hands folded behind his back, counts to ten before deflating.

The bed is just as they’d left it, when he finds his way back to his chambers. Essek lingers in the doorway regarding it for a long moment before sinking down on the edge.

The bedding is soft. Is this the sort of fabric Caleb imagines Essek would prefer, or the sort that Caleb himself enjoys? He runs his thumb over a seam, letting the thought settle in with a warm buzz. It feels less forbidden this time, and several times more dangerous.

He leans into both feelings, climbing the rest of the way onto the bed and under the covers.

Two floors down and two doors over, his mother is doubtless turning their conversation over in her head. She will spend the night picking apart his every transgression, weighing it against whatever sentimental value he holds to her.

Essek breathes out and turns his face into the softness of the pillowcase.

It smells like him. Like Essek himself—just the way it would after many days of use. Essek shuts his eyes, pressing his hands to his face as the liquid warmth of that realization makes its way through him.

Two doors down, he is increasingly certain that Caleb, too, is thinking of him.

His mother is in the tower. This is not the time to dwell on such things, much as his body would like to.

With a deep breath, Essek runs his thumb across the soft ridges of the duvet. His nail catches on one, then two, then three—he counts until his pulse begins to listen to reason, then breathes out. For now, he will take it as a safety net. Something to fall into at the end of the day when all else is uncertain. A soft place to land.

Let his mother assume what she will. It would be the least of his crimes she’s learned of tonight.

The threads of a Sending pull taut between his fingers, buzzing with potential. He takes a breath and lets it out.

“We are finished for the night,” he says. “Much more to come. My thanks and hers for your hospitality.”

He curls his lip at himself. Formality is not a leg on which he’s felt the need to stand in some time, where Caleb is concerned. His mother’s presence has him falling back into old means of keeping balanced.

“Sleep well. Perhaps with one eye open.”

Caleb knows him well enough to take it in jest. Essek lets the spell go, shutting his eyes with a long breath out.

Later, the memory of Caleb’s voice in his head as he sinks into the mattress will do him no favors at all.

“Glad to hear it went well,” he says, laughter in his voice. “I will have breakfast ready early. She will be impressed, I hope.”

Essek counts the stars on the ceiling. The pause stretches on for two constellations.

“Until morning, dear friend,” Caleb finishes. “Sleep well.”

Something warm unspools in Essek’s chest as the magic dissipates around him. There is more than one story in the tower that is only in the first of many chapters. The words to this one will be harder to find—but their writing, he thinks, will be sweeter.

---

a very happy, very late birthday to my friend @sosobriquet, who tossed this concept around with me many months ago 🍰💜

[rat-rosemary]

To come back to your arms, to lay warm once more

It's always odd to see Dream lounging like this, to find his God (because this is his God. No matter how much the castles scream and tear and twist, this is his God) laying on a sun beam, casually leaning against a rock.

When Karl read about other gods, when he heard people talk about theirs, they were always untouchable by mortals, living far away on their golden palaces. Not like Dream, with paws stained of dirt and scars. A being made of flesh and blood like any of them.

He wonders if those devouts can hear their gods' heartbeat.

"Are you trying to look poisonous?"

Karl snapped back into attention, focusing back on Dream's face from where his eyes had drifted to the God's... other features.

"What?"

"You have color splashes all over your back. Are you trying to look poisonous Karl?"

Did he? He hadn't noticed, but the in-between has a habit of trying to shove it's hands into Karl's form, trying to reshape him.

(Somewhere under the fog in his mind something shuttered, something that could remember screamed at the mere idea, at the implications. Karl was too tired to listen to it.)

He took of his black and white hoodie, walking to a nearby stream and looking at his reflection in the water.

Truly, there were splashes of color on him, looking like someone had violently slammed a paintbrush against his ribs.

"You don't look poisonous Karl. The colors are too muddied, they make you look sick."

Karl jumped. He hadn't noticed Dream getting up from his sunbeam and following him. That was two times that Karl wasn't paying attention and got startled, and from the look in Dream's eyes he hasn't pleased with that.

Oops.

"You did such a better job with your hair before, I don't know why you decided to change to this. The grey looks bad, makes you easy prey," Dream said, one of his hands sliding over Karl's scruff, covering the back of his neck, "let me fix it for you."

And then there was warmth flooding Karl's body, flowing into him from Dream like fresh blood as the other forced a transformation, shifting the form of his devout.

Karl felt cleansed. Exorcised of an evil that settled on him bit by bit, consuming him like a frog on boiling water.

Like waking up from a long terrible dream, like falling asleep in a warm bed after a long terrible chase.

Belatedly he realized there were tears sliding down his face as his mind cleared and sharpened, and it took a bit until he could see his reflection on the water of the stream again.

The ends of his curls were once more filled with color, less vibrant then he would personally have but such a relief after spending so long not realizing that they were gone that Karl's eyes almost blur once more.

The ugly muddy splashes across his skins have become a light brown pattern, just slightly darker then his skin, spanning down his back and on the tip of his nose like a deer's fur.

Karl laughs, desperate and fearful as all at once he feels all he has done, remember all he has forgotten, and as he feels Dream hesitantly pull his hand away Karl slams his own on top, keeping the God's hand in place.

"Karl?"

His laughter becomes maniac, his eyes closing as he curls up on himself. Shaking his head like he shake away the memories, turn everything he went through into a bad fever dream.

And then he starts sobbing, throwing himself into Dream's arms and praying that he will somehow hold him together when that being (because whatever the inbetween is, it is not a God. Karl will not give it that tittle) was trying to rip his devout away from him.

His prayers are answered and Dream pulls him closer, letting Karl hide his face on his shoulders as he sobs, the fur there growing wet in a matter of seconds.

Eventually, after what feels like eons, Karl feels himself calm, a natural exhaustion settling deep on his chest at the same time a pounding headache settles behind his forehead.

Distantly he realizes he has shifted once more.

He stops clutching Dream like someone will come drag him away, glancing down and finding colorful spots like confetti on his skin and ears floppy and long against his back as he takes shape of a rabbit, mimicking Dream's favorite form, his real true form, not the showy and impractical angel that he uses to scare away outsiders who expect something else of him.

Karl's eyes are heavy and this time he let's them fall with no fear of where he will wake up.

