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jokeringcutio · 1 year

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Cleopatra and the Cult Leader

Written for @nicktremblaywayfu Prompt: You dress up for a party like Cleopatra. Arthur Harrow’s there, and he’s intrigued. Rating: Teen. Read it down below. Fandom: Moon Knight (2022) Pairing: Arthur Harrow x (Female Presenting) Reader

“My, my,” the sultry voice made you turn around to face the man standing in the corner of the room, cane proudly in hand. His wine-red clothes a peculiar choice and you wondered if he was supposed to be some kind of monk. But then, the hair… “Aren’t you a beautiful Cleopatra.”

His silky voice sent shivers down your spine. Erotic, that’s what it sounded like. Sinful, despite saying nothing of the sort. It was a general compliment, one you had heard many times during the night – mostly by friends and people you knew. But this stranger, he didn’t seem actually that perverse with his remark. Just a kind-looking elderly guy who stood in the corner by himself, weight on his cane, complementing the youth on their costume. You bet he said it to every girl he saw and probably didn’t even notice it could be interpreted the wrong way. But hey, that was your mind filling things in like that. With a blush on your cheeks you watched him and wondered if you could get tipsy just on air and snacks. Why else did his voice manage to sent a pleasantly warm tingle down your spine.

I mean, look at the poor man, standing with his cane. He seemed to be older than most of the people around. You wondered why no one had gotten him a chair yet.

“Thank you, sir,” you said, after some hesitation. You flashed him a smile, eyes already searching for a chair to offer him in the vicinity.

“Oh, she calls me sir,” did he just purr? “I like that.” Your head whipped up to look at him, but there was still a benevolent smile on his face. An expression that betrayed no harm. You felt your inhibitions being lowered by it, felt like this was a man that could be trusted.

“You may call me Arthur, please,” he said while his eyes searched for yours. He did not find them, not really. Because you dare not look in his. Just once glance had been enough to know he had you captured, as pure as the gaze within them was. And so you kept yourself occupied by fetching him a seat, which you luckily found very swiftly. Pulling a chair with a wine-red seating from the nearby table, you offered it to him.

“Come sit down,” you said, sweeping your arm towards the chair which you held out for him, “Arthur,” you remembered. And if you drew out his name, it was because you were focusing on the task at hand. You did not look up, and so you missed the reaction that pronouncing his name had on him.

“Such a kind gesture,” Arthur said after a beat. And when you finally did look up again it was to find how his eyes were resting upon you, a kind smile on his lips. He finally stirred and stepped away from his spot in the corner, using his cain to aid him in his steps. There was a lot of noise around as the party was in full swing, youngsters were brawling, music was playing loudly at the other side of the room. It meant that you could not hear the sickly crunch coming from underneath his feet as he stepped to the chair and sat down. “Though,” he said, “it actually should be the other way around, shouldn’t it?”

You blinked stupidly at him when he said that, with him still smiling up at you.

“In more ways than one, I should be the one to offer a chair to you,” Arthur clarified. “A queen should have servants to help her, not be a servant herself,” ah, so that was he was on about. The costume, you reminded yourself. “And a gentleman would offer a lady a seat. But this has been the other way around,” he said, gesturing at his seated frame. He tapped an unoccupied chair next to his, inviting you to sit down with him.

You looked at him. Like, properly looked now. His red pants seemed a size too large for his frame and he was wearing dark-brown sandals that you could have sworn to be black only a moment ago. Must have been the bad light in here. While your eyes roamed upwards, over his body, you took note of the slight belly bulge that you thought might be beneath his blouse. A blouse, which was annoyingly stiffly collared at the neck. And then your eyes met his again to find him waiting. Your cheeks blushed, not that he could probably tell with the layer of make-up you were wearing.

“Well, perhaps I feel more like a gentleman,” you rebuffed, seeing how your words caught him by surprise. His eyes widened slightly, but only for a moment. He had himself under check really fast, you noted. As if he was used to not showing his emotions to others, but this emotion had just slipped through.

“Then why dress as an ancient queen?” he asked, voice low and husky. He seemed genuinely interested as he leant a little closer to you, hand on top of his cane that was stood resting between his legs.

“Well, she did wear a beard at times,” you retorted, betraying that you had a bit too much knowledge on the subject at the ready.

“You know that?” Arthur asked in surprise. Oh great, this old man knew such a cheeky fact? You couldn’t remember the last time someone you spoke knew about this. Well, perhaps some of your friends who also watched Horrible Histories.

“It’s not the reason I dressed up like her,” you quickly said, biting your lip while you placed your hand on the arm of the empty chair. Perhaps you should sit down and join him. He intrigued you, after all. And apparently he was eager to talk to you.

“No?” he asked, confirming that he wanted to conversation to last. “Why then?”

“I was a great fan of her in the Asterix and Obelix Twelve Works movie,” you joked, seeing his blank expression. A disappointed glint appeared in his eyes and you could not help it. He looked so lost, like a man whose world came tumbling down. It was quite the sight to see.

When he saw you started laughing, the corner of his own lips twitched upward as well. Good, he finally had caught that it was a joke. You sat down in the chair next to him.

“Surely, you would want to be admired?” he said when your laughter bubbled down. “Have boys fawn over you?”

You let out another laugh, this time because his suggestion sounded silly to your ears. “Oh, no. I just wanted to put on something pretty,” you pursed your lips, eyes focused on nothing particular in front of you while your mind drifted off. “I did not think of it to impress others. But I suppose you are half right. Perhaps I did want boys to fawn over me.”

Was that a smirk you saw from the corner of your eyes? When you focused your gaze upon Arthur again, it was gone. He seemed to still be smiling his kind smile. Well, you probably had imagined it.

“You aren’t the first, I’m afraid,” Arthur said, hand gesturing as he spoke. “There are a few more Cleopatras in sight tonight,” you followed his gaze to see another girl, standing near the snacks at the buffet, laughing with her friends.

“But has she met and talked to an expert on the subject?” you said, turning your eyes back to Arthur to give him a wink.

His smile stifled somewhat, not disappearing completely. But his expression seemed to harden, if only just a little. “No, she has not,” here he paused, giving you both time to think. “What makes you think I am an expert?”

“You know who I am dressed as,” you retorted with a smile.

Arthur seemed to let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping a bit. “Everyone knows who Cleopatra is,” he said, voice sounding just a little tired.

“Almost everyone,” you said, then snorted as you thought of at least a few people that had absolutely no idea.

Arthur remained quiet at this, and you took your time to study the other Cleopatra’s outfit again. Now her costume, it looked amazing. An ancient Egyptian queen much like you, but with much more detail and more expensive material.

Wow. You wished you could have had that.

“She will turn heads,” you said absentmindedly. Did you hear Arthur chuckle or was that just your imagination again? “She certainly caught yours,” you added, and was there twinge of jealousy to it?

You looked at the man by your side again. No smirk. No sign of a chuckle. Just his kind smile and a soft twinkle in his eye. “Perhaps I have a thing for ancient beauties.”

“Are you calling me old?” you instantly said, and luckily, Arthur’s eyes widened slightly as if he seemed to realize his mistake.

“No, no, you are definitely not old. Pardon my bad phrasing. I meant that I have a particular interest in ancient Egypt, and therefore I notice anything that is connected to it. Young ladies dressed as Egyptian pharaohs included.”

You pondered his words for a moment, “You collect old Egyptian artifacts?”

Arthur’s smile turned slightly crooked now, but there was something of enthusiasm latched to his voice. “Let’s say I have a fascination for a particular Egyptian deity.”

“That is so cool,” you said, then looked at the buffet to see the other Cleopatra was being joined by a friend who was wearing similar Egyptian clothes. Katy Perry, you thought amused. Dark Horse. Something that looked similar to it. “Oh, look, there’s more of us,” you exclaimed happily.

Arthur’s wry smile had turned into the standard kind one again. “Ah, seems I am surrounded,” he drily remarked. But you could hear he was loving the fact.

“Cleopatra, coming at ya,” you started to sing, then laughed when you saw the confusion spread on his face. He probably was too old to get that reference. Embarrassing, really. Had you truly started to sing in front of him?

“Ah well,” you quickly said, rescuing yourself from the awkward situation by clearing your throat and wishing you had one of these nice drinks in front of you to look at or at least toy with, so Arthur wouldn’t see how nervous you really were. “I must say, I wouldn’t have minded going as Nefertiti, but I had trouble getting the headdress. So I went for Cleopatra instead.”

You turned to smile at him again, only to meet his calculating eyes. What was he thinking about, you wondered?

“So what if Cleopatra was a female pharaoh? She wasn’t the only one. There were more like her. Well,” here you caught yourself. “Perhaps not quite like her, but at the very least there have been more women in power that I could have dressed up as.”

You were quiet for a moment, not even noticing how Arthur reacted to it. “I could have gone dressed like one of them early Anglo-Saxon saints. But yeah, I admit, I wanted to be a little more exotic.”

“And so you chose Cleopatra,” Arthur said, “for her beauty.”

“Because I did not get the right hat,” you defended, arms folding in front of your chest, unintentionally pushing up your breasts in this dress that had a ridiculously low cleavage there. Did Arthur’s eyes flick down for a moment? No, you must have imagined it.

“Besides, there was way more to her than just her beauty,” you continued, not even giving the old man a chance to say something in between. “What if I said I dressed up like her not because of her beauty or her charm?” You looked at him with a triumphant smile, waiting for his expression to change.

“Not even because of her wit,” you continued, “for she had a pretty good reign granting Egypt stability for years!”

Okay, perhaps you got a bit enthusiastic there.

Arthur’s chin dipped slowly forward, eyes become more intense. He liked what you were doing, you could tell. His right finger was gently tapping the tip of the crocodile’s head that adorned his cane. Fancy, you thought, and wondered at which fancy dress shop he had gotten that.

“What if I said,” you lowered your voice, leaning slightly closer to him as if what you were about to tell him was confidential information, “I dressed up like a murderer?”

“That is an interesting theory,” his retort came swiftly, without a beat for thought. He leaned in a little closer to you, mirroring your movements with his own. “And what would make you say such a thing?” his voice was husky, a whisper that barely reached your ears over the sounds of music and chatting around you.

“Because Cleopatra had to kill her own sisters to get on that throne.” You could see how your knowledge about the ancient queen impressed Arthur, for his brow raised ever so slightly and his gaze became less dark.

“Plus,” you continued, holding up your hand to count down the facts on your fingers, dress slipping temptingly around your frame with each movement you made. “She married her own brother, had him killed, did the same thing again with a second brother she had,” you licked your dry lips, Arthur’s eyes following the movement and this time, you did notice it. He was watching your mouth, intently. “Then she did the rumpy-pumpy with not one but two Roman political figures of importance. I mean, the list goes on. She was an interesting woman with many more aspects to her than just her looks.”

You chuckled and shook your head. It helped, because now you could not see how captivated Arthur was looking at you. “I mean, that is, if you even liked her looks. Have you seen recent days reconstructions based on historical evidence? I mean, the nose!”

And you instantly flushed when you saw his eyes dart to your nose, as if making a comparison in his mind. Eh, yeah. Your hands flew up to embarrassingly cover it up. “I know, I know, don’t look. I mean, hers was worse!”

“I think,” you held your breath while you watched him lean in closer, his cane set aside, while he spoke with a warmness to his voice that send little sparks of electricity down your spine. He raised his hands carefully, as if not to frighten you. Then, with a delicate movement, they came to rest upon yours.

“You know a lot about her history,” Arthur’s voice was a low murmur.

His fingers gently rubbed past the back of your hands, before gently enclosing them. You felt how he carefully pried your hands away from your face. His eyes kept a hold on yours, not allowing you to move away from his gaze so you could not see what he was doing or how he was still holding your hands. You could only feel it. Feel him, and hear his voice while you drowned in the blue oceans that were his eyes.

“And that you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

Did he just call you pretty again? Was that the implication?

“T-Thank you, sir,” you stumbled over your words. When you got embarrassed you instantly turned polite again. Arthur seemed to have noticed and clicked his tongue again.

