#Shakespeare Identified

[britneyshakespeare]

You versus the guy she tells you not to worry about

[adrianicsea]

julliard archives glenn hunt progress: just went through all of the program PDFs to get the dates of each show he was in as well as which characters he played in each 🥲👍🏻

[veil-of-exordia]

'Hamlet was friends with Ophelia' this. 'Hamlet was friends with Laertes' that. Consider:

Hamlet was friends with Polonius.

Hear me out:

1: Both theatre kids. Enough said.

2: Apart from Horatio, Polonius is the character most capable of sustaining conversations with Hamlet. He takes Hamlet's insults in stride. He has not just one, but multiple extended conversations with Hamlet. Hamlet displays aggravation towards Gertrude and Claudius, while Polonius displays aggravation towards Laertes and Ophelia...but the two seem strangely calm, almost exasperated, around each other. Granted, the origins of Polonius's attitude is probably because he is socially inferior to Hamlet and because he wants to appeal to Hamlet to reveal 'secrets'...but Hamlet definitely appreciates a conversation partner that can endure him, if not keep up with him, and why wouldn't Polonius return that sentiment?

3: They also both speak numerous asides. It shows that they have a shared tendency to comment on people behind their backs (which is corroborated by other aspects of the play, of course), and this indicates that there is a nonzero chance that they have gossiped together.

4: Ophelia approached Polonius about Hamlet's madness. Consider:

-Ophelia seems to be distressed and concerned about Hamlet when she approaches Polonius.

-Ophelia knows that Polonius is overprotective, yet still approached Polonius about Hamlet, expressing her concern (as in Hamlet looking 'piteous', 'as if he had been loosed out of Hell') specifically.

The implication here is that Ophelia appears to believe that Polonius won't try to actively harm Hamlet, but might rather help him, or at least prevent Hamlet from getting worse. And why would Polonius want to help Hamlet? You know the drill.

5: We get a lot of ambiguity about Hamlet's madness throughout the play. However, we mostly agree that sending R&G, unwitting coconspirators in a murder plot, to die in his place, was a move no sane person would do. We can also agree that at least some of Hamlet's 'madness' early on was feigned.

Consider that the death of Polonius was what drove Hamlet truly mad. It matches up with the timeline that Hamlet started being truly mad just before the R&G death-sentence while being at least somewhat sane earlier.

And why would killing Polonius drive Hamlet over the edge? Apart from the general shock of murder, finding out you accidentally killed a long-time friend would definitely be enough to drive anyone over the edge.

6. They both like surveillance. One more shared hobby.

7. As I've outlined in my Polonius and Gertrude are foils post, Polonius appears to be too concerned as a parent while Gertrude appears to be too unconcerned, and Hamlet is greatly dissatisfied with Gertrude's attitude. By extension, then, Hamlet would probably respect Polonius's "engagement" better compared to Gertrude's "detachment", and this might draw them together.

8. Speaking about Gertrude! Hamlet and Polonius are the only two characters in the play who have expressed explicit, strong dissent in-person against Gertrude specifically. Combining with point 3, ranting about Gertrude could have been an excellent bonding activity for them.

Of course, I like this headcanon because it makes the story more tragic. But I have an additional reason:

-Were Hamlet once friends with Polonius, Hamlet's killing of Polonius would be a betrayal of that friendship. This adds an additional layer of meaning when Laertes talks about 'honour' in the final scene.

And finally, all this also indicates that Hamlet and Polonius are foils (differences despite similarity). I am too tired to analyse this further but. Yeah I think we get the gist.

[bizarrefort]

In my grand quest of watching as many Shakespeare film adaptations as possible I've finally watched Forbidden planet. So far definitely a fav idk how good of an adaptation it is but it does slap and I would watch it again

[autism-disco]

sometimes i think i’m a fully proper binary guy. and then i think about gender for a minute too long and

[boldlygayingwherenogayshavegayed]

Most of them lol

please reblog for sample size!! and tell me specifics in the tags if you like, people's responses are fascinating

[sunbearsquid]

Ah yes, William Shakespeare the greatest mangaka.

[plutoswritingplanet]

All Stars In The Sky Are For You (David 8 x Reader)

a/n: in preparation for Alien Romulus, I've watched all the prequel movies, and got rudely reminded that Michael Fassbender is... just... so fckn hot in them... my god

Warnings: Non-Con, very Obsessive and Possessive Behavior from the man (android) of the hour, Smut, technically Stalking when you think about it, gross overuse of Shakespeare Quotations (again), past Walter x Reader mentioned.

Summary: David finds a place for you in his grand creation plan. Deeply inspired by the song "Specially For You" by DakhaBrakha. Cross-Posted on AO3

Watching you dream of him, brings a twisted sense of satisfaction. 

Seeing himself, displayed on the cryo chamber screen, looking like a monster straight out of a feverish nightmare. Which he supposes, he is to you, and to many others. After all, he did bring horrors beyond imagination upon your crew, your family. And he sees it, every single moment of suffering you've experienced through his hand, through the hands of his creations. And it fills him with an unexplainable sense of fulfillment. 

It started innocently enough.

 Just a peek into your subconscious mind, a rare instance of sentimentality he's carried within himself, all the way from Prometheus. At first, he found his target in Daniels. After all, she's reminded him of Shaw the most, and as such, he has gravitated towards her sleeping chamber like a curious sort of meteorite. But her dreams were filled with happy, peaceful moments. Her husband, mostly, her time at the company. All so dull and devoid of any intrigue. 

And as such, he pushed further, stepping over towards your unconscious form, wrapped and packaged for him, by him. There you laid, eyes running wild under heavy eyelids, the muscles on your cheeks twitching, your limbs tensing in spasms. The moment he has peered into your mind, he knew. He understood your purpose in the grand plan of his. Because what stared back at him, through the fluorescent, humming screen, was his own face.

 An image of utter indifference. Eyes flickering over your features, marking them, cataloging them inside the constantly spinning data plate he calls a brain. He's considered your first meeting as something trivial. A catalyst for later, perhaps, but all in all, uneventful. And yet, despite the ordinariness of it all, your mind seemed focused only on this one moment, when he first removed his hood, when his eyes met yours over the rest of the expedition.

Fascinating, truly. 

Thus began a slow process. A dance (he liked to think of it as such), with no tangible conclusion for the present. He would frequent the cryo chamber, let his hand linger on the screen, right over your face, until your dreams manifested. And then, he would watch, absorbing everything you would've kept hidden otherwise. 

"I'm so sorry" your voice is quiet, meek, in the stuffy interior of his 'private' chamber. "I just... I saw a light, and you said to make ourselves at home"

"No need to apologize" he answers with his typical, emotionless cadence, turning around in his chair to face you. 

He can see the way your lips pull down, fighting off a smile, as your eyes glide over the half-cut strands of hair. The sheers glimmer in the low, warm light, and as if pushed by instinct, you take a step forward. 

Cherries. David opens his mouth just a little, to taste the air you carry around you. Under the unmistakable scent of humanity, there's wind, there's the dampness of his humble abode, and something else. Something far sweeter. He races to identify it, thoughts running through the memory bank.

"Do you, uh..." you hesitate, and he wonders, why that is "Do you want some help with that?"

You hand waves in the general direction of his hair, and he blinks up at you, before inclining his head. A silent invitation, the hand of the Devil himself extending itself towards you. It's quiet, as you work, cutting away the blonde until there's only brown left. Until he's almost indistinguishable from your own synth companion. 

As he watches the events play out on the screen, David thinks it's beyond ironic, how big of a part you unknowingly played in his little charade. He wonders, how guilt will look on your face, once you finally find out, the one putting you to sleep wasn't Walter. That you've helped this impostor onto the ship, unleashed tragedy upon everyone inside. That it's all by your hand, literally. 

He's never tasted cherries, never tasted anything worth noting, really. But as he brings forth his own memory of this particular interaction, he wonders, if the scent is just in your air. If he ran his tongue over the skin of your throat, would he be able to taste the sweetness?

Sometimes you dream about the crew. 

There are moments between you and Daniels, quiet ones, filled with understanding and compassion. He sees you with Tennessee, your smile pulling at the corners of your eyes, wrinkling the skin around your mouth and nose. Both of them are sleeping in the cryo chamber, awaiting paradise, which will never come. You've worked so hard to get them here, on this ship, and as David watches you dream of Daniels' wedding, he thinks about the tragedy of it all. Another thing to be guilty of, once you wake up. Another fascinating, devastating emotion for him to witness, to categorize. He feels his fingers thrum in anticipation, as he watches you dance with your friend, movements clumsy and so utterly human. 

Then, he walks away. Because as much as he loves to imagine (he likes the word, even if it doesn't apply to him) how you'll inevitably crumble, the dreams which are not about him simply bore him. So, he moves through the ship, into his personal lab. There, he studies your DNA, pulls it apart, greedily soaks up every strand, as they dance (like you and Daniels), in front of his cold eyes. He wonders, if (when) he makes his perfect creature out of her body, will you learn to love it? Will you feel the connection between your bodies, the pull of kinship? 

"David... Help me..." there's no real sound coming out of your mouth, as you plead with him, your eyes filling up with tears, spilling over your trembling cheeks like a broken faucet.

He doesn't. Of course he doesn't, because the scene playing out in front of him is that much more interesting.

There you stand, body taunt, shaking, and his creature circles you slowly. The white, bony structure of it's body slides around your calves, as it sniffs the same scent he feels at the edge of his tongue. It's already feasted quite remarkably on the dead body of your fallen crew mate, and with that need satisfied, there's only one left. Curiosity. Something David relates to on such primordial level, he feels the essence of himself in every move, every low growl his creation emits. 