He is back home, in his den, safe from the claws of the hunt.

It's time to rest before the next day, before his next chase.

🐇¤🐇¤🐇¤🐇¤🐇

Inspired by this fanart I found on pinterest

The artists is @/mama gingerale but I can't tell you if they're from here or twt or if they're even active anymore

ALSO BTW IF YOU EVER SEE THIS I THINK THE MARKINGS ARE BEAUTIFUL SORRY FOR CALLING THEM UGLY AND MUDDY BUT ANGST

[misty-235]

My head cannons for the cenobites!!! Been working on this one for a while lol. A mixture of serious ones and funny stuff.

Tw: cannon typical violence and gore, sexual references (it’s Hellraiser after all!), references to alcohol

The Hell Priest/ Elliot Spencer:

Extremely pretentious. One of those people who drinks a little bit of wine and starts saying they detect a note of cinnamon or something. Having lived in the Labyrinth for about a hundred years, he’s accumulated a lot of ( mostly useless) information about everything under the sun. He’s extremely intelligent and he knows it. He’s especially good at chess, and knows dozens of languages.

He also knows how enticing and seductive he is to mortals, and sometimes spends considerable amounts of time gazing into a mirror, adjusting his pins so that they’re just so.

He has a fatherly relationship with Chatterer. He sees him as a kid he has to look after, as some sort of assignment from Leviathan. Like Female, he often gets him out of all the scraps he gets into with other cenobites. Chatterer sometimes manages to wheedle sympathy out of him, in which case he gives him an awkward head pat or two.

However, when all the responsibilities of the Labyrinth become too much, he has a little corner he can hide in that nobody else knows about, in case everybody wants something from him and he has to just vanish for a short while. He just sits there and reads assorted inteligent people books, sharpens his knives, etc, and tries to avoid being pestered. He’s extremely organised, and keeps everything in this little hideout neat and tidy.

He doesn't really understand when somebody makes a joke, and just kind of looks at them with a mixture of mild disapproval and faint confusion. Give him a moment- he needs to ponder the profound philosophical implications of what you’ve just said before he gives you an answer.

Old habits die hard. Having been British as a human, he still drinks tea, with the only difference being that it has human blood in it now instead of milk. He did this even before he was aware that he was not in fact always a cenobite.

Awkward with Kirsty. He clearly has an interest in her, but, since she’s a human, he doesn't know how to go about fulfilling this attraction without tearing her soul apart. So he ends up just standing there staring intently at her without saying anything, or tries to think of what humans talk about (or rather, what they talked about when he was human, about 100 years ago) and makes forced conversation, largely about the weather, although the Labyrinth doesn't even have any, “automobiles.”

Female/ Deep Throat/ Nikoletta/ Cilice:

On the surface, she seems serious, humourless, methodical, and sadistic, though this is mostly just something that she does around humans in order to intimidate them- it works.

She’s the best friend of the Hell Priest, and occasionally gives him pep talks when he’s moody. Although she’s often grumpy with everybody else, she can’t get enough of him. He’s also the only person she listens to and actually obeys (well, along with Leviathan). The adoration is mutual, and these two love to spend time in one another’s company. It’s possible they had a romantic relationship at some point, although how exactly the cenobites would define such a thing, if at all, is unclear. Mostly, they are very close friends with benefits, in human terms.

She also definitely has (seemingly one sided) chemistry with Kirsty, in that she finds her very enticing (see that part of the first film when she touches her neck wound in a pretty obvious way after she summons the cenobites.) She just wishes she would finally allow herself to be taken to the labyrinth so they could explore the furthest reaches of experience together, which is why she often expresses a desire for her to stay in the films.

If she sees one of the others (read: Chatterer) torturing somebody not up to standard, she gives them the stink eye. Said look alone probably holds enough disapproval to give most humans heart failure, but Chatterer is unphased, just living his best life.

She’s quick to anger, especially regarding Chatterer, and occasionally gives him a telling off. She regards herself as somewhat of an older sister to him, having been responsible for him when he’d first become a cenobite. She’s very grumpy, and makes her displeasure known when she can, usually by just lurking in a threatening manner or giving off silent judgement.

The nail in her nose was a gift from the Hell Priest, and originally came from his head. She loves wearing a part of him with her.

Fun fact: according to the Cilicium Quadra by Barbie Wilde, who played her in Hellraiser II, she has a pet crow, named Xibalbá. He eats eyeballs marinated in wine, meaning he’s one boozy bird. This book also tells us that she was French as a human- I can’t imagine anything cooler than her speaking French to her victims, in a weird subversion of romance.

She can be mischievous and flirtatious when the mood strikes her, and isn't always cold and humourless. However, she only allows herself some fun after her duties have been attended to. She doesn't like being lazy.

Much like a teenage girl, she keeps a secret diary, written entirely in her own blood and bound with the skin of one of her victims. In it she writes down assorted rants about everything and anything, saucy thoughts about whoever comes to mind, plans for new torture methouds, and of course a mountain of gross (even by cenobite standards), embarrassing details about herself. She guards this diary with her life. It even has a heart shaped lock on it- she keeps the key somewhere secret.

Chatterer/ Jim:

The silly one. He has way too much energy and much too little brain. Maybe Leviathan accidentally lobotomised him at some point. He is constantly running about and causing chaos, perhaps for attention, or maybe just because he wants to.

This, combined with the fact that he is very nearly blind and perhaps makes his way around using his hearing, means that he’s also really clumsy. He walks into things, trips over, and gets stuck in small spaces, chattering loudly and squirming until somebody rescues him like a cat that got stuck up a tree. He has no sense of direction and gets lost everywhere, so the others need to keep an eye on him.

Personal space? What's that? He likes to get right up in peoples faces so that he can give them a good sniff or feel their face. He likes putting his fingers in peoples mouths since, without being able to see, it feels like he’s, erm, making a connection, or something. Also, it stops the screaming of people who have opened the box. Sometimes, he misses the mouth and ends up poking their eyes instead, which is also pretty effective. He does this to other cenobites too, much to their chagrin. If they push him away, he just comes right back for another go.