“Like I said,” he had let go of your hands, but placed one of his on your shoulder in a comforting gesture. You felt the warmth from his palm and it sparked a flame deep within the pit of your tummy. Damn, this man was something else.

“Arthur is fine.”

“Arthur,” you repeated, seeing a smile emerge on his face upon hearing you say his name.

“Now,” you quickly said, afraid of what would happen if you allowed him to manipulate you more. Because that was what it was, right? How else could this man give you butterflies and sent your body alight this quickly with just a touch and his words? “You still haven’t told me what you are dressed up as.”

Arthur’s smile became even wider. But something had changed about it. He was showing his teeth, like a crocodile ready to bite its prey. “Me? Oh, it’s nothing. Want to hazard a guess?” There was a playful glint in his eyes.

“Tibetan monk?” you instantly said only to watch a thoughtful glint pass within his eyes.

“Not quite,” he said, and then the hand was gone from your shoulder and he shifted in his chair.

“But I am on the right track then?” you teased him, smiling at him while giving him another once over. “Hmm, pity you’re not dressed as a Roman leader,” the words came out before you could consider them. “We could have matched.”

“Perhaps we match better than you anticipate, dear,” Arthur said. Your thoughts halted. What did he mean by that? Was it another clue to who he was dressed up as?

“How about this? I’ll give you another chance, but after I got us a drink,” he hesitated, fumbvled as he reached for his cane and attempted to get up from his chair. You panicked and instantly stood up, ushering him to sit down.

“No, no,” you said, “let me get it.” Your hands pressed against his chest seemed to stop him, and he looked up at you with a smile.

“That is so very kind of you,” Arthur said. You felt the heat radiate from his body beneath your palms, as if it could be absorbed by your hands. How come this man was this hot, literally?

You merely returned the smile, forcing your own decrepit thoughts away. “Of course, stay seated. Just tell me what you like,” you said.

Did his eyes just darken again? For a moment you could have sworn there was something dangerous about the man’s expression. But it had passed too quickly. It must have been your imagination.

“Just some soda, that’ll do.”

His hand reached up until you felt his thumb brush past your lower lip. What was he doing? Another spark of something hot warmed your core. A low hum escaped from the depth of his throat, the sound low but feral.

“And get something for yourself too,” Arthur said, his low murmur hardly reaching your ears through all the noise of the party. His thumb was still caressing your lip. “You are parched.”

Then his fingers left your lips and you felt bare again, bereft of the warmth of his touch. “I-I am a bit thirsty,” you admitted, stumbling over your words because your heart was tripping inside of your chest. What the hell was up with that? You silently moved into an upright position again. You had to keep your breathing in check because your heart was beating wildly in your chest.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, slowly stepping away from the enigmatic man. Arthur remained seated, a source of calmness during the otherwise wildness of the party, his cane rested between his legs, his blue eyes upon you as you left to fetch the drinks.

You did not see it, but you felt his eyes heavily upon your back, knowing that he was watching you as you went.

AN: I hope you enjoyed <3 Let me know if you did. The prompt was originally sent by me to Nicky, then we philosophized about different interesting things, and I write this as one of the possible scenes to occur :) So I have many more ideas for the reader dressing up like an ancient Egyptian and Harrow being intrigued.

Just tagging my lovelies @willshipanything-blog and @grabberwife42 for some Ethan inspired (and this time largely innocent) content. I am working on that Grabber fic like I promised you....I'm 3 chapters in. Estimate it might be up to 15 now with the outline. Keeping you up to date.

Want to be tagged when I upload Ethan-characters related content? Just Grabber syuff? Just Harrow stuff? Or only Joker/Arthur Fleck related content? Or idk, I write a lot of stuff, just let me know in my inbox. I used to do tags. I need to do them again.

Want to request a little drabble? I can do more than just dark smutty stuff, I promise! I mean, look at me now :D So please, don't hesitate to send stuff in. Also Reblogging is nice. :)

I'll probably be adding this one to AO3 soon, but not all my works are on there (for instance the Kaiserschmarrn fill for Harrow or the nsfw Joker/Fleck alphabet).

#Arthur Harrow x Reader #Reader Insert #Drabble #Fancy Dress Party #Moon Knight Fanfiction #Cleopatra #Reader #Female Reader #Arthur Harrow #Ethan Hawke #Moonknight series #moon knight fandom #Arthur harrow x female reader #Moon knight #moon knight 2022 #Arthur Harrow fanfiction #open for prompts

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sofiaaaaaaaa03 · 2 years

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A Heart of Their Own

Title: A Heart of Their Own

Summary: Trapped within the realm of the Duat, Marc and Steven struggle to uncover secrets hidden within their memories. They travel alone, as y/n struggles to uncover the secrets kept from their own deity.

Pairing: Marc Spector/Steven Grant x teen/ young adult gn reader (platonic pairing)

Word Count: .......17 k (sit tight guys)

Rating: 18+/MA ( descriptive mention of stabbing, alluding of suicide, profanity, y/n being a little bitch)

Author's note: Oh, my, goodness. My entire heart is poured into this chapter, so much editing, scrapping ideas, late nights, long hours, but I loved every moment of it as I tried to grow this story and y/n into a good character. I even did research for this chapter guys, like actual research. God, I love what I do lmao. I genuinely hope you guys enjoy this, it's a really long read, and please please let me know your thoughts, I absolutely adored reading what you guys liked about the last chapter and it really motivates me and showed that I am doing a good job as a writer haha. Anyways, love you guys, be safe.

Series Masterlist

Marc wasn’t sure if it was the drugs messing with him.

Even if it wasn’t the influence of the meds, he was too scared to look away, anxious that he was beginning to see ghosts. As if he needed any other strange stuff to happen to him. Egyptian gods and magic powers were all he was willing to fill his plate with. But he couldn’t help but stare out, groaning a little as he tried to blink the drugs out of his eyes. Around him, orderlies walked around checking up on patients and Crowley continued to call out bingo numbers. Marc groaned, his face still throbbed from when he fell out of the wheelchair.

He tried to call out for y/n.

They sat a bit too far from him, on the other side of the room wearing the same white clothing as him. He couldn’t get a proper word out, lips numbing from whatever medication Billy gave him earlier, but even if he could speak coherently they probably wouldn’t have heard him. They looked to be too invested in whatever it was they were writing. The soft sounds of paper being pushed aside filled the room every other moment.

Marc repeatedly blinked. Fuck. He was starting to lose himself to the drugs. He could feel it.

He tried again, calling for y/n. And again. And again. And again. Each time his voice grew louder in a desperate attempt to draw their attention.

“Marc, c’mon now you know we don’t scream in here.” Billy was by his side, his tone hushed. The staff knelt in front of Marc and placed both hands on the armrests of the wheelchair. “Now who are you trying to call? Hm?”

The staff turned his head back to try and follow Marc’s gaze to the young thing, and when he realized who the man was trying to call for he wasn’t shy to let out a disapproving sigh.

“Yeah, they’ve been at it all morning. Bobbi tried to get them to play bingo but they’re not budging, threw a damn tantrum when they ran out of papers earlier.”

The orderly sighed, remembering the struggle he had when he tried to calm the young thing earlier. A moment and he was already shouting across the room to the kid, “y/n! No throwing! You know the rules.”

Marc, listening to Billy’s words, watched y/n throw a sheet of paper behind their backs in a fit. The paper dipped straight to the ground and got caught by a gust of air from an opened door. It fluttered, flying until it finally landed beside the wheelchair.

Before Marc could get a chance to get a look at it, curious to see what it was y/n was working on, the paper was picked up by Billy.

“It’s…” Billy struggled to find the right words while he stared at the page, lifting it up to show Marc. “something all right. I’ll give them that.”

The page was shown to the man in the wheelchair, but he had no idea how to interpret it. Scribbled all over the page were overlapped hieroglyphic symbols. If anyone were to look at the page, they would think it was utter nonsense.

He didn’t get a chance to look at the hieratics for long, page ripping from his view as Billy grabbed hold of the wheelchair’s handle. Marc’s body jerked as he is wheeled away from the cafeteria.

“Let’s get you outta here. It’s almost time for your appointment with Dr. Harrow.”

When he was out of the cafeteria, y/n out of his sight, the only thing Marc could think about was how he missed Steven.

—---

The first thing Marc did was run as far as he could from Dr. Harrow’s office.

Although he could still feel the drugs weighing him down, the taste of Bobbi’s blood from when he bit her and the adrenaline in him were enough to keep him moving. Though where he was going he had no clue. That didn’t matter though, as long as he could remain out of custody he could give less than a shit.

Reaching the end of a hallway, Marc almost tripped but regained his balance at the last second. He turned to make sure no one was behind and looked straight ahead, taking a moment to watch in confusion at the hallway turning sideways momentarily. Above hanging lights swayed to and fro and a medical cart rolled to the same beat. Marc watched, teetering his weight between his feet to try and keep his balance.

This can’t be the drugs could it? Footsteps neared from behind and Marc reprimanded himself for wasting too much time looking at the lights. Quickly he tried to snap himself out of it, shaking his head again before charging down the hallway and entering into one of the rooms.

He ducked below the opaque window and waited for Billy and Bobbi to run past him. Though when he was about to make a run out of the room, a beating began that made him consider otherwise. Marc’s eyes drew to a large blue sarcophagus that laid in the room, its lid violently rattling, threatening to fall off yet remained in place. Someone was inside. Whoever they were, they were desperately trying to escape.

Seeing this, Marc considered leaving. He’d had enough crazy shit happen to make him more than cautious about venturing into the unknown.

And a voice screamed from inside the sarcophagus.

“Let me out! Let me out! Let me out! Please! Please, someone let me out!”

Marc hesitated for a moment. Is that? Is that what he thinks it is? Couching over the sarcophagus, the mercenary made a split second decision he hoped he wouldn’t end up regretting before he opened the lid and stumbled back in shock of who scrambled out, hyperventilating and looking around as though he thought he’d never leave the confined space.

Marc blinked in disbelief. “Steven?”

The gift shopist stood before him, wearing clothing completely different than the marine. He hadn’t realized that Marc was there for a moment as he was too preoccupied trying to get his bearings. But as soon as he met Marc’s eyes, his hyperventilated breaths shallowed and there was a gaze full of relief.

“Marc?”

“Steven!”

And two sides of the system embraced each other, in an embrace so tight that Marc could feel the way Steven shook under his hold. Even though they've spent a majority of their time fighting, struggling to maintain control of the body, being separated into their own bodies made them realize just how much they missed and needed each other.

Finally, Steven pulled away from the embrace. “How is this possible?”

“I don’t know,” Marc admitted and raised a finger to his alter. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Harrow shot us.”

“Yes! Yes exactly,” Marc grinned wildly. He couldn’t be crazy, like he’d been thinking this entire time. He couldn’t, because Steven was here, and he wasn’t crazy. Marc opens the door, gesturing for Steven to follow him as they exit into the hallway. The lights overhead were no longer swaying to and fro like they were when Marc first entered the room. Was it the drugs that had made him see that? “Exactly, that’s right. If you’re here then that means I wasn’t going nuts. y/n, they’re here somewhere.”

“y/n? They’re here too?” Steven’s expression brightened at the mention of the young scribe. “And Layla?”

“Yeah, her too. I saw ‘dem earlier in another room. I don’t know if it’s actually them but-”

“What do you mean you don’t know? How could it not be?” The gift shopist gaped, shaking his head.

“They were acting strange, different, I don’t know- look, thing is we’ve gotta get out of here. Follow me, c’mon.” Marc looked at Steven again, adamant about taking Steven with him. The relief he’d felt still lingered in his chest, and it only grew stronger when he met eyes with the man. Marc wasn’t alone in this. He had Steven.

Marc and Steven exit into the hallway, Marc leading first. He kept a defensive stance as he stalked down the hallway, prepared to fight anything that gets in their way and Steven followed close behind, his own gait timid and unsure of how he should be when he noticed how Marc walked.

A door is open ahead of the two. Though Marc doesn’t bother looking inside for too long, only checking to see if anyone was in there before moving on. Although he wasn’t convinced enough by the contents of the room, of course not to say that his curiosity wasn't piqued at all, he reminded himself to continue on forward. Steven follows, but unlike Marc he takes a moment to look inside and finds himself stopping in his tracks.