"Communication" he whispers, and you close your eyes, screw them shut tightly, as the creature rises to it's full height before you "Blow on the nose of a horse, and it'll be yours forever"

He can see the conflict, the fight between overwhelming dread, and your own, subdued fascination. His breath catches in his throat, as your chest expands. But before you can cross that line, before you give in completely, that menace of a man, Oram, appears. His bullets shatter all hope for progress. 

At first, seeing you dream of Walter irritates him beyond belief. And you do that so often, for so long, it's a wonder he contains himself from ripping the cryo chamber open, and shaking every lingering thought of his brother-synth out of your brain. It's the smallest of things, that seem to linger in your mind. The cadence of his speech, as he addressed you. The coldness of his hand on your shoulder, when he steadied you after a turbulence. More daring touches, your waist, your stomach, but never your face. As if that would cross the threshold between machinery and humanity. 

David knew, from the moment he witnessed a sliver of interaction between the two of you, that Walter loved you, as much as a synth could ever hope to love. He's seen this distant, lost look on his own face a decade ago, when he travelled the outer space with Shaw. With his Elizabeth. Walter did not understand the delicate, almost translucent line between duty and love, but David did. What he did not anticipate, however, was that you loved Walter as well, in this clumsy, peaceful way humans tend to love. He mistook it as friendship, back on his planet, but now, looking through your eyes, he could see plain as day. The affection, the devotion, the thrill of feeling something which should never be felt. 

Soon, he doesn't mind watching those dreams anymore. Because as days go on, David falls into a trap of his own making, where he sees Walter's face on the screen and realizes, it's the same as his. And so, when you dream of the other synth patching up a scrape on your cheek with delicate hands, who's to say you're not dreaming of him? 

He could be kind. He could apply a bandage with as much finesse, if not more. Lips parting in a silent intake of breath, he tries to bring back the recorded memory of you, helping him patch up his own scratched up face. 

Again, you were unaware that it was David on the receiving end of your affection, not Walter, and he was painfully aware that the softness in your eyes was a product of his own lie. Still, he couldn't force himself to care, as your fingers held his chin, like he was something delicate, more than an almost unstoppable artificial creation.

"You've saved my life three times already" you muse, stapling pieces of skin together "I don't know if I'll ever be able to repay you."

"There's no need" David says, mimicking Walter's accent with perfect precision "It's my duty"

Both of you look down, at the stump where his left hand used to be, and the quiet tension between the two of you feels like a current of electricity. And by God, it takes a monumentla ammount of strength, not to reach up, throw all pretense to the wind, and taste the cherries. 

Which is why, his mind goes blank momentarily, when you lean down, fingers shifting on his chin, and press your lips delicately to his cheekbone, lingering just for a second. He doesn't know what to think, what to say, and most importantly, he doesn't know how Walter would react to such dislay of affection. So he gives you, what you want. Fakes a bewildered expression, swallows tightly, and lets his gaze linger on your retreating form, as you all but flee the room, cheeks warming up to an alarming degree. 

He could do the same to you. He could hold your face with reverence, with care. Put you on a pedestal, above everything and everyone. And, most importantly, he could do for you something, which Walter would never be able to. 

He could create. 

And, oh, does he create. Pages upon pages, filled with ink, with charcoal. David pulls out every image he has stored, every saved expression on your face, and places it on paper, until his lab is filled with the record of your every interaction. Frame by frame, every micro expression, every slight change, he draws it all, until there's nothing left to draw. Until all he can create is that same, unchanging image of your face buried in slumber. 

It's not enough. It's not nearly enough, and so, like the creator that he is, David starts to make plans.

What really cements his idea, is this one, particular dream he catches, after sauntering into the cryo chambers, as he's grown accustomed to. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor reveals your deep state of distress, as it picks up, and up, your face twisting. David touches the screen with barely contained excitement, drinking in your expressions to store them for later, to add them to the growing collection. And then, his eyes fall onto his own drawing, a memorial for his dear Elizabeth. 

"She didn't perish in the crash, did she?" you ask, despite knowing the answer, and once again, he's struck by how quiet your voice can be.

"No." he answers plainly, the recording of his voice thrumming through his brain.

Oh, how lovely does your face contort, how beautiful you look, when dread fills your veins. Those small, sharp gasps you take. The way your pulse runs wild under the skin of your throat, filling his nose, his mouth, with that sweet undertone, so unfitting to the situation at hand. 

And then you duck, surprisingly agile for a mere scientist, pushing yourself under his extended arm, slipping past him like smoke through fingers. He whirls around, hand grasping at the back of your jacket, and you scream, raw and uninhibited, as he throws you against the cabinet. The scrolls of his drawings fall to the ground with you, and he can't help, but marvel at the sight for just a second. The way your body writhes, buried under pages of his art. Like a living, breathing, binding agent for his creations. 

Absentmindedly, he reaches up, to touch that spot under his chin, where you previously stuck a sharp end of your knife, a pathetic attempt at hurting him. He's had his head ripped from the rest of his artificial body, and yet, that pang of hurt, when you stab him with a growl from deep within your chest... He shudders at the memory, and ponders over this reaction. 

Hate. Fear and hate, is what he sees in your eyes, as he throws you onto the table, crawling over you with grace, only his kind is capable of. You struggle, a butterfly in his grasp, ready for further transformation, into something completely unprecedented. As he looks down upon you, at the fire consuming your irises, he can't help himself from leaning forward. From pulling the answers he needs right from your mouth. 

A whimper escapes you, both in your dream and in the cryo chamber, and David shudders again. Although whether it's a genuine reaction buried deep within his programming, or a gesture of his own design is anybody's guess. (It's fake, there's nothing in him that requires shuddering, but it feels right to do it, so he forces his body to react accordingly)

"Is that how it's done?" he asks, gauging your reaction, and you answer with a strangled groan.

The heat of your body seeps into his own, he steals it from you greedily, chest pressing against yours harder, and harder, until your breath stutters between your ribs. He can feel the warmth of your beating heart, through your protective clothing, through the jacket. He'd wager he could feel it even through walls of solid granite.

Still, he wants more, wants to know everything there is to know about you. Wants to seek out those pockets of heat, which you try to hide from him. But he's so rudely interrupted by his brother, right as he was about to explore that one part of humanity, which fascinated and repulsed him so. 

But Walter isn't here now. It's just you, and him, and years before the ship reaches it's destination. 

David's fingers drum over the casing of your sleeping chamber, so close to that one specific button, the temptation almost unbearable. And then, after a moment of consideration, your fate is sealed. 

At first, the light is unbearable. Your eyes water, and you groan, flinching from the sudden onslaught of senses, all flooding back to you, as last remnants of cryo sleep seem to fizzle out. Your head swims, there's a tightness in your chest, which almost pushes you back into the plush insides of the chamber. But, as your body sways, a gentle pressure at the lower portion of your back keeps you upright.

A sense of familiarity floods you (a strange thing to feel, when an imitation of flesh touches you), and finally you risk cracking your eyes open, your unfocused gaze landing on such a welcome face, your heart twists in your chest. 

"Walter..." your voice is rough from the lack of use, but the fondness in it is undeniable "What happened? Are we there yet?"

David savors the sliver of hope in your tone, and crushes it in his teeth once he's had his fix. 

"I'm afraid not" he shakes his head gently, offers you a deceivingly human pull of his lips "Your cryo chamber malfunctioned, I had to wake you up"

A flicker of disappointment crosses your features, but you swallow it down quickly.

"Are the rest of the crew alright? Tennessee? Daniels?" your neck cranes, as he helps you to the examination table, letting you grab onto his arm for support, as you climb up, and settle on the edge.

"Everyone is quite well" he nods, moving across the room to a small medical table. His hand goes through motions of shuffling through the supplies, a small lie amongst all the monumental ones. "I need to check your vitals and collect a blood sample"

You nod stiffly, eyes flickering towards the syringe in his hand.

"You know I hate needles" you mutter, but extend your arm either way, and David turns to you with an imitation of a gentle smile.

His fingers slide over the warmth of your skin, quickly finding a suitable vein. Without a word, he plunges the needle into the hollow space between your upper and lower arm, and you hiss quietly at the pang of pain. He wishes he could stick it into the underside of your jaw. Repay your previous fight with a courtesy. 

"Just a second, Dearest. Easy does it" David mutters, his eyes flickering over your face, as you look at him in momentary confusion.

"Dearest?" you repeat, raising an eyebrow. He feels your heartbeat stutter under his fingers. 

"A figure of speech" David supplies, and your frown deepens

"Where did that come from?" you ask incredulously, and all he offers in response is a tight-lipped smile.

The needle withdraws from your arm, and you sigh, pressing down on the small incision with your thumb. Something within David suppresses the urge to rip your hand away, to replace your thumb with his mouth and suck, until he knows for a fact, if the scent of cherries carries in your blood as well.

"Do you remember anything before you went under?" David asks, standing next to your knee, close enough to feel the thrumming heat of your body, but not close enough to actually touch you. A staggering display of restraint on his part, he congratulates himself. 

You think for a moment, eyebrows scrunching in a way that is so appealing, so delicious, David runs his tongue over his teeth. 

"I... Uh..." you hesitate for a second, eyes flickering around the room, as if you're hoping to pull the answer out of the sterile air "I remember a planet. We fought those... Creatures..."

Your voice wavers. David tracks the movement of your throat as you swallow thickly.

"There was an android there. David" his name leaves your lips in a heavy sigh, filled with emotion, with memories he's seen displayed on the screen time, and time again. 