Chatterer is enormously overconfident, to the point of picking fights with larger, stronger cenobites or other demons, either by mocking them, making a ton of noise, poking them or annoying them in some other way. Being the youngest of the cenobites, he feels that has something to prove- namely that he has that dog in him. Needless to say, he gets beaten up pretty badly most of the time; Female usually has to stitch him back together.

He develops crushes on other (mostly male- he’s semi-canonically gay as far as I can tell) cenobites very easily and starts simping for them, following them around and trying to get their attention by doing something infuriating, which is what he does best. He seems to have a thing for dudes with big muscles, but despite that, nobody is safe from his advances, if they can even be called that.

Sometimes just gets distracted whilst torturing somebody and just wanders off, because he has the attention span of a goldfish. Unlike the others, who are more refined with torture, he just prefers to slash and stab at his victims wildly.

Other than chattering his teeth, he is also capable of making high pitched screeching noises, like a possum getting its tail stepped on.

He likes to bite people, especially to communicate the fact that he’s not happy, or is frustrated, since he has no other way to do it. In her rare sentimental moods, Female likes to fuss over him (who’s a cute little guy?) and although he usually likes being given attention, he always ends up just taking a chunk out of her wrist when he’s getting bored.

Butterball/ Laslo:

He’s just a chill guy. His favourite thing to do (other than torture people, of course) is eat. Where does he get all of that food, since cenobites don’t even have to eat, and it’s not like the labyrinth has anything edible laying around? Nobody knows.

He's definitely the calmest of the four. Nothing phases him much. Being the oldest cenobite by far, he’s seen it all before and knows everything just blows over eventually. He does get kind of miffed if somebody (usually Chatterer) takes his glasses though.

He can talk, just can’t really be bothered. Having lived in the labyrinth for hundreds of years, he’s tired of it. Needless to say, Chatterer more than makes up for his silence by running his mouth non-stop. Chatterer likes him because he actually listens to him talking without complaint. In truth, he just zones out, but since he’s happy just standing there existing for long periods of time, this doesn't bother him.

He’s often tasked with doing the work none of the other’s want to do, just because they know he just kind of shrugs and does it. Ergo, he often looks after Chatterer (ie. prevents him from getting into fights, climbing up the walls, etc.)

He argues with the Hell Priest frequently, although these arguments tend to be one sided- the priest complains about something at him, and he just sits there, completely unphased by anything that’s going on.

[sonicasura]

I had some thoughts about what shenanigans Kafka would get into in the One Piece world. This is spoiler free for anyone not on the current arc of OP(like I am). Please enjoy!

Kafka crashlands near the Thousand Sunny on the crew's way to Punk Hazard. (It's the second day of him having his powers btw.) Usopp and Luffy are the ones to find the himbo as they were fishing at the moment. Only for the Strawhat to fish the man out by his pants.

Kafka absolutely freaks out upon seeing Brook, Franky gets a long stare from him, while Chopper is called an adorable reindeer. (The Doctor was happy that someone didn't call him a raccoon dog for once.) Luffy immediately wants the himbo on his crew when a hostile Sea Beast shows up and he one shots it in kaiju form.

Kafka is called the Devil Eater amongst the crew. At first everyone thought he ate a Devil Fruit until Usopp mentions that he saw the man swimming. They assume the himbo eaten a devil instead after the Monster Sweeper tells them about how he got his powers.

Zoro overhears Kafka mentioning a promise he made to Mina on becoming a swordsman. Or how the himbo finds himself in sword training by sheer accident. He still takes the lessons even when given the option to quit. (The himbo still practices once back in his world.)

Nami is sighing in the corner upon learning how much of a manchild the kaiju shifter is. Kafka absolutely joins Luffy in his dumb antics but thankfully has some common sense to not take it too far. Especially when it came to experimenting with their powers.

Discussion with Chopper about his health leads to kaiju himbo realizing he now has a core. It took a while to locate the thing since Franky had to build an X-ray from scratch. Also Sanji makes sure Kafka eats enough food just in case his body needs more to sustain itself.

Everyone is confused about the Strawhat Pirates newest recruit. A good chunk believe the man is a sea devil as his abilities still work even when submerged. It doesn't take long for the himbo to get in himself a bounty or title. Devil Eater Kafka Hibino, Bounty: 32,000,000 million Berries. (Blame Luffy for the title)

First purchase in the One Piece world is a camera. Kafka is gonna take pictures while he's there and nab some souvenirs. He makes two scrapbooks by the end of the journey with the photos taken. One for him and the other for the Strawhats.

Luffy catches Kafka drawing something in his sketchbook. Or how the Strawhats learn that they have an analyst amongst them as he talks about his Monster Sweeper job. Usopp wants to have a drawing contest while Sanji thinks the man would make a good butcher. Luffy REALLY wants to eat a kaiju.

Kafka trains under Minks when it becomes apparent his powers, particularly the bioelectricity, are somewhat similar to theirs. Or how the kaiju himbo discovers that he can use all three forms of Haki. (He absolutely apologizes for the incident with Conquerer's variant.) It's a good thing considering how stronger his opponents are compared to normal kaiju.

Kafka's curiosity on Chopper's Rumble Ball leads to studying about medicine and Devil Fruits. He thinks the special pill could help him manage his kaiju form better. The Strawhat Doctor does want the man to understand the possible implications before any test trials.

Kafka's main role on the ship is Assistant. He helps everyone with specific tasks particularly Usopp, Franky, Sanji and Chopper. He often collects materials for them to use. (Or keep Luffy out of the kitchen in the chef's case.)

Kaiju habits are immediately indulged because Kafka doesn't have to worry about his secret here. Usopp built him a perch by the crow's nest so he can sunbathe. He absolutely jumped into the sea and brought back a freshly caught large fish or Sea Beast for the crew more than once.

Kafka may have gotten a few Den Den Mushi to talk with Tiny. He figured since the snails were telepathic then he might be able to connect to the little kaiju in his chest. Definitely knew what frequency was needed when the snail unnervingly begins to say 'Kill Kaiju' over and over.

Kafka's Devil Eater Title lands him in some 'interesting' situations. Big Mom wants to put him in an arranged marriage with one of her kids. Mad scientist types like Caesar Clown want to experiment on the man's ability. Definite target for Mink affection as he's like a "Scaled Mink" to them.