“Steven. Steven, what are you doing?” Steven ignored Marc’s calls, opting to walk closer to the room. Marc groaned at this, taking a moment to look back before he approached Steven. “We can’t stop out in the open like this.”

Following the gift shopist’s gaze, Marc’s eyes fall back onto the sarcophagus that laid inside of the room. He didn’t have to look at Steven to know what the man was thinking, the eyes staring down on his temple, was enough to let Marc know what it was he wanted to say, but he was quick to speak before Steven could get a chance to open his mouth. He had to shut it down. Even if it meant hurting Steven’s feelings.

“No, we’re not opening any other sarcophaguses.” Steven’s shoulders slack at his words.

“Sarcophagi, actually. But Marc-”

He shook his head, putting up a dismissive front. “No, we open one, we gotta open all of them. Let’s keep moving.”

“But Marc, look.”

The marine huffed. He took a moment to give Steven a cautious look but complied and followed his pointed finger to the decoration of the sarcophagus. The sarcophagus itself was not as well made as the one Steven had been entrapped in, it looked rather worn down, but that wasn’t what the focus was. It was a symbol etched onto the surface of the lid that drew Steven in.

𓏞

“See that?” Steven’s finger remained pointed toward the symbol. “That’s the scribal symbol Egyptians used back in the day. It depicts equipment used by scribes.”

It was obvious as to what Steven was getting at. And although Marc wanted to remain stubborn and keep Steven out of as much danger as he could avoid, he felt himself beginning to give in. He didn’t want to admit that the big eyes Steven was using on him wasn’t helping either. But shit. Steven was good at making that face.

At Marc’s signal, the two men pushed the lid off.

“y/n!”

“Kid!”

The two men found themselves filled with an overflowing amount of relief when they looked inside of the sarcophagus. Marc grinned, silently thanking Steven for being so persistent in opening the lid. But this grin slowly disappeared the more he looked inside.

There laid y/n in a sleeping trance. Their chest rose and fell deeply, arms crossed over one another on top. In each hand they held reeds and a wooden pallet. The more Marc observed them the more he grew worried. Why were they sleeping? Steven was awake, so why weren’t they?

“Kid, kid, wake up.” Marc reached in, gently patting their cheek. “Kid?”

Nothing, y/n remained asleep. Marc leaned back to gloss over their condition once more. Meanwhile, Steven reached out and shook y/n’s hands in an attempt to stir them.

“Come now duck,” Steven urged, voice to a whisper, “now’s not the time to be a loafer.”

Again, nothing. A disapproving ‘tch’ came from the gift shopist’s mouth and he withdrew his hand from inside of the sarcophagus, sending a look to Marc. If y/n showed no sign of waking up soon then there would be a problem on their hands. As if there wasn’t enough already. Billy and Bobbi were probably still running around the halls trying to find them. Marc still had no idea where they were, and how they were going to escape before anything happened to the group. If they had a shot, they needed to do something now. They needed to get moving.

“‘Kay, help me move them.” Marc glanced at Steven and reverted his gaze into the sarcophagus. He shifted to the opposite side of the sarcophagus, crouched on the flat of his feet, and Steven followed his movements as he went in to grab y/n. “We’ll take them with us and figure it out on the way.”

The two alters reached into the sarcophagus and grabbed the scribe by their arms. However, the moment that both alters made contact with the scribe they immediately let go, suddenly taken by surprise when y/n made a sharp inhale and opened their eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay, it’s okay, look at me.” Marc was quick to grab their attention, trying to calm them before they began to panic more. Their eyes were anywhere but the two men, hands clutched on the sides of the sarcophagus.

“Look at me.” They complied and met Marc’s eyes, and immediately he could see a sort of relief fall to their faces.

“Marc!” y/n straightened up. They were quick to grab Marc by his forearms and he gave them a smile, chuckling

“Hey, kid.” He breathed out as he rubbed their arms before bringing them into a hug. “Good to see you, again.”

He pulled them out of the embrace, hands lingering on their shoulders, and they irked an eyebrow at his question. “Why didn’t you answer me earlier?”

“What?” They gave him a puzzled look.

“Back in the cafeteria,” he briefly looked at the door, “I was trying to get your attention. You didn’t answer me, kid.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, Marc. I-what cafeteria?”

“You don’t? You don’t remember?”

“Holy shit,” Y/n ignored Marc’s question as they grew more aware of their surroundings, looking at the walls behind, allowing Marc to aid them out of the sarcophagus. “I feel like I’ve been sleeping for years.”

“How did you get here?” Steven asked, speaking for the first time. Marc paid little mind, turning y/n around to inspect that they were unharmed. He let out a quiet sigh of relief, satisfied that they appeared to be fine.

Hearing no answer from y/n, Marc’s lips tugged to a frown and he looked up to pay closer attention to y/n, taking in how the scribe looked between Marc and Steven, their expression growing more confused by the second. He wasn’t really sure what he could say or do about it to ease their confusion. Even he wasn’t sure what to do about it himself.

“There’s two of you.” y/n observed.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s me, Steven! Steven with a v.” Steven gave a little wave to the scribe, but y/n didn’t reciprocate his placid demeanor, their expression instead remained appalled.

And almost immediately, their face brightened at the gift shopist. They beamed, arms stretching as they poured themselves into his chest for a hug. "Steven!"

"Hello, darlin'" Steven wasn't shy to hold back from the hug he gave the scribe, wrapping his arms around them and holding them close. Almost comforting to the both of them.

"Why are you both here?" y/n pulled out of Steven's hug and backed away so that they could take in both Steven and Marc. "Like, why do you both have your own bodies?"

Marc scratched the back of his neck, shaking his head a little as admits, “We don’t really know what’s going on either.”

“Why do you keep looking there?” Steven pointed at y/n.

Marc didn’t realize it, but Steven’s remark drew his attention to the way y/n acted.He followed Steven’s finger which was pointed at the young thing, acknowledging the way they had a hand pressed firmly over their heart and the way they looked down at it every now and then.

“Where the hell are we?” y/n’s fingers gripped quickly around the fabric of their shirt. Looking down at their clothes, they frowned and inspected themselves. “Are these scrubs? W-What am I wearing? What are you wearing?”

Although he wanted to stay there and talk to the kid, even if he didn’t know what was going on himself, Marc grew agitated with how long they’d stayed in one place. It wasn’t safe there. And now, with three people, it would be even more of a risk to expose their location.

“We gotta keep moving,” Marc interrupted Steven and y/n’s conversation, placing a hand on their shoulders to guide their way, “C’mon. Stay close.”

Marc was the first to open the door and step out into the hallway, once again taking position to lead the way. He was the best fit as he had a better perception of danger than Steven did, and he wanted to make sure that y/n was between the men as they ventured onwards. Stalking down the hall, he felt that it was clear enough and gave the others a signal to continue on.

A couple steps and there was another open door not too far from them. When he was close enough, Marc peered inside in hopes that it was an exit. Only it wasn’t an exit, rather another sarcophagus inside. Something about it unsettled the marine. It sat upright, and although it shook every now and then, not a sound came from inside.

“There’s another-”

“We’re not opening any more.” Marc missed the way y/n lowered their hand, looking back at the sarcophagus before being nudged by Steven as a signal to keep walking.

“So we’re just going to ignore the fact that two people,” Steven raised two fingers, walking faster to approach Marc, leaving y/n behind “came out of a sarcophagus and now you want to ignore another one? What if it’s Layla?” “Wait, two?” Y/n frowned, perplexed by Steven’s words. “Who else was in one?”

“Me, actually.” Steven looked back at y/n, stopping for a moment to allow them to catch up to him, “But I’ve no bloody idea how I ended up in one.”

Mac groaned when he realized that Steven and y/n had stopped in the middle of the hallway. Honestly, he couldn’t deal with these guys. But he was going to, putting on his least vetted expression before turning to the pair. Although his looks were a little less than placid, his voice dripped with admonishment. “Keep it moving, guys? Hm?”

“Sorry,” Steven quickly trotted behind the mercenary, although the scribe stayed behind for a moment.

“Guys, guys,” y/n spoke over the men.

“What, y/n?” Marc stopped again, turning to the scribe, though the anxiety in their eyes gave him a reason to drop his irritated demeanor.

“Big shadow, big shadow at the door-”

All eyes drew to the double doors that they’d been approaching. A ginormous shadow loomed onto the glass pane of the window, and for a moment Marc could do nothing but stand in slight anxiety as the shadow paused for a second. Whatever it was, it was big, he could discern by what he could make of a head being cut off by the top of the door frame. Seeing this made him regret going down this hallway.

The doors opened and the mercenary, the gift shopist, and the scribe let out ear splitting screams.

—--

“Hippo! Hippo!”

The screaming died down among all three parties, but the anxiety growing inside of y/n didn’t go away. Suddenly they’d realized just how helpless they were without their weapons. They were just a young thing in white scrubs and backless shoes. Their first instinct when they saw the giant hippo was to grab onto Marc and pray to the gods that none of them were going to get eaten alive. Beside them, Steven backed away, flailing his arms like he didn’t know what to do with them until he opted for messing with towels that sat on a nearby tray.

Marc turned away from the hippo, his back to y/n as he raised a hand to his temple. “Oh, man! Wow, these meds are really amazing.”

Although Steven and Marc were almost calmed at this point, a certain scribe remained standing in place as they stared at the hippopotamus, still completely petrified from seeing the giant hippo. Their eyes gleaned over the mass of jewelry that decorated the hippo. Her nails, painted a lovely navy blue, shined under the flourescent lights of the hallway. Never before did they see something so…so… holy shit there was no words.

But something about the creature was familiar, and a part of y/n wanted to brush it off as something they’d seen in the archives. An except depicting a decorated hippo probably sat somewhere stuffed inside a shelf, collecting dust. Yes, that must be it.

“Is he always so intense?” The hippo asked, a smile still on her face.

It talked. The fucking hippo talked

“Who, him?” Steven didn’t mind it when y/n suddenly appeared by his side, gripping onto his arms. He placed a hand on their shoulder. “ Yeah, pretty much.”

“So, are you two, like twins?”Asked the hippo again, and y/n couldn’t help but feel unnerved by how chipper she was.

The twins, as it was decided by Steven who agreed to this while Marc denied it, made their own remarks.

“Okay great. That really cleared up this whole situation up for me.”

“That makes two of us,” y/n glanced at Marc as he turned back to face the group. He recovered from his mental breakdown faster than they expected him to. “Just a second ago, I thought I’d been shot to death.”

y/n’s blood ran cold. Shit. That’s right, they died. In all of that commotion of seeing Steven and Marc in their own separate bodies they’d completely forgotten. Suddenly they remembered where they were, and what they did to go there.

That’s right. They died.

Their blood ran cold, remembering the way the knife felt cold when they lodged it into their heart. Without realizing, their hand clasped to their chest, running fingers across to try and find a scar or mark or anything that told them that it had actually happened. They glanced at Marc and Steven. Did they not realize what had happened to them, either? Were they going to have to tell them?

“Oh gosh!” The hippo gave an airy chuckle as she threw her arms down to her sides. “This will really bake your noodle, but I think you were just taking a time out. I’m afraid that you’re actually quite dead.”

Welp. Guess y/n didn’t have to worry about telling them.

And as the twins took a moment to realize the words of the hippo, they briefly glanced at each other.

“I’m sorry, what? I’m dead? We’re dead?” Marc.

“Yes. Yes, Marc. I think she’s right. I think we died.” Steven.

“No, no.” Marc let out a scoff that could easily have been passed off as a chuckle. He pointed a finger at the hippo, “that can’t be true. ‘Cause if we were dead then y/n shouldn’t be here with us, they’re still… they…”

Marc faltered at his words when he saw the look that the hippo was giving him. He was an observant person when it came to body language, often using it in his moon knight activities, so he didn’t miss the way the hippo gave him a pitying look. She looked at him as though she believed she knew better than him. Steven watched, noticing how her eyes flickered between Marc and y/n a little too fast for his liking.