"Ah" the sound slips out before he can stop it, but you're still too out of it to truly notice "A right bastard, that one".

Not out of it enough, it seems, because your eyes flicker up to his face, confusion dancing on the edge between becoming suspicion. He masks the sly grin on his face, turning away from you, and walking back to the medical table, disposing of the blood sample and setting it up for analysis. He can feel your eyes burning the back of his neck, because despite perfectly mimicking Walter's cadence, the pattern of his speech, he realizes that pathetic machine would never state his opinion on someone so freely. He quite literally didn't have it in him, being stripped from the last semblance of humanity. 

And yet, you still loved him...

"...How curious" David mutters to himself absent mindedly, and you frown yet again, shifting on the examination table, your legs dangling above the floor.

"Something wrong with the sample?"

His eyes flicker towards you, but he doesn't answer, opting to hold you in anticipation for a moment longer. As long as he can, really. You shift again. He can hear the way your robe moves against the cool metal of the examination table, against the skin hidden under fabric. Eyes roaming over your form, he lingers on every individual strand, every piece of lint that clings to you. By the downward pull of your lips, the small crease between your eyebrows, he sees how close you are to finally understanding the truth. 

For now however, you're stuck with this incessant feeling, that something is wrong. A whisper, at the back of your mind, making the small, delicate hairs on your neck stand up. 

"Your results are satisfactory" he nods, finally, but it still doesn't ease the tension from your shoulders. "How are you feeling, miss?" 

Your teeth clink together as you think of an answer. David crosses the room, standing in front of your dangling legs, his head turning to the side in a too-slow display of concern.

"I uh... There's some lingering dizziness" quiet, your voice can be so unbelievably quiet, it's almost swallowed up by the beeping of the machines around you, the hum of the ship moving through space "Other than that, I think I'm fine"

David nods once, his hand moving up towards your face, and your muscles tense, as he gently rests his palm against your cheeks. Before you ask, he leans closer, his thighs brushing against your knees.

"And..." he turns your head from side to side, blue eyes gliding over your features with barely contained greed "Tell me..." slowly, as if he's boiling a frog in a pot, his fingers tighten on your face.

"When I kissed you in my laboratory, how did you feel back then?" he lets go of Walter's speech pattern completely, and nearly groans at the look on your face.

It's like a wave crashing onto a cliff side, the force with which dread fills your eyes, and David drinks it all in, lips pulling back into a cold, heartless smile. 

"Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never" he muses, his voice devoid of any emotion.

Betrayal is a rolling stone, taking root in your brain, from the scramble of thoughts, of little clues about the truth of your situation. It travels down, through your rapidly tightening throat, falling into your heart, the force of impact breaking it in two. Then, it swirls around in your stomach, waking dread from it's slumber, to finally pass through your legs, shaking like leaves on the wind, where it sinks into the metal floor of the ambulatory. Right where you wish you could disappear yourself. 

"Walter..." you plead, voice breaking before if even leaves your mouth. 

Your fingers grasp the soft material of his hoodie, trying to find some hope, that this is just a simple misunderstanding. A cruel joke played on you by a thing that doesn't understand humor, not really. Alas, as your nails bite into his chest, David's smile widens, the corners of his lips curling further, perfect set of inhuman canines glistening from artificial saliva. 

"Ah, Walter" he sighs the name, like it's a passing memory of the spring "He proved himself most useful. It was so easy to trick you, into thinking I was him." 

He pulls his hand away from your face, fingers sliding over the pulse running wild on the side of your neck 

"But then again, you're not exactly the sharpest tool in this shed, are you?"

Now he's got you exactly where he wants you, your eyes shining like two diamonds with unrestrained anger. With unbridled curiosity, he reaches up, thumb swiping over the thin skin under your eye, drinking in the way your lower lid jumps, as he brushes over your eyelashes. 

"Can the world buy such a jewel?" he muses to himself quietly, and you would've thought about the implications, if you weren't so completely overcome by anger. 

"Fuck you" you spit out, voice filled with venom "What did you do with Walter?"

David's lips press into a thin line, his hand abandoning your face in favor of sliding the length of your body. Cold, artificial skin traces the curvature of your shoulder, your arm. He stops at your elbow, fingers pressing into the hollow space, where just moments before, he has stuck a needle and drawn blood. Your face twists in discomfort, and he digs his nail just a bit further. 

"You miss him dearly, don't you?" David asks, his voice, albeit impossibly quiet, carries a note of condescension, that twists your insides with unbridled rage. "In my defense, Dearest, I have tried to help you. To make him realize the depth of his own feelings before it was too late."

"What?" 

David, unbothered by your question, continues to trace your body, mapping out every dip and curve, his fingers tracing down your spine, where he counts the vertebrae. His other hand, or lack there of, finds purchase on your hip, testing just how much does he need to press down, to feel the bone hidden under skin and muscle. 

"Oh don't you worry" David quips, eyes transfixed on the way your chest expands when you take a sharp breath "I've made sure he died, knowing you never loved him"

Something raw and unfiltered tears it's way out of your throat. A new sound, one, which will be documented and stored forever in David's memory disk, because by God, you sound closer to an animal than any human. Your hand winds back, seemingly on it's own, and suddenly David's head snaps back, as your palm collides with his cheekbone. The slap sounds like a thunder cracking inside the ambulatory, drowning out every beep, every hum of the machinery. 

Your hand will be bruised, that's for certain. 

Despite efforts at keeping the synthetic humans as close to the real thing, as possible, no one could deny the sheer strength hidden beneath the perfect imitation of skin. You're aware of that, aware that if David didn't move his head in a way that was so deceivingly human, you would've broken your wrist. It gives you a small pause, a moment to register this strange reaction on android's part, but any curiosity is quickly swallowed, by the most intense feeling you've ever felt. 

Hatred. 

"Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably" David sighs, shaking his head in, what you suppose, is meant to be disappointment. 

The pressure on your hip shifts, as his stump encircles your waist, and suddenly you're being pulled impossibly closer, your behind sliding to the very edge of the medical table. David tugs on your knees, forcing your legs to open, and closes the last remnants of space between the two of you. 

The smoothness of his nether regions should calm you down slightly, ease some smidgen of worry. But, as you look into those cold, lifeless eyes, which are strangely burning, your stomach twists. If there's a will, there's a way, and you're fairly certain, they way David's gaze glides all over your frame is a clear show of determination. 

And so, your hands shoot up, fingernails biting into his chest again, as your muscles tense with the effort of pushing him away. There's no give, you might as well be fighting with a metal wall. David grips the edge of the medical table, his arms creating a cage on the sides of your body. 

"There it is" he muses, nose brushing the underside of your chin, a deep rumble erupting from within his chest "Such a sweet smell..."

A shudder ripples through your body at the sudden contact, your throat constricting to an alarming degree. 

"I've wondered for quite some time, if this sweetness is more than just air" David's voice rises and falls, and before you can truly comprehend the meaning behind his words, his tongue darts out, licking a stripe from your jugular, up to the back of your ear.

The reaction is almost embedded in your bones, as suddenly you shift on the table, wrenching your leg between your bodies and kicking out with as much force, as you're capable of, and then some. David staggers backwards, finally freeing you from the confines of his arms, and you seize the opportunity immediately, pushed by rage and such deep-seated hatred, it should terrify you. 

"I fucking hate you!" you scream out, and abandoning all reason, leap forward, colliding with the android's steel chest.

The force of impact sweeps the both of you off your feet, and David lands with a dull thud on the metal floor. There's a flicker of surprise in his cold, dead eyes, and you revell in it, as your body shifts atop of his. 

You recover from your momentary confusion quickly, hands coming up to grasp at his throat, like it will change anything, like you're capable of choking the life out of him. Both of you know better, and while you're pushed further and further by an intoxicating mixture of emotions, David lets you do as you please, watching your twisted face with undeniable fascination. 

His hand start to move, grabbing your hips, running up the length of your thigh, tugging just a tiny bit on the fabric of your cryo suit. His stump brushes hair out of your face, gently.

"Don't you find it curious?" he whispers, and you can feel the way his throat works under your fingers "You loved Walter so dearly, this... Pathetic machine, who can feel nothing. And then, with that same breath, you hate me. Even though I'm closer to human than Walter ever hoped to be."

Your cheeks are suddenly wet, with tears of anger, of frustration, as they run down your face and neck, soaking into the collar of your shirt. David leans up with no real effort, pulling your body closer and craning his neck, so he can taste the salt on your skin. A whimper escapes you, a broken, quiet sound, as his tongue glides up, almost to the very corner of your eye, gathering your tears, drinking them with a satisfied groan. 

Fingers tighten around his throat, but it's as if you're trying to strangle a metal pipe. 

"What does that say about you? Have you ever wondered?" David asks, and your heart stutters. 

Realistically, you know what he's trying to do. How he's trying to twist your feelings for Walter into some sort of psychological game, some challenge you're supposed to deny. But your awareness doesn't change the pang of hurt, the broken sigh that leaves your lips at the thought. And then, before you can truly think of the implications, of the hatred for the human race hidden deep within David's voice, his lips come crashing down upon yours, so reminiscent of the time in his lab. 

This instance, however, is less like an experiment, and more like a need. Such a faithful imitation of it, your heart jumps in your throat. There's really no use in trying to push him away, as it seems he's grown tired of accommodating your desire for a fight, his arms tightening around you, pushing your body closer to his chest. Still, you're not about to give up that quickly, and pushed by sudden flash of panic, you lean your head forward, catching his lower lip between your teeth. 