Attack names? You bet Kafka comes up with names for his attacks during the trip. A habit that stays even after getting back home. Same goes for outfit changes thanks to the crew's antics.

Kafka is given a goodbye gift from each of the Strawhats before he returns to his world. Luffy: A handmade strawhat.(Nami helped him make it.) Zoro: Three swords alongside a sword charm. Nami: A handmade map and a treasure pouch. Usopp: Pirate flags based on the crew alongside a few plant seeds. Sanji: A knife set and a cookbook. Robin: One of her favorite books. Chopper: A medical kit alongside his favorite medicine book. Franky: A Thousand Sunny figure and a motorbike based on the Going Merry. Brook: A sea turtle themed guitar with some records. Jinbe: Book on Fishman Karate and a few Dials.

@mechazushi @foolmariofest @margoteve @famouslysleepy @quinowskie @idocreative @cf8wrk4u-us

[in1-nutshell]

Human Buddy the senior liaison becoming friends with First Aid

SFW, platonic, familial, Human reader, implication of reader passing away of old age

MTMTE

Buddy is the human equivalent of Ratchet.

They are a Grumpy Liaison sent originally to keep Cybertronian and human relations good then later to watch Megatron.

They know that something is up all the time.

They call it “The-Kids-Are-doing-Something -Stupid- Radar.” Buddy has a habit of calling a lot of the bots “Children/ Kids.”

Distant explosion

“Thoughs kids… I swear they are going to be the death of me…”     --Buddy

Even though every single one of them is older than him by a good millions of years.

Buddy senior is never too far from Megatron. They take their job seriously. Almost acting as a third shadow, the second shadow is Ravage.

On the off chance that they aren’t watching Megatron they are usually in the Med Bay or at Swerve’s. They relate to Ratchet the best out of all the crew and are often seen together talking about the most random things.

Buddy and Ratchet staring at each other.

“What are they doing?”—Bot 1

“I don’t know. Maybe they hate each other?”—Bot 2

Meanwhile Ratchet and Buddy are having a conversation with their eyes/optics about how dumb everyone’s injuries are today.

The dynamic does change a bit as the new introduction to First Aid.

Especially when Ratchet goes off to get Drift. Buddy senior meets First Aid after the dilemma at Delphi. First Aid is very intrigued by the older human.

“So… you’re a human.”—First Aid

“Last time I checked. And you’re a nurse?”--Buddy

“Sort of. I mean now I’m the new Chief Medical Officer.”—First Aid

“You’re what now?”--Buddy

After Ratchet’s departure is when the both start bonding a bit more. It first began with medical similarities between Cybertonians and humans before moving on to different more lighthearted subjects such as the latest gossip around the ship or First Aid subscription on the Wrecker’s log.

“So Aid… what’s this about Springer?”--Buddy

“What do you mean?!”—First Aid

“Aid I’ve seen your notes.”--Buddy

“…please don’t tell anyone.”—First Aid

“Kid, my lips are sealed, just tell me more about this Wrecker.”        --Buddy

Over time First Aid feels more comfortable around Buddy. Buddy as much as they hate to admit it First Aid begins to look like a son to them than just a regular co worker. Has referred to First Aid as their son before, but First Aid doesn’t exactly know what the meaning of the expression is.

“Did you refuel today?”--Buddy

“I will in a couple of minutes.”—First Aid

“You said that nearly half an hour ago, go refuel son.”--Buddy

“…”

“…”

“What’s a ‘son’?” –First Aid

When Ratchet does come back with Drift, First Aid does ask him what it means. Ratchet lets out a chuckle and points out that Buddy sees First Aid as their sparkling.

First Aid is happy.

He called them his parent one time at Swerve’s.

That was the first time any of the Lost Lighters had seen their senior Liaison crumple down in happy tears. There is a lot of explanation on how much joy they feel after that.

First Aid after that is rarely seen without Buddy nearby.

After a good two years on the Lost Light Buddy calls for a meeting with their close friends and Captains as witnesses. They express that they know that their time now is coming close to an end even more being in space and they wanted to give each a copy of their will in case at any point they were to pass they wanted all their things straightening out.

There are plenty of tears shed, especially from First Aid upon realizing how short the human life span is especially at the point where Buddy is at.

“Please don’t talk about that… not now.”—First Aid

“It’ll be okay First Aid. Everything will be okay.”--Buddy

“Can we just talk about something else? Please?”—First Aid

“…Okay Aid. What do you want to talk about?”--Buddy

First Aid expresses his feelings about their mortality to Buddy later that night. After a bit of tears from both ends, they both promise to have the next few days to be the best together before the end comes.

First Aid did keep his promise till the very end.

[bestangelofall]

Fic Writer Asks

Thank you for the tag, @missmorwen 🥰

1. How many works on AO3?

87 across my accounts, plus something like maybe 5-10 anonymous works that I won't go list after list to count exactly 😅 and another 10-20 that I've orphaned throughout the years

2. Total AO3 Word Count?

290K

3. Top 5 fics by Kudos:

motionless ruin

Self-fulfilling Prophecy

neither serving in hell, nor reigning in hell

if you look at us, maybe something survived

And Maybe a New Day Begins

Unsurprisingly, all of them are for DC/Marvel. My most kudo-ed fics in small fandoms reach probably the least kudo-ed DC/Marvel fics (except for the experimental stuff).

4. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently mostly writing DC, with a side of Marvel. I'm also always writing for Blade Runner 2049, even if it's just a little (it's my obsession that burns not brightly but for a long time, to paraphrase the original Blade Runner hehe). Also have some Detroit: Become Human projects that I haven't given up on yet. Theoretically, I also have an Ex Machina/Companion crossover. I've written for many other fandoms, too, but I don't consider that I write for them anymore (but I never say never etc).