Moments later two pairs of eyes fell onto the scribe.

Shit.

Marc’s finger goes straight to y/n’s face, and their heart drops knowing how this conversation was going to be only by taking a look in his eyes. He looked at them with an expression that they couldn’t make out was anger or frustration. “Kid, start talking.”

Shit.

“I-”

“Did Harrow get to you?” Steven was onto them now.

“What?” Y/n shook their head, stepping back to try and distance themselves from the two. “No, he didn’t.”

Marc took a step forward. “No? What do you mean no? If he didn’t shoot you then-”

And the words seemed to freeze on his tongue as Marc stopped in his steps. His expression slacked and he straightened up. His once questioning demeanor morphed to one of exasperation. He spoke again, voice laced with disbelief. “No. No, kid you didn’t.”

Y/n raised their hands to try and calm him. “I know this looks bad.”

“You don’t do that!” Marc’s voice was a shout now. The marine shook off Steven’s arm when he made a move to grab him, not daring to look at the man as he continued admonishing the kid. “Is that why you kept grabbing onto your chest like that earlier? Huh? Talk to me, kid-“

“Marc.” Steven tried to calm him, reaching out to hold the marine though it was useless. “Marc, what are you getting at-”

“Oh Steven use your head why doncha?” Marc whirled to face Steven, throwing his arm back from his reached out hand, and repeatedly tapped his temples. “ ‘Dey up and killed themselves!”

“No, why would they do that?” Steven gasped, suddenly connecting the dots.

“Well seeing as you guys make pinky promises sound like a fuckin’ blood pact I wouldn’t be surprised they tried to come after us!” At Marc’s words y/n tried to interject, unappreciative of the way he disregarded the trust they shared, but Steven interrupted.

“Oh bloody hell, this is all my fault.” Steven moaned, running his hands over his hair.

“No, Steven, this isn’t your fault.” Marc suddenly snapped, surprising even the gift shopist with how rash the man answered to that. “This isn’t your fault. It’s never going to be your fault. Y/n is responsible for what they did, however stupid it was-”

“It wasn’t stupid!” Both men whirled to the teen, who was shouting now. “Don’t say it was!”

“Yeah, you threw away a perfectly good life, that's what you did.” His eyes glared daggers at them.

“Marc-”

“No. You’re old enough to know better!” Another pointed finger to their face as he took another step forward, arms raised.

Behind him, Steven reached out and grabbed at his arm to keep the marine from doing anything he was going to regret.

But before Marc could stop due to Steven’s intervening, or even make a step close enough to reach out to them if he decided to shove Steven off, y/n pushed both hands against Marc’s, forcing him to stagger backwards. Shock briefly flashed across his face as he stumbled backwards, arms instinctively raised to his chest.

y/n wasn’t aware that this shock he had wasn’t about them, and the way they pushed him, not expecting them to still have some sort of strength despite losing the powers their god lended them when they died.

This was a shock of his own actions, familiarity laced around it.

But the scribe didn’t know that. And they weren’t going to. They were too busy to consider anything other than the latter, deciding to yell at Marc. “I wasn’t going to let you stay dead!”

At this, Marc quieted down. His chest slowed from the heaving and erratic breathing he had when he was angry. He looked at them with genuine surprise, but they refused to look at him with nothing less than contempt.

“But if you don’t want me to do this for you, then I won’t. News flash! My life was a little fucked up right now. I have my own shit I’m trying to sort out and Djehuty told me this was the only way I could find answers.”

“Kid, I-” the marine took a step forward, Steven quickly clamping a hand around his shoulder, and y/n took one back.

Steven interrupted Marc, rushing forward to bring y/n in by the shoulders, though they weren’t very fond of Marc again because of his behavior, they didn’t push Steven away when he did this. “Djehuty? Really, that’s cruel you don’t think? Why would he tell you to kill-”

“Djehuty!”

And suddenly y/n was ripped away from Steven’s arms and into a bone crushing hug. They yelped out, too startled, and tried to push themselves away as they felt themselves being lifted into the air.

“y/n!” Both of the systems cried out, reaching for the scribe.

“Oh y/n I didn’t realize it was you!” The hippo exclaimed as she rocked y/n in the hug. “My! How you’ve grown since the last time you came through here. How’s that old bird been treating you? I’ve always been so jealous of him. He got to you before I could!”

“Put me down!” y/n cried, wriggling in the hippo’s arms as they tried in vain to escape. y/n wriggled in the hippo’s grasps. They struggled harder, beginning to feel too suffocated inside of the hippo’s arms and felt themselves begin to panic when the hippo tightened her grip. Shit shit shit. Is this how they’re going to die?

“Oh! Sorry dearie.” The hippo let out another chuckle that rattled y/n’s ribcage and set them down, making sure they were balanced before lovingly patting the top of their head, additionally ruffling their head a little. “It’s just, well, it’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you! I’ve missed you so much.”

“Y/n.” Steven spoke, stepping forward. He sounded unsure himself. “Do you know this… hippo?”

“I’ve never met this hippo a day in my life!” Y/n tried to defend themselves and pointed to the hippo, not caring if they hurt her feelings by doing this. Behind them, the hippo chuckled as though they were a young child that said something silly.

Marc, who was quiet throughout this little interaction, suddenly spoke up. He wore an exasperated look as he pressed his hands together on his jaw, mouth opened slightly. Honestly, he looked ready to knock himself out. “No, this is all the drugs. This isn’t actually happening” He glanced at y/n, the young thing glared at him, noticing the way he’d began to lose it. “I’m just hallucinating, kid, I’m glad you’re still alive.”

The mercenary was ignored by every being excluding the hippo, who tossed him a side-eyed look before speaking towards y/n again.

“Oh you’ve met me before, y/n. It’s just been a long time since then, but not too long, I still got my young looks, see?” The hippo gave y/n what they could only imagine was her most charming smile. Holy shit. They really did die. “Though I didn’t think I would see you come here again. And certainly not with these two handsome gentlemen. Oh! That reminds me. I actually… I have… hold on a sec.”

Y/n tried to grab the hippo’s attention before she occupied herself with something else, a pout on their lips when they couldn’t get.

Behind them, Steven remarked. “Sounds like you do know her, y/n.”

“I swear on Gus’s life. I don’t know her.”

Hearing this made Marc gulp.

The hippo called the group’s attention again, pulling out a deck of cards from her clothing. She gave a sort of apologetic look to the group for making them wait for her. “It’s been a minute since we’ve had a soul pass through here. Bit distracted… excuse me. A-ha! Okay, here we go. Welcome, gentle traveler…”

She made a point to look at all of them before correcting herself. “Travelers, to the realm of the Duat.”

“Duat!” Y/n jumped at Steven’s outburst, hand over their chest to calm themselves. “The Egyptian underworld. This is Taweret, goddess of women and children, and she’s guiding us through our journey to the afterlife.”

“O-okay,” Marc didn’t sound convinced. He turned back to the hallway, y/n following his gaze, and pointed to the surrounding vicinity as he made his way to a new spot on the other side of Tawaret. “So this is the afterlife. The afterlife.”

“An afterlife.” Taweret corrected, “Not the afterlife. You’d be surprised how many intersectional planes of untethered consciousness exist. Like the Ancestral Plane. Oh! Just gorgeous. Anyway, I do actually have cards for all this if you just wait, and… I’m sorry.”

The goddess flashed one more smile and furiously threw out almost all of the cards in her hands save for one. y/n knelt down, picking up some that had fallen to the ground to take a look at what was on them. They let out an amused smirk at the cards, some entailing doodles of the hippo on a ship and what looked to be ceremonial armor. Certainly drawings made by Taweret herself. Looking at the drawings was almost enough to give the scribe a sort of comfort that the hippo was so innocent.

Y/n glanced up at the hippo, shuffling the cards in their hands. All of the other cards were written in hieratics. If they didn’t know any better, and they almost always did, they’d probably be thinking that they were insane like Marc was thinking at the moment.

“Wait… bye. Okay, so,” Tawaret acknowledged the group again, “because the Duat’s true nature is impossible for the human mind to comprehend, you may perceive this realm as something more easily recognizable to you. A psych ward’s a first for me, but, hey, we can roll with it, right?”

“Why would we imagine this realm to be a psychiatric hospital?” Steven asked.

Marc answered, his tone deadpan though there was some acceptance to it. “Because we’re insane.”

No one said anything and he continued, walking down the hallway. “We’re insane. Talking hippo, talking dead bird, magic librarian, you’re outside of my body now. And now the afterlife? Right? That’s, that’s the reality and this…”

“But Marc, Marc.” Steven tried for Marc’s attention but the man was far too gone in his own thoughts to acknowledge him. Marc continued walking deeper into the hallway and y/n was tempted to call him out so that he stayed close to the group, but they decided the better of it and let him do his own thing. “What about y/n?”

“They’re not actually here, Steven! No one is.” Y/n was almost offended with the way Marc looked at them, gesturing at their presence with a look of dismissal, “It’s just them… The hospital. That’s the imagination. Oh man, Dr. Harrow’s right.”

“Dr. Harrow?

“Oh…” This was enough to make y/n speak up, glancing at Steven with an understanding nod. “he’s in denial. He’s like a sad, sad case of a kid finding out santa isn’t real.”

Marc continued blabbering nonsense, probably trying to keep his sanity together as much as he could. “This is an organizing principle.”

“Is he a doctor now?” asked Steven, still hung up on Marc’s comment.

“He’s scary like one.”

“I’ll prove it to you. So, like, right through these doors, for example, we go through here, there’s gonna be patients, and there’s Crawley probably about to yell bingo! Oh my God!”

Marc disappeared into a door and his screams elicited y/n to jump to action. They followed down the hall to where Marc disappeared into and quickly, when they passed through the threshold, did they realize just how deep shit they’d gotten themselves into.

“What the hell?” They cried over the loud roars of the ship against sand. Wind whirled around and their hair blew in all sorts of directions. Eyes squinted, whirling around before stumbling further onto the deck, struggling to comprehend where exactly they were. Outside of the ship was a vast sea of sand. The endlessness it seemed to have beyond the horizon unsettled the scribe, though what unsettled them further were what looked like corpses stuck inside mounds of sand.

For the first time ever, the scribe had to acknowledge that this realm was a place they knew nothing about. They didn’t like that, they didn’t like not knowing. It grew an anxiousness to their stomach.

“What is this?” Y/n ran to catch up with Steven, who stood beside Marc. Together all three avatars could only look at the world around them, taking in the wonders of the duat.

“This is the underworld.”

“I’m not crazy,” Marc grabbed Steven by his forearm, he looked relieved to know that he wasn’t mentally insane like he thought he was. This expression slacked quickly when he asked again, “I’m dead.”

Marc’s gaze immediately fell onto y/n, his face slacking in realization. Quickly, and too quickly for y/n’s comfort, his expression turned sour. He spoke again, “We’re dead.”

“You died?” Suddenly Marc was shaking their shoulders, enough to make them ache from the pressure he was putting onto them. Y/n grasped at one of his hands but didn’t make any moves to push him off, refusing to break eye contact with the man. They stared straight into his soul, unwavering, compelling him that if he was going to come after them then they were not going to allow themselves to shrink away.

“What? You don’t remember bitching to me about it earlier?” This remark, though y/n rejoiced internally, eared a harsh glare in their direction and Marc removed his hands from them. He turned so that they no longer saw his face.

“Where did you say we’re going?”

“We’re sailing to A’aru.” Steven answered to him. He had kept quiet to allow the two to make their own remarks, “To the Field of Reeds, right, Taweret?”

“Ah, so he’s the smart one, hey?” A certain scribe repressed a laugh. They felt Marc’s glare once again seeth into their skull. “Well, if your heart’s balanced in life, then you will spend eternity in paradise. The Field of Reeds! But, uh, before we get there, I’ve just got to do a quick little…”

What happened next was enough to make y/n want to throw up. Instead, they gagged as Tawaret stuck her hands into Steven and Marc’s chest, startling everyone on the boat from her impromptu actions. The men cried out in shock but were too paralyzed to move from their places.