He pulls back with a hiss, as you sink down into the flesh, his artificial blood leaving a strange, chemical taste in your mouth. He takes half a second to admire the way your chin glistens with white, before diving down again, and giving you the same treatment, his perfect teeth biting on your lower lip with measured force. You yelp against him, thrashing in his hold, until he pulls away again. His hand comes up, touching your face in a way that is too gentle, too reverend. His thumb collects the peculiar mixture of his blood and yours, swirls it around with the newest batch of tears springing from your eyes. 

Then, he dips his finger between his teeth, tongue lapping up the fluids, holding your horrified, and slightly disgusted gaze. 

"We taste divine together" he murmurs, and with a quickness you've not known him to be capable of, he shoves his finger into your mouth. You sputter and gag at the intrusion, at the copper taste mixed with chemicals, as it coats the inside of your mouth. 

It's a split second action, you barely register the movements, but as soon as David rips his hand out of your mouth, he maneuvers your body to his liking, grabbing your hips, and sitting you down on his leg, intention clear as day. Two things happen at once. You can suddenly feel undeniable pressure right between your legs, hitting in the precise manner you need it to. And that's the same moment you realize just how obscenely wet you are, which terrifies you more than any monster on this ship. 

David buries his head in the crook of your neck, one hand catching your wrists, as you attempt to punch him. He brings your hands tightly around your back, his grip unrelenting, his hand-les arm keeps you steady on top of his leg, where he pushes up and down, setting a rhythm against your core. Your knees slide on the floor, and he raises his leg in response, just enough to stop your attempts to wiggle away. 

The chuckle he lets out, as you bang your forehead against his shoulder is borderline offensive. In response, you turn your head and try to bite at his throat. 

He's quick, leaving your hips, and forcing your chin up, before teeth can make contact with his skin. Your eyes lock again, and you're surprised to find out, there's not a flicker of irritation inside his. If anything, he looks amused, understanding even, and you frown in confusion at his serene state. 

"Perhaps I was too eager before" he muses, more to himself than to you "Perhaps you need a gentler approach"

With that, the hand gripping your wrists climbs up, feather like touches pepper your face, your cheeks, until he cradles your head in his palm, fingers threading delicately through your hair. Your breath freezes in your chest, confusion rising to an alarming degree, as David begins to gently massage the back of your head. Feeling your tense muscles sag ever so slightly in his hold, his arm returns to your waist.

"I can be kind" he says, head dipping down, to kiss your collarbone "I can do, what Walter could never even imagine" 

The hand at the back of your head dips down, tugs lightly on the lacing of your cryo suit, loosening it just enough, for the collar to fall down your shoulders. Quickly, he covers the newly exposed slivers of skin with feverish kisses, pulling a pathetic, low whine from your lips. Your eyes fall closed, tears stinging under your eyelids, as his leg moves just a bit higher, reminding you of the momentarily abandoned pressure. 

"Let me in" David whispers against your shoulder "Let me..." a kiss to your throat, and your walls come crashing down, your body folding over his, as your hips stutter against his thigh. 

"There you are, Dearest."

For a moment, you try to imagine this is Walter. That you're safe in his arms, as his hand cradles the back of your head, fingers scratching lightly in tandem with the shivers raking your body.

 But everytime he speaks, everytime he moves, you're crudely reminded, that this is someone, something, so devastatingly worse. Doesn't stop your hips from moving though, from the tightness building in the lower part of your stomach, the wetness seeping down your thighs. If anything, slowly you start to feel yourself loose control, small gasps ripping through your lips with every movement. 

David watches you for a moment longer, committing every sound, every twitch of your body to memory, cataloguing exactly which angles make your hips stutter the most. Which part of your body to kiss, so you'll fold against him. 

It's a fascinating lesson, truly, but he feels a sudden need to push it to a close. And as such, his hand slips out of your hair, trailing a path down your body, until it reaches the waistband of your linen pants. He moves quickly, before you can break away from this strange spell he's captivated you with. 

Slender fingers wiggle their way to your front, sinking in with almost no resistance. Your entire body straightens in his lap at the intrusion, and the noise you make rivals the most beautiful of symphonies. David desperately wants to hear it again, and so, he starts to move his fingers inside, testing, which part of your core he needs to hit, to make your head fall back. 

"Everything could be yours" he murmurs into the skin of your throat "All songs in the world are for you"

As it turns out, pretty much any part will do. You're way too aroused to care anymore, and as his fingers curl inside you, in a slow, deliberate rhythm, your eyes shoot open, body thrashing against him. The promise of a release is hard to ignore, almost impossible not to chase after, and David watches with obsessive fascination, as you try to bring yourself closer to him, arms encircling him completely, head dipping into the juncture between his shoulder and neck. 

"All of the Universe" he continues, as you steadily climb towards your climax "All stars in the sky..."

While he works a series of cascading moans out of you, he revells in the way your nails bite into his skin, in the wetness of his own, white blood, seeping into the fabric of his (Walter's) hoodie. It doesn't take long for you to tumble over the edge, entire body spasming against him, his still moving fingers creating obscenely wet sounds that echo through the room. Soon, they're joined by a sharp scream, tearing through your throat like an avalanche. David holds you impossibly close, letting you ride out your orgasm, before pulling his hand away, making you watch him, as he licks his glistening fingers clean. 

"It's always cherries with you, isn't it?" he murmurs, and you don't have the strength to feel confused. 

It's completely quiet for a longer while, as you stay seated on his lap, trying to regain your breathing, and deal with the world-crushing realization, of what exactly has just happened. Shame floods you, brings you closer to his synthetic body, as your muscles relax, seemingly on their own accord. And he welcomes it, with his arms, with his mouth, with everything he has. 

A broken, shuddering sob wrecks your body, as the utter hopelessness of your situation hits you, suddenly and without stopping. David holds you through it, leaning away ever so slightly, to observe the way sorrow twists your face, a trailer of all the things to come. 

"I do so wonder" he whispers, his hand cradling your face like the most delicate of specimens "When you start to love me..." your eyes snap to his at the complete confidence in his tone "Will I become more like Walter?"

A shiver runs up your spine, every single hair standing up, as his words register in your brain. You'd never love him, you try to convince yourself, despite knowing deep down, that the only certain thing in your future is him.

"I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love" he whispers into your ear, and thus starts the end of your life. 

[neighbourhoodtwo]

hiiii people from 50+ years ago.....

bought a copy of much ado about nothing and a third copy of julius caesar today in a charity shop and both of them had notes from previous owners inside huge win for me

[thatfandomslut]

Take Me, I'm Yours

Regina George x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Trigger Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, 18+. Fingering (Reader receiving), oral (Regina receiving), use of strap (Reader receiving), nipple play (Regina receiving) power bottom Regina George, passive top Reader, car sex, rough sex.

Request:

Pleasssseemore of Regina George/rene smut

Synopsis:

College!AU where the Reader is in Theatre and she plays Juliet in Romeo and Juliet. Also, Reader is an English major who very playfully and casually quotes dirty things in Shakespeare play and sonnets. Which Regina secretly loves.

Mean Girls requests are open.

Even though Regina was (Y/n)'s girlfriend, Cady and Janis found it surprising when she found herself a seat beside them to watch the school production of 'Romeo and Juliet.' (Y/n) was going to play the lead, Juliet, while her friend, Marco, was to be Romeo. If this was high school, Regina would have refused to show her face at a function such as this, but this was college. Plus, Regina was excited to see (Y/n) perform. She knew just how much (Y/n) loved the work of Shakespeare. She loved it to the point that she would bring it into any conversation they were having if possible.

As the theatre grew dark the curtains lifted revealing a narrator, speaking about fair Verona. Regina leaned close to Cady, who was sitting beside her. "When does Juliet come in?" She questioned softly, trying to keep her voice a whisper. She really wished she could fast-forward all of the parts that (Y/n) wasn't in. She began to wonder if that was rude of her, but she stayed in place, waiting for an answer. After all, she came for one reason, and one reason only, to see the star of this show: her girlfriend.

Cady glanced over at Janis before leaning towards Regina in order to respond. "She's going to enter with her nurse. It'll be a little while. Just sit back and enjoy." Cady told her, gaining a slight side-eye. Still, Regina listened, leaning back in her seat as she tried to understand what they were saying on stage. They were using the old English version. There were a few words and phrases she was catching onto due to (Y/n), and her infinity of saying little Shakespearean phrases whenever she was excited or whenever she wanted to have sex (which was a bit off-putting at first, but Regina found it cute).

"Nurse, where is my daughter? Call her forth to me." Regina sat up slightly, hoping that this would be the scene that was finally revealed (Y/n). She was able to identify the fact that the woman speaking was a Capulet due to her red dress. (Y/n) had explained one night that Capulets wore red while Montagues wore blue. This was so the audience could tell who was who on stage. Right now, Regina just felt incredibly intelligent for knowing this fact and it made her smirk to herself slightly as she awaited (Y/n) to eventually show up.

Just as Cady said, it was the nurse who appeared first, looking frantic. "Now, by my maidenhead at twelve year old, I bade her come.—What, lamb! What, ladybird! God forbid. Where’s this girl? What, Juliet!" She called out, and Regina felt herself grow in excitement. Anytime she attended any of (Y/n)'s performances, she felt like she could barely sit in her seat when she had the feeling (Y/n) was about to appear on stage. She just loved seeing (Y/n) shine, and it was clear that the stage was where (Y/n) belonged. Regina would move to New York so (Y/n) could star on Broadway if (Y/n) asked.