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yeah, but I'm not consistent about it, because sometimes I just really have low energy. I have more than 190 comments unanswered and I'm sorry 😭 but I lost control over the replies at one point and now I don't know how to recover. I've been trying to keep up with the comments in my most recent fics, though. But I read and cherish every comment I get ❤️❤️

6. Angstiest Ending?

Okay, so, I usually only talk about DC and Marvel fics on this blog, to keep it on theme, but I love my fics for other fandoms, so I'm gonna mention them too. It's hard to elect the one angstiest ending, because I write a lot of sad and downer endings, so I'm picking 3:

not a name at all, though taken for one, because it is canon compliant, and the reader knows that everything the MC tells herself will happen, actually won't. She'll die a dehumanized thing who doesn't even know she's alive :/

Children of the Integrated Circuit, because... Well. The implications of the last line :3

The Habit of Discontentment, this one was depressing all around, and the ending makes everything else worse (maybe?)

7. Fic with the Happiest Ending?

Uhhhh. I kind of don't really have endings that I'd classify as "happy", because all those happy endings are in WIPs I haven't finished lmaaaao. I have a few hopeful endings, best I can do right now...

8. Do you get hate?

Always got nice comments and interactions :)

9. Do you write smut?

Yeah. And it's a curious thing, because there were two turning points in the writing smut thing for me. The first one was DBH. I had the eventual WIP with some suggestive stuff before getting into DBH, but it was DBH that made me really start writing smut (all of it is still in my drafts). Then there was DC. DC, where every other fic is a smutfest (affectionate), which made me start publishing the smut I write. It was a bit daunting, but now I'm glad it happened. Maybe I'll go back and edit all my DBH smut and post it 🤔

10. Do you write crossovers?

I do, but most of them are not posted. I have a bunch of WIPs that I don't know if I'll finish for Blade Runner/DBH, a DBH/Ex-Machina one, Ex-Machina/Companion, a few others for miscellaneous sci-fi fandoms. The only one that I can remember that I have posted is neither serving in heaven, nor reigning in hell, a DC/Marvel crossover... Which I'm not sure I'll finish, because I don't like very much anymore how I was writing both Natasha and Jason in this. I have other ideas for Nat & Jason, though, and I'll probably use parts of that fic in a new, revamped crossover.

11. Ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah. There was once a guy offering to translate fics into Dutch, and I took up his offer. Someone also once translated a fic of mine into French, and they didn't even leave kudos on the original (I'm salty about this to this day, can you tell?)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Not yet, but I have a few ideas and projects with some people :)

14. All time favourite ship?

Idk... I'd say it's Masriel from His Dark Materials, but I probably won't ever write fic for them (the source material is perfect imo).

15. WIPs you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

There are so so many of these... But the one I wish the most I could finish is Honest Promise to a Degree, which is a fic I had SUCH grand plans for, but I just... Am not that interested in the characters and fandom anymore. I'm also a bit embarrassed about this fandom (the source material is really mediocre lmao, but it gave me a short obsession) and I'm forcing yo mention it here, in the hopes it will help me get over that and maybe even rekindle my passion for this fic. Who knows? ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

16. Writing strengths?

I think writing emotion, and certain kinds of dialogue (I can't write banter to save my life, but I think I do okay with tense interactions).

17. Writing Weaknesses?

Physical descriptions. My writing has the white room syndrome problem, I am aware of that.

18. Thoughts on mixed language dialogue?

It really depends. I think a few words and a sentence here and there is okay and can even be good (in general), but much more than that, I think it makes things confusing.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The Matrix and Narnia crossover, before I even knew the concept of fanfic (I think I was like... 9?). First fandom I was aware I was writing fic for was Twilight.

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

How dare you make me choose 😭 out of the finished fics, it's probably Rubatosis. From my WIPs, I am really really in love with you'll be my sin eater and my damnation (I've been having just so much fun writing it, Dick is sooo unwell lmao) and An Emergent Property, which is the fic of my heart, and I have suuuuch grand plans for it, and even a bit of hesitancy about posting the chapters I have already written because it has to be perfect!!!

No pressure tags: @slightlycomicobsessed @bonerot19 @snowberriesromanoff @glitter-stained @redhoodinternaldialectical @flower-sniffing-friend @wortsandall @disniq and whoever sees this and also wants to do it - consider yourself tagged :)

[things-about-cars-in-posts]

what do you like about cars?

I think you knew, upon asking this, that I could only ever have answered with either an ironic one-liner or a dozen-part novel. And unfortunately, this is already the second line, so novel it is. So then, without any further ado than the literal half year that’s gone by since this was asked, let's go.

1. Engineering matters

At the end of last year (aka when I started writing this, yikes) my dear old iPhone 6S moved on to a new home because it simply wasn't keeping up with me anymore. (And again, I was using an iPhone 6S in 2023. If I say a phone is too slow, it's too slow.) I had plenty of criteria for the replacement: a smallish screen not overboard on resolution, ideally a physical media control button and/or vibration toggle, repairability, a FUCKING AUX JACK... Something like the Sony Xperia 10, whose only real issue is marketing so trash you've only just now learned Sony never stopped making phones.

And yet...

This fancy wallpapers-sporting foldable is a Motorola RAZR 5G, a phone whose too-big screen already broke (though at the edge due to adhesive issues) and those who dared try warn repairing it will be as hard as phone repairs get. Why the fuck did I buy this? Well, because it has something more important than the aux jack, proper sizing, and good cameras: it made me go “That’s so cool!”, and when’s the last time a phone made you say that? It's the cusp of a new technology, and whether it becomes the future of phones, a future of phones, or just a weird footnote, it is an island of interesting in a sea of boring. And sadly, even this island is rapidly sinking. The drive for new form factors has already boiled down to the same two phones and their evolution is sinking into the usual millimetric proportion tweaking, camera rearranging, touchscreen expanding, case material switching, fingerprint sensor moving, and spec improvements not even manufacturers can come up with use cases for. I mean, seriously, how does the iPhone 15 differ from a software-updated iPhone X (which is apparently not pronounced "x", so I guess the iPhone Twitter)? Nothing is new. Nothing is tackled differently. The user experience does not differ. And why should it, when iPhone users will get a new one out of habit anyway and many are so tech illiterate moving a button could hospitalize them? Five generation newer and 150% faster are numbers you basically have to trust, because they don't make a difference that matters.