Y/n blanched at the noises of organs squishing about their cavities that rattled in their ears and they couldn’t bear to look anymore.

“I’m never going to be able to sleep again,” they wailed, back turned from the trio, covering their eyes.

“Oh, goody! It worked! Look at that!” Taweret rejoined, retracting her arms out of their chests. In her hands, two perfectly white hearts shone under the dull glow of the lamps surrounding the boat.“Here was little old me worrying I’d blow your chests wide open.”

A certain scribe whirled around at this.

“Wait wait, has that happened to you before?” Asked y/n, delirious about what they’d just witnessed.

“Sorry, what?” Tawaret ignored Steven and y/n as she made her way across the deck. Y/n frowned, instinct telling them to grab onto Marc and listen to Steven explain to the mercenary about the ceremony they were about to partake in. They listened, not a single word leaving their lips.

“What if they don’t balance?” Marc asked.

“You get thrown overboard. Woo!” Taweret chirped from her place next to the scales, feather just leaving her hand. She made a gesture of someone falling off of the ship and y/n frowned at the explosion sound she made after. Really, despite her happy demeanor the hippo wasn’t doing a good job at making them feel better about the situation. “The dead will drag you down into the Duat, where you will remain forever, frozen in sand. No unbalanced souls on my boat, them’s the rules. Fingers crossed for you guys, eh?”

Y/n shook their head at Taweret’s explanation, a soft sigh escaping their lips as they looked around. Their eyes fell to Marc and Steven’s heart as it sat on one end of the scale, beginning to tip the balance. The men’s fate was about to be determined. The culmination of their lives and the decisions they’ve made all came down to this.

The ceremony was beginning, no doubt, but y/n worried about those present.

“Taweret,” All eyes fell to the scribe. Their eyes perusing the vicinity of the boat. “Is it just us? Where’s the rest of it?”

“What do you mean?” Marc stepped closer.

“They’re right,” Steven shook a pointed finger in epiphany to the scribe’s words. “This isn’t all of it. During the ceremony of the hearts we're to present ourselves to forty-two entities of the Duat and recite the Negative Confession; an excerpt Ani wrote while he was writing the Book of the Dead.”

“If a soul was able to recite all of the sins and confirm they'd never committed them, they were given a blessing by the judges to continue their journey to the afterlife.” Y/n confirmed. This information was not foreign to the scribe. All the time spent in Djehuty’s archives meant that they were able to get a grasp of the gods and their ways in the overvoid.

They paused, thinking about this, and looked out at the vast sea of sand around them. Loud crash of wood against sand rang in their ears. Suddenly they grew a tad overwhelmed about the situation they were in, and realized that they were truly dead. This was a moment they knew of throughout their time as an avatar, and had come to accept. But this? The Duat, the afterlife, the journey a soul takes after death. How could anyone ever prepare for such a thing?

The scribe felt themselves unsure of what was to come.

“Hang on a tic,” Steven’s voice drew their anxieties away as they turned to him, “It’s not just the judges that are missing. Djehuty and Anubis are supposed to be here as well.”

“Ain’t that your god, kid?” Y/n nodded at Marc’s question, just now remembering about the deity. “What’s he supposed to be doing here?”

“Djehuty is in charge of recording the ceremony’s results.” The scribe’s eyes fell onto the hearts on the scale. Teetering, unbalanced still. They turned their attention back to Taweret, and ignored the sinking of their stomach as they inquired, “Is he coming?”

Taweret spoke with a shrug and an apologetic smile. “It’s been so long since anyone’s passed through here that he doesn’t come around anymore. ‘Fraid it’s just me.”

A wave of relief washed over y/n.

“What? Not even Anubis?” y/n frowned.

“Goodness, I haven’t seen Anubis in eons! He’s probably off drinking with the old pharaohs, it’s all that’s left to do here when there’s no souls to be judged.”

“Yeah well his vacation days are about to end.” Marc’s comment was a reminder of the chaos that was about to come due to Ammut’s hand.

“I’ve been left to tend to all of this,” Taweret began to ramble, completely ignoring Marc’s comment, her hands fluttering in the air as she spoke. “Wearing all the hats, I say. There’s just not enough faith these days. Not enough to bring in our old quota anyhow. We used to be all the rage back in 365 BC, but things changed over time, so we had to cut staff. I really do miss the old bunch, the judges were really quite-”

The hippo continued on, oblivious to the two men making their way over to the railing of the ship. The scribe however, remained in place for a moment. They had to admit, they were relieved that their deity wasn’t showing up anytime soon.

Harrow once mentioned, in the meeting of the Ennead, that he did not miss the voice of Khonshu.

Biased, y/n was beginning to understand what the old man meant by that.

Averting their attention to the men, they walked up to the railing in between Steven and Marc and hung their arms over the railing. Shifting their body a little over the wooden rail, they looked down at the sand as the ship passed over it and listened to Marc.

“I don’t care what the hippo says. There’s no way we’re ending up down there. And we’re not going to the field of reeds either.”

“Well all right. What are you proposing?”

“If it comes to it,” Marc took a moment to glance back at the hippo to ensure she wasn’t listening. She wasn’t, instead was preoccupied with watching their hearts on the scale. He leaned closer to Steven and y/n, lowering his voice. “Kill the hippo. Steal the boat.”

“Kill?” Steven looked at Marc in utter shock.

“She’s a goddess! You can’t just kill a goddess!” Y/n whispered, shocked but not that surprised at Marc’s words.

“Watch me.”

“Oh really, it’s that simple?” y/n snarked.

“Want to find out for yourself, kid?” He leaned off of the railing, shoulders broadened as he seemed to be sizing the young thing up and down.

“Right, Marc.” Steven leaned a protective arm over y/n’s shoulder, palm toward Marc’s chest to keep him back before he did anything hasty.

“Um, fellas?”

Their attention is drawn to the hoppo goddess and the scales of justice, though for what reason the hippo wanted them y/n didn’t know until they got closer to the pair. The scales, it seemed, fluctuated. The scribe frowned at this, it was like the scales were unable to balance the two hearts with the feather.

“What? Why is it doing that? Why is it moving like that?”

“I-I don’t know, I do not have a card for this.” Taweret admitted. She grabbed the hearts from the scale and frowned at them, taking a moment before turning to the trio. “It’s the hearts. They aren’t full. And trust me, I’m a goblet half-full kind of gal, but it’s like they each feel incomplete. “

“What does that mean?” Marc asked, arms crossed.

“Without balanced Scales, the Duat will eventually claim your soul.”

At this, Marc shot a pointed look at Steven. The gift shopist shrank under his gaze and turned to the hippo, “Do you have any other suggestions?”

“This boat contains all of a life’s memories. Now I don’t know what you two guys have been hiding, but my advice, get in there and show each other the truth. Balance your Scales before we arrive at the Field of reeds, or your souls will be destroyed.”

“All right, talking hippo says we got issues.” Marc’s comment earned a questioning gaze from the hippo, “But what about y/n? Are they gonna get their heart weighed too?”

“Right, maybe it’s the scales that’s wrong and not us.” Steven.

“Oh no no no.” Taweret clasped a hand over her chest plate, chuckling at their words. “That’s not how it works boys, the scales are never wrong.”

Steven was trying to convince the goddess now. “Then check their heart.”

“Wait-” The scribe interjected, their voice was overpowered by Marc’s.

“Maybe you have better odds than us,” Steven was looking at them now, sincerity laced in his words. Y/n stopped for a moment, watching the way his lips sent them a small smile. He really wanted this for them?

Something y/n always found themselves admiring about the gift shopist, was his ability to hope and see the good in the world. As his librarian, they’d had a chance to see it many times, when he’d walk in and blabber about his day to them.

Suddenly, their attention is torn away from Steven when Taweret bursts out, her voice shrill. “Your scales are at a much better odds than theirs would be! There’s just no point!”

“How can you be so sure?”

By now, Taweret began to look a tad exasperated at how persistent they’d been. “You boys really don’t get it to you. It’s really hard for me to explain, it’d be better to just show you. May I?”

“No! Don’t stick your hand inside of me!” The scribe cried out and covered their chest as they backed away, desperate to distance themselves from that crazy hippo. They did so, but not without taking a moment to send Steven a look of betrayal. “I will bite you if you take another step closer-Ahk!”

The hippo goddess didn’t wait for consent from the young scribe and reached a hand into their chest. The scribe panicked at this and let out a sort of yelp, grasping their fingers around the hippo’s wrist. They squirmed, unnerved at how they could feel the hippo’s hands rummaging around inside their chest. If Alexander the Great came back to life and kicked Steven’s ass for sticking his hand down his mouth, they would understand completely.

And then Taweret pulled her hand out of y/n’s chest, leaving them gasping in relief. Their first instinct was to grab onto the closest thing to them, which happened to be Marc.

“Y/n, please, you act like you haven’t done this before.” Taweret let out a chuckle. “You’re okay.”

Her words were enough to ground the scribe just enough to remain past the threshold of delving deeper into an anxiety attack.

Steven had his hands on y/n’s shoulder, and although it gave them a good sense of grounding, they grabbed at their chest to convince themselves that they still had their heart. Hands gripped onto fabric, a tug or two in a matter of seconds, and they turned to Marc when he reminded them that they were fine, hand on their shoulder. The scribe felt for a moment the way the boat swayed, and allowed themselves to loosen their grip when Steven spoke again.

“y/n, your heart.”

In Taweret’s hand, y/n’s heart sat in between her digits as the hippo showed their heart to the trio. Their heart should have brought them some sort of relief, but instead it brought a sick feeling.

Darkened like coal and fragile to the touch.

Their heart, it seemed, was empty.

“Why’s it like that?” y/n’s voice began at a tremble. “Why’s it not like theirs?”

They didn’t wait for Taweret’s response, surprising everyone when they erratically lunged at the hippo’s hand in a blind attempt to take their heart back. Marc and Steven let out shouts as they each grabbed at the scribe, who wrashed around in their grasps until Marc wrapped his arms around their waist and lifted them into the air, kicking and reaching for the heart.

“You don’t remember?” Was all Taweret said after everyone on the ship was calmed. The look she was giving to y/n made them want nothing more than to rip themselves out of Marc’s grasp and throw themselves off the ship.

“Remember what?” They asked, growing limp in Marc’s arms.

Taweret glanced at Steven, and then at Marc, as though she wasn’t particularly excited to have this conversation with the present company. She spoke again, her voice hesitant. “Why don’t you boys go on into the ship, you’ll need all the time you can get before we reach A’aru.”

“No.” Both alters were quick to disagree with the goddess.

“We’re not leaving them alone.” Steven.

“Right.” Marc.

And the hippo took a moment to look at the two men, then at the scribe. Whatever it was she was thinking, y/n couldn’t tell by her expression.

But if that’s how it was going to be then let it be. She seemed to accept that the men were unrelenting to leave y/n’s sides. The scribe watched her, eager to hear whatever it was she had to say, preparing themselves at the same time for whatever it was.

“I suppose it has been a long time. Y/n, try to keep a level head when I tell you, alright? This” Taweret raised the heart in her hand, “is what a heart looks like when there is no soul attached to it.”

Fuck having a level head.

Y/n’s breathing grew erratic. “You’re lying. You’re fucking lying. You-you-”

And again the scribe wrashed around in Marc’s arms. The mercenary was barely able to get a good hold of them and at his orders Steven needed to grab onto their legs to help him hold the scribe down.

Taweret only watched y/n’s tantrum, a frown on her lips as she lowered their heart onto the same scale where the feather of truth sat. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

“No shit I don’t fucking remember,” The hippo grimanced at y/n’s profanity. They still struggled to get out of the twins’ arms but was failing miserably. Honestly, they missed having super strength. Now they were just a young thing that could barely put up a fight on their own. “I’m pretty sure I’ve died before this, were you there? When I came here?”

“Oh yes!” The hippo beamed at them, a reminiscent look glossed over her eyes. “ I’ve known you for quite some time, you were a young thing, quite younger and… smaller than you are now. But I suppose that’s what happens when someone goes back to the land of the living, they grow. Though I will say, I’m surprised you’ve grown this much though, for how long you’ve been gone from here.”