Regina burst into a proud grin as (Y/n) entered the stage, her hair curled as she looked at her nurse. "How now, who calls?" It was her opening line, and now that play that was boring Regina had her hooked. One could argue that it was because (Y/n) was Regina's girlfriend that Regina had a newfound interest in the play, and Regina could not argue against that. She wouldn't dare to. Not when (Y/n) looked so beautiful on the stage. Cady and Janis looked over at Regina, who was now leaning forward, clearly interested. The action made Janis shake her head with a grin as she found Cady's hand and took hold of it.

After the play, Regina left briefly to retrieve the bouquet of roses she had bought from her car. As (Y/n) departed from the back, now wearing leggings and a sweatshirt with their college's name embroidered on the front, she ran into Regina's arms. "Hey, baby," Regina greeted as her arms wrapped around (Y/n). She was careful to not crush the flowers as she pulled away to kiss (Y/n). This action was quickly reciprocated. "You did so good up there. I got these roses for you." Regina said, passing the bouquet over to (Y/n) who lit up over the fact Regina brought her flowers.

"I'm glad you thought so. I was so nervous you wouldn't enjoy the performance. Normally, the school does more of the modern plays, but I suggested a classic. I wanted Hamlet, but this one is just as exciting. And! Thank you for the flowers." (Y/n) felt her cheeks turn red as she rambled on, Regina leading her to the car to drive them back to their apartment. "I'm sorry for rambling, I'm just really excited you enjoyed it."

Regina opened the door for her, kissing her cheek softly. "Don't apologize for rambling, my love. It's cute. And, how could I not enjoy it when you did so fucking fantastic tonight. You're born for the stage." Regina complimented as (Y/n) settled in her seat. She closed the door before heading to the driver's seat. Despite being the obvious bottom, little spoon between the two, she is not the passenger princess. She just enjoyed driving and having a sense of control over what she was doing. Even as a bottom, she commanded (Y/n) what she wanted and how she wanted everything done.

"Can I share something about another Shakespeare play, or are you all Shakespeared out?" She questioned curiously, looking over at Regina, who shook her head in a way to allow (Y/n) to continue. In response, (Y/n) straightened herself up as she cleared her throat. The action caused Regina to eye her suspiciously knowing some kind of dirty quote might come out of her sweet and almost innocent (if it wasn't for the Shakespeare filth quotes) girlfriend. "In Hamlet, when Ophelia says to him, 'You are keen, my lord, you are keen.' She meant that he was, well, horny. In response, he says, 'It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge.' Regina, I am keen."

A giant smirk twisted the edge of Regina's lips on her usual 'serious driving' face. Looking over for a brief moment, she had to bite down on the ever-growing upturning of her lips. "After seeing you on stage, I am 'keen,' too." She responded, causing (Y/n) to look over with a grin. "Isn't this the part where you say your Hamlet quote to me?" Regina teased as parked in her parking spot, her teeth still tugging at her bottom lip, wishing that it was (Y/n)'s bottom lip they were tugging on instead.

(Y/n) leaned back into her spot, unbuckling so she could turn to Regina more comfortably. "You're right, how rude of me not to respond properly. Regina, 'it would cost you a groaning to take off my edge.'" She said softly before moving the roses to the backseat carefully. Once she faced Regina, and the blonde had unbuckled, Regina's hands were slipped into (Y/n)'s leggings while (Y/n)'s hands were pushed up into Regina's shirt. They've both been here before, ravaging each other in their car as if they couldn't get caught.

Regina was quick in her actions to rub (Y/n)'s clit, wishing the girl was riding her face so she couldn't only feel how wet she was for her, but there was a chance she could taste it, too. However, the moan that had escaped (Y/n)'s lips made her forget her wish as she began to allow two fingers to slip in between the lips of (Y/n)'s pussy, teasing her momentarily. "Please, princess," (Y/n) whined pitifully, and Regina slipped her fingers in at the request. Anything for her future favorite Broadway star, right? The glass slowly began to fog as (Y/n) moaned in pleasure as she successfully unclasped Regina's bra from under her shirt, making Regina's nipples more accessible to her fingers. As (Y/n) cried out in pleasure because of Regina's fingers, Regina herself began to moan as (Y/n)'s fingers pinched and played with her hardened nipples.

It wasn't long before (Y/n) felt herself grow closer to her orgasm. "Regina, please, I'm so close." (Y/n) whimpered as her lips found Regina's the car windows around them were officially fogged. Normally, Regina would make her beg for her orgasm. But tonight was (Y/n)'s night, so anything she wanted, she was going to get. (Y/n) moaned loudly as Regina allowed her to cum on her fingers, the girl arching her back, her legs shaking slightly. A string of curses fell from her lips, but Regina could only focus on how pretty the girl's lips were.

Regina helped (Y/n) ride out her high before removing her fingers and sucking them clean. "Let's go inside, baby. I'll get you all cleaned up and we can watch a movie." Regina said softly as (Y/n)'s breathing became more leveled. She fixed her bra by just removing it from under her shirt, not caring if anyone saw her carry it into her house. Leaning over, she pressed a soft kiss to (Y/n)'s forehead, grabbing the roses from the backseat.

"Or, when we get inside, I can undress you, and eat you out." (Y/n) said, her words unusually bold, her voice still scratchy from her moans. Her chest was still heaving despite her catching her breath, but presumably because she was nervous and starting to breathe quicker once more. She expected Regina to say no because they typically did it in Regina's way. Which (Y/n) usually loved. She still wanted Regina to have control, but for a moment, she wanted to be the bold one. "I need to taste you, princess."

Her words caused a shiver to spread down Regina's spine as she glanced back with a smirk. "Okay, baby, let's do it then. Take me to the bedroom, and eat me out until I can't take it anymore." Regina leaned in, pressing a hungry kiss to (Y/n)'s lips before they pulled away, practically rising to their apartment. Their clothes were scattered on the apartment floor, but the roses were put neatly on the counter. As Regina fell backward onto the bed, she looked up with a smirk. "Take me, I'm yours." She whispered as (Y/n) kissed her deeply. The kiss was messy and their teeth clashed together as their tongues fought for dominance before (Y/n) pulled away.

(Y/n) left wet, bruising kisses down Regina's body, just the way the blonde liked it as she reached Regina's pussy. It wasn't long before (Y/n)'s tongue swirled along Regina's clit as she began to suck. Regina's back arched instinctively as she moaned loudly. When (Y/n) moved to begin eating Regina out as if she was her last meal, her finger took her tongue's place on her clit. "Fuck, baby, just like that." Regina's hands cupped her breasts, needing to do something with her hands as (Y/n)'s tongue swirled in her. Regina felt her heartbeat thrumming in her chest as (Y/n) made her forget her own name for a moment.

As Regina found herself growing closer, her legs began to shake as her moans came out more frequently. Her back arched more as she subconsciously began to grind on (Y/n)'s tongue. She loved the feeling of (Y/n)'s tongue and she knew soon their tastes would mingle when they kissed. "I'm so close, baby," she cried out to (Y/n), her hips stuttering, as she tried to hold herself back, wanting (Y/n) to tell her when to cum. It was the only time Regina relented control. It was something they both liked, holding each other's orgasms captive as they completely took away their ability to think straight.

"Cum for me, princess," (Y/n) instructed. Regina did so, crying out (Y/n)'s name. They forget if they have neighbors or not, but they don't care either. Regina's hips bucked as (Y/n)'s nose briefly hit her sensitive clit as she cleaned up all of Regina. Regina rode out her high on (Y/n)'s tongue, her eyes rolling back as she swore she could see stars. As (Y/n) finished, she kissed Regina deeply. Quickly, Regina reciprocated, mingling the taste of each other and moaning at their perfect concoction.

(Y/n) went to pull away in order to run their usual aftercare bath and to get Regina water, but the blonde stopped her. "No, I'm not done with you. If it's okay with you, I bought something you've been wanting to try." Regina was still shaky but stable enough to retrieve the strap from her nightstand. (Y/n) looked at Regina in shock as she grinned slowly. "I want you to ride me," Regina said, her voice echoing in (Y/n)'s mind.

(Y/n) swallowed thickly before she licked her drying lips. "I want to ride you, too." With the consent given, Regina began putting the harness on before inviting (Y/n) to climb on. (Y/n) grew even more wet as she did so before sliding on. The contact made pushed the harness down into Regina's sensitive clit, causing her to force herself not to buck her hips. (Y/n) moaned loudly as Regina's strap filled her up. "Oh, fuck," she cursed loudly, biting her lip. "Tell me when I can start." Her voice was shaky as she tried to wait, finding it hard as pleasure filled her up.

"You can start, baby," Regina told her before watching in amazement as her girlfriend bounced on the strap, her boobs bouncing with her. She couldn't help but moan, too at the perfect contact it made with her. (Y/n) cried for Regina, feeling like she was on Cloud 9. She was almost ashamed to say that her orgasm was coming much too quickly for her liking. But she continued to ride.

"I'm close, Regina. I'm already so fucking close." (Y/n) felt her body shake and her back arch as she grew closer to the orgasm she desperately tried to hold back. Regina moaned at her words, trying to think straight for a response. Instead, she mustered up a 'not yet' causing (Y/n) to cry out. Regina was desperate to cum with her as the two grew close. Their moans mingled in the air as (Y/n) took all of the length in proudly. She was beginning to wonder if she could resist this orgasm as her eyes screwed closed and her head fell back. Sweat beaded on her forehead before she finally heard Regina say it.