But in cars? 150% faster will matter alright. Even just looking at it. Cars are a visceral experience to even witness, let alone ride in or drive, and the frantic engineering pursuits for performance and overall capability actually have impactful real world implications beyond "some pockets will bulge 1mm less". And their engineering involves so many fields that there’s always a breakthrough going on somewhere - which leads to another reason their engineering is so interesting: there’s simply so much of it that anyone interested in engineering will find something for them, no matter their level or sector of expertise! Interested in mechanics? Well, obviously you’ll have a field day! Aerodynamics? Don't even get me started! Electronics? You're getting more goods by the year! It spread from engine management to safety assists to infotainment to ergonomic adjustments to even suspension and aerodynamics! Sound design? Even just working on the way engines sound is a profession of its own, let alone making these barrels of metal and glass propelling themselves at triple digit speeds through hundreds of explosions a second things you can comfortably have a conversation in - and that's not even mentioning horns and chimes! Hi-Fi? We’ve spent most of a century trying to get concert hall sound from a tiny tin can where everyone sits off-center and everything bumps and shakes around and you have maybe room for two components* a third the normal size and speakers can only be in a handful of places you wouldn’t want them which may well be the next room over**!

And this is just engineering.

*Like everything in the car world, there are exceptions to that

**For those unfamiliar, subwoofers, the speakers dedicated to, indeed, sub-bass, due to their frequent humongousness are often installed in the trunk.

[theofficialpresidentofmars]

the long awaited alcoholism in hamlet post! with special thanks to the undertale ball game for pissing me off so badly i needed to make this to take my mind off it.

anyway before we begin disclaimer and tw there will be discussions of alcohol, substance abuse, suicidal notions and all that good stuff that comes with discussing hamlet. onto the post

The basic idea of this take is just that Hamlet copes with the death of his father by developing a nasty drinking habit, that while he’s able to mostly overcome before the actual events of the play, we still see the tail end of and how it’s affected the other characters. The only actual specific staging this would require would be for Hamlet to drink a little excessively in one scene, and the rest is implication. It’s also an exploration of the tragedy of Hamlet’s mental health in a time where, any scholar of the play will mention, they didn’t really have a lot of knowledge about all that stuff.

As the play clearly demonstrates, Hamlet is a real big overthinker. He’s the kind of guy whose thoughts run a million miles an hour, and so in the wake of a terrible tragedy such as his father’s death, being a young man in a castle with easy access to excessive amounts of alcohol, he could easily turn to its depressant properties to numb the barb and take the edge off his usually sharp mind. And given the extent we see he’s grieving, it wouldn’t be implausible for this to quickly become a dependency.

The people in his life who care about him would be very concerned about this, especially his mother and Ophelia I’d imagine. Alcohol is something they understand, and they know the dangers of overconsumption, and given its role as a depressant it would be incredibly sad for them to watch their beloved prince lose himself, his quick thinking, his sharp wit, his charisma and charm, all those brilliantly brainy characteristics, to the numbing tendencies of the bottle. They’d be watching the person they knew and loved deteriorate before their eyes, shortly after the death of his father.

Hamlet’s not an idiot when it comes to the dangers of drinking, he knows it’s terrible for him, but at the same time there are days where he’s hoping the poison in his cup were one that worked a little bit faster. Eventually though, he decides to stop for one reason or another, although it’s likely that Claudius’s own excessive drinking habits from his partying (with none of the caution that even Hamlet exerts) disgust him enough to wean him off the taste a little bit. As we approach the events of the play, he’s managed to get his drinking mostly under control, and his loved ones couldn’t be more relieved. For a moment there, they were worried they’d have to watch the man they loved spiral into something nigh unrecognisable.

Come the events of the play, and when Hamlet is introduced in Act 1 Scene 2, he’s just a little bit tipsy. Not massively so, but just enough to get him through another session of court. His mother and uncle feel comfortable enough to tell him to his face to stop grieving (because he’s stopped drinking, which means the grief must be lessening, right? that’s how it works?), and Hamlet takes to it exactly as badly as he does in the play. After everyone leaves, Hamlet finds a glass of something somewhere and downs it (because tipsy wasn’t enough to handle that shitfest) and starts emotionally and vaguely drunkenly monologuing about how he wishes he could kill himself and all that.

Horatio shows up, and Hamlet is thrilled to see him, and despite the fact that the feeling is mutual, Horatio has been warned about his friend’s habits and is a little put off to see the state Hamlet’s in- especially when Hamlet jokes about that he’ll ’teach you to drink ‘ere you depart’, to which Horatio is visibly disappointed. Hamlet picks up on this and is a little ashamed by being caught this way, and so when he shows up next in Act 1 Scene 4 he is fully sober; and even throws in a comment or two about how much he dislikes the king’s traditions of excess drinking and partying. Just so Horatio knows he’s not actually a fan of it, and all.

After Hamlet sees the ghost of his father and is spurred to his revenge, there’s no reason for him to drink anymore- how can he, when he needs his mind clear to enact such a plan and why should he, when he’s just unlocked the one coping mechanism that’s possibly worse?

Over the next two months, the castle is happy to see that Hamlet seems to be cured of his ailment- in terms of drinking at least. He’s gone a little loopy, but maybe that’s just a phase while he gets over the dependency and if it is, then it’s surely preferable and a good thing, right?

But as we all know, it only gets worse from there.

Ophelia is the first to have it hit home. Hamlet’s maddening behaviour is both confusing and hurtful, and by the events of Act 3 Scene 3, she doesn’t know how to feel anymore. She saw Hamlet through the worst of his addiction, she watched as he spiraled into confusion and a slurred slowness, and she thought that it was the worst thing that could happen to him. When he stopped, she was so happy, because she thought he’d come back to her- but now it seems like in its place has left something worse. Hamlet is back to his quick wit and sharp tongue, but now those once charming traits that she was so in love with have been turned against her wholly, being used to embarrass her and demean her publicly by a man with the face and eyes of the one she loved but with a cruelty so new and painful that it makes her sick. And the worst part is, before she could put a finger on the problem. She knew it was the fault of alcohol, and she knew it wasn’t him, and she knew it could go away.

But this? She doesn’t know what this is. She’s watching the love of her life unravel into an entirely different person and she has no idea what’s causing it. When Hamlet was drunk, at least beneath the exterior she could still tell he was in there, and his heart and love for her were there too. But this? It’s like a genie took her wish to have what Hamlet had lost of himself restored and twisted it so that it was all he had now. The exterior is back, but she doesn’t know that he loves her anymore. And she’s confused, and frightened, and sad. (She doesn’t yet know that she sat next to the man who would kill her father, but if she had known, she might have gone mad with the knowledge.)