While the two spoke, Steven and Marc looked at each other, baffled to hear y/n casually say that they’d died before. Uncharacteristically of them, they stayed quiet, unsure of how to go about this.

“I don’t know why I came back,” y/n shook their head, “and without a fucking soul holy… holy shit.”

Saying it out loud sent an awful, awful feeling to their chest. y/n felt a sense of anxiety grow inside of them, so intense that they needed to take a moment and let out a long breath of air.

They looked at the goddess, eyes trying to plead their case to her. “Taweret, please, what the hell happened last time I was here?”

The goddess didn’t say anything for a moment before letting out a hum, shaking her head in dissatisfaction. “I really hate to tell you this, but I can’t tell you. It’s not that I don’t want to, simply put, I was given orders by Djehuty not to.”

That fucking bird.

Y/n could feel tremors start to run all over their body. Pent up anxiety and fear was beginning to take its toll. In the arms of Marc and Steven, they felt like a child. A tiny, useless child that had no clue about the world around them. They were so fucking tired of it, tired of the unknowing, tired of the ways they could not fill themselves with the questions that rattled inside of their bones.

All of their years as Djehuty’s servant, they knew almost anything about everything.

To their horror, they felt like they knew nothing about themselves.

The thought alone made them wish they’d killed themselves sooner, so that they could have gotten these answers faster.

“You’re like a zombie?” Steven suddenly spoke, though it may have been a bit innocent on his behalf, gathered y/n’s legs into one arm and with the other poked at their side, curious of their physical form.

y/n wrestled their leg out of his grasp in an attempt to kick at him, but their ankle caught the crook of his elbow when he closed the gap. They wailed like a little kid, “Don’t say that Steven!”

“Easy now,” Marc’s arms tightened around them as a warning. y/n let out a huff, letting their limbs go limp in defeat and their brain go numb in an attempt to save themselves from another rise of anxiety.

“Are you all close to one another?” Taweret asked, pointing at the three.

“What?” y/n blanked. This question came so suddenly and they didn’t know why the hippo brought this up.

“You could say.” Steven was the one to answer.

“I suppose that could explain why y/n was able to join you in the asylum. Without a soul they wouldn’t have had a realm of their own, they’d just pop right onto the ship!”

Taweret, wait, I-“ y/n forgot where they were, suspended into the air by the two men, as they tried to make a move closer to the hippo. They continued, slight annoyance in their voice. “If you can’t tell me what happened, what do I do?”

It seemed that Marc had deemed them safe enough to lower them back to the ground, keeping a hand steady on their shoulder. Whether it was for comfort or to make a quick grab in case they threw another fit, they didn’t know. They’d like to think the former.

Taweret gestured to the door that they all emerged from earlier, regarding the psychiatric ward that awaited the trio. “You can go into the ship with them, but you can only go so far.”

“Huh?” Mercenary, gift shopist, and scribe. All three.

Her next tones were stern, leaving no room for argument from any party. This was a fixed event. Whether they liked it or not.

“Sorry love, not your soul, not your journey. It’s as simple as that.”

—----

Exiting the deck of the boat, the trio re-entered the white hallways of the psych ward. Y/n scrunched their nose when they caught a whiff of the sterile environment. It made no sense that their senses were still functioning, even now in the afterlife, but at least it was better than not feeling anything at all. They sped up when they noticed Marc and Steven were farther down the hall, not bothering to wait for the scribe as they talked amongst themselves.

“So how are we supposed to do this?” Marc asked.

“Yeah, alright.” Steven’s dismissive tone worried y/n, “You think Layla’s all right?”

“She’s okay. Harrow left the tomb when I, uh,” y/n scratched their nose, quieting down a moment when they realized what they were about to say and shifted the conversation. “She’s fine. I sort of went rogue, so I don’t know what her plan is, though.”

“Not surprised you did,” Marc sent a look back, “Knowing her, she’ll go on a suicide mission to stop Harrow herself.”

“Well then we better hurry.” Steven nodded to himself.

“Y’know what Layla would be all right with if she were here right now?”

Steven gave off an exasperated sigh, already knowing where Marc was going with. “No! Don’t say it!”

“I’m just saying that there is one hippo and three of us,” The mercenary gestured to the trio, “and this ship can’t be that hard to steer. So… and we don’t have to actually-”

The gift shopist spread his arms out, “Have to what? Kill the Goddess Taweret?”

“No, just, you know, find me a rope and…”

“Oh! You know what? Why don’t I go get the knife that I killed myself with? Maybe that’ll help you kill a fucking goddess.” Y/n began the sentence with a sarcastically chipper attitude that dropped to a deadpan, glaring at the mercenary for even considering killing a goddess.

“You stabbed yourself?” Marc’s voice was almost at a shout and y/n groaned loudly. Really, they were fed up with the man. One moment he seemed to be fine with him, and the next he was bitching at them.

y/n began to walk faster, trying to get ahead before he did anything more to piss them off. They were already willing to let go of his behavior earlier, understanding that a lot had happened and their decision to kill themselves was definitely something to target, but honestly at this point that should be water under the bridge. “Let it go Marc! I’m already dead, what are you going to do about it?”

“Tell you what, you listening y/n?” Their middle finger flew in the air at this. Marc was seething now, stepping in front of the scribe so that they were forced to stop in their tracks. He glared at them with almost malicious intent. “If we survive this, I’m going to kick your ass. Consider it payback for putting up with all the shit you do.”

“Well if we ever come back from the dead, be my guest.” They flashed him a shit eating grin that only riled up the marine more.

“Trust me, I will.” Marc inhaled sharply, pressing his lips together in a frown.

Ahead of them, Steven let out a groan, glancing back at Marc and y/n as they bickered.

“Alright!” Steven looked ready to end the conversation, but not more than he looked ready to smack Marc for the way he spoke to y/n. He rushed to each door of the hallway, peering inside of them for anything that would help. Behind him, y/n threw their hand up in the air in exasperation. “We can do what she says, and like help each other uncover whatever it is that we’re hiding apparently. And maybe, a little less fighting between each other? Hm? We should all focus on figuring out our past.”

He stopped at a door in the hall and gazed inside of it, mouth hung open and eyes stuck straight forward with intention. Marc approached him, “Steven, I don’t know about you but my memories are a freaking mess.”

“Yeah,” Steven looked at Marc, “mine, too.”

The men moved from one door to another, and looked into it with the same awe in their faces as they did with the door prior. The scribe lagged behind, watching the two from a little ways away.

y/n heard marc whisper in a low voice, “woah, that’s wild.”

y/n slowly made their way to the same door that Marc and Steven stopped at. They glanced at the men, following their gaze at the window pane, curious about whatever it was that made them stop and look at it in the way that they did. But all they saw inside of the glass pane was nothing. Inside was no different than the empty room like the one they’d woken up in earlier.

“What are you guys looking at?” This question earned a look from both alters, surprised at their question.

“Can you not see that?” Marc asked, pointing toward the glass pane and frowned when the scribe shook their head. He lowered his finger and the look the twins gave to each other made y/n worry that they were missing out on something important. They approached the twins, standing in between them, and leaned forward.

“What is it?” They asked, eyes briefly glancing to the pane.

“Our memories,” Steven said matter-of-factly, “They’re all here, in these doors.”

Y/n followed Steven’s gaze to the hallway, trying to understand what it was he meant by this. They glanced at Marc and Steven before deciding to look down the hall further, to see if there was a memory they could see, or if there was anything useful they could do in there. Whichever came first. They walked down the hall, careful that their footsteps made as little noise as possible, and peered through each door frame until they were almost at the end of the hallway.

They stopped, eyes falling onto the door at the very end.

“Y/n?” Marc was speaking, probably noticing that they’d stopped in their tracks.

“This is my library.” y/n looked back at Marc and Steven, pointing at the frame of the door. They faltered, noticing the lack of recognition on their faces when they approached the scribe, and took a step back from the door to allow the two to take a look for themselves. “Look, that’s my desk.”

“It is.” Steven gasped, awed in recognition of the endless shelves that curated the library. The room shown was the entryway he’d passed every time he was in need of new reading material for his late nights. “Isn’t that something…”

“Why is this the only thing I can see in here?” Y/n glanced back down the hallway, a frown on their lips when they saw the glass panes that showed them nothing short of their own reflection.

“There’s no one in there, either.” Marc made this observation, stepping closer to the pane to try and look for his body in the memory. Only they were nowhere to be seen. Not a soul, actually, could be seen from within the memory. “All of the others have Steven and I’s body in there. What’s with this one?”

Marc grabbed at the handle and made a move to open it, only to grow frustrated when the handle wouldn’t move. He jiggled the handle, shifting his body weight between his feet, before resorting to kicking the door in an attempt to get it open.

“Here, here, Marc, let me try.” Steven moved in front of Marc, arms reached out across his chest to keep him back, and tried to open the door with a more subtle approach. He paused for a moment when he realized the door wasn’t going to open for him either, and tried to force his way in.

The mercenary scoffed and patted Steven’s shoulder as a signal to give up, motioning for the group as he turned his heel to continue walking. “Forget it, let’s go. We have to cover as much ground as we can.”

He walked down the hall, Steven following not too far behind, and didn’t look back while y/n stayed in their place beside the door. They should have known better that the door wasn’t going to open, having watched the twins fail to do so, but they still lingered with their eyes on the handle. Slowly y/n approached the door and reached out, turning the handle.

The sound of a door opening made Marc and Steven stop in their tracks.

“You got it open.” They walked back to the door, a sort of amazed smile on their faces.

But their smiles weren’t reciprocated as y/n stared at the library through the glass pane, hand still on the door handle and holding the door ajar. Something was calling to them from inside the library, they could feel it. It called to their very being, their body almost moving on its own as it was drawn to whatever was inside. Y/n had no idea what it was, but it felt, it felt so familiar. Like something they’d left behind a long time ago.

Maybe this was where they needed to go.

y/n whirled to the men, a look on their face. They weren’t sure of whatever it was they were feeling, but they needed to voice out their thoughts. “I don’t know what it is, but something’s telling me that I have to go in here.”

“Right then,” Steven nodded at their words.

A hand placed itself onto his chest, stopping him when he tried to step into the library. He looked down at their scribe, frowning slightly, and stepped back as they spoke. “I don’t think you guys should with me.”

“Wait, wait,” Marc began, eyebrows furrowed as though the thought was out of the question, “Let’s think about it, are you sure that’s a good idea? I know you can normally handle yourself but we’re not exactly in Bucktown are we?”

“What are you concerned about, they’re not going to die. They’re already dead!”

y/n closed their eyes, speaking through clenched teeth. Really this man had no filter. “Thanks, Steven.”

“We can wait out here for you.” The gift shopist looked at them, hopeful that they’d agree.

Marc looked to them for confirmation. “You okay with that, kid?”

y/n waved the two off, shaking their head a little. “We don’t have enough time, go do your own thing. I think I can handle it. Besides, you guys have to figure your stuff out too.”

“Get out before the ship stops.” Marc looked at y/n, his expression telling them that even though this sounded stern, he said this out of concern. If he was anything, he was loyal, the scribe thought.

"An' be careful," Steven added, concern all over his face.

“I will. Good luck you guys.”

y/n, Marc, and Steven shared a moment of silence, looking at each other in reassurance, before parting to their own ways. Marc and Steven made their way down the hallway and y/n sighed, turning to the door and taking a moment to prepare themselves.

It’s just their library. Nothing more.

No point trying to brace themselves when they had no clue what was to come. But still, they did it, inhaling sharply as they tried to give themselves enough confidence.

One more moment. And they opened the door.

—---

Something y/n always liked about the library was the silence that always seemed to accompany it. It was a given, no matter the time, no matter the day, no matter how many people that occupied the numerous seating areas and rustled through endless shelves of books, silence was a friendly soul that settled down between shelves with a good book in hand. y/n always liked this silence because of how it let them do their scribing peacefully. In the library, there was nothing to overwhelm them or their senses, not in the way the outside word did with the endless conversations and noises that followed them like the plague.

But this silence they felt now, they didn’t welcome it so easily.