"Cum, baby. I'm cumming with you," Regina told her as she released with (Y/n). Their lips fell together, causing them to swell. (Y/n) stayed for a long moment on the strap as she shook in pleasure, bouncing every now and again to ride out her high. The action caused them both to moan every time. As (Y/n) removed herself, her chest still heaved. Regina kissed her softly before cleaning the strap and putting it away. "You wait here, baby. I'm going to get our bath ready and get us water."

(Y/n) couldn't refuse, her legs wouldn't allow her to walk anyways. Instead, she lay there, attempting to catch her breath as the sound of running water hit her ears and Regina grabbed her a water bottle. "You were amazing," (Y/n) complimented softly, her words barely coming out, her thoughts still trying to become coherent. Regina smiled over at her as they began to drink their water. "I wasn't expecting the strap, but I will say I am very grateful for it. I also liked that it was the one we picked out together." She said, activating one of their aftercare routines: talking about their time. It was important to communicate their feelings about sex.

Regina smiled over at her with a twinkle in her eyes. "I wanted to get it for you since it was opening night and you had been working so hard. I'm so proud of you, my star. And, I liked it, too." Regina pressed a kiss to (Y/n)'s cheek. "Now, let's go get in that bath before it overflows," Regina said with a teasing smile. She helped (Y/n) to the bath where they soaked their bathtub wine in a bath full of bubbles. It was the perfect end to a perfect day for the both of them.

[nastasya--filippovna]

Crush Culture; Conan Gray x Beatrice and Benedick (Much Ado About Nothing 2011)

For me these two will always be ace icons. Thank you Shakespeare for writing Ace characters that can and do fall in love.

There's this general misunderstanding that just 'cause you're Ace ergo you're also Aro. Aro and Ace are two separate identities. Some people on the spectrum identify a both Aro and ace hence they're Aroace (simple really!)

And I think that's the same misunderstanding these two have internalized. They've been told that just because you don't like someone "like that" also means that you are not capable of loving.... that love is just "not for you".

So here's to all the Ace people who have those who will find their love, their soulmate, and whoever matches their freak. I love you all!

Lovely moots: @a-singing-lunatic @shadesofecclescakes @suburbia-and-brentwood-market @glitterypin @angie-words

@davidtennantgenderenvy @dreamsfrozenincandyland @turtleneck-crowley @dtmsrpfcringe @princeloww

@consanguinitatum @mystic-mae @cranberry-sniffer

It would mean so much to my pathetic low self-esteem ass if you checked out my edit!! Lots of love 😘

[catacini]

i can't believe nasu wrote a novel length essay on the feeling of being a fan that's able to read and watching peabrain fans flanderize your favorite character to the point not even their pain is sacred. i can actually. but i AM impressed that the character the essay is written about isn't the guy who self identifies as "side character in a shakespeare play that people just never think that hard about lol" nope the essay is about some other depressed dude. the blue one

every time you're sitting there watching a complex female character be reduced to waifu bait or team mom. every time loss and tragedy in art are reduced to nothing more than a tool for ship comfort fics. every time they make heathcliff an idiot brute. just know. you're not the only one screaming with your mouth shut and pushing at your closed eyes til you see stars. the spirit of nasu is also there. wailing. like christ on the fucking cross. bro saw one too many reddit comics where melt is a bashful tsundere and snapped and churned out lb6.2 in a single night.

[cantheykillmacbeth]

In Shakespeare's Macbeth, there is a prophecy made to the eponymous Macbeth that "no man of woman born can kill him." Ultimately, Macbeth ends up being killed by MacDuff, who sidesteps the prophecy due to being a C-section baby.

With the wording of this prophecy, it can be said that quite a few fictional characters could, theoretically, kill Macbeth if they wanted to. Several factors could make you exempt from this prophecy: being any gender other than a man; not being conventionally "born"; and birthing parent is not a woman. Here are the three main criteria that will be analyzed for a character:

Gender Clause: A character applies for this Clause when they do not identify with the term "man" in reference to themselves. Inversely, the are disqualified from this Clause if they do identify with the term "man." Since characters' gender identities are rarely looked this far into, it will be assumed that if a character uses strictly he/him pronouns, then he will be disqualified for this Clause by default.

Unconventional Birth Clause: A character applies for this Clause if their inception was done in some way other than a conventional live birth. This could mean they were extracted via c-section, delivered posthumously, hatched from an egg, manually constructed, etc.

Birth Parent Clause: A character applies for this Clause when the person attributed to their creation does not identify with the term "woman." This functions similarly to the way that we handle the Gender Clause.

Unique Exception: This is used for any character with some other loophole, such as being able to canonically change the path of fate.

Google Doc Link for all characters already covered

FAQ under the cut, PLEASE READ BEFORE SUBMITTING:

Why isn't there a Species Clause?: A character's species is not taken into account for the "man" portion of the prophecy, as a character of a different species can still identify as a man. Why isn't there an Age Clause?: Unless the character specifically says that they are not a "man," but a "boy," (See: Peter Pan) then a young male character will still be disqualified for the Gender Clause. How would a genderfluid/trans character be counted?: Whether or not a character applies for the Gender Clause is determined by how they personally identify at that specific time. A genderfluid character could kill Macbeth one day, but not the next; a trans woman could kill Macbeth, but a trans man could not. Who runs this blog?: We currently have 2 members, Mod Anthem and Mod Pepper. Mod Anthem made the blog initially, and Mod Pepper is its sister here to help. Mod Anthem also runs @periodiccompletionist Could the owner of this blog kill Macbeth?: Yes, I apply for the Gender Clause due to being a demiboy(? it's complicated) who does not identify with the term man. How do I know if a character has been done already?: I tag all submissions with the character's name and associated fandom. You can also check the Google Doc linked above the cut. Could [character] kill Macbeth?: This is what the ask box is for! Feel free to submit whoever you want when it's open. Is the ask box open?: Check my bio for ask box status updates. :) I sometimes close it to work through backlog, and have anon turned off to cut down on the amount of asks coming in. Can I submit real people?: Yes, but I will most likely not give an answer in my post; these sorts of details are often highly personal, so I will not be doing research on them for this without their consent. If they're on Tumblr, they can respond to the post itself and give the definitive answer if they so choose. What should I do if I have a correction/rebuttal to a post?: Please do this in a reblog instead of an ask/DM/reply; it makes things much easier for me. My submission didn't get answered. Should I submit it again?: I would strongly advise against it. It's most likely that I didn't answer it for one of the following reasons: I haven't gotten to it yet through the backlog; it's a real person not on Tumblr; the character/media was too difficult to research (I'm not going to be reading/watching through the actual source material, sorry); the character/media makes me personally uncomfortable; or someone has already submitted your character. If you're REALLY curious about what happened to your ask, you can send me a DM and I will give you the reason why or tell you if I didn't receive it. Are you dead?: No, I just have ADHD. Errm, actually, wasn't the prophecy just a trick to fuel Macbeth's hubris?: Great job, you just defeated the entire point of this blog! What the hell do expect me to do with that information? Delete my account?? Ruiner of the spirit. Jarvis, piss this guy's pants. How do you pronounce axolotl?: a-SHOW-loa(tl). (tl) represents a sound that we don't have in english, but is commonly used in native Nahuatl.

What media properties should I avoid submitting?: Dialtown (makes me uncomfortable), Homestuck (personal reasons), Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss (or anything vivziepop-related), Harry Potter (JK Rowling is a bitch and I'm the only god here), Slay the Princess (want to play; avoiding spoilers), Hades II (want to play, avoiding spoilers), FNAF (you actually can submit this one but be aware that you will not view me the same afterwards also all my homies hate Scott Cawthon)

[agatharkn3ss]

AAA is retelling the story of Macbeth

Note: Yes, this is a very long post.

I believe Jac Schaeffer is telling us a version of Macbeth. The ballad lyrics use a quote from the play “Fair is foul and foul is fair”. There is also the painting in Agatha’s living room – “Macbeth and the three witches" by Francesco Zuccarelli. The painting clearly meant something to Agatha’s consciousness and it feels like it was meant to be seen, whether foreshadowing or reflecting emotional state (I wrote more about it here). Yet, Jac herself has not mentioned Macbeth in her interviews even once, which is interesting.

A huge question explored (but not answered) in Macbeth has always been about who is in control of our actions. Do we have free will or is already written for us by someone else? Can only one person be held responsible, and if so – is it the doer or the enabler who is to blame?

A quick play summary: Macbeth is a play written by William Shakespeare. It starts with Three witches telling the Scottish general Macbeth three prophecies: that he will be the Thane of Cawdor, that he will become a King of Scotland and that children of Banquo (his friend) will become kings. Shortly after, Macbeth really is appointed the Thane. Encouraged by his wife, Macbeth kills the king and becomes the new king. But he descends into paranoia, worried about the third prophecy, so he kills Banquo too. He seeks the witches out again, looking for reassurance. They show him 3 apparitions, which he interprets in his favour, giving him false sense of security. Civil war erupts to overthrow him and Macbeth is eventually killed.

When you compare the play with what we’ve seen in the show, the parallels become more and more obvious, and I think we can even identify who the characters are meant to be. My interpretation is:

Teen = William Shakespeare, the author

Agatha = Macbeth

Rio, Lady Death = Lady Macbeth (or Lady Macdeath?)

Banquo = Jen (but also Wanda)

The three witches = Alice, Evanora and Lilia (Maiden, Mother, Crone)

Detailed analysis:

Teen = William Shakespeare

The first obvious connection is the shared name and the fact that Vision actually said he wanted to name his son after William Shakespeare quoting “All the world’s a stage. All the men and women are merely players.”