Gertrude is the second to have it sink in. Hamlet’s drinking broke her heart, and when she found out that he’d stopped she’d been so relieved.

And now there’s a dead man on the floor, and her son is proclaiming that he’s seeing ghosts, and the worst part about it all is that he’s completely sober.

There’s something very wrong with her only child, and it terrifies her that she doesn’t know what it is beyond madness. And madness has no cure, not like drinking does, and she would never wish her son drunk again but at least when he was drunk he was predictable. At least he was drunk he’d never murdered anyone. And Gertrude once considered watching her son lose himself before her very eyes to be among her greatest fears, but now sitting upon her bed in a trance, she’s struck by the sudden and horrifying thought that she didn’t even see it. That he’s already changed beyond repair and she was far too late to do anything about it. He’s being dragged away now, rambling on about England, and Gertrude can’t think, but there’s a cup of wine on her dresser.

This take gives a whole new meaning to Claudius’s insistence on the poisoned wine in Act 5 Scene 2 as well, and Hamlet’s continued refusal. Even if the wine wasn’t poisoned, the underlying statement Claudius is making by offering it to a recovering addict is clear, and sort of horrifying in itself, given at that point, no one else in the court seems to care enough to even say anything. Hamlet refuses without a fuss because it’s honestly the thing about Claudius he hates the least, and Gertrude takes it instead because she’s been slipping a little herself, and if she’d known it was poisoned, it would probably frighten her how little she cared.

Anyway this is just based around my thoughts on the inherent tragedy of Hamlet suffering from mental illness with no support system and no real societal understanding of how those things worked by juxtaposing it with something that they did know about in order to make it even sadder.

please let me know your thoughts as well I love hearing anything and everything about this play

[nimrism]

could you make this post? please, it's so fascinating i really want to hear your thoughts on it

"The Dark Tower" Morgwen Interactions Analysis

i've literally been waiting for someone to ask me this so i can go all out in answer, so you're literally my favorite- THANK YOU! i've tried to put all the thoughts swirling around in my head into one coherent post, so strap in and let's LOOK AT THE IMPLICATIONS (from my perspective)!

first and most importantly, i want to zero in on morgana's choice of kidnapee; she could've chosen anyone in camelot, any one of the knigts who were regularly privy to arthur's battle plans and schedule, but nope. if we're looking at it from the perspective of "she needs the closest person to arthur" wouldn't that be merlin? she could have kidnapped and brainwashed him; he would've made for a fabulous inconspicious mole in the court, and arthur literally goes to him for anything and everything. i actually think it would make for a really interesting au/fic if it were merlin who was kidnapped instead of gwen (love confession/magic reveal possibilities are ENDLESS), but maybe it's a little too close to the plot of "a servant of two masters" and the writers didn't want to be repetitive. i'm going to be biased and delusional in believing that morgana did choose gwen, in particular, for more personal reasons as well as for her nefarious ones.

the way i see it (and this is obviously very objective), by the time we get to this point in s5, morgana is LONELY, like, has-no-one-in-the-world-except-aithusa type of lonely, and her choice of allies has been lacking diversity as of late (why are they all men 💀), AND they all end up dying anyway. so, she needs a plan, and she needs a trusted ally (she also needs a bit of love and lip balm cause DAMN). BUT the thing is, why would anyone be loyal to her? she's never kept any allies (or friends) thanks to her wit and charm alone, she's only ever kept men loyal to her by striking fear in their hearts. it's the same for her friends and family, i think. she doesn't believe they even tolerate her existence, so she needs to be crowned queen to subdue them and FORCE them to respect her. the same goes for gwen. she was only morgana's friend when morgana was a naive and vulnerable girl, plagued by nightmares and unexplained fears, and the second morgana grew out of them (or learned to control them) gwen stopped being affectionate, stopped being open. that's how morgana sees it, and it only reinforces her belief that gwen would never understand the person she's become now, she wouldn't quite see what morgana was trying to do. unless morgana forced her to.

the whole kidnapping affair was to MAKE gwen understand, because she wouldn't do it of her own free will. gwen would never willingly be on morgana's side, so she had to jump through a few morally questionable hoops to bring her over. in the end, i do believe all morgana really wanted was a friend (maybe a little bit more, amirite ladies), though by this point her concept of friendship had become twisted beyond recognition, and in all the chaos, this was the only way she thought she could have one. throughout the episode, a lot of the old morgana shines through, even if it is portrayed as just manipulation, and i do think that was her either slipping back into old habits or forcing herself to, for the sake of the brainwashing and for the sake of their friendship that she's trying to rekindle.

a point that i've seen several people make is that between the niceties, the "real" morgana peeks through several times throughout the ep, but i kinda disagree. i don't necessarily think that just because her smile drops, it means that the niceties were a facade and her "evil" side pops back out. i read the sudden change in expression more as disappointment. gwen fights back with such vigour that it's probably painful for morgana to realize that her former friend sees her as nothing more than an evil witch who's hell-bent on hurting her, now. she's disappointed that gwen, who was supposed to know her best, believes what the others do, and doesn't believe that morgana is being sincere in her offer of friendship.

a small remark i also have is: why wasn't morgana one of the visions/hallucinations gwen had in the dark tower? it's interesting to see that the closest three people to gwen are her brother, arthur, and merlin, of all people. i feel like gwen's history with morgana has to have had a lasting effect on both of them, even if morgana is supposed to be "evil" now. you don't stop loving someone just because they've chosen (or BEEN chosen by) the dark side. morgana was one of the people gwen cared about most in seasons 1 through 3 (s3 is pushing it a little, but still), it doesn't really make sense for it all to be forgotten so completely like we see in this episode. i also think it would've been super interesting to see a hallucination of younger morgana in particular, partially as a reminder that part of gwen still cares about morgana and largely because i'd like to see how gwen would react to that vision... would it differ from the other three? what would morgana do? would she sneer and laugh like elyan and arthur? would she do a little rawr like merlin (😭)? i feel like a ficlet is in order for this concept cause i would like to see it but i have to imagine it first (but that's the hard part 😭)

NOW ONTO THE MOST DELICIOUS PART OF THIS ANALYSIS: THE QUOTES

M: "Would you prefer some chicken?"

i just found this one hilarious tbh like she's so out of pocket what are you doing offering your kidnapee some chicken and WHAT WAS THE OTHER OPTION, IF NOT CHICKEN?