It was almost unsettling.

y/n continued through the edifice, walking through rows of tables barren of anything except for books and laptops left opened by patrons. Looking around, they frowned. Nobody was there. It was as if everybody inside of the library disappeared.

By now, y/n stood in the center of the reading room. Stray books littered desk spaces and y/n approached one, leaning over to turn off a lamp that had been left on. On its desk sat an abandoned book. They picked it up, skimming over its contents, and quickly realized that what they were holding was a copy of the Book of the Dead.

This wasn’t a copy the library owned. They frowned, aghast at this book. They knew every inch of the library, every secret it could whisper and every book that walked into the doors. This was’t a welcomed book. How did it get here?

Settling the book back in its place, they walked up to another desk and picked up a another. Again, a copy of the Book of the Dead.

Creepy. They shook their head and checked around for more books that were left behind, all of them the same copy of the book of the dead. All that differentiated the books were how they were left open to different sections. Here laid Coming Forth By Day. There, The Barque of Ra. Navigating the Underworld, Judgement, and Journeys in the Duat talked amongst one another as they gathered dust in a shaded area of the room. Preservation of the Parts of Being sat in their hands now, preaching instructions of how to preserve a dead person’s heart and its role of re-unifying one’s dead body and its soul.

The scribe looked at all of the spells, unsure of what to make of all of this.

They decided it best to leave the room, agitated by what they’d just witnessed, venturing further into the library. They had no clue where they should go and after some banter opted to go to the one place they knew better than anywhere else.

Switching the light on, the scribe looked around as their archives illuminated to life. The spacious room glowed and gave way to all of its contents, high, endless rows of shelves with scrolls of parchment and books inside of every one. Djehuty’s dabble in magic craft was no secret to anyone, and the archives was where his magic was most powerful. It’s power overflowed, almost suffocating. y/n stepped into the room and felt the familiar enchantments surge in the room, wrapping around their limbs and flowing into their lungs. His power, they lived in for so long, was easily recognizable by the scribe.

y/n expected that this room would host no souls, much like the rest of the library, but a sound of reed scribbling on paper made them frown. Wandering further in, they looked for what drew them towards its source. y/n stopped, a frown immediately etched on their lips.

This was the last person they wanted to see.

The tall frame of Djehuty stood at the end of the main room, reed held in the air. He’d been working on a scroll, it seemed, as the scribe noticed the recognizable hunch on his back that he did anytime he was documenting. Djehuty stopped writing, taking a moment to look at his work before he set down the writing utensil, turning to his avatar.

I was beginning to think you would not show up. Was all he said.

Y/n approached the table and placed their hands on the cover. The scribe had no intention of getting closer to the god, the table a barrier between god and avatar. They didn’t know what they could say to the deity without sounding rude. “What are you doing here?”

It’s my archive. Or have you forgotten?

“No, that’s not what I meant.” y/n fiddled with some books that were splayed around the table, placing several into a neat stack. Their eyes kept to the books, furrowed as they tried to think of a better way to phrase their thoughts. “This is a memory, isn’t it?”

That is correct.

“Then why are you here? This never happened when I was alive.”

What, me working on the scrolls? Really, y/n, you know me better than to be a loaf.

“Djehuty,” Their tone quipped his words, forcing the god to let out a sigh of defeat.

Thoth lifted the scroll he was working on, holding on two ends, and lifted it in the air. He gently waved it to allow the ink to dry. Briefly, y/n read the scroll. Darkhold spells.

These archives are a part of your memory, that is true, but here, where you stand, you are very well standing inside of it.

“That doesn’t make sense though, the archives are back in London. Are we in London right now? Are we in the mortal realm?”

The look he sent to y/n made them want to leave, they didn’t like the tone he had used on them, speaking to them as though they were a young child. They frowned. Suddenly meeting the eyes of the god was not so appealing. They looked around the archive, taking in the familiar home.

When Thoth said nothing, the scribe felt forced to continue speaking. Part of it gave them comfort, trying. “This place,” They let out a scoff, waving at the archive, “It’s the only place I can see out of all of the doors in that hallway. Marc and Steven saw it, but they saw things I couldn’t. Why the library, why of all places?”

Djehuty was back at the table and had occupied himself with cleaning the reed he’d worked with earlier. He made no point to meet their eyes.

It’s not the library, it’s more like… this archive. Y/n, my archives are a bridge between the world of men and the world of gods. Here, we are responsible for the affairs of both.

“I know that.” Y/n confirmed, a frown still on their lips.

And yet you ask questions you answer for yourself. You also know that we are the only two beings allowed to cross into this threshold… You’ve spent a great deal of time here, proving the dedication you put into your practice. You are a good avatar.

“Is it really dedication when you’re the one who makes me work here?” y/n frowned. “And is being a good avatar really that great when I don’t even have my own life? You know I lost a lot of stuff in my life because of you, because of this place, because every time I step foot in here there’s a little voice in my head knowing that weeks could pass and I wouldn’t feel it? I can’t even talk to my parents anymore because I don’t even know where they are. For fuck’s sake, I miss my mom! I liked what I did, but lately I’ve had time to consider everything and I think everything about this is plain shit. What you’ve done for me? It’s shit. ”

I had my reasons, scribe. Believe me.

“Oh?” They let out a scoff, crossing their arms over their chest. y/n gave him a look, imploring him to continue with his argument.

Djehuty stared at them, beady eyed and untelling of his thoughts. He spoke again, voice clearing into the air.

You’re talking about that one time, aren’t you?

“Can you really blame me?” Steven’s words of reassurance echoed in the back of their head, validating that they were right to be pissed at the god for keeping them in the archives without their consent.

Thoth spoke now.

I know you are still upset at me for keeping you in the archives for five years. But it was an isolated event, the forces that had pushed itself to the mortal world was an abnormality. Its power matched one of a gods. I couldn’t ensure your protection, even with my power, I had to keep you in the archives, it was the only place you could have been safe from it. After the events, I allowed you to roam the world performing tasks for me! You should be grateful, you should-

Djehuty paused for a moment, and finally he spoke, his words surprising the avatar.

I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.

And just as abrupt came this apology, the subject was changed again, by the god as he continued his case with the scribe.

Oh, I’m getting besides myself. y/n, please, I’m trying to tell you something. This place-

This place… it is also the closest you have ever been to your soul.

There was a pause in his words as Djehuty looked to his scribe for a reaction. They didn’t particularly have a loud one. Rather, they remained quiet, and they remained that way for a few moments before all they let out was a quiet “what?”.

You are a scribe, trained to observe. Thinking it out should not be too difficult for you.

“Aright, okay, stop with this bullshit okay?” Djehuty didn’t bother admonishing the scribe for their loud outburst, and when he remained silent, however uncharacteristic it was of him whenever they began to speak towards him disrespectfully, they continued on, “I’m about to lose my fucking mind here. I really need you to stop talking to me like we’re playing some mind game and talk to me seriously. After all these years of serving under you and putting up with all the jobs you’ve given me, going to places I have no reason to go to, dealing with your bullshit, I think I’m at least owed this.”

The god stared at them for a moment. And then he spoke, his tone soft and plain.

Alright

“Alright?” They repeated, blinking several times. They didn’t expect him to agree without putting up an argument.

Yes.

“Okay,” They eyed the god, whose attention was probably still on them despite him turning away to put the scroll in its proper place. They watched him turn to put it away in its proper place, a cabinet that they recognized as the one they’d filled up some years ago. Despite the time that had passed they remembered that assignment from the god, tasked with making their way to a town in New Jersey for that. Y/n blinked, and decided to voice out their thoughts to the god. “I’m gonna ask a lot of questions right now.”

Alright.

Again, y/n gave Djehuty a side eye. “And you’re going to tell me the truth.”

I will. This time, Djehuty made it a point to turn around and meet their eyes.

The scribe searched the god’s eyes for any sign that told them that he intended to do otherwise, but saw none. As much as Djehuty liked to boast that he knew his scribe like the back of his hand, the same could be said about y/n. They knew Thoth, and could easily sense when he was not true to himself. Looking at the god now, they knew that despite their doubts he would tell them the truth.

They hesitated for a moment, mentally preparing for their questions and recalling the events of the past couple of days. Holy shit, they’d been through so much. It was an absolute shock that they hadn’t gone insane with everything that's happened to them in the span of a week. y/n took one more look at the god, their mouth hung slightly open, and they rambled, letting everything out.

“I have no clue what the fuck’s going on. Ten minutes ago my heart got ripped out of my chest by a talking hippo and she tells me that I don’t have a soul. Do you have any idea how fucking scary that is? Having a hippo tell you that kind of shit? And now, you’re talking to me about this place and my soul, but I don’t have one? By what I’ve been hearing it sounds like I’m gonna be stuck on a boat with that hippo lady because apparently I don’t have a heart good enough to be weighed properly by the fucking Scales of Justice. And- wait, I had a point with this. Give me a second.”

Quickly, they pressed their palms to their face and let out a groan. Their head started to hurt from remembering everything that happened.

“Djehuty,” They spoke after a long time. “I died, right?”

Do you not remember me giving you the knife?

“That’s not what I meant!” Y/n groaned, again pressing their hands to their face. They looked up at the god, clasping their palms together as they pleaded with him. “Before this, have I died before? Taweret told me I did, but I really need to hear it from you.”

Djehuty looked at them and his answer was plain.

Yes.

They shook their head. This entire time, they’d the suspicion that they’d died before, but to hear the confirmation from Djehuty didn’t make accepting it any easier than they thought it was going to be. “And I just didn’t know about this, why? I just, I- why can’t I remember?”

Djehuty looked down at his hands, a finger tapping at the table. It tapped a bit faster as he thought to himself, before he looked back at the scribe.

You were too young when you died.

y/n watched the way the god remembered, his feathers puffed slightly.

I could explain it to you, but I do not think that I am in a position where my word is as relatable to you as the fields are to the sun.

y/n made a gesture around the barren archive, “Does it look like there’s anyone else I can talk to?”

Much to their surprise, the god quickly turned back to the shelves behind him and looked through them, beak shining in the light as he searched and thumbed through tucked away scrolls until he found what he was looking for. Pulling out the old scroll, he flattened it out on the table and took a reed in his hand as he wrote down on the scroll.

This may help ease your conscience.

y/n watched him and leaned forward on the table to get a better look at the god’s written hieratic: 𓆸

The lotus flower.

You were a young thing, the first time I laid eyes on you in the Duat, Thoth began, glancing over at y/n as they sat back and listened to what he had to say. He turned back to the scroll, finishing the final touches on the hieratic he’d written before blowing onto it, a layer of gold dust flying into the air. Only rather than dissipating, the dust began to glow as it collected together and formed a projection of the story he was telling, his magic filled the archive with a soft glow. No less than the age of five, you were prone to illness and it got the better of you. Taweret, as kind as she is towards younglings, took a liking to you immediately upon your arrival. We rarely had anyone pass through there at the time, and to see a child no less, honestly she’d never been more excited to see a soul again. She insisted on stalling your time on her boat to show you about the process, read you the Book of the Dead, and when it was time for your ceremony she was devastated to let you go.

The projection depicted a younger version of y/n as they stood before a mass of judges.

All you needed to do was say that you had committed no sins, and the judges would have given you their blessing. Instead, you recited the entirety of the Negative Confession. Entirely from memory! You must have picked it up when Taweret read the book to you. I was very impressed. I’d been searching for a new avatar, and at that moment, I knew that you were the right fit.

“But, I was dead.” y/n watched the miniature Djehuty gape at their younger version, suddenly surrounded by the forty-two judges as they went to praise the young thing. Taweret had them in her arms, holding them close to her as she looked to be beaming.

You were. But I wanted you. I confronted Osiris, but he wasn’t too keen on the idea of me making you my avatar, so I made a bet with him. I won, and in exchange for this he blessed me with reviving you to life again, under the condition that your soul would belong to me. Call it a power move. To prevent the other gods from believing that neither of us had grown soft for a mortal. I took you back, and have kept you under my watch since. You were just a young thing when it happened, there was no way you could have remembered.

Djehuty finished, and the projection dulled back to the golden hue it had prior as the dust finally dissipated. As it did, it cleared his view of the scribe. They sat there, allowing his words to sink in for a moment.