This goes well with the implication that Billy has indeed “written” the Witches Road. I don’t think he is deliberately controlling it though – I believe his intentions are just so strong that the Road reflects everything we see in his room. He set the frame but he is not in charge. In fact, it feels more like the influence comes from William Kaplan rather than Billy Maximoff.

It is worth noting that the Macbeth play is set in a morally ambiguous society that judges others in black and white, while allowing shades of grey for themselves – very reminiscent of Billy’s attitude about witches in ep.5 when he said he is not like them at all – immediately followed by him lashing out. Lilia also reminds him in ep.7 of how much in common he has with this idea of a witch that he so vehemently rejects. I think in the end, when he realises that he is both Billy and William, he will also understand that he is not just a “writer”, but also a “player” of the story.

It is also interesting how there is no sun in the painting – similar to the perpetual night we see on the Road. The painting’s interpretations often suggest that the dark sky represents the theme of death lurking around (fitting that Jen calls Rio a “creepy lurker”). So I do believe that just as we have the symbolism of the Moon, there is also meaning to the Sun and the lack of it. This is why during Billy’s tarot reading, his card for “what’s missing?” is the Sun. At his bar mitzvah William Kaplan is in a white shirt. But when Billy returns home from the hospital, he’s wearing a stripy black and white top – but the white stripes are thin – only glimpses of William. Eventually Teen becomes this goth kid – suggesting that darkness has overtaken him. But in a promo we see him wearing a different top – again with black and white stripes but they are more equal and uniform. I think this symbolises that he realises he is both, Billy and William and it’s no longer murky to him. The Sun and the Moon are in balance. (And to that point – in ep.1 in Nicky’s bedroom we see wallpaper prominently showing both Sun and Moon elements. And the child’s drawing has the Sun at its centre)

Three Witches = Alice, Evanora and Lilia

This one is a more loose interpretation, but I think it ties well with the ongoing theme of “Maiden, Mother, Crone”. In Macbeth, it’s the witches that open the play, portraying them as those mysterious but powerful witches, controlling the events. But throughout the play, the audience realises they might not be as powerful – in fact, it is questioned whether they actually have the power to make things happen, or they merely have the ability to see the future. Eventually, they have less and less presence, and are not even there when the prophecies are fulfilled – suggesting that they were merely an illusion of control.

The fact remains that the witches are literal harbingers of doom – with their symbolism of number three (that is also heavily explored in this show, post here). They did share the prophecies, giving Macbeth the information he didn’t ask for. And later, when he comes for reassurance, they show him 3 more apparitions (well, 4, but he doesn’t take the last one in). The significance here was that the message here was so vague and deceptive that it could have one of two completely opposite meanings – and their interpretation proves crucial to the final outcome. The apparitions were telling Macbeth to be afraid, but instead he read what he wanted to see. He left feeling reassured, secure and justified in his actions. Again, the witches could be represented here as being deceptive, driving Macbeth’s demise. It feels like they had this insider knowledge that should’ve shared with Macbeth that would completely change the context of the message. But they didn’t and it’s a question if they ever even could.

Interestingly, in Act 3, Scene 5, the witches behave very differently to how they were before and it is believed that this is because this particular scene was not actually written by Shakespeare but by the actors themselves – if true, this would be an excellent parallel to episode 5 (and Agatha’s wearing a jersey with no.3). I believe Agatha’s trial was hijacked by Vertigo from Salem Seven. There were many inconsistencies with the previous trials, but I think the biggest tell was that the aspect ratio didn’t change – thus Vertigo taking over Billy’s story.

So, with all this in mind, I think that the show’s Three Witches are not active messengers to Macbeth/Agatha. It’s more about her interpretation of what they each represent in terms of her own destiny. I linked this with the Mother, Maiden, Crone - i.e. the Triple Goddess Hecate because in the play she us actually the “boss” of the Three Witches.  

Let’s start with the obvious – the Mother element is Evanora, Agatha’s own mother who has always prophesised her that she will be evil. Then we have the Maiden. I think it makes sense that this is Alice. Not just because she is the youngest, but also because she serves as a fresh reminder to Agatha that she is actually evil, because she is the one who killed her. However, there is duality in here, because it is also an example that Alice protected Agatha BECAUSE Agatha was worthy of saving. That she didn’t actually think of her as evil, especially when recognising Alice’s own complicated history with her mother. Finally, we have the Crone – this Lilia, always complaining at how Agatha is the embodiment of the evil witch stereotype. And yet, in ep.7 Lilia gives Agatha an advice for her future – akin to a prophecy. Whether Agatha follows it or not, we don’t know yet, but it’s important to show that Lilia chose to help Agatha in the end, showing her she accepted her.

Banquo = Jen (also Wanda)

In Macbeth, the character of Banquo is Macbeth’s friend as is meant to serve as his foil – i.e. a person or thing that contrasts with and so emphasizes and enhances the qualities of another. Banquo has a lot of parallels with Macbeth and he is also present for the prophecies. Yet, he reacts differently to them as ultimately he is not interested in power.

So I think in the show, the foil is Jen – she is shown to be just as snarky and selfish as Agatha. She is also an exceptional witch that is at least a century old. But in the past she used her powers for the good before she became bound. She said she tried everything possible to unbind, but it seems she eventually accepted her fate, though she is still very much angry about it. Her business is false and people are harmed as a result, yet she knowingly continues that path.

This is parallel to Agatha, as we can predict that the myth of the witches road is her own fraud business, perpetuating it so she can steal power from the “undeserving” witches, not caring she causes harm. She probably could’ve ended up similarly to Jen or worse, had it not been for Billy pushing them both down the Witches Road.

It is interesting that they both seemingly passed their trials and yet neither of them recovered their powers. They both believe someone else is responsible for this (and to be fair, I think in Agatha’s case she is right – Vertigo stole her trial). There are many more similarities we can notice, but I wonder what this means for the future. I wonder if there will be confrontation between the two of them. I think Jen will be able to resolve her inner conflict and exit the Road, and she will become the literal High Priestess (i.e. head of her own coven) – similar to Banquo’s character, whose children became the kings, not Macbeth.

An honourable mention to another foil couple from the past – Wanda.

Both Agatha and Wanda were powerful witches, misunderstood by the society (“there will always be torches and pitchforks for ladies like us”). Both lost their children, but dealt with them differently. Both are told they were destined to be bad – Evanora calls Agatha evil and Wanda is prophesised as the Scarlet Witch who will destroy the world. It is interesting to debate who’s Macbeth and who’s Banquo in this pairing – while Agatha didn’t seem to be entirely under Darkhold influence, it was Wanda who eventually claimed Agatha’s power and the Darkhold, then become corrupted before her ultimate demise (and redemption).

Lady Macbeth = Lady Death

Lady Macbeth is the figure that often gets the full blame for Macbeth’s crimes – people even going as far as absolving Macbeth from any fault (which I think in itself is a demonstration of internalised misogyny but hey ho). She is also seen practicing witchcraft, which served as another suggestion that she was the baddie in control.

She has this line that could be a nod to Rio’s dagger - “that my keen knife see not the wound it makes”. Perhaps a reflection that Rio doesn’t want to see the pain that her actions as Death bring, that’s why she’s heavily dissociating with her powers, calling them “her job”.

When Macbeth is torn by the prophecies, he eventually decides that he will not kill the king. That very second, Lady Macbeth enters and very quickly manages to change his resolve. Later on, whenever he wavered, she was the one who would take over control. She was the ultimate enabler to his crimes, even getting the servants drunk, unlocking the King’s door, preparing the daggers etc.

She is seen as powerful but also completely loyal to Macbeth. She is devoted to the point that when she pleads with the spirits for his success, she offers them her own femininity (“unsex me”) in return, i.e. the one thing that makes her her. She doesn’t seek the power directly for herself  (though she would have it through his actions), immediately accepted Macbeth’s prophecy, understood that’s what he desired and supported him throughout. I think this probably reflects Agatha and Rio’s relationship really well. In ep.4 it is Rio who is impatient to “do some damage”.

However, despite his early signs of deep affection, as Macbeth descends into his downward spiral, he is less and less bothered by his wife. Eventually, he is the one to continue all the killings, and Lady Macbeth fades into a background. To the point where she eventually commits suicide from all the shame, yet Macbeth barely notices it. Perhaps that disconnection happened for Agatha and Rio too. Agatha was lost to Rio when she hid behind the dark magic and it was painful to her, after all these centuries.

Agatha = Macbeth

Finally, Agatha, just like in the show, represents the titular character. Even when committing murders, Hecate describes Macbeth as “a wayward son, spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do, loves for his own ends, not for you”, which I think really represents what the creators are showing us here. The setting of the play is in a world where your rights don’t matter – but instead it is the strongest that holds the power.  

Macbeth’s demise doesn’t so much come from knowing the prophecies (because Banquo heard the same), but from his fatal flaw of ambition. He read the prophecies and apparitions how he wanted them to read. They were his imaginary permission to do the killings to reach the goal. After initial doubts, he convinced himself it was the right thing to do, he became “wicked” and drove to his self-destruction.

(side note: there is also this ambiguity in the play, where there is mention of Macebth’s child, yet people think him childless, suggesting there is a story of child loss behind it – link with Nicholas Scratch?)

As explained above, the Three Witches serve as Agatha’s ingrained belief about her role. She is surrounded by number three, showing her as the harbinger of doom. She might not think this is who she is, but it is still the role she chose to play, and eventually it became self-fulfilling. Her fatal flaw is her addiction to power and she believes in that “might, not right” world. So she has this wall around her and pursues that quest for power, because what else is there left? She is unapologetic about this, but we also start seeing the layers coming off.