M: "I know how lonely you must be, all by yourself in that room. At least you're not shackled, and there's daylight. You can move, you can see."

oof. she's obviously referring to her own capture and torture, pulling from her own experience. it's heartwrenching that morgana has been through all of this, traumatised beyond reason, but it's even more heartwrenching that she thinks she's doing gwen a service, like this. it might not seem like that to any sane person, but after everything she's been through, morgana's worldview is completely different. in her mind, however twisted and detached it has become, she's being merciful to gwen this way, giving her luxuries that she was never afforded when she was captured. (including a warm meal with chicken at miss havisham's table 🤩)

M: "I too have suffered, Gwen. I spent two years living in darkness. I spent two years chained to a wall at the bottom of a pit... You did not know."

goddddd this line... it's just so painful, so powerful, so indicative of SO MANY THINGS. it's EVERYTHING. every acting choice katie and angel made in this scene was brilliant but ESPECIALLY their facial expressions in this particular part WOAH. the way morgana's voice cracks on the word "pit" is DEVASTATING. i was floored. the way gwen's face falls as she processes her words and they properly set in... INCREDIBLE. the concern in gwen's eyes is palpable as she realizes the horrors inflicted on her friend. and the final "you did not know" was so, so powerful. morgana realizes that gwen didn't know about and clearly wasn't okay with what she went through. gwen had no part in it. morgana SMILES at gwen's reaction, but instead of it being a smile of malice or evil it's one of RELIEF, and one that she hides very promptly. she's reassured in the knowledge that gwen had no idea she had suffered so immensely, and that, more importantly, she wasn't involved in it. it's SO important to note that morgana has no idea whether arthur had a hand in her own torture or not. it's especially not a good look on him that he invites the sarrum as a friend of camelot so soon after the events of "the dark tower", so, as far as morgana knows, he could've been a "friend" when she was being tortured for years, too. i wonder what would've happened if morgana had kidnapped gwen AFTER the sarrum's visit to camelot... i feel like that would have complicated things with gwen much further, if morgana thought she was complicit in her imprisonment.

M: "I would have sold my soul for someone to show me kindness such as this."

only two points on this heartbreaking line: 1- FUCK the sarrum of amata. all my homies HATE the sarrum. s4 and s5 morgana might both be textbook cases of "evil", but they're two VERY different people with two very different worldviews and tactics. morgana's imprisonment turned her into the cold husk of a person she is by s5. and 2- this just further confirms that morgana thinks she's doing gwen a favor, dining with her and letting sunlight into her room and choosing not to tie her up etc.

M: "Your hands are cold... I have a warm fire going for you."

oh boy is this a MOMENT. the way morgana keeps her hand held out. the way gwen reluctantly puts her hand in hers (MORGWEN HAND-HOLD!) *ivy by taylor swift starts playing out of nowhere* {ohhhhh goddamn, my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand, taking mine, but it's been promised to another, ohhh}

um anyway i digressed. then the way gwen wriggles her hand out of morgana's grasp, while morgana grips her fingers with unwavering determination... it's just delicious.

M: "Anything you want, you can have. I'll give it to you."

idk about you but personally i'm SOLD. take all my money. i read this as morgana trying her utmost best to sell gwen on joining her, but i can also see the manipulation laced in it.

G: "Why are you doing this?"

M: "Because we're friends. We always were."

to me, this reinforces the theory that morgana's just trying to get her friend back on her side. by stating that they've always been friends, morgana reaffirms their friendship as much to herself as to gwen. she was her friend once, and she can be again.

M: "I'm helping you. I'm looking after you."

this sort of feels like morgana is telling herself that, more than she's telling gwen. maybe it's just part of the manipulation process, but i do believe that this was morgana's conscience reassuring her that what she's doing is in gwen's favor and that she's being kind to her.

M: "It's alright, I'm here."

UGH this line. morgana is being the person she needed when she was imprisoned. this scene is also a parallel to all the times morgana woke up screaming in the middle of the night and gwen was there to comfort her in s1/2. this time the tables have turned and it's morgana comforting gwen. simply delicious.

M: "My darling, I was wrong to make you suffer."

TEA! to say that this line was spoken from the bottom of morgana's heart might just be a bit too delusional, but i like to think there's at least some truth to it. torturing gwen had a lot of paralells to morgana's own imprisonment and torture, and she did want to make her suffer, at least in the beginning. but it was also different from what morgana went through. this is NOT to justify torture, btw, torture is BAD, but her "manipulation" tactics got a bit too personal at some point, and i like to think at least a part of it was genuine.

G: "No. Whatever twisted game you're playing, I want no part in it. I would rather stay here and die."

ouch. gwen's resistance to the last possible minute shows such strength on her part (cause me? i would've given in before she even dragged me through the desert tbh) and it gave us such a delicious performance from angel; the reluctance? the uncertainty? the distrust? the relief that morgana is there but also the FEAR of what she's doing? the contradiction between the morgana that gwen once knew and the morgana that everyone KNOWS is evil? but the morgana that gwen once knew is shining through now, and she's saying everything gwen wants to hear... grade-A angst.

IN CONCLUSION they're gfs your honor, this was all just a plot to snatch gwen back from arthur cause morgana didn't think seducing her herself would work. (this phrase could be in reference to this ep or the "lancelot du lac" ep i'm cackling morgana really is hopeless) there are also SEVERAL psychological layers to it, but describing it this way is just easier.

SO... this is possibly the longest post i've ever made. it got a little more comprehensive than i originally thought it would be, but THERE YOU HAVE IT! that's my take on the morgwen interactions in the dark tower. if i seem a little biased, that's because i 100% am :) i hope that clears things up. this is an open invitation to keep sending me asks (even if it's about the most random things ever) cause i love them and i love every single person who sends in an ask, and a public apology for how long these answers get sometimes 😭