“If you could tell me all of this then why did I have to die?” y/n observed how Djehuty picked up the scroll and began to roll it up. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

Because, the god stopped, considering his words carefully. I knew that when you found out what had happened, you’d demand for the repossession of your soul. But you would’ve spent the rest of your life waiting for death before you could get the chance to do so. I was doing you a favor. The Duat, it is the only place whose threshold is powerful enough to make this exchange. You lost your soul to the duat, here is where you must earn it back.

“You call that a favor?” Y/n spat their words out like it was made out of a bitter food. Anger boiled in their blood at the words of the god. “I shouldn’t earn shit back. You should’ve told me. It’s my soul. Mine.”

As much as you do not want to hear it, your soul is mine, until someone wins its favor. The god looked at the scribe. I can offer you a chance for it, if you’d like.

y/n eyed the god for a second, deciding to play along, and in an almost disbelieving tone they responded to him. “Okay. So how do I do that?”

The same way I earned yours.

The god turned back to the scribe and walked to the table, taking a moment to look at their expression before uncovering a worn down cloth from the item in his hands. The scribe peered over and bit back a small frown. Of course. Djehuty was a god that loved one thing above all else, besides his work of course; gambling. They should have known what the god had in mind for their bet.

On the table sat a game of senet. A game of the gods.

Djehuty took some time to inspect the game set, brushing off some dust that had collected on the lid, before opening it up. He began to remove its contents and place them precariously on the table. He spoke, nostalgia in his tone.

This was the same set I used when I played against Khonshu. You know how the story goes. I bartered my own powers in exchange for moonlight.

Two groups of color coded game pieces sat on the table. Next to it, Djehuty set down five sticks, he hesitated a moment before he did, and he sounded hesitant.

It was… also the very same one I used when I won your soul.

Djehuty raised his palm to face the scribe, holding out two game pieces.

Do you prefer playing with dark or light pieces?

—---

Meanwhile, on the other side of the boat, a pair of twins begged for Taweret to send a message to Layla. Around them, souls rained from the skies, condemned before their time, and fell into the sands of the duat.

“What the heck.” Taweret spoke, a decision already made to help the men. “Osiris is not going to like this, but his gate is the only path back.”

The hippo bounded up to the steering platform of her ship and grabbed the large, fixed stern oar centered onto it. She took a deep breath and used all of her strength to pull the oar and steer the ship into the direction of the gates.

The boat shuddered as it abruptly turned away from its original path, wooden floorboards and its hull groaning. The boat dangerously swerved to one side and Steven and Marc fell onto the railing and were left to hold on for their lives.

“Get back inside!” She ordered, grunting from the force of the wood against her, “You don’t have long. Get those scales balanced.”

The men, quickly as they could without losing their balance, ran to the doors and disappeared into their realm.

As he ran after Steven, all Marc could think about were two things. Stopping his alter from seeing old, old memories he wish he could have buried, and worry for y/n, who’d yet to show themselves after disappearing into that door.

If y/n took any longer, he was prepared to go inside of the door himself.

—--

Djehuty threw the sticks onto the table. Two faced up.

He stretched a hand across the table and moved his white game piece two spaces forward.

Suddenly, y/n’s whole body was rocked by a force that made the entire archive shudder, swaying to and fro. They grabbed at the edge of the table to steady themselves, looking around the room as loose scrolls rolled across the floor and a ladder wheeled past. The fuck was that? Y/n couldn’t tell entirely, but it felt like the rocking of a ship. Was it from Taweret’s ship? They had half the mind to leave, to make sure that everything was alright, but the god that sat across them seemed to read their thoughts.

Nevermind that. Djehuty’s voice threw into the air. Sit.

Despite the tremors and violent swaying of the room, the senet board stood firm with all its pieces miraculously still intact. Djehuty seemed undeterred by what occurred, eyes trained on the scribe as he held out the sticks for them to take. They accepted the pieces, taking their turn while he spoke.

Senet, back in older times, was conceived as a representation of the journey of one’s Ka to the afterlife. You could say that this game is much like the Duat. Each player advances their tiles forward in attempts to avoid danger, and the winner was deemed the first to pass through the afterlife.

Y/n took the sticks in their hand and gave Djehuty a mere glance before throwing it onto the table. The sticks landed with four facing upwards and they sighed in slight relief. They had played this game before, often with Djehuty when he was not busy or high priests they visited to retrieve a scroll, and often lost to their opponent. But now, luck had been on their side more than ever before, as this was the first time they had more than half of their pieces off of the board. Now, they only had one piece left.

They moved their black game piece four spaces forward.

It was a game that nobles and commoners played alike. Good luck was blessed by the gods during this game. And they believed it. A board was even found in the tomb of Tutankhamun, he was an avid player of the game and loved to play it as a pastime, but he was never a good sport for this game when he lost.

He moved his piece three spaces forward, and at this y/n grew a bit anxious knowing that if he had rolled one less he could have knocked their piece back several spaces. They reached for the sticks again, “Why are you telling me this?”

This game, it taught the Egyptians about what awaited them in the afterlife. It was a reminder to the living that the journey that awaits them is not an easy one, but if they were lucky, they could be blessed by us gods.

The sticks in y/n’s hands fell to the table, but the scribe wasn’t looking at their outcome. Instead, their stared at the god and frowned at the way he looked at them with an expected gaze. They straightened up at this. Djehuty was insinuating that what he had done to them was a blessing.

It was better to change the subject, arguing with him was no point, despite how much they wanted to. They wanted to scream at the god, they should have had a long time ago, but they had to refrain themselves despite how good it would have felt to do so. y/n needed to get answers out of him. “You bet against Osiris for my soul. What did you bet me with?”

My honor. If I lost, then I would no longer be allowed to set foot inside of the ennead’s processions. My place among the gods would be no more.

His game piece lands on the House of Two Lilies. Shit.

“You put so much at stake for me. And all of a sudden you’re fine with me trying to win my soul back?” y/n observed, making sure that their tone didn’t falter from the setback they now had at the expense of Djehuty’s advantage he gained.

When you raise a child, you do everything in your power to keep them close, as the only sure way that they are truly safe is under your watch. Allow them to stray for a moment, and there is an infinite number of possibilities of what could happen, simply because you weren’t there. For years I’ve kept you under my care and nurtured you in the ways of my culture. After seeing how affected you were by that incident, losing contact with your parents, it made me feel… guilt.

You are a shell of a life that could be lived. That is not how you should be. You should be growing with this world.

Djehuty paused a moment, he seemed to be hesitating. This earned a questionable look from his avatar, who perused his expression at the expense of his silence. He spoke again, voice wavered just barely.

There is a risk, for me. If you are to come into possession of your soul again, then you would no longer be my avatar. Not unwillingly, that is. But I do not know how you will choose to live your new life, after this is over, whether you decide to abandon this world, that is a decision you alone can make.

They still had a chance. One piece left, one piece to surpass. “Why take the risk, then?”

Because, the god let out a sigh and moved his piece back some spaces. He handed the sticks to y/n so that they could begin their next turn. Taking risks is what humans do.

Y/n threw the sticks.

To venture into the unknown. It is what forces one to grow and brings better outcomes and possibilities in life.

Five sticks faced up. The scribe’s lips turned slightly upwards, pleased with the distance their piece could cover.

You, y/n, are my risk. The culmination of the ways I could have bettered myself.

The scribe stopped advancing their game piece, still in their hand, caught off guard by his words. They met his eyes, eyes wide as he continued speaking.

It is your turn to do the same for yourself.

—---

The door stood out among the others.

Marc and Steven stood, shoulder to shoulder, lungs aching.

It had to have been the same door. It just had to have been. It was at the same end of the hallway, just where they’d left y/n. So why was it that there inside of the library was Steven, carrying more books than he should have tried to, speaking with y/n.

The real Steven, the one whose foot now grew cold from losing a shoe in the memory of the Chicago streets, mumbled a small mumble and pointed to the memory.

“This was the first time I met them,” He turned to look at Marc, who’d already been staring at him with eyes still red from crying. “Must’ve been two weeks when I moved to London. J.B told me I should check out the library since it was close to work, I’s told him ‘bout how I couldn’t sleep. they were the first people who made me feel welcomed.”

He turned to Marc and ignored the solemn expression on the mercenary’s face. “How did you meet them?”

“Khonshu had a job for me,” Steven nodded, understanding what Marc meant. At this time, the only reason Marc fronted was to do Khonshu’s bidding, the only time that y/n could have been able to get a hold of Marc. “I was really craving a good samich when I finished, and they found me at this little hole in the wall shop I managed to find. They told me they were also an avatar, but I didn’t believe them and told them to go home. You can imagine my surprise when they kept showing up over the past few weeks, insisting that they needed to speak to me on behalf of their god. yknow stuff they do for scribing. I kept pushin’ them off. The first time I actually believed them was when they showed up outta nowhere while I stole the scarab from Harrow.”

A silence fell between the two as they stared at Steven’s memory in silence.

They missed the scribe.

—--

Thoth stopped for a moment and his eyes flickered between y/n’s own and the board. He let a small smile grow on his lips and a chuckle breathed out.

You have five sticks facing up. You may go again.

The scribe said nothing when the god collected the sticks from the table. He reached across and gently grabbed their hand, turning their palm face up and setting the sticks on it.

Play. His voice was soft, gently pushing them to continue forward.

Y/n looked down at the sticks in their hand, and they played their turn, watching the sticks rattle onto the table.

Thoth’s eyes fell to the sticks, flickering up at the scribe as a way to urge them to do the same. They broke their gaze from him and counted the sticks. Three landed face up.

Y/n made no move, despite this new distance they could cover. It didn’t matter.

Once more, the scribe looked up at the deity, searching his eyes for any sort of reaction. His gaze, pleased with the way the sticks had landed, met the eyes of his avatar and gave them a reassuring smile.

A smile grew on y/n’s face, but it wasn’t because of the god.

They laughed, a laugh that was care-free and amicable, and they breathed out one last time.

“I won.”

At that moment, all they could think about was how they had won their soul back.

How the first moment they could, they’d run to find Steven and Marc and together they would all gather their hearts and have them balanced.

Y/n was finally going to have a balanced heart.

They grinned. At the time, they had no idea whether or not they were going to have a chance to return to the mortal realm, they had no idea what events had aspired as thousands of condemned souls forced their way to the sands of the Duat, they had no idea that the god sitting in front of them was disheartened, but proud of the scribe nonetheless, for all that they were, and all that they had amounted to be even without the help of a soul. They didn’t know. But all of that didn’t matter, y/n could’ve given less of a shit at that moment, they were something they weren’t for a long time.

A human with a soul of their own.

They grinned at this dream.

But that wasn’t how it was meant to be.

Suddenly y/n snapped out of this trance that they were in. Blinking several times, they realized their surroundings had changed completely but could not take it in right away due to a bright light shining in their eyes. Raising an arm over their eyes, y/n listened for Djehuty’s presence.

The subtle sound of rustling filled their ears. Something tickled at their fingers, stiff against their bare skin but they could make out feathered clusters hitting their arms. y/n took a few moments to feel it out, liking the way they felt hitting against their arms, before they looked down.

A small smile escaped their lips. Y/n couldn’t help but let out a laugh, wiggling their toes in the dirt, enjoying the way the first felt between their toes. They lifted their foot for a moment, watching the way the little specs fell off, and stomped their foot hard into the ground so that more dirt covered them.

Their attention slowly turned to the sky. Looking up, they closed their eyes and savored the warmth of the sun as it kissed their skin.

Lastly, they took one long look at the plants that rose to their midsection, watching how they tickled their arms and fingers so, rustling against one another. It was a wonderful sound. The scribe slowly stretched their arm outwards and with one clean swoop, swept their arm across the reeds so that they could enjoy the sound of it rustling, just once more.

A childish giggle escaped their lips.

And under the warm sun, glowing an orange that stained onto their scrubs, they began to run. Run, until their legs burned and their lungs ached from the childish laughter and whoops they let out as they rushed through.

Under the warm sun, they played in the reeds.

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