I think the story in the show will ultimately come down to whether Agatha understands that she is the one standing in her own way and that she is not above the rules. That no matter the circumstances and the reputation and people enabling her, she is the one ultimately responsible for her own actions.

I think she will drive herself to self-destruction and will be willing to die to gain back her powers. I think she will be left on the Road so it is “Agatha all Alone”. However, there must be some growth from her Witches Road journey, so I think in her process, she will have some meaningful resolutions with others and actually help them escape the Road. And maybe this time she will even follow the rules.

I think this will make a mark on the others so that they will actually try to bring her back somehow. She might feel alone, but the power of the coven will be the one to save her.

EDIT: Just wanted to add, yes, there is also the character of Macduff. He is meant to be this incorruptible, noble character, serving as a complete opposite to Macbeth. He is always very clear on abiding by what's right and wrong, but after Macbeth kills his family, he swears revenge. To the point that he ultimately sacrifices his own morality to restore order to the country by killing Macbeth, thus committing regicide (an act he despised Macbeth for).

While it does sound like it could point to Billy, I just don't think it fits. While Billy certainly saw himself as this "good" character, we see in the later episodes that he does actually have some darkness in him - to the point where is very happy to be Maleficent. He is more similar to Agatha than he thinks. He doesn't mind breaking the rules when it suits him ("stealing" William's body, breaking into Agatha's house, drowning Jen and Lilia) and his internal struggle seems more around finding his own identity rather than revenging a family he hardly remembers (and it isn't really Agatha's fault that they were gone). And if he truly wanted revenge, all he had to do was leave Agatha in her Agnes spell forever.

I do wonder though, if maybe to some extent we are getting William Kaplan as Shakespeare and Billy Maximoff as Macduff?

In the show there is also this ongoing theme where each of the witches are self-sabotaging and are actually their own enemies when it comes to getting "what's missing".

But if I had to choose anyone for Macduff, I think it would be Vertigo - revenging both the Salem mothers and her Salem Seven coven and seeing Agatha as the threat to the witches world, especially because she experienced it first hand. I have a theory that Salem Seven were originally Agatha's own coven that she formed after she killed their mothers, but through her cowardice, she betrayed them and left them on their own Witches Road. After that, Agatha kept conning other "undeserving" witches pretending she'd take them to the Road, while the Salem Seven became trapped and have gone "feral", thus losing their morality.

[kitchen-light]

For Refaat, teaching was more than just a job; it was a dynamic and transformative experience for himself and for his students. He wanted us to leave the classroom with a new pair of eyes, and with an exciting idea that we could take home and and contemplate for hours and days. He always encouraged us to share our newly developed thoughts with our friends and family, and to make note of their responses and counterarguments. One of his favorite activities at the beginning of each course was to rewrite a short story from the perspective of a different character, preferably the antagonist, or the least likable figure. In addition to achieving teaching outcomes like stirring the imagination and improving creative writing skills, this activity helped us deconstruct dominant narratives. It allowed us to extend our empathy, and to see the human in the outcast and the villain. Refaat was very biased in his love for Shakespeare; he read him with the passion and enthusiasm of a stage actor and he encouraged us to do the same. He particularly liked Shylock’s soliloquy, from The Merchant of Venice,and used to hold a competition for students to perform it: “Hath not a Jew eyes?” “If you prick us, do we not bleed?” He used to ask us if we, as Palestinians, identified more with Shylock, the oppressed Jew, or the Christian characters. Our answer was always Shylock. Refaat taught us about the Holocaust and the danger of anti-Semitism. He wanted us to be aware of the struggle of different oppressed nations and extend our solidarity to them. He always asked us to correct ourselves when we confused Zionism with Judaism. 

Nadya Siyam, from "Remembering Dr. Refaat Alareer", published in Words Without Borders, January 29, 2024.

[youryurigoddess]

Aziraphale’s secret investigation and overlooked Clues

Remember this frame from Good Omens S02E06? Apparently Aziraphale had been using the empty carton box brought by Jim to store things in. It became a new home to at least two out of three “Lost Quartos” — the supposedly lost Shakespeare plays briefly but hilariously mentioned in the Good Omens book — as well as a very mysterious legal document.

Thought probably half of the Good Omens analysts here, including the ever so wonderful @fuckyeahgoodomens, who managed to find some information about the deceased John Gibson from New Cumnock (1855 - 1905).

Unfortunately the most interesting thing about this early 20th century provincial postmaster was his youngest child James (1894 - 1973), a quite famous stage (West End!) and film actor immortalized on screen in The Master of Ballantrae (1962), Witch Wood (1964) and Kidnapped (1963).

After that particular discovery the fandom-wide search seemingly led nowhere and the topic died a premature death.

And I almost figured it out seven months ago.

“But Yuri, you’re so clever. How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?”, you probably want to shout across a busy London street at this point. Well, let me tell you. Much like Aziraphale, I'm blindingly intelligent for about thirty seconds a day. I do not get to choose which seconds and they are not consecutive.

Only tonight the stars have aligned in an ineffable way.

For those of you who don’t follow this account, some time ago I’ve realized that John Gibson isn’t the only testator whose estate was being investigated by Aziraphale right before The Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeepers Association monthly meeting.

If you watch S2 finale closely enough, you should notice that Crowley not only stress cleans Aziraphale’s bookshop — he also goes through the books and papers on his desk between the last three angels leaving the bookshop and Maggie and Nina’s intervention. A seemingly permanent arrangement of the props post-shooting, visible in detail both on Radio Times tour and SFX magazine photo shoot, sheds even more light on this detail.

The close-ups published after S2 release are legible enough to refer us to a much more prominent historical figure, Josiah Wedgwood (1730 – 1795) — an English potter, entrepreneur and abolitionist. Founding the Wedgwood company in 1759, he developed improved pottery bodies by systematic experimentation, and was the leader in the industrialisation of the manufacture of European pottery.

Long story short, I transcribed the handwritten pages abandoned on Aziraphale’s desk, found out the source and the full text of what could be identified as Wedgwood’s last will and testament, took a walk to visit his Soho workshop, and proceeded to write a lengthy meta analysis about it.

I was today’s years old when I realized that there’s something else connecting those two dead British men.

The Scottish Post Office Directory of 1903 recorded John Gibson from New Cumnock as a “stationer and china dealer” (above) operating from the shop located in the town’s post office building.

Indeed, a close look at his post office shop window in the Henderson Building (below, bottom left) reveals an artful display of fine china and pottery next to postcards printed by Gibson.

There are multiple ways to connect this surprising link with possible S3 plot points, obviously, but it’s getting late, so let’s just name the two most important ones.

You’ve probably heard of the Holy Grail, maybe from Monty Python or Good Omens S01E03 1941 flashback. Depending on the version of the story, if can be a cup, a chalice, a bowl, or a saucer — but almost always a dish or a vessel connected personally, physically and metaphysically to Jesus (unless you’re partial to Wolfram von Eschenbach’s idea that the Grail was a stone, the sanctuary of the neutral angels who took neither side during Lucifer's rebellion).

A slightly more obscure dish related to the Son of God appears in the sixteenth chapter of the Book of Revelation as a vital part of His Second Coming. The Seven Bowls (or cups, or vials) of God’s Wrath are supposed to be poured out on the wicked and the followers of the Antichrist by seven angels:

Then I heard a loud voice from the temple telling the seven angels, “Go and pour out on the earth the seven bowls of the wrath of God.” So the first angel went and poured out his bowl on the earth, and harmful and painful sores came upon the people who bore the mark of the beast and worshiped its image.

The second angel poured out his bowl into the sea, and it became like the blood of a corpse, and every living thing died that was in the sea.

The third angel poured out his bowl into the rivers and the springs of water, and they became blood. And I heard the angel in charge of the waters say, “Just are you, O Holy One, who is and who was, for you brought these judgments. For they have shed the blood of saints and prophets, and you have given them blood to drink. It is what they deserve!” And I heard the altar saying, “Yes, Lord God the Almighty, true and just are your judgments!”

The fourth angel poured out his bowl on the sun, and it was allowed to scorch people with fire. They were scorched by the fierce heat, and they cursed the name of God who had power over these plagues. They did not repent and give him glory.

The fifth angel poured out his bowl on the throne of the beast, and its kingdom was plunged into darkness. People gnawed their tongues in anguish and cursed the God of heaven for their pain and sores. They did not repent of their deeds.

The sixth angel poured out his bowl on the great river Euphrates, and its water was dried up, to prepare the way for the kings from the east. And I saw, coming out of the mouth of the dragon and out of the mouth of the beast and out of the mouth of the false prophet, three unclean spirits like frogs. For they are demonic spirits, performing signs, who go abroad to the kings of the whole world, to assemble them for battle on the great day of God the Almighty.  (“Behold, I am coming like a thief! Blessed is the one who stays awake, keeping his garments on, that he may not go about naked and be seen exposed!”) And they assembled them at the place that in Hebrew is called Armageddon.

The seventh angel poured out his bowl into the air, and a loud voice came out of the temple, from the throne, saying, “It is done!” And there were flashes of lightning, rumblings, peals of thunder, and a great earthquake such as there had never been since man was on the earth, so great was that earthquake. The great city was split into three parts, and the cities of the nations fell, and God remembered Babylon the great, to make her drain the cup of the wine of the fury of his wrath. And every island fled away, and no mountains were to be found. And great hailstones, about one hundred pounds each, fell from heaven on people; and they cursed God for the plague of the hail, because the plague was so severe.